#midnight surveillance

[her-satanic-wiles]

Just in response to the Favorite Story repost prompt

LEE

I'm screaming - how long did this take you!? I'm obsessed holy shit.

I can't believe you like that many omg.

Also I love how your two commissions are the first things I see. Iconic. Your ideas are so good. 😎😎

[xinganhao]

cherry on top 🍒 mafia boss!seungcheol x reader. (3)

being in a situationship is already pretty hard. being in a situationship with a petty mafia boss who has never dated before? much, much harder. previous chapter + masterlist.

💰 Expense report filed by mafia financial officer, Lee Seokmin

SUBJECT: Personal Expenditures – S.Coups re: Civilian Target

CATEGORY: GIFTS / SURPRISES

Custom Silk Scarf (Monogrammed with "S.C.") – $1,350.00 └ Ordered from Paris boutique. Civilian target wore it once, commented: "It's soft, but why is his name on it?"

Limited Edition Vinyl Record (Frank Ocean – Blonde) – $880.00 └ Gifted after argument #7. Civilian target was seen smiling while playing track 14.

Midnight Ice Cream Delivery – From Rome, Italy – $4,700.00 (incl. private courier) └ Civilian target said: "You could've just gotten Häagen-Dazs." Boss replied: "This has basil. It’s romantic."

CATEGORY: DAMAGE CONTROL / APOLOGIES

Floral Arrangements (x12) from 12 Different Florists – $2,160.00 └ Delivered over 48 hours post-miscommunication re: "flirting waiter" incident. One bouquet was left untouched in the hallway. The rest were used as Instagram story props.

Therapist Retainer (Anonymous Booking, Civilian Target) – $3,000.00 └ Civilian target has not claimed these sessions. Boss insists it's "just in case she realizes she needs help processing me."

Reimbursement for Civilian Target’s Broken Mug (accidentally knocked over during jealous argument) – $25.00 └ Mug was shaped like a cat. Boss replaced it with an expensive glass tumbler. Civilian target was not amused.

CATEGORY: SMALL & QUESTIONABLE EXPENSES

Custom Engraved Bullet Pendant ("So You Think I’m Scary, Huh?") – $300.00 └ Intended as ironic gift. Civilian target laughed, wore it once to annoy him. Boss framed photo.

Spotify Premium (Family Plan – Only One Member) – $15.99/mo └ Boss created 17hr playlist titled "if i die it’s her fault but i’d still thank her." Civilian target unknowingly listens to it often.

Gluten-Free Baking Class (Online, Gifted to Civilian Target’s Aunt) – $220.00 └ She mentioned her aunt wanted it. He took notes. Civilian target unaware of mafia-funded culinary education in progress.

Donation to Shelter Where Civilian Target Volunteers – $5,000.00 └ Made anonymously. Boss requested they name a puppy after her. They did. Civilian target unsure why a rottweiler named "Beloved" exists.

CATEGORY: UNAUTHORIZED PERSONAL SPENDING

Rental of Entire Rooftop Restaurant for "Casual Talk" – $12,000.00 └ Civilian target refused to show up. Ate ramen alone at home. Boss sat through three-course meal with two phones: one for business, one specifically for her texts and calls.

Suit Tailoring (New Lapels for Better Hug Experience) – $900.00 └ Boss: "She said my suits were stiff. I made them hug-friendly."

Jet Fuel Surcharge – Roundtrip to Seoul, 3 hours total visit – $15,700.00 └ Purpose: "To see her smile."

TOTAL EXPENSES TO DATE: $49,250.99

RECOMMENDATION/S: Immediate financial intervention or a mandatory sit-down with Boss regarding boundaries, budgets, and basic human dating behavior.

👂 Surveillance transcript filed by mafia soldier, Chwe Hansol

DATE RANGE: ███████████-███████████ LOCATION: Civilian Target's Apartment, Unit 13S BUG #7: Living Room Lamp (Active)

TRANSCRIPT 001 – 23:43 HRS

S.COUPS: Why is there a toothbrush that’s not mine in your bathroom? YOU: Because I live here. And sometimes people visit me. It’s called having a life. S.COUPS: Who visits you? Give me names. Socials. Blood types. YOU: You are so exhausting. [SOUND: Footsteps. Fridge opens.] S.COUPS: Don’t change the subject. That toothbrush has a blue handle. Blue is a masculine color. YOU: Oh my god, are you jealous of a toothbrush now? [SOUND: Prolonged silence. Soft muttering.] S.COUPS: ...It’s suspiciously ergonomic.

TRANSCRIPT 004 – 07:12 HRS

YOU: Why are you folding my laundry? S.COUPS: Because you do it wrong. YOU: What does that even mean? S.COUPS: You mix textures. Cotton with wool. It’s chaos. This is what chaos feels like. YOU: You literally blow up cars for a living. S.COUPS: Yeah, but strategically.

TRANSCRIPT 008 – 14:09 HRS

YOU: Why is there a bag of gummy bears on my pillow? S.COUPS: You said you liked them. YOU: Once. In passing. S.COUPS: I take notes. On everything. You also like your coffee with oat milk and you talk in your sleep about octopus documentaries. YOU: That’s creepy. S.COUPS: It’s called “caring.” YOU: It’s called surveillance. [SOUND: Muffled laughing, presumably from YOU.]

TRANSCRIPT 015 – 00:03 HRS

YOU: Did you pick a fight with your own underboss because he liked one of my photos? S.COUPS: He put a heart and a fire emoji. That’s a double reaction. It’s aggressive. YOU: You are so—so emotionally constipated. S.COUPS: You say that like it’s a bad thing. YOU: It is a bad thing! [SOUND: Struggle noises, unclear. Presumed YOU threw a pillow at S.COUPS and he retaliated by tackling YOU on to the couch.] NOTE: Possible physical altercation turns to intimacy. Redacted for discretion.

TRANSCRIPT 017 – 01:26 HRS

YOU: Stop staring at me. S.COUPS: I’m memorizing your face. Don’t make this harder than it is. [SILENCE FOR 13 SECONDS.] YOU: ...Why is there a tiny blinking light in my lamp? S.COUPS: Oh no. YOU: Did you seriously bug my apartment?! S.COUPS: Okay, first of all, you’re being very judgmental right now. YOU: Because you’re a lunatic. S.COUPS: I'll give you one guess as to whose fault is that. YOU: Take the damn bug out of my lamp, you psycho! NOTE: S.COUPS neglected to turn bug off. Argument ensued; redacted for discretion. Intimacy ensued. Also redacted.

END OF AVAILABLE TRANSCRIPT. ADDT'L NOTE: REQUESTING TO BE MOVED OUT OF SURVEILLANCE DIVISON ASAP.

📓 Therapy session notes filed by Dr. Boo Seungkwan, licensed psychiatrist affiliated with ████████ Syndicate

SESSION: 3rd of prescribed 10-week cycle

INITIAL OBSERVATIONS: Patient arrived precisely on time, wearing a tailored black suit, slightly wrinkled as though he'd been pacing before arrival. Hair unkempt, hands clenched for most of the session. Eyes noticeably tired. Declined water. Brought a half-eaten bag of gummy bears, claiming "They calm me down. She likes them too."

Presented with guarded posture, alternating between overconfidence and sudden emotional vulnerability. Exhibits hallmark signs of high-functioning control dependence, paired with emotional suppression and limited interpersonal processing tools.

SESSION THEMES

1. Obsession with Control: Patient admits to bugging the civilian target’s apartment ("It was for her safety") and maintaining a detailed log of her daily habits. Claims these measures are a form of care. When asked what he fears would happen without this control, he replied, "She might stop needing me."

Expressed frustration when civilian target expressed autonomy: "She does things without telling me. Like she has a life or something." Tone was sarcastic but undercut with genuine confusion.

2. Difficulty Processing Emotions

Patient struggles to name his emotions beyond anger and protectiveness. When prompted to describe how he feels when civilian target smiles at him, he paused for 47 seconds before muttering: "Like I'm about to combust, but in a good way?"

Displays discomfort with perceived emotional weakness. Used humor and territorial possessiveness to deflect.

Quote: "She called me emotionally constipated. That's unfair. I feel things. I just don't show them. I'm not a chihuahua in a sweater." (Analogy unclear.)

3. Devotion to Civilian Target

His attachment is intense and deeply internalized. He referenced at least eight specific events he organized to make her life easier, ranging from "tailoring suit lapels for better hugs" to "funding her aunt’s gluten-free hobby."

Refers to her as "the only thing that makes me think twice before pulling a trigger."

Appears to be undergoing identity shift: from feared mafia boss to a man attempting—often poorly—to be emotionally available. Indicates willingness to grow, albeit via unconventional and often unhinged methods.

Notable Quote: "I don't know what being a boyfriend means. But if it means checking all her windows are locked and ordering her ice cream from Italy when she's sad, then I'm already trying."

TREATMENT PLAN

Begin cognitive restructuring around concepts of emotional intimacy vs. surveillance.

Introduce grounding techniques for obsessive behaviors.

Assign weekly "emotional vocabulary" journaling.

Strongly recommend cessation of all illegal tracking devices.

PROGNOSIS: Patient displays exceptional loyalty, obsessive commitment, and a deep desire to improve for the sake of the civilian target. Progress will be slow, as foundational emotional processing tools are underdeveloped. However, signs of potential are present.

Patient left session saying, "Don't tell her I cried. But also, maybe do. I don't know. What would make her like me more?" Then insisted that I forward these notes to her, threatening to cease sessions otherwise. Will have to consult with mafia leadership.

DIAGNOSIS: High-functioning attachment disorder with control dependency and romantic maladjustment. Currently treating with compassion, sarcasm, and an iron will.

NEXT SESSION SCHEDULED: ████████

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[maskedbyghost]

The grand ballroom was a sea of glittering chandeliers and tuxedos. You smoothed your hand down the fabric of your gown, which felt like a flowing masterpiece of midnight blue that shimmered under the light. The dress hugged your figure in all the right places, its elegance hiding the concealed weapons strapped to your thigh.

Beside you, Simon was the picture of a professional. In a tailored black suit, he looked like he belonged among the wealth and power of the room, but his skull mask remained, cleverly disguised as a sleek masquerade accessory. His dark eyes scanned the crowd with precision, but occasionally, they flickered toward you.

Simon hated this kind of mission: the pretense, the crowds, the constant surveillance. But tonight, something else had him on edge—you. The way that dress clung to you, the confident tilt of your chin, the shimmer of light catching in your eyes—it was undoing him. He told himself it was just the mission, the need to stay close, to protect you. But the ache low in his gut told a different story.

“Stop staring,” you muttered under your breath as you sipped from a champagne flute, keeping up the appearance of a carefree socialite.

“I’m not staring,” he replied, voice low and gruff.

“You’re practically burning holes into me,” you teased, glancing at him.

His jaw tightened, and he forced his gaze back to the crowd. She has no idea, he thought, frustrated with himself. No bloody idea what she’s doing to me.

Your earpiece crackled to life. “You two need to find the ledger in the office upstairs,” Price’s voice ordered.

“Copy that,” you said softly, setting your glass down on a passing tray.

Simon nodded once, his fingers brushing the small of your back as he guided you toward the exit. The contact sent a shiver up your spine. Focus, Riley, he told himself, but the way your skin felt under his touch made it nearly impossible.

The room was dimly lit, the scent of old books and polished wood filling the air. You scanned the shelves and drawers, looking for the incriminating ledger. Simon stood guard by the door, his hand resting on the concealed weapon at his hip.

He tried to focus on the mission, but his gaze kept straying back to you. The way the gown shifted with your movements, the determined set of your jaw, the faint curve of your smile when you found something interesting—it was maddening. He shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. Pull it together. You’re here to do a job, not... whatever this is.

“You find anything?” he asked.

“Not yet,” you replied, pulling open another drawer.

Suddenly, you saw Simon freeze, his head tilting slightly like a predator catching a scent. “They’re coming,” he said.

You stiffened. “What do we do?”

What do we do? The real question was, What do I want to do? He knew the footsteps he’d heard were faint and retreating—no real threat. But the opportunity was there, and Simon had never been the type to hesitate.

Without hesitation, he crossed the room in two long strides, his hands gripping your waist as he lifted you onto the desk. Before you could protest, his lips crashed against yours, stealing your breath.

It was fire and chaos, a kiss that silenced your thoughts and left you clinging to his shoulders. His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Your gown bunched slightly, but you didn’t care; all that mattered was the heat of his mouth and the possessive way he held you.

Finally. The thought hit him like a punch to the chest. He’d wanted this—you—for so long, and now that he had a taste, he knew he was a goner.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. Your heart was pounding, and it wasn’t from the supposed threat outside.

“Are they gone?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Simon smirked, a rare expression that sent a thrill through you. “No one’s coming.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“I lied,” he admitted. “Wanted to kiss you.”

You stared at him, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re stunning,” he shot back without hesitation, his eyes roaming over you with a hunger that made your pulse race.

She’s going to kill me for this later, he thought, but he didn’t care. He’d tasted heaven, and he wasn’t about to regret it.

Before you could respond, the earpiece crackled again. “Status update?” Price’s voice cut through the tension.

Simon smirked, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We’re... handling it,” he said, his tone completely unbothered.

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

@daydreamerwoah @blackhawkfanatic @spicyspicyliving

[pathologicalreid]

heyyyy how ruu

english is not my first language so i hope you can understand this u.u

this idea has been consuming my brain for days, sooo basically i was thinking about bau fem reader and reid doing undercover work (idk) and when they see the unsub, reader's first thought is to kiss reid so the unsub can't recognize them (and he wouldnt waste time in 2 ppl kissing???), then when reader sees the unsub going towards the exit even though she doesnt want to she breaks the kiss and everything is awkward but in a cute way??? yea idk if this makes sense feel free to change anything or to not do it at all :]

in plain sight | S.R.

your quick thinking (in an attempt to protect him) leads to a thankful spencer

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: reader is explicitly referred to as a woman. general cm violence. making out (for the plot). haphazardly proofread. word count: 1.19k a/n: no worries anon, i understood this perfectly! thank you so much for requesting!

Your firearm was digging into your hip as you leaned up against the wall of the bar. You were on high alert as you looked around the building, scanning the faces of people who walked by.

“L/N, Reid, anything?” Hotch called into the radios. The team was across the street in a surveillance van.

Quickly, your eyes met Spencer’s, “No sign of the suspect.” Silently, you hoped that Hotch would pull you from the bar and let you go back to the hotel for the night, but you knew that wasn’t the way your unit chief played the game.

You were more or less trapped inside a college bar, your shoes were sticking to the old wooden floor, and because you and Spencer were the youngest members of the team, you were voluntold to go undercover.

Reid had never looked more out of place, but he was twelve when he started college, so you supposed he had never really been in a dive bar like this one before. “Hey,” you said softly, “Are you alright?” You knew he had a thing about germs, and if you were bothered by the sticky floors, you couldn’t imagine how he was feeling.

“I’m sure this comes as a surprise, but this,” he gestured to the partying college kids around you, “isn’t really my scene.”

A small laugh bubbled up from your throat, “Oh, no. I never would’ve guessed,” you played along with his sarcasm. “I’m afraid my shoes are going to come off when I try to walk,” you admitted.

He smiled slightly, “I’m trying not to think about it.”

Tentatively, you moved a little closer to him so you wouldn’t have to shout over the music. “I thought the UnSub hunted around ten?” You questioned. All of the bodies were usually found at midnight with lividity just barely beginning to show, meaning the victims were picked at ten, killed by eleven, and found at midnight.

They were calling him the Countdown Killer because he kept on such a tight schedule. “He should be,” Spencer answered, glancing down at the watch on his wrist.

You looked around the bar, the both of you had your backs to a wall, so you weren’t exposed on that side.

“Remember, if you spot him, do not engage,” Hotch ordered through your radios. You and Reid were simply there to find him, the rest of the team would handle the chase. “He’s likely been watching the news, so he may recognize your faces – don’t let him.”

While you weren’t entirely sure how you were supposed to hide your face from the suspect without seeming suspicious, you confirmed the plan with Hotch anyway.

 A gleam of blonde caught your eye, narrowing your eyes, you focused on the figure. “Spencer,” you swatted at his hand, “two o’clock.”

Discreetly, Spencer’s gaze flickered over in the direction you had suggested. “Turn around,” Spencer said, “Don’t let him see your face.”

You turned around so that you were facing Spencer, looking away from the suspect. “What about your face?” You asked, surely the both of you staring at the brick wall would seem suspicious.

“He’s killing women. I don’t want him to notice you,” he responded, momentarily looking past you and at the suspect.

Surprised, you furrowed your brows at Reid’s statement, by having you face him, he was trying to protect you. You turned your face into your shoulder, “Suspect is in the bar,” you whispered into your mic.

There was recognition from the rest of the team before it went quiet again. “He’s approaching us,” Spencer said, faint alarm springing onto his features. He wasn’t talking into the radio; he was letting you know.

Spencer might’ve been outside of the victimology, but you couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him if the suspect recognized him.

Instinctively, you leaned up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. You were kissing Spencer.

At first, he was surprised, but his hands quickly found a home on your waist as he kissed you back. Your lips worked gently on his as he eased his mouth open, deepening the kiss. Abruptly, Spencer dragged you closer to him by the waist. The sudden movement caused your eyes to flutter open.

In your periphery, you could see the dangerous blonde walking away. He must’ve walked right past you, and Spencer had pulled you away from him. You let your eyes fall shut again.

You reached up to sling your arms over his shoulders as he experimentally slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your heart raced as you were fully making out with Spencer in the college bar.

Reluctantly, you separated yourself from Spencer, “Is he gone?” You whispered, peering up at him through your eyelashes.

Spencer nodded, swallowing thickly. His cheeks were tinted pink, and you were sure you were flushed as well.

You pressed your mic button, not taking your eyes off Spencer’s, “Suspect’s exiting out the rear door,” you notified the team. Suddenly, your job was done, and you became conscious of Spencer’s hands where they still remained on your waist.

Hotch asked you to report to the van, and you took Spencer’s hand and led him out of the bar. The cool night air calmed your rushing blood. “Thank you for that,” he said from behind you as you halted to look for passing cars.

You spun on your heel to look at him, “Did you just thank me for kissing you?”

“I thanked you for distracting the suspect, so he didn’t recognize me,” Spencer corrected, squeezing your hand.

Instinctively, you dropped his hand, “Right, me and my quick thinking.” There was not a single clear thought in your head. You started crossing the street as Spencer called your name, obviously confused.

You yanked your earbud out while the rest of the team was rambling on about the takedown over the comms. “What just happened?” Spencer asked.

“We made out in a bar, and you thanked me for it,” you answered stiffly, leaning your back against the white van. “So, you’re welcome,” you said. Really, you didn’t know what you wanted from him, and you knew that Reid’s experience with women was limited at best.

Surprisingly, Spencer rested a hand on either side of your head and leaned intoxicatingly close to you, “Did you want me to say something else to you?”

You looked up at him, you weren’t sure you had ever noticed the green flecks in his eyes, “I had a few ideas, yes.”

“Here was my other option,” he told you, dropping his head so that your lips met once again. You gasped into his mouth in surprise. Hesitantly, you placed one hand on the side of his neck and the other in his hair. He used both of his hands to cup your face, kissing you with less urgency than you had in the bar as if you had all of the time in the world.

The both of you jumped when the passenger side door to the van swung open and Emily poked her head out, “You know we can see you in the side mirrors, right?”

[sixeyesonathiel]

PANOPTICON — tenant!satoru x cctv operator!reader

cw/cn : voyeurism, masturbation, psychological tension and obsession, degradation kink, 2.2k wc. 18+ only, MDNI.

a/ n : wrote this with this fic in mind, premise was just so good i had to do my own take with it, yummerz <3 part two someday!

tokyo’s crown jewel, they call it. the obsidian spire.

a high-rise so exclusive it’s practically a myth, its black glass facade slicing the tokyo skyline. ninety floors of wealth and secrets, where the air smells of money and the shadows hide sins. the lobby alone could swallow your old apartment whole—marble floors veined with gold, chandeliers dripping crystal, air so crisp it stings your lungs. the tenants? ceos, diplomats, faces you’ve seen on headlines but never in person. they glide through, untouchable, their lives a mystery behind keycard-locked doors.

you’re just the night watch. the graveyard shift concierge-slash-cctv operator, tucked in a surveillance room that hums like a living thing. thirty-two screens, a glowing wall of eyes, each one a window into their world. your world is smaller—coffee gone cold, a chair that creaks, a badge that says you belong but doesn’t mean it. on paper, it’s simple. monitor. log. report. keep the machine running.

nobody told you the screens would pull you in.

nobody warned you about floor seventy.

nobody warned you about him.

satoru gojo. penthouse 70-B.

a name you didn’t know until that first night, but now it’s carved into your pulse, a rhythm you can’t shake. he’s a creature of habit—gym at 10:00 p.m., pool at midnight, smoking shirtless on his balcony by 2:00, always lit like a stage, always alone. always just close enough to the camera to make your skin burn.

you tell yourself it’s protocol. safety. your job.

but you don’t track the others like this. don’t grind into your chair when they stretch, don’t replay their footage, don’t whisper their names through trembling fingers as they move, unaware, under your gaze. only him. only satoru. his body in the jacuzzi, head tipped back, hands sliding over his chest like a lover’s—your hands, in your dreams.

he doesn’t smile at the cameras. doesn’t wink.

but god, he knows. he lingers too long in the lobby mirror, adjusting his tie with fingers that drag slow, deliberate, down his throat. lets his robe slip open in the sauna, just enough to tease. pauses in the elevator, fixing his hair, his reflection a taunt you can’t look away from.

you consume it. devour it. a starving thing, clawing at scraps of him through glass and wire.

it started three weeks ago. your first shift.

your workplace was new to you then, its weight still sinking into your bones. the surveillance room felt like a cockpit, all blinking lights and quiet menace, the screens alive with the building’s pulse. you were still learning the system—camera toggles, tenant logs, the web interface that mapped every floor, every door. your hands shook, fumbling with the controls, nerves raw from the pressure of not screwing up.

then he walked in.

lobby camera, center frame. 1:47 a.m.

a man—tall, lean, platinum hair catching the chandelier glow like a halo. black coat unbuttoned, shirt half-untucked, tie loose like he’d tugged it free mid-conversation. he moved like water, smooth and unhurried, every step a claim on the space around him.

your breath hitched.

he stopped at the lobby desk, empty at this hour, and leaned against it, one elbow propped, head tilted back. his throat—long, pale, exposed—gleamed under the light, and you stared, frozen, as his fingers brushed his jaw, slow, almost lazy, like he was touching himself for you.

you didn’t mean to zoom in.

your finger slipped, nudged the control, and the camera tightened on him—his jawline, sharp enough to cut, the faint curve of his lips, the way his lashes framed eyes you couldn’t see but felt, even through the screen. your mouth went dry. your pulse throbbed, low and heavy, between your thighs.

he didn’t look at the camera. didn’t need to.

he just stood there, a god in tailored black, and you were already falling. already his.

“who…” you whispered, voice cracking, barely audible over the hum of the room.

your hands moved before you could stop them. the web interface—tenant directory, access logs. you pulled it up, fingers trembling as you typed, cross-referencing the timestamp, the lobby feed, the elevator he’d step into.

floor seventy. penthouse 70-B.

satoru gojo.

the name burned itself into you, a brand you’d carry. you stared at it, at the screen, at him, still lingering in the lobby, now turning toward the elevator. he paused, just for a moment, and ran a hand through his hair, slow, deliberate, fingers dragging through platinum strands like he knew you were watching. like he wanted you to.

your thighs pressed together.

you felt it—the heat, the ache, the pull of him through the screen. you sat there, shaking, staring as he stepped into the elevator, as the doors closed, as the number ticked up to seventy.

you didn’t sleep when you got home. couldn’t.

you saw his throat, his fingers, the way he moved, every time you closed your eyes.

now, weeks later, it’s worse.

he’s a habit you can’t break. a drug you don’t want to.

tonight, he’s on the balcony, not the gym. 2:13 a.m. cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling around his lips like a lover’s caress. shirtless, of course, because he knows—god, he has to know—how it wrecks you. his chest gleams under the city lights, lean muscle shifting as he leans against the railing, head tipped back, throat bared like an offering.

your finger hovers over the balcony feed. trembles. taps.

the screen zooms in, and you’re gone.

“satoru…” you whisper, voice raw, breaking on his name.

the surveillance room is a tomb, dim and buzzing, your only company the cold coffee at your elbow and the chair that groans under your weight. your shoe taps the desk’s base, a nervous rhythm, but it’s not enough to ground you. nothing is.

you shouldn’t.

you really, really shouldn’t.

but you lean in, elbows braced, forehead dropping into one hand as the other slips between your thighs. just over your pants, at first, palm pressing against the damp heat already soaking through. you’re shaking, breath caught in your throat, the pressure hitting too sharp, too fast.

he exhales, smoke spilling from his lips, and you whimper, a tiny, choked sound, as your fingers press harder, grinding slow circles that make your hips twitch. shame burns your cheeks, but it’s not enough to stop. it’s never enough.

he shifts, one hand sliding down his chest, fingers brushing the edge of his waistband—low, too low, always too low—and you’re panting now, thighs squeezing tight, the chair creaking as you rock against your hand.

“fuck…” you hiss, barely audible, but it feels like a scream.

you imagine him knowing. imagine him turning, ocean eyes piercing the lens, that cruel, lazy smirk curling his lips as he sees you—sees you falling apart, sees you desperate, sees you his. you imagine his voice, low and smooth, calling you filthy, calling you his little voyeur, telling you to beg for him.

your other hand tangles in your hair, pulling, muffling the sounds you can’t keep in. you’re pathetic. you know it. every night, the same surrender, the same ruin. and still, your stomach twists, your pulse hammers, like it’s the first time he’s stripped you bare with a glance.

he flicks the cigarette away. leans further back, arms spread along the railing, chest flexing, abs tightening. a performance. a fucking taunt.

your fingers slip under your waistband, find slick, find heat, and you moan, soft, broken, as you curl them inside, chasing the ache he’s carved into you. you’re trembling, hips jerking, the pressure building too fast, too sharp.

“please… satoru…” you’re begging now, nonsense spilling from your lips, tears pricking your eyes as you grind against your hand. you want his fingers, his mouth, his cock—want him to pin you down, to fuck you until you’re sobbing, until you’re nothing but his.

the screen blurs. your vision blurs.

he turns, just slightly, and for a moment—god, fuck—you think he looks. not at the camera, not quite, but close enough, his lips twitching, almost a smirk, like he feels you, knows you’re there, knows you’re coming undone for him.

the orgasm cuts through you like glass—swift, brutal, unrelenting. your body jerks, folds in on itself, thighs squeezing tight around your trembling hand as your hips lurch forward. your other palm flies to your mouth, barely stifling the broken sob that claws its way out. you come fast, filthy, slick flooding your fingers as your eyes stay locked on him—on the way he just stands there, untouched, untouchable, claiming you without ever lifting a finger.

you slump back, shaking, panting, the screen still burning with his image.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t glance up. but that almost-smirk lingers, like he knows.

your fingers fumble, minimizing the feed. you close your eyes, bite your cheek until you taste copper, but it’s no use.

it’s just the same old regret with no attempt to change.

the morning after, you’re late.

first mistake.

the service elevator’s down, stairwell’s sealed, and your badge won’t open the freight. no choice but to take the main lift, even with the day staff still lingering, even with the high-rise’s elite drifting in for their shadowed deals. you tap the button, fix your collar in the glass pane, tell yourself it’s fine.

it’s not.

the doors slide open, and he’s there.

satoru gojo. seventy-B.

leaning against the panel, one hand in his pocket, black coat draped over his frame like it was tailored for sin. tie loose, platinum hair mussed, like someone’s fingers—or the wind—already claimed it. his presence fills the space, heavy, suffocating, and your mouth goes dry, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your throat.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t blink. just tilts his head, gaze sliding from your shoes to your throat, lingering there—too long, always too long—until you forget how to breathe.

you step in. no choice. the doors are closing.

you take the opposite side, careful, too careful, not to stand too close. but it’s useless. his scent—clean, sharp, something faintly sweet—curls around you, and your heart’s pounding so loud you’re sure he hears it. sure he feels it, like a predator sensing prey.

floor 1 to 70.

an eternity of silence, broken only by the elevator’s hum and the soft tap of his fingers—once, twice—against his thigh. you steal a glance, catch his reflection in the mirrored walls. his jawline, sharp as a blade. his shoulders, rolling under the coat. the veins on his hand, the glint of his watch.

you’re trembling. thighs pressed tight, hands curled into fists to keep from reaching out. you’ve seen him bare, seen him slick with sweat, seen him stretch for your cameras like he’s offering himself. you’ve touched yourself to the shape of his hips, cried his name into your palm, and now he’s here, real, close enough to touch, close enough to ruin you.

your lips part. you almost speak.

he turns.

slow. deliberate. like he planned it.

his eyes—ocean-blue, half-lidded, unreadable—pin you in place. they flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and you flinch, a tiny shudder you can’t hide.

“hi,” you whisper, voice cracking, too small, too desperate.

he doesn’t answer. not at first. just watches, lets the silence stretch until it’s a noose around your neck. then, low and smooth, like ice sliding down your spine:

“we really don’t have to do this, do we?”

his voice slices through you—sleek and precise, like a scalpel. it doesn’t raise, doesn’t crack. it lands. right in your stomach, clean as a knife to soft flesh. shame floods in fast. need follows close behind. the ache of being seen carves itself into your ribs. you flinch—sharper this time—fingers spasming at your sides, nails biting into your skin like you're trying to hold yourself in.

“r-right,” you stammer, too fast, too weak, and your eyes dart to the floor, to the numbers ticking up. floor 33. floor 52. you bite your cheek, taste blood, try to hold yourself together, but you’re unraveling, and he knows it. he sees it.

his gaze doesn’t leave you. not for a second. it’s heavy, burning, stripping you bare, and you’re shaking now, thighs squeezing tighter, heat pooling where you don’t want it. you’re desperate—god, you’re so desperate—for him to say something else, to step closer, to pin you against the wall and make you beg.

you imagine it. his hands on your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make you gasp. his mouth, hot and cruel, whispering how pathetic you are, how you’re his little whore, watching him night after night. you imagine him pulling your hair, bending you over, fucking you until you can’t think, until you’re nothing but his.

floor 61.

floor 70.

the bell dings.

he steps out, unhurried, like the world waits for him. like you wait for him. and before the doors close, he pauses by the mirrored panel, adjusts his tie. his hand slides down his chest, slow, deliberate, fingers grazing the waistband of his pants.

he smiles.

not at you. at his reflection. but it’s enough. it’s too much.

the doors seal shut, and you’re alone, trembling, thighs slick, hands clawing at your own arms to keep from falling apart.

you’re not even at the security room yet, but you already know that tonight, you’ll come harder than ever. to his voice. to that smile. to the way he looked at you like he already owns you.

because he does.

he fucking does.

[romancherry]

caged in silk (4) — false alarm

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ after a false dissapearance gave them quite the scare, joel loses control in his task to teach you a lesson.

warnings ➝ explicit smut, dark!fic, dubious consent, unprotected p in v, rough vaginal sex, missionary, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, breast & nipple play, hickeys and marking kink, posessive and dominant joel, submissive reader, sub space, daddy kink, heavy makeout session, crying kink, praise kink, pet names, pussy pronouns, aftercare, manipulation, dirty talk, swearing and other explicit language, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 4.111

author's note ➝ hello again! it took me more time to motivate my lazy ass to write this chapter than actually finishing it. i hope you like it and if you do please leave a comment or motivational reblog 🌸 if i missed any warnings let me know.

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

it was almost midnight when the men realized it has been quiet for far too long. they were so deep in their thoughts and work that they hadn’t realized just how fast time has passed. 

joel was fixing the dripping, rotten faucet in the kitchen. marcus was cleaning some rifles, tending to them as if they were the most precious pieces of porcelain. he was so very focused as he tried hard not to lose count on the ammunition. javier sat on his laptop, chain smoking and looking up surveillance cameras in the DEA office in medellin. the only pause between drags of smoke was when he lifted the glass of whiskey and brought it to his lips while listening very carefully on what the american ambassadors discussed – debating important classified cases, blissfully unaware of the hidden microphones javier placed right under their noses before resigning from this god forsaken job almost 3 years ago. 

joel glanced at his watch and scoffed when he realized just for how long he’s been working on fixing the faucet. he muttered a low good night to the boys, his voice grumpy and heavy with sleep, before making his way to his bedroom, already dreaming about how good he will sleep tonight with you in his bed.

he expected to find you under the covers, maybe reading, maybe already curled into your pillow like you usually were by this time of night. but when he pushed the door open and found the bed untouched, the lights off, and your scent faint in the air — not warm and recent, but old, like you hadn’t been there in hours — something in his chest coiled tight.

“sweetheart?” he called. 

nothing. 

he checked the bathroom next, knocking once, pushing open the door. empty. no sound of water. no used towel. 

he paused, brow furrowing.

“marcus?” he called out, already stepping back into the hallway. “you seen her?”

marcus freezes his actions entirely and puts the rifle on the couch next to him, his expression already serious. “i thought she was in your room.”

“no,” joel said, jaw beginning to grind. “she’s not.”

footsteps echoed on hardwood as javier came from the kitchen, still holding a half-empty glass of whiskey. “what do you mean she’s not?”

joel turned to face him, voice edged now. “i mean she’s gone.”

the silence that followed was sharp — thick with tension, panic, anger. 

javier placed the glass into the sink without looking. “check everywhere. right now.”

they split like shadows in motion — no yelling, no chaos, just the kind of cold, calculating urgency born from fear.

marcus hit the basement first, flashlight already in hand. he searched every corner like he was clearing enemy territory — eyes sharp, movements efficient. no sign of you.

joel moved through the rest of the first floor. he checked the pantry, the garage, the laundry room. doors were still locked. windows undisturbed. “nothing,” he muttered into his radio to the others.

javier moved fastest, pacing the perimeter outside barefoot, his phone already out, checking security cams and motion sensors. “no alarms triggered,” he hissed. “no movement out here in the last hour.”

joel stopped in the hallway, hand gripping the molding beside the doorframe like he needed to steady himself.

you wouldn’t try again, he told himself. not after last time. 

he closed his eyes, trying to focus on regulating his breathing and stop the panic from building his heartbeat rhythm until the point of explosion. he tried to think. to bring reason to light – to convince himself that you wouldn’t be so stupid and naive to run away during the night.

why would you want to run? what did they do to you this time? was the picnic too much? have you learned nothing from your last mistake?

his instinct dared to snap his own self out of the building panic and overwhelming thoughts. a wandering, fleeting thought which almost left his brain as quickly as it entered.

the last door in the hallway which led to a guest bedroom none of them ever used. 

the door was not even shut. it was slightly cracked. joel pushed it open with slow fingers, the old brass hinges creaking. and there you were.

fucking. sleeping.

your chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, soft little exhales brushing the pillow. the blanket was wrapped around your body, one arm tucked underneath it and the other loose at your side. a book you never finished reading lay on the nightstand. the lamp was off. you’d gone to bed hours ago — quiet and unbothered.

joel didn’t say a word.

he stepped back into the hall and leaned against the wall for a beat, rubbing the heel of his hand over his face. relief poured over him like a wave, heavy and thick. he called it in over the radio.

“guest room.”

a few seconds later, marcus appeared, and behind him, javier — barefoot, heart pounding, eyes wild. they stopped in the doorway and stared.

“she’s fine?” marcus asked, voice hushed.

“fast asleep,” joel said. “like she didn’t just take five years off my life.”

javier ran a hand down his face. “fuck.”

you stirred, a little frown tugging between your brows as if you sensed their presence even in sleep. you turned onto your back, hair fanning across the pillow, lips slightly parted, still unaware.

joel walked in quietly and knelt by the bed. his hand reached out and brushed your cheek gently, thumb ghosting across your temple.

“jesus,” he whispered. “you don’t even know what you did to us.”

your eyes fluttered open, groggy and dazed. “…joel?” you murmured, blinking slowly at the sight of all three men surrounding the bed.

javier’s brows lifted, and he huffed a short breath. “you scared us shitless.” 

“i — what? why?” you asked, throat rough.

“why did you have to fall asleep here, sweetheart? you know we never enter this room,” javier asks.

“tired. jus’ wanted quiet…” 

javier knelt beside joel, his hand resting over your ankle beneath the blanket. “you could’ve said something, cariño. we tore the damn house apart.”

“yeah. thought you took off again,” joel added.

you blinked, then winced, voice still sleepy. “s’rry. didn’t mean to freak you out.”

marcus crouched on the other side of the bed, his gaze hard and unforgiving despite the quest to find you turning out successful. “we’ll lock every fucking door in this place from now on. don’t pull a stunt like that again, sweetheart.”

joel leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice low and tight. “he’s right, baby. you gave us one hell of a panic attack.”

you mutter one last tiny apology in joel’s ear before he lifts you off the bed and gently carries you to his bedroom, the place where you’ve been sleeping every night since they kidnapped you. each time was more comforting than the last; joel didn’t present himself as a threat and always kept a respectable distance between you two, although he always ached to touch and hold you tight against his chest. 

after he places you on the mattress, you notice marcus giving him a suggestive glance. 

joel leaves your side and makes his way to his brother’s side. out of your eavesdropping range.

“teach her a lesson. know you got a soft spot for her, but she needs to learn," marcus whispers in joel’s ear, his instructions clear. joel hesitates. doesn’t say anything for a couple of moments. he isn’t a fan of his older brother’s demands. he doesn’t want to break you in. not like this. 

marcus senses joel’s second thoughts and scoffs at his brother’s weak spot for you. “if you don’t, i will.”

that made joel’s eyes darken. not with thrill or hunger, but with the overwhelming need to protect you from marcus’ roughness. he failed to do so after your escape attempt and had no choice but to let marcus punish you. this time, he’ll carry the burden himself, in the only way he knows how. 

joel nods his head once and gives marcus a look of reassurance and cooperation. once marcus is convinced that joel will keep his promise true, he steps out of the doorway and shuts the door behind him. 

joel turns slowly towards the bed, watching the curiosity in your eyes mix with a potion of anxiety. you can tell. his tense stance. the way he won’t look you in the eye – not quite. his mind races. his hands tremble slightly, and you’re not sure why. is it because of anticipation or the tethering loss of control?

“take off your clothes.”

the order makes you flinch, your instincts telling you to back away slightly. your mind is fully alert now. the exhaustion and gentle yearning for the comfort of a warm and soft bed have been gathered together and thrown out the window. 

“i won’t ask again.”

shivers crawl up your spine at his intimidating tone. if he was trying to inflict fear upon you, to make you forget about all the times he was gentle and careful with you as if you were a porcelain doll — he has done it. with minimal effort. 

you carefully lift yourself off the bed and stand in front of him. there were only a few feet between you. he could take two large steps and you’d be done for. clothes ripped off, a hand wrapped around your throat while he did as he pleased. 

you try to banish these thoughts out of your head and presume it’s best if you try to hurry up slightly. you don’t want things to come to that. you still believe that if you cooperate, he’ll be gentle. a part of you tells you that he doesn’t want to do this. 

but that part of you is so wrong, my dear. because while joel doesn’t want to scare you away and force you into submission like marcus wants, he is still, at the end of the day – a man. 

a man who has built a life out of butchering people for money since his daughters died. a god among men who ripped the soul out of living and well breathing creatures and never felt sorry for it.

until the day you came into his life. when he saw you for the first time and figured you are not a thing to be broken and burned alive. but to be molded and carefully guided into a lifestyle he and his brothers crafted specifically to force you to accept them as your new reality.

in conclusion; he wants you. oh, how much he wants to give into his carnage and tear you apart with his cock. only when he remembers the way your moans filled his ears like a melody when your orgasm flooded his mouth the last time…

god, it’s maddening. infuriating. 

but he must not act on primal instincts and think with his cock. no matter how painful it feels. no matter how the majority of the blood in his brain now flows in his cock right now. and he can barely resist anymore. 

he watches your lip tremble and eyes grow heavy with tears as you quietly do as instructed. 

you start with your socks, quickly discarding them on the floor so you don’t keep him waiting. so you don’t let him think you’re dragging this out to think of an escape.

your loose sweatpants come off next. when you reveal your bare thighs to him, he swears he feels like a medieval man who saw ankles for the first time. 

skin so soft. flesh so plump and glowy. his mind drifts off to when his head rested in between them to devour your pussy. how good it was when he felt the pressure of your muscles against the sides of his skull. an orgasm so intense he was worried you’d crack his head like a watermelon. but he loved it so much he made a promise to himself he’ll experience the same pain again when he made you ride his face and smother him with your thighs.

your t-shirt was next to drop on the floor. it belonged to none other than joel. he felt a sense of pride and ownership each time he saw you wearing his clothes around the house. knowing your scent mixed with his drove him crazy because he yearned to inhale directly from the source. 

tonight, he would achieve this and more. 

the sight of your bare breasts made his heart skip a beat.

he has never seen such work of art in his life. your full chest looking as if it’s been crafted by the gods themselves. like aphrodite chose you as her avatar.

he doesn’t wait for you to take your panties off. in two long strides, he breaks the barrier between you two. his hands immediately jump at your breasts, cupping them in earnest. 

he weighs and plays with them in his calloused palms. he is not being a gentleman at all – rough fingertips graze over your buds until they swell. the moment they rise to angry little peaks, his mouth latches onto one while the other is being tended to vigorously.

you quickly grow overwhelmed by his lustful attack. his warm, wet tongue lapping hungrily at your nipple, sucking and drinking as if the elixir of life itself courses through it. 

the other poor, tortured nipple – red and aching from the relentless pinching and twirling between his thumb and index. you squirm in his hold, hands grabbing a tight hold of his salt and pepper hair. 

you moan, but you don’t think it’s because of displeasure. yes, there is pain. but there is also beauty.

beauty in the way he makes you feel so wanted. so worshipped. he kisses and bites and marks every inch of your chest. he groans in both relief and pleasure when his mouth runs a path upwards on your body and finally stops at the nape of your neck. 

not only does he pull a bit of flesh in between his teeth to paint your skin in bruises – he also inhales deeply at the same time as he sucks. 

your natural scent – finally flowing through his nostrils. so sweet and musky at the same time, with notes of a warm sleep and the masculine scent of his t-shirt.

when he is satisfied with his work over your neck, his lips trace a path towards your jaw. not once do they depart from you.

you’re both breathless when he pulls you in for a kiss. he didn’t even look at you before he claimed your mouth. he needed to do this before he could stop himself.

his hands are everywhere on the lower half of your body now. he keeps you flushed against his chest, your nipples grazing uncomfortably against his blouse. he grinds and ruts himself against your thighs like a stray dog. makes sure you have nowhere to go too – his hands presenting themselves as a tight and sure anchor over your buttcheeks; smothering, kneading and occasionally slapping the tender flesh until it jiggles like jelly in his palm.

you give up on trying to put space between you. no matter how much force you channel into your hands and wrists, you can’t move this brute wall off of you. 

instead, you accept him. pull him closer, even. the act makes him moan into your mouth, deep and rough. 

the kiss bruises you. makes you shake in his grip and you’re sure that if he wasn’t holding you now, you’d fall. 

he is not here to make love to your mouth. at least not yet.

he kisses you as if he’ll never get another chance to. he needs to explore your hole and claim it with his teeth and tongue before he can soothe the ache he caused.

it’s possessive. controlling. desperate and needy. you don’t bother fighting for control and dominance. you just let him take what he wants in order to indulge himself in the pleasures he has been denying and ignoring for too long.

he shocks you when he takes you into his arms. gathering a handful of your asscheeks before using his sheer power to lift you in his lap.

he drops you both onto the mattress. your back pressed between a soft cloud and a massive brick.

not even once does he break the kiss. he swallows every moan and gasp that comes out of your mouth and greedily licks every corner with his tongue, teeth occasionally lathering attention to your bottom lip to drag and nip it.

his hands move from your ass to fumble with his own sweatpants. he is so thankful to just drag them down his thighs along with his boxers; his cock finally having enough room to breathe.

you try to break the kiss to get a look, but to no avail. he keeps your head in place with his free hand resting on your neck. his fingertips firmly pressing into the sides, a silent command to stay still. his mouth still makes out with yours hungrily as if he’s trying to keep you busy and not allow any anxiety creeping in your pretty little head. 

the hand he used in order to free his cock from his boxers moved directly to your clothed pussy. his index ran one trail up your slit to feel the cool wetness sink into the material before gathering it in between his fingers and pulling it to the side.

he didn’t waste any more time. as soon as he cleared the way, he grabbed himself by the base of his cock and gathered your juices on his own leaking head before sliding home in one smooth thrust.

you both broke the kiss at the same time to fill the room with your own moans. once he bottomed out and felt the dangerously addicting way your walls squeezed him, he didn’t know how to stop. he just lost every last drop of control he thought he had and unleashed all the pent up desire he felt for you.

“oh god, babygirl,” joel chanted as he threw his head back, eyes shut in bliss. “fuck, i can’t stop. i’m so sorry.” 

he moved his hand from your throat to the back of your head, gently lifting it a few inches to bring you closer to him. his other hand made its way under your knee. making sure to keep your legs as open as possible for him to fuck you as hard and deep as he liked.

“joel, n-no! oh my god – fuck!” 

the burning sensation left your tight channel as quickly as it came. it was soon replaced by complete and utter pleasure as your already soaking wet pussy gushed and clenched around him as he pistoned in and out of you. 

your walls presented no restraint. your pussy greedily welcomed him as if she has waited her entire life for this moment. to fulfill her duty as nothing more than a cocksleeve – a hole to serve him warmth and pleasure. 

your broken moans ambitioned him to sink deeper inside you. he plunged in deep, hard and fast, not giving you any time to adjust as he took whatever he wanted from your willing body. god, he hoped it wouldn’t come to this. he hoped his restraint and control would not shatter so quickly. but when he saw your beautiful naked body and felt you soaking wet through your panties, he knew you were made for him. he knew this pussy had a mind of her own. 

“atta girl. pussy knows what she wants, huh? t’be fucked and destroyed by a nice, big cock. fill her up with cum and never let her go.”

he tears his gaze from your swollen pussy to your face and really looks at you. 

blabbering, crying, moaning and utterly ruined. 

pink sore eyes filled with glossy tears. flushed cheeks. mouth slightly open in a round shape with a string of saliva dripping in the corner. your own finger resting on top of your tongue. a physical guardian to stop more moans and pleas from making their way out.

“fuck, look at my girl,” joel praises. he presses a soft plump kiss in between your eyebrows – an unusual contrast to the way he ruts roughly between your thighs, assaulting your poor pussy as she gushes her release all over his cock and the sheets beneath. he lost count of how many times he made you cum until now. he’s more than convinced you never actually kept count, your mind too blank and pliant to bother yourself with too much thought.

“what’s wrong, baby? cock so good it fucked ya stupid?”

you shake your head in approval, your eyes wide and glossy like precious pearls and diamonds. there’s no coherent thought behind those eyes – he scared them all away. no insecurities or anxiety in the way to stop you from feeling him at full intensity. 

and he’s so proud. so so proud he made all the voices in your head shut down for once. his heart swells with how much trust you put in him to break you apart and put you back together.

“that’s a good girl. mhm, the best girl in the whole damn world. my good girl gon’ let me cum deep inside her? hm? swell her belly full a’ babies?”

you nod in earnest, a big bright smile creeping up your face like it’s the best deal in the world. like it’s your whole life purpose.

“y-yes, d-daddy. p-please fill m-me up. wan’ your babies!”

your innocent little plea does it for him. his rhythm wavers as he buries himself to the hilt and cums deep inside you, filling your belly up with a big load. 

he stays attached and connected to you both physically and spiritually. he swears he can feel your hearts beating in sync as he holds you close to his chest and soothes your nerves by placing a few wet gentle pecks on your cheeks and forehead. 

“shhh, baby. my sweet baby. gotcha now. did so, so well for daddy. my perfect lil’ girl.”

he forces himself to remove his softening cock from between your legs. once he does, he makes sure not to leave you alone and sweaty for too long. he takes off his damp blouse and uses it as a makeshift rag to clean you up. he soothes every cry and unintelligible word that comes out of your sweet mouth.

“here, honey. drink. you did perfect. so proud of ya," he praises as he helps you drink a much needed glass of cold water. 

after he’s done cleaning both of you up, he joins you under the blankets. his fingers trace the side of your arm as he looks at your relaxed form. so obedient, full and content. 

“bet ya enjoyed your lesson, huh?” joel murmurs, aware of how close you are to drifting off to sleep. “don’ ever scare us like that again, sweetheart.”

“mmmm,” you nod while keeping your eyes closed, although you’re not so sleek in hiding your small grin of mischief, “no promise."

he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement at your little attitude. “you’re trouble, sweetheart. what are we gon’ do with you?”

oh, he knows exactly what they will do with you. 

and in the bedroom next door and the living room respectively, javier and marcus have figured out a few plans in their mind themselves. 

because you may not realise it yet, but joel had just paved the way for his brothers. made their life easier. broke you in and gave you a taste of what your future will be with, under and on top of them. 

without needing to even speak to each other, they all know you’ve just become addicted. soon enough, one man will not be enough to satisfy the burning hunger inside you; you’ll need all three to satiate your needs and take care of you.

and honey, they will. in each of their own, unique ways – they will make you forget why you even fought them off in the first place.

[samwinchesterswifu]

Million Dollar Baby (Castiel x Reader) Smut

Song Inspo: "Million Dollar Baby" by Tommy Richman

Warnings: grace!kink

MINORS DNI

A/N: I wanted to write more into it, but felt like i havent been able to write full blow p in v type smut, so i am sorrry for the cocktease. But let me know if you want the full version <3

Word Count: 1140

Summary: On a hunt with the boys and the angel she's infatuated with, what could possibly happen?

She shifts awkwardly on her heels while adjusting the length of the tight red dress she was wearing. Dean chose her and Cas as the primary subjects to try to lure in a Witch that was causing havoc with some love spell. The two of them where supposed to go to a club that the Witch frequented under suggestion of Crowley. She couldn’t imagine Castiel all dressed up. Having an infatuation of the angel was hard enough to keep a secret, just picturing him in a proper suit had her mind buzzing. But that thought was interrupted by a loud knock on the bathroom door of the crappy motel they were in for the week.

“Hurry up Y/N!” Dean yelled.

“Alright!” She yelled back in response.

Heat was already rising to her cheeks due to the nerves. She turns to the door and grabs the door knob. Taking a deep breath, she opens up the door to find Castiel entering the motel room with Sam on his trail and shit eating grin plastered to his face.

Both of them stopped in their tracks at the sight of each other. A low whistle is heard from Dean.

“Damn Y/N I didn’t know you cleaned up like that.” She could feel Dean undress her with his eyes and she shoots him a glare before turning her attention back to Castiel.

Sam leaned up against the door of the motel, with arms crossed he seemed pleased by her reaction. When Sam had offered to help Castiel get “cleaned up” this wasn’t what she had imagined.

Castiel had black pleated dress pants on, accompanied by a midnight blue knitted polo short-sleeved shirt with some buttons undone. The shortened sleeves seemed to show off some muscle she didn’t even know he had. He was also wearing a simple chain necklace, and presumably a watch. All pulled together with a leather jacket.

The two of them eyed each other up and down before a cough came from Deans direction.

“Well, we should get going, we need to get there before dark to set up surveillance.” Dean says, grabbing the keys to the Impala and ushering the two to the car.

They each sit in the backseat while the boys sat up front. As they journeyed towards the venue, she would steal glances of the angel in the reared view mirror. Not realizing he was doing the same thing.

Finally, after what seemed forever in an awkward silenced car, they arrive at the scene.

“Okay, remember the plan, you two on the dance floor, we’ll try to catch the Witch before anything happens, got it?” Dean asks.

She nods in agreeance and anxiously exits the car. Going around to Castiel’s side of the Impala and forcefully grabs his hand and leads him into the place. Once inside, she makes a beeline towards the bar. Ordering a shot for both her and Castiel.

“Y/N you know I don’t get drunk,” the angel besides her comments.

“I know but if we want this to look believable then I need you to drink something for the time being.” She sighs, taking her shot and asking for another round for the two of them.

This was also mainly an excuse to try to help calm her nerves. It wasn’t the fear of the Witch planting some dangerous love spell on them, it was that she was already so hot and bothered by him and the way that he cleaned up.

After a 3rd round of shots, she felt a small buzz and felt ready to hit the dance floor while Castiel presumably looked unbothered. Grabbing his hand again, she leads him towards the center of the dance floor. As a few different songs came on, she tried to dance around Castiel. Not really knowing what to do, but more so moving along with the beat.

That was until a newer song came on. Castiel had twirled her out, and brought her back in at the beginning of the song. Placing her back flushed against his chest and the two of them moved comorbidly to the beat. Castiel’s head dipped to her shoulder and his breath was hot on her neck. Closing her eyes, she squirmed against him trying to create some form of friction. Both of Castiel’s hands where placed on her hips helping control her movement. But a third form of heat began to climb down her chest and a squeezing sensation was felt on her breasts. Her eyes shot open, looking down to find nothing there. She looks up to Castiel to see his eyes shining blue. This man was using his grace on her. She could feel the grace began to move down her body. Making her breath hitch, how ballsy could this man be?

Castiel appeared to have a new founded confidence because he seemed more cocky then ever. He didn’t need sex pollen, or a sex spell, the man was drunk off her alone. Getting loss in the moment, her breath hitched as the grace came over her core. As the anticipation built, Castiel stopped. He grabbed onto her hand, and twirled her back out. But as he was pulling in, he made sure that they were facing each other. His eyes still shimmered a bright blue tone different than his normal.

“Castiel?” She whispers his name in confusion.

“Motel, now.” Castiel responded through gritted teeth.  

Nodding in response, they were gone in a moment. Poofing back into the motel room instantly, she realized that Cas had teleported them there. Her phone began to ring off the hook assumingly it was Dean or Sam calling to see what happened. But she didn’t have a care in the world. She was ready to worship the man in front of her. Cas grabs tightly on her hips looking at her eyes and down to her lips.

“Do you have any idea how much you drove me crazy in there? I’ve never felt this way towards a human,” he says walking her back up against the bed. The back of her knees flushed against the bed frame.

Cas’s head drop to her neck and attaches his lips to the skin. Kissing up and down nibbling softly along the way. Breathy moans of pleasure leaves her lips as her head dips back. The warm feeling of grace making its return on her body made her feel even more drunk than she could be on a Saturday night. Cas takes a moment away from attacking her neck to look her dead in the eyes.

“I need permission love, I need you, so please, let me show you what a man can’t do that I can do, all for you,” he whispers sultrily.

“Please Castiel,” she breathes out.

Castiel eyes deepen as a smile forms across his face.

“Anything for you love.”

[myfictionaldreams]

Safety Measures // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was the anniversary of Steve and Bucky saving you from your sadistic brother. Usually, it was a time of celebration for you, but this year, you couldn't help but feel paranoid and unsafe.

Extra reading: Last Hope for background context

A/N: Happy New Year, beautiful readers! I hope everyone is well and safe.

Requested by: @theatrelove3000 thank you so so much for the request and all your support with my writing. As always, you're the best!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, polyamory, ptsd, anxiety, paranoia, insomnia, discussion of past abuse, domestic fluff, dom/sub undertones, cock warming, subspace (kinda), hurt/comfort, new member of the family (yay!), puppy

Words: 4.8k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Insomnia was an issue you’d never had to deal with before. Not when you have two of the most powerful men of all of the East Coast tiring you out and wrapped around your body to make you feel safe and content.

However, as the seconds ticked by on the clock position on the nightstand next to the bed, you’d found that your body was willing to do anything but sleep. As midnight struck, any hope that had been inkling in your thoughts was diminished. There you were, half sprawled over Steve’s naked chest, his warmth burning through your skin, with Bucky spooning around your back, sandwiching you thoroughly between the two of them, legs crisscrossed between one another.

Even in the safe embrace, your heart continued to palpate painfully in your chest with such powerful thumps you were worried it would wake one of your lovers.

It was always this day. This date. Every year, that sprung fear through your soul, with the memories of your past returning to haunt you. Before Bucky. Before Steve or either of their safety and love, you’d been involved with your family business, reigned by your sadistic brother, Enzo, who was both hateful and abusive, causing you to live a life that was not worth living at all.

For countless years, you’d simply been floating through life, doing anything your brother demanded to benefit his gang. There was no hope, love, or light in your life until the men whose arms you were wrapped tightly in found you, saved you, and showed you what life was about. It hadn’t been an easy adjustment, especially with the violent and bloody end to your brother, but then readjusting to the newfound freedom had taken its toll. The anxiety from your past still haunts you to this very day.

In truth, in the first few years surrounding your brother's death anniversary, you’d celebrated the beginning of your new happiness and life. However, as you grew older and had to live through the dangers of being in the most infamous mafia gang in Brooklyn, your optimistic perspective became somewhat fragile with the realities of becoming close to losing everyone and everything you loved on multiple occasions.

So now, when this dark day loomed over your head once more, your anxiety rose along with the reminder of the horrors that you’d experience throughout your lifetime. Paranoia blossomed into something that was logically not plausible, frightened that somehow, Enzo would return and take you back to the hell hole he once kept you contained within.

These fears had been discussed with both Steve and Bucky on multiple occasions, as well as your friends, who promptly reminded you that nowhere was safer on earth than with all of them. There was 24/7 surveillance within the office and your home, guards patrolling, all armed and trained, as well as having the enhanced bodies of your boyfriends always at your side.

You were safe.

Safe.

And yet, still, there you lay. Wide awake, breaths shallow, trying to remain as quiet as possible so that you may listen to any sounds of intruders walking through your home. It is an impossible feat to do either way due to the pounding of your heartbeat without your ears, the repetitive thump and drum that increased in speed over the minutes. Your palms were becoming clammy where they were resting on Steve’s chest, a faint tremble beginning to throb through your limbs as well. You closed your fingers into a tight fist, attempting to cease the shaking whilst blowing out a long breath as the clock ticked to 00:01 am.

It was no use. You couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t just simply lay there and wait to be attacked or taken.

Carefully as you could, you attempted to climb out of your fierce hold, but due to your fragile state and the firm grip of Steve and Bucky, the movements stirred them both awake.

“Baby? Everything ok? Where are you going?” Steve asked, still half asleep but attempting to rouse himself more by rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Sorry”, you whisper into the darkness, “I just needed to use the bathroom”. The lie trembled from your lips as you clumsily searched the bedroom floor for some clothing to cover your naked body. From the smell of the shirt that you were now tugging over your head, you’d found Bucky’s t-shirt in the dark. As your eyes adjusted to remain in the darkness, you could see Bucky moving closer to Steve on the bed, his face resting on the blonde's chest, replacing where you’d been.

The sight had you smiling for a split second before a rustle of the wind against the windows drew your frightened attention back to reality. Stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you, there was a stalling moment where the walls seemed to close around you. Strangling. Suffocation. The fears of your past squeezing closer.

“No”, you chastise yourself in a whisper barely audible as you take a single sweeping step towards the sink, running the cold water to splash it on your face. “Enzo is dead. Stop freaking out, you’re being ridiculous!”. Yes, you were having a conversation with yourself, but only because it was a coping mechanism before you completely lost your mind and had a panic attack.

“Get a hold of yourself!”, you continue the monologue whilst staring at your distressed reflection in the mirror. “You’re safe here in your home”. For some reason, your bottom lip began quivering with the rising emotions and the overwhelming urge to cry. Giving your body a thorough head-to-body shake and angrily wiping away the traitorous tears dripping down your cheeks, you also gave yourself stern talking.

“Either you get yourself together, or you embarrass yourself and wake up Steve and Bucky”. You wouldn’t, not when it was something as irrational as being frightened that your definitely deceased deranged brother would somehow return from the dead to steal you to a life of misery. You couldn’t stomach waking them from their slumber to see the sad puppy eyes they would give you as they told you all the things you already knew. You were safe with them; they’d never let anything bad happen.

Filling your lungs with air, you blew out a long, slow breath until your lungs were completely empty. “Right. One search of the house and back to bed”, you decided, needing to check the surroundings with the hopes it would ease your battle with anxiety and insomnia.

Upon leaving the ensuite bathroom, you were thankfully greeted by the sound of two distinctively soft snores from both men still lying together in bed. Tip-toeing past them and into the hallway, you made sure to keep the lights off with your eyes having adjusted to the darkness as you approached Steve’s office.

There were a few things that you needed from this room. Firstly, to check the security camera feeds from his laptop, showing every angle possible surrounding the house and inside the many rooms of the luxury property. The baseball bat was also hiding beneath the desk. It was one of many weapons stashed throughout your home, carefully placed by both Bucky and his bodyguard Natasha and even though a gun would be a swifter finale for any intruder, there were still more consequences if you were to shoot the firearm accidentally and hit the wrong target whereas, with a bat, you could still keep someone at arm's length and also not fatally wound a friend if they came knocking at the door.

Clutching the smooth bat in both of your trembling hands, you watched the screen, flicking between rooms and areas of the exterior of your home, not spotting a single leaf out of place. In fact, the only emotion that seemed to bloom through your chest was adoration as you stared at the bedroom video feed, noticing that Bucky was now the bigger spoon, wrapped thoroughly around Steve, whose hands were stretched out to your side of the bed, like in his unconscious state, he was still searching for you.

Guilt settled heavily in your stomach at the sight, and closed the laptop with a sigh. You knew this paranoia would fade by the time tomorrow came around. Still, it was completely illogical for you to react rationally today, so with a sigh that echoed around the office, you stood and began to search the property physically.

Holding the bat at arm's length, you peeked around corners first then swung before stepping out. You'd been trained to use all the weapons scattered throughout the house with Steve, Bucky, and Natasha, even with how to strike with a baseball bat effectively.

Every shift of shadows out of the corner of your eyes and every creak of the house naturally settling or knocking with the raging winds outside had your heart racing and senses going into full alert.

One check of the house turned into four full sweeps to ensure no one was there. It was also a slow and thorough check, so by the time you were stepping carefully through the kitchen, glancing out of the back window and into the dark abyss that was your back garden. The creak of footsteps echoed from upstairs; you’d become lost and disorientated on the search, and you had neglected to check the time.

05:03 am.

A sniffle and quiet cough followed the footsteps of the man who had decided to wake earlier than most. In a rush of adrenaline and the need to not be found with a baseball bat in hand like a crazy lady in the dark, you decided to hide the weapon in one of the kitchen cupboards and quickly pretended to be preparing coffee as the sleepy steps wandered down the carpeted stairs.

Placing two cups onto the kitchen counter, you almost held your breath in anticipation for the morning grumbly welcome by whoever had woken first. Steve and Bucky both like to be awake early, much to your usual pleas for them to stay in bed.

However, as the man walked into the kitchen, not a single word was shared as he stepped up close behind you, enveloping your body in a warm and metal arm, wrapping tightly around your waist and pulling you backwards until flush against a naked chest. Stubbled cheeks nuzzled into your neck as lips gently kissed the sensitive skin as you sighed, eyes closing and all tension diminishing into the floor at the feeling of finally being safe.

The two of you swayed on the spot, wrapped in the tight embrace, listening to the water in the coffee pot. One of your hand gripped onto the metal fingers, feeling the smooth material beginning to warm and match the temperature of your skin. The other hand lifted to rest on the back of his head, scratching his buzzed hair, earning a comforting moan from Bucky as he kissed your jaw.

“It’s a rare day when you’re awake before me”, Bucky whispers into the shell of your ear before kissing it. Goosebumps lined your body with the gruff tone of his early morning voice. He didn’t pester you any more about why you were awake at this time, but he did pinch the hem of your shirt. “Is it your plan to always wear my shirts so I must be topless?”

His words pulled a giggle from your lips, shaking your head as you poured the coffee into each cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”.

The two of you sat at the dining room table, coffee in one hand and in the other you held onto one another, admiring the night turn into the day with dawn breaking over the fences that lined the back garden. It was blissful and a welcomed distraction from the terrors beneath your surface.

Steve eventually joined, groaning about waking up alone as he kissed you, then Bucky on the back of the head. “Who knew the big grown mafia boss could be so needy?” Bucky quipped with a teasing smirk over the rip of his cup before taking another glug of the coffee.

“That’s a lot of sass for someone who will be going without any breakfast if he keeps it up”, Steve grumbles as he looks through the refrigerator to start preparing the three of you breakfast like he did on most mornings. Before Bucky could respond, Steve asked curiously, “Why is there a baseball bat in with the plates?”

Your eyes downcast to stare into your empty cup, shrugging your shoulders at the burning stares of your boyfriends. “I don’t know. Anyway, who wants a fresh coffee?”

Thankfully, nothing more was mentioned regarding the random appearance of the baseball bat as the three of you ate and prepared to head into the office. You were thankful for the distraction working in the gang gave you, especially on a stressful day like today. Although the paranoia and anxiety that had kept you awake still bubbled away beneath the surface.

On the car journey to work, even squished between Steve and Bucky in the back seats, their hands eagerly resting on the naked skin of your thighs, having pushed the dress up to have the contact. Even your bodyguard and best friend Sam, who was driving the vehicle, couldn’t ease the panic that came from every car horn that blared, the dangerously speeding vehicles that passed or just the erratic driving that was expected with other idiots on the road.

Every single disruption had you anticipating that the car you were in would be hit or stopped, and your brother would then arrive and drag you away. Of course, this didn’t happen, and as you came to work, another heavy sigh released from your body as you walked through the extensive security to get to the office.

New shipments of discreetly stolen goods had arrived, which was a welcome distraction for you, checking the quality and organising where and to whom it would be sold. This only lasted for an hour before the coldness began to creep in, and you made excuses to return to Steve and Bucky back in the office.

“You know you can talk to us, right?” Bucky reminds you carefully whilst pulling your chair closer to his. You couldn’t meet his intense stare as you shifted your body under his awaiting arm so you were cuddled close to his side.

“Yep”, you respond casually, leaning into his warmth.

Bucky’s face lowered to your ear as he stroked his fingers down your arm. “And you also know you’re safe with me. With Steve. In this building or home. I’d do anything to keep you safe, Doll”.

You smile politely at him, trying to ignore the guilt that, for some reason, passed over you as you reached to take his hand that was draped over your shoulders. “I know”.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Bbcky checking his phone for the 15th time in an hour. Not that you’d been counting.

Finally, he seemed to receive the notification he’d been waiting for as he suddenly sprung up from his seat, pulling his leather jacket swiftly.

A frown settled over your features as you sat forward, “where are you going?”

Bucky glanced towards Steve first before addressing your question. “I’ve just got some errands to run, nothing special. I won’t be long, Sweetheart”.

He was leaving you. On a day when you needed him most so that you felt safe, he for some reason had to go.

You stood abruptly, pushing back your chair and taking urgent steps towards him whilst nervously playing with your fingers. “You’re going to leave me on my own!”

“Who am I? The milkman?” Sam joked from where he was standing near the door, and you instantly regretted the words, having not meant them that way. What’s worse is that Steve muttered something under his breath from his desk and now you were riddled with more guilt as Bucky’s sad eyes turned to you, his hands resting heavily on your shoulders.

“I won’t be long, and maybe you’ll get a surprise later.” He tried to bring a smile to your lips, but it was worthless as you were caught between staring at Sam and Steve, trying to find the words to apologise. Bucky breathed heavily through his nose at seeing you distraught, but then his phone pinged again, so with one last kiss to your temple, he made his way to the exit.

Turning to Sam whilst awkwardly rubbing your cheek to ease the burning of embarrassment under your skin, you attempted to apologise, but Steve cut off your sentence. “I’m sorr-”.

“Baby, come here”.

Turning towards the comforting voice, you saw that Steve’s full attention was now on you. He’d moved his seat away from his desk and opened his arm, a clear sign for you to approach, which you did with rushed steps before climbing into his warm, sturdy lap. Your knees rested on either side of his thighs as your fingers caded through the curling blonde hair at the nape of his neck which you were quick to bury your face into, breathing in his calming cologne.

“I’m sorry about the comment; I didn’t mean it like that. I know I’m not alone. My head is just all over the place and-”.

“Shh, I know, baby, you don’t need to explain yourself. I know you’d rather us both be around for you today”. There it was. The one small mention and reference made by someone else that this was a day that you hated. It’s not that it needed to be spoken about as it had been clear that both of your boyfriends had been trying their hardest to be there for you today by being at your side as much as possible, constantly checking in with your emotions and making sure you ate and drank enough.

But Steve saying it out loud seemed to make it all the more real, so as you clung to him with more desperation, his arms did just the same until it felt as if there wasn’t a single part of you that wasn’t currently being touched by his giant frame.

“I love you, Steve, so much”, you plead to him in a tired daze, finally feeling somewhat safe now that you were crowded into his body.

“I’d do anything for you, baby girl, you know that. I love you too. Try and get some sleep; it’ll make the day go faster”.

You wanted to and knew you could if you’d let your eyes drop close, but something still wasn’t sitting right like an itch that needed to be scratched.

“Could I please make one request… sir?” you say, nerves beginning to flicker through your chest at the intimacy of the request, already starting to switch into the role of the submissive mind, especially after the fragile state you’d been in all day.

Steve seemed to straighten his posture at using the name, and his lips kissed the top of your head a few times before he responded, “Anything”.

Lifting your head away from his neck and gazing into the endlessly intense blue eyes that always looked so kindly down at you, you asked, “Please can we touch everywhere? I just want to sit and be close”.

Steve tried not to smile at the innocence and the way you couldn’t even say the words, ‘Please can I cock warm you?’ which he knew was what you were asking. Reaching between your bodies, he began to undo his belt and zipper, “You know you don’t need to ask, Sweetheart. I want you to feel comfortable”.

You could never explain to someone why you loved the thought of cock warming so much. It seemed to settle both your nerves and put you into a relaxing state. Not at all times, though. Half the time, it would just turn you into a horny, wet mess that ended with you riding the cock until at least three orgasms. But other times, such as now, you just needed to be stretched and feel as close to Steve as possible.

Lifting higher onto your knees, you moved aside your underwear and lifted the front of your dress as you manoeuvred yourself to accommodate the toe-curling length that was Steve Rogers. Through your groaning sigh, you couldn’t hear Steve’s matching noise as he made sure you were comfortable with a steading arm around your hips before shuffling his seat closer to the desk and continuing with his work and talking to Sam about an email he’d just received.

You were asleep before hearing the end of the email being read out. Your head is resting on his shoulder, hands loosely holding onto the material of his crisp navy blue shirt. You were warm, full and safe.

Hours later, as the sun began to set and the day passed, you were still drowsy, much more relaxed than you had been in the morning. You’d wake up to Steve packing his belongings and Sam saying he’d warm the car for you and Steve.

As you gathered your disorientated thoughts and tried to sit up, you noticed that Steve was very much still thoroughly hard inside of your soaked cunt. Silently, you thanked whatever super serum had been injected into him during his time in the army. You clenched at the realisation, and Steve hummed in contentment at realising you were waking up.

“Let’s get you home. Bucky’s waiting there for us”,  Steve informed quietly whilst cupping your cheek tenderly.

With the position you’d been sitting in, your legs were sore and tense, but Steve was more than happy to carry you down, even with his cock still inside. However, with the movements of his steps, it caused his length to ease in and out of your already sensitive cunt that by the time you’d made it to the car, you were clinging desperately to his shoulders as an orgasm rushed through you, pulsing between your legs.

Steve’s knees nearly buckled as he rested your frame against the side of the car, his face dropping to your neck as he breathed you in deeply. Your cunt continued to clench around his cock until he, too, joined you in euphoria with a deep grunt and a snap of his hips; warmth flooded your hole and began dripping out and onto the floor. Neither of you or his employees batted an eyelid as both of you came. 

Once in the car, you were so distracted with cleaning each other up that the idiots in other vehicles that had panicked you on the way in, didn’t remotely phase you.

Wishing Sam a good night, you and Steve walked up to your front door, hand in hand. Steve opened the front door for you, letting you walk into the living room first, where you abruptly stopped, causing the blonde to nearly knock into you.

“I promise I tried to stop him, but he’s a feral little beast!” Bucky exclaimed from where he sat on the floor, surrounded by something that could only be described as chaos.

It seemed all of the decorative pillows had been utterly destroyed as the contents of the fluff covered all of the surfaces. Not only this, but there were half-eaten shoes, and the corners of the couches and coffee table seemed to have tiny bite marks gnawed into them.

“Bucky?! What did you do?” You couldn’t even comprehend where the mess began and ended as you looked at your dishevelled boyfriend sitting on the floor. Well, he was more lying down, reaching beneath one of the couches as he began to sit up and plastered a wide, toothy grin towards you.

“Surprise!” Bucky shouts with exhausted joy as Steve sighs with a shaky laugh from behind you.

“Surprise? What kind of a surprise is my home being destroyed?” you say, gobsmacked, staring longingly at your favourite cushions ripped to shreds.

As Bucky opened his mouth to explain, a tiny yap sounded from beneath the furniture where he’d just been reaching, and suddenly, a bundle of black fur was pounding for your ankles. It took you a second to drop to your knees and gasp, reaching for the puppy.

“Careful! His teeth are viscous”, Bucky warns, trying to reach forward to grab the animal, but you beat him to it and pull the pup into your lap.

“Oh my god, look at you! Aren’t you just the most beautiful little thing! Was it you that destroyed my lovely cushions? It was, wasn’t it? That’s okay. I forgive you. I’ll forgive you for everything. You're just so damn cute!” you couldn’t help but talk in a childishly high voice as you spoke to the adorable little puppy.

Thankfully, he didn’t bite you with his tiny sharp teeth and instead rolled onto his back on your legs, his paws resting in the air as he waited for a belly rub you happily gave him with carefully placed head kisses.

“You didn’t tell me you were getting a new guard dog! And what happened to the rule of not letting them into the house?” you asked Bucky as you continued to pet the pup.

Steve squatted down next to you, reaching to stroke the puppy behind his ears but then quickly retreating as the tiny sharp teeth nearly nipped his fingers. “He’s not going to be a guard dog; he’s going to be your dog”.

Your head spun with how fast you looked between your boyfriends as you screamed, “What?!”

“Yep! He’s all yours. He’s a Rottweiler and is eight weeks old. They’re known to be a protective breed and great guard dogs, so we will have him properly trained a couple of times a week for this, but we also want him to be yours”. As Bucky explained he knelt closer which earned the attention of your new puppy who watched him closely but continued to lick your fingers in between as you scratched the top of his head.

Steve rested a firm hand on your lower back as he continued, “We know how difficult today is, even with our reassurance that you are safe from Enzo”. Even just hearing his name, your whole body tightens and locks, almost forgetting to breathe until a certain puppy begins to wiggle and try and jump up your body to attempt to lick your face, having noticed the change in demeanour. “We wanted there to be someone around for you all the time, just with the chance that you could still feel safe if Bucky or I weren’t by your side. So, we are hoping this little rascal will be able to do this”, Steve says playfully, stroking along the puppy's back but quickly withdrawing when he nearly nipped again.

“Thank you. Both of you. I don’t even know where to begin with telling you how amazing this gift is”, you say brightly, glancing between the two men you loved most in the world.

“Don’t thank us; it’s the least we could do”, Steve mutters whilst leaning in to kiss your cheek and then standing up, beginning to grab handfuls of fluff from all the surfaces with an attempt at cleaning up the mess.

“I just want you to be happy”, Bucky whispers whilst kissing your other cheek, but then his gaze moves to the puppy, and a line forms between his brows as he frowns. “There will be some ground rules, though. No dog on the couch or in bed. We need boundaries”.

You nod your head in understanding but lean closer to whisper to the pup loud enough that Steve and Bucky could still hear. “Don’t listen to the grumpy old man. You can stay wherever you’d like!”

Bucky sighs whilst rolling his eyes and begins to help Steve with cleaning.

The three of you were sat in front of the TV watching a late-night film. The four of you were sitting on the couch as the puppy was resting in your lap, exhausted from all the playing you’d been doing and now resting as you tried to think of a name for the little guy.

“What about Winchester? That’s a good dog name, right?” you ask the boys, but mostly the dog, hoping he would react to one of the suggestions, but he hasn’t succeeded so far. You pondered some more whilst petting his little black ears. “Oh, what about Sargeant?! No… what about Rogers? No…”. You gave up trying to think of a name off the top of your head and began to scroll for suggestions online.

“Max? Brutus? Thor? Um, nope, these aren’t good. Chase? Ari? Bullet? Dodger? Bli-” Your suggestions stop as the puppy’s head tilts to look at you, seeming more awake. “What is it? Is it one of the names? Ari?” No response, “Bullet?” still no response. “Dodger?” his precious little tail began to wag as he yapped.

“Dodger? You like that name?” he barked again, attempting to climb higher up your body to lick your face as you laughed fondly.

“Dodger it is”, Steve announced from your side with a smile.

[munipe]

YESYESYESYESYESYES - anon 🚬

:3

My personal headcanon that his x-ray vision doesn’t apply to photo images and other people’s imaginations (probably canon but idk)

Bsf!Kusuo who thinks giving himself a lobotomy might just be the best way to go when he sees Kaidou making you dote with his cute face.

Bsf!Kusuo who starts to keep surveillance because he thinks Kaidou is getting too close.

Bsf!Kusuo who won’t ask you about it, but raises an eyebrow at you whenever he catches you and Kaidou exchanging glances.

Bsf!Kusuo who starts thinking about confiding in his mother for once because he is so out of his element.

Bsf! Kusuo who classically conditioned you to message him at 5 PM sharp (he started to message you at 5 PM, strictly).

Bsf!Kusuo starts to sabotage little things when you think of Kaidou—discreetly of course.

Bsf!Kusuo who hums and nods when you remark that whenever you think of Kaidou, your hair caught in your shirt button, or you pencil tip snapping.

Bsf!Kusuo who nearly becomes the midnight barber when you think of Kaidou’s fluffy hair.

Bsf!Kusuo who only keeps Kaidou around to get a mental note of how you did your hair today, or any new additions to your uniform.

Bsf!Kusuo who thanks the fact his x-ray vision doesn’t work on his phone when you start asking for opinions on your outfits (you don’t put your face in them, but oh well, best he gets)

Bsf!Kusuo who needs Chiyo to give Kaidou a big kiss to make him love her when he sees Kaidou start drafting a letter for you.

Bsf!Kusuo who asks himself whether he was too hesitant

I’m using the other anon’s ask as a seque to a fic :3 Idk whether I want to let Saiki win or have him have dilemma for the next two posts until I let him feel happy

[kwonkissed]

NEW YEAR'S DAY ☆ C.HS

Kissing at midnight on New Year's Eve is said to bring good luck and bounty to the upcoming year. It looks like you and Vernon both have to overcome your apprehension of being open with your feelings in order to have the best luck. word count: 3.1K warnings: mostly fluff, making out, mentions of alcohol (it's new years guys), dry humping

Vernon was upset with you. How could he not be? You'd been helping him with his New Year's Eve party all day. No matter what he did, there was no way he could get you to take a break. He had to admit though, your dedication was admirable. What did you say? Something along the lines of, "As your best female friend – best friend really – it's my job to assist with matters like these."

And as angry as Vernon was that you hadn't taken any time for yourself aside from changing outfits in his spare room, he was thankful for the work you had done. His house looked absolutely amazing. The Christmas tree was in perfect order, balloons and streamers strategically placed, hors d'oeuvres meticulously positioned in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible—all of which you masterfully orchestrated with that brain of yours.

Still, with all the effort you both had put into the event, Vernon wanted to ensure you were having a good time. You deserved it. 

He looked over to your spot in his kitchen. You were standing near the punch bowl with your head tilted back in laughter at something one of your mutual friends said. He smiled and nursed the champagne in his hand. You looked so beautiful in that black dress and your diamond studs. So lovely and warm and inviting. He wishes he could kick everyone out of his house this very second so that he could be with you all by himself.

Vernon began to feel his ears burn. You always said that when a person's ears burn, that means someone's talking about them. As his friends pull him into another conversation, he steals another glance over at you. He tries to make out the words. Maybe his name will be on your lips. 

Yeah, Vernon was upset with you. But he was more upset with himself for being too beside himself to make his feelings known.

The vantage point from the kitchen island provided the perfect view of you and Vernon's handiwork. You and he had managed to transform the interior of his cozy brownstone into a Home Magazine photographer's daydream in just a few hours. It was only right that you stood back and admired it. The mini bar was full, finger food dishes over half eaten, and your friends milling about the house, all buzzing with excitement. You smiled, thoroughly satisfied. 

With all your scanning of the area, your eyes were bound to land on Vernon at some point. A special kind of heat rippled through you, from the soles of your feet to the top of your head. He looked amazing. The sleeves of his crisp white button-up were rolled to his elbows, and his hair was pushed back and messy – like he'd been running his hands through it all night. And he was talking so animatedly with his friends that you could feel your heart growing 3 sizes too big, just like the Grinch's had. Vernon was beautiful, inside and out. There was never a day where you didn't remind him that he was "pale as the moon with a personality bright as the sun."

His typical response? That you were corny and way too into figurative language. You just hummed in agreement. Vernon was right, of course, he's your best friend. He's supposed to be right about you. Vernon was forgetting one thing, though. Yes, you were corny and yes, you adored figurative language; how can one not? It's very poetic. But the one fact he was missing was that you were head over heels in love with him. And that was the most important piece of information.

As you broke your surveillance of Vernon to glance at your watch, you felt a body slide next to yours on the counter. Looking to your left, you're met with the shit-eating grin of Sophia, Vernon's little sister.

"Like what you see?"

You blanch. "Oh please, give me a break," you say, turning around to face the cabinets. Sophia does the same. The heat is back, this time concentrated in your face. You pressed the back of your hands to your face in concern. The younger woman hums and fetches you a glass of water. "Before you shoot me down for even talking about it," Sophia says slowly. You glare. "I just say give it a try. You never know; he, like, will definitely like you back." You down your water and lay your head on Sophia's shoulder. "You really think so," you ask sheepishly. "I'm positive. And hey, if he says anything bad, I'll beat his ass and kick him out of this house. Then you and I can live here together. How's that sound?" 

You laugh at her proposal. While you and Vernon had always been partners in crime, you wholeheartedly admit to being a double agent for Sophia. She'd always be like a little sister to you, no matter how not little she was anymore.

"Deal," you said confidently. Sophia giggled and hugged you quickly before trotting off to God knows where. 

A small sigh escaped your lips as you watched her walk away. "You should get off your feet," a voice murmured behind you. You turn around to see Vernon's face propped up on the counter, his eyebrows raised accusingly. 

You made your way around the island to stand next to him. "What? And not be able to strut around your gorgeous house in these killer boots? No way." You clicked your heels to emphasize your point, which made Vernon chuckle.

"You've been strutting around my gorgeous house all day, woman. Sit down." He looked at you with his big brown eyes full of so much care and admiration that you almost puked all over his Converse. You sighed and nodded your head. "Fine, I'll listen to the man of the house for once."

"But for the record, don't go getting too sappy on me, Hansol. Too many people will see through your cool guy persona." You jokingly narrowed your eyes and jabbed a finger at his chest before waltzing away with a plastic flute of champagne in your hand. Vernon watched the way the material of your dress hit the back of your thighs as you sashayed away.

Who cares about being cool if it's not with you?

Vernon was still watching you as you sat on the couch, fingers mindlessly tapping against the plastic in your hands. You were listening to your friend drone on about her loser ex. He could tell by the frequency of your head nods and the unruffled expression on your face that you had heard all of it before. 

Someone snapped at him. "Um, earth to Vernon? Hello?" Vernon turned to see Mingyu's deadpan expression. Vernon swallowed. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Wonwoo playfully rolled his eyes. "If you hadn't been staring at a certain someone, you would know," he said teasingly. Vernon frowned at the man. "I wasn't staring. I was just…checking in." Vernon watched as his two friends looked at one another skeptically. "Right, right," Mingyu remarked, sipping his drink. Vernon listened to the rest of his friends' commentary on his situation before the loud voice of a newscaster caught his attention. Someone had turned on the TV. 

"Oi! The countdown's starting soon," Seungkwan called out from his perch on the back of the couch. Vernon made a mental note to kill the man if he messed up the leather. 

"You know what, man? You should totally kiss her to ring in the new year," Mingyu insisted, nudging Vernon's ribs. "This is your chance." The mere suggestion made Vernon's heart jump to his throat. Sure, he’d thought about pulling you in for a kiss tonight, but someone actually saying the words aloud? That was too real. His feet felt like they had been bolted to the floor, his tongue a rock in his mouth. Sensing his apparent uneasiness, Mingyu and Wonwoo smiled at each other maliciously and decided to do what any great friend would – toss him into the deep end. Wonwoo grabbed one arm, Mingyu the other, and together, the two men marched Vernon over to you. 

The noise in the space was increasing by the second. It made Vernon's heart beat faster. "You've got this, champ," Mingyu said, laughing over the clamor of party blowers and enthusiastic shouting. "Yeah, go get 'em, tiger," Wonwoo said with a glint of mischief in his bespectacled eyes. They left him with pats on his back that almost sent him flying. 

"Oh, hi guys," you said, puzzled. The two men sweetly waved back at you as they retreated. Your friend had easily clocked whatever bullshit Mingyu and Wonwoo were pulling and decided to take her leave. You stood to look your best friend in the eye. The two of you were close, fronts just an inch from touching. Vernon cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey," he breathed out after a moment. You smiled at him with those pearly whites of yours. Vernon could have fainted.

"Hey yourself, you look like you've seen a ghost," you said. With furrowed eyebrows, you pressed the back of your hand to Vernon's forehead. "Are you sure you're not sick, hon?"

Vernon leaned into your touch and sighed. "No, it's — it's nothing like that. Just a bit tired 's all." You nodded as you pulled your hand back. Vernon almost groaned at the lack of touch. God, this was going to drive him insane.

He was going to tell you. He had to. Because if he let you laugh and celebrate, or God forbid, kiss someone else, he would have to vault himself down his staircase and ruin everyone's night. Slowly, Vernon's lips began to form the words he had been dying to say forever. Your eyes widened in anticipation, like you could feel the weight of the impending conversation in the air. Unfortunately, the moment was interrupted by a sudden cacophony in his home. 

"10!"

You took a step back and cleared your throat. "Looks like everyone's gonna start swapping spit in a few seconds, huh," you whispered. It hadn't been hard to understand what he was thinking. You basically live in each other's minds; it's what happens when people are in love.

One of Vernon's hands had found the back of his neck, an easy tell of his nervousness. "Yeah, seems that way."

"9!"

You bite your lip. "So, you come here often?" Vernon laughs at your terrible pickup line. The knot in his stomach was gradually unraveling.

"8!"

"Oh, come here, you idiot." Vernon opened his arms to embrace you. Continuing with your teasing, you looked at him in faux surprise. "Who? Me?"

"7!"

Vernon rolled his eyes as you stepped into his space once more. Your hands snaked around his waist, and you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, taking in his cologne. He smelled like bergamot and cedarwood. "You really like that cologne I bought for your birthday, don't you?"

"6!"

Vernon smiled. "Yeah. It's my favorite."

"5!"

You pulled your head away from Vernon's chest to get a look at him. Stunning, as always. You hoped your eyes conveyed all the words you couldn't say. They say the heart speaks through the eyes. And Vernon was hearing you loud and clear. 

"4! 3! 2!"

Vernon placed his hands on your face, the touch achingly gentle. Your hands move to lay flat on his abdomen. You fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. Vernon's warm breath fanned over your face. It smelled like champagne. "Ready?" He whispered the word as if he was afraid you might break if he were too intense. You nodded. 

"...1! Happy New Year!"

And just like that, your lips were on his. Fireworks could be heard in the distance, and you couldn't help but think that's what the inside of your chest sounded like, too. Your hand gripped Vernon's shirt, surely wrinkling the fabric. Not that it mattered, though, because Vernon's lips were so soft as they chased after yours. You sighed into his mouth, allowing his tongue to explore yours. 

A sharp whistle rang through the room, followed shortly by the sound of applause. You and Vernon (just barely) pulled away from each other to see what the commotion was all about. The realization came quickly because everyone was cheering for the two of you. You buried your face in Vernon's chest and laughed as he wrapped his arm protectively around you and cussed out the ringleader, who had been quickly identified as Mingyu. 

Vernon pulled away to look down at you. His cheeks were flushed a bright red. "You alright," he asked softly. You beamed at him and kissed the tip of his nose. "So much more than alright."

For the rest of the night, you and Vernon were attached at the hip. Lighting sparklers, helping tipsy friends into their coats, cleaning up. Always side by side. And it didn't look any different than usual from the outside, but to both of you and everyone in the room, there was a clear distinction. 

Vernon ushered the last of your friends out of the door with a contented sigh. The chaos was finally over. He turned to look at you on his couch, your body seemingly melting into the cushions. You had kicked off your so-called killer boots and were staring at the ceiling. Vernon made his way over to the couch and plopped down next to you.

"You think it was a success," you asked, picking at your nails.

Vernon turned to face you. "The party?" 

"Obviously," you snorted. 

"Yeah, I think it went great. But I don't know if I'm the right person to ask."

"And why is that?"

"Well, it might not have been great," Vernon smiled. "It could've been shit, and I wouldn't have even noticed because I got exactly what I wanted." You hummed at his answer. Turning your head, you gazed at him seductively. "Oh really? What did you want so bad, Hansol?"

There you go again, saying his name like that. Vernon chewed on his bottom lip and thought carefully about his next move. Slowly, he walked his fingers across one exposed leg, then the other. You shivered. Vernon tapped on your leg opposite of him. Receiving the message, you threw it over his and slid onto his lap. 

"You, of course."

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, suddenly shy. 

Vernon tenderly lifted your chin to get a look at your face. There was something so pretty about you in the light of his Christmas tree and vintage table lamp. It made you look like you did in his mind–like you were glowing. Vernon mindlessly ran his hands up and down your sides as the two of you sat in the quiet afterglow of the evening.

You leaned forward to press your forehead against Vernon's. Your fingers made their way to his jawline. It was transfixing how the muscles tensed and relaxed at your touch. A lopsided smile was splayed across the young man's face. You canted your face towards him but stopped, suddenly hesitant. For what reason, you weren't sure. It was almost like you were kindergartners again, and you could be walked in and scolded at any minute. Subconsciously, you were looking for a reason to stop, to not be in love with your best friend. You couldn't find one.

So, you kissed him. It was languid like you had all the time in the world. And there was. There was no countdown to rush you, no crowd of onlookers to be wholly invested in your actions. 

You wrapped your arms around Vernon's neck as he deepened the kiss. He could feel a bead of spit dripping down his chin. He couldn't care less. Vernon's hands grasped the back of your thighs, and his fingers traced patterns in your skin. It made you squirm. The heat was gradually returning to your body. You needed to move, or else you'd probably explode. And you didn't want to leave another mess for Vernon to clean up.

Slowly, you began to rock back and forth in his lap. Vernon moaned into your mouth at the movement. It was kind of sweet when you thought about it. The both of you are too tired and lazy to get each other off efficiently, but neither cares enough to stop. It felt too good, anyway. 

After a few minutes of making out with your friend-turned-lover, you reluctantly detached your lips from his. Making your way to his neck, you peppered kisses behind his ear. You listened to him sigh. 

"Vernon, baby," you said breathlessly. Your hips stuttered to a stop. "I've really gotta go." With shaky legs, you stumbled off his lap, and you could've sworn you heard Vernon whine. Turning to put your shoes on, you felt a tug on the hem of your dress. 

"We're pretty good at this being in love thing, aren't we?" His voice came out a little quieter, a little more shaky than he'd meant for it to. You looked at him with his swollen lips and blown-out pupils. Who gave him the right to look like that? Or to ask that question?

Vernon stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his chin on your shoulder, his chest pressed to your back. "I'd like to think we always were," you responded with a smile. Vernon chuckled.

"Stay," he whispered. "Please." Vernon spun you around to face him. You don't think you'd ever seen your best friend look so desperate. Shaking your head, you smiled.

"Fine."

And with that confirmation, Vernon grabbed your hand and guided you upstairs.

Scanning his room before climbing into bed, Vernon smiled to himself. All of your things looked so right sitting next to his. Your clothes kicked in the same corner as his. Phones charging next to each other on the same dresser. Hell, even your toothbrush on his bathroom counter fit in. But the biggest thing was you. You lying under his duvet in his oversized t-shirt and sweats. 

"What are you so smiley about over there, loverboy," you asked, amused. Vernon slipped into bed next to you. "Couldn't help but think all of this felt natural," he said thoughtfully. You looked him over. His eyes were closed, and his arms were crossed behind his head. "For someone so scared to tell me he loved me, you're being super casual about this," you said, poking him in his ribs. You laughed as he yelped. "Well, I think you not tearing my heart out and rejecting me has a huge part to play in it, ma'am." You hummed in response. "Fair enough." 

There was a beat of comfortable silence. 

"You know, our friends practically say we're married already."

"I know. Can't really blame them, can we?" You laughed.

"No, we can't," you breathed. "Oh, if only they'd seen us arguing over what records to play tonight." You turned and grabbed his bicep. "Hoshi would never let us hear the end of it." Now, it was Vernon's turn to laugh.

There was another beat of silence.

"Sol?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you for starting my year off right." Vernon felt his chest tighten at your words. He pressed a kiss to the apple of your cheek. 

"It was a pleasure. Happy New Year, baby."

the art of dry humping is not lost on me!! this is one of those ideas that I woke up in a cold sweat from. like I just had to get it out of my brain. anyways, hope y'all enjoy

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part twenty: you've been made

word count: 3.0k

warnings: paranoia, unreliable narrator

nineteen | twenty | twenty one

It was nearly midnight when Logan appeared.

Appeared was the only fitting word, really. One blink, and the rooftop of Lando’s estate was empty. The next, he was there, his black hood drawn low and a quiet grace to his steps as if the shadows bent for him. The security system didn’t even register. Of course it didn’t. Logan had written in the blind spots himself.

He moved across the rooftop like a ghost, all nimble limbs and practiced silence, until he dropped down to the fire escape and tapped once against the glass pane of Lando’s office window.

Lando heard a single creaking of the floorboards and paused, but didn’t look up right away. He was already pouring two glasses of something dark, standing in front of the fireplace like he’d been waiting. 

The room was dim—just the silver underglow of the city filtering through Lando’s tall office windows, the lights of Monte Carlo stretching like quiet thoughts in the distance. His tie was undone, draped haphazardly over his desk chair. He hadn’t loosened it himself—he couldn’t remember doing anything with his hands other than checking his phone.

Twice.

No, four times now.

"How’d it go?" Lando finally asked, still thumbing through the photos laid out on his desk, in no rush to turn to face his newfound company. He’d told Logan to just use the front door numerous times, but ironically, the kid had a flair for the dramatics, despite having all the presence of a wraith.

Ah, to be young and stupid.

The ornate mahogany desk was covered in documents – surveillance prints, reports, a building manifest. His fingers slowed only slightly in their movements, waiting for Logan’s response.

"Quiet," Logan’s voice answered from the dark. He stepped into the office like he belonged there, hoodie pulled over his hair, hands in the pockets of a windbreaker. "Margot covered the end of her shift. No incident. Everything shut down on time, register closed, trash taken out."

Lando finally looked up. “You’re late.”

“Had to wait until Margot left,” Logan replied as he slipped through the open window, flicking back his hood. His tone was relaxed, but Lando caught the way his eyes darted to the corners of the room—always on alert. He appreciated that about Logan. Sharp. Loyal. Cautious to the bone. “So tell me,” Lando said, handing him the second glass.

Logan leaned against the ledge, swirling the drink absently. “She called out like you said. Margot covered. Pretty boring stuff,” he sighed.

“And before you say anything– yes, I was careful.” He moved like smoke, all presence and no weight, slipping the door shut behind him. “She stayed in last night. Didn't leave her apartment. Margot dropped by, though. Brought takeaway.” Lando lifted his gaze at that, eyes sharpening. “So they’ve talked.”

“Seems like it,” Logan said. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “They talked for a bit, mostly about school. I didn’t catch much more.”

“Did she say anything about me?”

Logan tilted his head, the hint of a teasing smile curling up one corner of his mouth. “Why? Worried she found your face on a wanted poster?”

“M’not in the mood, Logan.”

Silence stretched between them. 

Way to kill the vibe.

Finally, Logan just shrugged. “She didn’t mention you, boss. Not once. And trust me, I listened.”

Lando’s jaw tightened. He wanted to believe him. But it didn’t sit right. “She called out of her shift. Didn’t even text. Margot didn’t say much either—just that she was taking Y/N’s place for the night.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You sure she’s alright?”

“You’re paranoid,” Logan rolled his eyes, throwing a Skittle in the air and catching it with his mouth. Where did he even get those?

“And no, she didn’t say anything. Not to Margot, not to anyone else. She’s not avoiding you, dude. She’s just... processing, I think.”

Lando leaned back into his chair, arms folding across his chest. “Processing?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, then leaned against the edge of the wide windowsill. “The end of a maybe-relationship with a nice guy she probably wanted to work out. You ever think maybe it has nothing to do with you?”

He hated when Logan was right. 

Still, Lando rubbed a hand across his jaw, considering it. “She called out tonight.”

“Pretty sure she’s allowed to do that.”

“She doesn’t do that.”

“But she did,” Logan replied with a shrug. 

Lando’s fingers curled into his palm, the lines of his knuckles going stark in the shadowed light. Still, he said, "So you’re sure she didn’t say anythin’? About me?"

Logan raised a brow, just a twitch. "Should she have?"

Lando didn’t answer. Logan folded his arms and leaned against the wall, observing him with a kind of muted curiosity. "Oh. You think Margot told her something. About you."

"No," Lando replied quickly. Too quickly. "I just—she's been... distant."

He thought of the way she hadn’t responded to his texts right away that week. How her shift at the café had been traded, not rescheduled. How the note on the rota had been written in someone else’s handwriting.

She hadn’t asked him for a ride since the call. Not even to class the next morning, and she hated having to walk across campus for her Tuesday classes.

He thought of the empty passenger seat of his car, where her half-finished water bottle still rolled around, cap twisted on loosely. Her playlist hadn’t been played in days. He hadn’t dared touch it.

Logan opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

Lando noticed it in his periphery and set down his glass. His eyes darkened and his voice dropped to a dangerously low tone – not yet threatening, but a warning enough for the wise. “What are you not telling me?”

There was a pause. A twitch of Logan’s jaw, like he had to decide what mattered and what didn’t. “She looked… sad, I guess. That’s all.”

“Sad?” 

Lando turned toward the fireplace, exhaling through his nose. He rubbed a hand down his jaw, trying to reason with himself. There were too many variables. If Margot had said something, she wouldn’t be obvious about it. She’d be smart, casual – a single comment that could make Y/N question everything.

“So she knows,” Lando muttered again, almost to himself.

“Or,” Logan said slowly, “you’re reading too much into this because you’re scared of her seeing the real you. And this—” he gestured around at the office, the reports, the late hour, “—is the only version of you you know how to protect.”

Silence fell between them. Outside, the city lights bled softly into the fog.

Lando ran a hand through his curls, frustrated. “She should talk to me if something’s wrong!”

Logan gave him a look that was part sympathy, part exasperation. “Lando. She did. That night you picked her up for ice cream? She barely wanted to talk to anyone, but she called you. That means something.”

It did. Lando knew it did. And that was the problem.

Because the more it meant, the worse it would be when she found out.

About him. About what he really did. About the fact that Liam—the guy who drove her home, listened to her complain about her professors, and shared ice cream on a quiet curb—didn’t really exist.

The bell above the café door chimed.

He stepped in, shoulders tensed beneath the charcoal grey of his jacket. His usual rhythm — scan the room, clock the exits, check the corners — happened without thought. But today, it wasn’t danger he was checking for.

It was her.

She was behind the counter in the same apron with the same sleepy, mid-shift posture as always.

But something was off.

She didn’t look up right away, which was unusual. Normally, she seemed to sense him before he even stepped all the way in as if she had some radar attuned to his presence. But today, she was preoccupied with something in her hand, face partially turned toward Margot.

He slowed his steps.

When she finally did glance up, it wasn’t immediate recognition in her eyes. There was a brief flicker, like she had to place him. Like she was working out whether she should smile or not.

It lasted all of half a second, but he caught it. And then she smiled, a little too politely.

“Hey,” she said.

Not Liam. Just hey.

Lando blinked, heart catching in his throat.

Her smile when she saw him didn’t reach her eyes.

Her apron wasn’t tied the way it normally was; instead, the ends were sloppily knotted.

The music playing overhead was too low, as if she hadn’t bothered adjusting the volume since opening.

She got his drink wrong too. The cup he held today was just straight black coffee, with none of the usual spices and whatever that she usually added, the stuff that made it nice. Instead, today he was handed just plain old black coffee. 

It was small things—the most minute details, imperceptible to anyone else. But to Lando, they layered into a chorus of suspicion. Something was off. Off in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

When she handed him the coffee, their fingers didn’t brush like they usually did. She pulled away too fast. Avoided eye contact just a second too long.

Fuck.

He smiled, casual. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said too quickly. “Just tired.”

His mind whirred.

She knows. She knows who I am. She’s acting normal because she’s scared. She’s trying to pull away without drawing attention. Fuck, did Margot tell her? Did she find out on her own? Is she—

“Liam?” her voice cut through the noise in his head.

He blinked. She was watching him, her brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost startled. “Yeah. Just tired.”

A lie for a lie.

Margot stepped away to the back, and in the seconds that followed, Lando's eyes drifted to the counter behind her. There, half-tucked into her open bag, was a copy of the Monte Carlo Tribune — folded to a page he’d recognize anywhere. The headline in block print:

“Beyond Forgery and Fraud: Reaper's Circle's Drug Empire Rises”

A photo of some wethered and worn factory near the coast took up most of the page. He knew that place, remembered brokering that first deal that would raise his empire anew.

He looked back at her.

“I, uh,  haven’t seen you in a bit,” she said, moving to pour a cup of coffee for another customer. “Did you try coming by the other night?”

He didn’t answer. His voice had gotten caught somewhere between suspicion and hope.

Was she testing him?

Was this her way of setting a trap — soft questions until he tripped?

“Liam?” she asked, tilting her head.

The mug was still sitting in front of him. He hadn’t realized he had sat down.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

She nodded. “Sorry I wasn’t here. I wasn’t feeling too well.”

Something about her tone was too even. Too… measured. And again — maybe it was just exhaustion, or grief, or burnout — but it didn’t sound like her.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“No worries,” he said slowly, before his expressions morphed into something that appeared more sympathetic. “You feeling better now?”

Her lips curved into a tired smile. “Hm? Yeah! Yeah, some tea helped. Ha, you know how it is,” she laughed awkwardly, before turning her attention back to the register.

She didn’t say thank you for checking on me. She didn’t say I missed you. Not that she ever had, but still. Lando felt the tension coil just a little tighter around his spine.

He swallowed hard.

Too many coincidences.

She was quieter, more contained. Everything about her felt conscious, like she was trying to force herself to act normal, trying not to be too obvious.

It was putting him on edge.

And yet, when she looked back at him then, her eyes weren’t stony. They weren’t cold. They were just... tired. A little sad, even.

“You okay?” he asked, voice lower now, a bit softer.

She gave a quiet shrug, eyes dropping to her hands. “Yeah. Just… Just tired. Lots of readings I need to churn through this week.”

Somehow, something about the way she said it — soft, with no edge — began to loosen the knot of panic inside his chest. She wasn’t pretending. She wasn’t testing him.

She didn’t know.

He realized it all at once — how ridiculous he must look, tense in his seat, watching her like he was waiting to be shot. Because nothing had changed, not really.

It was him.

He was the one that had changed. The one who had started needing this version of her — this version of life, where he could walk in from the dark and be Liam, and have her smile at him like he belonged in the light.

And now he was terrified at the thought of losing that escape.

He exhaled — long, slow, quiet — and sat back in his chair, coffee growing cold between his fingers.

Logan shook his head once, steady and sure, leaning against the side of Lando’s office desk like he had all the time in the world for the second night in a row. He nearly rolled his eyes, but decided against it even though Lando’s back was facing him. “Nope. Just said she was sick, I’m telling you! Seemed tired, honestly. Like, the normal kind. Not the I-just-learned-my-friend-is-the-head-of-an-underground-crime-ring kind.”

Lando didn’t laugh. He stared down at his desk, thumb tapping once, twice, against the edge of the wood.

“She had the paper with the article,” he muttered. “On the counter. Folded open to the exact page.”

“So do half the people in this city.” Logan groaned. “You’re not the only person obsessed with yourself.”

Lando glared at him, but Logan just raised both hands, palms up in surrender.

“Look,” Logan said, tone shifting to something between friendly and exasperated, “I’ve been around her. You know I have. She doesn’t talk about you like someone she’s suspicious of. If anything, she’s more normal than ever. Maybe a little quieter, yeah, but I’d bet that’s about her own stuff. Not you.”

Lando didn’t answer.

“She still calls you Liam,” Logan added gently, before laughing softly. “You don’t have to spiral every time she blinks weird, man.”

Lando let out a long breath, dragged a hand down his face. “I just— I can’t lose this.”

“I know,” Logan said, softer now. “But if you keep going paranoid like this, she’s gonna notice something’s off. She trusts you. Don’t give her a reason not to.”

He wasn’t expecting her to be working again the next night. He only dropped in to grab coffee — a real one this time, not some excuse to linger near the counter or “accidentally” ask about her schedule.

But there she was, back in her apron and hair pinned lazily back. He could see a textbook open on the counter in front of her. Her highlighter was dry, and she was stabbing the tip into the paper like sheer frustration might will the ink to return.

He took it all in — the focused crease between her brows, the way her lips moved as she silently read through a dense sentence, the soft wrinkle in her sleeve where she'd leaned on her elbow too long.

His heart slowed.

Normal. So wonderfully normal.

And then she glanced up, caught him watching her. There was a beat — the kind that used to terrify him — where she looked like she might say nothing at all. But then, she smiled.

Not the practiced one. Not the polite one from the other night. The real one.

The one that tilted slightly to the left and showed a flash of uneven tooth and lit her eyes in a way that made the ground under his feet feel less like concrete and more like something he’d fall through endlessly.

He pretended not to care, rolled his shoulders back like it hadn’t meant anything. It wasn’t even that big a deal, anyway.

“Hey,” she said, tucking her pen behind her ear. “Are you gonna be around this weekend?”

He tilted his head, before smirking. “Why? You tryin’ t’ask me out?”

She snorted. “Oh please. I have three exams next week. I was gonna see if you still wanted to help me study.”

He smiled, warm and quiet. “So yes.”

She rolled her eyes, but he saw the way her fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the counter — like maybe she’d missed this too.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll bring snacks.”

“You’re gonna bring, like, gummy worms and a Red Bull, aren’t you?”

He raised a brow. “Red Bull?” he asked, scoffing as if she had insulted his heritage or publicly accused her of high treason or something equally preposterous. “Nah, m’actually more of a Monster kind of guy.”

She bit back another smile, biting her lower lip like she didn’t want to let it show how easily he pulled one from her again.

“I’ll text you,” she said. Lando nodded, stepping back, already mentally rearranging his weekend. She turned back to her textbook, and he turned to the door. 

And somewhere between his hand hitting the handle and the bell chiming overhead, he let himself breathe.

Things were okay.

It wasn’t until a few days later, when she dropped into the car with a soft, absent little hum and immediately launched into a useless story about her professor misprinting the final exam, that he  finally felt the weight on his sternum lift.

She was laughing, talking – not faking it. The creases by her eyes were real this time.

And Lando sat there, both hands on the wheel, and felt his own lungs finally expand again—like he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.

Her legs were curled up in the passenger seat, iced coffee dripping dew into the cupholder of his luxury car, and she was babbling about something new she had checked out from the library. The streetlights passed over her face in golden intervals, washing her in soft light.

She didn’t know. She hadn’t left. She hadn’t pulled away.

And he –Lando, Liam, whoever the hell he was with her– could finally breathe again.

a/n: sorry for the late post! had a twenty page paper that was kicking my butt but hopefully i should be able to give you guys a bit more content (fingers crossed!) now that i'm on holiday as always, i love hearing what you guys have to say, so comments/reblogs/asks are vv appreciated :)

[sneakyfriday]

In weakness and in strength

I want to be your weakness, your strength, your everything. Because… you are my every reason to live and to love.

Caleb x You. Based on this illusio

“Hi, the Colonel has already left the office earlier afternoon.”

You were sure Caleb was actively avoiding you at this point. It was past midnight and you looked everywhere. He couldn’t have predicted that you would be running around looking for him and hid away in some secret base, right?

“Thanks Liam. Do you happen to know where he was heading to?”

You felt a pang of sadness across your chest as you tried to hold back the frustration from showing in your tired eyes. You just couldn’t seem to reach him and it was driving you insane.

***

Was he angry?

You swore you didn’t mean to raise your voice last night. It was humiliating to be treated like you were some fragile damsel in distress, unable to protect yourself. For god’s sake, you were one of the best hunters in Linkon City. Couldn’t he trust you, just a little bit?

Was he tired?

You noticed beads of sweat rolling down his temples when he ran towards you. His breathing was hushed, uniform crooked and hair unkempt. Your name escaped his lips like a trembling whisper, his knuckles white as he gripped your shoulders with a force greater than gravity itself.

You were standing alone at an unknown intersection after midnight. In fact, you had been there for the last 20 minutes, trying to use the stars as navigation, your dead phone as useful as a brick. You had to admit, Skyhaven was a little eery at night. It was as if the city was under some sort of evil spell and everyone fell into a deep slumber the moment the midnight clock striked. There was no sign of any living creatures, no movement, no usual Linkon City’s hustle and bustle. Just empty buildings. Just wind rustling the leaves. Just pending thunderstorm clouds in the distance. You were not scared, just a little, well, concerned — you thought. Astraphobia and being lost in a foreign city, whatever. Worst case scenario, someone would definitely find you fainting on the street tomorrow and bring you to the hospital anyway.

Was he sick of, well, you?

“If this is your definition of being able to take care of yourself, I have nothing to say.”

Caleb’s words were gentle, yet his gaze was razor sharp. All you could do was freezing like a deer caught in headlights, words struggled to escape your lips.

You were no longer a kid, and yet, you always found yourself feeling like one in front of Caleb . Always helpless, always in trouble.

“Wait, how did you find out where I was? Did you… put a tracking device on me again?”

You held your fists tight as the realisation stabbed your gut like a sharp knife. Did he not trust you that much? To put surveillance on you despite promising not to do so again?

Fighting back the tears that threatened to fall, you stared straight back into those indiscernible violet eyes. What was that you saw? Disappointment? Anger? Regret? At you? At himself?

“I would rather you be mad at me than having to look at your lifeless body.”

After a long deafening silence that felt like forever, Caleb finally spoke. His hands moved to cup your face, fingers gently caressing your cheeks.

How could he? Yes, you had to admit that you were in a bit of a situation, but that was nothing you could not handle on your own.

You were strong enough. You had to be strong enough. Not just that, you had to be strong without him. Because you knew all too well what it meant to live in the world without Caleb. To have the only one you love and care about suddenly gone one day, leaving you broken and torn apart all alone. You learned to pick up your own broken pieces and you would not be able to do that if you start depending on him again.

In fact, you wanted to be independent from him so bad that you couldn’t afford to show him any weaknesses. Only then you could be free from the tantalising, slow consuming trap that threatened the wall you meticulously built from tears.

“I would rather you not look at me at all. Caleb, why are you so afraid?”

***

“I’m not too sure. Sorry.”

Liam’s stone cold reply cut through your chain of thoughts and pulled you back to reality. You checked your phone again for the 100th time since morning.

“I’m sorry gege”

“Let’s talk”

“I couldn’t reach you :( Where are you?”

Message cold, unopened. Missed calls unreturned.

Caleb was not the kind to give you the silent treatment no matter how upset he was. He would always be the one to apologise first even if it was not his fault, or make it up to you with small gestures despite your stubbornness.

Caleb had always been forgiving, always available, always reassuring. He was gentle, yet overwhelmingly enveloping.

It was painfully obvious that once again, you already couldn’t go on without his constant presence.

Your mind went straight to the worst case scenarios. Maybe someone kidnapped Caleb? A ruthless wanderer attacked him? Or could he had run into an accident along the way?

Your stomach churned with worries. What if…fate decided to separate the two of you once more?

What an irony. Was this how he felt last night?

*Ding*

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it :)”

“Sorry I missed your calls, was busy at the fleet’s office ><“

“Go to sleep, don’t wait for me”

Liar. You are hiding from me.

***

“Please, just…let me in. Let me take care of you when you are weak.”

You found yourself standing outside his door, feeling helpless to the point of frustration. The cup of hot water in your hand had long turned cold.

You were tossing on the bed when you heard the familiar footsteps echoing through the quiet corridor and the main gate creaking open. You were staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open, when you noticed his heavy breathing and stifled cough. You were knocking on his bedroom door, concerned and impatient, when he tried to drive you away with a hoarse, tired voice.

All of a sudden, the door unlocked softly. You put down the medicines and water on the table before walking towards him, who was sitting on the bed, with his back resting against the headrest.

“Come here.”

Caleb reached out to grab your hand and gently pull you onto his lap. He did not even have the strength to change after he got back. Through the thick fabric of his uniform, you felt the heat radiating from his skin.

“How can I have any weakness if I want you to depend on me? I… need to protect you.”

Caleb squeezed your hand tightly as he rest them against his chest. It was as if he was afraid that you would slip through his fingers the moment he let go of your hand. His gaze was fixed on you, memorising your every movement and emotion.

You were his anchor, his direction, his home. It was natural that he wanted to shield and protect the single most important person in his life and his reason to live. Unbeknownst to you, his obsession with protecting you was what gave him the strength to return from death.

His other hand gently traced along your cheeks. The bright moon casted a soft light on your face, illuminating your skin to an ethereal glow. Gosh, you were so painfully beautiful.

You were the treasure that he desperately wanted to protect and hide away from all evils.

Caleb knew you were capable of taking care of yourself. He had seen your growth and even celebrated your achievements together. But he could never tell you, the overzealous need to protect you was more for his sake than yours. The identity of a protector was his life purpose. And an excuse for all his messy feelings.

He wanted to bring you to a place with only the two of you. He wanted you to entrust yourself fully to him. He wanted to monopolise you. Because that was the only way he can truly protect you, right? Because he was your gege? Because of his duty? Or because of love?

Funny how he could control gravity, yet unable to stop being helplessly revolved around you. His sun.

“But I don’t want to just depend on you, I want to stand beside you. I want you to depend on me too.”

You pouted. You realised that you were both idiots. He was overprotective, and you were stubborn.

While your resistance to relying on him came from a place of self-protection, it might already be too late.

You could no longer live without him.

The moment he came back into your life after that fateful incident, all your heartbreak training and personal walls proved to be useless. He easily broke down your resolve and you crawled straight back to his arms like you were meant to be.

Caleb did not reply you. His one hand still gripped yours tightly while resting them on his chest, the other had now moved to hug your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His gaze left yours to drift downwards, stopping right at your lips.

His eyes turned hazy, hungry almost. Caleb found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything but your pouty, pink, insanely kissable lips. His weakened body was now eating away his usual self-control.

He finally spoke, voice barely a whisper. He was too sick and tired to hide his truthful feelings from you.

“You asked me why I am so afraid. You asked to see my weakness.

How can I not be afraid, if my weakness is right here. She’s my everything.”

Something tugged on your heartstrings at his sudden confession.

“I don’t want your protection, as your little sister. I want to stand beside you, you know, …as a woman”

You closed the remaining distance between the two of you by leaning your chest against his.

Caleb jumped slightly, surprised, his breathing quickened and heartbeats grew more erratic by the seconds. You reached up to run your hands through his hair, absent-mindedly playing with his locks before gently stroking the back of his head. You planted your face at the crook of Caleb’s neck, steady breaths playfully caressed his skin.

He was warm. He was so comforting. He smelled like summer, fresh showers and refreshing apples. You nuzzled deeper into his neck, hoping to get more of his scent. You missed him even when you are next to him.

“Someone dared to ignore me for the whole day. Say, maybe… it’s my turn to put a tracking device on you”

With eyes full of mirth, you looked up and flashed him the most mischievous smile. To your surprise, you were met with an unfamiliar burning gaze that caused chills to run down your spine and your heart beating frantically in your chest.

“I like that. A lot.” — his voice dangerously low, almost dripping like honey.

You felt the blush slowly creeped up your neck to the tips of your ears. Embarrassed all of a sudden, you tried to back away from his embrace, only for Caleb to gripped onto your waist tighter, refusing to let any distance come between you.

He lowered his head and planted gentle kisses all over your temple. Hot breaths tickled your face and you became so conscious of the atmosphere, his quickened heart, his wandering hand moving from your waist up to trace the curve of your breast and the growing bulge that were touching your thigh. Soft moans escaped his lips as he nibbled on your now scarlet ear, hips pushed against your torso in a sensual rhythm. His touch started out soft and gentle, yet they slowly grew more impatient and passionate.

You felt hot. You became lightheaded. Maybe you were falling sick.

Silly, blissfully underestimated the effect you had on him. Caleb wanted nothing more than to make you his right at that moment.

You were impossible and intoxicating. You had occupied his every thought and imprisoned his heart. Now that he knew you shared, even if just a fraction of his feelings, he was beyond ecstasy. He desired to touch you more, harder, deeper, to drown in you and to mark you with his scent.

Maybe next time. Would not want to scare you away just yet.

He had waited for so long and he would not mind waiting for a little longer.

***

Self note: If illusio ever comes back I will put the Colonel in every single memory. Also felt a little detached writing this idk, like hey its not me im not the main character im just a messenger.

[fortunxa]

Blue hair, blue eyes, blue lights

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: The chances of a blue-haired girl being chased by the cops and hopping in my car, simply yelling “Drive!” are low, but never zero.

author’s note: It’s my first time publishing a Jinx one-shot of mine, I hope you enjoy! This is a relatively new blog, so if anyone wants to become mutuals I’m definitely open to the idea! :)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Fourteen days.

A mere two weeks stand between me and move-in day for my freshman year of college. In other words, summer break is slowly coming to an end, and I’ve done fuck all to make it memorable.

I can feel life passing me by as I watch like a bystander. Usually, the clock is my enemy—a constant reminder of my youth running out, and, shit, I’m too young to feel that way. This time, it serves as a way to free me from the shackles of the evening shift as a front desk worker at our local gym.

The clock strikes midnight, and, like a modern-day Cinderella, I jump up from my seat and make a beeline for the exit, hurriedly clocking out. I simultaneously greet and say goodbye to the night shift going in, already halfway through the small yet relatively empty parking lot. The smell of sweaty ‘gym bros’ is long forgotten as the breeze engulfs me, my dirty sneakers thudding on the concrete. The rust on my beat-up jeep shines in the moonlight as I approach—so seductive, I snicker to myself. I toss my duffel bag in the trunk, hop behind the wheel, and start the engine. I take this moment to commence my connect-phone-to-car-or-die-trying mission and thank the universe for its successful outcome. I browse a bit through the plethora of playlists before settling on the usual one, the sound of Arctic Monkeys filling the space as I leave the parking lot.

I don’t want to go home—not yet, at least—so I settle for a late-night drive. The cookie-cutter, upper-class houses pass me by as I mindlessly cruise through the clean streets—a stark contrast to my neighborhood, where you either learn to stick up for yourself or go home crying to your mama. A place where there is more sewage sludge than trees. A place where I grew up and one I learned to love.

In the midst of it all, I don’t notice the particularly nasty bump on the road that makes my song abruptly cut off. I take a right, pulling over in an alley with an annoyed groan as I resort to phase two, also known as connect-phone-back-to-car-before-I-impulsively-crash, of my initial mission. As I fiddle with the settings, showing my inner cheek no mercy as my teeth dig into their feast, a hissing and spritzing sound comes through my open window.

I think I’m imagining things at first, that post-shift fatigue surely getting the best of me, but I spot the source of the sound rather quickly: a figure, hidden almost out of sight between the fancy houses, switching between various colors of spray paint as she defaces the picture-perfect facade with her graffiti. The sheer speed of her actions makes it look like she’s juggling.

How do I know it’s a girl? Well, although she is wearing a hat to shield her face from any surveillance cameras, a neck warmer up to her nose, and a black, oversized tracksuit already covered in pink paint splotches, her disguise was blown the moment she decided to leave her blue, ankle-length, twin braids out. I twist my neck and reach over the dashboard to try and get a better look at her work. I can barely make out the shape of a green monkey’s face before moving on to the next element. ‘Get ji-’

My reading is interrupted by the sound of sirens piercing the air and blue lights illuminating the area. Instinctively, I turn my headlights off and duck, watching the girl as she hastily packs the cans into her backpack. I swear I can see her eyes twinkle with excitement as she takes one last glance at her—presumably—finished artwork and takes off running through the gardens. Her faint giggle reaches my ears, and a bewildered smile graces my features. I wanted fun, and now it’s right in front of me. I definitely couldn’t get a clearer sign than this.

I observe as one of the cops chases after her as the other drives away, seemingly trying to cut her off. Lightbulb moment. I put the car into gear and waste no time following them from the comfort of the dark alleys, reaching the mysterious girl first through the shortcuts. I catch her contemplating her next move and, without hesitation, quickly flash my high beams at her twice. This seems to grab her attention, and I signal for her to get in with a simple nod, tapping the car door as confirmation.

To my surprise, she actually runs over and hops in the backseat, her back lying flat as she takes a swift peek through the window, and holy shit, I didn’t think that she actually would.

“Drive!” she yells through her panting, and I do. I feel my heart beating wildly against my ribcage as the blue lights appear once again in my rearview mirror. Don’t fuck this up, I think before taking a sharp left. I hear her elated squeals as I visualize the district’s roads and plan the perfect getaway.

Right.

Right, once again.

Left.

Straight down the street.

Sharp right.

I can hear the sirens getting closer as I speed through the familiar routes. It doesn’t matter that I know this area like the back of my hand; the cops probably do, too. There is only one thing left to try, and, albeit risky, it should work. They hadn’t spotted my car yet, and we were quickly approaching a busy intersection—the perfect distraction.

The tires squeak as I harshly pull into an empty driveway, turning the engine off in hopes of blending in.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the blue-haired girl grumbles with brooding eyes. I don’t reply. Instead, I shush her as I grab her waist and roll her off the seat, pushing her into the legroom before ducking underneath the steering wheel. We fall silent, holding our breaths in as the police car passes us by. I watch as they get lost in the dense traffic, a sigh of relief escaping me as I throw my head back. I climb into my seat again and take a peek at the tagger in the back, confusion crossing my features as I watch her stuff her face with candy. My candy. “Hefty stash you got back there.” Her mouth twists at the sour taste of a Warhead she picked. She seems completely unfazed by this whole situation.

I notice that she had discarded her hat and neck warmer and take the opportunity to get a better look at her: blue eyes matching her hair, light freckles splattered across her straight nose and rosy cheeks, pouty lips, her dark and expressive brows… She truly is breathtaking. I feel a blush creep up my face as she climbs over the console, wiggling her way into the passenger seat. She takes her hoodie off, revealing her black tank top, and fuck me, she has tattoos.

She faces me with a curious look herself, seemingly analyzing me too. Her gaze is difficult to decipher as her eyes trail over my figure, and I stiffen. She shoots me a knowing smile before throwing her hands around my neck and placing a kiss on my cheek. “You’re a lifesaver, toots,” she muses into my ear. The pleasant smell of paint and bubble gum hits my nose making me lick my lips. “Name’s Jinx, by the way. Stands for Jinx,” she cackles to herself, drawing her lower lip between her teeth awaiting my introduction.

I blink a couple of times, realizing how silent I’ve been throughout this whole ordeal. I can get awkward, sure, but I’m not timid, so I muster up the courage and consciously relax, trying to project a nonchalant attitude. “I’m Y/N.” I shoot her a smile of my own.

“Y/N. Hmm…” Jinx gives an approving hum as she repeats after me, my name rolling off her tongue like honey. “What made you help little ol’ me?” New observation: she’s a teaser.

“I need some excitement in my life,” I answer truthfully and she perks up with a spark in her eyes.

“Toots, you’ve just made friends with the perfect candidate to help you with that.” Her giddy attitude returns as she beams at me.

“We’re friends, huh?” I tease at her choice of words, my eyebrows raised in a cocky manner.

“Sure we are! I feel like running from the cops together is the perfect bonding experience, don’t ya?” She gives me a once-over before her mouth curves into a smirk. “Unless you want to be more than friends. That could work, too.” She winks. Her straightforwardness should make me turn crimson, but instead, it makes my confidence grow. I give a low chuckle as I shake my head in disbelief.

“Tell you what,” I begin, starting the engine and trying to connect my phone back to the car for the third time already, “let me get you home safely, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings to our friendship. Deal?” I extend my hand toward her, and she ponders my proposition. I can practically see the cogs turning in her head, her facial expressions jumping from sour to doubtful, as if she were battling her thoughts before settling on a satisfied grin.

Her soft hand reaches mine in a princess handshake, and I try not to look at her manicured nails for too long. “Deal.” The blue-haired girl snatches the phone out of my hands, adding her number to my contact list and sending a quick text to herself. Just when I think she’s giving it back, she picks a song, and I hear Arabella playing through the speakers. How fitting.

As I leave the stranger’s driveway, I sense her shuffling in the passenger seat, throwing her legs out the window. She puts her head on my lap freely, toying with the colorful charms on my keychain. In the spur of the moment, I gingerly brush her bangs behind her ear, revealing her side profile. Her gaze catches mine, and I see her eyes soften before I turn mine on the road again.

Jinx tells me her address, and I realize how close to me she lives—the perfect circumstances. I feel her lightly bobbing her head to the music as her left cheek strokes my thigh, her fingers tracing mine as they sit on the gear stick. Her demeanor feels different from the badass tagger who willingly hopped in a stranger’s car. She looks peaceful and content now.

My shoulders slump in disappointment as I park outside her house. She clicks her tongue and lazily lifts her head from the comfort of my lap. She looks around the empty streets of her neighborhood and hums, her curious eyes now shifting to mine. As we take each other in, I can’t help but gravitate toward her—her presence feels almost intoxicating, and I don’t want to part ways just yet. To my surprise, she copies my actions. She’s so close I can feel her minty breath mingle with mine. Instinctively, my gaze drops to her lips as she tentatively licks them. I let out a faint sigh, and she slowly closes the distance. I can hear my heartbeat as I wait for our lips to meet.

But they never do. “I don’t kiss on a first date,” she murmurs in my ear, and my face flushes. Jinx pulls away as she flashes me a toothy grin, and before I can even react, she’s already skipping to her front door, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Wha-? When did she grab her stuff? I stare in disbelief as she turns around, her braids flailing behind her. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings,” she teases and blows me a kiss before disappearing into the dark hallway of her home.

Fourteen days.

Give me two weeks to make her mine.

╰┈➤ sequel – ‘Fourteen days’

[kinkandkreep]

𝑫𝒚𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒚: 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 1

♡︎ 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓!𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

♡︎ 𝑪𝑾: 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆, 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔

♡︎ "__" 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆

♡︎ 𝑻𝒂𝒈 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕: @pinkrose1422 @freeingrebels @lollipoppersposts

♡︎ 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 2 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 3 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 4 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆

He never forgets.

You sighed, tired and frustrated with this cliche ass situation you found yourself in. 

Like every Lifetime movie gone wrong, here you sat in the kitchen of your home, previously lit candles now extinguished, lovingly cooked meal gone cold on the table before you. 

It was you and Miguel’s third anniversary. And, unfortunately, it seemed he had forgotten. 

He’s not here.

Initially, when you realized just how late it was getting, you tried to be sensible about what could possibly have happened. A part of you even started to panic, given that you hadn’t heard from him and when you’d spoken to him last, he’d been preparing to go do his usual patrols and surveillance of the city. 

You worried that perhaps he’d gotten hurt, or worse. 

But then you remembered who you were talking about and that worry quickly diminished. 

Miguel wasn’t invincible but he was damn close, and the usual thugs he encountered were no match for him and his determination backed super strength. 

Sighing a breath of relief, you then contemplated the remaining possibilities. 

‘Maybe it’s a work thing, he’s spent plenty of late nights there or in the lab before.’

Your mind seemed most comfortable with this speculation, and so you released the issue, instead focusing on maintaining a positive attitude for when Miguel eventually arrived. 

Except that nine became ten, ten became eleven, eleven became midnight and you realized with a heavy heart that your husband had indeed forgotten your anniversary. 

Glancing at the clock, and seeing that it read 12:22, you stood from the dining room table, beginning the process of cleaning up and packing away the leftover food and needlessly dirtied dishes. 

You would wash them later on in the day. 

Once that was finished, you began making your way to your bedroom, removing your jewelry and heels along the way. Entering the room, you put everything back in its proper place, slipping out of your dress and putting on a more comfortable pajama set. 

You momentarily considered putting on one of Miguel’s shirts for comfort, but rather quickly abandoned the idea. 

You were preparing to slip under the covers when you heard the telltale beeping from the front door. It opened a little more noisily than was probably appropriate given the time of night it was, but it closed much more softly. 

You didn’t immediately hear any footsteps sound, which struck you as a little odd, so against your better judgement, you called out a soft, “Gigi?”

Almost immediately after, you could hear rustling and the beginning of steps up the stairs. After a few seconds, your bedroom door began to creep open, and a dull red eye peeked through the gap. 

For whatever reason, Miguel stayed that way for some moments, and it was beginning to creep you out. Thankfully, he eventually eased the door open the rest of the way, and slipped into the room. 

You could see he held a large bouquet of many different kinds of flowers. From what you could make out, there were blue hyacinths, Lily of the Valley, pink roses and white orchids. 

All different flowers meant to convey the same message. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Miguel’s voice was low, and a tad raspier than it normally was. You couldn’t tell if it was because he was tired or what, but alarm bells sounded in your brain nevertheless. 

Which was…strange. 

Miguel wouldn’t make eye contact with you, instead staring down at the flowers he appeared to be subconsciously clutching tightly against his chest. 

“I know, Miguel. So am I.”

His head shot up at that, and he leveled you with a quizzical stare. 

“What?”

You lifted a hand, gesturing for the flowers and to your en suite. 

“You’re sorry you forgot and so am I. Now please, it’s late, I’m very tired and I would appreciate it if you would just get cleaned up so we could go to bed.” 

He continued to stare at you confusedly, even as he inched forward to offer you the flowers. Standing still momentarily, he placed a tentative kiss on your forehead, missing the way you rolled your eyes. 

Pulling away, he turns and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. You hear some rustling, and a few moments later, you hear the water begin to run. 

Sighing, you take a seat on the bed, throat tightening as you feel tears threaten to spill. Though it’s only been a short time, and though you’ll never cease to feel silly for it, you’ve come to a conclusion. 

‘Miguel’s having an affair.’

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

It takes around 30 minutes, but by the time Miguel’s finished, you’ve already drifted off into an uneasy, dreamless slumber. 

Miguel emerges from the bathroom clad in only a towel that hangs loosely around his waist. Upon noticing that you’re apparently asleep, he tries to be more quiet as he maneuvers around your bedroom, opening and closing drawers much more softly than he normally would. 

As he moves, his mind reels. 

‘She seemed pissed. And worse than that, she seemed fed up. Could-...does she know?’

Almost immediately, Miguel shakes the thought from his mind. 

‘No, she doesn’t. She can’t.’

Miguel refuses to think about the possibility anymore, and refuses to acknowledge the thoughts as they race through his mind all the way up until he falls asleep. 

And that includes pointedly ignoring the dried tear streaks decorating your cheeks. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

When you awake, you’re surprised to find Miguel still in bed with you. 

A quick glance at the clock tells you that it’s almost 10:30, much later than either of you would normally ever stay in bed, but especially your husband, who’s been an early riser for as long as you’ve known him. 

You look over to him, and watch the slow, steady rise and fall of his bare chest as he continues sleeping. 

Even as exhausted as you are, you can’t deny that your husband is gorgeous. From his chiseled cheeks and sharp jaw, to the tussle of chestnut hair sitting atop his head and his plump, perpetually pouting lips, you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the beauty of the man before you. 

You wonder what’s got him so tired. 

‘Probably entertaining that bitch.’

The bitter thought sears a jagged line through your consciousness, causing your face to unwittingly curl up into an angry snarl. 

You have half a mind to suffocate the sleeping bastard with your pillow, but the thought is interrupted as he begins stirring awake. 

Miguel is mumbling something unintelligible as he smacks his lips, grimacing as he begins to stretch and yawn. The popping sound his back makes is sharp, and he sighs, relaxing back into the bed.

Finally, he opens his eyes, red orbs searching around the room until they land on you. 

A pleasant smile lifts the corners of his mouth upward, and he opens his mouth to greet you. 

“Buenos dias, mi corazón. Did you sleep well?”

You’re unable to stop the scoffing noise that makes its way out of your throat. He has quite the gall, lilting such pleasantries after he forgot about your anniversary and tried to apologize with a shitty bouquet of flowers. Now he wants to pretend that everything is just alright?

You’re becoming so angry you’ve started to shake, and upon noticing this and your expression, which has morphed into a searing glare, Miguel frowns, sitting up quickly and moving to put a hand on your thigh, which you quickly swat away. 

“Cariño? What’s the matter?”

You continue to glare at your husband for a few seconds more, before silently standing from the bed and quickly making your way downstairs. 

“__!” Miguel calls after you, but you refuse to answer. 

You can soon hear him shuffling out of the bed and making his way down the stairs after you, but you don’t care. Sure, you’ve got your speculations about what could possibly have caused your husband to forget your anniversary, but you want more solid proof before you lash out.

Taking a couple deep breaths, you brace yourself on the kitchen counter, turning just in time to see Miguel reach the bottom step. 

He watches you with a worried expression, lips pouted and soft eyes wide. 

“__? Are you ok? You were shaking a minute ago.”

He approaches you tentatively, almost as if he can sense the inner turmoil within you and knows that it’s because of him. 

You simply watch him as he comes closer, trying to keep your breathing and your mouth in check. 

“Baby?”

Taking one last deep breath, you push yourself up from the counter, moving over to the refrigerator and opening its door, absently rummaging through its contents to find something to eat.

Behind you, you can hear Miguel sigh, and after a moment you feel his presence beside you. 

“__, if something’s wrong, you know you can tell me right? I’m right here for you.”

On reflex, you slam the refrigerator door shut, a pitcher of orange juice clutched tightly in your hand. You speedily sit it on the countertop, trying again to get your breathing in check.

“__, this isn’t funny. The silent treat-...”

“Where were you last night, Miguel?”

You spin quickly, now facing your husband, who appears stunned. His eyes are wide, but this time you can find a trace of desperation and something that looks suspiciously like fear lurking within their bloodred depths. 

“W-...I-I was at the lab.”

“And where else?”

You’re slightly surprised by how firm your voice sounds. You’re also able to maintain steady eye contact with your husband, who looks increasingly uncomfortable by the second. 

“Doing patrols. Got into a scuffle with a couple criminals. Look __, if…if this is about me missing our anniversary I’m really-”

“You’re sorry, I know Miguel.” Your smile is sardonic, and you once again turn your back to your husband, beginning to pour yourself a glass of juice and taking a small sip. 

“You could have at least called.” You speak, and you can see Miguel perk up out of your periphery, but then deflate again at your words. 

“You’re right. I-...I’m sorry.”

It’s silent between you for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the birds chirping and your quiet sips can be heard. 

Your glass is finished by the time either of you speaks again, and you work to pour yourself another. 

“Tell me Gigi.” The man really brightens at the sound of his special nickname. It’s short lived however, because of the words that follow. 

“If you had to choose between saving me, and saving everyone else, which would you choose?” You manage to keep your expression flat, and the air around you both seemingly stills as Miguel’s breath audibly hitches.  

“I-...” His mouth opens then closes, and he seems to flounder for a satisfactory answer. 

“I would…would save you both, of course.” You’ve never really known your husband to stutter so much before. 

“That isn’t one of the options I gave you. I said you had to choose between us. So, choose.”

The silence returns, much heavier this time. It lingers for many seconds, and by the tenth you know he’s already chosen his answer. 

“You know I can’t do that __.”

The glass you're holding cracks as it hits the marble of your countertop. 

“Why the fuck not Miguel?! Why can’t you choose me over everything else for fucking once?!” You’ve spun around to face him once more, one hand perched on your hip. Your eyes have widened with anger, brows deeply furrowed and breath heavy.

Miguel sighs, shaking his head. 

“We’ve had this conversation before, __. I have a responsibility. You said you understood!” You can sense Miguel becoming angry himself, which only serves to make you more livid. 

“I am your wife, Miguel. The supposed “love of your life,” remember. There ought not be this turmoil about prioritising me. You couldn’t even be there for our anniversary. I don’t ask for much from you, ever. Never have. I just ask that when the time comes, you would show up, like you promised.”

Now you’ve gotten up in his face, expression still severe. He watches you with pinched brows, jaw set tight. 

“I was there, Miguel. All those nights, patching you up and scolding you for being a reckless idiot. I was there, comforting you when you failed to save someone, reassuring you when you were losing hope. I’m not saying you ought to choose me out of obligation, but out of love. The same love that I’ve given you unconditionally, the same love that I want returned.”

You stare each other down for nearly a minute, you searching Miguel’s eyes for any sense of understanding. 

You find little. 

“You’re right, __. You were right there, all those times I made mistakes and had to rectify them. You were my backbone, my support when I had none. But you were also there when I explained how serious this responsibility is to me, and not just to me, but for everyone. You know how selfish I used to be, and I refuse to let my selfishness cost people their lives.”

You scoff out a laugh at his words, unbelieving in the moment that he’s actually being serious. 

“So let me get this straight Miguel. You want me to understand that if it came down to it, you would sacrifice me for innumerable other random people, all because it’s your “responsibility”?” You use air quotes, your expression slightly mocking as you stare up at the larger man. 

He frowns, breathing once heavily through his nose. 

“I want you to be less selfish, __. I thought you understood that when the time came, I would do what needed to be done.”

“Of course I don’t fucking understand that! You said you loved me! I’m supposed to believe you would give up someone you love for a bunch of people you don’t?!” You’re exasperated now, and can feel the tears beginning to build up in your eyes. 

Why can’t Miguel seem to look past his “duty” and see what’s right in front of him? Is he…is he trying to push you away?

‘He’s pushing you away so he can feel less bad about pursuing that tramp.’

The thought leaves a shiver down your spine, and you can feel red hot anger bloom as heat all over your body.

“That’s precisely what it means to be a hero, __!” The color in Miguel’s eyes has begun to swirl with his building anger. 

“No, Miguel. Sacrificing the people you love for people who wouldn’t even know to appreciate the gesture isn’t heroism.” You look him in the eyes, leaning up close until your noses nearly brush. “It’s foolishness. And it seems you’re the biggest fool of them all.”

Miguel’s eyes widen, the crimson of them shooting scarlet. His breathing immediately picks up, and his hands begin rhythmically clenching by his sides. 

“Y-...you-...”

Without finishing his sentence, Miguel turns on his heel and storms up the stairs to the second floor, slamming your bedroom door. 

You wait a few moments, before collapsing into a dining chair, hands in your face as you quietly sob. 

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

You’ve since stopped crying and began making lunch when you hear Miguel stomping down to the first floor. You turn to watch him, who has since become fully clothed, as he heads to the entryway, slipping on his jacket. 

“Where are you going,” you call out, averting your eyes for just a moment from the sizzling pan in front of you. 

“To the lab,” your husband replies without looking up from slipping on his shoes. 

“Why? It’s,” you glance up at the clock, “12 o’clock and you haven’t eaten.”

“It’s fine, I’ll find something myself.” Miguel’s words are curt, his tone clipped. 

You contemplate pressing the matter, but decide against it, figuring if Miguel wants to run away like a petty child, then that’s exactly what you’ll let him do. 

You hear the door slam, and it makes you only slightly flinch.

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

You don’t see Miguel for the rest of the day. 

You’ve cooked, ate, straightened up, showered and spent the majority of the day passing time scrolling through social media and catching up on shows and movies you’ve wanted to see. 

It’s 9:30, and you’re in the middle of a yawn when the first message comes. 

It’s from an unknown sender, and it’s a zip file. 

You’re very hesitant to open it at first, becoming immediately afraid that someone is on some weird shit. 

But then, an actual text message follows. 

And your hand shakes as you read it. 

‘You could never understand, __, not like I do.’

Heart pounding, you’ve now been given the motivation you need to open the compressed file. 

You very quickly wish you hadn’t. 

Inside are dozens of photos, all of Miguel and another woman in…compromising positions, to say the absolute least. 

They’re in different states of undress in each photo, the last few even featuring them in what appears to be post coital bliss. 

You can’t tear your eyes away from the screen, your absolute worst fears having been realized. 

Finally, you reach the end of the content in the file, and to your further horror, it’s a short 10 second clip. 

Against your better judgement, you click it.

Immediately, your ears are assaulted with the high pitched moans of the woman in the photos, Miguel’s much deeper swears and grunts audible in the background. It seems the camera’s been positioned at an odd angle, almost as if it’s meant to be hidden. 

From wherever it is, you can see both the woman and Miguel in all their naked glory, bodies moving rhythmically against each other.

You only realize you’re crying because your view of the screen becomes blurry. 

Your mouth is agape, and you're finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. 

Before you can throw the phone away, one last message comes in. 

It’s a screenshot of messages appearing to have been sent between Miguel and the woman. 

You can’t read much of it, your stomach won’t allow you, but from what little you are able to read, Miguel appears to be complaining about you to the other woman, who agrees and encourages everything he says. 

You’ve had enough, and you click your phone off, leaning back on the couch to process all you’ve just witnessed. 

‘Miguel is cheating on me. Miguel slept with another woman. Miguel thinks I’m a nuisance. Miguel, Miguel, Miguel…’

You pause, clicking off the television and standing slowly, grabbing your phone and making your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

Without a single utterance of sound, you shower and run through your oral hygiene routine, picking out a fresh set of pajamas and climbing into bed. 

You find yourself unable to sleep, so afraid you are that your dreams will be filled with visions of your husband’s infidelity. 

He doesn’t come home that night.

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

Buy me a Kofi?

[candycandy00]

I Got a Goth Santa Boy for Christmas! - A Dabi x Reader Fanfic

You ask Santa for a hot goth guy to fuck you stupid. Dabi shows up at your door. 

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Dabi as Santa’s Helper. Spanking. Degradation. Humiliation. Squirting. Faint Praise. 

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Part of CandyCandy’s Kinkmas 2024!

It’s Christmas Eve, a little before midnight, when you hear a knock at your door. You’d just settled in with a mug of hot cocoa and a blanket on the couch, ready to watch looping classic Christmas cartoons as you fall asleep. But before Santa can even begin bullying poor Rudolph, you get interrupted. 

Sighing as you peel the blanket off and sit down your mug, you wonder who could be knocking on your door at this hour. You went to a small Christmas party at a friend’s house earlier today, but if you’d left something there they would have just texted you, right?

The knocking is getting insistent as you reach the door. “Alright already!” you yell as you unfasten the lock and swing the door open. “Stop knocking so loud on Chris-“

Your voice dies in your throat, because what you find on the other side of the door is a very strange sight indeed.

It’s a man in a bizarre Santa suit. The parts that should be red are jet black, and the edges of the coat are frayed and stitched at odd angles. He’s wearing black gloves and boots, both a little too stylized and a little too shiny leather to fit the Santa look. His hair, what you can see of it beneath the black Santa hat, is snowy white and his eyes are bright blue. He has piercings dotting his face and ears, but what strikes you most of all are his scars. 

Rich purple burn scars cover the lower half of his face and form half circles under his eyes. They contrast beautifully with the blue, making his eyes seem to glow. 

He’s gorgeous. And he’s so very much your type that if a friend saw him out in public, they’d snap a photo of him and send it to you. 

You finally find your voice again. “Uh, can I help you?”

He looks at you with an almost bored expression. “Yeah, I heard a naughty little slut lives here. That you?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Excuse me?!”

“Oh? Did I get the wrong place again?” he asks, pulling an electronic tablet from his coat and tapping the screen to turn it on. He looks from the screen to your face, then holds the tablet out for you to see. “This is you, right?”

On the screen is a picture of you with your name and address beneath it. “That’s me,” you say, “but I’m not a slut!”

He pulls back the tablet and taps the screen a few times. “Really? We got this letter from you. ‘Dear Santa, send me a hot goth guy to fuck me stupid for Christmas!’ Didn’t you write that?”

Your face immediately burns with embarrassment. You did write that. As a joke. And you never showed it to anyone, much less mailed it. How the hell did this stranger get ahold of it?!

You cross your arms defensively. “Even if I did write that, as a joke, it doesn’t mean I’m a slut!”

He taps more on the tablet. “Maybe not, but Santa’s surveillance network is pretty good. We’ve got these videos of you playing with yourself every night.”

“WHAT?!”

Suddenly you hear sounds coming from the tablet, your own voice moaning and crying out in pleasure. The stranger grins, and you can see him using his fingers on the screen to zoom in on something. 

“Wow, look at you go! If this ain’t a horny little slut, I don’t know what is!”

You lunge forward, trying to grab the tablet, but he jerks it out of your reach, holding it up high. On the screen, you can see your own fingers rubbing your clit. “Turn it off!” you scream, absolutely mortified that this hot guy is seeing something so private. How did he get these videos?!

“Oh? Gettin’ worked up?” he asks, laughing as you continue trying to grab the device. 

“I’m not a slut,” you yell out, “I’m still a virgin!”

Both of you freeze. Did you just yell that out to a complete stranger? He’s staring at you, the video still playing, your cries reaching a crescendo as you cum on screen. His eyes flick back to the tablet. “Holy fuck. Never seen a virgin squirt like that!”

You feel tears stinging your eyes. You glare at him in silence for a moment, then step back into your apartment and slam the door in his face. 

“Hey, don’t be like that!” you hear him shout through the door. “I’m your present! You asked for me, right?”

“I didn’t ask to be humiliated!” you yell back. 

You hear him sigh. “Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? You’ve been good enough to get your wish granted, but Santa thinks you’re spending’ too much time flickin’ the bean. I’m supposed to punish you, but in a fun way, yeah?”

“What do you mean, in a fun way?”

His voice is sultry as it glides into your ear. “Let me in, and you’ll find out.”

You stand there facing the door, having a full on mental debate. Should you let him in? He’s an asshole, but he’s fucking gorgeous. You’ve been wanting to lose your virginity for a while now, and you have the hottest guy you’ve ever seen at your door, ready to do the deed. But how did he get your letter, and those videos? 

Oh shit. Santa Clause is real. And this guy works for him. 

Once you accept that, everything else starts to make sense. The guy seeming to be tailor made to fit your taste, him knowing all about you, the way he’s dressed. 

So he’s your present from Santa? 

You take a deep breath, then open the door. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back against the opposite wall in the hallway. He looks up at the sound of the door opening and gets to his feet. 

“I have a question,” you say, a little uneasily. You’re still grappling with the fact that this guy has watched you masturbate. 

He dusts off his black Santa suit. “Yeah? What is it?”

“Did they make you do this?”

He tilts his head and frowns. “They?”

“Whoever you work for. Santa or the elves or whatever.”

He bursts out laughing then. “No, doll, the elves ain’t whorin’ me out. I volunteered after they showed me those videos!”

You look up at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Got me all riled up. And besides, those little fuckers can’t make me do anything,” he says, a smirk on his handsome face. 

That’s a relief to hear. You don’t want to do this with someone who’s here against their will. 

“So?” he asks, blue eyes gleaming. “You want your present or not?”

You step back inside your doorway and to the side, gesturing for him to come in. You can barely look at him as he walks into your apartment. You’ve fantasized about something like this for years, and you’re certainly horny enough, but now it’s actually happening. Just thinking about it makes you nervous. 

He doesn’t say anything as he follows you to your bedroom, but once there he glances at the bed and grins. “There’s a familiar spot!”

You grimace. “Please stop reminding me of that!”

“Why?” he asks, his eyes not so subtly sliding up and down your form. “You were hot as fuck in those videos.”

The comment makes you blush. Did he really like watching you? Still, you’d rather forget all about that. “Let’s just pretend that never happened, okay?”

He shrugs, standing near your bed. “Okay, so do you wanna unwrap your present now?”

Before you even answer, he’s opening up his furry black Santa coat, revealing no shirt underneath. Oh god, the scars are all over his body, making such a lurid patchwork. You can’t take your eyes off them. 

He sits down on your bed and pats his thigh. “Come sit on Santa’s lap,” he says. 

You cross over to him, your candy cane striped socks making no noise at all on the carpeted floor. You’re wearing a red tank top and green pajama shorts. Nothing fancy or sexy but it’s not like you expected any of this to happen. 

When you get close enough, he suddenly grabs your hand and pulls you over, so that you’re laying across his lap, face down. Your ass is slightly raised in the air, and you squirm a bit in surprise. 

“H-hey!” you shout, trying to wiggle off him, but one of his hands is gripping your thighs while the other is holding your back down. 

“I gotta punish this naughty little slut before we have fun,” he says as the hand on your thighs slides up, over your ass, and then hooks a thumb into the waistband of your shorts and panties. In one smooth motion he pulls them both down, exposing your ass and leaving the fabric around your knees. 

You squirm around in his lap, making a show of struggling, but the truth is that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. He raises one hand in the air, then brings it back down in a harsh slap to your ass that makes you yelp. 

“How many do you think you deserve?” he asks, then brings down his hand again. 

You’re trying to keep from moaning, clamping one hand over your mouth, hoping he doesn’t notice how wet you are. 

Another slap. “Come on, answer the question!”

You move your hand from your mouth. “Ahh, I don’t… know!”

He laughs. “Well, tell me how naughty you’ve been and we’ll figure it out.”

Another slap. “I’ve been… very naughty!” you squeak out. 

“I can see that,” he says as his fingers slide down, between your legs. “What naughty things have you been doing?”

“Y-you already know!” you cry out, your voice shuddering as his fingers probe your wet folds. 

“Yeah, but you gotta say it, doll.”

His hand withdraws from your pussy, and you feel another slap, this time to the backs of your thighs. 

“I… I masturbate too much!” you blurt out, feeling your face burn. 

Another slap. Is it your imagination, or does his hand feel unusually warm? 

“Such a dirty little slut,” he says, giving your ass another slap. “So how many whacks does that deserve?”

“Uh… ten?”

You’re too embarrassed to look at his face, but you can practically hear the grin when he says, “Ten? Goin’ a little easy on yourself, huh doll?”

He gives your ass a firm squeeze, and you bite back another moan. Why is his hand so hot? And why is this making you so wet? 

“Well, whatever,” he says. “Ten it is. One…”

Another whack, and you twist in his lap to look back at him now. “One? You’ve already given me a bunch!”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t countin’ those.”

You groan and bury your face in the nearby pillow on your bed. If this keeps up, you’re gonna cum right here, while being spanked. 

The next nine whacks go by with you biting your knuckles, whimpering from the strain of holding back. You refuse to cum in this position, even when he pauses halfway through to rub your sore ass and dip his fingers into your quivering pussy again. 

When all ten whacks are given, he suddenly flips you onto your back on the bed, making you wince when your raw bottom collided with the mattress. Before you can complain, he jerks your shorts and panties off your ankles, pulls your legs apart, and moves between them. “Ready for the fun part?” he asks, leaning down, licking his lips. 

Oh god. You’re so ready. But you’re afraid you’ll make some embarrassing sound if you speak now, so you nod emphatically. 

Then, all at once, his face is in your pussy, his tongue parting your folds and circling your clit. Your body arches off the bed, your legs spreading wider automatically. Your breaths come quicker, shaky and hitching. 

His tongue feels so much better than your fingers! You’ve never felt anything like this, so warm and wet and moving expertly over the little nub. When his thumb takes over for a moment, rubbing your clit in a slightly rougher way, your legs begin to tremble. 

He’s looking up at you from between your thighs. “Gonna squirt for me like you did in the videos?” 

“N-no!” you say, trying desperately to contain yourself.

His thumb rubs upward on your clit, pushing back the hood, making you almost buck off the bed. “Show me how dirty you can be, naughty girl,” he says, then lets his tongue go back to work. 

You can’t stand it any longer. It just feels too good. You let out a cry as you cum, squirting all over him in the process. You squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back against the pillow, your body spasming with pleasure. Once fully spent and panting, you gather your nerve and look down. 

His face is glistening, your juices dripping from his chin. He’s licking his lips and grinning back at you. 

Face burning, you grab your own pillow and pull it over to hide your humiliated expression. But the man gently tugs it out of your grasp. “Don’t hide,” he says. “You look real cute right now.”

You slowly open your eyes. “I do?”

“Yeah. Now how about I give you the rest of your present?” he asks, drawing back on his knees and unbuckling his black leather belt. 

Oh god. It’s happening. You’re equal parts scared and excited as he opens his pants. You’ve never seen a dick in person before, though you’ve seen plenty in porn. This one is, surprisingly, very pretty. The piercings dotting it catch the light in such a lovely way, and the small patches of scar tissue contrast with his pale skin. 

He leaves on the open Santa coat as he pushes his black pants down his hips and pulls your lower half into his lap. He lines himself up, then slowly pushes in. 

You feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, and there’s a bit of a sting, but not as bad as you’ve imagined while pleasuring yourself. When he starts thrusting lightly, the friction feels good. You can feel the cool metal of the piercings and the warm heat of his hard cock as it slides in and out of you, going deeper each time. 

When he finally gets all the way in, his tip pressing against your cervix, you gasp at the fullness, at feeling him so deeply within you. 

You’re losing your virginity to a guy who works for Santa, whose name you don’t even know. But it feels so amazing, you don’t care. You clamp onto him, throwing your arms around his neck as he pounds into you. 

You hear his voice at your ear. “This what you wanted for Christmas, doll?” 

“Yes!” you cry out, gripping him harder, not wanting to ever let him go. 

He’s practically slamming into you now, your whole body jerking with his thrusts. You’re holding yourself up off the bed by clinging to his neck, and he’s got one hand on the back of your head, cradling it as he fucks you. His other hand, which had been holding your hip steady, slides down between your bodies and finds your clit. He gives it a pinch, and you moan, your mouth pressed against his collarbone. 

Now he’s rubbing small circles into it with his fingertips, and you know you can’t last much longer. Your body is already quivering again, on the edge of release. 

He gives a few more especially deep thrusts while his fingers continue stroking your clit, and you come undone. The orgasm smashes into you, making you scream out as the pleasure washes over you. 

Almost immediately after, as if he were waiting for you, the man cums inside you, clenching his teeth as he shoots his load into your waiting pussy. 

Your arms slide from his neck, and he lowers you to the bed. It takes you a long moment to catch your breath, during which he pulls out of you and buttons his pants. 

“Your name,” you mumble, still dazed. 

He looks at you. “Huh?”

“What’s your name?”

He hesitates, looks away, then mutters, “Touya.”

You laugh weakly. “I thought all Santa’s helpers were elves.”

He sits down on the edge of your bed. “Most of ‘em are. I’m a special case.”

You raise up, pulling a sheet over yourself. “Special how?”

He grins. “This is my community service, to make up for all my fuckups when I was alive.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you… dead?”

He laughs at your reaction. “Nah, dead isn’t the right term for it. ‘Between lives’ works better.”

“What does that mean?” 

“It means I was on the naughty list in my previous life. Did a whole lot of bad shit,” he replies, looking a little nostalgic. “So I got an offer. Do some good deeds for a while and start my next life with a clean slate.”

“How long is a while?” you ask. 

“Sixty-five years,” he says. 

You shoot straight up in bed. “That long?!”

He laughs again. “It’s not so bad! I help out at the workshop a few months a year and spend the off season ice skating with elves.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Are you, uh, allowed to leave the workshop?”

His eyes slide over to your face. “Why? You want me to come visit you?”

You’re immediately flustered. “No! I mean… maybe. If you want to.”

He stands up and leans over you, kissing you on the cheek. “You’re really cute right now,” he says, then straightens up and heads for your door. Before he leaves, he looks back at you. “We’re pretty bored up there around Valentine’s Day. Maybe I’ll come see you.”

You find yourself smiling. “I’d like that.”

He raises his hand in a casual wave as he walks out, saying, “Merry Christmas!”

Tag List:

@coldluminarykoala @atomicweaselpaperapricot @chocoyanchan @calculust-prime

[christianbalesblueadidas]

routine surveillance

batman x f!reader

a certain vigilante likes late night tv. but instead of the tonight show on his big television set at home, he watches you through your window.

warnings: NSFW, minors DNI (18+), masturbation (f), voyeurism, stalking, sex toys

word count: 1.1k

a/n: can be any batman you want but i'm a bale bat stan and i've noticed how stalker-y he is towards his love interests in his trilogy so... (too bad he didn't stalk miranda tate. could've saved him a stab wound.)

For his sanity and his morals, Batman rationalizes that stopping by your apartment window every night is just a routine background check. He only snoops on you for five minutes every night in the middle of patrol to see if you're a serious threat to him. Sometimes, on quiet nights, he watches you through your bedroom window for more than five minutes — of course, only to see if you're planning anything nefarious.

It has become part of his nightly routine when he goes on patrol. And it's becoming a bad habit. It's become so predictable by now.

Night after night, he finds himself standing outside your apartment's window, peeking through the curtains to see if you are doing anything suspicious.

Every time he thinks to himself that these midnight checkups are just part of his nightly routine and necessary to make sure you aren't a threat. Every other time, he can't help but admit the fact that he's becoming obsessed with keeping tabs on you.

Throughout the entire two weeks he has been surveilling you, you have done nothing of note. Nothing at all. But that doesn't stop Batman. He reasons that it's for Gotham's safety, not his personal stalker tendencies when a woman interests him.

Tonight is another one of those quiet nigts. He crouches on the rooftop of the building next to yours, looking through your bedroom window. You never close the curtains because you never thought anybody would be able to look in due to its height.

He watches as you read a novel under the dim, warm light of your bedside lamp. It's one of those cheap romance books that are filled with cliches and dirty scenes — something light to read before bed. You sigh, closing the book and slamming it onto my nightstand. You've clearly grown tired of it.

But you don't want to sleep yet. However, you're still very bored. With another sigh, you throw your blanket off your legs. You slide your underwear from under your oversized shirt, much to his shock.

All those other nights, he would keep his composure. But this time, he felt as if his mind was getting clouded. He is frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from you as he continues to watch with bated breath.

Is this the kind of man Batman is? It is, apparently, as he continues to be a peeping tom. He is many things: Gotham's dark knight, a caped crusader, a vigilante. And now, he can add one more thing to his resume: pervert.

He stares as you pull a pale skin-colored dildo out from your nightstand drawer. It's a decent size but still big. You're not unrealistic, he takes note. He never thought you'd be the kind of woman to own one, but he's finding out many things about himself and you tonight.

Your back is turned to the window, and in consequence, to him. You have no way of knowing that he is watching you. He can't see your expressions either.

You bite your lip as your position the toy on your hands and knees. You rub it along your slit to spread your juices on it, lubing it up. He can clearly hear the soft noises coming out of your mouth because of the tech in his cowl.

When you finally think you're ready, you begin to push the toy inside you, a long, drawn out moan escaping your lips. A hand on its base to keep it still on your mattress, you bounce on it, airy whimpers and moans spilling from your mouth.

He can't see much from the angle and because of my oversized shirt. But he can hear everything as you ride your toy, all thanks to his cowl. Despite his iron will and morality, he can't bring himself to even turn off the audio feed.

He should leave.

His conscience keeps telling him to just jump off the roof and take off with his grapple gun. He should. He really, really should.

He knows he should go now, but something is keeping him in place. His body won't move, his eyes unable to look away from you as the heat inside him keeps building up.

Why isn't he leaving?

He knows he needs to go, but the sight of you moving above your toy, your soft moans filling his ears like sweet poison. He can't bring himself to leave, his body slowly filling with want and desire.

His gloved hand slowly moves to grip onto the roof, his knuckles turning white from the grip as he fights the urge to move closer to the window. He knows he can't. That he shouldn't. But he wants to.

You slowly fall on your front, your face hitting the pillows. Your ass is now up in the air, giving him an explicit show. Your hand that used to hold the toy in place is now moving it, pumping it in and out of you in a languid pace. In consequence, the change in position has Batman seeing the toy stretching you out, wetness dripping down your thigh.

He is gripping onto the roof so hard, he's breaking the tiles. It's taking all of his will power not to just jump down through your window and give you what you need.

But he won't, he can't.

He is the symbol of justice. The one who fights for righteousness and order.

But god, hearing those desperate moans and your sloppy pussy is just driving him to the brink of madness. He is close to the point where he can't take it anymore. His cock is getting so hard that it's uncomfortable in his suit, confined by the rough armor.

The noises coming from your room are sloppy and wet, the sound of the toy slipping in and out of you mingling with your needy little moans and whimpers and gasps. You press your face onto the pillows a bit harder as your hand quickens the pace it thrusts the toy. He can see all of it, glistening flesh stretching around the pale skin-colored silicone.

Suddenly, your whole body quivers and pauses, thick fluid dripping down onto the mattress. He hears you let out a deep moan, a sound akin to relief. You let go of the toy and it quickly falls onto the small puddle on the sheets. He watches your flesh twitch and glisten around nothing and he wishes it's around his cock instead.

Then, his nightmare comes true.

You look back from your position and your eyes meet. You've been fully aware that he's been spying on you. And you've been wishing that dildo was his cock too.

What a pervert, you think about Batman — as you bite your lip and beckon him to join you inside with a come hither motion.