#windows 7 installation step by step

[itbabasachinsharma]

Delete All Temporary Files||Computer Ki Speed Kaise BadhayeWindows 7,8,10||OneClick||By SachinSharma

[zoeythebee]

Why is it that every time I try dualbooting windows and linux I expect it to go well. It never does!

[thewirewitch]

*Kicks door open* GUESS WHO HAS A WINDOWS XP LAPTOP NOW???

[avifaunaa]

all i can do [ is love you ] [ w.m. & n.r. ] [ pt. 1 ]

Authors Note: hello and welcome to my new work! i hope you end up enjoying it! Also R's nickname by Kate and Ava is Bueller

Masterlist

PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When you find a dog loitering around your apartment building, you’re quick to seek out his owners. As it turns out the owners are married couple Wanda Maximoff — CEO conglomerate — and Natasha Romanoff — owner of a nationwide personal protection industry catering to the elite. Their reward for returning their precious canine, Seymour? In-home 24/7 nannying for a dog and an offer: a pretty face to come home to and no more student loans.

Content Warnings: A small amount of veterinary jargon as this is R’s chosen career path and it will be a returning theme in this AU so please be aware of all that entails, mentions of R's past relationship, vague mentions of past abuse, the beginnings of a discussion surrounding a sort of sugarbaby / BDSM dynamic disguised as live in “dog sitting” but also dogsitting lmfao

Word Count: ~6k+

The wailing was drowning out your attempts at focusing on your assignment. You gave up after repeats of the same line on the screen of your laptop and shoved it to the side, just as the child-like screams got louder.

You went to your small living room’s window and peered outside from between your dark grey curtains. It was raining heavily outside to the point that you weren’t even sure it had been possible to hear much else.

Your eyes scan the expanse of the area outside of your window, thankful that there was some visibility through the glass.

A distressed blob, huddled underneath whatever dry patch remained beneath cardboard boxes piled up near the trash can set to go out tomorrow morning.

You make haste, darting away from your window and blasting through your front door and down the small set of stairs to the entry hall of your apartment building.

You snapped open the door and there he was, as though waiting for you. Pointed grey ears perking up and squishy face turning to you. He was sat haunched over with his back legs on either side, dark grey coat shaking and rippling from being soaking wet and cold.

He snorted out a huff that was followed by a rapid body shake and you rushed forward to him under the heavy downpour.

You didn’t put on shoes, your white socks stepping across the damp and frozen sidewalk until you crouched down.

He had a collar — thick and leather, braided with a Fi tracker and a rabies, microchip, and name tag. A loved animal if you’d ever seen one.

And one with the tendency to run awry, perhaps?

The minute you got to his level his nostrils flared and he jerked toward you. He scooted forward first and then he turned backwards against you to take cover under your body and rotating his head upside down to peer upward at you.

“Hi,” you whispered, “hey buddy.”

Friendly and rather willing to approach. Socialized. Your hand lifts to the front of him to rub his chest, testing what allowances this little guy would give you. He breathed steadily under your hands, but a shiver wracked his body despite how being pressed against you.

You needed to get a better look at him. Maybe he’ll let you pick him up.

You soothe him slowly, petting upward in gentle circles until you can grab at his collar and turn it until you can read his tags.

The rabies tag was shaped like a green bell and had the engraved information of the vet clinic pinched onto it. The name sparked familiarity in your brain and it clicked that you had shadowed that particular clinic early on in your veterinary study.

You shift the rabies tag aside until the heavy gold [ gold? ] tag settles cold and steady in between your index finger and thunder.

Through the heavy rain, you had to lean forward to get a good read of the name that was installed onto this obviously specially-made dog tag. Squinting slightly you were able to make out —

“Seymour,” you say aloud.

Seymour lets out a mournful throaty snort under your body. You flip the tag over and it reveals two phone numbers but no names.

The area code for the phone numbers is very upper New York — which begs the question:

“How the hell did you get so far down here, bud?” you asked, not expecting him to answer.

Which is good, because he had very little to say.

You scoop the frenchie up and he does nothing to try to stop you, going limp in your arms and watching his surroundings as you take him inside so that the both of you can try off and warm up.

And hopefully get ahold of his owners.

The first thing you had done when you’d brought Seymour into your home, the both of you dripping onto the scuffed and worn floorboards, was take him to the linen closet and get something to wrap him in.

He wailed immediately upon being constrained, violently thrashing in your arms as you tried to warm him up so you axed the towel to the floor by the kitchen counter and held him steady in your lap.

He snorted through his wrinkles and stared at you, brown eyes alight with challenge as if to say, do it again. I dare you.

Little bastard.

Instead of trying to towel dry the dog, you peeled his lips back so you could inspect his gums. They were a perfectly bright pink — no sign of paling on either end. And you were impressed with his teeth, spending longer than Seymour liked looking at them. Most small dogs were losing their teeth even early in age.

Speaking of teeth — you’d be surprised if he was older than three. But even younger small dogs had wear and tear of six and over in a lot of the cases you’ve seen.

You came to the conclusion that his owners were very much in love with their dog and took great care of him. And that’s when the frenchie’s patience wore thin and he scrambled away from you and shook his body.

And took a stance in front of you all too well.

“No,” you said to him, still with your knees folded underneath you.

Seymour did not blink, still holding his posture wide and lowering his head.

And then he slammed his front body to the ground, ass in the air.

You closed your eyes and counted to ten — because chasing a dog with the zoomies around your apartment was not on your list of to-dos for the day — before reopening them.

But when you did, he was a grey blur racing around your open-plan living room. He parkoured off your furniture, under your coffee table, nails scratching along your antique rug you found at the flea market for cheap.

It was then you came to the conclusion you would not capture him until he ran out of juice. You got to your feet, clothes sticking to your skin in the most unpleasant of ways, and went toward the closet to grab something else.

You had tried to lure him closer to the space heater you had for emergencies but he seemed inclined to snort his way around your apartment and try to get you to chase him in the process.

If he wouldn’t let you dry him off then there was also no possible way you’d get ahold of his tags again until he got it out of his system.

You allowed him to race around your place ass under his legs while you disappeared into your bedroom to get changed into something dry.

You heard the thuds of paws hitting the floor and rapid racing, along with frenchie-stamped breathing and snorting.

You only hoped that he didn’t tear your couch apart in the five minutes you took to change and dry your hair.

Soaked clothes were left abandoned in the hamper for later washing and replaced with soft cotton shorts and an AC/DC shirt you stole from one of your exes a few years ago.

You returned back out to find Seymour lying sprawled under the coffee table, breathing heavily and loudly. He smacked his lips when his eyes found you and he sat up, watching your movements.

“Hi, bud,” you said, padding toward the sofa and plopping down. It was an invitation that you hoped he’d take. You didn’t mind cuddling him and you’d get a chance to read the phone numbers on the tags again and call the owners.

He leaped up next to you and sniffed around before settling against you with a soft sigh.

You start by scratching him behind his ears and he wastes no time at all leaning into the free affection, almost puddling like melted chocolate along your crossed thighs.

“You’re so sweet,” you told him, moving the scritches underneath his collar. He let out of a noise of contentment and stretched further into your lap.

Phone in hand you punch the first phone number on the tag into your call line and bring it to your ear without stopping Seymour’s pets.

It rings for long enough that you worry it'll send you to voicemail and you'll be forced to try the second phone number. You were creating the perfect voicemail to leave for this person in your head when the line suddenly cut and a low, somewhat cool voice filled the speaker,

“This is Wanda Maximoff.”

You sat up straight as though you were in front of the woman herself, only disturbing the dog cuddled into you enough for him to stretch his limbs out to readjust.

"Um, hi," you greet in a quick response so she wouldn't hang up. You give your name and are straight to business, considering the few words she'd already spoken reminded you of some of the most experienced veterinarians in the field ( meaning: get to your point, and do it now ), "Sorry to bother you but I think I found your dog. I called the first number on the tags. His name is Seymour?"

At hearing his name, Seymour snuffled and opened his eyes to peer up at you with sleepy interest. You began scratching along his forehead, soothing your nerves by tracing the crinkles in his face.

A sharp breath of air not from Seymour but rather from the other end of the line responded to your words. "Seymour? What does this dog look like?"

You were taken aback briefly but you answered, nonetheless, "Gray with a leather banded collar. He has a birth mark of some sort on his gums."

The familiar creaking of an office chair giving way to the weight of something leaning backwards into it was quiet but still within hearing distance. Your eyes flickered toward the windows across from your sofa where rain continued to thunder along the panes.

"Can you hold on for a moment, please?" Wanda Maximoff asks after a moment.

"Sure."

The phone wasn't muted but you heard shuffling of papers and two feminine voices talking back and forth, one of them Wanda's. " . . . and please reschedule my meetings that are later this afternoon. Thank you, America."

You heard a distant response but couldn’t make out what was said and then both voices fell silent, leaving you with Seymour's soft snores as you trailed your fingers along his wrinkly muzzle, having finished tracing his forehead.

Part of your studies and future career would be handling clients in different environments, including over the phone. You had done this multiple times so far as apart of your schooling and rounds with clinics, but even still you despised non face-to-face discussions or emails / text messaging.

You scratched just above Seymour's nose and the canine leaned into it.

The fuzziness on the line became clear and you heard the woman clear her throat. "Alright, apologies for that. I had to handle some things. Now -- about our Seymour?"

“It’s okay,” you assured quickly, fingers having moved up and began to play with Seymour’s soft ears. They were like velvet under your skin they were some of the best cared for from what you could see here — dogs like him tended to get gnarly infections in the ear and chest. "Um, yeah I found him."

"So you said." There was amusement in the otherwise polite response given to you.

Your face flushed and you darted your eyes down to your lap, though you had to gaze to avoid from seeing you. "Sorry," you murmur, then gather yourself and search your brain for the customer service mask, "Um, he was outside of my apartment complex screaming. He wasn't injured -- just cold and wet. He's calmed down considerably now that he's inside and cuddling."

A soft laugh leaked out from your phone and did wonders to ease some of the nerves that prodded your tense muscles. "I bet he is, malen'koye der'mo." The way in which the last part of the sentence was spoken was curled in a way that revealed that this woman was fluent in . . . Russian? You've been to Little Russia a couple of times with Kate -- there's very good food there -- but you did not know much beyond how similar the accent sounded.

"Is he being good?" the woman then asked when you did not say anything afterward.

"He is," you promised, offering a scratch just behind the left ear of the gray pup to reward him. "Just tired and trapping me on my sofa."

Wanda snorted. "That's a surprise, to say the least. I cannot imagine that dog laying down and behaving without my wife or myself in the room." A pause, then a low sigh. "Speaking of my wife -- she must be frantic, assuming our sitter has alerted her to his absence."

Your curiosity about Wanda Maximoff only increased but you held your tongue. Most people in New York walked their own dogs and saved their money. These women were upper-middle class in the very least if they had a dogsitter.

"I noticed he has a microchip tag and a Fi tracker," you prompted, moving just a little downwards and rubbing the bulky object installed on Seymour's collar. "If the app is working, your wife could send your sitter to grab him if you want. I'll be home all day."

"That's usually what we would do," Wanda said, though her tone had grown slightly tired, "but it would appear in being busy and not looking at my phone, my wife has fired her."

Despite yourself, you couldn't hold back the wince. Sure it was a mistake -- but you've seen firsthand how some people are about their animals. It would appear that Wanda's wife is one of those women and left no survivors in her trail.

"Oh," you said awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. "Okay."

"Natasha loves Seymour more than life," the woman explained, as though it needed defending, "but unfortunately her love is also fiery and protective. Sorcha was our tenth sitter in a year."

"I understand," you reply, honestly, even if you feared the wrath of pet owners like the mysterious Natasha, "I -- um -- I'm in my last year of veterinary school."

A noise of interest. "Oh, are you? I feel as though our Seymour was very lucky it was you who happened across him, then," she praised easily. A honk of traffic so distant it couldn't have been from anywhere surrounding your complex, leaving the source to be from Wanda's end.

Then, "That explains how you knew about his birthmark."

You laughed before you could stop it, barking. Your movement startled Seymour, his eyes shooting open and rolling up to stare at you. But still he was not inclined to move from where he lay under your soft hands.

"Yeah -- I gave him a checkup just to make sure he seemed fine. I wasn't sure how long he had been out in the rain. He did not let me get his temperature though, so I'm keeping an eye on him. He seems fine, just really tired after his grand escape."

"Thank you," Wanda told you -- soft and true in the way it was expressed, no business and no professionalism masking the genuine heart behind her words, "really. I'm unsure of how he got as far away as he did this time, but I'm glad he ended up within safety."

Your hand brushing against the tracker reminded you of how she could have possibly known how far away from their home he was -- and you realized she must have looked at the app to see him.

"Of course. I wouldn't have left him there."

"Perhaps it is because of your working with animals -- but I can not admit I would believe the same of most people."

Your tongue curled in your throat because she was right. A lot of people would have walked on by and left him there as they do with many animals.

"So," you managed, teeth scraping your bottom lip nervously, "when do you think you'll swing by to grab him? I'm not picky -- like I said, I'll be here all day and night."

"About that. Considering my wife fired Sorcha and she's in New Jersey hosting a meeting for clients, I'm unsure if either of us will be able to retrieve him at a decent time if at all today."

What the hell were these women in the career-line? You wanted to be nosy but your urges were forced down.

"Oh, okay. Hmm. . ." you trailed off in thought and listened to the rainfall while trying to come up with another solution to get this little guy home.

"I hate to ask," Wanda started, "but I'd be willing to pay you for your time and consideration. Would it be alright if you brought him up to our home tonight? I won't be leaving the office until around eight, so I'd prefer him to be home by nine."

It was very much an offer that had you contemplating. The offer of payment was nice, but mostly you were now just interested in Wanda and wanted to see this woman face to face. Your need to know had always gotten you both into encouraging situations but also into trouble -- it was a 50/50 outcome.

Your stroking of the once-more sleeping canine ceased and your fingernails were being chewed upon as your brain became fuddled. The pros were mostly the money and insurance that Seymour got home safely, the cons were that you actually didn't know Wanda just based off of a ten minute phone call and she was asking you to bring him personally home.

You started with a weak excuse to test the water, "I don't -- I have a driver's license but I don't have a car," you confessed. Most of your friends didn't bother with cars at this point in their lives when Uber was easier to manage even if it was a little more expensive.

But then again, your friends were richer than most people. You walked and "subwayed" and taxied places when your friends weren't with you.

"Ah, that wouldn't be an issue. I would be more than happy to send an Uber -- pre-paid both ways -- to come and get you." A pause when your lack of response lasted a stretch too long, "As long as you're comfortable with that, of course."

Were you comfortable with that? Maybe. It sounded like Wanda was working with her hands tied at the moment and you didn't want to make her life anymore difficult than it may be.

You weren't up to anything and you technically could do this, but . . .

"I'm mostly concerned about safety," you admitted, embarrassed as your head flopped back against the back of the sofa and your eyes closed to hide.

You heard something squeak and creak -- like an office chair -- then the click of heels along wood before stopping. "I can see why your safety would be a cause for concern. Is there any way I can assure you there's no harm? Our home has security cameras and we'd be more than happy to be outside when the Uber approaches if you'd like. Or you can bring a friend."

That settled the uneasy shadow that had been slowly wrapping around your spine and filling into the empty spaces of your stomach. Your shoulders relaxed and you lifted your head.

"I think the security cameras -- those should be fine. And I'll tell a couple of my friends where I'm going."

"Would you be most comfortable texting them the address?" Wanda offers.

And though you know people are entirely more complex and this does not assure any sort of safety from danger, it allowed you to feel less concerned about making the trip and returning Seymour to where he belonged.

"Yes, if that's okay with you," you murmured. "I promise they won't show up or anything. We just keep each other in the loop."

After Rodrick . . .

"I'm not too concerned," Wanda tells you with a tone that made you imagine that she had a small smirk. A woman you had no face to but you couldn't help but see expressions on.

"Thank you. Then yes, I'll take you up on the Uber and bring him home to you. You said by nine?"

"Perfect. And yes, I'll order the Uber when I get home and send it to your location to grab you. Is this phone number good to text you on?"

"Yeah," you told her.

A loud knocking in the background followed by a frantic female voice interrupted your discussion. You hadn't even realized Seymour had hauled himself to the other end of the sofa and was curled up in the corner, fast asleep.

"Tell Steven he can wait ten more minutes if our "long-standing friendship and partnership" still means anything," Wanda broke through the rambling of whoever was distressed, "and breath, America. I need my assistant focused and sharp."

A noise of acknowledgement and silence, then the door closing.

"I'm afraid I must return to work -- but I will get those details to you. Please feel free to use this number if something arises or changes," Wanda Maximoff tells you, all professionalism once more.

"No problem," you assured, "I'll make sure to update you on any, uh, changes."

“Good girl.”

The line went dead before your brain could even reboot so that you could properly process what she had just said.

7:45PM

You were thankful you had set your alarm because when the blaring sound started to cycle into your left ear you hadn't realized you had even fallen asleep.

Your veterinary medicine book was laying half open tilted downward between your hip and the cushions of the sofa and an overwhelming warmth was enveloping your lower abdomen up to your chest.

Seymour was still snoozing but had at some point taken advantage of your own exhausted state and had sprawled himself along you.

You moved and he woke, sniffing and blinking blearily at you. "Sorry, buddy but it's almost time to get you home. I'm sure you wanna see your mamas."

He sighed heavily but didn't try to prevent you from removing him off of you so you could get dressed. You were a little slow to getting ready and you feared you would come across poorly if you approached Wanda and her wife in a state of half-sleepiness.

You checked your phone and noticed that Wanda had sent you the Uber ride information five minutes before your alarm went off and her address as well.

You stuffed your phone and an unopened energy drink from the fridge into your purse and slung it over your shoulder before scooping up Seymour and heading out of the apartment and ensuring it was locked.

The Uber, thankfully, pulled up just as you exited the building. You'd have been much to embarrassed to face Wanda if you had been late to meeting the Uber.

Your oversized hoodie was already soaked through and you apologized profusely to the driver when you entered his backseat with a slightly miffed French Bulldog in hand. But he didn't seem to mind, "I allow dogs, or I wouldn't have taken the ride," he reassures you with a friendly wave off of your apology.

You shoot off a text message to your best friends -- Kate Bishop and Ava Starr -- telling them you're returning a lost dog and adding the address in case they're serial killers.

Bitchop ( 7:59 ): holy privilege Starriz ( 8:00 ): Something pot, something kettle, something something. Bitchop ( 8:00 ): first of all i regret the day Bueller and i introduced you to that meme, second of all: my mother is rich you psychotic inconsiderate freak Starriz ( 8:01 ): Sorry can't hear you, lost signal Bitchop ( 8:02 ): OMG????? YOURE LIKE RIGHT ACROSS THE HALL FROM ME IN CLASSSSSSS. Bitchop ( 8:10 ): btw Bueller, if ur still alive tmrw the mother unit wants you over for dinner no excuses. Bitchop ( 8:10 ): "invite that Ava girl too, i suppose." Starriz ( 8:12: ): how kind of her.

You smiled a little as you read through the thread.

You send a quick confirmation of dinner plans and a promise to tell them when you arrived and left safely but if you were to not send out a message by midnight to send a rescue team out.

Then you slipped your phone into your purse and watched the ride go along, Seymour's face smushed into the chilled glass and fogging it up with his breathing.

Ava and Kate were the first two you befriended when you moved to New York at seven years old. Both bolder and fiercer than you, they shielded you from the initial culture shock of a smalltown Texas-born country girl having to adjust to city life as a result of your father's promotion.

Kate was chaotic and distracting, pulling you in so many directions that it kept your seven-year old self from getting lost in this new world you weren't prepared to exist in. She was your forceful compass that you had learned to rely on to help you as you adjusted and grew used to this new life.

She always told you that her mother had always liked you more than Ava and even herself, but she said it proudly. You knew Kate's relationship with her mother was taught, a cord ready to snap at any second.

But while Ava only ever caused more chaos with Kate, you were able to level them both with a stability that Elanor Bishop had come to respect.

Ava, meanwhile, worked as the spark to set Kate's flame alight. They fed off each other's energies in the strangest way you'd ever seen, even to this day. They used their energy in different ways but they were similar at the core.

Ava was your protector; yours and Kates. She took one look at you when she and Kate noticed you in the classroom and had made the decision for both of them.

She struggled to communicate and to allow expression of her feelings, even to you and Kate. But both of you had learned how to read Ava over the years and respond to her tells so she wouldn't have to struggle to communicate.

When your relationship with Rodrick became a tragedy that Shakespeare would have loved to include in his works, Ava had become something different. It was stormy like you remembered Texas thunderstorms being before a disastrous tornado destroying your first home.

Kate had told you, a while ago, that she had been pushed off a swing and Ava's response landed her with disciplinary actions that the court had to seal up after she reached eighteen.

Ava's parents had paid off the other party and the child transferred schools, but even long after the event Ava Starr was a force to be reckoned with.

Your mother had once called what your friendship was a symbiotic relationship, while you were in the lab after school one evening as she studied her non-dangerous bacteria.

You hadn't really understood what she meant then, but when you started getting into biology and veterinary science that required you to know all the different kinds of symbiotic relationships, it had made sense.

The rain had started to decrease in downpour the further from the city you got, thunder and lightning lighting the cityscape in the distance behind you. The scenery told the story of the storm's effects -- blown leaves and wet roads, but the drizzle was a considerable upgrade from the heavy rain.

The roads became longer and winding, built into the New York landscape. It was an hour long drive and your arrival was perfectly timed to around 9:30.

Around 9:15 the Uber passed the large WESTCHESTER COUNTY sign on the roadside and you breathed out slowly. Rich rich is what these people were -- especially if they lived this far away but worked in the city.

It still begged the question:

How did Seymour end up so far from home?

Eventually you were in Bedford, which itself was a small town but the minute you disappeared into the thick treelines you realized how large the homes were. And spread out.

Until you were somewhere called Bedford Corners — a hamlet within the town itself. It was, apparently, a purely residential area and sprawling gated communities kept passing you by until your Uber started slowing to veer right.

The night guard, leaned out of the window of the watchhouse, greeting your driver as you took in the endless scenery and beauty of what appeared to be Wanda and her wife’s neighborhood.

What the fuck did these two do for a living?

You played with Seymour’s collar as soon as the gates opened and the car furthered even deeper inside, passing houses all larger than the next until finally coming to a large driveway that didn’t initially allow you to see the home.

But Jesus Christ, as soon as the car made the way up and circled in front of the house —

It was huge and beautiful — grey and brown cobblestone with a huge amount of land from what you could see. You swallowed dryly as you thanked the driver shakily and closed the door. You turned to ask if he was also doing your trip back, but he had begun driving off.

So that answered that question.

Left to face Wanda and her apparently terrifying wife by yourself, dog dangling from your arms, you slowly drag yourself up the rest of the driveway and to the grand front porch.

It had life despite it the wealth that was poured into it — small decorations that had personal taste, actively cared for plants in pots and in ground, and a bubbling fountain at the center of the circle drive. It was everything you could only hope to achieve when you graduate.

Your thumb presses down on the door bell and you adjust how you’re holding Seymour so he doesn’t slip from your grasp. He simply sighs and acts as though he’s not been brought back to his residence, content to lay in your hold.

It takes only a few moments before the door opens and —

Your body locks up, eyes wide as Seymour starts wailing like a banshee at the sight of the gorgeous woman facing you. One hand on holding the door open still dressed from work, you assumed, in a black pantsuit, white heels, and crystal earrings. Her hair, a red-brown, is down and looks like it’s been altered in a commercial.

“Hi!” she greets, the voice familiar and finally placing the woman on the phone with the absolute supermodel in front of you. “And hello, Seymour!”

You were jostled from your blatant staring when the dog did his damned best to break free from your hold, Wanda being his target. You set him down and he flees toward her.

“Oh my God, thank you so much,” Wanda said as she allowed the wriggly creature to rub against her legs and leave gray fibers along the fabric. She leaned down and started rubbing him. “See — see aren’t you happy to have come home? Yeah.”

“It’s no problem,” you said, smiling at the sweet homecoming as you stuck your hands in the back pockets of your jeans. “He’s excited. Didn’t seem to care until he saw you.”

“That’s Seymour.” Green eyes rolling, the quirk of black painted lips. “He doesn’t realize until too late when we’re out of his sight and he panics. But he seemed to like you so much that he calmed down.”

Your brow furrowed. “He screams with most people?”

“Oh yeah,” the taller woman confirmed, letting the gray bundle dash off further into the large home without so much as a goodbye to you. “If it’s not me or Natasha, it’s pure terror. That’s partially the issue with keeping a sitter.”

“Well, he was perfect for me,” you assured with a small smile. You didn’t meet her eyes when her own began seeking them out — instead they fell to your sneakers. “He’s a good dog.”

“He is.” That wasn’t Wanda who agreed, but a deeper feminine voice approaching. You startled and looked back up to find another woman had joined Wanda in the doorframe, arm winding around her waist and Seymour panting heavily at her heels. “Wanda told me you found him. Thank you.”

“Of course. You’re Natasha, I’m guessing?”

A smirk with unspoken meaning was your only answer. This woman seemed to have gotten dressed down before coming to find you and her wife, wearing grey sweats and a crop top that exposed the beginning of abs that you wanted nothing more than to get on your knees and —

“Um,” you said, awkwardly bringing your thumbs up. “I’m glad he’s home now but is there anything else?”

Natasha’s blonde eyebrow arched, though her expression was like a steel barrier that wouldn’t be crossed if you tried.

“Actually,” Wanda started, sounding leagues more hesitant as she drew the door open a touch further, “we wanted to propose something to you.”

"Uhm . . ." You glanced behind you and your hands jerk out out of their pockets as their gazes settled over you.

"We promise to not hurt you. If it helps you feel better, Natasha's a stickler for safety," Wanda told you with a small, but fair attempt at a comforting smile.

Your eyes flickered to the shorter of the two, who held a relaxed pose as she traced designs along her wife's hip despite her face remaining firmly on you.

"She runs a private security firm," Wanda added.

Natasha snorted, unwrapping her arm from around her wife and crossing them. "Always finding an excuse to tell people that."

Your curiosity -- you hated admitting it -- won out over your rising nerves and you swallowed a little and nodded. "What was your proposition?"

Wanda's eyes twinkled like emeralds. "Come inside for some coffee and to warm up, and we'll sit you down and go over it."

Your energy drink remained full and unopened in your bag but you didn't tell them that as you glanced from one to the other before nodding and stepping foot into the doorway, opening you up to a world that was far different to the one you lived in.

You lost track of all the beautiful smart home gadgets, the mix between modern and rustic interior design, and distracted by Seymour’s hot breath tracking your ankles the entire way toward the kitchen.

They asked you about your veterinary schooling; how long you had left and where you attended and where you wished to apply when you were completely done. Questions all happily answered — your drive for your career was your most significant at the moment, and thus curated the most responses out of you.

They sat you down at the reclaimed wood dining table with coffee that was probably more expensive than your rent for two months, but it was fucking good. Exquisite and not too bitter — you hadn’t asked for anything but milk added into the mug.

“Oh my God.”

Natasha and Wanda peer at you over their own mugs, both hosting amusement.

You flushed under their scrutiny, nose dipping so your face was somewhat covered. “Sorry. It’s really good, thank you.”

“It’s from a small local community in Italy — we get a few bags every time we take a trip,” Wanda tells you. “I’m glad you like it, really. It’s meant to be enjoyed.”

You sipped on your coffee again and enjoyed the flavor, wishing you had something like this all the time.

“Eyes up.”

The husky order came from Natasha and something deep within you activated instantly — though you don’t know entirely what triggered it.

But your eyes immediately shot up and met Natasha’s, locking you in a gaze with her that you still couldn’t read.

“Good girl,” Wanda praises easily, like she knew you well enough and was telling you something about the weather. She set her mug down on the top of the table. “Look at me, now, please.”

You did with only a minuscule amount of hesitation, nervous for the older woman’s reaction if you broke the gaze. But instead Natasha dipped her chin, and sipped her drink, and it was a release of her hold on you.

“Thank you.” Wanda rests her own chin on her hand and peers at you. “So our proposition . . . We were talking on your way up, and with Seymour seeming to be a fan of you and us being out a sitter we’d like to make a request that you fill the that role — with benefits.”

Natasha cleared her throat quietly, and Wanda tapped her fingers along her jawline. “But we’d also like to offer something else, if it’s agreeable and if you choose not to do one but would agree to do the other then no harm.”

“Okay.” The questioning lilt in your tone did not escape them.

“Have you ever heard of BDSM? Dominant and Submissive to be particular,” Wanda began, searching your facial features and finding the way your skin turned bright red instantly.

“Y-Yes, um. Yes.” You bite the edge of your tongue to stop your sputtering. You had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“Lovely.” Another one of those soft smiles. “We don’t want to overwhelm you with a lot of it tonight — especially if you’re not considering it —“

“I am.”

A pause.

Not even you had really meant to say it, not out loud at least. But with the flustered rise they’d manage to draw from you in a small amount of time, your quick loss of control was bound to happen.

“Don’t interrupt,” Natasha said firmly, her tone starting to slide less on polite and courteous and into something you couldn’t identify. “Let Wanda finish her sentences before you speak.”

“Yes, sorry.” You glanced toward her and noticed she seemed to be studying you intently, like a dog studies something it wants to chase.

Or maul.

“Good girl. Drink your coffee.”

You did as told while Wanda tapped the tips of her fingers along the base of her mug. “You didn’t seem to put much thought into it, did you?”

You ran your tongue along your teeth once the taste of the coffee settled into your bones. “I like Seymour — and I would have said yes to being your sitter for him regardless. But I haven’t been . . . Interested in something like this in a while.”

“Like this?”

“Um . . . Sexual.”

“It’s not just sexual,” Wanda told you, reaching out and offering a hand. You upturned yours in acceptance to her invitation, letting her fingers dance along your palm. “Natasha and I want a live-in, someone who has goals to pursue that we cannot only throw money into but catch in a fall after a shit day. We do it with one another and we’d like to do it with someone who’s different than us in terms of lifestyle and sex life.”

“A sugar baby?”

Natasha couldn’t restrain the chuckle, but she confirmed it for you while Wanda became distracted by the contact she had made with you.

“Sugar baby, dog-sitter, submissive. So many titles — yes, we’d like that. We don’t always meet our needs for each other in bed but sometimes we’re not home at the same time and it can get lonely.”

“You want someone to liven it up,” you surmised, the ebbing nerves starting to disappear the longer you sat here with them.

“We do,” Wanda confirmed, pulling her hand away though you wish she wouldn’t.

“My lease?”

“We’d ask you to break it,” Natasha said easily. “We’ll pay for it. We’ll get you moved in and settled before we actually start throwing the chains on and bring out the paddles.”

Your disgruntled look must have revealed your shock, because Natasha barked out a laugh. “I’m kidding. There’s a process we want to put you through before we have sex. It’s important that you see it through, but it’s also important you know there’s exits in this situation should you feel unsafe at any point even if we haven’t slept together.”

You chewed on your knuckle as your life suddenly turned into a Wattpad story that your twelve year old self would have absolutely been screaming over.

“I’ll say yes to the live-in dog sitter; I do need some money and it’d be nice to throw rent off the table to ease my payload.”

The two women glanced at one another.

“And,” you continued, “I need to sleep on the other part of the offer if that’s okay? I’m considering it, but it’s a lot.”

A gentle smile from Wanda. “Of course. I know we dropped this on you so strangely but . . . We don’t usually come to an agreement about something like this. It’s been a few years.”

“Since you had a submissive?”

“Since we opened our home to one.”

PART TWO

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine Series Masterlist

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

Recently released from a stint in Stockton Prison with a few of the Sons, Jax is still struggling with Tara returning to Chicago over a year after he killed Agent Kohn for her. When he returned to Charming, Jax noticed a coffee shop had sprung up across the street from Teller-Morrow Automotive and the clubhouse, oddly finding himself watching the strangely cheerful owner through the windows. One night he feels drawn to step inside, but he's left even more confused when the owner feels like the embodiment of sunshine itself. Jax quickly realizes that the more he visits her shop, the more at peace he finds himself.

List of Installments

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

[daydreams-after-dark]

Free Use Jail Cell, Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 (final) | extra: Police Reports | extra: Dinner date with Minho

full master list for additional installments

Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader

Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.

Word Count: 3k (part 1)

Chapter Summary: Officer Seo Changbin arrests you and has some one on one time with you before taking you to the station. You meet the other officers. (This chapter is Changbin focused, but a little bit happens at the end with the other officers.)

a/n: This fic will be in multiple parts because I get too impatient not to share what I’ve written so far. There will be two, possibly three installments turns out it will be more like 6 (tag list is open).

I refer to the officers as “Officer Hyunjin”, “Officer Minho” etc just to make it quick to identify the characters. 

The whole premise is planned and explained in the fic. The story is purely fantasy, but please be mindful of content warnings, as it has potentially triggering content. I want you to be safe here on my blog.

CW: planned fantasy role play, police arrest, nudity, unprotected sex in a semi public space, pain kink, roleplay pain, anal play, blow jobs, cum eating, name calling (both praising and degrading), reference to sexual acts, imprisonment, restraints (handcuffing).

🚨🚨🚨🚨

The lights of the police patrol car reflect in your rear view mirror, signaling for you to stop your car.

“Dammit.” You sigh as you pull your car over to the side of the road.

You watch in your side mirror as a police officer emerges from his patrol car, and your heart rate increases when you see the well built figure approach your window. 

“Everything okay, Officer?” You say innocently.

“I’m gonna need you step out of the vehicle, Ma'am.” He says sternly.

“But I wasn’t speeding.” You protest as he opens your car door and pulls you out.

“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” You writhe against him, but he’s too strong.

“No. But you’ve just resisted arrest, so you’re in big trouble little bunny.” He slams you front first against the side of your car and proceeds to handcuff your hands around your back.

“You’ve got the wrong woman, Dude!” You cry.

“That’s Officer Seo Changbin, to you.” He tears you away from your car abruptly and tugs you towards his police car. “In.” He throws you in the back of the car like a rag doll.

“But my car!” You wail, as he slams the door and hops into the driver’s seat.

“Shh. It’ll be impounded. Now not another word.”

“But you haven’t read me my rights! You can’t do this!”

But Officer SEO Changbin ignores you as he drives away.

After half an hour of you demanding he explain what you’ve actually been arrested for, and half an hour of being met with silence, Officer Changbin pulls off the main road and parks his car in a deserted space under a bridge.

Alarm bells go off in your head as you look around. The area is absolutely deserted. You frantically try to formulate a plan to escape. But even if you did escape, you’re fucking handcuffed.

The Officer opens the back door and slips in beside you, holding a tablet and stylus. “Y/n. Twenty five. Female. Submitted a ‘free use jail fantasy’. That is you, is it not?” He quirks an eyebrow at you. 

You stare at the man, but remain silent. Isn’t that one of your rights?

Changbin sighs. “This is your contract. I need you to understand the terms of our engagement.”

He holds the tablet in front of you so you can read exactly what you signed yourself up for. 

I, y/n, agree to being held prisoner in a police station setting, where eight men have the right to use my body how they see fit. This includes: degradation, humiliation, spanking, oral sex, vaginal penetration, anal penetration (includes use of fingers), double penetration, rough sex, use of props and restraints. 

Please read below for further details.

You scroll through the rest of the pages. Details of the acts that may take place, photos of the men and their role, special interests and skills. They are fucking handsome as hell too.

What the fuck have you signed up for? It sounded good in your head. It sounded good when you applied. But now it’s real.. You gulp and look at the Officer. 

“Sign here.” He points to the space at the bottom of page 12.

“Umm…”  you nudge your head towards your restraints.

“Oh yes of course.” Changbin releases your cuffs, opting to secure them in front of you instead. You take the stylus and sign on the dotted line.

You only live once right?

“Great. So as of now you belong to us. Well, for the next 24 hours.” He says matter of fact.

You suck on your lower lip. “So, like right now you could get me to do…things?” You say in a small voice.

“Yes, that’s right. I could instruct you to do things. Or, I could just do things to you. Free use, remember?” He takes the tablet from you and places it next to him in the seat. Your eyes fall on his thick bicep and you feel an ache between your legs. He sits back, slouching against the backseat, and his eyes drop to your bare leg.

A heavy silence fills the car. 

Changbin reaches out to squeeze your thigh, just above your knee and you hold your breath as his hand slowly slides up under your skirt.

“Show me your panties.” He whispers, lifting your skirt up. You open your legs for him. 

His plush, pink lips part slightly.  “Take them off.” He instructs.

You shimmy your panties off and wait for your next instructions. 

“Unbuckle my belt.”

The chain of the handcuffs rattling, and his heavy breaths are the only sounds as you bring your hands to his belt. “Uunzip my pants and take out my cock.”

Your heart begins to race, and your mouth becomes dry, as anticipation and fear bubble in your stomach. Your fingers shake as you unzip his fly and pull his length through the opening of his boxers. Fuck, he is so thick. Your eyes flick up to his.

“Suck it.” He says, staring at you.

You take a deep breath and bring your mouth closer to the fat tip, wondering you you’d even be able to stretch your mouth around it. You kiss the slit. Changbin hisses. “Don’t tease.” He says with a gravely tone. 

You swirl your tongue around the tip, then along the shaft, moistening it up. But Changbin is impatient, and he presses his hand on the back of your head, indicating that he’s had enough of your chaste ministrations.

You stretch your mouth around his girth and sink your head down over him. God, he’s not going to fit. You’re going to choke. 

“C’mon, deeper.” He pushes your head, coaxing you to take more of him. Your eyes immediately water, but you do your very best to suck him enthusiastically.

You feel his hand slide down your back and over your ass. You whimper when he lifts your skirt up and he spanks you on the ass. “Deeper.” He moans. 

You lift off and take a big breath before taking him back in your mouth, forcing yourself to take even more of him. His fingers finds your pussy, sliding them  through your wet folds. He gathers some of your arousal and brings the pad of his finger to your asshole. 

“Hmm… you feel like you’re gonna be so tight. The boys are going to have fun stretching out this little thing. You won’t be able to sit for a week.” He chuckles. 

You moan at the thought, excited to be used.

Changbin’s finger breaches the tight ring of muscle as he presses inside. It’s just to the first knuckle but it’s making you hungry for more.

“That’s enough for now.” He decides, withdrawing his finger and pulling your mouth off his cock. You sit up whining at the loss. “Are we going to go to the police station now?” You inquire.

Changbin scoffs. “Greedy little thing. Can’t wait for what’s in store for you.” He strokes your tear stained cheek. “We’ll go soon. But not until you ride me. Climb on.” He nods towards his cock. “I want first feel of your pussy.”

You straddle Officer Changbin, wrapping your still cuffed hands around his neck, and he holds his cock steady for you as you lower yourself down on him. “Fuck!” You squeak as you feel the tip against your entrance. “You’re so big Officer. I’m not sure I can take you.” 

You swallow, looking into his eyes. There’s lust there. You can see it. He looks like he could hurt you, but there’s a kindness in his expression too, and you wonder if the other men will be like him?

“If you can’t take my cock, how are you gonna take two at once?” He whispers. “Sit on it. I want to feel your walls wrapped around my dick.”

“What if I say no? What happens?” You challenge him.”

“‘No’s not your safe word.” He grips your hips and slowly lowers you down onto his length. “Just keep your eyes on me, sweet thing. Shhh. I know Binnie’s thick.”

You shake your head. “It’s too big.” 

“It’s gonna feel good. I promise. Let me stretch your tight little walls.” He breathes against your cheek.

You feel yourself stretching for him, slowly relaxing to accommodate his size. Inch by inch you feel him fill you. 

“You are tight aren’t you? Fuck, like a vice.” He closes his eyes and tries to steady his breath.

You push yourself down all the way and pause. 

Changbin opens his eyes again and lifts your skirt so he can see where you’re impaled on him.

“See. Look at that.” He says in awe. Your eyes follow his as you lift up slightly and lower yourself again, watching him disappear inside you. 

“Bounce on me. Show me what a good little girl you are, and I’ll put in a good word in my report.”

He digs his hands into your ass cheeks, spreading them and using his grip on them to bounce you.

“I need you to scream for me. No one’s gonna hear you, but I want you to scream your lungs out anyway.”

He grips you tighter, and as though you weigh nothing, he lifts you up and slams you down. You cry out. “Again!” He growls as he slides you up his cock, and drops you back down. “Scream.”

You cry out, screaming loudly.

“Hurts doesn’t it, bunny?” He uses his hips to fuck up into you ferociously.

“N-no…feels goo-”

“Say it hurts. Scream like it hurts.” He growls and throws  you off him and pushes your face into the car seat. He lifts your hips to meet his cock and thrusts into you forcefully. Every thrust is deep and hard. Your pussy feels stretched to its limits. 

He’s relentless, pounding into you harder and harder. The sound of your bodies colliding filling the car. The windows are steamed up, and you're certain the car is rocking wildly.

“Stop… please… too hard…it hurts…” you scream. But you don’t use your safe word. It actually feels incredible.

“Is Binnie too much, hmm? Poor little cunt struggling to fit me?” He mocks you.

You scream louder. He picks up the pace. 

“Fuck…I’m coming!!!” You let out the loudest scream your lungs can muster, as you clench your walls around Changbin’s cock.

“That’s it, so nice and loud for me.”  He helps you ride out your orgasm and then withdraws from your still quivering cunt.

“Good, compliant little bunny. Come, drink up.” He strokes your hair as he helps you turn around so you can wrap your lips around his cock again. He pumps the length a few times until you feel his hot, thick cum coat your tongue. 

“Open. Show me.” The tilts your chin as you present to him your mouth full of semen. “Swallow it up for me.”

You keep your eyes locked on him as you swallow the thick, salty substance, and then open back up to show him.

“Good girl. We need to get you into your cell.” He smirks and gets back into the front of the car.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

It’s almost dark when you get to the police station and you’re feeling incredibly nervous about what lies ahead. 

Changbin helps you get out of the vehicle, leaving your panties on the floor, and escorts you up the front steps of the building. It actually looks like a real police station too, and you wonder how on earth they managed to have access to this place.

The seven other men are waiting for you. They eagerly stand up from their desks as Changbin walks you past until you reach the cell at the far end of the room.

“In.” He grunts, removing your handcuffs and pushing you inside and slamming the door closed behind you. You quickly take in your surroundings. There’s absolutely nothing in your cell except a mattress with two folded blankets on top.

“So this is the sweet thing we have to break?” One of the men jeers. 

“This will be fun.” Another adds.

You turn back towards the men, who are all lined up on the other side of the bars. They watch you. So many eyes. On you. Some look mean. Others look kind. You recognise each of them from the photos, and you know from your research you need to watch out for the ones named Seungmin and Minho. 

“Y/n. Come meet the officers.” The Chef, Chan you believe his name is, says firmly.

You take a step forward.

“No.” He stops you. “First, strip.” 

“Oh!” You squeak. You hesitate. Are you really ready for this? But there’s something thrilling about this situation, and you know, deep down, even though you’re nervous, scared even, you don’t want to stop. Your hands tremble as they grasp the hem of your top and you pull it over your head. Leaving your top half In merely a flimsy sheer bra.

“Fuck. She’s hot.” One of them men whistle under his breath.

“The skirt too..” Chan barks.

“B-but-“ you remember you’re not wearing underwear.

“Skirt. Off. I don’t like repeating myself.” Chan snaps.

You lower your eyes as you peel your skirt down and let drop it to the floor.

“No panties. What a slut.” Minho smirks.

You can feel all eyes on your bare pussy. 

“Look at the officers before you y/n.”

You lift your head and look at the men.  

“For the next twenty four hours these men own your body. They want your cunt? You let them have it. They want to fuck your ass? It’s theirs. They want to take you two at a time? Tie you up, use restraints? You do not resist. They feel they need to punish you? You take it willingly. They want to degrade you, humiliate you?” 

Seungmin laughs at that.

“They can. If they want to treat you nice, be sweet, they’re allowed to do that too. But you don’t come without permission. They control your orgasms.”

Chan basically recites  your submission request back to you.

“Alright. Come forward to meet the officers who will be taking good care of you over the next twenty four hours.” 

You take a step forward. “On your knees.” Chan corrects you.

You drop to your knees, the floor is cold and hard, and you crawl over to where the men wait.

The one named Minho comes forward and presents his erect cock to you, sliding it through the bars. “Come say hello, kitten.” He says coldly.

You look up at him as you wrap your mouth around him, and he immediately takes hold of the back of your head to keep it still while he fucks your mouth. You hear several belts being unbuckled around you.

So this is the introductions then?

“Changbin and I will leave you to it.” Chan informs the group and he and Changbin leave you with the remaining six officers.

From what you can tell from the way Minho holds your head and watches you with intense eyes, is that the man can read your limits. He pushes in just enough to make you gag, but not quite making you choke. His rhythm is smooth and consistent, and when he cums you know he’s holding back a pretty moan. He’s definitely a dom, but one that really understands a sub.

Felix, the pretty and gentle blond, is careful with your face, he doesn’t push too far, and he lets you use your hand on him. But there’s a glimmer in his eye that tells you he doesn’t mind the kinkier side of things, or that he might like seeing you in pain.

Hyunjin. He doesn’t even have to speak and he’s got you blushing. Just the way he’s looking at you, his tongue licking his pretty lips, has you dripping down your legs. The man is beautiful, sensual, and  the way he’s working with you as you work his cock, moving with your mouth and hand, makes you believe he finds sex to be about connection. You’re not entirely sure how that will play out.

Jeongin. Seems sweet and innocent, but his entire expression changes to demonic once his tip hits your throat. You’re not sure what he has in store for you, but you know it’s not going to sweet, and you find yourself imagining all sorts of scenarios with him.

Jisung is next. Confident, demanding with his cock. Mumbles “slut” a few times, and thrusts his hips erratically. He’s unpredictable, and you splutter when he pushes far too deep for you. A flicker of fear and concern crosses his features, and you get the urge to help him stay in the character he’s trying to portray. You moan enthusiastically, and he quickly recovers, fucking you without restraint.

Seungmin is last. He’s cruel with his words, and careless with his thrusts. He’s energy is cold, and you know that if you need to be punished, he’s the guy to give it to you. That is until he comes back with an oversized shirt and a tray of food, and asks you if you have any questions about the agreement.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

You sit alone in your cell and eat your dinner, wondering what the night will hold. You don’t have to wait long though, because Chan is walking towards your cell. 

“Y/n. It’s time for your interrogation with Detective Minho and Officer Seungmin.”

Fuck.

↣↣ up next, interrogation time with 2min here

↳ tag list : open

@jeonginsleftcheek @meilix @itgirlalisaa @linocz @bubblebisk @boi-bi-ahaha @frozenpeasworld @grandma143 @milkypinkmimi @bangchansbbgirl @lunearta @leefelixsslut @privhace @justforreaders @galaxycatdrawz @melochacco @jiwoos-babygirl @kavifornia

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @kyunchoni @justforreaders @melochacco

[backtothefanfiction]

Oh Baby | PART 4: THE ATTACK

Manny Alvarez x Reader Insert

Summary: The Scars attack the media tower and it changes your's and Manny's approach to this whole entire pregnancy

Warnings: Mature, pregnancy, threat, murder and sacrifice, guns, canon typical violence, use of y/n

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: although I've been ill this week and still not had a chance to fully catch up with getting ahead of this story again, I didn't want people waiting too long for the next instalment, especially when it was as action packed and dramatic as this. as stated previously I am playing fast and loose with canon events, things will still happen the timelines are just a little adjusted for the timings of Y/N's pregnancy. this one is a little gruesome in places and very tense but ends with a bit of hope for the future. enjoy.

2 WEEKS LATER

Tension between the WLF and the scars had increased tenfold in the last few days. It had always been bad, but recently the Scars had found a new lease of life and stepped things up a notch. You were up at the top of the old media tower on look out when the call came through the talkie.

“Tower 3 this is tower 7, we’ve got movement from the park that’s headed your way. Over,” a wary male voice came through. 

“Tower 7, do you have eyes on how many?” you heard your partner for the day, Dan, ask.

“Tower 3 this is Tower 2, you’ve got a breach on your East side,” you heard come through.

“Shit,” you mumbled as you moved across the floor of the old radio control tower to look out through the open window. You just caught a glimpse of two robed figures climbing up and sneaking into a window on the second floor. “Fuck! They’re in the building!” you called across to him before the emergency warning lights came on and an alarm started blaring.

“Shit, what do we do?” you turned and asked Dan. 

“Y/N?” Manny’s panicked voice crackled through the walkie talkie.

“I’m here,” you said, reaching for your own walkie.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“A group of scars have broken into the building,” you stated, gunshots echoing up from the floors below as members of the WLF started firing on the religious nut jobs.

“We have to go down there and help them,” Dan said as he readied his weapons. 

“But what if more of them come? Someone needs to stay on look out,” you objected.

“Yeah and a fat load of good that did us,” he bristled. “They still snuck up on us and got in anyway,” he said, as a high pitched scream permeated up the stairwell. 

“It sounds like a blood bath down there.”

“Which is why we need to go down there and help them,” Dan argued, but before he could even take another step towards the door, Nora came running in. 

“We need to get out of here right now!” she said.

“But what about the others,” Dan argued.

“We’re fucking outnumbered,” she stressed and a pang of fear moved through your stomach. Although you had only seen two scars enter, it was clear there were a lot more who had snuck in when you weren’t looking.

You quickly clutched protectively at your belly. You had seen what the Seraphites had done to members of the WLF before and you highly doubted that you being pregnant was going to be much of a deterrent when it came to splitting you open and leaving you tied up with your insides on your outside.

“Y/N!” Manny’s panicked voice came down the walkie talkie again. “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on?”

“We need to find a way out,” Nora said, pacing over and stealing the walkie from you and talking to Manny directly.

“Nora?” he questioned, worried. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s fine,” Nora reassured him. “They’re both fine. But they won’t be if we can’t find a way out-“ she said, but all three of you froze as the sound of a door opening echoed up the stairwell and more footsteps began to thunder up them.

“We need to hide, like right now,” Nora stressed, reaching for your arm and pulling you to one side.

She pulled you down under a desk, tucking you both in tight as the footsteps and shouting grew louder. You held one hand protectively over your belly as your other hand moved up to muffle the sounds of your panicked breathing.

You could hear Manny’s voice coming through the walkie talkie where she had discarded it to leave as a decoy and give you both a chance, but it was breaking your heart knowing how worried he was.

You chanced a quick look around the side of the desk to see where Dan was, spotting him crouched over by the door with his gun at the ready, waiting to catch the Scars by surprise. As the two robed men burst through the open doors you quickly tucked your head back in again and closed your eyes. You desperately focused on remaining calm. You felt Nora’s hand reach for yours and her grip on your fingers felt calming and protective as you listened carefully to the two men beginning to scout the room. 

They made it five steps in before Dan struck out, shooting one of them in the head, but the other was already trying to tackle him to the ground, just as another set of footsteps landed on the top step to join.

“Who else is up here with you?” The Scar, who had now pinned Dan down to the floor, asked.

“Uhhhgg-“ Dan groaned before you heard him spitting blood out of his mouth. “No one!” he grunted. “There’s no one up here, I’m the only one,” he said and your heart plummeted as you heard him sacrifice himself in order to save you. 

You were thankful that Manny had stopped trying to radio over at that point too, so he wouldn’t reveal Dan’s lie. There was more grunting and shuffling as the two Scars continued to wrestle with Dan and get him to his feet, but he was putting up a good fight. 

There was a sudden groan and a thud and all went quiet and you were sure Dan was knocked unconscious. Your legs and breaths quivered as you listened to them drag his body from the room and begin to take it downstairs. Knowing what they were sure to do to him, made your stomach lurch and you quickly scrambled out from your hiding place to vomit in a nearby bucket. 

“Fuck,” you heard Nora sigh. “He sacrificed himself for us.”

“Probably shouldn’t waste that then,” you muttered, as you spat into the bin one last time before coming up for air.

“So what’s our plan?” you asked, as you finally took in the way Nora was pacing back and forth thinking. 

“We need to find a way to get downstairs without being caught.”

“How long do you think until backup arrives?” you asked, chancing a look out the window. “I mean, maybe we just stay put?” 

“If they find us hiding they’ll for sure trial us for insubordination.” 

“I mean, I’m pregnant, can they blame me?” you said, indicating to the child growing in your belly with exasperation. 

“All the same, who's to say they won’t be coming back to fully make sure no one else is up here, or to signal to their friends or something?” she suggested.

“Okay, so we take the back staircase and hope to slip out.”

“That means we’ve got to cross over on floor 6,” she said. 

“Okay. We can do that?” you said breathing heavily as you tried your best to psych yourself up, but it wasn’t working.

You moved to grab your pistol from your thigh, checking the bullets before you put one in the chamber ready.

“Ready?” Nora asked you as she did the same, taking up her stance ahead of you and placing herself in the firing line first should anything happen. 

“No, but, we’re gonna do this anyway, so-“ 

You quickly wiped your sweaty palms on your trousers before you lifted your gun up in front of you, ready, again. You both took it slowly as you began to creep down the stairs one by one. You attempted to keep your breathing under control and tried to stay as alert as possible despite everything in your body telling you to go back and hide. You tried to think of Manny. You thought desperately of your kid. The idea of him holding them in the future on a back porch, watching the sun go down behind them on a farm in the middle of nowhere, filling your mind. You had to fight for that moment.

You both hesitated at the door that lead to the 6th floor. Nora silently told you to wait where you were as she risked opening the door and checking the corridor for any immediate assailants. When she had confirmed it was clear she silently motioned for you to follow. 

You both kept taking it in turns to circle the other, one of you always having their eyes forward, whilst the other watched your backs. Despite a few smears of blood here and there, it was quiet. Too quiet. 

As you reached the end of the corridor of old dressing rooms, you faintly heard a sound coming from one of the sound stages further along the corridor. You both knew you should be running in the opposite direction from it, but still you couldn’t help but be drawn to it. 

As you got closer, the voices became clearer. “Hoist her up,” one of them said before the sound of a woman crying out in distress came echoing down the corridor.

“Please, no, don’t do this. I’ll tell you what you want to know, just please-“ she pleaded desperately, but it didn’t do her any good. 

The sound of mumbled chanting began to fill the air and the leader of the group of Scars stepped forward, reciting a rehearsed speech about sacrificing the young woman to Her. Your hand reached for Nora’s in solidarity as you both waited for what came next. The young woman’s shrieks became louder and there was the horrible sound of ripping flesh before her blood and guts spilled loudly onto the floor.

The sound alone made you want to puke again and you quickly lifted the back of your hand that was holding your gun to your mouth to hold it in. Carefully, you slowly breathed in and out through your nose and tried to ride out the feeling.

“Hey,” you heard a familiar voice whisper urgently and your heart leapt as you turned your head to find Manny hesitating on a corner, further back up the hall from the direction that you just came. 

Quietly, you and Nora crept back up the corridor towards him. The second you were close enough to him he wrapped you tightly in his arms, kissing the top of your head. “Oh thank god you’re safe, I thought you were dead,” he said, his voice muffled into your hair and you were sure if you looked at him you might find him crying, but he wasn’t. He was too much of a well trained soldier to break in the middle of a mission. No matter how personal it might be. 

“We need to get out of here,” he affirmed when you finally broke apart.

“How did you get in?” Nora hissed at him, as more muffled screams came down the hall. This time they were much more manly and you worried they might have belonged to Dan.

“Got in through a window on the second floor,” Manny replied, subtly pushing you behind him as he moved his gun back into a readied stance in front of him. 

“Can we get back out of it?” Nora asked him in a hushed tone.

“We can,” he said, “but I don’t know how well Y/N will climb out-“

“I’ll try, I’ll do anything. Just get us out of here,” you hissed at him. 

“Okay, follow me,” he said, before he began to stalk back up the corridor to the staircase you’d just come through. 

All was quiet as the three of you raced down the stairs, Nora now taking the lead as Manny watched your backs, always keeping you in his sights. 

“Which way?” Nora asked quietly, in case there were any more of the Scars lurking about on the lower levels looking for stragglers.

“Left,” Manny informed her and the three of you began to move down the dark corridor in the direction he’d stated.

“It’s just around the corner,” Manny pressed, as he continued to usher you along with a protective hand at your back.

You all came to a stop at the window that was smashed in. A large jagged part of glass covered in blood still clung to the frame and it turned your stomach again. 

“Did you do that? Are you hurt?” you quickly turned to him, frantically checking him over as Nora assessed the drop.

“No, no. It must have been one of them. I’m fine,” he reassured you, but it did little to ease your rapidly beating heart. “I’m okay,” he stressed, his hand resting on your cheek earnestly as he met your eyes. “I promise. Lets just all get out of here,” he said, as another painful scream rang down from the floor upstairs.

“Come on, I’ll help you out,” Nora said, already through the window and standing precariously on top of an old air conditioning unit.

“Is that gonna hold both of us?” you asked her as she reached her hand back through the window for you. 

“It’ll have to,” she said. “Come on.”

You looked down at the drop and your butt tingled, your knees growing weak in fear. You never used to worry about heights like this, but you had more than just yourself to think about now. As you hovered with one foot on the ledge, ready to push yourself up, a crossbow bolt came soaring through the air, lodging in the wall inches from your head.

“SHIT!” you heard Manny swear, turning and lifting his gun to fire two shots into the chest of the Scar that had just appeared at the other end of the hall. “We have to go, NOW!” he stressed. “Y/N, jump through the window.”

“I CAN’T!” you gritted, frozen.

“YES YOU CAN!” he barked.

“Come on, I’ve got you,” Nora said from the other side.

“I can’t!” you said again, your voice wobbling as a whistle came from somewhere in the distance.

“Yes, you can,” Nora responded calmly, her hand reaching out for you as Manny took a step back and raised his gun in preparation. “I’ve got you, okay? We’re gonna get out of this. Come on,” she said, just as Manny fired yet another shot into one of the Seraphites at the other end of the hall.

You braced yourself, taking one more deep breath for courage before you hoisted yourself up onto the window ledge, your hand catching on one of the broken shards of glass and slicing through the skin on your fingers, but you tried to ignore it. You let yourself take Nora’s hand and she helped you steady yourself as you moved out onto the AC unit.

You tried to focus forward and not back as Manny fired two more shots and your heart shot up into your throat.

“Come on,” Nora said, hopping down onto the next ledge and reaching back up to you as you sat yourself on the edge of the unit to drop down. 

“Manny?” you called back, looking back through the broken window for him, but he wasn’t there. “Manny!?” you called again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. GO!” he stressed as he stepped back towards the window.

���Come on, I’ve got you,” Nora said, raising her hands up to catch and steady you as you slid off the AC unit and landed with a thud on top of an old rusting dumpster. “Manny!” she called back to him when you were safely down and there was a beat before he finally climbed through the window and you could breathe a sigh of relief.

You hesitated as you waited for him to climb down and join you both on the ground.

“Come on, let's go!” Nora stressed, beginning to side step back towards the main road. “COME ON!” she shouted at yourself and Manny, as he hung back and checked that no one was about to follow or start firing from the upper floor at you.

“Let’s go,” he said, reaching for your hand, your fingers stinging as his firm grip squeezed the open wound there.

You kept running until you were safely out of potential range of the Scars bolts and arrows, but didn’t stop until you were all back in the safety of the WLF barracks.

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

“Are you okay?” Manny asked as the two of you lay out on his bed together later that evening. 

It was just the two of you in the room, Nora still assisting with the mission to try and retrieve any potential survivors of the attack. You had been silent ever since you’d gotten back. Someone in the infirmary had cleaned out and bandaged your hand, but you had no idea who it was. You were barely just aware of Manny still clinging to your side, keeping his eye on you after the scare you’d both just had. And it was that very scare that had you so deep in your thoughts.

You remembered back to that morning in the farmhouse after you’d told him you were pregnant. Coming to Seattle was only meant to be a temporary solution, but just over five months later you were still here. 

Your eyes dropped to the baby forming in your belly. This was no life for a child. Even though the risk of infected and running into danger was everywhere, staying put and raising your child here in Seattle with the current tensions and Isaac’s radical plans, suddenly didn’t seem all that appealing. Not that it had ever been appealing, but you’d never stopped and allowed yourself to think about what you both should really do.

“I don’t want them to be like us,” you finally said, your voice shaky and hesitant as you rubbed soothingly over your bump.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” you said, turning your head to look at him. “We were both so young when we joined the fireflies. We were practically kids- were kids,” you corrected as you thought back to when you signed up on your 15th birthday. “I don’t want our kid to be a child soldier like we were. I don’t want them to be a soldier at all,” you clarified.

He was silent as he thought that over, his teeth chewing at his lip as he processed what you were saying. 

“I know that they could never have a life like we had before the outbreak,  but surely there’s got to be something closer to it than this,” you said, motioning to the tiny room you shared with Nora. “I mean there’s got to be more settlements like Jackson we could go to,” you replied. 

“So you want to leave?” he asked, his brow furrowing at the idea.

“Yes. No. Oh I don’t know. But what I do know is that I don’t want my kid to experience what I did today. I don’t want them being brought up in the middle of a fucking terf war where people are being killed left right and centre. I don’t want them waiting up with me worried about whether or not you’re gonna make it back from checking out a hoard of infected,” you stressed. 

“I want them to have a place where they can play outside safely. Maybe make some friends. To feel free and not have to live in fear all the time.”

His face fell to watch his fidgeting hands as he processed your words. They made Manny’s gut churn uncomfortably and he slowly began to realise that what he was feeling was guilt. In all the time you’d been living in Seattle, he had not once thought about the reality of bringing his kid up here and what that would truly be like for them. He realised he’d been complacent. Just because he had lived like this growing up and he didn’t know better, it didn’t mean his own child should have to live like this. He hadn’t put much thought into kids at all before all of this happened. Hadn’t had a single thought or day dream about what it would be like or how he’d like to raise them given the chance. But you were right. Of course you were right. This life wasn’t good enough for your little niño.

“So where do you want to go?” he asked.

“I dunno?” you said. “You heard of any other colonies other than Jackson?” you asked.

“No,” he replied disheartened and you both fell silent.

“You ever think about going back home?” you asked into the quiet of the room, as you both sat in deep thought, trying to come up with a plan.

“Not really,” he said, his hand moving absentmindedly to stroke at your belly in an attempt to ease the tension that was rapidly beginning to build in his body. “Not really much to go back to. What about you?” he asked. “You said you were born in Arizona, right?”

“Yeah. Chandler, Arizona,” you said. 

“What was it like when you left?” He shifted himself down the bed slightly, propping his head up on his fist as he looked up at you, the fingers of his right hand still stroking soothingly across your skin.

“I’m not sure. My mom and dad got me out of there just before Fedra went in to clear the area.”

“You think there’s much there?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Besides, it would take us nearly a whole month to walk there. Probably longer with me in my current condition.”

You both fell into comfortable silence again as you thought. But as his fingers kept sliding absentmindedly back and forth over your bump, you couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time he had done that and suddenly you were back thinking to that farmhouse again. You tried to think back to its surroundings. To imagine what they’d be like without all the snow. How big the fields were. What resources were nearby.

You ultimately knew it wouldn’t be a good fit- even if it did still have hot water. You knew for true survival you needed community. People who worked together to protect each other. Who had different skills so they could fix any problems that may arise that neither you nor Manny knew how to fix. After all, you’d both been soldiers since you were young teens and neither one of you had honed many domestic skills over the years. 

But you knew the idea had legs. You just needed to find the right place. Somewhere like Jackson, but that wasn’t Jackson. Somewhere that wasn’t bitterly cold in the winter you thought. Okay… so that meant headed south. But to where?

“What about Northern Cali?” he suddenly asked as if he was reading your mind. “It’s not as far. We could make it in a couple weeks. Guaranteed decent weather. There’s a fair bit of farmland and small towns up there that would be ideal for communal living like they do in Jackson. Just… more relaxed maybe?” he said, finishing his thoughts out loud. 

You didn’t hate it as a suggestion. I mean, you could travel that way and still not be guaranteed to find anything, but it was worth a shot wasn’t it. You looked to your belly again. You were nearly 6 months along. Most likely would be by the time you and Manny organised your plan properly and actually decided to leave. Travelling across the country at 6 months pregnant on foot wasn’t ideal, but you knew you had to do something- and you definitely didn’t want to stay here. 

“We don’t have to decide tonight,” he said, bringing you back out of your thoughts. You could tell by his expression that the look on your own face- as you thought- had begun to stress him out. “It’s been a long day and you should rest,” he said, referring to the ordeal with the Scars back in the media tower.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “You’re right.” But even though you tried, you still struggled to sleep. Between flashbacks to the afternoon being hunted by Seraphites, to trying to think of the best way you could raise this child in the world's current state; and just genuinely beginning to feel uncomfortable sleeping with a growing child in your belly, getting your brain to switch off was damn near impossible.

[ruinix]

okay but what about dark!quinn after installing the cameras finds out his sweet girl, is actually cam girl … that would absolutely send him

🚩Dark content below 🚩

Hello, lovely. Distracted. I am so distracted. The blurbs I am working on shall stare at me like 👁👄👁 anyway... 🫠 let me try... i got no clue about cam girls (just thought about Twitch in general lmao)

Disclaimer | Inbox Rules | Dark Masterlist | Taglist

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Dark, cam girl!Reader, Extreme Stalking / Satlker!Q, Deranged behavior, Masturbation, Non-consensual Voyeurism (installation of video and audio devices, watching and recording) 🚩

Quinn would take weeks of watching and observing you and taking in your routine. From your morning walks to your midday coffee, to your grocery shopping. Everything. If it were up to him, he would be doing this 24/7. Nonetheless, he would enjoy seeing your beautiful face while you take your strolls.

It wouldn't be long until he found out where you live. It was a normal and secure apartment. It was so easy to find. You were so easy to follow. You don't even look over your shoulder when he was literally arm’s length behind you, staring so hard at the sway of your ass, at the scent trail of your perfume. Normally, people would look back or walk faster after feeling the danger lurking behind them. Not you.

He got to follow you to a supermarket, watched you fill your basket with chocolates, whipped cream, bananas, and ice cream, and saw you buy fishnet stockings. It was a bit confusing. But Quinn didn't mind, especially when he got to see where you live. From the darkened streets of the night, he watched you climb the stairs. Smiling, heart pounding, of course, you chose the stairs like you knew he was watching you.

He stared and watched the motion-sensor lights lit up for every floor you climb. He guessed it's not secure enough when he could see which floor you got up to. He only waited just a few more seconds to see which apartment you would get to. Luckily, you were the type to turn on the lights, the type to open a window to let in the night's breeze. Now, he didn't need to crosscheck if it's actually your apartment.

Although, the security was...secure enough. He couldn't even go in without a pass. Even delivery men got hold-up by the guard. He remedied the dilemma with a quick purchase. Did you know the owners—yes, the owners—of the apartments next to yours were amicable? They didn't try to hold onto their properties at all when Quinn presented his legal ties. He promised that he definitely did not lay out specific threats to their character. At all.

Anyway, Quinn didn't move entirely. He wouldn't. As far as anyone knew, he didn't buy anything. He didn't need anyone to find out his newfound love. He only wanted to have you for himself. So, Quinn did the most logical next steps of your relationship. He snuck into your apartment.

How did he sneak in your apartment? Well, did you know that you typed in your door code openly? You should really, really, really be careful. What if someone else saw your code? What if they did things to you? That was so dangerous, y'know? So irresponsible.

Quinn managed to plant cameras and audio recorders in your apartment. In every room. In different corners. He even placed one under your desk, wondering why you got such an amazing PC set up. You even got a high-end microphone. You must be gaming a lot. He was excited to know what games you play.

He rummaged through your drawers, smirking when he found your lace lingerie sets, and your sex toys and lube, frowning when he noticed a tripod set up by your bed which was different from the camera mount for your PC, but he saw an package box so maybe you were just trying to set it up.

Quinn didn't think much of it. He should have.

Because now, after he jerked himself off to the sight of you changing into a comfy pajama shorts and a cropped top that was so thin he could see the outline of your lace bra, after he watched you put on makeup, after he salivate at the sight of your shorts riding up your thighs from the camera under your desk, he felt his hackles rising as you kept talking to someone while you put your legs up the desk. Quinn could see you in your monitor, how erotic and beautiful you looked. Then you said something about donations, about you getting a private call so you would be right back.

He couldn't process what was happening. He felt like he was losing every sense of reality when he noticed how different you were as you talked to the motherfucker you got a private call with. He couldn't fucking understand how you could talk and talk to the other person who doesn't even show their face or voice—you weren't wearing headphones so it was clear you were talking to a person who was chatting you—how you could smile so differently. Not fake, no. Just a different kind of smile. You still looked so free and genuine. You still looked pretty. A smile that also had his cock aching for more than his fist.

"Why am I doing this? Well, is there something wrong with being a cam girl?" "Oh, oh no. I prefer this site." "I love talking with you. What else do you want to talk about?" "Oh I love that too." "You can send me gifts. I got a P.O. box. What are you going to send me?"

And so fucking on.

Your voice sounded so beautiful. Yet the only thing that stuck to him was the term cam girl. What the fuck is that? A quick google search had his vision darkening. Especially when he saw you teasingly slid up your cropped shirt to the point of the under breasts were showing. This was fucking vile. Other people were seeing you. He fucking hated that. He was the only one who was supposed to.

Quinn easily went to the site, not caring to go incognito. Everything was a blur as he made his account and somehow find your waiting room or whatever the fuck it's called. His ears were ringing when he clocked in how you suggestively squeezed whipped cream in your mouth, when you laughed so beautifully, when you bit your lower lip.

He felt himself breaking. His sanity, to be exact. The longer he watched you from his own video feeds, the more cracks raptured. He couldn't focus on anything else when you finally came back to your livestream. He hated the messages that came pouring in. The compliments. The donations. He fucking hated every single one of them, because they were not coming from him. So, he fucking donated, his heart fluttering when you leaned closer in disbelief at his first time donation, his cheeks burning when you grin.

"Welcome in, Q43! You are so generous. Thank you so much. I can finally buy the dress and lingerie I have been looking at. Do you want to see it?"

You were so fucking happy that it made him happy while also so angry. He honestly felt like he wasn't there anymore, even when you showed up on your stream. He was on autopilot, leaning back while you rambled about the clothes you wanted to buy, showing it to the camera.

You addressed his username. Over and over again. It was you and only him despite your hundreds of viewers. Just like that you made him feel special.

Yet also not.

The fact that your beauty was exposed to other people remained. Didn't you know dangerous that was? P.O. box? You mean an open invitation to vile people to wait for you to pick up your package? Weren't you aware how despicable this world was? You should be. Why were you so fucking dumb—

Quinn had to shake his head, getting angry at himself for calling you that. You were far from dumb. You were cunning. You knew exactly how to play with your viewers that they were spending money on you. Honestly, he was so fucking proud that you felt so comfortable and at ease talking about whatever that came to your mind while wearing clothes that highlighted you.

He was supposed to be angry at you. He was because he was so fucking concerned. Yet for some reason, he felt more proud, more amazed, more allured to you. Watching you for months and learning you, he knew that you didn't need the money. He knew that you loved the power you hold over these people pining for your attention.

So he forgave you. Just a bit.

After you logged off for the night, after you take a quick shower to remove your makeup, after you slid under your covers, after you fucked your hand and screamed your released, after your breaths evened out, he was already there. He only loomed over you, his hand sliding over his crotch, swallowing his groan.

He tried not to do anything else, but you turned over your back, making your sheets slide down, exposing the sight of your pretty tits under your silk nightgown. He couldn't stop himself. His fist came around his cock, desperately jerking himself off. His lips spilled out his words in whispers.

"You're so amazing. So beautiful." He groaned under his breath. He continued until he finally came into his palm, stating, "You're mine."

Quinn started sending you different things to your P.O. box. Little toys you could pleasure yourself on. Little snacks. Literally anything. He would be rewarded with you using said toys under your desk when he paid for a private call, basically getting yourself off just for him, or just eating the snacks. You would look so fucking giddy. He was ecstatic.

His nightly visits had gotten worse. More frequent. He tried to touch you, but did you know you easily rouse when touched? You nearly caught him. So many times. He loathed that.

So, he pushed in harder, because if he was finding a harder time getting to you, you needed to be punished for that. Instead of the P.O. box, he started sending things to your address. He watched you crumble.

You got jumpy, couldn't open your stream so you announced taking a break, couldn't sleep so you started taking sleeping supplements.

Quinn liked that, because when he finally crawled over you, you didn't wake. When he couldn't stop his chuckle from escaping him, you didn't rouse. When he finally touched your face, you remained asleep. Oh, the things he would do to you.

However, he stepped back, because he saw your dark circles, saw the frown in your sleep. For some reason, he felt guilty. A new feeling he had yet to feel. Taking your hand, softly kissing your palms, your knuckles, your fingers, he whispered his apologies.

"Sorry, my Love. Sorry. I just got frustrated. I didn't mean to scare you. I will do better," he said, inhaling your soft scent. Then he got off the bed, watching you from far away, ignoring his hard cock. "I promise."

The next day he decided to bump into you, smiling his kindest smile, luring you in with a coincidental touch as he helped you in picking up the few things that fell. He grinned when you let him walk you to your car, making small talk about a specific book he spotted on your bookshelves, watching your eyes sparkled at your shared interest, your lips parting when he asked for your number. This time, he would have you and he would not let go.

I know it's all over the place. But yay, i finally wrote another dark fic again. Little victories. Although it is not too smutty. Sorry. It will be more smutty next time yeah 🫠🫡

Good night 🫣😶‍🌫️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

-> more thoughts? Dark List -> Want to request? Send to: @ruinix-dark -> blog only for dark content -> Want to be notified? Join my taglist

[heldhram]

How to run The Sims 3 with DXVK & Reshade (Direct3D 9.0c)

Today I am going to show you guys how to install Reshade and use Direct3D 9.0c (D3D9) instead of Vulkan as rendering API.

This tutorial is based on @nornities and @desiree-uk's awesome guide on "How to use DXVK with The Sims 3", with the goal of increasing compatibility between DXVK and Reshade. For users not interested in using Reshade, you may skip this tutorial.

If you followed nornities and desiree-uk's guide, it is strongly recommended that you start from scratch, meaning you should uninstall DXVK AND Reshade completely. Believe me when I say this: it will save you a lot of time, frustration, and make your life so much easier.

For the purpose of this tutorial, I am on patch 1.69.47 and running EA App on Windows 10, but it should work for version 1.67.2 on Steam and discs, too. This tutorial does not cover GShade.

Before we start

Backup your files, even the entire folder (Program Files\EA Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin) if you want to be extra safe; you will thank yourself later. If you do not wish to backup the entire folder, at least backup the following:

reshade-presets

reshade-shaders

Reshade.ini

Options.ini (Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3)

Keep them somewhere secure, for your peace of mind (and sanity).

Done? Great stuff, let us begin!

Step 1:

If you installed DXVK following nornite and desiree-uk's guide, go to the bin folder and delete the following files to fully uninstall DXVK, we are starting from scratch:

d3d9.dll

TS3.dxvk-cache

dxvk.conf

TS3_d3d9.log (or TS3W_d3d9.log)

Step 2:

If you already have Reshade on your PC, uninstall it using this: https://reshade.me/downloads/ReShade_Setup_X.X.X.exe (replace X.X.X with version number)

Step 3:

Perform a clean install of Reshade (I am using the latest version - 6.4.1 at the time of writing). Please note that you need a version no older than 4.5.0 or this method will not work. Choose DirectX9, click next.

Once the installation is complete, you should see a "d3d9.dll" file inside The Sims 3's bin folder (Program Files\EA Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin):

It may all seem familiar thus far. Indeed, this is how we installed Reshade in the past before using DXVK, but here comes the tricky part:

Step 4:

Create a new folder outside of The Sims 3's game folder (I created it on my C drive), name it "dxvk" or whatever else you like. Remember where you saved this folder, we will return to it later.

Step 5:

Now we need Reshade to load the next dll in order to chain Reshade with DXVK. Click on the search bar, and type in "View advanced system settings".

Click on "Environment Variables..."

Under "User variables", click "New..."

In the new pop-up window, find "Variable name:" and type in:

RESHADE_MODULE_PATH_OVERRIDE

for "Variable value:", paste in the directory that leads to the folder we created earlier. Once you are done, hit OK, and then hit OK again to save the changes made.

You can use Command Prompt to check if this new environment variable has been registered by entering:

echo %RESHADE_MODULE_PATH_OVERRIDE%

It should return you the folder's location. If not, make sure you have typed in the variable name correctly and confirm the folder's location.

Step 6:

Download DXVK (version 2.3.1) from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/releases/tag/v2.3.1 and unzip "dxvk-2.3.1.tar.gz" (I use 7-Zip, but winRAR works, too). Remember to choose x32, and move only "d3d9.dll" to the folder we made earlier.

Now we have two "d3d9.dll" files, one from Reshade (lives in the bin folder), and the other from DXVK (in this new folder, outside of The Sims 3 game folder).

Step 7:

Download "dxvk.conf" here: https://github.com/doitsujin/dxvk/blob/master/dxvk.conf delete everything inside, and enter the following:

d3d9.textureMemory = 1 d3d9.presentInterval = 1 d3d9.maxFrameRate = 60 dxvk.hud = devinfo

Ctrl + S to save the document.

The first 3 lines are taken from @nornities and @desiree-uk's guide.

The last line is only for debugging purposes. Due to the inconvenient location occupied by the HUD (top left corner of your screen), it should be removed once the installation is successful.

Step 8:

Drag "dxvk.conf" into the bin folder, where Reshade's "d3d9.dll", "TS3.exe", and "TS3W.exe" all live.

Step 9:

Now fire up the game and check if both are showing up:

Lastly, check for “TS3.dxvk-cache” in the bin folder:

If it is there, congratulations! You have successfully installed DXVK and Reshade utilising D3D9 as API! You can now go to "dxvk.conf" and remove its last line "dxvk.hud = devinfo" and have fun! :)

Hope this tutorial isn't too confusing, the last thing I want is to over-complicate things. If you still need some help, comment down below or send me a DM/ask, I'll try and troubleshoot with you to the best of my ability.

Credits:

@nornities and @desiree-uk for their fantastic guide.

@criisolate for promulgating the usage of DXVK in TS3 community.

reddit user folieadeuxmeharder for helping me troubleshoot and informing me of this workaround.

doitsujin for creating DXVK.

crosire for creating Reshade.

[roksik-dnd]

For everyone who asked: a dialogue parser for BG3 alongside with the parsed dialogue for the newest patch. The parser is not mine, but its creator a) is amazing, b) wished to stay anonymous, and c) uploaded the parser to github - any future versions will be uploaded there first!

UPD: The parser was updated!! Now all the lines are parsed, AND there are new features like audio and dialogue tree visualisation. See below!

Patch 7 dialogue is uploaded!

If you don't want to touch the parser and just want the dialogues, make sure to download the whole "BG3 ... (1.6)" folder and keep the "styles" folder within: it is needed for the html files functionality (hide/show certain types of information as per the menu at the top, jumps when you click on [jump], color for better readability, etc). See the image below for what it should look like. The formatting was borrowed from TORcommunity with their blessing.

If you want to run the parser yourself instead of downloading my parsed files, it's easy:

run bg3dialogreader.exe, OPEN any .pak file inside of your game's '\steamapps\common\Baldurs Gate 3\Data' folder,

select your language

press ‘LOAD’, it'll create a database file with all the tags, flags, etc.

Once that is done, press ‘EXPORT all dialogs to html’, and give it a minute or two to finish.

Find the parser dialogue in ‘Dialogs’ folder. If you move the folder elsewhere, move the ‘styles’ folder as well! It contains the styles you need for the color coding and functionality to keep working!

New features:

Once you've created the database (after step three above), you can also preview the dialogue trees inside of the parser and extract only what you need:

You can also listen to the correspinding audio files by clicking the line in the right window. But to do that, as the parser tells you, you need to download and put the filed from vgmstream-win64.zip inside of the parser's main folder (restart the parser after).

You can CONVERT the bg3 dialogue to the format that the Divinity Original Sin 2's Editor understands. That way, you can view the dialogues as trees! Unlike the html files, the trees don't show ALL the relevant information, but it's much easier to orient yourself in.

To get that, you DO need to have bought and installed Larian's previous game, Divinity Original Sin 2. It comes with a tool called 'The Divinity Engine 2'. Here you can read about how to unstall and lauch it. Once you have it, you need to load/create a project. We're trying to get to the point where the tool allows you to open the Dialog Editor. Then you can Open any bg3 dialogue file you want. And in case you want it, here's an in-depth Dialog Editor tutorial. But if you simply want to know how to open the Editor, here's the gist:

Update: In order to see the names of the speakers (up to ten), you can put the _merged.lsf file inside of the "\Divinity Original Sin 2\DefEd\Data\Public\[your project's name here]\RootTemplates\_merged.lsf" file path.

Feel free to ask if you have any questions! Please let me know if you modify the parser, I'd be curious to know what you added, and will possibly add it to the google drive.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Timid incubus dude who was raised by humans is in for a rude awakening when an experienced incubus abducts him from his college campus and shows him the very monster he is inside! The incubus that grew up thinking he was entirely human refuses the truth, but the experienced one won't take no for an answer. He ties his new protege to his bed and has his fun with him >:) he'll learn to love it.

Its extra fun when the timid guy discovers that their kind can change their dick size and cum amount at will.

Kabr0z Writes episode 64: Inheritance

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: giving fellatio; death mention; drugs mention; alcohol use; transformation;

A/N: I'm gonna localise this a little to the UK, because that's just a little better for my head 😁 So when you see references to uni, just know it's the same phase of higher education.

At least freshers are still freshers

##########################################

Sunday evening. So ends Freshers week. What for most students is the deadline-free week of house parties, heavy drinking and mild debauchery, you spent mostly indoors. You'd made a couple of friends, and did go to one party even if you left early, but overall it was quiet and almost solitary.

It sucks.

You'd planned on maybe hitting one of the local student bars, or even seeing if you could pick someone up at a party one of your societies hosted. Hell, you'd even installed a dating app to find an anonymous cock to suck. The problem is any time you started trying to make progress, your nerve abandoned you and you gave up. You sighed, sitting on your bed and opening your laptop, another evening spent with your dick in your hand. Who knows, when lectures start tomorrow you might find something, or at least someone who could be a bad enough influence on you that you follow through on your fantasies...

Another sigh. You've depressed yourself now. You can't even muster the will to fuck yourself, let alone try and convince anyone else to fuck you. You opened your Steam account and shared at your library, searching for that perfect game that would take your mind off things.

You had a friend request.

Not unusual, you'd given your Steam name to a lot of people over the last 7 days, but you thought they'd all added you already. You shrugged and accepted.

A message.

"Come to the SU"

Normally you'd ignore that, but...

You were already dressed, and you were just bemoaning how you didn't do anything this last week, and there is normally something going on there... Fuck it. You tucked your semi-hard cock back into your jeans, zipped yourself up and slipped on some trainers. Before you could say "be right there" you were halfway across campus, bound for adventure.

The Students Union was possibly the newest building on campus, glass-fronted, chic exposed steel members, with the cheapest bar in town clinging onto the side of it. You joined the line of students waiting to get in, mostly first years, but with some second and third years in the mix, chatting amongst established groups. You stood alone, the balmy duck air on your bare forearms. You weren't the only one in jeans and a band tee, but '80s heavy metal sure isn't the zeitgeist here.

Your phone buzzed, a message from an unknown number "come to the back door"

You raised an eyebrow. You hadn't given your number away, but someone has it. You stepped out of line and started walking around the building. The back door was ajar, a shaft of light in the settling gloom. A look left, right, you stepped in.

Heat hit you. You screwed your eyes against the gust. Dry enough to make your hair frizz and... Sulphurous? You opened your eyes carefully. They were acclimatising to the wind easily. You weren't even sweating.

You were in an office. Not the back of a bar. You could see out of windows overlooking a cityscape in varying tones of Martian dust, rusty and dull.

"Got my messages then? Good."

You looked to your right, against one of the two walls not completely glazed was a drinks cabinet, and a tall thin man in a tailored pinstripe suit with slick back hair pouring amber liquid into two glasses. "Brandy?"

You nodded. The hand that preferred the glass was long-fingered, each one sporting an inch-long razor-sharp nail. You looked at the besuited man, his too-angular face, his black-on-black eyes, his small chrome horns.

"You're a demon" you said, almost to yourself

The demon smiled, "As are you. Though your father didn't want you to know until you were ready. Your twentieth birthday."

You took the glass, setting it carefully down on a coaster as the demon continued "He was discorporated to a permanent end recently, just before your creation actually. I am Ezekiel Harkens of Harkens, Harkness, Darkness and Sphinx. For the past few millennia we've been your family's solicitors, and now it is my bittersweet duty to advise you that you are in fact Baron Agrastax of the black runes. Not technically a laughing mourner, but close enough seeing as you never met your birth parents."

Your mouth gaped as the demon in front of you babbled legalese at you "There's a mistake, my parents are Bill and Martha, they're alive and well, up in Southampton! I'm not a demon, not even a little bit"

Ezekiel handed you a letter and a black iron letter opener. You looked at him as he regarded you, opening the letter. The envelope was empty. "What?"

"That's your proof there, were you a human, a cambion, or even just not the true heir that dagger would be buried in your heart right now."

You still didn't believe it. Demons lie, that's what they do. You're not religious, but you know that.

"You're early anyway. I'm eighteen."

He looked at you "No, you'd been around for two years before we placed you into a stillbirth. Martha lost the baby at eight months, and begged anyone who would listen for a miracle. We obliged. Here's your body now." He passed you a mirror. A young man who looked just like you was lay on the floor behind a bar, a paramedic doing half-hearted CPR as his partner tried to comfort a sobbing girl wrapped in a mylar blanket "She sold her soul to have her baby boy, she didn't say for how long."

The mirror blackened, turning to ash in your hands, swept away by the draft. You should be sad, shouldn't you? You swept your hand through your hair. You felt a pair of horns. "I'm a demon?"

"Yes," he was sat behind his desk now, sipping his brandy "technically an incubus like your father, though that's just taxonomy, the noble title is what matters here."

So you're not just a demon, you're a sex demon? That wasn't on your bingo card.

"Now, there's just one stipulation on the will that I really do need to handle with you" The demon finished his drink, motioning for you to do the same "I need to make sure you're capable of adequately discharging your duties as a minor Baron of Hell"

You swallowed your drink in a single swig. You wished you hadn't, it was good brandy "And what kind of duties would I have?"

"That's the beauty of it" the demon purred, a foxlike grin splitting his features, wider than a human could grin, revealing far too many teeth "Demons of your station have very few duties. You need to remain fighting fit just in case the Blessed come down to try and murder us all, but beyond that it's mostly just about throwing fantastic parties. Of course, when I say parties..."

He was behind you now

"I mean orgies"

He grabbed the hem of your shirt and threw it over your head. You stood, and your jeans stayed where they were, disrobing you in moments as the lawyer in front of you opened his trousers with a gesture.

You paused. As much as it's kinda fucked up to get railed by a demonic lawyer you've literally just met, this felt right. Like a virtuoso approaching a piano, a prodigy picking up a violin. Either that, or the roofies they have in Hell are off the charts.

You took Ezekiel's hands, taking them off his crotch as you knelt in front of him

"I've wanted to do this for years, now fuck my face" you smiled up at him "your Baron commands you"

Ezekiel grinned, grabbing your hair in both hands, "Gladly, my Lord" he tugged your hair a little, taking advantage of your gasp of surprise to stuff his semi-hard cock in your mouth.

You licked and sucked that cock like there was no tomorrow. It tasted like cinnamon and allspice in your mouth, warming and sweet. Ezekiel kept pulling on your hair as you bobbed on the rapidly hardening phallus, varying angle and how hard you sucked on it, hearing what made him groan the loudest, what made the fists clench your hair harder. It hurt a little, but that was part of the fun.

Your mind flickered, thinking a moment about how some people would get their tongues bifurcated to better do this kind of thing. You found yourself wishing you had that. Something felt strange in your mouth, a pressure inside your tongue. Ezekiel pulled his cock out of your mouth long enough for you to touch it. Two tips met your fingers, soft and semi-rough, human, but better.

You stuck it out, wrapping the twin tips of your tongue around the head of Ezekiel's cock and drawing it back in. Two was better than one, you used your new tongue to its fullest, rubbing it over the sensitive parts of his cock as he moaned and buried himself balls-deep into your throat. His cum tasted sweet, and salty, and very alcoholic. You could feel it burning down your throat like vodka, warming you when it hit your stomach in a sticky glob.

You pulled away, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. Wetness coated your thigh where thin precum had leaked out of your cock. Your smiled up at Ezekiel "How'd I do?"

He smiled back, one cruel-clawed hand squeezed your face "We're not done yet, let's try that tight asshole next"

He lifted you up, bending you over his desk and pressing his cock between your asscheeks, the tip poised at the hole. You imagined yourself lubing up your ass, and felt as a warm wetness spread around your hole, letting him slide into you.

His claws dug into your hips, not drawing blood, but enough you could feel each and every point as they dug into your soft skin. He fucked like a jackhammer, fast and deep, never breaking rhythm. Your cock was leaking more and more, a steady stream of pre flowing from your tip as you went knock-kneed from the cock rubbing mercilessly against your prostate. He squeezed you, those claws digging in a little more. You threw your head back as your soft cock leaked out cum, thick and flowing in a long rope from the tip of your cock. Ezekiel held his hand under the flowing cum-tap and caught some, bringing it up to your mouth. You licked it off him, tasting your own seed

"You don't ever have to stop leaking if you don't want. It's a little gauche, but you're nobility, it'll catch on"

That sounds like a fashion statement you can pioneer. You focused on the feeling of the cum flowing from you, willing it to intensify, to keep going. It felt good. Your balls stopped aching and descended to their normal resting position, but still a thin stream of white fluid flowed down from you. It wasn't as intense as cumming from being fucked up the ass, but it's a nice buzz

Ezekiel pulled you into him, burying himself in you as he grabbed your cock, jerking it off as he fucked you in small intensely deep movements. Your cum stream thickened and sprayed as he brought you off a third time. Your hole clenched around him as he moaned and you felt hot cum filling you from behind.

"Can I change anything else?" You gasped, you should be spent but you felt like you could keep going forever

"You're made of belief and willpower, to you, physics is a suggestion. Right now, long nails and metal bones are in vogue, but you can be anything you can envision"

You focused on your cock, willing it to grow large and flared, the cum thickening as your plumbing got wider, as your balls swelled up with ever more virile seed

"Bend over. It's my turn"

Being Baron was going to be great.

#####################################

Well, I dozed off before publishing this one so it's going up in the morning. Regular scheduled programming resumes this evening

[chvoswxtch]

an adjustment

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: adjusting to a new normal with frank presents a few challenges, including one you thought you had put to rest.

warnings: swearing, lil angst, frank's voice (yes that needs a warning)

word count: 2.6k

a/n: a certain someone is making a cameo that will have a bigger role in the next chapter, but y'all know I love to tease. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

As much as the two of you wanted to stay in the cozy little bubble that existed in his cabin, reality had come knocking. Madani informed you that your place was no longer an active crime scene decorated in bodies, bullets, and blood, and Billy needed Frank for a new assignment. Some guy running for Senator had a lot of controversial opinions that pissed a bunch of people off and apparently warranted 24/7 security, and Anvil was at the top of his list for protection. Since Frank was the best at what he did, unfortunately he was at the top of that list too. Adjusting to a new normal had been…well…just that; an adjustment.

A difficult, confusing, thought consuming adjustment.

For over half of the past year, Frank had been by your side. You started and ended every single day with him. The sudden absence of his presence was jarring, and you still found yourself immediately confused when you glanced up from your computer screen to tell him something only to realize he wasn’t there. Frank didn’t always talk a whole lot, but your office suddenly felt so much more quiet and empty without him. And despite a full blown security system installed by him on your behalf, it was hard for you to feel safe in your own home with the lingering scars of what had happened etched into the walls beneath a layer of new paint. 

Frank called you at least once every day, just to hear your voice, but between both of your complicated schedules, time was not in your favor. You had spent the past three weeks adapting to Frank’s vacancy, but found yourself spiraling anytime you were left alone with your own thoughts. What if this was over before it had even really started? What if it wasn't anything anyway? There hadn’t been a moment for you and Frank to sit down and actually talk about what your relationship was since the cabin. You know what it meant to you, and you knew what you wanted it to mean to him, but you wanted to hear what it meant to him from his own mouth. 

A part of you felt childish for wanting to bring it up. What were you supposed to do? Send him a text saying “are you my boyfriend, check yes or no”? Another part of you felt valid in needing reassurance. It was reasonable to want to establish a relationship with someone you were dating. But were you and Frank dating? He hadn’t technically asked you out on an actual date, but he had risked his life to save yours on several occasions. That had to count for something. You hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Steven, and Frank was not only a widower, but also your former bodyguard, so the normal rules of dating felt like they had been completely thrown out the window.

A knock at the door abruptly pulled you out of your chaotically indecisive inner monologue, and you saw a guy that appeared to be fresh out of high school standing in the doorway of your office.

“You Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. How can I help you?”

The kid took a few steps forward into your office and practically shoved a sealed brown envelope in your face. He looked bored and annoyed, as if you were somehow inconveniencing him because he had to deliver something to you. It made you want to make a snide comment about how your name was clearly listed outside your office door and ask how the hell he managed to graduate without the ability to read. 

“This is for you.”

Reaching for the envelope, your brows pinched together as you turned it over. There was nothing written on the front of it, no address, no name, not even a stamp.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, lady. I’m just the messenger. Open it and find out.”

Before you could reply with a smartass comment, the kid had already walked out of your office, leaving you alone with the mysterious brown envelope. Clenching your jaw, you refrained from chasing him down the hall and asking who the hell raised him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you had to remind yourself that you were a grown woman that would face charges for decking a teenager, even if he was legal and a complete dick.

“Asshole.”

Muttering under your breath, you pinched the aluminum prongs together on the seal, flipping the top of the envelope open to reach inside and pull out a stack of documents. When you turned them over, five big bold letters instantly caught your attention.

LETTER OF INTENT TO SUE.

During your time as a journalist, people had threatened to sue you over stories several times. It came with the territory. The first time you had gotten a letter like this, you nearly had a complete meltdown. Ben had found it far more amusing than you did, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin on his face while sipping at his coffee and chuckling.

“Ah, I remember my first lawsuit letter. You get used to ‘em. You can either frame that one or forward that to the uh legal department. It’s in the blue recycling bin outside.”

And he had been right. People had tried to sue the paper, and you specifically, several times over the course of your career, but nothing ever actually went anywhere. You normally wouldn’t have thought twice about it, and you were about to toss it into the trash bin on the floor next to your desk when your eyes skimmed over who sent the letter, and your blood instantly began to sizzle.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Steven fucking Price.

Gritting your teeth harshly, you narrowed your eyes as you read over the first paragraph on the page.

This letter of intent to sue shall hereby be considered formal notice that STEVEN PRICE intends to file a lawsuit against you if you do not comply with the settlement demands set out in this letter.

The storm of anger brewing inside you had your hands shaking violently, and you were clutching onto the paper in your hands so tightly that your fingernails had left indents in the crinkled sides that were held captive in your vice grip. When Homeland took him away in custody, you thought that was the last you would ever have to deal with him or see him until the trial. But here he was, still making demands of you, from federal prison. 

Frank’s gruff voice sounded on the other end of the line after one ring before you even realized you had called him.

“He’s fucking suing me.”

“What? Who?”

“Steven.”

There was a brief shuffling noise on the other end of the line, and you faintly heard Frank mutter an “excuse me” before his deep baritone sounded once again in your ear.

“The hell you mean he’s suin’ you?”

“Some kid came and dropped off an envelope, who was a real dick by the way, and then I opened it and saw it’s a letter of intent to sue. I didn’t think anything of it at first because I get these all the time, but then I saw his fucking name.”

“Suin’ you for what though?”

Tossing the documents onto your desk, you began to pace back and forth in your office as you ran your hand through the roots of your hair in pure frustration.

“I don’t fucking know, a load of bullshit? I didn’t even read what his ‘demands’ were. He can’t…he can’t do that, right? I didn’t do anything.”

Pausing for a second, your hysterical rant subsided momentarily as one possible reason for a lawsuit popped into your head.

“I mean…I did punch him in the face. But he’s going to sue me for that? There’s no fucking way. Putting it on public record that a girl half his size punched him? His ego couldn’t handle it.”

“You did break his nose.”

“He fucking deserved it, I should’ve broken more.”

Frank’s deep chuckle of amusement sounded from the other end of the line, and it instantly made you forget what you were so pissed about for a brief moment.

“I ain’t disagreein’ with you there. Look, take a deep breath, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you closed your eyes for a moment and enjoyed the soft tone of Frank’s rough voice as you followed his gentle instruction. With your eyes closed, it was almost like he was there with you. Once Frank could hear your breathing even out a bit on the other end of the line, he spoke in a delicately low tone that had your toes curling in your shoes.

“Attagirl. Send me the letter and I’ll talk to Madani ‘bout it, yeah?”

“I don’t even have a lawyer-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now, alright? Just take another deep breath, relax, and let me handle it.”

“You’re always handling things.”

“That’s kinda my job, baby.”

One little pet name and you were blushing like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Thankfully Frank wasn’t in your office at that moment to see the intense heat in your cheeks and the goofy smile splitting your lips. He would’ve definitely had a field day teasing you about it.

“You’re pretty good at your job. Maybe a little too good. If you were kinda sucky at it, everyone wouldn’t want you so bad.”

“The only one I want bad is you.”

A fluttering feeling erupted in your lower belly at those words, coupled with the way his voice had dropped an impossible octave lower, and you found yourself clutching at the edge of your desk to keep your knees from giving out right from under you. If Frank was here, you would’ve gladly let him bend you over it.

Clearing your throat, you attempted to change the subject before you got too worked up. 

“How’s the new guy?”

Grabbing the iced coffee sitting on your desk, you held it against the heated skin of your neck. Droplets of the cool condensation slowly cascaded down your flesh, causing you to shiver while trying to balance your internal temperature.

“Not as pretty as you.”

Letting out a soft snort, you rolled your eyes and leaned back against the edge of your desk.

“Well I would hope not.”

Frank chuckled deeply again, and you could clearly picture the look on his face in your mind; an expression of playful exasperation with a faint smirk on the edge of his soft lips.

“He’s more of a pain in the ass than you. Didn’t think that was possible.”

“You’re really great at this whole flirting thing, you know that?”

The dry sarcasm in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by Frank, and it tore a deeper laugh from low within his chest that made you grin.

“Hey, I been outta practice for a while. Gimme a break.”

“Speaking of flirting, how’s Billy?”

“He’s uh…he’s good.”

Something about Frank’s tone suddenly seemed off, and you wanted to ask him about it, but there was a faint rustling on the other end of the line, like Frank was pressing the speaker against his chest, and you could barely make out his muffled voice speaking to someone. When he lifted his phone back to his ear, you caught the end of a deep sigh.

“Listen I uh…I gotta go, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That was a lie. You didn’t have anything pressing deadlines at the moment. You would’ve stayed on the phone for the rest of the day with Frank if you could’ve, maybe convinced him to sneak away and come see you. He was still in New York, luckily, but anywhere that wasn’t right next to you was still too far. 

“Send me the letter. I’ll talk to Madani and take care of it, alright?”

“Okay. I…thank you.”

“You ain’t gotta thank me.”

“You keep saying that, but then you keep giving me reasons to. So, we can have this argument until eventually you give up I guess.”

Frank chuckled deeply once more, and you could picture him in your mind shaking his head with a light grin. He sounded normal again, but you made a mental note to ask him about what was really going on when you spoke to him next.

“Same time tomorrow then, yeah?”

»»———　　———««

According to Madani, Steven didn’t have a case, and you technically had nothing to worry about. However, you were admittedly curious about what the hell he wanted, and Frank had said that if you did want to go talk to Steven, he would go with you. Actually, he respectfully insisted that you not see Steven without him present, and while you didn’t want to see Steven at all, you did want to see Frank.

You suffered through almost three years with Steven. You could suffer another five minutes if it meant you got to spend time with Frank.

It wasn’t your first time visiting a prison. A few years ago when you were still working with Ben, he had been interviewing a death row inmate that had been declaring innocence for fifteen years, and Ben had managed to prove that the evidence for his case had been tampered with and that the man had been telling the truth the entire time. Despite how daunting it felt to be in a place that kept violent people caged like animals, you felt safe with Ben then, much like you did with Frank now.

Currently, you were pacing back and forth down the hallway in pure irritation.

“What is taking so long?”

Frank had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall outside of the meeting room that was typically reserved for inmates and their lawyers. The guard had said he would bring Steven in shortly, but that was twenty minutes ago. Since Frank had met you at the prison, and due to all the prying eyes, you hadn’t had a private moment to do more than smile at him when he arrived. It was the first time you were able to see him in person in three and a half weeks, and he somehow looked even more attractive than he ever had, and you were being forced to endure an interaction with your ex, who tried to have you killed, just to get Frank alone.

It was torture.

“Told ‘em we’re waitin’ on your lawyer.”

Pausing mid-step, you glanced over at Frank with a look of complete puzzlement.

“I don’t have a lawyer, I told you that.”

As Frank turned his head to look at you, he suddenly lifted his gaze to stare directly above your head as someone behind you caught his eye. He stood up straight and uncrossed his arms as he gestured with his chin in the direction behind you.

“You do now.”

With your brows knit in threads of confusion towards the center of your forehead, a light tapping sound behind you caused your ears to perk up, and you turned your head to find the source of the noise and Frank’s attention.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Matthew Murdock. I’m your attorney.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Of Cupcakes and Skulls | Part 6

(A/N) This is a bit on the shorter side, but I honestly struggled with the description of the bakery. I hope that it's good enough that ya'll can paint a picture in your mind.

Pairing: single dad! Mafia! Simon x baker! Reader

Warning: kissies, fluff, angst, comfort, Simon is fucking smitten

Synopsis: Based on this post by @lunamoonbby

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Simon chuckled quietly as he watched you stare at your shop. Your eyes were wide and your jaw hung open as he gently maneuvered you so he could get out of the car and pull you along with him. And once you were outside, you could see the entire storefront.

You didn’t know what detail to focus on first as you took in the changes that happened overnight. Until now, it had been a generic and rather boring exterior, something you always wanted, but never had the money to change. But now…it was beautiful.

The storefront was freshly painted in a dark green color, with metal accents decorating the usual plaster wall and a canopy overhead. The windows were sparkling in the sun, offering an easy view into the warm interior of the bakery, brimming with new furniture and counters. There were flowers everywhere, outside and inside, decorating and offering a sweet scent as you stepped closer. Additionally to the tables and chairs inside, there were a few scattered outside, in an area that was fenced off by wooden planters, and filled with tiny trees. Heaters hanging on the wall overhead, for the colder months.

You glanced back at Simon, who just smiled and gestured for you to walk inside. So you did.

As soon as you opened the door, a pleasant jingle rang through the air and the smell of the wood furniture filled your nose. You took a few more steps, hearing Simon following you inside, as you looked around. It felt warm and cozy, everything you ever hoped your bakery would feel like.

There were multiple showcases for your bread and pastries, as well as a whole nook for coffee and tea making, with brand-new machinery and cups. Just looking at everything, you knew it must’ve cost thousands of pounds. When you turned to look at Simon again, he was leaning against the wall next to the doorway that led to the kitchen. With a nod of his head, you walked through the revolving doors and entered…heaven.

You had already been happy with the equipment you had before, but now the room was filled with state-of-the-art machinery. Whether the giant mixer or the dishwasher, everything was brand new and extremely expensive. You knew that because you regularly gazed at them on the website, dreaming of the day you could afford them. And now you had them.

Suddenly, two strong, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you against a hard chest. You relaxed against it, your eyes still flickering from one corner to the other, taking everything in.

“The windows are bulletproof, with multiple layers so they should be able to resist almost anything. And the door is a security door, it will lock automatically at a time you set and can only be opened by a combination of a key and code you have to enter into a keypad that’s beside the doorframe. I also went ahead and had the best alarm system installed, as well as cameras in the shop that are wired to the security firm, as well as to my people. If we see anything suspicious, we’ll be here within minutes.”

You turned around in his arms, wrapping yours around his waist, resting your chin on his chest as you peered up at him. He smiled down at you, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of the nose, before he straightened back up and spun you around, slowly walking you to the walk-in fridge. His grip on you tightened as he felt you tense up at the sight.

“We installed a new one.”

He was whispering in your ear, hot breath faning over your cheek.

“It almost functions more like a panic room than like a fridge. It can only be locked from the inside. The controls are also inside, so if something like last night ever happens again, they can’t play around with those. Also…”

He stopped in front of the door and opened it, gently leading you inside, where he pointed to a corner that was void of any shelves.

“This is a latch that leads into an actual panic room. Once inside, it locks down, and nothing except for maybe a nuclear bomb will be able to get in there. It’s outfitted with screens that show what’s going on up here, a landline, and a burner phone, as well as a bed and enough food and water to last three people two weeks. It has everything you could need in case anything happens. And as soon as it locks down, there will be an alert sent to my phone, as well to the phones of all of my employees.”

He spun you around again, gently cradling your face in his hands.

“Like I said, I won’t let anything happen to you. No matter where you are.”

You nodded, a soft smile on your face as he carefully wiped away the few tears that were running down your face. It had been so long since you felt so loved. Still, smiling, you watched as Simon slowly leaned down, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips ghosted over yours.

“Boss?”

Thanks to your proximity, you heard and felt him sigh, clearly annoyed, as he slowly pulled back, before he glanced toward the entrance to the kitchen. There was a tall, blonde man, clad in a dark suit. He glanced at you, before focusing on Simon.

“What is it, Graves?”

Simon’s arms remained around you as he glares at the man who just interrupted you two. The blonde man obviously felt uncomfortable as he kept glancing between the two of you before he finally spoke up.

“A call for you. It’s urgent.”

Simon nodded, pecking your lips before he pulled away and walked to the man, whispering a quick ‘I’m sorry’ as he was leaving. You just smiled as you watched him go, taking the opportunity to look around by yourself. You peeked into all the cabinets and every corner, finding new, amazing, and really expensive utensils. Even the cutlery was new, replaced by a set that had been designed by one of your favorite chefs.

The more you looked around, the more your fingers started to itch, wanting to try everything out. You walked to the wall, where you had installed a hook to hold your apron, and were pleasantly surprised when you saw that it was more or less the only thing that remained of your old bakery. As you were about to pull it on, Simon interrupted, clearing his throat as he leaned against the wall next to the swinging door that led into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at you, amusement swimming in his eyes. But you just shrugged.

“Bake something. I really want to try everything out.”

With a chuckle, he crossed the distance between you two, wrapping you up in his arms again.

“May I ask…with what ingredients?”

That’s when you finally realized that he was right. There was nothing here you could use to make something. Not even flour.

As you stood there, surprised and still, Simon squeezed you tightly, before taking your apron and hanging it on the hook.

“Come, that’s our next stop.”

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @lunamoonbby @distinguishedprincesstrash @xanvasy @reader-1290 (thought you might like to be tagged, if not just let me know!)

Like what you're reading? Buy me a coffee!

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

A Ruined Ratio (Muse/Sculptor!Reader) pt.1

🖤A Ruined Ratio 1/7 🖤

Muse x F!Sculptor!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+) Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: Sexual Awakening, Rough Sex, Knifeplay, Cumplay, Sexual Tension, Voyeruism, Bloodplay, Blood & Gore, Dubious Consent, Violence, Choking, Light BDSM, Toxic Relationship, Branding/Marking, Stalking, Multiple Orgasms, Vaginal Fingering, Yonic Symbolism, Liberal use of Artistic Rhetoric. Genre: Dark Romance / Horror / PWP

Part 2

Summary: As a celebrated sculptor spiraling into creative stagnation, you strive to capture some sense of soul after stumbling upon one of Muse's violent, gruesome art installations. Muse thinks you're derivative but not without potential. He just has to strip you down to a blank slate first.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

The studio smells like home, a faint thread of something acrid rising from the heater vents that haven’t been cleaned in months. Your hands tremble as you peel off your coat, nape damp with a rain-sweat sheen you didn’t realize had settled there until the draft caught it.

That fucking gallery show. Too bright. Too many voices.

Your jaw still aches from all the polite smiling. There’s pressure behind your left eye, thudding in time with the headache blooming across your temple. You didn’t eat enough. Didn’t drink enough either… not until the end, when you escaped the critical crowd to suck down a rum and coke near the bar, hidden in a pocket of shadows like a subway rat.

Now, home, away from it all, you step over scattered drop cloths on the concrete floors, unleveled by the building’s age: an old factory floor planned into penthouse-style apartments that never saw completion before the development company went belly up.

You stand at your kitchen counter, overlooking the living room with its rug rolled out into the mouth of the studio space, rubbing your elbows without thinking. The pressure of your arms crossed under your chest, hands rubbing the bony bend of each arm, brings comfort, cleaning away a memory. Sylvan’s hand had lingered too long on that very spot earlier—fingers slick with desperation as he complimented your ‘chaste subject matter’ and how your sculptures ‘speak of a purity that’s tragically absent in most female-centric art.’ As if you're a female artist first and foremost, never just an artist…

You wanted to punch his teeth down his throat… Instead, you gave him a smile that felt like a paper cut, thin and stinging, and moved to the other side of the gallery. He followed anyway. Sylvan never misses an opening and never leaves you alone…

Of course, they all said the same thing with different words, like ‘brevity of womanly empowerment’ and ‘rebellious innocence,’ and they all got different faux smiles in return. You’re playing it safe these days. Conservative, even. Chaste, comes that word again, whispering near your ear, too close, the breath of it tracing your neckline. You barely managed not to tear and yank your nerves from your throat.

Thankfully, you’ve always had this place—this sanctuary where the insulation was stripped to bone and brick, purchased when you were still hungry, still raw from the academy. It was a shell then—beautiful in its emptiness. A void begging to be filled. Now, it’s cluttered with your ambitions. Sculptures half-finished. Some crouch in corners like oppressed animals, others stretch toward the exposed beams overhead, tongues of wire and clay gathering dust. But the majority of them glare at you like virginal effigies that would be happier if you’d just go fuck yourself instead of birthing them into existence. 

You hate all of them. And they hate back. 

You take a sip of the cherry juice and seltzer you poured when you got home—flat and syrupy now, still a promise of a good night’s rest—and let your eyes drift to the loft windows that take up the entire northeast corner from floor to ceiling. No curtains. Never needed them. No one to look in from the condemned warehouse across your building where the subway beneath makes the bones of it moan every day at noon sharp.

Sirens start up in the distance. It’s routine around this time as well. White noise. They’re like pigeons here—circling, crying, always feeding on something. You used to flinch at them. Used to double-check the locks. Now, you sip your tart drink and think maybe someone should come . Take the sculptures. Smash them. Take you. Soil you. Anything to undo what you’ve done to yourself. Perhaps then, once ruined, your art—your very self—would have some meaning.

The sirens grow louder—urgent now. Your gaze lifts from your drink to the window. The color of the red-blue reflections doesn’t fade; it grows. Ear-splitting sirens merge with the wobble of ambulances. You step to the window, mason jar sweating in your grip. Curiosity piqued. 

Outside, the street is bathed in chaos. Flashing lights. Pedestrians being shoved aside by pigs in uniforms, each of them shouting for different reasons. A bright yellow tape ripples in a cop's hand, wrapping around rusted parking meters and tacked to a brick wall.

Gunshots. Not distant. You hear them with the crispness of immediacy, and it startles something awake in your chest. That was close. Your eyes dart to the rooftops blackened under light-polluted skies, and it could be a trick of an over-exhausted mind, but you swear there’s a figure bobbing—running—against that dark backdrop of the city skyline… away from pursuers. 

‘Get them out of here!’

Below, cops are pulling a human shape from the scene, assisting paramedics haul it onto a gurney. You look back into the depths of your studio, finding several sheet-covered statues lying in the darkness, more alive now than that body below, similarly covered in alabaster white.

Someone shouts, and your gaze trails back through the window to the scene below. There’s something on the pavement that catches the headlights: red and glossy, half a word. Too greasy to be anything but the material of violence.

The sight should repulse. Instead, it pulls you closer as though hypnotized. That word chaste rings in your ears again as your eyes widen on the crime scene.

You press your hand to the cold pane, breath fogging the glass. The implication of a dead body—its burning of monotony, its heat—somehow centers you. The horror of it threads down your throat and settles in your lower stomach as a slow, trembling ache.

It’s not innocent . It’s hunger—hungry .

You inhale slowly, unevenly. Down on the street, the sirens begin to fade. The crowd gradually disperses. You watch until the last flashing light turns the corner, the last echo of rubber tires vanishing into the dark. Only then do you turn back to your studio.

You don’t bother changing out of your dress—just tug an oversized hoodie over your head. The hem nearly swallows up the pinstripe skirt—casting an allusion of wearing nothing but the hoodie—but you don’t care. The modest black heels get kicked into a corner as your heart skips. You slide into boots with crusted clay and dried paint on the toes.

Outside, the concrete is slick from oil leaks, damp from the rain that hadn’t had time to dry before nightfall. A smell lingers—something you think you noticed when you arrived home, but can’t be sure—burned rubber, faint metal, something… astringent like a perfumed musk.

The alley below your window is still choked off with yellow tape, but you need to see it up close. Not from behind glass. Inside it. You press your fingers into the pockets of the hoodie, hunching forward as you step beneath the police tape, its edge damp and snagging on your shoulder like a wet ribbon.

The moment you step into the decorated alley, the noise of the city relaxes. No honking. No sirens or screams. Just your own breath, catching when your eyes lock on the dining table.

It’s long—absurdly long for this space, claustrophobic against the alley walls. A sheet of linen clings to its warped length, soaked through in the center where something dead may have been, leaving behind a spattering blush of browns and blacks dried into dark textures like brushstrokes. The bloodstains are still moist in the middle, weighing down the fabric to the wood beneath it. Fingerprints—partial, frantic—dot the end of the tablecloth where someone must have clutched it, making sure it was even on either end. 

You take a step further within, feeling much like a vulture picking apart roadkill. Your gaze travels up the table to the chair at the head. It’s been pulled out at an angle, and you wonder if that was intentional or left by a cop with no eye for design. Closer now, you see there’s a smudge of red on the seat cushion. You can almost picture it—the slump of a body, its fluids settling with gravity, leaving behind something like a blotter stamp.

A sound. A clatter above. Ice down your spine, a supine rattle of panic. You whip yourself around to the noise, staring at the steel bones of a fire escape. One of the platforms sways just an inch, just enough to supply the terrible thought that someone is watching… or was, and yet—

Your hands clench in your pockets. You feel everything. Sensory input condensed like a star between your eyes, projecting a funnel of undulating gleam. Exhaustion, just tired—or drugged somehow. But you're not, and you blink and blink until you see it—a $100 bill, folded once, torn at the edge, and stuck to the brick wall. It's soaked through, crinkled from blood, dried into the grout line. 

Tacked newspaper clippings are plastered above like graffiti, some curled at the edges, others nailed down by force. Headlines run jagged as torn thoughts: 

TAX BILL PASSES — HOMELESS DISPLACED . CORPORATE PROFITS HIT RECORD HIGH . CONTRACTS FUNNELED TO DEFENSE INDUSTRY . ART FUNDING SLASHED FOR THIRD YEAR IN A ROW.

You picture crime scene cleanup crews cataloguing the remaining cash as they did the body parts left behind, snapping pictures of everything, especially the news clippings. But that bill, its unsubtle symbolism, almost more so than the headlines completes it—makes the alleyway feel like a perverted banquet hall fit for an oligarch. This, the critic says, is what artists spend their whole lives searching for: true meaning.

Another groan of steel resounds above, amplified by the narrow space. This time, you hug yourself, fingers worrying your elbow through thick fleece,e and ignore it. You're too dialed in on the art now.

Your stomach turns. Sure. But not from nausea, from something that twists hot and slow under your ribs. Your cheeks burn. You’re sweating under the hoodie. Between your legs, a pinpoint awareness throbs. It's arousal , though your body doesn't remember that feeling, so you call it thrill, excitement, inspiration, and lick your lips twice. 

You shift your thighs where they’ve started to stick together beneath the dress. The blood... the violence… the message—the art of it makes you want to—

Your phone buzzes, a dissonant hum in your pocket that breaks the hypnotic hush. You don’t want to look, but the spell is broken and reality demands you look.

Sylvan: I was passing by and saw the lights on in your studio. Late night, huh? Let's have dinner sometime, talk about your next series. I think there’s something special in your future. I want to be part of it. We can go over the numbers then. 

You read it once, then again, your thumb hovering over the screen like it might burn you. His words are soaked in the same syrup he dripped all over you at the show— “I believe in your message , I see something rare . We should spend more time together.” 

You know exactly what Sylvan wants, what that look in his eyes meant when he praised your restricted philosophy, how his voice got low when he said your work presented “so much beauty unspoilt.”

He doesn’t want your art. He wants your body. He wants to crawl inside you, fuck you, wear you like greasepaint, get off on the idea of sullying you—squirting his name all over you until its his, leaving you nothing but last season's art trend. But what else are any of them meant to think when you've spent years showing them falsehoods groped together with clay?

You shove the phone back into your pocket, ashamed of the reputation you’ve spent over a decade forming. Something odious and dishonest, nothing like…

"Nothing like this…" you whisper.

You step forward, heel dragging over the cracks in the pavement where blood still pools in stiff, black globs. You move slowly, circling the table, breathing in the rot and the faint scent of something aromatic—expensive. Cologne maybe. Maybe whoever did this wore it, or maybe the victim did. Either way, it lingers, delicate and predatory .

You stop beside the head chair.

Your chest is tight. You feel light-headed again, as if overloaded by sensory detail: the smells, the feel of the air in temperature and weight, the edges of everything hyperrealized. Your skin is on fire, but your fingers feel cold. You grip the edge of the table and look down at the blood-stained linen, the trail of red fingerprints, and feel someone watching you partake.

You swallow. There’s a pulse in your ears. Something flickers in your chest.

This… this is art. Not slipped, carved, baked clay. This is flesh and passion. This is something stripped bare to pentirsi layers, offering previously unseen details unappreciated by the uniforms that dismantled it. But you're here now, you see it. .. smudged within the image as a coffee stain in a sketchbook. 

You smile as the fire escape sways, metal bones screeching beneath heavy steps. The cold licks your legs beneath the dress, but someone's breath warms your nape, gushing through cotton fleece to bare skin where fine hairs rise above gooseflesh. You’re soaked in something deep as a threadbare exhale titters over your shoulder—too hot to be real. 

You’re not alone anymore. 

The artist is here, maybe , pressed into your back, fused to your spine, reaching under the hoodie one-handed to hold the flutters to your abdominal wall where they want to dig out and fly away. You cramp, or the hand squeezes and something in you—some endlessly regurgitating thing —finally matches the phantasmal breath heaving down your collar...

“Eyes open, finally... Tragic how long you chose to stay blind.”

Check it on AO3 HERE

[notfreetoday]

WOWOW on Demand Sign Up Tutorial

Hello, I am back (?)

Quick tutorial in case anyone wants to sign up (and later cancel) for a WOWOW on Demand account in order to watch Justice in the Dark when it airs at midnight JST on the 7th of March (aka Thursday night going into Friday morning).

Under the cut to reduce spam!

Before you start, please know that whilst you will sign up on the website, you will only be able to watch the shows using the phone app itself, because the website blocks VPNs.

You will need:

The ability to install the WOWOW on demand apk on your android phone (for iPhone users, it's available on the Jp app store, but I can't help beyond that)

A VPN (I used surfshark)

Access to a JP phone number (I used the number given on my forwarding service)

A credit card

2530 JPY per month (JITD is expected to end sometime in June 2025)

STEP 1: Set your VPN to Japan, go to the WOWOW website as shown, and click on the blue tab circled in orange

STEP 2: This just informs you that the service costs 2530 JPY/mth. Click the blue tab again.

STEP 3: Key in your email and click the button to receive a 4-digit OTP (it will be the first and only string of 4 digits you see in the mail). Major email domains should work.

STEP 4: You should receive the OTP within 3-5mins. If you don't receive the email, check your junk folder etc I lost patience after 2 mins and clicked the button 😅

STEP 5: This is all pretty self-explanatory. Don't ask me to translate the T&C/privacy agreement because I didn't read it either 😬

Congratulations! You have successfully created a WOWOW Online account (this is the normal account which lets you watch free videos/livestreams for eg, Spirealm Ep 1 is free to watch for now).

Next, you want to create a WOWOW on Demand account, which is the service that will give you access to JITD, the rest of Spirealm episodes, and if you are in Japan with a BS Cable subscription, the ability to watch and record WOWOW shows on your TV.

STEP 6: FINALLY we get to the most important bit, so of course I forgot to screencap it. For your Surname and First name, you will need to type it in Japanese text, so go ahead and google translate your name. For the phone number, I used the number from my Jp forwarding service (tenso), but I did try again by changing a few numbers, and it actually went through to step 4 so... if you don't have a forwarding service, you could try random numbers following the 03-1234-5678 format? Don't quote me on that.

Click the blue button at the bottom (which I accidentally cropped out) to move on.

STEP 7: A confirmation window will pop up, keep clicking the blue button...

STEP 8: Almost there. Ignore all the blue buttons and choose the credit card payment option.

STEP 9: Scroll down and key in your credit card details (doesn't have to be Japanese), agree to the service agreement and then hit the blue button again. You will not be charged yet.

STEP 10: Confirm you really do want to spend 2530 JPY x per mth (which for JITD would be 3 months = 7590 JPY = USD$50) and click the blue button again. Your CC will be charged here.

Congrats! You're done (and broke)! Now, using your log in details, log on to the app and search 光淵 or こうえん (you will need to use your VPN on your phone too)

HOW TO CANCEL WOWOW

You will be able to watch shows for one month from that date your subscription was charged. Ie, if charged on the 3rd of July, and you cancelled on the 31st of July, you would be able to access WOWOW on demand till the 2nd of August (1 month from the 3rd of July). Hence, please remember to cancel a few days before your subscription is charged, just in case the application takes a few days to be processed.

STEP 1: Log in and go to My WOWOW

STEP 2: You'll be brought to your profile page, choose the 2nd option from the left (right next to the word TOP)

STEP 3: Look for the 解約 button

STEP 4: Look for the same word, and confirm cancellation

That's it! (When july comes, if there are extra steps required, I'll post a follow up 😅

Happy watching everyone!

[lwillowlthewicked]

How to Add 3D Models to TS3

Required Applications:

Blender - https://www.blender.org/

TSRW - https://www.thesimsresource.com/workshop/

Milkshape & Plugins - https://sims3tutorialhub.tumblr.com/resources

NVIDIA Texture Tools, Photopea, or GIMP (or anything else that allows you to save an image as a .dds file)

Recommended:

S3PE - https://www.simlogical.com/ContentUploadsRemote/uploads/189/ - Used to make = object base game compatible and available in CAW

Sims3Multi Pack Extractor - https://modthesims.info/d/364038/delphy-s-sims-3-pack-multi-extracter-updated-5th-sept-2009.html - Used to convert a sims3pack into a package file

This will also require showtime, since the object we will be cloning will be from that pack. I'm not sure if there's a base game object with a light/illumination map that we can use. If you don't want the windows of the building(s) to light up or anything lighting up on whatever object you are adding then you can try and find a base game object to clone.

Step 1: Export .obj file from Blender

Step 2: Import .obj into Milkshape

Step 3: Rename object in Milkshape to group_0, then export file as .wso (in order to export it as a .wso, you need to have the TSRW plugins for Milkshape installed)

Step 4: Open TSRW - Create New Project - Choose Object

Step 5: Under The Sims 3 choose Uncategorized Objects under Object by Category. In the search bar, type in 'hill' and choose the 'Sign City Hill' object. Name your project (make sure to rename both project name and title)

Step 6: First, choose where you want your object to show in the catalog. I just choose decor (function category) and miscellaneous decor (function sub category). Go to the mesh tab and using the button of the box with the green arrow, import your .wso file. For the first pop-up click yes. For the second, click no.

Step 7: Under Group 0, click on the three dots beside 'material'. This is where you will import your textures. Before doing so, you must make sure the images are in .dds format. Simply add your image into any application that supports importing/exporting .dds files. I personally save with BC3/DXT5 compression and don't keep mipmaps. Some say to save the mipmaps, but because I use 2K textures it adds a lot more to the file to save them so I don't. Once you've got them in the correct format, import them into the object's materials. For the detail map I simply import a small blank white texture. The diffuse is the main color texture, the multiply map is the ambient occlusion map (if you do not have it, I'm pretty sure you can just add a blank white texture too), and the self illumination map is what allows part of the mesh to light up. If you do not want anything to light up you can just add a plain black texture. Click done and exit out once all textures are replaced.

Step 8: Click the drop down that reads 'high level of detail' and choose the shadow lod. Click on the blue arrows beside the import icon. A pop-up will show; check the box under medium detail and click ok. You will see that once you've done that, the object's shadow will change.

Step 9: Click file - save as and save .wrk file (just in case).

Step 10: Export to Sims3Pack

Extra - Make Object Base Game Compatible

1. Convert .sims3pack to .package using Sims3Multi Pack Extractor

2. Open S3PE and open package file you want to edit

3. Find OBJD tag and double click on it

4. Change group number to 0 and click ok.

5. Save package

Extra 2 - Make object appear in CAW

1. Open S3PE and open package file you want to edit

2. Find OBJD tag and highlight it by clicking on it once

3. At the very bottom of the window, click on 'Grid'

4. Click the arrow beside 'CommonBlock' to open the tab

5. Beside the version, change the C to E and click commit

6. Reopen the 'Grid' and go back into the 'CommonBlock' tab. If you scroll down, you will now see 'IsVisibleInWorldBuilder', change it from false to true.

7. Scroll down until you find 'BuildCategoryFlags'. Replace the number with 0x00008000.

8. Click commit and save the file.

Let me know if you have any questions! TSRW is very finicky and sometimes things can go wrong. There are some things that I may not know how to fix, but I will try my best to help.