#Smart lock Replacement

[davidmarkweb125]

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[rachanasharma1028]

dubailocksmith247.com/lock-replacement.html

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[lockrepair]

How Does LockSmith open doors?

Locksmiths typically use a variety of techniques to open doors, depending on the type of lock and the situation. Here are some common methods:

1- Picking: Lock picking is a delicate process that requires patience, precision, and practice. It involves using a tension wrench and a pick to manipulate the pins inside a lock and unlock it.

By applying gentle pressure with the tension wrench and carefully setting each pin to the shear line, you can eventually turn the plug and open the lock. However, it's important to note that lock picking is a skill that should be used responsibly and ethically. If you're struggling with a stubborn lock, consider contacting a professional locksmith for expert lock repairs.

2- Bumping: Lock bumping is a technique used to open locks by causing the pins inside to bind and then release, allowing the plug to turn. It involves using a bump key and a tension wrench, and requires precision and timing.

However, lock bumping is generally considered a more destructive method than lock picking and should be used responsibly. If you're locked out of your home or need assistance with a lock, it's always best to contact a professional locksmith.

3- Drilling: Drilling a lock is usually a last resort when all other non-destructive methods, such as lock picking or bumping, fail. To drill a lock, the locksmith first assesses the type of lock to confirm if drilling is necessary. Once confirmed, a power drill with a hardened, carbide-tipped drill bit is prepared to penetrate the lock.

The locksmith carefully marks the spot for drilling, typically just above the keyhole, aiming for the lock’s internal pins or tumbler mechanism. Steady drilling is applied to break the pins while ensuring minimal damage to the door. Once the pins are destroyed, a tension wrench or screwdriver is used to turn the lock and open the door. This process, known as lock entry or lock opening, is generally quick but should only be done by a professional to minimise damage.

4- Non-destructive Techniques: Non-destructive techniques are methods used by locksmiths to unlock doors without causing damage to the lock or door. These techniques are preferred because they maintain the integrity of the locking mechanism, allowing it to be re-used after opening.

Note:

It's important to note that attempting to open a lock yourself can damage the lock or door, and it's always best to call a professional locksmith for assistance. For more information visit our site https://nottinghamlocksmith.org/ 

[sunshinemobilelocksmithfl]

Website : https://sunshinemobilelocksmithfl.com/

Address : 1225 North Wickham Road, Melbourne, FL 32935

Phone : +1 321-343-4171

Welcome to Sunshine Mobile Locksmith, your trusted 24 hour locksmith company in Florida. With years of experience in the industry, we are committed to providing top-quality locksmith services that are reliable, efficient, and affordable. Our team of fully licensed, insured, and bonded locksmiths is available around the clock to meet all your security needs, whether it’s an emergency lockout, lock repair, key replacement, or installing high-security systems.

We believe in offering tailored solutions, taking the time to understand your unique situation and providing services that best fit your needs. From residential and commercial security solutions to automotive locksmith services, we’ve got you covered. As a locally-owned and operated business, we pride ourselves on serving the Brevard County community with the highest level of professionalism and integrity. At Sunshine Mobile Locksmith, our goal is to exceed your expectations and ensure your peace of mind, day or night.

Business mail : sunshinemobilelocksmith@gmail.com

[bi-writes]

deranged ex husband!ghost thoughts:

he lives up to his nickname. he's not ex husband price who simply Does Not Stop and shows up all the time to demonstrate to your new partners that he is fundamental anatomy to your life.

he haunts you. tampered amazon packages, a room slightly altered when you return from work, he's in your phone, he's in your inbox, he fixes things while you're away just as often as he breaks them.

is there someone in the other room? you bought a travel door lock and replaced every piece of home security tech with something new but you can swear you can hear a window shimmied open, a door lock whirring. you think you're losing your mind. who do you call when you think you're being stalked? when security is your greatest fear? your ex? his friends?

a wriggling and primal part of your mind warns you this is a bad idea. but you unblock his number, you text simon to see if he's still in the area. how are you doing? i know it's been a while, but i need a favor.

oh my goodness............................. (18+)

he says nothing as he does a walkthrough of your new divorcee flat. one bedroom in a nice-enough neighborhood, but you saw the twitch of his eye when he noticed the front lobby doors could be jimmyed open with the edge of a credit card.

the cat greets him like she always does. slender, grey thing that slithers between his thick legs as he moves through your space. you notice his gloved hands ghosting over divots in entryways that he made, flicking the useless lock of your window that he's already broken himself twice. you follow him like a puppy into every room he studies, rocking back and forth, wet eyes and trembling lips realizing as he moves just how unsafe you are.

he says nothing when he stands in your foyer again after doing his thorough once-over, turning to face you silently, where you're already crying. he just stands, not touching you, tilting his head to the side as he watches those glassy, salty tears fall down your puffed cheeks as you sputter through soft breaths that you don't know what to do.

ghost just kisses his teeth and stands there. he's an asshole—he's not going to do anything unless you ask him to. he's mean like that, likes to be wanted. he wants you to open your pretty, wet mouth and ask for it like a good girl. he's not going to assume you want his help; he wants you to put your hands on his thick chest and ask him all pathetic that you need him to do something about the thing that's been breaking into your house.

ghost is not your husband anymore though. when he was, he would've gladly fixed all your things for you. he would've gladly spent the entire day installing cameras, fixing your locks, getting you proper deadbolts, but he's just some man to you now, and his labor isn't for free.

he wants to feel nasty about it, but he can't. you don't even have to ask what he wants—you know what it is. you sniffle, blubbery and whiny, as you put your thumbs into the gusset of your sleep shorts and pull them to the side as you bend over the kitchen counter.

he keeps a big hand tangled in your hair as he fucks you. he yanks your neck back, bending you at the hip, an angle so sharp that your back arches uncomfortably as the edge of the counter digs into your tummy sharply. he barely makes a sound himself, but the slick between your bodies makes up for it.

slap, slap, slap—you're soaked between the thighs, all wound up and hot and breathless after watching ghost be so capable and confident and smart. he's so intelligent. he's so big and brawny and brave. you'd trade anything to feel safe again after living on your own after so long, and honestly, paying for fixed locks for a wet shag with your ex-husband isn't the worst price at all.

the problem between you two was never the sex, that's for sure. in fact, you think the connection alone kept you around longer than you meant to be. ghost would light a cigarette and stick a thick hand down his trousers, and you'd all but fall onto his dick just to placate the heat of attraction that always wound you like crazy.

your eyes roll back in your head when he cups your pussy with a big, hot hand. you grip the counter and grind against his palm, sticking your tongue out as he pounds into you deeper, more forcefully. he's close, you know it by the falter in his breaths, and you can't help yourself.

you just can't.

"inside—" you whine. "don't pull out—"

ghost laughs—why the fuck would he ever pull out?

maybe if he breaks a window next, you'll let him try for a baby.

[michaeleastwood1]

: The Beginner's Guide in order to Locker Locks: What you ought to Know

[davidmarkweb125]

Smart Lock Replacement-dubailocksmith247 We provide the service of smart lock replacement in Dubai by dubailocksmith247 . Our team has vast experience of installing and replacing smart locks. We can replace smart locks if they are damaged or not functioning in a normal manner. A badly damaged or non-operable lock must be replaced. Otherwise, it can lead to security problems. https://www.dubailocksmith247.com/lock-replacement.html

[rachanasharma1028]

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[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake, Sleep-Deprived Overlord Extraordinaire (and the Boy Who Grounds Him)

The thing about Tim Drake is that he’s brilliant. The thing about Tim Drake without sleep is that he’s unhinged.

It always starts subtly. A missed night of sleep here, a triple shift there. His words get sharper, his focus becomes razor-edged, and the bats can practically see the neurons in his brain firing like a thousand fireworks.

Then, somewhere around hour 56 of no sleep, Tim crosses the threshold into full-blown megalomania.

He doesn’t just think he’s smart—he knows it. He’ll drop gems like, “Honestly, Gotham’s infrastructure is appalling. If I really wanted to, I could take over the city in 72 hours, tops,” or “Do you think I could reprogram every Bat-computer in the Cave before Bruce notices? Because I can.”

Which—yeah, okay, the family knows he’s capable of it, but it’s terrifying.

When he’s in this state, Tim walks around with the energy of someone who’s cracked the secrets of the universe and is two steps away from becoming a benevolent dictator. His confidence is unsettling. His hyper-awareness is borderline supernatural.

The bats try. Oh, do they try.

“Tim,” Dick says gently, holding out a cup of chamomile tea and a soft blanket. “Maybe you should lie down for a bit.”

Tim doesn’t even glance at him. “Lying down is for the weak, Dick. Also, you left your phone on the counter. Might wanna grab it before someone texts Kori again.”

Dick freezes. He did leave his phone on the counter, and he can only hope Tim didn't do anything with it (Though his comment definitely says otherwise).

“Tim,” Bruce says, the Big Bat Voice in full swing. “You need to rest.”

Tim smirks, flipping through his tablet. “Rest is for the dead, and I’m not in the mood for ghosts tonight. Also, you forgot to update the encryption on your personal server. Again.”

Even Damian tries, but he gets as far as hurling a batarang at Tim’s leg before Tim dodges it without looking. “Tsk tsk, Damian. You’re getting predictable.”

It’s chaos. It’s exhausting.

Enter Danny Fenton.

Danny’s used to Tim’s shenanigans by now. He’s been around for enough of Tim’s sleep-deprivation arcs to know the signs. The sharp eyes, the slightly-too-bright smile, the way he starts muttering plans for world domination like he’s drafting a grocery list.

Danny lets it slide for a while—Tim in hyper-mode is kind of cute, in a “my boyfriend might accidentally take over the world” way. But then he sees the bags under Tim’s eyes, the way his hands tremble just slightly from over-caffeination, and he knows it’s time to intervene.

Danny doesn’t use tea. He doesn’t try reason. He doesn’t even bother with the blanket method.

Instead, Danny steps into the Cave, tilts his head at Tim, and says, “Honey, can we cuddle?”

Tim freezes.

The bats, who have been subjected to hours of Tim’s unrelenting, untouchable brilliance, watch in shock as their insurmountable sibling folds like a deck of cards.

“I—uh—cuddle?” Tim stammers, blinking like a deer in headlights.

Danny smiles, soft and sweet and just shy of smug. “Yeah, I miss you. Come to bed with me?”

Tim’s resolve crumbles. He’s already pulling off his gauntlets. “Yeah, okay. Just for a bit.”

“A bit,” Danny agrees, but he’s already leading Tim upstairs.

The bats are left standing in the Cave, mouths agape.

Jason’s the first to break the silence. “Did we just get out-maneuvered by Tim’s boyfriend? The guy who hangs out with Harley Quinn for fun?”

Dick snorts. “I mean, are we really surprised? Danny’s been handling Tim better than any of us for years.”

Bruce exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing. “As long as Tim’s resting, I don’t care how it happened. Danny’s good for him.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees with a shrug. “Kid’s weird, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. And if he can get Replacement to sleep, I’ll send him a damn fruit basket.”

The bats exchange a rare moment of collective relief.

Upstairs, Danny tucks Tim into bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face as Tim curls into him. He doesn’t care about strategies or what the bats think. All that matters is Tim, finally at peace in his arms.

"Sleep well, genius," Danny murmurs, pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead. And for the first time in days, Tim does.

[simpforrooster]

this is so much better.

jake 'hangman' seresin x f!simpsonreader

summary: jake and reader are trapped in an elevator, much to jake's excitement, and reader's demise. t/w: mentions of claustrophobia, on-page panic attack, some fluff. 18+ content mentioned.

“hold the door!!” a southern drawl calls out to you, his handsome face barely visible as the elevator doors start to close.

as you punch the close door button, his strong forearm stops the door, and he runs in.

jake “hangman” seresin feeds you an annoyingly beautiful smirk. you answer with one of your best eye rolls.

“thanks, sugar,” he drawls. his flight suit is unzipped to his waist, showcasing the tight black shirt stretched across his chest.

“in a hurry?” you ask, keeping your gaze straight ahead, watching the numbers countdown.

“i could ask you the same. coulda’ sworn i saw your finger reach for the close door button.” his blonde brow arches up.

god, he’s infuriatingly handsome. and your favorite verbal sparring partner.

“just trying to deliver these reports to, Dad. he left them on the counter and called me in a tizzy,” you reply. “you?”

“oh, i heard you were making an appearance on base and had to see you,” he winks. “couldn’t let the pretty simpson go without a little flirting.”

“don’t call me that,” you say. “hey does the elevator feel like it’s—“

before you can get the words out, the elevator lurches and throws you into jake, the papers you were holding scattered all along the floor. the lights dim out, replaced by a red emergency light.

his strong arms lock around your waist, holding you up. your gaze is locked on his chest where his shirt meets his collarbone. your breaths start to come in short spurts.

“is this a bad time to tell you this is my worst nightmare?” you murmur.

“is this a bad time to tell you i’ve never been happier with the way you’re clinging to me for dear life?” he whispers back, his breath soft on your ear.

for a moment, your fear is replaced with longing. you look up into his green eyes, and he gives you another smirk. you remove your hands from him and try to step back.

he matches your step, not unlocking his arms from your waist. one hand cups your neck.

“your pulse is racing,” he comments. "i didn't know you felt this way about me, simpson." his lip quips up in the corner.

the walls of the elevator feel like they're closing in. in a matter of seconds, you are going to be enveloped between the lacquered wood walls. the roof of the tiny box is joining the walls, ready to squish you into your eternal doom.

"please don't be a smart ass, jake," you managed to say in between your gasping breath.

jake pulls back to take in your features. his green eyes roam over your face. your hands are in fists against your own chest, rising up and down in time if your hyperventalations.

jake reaches for your hands, and you don't fight. he flattens out your fists, enveloping them between his own. realization falls over his beautiful face.

"you're having a panic attack." it's not a question.

in an instance, the jake you know and hate--err, love--is gone. in his place is lieutenant seresin, the aviator with three confirmed kills. the man who is going to rise in rank in no time.

"listen to me, simpson," he says your last name as if he's speaking to your dad, not trying to get into your pants like usual.

his green eyes lock and hold yours. you couldn't look away if you wanted to.

"the walls are closing in. we're going to be crushed," you admit your fears, feeling the tears you've been trying to keep away roll down your cheeks. saying the fear aloud helps you reason with the absurdity of it.

"they aren't," he murmurs, continuing to rub your palms in his. the sensation pulls your thoughts from the elevator, keeping your present with jake.

"the roof too," you whisper. jake shakes his head. there is no sign of the flirty pilot. no sign of raised brows questioning your sanity. lieutenant seresin believes you. he believes this illogical fear.

and he's helping you through it.

"we're stuck," you croak. this time, jake nods. you sink to the floor, and jake goes along with you. he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. reaching over your shoulder, he pushes the call button.

"power outage on base," the collected voice announces. "working as fast as they can. who is in the elevator?"

"lieutenant seresin and y/n simpson."

"noted. hang tight, you two. might be a little while."

a little while. the phrase has your pulse ramping back up. how long is a little while? thirty minutes? an hour? overnight?

as if he can read your mind, jake begins rubbing your palms. you meet his eyes and your breathing starts to steady.

"it's okay. you can be scared. i'm here," he whispers. "you are safe. your biggest enemy right now is your mind."

"i know," you admit. one of his hands lets go of yours to rest on your neck. he slides the hand up to your cheek. immediately, you lean into the touch. he calloused hand rough against your cheek helps to keep you from exploring all the ways this elevator could hurt you. his thumb brushes under your eye, removing a tear.

"i'm sorry," you say, embarrassment replacing some of your anxiety.

jake looks startled. "you have nothing to apologize for." jake looks around the elevator, and in a stage-whisper says, "i used to feel so claustrophobic in my jet."

the admission catches you off-guard. "you don't have to make me feel better, hangman."

he shakes his head. "i'm not. it was a huge thing. i thought i would never make it through the academy."

"but you did."

"i did."

"thank you, jake," you murmur. the serious mask of the lieutenant slips, and your jake is back feeding your soul with that insufferable smirk.

jake's hands are still on your body, and now that you're convinced the elevator is not alive and wanting to crush you, the weight of him fills you with longing.

a longing you have tried to ignore.

jake must sense this too, because he pulls you over to straddle his lap. both hands settle on your face, and yours holds onto his wrists.

"is this how you saw your 'flirting' playing out?" you whisper, leaning into him, stopping millimeters from his mouth.

"did i see the pretty simpson straddling my waist? i can't say i did. i'll admit, i did fantasize about kissing you against the wall." his hands fall to your outer thigh, running his hands slowly up and down them. "this is so much better."

"you fantasize about me?" you ask, your restraint waning.

jake rolls his eyes and slides his hands up to your waist. your body betrays you by shivering under his touch, which doesn't go unnoticed by him. his lips spread into a smile. a genuine smile.

"oh, baby, please." the pet name sends another thrill through you. he's called you baby before. but it's never had the want behind it like it does now. "i know for a second you don't believe i haven't."

his eyes roam your face again, this time, searching for consent. "are you feeling okay enough for me to kiss you?"

"i am dying for you to kiss me, jake," you say. jake's mouth collides with yours in a mixture of relief and wanting. the tension in your bones releases as you press yourself further into him. the groan at the back of his throat causes one of your own to meet it.

jakes hands move to your back, pressing you against him. you are in his lap and still feel like you can't get close enough. his erection presses against his flight suit, a deep flush filling your cheeks.

reading your emotions, he murmurs against your ear, "i can't even attempt to hide what you do to me, but i'm not doing anything you aren't comfortable with."

"i'm certainly not comfortable with the idea of my father pulling the camera footage of his daughter and one of his pilots," you laugh into jake's neck.

"hmmmm," he hums against your ear. "yeah, that'll do it." jake helps you off his lap, and you settle into the side of him. his arms envelope you, pulling you close. "join me at the hard deck tonight? you know, given we're rescued in time to join everyone?"

you answer him with a kiss on the cheek. another wide smile forms, and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

a/n: i hope you enjoyyyyeddddd.

masterlist.

[thoughtfulfiction]

People Watcher

Author’s Note: Poll winner, anon requested protective Joe!

Joe wasn’t one to hover. He never tried to control you or tell you what to do. That wasn’t his style. You were smart, independent and more than capable of navigating life’s challenges on your own. But that didn’t stop him from looking out for you in his own way, subtle, steady, always intentional.

Like on game days.

“You sure you’re good sitting in the suite?” Joe asked, tugging a hoodie over his head as he walked out of his office Wednesday evening after a long film session. His voice was casual, but there was a weight behind the question, one you knew well by now.

“You know I don’t mind,” you smiled, adjusting her earrings in the mirror. “Your mom’s fun. She gets loud when you’re winning and she’s always super proud of you. Both of your parents are.”

That earned you a quiet chuckle from Joe. “Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Just…you know. It’s easier that way.”

He didn’t have to say what that way meant. You knew he wanted you away from the chaos of the stands, where emotions could run high and things could turn ugly fast. It wasn’t that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself. Joe knew better than anyone that you could. But the idea of you being out there alone, surrounded by strangers who didn’t always know when to stop, didn’t sit right with him. In fact, it made his skin crawl a little bit.

“I know,” you said softly, stepping over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll even text you when I get there.”

Joe’s hand covered yours, holding it still for a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Do that.”

He usually didn’t respond to pregame texts, locking himself away in the depths of his mind and replacing his usual nonchalant self with a stone cold killer, the mentality he had to maintain while on the field to perform at his best. And yet, it eased his mind getting that text from you when he checked his phone one last time beforehand. A reminder of what he was coming home to.

Joe never asked for much, he rarely actually said be careful or stay safe, but that simple request had always been his way of saying both.

It was like that all the time with him. Tiny acts of service that didn’t seem big until you put them all together. How he always asked you to text him when you got somewhere, even though he had your location. How he’d casually mention alternate routes home if traffic was bad or if he heard about an accident nearby. How he never asked you not to go out with your friends but would always remind you to call him if you needed anything, no matter what time it was.

He wasn’t the type to be openly affectionate in public. The man wasn’t one for big grand gestures, preferring to show his love in quieter ways. In the extra hoodie he always left in your car because he knew you got cold easily. In the way he’d ask if you had someone to walk with you to your car if you were staying at the office late.

It was thoughtful without being overbearing, protective without being possessive, just Joe, in that calm, steady way that made you feel safe without ever making you feel small.

“You know I’m okay, right?” you asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I know,” Joe said. His lips quirked slightly, just the faintest smile. “But humor me anyway.”

Funny thing is, the trip was supposed to be for the girls. Your best friend Rachel’s requests were concise and clear, a drunken weekend in miami that you’d either never remember OR you’d have memories that would last a lifetime. With those instructions you started figuring out an itinerary. You looked at places to stay, how long the trip would be and where exactly you’d be spending way too much money on green tea shots every night.

“We could do the Gale for a week?” You suggested one evening, your laptop open comparing prices and amenities for you, Rachel and a few other girls that had let you know they would be joining.

“I like that place,” she smiles, tossing a jalapeño chip in her mouth. “The beds are super nice and we could stay in those two bedroom suites.”

Joe pops into the conversation, grabbing his keys that were previously resting next to your computer. “Wait…you’re gonna be gone for days? I thought we all were gonna do something together, you know, to make sure Rachel doesn’t do anything illegal. Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you’re above the law,” he gives her a pointed look, “this isn’t The Purge.”

“I mean…you can come if you want,” you said, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the kitchen counter. “But I know Miami’s not really your thing.”

Joe, who was halfway through tying his sneakers, paused and gave you a look—one eyebrow raised just enough to tell you he wasn’t buying your nonchalant tone.

“You want me to come with you to Rachel’s birthday trip?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “We wanna go for a few days. Just some beach time, clubs, you know… typical Miami stuff.” She shrugged. “We’d just all be one big group and we can all hang out. It’d be fun.”

“I would’ve asked earlier if I knew you were interested. Figured you’d probably rather stay home.” You added in.

Joe nodded slowly, like he was considering it. Truthfully, a loud week in Miami didn’t exactly sound like his idea of a good time. Crowded clubs, overpriced drinks, endless social energy? Not really his scene. But before he could answer, his best friend Zacciah’s voice chimed in from the living room.

“Wait, we’re talking Miami?” Zacciah grinned as he leaned against the doorway. “That sounds like a good time to me.”

“I’m in,” Trae added from the couch, like this was already a done deal.

Joe shot them both a flat look. “I didn’t say I was going.”

“Yeah, but you are,” Zacciah smirked. “Come on, man. It’ll be fun. Beach, clubs, a big group of us—it’s not just her friends.”

“Yeah,” Trae added with a grin. “We’ll make it a whole thing.”

Joe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if I’m going, we’re doing it right.”

The next thing you knew, Joe had chartered a private flight and rented a sprawling beach house with enough bedrooms for everyone to have their own space.

“You know this was originally supposed to be a casually chaotic weekend with the girls, right? Now you’ve turned it into an episode of Selling Sunset.” You teased when he showed her the house listing.

He paused, furrowing his brows. “Isn’t that set in California?”

“Right, so you do pay attention when I watch?” You ask suspicious of him since he always said the show was stupid and that you were losing brain cells every episode.

“Anyway, you’ll still get your chaotic girl time,” Joe said with a shrug, moving on from the previous topic of discussion. That alone answered your question. “I just didn’t want you stuck in some overpriced shoebox with no A/C.”

You smiled, shaking your head. He wasn’t loud about it, no grand speeches about taking care of you, but this was Joe in his element. Quietly looking out for you in the most thoughtful ways.

And honestly? You weren’t mad about the upgrade.

As the group filtered into the spacious Miami beach house, everyone was buzzing with excitement. The huge windows opened up to an expansive view of the ocean, and the pool out back practically screamed “boujee vacation.” Rachel played soft music, curating her perfect birthday week playlist in the background as everyone started to claim rooms, tossing bags on beds and getting settled in.

Joe, ever the planner, wasn’t about to let anything slip through the cracks. He’d seen this kind of trip before—a group of people letting loose, and inevitably, a few hangovers in the morning. He wasn’t about to be unprepared.

He was already on his phone, tapping away.

“Alright,” Joe called out to the group, his voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re doing a grocery run online. Everyone needs to add in whatever they want. Let me know if there’s anything specific you need.”

He wasn’t asking for suggestions, he was in charge of this, and everyone knew it. They scattered, pulling out their phones to check in. But Joe had already begun filling in his list.

“Got your Gatorade, your ibuprofen…” he muttered to himself, typing rapidly. “Liquid IVs. Don’t forget the snacks. Chips, candy, all that crap you’re going to want after a night out.”

He shot a glance over at you, raising an eyebrow as you rummaged through your suitcase. “I’m putting all of your favorites on the list. I know you’ll need ‘em. We just won’t mention the Gatorade purchase to my Body Armour people.”

You rolled her eyes with a playful smile. “You know me too well.”

Joe didn’t respond. He just kept typing, making sure he’d covered everything he was sent. He added a few extra things, more water, some fruit for the mornings, and whatever random drink Zacciah had requested. The usual crew was already bouncing ideas off each other, but Joe remained methodical.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, placing his phone on the counter. “List is done. Should be here in a couple hours.”

It was a small thing, but it wasn’t surprising. Joe took care of the details in ways people didn’t always notice. The Gatorade, the medicine, and the snacks weren’t just for the group; they were specifically for you. He knew what you liked, what you’d need after a long night of dancing and drinking. It wasn’t a huge deal, just another way he quietly looked out for you.

“Thanks,” you said, walking up to him. You brushed your hand against his arm. “You always think of everything.”

Joe just nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Someone has to,” he said, his tone steady and matter-of-fact. “Besides, I’d rather be prepared than have to force Trae to run out and grab things in the middle of the night.”

“Fair point,” you replied, smiling up at him.

For Joe, it wasn’t about making a show of things. It was just how he was, always looking out, always a step ahead. The house was amazing, the trip was going to be fun, but as always, his focus was on making sure everything ran smoothly. Even down to the little things.

The club’s bass thrummed low and steady the next night, vibrating through the floor as Joe slid into a booth near the back. It was his kind of spot—dim lighting, tucked away from the chaos of the dance floor but still with a clear view of everything. The sunglasses he wore inside weren’t just for show; they made it easier to watch without being watched.

His arm draped loosely over the back of the seat, and when the server stopped by, Joe kept it simple.

“Gin and tonic,” he said, then glanced at you. “And whatever she’s having.”

“I’m doing shots with the girls,” you grinned, your hand resting on his thigh for a second. “Don’t wait up.”

Joe’s lips curved into a small smile. “I’ll be right here.”

He watched as you weaved through the crowd toward the bar, easily finding your friends. The way you laughed, tossing your hair back as you all clinked your shot glasses together, made something warm settle in his chest. You were in your element—carefree, glowing and just having a good time.

You caught his eye from across the room, your smile lingering when you found him watching. Joe nodded with a side smirk as a silent ‘I see you’. Your grin widened before you turned back to your friends, vanishing into the crowd.

Joe leaned back, taking a slow sip of his drink. He trusted you with every fiber of his being and wasn’t worried in the slightest about your safety in public settings because he knew that you’d take care of yourself. That confidence that you could handle things on your own and your own self assurance was one of the things he loved most about you. But still, whenever you were out, Joe couldn’t help but keep an eye on things because he knew what could happen when guys didn’t take no for an answer.

His gaze followed you out to the dance floor, where you moved effortlessly with your friends. The lights flickered across your face, and Joe couldn’t help but smirk to himself. You looked good —too good—and judging by the attention you were getting, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

But what Joe cared about most was the way you kept sneaking glances back at him—not for reassurance or for permission, but just to check in. A quiet confirmation that he was still there, still watching out for you in that calm, steady way you appreciated.

He takes his glasses off while looking at you, just enough for you to notice and he puts them back on. You smiled softly, your expression saying ‘I know you’ve got me’.

And of course he did. He always did.

Joe’s fingers tap idly against the side of his glass, his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. Outwardly, he’s the picture of calm —shoulders relaxed, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. But beneath that stillness, his patience is wearing thin.

The guy’s been circling for a while now—too long. Joe’s watched him linger near your group, pretending to bump into you once, then again. Each time, your smile tightens a little more, your body language shifting from relaxed to guarded. You’re handling it. Joe can see that. But the guy’s persistence is starting to cross a line.

Joe exhales slowly, setting his drink down with deliberate care. He leans over to Zacciah, voice low and steady.

“Hold this for me,” Joe says, sliding his glass toward him.

Zacciah barely reacts, just takes the drink with a small nod—like this isn’t the first time he’s seen Joe move like this. Calm. Collected. Controlled.

Joe rises from his seat, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand before weaving through the crowd. He doesn’t move quickly— no chest-puffing or bravado—just slow, purposeful strides. He’s not here to start a scene; he’s here to end one.

Your friends were still on the dance floor, their laughter and cheers echoing across the room.

“You look like you could use another one,” a voice said beside her.

You turned your head and found a guy standing there—possibly late twenties or early thirties, well-dressed, with a confident smile that leaned a little too far into cocky.

“I’m Xavier,” he said, offering his hand. “I’ve seen you around tonight. Just had to say…” His eyes dragged down and back up again. “You look amazing.”

You gave a polite smile, shaking his hand briefly before tucking yours back around your clutch. “Thanks,” you said. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, leaning closer like he already knew what your answer would be.

“Oh,” you said with an awkward laugh. “That’s sweet, but I’m actually here with my boyfriend, so I’m gonna pass.”

Xavier’s smile barely faltered. “Boyfriend?” He glanced over his shoulder toward the crowd. “Haven’t seen you with any guys tonight, just your friends.”

“He’s here,” you said, your voice still friendly but firmer this time. “I promise.”

Xavier chuckled under his breath like you’d made a joke. “C’mon,” he said with a grin, motioning toward the bartender. “One drink won’t hurt.”

“I’m good,” you repeated, shifting slightly to put a little more space between the two of you. “But thanks.”

The bartender set your drink down on the counter, and you grabbed it quickly, hoping the conversation was over. But Xavier stayed put, his smile lingering like he wasn’t quite ready to give up yet.

“Look, I’m just saying,” he added with a lazy shrug, “if he’s letting you stand here alone, maybe he’s not paying enough attention.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass, frustration flaring in your chest. “Trust me,” you said, meeting his eyes directly, your patience thinning. “He’s paying plenty of attention.”

A shadow shifted behind Xavier, solid and unmistakable and suddenly the air felt heavier.

Joe was there now, standing just behind him. Close enough that Xavier could probably feel the shift in space before he even turned around.

Xavier paused, some instinct telling him something was off. Then he turned and stopped cold.

Joe didn’t say a word at first. He just stood there—calm, unmoving, looking profoundly unimpressed. His sunglasses were still on, but the message was crystal clear: You know exactly what you’re doing, and you need to stop.

“Whoa…” Xavier blurted, half-laughing. “No way, you’re Joe Burrow!” He grinned like he’d just bumped into his favorite celebrity at a steakhouse, completely oblivious to the tension radiating off Joe. “Man, I’m a huge fan! Bro, this is crazy! I can’t believe you’re here!”

Joe didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just turned to the bartender and said, “Two waters.” His voice was calm—too calm—and he stayed exactly where he was, comfortably crowding Xavier’s space.

“So… what were we talking about?” Xavier asked, turning back to you with a grin like he’d just won some imaginary game of charm.

You stifled a laugh. “Um—oh you were saying something about how my boyfriend isn’t paying enough attention?”

Xavier snapped his fingers, clearly feeling bold again. “Yeah! I don’t know where ol’ dude is or if he’s even real, but he’s messing up right now. Are you sure you don’t want a drink? Or, you know… someone better to spend your time with?”

Joe’s eyebrows lifted behind his sunglasses, and his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. “Someone better, huh?” His voice was mild, almost amused. “Yeah…wonder where she could find that.”

It took a second for Xavier to connect the dots. His face dropped like a cartoon character realizing they’re halfway off a cliff.

“Oh…shit,” he muttered, suddenly a lot less confident. “Listen, man, I didn’t know she was with you. No hard feelings, right?”

Joe leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Doesn’t matter who she’s with,” he said quietly, the steady calm in his tone somehow more unsettling than if he’d been angry. “If a woman says no, you leave her alone. Whether her boyfriend’s a pro athlete or not.”

Xavier’s smile flickered and died. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” he stammered, already backing away. “Didn’t mean anything by it. My bad, man.”

Joe watched him disappear into the crowd like he was making sure he wouldn’t change his mind. Only once Xavier was out of sight did he turn back to you, sunglasses sliding down just enough for you to see his eyes.

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

“Yeah,” you sighed, tension draining from your shoulders. “He was just…persistent.”

Joe exhaled through his nose, muttering, “Persistent gets people embarrassed.”

You laughed quietly, leaning into his side. “You know, you’re kinda scary when you’re calm.”

Joe shrugged, completely unaffected. “It’s efficient.”

You smiled, slipping your arm around his waist. “And hot. Thanks for stepping in.”

“Always,” Joe said simply. Then he grabbed the two waters from the bar, handing one to you. “Now drink this,” he added, “I know you’re not ready to head out yet so I need you to hydrate.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” You respond, taking a sip and leaning into him.

The night out had been a blast—the club buzzing with energy, the lights flashing in time with the music. But as the group made their way back to the house, you felt the familiar weight of exhaustion and the ache in your head from the drinks. You weren’t too far gone, but you were definitely feeling the effects of a good time.

Joe had kept a watchful eye the entire night, noticing the subtle shift in your mood as the evening wound down. When you all got back to the house, it was clear you were ready to crash. Your energy was starting to dip, and he was already prepared.

“Hey, let’s get you upstairs,” Joe said gently, his hand finding your back as they walked toward the stairs. You slipped your arm around his waist, leaning into him just a bit more than usual.

“You’re carrying my shoes? How sweet.” You said, a sleepy grin tugging at your lips.

Joe smirked, his expression cool but with a hint of affection. “Wouldn’t want you to break your ankle on the stairs.”

“I think I can manage,” you teased, though you didn’t fight him when he practically carried you up the last few steps.

Once you reached the top, Joe pushed the door open to your shared room, making sure you were settled before heading to the bathroom.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Joe said, heading downstairs.

You nodded, mentally preparing yourself for the journey of getting ready for bed. He returned shortly with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers, handing them to you with a quiet, “take these.”

You took the pills, downing the water quickly, before letting out a small sigh of relief. “Thanks,” you murmured, eyes closing for a second. “I’m gonna need this for tomorrow…”

“You’re gonna need more than that,” Joe said, grabbing the Gatorade from the nightstand. “Drink some of this too.”

You shot him a half-smile, letting him help you sit up a little more as you sipped the Gatorade. “Thank you for always taking care of me. Not just tonight but…every night.”

“It’s my second job. And it arguably pays better” Joe said, his tone still calm, his voice laced with affection. It was just who he was, always looking out for you.

After you finished the drink, he handed you a soft towel. “Come on, let’s get that makeup off.”

You scooted over, pulling herself into a seated position on the edge of the bed. Joe stood beside you, a steady presence as he gently started wiping off your mascara. His movements were slow and careful, making sure he wasn’t too rough, his focus entirely on you.

“Okay, now you’re all set,” he said softly, tossing the wipes in the trash before turning toward the closet. “Pajamas. You good with just something comfy?”

“No,” you said, grinning. “I’m on vacation, I need something cute. You’re picking.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at you, a little surprised, but he didn’t argue. He walked to the closet, searching for something cute, but simple enough that you’d be comfortable. He picked out a soft set of matching shorts and a loose, flowy top.

“Here,” he said, holding them up. “This good?”

You made a small sound of approval. “Perfect.”

Joe turned to let you change, standing by the door to give you space but still staying close, like he always did. When you were done, you crawled into bed, and he helped pull the covers up over you.

He stood next to the bed for a moment, just looking at you. There was something about you —about how you trusted him, how you let him take care of you. His heart softened, but he didn’t show it.

“You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, you know that?” You said, your voice a little sleepy but filled with sincerity. “You’re gonna be a really good husband one day.”

Joe felt a lump form in his throat. He didn’t know what to say at first, because in that moment, it hit him harder than ever: he could see it. The future. With you. The ring that sat waiting for him in his desk drawer in Cincinnati wasn’t just a thing he’d bought on a whim. He’d been thinking about it for a while now, and your words just made it that much more real.

“Get some sleep,” he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the emotion rolling around in his chest. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You smiled up at him sleepily. “You always are.”

Joe leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, thinking about how you’d touched parts of his heart and soul he didn’t even know existed. He didn’t need to say anything more. His actions spoke louder than anything he could put into words.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” you murmured back, your eyes fluttering closed.

And as he stood there for a moment longer, watching you settle into the blankets, Joe’s thoughts drifted to the future. He didn’t know how he could possibly put how you make him feel into a few meaningful sentences. He didn’t know exactly what day he’d ask you, but he knew he would. And when the time came, he’d be ready.

[bellfilmz]

Out Of Your League

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Season1!rafe x shy!reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which rafe and reader are partnered for a school project and reader is convinced it's a sick joke.

Or

In which rafe Cameron has a crush on his smart shy partner and sees this as a chance to pursue her.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

⸻

Masterlist

⸻

The worst part about Rafe Cameron wasn’t that he was suddenly everywhere.

It was that you were starting to like it.

Despite your best efforts to ignore him, he kept finding ways to insert himself into your world—walking with you between classes, conveniently sitting near you during lectures, and even showing up at the library whenever you had study sessions. You told yourself it was annoying, that he was just playing some game, but deep down…

You weren’t sure you wanted him to stop.

⸻

It had been two days since your last tense encounter in the library.

Now, you were sitting at your usual spot in the café near campus, textbook open in front of you. The goal was to get some reading done in peace, but of course, fate had other plans.

“Mind if I sit?”

You nearly jumped, looking up to see Rafe standing over you. His usual smirk was absent, replaced with something softer—something unreadable.

You hesitated. “You know, you always ask that, but you never wait for an answer.”

Rafe grinned, sliding into the seat across from you like he belonged there. “I like to be consistent.”

You sighed, pretending to focus on your book, but his presence made it impossible to concentrate.

“What do you want, Rafe?”

“Just checking in.” His gaze flickered to your untouched coffee. “You seem stressed.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wonder why.”

He chuckled, leaning forward. “Come on, smart girl. You can admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you like having me around.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rafe tilted his head, studying you. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Silence stretched between you, filled only by the hum of conversations and clinking cups.

Then, in a quieter voice, Rafe added, “I’m not messing with you.”

Your breath hitched.

Rafe never said things like that—not outright. He was always teasing, always pushing, but this… this was different.

And it scared you.

You shut your book abruptly and stood. “I should go.”

But before you could step away, Rafe reached out, fingers brushing against yours.

“Don’t run from me,” he murmured, eyes locked onto yours. “Not when we’re this close.”

Your heart pounded. You wanted to pull away, wanted to tell him he was wrong.

But the truth was, you weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore.

⸻

The Next Day

You thought maybe—just maybe—Rafe would drop it after the café incident.

You were wrong.

Instead, he doubled down.

When you arrived at school, Rafe was waiting by your locker like it was his locker, leaning against it like he had nowhere else to be.

“Morning, smart girl,” he greeted, flashing you that signature smirk.

You sighed, unlocking your locker. “Do you ever give up?”

“Not when I see something I want.”

You froze for a fraction of a second before quickly masking your reaction. “You don’t even know what you want.”

Rafe let out a soft chuckle, and before you could react, he leaned in—his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“You’d be surprised.”

You turned to glare at him, but it only made him grin wider.

Before you could respond, footsteps approached.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You glanced up to see Jake approaching, completely oblivious to the way Rafe was practically caging you in against your locker.

Rafe’s smirk instantly disappeared. His entire demeanor shifted—shoulders tensing, jaw clenching, eyes darkening.

Jake hesitated when he noticed Rafe. “Uh… am I interrupting something?”

You stepped away from Rafe so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet. “Nope! Not at all.”

Rafe wasn't happy about that.

Jake nodded, but his eyes flickered back to Rafe, who was still staring him down like he wanted to throw him across the hall.

“Right… so, are we still on for studying today?” Jake asked, directing the question at you.

You barely had time to open your mouth before Rafe spoke first.

“No, she’s busy.”

Both you and Jake turned to stare at Rafe.

“Excuse me?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Rafe didn’t even look at you. His eyes stayed locked onto Jake’s, his expression unreadable. “She’s studying with me today.”

You scoffed. “Oh, am I?”

Rafe finally turned to face you, an amused glint in his eye. “Yeah. You are.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably. “If you’ve got plans, we can reschedule—”

“No, we don’t have plans,” you interjected quickly. “Jake, I’ll meet you at the library later, okay?”

Jake nodded but didn’t seem convinced. He threw one last glance at Rafe before walking away.

The second he was gone, you turned on Rafe. “What the hell was that?”

Rafe shrugged. “What? I tried to do you a favor.”

“A favor?” You gaped at him. “You don’t just get to decide my schedule, Rafe!”

He smirked, leaning against your locker again. “Well, maybe if you stopped pretending you weren’t into me, I wouldn’t have to.”

Your face heated. “I’m not—”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You clenched your jaw. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re cute when you’re mad,” he quipped.

"Okay, lets make some things clear. If you want my attention maybe take a different approach because this isn't working."

You slammed your locker shut and storming off before he could get another word in.

But even as you walked away, you could feel his gaze burning into your back.

And you hated that you liked it.

⸻

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐱

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⸻

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @angelicameron @rafecqmeronslove @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @jujubeaz @heartzfromluna @redlipstickgirlx @aurorakalogeras @drewstarkeysrightarm @jujubeaz @stelleduarte @itsamusical4life @stoned-writer @rrosiitas @akobx @lynoriax

[specialgradefckr]

Replaceable

In which Satoru Gojo learns exactly what he is to you.

This work is a part of a series! Read the first part here, and the next part here!

tw: explicit sexual content, dubcon. clone!satoru/reader, yandere x yandere. technically everything is consensual but no one here is really sane so it's kinda a wash. deeply unbalanced power dynamics. cloning.

Desensitization.

It's a phenomenon in psychology. A treatment, even - exposure therapy, as it's called.

After all, humans can really get used to anything.

The problem is, Satoru wasn't supposed to get desensitized to punishments.

It's not like they were terrible or anything. You wouldn't do anything truly cruel to him. Just enough for him to learn his lesson, just enough for him to understand.

You could leave him at any time. Everything he had could be taken away in an instant. He should cherish you, adore you, cling to you and live in constant fear of abandonment.

The problem is, Satoru is smart.

And after enough times... he's starting to learn.

No matter if he's drugged, tied up, locked in a padded room, bound and gagged, all while left alone with no word of your return - however much you escalate, Satoru has deduced one crucial fact:

You always come back.

"Hey! At least leave a TV in here or something! I know you're listening."

You nip at your lip, staring at the surveillance screen. It's uncomfortable enough, how certain he is about it. Let alone the fact that he's completely correct.

"I get that you didn't like being woken up like that, but this is just boring."

Boring - that's all your punishments are to him, now. They're supposed to modify his behavior, instill fear. They're supposed to be a threat you can use to make him feel how he should feel about you.

And the great irony is, you didn't dislike how he'd woken you up. His cock buried in your cunt, arms lashed tightly around you. Whispering your name higher and higher with every tight, feverish thrust that inched him closer and closer to the edge. Knocking you into consciousness with a throb of pleasure as he drove into your g-spot with mechanical precision and persistence.

A wicked, sinful part of you shivered in delight that he wanted you so badly. That he couldn't keep his hands off off you.

But if you let one thing pass - if you let him think he can do what he wants - he'll think he can do anything. He'll think that you're here for him, instead of the reality that he was born for you.

"At least get out some whips and chains or something!" Satoru's voice grows nasal and whiny, "This is just sooooo boring."

As if. You're not stupid. He'd enjoy the whips and chains, and how would that be a punishment?

"Pleeeaaaaase? I promise I'll cry and beg for you to stop like a good boy."

Ugh. He probably would, but with that tone in his voice? You suspect he might have to hide a sardonic smile while 'pleading for mercy', if he bothers at all.

And what would be the point if he hid his face while he begged? That's the best part!

"Listen, I know you're bored, too! You're just waiting, counting down the minutes until you can come back and see me again. You want your apology head, right? Let me go, I'll go down on you so good~"

It's by far the worst thing about him. That he's right.

Every time you leave, it's frustrating. You have to count down the minutes. Engage yourself with inane distractions and hobbies.

Trying desperately to forget the fact that a Satoru who loves you, who wants you around, who talks to you and touches you and enjoys you, is just sitting there waiting for you to come back. You can just go and see him whenever you want.

Sometimes you have to distract yourself by pulling up camera feeds of the actual Satoru Gojo. Is this an addiction? Who knows. When you see the original, it's a completely different experience - there's no more yearning, no more of that bone-deep pull and ache in your chest screaming for you to get closer to him.

For all that it's worth now. Somehow, the clone Satoru is behaving so much like the original, the cocky, self-assured, cheeky special grade sorcerer who had once called your heart his own.

And then of course, he had summarily discarded it, with an awkward laugh and an even more awkward rejection.

That's now how this is supposed to go. It isn't how any of this is supposed to be.

It's something that instills no small amount of panic in your heart.

Satoru - your Satoru - is singular in his existence, the only clone you've produced so far. You have a prototype, an alpha version - that one passed away in vitro.

Even once you had the embryo that would become Satoru, you didn't know it would succeed. You were still experimenting; different embryonic fluid mediums, different tissue samples, new techniques - nothing else had worked.

After Satoru had come out as a success, you'd tried to replicate the process that created him, as exactly as possible.

Inside this lab - the same place where your surveillance center is set up - are the results of those attempts.

The urge is there. Deep down. Itching at you.

You did it once, right? You could do it again.

It's funny, after all. How obsessed you were with Gojo before, how utterly devastated you were when he turned you away, the way every part of your being craved him like a drug.

You'd watched him, recorded him, looked up everything about him and related to him. It's not like you don't recognize how insane that all was.

And then suddenly, once you'd decided to clone him, all the feeling was gone. That face, that beautiful face, the one that made your heart skip a beat; even that does nothing for you when you watch Gojo.

Now, you only care about your Satoru.

Your Satoru, who whines and complains when you leave him behind. Who knows that you watch him on cameras. Who promises to make it up to you when he does something bad, because he doesn't feel guilt for disobeying you, not at all.

And why should he? He's Satoru Gojo, cut from the same cloth. He's beautiful and he knows it, knows exactly how much you desire him. He's good at making you feel good, and he knows that too.

Your Satoru has never felt ugly, or undesirable, or unwanted in his entire life, and that's all your fault.

If he knows just how much you want him, what's to stop him from deciding when you get him? From telling you no? From thinking he can decide for himself, want a life outside of you?

You look down at your hands and you realize that you're shaking.

He sounds just like...

"Well, well, look who's finally showing her face! If it isn't my favorite little stalker, in the flesh."

Satoru has no reason to like you other than the simple fact that he's never known anything else. Now he's grown cocky, confident, assured of your love.

"You're not that cute, but honestly, I thought you'd be way uglier. Listen, I know how you feel, so I'll just save us both some time and you some embarrassment, right?"

It makes you want to throw up. A wild, sudden urge to race into that room and slap that wide grin off his face. Choke the teasing words off his throat. Claw at his bare chest, dig your fingers between his ribs and rib his sternum open so you can finally take hold of his heart like you deserve.

Your name sounds off on the monitor. Satoru is calling for you again. "Come on! I know you're listening! Two apology heads! No, make it three - I'll do it until you fall asleep even! Just come in and let me go already!"

So willful. Full of bargaining and spirit and energy.

Untamed. That irresistible, delightful charm that was so innate to Satoru Gojo, the one that drew you in - it's gone too far. You need to do something about it.

You need to take back control.

"So you're finally letting me see what's up here?" Satoru rolls one of his shoulders. Probably stiff from the restraints.

He follows along right behind you, obediently, but that doesn't mean he's loyal. He's curious.

And when you put that curiosity to rest, he'll have more questions. Scarier ones.

You open the door wordlessly, leading him into your lab. Full of screens.

Some of them show your studies, test results, security systems. Others show specific locations, but there's one or two that follow their subject around.

He stares at the screen. Bright blue eyes dilating, focusing -

"Who is that?"

"Satoru Gojo," You respond, sitting down in a chair.

"I'm Satoru -"

"No," Your voice is cool, hardened, "He is Satoru. You were named after him. I took genetic material from him to make you, along with all these others."

"Others..." Satoru doesn't ask, though - his eyes dart around the room. Over the test vials, the vitro chambers, embryos at different stages of development.

"This is also Satoru," you say, striding over one tube. Placing a hand over the glass as you walk across to another, more developed on, "And so is this. You were developed exactly the same way."

You stare at the developing embryo in the chamber as you speak.

"Pure DNA extracted from genetic material taken straight from Satoru Gojo himself. Catalogued, sequenced, replicated. I developed stem cells first, and then an embryonic structure, which I had to grow in one of these vats."

Finally, you raise your eyes up to him. Satoru is still staring at the chamber, at the thing inside it. Eyes flicking over to the screen.

"You're one of many experimental subjects," You say, louder, enough to catch his attention. Locking eyes with him.

"And if you can't serve your purpose, I'll just start over with another one. Again, and again, until I find one that can."

Your gaze is cold, unwavering.

You don't want to start over. You're not even sure if you can.

The samples you're showing him, all your attempts to duplicate what you did with him - none of them were viable.

You want your Satoru, the beautiful, lovable creature right in front of you, to adore you like you adore him.

"My purpose?" He says, almost musing. Licking his lips while he glances at you.

It takes everything in you not to flinch. "You're here for me, Satoru. Not the other way around."

"Oh?" There's a faint smile on his lips, "With everything you have up here, I'd say you're a little bit obsessed with me, actually."

That's the problem with him. Being right. That look of knowing on his face.

"I'm obsessed with Satoru Gojo." Your tone becomes icy. Frosted over. "And you're not the only Satoru Gojo. You weren't even the first."

That gets to him, you think. He keeps looking back at the screen, at Gojo, who looks to be mid-exorcism.

The camera can't capture curses, but the light emitted from his curse technique - Blue - colors his surroundings, and by extension, the lab room.

"He is. That's the original Satoru Gojo, and because he has better things to do," you can't keep the bitterness out of your voice, "I replaced him."

Satoru stares at the image of Gojo, striding around, carefree. Dodging invisible curses, casting Red and Blue like child's play.

His face has lost its expression, all notions of teasing, of playfulness gone. Those too-blue eyes reflect the light of the screens, the test tubes, nearly glowing in the low light. Taking in every ounce of information.

"Satoru," It comes out firmly enough for him to blink, looking back to you. "I need you to understand."

Satoru stares at you. Silent.

It's not like him. Then again, you had just upended his entire existence. Maybe this is what it's like for him, to realize what he is. That you can replace him with an identical copy at any time.

Of course, you can't actually do that. But Satoru doesn't know.

"You were created for me. I can always create another. What will you do, if I no longer want you?" You deliver your question with a heavy, expectant finality.

Even as confident as he is, Satoru doesn't have anything in his life besides you. And you've already replaced one Satoru Gojo.

It shouldn't be an easy bluff for him to call. Even if he does know you far too well.

"What will I do...?" He repeats to himself, quietly, running his eyes back over the rest of the lab in a final sweep before he looks back at you.

And it's piercing. In a way that chills you to the bone.

In a way that makes your heart jump. Painfully. Because he is, after all, still your Satoru.

Slowly, very slowly, a smile lifts up at the edge of his lips. It goes all the way to his eyes, which still reflect the screen light so heavily they looks like they could be glowing.

"Oh, don't you worry," Satoru says, not taking his eyes off you, "I see it now."

[siennasfantasies]

Couple of the Year: In the End, Love Overpowers Fame.

As the years passed, Katsuki's fame grew steadily. His name quickly became known in the charts, and despite not being the number-one Hero, his contributions were never overlooked. You, too, had your share of fame as an ever-rising supermodel. Despite the massive recognition both of you received, your private lives remained untouched.

"DYNAMIGHT!"

"DYNAMIGHT! OVER HERE!"

"ONE QUESTION, DYNAMIGHT! JUST ONE INTERVIEW!"

The Met Gala was always a spectacle, and every year, the crowd of paparazzi seemed to grow larger and more relentless.

"You know, with all your fame, I can't help but wonder when you're finally going to fall and fail."

Katsuki’s posture didn’t change, but his eyes shifted to the source of the voice. His anger flared at the sight of the man standing next to him, grinning smugly at the cameras. Yoshiki Kenai was tall, brunette, with perfect teeth and an annoying level of confidence.

He worked in the same modeling industry as you, and ever since you’d entered the scene, he’d made it his personal mission to flirt with you at every opportunity. Fortunately, this year, his advances were more restrained.

"I question your logic, Bakugou. Should you really be settling down so quickly when your job is so risky? It's a selfish decision, really. Your fame is honestly undeserved, a selfish wannabe hero is all you are." Yoshiki now turned his head toward Katsuki, his smirk widening as he awaited a response.

Katsuki knew his job was dangerous. Every mission carried a risk. But for Yoshiki—of all people—to lecture him? His blood boiled as he fixed the man with a scowl.

"What about you? Do you hear the crowd? You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who’ll never gain recognition unless your in my presence. The people need me. I can't be replaced. You, on the other hand, can be." Katsuki spat his words through gritted teeth, his face twisted with anger. Despite his fury, his posture remained casual, hands tucked into his pants, stance relaxed.

Yoshiki’s smirk faltered, and his face reddened in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Before he could fire back, Katsuki continued, his expression now calmer, though his voice still held a trace of irritation.

"At least you're smart enough to talk to me in front of the cameras. You know damn well that if you said this anywhere else, your ass would already be halfway across the world."

Katsuki turned his gaze back to the paparazzi, scanning the crowd slowly as he continued speaking.

"Smile bright, Kenai. Take advantage of this privilege. Maybe then you'll get some recognition just from being seen with me."

Yoshiki quickly walked off, his forced smile back in place, but his posture was stiff, and his cheeks were still burning with embarrassment.

"That was interesting," Kirishima said, appearing beside Katsuki, his expression a mix of amusement and mild concern. "Wonder how the paparazzi will spin this little interaction."

"Who gives a fuck?" Katsuki muttered, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as his earlier annoyance began to fade. His gaze shifted to you in the distance, gleefully interacting with the crowd. He was only at this event for you, and now, seeing you so happy, he didn’t regret it in the slightest.

"As long as that little fucker knows his place and stays away from me and my wife, the paparazzi can say whatever they want." You glanced over at your husband just as his eyes locked with yours, filled with affection.

You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming. No matter how many fans or events you attended, it was only Katsuki’s gaze that could disarm you so completely. Katsuki, too, realised how easily he folded when you smiled at him. Despite his fears about dangerous missions, it would always quickly disappear the moment his eyes met yours.

The next day, the cover of nearly every magazine and website featured you and Katsuki. You both stood a little apart, with Kirishima standing next to Katsuki. The crowd and flashing lights surrounded all three of you, but no matter the chaos, your eyes always seemed to find each other.

The headline read: Couple of the Year: In the End, Love Overpowers Fame.

Kirishima texted Katsuki in playful annoyance at being portrayed as the third wheel—though, in truth, he was always more than happy to play that role.

[sacrificiallane]

smut ﹙ A for effort ❞ Percy Jackson

request ! ❛ Hello! Could you please please write Percy Jackson x reader, where she is upset about getting a “bad” grade on a test (she got like 95/100) and Percy kisses away her tears and goes down on her while holding her hand as a reward and to cheer her up… ❜ / cw ! fem!reader | very fluff & comfort | fem receiving | oral | some licking | some crying

"Oh. Please don't cry, sweet girl ..." The frown on your boyfriends face was immediate when he'd opened the door for you, seeing the familiar disappointed teary gaze. He was quick to usher you inside his home, welcoming you with a ― much needed ― long-lasting hug, of which he only pulled away when you did first.

Now he was just wiping tears from your face, in order to soothe your solemn mood. "I know you studied so hard for this ..." His hands were placed on either side of your face, gently brushing his thumb over your rosy cheeks, flushed from all the crying. Over and over again, despite your tears not stopping anytime soon, it seemed.

Days and Nights he's seen you work on your notes, trying to memorize things he hasn't ever even heard of ! On calls with him, even sleepovers ... there had been barely any breaks from what he'd often ― playfully ― called his replacement. And yet, despite your efforts ...

Percy watched in mild confusion when you softly pushed the graded paper against his chest, sniffing as you waited for his reaction.

And... there was barely anything marked in red ! In fact, you didn't do bad at all... But, still, 5 points away from your aspired goal. You'd worked yourself towards academic perfection, of course. And 95 out of 100 ― in your mind ― was just not that. So close to what you wanted, yet not quite.

Nonetheless, he offered a soft smile, crumbling the stupid thing with just one hand so he didn't have to let go of you completely. "It's really not that bad," he offered gently, kissing your cheeks a couple of times to try and get you to smile. But nothing.

It looked like you really just wanted to wallow in self-pity a bit more...

But, not with Percy, you wouldn't.

"I still love you if you were worried 'bout that ," He grinned a little, sea green eyes glimmering with nothing but love and affection for you when he watched your lips pull up just a smudge as well. His hand reached for your trembling one, and intertwined them, hoping to ground you even further. "You did your best, I know you did ."

His mouth pressed against your locked hands, your wrist, your arm, until he was tightly pressed against you, kissing your neck. Soft coos of 'I'm so proud of you' and 'my smart girl' followed the same path of his mouth, when he roamed closer to your ear. And then, gently, you were pushed onto your back, and further into his sheets. Firm, yet tender.

"Did so good..." he hummed, kissing the last of your tears away, interlacing one of your hand with his own as he slowly pushed your pants past your knees. Taking his sweet time with it, too. Making you feel loved and cared for. And even if a few little sniffles were still escaping your lips, the feeling of his fingers hooking into the sides of your underwear had it turn into some sweet stuttering real quick.

You were just so glad to have closed his door when you came in ...

"Worked so hard, sweet girl ." His nose nuzzled delicately against your now exposed thighs, peppering some light and ... wet kisses against the skin that had you gasping for more.

And your eyes closed at his coaxing, legs spreading wider for a promised moment of bliss from your favorite boy ♡ You swallowed thickly at the feeling of his fingers opening you up. Gently brushing against your insides like he was trying to perform a magic trick or something. Cautious, and calculated.

Percy certainly knew all about your bodies secrets ...

The young demigod watched with a little smile at your relaxed state. Even more when you gasped softly for him, your fingers tightening their hold on his. "I'm here," another kiss sweetly pressed to your most sensitive parts, "just let me make you feel good."

And he did make you feel good. Always !

Your fingers found solitude inside his dark locks, tugging gently when his tongue lapped gently over your clit. Tasting you with soft, broad caresses. And oh, Percy would always eat you with noises of his own pleasure ♡

Giving you satisfaction was almost as good as receiving it himself !

His voice was so soothing, that it wasn't hard for you to just relax underneath him at all . And with each and every touch, you cared less and less for your 'failed' test.

And Percy Jackson worked his way to an absolute divine sight, that nothing else could elver do it justice ― your face when you came for him ♡ Throughout pleasured and longing for his mouth on yours once more.

𓂃 🖊 more .