#identity thief anon

[raifuujin]

If MK and DC are parallel worlds, what do you think of DC’s Kid? He also seems to be looking for something since he puts the gems under the moon light after stealing them.

The way I see it, there are two possibilities. Either DC Kid is still looking for Pandora (a gem that shines under moonlight and is said to grant immortality, even if the legend isn't true). Or he's looking for something more tangible within the gems that hasn't and won't ever be explained. The first borders on tragic, with a strong possibility of the legend just being a legend and not really existing, the other is just kind of a boring answer that would work to explain his actions.

Or the third and more likely possibility that there is no 'DC Kid and MK Kid' and they're both the same Kid because Gosho really isn't that nuanced of a writer that he'd consciously make a full 'same but different' Kaito just for DC, and he is instead just straight up writing the same character doing his shtick but from a detective perspective instead of the thief's.

Regardless of how little I'm active, the idea that people push about 'parallel' meaning entirely different worlds that happen to have the same characters will annoy me. I know you said 'if' and all, but my brain just goes 'just know that it will never be the only interpretation'. Might be the thing I'll be stubborn about forever, unless Gosho actually decides to elaborate more on how he views the two series outside of offhand comments that could be taken either way. Especially when the only reason people go 'well of course it means completely different/separate universes with the same characters' is because they don't want even a hint of possibility of magic from Magic Kaito.

#anon #My knee jerk reaction aside #The bigger question to ask if we consider DC Kid to be a completely different person #Is about the biggest elephant in the room for the magic haters: Akako #Most of her magic appearances could be ignored; her plotlines are mostly focused around herself #But when Hakuba showed up; Akako is the one who bailed Kaito out of being caught as soon as Hakuba found out the truth #Either DC Hakuba is also not the same as MK Hakuba in personality (might not care about Kid; which only half tracks) #(Hakuba isn't exactly at any heists in DC; but he also got so distracted by the idea of thief=guilty that it messed up a deduction) #Or DC Hakuba is just worse at detectiving compared to MK Hakuba and possibly might not even know Kid's identity #When it's decided that DC and MK are different; then you have to make up so much more about the characters #Because nothing you should know about them from MK would apply anymore #Not just plot things; anything could be changed and brushed off with 'it's a different universe version' #Could be a fun playground; but it's dangerous territory to just casually decide what does and doesn't count as true

[kroovv]

This isn't criticism but does that anon know about the hundreds of identical ocs that exist out there? Off the top of my head right now I can name at least 3-4 dark haired white emo boy ocs who all have band shirts and skinny jeans and a purple hair streak and that's just the ones I remember (and have seen)(not judging its just what I can think of rn lol). It's literally like, fine, if you make a design that looks like someone else's. Nothing is original etc etc, eventually 2 people are going to completely independently make identical ocs it's just how it goes sometimes. Nothing to be anxious about. Most people when they see someone has an oc that looks like theirs aren't going to go "hey! Thief!!" they're going to go "oh neat!" and move along, it's chill it's fine, if making a character that looks like someone else's was bad we'd have run out of art to make by the stone age

👆👆👆

#yes #well said #i am bad with words but yes ocs sometimes look like each other #aint that just the way

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

first of all, happy new year! i love your work and i hope you have a wonderful year! ❤️✨

second of all... I've been having such a brain rot from this picture. i cannot function thinking about it... to make matters worse, I've been listening to some old playlists and i came across this song. and idk i feel like the pic and the song kinda...pop off together. so i was thinking if you could write something based on the pic or the song or both maybe?

Hello lovely! It is great to hear from you. Very rare that anyone reaches out off of anon. I admire that!

Poor Aemond! He has been airbrushed to death here. He is beautiful as is. But unedited, I agree, this is a great photo of him.

I'm not really an Ed Sheeran fan, but I Googled the lyrics to see if any inspiration came to mind and picked out the following: "Yeah, I've been feeling everything From hate to love From love to lust From lust to truth I guess that's how I know you So I hold you close to help you give it up"

Hope you enjoy the little fic I have put together for the lyrics and picture!

Give It Up

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person perspective) - strangers to enemies to lust to potential lovers Warnings: Mild smut. Mild violence. Dub-con if you squint. 18+ Word count: 1150 Eternal thanks and handies to @emlikestolurk & @lady-phasma for casting their eyes over this and tossing my word salad into something palatable. Love you.

______________________________________________________________

For weeks now, things have been going missing around the Red Keep. 

First, an emerald brooch belonging to Alicent disappears. She cannot find it when she searches her jewellery box. Helaena is then devastated when she sees that her favourite necklace is gone, a Valyrian steel chain with a pendant in the shape of a spider, a ruby for its abdomen. She only took it off for a moment while she went to bathe, but when she came back to her bedchambers, it was no longer on the dresser where she left it.

The servants are questioned sharply and their quarters searched - however, nothing is found, and so the mystery remains unsolved. Aegon feels particularly aggravated upon waking one morning to find his beloved silver wine goblet has been taken from his bedside. 

Additional guards are placed around the Keep to man all points of exit and entry. Yet, things of value continue to vanish into thin air.

It is early evening when Aemond returns to his chambers, having spent the afternoon in the yard sparring with Ser Criston Cole. He freezes when he sees the cloaked figure. He knows immediately that this is the culprit of the recent thefts. They disappear through an opening in the wall upon noticing his return, a passage into his chambers that Aemond never even knew existed. 

He knows it would be wiser for him to raise the alarm with the guards and have them chase down this thief. But he also knows that every moment he wastes is another moment that they get further and further away, decreasing the chances of their capture. Without another thought, he throws on a cloak of his own to conceal his identity and gives chase.

The opening in his bedchamber wall leads to a winding stone staircase. He races down it, catching sight of the person as they reach the bottom and run out through a wooden door. Aemond hastens his pace, he pursues them down Aegon's High Hill via the twisting path of Shadowblack Lane.

The thief's pace is no match for Aemond's long strides and he quickly catches them up as they attempt to lose him down an alleyway at the bottom of the hill. 

Angrily, Aemond yanks them back by the shoulder, spinning them around and slamming them back into the wall.

"What did you take from me?!" he demands, his hand seizing their throat as he awaits their answer.

Aemond's eye goes wide as their hood falls back, revealing a young woman - a beautiful woman. He had not been expecting that. Previous experience with miscreants convinced him that he would be apprehending a man.

Her eyes are fiery with anger; she juts out her jaw in defiance as she looks up at him. "Let me go, Prince!"

She spits the final word with such venom, as though it is an insult. It shakes Aemond from his state of shock, and he tightens his hold on her throat with renewed annoyance.

"Show me what you took." His voice is cool and calm sounding; however, his brow is furrowed with irritation, his nostrils flaring.

"Is the spoiled Prince going to miss his little trinket?" she pouts mockingly, holding out a silver dragon head cloak pin on the upturned flat of her palm.

Aemond's eye flickers downwards and she uses the momentary distraction to push back against him, attempting to escape. He is much too quick for her though, crowding her back against the wall, unsheathing his dagger and pressing it to her throat.

"Is the wretched little street rat going to miss her life, when I take it from her?" he sneers at her.

She says nothing. She is not afraid to die. She stares him down, maintaining eye contact, a silent challenge. Do it, I dare you.

Aemond had fully been expecting her to scream or at least plead for her life. He is stunned once more as he looks upon her, his face mere inches from hers.

She does not miss it when his gaze drifts to her lips, hesitantly lowering his blade. She lunges forward, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip so hard she tastes blood, before making another run for it.

He drags her back by the hood of her cloak and surprises even himself when he pulls her against him, kissing her hard.

She is taken aback by the Prince's actions at first, but finds herself melting into his embrace, the metallic tang of his blood hot in her mouth as she kisses him back. She breaks the kiss, letting out a light gasp when she feels Aemond's hands wander beneath her cloak.

Aemond lets out a satisfied "mmm" as he gropes at the warmth of her body through her clothes. She is soft and pliant against him. When their lips are no longer touching, he dives in to mouth hungrily at her neck. Ordinarily, he would never behave in such a depraved manner, but this woman's open defiance of him has seemingly awoken something within him that he is unable to render dormant again.

She fights hard to keep her wits about her as her body betrays her with its wanton response to Aemond's attentions, her head becoming foggy with lust. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she uses his unguarded stance to push him back against the wall. Their lips meet once again, a sloppy mess of blood, teeth and tongues as her hand creeps its way up his solid thigh muscle.

Aemond's breath hitches as he feels her fingers wandering up his leg. He grunts as they slide home to grasp at his cock. He is hard. Of course he is; how could he not be when this temptress has been taunting him since he first laid eyes upon her?

She smirks as she feels his want for her through his breeches. Their lips cease their movements, but do not part as they pant against each other. Her hand takes a firm grasp of him through the material, moving it up and down.

Aemond's eye flutters closed as he voices a groan. Her touch builds a pressure at the base of his spine. His hips buck to meet her hand. And then she is gone.

His eye snaps open in time to catch a glimpse of her running full speed away from him down the alley. He does not chase after her. Shock keeps his feet planted firmly to the floor as he struggles to catch his breath and bring himself back to reality.

It's then that he realises he is no longer in possession of his dagger - he never got his cloak pin back from her, either.

"Shit!" he exclaims quietly, turning and heading back to the Red Keep.

When Aemond returns to his chambers that evening, he leaves the door to the passageway in the wall slightly ajar. Should she ever choose to come back, he'll be ready for her.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond stannies #hotd #pro aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #hotd aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction

[the-platonic-charms]

[Crawls out of the sewer hole... ]

This is my first time requesting..

So to any mod available there.

if you dont minndddd... Can i request for a Rantaro Amami, Kokichi and Lastly Shuichi whos s/o is the Ultimate Phantom Thief..? I hope thats okay! ^_^

𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀, 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍 𝐒/𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐎'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅

Hi sweet anon! I hope you enjoyed these headcanons and that this won't be your last time requesting here :>

I wasn't sure what a phantom thief was at first, but after research, all I can say is: I love the idea of it. Anyway-- phantom always makes me think of the phantom of the opera,,

𔘓 ? You're a Phantom Thief?? The ULTIMATE Phantom Thief?! I'm not really sure how this works, but wouldn't it be a bit... Scandalous for the ultimate detective to be dating the ultimate Phantom Thief?

𔘓 Then again, that would be a very interesting dynamic. Enemies to lovers, 200k words, slowburn with a happy ending

𔘓 Whenever there's a case about you, he tries not to interfere with it much. He instead talks with you about it. Oooor, he is able to figure it out himself and then asks if you did it.

𔘓 You unintentionally help expand his detective skills. And your phantom thief skills evolve as well. You're going toe to toe, playing some kind of cat and mouse type game.

𔘓 I take it back, this doesn't even have to be an enemies to lovers, it's just a very interesting dynamic ~

⬥ Wow, impressive

⬥ That is... Quite the talent to have.

⬥ He is impressed, don't get me wrong, but Amami ponders on the morality of it.

⬥ You explain to him your rules and boundaries, he understands it more now. But he's still worried. For your safety, that is.

⬥ Being the ultimate phantom thief can be dangerous. So, when you come back home, very late at night, you're met with Rantaro crossing his arms. He knows it a part of being a phantom thief, but that doesn't mean he can't worry.

⬥ See, the cool thing about Rantaro being an adventurer, is that you often go on trips to various places all over the world. Which makes it easier to keep your identity a secret. Once the ultimate phantom thief is in Japan, next thing you know, they're already far away in Poland. You see what I mean? Inconsistency in their 'last spotted' location makes it impossible to figure out where they're from.

⬥ Which means you and Rantaro can live a kinda-peaceful life, only kinda.

♛ Oh. Oh?

♛ This is giving Ouma so many ideas. You're joining D.I.C.E, right?... You're joining D.I.C.E

♛ You're so cool- he means uh, you're, cool, I guess

♛ Ouma invites you to various adventures with D.I.C.E and outings. You're an important part of their group now.

♛ He just really digs the whole phantom thief aesthetic and the general idea of it.

♛ You're partners in crime ~ but this time, like, actually in crime

/ don't actually commit crime, don't be like Ouma, kids /

♛ No, but like, if this were a bad cop good cop type situation, people would assume you're the bad one while Ouma's the good one. Oh are they in for a surprise. /though, neither of you are really bad

♛ After some time and consideration, he decides to join you on your missions. It starts off simple enough with being some part of your escape plan but develops into becoming your accomplice.

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader #killing harmony #danganronpa v3 #kokichi oma #kokichi #kokichi headcanons #kokichi x reader #kokichi ouma x reader #kokichi oma x reader #shuichi saihara x reader #ndrv3 shuichi #danganronpa shuichi #drv3 shuichi #shuichi saihara #shuichi x reader #rantaro x reader #danganronpa rantaro #rantaro amami x reader #drv3 rantaro #rantaro amami #new danganronpa v3 killing harmony #danganronpa v3 rantaro #danganronpa headcanons #mod miu #mod miu 💜

[presidentlokis-hornyhelmet]

Hi! I'm new here. I guess we all need Pavitr x Black cat!Fem!Reader part 2 pretty please

welcome here, anon! :D

A Purr-fect Paw-tner

[Pt 2 of A Purr-fect Distraction] 🕸MASTERLIST🕷

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Black cat!Fem!Reader Summary: It's been five months since Pavitr met his feline thief. Yeah, his thief. 'Cause she stole more than just his time and attention ;P Tags: Mutual Pining, Vigilante heroism, Bad Cat Puns, Secret Identity Revelations, Implied Mutual Attraction, romance is teased sorry teehee

Also Read on AO3

🎶🎵Caught up in a dream that I just thought was passing through Colored in with vivid memories of me and you And on a moonlit night I've never seen stars this bright No I can't help it I've been catching feelings over you And I hope you catch them too🎶🎵 Catching Feelings by Drax Project 

_____

Pavitr sits atop the highest tower in Mumbattan as usual one Friday night, his lustrous wavy hair flowing in the chilly wind as he bites into a vada pav. The full moon shines bright behind him forming a scenic midnight backdrop. He hums a happy tune to himself, swinging his legs as he watches over the city, his late night chai sits piping hot beside him. 

A faint meow gets Pavitr's attention and he smiles, his mind going back to that night five months ago, to You; You -who's been plaguing his dreams and every waking moment, hoping to just get a glimpse of those enchanting eyes again. You, Black cat. 

Spidey-sense alerts him and quickly he catches a rock thrown at him from behind. He turns around but there is no one. Before Pavitr could investigate further, another rock comes for him but he misses it. Interesting.. 

The hopeful smirk forming on his face quickly fades when he hears a cry for help. His eyes land on an elderly woman backed into an alleyway four streets hence, clutching tight on her purse as muggers surround her. 

Pav swings to the spot instantly, webbing up the guy who tries to muffle the old lady. Another guy approaches the woman with a knife but before Pavitr shoots his web, a kick to his face sends him slamming onto the wall. 

The raven haired hero grins widely knowing who the mysterious helper is, even though he can't see the face. He quickly ties up the muggers, leaving them dangling on his web upside down from a street lamp and retrieves the old lady's purse, walking her to safety. The police are quick, but not enough to catch Spider-Man or his mysterious feline helper, who escape. 

Pavitr watches from a high building quite far from the scene of crime as the men are cuffed and taken to the station, grinning as he turns to You -Black cat. 

"I see you've taken my of-fur", he says, rather smug about his pun as he leans out on the rooftop. 

You roll your eyes. 

"You still haven't caught me, Spider", you remind him and quickly jump onto the adjacent rooftop, giggling as he follows you. "That was the deal, wasn't it?" 

"Then, ready or not, here I come!" He laughs, his sound music to your ears as you run across the rooftops. He shoots webs at you but you evade them easily, pouting as you crawl onto another building. 

"Cheating spider!" 

"Scaredy cat", he scoffs playfully, coming to stop before you on the same rooftop. 

You grin widely at him and he mirrors you, energetic and full of adrenaline. But when Pav takes a step forward you jump into the alleyway below, taunting him to follow with a beckoning finger. 

Instead, it's a web that comes for you, wrapping around your body as it glues you to the wall. Pavitr dives from the top headfirst, hanging upside down by his web as he slowly descends before you. 

You pout, not liking being stuck to the wall but only then realize in the darkness -at the same time as he- how close his masked face is to yours. Your breath is practically on him. Time seems to stop as you lock eye contact, breaths quickening as he comes closer -only an inch between you now. 

If you lean a bit, you'd be able to kiss his lips. Your heart misses a beat at the thought, breath stuck in your throat as your eyes begin to flutter on their own from the proximity. You can almost smell his cologne. Oh God..

"Caught you"

His voice is barely above a whisper and you take a second to register his words, blinking open and shaking yourself out of the daze as you regulate your breathing. What were you thinking!

You roll your eyes and use your claws to release yourself from the sticky binding, mostly to put distance between you, landing from such height as gracefully as a cat. "Fine", you huff, crossing your arms and smiling as you look up at him, "You win. We'll be the do-gooder duo." 

"See? I told y-" 

Police sirens sounding nearby interrupt you. That's your cue; you look at him and he nods in understanding. Spider-Man swings to the rooftop again, swooping low to take you along. Vigilante or thief, cops hate you both with no disparity. 

"Phew! Close call." 

"Yeah", you trail, realizing how intimate you stand, bodies touching each other. You hate how quickly your hope goes up. "So close.." 

His strong arm is still wound tight around your waist, holding you close to him and you can feel his heart thud below the thin fabric from where your hand is placed on his chest. You timidly bring your other hand to rest on his chest too, slowly sneaking upwards. 

"Yeah", he licks his lips, itching to tear off the mask. 

His colorfully masked eyes stay wide as you stand there, caught in a trance. You hesitantly lift the bottom of his mask but he does not stop you, letting you reveal his lips. A chilly breeze sends his wavy hair floating and you tuck a stray strand behind his ear, leaning in. His nose softly nudges yours. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks, heartbeat thudding loudly in your ear. This is it. You're gonna.. he's gonna.. 

A gust of wind sends your long white hair flying into his mouth. "Seriously!?", he groans, spitting it out. "Sorry, can you- ufff, it's so windy today! It's like the universe is against us kissing." 

"We were about to kiss?", you mutter as if you just didn't hope the same. He doesn't need to know that, though.

"I don't know..", he says quietly, "you tell me.." 

He's evading. You know he is because you are too -because, obviously, you guys more than just like each other. Very much. How can you not, when he is all you think of in every waking moment? How can you not, when you've spent the past five months watching him from the shadows and being confused with your feelings? 

"Sorry, sorry", he pulls away, putting distance between you. "It's too soon, isn't it? I mean, we've only met once and..." 

Whatever he wanted to say goes with the wind. Spider-Man ponders quietly for a while before he speaks again, borderline accusatory. "Is this another trick? How do I know this isn't another distraction for a bigger heist your friends do as we speak?" 

"They're aren't my friends, just business partners with who I have no ties after I split the fortune. And, no, this isn't a trick."

You can tell he's still skeptical -naturally, but you're aren't angry- and decide to prove your sincerity instead. With determined fingers you pull off your eye mask, letting your whole face be seen under the bright light of the full moon. He gasps, stuttering to speak but words fail him. 

"I am Y/N Y/L/N", you say, loud and proud, "and I'm Black Cat." 

It's no secret, everyone in the crime world and out knows who you are and not just as a cat burglar. 

He stands there still and motionless, unmoving, gaping like a fish -and your confidence falls. Tears sting your eyes but you swallow them down, not wanting to cry in front of him. You hadn't changed out of the goodness of your heart, you'd changed for him. Maybe you were too quick to trust? 

"Well", you shrug and pull on your mask, "Guess that's enough shock for today. I'm gonna go..", you say, unsure when he still doesn't respond. 

You're almost about to retreat into the dark alley -go home and probably kick yourself for the oh so wonderful idea- when he calls out to you. You turn around and sit on the edge of the roof, waiting patiently. 

"Honestly? I.. I never expected you to unmask and.. God- this is all so new to me." He sounds positively astonished. "I've never done this before..." 

For a moment he just stands there trying to collect his words and fail. In the end he gives up and -oh my God, did he just remove his mask!?

You hardly expected him to do it. You knew it was a big deal, you know the power behind it and that it was nothing like yours. He was the person Villains spend their wealth on just to see the face behind the mask, he was the face even the government begs to know! No one knew Spider-Man's identity.. except for you, now.

"My name is Pavitr Prabhakar and I am Spider-Man." 

He is even more beautiful than you imagined -which you definitely did NOT spend an alarming amount doing. 

Seeing you freeze in surprise, he comes closer putting a warm hand on your shoulder just like your first meeting. "Trust must go both ways, kitty cat, and I trust you. Or should I say, mew?" 

You laugh at his horrible pun as stray tear of joy springs to your eye and you let it fall, overwhelmed. It's been so long since anyone has looked at you without disdain or contempt, without distrust. 

Sirens blare down a few streets, gunshots distinct in the calm late night air as red lights spin frantically to catch attention. 

Your happy moment doesn't last for long but you aren't complaining, wiping off the tear and quick on your feet as Spider-Man -Pavitr- swings to the scene of crime. A bank robbery. 

"Lend me a paw?", he jokes, you following right at his heels. 

"Mew betcha!" 

-------

*Mew = you Hope you enjoyed it! <3 Reblogs and comments are appreciated! pt 2 of (I'm certain) I know what you say coming soon! ;D

#pavitr x you #pavitr x y/n #pavitr x fem reader #pavitr x female reader #pavitr prabhakar x you #pavitr prabhakar x y/n #pavitr prabhakar x fem reader #pavitr prabhakar x female reader #pavitr prabhakar x f!reader #pavitr prabhakar x black cat reader #pavitr x black cat!reader #spiderman india #astv #across the spiderverse #pavitr prabhakar

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Crucible

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ only)

Word Count: 9.6k 

Warnings: BDSM, BDSM/fetish clubs, ROUGH spanking (with a belt), mentions of collars and collaring, mentions of a cage, restraints, guys this is a BDSM club lots of kinky stuff is going to be mentioned here, unprotected PIV sex (this is fantasy! Don’t do this in real life!) Let me know if I missed anything, this whole fic is a blur.

Summary: Marcus Pike’s latest case takes him undercover to a BDSM club. When he’s called to participate as a dom in a scene with an unattached sub, will he be able to keep his focus on the task at hand?

A/N: “I will prioritize finishing HTKAI” is a little lie I like to tell myself, apparently. I was on track and then I got THIS ASK which derailed me for a WEEK, but it was one of those GLORIOUS weeks where I could simply not stop writing. This is dedicated to the anon (I know who you are, but IDK if you wanted to be uhhhh exposed like that) and also to @katareyoudrilling and @just-here-for-the-moment who have listened to me scream about this idea all week and gave me some DELICIOUS ideas.

Main Masterlist

Marcus Pike takes a sip from his latte as his eyes scan the newest case file to cross his desk for what seems like the hundredth time that week.

Fifteen paintings had been stolen from the Takoma Art Gallery–which had seemed like an unusually high number until they were informed that the canvases are all miniatures, each depicting a different hyper-realistic koi painting. 

The works are so stunning, that after visiting the gallery earlier that week, Marcus had purchased one for himself. He likes to do that–purchase one work from each gallery the team has to visit in the line of work. It seems like the least he can do, since every gallery he visits has just gone through an expensive and intrusive ordeal–police tape, countless interviews, security camera footage seizures, contractors to fix broken glass, unplanned closings, revenue loss, et cetera.

Not to mention the pain of having something the artist put hours of time and effort into, a little piece of themselves that they’ve pulled out and translated onto a canvas, vanished into thin air. If Marcus can recoup just a fraction of that mental loss by showing his appreciation for their art, he’s happy to do so.

Plus, it fills his home with color.

The little fish painting is now displayed proudly in Marcus’s kitchen, on a little scrap of wall between the cabinets and the countertop right next to the coffee maker. 

After days of painstaking work reviewing security footage and interviewing suspects, the team finally has the perpetrator’s identity nailed down. Matt Shepard, a day trader who’d apparently invested in the wrong stocks recently, and had lost everything after something called EggCoin had crashed.

Apparently, Shepard was a better art thief than he was a cryptocurrency guru, because after some surveillance this week, trailing the man in a series of unmarked cars, it appeared that all fifteen paintings had been sold, each to a different buyer–some local, some scattered across the states, even a few international sales.

And that means Shepard is going away for a long time once they arrest him. Crossing international borders? Well, now you’re smuggling. Shepard should have stuck with local buyers.

It would be easy for Marcus’s team to rush into Shepard’s overpriced apartment and arrest the man, but solving an art theft crime isn’t just about putting perpetrators behind bars.

Marcus’s goal is always to recover the stolen artwork. In order to do that, the team is gathered in a conference room, discussing the best method to go undercover and get the names of Shepard’s buyers before making the arrest. 

Marcus taps his pen against his notebook absentmindedly. "Does he have any known associates?" he asks.

"Nada. But we do have one thing. A club he frequents called The Crucible."

"Great, that's perfect," Marcus says. "One of us can sneak in undercover and at worst, gather some intel. Best case scenario, we get a list of his buyers and he’s in handcuffs by the last call."

Marcus's teammates all share a look, and he frowns.

"...What?" he asks.

"The club, it's… it's a BDSM club."

"Oh." Marcus's mouth makes an exaggerated 'O' shape as he takes in the information. "Got it."

"Matthew Shepard is a regular there, a, uh, dominant," Agent Wallace says, squinting down at his notes and looking very awkward as his mouth forms the shape of the word. "We would, ah, pose as another… dominant… and try to get close to him."

Marcus fights down a chuckle. He's never seen Agent Wallace look so uncomfortable reading a case file. He's an older man; Marcus wouldn't be surprised if he'd never heard the terminology before. 

"You volunteering?" he jokes.

"I–I don't– I don't know if I–" the other Agent starts to stammer out. 

"Kidding. I'm kidding. We'll only send someone who's comfortable playing the role," Marcus interrupts. "Agent Cassidy, what are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts on what, dressing in a leather catsuit and posing as a dominatrix? I don't have any qualms, if that's what you're asking, but from what I hear, he's not all that chummy with the women. I think a man would be far more effective infiltrating his circle."

"That makes sense," Agent Bowman says thoughtfully. "What would I need to do, like, wear leather pants?" 

"Please don't," Agent Cassidy mutters under her breath. 

Marcus grimaces. Bowman is a large guy with an intimidating build. Sure, of the four of them, he’d probably be the one who’d best look the part, but Bowman’s demeanor? Not very convincing. He’s a pretty religious guy–he’d take one look at his surroundings and telegraph his disfomfort, giving himself away immediately. Whoever does this will need to be comfortable in that environment. 

"I'll do it."

All heads whip around to look at Marcus simultaneously.

"You?" Agent Bowman asks skeptically.

Marcus laughs. "Why not me?"

"I mean, no offense, but you'd look like the softest, most vanilla guy in that club," Agent Bowman laughs. "You don't have a mean bone in your body."

"It's not about being mean," Marcus says automatically.

"What's it about, then?" asks Agent Cassidy.

Multiple possible answers spring to mind. Presence. Intuition. Discipline. Empathy. Listening. Literally anything other than 'being mean.' Instead, Marcus says, "Confidence."

"I'm confident they'll see right through you," Agent Bowman jokes.

"You wound me," Marcus pouts. "Have I ever fucked up an undercover op?"

The team all shakes their heads at the same time. 

"Exactly," Marcus says. "Just trust me on this, all right?"

After the meeting is over, Marcus walks back into his office and shuts the door. He can't hide his amusement any longer about his coworkers' opinions of him.

"You'd look like the softest, most vanilla guy in that club."

They're not… wrong, exactly. He does look like that. He knows this. It's what made him so popular when he attended a very similar club back when he was in graduate school.

There had always been some sort of fascination surrounding him back then–the guy with the soft eyes and quiet demeanor with an uncanny ability to break any sub who did a scene with him. They'd seek him out again and again, not just for his reputation for expertly dancing between gentle and brutal, but for his dedication to caring for them afterwards. 

He'd been known for taking them to a private room afterwards and talking to them softly while they came down, holding them if they wanted it, stroking their hair. Aftercare–or, at least, the amount of it that Marcus preferred–was something that tended to be overlooked at clubs. 

Or at least, it had been, at that particular club, what–fifteen, almost twenty years ago now?? Jesus, that made Marcus feel old. Things were probably a lot different now, and it had been years since he’d been in a club setting. Hell, it had been years since his last sub, even–his last girlfriend hadn’t been into it. Marcus rolls his eyes at the thought of Teresa. It had been a year since she’d broken up with him over the phone, just three hours after agreeing to marry him, and the memory still stings.  

It’s a different sort of hurt, now–mostly just embarrassment at himself that he had gotten it so wrong. He had been looking at their relationship with rose-colored glasses, and all the red flags, well, they just looked like flags.

Marcus had worked on himself a lot, since then. New city, new him, he had decided, once the shock of the breakup had worn off. He started working out again, got a therapist, and had avoided getting into another relationship until he felt confident enough to stand on his own for a while.

After a year, though, he feels as if he’s ready again. A little thrill runs down his spine at the thought of going to the club Shepard frequented, after their little undercover mission. He hadn’t thought of finding a club like that again, but now that the idea has wormed its way into his brain, he can’t stop thinking about it. Memories of his own experiences flash through his mind. It had been so much fun, back then. Maybe it was time to go back to that. 

Hell, he could even meet someone there.

Two days later, on a Saturday night, Marcus and his team get ready for the op at headquarters before driving to The Crucible.

"Check, check one-two," Marcus mumbles as he inserts the tiny earpiece into his ear. Once in, it'll be nearly invisible, especially in the darkness of the club. 

"Loud and clear," Agent Wallace responds, and Marcus can hear his voice duplicated quietly in his ear. 

"Fantastic. Does anyone have any questions? Agents Wallace and Cassidy, you'll be in the surveillance van two blocks away with the audio equipment. Agent Bowman, one block away in an unmarked car as backup. I'll be on the inside looking for Shepard."

"You got it, Sir."

Marcus hikes up his pant leg and straps a small, concealed holster to his ankle and slides a small nine millimeter into place. When he rolls the cuff back down, the piece is undetectable. 

He shrugs off his suit jacket and undoes his tie before rolling up the sleeves on his white dress shirt. 

"You're sure you'll fit in, dressed like that?" Agent Wallace asks.

"Oh yeah, he'll fit in," Agent Cassidy responds with a little chuckle. 

Marcus smirks and undoes a few of his shirt buttons, exposing the line of his throat and making the look a bit more casual. 

"Okay," he exhales. "Let's do this, then."

The Crucible is a large fetish club with a main stage, where volunteers can participate in scenes varying from spanking, shibari and other bondage play, temperature play, or any number of other kinks, in front of an audience. There’s a bar, dance floor, and a number of private rooms for more intimate activities.

When Marcus arrives at the club, his eyes are immediately drawn to the small stage, where a man in an ornate leather harness and a ball gag is kneeling down in front of another man who’s holding a leather crop. He feels his cock twitch, but he tears his gaze away from the sight and scans the crowd for Shepard.

Marcus sees him at the bar, with a few other men who, for reasons Marcus can’t explain, scream ‘day trader’ in their dress and demeanor. They all look to be doms, and they’re all similarly dressed in crisp white dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up.

Marcus orders a drink and parks himself nearby, close enough to hear their conversation but not so close that it looks as if he’s eavesdropping. This is always the hardest part–breaking the ice and infiltrating a group of strangers in order to gain their trust. He listens to the men discuss fantasy football for a while before Shepard mentions something about his “side business,” which Marcus takes to mean his recent ventures into illegal art sales.

Both he and Shepard’s group watch the scene on the stage play out with nonchalance–the two men from before have left, replaced with a domme who’s currently demonstrating proper shibari techniques on her partner. 

Desperate to get an ‘in’ with Shepard’s group, Marcus leans over and asks, “Where do you sign up to be on the stage?” he asks one of the men.

“Oh, you can talk to Melissa,” the man answers. “Melissa!” 

He beckons one of the bartenders over. “This dude wants to play.”

Marcus holds his hands up. “I’m just planning to watch tonight, I was just curious how it works for the next time.”

Shepard looks over with interest. “First time here?” he asks.

“I’m new to the area,” Marcus says. “First time in this particular club, though.”

“Well, welcome,” Shepard says amiably, and extends his hand. “Matt, nice to meet you.”

Marcus takes the other man’s hand. “I’m Mike,” he says, giving him his usual undercover name. 

“What brings you to DC, Mike?” Shepard asks.

“I moved here for a job, but the pay is shit,” Marcus tells him. “Was looking for something a bit more… lucrative, if you know what I mean.”

Shepard laughs. “Yeah, man, this city’s getting more and more unaffordable.”

Marcus takes the leap. “Heard you say something about a side business. I’m looking for something myself, is there something I can get in on?”

Shepard purses his lips. “You know anything about art?”

“Art? I dunno,” Marcus shrugs. “Didn’t think there was much money in being an artist.”

“There’s money in selling the art, if you have the right buyers,” Shepard offers.

“Oh yeah? I’ve got some old shit from a relative that’s just gathering dust,” Marcus says. “Who do you know that’ll buy it?

Before Shepard can answer, Melissa comes back, looking down at a folded piece of paper. “I know you said you just wanted to watch, but the next sub just had their scene partner cancel. Are you sure you don’t want to participate?

Marcus shakes his head, pushing down the temptation. Not why you’re here, idiot. “Next time, maybe.”

Shepard looks over at the small stage, where a woman waits on her hands and knees in a little cage, and rolls his eyes. "Oh, it's her."

"Her?" Marcus raises his eyebrows.

One of Shepard's companions laughs. "He's just sore because she refuses to do any scenes with him any more," the man tells Marcus. 

Marcus forces a congenial laugh. "Oh yeah? What's the problem?"

"She always says she wants a dom who'll make her cry," Shepard scoffs. "But she's fucking impossible to work with, she never breaks. I don't know why the fuck she participates."

"What, so you couldn't do it?" Marcus asks, amused. 

Shepard narrows his eyes, sizing the other man up. "You think you could?"

Marcus shrugs noncommittally. This isn't what he's here for. He's here to get Shepard's contacts and get the fuck out.

"Tell you what," Shepard says. "Go up there and do the scene, and I'll give you the name of my buyers."

"Deal," Marcus says quickly, before Shepard can change his mind.

"Holy shit," comes the quiet response from Agent Wallace in his ear. "That was easy. Wait, what did he mean, 'scene.' What’s a scene?"

Oh. Right. Marcus cannot do this with voices in his head. For a multitude of reasons.

"Going dark for a bit," he mumbles as he turns away from Shepard's group and heads toward the stage. 

"What?! Pike, what are you going to do if things go south and we aren't able to hear it?"

"Just trust me on this," he mutters.

"You can't–"

Marcus surreptitiously switches off the device and whatever protest Cassidy was about to offer dies mid-sentence and is replaced with silence.

He gives Melissa his name (“Mike”) and heads toward the stage with his heart in his throat.

A little thrill runs up his spine, a rush of power as he steps onto the stage and the subs eyes flick upward to meet his.

She's kneeling, crouched over in the too-small cage, but her gaze is bright and defiant. Marcus smiles. He likes that–a sub who'll make him work for it, make him earn her obedience. 

She's beautiful, too. Not dressed in anything overly fetish-y–no slick latex, no uncomfortably tight corset–just a little black shift dress that exposes the underside of a very cute butt. He eyes her collar–it has the initials of the club emblazoned on the side. One of the club’s generic play collars, then, indicating she’s not attached. A little frisson of possessiveness runs through him. His. If only for tonight. 

Marcus approaches the cage and crouches down. "Hey there, little one," he says softly, and the woman inside looks up at him.

"You're new," she remarks.

Marcus nods in assent. "I am," he confirms with a smile. "That okay?"

"No offense, puppy-dog eyes, but you don't really look like you could handle me," the woman states matter-of-factly.

Marcus chuckles. "Handle you?" He reaches through the cage and runs his index finger down her jawline. "Are you difficult, sweet thing?" he teases.

"I want a dom who can make me cry," she tells him. "And you really don't look like you can."

"Why don't we find out," he suggests. "I think you'd be surprised."

"It's not easy to make me cry," she says, her features still schooled in a defiant pout. 

"Oh, I'm sure," Marcus murmurs to her. "I'm sure that's what you say to all the second-rate doms who think all they need to do is rough you up and call you a slut, hmm? But you know what I think?" 

He gently grips her chin and forces all of her attention on him. "I think you need something different."

"Don't sit there and tell me you know what I need," she spits.

Marcus’s grip tightens. "Oh, but I do," he says lowly. "That's how this is supposed to work, right? I give you what you need. I decide how much is too much. And sweetheart?" He pulls her forward until her face is nearly touching the bars of the cage. 

"You don't give the orders here. I'll give you one freebie, since I'm new and we don't know each other, but if you try it again, I'm going to punish you. What's your safeword?"

"Monet."

Marcus's eyebrows briefly raise in surprise before he schools his face into an easy smile again. "Perfect. Here's what's gonna happen, little one. When I let you out of the cage, I'm not going to stop until I see tears unless I hear that word. Understood?"

She nods.

"My name is Marcus," he says, giving her his real name. "But while we're in the scene, you can call me 'Sir.' Got it?"

"Yes, Sir," she murmurs, and Marcus opens the cage.

You hate him.

You hate his soulful brown eyes and his quiet overconfidence that somehow manages to be worse than the way other doms have loudly strutted around the stage, showing off.

Instead, this man just sits down next to you, completely ignoring the noise of the crowd, treating you as if you're the only person in the room and making presumptions about what it is you need?

You hate it.

Except, the longer you speak to him, the more you begin to suspect that his egoism can be backed up. There's something about him, something about how softly he speaks to you combined with the confidence with which he handles you, that makes you want to listen, no matter how irritating you find him. 

He opens the cage door and you shuffle forward. 

Most doms, when you goad them about making you cry, will grab you by the collar and drag you out, but Marcus merely ghosts his hand on the back of your head, gently guiding you to the little table in the middle of the stage.

There's a few jeers from the crowd, some quiet titters, but Marcus only seems to have eyes for you. He watches you with a small smile as you crawl forward until you reach the table. He extends his hand, and against your better judgment, you take it, letting him pull you up to standing. 

He guides your front down onto the table and attaches one ankle, then the other, to the spreader bar at the bottom of the table. He picks up one of your hands–cradling your wrist so gently–and drags it up to the restraints at the other end of the table before repeating the action on the other side. All the while, his eyes are on you and his hands are so careful and you find yourself wondering how the fuck this man could be a dom.

You realize you're trembling, and you inwardly chastise yourself. Are you really nervous? You're being ridiculous. There's nothing remarkable about this man, nothing that he can do that no one before him has done before.

He won't break you. 

Even so, your muscles tense slightly as his fingers trail up the backs of your thighs. They catch on the hem of your dress, pulling it the rest of the way up until the material pools at your lower back. Baring you to him, to the rest of the club. Your spine tingles at the vulnerability–you’ve always liked that moment, the moment you’re exposed.

"You look beautiful," Marcus says quietly. "I like your outfit."

It surprises you so much that you murmur "Thank you," forgetting to call him 'Sir.' If he notices, he doesn't say anything. He continues handling you with gentle, barely-there touches until you're wondering when the fuck he's going to start. 

"You have goosebumps, little one," he whispers, as his fingertips ghost along the back of your neck. 

You do. It feels like your entire body is erupting in shivers as his hands wander along your skin. A large part of it is anticipation. What is Marcus going to do? When is he going to do it? It's nerve-wracking, so much so that when his palm comes down on your ass just once, you jump and make a little "Oh!" sound in surprise.

It makes him chuckle, and you remember that you hate him. You force down your submissiveness and purse your lips, not reacting as he gives your ass a few more gentle swats, just warming up the skin.  

His fingers never seem to leave you as he walks around you again, letting his hand trail up to your shoulder as he inspects all the implements sitting out on a little side table to use in the scene. You watch as his hands run over them–a leather crop, a paddle, whips, several different types of flogger, one of those little pinwheels. You have to admit, his hands are sexy. You can’t keep your eyes off of them, of the purposeful way they touch the various tools.

“Which one is your favorite?” he asks, looking over at you with a little smirk.

“I don’t think you know how to use any of those… Sir,” you say, in the haughtiest, most condescending tone you can manage while restrained to the table.

Marcus tsks quietly. “Oh, you are difficult, aren’t you, little one?” he teases, matching your condescension beat for beat. 

He abandons the array of toys and stands directly in front of you. “Very well then,” he says in a low voice, and reaches for his belt buckle.

It’s incredibly suggestive–his bulge right at eye level as you watch him slowly unbuckle his belt and slide it out of the loops. 

“So defiant,” he coos. “Such a petulant little thing you are, trying to get a reaction out of me. Is this how it always is? Provoking your dom into being extra rough with you?” His fingertips trail down your spine, making you shiver again. He leans down to whisper in your ear, his breaths disturbing the little hairs on the back of your neck and making the tingle at the back of your spine worse.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that’s not the way to get what you want?” Marcus teases, the words barely audible despite the fact that his lips are damn near touching the shell of your ear.

Suddenly, pain erupts on the backs of your cheeks as the belt comes down for the first time. You gasp in surprise, in pain. You hadn’t expected it, you didn’t realize that while Marcus was whispering in your ear, his arm had been pulling back to deliver a far more intense hit than you had expected from him.

“Surprise,” he teases, his lips still hovering just above your head. You take a few breaths to try and calm yourself. You can feel your adrenaline start to spike, and there’s a corresponding dampness gathering in your underwear. Marcus straightens, standing back up, and the hand not holding the belt lightly caresses your jaw. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I’ll bet you’ll be even prettier when you’re crying for me, little one.”

Marcus brings the belt down again, even harder. You can feel him pull back this time, so you can at least anticipate it, but it still stings. You get the feeling that he let you anticipate it–that he choreographed his movements on purpose, to allow you to prepare just slightly, tensing your thighs just before the leather smarts across your skin. His other hand is still cradling your face with a tenderness that so glaringly contrasts with the actions of his other hand and somehow that contrast is making you wetter than you’ve ever been on this stage. 

On the third hit, you finally let out a little whimper, you can’t help it. The noise makes Marcus smile. “Such a pretty little sound,” he tells you as his fingers rub up and down the back of your neck. “Good girl. Be good and give me more of them, hmm?” 

He’s still speaking so quietly that you’re certain the audience can’t hear a damn thing he’s saying to you. Is that on purpose? Why? 

You don’t have long to ponder, because the belt comes down again, harder, and in the same fucking spot, and you cry out into the room. Marcus bends down again and brushes his lips over your temple and that makes you whimper even more. “Look at how well you’re doing,” he whispers into your ear. “Look at how good you’re being for me.”

Another hit that you don’t anticipate because his lips are still soft on your skin and how, how does he manage to keep half of his movements so soft and tender and the other half so deliciously brutal? You’ve done scenes on this stage where the dom has just stood behind you and gone as hard as they could, and somehow Marcus is managing to blow those other times out of the water with just half of his body, all the while whispering praises about how good you’re being for him.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek again. “I’m gonna have so much fun ruining you.”

Two hard smacks–one right after the other–and you’re shaking, gritting your teeth with the effort of keeping tears from springing to your eyes. Already. It’s too soon, you can’t cry yet–when did the question of whether or not he’ll make you cry become a matter of when, and not if? You were wrong, Marcus is clearly more than capable of being viciously rough. It’s the combination, though, that’s making it hard for you to hold yourself together.

Marcus pulls back to look at you–to look at his handiwork. “You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice saturated with sheer reverence. “I can see it through your underwear,” he says. “You’re soaking.”

Another merciless hit, and you’re letting out a pitiful whine. The crowd has disappeared, everything outside of this stage simply gone. When Marcus leans back down and asks, “May I feel how wet you are, little one?” you don’t think twice about nodding and choking out a “Yes, Sir.” Not caring that you’re in front of everyone, that Marcus is a stranger, that you’re supposed to be focused on the non-sexual elements of BDSM during scenes on the stage. 

You feel Marcus’s fingers dip underneath your underwear and collect your arousal and you moan, wishing he would sink them as far as they’ll go into your cunt instead. Hell, you’d let this man literally fuck you on this stage in this moment, you’re so far gone. “Oh, sweetheart,” you hear him murmur. “Oh, baby, that’s a lot.”

All too soon, his fingers are gone and the belt bites at your skin again and oh, no–it’s too much, it’s too overwhelming, and you feel a single tear leak from one eye and drip down onto the table as you cry out again. Your eyes flick up to Marcus in time to see him sucking his fingers into his mouth and tasting you. The knowing glint in his eye lets you know that he absolutely saw the tear.

“I was going to make you clean yourself off of my fingers,” Marcus teases quietly, “but I wanted to taste you so badly, I couldn’t do it.”

He leans down and brushes his lips over your forehead again while his hand continues stroking your neck and the back of your head. “Can you come from being spanked, sweet thing?” he asks quietly. 

“Yes, Sir,” you whisper, your face heating.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me, little one,” Marcus says in your ear. “Absolutely perfect. I wanna give you a little reward for that and make you come. And,” he whispers, “I think we can do better than one little tear, can’t we?”

“Yes, Sir,” you whimper, even quieter than before.

“I’m gonna go a little faster,” Marcus tells you. “You just keep being a good girl and make all those pretty sounds for me until I make you come apart.”

True to his word, the belt starts coming down again and again, the steady rhythm sending vibrations through your core and building heat inside of you. The strikes aren’t any less hard, and you can’t hold back your tears any longer, sobbing in a mixture of relief and pain even as you feel your core start to tighten.

All the while, Marcus’s other hand strokes your face and neck so gently, so softly, so… lovingly, and he talks so quietly and calmly in your ear, his voice steady and even as he calls you his good girl, tells you how perfect you are, how much he likes seeing you like this–

Your cries get louder and louder until the tension finally snaps and your pussy clenches around nothing over and over and over as you fall apart. 

You’re a void. The nothing in your head is so loud that your ears are ringing. You’re dimly aware that the belt has stopped, that there’s quite a bit of noise from the crowd around the stage, that your ass and thighs are throbbing angrily and your tears are still falling, but you can’t focus on any of it. Everything is blurry in your brain. 

Marcus is the only thing that remains in focus. The hand he was just using to bring you exquisite pain has dropped the belt and is now rubbing up and down your back as you continue to cry. His other hand hasn’t moved from your head, caressing you as he whispers, “That’s right, let it out. I’ve got you.”

If you had any awareness at all, you’d be embarrassed at how much you're crying right now. You’d hate the fact that you’re trembling violently and you’d loathe the intense vulnerability you’re feeling–the fact that all you want is for this man to hold you, kiss you, touch you, to just keep talking to you in that soft, sweet voice. You’ve never let yourself get attached to a random dom before, what the fuck—?

“Hey, little one,” Marcus murmurs, gently getting your attention. “I’m going to take you out of the restraints, and then I’m gonna put a little cooling lotion on you, so don’t get up, okay?”

You nod numbly. You feel his hands gently undoing the cuffs on your wrists, then trailing down your body as he walks behind you and crouches down and releases your ankles from the spreader bar.

He’s purposeful in the way he keeps touching you, as if he wants to assure you that he’s always there. Even when he turns to grab the little bottle of lotion, one hand stays resting at the back of your head, providing a comforting, steady pressure. 

“Gonna touch it now,” he murmurs, right before the sensation of cold lotion hits your skin. You hiss–now that the moment is over and you’re coming down from your high, it hurts even more. 

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes. “I know it’s hard. You’re doing so well for me.” 

He applies the cream gingerly to your burning skin, continuing to talk to you as he does.

“Look at me for a moment so I know you’re paying attention,” Marcus directs quietly after he’s finished with his task.

Your eyes automatically find his face, and he smiles at your instinctual obedience to him. 

“You’re bleeding a little bit,” he tells you. “I know they’re gonna want us off the stage in a minute, but I’d like it if we could go somewhere private and quiet, so I can keep taking care of you. Will you let me do that?”

When you nod again, Marcus smiles and guides you up from the table and takes you into his arms. You allow him to carry you off the stage–still too pliant and submissive to do anything but bury your head in his chest as he walks. You hear a few whoops from the crowd, but you can’t find it in you to care. All you can do is breathe in his scent and wonder what the fuck just happened.

Marcus finds an unoccupied private room and ushers her gently inside. He reclines back on one of the couches and guides her to lie beside him, turned on her side so as not to put any pressure on the angry skin of her thighs and butt. She comes willingly–letting him pull her to his chest, her limbs pliant and soft where they’re draped over him. 

“There we go,” he murmurs encouragingly. “Just like that.”

At his words, she lets out a shuddering breath and relaxes fully against his chest. His smile widens. All of that defiance from before, completely erased. She’s putty in his arms, moldable and docile. 

Marcus sighs too. All the tension has left his body as well, leaving him with a bone-deep sense of satisfaction and pride. He’d forgotten how much he likes this, how good it feels to take care of someone like this.

And with her, it’s especially sweet–taking someone so incredibly strong-willed and defiant and systematically tearing through every defense they have. Taking someone who isn’t used to being broken so gently and showing them a different side of dominance. And oh, she’s so lovely when she breaks. 

Marcus looks down at her with a small smile. She’s still panting just a little, still catching her breath. Her eyes are still a little glazed over as she comes out of subspace, but she has this beautiful, serene smile on her face that he doubts she’s even aware of. He can’t keep his eyes off of her. He wonders if it’s just because he hasn’t indulged this side of him in a while that he’s feeling so attached to her–because she’s simply the first sub he’s had in years–or if it’s her, specifically, that he’s drawn to. 

She cranes her face up to meet his gaze, her eyes so wide and vulnerable and bright, and Marcus finds himself smiling at her as he brings his hand to her face and swipes his thumb gently across her cheek, smearing the still-drying tear tracks.

“Hey,” he says softly, still looking into her eyes. “Feeling okay?”

She nods. “Yes… Sir.”

He chuckles. “You can just call me Marcus,” he tells her. “It’s okay.”

She smiles at that, and his heart soars. “Okay… Marcus.”

The moment his name falls from her lips, he wants to hear it again. And again, and again, and again, in a million different contexts. Marcus, as she greets him at a restaurant when he asks her on a date. Marcus, just before his lips meet hers in a gentle kiss. Marcus, as he thrusts inside her tight cunt for the first time. Marcus, Marcus, Marcus, as he makes her fall apart for him again and again. 

“Can I ask for your name, little one?” he asks quietly, tentatively. 

She tells him, and he repeats it back to her, watching her pupils dilate slightly when he says it.

“That was, um…” she begins. “I’ve never experienced anything quite like that in a club, before.”

Marcus laughs quietly. “Is that a good thing?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I liked it."

"It's funny," she continues, "the last dom I told to make me cry went straight to like, heavy degradation, slapping me around and shit."

Marcus frowns down at her. "Is someone here doing something you’re not okay with?"

"No, not exactly. I mean… I'll admit I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie, so I like the roughness. I hate the dumb shit he wanted me do in between, licking his boots and whatever," she scoffs. "I didn't really realize what I was craving until…"

She trails off, but the meaning is clear. Until him. 

"Anyways, I refuse to do scenes with him anymore, because honestly, he's kind of a dick," she says, and Marcus realizes she's talking about his mark. Shepard. An art thief and apparently a shitty dom, as well. 

Shit. The case. How long has he been out of communication with the team? Probably quite a while. He needs to wrap this up, but he also needs to make sure his sub is properly taken care of.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks quietly.

"Sure."

Can I have your number? Will you go out to dinner, can we do this again, can I kiss you, can I take you home and make you mine–

He shakes himself.

"Your safeword–Monet–any particular reason why?"

"Oh!" she says in surprise, her face lighting up at the question. "I was an art history major in school."

"Really," he laughs. "What do you do for a living?"

She laughs too and drops her gaze. "Human resources," she says sheepishly. "What do you do?"

"It's, ah… I work for the… government," he finishes lamely.

"Oh." She wrinkles her nose. "Oh God, you're not a politician, are you?"

Marcus laughs again. "No, I'm not a politician," he tells her.

"Oh, thank goodness," she says with a smile. "Hey, um, can I–"

"Are you feeling a little better?" Marcus interrupts. He's overstayed his welcome, should get back to the case. He's risking the chance of Shepard leaving, and he has a chance to get the man's buyers and confirm he's behind the thefts if he can get his fucking head back into the game.

"Oh yeah, I feel fantastic," she says emphatically. 

He smiles at her sincerity. "I mean here," he says quietly, his fingers ghosting across the underside of her cheeks.

"That's fine too," she murmurs. "Barely hurts anymore."

"Still," he tells her, "take it easy, okay?:

"Aw, I was planning on doing this again tomorrow."

Marcus chuckles. "I'm sorry to do this, but I have to go do something. I–I'd really like to see you again, are you sticking around any longer?" he asks.

She nods. "Probably."

"I'll find you," he promises. "Wait for me."

It's the hardest thing he's had to do all night, walking out and leaving her relaxing on the couch, his handiwork from before still visible where her dress has ridden up. She waggles her fingers at him in a shy little wave as he opens the door, and his heart clenches with some unnamed emotion.

When the door shuts, he switches the mic and earpiece back on.

"Christ, Pike, where the fuck have you been?" Wallace's voice rings in Marcus's ear.

"Doing something to get Shepard’s buyers and hopefully the locations of the stolen artwork," he replies. It's not exactly a lie. "Heading to get Shepard now."

"It's been an hour," Cassidy hisses. 

"Copy," is all Marcus says in response, a wry smile teasing his lips. 

He schools his face back into bored nonchalance as he approaches Shepard's group. 

Shepard turns around and regards him with surprise. "Holy shit, Mike. You take her back to a room and fuck her?"

"Mmhmm," Marcus lies. 

"She's never let anyone do that after a scene," Shepard remarks. "What the hell were you saying to her up there?"

Marcus grins, showing his teeth. "A gentleman never tells," he says dryly.

Shepard snorts. "There's no gentlemen in this club."

Marcus shrugs. "The two don't need to be mutually exclusive. So," he steps forward. "You mentioned something about buyers."

Marcus listens to Shepard spill all of his contacts, even mentioning the names of some of the stolen pieces of art by name, and of course, all of it is recorded by Wallace and Cassidy. 

"Wow, that's–thanks, man, I'll definitely be paying then a visit soon. In the meantime," Marcus begins, reaching for the badge in his pocket and lowering his voice to a more threatening timbre, "Matthew Shepard, I'm placing you under arrest for art theft and smuggling."

"What the–" Shepard begins, but Marcus is already restraining the man's wrists and pulling them roughly behind his back before reaching back in his pocket for his handcuffs.

“You have the right to remain silent," Marcus begins in a monotone. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney–" as he recites the familiar words, he feels the weight of someone's gaze on him, and he turns. 

It’s her, of course it is. Marcus winces.She couldn’t have just… stayed in the private room for ten more minutes to rest? He could have made the arrest, snuck out, and come back to find her without her realizing what he was actually doing here if she had only stayed in that room until the arrest was made. But no, she's there, watching the scene play out with a look of shock and utter betrayal written all over her features.

"–If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you," Marcus finishes, keeping his eyes on her, his expression full of regret. "Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?"

"Fuck you!" Shepard spits. 

"Charming. Let's go."

Marcus reluctantly tears his gaze away from her as he pushes Shepard toward the door, but he feels her furious eyes on him the entire way out of the club.

He doesn't look back.

Marcus can't stop thinking of her. Not as he and his team processes Shepard, not as he sits in his office afterwards finishing paperwork, not as he lies in bed that night, unable to sleep, thinking of her. He sees her eyes every time he closes his. 

Her defiant gaze as he'd approached her on the stage. Filled with tears as he gave her the release she'd been looking for. Wide and vulnerable, looking up at him with trust and attraction and hope—

Full of betrayal as she found out he wasn't who he said he was. 

Well, to be fair, he hadn't said he was anything, but he's sure it looks like he was just playing that role to get the arrest. 

Marcus presses the heels of his hands hard into his eyes until little white spots appear behind his eyelids. Fuck. 

He should have asked for her number. There's no guarantee he'll ever see her again.

Except… now that she feels that he'd lied to her, that it was all an act, he doubts she'd pick up the phone, anyway. 

Marcus can't let it go. 

He knows that it's not just because he let himself get attached to the first sub he's had in a while–it's her. It's her dry wit and her bright eyes and her gorgeous body and her smile…

Every time he thinks about their scene they did, his cock gets half-hard in his pants. Those sounds she made, how fucking wet she got for him, oh, fuck, the way she tasted… 

He has to find her. He has to see her again.

Marcus finds himself back at the club next Saturday night, praying that she's there again. He nurses a drink, mostly just for something to with his hands, as he scans the crowd, the stage, the bar–

She isn't here. 

Marcus's heart sinks. 

Wait… 

A little group of subs in collars laughing uproariously at something on someone's phone moves out of the way and–

There she is. Just as pretty as he remembers from last week. The only thing that's different is that her neck is bare. No collar–so she's not playing tonight. 

Marcus shoves down the prideful, possessive voice that rejoices at the possibility that it's because of him. He has an overwhelming desire to ruin her for anybody else.

He abandons his drink at the bar, his focus on her and her alone. Would she speak to him again? Will she give him a chance to explain? Most terrifying of all, will she allow him to see her again? 

Heart in his throat, he approaches her. Her back is still to him, so she doesn't see him coming. 

He steels himself, forcing more confidence into his voice than he has right now.

"Hey there, little one."

You whirl around at the familiar voice. Oh, no he didn’t–

"You," you snarl accusingly. "You have some nerve showing up here after last week."

"I know," Marcus says, holding his hands up placatingly. "I came here to explain."

"What is there to explain? You're a fucking Fed doing some sort of undercover bust, and I'm just a casualty of your little pretend act."

"Little one," he murmurs, and your fury grows.

"You don't get to call me that," you snap. "I bet it was so much fun for you, wasn’t it? Mister Undercover Cop gets to roleplay for an evening and goes on a little power trip. I can't believe I–" you trail off, shaking your head. 

You've had a week to stew over this, and time has only made your fury stronger. You put your fucking life in this man's hands, and for all you know, he's just some policeman who jumped at the excuse to slap around a woman for the night.

So what if Marcus handled you like a fine piece of china afterwards? So what if he expertly took you apart piece by piece? So fucking what if he was the best dom you'd ever had?

He's not even a real dom. 

You wince at the gentle sound of your name falling from Marcus's lips.

"I know it looks bad," he begins. "I am sorry I didn't tell you why I was here. But I promise, I'm not just some guy who knows nothing about BDSM pretending for a night. I have done this before. Many times. My… my personal life just happened to intersect with my career for this one night, and I'm truly sorry you got caught in the crossfire," Marcus says earnestly. 

"I want you to know that none of that was an act. Hell, I almost forgot I was on a case," he confesses. "I left my teammates in the dark for an hour because I–I wanted to do it right. I wanted to do the scene right. I wanted to take care of you the way you deserve and I wasn't lying afterwards when I said I wanted to see you again.

"I know I probably have no chance after what I did, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't come back here and say my piece," Marcus says sadly. 

"What do you want?" you whisper.

Marcus smiles sadly. "I want to get your number. I want to take you out on a date, maybe kiss you after, if you let me?"

You feel hope start to take root in your belly. 

"Is that all you want?" you ask.

Marcus's smile widens. "Not at all. But it's a start."

"Okay," you whisper.

"Okay?"

"You can do all of those things," you tell him. "Starting with a kiss."

Marcus doesn’t move for a minute; he just stands there looking at you, his eyes brimming with emotion. Suddenly, he strides forward and captures your lips with his.

Like everything else about this man, he somehow manages to kiss roughly and softly at the same time. His lips are achingly gentle on yours, as are his hands when they come up to cup your cheeks, but the way he presses against you is insistent and wanting. 

Marcus kisses with his entire body in a way that sends flames of desire licking up and down your own. What starts out as a somewhat chaste kiss quickly turns anything but. Soon, Marcus is crowding you up against the wall and you’re tilting your head to deepen the kiss and you moan when his tongue slips inside your mouth.

His hands, which had started out cupping your jaw tenderly have moved down your body and are now gripping your hips, hard.

This is going to turn indecent very quickly if the two of you can’t get a grip and rein this in. You have two choices here–break away and agree to go out with him before continuing to have a night out by yourself, or take this man home right now and continue.

As you debate your choices internally, Marcus starts kissing a path down your jaw before sinking his teeth into your neck. You whimper with pleasure, and your gaze falls on one of the private rooms lining this hallway.

Technically, there is a third option. One that’s looking more and more appealing the longer Marcus’s lips are attached to your skin. 

“C-can we–” you begin, “can we go… t-to one of those rooms, maybe?” you manage to gasp out as his teeth scrape along your ear. “I want–”

“What do you want,” Marcus whispers with a smile, teasing you.

“I want–fuck, I want you. Just you. I want you right now,” you pant in his ear. “I’ve been fucking pissed at you for a week and part of the reason I was so fucking mad was because I wanted you so much and you–”

“Shhhh,” he quiets you. “I know. I want you, too.” 

Marcus presses one last, chaste kiss on your lips. “And I’m sorry,” he says again. “I really am. I never wanted you to think it wasn’t real.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I forgive you, it’s okay.”

He takes your hand and pulls you into the nearest unoccupied room. 

“Plus,” you admit, “it was kind of hot.”

Marcus laughs. He guides you past all the various accouterments of a private BDSM dungeon–spanking benches, sex swing, spreader bars, and sits down on the couch instead, pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him and continue where you had left off in the hallway–trying to devour each other. 

“I–fuck–I wanted to do this the right way,” Marcus murmurs between frenzied kisses. “I wanted to take you out, treat you the way you deserve–shit,” he curses breathlessly as you grind on his lap.

“Who says this isn’t the right way?” you counter. “Technically, we had our first date last week, so…”

Marcus laughs joyfully and, in one smooth motion, grabs the bottom of your dress and pulls it over your head. “Good,” he murmurs. “Good, because if I’m not inside you in thirty seconds, I’m gonna go insane.”

Both of you are giggling now as you hastily undo your bra and awkwardly slide off your underwear while maintaining your spot on his lap, and Marcus frantically undoes his shirt and pants. He barely gets them off before you’re taking his cock in hand and groaning at the feel of his velvety skin against your palm.

“How do you want me?” you ask seductively.

“Right here,” Marcus answers immediately, pulling you down against him again. “I need to see you, I need to be able to kiss you, touch you, I–hnng–”

You cut him off as you line him up and start sinking down on his thick cock. Your lips part as you feel the stretch of him breaking you open, but oh, it’s perfect. Marcus’s mouth is hanging open, too, staring up at you in awe and disbelief as you take him until he’s seated fully inside you.

Compared to your first encounter with this man, your second is relatively… vanilla. You ride him just like this, on this couch, surrounded by fetish gear, grinding down on his cock and whining every time he hits deep inside you. 

True to his word, Marcus seems to need kissing you like he needs air. His lips and hands are everywhere, kissing you, touching you, tasting you, biting and nipping and licking and grabbing as if he could never be satisfied until he’s explored every inch of you. One of his hands comes to your hips and starts pulling you down roughly as he thrusts up to meet you. His lips slide, open-mouthed, along the skin of your cheek as he whispers to you.

“Fuck, so perfect, such a good girl for me, holy shit you feel amazing, I want you so fucking much, I thought about you all the time, I–I just want to be with you,” he murmurs. “See where this–mmfhm–goes, I–” he moans loudly in your ear as you start to tighten around him. 

“I want you to be mine,” he confesses in a barely-audible whisper as your orgasm starts to build. “I want you to be my sub, wear my fucking collar,” he growls as his thumb finds your clit and you sob–both at his words and at the sensations he’s pulling from you.

“Come on, baby, come for me,” Marcus urges in a hoarse voice. “You look so fucking pretty when you come.” 

A few more thrusts is all it takes before you’re falling apart around him, shaking and crying out into the room with how good it feels. Your legs are starting to burn with effort as your pace falters, and Marcus tips you over onto the couch and takes over, fucking into you with sharp snaps of his hips until he reaches his own release with a deep groan.

Both of you are panting as you come down from your highs. You can feel your legs still shaking slightly–with effort or adrenaline, you aren’t sure. Marcus smiles softly as he pulls back to look at you, and you can’t help but smile back. The air feels like it’s sparking with possibility–the start of something new and wonderful.

His statements from earlier–likely a result of being in the heat of passion–are still ringing in your head.I want you to be my sub, wear my fucking collar.

I want you to be mine.

Obviously, there’s a lot that would come in between this moment and the hypothetical moment where you’d wear his collar–akin to a wedding ring, in the kink community–but as Marcus pulls you into his lap again for another gentle kiss, you can feel yourself starting to wish for it already.

One Year Later

You’re sitting in a cluster of armchairs near the bar at The Crucible on a Friday night, talking to a few friends you’ve made at the club over the years–a couple–Brian, who’s holding one end of a leash, and Jessica, who’s sitting at his feet with the lead attached to her collar. She’s talking animatedly about a new iguana they’d just adopted, showing pictures to anyone who’ll listen. You smile. These two foster the oddest pets–a box turtle, a raccoon, a dog with its hind legs missing, even a fucking tarantula have made their home in the couple’s house. (You didn’t come over much when the tarantula was in residence.) 

Another one of your friends, a sub named Anthony, sits to your left, sipping his drink and chatting aimlessly with you about work. Every so often, you crane your head to look around the room, searching.

Where the hell is he?

Brian is describing the hiding place he’d made for their new foster iguana using some old tree branches from the park, when you finally feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Marcus is saying in a rush. “The casework ran late–we ended up in the archives of the Smithsonian for three hours trying to cross reference certificates of authenticity between the forgeries and the actual paintings,” he rattles off in one breath before greeting the rest of the group. 

You stand up, letting Marcus sit down in the seat you’d been occupying before settling happily on his lap. 

“Hey, little one,” Marcus says, giving you a sweet kiss. “I didn’t miss it, did I?”

You shake your head. “No, but we’re next,” you tell him. 

“Good,” he rumbles, playfully rubbing his nose against yours. “Didn’t want to miss our first time with you wearing this.”

You beam as Marcus thumbs your brand new collar–a real one, not just a generic play one–with a lock and key and everything, marking you as his sub. 

Forever, you hope.

You shiver as you recall the night he’d given it to you last week, part of celebrating one year together. Marcus had whispered promises into your skin as he’d clasped it around your neck, telling you he’ll care for you always, that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. One look into his gorgeous eyes and you know that it’s true.

A smattering of applause rings out as the scene before yours ends.

Marcus gives you a crooked grin. “We’re up, little one.”

You wiggle excitedly in his lap. “Let’s go then, Sir.”

Brian and Jessica whoop loudly as the two of you approach the stage. Someone yells “Congratulations!” and it makes you giggle. 

You watch as Marcus trails his fingers across the various implements on a small table at the corner of the stage. 

“Which one should I use tonight?” he asks with a devious smile. 

You stick your chin out, looking down your nose at him with a haughty expression, and he narrows his eyes in confusion. You can barely keep a straight face as you say your next words.

“I don’t think you know how to use any of those… Sir.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #pedro pascal #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic

[coeluvr]

to be fair, I’m sure Alistair doesn’t mind considering bro is… 💀

Make it funky anon and have your mc do identity thief of their deceased brother WOOO!!!

Help 😭

The game would assume the parents named them both Alistair and that's wild lmao 😭

#coe answers

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Just One More Dance

The last of the first set of 3 requests by 2 Part Anon, managed to keep this to 1 part (unless I do a sequel, who knows)

"3. Famous thief!Ace x police!fem!Reader. The famous thief is kinda like Kaito Kid from Cases Closed. So, Ace is the famous thief and reader is the police that is on his case. Ace likes to tease reader each time she didn't manage to catch him. He knows reader and has a crush on her since he owns a coffee shop where reader is a regular customer. However, Ace knows they can't be together knowing how their positions are against each other but he is content with their current relationship, that is until reader finds herself a boyfriend and takes him to Ace's coffee shop on a date. Ace is heartbroken so he decided to stop his career as a thief and say goodbye to reader without telling her his real identity (maybe a goodbye kiss as well)."

Part 2: To My Dance Partner

Warnings: Angst!, heartbreak,

Word Count: 1590

     You looked as beautiful as always as he led you on another rooftop chase, chuckling to himself. He loved it when you were the last one after him, the others too worn to continue. If only you could chase him in another manner, something less about him stealing and you putting him away. Looking down at the jewel in his hand, he sighed. He’d only done this to get your attention and he’d done just that. It was time for tonight to end.

     “Pick one, Officer, me or the rock.” he shouted before flinging the stone up into the air. A ‘priceless gemstone’, what did he care about it? Still, it distracted you as you watched it soar through the air, catching it and cradling it in your hands. Looking up, he was already on a far rooftop, too far to continue chasing, especially as worn as you were. 

     “Another wonderful night, milady! I hope to share another dance soon!” he shouted, giving you a bow before jumping off the edge of the roof and into an alleyway. Another dance, as if this were all some sort of party. Though with how it felt like he was toying with you, perhaps that’s how he saw it. At least you had the gemstone back, though. So tonight wasn’t a complete bust. Grabbing your radio, you pulled it close.

     “He got away but I’ve got the stolen jewel. I’m on main, near the bagel place. I’m gonna need a ride back.” you said, getting a simple ‘10-4’ back. Thankfully the building you were on was an apartment building with a fire escape, taking the stairs down was much easier than the various alternatives. It didn’t take long for your partner to arrive, giving you a sympathetic smile.

     “Need something for your pride?” he asked, leaning out the window.

     “Probably not as much as the others. I forced him to give up this in exchange for his capture. Knew he couldn’t get away without diverting my attention.” you said, holding up the shimmering gem. Still, it had been a blow to your ego, even if you wouldn’t admit it, “Bastard said he hoped to share another dance soon, though. It feels like he’s fucking taunting me.” you added, resting your head against the seat. It had been a long chase and you were tired, you were going to go home and get some sleep. 

     Walking into the coffee shop, you smiled, you really did enjoy this place. It had popped up a couple of years ago, a sweet, quaint little place that you’d immediately decided was your favorite. Walking up to the counter, you smiled at the barista and owner. 

     “Morning, Y/n! The usual?” Ace asked in his usual chipper voice, leaning against the counter.

     “You know me so well, Ace. Thanks.” you said with a small laugh. That laugh, it made his heart pound. 

     “This one’s on me today. Heard you had a pretty long night. All the papers say it was him again.” Ace said casually as he made your drink, though his attention was focused on you.

     “Ugh! Yes! It was such a pain! I mean, he didn’t successfully steal anything, but he still got away! It feels like he’s just toying with me!” you complained, running your hands down your face.

     “Well, maybe he just wants your attention.” Ace teased lightly. It was true, all he wanted was your attention. If he couldn’t get it one way, he’d get it another. 

     “Yeah right! He was a thief before me and he’ll be a thief until I catch him!” you said firmly, perking up a bit. 

     “You’ll get him one day. I believe in you.” he said softly before handing you your drink.

     “Thanks Ace, you make my mornings better.” you said, taking the drink before walking away. The words made his heart skip a beat as he watched you leave.

     “Hate seeing you go, love watching you leave.” Ace muttered to himself as he admired your body. All the running around the two of you did left you looking very, very good. Once you were out the door, Ace quickly returned to his customers. It wasn’t much, but Ace cherished each interaction; he only wished there could be more. More interactions, more of you coming in, more than just rooftops chases. You didn’t know it, but he was head over heels for you. 

     Sitting in the patrol car, you enjoyed your coffee, Ace always made the best coffee.

     “I’m tellin’ ya, that kid’s got something for you. Free coffee, always complimenting you and listening to you. He’s got it bad.” your partner said as you shook your head.

     “And I’m telling you, that it’s never going to happen! He’s sweet and kind, yes, but I really don’t think he likes me like that. Let’s face it, he’s not the first person to treat me well because of my work. I’ve gotten enough recognition to have people give me stuff.” you said, taking another drink.

     “Yeah, but usually they accept your money when you insist on still paying them. Not only did Ace refuse, but he gave you an even larger cup of coffee that morning. Kid likes you.” the man shot back. Rolling your eyes, you continued at your coffee, your partner was a good guy, but he could be stubborn. Even if Ace did like you, you weren’t entirely sure you would want to date him. Was he even your type? You hadn’t gotten to know him real well outside of the coffee shop. 

     It was weeks later that Ace’s heart fell, shattering against the floor tiles. You were with somebody today, a tall male, laughing and smiling at him. He’d never seen that look on your face and it simultaneously made his heart soar and shatter at the same time. You looked so beautiful with the happy, loving look in your eyes. The way you stared at him with adoration. But you weren’t giving him that look, it was directed towards someone else. Watching you walk up to the counter, he forced a smile on his face.

     “Y/n! Who’s this? A boyfriend?” Ace ‘teased’, looking at the man. Why? Why this man? Why this particular man?

     “Yes, he’s my boyfriend. Don’t sound so surprised. Believe it or not, I’ve got plenty of people who are attracted to me.” you said with one of your usual laughs. It was official, his heart had been ground into dust.

     “Oh I believe it. A woman like yourself? You must have guys falling over themselves! The usual?” he asked, still smiling, still forcing himself to smile. You nodded, Ace watching as your new boyfriend took out his card, paying for your drink. This… this couldn’t be happening. It felt like things were crumbling beneath him. 

     Waiting on the roof for him, your eyes narrowed. There! You were off like a bolt of lightning, chasing after him once again. It was just the two of you tonight, the others knew that you were the only one who could keep up. Ace gave a sad smile as you chased after him. He had to get you further away and he had to wear you out tonight. He needed to talk to you, it didn’t need to be long, but he couldn’t have you raring to go and catch him. The item he’d stolen this time was a little more symbolic tonight. A necklace, one made of gold with shimmering stones. Worn by an old Princess who’d supposedly died of heartbreak. It felt fitting. He felt almost as exhausted as you as the two of you stood face to face on the roof. You wouldn’t let it show, but he could see that you didn’t have a whole lot left.

     “It seems as if this will be our final dance, officer. You made such a wonderful partner.” He said sadly, confusing you.

     “What are you talking about this time?” you demanded, trying to control your breathing. You couldn’t let him know just how worn you were. The young man looked up at the moon.

     “I’ve decided to stop. Our little chases are over, our time together done. I’ll be gone for good this time. Just know, I’ve enjoyed each and every meeting.” he said, slowly walking towards you. He held out the necklace, “You should look into the history of that necklace, it’s… heartbreaking.” he said softly. Hesitantly, you reached out, taking it from him. Was this a trick? A trap? Pulling out your handcuffs, Ace smiled.

     “Sorry officer, I can’t let you do that.” he said, grabbing and snapping the cuffs around your own wrists before you had a chance to cuff him, “I’ll miss you.” he whispered, his lips pressing against yours. Your eyes widened in shock, unable to do or say anything as he pulled away and began to walk backwards.

     “I bid you adieu and good night.” he said before once more walking off the edge of the roof, disappearing into the night. For once, you didn’t feel like he’d been toying with you, nor did you think he’d been lying. He was gone, for good this time. Your chases over, your nighttime dances done, your little play had come to a close and it was time for the curtain to fall, leaving you alone on a dark rooftop, unsure of what to do or how to feel. One thing began to shine through, a thought, an aching in your chest. Part of you wanted just one more dance.

#one piece #one piece ace #portgas d. ace #fire fist ace #portgas d ace #ace x reader #fire fist ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #hiken no ace #hiken no ace x reader #law enforcement!reader #op Ace

[after-witch]

im sorry idk if ur in a chrollo mood rn but i just had the funniest thought that if he hid his identity from you at first and you mistook it for him having a side chick istg djdsksjsj

y/n: there's no need to play pretend anymore, i know what you're hiding

chrollo: you do?

y/n: yes

chrollo:

y/n: so what's her name?

chrollo: what

anon, no, this is hilarious.

Imagine emotionally confronting Chrollo with all of the evidence you've gathered of his "affair." Just sprawled out on the table, you've probably had a glass of wine beforehand to steady your nerves. Arms folded, voice tight, gesturing to everything you've collected.

And he thinks you've figured it out, that you've stuck your nose far too deep into things, that you know about the Troupe and nen and the fact that he's an infamous murderous thief. His mind is whirring, thinking on what to do now.

And you hit him with--

"What's her name, huh? Does she know you have a girlfriend, or are you screwing with her feelings, too?"

And he's just

brain

broken

for an entire minute.

And he laughs. He can't help it! He laughs. Low and rumbling. He might even need to sit down.

And then you're pissed, because you think he's laughing at you, laughing at your pain, laughing at how silly you are to think he wouldn't stray from your arms.

When he tries to scoop you into his embrace, you jerk away, flailing, absolutely fuming.

And it's so cute to him, because you really think he would ever bother with someone else? Sure, he's had his flings, mostly to get closer to information and precious objects, sometimes purely for carnal pleasure. But you? He's done his best to keep his true self from you, manipulated you with invisible strings to make you see him in the best light; he's entreanched himself in your family and friends, your personal life, as a failsafe for if you ever did decide to leave him. He gives you everything you want, as long as your his. And you think he would bother with some other woman? Some pointless, worthless woman?

"There is no affair," he says. "Calm down."

And you just whip around and point to all the evidence you've gathered. He must think you're really stupid, huh?

He sits you down and shushes you, promising that there's a perfectly good explanation for everything.

And there is, you know.

But you probably won't like it, once you hear the truth.

Maybe it would have been better if there was another woman.

#yandere chrollo #I love it when readers do things like this though #like you're just a normal person #thinking he's cheating #and he's like honey no omg I would never #I am the head of an international thieving ring known for leaving behind mountains of blood though

[mayfriend]

I am looking into it more and I think the scammer, whoever they are, may have stolen Gaia Thomas’s identity to post it

i don't know if this is from the same anon, but i'll assume it isn't: if that's the case, do you have any proof? because it sure seems like gaia thomas:

befriended palestinians desperate to save their families and escape gaza

offered to set up a gofundme for three separate families in order to raise money to allow them to leave

once those fundraisers had raised several thousand dollars, froze them, withdrew money that was not hers and messaged the palestinians to say she was not responsible for their travel out of gaza

cue backlash, cause oh darn, maybe doing that under her own name on the internet wasn't a great idea

panicked backpedalling ensues, with her emailing gofundme and claiming she was informed of fraud and THATS why she took out thousands of dollars in donations, and when gofundme came back and said well. we'll shut it down but you've gotta put the money back so we can return it to donors. and she posts THAT email and proof she's done it to show that she's not a Bad Person, Really

nobody believes her

Like. at what point did the identity theft come in? At the start? If that's the case, why has the real Gaia Thomas not stood up and said hey, I had nothing to do with this! When the money was withdrawn? I call bullshit, there is no way in hell anyone who was not Gaia Thomas could have withdrawn that amount of money from her accounts. When she says she was told about a scam with receipts? She published that from her own accounts, and showed herself using Gaia Thomas' email (and what is presumably her legal name, Helen). honestly, i MIGHT'VE bought identity theft if the money hadn't gone back to the gofundmes, but it did.

why would an identity thief care about whether or not Gaia Thomas' name was dragged through the mud? they got their money, right?

all this to say, i don't think she had her identity stolen. i think she thought she could get away from stealing from people half a world away and because it was happening over the internet she wouldn't face any real life repercussions, and she was very wrong. hope she rots :)

#gaia thomas #asks #anon #palestine

[penguinmerchant]

hi! so because your fics fix most everything that is wrong in the world and cause flowers to bloom in capriland et cetera, i was rereading unpack my heart with words, and i noticed your end notes. so here's the ask - how's the the thief and the duke AAU going?

thank you for all your work!

Actually anon, Unpack My Heart was the AAU! The longfic I was referring to is a wholly separate AU and it is so, so close to being done...which on my timeline of sluggishness probably means 6 months or so. It's sitting pretty right now at 120k and I'm beyond excited to share it once it's finished.

But, since you asked so nicely and all (causing flowers to bloom in capriland! 🥰🥰🥰 oh you) here's a little excerpt, the one I was planning on most likely using for the summary.

“You're Akielon,” Laurent said. It wasn't a question, but Damen answered anyway. “Yes.” “And how well do you know your country?” “I've lived there my whole life, up until two weeks ago,” Damen said, his chest tight. He closed his eyes. “No. Three weeks, now.” “That wasn't what I asked.” “I know the country. I've been everywhere from Ios to Isthima to Sicyon and further. I've traveled in carriages and on horseback and on foot through half the country, easily. I could replicate the geography and layout of the entire country from memory, even the places I haven’t been.” His father and his myriad of tutors had made sure of that; now, he wished they had spent a little more time on enemy territories, so he could figure out exactly where he was in Vere. “Why? What does this have to do with anything?” Laurent took a deep breath before answering. “I want you to take me to Ios.”

Why does Laurent want to go to Ios? Why is Damen trapped in Vere? Is Damen wearing anything besides two pieces of sheer silk during this conversation? You'll have to stay tuned to find out! There's going to be magic, there's going to be hidden identities and secrets being kept, there's going to be road trip shenanigans and possibly an instance of 'there's only one tent'.

I WILL fold under the slightest pressure to talk about this more, otherwise as soon as I'm done I will be posting to AO3! Thanks so much for asking, anon, it made my day to hear that someone was interested in my story 😊

#capri #my story #well #my future story #I'm so close you guys I can taste the ending #unfortunately it requires actually writing and not just daydreaming #which is just #like #the worst

[boxersoftheangels]

Haiii could I request a Tumblr + a Discord layout for Sumire Yoshizawa pretty please (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

also as an extra, if possible, try to avoid the "identity theft" if u know what I mean (the phantom thief Violet is allowed tho)

hey anon we made a tumblr layout of sumire, but if u want a discord layout please request again!

#;;🥊 the boxer answers with an uppercut !

[ziauhh]

ATTENTION Y'ALL :

This is all about the issue

Ok so first of all tell me one thing if you guys really like thinking that logically that you try your best to prove i am faking then think this,

WHY WOULD I EVER SHARE MY VACATION PICS WITH YOU GUYS IF I BE LYING, WHY WOULD I EVER SHARE MY IPHONE PICS IF I BE LYING, WHY WHY THE HELL WOULD I EVER SHARE MY OWN PICS IF I BE LYING, BRUHH LIERS DON'T DO THAT THEY DON'T REVEAL THEMSELF YOU LISTENING TO ME THEY DON'T DO ALL THIS. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A THIEF STEALING AND THEN GOING TO THE COPS SAYING OH ARREST ME I STOLE THIS, HAVE U EVER SEEN A CRIMINAL DOING MUDER AND THEN SAYING OH I Murdered THEM NOW HUNG ME TO DEATH. NO NO NO NO ONE DOES THAT IN THIS CRUEL WORLD NO ONE DOES THAT. YK IF I WOULD BE LYING I WOULD HAVE LEFT TUMBLR DELETED MY ACCOUNT AND SAID GOODBYE TO Y'ALL FOREVER BECAUSE WHO WANNA KEEP explaining SHIT TO YOU GUYS IF THEY WOULD BE LYING BUT I AM HERE STANDING FOR myself BECAUSE NOBODY ELSE IS DOING THAT JOB, AND WHY WOULD I RUN AWAY WHEN I AM NOT LYING.

If you really do think i am lying then the problem is within you my love because what is inside reflects outside and it's a fact isn't it that how even manifestation works so WHAT SHOULD I SAY YOU SO THESE TYPES OF THINGS, YOU LIE TO PEOPLE, YOU FAKE YOUR IDENTITY AND THAT'S WHY YOU SEE THE SAME IN OTHERS. why tf no one else said it why only you if you think those pics are from pinterest than search it yourself and if you find any pic similar to mine then tell me.

Also just because of that one food pic you guy's think i am a lier, i am faking what about everything else, what about my phone pics, what about all my other vacay pics, what about the talks we have, what about YOUR love for ME WAS IT FAKE AS WELL ????

CLEARING YOUR DOUBTS THAT PIC WAS CLICKED BY MY FRIEND OFC I WAS HANGING OUT WITH THEM THEY SENDED ME SOME PICS BECAUSE THEY LOVE CLICKING PIC OF EVERYTHING THEY DO, SO I SHARED IT, NOW SHOULD I HAVE TOLD THIS AS WELL HUH ?????

ANYWAYS I HAVE A REQUEST PLEASE LET ME LIVE MY LIFE FOR A BIT LET ME ENJOY MY VACAY ONCE I WILL BE BACK I WILL SHARE MY PROOFS BUT IF YOU STILL DOUBT THEM THEN I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ANYONE. AND MOST IMPORTANT VOID IS REAL BITCHES IF YOU DON'T TRUST ME YOU ATLEAST TRUST OTHERS RIGHT - HALO, RAVEN AND EVERY OTHER ANON WHO WENT THERE EVEN PEOPLE FROM YT COMMUNITY WENT THERE BUT IF YOU STILL DOUBT IT THEN SORRY YOU NEED SOME HELP !!!!!!

[amrv-5]

What are some mash fics that arent the popular ships?

I’ve elided Beejhawk automatically, but otherwise I’m not sure what ships you’re including in your definition of the “popular ships,” anon! Sorry if any of those end up in this list, feel free to ignore them if, like, Traphawk is also too significant of a saturant for your tastes. Anyway, a few of my personal favorites recommended below the cut for length:

-these are the days of miracle and wonder by raven (singlecrow); Gen.

I think about “Here it all is and you’re welcome to it” regularly, Radar in the field as the moon landing takes place is maybe one of my favorite images in all of MASH ficdom, and Hawkeye toasting the halfway point of the atomic century—“we’re halfway there,” he says, and if that doesn’t make you sit and reflect I don’t know what will—anyway, that scene made me feel kind of like Vonnegut makes me feel. Cannot recommend enough.

-The Dawn Don’t Rescue Me No More by Epigone; Gen.

14K of Hawkeye psychoanalysis. Who doesn’t want to spend more time inside Hawkeye’s head—besides Hawkeye? Enough said.

-Dry Lightning; or 36 Hours in a Day by myrmeraki; Trapper/Hawkeye.

This one goes crazy. The image of “pioneers, explorers, America’s worst astronauts” hit me right where I live, i.e. deeply enamored with fiction that sits with the violent spectre of Manifest Destiny, American imperialism and the complicity of those involved in the war machine, even unwillingly. Plus the prose is gorgeous.

-said the joker to the thief by drphil; Mulcahy/Hawkeye.

Probably evident from my work, but I love religious complexity, and what could be more fraught than Hawkeye, “that crazy agnostic,” and the priest who called him that? There’s a lot of buildup and really well-done tension to this, plus when things come together and fall apart again, wow, but I’m also really taken by how the author lets Hawkeye really sit with humanism where it both conflicts and coincides with religiousity. Hard to articulate well in a small space, but there’s a real sense of intentionality about this one that pays off.

-38 Minutes by Speranza; Trapper/Hawkeye.

Love this one because it’s tense, fast, gorgeous, and lean. Tons of hits for a reason.

-Souls on the Banks of the Jungnangcheon by Zetared; Peg/BJ/Hawkeye.

This one is fascinating, painful, dark, lovely, and now Rachmaninoff’s Son. 2, op. 36 makes me even more ridiculously emotional than it did before. Such a phenomenal example of what transformative work is capable of. Hawkeye’s focusing on the importance of compassion is a wrecking ball of emotion. And then, at the end, our permanently talkative Hawkeye forced into silence...sigh. This is great stuff, heavy and tough and painful, and eventually beautifully hopeful.

Also, gauche as it may be to self-rec, I’ll say my own fic Moved on Memory is functionally gen, despite being tagged how it’s tagged for reasons my own—it focuses primarily on, like, whether or not there is any such thing as an immutable self, are we always who we’ve been, and other questions of identity over time.

#fic rec

[mari-lair]

thoughts or ideas on a terukane!phantom thieves au from aidairo themselves??👉👈

I had to research what the phantom thief au is, and I am so happy you mentioned it Anon! I had seen arts of phantom thief Akane before but I didn’t know the design had a whole AU behind it! And I love cop Teru, he gives me heavy asshole vibes!

Just look at them! You bet I got ideas!!

Akane dresses like an aristocrat, albeit a small and 'poor' one. He doesn’t seem like the kind to steal for money or power, so petty robbery it is, such as revenge against way more powerful nobles that overwork him or gems to spoil Aoi-chan, his favorite waitress, and friend.

Hanako also seems to be a phantom thief in this AU, so you bet he and Akane got a not-very-friendly rivalry going on. Most of the time Akane and Hanako are seen robbing the same place, so any witnesses assume they are working together instead of wanting to throw the other out a window. Some call them the ‘phantom duo’ and it makes Akane so fucking angry: while they both do crimes, Akane messes only includes the occasional property damage, Hanako on the other hand always aims for dramatic entrances, his methods constantly endanger people. It bothered Akane at first, but it grew into hatred when Hanako's stunts put Aoi’s life at risk. Twice. 

Teru is from old money, his family is the richest in town, but he is more known for his extreme efficiency. It doesn’t take long for the cop chief to figure out Akane's real identity and memorize his schedule, cornering him while the noble was having a break at Aoi’s coffee shop and getting him to sit down and listen, using Aoi's wellbeing as a threat. Akane didn't want to give Aoi any trouble, so he behaved, but you could feel his hatred in waves.

Teru wanted to use Akane to catch Hanako but it became clear very quickly the two thieves do not work together. They make a deal where if Akane helps capture Hanako, his jail sentence will be greatly reduced and Akane is practically forced into agreeing.

Teru planned to keep Akane around just to have someone to take his stress out on, but the thief surprised him by genuinely helping out. Akane is no idiot, he understands how a thief's mind works and he has a surprisingly righteous mentality, writing down cards full of info on not only Hanako, but fellow nobles he learned are criminally corrupt. He felt restless by how Teru looked down on him, wanting to prove himself.

Akane is the first partner Teru got that keeps up with him, and his first friend, so you bet he’ll save Akane enough times to confuse the hell out of the phantom thief. Everything Teru does confuses Akane. The cop chief is cruel but he doesn't let anyone walk over Akane. He is cool with using manipulative tactics but he isn't corrupt like Akane had imagined: If a criminal tried to bribe Teru, he always increased their punishment without missing a beat, working harder than anyone, to the point Akane, who was forced to be a ‘guest’ at the Minamoto mansion until they find Hanako, rarely see Teru outside work. 

Akane comes to the conclusion this town would crumble without Teru, so he doubled his efforts to help.

Teru learns Akane is not the one behind the worst robberies around, nor the casualties, which is the nudge he needed to justify himself for no longer wanting to imprison Akane.

When the duo eventually catches Hanako, Teru offers him a position as his right hand man, a high ranking job that no one was able to get. Akane hates cops with a passion so he just laughed at the idea.

Akane does reluctantly care about Teru though so he tries to convince him to be a thief instead “I technically already worked for you for three weeks, can’t you at least try to be a thief ? I know you’ll love it, you’re far too insane not to”. Teru hates thieves with a passion so he just laughed.

They are both insufferable. 

Much to Akane’s annoyance, he gets arrested once he refuses the offer to be a cop, letting it slip he plans to continue being a petty thief. He is the best of the best tho, so he breaks out of his cell after 4 days, leaving behind a rude remark on how the cops have grown careless with Teru around to pick up their slack. Teru is delighted by the turn of events, eventually finding him again and hiring Akane as an independent informant.

Is never spoken out loud but they are dating. They go on dates four times a week to exchange information and flirt passively aggressively. People are very confused as to why someone from the Minamoto family is dating a low noble with a consistent prison history, but no one has the guts to question the chief of the police.

When it’s night time they have a game of cat and mouse, whenever Akane get caught while thieving, the stolen item is confiscated and they mostly make out. Only when they have a fight does Teru throws Akane in jail, being a little shit about it “My subordinates need to learn how to properly guard criminals, Aoi. I know you’re good but is sad that you can escape in less than a week. Be a dear and teach them a lesson again, pretty please?” And if Akane manages to get away with whatever he steals, he gets to decide where their next date will be.

(Part 2)

#terukane #phantom thief au #this is more of a tiny fic than au ideas #i had fun tho #hope you had too Anon #phantom thieves au

[monstersbutt]

pspspsps dont be shy. classpect the dol characters <3

anon you just unleashed a beast [almost 10 years of hyperfixation]

also i haven't been active in anything going on with homed stuck since the epilogue so this might be a bit weird in why / how i choose these but here goes i also refer to the extended zodiac's definition of aspects and the mspa wiki a bit sowwy u_u

this is not character analysis btw this is purely surface level

anyway here are my hc these 4 bitches' classpects and some reasonings that don't have anything to do with anything

Sydney - Heir of Hope Kylar - Bard of Heart Robin - Page of Mind Whitney - Thief of Void*

also also sorry if some of this reads weird i am just a little guy who occasionally slips into formal writing

Sydney as the Heir of Hope

Heirs are supposed to be their aspects in a way and Hope as an aspect is whatever the holder believes it to be. the aspect itself also has a more 'holy' feel than any other and is more rooted in religion and worldview.

but hope itself is different to everyone, and thus i will quote the extended zodiac's about aspect page; their views of the world can be quite black and white, so what they see as the "right" thing may not always be the universally accepted view. At their best, Hope-bound are positive, caring, and warm. At their worst they can be narrow-minded and selfish.

it's pretty straight forward i think. both for pure and corrupt Sydney.

------

Kylar as the Bard of Heart

Bards in itself is a destructive class, mspa wiki describe bards as to 'allow destruction of [ their aspect]' and Heart is the heart, soul and the very being of any given person. so by that description, the bard of hearts allows the destruction of the target's soul.

but that's not it since Bards are a passive class and Heart is about identity and companion more than anything to quote the extended zodiac's aspect page again 'Forging an identity is extremely important to the Heart-bound'

now i know this doesn't make sense but it does to me so <3

------

Robin as the Page of Mind

Pages are young boys who are in service to knights and noblemen for educational purposes akin to an apprentice. and once they finish the apprenticeship they go to become a knight or noble or whatever. so it serves to say that a page gains more power and knowledge as they mature.

and Mind is an aspect of knowledge but is riddled with indecision and uncertainty for oneself and that uncertainty can really only be broken with maturity and confidence in ones abilities.

so this is also pretty straight forwards for Robin methinks. with his confidence stats and all that. don't know about the trauma stats tho :|

------

Whitney as the Thief of Void

Thieves are the most straight forward aspect, they are thieves, they steal things and use them for their own gain. the thing in question is Void, which is just nothing at all, and can be anything at will.

Void players also seem to have some sort of overconfidence in themself that slowly morphs into acceptance of others in one way or another somehow from what we've seen

*overall i have nothing to say about Whitney on this and i actually think this classpect is kinda meh for them i'll probs look into the time aspect for them actually... hmmm

#degrees of lewdity #if you have anything better then please give *grabby hands* #look at me being 24 but still making other fandom hs aus just as i did when i was 15 sighh #woah who said that #s