#Security Screen Door Installer

[screens01]

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[tallaennatargaryen]

Wife Speak

Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasn’t done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.

Warnings: Bucky's been too busy to do what you asked, you put yourself in slight peril, worried!Bucky, gentle manhandling, protective!Bucky, mention of previous injury, my own lack of construction know-how so I apologize for any inaccuracies, no use of Y/N

This is my first time writing in second person so hopefully I did okay! This was inspired by this short I saw on YouTube.

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him another quick peck before stepping back and nodding for him to climb up the ladder. Once his back was turned and he was on the top step, your mischievous smirk returned in full force, not only because of your triumph, but because you really did like the view.

[hari-100]

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[rrs1188]

[der-schweizer]

There's my portal

As i said on @bet-on-me-13 'Where is my portal' post, here is my short about their idea. please enjoy.

Danny sipped his coffee, slowly shuffling towards his lab. It had been a long time since he had a ‘run on two coffees and some ecto’ weekend but here he was, Monday morning, on his way to work.

He really wanted to be in bed but he had bills to pay.

Quietly he shuffled into his lab, which he found oddly drafty and oddly bright, considering he hadn’t turned on the lights yet. After flicking them on he moved on towards his desk, passing a big gaping hole in the wall and—

Danny paused, shuffled backwards a bit and then looked at the place where his portal used to be. For a long moment he just looked, then did a slow blink and took another sip of coffee.

After making sure that his portal, including parts of the wall, were really gone, he let out a sigh and held his face. “Who the fuck stole my door?”

With a sigh he pushed his bangs out of his face and walked to his PC, to check the security footage of his Cameras. For once it wasn’t Vlad who stole his shit, Vlad at least had the courtesy to leave a note that he ‘borrowed’ something. It was safe to say that he was surprised to find the footage gone. There weren't many people that could hack through Tucker's programing.

Danny sat there, looking at the black screen of his PC for a long moment before thinking aloud. “Okay, we have one or more people who can; One, break through Tuckers firewalls. Two, physically move a portal weighing around ten tons and, Three, knows their way around Arcane Runes so as to not cause a mass ghost invasion.”

He thought about it for a minute before throwing his hands up. “Fuck this, I’m just going to use the other side to find it.” He got out of his chair before transforming. 

Danny focused his power into one of his fingers before poking the air in front of him, the tip of it pierced the fabric of space which he then used to rip it open. He quickly flew through the tear before it sealed again. Despite Wulf teaching him how to do it he still sucked at it, which was the main reason he built his portal.

Once in the Zone he looked around for it. He found it after over two hours of searching, which only served to piss him off to the point where he began muttering curses under his breath.

Standing in front of it, he gave it a quick inspection. After inspecting the Runes, Danny had to admit that, whoever had stolen it, knew his way around them. They pretty much locked out anyone not authorized and or approved by the Caster. Too bad for them, Danny had the ‘Masterkey’ and went through anyway.

John Constantine was holding his face, quietly counting to ten. Neither smoking nor drinking would help in this situation. After reaching fifty he ran his hands over his head, looking at the assembled brigade of idiots in front of him.

“Okay, let me get this straight.” He started, “You,” he pointed at Batman, “found an ‘unknown energy signature’ and went to investigate. Then you found a high security lab with had an active portal to ‘who knows where’ and your first decision was to fucking steal it?!?!”

Superman moved forward, opening his mouth to counter but Constantine didn't let him. “AND you moron helped him steal it, not to mention you!” he pointed at flash, “Help install it here, in the watchtower, without telling anyone from JLD about it?”

Flash looked a bit sheepish at him. “Well, in my defense I didn’t know it was stolen.”

Constantine wanted to bash his head against the next closest bulkhead, maybe that would help.

“Okay, okay.” Constantine facepalmed, trying to stop the aneurysm from building up more.

A deep chill suddenly filled the air and sent goosebumps all over his back, “Oh this is just getting better and better.” Constantine reached into his pocket for a warding charm, before turning around and swearing. He stopped swearing when he saw who had come through. “Oh, hey Phantom.”

“Constantine, why the fuck did you steal my portal?” Danny wasn’t even pissed anymore. He knew the English drunktard too well to blame him. Granted he was obnoxious, didn’t pay back his debt and came whenever it suited him, but Danny liked the man. He didn’t exasperate problems and always did what was necessary.

“Look, I didn’t.” He then threw a thumb over his shoulder, “Those morons did.”

“Constantine, do you know this entity?” Batman already looked on high alert.

“Excuse you! I have a name. And that is my Portal. Explain why it isn't where it is supposed to be.”

“The sensors of the Watchtower found an unknown energy signature, upon investigation we found an unsecured pathway to a different dimension, so we secured it.”

Danny stared at Batman for a solid minute, then simply said, “Oh I'm going to sue your ass so hard your grandkids will feel it.”

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi! I just read you blurb about Hotch with gen z reader and I absolutely love it, it's hilarious! ♡

Can I please request Hotch struggling with technology/apps and gen z reader helping him?

Thank you so much ♡♡

Terms and conditions | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Gen-Z!reader | WC: 1.7k | CW: Fluff. I feel like I might have made hotch into a whump in the second part of the fic (he's a little pathetic)

A/N: Tyyyyyy 💕💕

You could sense it the second you walked into the bullpen, something was wrong.

Not murder-in-Mississippi wrong, but Hotch-is-glowering-at-his-phone wrong. Which, all things considered, was still code red. You paused by your desk, coffee in hand, watching your unit chief stab at his screen through the open blinds of his office, like it owed him money.

Hotch’s jaw was tight, his brows drawn into a furrow that could’ve doubled as a trench. You’d seen him face down unsubs with less venom.

Rossi sauntered past with a file tucked under his arm. “He’s been at it for ten minutes,” he murmured, his lips twitching with a barely concealed smirk. “Try not to laugh too loud.”

You snorted softly, already knowing that it was a losing battle. Hotch’s technological struggles were the tales of BAU legends – whispered about in the break room like campfire stories.

The man could profile a psychopath in his sleep but ask him to navigate an app store, and he looked like he was defusing a bomb with a paperclip.

Adjusting your grip on your coffee, you strolled up to his office with the casual confidence of someone who’d grown up with a smartphone practically grafted to their hand.

“Morning, sir,” you said, popping your head through his open door. “Everything okay?”

Hotch didn’t look up. His voice was a low growl, clipped and precise. “No. It’s not.”

That stopped you. Aaron Hotchner didn’t admit weakness, not to unsubs, not to bureaucrats, and certainly not to his team. For him to let that frustration slip through the cracks of his carefully constructed facade was as rare as a sunny day in Quantico without a murder call.

You tilted your head as you moved closer to his desk, catching a glimpse of his screen, and had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning.

“Are you… trying to download an app?” you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

He finally looked at you, and for one glorious, fleeting moment, Aaron Hotchner – elite profiler, veteran federal agent, and the BAU’s resident stoic leader – looked utterly, hopelessly lost.

His eyes held a mix of exasperation and something that might’ve been embarrassment, though he’d never admit it.

“I’m attempting to install the airline app,” he said, each word measured as if explaining a tactical maneuver. “We have a connecting flight through Dallas next week since the jet is still out of commission, and the travel department suggested I… ‘check in on mobile.’” The air quotes were practically audible, laced with disdain for the very concept.

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh. “Okay. What’s the issue?”

He turned the phone toward you, revealing the problem in stark white and gray: Your Apple ID password is required to proceed.

“Oh no,” you said, unable to stop the grin now. “You don’t know your Apple password.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed into the patented Hotchner Glare, the one that could make a hardened criminal confess in under ten seconds. “I didn’t realize it required a password just to check into a flight,” he said.

You nodded like you were diagnosing a patient. “Well, technically, it’s for downloading the app. It’s a security thing, two-factor authentication, biometrics, the whole deal.”

He blinked at you, slow and deliberate, like you’d just recited quantum physics in Klingon. “Two-factor… what?”

You couldn’t help it, you beamed. “Don’t worry, sir. I got you.”

Dragging a chair over to his desk, you plopped down with the enthusiasm of a tech support guru about to perform a miracle. You rolled up your sleeves dramatically.

“Alrighty, let’s start from the top. Do you know your email?”

“Yes,” he said, with a hint of offense, like you’d asked if he knew his own name.

“Great. Baby steps. Do you know the password for it?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Why would I need that?”

You froze, coffee halfway to your lips. “Oh boy.”

What followed was a twenty-minute odyssey through the labyrinth of modern technology. You guided Hotch through resetting his Apple ID, navigating the recovery process, and answering security questions that seemed designed to torment him (“What was the name of your first pet?” “I don’t remember.” “Okay, what’s the name of your favorite book?” “Why does this matter?”). By the time you’d successfully reset his account, installed the airline app, and added three others he grudgingly admitted might be useful (calendar, notes, and a weather app, because “it’s practical”), you felt like you’d earned a medal.

“Now for the fun part,” you said, leaning closer to show him Face ID. “You just look at the phone, and it unlocks. No typing required.”

He squinted at the screen as it scanned his face, then unlocked with a soft click. “You mean I don’t have to type anything anymore?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief like you’d just revealed the secret to eternal youth.

“Welcome to 2025, sir,” you said, leaning back with a grin.

Hotch stared at the phone for a long moment, then looked at you. His voice softened, just enough to catch you off guard. “That’s… actually impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Careful, Hotch. That almost sounded like praise.”

The barest flicker of a smirk crossed his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You tapped his screen one last time, double-checking the airline app. “Okay, you’re good to go. App’s installed, accounts are logged in, and flight alerts are on. You’re officially a digital native.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, a rare moment of visible relief.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how you all keep up with this.”

You shrugged, deadpanning, “Years of trauma, TikTok, and depression memes. It builds character.”

He gave you a look that was equal parts amusement and fond exasperation, the kind of look that made your stomach do a little flip. “I worry about your generation,” he said, but there was no real bite to it.

You smirked. “That’s fair. We worry about you too.”

Two weeks later, the BAU was airborne again, returning from a case in Arizona. The jet was quiet, save for the hum of the engines and the occasional murmur of conversation between Reid and Prentiss across the aisle. You were seated next to Hotch, who was, predictably, staring at his phone like it was a live grenade.

“Okay,” he muttered, almost to himself. “So if I press this…”

You leaned over, peering at his screen. “You trying to check the weather?”

He nodded, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “The app says there’s a storm on the way, but it won’t load the updates.”

With an easy grin, you reached for his phone. “I got it.”

He handed it over without protest, and that small gesture hit you harder than it should’ve. Hotch didn’t trust easily, not with cases, not with people, and definitely not with technology. But here he was, letting you take the reins, watching you in a way that made your heart skip.

You showed him how to refresh the app, toggle the alerts, and even sign up for text notifications so he’d get updates without wrestling the app into submission. “That should cover you,” you said, handing the phone back.

He studied the screen for a moment, then looked at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. “You’re very good at this,” he said, his voice low.

Your brows lifted. “Tech stuff?”

“Yes,” he said, but there was something else in his tone, something heavier. “But… also, you’re patient with me. Most people aren’t.”

You softened, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “It’s because you’re trying,” you said, matching his tone. “That’s all that matters. I mean, yeah, you kind of suck at it–”

He shot you a look, one eyebrow raised in warning.

“–but you’re learning,” you finished, grinning. “You don’t give up. That’s admirable.”

He didn’t respond right away, just watched you with that unreadable expression he wore so well. Then, quietly, “You remind me of Jack’s babysitter.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wow. Romance me, why don’t you.”

His eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “That wasn’t-”

You laughed, waving him off. “Relax, Hotch. I know what you meant.” You nudged him with your elbow, lightening the mood. “Next lesson: memes. You’re way behind.”

He groaned, but it was more theatrical than genuine. “Do I have to?”

You grinned, undeterred. “Terms and conditions, sir. You want my help, you’re gonna have to suffer through at least three ‘Vine’ references a week and the dog of wisdom.”

He sighed, long and suffering. “I have no idea what that means.”

“And that’s how I know we’ll make a great team.”

Later that night, as the team disembarked the plane and shuffled toward the parking lot, Hotch fell into step beside you. Not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence in the chilly air outside the private terminal the jet had landed at.

The rest of the team was ahead, somehow still bickering about who’d lost the rental car keys back in Arizona (it was definitely Morgan).

“I looked up what Skibidi Toilet was,” Hotch said, his voice low, like he was admitting to a crime.

You gasped, delighted. “No. You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“And?”

He shook his head, his expression a mix of horror and resignation. “…I regret everything.”

You cackled, loud enough to earn a glance from Rossi up ahead.

“Welcome to my world, old man.”

But then he turned to you, and his voice softened. “Thank you,” he said, “for not making me feel stupid.”

Your heart tugged, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. “You’re not stupid, Hotch,” you said quietly. “You’re just… analog in a digital world.”

That earned you a smile, a real smile. “I suppose I could stand to be a little more digital,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “If it means I get to keep up with you.”

You stopped walking for a fraction of a second, your breath catching. Then you grinned, nudging him again. “Careful, sir. That almost sounded like flirting.”

He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.

And as you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but think that maybe the gap between analog and digital wasn’t so wide after all. Not when it came to him.

[ruewritesoccasionally]

I Spy | Terry Richmond

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black reader

Warnings: Dark themes & explicit smut (18+) – dom/sub dynamics, power play, voyeurism kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, mutual masturbation, edging, rough sex, choking, spitting, hair pulling. Use of pet names (Daddy, Princess, Sweetheart, Baby, Good girl) and aftercare } Everything is consensual, but read at your own risk.

Summary: Terry Richmond is a protector—his wife’s safety, comfort, and pleasure are always his top priority. So, when he installed security cameras around their home, she thought nothing of it. That is, until one night, when her impatience gets the better of her, and Terry calls at just the right moment. How did he know what she was doing? More importantly—what is he going to do about it?

Word count: 3K

a/n: i fear i may never get sick of writing dark fics with terry 🤭🤭

The world saw Terry Richmond as a man of discipline, a protector, a security expert who made a living out of keeping people safe. His job required precision, foresight, and the ability to stay ten steps ahead of everyone else.

It was a skill set that bled into every aspect of his life—especially when it came to her.

To outsiders, he was the devoted husband, the kind of man who took care of everything so his wife didn’t have to. A provider, a leader, a steady hand to hold in a world that never stopped spinning. But behind closed doors? That carefully curated image cracked just enough to reveal something deeper, something darker.

Because Terry didn’t just protect—he controlled.

He never had to demand obedience, never had to force her submission. That wasn’t how their dynamic worked. He made sure she had everything she needed, took every burden off her shoulders, so all she ever had to do was be good for him. She was independent, of course, but not when it came to him. Not in the ways that mattered.

And she loved it.

Maybe she didn’t realise just how much, but Terry did.

The cameras in their home were supposed to be for protection. A necessary precaution—especially given his line of work. At least, that’s what he told her. And she never questioned it, never really thought about the way his eyes seemed to be on her at all times.

How he always knew things he shouldn’t.

How he’d casually mention the way she liked to stretch after a shower, in their bedroom, alone.

How he’d remind her to drink water, to take a break, even when he wasn’t home.

Little things. Tiny, insignificant moments that should’ve been easy to brush off.

And yet, every now and then, she’d jokingly accuse him of knowing everything.

And every single time, Terry would just smirk.

Terry was at work when the doorbell camera notification pinged on his phone. A routine check—he already knew who it was. His wife. Home.

He watched as she stepped inside, her shoulders sunken, bearing the weight of the day. His jaw tensed. Terry watched, letting his eyes track each motion, each flex of muscle, each quiet sigh as she exhaled the stress of the day. He made a mental note to stop by the store—flowers, wine, something to make her smile.

His eyes stayed locked on the screen as she moved through the house, each step methodical, shedding layers as she went. Bag down. Shoes off. Jewellery unfastened. Then, without pause, she stripped away the first layer of clothing and made a beeline for the shower.

A smirk played at his lips. Switching feeds.

Bedroom feed. Ensuite door left open. Perfect view.

Steam curled past the frame, misting over the lens, but not enough to block his view. After so many years together, she could still bring him to his knees, take his breath away like it was the first time. Stunning.

The water cascaded over her skin, gliding down the soft slope of her shoulders, rolling over her curves, tracing lines he had memorised by touch. Awe and jealousy twisted in his gut. Watching the way the droplets stroke along her body, touching places before he could, had his fingers flexing over his thigh.

She was relaxing now—he could see it in the way her muscles unwound, the tension draining from her limbs with the rising steam. And then…

Her hands started to wander.

Innocent at first—dragging over the length of her arms, fingertips gracing her collarbones, down her chest, ghosting over the peaks of her nipples, following the curve of her waist, down the expanse of her thighs to the soft heat nestled between them.

Terry’s trance faltered. His breath stilled.

Would she?

His jaw flexed as he watched her fingers tease at her entrance, skimming the sensitive flesh - a mere whisper of a touch.

But then as if she knew, as if she felt his eyes on her through the lens her fingers halted.

Just like that, she continued the rest of her shower.

Terry exhaled slowly, heat curling in his gut. Good girl.

He would definitely reward her tonight.

Terry watched as she left the shower, her skin glistening and soft, her routine precise and practiced. His fingers itched to replace the ones that gently massaged the oil into her body, but there was a soft warmth he felt in seeing her more relaxed now—more content than she had been when she first walked through the door. His shift was nearly over, and though he had done his best to be patient, the pressure in his trousers told him how badly he wanted her. He couldn’t wait. Not with the way his dick was fighting against the fabric.

He saw her stretch out on the bed, melting into the soft sheets, her expression a mix of contemplation and need—something that made Terry pause, unable to fully read her through the tiny screen. He wondered what thoughts had crept into her mind, but that question was quickly answered. She parted her thighs, giving in to the pressure he couldn’t see but always felt. The same motion she had started in the shower, now continuing in the sanctuary of their bed.

All thoughts of reward and praise left his mind in that instant. This... this was a challenge. And a betrayal. And he wasn’t going to let it slide. Not with the way she had been so damn careless.

He kept his focus on the live feed, watching, unable to tear his gaze away from her as she touched herself. He wanted to reach through the screen, stop her, punish her. Instead, he called her.

The frustration was evident on her face as his call interrupted her, the satisfaction on her features faltering. But then she recognised the name on the screen, and a soft smile replaced her frustration. She thought it was a casual check-in, a harmless conversation with her husband. But Terry wasn’t here for pleasantries anymore.

He teased her at first, coaxing her into comfort, his voice soft, like he hadn’t just watched her betray him in their own home.

“How’s my girl doing?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual. “What’s on your mind?”

She responded, her voice softer now, already losing some of the tension she had held when he first interrupted her. Terry let her settle into the illusion of normalcy.

But he couldn’t help himself. His gaze hardened. The possessiveness that surged through him made his next words come out sharp, laced with that commanding tone she knew all too well.

“Are you enjoying touching what’s mine, my love?” he asked, the heat of his voice sending a ripple through her. “Too greedy to wait until I get home?”

Her breath hitched at his words, a flicker of shame— or was it excitement?—crossing her face as her mind caught up with her actions.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Terry continued, his voice lowering, predatory. “I have something to fix that impatience.”

With that, he cut the call, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

She sat up, dumbfounded, her mind reeling as she pieced things together. How did he know what she was doing? He always had a sixth sense about everything, from the mundane to the extreme. She used to joke that he had eyes at the back of his head or that there were cameras everywhere—but maybe that wasn’t just a joke anymore.

All she could do now was wait. Wait and see what was in store.

Terry came home, taking his time. He barely acknowledged her presence as he entered their bedroom, heading straight into the en-suite. If she didn’t know any better, she might’ve thought he was angry with her. But she knew better. She knew how much he loved her—too much to ever stay angry for long. No, this wasn’t about anger. This was about something else. Disobedience. That’s what he couldn’t tolerate.

She squirmed uncomfortably on the bed, her anticipation rising as she waited for him to finish his shower. Right on cue, he emerged, dressed in nothing but a towel. The sight of him—drenched, glistening, and radiating confidence—took her breath away. She couldn’t help but drink him in, her gaze lingering on the defined muscles of his chest, the water still clinging to his skin. They were both greedy, in a way. Him for being so impossibly handsome, and her for having him all to herself. That was exactly how she liked it.

His voice broke her idle reverie, smooth and knowing, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, as if he could read her thoughts. "So, do you have anything to say for yourself?" he asked, the mockery clear in his tone.

She knew there was no good answer, no way to make it right, so she chose to stay silent. Her heart raced. Her pulse quickened. She waited for him to make his move.

He tilted his head, his eyes darkening with that signature dominance of his. "No? That’s fine. I did say I have a cure for your impatience." His voice dropped lower, a dangerous edge to it now. "You have a scratch to itch? That’s fine, sweetheart. You’re going to do just that. Here. Now. Until I say stop."

She held her breath, his words settling into the heavy air between them. "And since you’ve taken on that silent streak, I’ll take it as a yes. Not that you would ever say no to Daddy."

Terry's control was absolute. He dragged the chair from the vanity, positioning it at the foot of the bed, where he had the perfect view of her centre. His gaze flicked between her, observing every response she gave him—her parted lips, chest rising and falling with each breath, the curl of her toes. He ignored her pleas, focused instead on the sight of her slowly falling apart in front of him.

The thrill of the moment wasn’t enough for him to rush. He slowly stroked himself, his fist working over his length with an even pace. He was in no hurry. Watching her unfold, helpless to stop her own reactions, was enough.

Her attention shifted when she heard a low groan pass from his lips. She blinked, eyes drawn to the bead of pre-cum that pooled at the tip of his cock, a perfect drop dribbling down the shaft. His balls rested heavy on his thighs, and their eyes locked—an unspoken understanding between them, the tension palpable. The game was his, and he played it to perfection.

Terry’s voice broke the silence, a playful yet possessive tone dripping from each word. "You wanna watch, don’t you, baby? See what you can’t have until I decide."

Her breath quickened, and her chest heaved as she clenched the sheets tighter. The sound of his voice, mixed with the image of him touching himself so slowly, made her insides ache. She could feel her orgasm building, every inch of her body begging to release. But Terry wasn’t finished with her yet.

When she tried to stop, thinking she could control the situation, he halted her attempt with a firm command. “Now, I know I might be asking a lot from that pretty head of yours, but until you hear me say stop, you don’t.”

He moved to her side, kneeling between her legs, his gaze soft yet dark. Her pulse quickened as the reality of what was about to unfold hit her. She had no idea what he was planning, but she knew it wouldn’t be gentle.

Her climax was building, more intense now with his eyes on her, the thrill of being watched making it so much more unbearable.

Terry’s hand gripped her jaw, tilting her head back as he stared into her eyes. Her breath hitched, the air thick with the weight of his control. She was trembling, the effects of his teasing leaving her both desperate and afraid of what was to come next. He hadn’t given her permission to speak, but her lips parted nonetheless, desperate for something—anything—to release the pressure that had built inside her.

Her hands gripped the sheets beneath her, her body fighting the urge to writhe under his touch. She knew he wouldn’t let her go until he’d fully reminded her who was in charge.

Terry’s smirk deepened, watching her struggle with the flood of sensations. "Good girls don’t beg, sweetheart. But you? You’ve been nothing but greedy. You’re gonna finish what you started, and you’re gonna do it right. Under my control. Understand?"

Her body was still, her eyes pleading with him, but no words left her lips. It wasn’t that she couldn’t speak—it was that she didn’t need to. He knew.

"Perfect," he murmured, his fingers moving down her body to stroke her folds, his touch slow and deliberate. She gasped, unable to hold back the soft sounds as he teased her. His other hand, still holding her jaw, forced her to keep her eyes on him, keeping her attention firmly on his every movement.

His eyes never left hers as he slid his hand back down to her body, his thumb circling her clit with torturous slowness. The sensation was overwhelming, but his control was absolute. Every inch of her body screamed to come undone, but he was in charge.

Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her skin slick with sweat as the pressure inside her built higher. She couldn’t hold it anymore. Her orgasm threatened to tear through her, but just as she reached the brink, he pulled away, a deep chuckle escaping his lips as he watched her squirm in frustration.

“Now, Princess,” he purred, his voice dripping with that predatory tone she knew all too well. “I’m not sure which I want first—a thank you or an apology?”

Confusion flickered across her face, and he smirked, knowing she hadn’t quite grasped his intentions. “Now you know I take care of you in every way I can, and I do a damn good job at it too,” he continued, his eyes darkening with the hint of a challenge. “So why’d you think it was a good idea to take that from me, huh?”

Her head spun, but his words cut through the haze, her body reacting before she could form any sort of coherent thought. The sharp bite of his dominance pierced through her, the sting of humiliation mingling with her need. Her face flushed, the power dynamic flipping in an instant.

Terry moved to her side, pulling her legs wide as he positioned himself between them. His voice dropped, commanding her attention. "It's time to remind you who you belong to."

His hands slid over her body, his grip firm and possessive. He didn’t give her a chance to protest, pulling her into his lap as he thrust inside her, every movement rough and deliberate. She moaned loudly, the feel of him filling her driving her wild with need.

"Don’t forget who owns this," he growled, thrusting deeper, harder. "You’re mine, and don’t you dare forget it."

His thrusts were relentless, punishing in their intensity. He filled her, the connection between them now absolute. As he fucked her harder, faster, he pulled her hair back, forcing her to look him in the eyes as he claimed her fully.

“Don’t fight it,” he commanded, his breath ragged. “You’re mine, baby. Always.”

As the aftershocks of their climax rippled through her, Terry didn’t let go of her right away. His hand moved to her face, brushing away the strands of hair that clung to her skin, his touch gentle despite the fierceness that had just passed between them. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, soft but unwavering, as he cupped her cheek in his large palm.

"You're okay," he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, soothing her with each pass. His voice was no longer rough with dominance, but warm with the comfort she desperately needed. His presence grounded her, reminded her that she was safe. She nodded slowly, her breath still unsteady, but his words had calmed the storm inside her.

He pulled her closer, guiding her to rest her head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear lulling her into a sense of calm. She breathed deeply, trying to steady her pulse, his hands gently massaging her back, easing the tension out of her.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You always do. But listen to me now, alright?"

She blinked, nodding against his chest, eyes fluttering closed as she waited for his next words. His voice was softer now, but still commanding in its way, holding her attention like a tether.

"When you're out in the world, you can do all the thinking you like," he said, his voice deep and steady, "but at home, with me? You switch your brain off. You listen, and you let me lead. No questioning, no second-guessing. Just trust."

The words settled in her chest, warm and reassuring. There was no shame, no hesitation—just his quiet certainty that she belonged with him, and he would always take care of her.

Her hand found his, threading their fingers together, and she squeezed, the gesture simple but full of meaning. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, before lifting her chin to meet his gaze.

"Do you understand, princess?"

Her lips parted, a soft smile tugging at her mouth, her heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something all-consuming. “Yes, Daddy. I understand.”

Terry’s smile was soft, approving, as he brushed a final lock of hair from her face, his thumb grazing her lower lip. He leaned in to kiss her, slow and lingering, as though they had all the time in the world.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her lips, the words a vow, a promise. “And that’s never gonna change.”

She melted into the kiss, content in the certainty of his love and control, knowing that no matter what the world outside brought, at least here, with him, she was safe. Always.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @theogbadbitch @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[pretty-circa006]

Sneaking Out

Stepdad! Negan x F! Reader

summary Negan catches you sneaking out to go to a party and punishes you accordingly

tags age gap (reader is 19, Negan is pushing 40), spanking, unprotected p in v, making out, slight dacryphilia, stepcest, nudity, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, vaguely implied underaged drinking, hair pulling, use of pet names, cumshot

this is my first time posting my writing on here, kinda nervy!

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

wc: 2.65k

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She sat on her bed, crying. Knees tucked to her chest and head held in her hands as small sniffles and whimpers escaped her lips, despite her best efforts to stay silent. She resented her mom for being so strict and not letting her go out to parties like others her age. She was sure her mom would have let up once she graduated high school, especially since she was legally an adult now, but it only seemed like she doubled down even more. Things got even worse once her mom married her stepdad, Negan. Per her mother's request, he installed security cameras in the front of house and the backyard to ensure she couldn't sneak out. And the few times she tried, she failed, because Negan would be up late, playing video games in the living room or smoking a cigarette in the backyard by the poolside, making it impossible for her to sneak out. She was so miserable, watching everyone have fun over the summer before college while she wasted away in her room with her only entertainment being behind a screen or imbedded in the pages of a book.

It was so unfair. Especially because she knew tonight was gonna be the party of the year. One of the rich girls in her graduating class was throwing a pool party at her mansion, her mansion which housed one of the best pools she'd ever seen. And somehow, she was lucky enough to be invited. This was an opportunity of a lifetime and if it meant being grounded for an eternity, so be it.

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She had one foot out her bedroom window when she heard a knock on her door.

"Hey kid, can I come in?" her stepdad, Negan's, voice called from the other side of the door.

"One sec, I'm not decent!" she fibbed as she stumbled back inside her room. She shut the window as silently it would go before she slipped under the covers of her bed, hiding the fact she had on nothing but a tropical, triangle bikini.

"Okay, you can come in now," she called out. Negan let himself in, glancing around her room suspiciously. She couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked with his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, tattoos peeking out from beneath his white t-shirt, and obvious outline of his dick through his gray sweatpants that hung low on his waist. Despite being hidden beneath her sheets and comforter, she felt vulnerable and naked beneath his skeptical gaze.

"You're not plannin' on sneakin' out, are ya?" he asked, tongue seductively swiping across his bottom lip. She nervously swallowed, heat blossoming across her cheeks.

"N-no, why?" came her shaky reply.

"You are a shit liar, kid," he laughed, a handsome smirk on his face.

"Why would I sneak out? There's nothing for me to out there anyway," she doubled down, not feeding into his bait. He stalked closer to her bed before sitting down at the foot of it, hazel eyes boring into her soul.

"So you're not going to that pool party happening right now?" The tone of his voice was sarcastic, hinting that he didn't believe a word coming from her mouth.

"Pool party? What pool party?" She punctuated her question with a fake yawn to try and convince Negan that she really was tired and ready to go to bed for the night.

"If you say so, kid. Just know that if I catch your lying ass sneaking out tonight, you'll be in for a world of hell when I punish you." Her thighs involuntarily squeezed together at his words and the action didn't go unnoticed by Negan. She nodded her head while silently praying he'd hurry up and leave so she can sneak out.

His eyes narrowed at her as he stood up. "Night, kiddo," he said, patting her knee through the comforter for good measure.

"Night, Negan!"

She continued laying in her bed, petrified, for another ten minutes until she heard the door to her mom's bedroom shut. Negan's words did manage to strike some fear into her, but not enough to deter her from her original plan. She was sure he was in bed now and falling asleep for the night. After silently sliding out of her bed, she tucked a few decorative pillows in her previous place in hope they'd fool Negan or her mom if they peek in to check on her.

Her hands were shaky when she re-opened her bedroom window. Nerves were finally getting to her. She could hear her heart beating rapidly in her ears as she began having second thoughts about doing this. Negan was nowhere near as strict as her mom, so his punishment couldn't actually that bad. Not that she'd actually have to worry about his punishment, because she wasn't gonna get caught.

She crept out of her window and stepped onto the roof. She closed her window, only leaving it slightly ajar so she could get back inside later. Careful not to slip on the roof's slippery shingles, she tiptoed to the edge and looked over at the space from here to the grassy ground. Too late to go back now. She sat on the ledge and turned herself around so she could hang from the ledge before dropping into the soft grass.

She looked back at the house, elated she was finally out and what fun was about to come

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The dark morning sky was slowly beginning to turn into a lighter blue as she clumsily climbed the trellis back onto the second story's roof. Her slightly intoxicated brain made it so her movements weren't as agile and quiet like before. She lifted her window open and unceremoniously fell inside, smacking the carpeted flooring with her face.

The first thing she noticed was the potent smell of tobacco followed by his signature whistling.

"Aw, fuck," she groaned to herself. She heard the springs of her mattress release as Negan got up and soon his socked feet came into her view. He reached out a hand and helped her up after she gratefully accepted it.

He looked pissed. His thick eyebrows settled into a frown and his hazel-green eyes were devoid of any kindness. She nervously crossed her arms over her body, feeling naked under his gaze.

"How was the pool party?" he asked.

"I wasn't a-at a pool party!" she lied.

His look only darkened, making her weak in the knees. From fear or arousal, she couldn't tell.

"What kinda goddamn fuckin' idiot do you take me for? You are literally dripping wet and wearin' a damn bikini!" he pointed out the obvious.

"I was swimming in our own pool in the backyard!" she lied with such little conviction that she couldn't even fool herself

He stepped closer to her and if she wasn't already so close to the wall she'd have stepped back. She averted her gaze and chose to look at the chipped, bubblegum pink nail polish that adorned her toes. Negan wasn't having any of it, though, and forced her to look up at him by grabbing a fistful of her wet hair and tilting her head up. Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"What did I tell you would happen if I caught you sneaking out?" he asked between clenched teeth.

"That...that you're gonna p-punish me..." The tears were streaming down her face now as she sniveled pathetically.

"Attagirl," he darkly praised, a sinister smirk spreading across his face. The slight praise caused her stomach to do backflips and her core to clench over nothing. Her face felt hot and her breathing shallowed as her only thoughts were what Negan would do next.

His grip on her hair stayed firm as he walked her over to her bed. He released his hold before taking a seat onto the plush mattress. She stood before him, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot and nibbling the skin around her thumbnail, awaiting what was to come. His large, warm hands gripped her hips, pulling her to stand between his legs. She glanced down at him as he looked up at her, but her eyes drifted past his face and down to the bulge growing in his sweatpants. She was embarrassed to admit it, but her mouth watered at the sight.

"Now, I want you to know that this shit could have been avoided had your stubborn ass just listened to me," he stated, his grip on her hips growing firmer. She nodded her head, not knowing what to say and not wanting to anger her stepdad even further.

He pulled the ties on either side of her bikini bottoms and let the damp garment fall to the floor between her feet. She nervously bit her bottom lip and looked down at him, but he was too busy eyeing her cunt and soft thighs, which glimmered with the slick of her arousal. He looked up at her as he licked his bottom lip. He patted his thighs.

"Bend over my fuckin' knee, doll," he ordered. She warily obeyed, despite the humiliation of having him see her bare, wet pussy. His roughish hands caressed the soft flesh of her ass, admiring the mounds. Without warning, his hand came down harshly on her right cheek, earning a yelp from her.

"Keep it down," he hissed before landing an even harsher slap to her other cheek. She only whimpered this time, pursing her lips to fight the noises that yearned to escape. He continued his assailment on her ass, leaving it stinging with numbness. Her whimpers turned into a mixture of sobs and wanton moans which only tightened his pants. By the looks of it, he wasn't the only one getting off to this punishment. Her cunt sparkled with her arousal, arousal which was leaking down her thighs.

"Negan, please!" she begged. Her thighs were clenched together as she tried to rub her aching clit on his thigh.

"What is it that you want, baby?" he questioned. His big hands kneaded at her squishy flesh. He knew damn well what she wanted, but he wanted to hear her beg. Her weeping pussy was practically begging to be stuffed with his big cock.

"Need you! Need to feel you inside me," she begged between sniffles and sobs. She stood up from being bent over his lap and sat on it, straddling him instead. His arms snaked around her waist and hers around his neck before she leaned down almost close enough to connect her lips to his.

"Please, Negan?" she whispered against his lips. His eyes flitted from hers down to her lips which were so close to his. Her eyes fluttered shut as she gently pressed her soft lips to his, his facial hair pricking at her skin. Negan could name a plethora of reasons why this would be wrong, but the one reason it felt right overpowered them all, so he grabbed the back of her head and crashed his lips against hers. The desperate moan she let out gave Negan the perfect opening to slip his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like some fruity cocktail that was really just a bunch of things mixed together by some inexperienced kid. He'd have to take her out for a real drink one day. His tongue traversed her mouth, consuming her. She desperately ground her bare pussy on his clothed bulge, eliciting pleasured groans from him. His hands felt up her body before untying her bikini top from the back and the neck, leaving her completely bare on his lap.

"Please, Negan, I need to feel you," she begged after pulling away from the kiss. His eyes were glued to her tits, watching them as her chest rose and fell while she caught her breath. He cupped them in his hands before giving them a squeeze. Her head fell back as she let out a wanton moan. The rough skin of his fingertips gave her hardened nipples some much needed friction as he rolled them between his thumb and forefinger.

"You got some nice fuckin' tits, babydoll," he complimented, only making her wetter.

Her hands slid down his chest, then torso, then stopped at the waistband of his pants.

"Neeegaaan," she impatiently whined.

"Well, baby, if you want it, go ahead and fuckin' take it." His dimpled smile almost brought her to her release right then and there. He lifted his hips so she could pull his cock free. His length audibly smacked his abdomen, the tip an angry, flaming red and leaking with precum. If her core wasn't aching so badly, she'd have gladly taken him down her throat. She took him in her hand. He was so big that her fingers didn't even touch. She stroked him a few times as he sucked bruising marks onto her neck and collarbones. He held onto her hips as she lined him up with her sopping center, stroking him along her slick folds before sinking all the way down on him. The stretch was there, but not painful because she was so wet and ready for him.

"Negan, you feel so good!" she moaned once he bottomed out inside of her. Her nails dug little crescent moons into his skin through his shirt as she began bouncing on his cock. He admired her tits bouncing as she rode him before pulling her closer and taking one in his mouth, kneading the other with his free hand.

The squelching sounds of her wet pussy and the smell off sex permeating her bedroom only made things more erotic. Negan was hitting every spot perfectly, but he wanted more. He freed her tit from his mouth before flipping their position. Her back was now laying against the bed and Negan stood over her, his cock still inside. Now that he had more control, his thrusts came harder and faster, his tip almost kissing her cervix.

"Goddammit, doll, you were made for my cock!" he praised. More profanities and moans fell from his mouth as her wet, spongy walls squeezed his cock. Her moans were growing louder and louder, making Negan worry that they might wake up her mom...who was his wife.

"I know that my dick is the best damn dick you've had and ever will have in your entire goddamn life, but you need to keep it down," he lectured. She rolled her eyes but pursed her lips in a feeble attempt to keep quiet.

They were both close to reaching their peaks and it was obvious by the way his thrusts grew rushed and sloppy and how her cunt was squeezing him.

"I'm gonna-" her sentence was cut off by a scream of ecstasy which caused Negan to cover her loud mouth with his palm. Her cunt squeezed him as her back arched off the bed and eyes rolled to the back of her head while she came. If he was thinking straight, he'd have left her high and dry as punishment, but his own orgasm was close and he'd be damned if he didn't cum. She removed his hand from covering her mouth and took two of his long, thick fingers into her mouth.

"Ho-ly fuckin' shit!" He swore, marveling at the sight. She hollowed her cheeks as she sucked on the digits.

"That's. My. Girl!" he praised with each thrust.He pulled out of her just as his orgasm came over him and shot his load onto her tits and stomach. He flopped onto the bed beside her and she rolled into his strong arms.

"Y'know I can't stay, gotta get back to your mom before she wakes up."

"Just ten more minutes?" she begged, looking up at Negan with those doe eyes of hers.

He sighed and lightheartedly rolled his eyes.

"Anything for my babydoll."

thank you for reading! if you have any feedback on how i can improve, i'd love to hear it!

[ghostybaby000]

Is it true? | Part 1

Part 2

Word count: 870

Warnings: 18+, Yelling, destructive behavior, suggestive behavior, swearing, symptoms of panic

Part two soon! Tag List: @yyiikes @talooolaaloolla @strawberrygato @cumsluut @sofiacoppolaslut @blackbeautyiloveyouso @casalucard @identity2212 @daydreamerwoah @lily-bug3 @sage-burrow @squeak1981 @shinebright2000

You’re stuck in a loop. Reading through old messages and swiping through photos. Tears begin to well in your eyes, you look to the ceiling and try to breathe. He wouldn’t. Would he? You gather your breath as you stand, your phone tossed back into the couch where you had been for a few hours at least, now surely lost within the cushions. 

Looking to the clock you see that he wouldn’t be home for another hour or so and decide to take a shower, maybe feeling clean on the outside could soothe the mess inside. While in the shower you hear the front door chime as he enters, he had insisted on installing a security system for while he was away. You peak your head out of the shower, the bathroom full of steam-your fragrance a tidal wave to anyone who entered. 

You hear the stairs creak as he made his way up, then a thud- his bag being left by the closet, the same spot as it had always been for as long as you could remember. You wrap up your shower and taking care of your hair and teeth, you make your way out to the bedroom. He’s turned on his side away from the door, a small snore coming from the pile of man beneath the blankets. You climb into bed, the house dark and cool as your mind tears at you with questions and possibilities you didn’t know you were ready to uncover. 

You can’t resist the urge to confirm that what you had seen earlier was real, turning on your side slowly you grab you phone and click on the small icon, ‘Messages’

A string of different conversations pop up, ones from relatives and others from random sites, and one at the top from an unknown messenger. You click it open again, your heart still shaking as you read the text. 

‘I wasn't planning on reaching out, but I figured you should know behind closed doors, your 'boyfriend' is real different...very hands-on.'

The screen goes dim with how long you’ve read it over and over, it just doesn’t make sense. You feel a headache approaching as your mind spirals and instead plug in your phone and lay back down to sleep. You would ask him about it tomorrow.

Dawn breaks through the windows as the birds begin to chirp just outside. You wake to an empty bed, something you’ve unfortunately had to adjust to with how much time he’s spent at work recently. You look over to your phone and sigh, choosing to instead get ready for the day. You put the bed back together and make your way downstairs, the house just as quiet as it had been last night. 

Most of the day was spent cleaning, doing the housewife duties that were a lifestyle to you now. Folding laundry, and putting more dirty laundry in the machine, putting away the dishes and sweeping the floors, it was all a nice distraction. After lunch time had rolled around you went upstairs, against the dread you could feel in your heels as you climbed each step, you knew you had to confront him eventually. 

You pick up your phone to the same day-to-day notifications and alerts, scrolling down your heart sinks a little further.

‘Unknown messenger: 1 Image’ 

You feel all sorts of emotions pile up, and burn down into a rage. Your finger clicks the image before you can take a second to think of reasons not to. The image is of him, tall and focused in the doorway of a room. He’s leant up on the door frame, listening to whoever was talking. 

*Ding* – Unknown Messenger: ‘Guess he’s pretty good at keeping a secret, huh?’

You start to chuckle, in a hysterical and concerning way. Locking the phone you set it down next to you as you fall back on the bed. Your hands sprawled out to the side of you, the ceiling fan cooling your physical heat to the situation. You didn’t feel like crying over it, and you didn’t feel like throwing a tantrum, but no matter what you felt, you knew you needed answers. 

After what had felt like days of waiting, the front door jingles as he opens it. You’re sat on the couch just inside the door, watching him from over the back. He goes to head upstairs, pivoting to make his way over to you once he sees you on the couch. Making his way over with a ‘Hello love’ he bends over to kiss the top of your head, pausing as you pull away from his reach.

‘What’s the matter? You alright?’ His voice sounded gentle, his eyes looking you over for any indication as of why you would have rejected his touch. 

You swallow hard as you take a breath, we’re you really about to have this conversation? You look up to him, his eyes tired with a twinkle of worry, he shifts his weight from one leg to the other patiently waiting a response. Your voice felt fragile, as if the words weren’t meant to be passed from one to another, but did not break as you looked up to him.

‘We need to talk.’

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content. fingering. thigh licking. watching through cams. fun stuff.

⍣ ೋ notes: why am i enjoying the crack fics at the end more than the actual smut?

🧾 FORMAL INVESTIGATION REPORT Filed by: Concierge Aeryn Subject: Spa Incident Staff Member Under Review: Jeongin Yang Guest Involved: Room # Unknown. Did she ever even check in or did she just head for the spa?

Jeongin knocked lightly—even though the door was already open—and stepped into the security room with his usual, suspiciously sweet smile.

"You wanted to see me, Concierge Aeryn?"

He looked freshly showered. Hair still slightly damp, uniform ironed to a crisp, skin glowing like he just walked out of a facial and not a formal inquiry. Which, technically, this was. Sort of.

Aeryn didn't look up right away, just motioned for him to sit with a little flick of her pen. Jeongin padded across the room, folding himself neatly into the chair opposite her—hands in his lap, posture polite, that soft little grin not budging an inch.

Across the room, Jisung was already spinning lazily in his chair, one foot pushing off the desk while he munched on a suspiciously loud granola bar and smirked like this was the best part of his day.

“Jeonginnie,” Jisung greeted, mouth full. “Caught you slippin’, huh?”

“I didn’t slip,” Jeongin replied, blinking at him with mock confusion. “I just massaged someone.”

Aeryn finally looked up.

“The problem is where you massaged them.”

Jeongin tilted his head, all wide eyes and fake innocence. “...Their legs?”

“They said your hands got a little too familiar,” Aeryn said evenly. “And that you made some… odd comments.”

“Compliments,” Jeongin corrected, sweetly. “Nice ones. About how soft their skin was. That’s not weird, is it?”

“Depends if your hand was on their inner thigh when you said it.”

He blinked again, the picture of gentle confusion. “Oh. Was it?”

Jisung choked on his granola bar and had to turn his laugh into a cough.

“Alright,” Aeryn said, setting the folder aside. “We’re reviewing the camera feed.”

Jeongin didn’t even flinch. “Camera feed? There’s cameras in the spa rooms?”

“There aren’t,” Jisung said proudly. “But I installed a few extra in the ceiling corners after a guest said the eucalyptus steam was making them see God.”

Aeryn sighed. “And I told you to take them down.”

“You said to ‘stop abusing the tech budget.’ You never said specifically to take them down.”

She didn’t argue—just waved a hand, and Jisung spun dramatically toward the monitors.

“Spa Room Three, yesterday, 3:00 to 4:00,” he narrated. “Behold: Exhibit A.”

The screen flickered to life. A high-angle view of Jeongin in action. He was serene. Focused. Angelic.

Also very much letting his hands slide way too high up the guest’s thighs for something that was supposed to be a full-body massage.

“Oop,” Jisung said cheerfully. “Pause.”

The image froze with Jeongin leaning over the table, one palm suspiciously close to the towel’s no-go zone, and a little smile playing on his lips.

“Enhance,” Jisung added dramatically, tapping a key he definitely labeled himself.

“Is that… humming?” Aeryn asked as faint audio played.

Jeongin didn’t even blink. “That’s part of the experience.”

“You were humming Vibe by Taeyang.”

“It’s relaxing,” he said calmly.

Jisung leaned closer to the screen. “Look at his face. That’s the face of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Jeongin smiled at the monitor, like he was proud. “They didn’t complain.”

“They did, actually,” Aeryn said, dryly. “To me. In writing.”

“They also said they didn’t stop you because your hands were soft,” Jisung added helpfully. “Which, honestly, is the best review I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you punishing me?” Jeongin asked sweetly. “Or are we just all watching me massage someone really well together?”

Aeryn stared at him for a long beat.

"...Do you want to be punished?"

Jeongin blinked, innocent. “I’m just here to cooperate.”

“I bet you are,” Jisung muttered, queuing up another angle—this one definitely from a camera hidden inside the aromatherapy diffuser.

The footage wasn’t grainy. Of course it wasn’t.

Jisung might’ve installed the cameras without permission, but he spared no expense on resolution. Every single detail was crisp—down to the glisten of oil catching on your skin, the shift of your thighs, the subtle tremble in your belly when Jeongin's fingers sank just a little deeper.

You had gone pliant. Laid out like a gift—towel hitched scandalously low across your hips, legs slightly parted. And Jeongin, watching now with his cheek resting in one hand, remembered exactly how you sounded when he first brushed his fingers over the seam of your thighs.

Like you were trying not to moan. Like you already knew you’d fail.

On the monitor, his hands slid up again—slow, deliberate, tracing the inner line of your thigh with nothing but the flat of his fingers, knuckles grazing the edge of the towel like it was an accident. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.

��You have such soft skin,” his voice purred through the speaker—low and honey-sweet, a whisper that seemed to settle right between your legs.

You shifted.

Inviting.

Needy.

The towel dipped a little more—and Jeongin’s hand followed.

On screen, he knelt at the edge of the table and opened you. Gently. Palms bracing your knees, spreading you wider under the guise of pressure relief, until the curve of your sex was barely hidden by the terrycloth. He dipped his head forward, brushing his lips just above your knee. Again. Again. Until his mouth was just under the edge of the towel.

A sound escaped you—barely audible, but the kind that dragged straight down Jeongin’s spine.

He remembered the way you breathed—shallow, trembling. He remembered how slick your thighs already were and not just from the oil.

On screen, his hand disappeared beneath the towel.

You gasped.

“Fuck…”

Jeongin’s voice was soft, barely louder than the steamer in the corner. “That’s it… let me help you…”

And then his fingers moved.

The screen captured everything—the slow pump of two fingers between your legs, the deliberate way his wrist turned to press into your clit with every curl. He was fucking you with his fingers, slow and deep, while his mouth brushed up your inner thigh in time with every roll.

Wet sounds started to echo faintly through the speakers.

You were grinding against his hand now, movements small and desperate, biting your lip as your hips rolled toward every touch. The towel had long since stopped being modest—hitched up to your waist, exposing everything. And Jeongin’s face was right there, open-mouthed, eyes half-lidded, watching you fall apart like he’d done it a thousand times.

“You’re so wet already,” he murmured against your skin. “Wanted this from the second I walked in, huh?”

A moan tore out of your chest.

He pressed his thumb to your clit and circled—once, slow.

You whined. Loud.

“Oh my god—Jeongin—”

“Shh…” His voice was so soft. So fucking gentle. “Just relax. I’ve got you…”

On screen, he kept stroking—slow, deep pumps of his fingers, thumb working in tight circles, mouth open against your thigh like he couldn’t help but taste. Your legs trembled, then locked around his shoulders, heels digging into his back as you came with a high, helpless cry that echoed even through the tinny speaker.

He didn’t stop.

Not right away.

Not until you were panting, twitching, hips still rocking up into the aftershocks while his fingers slowed, then slipped out with obscene slickness.

He kissed the inside of your knee.

“Better?”

You nodded, dazed and glowing.

And on the monitor, Jeongin smiled. Sweet. Sinful.

That same smile he was wearing now—sitting in the security room like a perfect little employee, legs crossed, hair still damp, watching himself fuck you with his fingers in 4K.

Silence stretched thick in the room.

Jisung’s granola bar was halfway to his mouth, completely forgotten.

“…Wow,” he said, breathless. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever illegally recorded.”

Aeryn didn’t speak.

Her eyes were locked on Jeongin.

And Jeongin—ever the picture of soft denial—tilted his head and asked sweetly, “So… am I being punished now?”

______________________________________________________________

🎥 [CAMERA ON — INT. SKZOTEL CONFERENCE ROOM – NEXT MORNING]

Aeryn sits at the head of the table, looking like she hasn’t slept since Spa-Gate. Everyone else is seated, half-awake and wholly unbothered. Felix is eating grapes out of a champagne glass. ]

AERYN: So apparently... because the guest formally submitted a complaint—thank you for that, by the way—

Camera smash-zooms to Jeongin, who waves cheerfully.

AERYN (CONT'D): —we’re required to conduct an official HR investigation.

HYUNJIN: We have an HR department?

Everyone turns to Chan. He looks around like he’s never heard of "HR" in his life.

CHAN: We have a gym?

🎥 [CUTAWAY – CHAN INTERVIEW]

CHAN (shrugging): Look, I’m all about structure and accountability, but HR was supposed to be… a vibe. Like, do we need a department for being decent humans? I thought that’s what the spa diffuser room was for.

INT. LOBBY – 12:02 PM

Aeryn hangs up a call and turns to the staff gathered around her.

AERYN: Okay, legal says if we don’t assign an HR officer, we could get fined.

CHANGBIN (stepping forward in slow motion, wind machine on him for no reason): I got this.

Everyone stares. There’s an awkward silence. Somewhere, a dog barks.

SEUNGMIN: You’re the valet guy.

CHANGBIN (pulling a fake mustache out of his pocket and slapping it on): Not today.

🎥 [CAMERA CUTAWAY – CHANGBIN INTERVIEW]

CHANGBIN (in a suit three sizes too tight): Do I have a psychology degree? No. Do I own a clipboard, a tie, and a laminated flowchart titled "How to Feel Things Without Suing Anyone"?

Yes.

Welcome to HR.

INT. “HR OFFICE” (formerly the lost and found closet)

A printed sign on the door reads: “Human Resources – Legally Separate from Valet Services, Emotionally the Same Guy.”Inside, Changbin has arranged exactly one chair, one file folder labeled Confidential (ish), and a stress ball shaped like a buttcheek.

JEONGIN (sitting politely): Is this a safe space?

CHANGBIN (gruff): That depends. Did you or did you not spiritually ascend into someone's pelvic chakra without signed consent?

JEONGIN (beat, then blinking sweetly): ...They were glowing.

CHANGBIN (writing something down): Noted.

🎥 [CAMERA CUTAWAY – CHANGBIN INTERVIEW]

CHANGBIN (very serious): My process is built on three pillars:

Respect.

Confidentiality.

Physically intimidating people until they admit fault, then hugging them until they cry.

It’s foolproof.

INT. “HR OFFICE” – ROUND TWO

Jisung’s turn. He slouches into the chair, tossing his phone on the desk.

CHANGBIN: Tell me about the cameras.

JISUNG: Define “installed.”

CHANGBIN: Define “lawsuit.”

JISUNG: I plead the fifth.

CHANGBIN (writing): Okay but you spelled “Spa Room 3” as “Horny Cam 1” in the system.

JISUNG (grinning): It’s branding.

INT. STAFF LOUNGE – NEXT DAY

Changbin holds an "HR Debrief" in the lounge. There’s a PowerPoint titled: “Touching People: Let’s Circle Back”

CHANGBIN (clicking through slides): Slide One: “Is It Okay To Lick a Guest’s Inner Thigh?” Answer: Only if they initiate a full legal contract and you have SPF 50 on your tongue.

HYUNJIN: What if it’s SPF 30?

CHANGBIN: Then that’s an OSHA violation.

🎥 [CAMERA CUTAWAY – JEONGIN INTERVIEW]

JEONGIN (smiling faintly): Honestly? I think I learned something. Mostly that Changbin could kill me with a binder clip. But also… boundaries are hot.

INT. LOBBY – FINAL SCENE

The staff gathers. Changbin hangs a framed sign: “SKZOTEL EMPLOYEE CODE OF CONDUCT: Don’t Touch But If You Do, Get It In Writing.”

Everyone claps. Jeongin raises his hand slowly.

JEONGIN: So like... if I ask first...?

CHAN: You ask me first.

AERYN: And me.

CHANGBIN: And also... the Lord.

Camera zooms in dramatically on Jeongin’s face as the screen freezes mid-blink.

______________________________________________________________

Series taglist: @nightmarenyxx @miyaluvvsyou @jisuperboard @fackeraccount @silly250 @lov3rachan @lze325 @angel-writes-here @jesuisstay

[sakur4ii]

Code Name: Rabbit

Chapter 2: The Rescue

←previus next→

English is not my first language!!

Warning: kidnapping, death, mention of corpse, mention of prostitution.

January 18, 22:00 PM

You're furious right now, and your heavy footsteps give it away. As soon as you finished watching the footage from all the cameras at that specific moment, you got up from the couch, changed into black, comfortable clothes, and put on your mask.

You're armed—one gun on each side of your belt and knives tucked under your pants in case of an emergency. You enter the building practically fuming, but even with your heavy steps, you're silent due to your lack of footwear—a signature trait of Rabbit that Lyara always found amusing.

You climb the stairs, noting the deafening silence, the cold beneath your feet as you ascend each step. You try to control yourself, reminding yourself not to kill anyone the moment you reach your destination. As you arrive at the base of the stairs leading to the third floor, you glance at the camera Lyara installed—when it recognizes someone, the live feed is displayed on a screen on the third floor. Good. They know you're here, and you want them to.

You start climbing the stairs, your brow furrowed—it's been that way since you left your apartment. You reach the door, which only opens when you place your hand on a touchscreen, identifying you as one of the few people with access to this floor. The door slides open, and pastel colors flood your vision—a bunch of sofas, a mini kitchen, a giant TV, and the bathroom door, all visible from the entrance. Everything except what lies behind the curtain against the back wall.

Seated on the couches in the center are the girls Lyara asked to gather, Omar, and the one person you’d shoot on sight if you could.

Judging by their worried expressions and the fact that no one greeted you, they’ve already noticed your bad mood. So you decide to keep this short and walk toward the center.

"Dan, come to my office, please." You manage to keep your tone calm.

You don’t see it, but Dan swallows hard.

You move to the curtain and push it aside, revealing a door. You open it and step into your office without looking back, walking toward your desk and pulling out one of the guest chairs.

Dan—the guard or bodyguard responsible for securing the stairs leading to "The Forbidden Garden"—enters your office, shutting the door behind him. Smart choice. You offer him a seat, and with poorly concealed anxiety, he decides to take it.

Without him noticing, you draw one of the guns from your belt, step behind him, and press the barrel against the back of his head. His face twists in absolute horror.

"I think you know why we're in this situation right now, so start talking, or I’ll blow your brains out." Your voice remains eerily calm, though inside, you’re itching to pull the trigger.

Dan starts stammering.

"They blackmailed me! I swear!"

"Who?" You press the gun harder against his head, urging him to keep talking.

"A man—from the Garden! He was wearing one of those white escort masks..."

You shove the gun against his head again, and he stammers once more.

"He asked for information about you and her. I told him the little I knew, then he gave me his phone number and told me to call him the moment she was alone in the building. Please, don’t kill me."

The man looks like he's about to burst into tears, sweating like a pig. There's something he’s not telling you, and that only deepens your frown.

"What did he blackmail you with?" You push the gun harder against his skull, and his reaction confirms you hit the right question.

Before speaking, he swallows loudly.

"I already told you everything. Please, don’t kill me."

You lean in close to his ear, tilting your head so he can't see you, but he can catch a terrifying glimpse of your mask.

"With. What. Did. He. Blackmail. You?"

"He offered me a million dollars."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to shoot him.

"Please, please, please..."

You almost pity him. Almost.

Your jaw tightens. This idiot can’t be serious. You knew something was off about him when Lyara hired him, but his record was spotless—too perfect for someone wanting to work in one of the darkest corners of Gotham. Lyara convinced you it was just paranoia. And now, this man has betrayed you both for money. Fantastic.

"Give me the phone number and get out. You have one week to find another job. You're fired."

Dan pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, sets it on your desk, and bolts out of your office as fast as he can.

You start pacing the room, replaying the traitor’s words in your head.

Then, you slam your fist into the nearest wall, ignoring the dull pain in your knuckles and the fresh hole in the concrete.

---

January 18, 23:45 PM

The night is dark; you can hear the crickets and the cars. Hidden in the bushes, you watch the kidnapper’s house, ignoring the cold and staying as concealed as possible. A drone hovers near one of the house’s windows, and even from a distance, you recognize it as one of Oracle’s drones. Fuck. You need to find a way inside without Barbara detecting you, and you must be careful—there’s a chance one of the Bats is already inside.

The house is registered under Marcel Gravois. Unfortunately, the man is dead, so you dug deeper, discovering that Elliot Gravois, Marcel’s grandson, inherited this house and several other properties. You have to thank Lyara for teaching you her hacking tricks, and also thank Elliot for being an idiot—it was as easy as tracking his number and pulling his IP. It didn’t give you an exact address, but this is the only house under a Gravois in the area.

Elliot Gravois seems to be involved in illegal activities beyond kidnapping; otherwise, Oracle wouldn’t be here. But you’ll investigate that later—right now, your priority is finding Lyara.

Silently, you step out of the bushes, feeling the cold grass beneath your feet. Near the house, you hear sounds of a fight coming from the top floor. You move in the opposite direction from where you saw the drone.

There are several windows. You approach the nearest one and pull up with all your strength—nothing, it’s stuck. You move to the next, but it has wooden planks nailed across it, so you don’t even try. The third is also locked. Frustrated, you approach the wooden door—also locked.

You sigh in resignation. Kicking the door down feels like a bad idea, so that leaves you with one option—the window near the drone. You walk toward it, and of course, it’s open. The drone turns toward you. You wave and make a shushing gesture, hoping it gives you the benefit of the doubt—or that you don’t end up in a cell within seconds.

"Alright, here we go," you think. You jump onto the window frame and, as quietly as possible, slip inside the house. The first thing you notice is the intense fight happening upstairs—walls shaking, furniture crashing, like they’re having a good time.

You reach for your belt and draw one of your pistols. Keeping controlled steps and maintaining a Low Ready stance, you begin clearing the perimeter.

The living room is surprisingly neat. No photos, no television. You check the kitchen—it looks used, but not much. Moving into the hallway, you notice a smaller drone following you. You turn—it’s another of Barbara’s drones. You ignore it. She was going to keep an eye on you anyway.

The hallway is empty—no paintings, no pictures, just closed doors. You scan each one. A bedroom with a bathroom—empty. A guest room—empty. A bathroom—empty. At the end of the hall, a different door. You press your ear against it—silence.

You glance at the drone, then press yourself against the wall, keeping your gun close to your shoulder with the barrel pointed upward. Your free hand grips the doorknob, turning it slowly and silently. As you open the door, you peek inside—a staircase leading down. A basement.

Your free hand returns to your gun, still aiming at the ceiling. Moving sideways, you descend carefully, step by step. The dust and dirt beneath your feet make you wince, and the creaking wood makes you tense. The drone behind you is getting on your nerves.

It’s pitch dark. If it weren’t for your rabbit mask, the dust would have you sneezing. Halfway down, the fight upstairs is no longer audible. If something happens to you down here and it’s not worth it, you’ll blame Barbara for the rest of your life.

A faint light catches your eye as the staircase takes a sharp turn. More steps lead further down. You crouch slightly, spotting the light illuminating a chair at the end of the basement. But it’s not empty—you see sock-covered feet.

Another step down—you see knees. Another—you see a lap. Step by step, until you finally see the unconscious figure.

As soon as you recognize the hair color, you holster your weapon and rush forward, heart pounding with anxiety and fear. You reach her and check her pulse.

Thump, thump, thump. Steady. You exhale in relief.

You bring a finger under her nose—she’s breathing evenly. Just unconscious, with some bruises.

Kneeling, you begin untying the rope binding her feet to the chair. That’s when you notice her dislocated knee. That bastard.

You start planning how to get Lyara to the hospital without revealing your identity. You pull the knife from beneath your pant leg and cut the ropes. But just as you finish freeing her, you notice the drone rotating between you and a whiteboard you hadn’t seen before.

Annoyed, you step away from Lyara and approach the board, noticing the photos pinned to it and the desk cluttered with papers beneath.

As soon as you see the images, your stomach churns.

Each picture shows a different woman. Some are naked, others clothed. Some are badly injured, while others show no physical wounds but wear expressions of despair, horror, fear—even rage. None of them were okay.

One of the photos is of Bea. Taken in this same basement.

You scan the papers on the desk, fury building inside you. Careful not to leave fingerprints, you sift through them. They’re reports—each woman listed like cargo. Names, ages, details. Some pages even have sticky notes—probably from Elliot Gravois.

Then you reach Bea’s file, and your heart sinks.

Name: Beatriz Sullivan

Age: 26

Sex: Female

Accepted or Rejected: Rejected

Reason: Not a requested woman. Clients do not want transgender women.

Post-it: January 18, The Burrow

Hands trembling, you pull out your phone and take pictures of everything—papers, images. You’re going to get to the bottom of this. You’re going to find out why Elliot Gravois made this personal.

Stowing your phone, you return to Lyara. Carefully, as if she were made of glass, you lift her bridal style and prepare to leave.

The drone follows, but this time, it moves ahead—leading the way. Good.

You ascend quickly, squeezing through the doorway without jostling the blue-eyed girl. The fight upstairs still rages. Practically sprinting through the hall, you hear a loud crash above—then silence. The fight is over. Shit.

Reaching the window, the smaller drone peels away, leaving you with the larger one, still stationed outside. You sit on the windowsill, swinging one leg out, then the other, making sure Lyara’s head doesn’t hit the frame.

You start moving quickly—but freeze. A shadow stretches from a nearby building.

You look up—and there it is.

Gotham’s most feared and admired silhouette.

You feel his eyes piercing into your soul. But you don’t have time for this.

You start walking again.

You don’t care if he follows. You’re heading straight to the hospital. You already have a plan.

---

You leave Lyara with the doctors and run out of the hospital—you need to get to your apartment as soon as possible, and luckily, it’s close. You sprint through the streets of Gotham, staying within the shadows. Your bare feet press against the cold pavement, adrenaline surging through your body, but all you can think about is Lyara.

Once you reach your apartment, you pull off your mask and rush to your bedroom. You change into something comfortable but not the clothes you usually wear as Rabbit. You get rid of your weapons, keeping only the knife hidden in your boot. Then, you head to the bathroom, wash your feet, and put on your shoes. Taking a moment, you run your fingers through your hair, throw on your signature cap, and leave your apartment. As you descend the building’s staircase, your phone rings—it’s a call.

You don’t stop walking. You keep moving down the stairs, exiting the building as you answer the phone.

—"Hello, good evening. Am I speaking with [Name] [Last Name]?" A woman’s voice comes from the other end of the line.

—"Yes. Who is this?" You respond, masking your breathlessness, pretending you weren’t waiting for this call or running through the streets.

—"I’m calling to inform you that Lyara Valtieri has been admitted to Mercy Hospital. Your number is listed as her only emergency contact. Could you come in to fill out some paperwork and discuss her condition?"

—"Of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes."

The woman hangs up after telling you they’ll be expecting you. You shove your phone into your pocket and start running even faster, this time with the wind at your back.

The night is surprisingly calm for Gotham, and you reach the hospital without any distractions or obstacles.

Inside, the stark white lighting is blinding compared to the dark streets. You approach the reception desk. The receptionist immediately recognizes your voice and hands you some forms to fill out. After completing them, she gives you directions to Lyara’s room. You thank her and head toward the elevator.

As you press the button for the third floor, you think about what the receptionist told you. Lyara is stable—some bruises, but the only serious injury is her dislocated knee. A couple of months in a cast, followed by rehab, and she’ll be good as new. Now, all that’s left is to wait for the drugs in her system to wear off. After some final tests, she’ll be discharged.

You step out of the elevator, making a few turns—right, then left—until you find room 407. Your hand grips the doorknob. You take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and exhale slowly. Carefully, you crack the door open and peek inside.

Lyara lies unconscious on the hospital bed. The receptionist mentioned that she had woken up briefly, given her name, begged for you, and then passed out again.

You step inside and close the door behind you. Dragging the stool from the corner of the room, you place it beside her bed and sit down, gently taking her hand in yours.

Guilt settles in your chest. If you looked in the mirror right now, you'd probably have the expression of a kicked puppy. You truly feel awful. Both of you knew what you were getting into when you turned The Burrow into a place where information is sold—a meeting spot for the rich and the criminals, a refuge for women desperate for money.

You still remember how recruitment worked at the beginning—wandering through Gotham’s red-light districts, handing out business cards with the club’s address and a wad of cash to women who needed an escape. How difficult it was to earn the respect of the criminals in the area. And thank god it was Lyara who handled the rich clientele, because you can’t stand them.

At some point, exhaustion takes over. you don't even notice when you fall asleep.

---

As soon as Barbara saw a person wearing a black bunny mask with bulging red eyes, she should have alerted Tim, who was inside the house fighting with Elliot Gravois, informing him of an unwanted company and a possible threat. However, it was the gesture for silence that made her hesitate, because who sees a drone and asks for silence? So she decided to stay quiet and follow this mysterious person, there was no need to distract Red Robin for now.

What Barbara didn’t expect was to find a poor girl kidnapped in Gravois' basement, nor did she expect the mysterious person to come just to save her. She imagined her surprise when she saw the amount of information in that basement. She watched as you took pictures but decided to let it go, preferring to focus on helping you protect the girl, guiding you through the house.

—Who is that?— A rough voice asked over the communicator.

—Not a threat, let them go, the girl in their arms needs a hospital.— Oracle responded without room for debate, earning a grunt from Batman.

—Try to find the girl, maybe she can give us useful information.

—Of course.

Red Robin captured Elliot Gravois and decided to be the one to interrogate him. He didn’t touch the evidence, it wasn’t necessary; Barbara had scanned it with the drone, and the physical evidence could be handed over to Commissioner Gordon. While Red Robin interrogated Elliot, Batman called Nightwing. As soon as Oracle found the kidnapped girl’s name and the hospital she was admitted to, she sent the information to both of them so they could investigate together.

Barbara continued to delve deeper into the girl’s life. Her name was Lyara Valtieri, there was scarce information on her besides living in an apartment in the Upper East Side and owning a nightclub in The Narrows, nothing particularly important. There was barely any information about her parents, but it seemed she came from a wealthy family. This only made it more puzzling that she had been kidnapped, as up until now, the kidnapped women were prostitutes or homeless women without families—women who wouldn’t be missed. This made her furrow her brow in confusion.

She reviewed the information again—wealthy family, apartment in an affluent area, nightclub in The Narrows... Where was this nightclub located? Her hands quickly typed, finding the address and the name of the nightclub. "The Burrow" sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it... oh wait, of course! It was the nightclub her father mentioned at lunch, where they found a murdered woman... She typed again. Beatriz Sullivan, 26 years old.

A hunch led her to search through the reports she had scanned with the drone. She went through a lot of names of different ages and found what she was looking for. One of the women kidnapped by Elliot Gravois was that girl, Beatriz. Why did he leave the body at that nightclub? Why did he kidnap the owner? How could the two women be connected?

The night was going to be long.

Mercy Hospital; January 19, 4:57 AM

Your consciousness slowly awakens. You begin to hear muffled voices that become clearer as you start to stir. You feel a tight grip on your hand, which is strange because the grip seems like a pattern. You don’t open your eyes, even though your back hurts and you want to stretch, a voice in the back of your mind tells you to pretend to sleep. The voices are now clearer in your head, a man is speaking to Lyara.

—Did you know the man who kidnapped you?— The voice is serious but kind, with a tone of understanding, as if not trying to pressure her. You’ve heard that voice somewhere before.

—No, I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.— Lyara responds, she’s lying, but that’s something only you can tell. And even if the man notices, it could go unnoticed, as if she wasn’t sure she hadn’t seen him, as if she had forgotten, but the man doesn’t press.

A second voice surprises you, and this is when you’re grateful to have your face hidden between your arms because your eyes widen in surprise. Now you understand that the grips were Morse code "don’t move" was what Lyara wanted to tell you.

—Do you know the person who saved you? The girl with the bunny mask?— The voice is rough and intimidating, dry but direct, it’s impossible not to recognize it, because it’s Batman’s voice, and now you know who the other man was—Nightwing is in the room too.

You close your eyes again and try to focus on your other senses, especially touch and hearing.

Lyara tightens her grip on your hand, she’s good at acting but is too tired, afraid of slipping up if she hasn’t already. Two years ago, you both created an entire story for situations like this. You repeated the lie so many times that you almost started to believe it yourselves. But should she really? She could just say she didn’t know what they were talking about, she was unconscious anyway. Now she would appreciate having woken you up when she woke up.

—I’m not sure what are you talking about, Mr. Batman.— She opts to say.

Now, Batman is no fool, he’s been observing, scrutinizing her gestures and micro-expressions, but from his position at the door of the room, he can’t see the person who is sleeping next to her very well. He can’t see the grip on their hands because she made sure to hide them away from the bed, hoping Nightwing noticed that.

This interrogation isn’t helping them, they’re not getting any useful information, Batman grumbles. Nightwing looks at him over his shoulder and catches the message “let’s go,” so as soon as the younger one says goodbye, they both leave the room.

Once they leave, Lyara starts breathing normally again; she didn’t even know she had been holding her breath. You lift your head and stretch your back. The pain you had been ignoring starts to become unbearable, and the crack of your bones from stretching doesn’t surprise you. You let out a yawn.

—Oh my god, my heart almost fell out of my chest.— Lyara says, putting a hand on her chest and letting out a long sigh.

—How long have you been here?— You raise an inquisitive eyebrow that doesn’t last long, then rub your eyes to clear away the sleep.

—About five minutes before you woke up, when I noticed your breathing change, I almost freaked out.— She laughs and takes your hand when you place it back on the bed.

You can’t help but look at her with a mixture of concern and admiration. Even with the bruises on her face, even with a cast on her leg, she still finds a way to laugh.

—We’re going to have to talk about a lot of things, Lya.— You tighten your grip, and she gives you a sheepish smile.

—I know.— She whispers.

🩷🩷🩷

Tag list!!

@anamiranda7383 @crystal-freak24 @serlazvi @regloml @jscrawls @cxcilla @heartjwonie @pix-stuff @hjgdhghoe @ritzes28 @zlovesreading @astrelz @omnivirgo @onlybe-satanonce

[minminbunny]

Stalker X Stalker AU - Lurker! Han Jisung/Exhibitionist Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

You furrowed your eyebrows, walking down the stairs to open your front door. The doorbell rang but when you opened it, no one was there. Only a pretty little box sat on your welcome mat. You looked around and picked it up, your name was written on the tag. 'Can't be wrong address then,' you thought, bringing the box in. You tugged on the ribbon and opened it. Your heart sank at the contents, a bloody letter. 

At least what you initially thought was blood, there wasn't a familiar metallic smell, it smelled closer to strawberry jam. You took a whiff and it was indeed strawberry jam. You stifled a chuckle and placed the letter aside, further within the box was a quokka plush, and it smelled like cologne. You brought it to your nose and melted, deep subtle musky, more floral than anything. "This isn't so bad," you murmured, looking deeper within the box, only to find a bracelet, it had a singular charm. It was about time you checked the letter, it wrote:

"To my precious love,

If you're reading this, you received my gift. I may have been eating a jelly sandwich while thinking of what to write. I hope the gifts are to your liking. The bracelet is incomplete, but don't worry. This isn't the only gift. One day it'll be complete with me by your side.

Yours Truly,

J.One"

You stared at the alias, trying to figure out who your secret admirer is. Maybe he's near, maybe he's long distance, you would never know. You held the quokka plush close, "I hope to see you too," you whispered, stroking the fur. Jisung gulped, watching the whole unboxing through a video camera he installed around the house. The cameras were installed during the previous tenant and they didn't tell you. 

It was a surprise to him when he saw you move in. His heart pounded, his pupils dilated, it was love at first sight. Even through a PC screen. Jisung released a shaky breath, relieved that you liked the gift. He already had them planned to send out on specific days "Wait for me, baby. I'll be there at the end of all of this," he whispered, watching you with a lovesick gaze. 

You knew there were cameras but you didn't bother to turn them off. You liked being watched, liked pretending you were in a show like the office where the camera pans to the person. It was fun, and you had access to them too, so it did serve as a security feature. The one in your bedroom was odd but it only spurred on your filthy desires. 

You wanted to be on display but being a cam person or an only fans model might hinder your working experience. It was a risk you weren't willing to take. You plopped yourself onto the bed, quokka plush in arms as you looked into the camera, "I know you're watching me," you feint afraid, clutching the quokka close. "Are you J.One?" you asked, knowing you wouldn't get a response. 

You plopped on the bed, "If you are then you'd know I liked the gifts. Would rather have you here though," you mumbled, feeling touch starved after all these years. "You know, I used to wish that the monster under my bed was real so I could get cuddles. It was desperate but the offer still stands," you said, showing a bit of your true intentions. Jisung gulped, hearing your sweet voice address you directly, "Soon, my love. I'll give you what you need soon," he said, grazing your cheek on the screen.

Day after day a new box arrived at your door. Each day brought a different charm, a guitar, a music note, a knife, a coffee cup. Today was just another day where you unbox your gift,  the bracelet stayed around your wrist like a physical claim. You didn't want to take it off and Jisung loved hearing the click clacks of the charms when you walked around the house. "Pretty," you whispered, tracing the letter in your hands. Jisung got more diligent with his letter decorating after knowing that you kept it in your safekeeping box. The letter read:

"To my darling love,

I hope the day finds you well. You looked absolutely adorable with your little bracelet. Wouldn't you like to imagine me pinning you down while the jingle with each thrust? I fantasize a lot, my dear. The gift today is a bit more mature to say, if you're comfortable. I'll be honored to see you in it.

Your love,

J.One"

You gulped at thought, your breathing getting shallow as you looked deeper into the box. Your breath hitched as you took it up, a skimpy lacy lingerie. A simple slip on lingerie that didn't hide much to the imagination. You looked deeper into the box and found a pair of animal ears and a tail. A soft scoff escaped your lips, "You bastard," you smiled, holding it up to the camera. 

"Kinky aren't you?" you teased, rolling your eyes. You held the outfit in your hands, "I'll wear them, on one condition," you said, crossing your arms. Jisung smirked, willing to do whatever you asked. You bit your bottom lip, "Call me, please. It's scary if I play alone, J.One," you sulked, jutting you lips in attempt to swoon him. Jisung gulped, his cock throbbed at the sight. Your pretty gaze made his mind spin. 

He clicked on your contact, it was already saved to 'My Love'. You flinched when your phone rang, you didn't expect him to comply, "Hello?" you asked, nervousness evident on your face. Jisung chuckled, sending shivers down your spine, "I'm weak to a doll like you. One pity gaze and I'm on my knees, darling. Are you happy to hear my voice?" he asked, loving the way you pressed your thighs together. 

You nodded your head, knowing he's watching, "Yes. You sound great. I'm glad to put a voice to the name," you said, hands trembling from excitement. Jisung cooed, "I'm happy you like my voice, doll. Now, why don't you get changed, hm? Let me see you in that pretty outfit I chose," he encouraged, palming his cock with his other hand. You nodded and did as told, changing into the skimpy lingerie with it's accessories. 

Jisung looked away from the camera, not wanting to ruin his own surprise, "May I look now, love?" he asked, trying to keep his moans subtle. "Take a look," you said, bashfully showing him the outfit. Jisung groaned, squeezing his bulge at the sight, "Fuck, baby. You look stunning. Come on, give me a twirl," he instructed, tugging down his pants. You did as told and bit your bottom lip, "Can we go play now?" you asked, eager to touch yourself. Jisung hissed, letting his cock spring against his abdomen, "Of course, darling. Give me a show," he chuckled, watching you trip over your feet as you scurried up the stairs.

NSFW BELOW CUT

AFAB

"Spread your legs further, that's it," he instructed, watching you thrust your dildo in and out of your tight fluttering cunt. He zoomed the camera in, ensuring a 4K view. You arched your back, thrusting the toy to his commands, the pillow beneath your ass gave him a better view. "Hah, hah, hhgh," you gasped, pumping the toy at a languid pace. You needed more, your body craved more as you listened to Jisung's throaty groans. 

"That's it, take it slow. You're doing so mmh good for me, darling," thrusting his hips within his flashlight in sync with yours. You whimpered at the squelching audio echo within your ears, "Need faster, J. Please," you hiccuped, clenching around the dildo just to feel more. 

Jisung chuckled, "I can't torture my baby doll too long. Pick up the pace, darling. Pound your cunt like you normally would, Show how fucking good that cunt of yours take cock," he growled, hearing your broken whines and moans as you twist and thrust the dildo at a relentless pace. It was raw, needy and desperate. Just the way you loved it. 

Jisung groaned, bucking his hips to match your pace, "Shit, shit, hah. Rub your clit, love. Fuck, hhgh, cum with me," he grits, pounding the fleshight as rough as you were, his eyes glued to the screen when you screamed out his name. "Fuck, fuck, Jisung!" you sobbed, creaming around your dildo. Jisung choked on his breath, cumming into the toy with little to no resistance, "Fuck," he gasped,  filling up the flashlight with his orgasm. 

You whimpered, thrusting the dildo to ease down your high, "Jisung," you mewled, staring into the camera. Jisung gulped, slumping back into his seat, "Tell me, doll. How do you know my name?" he asked, brushing his hair back. You gave him a dopey smile, "I knew since the beginning, Han. I always knew," you said, reaching your hand beneath your pillow to pull out his missing boxers. Jisung chuckled, resting his head on the desk, "Fuck, love. You got me all hard again," he growled, staring at the screen. You bit your bottom lip, "Good, 'cause I'm ready for round 2," you giggled, giving him a flying kiss.

AMAB

"Spread your legs further, that's it," he instructed, watching you thrust your dildo in and out of your tight fluttering hole. He zoomed the camera in, ensuring a 4K view. You arched your back, thrusting the toy to his commands, the pillow beneath your ass gave him a better view. "Hah, hah, hhgh," you gasped, pumping the toy at a languid pace. You needed more, your body craved more as you listened to Jisung's throaty groans. 

"That's it, take it slow. You're doing so mmh good for me, darling," thrusting his hips within his flashlight in sync with yours. You whimpered at the squelching audio echo within your ears, "Need faster, J. Please," you hiccuped, clenching around the dildo just to feel more. 

Jisung chuckled, "I can't torture my baby doll too long. Pick up the pace, darling. Pound your hole like you normally would, Show how fucking good that hole of yours take cock," he growled, hearing your broken whines and moans as you twist and thrust the dildo at a relentless pace. It was raw, needy and desperate. Just the way you loved it. 

Jisung groaned, bucking his hips to match your pace, "Shit, shit, hah. Rub your cockhead, love. Fuck, hhgh, cum with me," he grits, pounding the fleshight as rough as you were, his eyes glued to the screen when you screamed out his name. "Fuck, fuck, Jisung!" you sobbed, creaming onto your torso. Jisung choked on his breath, cumming into the toy with little to no resistance, "Fuck," he gasped,  filling up the flashlight with his orgasm. 

You whimpered, thrusting the dildo to ease down your high, "Jisung," you mewled, staring into the camera. Jisung gulped, slumping back into his seat, "Tell me, doll. How do you know my name?" he asked, brushing his hair back. You gave him a dopey smile, "I knew since the beginning, Han. I always knew," you said, reaching your hand beneath your pillow to pull out his missing boxers. Jisung chuckled, resting his head on the desk, "Fuck, love. You got me all hard again," he growled, staring at the screen. You bit your bottom lip, "Good, 'cause I'm ready for round 2," you giggled, giving him a flying kiss.

[hari-100]

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[chvoswxtch]

an adjustment

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: adjusting to a new normal with frank presents a few challenges, including one you thought you had put to rest.

warnings: swearing, lil angst, frank's voice (yes that needs a warning)

word count: 2.6k

a/n: a certain someone is making a cameo that will have a bigger role in the next chapter, but y'all know I love to tease. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

As much as the two of you wanted to stay in the cozy little bubble that existed in his cabin, reality had come knocking. Madani informed you that your place was no longer an active crime scene decorated in bodies, bullets, and blood, and Billy needed Frank for a new assignment. Some guy running for Senator had a lot of controversial opinions that pissed a bunch of people off and apparently warranted 24/7 security, and Anvil was at the top of his list for protection. Since Frank was the best at what he did, unfortunately he was at the top of that list too. Adjusting to a new normal had been…well…just that; an adjustment.

A difficult, confusing, thought consuming adjustment.

For over half of the past year, Frank had been by your side. You started and ended every single day with him. The sudden absence of his presence was jarring, and you still found yourself immediately confused when you glanced up from your computer screen to tell him something only to realize he wasn’t there. Frank didn’t always talk a whole lot, but your office suddenly felt so much more quiet and empty without him. And despite a full blown security system installed by him on your behalf, it was hard for you to feel safe in your own home with the lingering scars of what had happened etched into the walls beneath a layer of new paint. 

Frank called you at least once every day, just to hear your voice, but between both of your complicated schedules, time was not in your favor. You had spent the past three weeks adapting to Frank’s vacancy, but found yourself spiraling anytime you were left alone with your own thoughts. What if this was over before it had even really started? What if it wasn't anything anyway? There hadn’t been a moment for you and Frank to sit down and actually talk about what your relationship was since the cabin. You know what it meant to you, and you knew what you wanted it to mean to him, but you wanted to hear what it meant to him from his own mouth. 

A part of you felt childish for wanting to bring it up. What were you supposed to do? Send him a text saying “are you my boyfriend, check yes or no”? Another part of you felt valid in needing reassurance. It was reasonable to want to establish a relationship with someone you were dating. But were you and Frank dating? He hadn’t technically asked you out on an actual date, but he had risked his life to save yours on several occasions. That had to count for something. You hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Steven, and Frank was not only a widower, but also your former bodyguard, so the normal rules of dating felt like they had been completely thrown out the window.

A knock at the door abruptly pulled you out of your chaotically indecisive inner monologue, and you saw a guy that appeared to be fresh out of high school standing in the doorway of your office.

“You Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. How can I help you?”

The kid took a few steps forward into your office and practically shoved a sealed brown envelope in your face. He looked bored and annoyed, as if you were somehow inconveniencing him because he had to deliver something to you. It made you want to make a snide comment about how your name was clearly listed outside your office door and ask how the hell he managed to graduate without the ability to read. 

“This is for you.”

Reaching for the envelope, your brows pinched together as you turned it over. There was nothing written on the front of it, no address, no name, not even a stamp.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, lady. I’m just the messenger. Open it and find out.”

Before you could reply with a smartass comment, the kid had already walked out of your office, leaving you alone with the mysterious brown envelope. Clenching your jaw, you refrained from chasing him down the hall and asking who the hell raised him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you had to remind yourself that you were a grown woman that would face charges for decking a teenager, even if he was legal and a complete dick.

“Asshole.”

Muttering under your breath, you pinched the aluminum prongs together on the seal, flipping the top of the envelope open to reach inside and pull out a stack of documents. When you turned them over, five big bold letters instantly caught your attention.

LETTER OF INTENT TO SUE.

During your time as a journalist, people had threatened to sue you over stories several times. It came with the territory. The first time you had gotten a letter like this, you nearly had a complete meltdown. Ben had found it far more amusing than you did, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin on his face while sipping at his coffee and chuckling.

“Ah, I remember my first lawsuit letter. You get used to ‘em. You can either frame that one or forward that to the uh legal department. It’s in the blue recycling bin outside.”

And he had been right. People had tried to sue the paper, and you specifically, several times over the course of your career, but nothing ever actually went anywhere. You normally wouldn’t have thought twice about it, and you were about to toss it into the trash bin on the floor next to your desk when your eyes skimmed over who sent the letter, and your blood instantly began to sizzle.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Steven fucking Price.

Gritting your teeth harshly, you narrowed your eyes as you read over the first paragraph on the page.

This letter of intent to sue shall hereby be considered formal notice that STEVEN PRICE intends to file a lawsuit against you if you do not comply with the settlement demands set out in this letter.

The storm of anger brewing inside you had your hands shaking violently, and you were clutching onto the paper in your hands so tightly that your fingernails had left indents in the crinkled sides that were held captive in your vice grip. When Homeland took him away in custody, you thought that was the last you would ever have to deal with him or see him until the trial. But here he was, still making demands of you, from federal prison. 

Frank’s gruff voice sounded on the other end of the line after one ring before you even realized you had called him.

“He’s fucking suing me.”

“What? Who?”

“Steven.”

There was a brief shuffling noise on the other end of the line, and you faintly heard Frank mutter an “excuse me” before his deep baritone sounded once again in your ear.

“The hell you mean he’s suin’ you?”

“Some kid came and dropped off an envelope, who was a real dick by the way, and then I opened it and saw it’s a letter of intent to sue. I didn’t think anything of it at first because I get these all the time, but then I saw his fucking name.”

“Suin’ you for what though?”

Tossing the documents onto your desk, you began to pace back and forth in your office as you ran your hand through the roots of your hair in pure frustration.

“I don’t fucking know, a load of bullshit? I didn’t even read what his ‘demands’ were. He can’t…he can’t do that, right? I didn’t do anything.”

Pausing for a second, your hysterical rant subsided momentarily as one possible reason for a lawsuit popped into your head.

“I mean…I did punch him in the face. But he’s going to sue me for that? There’s no fucking way. Putting it on public record that a girl half his size punched him? His ego couldn’t handle it.”

“You did break his nose.”

“He fucking deserved it, I should’ve broken more.”

Frank’s deep chuckle of amusement sounded from the other end of the line, and it instantly made you forget what you were so pissed about for a brief moment.

“I ain’t disagreein’ with you there. Look, take a deep breath, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you closed your eyes for a moment and enjoyed the soft tone of Frank’s rough voice as you followed his gentle instruction. With your eyes closed, it was almost like he was there with you. Once Frank could hear your breathing even out a bit on the other end of the line, he spoke in a delicately low tone that had your toes curling in your shoes.

“Attagirl. Send me the letter and I’ll talk to Madani ‘bout it, yeah?”

“I don’t even have a lawyer-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now, alright? Just take another deep breath, relax, and let me handle it.”

“You’re always handling things.”

“That’s kinda my job, baby.”

One little pet name and you were blushing like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Thankfully Frank wasn’t in your office at that moment to see the intense heat in your cheeks and the goofy smile splitting your lips. He would’ve definitely had a field day teasing you about it.

“You’re pretty good at your job. Maybe a little too good. If you were kinda sucky at it, everyone wouldn’t want you so bad.”

“The only one I want bad is you.”

A fluttering feeling erupted in your lower belly at those words, coupled with the way his voice had dropped an impossible octave lower, and you found yourself clutching at the edge of your desk to keep your knees from giving out right from under you. If Frank was here, you would’ve gladly let him bend you over it.

Clearing your throat, you attempted to change the subject before you got too worked up. 

“How’s the new guy?”

Grabbing the iced coffee sitting on your desk, you held it against the heated skin of your neck. Droplets of the cool condensation slowly cascaded down your flesh, causing you to shiver while trying to balance your internal temperature.

“Not as pretty as you.”

Letting out a soft snort, you rolled your eyes and leaned back against the edge of your desk.

“Well I would hope not.”

Frank chuckled deeply again, and you could clearly picture the look on his face in your mind; an expression of playful exasperation with a faint smirk on the edge of his soft lips.

“He’s more of a pain in the ass than you. Didn’t think that was possible.”

“You’re really great at this whole flirting thing, you know that?”

The dry sarcasm in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by Frank, and it tore a deeper laugh from low within his chest that made you grin.

“Hey, I been outta practice for a while. Gimme a break.”

“Speaking of flirting, how’s Billy?”

“He’s uh…he’s good.”

Something about Frank’s tone suddenly seemed off, and you wanted to ask him about it, but there was a faint rustling on the other end of the line, like Frank was pressing the speaker against his chest, and you could barely make out his muffled voice speaking to someone. When he lifted his phone back to his ear, you caught the end of a deep sigh.

“Listen I uh…I gotta go, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That was a lie. You didn’t have anything pressing deadlines at the moment. You would’ve stayed on the phone for the rest of the day with Frank if you could’ve, maybe convinced him to sneak away and come see you. He was still in New York, luckily, but anywhere that wasn’t right next to you was still too far. 

“Send me the letter. I’ll talk to Madani and take care of it, alright?”

“Okay. I…thank you.”

“You ain’t gotta thank me.”

“You keep saying that, but then you keep giving me reasons to. So, we can have this argument until eventually you give up I guess.”

Frank chuckled deeply once more, and you could picture him in your mind shaking his head with a light grin. He sounded normal again, but you made a mental note to ask him about what was really going on when you spoke to him next.

“Same time tomorrow then, yeah?”

»»———　　———««

According to Madani, Steven didn’t have a case, and you technically had nothing to worry about. However, you were admittedly curious about what the hell he wanted, and Frank had said that if you did want to go talk to Steven, he would go with you. Actually, he respectfully insisted that you not see Steven without him present, and while you didn’t want to see Steven at all, you did want to see Frank.

You suffered through almost three years with Steven. You could suffer another five minutes if it meant you got to spend time with Frank.

It wasn’t your first time visiting a prison. A few years ago when you were still working with Ben, he had been interviewing a death row inmate that had been declaring innocence for fifteen years, and Ben had managed to prove that the evidence for his case had been tampered with and that the man had been telling the truth the entire time. Despite how daunting it felt to be in a place that kept violent people caged like animals, you felt safe with Ben then, much like you did with Frank now.

Currently, you were pacing back and forth down the hallway in pure irritation.

“What is taking so long?”

Frank had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall outside of the meeting room that was typically reserved for inmates and their lawyers. The guard had said he would bring Steven in shortly, but that was twenty minutes ago. Since Frank had met you at the prison, and due to all the prying eyes, you hadn’t had a private moment to do more than smile at him when he arrived. It was the first time you were able to see him in person in three and a half weeks, and he somehow looked even more attractive than he ever had, and you were being forced to endure an interaction with your ex, who tried to have you killed, just to get Frank alone.

It was torture.

“Told ‘em we’re waitin’ on your lawyer.”

Pausing mid-step, you glanced over at Frank with a look of complete puzzlement.

“I don’t have a lawyer, I told you that.”

As Frank turned his head to look at you, he suddenly lifted his gaze to stare directly above your head as someone behind you caught his eye. He stood up straight and uncrossed his arms as he gestured with his chin in the direction behind you.

“You do now.”

With your brows knit in threads of confusion towards the center of your forehead, a light tapping sound behind you caused your ears to perk up, and you turned your head to find the source of the noise and Frank’s attention.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Matthew Murdock. I’m your attorney.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[elfven-blog]

Proven Right

Summary: Leon has been fascinated with his neighbour for 5 years now, and he finally comes back from Spain with a plan. RE4!Leon Kennedy x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+ only, Stalking, camera watching, compromising picture, mutual masturbation , p in v, creampie (if I have missed any please let me know)

Word count: 3K

It had started when he had moved out of the training dorms and finally into his own apartment. There had been a subtle scent of peaches float past his open door as he moved the meagre number of possessions he had into the small apartment. It had been 5 years since then, and yeah, he could have moved since then. Lord knows he could afford it, but that would also mean moving away from you.

The scent of peaches quickly became his favourite, after he’d managed to befriend you over the years and had access to your home he’d found some of the products you used. The peach scrub, peach body mist and some of the lip gloss you wore too…he had duplicates of all of them. He’d even brought the same shampoo and conditioner as you once but then you made a comment about how you preferred his previous smell, and he quickly went back to that.

It wasn’t just your scent that he had adopted, he learnt to cook some of your favourite food (loving the look on your face when he had ‘extra’ and the way you’d bake him brownies in response), he’d watched your favourite film over and over until he had it memorised and could make offhand comments when you watched it together, and he’d even read up on that game with zombies that you seemed so obsessed with. Had even helped you beat some of the harder fights…and God Leon has sworn to get better video games, the way you watched with awe as he fired the virtual gun and how you flung your arms around him and pulled him so tight that he could feel your breasts press up against him.

Maybe he had that banked in his memory store to use in the shower.

“Lee! Oh my god, are you okay?” He was pulled from his trailing mind at the sound of that sweet voice as he turned from his door to look at you. Dishevelled, door open most of the way, slippers on his feet and it looked like you had rushed to the door at the sound of his key in his own doors lock. But wait…was that his shirt? He thought he had lost it months ago; he must have left it at yours during one of your many movie nights. You could keep it, looked so much better on you. “I was so worried”.

About him? You’re so sweet. He smiles at you, nodding his head and moving away from his door to wrap his arms around you. This wasn’t an odd amount of affection for the both of you. Leon felt himself relax as your arms wrapped around him too, squeezing him tight. “Sorry darling, they really needed me at the other branch”.

He felt you pat his back, and he pulled away so you wouldn’t get uncomfortable with too long of a hug. You smile up at him as you both pull back, and he notices the bags under your eyes before you shrug at him “It’s okay, missed our weekly sleepover but you can make it up to me this weekend?” Leon had never nodded so fast.

He watched as you walked back into your apartment before opening his own and moving in through the door.

When Leon received your message that you had finished work, and he could come over he felt his heart race. He stared at himself in the mirror as he finished getting ready, making sure to use that cologne he’d noticed you seemed to enjoy. Always leaning closer when he wore it.

He had plan. Today, tonight. It would work.

Leon watched his phone on the counter as he made sure his cuts were covered and nothing would be too painful, the screen lit up with the inside of your apartment. And there you were, flitting around to make sure there were enough blankets and snacks, and you had even gone out and brought his favourite drink.

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Something that would be immensely helpful tonight, these cameras that he’d helped you install for security reasons. It felt like pure luck when you asked him for that help, learning what make and company the camera was meant it was much easier to hack into. And getting one of the IT specialists to do it was even easier with his clearance. ‘Just want to see if I should get a different one if this is too easy get into’.

He moved out of the bathroom, phone still in hand as he grabbed the snacks he’d gone and brought for the both of you. Once he’d made sure his door was locked, triple checking just in case, it was mere seconds before he was letting himself into your apartment. Something you both often did when expecting each other, no need to knock. “Hey! Brought snacks” his rough timbre sounded out and you replied with a short ‘Living room!’.

He took his boots off at the door, making his way to where you were, smiling at you as he put the snacks down before sitting close to you on the sofa. His arm resting on the back, and his legs spreading. Leon had worn those jeans you’d complimented, the ones that hugged his legs in a way that showed the muscle he’d spent years building. You could never keep your eyes off his thighs in these jeans, and then you’d spend the rest of the night with your hand between your own.

You didn’t question the position he put himself in, it feels almost natural to be this close to him, to have his warmth permeate into your side as you leant your head back against his arm. You pulled the thick blanket over both of you, Leons brows furrowing as it covered the sight of his legs, so he pushed it off him and pulled it to cover more of you. When you turned your head to look at him he shrugged and mumbled an excuse of not being cold right now. You accepted the reason with a nod before asking what movie he wanted to watch.

The blonde pretended to think for a moment before taking the remote and putting a movie on, “This one’s meant to be good…haven’t seen it yet” He knew you hadn’t either, and there was no indication of the special part in this movie, one he knew would get you biting your lip and squeezing your thighs together.

And it’s bit further into the movie where he’s proven right, you’ve been stealing glances at him all night. Your eyes lingering on his legs and the arm around the back of the sofa, which has, for unknown reasons, managed to slip down to round your waist. His fingers drawing circles across the soft skin of your waist. Distractingly. But you manage to keep your eyes on the screen, not wanting to ruin whatever friendship you’d built with the man and worried that he would never feel the same.

You had understood why he picked this movie, a great distraction from the ‘government job’ he’d told you he had. Never telling you specifics but it had him away for days at a time so it must be tiresome. But you hadn’t expected a full 10 minutes of sex to play part way during it, and by the way he sighed, and a pink dusted his cheeks neither had Leon. It was a good movie; you could power through a few minutes…okay 5 that’s a good length…10? Why’s it still going.

Eyes glued to the screen as your breath shallowed, and thighs pressed together you tried to pretend it wasn’t affecting you. That you weren’t imagining your hot blonde neighbour being the one to bend you over that desk like the protagonist currently was to the partner he had. That you weren’t thinking of him drawing those slow circles somewhere else.

Leons hasn’t been paying attention to the movie since the scene began, to focused on the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips, or how your hand twitches against the blanket. His hand moves a little lower, pulling you closer to him and you don’t even realise. Just sink into his side. Your eyes almost have no colour, his hand plays with the band of your shorts. He moves himself slowly, legs pressed against yours and your head turns lightly.

A small gasp you hope he didn’t hear as you snap your head back to the screen. Pretending you didn’t see the bulge in his jeans, that it didn’t cause your pussy to flicker and fill with slick. This time it’s your turn to move, and hope Leon doesn’t notice. Your hand settles on his thigh, close but not where he wants it. Of course, he’s noticed, in fact he slides down in the seat. Your hand resting over his cock from where it strains in the fabric, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

His hips rolled up into your hand with a low groan, and you palmed at him wanting to hear more. Were you really doing this? Letting your neighbour use your hand to get off? Yes, God yes. It was then that you noticed his own hand had slipped below your shorts and suddenly you felt embarrassed.

“No underwear, sweet girl?” The tips of your ears turned red as one of his fingers slipped between your wet lips, gathering slick before swirling at your clit. “How brave, maybe you were hoping this would happen?” Just like him, except he didn’t hope, he knew. Just like he planned.

He drew a moan out of you as your thighs spread to give him more access, your own hand shakily moving to undo his jeans so you could pull him out. His head fell back at the contact of your cool hand on his hot skin, it felt so much better than he ever could imagine. His hand dipped further down to tease at your hole as it clenched around nothing, smiling at the sweet noises you gave him. They sounded so much better in person then on the shitty mic quality of the camera. Gifting you his owns whines as your hand squeezed the base of his cock before moving up at a slow teasing pace.

Neither of you paying attention to the movie playing, your head falling back onto his shoulder, and he took this opportunity to lean forward and lick his tongue into your mouth. Your eyes closed and you happily let him, mouth opening to reciprocate the messy kisses he was giving you. Leon kissed you like a man starved, until there was spit dribbling down your chin and you were squirming against his hand. Grinding your hips down as your thighs clenched around his wrist, you whined into his mouth and pushed up against him, needing more.

Leon pulled away and you pouted, chasing his mouth before his hand stopped you. His thumb swiping the saliva on your bottom lip before pushing past into your mouth. You suck his thumb, tongue swirling around it in the same way he circles your clit. Your hips buck into his hand, eyes pleading at him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, moving to press his ringers against the sweet spot in your cunt. “C’mon sweet girl, wont you come for me?”

And that’s all it takes for your back to arch, your legs to clench around his wrist as the building pleasure snaps and you gush against his hand. You feel it drip down your thighs and a wet spot grows on the sofa below you. Leon pulls his hand out, moving to lay you down “Is it okay if I?” You nod at him desperately, hands pulling at his shirt. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl, honey” He removes his jeans and under wear completely before pulling down your shorts.

Your mouth drops open at the sight of his cock slapping at his stomach, you had felt how big he was but you hadn’t seen it. “I don’t think you’ll fit, too big, Leon” He shakes his head, moving to kneel on the sofa, his hands hooking around your knees and pushing them up to your shoulders. Your hands clench at the blanket somewhat forgotten.

“It will fit, I’ll make it fit” He gave himself a few strokes before moving the tip between your dripping folds, bumping the clit, and making both of you moan “God baby, so hot” he groaned out as he pushed into you slowly, making you take him inch by inch. You whined as he stretched you out, hands moving to grip his arms. Leon’s movement stutters slightly at the feel of your nails digging into him, but he bottoms out and gives you a moment to adjust. “Told you, I’d make it fit. Feels good don’t it, pretty?”

Your eyes are closed, and you nod, “Yes! Feels so good, Lee” you tug his arms, hips rolling up and he gets the message. His own hips rut into you, he’s setting a face pace immediately and while he did want to take his time with you, he couldn’t wait. You both needed this, needed him buried deep inside you as he bullied his cock into you at a brutal pace. The blonde presses his body weight onto you, forcing your knees past your ears and his hips don’t stop.

One of his hands move your body, gently touching your breasts before stopping at your neck where it makes the prettiest necklace. He applies a slight pressure, enough to have you arching up and gasping as your eyes open to look up at him. And your legs shake at the sight of this man above you. He looks nothing short of an angel. Your cunt clenches around his cock as his hips snap into your thighs and the head bumps your cervix.

His other hand leaves a bruise of the fat of your thigh from the grip, he leans down to press another searing kiss to your mouth, and he keeps his pace up. The sound of his skin hitting yours fills the apartment, and you almost feel sorry for your other neighbours if it wasn’t for the pleasure clouding your mind. His tongue licks into your mouth, wet and heavy as you try to keep up with his pace but your legs shake and he grins into the kiss before he’s pulling away “What’s wrong honey? Gonna cum again already? Don’t be shy, sweetheart”.

Leons mouth travels from yours to your neck, leaving marks into your skin that match the one on your thigh, until he’s level with your tits. His eyes remain on you as your head falls back. The sensation of his tongue swirling at your nipple and the drag of his cock against your walls has your mind spinning. Words fall on your tongue, turning into whimpers as he suckles at your breasts. He gently nips before moving on the other one “Looked a lil lonely, better make it even” and he does. Your nothing but a shaky mess below him while he decorates your skin in reds. He has you pinned down as your hips buck up.

Then the hand from your thigh moves between your bodies, down to where he’s been grinding into you. His thumb finding your sensitive clit again, the feeling as you squeeze down onto him again and he moans around your breast. Leon starts to rut into you slower, causing you to be frustrated but he only looks up at you from where he mouths at your nipple with a raised eyebrow. He does one hard and fast thrust and your head is thrown back. He keeps this rhythm up, slow thrusts with one fast for a while until your squirming.

“leon, please, faster, need” He lets go of your tit with a pop, moving so he’s kneeling up right. His hand squeezes your neck once before both are placed on the back of your thighs. Suddenly you get the feeling you should have let him continue his pace. But your eyes are rolling back as you try to find something to grip, his hips piston into you ruthless pace. Skin slapping against skin. Your mind is blank, and Leon adores the looks on your face as he fucks you merciless.

He feels your legs tremble below his fingers, and he pushes you further back so he can watch as your pussy sucks him in, trying to keep his cock buried deep inside you. Spit drools down your chin, your eyes unfocused on anything as you stare at the ceiling, unable to think of anything but the way Leon fucks you. With a loud moan, you reach that peak again. Legs kicking as well as they can in this position “Oh fuck!” falls from Leons mouth as he continues grinding into you, his body falling onto yours as he follows quickly. His hot load filling you with thick ropes.

You both lay there for a moment before you feel Leon move, he sits back up on his haunches, phone in hand. And you whine “Just want some pictures of my pretty girl, they’re all for me don’t you worry” the idea almost has you wanting to go again, instead you look at him and move your hands to help hold your legs up. Leon’s eyes darken as he begins taking pictures. Some of him still plugging you up, but most of the way his seed spills out of you and a video (that you don’t realise he’s taken) of him pushing it back in.

When he’s done and the phones back on the floor, he leans down to press sweet kisses to your mouth, his hand soothing over your thighs and gently massaging your breasts. “Want me to help you to the bathroom, sweet girl?” The nod you gives him is slow, your head still syrupy as he picks you up bridal style, carefully carrying you to the bathroom.

[mariamakeslemons]

Wrong Number (Price x GN!Reader)

Your mum sobbed when you refused to use your diploma to further her little "clit measuring contest" with your aunts and uncles. Honestly, you took an untold amount of glee when you announced your new job at the last family gathering. Your cousins looked at you in envy while everyone else looked aghast. After all, you could confidently say you're happy with your job and can comfortably make a living with it too.

"Hey there, Sugar," you croon, staring down at the crossword you had to pass the time. The pervert on the line gasps and whines, quickly too into his own fantasy to even do anything for you.

Of course, working as a sex line operator doesn't do anything for you sexually. It's just a job, one that you're good at, in a shockingly good set up with a company that actually gives a shit. Humming along to the pervert's fantasy, you finally figure out the four letter word for the hint of bisque. Writing it down, you glance at your monitor. The guy's been going on for three minutes already, without any prompting from you. It's almost impressive. Or, it would have been if you didn't know by his voice that he's going to be a fast one.

Low and behold, before the four minute mark, the pervert groans and whines pathetically, before hanging up without another word. You snort, always amused that the idiots calling don't listen to the whole pre-recorded spiel before they get someone on the line.

"I got your number, dumbass," you sing softly, snickering as you send the number to the finance branch. Leaning back, you mull over heading off to lunch and if you should try the new thai place that opened up not too far from here. However, the line goes off again, making you sigh.

"Hey there-" you croon, ready to adjust your little opening, only to jolt when you hear gun fire.

"Of course, th' fucker gives me th' wrong bloody number," an older man growls through the receiver. You blink as more gun fire sounds through the line, before you're up and scrambling. Locking your office door, you head back to your computer to play the loop you made on one of your days off to the security camera and drop down in your chair.

"Sir? Do you need me to call someone?" you offer, pulling up a (maybe illegal) program to start triangulating his position.

"No, I need information and an escape route," the man snaps, sounding a bit further away.

"Sir, please don't hang up," you request, finally finding where he is. A mansion in Malibu, with top-tier security that no one put up right. Hacking into the cameras, you flick through the feeds until you find a man, a soldier, leaning against a door with a phone to his ear while your other monitor shows a group of men pounding on the door.

"On the plus side," you comment, "The guys outside your door are idiots because I count at least three guns, and none of them are grabbing them to shoot." The soldier on the screen freezes as you hear the man's breath stop.

"How do you know?" The soldier demands in time with the man, barely a second delay.

"Oh good, the camera's not delayed," you chirp, grinning as the soldier immediately looks around the room. Clicking your tongue, you tell him, "Up and to your right. I'll even wave." The feed bobs when the soldier looks up, letting you get a really nice look at him.

He's a bit older than you, at least you think he might be. Lines that hide beneath an imperial beard and focused blue eyes, kinda making you weak in the knees despite sitting.

"Who are you?" the man growls.

"I'm the sex operator you called," you answer honestly, "I just happen to be good with electronics too." The way the man's mouth dropped, shock on his face as he stares up at the camera, it's too much. You snicker, even as your fingers fly over the keyboard. A little adjustment in code is more than enough to release the knock out gas in the hall.

"Alright, shove the blanket against the under side of the door," you instruct, "The owner got knock out gas installed through out their house and I'm releasing it in the hall."

"Copy," the man confirms, yanking the blanket off the sofa that's just within arm's reach and pressing it against the bottom of the door. Once that's done, you completely release the gas, watching as within seconds the guards drop.

"Okay, now, what are you looking for?" you ask, figuring you're already in this deep. Might as well go the whole way.

"A laptop," your soldier says, hesitantly stepping away from the door. Once he's sure the door isn't going to suddenly open, he looks around and continues explaining, "Aleksandor Soloveva is in league with the Russian Ultranationalist Party. We have intel that he knows where the leader is."

"Thus, breaking and entering," you can't help but snark, "Gotcha."

"You're a shite stirrer, aren't you?" he asks, a shift in his tone that you've learnt means someone is reluctantly amused.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," you shoot back, running a code that locates all electronics in the room. It dings back, and you tell him, "Check the desk, fourth drawer to the floor. Be careful, because that's a big drawer for a singular laptop."

"Copy," the man repeats, crouching by where you instructed. He pulls out something and presses it to the drawer. Before you can try figuring out what he's doing, he asks, "So, d' you have a name?"

"I happen to like my privacy, thank you," you immediately shoot down, unable to hold back a smile when he chuckles.

"I suppose that's fair," he hums, "I'm Captain Price, do you have a name you can give me?"

"I can give you my drag name," you confess, "It's Nova."

"Nova?" the man asks, finally opening the drawer, "I got the laptop. I can just take this an' leave."

"You need me to see about an escape route?" you offer, to your own confusion. The man looks back up at the camera and smiles. It reminds you of the quokka you saw in a video from a classmate's trip to Australia.

"I'll take the window," he says, giving you a wink, "Lovely working with you."

"Oh, uh, wait," you stutter, pulling up the finance bill that'll get sent to the owner of the number, "Do you have the personal number of the person who gave you this number?" Captain Price pauses and looks up at the camera, so you explain, "The call went well over five minutes, so double pay is guaranteed, and I'd rather have the asshole who tried to get you killed pay than you or your government." The man blinks before he chuckles.

"Right away," he agrees, giving you a number that you easily change the bill for.

"Alrighty," you chirp before cooing out, "Thanks for calling, Handsome. Don't forget me." The soldier trips, to your delight, as you pull everything back. Wiping up the trial and hiding away what you just spent the past half-hour doing, you finally undo your security feed and unlock the door.

Just in time, as Jill peeks in with a to-go bag.

"I think that's the first time you've locked your door," she teases, handing over a bag with what could only be your lunch.

"What can I say," you joke, "I have a thing for older Brits."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's easy enough to forget about that exciting day when so much personal shit is going on. Mum called to demand you quit your job, again. Your youngest cousin snuck into your apartment for a brief escape from your uncle. You've been looking into adopting, although you still aren't sure what yet. Just personal shit.

So, you should be given a pass when a handsome man with an imperial beard and a quokka smile corners you in the grocery store.

"Hello there, Nova," Captain Price purrs, "It's good to know you're a gorgeous as you sound."