#Elevator Security Monitoring

[medicalweightloss100]

Enhancing Elevator Safety with Advanced Wireless CCTV

Enhance elevator security with Elevator Video Systems' wireless CCTV, featuring motion detection, night vision, and cloud connectivity for safer transit.

Discover flexible and powerful elevator surveillance solutions for safe rides.

Elevator Video Systems enhances security with its advanced wireless CCTV, offering easy installation, minimal wiring, and superior image quality. Featuring motion detection, night vision, and cloud connectivity, it ensures real-time monitoring of commercial and residential properties. With expert support, the company leads in innovative elevator surveillance for safer transit systems.

Creative Methods for Installing Wireless Lift Security Cameras

Our wireless CCTV for elevators enables a seamless safety upgrade that transforms traditional elevator surveillance. By replacing extensive cabling with modern wifi CCTV for lift systems, we deliver enhanced security flexibly. The installation of a wireless lift security camera is straightforward, requiring minimal structural interference while providing high-definition clarity and precise coverage. In addition, the battery-powered lift CCTV option minimizes downtime during installation, allowing businesses and residential properties to maintain operations without major disruptions. Advanced features, such as smart CCTV for elevators and remote access CCTV for lifts, further deepen the security measures within elevator cabins.

This innovative system uses cutting-edge technologies to ensure that every detail is captured. With a no-wire elevator security camera, there is reduced clutter and a more aesthetic installation, while the wireless lift monitoring camera assures comprehensive coverage. Regular monitoring via remote access adds an extra layer of protection, creating a highly responsive environment determined to address safety issues swiftly. This approach not only meets modern security standards but also exceeds expectations, making it an ideal solution for safeguarding passengers and easing management efforts.

Ensuring Continuous Elevator Surveillance with Wireless HD Cameras

The integration of a wireless HD camera for elevators is a game changer in modern security systems. Utilizing superior image quality, these cameras provide clear and detailed footage essential for daily surveillance. The system incorporates features such as motion detection and infrared night vision, which ensure smooth operation at any time of day. With no physical wires required, the setup is both rapid and efficient – perfect for retrofit projects and new installations alike. Enhanced by the integration of remote access CCTV for lift systems, security personnel can instantly review footage from any location.

By employing a battery-powered lift CCTV system, facilities benefit from a reliable and renewable power source, minimizing the risk of disruptions. Regular system checks guarantee up-to-date performance, ensuring that even in low-light conditions, the clarity and integrity of video data remain intact. The advantages of adopting a wireless elevator surveillance system include reduced installation costs and greater flexibility in camera placement, creating a comprehensive solution that effectively addresses today's dynamic security challenges.

High-Security Elevator Cameras with Remote Access And Smart Technology

With our wireless lift monitoring camera, security teams gain unprecedented control over elevator environments. This smart CCTV for elevators provides immediate remote access, allowing facility managers to oversee elevator movements and detect potential threats in real-time. The system’s high-definition capabilities ensure that facial details and key security features are captured without compromise. An integrated alarm system can warn personnel of irregular activity immediately, positioning the setup as an ideal solution for busy high-rise buildings where rapid response is crucial.

Moreover, the emphasis on a cloud-based platform and advanced analytics transforms traditional elevator surveillance into an interactive and responsive security system. The wireless HD camera not only delivers exceptional clarity but also analyzes activity patterns to predict and prevent security breaches. The combination of smart sensors and real-time monitoring makes this system highly adaptable, ensuring every ride is safe and every incident is recorded accurately. This forward-thinking technology empowers both occupants and operators with the tools needed for a secure environment.

Cutting-Edge Features and Advantages of No-Wires Elevator Cameras

Our no-wires elevator security camera is designed for modern buildings that demand aesthetic integrity and functional excellence. This system eliminates unsightly cabling, ensuring a clean installation that blends seamlessly with interior designs. The wireless connectivity also reduces labor costs and installation complexities, while the advanced battery-powered lift CCTV maintains robust functionality even in challenging settings. Users benefit from high-definition imaging combined with motion detection for full-spectrum monitoring. The integration of a wifi CCTV for lift ensures that data transmission is both secure and rapid, facilitating real-time responses to any irregularities.

By choosing a no-wire approach, property managers drastically simplify both the initial setup and subsequent maintenance procedures. The wireless system is engineered to function reliably under constant use, ensuring consistency in surveillance quality. Using innovative communication protocols, the system integrates efficiently with remote control hubs. Consequently, this approach not only boosts operational efficiency but also reinforces overall safety measures, making it a superior solution in today’s technologically driven security landscape.

Advanced Elevator Security System for Enhanced Protection

Elevator Video Systems offers a comprehensive suite of wireless CCTV for elevators that redefines security standards. Their wireless lift security camera systems are engineered to provide high-definition video monitoring, integrating smart and reliable technology with a focus on user convenience. This company’s solutions include remote access CCTV for lifts, allowing real-time monitoring and immediate intervention from any remote location. With an approach centered around innovative design and technical excellence, Elevator Video Systems ensures that every component, from the wireless HD camera for elevators to battery-powered lift CCTV options, works together to provide a robust security framework.

Elevator Video Systems' elevator surveillance wireless system is distinguished by its easy installation, minimal wiring needs, and superior image quality. The fusion of advanced features such as motion detection and night vision with cloud connectivity creates an elevated safety experience tailored for modern commercial and residential properties. Providing thorough support and expert advice, the company is a trusted partner in the transformation of institutional security practices. Their commitment to technological innovation positions them at the forefront of elevator surveillance, ensuring safer and more dependable transit systems.

Conclusion - Reinventing Elevator Safety with Wireless Technology

In summary, the modernization of elevator security through wireless CCTV systems represents a significant advancement in safety and monitoring. The integration of a wireless lift monitoring camera with a smart CCTV for elevators offers a dynamic blend of high-definition video, real-time remote access, and efficient battery-powered operation. These systems are designed for quick installation, eliminating the clutter of traditional wiring without sacrificing performance. Every elevator becomes a monitored and secure space, fortified by advanced image capture, motion detection, and night vision functionalities that cater to modern security demands.

This comprehensive approach to elevator surveillance not only enhances passenger safety but also streamlines maintenance and reduces overall costs. By leveraging state-of-the-art technology, property managers are equipped with the tools required to proactively manage any safety concerns. The wireless HD camera systems and no-wires elevator security camera solutions provide a promising future where safety meets efficiency. The evolution witnessed through these technologically advanced systems marks a new era in building security, ensuring that every ride is as safe as it is seamless.

[pathologicalreid]

xoxo | s.r.

in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: horrible tooth rotting fluff, chemist!reader and leah, the spencer reid dilf agenda, valentine's day, reader wears pink (it's FESTIVE) word count: 1.47k a/n: happy valentine's day my loves!!!!

You had just finished helping your daughter put her visitor badge over her head before she proudly approached the two agents manning the security desk.

She brandished two Valentine’s Day cards for them, grinning while they looked down at her in surprise. You watched them tentatively take the cardstock from your three-year-old while she teetered back and forth in her pink Mary Janes. They thanked her while you pulled your visitor badge on. “C’mon, Leah,” you said, holding your hand out for her to take, “Let’s go see Daddy.”

“Daddy!” She chirped, her pure, childhood joy causing people in the lobby to stare. Most people were already vaguely aware of who she was, and even if they weren’t, it’s difficult to be truly bothered by a kid wearing heart antennae. Adjusting her grip on her basket of Valentines, she led you to the elevator, practically dragging you through Quantico.

Her hand couldn’t quite reach the button in the elevator, accidentally hitting the number four while wavering on her tippy toes. “Here, lovey,” you said, reaching over her and pushing the number six for her.

Leah beamed up at you. “Thank you,” she whispered, lowering herself and standing next to you, tugging on your pink sweater in an attempt to get your attention—as if she had ever lost it. “You wanna Valentine?” Her voice was soft, as if you were exchanging state secrets in the elevator, sweetly leaning her head against your leg. She stumbled over the name of the holiday a bit, replacing the second ‘n’ with an ‘m.’

“I’ll get one after everyone else,” you reassured her, adjusting her headband and smiling at the way the hearts bobbled.

She nodded confidently, making faces at her reflection in the elevator doors as you continued your way up.

You held your breath as the doors opened, once again holding your hand out for her to take so you could enter the bullpen in an orderly fashion, but as soon as they were open, she had taken off, the door being held open for someone else, leaving a perfect gap for her to slip through. There was barely enough time for you to call, “Incoming,” before she ran directly into Luke.

Thanking Anderson for holding the door for you, you followed Leah into the bullpen at a much slower pace and locked eyes with your husband, sighing in relief at the fact that you’d made it with little stress.

Your daughter had already been rescued from a room full of tall people by Dave, who’d hoisted her onto someone’s desk, so they were nearly at eye level. “Happy Valentime’s, Dave,” she said excitedly, urgently rifling through her basket to find a treat that she deemed worthy of his receipt.

Rossi smiled at her, “Happy Valentine’s Day, kiddo. What have you got there?” You weren’t sure if he was faking interest for the sake of your toddler, but either way, you were grateful for the opportunity to sneak by them, approaching Spencer’s desk.

He powered off his computer monitor as you leaned on the edge of his desk. “Hey,” he greeted, leaning his head up so you could plant a quick kiss on his lips. “Did she have fun?”

You nodded, peeking over your shoulder to see Dave walking Leah around to hand out Valentines to the entire office. “We severely underestimated the number of parents who keep their kids home for Valentine’s Day,” you informed him. Leah’s daycare class had been nearly empty when you picked her up early.

“What does that mean for us?” He asked, placing his hand on your knee and giving it a squeeze.

Raising your eyebrows, you grinned impishly, “It means we’re bringing a lot of lollipops home with us.”

Spencer chuckled, eyes following Leah as she made her way to Emily’s office, jumping up the steps and giggling at the sound effects that Tara made when she landed. “How was your morning?” He asked nonchalantly, and since nothing Spencer ever did was nonchalant, you knew he was on a fishing expedition.

The corners of your mouth quirked up while he shuffled the papers on his desk, preparing to spend his lunch with you and Leah. “Oh, I dropped Leah off and then went to work. I only had one class to teach, Physical Chemistry, as you know. I had some time before I needed to be back at the daycare, so I decided to stop at home and found a large bouquet of red and pink roses on the kitchen counter. They didn’t belong there, so I tossed them in the trash before heading here.”

“You did not,” Spencer challenged, grinning up at you, pushing his tongue against his teeth like he did when he was holding in a laugh.

You laughed breathily, hiding your smile behind your hand until Spencer reached up and took your hand in his. “No,” you acquiesced, “But I have no idea where we’re going to put two dozen roses.”

He pretended to think about it for a moment. “How about the kitchen counter?”

Humming, you leaned down to kiss him again. “Works for me,” you murmured to him on your way back up. You turned your head to find your toddler, seeing that Penelope had made her way to the bullpen and was putting a red feather boa around Leah’s neck.

Listening in on their conversation, you frowned when you overheard Leah complaining that the boa wasn’t pink. “Leah,” Spencer called her name, having overheard the conversation himself. “What do you say to Aunt Penelope?”

The three-year-old spun around, stumbling a bit when she tried to come to a stop, before looking up at Garcia and jumping, “Thank you! Matches my butterfly ears!” She fumbled the word ‘butterfly’ a bit in all of her excitement—bubberfly.

Your husband looked at you, confused. “Butterfly ears?”

“Antennae, obviously,” you told him, shaking your head in faux disappointment that he didn’t understand what she was talking about.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Hey, princess, c’mere,” he said, waving over your daughter.

You waved to JJ and Emily as they joined the impromptu gathering, with everyone in the bullpen watching while Leah skipped over to her dad. “Hi, Daddy,” she greeted, lifting her arms for him to pick her up, which he did happily.

“Hi, baby. Happy Valentine’s Day,” he replied, sweeping a stray strand of hair from her forehead. He’d left before you got her dressed this morning, so he hadn’t been able to see her in her festive outfit, complete with a pink and red tutu.

Comfortably sitting in her father’s lap, she giggled when he tickled her side. “Happy Valentime’s Day, Daddy,” she managed to squeak out. Sighing when he finally gave her a break, she asked, “Lunch?”

You smiled softly, “Soon, lovey.” The three of you had planned to do lunch as a family, and Penelope had promised to take Leah for a sleepover so you could go out for dinner—you were nervous, and she was thrilled.

She kicked her feet contentedly, telling Spencer about the cards she had given away at the security desk in a hushed voice while you watched an exchange across the bullpen. Luke was leaning toward Tara, holding his lollipop in his hand, “What flavor did you get?”

Tara peered at him suspiciously. “Blue raspberry,” she replied.

“I’ll trade you a green apple,” he offered, extending his arm out for the swap.

Turning in her chair, Tara scoffed, setting her Valentine on her desk, “Not a chance.”

A small gasp to your side caught your attention. “No trades, Newbie!” Leah shouted from her perch.

Instead of turning on your daughter, Luke immediately pointed at Garcia, “You coached her!”

Penelope feigned offense, holding a hand to her chest and looking around the bullpen, “It is my duty as her godmother to warn her against certain people.”

“Meaning me?”

“If the shoe fits, Newbie,” Penelope replied, leaning against a vacant desk while she awaited Luke’s response.

He looked over at Leah now. “How did she even hear me?”

You shrugged. “She has freakishly good hearing; we’re thinking of having her tested.”

Spencer nudged you at your joke, smiling slightly, “She saw you.”

Sighing in defeat, Luke gave Leah an exaggerated pout, “I’m sorry I tried to make a trade. Can you forgive me?”

Leah nodded with a toothy smile. Luckily, she was three, and things were easy to get over. “Hey, do I get a Valentine?” Spencer asked, playing with the hearts on her headband.  

Humming, she shifted on his lap. “Mommy put all of the pink ones in a baggie for us.”

You flashed a grin back at your husband, pulled a Watermelon lollipop out of your purse, and handed it to him. “I’m very good at what I do.”

[pucksandpower]

Racing Hearts

Lando Norris x cardiopulmonary technician!Reader

Summary: you’ve had a way of making Lando’s heart race since the moment he met you

You glance down at your clipboard as your next patient walks into the exercise physiology lab. “Lando Norris?” You ask, looking up with a smile.

The young British man grins back at you. “That’s me!”

“Excellent! I’m Y/N, I’ll be your technician today. We’re just going to do a simple cardiopulmonary exercise test to get some baseline numbers before the start of the season.”

Lando nods, looking around the lab curiously. “No problem, happy to be poked and prodded in the name of science and fast cars.”

You laugh as you gesture for him to take a seat. “Don’t worry, I promise to be gentle,” you joke. “I’m just going to put some electrodes on your chest to monitor your heart rate, then we’ll get you on the treadmill for the test.”

“Sounds good,” Lando says, settling onto the exam table.

You start placing the sticky electrode pads across his chest and ribs, trying not to blush at his shirtless state. Formula 1 drivers really are fit underneath those racing suits.

“So how’s preseason training going?” You ask conversationally as you work. “Think McLaren has a chance this year?”

Lando grins. “I’m feeling good! Me and the team have been putting in a lot of hard work over the winter. I’m definitely aiming higher than 6th in the championship.”

You smile as you finish placing the electrodes and motion for him to stand. “That’s the spirit. Alright, hop up on the treadmill and we’ll get you moving.”

Lando steps up onto the machine and you start it up slowly, increasing the speed in measured increments. “I’ll take you up to a brisk jog, then we’ll keep you there for about 10 minutes while I monitor your heart rate, breathing, and oxygen levels,” you explain.

“Sounds gucci,” Lando replies with a thumbs up, his breath starting to quicken as the treadmill pace increases.

You make sure the electrode leads are secure, then step back to observe the incoming data on the computer screen. Lando’s lean legs stride smoothly along the treadmill belt as you keep a close watch on his vitals, making notes on your clipboard. After a few minutes, you frown slightly at the heart rate readout. It seems unusually elevated for an elite athlete like Lando, even at this moderate jogging pace.

“How are you feeling Lando?” You call out. “Everything okay?”

“All … good,” he huffs out, face flushed from the exertion.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the concerning heart rate values on the screen. “It’s just that your heart rate is a bit higher than I would expect,” you say slowly. “Are you feeling any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I feel fine!” He insists breathlessly.

You bite your lip, still frowning. “Your heart rate is quite high though, over 85% of estimated max. For an experienced athlete I would expect values closer to 70-80% at this pace.”

“Oh … yeah, maybe it’s a bit high,” Lando acknowledges, starting to breathe harder. “But don’t worry about me, I’m fit as a fiddle!”

You reach over to slow the treadmill slightly. “Let’s bring the pace down a bit. I’m concerned about these heart rate readings. We should really have you checked out by a cardiologist before the season starts.”

Lando grabs the front handrails, shaking his head stubbornly. “No, no that’s not necessary, really! I’m fine, just maybe didn’t warm up enough.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Lando, as your technician I have to advise getting this looked at. Your heart rate is elevated beyond normal parameters.”

Lando chews his lip, glancing away evasively. “Um, well … maybe there’s a reason for that.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean? Like a medical condition you haven’t told me about?”

“No, no nothing like that!” Lando says quickly. He mumbles something under his breath you can’t quite make out over the whir of the treadmill.

“Sorry, what was that?” You ask, leaning closer. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh, uh … it was nothing,” Lando mutters, face reddening further.

You stop the treadmill completely so you can hear him better, folding your arms over your clipboard. “Lando, if there’s something I should know that’s affecting your test results, you need to tell me. As your technician, I really think we should get your heart looked at just to be safe.”

Lando locks eyes with you for a moment, hesitation written across his features. He mumbles again under his breath, so quietly you can’t discern the words.

You hold his gaze firmly. “One more time, please. It’s really important that I understand what’s going on so I can interpret these results accurately.”

Lando breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. He kicks lightly at the motionless treadmill belt, before finally whispering. “It’s you, alright?”

You blink in surprise. “Me? What do you mean?”

Lando glances up at you briefly, his face now tomato-red. “You’re … the reason my heart rate is high,” he mumbles.

You stare at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Lando groans, covering his face with his hands. “Because … I really fancy you, okay?” He admits, the words muffled into his palms. “You’re just … totally gorgeous and sweet and it makes me nervous and … my heart rate goes mad around pretty girls I like.”

Your eyes widen in understanding, feeling your own cheeks flush bright pink. “Oh! Oh ...”

Lando peeks out at you between splayed fingers. “Yeah, so that’s why it’s high. Not because I have some underlying heart condition.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “Just because my technician is really fit.”

You let out an awkward laugh, suddenly feeling shy. “Wow, uh … I’m flattered, Lando. I didn’t realize ...”

Lando drops his hands from his face, looking at you earnestly. “Sorry, is that weird? I know we just met and you’re doing your job.” He fidgets with the electrode wires across his chest. “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

You smile warmly back at him, feeling butterflies in your own stomach. “Don’t be silly. It’s not weird at all. Honestly, I, uh … also think you’re really cute,” you admit with bashful grin.

Lando’s eyes light up. “Yeah?” A wide, delighted smile spreads across his face.

You nod, laughing softly. “Yeah, I may have been trying not to blush myself with you shirtless here in my lab.”

“Well I’m certainly not complaining about the view either,” Lando says cheekily.

You smack his arm playfully. “I’m being professional here!”

“And doing a great job,” Lando says, smile softening. “But maybe once we’re done with all this boring medical stuff … we could get dinner? If you want?” He looks at you hopefully.

Your heart flutters with excitement. “I’d really like that.” You smile at each other giddily for a moment before you clear your throat. “But first, we really should finish your assessment properly.”

Lando laughs, nodding. “Of course, you’re the boss!”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Alright, hop back on the treadmill. And this time just focus on your breathing and try not to make eyes at the pretty technician,” you tease.

“No promises there,” Lando quips with a grin as he steps back onto the belt.

You just smile and shake your head as you start up the machine once more, unable to keep your own heart rate from quickening in anticipation of what promises to be a very special dinner date after the test is complete.

***

Several Months Later

You glance down nervously at your paddock pass as you make your way through the crowded paddock. As an unofficial member of Lando’s training team now, you have full access to the exclusive behind-the-scenes world of Formula 1. But despite months of dating the British driver, the glamorous circus still feels surreal.

Dodging golf carts and important looking people with headsets, you head for the McLaren garage. Lando had told you to meet him there before the start of the race. Your heart flutters, as it always does at the thought of seeing him again.

“Y/N!” Lando greets you brightly as you enter the garage. Engine roars echo around you as mechanics make final tweaks to the cars before wheeling them to the grid.

“Good luck today!” You tell Lando, leaning up on your toes to kiss him sweetly.

“With you here, how can I lose?” He grins down at you. His energy is infectious.

You chat together as the cars are lined up on the starting grid, Lando bouncing excitedly in his race suit. You squeeze his gloved hand. “Be safe out there.”

“Always am, love.” He winks before pulling on his helmet and climbing into the cockpit.

You make your way back to the McLaren hospitality suite to watch the start of the race. Your heart pounds as the lights go out and the F1 cars launch forward in a roar of engines. Lando makes a clean getaway, slotting into P5 heading into the first turn.

The race unfolds smoothly, Lando maintaining his position in the top five. You watch tensely on the monitors, hands clenched.

But on lap 38, disaster strikes. Heading into a fast sweeper, the Red Bull of Sergio Perez attempts a risky overtake maneuver on Lando’s inside. They collide in a shower of carbon fiber and a plume of smoke.

You gasp sharply as Lando’s car spins off into the gravel trap, coming to rest against the barrier at an abrupt stop. The McLaren crew monitor the radio channels anxiously.

“Lando, are you okay mate?” His engineer asks urgently.

“Yeh … I’m okay ...” Lando’s labored voice comes back. “Bit winded but I’m alright.”

You breathe a deep sigh of relief along with the crew. The medical car is quickly dispatched to the scene. Lando climbs unsteadily from the battered car, sitting down in the gravel trap as he awaits assistance.

Your adrenaline surging, you take off from the garage the moment you see Lando is out of the car safely. Jogging through the paddock, you make your way swiftly to the medical center.

As you rush in, Lando is just being helped onto an examination table by two medics. He’s dusty and sweaty, his hair sticking up at all angles from where he pulled off his helmet. But otherwise he seems intact.

“Lando!” You hurry over, emotions welling up at seeing him battered but in one piece.

“Y/N, hey ...” Lando greets you with a weary but reassuring smile. He reaches for your hand which you clutch tightly.

One medic cuts away the top of Lando’s racing suit, placing electrodes on his chest to monitor his heart rhythm. You hover anxiously as they check him over.

“Heart rate is quite elevated,” the doctor frowns as he reads the monitor. He glances between you and Lando with concern. “Any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. He looks up at you, his green eyes glinting. “Nah, doc. She’s the reason for the fast heartbeat.”

You feel your cheeks flush as Lando grins. The medic looks confused.

“See, ever since Y/N came into my life, she’s made my heart race a mile a minute,” Lando explains cheekily.

You smack his arm but can’t help laughing too. Trust Lando to still be flirting from a hospital bed.

“Ah, young love,” the doctor chuckles. “Well, your heart may beat for her, but let’s still do a full check to be safe.”

Lando nods agreeably, though his gaze stays fixed on you. He winces slightly as they palpate his ribs and abdomen, checking for injuries.

You cling to his hand, emotionally drained from the scare but overwhelmed with relief that he seems okay. Lando keeps stealing glances at you through the examination.

Finally the doctor steps back. “All done. Amazingly, you’ve escaped with just some bruising. No breaks or internal injuries. You were lucky today.”

The medic packs up his equipment. “Get some rest and ice those sore spots. But overall good news. No reason you can’t race in two weeks’ time.”

“Phew, that’s a relief!” Lando says. He thanks the doctors as you help him down from the table.

Arm wrapped supportively around him, you make your slow way out of the medical center towards the McLaren motorhome.

“Thank you for being here,” Lando murmurs, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk.

You kiss his dusty hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You scared me to death out there!”

“I know, sorry about that, love. It happened so fast.” He lifts his head to look at you sincerely. “But I’m alright. Just grateful to have you by my side.”

You stop, turning to face him fully. Reaching up, you caress his cheek gently. “I’ll always be right here by your side.”

Lando’s eyes shine. “Is it cheesy to say you make my heart race in the best way?”

Laughing softly, you pull him into a tender kiss. For this brief moment, nothing else matters but the two of you.

Lando sighs contentedly when you eventually pull back. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him. “The feeling’s mutual. Now let’s get you rested up. I want my favorite driver back to full fitness ASAP.”

With his arm wrapped warmly around your shoulders, you’re reminded that no matter what challenges life brings, your hearts will keep racing together as one.

***

It’s a quiet night and you and Lando are cuddling in bed together after a long day. Lando’s arms are wrapped securely around you, your head resting comfortably on his chest. His fingers idly trace delicate patterns along your back as you lay pressed close, breathing in sync.

Though it’s late, you can tell Lando’s mind is still wide awake, trailing far from the coziness of your shared bed. His pensive silence prompts you to prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a curious smile.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?”

Lando blinks up at you before giving a small, distracted smile. “Oh, it’s nothing really ...”

You raise a knowing eyebrow. “Lando, I can always tell when something’s on your mind.” You brush a lock of hair back from his forehead tenderly. “Talk to me?”

Lando chews his lip, eyes darting away evasively. Finally he lets out a long breath, arms tightening around your waist. “I guess … I’ve just been thinking about when I picked you up earlier today.”

You think back to the afternoon when Lando swung by your lab after work like usual. “What about it?”

“Well, when I pulled up out front, I saw one of your patients leaving the exercise center,” Lando explains. His brow furrows slightly. “Some tall, muscular bloke in running shorts.”

“Oh, that was probably Brandon — he’s a sprinter I had in for VO2 max testing,” you reply casually before pausing. “Wait … you’re not jealous, are you?”

“No! No, of course not,” Lando says quickly. But the way his eyes shift away makes you think otherwise.

You frown slightly, snuggling closer against his chest. “Lando, you know you have absolutely no reason to be jealous. I only have eyes for you,” you murmur reassuringly.

Lando sighs, arms tightening around your back. “I know, I know. It’s stupid ...” He trails off, looking conflicted.

You lay a comforting hand along his jaw. “Talk to me, love. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Lando meets your earnest gaze, emotions swirling in his eyes. “I just … I wonder sometimes why you picked me, you know? You meet guys like that every day. And I’m just ...” he shrugs self-consciously.

Your heart squeezes at the vulnerable admission. You tenderly stroke Lando’s cheek. “Hey … you listen to me. You’re the only one I want. All those other athletes are just patients to me. But you ...” You smile down at him adoringly. “You’re the one who makes my heart race with just a look. The one I want to spend all my time with. The one I love with my entire heart.”

The corner of Lando’s mouth lifts in a faint, tentative smile at your words. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” you whisper fervently. Leaning down, you capture his lips in a sweet, loving kiss. “You’re my once in a lifetime, Lando. My soulmate. Meeting you was destiny.”

Lando’s arms wrap tightly around you again, the last of the tension fading from his frame. “I’m sorry I got all insecure like that. I know I’m being silly.” He presses an apologetic kiss to your hair. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You nuzzle your face lovingly against his neck. “You were just yourself — that funny, charming, incredible guy I fell for the moment we met.” You lift your head to meet his eyes again. “I never stood a chance. My heart was yours from the start.”

A smile breaks across Lando’s face at last. “I really am the luckiest bloke in the world, aren’t I?”

“Damn right you are,” you say teasingly, making him laugh. Your expression softens. “But truly, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. My heart only races for you. It always will.”

Lando’s eyes gleam with renewed confidence and adoration as he rolls you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Well in that case, what do you say we get your heart racing again?” He murmurs playfully, brushing his nose against yours.

You grin up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’d say you’re on.”

Lando’s smile widens as he dips his head to meet your lips in a passionate kiss. Your pulse immediately quickens at his touch, heart thrumming as you arch up into him.

When Lando finally pulls back for air, his eyes are dancing. “Yep, definitely racing,” he laughs breathlessly, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss your pulse point.

You shake your head in amusement, heart overflowing with love for this man. “You’re the only one for me. Today, tomorrow, and always.”

Lando’s smile softens to something tender and reverent. “And you’re my once in a lifetime, Y/N.” He brushes his thumb along your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper. And as his lips find yours again, you let yourself get lost in his kiss, your racing hearts beating as one.

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, angst, carbohydrates

Part 1

Words of Command - Part 2

You stand just a little to the side of the elevator, arms wrapped around yourself for comfort, eyes fixed on him.

The Soldier—or—Bucky—or was it Soldat? hasn’t moved. Not more than the occasional shift of his weight, the twitch of that metal hand, the faint flick of his blue eyes every time you breathe too loudly.

Steve and Tony have stepped back to whisper, but you can feel their attention lingering.

Watching.

Judging.

Worried.

Your voice is small when you try again.

“Excuse me…Soldat?”

His gaze whips back to you. Immediate. Unyielding.

That dead-focused, razor-sharp intensity tightens your chest, but you keep going—gentle, slow, like you’re talking to a scared animal that might bolt.

Or bite.

“Do you… understand me?”

There’s no answer.

But he stares, and something in the corners of his eyes shifts—like he’s searching, trying to find something inside the words.

Like he knows he should understand.

But doesn’t know how he's supposed to respond.

You try again.

“Do you speak English?”

A pause. Then “…Handler.”

Soft. Gravelled. Russian-coated.

But he looks at you longer this time. Tilts his head ever so slightly.

Then—halting, broken “Yes ... Handler... I speak ... english.”

His voice is scratchy from disuse, like sandpaper dragged across silk.

You blink, startled. “You do speak…english ...cool. cool. cool.”

His face doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes—like he knows he got something right.

Tony mutters under his breath to Steve, “Great. She’s got a new puppy. One with a kill count.”

Tony’s voice cuts the moment in two, sharp and dry.

“Alright. Fine. He stays. For now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But only under strict rules.”

He points at you. “You’re now—congratulations—his unofficial translator, wrangler, emotional support human. You don’t leave him alone with anyone unless Steve’s around."

Tony paces before continuing.

"You don’t give him any new code words. And if he starts twitching like he’s about to go full ‘Nuclear-powered meltdown’ in the kitchen, you run. Got it?”

You blink. “I—I didn’t agree to any of this—”

“You talked to him,” Tony interrupts. “He responded. That makes you the most useful person in this room. Sorry, Cap.”

Steve just nods, gaze serious. “We’ll keep him close. And monitored.”

Tony turns back to Bucky. “You break anything, you pay for it. With labor. I’ll teach you how to vacuum or something.”

“Vakum?"

Bucky repeats, confused.

He turns back to you like he’s waiting for confirmation.

You swallow. “Um… yea ...yes. You… do or we do, I dont know”

He nods, stiff but obedient. Like a soldier again. Your stomach knots.

Tony sighs. “Great. He’s trained and housebroken.”

The others drift off. Steve to talk logistics. Tony to complain to JARVIS. You’re left behind… with him.

You stand in awkward silence.

Bucky doesn’t look at you the way a man does. He looks at you the way a soldier does—alert, aware, waiting for purpose.

But something softens in his stance when you step a little closer.

“Do you… remember your name?” you ask gently.

He’s quiet for a long time. Too long. Then he shakes his head.

"Soldat.”

“Not that,” you murmur. “Your real name.”

His brows knit like it’s painful. His mouth opens—closes. Then just a almost imperceptible shake of his head.

You nod slowly. “Okay. That’s okay.”

He watches your expression like he’s trying to memorize it. Trying to learn how to interpret softness. Gentleness. Safety.

The hallway outside the security room smells faintly like ozone and recycled air. You’re wringing your fingers in front of you, stealing glances toward where Bucky—no, Soldat—sits motionless on a bench near the elevator, eyes tracking every flicker of movement like a wolf in a den of mirrors.

Steve watches him too. But not with fear.

With sorrow.

“He’s so…” you start, unsure of how to finish the sentence. “Still.”

Steve sighs, deep and rough. “That’s how he was trained. Hydra carved the hesitation out of him. Left only reaction.”

You glance at the grime and dried blood on Bucky’s face.

His hair is stringy, tangled.

His hands both metal and flesh are blackened with dirt. The metallic arm catches the fluorescent lights—dull, but still somehow menacing.

“He needs… a shower,” you say scrunching your nose slightly.

Steve looks over. “Yeah. He does.”

“I could… he could use mine”

Steve's mouth twitches into the smallest smile. “You’re braver than you look.”

You fidget. “Everyone deserves hygiene ... its a basic human right.”

Steve nods slowly. “That’s true.”

The elevator ride up to your room is silent—oppressively so.

You keep sneaking glances at him.

He doesn’t blink much. Doesn’t fidget. Just stands with his shoulders squared, metal hand curled tight at his side like he’s expecting orders or a trap.

His boots are caked in filth.

His face still bears the shadows of too many nights in the street.

You whisper, just loud enough for him to hear

“You’re safe. No one here will hurt you.”

His eyes slide to yours. Brief. Intense.

Then he nods—just once.

Your room in Stark Tower isn’t large, but it’s lived-in, Tony had allowed you to shift in when you where between apartments in the city, and he didn't seem in a hurry for you to find somewhere else.

Warm lamp light glows from the corner. There’s a little potted succulent on the windowsill. That your honestly not trying to kill.

A pile of books beside the bed. A tea mug forgotten on the nightstand. The air smells faintly of vanilla and lemon.

Bucky walks in like a soldier clearing a room. Silent steps. Eyes scanning corners. He doesn’t relax, but he stops moving once you speak.

“I thought… you could shower in here. In the bathroom. It’s clean, and there’s towels—soap—uh—just, everything.”

He stares at you blankly.

Then… something clicks.

Without hesitation, he starts pulling off his clothes.

You let out a squeak and spin around so fast you nearly trip over your own feet.

“Oh! Holy shit ...Um—okay! Privacy! You can—just—I’ll wait out here!” your voice cracks at least twice.

Behind you, clothes hit the floor. The dull thud of boots. The click of the door shutting, then the soft muffled hiss of the shower turning on.

Your face burns.

You press your hand to your chest.

There’s a naked super soldier in my shower… Oh my god… holy cow...wait ... is that arm waterproof?

A soft knock draws you from your internal spiral.

You open the door just wide enough to peek out—and there’s Steve, holding a bundle of clothes, grey sweatpants, a simple t-shirt, hoodie, and socks.

He raises a brow at your pink face. “Everything okay?”

“Fine! Totally fine! He’s… uh ...showering.” You hesitate. “He stripped. Like, immediately.”

Steve snorts softly, amused. “Yeah. That tracks.”

You take the clothes and thank him in a whisper.

He turns to leave but glances back over his shoulder. “He’s not trying to scare you.”

“I kinda figured.”

Evening hums low outside your window. The sky’s painted in the soft indigos of a city winding down. In your room, the overhead light is dimmed, replaced by the golden warmth of a bedside lamp.

The tower feels quieter now—like even its bones are holding their breath.

Bucky sits on the floor at the foot of your bed, his back straight, legs folded.

He’s wearing the clothes Steve brought. He hasn’t said much—not beyond, "Yes" "No" and “Handler”

Your starting to hate that word.

You’re sitting nearby, cross-legged on the bed, watching him with a quiet ache in your chest.

His hair is damp from the shower but already beginning to dry in unkempt waves, tangled and wild like a forgotten sea.

There’s something about it that doesn’t sit right with you—not because it’s messy, but because it wasn’t his choice.

It was neglect.

“Would you like to brush your hair?” you ask gently, holding up the comb you keep in your drawer.

He doesn’t move.

Not a flinch.

But his eyes flick to the comb. Then to your face.

Then back to the comb.

No understanding.

No hostility.

Just… frozen confusion.

You realize it a second later, It wasn’t a command.

And he doesn’t know how to process choice.

You try again, slower. “It’s not an order, Soldat. It’s something people do for comfort. To feel clean. To feel… themselves.”

He watches your mouth like he’s decoding a language that doesn’t belong to him.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then “...You brush?” he says, the words clipped, thickly accented. His voice scratches like gravel dragged over concrete.

“No, not me. You. For you.” You hold the comb out to him carefully, showing him. “You can brush your own hair. If you want.”

His brow furrows. You don’t think he’s ever been asked if he wants anything before.

“I don’t… remember.”

That is the closest thing to a sentence he’s given you.

The words nearly break something inside you.

“Then…” you whisper, “Would it be okay if I helped? Just for now?”

A breath passes. His metal fingers twitch against the floor.

Then he nods—once.

You ease down from the bed, kneeling behind him. His broad back dwarfs you, but he stays very still. Every muscle tense, like he’s waiting for something to go wrong.

You gently set the comb on your lap and take out a small, circular compact mirror from your drawer. You flip it open and set it on the floor beside him, tilting it so he can see your hands reflected when you reach for his hair.

“It’s... so you know you’re in control. You can stop me at any time. Okay?”

“Understood, Handler.”

That word again.

The first pass of the comb is tentative. Gentle. You start from the ends, working up in soft, practiced movements. His hair snags in places—clumps still matted from god only knows how much neglect. You’re careful. Patient. Like you’re brushing knots of memory, not just strands.

His breath is steady. But not relaxed. It’s like he doesn’t know how to be during this.

When your fingertips graze his scalp, he flinches—but doesn’t pull away.

In the mirror, you watch his eyes track your every movement. His jaw is clenched, but not from pain. From effort. He’s fighting an instinct you can’t see, but you feel its tremble under your palms.

And then—almost imperceptibly—his shoulders lower. Just a little.

After several minutes, you offer him the compact.

“Here. Want to hold it?”

He stares at it like it’s some delicate alien thing. You nudge it gently into his flesh hand.

He holds it like it might shatter under the wrong pressure. Turns it. Sees himself.

He frowns.

Not in disgust.

Not quite.

More like... he’s seeing a ghost in the reflection and doesn’t know what to do with him.

Then he looks at you.

And in that single look—there is confusion.

And something almost like wonder.

“You… don’t have to do this,” he murmurs. “it's not protocol.”

“I don't mind,” you say, voice thick with emotion. Despite the smile you offer him.

The Tower’s kitchen is lively at this hour—typical, not at all surprising.

Clint is hunched over a bowl of cereal, watching something on a tablet, probably a terrible reality show. Natasha lounges sideways on one of the bar stools, legs crossed at the knee, flipping through a glossy black dossier with quiet intent.

Sam is leaning against the fridge, arguing with Steve about something that sounds like football but escalates fast enough to involve several gestures and a thrown grape.

Then there’s Tony.

Leaning across the counter in a charcoal t-shirt, sipping an espresso as if he invented the machine.

Because well ... he did.

You step into the room, barefoot and slipping between them with muttered "Excuse me's", sleeves pushed up to your elbows and hair a little tousled from where you’d tied it up lazily.

You hover near the fridge, mumbling something about making pasta. No one really pays you much mind—

Until they notice him.

He appears in the doorway like a shadow that forgot to blend in.

The Winter Soldier.

Bucky.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t announce himself, doesn’t stomp. He just is—standing in the doorframe, silent and still, eyes flicking from person to person like he’s assessing threats. Or calculating exits.

You glance back at him, offering a smile, and he responds not with words, but motion.

He follows you.

Not close enough to touch. Just behind. Always behind. Like a ghost dog, cautious but fiercely loyal. His bare feet make no sound against the polished floors. He stands when you stand, moves when you move.

You’re pouring water into a pot when you hear Clint whisper

“Is that who I think it is?”

Natasha doesn’t answer. But she puts her file down. That’s answer enough.

Tony's voice cuts through the tension like a scalpel made of sarcasm.

“Well well, look who’s lurking in my kitchen like a Soviet-themed Dracula.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch. His gaze flicks to Tony, then to the coffee machine, then back to you. The moment doesn’t register as an insult—because to him, it’s just noise.

“Didn’t realize the Asset came with a tracking chip,” Tony adds, lifting his espresso.

You turn slightly, cheeks flushed, fumbling the box of pasta.

“He’s just… hanging out” you say over your shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Tony blinks. “Yeah, I see that. Very Terminator-chic. Adorable. Kind of unsettling.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You sure he’s not about to snap a fork in half?”

At that, Bucky shifts. Just a little. Not threatening. But present. A statement.

Natasha leans in, narrowing her eyes. “He’s not looking at any of us. Just her.”

You glance back at him. “Soldat?”

His head turns toward you instantly. Eyes locked. Waiting.

“…You hungry?”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t nod. But his lips part, like he’s trying to answer in a language he forgot.

“Da,” he rasps.

Tony claps once. “Fantastic. Our newly adopted murder machine has a preference for carbs. That’s going in the file.”

As the pasta boils and the kitchen returns to a fragile rhythm, Bucky remains near you. Close, but never hovering too much. Watching your hands. Taking in the way you hum under your breath. Your calm presence seems to dull the sharp edges in him.

When the steam rises and you lean over the pot, he shifts slightly to keep you in sight.

Tony catches it and, for once, doesn’t make a joke.

Instead, he murmurs to Steve, “It’s like some sorta twilight zone imprinting. Is that normal?”

Steve shrugs. “Nothing about this is normal.”

You hum softly to yourself, cheeks warm from the stove’s heat as you serve up a big bowl of sundried tomato pasta with crumbly cheese and herbs.

You’ve made enough for everyone—even Tony, who pretends to be above “home-cooked carbs” until you set a plate down in front of him.

“Looks like someone’s gunning for our hearts,” Sam jokes, taking a forkful. “I mean—she made pasta, and the Asset isn’t killing anyone. That’s two wins.”

You smile timidly, brushing hair behind your ear. “It’s nothing, really. I just thought... maybe it would help.”

Bucky sits rigid at the end of the bar, back straight, legs parted just slightly in a posture that screams tactical readiness more than dinner guest. His eyes never leave you.

He eats slowly, methodically. Like every bite is a foreign ritual he’s relearning. His spoon clenched tight in his metal hand. His expression unreadable.

The others are trying.

They talk softly.

Laugh a little.

Tony throws in occasional dry commentary to cut the tension.

You start to relax.

Sam tosses a crumpled napkin at Clint, who bats it away with a grin.

“Real mature,” he mutters.

Then Sam turns to you. He points his fork in your direction, mock-annoyed. “And you—you better not be trying to replace me as the favorite cook.”

You laugh, turning away to get another serving. Sam stands up dramatically, crossing over to nudge your shoulder with exaggerated playfulness. “I mean, who told you you could just waltz in here and become the team’s comfort cook?”

It’s lighthearted.

But it’s too much.

Too close.

Too sudden.

There’s no warning.

One second, Sam is jokingly reaching out to gently nudge your arm—

The next, metal slams against flesh with a sickening crack.

Sam is thrown backwards across the kitchen, crashing into a barstool that shatters beneath him.

Gasps. A plate clatters to the floor. Someone shouts—Natasha, maybe—but it’s drowned out by the low, inhuman growl that echoes from the center of the chaos.

The Winter Soldier stands between you and the others.

His body is coiled, one foot slid slightly in front of the other in a combat stance. Left arm bent, metal fist clenched so tightly the grooves in his knuckles press white-hot into the soft light of the room.

His right arm—the flesh one—is stretched in front of you, shielding.

His face is a mask of violence.

Emotionless.

Focused.

Predatory.

He sees a threat.

He’s eliminating it.

“Soldat!” Steve yells, standing up. “Stand down—!”

Tony’s hand flies to his chest, activating the arc reactor with a sharp whine. “You have got to be kidding me—”

Sam groans from the floor, coughing. “I’m okay—Jesus—he’s got an arm like a truck—”

But Bucky doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t hear them.

Only you.

He turns to check you—slowly, like he’s scanning for wounds. Eyes scanning your arms, your shoulders, your face.

Then he turns back toward the others, every muscle wound taut. A silent protector. A guard dog whose chain has snapped.

Clint inches forward. “Uh—he’s not gonna stop, is he?”

Tony’s voice is sharp now. “Tell him to stand down. He’s keyed in on you, not us. You have to do it.”

You blink. Your breath has caught in your chest.

Then slowly, trembling, you step forward, touching the inside of Bucky’s flesh arm—just above the wrist.

“Soldat,” you whisper, “It’s okay. I’m not hurt. I’m okay.”

His head tilts slightly. You see something shift.

“I need you to stop,” you say, your voice cracking. “Stand down.”

He blinks.

The tension bleeds out of his shoulders like breath leaving a body. He straightens slightly, fists unclenching. The tremble in his chest dies down.

His eyes drop to the floor.

"Understood, Handler,”

[kurooh]

— SPELLBOUND ! . . geto suguru

⊹₊˚. while he’s out on a mission, suguru absorbs a special cursed spirit.

☆☆ 18+ content (mdni), fem! reader, unprotected sex, creampies, breeding, squirting, 1 face slap, slight exhibitionism, reader works in an office, NOT proofread..

all he can do is run faster through the hallways of your workplace, heels hitting the floor rather roughly as suguru increases his pace. dark hair that’s usually bound in a neat bun and resting against his shoulders is currently tousled, sticking to his sweaty face. god, he’d been pulling his hair so much he made himself look like he’d lost a fight with a leaf blower.

security had initially been after him when he raced through the turnstiles in the lobby, but he’d been faster as he made it onto the elevator. ordinarily, suguru would’ve felt badly for causing such a scene, but this couldn’t be helped.

he’d been out on a mission, tracking a special grade cursed spirit in the depths of the city. according to some intel garnered through extensive monitoring of the area, he’d come to learn that this cursed spirit wasn’t just any cursed spirit…

this was some kind of humanoid curse that couldn’t be wrangled by local sorcerers and had even slipped up some sent over from jujutsu high. naturally, suguru had to get ahold of the curse and add it to his collection of special grades. now, he’d heard a few embarrassed testimonies about the curse’s technique impacting bodies and minds for a day or so.

suguru hadn’t expected the fight for submission to go as fast as it did, and he certainly didn’t expect the sudden surge of lust throughout his whole body the second he choked it down. unlike most other curses, this one was hot on his tongue and tasting of spice and sweetness.

suguru’s chest heaves as his feet skid to a stop on the carpet, right in front of your office door. without even bothering to knock, he throws the door open, effectively startling you.

“ah! suguru? what the hell are you doing here? i thought you were busy tracking—”

you take him in, eyes wandering over his broad frame. suguru’s a mess, face flushed and sweaty; his hair’s unruly and looks as though it was ripped from its bun in some kind of panic. looking closely at his eyes, you notice a lilac glow encircling his pupils, coloring over his usually brown irises.

“sugu?” you ask softly, taking a step closer. “hey, what happened? you look terrible, is everything okay?”

he groans loudly in response, hips banging against your desk as he slams his hands down on some papers.

“lock the door,” suguru musters, hanging his head as he tries to decide how to explain this mess to you. he hadn’t been affected after absorbing a curse since he was just a first year at jujutsu high, throwing up all over gojo after his new rainbow dragon wouldn’t settle down in his belly.

“will you tell me what’s going on, damn it?”

suguru whirls around, clothing looser than it had been before you’d turned to lock your office door. “i-it’s the fucking curse i was after! right after i absorbed it, i started feeling like this.”

“meaning?”

“i’m sure this sounds insane, but it was an aphrodisiacal kind of curse.. so essentially, my body and mind are aroused to a level beyond my control.” the silent implication behind suguru’s words has excitement and anticipation swirling throughout your body, cumulating between your thighs and dampening your panties.

with one look shared between the two of you and a quiet exhale, you rush forward and melt into him, his arms strong and chest sturdy against your smaller frame. dark strands brush against your cheeks as he tips his head forward to take the lead in a hot kiss.

rather quickly, his tongue is passing between your lips as his teeth clash against your own in a desperate attempt for more of you. more of your taste, made up from the sticky sweetness of your lipgloss and mixed notes of your afternoon coffee.

suguru reverses your positions easily, and suddenly you can feel how fucking thick he is through a few layers of clothing. you twist your hips, attempting to hump on his clothes cock, and he pulls your hand from his, guiding it to the bulge.

he’s struggling with your nimble fingers touching his cock just right, the sudden urge to cum rising inside him.

“ughhh, shit..”

quickly, suguru adjusts you; the small of your back hits the edge of the desk before your ass is scraping against it as he pushes you on top.

“off,” is all he commands as he drags his casual shirt and pants off, eyeing your neatly pressed pants and almost fully buttoned blouse. in this state, he’s doing his utmost to hold back for you — god, he would’ve ripped all your clothes off long ago.

“okay if i’m rough, sweetheart?”

your needy little ‘please’ along with your office slacks hitting the floor has him leaning you back onto the desk, papers flying in every direction.

although he always likes to drag out the foreplay and prep, suguru doesn’t waste any fucking time as he spreads your thighs and spits on your clit before diving right in to devour you.

“a-ah, shit!” you exclaim, voice pitched and shaking almost immediately. “sugu, lick my clit harder.. yes, just like that!”

large hands pressing down hard on your squirming thighs keeps you in place from moving anywhere but towards him and your orgasm. a mixture of your slick and his spit dribbles down his chin, catching the light as he leans up for a brief breath.

“oh—! feels amazing, sugu, ‘m gonna cum soon!”

weakly, you raise your head to observe the way he’s ravaging you, hungry for no one except you. your tits bounce as your body twitches, falling over the cups of your bra and almost through the half undone blouse.

you sit upwards, and he lets you go so you can wrap your thighs around his head. soon the blouse falls to the ground, discarded, and your bra follows suit.

“s-suguru, ‘m gonna— ‘m gonna cum!”

you bite down hard on your fingers as he lifts you and drags you up and down his face, slurping every last drop of your taste. he groans faintly as he licks your inner thighs clean, despite the fact that he’ll be making them messy again pretty soon.

“on your belly, sweet thing.” suguru punctuates his words with a smarting slap to your ass cheek when you turn over, and he picks up your panties from the floor. the lace is sticky with the mess you’d made getting so horny when he’d been kissing you.

he balls them up and shoves them into your open mouth, then circles the desk so as to position himself behind you. suguru can’t help but groan as he finally takes off his boxers, letting his cock rest on your ass before he moves any further. without wasting much time outside of your cunt, he spits on his cock and lubes it up.

he’s hot and heavy, then thick and absolutely throbbing as he nudges his sticky tip forward and between your slippery folds.

“fuck—! ughhh, shit, sweetheart,” he feels as though a bucket of water has been splashed on him, the heat and wetness of your cunt addicting as it envelops his cock fully.

you whine a little from the stretch, bouncing your ass on him as you try to adjust completely. with a hand planted firmly on the wood of the desk and the other pressing into the plush skin of your hip, suguru advances forward, driving his hips into you mercilessly.

“suguru!” a near scream of pleasure almost rips from you, but thank god he’d gagged you with those panties.

“shhh, you need to stay quiet, sweetheart,” he chokes out, the lilac glow in his eyes growing brighter right before they roll back into his head. “y-you’re real tight, baby, ‘nd you’re taking me so fucking well, shit.”

suguru is literally drilling you into the desk, but it’s still not enough for him. he only moves faster and harder, leaning his body over yours to nip at your jaw, nudging your burning cheek with his nose.

“i’ve been waiting to use your pussy like this since i got cursed,” he grunts, satisfied at the way your eyes roll back into your head at his words.

with each drag of his cock against your sensitive walls, you reach your orgasm quickly. your body twists beneath his as you sob, clenching on him and all over.

however, a rare pressure coils in your pelvis; tight and hot and ready to come out, all over him.

“sugu, ‘m gonna cum.. fuck, i-i think i’m gonna—”

your voice raises, words spoken fast and sounding just a little panicked. after all, it’s not like you squirt that often with suguru, and especially not on your work desk in your workplace with your coworkers walking the halls.

what if you got your papers and stationary all wet like this, by being nasty?

“go ahead ‘n make a mess, sweet thing,” his voice rumbles in his chest behind you, low and exuding hunger. “all over me, yeah?”

“a-are you sure?” you gasp, liquid already starting to drip from your pussy; you can barely feel it since he’s fucking it away.

displeased, suguru raises his hand and lightly slaps your cheek, just enough to sting but burn.

“of course i’m sure,” he grunts, eyes meeting yours as you tearfully turn back to look at him. “give it to me.”

just his words have your eyes rolling back as you cum on command — puffy cunt clenching as liquid sprays onto his pelvis and balls. he lets go too, pulling out and jerking his cock onto your pussy.

“fuckkk, sweetheart..”

suguru’s eyes, still glowing, fall shut as his cock shoots cum all over your quivering pussy; your cum mixes with his and starts to run off your clit, and you lean up to start cleaning yourself.

a strong hand presses right into the middle of the back and pushes you down immediately.

“sugu, we have to clean up, what’re you—”

“don’t play dumb,” he sighs, impatient as he rubs his tip in the mess covering your pussy before pushing back in.

you let out a choked gasp, which is unheard over the sounds of sticky skin smacking against skin. he removes his hand from your back and spreads your asscheeks, giving himself a nice view of your rear.

“one orgasm won’t relieve the curse, sweetheart.”

it doesn’t take much for you to melt, losing all your resolve as he fucks you into the desk with little mercy. your face’s pressed into the wood as tears pour down your cheeks, lips parted by sounds you couldn’t even think about holding back.

“i-it’s gonna happen again,” you mewl, unable to sit up or move much as you squirt on him yet again. the spray soaks some papers, and his pelvis, drops of liquid sparkling in dark hairs.

thoroughly fucked out and unable to count how many times you’ve cum, you wail his name, only one thing in your head.

“put a baby in me, suguru. fill me up, please.”

“oh yeah? that’s what you want?” tears of overstimulation build in his eyes but he just can’t stop fucking you. the position, view, sounds, feelings, place, all of it — he doesn’t want to stop.

“fill me up,” you cry again, pushing yourself closer to him.

“i’d much rather see your face as i stuff you full, baby,” and with that he’s pulling out of you, as painful as it is, and flipping you over with ease.

drool runs down your chin as you blink up at him blearily, not one single thought behind your teary eyes. your face crumbles as he pushes inside you, back arching off the desk.

“my baby’s been fucked dumb,” suguru laughs, glancing at your bouncing tits and rock hard nipples. “look at me when i cum, hm?”

you force your eyes open, noticing the tears in his own. he looks beyond amazing — face flushed, eyes squinted as his orgasm rushes up, long dark locks a mess behind him.

“i’ll put a baby in you,” he grunts, tone sounding just the slightest bit competitive.

inside you, suguru thickens and throbs before he loudly chokes out a groan and finally cums inside you. the warmth of his cum inside you has you squirting again, the slightest bit of liquid running down the base of his aching cock.

“think that’s enough, suguru?” you gasp, leaning your head back, body entirely limp.

he pulls out, hissing softly at the loss of your warmth. cum floods out of you, staining your skin as some drips to the floor.

“i could always eat you out..” he offers, grinning slyly.

“suguru, you just—”

a hasty knock on the door has you sitting straight up, limbs aching from being pressed into the desk as much as they were. suguru’s eyes widen, as do yours, as reality hits the two of you like a goddamn truck.

you recognize your boss when she calls your name, and a few of your coworkers’ voices. “is everything alright? we’ve been hearing continuous thudding outside of your office. the office has just been locked down, since some random ran in past security.”

you smack suguru’s shoulder, face contorting.

he shrugs dramatically before grabbing some tissues to wipe up your thighs, himself, and the sprayed liquid covering the wood of your desk.

“ma’am, we will be coming into your office. this is necessary security protocol.”

[starlightkun]

⇢ word count: 6.9k ⇢ genre: fluff, established relationship, secret relationship, office workers!jisung & reader, holiday themed, a bit of a crackfic (everyone in this is slightly unhinged and you should NOT act like them in your actual workplace PLEASE), appearances from absolute nuisances nohyuck (mainly hyuck being a nuisance and jeno being a desk candy bowl thief) and chill boss johnny (he’s actually the only normal one around this office fr), part of my 2024 hallmark movie marathon ⇢ warnings: lots of discussions of sex/sleeping together (nohyuck have an absolutely unhinged plot to have reader hook up w jisung w/o realizing that they’re already dating, shenanigans ensue) ⇢ extra info: this was originally going to be part of want from me, but i felt like i was losing the plot a bit, so i tweaked some stuff and made it its own fic instead this is part of my 2024 hallmark movie marathon, three short, unrelated fics starring jisung all with cheesy hallmark christmas movie-esque premises. there’s no continuing plotline between fics in this series, they’re all standalone fics ⇢ author’s note: ok i may be stretching the concept of a ‘cheesy hallmark movie’ in this one, but there’s a holiday party. sue me. ⇢ 2024 hallmark movie marathon

“You need to fuck Jisung.” Donghyuck sat on your desk the following Monday, nearly knocking your cup of pens over.

“What happened to hello? How are you?”

“I get why you didn’t want to tell anybody when I was interviewing,” Jisung sighed as you adjusted his tie for him. “But don’t you think everyone’s formed their own opinions about me by now?”

“You told me Mr. Kang called you Joosung yesterday,” you pointed out. “We agreed after your three-month evaluation, remember?”

“That’s next month!”

“Two weeks. December tenth, to be exact, will be three months since you started.”

“I know, I know.” He pulled you closer by your hips, burying his face in your neck. “Thank you.”

You rested one hand on the nape of his neck, the other stroking his hair. “I hate it too. I was in the bathroom yesterday and overheard a couple of the women from budgeting talking about you. Apparently one of them wants to ask you to the holiday party.”

He lifted his head up, squinting with confusion. “Wait, was it Song Minji from budgeting?”

“Yes…”

“Yesterday she asked me if I was going, I said yes, then she asked if I had a date, and I said no, and she said she didn’t either. Then she just stared at me. It was really awkward, so I told her I had to get back to my spreadsheets and walked away.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as your boyfriend continued looking down at you with absolutely endearing confusion. Patting his cheek, you informed him gently, “She was waiting for you to ask her to the party, baby.”

“Well, even if I knew that, I wouldn’t have,” he huffed.

“I know, Sungie,” you kissed his cheek. “I know.”

“Good.”

You glanced at the time on your bedside clock, tapping his arm indicatively. “We’ve got to go.”

“Y/N, someone from bookkeeping will be over to pick these receipts up today,” Mr. Suh, your boss, informed you, setting a large banker box down on the ledge behind your computer monitor.

You nodded. “You sure you don’t want me to just take them over there now?”

Bookkeeping was on the same floor as your team, just on the opposite side of the large office building.

“No, I’ve got six more boxes in my office. They should be coming with a dolly. I’ve got a lunch meeting, then I’m on-site at a build. Can you make sure they get them all?”

“Of course. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Thank you. See you tomorrow.” He smiled and reached into your candy bowl, securing a chocolate for himself before heading off towards the elevator.

As you continued working up your reports, another figure approached your desk.

“Hi.” Jisung smiled down at you from over the banker box.

“And what is a bookkeeping gremlin doing over here?” You teased, having already spotted the bright orange dolly next to him. “They let you guys out of your cages?”

“Just me, because I’m on a mission.” He did a little mock salute, making you giggle. He then looked between the dolly and the box. “But I don’t really think this was necessary…”

“There’s six more boxes in Mr. Suh’s office,” you informed him happily, pointing to your boss’ door.

“Oh.”

Two of your team members, Donghyuck and Jeno, congregated around your desk then as well, Jeno zeroing in on your candy bowl as always, and Donghyuck snooping at what you were doing on your screen.

“Boring!” Hyuck declared, hitting CTRL + S on your keyboard to save it for you before exiting out of the program. “Lunchtime!”

“Hey, I was working on that, you know,” you protested, keeping up your usual banter with your work friend.

“Now you’re not,” he shrugged.

“Actually, you were chatting with…” Jeno trailed off, looking at Jisung expectantly.

“Jisung,” your boyfriend filled in.

“—You were chatting with Jisung when we got here,” Jeno finished, popping another chocolate in his mouth and tucking it in his cheek to talk around it. “So you weren’t really working.”

“She was telling me where the other boxes of receipts were,” Jisung explained quickly, gesturing to the dolly. “I’m supposed to pick them up. I’m from bookkeeping.”

Hyuck scanned him from head to toe. “You’re new, right?”

He nodded.

“Come to lunch with us.”

“No, Hyuck,” you snorted, cutting up your food as your coworker attempted to show you a picture of another one of his friends over lunch. “The last asshole you set me up with stood me up, remember?”

“I told you, Jaemin got a stomach bug!” Hyuck insisted. “And that was like, over a year ago!”

You looked at him pointedly. “And he could text you but not me? Think about it.”

“Okay, so he was a flake, but Mark is like, a really good guy!” He elbowed your other coworker next to him. “Jeno, back me up!”

Jeno shrugged. “Eh, he seems like the kind of guy to call you ‘bro’ in bed.”

“Not the kind of back-up I meant!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Why are you thinking about what Mark would call you in bed, Jeno?” You snickered.

He stuck his tongue out at you, and you mimicked him.

Hyuck pushed on in his seemingly never-ending pursuit to set you up with his also never-ending pool of single friends. “Ignore him, Y/N. Will you at least consider? For me? Your bestest friend?”

“I never see you outside of work functions,” you pointed out.

“Please? Pretty please? Pretty pretty please?”

“Whatever. Send me his CV,” you said noncommittally, taking a bite of your food.

“On it!”

“Wait, he’s applying for a job?” Jisung finally spoke from his seat beside you, his confusion apparent.

“No, that’s just what they call whatever information Hyuck sends her about the guys he tries to set her up with,” Jeno explained for him. “It ends up being pretty much the same stuff that’s on a résumé, though.”

Hyuck then focused in on a new target. “Jisung, what about you?”

He froze. “What?”

“Are you single?”

“Uhm—”

“Lie if you have to,” you advised. “Once he smells blood, you’re done for.”

“I’m not a shark!” Hyuck took great offense to this comparison. “I’m-I’m like Cupid!”

You let out a derisive laugh at that, stabbing your fork into your food and lifting your next bite to your mouth.

“I’ve got a girlfriend,” Jisung answered hurriedly.

Hyuck narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “So you’re bringing her to the Christmas party.”

“I-I don’t know, we uhm—we just started seeing each other.”

“You’ll bring her to the next monthly mixer, then?”

“I’m pretty sure this is workplace harassment,” you stepped in on Jisung’s behalf, giving Hyuck a disapproving look. “We had a seminar, remember?”

“You’re not curious?”

“No, I don’t care to see you bother poor Jisung for the rest of our fleeting lunch break.”

“Fine, I won’t disturb Y/N’s precious lunch break,” he gave in melodramatically. “But I want to hear about her when we get back to the office, Jisung.”

When you and Jisung got home that evening, you waited until the two of you had gotten out of your work clothes to address the pout on his lips that had been present ever since lunch.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, sitting at your dining table with him.

He started unpacking the to-go food. “Why did you tell Donghyuck to send you that guy’s info?”

“To get him to shut up about it. He would’ve done that for our whole lunch break, Sungie.” You shook your head, watching as he avoided your eyes. “Are you jealous? It’s not like I’m actually going to do anything with it.”

“I know, but I still don’t like that he’s sending you dating résumés, and it’s apparently been a regular thing?”

“Okay, I know we made it sound like it happens all the time,” you agreed. “This is like the third time, including the guy who stood me up last year. When you and I started dating, I told Hyuck not to bother anymore. But then he heard that I wasn’t bringing a date to the holiday party, and he started his little matchmaking thing again. That’s why I never told you, because there never was anything to tell.”

“I’m sorry if it sounded like I was accusing you of something, baby,” Jisung murmured, reaching for your hand over the table.

“Do you want me to block him or something?”

He sighed. “No, of course not.”

“Damn it, I was hoping you’d say yes. I��ve been looking for an excuse for years.”

He finally chuckled at that, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Here.” You brought out your phone and stood behind him, maneuvering your arms around his shoulders so he could see your screen as you opened your texts with Hyuck and started deleting the most recent ones debriefing you on his newest eligible bachelor for you.

“Wait a second.” Jisung stopped you before you could delete all the pictures that Hyuck had sent.

“What?”

To your surprise, your boyfriend actually opened one of the pictures of the guy.

“Jeno was right,” he snorted, closing out of the picture.

“Wh—Oh,” you started laughing. “Yeah, absolutely.”

You finished deleting everything about the guy, then shut your phone off. “All gone. Can’t even remember his name.”

Jisung pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Thanks, baby.”

“And I’ll tell Hyuck no more in the future. Sound good?”

“No, maybe it’s for the best. I don’t think you need to be subjected to the interrogation I went through today.” He leaned his head against yours affectionately.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I trust you.”

“Aw, thank you, Sungie.” You kissed his hair then hugged him properly. “I knew that. It was cute to see you get jealous, though.”

“You need to fuck Jisung.” Donghyuck sat on your desk the following Monday, nearly knocking your cup of pens over.

“What happened to hello? How are you?” You blinked up at him incredulously, rescuing your writing utensils and pushing them to a far corner.

“No time, we need to save our new favorite little bookkeeping gremlin.” He quickly saved your project and closed the window on your computer.

“And you think having sex with me is the cure for cancer or something?” You snorted. “They really wasted their money on your slot in that workplace harassment seminar.”

“No, look, he’s in an awful, awful situationship. I know he said she’s his girlfriend at lunch the other day, but he doesn’t have any pictures of her, he didn’t want to show me her social media. He said she probably wouldn’t be able to come to the mixer because of her ‘work schedule’—” Hyuck used finger quotes around the words ‘work schedule’ “—but the way he said, it sounded like he was just preemptively making excuses because he knew she would turn him down. I asked him about their first date, and you want to know his answer?”

“What?” You asked dryly.

“That they don’t really do ‘that stuff!’” More air quotes.

“Okay?”

“Then I asked what stuff they do do, and he turned bright red!”

“So he’s lying about having a girlfriend to get you off his back.”

“Mm, she sounded pretty real.”

“Okay, maybe he’s twisting the truth and he’s got a fuckbuddy and he still doesn’t want you playing matchmaker,” you suggested another alternative. “Either way, you should leave him alone.”

“No, look, I’ve got this all figured out. He needs to be reminded that there’s women other than this girl—”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How do you have a rotating roster of men to throw at me, but somehow the only woman that comes to mind for your braindead plan is the one in your immediate line of sight? This is confirming my suspicions that you get no bitches, Lee Donghyuck. Have you talked to a single woman other than me and your mother?”

“Listen, it has to be you so nobody catches feelings!”

“So you’re saying I’m unlovable?”

His eyes widened comically as he went to backpedal. “No, of course not! I meant—Jeno, back me up!”

Jeno, who had been silently leaning against the ledge behind your computer monitor this whole time, happily snacking on the red and green Hershey’s kisses in your candy bowl, slowly finished off the one in his mouth before speaking. “Here’s the thing—”

“You condone this?” You scoffed.

He shrugged. “It’s like, his second-worst idea. Marginally better than setting you up with Na Jaemin.”

“Why do I bother asking for your back-up?” Hyuck muttered.

“But he doesn’t think you’re unlovable. He just knows that you’re a professional, and Jisung is still a newbie and works in a different department. So obviously, there’s like no risk of catching feelings if you guys do… Because work, you know?”

You sat back in your chair, glancing between the two of them dubiously. “Do you two think these are normal things to say to people? At work? To your coworker?”

They looked at each other with wide, horrified eyes, beginning to stutter apologetically.

“I’m in,” you declared abruptly, watching their jaws drop. You then focused your next sentence at Hyuck specifically. “If you’ll stop trying to set me up.”

“Done,” he agreed immediately.

Jisung had excitedly told you about the results of his three-month evaluation to you over dinner that evening, and as you two cleaned up after, you relayed your conversation with your coworkers to him.

“I finally got Hyuck to stop setting me up. Permanently,” you announced in a sing-songy voice, drying the last dish Jisung had just handed you before putting it up in the cabinet.

“Really? Did you find out he killed someone or something?” He asked, shaking the water off his hands over the sink before grabbing the towel hanging in front of it to start drying his hands.

“Nope, he just asked me to do something.”

“Oh, and who do you have to kill?”

“Nobody.” You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind him. “You see, he’s very concerned that this ‘girlfriend’ of yours doesn’t like you as much as you like her.”

“I know we’re literally coworkers, but he needs to get a job,” Jisung retorted.

“Why did you say we didn’t go dates when he asked about our first date?”

“I was afraid you might’ve mentioned it before and I didn’t want him to connect the dots if I told the same story.”

“You couldn’t come up with a fake first date? Carnival? Arcade? Dinner?”

“I was panicking!”

“Anyway, he thinks you’re in a toxic situationship, and that the only solution is for me to sleep with you.”

“Wait what?!” His muscles flexed and contracted under your hands with his words, and he seemed almost oblivious as you continued roaming them over his front.

“Because we would never catch feelings for each other, obviously,” you informed him with mocking seriousness, making him scoff.

“I assume you told him to fuck off and stop setting you up anyway?”

“Nope.”

“Huh?”

You finally put a hand under his shirt to touch his bare skin, and he shivered and jerked away instinctively.

“Ah! Cold hands, baby,” he whined, but made no further moves to get away.

“Then let me warm them up, Sungie,” you giggled, pressing your fingers more intentionally against his skin. “Anyway, why would I pass up the perfect opportunity to fuck with Hyuck and fuck my hot boyfriend at the same time?”

“I don’t think I like how similar that phrasing was.”

“Sungie,” you dragged out the last vowel pleadingly.

“So you’ve got a scheme?” He asked knowingly.

“A fun one,” you promised, kissing his neck. “In multiple senses of the word. But it means everyone finding out we’re together a few days later than we planned. Is that okay?”

He let out a deep sigh. “Alright. What’s first?”

“I’ve got to hold up my end of the deal, of course.”

Donghyuck and Jeno were quick to swarm you first thing in the morning. They at least brought you a coffee this time. There was no work up on your computer yet for Hyuck to close out of, so he just made himself at home on top of your papers that were on your desk instead.

“Okay, we need to brainstorm,” Hyuck got right to business as Jeno dug into your candy bowl. Well, not the business you were actually sitting inside of, but his plot. “The holiday party is on Friday. I’m thinking if you start being a little flirty leading up to it, like casual, you know, not too much, that should warm him up.”

“The more planning you put into this, the creepier it gets,” you informed him, taking a sip of your coffee.

The elevator dinged then, and Jisung stepped off, eyes focused on his feet as he hurried off towards the break room. The elevator opened towards your side of the floor, while bookkeeping was on the other side, and the breakroom, storage closet, and copy room were situated at the midpoints on the floor.

“Jisung’s late?” Jeno commented, bewildered. “Didn’t he say he always gets here ten minutes early to make his coffee before everyone else?”

Hyuck looked at this as well, eyes narrowing. He turned back to you and Jeno. “Did you guys see that big hickey on his neck? Now he’s running late and wearing the same tie as yesterday? This is why we need to help him. Anyway—”

You shifted in your seat then, readjusting your blazer so that it ‘accidentally’ pulled your blouse just enough to show off a love bite situated on your collarbone.

Hyuck actually froze in place, staring at you as he short-circuited. Jeno gave you a quiet, short round of applause.

“Damn, you work fast,” he commented.

You looked down at where Hyuck was staring, as if belatedly realizing your mistake, moving your neckline back up to cover it again.

“You really…” Donghyuck trailed off, blinking rapidly as he began rebooting.

You shrugged. “Didn’t want to announce it like we were in a locker room.”

“He’s walking over here,” Jeno coughed under his breath.

And sure enough, Jisung approached your desk. He looked uncertainly at Donghyuck sitting next to you, and ended up standing by Jeno behind the ledge, finally looking you in the eye.

“H-Hi, Y/N,” he stuttered nervously.

“Morning, Jisung,” you greeted him brightly. “Kiss?”

“Huh?!” He squeaked.

“Hershey kiss?” You pointed to the bowl that Jeno was grabbing another candy from. “They’re caramel filled.”

“O-Oh. Sure, thanks.” He took a green one. “S-See you later.”

“Bye.”

With that, Jisung skittered away, back off towards bookkeeping. Hyuck and Jeno both turned to you with wide eyes.

“I’ve made a grave miscalculation,” Hyuck whispered.

“That boy is pussy whipped,” Jeno whistled lowly.

You rolled your eyes at them. “Or maybe you guys were looking at the two of us with flashing ‘I KNOW YOU HAD SEX’ signs over your heads.”

“Oh, did I forget to leave that at home again?” Hyuck replied snidely, mockingly swatting just above his head. He then leaned in to whisper-yell at you, “Do you actually have the cure for cancer in there because what the hell was that?!”

“Good morning, Mr. Suh!” You chirped at your boss as he walked by.

Hyuck sat up straight, saluting to your boss. “Good morning, Mr. Suh!”

“Mornin’, Mr. Suh,” Jeno said through a mouthful of candy.

“Morning, morning, morning,” Mr. Suh greeted each of you in turn, then yawned. “Ugh, is it Friday yet?”

“Not quite, unfortunately,” you chuckled.

At home that night, you were keeled over with laughter on your couch, clutching your stomach as you and Jisung recalled the looks on your coworkers’ faces this morning.

“Who knew you were such a good actor, Sungie?” You choked out through laughter, wiping at your tears.

“I just had to act like I was madly in love with you, that wasn’t acting, baby,” he smiled fondly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. “I’ve had to act every day at work except today.”

“So smooth, Park Jisung,” you giggled, kissing him.

“It’s the truth.”

“I know. You’ve never been smooth, just honest. And I love that about you.”

“Ouch, and also thanks?”

You snickered and kissed his pout. “Ready for tomorrow?”

Stepping off the elevator in the morning, you didn’t spare another glance to Jisung, who had ridden up with you. Typically, you would take separate elevators, one of you waiting for the next one, but today, you broke that rule. You dropped off your purse at your desk before going to the break room and making your usual cup of coffee.

Jeno and Donghyuck were already waiting for you at your desk. You rolled your eyes at them. “You two have your own desks, you know?”

“You and Jisung got here at the same time,” Jeno stated.

“Is there a question in there?” You raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Did you get a new shampoo?” Donghyuck asked, leaning forward to sniff the air around your head.

You swatted at him. “Personal space?”

“That doesn’t smell like a woman’s shampoo…” He went back in for another sniff.

“Quit it, freak!” You rolled away from him.

“What’s happening?” A third voice had joined you all, right on time. Jisung was at your desk, cup of coffee in hand.

“Nothing, Jisung.” You threw on a bright smile, scooting back up to your desk. “What can I do for you?”

“I-I just uhm, I wanted to say good morning. And I brought you some coffee.” He offered the cup out to you.

“Aw, thanks,” you said sincerely, then looked down at your own cup on your desk regretfully. “But I already got some.”

His face fell. “O-Oh. I guess I’ll—”

“Hold on, Jisung!” Donghyuck stopped him from leaving, hopping off your desk. Jisung froze in place as your coworker grabbed his arm. First, he took the coffee from his hand and set it on the ledge behind your monitor, then he grabbed your boyfriend’s collar and yanked him down to take a deep whiff of his hair. Jisung yelped at the rough treatment, arms flailing until Hyuck let him go, giving him a loud slap on the shoulder. “That’s all. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Lunch later?” Jeno offered to him. “All four of us.”

“S-Sure,” he looked at you and blushed before hurrying away.

You crossed your arms as you glared at Hyuck. “You literally just assaulted him.”

“And you—” He pointed at you dramatically, “—slept with him again. That’s his shampoo that I was smelling on you.”

“I think my extracurriculars are none of your business.”

“Mm, Jisung’s more of a co-curricular, don’t you think?”

Jeno snickered.

“I think it’s still none of your business.”

“This wasn’t the plan, Y/N.”

“I did your stupid plan, Hyuck. Why are you so obsessed with Jisung’s sex life? Is it because you’re not getting any?” You taunted.

“Nice attempt to deflect, but the plan was to get him to stop being strung along by that other girl. Not for you to start stringing him along.”

“You make me sound like an evil witch.”

“So you’re serious about Jisung then?” Hyuck gasped mockingly. “Adorable. Gonna be each other’s date to the holiday party? When are you meeting the parents? Have you picked a ring yet?”

You bit down on your lip and looked at your lap to avoid laughing, which he thankfully seemed to interpret as guilt on your part.

“Exactly as I thought,” he said smugly.

“The puppy love thing is cute now, but it’s probably best for working together in the long run to just let him down easy sooner,” Jeno gave some surprisingly wise advice through a half-eaten Hershey’s kiss.

Having composed yourself, you finally let out a contemplative, resigned sigh. “Yeah, you guys are probably right.”

“Always are,” Hyuck tsked.

Lunch was honestly kind of fun—It felt like being a kid with a crush again, sneaking glances at Jisung, trying not to be too obvious about your flirting, and playing innocent when your coworkers would shoot you pointed looks every time Jisung did something totally head-over-heels for you.

Mid-afternoon, and Jisung was back at your desk. He had a few papers in his hand, some flimsy excuse of questions about the receipts he’d picked up last week, but really, you two were just talking. Discussing what to make for dinner, additions to the grocery list, what you were working on, little things.

The sound of a door opening caught your attention, and you looked over to see Mr. Suh coming out of his office. He’d just been on a phone conference, and had his empty coffee mug in his hand.

“Hi, Mr. Suh.” You sat up a little straighter. “Afternoon decaf?”

“Yep.” He lifted the mug in greeting as he walked by, heading for the breakroom.

“I’m going back to my cage with the other bookkeeping gremlins,” Jisung murmured. “Don’t want him to catch me still here when he gets back.”

“Laser beams aren’t going to come out of his eyes and incinerate you on the spot if he does, you know,” you giggled.

“How do you know?” He tapped your desk rhythmically, then mouthed, ‘See you later.’

You mouthed it back, contentedly watching him walk away. You were back to working on your reports when Mr. Suh returned from the break room. He drifted over to your desk, however, standing against the ledge conspiratorially.

“Was that the new kid in bookkeeping?” He asked lightly, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, Park Jisung,” you informed him. At your boss’ inquisitive lean forward, you gave a little more context, “He picked up those receipts last week and Hyuck ended up inviting him out for lunch with us.”

“He seems to be over here quite a bit recently.”

“We chitchat sometimes.” You paused, then widened your eyes. “Is that a problem? Nothing’s been late or anything, has it?”

He gave you his usual easy-going smile. “It’s fine, Y/N. Your work has been great as usual.”

“Okay, good.”

“Hi, baby,” Jisung greeted you brightly that evening from your usual meet-up place after work. If neither of you had to stay late, or had an errand to run after work, you would meet up outside a cornerstore a couple blocks away from the office.

“Hi, co-curricular,” you beamed back, leaning into the kiss he was pressing to your cheek.

He pulled away with an adorably confused pout on his face. You laughed, taking his arm in yours as you started down the sidewalks together, relaying your conversation with Hyuck and Jeno this morning.

“I don’t know what’s funnier, the idea of me genuinely ‘stringing you along’ or your new nickname,” you giggled, squeezing his arm.

“You already changed my phone contact, didn’t you?”

“I put a heart next to it!”

“The rumor has spread to bookkeeping, by the way.”

You blinked at him in mock surprise. “You guys have office gossip over there?”

“Yeah, we finally invented the wheel and have time to gossip now,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “Huang Renjun told me he heard Song Minji and Park Chaeyeon talking about it in the copy room.”

“That’s how it breached containment,” you tutted. Chaeyeon was from your department, but you knew she and Minji were office friends. She must have overheard it from your area—Hyuck wasn’t exactly the quietest man you knew, and there was no way your other coworkers hadn’t noticed Jisung’s frequent trips to your desk if Mr. Suh had.

“Uh-huh.”

“What exactly were they saying? Did Renjun tell you?”

“Some stuff he didn’t want to repeat about you—” He cleared his throat. “But mostly, he wanted to ask me what, if anything was true. I felt bad lying, I like Renjun.”

“Yeah, he was my favorite bookkeeping gremlin before you started.”

Jisung elbowed you, obviously offended. “I still did bookkeeping before I worked here! I just did it somewhere else!”

“He was my favorite at this company before you started. Better?”

“Much.” He smiled as you leaned in to kiss his nose. “I told him the rumors weren’t true.”

“That wasn’t a lie!” You reminded him emphatically. “We’re not just coworkers with benefits, or co-curriculars, or recently started secretly dating, or whatever!”

“I’m just glad we only have two more days of this.” He laced his fingers with yours. “I want to be able to have a picture of us on my desk, and talk about you to everyone, and show up and leave together.”

“Me too,” you agreed, fond smile on your lips as you approached your front door. “It’s been fun, but the best part will be when everyone knows you’re mine. For real.”

This was weird. You had been at work for thirty minutes and hadn’t seen nor heard Hyuck or Jeno. Maybe today would be normal for once. As soon as that idea had crossed your mind, they came beelining for your desk, and you knew that would be impossible.

“Good—” You couldn’t even get a friendly greeting out of your mouth, Donghyuck fully sitting on top of your keyboard, entering a bunch of random characters into the email you had been writing. “Uhm, you know, that email to Mr. Suh wasn’t important, actually…”

Yanking your keyboard out from under Hyuck, you deleted the gibberish and saved the draft email before setting it aside to deal with whatever was going on. You looked at your coworkers expectantly.

“Y/N…” Jeno surprisingly took the lead. “How did you go about letting Jisung down easy?”

You blinked in surprise. “What are you talking about? I just told him we should keep it professional and not see each other anymore…? And that was it.”

“And how did he take it?”

“Fine?” You glanced between their extremely serious demeanors with increasing worry. “Why? What’s going on?”

“We just had to comfort a crying Jisung in the men’s room for the past thirty minutes, that’s what’s going on!” Hyuck finally hissed. “I don’t think your easy is very easy!”

You leaned away from him in utter shock. That was definitely not part of the plan today, and now you were genuinely worried about why your boyfriend was apparently crying in the men’s room—he definitely wasn’t a good enough actor to do that on the spot.

“Woah, I didn’t—”

“Well, you did.”

“You don’t get to pin all the blame on me here,” you shot back immediately. “Whose stupid fucking plan was it for me to sleep with him in the first place anyway? If I recall, you never found him crying in the bathroom with his last girl that you were so concerned over.”

“You diverted from the plan and he got attached!”

“Okay, it’s everyone’s fault!” Jeno cut in decisively.

“What’s everyone’s fault?” Mr. Suh stopped by your desk, briefcase in hand as he had just gotten into the office. “There’s been an awful lot of whispering going on over here. Something I should know about?”

“No, Mr. Suh!” Hyuck chirped brightly. “Lunch plans fell through, we’re just rescheduling.”

Your boss looked at you skeptically, waiting for confirmation. You nodded hurriedly. “Yeah, lunch plans.”

“Alright.” He shrugged. “There’s a good sandwich place a block over. If you’re looking for recommendations.”

And with that, he went into his office.

Turning back to Hyuck and Jeno, you whispered, “I swear to God, I wasn’t expecting him to be crying. Okay?”

“We’re being a little harsh on you,” Jeno admitted quietly. “We should all just leave Jisung alone, I think.”

He took a candy out of your bowl and departed your desk without another word. Hyuck followed, still shaking his head. You quickly brought your phone out, immediately texting Jisung.

[you: BABY SOS]

He texted back immediately

[co-curricular 🩷: IM HERE]

[co-curricular 🩷: WHAT’S WRONG????]

[you: im fine but are YOU okay?!]

[you: jeno and hyuck told me they found you crying in the bathroom]

[co-curricular 🩷: oh nonono im okay baby i promise]

[co-curricular 🩷: im in the copy room, can you come so i can explain?]

[you: omw]

You hurried from your desk to the copy room, relieved to find it devoid of any coworkers except Jisung, who was attending to a copy machine, placing documents on the glass, closing the lid, and copying them in a steady rhythm.

“Sungie,” you breathed out in relief, darting over to him, needing to see his face for yourself.

“Hey, baby, hey,” he said soothingly, letting you wrap an arm around his waist and lean into him affectionately. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

You stepped back, cognizant of the fact that any of your coworkers could enter at any moment. “So what were Hyuck and Jeno talking about then?”

“When we got in this morning, the temperature change from the cold air outside to the heat inside the building was making my eyes water and my nose run,” he explained, gesturing to his face. “I went to take care of it in the bathroom. Donghyuck and Jeno ran into me while I was cleaning myself up and assumed I had been crying. Nothing I said could convince them otherwise, and they of course also assumed it was connected to their advice to you to let me down easy. So I played along. I know it wasn’t part of the plan, but I couldn’t get them to let it go.”

“I was almost feeling bad about lying to them, but they do this to themselves.” You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall next to his copy machine. Your tone softened as you added, “I’m really happy you’re okay, Sungie.”

“I’m happy you checked on me so quick, baby.” He smiled, taking a step closer to peck your forehead. He lowered his voice to say, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmured, looking up at him, fighting the urge to just grab his suit jacket and kiss him. “Lunch later?”

His nose wrinkled with distaste. “Are Hyuck and Jeno coming too?”

“Just us? At home?”

“Oh?”

“I miss you.”

He nodded. “I miss you too.”

It was finally Friday, finally the day of the office holiday party. You just had to survive work and lay the last couple breadcrumbs, then it would all be over tonight.

You were making your morning cup of coffee in the breakroom with Hyuck and Jeno, and went to engage them in conversation. “Are you guys bringing anyone to the party tonight?”

“Nah.” Hyuck poured his own cup.

“You’re not beating the ‘no bitches’ allegations.” You clicked your tongue.

“I think it’s a bit weird to bring someone you’re not like… properly dating to a work event and introduce them to your coworkers,” Jeno answered, rooting through the employee fridge.

“So that’s a no?”

“Correct,” he mimicked your taunting tone of voice.

Jisung, who had been quietly measuring out sugar into his own cup of coffee at a far counter, apart from your conversation physically but definitely within earshot, inserted himself then, “I’m bringing a date.”

Jeno hit his head on a shelf in the fridge. “Shit—! Huh?”

“You are?!” Hyuck blinked at him, utterly shocked.

You slowly turned around to face Jisung, cocking your head. “Oh, me too.”

“Since when?!” Hyuck snorted.

“Just because I didn’t tell you about it doesn’t mean I haven’t had one,” you hissed.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Jisung nodded, and you saw the corner of his lips twitch, ever-so-slightly, too small for anybody who didn’t know him as well as you to catch. “Guess I’ll see you and your date tonight, then.”

“Same. You, as well.” You nodded curtly, watching him pivot on his heel and stride out of the breakroom.

“You don’t have a fucking date,” Hyuck stated dryly as soon as he was no longer in eyesight.

“That was hard to watch,” Jeno said, opening a Tupperware of food that definitely had somebody else’s name on it.

“And neither does he,” Hyuck continued, pointing to the doorway that Jisung had disappeared through. “No way he’s found somebody in a day. Unless…” He looked at Jeno with alarm. “Oh no. You don’t think…?”

Jeno squinted. “What?”

“What if he brings his toxic situationship to get back at Y/N?” Hyuck gasped. He then turned to you, “Look, I guess I can see if Mark’s free tonight—”

“No,” you cut him off firmly. “I’ve already got someone in mind.”

“So beautiful, baby,” Jisung murmured, taking one of your hands and kissing your knuckles.

“Hey, I’m trying to fix your tie clip,” you laughed, pulling your hand back from him to continue adjusting his tie clip that had gone askew thanks to his seatbelt.

The two of you were standing outside the venue of the office holiday party. You were fashionably late, as part of the plan. You had to make sure Hyuck and Jeno were already there, so they could see you arrive together, wearing your coordinated outfits. Jisung’s tie was of course a complimentary shade of the color of your dress—not too matchy-matchy like kids at a grade school formal, but clearly together, not accidental.

“There.” You smoothed out the lapels of his suit jacket, smiling up at him. “So handsome.”

He kissed your cheek. “Thank you.”

“Are you ready?”

“More than.” He grinned, lacing his fingers with yours.

Walking in, instrumental Christmas music was playing over the speakers and a steady hum of conversation filled the room. There were a few familiar faces near the front, but nobody you were overly friendly with. You grabbed Jisung’s shoulder for support as you went to talk to him over the din of the crowd. He hunched over slightly to listen to you better, holding you steady with a hand on your hip.

“Want to get a drink first?” You suggested.

“Sure,” he agreed, keeping his hand on your lower back as you moved through the sea of people.

There was a special cocktail for the night, ‘Mistletoe While You Work,’ which you ordered out of curiosity. Once it was in your hand, you took a sip, and you were pleasantly surprised. Not too sweet, and you couldn’t taste the liquor at all.

“Hey, baby,” you smirked, holding your glass up between yours and Jisung’s faces. “Uh-oh, we’re under mistletoe… kinda.”

Jisung laughed, and you put the glass down to watch his face crinkle up and his nose scrunch in all its adorable glory. “Mm, hard to argue with that.”

You were still smiling as you pressed your lips to his in a short but sweet kiss. He kept you close when you broke apart, an arm still wound around your waist.

“Uhm, Merry fucking Christmas to you guys, too,” Hyuck announced himself, standing off to the side, his own drink in hand and Jeno of course with him.

“Oh, hey guys,” you greeted them nonchalantly. “Merry Christmas.”

“What happened to your dates?” Jeno cut right to the chase.

You and Jisung pointed to each other, making nearly identical faces as if you were oblivious to why Jeno and Hyuck were confused.

Hyuck started buffering as he tried to process the situation. “What…?”

“We’ve been together this whole time,” you finally put them out of their misery, watching as their jaws dropped simultaneously.

“Since before I interviewed, actually,” your boyfriend added.

“Over a year, to be exact.”

“You guys are sick in the head,” Hyuck jabbed an accusatory finger at you both.

“Who was making a whole convoluted plan for me to sleep with one of our coworkers that you barely knew?” You immediately fired back. “You’re lucky we did this instead of reporting you to HR.”

Jeno quickly threw on a wide smile, clapping Jisung on the shoulder. “You fit in great here, Jisung.”

“Glad to have you on the team.” Hyuck went to hug Jisung, making him stiffen up at the unexpected affection. Your coworker then gestured to both of you, putting a hand over his chest. “You two are so adorable together. What a great couple. I’ve said that from the beginning, right, Jeno?”

“You thought they would’ve had awful chemistry.”

“Would it kill you to back me up for once?” Hyuck turned his ire on your other coworker.

Mr. Suh walked up to the bar then, putting his order in with the bartender before greeting you all. “Ah, hello, everyone. Merry Christmas.”

A chorus of hellos and Merry Christmases rang out in response.

“Was Mr. Suh in on it?” Jeno asked you.

“Whatever ‘it’ was, no, but now I wish I was,” Mr. Suh answered, clearly intrigued by this conversation.

“Y/N and Jisung are dating!” Hyuck immediately tattled, and you rolled your eyes at his childish tone.

“There’s nothing against the rules,” your boss said calmly. Then, he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “Especially if the relationship predates one of you working here.”

You and Jisung exchanged a surprised look, making Mr. Suh laugh.

“Okay, I had a hunch, but that was the confirmation I needed,” he chuckled. “When I’d see Jisung at Y/N’s desk alone, I don’t know—you two seemed way more comfortable around each other than two people who had only talked for the first time a week ago. No matter how much you liked each other.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hyuck gawped.

“It didn’t seem like any of my business.”

⇢ 2024 hallmark movie marathon

TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001

@giirlfriendd @shaqs-oatmeal @sofipolii01

@tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69

@winkeuu

[deafsignifcantother]

the v's reaction to someone taking your hearing aid

♥ summary: "what the Vees would do if they noticed their partially deaf s/o being picked on - like the other people would tear out their hearing aid(s) and break them and stuff" @aceduchessdragoness ♥ characters: velvette, vox, valentino ♥ notes: screaming and crying okay so i did val's spanish as spain spanish bc i think spain sign language would be better than narrowing his signs down to a specific latin american country but if the translation is cringe then tell me bc i'm literally using an lse dictionary

Vox

♥ word count: 1.9k ♥ notes: i use [Y/N] for the first time in my career ong, she/her pronouns used in third person, reader doesn't speak and only signs, protective but violent vox, vox in a healthy relationship, reader gets harassed in public

It was never a mystery to you how Vox always knew where you were. Even without the watch on your wrist, you felt his eyes on you, the looming knowledge of persistent monitoring.

Not that it bothered you, of course. If anything, you were worried that he wanted to spend his time watching you instead of running his business. But whatever, it was flattering.

Whenever you went on your routine errands, you would smile at every television or security camera you encountered. On the big screens in Vox's room, he feels like the common softening of his heart. Your smile always seems so genuine. How can somebody like you adore him so much?

.

Blue light illuminates your living room. From the kitchen, you groan as you make your way to the television. Can he stop bothering you at this hour? All you wanted to do was get some damn water, but of course, as always, he's monitoring you.

Words pop up on the screen as you approach it. You rub your eyes, the brightness overwhelming. You reach for your coffee table.

GO TO SLEEP

With the sudden click of the remote, you smile as the screen goes black. One, two, three... it lights up again.

DON'T TRY

Again, the screen goes black. One... again, a bright blue illuminates you.

[Y/N]. The television shakes.

You snicker at him, finally sitting on the floor and putting the remote down. On the other side of that screen, Vox sits on his swivel chair, gazing up at you, your frame taking up multiple monitors. Your eyes look below where his point of view is.

"It's late," you sign, and the light makes your hands shine in the darkness. "Dim it a little."

He listens; his small act of consideration makes you melt. Your eyes soften immensely. Internally, he begs you to stop looking at him like that; it's embarrassing how good it makes him feel.

The television is still a blinding blue as you go from the living room to the bedroom; he follows you per any screen by your side. Worst of all, a flat-screen faces your bed, which was mandatory.

"Goodnight, Vox." You sign while putting your face up to the screen.

You turn this TV off, and to your delight, it stays off.

.

With a yawn, you stretch your morning aches away and lean your head against the table of your vanity. You get a few seconds of shut-eye before popping back up. Vox is watching; if he notices you're tired, he will try to be domestic and nap with you regardless of how much work you must do today. So you rub away your sleepy eyes and massage the tension in your jaw. Putting on your hearing aid is first on your daily to-do list; you'd like to hear if he pops up on your television and decides to update you on his morning. Sometimes, he gets so impatient. Next, while picking up your moisturizer, you try not to shiver at the coldness once it touches your fingers.

You wish yourself a good morning before rubbing it in.

At the same time of day, Vox was already up and doing his rounds, making sure his employees were getting work done. He gets antsy between when you wake up, and you get to the tower. Every morning once he sees you entering the elevator, he'll wait on the other side to welcome you in with a kiss to the forehead.

Vox checks his watch. It shows his favorite things: your vitals, location, and pretty little face whenever you dial him.

You've finally left your place, thank goodness. Pacing aimlessly has never looked good on him.

.

He stands by his window, looking down at the streets below, watching you approach. You're wearing your usual uniform, one that he picked out just for you; it consists of the same red and blue stripes he has on his everyday suit. It makes you an eyesore in the everyday crowd.

If you didn't know any better, you'd lift your head to see if you could spot him among the many stories. The building is beautiful, overpowering. The V tower's magnificent brightness outshines the rest of the V district. The constant noise of people always has you walking with your hearing aid turned as low as it can go without turning off.

With the pink light reflecting off your face, you look both ways before crossing the street, a bright smile on your face, stepping onto the asphalt before a hand grabs your wrist.

Vox furrows his brow at the sight.

You turn your head and see a friendly reporter and a cameraman, the camera not yet rolling. Your pupils flicker between them.

"Hello!" She smiles, removing her hand. With caution, you fully face her, stepping back onto the sidewalk. The 'professional' persona you've been forced to practice is finally coming to fruition.

"Hello! I'm Deaf; I don't think I'd be able to do an interview."

She flicks her hand and rolls her eyes in the most friendly way possible. "Not a problem," she signs, moving the microphone vibrantly, "I can work this out, no problem!"

You widen your eyes in a wowwwww, oh my god, that's perfect... "Oh, what a kind woman you are!"

Vox? You beg internally. Baby? Save me.

Up high, he doesn't remove his eyes from you. With the use of sign language, he can't listen in, and he can't tell whether he needs to intervene or not. There's nothing wrong with going to check, right? Or will he seem possessive, or scared? He doesn't want people to think he doesn't want you to talk to anyone. It's good that you get to sign to someone other than him and Velvette, right?

The camera starts rolling, and you square your shoulders, adjusting your sleeves for more mobility. The news reporter throws the microphone at the cameraman, who does not catch it but ignores it as she shows off her brightest smile.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I have the sweetest person in hell with me, [y/n]! Tell me, how long have you two been together?"

Of course, the news has been recognizing you recently. You've been seen countless times adjusting Vox's tie (he purposely fucks it up so that you'll step close to him) as well as wrapping your arm around his and pinching the corner of his screen endearingly before you give him a babying compliment. Many people have taken pictures and edited hearts around you two. People are obsessed with how "heavenly" your relationship is.

"Oh, many months now!" You nod to yourself, trying to stop your eyes from shining with admiration. You always get so soft when you think about him; it's one of the things people notice. She looks at him as if he's her entire world.

"Beautiful!" The reporter puffs out her bottom lip innocently. "I'm sure you make that man very happy."

What do you even say to that? I hope so.

"The happiest."

"Now," she doesn't hesitate to change the topic. "Are there any challenges you two face about your... differences?"

Your eyebrows raise before furrowing in confusion. Differences? At first, you think she means his television head, but when she notices you pause, she rudely clarifies. "I mean, with your lack of hearing, you know? Don't you find it a little embarrassing?"

You lean your body away from her. "What are you saying?"

The shock of the tonal shift has you freezing in place. The reporter looks at the camera, her eyes squinting with sadistic amusement. Her fingers twitch as she lifts her arm, not even looking at you before plucking the hearing aid from your ears. She crushes it in her hand.

At first, you grab your ear, pressing your hand to it in disbelief. Your face contorts, your shoulders dropping as you try to step away. Why couldn't you see this coming? And on television—is that where this is airing? The air around you goes quiet, the sensation of spatial awareness fading a bit as you stumble back, your hand still grasping your ear. The watch on your wrist hits your cheek, and without a second thought, you tap on the screen repeatedly. The next thing that popped into your head: her bravery is the most surprising.

With a brief fall of light, Vox stands where the lady once was. You eye him with uncertainty, a look you have never given him. He faces the cameraman, not looking your way. Your eyes go up and down his body; his stance is tense, his arms are folded behind his back, and his fingers sparking with small glimmers of electricity.

You see that lying behind him is the woman, body entirely limp, smoke coming from her mouth, and her eyes looking stuck open.

He speaks to the camera, pointing his finger at it, staring intensely into the shaking, blinking red light. Your hands link around his bicep. Composure, you remind yourself. You turn to the camera with a weary smile and lean your head against him.

.

"That'll never happen again." He stares at himself in the mirror. His dressers and tables are filled with claw marks from his previous meltdowns.

You just sit on his bed, crossing your legs uncomfortably, watching him as he goes back and forth between signing to you and mumbling to himself. You haven't said a word. You just keep your eyes on him.

He protected you in the way he knew best. He wanted nothing more than to put his hands on the sides of her head and crush her skull. It would stain his suit, awful. Even worse, your suit would have been ruined, too.

Should he force you to move into the tower? He's always wanted to. The commute would be no more, and you'd be safe from the outside.

Should he prevent you from leaving at all without him? No, that might be too much, but his entire body craves to keep you secure and protected.

He won't ask you what you want. He knows there's a chance you would just coddle him and tell him it's okay. There's no reality where he will do nothing; he must devise his own plan. But first (actually, secondly, after getting his anger out on his furniture), he wants to make sure his sweetheart is okay.

Once he calmed down and sat next to you, rubbing your thigh, he watched as you scrolled through social media, looking at the hundreds of people laughing and reposting the event. He shuts off your phone, grabs it, and tosses it across the room. You roll your eyes helplessly before he lifts his hands and signs to you.

"I will track everyone down and punish them severely, baby. No one will ever touch you again, or else they will the next flashing headline."

"I know, baby," you wrap your arms around his chest and lean into him, rubbing your cheek against the smoothness of his overcoat.

You hum against him, finding it in yourself to smile softly. Protector, protector, protector. You run those words through your head; they're comforting to their own extent. Suppose he ends up locking you inside the tower. In that case, it's better than him leaving you entirely over this (which, obviously, he'd never actually do). Spending every morning and night with him wouldn't be wrong. Everything happens for a reason.

He leans back onto the bed, his feet dangling off as you curl into his side.

Before resting completely, you use a hand to sign into his chest. "Everything will be fine."

Your coddling, though annoying, provides the most relaxing warmth to his body. He groans, wrapping an arm lazily around you, feeling the usual butterflies in his stomach as you press a small kiss to his collarbone.

.

.

.

Velvette

♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ warnings: reader speaks, party scene, getting harassed by a man, vox is in this too ♥ a/n: i completely headcanon that velvette took an asl class in highschool when she was alive, i have no idea how velvette usually acts in fanfiction so this is MY velvette now

Velvette found you, such a pretty thing, in your little corner of the internet, making content for your little community. That little corner of yours is where you told the news and interpreted a lot of banter from the overlords. Your channel was the perfect mix of education and drama, all for the Deaf community in Hell.

You were, as Velvette described, a tea channel.

She invited you to the V tower to show you around. The three V's introduced themselves to you in their own way, offering you a job. The bossman, ever so gentlemanly and charming, didn't let Valentino try and make sex motions to you for longer than necessary. And before Velvette forced Vox to scurry off, she forced him to snap a few pics of you posing with her as a faux collab.

You weren't stupid. You knew Velvette only wanted your attention to spread whatever brand she endeavored to popularize. But this might be a golden opportunity. You'd learn the behind-the-scenes from three different overlords, and the content you can produce will gather insane traction.

.

Velvette is just so sweet; the way she showed her care for you was just through gift-giving.

She loved putting together gift boxes for you, similar to the sorority kind. The boxes went from cute little baskets to a cardboard box resembling a PR send. These would always be set on your desk with a bit of note from her, each time she'd signed off her name with a heart.

Jackets, shoes, candies, jewelry, pens, everything. The gifts are versatile with familiar themes of hearts. Every day was like Valentine's Day when she was 'courting' you (did she even realize she was?).

She made you bags: totes, crossbody bags, clutches, phone pouches, coin purses, anything she thought you would need with an array of colors to match any outfit. She put in hair clips and pocket mirrors, cozy slippers and fancy journals.

She even got you two matching bracelets.

You love the smirk she wears whenever she notices you adorning anything she's given to you. Damn right, she thinks, I knew it would look good.

The most enormous box she'd ever given you was the day before one of her fashion shows. Inside were glorious clothes from her collection, all for you to pick out and wear. She really loved her stripes.

You put your hearing aid on, smiling at yourself in the mirror as you watch the charm she made you glisten in the light. With your bracelet ornamenting your wrist, you pat down your stripped outfit before taking a deep breath.

.

Your entrance reeks of reluctance. The temptation to retreat back to your room is unbearable. Seeing Velvette will definitely lift your mood; where is she? Surely, she'd be the highlight of the room, but amongst all the women with their eccentric colors and clothing shapes, you can't find your eye drawing to her anywhere.

The sounds of the party blend together in a nasty concoction; you can't help but turn your hearing aids off. The sound is similar to what it's like being outside in a heavy storm; the wind, the pouring rain, the blur and whine of the hearing aids. And instead of lingering by the double doors, you push into the crowd. You're the least recognizable in the crowd of celebrities, but it doesn't stop people from moving out of the way when you try to wiggle through. You're wearing stripes, her stripes. You're either bold or very special to her; they don't want to intervene.

But your stripes also get some people to stare at you longer than they would have otherwise. Across the room, in front of you, you notice a tall, almost shirtless model coming your way, directly staring at you. You break the quick eye contact before squeezing through a cluster of girls taking selfies. They won't let you through, grimacing but not laying any hands on you. When you turn to go the other way, the man is behind you, holding out his hand, waiting for you to put your hand in his.

You click on your hearing aid and scroll up. "What did you say?" You ask verbally, clearing your throat a bit.

His eyes bounce from yours to your hand, looking at what you're touching. His head tilts in interest. You don't like the sight of his smile.

"Oh wow." He says.

Immediately, "Yeah, no," Velvette puts her hands on your shoulders and tries to push you away. "I swear, don't even look at him, he's fucking insane."

He speaks over her, but you can't process his words over how close Velvette's lips are to your ear. Her warm breath sends goosebumps down your arms, and your spine straightens. This only makes her hum in amusement.

After turning and growling at him, she effortlessly maneuvers you away. Eyes watch you even closer now as she touches you. You let her guide you throughout the room with not a clue as to where she's leading you, if anywhere. But eventually, you two end up in front of a mirror the size of a wall.

She stares at you through the mirror. "Look at you," she signs, "extravagant as ever, darling."

"Thanks to you."

"Obviously." And she bumps her hip into yours. You laugh, mimicking the motion back.

You had ditched your initial motive of getting close to the V's to gain more information about them. They were fine people to hang out with, making you laugh and feel involved. Velvette gave you special attention that nobody in your afterlife has ever given. Her lipstick left stains on your cheek whenever she kissed you, and she made an 'appointment' in her schedule once a week to paint your nails the same black color as hers.

The afternoon went by quickly; you spent time clapping and watching models show off their garb. Velvette is a true talent.

But something ruined your evening. The air hummed with laughter and the rhythmic beat of music. Velvette had been whisked away by the other V's to overlook the crowd and count the people who had attended. Among the colorful crowd stood a familiar figure whose eyes sparkled with mischief. Different from last time, you don't notice when he starts to approach again.

"You," he coos, placing his hand under your chin. You must stare at his lips to comprehend his words over the music, an awful innuendo you wish you could have avoided. He leaned in closer to you, and in return, you leaned back. Valentino had told you a bunch of times to not worry if someone puts their hands on you, that it's a typical formality in Hell. You would always roll your eyes at him, never expecting a stranger to grab you like this.

You were mentally preparing yourself to dodge a kiss. But then, daringly, he leaned in and gently plucked the hearing aid from behind your ear, holding it aloft like a trophy. Fear flickered across your face, your hand instinctively reaching for it, but he pulled it away. The charm Velvette gave you dangles like a jewel.

"Don't," you say with desperation. He puts a finger in front of your face and waves it back and forth. He coos, using that hand to grab your face as if you were the most adorable thing he's ever seen.

Your eyes are locked on the charm, and it's brash jolts. You almost beg for him to just give you the charm back.

In the middle of a conversation with Vox, Velvette raises an eyebrow; shocked and pissed, she glared at whoever had torn off your hearing aid. She mumbles, "I'd tear their hearing aid off and break it."

Before she can move closer to you, Vox puts his hand in front of her while watching the interaction. "Think before acting, Velvette."

Her frustration turns into anger as she pushes his hand away. He lets her run off; he holds a hard stare as her pink hair bobs through the crowd.

Your eyes are stuck wide with shock, and a million things run through your head, all relating to the appropriate situational response.

True to your casual self, you were having a hard time not just jamming your hand in his eyes and kicking his shins. Would you make Velvette mad? Vox?--Would that result in you being removed from the V Tower? It's all so complicated. Though you were panicking over a 'quick' decision, you and the man stayed in that position for a few seconds. He stayed laughing, dropping the hearing aid and stomping on it.

At almost the same time, Velvette threw a glass from someone's hand at the man, perfectly aimed, hitting him in the face. She lets out a small "nice!" before rushing to you.

Her hand runs down your face, and she holds you tenderly, not turning to face Vox as he puts himself between her and the man. Your eyes bounce around the entire room. Will you ever get a break from being at the center of attention?

"We're leaving. Now." she signs in a single motion so quick that it makes you smile, relieving some of the stress that's been making your head pound. She's able to sign so naturally now.

The crowd splits into two.

Behind the both of you, Vox is declaring an end to the event, apologizing to the people for the inconvenience. Velvette keeps muttering about him under her breath; you can see her lips moving and her face grimacing.

.

She has beads in front of her, a bunch of small charms with string. She signs, looking up at you. "I should have killed him."

You just watch her craft another charm, laying on her bed and kicking your feet. "That would have been funny."

She scoffs and smiles, her painted lips turning upwards. Her fingers trace over the beads, deciding which one to pick up. She wants to make it different than the last one, but what should it look like? She picks up a pink heart with a slight hum before sliding it down onto the string. She whispers to herself, perfect.

.

.

.

Valentino

♥ word count: 1.7k ♥ note: reader is a vodka drinker, i'm obsessed with writing a loving valentino, reader doesn't talk very much and prefers sign, sexually suggestive things happening but it's not nsfw, kinda written like ass, drugs mentioned but no named just symptoms, takes place on porn set, valentino kills someone, blood description

Every time you step into the studio, you're hit by the smell of sex, mostly the sweetened stench of that strawberry lube he loves so much. Visiting his work is not usually something you do often, but he's seem to be so busy lately that you can't help but bring him a drink, the most beautiful drink in hell: vanilla vodka. You can already see him licking him lips.

Strawberry lube, so prominent in your nose.

His legs are crossed and he stares at the scene in front of him, his sunglasses hiding whatever his emotions are, but his lips are still in a prominent scowl.

Though, when he sees you, his expression changes drastically. He stands with so much excitement that the actors stop to see what he's reacting to. All eyes are on you, you shy away from the attention a bit but Val doesn't seem to notice, else care.

"Amor mío!" One of his hands signs, running down his cheek while his bottom two motions for a hug.

Before you can initiate a hug, he wraps his arms around you and brings you into his chest, trapping your arms in. He's warm, vibrantly so, it's hard not to melt against him. You couldn't be surprised if you let out a small moan at the contact. Oh, how I've missed you so much.

He pulls away quicker than you'd like and takes the bottle from your hand, holding it up close to his face so he can examine it. "Burnett's, oh you shouldn't have!"

He hesitates, torn between his responsibilities and the irresistible allure of having a drink with the person he was enamored with. He's not so easy to whisk away from work, therefore (of course), you seem to be the only person who he is at every beck and call.

You smile softly, "I knew you'd like it."

With a laugh, he takes your hand and spins you, his free hands popping open the bottle, ready to embark on whatever journey you had in store.

He turns and addresses his employees, granting them a small break before turning to you with his sharp smile.

And together, you slip away from the set, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the studio for a simple moment of peace and luxury. Walls blazed with hues of pink and blue, you both find yourselves nestled on the fluffy couch in a lounge, a wineglass in your hand while he chugs from the bottle.

"You've been so busy." You sign. You switch the wineglass into your non dominant hand to avoid spilling any of the contents. Val holds the bottle with his bottom set of hands while signing with his top ones (he was originally going to do it the other way around).

“I know, princesa,” one of his hands comes up and squeezes your cheek. “Business calls, I cannot help myself.”

“Which is why I came to visit.” 

The two of you clink glass upon glass before taking a drink. He’s trying not to finish the drink before you, he’s making sure to take his time. He doesn’t want you to leave as much as he doesn’t want to rush the break. His eyes go over your entire form and take you in, there feels like an eternity since he saw you last. Why do you have so much patience for someone like him? It’s astonishing. Surely someone as beautiful as you could find someone sweeter than her. But he’s grateful to have you, he’s mildly addicted to that internal battle of whether he wants to cherish you or own you (perhaps he can do both? Something he’s never done before). 

“What?” You ask.

“Hm?” His fingers pinch together in the casual way of signing.

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can’t resist.”

“What were you thinking about?” You sign and lean forward, giving him bright eyes. Your gaze swallows him, moth to a flame. 

He matches your body language, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, amor mío.”

When he tries to grab your hand, you pull away. “You're acting as if you're wine drunk.” You sign. You have a sappy smile as you put your glass to your lips. 

“Never,” he wiggles his fingers as he signs. You eye him carefully, debating asking if he's kept his favorite gun on him. There's nothing worse than a drunk Valentino.

After the wine break, he has to go back to work. He feels himself getting irritated as he walks back, why can't he just continue spending the day with you? Is it worth sending everybody home? No, he has a job to do, and he needs to complete it before relaxation. But maybe he'll consider taking breaks (his least favorite word) to spend time with you.

You follow, both of your hands holding his, clinging onto him like a child.

Everybody was still in the studio, waiting for his return, not daring to leave in fear of him coming back. Actors were talking to each other casually, away from the camera, it built a strange sense of community for you. They're so nice to each other off-camera.

He drags you to his chair still holding your hand as he sits in it.

Drinking with you had been a much-needed respite from these people. He made a mental note to gift you more wine.

You remove your hands from his and smile. “Get back to work, baby.” 

Pearly white, sharp teeth show through his large smile. He presses his lips against each of your knuckles while his eyes skin over all of his actors, counting them. He makes eye contact with one particular one, a woman. They stare at each other for more than a second. She's scowling at him and he squints his eyes at her. The fuck is your problem?

She usually looks at him with sultry looks, but now there's a sharpness to them.

But his eyes peel away from her and go back to you, he leans forward and presses a slow kiss to your forehead. He signs low, almost as if he's whispering a secret. "I'll come see you after."

You smile and start turning away. "Good."

Upon noticing your departure, the actors and crew start returning to their places, keeping an eye on Valentino and any commands he might make. Their eyes are always on him, worried to test his anger. But not all the actors were worried about testing his anger.

"Hey," an actress grabs your hand before you could reach the door and you turn to her. She talks, her voice making your hearing aids buzz, "Are you guys like, dating? Are you dating the Valentino? Like, literally one of the V's."

Her words all bunch into one. You blink, taking time to think about both what she could be asking and the connotation behind it. "Yes?" It sounds more like a question than an answer. Is that the correct response?

She hums and nods, her eyes wide in amazement. Her pupils are large. Her cheeks are hollow and she has strong eyebags. With a distant sound from Val, him talking to the crew, she looks back at him before turning to you. "I mean like, why? Why would he want you?"

Oh no. You try to move away but she just follows you, stepping in front of you closer. It's like being cornered, being trapped in an almost unavoidable situation.

"Why wouldn't he?" You test with a squint of your eyes.

She just smiles at you. "Uhm," and her arm reaches over, grabbing the hearing aid from your ear, pinching it between her claws, "Obviously this."

You reach for it but she pulls it away from you, trying not to laugh.

So you do what you know is the best solution, you call his name, practically screaming it. "Val!"

At the sound of you using your voice he whips his head around. The air goes still, you can tell from the way she pauses. Her pause is only for a second, she reeks of hesitance and sudden worry. She looks at the hearing aid in her hand as if she's finally realizing what she had done and what was about to happen.

Before she can say another word, her entire body stiffs, her eyes widen before her pupils roll back. And then she's on the floor, almost falling onto you.

You wipe blood from your cheek and groan.

Val stares at you, his expression unreadable. In his hand is his jeweled gun. He pauses for a moment to take a long drag of his cigarette, letting out a cloud of red smoke before he looks at his gun with a toothy smile until he tucks it back into his belt.

He starts to approach you and for a second you're scared, it was a primal feeling. He walked like a king.

All you can do is watch him, frozen in place.

The first thing he does when he reaches you is bend in front of her body, plucking the hearing aid from her hand. It's bloody, the liquid drips from it as he lifts it up. He wipes some of it off on his shirt before handing it to you. He drops it into your open hands.

He speaks, knowing you'd have a hard time understanding. "Laying her slutty hands on my angel..."

You lean into his touch when he caresses your face. His eyes gaze at you, softening, his smile widening at how soft your eyes look. You're his greatest treasure. He gets off immensely from protecting you, he would ravish you to death in this moment if he could. Valentinos eyes drift down at the body and his pupils narrows as he glares at the dead woman. He's going to have to clean this up. Her blood is getting every where.

One of his thumbs rub against your cheek, touching the bloody smear. It stains your skin in a delectable way. So perfect.

He melts when he sees your soft eyes slowly start to match the mischievous smile growing on your face. He protected you and he was open about being dithered over her behavior, he didn't laugh at it or tease you about it. You don't doubt for an instant that he's the man of your dreams. He killed someone for you in an instant.

When you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking the blood, his spine straightens. He pulls away immediately and turns around, yelling at the his workers that filming will be cut short today.

He just can't wait any longer to spend some lovely time with you.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Promotion” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| Being Black Noir’s new handler and him becoming obsessed with you since Mr. Edgar himself assigned you to him.

| SFW, vought employee!reader, (TW: Noir is kind of stalking the Reader, who’s uncomfortable but adapting mostly)

| 1k+ words

“You want me to…what?”

“Be Noir’s new personal handler.” He fans his hands out on the table with a shrug and gives you a disarming smile. “You’ll be expected to parlay direct mission instructions from me, accompany him to said missions and stay with the deployment team. I expect you to give written reports on his performance at the end of every day, active mission or not…”

Your eyes continue to widen as his barrage keeps going. This job would require you to be present for everything short of Noir wiping his ass and even then you’ll be outside the restroom.

Mr. Edgar finishes, gives you an expectant look, and you clear your throat.

“And, what if I don’t want the new position?”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugs, “I mean unless you don’t think you’re good enough for the promotion. Then I suppose I’ll just have to tell Ashley her recommendation was for naught.”

You laugh.

“No no, that’s fine. There’s no need to tell her anything…” you gulp, watching the man just look back at you before taking a second more to inhale, “…ex-cept that her recommendation payed off.”

He tilts his head and it feels like his eyes are boring through your own, boiling your brain to mush. Your voice is small as you push the rest of your words out in one exhale.

“And that I’ll be starting my new position tomorrow. Sir.”

You stretch a smile across your face and hiss out a sigh of relief as that finally gets the man to respond.

He instantly reanimates, reaching atop his desk to hand you a secure black portfolio made from hard plastic.

“That’s great. I’m glad you decided to take on this new journey, Ms. L/n. May it serve you well. Have a good day.”

You don’t dare drop your smile as you take the offered portfolio and shove it under your arm.

“Right.” You take a moment to mourn the loss of your old job before nodding, “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir. You have a good day as well.”

The older man nods back at you, attention immediately gone back to his computer monitor afterward. You blow out air from your nose and then turn on your heels.

It’s not until you’ve left the board room that it hits you.

“Shit.”

The man had just played you. Goddamn Edgar and his resoluteness. Once he’d decided to “ask” you about the upgrade in position he never intended for it to be an actual request.

You rub your temple and head to the restroom. At least you had the rest of the hours in the day before tackling your new job.

You hunker down in the stall after peeing to look over the papers Mr. Edgar gave you. As you're skimming through a whole lot of shit marked “classified” or “redacted” you have the stray thought to be glad that Translucent’s creep ass wasn’t here to ogle you and be all in your business anymore.

Thank the higher power for small mercies, you suppose.

All the snippets of information you're gathering are kind of baffling. Legal name: Earving (of all things), biological male, six foot two, African-American (that’s fun; may be the reason he took such a liking to you too, not many black people made it to the top floors of Vought after all). You dog-ear a packet about some sort of imaginary animals he sees in his mind before looking over a page about a severe peanut allergy. Hmm.

By the end of the day you’ve nearly gotten all the way through Noir’s portfolio, and you’ve also worked up an itch to get out of your skin that means you’re not working overtime worth a goddamn.

At six o’clock on the dot all of your crap is already quite thoroughly packed, your former workspace - barren thing that it already was due to regulations - was cleaned out and ready for the next poor soul, and you’re in the elevator heading for the sub-level garage.

Dead stare locked onto the floor numbers you become acutely aware of the bags weighing your eyes down.

“Fuck,” you sigh.

Black Noir's Personal Handler.

Despite Mr. Edgar’s clear efforts it was more than a little known open secret that personal handlers rarely got to retire. Madelyn Stillwell’s death might’ve been something none of you dared discuss for fear of either Edgar or - heaven forbid - Homelander catching wind and putting you back in your place, but it was a pattern of the job that you all were well aware of.

Though you’d take Mr. Edgar’s culling over whatever Homelander could possibly come up with.

Something about his blonde, blue-eyed, ass didn’t sit right with your spirit.

Far as PR and wrangling went though, short of maybe Starlight, any wrinkles Black Noir managed to make would be the easiest to smooth out.

Plus, even with you and Noir having some form of a pre-established relationship it was in no way dependent or built upon you being Noir’s emotional epicenter like Madelyn and Homelander’s weird…dynamic was.

You had seen and heard far too much in your years working for Vought to think for a second that there wasn’t something dark and twisted going on with The Seven, but Noir still seemed mellow in comparison to the rest and their constant ego trips and dick measuring.

You had zero clue how letting the fully covered man teach you a few notes to a song at the Christmas party when everyone was drunk off eggnog and watered down booze and sitting with him when he was crying on the floor once led you to this.

Sure the silent man and you had somewhat hit it off - so far as you were one of the few non-supers he didn’t intimidate or just flat out ignore - but to be made so intimately in charge of him seemed like a bit much.

Noir had seemed endlessly patient with you as he played for you and then eventually decided he’d teach you how to play the piano yourself, the sides of your bodies’ shifting incrementally until you were pressed flush to one another in both of yous concentration, so you could really only hope he kept that same levelness with you as his handler.

You bank the corner, work bag and portfolio on the same arm, and fish out your keys so you can unlock your trunk and shove your shit inside.

Hope truly was the name of the game here unfortunately. You could only hope Noir kept up his “good” streak, and that that streak wasn’t just a farce that you were now in charge of covering up. Hope that he didn’t end up getting angry or reckless and making you one of those *redacted* cases with a ‘cause of death, unknown’ attached to your name, because you could do nothing to stop him if he wanted to kill you.

Shiver racking up your spine and turning your blood to static, you snap your trunk closed, turning to leave when—

“—Fucking Christ!”

Eyes gone wide and spit having nearly choked you from your sharp inhalation before your exclamation, you do your best to appear composed as Black Noir himself steps out from a conclave of shadows to stand in front of you.

The Devil, you find yourself thinking. Had he been following you this whole time?

For his part Noir doesn’t move aside from cocking his head to the side.

Steadily, you force calmness onto yourself. Ignoring that your voice is too high when you call his name.

“Black Noir,” you say, trying to seep the professionalism back into your tone while smoothing down the creases in your pantsuit, “surprised to see you here. What can I do for you?”

The smile you offer him feels wonky even as you command the muscles up, but it’s the best you can do with your heart hammering against your chest as if it wants to run off and leave you behind.

For a couple more beats the man doesn’t do more than size you up presumably before finally - as you were weighing the pros and cons of just getting in your car despite his presence - raising a hand to point at your trunk.

You catch on to his meaning fairly quickly, your smile dropping to something more natural whilst you huff a tiny laugh.

“Oh yeah, guess Mr. Edgar must’ve told you. I’m your new handler - you know, if you had one before that is. I don’t…actually know…” you trail off, shifting on your heels when Noir only continues to keep his stillness.

“Mhm,” you mutter, rocking backwards, just staring until finally Noir shifts and there’s suddenly a pad and pen in his hand.

He flips casually to a clear page before starting to write and you’re fairly sure this is the first time he’s ever actually ‘talked’ to you.

Huh.

Not long after does the pad get flipped over and brandished to you. You click your teeth together.

‘Edgar says you’ll do good,’ he scribbles, writing absolute chicken scratch and letters far too large on the medium sized pages, before flipping the pad back to himself and writing some more.

‘Believe in you!’ and a whole bunch of smiley faces is what meets you once he lets you see.

You blink. Noir puts the pad back wherever he had it initially to give you two thumbs up.

You muster a slightly bigger half smile for his efforts.

“Thanks Noir,” you say, words more sincere than you’d been expecting.

A nod and an eternity more of silence and staring is what he gives you in response.

You’re getting ready to shift, to awkwardly relay that you’d like to be getting home soon, when Noir stiffens suddenly - and isn’t that startling, a man so tall and so strapped with sharp explosive deadly things going so alert like that - head tilting like he’s listening for something.

A few seconds go by like that where he doesn’t do anything else and you fight to keep yourself still, smile gone and part of your lip caught firmly between your teeth.

Then Noir’s giving you a nod and leaving just as silently and unseenly as he had come.

You wait another two-three beats before scrambling into your car. The sound of your lock engaging sounds like salvation and the steering wheel feels like a lifeline as you grip it with stiff nearly foreign fingers.

God.

You force a deep breath into your lungs, make sure it comes out more steadily than it came in.

At least Mr. Edgar didn’t dump you onto Homelander’s lap. Something in you shrivels up and dies at the mere prospect. You nod, your hands flexing on the steering wheel.

This was definitely better.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is a semi companion story to “Pandora’s Melody” if you’d like to check that one out as well.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[simpee9000]

Not Just Friends - 4 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Not edited : 3.8k words

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

You've spent the past week working through Katsuki's watch. Only putting it down when handed a time restricted request for a support item fix. Testing the quirk removing feature on Mei and a few others around. Since you couldn't remove your own, at least you wouldn't realize until a week or so.

Once all the kinks were worked out, you placed it in a nice sleek black watch box. Tying it closed with a burnt orange ribbon. You were giving it to him as a gift, just like all the other watches you've given him in the past. This one just a lot more expensive and fully designed by you.

It was already Friday by the time the watch was done, completing two days before you said you would.

Friday's were also the days that Katsuki worked at his own agency a couple blocks away. So after getting a cab to his agency, you walked through the door. Instantly being recognized by the security team for the office and being allowed through with only a quick screening, just in case someone was pretending to be you. You smiled at the receptionist, giving a quick wave before you headed to the elevator.

After pushing in the button for the top floor, the floor that only held him and his closest heroes, you opened your phone to check the time. It was right before his lunch started, which meant he would likely be getting out of the showers. He always took a shower after first patrol and once getting home.

The task of looking at your phone made you think of making yourself a watch, maybe with a support item for yourself incase within. Break-ins for support items were getting a lot more common now days and you couldn't be safe enough. With nanotechnology you could probably make an upgraded suit to the one you've made in high school, that shared many similarities to Iron-man's.

Before you could ramble in your own brain about the idea anymore, you reached Katsuki's floor. Stepping out of the elevator and greeting his manger who was sitting just outside Katsuki's office in his own desk.

"How's your day so far, Tanaka?" you smiled at him.

He looked up at you, "I work with Dynamight," he said plainly and looked back down to his monitor. He reminded you of Shoto that way. Blunt and straight to the point.

You laughed lightly, "Right, he can be a lot." You looked around the office for a moment, "I'm assuming he is still in the showers."

"You'd be correct," his monotone voice would of made you feel stupid if you didn't know him. He's always like this, never changing his tone. He was always one steady mood, it's the main reason Katsuki chose him. Tanaka wouldn't get upset, but rather not take no as an answer. Which Katsuki hated but needed at the same time. It helped his press a lot.

You rocked on your heels for a moment, "Well, I'm going to wait in his office."

"Wait," he paused you, his face slightly paled. He looked stressed.

"What?"

"He told me not to let you in there without him," he answered, face back to normal without the threat of you going in the office.

Your brows furrowed, "Why?"

He shrugged, "Just made it clear to not let you in."

"Okay?" you stood confused on what to do. Kirishima wasn't in the office yet, and neither was Denki or Sero. It was the main reason Katsuki had lunch at this time. "Do you have anything I can help on then?"

He looked at you from over his glasses, "I suppose. Do you think he is more likely to do an interview with Heroes' Gossip or a fan signing at a Hero Expo next week?"

Katsuki hated both those things. Heroes Gossip was exactly that, heroes' gossip, and it got into the nitty gritty details. People who did well on that show were Heroes like Denki and Sero, ones with enough charm to by pass and person questions. Katsuki only went on once, and it was a train wreck, they brought up the details of his childhood with Deku and you. Asking how he felt about the idea of you and Izuku dating. It set him off.

On the other hand, he hated standing or sitting in one area for too long, especially signing things for fans all day long. It was hell on earth for him. He'd have to deal with fan girls trying to grab at him as well as older people criticizing his work.

"I think a Hero Expo might be better, as long as there isn't a hero he hates there and it isn't longer than three hours," you gave your feedback.

"You don't think he's over the last interview?" Tanaka rubbed at his eyes under his glasses.

You hummed, "He likely is, but that doesn't mean that it won't happen again. It'd be another PR nightmare."

"What is?" you looked towards the voice. Giving Katsuki a bright smile.

"Just you," you teased.

"Fuck off," he grumbled, walking past you and to his office door.

"Am I allowed in now?" you stepped alongside him.

Katsuki looked at his manger, giving him rare look of appreciation, and opened his door, "Yeah, Tanaka got food for a us a little bit ago. Should still be warm."

He opened the door for you, letting you walk in first and stepping in behind you, letting the door fall shut.

"What's up with the extra chair?" you pointed towards the chair that sat to the side that matched the one at his desk.

He walked towards the chair, grabbing in at rolling it to sit on the other side of the desk, "Yours, you always fuckin' steal mine."

You flushed at the gift. It was a open invitation into his office. It showed your place next to him. You ran your hand over the top of the chair, spinning it around to see the small details of your favorite color in the stitching. He custom ordered it.

"Thank you," you smiled at him, "You're the best." Finally, you take a seat and rolling it closer to his desk in order to eat. Setting your bag down next to you.

He flushed at the praise. "Tanaka got some of the food you likely from down the street," he pushed a takeout box near you. You instantly opened it, seeing it filled with your favorite order. It was a small sushi bar that you went to often, loving their rolls. Kirishima showed it to you after Fat Gum showed him.

You cracked open a pair of chopsticks that were left on top of the takeout box. Quickly looking to see that he was already digging in, obviously starving from work. "Busy day?" you asked picking up some food and eating a bite.

"Two bank robberies from one group. Pain in my ass," he grumbled, quickly scarfing down more food. After he physically couldn't fit more food in his mouth, he swallowed and drank some water before adding, "Got their asses though."

You nodded along, eating your food at a normal human pace.

"You do anything?" he put picked up another sushi roll in his chopsticks, dipping it in a spicy soy sauce.

The watch in you bag basically burned you with how quickly you remembered about it. Excited to finally give it to him. Before the look could wash over your face, you schooled your features. "Just normal work, Mei blew up some of her new project, so that was something." You were slightly surprised he hasn't brought up his watch to you recently. But you figured it was because his quirk calmed down a little, you haven't seen it act up since Tuesday.

"Isn't she always doing shit like that?" he asked, pointing his chopsticks at you.

"Yeah," you laughed. Looking down at his box you saw he only had two pieces left when he order two full rolls. "God damn vacuum cleaner," you laughed at him.

"Fuck off," Katsuki barked, "I was fucking workin' my ass off today."

"Still, god damn," you often teased him for how fast he eat compare to you. While he was on his last bites, you still had five to go. It wasn't that you were a slow eater, he was just a insane person.

He bit down on the last bites of food. Grumbling and crossing his arms. Proving whatever point he had.

Katsuki went on about his day as you finished up your food, going over how the chase went and what quirks the people had. It was the normal conversation of your lunches. He shared what he could about his job and you did the same.

Once you were done, he grabbed your take-out and threw away your trash. Harshly falling back into his chair, black with orange lining, matching yours.

You looked over his face, idly listening to him go own about his day as you admired him. He had a scar covering the right side of his face. Looking at it too long reminded you of what happened that day. The thought made you want to through up. Quickly, you pinched the fat of your thigh, reminding yourself of the present. You often went into thoughts like these. It was painful but the life of a pro heroes girlfriend.

Rather than dwell on his injury, you looked over the rest of him. His eyes were bright with a fire as he explained how he saved a kid from being buried in cement. You looked over the broad length of his chest, watching it rise with his breathing. Scanning down his arms till you saw his rough fingers drumming across the desk. All the small ways the proved he was alive.

"You good?"

The sudden question knocked you out of thought, you plastered on a smile, "Yeah."

His face scrunched up. before he could call bullshit you moved to reach for your bag.

"I actually brought you something too," you move your hand around your bag before you brought up the watch case. You placed it in the middle of the desk. His face was blank but his eyes were running over the box like crazy. You pushed it towards him when he didn't make a move for it, "Open it."

He glanced up at you, receiving a nod of encouragement, before he grabbed the box. Despite being a rough person, in attitude and everything else, he undid the box as carefully as possible. Sliding the ribbon off and opening the box slowly, as it would shatter.

His hands started shaking at the sight of it. In fear of dropping it, he rushed to place it back on the table. Frantically wiping his hands on his pants.

"Do you like it?" you questioned, worried from his reaction.

"How does it work?" he replied instead, picking it up and putting on his right hand.

Relieved that he liked it enough to immediately wear it, you leaned to point at the watch. "So if you twist this dial to the left one click, then to the right two clicks, and then back to the left for three click, you will have it unlock for identification, " you explained the detailed process. He wanted to make sure that no one else could unlock it and you made sure of it. Even you couldn't activate it once you set passwords in place. "Finally, see how it says 100% that's what your quirk is at right now, so turn it to zero and see how you feel," you sat back in your seat, watching him turn the dial.

He looked like a kid on Christmas as he spun it to 0%, his eyes flicked to you, "So I can try to use my quirk and it won't work?" You nodded.

With the dial at 0% he immediately felt the difference, the constant buzz of his quirk washing away, leaving just the buzz of your presence to warm him. He raised his hand outwards, still weary as he tried to set off his quirk, getting no spark or feeling of it at all. He tested a stronger explosion but received none.

"It fuckin' works," he smiled almost wolfish. You could see the ideas running though his brain at the lack of spark.

He played with the dial a little bit, seeing how the 20% and 40% suppressed his quirk. You glanced at the clock above his desk, seeing your lunch almost up. You'd have to leave soon if you wanted to stay on schedule. "Will this help your quirk training?" you asked, making sure he got what he needed.

"Huh?" he looked down at you from where he was standing and testing his quirk.

"You asked Z' about it for quirk training, that and your quirk's been weird," you filled in the gaps, lost as to how he didn't understand what you were talking about.

He let out a cough followed by a nervous laugh, "Yeah, should work great."

You shot him a look at his odd behavior, picking up your bag and standing to leave.

"What's your plans tonight," he fumbled with his words slightly.

"None?" you hiked the bag better unto your back, grabbing your phone so you could place an uber back to your agency. You didn't have your walking shoes on today. "I was just going to head home and read," you finished answering, "Why?" You quickly finished placing an uber before looking back up at him, confused once again.

His face flushed, " Ramen then? At out favorite spot," he stumbled to add on.

Your face softened. That was your main date spot, only used on highly celebrated dates or anniversaries. "Why there?"

"Just want to have a date with you," he mumbled, face now bright red.

"That happy about the watch? Kats you don't need to take me to dinner, I make you support gear all the time," you stepped closer to him, having been separated by his desk before he stepped around to you as well.

"You wanna go or not?" he huffed, fed up with being embarrassed.

"We don't need to-"

"Do you want to? Cause I want to," he cut you off, he crossed his arms as he leaned into his desk, you standing in front of him.

"Sure," you held back the tease, not wanting to set him off.

"Good, we'll leave home at seven," he pushed off from the desk, walking you out to the door.

You smiled at him, "See you then."

---

The ramen joint was fancy and hidden. Hardly anyone went there if they didn't want extreme privacy. It was something you and Katsuki quickly learned that you needed in your relationship. The public didn't fully know about your relationship, but they did know you two were close and childhood friends. So people speculated off that. So to avoid rumors, Katsuki and you went to hidden gem restaurants.

This ramen joint being a favorite, it was lit purely off candles or warm low lights. It was one of the only, if not the only, romantic restaurants that you two went to. Cozy lights with a dress code of formal.

So the two you walked up to the door, Katsuki offering a hand to help you up the stairs before the restaurant. While your heels and dress didn't make it too difficult, it was nice that it was offered. After grabbing his hand, you expected him to let go at the top of the stairs, but he led you through the restaurant, following the hostess and dragging you along.

Only when at the table he let go. Once the waiter got your drink orders Katsuki fumbled with his hands, "Thanks for the watch."

"Kats, it's nothing," you laughed off, "I've made you many support items, I don't know why you're so happy about this one." His face flushed at the call out. It really confused you, he seemed thrilled that he could turn off his quirk. It was honestly sad. Before you could ask anymore, the waiter gave you your sake and water before taking your food order. The service was great, but annoying for conversation currently.

"Just noticed the detail in this one," he shrugged, "fits me well and shit."

Now he was trying to play it cool? It was all weird.

"Are you sure you're telling me everything?" you accused.

"How was work this week? We spent lunch talkin' 'bout mine," he redirected the conversation.

You shot him another glare at his weird behavior, you'd figure him out eventually. For now you'd have a nice dinner with him.

---

Dinner was just that. Nothing much more. Service was great, so was the food, but conversation was horrible. He dodged any question towards himself, even if it was small. It was all about you and it felt wrong, in a strange way.

The two of you walked the short way back to your apartment. But with looking up at the sky, you regretted that decision. Small water droplets cover the sidewalk slowly. The rain painting it slowly. The streets were empty at only 9pm, you should of taken that as a sign of bad weather. Regardless, the two of you continued walking, him grabbing your hand once out of the restaurant. It was weird, but you let the thought fade at the chance to hold unto him for a little longer.

You swayed in your steps taking up the sidewalk as you stretched your arm to stay linked with Katsuki. He gave you a smile at your behavior. Making you flush and focus more heavily on your step. It reminded you of the romance movies the described this exact situation. A couple walking in the rain, late at night, streets empty as they confessed their love.

Katsuki tugged you towards him, spinning you into his hold, his hand letting go of your and grabbing onto your hips and you leaned into him. Your hands resting on his chest from surprise at the sudden change.

"You got that look on your face again," he smirked down at you. While used to his smile over the years, his smirk still made you weak in the knees.

"Huh?"

"You have a face you make when your thinking on your shitty romance movies," he pointed out.

"I do not," you pouted.

"Yeah it's like this," he scrunched him face to mimic yours horribly.

"Is not," you slapped his chest lightly, "I'd be surprised if you dated me while I made that face."

"Uh huh?" he teased, "cause it was spot on."

You rolled your eyes, face red from being in his hold.

"So what were you thinkin'?" he pushed, squeezing your hips slightly.

"Just all those movies with couples," you dodged until he squeezed again. "Fine, couples kissing in the rain, happy?"

His face flushed, matching the red hue on yours, before he looked up to avoided your stare. You were surprised he was holding you in general, but the fact he hasn't let go truly stunned you. Hugs between you two didn't last longer than a couple seconds. And this was a lot more romantic than a hug.

"Do you wanna?" he looked back down, his eyes tracing over your face between landing on your lips.

"Wh..what?" you stuttered. He looked back up to your eyes.

"Do you want to kiss?" he spelt out for you, face becoming impossibly redder.

"Yeah," you breathed out, looking down to his lips before both your eyes shot to look at each other. Making sure this was okay.

The tension was shooting through your bones. He hasn't offered to kiss since graduation, which was over a year ago.

He pulled his hand away from your waist and up to your face, wiping away the rain that fell on your cheek before he slowly leaned in. You eyes fluttered shut before you felt his lips hit yours. Instantly melting into the new feeling.

Every time before he was either freshly from the hospital or the two of you were excited and let it run you into a kiss that only lasted a moment before you were off running to friends and family during graduation.

Your knees caved slightly, letting you fall even deeper into the kiss, deeper into him, as you tilted your head. The kiss was just like him, explosive. It left you buzzing as he pulled away for a breath.

He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes before breathing out heavily, "I'm sorry we don't do that often enough."

Your once closed eyes shot up, you slightly pushed away from him, "What?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, "I just wish I haven't been holding that out of our relationship."

You pushed yourself out of his hold, stepping back, "Katsuki Bakugo."

"What?" he almost demanded.

"I told you that I was fine without physical touch. I've been fine without it. Yet the second you've found out, you've been weird," you pushed a finger into his chest, "Now your kissing me, saying sorry? How do you think that makes me feel?"

He shook his head, "I don't see the problem."

"Of course you don't," you basically lectured, "Our relationship has been steady. Sure it hasn't been typical, but it's been us. Yet the second someone mentions that I like touch, you've been all weird."

"I want to make you happy? Is that fuckin' horrible?" Katsuki huffed.

You scoff, "No, but you were already making me happy. Now you are doubting our relationship, not telling me about your quirk issues, and worst of all, pushing yourself when I didn't ask. If you aren't ready for things that's fine! If your never ready, that's also fine. I just want you Katsuki. I want the you that doesn't give two fucks about what anyone thinks."

His head hung, his hands coming up to rub at his face. "I don't know how to fuckin' do this shit," he mumbled.

You stepped closer to him, "Just stop worrying about every little thing. I'm with you, you don't have to win me again. Just do what you want and I'll tell you if I have an issue."

"And what if what I want is to kiss you more and other stupid shit," he muttered under his breath.

Your face flamed with the comment, "Well," you cleared you throat, "if that's what you want, then I'd be happy to. But only if it's what you actually want."

"Of fuckin' course it is, why wouldn't I want to kiss my damn girlfriend," his wolfish grin was back quicker than ever as you pulled you into him. Quickly getting over the little spat the two of you just had.

"I don't know, you haven't wanted to before," you shrugged in his hold.

"Oh I've wanted to," he protested.

"Then why haven't you?" you tilted your head.

"Reasons," he took your held tilt as an opening, slotting his lips against yours. You slapped at his shoulder for dodging the question but you quickly moved to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. He hugs you closer as he swayed the two of you in your kiss. Letting the rain soak the two of you to the bone without a second thought. Only worried about the one in front of you. Any worry dripping out of your soul just as the water dripped out of your clothes. Because even though he hated the rain, he loved you more.

-Next Part-

In them m.list of this fic comment if you want to be added into a tag list <3

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[josies-eden]

Come to bed, Jagi.

~{A oneshot where you are In-Ho’s wife, you didn’t end up passing away, but the baby did. You had a liver transplant. But In-Ho was already in the games to pay off the medical bills. He was offered the position of Frontman. You both take to the island 1 month a year. Reader is pregnant again, and In-Ho is horrified to let you roam the complex. You are 6 months along.}~

♪♪ ~{Jupiter ~ Flower Face}~ ♪♪

~{No mention of Y/N}~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Go back to your quarters. Frontman’s orders.” The head security officer growled. Blocking you from exiting the main control room. The square on his face seemingly taunting you as you pouted. The bed you and your husband shared had been cold and empty for days. You were sick of it. The screen in the suite had only shown the games, nothing else, only short glimpses of your In-ho.

“I don’t care. I want to see my husband.” You speak, anger present in your tone as you weave around him to the screens. You knew something was happening, you could hear faint gunshots from your shared suite. You caressed your stomach, feeling light kicking from the little girl. Your frustration must have made her upset too, judging by her constant kicking. Peering through the several different cameras upon the monitor, you spot him, and the baby’s kicking subsides.

Lost in the purple maze outside the very room you stood, you saw your sweet husband, with two others. He signaled them forward and looked towards the camera. A blank, but authoritative expression gracing his face. Butterflies arising in your chest at his smooth features blessing your eyes once more. He moved forward before you heard a few deafening gunshots nearby. Flipping through the cameras, he had just dropped his radio; but you could hear him over the other guards walkie’s.

“Wrap things up.” His voice husky from barking orders for this ‘rebellion’. You sighed in relief, hearing footsteps towards the control room door. Two guards held his frontman suit, prepared for his entry, but you stood only for him. And after a few seconds of rocking yourself in the cold room, holding your stomach for comfort, you heard the hissing of door opening. Meeting his eyes, he looked shocked and concerned.

“What are you doing down here? You should be up in bed, Jagi.” He questioned worriedly, slipping his leather gloves on, holding your face.

“I missed you… So did she…” You whine, holding your stomach more exaggeratedly. A little kick was felt, as In-ho sighed, placing his hand upon your exposed stomach.

“Please, Jagi- Go back to our room. I’ll be back in 20. I promise.” Slipping into his pants and shoes, not bothering to take off his track outfit, just throwing the rest over. The head of security handed him his mask, as he slipped on his jacket. You whine, sweat beading down your face and neck from frustration and anxiety. The liquid seeping into the pink button up sitting over your swollen belly. “For me-“ He pecked your cheek before donning his mask.

“Be careful please.” You said to him, as he turned away. Nodding, In-ho signaled the head to take you, and you groaned to yourself. You knew damn well it wouldn’t be 20 minutes. He would come back and sit in front of the wall of screens, making sure everything was in place while you lie in the cold bed once more. As the guard escorted you back to the room, you heard one final gunshot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been 2 hours. You knew he was watching those damned screens. Tempted, you pull yourself up from the black, leather loveseat in front of the TV with a huff to go get your husband. Slipping on a pair of outdoor slippers, and grabbing his jacket. You step into the elevator at the back of the black hallway and descend.

When the elevator doors slid open, In-ho was just where you thought he was, watching the screen intently. The man he had told you he was monitoring was there. Gi-hun, you remembered. He was sobbing and rocking himself in his bed, his friends who were left surrounding and comforting him. With a sigh, you walk to your husband.

“Come back, dear. It’s been longer than you said.” You mumbled, putting your hand on his shoulder and laying your head upon it. The rough fabric grounding you. He paid no mind, only wrapping his arm around your waist as he continued to observe. “He’s not going anywhere, everyone’s on high alert, yeah?”

In-ho let out an anxious sigh, turning his head slightly to look at you. “Yes… I’m afraid he will try again, though.”

“He has to grieve. He won’t try again tonight. Please, let’s just go. I miss you.” Pleading with him, your hormones high thanks to the baby. Tears prick at your eyes from the emotions. You tug slightly at his jacket as his resolve crumbles. Grumbling, he pulls out his talkie.

“Keep watch all night. I’ve got business.” He turns it off, turning with you in tow to the elevator. “Let’s go, dear.” Arriving back at the suite, you were all over him. Kissing his face, hugging him and whispering sweet words to him while dragging him to the bathroom. Starting the tap, you helped undress your husband.

Each scar was traced softly by fingers. Bullet wounds, knife marks, and more. He unbuttoned the pink pajama shirt you wore, admiring your bloated pregnant belly, caressing it. He kissed your forehead before you both sank into the warm water. “I missed you too, Jagi.” In-ho spoke softly behind you, kissing the back of your head. You lay back, kissing his cheek as he grabs a soap bottle and a cloth.

“You’ve been busy- no, hun.” You order, taking the items from him, pouring and lathering soap onto the cloth. Cleaning him, he doesn’t take the smitten look off his face, eyes locked onto your focused being. You carefully cleaned him, cautious around his sensitive scars. When you finished, you started washing his hair. You were putting spikes into it, making yourself giggle, and making him look at you with a happy, but annoyed face.

He took his turn next, calloused hands roaming softly as he cleaned. He lathered you head gently, and let your conditioner sit. Turning around, you cuddled into him, the smell of cinnamon and roses filling the foggy room. Short little lines were babbled between the two of you as he rinsed the conditioner from your hair, and stood from the bath with a groan. You sat there as the water drained, watching your husband wrap himself in a towel. Eventually he stands you up, and wraps you in a towel.

The two of you finish your nightly routines, relishing these beginning moments of being with each other once more. You dress in airy clothes and stare at yourself, your sweet In-ho behind you, making your shared bed. You look at yourself tired eyes, swollen ankles and large stomach. Little did you know, In-ho was looking at you with the most love ridden eyes. Admiring every curve and bend, especially with your pregnancy. He found you exceptionally attractive.

“Come to bed, Jagi.” He asks, making your ears perk at his voice. His pupils basically being hearts, with them floating above his head too. You oblige, lying next to him, and he brought you both under. Immediately he was hugging you so close, you thought you would merge into him, to become one. “I missed you so much. I didn’t want to leave you here alone.” He admitted, holding you close, stroking your hair and stomach. “I was so worried someone would get you during that rebellion.” He whispered, seemingly to himself. Burrowing into his chest, you whine that it’s okay.

“I’m safe, I’m here. You’re here too. I think it’s time to sleep though.” You say, slightly muffled. He chuckles. “It will keep you distracted.” You say, slightly drifting out. “Goodnight, dear.”

“Goodnight, Jagi.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[vanilladove]

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹ sinful angel

gif creds the-chikyuu-times

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ pairing: hacker!fyodor x camgirl!reader

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ genre: smut w/ plot; 18+ only mdni!!!!!!

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ content warnings: light bsd manga spoilers, dubious consent + manipulation, sexwork mentions, sex toy use, slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, some degrading (+ lots of praise to balance it out)

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ summary: you've caught the eye of cybercriminal fyodor dostoevsky, who regards you as his sweet angel. watching you isn't enough to satisfy the lurking demon, who wants nothing but to corrupt you. translation notes: "milaya" = sweetheart, "shlyukha" = whore

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ word count: 5.7k

Fyodor sighed in annoyance, running his hands through his dark hair as he looked at all the computer screens in front of him. He was tracking down an arms dealer that was nothing but a pawn ready to be disposed of. The monitor displayed footage from the dealer's apartment, and showed him standing in the lobby making a phone call.

By the way he was hurriedly whispering, Fyodor could tell he was trying to be discreet. It was useless. The dealer was too occupied trying to hide his words from the security guard that he didn't even realize Fyodor had hacked into his phone and was listening in on the whole conversation. It had already been thirty minutes, and the hacker felt restless, waiting for the stupid pawn to just go back to his room and find the sweet gift awaiting him—another henchman ready to shoot him dead.

The dark haired man anxiously bit his fingernail until he heard something—no, it must've been the voice of an angel—through the recording of the dealer's phone conversation. His eyes narrowed onto the source of the voice from the screen.

There you stood, wearing a pastel pink and white lacy top, white cotton maxi skirt, white flats, and a ribbon in your flowing hair. You sweetly greeted the security guard, giving them a fresh pastry that you'd presumedly just bought. Your saccharine voice and mannerisms struck Fyodor's cold heart, snapping him out of his boredom. A precious anomaly in a world of pawns and subordinates, an angel.

His magenta eyes followed your movements towards the elevator, and his fingers instinctively typed in code to display the elevator's camera feed onto a different monitor, noting your floor number and the room number transcribed onto your keys. Pulling up another set of cameras for your floor's hallway and your attached balcony, Fyodor watched as you entered your unit and set your bag down on the dining table, pulling out a strawberry custard tart and going to the kitchen to pull out a mug and a teabag. He smiled, watching you brew his favorite blend of black tea and pulling out your laptop to find a show to watch while enjoying your midday treat. In his eyes, you were a woman of fine taste. An elegant lady that held herself to the highest standards of purity and grace. Your apartment was clean, with the right amount of cute, feminine touches and white lace everywhere. Truly a sight for sore eyes, and the perfect relief for an overworked criminal mastermind like himself.

The dealer's phone call suddenly ending interrupted Fyodor's daydreams as he turned his back to the screen showing you and watched the dealer take the elevator. He guessed it would take forty-five minutes or so to get the job done and cover all the tracks of the murder. After that, he promised his attention would be on you again.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Fyodor Dostoevsky was a lonely man. Throughout his many lifetimes, he'd never sought out a companion, nor did he necessarily have the desire to. More and more, he found himself displeased by the new generations of sinners, unimpressed by virtually everyone. He didn't care much for consuming media, but for some reason he had a strong urge to watch the movie with you. Judging your character, he was sure you were watching some cheesy rom-com or a soapy drama. He was intrigued and bewitched by you and your sweet nature, which was why he couldn't help hacking into your laptop to see what you were watching, planning a 'movie-date' of sorts in his mind.

What he wasn't expecting to see was you spread open, in white lace lingerie and stockings, touching yourself.

Fuck, were you recording yourself?

His eyes widened, watching your manicured nails circle around your glossy clit, panting as you ran your fingers up and down your opening. Your thin panties were pulled to the side, leaving your bare cunt on display, slick dripping down. You whined and bucked your hips as you slipped two fingers inside, whining from the stretch.

"A-ahh, f-fuck—" You whimpered, your arousal leaking more from the pressure of your movements. You were moaning louder now, your other hand coming underneath your knee to expose your stocking and give a better view to the camera.

"Mmm—I'm gonna cum—make sure to watch, 'kay?"

Fyodor watched in utter shock as he witnessed you in a complete state of lustful pleasure. His angelic fixation was actually nothing more than a sinful temptress, a camgirl. As disappointed as he wanted to be, he couldn't ignore the strain against his pants. Seeing your blissful state, the bunched up lace, and listening to your sweet voice was enough to make him painfully hard for you.

With a groan, he leaned back into his padded chair, freeing his pulsing cock and tightly stroking up and down his length, eyes squinting yet open so he could still see your sensual body on the monitor screen.

He shamefully squeezed his leaking tip, trying to time his movements with your soft moans. Fyodor carefully trained his gaze on your pussy, closely watching your arousal drip down your slit, and how you gradually squeezed your thigh harder for relief.

You suddenly popped your fingers out and rubbed fast around your now swollen clit, body moving slightly as you heaved your chest from the feeling. You were practically whimpering at this point, close to finishing. Fyodor stroked faster to match your neediness, starting to buck his hips into his hand. His face was surely flushed a rosy pink by now, matching the color of his darkened tip.

“C-cumming—guys, I’m cumming—” You jerked up slightly, fingers leaving your clit to lightly spread your folds as your cum dripped out of your loosened hole, dampening the fuzzy white blanket below you. Your legs were shaking a bit as the orgasm washed over you, but Fyodor’s eyes widened again after you slowly wiped the excess cum around the outside of your pussy and the crevices between your thighs, leaving your skin glossy and shiny. You giggled sweetly, causing more blood to rush straight to his hard cock.

“Ahh, I kinda made a mess, didn’t I?! Let’s try this one next~!” You slowly pulled out a pink dildo, kissing the tip of it loudly and carefully rubbing it around your slit to lubricate it with your juices, gasping anytime it hit a sensitive spot.

God, you vixen. You knew what you were doing.

The hacker couldn’t resist, sweat starting to bead at his forehead as his breath got thicker in the air, cock feeling heavier and tighter while watching you tease yourself with the sex toy. He couldn’t help but wish it was his cock instead of that fake dildo that was slipping in and out of his pretty angel’s cunt as he fucked up into his fist more intensely. Borderline growls left his lips as he tried to chase his own release, which he cursed himself for since it wasn’t coming out fast enough.

As your own moans got louder and more broken, Fyodor could feel himself getting equally as lost into his own delusions, trying to satiate the long suppressed lustful desires. One orgasm wasn’t enough, he needed—no, craved—more, and long after your stream had ended, he couldn’t hold himself back from exploring your page, going through your different videos with one hand stroking his unsatisfied dick.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Catching his breath, Fyodor cleaned himself off afterwards, feeling ashamed yet incredibly turned on from his actions. It was probably the hardest he’d came in a long time. As much as he wanted to continue to obsess over you, he was rudely interrupted by Nikolai barging into his space. Fyodor turned his chair immediately and glared at the white-haired jester.

Nikolai smirked mischievously, “What the hell, Dos, you watchin’ porn or something?” He taunted, causing Fyodor to scowl and throw his dirty napkins at him, which Nikolai swiftly avoided.

“None of your business…and knock before you enter my room.”

Fyodor gritted his teeth. Was it his own noisy groans or the audio of your moans playing out loud that Nikolai could hear? He secretly hoped it was the former since he didn’t want anyone else hearing his angel’s precious voice, especially not in such a lewd state.

“Well whatever, I was just letting you know that I killed and disposed of the dealer, so I expect my payment.” Nikolai waved his hands dismissively before pausing, tilting his head in a coy manner before grinning at Fyodor again, “By the way, if she’s a cam girl, you can usually tip her if you want a more personal interaction.”

Fyodor narrowed his eyes again, throwing more badly-aimed tissues at Nikolai. “Get. Out.” He threatened sternly, sick of Nikolai’s antics. The jester didn’t care, only laughing pridefully and singing “Dos likes a girlllll~” before leaving.

After waiting for his footsteps to disappear, Fyodor pulled up your account again. Coincidentally, you went by the alias of “angel” and dedicated your whole page to a soft, lacy aesthetic, becoming the perfect sinful object of desire for your subscribers. He found the paid chat and calls for your account, and swiftly made an encrypted account to send you a message, noticing you were still online.

demonfyo: My angel, how are you? Your beauty has entranced me, and it’s all I can think about…

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: hiiiiiiiii~♡ oh, how you flatter me demonfyo, i’m blushing (￣▽￣;) i’m feeling very playful atm hehe what abt you?

demonfyo: I’ve been trying to pray and repent all night, but I can’t get your pretty pussy and voice out of my thoughts.

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: sounds like my charm is working hehe ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა i'm happy i could help you get off lots ♡

demonfyo: Can you bless me with a short call, darling? I need you.

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: yesyes! do you want to do a video call? ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა

demonfyo: No, I just want to hear your sweet voice for a bit before I go to bed. Is that alright?

The incoming message notification sent your heart racing. Somehow, the new user had caught your attention. Swinging your legs cutely on your soft sheets, you couldn’t help but feel giddy about the mysterious sender. Typically, those who paid for messages got straight to the point, often explicitly stating their feelings towards you with no filter or immediately requesting a personalized video call. Seeing someone address you so adoringly certainly pulled on your heartstrings a bit, and the mystery behind what the new sender wanted was making you excited. You pressed the call button, anticipating the voice on the other side.

You cleared your throat, "Hihi, This is Angel~! Is this demonfy—"

"Fyodor. Call me Fyodor, angel". Your mysterious caller's deep, husky voice startled you. From the way he was messaging you, you half expected it to be some horny old man, but the man calling you sounded attractive. Fuck, you were getting a little turned on—thanks to your secret voice kink.

Of course, your small reactions didn't go unnoticed by Fyodor, who was intently watching you on his monitor. He smirked pridefully after seeing the rose on your cheeks and the way you slowly clenched your thighs together from hearing his voice.

"F-Fyodor. Umm, h-hi. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?" You quickly tried to regain some composure, nervous about talking to someone desirable, not just the usual degenerate. It didn't fool Fyodor, though, who you could hear sneering on the other side. You bit your lip—even his laugh was hot.

Fyodor spoke slowly, "Stuttering, huh...Do I make you nervous, milaya?" Your breath hitched, which he caught again. You were too fun to tease. "You're not used to being intimate with other men? Even though you're a camgirl?"

"N-no, it's not that...I'm just not used to non-sexual conversations." You huffed, trying to sound less flustered, "And I don't get intimate with other men; it's just me in front if the camera. N-not that I'd be opposed to having a special guest though—!"

He smiled at that, noting how hot and bothered you were getting, "Would you do it with me, then? I could make you feel better than that cheap pink dildo."

"W-what?!" You quickly shot out, gripping the sheets for balance, drawing another mocking laugh from Fyodor, which made you instantly regret it. Pull yourself together, girl! Maybe he's trying to roleplay!

"Yes, I would,” you muttered, trying to recover your confidence and add a flirty tone to your voice, “Would you whisper dirty things in my ear?”

Fyodor tilted his head, watching you bite your lip before whispering sweetly into the microphone, “Only if you begged me to, my sweet girl. You like my voice that much?”

“Maybe~” You teased, starting to feel tension build up again in your core. You lightly moved across your sheets, trying to relieve some of your pent-up arousal—even though you knew it wouldn’t be enough. Fyodor sighed watching you sink further into your bed, eyes starting to gloss over.

“Touch yourself and dream of me tonight, and it might happen,” your caller whispered, admiring you through the screen and smiling when you gasped and gripped the sheets tighter. “Sweet dreams, my pretty angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He whispered the last part to himself and ended the call before you could even process what he said or respond, making you double back at the empty screen.

You pouted, already missing Fyodor’s voice, but that didn’t take your attention away from how wet you were. Even your fatigue couldn’t stop your heartbeat, and you hastily opened your drawer of toys and reached for a baby pink vibrator, silently cursing yourself for being so horny and cursing your caller for leaving you hanging. You laid back in your bed, pulling aside your shorts as you covered you eyes in shame. No one had ever had this much of an effect on you. Imagining Fyodor’s sultry voice, you turned on the toy and moved it downwards, unaware of the violet eyes trained on you and following every movement and sound.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

You closed your laptop and stretched after editing some videos to tease your fans with. It was raining hard outside, ruining your plans to go out and get your usual strawberry tart. Sighing and opening your fridge, you thought about what to make for dinner.

You settled on pasta and grabbed a pot, filling it with water and turning on the stove. You went to grab some noodles before turning around and realizing the stove wasn’t turning on. Confused, you tried pushing the buttons on your oven and microwave, but they weren’t responding. A power outage? Strange, but at least your internet was still working. You really needed to call maintenance, but it could wait. You instead opened a food delivery app, ordering some vodka pasta and tiramisu and laying down annoyedly on your couch, drinking some rosé that you poured for yourself. Resting for about 20 minutes, a knock on your door woke you up.

A bit buzzed, you walked to the door and opened it to see your delivery person. He had shoulder length dark hair and a big hat was covering his face.

“Thanks!” You said sweetly, grabbing the paper bag from the man. He nodded slowly and you noticed the drops of water beading off the front strands of his hair. Oh, right, it was pouring outside. “U-Um, wait! Before you go, let me grab you a towel and some tip money. I feel kinda bad about the weather.” You tried to offer some sympathy and set your food on your dining table before going into your room to fish out some extra change from your wallet. Rushing back to the door, you were surprised to see that the delivery man was gone, and your door was now shut.

“Where did he go?” Muttering under your breath, you opened the door to look out into the hallway before sighing and closing the door. Maybe he was in a rush…at least you got to keep your money…

Your eyes widened right after closing the door, though, and a shiver ran down your spine as you felt warm air against your ear, “Hello, my angel.” You shrieked as you whipped around to see the same delivery man without his hat and a pair of glowing purple eyes staring back at you menacingly.

Alarmed, you tried to open the door and scream loudly for help, but the dark-haired man pulled your body against him and put a hand to your mouth, the other pulling you in and and resting on your back. “Why so scared, milaya? Didn’t you want to see me last night?” You yelped instinctively as you recognized the husky voice, which made you turn cold.

Fyodor.

“F-Fyodor! W-What are you doing here?!” You tried to back up, but he followed you, still holding you tightly as your back hit the door. He only grinned evilly, eyes low and mentally undressing you—not that your floral lace set was hiding anything, especially since you were bra-less and only had a skimpy white thong on. His hot breath fanned over your face as you took him in. He was much taller than you with a relatively thin frame, and his voice matched his ghostly, handsome appearance—like the attractive villain in a movie. But his touch was cold, so cold.

“You’re so beautiful, angel, yes, much more in person,” he whispered lowly, dragging his lips down from your ear to your jaw, “I’ve always taken a liking to pretty people, and you, milaya, are no exception.” You were shaking, fearful of his intentions—it was no secret that people into your work were suspicious. He looked up at you with an almost predator-like expression. “I’m going to move my hand. If you know what’s good for you, don’t scream. Understand?”

He was taunting you, but you were to afraid to fight back, and you nodded slowly in compliance, earning a cunning smile from him as well as a peck on your forehead as he moved his hands away from your mouth to slowly caress your cheeks. Your mouth was sealed shut from fear. “Good girl…I’m going to reward you now.” He whispered slowly before moving his head down to capture your lips in a slow kiss. You tried to keep your eyes open, but they closed upon feeling his soft touch.

Despite intruding into your apartment and forcing himself on you, he kissed you sensually, like a lover. Your hands pressed against his chest, but as he slipped his tongue in your mouth, your hands went to tangle in his long hair, still slightly damp from the rain, drawing a low groan from him. His knee came in between your leg, and the sudden pressure made you moan into the kiss, the shock causing you to break away from him and pant to catch your breath. You cursed your face for betraying you—your cheeks felt hot and you were sure you were blushing like crazy. Not to mention the fact that you could feel your nipples hardening beneath your long sleeve top.

As much as you wanted to blame your body’s reactions on the rosé you were drinking earlier, a part of you knew it was because of his voice, which you’d been fantasizing about since the call. Not to mention, being a cam girl made you turned on by the thought of your caller visiting you. As ashamed as you were, you knew Fyodor was enjoying every bit of your internal struggle, the sly smirk still on his face as he felt your heat on his clothed thigh. He quickly went to your neck, nipping and kissing your sensitive skin, somehow knowing where your sweet spots were and leaving light hickeys, making you whimper every time. His leg simultaneously grinded against your cunt, weakening the little balance you had left. You were starting to feel lightheaded and dizzy, wrapping your arms around Fyodor’s shoulders and playing with his hair.

Before pulling away and lowering his leg, he gently kissed over your hickeys along with the tears starting to prick your needy eyes. “Fyodor…” You started quietly, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact. He gave you a soft smile before tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear. You looked so cute gripping onto his shirt for what seemed like dear life, too flustered to even look up. How easily his pretty vixen fell apart for him.

“Yes, my angel?” He responded, still gazing at your face affectionately, like he was deeply devoted to you.

“Can we…” You trailed off, not sure what to say since your heart, head, and arousal were all screaming different things at you. Fyodor stroked your face with his knuckles slowly, enjoying how fragile you were under him, how corrupted your mind became. His questioning deep hum vibrated through your body, making you shiver and hold your breath.

The demon had captivated his innocent angel, bringing out her most sinful desires and conjuring the unholy courtesan that she really was. “C-can you fuck me? Please, Fyodor, I want you—“ You begged, forcing your doe eyes to look into his piercing orbs. His lips twisted upwards, and he slowly stepped back from you, turning you around and leading you backwards to your nearby plush couch, encouraging you to continue.

“I dreamt of you last night after our call, but it wasn’t enough. I tried so many toys, but I really wanted you…” You whined, making Fyodor push you back faster. “I kept thinking about how good your dick would feel inside of me, and the things you would say to me. What kind of things do you lik—“ Your rambling was cut off by your legs hitting the edge of the couch, and Fyodor swiftly pulling you seated into his lap, your back hitting his lean chest.

He seemed to be satisfied with your pleas, not pushing you for anymore and driving you into an embarrassing silence. He rested his head on your shoulder and exhaled, lazily wrapping his arms around your waist, “I know, angel, I was watching you.” You moved your head an inch to the side, even more flustered about your words.

“…Oh, on my website and livestreams?” Fyodor shook his head slowly, making your stomach drop. He grabbed your chin and moved your face around your room.

“No, here, there, and…here!” He guided your face from your smart fridge to your balcony camera and finally to your laptop camera. He smiled upon feeling you gulp nervously. “Ah, I guess I watched your livestreams and videos, too, but it’s more fun to watch you alone from different cameras,” he mentioned it too naturally, like that wasn’t considered creepy or an invasion of privacy. He frowned teasingly, “You should really get a stronger security system, angel. Lots of hackers are out there, and they love to target helpless, sweet girls like you.” He smiled to himself; not like any security systems could protect you—he could bypass all of them.

“Oh, about that…you wouldn’t mind streaming this, would you?” Your body froze, but he continued. His hands left your waist to glide down your arms, moving his fingers on top of yours. He reached over to your laptop and dragged your fingertip on top of a key to unlock it, going over to your bookmarked website and hitting the record button to start a livestream. He hid the live comment notifications, so your attention would be only on him. Your heart was beating rapidly as you were too shocked—realizing that Fyodor was a cyberstalker and about to make his presence known—trying to move his hand, but the one minute timer was already counting down on the screen.

Fyodor sighed after seeing your appalled expression, seeing the timer at 50 seconds. "Angel, that's no good...your viewers won't like it if you don't show them a pretty face. I want you to enjoy this as much as I will." He pushed you off his lap onto the floor, and the force of your knees hitting the floor finally brought you back to the present.

"H-hey, wha—" You snapped, placing your hands on Fyodor's thighs to steady your kneeling figure. He only looked back at you lovingly again while petting your head. Shit, that expression made you wet weak.

He bent down to your level to kiss your lips while looking into your eyes with a sympathetic expression, "Please, angel, be good for me..." You closed your eyes for a moment to savor his sweet gesture, "Or at least do it for your loyal viewers." He smirked, reminding you of your job. To perform. He was just giving you the option to enjoy it or not.

You only turned your head and pouted, earning another snide laugh from Fyodor, before he swiftly pulled off his pants and boxers, revealing his springing hard-on. Your eyes widened. It was long, not too thick, and the pale mauve-ish tip was already starting to leak some pre-cum. Definitely bigger than your dildos.

He clicked his tongue, "Angel, time's up." The counter was at five seconds, and Fyodor placed his hand behind your head, pulling you closer to his length. "If you're still embarrassed or upset, you can just start—no need to do an introduction." He cooed, offering some faux condolences which made you narrow your eyes at him for trying to mansplain your own job.

You heard the beep notifying you that your stream had started, so you lowered your head to his tip and kissed it softly, using kitten licks to collect his built-up arousal around the slit. His hand gripped your hair tighter as he sighed from your motions, pleased that you were complying. Flashing doe eyes at him, you ran your tongue up and down his cock, placing kisses along the way and paying special attention to the throbbing veins around the side. He let out a low growl as you captured his heavy balls in your mouth, popping them in and out of your swollen lips. The intimate, sweet way you worshipped his dick was perfect.

"Angel..." He grunted, pulling your head back and signaling for you to stop teasing him. You sat up straighter and kissed his sticky tip one last time before gently taking it into your mouth and sucking slowly, working your way down to the base while swirling your tongue around his length. You looked up to see him flushed, now groaning in heat from the way you passionately sucked him off like a lover—not to mention how well you were taking him despite his big size. "Mmmm—you're doing so g-good...God y-you little—a-ahh—"

Fyodor threw his head back in ecstasy, your small bobbing motions and the sloppy sounds making him breathe heavily, both of your eyes clouded over with pure lust. Watching him become weak under your tongue was gratifying to say the least—you were clenching your thighs together, sure the viewers could see the wet spot on your thin shorts. His cock felt heavenly in your mouth, but you really wanted him in your—

He pushed your head flush against his pelvis, and it took everything in you to not gag from the abrupt intrusion as his tip poked the back of your throat. "I'm close, take it a-all, milaya—" Fyodor's groans got louder as you slowly pulled away, sucking along what you could and using your hands to pump whatever was left. You hummed along his cock, the vibrations making him close his eyes and tug on your hair, tears forming and starting to run down your face. He heaved deeply as he opened his eyes to look down at your pretty face, stroking your soft skin adoringly. You could tell he was close, so you moved closer to his tip, running your tongue across his sensitive slit, driving him over the edge. A deep grunt followed by the twitching motions of his aching cock were your final warnings as you got into a better position to follow his commands. You sturdied yourself against his thighs as his cum spilled down into your throat, making you moan.

Fyodor pulled your strands harshly, angling your head to ensure not even a single drop leaked out, making you lightheaded from the lack of air from what felt like being held still for forever. You turned to the camera, opening your mouth to prove you swallowed it all, and cleaning the residual cum on your mouth with your fingers before sucking them clean, the sight getting Fyodor hard again. Your lewd actions prompted a deep laugh from the dark-haired man, who was breathing heavily and busy coming down from the heaven you'd just sent him to, "My angel has quite a dirty mouth on her, doesn't she? You seem more like a succubus to me."

You simpered cheekily, stripping what was left of your floral lace set, teasing Fyodor and reveling in his intense gaze. You slowly rose up and sat in his lap, purposely pressing your ass against his stomach and spreading your folds with your fingers, teasing his tip with your entrance, making you hiss in lust. "Hey, Fyodor, can you put it insid—"

You were cut off with a harsh slap to your pussy and a rough yank on your hair, making you squeal in pain and pushing you back down against his chest. Fyodor pulled your hair at an upwards angle to face him, glaring into your lively eyes and inciting fear into them. "Don't forget I'm the one that's in control, shlyukha." His warning sent shivers throughout your body, and you nearly screamed when you felt him thrust into you, walls tightening around him, and you choked as he pushed deeper inside you, body stiff from how he just punished you. You gasped as he relentlessly filled you up with his length and stretched your spasming cunt—which you were sure was lewdly squeezing around him on camera. You could feel your eyes running again as he bottomed out in you—touching spots that even your biggest toys couldn’t reach.

He only smirked as he heard your whines and whimpers, which he knew would soon be replaced by pleasured cries because of how wet you got from giving him a blowjob. He kissed your tears away before guiding your hips back and forth on his cock, being more gentle and placing more kisses down from your ear to your neck. Upon hearing soft moans leave your lips, Fyodor drew small circles on your puffy clit, using his free hand to clasp your hands behind your back. Smirking after feeling you start to ride him to meet his thrusts, he playfully bit your ear, "Ha, I knew deep down you were just a sinful little slut."

More tears fell from your eyes as you felt Fyodor's dick reach your g-spot, the sensation sending a burning fire through your body. It was intense, much more so than anything you'd done solo. It was like all you could focus on was him, how rough yet passionately he was fucking you, how your head was full of his sultry, deep voice only, and how stuffed you were of his cock. You could feel yourself starting to unravel, moaning loudly as Fyodor pinched your sensitive nipples while gingerly kissing and nipping at your hickies.

"F-Fyodor, you're so m-mean". You murmured, the different sensations making you quiver under his touch. The blinding pleasure lolled your head forward, your front strands of hair covering your eyes, but you could still see Fyodor's magenta orbs cutting into yours through your peripheral, holding an intimidating expression.

His fingers swiped some stray layers to the side, his panting breath fanning over the shell of your ear, "I never said I was a nice man, milaya." You bit your lip after feeling him kiss under your ear, his gentle touches mixed with his unrelenting assault on your pussy driving you to your climax. Fyodor smiled as he felt you squeezing his cock so desperately and watched how your eyes fluttered, lashes wet from your tears but still framing your eyes so beautifully. "You're close, aren't you, angel? It's fine, let it all out on camera. Let everyone see how indecent you are." His finger circled faster around your clit and he groaned feeling you clench around his length again. "Show your loyal fans how much you love being fucked by a stranger." Another faint bite to your neck paired with a particularly rough thrust sent you over the edge. Juices dripping down from the spot your bodies connected, you cried out from the force of your orgasm washing over you.

Sighing from relief, Fyodor slowed your bouncing movements with slow strokes to bring you down from your high. Catching your breath again, you turned to face your cyberstalker, eyes dreamily looking at him, secretly tugging on his cold heart. You brought your face up, yearning to kiss him, but he only tilted your chin down and kissed your forehead instead, making you pout as he stared at you blankly. "I-I can't kiss you?" You asked, suddenly shy. Fyodor exhaled slowly, finding your faux innocence adorable. He didn’t tell you, but he wasn’t the type of man that enjoyed tasting himself on his lips—it was dirty, and that type of sinfulness was reserved for you and your lips only.

"So needy...this isn't enough for you, my angel?" You yelped as he roughly pulled you down on his member and came inside of you, the abrupt warmth flooding your insides and drawing a low moan from you. Fyodor kissed your neck before letting your restricted hands go and shutting your laptop to end the livestream. His phone buzzing made him turn his head, and he calmly moved to pull out of your snug cunt. He grunted as he felt your pussy gripping onto his cock tightly, trying to milk him completely dry. You whimpered when he finally pulled out, feeling empty and stretched out, already missing him pounding your walls as his cum flowed out of you, coating your plush inner thighs and staining your previously spotless couch.

He kissed your reddened cheek to offer some aftercare and sat up from the couch, grabbing his discarded clothes from the floor and putting them back on.

"You're leaving, Fyodor?" You looked up at the man, now fully clothed and checking his phone. He gave you an unreadable smile and glanced at you longingly.

"Yes, milaya. I have business to attend to." He pet the top of your hair gently before walking past your figure. Hearing you huff in disappointment, he looked back and smirked, "I may come back sometime, though, angel. If you beg me nicely enough..." Your eyes sparkled upon hearing his words, which almost made him go back for another round. He held a hand out to signal his leave and disappeared, walking out the door like a ghost, like he didn't just break in arrive, leaving you with your cold dinner.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Exiting your apartment complex, Fyodor grinned arrogantly upon seeing the livestream recording that had successfully downloaded onto his phone. You didn't know, but he'd already hacked into your laptop before visiting and made the stream private—there was no way he'd let anyone watch him corrupt his pretty angel.

Now all he had to do was watch and wait. Wait for his angel to summon the demon she had sinned for again.

[batsovergotham]

Chapter 4 Part 2: A Dance on Divided Ground

"In order to be in control, you have to embrace your power, not reject it. I know your abilities can frighten you at times. But you're not seeing the beauty in them. With our unpredictable gift, we can create a greater world. But we must take responsibility for how this gift affects others."

Main!Mark Grayson x Psychic! Reader

warnings: unprotected sex, major character death, murder, angstrom is his own warning, mentions of cheating, rex is a good friend, angst

w/c: 7.4k

a/n: much more plot. i hope you enjoy <3

The GDA constantly smells like disinfectant and concrete. 

No matter how many times you’re invited here, the air never stops seeming too silent, like it’s been washed too clean, like the silence is hiding something under the surface. 

You stroll in with Rex at your side. 

He didn’t ask if he should come with you. 

He simply did. 

And you didn’t tell him not to. 

When you go inside the central operations room, the anxiety meets you like a second security check. 

Bright, frigid lights overhead. 

A wall of monitors displaying live satellite feeds. 

Agents moving with clipped accuracy. 

And standing at the center, jaw set, arms folded, is Mark. 

You stop. 

Just for a breath. 

And that’s all it takes for him to glance up and notice you. 

His eyes flick over you first, then to the side. 

To Rex. 

Something moves behind in eyes. 

Subtle, yet not subtle enough. 

You go deeper into the room like you didn’t notice. 

You’re becoming good at it, pretending your stomach doesn’t flip when he stares at you like that. 

Like you caught him off guard. 

Like maybe he assumed you wouldn’t show. 

Like maybe he didn’t expect you to come with someone who wasn’t him. 

“Nice of you to show,” Cecil replies, barely glancing up from the datapad in his hand. “You’re late.” 

“You called me twenty minutes ago,” you say. 

Cecil raises a brow. “And yet I’m still aging waiting on you. Must be lovely having nothing better to do than watch the earth burn while you take your time.” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s always a pleasure, Director.” 

Rex steps forward. “If I’m not needed, I’ll wait outside.” 

Cecil doesn’t even look up. “If I thought I didn’t need you, I wouldn’t have let you in the building.” 

Rex mutters something beneath his breath. You think it’s good to be appreciated.

Mark hasn’t said anything. 

Not yet. 

You eventually turn to him. “Hey.” 

His jaw flexes. “Hey.” 

It’s tight. 

Clipped. 

He glances at Rex again, then back to you.   “You two come here together?” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah.” 

Rex doesn’t say anything. 

He doesn’t need to. 

Cecil clears his throat, pulling everyone’s attention back. 

“We picked up a spike last night. Unstable readings. Significant energy distortion. Something we haven’t seen before, at least, not on this scale.” 

He turns the datapad around, tapping a couple times.

A screen on the distant wall comes to life with a satellite image, the border of the city, a piece of woodland and industrial zones confused by flickers of brilliant, artificial light. 

“Disturbance started just before 3 a.m. Localized but increasing. Power fluctuations. Interference with communication networks. Thermal displacement off the charts. Whatever this is, it’s becoming stronger.” 

You look at Mark. 

He’s already looking at you. 

Cecil says, “I’m sending you two together. You’ve both handled high-tier anomalies previously. If it escalates, I need my two most deadly people on-site.”

Ouch. 

Mark straightens. “What about backup?” 

“Backup’s thirty minutes out. You’ll be there in 10. You can manage yourselves.”   

Cecil pauses. “Unless either of you needs Rex to hold your hand?” 

Mark’s jaw clenches again. 

This time, he doesn’t disguise it. 

You elevate your chin. 

“We’ve got it.” 

Cecil nods, already moving on. “Coordinates are in your comms. Get moving. And Ace-” 

You halt in the doorway, gazing back at him. 

“Be careful,” he says. His voice goes low, but not cold. “Whatever’s out there… it didn’t come here by accident.” 

You’re walking quickly. Mark’s alongside you. Rex lags behind for a few yards before stopping at the edge of the building. 

“I’ll be around,” Rex replies, loud enough for both of you to hear. “Don’t get yourselves killed.” 

You turn back. 

He offers you a little nod. 

And maybe it’s the expression on Mark’s face, or maybe it’s the way your chest tightens when you look at Rex, not because of anything romantic, but because he stayed. Because last night, someone chose not to let you carry things alone.

“Thanks for coming,” you tell him, honest.

“Yeah,” Rex says. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Mark scoffs under his breath.

You ignore it. Mostly.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Somewhere deep in the folds of a reality not quite here and not quite there, Angstrom Levy observes. 

Not with eyes. Not anymore. 

Not after Mark Grayson tore open his skull and left his consciousness fragmented across a thousand howling timelines. He senses now in layers, fragments of light and memory woven together into a world only he can see.  A world that is sick. 

Off-balance. 

Broken in its very core. 

And in the core of it all… you. 

He whispers your name in his thoughts like a prayer. Like a curse. Like something sacred that could yet rescue what’s left of him. 

The monitors in front of him flicker like candle flames in a hurricane. Reality spilling into itself. Timeline after timeline plummeting toward ash.

He’s scanned them.  

All of them.

Ripped open every potential variation of every world the multiverse has to offer. 

And throughout those infinite iterations, one thing has become devastatingly, absolutely clear: 

You are the only one that lives.

Every other version of you, every whisper, every glimmer, every existence where you may have been…dies. 

Sometimes early.

Sometimes terribly. 

Sometimes so silently the cosmos scarcely notice. 

They depart in fire, in treachery, in sacrifice. 

They burn in the skies or fall in forgotten back alleyways or disappear during fights no one survives. 

They’re killed before they even understand what they are. 

But not you. 

You keep going. 

You wake up day after day with something old in your blood. Something the universe has attempted to scrub clean again and again, and failed. 

Something that shouldn’t be feasible. 

Because you are not a version of yourself among many.   

You are the only one.   

The only Ace that’s alive across the whole multiverse. 

A constant. 

Singular. 

Immutable. 

And somehow… you don’t know. 

Angstrom moves forward, mouth tense, fists clenched behind his back. He observes the way you wanders to the crater, just at the edge of the breach, your power flashing beneath your skin like it’s stirring. Not awake yet, not entirely, but close. So near he can almost feel the moment when your mind will catch up to what your body already knows. 

He’s been observing you longer than he should’ve. 

He persuaded himself it was about balance. 

About truth. 

About repairing what Mark Grayson broke. 

But deep down, it’s more than that.

It’s necessary. 

Desperation. 

The hope that maybe you, this impossible, can tilt the scale that’s been teasing him since the day his bones were broken and his thoughts were dispersed across fading universes. 

Because there’s one more fact, one he never wanted to face, yet must avoid.

Mark Grayson is also a constant. 

No matter the world. 

No matter how it ends. 

Invincible always lives. 

He has seen Mark die, yes. 

In terrible ways. 

In catastrophic ways.

In empty, lonely ways.

But the universe never lets it stick. 

He comes back. 

He reappears. 

The multiverses mend themselves around him like scar tissue. 

Until you. 

You’re the oddity. The only force he’s ever encountered that doesn’t bend around Mark. You don’t orbit him. You doesn’t disintegrate in his wake. You exist beside him.   

Unmoved.

Untethered. 

The only variable the multiverse cannot erase… is you. 

And it makes you powerful. 

It makes you dangerous. 

It makes you the only person in the multiverse who can murder Mark Grayson and make it permanent.

Angstrom exhales, gently. 

Shaking. 

Reverent. 

He tried for years to do it himself. To make the boy pay. To punish the smiling, bloody-faced hypocrite who proclaimed himself a hero while turning Levy into a monster. 

But the multiverse would not let him prevail. 

 Because Mark isn’t simply a man.  

 He’s a pattern. 

 And patterns only break when something stronger disturbs them. 

He watches you, poised on the edge of the city, the sunlight flashing on your face, catching in your eyelids. Your fingers twitch. Your brow furrows. You feel it. Not all of it, not yet but enough. 

Enough to make your heart stutter. 

Enough to make your breath catch. 

Your body recalls something your intellect hasn’t caught up to. 

And when it does… 

When the knowledge penetrates into your marrow like ice…

That you are the only one of yourself.   

That there are no others.   

That no version of you, not one, has ever survived save for you.   

 When you know…

 You will understand what you’re for. 

You’ll see what Angstrom sees. The imbalance. The rot at the center of every universe. 

The form of Mark Grayson, twisting everything around him while calling it fate. 

You’ll understand. 

And you’ll act. 

Maybe not out of fury. 

Maybe not even out of revenge. 

But out of correction. 

Because you’re not simply a constant. 

You’re the correction. 

Nothing has occurred yet. 

Not really. Not on the surface. Mark and you are still standing at the edge of the city, transfixed in it like two people frozen inside a painting. Nothing’s exploded. No screaming. No battle cries. No revelations. 

Not yet. 

But Angstrom Levy knows better. 

Because this moment? 

This silent moment, when the air hums and the dust hangs suspended and you’re just starting to feel something move beneath your skin? 

This is where it all begins. 

He observes from his vantage point, thousands of overlapping projections floating silently in the space around him, faint glimmers of other worlds, other histories, other failed Aces. Versions of you that never made it this far. Versions that flashed out before they ever woke up. 

In one universe, you were a newborn who never knew what she was. Killed in a house fire before your powers ever appeared. 

In another, you battled alongside Mark. Died with him, not understanding the very thread of your life could’ve unmade the boy she believed she was protecting. 

In another, you turned against the GDA early, recognizing their falsehoods, but never lived long enough to grasp the reality of your own beginnings. 

He’s lost track of how many there were. 

Hundreds. Thousands. 

And every single one of them is gone. 

But not you. 

You made it. 

And the reason why has nothing to do with chance. Nothing to do with strength. It isn’t random, and it isn’t divine. It’s design. A fault in the coding of the multiverse. A breach the cosmos tried to cover over again and again, only to fail each time you opened your eyes. 

You are not a variation. 

You are not a possibility. 

 You are the only one. 

 A nexus being. 

A constant amid a sea of variability, besides Mark. 

And if that weren’t enough, if merely existing as a singularity over infinite timelines didn’t already make you invaluable, you are something else too. 

 You are the sole creature in all of existence with the power to override fate. 

That’s the thing that keeps Angstrom up at night. 

That’s the part that made him rethink his intentions, reshape his perspective of all he thought he knew about reality. 

About what it meant to win. 

Because fate is the reason Mark Grayson has survived everything. 

The Viltrumite in him, definitely. The strength, the resilience, the pure brute power. But deeper than that, behind all the justifications and costumes and blood-streaked heroes, there is fate. 

The type that sticks.

The type that anchors the cosmos. 

He’s a fixed point, exactly like you. 

A pillar.  

A fundemetal. 

And no one can kill a pillar. 

Not unless you’re stronger than reality itself. 

Not unless you can reach through it. 

Bend it. 

Snap it in two. 

And Ace can. 

You can. 

Not because you’re more powerful than Mark, though you may be, given time, once you completely understands yourself. Not because you’re more virtuous. But because you exist outside the pattern. You are the oddity the cosmos failed to account for. You don’t obey fate. 

You can rework it. 

And that means you can achieve what Angstrom never could. 

You can murder him. 

Mark Grayson. 

His Mark Grayson.

Not just injure him. 

Not simply stop him. 

Kill him in a way that sticks. 

In a way that reverberates backward through the multiverse and breaks him loose from every connection. 

Every echo.

Every incarnation. 

Erase him. 

And Angstrom doesn’t need to influence you to make it happen. 

He only has to show you. 

Show you what Mark did. Show you who he truly is when no one’s looking. What he’s done in the name of justice. What he did to him, to a man who simply ever wanted to utilize his knowledge to achieve equilibrium across divided worlds. Who offered peace and was replied with broken bones and burning anguish and the echo of Mark’s fists shattering his head open. 

He doesn’t need to poison you.  

 Angstrom’s not a fool. 

He saw the sight in your eyes as your arrived to the GDA facility with Rex. He observed the strain in Mark’s jaw. The jealousy he didn’t have the words to articulate. 

There’s still something there. 

That’s good. 

That’s what makes this work. 

Because fate can only be undone by emotion. By belief. And what greater fuel than love turned to fury? What better instrument than grief clothed as clarity? 

When you know what you are, when the cosmos whispers it in your blood, he’ll be waiting. 

Not with a weapon. 

Not with shackles. 

With truth. 

And once you realize who Mark Grayson really is, what he’s actually done, what he always does, again and again and again throughout the worlds he damages with his existence… 

You’ll do the one thing no one else ever could. 

You’ll end him. 

Angstrom Levy breathes in, slow and deliberate.  He lets the silence wrap about him like a worn-out cloak.  The monitors float overhead, throwing a dull green tint across his face. The feed is live, but he doesn’t need to look at it. 

He knows what’s occurring out there. 

He’s already set things in action. 

It wasn’t about assault.  It wasn’t about destruction.  Not this time. 

And it surely wasn’t about killing her. 

You. 

He’s done attempting to kill constants. 

That’s not what this is. He understood long ago that you can’t kill the fixed points. You can’t brute force fate. He tried, again and again, with Mark Grayson, and the multiverse bled for it. He tried to squash the man and got crushed in return. He tried to delete the story, only to discover it redone with stronger ink. 

But now he knows better. 

You can’t destroy fate. 

But maybe…  just maybe, you can make it see itself. 

That’s why he sent them. 

The Mark variants. 

Not to murder you. Not intentionally at least. But to show you what Mark Grayson actually is. 

He didn’t pull just any version of Mark. That would’ve been easy, they’re everywhere.

Some noble.

Some brutal. 

Some monstrous in ways that even he finds hard to stomach. Mark Grayson lives like mold, like a pattern that grows back the same way no matter how many times you burn it. 

He chose carefully. 

He chose the ones who broke the people they loved. 

The ones who made you bleed in other timelines. 

The ones who kissed you with blood on their hands. 

The ones who asked you to trust them, and then picked someone else. 

The ones who looked you in the eye before they let go of your hand and didn’t catch you when you fell. 

He didn’t chose monsters. Not always.

He selected the almosts. 

The ones who were close enough to be dangerous.

The ones that would look just enough like your Mark to make your stomach churn. 

You felt it when they got there, not like a danger, but like a question you never wanted to answer. 

Why him? 

Why does the universe keep picking him? 

Angstrom exhales, bitter and exhausted and empty. Not victorious. Not even furious, not right now.  He just feels the weight of what he’s doing and of what he already knows. 

He’s seen it in every reality: when Mark Grayson survives, someone else doesn’t. 

The world breaks for him. Every time. It binds itself around his grief, his blunders, his self-doubt, and calls it progress. Calls it heroism. Even when people die. Even when cities fall. Even when people like you are left behind, attempting to carry the consequence he never responds for. 

So he sent the variants. 

Not as assassins. 

But as mirrors. 

To stand across from you. 

To talk. 

To exist in your place and make you feel it.

Make you feel how near Mark constantly is to becoming them. 

It’s not about fear. 

It’s about recognition. 

Because you’ve never completely let yourself see it, have you? 

You love him. 

You resent him. 

You ache when he’s near and burn when he pulls away. You attempt to tell yourself that he's better than the quiet he left you in. 

That he didn’t mean it. 

That he was confused. 

That he’s still good.

Angstrom has seen what love does to people like you. 

It blinds you. 

It tells you that you can repair him if you only keep silent long enough.

If you wait. 

If you bleed a bit more. 

If you shrink. 

He’s sending them so you can finally, finally, quit guarding the concept of him. 

So you canlet it break. 

Because the Mark you love, the one who kissed you like a promise and then left, he’s not different. He’s not sacrosanct. He’s not the sole decent version of himself. 

He’s a pattern. 

And patterns can be broken.   

But not by force. 

Only by clarity. 

Only by truth. 

Only by you. 

But first… you have to see him. 

Really see him. 

See what he’s capable of. What he’s done in other timelines. What he’ll keep doing, if someone like you doesn’t stop him. 

Angstrom clenches his hands into fists, mouth rigid. He stays sitting. 

The breach is opening immediately. He can feel the air changing. 

He hopes you’re ready. 

He hopes you look that version of Mark in the eye and feel it, that silent terror when you realize that maybe your Mark is already one of them. 

That maybe the version you’re holding to isn’t the exception. 

And when that moment lands, when it hits you in the chest and steals your breath and you cease being terrified of what you are? 

Then you’ll be ready. 

Not to ruin him. 

But to unmake him. 

And Angstrom Levy will be waiting.   

Not to guide you.   

Not to save you. 

Just to witness what occurs next.

He’s saved the worst for last. 

Not the most violent. Not the most horrible. Not the version of Mark who burnt his own planet to ash or the one that killed Cecil with his bare hands or even the one who leads Viltrum with a grin and a kid on his hip. Angstrom had access to those. Had their coordinates. Had their blood samples and their war stories. 

But those weren't the ones he needed. 

He didn’t desire brutality. He desired precision. And this one, the one he’s sending last, is the sword he’s been keeping sheathed. 

Waiting. 

Honing. 

This Mark…

He’s the closest one to yours. 

Not simply in appearance. Not only in cadence, but those are near-perfect. 

But in the way he conducts himself. In the way he looks at you. 

That same complex stare. 

That same subtle shame. 

The same lips that says “I’m sorry” like it’s a language he learned too late. 

This version loved you. 

And Angstrom doesn’t mean that in any twisted, artificial manner.  No, Mark loved her the way your Mark might have, if things had gone just a little bit differently. If timing had been better. If decisions hadn’t piled up like debris between you. 

In that universe, the both of you tried. 

You almost made it. 

And that’s what makes him perfect. 

Because this version of Mark? 

The one he's sending now? 

He still let her die. 

The multiverse did.

Angstrom hadn’t expected that at first. Not when he withdrew the feed. That universe appeared whole on the surface. The files were… uninteresting, even. You lived longer there than you did in most timelines. You were steady. Powerful.  

You had a house. 

A life.

A relationship. 

For a while. 

But behind that, buried beneath months of surveillance data and clipped mission reports, he discovered it, the moment it all came apart.  Not in combat.  Not in some big betrayal. 

It was a decision. 

One moment. 

One decision. 

Where Mark might have protected you. 

Chosen you.  

Stayed.

But he didn’t. 

He followed directions.

Trusted the GDA. 

Told himself she could handle it. 

Told himself you’d understand. 

That you were strong enough to survive. 

And you didn’t. 

You perished slowly in that world.

Not dramatically. 

Not shouting. 

You died alone. 

Thinking you had been left behind. 

Angstrom remembers examining the data records, watching that version of Mark kneel at your grave like the breeze might bring you back. He remembers the way he spoke your name, again and over, like a confession. 

Like penance. 

Like it might erase the silence he left you in. 

He never moved on. 

Not really. 

He tried. 

Took missions. 

Saved people. 

Did all the right things. 

But in every bit of tape, every sliver of his face Angstrom recorded, the anguish sat in his eyes like rot. 

And he couldn’t outrun it. 

Which made him useful. 

Angstrom hesitated before approaching him. He didn’t do the thing he normally does, he didn’t break open a breach, defeat him, and yell threats across the sky. 

He waited. 

Sat with him. 

Explained it all, carefully. 

Not as a God. 

Not as a manipulator. 

But as a man who had lost something too. 

He didn’t talk about you right away. 

But when he did, that Mark shattered.

In a way Angstrom wasn’t prepared for. 

“He’s going to lose her too,” the variant had stated. 

His voice had gone silent. 

Dead. 

“No,” Angstrom had informed him. “She’s different here. She’s the only one who made it.” 

That Mark glanced up then, and there was something empty in him. 

Something fierce and raw. 

“Then don’t let him waste her.” 

And that was all. 

That was the moment Angstrom understood he had what he needed. 

He didn’t only want to show you what Mark could become. He wants to hurt you. 

Not because he likes your agony. But because suffering is insight. Because you’ve held the concept of Mark Grayson like a delicate thing in your chest, and no matter how badly he's failed you, some part of you still thinks he’ll look at you one day and choose better. 

Angstrom understands what that type of hope does to a person. 

It makes you weak. 

It makes you wait. 

So he’s sending this Mark to rip that hope out of you like a malignancy. 

He wants you to experience what love becomes when it isn’t backed by choice. 

He wants you to look at the version of Mark who meant it, who kissed you like he was sure, who said all the right things, who stayed longer than others, and still let you die. 

Because if that one couldn’t save you, couldn’t choose you… 

Then what chance does yours have? 

Angstrom knows it won’t destroy you. 

That’s not how you’re built. 

But it’ll crack something. 

It’ll relax the grip you’ve been white-knuckling for so long, that frantic determination that there’s still something to hang onto. 

And once it cracks, once the foundation slips, even a little? 

You’ll cease seeking for a route back. 

You’ll stop waiting. 

And then, finally, you’ll recognize Mark Grayson for what he is…a pattern. A thread the cosmos insists on protecting, even as it lets everyone else suffer. 

You’ll learn that loving him doesn’t make him right. 

And once you know that, once you feel it in your bones, in your sadness, in the hole where your hope used to be…

Then you’ll be ready. 

Ready to cut him loose. 

Ready to kill him. 

And Angstrom ?  

He’ll see you become what you were always intended to be. 

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

It starts like a shudder in your spine. 

Subtle. 

Easy to overlook. 

You and Mark are halfway across the clearing, heels stomping through loose earth, following the signal Cecil sent you here to examine. The woods extend about you, silent and motionless, and the air feels…off. 

Too still. 

Like the woods are holding their breath. 

Mark's alongside you, wrist console lighting faintly as he surveys the air. His forehead is wrinkled, gaze darting over the readings like he’s attempting to make sense of something that refuses to be explained. 

“Still nothing?” you ask. 

He shakes his head slowly. “No. It’s like… the signal’s there, but it keeps fading. It’s not stable.   Almost like it’s-” 

And then the sky bursts open. 

It doesn’t warn you.

Doesn’t build. 

It just shifts, suddenly, all at once, like someone split reality’s spine in half. 

The trees around you flicker, blink in and out of phase… you see rainforest for a second, then ash-covered stumps, then structures that shouldn’t exist in this universe, and the ground lurches like it’s trying to become something else. 

The sky above you glitches. Blue, then violet, then something colorless and unnatural. 

And the sound… It isn’t a sound.

It’s voices. 

Layered. 

Crushed into each other. Names and cries and laughing and murmurs from mouths that aren't visible. One of them sounds like you. 

Mark moves without hesitation, advancing in front of you, arms slightly elevated. “Stay behind me.” 

You don’t. 

Not really. 

You’re already looking at the gap breaking open ahead of you, not like a doorway, but like a wound. 

It’s jagged. 

Wrong. 

Light streams from it, but the light isn’t white. 

It’s fractured. 

And suddenly something glides through. 

You know who it is before your thinking even catches up. 

It’s him. 

Mark. 

But not your Mark. 

This one’s just a little… off. 

His stance is looser. 

His look, tighter. 

There’s something in his face you’ve never seen before…not like this. 

Grief that’s formed him. 

That stays in him. 

Like it moved in and never left. 

He enters into your world like it pains to breathe here. 

Your Mark tenses at your side, eyes tightening.   “Okay,” he responds softly, deliberately. “What the hell is this?” 

The variant doesn’t reply. 

Not to him. 

He’s looking at you. 

Mark notices. 

His voice changes. Calmer, but firmer. “Who are you?” 

The variant’s voice is quiet. “I’m you.” 

Mark pulls out a breath through his nose, jaw tight. “Of course you are.” 

He looks at you again, your Mark, and you see it. The questions began to arise. The uneasiness. The time that arrogance stops being effective. 

“I don’t know what this is,” he says, largely to you. “But we should keep our distance until-” 

“I’m not here to hurt her,” the variant cuts in. 

Your Mark stares. 

Then, to you, “Do you believe that?” 

You don’t answer right away. 

You can’t. 

Because something in your chest is curling in on itself. 

Not from terror. 

From familiarity. 

The way the variant looks at you… it’s not just knowing.   It’s remembering. 

“I need to talk to her,” he adds. 

“No,” your Mark says promptly, a beat too fast. 

The variant finally looks at him, genuinely looks. There’s no challenge in his expression. Just fatigue. 

“You don’t trust yourself, huh?” he says gently. 

Mark’s eyes narrow. “I don’t know you.” 

“You don’t have to. You already know what this is.” 

And maybe he does. 

Because your Mark’s voice wavers a bit when he speaks, “She’s not going anywhere.” 

But there’s a fracture in it now. A hesitation. Something biting at the margins. 

You take a step forward. 

Mark doesn’t stop you, yet his voice is subdued as he calls your name.

Your real one.

You gaze at him. 

He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t beg. Doesn’t demand. 

But his eyes… 

They say everything. 

They say please don’t leave. 

You turn back to the variant. 

“What do you want?” 

His eyes flutter. “To show you something.” 

“What?” 

He hesitates. “A future.” 

You fold your arms. “Yours?” 

“Ours.” 

Behind you, Mark moves slightly. You feel the air escape his lungs. 

“And why now?” you wonder. 

The variant’s voice lowers. “Because he won’t say it. Not until it’s too late. I know. I was him.” 

Mark’s jaw tenses. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“I know you mean well,” the variant answers, almost tenderly. “I know you care. I know you believe that’s enough.” 

Your Mark says nothing. 

And for the first time in this entire expedition, you sense something pushing you in two separate directions, not literally. 

Emotionally. 

Because one of them is staring at you like he lost you.

And the other is gazing at you like he might. 

The variation steps forward, leisurely. Careful. “Come with me.” 

Mark’s hand twitches at his side. “She’s not-” 

“I’m not taking her,” the variation states. “I’m asking.” 

He turns back to you, eyes gentler now. 

“No traps.   No tricks.   Just… a glimpse.” 

Mark is looking at you now, and you know what he wants to say, ‘don’t go.’

But he doesn’t say it. 

Because he doesn’t think he has the right to. 

And maybe… he doesn’t. 

But it’s too much.

You stand there. 

Caught between the one who still has time to love you properly and the one who already ran out of it. 

You don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s the variant, stepping just an inch too close.

Or maybe it’s your Mark, the one who came here with you, the one still standing just behind your shoulder, tension radiating off of him like heat.

Either way, something in the air snaps.

“She’s not going with you,” Mark says, voice steady. Firm. But not raised.

Not angry.

Just… sure.

Certain in a way that makes your chest tighten.

The variant’s expression doesn’t change, but something in him shifts like that answer, that refusal, is something he’s already heard before. 

And lost to.

“I’m not asking you,” he says, gaze flicking past Mark to you. “I’m asking her.”

And maybe that should be it.

Maybe it should end there with your choice. With you standing between them, grounding the moment before it turns into something worse.

But the air shifts again.

Mark takes a slow step forward. His jaw is tight, his hands are clenched at his sides, not raised, not aggressive, but ready.

“You don’t get to show up here,” he says, low, “pretending you know what’s best for her.”

The variant's voice sharpens. “And you do?”

“I don’t know what this is,” Mark replies. “Or who you are. But I know what she’s been through. I know what I’ve put her through. I don’t need some alternate version of myself walking in and making it worse.”

You open your mouth to stop it, to say something, but it’s too late.

The variant lunges.

Mark meets him mid-swing.

It’s not graceful. It’s violent. You stumble back as they crash together in a blur of fists and gritted teeth and dirt.

Mark doesn’t fight like someone trying to prove something.

He fights like someone trying to end it quickly.

He’s defensive. Sharp. His body’s moving like he doesn’t want this to escalate but knows it has. He takes a hit to the jaw, the ribs, but his movements stay tight. Controlled. You can tell he’s holding back. He doesn’t want to hurt him.

But the variant?

He’s trying to kill.

Not out of rage, something worse. Desperation. Regret morphed into violence. The grief in his movements makes you sick.

He lands a punch to Mark’s stomach that makes him stumble. “You’re going to let her walk away! You’re going to lose her!”

Mark straightens, wipes the blood from his mouth, and doesn’t rise to it. “You don’t know that.”

“I am you.”

“No, you’re not,” Mark says, voice quieter now. “You gave up.”

And then it turns again, fast and brutal.

The variant’s fist crashes against Mark’s cheek, and they both hit the ground hard, grappling, dirt and ash kicked up around them. You yell, but neither of them hears you.

The variant pins Mark, hand at his throat. “You’ll hesitate. You always do. You’ll let her fall away, thinking she’ll come back. She won’t. She doesn’t.”

Mark’s voice is strained, but calm. “Then maybe I deserve to lose her.”

That stops him.

Just for a second.

Mark uses it. He shoves the variant off, not with brute force, but with a desperate, measured push. Enough to give himself space. Enough to breathe.

You hardly have time to shout.

“Stop! That’s enough—”

But they don’t.

The words vanish into dust, swallowed up by the violence unraveling in front of you.

Mark, your Mark, is trying not to escalate. As much as he cana anyway. You can see it in the way he moves. The way he blocks more than he strikes, how he moves back instead of forward, how he winces when he connects a punch. But the variant, he’s not holding back anymore.

He’s gone emotionless in the eyes and calculating with his strikes.

It’s like something in him has cracked completely open.

“This isn’t about you,” he spits as he slams his shoulder into Mark’s chest, pushing them both against a tree, uprooting it. “This is about her!”

Mark shoves him off, gasping, face contorting. “She’s not yours.”

The variant says angerily, swinging at Mark’s face. “She was! And you’re going to let her slide through your fingers just like me.”

Mark blocks it. Barely.

But the following blow hits.

And the next.

And the next.

You’re shouting again, your voice raspy now. “Please!”

Mark stumbles, gasping, blood shining in his lips. But he doesn’t fall. He squares his shoulders and stares up through the veil of anguish with something like clarity in his gaze. Not anger. Not ego.

Resolve.

“She’s not someone you can bring back.”

The variant’s hand trembles, still uplifted, knuckles ripped apart, showing the cuts on his hands.

“I have to.” His voice cracks. “I have to. I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe without her. You don’t get it, do you? You still have her. You don’t know what it’s like to bury someone who trusted you. Someone who loved you. And you thought there’d be more time…” His chest heaves. “There’s never enough time.”

Mark sways on his feet, blood flowing from his temple, but he doesn’t move.

He’s listening.

You stride forward, shaking. “Stop this. You’re hurting him-”

“I had her in my arms!” the variant yells, eyes bloodshot now, voice raspy. “I held her hand while it went cold! Because I was too late. Because I thought I’d get another chance!”

His voice gets guttural. “And you’re doing the same thing! I know you are. I see it in you. That reluctance. You think she’ll always be there. That she’ll wait for you to sort yourself out. She won’t.”

He looks back to Mark, and something in his face is no longer human. Just pure, shattered yearning.

“And I’m going to take your place.”

Mark shakes his head, jaw gritted. “You won’t get the chance.”

The variant launches at him again.

This time, Mark meets him head-on.

He doesn't hold back.

Flesh fractures on bone. The impact shudders through the trees. They collide again and again, blasting across the clearing like two hurricanes that won’t pass. Mark lands a blow that knocks the variation back, but he doesn't stay down. He never stays down.

Because this isn’t a fight. Not really.

This is a man trying to resuscitate a ghost.

This is a man eager to murder himself for a second chance.

Mark fights with him, teeth clenched, voice a rasp against the noise.

“She’s not a memory. She’s not your second chance. She’s a person.”

“She was my life!” the variant shouts. “And you’ll let her slip away for what…guilt? You’re a coward. She’ll die believing you didn’t pick her, just like mine did-”

Mark rams his forearm into the variant’s throat, bringing him down.

“She’s not going to die.”

They tumble into the ground, grappling, fists crashing into ribs, elbows into teeth. You see blood splash. Hear something snap.

And you can’t move.

Because seeing them argue is like witnessing two parts of the same person kill themselves for you.

You don’t know who to yell for anymore.

You don’t know what to feel.

The variant’s eyes focus on you, wild, shattered, steeped in anguish.

“I can save you,” he rasps.

And Mark, your Mark, grabs the front of his suit, shoves him back into the mud, voice harsh and breathless and scared.

“You can’t even save yourself.”

They keep going.

And it’s not slowing down.

You realize now that one of them might not get back up.

You want to move.

God, you need to move.

But your body doesn’t listen.

Your feet seem buried in concrete, your lungs stuck behind some invisible wall. You breathe in yet nothing happens. Like the air is too thick to swallow. Like there’s something crushing down on your chest that isn't tangible, not fully. You can see the fight happening in front of you… you can hear it, the sound of bone striking bone, of growls that barely sound human anymore, but it’s like you’re watching it through glass. Like you’ve been shoved two steps to the left of your own reality.

They’re killing each other.

And you can’t even get your legs to move.

“Mark,” you gasp, but it barely leaves your throat. Your hands tremble. Your eyesight floats. You reach out instinctively, trying to make your body follow… to do something, but your limbs resist, heavy and foreign.

It’s not just panic.

It’s something different.

Something wrong.

You feel it in your spine. A pulse that doesn’t belong to you. A pressure that makes your skin tingle and your chest feel like something invisible is grasping your ribs and squeezing. You’ve felt this once before during the breach with Mohawk Mark. It nearly collapsed your nervous system. It didn’t feel like terror. It felt like exposure. Like being too real for a moment that couldn’t handle you.

And it’s happening again.

Here.

Now.

Because the variation isn’t simply a threat. He’s a mirror. A glimpse of the future. A weight you were never intended to carry.

You drop on one knee, gasping.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears. Your heart attempts to claw out of your chest.

But even amid the cacophony, you hear him.

Mark.

Your Mark.

He doesn’t fight like he wants to win.

He fights like he’s attempting to hold something together with his bare hands.

Every swing, every stride, every block, it’s not strategy. It’s desperation. It’s a man who doesn’t know what else to do but hit harder. Just like before.

You see it in his eyes when he catches the variation with a hook across the jaw. See it in the way his lips twists into something half-pain, half-plea. He's not attempting to kill. He’s not trying to prove he’s superior.

He’s attempting to defend something.

You.

The moment it lands with you, actually lands, is the time the anguish in your chest alters.

Not gone. Not even close.

But it tilts.

Because as much as this struggle is about loss, and guilt, and the version of you that died in someone else’s arms, this portion, this moment, belongs to him.

Your Mark.

And he’s dissolving in front of you.

He ducks a punch that would’ve destroyed his jaw, staggers, and then shoves the version back with a burst of speed that tosses both of them across the clearing.

They crash into a tree, and you hear it crack.

But Mark keeps going.

He’s bleeding from the brow, one eye already swelling. He’s battling like he can’t afford to feel anything. Like if he pauses to think, to process, it’ll all crumble down.

And maybe he’s right.

Because this isn’t just about you anymore. You can see it in the way his body moves - frenzied, enraged. Like he’s not just defending you, he’s defending himself from something larger. Something inside.

And he’s losing.

He’s losing control.

You want to yell for him. To tell him to halt. That you’re okay. That you’re right here.

But your throat closes tight again. Your hands quiver.

The variant pulls up from the earth, pulling his body forward, blood dripping down the side of his neck. His breathing is raspy, but his eyes are firmly fixated on you.

“She’s going to die in your arms,” he screams between bleeding teeth. “And you’re going to let her.”

Mark lunges again.

You can’t take this.

You push your hands to the ground, trying to ground yourself, trying to anchor something, anything, but it’s like the very fabric of the air is warping around you. Bending toward you. Not to injure you. Not to break you.

To wake you up.

You choke on your next breath as a startling pulse runs through you, deep and electrifying, as if the planet just breathed your name.

Your knees give out.

And nevertheless, you don’t fall.

Because something holds you upright. Not physically, not in any way you can see yet it’s there.

Holding you in place. Holding you back.

From interfering.

From choosing.

From ending this.

Because maybe this isn’t your battle.

Not yet.

Maybe this is the last moment before everything inside you explodes wide open.

And as Mark drives the variant into the dirt with a furious, cracked shout, bloodied fists flying, muscles trembling, you finally understand something that makes your skin go cold.

He’s not only attempting to stop his other self.

He’s attempting to undo the version of himself who failed you.

And he’s not sure he can.

But he’ll die trying.

You notice it too late.

All of it.

The error. The shift. The tilt in momentum. You see it not in the violence, not in the blood, but in the eyes, Mark’s eyes, your Mark’s, when he throws a punch too wide, too furious, too tired.

And the variant, he doesn’t flinch.

He moves.

Fluid. Precise. The type of mobility that doesn’t come from strength. It arises from suffering. From experience. From having lost already.

And in that instant, the universe pulls tight.

Everything slows.

Sound slides away like it’s been pulled beneath, the shouting, the wind, even your own gasp, all of it drawn into quiet. Your breath catches, your mouth opens, but you hear nothing. Not even your own heartbeat.

It’s like time itself wants you to watch this.

And you do.

You have to.

You watch the variation twist beneath Mark’s arm, seize the front of his suit, and rotate, not with wrath, but with purpose. With finality. With resolve.

You notice the shift in Mark’s expression a second too late, the flicker of astonishment, the widening of his eyes, the abrupt flash of oh no.

And then the variation drives his fist directly through his chest.

The sound that follows is silent. Sickening.

Wet.

You don’t recall rising up. Or shouting. Or moving.

But you must’ve.

Because suddenly you’re on your feet.

Your legs are shaking.

Your fingertips are numb.

And your Mark, your Mark is *falling*.

The variant lets him go like he doesn’t want to, like the weight of what he’s done is already too heavy. Mark crumples into the dirt like he’s been unwritten, arms slack at his sides, his body curled around his corpse.

Your knees hit the ground.

The breath that leaves you isn’t a cry.

It’s a soundless break. A silent plea.

No.

No.

You crawl forward, fingers digging into the dirt, lungs refusing to operate correctly, but you come to him. You draw him into your arms, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other pressing to his chest where the blood is already pouring through.

It’s warm.

Too warm.

And all you can say is, “No… Look at me. Please Mark, look at me.” As the tears well.

He does.

Barely.

His eyes are flickering, blurry with anguish, but still his. Still him.

You put your forehead to his, fingers creeping into his hair, tears streaming down your cheeks like you’ve been holding them in your whole life.

“Why didn’t you stop?” you whisper. “Why didn’t you listen?”

His lips move. You lean in.

You capture bits.

“Had to… protect…”

“Didn’t want… him to… take…”

And suddenly he’s gone.

Just like that.

Like he let go.

[witheredwritings]

Hello, I am wondering if u take request for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man but she has been by his side through everything as well. But it’s a fluff one shot as at the end where they both reveal their feelings for each other which they had from the moment they met and they have their first kiss between them as well.

Ofcoursee, here it is! Hope you like it :)

Virtual Insanity

Summary: In which the infamous line "make love not war" isn't well-respected by this pair of friends. When cyberbullying at Stark industries level develops into a game between these two collegues and friends, something more begins to unravel between the two.

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: none except Tony's unsufferable ego (all jokes)

A/N: This is a short oneshot. Might turn into more. I'm also still working on the "Soft in the right hands" series for bucky so stay tuned!

You’d known Tony Stark long enough to remember when he didn’t wear the suit — physically or emotionally.

Back then, he was all sharp smiles and sharper intellect, more interested in building arc reactors with cocktail napkin schematics than charming investors. Reckless with nearly everything except the way he treated you. Somehow, against all odds, you’d slipped past the velvet rope that guarded the real him — the sleepless inventor who showed up on your fire escape at 3AM with a bottle of Scotch and a theory about thermal diffusion that couldn’t wait till morning.

You were best friends before Afghanistan. Before Iron Man. Before Stark Tower had its own AI department and a floor reserved just for “Tony’s regrets, part I through XXV.”

And none of that stopped him from hacking your firewall during lunch.

You were approximately three minutes into a well-deserved lunch break — grilled cheese in hand, Spotify playlist on shuffle, and the sanctity of a lab entirely free of explosions — when your firewall went up in flames.

Digitally speaking.

The code on your main monitor began to twitch. Literally twitch. Then twist. And then it smiled at you. A little pixelated smiley face blinked up from the line of code you’d just written, followed by a dancing ASCII cat wearing sunglasses.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, setting your sandwich down like it had betrayed you.

You knew that coding style.

You knew exactly who was responsible.

With the patience of a saint and the energy of someone who was one click away from snapping, you launched into the system’s backend, pulling apart the layers of the digital graffiti with expert ease, unraveling each line of smug Stark-ware. And sure enough, right at the root folder, embedded in a hidden command string, was a line of text:

"Nice firewall, sweetheart. 7/10. Would hack again. - T.S."

Your eye twitched. Your soul twitched.

He didn’t just breach your system. He decorated it. That wasn’t a hack — it was a housewarming party in enemy territory.

The man had billions of dollars, a global tech empire, multiple Iron Man suits, and — apparently — nothing better to do than hack into your secure files during his downtime like a caffeinated raccoon with a superiority complex.

You were going to kill him. Slowly. Or worse — give him a lecture so long and boring it could be classified as psychological warfare.

And thus, the war began.

With your jaw clenched and your heart pounding in that very specific, very annoying way it only ever did around Tony, you stormed out of your lab and stomped down the hallway of Stark Tower.

You bypassed three interns and a mildly offended elevator AI before slamming open his door like righteous judgment. Finally, you flung open the doors to his R&D suite without knocking.

Tony didn’t flinch.

Sleeves rolled up, arc reactor glowing, fingers dancing across a holographic interface. He looked up. Grinned.

“Hey, sunshine,” Tony said lazily from behind a table cluttered with open panels, a half-dismantled drone, and at least three coffee cups. “I was just thinking about you."

“You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He finally looked up, dark eyes glinting with amusement. “But usually by people who didn’t bother updating their encryption protocols.”

You crossed your arms. “You hacked into my system during lunch, Stark. That’s below the belt. I was eating grilled cheese.”

“Maybe next time add some brie and fig jam. Class it up a little.” He grinned. “You’re welcome, by the way. I just gave you a free security audit.”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Did your ego eat your moral compass for breakfast?”

He stood, sauntering over like confidence incarnate in a Henley and jeans, and leaned against the edge of the workbench — arms crossed, smirk fully loaded.

“I’d argue my ego is my moral compass. And it always points due north to: mess with you.”

“You hacked my system,” you repeated.

He tilted his head. “If I can break in, so can Hydra. I’m doing you a favor.”

You crossed your arms. “This is the third time this month you've done something like this. Last week, you turned my digital assistant into a sassy version of yourself. I had to argue with my microwave for twenty minutes before it would heat my soup.”

He beamed. “He’s got a personality now! Named him Toasty.”

“I’m going to rewrite your DNA.”

“Only if we cuddle after.”

You were going to scream. Or kiss him. It was a very fine line these days.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said conversationally.

He grinned wider. “You’re going to miss me.”

So instead, you narrowed your eyes and said, “I hope you like Shakespeare just as much as JARVIS does.”

He blinked. “What?”

You pulled your phone from your pocket, already typing."Your little AI pet seems to have brushed up on his Shakespeare, because he’s about to speak exclusively in iambic pentameter for the next twenty-four hours."

“Wait. No—”

“And make all puns food-themed.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “You’re a monster.”

You shrugged, already walking toward the door. “Some people bake sourdough for fun. I emotionally sabotage billionaire AIs.”

Tony groaned. “JARVIS

, don’t you dare—”

“Verily, sir,” JARVIS chimed in serenely from the overhead speaker, “I find thy attitude rather cheesy, like brie upon a croissant most greasy.”

Tony’s head hit the desk.

You smirked. “Toasty says hi.”

It went on like that for weeks.

Tony retaliated by installing a movement sensor in your lab. Every time you entered, SexyBack blared at full volume. FRIDAY wouldn’t let you disable it. She said it was “legally classified as a morale booster.”.

It was a war.

You replaced his AI’s voice with Gilbert Gottfried reading Twilight.

Tony responded by having your smartwatch shout hourly affirmations about his hair.

You hacked his suit’s startup sequence. Now it greeted him with:

“Iron Man: The Human Hot Pocket. Online.”

It didn’t stop there.

He replaced your screensaver with a live feed of himself winking, finger guns included.

You programmed his coffee maker to scream “INCOMING!” every time it dispensed espresso.

Naturally, collateral damage was inevitable.

Bruce’s tablet was cursed to play Baby Shark whenever opened. He developed a twitch.

Sam’s Falcon gear announced all takeoffs with: “I’m a little teapot, short and stout.”

Steve’s toaster quoted Pride and Prejudice in Cher’s voice.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” it belted one morning, “that a single man in possession of breakfast must be in want of jam.”

He punched a wall. You both got fined.

Even Clint, ever the stealthy one, wasn’t spared. Every time he drew an arrow, it whispered “pew pew” in Tony’s voice.

The tower teetered on the brink of chaos.

Pepper threatened to move to Dubai.

It was late.

The Tower was asleep, mostly. Except for Tony, who you found in the R&D lounge, hoodie on, arc reactor glowing soft under worn fabric. He looked… still. A rare moment for a man who moved like his thoughts could outrun time.

“You gonna yell at me for the coffee pot thing?” he asked, not looking up.

“I should,” you said, easing into the seat beside him. “FRIDAY tried to launch a counterstrike when I made a cappuccino.”

“She’s passionate.”

Silence fell. He just stared at you like he was debating something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.

You blinked. “What?”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, “Do you want me to stop?”

You frowned. “Stop what?”

“The pranks. The hacking. I mean, I know it’s probably childish and annoying and… I don’t know. Maybe I just like having a reason to see you all worked up, to just see you more.”

You sat back, heart thudding.

“That,” you said slowly, “is the least emotionally articulate confession I’ve ever heard.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I build flying suits, not feelings.”

You stood and walked over, stopping inches from him. His breath hitched, and yours did too.

“For the record,” you said, “I love your flying suits. But I also kind of love… this.”

He blinked. “The chaos?”

“The banter. The sabotage. The way your face lights up when you think you’ve outsmarted me, even though I’m always two steps ahead.”

“Debatable,” he muttered.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“And I love the way you look at me like I’m the only firewall you’ve never wanted to break.”

He stilled.

Then: “I’ve been in love with you since the day you fried that Russian botnet and called it ‘a poorly coded insult to my intelligence.’”

You smiled.

And then, you kissed him.

It was messy and hot and gloriously overdue. His hands cupped your face like he’d been dying to do it for years, and your fingers curled into his shirt like gravity had given up and he was your anchor now.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he whispered, “I should have hacked you sooner.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

He did.

And that night, neither of you changed each other’s passwords.

You called a truce.

Sort of.

Now your prank war has a rulebook and a scoreboard. Nat is the referee. Bruce runs support (begrudgingly). Steve is still in therapy.

JARVIS still speaks in sonnets during thunderstorms. Toasty hosts a podcast. FRIDAY hosts a revenge fund.

A year later, Tony proposed via custom hologram code embedded in your firewall — romantic, glitchy, and absolutely extra.

You said yes.

And now, sometimes, late at night, you’ll find yourselves coding side-by-side, teasing each other like always — except now, there’s no more pretending.

Just love. Loud, messy, sarcastic love. With bad lighting, too much coffee, and more happiness than either of you thought you’d ever deserve.

And every morning, when you walk into the lab, “SexyBack” still plays.

You don’t stop it anymore.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Don't hesitate to leave a comment behind <3

[poorlywrittenbutentertaining]

Consultant

Gibbs x Fem!oc

Warnings: light swearing, canon typical warnings

Summary: sometimes you just need a fresh set of eyes.

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head as he looked over the screens in front of him. He had examined and re-examined the evidence several times and yet he felt stuck. A dead Navy officer whose circumstances and crime scene pointed to murder but death implied natural causes. All roads led to a dead end. Gibbs let out a frustrated sigh and sat up, deciding a coffee would be a good way to clear his mind. He grabbed his coat and threw it over his shoulder as he exited the building. The sun felt refreshing as he walked out of the navy yard, flashing security his badge and ID as he passed.

The streets were surprisingly quiet for noon, but he couldn’t argue. After years living alone he’d come to appreciate quiet. A brief walk later and he stepped into his favorite coffee shop, the one he frequented often enough that the entire staff had memorized his order. Not that it was difficult, large black coffee, Jamaican blend. The barista behind the counter simply nodded and him and rang up the coffee as Gibbs provided his card to pay.

The bell over the door chimed behind him as a voice flooded through the small shop, “-Well I know that, but he’s not stable enough. His wound is volatile enough as is, if he leaves the hospital the risk of infection is too high… don’t tell me that, tell him that!… ugh, push 100 Ml.s until I get back and can handle this myself. Don’t let him out of your sight.” Gibbs peeked over his shoulder to see a somewhat familiar face, however she looked disgruntled and minutely irritated. He stepped out of the way as he listened to her order. Her drink order was complex and (he assumed) would be very very sweet by the end.

“Lotta sugar for a doctor to be drinking,” Gibbs said casually. The girl looked over at him and he managed a half smile, “Dr. Wright.”

Elaine’s face broke out into a wide grin as she turned to him, still dressed in her work scrubs, her badge clipped to her lapel. On her lunch break, he assumed.

“Agent Gibbs,” her voice was surprised, but pleasant, “I don’t think you should come after my sugar consumption. I’ve heard just how high your caffeine intake is.”

Gibbs chuckled, “fair enough. Tough patient?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Elaine stood next to him, “tough case?”

Gibbs nodded and mimicked her words, “yeah… you could say that.” He looked down at her. Her flaming red curls were stuffed into a tight bun on the back of her head. A few stray curls bounced around her head, free from the elastics holding everything else in place.

“Tell me about it,” Elaine glanced up at him, “Consider me a… consultant. Y’know like those psychics on TV.”

“Are you a psychic, Elaine?” Gibbs asked.

“No, but I’m a doctor,” Elaine said, “and a little birdie told me that cause of death looks natural, but you’re investigating murder. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes is what you need?”

Gibbs stopped a moment and considered. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes was what he needed. Ducky had gone over the body several times and all of the evidence had been scoured for forensics. A different perspective could be enlightening.

“Gibbs!” The barista called. Gibbs grabbed his coffee and took a sip.

“You free today?” Gibbs asked.

“For the case? Or… something else?” Elaine cheekily smiled. Gibbs rolled his eyes. Elaine laughed, “What time do you want me there?

“1700 hours,” Gibbs said.

“Copy that, gunny.”

~~~

The elevator dinged and Elaine ran her hands down the front of her shirt, smoothing it out after taking a deep breath. The last time she was here, she had held a bomb for four hours, and then developed a slight crush on the leading investigator, who also happened to be her godfather’s best friend. She had woken up in his home, after receiving a serious concussion where he had monitored her for the full day.

Elaine had changed out of her scrubs into more office-appropriate attire. As the elevator doors slowly opened in front of her she was greeted by the familiar sight of the orange squad room. She stepped out and quickly made her way to the bullpen.

“Dr. Wright,” DiNozzo stood and moved to her side, “how can I help you?”

“I’m looking for agent Gibbs, he asked me to be here.”

“For what?”

“Elaine,” Gibbs rounded the dividers. Elaine smiled and walked to him, “with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Elaine fell into step with him as he guided her to the second elevator, “so read me in.”

“Navy officer, 35, house was trashed and raided, there was a significant amount of deer blood on the body but when the body was examined, all roads lead to a heart attack,” Gibbs said, “but the officer was perfectly healthy when we pulled his medical records.”

“Huh,” Elaine rolled her lips, “I might have an idea.”

When the elevator opened Elaine was greeted by the sight of a serile autopsy room, and her godfather.

“Hello dear,” Ducky smiled and walked over to her, embracing her tight.

“Hi dad,” Elaine smiled and returned the hug, “i’m here as a fresh pair of eyes.”

“Yes Jethro told me,” Ducky pulled away and retrieved her a fresh set of protective equipment, “our dear officer is right here.” Elaine pulled the PPE over her clothing and approached the body. He looked healthy, for a dead guy who had been autopsied. Nothing immediately struck her as strange. Elaine rolled the body’s arm out and inspected its veins.

“Did this man go to the hospital before he died?” elaine asked, grabbing a magnifying glass to zoom the area.

“No,” Ducky said. Elaine pulled away from the glass, and showed Ducky. He hummed, “Looks like an IV. But there were no drugs in his blood.”

“No, there wasnt,” Elaine said, “They didnt inject medication. They injected air. Of course you wouldn’t see it on a tox screen. An injection of air can cause what looks like a heart attack. The air bubbles block the flow of blood, it’s the reason we watch so close for air bubbles in shots, and IV drips.”

It was that moment that Gibbs realized just how smart this woman was, “The injection was professional. Straight into the vein. You’re looking for someone who works in a hospital or medical testing lab. A phlebotomist maybe, or a nurse.”

A nurse, that was it. Gibbs nodded and began walking off.

“Say thank you, Jethro!” Ducky called. Gibbs halted and turned, approaching Elaine as she took her gloves off with her back turned to him. When she turned she froze to see he was mere inches from her. She looked up at him with a small blush dusting her cheeks.

“Good work, doctor,” Gibbs’ voice was low. Elaine swallowed and smiled at him.

“Told you, you needed fresh eyes,” She smiled slightly. Gibbs turned and walked away and Elaine took a deep breath, leaning against the sinks.

“You’re swooning, Elaine,” Ducky said. Elaine laughed slightly.

“That man is worth swooning for,” She answered.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Small World

There was something about men with too much money and not enough spine. James had seen plenty of them—loud, hollow things dressed in tailored suits, always thinking they were owed the world simply for holding it hostage on a server farm.

This time, quite literally.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the top floor of the glass tower, the sound crisp against the low, rhythmic thrum of server units and the quiet static of fear. He adjusted his gloves, smoothing the leather over each knuckle with unhurried precision. No need to rush. Panic was messy. Style, on the other hand, was silent. How he'd gotten past Rutledge's security team was a feat in itself.

The doors parted.

And there they were.

Five men, slouched and bound with what looked like—James tilted his head—Hermès ties? Charming. An over-designed little tableau: glass walls, blinking monitors, power suits soaked in cold sweat, and half a dozen armed men sweeping the floor like they were in some mid-budget dystopian thriller. Only one of them looked like he was in charge. The eye of the storm.

Tall, sharp-suited. Hair swept back like it had somewhere better to be. His back was to the elevator, voice clipped and cool as he barked commands, shifting between languages like someone who hadn’t had to raise his voice in years.

James stepped into the room with the kind of easy confidence that got lesser men killed. His umbrella clicked softly against the marble. He didn’t speak until the doors behind him hissed shut.

“You know,” he said, voice echoing just enough to be heard, “it’s dreadfully rude to keep company tied up during a business meeting.”

A few weapons turned his way. Of course they did.

He didn’t flinch.

James scanned the crowd with trained calculation—tactile memory picking up on the leader of this little soiree'. The man at the center of it all. Cheekbones, posture, the faint curl of a smile not quite formed. Something familiar flickered in the back of his mind, but it didn’t land. Not yet.

He took another step forward.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to release your guests. Kingsman protocol’s fairly strict about hostage situations.” A pause. “Bad for the brand.”

No response.

James narrowed his eyes.

“No last-minute objections? You’re usually a talkative lot.”

@hom3land3r

[vicsnook]

Never Left Me Pt. 1 | Scott Miller x Reader

word count: 2330

warnings: arguing, Scott being Scott

notes: Hello! I’m still here y’all, just been dealing with a lot of personal stuff so haven’t been able to write as much as I’d like. But here is a little something for this brat of a man who had probably less than 10 minutes of screen time but continues to live in my head rent free. Hope you enjoy and part 2 will be up Sunday! As always, please don’t forget to like and reblog 🫶🏼.

A row of desks is all that stands between me and the man who I once thought might have a soul despite what everyone else said. Everyone that is sitting on the desks is thankfully too busy to see me coming and that’s how I make it past the receptionist and to his office.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Scott! You can’t go through with this!” I yell as soon as I walk in. The anger is still cursing through me from where I read the termination email.

His eyes lift up from the monitor and I can tell immediately by his expression that he is very displeased by my interruption. Well that makes two of us now, I think to myself.

“Sorry sir, she ran past me,” says the receptionist from behind me and I don’t need to turn around to know she’s giving me a nasty look.

He looks between us before waving her off. “It’s fine, Kathy. Please excuse us.”

“It’s one thing to have investors when you could do our research with grants and not have to be unethical.” I fume. “It’s another to let the biggest asshole in Oklahoma now own half the company and let him fire half of us without cause.”

He scoffs, not bothering to look at me. “I did what was best for the company. Sorry you didn’t make the cut. If you need any letters of recommendation, please let Kathy know.”

It takes everything in me not to walk over and smack the attitude out of him but I know I might need the stupid recommendation so I take a deep breath instead.

“Anything else? Or do I need to get security to escort you out?” He says, looking at me with those icy blue eyes that once gave me butterflies.

“When this inevitably blows up in your face, don’t bother to call.” I respond and walk out, not bothering to close the door on my way out which I know he hates.

The elevator is slow to get me to the lab where I pick up what little I keep in my office and then with one last look to the place that I once considered my second home, I start to head out. Taking down the picture of Javi, Kate, Scott, and I from the wall and throwing it in the trash can before I get on the elevator.

After eating way too much ice cream for dinner and playing darts with Scott’s picture attached to the board, I realize I have no idea what to do next. Only thing that’s for certain is that bills will pile up quickly if I can’t get another job soon though.

So I dial the only person I know might help me and hope my past job is something he can look past. Hope fills me up when he picks up on the first ring. His southern drawl already making me feel like things will actually be okay.

-

“Good lord, Y/N, as I live and breathe! What the heck are you doing here city girl?” Asks Boone, pulling me in for a much needed hug.

“Well the city didn’t really want me anymore so here I am.” I admit, looking at my feet as I blush in embarrassment.

Boone knows me too well and it won’t be long before I know I’ll have to keep him from punching Scott in the mouth. Even if he really deserves it. He sighs in response, looping his arm through mine and leading me to the rest of the team.

“Look at what the cat dragged in, come here girl,” Dani says, enveloping me into a hug that Lily is quick to join into. “Welcome aboard,” they whisper before pulling away.

“Alright, Alright, let’s not suffocate our newcomer. We still gotta show her the ropes.” He says, and I feel my heart begin to race. Damn you, Tyler Owens for having this effect on me, well actually, on most of the female population.

“Thanks again for the opportunity,” I say, turning around to meet his eye. The past couple of months definitely did him well, I think as I take in his physique.

“Don’t mention it.” He responds, leaving me to get acclimated with my new role in his team.

-

Soon enough we’re racing down the road to where a Tornado has begun to form but before we can turn into the street that will lead us right to it, the Scarecrow truck that I once shared with Scott cuts us off.

“God I hate that asshole,” Tyler mumbles as we resume our journey, now trailing Scott who can’t seem to pick a speed. “Turn left up here, then turn right before the dead end, it’ll put us right ahead,” I tell Tyler who is quick to follow instructions as I buckle into the harness and hold the steering wheel so he can do the same.

But the action is over before it’s even begun as the tornado quickly dissipates before it reaches us. Tyler and I look at each other and down at the computer which shows no other storms in the area today.

“Maybe we’ll have better luck tomorrow,” I say, radioing the rest of the team who suggests heading to the diner down the road for dinner.

“So what happened between Kate, Javi, and Scott? Why did they take off?” Tyler asks, as he drives down the nearly deserted back roads that lead to the town.

“Scott had a majority share in Storm Par because of his uncle and after the stunt Kate and Javi pulled in Reno, he had them pretty much fired.”

“Well, I got that already from Kate and being there but why didn’t they come back?” He asks, and I know exactly what he’s really asking. Why did Kate ghost him?

But I don’t know how to tell him the truth. So I try to do the one thing I suck at. Lie. “They just got busy, I guess. Javi got a job with Kate last I heard and it just worked out better up there for them,” I say, avoiding eye contact.

“I bet it did,” he mutters, and I can’t help the guilty feeling in my stomach. But could he handle the truth?

-

We head up to Texas the following week and the ride is mostly silent except for me giving directions to Tyler every once in a while. I don’t think he takes up very well to lying since he’s stopped trying to make friendly conversation and will only talk about work.

The motel comes into view and it isn’t the nicest. But when are they ever nice?

Tyler hands me my room key and I grab my bag. It feels odd being here without the rest of the team but we need to be in two places at once sometimes to get our data.

“Hey Tyler, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for lying the other day. I really hate to start our work relationship on the wrong foot.” I say, as we walk up the stairs to the rooms.

“So why don’t you tell me the truth then?”

His green eyes lock on mine and I suddenly feel nervous. “Kate, she wasn’t ready to be here. After her and Javi got fired, they figured they could make a better difference up in New York working with NOAA.” His face twists into a frown. “For what it’s worth Ty, she almost came back for you but you’ve gotta understand after what she went through, she just wasn’t ready.”

“I just wish she would’ve called.”

“I’m sorry, Ty. But she’s coming to see her mom in a few weeks. Maybe show up? See what’s up?”

“I just might. Now go on and get some sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” He says, and I nod heading into my room.

-

“Ugh!” I grunt when my alarm goes off the next morning.

Why did I pick this job when I’ve never been a morning person?

I shower quickly and pack my dirty clothes back into my bag and as I put on my shoes there’s a knock on my door. He sure is punctual.

“Hey we’re getting some crazy weather east of here. You ready?” Tyler asks as soon as I open the door. “Yep, let me grab my stuff.”

By the afternoon we’ve already had two F1’s and a whole lot of data collected so Tyler decides we can head for some lunch.

The sight of the Storm Par truck is enough to make my appetite go away as I spot the scarecrow sticker on the back but nevertheless I follow Tyler in and order a burger.

“Hey I gotta make a call, I’ll be right back.” Tyler tells me and I’m left alone in the booth picking at my fries. Unfortunately for me it isn’t for long as Scott slides in to the seat across from me.

“Didn’t think you’d go work for the hillbillies,” he says, stealing one of my fries and I roll my eyes. “What the hell do you want Scott?”

“Just to offer you a job. I need a navigator.”

I scoff. “I told you I’m not working for you again.” I can feel his eyes on me but I refuse to look up.

“Suit yourself,” he says, sliding out of the booth and leaving me alone. God I cannot stand that man.

“Y/N! We gotta go!” yells Tyler, rushing back into the diner and I throw two 20’s on the table and run after him. Noticing Scott also getting up to follow.

The weather has changed in the little time we were in the diner. What was a clear sky is now dark gray and the rain starts to come down hard as I slam the truck door shut.

“It’s coming this way, look at the radar,” says Tyler as he shifts the truck in gear and soon we are speeding down the two lane highway. “Ty, it’s starting, oh God.”

The tornado is forming right ahead of us and as I stare at the screen in my laptop I realize it’s headed straight for the diner.

“Fuck, hold on!” yells Tyler, doing a U-turn and speeding back towards the diner. We need to move fast and get these people to safety.

I hop out as Tyler puts the truck in park and we rush back inside, Tyler yelling out to get to the back since there isn’t a storm shelter. People nearly trample us as they file into the back room.

I turn to the windows, the sound of the familiar sirens is almost deafening and that’s when I see him. Scott is pulling into the parking lot and the tornado is right behind him.

“Y/N! Get in here!” Yells Tyler but it’s muffled. My body is almost in autopilot as I sprint to the door to try to save the man who’d probably leave me for dead.

“Scott!” I scream, the rain is coming down harder and I can hardly see anything. The ground shakes beneath me but I push through to where I think I see him and we collide. “C’mon!” I yell as I pull him with me to safety and it’s like everything is in slow motion.

The windows burst into shards of glass and I duck, hoping Scott did too. My hand never leaving his as I continue to pull us inside and we make it, just barely.

He envelops me in his arms as the tornado goes over the diner and everything around us rattles. The screams of the people around us are terrifying and I think “Is this where we die?”

And just like that it’s over.

We survived.

-

I sit in a booth wincing in pain as Scott and Tyler pull glass shards out of my face and arms. The pain is nauseating and all I want is a shower and a nice bed.

“What were you thinking going after him?” asks Tyler when Scott walks back to the bathroom to get more paper towels.

“I wasn’t.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well that much is clear.”

I nod in agreement as he takes the paper towels from Scott and dabs at my cuts and I wince in pain.

“Yeah, you need to go back home and get some proper rest.” Tyler says, and shushes me before I can protest. “I’ll book you a flight tomorrow. Take a few days off. I’ll be back in Oklahoma by the time you’re good to go.”

I nod reluctantly.

“I can take her back, I’m heading back up tonight.” Scott says from behind Tyler and I stiffen at the suggestion. “Y/N, that's okay with you?” Asks Tyler looking at me and as much as I want to say no, I know if he doesn’t have to buy me a flight, he can use the money to help the community affected so I nod.

“C’mon I’ll take you back to the motel to get your things. Can you meet us there Scott?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he responds.

The car ride is silent other than the radio reporting the damages and all I can think of is wanting to stay but I know better than to argue with Tyler.

I slowly gather my things when we get to the motel trying to avoid spending much time with Scott. Why did I really go after him?

The hot water feels good on my skin as I wash away the blood and remaining pieces of glass. The alarm on my phone startles me and I step out knowing we have to go soon.

I wince as I apply ointment on my cuts then head out the door to meet Tyler and Scott.

“Drive safe!” Tyler yells as Scott pulls out into the highway and I know it’ll be a long six hours as he turns up the radio.

click here for part 2 🫢