#i hope i answered your question to your satisfaction!!

[denkilightning]

Why is Jay a mom to Lloyd and not a dad, he's more paternal imo

oh this is a very very fun question

short answer: jay draws parallels with edna libber and misako in the most actually maternal scenes + exploration of aspects of womanhood from a transmasc perspective, which is a very very nuanced conversation + the effect it has on jay

long answer:

soooo personally im a big freak when it comes to anything female-gender-role related mixed with transmasculinity which is crucial in my interpretation of jay

ive talked previously about jay paralleling their mothers so lets go over it quickly

1. edna - the rollerskates episode in s4 where jay explicitly states that he was in a tournament with edna and they won, which is exactly what he does with lloyd later in the episode

2. misako - in the second to last episode of s2 when lloyds had his ass handed to him by the overlord he mimics misakos actions beat for beat

3. libber - all we actually know about her is her relation to jay and cliff and through a lot of overthinking ive come to believe that she parallels jays relationship with lloyd and nya greatly, especially with leaving jay never to be seen again kinda like jay does in dr

jays relationship with lloyd is set up very differently than the other ninja - hes the one to actually carry him onto the bounty; when lloyd begun his training as the green ninja, he had the recreation/leisure time with jay, meaning the few moments of the day where he could unpack emotions and unwind leaving jay way more in tune with lloyds emotions which we've seen plenty examples of (also paralleling misako);

(here jays the first to notice and ask whats wrong)

the way hes willing to give up both his and everyone elses lives for lloyd

(here hes willing to give up his last wish - the thing hes been tortured for weeks for just to save lloyd)

i cant add any more pictures here but heres the example of it!! jay ripped lloyd away from cole so he wouldnt get corrupted, later he pushed lloyd away to take the hit

and episode prior hes shown having a literal panic attack over lloyd fighting the overlord

and most importantly - ✨ THE LOSS OF PERSONHOOD THAT COMES WITH BEING A MOTHER ✨

that is something i want to explore so so so much and jay seems like a perfect opportunity, along with other mothers of ninjago.

(also why i think its such a fun concept to bring morro back, since theyre so similar and its the team that saved jay from morros path, having your narrative twin hit you with a 'fucking hell youre losing yourself dude' hits so much harder imo)

tldr: i think it parallels the mothers weve seen in ninjago + it fits my own personal experiences+issues i have currently and themes i want to explore!!

and diclaimer: you have every right in the world to have your own interpretation of these characters and their relationships, this is simply the way i read the text and narrative weve been given :))

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

now that the season has wrapped do you have any thoughts on buddie and whether it's happening or not. i do recall you made a post before the season started if all this buddie promotion before the season started wasn't leading to buddie then it would be cruel. for the record i do still very much believe this is all leading to buddie endgame but just curious to hear your thoughts if possible now that the season has ended. Hope you have a lovely day.

Back at the end of season three, I expressed the opinion that season four was going to be the "shit or get off the pot" moment for Buddie. The event horizon, if you will.

Given that we now know they attempted to make Buddie canon at the end of season four with the shooting/using the shooting to go into season five with Buddie becoming canon there, I think I can safely say my prediction/analysis was correct. The studio stopped them, the story line was stalled, and now we're here.

Many people have noted that season seven feels in certain ways like a reboot for Buck and Eddie. Eddie is going through a dark period similar to season five, he's heavily paralleled with Bobby who is going through it as well, and Buck is bi (as Oliver Stark said something they tried to do in season four). So while I would've loved Buddie canon this season, I can see why they wouldn't want to rush things and would want to retread some ground first to properly lay foundations.

However, while I know everyone's chanting "slow burn! slow burn! slow burn!" we already... kinda got everything for a slow burn that we'd want? The only thing we could do is have confessions of feelings to a third party and then mutual pining but really I feel like you could view them as having done that mutual pining and so on already?

I personally feel that season eight is the new event horizon. The shit or get off the pot season. If it doesn't happen by then, then others I'm sure will continue to be hopeful or even certain of Buddie canon, but I personally won't be. There's only so long you can drag something out before even if it does become canon, it's unsatisfying.

To be clear, I don't think Buddie isn't happening. I think ABC wants it, and I think the majority of the cast and crew want it, but it ain't over 'til it's over and so I don't want to say "yes Buddie is FOR SURE happening 100% I have zero doubts." I think it's highly likely that we'll get Buddie canon, I certainly hope we do, I think it's the only thing that makes sense for the characters - I'm just saying that we're quickly approaching once again the point where you have to either make it canon, or we're not going to get it.

So those are my thoughts. Hopefulness tempered with my usual anxiety, and a statement of fact. I hope we'll get Buddie canon, but whether we do or not, season eight is the moment I feel we'll know. I personally probably won't be holding out hope if it doesn't happen next season, but that's just me and my own analysis! Do not let me stop you from your own hopes and dreams!

[lady-harrowhark]

Hey! I was reading “putting your fist through a thick sheet of glass (i know you don't want to)” again. I really love it. I was just sort of wondering how our AU Gideon and Harrow are doing?

Oh gosh, I'm so happy to hear you've enjoyed it, and grateful you've taken the time to let me know 💛 Hearing that it's a fic that people have gone back to actually makes me really emotional 🥹 Last week actually marks exactly one year from when I first started drafting - I wrote the scene where Harrow drives Gideon to OT and they bicker about "none pizza" in the car in my notes app on a flight. A whole year! Absolutely bonkers to think about.

That's an excellent question you've got there. I think someday you might get an answer to that [whistling innocently].

Joke's aside, I do have a follow-up piece that I've been casually tinkering with for a while. It's still in the very very early stages, so I genuinely could not begin to guess at a timeline. By "very very early stages" I mean like, I have an outline made and half of two different scenes written, maybe 1k total? I do have a playlist, a moodboard for one of the plotlines, and a very sparse inspo tag though, and as we all know, those are the things that really matter, right?

Not to be a tease (again, I have no ETA whatsoever for this) but I will drop a little screenshot tidbit from the conversation I had with @theriverbeyond (who was also my enormously supportive beta reader for ikydwt) when I first blurted out the general idea:

The phrase "bubblegum pop angst" was also uttered during that conversation, for what it's worth 😏

[pincushionx]

U mentioned emo music for hunter art inspiration? I would very much like to hear ur ideas on that

Do you mean music as inspiration for art or what songs I listen to? I’ll answer both.

Songs that are more intense or darker subjects result in more “edgy” drawings while more happy songs that are more positive result in my more cute or wholesome art. It also depends on tone, that matters . The boiling rain drawing I was listening to stuff like set it off or get scared which are the typical early mid internet edgy songs like ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ or ‘sarcasm’ which resulted in a drawing I would’ve seen in deviantart or in a edgy 10 year old YouTube animation lowkey. That drawing made me laugh since it seemed over the top.

But it works when working in a Au with an angsty teen.

Though I don’t really associate Hunter with those songs because he’s not like that but that doesn’t really matter because when you have an obsession, you manage to put your blorbo through every song you listen to. It’s kinda funny.

Songs really do matter when drawing I think because it greatly affects what I’m going for. When listening to the emo bangers, my art style came out a bit anime-ish, while in a WIP I’m working on, the song Skeleton appreciation is the inspo so it’s going to a more depressing piece. Despite these both being more dark songs the tones are different which result in a different drawings, I often put songs on loop on certain drawings since a lot of my ideas stem from the media I consume, like music. I also imagine animatics which I may make in the future.

I have my own songs I associate different things with. For the late redemption Au it’s bands like Set it off, Get scared, Evanesence, MCR, ect. Not necessarily because I think the songs match him but because the frequent angry and hateful tones of the songs do. Like the lyrics aren’t exact but the rage is still the same if that makes sense.

Here some more songs of the songs i remember listening to during some of Late redemptions drawings. Everybody’s fool, going under by Evanescence. Evil people, Wolf in sheep’s clothing, Punching bag by set it off. Sarcasm, Don’t you dare forget the sun, keep myself alive by Get scared. Dead, house of wolves, Kill all your friends by MCR and others more. I might make a list of songs in the future.

Anywho, media affects the kinda of stuff you produce, my recent streak of consuming Horror and dark comedy movies has recently produced my new Au that’s just Hunter consuming flesh because of grimwalker biology. So yeah.

I definitely encourage people to consume media in all sorts of forms, books, movies, shows, music, ect. Not because it’s good to have a range of things but because it gives you more idea of what to put your faves through. My wise words

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

Questions about the blog and you yourself, if not too invasive;

Do you have preferences on pronouns you use?

Is there a particular nickname/name we are able to refer to you as?

Do you have other blogs you’re comfortable with sharing (art, main or alternative stories)?

Would you accept gift fics about your fic?

Do you accept fanart based around your fic?

Hope these aren’t too nosy!!

Oh, you want to know stuff about me?

That's fine. I'll answer the other questions first and the more personal ones under the cut!

Do you have other blogs you’re comfortable with sharing (art, main or alternative stories)?

I would rather not have my main tumblr connected/associated with this blog for multiple reasons. Only one person knows my main (by accident orz), and I would like it if it stayed that way. (And my main tumblr is void of stories btw! It's very uninteresting.)

I have many other side blogs, most of which are now unused or were, well, never used at all. One of them is @thestarsofthenight which was (is) the blog to my now-shelved fanfic The Stars of the Night. (S4 is giving me hard nostalgia for it, and I still love the detective agency idea... sigh. Like I see that part from the opening:

And my additional Weston houses for that fic haunt me, as I had a White (though called Grey because of the US presidential residence) and Black House orz. Anyway.)

I mostly use my main and this blog here. I'm very bad at keeping accounts for anything running.

(I did make an art side blog, actually, which I never ended up using. XD I also have, apparently, three art tags on this blog??? wtf. Anyway: Comics/Art/Drawings)

Would you accept gift fics about your fic?

I'm not sure what you mean by "gift fics"?

Do you accept fanart based around your fic?

Accept.... fanart..... Omg, YES, I would accept fanart, very happily and gratefully.

I got exactly one piece of fanart (to an old Psycho-Pass fic) in my life and I still get teary thinking about it. (Though someone also made Sims of my WotQ characters and did cosplay! <3 Looking that up to link them here, sniff.)

Is there a particular nickname/name we are able to refer to you as?

I only mentioned that maybe once or twice on this blog, but my name is Momoko! Or just Momo. (I am, however, not Japanese, though Asian. I was born there, and my parents considered naming me Momoko, but it ended up "only" as a nickname :) My actual name is closer to my Landsmanns XD)

Do you have preferences on pronouns you use?

What a nice question to ask! It's just she/her.

[k-hotchoisan]

missing piece

<seonghwa x fem!Reader>

Building legos is important business and Seonghwa knows that very well when he realises he’s missing a piece.

So who would’ve thought two people attempting to search for one Lego piece would lead to other things?

genres/warnings: smut, pwp, softdom!seonghwa, missing Lego piece (don’t worry it’ll get found later), dirty talk, it’s legit teeth rotting fluff and smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, established relationship, mild choking, clit stimulation

a/n: another fic exchange with @bro-atz 😎👊🏻 it’s a competition of who can kill each other faster and we both LOSING. love u bro <3 and also finally serving you all the softdom! Seonghwa you all deserve 😛 enjoy my loves 🩷

read bro’s one here 💘

wc: 1.9K

‘A couple activity idea’—apparently the amount of countless generic couple websites would list this idea. 

Yeah, this would qualify for a couple activity idea casually, not when it seemed like a big business deal when it came to Park Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa had the ambiance set, his station ready—the Animal Crossing Soundtrack Playlist with Rain playing through the speakers, his desk clean and white—only stacked with the Animal Crossing Lego sets prepared to to be unboxed, in his favourite oversized shirt, and not forgetting you, who he dragged into his room to watch him build his little building block empire—comfortably seated across him on his bed. 

You didn’t mind watching your partner build the latest Animal Crossing Lego set he just easily blew a couple of hundred on hours before. You watched his inner child take form when he made you sit down with him to watch him unbox the first set he was gonna build, his eyes large and twinkling, just like his Animal Crossing character in-game.

Seonghwa hums softly, and it’s definitely his favourite soundtrack from the game. From time to time, Seonghwa would make the little critter noises his animal villagers would make while he fixes the animal villagers and you can’t help but giggle whenever he does the impressions. He’s finished a cherry tree, making sure he flailed his wrists to get your attention. Your lips pull to a smile when your eyes land on the pretty cherry tree he built, reflecting his satisfaction with his plump lips too. 

Then he’s back to his workstation, and you’re absorbed back into playing your switch. 

“This set is pretty easy”, you hear him comment. 

“Is it?” You reply, your attention focused on trying to slay the beast. 

“Yeah. I think I could finish this in another half an hour.” He sounds confident. 

“Good luck with that sweetheart”, you respond, your eyes trailing back to your game. 

Then midway through, Seonghwa demands your attention again, and this time you watch the way his eyes light up the whole damn room when he shows you the way the little Lego letter fits into its little Lego mailbox. Not gonna lie, it was a very adorable detail. He yaps about it for a good seven minutes before he sinks back into his building block world. 

“Now here’s the million dollar question—pink or brown for the door?” He asks, loosely fitting both coloured doors after one another 

“Pink, obviously”, you pick. Seonghwa seems satisfied with your answer, and you swear you see the little musical notes float out of him when he fixes the door onto the house. 

A couple more minutes later, you glance over at the messy pieces of Lego strewn all over Seonghwa’s table, below his half-completed Animal Crossing cottage. 

He has his cheeks puffed out, and his eyebrows knitted together while he’s carefully scanning over the table. 

“Are you missing a piece?” You ask, setting your console on the bed. 

“Yeah, I think I am”, Seonghwa mutters, his index finger pointing over each piece on the table, in hopes of finding it. 

You take the instruction booklet from his hands, skimming through the pictures before you settle it down onto the desk, your eyes laser-focused onto the mess too. 

“Do you wanna come over to my side instead? Maybe you can spot it better from this view”, you suggest, which Seonghwa takes, so he shuffles over to the bed, and moves to sit right where you are—and now you’re on his lap, with his chest pressing right against your back as he towers over you, arms hugging you from behind. He continues to search for the missing Lego piece. 

You take part in the search too, the game completely forgotten by then. You realise it’s nice just having Seonghwa sitting close to you like this. Maybe this was what they meant by building Lego as “a couple activity”.

“Did you drop it or something?” You ask, shifting slightly to have a better view of the floor. You hear Seonghwa grunt behind you, but you pay no attention, focusing on finding the piece. 

Seonghwa swears he’s focused on looking for the missing piece too—he really wants to complete the set, but at the same time, he’s watching and feeling you move against him on top of the way he’s able to wrap his arms around you easily, smelling his scent on you—it’s not helping his case. He bites his bottom lip, trying to manage himself. 

Obviously, it does nothing, considering he’s having you in such close proximity, and every movement you’re brushing against him is starting to make him grow sensitive. 

His hand snakes down to your thighs, drawing circles, his other hand sifting through the endless pieces of Lego. 

He forces himself to concentrate, and it works for a split second, that is, until you absentmindedly shift his free arm on under your loose shirt, and he snaps. 

“If this is your way of breaking my concentration, you’re doing a good job”, you hear his deep voice ringing in your ears. He’s letting his hands roam all over your body hidden underneath your shirt, his fingers grazing against your nipples teasingly, and it draws gasps out of you. 

“Focus on finding the block, Park Seonghwa”, you tease, readjusting yourself, making sure you press against his growing erection underneath his loose shorts. 

It’s Seonghwa’s turn to draw a shaky breath every time your clothed ass comes into contact with his erection.

You pretend to ignore him, but you can’t ignore the way he’s massaging your tits, and you find yourself sighing and growing hotter through each passing moment. 

You think he’s finally giving you a break, but you’re proven wrong when his hands are sliding down the waistband of your shorts. 

“You’re not finding the block, Angel”, Seonghwa points out, and you pout at his words. Your hand slips under the large opening of his shorts and fuck—his erection is only growing thicker. 

You hear him groan behind you when you let your hands wander to stroke his cock through his underwear. So he retaliates with his finger sliding past your panties, cursing when he realises your pussy is growing wetter by the second.  

“We’re supposed to be looking for the Lego piece, Hwa”, you mutter, mind growing hazy as his fingers get drenched from your slick, circling your clit gently. 

“Mmhm. We are, baby. You’re just not focusing”, Seonghwa replies, his index and middle finger spreading your folds open letting his index finger find your clit more easily, and it’s driving you fucking crazy. 

Your legs push open automatically, your hands pausing stroking him off, well, not that Seonghwa minded. 

“That feels so good”, you sigh. Seonghwa’s other hand cups your jaw, and you turn to face him, feeling the way his hands slide down your throat while Seonghwa has your lips on his, eating up your whines and moans before letting you catch your breath.

“So fuckin wet for me, Angel. You like it that much?” He teases. 

“Mmhm, your fingers feel so good Hwa”, you nod, your grip around his arm tightening as the pleasure builds in your stomach every time his finger strokes against your clit. At this point, you can’t even pretend.  

His lips are pressed against your ear, his voice deep yet you sense traces of whining in his tone when he says, “Sit on my dick. I need you on my fucking dick now, Angel.” 

Of course, you comply, despite your legs trembling slightly, letting Seonghwa slip out of his bottoms. His arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him, his lips making a whole garden of bites down your neck before he has both his hands lift your hips. 

Seonghwa lines himself against your fluttering cunt and he pushes himself into your pussy hole, his moans of relief sending you into a spiral on top of his cock sinking into you. 

Fuck, he’s filling you up so fucking good. 

“Fuck. That’s it, babe. You’re so fucking good”, he groans when you squeeze against him. 

“Hwa, oh my fucking god, you’re so full in me”, you sob, trying to adjust to his length. 

“Do you think we can find the piece better like this?” He jokes while peppering kisses down your neck to distract himself so he doesn’t fucking just burst in you just yet. 

Even in your pleasured haze, you still manage to laugh while you try to keep your eyes open. 

“I think we can”, you reply with a giggle, before squealing when you feel him twitch in you. You shift forward slightly, feeling his cock shift in you, dragging along your walls, a small whine escaping past your lips. 

With the last of your sanity remaining, you glance over the desk one more time, biting your lip to stay grounded, obviously to no avail, especially not with Seonghwa and his little movement behind you. 

“I really think it’s-fuck-not here”, Seonghwa mutters behind you, forcing himself not to thrust into you, his fingers slithering down to your wet clit once more. 

“I’m pretty sure it d-dropped. We haven’t checked the floor yet-ngh-right?” you manage to ask.

“Mmmm nope”, Seonghwa responds, mesmerised at the way your slick growing thicker on your clit and on his cock as he continues to rub your clit. “I guess we can do that later ‘cause I really need to fuck your pussy right now, Angel.” 

He doesn’t give you much time to answer because you’re a complete goner when Seonghwa is making you bounce off his cock while he gets you off with his fingers. 

You’re trembling from the sheer pleasure, your vision slowly growing hazy, the knot tightening in your abdomen more quickly than you thought. 

“H-Hwa! Gonna cum-Oh fuckkkk”, you draw out, white clouding your vision. Your cunt flutters around his cock, dopamine shooting up your body while you completely let go on his cock as Seonghwa fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. “That’s it. Be a good girl and cum on my dick like that, Angel”, Seonghwa groans into your ear, his gaze traveling down at the way your thick cream streaks down his cock when he pulls out. He shuts his eyes, sighing into the nape of your neck while he listens to the way your cunt is just so loud and wet for him while he fucks your cream out of you, thrusting his hips upwards. 

“God, your pussy feels so fucking perfect. Fuck. I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good baby”, he pants before his hips thrust and press against yours, filling you up with his warm and thick cum accompanied by his low groans. 

You feel Seonghwa’s hands run down your body, soothing you after emptying his fucking load into you before he slowly pulls out of your cum-filled pussy. 

“I’ll get you a towel, Angel”, Seonghwa tells you, pressing his lips on your temple before leaving the bed. 

He retrieves a spare towel from the bathroom and cleans you up, before releasing you to wash up in the bathroom. 

When you renter his room, Seonghwa is switching gazes between his half-completed set and the instruction manual. 

He looks up at you with a grin that’s making you feel uneasy. 

“Babe, turns out I wasn’t missing a piece—I already had it in all along!”

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @woojirang @jjoongstar @yuyusgirl

[chelseeebe]

yours, forever

18+ mdni. smut. mean!exhusband!eddie;) breeding kink if you squint a lil

a/n: i was not expecting to post again so soon but this genuinely couldn’t wait lol. i have another parts to this little piece so lmk if you’d like to see it. someone posted a really really good exhusband!eddie fic like a month ago and ive lost it, but they inspired this entire thing!

^it was this post by @madelynraemunson !!!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

eddie wasn’t expecting to find you standing on the other side of the door, nor had he expected you to barge right past him and into his kitchen. 

you seemed to show up with zero rhyme or reason, typically wanting something from him. 

that was fine, appreciated even. 

he just wasn’t a fan of you waltzing into his home with the sole purpose of talking about your pig of a husband. 

“david wanted me to ask you if he could take the kids up to washington to see his parents,” you stand awkwardly at the kitchen island, his apartment a shell of the house you once owned together. 

eddie pauses, launching the dish towel onto the counter and laughs, deep and gravely as he swings back around, “no.” 

“why not?” you huff, blinking expectantly at your petulant ex. he’d always been a sucker for your eyes, divorce couldn’t changed that. 

“because i said so,” leaning against the marbled counter, “he asked you to ask me and i said no, that’s it. done.” 

“you’re being stubborn,” crossing your arms over your chest, scolding in the way you talk to him. 

“i don’t care.”

“eddie,” stepping forward. 

“sweetheart,” his tone disapproving as he also steps up, closing the gap between you, “no,” enunciating the word in hopes that you’d actually understand now. 

“don’t be an asshole,” you frown, a couple years ago you’d pout and get your own way but now eddie found great satisfaction in telling you no.  

“i’m not being an asshole, you asked me a question and i answered, dave can go to washington, but you and my kids can’t,” his lip twitching into a dastardly smirk. any minute now you’d crack, really let loose on his ass. 

“oh, so now i can’t go? who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” poking your sharp finger into his chest, a fury behind your eye that almost instantly made him hard. 

“the father of our kids? or have you forgotten about that?” 

“unfortunately not,” rolling your eyes, nonetheless you make no effort to leave, your bag already on the counter, signifying that what he assumed would happen next was definitely going to happen next. 

“you don’t mean that,” sidling closer, trapping your body between the counter and his chest, “because if you did, you wouldn’t let me keep fucking the shit outta you.”

eddie’s rock solid now, this was foreplay for him, getting high off of the way you argued with him, degrading him right to his face. 

“shut up,” rolling your eyes to the back of your head, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt, “you’re so pathetic,” glancing down at his boner now pressing against your cunt. 

“mmhmm,” he wouldn’t fight it, in fact, he’s proud of it, “only for you though,” finding your hips, palming at the doughy flesh. 

your lips twitch and he knows he’s won this fight, planting your lips to his, a firm hand on his chest just to remind him who was really in charge. 

sighing into your mouth as you move against him, his hands running beneath the seam of your skirt, feeling his way up the backs of your thighs to settle on your ass. 

“eds,” you hum, pulling away from his lips, “i’ve gotta go pick the boys up,” making zero effort to stop the inevitable, your chest flush against his.

“well better make it quick this time then,” he growls, walking your body into the countertop, manhandling your body to face you against the hard counter, pressing up against the swell of your ass. his belt clinks as his jeans fall down around his thighs, boxers following behind. 

“this is.. i have to go,” you gasp, rolling your head back to allow his lips room to find your neck, nuzzling right into his favourite spot just tucked underneath your jaw. 

“then why don’t you leave?” his gruff voice vibrates against your chin as his hands slide underneath your shirt, spilling your tits from your bra to get a full handed grope of them. 

your hand rests atop of his, the other gripping to the countertop for dear life. 

you’re not going to leave, that much is obvious. eddie’s also fairly certain that you’ve got at least an hour before you have to go. he’s not stupid, you play the game just as much as he does, pretending to leave just to pounce on him straight after. 

“that’s what i thought,” sarcastic as ever, threatening to score violet splotches behind on your neck, though his lips detach before he’s able to. 

eddie lets his thoughts slip back to the reason you’re even here, letting himself get frustrated by your blind audacity all over again. 

“you must be fucking stupid coming in here, asking me shit like that,” his large, calloused hand pawing at your tits, the other yanking your panties down to hang around your thighs. 

“no i’m not,” arguing back though you’re completely docile, allowing him to bend your torso over the marbled countertop, his hands groping your plush skin. “he’s my..” sigh, “husband now and you need to- fu-uck respect that,” fingers curling around his arm, pinching at the skin when he slides inside with no warning. 

“what was that?” eddie mocks, slamming into your cunt with little remorse, full of years of pent up frustration and a tiny dose of regret. 

once upon a time, this was his everyday. having you absolutely anywhere he wanted, and now it was solely reserved for times you really needed him to agree to something. or perhaps david had done something stupid, as he often did. sending you running back to eddie like a feeble little deer. 

“shut up,” sighing in time with his rough strokes, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoes through his barren kitchen, filthy sounds of sex wailed through his apartment far more often than they should. 

before you’d met david, he’d see you once a week while dropping the kids off, maybe he’d get to taste you a couple times a month, if he was lucky. it was only after you remarried that you’d come around unannounced, asking about something that most definitely could’ve been a call. 

eddie doesn’t care, you’re the only woman for him anyway, a couple divorce papers couldn’t change that. 

“you fuckin’ love it,” he growls, grabbing a fistful of your hair and fiercely tugging your head back, “y’gotta drive all the way over here just to cum, ain’t that sad?” speaking low right into your ear, his arms keeping a strong hold of your torso as your knees grow weak. 

“you don’t.. you’re- fuck you,” knuckles glowing white with your grip on the counter, other hand desperately nuzzling between your thighs, circling your neglected clit. 

“have to speak up honey, i can’t hear you,” the tip of his cock nudges against your soft spot, eliciting a strangled mewl from your pretty wetted lips. 

“i can make myself cum,” you speak proudly through gritted teeth, voice bouncing around with every slam of his hips, “i don’t need you,” rubbing your clit harsher, as if to prove a point. 

“oh yeah? show me baby.. let me see you cum,” slowing his strokes but keeping his cock firmly enveloped inside, jaw clenching with every squeeze and quiver of your cunt. 

eddie palms your tit, getting as much satisfaction from this as you were. your whimpers alone could make him cum, hell, just a look and he was rock solid in his jeans. 

“oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” gasping into the air, leant back against his shoulder, head turning to hide in the nook of his neck as you teeter over, waves of pleasure shocking your body. 

“shit,” he grunts underneath his breath, feeling you writhe around in his arms, “that was good sweetheart, my turn,” resuming his assault on your cunt, breath stuttering as his hips begin to rock again. 

his hand replaces yours, slipping between your thighs to find your clit, thrusts becoming sloppy and weak as the blood rushes to his head, sending his stomach into a series of somersaults. 

even in your separation, your pleasure came first. an important pocket of information wayne had awkwardly handed him when his voice started cracking and girls no longer had cooties. 

you’re putty in his arms, fully relying on the countertop to keep you upright, thighs quivering with the intensity of your orgasm and the anticipation of the quickly approaching next one. 

“oh.. my.. god,” whining with every thrust, your voice thick with lustrous air, too fucked out to stand or even think straight. 

“i’m gonna, sh-shit cum sweetheart,” pounding recklessly into your trembling pussy, dripping in a mixture of your juices. 

you clench around him, tipping over the edge once more, barely able to hold yourself upright with shaking knees and a harsh grip of his arm. 

eddie isn’t, nor had he ever been one for pulling out, he liked running that risk, the thrill of maybe knocking you up again. 

three kids don’t happen without at least one accident, that’s for sure. 

he doesn’t now, pumping the thick ropes of his release into your cunt, groaning belligerently as he does so. praying to god this was the time it stuck, pregnant with his child once again. 

you fall flat against the counter, heaving for breath with the last of his pathetic strokes, growling into the stuff air. 

he slaps a harsh palm to your ass for good measure, trailing his hand down your trembling thighs, “so you run along home now and tell him exactly what i told you,” fingering the lace of your panties as he hikes them back over your thighs.

“no.”

[evnseokz]

hii, hope you're doing well!

i'm thinking... bf!jungwon asks to record the sounds while doing sex and his gf decides to surprise him by asking him to cum inside

my first ever ask!! thank you so much for sending 🫶 hopefully i did this suggestion justice ^_^

pairing: bf! jungwon x f. reader

contents: p in v, unprotected sex (do nawt be like them), recording of moans/sex, pet names: baby, babe, kissing, nipple play

w.c. 640

his cock was nestled deep inside you, stretching you out so well. his thrusts were slow and deep, his tip kissing your cervix. your hands gripping his biceps as hard as you could, moans spilling from your lips.

jungwon was obsessed with the way you sounded, your moans being like music to his ears. an idea popped into his head. “baby, can i record your moans please?” he asked suddenly. your eyes which were closed previously, shot open, blush creeping onto your cheeks. “w-what?” you ask, slightly embarrassed at the question. “it’ll be for my ears only babe i swear, just for when i’m away and need to hear you.” he replied sensing hesitancy in your voice. you chewed on your lip as you racked your brain for an answer. finally you nod, jungwon not wasting another second to lean over to grab his phone off the nightstand and hit record. he set the phone down next to your body and focused his attention back to you and only you.

he continued his thrusts into you, light whimpers still falling from your lips, but now hyper aware of the phone recording you, you seemed to be holding back. “c’mon baby let me hear you” jungwon pouted. jungwon picked up his pace without warning, thrusting into you with speed, thus causing loud moans to fall from your mouth. jungwon smiled in satisfaction as he brought his hand down to your heat, and started rubbing circles on your clit. you cry out, the combination of him filling you up so well with his cock and the attention to your clit being all too much. jungwon smirked to himself, feeling you clench around his cock, he groaned slightly.

he can tell you’re close, his thrusts never slow and he leans down to capture you in a kiss. “feels s’good won” you mumble against his lips, he breaks away, and peppers kisses down your neck and to your chest. he brings his mouth down to your nipples, swirling and sucking on the sensitive nubs. the extra sensation sending waves of pleasure through your body, your orgasm ripping through you as jungwon continues to thrust in and out of you, seemingly chasing his own high. “w-where do you want me? i’m c-close” he stutters slightly. you contemplate in your head for a moment. “baby hurry and answer i can’t last much longer” he whines.

you wrap your legs around his waist trapping him in place as he continues to thrust inside you. you can tell he’s holding himself back from cumming, and you giggle slightly at his frustration. “baby it’s not f-funny” his head hangs as his balls begin to tighten. “i’m serious where do you want me” he says again. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to be face to face with you, “inside” you say simply. you bite your lip, starting to feel overstimulated from his thrusts. shock is written all over jungwons face, “a-are you su-“ “yes.” you cut him off before he can even finish his question. you smash your lips into his, clenching around him slightly as you feel a second orgasm bubbling up in your stomach. he moans loudly, his hips stuttering and his thrusts becoming sloppy, emptying his seed into your cunt. your second orgasm follows shortly after, milking him for everything he has.

he reaches to his phone, pressing end recording and then he collapses on top of you, you shrieking slightly at the sudden weight on your body. “wonnn you’re heavy” you whine. he slowly lifts himself up, looking you in your face, “sorry baby, you were just too good” he smiled before dropping down to pepper your face with kisses. you giggle, managing to capture his lips into yours for a quick kiss. he pulls away, “i love you so much” he says, “i love you so much my wonie.”

[wild-jackalope]

Satoru Gojo, your scarily perceptive teacher, takes it upon himself to help his horny student, you, with your over-abundance of cursed energy.

paring :: Teacher!Satoru x Student!Reader, Student!Megumi x Student!Reader (undertones).

warning :: age gap, teacher-student relationship, public sex, virgin reader, corruption kink (kinda), straight penetration, no foreplay, cherry popping, Gojo is cocky, reader is horny af.

note :: reader is 18 and a third year with the other students (Yuji, Megumi, Nobara).

“That much cursed energy isn’t good for you.” Megumi eyed you, a weary frown resting on his face.

“I’m fine.” You grunted. The vast aura of cursed energy angrily whipping around you only seemed to surge more when he continued his lecture.

“You’ll get sick.” He added, a noticeable warning in his tone.

“I’m fine.” You sharply returned.

You had not been fine, in fact, you were tensed beyond belief. Being a Jujustu sorcerer was hard, anyone with a brain could tell you that, but the past weeks had taxed you physically and emotionally to an extent you had never experienced. Mission after mission had lead you to lacking personal and intimate time. Each night you'd black out the moment your head hit your pillow, sometimes still in your sweaty uniform.

Each morning you'd wake up with a noticeable wet spot between your legs, but before you could set your barking pussy to rest, you'd be called up and sent on another mission. The only way you could release the building tension was by taking it out on curse spirits, leading to relatively swift victories. The higher ups seemed to consider your constant wins as a challenge because they continued to throw cursed spirits your way.

This had been going on for a whole month, and now it came to the point in your womanly cycle where you yearned to be fucked the most; Ovulation.

"What's up with you?" Yuji questioned.

"Frustrated?" Nobara grinned. You'd made the mistake of venting to her about your situation during a paired mission. Your body tightened with searing regret.

"Don't pester her. You'll make it worse." Megumi cut, keeping his narrow eyes targeted at your surrounding classmates.

Maybe if Megumi liked you enough to defend you, you could test the waters and see if you could get him under the sheets. Idiot. You palmed your forehead, attempting to smack away the thoughts. Megumi was your friend. You'd just embarrass yourself.

"Woah, look at that aura." Satoru had finally slipped into the classroom, about twenty minutes late to the class. Twenty minutes you could've spent getting yourself off. Stop thinking about it. "Someone's seeming a little moody." He jested, lifting the side of his blindfold to eye your irritated cursed energy.

You huffed a depressing sigh, Satoru's harassing would just frustrated you more, especially considering he was so hot. God you would do anything to be dicked down. Especially by him.

The majority of the class time was spent with your head resting in your folded arms. Each low syllable pronounced by your teacher would make you fantasies about what his moans would sound like and whenever you felt his eyes gaze over you, a tingling shiver meddled with your legs. You were too far gone. Even if you had time to masturbate, would it be enough?

Even after the class had finished, you delayed leaving your chair, hoping to grind your thighs together just a little longer to the thoughts of your teacher.

"Coming?" Megumi asked. You wished.

"She should stay back." Satoru stated, casual smile on his face.

You lifted your head, blinking.

"Bye." Megumi waved, you returned the gesture.

"So you going to tell me the deal with all your cursed energy, or should I just take an educated guess?" His hand landed on the base of your desk, slender pointer finger tapping it.

Unintentionally, your voice left you in the form of a meek whimper. "I'll deal with it, you don't have to worry."

"Educated guess then," He shrugged, finding no satisfaction in your answer. "I know you've been shoved a heavy work load, being asked to defeat cursed spirits every day for.. how many weeks now? Four?" You nodded. "Rough. I dealt with a similar thing back in my youth, the strongest is always busy. Never any time to be alone."

You swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth. "Uhm, yeah."

"So that's it then? You're just a bit pent up." You flushed at his casual discovery.

"I-I said I'll deal with it. We don't need to be talking—"

"Want me to help?"

That’s what landed you on Satoru’s desk, papers scattered over the floor, with your bottoms hanging off your leg and his pants resting just above his hips. You’d moved from your desk to his with a frazzled fanaticism, not caring to question Satoru’s sexual intentions as he lead you, merely chasing the end of your drowning lust. In that moment, your teacher seemed like the solution to all your problems, so you let in.

His thumb dipped beneath his boxers, leisurely pulling them down to expose the lines of his hips and the beginning of his shaft.

He’d pulled your bottoms off with an intense haste, unfairly compared to how slowly he teased you with the sight of his dick. He watched your wide, glossy eyes gape like a virgin at him.

“Wet dream come true?” He asked, chuckling behind his words.

Your response was a breathy hiccup, filled with astonishment and embarrassment. Did he know you had the hots for him? Well, he must’ve had some clue, because you were currently naked from the waist down on his desk.

“Cute.” He added, finally allowing his cock to spring free and give you the sight you longed for. Your fingers began to ache with how hard you gripped the table, skin blanching and nails digging into the wood with stressed intensity.

The size of him was larger than what you’d imagined, thicker too. His pale skin, littered with blue-ish veins, perfectly blended into a lip-pink tip, already damp with his own pre. The reality that his was the first dick you’d seen in person, and were about to feel inside the chasm of your pussy made your stomach pile with anxious butterflies.

The sudden heat of the moment dampened in your mind, as your virgin inexperience hit you like whiplash. You pressed your lips inwards, biting them. You couldn’t tell him, not now, not while he was slipping between your legs and his hands were rising underneath your uniform.

“So tense.” He murmured, towering posture leaning into your figure as his fingers skimmed the lining of your ribs, then reached the fabric of your bra. “Relax babe, no one’s gonna disturb this.” He kissed your clothed shoulder, then your neck. The softness made you burn and melt into him.

“Gojo—” Your tone was weary, and Satoru cut you off before you could utter any confused regret.

“I’m your teacher, I know what’s best for you. I’ll take care of your problem, yeah? You just sit there and enjoy it.” His lips latched onto yours, sucking away any words you were thinking of speaking from your lips.

One hand returned to his base, taking his cock whilst the other held your body, his thumb rolling over your supported boob in a needy motion.

His cock dipped between your folds, gathering the pooling slick that dripped from your cunt. The connection made you jolt and grab the arm he used to grope you.

“Forgot how quickly younger girls get wet.” He muttered aloud. Your face must’ve churned at the words, because he immediately backtracked. “I don’t go searching to fuck young women, I’ve just had plenty of experience over the years.”

Your face eased, but still you squinted in distrust. He laughed.

“I mean, c’mon, you’re gushing just at the sight of me.” Embarrassed, you averted your eyes and uttered a unintelligible disagreement. Satoru took your flushed face into his hand and brought your attention back to his grin. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, you’re the youngest I’ve had.” Unable to move yourself from his grip, Satoru leaned down and planted a wet kiss to your lips.

He licked over your bottom lip, retreating when you moaned in his mouth. He’d become impatient, needing to feel your wet warmth hugging his dick. He thrusted his cock into your clit, once, twice before planting his tip in the crook of your weeping hole.

“Fuck, Megumi is gonna hate me.” He drawled, a contradictory excitement lacing his tone.

You hadn’t time to question his statement as his cock dived between your folds, slipping into your chasm and stretching the thin skin of your cherry.

“Ah! Fuck.” You huffed, the stretching ache rumbling through your abdomen causing your legs to restrict around him. Your hands shot to his chest, weakly and frantically grabbing at the loose fabric of his uniform. “Gojo—”

“Oh, I know, baby. I know.” A certain weak pity jesting his words. “Fuck, you’re tight. Don’t tell me, am I your first?” His smirk grew at the concept, as did his cock.

You hadn’t given him an answer, only spurs of moaning huffs as you concentrated on dealing with ache of being split open by his lean dick. He retracted his hips sharply, you gasped and hit his chest.

“Tell me, c’mon. Am I your first? Am I?” He sunk in again, then retracted with an agonising speed.

“Gah! Yes, yes— fuck, you are.” You huffed, hitting his abdomen again.

“Fuuuck. Lucky me.” Satoru slowed his hips, returning to sliding inside you with an uninterrupted slowness. “I’ve been so selfish, jus’ wanting to fuck you right away, next time it’ll be all about you. Promise.”

“N-Next time?” You heaved, clawing at his chest.

With a deep drawl, he responded. “You ain’t the only one who has needs, baby.” You could feel the words puff into your neck.

The realisation hit you. Satoru was just as pent up as you were, having no time to hookup or masturbate. His situation was just as bad as yours, likelier worse. As much as he might’ve wanted to seem like a teacher just helping his student get off to alleviate their cursed energy, he craved sex twice as much as you did.

He continued to sink in, sliding against the pleasurable nerves decorating your gummy walls. You whined and Satoru hushed you, halting once his hips pressed into yours. “There you go, perfect fit.” He praised.

“God.” You choked, gasping at the air. You felt him, felt his hot cock press into the parts of you nobody else had, parts your own fingers had barely reached.

“I know. Big, huh? You can take it, I know you can.” His slender hand cupping your breast squeezed in feeble reassurance.

Your teeth clenched and your chest fell with fast puffs. “Perv.” You breathed.

His cock twitched, tapping the roof of your sticky canal. “So rude. Don’t you know you need to respect your elders?” He drew his hips out and you winced.

“Just wait, hmpf, God—” You ripped at his shirt. He’d been pushing you this entire time, eager to fuck you silly.

Satoru brought his hands to his mouth and licked his finger, pressing it to your clit and rubbing the saliva into the nub. The pleasure it brought you fought against the aching and you rested your head against his chest, allowing the sweet feeling to soften your body.

“Good girl. Loosen up for me.” He murmured kindly. The words alone added another wet layer of slick around his cock.

His thrusts started off slow and long, pulling his cock so out that your entrance ring danced around his tip, then sweetly sliding back in until your pubes met. Each time he’d penetrate your deepest part, tip dangerously close to tapping your cervix, you’d whine and moan, making him chant mindless remixes of the phrase ‘I know baby, just take it. It’s okay.’

Even at his slowest pace, your mind went hazy with the intensity of sex. Hot, wet, wrong sex. Each time you revisited the reality of your own teacher fucking you, it made your pussy clench around him.

He grunted, taking a calming breath. “‘M gonna pick up the pace, okay?” He was hardly asking for permission, practically tripling his speed before he finished his warning.

You moaned into his chest, hands dragging around his body, wanting to feel him and begging to hold onto something. Satoru placed them on his shoulder, squeezing your wrists in an attempt at comfort, though you could hardly feel anything other than the overwhelming sensation of your gooey insides being massaged.

The curves of his cock flittering past your cloying walls began to feel impossibly familiar, like you were born to be filled with Satoru’s cock. Each drawl made his cock head slide against the spongy part of your g-spot, building you up and up into ecstasy.

The buildup from inside your chasm was intense and ticklish, otherworldly compared to the orgasms you’d rub out alone in bed. You only wished Satoru had perused you sooner.

“I’m gonna cum— oh fuck.”

“I know, baby. I know. Keep taking it.” His nose dipped into your hair, rubbing your side like a cat.

Your climax hit hard and fast, turning your legs to jelly and releasing muscles you hadn’t known were clenched. Your pussy walls cramped and fluttered around Gojo’s cock sucking him in and prompting him to cum inside you. He whined at the intensity.

Satoru Gojo, your teacher, the strongest Jujustu sorcerer, whining as you clenched around his cock. The power trip collided with your electric orgasm, forcing a weak smile to your lips that made your cheeks burn and welled searing tears in your eyes.

He moaned desperately loud, enough to make your heart sink at the idea of it being heard. However the fear was short lived as hot liquid seed pooled in the deep parts of your pussy, thickly coating your walls. You shivered, unable to recongise the foreign feeling of being cummed in. Slower now, he rode the spurts of his orgasm.

“You came inside?” You lazily questioned, unable to reprimand Satoru besides an unsteady slap to his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about that baby, I’ll handle it.” He murmured, upper body now resting against you while his hips slowed to a halt. “Well done.” He cooed, nibbling at your neck.

“You say that like I just defeated a cursed spirit.” You sighed. His lips curl into a smile against your skin and you cringed.

“But you deserve it, pretty girl.”

Peering down at where his cock stilled inside you, you could see the drips of cum froth around his base, dots of pinkish blood swirling with your juices too.

He left you with another curt cheek-kiss, removing himself from your bullied cunt. The feeling of loosing his warm thickness was a discomfort comparable to when he first entered you.

You cursed, the words catching in your throat. Finally able to relax your legs, they attempted to shut however Satoru’s hands grappled the plush of your thigh and pried them open.

“Don’t close your legs, I’ve got to clean you up.”

Akin to a guardian placing a Band-Aid over a sulking child’s scraped knee, Satoru dabbed a tissue to your sloppy cunt, gathering up the mix of blood, cum and slick until you were semi-dry. He pressed a kiss to your clit and you gasped. The sugar-sweet noise begged him to dive between your lips and suck up the mess he made inside you. Next time, he thought, next time he’d leave you ruined.

“The others are still waiting for you, go meet up with them.” He looped your underwear and bottoms through your legs, allowing you to stand and pull them up all the way.

Standing added another pressure to your core and you wobbled. “It hurts.” You uttered into your chest.

“You’ll be fine, a little pain never bothered you out on the field, one of the reason you’re my favourite.” His words tasted like butter and you pressed a frustrated palm to his chest.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Your reserve was questionable, considering how you two just fucked.

He took your wrist and kissed it. “It’s true.”

A weak scoff left you, and you turned on your heel penguin-walking outside the classroom, Satoru sending you off with a tap to your ass.

“You seem a lot better.” Megumi mused, a quick shine of surprised relief on his face.

“You’re glowing.” Nobara added, an upturn brow and narrow eyes taking in your afterglow.

Strategically, you avoided Nobara’s comment and directed yourself towards Megumi. “Yeah, Gojo managed to actually help for once.” You let out an uneasy chucke, adjusting your blazer.

Just as you were about to suggest grabbing some food, likely sushi, to your classmates, Satoru’s voice called out to you.

Crap, had you forgotten something? You put your underwear on, right?

“This is for you.” He extended a hand, holding a plastic sheet containing one singular pill. Your face and ears immediately flushed, turning a bright pink. You snatched the plan B off him, placing it deep into the crevice of your pocket and turning your back to him.

“Thanks.” You hissed.

“Bye then.” He flirted, giving his other students a wave before backing away.

“What was that?” Yuji asked.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

[logansdoll]

I have so many ideas but I'm not a talented writer so here's one

-your logans wife pre striker you get taken by striker after logan gets shot as a way to kinda get back at him. Logan always had visions of a woman that he doesn't remember glimpses of domestic bliss. When striker attacks (in x2) striker name drops or says smth like "your wife has been waiting" as a way to antagonize logan.

Also, a cute detail to add if a fic takes place before he loses his memory would be the reader to call him james

I really love how your reader in has a plant mutation. Everything you write is just so good

I hope I wasn't to detailed feel free to take bits and pieces.

contingency

running through the base at Alkali Lake, Logan stumbles across a top secret room... only to find his whole entire world inside.

CW: suggestive, profanity, takes place during X2, has some elements from X-Men Origins: Wolverine, reader has been through some shit, Logan is so relieved, you don't really need to squint to see the angst, i'm iffy on how this turned out, etc.

'Think, dammit! What the hell was he talking about?'

With a roar of frustration, Logan unsheathed his claws, sprinting around the bend and slicing right through the stomach of a nearby soldier, waiting until the man fell with a disgusting plop before continuing on his way.

Why couldn't he just remember?

He knew that, for whatever reason, his memories had been tampered with, and that he couldn't recall anything about his life before the claws.

But ever since his run-in with Stryker back at the mansion, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something especially important.

Something crucial.

"Wolverine..." Stryker grinned, eyes widening stepping forward out of the shadows. "I must admit, you are the last person I'd expect to find here."

Logan's claws revealed themselves with their signature shink, his brows furrowing as he warily stalked closer.

"How long has it been? Fifteen years?"

Stryker let out a small chuckle, but Logan was having a hard time finding what was so funny.

In fact, he was having a hard time with everything about this man—confused as to why he seemed so familiar.

"(y/n) says hello," Stryker goaded, adjusting his glasses. "Or, at least... I believe she would... If I'm being honest, she's feeling a little under the weather at the moment."

A sadistic smirk settled on his lips, his eyes glinting with sick satisfaction.

"But then again... there's seldom a time where she isn't feeling under the weather these days..."

"DAMMIT!" Logan barked, slamming his fist into a wall.

Not knowing was tearing him apart.

Who was (y/n)?

What were you to him?

And how the hell did he end up on the complete opposite side of the compound?

All questions that he furiously wanted to be answered.

Though, somehow—through his fit of blind frustration—he managed to stumble across a door, which had printed in big, bold, yellow letters:

CAUTION: KEEP OUT. HYDROSTASIS IN PROCESS.

"Hydrostasis?" Logan cocked a brow.

He didn't know why, but whatever was housed inside seemed to be pulling him in, silently urging him to open the door and investigate.

'Fuck it.'

Using one claw, he stabbed the retina scanner, the thick lock clicking with a satisfying beep.

He pushed past the door with ease, entering a seemingly large, dark, and oddly cold room, a lamp on one of the workbenches the only thing illuminating the space.

Cautiously, he approached it, sniffing and snapping his head around to make sure he was alone.

Yet he knew he wasn't.

He'd caught whiff of a faint scent emanating from somewhere further into the room, but it was so familiar, it seemed almost instinct to pay it no mind.

For some reason, he knew it wasn't hostile—and if anything, it calmed him, soothing his spiked nerves.

Reaching the table, he found that right next to the lamp laid a file labeled EXPERIMENT 25-8: CLASSIFIED.

He snatched it up with lightening speed, quickly skimming over the latest entry.

EXPERIMENT 25-8 a.k.a Weapon X Contingency

Name: (y/n) (l/n) Age: Unknown Sex: Female Height: X" X Weight: X Rank: Class 5 Report: 25-8 reviles authority. But her connection to Weapon X and general strength makes her a perfect candidate for Project Contingency. Her mutation and overall will to live have rejected all known forms of mind control. Will be kept in hydrostasis until new methods found. Conclusion: Further research required. Could possibly be the only creature known to man that can stop the Wolverine besides the Wolverine himself.

"(y/n)..." Logan tested out the name, confused as to why it sounded so natural.

So home-like.

Looking away from the pages, he glanced down at the table, catching sight of a large switch not too far away.

Without hesitation, he flicked it, the lights in the room suddenly cutting on, along with the lights to your chamber.

And there you were right before him—unconscious and floating in vibrant blue water.

Looking upon you, it felt like he was suddenly hit by a freight train, years of love, care, and warmth flooding his mind.

"James!" you squealed, unable to dim your smile as he hoisted you over his shoulder. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he smirked, carrying you toward your shared bedroom. "You know what you did..."

"No..."

"C'mere. I need a taste tester," you smiled, cupping your hand under your fork as you held up a chunk of steak.

He grinned, placing down his newspaper and taking a bite, groaning at the good taste as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Well?" you asked, nervous.

"Baby..." he paused for dramatic effect, wanting to see you squirm. "This is the best damn steak I've ever eaten."

"You ass!" you scoffed, playfully slapping him in the shoulder as he laughed, rocking you back and forth.

"I can't..."

"I love you, y'know that?" he asked, holding you close as you both relaxed in the bathtub. "I feel like I don't tell ya enough."

"You tell me every day, baby," you smiled, looking up at him as you rested your back against his chest.

"Well, then," he smirked, his hand rising from the water, holding a beautiful diamond engagement ring. "You alright with me tellin' ya a little bit more?"

Your eyes went as wide as saucers, and you gasped so loud the neighbors (which were three miles away) would certainly hear.

"YES!" you squealed, scrambling to turn around and give him a kiss, the water sloshing around violently.

"Careful, hon! You're gonna knock me out the tub!" he chuckled, steadying you as your lips began peppering kisses all over his face.

"She can't..."

"James," you started, timidly, tracing mindless shapes in his chest as you both laid in bed. "That man you told me about... Stryker... he came by the house today."

Logan tensed at the name, his grip around you tightening.

"He didn't do anything, did he?" he asked, tone rising.

"No," you shook your head. "But he asked for you. Said it was important that you come and talk to him."

He sighed, taking your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles.

"I'll go over tomorrow. Straighten everything out," he assured.

"I don't think you should," you quickly denied, nervous. "This man... I don't trust him... He gives me a bad feeling, y'know?"

He cracked a small smile, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

"I promise you, he can't do nothin' to me that hasn't already been done."

"RAAAAH!" Logan roared, blindly slashing at the table and all nearby equipment.

How could he have ever forgotten you?

Fury consumed his being in every sense of the word, the anger swelling inside him in a way he had never felt before.

Sparks flew as Logan destroyed any and everything in his path, teetering on the edge between rage and regret.

He could remember so clearly now.

You were his world—his reason for drawing breath, his reason for existing.

No matter how bad things got—angry, frustrating, or lonely—you were there.

You were his escape, his safety, his peace.

Comparing his life from before to the current, he couldn't fathom how he'd survived so long without being in your presence.

Through his slicing, he managed to cut something important, a loud warning siren blaring before all the water began draining from your pod, rapidly pouring onto the floor.

With a loud hiss, the door opened, sending you falling out the chamber.

Logan rushed over faster than he'd ever done anything, catching you in his arms and cradling you bridal style.

He looked upon you as if you were a ghost, a figment of his imagination.

After years and years of separation, he was finally allowed a chance to see your face, now able to recall all its fine details with perfect accuracy.

The softness of your cheeks.

The kindness of your eyes.

The plumpness of your lips.

Suddenly, you let out a loud cough, spitting up some water as your eyes snapped open, frantically looking around.

Logan couldn't find the words.

The love of his life was sitting in his arms and after fifteen years... and he had no idea what to say to her.

"James?" you asked, weakly, disbelieving of the sight before you.

That's right!

James!

His name was James!

"Yeah, baby..." he nodded, bitter-sweetly, getting a bit choked up. "It's me—"

You threw your arms around his neck without a second thought, pulling him into a bone crushing hug as tears began pouring down your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with cries of relief.

"I thought you weren't coming!" you sobbed.

Your throat felt swollen as you stuttered, scrambling to say all the things you've been wanting to for so long.

"Oh, God, I love you, Jimmy! I love you so much! Please don't leave me again!"

"I'm so sorry, baby! I'm so, so sorry!" he sputtered, his hand finding home in your hair as he rocked you back and forth, stray tears escaping his eyes. "I shoulda been here! I shoulda protected you!"

He buried his face in your hair, peppering the side of your head with kisses.

"I love you so much, honey... I'm right here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Suddenly, you went limp in his arms, panic and fear spiking up his spine.

"(n/n)?!" he pulled back, frantically scanning over you to see what was wrong."(y/n)?!"

Quickly, he pressed his ear against your chest, thanking whatever god in heaven that your heart was beating.

'It might be a side effect of the chamber... or maybe she's tired...'

Without warning, the entire compound began to shake, a familiar blue devil popping up next to him out of nowhere.

"Zere you are!" Kurt exclaimed, quickly grabbing onto his friend. "Vee must go! Zee place is goink to flood!"

In an instant, the three were back with the others, the mysterious woman in Logan's arms posing a question to everyone.

"Logan?" Ororo raised a brow, confused, as they began running toward the exit.

"Who the hell is that?" Scott asked, much blunter than Storm intended.

Logan looked down at your peacefully sleeping face, brushing a stray strand of hair out your face.

"She's my wife..."

bonus !!

"SHE'S YOUR WHAT?"

[kooberryfields4ever]

lucky

hello !!!!!!! was not expecting this to get as long as it did nor did i expect the turn but what can i say i am a creature driven by self satisfaction……… :( anyways originally this was gonna be like a 1k max drabble bc i rewatched jks sleepy eepy sweetie live and he was twitching and looked so pretty that i HAD to write something domestic !!!! but i am an ANIMAL and thinking about jungkook sleepy in the morning made me feral😇 hope u enjoy!!!!!!!!

wc: 2500+

content warnings : fluff & smut below the cut, light nipple play, fingering, jungkook has a cute panty kink(?), jungkook is an unstoppable force, unprotected piv sex, gendered terms (the word “girl” is used & detailed desc of female anatomy), messy orgasm

MDNI !

You’ve been awake for ten minutes now, just watching Jungkook twitch in his slumber. It’s early morning – a little after 8:00AM – and he looks so unbelievably beautiful under the gentle sunlight flittering through the blinds. With a soft smile on your lips, your eyes trail over his eyebrows, paying attention to how they raise and drop in his unconsciousness, moving down to his relaxed jaw and the divots of his shoulder blades when your gaze lowers. The gentle rise and fall of his back as he breathes and the fist that keeps clenching and unclenching while you lay beside him makes your smile widen. Jungkook is a breath-taking sight, looking so at peace while you observe him. His muscles are softer in their unflexed state and you can’t help it when your finger finds his right triceps and paints shapes over it. His tattoos are next on your list of targets, and soon your wandering finger is tracing the inked motifs like you’re re-carving them into his skin, following the lines and curves of the patterns as if they were new to you.  

They are very much not new to you, though. You think you’ve studied them over a hundred times, committed them to memory, made them so indelible in your mind that you’re sure you could redraw them perfectly if he ever asked. You chance at moving your touch to his fingers, watching his face amusedly when you lift his hand to inspect them and he furrows his brow. The soft letters adorning the bones of his joints are met with the pad of your thumb as you stroke them adoringly, fighting the desperate urge to kiss his calloused palm when the tips of your fingers press against the rough skin. Your fingers don’t get to explore for long before he opens a single eye suspiciously, curling his fingers around your hand to stop you. 

“Good morning,” his voice is deeper, sluggish, yet gentle still through the rasp. “You having fun?” 

“I was,” you smirk, intertwining your fingers with his instinctually, “until you so rudely interrupted me.” His thumb rubs your knuckles sleepily, bringing them to his lips for a chaste kiss, turning onto his back, pulling you closer to his chest and tucking his other hand behind his head. 

“Mm, my bad.” Comes his short reply, blinking his eyes open once again to find yours. His fingers card through your hair when you sit up on your elbows, leaning against his solid frame. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip while you allow yourself to continue observing him from above now that he’s awake.  

“Do you know you twitch a lot in your sleep?” You ask, reaching over to rub some sleep from the corner of his eye. Your thumb runs over his cheek, then down to his lower lip, dragging it down playfully and watching it bounce back when you let go abruptly. He shakes his head slightly to answer your question but sits quietly, content to just let you fiddle, fondly mirroring the smile you offer him when you lean forward to press your foreheads together. “I should’ve filmed it. You almost knocked me out.” 

“Instead of leaving me in peace?” He quirks a brow, tilting his head back to press a kiss to your lips quickly before lowering it again. “I don’t think I’m capable of hurting you, even if I’m unconscious. It’s written out of my biological code.”  

You giggle, shaking your head. “As if I would’ve let you anyway, we both know I'd win in a fight.” 

Your lips chase his naturally, and he hums sweetly when you connect them again, smirking. “Is that a challenge?” He mumbles into your mouth, you feel his hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer still before flipping you onto your back effortlessly. He continues kissing you like that. 

“Because I really beg to differ,” he ruses, trailing a hand down to the back of your thigh to hold your leg up against his hip. “Think I’d win in a heartbeat.” Another kiss. “How easy was it for me to get you like this?” His hips move against yours in a slow motion, making you very aware of a growing presence between his legs as it presses against you through all your layers of clothing. 

“You play dirty, that’s why,” you joke back, pushing your palm against his forehead. He moves away from your lips to attach his mouth to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone delicately, the same way your fingers did to him minutes ago. “Caught me off guard, that’s- that’s not fair,” the small moan that leaves you after your stutter is unintentional. Curse Jungkook and how easily your body gives in to his ministrations. You loathe the way he seems to revel in it too, snickering when he moves his hips again. 

You lean your head back against the pillows when he pushes your tank top up over your tits and you can feel his lips enclose around your nipple. It’s not a fair fight, Jungkook knows that. Knows that when his teeth brush against the darker flesh it’ll pebble against his tongue. Knows that when his hands slip down past your waist and hips, your legs will spread instinctually for him. Knows that when your fingers tangle in his hair, he’s got you.  

“Could die between your tits,” His muffled voice knocks you out of your pleasured trance, and you hum in acknowledgement. He’s resting his face between your breasts rather lovingly now, kissing the skin between them with a hand on your waist. The hand tangled in his hair falls to his nape, scratching at the baby hairs grown out from his last haircut.  

“I wouldn’t encourage you to.” 

“Couldn’t be the worst fate.” 

His response has you rolling your eyes, “No, a worse fate would be me beating you to a pulp because you thought you’d win in a wrestling match against me.” He chuckles, looking up at you and resting his chin on your chest with a soft pout. 

“Seemed to like my approach a second ago,” he murmurs, crawling back up your body to kiss you again. There’s no underlying motive behind it, he just really likes your lips on his. You give in because, despite your argumentative nature, you like his lips too. He kisses you lazily, knee slotted between your legs, half-heartedly holding his body up to stop himself from leaning all of his weight on you. Your arms drape naturally over his shoulders and around his neck to keep him there, and you can feel his smile against your lips. 

“You still hard?” His only response is the subtle grind of his hips against yours in affirmation and a slight lowering of his hand on your waist, on a slow but steady mission. 

“Should I be offended that you don’t seem to be doing anything about it?” 

“Gettin’ to it, jus’ let me kiss you.” He licks into your mouth sweetly, chasing the taste of you. Tries to pull you impossibly closer when you chuckle, spurring him on even more. He bites your lower lip, his wandering hand finally slipping past the waistband of your pyjama pants and brushing over your underwear. You can feel him smirk when he finds the small bow on the front, parting from your lips to slip your pants down to get a good look at them. They’re childish, pink and polka dotted and old; you’ve had them since before you and Jungkook even started dating but hardly wear them anymore. 

“Cute.” Is all he says, and you roll your eyes before reaching down to pull them off. He grabs your wrists, meeting your eyes sternly. “Keep ‘em on.” 

You slip your hands from his grasp, nodding hesitantly but obediently. You watch him curiously when he focuses his entire attention on your clothed pussy, entranced by it, pressing his fingers against the damp fabric to watch it cling to the shape of you, darkening with your arousal. 

“Fuck, they’re so cute, baby,” he babbles, not really even speaking directly to you, just thinking out loud, “can I fuck you with them on?” He asks sweetly, kissing your chest and keeping an eye on you as he waits for your answer. You nod, combing your fingers through his hair when he peppers more kisses across your tits as a thank you. He pushes the fabric aside slightly to gain access to your pussy with no restrictions, not hesitating to sink his middle and index fingers past your opening. He knows you’re wet enough, preening when he hears your breaths turn to soft moans. He’s so familiar with your body now that curling his fingers up against your g-spot is second nature to him. You encourage him wordlessly, watching him work while his head still rests on your chest.  

He knows you, so when you start to tighten around him and your moans turn into held breaths, he withdraws from you. You go to protest, furrowing your brow annoyedly, but he shushes you.  

“Gonna have you come on my dick, baby.” There’s a brief pause while he separates from you to push his boxers down and take your pyjamas bottoms fully off too, grunting when he strokes himself languidly above you before rubbing his tip between your dripping folds, still fascinated by the panties he made you keep on. 

“So pretty,” he coos, and for lack of better judgement, you nod. “So fuckin’ wet, love when you get like this for me. All for me.” He’s egging you on, coating himself in your arousal and pressing his forehead to yours when he sinks the mushroom tip of his cock past your opening. It’s calculated and slow, you think it’s to tease you, to prolong your frustration even longer; truthfully, it’s because Jungkook is embarrassingly close and wants to make himself last as long as he can. 

“You wore these the first time I fucked you,” he admits, sinking deeper into your walls and breathing against your lips, “all I could think about for the rest of that week was getting to fuck you again, you were so perfect.” He pulls out slowly, before pushing back in, deeper this time. You let out a half-moan, half-breath, and he repeats until he’s fully seated inside of you. 

“Wanted to fuck you with them on then, too, thought they were so cute.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Thought it was pervy, thinking your panties were cute and wanting to keep them on,” he chuckles, kissing you gently and quickening the pace of his hips to fuck you faster, “think you would’ve thought I was a creep, wouldn’t have let me. Was easier to make you think I just wanted to take my time undressing you.” 

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have.” 

“Mm, you’re well trained now.” 

His words get him a slap at the back of his head, and he laughs with you. The amusement doesn’t last long however, and soon he’s hiding his face in your shoulder to piston his cock in and out of you. You curse under your breath, letting him grip your thigh to guide your knee to your chest, wanting to fuck you deeper. He tuts, frustrated at the fact that he can’t get as deep as he wants, and soon your knees are over his shoulders with his hands holding your hips while he fucks you vigorously. He’s grunting animalistically, his tip prodding your cervix over and over, the corona of his cock rubbing deliciously against your g-spot every time he pulls back.  

“Touch yourself.” He instructs from your shoulder. It’s gentle, you know he doesn’t mean to come across as commanding but you like it anyway. You’re quick to obey, of course, and soon you’re trailing a hand down to your own pussy to start rubbing at your clit. He wants you to finish, that much is apparent, and you assume it’s because he’s trying to hold off his own orgasm for you. It’s wordless between you when you feel the familiar band in your stomach begin to tighten, and your free hand wanders across his broad back, digging your fingernails into his shoulder blades in such a contrasting way to how you were so gentle only ten minutes ago. He grunts, knows you’re close because you’re clenching around him and he can feel you holding your breath. He kisses your collarbone as silent encouragement, and a few more strokes has you coming undone around him, finally releasing your breath and pulsing around him in a way that has you nearly pushing him out. 

“Gonna come, where you want it?” He asks quietly, knows your answer but wants to hear it. You always want it inside, and Jungkook is always more than happy to oblige. 

“On my panties.” Comes your surprising reply, and Jungkook’s pupils dilate to proportions you didn’t think were physically possible. He stops moving, dropping his grip on your hips to brace his hands against the sides of your head and hold himself up above you.  

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” he jokes, dipping down to kiss you fervently, picking up the pace of his hips again, “you’re so fucking perfect, you want me to come all over your panties, baby? Want me to make a mess?” 

You’re not stupid, you know as much as the next girl that if there’s anything a man likes more than coming inside, it’s staking his claim. Of course, semen washes off - but the thought of Jungkook painting your panties white even makes your stomach flip. You nod, and he doesn’t need any more persuasion before he pulls out of you and sits up in order to stroke himself, a singular goal in mind. Your panties are still tucked to the side so he can see all of you as his fist pumps his cock quickly. You observe him, his cock is still wet from your arousal and his tip is so swollen and red that you’re unsure how he lasted even this long. As expected, he doesn’t last very long, and soon thick white ropes of come are shooting from his tip and coating your pussy and the fabric of your panties. He’s shuddering, curling over on himself before collapsing beside you on the bed. 

“C’mere,” he pants out, slipping his arms around your middle and pulling you toward him, “this was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” 

“Really wasn’t, I was doting on you.” 

“Feeling me up is ‘doting’ now?” 

You push him away playfully, but he keeps his grip on you, laughing when you turn around to get away from him. He pulls you back towards him and spoons you.  

“I was being cute and you made it pervy, like always.” He can hear the pout in your voice, so he mumbles something in agreement. Knows there’s no winning here when he just came all over your panties like some kind of neanderthal. He rubs his hand over your belly, kissing your shoulder blade affectionately to keep you close. Your own hands cover his, intertwining your fingers once again and snuggling sweetly into him. 

a/n 🗒️ as always tysm for reading !!! if u have anything to say pls do i love to hear from ppl and reflecting on criticism is my driving force 💆‍♀️ reqs/asks are open !!!!

[ysastrn]

boobs - matt sturniolo

bf!matt sturniolo x gf!reader

summary: just this man sucking your tits

warning: pet names (baby, love, sweetheart), nipple playing, mentions of sex, no use of y/n

a/n: english is not my first language.

you - pink / matt - blue

-

you were at matt’s house, specifically in his room, waiting for him to come home. he left about 2 hours ago with Nick and Chris to film friday's video for his youtube channel.

you hear a conversation coming from the living room and assume it was them. after a few minutes matt opens the door and enters the room.

“hi baby” he walked over to you and placed a kiss on your forehead.

he walked away and took off his shirt, wearing just sweatpants. he turned off the light in the room and went to the bed lifting the blankets to lie comfortably next to you.

"how were the recordings?" you ask as matt put his phone on the charger and took the remote control to choose a movie for you to watch.

“nothing out of the ordinary, just nick and chris yelling and we answered some fan questions” matt replied. you snuggle into his chest and he snakes his arm around your waist.

a few minutes of the movie passed and matt was restless next to you. he turned you so that he was lying on top of your breasts, you put your hand on his scalp and gently stroked it hearing matt let out a sigh of satisfaction.

you feel him lifting your sweatshirt (which was his) and putting his head under it, coming face to face with your chest because you weren't wearing a bra.

"love, what are you doing there?" you ask feeling matt relax his body.

"i was feeling cold and it's the perfect temperature in here" he replied making you laugh and go back to watch the movie.

after a while you feel Matt take his hand to your right breast and start massaging wrapping his tongue around your nipple, making you shudder with pleasure.

"matt, are you wanting to have sex or what?" you ask as matt nibbles on your breast, leaving purple and red marks on the sensitive skin.

"sweetheart, just let me enjoy these works of art" he lifts your shirt, showing off your breasts. he takes his hands to them and squeezes them, sucking them again making you let out a grunt.

matt sucks your right nipple while pinching the left one with his thumb and pointer finger, making you moan softly. you love when he plays with your nipples.

"god, I love your boobs" he whispers. he lets go of your chest with a pop and lifts his head to make eye contact with you, then he crashes his lips to yours, caressing your tongue with his. he separates from you and returns to your nipples kissing each one and lowering your sweatshirt.

he rests his head in the crook of your neck and murmurs "good night baby, I love you"

“i love you more, matty” you leave a kiss in his hair, then you fall asleep.

idk why i wrote this shit, i`ve never written a fanfic before, btw. hope u enjoyed this

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 6 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley asks you for your number, you can't believe he wants to spend his phone call on you. Even though you're nervous about asking, you realize you need answers to some of your questions. The promise of getting to hear your voice is enough to get Bradley through the week, but is he going to be enough for you?

Warnings: Fluff, language, Bradley being sexy

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

When you woke up for work and checked your phone, there was a new email waiting for you from Bradley, and you couldn't decide what to do about it. As soon as you'd hit send on that selfie of you in bed, you felt like an idiot. Was he expecting something more than a random picture of you after you'd removed your makeup for the day? Was he going to eventually give up responding at all when he realized that one date with you was ultimately just a waste of his time on his stop back in San Diego?

But he had written back yet again, and you were nervous to see what he had on his mind. You dropped your phone into your purse, making a deal with yourself: you could read his response once you were at work. That would give you enough time to process your thoughts on the matter. You were being silly for wanting more and expecting more with every interaction. This man owed you nothing. You were probably in over your head with the mutual daydreaming and flirtation.

What were you going to do when it was easy for him to say that talking to you had been fun, but he needed to get back to his real life? What were you going to do when you weren't able to do the same?

Once you were settled at your desk looking at your Natural History notes in those last few minutes of solitude before your eighteen students arrived for the day, you let yourself indulge in Bradley's words. 

Hey, Gorgeous,

You're the only woman I'm going to let email me regularly. And I was right. You do look adorable snuggled up in your bed. That photo is going to keep me up at night wondering how cute you'd look in mine...

It looks like I'll have the opportunity to make a phone call soon, and I'd love to hear your voice. If you want to talk. I can't guarantee I won't sound like an idiot, tripping over my words the whole time, but hey, a guy can dream. Will you let me have your phone number?

Yours Truly,

Bradley

"Oh my god." You forced yourself to read it slower the second time around. He was thinking about you in his bed! He wanted your phone number! "What are you doing to me?" you groaned. 

He wanted to call you. This man wanted to use his phone call allowance on you. He wanted to let you hear his deep, raspy voice over the phone while he spoke sentences that were tailor made for you. He expected you to be able to respond to him in real time? You were embarrassed to admit that it often took you hours or days to figure out how to reply to one of his emails after he set the butterflies off in your belly.

You did not know what you should do here, but you knew exactly what you were going to do. It was going to be impossible to pull yourself back out of this mess when the time came.

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

Before Bradley got a response to his email asking for your phone number, he got a box from your class. He could certainly get used to waiting in line when the mail arrived to find himself smiling with satisfaction instead of feeling disappointment. When he got back to his bunk and opened it, he rooted through all of the drawings of F/A-18s in search of the note from you. He smiled at the more businesslike greeting, knowing how many personal topics you and he had covered through email.

Dear Lt Bradshaw,

It seems as though we can't get enough of you. We're back, hoping for a little more of your time. Here's a batch of drawings for you to judge in any manner you see fit, but please be kind... I drew one of them. 

Whether it's a handwritten note or an email, I'm looking forward to hearing from you soon. 

Just looking at your tidy penmanship had Bradley antsy to check his email again. He had put himself out there as far as he could at the moment when he asked you for your phone number, but now he was nervous as hell. What was he supposed to do if you told him no? He'd already planned out not only a first date but a second date as well. He could wait you out. Unless you outright shut him down, he would take his time, making sure you were comfortable. 

Upon inspection of the Super Hornet drawings, it was easy enough to determine which one was yours. It was clearly crafted with a steadier hand than the others, and even the block printing on the side of the aircraft where you'd written 'BRADLEY ROOSTER BRADSHAW' looked like your penmanship. He looked through the other ones, quickly making the assumption that the one with flames and dragon scales had been drawn by Oliver. The one with purple outlining was most likely from Violet. Something was telling him the one with a dog piloting the jet was drawn by Jayden.

He smiled at how connected to these kids he felt, but ultimately he tossed everything back into the box and started heading for the lounge. If you had responded to him with your phone number, he could get himself on the call schedule. His heart was racing, and his skin felt too warm as he logged into his email account. He had three new messages.

"Come on," he groaned when he was met with two names above yours in his inbox. Nat and Vanessa. He almost forgot about the fucking water bottle. 

He tapped on the email from his best friend first. 

Rooster, I need you to make better choices regarding your girlfriends, okay? I took care of it, but it wasn't pretty. Her pink monstrosity of a water bottle was in your kitchen cabinet, and then she tried to have a conversation with me. Sorry, but I called her a flaming bitch who never appreciated my best friend and said she needed to leave your house before I made her. Everything is locked up tight again to keep the rats out. When you get home, there's a new restaurant you can treat me to on Rendova Road. -Nat

He smiled as he tapped on the email from Vanessa which was exactly one sentence long.

I got my water bottle from your house.

"God bless Natasha Trace," he muttered, deleting Vanessa's email. Then he went ahead and deleted every email he had ever received from her. He shouldn't have been surprised that you and he had already exchanged more emails than he ever had with a woman he'd dated for several months. It didn't take long before they were all gone, and then he was left with the newest one you'd sent to him last night sitting at the top of his inbox. 

"Here we go," he whispered, wiping his palm nervously on his pants before opening up your message to see what you had to say in response to his bold request for your phone number.

Bradley,

I read your last email an embarrassing number of times, trying to be sure I understood it properly. You want to use your phone call allotment on ME? And you were thinking about ME snuggled up in your bed? There's no possible way you could sound like an idiot. Not with that voice that I think about when I'm trying to fall asleep at night. 

You know what, I don't even care if I misinterpreted something. Of course I'll let you have my phone number. Of course I'll let you call me.

Your giddy pen pal

Right there below your parting words was your full phone number complete with San Diego area code. Bradley smiled as he grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the shelves behind him and wrote it down. He double and triple checked that he had it correct, knowing his next mission would be to get approved for a specific time slot and hope it wasn't going to be at a horrible time of day for you in California. Then he wrote back to your email.

Gorgeous,

You shouldn't sound so surprised. This thing we've got going on isn't open to interpretation on my end. I told you I have a thing for you. I believed you when you said you were interested in getting to know me. There's nobody else I'd rather spend my twenty minute phone call on than you. In fact, you're the only one. 

I already memorized your number. I'll email you back when I know which day I can call you and at what time. I can't wait to hear your voice saying my name.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

He logged out and did some quick math to take into account the difference between time zones, and then he was all smiles as he signed up for the opportunity to finally talk to you in real time.

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

You read his email again as the hours slowly ticked away on Saturday afternoon. Your friends were asking why you kept checking your phone while you were out to dinner. Well, they would be doing the same thing if Bradley Bradshaw was in their email inboxes sounding sweeter than any man had the right to.

Hey, Gorgeous,

How does 10:00 on Saturday night sound to you? I know it's a little late, but I didn't want to potentially interfere with your work week. And I don't know if I can wait until next week anyway. I'm feeling greedy right now when it comes to you. I can't wait to make a fool of myself on the phone.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

When you let him know in the calmest fashion you could muster that Saturday night was just fine for a phone call, he wrote back one additional sentence.

Talk to you then, Gorgeous Girl.

You received that email on Friday morning, and in an effort to seem less desperate for this man than you were, you didn't write back. It was better to let his anticipation grow to match your own. But once you'd parted ways with your friends and headed home for the night, your nerves settled in. You were going to have to ask Bradley where he lived, and that would be that. You'd know all the facts soon enough, and that would pretty much become the determining factor on how long the two of you could really keep this up.

It was almost time. You made sure your phone was fully charged, and you had your ringtone volume turned way up. Barring some sort of disaster, your phone should be ringing in exactly fifteen minutes. 

"Chill out," you whispered as you walked a few laps around your apartment in your favorite underwear and an oversized sweatshirt. At 9:56 you paused in your bedroom doorway, convinced Bradley wasn't even going to call. And at 10:02, you sat on the edge of your bed with your phone in your hand, wondering how you managed to get yourself in this deep.

He was in the Navy. Things ran on precision. It was 10:04, and your phone was sitting there on your palm like a dead brick. "It's okay," you told yourself. "Maybe he'll still call." For a few minutes, you thought that being hopeful was the way to go. Perhaps he dialed the wrong number the first time and was just regrouping. Or perhaps not.

At 10:11, you set your phone on your nightstand and walked out into your living room without it. That was when you realized that the lighter-than-air tingling sensation you'd been enjoying all day was gone, replaced with something uncomfortable.

"Don't even think about crying," you whispered as you pulled the hem of your sweatshirt a little further down your legs. You'd normally be drinking a cup of tea and getting settled in to try to go to sleep. A few months ago, you might have even been scrolling through a dating app right now. But you didn't want to do either of those things when you'd essentially been promised something as exciting as Bradley Bradshaw's voice for twenty minutes straight. "Fuck."

Just as you dragged your toe along the kitchen tile, trying to decide what to do now, you heard your ringtone. The clock on your microwave told you it was 10:16 as you turned and ran for your bedroom. Your fingers were shaking as you snatched up your phone and read RESTRICTED CALLER on the screen. You weren't sure what you'd been expecting, but it had to be him.

You took a deep breath and sank down onto the floor with your back against the side of your bed, and without any further hesitation, you answered the call as your heart hammered hard in your chest.

"Bradley?"

There was just a short pause, and it sounded like he was smiling when he said, "Hey, Gorgeous." 

The lighter-than-air tingling sensation was back as soon as you heard him say two whole words, and you slid slowly down until you were laying on your back on the floor like a boneless mess. "Hi," you sighed, pressing your free hand to your belly to try to calm the butterflies.

You heard him clear his throat softly before he said, "I'm really sorry I'm late calling you. I've been waiting for this all damn weekend." There was an edge to his voice that gave you goosebumps on your legs, and you smiled before you immediately frowned.

"Does this mean we only have four minutes to talk instead of twenty?" you asked him.

"No, I made sure of that," he replied in his deep rasp. "I even got a little bitchy with the guy before me who wouldn't end his call on time. I told him the most gorgeous teacher from Mira Mesa Elementary was waiting for me to call and that I'd be lucky if she still wanted to talk to me now."

You couldn't help but laugh as the tingling sensation made its way to your fingers and toes. "You didn't tell him that!"

"I swear I did," he insisted, his voice on the verge of laughter. "He sends his apologies." He cleared his throat once more before he asked, "Any chance you could say my name again?"

You thought you detected some nervous energy in his voice which was somehow the most flattering thing you'd ever encountered. You closed your eyes and licked your lips, picturing his handsome face as you said, "Bradley."

Now his voice was as breathless as you knew yours was. "Yeah. I really like the way that sounds."

"Bradley," you repeated with a laugh as you rolled up into a little ball on your side with your phone held to your ear.

"Hey, if you want to just say my name for the next eighteen minutes, I'm not going to complain. I was dying to hear your voice, and now I just want more of it."

You had to press your lips together to keep from making an embarrassing sound, but you did manage to say, "Yeah, that's not really going to work for me, Lieutenant Bradshaw. I'm going to need some back and forth, especially with how much I like your voice. And your face."

He groaned softly, and now you really did make an embarrassing noise before you could clap your free hand over your mouth. "My face is nothing special, Gorgeous," he said. "Yours on the other hand... that's the kind of thing that could get a guy through a long deployment."

You whimpered, and you were sure he could hear it. But you weren't even as embarrassed as you were needy for more. You wanted to know everything about him, and twenty minutes wasn't going to be enough to satisfy you when it came to Bradley. "Let's just say you've had my full attention for months now. And the photos you sent are enough to get a girl through a long school year. Will you tell me how you got your scars?" you asked him. It was something you'd been curious about since the first photo he sent where you could see his face. The one of him standing tall and sexy in front of his jet.

"Oh, hell," he laughed, his voice taking on a self deprecating tone. "I knew I shouldn't have sent that sunset selfie. I was kind of hoping you wouldn't be able to see them in the photos or the video. I have a lot."

You scrambled to your knees and then your feet. The last thing you'd meant to do was make him feel badly about himself. "They just make you look hotter," you blurted out. "I've thought about kissing them."

"Shit," he grunted. "Baby, I'll tell you anything you want to know. My social security number? My bank account information?" You laughed and had to bite down on your knuckle as he said, "I got my scars when I was a sophomore at the University of Virginia. Just typical nineteen year old guy bullshit. I was riding my bike back from a party late, and I skipped the curb. Just a lot of stitches."

"Oh," you gasped.

"It's okay," he said quickly. "More superficial than anything. I didn't even miss any of my classes. This is just why I don't usually send selfies like that. But you're already an exception, aren't you?"

He was so sweet, you were afraid the butterflies would never stop. But now you were picturing him going back to a beautiful house in Virginia, and it just made you sad. You paced the length of your room as you said, "I'd still really like to see your face in person."

"That's a done deal, Gorgeous."

You bit your lip, already knowing how you were going to react, but you just needed to have all the facts. "I know we could probably meet for a date or two while you're on leave in San Diego, but what happens after that?"

There was a brief pause before he asked, "What do you mean?"

You tipped your head back and looked at your ceiling as you finally said, "I don't even know where you live or where you're stationed. All I know is that if you're returning to Virginia or somewhere else far away... I'm going to have to brace myself for it."

But when you heard his next sentence, you let yourself drop down onto your bed with a smile on your face. "Gorgeous Girl, I live in San Diego."

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

This was going well. Bradley's whole body was thrumming with anticipation, and your voice was already embedded in his mind. As soon as you mentioned just the thought of your lips on his scarred cheek, he had to stand up for a minute. And when you brought up meeting him when his deployment ended, he was afraid his heart rate might never return to normal.

"I'd still really like to see your face in person," you told him, and all he could think about was Thai food on the beach and kissing your lips.

"That's a done deal, Gorgeous," he replied, satisfied in knowing for sure that it was going to happen now, but your follow up question left him confused.

"I know we could probably meet for a date or two while you're on leave in San Diego, but what happens after that?"

After that? He sat back down in his seat and thought about what would happen after a date or two. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands and lips off you, but somehow he didn't think that's what you were talking about. "What do you mean?"

Your voice took on a softer, maybe sadder quality as you told him,  "I don't even know where you live or where you're stationed. All I know is that if you're returning to Virginia or somewhere else far away... I'm going to have to brace myself for it."

He froze. He hadn't told you where he lived? Had he really never mentioned it once in all the times he wrote out the address to your school in Mira Mesa? His heart was beating erratically now as he pieced together the fact that he was making all of these plans while you were trying to protect yourself, but you kept emailing him and sending him letters anyway. You were showing that you had genuine interest in him while afraid he was going to leave you high and dry after one date? Hell no. Oh, he was falling hard.

"Gorgeous Girl, I live in San Diego." 

Your little surprised gasp had him holding his breath. "You do?" you whispered. 

"I do," he promised. "Shit, I can't believe I never mentioned it. My house is in Coronado, near the beach in the photo you sent me where you look more flawless than the sunset. I'm so sorry I got so carried away with our emails that I never put it together that you didn't know I'm stationed out of North Island."

You were quiet for a beat, and he wanted to crawl through the phone and reassure you that he had never meant to stress you out. "You live in Coronado?" you asked.

"Yeah, Gorgeous. About thirty minutes away from your school. I mean, there's always traffic, so maybe forty minutes," he told you nervously. "I hope that's not too far for you to deal with?"

"That's nothing, Bradley," you said with a sigh. "That's... absolutely not too far. I thought you potentially lived thousands of miles away, and I was trying to figure out what to do about my feelings. I was so scared to ask you sooner."

Vanessa wouldn't even drive the extra ten minutes to the restaurant he liked, meanwhile you were putting yourself out there for him. He cleared his throat and said, "I already have our first date planned out."

"Tell me. In an abundance of detail."

Bradley's skin tingled with desire as he divulged his daydreams. "I'll drive up and pick you up at your place. You already gave me permission to hold your hand, so that's happening on the ride back to the beach. There's a good Thai place not too far from the bay bridge where we'll stop to pick up dinner. Then when we get to the beach, you'll be surprised and charmed that I packed blankets and a cooler full of beer and a bottle of prosecco. And we can sit on the beach, talking and eating while the sun sets, unless you'd rather sit in the back of my vintage Bronco. And then, when the sky is just starting to turn purple, I'm going to kiss you."

The beat of silence was satisfying before you asked, "You're going to wait until after dinner to do that?" He could practically hear your pout which made him get to his feet again. He only had five more minutes with you right now, and he was going to have to make this count.

"You want me to kiss you before that?" he asked, his fingers wrapping around the edge of the counter as your soft laughter met his ears.

"I want you to kiss me as soon as you see me."

"Fuck," he panted. "Then consider that a done deal too, Gorgeous."

"Oh, I like that."

"Yeah?" he asked, watching time slip through his fingers. "You feel more confident now that you know where I live?"

"Yes," you replied softly.

"Good." He closed his eyes as he said, "We only have a little more time right now, Baby. Anything else you want from me?"

You squeaked softly. "Will you email me a gym selfie or two? With a nice closeup of your face?"

He couldn't get over you and the way you made him feel. "Yeah. I'll hit the gym tomorrow for you."

You hummed softly, and he sat down in his chair again, raking his fingers through his hair. God, he felt like a mixed up mess over you after this conversation. Your voice was so fucking sweet as you asked him, "Anything you want from me?"

His plentiful thoughts ranged the full spectrum from innocent to decidedly not as he tugged on his hair and tried to keep himself in check. "Yeah, actually," he said, gravel filling his voice. "You know that inactive dating profile you mentioned before?"

"Yes."

"You should delete the app. There's nothing I know about you that I don't like, and I feel like that trend is going to continue. If you feel the same way, then you don't need the app, Gorgeous."

After a brief pause, your beautiful voice told him, "Okay, Bradley. I'll delete it."

"Fucking aces," he said with a smile. "Where are you right now?"

You laughed softly as he realized he had less than a minute left on this call. "Curled up in my bed with the biggest smile on my face."

"Send me a selfie?"

"Consider it done, Lieutenant. It'll be there when you check your email next."

He leaned back in his chair. There was still so much he wanted to tell you and ask about, but it would have to wait. "Listen, I need to go. But I'm going to work on writing back to your class this week. And I'll get the selfies for you, too. I'll see you in our inboxes?"

That soft laughter was right there again, and he felt like his skin was on fire as you said, "I'll take you any way I can get you, Bradley."

You could have him as many ways as you wanted him. "I can't wait to get back to San Diego."

"I'll be ready when you do."

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

I'm sweating. He's too much. He's too powerful. Bradley Bradshaw, get home and get your girl some Thai food! Also, Natasha is the friend of the year for taking out the trash. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 7

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[monzabee]

partition - lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where you and Lewis are stuck in traffic in Paris, and decide to make the most of the situation.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x reader 

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: smut!! sex in a car, unprotected sex (because when have i written something with condoms lol), pwp, cringey ass nickname (blame beyoncé), manhandling, took me a long time to write it so it doesn’t make sense most part, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! this was a passion project for me and you have no idea how happy i am with the way it turned out. There’s only one slight issue and it is that i wanted lewis to call the reader something other than peaches, but it is in the song, therefore please if you don’t like it blame the mother, aka beyoncé. Also, i was very unsure of whether i wanted to drag it out, or leave it as it is, so any feedback is appreciated. i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

It took you forty five minutes to get ready – Lewis knows this because he’s been keeping time on his phone since the moment you’ve went into the bedroom side of your hotel room to get ready for the party he’s taking you to. You’ve always like to joke that he takes longer getting ready whenever the two of you have to go somewhere, but now that he is staring the timer on his phone, maybe he should use it as an evidence that you’re, in fact, wrong the next time you tease him about it. Not that he actually would do that, he is a gentleman, after all.

He’s just about to call out to you to hurry up when you beat him to it, “Baby, I need help, please!”

The nickname manages to bring the smallest of smiles to his face as he, without shouting anything back in response, gets up from his place on the couch and makes his way towards the bedroom. And that’s when his eyes land on you, in front of the full-sized mirror struggling  to zip up your dress. In just a few more steps he’s right behind you, his fingers itching to dance against the smooth skin of your back. “I thought you were going to wear the suit you brought, Peaches,” his voice comes off muffled as he presses a few kisses to the expose skin on your shoulder.

“I forgot to bring the shirt that goes with it,” your voice comes off shaky as you feel his lips drag on your skin, and you can hear his soft chuckle. Craning your neck to give him a small smile, you join in his laughter, “Zip me?” With a yielding kiss, Lewis wordlessly grabs the small zipper between his fingers, and when the moves the zipper, it makes you shriek out another laugh, “Up, Lewis, zip me up please!”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, pulling the zipper upward with a swift motion. The dress seamlessly hugs your figure, and he makes a show of checking you out from the mirror in front of you before meeting your eyes. “There you go, all zipped up,” Lewis announces triumphantly, ignoring your disapproving headshake, giving you a gentle pat on the back. You turn around, facing him with a grateful smile, and he can't resist leaning in for a sweet kiss. The connection between your lips is brief but warm.

“You like my dress?” You ask him and his enthusiastic nod makes your smile widen in satisfaction, “You don’t think it’s too short?”

Instead of answering your question with words, instead Lewis tsks, letting his dissatisfaction with your question known. He gently takes one of your hands in his, threading his fingers through yours and prompts you to spin around to give him a better look of your dress. He wraps his arms around your middle, his hand still firmly intertwined with yours, and presses a kiss on your shoulder right where the strap of your dress meets your skin. “Wear any dress you want, Peaches, Miles and I can handle anyone who gives you trouble for it.”

Chucking at his protective, yet playful, response, you pat his arm around your middle with your free hand, “Speaking of the devil, we should probably get going if we don’t want him to kill us both for being late.” Lewis makes a sound of contest, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulls you closer to himself. “Lu,” you let out a faux-exasperated sigh, “there is being late, and fashionably late, and I’m afraid we are way past the latter.

“Oh, darling,” you hear his breathy voice whisper against your skin as he places a couple of open mouthed kisses onto your exposed skin, “maybe we should stay back, hm? I can show you just how much I like your dress.” With one of his hands splayed on your stomach and his lips greeting your skin ever so often, you gasp when his lips find that one sweet spot he knows that makes your knees week. “Imagine how much fun we can have on our own, here, in our room.”

Throwing your head back to rest on his chest, a breathy chuckle falls from your lips, but you give him a stern look. “As much as I would love to stay back with you, we promised all of our friends we’ll be there.” As you rise up to your toes to give him a soft peck on the lips, you manage to break free from his arms, leaving him with a perpetual pout on his face. “When we get back, Mister Hamilton, you can do whatever you want to me.”

With your offer, the look on his face changes from a pout to a smirk. “Is that a promise, Peaches?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, darling,” you emphasise the word with an exaggerated version of his accent. “It’s a fact,” you return his look with a small smirk on your own as you add, “sir.”

Needless to say, the walk down to the lobby to get into your car is full of tension between the two of you. It’s not like Lewis can’t hold himself back, because he can. He has proven under many circumstances that he can withhold sex from you if he decides to do that. The most recent incident was when he caught you lurking around the Red Bull garage during the last race you’ve attended, which ended with you quite literally having to beg him to fuck you after a week of Lewis not even touching you. The walk down to the lobby is filled with stolen touches and knowing glances, with him trying to get you to kiss him every minute, not caring whether the people around you can hear him or not.

You give him a sideway look when the receptionist tells you that your limo for the night is waiting for you. “A limo?” You raise an eyebrow, looking at him for response.

He simply shrugs a shoulder, leaning down to mumble his response into your ear, “Miles was in charge of the car,” with his fingers giving your waist a firm squeeze, he manages to earn a silent shriek from you, “I’m sure we could do with the extra space, darling.”

“Behave, Lu.” You chastise him, but the corner of your mouth upturns nonetheless and you let Lewis guide you towards the car waiting for you.

Because he is the perfect gentleman he opens your door and helps you into the limo, pressing a lingering kiss on your hand before joining you. The inside of the limo is darker than you expected, but the city lights of Paris do a good enough job of illuminating the car. The condensation on the limo’s windows has your attention and Lewis watches and you trailing your finger along the glass, tracing the line a raindrop left behind. He contemplates, for a second, whether being jealous over a raindrop for commanding your attention could be considered weird or not, but he decides that he doesn’t really care.

He places a hand on your thigh, his touch is both reassuring and possessive, but when you turn your head towards him to look at him, the way he smiles at you and his thumb caresses your knee is incredibly sweet. He is a duality in himself, Lewis is. And you enjoy the way city lights illuminate his face, his smile soft as he leans over the middle of the seat to give you a sweet peck on your lips.

“What was that for?” you ask him, giggling as you place your hand over his on your thigh. He doesn’t answer, only shrugs his shoulders and grins as he pulls away from you, instantly making you seek him out again. You’re about to comment on his suddenly playful mood, when you realise the car is slowly coming to a stop, and you let out a breath of frustration when the driver informs you that you’ve hit traffic. And traffic in Paris on a Friday night? It’s safe to say that both of you know that you are not going anywhere fast.

The overall wait is not that bad, you think. Even though the traffic is crawling at a snail’s pace, you’re more than happy to be in the car where you can be with Lewis without the overwhelming sound of EDM music and sweaty bodies pushing you around in a crowded club. The same, however, cannot be said about your boyfriend.

As time passes and you’re, still, stuck in traffic, you can see Lewis getting more and more frustrated with the situation. You try not to comment on how annoyed he looks and let him have his silent moment of irritation. You gently squeeze his hand, offering a reassuring smile. “It's alright, Lewis. We'll get there eventually.”

He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. It's just... I hate being late.” He lets out another frustrated sigh as he gently pats the empty seat between the two of you. “Can you just come closer, please?”

“Why?” you ask, eyes narrowed down in suspicion as he somehow manages to pull you closer to himself, not that you would try to get out of the situation otherwise – with the amount of times you’ve found yourself suddenly sitting in Lewis’ lap, it’s almost as if you can’t get away from him when he’s next to you. “We can’t do anything,” you whisper in warning when you catch him giving you literal bedroom eyes.

Smirking at the anxious tone of your voice, he lets his hand wander down to your hip as he quickly manoeuvres you into his lap, despite all your warnings, and calls out to the driver loud enough for him to hear his voice, “Hey mate, can you pull up the partition, please?” You hear the sound of the partition going up as Lewis fiddles with the couple of the buttons on the door handle, and soon after you hear the faint sound of music playing in the car. He meets your eyes when you give him a funny look, silently asking him what he’s up to, but he responds with a faint smile as he rests his hand on your lower back.

Rolling your eyes at the antics of the driver sitting, literally, under you, you turn your attention back to the scenery outside the window. Going back to tracing the raindrops falling onto the glass window, you choose to focus on the outside view as best as you can, given the current position you’re in. Although you’ve warned him against it, Lewis’ hand on the lower of your back drawing circles into your skin gives you other ideas you would otherwise choose to ignore in a public setting.

“What are you up to, Lewis?” you ask, lips twitching in a need to smile as you do your best to supress it.  

He grins, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark as he gives you an innocent shrug of his shoulder. “Just making the most of the situation, darling.”

Letting out a resigning sigh, you try to focus back on the rain outside, but with Lewis’ hand getting bolder on your lower back and the fact that you find yourself shuffling in your seat with every subtle movement of the car makes it almost impossible to focus on anything but him. Deciding to find out just how much you can get away with, you  tilt your head back slightly, your lips hovering near his ear. “Are you trying to start a scandal, Mr. Hamilton?”

He chuckles, the vibrations from his laughter sending a delightful shiver down your spine. “I told you we'd make the most of it, didn't I?” Hid hand continues its teasing dance, eventually dipping lower and even under your dress, and you have to fight the urge to let out a moan at the feeling of his skin on yours. “We can make it into a challenge,” he offers, his voice low as he suggestively whispers on your skin, “see just how scandalous we can be in the back of a limo.”

“What if someone sees?” You mumble, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

His lips graze the curve of your neck, sending another shiver down your spine. “I thought you liked being watched, Peaches.” You can feel his lips curling into a smirk and a gasp leaves your lips as his hand grabs your thigh, making you shuffle closer to him as a result. “Is that a yes?” Your eyes glance over at the closed up partition, but you nod your head nevertheless, though that doesn’t necessarily satisfy the man beside you. “Words, darling.”

“Yes, please.” The words escape your mouth and your hands slide down his body to work on the zipper of his dress pants. He gives you an amused look as you pull his zipper down, and kneel on the floor between his legs as elegantly as you can given the current situation you’re in. You hear him say your name in warning, giving you a way out, even though he was teasing you about your voyeuristic tendencies – and you might’ve considered taking it, if it weren’t for the fact that having him in your mouth is the only thing you can focus on at the moment. So, instead of pulling yourself up on Lewis’ lap and let him have his way with you, you carefully take his cock out, making sure to keep your eyes fixed on his during the whole process.

Giving him a few gentle strokes, you lean forward to lick the first few drops of precum that drips out of the head of his cock. The hiss he lets out when you take the head of his cock between your lips and suck on it gently makes you smirk, and so you swirl your tongue around the tip to get another reaction out of him. With the way his left hand grabs the door, you know Lewis is trying so hard not to just grab you by your hair and guide you the way he wants to. Humming at the taste of him, you widen your lips to fit more of him in your mouth and wrap both hands around his cock to pump the rest of his cock that you can’t fit into your mouth. As you slowly start bobbing your head up and down on his cock, the sounds leaving his mouth make you want to quicken up your pace, though you refrain from doing so. Maybe you shouldn’t be feeling so turned on by a mere sound of your boyfriend’s pleasure, but you can’t help yourself as you inadvertently rub your thigs together.

You continue the movements of your mouth, taking more of him every time you bob your head down, and Lewis gives in at some point, threading his hands through your hair and guiding you down until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. “Fuck, Peaches,” his low groan sends tingles down your spine, “just like that.” He looks so beautiful, you think, with his head thrown back and eyes closed.

Your hands work together with your mouth, picking up speed when you realise you have him at your mercy like this – it even makes you wetter, and you feel the wetness between your legs. Your eyes water as a sudden move from Lewis thrusting his hips causes your gag reflex to remind you both that it is there, causing you to pull back with a huff and send a glare his way. But he apologises by caressing the apple of your cheek and easing you back onto his cock.

Your power move, however, doesn’t last long, as Lewis lets out a groan, pulling your head off of him and leaning forward to lift you onto his lap. It’s not necessarily intentional when you grind yourself against his cock, causing both of you to moan simultaneously. Your head is thrown back when you feel his lips gliding on your feverish skin, and you even let out a breathy laugh when your head lulls to the side and you see the handprints he’s left in the mirror. “Lewis,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice low, suddenly very aware of the driver sitting in the front of the car, “if you don’t fuck me now, I think I might explode.”

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs, his hands on your hips lifting you up to position you over his cock. But you have other plans in mind. He lets out a breathy chuckle as you drag your lips over the skin of his neck, tracing his tattoos as you leave feverish kisses along the way. “What are you doing?” He asks, hands busying themselves to get you out of your underwear.

Nipping at his skin, which earns you Lewis squeezing your hip in warning in return, but you give him a pout as you pull back. “You didn’t let me finish you off, you impatient brute.”

“Brute?” He echoes, not able to stop himself from laughing at your choice of words, “Are you going to be a brat, hm?” He is more than happy to play along when you get into these moods, though he also knows how you can get when you don’t get something you want. So when you fix him with a glare of your own, he lets out a deep sigh as he wraps your hair around one of his hands and pull your head back to bare your neck to him. “And to think I thought you were going to be a good girl, I guess that’s my fault.”

The whine that leaves you would’ve been embarrassing if it weren’t for the fact that he has you in the in the palm of his hand. “It’s not fair,” another whine leaves you, and you attempt rolling your hips against his erection resting against you in between your legs, but before you can find a rhythm, he halts your movements by tugging on your hair again. Curling your fingers around his shirt, you huff a breath of annoyance, whining out his name. “I’ll be good,” you promise, and let out a relieved sigh when he lets go of your hair to give you more freedom to move; you thank him with a few kisses.

“I know you will.” Lewis mumbles, hands finding your underwear again, but he quickly becomes frustrated when he realises the position you’re in will make it hard for him to get you out of them. So, taking an executive decision, he decides to rip them off your body. He gives you a look when you whine at the loss of your favourite pair, and he tries to salve the situation with a promise of buying you another pair. When you feel him between your legs, without any barriers this time, he is not surprised to see your immediate reaction. Though Lewis enjoys when you take control, he is impatient as he raises your hips, despite all your protest, and positions you over his cock.

You only have a few moments to adjust when he eventually lowers you onto his cock, and the initial stretch has you gasping out his name. He gives you a few minutes to adjust before slowly starting to move your hips, each move making you take him deeper until he’s buried to the hilt in you. One of your hands is pressed to the window for support out of reflex, trying to keep still as he uses the grip he has on your hips to move you in the rhythm he wants. It matches the mood pretty well, you think, everything is rushed and the sounds of the traffic and the music playing surrounding you becomes muffled as the pleasure takes over your body. You have to physically stop yourself from screaming every time he slams you down on his cock, faster and harder each time, relentless as he watches your face contort with pleasure.

Trying your best to match his thrusts, you grind your clit on every down stroke, making him somehow go even deeper, and making you moan even louder. There is an arrogant smirk on his face that you would love to wipe off, but with the way he’s making you feel, you decide to get him away with it. Dragging your hands down his shirt, you suddenly feel offended by the fact that he is covering his chest, and decide to get him out of it. This plan would’ve worked better if it weren’t for the fact that you end up ripping the buttons rather than being gentler with it. Not that Lewis complains about it, since this is most definitely not the first time something like this has happened. Your hands work on their own as you glide them through the smooth skin, slightly damp due to the warm temperature of the car, but every contact with his skin seems to make you roll your hips faster and harder.

He has to close one of his hands over your mouth since the moans that leave you get considerably higher in volume with every waking second. His lips curl up in a smile as you silently beg him with your eyes, your movements becoming sloppier with every down stroke. “I’m going to remove my hand and help you come, but you’re going to be a good girl and keep quiet, okay?” His voice carries a warning tone, and you frantically nod, assuring him that you’ll follow his instructions.

Keeping true to his word Lewis takes away his hand, making you take a deep breath as he grabs your hips. His hold on your hips is bruising, and you’re certain you’ll have marks to remember tonight for a while – especially with the way he uses his hold to move you on his cock in a rhythm he wants to. It doesn’t take you a long time to feel the overwhelming pleasure starting to build up in your lower stomach. “Please,” you whine, nails biting into his skin as your other hand is splayed over the window for support, “I’m so close.”

“Come on,” Lewis encourages you, hands working you over his cock even faster to get you where you need to be, “give it to me, I got you.” And with him looking at you like that, using your body however he wants to? It doesn’t take long for you to feel yourself coming around him, head thrown back and lips parted in a silent scream. With a last thrust, you feel him also spill himself into you, the act being greatly intimate despite the current predicament you’re both in at that moment.

A sound of surprise leaves the back of your throat when he begins to move under you, positioning you to stand on all fours as he positions himself behind you. “Wha– What are you doing?” You ask, craning your neck to look at him with hazy eyes.

“Oh, Peaches,” he coos, one of his hands caressing your skin down your thighs and up towards your hip again, “did you think we were done? We still have a long way back to the hotel.”

“But, the club?” You find yourself asking, cheeks burning when he uses his finger to push the wetness dripping out of you back in.

“We were never going to make it to that club anyway,” Lewis drags his lips up your spine until he reaches your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck before whispering, “what do you think? Should we make the most out of the way back?”

Your eyes slide towards the handprints left on the window, the Paris lights shining through the streaks both of your handprints have left behind. Maybe under different circumstances you would’ve insisted you go to the club to meet with your friends. But at that moment? You instinctively push your hips back onto his, and feel his smile on your skin as he runs his hands through your body, ready for another round simply because you two can’t keep away from each other.

[incognit0slut]

hi! what about this: some time after spencer comes home from prison, he finds some toys reader had bought for herself since he'd been in prison for so long. he tells reader that if she was needy enough to do anything without him, she can do it again, without him. he orders her to show him what she was doing when he was gone. you can definitely include edging and/or overstimulation as well as degradation, of course if you're comfortable with that <3 also, if it's not a problem, since it would be a sub/dom dynamic there could be aftercare included, but it depends on what you feel like writing.

anyway, thank you and i hope you're having a great day 🌺

(18+) Dom Spence x fem reader. 1.3k. Sex toy. Squirting.

Spencer forces you to give him a show when he discovers your secret.

-

Spencer wasn't trying to be evil, he really wasn't, but there was a twisted satisfaction witnessing your vulnerability. Maybe it was the sense of power over you, or perhaps you were simply captivating, but whatever the reason, he found himself drawn to the sight of you lying in bed, legs spread apart.

He watched intently as the toy disappeared into your cunt, moving in and out, each thrust met with the tight clenching of your walls. He never imagined he'd witness you finding satisfaction with anything other than him, yet, if he were honest with himself, the sight aroused him more than it angered him.

You had been going at it for a while now—no, he forced you to do it. Though "force" might not be the right choice of word, because as embarrassed as you were by his discovery of the toy you forgot even existed, the pleasure clouded your mind, and you found yourself enjoying giving him a show far too much to stop.

“Is this what you’ve been up to while I’ve been gone?” Spencer taunted, leaning back in the chair positioned at the foot of the bed.

Your response caught in your throat as your climax edged closer. With a sense of urgency, you increased the speed of your hand, plunging the toy in and out of your dripping cunt with increasing desperation, the echoes of your arousal filling the room.

“Answer me,” he urged. “Keep your eyes on me and answer the question.”

With a shiver running down your spine, you forced yourself to meet his intense gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny.

“I… I needed…” you stammered, struggling to form coherent words amidst the rising tide of sensation.

“Needed what?” he pressed.

You swallowed hard. “I needed… to feel something,” you admitted. “I needed… release.”

“And you couldn’t wait for me?”

“I… I’m… sorry,” you confessed, each word punctuated by a gasp as the toy drove you closer to the edge. “I couldn’t… without… you…”

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the toy. Then, his voice cut through the air. “Do you need me now?”

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing eyes. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice raw with longing. “I-I need you.”

His lips curved into a knowing smile, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners. “Hmm,” he hummed, his voice low and teasing. “That’s too bad because I’m quite enjoying the view.”

You squirmed under his gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable yet undeniably aroused by his control.

“Please,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with need. “I can’t… I can’t take it anymore. I-I need you.”

A flicker of something akin to sympathy crossed his features, but it was quickly replaced by a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, I know you do,” he replied. “But where’s the fun in giving you what you want so easily?”

You bit your lip, torn between frustration and arousal. “Please,” you pleaded again, your voice barely a whisper, “Don’t tease me like this.”

His smirk widened, clearly enjoying the power he held over you. “You’ll have to beg a little harder than that,” he whispered. “Show me how much you need me.”

Your heart raced at his words, the intensity of his gaze igniting a fiery need within you. Without hesitation, you spread your legs further apart, the movement allowing him an unobstructed view of the way your cunt clenched around the toy, your arousal evident in the slickness coating it.

A satisfied groan escaped his lips at the sight, his hand instinctively finding its way to his strained arousal beneath his pants. “I’ll tell you what,” he muttered, gripping himself. “Make yourself come and I’ll give you what you want.”

A whine broke put of you. “I…”

“If you were needy enough to satisfy yourself without me, you can do it again now.”

Your heart was beating fast against your chest, yet you found yourself nodding.

“Three times,” he continued. “Give me three orgasms.”

Your breath hitched at his words. “Three?” You squeaked.

“Three,” he affirmed, his voice low and commanding.

You swallowed hard, feeling a surge of anticipation mingled with apprehension. The thought of achieving such intense pleasure under his watchful gaze both thrilled and intimidated you. But the promise of his reward spurred you on, driving you to arch your back and chase after your first orgasm.

It came fast and fierce, crashing over you with an intensity that left you breathless. Your toes curled in ecstasy, and a blush spread across your cheeks as you surrendered to the waves of pleasure, knowing that he was watching your every move.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “Give me another.”

Your eyes fluttered open again, and you whimpered, determined not to give yourself a break. The faster you obliged, the quicker he would fuck you. So you pushed yourself even further, ignoring the burning sensation as the toy thrusts in and out of you relentlessly.

And then, as it hit that very deep spot inside you, your legs began to shake, spreading even wider in response to the overwhelming sensation. The pleasure surged through you like a tidal wave, from your head down to your toes, and his name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper.

He grunted as he rubbed himself through his pants. “One more, sweetheart, you can take it, just one more.”

You gasped, still reeling from the intensity of the previous climax. “I… I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “I know you can.”

Despite the lingering waves of pleasure still washing over you, you steeled yourself for one final effort. Gritting your teeth, you resumed the frantic pace, driving the toy deep inside you.

The sensations intensified, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your breath grew ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as you neared the edge once again.

As the pleasure built within you, there was a sudden, unfamiliar intensity to the sensation. It coiled in your stomach, sending a surge of urgency coursing through your veins. You whimpered softly, a mix of desire and apprehension knotting in your stomach.

You knew what was coming, and so did he, because his grip on his cock tightened, a hunger burning in his eyes. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Give it to me, baby. Just let it out.”

Despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t hold back any longer. With a gasp, you finally surrendered, feeling a rush of fluid escaping your body as you reached your high. The force of the liquid pushed the toy out of you, and you gasped, your body arching involuntarily in response to the overwhelming sensation. Your back arched, your head thrown back, and your eyes closed, letting the intense pleasure consume you entirely.

Every nerve ending seemed to tingle with ecstasy as the wave of release washed over you, leaving you trembling and breathless. With a shuddering breath, you collapsed onto the bed, spent and satisfied, your body buzzing with the aftershocks of your climax.

In the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, you felt his presence beside you, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. You steadied your breathing as he pulled you closer, his lips pressing gentle kisses against your sweaty face.

“See?” he murmured, his voice filled with pride. “I knew you could do it.”

With a contented sigh, you nuzzled closer to him, reveling in his warmth. “Will you fuck me now?”

He laughed, the sound rich and full of affection. “Maybe we should wait for a while, let you calm down.”

You pulled back and gave him a look. “Spencer.”

With a playful smirk, he leaned in to pepper soft kisses along your jawline, trailing down to your neck. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent shivers of anticipation through your body.

And then he slipped off his clothes, and when he finally settled between your legs, pushing his throbbing cock into your dripping walls, you cling onto him desperately. Because nothing could compare to the pleasure he brought you, leaving you feeling whole and complete in a way that no toy ever could.

[dollgxtz]

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.