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the-witty-pen-name · 5 months ago

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Little Glimpses

Igor (Anora) x F! Reader

18+ Only Blog - Minors DNI

Warnings: smoking, alcohol consumption, cursing

Word Count: 2.5k

Notes: I have not been able to stop thinking about this man since I saw Anora. I just had little parts of stories in my head so I compiled them into one thing.

Little glimpses into the reader’s relationship with Igor.

Everything on the table shakes when the train passes by. You press your hand down, gently holding onto the crystal ashtray in front of you to stop it from dancing around. Your eyes feel heavy. So you tilt your head back, and rest them for a moment until the disruption subsides. You take a drag of your cigarette and exhale in the direction of the open window next to you- letting the smoke waft outside your small studio. Once everything stills, the only sound is the comforting tick of the clock above your stove. You take one final puff before dropping your butt into the ashtray. You watch it smolder as it slowly burns out. You need to get ready for your shift.

You hate your uniform. The bright blue polo shirt and the stupid matching visor- fucking stupid. You feel like you look like a moron and you’ve always found it embarrassing. You always took off the dumb thing when your manager went home for the night. No one comes in after midnight ever- the occasional drunk but they don’t care if you’re wearing your visor or not.

On the slow nights you read, or sometimes you’ll watch trashy reality TV on your phone. With your elbows perched on the counter, you flip through your most recent romance novel as the time passes. It’s well past 1am and the bright fluorescent lights buzz above you.

“Uh- $40 pump two, please,” a polite voice breaks your concentration. It makes you jump in surprise and you apologize quickly.

“Shit- uh, fuck sorry,” you fumble, quickly placing the book down, opened to keep your page. You take the cash he hands you as he offers a subtle smile.

“No need for apology,” he expresses, and you can now hear his accent- distinctly Russian, or maybe Armenian? You aren’t sure. His voice is soft and comforting- very kind. You’re immediately more at ease. He reads your name aloud from your name tag. It’s infuriating as much as it’s endearing.

“You’re all set,” you offer, suddenly shy. You pass him the receipt after it is printed. He nods, tucking it into his jacket pocket. You watch him walk back outside, the cold air wafting in as the bell above the door rings.

As he waits by the pump, he catches you watching him through the window of the store. When he meets your eye, he’s amused when you immediately look away- trying to play off like you weren’t looking the whole time. He’s flattered, and he can’t help but smile to himself. He’s not used to any sort of attention- he tends to go by unnoticed in his daily life. He can be intimidating when he tries- out of necessity, but that’s not him.

He’s so pretty, you observe, like James McAvoy you settle on. You avert your attention away for the final time and decide to turn back to your book and do your best to ignore the headache that’s developing under the store’s harsh lights.

It’s one of those passing crushes, at first. The kind like when you fall in love temporarily with a stranger across the grocery store. You play out the whole thing in your head to inevitably never approach them, go home, and let the cycle of daydream continue another day with another stranger.

---

You’re freezing as you stand on the sidewalk in the long line that has now wrapped around the block. Your ankles hurt from the height of your heels but they’re too cute not to wear. Your outfit is far too short and shows far too much skin for the night air, but in your defense- you and your friends didn’t imagine you’d be outside this long. Your entire body is covered in goosebumps as you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm. Your friend offers you a cigarette which you accept gratefully as she places it in your mouth for you.

“Fuck!” you exclaim frustrated, “Why aren’t they fucking letting anyone in?” You peer over to try to see the front of the line, and you notice people towards the front are trying to reason with the club’s bouncer- who you immediately hate because you resent his hoodie and puffer jacket he wears to brace the cold. You think about how the moment you can step foot in, you’re making a beeline to the bar and getting a shot to warm up.

Someone, probably a promoter or something, emerges from the inside. He says something to the bouncer, you’re too far away to hear. The bouncer nods, and the guy starts walking down the line. He looks at the groups who are waiting, and he gestures to a few groups of just girls- you and your friends included- and ushers you all inside. You’re too elated to care as he’s saying something about needing to up the ratio of men to women blah blah blah. You quickly stomp out your cigarette and all you can think about is warming up.

You link arms with two of your friends as you head towards the inside, scurrying excitedly to get out of the cold. The bouncer nods to each group as they enter, but puts up an arm to stop you and your friends. “IDs,” he says, and you swear his voice sounds so familiar.

“C’mon man, we’re cold as shit,” your friend complains, letting go of your arm to retrieve her ID from her clutch. Looking in his direction, you immediately recognize him from the other day- the customer from your overnight shift. You aren’t sure if he would recognize you, you're positive you put more thought into the whole interaction than he did. You make eye contact and you swear for a moment he wants to say something, but he just stares. Realizing you decided to go without a bag, you bite your lip and mutter a silent “shit” as you need to pull your ID from your bra to hand to him. He says nothing, just nervously licks his lips as he takes your license.

“Thanks,” he says, handing them back. Your friends huff, and drag you inside. Your eyes linger on him as they pull you and you both watch each other until you disappear from view.

A remix of Von dutch is playing so loud and the club is packed. It’s completely dark except for the raving strobe lights that are synced to the beat of the music. You can’t hear anything over the screams of Addison Rae as your friends get a round of shots. You happily accept, tilting your head back. The burn is such a welcomed sensation to your freezing body. You let the crowd dictate where your body moves, letting yourself start to let loose.

A couple of hours later, you’re more than ready to get out of there. It was fun, but your friends have mostly paired off with men and you’re anticipating that soon they’ll be roping them into wherever the group decides to go next. You aren’t in the mood for another night of splitting a cab with one of your friends and whatever guy is going back to their place. You don’t need the reminder that amongst the group, you’re never the one getting the guy, you think pessimistically. You text your friends, lying about an early shift, and let them know you’re getting an Uber.

Standing outside, you’re freezing again, and it’s almost worse now that your body has been so acclimated to the warmth inside. You lean against the brick building and cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to warm yourself up.

“Here,” you hear him say, and you look up surprised, not realizing he was there. He offers you his jacket for you to take. “You need,” he insists. You offer a thankful smile and slip it over your shoulders. It smells like woodsy cologne and cigarettes. The warmth engulfs you and you swaddle yourself into the warm fabric.

“Thank you,” you say shyly. He nods and puts his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. He pulls out a small pack of pre-rolls, and offers one to you. You accept and hold it between your fingers as he lights it for you.

“You probably don’t fucking remember me, but like, I think you got gas the other night at the uh place I work-”

“I remember.”

“Oh, okay-”

“You were reading a book and then what’s the word ‘ogled’ me? You ‘ogled’ me when you thought I wasn’t looking,” he teased.

“I was not ogling you!” you scoff, defensive. You can feel how warm your face is from his accusation. “It’s my job to make sure dumbasses aren’t gonna blow themselves up at the pump. It was purely a safety measure,” you lie obviously, making him laugh.

“Whatever you say,” he responds with a sly smile. You see a car start to pull up. Reluctantly, you unwrap yourself from his jacket and hand it back to him.

“Uh, that’s my Uber,” you explain and you swear he looks disappointed. He nods, accepting his jacket back.

“Can I call you?” he asks as the black sedan pulls up to the curb. You nod enthusiastically. He hands you his phone and you quickly text yourself.

“Uh that’s me,” you explain dumbly, cringing because duh. He just smiles, and it’s painfully sincere. You slide into the backseat of the car, and you can feel your phone buzz with a notification before you even finish putting on your seatbelt.

My name is Igor

---

You’re sitting on your couch as you lick the rolling paper to finish off your joint. A metal tv tray rests over your lap acting as your work station. You admire your work and then pass it to Igor, who accepts it without a word. You move the tray table to the floor so you can get comfortable, and you lean into his side as he lights the joint. The two of you share it, passing it back and forth between each other as your eyes are both focused on the TV.

It’s been a few weeks and your relationship with Igor has gone on undefined. Lines have been blurred and you can’t pin point if it’s the substances that are in your systems or if it’s just that when you’re with him, time feels like it stops- a hangout stretching into a couple days without you even realizing.

You don’t know what you’d call this. It’s not friends, and it feels much like it’s much more than casual. You assume it’s exclusive- you spend so much time together; there’s hardly any opportunities for him to see someone else. But there’s been no lines drawn, no labels given- he’s slotted himself into your life seamlessly like you’ve known him forever. His grandmother treats you like her own blood, taking an immediate liking to you. It all just works.

“What is this?” You ask suddenly, looking up at him. His eyes widen in confusion. He takes the joint out from between his lips, exhaling smoke.

“Maybe Idica, I don’t know,” he muses and you sigh in frustration at your inability to be direct.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, hiding your face in your hands. “No, not that,” you clarify. “I meant like- you and me.”

“Oh, um,” he replies, mulling things over in his head before he speaks. “Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” you answer honestly, and he nods understandingly, but you feel him clear his throat and you can feel him straighten his posture. You worry he misunderstood your meaning. “No, no- fuck. I made it weird,” you sigh, “I just meant like, I don’t want to mess it up by changing it. But at the same time, I don’t want you doing this with someone else- and I don’t want to do this with anyone else but you- you know?”

“I know,” he replies, he’s so patient and sweet about it. He kisses your temple and just lets you process. He’s so gentle like that, all the time. “I want the same,” he states simply. “Just us,” he reiterates, taking another hit and then passes the joint back to you.

“Just us,” you smile.

“So does this mean we’re uh, boyfriend girlfriend?” He teases and he laughs at how your nose scrunches in disgust.

“Gross,” you pretend to gag. You shake your head, like your trying to shake out the memory of him saying something so fucking cheesy. It makes him smile.

—

“He’s coming runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’,” you sing obnoxiously as Igor’s pulls up to the curb. “He’s coming. Ridin’ round town, they gonna feel this one.” You see his cheeks turn pink as he tries to not laugh.

“What the fuck is that?” He questions, walking around to open the passenger door for you.

“Oh my fucking god, dude. It’s Tyler the Creator- it’s IGOR’S THEME. Did you now know that? I’ve been doing that bit for like two weeks and you didn’t think to fucking look it up?” You laugh a little. You buckle up, and extend out your hand. “Give me your phone, you need to listen to it.”

Without hesitation, he passes his phone to you and then he pulls away from the curb slowly. You start the album from the beginning, and you settle back into your seat. You put his phone down in the cup holder and rest your head against the seat belt. It’s a comfortable silence as you both listen. As he drives, he rests his right hand comfortably on your thigh, his thumb making circles.

Anxiety is a tricky thing. As time passes, you begin to feel insecure for monopolizing the music. You start to feel guilty about the jab you made at Igor’s expense for not knowing this album. You begin to overthink everything, and the music playing starts to make you feel overexposed. And you begin to associate his silence with resentment.

“You can change it to whatever you want,” you say apologetically. He looks at you confused from the corner of his eye, only glancing over so he can focus on the road.

“But you like this?” He asks, puzzled.

“I don’t want to force feed stuff to you,” you try to explain, “I didn’t mean to make you sit through it.”

“I think it’s great,” he offers sincerely, “it’s good.”

“You don’t have to say that, just because I like it,” you counter, feeling insecure.

“I like the music,” he reiterates, “I like it, and I like it because it’s something you wanted to share with me.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I love when you share things with me,” he interrupts you before you begin to spiral. “Do it more often,” he says, encouragingly. He stops for the red light, and leans over to kiss you. “Please.”

He turns his attention back to the road as the light turns green and you can’t help but smile as you watch him turn the dial up.

PART TWO

#anora movie #anora 2024 #anora fan fiction #Igor x reader #Igor (anora) x f!reader #Igor fan fiction #Igor #yuriy borisov #yuriy borisov characters #Igor anora #bald guy from anora #bald guy from anora fan fiction #fan fiction

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chrisgetsmewetter · 1 month ago

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His first baddie

Pairing: blackfem!influenser x soft!dom hamzah

summary: your finally in canada for your collab with hamzah and martin. but when hamzah picks you up and feelings are confessed one thing leads to another

warnings: pnv, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it!), eventual smut, just freaky, pet names (baby, mama)

word count: 2.8k

a/n: HURRY DINNERS READY!! mama cooked yall up a feast bcs i starved yall long enough. the smut is lowkey in more hamzahs pov and idk how to feel about it so give me y’all’s opinions. lastly pleaseee give me some requests please im bored out of my mind idec who its about. LOVE YALL😘

here you are four years later with over 12 million subscribers on YouTube when Hamzah dms you on Instagram.

you would be lying if you said that it you weren’t a little salty that Hamzah never contacted you after the freak show tryouts but to be fair you never reached out to him either.

You just assumed that you were both so busy and consumed with the newfound fame, and subscribers.

and when time was right, you guys would cross paths again one day. and today was that day

Hamzahthefantastic

Hey long time no see! i seen that you’ve gotten really big over the last 4 years and me and martin were wondering if you wanted to come on our channel and do a video? it’s totally fine if you don’t want to but if you do feel free to message me.

your heart dropped to your ass. so now hampshire wants to collab after not talking to you for 4 years? yea he didn’t owe you anything, but it still hurts because you thought something could’ve happened there. But you’ve never chased no boy and you weren’t gonna start now. despite you feeling like he didn’t make an effort to talk to you, at least he contacted you now, and maybe something may grow between you two. you click the message confirming that it was the real hamzah and now you know u need to lock tf in

theoginstagrambaddie

hey hamzah, i would love to collab with you guys !! just lmk the details xx

……

2 days later you’re in the toronto airport with a fresh blond lace install. you didn’t even have to pay for your flight. right after you sent the message, hamzah he sent you the digital plane ticket. first class from LA to toronto, impressed wasn’t even the word.

You step out of the airport, the heavy doors sliding open with a quiet whoosh. The air smells different here, crisp and fresh, carrying a hint of salt from the sea. Your heart beats faster, each step your closer to the moment you’ve been dreaming of for years.

The crowd rushes around you, people pushing past each other, their voices blending into a hum. You clutch the handles of your cheetah print suitcases, your fingers tightening as your eyes scan the faces. And then you see him.

Hamzah.

He stands near the railing, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, shifting on his feet like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hair is cut into an outgrown blond buzzcut, curling at the ends, his face is sharper, more grown-up than the last time you saw him through a screen. and.. way more muscular and built.

But his smile , that same crooked, awkward smile that no doubt always made you smile.

You freeze, a smile creeping onto your face. It’s like time stops, and suddenly you’re seventeen again, staying up late to watch his streams and videos. Your heart beats painfully, the weight of lost years pressing against your ribs.

He starts walking toward you, slow at first, like he can’t believe you’re really here. Then faster, until he’s right in front of you, close enough that you can see the slight tremble in his hands.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft but steady. His eyes search yours, and you wonder if he feels it too the invisible force pulling you closer.

“Hey,” you breathe out, barely able to speak past the lump in your throat. You want to say so much more, to tell him how you never stopped thinking about him, how your heart used to skip every time his name popped up on your phone.

But before you can, he pulls you into a hug. You melt into him, your face pressing against his shoulder, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a memory you never wanted to forget. His arms tighten, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“it’s so nice to finally meet you,” he whispers, voice breaking slightly.

You close your eyes, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“it’s amazing meeting you too” you say, melting into the hug

….

You walk out of the airport, dragging your suitcase behind you, and before you can even think about how heavy it feels, Hamzah rushes over

“Let me get that,” he says, grabbing your luggage. He lifts it like it weighs nothing, and you catch yourself staring at his biceps flexing through his sweater

He throws the suitcase into the trunk and wipes imaginary sweat from his forehead. “I’m basically a bodybuilder now,” he says, flexing his arm, which shows lowkey a lot of muscle. “I should start charging for this.”

….

The car ride is quiet at first, the kind of quiet that makes your heart race. The city blurs past the windows, and every few seconds, Hamzah taps the steering wheel like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

“So,” he finally starts, glancing at you with a crooked grin, “how is the celebrity life treating you?” you visibly cringe at the word ‘celebrity’

“well you know it has its ups and downs, but i love making money for being myself. and also im definitely not a celebrity”

hamzah scrunches his face up “boi water you talking about you literally walked on the new york fashion week runway, was on the front cover of vogue, and went to the met gala what do you mean you aren’t a celebrity”

you sit there trying to come up with a quick comeback but you can’t..

“exactly, clock that” hamzah sticks his tongue out just a little bit

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and your stomach flips every time he looks at you. The car smells like vanilla and maybe him, it makes your head spin.

He clears his throat “Anyway, we’re going to Martin’s for the collab. He’s already set up the lights and stuff. I told him not to make us look too ugly on camera, but, you know, he cant do nothin right”

You let out a loud laugh, and he grins, proud of himself. “i’m deadass so excited to meet martin, that’s my twin”

hamzah scrunches his face up at you again. at this point he’s acting sassier than chase.. “how is he your twin and you never even met him boi”

“i think you’re just hating.. lemme get the aux” you say going to apple music and connecting it to the car

“if your music taste is bad im taking your ass back to the airport” hamzah says as he turns the volume up, and as soon as he does Lipgloss by Charlie and Cupkkake starts bumping and yall get hype

after an hour of yall singing songs and catching up, you pull up to Martin’s house, and when Hamzah turns off the engine martin calls him. comes to find out him and mandy left to get lunch,

“shit i’m so sorry, if i would’ve known martin wasn’t here i would’ve taken you to your hotel”

“oh damn, i actually didnt even book a hotel, i meant to text you and ask you which one i should book, bcs i’ve never been here before”

“no worries i have the perfect one, ill pay for it.” hamzah said casually while typing on his phone

“you don’t have to do that hamzah you already paid for my flight here, i don’t like people spending a lot of money on me”

he puts his hand up “i’m already paying for it. you deserve to enjoy canada while you’re here. it’s the least i can do since i was stupid and didn’t contact you for four years”

Your heart starts pounding, and all you can do is look at anywhere but him and hope he doesn’t hear how loud your heart is beating.

“it didnt bother me,” you obviously lied. “we both just got caught up in fame, dont stress yourself out about it” you said while you fidgeted with you nails

“no but that’s the thing, it has been stressing me out. i guess i never reached out because i thought that you were so out of my league, and it would be weird if i confessed liking you since we only met online, and i knew nothing about you” hamzah confessed lowly

you didn’t know how to respond, so you acted out of impulse and kissed him

hamzah is caught off guard by the sudden kiss, but he quickly responds, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer.

"wait-" he starts to say, but cuts himself off as he deepens the kiss. He pulls back after a moment, breathing heavily. “we just met, i don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable” you shake your head “you aren’t hamzah i want this”

"Fuck it, that’s all i needed to hear. I've wanted to do that for so long." he interrupts himself, kissing you again, this time with more passion. He moves his hand to your cheek, cradling it gently as he continues to kiss you.

"God, I've dreamed about this," he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss for a moment. "You're so damn beautiful." he says, his voice filled with emotion.

A low, strangled groan escaped Hamzah's throat as you climbed into his lap, straddling him in the driver's seat. He could hardly believe this was real, that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. His hands flew to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pulled you unimaginably closer to him

"Shit" he grunted, feeling your soft ass mold against him. He was already getting hard, his cock twitching and swelling in his jeans as you sat on top of him. "You can't just... fuck..." He panted softly, his eyes dark and intense as they roamed over your face.

One hand slid up your side to cup the swell of your breast through your top, giving it a gentle squeeze. He could feel how your nipple stiffened under his palm, and it made him groan again.

"Tell me you want this too,", his voice low and heavy with need. "Tell me I'm not imagining this." Because damn, he needed to hear you say it. He needed confirmation that you felt the same way. “hamzah, i need you” you whimper as you slide off your top

hamzah's eyes widen as you remove your shirt, revealing your perfect frame and cleavage. "shit" he breathes, his hands immediately going to your waist.

"You're perfect." he says, burying his face in your chest, inhaling your scent. He kisses and nuzzles your chest before lifting his head up to look at you.

"can i take this off" he begs, his voice husky with desire. “yes please” now you wouldn’t call yourself “easy” but in this case.. it’s hamzah

He reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, pulling it off and tossing it aside. "oh god" he mutters, taking in the sight of your bare, pierced boobs. "So fucking beautiful."

Without hesitation, he leaned down and wrapped his lips around the stiff peak of your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

“Fuck, baby," you groaned as he licked around your nipple, his other hand gripping your ass tightly, pulling you harder against his straining boner. He was rock hard now, his cock throbbing with the need to be inside you.

But he tried to focus on worshipping your tits, determined to show you how much he adored your sexy body.

He switched to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. Sucking, licking, and lightly biting the sensitive skin as he groped and caressed every inch of your skin.

"Your tits are fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice muffled and heavy with lust. you’re a moaning mess, you never thought in a million years you would let someone do this when you “just met”

but the years of pent up attraction, and a bit of anger led you to not giving a fuck anymore. you want hamzah, and he wants you “hamzah please i need it”

Hamzah's heart raced as he heard the desperate plea in your voice, feeling you tremble with need in his lap. He knew exactly how you felt and he was just as desperate, just as turned on. The way youre grinding on his hard cock was driving him insane with lust.

"Fuck, you're killing me baby," he groaned, finally pulling his mouth away from your perfect tits reluctantly. He gazed up at you with eyes that burn with desire, his chest heaving. "Tell me what you need, baby. Tell me how to make you feel good."

His hands slid down to the hem of your short skirt, slipping underneath to grip the soft cheeks of your ass. He squeezed and slapped the it, pulling you harder against him as he rocked his hips up to meet yours.

"Is this what you need, baby? You want me to fuck you right here in the car?" he growled, his voice low and rough with lust. "I'll give you whatever you want. Just say the word."

“hamzah.. please fuck me” you plea in desperation

that’s all he needed to hear because In one swift, almost violent motion, he slid down his sweats, freeing his massive, throbbing cock. It sprang out, slapping against his abs, leaving a smear of precum on his skin.

“can i?” he begged, tugging on the side of your thong, and as soon as you nodded he yanked your panties to the side "Fuck, baby, you want this big cock inside this tight little pussy?" he snarled, gripping your hips tightly as he positioned you over his straining erection.

“are you sure you’re ready?” hamzah checks despite you saying yes the other times, and again you immediately nod your head yes

as soon as you give him permission he burys himself to the inside of your tight, velvety walls. A strangled moan tore from his throat as your slick heat engulfed him, squeezing his cock like a vice.

your eyes instantly roll to the back of your head in pleasure "Ohhh fuck, baby" he cried out, his head falling back against the headrest as he savored the feeling of finally being inside of you. "You're so fucking tight, baby. Shit, you feel amazing..."

He started to move, thrusting up into you roughly, digging into you over and over, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. The pornographic sound of skin slapping against skin filled the car as he fucked you, chased by your cries of pleasure.

"Yes, just like that Hamzah! Don't stop," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you held on for dear life. your hips met his brutal thrusts eagerly, taking him as deep as he could go.

"Shit, your pussy is gripping me so fucking tight," he grunted, sweat beading on his brows from the speed he was going . "I'm not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like this."

He slid a hand down between your connected bodies to rub at your clit, wanting to feel you come undone on his cock. "Come on baby, cum for me. I wanna feel this pussy cum on my dick" he demanded, his voice a low, lust-filled growl.

The car shook with the force of his thrusts, the windows fogging up from the heat of your love making. “shit h-hamzah i’m gonna cum”

"shit, yea baby, cum for me, I want to feel this pussy clench around my dick” he groaned, slamming up into you harder and faster, driven by your approaching orgasm.

one hand was rubbing furiously at your swollen clit, feeling it throb and pulse under his touch. and the other makes its way to your throat. He could tell you was right on the edge, your velvety walls starting to and tighten around his throbbing dick.

"That's it, mama. Let go for me," he encouraged you softly, his voice strained and heavy with his own building orgasm. his hand slightly tightened around your neck causing your orgasm to crash down, which made your mouth gape open and let out a long moan

hearing, and feeling your orgasm caused his cock to pulse and twitch inside you as his own climax approached rapidly. and with a long pornographic whimper Hamzah thrusts up one final time, his thick cock pulsing and throbbing as it unloaded rope after rope of his hot, sticky cum deep inside your fluttering pussy.

"shit, shit, shit" he shook, his body shuddering and jerking uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm of his life crashed through him.

As the waves of his climax began to subside, Hamzah slumped back against the driver's seat, panting harshly. He pulled you down for a sloppy, desperate kiss, all tongues and teeth and passion. "Holy shit," he finally gasped out, cupping your face in his hands. "That was... fuck. That was incredible."

He searched your eyes, searching to find any regret. "You okay? im sorry if went too hard” you shook your head instantly “no hamzah, that was amazing”

hamzah slowly lifted you off of his lap and gently sat you on the passenger seat and scurried to get some napkins. you open the ceiling mirror and see that you mostly still look good.

“i don’t want this to make things weird, i actually want us to be something more” hamzah looks at you deeply, meaning every word he said while wiping your thighs. you smile sweetly at him “i want that too hamzah”

“what do you want to eat?” he says while starting the car up again.

#hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzah x reader #black reader #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x reader smut #hamzah x black!reader #hamzah fic #hamzahsmut

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dollgxtz · 7 months ago

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His Watchful Eye Pt. 4

Word Count: 11.9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation, attempted rape, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @m0onlustre, @ve1vet-cake @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglamela, @connorsui @iluvmewwwww75 , @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer @mysssticc @babygirl-panda19 @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1

AN: Bit of a late upload for you night owls and a nice surprise for my early risers! Someone tell me to stop making the chapters longer, thank you LOL. This chapter was a lot of fun to write and I hope you guys enjoy! This is on AO3 as usual! :D

"So… uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert. "Dog? What dog?" he said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question. "You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

Read Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.5

Xavier drummed his fingers rhythmically on the glass counter, each tap growing more impatient as the seconds stretched on. His eyes darted around the cluttered store, scanning the shelves filled with everything from worn-out sneakers to high-end dress shoes. The store clerk had disappeared into the back room several minutes ago, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Xavier wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to find here.

He had strolled in with nothing more than a photo of a shoe print—a faint clue at best—but it felt more productive than sitting idly by, doing nothing while the answers to your disappearance slipped further out of reach. At least this was action, however uncertain.

Was this even a tangible way to find you? Was he grasping at straws, wasting precious time on a hopeless lead?

And the most haunting question of all—were you even still alive?

Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, as if closing them tightly enough could block out the flood of dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to let his mind go there, not now. Pushing the fear and uncertainty away, he tried to focus on the faint glimmer of hope that had brought him here in the first place. Anything was better than surrendering to despair.

"This is all I could find on it. It's certainly a unique pair," the shop clerk continued, offering a slight smile. "I'm not as technologically advanced as most shops around here, so sorry to disappoint. But, may I ask—why come to my little shop instead of one of those fancy places downtown?"

Xavier took the pamphlet, glancing over the information quickly before shifting his gaze back to the clerk. "Well," he began, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I heard you were the kind of guy who could identify a pair of shoes just by its print."

The clerk chuckled softly, his weathered face creasing with the effort. "You've been a great help, actually," Xavier added, sliding the pamphlet into his jacket pocket with a nod of appreciation.

The clerk gave an approving nod, the lines of his face softening in quiet satisfaction before he turned his back again, settling into the familiar rhythm of his work. Xavier headed toward the door, the faint creak of floorboards beneath his boots echoing through the small, dimly lit shop. His hand hovered over the door handle, but just as his fingers brushed the cool metal, a nagging thought rooted him in place. He paused, heart pounding slightly as the question formed in his mind.

He turned back, the weight of uncertainty pulling at his voice. "Say... you wouldn’t happen to know where this shoe was originally made, would you?"

The clerk stopped, mid-motion, his hands faltering over a pile of worn soles. The question seemed to hang in the air, drawing out a moment of silence as the man stared down, his brow furrowing. It was clear he hadn’t thought about it in some time. Xavier felt a flicker of hope, unsure if it would lead him anywhere, but desperately clinging to the possibility.

The clerk finally turned, his face thoughtful, his voice quieter now. "Yeah..." he said slowly, as if pulling the memory from a fog. "Last I saw of that shoe, it came from a company based in the... er, N1—no, wait..." His brow furrowed deeper as he worked to piece it together. "N109 Zone. Yeah, that’s the one."

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight Xavier couldn’t ignore. The clerk’s tone wasn’t just casual recollection—it was tinged with something more, like the memory of that particular shoe stirred something deeper. Xavier felt the knot of tension in his chest tighten.

Xavier felt his breath catch in his throat. N109 Zone. The name alone sent a chill down his spine. He had heard plenty about that place—mostly rumors, but enough to know that it was a dangerous, lawless sector. Few dared to go there unless they had no other choice, and even fewer came back with stories worth telling. It was a no-man’s-land, a forgotten corner of land where control was lost long ago. The kind of place where people disappeared without a trace.

His mind raced, piecing it together. If the shoe had come from there... Did that mean you were there too? His stomach churned at the thought. The faint hope he had clung to started to blur with the creeping dread of what fate could have fallen upon you in the N109 Zone.

"You’re sure about that?" he asked, his voice betraying the slight anxiety creeping in around the edges. The clerk glanced up from his work, noticing the shift in Xavier’s tone.

"Yeah," the clerk said, more firmly this time. "I’m sure. That shoe—rare brand—hard to forget. The company folded years ago, but they used to operate out of the N109 Zone. Only place I’ve ever seen them sold."

Xavier swallowed hard, the words sinking deep. If the shoe came from N109, it could be a clue—a dangerous one, but still the only lead he had. He felt the urgency building inside him, a gnawing sense that time was running out, but also the undeniable question of what he might find if he went there.

Could you really be in a place like that? His mind struggled to fill in the gaps, but there were too many unknowns. Were you okay?

"I...appreciate your help," Xavier muttered, his voice thick with tension. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to steady his breathing.

"You're not actually thinking of going there, are you?" the store clerk asked, his voice edged with disbelief as he raised an eyebrow. He leaned slightly forward over the counter, studying Xavier with a mixture of concern and amusement. "No offense, but a pretty fella like you doesn’t exactly look like the type who could survive in a place like that. Not really worth the hassle for a pair of shoes don't you think?"

Xavier paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t turn around immediately, letting the weight of the clerk’s words linger for a moment. Finally, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression calm, almost casual. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice steady, though the tension in his body remained. "I've dealt with much worse."

The clerk blinked, surprised by Xavier's calm demeanor, but said nothing more.

Xavier turned to face the door once again, his hand resting on the handle as he prepared to step out into the cold streets. "Thanks again," he added, his tone carrying a finality that didn’t invite more questions.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the door and walked out, leaving the shop behind. His heart pounded a little harder now, not just from the looming threat of the N109 Zone, but from the resolve building inside him. There was no turning back now.

He had a tangible clue—a real, solid lead to your whereabouts. For the first time in weeks, the haze of uncertainty lifted ever so slightly. But now that he knew you were possibly in one of the most dangerous areas anyone could imagine, time was no longer on his side. Every second that ticked by felt heavier, pulling him deeper into the urgency of the situation. The N109 Zone wasn’t just dangerous; it was a place where people vanished, a place where hope died. He had no time to waste, but rushing in blindly would be suicide. He needed a plan.

Stepping into the cold evening air, Xavier pulled the pamphlet from his jacket pocket, its crinkled edges soft from being handled. His eyes scanned over the contents carefully. Make and model—simple enough, not much help now. A detailed diagram of the shoe—useful for recognition, maybe, but not a lifeline. Then his eyes caught something else—a faint address printed near the top. It was partially worn, barely legible, but there.

His heart skipped a beat. An address? Could this be where the shoe was made? Or where it was sold? Either way, it was another piece of the puzzle, and right now, it was the closest thing to a breadcrumb trail he had. He squinted at the faded letters, trying to make out every detail.

If this address was in the N109 Zone, it could lead him right into the heart of the danger. But it could also lead him to you.

His mind raced. First, he needed to confirm the location. Then he needed a plan—something better than just walking straight into the N109 Zone and hoping for the best.

Pulling out his hunter’s watch, Xavier quickly scanned the address printed on the pamphlet. The small device whirred to life, its holographic screen flickering as it worked to process the faint, worn-out text. A soft ding echoed in the quiet street as it started searching for the location. Xavier watched the screen intently, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

The map on the watch blinked, the dot moving erratically across an unmarked, shadowy area. It drifted back and forth, as though even the advanced technology in his hands was confused, struggling to pin down an exact location. Xavier frowned, watching the dot jitter across the screen. His stomach tightened with frustration. Was the address too old? Was it leading him nowhere?

Just when he thought the device might give up entirely, the dot paused. The holographic screen flickered once more, and with a soft chime, it glowed green in confirmation. The hunter's watch had finally locked on to a spot. Xavier stared at it, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The place it had marked was deep within N109 Zone, tucked away in the heart of the most dangerous, uncharted part of the city.

He exhaled slowly, his mind running through a million possibilities. The watch’s confirmation meant something tangible, something real—but what waited for him there? He couldn’t shake the thought that this could be a trap, a place where the trail might lead to nothing, or worse, to more danger than he could anticipate. But it was also the only clue he had to your whereabouts.

Xavier closed his hand around the watch, feeling its faint warmth through his fingers. He knew what he had to do, but the enormity of it settled on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a simple lead anymore—it was a beacon, calling him into the depths of the N109 Zone. And whatever waited for him there, he would face it.

Because finding you was all that mattered.

As Xavier made his way through the still, empty streets back to his apartment, the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a faint, orange glow across the sky. His mind was already racing, formulating a plan. Gear, weapons,—he’d need everything ready before venturing into the N109 Zone.

But just as he turned the corner, his phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the early morning quiet. Xavier stopped, his brow furrowing as he fished the phone out of his pocket. It was a jarring sound—no one should be calling him at this early hour.

He glanced at the screen, squinting in confusion. The number was unknown, unfamiliar. His immediate thought was Captain Jenna—she was the only one who’d be up this early, possibly reaching out with new intel—but this wasn’t her number.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Unknown number. His instincts screamed caution. In his line of work, random calls at odd hours rarely led to anything good. The number could belong to anyone—a lead, a warning, or worse, a trap.

But then again, it could be something important—something connected to you. He couldn't ignore the possibility.

Should he answer? The phone rang again, and with each buzz, the knot of uncertainty in his stomach tightened. Whoever it was, they wanted to reach him badly enough to call at this ungodly hour.

With a deep breath, Xavier made a decision and swiped to answer the call. "Hello?" His voice was guarded, careful.

For a moment, all Xavier could hear was silence, a thick void that made his pulse quicken. Then, suddenly, the sound of crackling static filled his ears, distorting the line. He frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. The static grew louder, chaotic, until it was abruptly interrupted by a voice—scared, desperate, and unmistakably familiar.

"Xavier? Is that you??"

His heart nearly stopped.

You kept running until your legs gave out, your breath ragged and chest burning, but you couldn’t stop. Not yet. An hour ago, you had been trapped, bound in your captor's suffocating bedroom, that thick invisible leash tightening around your neck with each passing day, stealing your hope, your strength. Every second felt like eternity in that room, but somehow, with some luck of a power outage of all things, you’d broken out of your cage. You’d ran—bolted into the cold night without looking back.

And now, you were almost free.

But “freedom” wasn’t what you had imagined. The streets stretched out before you, bleak and lifeless. It felt wrong. There was no joy in the air, no welcoming breeze to assure you of safety—only the gnawing sense that you had escaped one cage just to enter another. You recalled something Sylus, your captor, had mentioned in passing.

"Its always 'night' here", he'd said with a small smile, and now you truly realized he hadn’t been lying.

Darkness swallowed the entire area, a thick, unnatural veil over everything. Even though your eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, the eerie, half-flickering streetlights cast only dim pools of sickly yellow across the cracked pavement. The shadows loomed, stretching too far, hiding too much. You shivered, not just from the cold but from the haunting silence that wrapped around you.

The air itself felt thick, as if it was suffocating under the weight of secrets too dark, too dangerous to be spoken aloud. Each alley you passed felt like it was watching you, whispering silent threats from the shadows. Exhaustion clung to your limbs, and you had finally stopped, collapsing onto a broken bench under one of the few flickering streetlights that still worked. The cold metal dug into your skin, but you barely noticed. You were too busy trying to catch your breath, to steady your thoughts.

Where do you go now? You scanned your surroundings again, looking for anything that could offer direction, but the streets were as desolate as before. The same cracked pavement, the same looming shadows. No signs. No people. Just an eerie quiet.

A fleeting thought entered your mind—maybe there’s a train station nearby? The idea seemed almost laughable. Would it even take you to Linkon? And would you even make it to a station without getting caught?

You shook your head, mentally cursing yourself for the thought. Hitchhiking was another idea that crossed your mind—no way, you scolded yourself, brushing off the notion as quickly as it came. You probably couldn't trust anyone here. Not in a place like this. Here, trusting a stranger was as reckless as running blind into the dark.

But what other choice did you have? You couldn’t stay still for long; resting too much would make you an easy target. With a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself to stand again. Your legs trembled beneath you, but you kept moving, hoping—praying—you’d find someone who wasn’t out to harm you. Something that could help guide you out of this nightmare. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of fear pressing harder on your chest.

As your bare feet dragged across the cracked concrete, the desperation gnawed at you more fiercely. You were lost—physically and mentally. Each street looked the same, the darkness playing tricks on your eyes. Panic swelled in your throat. How long could you keep going like this? How much longer could you walk before your legs gave out? Before someone found you?

Your breaths came quicker, shallow with fear. You needed a way out, but the deeper you walked into the N109 Zone, the more it felt like the place was swallowing you whole. You were running out of time. Running out of hope.

And then finally, as if the cruel universe had decided to grant you another fleeting moment of mercy, you saw it—a faint glow of lights in the distance. Squinting, you could just make out a corner store, its soft, artificial light spilling onto the cracked sidewalk. A few people were loitering outside, giving the place a rare sense of life. A tired-looking woman clutched her child's hand tightly, and a man stood by, lazily smoking a cigar, his eyes scanning the street in disinterest. A couple of others hovered nearby, exchanging quiet words under the dim streetlight.

You couldn't believe your eyes. A store? Here? In the N109 Zone? It seemed almost surreal, like it had been plucked from another world and dropped into this forgotten wasteland. But it made sense in a grim way. Even in a place like this, people have to eat. Make a living.

With a rush of desperate energy, you hurried toward the store, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The people outside cast looks in your direction, but don't say anything. You stopped just short of the entrance, glancing down at yourself for the first time. You must look insane. A nightgown hung loosely around your body, dirty and torn at the edges. No shoes. No socks. Your hair was tangled and wild from the running. The sight of yourself made you wince in embarrassment, but there was no time to care about that now.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a dimly lit but surprisingly ordinary scene. The inside of the corner store looked like any other—aisles of candy, snacks, cheap knick knacks and toys stacked high. It was a stark contrast to the dangerous, shadowy streets just outside. But one sight caught your attention above all: the food.

Your stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger. You hadn’t eaten since the chicken dinner Sylus had provided before your “outburst.” You hadn't been able to finish it, and now the exhaustion from running had made the hunger almost unbearable. Your mouth watered at the thought of eating, but there was one major problem—you had no gold.

Your heart sank as you stared at the rows of candy bars and instant noodles. How were you going to get anything?

Anxiously, you shuffled toward the front counter, your nerves jangling with every step. When you reached it, you hesitated for a moment, staring at the small bell. With trembling fingers, you tapped it.

A disheveled-looking man, his hair sticking out in uneven tufts, glanced up from behind the counter. He had been glued to his phone, and the interruption clearly annoyed him. His eyes landed on you, and for a brief second, he just stared, taking in your disarrayed appearance before rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Can I...help you?" he asked, dragging out the words as if the very act of speaking was a burden.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but your mind raced with too many conflicting emotions—fear, embarrassment, hunger. What could you even say?

"I've been kidnapped," you blurt out, your voice shaky and desperate. You opened your mouth to explain further, to tell him everything—how you had escaped, how you were on the run, how you needed help—but before you could get another word out, the man snorted.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," he said dismissively, leaning back on his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Who hasn't been kidnapped at least once around here?"

His casual tone hit you like a slap. The raw urgency in your voice was met with nothing but apathy. Your heart sank. He wasn’t going to take you seriously. You were just another story in a place like this, another desperate face with nowhere to go. You stood there, frozen, trying to comprehend how someone could be so indifferent to your situation.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the frustration welling up inside you. "Please, I'm serious. I just need—"

"Look," the man interrupted, cutting you off again, his eyes barely lifting from his phone. "You want something, buy it. Otherwise, move along. I’m not here for charity cases."

You glanced at the counter, the rows of candy, snacks, and drinks just inches away, knowing you had nothing to pay with. Desperation clawed at your insides. You were exhausted, starving, and running out of options.

"I don't have any gold... do you ha-have a phone?" you asked again, your voice trembling as you blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill. How could someone be so indifferent to the obvious suffering staring him in the face?

"Broken," he said flatly, still not bothering to look up from his phone. His disinterest was like a physical blow. "And… gold? What are you, some Linkcunt citizen?"

The venom in his words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Linkcunt citizen? The insult was harsh, dripping with disdain, and it sent a sudden wave of anger rushing through you.

"Yes, I’m from Linkon," you correct, the frustration and fear bubbling over into your voice. "What’s with the attitude? What did I do to you? I'm asking for help!"

He finally looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking.

"What did you do? Nothing. That’s the problem. Linkon folk come down here thinking they’re better than everyone, tossing around their fancy gold and expecting the world to hand them everything." He shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and contempt.

"You want help? Then you’d better figure out how things work around here real fast, princess. No one's gonna hand you anything for free."

You felt your fists clench at his words, the anger mixing with a deeper sense of helplessness. You hadn’t asked to be here. You hadn’t asked for any of this. And yet, standing in this grimy corner store in the depths of the N109 Zone, it was clear that no one cared about your suffering. Not here. You weren’t in Linkon anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to calm down, swallowing the anger rising in your throat. Getting into a fight with this clerk wouldn’t help you, not now. But the bitterness of his words lingered, and you realized just how alone you truly were in this place.

Silently, you turned your back to the greasy man behind the counter, his words still echoing in your mind as you began to walk up and down the aisles. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of hunger, thirst, and sheer exhaustion pulling at you. Your stomach growled, gnawing at your insides, reminding you just how long it had been since you'd eaten.

But something else gnawed at you too—something that made your skin crawl with discomfort. You hadn't changed your pad for hours, and now the sticky, damp feeling clung uncomfortably between your legs. The sudden realization hit you, a wave of disgust washing over you as you winced.

Swallowing hard, you glanced over toward the feminine hygiene aisle. Rows of necessities lined the shelves—pads, tampons, basic supplies—just out of reach. You stared at them, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't just food you needed now. You couldn’t go on like this.

But you had no credit cards. No way to purchase anything. Nothing.

Your eyes flicked back toward the front of the store, where the disinterested clerk sat, still engrossed in his phone. He wasn’t paying attention to you. He didn’t care. Nobody here did.

You felt a knot tighten in your throat as the harsh reality of the situation settled in. You had to steal. There was no other choice. You hated the thought of it—hated how low it made you feel—but survival wasn’t a matter of pride. Not here. Not now.

Your fingers trembled as you looked back at the shelves. You knew what you had to do.

The clerk still wasn’t paying attention, his face lit by the glow of his phone. His indifference might be your only saving grace. You could do this—quickly, quietly, and then you’d be gone.

With shaky hands you reach for a plastic bag that had fallen on the ground. The bag felt like a shield, something to hide the weight of what you were about to do. You didn’t think twice as you moved toward the feminine hygiene aisle, knowing you couldn’t walk any further in your current state. You reached for a pack of pads, your movements slow and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that it felt like the entire store could hear it.

Next, you hurried down the snack aisle, grabbing a few protein bars, a small bag of chips, and a bottle of water, all of which disappeared into the bag as your pulse raced in your ears.

You glanced toward the counter, your body tense with anxiety. The clerk still hadn’t looked up, completely absorbed in his phone. The faint, unmistakable sound of pornography drifted from his speakers, making your stomach churn in disgust. You twisted your face, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over you, but you couldn’t afford to stop now.

He was utterly oblivious to your frantic movements, his attention locked on the screen, but that didn't ease the gnawing sensation in your gut. Every step felt like you were tiptoeing across a minefield, a ticking clock counting down to disaster. Even though he wasn’t watching, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was.

With the bag now heavy in your hands, you made your way toward the exit, each step carefully measured, your breath shallow as you fought to keep calm. The distance between you and the door seemed endless, as if every inch stretched into miles. But finally, your trembling hand closed around the cold metal of the handle.

Your heart raced as you crossed the threshold, bracing yourself for the inevitable—a shrill, deafening alarm that would shatter the silence and expose your crime to the world. You waited for it, your breath caught in your throat, ready to bolt at the first sound.

But nothing came.

No alarm. No piercing siren. The only thing you could hear was the frantic beating of your own heart as the door swung shut behind you with a quiet click.

For a moment, you stood there, frozen in place, not daring to move. The cool night air brushed against your skin, grounding you in the eerie quiet. The world outside the store felt impossibly still. It took a few seconds for your brain to register that you had made it out—unseen, unheard.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down as you hurried past the few patrons lingering near the store. Their eyes followed your every step, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you, judging, curious. Did they happen to care, or did you just look that insane?

The woman with the child pulled her daughter closer as you passed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. The man smoking his cigar gave you a long, leering stare, as if trying to figure out what your story was. The others whispered quietly among themselves, but you couldn’t make out the words, nor did you want to. You kept walking, willing yourself to be invisible, but the tension in the air made your skin prickle.

Once you were a safe distance away from the store, you ducked down an empty alley, the shadows wrapping around you like a cloak. The world outside was still bleak, the flickering streetlights casting only the faintest glow, but here in the quiet, you finally had a moment to breathe.

You found a relatively clean spot, tucked behind an old dumpster, and set the bag down beside you. Your hands shook as you reached into the bag for the pack of pads. The discomfort and itch between your legs had grown unbearable, and the relief of changing, even in such a grim place, was something you couldn't put off any longer.

Quickly, you adjusted yourself, wincing at the feeling of the old pad peeling away. You worked fast, knowing you couldn’t linger here for long. Once you were done, you felt a small sense of relief—at least one problem had been solved.

Next, you pulled out the snacks. The hunger was still clawing at you, and the sight of the protein bars and chips made your stomach ache even more. Tearing into a protein bar, you ate quickly, barely tasting the food as you devoured it, desperate to fuel your exhausted body. The bottle of water came next, and you drank it down in large, gulping swallows.

For the first time since you had escaped, you felt a flicker of calm. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t last, but here in this dark corner, with food in your stomach and a small bit of comfort, you allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe.

But the quiet didn’t last. You knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. You had to get moving at some point or Sylus would find you. This place was unforgiving, and survival demanded more than just temporary refuge.

Tucking the remaining items back into the bag, you sigh in satisfaction, glancing around to make sure no one had followed you. The streets were still empty. For now, you were alone. You had survived one more step in this nightmare, but you knew it wasn’t over yet.

Some time passes and you can slowly feel yourself falling asleep against the dumpster.

As you crouched in the dim alley, trying to fight off exhaustion and gather your thoughts, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Slow, steady, and casual, accompanied by a faint, off-key whistling. You stiffened, instinctively pulling the bag closer to your chest.

The footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and then came the voice—low, cautious, but curious.

"Hey, you okay?"

You glanced up warily, your eyes landing on the figure standing at the mouth of the alley. He was tall, maybe in his mid-thirties, with shaggy, unkempt brown hair that fell just above his eyes. His clothes were worn—faded jeans and a jacket that had seen better days—but he didn’t look like the rough types you usually imagined when you thought of the N109 Zone. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked casually into his pockets, but his sharp, dark eyes were fixed on you, a flicker of concern—or maybe something else—dancing behind them.

His face was hard to read. He had a slight stubble covering his jaw, giving him a rugged, almost tired appearance. His lips quirked in what might’ve been a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you—like he was curious, but also sizing you up. Not in an aggressive way, but in a way that made you wonder why he’d stopped to talk to you at all.

"Are you... lost?" he asked, stepping forward slowly, the whistling tune dying in the air. His voice was softer now, almost as if he was trying to be gentle, but his presence made the space around you feel even smaller.

"What happened to your arm?"

You swallowed hard, trying your best to keep your gaze on him. You had honestly completely forgotten about the scar on you arm. As much as you wanted to explain, every instinct screamed to stay wary. This wasn’t a place where strangers helped out of kindness, and you knew better than to trust easily. But as exhausted and desperate as you were, you weren’t sure if you could afford to push away help, even from someone who might have their own agenda.

"I—I need help," you stammered, your voice shaky, barely managing to push the words past your tightening throat. Your body trembled, a mix of nerves and exhaustion leaving you on edge. You hugged the bag tighter to your chest, every muscle in your body tense. "But... don't come any closer just yet."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting, though he made no move forward. He stayed where he was, his hands still in his pockets, the dim streetlight casting long shadows on his face. For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with tension as he watched you.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice calm and even, though the curiosity in his eyes never wavered. He tilted his head, taking in your ragged appearance with a deeper interest. "No problem. I’m not here to scare you. Just trying to figure out what you're doing out here all alone."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. You needed help, but trust was a dangerous thing in a place like this. Still, you were running out of options. Your mind raced as you tried to decide what to say next.

You hesitated, your mind racing as you weighed the risks. Could you trust him? Telling the truth might make you vulnerable, but lying wouldn’t get you far either. You had to say something—anything—to explain why you were here.

"I was kidnapped," you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, a tremor of fear running through you as you spoke. "I escaped… I don’t know where I am. I just need to get somewhere safe and rest so I can get home later."

The man’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He studied you, eyes narrowing as if trying to assess whether or not you were telling the truth. His silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, making your heart pound faster in your chest.

"You’re serious?" he finally asked, his tone more subdued now, almost disbelieving but not dismissive. He took a small step back, showing that he wasn’t going to invade your space. "You really got away from someone?"

You nodded, the tension in your body still coiled tight, waiting for his reaction. You couldn't tell if he believed you, but you hoped—desperately—that he wouldn’t press too hard or turn you away.

The man stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his posture softening just slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but firm. "If you're telling the truth... then you’ve got bigger problems than just being lost."

He glanced around, checking the street behind him as if making sure no one else was nearby, then he looked back at you, his face more serious now. "You can’t stay out here. This place— the N109 Zone—it’s not somewhere you want to be wandering around alone, especially if someone’s looking for you."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. You already knew the N109 Zone was dangerous, but hearing it from him made it feel even more real.

"Look," he continued, his voice softening. "I’m not gonna hurt you. If you need help, I can take you somewhere safer. But you’ve gotta trust me, and you’ve gotta move quick. If they’re after you, it’s only a matter of time before they find you out here."

He waited, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to see if you’d accept his offer—or run.

You hesitated for a long moment, scanning the man’s face for any sign of deceit. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly so, but something about his demeanor made you feel that, for now, you didn’t have much of a choice. If he meant harm, he could’ve acted already. Swallowing hard, you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ll come with you.”

He nodded in return, offering nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment before turning and motioning for you to follow. "My place isn’t far. You can rest there, maybe clean up a bit. It’ll give you a few hours before you have to figure out what’s next."

You fell in step behind him, your bare feet quiet against the cracked pavement. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional distant hum of passing cars. You hugged the bag closer to your chest, still tense but too tired to think about running. As you walked through the dim streets, a question lingered in the back of your mind.

"I'm surprised you stopped to help me," you finally said, your voice tentative. "Most people here…they wouldn’t have even looked twice."

He glanced back at you, barely breaking stride, and shrugged. "I’ve seen worse things in this place. Trust me, a girl lost in an alley isn't the strangest thing I’ve come across." His tone was casual, almost detached, as if this was just another day in the chaotic world of the N109 Zone.

His nonchalance unnerved you. Why was he so calm? Your anxiety spiked for a moment, thoughts racing. Maybe you had made the wrong choice. Maybe he had his own agenda, like everyone else in this place. But then again, he hadn’t tried to harm you. If he wanted to, he would've done so. You weighed your options, feeling the tug of paranoia, but exhaustion and desperation had their hold. You pushed the doubt aside. For now, you decided to trust him, even if only for a few hours.

As you walked in silence, the two of you eventually came across something you hadn’t expected to see: an old, grimy phone booth, its glass cracked but still intact, standing at the edge of a corner. A relic from another time, long since forgotten by most.

Your heart skipped a beat. A phone. You might be able to call Xavier.

"Do you have any… uh, quarters?" you asked, your voice tight with desperation. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now it seemed obvious. Linkon City had long left behind the need for such old currency—everything there was digital, clean, modern. But here, in the N109 Zone, where everything felt stuck in time, of course they still used quarters. It made sense in this broken-down world.

He stopped, watching you for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, hang on." He fumbled in his pockets for a few seconds, fishing around with a slight look of annoyance. After a bit of clattering, he pulled out a few quarters, handing them over to you without a word.

Your hands trembled as you took them. This could be your chance—your lifeline. You stepped inside the booth, hoping that the old machine would still work, and stared at the dirty receiver.

You stared at the old rotary dial for a moment, panic rising in your chest. You tried to remember how it worked as you slipped the coins in the slot. It had been so long since you’d read about one of these—everything in Linkon was sleek, touch-based, connected by the web. But here, in this forgotten part of the world, you were holding a piece of the past. The process felt foreign, archaic.

Your mind raced, desperately trying to recall Xavier’s number. What was it? You racked your brain, images of his scribbled phone number from messages, fragments of conversations, all blurred together. The numbers danced in your head as you tried to piece them together.

Your heart pounded louder, matching the beat of the seconds slipping away. You were running out of time. With a trembling hand, you began dialing the numbers, trying to focus on every movement, praying you’d gotten it right.

The dial clicked as it spun back after each number, the mechanical sound unnervingly slow. The receiver crackled in your ear as the phone began to ring.

Please, Xavier... please pick up.

The ringing felt endless, each second a heavier weight pressing on your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the receiver tight. The noise around you seemed to fade into the background as you waited, hoping, praying that on the other end of the line, he’d be there—ready to hear you, ready to help.

The phone rang again... and again.

Your breath caught in your throat, a prayer hanging on the edge of each ring.

"Hello?" A timid, cautious male voice came through the receiver, muffled by the crackling static, but it was unmistakable.

Relief crashed over you like a wave, and you nearly collapsed right there in the grimy phone booth, your knees buckling as the sound of Xavier's voice reached your ears. After everything—you finally had a connection to him. Tears welled up in your eyes, your breath shaky as you clutched the receiver tighter.

"Xavier!! Xavier, thank god!" you cried, your voice raw with desperation. "I don't even know where to start..."

But after your outburst, only silence greeted you. The line crackled, sputtering with age, the static drowning out whatever response might have come. Frustration surged through you as you gripped the receiver, shaking it in a vain attempt to clear the line. You banged the phone against the booth, biting back a sob as the interference persisted. This thing must be older than you thought. How could it fail you now?

Finally, the crackling stopped, leaving only a tense, quiet hum on the other end.

"Xavier? Is that you??" you asked, your voice trembling, barely holding back the panic. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing this fragile connection—this one thin lifeline.

The line crackled for a moment before Xavier’s voice came through, steady and calm, but with a layer of unmistakable relief.

"It’s you…," Xavier said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d been holding onto hope for so long that hearing your voice felt like a lifeline. "I’m so glad you’re alive. Are you okay? Where are you?"

The sound of his voice sent another wave of emotion crashing over you. You sob, your body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t alone. He had been looking for you, and now, he was coming.

"Xavier…I was kidnapped," you sobbed, the words finally breaking free, the fear and terror of the last few days pouring out. "I escaped. I’m cold, hurt and scared..."

His response was immediate, his tone both calming and steady, as if he was trying to comfort you even from miles away. "I’m here now. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay? I’m coming for you. I just need a better idea of where you are."

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep it together, but the tears threatened to spill over. "I don’t know where exactly… all I know is I’m in the N109 Zone. I found a phone booth near a corner store. Everything around here looks abandoned."

There was a brief pause on the other end as Xavier processed the information. "Alright," he said firmly. "Stay there, I'll try and track the location of the phone booth. I’m on my way. Just… hold on a little longer, okay?"

"I—" you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the man who had helped you. "I actually found a really nice man. He’s letting me rest at his place. He hasn’t hurt me at all, so don’t worry. He says his place isn’t far from here. I’ll come back to the phone and give you the details after I see it."

Xavier’s voice tightened slightly, the concern clear. "I don’t like the sound of that. Just… be careful. I’m coming as fast as I can. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, alright? If anything feels wrong, leave. Fight like hell if you need to."

"I will," you whispered, gripping the receiver tightly. "Just hurry, please."

"I promise I’m coming," Xavier said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He paused, just for a second, before continuing. "One more thing though—do you remember who took you? I’ll need a name, in case…in case I don't find you when I arrive. I don’t want to lose you again."

Your heart raced as memories of your captor flashed in your mind. "Yeah! His name is S—"

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for an additional 3 minutes," the automated voice cut in sharply, drowning out your words.

Panic surged through you. The call had abruptly ended, the receiver in your hand now silent except for the monotonous prompt asking for more coins. You frantically searched your pockets, but you had no more quarters.

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for—"

You screamed, the frustration boiling over as you kicked the phone, the clanging metal reverberating through the phone booth. Your hand gripped the receiver so tightly your knuckles lost circulation, and with a final surge of anger, you thrashed against the booth, the tears you’d been holding back now streaming down your face.

"Xavier!?" you yelled into the dead line, your voice cracking with desperation. He had to hear you. He had to. But all that came through was the cold, indifferent tone of the automated voice, endlessly repeating its demand for more quarters, as if mocking your panic.

You slammed the receiver down, the booth suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. Every second that ticked by was a second lost, a moment Xavier might not know who had taken you, might not know how to find you.

With a deep, shaky breath, you stepped out of the booth, blinking away the tears.

"Do...you have any more quarters?" you ask, more tears threatening to spill from your face at any moment now.

The man outside the phone booth shifted awkwardly and shook his head, his eyes flickering between you and the dark street. He had watched you from the moment you’d rushed into the booth, but now, as you sobbed, his discomfort was clear. He took a slow step forward, clearing his throat, but didn’t say anything at first, unsure of what to do.

"You, uh... you okay?" he asked finally, his voice soft but uneasy. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing around as if he wasn’t used to being in such an emotional situation.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to calm your breathing, but the tears kept coming. The overwhelming frustration of losing the connection with Xavier left you feeling exposed and helpless. You didn’t know what to say to the man, couldn’t find the words to explain the weight of everything crashing down on you at once.

He hesitated, then sighed, taking another step closer. "Look, uh… if it’s about the call, I’m sure your guy’s coming. Sounds like he cares. You just... you know, gotta hang in there. We’ll get to my place soon, and you can rest."

His words, though clumsy, were an attempt at comfort. But even as he tried to reassure you, his uncertainty showed in the way he avoided your gaze, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle someone breaking down in front of him.

You sniffed, nodding slightly, feeling drained from the outburst. "Yeah… yeah, I’ll be fine," you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your nightgown, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

The two of you resumed walking, your steps slow and heavy as you sniffled, trying to hold back the tears that still threatened to spill. The man walked beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets, glancing at you now and then with an awkwardness that was hard to miss. He wasn’t saying much, just occasionally looking around as if he wished there was something more he could do, but he seemed completely out of his depth when it came to comforting anyone, let alone a woman on the verge of breaking down.

"You’ll, uh, feel better once we get there," he mumbled, his voice low and sheepish. "It’s not much, but at least you can get some sleep. Maybe eat something."

You nodded, biting your lip as you fought to compose yourself, trying not to let your emotions overwhelm you again. The air between you felt thick, filled with unspoken words and awkward tension. He kept glancing at you as if he wanted to say something more, but each time, he swallowed the words, guiding you quietly through the darkened streets.

The city around you was eerily quiet, the desolation of the N109 Zone even more pronounced in the silence. The flickering streetlights barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement. You hugged your arms close to your body, your mind still reeling from the failed call, but you focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The man cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "I’m… not really good at this kind of thing, you know," he admitted, his tone awkward, almost apologetic. "But you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak. His words were clumsy, but there was a strange sincerity in them. Despite his unease, it seemed like he really was trying to help, even if he didn’t quite know how to do it.

As the silence stretched on, the weight of everything hanging between you, you glanced at him through the dim light. His awkwardness, his uncertainty—it was all so clear. But despite everything, he had helped you. He had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. Given you the last of his quarters. You swallowed, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

"I didn’t catch your name, by the way," you said softly, your voice still a little shaky.

He blinked, as if surprised you’d asked. His steps slowed for a moment before he gave a small, awkward shrug. "Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I didn’t say." He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the ground as he seemed to search for the right words. "It’s Reese," he finally muttered. "Not much of a name, but it’s mine."

You offered a small, tired smile, your voice soft. "Reese… thanks for helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—" You stopped yourself, the weight of your situation pressing on your chest again.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and gave a sheepish nod. "Yeah, well… I’m no hero. Just didn’t seem right to leave you out there. Not in a place like this."

As the two of you walked in silence, Reese cleared his throat, glancing over at you with a bit more confidence than before. "So… what’s your name? Figured if we’re gonna be walking together, I should know who I’m helping."

You hesitated, your heart racing slightly. Trust wasn’t something you could afford so easily, not here, not now. Despite his awkward attempts to help, you weren’t ready to give him your real name. Better to be cautious, you reminded yourself. You forced a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It’s...Mephisto," you said, the lie rolling off your tongue before you could second-guess it. You had vaguely remembered Sylus calling out the name to someone from outside the door, to who you weren't sure. One of his men probably.

Reese nodded, seemingly taking your answer at face value, no suspicion in his expression. "Alright," he said, giving a half-smile. "Nice to meet you Miss Mephisto, despite the strange name."

You nodded back, feeling the weight of the lie settle inside you. It wasn’t much, but it gave you a small layer of protection—just in case. You still didn’t know Reese’s full intentions, and trust here could be a dangerous thing.

"Nice to meet you too, Reese," you replied softly, glancing around the darkened street.

After what felt like an eternity of walking through the dark, desolate streets of the N109 Zone, you and Reese finally reached his place. The house stood at the end of a narrow alley, tucked between two crumbling, abandoned buildings. It wasn’t much to look at—dingy, with peeling paint and windows that seemed to have long lost their clarity. The front door sagged slightly on its hinges, the wood scuffed and weathered, as if it had seen better days a long time ago.

Reese unlocked the door with a bit of effort, pushing it open with a low creak. Inside, the air was stale but warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The place was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a single overhead bulb. The furnishings were old, mismatched, and worn—a threadbare couch sat in the corner, covered in a faded blanket. The walls were bare except for a few crooked picture frames, and the carpet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Still, despite its grimy appearance, there was a strange sense of comfort to the place, like someone had lived here for a long time and had made it home in their own way.

"You can sit over there if you want," Reese said, motioning to the couch. "It’s not much, but it’s better than the streets."

You nodded, stepping inside cautiously. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details—the scuffed coffee table with a few empty bottles on it, the stack of old magazines piled up against one wall. It didn’t scream danger, but you couldn’t shake the wary feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Something about the whole situation made you uneasy. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the smell of old dust, or just the lingering doubt about trusting someone so easily in a place like this.

Still, exhaustion weighed heavily on your body, and the promise of rest—any rest—was too tempting to ignore. You sat down on the couch, the worn cushions sinking under you, and pulled the bag of pads closer to your chest. Reese seemed harmless enough, but you reminded yourself to stay on guard. You weren’t out of danger yet.

Reese busied himself, tossing a few items around to clear space, but the house remained eerily quiet.

As you settled into the couch, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible, a sudden noise from the backyard broke the uneasy silence. It was faint, but distinct—a thud, followed by the faint sound of something shuffling or dragging. Your heart leapt, and you sat up a little straighter, your eyes darting toward the back of the house.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice tense as you turned to look at Reese.

He froze for a split second, the calm, awkward demeanor you’d come to expect from him faltering. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, that?" he said, his voice higher than usual. "It’s just… my dog. Yeah, he’s in the shed out back. I forgot to mention him earlier."

You watched him closely, feeling the tension spike in the room. There was something off about the way he said it, the quickness in his tone as if he were scrambling to come up with an explanation.

"Your dog?" you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady, though doubt gnawed at the back of your mind.

"Yeah," he said, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. "He’s old, doesn’t like people much, so I keep him out there. No big deal."

His words didn’t do much to settle your nerves. You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing his response, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. The uneasy feeling from earlier returned, stronger this time, creeping up your spine.

"Right," you muttered, still watching him carefully, but you decided not to push further. Not yet.

"Um... coffee?" Reese blurted out suddenly, his voice still laced with that nervous edge. He offered a forced smile, clearly trying to redirect the tension hanging thick in the air. He rubbed his hands together, glancing toward the small, cluttered kitchen. "I could make us some. Might help, you know, after everything you’ve been through."

You hesitated, still on edge from the strange noise outside and his quick, jittery explanation. Something didn’t feel right, but you weren’t sure if pushing him now would help or only make things worse. You forced a smile of your own, your mind still racing with questions.

"Sure," you said quietly, your voice flat as you tried to calm your nerves. "Coffee sounds good."

Reese nodded, too eagerly, and moved toward the kitchen, fumbling with an old coffee pot. The clattering of cups and the rush of water filled the silence, but your mind was still focused on that noise outside. A dog in the shed? It seemed like a weak excuse, but you didn’t know him well enough to push it.

You leaned back into the couch, the worn fabric sinking beneath you as your eyes drifted toward the back door. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe Reese wasn’t telling you everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were exhausted, but you couldn't let your guard down.

Reese finished brewing the coffee after a few moments, bringing it over to you in a green, cracked mug. You took it from him with a polite smile, setting it down on the coffee table untouched. The steam curled up from the cup, filling the small room with the faint scent of stale coffee. Reese sat across from you, sipping from his own mug, but you couldn’t help but notice how distracted he seemed.

He kept glancing toward the window, then back at his watch, over and over. Each time, his face tensed a little more, as though he were expecting something—or someone. Your wariness only grew.

What is he looking for?

The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the noise in the backyard wasn’t as innocent as he’d made it sound.

"So…uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert.

"Dog? What dog?" Reese said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question.

"You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence, and then you saw it—realization hit him like a brick. His eyes widened as he turned to look at you, panic flickering across his face.

You sat up straighter, your heart starting to race. He’d lied. And now he knew you knew.

"Uh, I mean—" he stammered, his voice shaky, "I meant, uh, Rex. Yeah, his name’s Rex. Sorry, I’m just… distracted." He forced a weak smile, but the panic was still there, clear as day. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

You shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the room thickening with every second that passed after Reese's panicked slip. His eyes kept darting between you and the window, as if something outside demanded his attention. Your pulse quickened as the uneasy feeling deepened. Something wasn’t right, and you knew you had to get out of there.

"I should…go," you said, forcing a smile as you slowly stood up, trying to keep your voice casual. "Y'know... Xavier’s probably found the phone booth by now. I should go back and meet him."

Reese blinked, his expression tightening for a split second. The forced calm he'd been trying to maintain wavered as he set his mug down on the table a little too quickly, the clink of the ceramic against wood echoing in the silence. "Go? Already?" He scratched the back of his neck again, his voice strained. "I mean, it’s cold, and it’s not safe out there… Maybe you should wait a little longer."

You swallowed hard, feeling the anxiety rising in your chest. Every instinct told you to get out, but you had to keep your cool. "Thanks for the coffee and everything, but I don’t want Xavier to worry," you replied, taking a step toward the door. "I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse, remember?"

Reese stood up as well, his movements stiff, like he was trying to decide whether to stop you. His gaze flickered toward the window again, and his voice dropped. "Yeah, I get it. But, uh… maybe just a few more minutes. You don’t want to be out there alone, do you?"

You glanced toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The unease that had been lurking beneath the surface now felt like a solid weight pressing down on you. Something was very wrong, and you needed to leave—now.

"No, I’m leaving. Thank you for everything, but I need to go," you said, your voice steady despite the panic bubbling under the surface. You tried to move past Reese, your eyes focused on the door, your heart pounding with the hope of reaching it before things got worse.

But then Reese stepped in front of you, his whole demeanor changing in an instant. "No," he said flatly, his voice suddenly devoid of the awkwardness and sheepishness he’d shown before. His tone was cold, almost emotionless, as he closed the distance between you with startling speed.

Before you could react, you felt it—the cold press of metal against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body froze as the unmistakable sensation of a gun pressed hard into your skin.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. His earlier nervousness was completely gone, replaced by something dark and dangerous. "Sit back down."

Your heart raced, your mind scrambling for a way out, but all you could feel was the sharp edge of fear coursing through you. You swallowed hard, trying not to move too quickly, knowing that with one wrong step, things could spiral even further out of control.

"Reese… please," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking. "You don’t have to do this."

His eyes flickered with something—anger, desperation—but his grip on the gun didn’t waver. "Just sit down, and no one has to get hurt."

Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but for now, all you could do was comply and hope that Xavier was still coming for you.

"I promised them a girl..." Reese muttered, his voice trembling slightly, though the gun still pressed firmly against your neck as you looked up at him from the couch. He glanced away from you, his guilt briefly flickering in his eyes. "Then you just... happened to be there. Right place, wrong time, I guess. So...this is how it has to be."

His words hung in the air, cold and final.

"I’m sorry," he added, though there was no comfort in his apology—just a hollow attempt at easing his own conscience.

Your breath hitched as you tried to process his words, the full weight of the situation crushing down on you. He wasn’t just some awkward guy helping you out of kindness. He had been waiting for someone—anyone—to fill a promise. And you had walked right into it.

As you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your neck, the door creaked open. Another man stepped into the room. He was taller than Reese, with a thick, rough appearance—his face shadowed by the dim light. His eyes swept the room, landing on you, taking in the situation with a detached indifference.

"Is this the girl you promised?" the man asked, his voice low and gruff, as if he’d been through this kind of scene too many times to be surprised by it. His gaze shifted briefly to Reese, then back to you, narrowing with interest.

You felt a chill run down your spine as his question hung in the air.

Reese didn’t move the gun from your neck, but you could feel the tension in his body shift as he glanced over at the man, clearly nervous about his arrival. "Yeah, this is her," Reese replied, his voice tight. "I just… need a few more minutes to get her to cooperate."

The other man stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor. His eyes raked over you, cold and calculating. "No time for that," he said flatly. "Get her in the basement. You know how this works, Reese."

Your pulse quickened, fear gripping you tighter as you looked from one man to the other, your mind spinning with panic. What were they planning? You needed to find a way out, and fast, before things escalated even further.

"You’re making a mistake," you said, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "Someone’s coming for me. If you don’t let me go, it’s going to get a lot worse for both of you."

As the weight of your words hung in the air, you weren’t even sure who you were referring to in that moment—Sylus, the man who had kidnapped you in the first place, or Xavier, the one coming to save you. Both names were tangled up in your desperation, your mind too frantic to distinguish between them. All you could do was hope that the threat would ring true, that it would be enough to make Reese think twice.

The taller man smirked, clearly unimpressed. "We’ll see about that," he muttered, turning his back toward the door to pull up the carpet, leaving you alone with Reese and the gun still pressed to your neck. You watch as a metal trap door with a handle is revealed to have been hidden under the carpet and you gasp.

Instinct kicked in, and without thinking, you twisted suddenly, using the brief distraction in Reese’s hesitation to try and break free. You shoved his arm away with everything you had, knocking the gun off balance. For a moment, you thought you had a chance, adrenaline flooding your body as you fought with all the strength you could muster.

"Let go of me!" you screamed, thrashing and kicking as hard as you could. Your elbow connected with Reese's side, and he let out a sharp grunt, but his grip tightened. His face twisted in a mixture of frustration and fear, and he fought back, grabbing your arm and wrenching you toward him.

"Stop it!" Reese growled, struggling to maintain control, but you weren’t going down without a fight. You kicked at his legs, but his hold on you only grew stronger.

The door to the basement creaked open, and before you could react, the taller man reappeared, grabbing you by the other arm. His grip was like iron, and between the two of them, they overpowered you. Your heart pounded as you screamed and clawed, your feet scraping against the floor, but the force of their combined strength was too much.

"No! Please—" you gasped, trying to twist free, but they dragged you toward the open door.

The tall man grunted with effort as they forced you toward the dark, looming stairwell. "Get her down there already," he growled, his tone sharp and impatient.

You struggled even harder, but your muscles were weakening, the adrenaline starting to fade as fear took over. They shoved you roughly down the narrow staircase, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the damp wall. The dimness of the basement swallowed you whole, the air cold and musty. You could feel the fear wrapping around you, tighter with each step they forced you to take.

The taller man was close behind, his heavy footsteps echoing in the cold, damp basement. You felt his rough hand grab the bottom of your nightgown, his fingers curling into the fabric. Panic surged through you as his cold hand snaked across your belly, the touch sending a shiver of disgust up your spine.

You screamed, thrashing wildly against his grip, but his strength overpowered you. The man leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Wouldn't hurt to try her out before the boss gets here..." His voice was thick with lust, and his eyes gleamed with a hunger that turned your stomach.

His hand slid lower, his fingers beginning to snake inside your underwear. You could feel his hard on pressed against your backside. Fear and revulsion took over, and you knew you had to do something—anything—to stop him.

Thinking fast, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, your voice desperate and shaking. "I'm bleeding! I'm on my period!"

The words seemed to stop him in his tracks. His hand paused, the twisted hunger in his eyes faltering for a moment as confusion flickered across his face.

"You’re what?" he muttered, his brow furrowing. His grip loosened just slightly, enough for you to take a sharp breath, your heart still racing.

"I’m on my period," you repeated, your voice trembling. "It’s—it’s bad. You don’t want to do this right now."

For a brief second, his disgusted expression told you that he was weighing his options. The thought of period blood clearly repulsed him, and his hand slowly pulled away from your underwear, his lips curling in frustration.

"You’re lucky," he growled, wiping his hand on his pants, his face twisted with disdain. "But don’t think that saves you."

His hand shot up before you could react, grabbing a fistful of your hair and dragging you across the rough concrete floor toward the makeshift shower installed in the corner of the basement. Your scalp throbbed with each pull, the pain sharpening with every step, but you bit your lip, refusing to cry out.

He threw you against the cold, damp wall, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You barely had time to catch your breath before he twisted the rusty shower handle. Water burst from the nozzle, freezing and unforgiving.

“So filthy,” he sneered, standing over you as the icy water soaked your clothes, plastering them to your skin. “Maybe this will help?"

The cold bit into your bones, and you hugged yourself, trembling, struggling to stay upright as the water pounded down. He stood there a moment longer, watching with twisted satisfaction, before finally turning away, leaving you shivering on the cold, wet floor of the basement.

Sobbing on the cold, unforgiving basement floor, you shiver, your body pressed against the damp concrete, each breath heavy with despair. The chill seeps into your skin, a numbing cold that echoes the hollow ache inside you. Your tears fall, silent and unnoticed, merging with the grime beneath you as exhaustion pulls you deeper into its grip. In the silence, a desperate wish slips through your mind for someone to save you—anyone, even him.

Though Sylus had stolen you away, his presence now haunts you like a ghost. In this unbearable solitude, even the memory of him feels like a twisted solace. You long for his shadow, for those red, gleaming eyes that once pierced through the darkness, and his stark white hair, a glimmer against the void.

At least he gave you warm baths.

The thought slips through your mind, shame twisting in your chest. How could you even think of Sylus now, when poor Xavier was likely out there, rushing to save you, unaware of the torment you’re enduring? Guilt coils around you, tightening with every heartbeat, yet you can’t shake the cruel comfort of that memory. Sylus, for all the wrong he had done, had never left you to freeze, never left you to shiver and break alone.

Your vision blurs as the weight of everything crushes you, and you can almost see him—an apparition of salvation in your mind. His image flickers, vivid and sharp, as your consciousness begins to fray at the edges. The world slips away, piece by piece, and the cold wraps tighter around you.

The cold water finally stops.

In this fading moment, you cling to that impossible hope, that he, with his red eyes and cold hands, might come for you—if only to save you from a fate worse than death.

658 notes · View notes

norrisradio · 28 days ago

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SPEED TRAP

⚡︎ PAIRING: lando norris x drag racer! reader | ⚡︎ WC: 6.6K ⚡︎ GENRE: suggestive, messy feelings, not exactly a happy ending (pt.3 incoming) ⚡︎ RECOMMENDED LISTENING: talk, omar rudberg ● no i’m not in love, tate mcrae ● 2 hands, tate mcrae ● bad liar, selena gomez ● pillowtalk, zayn ● tell me, karan aujla, onerepublic, ikky ● i saw something, weston estate ● comedown, tony hobart ● arguments, benjaminrich ⚡︎ INCOMING RADIO: welcome to redline part 2! I was originally going to make this a 2 part fic but have decided these two deserve a better ending, so…. part 3 is in the works!

read REDLINE first!

⚡︎ SUMMARY: “Come to my race,” he finally murmurs, the words low and thick in the space between you. His voice is different now, softer. Not a challenge, not a dare. A plea, almost, buried under layers of pride. "Just one."

Lando doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not coming back.

Not when the taste of your kiss still lingers on his tongue a month later. Not when the memory of your fingers in his hair keeps him up at night. Not when he’s been driving circuits on instinct alone, hands gripping the wheel too tight, replaying every second of that damn race, the way you beat him—twice.

So when Max barely gets out a “Race night, you in?” Lando’s already shrugging on his jacket.

This time, he doesn’t come empty-handed.

You spot him the second he steps into the lot, all cocky confidence and sharp eyes scanning the crowd like he’s searching for something. For you.

It doesn’t take long.

He’s barely leaned against his car when you appear, stepping into his space like you belong there—because at this point, you might as well.

“Took you long enough, pretty boy.”

Lando smirks, but it’s lazier this time, heavier. Like he already knows how this ends. “Miss me?”

You hum, dragging a finger along the collar of his jacket, tugging him just a little closer. “Not even a little.”

Liar.

The tension simmers, thick and electric. The streetlights cast a warm glow over your skin, and Lando swears you’re more dangerous than anything on the track. Your hand slips down, just brushing the chain at his neck, and his restraint is hanging on by a fucking thread.

“Saw you watching last time,” you murmur, voice like smoke curling around him. “Bet you loved seeing me win.”

Lando exhales sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You talk a big game,” he murmurs, tilting his head, letting your lips hover just over his own. “But I think you like having me here.”

Your grin is all wicked intent. “Maybe.”

The word barely leaves your mouth before he’s had enough.

He crashes into you, hands finding your waist, lips catching yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and fire and weeks of pent-up frustration. You meet him just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his curls, dragging him in deeper, pulling, pushing—both of you trying to win something neither of you understand yet.

Somehow, between kisses, between the way your teeth scrape over his bottom lip and his hands grip your hips like you might disappear again, he remembers.

He pulls back just enough to see the way your lips are swollen, the way your chest rises and falls too fast, and he reaches into his pocket.

“Here,” he breathes, pressing something warm and smooth into your palm.

You glance down, brows furrowing, until your fingers close around the lanyard. Until the light catches on the glossy print of a paddock pass.

Your lips part slightly. Lando watches your expression shift, sees the moment it clicks.

“What,” you murmur, turning the pass between your fingers, voice quieter now, “is this?”

His thumb brushes your hip. “Figured it’s only fair,” he says, voice low, rough. “You watch me race.”

Your gaze snaps back to his, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.

Lando swallows. “If you want.”

The corner of your mouth lifts, slow and knowing.

Then, before he can blink, you grab his chain and pull him back in, whispering against his lips—

“Earn it.”

The night stretches on, electric and thick with tension. Lando doesn’t stand a chance of keeping his hands to himself, not when every time you rev your engine, every time you slam into the turns, every time you outdrive the next contender, he’s watching you with that same, predatory gaze. It’s no longer just a race for him; it’s an obsession. A challenge.

And God, it’s intoxicating.

Lando’s not even trying to be subtle anymore. Every time you win, every time you walk past him—sweat-slick, triumphant, untouchable—he finds himself pressing just a little bit closer. A hand on your lower back when you lean against his car, a thumb dragging across your hip as he grins that shit-eating grin. You’ve won, again. The crowd’s buzzing, but you’re the only thing he can focus on.

“You’ve got the pass,” he says again, voice low as you both circle each other like predators, only half-laughing. “Just say yes. I want you there.” His hand hovers near your hip, like he’s afraid if he reaches too quickly, he’ll break whatever spell you’ve cast over him.

You glance at him, lips curling in that same slow, dangerous way. “Maybe I don’t feel like being part of your little game tonight.”

Lando’s brows furrow. “What do you mean ‘game’?”

“Exactly that,” you reply, tilting your head, voice lilting with amusement. “A game. You want me there because you think I’ll cheer for you, right? Or maybe you want me to see you win. To see you in control.”

Lando watches the way your lips move, the curve of your mouth, and a low burn starts in his gut. “You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” he mutters, the air between you thick with something he can’t quite define.

You look him over, unbothered, as if he’s not an F1 driver but just some guy who’s getting under your skin. “I don’t need to figure you out, pretty boy. I’m already bored with that.”

The casual dismissal makes his blood run hot. He reaches for you again, hands finding the curve of your waist, pulling you in close, close enough to feel the heat between you. “You know I’m not just ‘some guy,’” he murmurs, leaning in like he’s about to kiss you again, but stops, just barely.

You tilt your chin upward, and the challenge is so clear in your eyes that it makes him ache. He can’t help himself. “I know exactly who you are,” you whisper, voice lowering, almost taunting, “and I’m not the kind of girl who just gets swept off her feet by a pretty face and a paddock pass.”

Lando’s breath catches, fingers flexing at your side. “I’m not asking you to.” His lips brush against your ear as he says it, and his voice, for the first time tonight, is quieter—earnest. “I’m asking you to come with me, because I want you there. Not because I think I can impress you.”

“You don’t earn anything with that attitude,” you tease, but there’s a flicker of something in your eyes. A spark that makes Lando lean in closer, his body warm against yours. He lets the disappointment simmer when you pull away for the next race. His eyes are dark and hungry, his hand brushing yours when you move past him, lingering just enough to make you feel it—a touch, a spark, a reminder that he’s here.

Max notices too. He's smug, leaning against the hood of his car, watching the way Lando hovers, the way his eyes track your every move. He raises an eyebrow at Lando's intensity, but says nothing.

"You've got a thing for her, huh?" Max grins, his tone teasing but genuine.

Lando doesn’t respond, just presses his lips together and glances at you, still watching you circle your next opponent. You’re perfect out there. Confident, graceful, untouchable.

You win again.

This time, as you walk back to where he stands by his car, you can feel the tension between you tighten, wrapping around you both like a noose. His chest rises and falls with a breath that’s too heavy to be casual. You stop just a breath away from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, but not quite enough to touch.

“Come to my race,” he finally murmurs, the words low and thick in the space between you. His voice is different now, softer. Not a challenge, not a dare. A plea, almost, buried under layers of pride. "Just one."

Your eyes flicker, something there—a spark of curiosity, maybe a little surprise at the desperation in his tone—but you’re quick to hide it behind that confident smirk. “Why?”

Lando swallows, trying to keep his voice steady. He’s not used to this, to being the one who’s not in control of the situation, and damn it if that doesn't turn him on even more. “I thought you might like it. You’d get to see what I do when I’m not on a track, maybe get a taste of how I handle pressure in the pit.”

You hum thoughtfully, like you’re weighing his words. “You think I’d be impressed?” The question is playful, but the edge in your voice suggests it’s more than that.

Lando’s mind races, words slipping out before he can stop them. “I think I could impress you if you gave me the chance.”

You turn your head slightly, almost like you're ignoring him, but Lando doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart back to his. "You think I'm some kind of prize you can win over?"

Lando grins, leaning in closer, his voice lowering even more, a quiet rasp. "I don't think of you as a prize. You're not something to be won." He presses his lips to your ear, feeling the heat of your skin. “You’re something I want. And I’m not used to hearing ‘no.’”

You feel it then—his heat, his words, the way he pulls you close, the way he wants you, all but demands it without saying a word. And the control you’ve had over him starts to slip—just a little. You press your hand to his chest, just enough to feel the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palm. You stand there, for a long moment, letting the tension build.

“Keep talking,” you say, voice quiet, but the way your fingers brush his chain tells him exactly what you want.

Lando grins, his confidence back, but it’s a dangerous kind of cocky. “You’d like it. I know you would.”

He takes in a sharp breath when you grab the chain around his neck, pulling him to you. You lean in, lips barely brushing his, sending a shiver through him that makes his hands itch to pull you closer, deeper.

The kiss you press against his lips is soft, slow, lingering—but it’s just a taste. Just a hint. It drives him wild. He can’t help the groan that rumbles deep in his chest when your lips move, tracing down his jaw, to his neck, each kiss lingering, marking him, claiming him.

He closes his eyes, fighting to stay still, fighting to keep control. But it’s hard, god, it’s so hard when your lips find that sensitive spot at the base of his neck, your breath hot against his skin. Every nerve in his body comes alive, and the friction between you and him makes him dizzy.

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye. And he’s lost in you. You’ve got him tangled in your web, every thread leading back to you.

Lando swallows, heart hammering. "You're killing me, you know that?"

You only grin, sharp and sly, before you reach out, plucking the paddock pass from his hand with a single, fluid motion.

He watches, almost dazed, as you twirl the lanyard around your finger, your gaze locked on his.

"We’ll see, pretty boy," you whisper, voice sweet. Your eyes glint with something dangerous.

His heart stutters in his chest. You give him a wink and turn away, leaving him standing there, breathless, watching as you melt into the crowd again, moving with that same confident stride, your movements leaving a trail of heat in the air around you.

Lando’s hands tremble, the space where you were still burning him, making him ache for something he can’t quite name yet.

"Goddamn it," he mutters, eyes glued to the spot where you disappeared. He doesn't know whether to follow, to call after you, or to let you slip away again.

Lando’s convinced you won’t come.

He tells himself that a hundred times over, like if he repeats it enough, it won’t sting as much.

You were teasing him, winding him up, leaving him hanging because you could. Because you knew he’d be thinking about you. Because you liked the game. And yeah, maybe that should piss him off, maybe it should make him want to forget about you entirely.

But it doesn’t.

He spent the last few days telling himself he didn’t care, that he wasn’t thinking about you, that it didn’t matter whether you came or not. But every time he glanced at the crowd, every time a flash of movement in the distance caught his eye, his pulse skipped before the realization hit: not you.

By the time qualifying day rolls around, he’s over it. He has to be.

The air in Silverstone is thick with the hum of engines and the buzz of anticipation, but Lando barely registers any of it. His helmet hangs loosely in his hands, fingers tapping restless patterns against the carbon fiber. Mechanics rush past, engineers rattle off last-minute adjustments, but his head is somewhere else, even if he refuses to admit it.

Then, out of the corner of his eye—

A figure moves through the paddock with the kind of confidence that doesn’t need to be announced.

He feels it before he sees it. The shift in the air. The ripple of attention that follows in your wake.

And then—

His heart almost drops out of his ass.

You weave through the crowd like you belong there, and maybe you do. The lanyard hangs loose around your neck, the paddock pass dangling at your chest like it was made for you. Your gaze flickers around, taking in the chaos, the machines, the controlled storm of the paddock—unfazed, unimpressed. But when your eyes finally land on him—

Fuck.

For a second, Lando forgets how to breathe.

He barely manages to school his expression, but it’s too late. The flicker of surprise, the momentary lapse in control—it’s already passed through him, and you caught it.

Because of course you did.

Your lips curl, slow and knowing, and when you start walking toward him, he can’t fucking move.

His grip tightens around his helmet. His jaw locks. His whole body hums with something sharp, something dangerous, something that feels way too much like anticipation.

You stop just close enough for him to catch the faintest hint of your perfume—something warm, something expensive, something that makes his stomach tighten in a way he doesn’t like to think about too much.

“Miss me?”

Your voice is sweet, syrupy, but there’s something sharp underneath it. You tilt your head, watching him like you’re waiting for him to slip up.

Lando exhales through his nose, forces himself to smirk, even though his heart is still hammering against his ribs. “Oh, did you go somewhere?”

You click your tongue, feigning disappointment. “That’s a shame. I was hoping for a warmer welcome.”

His throat is dry. His suit feels too hot, clinging to his skin, or maybe that’s just you—standing too close, eyes flickering over him like you’re still deciding whether he’s worth your time.

But then—

You reach out, fingers catching the edge of his race suit near the collar, tugging just slightly. Not enough to pull him forward, not enough to demand anything—just enough to remind him that you can.

“Cute uniform,” you say as he tries to remember what oxygen feels like, voice light, teasing. “Bet the fans love it.”

Lando swallows hard. You’re too good at this. Too good at making his brain short-circuit. “Thought you weren’t coming.”

You shrug, shifting on your feet, looking unbothered—but your eyes, sharp and watching, tell a different story. “Changed my mind.”

Lando lets out a slow breath, his jaw ticking. “Yeah?”

You hum, nails grazing the fabric as you let go. “Figured I should see for myself if you can back up all that talk.”

The way you’re looking at him—evaluating him, almost—makes heat curl in his stomach.

And, god, he wants to say something sharp, something cocky, but all that comes out is a rough, “And?”

Your lips twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Lando shifts, rolling his shoulders, trying so fucking hard not to let you see how much you’re getting to him. “Better pay attention, then.”

You hum, gaze flicking over him once before you step in closer—just barely invading his space. Just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy,” you murmur, voice low, almost a purr. “I wouldn’t dream of looking away.”

Then you’re gone, slipping past him like you didn’t just flip his entire fucking world on its head.

Lando stares after you, lips parting slightly, pulse hammering.

He is so, so fucked.

Lando tightens his grip on the wheel.

His tires hum against the track, the engine roaring beneath him, and in his ear, Will’s voice crackles through the radio—something about sector times, about staying focused, about nailing the exit out of Copse.

He hears it. Absorbs it. Executes it.

But beneath all that, beneath the precision and the instinct and the muscle memory, there’s you.

Sitting in the garage right now.

Watching.

He knows exactly where you are without having to look. Knows that if he did look—if he let his eyes flicker to the monitors or let himself think for even a second too long—you’d be there, perched in one of the sleek McLaren chairs, expression unreadable, half-bored, half-amused, like you aren’t even sure if all this—if he—is worth your attention.

And he’s not trying to impress you.

He’s not.

The thought becomes a mantra, looping in his head as he flies through Q1, putting in a time that has the pit wall murmuring in approval.

He’s not trying to impress you.

As he storms through Q2, purple sector after purple sector lighting up the timing sheets, his car slicing through the air like it was made for this—like he was made for this.

He’s not trying to impress you.

As he locks in fastest lap after fastest lap, threading the car through Maggots and Becketts with almost surgical precision, his pulse syncing with the rush of speed, the grip of the tires, the smoothness of his downshifts.

He’s not trying to impress you.

And yet—

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a traitorous part of him wonders if you’re still watching.

If you’re leaning forward in your seat. If you’re biting your lip, just a little. If, for even one split second, you think he looks good out here.

But it doesn’t matter.

It can’t matter.

Not when Q3 is coming up.

Not when he still has a job to finish.

Lando blows out a breath as he crosses the line, finishing Q2 at the top of the timing sheets.

The radio crackles to life—Will’s voice steady, even. “Nice work, mate. Let’s keep this up.”

Lando exhales, rolls out his shoulders, resets.

He’s not trying to impress you.

He just hopes you’re still watching.

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Lando crosses the line. P1.

Fucking pole.

He barely hears the ecstatic crackle of Will's voice in his ear, barely registers the claps on the back from his engineers as he rolls back into the garage, hands still tight on the wheel, body thrumming with the high of it. The adrenaline is a livewire under his skin, sharp and electric, sparking at his fingertips, at the base of his spine. He yanks his gloves off, shoves his helmet back, and—

There you are.

Exactly where he knew you’d be, leaning against the garage wall, arms crossed, expression cool and unreadable, but he catches it—the flicker. The tiny crack in your mask, the way your mouth almost twitches when you meet his gaze.

He should play it cool. Should take a breath, shake hands, debrief with the team—

Instead, he makes a beeline straight to you.

Still slick with sweat, hair a mess, race suit unzipped to his waist, clinging to the heat of his body, the fireproofs damp against his skin. He’s grinning before he even reaches you, that same shit-eating, cocky grin that’s been driving you up the wall for weeks.

“Enjoy the show?” he asks, voice rough, low, carrying just enough bite to let you know exactly what he means.

You tilt your head, pretend to consider. “Mm. It was alright.”

“Alright?” Lando scoffs, stepping in closer, the scent of fuel and sweat and adrenaline rolling off him in waves. His body still hums with speed, with the way he owned that track, carved his name into the tarmac with every apex, every perfect sector. And yeah, maybe he’s still riding that high, still feeling invincible, because he leans in just a little more, just enough to watch your breath catch, your fingers twitch. “Come on, love. You can admit it. You liked it.”

You arch a brow, but there’s no missing the way your eyes flicker down—to his mouth, to the way his fireproofs cling to the sharp lines of his chest, to the little drop of sweat that traces a slow, lazy path down his neck.

Lando sees it.

And fuck, he feels good.

You recover quick, though. “What I like,” you say smoothly, “is that this means I get to see you choke in the race tomorrow.”

Lando barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s rich, coming from someone who nearly choked on air when I stepped out of the car.”

Your jaw tightens. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you are staring.”

Your lips press into a flat line, but there’s color creeping up your neck now, just barely, just enough for Lando to know.

He grins, steps even closer, lets his fingers brush against yours—just a featherlight touch, barely there, but enough to send a little shiver up your spine.

“Don’t worry, love,” he murmurs, voice dropping, heat curling into every syllable. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

He winks, then turns on his heel, walking away before you can fire back, before you can wipe that stunned look off your face.

And fuck, that feels just as good as pole.

Race Day. Silverstone.

The air is thick with the scent of burnt rubber and petrol, the distant roar of engines vibrating through the asphalt. Lando grips the wheel, fingers flexing against the handles, heart jackhammering in his chest. P1. His race to lose.

The formation lap is a blur of routine—brakes hot, tires weaving, pulse spiking with every turn. He steals a glance toward the pit wall as he lines up on the grid, and—fuck—there you are. Arms crossed, sunglasses perched on your nose, the same cool, unreadable expression you’d had yesterday. But he knows you. Knows the set of your shoulders, the way your lips almost curve, the way you’re watching him like you’re trying not to.

It sends something sharp through his veins. Something dangerous.

Five red lights.

Hold.

Lights out.

He launches.

The world is a blur—cars diving into Turn 1, his tires screaming, the perfect balance of aggression and control threading through his body like muscle memory. He’s ahead, but it’s tight. Max is in his mirrors, a hungry shadow, waiting for the smallest crack to wedge himself into. Lando locks his jaw, plants his foot, car dancing on the edge of grip.

Lap after lap, he fights. Hard. Defends like his life depends on it, his knuckles white around the wheel. Every muscle burns, sweat slicks his fireproofs to his skin, and through it all—through every pit stop, every near-miss, every second where it feels like the race could slip away—his mind keeps circling back to you.

You're watching.

He knows it.

Somewhere between Lap 39 and 45, Will tells him to manage tires. He ignores it.

Final lap. His heartbeat is a thunderstorm in his ears, breath shallow, grip firm. Every turn is instinct, every flick of the wheel precise, perfect. The crowd is a deafening wall of sound, but all he hears is the whine of the engine, the rush of air, the final sector screaming toward him—

Checkered flag.

P1.

Lando exhales, a ragged, disbelieving sound, chest heaving as he punches the air. The radio erupts��shouts of yes! and fucking incredible! But he barely hears it, barely processes anything beyond the visceral fucking thrill of it.

By the time he’s back in parc fermé, his body is still buzzing—adrenaline singing through every nerve, jaw tight from grinning so fucking wide. The helmet comes off, sweat damp in his curls, fireproofs half-zipped, clinging to his torso. He clambers out of the car, hands shaking, skin flushed with heat.

And then—

There you are.

Standing just beyond the barriers, arms still crossed, that same unreadable look, except this time—this time, there’s no hiding the way your eyes burn into him. The way your fingers twitch at your sides.

He swipes a hand through his hair, makes a split-second decision—fuck the interviews, fuck the cameras, fuck everything—

And walks straight to you.

"Still just alright?" he asks, voice rough, teasing, low enough that only you can hear.

Your breath catches—he sees it, feels it in the way the space between you crackles.

"You got lucky," you counter, but it’s weaker now. Less sharp. Your eyes flicker down—to his mouth, to the sweat-damp skin of his collarbone, to the way his chest rises and falls.

Lando grins.

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

And then—because he’s feeling reckless, because he’s still high off the win, because he fucking can—

He hooks a finger under your chin, tilts your face up, just enough to watch you melt.

Just enough to make sure you know—

This race wasn’t the only thing he just won.

The team party is loud. The kind of loud that rattles Lando’s ribs, the bass-heavy music pulsing through the floor, through his bones, through the half-full glass of whatever drink he hasn’t actually taken a sip of yet. The kind of loud that makes it easy to forget anything beyond the neon glow of the bar, the sea of McLaren orange, the arms thrown around his shoulders, the relentless high of a home race win.

Lando’s half-drunk off it—off the adrenaline still spiking through his system, the way his team is celebrating him like he’s just conquered the fucking world. He’s got a stupid grin on his face, a gold-rimmed shot glass in one hand, Oscar yelling something in his ear about how he’s still a fucking menace on Lap 1, and then—

Then his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He almost ignores it. Almost tosses it on the table next to the rest of the clutter—half-empty bottles, someone’s abandoned bucket hat, a phone with a dick pic drawn in spilled beer on the screen (definitely not his problem). But something stops him.

Two texts. Unknown number. The first:

From: +44 **** ******* Got your number from Max.

The second is just as simple:

From: +44 **** ******* 36 Shaftesbury Avenue London W1D 7EP United Kingdom

He exhales, sharp. Feels the familiar clench in his stomach, the curl of something smug and knowing and so fucking irresistible settling into his chest. His fingers tighten around the glass for a fraction of a second, then—without a word—he downs the shot, sets it down, and pushes off the bar.

He brushes past Oscar with a quick, “See you later,” already moving before his teammate can even turn to question it. Out the door, into the street, hailing the first cab he sees.

The ride across the city is a blur of headlights and shadows, neon streaking past the window. He leans back against the worn leather seat, drags a hand through his hair, taps his fingers against his knee. The address leads to a bar he’s never been to, not the kind of place he’s used to. No VIP section, no overpriced cocktails, no crowd that gives a shit about the Monaco tax bracket or how many podiums he’s racked up this season.

It’s dingy. Low ceilings, dim lights, the scent of stale beer and something smokier clinging to the air. The kind of place where nobody knows his name, and nobody cares.

The bass rattles through the floorboards, a steady, visceral thrum that sinks into his ribcage as Lando steps inside. The air is thick—sweat, liquor, the electric haze of too many bodies pressed close. It’s a far cry from the champagne-soaked elegance of the team party, but that’s the point, isn’t it?

And then—

Then he sees you.

The dancefloor is a mess of heat and movement, but you cut through it like a blade, all slow, languid confidence. Lights flash, catching the sheen on your skin, the way your lips part just slightly as you move. And maybe it’s the post-race adrenaline still pumping through him, maybe it’s the way you knew he’d come, but something in his stomach tightens at the sight of you.

You don’t notice him at first—or maybe you do, and you just want him to wait. He watches the way your body moves to the music, the way your fingers trail absentmindedly down your own arm, the way someone brushes too close and you barely spare them a glance. It’s intoxicating. Maddening.

So he moves.

Cuts through the crowd, slides in behind you, close enough that the heat of him bleeds into your skin. He doesn’t touch—just lets the weight of his presence settle.

You shift. Just a little. Just enough that your shoulder grazes his chest, like a question.

Lando exhales, leans in, lets his mouth ghost over the shell of your ear.

“Could’ve just asked me out, you know.”

Your lips curve. Not a smile—something sharper.

“And miss the thrill of the chase?” you murmur, voice low, teasing. “Not a chance.”

Lando hums, lets his hands find your waist—light, barely there, enough to feel the way your breath hitches.

“You like making me work for it, huh?”

You turn then, finally facing him, and fuck. It should be illegal, the way you look at him—lazy, like you’ve already won, like you knew this was exactly where he’d end up tonight.

“Where’s the fun in making it easy?”

His grip tightens. Just a fraction. Just enough.

The music pulses. The air is thick. And Lando—Lando isn’t sure who moves first.

All he knows is the moment your mouth brushes his, the world outside this dancefloor ceases to exist.

The kiss is fleeting—just enough to tease, to taunt, to set his nerves alight—but when you pull back, it’s with that same goddamn smirk, the one that’s been driving him out of his mind since you walked into the paddock yesterday. Lando exhales sharply, fingertips digging just a little harder into the bare skin at your waist, like maybe that’ll keep you from slipping away again.

The music pounds around you, but all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears, the way you hum—satisfied, amused, something wicked curling at the edge of your lips.

“What?” he asks, voice rough.

You tilt your head, dragging a single finger down the center of his chest, slow enough that it burns right through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I was just thinking…” You tap his sternum once, a mock-considerate gesture, before your palm flattens there, feeling the way his heartbeat stutters. “That win was kinda hot.”

Lando huffs out a laugh, a little breathless, a little cocky. “Kinda?”

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Dunno. Haven’t decided if I’m actually impressed yet.”

It’s bullshit. He knows it’s bullshit. He saw the way you watched him earlier, the way your eyes followed every move he made on track, the way your lip caught between your teeth when he pulled into parc fermé P1. But still—it’s the game, isn’t it? The push and pull, the chase.

And fuck, does he love the chase.

He shifts closer, hands sliding up the curve of your ribs, thumbs brushing just under the swell of your chest—not quite touching, not really, but enough to make you inhale sharply. He leans in, lips grazing just below your ear.

“Pole position and a win, and you’re still playing hard to get?” His voice is low, teasing, laced with something darker. “Harsh.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover fast—tilting your chin up, challenging, as your fingers trace up his forearm, over the tendons, the veins, slow and deliberate.

“Well,” you murmur, tapping lightly at his wrist, where his gloves would normally be, “you do have very talented hands.”

Lando stills for half a second. Then he laughs, breath warm against your skin, and it’s unfair, the way it rumbles through you.

“Oh yeah?” His hands slide lower, skimming the hem of your top, fingertips teasing against your skin. “That what you brought me all the way out here to find out?”

Your lips part, but instead of answering, you hook a finger into the chain around his neck, tugging him just a little closer—close enough that your noses brush, close enough that you can feel the way his breath hitches.

“You tell me,” you murmur, tilting your head just enough that your lips barely graze his.

It’s maddening. You’re maddening.

And Lando—Lando has never been one to back down from a challenge.

The cab ride is a blur—touches that start hesitant but grow bolder, fingers tracing over denim and leather, the ghost of your breath against his jaw when you lean in close, like you’re testing just how far he’ll let you push him. (Spoiler: far.) By the time you stumble through the front door of your apartment, Lando barely has a chance to take in the dimly lit space before your hands are on him again, fingers curled into his collar, dragging him down into a kiss that’s all teeth and heat and desperation.

His hands find your hips, grip firm, tugging you flush against him as he walks you backward until your spine meets the door with a thud. You don’t seem to mind, though, tilting your head to the side, baring your throat like an invitation.

And fuck, he’s never been one to turn down an invitation.

His lips find the underside of your jaw first, warm and insistent, tracing down the column of your neck. You sigh—a pretty, breathy thing that shoots straight down his spine—and Lando’s hands tighten on your hips, thumbs dipping under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying over bare skin, finally.

All he can feel is the way your lips taste on his—everywhere—how your hands tug at his shirt, skin slick with sweat, fingers hungry as they trail down the hard lines of his chest.

His breath hitches when you push him back, your palms firm against his chest, chest heaving, eyes dark with something sharp, something dangerous.

“I don’t do relationships,” you murmur, voice husky, almost like a warning.

Lando’s lips curl into a smirk, but the only sound that follows is the frantic rush of his pulse, the desire curling in his gut, threatening to consume him whole. His hands grip your wrists, pulling them away from his shirt, his own breath ragged as his lips trail down the column of your throat, marking you with heat.

“I don’t care,” he grunts, a pulse of urgency flooding through him as he presses you back against the door. He feels the tremble in your chest as you exhale, the heat that radiates off your skin, the way your body moves against his like you’ve been waiting for this—waiting for him.

Your hands bunch at the fabric of his shirt, the rush of energy between you crackling like a storm, before you rip it off him with a frustrated tug. “Good,” you whisper, your lips grazing the sensitive skin under his jaw. “Because I’m not offering anything more.”

The words hang between you, a challenge, a taunt—but Lando doesn’t care. His fingers slip under your shirt, running up your back as he presses you tighter against the door, lips brushing over your ear, down your neck, feeling the thrum of your heartbeat against his lips.

He can’t—won’t—stop now.

His lips latch to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, tongue tracing the outline of your pulse, and he hears the way your breath catches. A shudder ripples through you, your body soft but taut in his arms. He shifts, just enough to drag his knee between your legs, pressing against you in a way that has your breath quickening, chest rising and falling.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, low, as he nips at your collarbone, his hands moving to push your shirt up, lips finding the soft skin of your shoulder. “Say you don’t want more.”

You don’t answer with words. Instead, your fingers curl into his hair, yanking him back to you for a kiss that’s deeper, harder, like it’s the only thing either of you can think of—like the world outside doesn’t exist, like it never will again.

The air around you thickens with the scent of your perfume, the heat of your skin, the way his hands slide down your back, mapping out the soft curve of your spine. His chest tightens, and for a moment, it’s like time has stopped, leaving nothing but the two of you—locked in this beautiful, dangerous game.

His hands trail lower, grazing your skin with the kind of slow intent that makes your pulse race. But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. He wants more. He needs more.

The bedroom door creaks open, but neither of you notice. Clothes fall to the floor, discarded, forgotten, nothing but an afterthought. Every inch of space between you vanishes as Lando guides you to the bed, lips never leaving your skin, every movement frantic and desperate, like the urgency will somehow quell the fire burning between you.

But then, for a split second, he pauses. His breath catches in his throat, his fingertips lingering on the curve of your waist. It’s just enough for him to register the feeling—the hollow ache in his chest that refuses to go away. It’s a fleeting thing, a moment of clarity, and it leaves a cold weight on his lungs.

But he doesn’t stop. His hands are already moving again, pulling you in, claiming you, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’ll take whatever you offer, whatever pieces of you he can have, even if they’re just fragments, even if it’s just tonight. Because at this moment, Lando doesn’t need anything more than this—than the sensation of your body under his, your breath catching with each kiss.

And yet, as he presses closer, there’s something about you—something about the way you kiss him back, the way your eyes lock, like you’re both holding back just a little too much, that makes his chest tighten, the air harder to breathe.

But that’s a thought for later. Right now, he’s lost in the way your lips taste, in the fire that burns between you, in the heat that won’t die down, no matter how much he wants it to.

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fishfooddude · 11 months ago

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That Poster Trend

With Carmy's 30th birthday fast approaching, you were struggling to figure out the perfect gift for him... at least until you're reminded of that TikTok beer poster trend...

The Bear MasterList

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“Do you think Carmy would like this?” you asked, flashing your phone toward your friend Olivia. You watched her face scrunch as she shook her head in disapproval. You sighed. Carmy was hard to shop for, but with his 30th birthday coming up at the end of the month, you were stressed trying to figure out what to do for him. He never made a big deal of his birthday, but this was a milestone birthday, and you wanted to do something special for him.

“I don’t know what to do, Liv. What did you do for Miles?” you watched your friend blush and bite her lip behind her wine glass. “Somethin’ a lil sexy that Carmy wouldn’t be into.” she giggled.

“What was it? I’m desperate here.” you pleaded, “So, I saw it on TikTok. This girl made her boyfriend a beer poster, so I copied it with Miles’s brand. I wore this adorable bikini, sat in his truck, poured beer into my cleavage- he calls it his favorite porn.” she explained as she blushed harder. You leaned back on the couch, “Well, Carmy doesn’t drink…” you started, “But he smokes…”

Olivia raised her eyebrows at you, “What’s his brand?”

“Yo baby, I’m home,” Carmy called as he set his backpack down on the ground. As he stepped into the living room, he noticed your absence. “Baby?” he called again as he walked toward the short hallway that led to the bedroom. He pushed the door open absent-mindedly while thinking about what to make for dinner. You weren’t in the bedroom or bathroom, Carmy pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time. It was almost 9 PM; you should be home from work by now.

Carmy was chopping onions when he heard the door open, “Carmy?” he heard you call. He set his knife down and walked out of the kitchen to see you standing by the door, wiggling out of your jacket.

“Hey there, gorgeous. Where you been?” Carmy asked, looking you up and down, taking in your appearance. You were by no means dressed up, but he noticed your usual toned-down eye makeup replaced with colorful glitter eyeliner and a pair of fake eyelashes. Your hair was tied in a messy bun, but Carmy could tell you’d styled it earlier.

“Went to work, ran a couple of errands. Nothin’ crazy,” you answered, hoping he wouldn’t see through your bluff. You hugged Carmy and kissed his cheek before trying to duck into the bathroom. “Yo, if you’re gonna be late, at least give me an actual kiss.” Carmy chuckled, trying to disguise his concern and uneasiness about you being late for playful banter. You giggled and felt one of his strong tattooed arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. He nudged your chin to kiss your lips softly with his free hand.

“Th-that’ll be uh... $18.32.” The teenage boy managed to get out as he refused to make eye contact with you. You were cutting it close. Tomorrow was Carmy’s 30th birthday, and printing his poster was more complicated than you’d thought. You grinned as you swiped your card, “Were you the one who had to print my poster?” you asked as you entered your PIN into the credit card machine. The boy sheepishly nodded, a bright red blush covering his face as he continued to avoid eye contact. You slipped your card back into your wallet and threw it back into your bag as he handed you the package and receipt, “It’s for my boyfriend. Do you think he’ll like it?” there was something sickly satisfying about torturing this random teenage boy. He furiously nodded before muttering something about him being a lucky guy.

You walked through the aisle of your local Target, picking up the final goodies you needed for Carmy’s birthday. Hopefully, you’d get home first so you could wrap and hide his present. You were giddy at the thought of Carmy’s reaction to his present. He didn’t see this one coming.

“Hey, baby.” Carmy greeted you from the couch when you walked into the apartment that night. “You’re home early,” you commented, hiding the shopping bags behind you as you walked into the living room. Carmy shrugged, “Richie was pissing me off. One of our line cooks bailed. Natalie was pestering me about tomorrow, decided to come home early to spend time with my girl.” he grinned as he looked up at you. You smiled back at him and came up behind the couch to kiss his nose, “Tomorrow is a big one, Carm. I need to finish a little work, but then we can cuddle.”

Carmy watched you go back into the bedroom and contemplated following you before returning his attention to the TV. You’d been acting weird the past couple of weeks; he aimlessly stared at the TV, wondering if you were planning on breaking up with him or telling him you were pregnant.

He wasn’t sure how long you’d been in the bedroom when you finally plopped down on the couch next to him. “You good?” Carmy asked as he put an arm around your shoulders. You nodded and cuddled into his side. “I’m good, Carm.”

Carmy groaned softly as you peppered his face with kisses the next morning. “Wake up birthday boy! It’s your birthday!” you happily cheered as you swung your leg over his hips to straddle him. You watched his eyes flutter open, “Thank you love.” he responded as he lazily put his hands on your hips. His grip was light as he slowly woke up, “Before we go to your Nat’s I want to give you your birthday present.” you excitedly explained. Carmy shook his head and moved his hands to your waist before pulling you down to lay on his chest. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and giggled as Carmy tightly squeezed your waist, “You didn’t have to get me anything.” Carmy whispered into your hair.

“Okay, I can’t return it so if you hate it keep it to yourself, my love,” you said as you watched Carmy sit up and rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. He nodded and you handed him the wrapped poster. “I could never hate anything you give me baby.” Carmy grinned as he started unwrapping his gift. You were gnawing at the inside of your cheek, Carmy had seen you naked a million times but something about this felt different.

“Holy shit…” Carmy’s eyes went wide as he stared at the poster before him. You were lying on a bed with the upper half of your body hanging off the mattress, a sultry look on your face. Carmy swallowed when he noticed you were wearing his favorite pair of panties and a tight white shirt. A pack of American Spirits was lying next to you, but Carmy couldn’t look away from your eyes. He ran his tongue across his top row of teeth as he looked up at you, you blushed as he hungrily stared at you. “Holy shit.” he laughed as he put the frame on the floor before wrestling you down onto the mattress. You erupted into a fit of giggles as Carmy held your wrists in his hands above your head, “That’s the hottest picture I’ve ever seen.” he whispered in your ear before nipping at your earlobe. “You like it?” you innocently asked as Carmy started to kiss down your neck, “I love it, baby,” he whispered against your skin.

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #the bear imagine #the bear one shot #the bear fan fic #the bear fan fiction

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 1 year ago

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Naughty Girl » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky punishes you for sending him dirty texts while he’s at work.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty texts, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, male masturbation, unprotected sex, rough sex, daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, choking, degrading, handcuffs, sex toys, Bucky’s dog tags, name calling (slut, whore), aftercare, use of pet names

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any kind of mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found this one on Pinterest.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Bucky pulled his phone out of his pocket when it vibrated. He smiles widely when he sees a text from you.

Doll🩷: I want you

Bucky: I’m in a meeting, doll

Bucky shut his phone off and continued to listen to the rest of the meeting. His phone vibrated again. He opened the message to see a picture of you completely naked with your legs spread in front of a full body mirror the two of you just bought, making his eyes go wide. Bucky shifted in his seat, feeling his cock get hard. He completely forgot he was in a meeting. His mind wandered elsewhere. Like how he was going to punish you when he gets home from work.

“You ok, Buck?” Steve asks.

“Uh huh, yea.” Bucky says, clearing his throat.

Bucky shut his phone off and put it back in his pocket. When the meeting was over, Bucky left the Avengers Compound and raced home, zooming through traffic on his motorcycle. Bucky slammed the door to yours and his apartment, walking straight to yours and his shared bedroom in search of you. He found you lying on the bed completely naked.

“Care to explain why you sent me a naked picture of yourself while I was in a meeting, babydoll?” Bucky asks, taking his jacket off and threw it somewhere in the bedroom.

“I was horny, daddy.” You answered. “I still am.” You say.

“Tell me, babydoll…” He approaches the bed. “Did you touch yourself?” He asks.

“Mhmm yes.” You hummed.

“How many times did you cum?” He asks.

“Two times.” You tell him.

Bucky licks his lips and sat down on the bed. He practically manhandled you to get you to lay across his lap.

“Since you decided to act like a slut when I wasn’t home, I’m going to treat you like one.” Bucky says.

His right hand rubbed across your ass cheeks before he landed a harsh smack on it, making you moan. He landed another smack on your ass that was harsher than the first one. Bucky spanked you eighteen more times. Your pussy was dripping by the time he was done spanking you. Your ass was red as a cherry with his hand print on it.

“Lay on your back.” He orders.

You listened and laid down on the bed, hissing when the sheets came in contact with your stinging skin on your ass. You watched as Bucky went in the closet and came out with a box. Your eyes widen. You know that box. It’s the box you and Bucky keep sex toys in. Bucky put the box on the nightstand and pulled a pair of handcuffs out of it.

“Arms above your head.” He instructs.

You put your arms above your head and Bucky handcuffed them to the bed frame. He tied your legs to the bed frame with silk ties. Bucky’s right hand disappeared between your legs, his fingers rubbing your pussy and spreading your wetness around. Your breath hitched in your throat when you seen him pick up a vibrator from the box. It’s the one that can make you cum in seconds. Bucky rubbed it in between your folds, covering it in your wetness before turning it on a low level and held it against your clit, making you squeak.

“Ah fuck, daddy!” You moaned.

Bucky loves watching you fall apart with the vibrator. You begging for him to fuck you with his fingers, tongue, or cock is like music to his ears. He watched intensely as your chest rose and fell, pants and moans of his name leaving your lips. His metal hand went to your breasts, giving one of them a squeeze before pinching your nipple. Bucky repeated the same actions on your other breast. Your pussy clenched around at the feeling. He turned the vibrator up to a higher setting causing you to moan loudly. His metal hand caressed your cheek, his metal thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. You parted your lips just enough for him to slide his thumb in your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his thumb and sucked on it, your tongue swirling around it like it were his cock while holding eye contact with him. A growl left Bucky’s lips as he watched you. Bucky put the vibrator on the highest setting. You arched your back and threw your head back against the pillow in pleasure. Your orgasm was building up quickly. You were right on the edge. It felt like a tidal wave was about to come crashing down on you.

“Oh fuck…” You whimpered. “Can I- ah fuck! Can I please cum daddy?” You asked desperately.

“Cum.” Is all he says.

A loud moan left your lips as you came hard, soaking the sheets beneath you and the vibrator. Bucky nearly came in his pants at the sight of you squirting. He shut the vibrator off and put it on the nightstand, making you whine. That earned you a smack on your thigh.

“Quit your fucking whining or I’ll give you something to whine about.” Bucky says.

You watched with hungry eyes as Bucky stripped off his clothes. Your eyes immediately looked down at his cock, hard and leaking with precum.

“My eyes are up here, doll.” He says, snapping his fingers in your face.

Bucky got on the bed in between your spread legs. You looked at him as he wrapped his right hand around his cock. He thumb swiped over his tip, using his precum as a lubricant. You watched with hungry eyes as he began pumping his cock. You licked your lips, wanting nothing more than to suck his cock. You whined and tugged on the restraints, making Bucky chuckle.

“You did this to yourself, babydoll.” Bucky tells you. “You shouldn’t have been acting like a little whore. Now you have to watch daddy play with his cock.” He says.

“But daddy…” You whined.

“What did I say about whining?” He asks.

“Quit whining or you’ll give me something to whine about.” You answered.

Your eyes stayed glued to his cock as he began jerking himself off. Tingles went through your body when moans fell from his lips.

“You could be putting that pretty little mouth of yours to good use, but it’s too bad you can’t.” He says tauntingly.

Your breathing hitched in your throat as his hand moved faster. Your pussy was wet with slick as you watched his hand move up and down on his cock. Precum leaked down his cock. He used it as a lubricant. You were so focused on his cock that you didn’t even realize that you were drooling.

“Hungry for daddy’s cock, doll face?” Bucky asks.

“I’m always hungry for your fat cock, daddy.” You say.

“Too bad you’re not getting it yet.” He chuckles, making you pout.

You desperately wanted to rub your thighs together for some kind of relief, but you couldn’t, due to the restraints. Bucky looks so incredibly hot. His muscles flexed as pleasure took over his body.

“You look so hot, daddy.” You say, bitting your bottom lip.

“Yea?” He rasps, moving his hand faster.

“Mmm.” You hummed. “So fucking hot.” You say more in a moan.

“I know what you’re doing, doll and it’s not going to work.” He says.

You huffed and pouted as you continued to watch him jerk off. His hand lost rhyme due to his orgasm building up, but regained it.

“You want daddy’s cum, babydoll?” Bucky asks, panting.

“Yes please! Give me your cum, daddy!” You say a little too desperately.

Bucky chuckles at your desperateness. He moved closer to you. His hand moved faster on his cock. Soon enough, his cum landed on your stomach and chest. You moaned at the warm feeling of it. Bucky sat back on his knees to catch his breath for a moment.

“Can you uncuff and untie me now?” You asked, tugging on the restraints.

“No.” Bucky says.

“But I’ve been a good girl for you daddy.” You say with a pout.

“That’s true, but I’m not done with you yet, babydoll.” He says.

Bucky rubbed his hands on your inner thighs, dangerously close to your pussy. He rubbed his cock in between your wet folds, covering it in your slick before tapping his tip on your clit a few minutes, making your hips jolt up at the sensation. He lined his cock at your tight entrance and slid it inside of you in one hard thrust, making you gasp.

“God damn, you’re fucking tight.” Bucky groans, tilting his back a little.

He pulled almost all the way out, only leaving his tip inside of you before thrusting back inside of you hard. You tugged on the handcuffs and threw your head back in pleasure. Bucky’s hands grasped your hips tightly as he fucked into you. Loud moans and screams left your lips. It was like music to Bucky’s ears. Bucky’s eyes wandered your body, stopping at your breast and watched as they bounced every time he thrusted into you.

“Tell me again, babydoll…” Bucky starts. “Why did you send me that naughty picture of you while I was in a meeting?” He asks.

“I wanted you so fucking bad, daddy.” You say more in a whine.

“You’re getting me now, doll face.” He says, his voice a little deeper than normal.

His vibranium hand left your hip, placing it on the headboard above your head. His dog tags dangled in your face. You desperately wanted to grab the chain of his dog tags and give him a filthy kiss. Your eyes wandered further down his perfectly sculpted body, watching as his abs flexed every time he thrusted into you. The perfectly trimmed hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your clit, stimulating it.

“Checking out daddy?” Bucky smirks.

“Mmm.” You moaned.

Your lips parted, a loud moan leaving them when his cock hit your sweet spot. You arched your back in pleasure, tugging on the handcuffs and pressing your chest upwards towards his face. Bucky took the opportunity to mark up your breasts with hickeys. His mouth was occupied on your left breast while his right hand found its place on your left one, squeezing it and pinching your nipple. A gasp left your lips when his teeth grazed your nipple. A tingling sensation shot through your body and your cunt squeezed around his cock at the feeling. He repeated his actions on your other breast, getting the same reaction from you.

Bucky stopped thrusting and pulled out momentarily to untie your ankles from the bed frame. A squeak left your lips when he flipped you over onto your stomach, the chain of the handcuffs twisting. He lifted your hips, angling your ass towards him. He placed his metal hand on the top of your back and pushed the top of your body down against the bed, making you stick your ass out more. He nudged his thigh between yours to spread your legs apart. You moaned when his thigh came in contact with your wet cunt.

“You look so much better in this position.” Bucky says, his hands rubbing your red and sore ass cheeks and gave them a squeeze, the coolness of his vibranium hand soothed the stinging of your ass.

“But I want to look at you while you’re fucking me, daddy.” You say with a pout, looking over your shoulder to look at him.

“You shouldn’t have a naughty girl and sent me a dirty picture of yourself while I was at work.” He says.

Bucky lined his cock at your tight entrance. He circled his tip around your entrance to tease you, making you whine which earned you a smack on your ass.

“How many times do I have to tell you quit fucking whine?” Bucky asks.

“Sorry, daddy.” You mumbled.

Bucky thrusted his cock inside of you in a harsh thrust, making you gasp. His thrusts were more harder and faster than when you were in the first position. His hands have a bruising grip on your hips.

“You look so breedable like this.” He says, taking in the sight in front of him.

“Breed me, daddy.” You blurted out in a moan.

Him hearing those words come out of your mouth made him go feral. The image of you pregnant with his child is the only thing in his mind at the moment.

“I’ll fucking breed you real good, babydoll.” His voice lower than normal. “Everyone will know who you belong to when they see you pregnant with my child.” He says, almost a growl.

His thrust sped up. The sound of skin slapping and the smell of sex filled the bedroom. His cock hitting your sweet spot perfectly with each thrust. Your legs began trembling as your orgasm started to build up. It felt like a tidal wave was about to come crashing down on you.

“Can I- fuck! Can I please cum, daddy?” You asked, begging. “I’ve been a good girl.” You say.

“Cum for me, doll.” He says.

Bucky’s vibranium hand left your hip and reached around your front, blindly finding your clit and began rubbing it in fast circles. A loud moan left your lips as you came hard, your cum soaking your thighs and his cock. Bucky gave your clit a particularly rough run before focusing on his own orgasm which was coming fast. His thrust became sloppy before he regained his pace. A moan left Bucky’s lips as he came inside of you, painting your walls. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He slowly pulled out and sat back on his knees to catch his breath. His eyes watched as his cum dripped out of your pussy. His fingers on his right hand scoop it up and pushed it back inside of you. You moaned and squirmed at the feeling.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, doll face.” Bucky says, uncuffing your wrists that are now red.

“Don’t wanna move.” You mumbled with a pout.

“I’ll carry you.” He says softly.

Bucky picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bathroom. He ran you a warm bath and helped clean you up before cleaning himself up. When you two were done in the bath, he dried you off and carried you back to the bedroom and laid you down on the bed after giving you one of his shirts to wear to bed. He got in bed next to you and wrapped his arms around you protectively, pulling you closer to him.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky says softly, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You say sleepily before falling asleep with your head on his chest.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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kusakabesimp · 4 months ago

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Kusakabe and Nanami - Suits and Ties

Did anyone suggest I analyze suits and ties for two of our JJK DILFs? No. But will I go into extensive detail about Kusakabe and Nanami's suits? Yes, I will.

TIE SELECTIONS AND KNOTS Kusakabe - Half-Windsor

The Half-Windsor is a practical, classic knot, perfect for someone like Kusakabe, who is adaptable and efficient. Professional without being overdone, the knot size fits well with a medium-sized collar (which is logical for his build) and pairs effortlessly with virtually any suit fabric. The look stays polished and put together, whether with the suit or the trenchcoat.

The color is a conscious choice. The darker shade of green follows traditional suiting conventions, where a bold accent piece complements a simple foundation like his white shirt and black suit. It allows Kusakabe to keep a professional look while adding a subtle touch of individuality.

Even the mechanics of the knot make sense for Kusakabe. It uses less length than a Full Windsor, and is ideal for a taller and broader body shape. For Kusakabe, this means he can comfortably wear a standard tie length (57–58 inches) instead of buying a bespoke or specialty tie (67–71 inches).

Nanami - Full Windsor

The Full Windsor is symmetrical and more formal than the Half-Windsor, which aligns with Nanami's structured, meticulous personality. While it's traditionally paired with wide collars, the fuller shape also works well with medium-sized collars (again, the best choice for a broad build). It pairs best with a heavier suit fabric like worsted wool, which is expensive but surprisingly durable.

Gege did the research -- this knot works best with patterned ties featuring a larger, spaced-out print. And men's suiting conventions actually recommend a golden yellow to complement a tan suit and blue shirt combination. Nanami is perfectly fine dropping $200 - $300 on a custom tie. This is the man out there fucking up curses while wearing a $5,000 Tag Heuer watch.

Since Nanami wraps a lot of fabric around his hand, the Full Windsor’s need for extra material makes perfect sense; it works best with longer ties. In terms of mechanics, the Full Windsor is also the easiest knot to undo, making it a practical choice in a fighting situation for Nanami, who doesn't waste time on anything.

JACKETS AND LAPELS Kusakabe - Black Jacket and Notched Lapels

The mid-notched lapel is a staple of classic suiting. (I'm including pictures of his trenchcoat as it has similar notching.) Though it’s not always visible in the manga, it is reasonable to assume that his single-breasted black suit includes a left chest pocket and boutonniere buttonhole — little details Kusakabe wouldn't overlook. His choice of a black suit is practical as always: stain-resistant (keeping the cursed spirit dry-cleaning bill in check) and low maintenance.

The mid-notched lapel is easily dressed up or down, mirroring Kusakabe’s ability to adapt without losing his sense of self. Every detail shows that he’s grounded in tradition but always prepared for the realities of the present.

Nanami - Tan Jacket and Peak Lapels

Nanami’s suit features sharp, angled peak lapels, which give it a more formal edge compared to the standard notch lapels. Like Kusakabe, he opts for a single-breasted design but with three buttons instead of two (we know he loves symmetry). This choice aligns with his look in the 2022 JJK Dolce & Gabbana collab, showing that the peaked collar is a style he favors, reflecting his appreciation for both luxury and craftsmanship.

His clothing, functional yet carefully selected, serves as an investment in both quality and precision. For Nanami, a polished image goes beyond appearance. It’s about the thoughtful, intentional choices he makes both professionally and personally.

Ultimately, Kusakabe and Nanami’s suits capture their personalities in different ways. Kusakabe’s style is about practicality and ease, with just enough polish to stay professional. On the other hand, Nanami goes for something sharp and more structured, with a high attention to detail. Each piece of their suits speak to the thoughtfulness behind their choices, reflecting the balance of simplicity and sophistication they each bring to their lives.

I DO NOT authorize use of this meta for other writing!

#kusakabesimp #jjk meta #look I know I'm crazy but tbh don't care #jujutsu kaisen meta #kusakabe atsuya #atsuya kusakabe #nanami kento #kento nanami #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk manga #jujutsu kaisen manga #kusakabe jjk #jjk kusakabe #jjk nanami #nanami jjk

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james-is-here · 5 months ago

Text

You're a staff member but also Chan's boyfi

"Okay, How much time do I have?" You ask as you walk into the room with a small glob of paint on your palm, shoving the paint tube into your back pocket before putting your palms together and grimacing slightly at the coldness.

"Not much. Five minutes? Maybe?" You met Chan at the center of the room, still spreading the paint around to try and warm it up. "Wait, where's the jacket?" "I thought you left it in the dressing room? We're still gonna have to blow dry the paint." He stood in front of you shirtless and only wearing slacks and a belt. "Oh right. So probably less than five minutes."

You sigh, separating your hands. "Alright, what's your plan this time Christopher?" You tilt your head and he chuckles. "Kiss me." You snicker, dropping your head as you giggle. "Sir, that's not very work appropriate." You lift your head and smile back at him.

You step closer, Chan lightly holding your hips as your hands hover by his neck. "It's still cold, just warning you." You mutter before leaning in and kissing him, placing your hands on his jaw, causing him to inhale sharply and pull away. "I told you it was cold!" "Didn't know it was that cold." "Don't worry, it'll be warmer soon." You smirk and pull him back in for a kiss.

You remove your hands from his jaw and place them on his pecs, then your right one on his abs as your left wraps around his right bicep. Then you pull back with a sigh. "Need more paint." You pout slightly and Chan's right hand moves to your ass, lingering slightly before he takes the paint out of your pocket and puts more on your palm. "You're enjoying this aren't you?" You smile, spreading the paint on your palms. "Very much."

Chan captures your lips again and you try your best to ignore the paint and simply act how you usually do, tilting your head and slipping your tongue past his lips, your hands dragging paint down his sides as you hold his waist then slide them to his lower back. You remove your right hand and press a hand print in the same spot, then one under his left shoulder blade, then your left hand moves to place a print directly on his right shoulder blade.

Your hands drag paint down his back, your left hand sliding to his left side and your right moving back down to his lower back then his hip. You resist pulling him closer and instead pull back and ask for more paint. Spreading the paint one last time, you place a hand at the base of his neck and smirk into the kiss he pulls you back into only for you to pull away again.

"Move this." "Mn, you can't." "Come on, it'd be so worth it and you know it." "Jagi, that is incredibly risky and you know it." "Channie, this whole thing is risky but Stay won't know. They'll just speculate but again you know it'll be worth it." Chan sighs, his hands removing themselves from your waist to shift the front of his pants down slightly only huffing when he realizes it'll be better to just undo his belt.

Once undone, he moves the waistband of his boxers out of the way before watching you place a handprint that would be sticking out from his waistband. "Yeah, Stay is gonna love that." "You are taking full responsibility." "Gladly."

Kissing him again, you move your hands back up and drag the rest of the paint on your palms down his chest, over his abs, basically trying to get the rest of the wet paint off your hands and he giggles against your lips when your hands find his waist and squeeze before smearing paint. "Okay, Okay, now you're just using me as a towel." He smiles as he pulls back and you squeeze his waist again. "Only slightly." You pull back enough to look at him and nod.

"Perfect." "Oh really? Maybe you should paint with Hyunjin." You look away from your handiwork and meet his eye. "In what context?" He laughs, jaw dropping at how fast you replied. "Oh, I don't know, maybe actual painting? On a canvas maybe?" Chan places the tube of paint back in your back pocket as he huffed out small laughs. "W-What do y-you mean what c-context?" He asked through his laughter.

"Have you seen Hyunjin? You may be my boyfriend but I am just a man who knows~" You drag out, poking his stomach and he flinches at the ticklish feeling. "How to appreciate~ good looking men." "How long have you been ogling Hyunjin?" He asks as you turn towards the door to leave, holding your hands behind your back. "Oh, I ogle all of you." You say quickly before spinning around and walking backwards. "Come on, gotta blow dry you." "I- Wait, no, come back here." He quickly checks the paint of the print on his pelvis before fixing his pants and following you.

You grin as he followed you but stop when you both notice Felix who was ready for his solo. "Woah, you sure went full out for this one." His eyes flick to the very low hand print before widening. "Who did it?" He asked as if it wasn't obvious but you still moved your hands from behind your back and showed him your hands. "Who else, Lix?" "Oh, right." He laughed before walking away.

"Okay, come on, I gotta wash my hands and you need blow dried." "You mean I need blown?" You drop your hands and glare at Chan who's smiling innocently with his usual dimples smile and wide grin. "Go." You point towards the group dressing room and he laughs. "I love you." He giggles as he kisses your cheek and walks to the room. "Whatever, I love you, too, I guess." You roll your eyes fondly and follow him with a small smile.

If you wash your hands later and there's a faint grey stain on your hands, you don't say anything. You'll let Chan find out when he cleans it off after his solo while you proceed to purchase a new paint that won't stain.

#random #bleh #stray kids #straykids #stray kids x male reader #bang chan x male character #bang chan #James drabble

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nameless-jamie · 2 months ago

Text

Meet me on the Pitch

Valentine's Day Special - Day 1

A Jamie Tartt x fem!shy receptionist reader

Masterlist Valentine' Special

TW: cursing, kissing

Y/N had never been one to put much thought into Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t that she hated it—she just didn’t expect much. Working at AFC Richmond meant watching the players fumble through grand gestures for their girlfriends while she quietly sat behind the reception desk, perfectly content in her little corner, far from the chaos of romantic declarations.

At least, that was the plan.

But when she arrived at work that morning, a bright red envelope sat neatly on her desk.

Her name was written on the front in bold, slightly messy handwriting.

Frowning, she picked it up.

Y/N blinked, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest, her fingers trembling slightly as she glanced around. The office was bustling with the usual morning energy, but no one seemed to notice her. She slowly opened the envelope, pulling out a small card.

Inside, in a mix of rushed cursive and print, was a simple message:

Meet me on the pitch.

Her stomach did a little flip. There was no name, but something about the hurried scrawl felt oddly familiar.

"Exciting, isn’t it?"

Y/N jumped, a small squeak escaping her as Keeley Jones appeared beside her, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Oh my God, Keeley," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "You scared me half to death."

Keeley didn’t seem to notice the shock in Y/N’s voice. Her eyes were locked on the card. "So... are you gonna go?" she asked, her grin far too knowing.

Y/N eyed her suspiciously, her voice soft. "Do you know who this is from?"

Keeley’s grin widened. "Maybe."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "Keeley."

"Just go to the pitch, babe," Keeley said, winking. "Trust me."

Y/N wasn’t sure why she trusted Keeley—especially when she felt like her stomach was doing backflips—but she did. So, when her lunch break came around, she found herself walking to the pitch, the chilly February air brushing against her cheeks.

For a few moments, nothing happened. She just stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, wondering if maybe she was just imagining it. Then—

A football rolled toward her, stopping just at her feet.

Before she could process it, a certain Richmond striker jogged into view, his hands tucked into the pockets of his training jacket. Y/N froze, her heart jumping into her throat.

Jamie?

"Y/N," Jamie called, his voice sounding unusually tentative as he nodded toward the card still clutched in her hand. "Guessin’ you got my note."

Her throat went dry, and she blinked, taking in the football, then him, and then back to the football. "This was you?" she asked, her voice small.

"Uh, yeah?" Jamie rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "I mean, I was gonna just ask you, but Keeley said I should do somethin’ a bit more… y’know, romantic, since it's Valentine's Day an' all that."

Y/N swallowed, her heart hammering in her chest. "Ask me what?"

Jamie shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his usual confidence faltering for a moment. "If you score a goal on me, I’ll tell you."

Y/N’s eyes widened. "And if I don’t score?"

Jamie’s smirk returned, but it was gentler now. "Then you gotta go on a date with me."

Her stomach churned. "Jamie—"

"Look," Jamie interjected quickly, his grin growing mischievous. "I could’ve just asked, yeah? But then I wouldn’t get to show off my world-class goalie skills."

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his usual cocky attitude, even if it was wrapped in a layer of shyness she hadn’t expected. "Alright, Tartt. Game on I guess."

She took a step back, trying to steady her nerves, and lined up to kick the ball—

Only for Jamie to dramatically dive the wrong way as the ball barely rolled into the net.

Y/N burst into a laugh, her hand flying up to cover her mouth in surprise. "Jamie, that was pathetic. On purpose!"

Jamie sat up, grinning like a fool. "Oi, don’t disrespect my skills."

"That wasn’t skill," she teased, feeling the butterflies in her stomach flutter. "That was pity."

Jamie rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his sleeves, though his grin didn’t falter. "Yeah, well, either way—you won. So, I guess I gotta tell you."

He stepped closer to her, his expression softening, and for a brief moment, Y/N’s anxiety melted into something warmer, something sweeter.

"I like you, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "Like, a lot."

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Was this really happening?

"I know I can be a bit much sometimes," Jamie continued, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly, "but I wanted to do this proper. And I figured... Valentine’s was as good a time as any. I've liked you since you started working the front desk, you're the first person I see every morning and the last I see when I leave... I want that to be a permanent thing."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, but the warmth in her chest spread, making her smile shyly. "So… uhm— could I maybe still— If you want— could we still go on that date?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jamie’s grin returned, but there was something softer in it now, like he was genuinely relieved. "Well, yeah of fucking course. Now it’s a celebratory date."

Y/N’s heart swelled, and before she could overthink it, she quickly leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. That took all her courage...

Jamie froze, his eyes wide with shock, and Y/N immediately regretted it, pulling away faster than she intended.

"I'll be ready at seven, Jamie," she murmured, her voice almost cracking as she turned to walk away, her hands shaking with nerves. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that.

As she left, she could feel Jamie’s eyes on her, and for the first time in forever, she felt like maybe this Valentine’s Day wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Jamie stood there for a solid two minutes, hand drifting up to where she had just kissed his cheek, his brain still buffering.

Did that just happen?

Did Y/N actually say yes?

Did he just win at Valentine’s Day?

Behind him, someone wolf-whistled.

Jamie whipped around to see a few of the lads—Sam, Dani, Colin, and Isaac—watching from the sidelines, grinning like they’d just witnessed the best rom-com moment of all time.

“Oh my God,” Jamie groaned, rubbing his face. “How long’ve you lot been standin’ there?”

“Long enough to see you completely fumble that confession,” Colin teased.

Sam crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. “But it was very sweet.”

“You are so in love, my friend,” Dani added, beaming. “It is beautiful to see!”

Jamie scowled at them, but it didn’t hold much heat—not when he was still floating from the fact that Y/N had kissed his actual face.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the fact that he was blushing like an idiot. “Shut up, all of you. At least I got a date on Valentine's Day.”

That only made them laugh harder.

Y/N spent the rest of the afternoon definitely not replaying the entire interaction in her head. She definitely wasn’t thinking about the way Jamie had looked at her, or how surprisingly sweet his confession had been.

Nope. Not at all.

“You’re staring at the clock,” Keeley said, smirking as she leaned against the reception desk.

Y/N blinked, snapping out of it. “I am not.”

Keeley raised an eyebrow. “Babe. It’s fine to be excited, y’know.”

“I—” Y/N hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just… Jamie’s never exactly been the romantic type, has he?”

Keeley’s expression softened. “People change, babe. And for what it’s worth? I know he likes you.”

Y/N bit her lip, nerves and excitement warring in her chest.

“Well,” Keeley continued, grinning, “you better go get ready, because it’s almost six.”

Y/N glanced at the clock—and sure enough, the workday was over.

Oh God.

This was actually happening.

At exactly seven o’clock, Jamie showed up at her flat, standing on her doorstep in a fitted blazer over his usual flashy attire.

He was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Oi,” he greeted, grinning. “You look… really fuckin’ pretty.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “And you look very handsome, Jamie.”

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, figured if I was gonna take a gorgeous girl out, I should make an effort.”

"Thank you so much, I've never gotten flowers before..." She took the flowers from him, unable to stop smiling.

"Never gotten flowers?! What fuckin' idiots did you date before? Get used to receivin' flowers every day from now on."

“So, where are we going?” She asks, eager to change the topic, because she's completely blushing now.

His grin turned cheeky. “It’s a surprise.”

Y/N gave him a look, but she let him take her hand and lead her to his car.

The “surprise,” it turned out, was a cozy little Italian restaurant, where Jamie had somehow managed to get them a quiet table tucked away in the corner. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and the food smelled amazing.

“I’m very impressed, this is beautiful,” Y/N admitted, sipping her wine. “I was expecting… I dunno, a club or something.”

Jamie scoffed, leaning forward. “What, and have us both screamin’ over the music? Nah. Wanted to, y’know… talk to you.”

Her heart did a little flip.

They did talk—about everything and nothing, about work and football and the stupid things the lads did in the locker room. Jamie was charming, as always, but there was a softer side to him tonight. A sincerity in the way he listened, the way he laughed at her jokes, the way he made sure she had enough of the garlic bread they were sharing.

Somewhere between the main course and dessert, Y/N realized she was having fun.

Like, actual fun.

Not the kind of fun where she was being polite or trying to make the best of a bad date. No, this was just… easy. Natural.

And when they left the restaurant, strolling toward his car under the glow of the streetlights, she realized something else.

She really wanted to kiss him.

As if reading her mind, Jamie slowed to a stop, turning to face her.

“So,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Did I fuck it up?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“The date,” he clarified. “Did I—did I fuck it up? ‘Cause, y’know, I do that sometimes.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “No, Jamie. You didn’t fuck it up. I loved it. I had so much fun, thank you.”

Relief flooded his face. “Good. ‘Cause I really wanna kiss you right now.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “Yeah?”

Jamie took a step closer, smirking. “Yeah.”

She barely had time to process before he leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

It was warm and sweet, with just the slightest hint of cocky confidence—so very Jamie.

When they pulled apart, he was grinning.

“So, this means you’ll go out with me again, right?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, Jamie. I will. Definitely.”

Best. Valentine’s. Ever.

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #ted lasso show #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #afc richmond #jamie tartt imagine #valentine's day

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miiyas · 7 months ago

Note

Hi Atlas! Hope you are doing good. Can you please do a atsumu x reader fluff where reader is from karasuno who comes to cheer for the team in nationals. Sorry if this is vague i don't know how to put this. I love your fics thank you!

LUCKY NUMBER SEVEN

atsumu was lucky to be getting your number and to be wearing your favorite number on his jersey

fluff, wc: 1.1k, gn reader, really rushed ending, lovesick tsumu, pre-ts, not proof read

atsumu miya wasn’t one to bother looking at the opponents side of the bleachers. he didn’t care if their school banner was fancy, he never cared if the girls up there were shouting his name. when he’s on the court, he’s on the court.

so he caught himself off guard when he heard your pretty little voice shouting throughout the gym and by then, he just had to have a glimpse. and by god, was he glad he did. with your little twirls and jumps of excitement, atsumu had a sudden, unexpected hint of lingering jealousy that karasuno, some stupid, stupid underground team with some freak first years, had you to cheer them on.

you were pretty, he has to admit. he wonders where you got that karasuno boys volleyball zip up jacket and imagined how black and gold would look on you.

his school track suit, not karasunos.

as the court line up faces the large crowd and band on their side of the court, atsumu nudges osamu slightly, mouth slightly agape as he pants for air.

“oh my god,” osamu grumbles under his breath, already expecting what his twin was going to say. he’s already noticed his brothers wandering eyes, too tired to deal with his bull. “if this is about the one up at karasunos bleachers, i don’ wanna hear it.”

“wha ?! i didn’t even say nothin’ yet !”

“i know what yer gon’a say, ‘n i don’t care.” atsumu scoffs at this, more irritated than he already was. as he bows and thanks the cheer team in front of him, the only few things on his mind was on how his back ached with sweat sticking his shirt onto his skin, how he could really go for a icy gatorade, and how desperately he needed your number. hell, even a simple conversation would be enough for him.

the team disperses and go their separate ways in the arena, getting food or watching other games throughout the extended court. there was a strange craving for something spicy that lingered on atsumus tongue. despite knowing how badly his stomach would hurt after, he goes on his hunt, pushing through the crowd of people.

there isn’t anything particular that catches his eye and he takes note of the small onigiri stall, debating whether he should get a kimchi onigiri for himself (and maybe for ‘samu too) or if he should continue to wander around and find something more suitable.

he glances at the price. seven hundred yen for one, what a deal. as his eyes wander around to the quality of the rice and ingredients being used, he finds himself gravitating to the line.

with a hand in his track suit pocket, atsumu counts up a total of two thousand yen— enough for two onigiris and a drink for himself. he mouths what his order would be quietly, tired eyes glued to the printed menu. the wait from the person in front makes his eyes peel away slowly, honey brown eyes sliding down to see the smaller one in front of him. just as he does, atsumus eyes turn wide and he’s paused from shock.

holy shit. it was you.

you struggle to find extra bucks for a drink, cheeks a little flustered from the embarrassment of taking too long. giving up on finding the money, you sigh shakily and look up at the cashier, an apologetic smile displaying your nervous features.

“shit, uhm, you can put down the green tea bottle, actually.” you mumble out, pulling out eight hundred yen and gently handing it to the hands of the cashier. “keep the change.”

just as you were about to step out of the line and wait for your order, atsumu speaks up, his voice coming out louder than what he expected.

“i can get you that ..!”

with rapid blinks, you turn on your heel to face the blonde, recognizing him almost immediately, panic engulfing your eyes.

inarizakis setter, atsumu miya … how embarrassing this was for you.

“what ..? no, it’s fine, seriously—” without giving you any time to finish your sentence fully, atsumu pushes past you, his right hand slamming down his two thousand yen on the counter while the other sticks up two fingers. there’s an oddly determined look on his face, which only makes you cringe slightly.

“two kimchi onigiri and one oi ocha !” there are now three fingers sticking up and the cashier hesitantly nods, tapping on her screen and giving atsumu his receipt. the blonde steps out of the way as he receives the bottle, looking down at you and handing the cold drink over. as you were going to take the bottle away from his hands, miya snatches it away, a smug grin growing on his lips.

“if i give you this,” he teasingly shakes the bottle, lifting it up so it was just out of your reach. “you need’ta gimme yer number.”

“what.” you deadpan, irritation hinting at your voice.

“your number.” the blonde repeats, lips tugging up as he sees your face turn into a rosy pink. there’s a pretty smile that grazes your features, and atsumu swears that he feels his heart skip a beat.

“… fine.” you sigh out, looking around for something to write on. there’s a napkin dispenser and you slip one out, finding a pen by the counter to write your number on.

“you’re lucky i like the number seven.” you grin out, scribbling your number on the paper. at your words, atsumus terrifying combination of pride and ego inflates, straightening his posture to make sure the bold number was to be shown. you place the pen down on the counter of the onigiri stall and fold up the pale napkin, handing it over to the blonde. “let me treat you sometime. it’s only fair.”

a little stunned, atsumu simply accepts the napkin and nods. he swears he wanted to kiss you right then and there, take you out and spend all of his money (and maybe ‘samus too) just to see you smile over and over again.

with a breathy exhale, he nods with calloused fingers rolling the corners of the napkin. he’d like that. he likes that idea a lot. to go out with you in casual atmosphere with your carefree smile shining all for him.

“yeah, i’d like that.”

you smile politely, and atsumu feels his ears burn red. adrenaline thoughts get interrupted by the call of his orders. two onigiris, neatly wrapped in plastic, await for grabs. as he watches you take your drink and onigiri, the surrounding feels all too warm as he hears you ask where the two of you should sit. his heart thumps in his chest as you look around the stadium, trying to find a seat for two.

gosh, so sorry, ‘samu. you’re gonna have to buy your own onigiri this time.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyu x you #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya x you #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #atlas writes !

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bingbongsupremacy · 11 months ago

Text

Notice Me

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warning: Reader wears a dress, cursing

Summary: You really want Steve to notice you. What you don't realize is that Eddie's been there all along.

Eddie is only 1 yr older than the reader.

*Not Proof Read*

Ok, I had a bit of a brain block halfway through writing this one. I hope it's not too noticeable. I hope you guys enjoy it! Thanks for reading!

□□□□□□□□

" I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress. " Jeff states with a mouthful of sandwich.

" I'm trying something different. " I set my tray down across from the guy. " Why, does it look bad? "

" No, just different. " Eddie adds in, a smile on his face.

God, I love that smile. Stop. Don't make it weird. He doesn't like you. Besides, what if it makes things in the friend group weird? It's better to date someone outside of the group like Steve.

Across the room I spot the boy in my thoughts. Steve is chatting away with some of the guys on his team, oblivious to my gaze. He's not bad looking. Definitely not Eddie, but not hard on the eyes.

I tear my gaze away from the boy only to discover Eddie looking at me. He glances back at the table I was looking at and then down at my clothes, his eyebrows quirking in realization. He doesn't say anything, opting to instead keep listening to Doug talk about one of the past campaigns.

Halfway through lunch I begin to pack up my things.

" Where are you going? " Eddie asks curiously, cutting off Jeff.

" The business club. They have meetings second half of lunch every Tuesday. " I don't necessarily want to go but Steve's really active in it and I figured it might be a good place to try to get to know him.

Eddie's brows furrow in confusion. " Since when are you interested in business? "

" Since yesterday when I joined. " I roll my eyes. " What is this, an interrogation? "

" Just curious. " Eddie stands up, pulling his jacket off of the back of his chair. " I'll walk you. "

" Sure. It's not thar far. "

We head out of the lunch room together in the direction the business classroom.

" Hey, don't get mad at me, " Eddie begins slightly nervously. " But are you doing all of this, " He gestures to my clothes and the room down the hall. " for Harrington? "

I feel heat rise to my cheeks. I had hoped no one would notice. " What makes you say that? " I try to act calmly.

Eddie shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. " Dunno maybe because...you're dressed like every other girl in the school, you joined the club he's the president of and I saw you at his basketball game last night. You hate basketball. "

" I don't hate basketball...I just don't particularly enjoy or understand it. " I say while stopping in front of the classroom. Inside lots if kids are sitting around the tables, waiting for Steve to talk.

Eddie rolls his eyes. " You hate basketball. So you're doing all this for a guy? Why? Because you like him? "

My eyes widen. I clamp my hand over his mouth, pulling the boy away from the open door. " Shut the fuck up, Eddie. Someone could hear you. " I hiss. I move my hand away from his soft lips.

I wonder how it would feel to kiss-Stop.

I step away from the guy, needing to create some distance between us.

" Look, personally I don't think it's a good idea to do what you're doing. " Eddie begins. " But it's your life. Whatever. Listen, " Eddie pulls out a folded slip of paper from his ripped jeans. " the band landed a gig at The Hideout next Friday and I'd really love if you'd come watch. " He unfolds the paper to reveal a printed poster of the band and the bar name.

" Oh fuck yeah, Eddie!! I knew you'd land a gig! " I exclaim while wrapping the boy into a hug. " I'm so fucking proud of you, dude. I'll be there, I swear. "

Eddie wraps his warm arms around me. The faint smell of weed and cheap cologne fills my nostrils, a smell that's just so Eddie.

His face is so close to mine. I can feel his breath on my cheek. If I lean a little I could just k-Stop it. He doesn't like you like that. You're just a friend.

" I should be getting inside. " I pull away, needing to create some distance between us to clear my head.

Eddie gives me a small wave good bye.

I step into the classroom and take a seat at one of the tables. This is going to be boring as shit.

The club meeting seems to take forever to finish up. I don't understand half of what anyone is saying nor am I very interested in finding out what it means. By the end, I'm very happy when the end of lunch bell rings.

I begin to pack up my things when I notice Steve walking towards me.

" Hey! Are you new to the club? " He asks kindly. His smile is wide and friendly. He extends a hand.

I shake his hand and smile back. " Yeah, actually! I joined yesterday. "

" Well, it's always nice to see a new face. I'm Steve. I don't think we've ever officially met. Are you in my next hour math class? "

I nod. " I am, yeah! I'm Y/N by the way. "

Steve grabs his backpack from one of the tables as we walk towards the door. " Is it cool if I walk with you then? "

" Of course. "

Steve's actually pretty nice. Very smart too. He has a bit of a reputation of being a bully, especially around Tommy, but so far I can't see it.

He helps math pass by a lot faster, especially since he understands the concepts a lot more than me.

" Are you free this Thursday? " Steve asks.

That's the day we play DND. Shit

But who knows if I'll get another opportunity with Steve like this.

" Yeah. " I nod, jotting down an answer on my homework. " Why? "

" Well, a few of my friends and I are going Donny's Diner after school to hang out. You're welcome to come if you'd like. "

I'm so torn. Eddie or Steve? Well, there's always another campaign next week. Who knows if Steve will invite me out again.

" Sounds like fun. I'll be there. "

********

" Come on, Y/N. This is 7 millionth time you've canceled on plans with us in two weeks. Is loverboy really that important? " Eddie's voice is slightly annoyed.

" Relax, Ed. It's only been 2 times. I promise I'll go to the next movie night, I swear. "

Eddie sighs. " You better. I miss hanging out with you, who else am I supposed to make snide comments with? "

" What about Gareth? "

" Gareth's not at peak humor like you are. "

A soft 'hey' makes its way through my phone.

" I'll be there next time. " I feel bad for ditching our monthly movie night, but Steve invited me to a party.

" Are you still coming to the gig on Friday? " Eddie asks hopefully.

" I wouldn't miss it for the world. "

Eddie and I end our phone call just in time for Steve and Nancy to show up.

I've actually had a lot of fun with Steve and his friends the past few weeks. I'm not the biggest fan of Tommy and Carol, but Nancy and Barb aren't that bad.

" Are you coming to the game on Friday? " Nancy asks while handing me a beer.

Eddie's gig's on Friday.

" What time is it? " I ask while taking a sip of the amber liquid.

" Varsity starts and 7 and ends at 8-8:30. We're all planning on going to Donny's after. You should come. " Nancy invites with a warm smile.

Corroded Coffin plays at 10. If I'm careful, I should be able to make it.

" I'll be there. "

I just really have to keep track of time.

******

" I can't believe you shot from that far, that was amazing. " I compliment Steve in awe.

Steve smiles widely. " I honestly can't believe it either. I'm still in shock. "

I'm glad I came out tonight. I didn't really understand the game but it's been nice to talk to Steve and the others. Although, I feel like I might've forgotten something.

Eddie.

" Shit. " I blurt, my eyes widening. I look over at the clock on the diner wall. 10:40. " I've got to go. " I hurry out of the diner booth I'm in.

" Is everything alright? " Steve asks in confusion.

" I forgot I had to do something tonight. " I explain quickly. " Thank you guys for inviting me, I'll see you later. " I excuse myself. I quickly pay my tab with the waitress before heading out to my bike. Thank god I chose to bring to with me instead of taking a ride with Steve. There's no way I could make it to The Hide Out on foot.

Eddie's going to kill me. I can't believe I forgot about tonight.

I pull up to the bar to see the guys loading up the back of Eddie's van. Shit, I missed it.

Eddie doesn't acknowledge me as I pull my bike to a stop a few feet away from the band.

" I'm so sorry, guys. " I apologize to Jeff, Gareth and Doug who are closest to me.

" T's fine. " Gareth mumbles. " Eddie's the one who's pissed. "

Over his shoulder, I can hear Eddie curse as he drops a box of cords on the street floor.

" You should go talk to him. We'll give you guys space. We've got stuff to clean up inside anyway. " Jeff leads the guys back into the bar leaving me and Eddie alone outside.

Part of me wishes they were still here. I'm fucking terrified to talk to Eddie. I know I let him down. I just hope I didn't fuck everything up.

" I'm sorry, Edd-"

Eddie cuts me off. " You promised. " He stands up from his place by the fallen box of cords, his eyes filled with anger and hurt. " You fucking promised, Y/N. You said you'd be here. You missed the whole fucking thing! "

" I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I went to dinner with Steve and his friends and I-"

Eddie lets out a bitter chuckle. " Of course, you were with Steve. When aren't you with Steve? It's like you've completely forgotten that you have other friends. "

" Thanks not true! " I argue, beginning to feel defensive. " I hang out with you guys all the time. "

" Bullshit. You've blown us off every chance you've gotten to. " Eddie tosses the cords into the back of his van, quickly moving to pick up the rest of his stuff.

He's not wrong. I hadn't realized how many times I'd stood the boys up. How many times I'd stood Eddie up.

" I don't even know you anymore, Y/N. " Eddie's voice is soft but full of hurt. " You've become a completely different person. Your style, your interests. "

" I'm allowed to change, Eddie. "

" The problem is you're not changing because it's shit you like. You're changing because you want someone to like you. You're lying to yourself and you're lying to Steve. If he can't like you the way you normally are, then he doesn't deserve to be with you. You need someone who accepts you for the way you are. Not someone you need to change for. " Eddie shakes his head in disapproval. " You know what, Y/N, I'm done. "

My brows furrow in confusion. " What? "

" I'm done waiting for you, Y/N. " Eddie avoids my gaze, his face lighting up from what I think is anger. " You never seem to realize that I'm here. I fucking like you. "

My eyes widen.

Eddie likes me?

" I like the way you dress. I like the way you smile. I like the way you're always you! Or at least, the way you were always you. But I'm not good enough for you, and I see that now. Nothing I ever do will make you like me back. "

A sinking feeling builds in my stomach as I realize what Eddie's about to say.

" I can't be your friend anymore. I-I thought I could handle it but I can't. We're done, Y/N. " Eddie turns and begins to quickly walk back into the building.

" Eddie! " I call after the boy, trying to chase him into the bar. " Wait-Eddie! "

The bouncer at the door refuses to let me in, his strong arms holding back from getting inside.

" Eddie! Please! "

He doesn't look back. He doesn't listen.

I fucked up.

*****

It's been three days since I missed Eddie's band preform. He's completely ignored me at school. I don't eat lunch with the boys anymore, it's too awkward. The one day I tried Eddie didn't bother to show up.

I've spent the last few days thinking about Eddie's confession. How did I miss it?

I'm so fucking stupid.

It was so obvious.

He opened my door. He stood up for me. He went out of his way to make sure I got home safe after work. He always showed up to important events for me. He gave me gifts.

And I couldn't even make it to the most important thing to him.

How could I think he wouldn't like me back?

I'm a shitty person. I'm a shitty friend.

" Hey, Y/N. " Steve's voice pulls me out of my head.

I look up to see the boy sitting across from me with a smile. " Hey. " I smile weakly at him.

This is my other issue. I have to tell Steve I've been lying.

Steve seems to notice something wrong. " Are you okay? "

I shake my head. " Not really but I will be. Eventually. "

" Do you want to talk about it? "

He's so sweet. Why did I fucking lie to him?

" You're going to hate me. " I whisper.

Confusion falls Steve's face. " I couldn't hate you. What are you talking about? "

It's now or never.

" I lied to you, Steve. " I begin. " And in the process, I hurt you and someone I really care about. " I gesture down to my clothes. " This isn't me, Steve. I don't wear shit like this. "

Steve's eyes widen.

Embarrassed to see his reaction, I look away. I know he's going to hate me.

" I don't wear dresses and I don't wear uncomfortable shoes like this. I fucking hate business. And I really couldn't care less about basketball. I'm sorry I just don't understand. What I'm saying is, Steve, I liked you and I tried to become someone else to impress you. But I can't do that. It's not fair to you or me. "

I close my eyes, preparing for Steve to curse me out or call me a freak or something.

He doesn't.

" I know. "

I snap my head towards him. " What? "

Steve sends me a small smile. " I know you were lying. "

" How? "

Steve chuckles. " We were in middle school together. And I saw you around the school before we started talking in class. I know what you dress like. I figured you weren't that into business because every time we go to a club meeting you look like you're about to fall asleep. Also, we don't have goalies in basketball. And I had a hunch that you might've had a crush on me, I just didn't have the heart to tell you I'm dating Nancy. I really like hanging out with you, just only as friends. " He says softly.

I feel heat rush to my cheeks. I knew all along. I drop my head onto the table in front of me, trying to hide myself from the boy. This week keeps getting worse and worse. " I'm so fucking stupid. "

Steve gently pats my arm. " No, you're not. I should've told you about Nancy. We all make mistakes, I'm sure whatever you did to your friend, if you just apologize it'll help. "

I peek over my arms and sigh. " I don't know. I messed up pretty bad. "

Steve leans back in his chair. " Well, we've still got about 40 minutes of lunch left. If you want to talk, I'm all ears. "

" Well, it started the day after I found out we had a class together..." I explain the while situation to Steve who's silent majority of the time. He doesn't make me feel judged, just heard.

At the end he finally speaks.

" That's a lot. "

I groan. " I know. And now I don't known what to do. "

" I think you should apologize and tell him how you feel. What's the worst that could happen because of it? " Steve gently pats my hand.

" You're right. " I sigh. " I should go talk to him. " I push myself up out of my chair. " Thanks Steve. "

Steve sends me a smile. " Of course, anytime. "

Now it's time to fix things with Eddie.

******

Mismatched music pours out of Gareths garage as I come to a stop on my bike.

They're tuning up.

Memories of me hanging out with the guys while they practice fill my mind as I get closer to the building.

My heart pounds. What if Eddie hates me? What if they all do? Gareth and Jeff were a little upset but they got over it pretty quickly. Doug didn't give a fuck. What if that's a lie?

Eddie laughs at something Jeff says before turning around and seeing me. His laughter and smile slowly fade until he's left with a neutral expression. " Hey. " He greets quietly, so quiet it's nearly drowned out by Doug's guitar.

" Hey. " I respond feeling awkward. I glance around to see my friends watching us in confusion.

Normally when we get into fights it's over in a few hours. A day at most. Not this one.

" Can we talk? " I ask.

Eddie studies me for a moment. He looks like he's contemplating something. With a sigh, he sets down his guitar and begins to walk past me. " What's there to talk about, Y/N? "

We make far enough away from the garage to have some privacy.

" I want to apologize. " Will he even accept my apology?

Eddie folds his arms in front of his chest, his expression a mixture of anger and hurt. " You can't just run back to me because things with Steve didn't work out. "

" That's not what I'm doing. " I sigh. " Eddie, you were right. I was trying to change myself for someone else-to be someone else, and that was wrong. I...I liked Steve because I thought I had a better shot at somehow dating him than dating you. " I feel heat rise to my cheeks. I avoid his gaze. " I thought that you didn't like me...that you wouldn't ever like me. I mean, we've known each other for years and you've never made a move-at least none that I had realized at the time. I'm so stupid. And I'm so sorry for missing your show and missing our hang out days. That wasnt right. I made plans with you first and I should've prioritized those first. " I groan, burying my face in my hands. I'm stupid and embarrassed.

" You liked me? "

I nod, my head moving down to my arms. " Since middle school. "

Eddie is silent for a moment. " We're both fucking idiots. " He chuckles, taking me by surprise.

I look up from my arms, confusion on my face.

Eddie looks over at me, a small smile on his face. " I've liked you since middle school too. "

What the fuck.

" Are you kidding me? " I groan in frustration. " All this shit could've been avoided if we just had better observational skills. "

" And communication skills. " Eddie points out.

I nod. " What do we do now? " I ask quietly, scared of what he'll say.

Eddie sighs. " Well, if I'm honest, I'm still a little upset about you missing the show, "

Of course, that's a big thing. I hope I didn't fuck this up forever.

" but...I guess it's okay since we got invited back to play this Friday...And every Friday after that. " A wide smile spreads across Eddie's face.

" Really?! Oh my gosh, Eddie! That's amazing! I'm so excited for you! "

" Thank you, thank you. " Eddie chuckles at my excitement. " I really hope you can make it to my show this Friday though. "

I nod. " Yes. I'll be there, I swear. "

" Good, because I'd really love to introduce the bar owner to my new partner...if you want to be my new partner, that is. " A hint of nervousness is hidden in his voice as he watches my expression.

My heart pounds. Is this really happening?

" I'd love that. " I grin.

A wide smile breaks onto his face. " Let's go tell the boys. " He gently grabs my hand while threading his fingers through mine.

I am definitely going to be there for his show this Friday.

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