#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.

[elevatorvideosystems485]

Why the Best Network Video Recorder is Crucial for Surveillance

In the modern era of smart security, the quality of your surveillance system can make all the difference. A Network Video Recorder (NVR) is the brain behind the camera system, managing video footage from IP cameras and ensuring it is stored securely. The best NVR systems provide high-resolution video, intelligent storage solutions, and remote access. For industries like vertical transportation, this technology is not just helpful—it’s essential. Whether it's a small business or a large facility, investing in a reliable NVR ensures you never miss a moment that matters.

When it comes to elevator surveillance, having the best network video recorder isn’t just a bonus—it’s a necessity. Elevators present a unique challenge for surveillance due to their confined space and constant movement. A top-tier NVR must be compatible with compact, high-definition cameras and deliver real-time footage without lag. Moreover, it needs to offer ample storage and seamless access for reviewing historical footage. This becomes vital in case of emergencies, disputes, or maintenance issues. The right NVR enhances both security and operational efficiency, making it a critical tool in comprehensive elevator monitoring systems.

How Smart Surveillance Protects Elevator Passengers

Smart surveillance is transforming how elevator security is managed. Instead of relying solely on basic CCTV, modern systems integrate smart features like motion detection, real-time alerts, and cloud-based storage. These capabilities ensure that building managers and security teams receive timely updates about any unusual activity. Particularly in elevators—where incidents can escalate quickly—this proactive monitoring can be life-saving. The NVR plays a key role by coordinating camera inputs and storing video securely for future use. With better analytics and instant access, elevator passengers enjoy safer and more secure rides in residential, commercial, and public facilities.

Beyond just storing footage, the best NVRs support high-efficiency video coding (HEVC) and other compression technologies. This allows them to retain high-quality footage without requiring excessive storage space. For elevator systems, where space and connectivity can be limited, this is essential. The system must also withstand environmental challenges like vibrations or electrical fluctuations. For this reason, ruggedized, elevator-specific NVR models are now becoming the norm. These advanced systems support redundancy and remote diagnostics, helping technicians and facility managers identify and fix issues before they cause system downtime. Reliable storage and rapid access to footage are non-negotiable in elevator security.

Key Features That Define a Top-Tier NVR System

The best network video recorders are equipped with features that support a wide range of surveillance needs. Essential features include multi-channel input, real-time video processing, and remote access through secure applications. In elevator settings, they must also support integration with emergency systems and intercoms. Intelligent video analytics—such as facial recognition or people counting—can add an extra layer of monitoring. In multi-floor buildings, these features help improve passenger safety and manage elevator usage more efficiently. Another important factor is reliability; a good NVR should continue to function even during network outages, ensuring no footage is ever lost.

In elevator environments, security must balance discretion and effectiveness. This is where compact NVR designs shine. A small form factor ensures the system can be installed in tight spaces like elevator control rooms or maintenance closets. Remote monitoring allows building management to observe real-time footage without needing physical access. This saves time and enables rapid response to incidents. Furthermore, with cybersecurity concerns rising, modern NVRs come equipped with encrypted data streams and user authentication. These protections guard against unauthorized access, ensuring that both recorded and live footage are only available to authorized personnel at all times.

Tailored Elevator Security Solutions That Work

Generic surveillance solutions don’t meet the unique demands of elevator systems. This is why specialized products, such as those offered by Elevator Video Systems, are essential. Their offerings are designed specifically for elevator environments, addressing challenges like limited space, signal interference, and vibration. By combining durable hardware with high-performance software, Elevator Video Systems delivers reliable and intuitive NVR setups. These solutions ensure that footage remains clear, secure, and accessible whenever it's needed. Choosing a provider that understands the vertical transportation space ensures optimal performance, lower maintenance, and greater long-term value.

By selecting an elevator-focused surveillance provider, facilities benefit from industry-specific support and guidance. Whether it's a retrofitting project or a new installation, companies like Elevator Video Systems offer customized consultation and scalable options. This means building owners get the right number of cameras, proper NVR capacity, and expert installation. When elevator security is handled with this level of attention, the results are clear: reduced vandalism, faster incident resolution, and better passenger safety. Investing in tailored solutions makes a difference not just in performance, but in the peace of mind it delivers to everyone using the building.

The Future of Elevator Surveillance Technology

As surveillance continues to evolve, the next wave of elevator security will lean heavily into AI and cloud integration. Advanced NVRs will not only store data but analyze it in real time, identifying anomalies and alerting security teams instantly. Features like behavioral analytics and predictive maintenance are becoming part of comprehensive systems. This proactive approach minimizes downtime and improves passenger experience. The shift toward centralized, intelligent control panels makes monitoring multiple elevators across a property easier than ever. With scalable cloud solutions, security managers can access footage and insights from any device, anywhere in the world.

With the rise of smart buildings, elevator security is no longer optional—it’s a necessity. A powerful NVR system is the cornerstone of any reliable setup, bridging high-quality video capture with efficient storage and retrieval. As buildings get taller and smarter, the need for robust surveillance grows. Choosing a system built specifically for elevators ensures durability, compliance, and superior performance. Whether you're managing a high-rise condo, hospital, or commercial tower, equipping your elevators with smart surveillance powered by a top-tier NVR isn't just about protecting property—it's about protecting people. Make the right investment today, and stay ahead of tomorrow’s security challenges.

[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.”

[alternate-real-ities]

Subject IND1

This document reports the events that transpired during a controlled study conducted on [REDACTED], who consented to participate in our trial, to document the physiological, cognitive, and behavioural changes in a human subject infected with a new strain of the Asian Flu, here denominated by the acronym IND.

To help recording the results, Dr. Kenji Nakamura, the lead researcher, recorded his observations throughout the experiment.

The subject was a young caucasian male, with a lean build and average height. He was selected for the trial due to his good health and lack of pre-existing conditions. The experiment was conducted in a secure laboratory environment, with all necessary precautions taken to ensure the safety of the subject and the research team. Below you will find the transcription of his observations.

Audio transcriptions:

[Recording begins]

[00:00:06 Nakamura] : "This is Dr. Kenji Nakamura, lead researcher on the Asian Flu IND strain project. Subject IND1 is now secured to the examination table. The strain has been already administered. Initial observations indicate a rapid increase in body temperature and heart rate. Subject appears agitated, but this is expected given the nature of the virus."

[00:00:25 Security] : "Dr. Nakamura, are you sure this is safe? Those restraints don't seem that sturdy."

[00:00:33 Nakamura] : "Yes, yes… I understand your concerns. But this is a controlled environment, and we have taken all necessary precautions. The subject is well behaved, in good health, and I will be closely monitoring his vitals."

[00:00:47 Security] : "Alright doc, if you need anything, just call us. We'll be awaiting further orders."

[00:00:54 Nakamura] : "Thank you."

[Door closes]

[00:01:02 Nakamura] : "I will now begin the examination. Subject IND1, can you hear me?"

[00:01:07 Subject IND1] : "Y-yes… I can hear you…"

[00:01:10 Nakamura] : "Good. I need you to remain calm. I will be monitoring your vitals closely. Please describe any sensations you are experiencing."

[00:01:18 Subject IND1] : "I… I feel hot… really hot… and my heart is racing…"

[00:01:23 Nakamura] : "That is expected. The virus is designed to increase metabolic activity. I will now take your temperature."

[00:01:30 Nakamura] : "Temperature is elevated to 39.5°C. Heart rate is 120 bpm. Subject's skin appears to be slightly flushed, and there is a noticeable increase in perspiration. I will continue the recording when the subject's condition changes."

[Recording stops]

[Recording resumes]

[00:49:52 Nakamura] : "The subject appears to be more calm now. Heart rate has stabilized at 110 bpm. There is a slight increase in body hair on the chest and belly. Moreover, it appears that the subject's hair is darkening slightly. The perspiration still continues, but the subject seems to be more comfortable than before. I will now take a blood sample for analysis."

[00:50:10 Subject IND1] : "Doc… my head… I think I have a fever..."

[00:50:19 Nakamura] : "That's a common symptom with the flu. Do you feel anything else?"

[00:50:25 Subject IND1] : "I don't know how to explain it but… my chest feels tingly… and it's like there are invisible hands rubbing it."

[00:50:33 Nakamura] : "Invisible hands? That is interesting. I will note that down. Please continue to describe any sensations you are experiencing."

[00:50:42 Subject IND1] : "I feel… sick…"

[00:50:45 Nakamura] : "Do not worry, the mortality rate of this virus is less than 1%. I will keep monitoring your vitals from a distance. Thank you for your cooperation."

[Recording stops]

[Recording resumes]

[01:34:17 Nakamura] : "This is Dr. Nakamura again. About 45 minutes have passed since the last recording. The subject's skin tone has deepened to a light tan. There is a noticeable increase in body hair on the arms, legs, and face, which has darkened slightly."

[Muffled sounds]

[01:34:41 Nakamura] : "Subject IND1, can you hear me? Please try to focus."

[Muffled sounds]

[01:35:00 Nakamura] : "Hmm... the subject's pupils are dilated. He appears to be mumbling incoherently in his native tongue. Subject IND1, are you there?"

[Muffled sounds]

[01:35:17 Nakamura] : "It seems that the subject doesn't seem to be able to respond at this time. I can observe involuntary muscle fibers twitching. It also seems that his musculature is becoming more defined, his facial features seem more masculine than what they were an hour ago... I will continue to monitor his condition."

[Recording stops]

[Recording resumes]

[02:15:43 Nakamura] : "Nakamura here. The subject's skin has darkened to a warm brown hue. There is a significant increase in muscle mass, particularly in the chest and arms. Facial features are changing further than before, with a more pronounced jawline and cheekbones. The subject appears to have developped stronger facial hair in the last 30 minutes."

[02:16:08 Subject IND1] : "Doc… I... why am I here again?"

[02:16:19 Nakamura] : "You are participating in a study, Subject IND1. Please try to focus. Can you describe any sensa-"

[Loud moan]

[02:16:32 Nakamura] : "Oh my... the subject appears to be experiencing a heightened state of arousal. This could be proof that the virus affects the hypothalamus. I can feel a strong odor emanating from him. It is quite intoxicating."

[02:16:50 Subject IND1] : "Doc… get me out of here…"

[02:16:56 Nakamura] : "I will do that as soon as I can. Please try to remain calm."

[02:17:05 Subject IND1] : "Fuck… my lul…cock… it feels heavier…"

[02:17:14 Nakamura] : "The subject appears to be developping an accent. Sentences are shorter. Abdominal muscles seem to be defined into an almost clear six-pack, covered by his growing body hair. Will report back later."

[Recording stops]

[Recording begins]

[03:12:37 Nakamura] : "This is Dr. Nakamura, and I'm afraid I've lost track of the time. The subject's transformation appears to be complete. His skin has deepened to a rich ebony hue, and his features are distinctly Indian. He now possesses a broader nose, fuller lips, high cheekbones. A totally different masculine version of what he used to look like 3 hours ago."

[03:13:02 Subject IND1] : "Doctor…"

[03:13:06 Nakamura] : "Yes? What is it?"

[03:13:10 Subject IND1] : "Doctor… I need… I need you."

[03:13:19 Nakamura] : "It appears that the subject is feeling infactuated. This is likely the virus attempting to spread itself through intimate contact. His smell is stronger than before. There is a chance that his body started producing pheromones to attract other males. I can feel something only from his odor. I must remain focused on my work."

[03:13:52 Nakamura] : "I will now take a blood sample for analysis. How are you feeling, Subject IND1?"

[03:14:00 Subject IND1] : "I feel… good… bhai…

[03:14:05 Nakamura] : "The subject's speech incorporates Hindi words, interesting... There's an increased mass in the pectoral region, evident from closer inspection, covered by a thick layer of shiny sweat. This is trully a marvelous specimen to behold...

How did you get out of the restrain-"

[Struggling sounds]

[03:14:29 Subject IND1] : "Yes bro, take my smell…"

[Muffled screams]

[03:14:45 Subject IND1] : "You like my pits, don't you? I smell so good…"

[Recording cuts out]

The audio recording stops at this point.

[CLASSIFIED INFORMATION]

The rest of this document contains classified information. The information transmitted is intended only for the person or entity to which it is addressed and may contain confidential and/or priviledged material. Any review, retransmission, dissemination or other use of, or taking of any action in reliance upon this information by persons or entities other than the intended recipient is prohibited. If you received this message in error, please contact the sender and delete the material from all computers.

A security camera in the lab was able to capture the events that followed. The footage shows Subject IND1 breaking free from the restraints and approaching Dr. Nakamura, who appears to be in shock.

Dr. Nakamura's pleas were cut off as the transformed subject grabbed him roughly, holding him in his pits. The subject's powerful, muscular body pressed against Nakamura's, his broad chest leaving the doctor drenched in his sweat. We believe that a strong, musky aroma emanated from Subject IND1, based on our current data.

"Shh, just relax bhai," Subject IND1 purred in a deep, accented rumble. His large, calloused hands made quick work of the doctor's pants, yanking them down to his ankles and exposing his pale skin. "We're just 2 bros having some fun together… nothing wrong with that heh?

Subject IND1 hooked his thumbs into Nakamura's underwear and pulled them down, revealing the doctor's most intimate places. Nakamura whimpered, face flushed with unwanted arousal as the subject's thick, hard cock grinded against his ass cheeks, leaving sticky trails of pre-cum on his skin.

"Arre yaar, look at this tight little lund," Subject IND1 growled appreciatively. He then spat crudely into his palm, slicking up his massive, veiny shaft before notching the swollen head against Nakamura's quivering, virgin hole. With one brutal, deep thrust of his powerful hips, he buried himself balls-deep in the doctor's ass.

"AAAHHHNNN!" Nakamura screamed at the sudden intrusion, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the metal table as Subject IND1 began to move. The room filled with the obscene slap of flesh on flesh and the heady, musky scent of their coupling. Beads of sweat rolled down Nakamura's brow as his body struggled to adapt to the relentless pounding.

Then, suddenly, Subject IND1 grabbed Nakamura's hips and flipped him over onto his back. "Ride me, bhai," he commanded with a wicked grin, pulling the doctor on top of him. "Take what you need."

Nakamura gasped as he found himself straddling the subject's thick thighs, that massive cock spearing up into his guts. His own dick bobbed lewdly between them, drooling pre-cum onto Subject IND1's abs. As if in a trance, Nakamura began to move, hips rolling and bouncing on the subject's lap.

"Yes, just like that," Subject IND1 groaned, hands gripping Nakamura's waist hard enough to bruise as he thrust up to meet each downward grind. "Fuck yourself on my big Indian cock, bhai. Take your pleasure!"

Subject IND1's cock seemed to grow even larger inside Nakamura's stretched hole, veins pulsing as it pumped the doctor full of its virile, Indian essence. Nakamura could feel it, hot, thick and alive, changing him from within. His own dick throbbed almost painfully between his legs, swelling a bit, the head flaring and darkening like Subject IND1's.

Nakamura could only moan brokenly in response, eyes rolling back as he felt something powerful rising up inside him. His skin began to flush a deeper, richer brown, muscles swelling and hardening beneath the surface. Dark, coarse body hair started to sprout along his arms and legs, thickening with each passing second.

"FUCK!" Subject IND1 roared in Hindi, slamming up into Nakamura one last time as he exploded inside the doctor's ass. Nakamura screamed as the wave of transformation crashed over him, back arching like a bow as his skin deepened to a richer, ebony hue. His muscles swelled into hard, defined slabs, abdominals popping out in a perfect six-pack that glistened with sweat.

The musky scent of their coupling intensified, filling Nakamura's nostrils and clouding his mind with lust. Body hair continued to sprout across his chest and back, curling slightly as it darkened to a deep, glossy black. His nipples hardened into small, sensitive nubs.

Then, Subject IND1 gripped Nakamura's hips tighter, fingers sinking into the firm flesh as he began to thrust again, fucking the doctor throughout his transformation. Each stroke sent jolts of pleasure through Nakamura's body.

Nakamura's dick pulsed and twitched between them, growing longer and thicker with each passing second. The shaft thickened, veins and ridges forming along the surface as it darkened to a deep, ruddy brown. His balls swelled and tightened, churning with backed-up cum.

The room filled with the sounds of their grunts and moans. Nakamura could feel his mind changing too, thoughts shifting to the need to rut, to breed, to dominate… The doctor threw his head back and moaned. His skin rippled and shifted, the last traces of his old self melting away as he embraced his new identity - an Indian stud, strong and virile.

As the transformation reached its peak, Nakamura's dick erupted like a geyser, painting their chests with thick ropes of hot, sticky cum. His body shuddered and clenched around Subject IND1's cock, milking it for every last drop of his Indian seed.

Finally, panting harshly, Subject IND1 pulled out with a wet squelch, his softening dick slipping free of Nakamura's gaping hole. A flood of pearly white cum poured out in its wake.

Nakamura lay there for a long moment, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. When he opened his eyes again, they were dark and almond-shaped. He sat up slowly, muscles rippling beneath smooth, ebony skin, and turned to face Subject IND1. "भाई, मुझे बहुत अच्छा लग रहा है" - says the newly improved doctor. He flexed an arm, watching the bicep swell into a perfect, round dome.

He turned to Subject IND1, eyes glinting with a newfound purpose. "I need to get out of here, bro…" he growled in a thick Indian accent. Then, with only his lab coat, Nakamura got out of the facility thanks to his keycard, while IND1 lay there spent on the floor.

It wasn't until hours later, when Dr. Nakamura still hadn't reported back, that security was alerted something was wrong. They found Subject IND1 alone in the lab, a satisfied smirk on his face as they led him away in cuffs.

But by then, it was too late. The IND strain had breached containment, in [REDACTED], were it could spread rapidly. We are still trying to find Dr. Nakamura, but we fear it may be too late for him as well. Subject IND1 is still in our custody, so that we can study this new strain of the virus. We will continue to monitor the situation and report any further findings.

[End Report]

[marvelseries19]

SAFE WITH YOU

Chapter Five - Castaway

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff ft female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: The process of coming back is hard, yet not impossible, especially since Natasha is right by your side through it all. And you finally get your happy ending.

A/N: Okay, with this, we say goodbye to this series. From this point on, there will be no more chapters. However, I will make one-shots to dive deeper into the healing process and show parts I didn't show or talk about, things you're curious about. As always, you're more than welcome to leave comments, feedback, requests, ask questions, etc. Enjoy. And if you see typos, no, you didn't.

Warning: +18, nightmares, maybe mentions of ptsd, etc. Some very, VERY suggestive part at the end.

Word count: 7.5k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The days in the medical wing pass in a strange, suspended rhythm. Time feels warped — too fast in some moments, agonizingly slow in others. You sleep in stretches, eat when they tell you, and endure tests and scans and soft-spoken assessments. They tell you your body is healing well. No major infections. The weight loss is significant but expected. Dehydration is corrected. You’re stable.

But you-you don’t feel that way.

The ceiling tiles blur into a single repeated shape. The bed is too soft. Too still. There are no rustling trees, no ocean wind, and no birds to mark the sunrise. Just the mechanical hum of machines, the occasional beep of monitors, and the muffled footsteps of nurses outside your door.

You find yourself waking in the middle of the night, expecting smoke, thunder, and the sound of waves. But there’s nothing. Just silence. You wonder if your body forgot how to feel safe.

Natasha comes every day.

She doesn't hover. She doesn’t overwhelm. She just is. Always there, curled in the chair near your bed, boots kicked off, hands wrapped around lukewarm coffee, flipping through a book without really reading it. Sometimes she talks. Sometimes she doesn’t. Mostly, she just watches you. Like, she still can’t quite believe you’re real. That you’re here.

There are moments when she reaches for your hand and hesitates, catching herself like she’s afraid she’ll break you.

On the sixth day, the doctors tell you it’s time.

“You’re stable,” the lead medic says gently. “We can continue monitoring from home and give you instructions. It’s entirely your call, but… We think you’re ready.”

You’re not sure what “ready” is supposed to feel like. The idea of leaving the room you’ve come to accept as a kind of purgatory doesn’t make you feel free — it makes your chest tighten.

You nod anyway.

Natasha is quiet as she helps you dress. Civilian clothes. Soft. New. The fabric feels too thick, too unfamiliar. You move slowly, your body still remembering scarcity. Still conserving energy. Still unsure it’s safe to let go.

She kneels to help with your shoes and pauses when you flinch at the contact. You recover quickly, hand on her shoulder. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” she says softly.

As you stand together at the doorway, your discharge papers in a folder under your arm, Natasha glances down at your hand and laces her fingers through yours.

You hesitate. “I don’t know what’s waiting out there. I don’t know how to—”

“I know,” she says. Her grip tightens. “We’ll go slow. Whatever pace you need.”

You nod, even though your chest still aches with uncertainty.

The elevator ride down feels surreal. You’re not used to enclosed spaces with buttons and polished metal reflections. Your heart skips once, twice — Natasha notices.

“We can go back upstairs,” she offers quietly. “It’s okay if you’re not ready.”

You shake your head. “No. I just… need to get used to it again.”

When the doors open, the light is different. Sharper. Louder. There are more people. Too many. The security staff nods respectfully as you pass, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in a hallway mirror.

You don’t look like the version of yourself that disappeared. You’re thinner. Your eyes are sharper, older somehow. There’s a haunted look to your posture, even when you try to stand tall.

Natasha opens the car door for you. It feels strange — being helped. Being ushered. You slide into the seat and keep your eyes forward the whole drive, watching a world that moved on while you were gone. So many people, so much motion. Bright lights. Noise. Life.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Natasha asks softly, not pushing.

You shake your head at first.

Then, quietly: “It doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Like… I left the world for a while, and it forgot me. And now I’m trying to remember how to belong to it again.”

She nods slowly. “I know that feeling.”

You glance at her. “Yeah?”

“I lived in shadows for a long time. It’s different. But I remember what it’s like to come back and not recognize the shape of your own life.”

That lands. You stare out the window. “And what did you do?”

She looks over at you, eyes soft. “I made new memories. With the people I loved.”

The apartment building comes into view. It’s familiar and unfamiliar all at once. You remember the smell of the hallway, the way the light slants through the windows in the afternoon. You remember the doorframe, the number on it, the chipped edge of the paint. Home. Kind of.

Your hand pauses on the doorknob. Natasha’s close behind you, silent.

You whisper, “What if I don’t know how to live in it anymore?”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then, gently says, “Then we make it new. Together.”

You open the door.

Inside, everything is neat. Intact. Untouched. Maria must’ve kept it clean. Your things are still where you left them: photos, books, and your coat hanging by the door like it had been waiting for you.

You step inside slowly, eyes scanning everything.

Natasha doesn't push. She just follows quietly, giving you room.

In the corner, you spot something unexpected — a small carved figure, worn and faded. Red. Maria must have brought him from the med facility. You walk over and hold him in your hand, brushing your thumb along the ridges of the coconut’s face.

Natasha watches you with something close to reverence.

You finally turn to her.

“I don’t know what comes next,” you admit.

She steps closer, placing a hand gently against your back. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

You nod, your eyes wet but steady.

And for the first time in a long time, you believe her.

You stay near a window for a while. The apartment is quiet, every sound soft and unfamiliar. You’re still holding Red, fingers absently brushing the worn coconut shell, when Natasha’s voice cuts gently through the stillness.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

You glance toward her, surprised by how simple and kind the question sounds. A bath. It’s been… years. And for a moment, the idea makes your chest feel tight — not because you’re afraid of it, but because it feels too gentle, too civilized, too far from where you were.

You swallow. “Yeah, but would you… stay with me?”

Her face softens. "Yeah, of course.���

She says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world — like she hasn’t missed you every second of the past three years. Like she wouldn’t drop everything to do exactly that.

Natasha walks you to the bathroom without fuss. She starts the water, adjusting it with practiced motions, quiet in the way she always is when things really matter. You sit on the closed toilet lid, watching steam curl toward the ceiling, already letting the warmth pull at the edges of something inside you.

Once the tub is full, you strip slowly, wrapping a towel around yourself as she turns away to give you space. You can’t help but smile at that, even if it’s faint — Natasha Romanoff, world-class assassin, averting her eyes with her cheeks slightly blushed, like you’re some delicate painting she’s afraid to damage.

You step into the water, easing down with a quiet hiss of breath as the heat envelops you. Your muscles scream and then slowly, slowly, begin to relax.

You lean your head back against the porcelain edge, eyes half-lidded. Natasha sits beside the tub on a folded towel, elbows on her knees, just watching you with a small smile and eyes full of unshed things.

After a minute, her voice breaks the calm.

“Can I help? With your hair?”

Your throat catches. You didn’t expect the offer, not like that — not so softly.

You nod. “Yeah. Please.”

She moves closer, sleeves pushed up, and gathers a little shampoo in her hands. Her fingers slide gently into your hair, slow and careful, massaging your scalp in delicate circles. It feels so good it nearly makes you cry — not because it hurts, but because it doesn’t. Because you didn’t know something so simple could still feel like this.

Her hands are steady, rinsing with warm water cupped between her palms, careful not to splash. She never rushes, never speaks unless it’s to quietly ask if something’s okay.

And when she wraps a towel around your hair and kisses your temple, something in you — something wound too tight for too long — finally lets go.

“You’re here,” she murmurs. “You’re really here.”

You rest your cheek on your arm along the tub’s edge. “It still feels like I’m dreaming.”

“I know,” she says. “Me too.”

You sit in the cooling water a little longer, side by side in silence that no longer feels empty. Eventually, she helps you out, wraps you in warmth, and leads you back to the bedroom with the kind of patience that doesn’t ask anything in return.

And through it all — the quiet, the closeness, the simple human contact — you begin to believe that maybe you really did come home.

And when she wraps a towel around your hair and kisses your temple, something in you — something wound too tight for too long — finally lets go.

—

Later, you’re on the couch, curled in on yourself. You hadn’t wanted to lie down in the bed just yet. Natasha didn’t question it—just handed you a throw blanket, sat beside you, and let the silence settle. She doesn’t crowd you. But she doesn’t leave either.

You stare down at the ring around your neck. The chain is cool against your collarbone.

“I thought about you every night,” you say, voice low, almost ashamed.

Natasha turns her head toward you. “So did I.”

You swallow hard. “I pictured you. Waiting. And then I started wondering if I’d made you up just to have something to hold onto.”

She shifts closer. “I thought I’d never see you again. Every day I told myself I had to keep moving because if I stopped, I’d have to admit you were gone.”

Your voice is a whisper. “And now I’m not gone. But I don’t know how to be here either.”

Natasha reaches over and takes your hand, slow and deliberate. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles. “Then we’ll figure it out together. There’s no right way to do this.”

You lean your head against her shoulder. It feels like touching solid ground after months in open water.

“I missed you so much it hurt,” you say.

She presses her lips to your temple. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

—

That night, after takeout and too many emotions to name, you stand at the bedroom door again.

The bed is made. The pillows fluffed. But it feels like walking into a memory.

Natasha waits patiently, giving you the space to choose.

“I want to try,” you say quietly. “But only if you stay.”

“I was never going to leave.”

She pulls back the covers and slides in beside you, and you crawl in with careful movements, still half afraid the walls might collapse if you breathe too loud.

You both lie on your backs, eyes open in the dark.

“Do you hate that I changed?” you ask.

Natasha’s voice is soft but certain. “I don’t care how you changed. I only care that you’re still mine.”

You roll toward her. Her arm is already there, waiting for you to curl into. You rest your forehead against her collarbone, heart racing like it hasn’t calmed down in years.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know,” she says, kissing your hair. “Me too.”

But she holds you all the same.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall asleep.

The room is dark and quiet. Natasha’s breath is steady beside you, warm, familiar, and grounding. You count each inhale, each exhale, like an anchor, like maybe if you focus hard enough, the rest of you will settle too.

But it doesn’t.

The bed is too soft. The mattress, the pillows—it all feels like it’s swallowing you whole. Your muscles are tense, your jaw is locked, and your breath is shallow. It’s not the silence that unsettles you. It’s the stillness. Too comfortable. Too easy. Too alien.

You lie there for what feels like hours, heart thudding loud in your chest, staring into the darkness.

Eventually, you slip out of bed as quietly as you can. The floor is cool under your feet, grounding in a way the mattress never could be. You lower yourself slowly, cautiously, and lie flat on your back beside your side of the bed, the wooden floor pressing firm and unyielding against your spine.

It feels… real. Familiar. You exhale, finally.

And that’s where Natasha finds you five minutes later—when her hand reaches across the bed and touches only cold sheets.

Her breath catches, and then you hear the mattress shift as she scrambles up, switching on the bedside lamp. Her voice is low but tight.

“Y/N?”

You blink up at her from the floor. “I’m here.”

She sees you and stills. Her shoulders drop slightly with relief, though her expression softens with worry.

“I—I couldn’t sleep,” you say quietly. “The bed felt wrong.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, without asking, she reaches for the blanket at the foot of the bed, kneels beside you, and drapes it gently over your body. Her fingers linger a moment against your arm.

“Next time, wake me. Please.”

You look at her, eyes tired. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not a bother,” she says immediately, voice low and raw. “Not now. Not ever.”

A beat passes. Then Natasha shifts down beside you, lying flat on the floor without hesitation. The floor creaks beneath both your bodies. She glances at you sideways, head tilted on the hardwood.

“You’re really doing this?”

“You’re down here with me, aren’t you?”

A small smile plays on her lips. “Of course I am.”

Another pause.

“You know,” you murmur after a while, staring up at the ceiling, “the floor reminds me I’m real. That I’m here. The bed’s too forgiving. It’s too easy to think I might be dreaming all this. Or worse—dead.”

Natasha’s face turns toward you, open and quietly aching.

“I used to sleep on the floor too,” she says after a long beat. “First few years out of the Red Room. I couldn’t take the softness. The quiet. I felt like I didn’t deserve comfort.”

You nod, your throat tight. “I get that.”

“But you do deserve it,” she continues. “Even if it takes time to believe it.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then: “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I didn’t let myself hope.”

She reaches out slowly and links her pinky with yours. “Hope’s stubborn. Just like you.”

The silence that follows is heavier, but not suffocating. A kind of understanding passes between you without needing words.

Eventually, you roll onto your side, facing her. She mirrors you instantly, and your foreheads touch lightly. Her hand finds your waist, pulling you close beneath the blanket.

This close, it’s easier to breathe.

“Thank you for not giving up on me,” you whisper.

“I could never bring myself to,” she replies, barely audible.

And with her warmth against your chest, her breath against your cheek, and the floor beneath you steady and real—you finally drift into sleep. Not perfectly. Not painlessly. But peacefully, for the first time in a very long time.

Together.

You wake slowly, eyes still closed, warm under the blanket, the floor beneath you solid and cool. For a second you forget where you are, panic fluttering at the edge of your chest—until you feel a thumb brushing slow circles against your side, and the scent of Natasha’s shampoo grounding you more than the floor ever could.

“Morning,” she whispers.

Your eyes flutter open. She’s already awake, head propped up slightly on her arm. Her gaze is soft, red hair a little wild from sleep.

You blink at her, throat dry. “You didn’t move.”

“Didn’t want to leave you alone,” she says simply.

You shift a little, wincing faintly from the stiffness. “You’re going to have back problems, Romanoff.”

She smiles, one of those rare, real ones. “Too late.”

You lie there in silence for a bit longer, the light beginning to slip in through the curtains.

“Part of me feels stupid,” you admit eventually, your voice still hoarse from sleep. “Sleeping on the floor, avoiding a bed like it’s a trap.”

“It’s not stupid,” she says gently. “It’s survival. You’re adjusting. That takes time. However long you need—I’ll be here.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “Everything feels different. Like I’ve got to learn the world all over again.”

“Then we’ll learn it together.”

That brings a lump to your throat. She must see it, because she reaches up and brushes your cheek with the back of her hand.

“I missed you so much,” she murmurs. “Every single day.”

You nod, voice tight. “I kept thinking about you. I kept wondering if I’d ever… just see your face again. Even once.”

She leans in slowly and kisses your forehead, staying there for a beat. “Well, now you’re stuck with me.”

A small laugh escapes you, and it feels good. Rusty, but real.

You finally sit up, stretching out your sore limbs, and Natasha follows suit, brushing out her tangled hair with her fingers. You glance at the bed, then at her.

“I think I want to try the bed again tonight.”

She smiles. “I’ll be there, too. We’ll face it together.”

It’s still strange—this new normal, this second chance. But in the quiet morning light, sitting beside her on the hardwood floor with a blanket draped over your shoulders and your heart a little less guarded, it doesn’t feel so impossible.

Not with her.

Not anymore.

The next night, it happens again. You try the bed. Last a little longer. Then move to the floor.

And again, Natasha follows — no questions, no sighs, no trying to coax you back.

The third night, she doesn’t even wait. When you quietly slip down to the floor, she follows moments later with a pillow tucked under her arm.

By the fourth night, you wake up and realize you haven’t moved at all.

You’re in bed. Still in Natasha’s arms. And for the first time since the island, you don’t feel like you have to run from peace.

—

A few months later.

The apartment is lived-in now. There's a plant on the kitchen windowsill that Natasha insists is thriving, even if it leans a little sideways. The couch has a dent where you both usually sit. Red is perched up on the shelf under the TV next to some decorations and framed photos of you and Nat, now forever a part of your life. And you smile every time your eyes land on it. Always a reminder of what you endured.

You’re healing. Not in a straight line, not without setbacks, but with intention. With her.

Some mornings are harder than others. You still wake up drenched in sweat sometimes, heart racing with ghosts. On those days, Natasha doesn’t try to fix it. She just hands you tea, brushes a hand through your hair, and sits close until your breath evens out.

There are good days, too. Days where you wake before her, cook something new, and even laugh freely. Days you catch her looking at you like you’re made of something rare and whole. You still don’t quite believe it, but you try.

You’ve been seeing a therapist SHIELD recommended. You hated it at first—too many questions, too much stillness. But eventually, it became a space you didn’t dread. You’ve started talking about the island, the silence, the routine that kept you sane.

You and Natasha still dance around some things. She hasn’t pushed you for intimacy beyond what you offer. She reads your cues like second nature—holding your hand when you’re overwhelmed, giving you space when your shoulders go rigid, curling beside you in bed when you reach for her without a word.

But it hasn’t been easy.

There was a week when you barely spoke after an argument. She’d gone on a short mission without telling you until the morning of, and you’d panicked, snapped at her, shut down. When she returned, you couldn’t look at her, too afraid of how much you need her. Too afraid of what needing someone means.

It was Natasha who finally broke the silence, sitting beside you on the couch and saying quietly, “You can be mad. I’ll still come back.”

That night, you cried in her arms for the first time in weeks. You hated that it helped. You loved that she held you anyway.

You’ve started working again. Slowly. First from home, reviewing field reports, helping analyze strategies—things that reminded you of who you were. Maria checked in regularly and, once, even told you she missed getting her ass handed to her during briefings. You laughed.

You and Natasha are different now. Not in a way that’s broken, but in the way that time remakes things—gently, with wear and meaning. You cook together more. You argue over whose turn it is to do laundry. You fall asleep facing each other now, not with fear, but with something like trust.

There’s still hesitation in both of you. Moments where your voices lower, not out of secrecy but out of reverence for how fragile things once were. You talk about the future, sometimes in fragments. A trip somewhere quiet. A garden. A place where you both might feel steady.

You're learning how to live again—with her and within yourself. The island isn’t gone. The pain, the scars—physical and not—aren’t either. But the ache isn’t everything anymore.

Love, you’ve learned, isn’t just the reunion. It’s the staying. The choosing.

And every single day, she chooses you.

—

The apartment was quiet one night.

It had been months now. Months of rebuilding, of learning how to be again—how to sleep through the night, how to laugh without guilt, how to let someone reach for you without flinching.

The bad days hadn’t disappeared, but they came fewer and further between. Now, most mornings started with coffee, soft light through the windows, and Natasha wrapped around you in sleepy warmth. Now, you could walk into a room without scanning every exit. Now, the weight on your chest was no longer constant.

And tonight, the stillness didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like rest.

You sat on the couch together, a half-watched movie flickering on mute, both of you tangled under the same blanket, your legs draped over hers. Her fingers lazily traced circles against your calf, like she was touching you just to remember you were real.

You watched her—her profile illuminated by the glow of the screen, soft and calm and so achingly beautiful in that quiet way you’d come to treasure.

You hadn’t said it out loud, not yet.

But it had been on your mind lately. That ring. The one that used to mean someday. The one that had waited carefully in a thin yet resistant chain around both of your necks for years now, quiet and patient.

You shifted a little and leaned your head against her shoulder.

"Hey," you said, voice soft, hesitant but steady.

She turned her head toward you, the question already in her eyes.

You reached for her hand under the blanket, fingers slipping between hers. “Do you ever think about it? The wedding, I mean.”

Natasha blinked. For a second, she didn’t say anything. Then her thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and thoughtful. “I used to,” she said, almost a whisper. “Every day. When you were gone, I—I’d think about what it would’ve been like. What we lost.”

You leaned into her a little more. “And now?”

Her hand squeezed yours gently. “Now… I think we might be ready.”

You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Yeah?”

She nodded, shifting to face you more fully, her free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You feel it too, don’t you? That the worst is behind us. Not gone, but… no longer in control.”

You swallowed thickly. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Just didn’t know if I could say it without jinxing it, I guess.”

Natasha’s expression softened, her eyes shining just a little in the low light. “Say it now.”

You looked down at your joined hands. “I want to do it. The wedding. I think… I think I’m finally ready. I feel safe again. With you. With us. I want to stand with you and mean it in front of everyone. I want that day.”

She reached out and cupped your cheek, pulling you into a kiss—gentle, lingering, a promise wrapped in silence.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely more than breath. “Then let’s do it.”

You smiled, your eyes damp, but your heart light. “We waited so long.”

“And I’d wait forever,” she said, pressing her forehead to yours. “But I’m really fucking glad I don’t have to.”

You laughed through your tears, and she kissed you again—this time with more certainty, more heat, and more joy. You curled into her chest, hand tightly holding your ring still proudly on the chain around your neck, heart thudding with a rhythm that felt steady for the first time in years.

And there, in the hush of your shared home, you both knew: it wasn’t just about a wedding. It was about choosing each other, again and again, even when the world fell apart.

And now, finally, you were ready to celebrate that choice.

Together.

It was almost funny how simple it was in the end.

No announcements. No grand gestures. Just two people holding hands on a porch swing, sipping coffee while the sun rose over the Barton farm.

Clint had seen it the second you stepped out of the car with Natasha, your fingers linked, a soft calm in your posture that hadn’t been there before. He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave a knowing smirk, clapped you on the shoulder, and ushered you both inside where Laura was already pulling something out of the oven.

The smell of cinnamon and fresh bread wrapped around you like a blanket. It felt safe there, like nothing bad could happen under that roof. Maybe that’s why you found the words so easily.

“So,” you said slowly, sitting at the long kitchen table with your hands wrapped around a warm mug, “we’re finally going to do it.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

Natasha leaned in a little, the corner of her mouth twitching with a smile. “The wedding.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Laura let out a quiet, happy gasp and reached for your hand.

Clint blinked. “For real this time?”

You nodded. “For real. We’re ready.”

Natasha didn’t say anything, but she reached over, laying her hand over yours on the table. That said enough.

Clint leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a proud grin. “Took you long enough.”

You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh. “You’re one to talk. You and Laura eloped.”

Laura grinned. “And we regret nothing. But you two? You deserve a day. A real one. Something good.”

You hesitated. “We were thinking… maybe here?”

Clint sat up straighter. “Here? Like—here, here?”

Natasha glanced out the window, eyes softening as they landed on the old barn at the edge of the property. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Laura squeezed your hand. “We’d be honored.”

Clint’s grin only widened. “We’ll string up some lights and clear out the barn. Get the kids to stop shooting arrows for five minutes. It'll be perfect.”

You smiled, something warm blooming in your chest. “Just a few people. Small. Family. Maria, Fury, and the team. Phil, if he’s back from the field. That’s it.”

Natasha leaned her head against your shoulder. “Just us. The ones who stuck through it all.”

Laura stood and kissed Clint on the temple. “Then it’s settled.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of light laughter and soft plans. Talk of fairy lights and music. Maybe Lila could make some signs. Nate would be the ring bearer if he could sit still long enough. There was talk of food, dresses, suits—or not. Just something simple. Something real.

You stepped outside after lunch, barefoot in the grass, the wind soft through your hair. Natasha followed, her hand slipping easily into yours. You stood in front of the barn, weathered wood and high beams, the kind of place where new chapters felt possible.

“This is really happening,” you said, voice quiet.

She turned to you, her eyes bright and steady. “Yeah. It is.”

You smiled, then leaned in, forehead against hers.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were holding your breath.

The days that followed passed in a gentle rhythm—slower than you'd expected, but full of meaning. No frenzy. No rush. Just two people returning to themselves and to each other.

The dress fittings happened in a softly lit boutique that Maria insisted on renting out for the afternoon. “You deserve this,” she said simply when you protested. “And besides—this’ll be fun.”

And it was.

Natasha stepped out of the dressing room first, hesitant, smoothing her hands down the fabric of the ivory gown. It was elegant and minimal, with a soft sweep of silk and lace. Not overly formal. Not flashy. But it stopped your heart in your chest.

You stared for a moment longer than you meant to. “You’re going to ruin me,” you murmured.

A rare flush crept up her neck. “You like it?”

You crossed the small space to her, brushing a hand down her arm. “I love it.”

She reached up to cup your cheek. “Wait until you try yours on.”

You laughed, but when you returned a few minutes later in your own dress—simple, flowy, perfectly you—Natasha just stared.

She didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you like she was memorizing something holy.

“Say something,” you whispered.

She blinked. “You’re real.”

The next few weeks were filled with quiet preparations. You helped Clint hang fairy lights in the barn while Laura stitched small details into the table linens. Lila painted wooden signs. Even Tony, who initially joked about throwing you a Stark-sponsored blowout, settled into his role of unofficial bartender for the night with only mild grumbling.

Fury didn’t say much when you told him the date—just clapped a hand on your shoulder and said, “It’s about damn time.”

Coulson smiled like he knew this would always be the ending.

And Maria—Maria just hugged you tightly, fiercely, as if she'd carried the weight of hope for both of you all this time. The night before the wedding, you and Natasha sat side by side in bed, each holding a notebook of vows you'd been scribbling in for days.

“Want to hear mine?” she asked quietly.

You nodded, heart thudding softly.

She read aloud words about almost losing you, and you coming back- About how she never stopped carrying you with her, even when she didn't believe in anything else.

You cried before she even finished.

Then, with trembling hands and a steadier voice than you expected, you read her your own. Words about the island. About how you survived and how she had helped you live again when you thought you wouldn't.

“I’m not promising easy,” you told her. “But I am promising you everything. Whatever I’ve got, it’s yours.”

That night, you slept in each other’s arms. And for the first time since you returned, there were no dreams.The morning came soft and slow, light pouring in through the farmhouse window. Natasha left early to get ready in the Barton house, Maria dragging her off with a garment bag and a mischievous wink. You stayed with Laura, sipping tea and letting Lila braid your hair while your dress hung by the window, glowing in the sun.

You should’ve felt nervous. You kind of did. But more than that, you felt… ready.

Whole.

Alive.

The barn had been transformed. The fairy lights flickered above rows of chairs filled with people who loved you. The air smelled like wildflowers and pine. There was music playing—soft, old, familiar.

And then, there she was.

Walking toward you down the aisle, in that same ivory dress, barefoot like you, a tremble in her lips and eyes glassy with tears.

You didn’t remember moving—only that you ended up in front of each other, smiling like the world had finally exhaled.

The vows came easy. No shaking. No fear. Just truth.

Natasha reaches for your hands. She holds them like they might disappear — like she's still, even now, making sure you're real. Her thumbs trace soft circles over your knuckles. Her lips press together for a moment as she breathes in, slowly.

Then she begins.

"I didn’t grow up believing in forever," she says, her voice quiet but sure. "Or softness. Or in anything that lasted. I’ve been a weapon. A shadow. A ghost meant to not be seen." You feel her hands tighten around yours. The crowd is gone, fading into a blur. It's just her. Just this.

"But then there was you. And somehow, you saw through all of it. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t run. You loved me back into a person."Her eyes shine, green and wet with unshed tears. Her voice doesn't tremble. "I thought I lost you. And I would have carried that for the rest of my life. But here you are. Here we are."

She pauses, breathes.

"So I promise — not just to stand beside you, but to grow with you. To fight for the life we've built. To listen even when it’s hard and to speak even when it scares me."

A single tear breaks loose and rolls down her cheek.

"You are the only home I’ve ever believed in. You are the peace I never thought I’d deserve. And you’re the only person I will ever want to spend forever with. So I vow to be yours. Without armor. Without fear. With everything I am."

You take a breath.

You hadn’t expected your hands to shake. But they do. And Natasha, as always, notices. She gives them the smallest squeeze —I'm here.

And you begin.

"I used to believe that surviving was enough," you say, and your voice is soft but strong. "That making it through was the victory. But you, you reminded me that surviving isn't the same as living."

You feel Natasha’s grip tighten again, like her heart is answering yours.

"You brought me home, even when I didn't know how to walk through the door." A few sniffles ripple quietly through the small crowd.

"I promise to keep learning how to live—with you, beside you, for you. I promise to wake up every day and choose this. Choose you. Even when it’s hard. Especially then." Natasha’s lips tremble now, but her smile holds steady, and she looks at you like you’re the center of the universe.

"You are my safest place. My sharpest truth. And the first light I saw after so much darkness. I’m not promising perfection. I’m promising honesty. Growth. Love — always, unshakable, enduring. Quiet when it needs to be. Loud when it matters." You pause. "Whatever I have, whoever I become, it’s yours. Always has been. Always will be."

When the officiant says the words—"You may kiss your wife"—Natasha wastes no time.

Her hands come up to cradle your face as yours curl into the fabric of her dress. The kiss is not rushed, but full. Steady. Like breath coming back after being held for years.

And when you part, the barn is full of quiet cheers and wet eyes and smiles that feel carved from joy.

Clint lets out a loud “Finally!” that breaks the spell just enough to make everyone laugh.

You kissed her like it was the only thing you’d ever wanted to do. And it really was.

And when the music picked up, when the sun dipped and the lights above danced in the wind, when your friends clapped and toasted and swayed—

You held her close under the string lights, her forehead pressed to yours, and whispered,

“We made it.”

Natasha smiled. “We start now. I love you,” she whispers, too quietly for anyone else.

“I love you,” you whisper back and know — without doubt, without fear — that this is only the beginning.

—

The cabin sat at the edge of a lake that shimmered silver in the moonlight. It was small, nestled between tall trees and a quiet sky, wrapped in a hush that seemed to exist just for the two of you. The kind of quiet that made it feel like the world had finally stopped spinning.

It was your first night here.

No one else. No duties. No beeping medical machines. Just Natasha and you. Just soft blankets and the smell of pine and a fireplace crackling low in the hearth. The lake was still. The wind was kind.

Dinner had been quiet — not because there was nothing to say, but because the silence was full of the kind of peace you'd both fought for. Natasha had held your hand across the table, thumb brushing over your wedding ring as if to reassure herself it was really there. You’d done the same.

Now, inside the bedroom, you stood at the window, fingertips resting on the wooden frame, looking out at the dark.

Natasha watched you from across the room. You could feel her gaze, warm and gentle, resting on you like a blanket. She didn’t speak right away. She never rushed you. Not since you came back.

You turned around slowly, and when your eyes met, there was something unsaid in them, something shared. You crossed the room with bare feet and a steady heart. Stood in front of her. Let her take your hand.

“I missed this,” you whispered.

Her hand tightened around yours. “Me too.”

No rush. No sudden movement. She leaned in and kissed you, soft and unhurried, like she had all the time in the world. Her other hand rose to your cheek, anchoring you there, letting you feel it — that you were wanted. Loved. Safe.

You touched her face in return, fingertips featherlight on her jaw, and said, voice barely a breath, “I’m ready.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered with emotion, and she nodded. “Okay.”

And in that word — just okay—were a thousand I love yous.

She helped you out of the soft sweater you’d pulled on earlier. Her hands were reverent and steady, asking with every inch of movement. You nodded when she looked to you for permission, and you undressed her too, slowly and carefully. It was the first time in so long that it hadn’t been out of necessity, or urgency, or desperation — but because you wanted each other. Because your bodies had been through war and survival and time apart, and you were choosing each other again.

She guided you to the bed, and the moment you lay down together, it was like something clicked into place. Natasha’s lips brushed your collarbone, your pulse, and your jaw. Her touch was gentle yet firm, a reminder of the love and passion that had always been between you. As you held each other close, the weight of the world seemed to lift off your shoulders, leaving only the warmth of her body against yours.

She slowly removed your shirt , revealing the scars and memories that marked your skin. But instead of recoiling, Natasha's eyes softened with understanding and acceptance, making you feel truly seen and loved in a way you had never experienced before. With each touch, each kiss, it was clear that this reunion was not just about physical desire but about healing and rebuilding what had been broken. The same followed for the rest of your clothes, each layer shedding away the pain and insecurities that had built up over time. As you stood there vulnerable and exposed, Natasha's embrace felt like a safe haven, a place where you could finally let go and be yourself without fear of judgment.

Her hands trace every curve, every scar, every piece of skin as if it were the first time. Soft, gentle, memorizing every new part of you. Her fingers dipped low from your collarbone, down to the small of your back, leaving a trail of warmth and comfort in their wake. With each touch, it felt as though she was erasing the past and creating a new beginning for you both. Her kisses followed your body from your neck to the valley of your breasts and down to your hips, igniting a fire within you that had long been dormant. In her embrace, you found solace and acceptance, a sense of belonging that you had never experienced before.

Natasha looks up to your face, silently asking for permission to continue exploring the depths of your desires. You meet her gaze with a nod, giving her the go-ahead. One of her hands reaches up for your hand, intertwining your fingers with hers, before she finally leans down to your center.

As she delves deeper into your pleasure, you feel a wave of ecstasy wash over you, surrendering completely to the intimacy of the moment. Natasha's touch is both gentle and confident, guiding you to heights of passion you never knew existed.

There were no words for a while. Just breath, skin, quiet affirmations. You whispered her name like a promise. She said yours like a prayer.

When it was over, and the room was full of warmth and the soft scent of pine and skin and shared love, she held you close, one hand trailing up and down your spine.

“Was it okay?” she asked quietly, her voice husky and a little breathless.

You nodded against her shoulder, then pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“It was everything.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she leaned in to kiss you again — slow and deep and grateful.

You fell asleep that way. Skin against skin. Her heartbeat beneath your ear. No more running. No more surviving. Just two hearts, still learning to heal, finally at peace.

Together.

TAGLIST: @womenarehotsstuff @seventeen-x @ctrlaltedits @ciaoooooo111 @unexpected-character @redroomgraduate @natsaffection @cheekysnake @viosblog112 @riyaexee @lilyeyama @idontliketoread2127 @ima-gi--na-tion @sunny-poe @artemisarroxvolkov @hotcocoandonuts @scarletsstarlets @splatashaswife @generalbirdsalad @fxckmiup @yelldontwhisper

[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,”

[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.

[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.”

[kxsagi]

𝟎𝟐. 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬

now texting: sae 😒

the next day

you stood outside the looming black-glass building with your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. the cold chrome letters above the revolving door read MIKAGE RECORDS STUDIOS, and they might as well have said TURN BACK NOW. 

you glanced down at yourself – black cami top clinging just right, low-waisted star jeans sitting loose on your hips with the calvin klein waistband of your underwear peeking out, bracelets jangling at your wrist with every fidget. your adidas sambas scuffed the pavement as you shifted your weight. a groan slipped out as you pulled up your front camera to double-check the damage: curled hair holding up okay, necklace straight, all your piercings intact. 

you looked hot. but also slightly underdressed to walk into the same studio that housed the world’s most chaotic rock band. 

still, after five minutes of overthinking, you pushed through the doors. 

the lobby smelled like money. clean, icy air conditioning. white marble floors so polished you could see your reflection. gold elevator doors. a reception desk manned by a security guard in all black, eyes scanning your figure as you approached. 

you gave him your best don’t-mess-with-me smile. “hi. i’m here to see sae itoshi.” 

his brows arched slightly, and then relaxed. “oh, you’re that friend.” he leaned back in his chair. “he told us someone would be coming. marketing girl, right?” 

“that’s me,” you nodded, even though you hated being reduced to just that. but you were here for a paycheck, not an identity crisis. 

he pressed a button under the desk, unlocking the glass doors behind him. “he said you’d know where to go.” 

you froze for a split second. “right… i totally do.” 

he waved you through anyway, already looking back at his monitor. 

you stepped into the hallway, surrounded by tall walls and unfamiliar silence. you had no clue where the hell you were going. 

the sound of bass rumbled faintly from somewhere deeper in the building. you followed it, your shoes echoing too loudly on the floor. doors lined the hallway, some marked with numbers, others with nothing at all. you passed a room with soundproof glass. through it, you saw a drum kit and someone passed out on a beanbag. 

before you could double back and knock, a door swung open in front of you. you jumped. 

a man blinked at you, visibly confused, before smirking wide. “wow, what a woman.”  

tall, bleached-blond hair with blue streaks at the ends tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed and into a photoshoot. kaiser. you recognized him instantly. leather pants, mesh shirt, cocky smile you’d seen a hundred times in saint ego clips. 

“lost, pretty girl?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe like you were already his. 

you blinked, trying to avoid staring at the slight bruise on his cheekbone. “i’m… i’m looking for sae?” 

“damn. first time i meet you and you’re already breaking my heart.” he pushed off the doorframe. “you must be her. the intern.” 

“PR manager,” you corrected. “temporarily.” 

he grinned. “sure, sure. this way, baby PR.” 

you glared, but followed him anyway. 

he led you down a different hall, talking over his shoulder. “we’ve been waiting for you, you know. sae’s been acting like he’s about to spontaneously combust. and isagi–” 

he stopped himself just as he pushed open a door. 

inside was a lounge that looked like a musician’s version of a frat house. guitars on the wall. wires tangled on the floor. empty boba cups. rin sat on the couch, airpods in, scrolling through his phone. shidou was eating candy on the opposite end. sae stood near the kitchenette with a coffee in hand and dark circles under his eyes. bachira spun in a desk chair until he saw you, and then grinned wide. 

kaiser gestured like he’d just presented a magic trick. 

“gentlemen,” he said. “she’s here.” 

you hovered in the doorway for a moment, eyes scanning the chaos of the lounge. the room felt alive – cluttered, loud, buzzing with a kind of boy-energy that smelled like caffeine, guitar polish, and too many late nights. 

bachira was the first to shoot up from his seat and greet you. he practically skipped across the room, mismatched socks and a smile too wide to be legal. 

“you’re the intern? woah. you’re pretty.” 

“PR manager,” you corrected, again. 

“temporary,” sae added from behind his coffee mug, voice dry. 

“welcome to the jungle,” bachira grinned, twirling a piece of your hair before kaiser gently tugged him back by the collar. 

“don’t harass her on sight,” he muttered. 

“it’s not harassment if i say it with love,” bachira replied, then leaned in and whispered to you, “you’ll get used to the chaos. or you won’t. but either way, it’s entertaining.” 

rin didn’t even glance up from his phone. he just muttered a flat, “hi.” 

“he’s dry,” bachira whispered loudly. 

you were about to reply that you already knew rin when the door behind you creaked again. 

someone stepped in, hoodie pulled over his dark hair, earbuds in, a notebook under his arm. he looked up – slow, sharp, unreadable. 

isagi yoichi. lead singer. band’s main songwriter. center of the storm last week. 

his gaze landed on you like a spotlight. not the loud kind, the quiet kind. intense. observant. he took in your outfit, your expression, your stance. all of it. in a second flat. 

you were prepared for cocky. aloof. maybe even rude. 

you weren’t prepared for the way he blinked once, then nodded politely and said, “hey. i’m isagi.” 

his voice was smooth, but low. not overly friendly. not cold either. just… level. 

you didn’t realize you were staring until kaiser bumped your arm. “don’t mind him. he’s quiet around girls he thinks are cute.” 

you pursed your lips together. you were here for work, not a boyfriend. 

isagi rolled his eyes and walked past you, dropping onto the farthest couch with his notebook and pen. he didn’t look flustered. not exactly. but the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was amused. like he’d already read this whole situation ten steps ahead. 

“i’m not quiet,” he said, flipping open the notebook. “i’m just working.” 

“he’s writing a song,” bachira whispered dramatically. “he’s been brooding for like, four hours.” 

“three,” isagi corrected without looking up. 

sae sighed, rubbing his temples. “can we sit? i brought her here for a reason.” 

you straightened up, shoulders back. “right.”

it was showtime. 

you stepped further into the room, eyes darting around for the cleanest surface to put your laptop bag. there wasn’t one. you settled for the edge of the coffee table, nudging aside a crushed monster can and what looked like a guitar string wrapped around a chopstick. 

“so,” you started, voice clear, “i know things have been... messy. which is why i’m here.” 

rin made a sound like a scoff. kaiser hummed a fake violin. shidou laughed. bachira leaned forward like you were about to tell a ghost story. 

you met their stares one by one, steady. “i’m here to manage your public image. and if i’m doing my job right, no one will remember the livestream fight in a month.” 

“bold of you to assume people will forget the highlight of the year,” rin said from the armchair, lazily flipping a pick between his fingers. 

“i’m not asking them to forget,” you replied. “i’m giving them something better to remember.” 

that earned a few raised brows. 

“a documentary,” you continued. “seven episodes. behind-the-scenes, raw, real. your comeback arc. your redemption tour. a perfectly curated mess.” 

bachira clapped once. “ooooh. like keeping up with saint ego.” 

“more like surviving saint ego,” rin muttered. 

“same thing,” kaiser grinned. 

you didn’t look away. “we control the narrative. not the fans. not the headlines. us.” 

"i was thinking of making isagi and kaiser film an apology video with a black and white filter over it," sae admitted blankly.

"no, the fandom is already divided. an apology video would be picked apart like crazy and nothing would change," you explained, voice steady with confidence.

“and you think people will buy the documentary?” isagi asked. his eyes were still on the notebook, but his pen had stopped moving. 

you turned toward him. “they won’t have to. they’ll just watch.” 

there was a pause. a flicker of something passed behind his eyes. curiosity? respect? maybe even… interest? 

“we start filming in two days,” you said. “you’ll each have individual interviews. group sessions. footage from rehearsals, the studio, the tour. the camera will follow you around.” 

“do we get hair and makeup?” bachira asked, already pulling out his phone. “i wanna wear eyeliner like rodrick heffley.” 

“you can wear whatever you want,” you said. “you’re just gonna pretend the camera isn’t there.” 

“you’ll regret saying that,” sae muttered. 

kaiser leaned back in the armchair, legs sprawled. “and who’s behind the camera?” 

“a guy named hiori. also my uni classmate that majors in film production. he’s perfect for this because he’s discreet. professional. nonjudgmental. which is more than i can say for most of you.” 

shidou smirked. “you’re fun.” 

“i’m serious.” 

“so are we,” isagi said quietly, closing his notebook. 

the room stilled. his tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried weight. suddenly everyone was looking at him. but he looked at you. 

“you think you can fix this?” 

you matched his gaze. “i think you need to let me try.” 

a beat. then: 

“fine,” he said, standing. “but if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. no fake smiles. no scripted bullshit. you want the real story?” 

“that’s the only story worth telling,” you said. 

his lip quirked up. a near-smile. just for a second. 

bachira whooped and flopped onto the couch beside you. “this is gonna be so much fun.” 

“this is gonna be a disaster,” rin corrected. 

“same thing,” kaiser said again, laughing. 

you sat down, heart still racing from adrenaline. but they were listening. and that was half the battle. 

the other half? 

well, that would come later. when the cameras were rolling. when the cracks started to show. when secrets slipped out between songs and smoke breaks. 

but for now, you had their attention. 

and that was enough. 

masterlist | ch. 01 | ch. 03

taglist (closed): @nensi @ro4love @avaxoxo13 @levisgoonerr @jnkosstuff @simpingmyassoff @sunsettsguitar @trinkets-of-time @cinneorolls @silverwings920 @mymeloreo @satorella @gkattdoesstuff @lovingmayday @pixelpancakes @vverie @nicfics @nevvynev @astro-3000 @mihyas-dieehefrau @i-eve-i @ohagiyoo @aadahyax @yumerinns @rie-cecooker @neeeooon @laylaandsstuff @irethepotato @byzantiumhollow @luvsymai @blu3-l0v3r @kiritokunuwu @anaxugoras @yxnnu @academiq @jaeyuuns @x3nafix @sukunaspillow @sasukevrz @anyaslittlepeanut @yunsspace @gurehai @chiieni @6riix @miiyabi @2ukika @ventivente @heartsforfeitan @kai-wavesii-blog @iqxatlantic

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[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

[winkofcharm]

Spinning, Spinning, Spun - Chapter 2

I wanted more for this chapter, but apparently I'm travelling this weekend so it's all I could do.

batfamily x reader {platonic}

[first] [previous] [next]

Alfred thinks he may rival any of The Flashes in how quickly he moves. Any aching joints or stiff knees that may slow him down are forgotten in his hurry. He does not call Stephanie back to inform her, throwing all his attention into getting into the Batcave as soon as he can.  There is no time to waste, for if Stephanie is right - you haven’t been heard from in at least a week, a week too long. If the laughter at the end of your voicemail is real, then you’re not just missing, you’ve been taken.

‘It’s all too familiar’, Alfred thinks, punching in the access code before stepping into the elevator. ‘It’s happened again, another child - gone’. The past replays in his mind, over and over again. Jason, gone, dead, killed by the same grotesque creature that now holds you. 

Alfred is forced to wipe his eyes, clear away his forming tears, so that the retina scanner works. And as soon as he is able, the emergency alert goes out. He knows it will wake Bruce and Tim, and he knows it may take a few minutes for Dick and Barbara to join virtually - but sure enough, his family fills the cave. 

Batman, Robin, Red Robin, Batgirl and Spoiler are all gathered within a half hour. Nightwing’s and Oracle’s faces each on a monitor. Spoiler, Stephanie, is pale, her face twisted into a look of guilt, eyes staring into Alfred’s as he begins to speak. 

The words are slow to form, and choke him as he forces them out-

“I was made aware not long ago that,” Alfred pauses, not purposely, but long enough to give a shuddering sigh, “The young master has -” His eyes settle on Stephanie, who has yet to divert her eyes from him. It is a slight movement, but her head is shaking, back and forth, a silent prayer for him to not finish. “Has been taken.” He finishes. 

Stephanie shrinks into herself, it was not the answer she wanted, but the one she received nonetheless. Alfred shuts his eyes, refuses to look upon the others as he provides more information, the only information he had. He forces the words out, as if speaking them is carving them into stone. He knows he will have to say them, no matter how little he wishes to. He will have to open his eyes, and bear witness to a world in which you most certainly have been harmed. 

He tells them all he knows.

He tells them how Stephanie had noticed your lack of online presence, how she had reached out to him, and he had tried to contact you, and how your voicemail had been…altered. How the laugh at the end could belong to only one person. He finishes, and silence takes over. The only sound he hears is his own heart pounding in his ears - waiting for someone, anyone, to tell him that he was wrong. That you were in fact safe and sound, that you were upstairs in your room, wrapped tightly in blankets and securely asleep. 

Barbara is the first to speak, her voice coming from the speakers, bouncing around the cave with a slight echo. 

“They failed to check in with me today, but they did yesterday. It’s unlikely they’ve been gone that long - “ she explains, Alfred can hear the tap-tap-tap of her keyboard through the surround sound system. She remotely takes control of the computer, various screenshots of conversations popping up as she does. The very latest is dated yesterday, 5:15pm for its final message. 

The picture above your final message (‘Your last words’ Alfred thinks) is cut off, but he catches the end of a runway, and the top of your seated legs.

K. 

That’s it. 

5:15pm: K.

“According to their schedule, they should be in Milan for fashion week - huh. Strange -” Barbara stops mid-sentence. Her brow furrowing as she types rapidly, “But the jet’s in New York, and has been for-” she cuts herself off again. Typing getting faster, a frown overtaking her expression. “Three weeks - what? They’ve been sending pictures from all over the place?” 

Stephanie’s eyes widen, and she steps forward. 

“That picture is from last year,” She pulls out her phone and pulls up profile, scrolling back through a years worth of content, “See! It’s the same one!” She claims. She sends it wirelessly to the computer, and it pops up squished between Babara and Dick’s faces. 

Even from what little he could see of your messages from Barbara, he can tell it’s the truth. The lights are the same, the runway and laying in your lap are identical, down to the tiniest of stains on the knee of your pants. 

Barbara proceeds to pull up more and more of the pictures you have supposedly sent her these last few days, and sure enough - each one is a duplicate to an earlier post. Panic and fear bubble in Stephanie’s chest as she confirms each one, and Alfred watches as the rest of his family begin to realize - 

You were gone.

Someone had your phone.

That someone had been pretending to be you.

If the laugh at the end of your voicemail was any indication - 

Joker had you, had had you for a week, at least. 

And no one had noticed. 

It’s only when Bruce steps forward, that Barbara and Stephanie fall silent, and back into line. His eyes are steel, cold and hard,  flickering over all the presented information. 

“Nightwing, come back to Gotham, you and I will focus on the Red Hood case. Spoiler and Robin, I need you to investigate the Jet, check it over, see if anything is out of place,” He pauses, deep in thought before continuing, “Oracle, track their digital movements. Phone records, previous posts - everything. Red Robin, Batgirl, try and see if they have any enemies. Anyone who may have wanted them hurt, or wanted to hurt the Wayne family.” 

Bruce stops, and looks over his team, his family, as he gives his instruction. Splitting their attention at a time like this, with a new violent vigilante on the loose in his city, wasn’t ideal. He would make it work - he had to. Red Hood was targeting the Robins, Red Robin in particular, this gave him both an excuse to get Tim off the Red Hood case, and onto your disappearance. He hopes they aren’t connected, and hopes he can keep the rest of them from realizing they might be. 

It would be easier for him to take Red Hood on with Dick alone; and if it means letting the rest think Joker - who is still firmly locked in Arkham - took you, then so be it. 

Bruce dismisses his team, his family, his children, and watches them all flit off into the night. Oracle signs off with a flourish, but Dick remains behind - the computer automatically adjusts so that his face, and his face alone takes up the entire monitor. Bruce is turned away from the monitor, and despite the distance between them, he can feel his son's eyes burn into his back. He knows that Dick is frowning, knows what he will say when he turns to face him. He lets out a sigh, there is no preventing what is to come, his shoulders fall slack, and he finally turns to face what he knows is coming - as if he is the son to be scolded by his father. 

Dick is angry, is disappointed, and frustrated. He may not have been as close to you as he could have been, but you were still part of his family. He was once told that keeping you at arms length meant keeping you safe, but he learned long ago that was a lie. 

He was already Nightwing by the time he had met you, but he had known of you for far longer. He learned of you from bits and pieces, crumbs dropped by those who barely let a thing slide. Written reports on a desk that he was technically forbidden from reading, early morning phone calls between Alfred and some secret stranger - everything pointed to a secret, and Dick was really, really good at figuring out people's secrets.

He discovered you, and then, to his regret, left you alone. He was gone by the time you finally came home, and with Jason arriving nearly the same day to replace him - his attention was diverted to the most pressing matter. He did visit occasionally, and met you through those visits. 

You didn’t know about the Batman thing, and he was fine keeping that from you. He also didn’t think he had to make sure Jason knew about keeping the Batman thing secret from you, but maybe he should have. There was such a clear divide between you pre-knowing, and post-knowing. 

Dick can’t help but think that if he had tried just a bit more, things may have been different. He appreciates all that you do, really he does - it’s just, he doesn’t know you the way he knows everyone else. Doesn’t know what makes you happy or sad, doesn’t know your favourite foods, favourite colours, or even who your friends are ( do you even have any, outside of those you work with?). Now it may be too late, he thinks. If Joker has you, and you’ve really been gone for as long as they think - it’s Jason all over again. He wonders if he’ll see you too, in the dark corners of his mind. If an apparition of you, molded by his own mind, will taunt his failures as Jason’s ghost does. 

It’s not even the first time you’ve been kidnapped. They all have, at some point or another, but they all had training to get themselves out. You hadn’t, and yes, most of the time it was some low ranking organization or crook looking for a quick buck, thinking you an easy target (and you were an easy target), it didn’t change the fact that it’d happened. 

Didn’t change the fact that after the first time, Dick had promised he’d spend more time with you (and then didn’t). Then it happened again, and this time you weren’t even rescued by a family member, by a familiar face. Maybe it was one of the Supers? Or maybe a Flash? You were brought home by a Green Lantern once (twice). Each time he’d promise himself, he’d treat you better, each time he promised you’d be safer and it wouldn’t happen again - and then it did. 

It ate at him, how you’d shrug off each incident without a word. Perhaps, he thinks, he convinced himself that it didn’t affect you, that even if you were snatched up, you’d be saved in the end, so the fact that it happened didn’t matter. But it did matter, it did. He swears it did, and staring down at your shared Father, who had swore time and time again that you’d be kept safe (and being proven wrong, time and time again) it sinks in that this may be the last time.  That those promises he made to himself were never going to be kept, that he was a liar, that for all his bravado about being the best big brother , he was possibly one of the worst. 

“Bruce,” he forces out, words dancing on the tip of his tongue, “You said this wouldn’t happen again.” 

‘This’ being either you being kidnapped again, or having another of his siblings taken away by the clown prince of crime. He isn’t sure which one he means, or maybe he means both - and judging from the look on Bruce’s face, he takes it as both. 

“It hasn’t, “ Bruce starts, and Dick thinks he may have finally lost it. You definitely were taken again, and a good chance it was - “He’s still locked up.” 

What?

“Joker’s still in Arkham, the others will figure that out soon enough,” He continues, and Dick stares open-mouthed at him. If Joker is still in Arkham, then who? Who has you? Harley? Is it an attempt to bust Joker out? To continue his work while he cannot? Dick can’t help but wonder what is worse, thinking Joker or Harley may have you, or not knowing who does. He runs over all the possibilities in his mind, for surely this must be one of their known enemies. Someone who wants to target them, because there was never a reason to target you specifically. 

But there’s a new player on the board, isn’t there? One that’s started cropping up everywhere they look. 

“Bruce, you don’t think it’s him do you?” Dick waits for an answer, and all he gets is the slightest nod of Bruce’s head. “I see. I’ll be back in Gotham by the morning, and then, we’re tracking Red Hood down.” With that, Dick dismisses himself, logging off and finally Bruce is alone. 

He is not a good father. He knows this. He has never pretended otherwise, despite what some may say. They may say he did his best, he did all that he could. They praise him for the way his children have turned out, the ones that survived, as if he is the reason they did so. He knows he is not, especially not when it comes to you. 

There is nothing he has done right for you, not once, except perhaps try to set you free from the darkness. But even that, he thinks, he has done wrong. To let you grow in the sun, he severed your roots. Refused to let them take hold, that someday you might leave him, and his shadows behind, and start anew. Yet he sought to tie you to him, that you might never find that sun, may see it, but never feel its warmth for yourself. 

He is a selfish man, who drags those around him down, he poisons the well from which you drink long before you could find another. In wanting to keep you close, he has driven you away. In wanting to drive you away, he may have killed you. 

You are his first born, one that he did not want, but was no less dear to him. He has never shown you this, never let you know, and now that may be another great failure atop the pile of other great failures. 

He was not there when you were born, didn’t even know you were to be, but when the hospital called, he felt his heart swell. A family, a father in a way that Dick didn’t really need him to be. He didn’t rush, couldn’t rush. It wouldn’t be the first time he was declared the father of an illegitimate child. He pushed for tests, just in case, and when they came back and you were his, he felt himself hope. 

Hope is a fickle mistress, and he found it lacking soon after. He had you placed in his childhood room, the nursery, the one in which all Wayne children had resided in at some point or another. He thought he could keep up with raising a child and being The Batman. He was young, he was capable, he was, he was doing so very very wrong by you.

A baby was different from a preteen, he soon learned. Dick was easy, because for the most part, he could care for himself. He did not need someone to watch him at all hours, didn’t need nappies changed and bottles warmed. It was not care he nor Alfred could give. 

He did what he thought was best, and though it haunted him, he sent you away, and promised he would bring you back when you were older, when it would be better, easier. 

A better time, an easier time, never came. Something always came up, always held him back on bringing you home. He didn’t think that time would ever come, doesn’t know if it truly had. But you came home, the woman he had personally hired to raise you was retiring, and he figured it was the only chance he had to bring you in. 

The date slipped his mind, and on the day you came home, he found Jason. Instead of greeting you, welcoming you, embracing you, he opened his arms to another, letting you slip into the manor like a phantom. 

You were finally home and despite all that you may have needed - Jason needed more. He passed you in the hallways, sometimes at meals, never really stopping to connect with you the way he should have. He learned of you indirectly, through Jason. 

How glad he was, that you held no animosity towards the boy he had taken in. You never gave any inclination towards the idea he may have stolen your place, even if Jason sometimes thought he had. The boy was sensitive, empathetic to a degree Bruce hadn’t known before. And Bruce, for the moment, encouraged it.

Until you found out about Batman. 

He had done what he could to keep you separate. To keep your life and light safe from the dark and dirt that encompassed all he did. It was Jason’s mistake, and Jason would be punished accordingly. But that left you - sitting alone in the study, eyes cast aside until he began to speak and you looked up and oh- 

Your eyes. 

His mothers eyes. 

He had never looked you in the eyes before, never noticed, how could he not notice? You had her eyes. Your eyes, looking upon him in fear, reminding him so clearly of his mothers eyes on that night.  His mothers eyes, frightened of him. 

He panicked. Lashed out, locked you out of the loop and threw away the key. If it meant you hated him, feared him, so be it. He would keep you safe, he would do all he could to keep those eyes in his life. 

And then he failed. Again. He thought by letting you go into the world slowly, he could at least try to keep you safe and content. 

Again, and again, and again, and again. He watched you suffer as he failed you. Then when you finally seem to be escaping his failure, leaving behind all his mistakes, he refuses to let you go. Forces you to play pretend, to put a metaphorical mask on and lie to the world about how perfect he is -

Sometimes he lets himself believe it, lets himself get lost in the fairy tale, that you are a happy child and he is a good father, that he has never abandoned you, that you and he are a team, taking on the world together. He pretends that he has never missed a ceremony or award, that ‘family night’ includes you, that he doesn’t see only your back walking away from him, that he has never walked away from you. 

‘This is the last time,’ Bruce thinks, going back over all your accounts, comparing the recent ones to the timeline of Red Hood showing up in Gotham. ‘After this, I will let them go.’ 

He knows this is another lie, and chooses to believe it anyway. 

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

Next chapter - Red Hood vs Batman,

and finally, a check in with Reader-tan

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[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.