#Leather Testing Machine

[gester-tester]

1 Test position Taber Abrasion Tester GT-C14A

[labotronicsscientific]

DIN Abrasion Tester

Labotronics DIN abrasion tester is a microprocessor controlled unit test the resistance of elastomers and it's wide range of variety which is known for their elastic properties.The quick clamp sample holder moves sideways of 4.2mm during each rotation,providing uniform abrasion across all parts of the sample.The rotational drum having specific sandpaper roll under diameter 150mm with speed of 40rpm.It hold 2.5N~10N load,sample size must be Φ 16 mm and its thickness under range 6 mm~14mm.Pre-set sample travel distance and operational buttons makes consistent process that accessible to a wider range for more visit labotronics.com

[societyfolklore]

Open Up Baby

Title: Open Up Baby Pairing: Tony Stark  x Female Reader

Summary: Tony Stark straps you into a StarkTech-compatible bench for a private demonstration of his newest toys- complete with biometric feedback,

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, SMUT… BDSM/Restraints/Bondage, custom tech ball gag, toys (Egg vibe, anal beads, dildo)  Overstimulation, Toy fucking/Machine-assisted thrusting, Filthy talk (Tony can't shut up), AI assists with data tracking, clinical observation, forced openness, Sensory overload

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for April Kinky Bingo… Well this one turned into a whole thing.. Square: B2- Open Up Baby  Card Number: KB003

You were already strapped to the bench- back arched, thighs spread wide in glossy chrome stirrups, wrists bound snug in Stark-grade cuffs that didn’t budge an inch. The synthetic leather beneath you was cool against your skin, but your body was already starting to heat with anticipation. The bench itself shifted slightly with every movement, like it was reading your tension, calibrating every twitch of your muscles into data Tony could access later.

You could hear the soft hum of the room’s ambient systems, the low mechanical whirrs, the faint electric pulse of tech running in standby, and underneath it all, Tony’s voice. He hummed absently as he moved around you, flicking through translucent holoscreens that floated in the air, readable only to him. Light glinted off his arc reactor through the thin black shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins flexing with every subtle flick of his fingers.

He looked like a scientist. Or a surgeon. No, a goddamn artist.

“You look tense,” he murmured, stepping in close, his fingers grazing your jaw with a feather-light touch. “That won’t do. We need to get a clean read. No clenched teeth, no locked jaws. Just you- open and…relaxed.”

He held up a sleek piece of tech. A mix of leather and metal. To you it looked like a ball gag. That wasn’t just a gag. It was his gag. Something custom. Personal. Laced with Stark Industry Tech.

“Open up, baby. Gotta install the biometric reader. It’s not science without a baseline.”

You hesitated, lips twitching. Just for a second. But he didn’t push. He just waited you out, smirk deepening, one brow arched like he had all the time in the world. That cocky, knowing gaze made you squirm even before anything touched you. Your breath hitched. And then you parted your lips.

“There we go,” he said, tone thick with approval as he slid the gag into place. It clicked against your teeth, snug and firm. A soft vibration flickered across your tongue as it locked in pushing the muscle down.

Friday’s voice chimed in overhead, calm and clinical.

“Gag calibration complete. Biometric sync active. Tracking vocal response, saliva levels, and tongue pressure.”

Tony leaned down, brushing his lips across your cheek in a whisper of a kiss. “Good girl. Now let’s get to work.”

He started with the egg.

Sleek. Silver. Pulsing faintly in his hand like it had a heartbeat of its own. The metal shimmered under the clinical lights, smooth and polished, shaped with the kind of precision that only Stark could deliver. He turned it over once, twice, like he was admiring a prized gadget- one that he was particularly proud of.

He showed it to you like a doctor unveiling a revolutionary new tool- calm, confident, deeply amused. Except this wasn’t a sterile exam room, and the look in his eyes wasn’t professional. His smirk told you he already knew what kind of mess this thing would reduce you to.

"This is your warm-up," he said, voice low and playful. "Phase One. Internal warming protocol. Testing receptivity. Calibration through heat and pulse response."

You whimpered into the gag. Of course you were excited- he’d been teasing you with this little 'demonstration' all week. Whispering promises in your ear, tapping out reminders on your thigh, dropping technical jargon laced with filth that left your core throbbing before he’d even touched you. Now that it was finally happening, your whole body was buzzing with need.

He didn't wait. He moved closer, one gloved hand parting your thighs a little further, the other settling between them. The bench adjusted beneath you, lifting your hips another inch to meet his touch perfectly. His fingers dipped between your folds- testing your wetness, teasing you just enough to make your body jerk in its bonds.

"Already responsive," he muttered, half to himself, half to Friday. "She’s going to be a dream to log."

He slid the egg in with two fingers, slow and deliberate. The cool metal kissed your entrance, making you flinch slightly- it was colder than you expected, stark contrast against your heated skin. Your walls instinctively tried to resist, clenching down, but his fingers were patient, coaxing you open, parting you around the sleek, unyielding toy.

The egg slid upward, heavy and smooth. As it moved deeper, your body yielded to it, the slow stretch making your breath catch. Its contours were designed to press into every sensitive spot, and you could feel your muscles fluttering around it, trying to accommodate the sudden fullness. As he pushed it deeper, you could feel every inch of it being swallowed by your body, your slick muscles tightening, fluttering around the intrusion.

He pushed the egg up high inside you, then paused, his finger still inside you too. "Squeeze for me," he ordered. You did, instinctively, your walls closing down as you used your pelvic floor, and Tony gave the platic string attached a soft tug.

The stretch, the resistance- it was delicious. The egg stayed locked in place. You couldn’t push it out if you tried. He smiled, clearly pleased.

"Perfect. Secure fit," he murmured. "Wouldn’t want it popping out mid-test."

It settled deep inside you, a sinful throb blooming in your core. Then it pulsed- just once, a quick flutter that made you jolt.

"There we go," he breathed, watching the screen light up with new data. "Didn’t even turn it on yet and she’s already going. Fuck, I love this job."

You were barely processing the first toy when he reached for the second.

Beads. Tapered, growing in size, each one gleamed under the soft blue lighting like tiny pieces of futuristic art. You squirmed, thighs pressing together, but it was no use- Stark had seen your reaction.

Tony laughed- low and delighted.

"Didn’t know we were going there, huh?" He nudged your knees apart again, voice dipping to a darker octave. "Come on, baby. I want you to open up for me. Let’s see what this one does..."

You shook your head slightly. Whimpered into the gag. Wide eyes watching him as you tried to protest around the ball gag in your mouth. 

Tony turned to the tray beside him, selecting a small, frost-blue tube of gel. "Wouldn't be very considerate to skip prep," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He uncapped the tube and squeezed a slow, deliberate line of the slick, glistening substance along the length of the beads. The gel shimmered faintly under the light, warming as it reacted with the ambient temperature.

He coated each bead carefully, fingers moving with methodical ease, making sure the entire string was evenly slicked. "Lubricated. Body-safe. Custom formula," he said with a wink. "Slippery enough to slide in smooth- sticky enough to stay in place until I say otherwise."

Then he held the beads up for you to see, the string dangling between his fingers. You tensed instinctively.

"Oh no. You’re freezing up. Can’t test properly if you don’t behave. Legs. Open."

You didn’t.

Tony tsked, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. Then he grabbed your chin, firm and steady, tilting your head so your eyes locked with his.

"Don't think so much. That’s not what good test subjects do."

Click.

The bench tilted beneath you without warning. Your hips rolled upward, knees falling further apart as the restraints auto-adjusted. You were fully exposed now- helpless. Wide open.

"You know I can override those restraints, right? I built them. Now be a good girl and show me everything."

He dipped his finger back into the gel and brought it to your ass, pressing a cool dollop directly to your tight, puckered entrance. The sudden chill made you flinch, but it was followed by the warm glide of his fingertip as he gently teased the gel in slow circles.

"You tense here, too," he said, amused. "Don't worry. This formula warms up just like you do."

He rubbed it in carefully, working the gel into your rim with delicate, coaxing pressure. The sensation tingled- both from the temperature shift and the way his finger circled and pressed until your body finally began to relent.

Then he lowered the beads between your cheeks and began to press them in- one at a time. The first slid in easily, the gel working its magic, cool and slick. The second made your breath stutter. The third had your whole body tensing as your hole stretched just enough to accommodate the new pressure.

Each one pulled a different, desperate noise from you- somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, caught in the back of your throat and forced through the gag in broken fragments.

By the time the third bead settled inside you, you felt full. Stretched in ways that left you panting, your back arching hard off the bench. Everything was working together- the deep pressure of the egg nestled high in your core, the hum beginning to buzz through your clit like a phantom, and now the slow, firm intrusion of the beads pressing against nerves that had you seeing stars. You struggled to catch your breath, the gag forcing each inhale to be short and choppy. Air hissed through your nose while your mouth flooded with saliva, spit slipping from the corners of your lips in thick strands that slid down your neck and onto your chest. The overwhelming heat of arousal and frustration tangled in your gut, building like steam with nowhere to escape. The restraint of it made the fire inside you burn hotter.

Your muscles clenched involuntarily, your hips rocking against the air, chasing friction that didn’t come. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg. Just drool, tremble, and take everything he gave you.

"Mmm. That moan? That was bead three. She likes that one, Friday."

"Confirmed," the AI replied. "Pelvic floor tension rising. Heart rate increasing."

"Good. Means it’s working."

The egg began to heat. The beads hummed in sync, and you felt everything shift- internally and externally- as pleasure bled into pressure, and pressure into overload. You were trembling now, thighs twitching again, trying to close- but the bench held you wide, utterly exposed.

"Heart rate’s spiking..." Tony’s voice was pure, filthy glee. "Oh, she’s gonna break soon. Look at her squirm."

You rutted against the air, clit untouched and screaming for attention. Your walls fluttered around the egg, your ass clenching down against the beads as the different pulses overlapped and collided. It was all too much and somehow not enough. You needed more and needed it to stop, all at once.

You tried to breathe, but the gag made it impossible to take anything but shallow, panting gasps. Each exhale was laced with a moan. Drool spilled freely down your chin, dripping warm across your face and neck. You were flushed, messy, wrecked- and he hadn’t even touched your clit.

Your back arched violently off the bench, cords of heat coiling through your belly and thighs. It felt like your body was unraveling, muscles tight and desperate, nerve endings screaming with pleasure.

Tony leaned in again, voice dark and syrup-smooth. "We’ve got her plugged, egged, and ready to combust. Think she can handle the next phase?"

Friday answered, "Orgasm build-up at 87%."

"Perfect." He tapped a command into the air. "Now let’s push her."

The egg pulsed deeper. The beads vibrated sharper. You cried out- moaning, writhing, the gag muffling it into raw, incoherent noise. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t beg. Just sob through the pressure building to a breaking point.

"Baby, this is science. Filthy, beautiful science."

It hit you like a wave- white-hot and all-consuming. Your legs shook violently in the stirrups, muscles spasming as your body locked around the egg and beads pulsing inside you. Every nerve ending fired in chaotic pleasure, overwhelming your senses. You tried to scream, to sob, but the gag reduced it to a shattered, strangled cry that vibrated through the tech, each desperate noise dutifully logged.

Drool spilled in long, wet strands down your chin as your back bowed hard off the bench, your whole body trembling under the assault of pleasure. Your cunt clenched tight around the egg, milking it involuntarily, while your ass throbbed with each hum of the vibrating beads. Everything inside you was pulsing, moving, grinding you down into submission.

Tony watched, transfixed, his gaze locked on your ruined, shaking form. “There she goes - God, I should patent that moan.”

Your eyes rolled back. You could barely breathe. You could only tremble and leak and convulse as the orgasm tore through you. The bench beneath you vibrated subtly with your body’s response.

Friday: "Orgasm confirmed."

Tony waited until you were trembling, your breathing uneven, your thighs still twitching with aftershocks that rippled through your overstimulated body. Sweat slicked your skin in a thin, glistening sheen, catching the light as your chest heaved with broken gasps around the gag. Your limbs strained weakly against the restraints.

Then- slowly, methodically- he reached between your cheeks and took hold of the first bead. He didn’t rush. He eased it out one at a time, each slick orb dragging along your inner walls with a sticky, stretching glide. You shuddered at the sensation- the unbearable emptiness that bloomed in the wake of each removal. Your ass clenched reflexively around the loss, trying to hold onto what had filled you so completely. But he kept going.

The final bead popped free with a slick, obscene sound. Your hips jolted involuntarily, your back arching once more as your body spasmed again, clinging to the ghost of sensation.

Friday's voice crackled overhead. "Anal pressure reduced. Sphincter still contracting. She’s experiencing post-orgasmic muscle spasms."

Then came the egg.

He curled his fingers inside you, tugging the retrieval loop with a firm, practiced motion. The egg slipped free, wet and shiny,  your cunt fluttering uselessly around the sudden void. The stretch, the drag, the warmth- it all left you aching. You cried into the gag, overwhelmed by the emptiness and the continued tremors in your muscles. Your thighs kicked slightly, your knees drawing in as far as the restraints would allow.

"Vaginal walls contracting. Core temperature still elevated. She's not done trembling yet," Friday observed, calm as ever.

Tony held both toys in one hand now- wet, warm, shining. He looked down at you with naked satisfaction.

"That’s some damn good tech," he said. "But we’re not done."

From the tray, he lifted his final piece.

A dildo- sleek, deep grey, Stark-stamped at the base. Modeled after him, and you knew it. Maybe a little bigger. Slightly wider at the base, with delicate ridges along the underside that hinted at something extra. Your breath caught just looking at it.

“This one’s special, baby. Built it from memory- well, from yours,” Tony said, rolling it in his hand. “Temperature regulated, pressure-sensitive, and the best part? The internal sensors sync to your contractions. It responds to you. The more you clench, the deeper it drives. A perfect loop.”

You whimpered around the gag, heart fluttering.

He moved between your spread legs and lined it up against your soaked, fluttering entrance. You were already sensitive- still trembling from the last orgasm- and when the wide tip pressed in, you nearly cried. It stretched you slowly, steadily, a little more than you were used to. Your slick walls resisted at first, clenching down instinctively, but Tony was patient, guiding it with precise control.

“There you go,” he coaxed, voice smooth but sharp-edged with amusement. “That’s it. Take all of it. Come on, baby- I know you can..”

His tone dipped into a purr. “There you go. Taking it like you need it. Bet you love being filled up with Stark-grade tech, huh?”

Your back bowed off the bench as he pushed it in, inch by inch, your pussy yielding to every contour, forced to accommodate the full shape of it. The fullness was delious, your body stretched taut around it. Your eyes rolled back as the final ridge slipped inside, the toy settling deep.

“There,” he said, watching your reactions with fascination. “Fills you out just right. And now... we see what she can really do.”

The base clicked into a pulse pattern, and the toy began to move inside you- slow at first, deliberate, like it was learning your shape. You could feel every textured ridge of the shaft as it rubbed against your inner walls, dragging across oversensitive flesh, sparking little detonations of pleasure with every pass.

Then it pulsed- long and low, a rhythmic thrum that radiated from base to tip, sending heat spiraling through your belly. With every thrust, the toy seemed to stretch you deeper, nudging a spot that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch against the restraints. Your pussy clenched around it reflexively, triggering the internal sensors Tony had mentioned. And just like that, the toy responded- pressing harder, thrusting deeper, faster.

It wasn’t just fucking you- it was reading you, syncing to the wild flutter of your muscles, pulsing in tandem with your arousal.

“Look at her,” Tony murmured, grinning as he watched the toy disappear again and again between your legs. “Every little squeeze makes it work harder. You’re doing this to yourself, baby. And I haven’t even touched your clit yet.”

You’d been so consumed by the thrusting inside you, by the stretch and pulse of the toy, that you hadn’t even noticed Tony move. But suddenly, he was there- looming over you, and the egg was pressed directly to your clit.

The sensation was immediate and brutal.

Your entire body jolted. The contact felt almost painful, your nerves raw and exposed, the stimulation electric. You tried to buck away, hips arching, thighs trembling, but you had nowhere to go.

Tony caught you effortlessly. One hand shoved the egg against your swollen clit, refusing to relent, while the other pressed down on your thigh to keep your knees from closing.

“Uh uh. None of that,” he said smoothly. “You don’t get to hide from this, baby. You earned it.”

You sobbed into the gag, thrashing your hips side to side, but the bench and Tony’s hands made escape impossible. Every attempt to squirm just sent the dildo thrusting deeper inside you, and the egg grinding cruelly over your clit.

“You’re not gonna break,” he whispered, teasing. “You’re gonna burn for me.”

"Don’t you dare run from it. look at me."

He was holding you still- one hand clamped over your thigh to keep your legs spread, the other pressing the egg mercilessly to your clit. You were trembling in his grasp, utterly helpless against the merciless pairing of his tech and his control.

"You’re gonna come again for me, sweetheart. Real data’s in the repeat response," he said, eyes locked on yours, voice both commanding and hungry.

The dildo thrust deep, the ridges grinding against your most sensitive spots as your walls clamped down. The egg buzzed brutally against your swollen clit, so overstimulated you couldn’t tell whether you were trying to run from it or chase it. Every jolt of pleasure lit your nerves like lightning- white-hot and impossible to hold back.

Your body jerked, hips spasming, thighs trembling violently as the sensations overloaded you. Your entire body was working against you- every clench, every twitch, every gasp just triggered the toy to go deeper, harder, faster. You weren’t riding it anymore- it was riding you, and Tony just watched with that devilish smirk, keeping you wide open.

“That's it. Shake for me. Scream into that gag. Show me what science can do.”

The climax tore through you without mercy- harder, deeper, a violent unraveling of every nerve as your body convulsed around the relentless rhythm of the tech inside you. You didn’t just come; you shattered, splintering open in a release so intense it blurred your vision, your mind, your ability to distinguish pleasure from pain. Your vision shattered into sparks, your scream muffled into a raw, hoarse noise behind the gag. Your body thrashed in the restraints, muscles locking as the orgasm ripped through you, longer and sharper than the last.

Friday: "Second orgasm confirmed. Neural spike significant. Subject approaching physical limit."

He slowed the toy, letting it ease to a stop deep inside you before withdrawing it carefully, letting you feel every last ridge dragging along your raw, overstimulated walls. Then, with a gentleness that almost contrasted the torment he’d just put you through, he removed the egg from your clit. The instant the contact broke, your whole body sagged in the restraints with relief and exhaustion. You were shaking, barely breathing- every inch of you buzzing, nerves fried and twitching from the overload.

You could taste salt on your lips- your own tears and spit, your jaw aching from clenching around the gag. You were drenched, body glistening with sweat, your skin flushed and hypersensitive to the air.

He removed the gag last. Your jaw fell slack with a wet, trembling gasp, strands of spit clinging to the corners of your mouth. You blinked up at him, vision hazy, lips wet and parted.

Tony gazed down at you, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction, his mouth tugging into a crooked grin that said told you so. He looked like a man admiring his finest creation- smug, yes, but also thoroughly entertained by the glorious, twitching mess sprawled out beneath him.

“You did good, baby. Fucking beautiful. But next time?”

He leaned close, brushing a kiss to your temple- slow, deliberate, his breath warm against your damp skin.

“Think I’ll need to design something that gets you to squirt. Can’t let a variable like that go untested. Wouldn’t be very Stark of me to stop now, would it?”

He turned with a little flourish, tapping the screen with a flick of his fingers, not bothering to look back.

“Friday, save this session. Label it: Successful. Prepare files for Phase Two.”

[sevgilimsatoru]

Error 410: (Self aware!AU, Caleb Edition) Part 1

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 A/N Spin off Summary: A self aware!AU with Caleb and NonMC! reader. Tags: Caleb x reader, Caleb x NonMC! reader, Caleb x fem!reader, Stressedout!reader. Inspired by: @ittybittyfanblog Word count: 1k *"when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you"* *- Friedrich Nietzsche.*

You've heard that quote.., maybe even read it somewhere before but it didn't matter, not when your eyes were starting to ache, a slight burning sensation pulsing behind your eyelids. The only thing staring back at you were the questions in your assignment. The heels of your palm digging into your eyes, rubbing them, trying to drown out the sensation. You had work to do, upcoming tests countless assignments, projects- the dates and deadlines were already starting to blur. Maybe you should sleep. Take a little break, it wouldn't hurt to rest... The sickening feeling of guilt and shame in your gut was going to stay there- despite the efforts to try and study a little more.

It was your fault, really. You didn't do the things you should've on time, procrastinating and postponing work when you shouldn't have. Unfortunately, time never waits for anyone. A click of the power button broke the silence surrounding your room, closing your laptop. You stood up from your desk, stretching your arms over your head, the sound of bones cracking filling your ears. Slumping down on the bed felt much better- the cold sheets against your heated skin felt good, relaxing even. Your tongue darting out to lick your lips, feeling the chapped skin and the stinging sensation sparking up when the fleshy organ touched a small cut on your lip, caused by the frequent biting and pulling of the skin on your lips. A sigh left your lips, swallowing the dryness in the back of your throat. You felt thirsty, your throat felt dry.. empty but not enough to burn and that was reason enough for your mind to stop you from getting up, along with the effort it was going to take to just get yourself a glass of water. Laying against the cold sheets, your mind wandered thinking about something that might get you to sleep. Sleep was slowly becoming a foreign concept- something that happened few and far in between. Your college studies wasn't making it any better- Doing a degree in law along with criminology honors. You really were crazy to have chosen these subjects but your curiosity often went against your decisions. The need to understand and learn more about the few things that you were interested in. There was only silence surrounding you, until a small **ping!** vibrated through the room and in your ears, looking down at your phone to see a message from the game you spent so much of your time on; Love and Deep space and of course, your precious love interest, Caleb. It was almost insane how your eyes lit up when the loading screen of the game showed up. That pretty boy sitting quietly on the leather chair, asleep. A small poke on his cheek was enough for him to let out the usual autogenerated response you always heard. He was so cute, so pretty, so.. human. It was one of the reasons you liked him so much. Over every other love interest, he just felt like a person. A person you could understand- a person you could relate to. You understood why he did the things he did.

Tapping on the small chat button, Caleb was standing there- looking at you. Interacting with him was comforting in a sense. His little teasing yet sincere comments were enough to make your heart stutter. It had became routine by now, doing the daily tasks- getting gems, playing on the claw machine and the kitty cards. Yeah, maybe the kitty cards would be a good idea today. You still had one kitty card attempt left this week. Playing kitty cards with Caleb was fun to say the atleast. It was annoying how good he was at that game. You could never get three wins in a row, sometimes it made you want to punch him through the screen, affectionately of course. Just when you thought you were going to win, all it took was two cards for the whole game to be flipped in his favor. It was so frustrating. "If you keep winning, I'm not going to play with you.." You muttered to yourself, maybe you should stop talking to yourself when no one was going to reply back. "Maybe you should stop and take care of yourself if you can't even focus on the game," Caleb replied in that small text box. That was new, you hadn't seen a reply like that before.. Now that you think about it, did your MC even say anything for Caleb to reply back? Maybe you had missed it, too focused on the game, too focused on him. After miserably loosing the kitty card mini game, you decided to just chat with him by clicking on tête-à-tête. Talking about studies.. wanting to hear his comforting words but with those limited options, how could you tell about how terrible study habits, your conflicting feelings?

You felt stupid, incompetent, like a failure for not being able to complete some simple assignments but how do you tell all that to a fictional love interest in a game? It was shameful in a way, relying so much on the opinions and comforting of something that wasn't even real? It was just so weird.. how he mattered so much to you. Your thumb caressed the screen of your phone where his cheek was, as if he could feel your touch. It made a burning sensation flare up in the back your throat as the brightness of your screen burned into your retinas. Exhaustion of the day catching upto you. Your body curling up on the sheets of your bed. Yeah, maybe sleep would be better. Maybe you'd dream of him.

A/N- Hi everyone, I'm a new writer so this work might feel like really dry and dull. This is just part 1. I'm going to write more. This fic is inspired by Error 404 fanfic of @ittybittyfanblog. I hope you like it.

[whenstarsundress]

when bike enthusiast sylus meets harley davidson engineer you

the las vegas convention center buzzed with noise. engines growling, speakers blasting, chrome gleaming under fluorescent lights. sylus moved through the crowd like a panther, sharp-eyed and silent, dressed in black jeans, combat boots, and a worn leather jacket that clung to his shoulders like it was made for him. he wasn’t just here to show face. he loved bikes. built them. rode them like extensions of himself. and tonight, harley-davidson was unveiling something big.

what he didn’t expect was you. you stepped onto the stage beside the new concept bike, all curves and confidence. your black leather pants hugged your hips like sin, boots stomping with purpose. a harley engineer, he could see it from the badge clipped to your hip, the grease smudges beneath your nails, the way you touched the bike like it was something you built with your own hands.

and when you glanced up from adjusting the throttle display, you saw him. that tall man watching you like you were the only machine worth test-driving. sylus didn’t smile much, but he did now, slow and lopsided, like a dare.

after the presentation, you found him leaning against one of the newer models, fingers dragging along the frame.

“you know that’s just a prototype,” you teased low, and sultry from hours of talking shop.

sylus didn’t miss a beat. “so are you.”

your brows arched. “excuse me?”

he tilted his head. “you just hit the stage like you were engineered for sin. those pants should be illegal.”

you smirked, crossing your arms beneath your chest. “and you think your messy hair and mysterious eyes give you a pass?”

“i wasn’t asking for one,” he murmured, stepping closer. “but i’d take a ride if you’re offering.”

tension crackled between you like a lightning bolt. you weren’t intimidated. hell, you liked the way his voice dropped when he looked at your mouth, the way he towered over you just slightly, hands shoved in his pockets like he was holding back.

“you ride?” you asked innocently, but eyes anything but.

sylus leaned in, his breath brushing your ear. “fast. hard. and only when it’s worth it.”

you exhaled slowly, pupils blown wide. “lucky for you,” you whispered, “so do i.”

neither of you moved. not yet. not until the show ended. not until midnight, when engines cooled and the night began. but he already knew. you weren’t just the kind of girl he’d flirt with and forget. you were the kind he’d meet on an open road, no destination. just leather, smoke, and heat in your wake. and sylus was already burning for the ride.

the crowd had faded. neon lights bled into the concrete as the night settled into something hotter, heavier. you didn’t expect him to wait. but sylus stood there beside his bike, one hand resting on the seat like he knew you’d come.

and you did. in leather still clinging to your hips, boots clicking like a countdown, you stalked toward him.

“where we riding?” you asked, breathless from the heat. or maybe from him.

sylus smirked, sliding onto the seat and patting the space in front of him. “climb on, baby.”

you did, straddling the beast between your thighs, and sylus pressed in behind you, his chest against your back, his hand slipping beneath your jacket. everything about him was hot, rough, wanting. he whispered low in your ear, “you smell like gasoline and sin.”

the ride was fast. a blur. he didn’t say a word as he tore through the empty vegas streets, your body pressed to his, your heart beating louder than the engine. but the second you reached the outskirts, headlights off, stars above, the real ride began.

sylus hauled you off the bike, spun you around, and shoved you back against the seat. hands grabbing, lips crashing into yours. “you think i didn’t notice the way you walked out in those pants?” he growled. “you knew what you were doing.”

your mouth parted, but he was already kneeling, hands on your thighs, dragging the tight leather down like he owned you.

“fuck, you’re soaked,” he muttered, voice breaking into a groan. “all this for me?”

you whimpered as his mouth replaced his fingers, tongue greedy, slow at first. then ravenous. he devoured you like he’d been starving for a taste. one hand on your stomach to hold you still, the other gripping your thigh. his fingers bruised your skin.

“sylus—fuck—please—”

“you gonna ride me, baby?” he said roughly, lips slick with you. “or do i fuck you right here, bent over this goddamn engine like the filthy little tease you are?”

you grabbed his hair, pulled him up and kissed him hard. “both,” you panted. “i want both.”

he ripped his belt open, his cock hot and hard and so fucking thick. he didn’t wait. he didn’t tease. he pushed inside you in one slow, relentless thrust that had you gasping. nails digging into the metal behind you.

“holy fuck, you feel unreal,” sylus hissed, burying himself to the hilt. “like this pussy was built for me.”

you moaned, legs wrapped around him, your hips grinding into his thrusts as he fucked you right there on the seat of his bike, engine still warm, the smell of leather and sweat and motor oil thick around you.

and when you rode him later, face to face, hands in his hair, your tits bouncing as you fucked yourself raw on his cock?

sylus grabbed your jaw and said, “that’s it. ride me, baby. take what you need. but after this? you’re mine.”

because sylus didn’t do casual. and the way you came screaming his name, grinding down on him like he was home? he already knew that he was never letting you off this ride.

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 2: I Am Not My Body, Not My Mind Or My Brain

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 (Here!) / Chapter 3 / Trigger Warnings: Body Dysphoria, Medical Procedures

Heating food is a simple task. Humans have evolved enough through the decades to have invented this precious device called a microwave so that food could heat up faster for consumption. Sure, various studies confirmed that too much radiation on food is not suitable for your health, but people still smoked car batteries while claiming it was good for their anxiety.

Still, Timothy Drake managed to burn his dinner even if Alfred left instructions to leave it for one minute and twenty seconds. 

He could feel the smugness coming from Damian’s spot at the kitchen island, chomping on his food with the refinement of a prince while staring at how Tim scraped his burnt food from the plate into the trash can.

Coffee will do for now. He will not have a meltdown over that diabolical microwave that seems only to burn his food without fail.

“Losing against a machine is beneath you, Drake,” the boy said while glaring at the coffee machine with disgust.

“I'll take it as a divine sign to wait until Alfred comes home. Or I will throw the damn thing out the window.”

Damian scowled. 

‘Leave it to Drake to embarrass the family.’

‘At least it’s on the privacy of the manor. Not like the real embarrassment of the family.’ A cold voice whispered in the back of his mind, making the food in his mouth taste bitter.

It wouldn’t be the first time that she pulled a stunt like that to gather some attention from their father. Damian always kept track of her embarrassing actions (it satisfied him to know that no one could sink lower than the person he supposedly shares blood with), but it would be the first time the police had to be involved. Not even Todd had managed to do that, if we are talking about civilian aspects. 

In his opinion, she needed to stop trying so hard and learn that she would never be on the same level as the rest of them. Too soft. Too weak. Too much of everything and too little of anything. 

There was no way they could be related. Damian refused to be associated with someone who was beneath his intellect, and much less call them his sister. He demanded his father for a blood test after he had lived in the manor for about six months. His father only sighed deeply and denied his request. 

Tt, curse his father’s sensible need to help charity cases.

The chattering from the television transmitted from the room next to the kitchen interrupted his train of thought, chair scraping as he stood up and began washing his dishes.

The main living room of the manor was spacious, a tall ceiling complementing the old-fashioned structure of the dark wallpapered walls and big door windows leading to the backyard field. An L-form black leather couch with a couple of decorative pillows and fluffy blankets folded in the corner was occupied by none other than Cass, who was very focused on the bright screen.

It didn’t take long for Tim to stagger towards the love seat with his cup of steaming black coffee, very proudly showing the ‘#1 Coffee Addict’ engraving on the porcelain. It was a gag gift from Bart, but it was the biggest one he had, so he used it religiously.

Damian stood behind the couch, arms crossed, as the news went on about the recent controversial theme that has been invading every type of communication media. Under any other circumstances, he would have gone down the cave for his late-night training due to not being on patrol. 

But when the item that’s being talked about has been putting even the Justice League on tense negotiations, he’s a bit more inclined to put up with the fake neutral accent from the news reporter just to be more informed.

Mutants.

A bomb that the world is waiting for to blow up.

They’re not old news, but they have been gathering attention in the last few years. Especially in the past three years. 

Mutants have always been a touchy subject. Most of the public confuses them with metahumans due to their similarities, but they couldn’t be any more different. Metas are a recent development compared to mutants. Mutants were born with their ‘gifts’, from physical to mental, while Metas are a result of experimentation or a freak accident that triggered their meta gene. While they share the fact that their powers/mutations manifest under stressful or traumatic situations, mutants have a broad spectrum of possibilities on how their mutation shows up.

Multiple studies have come up with the theory that puberty might be the trigger due to the imbalance of hormones and the unstable emotions that teenagers go through at that age, but it hasn’t been fully backed up because of the high rate of cases of mutations showing up at birth. Too many factors and possibilities exist on how to identify mutants to settle on just one theory.

Which brings the public’s opinion on mutants. 

…People fear. A lot. It’s the basis of survival, the main reason why humans have lived and evolved for centuries. When facing something that qualifies as a threat to themselves, they will respond between their fight or flight instincts. As an evolving species, this has gone from physical needs to a more intellectual field.

Which leads to the public having very violent and strong opinions when it comes to mutants.

So, yeah. A very touchy subject.

“-that brings us to the big question: are mutants able to be controlled, or are we at the mercy of them?” a reporter with way too much blush even for the camera questioned, making Tim snort quietly behind his cup of coffee.

“That’s stupid.”

Damian couldn’t help but agree. And if Cass’s little shuffle was any sign, so did she. It was a very stupid statement.

Can a child with a gun be controlled, or are we at the mercy of them? The news was truly desperate for some pretty faces to get views on their programming.

“With that question in mind, let’s welcome our visitor of the night!” Interrupted a cheery male voice as the screen switched to the other side of the news set. It showed the interview chairs, soft blue chairs occupied by the interviewing reporters on the right side of the screen. On the left side sat the news’ visitor.

He was in a wheelchair, seemingly made of a sturdy material with a thick X formed on the wheels. Blad, thin eyebrows, and a gentle, pleasant expression. Dressed in a brown suit with a dark blue tie. It gave him a very open air, but with a touch of professionalism. He gave a very teacher-like aura. Trustworthy, intelligent, and secure. 

“It is our greatest pleasure to present such an important figure to our interview. We present to you Prof. Charles Francis Xavier. An expert and leading figure in the genetics field, as well as many other scientific fields. It is a great honor to have you here!”

The man chuckled gently at the introduction, dismissively waving his hand over the very flaunting words of the reporter.

“Please, Professor Xavier will suffice. No need for full names here.” His tone was polite and kind, making the atmosphere more soothing after a very bootlicking introduction.

At this point, Damian’s interest was lost. He didn’t need to hear about stuff he already knew about due to all the data and information Drake had engraved into the family’s brain, thanks to Prof. Xavier’s papers on genetics. He could feel Drake’s upcoming debrief on the whole interview during the next meeting, taking notice of how he straightened his back and laser-focused on the TV screen.

As Damian walked away from the living room, the professor’s voice echoed down the halls.

“I’m sure that most people sitting at home are concerned about mutants, but I am here to reassure you that there’s no reason to be so. First, let me explain what the X-Gene is and clarify some assumptions. Shall we?

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

“It worries me, Alfred,” grunted Gordon as he sat down behind his desk. The butler followed the action, sitting on the opposite side with a worried frown on his face.

Gordon was waiting for him at the very entrance of the station, not even letting him go through the ridiculous registration process at the front desk where a very tired secretary sat surrounded by messy papers and four empty cups of coffee at her desk. He didn’t utter a word until they went up the stairs towards his office, dodging sleep-deprived detectives and running cops to do their duties.

“She didn’t seem to even recognize where she was walking or who I was.” Gordon began typing into his computer, sighing once he found the file.

“You mentioned Lady (Y/N) had a head injury,” the butler commented. “How grave is it? Is your doctor competent enough to treat her here?”

The underhanded comment was not missed, but he knew better than to take it personally. Gordon has seen at first hand how Alfred could be a deadly force when it came to the members of the Wayne family. Especially when he prided himself on his medical knowledge.

Even more so when it came to Bruce’s youngest daughter. He remembers very well the day the poor girl’s case came to his desk all those years back.

“Dr. Vidal hasn’t given her report yet, she is still waiting for some blood test results.”

That made Alfred switch his attention.

“I believe I am not familiar with her. What happened to Dr. Ramirez?”

“Old man finally retired two months ago and recommended Vidal for his position.” Gordon snorted.

“She has been here for about two weeks. I was expecting her to quit two days in, but she is quite stubborn. Took hold of the morgue and now only leaves to turn in reports or treat suspects and victims.”

“So nursing background? Perhaps Paramedic training?”

“Worse. Emergency Room back at Gotham General.”

That made Alfred grimace internally. He has way too many horror stories dating back to when Thomas Wayne worked at Gotham’s General Hospital. And ER was hell on Earth, as he recalled the multiple visits due to the young masters’ accidents when they were younger, and he didn’t have the proper resources.

“Try the night shifts. Those were adrenaline-inducing.” A womanly voice caught the older men's attention, making them look back at the office door.

Brown, long hair in a ponytail, and soft brown eyes with a strange glint. Tall and long limbs, her black heels clicking as she walked towards the desk. She wore a white coat, black loose pants, combined with a classy deep emerald green shirt.

But what took Alfred’s attention was her expression as she stared at him directly, even while handing Gordon a cream file with documents.

Her lip’s corner was curled in what could be interpreted as smug. But it didn’t feel like it when her gaze assessed him sharply. When they made eye contact, Alfred felt a freezing sensation at the back of his head and ran all over him.

Like cold nails scraping at his skull, gone the moment she took her eyes off of him.

What an unnerving woman. She fit right in this city without a doubt.

“Test results came back negative, but I wouldn’t discard a bacteria or infection in the following days. Aside from the scraped knees and the head wound, no need for stitches. There were signs of a swollen throat and vocal cords, all from vomiting and choking in the water, but at least the risk of water in her lungs is out of the equation.”  

Gordon nodded, typing the report into his computer. He switched the documents around until he found the one he was looking for.

“And how is she responding? Does she know what happened?”

Dr. Vidal exhaled through her nose, a closed smile indicating there was a lot to unpack there.

“She has motor skills and reacts to questions and answers… but she doesn’t know anything beyond her name and someone named Billy. Claims she has to find him.”

That made Alfred’s stomach twist in a knot. This information wasn’t good at all.

“What exactly ‘she doesn’t know anything’ do you mean by?” the butler snapped in, making Gordon look at him and the doctor pick up the file to hand over to him personally.

“She has basic knowledge and quite a personality. But her mind becomes blank when asked about what her last name is, where she goes to school, what happened before the situation, or where her own house is.”

Gordon hesitates for a few moments, giving Alfred some space before asking in a very slow and careful manner. “Are you implying she has amnesia?”

The Doctor sighed, crossing her arms while sitting on the corner of the cabinet attached to the wall behind the desk and looking between the two men. 

“I believe it’s a bit more than that,” she said in a mindful tone. Alfred felt his heart pounding at his chest, but he didn’t interrupt the woman.

Gordon nodded at her to continue, leaning over to listen to her theory.

“Whatever she hit her head with was with malicious intent. I found a couple of cement residues on her wound, and by the form of the injury, it was thrown at her, or someone took hold of her head and hit her with what I believe could be a brick. Did she fall into the water by accident, or was she pushed in? I don’t know. But I think that someone is out for her, and her mind is blocking it as a trauma response.”

The silence in the office went on for long minutes.

Alfred’s mind ran down with the possibilities. Master Bruce had plenty of enemies, both inside and outside the mask. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to go for one of the children. He even remembered trying to talk his master out of microchipping each one of them while they slept, blaming it on his paranoia taking hold of his common sense.

But what puzzled him was that this was (Y/N). The ‘Embarrassment of The Wayne’.

He hated that title. Loathed it to hell and back.

A girl accidentally falls into a fountain on her very first gala, and the media goes nuts and creates a cruel moniker for a seven-year-old. He curls his fingers tightly around the document file in his hand.

The sobs and calls for her mother still make his nerves boil.

Which leads to why she would be a target.

While it made her feel insecure and the object of many cruel jokes and curious looks, it kept her safe and away from any dirty actions to harm her and Master Bruce.

A cruel price to pay for her safety.

“You mentioned another name.” Gordon’s voice took Alfred’s attention out of his head.

“Billy, wasn’t it?” He repeated the name with a frown. He couldn’t recall anyone with that name.

It took both men off guard at the dark look that came over the doctor, the air turning cold in just a few seconds. But it was gone in the blink of an eye. She cleared her throat and straightened her spine.

“Yeah. It could be someone close to her, maybe even the last person she saw before this happened. There are a lot of possibilities, but her mind latched onto the name like a dog with a bone.” 

He tried to search through all the talks he had had with the young miss in the past few weeks and months.

No one named Billy came up in their conversations. Not a classmate. Not even a friend (She didn’t have any. She always calls them classmates.). All that she does is go to school, practice after school, visit the psych ward, and go back home. That’s it.

Before anyone could say anything else, a knock at the door took their attention. Gordon permitted them to enter. A young officer opened the door, his face filled with hesitation.

“Sir, we have an issue in the showers.”

Gordon mutters under his breath while taking off his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. “What is it now, Perez?”

“Um, it’s the Wayne girl.”

That got everyone standing up, with Dr. Vidal already running out the door towards the showers at the back of the station. The three men were also going a step after her, with Alfred almost catching up to her.

“What the hell happened?” Gordon questioned the poor, nervous guy.

“She broke all the mirrors, sir…”

“What?!”

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

Forget riding in a police car with the signal on, taking a hot shower after being in nasty water was the top of best feeling in the world. Fight her on that fact.

The weird doctor was pretty nice. It had been odd at first, being alone with her and the nice police grandpa (he was called Gordon. That’s what she heard the cops call him when they got to the station while he guided her through the halls.). The doctor took care of her head first, putting some stinging spray on the gash to clean any nasty stuff that may have gotten on it. While she continued to check on her body for any other wounds, she asked questions.

Way too many questions. Who knew doctors were this chatty?

When Gordon left to heaven knows where, the doctor seemed to finally relax about the number of questions she threw at her and became quiet.

Which made the ambience awkward.

Which made her start to talk and make it less awkward.

It didn’t work.

Thankfully, the doctor (she grew tired of calling her that so she asked for a name. The woman only looked at her for a bit before saying Rio and go back to write on her file. Such a sociable lady.) didn’t tell her to shut it and just let her talk and talk until she ran out of things to say.

Her skin was vibrating under the still-wet clothes, the uncomfortable sensation making her bounce her legs from her seat on the medical cushioned table. Her fingers were wringing at the white paper beneath her, the crinkling sound breaking goosebumps into her skin.

Then, more personal questions started. But this time, Rio was looking directly at her.

From her full name to where she lived. Even the last thing she remembered before waking up in the nasty pool. It was quite an eye-opening experience, and it left her feeling lost.

Do you know your last name? How old are you? Um, odd. She can’t recall.

What day is your birthday? What does your dad do for a living? …That’s very weird. Birthdays were a funny thing. And her dad was- was a- he was? He was fading, he faded.withthem.he’swiththem.heisgonegonegonegon-

What grade are you in? What is your favorite color?...

Who are your siblings? How many do you have? …justone-

Where is your mother? alivealivealivealivealiVEALIVE-

It was a very tiring experience. Her head was pounding, and she had to close her eyes and lie down for a while. Rio got her some water and pills. Said it was for the headache.

They helped very little. Her fingers continued to tremble around the half-empty plastic cup.

Which was why it was the perfect moment to ask if she could use the showers. Rio blinked at her before rolling her eyes and handing her some sweats and a towel she found in the locker room. 

And that’s how she got her very much needed shower.

As soon as she got inside, she beelined towards the benches and put down the new clothes and stripped out of the nasty, ruined uniform. Then she hauled towards the nearest head shower and stood beneath the hot stream for a while.

Rio told her that while the bandage on her head was waterproof, she would have switch it for a new one after she finished. So she didn’t mind wetting her head.

Throughout the whole thing, her hair hadn’t exactly come to her mind. It wasn’t a priority.

Her fingers got stuck in a few knots that would be hard to get rid of without a brush at hand, so she just tried to get out as much of the moldy smell emitting from her with a bar of soap and a small shampoo bottle that Rio got her. It was a bit hard but not impossible, the scent of pomegranate and rosemary soothing and washing away the nasty gunk of her hair.

She hadn’t realized that she was calm enough to close her eyes and enjoy being clean after all of that fiasco.

A new plan had to be made. Not having a single clue of where she was and only her name and Billy’s was not working in her favor. After this, she had no idea where she could go or turn to. She needed guidance, someone to turn to and tell her what-

This is not her hair.

All of her thoughts came to a full stop. She had looked down to take the strands of hair that got tangled on her fingers. Just a simple action. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But the strands were wrong. It wasn’t her hair.

Black, long strands of hair were going between her fingers. They were forming different shapes and lines on her skin, which led to another thought.

This is not her skin. Those are not her fingers.

The water suddenly felt too heavy on her. She switched it off and ran off, almost slipping on the floor until she reached her towel and wrapped it around her.

This is not her hair. This is not her skin. These were not her fingers.

She gripped the towel, her gaze still focused on the hair strands on her hands. A ringing sound started to sound around her ears—a very far-off sound.

This is not her hair. This is not her skin. These are not her fingers.

She lifted the hand closer, looking at the black hairs while a shuddering breath left her lips. The ringing grew closer and louder. Goosebumps broke out on the skin, and her stomach fell down in a very uncomfortable sensation.

This is not her hair. This is not her skin. These are not her fingers.

One strand of hair was rubbed between the fingertips. Tiny water drops dripped down from it, revealing the natural pattern of the hair. Pin straight. The ringing was just by her ear, not registering any other noise. Her chest was heaving rapidly, heart at her throat, and a cold sweat was going down her spine.

Not her hair. Not her skin. Not her fingers.

…What else wasn’t hers?

A mirror. She needed a mirror. Right now.

Her head moved around in circles, the ends of the wet hair wiping against her back and making a sick feeling go through her body. She took a few steps backward, looking for any type of thing that had a reflection on it.

It felt too long. Her hair was never this long. She was sure of it.

‘There! Corner!’ her mind supplied when a glint of light caught her attention by the corner of her eye.

At one moment, she was by the benches, clothes folded or thrown on the floor and forgotten. At the next, she was standing right in front of the mirror, body trembling as she finally made eye contact with her reflection.

Not even the noise of lockers slamming open by a gust of fast wind snapped her out of her trance.

The facial structure was sharp. Cheekbones specifically. A very distinctive mole stood on the left side of her face, just above the start of the cheekbone. Skin looked pale, almost translucent due to the lack of sunlight. She could see the blue lines of the veins underneath her skin thanks to the white lights of the bathroom.

She looked sick. Very sick. Her mouth was suddenly very dry, making her swallow hard and feeling all senses of wrongness in her chest to the ends of her fingertips.

This was wrong. She was all wrong.

She took a few shaky steps closer to the mirror. Close enough to have hands against the cold surface. Fingers trembling, making a tapping motion as her gaze wandered around the reflection. 

Straight black hair, some heavy knots visibly sticking out around it. It reached halfway down her back. Water stopped dripping down the ends since she made her way to the mirror. The bandage gauze was still attached to the side of her head, no signs of blood on sight, but the material looked a bit inflated due to being soaked.

And her eyes… she only saw a glimpse of cold grey before she slammed her lids shut. Scrunching them hardly until the only thing she could see was white spots around the darkness.

The tapping increased. It moved the glass beneath her fingers.

It was all wrong. She wasn’t supposed to look like this. That wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. She is supposed to look like Billy. She doesn’t have black hair. She doesn’t have long hair. She is not this pale. She is not sick.

The mirror trembled under her fingers.

She is not this tall. She is supposed to be shorter. She doesn’t have these awkward limbs.  She looks like-

…Who was she supposed to look like?

Her mind supplies images, but they are all missing something. Like a magazine that has stuff cut out or ripped away. She sees a house, but the people are gone. She sees a front yard, but the neighbors are gone. A Halloween party, but nobody is on the streets. A children's room, but the beds are empty.

The mirror shakes under the pressure.

An empty house office. A dog bowl with no food. A messy kitchen with no kids. A dinner set at the table with nobody to eat it. A garden with gardening tools lying around. A red sky is coming closer and closer.

A framed picture with a family whose faces are scratched out.

She screams as the mirror explodes under her tapping fingers. 

The shards flew around the place, but not a single one touched her. Some landed on other mirrors, the impact making them shatter. 

She jumped back and landed sitting on the floor, head and heart pounding, as officers entered the place with all the commotion. Someone tried to grab at her, but she flinched and scrambled back until she made contact with the cold wall.

Her ears were ringing. Vision blurry. All she could see were blobs moving around, some farther and others closer. The voices were muffled. Her knees were brought up to her chest, hugging them tightly. Waiting for whatever was happening to pass.

Time was weird. Everything moved either too fast or too slow. Was this what a panic attack was, or was this something else entirely? Either way, she hated it. Hopefully, she would never have to go through it again.

It was then that Rio’s face came into view. The first person her mind managed to register.

She didn’t touch her. She was talking, but the ringing was still going on strong. Rio began to talk to the other people around the room. It actually looked like yelling, but it wasn’t at her, so she was not going to say anything about it.

Then a warm touch came to her shoulder.

This time, she didn’t flinch. It was weird. Her body leaned against it before she turned her head to the side to see who it was. And why she felt so safe and calm out of the sudden.

An old man. Dressed sharply, like that butler in the sitcom about a nanny. Gray hair and a concerned expression on his face. A classic mustache that brought some tears to her eyes, along with a warm feeling that spread from deep in her chest.

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” his accented voice registered through the fading ringing.

Before he could say anything else, she dove into his arms, forgetting that she was only covered by a towel. Sobs and tears stained his clothes. But before any apologies could come out, the man wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly as he talked to her soothingly. Caressing her head while she continued to cry.

A whisper went on the back of her mind. It was quick and gone in an instant. But she still heard it.

‘Alfred. Safe. Trust him. Only him. Not the family.’

‘Never the family’

“Alfred,” she whispered out loud. The man, Alfred, sighed in relief at hearing her respond.

“It’s alright. You can rest now, my dear. I’ll take care of it.”

She sighed shakily at his words. Eyes slid close. Not to sleep, just calm down for a bit. There was no way she could sleep with all that had transpired in the past few hours.

But I have someone now. I’m not as alone as I thought.

And that was enough for now.

Author's Note: This chapter was a beast to write. It will probably be the only long chapter for a while. I was even thinking of dividing it in two parts but I decided against it. Next chapter we are finally going to see the dynamic with the Wayne, so excited for it because it will be hilarious. Maximoff is about to enter like a tornado through the manor lol. Let me know what you all think, what theories and your favorite part of this chapter you all liked!! Happy early chapter and sending hugs, GG✨

Tag List:  @bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild

Bonus Memes:

[parfaitblogs]

risk ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you have the sweetest regular, and it’s probably too soon to tell him you love him!

pairing: spencer reid x barista!reader genre: fluff tags: s1 spencer. who rambles. biblically accurate career!reader sorry if some of the coffee talk makes no sense to you. reader makes all the first moves. y'all kiss (aww). written in timeskip sorta it's not crazy (like maybe a month). not proofread sorryyy (im not). word count: 2.2k a/n: first instalment of my spencer reid eras tour🙂‍↕️ season 1 spencer reid i freaking adore you. he's so cute. gif!! i thought gifs in this series could be cute lol. envisioned 1x10 spencer bc of his nightmares if that means anything. enjoyyy ily im off to work 🏃 

There are many reasons you come to work each morning. The money (an obvious one), your coworkers who usually make each day a little bit more bearable. And Spencer. A regular who had become a little notorious for having an odd coffee order, that most of the store workers hated making. 

Except for you. 

It wasn't especially odd. But in a store that thrived on making the perfect cup of coffee, sometimes it meant remaking it three or four times because the shots didn't pour at the right amount of time, and recalibrating the machine was a hassle you all didn't want to deal with in the middle of the morning rush he usually came during. 

You had taken note of him the first few times he came in — always keeping to himself, flashing the most awkward smile you think you've ever seen on a human being, and ordering his old order (a large latte with as much sugar as you could fit in the cup). It was by the seventh time that had you thinking of him a little more often than just while you were at work. 

He looked a lot more exhausted than usual. His usually tame hair now loose and hanging over his face as he took a weary step towards the counter, fingers brushing strands away and tucking them behind his ears. 

"The latte, right?" you had asked him, and he had frozen, and you stood in fear of this not being the Spencer you thought he was, and you had just asked a total stranger about a coffee they've never ordered. 

But then he let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. "Uh, no. Not today. Um—do you guys have a limit on how much coffee I can have?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. "No... we don't. I wouldn't recommend any more than like five shots in our largest size, though. It'd probably taste gross. But we can add as much as you need."

"Five's good. Yeah," he nodded his head, fingers wrapped tightly around the leather strap of his messenger bag. 

"Just... a five shot latte?" you clarified, and he froze again, shaking his head once more. 

"Do you recommend anything else? I—uh, I want it to be sweet enough still."

"I can do you a mocha?" you offered. "White chocolate mocha if you're looking for it to be even sweeter."

"I'll try that," he nodded his head, and out came his awkward smile, which had you smiling back just as awkwardly. 

Which was how he got to his current usual. It honestly became a test to ensure your coffee machines were actually running well, considering pulling five well-done espresso shots at once was no easy feat. And, again, most of your coworkers hated making his drink. 

Which was why it was palmed off to you. Every single morning without fail. And maybe in another universe you would join them in the hatred for this man's frustrating drink order. But then, in that universe, you wouldn't get to talk to him every morning (and slowly break him out of whatever shell he had locked himself up in). 

"I never asked," you began, staring at him over the top of the coffee machine while putting white chocolate fudge into the bottom of the cup. "Why did you change your order randomly?"

He parted his lips and his eyebrows creased together for a few seconds, as if he was deciding whether or not to tell you. You were kind of grateful he concluded on trusting you. 

"I wasn't really sleeping. When I asked about changing my order," he explained, hands letting go of the bag strap so he could talk with them. "Then I guess I just liked the taste of it? And it kept me awake. Which is a bonus."

"I can imagine it would," you nodded your head in agreement, flashing him a small smile, which he returned, bashfully. "Why weren't you sleeping?"

He went silent, and you almost cursed yourself for asking. Maybe you had gone too far. It was why, when you had begun to busy yourself with making his drink a little faster, you jumped when he spoke up again.

"I was getting these nightmares," he said, and your head lifted from the milk you were steaming. "Because of what I do for work."

"Law, right?" you asked, and he let out a small laugh, tucking hair behind his ear. 

"Sort of. I'm with the FBI."

"Oh, that's right," you replied, nodding your head in recognition. He had said that to you at some point in the earlier days when he first started coming in, because you had asked where he works so close by to be coming in as often as he did. "Can you tell me what part? Or is that confidential?"

"No, no, I can. I'm with the Behavioural Analysis Unit," when your face twisted into confusion, he added, "We use psychology to analyse serial killers and catch them. Well, not just serial killers, actually. But that's what we focus on."

"And it works?" you asked, eyebrows rising as you placed a lid atop his coffee, sliding it out on the pick-up section where he was standing by. His face fell slightly, and so you were quick to add, "Not—I didn't mean it like that. I just mean I'm shocked. That psychology is all you really need to catch a serial killer."

"It's not all we need. There's a lot of other elements that go into finding one. But our primary focus is how their brain works and we use behavioural science to figure that out. Actually, we used to be called the Behavioural Science Unit when it was first created."

He was too busy talking animatedly with his hands for him to have picked up his coffee, and you were too busy watching him with a smile to remind him it was ready. 

When he did reach for it, you could feel the familiar pang of disappointment that had started shooting through you every time he was picking up his coffee and leaving. A weird sensation that left you clawing at the walls of your brain to come up with something to say to keep him there. 

It was probably why you blurted out, "Are you seeing anyone?" Which was followed by stunned silence from him, and regretful silence from yourself. What a question. 

Slowly, he began to shake his head, his lips twitching into a confused frown. "No. I'm—I'm not." 

It shocked you a little. He wasn't jaw dropping, per se. But he was attractive. You had said it a few times to your coworkers whenever they asked why you talked to him so much — there was a running joke that you were already secretly dating him behind their backs. Not funny.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to..." you hesitated. "Go out for dinner? Maybe? I'm so sorry if I'm totally overstepping. In fact, I encourage you to say no, because this is a little weird. I'm so sorry," you rambled when you were met with only silence from him, wondering if you had weirded him out of the ability to talk. 

"With me?" he pushed out, his voice a little higher pitched than usual, and you nodded your head, because maybe he wasn't weirded out. Maybe you had just flustered him. You hoped so, at least.

"Yeah," you said. "Is that weird? Or is it okay? To ask that?"

"It's okay. Yeah. Yes. I would love—like to. I mean, that would be nice. Yeah," he stammered, and you smiled. 

"Here," you held your hand out and gestured for his coffee, taking it back and picking up a Sharpie to write your number atop the lid, before you slid it back to him. "I get off work at one. Call me?"

"I will," he nodded, eyes fixated on the number for a few seconds more, before he returned his eyes to you. "I will. Um—bye!" he took a step back, and you let out a loud laugh when he stumbled into a chair behind him. 

He was sheepish as he waved to you, bidding you another goodbye, the sound of the bell above the door ringing once, and then again when it fell shut. 

And you had, somehow, secured a date with Spencer.

Which turned into two dates. Then three. And then, with some weird stroke of luck and twist of fate, you were spending every evening you could at his apartment, and him at yours. 

But you were yet to kiss. 

Not by any particular reason. Really, nothing either of you did ever really called for a kiss. Which was as frustrating as it was understandable. Frustrating, because you felt like you were simply friends, who sometimes went out for dinner, and had feelings for each other. But he had told you very early on he'd never been with anyone before, let alone ever been on a date. Hence; understandable. 

But frustration was more overwhelming than you had thought, because you were on his couch, blanket draped over both of your bodies, as he read you a book — The Chameleon. A short story by Anton Chekhov (an author whom you were only barely familiar with). And yet, all you could think about was kissing him. 

In your defence, he was very kissable, as you stared at his lips while he spoke, your heart stuttering quite uncomfortably in your chest. You weren't sure what it was precisely about him that made him like that. Maybe it was the natural pout of his lips, or how they twitched in humour at the little jokes Chekhov had written into the book that only made sense in Russian, despite him attempting to translate it for you. 

Whatever it was, it was overriding your senses, and in true Spencer fashion, he hadn't noticed you weren't intently listening to his reading until he glanced down to catch a reaction to something he said. You caught as he closed the book and placed it off to the side, jostling you from your haze. 

"You don't like the book, do you?" he asked, and you were quick to shake your head. 

"No, I do," which was true. The parts you were actively listening to you enjoyed. "Sorry, I'm distracted."

"By what?" he shifted on the couch to face you.

You fell silent at that, the answer hanging on the tip of your tongue, unsure whether or not saying it could ruin things. You didn't think it would. "You."

"I'm distracting?" he asked, eyebrows creasing together and a confused frown pulling his lips down. 

Which confused you. "Yes?"

"I don't think I'm meant to be sorry for that," he said. "But I am."

"You shouldn't be," you breathed out with a small laugh. 

"Right," he nodded his head, laughing too, awkwardly. "How am I distracting?"

You studied his face for a few moments, which ended up being a pathetic excuse for a lip study, because you were fixated on them again, and you decided Spencer probably didn't even realise that that was what you were doing. 

"We haven't kissed yet," you told him, instead. 

"No. We haven't," he agreed. 

"Do you just not want to kiss me?" you asked.

He did that thing he does when he's thinking — furrowed eyebrows and parted lips, eyes blinking a few times, before he comes up with his response. 

"I just don't want you to be disappointed. I've never kissed anyone before."

"I concluded that," you answered. "I won't be disappointed."

"You might be," he mumbled, and his gaze averted from your own, which had another smile stretching across your lips. 

"Only one way to find out, right?"

He hesitated before nodding his head, lifting his eyes back up to look at you. It was then that you learned that, like everything else, you might have to make the first move on him. Again.

The thought made you laugh, and though he wanted to, he didn't get a chance to question why you were laughing, because your hands were on his face and you were pulling him into you, lips meeting his in a gentle kiss that elicited a surprised squeak from him. 

"You've gotta kiss me back," you murmured against his lips, and his response was a quiet 'oh'. 

But he was a fast learner, because soon after he was. Objectively, it wasn't the best kiss you've ever had in your life. But it got better by the second, and he was doing enough to make your heart stutter in your chest, his hands reaching up to cup your own face, palms and fingers covering the mass of your cheeks. 

His hands there provided him the ability to keep you there, and you had to pry them off your face so you were able to pull back for air, breaths coming out in short pants. Only for a short second, because he was chasing your lips again, and you laughed, before letting him kiss you again. And again. And again. 

Until both of you were out of air, and he was glassy-eyed and pink-lipped. Though, you were probably his mirror image of that.

And he smiled at you, crookedly. And you wondered if it was too soon to say you loved him. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[bower-quinn]

Grease and Glances

You're Steve Harrington’s little sister—and secretly crushing on Eddie Munson for weeks. But a broken bike brings you closer. Closer than you ever imagined. From strangers to friends to lovers. fluffy, description of sex, 18+, smut Watch out! There are severeal chapters.

Chapter One

You’re really trying. For weeks now.

You’re always “coincidentally” in the hallway whenever Eddie’s at his locker. You say good morning way too often and wish him a nice evening after school. But it’s no use. At first, Eddie looks at you like a tree suddenly started talking. After about a week, he stops noticing you altogether. You just stand there like a complete idiot, watching him every day. Like a goddamn idiot in love. Because that’s exactly what you are.

You’re in love with Eddie Munson. Funny, considering Eddie doesn’t even seem to know you exist. Your reputation—more precisely, the reputation of your big brother, Steve Harrington—casts a long shadow, one that swallows up your own personality. Sometimes you’re not even sure if people like you or just Steve. Or, in Eddie’s case, dislike him. You don’t even know if your classmates know your name.

He knows your name. At least your last name.

“Harrington, point two-oh,” he once said when you handed him a drink from the vending machine in the hallway. After that? A nod, a grin—and nothing else.

But you don’t give up. How could you? Your heart beats in a strange rhythm whenever you just see Eddie from afar.

It’s quiet on the school parking lot that evening. The sun’s just gone down, the sky glowing orange and purple like a faded mixtape cover. You’ve been helping put up the new banner in the gym. Not that you’re a cheerleader or on the team—you just wanted to help. That’s something people notice and appreciate about you, even if you’re not all that aware of it yourself. You’re a good person.

Anyway, there’s already a hint of autumn in the air as you step onto the parking lot and head to your car.

Your fancy sports car—a gift from your parents for passing your driving test. Much to your brother’s dismay. Not because Steve’s jealous. He just liked driving you around and spending time with you. And sure, there’s a bit of big-brother worry mixed in.

And then you see him.

Eddie. Alone. In the parking lot.

He’s kneeling next to his way-too-small, way-too-rickety bike. His leather jacket’s off, his shirt rides up slightly in the back, and his fingers are black with grease. He’s cursing under his breath, tugging at the chain—and almost loses his balance doing it.

You hesitate for a second. Then you walk toward him.

“Everything okay?”

Your voice trembles, and you hope he doesn’t notice. Eddie looks up. You’re standing right in front of him, hands in the pockets of your denim jacket, your heart somewhere in your throat.

He eyes you for a moment, then grins.

“What’s up, Princess Harrington? Slumming it with the peasants?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Even princesses get off work eventually. And the peasants? Seem to be fighting with their noble steeds,” you tilt your head slightly, “and losing?”

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I’m winning. Just... very slowly. And with oil in my eye.”

Then he blinks up at you.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like, I don’t know, somewhere your nail polish doesn’t chip?”

You blink. Then, without a word, kneel beside him. On the asphalt. Your damn heart is doing somersaults. You’ve never been this close to him before. His scent—cigarettes, strong cologne, and sweat—surrounds you. Don’t shake, you tell yourself.

“Wow,” he murmurs. “Didn’t see that coming.” He glances at your knees, brushing the edge of an oil stain. Your jeans probably cost more than his entire wardrobe.

You ignore him, grab the fork of the bike, tilt it slightly, examine the wheel. Then you point at a frayed slit.

“The tube’s shot. Ripped right here. See that? And the chain’s dry as Grandma’s Thanksgiving turkey. It’s gonna fly off any second.”

Eddie stares at you. First at the bike. Then at your hands.

“You... know this stuff?”

You nod. “Steve taught me. Back when he didn’t even know how to spell clutch. We used to take bikes apart together. And I paid more attention than he did.”

His mouth opens—then closes again. Well, look at that. You’ve managed to render Eddie Munson speechless.

You let go of the bike, stand up slowly. Then you lean forward a little and gently take his left hand. His eyes widen slightly.

Flakes of chipped black nail polish shimmer on his fingers.

“If you can’t get that polish off: acetone and a bit of sugar. Keeps your hands from getting too rough.”

You let go of his hand. Honestly, it’s hard. You’d rather keep holding it, but he’d probably laugh at you. And being laughed at by Eddie Munson would hurt more than being called “princess” in that condescending tone.

Neither of you says anything for a moment.

Then he breaks the silence. “Wow.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I’m just... really impressed.”

You smirk. The butterflies in your stomach go into overdrive and slam into your insides. You’re desperate to stretch this moment out, and your mind scrambles for an idea. One glance at his bike—and you’ve got it.

“Well, your bike’s basically ready for the trash.”

“Hey!” he interrupts, “Don’t talk about him like that. He’s sensitive!”

“Fine,” you laugh, “since he’s... indisposed—wanna ride with me?”

Weirdly, Eddie looks uncertain.

“In your... uh, sports car? My trailer’s definitely not on your route.”

You shrug.

“Doesn’t bother me. The offer stands.”

“I’ll take it,” he says, giving you a shy smile. “Thanks.”

You smile back, and together you carry his bike to your car. Eddie eyes it with a strange kind of admiration, and for a split second, jealousy flares inside you. If only he’d look at you like that. With the trunk open, Eddie shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Um… this thing is filthy. Like, really. It’s gonna ruin your fancy car.”

You shrug. “First of all, just the trunk. Not the car. Second, dirt can be cleaned. What else would you do? Push it along beside us? Carry it over your head?”

He doesn’t answer. Then he grins—the first genuine, un-ironic grin you’ve ever seen from him. Together, you lift the bike into the trunk. Then you shut it and head to the driver’s seat.

Eddie gets in slowly, jacket in hand, a little stiff.

“I’ve never been in a car this expensive before.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It hits you hard—you’ve never really thought about it. It was a gift. Fancy, over-the-top, but useful. Now, with Eddie Munson in the passenger seat, it feels... uncomfortable. You try to shake the guilt by switching on the radio. “Every Breath You Take” plays softly.

You start the car. It glides off the lot. Hawkins’ streets are empty. Eddie glances at you.

“Are you sure you’re Steve Harrington’s sister?”

The question catches you off guard, and you laugh.

“Hospital records say yes. Plus, we’ve got identical birthmarks. So yeah, pretty sure. Why?”

“Your brother would never have helped me. Or given me a ride.” There’s a hint of disdain in his voice, and it stings. No one—not even Eddie—gets to talk about your brother like that.

“Steve has good and bad sides. Like everyone. There are people who call others ‘princess’ and treat them like crap,” you throw him a look, “or don’t even say hello.”

Eddie runs a hand through his curls.

“That was... pretty rude, huh?”

“Kinda.”

“Okay, I’m sorry I acted like a jerk earlier. And for not saying hi. From now on, I’ll greet you every morning and evening!”

“Good,” you say with a laugh. “That’s the bare minimum.”

“I talk faster than I think sometimes!”

You flick on your blinker, turning down a smaller street—it won’t be long now until you reach the trailer park.

“All guys do. I know that from Steve.”

Your laughter blends together, easy, natural.

You slow down. The light in his trailer is dim. He gets out, grabs the bike from the trunk, then looks at you again.

“Thanks... for the rescue.”

You lean a little toward the passenger side.

“You’re welcome. And Eddie,” you say quietly, “one more thing. Stop talking crap about my brother. He’s amazing. I love him. And it hurts me when you do.”

Eddie holds your gaze for a long moment, and you don’t even know where you found the courage to say that.

“Okay,” he replies, just as softly. “I promise.”

“Thanks,” you smile at him. Once again, you gather your courage, take a breath, and say, “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Eddie frowns slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” you nod toward the bike, “that’s not magically fixing itself overnight. So, I’m picking you up.”

“That—uh,” Eddie stammers, “you don’t have to do that. Really.”

“I know,” you say, grinning wide. “That’s why I will.”

On the way home, your heart is pounding. And once you’re sure you’re out of earshot, you let out a loud, joyous cheer.

Chapter Two ->

[covenofagatha]

Okay but hear me out…

Agatha and Reader meet at a BDSM club? Kink level as far as you’re comfortable writing (though it would me amazing if there was a strap-on and maybe a fucking machine but only if you’re comfortable with it)

Hope I did it justice!

There's something in here for everyone

What's your fantasy?

Word count: 4600

Warnings: smut, exhibitionism, fingering, strap on, sex toys, degradation, praise, gagging, spanking, blindfolds, restraints, fucking machine, mommy kink (hope this is all)

This is a bad idea. 

That is the only thing going through your mind as you walk up to the doors of “The Velvet Hex.” 

Westview’s only BDSM club can be found in an unassuming part of town, in a relatively plain building. 

Definitely not what you were expecting. 

You aren’t even sure what you’re doing here, but your best friend Wanda had told you that you desperately needed to get laid and to go out and have some fun. 

But her idea of “fun” had come when she had plopped down in the chair of the library next to you and told you to take the BDSM test, gleefully holding up her phone with her results.   

So you had taken the test right there, turning more and more red as the questions went on, and when you finally finished, Wanda had looked over and let out a low whistle. 

“Damn, girl, you are kinky,” she had said as you compared yours to hers and you felt your cheeks burn even more. 

And then she had whispered, in the Westview University campus library, that her girlfriend’s roommate knew a woman who owned her own club like that, and they were having an exclusive invite-only night where anything was on the table. 

You had looked at her with questioning eyes, wondering where she was going with that, and Wanda had smacked your knee for being oblivious. 

“Nat’s roommate told us she could get us in if we wanted. We said no, but I’m sure Rio could get you an invite. You should go and explore,” she explained, a smirk plastered to her face while she wiggled her eyebrows at you. You weren’t surprised that Natasha and Wanda hadn’t wanted to get involved in that world, but you couldn’t ignore how the offer piqued your interest. 

You hummed casually. “Oh yeah?” 

And Wanda had grinned, seeing the wheels turning in your head. You were curious, that’s all. Obviously you weren’t looking for anything.

The next day, she gave you a letter on purple cardstock with a date, time, location, and password. 

At the moment, it seemed like a good idea. 

But standing here now, outside alone the club with the paper clutched in your hand, your heart is racing. 

You should turn back now and go back to your dorm. You could lie to Wanda, tell her that it was just okay, and no one would ever have to know. 

But a small part of your brain nags at you and tells you to go inside. You’re not sure why, but it feels like something from the club is calling to you, drawing you in. 

So you take a deep breath and knock on the door. 

A slot slides open and you can see a man’s brown eyes. 

“Password?” He asks. 

You clear your throat and hold up the cardstock. “Katoptronophilia.” You’re not even sure if you’ve sounded it out correctly, but the slot closes and the door swings open. 

You step inside hesitantly and take in your surroundings. 

The room is dimly lit with different colored LED lights glowing in different corners over doors that lead to different rooms. There’s a good amount of people in here, just mingling at the moment. There’s people dressed in leather outfits, or tight, short dresses, or nothing at all. 

Anything is on the table, you remember Wanda saying. You had done some research, just to see what you were getting yourself into, and the website had said that it was a tame environment, normally no sex allowed. But the exclusive, invite-only event tonight must be cause for an exception. 

You move a bit further into the main room, eyes darting all over the place. A woman yanks on a leash that’s connected to a younger man’s neck, forcing him down on all fours and making him crawl after her. A waitress bends over in a man’s lap to pick up a napkin she dropped, exposing her naked ass to him and his friends. Two women 69 on a couch while a third woman watches, slowly fingering herself to the sight. 

Feeling a little overwhelmed, you head to the bar. You’re really not sure what you’re doing here. 

And of course, the bartender ignores you. You try several times to get their attention, but people come up next to you, order something, and they get their drink immediately. 

You’re about to give up, maybe even just call it a night, when an older woman saunters in next to you. You don’t even look at her, rolling your eyes at how she will inevitably get a drink before you do. 

“Your usual?” The bartender asks her, and that makes you glance over. She’s a bit taller than you, long dark hair, bright blue eyes. She’s wearing a black blazer and pants, but under the blazer is a see-through bra. 

Your mouth runs dry. This is the first person you’ve seen here tonight that you actually find attractive. 

“Yes, please,” the woman next to you says, and then she turns her head to look at you and it almost stops your heart. “And what do you want?” 

You’ve been ignored so many times you’ve almost forgotten. “Oh, um, a Dirty Shirley, please.” The woman nods at the bartender, who starts working. “Thanks,” you say. “Do you come here often?”

The moment you say it, you cringe. Is it weird to ask someone if they’re a regular at a BDSM club? But the woman just laughs and shakes her head. 

“I’m the owner, darling,” she says and your mouth drops open. “Agatha Harkness.” 

“Oh,” you reply, completely dumbfounded. You introduce yourself and she reaches out her hand. You take it, feeling a spark at the contact. 

“So,” she drawls, eyes raking over your body, taking in your short dress and the amount of skin on display appreciatively. Your body burns under the intensity. “What brings you here for the first time?”

You frown. “How did you know it was my first time?” You don’t know why you’re even asking, it’s got to be obvious based on your tense composure and general awkwardness at being in this environment.

But she just smirks. “I would’ve remembered seeing you around here.” Surely the owner of this club is not flirting with you. “So?” 

Your brows furrow. “So?” 

“What brings you here?” She reminds you of her earlier question and you inwardly smack yourself. 

What exactly should you say? Your best friend thinks you should get laid and that you’re kinky? “Just wanted to try something new,” is what you settle on. “Get out of my comfort zone.”

Her grin widens and you see a slight resemblance to a shark about to get its prey. “And now that you’re here, how do you feel? Are you good with sitting here, or–” She leans in closer until you can feel her warm breath on your lips. You shudder at the proximity. “–do you want more?” 

“What are you suggesting?” You whisper back, a playful lilt in your voice, and you see her eyes light up before dropping to your lips. You close the gap before you can think too hard about it, brushing your mouth against hers. Your boldness surprises both of you and she chuckles darkly. 

“Whatever you want. Surely you have some things you want to explore, or else you wouldn’t be here,” she says, thumb coming up to tug at your bottom lip. You flick your tongue out against it and her eyebrow raises, urging you on. 

You shrug noncommittally, suddenly feeling much more confident. “Just wanted to spice things up a bit. See if there was any trouble I could get in tonight.” 

Agatha rests her head on her hand, dark eyes drinking you in. “Do you really want trouble though? Or do you want to be a good girl?” A tiny gasp slips out at the praise. 

“I can be whatever you want me to be,” you answer honestly and she draws you back in for a real kiss this time, all tongue and teeth and lips, and you can taste a hint of cinnamon in her mouth. She devours you like she can’t get enough until you have to stop to breathe. 

Agatha steps back and tugs you away by the hand, leaving the drinks the bartender had just put down in front of you. 

Figures that when you finally get your drink, you don’t even get to have it. 

But you can’t complain, because Agatha is weaving you through the crowd of people on the main floor, giving you the grand tour of the place. You see groups experimenting with ropes and someone teaching how to tie safe knots, you see spanking and flogging, the list goes on. 

Your head is spinning. 

Agatha stops outside a door in the back and looks back at you. “You don’t have to do anything that you won’t want to do, okay? You can say no at any point.” 

You gulp at the serious tone in her voice and nod. She pushes the door open and turns on the lights so you can see. 

Stepping into the room, your breath catches. Three out of four walls, including the one that the door is on, is covered from ceiling to floor in mirrors. The fourth wall, the one to the right of the door, is glass, looking into an adjoining room with couches facing you. 

In the middle of the room, there’s something akin to a hospital cot, although more comfortable-looking, a machine of sorts with a dildo attached to it, and then a table in the corner with more sex toys than you've ever seen in your entire life combined. There’s a chest under it and you can only imagine what’s in there.

“Jesus,” you rasp, taking it all in. You know you should be terrified, but with Agatha standing next to you just carefully watching, you feel eerily calm. “Do you – uh, what do you want me to do?” 

She tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and cups your chin. “What do you want, sweetheart? I can give you anything.” 

Your mind goes a hundred miles a minute to try and figure out what you want, eyes darting back and forth between all the things in the room. “What are my options?” 

“Well,” she says slowly. “The second I hit this button –” She motions to a circle on the wall. “The light above the door to the other room will turn green and unlock and people can come in. I can hit it or not, completely up to you. Or it could just be the two of us in here, and I could make you feel so good, baby. Fingers, mouth, strap-ons, the machine, any toy you’d like. Whatever you want to explore or try, we could do it.” 

Her clinical words have you dripping. Hearing her say all the things she could do to you only makes you want all of it more. 

One thing gives you pause though. “People…would watch?” You say, trying out the words. You’ve never thought about having an audience for sex before. 

Agatha’s eyes darken. “A pretty young thing like you? Honey, people would do more than just watch.” 

You let out a small gasp. You know you should feel dirty, but the way she says it, like people would be so turned on watching you and Agatha that they’d have to do something about it, makes you feel like you’re floating. 

“But the door can stay locked,” she reassures, taking your silence as a bad thing. Little does she know, heat is coursing through you at the thought. 

“No,” you peep. “It’s okay.” 

Before doing anything, she grasps onto your cheeks and pulls you in for a long kiss. You swoon, knees almost buckling when her tongue slides into your mouth, and she moans at your taste. 

You didn’t know having this affect on an older woman would be this addicting. 

“Fuck, baby,” she groans, tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth and making you whimper. “I think you’re the most delicious thing we’ve ever had in here.” 

“Agatha,” you pant and you don’t miss her sharp inhale at the way you say her name. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“I want you,” you tell her, kissing her earnestly again, and you did not imagine this was how your night was going to go in your wildest dreams. 

She finally breaks the kiss for air, resting her forehead against yours. “Get on the bed,” she orders, and you see a hardened glint in her eye, like something has shifted inside her. 

There’s no way to ignore how much that turns you on. A small noise escapes from your lips and you scramble to obey, sitting upright on the cot. 

She starts to make her way over to you slowly, but you stop her. “Can you hit the button?” You ask, voice small and timid, but sure of yourself. 

You see desire flit over her face as she smirks knowingly. The moment her hand presses it, you let out a quiet groan and clench around nothing. 

There’s a clicking sound and the door to the other room opens. Five people file in and take a seat on the couches and your breathing becomes heavy. There’s a slight murmur from the other side of the glass, but it’s all incoherent. 

But by the way they’re all looking at you, you don’t have to try that hard to figure out what they’re talking about.

“First things first,” Agatha says, now walking over to you. She’s whispering so your audience can’t hear. “Do you know what a safeword is?” 

You nod. 

“What do you want yours to be?” 

Your heartbeat picks up. “Will I need one?” 

Agatha shrugs. “Better to be safe than sorry. I promise I’m not going to go hard on you. At least not for your first time.” She winks and you feel a visceral ache inside of you. 

“Purple,” you say after thinking about it for a minute. She smirks at your choice and runs a hand through her hair. 

She looks you up and down again, just to make sure there’s no sign of hesitation. “Do you want to take your dress off?” She asks and you feel a pang of longing inside you for her. 

You stand up, nodding, and turn around so she can help you with the zipper. You can hear her chuckle from behind you and you watch in the mirror on the wall as her eyes drop lower as she unzips you. 

She peels the dress down your body and you step out of it, the entire thing feeling a bit surreal. Watching the scene through your reflection makes you feel like an outsider, like it’s not actually you in the mirror. 

Same hair, same face, same body, same lacy lingerie you put on earlier, but not the same person.

But when you watch Agatha plant kisses on the person’s neck and you feel them, you’re reminded that it is you. 

Your head drops back as her teeth scrape against your taunt veins and she sucks harder, pulling more sounds from your mouth. 

It’s a sight to see, the marks on your neck, the darkness of Agatha’s eyes, the way it looks like when her teeth sink into your skin.

Your breathing is ragged now and you can feel your slick on your inner thighs. 

“Please,” you beg, although you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for. Just more. 

Her grin in the mirror shows you that she understands completely. “Get on the bed.” This time, her voice is sharp, all traces of the softness from earlier gone. 

The scene has started. 

You clamber onto the cot, hoping it looks more sexy than you feel, and lay down on your back. Agatha comes to the side of you and pries open your legs, baring your covered, dripping pussy to the audience. You notice that more people have come in, and they’re hanging onto every movement. 

“God, you’re soaked,” she remarks, hand roughly cupping you and your hips buck. “Really getting off on this, huh? What a slut.” Her tone is scathing, but her eyes are watching your face carefully, just to make sure she’s not crossing a line. 

She’s not. 

It only makes you wetter and she can feel it. She chuckles condescendingly and you squirm. 

“You want me to touch you?” She asks and you nod your head so hard that it hurts. “Want me to show all these people what a good whore you are for me?” 

“Yes, please,” you gasp out, trying to ride her hand to feel just a little more. The hard pressure against your clit already has you feeling the tension building up in your stomach. 

She smirks and slides your underwear down your legs and holds them to her nose, breathing in your scent. 

“How would you feel about using these as a gag?” She questions conversationally, like she just asked you about the weather instead of something that sears your stomach and turns your world upside down. 

“Yes,” you breathe, desire raw in your voice. You feel like you’re drunk off her and she’s barely done anything to you. 

She grins and nods approvingly. “If you need to stop at any time and you can’t speak, tap me twice. Got it?” 

“Yes,” you say again and open your mouth wide so she can ball up your underwear and shove them inside. You moan at the musky flavor and you had no idea it would be so hot to taste yourself like this. 

Her fingers clasp your throat and you look at her with wide eyes, chest heaving with anticipation of what she’s going to do next. She trails her hand down and pinches your nipples through your bra. You stutter out a curse as she bends down and nips at your skin, tearing the fabric off without removing her mouth. 

And then her tongue swirls at your nipple and you keen, back arching off the bed. You can see the dazed looks on all the voyeurs’ faces, how they shift their weight watching, and it makes you want to show off more so they know just how good Agatha is making you feel. 

You garble around your panties incoherently, fingers twitching against the bed to stop yourself from showing her exactly what you need. 

She chuckles against your skin. “What do you want, baby? What do you need from Mommy?” 

At the pet name for herself, you let out an embarrassing whimper and a flush spreads throughout your body. 

“I thought you’d like that one,” she says smugly and before you can react, she sucks hard on your nipple and shoves two fingers into your waiting and wet cunt. A noise rips its way out of your throat and you throw your head back, hips frantically meeting every thrust. 

She lazily fucks you like she’s barely even trying to make you feel good, but it’s enough for you to get closer to the edge. 

You can’t do anything except take it, matching her thrusts, and your sounds get louder and louder, her fingers twisting and hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, and you’re about to cum –

– and she yanks her fingers out of you, leaving your hips faltering against nothing. 

She sucks them into her mouth, eyes closing at the taste. “Sorry, baby. But you’re not allowed to cum yet.” She slaps your cunt with her open hand and laughs at the reverberating sound of your wetness.

You whine pathetically around the as she walks around to the table and picks up a dildo and harness. 

“Do you want me to fuck you with this?” She asks, showing it to you and then to the audience. You glance at them to find several bobbing their heads with even more enthusiasm than you have. “Sweetheart?” She says to get your attention. 

You jolt out of the stupor you were in watching them watch you with bated breath and nod breathlessly, babbling senselessly again around the gag.

She smirks and puts the harness on over her clothes. You’re not sure why, but being completely naked while she is still fully clothed only makes it feel dirtier, hotter.  

Agatha attaches the dildo, pours some lube onto her hand and strokes it, and then grabs two silk cloths back over to you. She fishes the underwear out of your mouth and trails of saliva connect it back to your mouth. 

“Get up,” she says roughly and you scramble out of the bed immediately. She turns the cot like it’s nothing, angling it so it’s parallel to the glass instead of perpendicular. 

So the audience will be able to see everything with Agatha fucking you with her strap. The realization makes you squeeze your thighs together, feeling the waterfall between them. 

She beckons you back over and each step you take puts pressure on your aching clit. It’s agonizing and yet, the most alive you’ve ever felt. 

You get back on the bed and she maneuvers you into a position where you’re on your knees near the edge, resting your ass on your heels. You watch yourself in the mirror as she takes both your arms and ties them behind your back with one of the silk cloths. And then she puts the other one around your eyes, so you can’t see anything. 

The change in your body is almost instantaneous. Goosebumps spread all down your skin, you can hear the rustling of Agatha’s clothes behind you, you can feel just how wet you are, you can even smell yourself; every sense has become so much more heightened. 

Her hand gently presses on your back and guides you down, positioning your face against the bed so your ass is up in the air with your hands behind your back. She rubs your cunt, smearing your wetness everywhere. 

“You like being watched don’t you?” She taunts, and while yes, you apparently do, you think it’s more because of her. “Dripping all over my club like a slut, just needing to be fucked.” 

You whimper and sway your hips because it’s all that you can do. And then there’s nothing. She removes her hand and you strain your ears to see if you can hear anything. 

And then without warning, there’s a loud smack on your ass and your body jolts forward, a surprised grunt coming out of your mouth. She soothes the pain with her hand and then the tip of her strap is sliding against your folds and you whine. She presses it against your clit which makes you shudder.

“Beg for it,” Agatha demands and you don’t hesitate. 

“Mommy, please, please I need it so bad, please fuck me,” you chant and are rewarded when she slowly enters you. 

Your mouth falls open but no sounds come out as she begins to thrust, gripping your hips so tightly you know you’ll have bruises. 

You want them.

“God, look at my baby girl taking my cock so well for me,” she coos but you can hear the exertion in her voice as she starts to pound harder. “Such a good slut, such a good pet.” You whine involuntarily and you can practically hear her smirking. You wish to god more than anything that she would take the blindfold off you so you could look in the mirror and see what you looked like. 

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak, after already being denied earlier, and you’re about to cum when she pulls out. 

“No,” you sob, convulsing uncontrollably, the feelings of your orgasm tamping down. 

She spanks you again. “What did I say earlier? You’re not allowed to cum yet. And stop pouting before I make you.” With another swat to your ass, she pushes back inside of you and sets the same bruising pace as before. 

It takes you even less time for your lower stomach to tighten, and she pulls out again right as you’re on the precipice. 

“Please, please, Mommy, let me cum,” you cry, your entire body shaking. 

She laughs cynically and starts fucking you again. You’re fully unable to move, just being rocked back and forth with her thrusts, nothing more than a glorified toy for her to use. 

And she does use you. She brings you to the edge and then stops at least five more times, and you’ve completely lost the ability to think. Words spill out of your mouth like you’re drunk on Agatha, which you think you might be. 

You’ve never felt this thoroughly ruined before. 

But this time, when she pulls out, she doesn’t push back in. You feel her hands untying the restraint on your wrist and then on your hips, flipping your pliable body over so you’re on your back. She bends your legs up on the edge and rips the blindfold off and the light, even though dim, hurts your eyes. 

“How are you doing?” She murmurs, scanning your blissed out face for any sense of discomfort. 

You babble something along the lines of “I’m good” or at least you try to. You’re not actually sure what she hears. 

But she smiles genuinely nonetheless and leans down to peck your forehead. “You’ve done so well for me, pet. I think it’s time for a reward.” 

“I get to cum?” You ask weakly and she chuckles. 

“Oh yes, baby. You’ll get to cum as many times as you want.” Your heart leaps at the promise and she drags over the machine with the dildo. Your breathing quickens and she angles it up so it’s positioned right at your stretched-out cunt. 

Before you can even breathe, she smiles wickedly and turns it on. Your head falls back and your back arches up violently when it begins fucking into you. The pace never falters and you cum almost instantly. 

Agatha leaves your side but comes back seconds later, holding a vibrator. You moan pornographically loud when she turns it on and positions it against your clit. 

You cum again shortly after. 

The machine keeps thrusting inside you, faster than you’ve ever been fucked, and the direct stimulation against the most sensitive part of your body has you practically sobbing at the pleasure. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re cumming again, and then another one weakly rolls over your body. 

But it’s too much now, all the edging and now the overstimulation is hurting so you start to squirm away from it. 

She instantly catches on and drops the vibrator before rushing to turn off the machine. 

You pant heavily on the bed, completely spent, and she lets you calm down, gently stroking your hair. 

Even though you know you have an entire audience, all you can see is her. 

“How was that?” She asks. “Too much?” 

You shake your head, feeling the slight sheen of sweat everywhere and all you can think about is needing to shake a shower. 

And when you can see Agatha again. 

“No, it was perfect,” you say truthfully, your voice hoarse. She smiles and kisses your lips. 

“We’re open Thursdays through Sundays,” she says and you laugh. “Come back anytime, baby. Although, keep coming back and putting on a performance like that, I might have to keep you all for myself.” 

Nothing has ever sounded so good. 

[andy-15-07]

I love love love your writing!!! Legit addicted! I need my fix lol

could you please write a Joel or Pedro x reader where they are married and have like three kids the oldest being a rebellious teenage girl or boy and he/she is being so rebellious and rude and bratty like any teenager and reader or mom is arguing with them maybe they were caught with a cigarette or something idk but they’re arguing and he/she calls his/her mum a bitch and the reader/mum is so stunned she just goes quiet and hurt and Joel/pedro hears and gets angry the angriest reader’s ever seen him and he becomes a disciplinarian and grounds their kid and tells them off and just the urge to protect the reader and the fact that they’re a team makes her hot and bothered and they make love and he comforts her but also shows her how he’s an amazing daddy.

Don’t You Ever Speak to Her Like That

PAIRING: Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2226 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Joel Miller Masterlist

You hear the front door slam before you see him , your oldest, Nico, stomping through the hallway with that same scowl you’ve seen every day for the last six months. He’s seventeen, taller than you now, messy dark curls falling into his eyes. He’s been testing you lately , pushing, rolling his eyes, muttering under his breath. But today is different.

You’re already tense. You found the half-burned cigarette in his hoodie pocket when you were tossing laundry in the machine. He must have left it in there by accident , rookie mistake.

You’re standing in the kitchen when he storms in. He doesn’t even look at you at first, just tosses his backpack onto the floor and heads straight for the fridge.

“Nico,” you say, your voice tight. “We need to talk.”

He glances over his shoulder. “About what?”

You hold up the evidence , the crumpled, slightly soggy cigarette. “About this.”

He scoffs. “It’s not even mine.”

“Oh, really?” You cross your arms. “Then whose is it?”

“Does it matter? It’s not mine.”

“Nico, don’t lie to me.”

He slams the fridge door closed, a carton of juice in his hand. “I’m not lying. Maybe it’s Marco’s.”

You raise an eyebrow. Marco’s his best friend. “So Marco put his cigarette in your pocket? And put it through our washer?”

He shrugs, avoids your eyes. “Could’ve.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m serious, Nico. Smoking? Really? Do you have any idea,”

“Oh my god, Mom, drop it,” he snaps. “It’s just a cigarette.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I’m your mother. I’m worried about you.”

He rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck. “You’re always worried. Maybe you should worry about yourself for once.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Nico, this is not okay. I know you’re going through things but you do not get to act like this. You’re under this roof,”

“And you’re always in my face! You don’t even get it!” He shoves the juice carton on the counter so hard it tips over, spilling onto the marble. “You’re just a bitch who wants to ruin everything!”

The word hits you like a slap. You freeze. All the air goes out of your lungs. Bitch. He called you a bitch. Your son. The same baby who used to cling to your leg when he was scared. The same boy who used to kiss your cheek before bed.

You don’t know what to say. You just stand there, staring at him, your hands trembling.

That’s when you hear it , the heavy footsteps behind you, the low rumble of your husband’s voice.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Pedro stands in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. He’s still wearing his leather jacket, keys dangling from his fingers. His brown eyes flick from your shocked face to Nico’s defiant one. But there’s nothing soft in his eyes now , just pure, cold rage.

Nico shifts, suddenly aware he’s gone too far. “Dad,”

Pedro cuts him off, voice deadly calm. “Don’t Dad me. What did you just call your mother?”

Nico opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“I asked you a question,” Pedro growls, stepping closer. You can feel the heat radiating off him. He’s never raised his voice like this before , not with the kids. He’s always been patient. But this , this is different.

“It was just,”

“Say it.”

Nico’s shoulders sag. “I said she was a bitch.”

The air turns electric. You swear you can hear your heart pounding.

Pedro’s jaw ticks. He drops his keys on the counter so hard they clatter. “You ever speak to your mother like that again, I swear to god,”

Nico tries to stand his ground, but his bravado is cracking. “It was just,”

“Shut your mouth.” Pedro’s voice is sharp, lethal. “You think you’re a man now? Huh? Sneaking around with cigarettes, swearing at your mother? You think that makes you tough?”

Nico stares at the floor.

Pedro steps closer, so they’re almost nose to nose. “Look at her.”

Nico lifts his head, eyes flicking to you. Your throat tightens at the way he won’t really see you.

“That’s your mother. She carried you for nine months. Sat up with you every night you were sick. You wanna act like you’re grown? A man who calls his mother a bitch isn’t a man at all , he’s a coward.”

Nico shifts his weight, embarrassed. “Dad, I,”

Pedro cuts him off again. “You’re grounded. Two weeks. No phone, no car, no friends. You will come straight home after school. You will apologize to your mother properly. And if I ever hear you talk to her like that again, you won’t like the man I’ll be. You understand me?”

Nico’s eyes are wide now, the rebellion gone, replaced by a flicker of fear. He nods. “Yes, sir.”

Pedro leans in closer. “Say it.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Nico mumbles.

Pedro doesn’t look away from him. “Louder.”

Nico clears his throat, glancing at you. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean it.”

You swallow, trying to find your voice. “Okay.”

Pedro’s hand clamps on Nico’s shoulder, firm but not cruel. “Upstairs. Now.”

Nico doesn’t argue. He snatches his backpack off the floor and trudges up the stairs, shoulders hunched. The slam of his bedroom door makes you flinch.

Silence fills the kitchen. The spilled juice drips off the counter onto the floor. Your hands are still trembling.

Pedro turns to you, all that fire softening the second his eyes meet yours. He steps closer, cups your face in his big, warm hands. “Baby…”

You blink back tears you didn’t realize were there. “I can’t believe he,”

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t. He’s seventeen. He’s stupid. He doesn’t mean it.”

Your lips wobble. “I know, I just,”

“Nobody talks to you like that,” Pedro growls, voice low in your ear. “Nobody.”

You lean into him, breathing him in , leather, warm skin, faint cologne. Your safe place. Your anchor.

His hands slide down to your waist, gripping tight. “God, when I heard him, the way he said that to you…” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and fierce. “You have no idea how bad I wanted to put him through that wall.”

A startled laugh bubbles out of you. “Pedro,”

“Shh.” His thumb brushes your lower lip. “You’re my wife. My best girl. The mother of my babies. He doesn’t get to forget that.”

You feel it then , that rush of heat pooling low in your belly. The way his protectiveness, his authority, makes you ache in places you shouldn’t be aching right now. He sees it too , the flicker in your eyes.

He smirks, one hand slipping to the small of your back. “What?”

You press closer, your lips brushing his jaw. “You being all… angry like that, it’s,”

“Oh,” he murmurs, realization dawning. He chuckles, his breath hot against your ear. “Is that what you need right now, cariño? You want Daddy to take care of you?”

A shiver runs down your spine. “Yes.”

His hand slides lower, gripping your ass. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath , he’s already peeling off your bra, tossing it aside carelessly. You feel the warmth of his hands, rough and sure, sliding up your ribs, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble under his touch.

“Look at you,” Pedro murmurs, voice gravelly as he kisses down your throat. “So fucking beautiful. My wife. My good girl.”

You arch into him, gasping when his tongue flicks over your nipple. He sucks it into his mouth, teeth grazing lightly. The sharp edge of pleasure makes your toes curl.

“Pedro…” You whisper, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently when he sucks harder. He groans at that, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“You like that, huh?” He lifts his head, eyes dark, lips swollen. He nudges your legs apart with his knee and presses his palm right where you’re warm and aching through your panties. “Look at you. Wet already.”

You moan when he rubs you through the thin fabric, slow circles that make your hips jerk. “Pedro, please,”

He grins, wicked and soft all at once. “You want Daddy to make you feel good, baby? Hm?”

You nod desperately, biting your lip. “Yes. Please.”

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drags them down your legs, tossing them aside. He shifts down, spreading you open with his big hands, his breath warm on your inner thighs. You can feel his eyes on you , the way he drinks you in like he’ll never get enough.

“You’re perfect,” he rasps. “You know that? Fucking perfect.”

Before you can answer, his mouth is on you , tongue sliding through your folds, slow and deliberate. You cry out, hips bucking, but his hands clamp down on your thighs, pinning you to the mattress.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, voice rough against your slick heat. “Let Daddy take care of you.”

He works you open with his tongue, licking, sucking, teasing your clit with soft flicks before flattening his tongue and pressing harder. Every time you whimper his name, he groans like he’s starving for it.

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers twisting in the dark curls as he pushes two thick fingers inside you, crooking them just right. The stretch, the wet slide of his tongue , it’s too much, too good.

“Pedro, oh god, I’m gonna,” You can’t even finish the sentence before your orgasm rips through you, your back arching off the bed, thighs trembling under his hands.

He doesn’t stop , keeps licking you through it, gentle now, coaxing every last wave until you’re shivering and gasping for air.

When he finally pulls away, his chin is wet, eyes blown wide with hunger. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, climbs up your body, and kisses you , deep, dirty, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re gonna take me now, yeah?” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna let Daddy fuck you nice and deep?”

You nod, breathless. “Yes , please, I need you,”

He sits back on his knees, tugging at his belt with shaking hands. You watch him, dazed, as he unbuttons his jeans, pushes them down just enough to free himself. He’s already hard, flushed and thick in his fist.

“Turn around,” he says, voice rough. “Hands and knees for me, baby.”

You scramble to obey, the heat between your legs pulsing with every heartbeat. He runs a hand down your spine, pressing your back into a perfect arch. The tip of him nudges your entrance and you whimper, pushing back, desperate.

“Look at you,” Pedro groans, lining himself up. “So ready for me. My good girl.”

He pushes in slow, giving you every inch, every thick stretch. You moan into the pillow, your hands clutching the sheets when he bottoms out, hips flush against your ass.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby, so good for me,”

He pulls back almost all the way, then thrusts in hard, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. You gasp, burying your face in the pillow as he sets a steady, punishing rhythm. Each snap of his hips pushes you higher, your breath coming in broken little sobs.

“That’s it,” he grits out, leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back. One hand slides under you to play with your clit, rubbing tight circles that make your vision go white. “You gonna come for me again? Hm? Gonna come all over Daddy’s cock?”

“Yes , yes , Pedro, please,!”

He growls against your ear, hips pistoning faster, deeper. “You take me so well. So fucking perfect. My wife. Mine.”

Your climax hits you like a wave , a blinding rush that makes your arms give out. He holds you up, one hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back so he can kiss you, his thrusts never faltering.

“Good girl , that’s it, baby , fuck,”

He groans your name as he follows you over the edge, spilling inside you with a shudder, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. You feel him fill you up, the warmth spreading deep as he holds you close.

For a long moment, the only sounds are your breaths, the pounding of your hearts. He stays buried inside you, his weight comforting, grounding.

When he finally pulls out, he turns you over gently, kissing your cheeks, your lips, your forehead. He wipes the damp hair from your face, eyes soft and warm again.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You smile sleepily, nodding. “More than okay.”

He chuckles, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Nobody talks to my girl like that. Nobody.”

You cup his face, pulling him down for one last kiss. “My hero.”

He grins, kissing you back. “Always.”

And when he settles beside you, gathering you into his arms, you drift off knowing that no matter what storms come , teenagers, cigarettes, slammed doors , you’ll always have this: the man who’d tear down the world just to protect you.

[novthirty]

SENTIMENTAL ׂ| lnds men x sentimental! mc who likes to journal & scrapbook

ੈ synopsis: in their high-paced life, it’s a treasure to see you place such fondness and care for every small moment. ੈ characters: sylus, caleb ੈ warnings: slight yandere! caleb

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open!

SYLUS

His love language of giftgiving goes into overdrive the moment he finds out about this hobby of yours.

Moleskine? Ha, why would he get you such a peasant brand of stationary? He’s getting you the best of the best— paper made from the finest cottons that can withstand the tests of Astra (and with gilded edges to boot), and a leather cover that won’t decay even before your next lives.

(You look up the brand and its prices and immediately close the tab. Better to live in willful ignorance when it comes to this man’s spending habits.)

He indulges you in lots of stationary from the fancy brand name ones that only high level executives or socialites use, to the cute ones you see online from local artists shops.

For your birthday he gets you a custom set of stationary with your name, information, and everything— and you jump him, making out for good five minutes with how happy you are (and promises of more later 😉).

(After which, he jots down more gift ideas because if thats the reaction he gets every time? He’ll give you the whole world.)

He sets aside a whole room in the base to be your craft room. When you’re not home, he loves looking through your scrapbooks (only the ones you’ve given him permission to view, of course), looking back on the times you’ve spent together— from silly photobooth pictures, the tags of the plushies he got for you at the crane machine, stickers and washi tape decorating the pages.

(He may or may not steals a few of your scrapbooks to bring to his office, to occasionally look at while he’s working.)

(Also hides his irritation at the fact that Mephisto has more dedicated pages than he does :<)

For his birthday, you gift him his own scrapbook filled with photos you secretly took of him working, talking with Luke and Kieran, taking care of Mephisto; and of course, pictures of just the two of you together. Each page is covered with memories, and writings of all the little things you love about him.

(He makes slow love to you that night as you whisper those same little things into his ear.)

He vows to start returning your love in similar gestures. Both of your love languages are gift giving; with him spending exorbitant amounts of money on whatever you could possibly want or need, and with you making handmade and deeply thought out gifts.

He feels his pales in comparison so he begins to write letters to you for whenever you’re separated— whether it’s due to him being away on business, or you being on a long mission.

(Over time, you’re able to fill up a whole box of them, which you look through whenever you’re down.)

He loves the way you treasure memories so deeply, and wants to be part of every page of your life here on out.

CALEB

You’ve always had a love for cute stationary and journalling since you were children— from a daily diary to photo albums covered in all sorts of ephemera, stickers, and washi tape. (Yes, that includes the grudge ledger; your angriest ramblings were written in pink glitter pen.)

Caleb has always indulged this hobby of yours, winning you cute pens at the arcade and getting you the Twinkle Toys collaboration stationary at the bookstore. Every summer he comes back from flight school or when he comes back from a trip, he always comes back with a paper bag of stationary and other cute things, just for you.

When you’re out of the house or asleep; yes, he does read your journal (and definitely knew about the grudge ledger you kept when you were kids 😭). He reads every word from the mundane details of a simple day, to your deepest thoughts spilled in ink across the page. He uses it to attune to whatever mood you’re in, always having the best timing for whatever you need emotionally or otherwise.

Every time you write about another boy, he immediately starts being a third wheel, never letting you have a moment alone with him. You guys are hanging out at the park? Oh, grandma needs you to help out with the groceries. You have a date planned two weeks ahead with him at Linkonland? Caleb surprises you with tickets for the movie you’ve been wanting to see for a while, on the exact day of your date. Even at school, it seemed you could never get a moment alone without Caleb hovering over the two of you.

For a while, you’re suspicious, but your journal is always untouched, always in the exact last place you left it (he’s meticulous like that). So you shrug it off, having enough trust in him not to violate your privacy.

He always gives you little notes folded into little airplanes, using his evol to make it fly and hit your head. The annoyance on your face always melts into a smile as you unfold whatever corny note he chose to write that day. Whether it’s a reminder that “You got this!!!” during your exam week, or a note that says “Dinner’s ready!! Its your favorite :))” you paste them on your journal. Looking back, you see there’s one for almost every day.

He takes lots of pictures with you and gives you all sorts of ephemera, so he’s documented in every part of your life. After movie screenings he gives you his ticket copy for your journal, drags you to photobooths before you ask, and gets you a polaroid camera for one of your birthdays. As he flips through your journal, he’s satisfied at how much you make use of it, how many of the pictures are of you and him.

He wants to take up every page of your life, to have it so you could never forget him (never again).

In college, you make a commemorative photo album for your old friends from high school, and he’s upset to see barely any of himself in the pages documenting such an important part of your life.

But then he sees you have a separate one for him and one for grandma 🥺 You explain, “I don’t want to share these photos with others. I want to keep them forever, so we can always look back on these times.”

Overall, you’re very sentimental about every little thing and he loves it— until it hurts you.

After reuniting, he visits your house for the first time after his “death” and sees a closet full of all your mementos, tucked away in the basement. From scrapbooks and photo albums, to his things that the DAA must have sent you after his death. You kept everything— his old uniforms, school trophies, pictures, even old trinkets and (lowkey) trash he forgot even existed; you’d think he lived there, with how much of his things occupied your home.

It hurts him to see such traces of grief coloring your world, how even your sentimental nature couldn’t bear to see reminders of him day by day.

To catch up with your life, he secretly reads your journal again, this time going over a year’s worth of entries. His heart aches at the lifeless pages, the entries devoid of the color and whimsy you once put into every page, instead words upon words of the grief and loneliness you carried after the explosion.

His heart aches at every trial you encountered, his fists balling at every mention of another man. He vows to make sure things go back to the way it used to be; just you and him, against the world.

He never wants anything to dim your love and care for the small moments in life ever again.

have had these collecting dust in my notes for a while, will post one sometime with rafayel, xavier, and zayne! i don’t main these three so the hcs are coming a bit slow with them 😔 this is one of the most self-indulgent things i’ve written but hope y’all like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[bellaxgiornata]

Life Worth Living |Chapter One|

Pairing: Matt x mutant!fem!Reader Word count: 6.7k [Series Masterlist] [Matt Murdock Masterlist]

tags/warnings: 18+; dark themes/content, canon typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, PTSD, smut, plot twists, fluff and angst, torture, mentions of sexual abuse, canon divergence, Reader has a fake name & is Matt's neighbor

Summary: All you'd ever wanted was your freedom–a chance at a "normal" life. Under the simple guise of Olivia Allen, you move to Hell's Kitchen in New York in an attempt to escape your past, but your past can't stay buried when your powerful and dangerous ex finds you. Forced to come to terms with who you are in order to protect the life you've built, you eventually learn there's secrets about yourself that you never even knew...

a/n: Some of you may recognize this as an old Matt x OFC fic I wrote a few years ago that's been on hiatus forever because I don't write OCs anymore. I'm completely overhauling this series and rewriting it now (I ripped out a few things and added over 1k to just this part). There's things I disliked about the original and I'd been contemplating back and forth on rewriting the series with a Reader, so now I'm undertaking the project since a vast majority on a poll I posted were interested. The original already stood at 240k, so there's a lot of content I'm polishing/rewriting. As always, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kmc1989

Multiple leather straps were buckled over your wrists, ankles, and neck, the thick cordage keeping you secured to the reclined leather chair. Eyes darting around the familiar sterile room, the straps pressed against your skin, gripping tight like strong hands. There was a faint tremble running through your body in anticipation of what was about to happen as Doctor Barlowe finished placing the final electrode to your forehead. Focusing back on her, you desperately attempted to catch her eyes behind those thick, black glasses she always wore.

“Please,” you begged softly. “I don’t like this one. Please don’t make me do it again.”

Her hands paused for just a moment, fingers lingering against your skin. Her eyes shifted from where her hands had paused along your temple to your face, an unreadable expression on her own.

“Please,” you tried again. “I’ll–I’ll try any of the other tests, I swear. Just not this again. It…it hurts.”

“Now, now, hush 647,” Doctor Whitlock’s harsh voice echoed through the room. 

The door closed with a solid bang behind him as he entered the testing room. Seconds later, he appeared just beside the place where your legs were strapped down to the chair. His expression was serious and stoic like always, not the slightest hint of sympathy anywhere on him.

“You know why we do this,” he told you.

Swallowing hard, the usual anticipatory fear began to swirl in your stomach as Doctor Barlowe took her place at the nearby machine. Turning your head against your chair, you saw a metal cart with a surgical tray placed on top. You recognized the two syringes filled with a familiar vibrant orange liquid laying in the tray, your eyes now fixated on them. Uselessly, you tugged at your restraints.

“647, let’s not make this more difficult than necessary, hmm?” Doctor Whitlock hummed. “You know what you have to do if you don’t like the pain.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the ID tag on his white lab coat obscured at the gesture. His eyes focused on Doctor Barlowe from where she sat at the machine beside you. “Administer the first dose of MGA.”

The younger doctor lifted one of the syringes and slid her chair across the tiled floor, coming to a stop beside you. Eyes snapping shut, you felt the sting of the needle in your forearm as she injected the first dose. Shortly after, the telltale burning raced its way up your right arm, igniting like wildfire in your veins. Your eyes clamped shut even tighter as your head slammed back onto the leather of the chair, a pained whine escaping your lips.

“Why don’t we increase the voltage a bit this time?” Doctor Whitlock mused aloud to Doctor Barlowe. “Maybe that will be the bit of motivation it needs.”

“No,” you pleaded between gritted teeth. “Please.”

“You can end the pain yourself, 647,” Whitlock answered. “If you don’t want to feel the shocks, stop them. Use your mind.” There was a pause before the sound of footsteps approached the other side of you, then Whitlock’s voice issued the order. “Begin, Barlowe.”

Sharp, burning pain immediately jolted your brain, your body abruptly tensing at the shock as the electricity coursed through you. Arms and legs straining against your restraints, the leather bit sharply into your skin. As your back arched involuntarily off the chair, your airflow briefly halted as the restraint around your neck bit so deep into your throat that the passageway momentarily closed. For a moment, you hoped you'd pass out just to have an escape.

But then a few seconds later–though it felt far longer–the pain disappeared and your body momentarily slackened in the reclined chair. Tears were stinging behind your closed eyelids as a light sheen of sweat began forming across your body. Breathing heavier, your veins still feeling as if they were on fire, your head weakly rolled to the side.

“Hmm,” Whitlock hummed thoughtfully, eyeing the monitor beside Barlowe. “It is showing more brain activity with the increased voltage this time.”

“There’s definitely a noticeable increase from the last time,” Barlowe agreed.

“Please, stop,” you whimpered. Eyelids fluttering open, you glimpsed Whitlock rubbing his chin in thought, his focus still on the monitor. You knew it was useless to beg because they never listened to you, but that didn’t stop you from trying. “No more,” you choked out. “Hurts.”

“Try again,” Whitlock ordered, disregarding you. “Increase the voltage.”

When another rush of electricity went racing through the electrodes on your forehead, a scream shot out of you before your body seized up at the pain. Your mouth clamped shut as bright white flooded your vision behind your closed eyelids. The pain was so strong, so pervasive, that you couldn’t think or feel anything else.

Eventually, the shock dissipated and a ringing filled your ears in the absence of the pain. Disoriented and worn, it took a moment for you to make out what the voice beside you was saying.

“It’s bleeding, sir,” Barlowe pointed out.

“Just bit its lip, it’s nothing serious,” Whitlock replied simply, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. “Though I suppose you should get the gag again, we don’t want it to bite its tongue off next.”

There was a rustle of movement in the room as you lay strapped to the chair, your body exhausted from the electrical shocks. Tears were freely rolling down your cheeks as you stared up at the white ceiling with its blinding bright lights above. Barlowe’s face came back into view, the clear mouthpiece they often shoved into your mouth when the electrical shocks had first begun now in her hand. Eyes widening, you sent her a pleading look, attempting to shake your head, but she kept her attention focused on the lower half of your face. Her gloved fingers roughly wrenched open your mouth before she forced the uncomfortable plastic inside. Choking back a sob awkwardly around the contraption, the hard edges cut into your gums.

“Let’s continue, shall we?” Whitlock said.

The electrical shock once more shot through your body before you seized on the leather chair, a strangled noise flying from your throat.

A scream escaped from your mouth before you bolted upright in bed, chest heaving as your breath came in hard. Momentarily confused and panicked, it took your brain a few moments to recognize that you were laying in your bedroom and not the testing room that often plagued your nightmares. A light sheen of cold sweat covered your body as you lay tangled up in the dark gray sheets of your bed.

It was only a dream–a memory.

“I’m in Hell’s Kitchen,” you murmured to myself. “Not The Facility. I’m home. I’m safe.” Closing your eyes tight, you drew your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them. “They can’t hurt me. Just a dream. Wasn’t real.”

Trying to focus your attention on your breathing, you inhaled slowly and held the breath. You counted to five before exhaling it out long and slow. Repeating the process, you continued for a few minutes until your breaths gradually became more even and controlled. Slowly, you felt your body begin to relax back into a calm state. When you opened your eyes again, wiping a hand over your sweat-dampened forehead, you began to disentangle your legs from how they’d twisted into your sheets while you’d been thrashing in your sleep.

Reaching over to your nightstand, you grabbed your phone. The screen lit up in the darkened bedroom, causing you to squint your eyes while they took a moment to adjust. It was only 5:37 in the morning–still early. Setting your phone back onto the nightstand, you rubbed the heels of your hands roughly against your eyes. You’d calmed down from that dream, but you were certainly too wound up for sleep now. With a huff, you threw the sheets off of yourself and swung your legs over the side of the bed. Raising your arms up over your head, you felt the pull of muscles as you stretched before making your way to your dresser. Opening the middle left drawer, you dug around for a sports bra and a pair of leggings.

Beginning to change, you removed the loose tank top that you’d been sleeping in over your head before slipping on the sports bra. Swapping your sweatpants for black leggings, you tugged them on before crossing the room to your closet and pulling the door open. Eyes landing on the navy track jacket hanging there, you pulled it out and tossed it on. Afterwards, you headed back to your nightstand and grabbed your phone before sliding it into the pocket of your leggings. You grabbed your earbuds next before heading out of your bedroom and down the short hallway outside of it.

The living room of your new apartment was still covered in shadows cast from the lights just outside of the large loft windows. Outside, the sun still hadn't risen quite yet, leaving the city dark and quiet–or as quiet as it could be for Hell’s Kitchen. Pausing by one of the large windows, you took a moment to enjoy the beautiful view of the city that you had from up on the sixth floor. This place hadn’t been cheap to rent, but it was worth it for that view while you worked–a vast difference from your life spent nowhere near a window.

But that’s not what you wanted to think about.

Sliding the earbuds into your ears, you turned and walked over to the entryway hall, stopping to lean against the wall before tugging on your running shoes. Before stepping out of your apartment, you grabbed your keys from the console table near the front door. Taking a moment, you locked the door behind yourself as your mind focused on only one thing. 

You knew what you needed right now–an escape. Something to clear your head and refocus yourself. To keep your mind level for the day. As you headed down the end of the hall and pushed the call button for the elevator, you knew that a quick jog would do exactly that. 

While you waited for the elevator to reach your floor, you pulled your phone back out and spent a moment looking for something to listen to during your run–something to distract yourself from your thoughts. A minute later, the elevator doors opened and you stepped inside, pushing the button for the lobby before slipping your phone back into the pocket of your leggings. Music began to play through your earbuds, but as the elevator lurched downwards, the jarring movement somehow caused your dream to resurface. Wincing, you raised a hand to rub at your temple as the memory of those shocks returned.

“If you don’t like the pain, 647,” Whitlock chided, “use your mind. Make it stop.”

Shaking your head back and forth rapidly, you tried to push the sound of his voice out of it. That was not what you needed right now.

“No,” you muttered to yourself. “No, you’re not here. Go away.”

“You were born for this. This is your purpose,” Whitlock’s cold voice said. “Be good and sit still or we'll get the restraints.”

Your jaw clenched at the memory of his voice, tooth grinding hard against tooth as your nails dug into the palms of your hands. The elevator doors opened with a ding that barely registered around the music playing in your ears as a mixture of emotions welled up inside of you. Stepping out of the elevator and into the lobby of your apartment building, you moved with a determined purpose straight for the exit. The second you were outside and your feet touched the sidewalk, you took off at a run.

Pushing your legs past their limit, you felt them beginning to burn after you'd been running for a while. But you ignored the pain building inside of them, your focus only on your breathing and the music in your ears. Everything else faded out around you–which was exactly what you needed right now. As close to nothingness as your mind could reach.

It wasn’t until it felt like your lungs were on fire inside of your chest that you finally came to a stop. Breathing heavily, you threw your hands up over your head in order to catch your breath while you walked at a brisk pace, your heart racing inside of your chest. You could feel a sharp pain in your left hip with each step, but the pain only served to further ground you in reality.

Just above the multitude of skyscrapers looming over you, the sun began to peak its way up over the city of New York. All the dark shadows of the night gradually were replaced with the beautiful orange glow of the morning light. And with that change from dark to light, you shoved your fears aside and took a right turn, heading back towards your apartment building. You’d need to sit down at your desk and start work in almost an hour, but you wanted a shower before you settled down for the day.

The walk back to your apartment had taken just under fifteen minutes since the traffic had picked up with the rise of the sun. With a clear head, you made your way through the lobby and back to the elevators, grateful when a man exited one and left it empty. Stepping inside, you pushed the button for the sixth floor before leaning against the wall of the elevator, running a hand across your forehead as it began its ascent to the top floor. 

Retrieving your phone from the side pocket of your leggings, you turned off the playlist you’d been listening to before taking the earbuds from your ears. You felt better after that run, your mind and body both relaxed and that nightmare mostly forgotten. Which was what you’d needed to keep yourself calm and level today. You didn’t need to get emotional. You didn’t need to give into fear.

You were safe here.

When the elevator doors opened, you pulled your keys from the other pocket of your leggings, focused on your task of getting back to your apartment. Vaguely you were aware of a man knocking on the door across the hall from your place, calling something through the door. Out of politeness when you neared him, you sent him a smile before turning your attention to your own apartment door.

“Hey, you’re the woman who just moved in, right?”

Pausing at the man’s voice as you’d stopped in front of your door, your hand with your keys hovered over the lock. Your mouth twitched as you stood there with your back facing him, not having expected him to acknowledge you.

Normal people make small talk, you reminded yourself.

Letting your hand drop to your side, you plastered a friendly smile onto your face before turning around. The man who’d addressed you was unfamiliar to you, your eyes scanning over his shoulder length blonde hair and the bright, friendly smile on his face. He was dressed in a white shirt with a light blue tie, a gray suit jacket and matching gray slacks. In his hands he held a tray with two coffees and a brown paper bag that you assumed held some sort of breakfast food judging by the smell.

“Yes, just last week,” you answered him.

The man adjusted the bag and the tray of coffee in his hands before he crossed the small distance between you both in the hall. He held his now free hand out towards you, the friendly smile still drawn wide over his mouth. Eyes dropping down at the movement, you eyed his hand warily.

“My name is Franklin, but everyone usually calls me Foggy,” the man said.

He seemed either unaware or unconcerned with your stillness and hesitancy. Clearing your throat, you slowly extended your own hand towards his before giving it a brief shake. 

“Olivia,” you replied.

It was a fake name, one you’d chosen for yourself not too long ago. It had seemed simple and you’d liked it–and you’d never had one before it. 

Foggy’s smile somehow further widened in response. “Nice to meet you, Olivia,” he greeted warmly. “I was actually just waiting for my friend, Matt–he’s your neighbor. We work together.” He paused for a moment, straightening up as he readjusted his hold on the food and coffee in his hands. “We just started up our own law office, actually.”

Head tilting curiously to the side, you raised a brow as you silently studied him. He seemed genuinely friendly, albeit very eager to connect with you. You weren’t entirely sure why. From your experience, most people in the city weren’t this forthright. But before you could respond, the apartment door behind Foggy opened and drew both of your attention. You spotted the white cane before you caught sight of the man emerging through his apartment door. Your neighbor, you assumed.

“Ah, buddy, there you are!” Foggy exclaimed, turning and making his way back across the hall to his friend. He watched as the man locked his door, shifting the tray of coffee and bag of food in his hands once again. “I was just meeting your new neighbor, Matt,” he told him, his warm gaze returning to you across the hall.

Your neighbor’s head turned in your direction, the red glasses covering his eyes glinting in the overhead lights at the movement. For the briefest moment, his expression was entirely unreadable at his friend’s comment, but then a slow, friendly smile spread over his lips. 

Something strange happened in that moment as he smiled at you. You felt an odd, soft vibration pass over your skin–as if you could feel him looking at you. Breath catching, the hair on the back of your neck slowly rose as a small shiver tickled its way up your spine. His smile briefly faltered before he recovered, your sharp eyes catching the minute movement.

“Were you now, Foggy?” your neighbor asked. That smile remained on his face, though it seemed slightly altered now. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”

You stiffened when the man took a few steps in your direction, his cane lightly tapping along the floor. What he’d said was true, you hadn’t met him yet despite having been living across the hall from him for a week already. Though you had heard some loud banging late at night coming from his apartment on occasion, you'd yet to actually cross paths with him. 

“I’m Matthew,” he said, stopping just before you and extending his hand in your direction. “But you can call me Matt.”

Eyes trailing down his face, you found yourself distracted by how attractive he was, your gaze scanning what wasn’t hidden by his dark glasses. Gradually, your eyes lowered, taking in the sight of his broad shoulders and the muscles of his arms and chest that were noticeable even under his black suit coat. Eventually your eyes dropped down to his awaiting hand. 

Swallowing thickly, still aware of that strange tingling along your skin, you extended your own and wrapped it around his. His hand was warm and calloused as he gently shook yours, the sensation causing something odd to stir in your chest at the contact. You’d never felt that before.

“I’m Olivia,” you offered softly, still confused by him.

“Well, Olivia,” Matt said, a small grin tugging at his lips as he released your hand, “it’s a shame it took us so long to meet.”

Behind Matt, you caught the way Foggy rolled his eyes at his friend. “Can you not charm every beautiful woman you meet? Just once?”

You felt your cheeks heat at the implication in Foggy’s words, your attention shifting back to Matt as he chuckled. He looked over his shoulder at his friend, that grin still on his mouth.

“I do not charm them all,” Matt disagreed.

“You do and it’s weird, man,” Foggy countered. He looked past Matt, focusing on you with a conspiratorial look as he cupped his hand still holding the bag of food awkwardly around his mouth before he whispered, “It’s like his super power.”

“Flirting with beautiful women?” you questioned in confusion.

Matt laughed loudly in response, the warm sound filling the hallway. Foggy rolled his eyes, a smile returning to his face as he lowered his hand back to his side.

“No,” Foggy answered. “Knowing that a woman is beautiful is his superpower. He always somehow knows.”

You shrugged in response, finding these two men to be more enjoyable company than you’d first anticipated. “I wouldn’t exactly consider that a superpower. Seems a little useless.”

Foggy’s eyes lit up with curiosity immediately, a look of interest washing over him. “What would you consider the most useful one then? Because I personally think–”

“Fog, we should probably let Olivia go,” Matt said, cutting his friend off.

Foggy’s face fell, his shoulders dropping a bit. A sympathetic smile spread over your face in return. You were surprised to admit it, but you found yourself a bit disappointed that they needed to go. But unfortunately, so did you.

“I do need to actually get ready for work myself,” you agreed.

“Right, I’m sorry,” Foggy said, gesturing to your workout clothes. “You just finished a workout, you probably want to have a chance to shower without being late.”

“Well,” you admitted, “I work from home so I doubt I’d be late. But yes, I would like to grab a shower first.”

“Either way, we shouldn’t keep you,” Matt said, a charming smile on his lips.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you smiled at them as the three of you exchanged goodbyes. While they headed down the hall towards the elevator, you turned around and unlocked your apartment, finding yourself missing the interaction already. It wasn’t often that you had an opportunity to connect with others. 

By the time you’d gotten back into your apartment, you had a half an hour to quickly shower and dress before you needed to be logged onto your computer. Getting ready in a rush, you moved as if on auto-pilot, though your mind kept wandering back to those two men you’d just met. More specifically, your mind kept returning to your curious neighbor who quite literally made your skin tingle. You’d never before met someone who could do that before and you didn’t know what to make of it.

Once out of the shower and dressed, you headed back to your living room and over to your desk that was situated between two of the large windows. Your computer and dual monitors sat atop the oak desk, the surface of it featuring a herringbone pattern you’d been drawn to when you’d first seen it. Beside both monitors sat a pothos plant and a few potted succulents–because you'd developed a fondness for plants. 

Reaching your hand out, you turned on your computer before setting your phone down on top of your desk. You still had a few minutes before you needed to be at work, which meant your run hadn’t made you late today. Settling into your computer chair, you began to pull up a handful of programs, logging into them and letting them start. But as you did, you could feel the exhaustion in your body from waking so early and your eyes shifted towards your kitchen. With a sigh, you pushed yourself out of your chair, deciding you’d make yourself a coffee before really starting the day.

Absently you set to work in your kitchen, grinding the appropriate amount of fresh beans into the portafilter before tamping the grounds down while your espresso machine heated. Then you slid the portafilter onto the machine and reached up onto one of the open shelves above you, grabbing down a mug to set underneath it. A double shot of fresh espresso began to pour out, the comforting aroma filling your apartment. 

As you waited for the espresso to finish, you headed back into the living room and picked up the television remote from your coffee table. Switching on the television mounted along the wall, you settled on the news. There was a fluff piece currently on, discussing a new local business that had opened up today. Increasing the volume, you turned and stepped back into the kitchen and began to finish making your morning latte.

A few minutes later, with your morning caffeine dose in hand, you were ready to focus on work. You walked back over to your computer chair and set your mug onto a coaster before making yourself comfortable. Pulling up the first email of the day, you began to skim through it, responding to a co-worker of yours before moving onto the next email. As you worked, you listened to the background noise of the news until a particular story caught your attention.

“Breaking news on last night’s murder in Hell’s Kitchen,” the reporter on the television said as the news segment changed. “The woman responsible is now in police custody. Hope Shlottman is currently under investigation for two counts of murder–both of them her very own parents. The young athlete shot them both dead in an elevator last night, and despite video surveillance, she is still claiming to not be responsible for their deaths. Her defense? She says that a man told her to kill them.”

Tensing at the reporter’s words, your head slowly turned towards the television still playing across the room. There was a video of a young blonde woman being dragged out of an apartment building in handcuffs, blood covering the front of her. She was crying, her face red and splotchy with a twisted expression of genuine grief drawn over it. She kept repeating over and over: “It wasn’t me! He told me to do it!”

A cold chill ran down your spine as you sat there staring at the screen. The hairs along your arms rose, a prickle of fear running through you. Breath coming in a little sharper, you glanced around your apartment, eyes sweeping around the entirety of the space. There was no one else here, though. You were alone.

Coincidence, that’s all, you told yourself. 

Rising from your desk, you made your way back over to your coffee table and snatched the remote from off of it. With a hard press to the power button, you turned the television off, your apartment falling silent once more. Pausing for another moment, you looked around your living room and kitchen, both bathed in the soft glow of morning light. 

No one else was here.

Walking three blocks while carrying six full bags of groceries by yourself wasn’t easy, but that’s what happened when you spent the past week putting off doing any real grocery shopping. You’d only grabbed a few things for quick meals, choosing to order takeout most nights instead of cooking. But after work, you’d gone for yet another run to ease that feeling twisting in your stomach, and on your way back home you’d decided to stop to grab groceries.

Now, you found yourself struggling to navigate your way into the elevator with three large and very full grocery bags in each of your hands. Pushing the button for the sixth floor with your pinky finger, you willed the doors to hurry up and close. The plastic bags were threatening to cut off the circulation to your hands at this point.

Almost there, almost there.

Huffing a relieved sigh when the elevator reached the sixth floor, you groaned a second later when the doors felt like they were opening slower than normal. But as soon as you stepped out of the elevator, you paused. At the end of the hall was the blonde lawyer you’d met just this morning–Foggy, if you recalled correctly–and a pretty young blonde woman in a dress standing beside him. They were banging against Matt’s door and laughing loudly, and it was clear that the pair of them were obviously drunk. With a resigned sigh, you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid them, so you set off down the hall towards your apartment.

“Come on, Matt!” Foggy shouted, slamming his hand against the door.

The young woman loudly shushed Foggy between giggles, resting a hand lightly against his shoulder. Smiling wide, Foggy reached out a hand in return to her as he stepped back, waving at the apartment door.

“You try,” Foggy slurred to the woman. “Maybe he’ll listen to the pretty girl.” He leaned towards her and attempted to whisper, “Pretend I’m not here.”

Your brow quirked as you neared the pair of them. He'd just been banging on the door, there was no way she could pretend he wasn’t there. Unable to stop yourself, a small, amused smile slipped onto your lips as you neared your apartment door across from them.

“Matt,” the young woman called out, her voice cracking a little at the pitch as she leaned her weight against the door. “It’s Karen,” she continued, voice slurring. “And I’m very, very sorry about this. If I were you, I would not come to this door.” She paused, glancing at Foggy and giggling before she continued. “But I think I also drank the eel.”

Clearly forgetting the part about wanting to pretend he wasn’t present, Foggy began shouting again beside the woman known as Karen, his attention so fixed on the door that he hadn’t noticed you across the hall as you came to a stop in front of your own. Attempting to carefully set all of your grocery bags down so you could pull out your keys, you couldn’t help overhearing the commotion behind you.

“And we are now filled with mighty eel strength,” Foggy shouted, pounding on the door again as Karen broke into yet another fit of giggles. “Matt! Come on! We’re staying out until sunrise!”

A soft gasp came from across the hall just as you managed to slip your key into the lock. 

“Oh, no,” Karen breathed out.

As you unlocked your door, you heard Foggy’s distinct voice call out your name.

“Olivia!” he exclaimed.

Eyes widening, you pulled your key from the lock, shifting your head over your shoulder towards the pair. Foggy was already stepping across the hall towards you, roughly clapping you on the shoulder.

“Do you know if Matt is home?” he asked.

A breathy laugh left you before you looked over at the door they’d been yelling at for a few minutes now. “I mean, he’s blind and not deaf right?” you replied. “I’m pretty sure he’d have answered by now if he was home.”

Karen let out a laugh from her place against Matt’s door. “She has a point,” she said, pointing a finger at you.

Foggy’s eyes dropped down to the bags at your feet, his brows furrowing for a moment. Then an overexaggerated look of surprise flew across his face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you were carrying all of those!” Foggy exclaimed.

Without warning, he began quickly scrambling to take the grocery bags from off the ground, lifting them into his own hands. You stood there shocked, but Foggy completely ignored the dumbfounded expression on your face.

“Foggy, you shouldn’t just–” Karen began, but she broke off on a laugh at his overeagerness and didn’t finish her thought.

“Let me help you bring these in,” Foggy said, somehow holding all six bags in his hands as he looked up at you. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

Your lip tugged upwards at his words, a hint of a smile ghosting over your mouth. “But you’re not my neighbor,” you pointed out.

Foggy only sloppily waved a hand at your words, your eyes going wide as it looked like one bag was dangerously close to tearing. 

“Potato piñata” he answered simply.

Looking over at Karen who had taken a few steps closer, you hesitated and contemplated the offer. They seemed harmless enough, just incredibly sloppy drunk. And it did feel nice to not be carrying six bags.

“Alright, fine,” you relented, turning and opening the door to your place. “I appreciate the help.”

Waving a hand at your opened door, you allowed the pair to enter first. You followed in behind them, closing the door after yourself and tossing your keys onto the console table. Karen and Foggy had already made their way into the kitchen, the pair laughing about something as they disappeared around the corner. 

When you finally made your way around the entryway hall, you saw Foggy had already placed the bags he’d brought in onto the kitchen counter. He was pulling items out and curiously scanning them in his hands as Karen leant against the breakfast bar, her chin resting on one of her hands. But when you entered the kitchen and her eyes met yours, she stood tall and held her hand out towards you.

“I’m Karen,” she introduced herself, a friendly smile on her face despite the way her eyes were glazed over from the alcohol. “Suppose that’s important.”

You reached out, accepting her offered hand. “Olivia.”

“They mentioned you this morning,” Karen said as she released your hand.

Stepping over towards the counter where your grocery bags were at, you looked curiously back at her. “Who mentioned me?” you asked.

“Foggy and Matt,” she replied.

Your eyes turned slowly towards Foggy, watching the way he was eyeing a head of cauliflower in extreme interest. His cheeks were pink and you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or embarrassment at what Karen had just told you. Slowly, your gaze traveled back to Karen who was grinning. Leaning against the breakfast bar, mimicking Karen’s relaxed posture, you found yourself unable to resist asking her for more information–you hadn’t forgotten the way your skin had oddly tingled when Matt had ‘looked’ at you earlier. That wasn’t normal.

“And what’d they say about me?” you asked.

She leaned in towards you as she spoke, that smile still on her face. “Apparently Matt thinks you’re sweet. And interesting.”

Feeling your palms beginning to nervously dampen at her words, you absently wiped them against your leggings. You knew that information wasn’t important. You didn’t do relationships. You’d only been in a relationship once and–well, you weren’t going to think about him. But apparently your racing heart and the heat creeping into your cheeks didn’t appear to care about that fact with what Karen was telling you about your handsome neighbor. 

“He’s met me for all of five minutes,” you casually pointed out.

You pushed off the counter, focusing on putting away groceries now. Though you couldn’t completely ignore the way something pleasant unfurled in your stomach at her words.

“Well, Matt told us that he’d been trying to find a chance to bump into you in the hall for days now,” Karen continued, her smile growing wider.

Your hand momentarily paused on the fridge door, her words catching you off guard. Opening it, you knelt down and began unloading some fruit from a grocery bag into the fruit drawer. He’d been wanting to meet you for days?

“He said he’d…overheard you screaming a few times at night,” Karen added, her tone abruptly switching to something a little softer. “Said he’d wanted to check on you but that he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You swallowed hard at that information as you placed a bag of apples into the drawer. He’d heard you in here? Crying out in your sleep? That did make you uncomfortable. 

“Sounds like he’s paying far too much attention to my apartment,” you commented.

Foggy appeared beside you, cauliflower still in hand. He held it out to you and you took it, placing it in the appropriate drawer before he began handing you more vegetables from a bag on the counter.

“I told you,” Foggy began, his words still partially slurred. “He always knows when there’s a pretty girl. And usually he’s a sucker for the ones with questionable morals,” he told you, “but I think he’s got a bigger soft spot for damsels in distress.”

Snorting at his comment, you glanced up from your position on the floor in front of the fridge. “I am not remotely a damsel in distress,” you replied.

“I don’t know,” Foggy said, his tone already taking on a note of disagreement. “You are a young woman.” He waved his hand at you as if to prove his point. “And he says he’s heard you screaming a few times in the middle of the night–”

“I get nightmares,” you cut in defensively.

Foggy raised his hands in a placating gesture at your words. “I’m just saying, you sounded in distress. Ergo–damsel in distress.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated grunt before getting off of the floor and closing the fridge door. Making your way back to the counter with the grocery bags, you began grabbing more items out and putting them away in the pantry cabinet next.

“Unfortunately for him,” you began, trying to sound disinterested, “I don’t do relationships. Or one night stands. Especially not with…guys like him.”

“What’s that mean?” Foggy asked.

Closing the cabinet door, you turned and focused on him and Karen. They were eyeing you curiously now, both of them wearing serious expressions on their faces despite the alcohol in their systems.

“Flirts,” you answered simply.

A sheepish look crossed Foggy’s face at the word, slowly nodding his head. “Yeah, I’ll admit, Matt is pretty popular with the ladies.”

“Yeah, not my type,” you stated flatly.

Clearing the grocery bags from your counter, you could feel both Karen and Foggy watching you. You expected them to pry further about your dating history, or to question you more about Matt. But you were surprised at what came out instead.

“You want to come out with us tonight?” Karen asked you.

You paused at her question, not having expected it. Meeting her gaze with a raised brow, you stood across the counter from her. 

“It’s just, I don’t feel like being alone in my apartment right now,” Karen said, the words practically spewing from her when she saw the look on your face. “And we were planning to stay out until the sun rose. Matt said you just moved to the city this past week, so I’m guessing you don’t know anyone here yet. So,” she paused, catching her breath before asking again, “would you like to come out with us?”

Biting your lip as her invitation hung in the air, you saw the hopeful look Foggy was sending you. It was true, you didn’t know anyone in the city. And having friends would be nice, it was something you didn’t usually get to have. But you also weren't great at relationships–the lack of experience from growing up in The Facility made sure of that.

But it was something you’d always wanted. A normal life. Friends. Maybe someday a normal, healthy, safe relationship. And you’d truthfully been antsy in your apartment all week, unable to really settle. If you stayed in, you’d most likely just go to sleep soon. Probably wake up from another nightmare covered in sweat and spiraling mentally. 

…or you could go out with these two seemingly friendly individuals and attempt being “normal” for once.

“Yeah,” you answered slowly. “I’m not doing anything right now.”

Foggy pumped his fist into the air while releasing an excited noise that startled you, causing you to jump on the spot before a light laugh fell out of you. You definitely liked him. Across the kitchen counter, Karen let out an excited gasp, clearly surprised you’d given her that answer.

“Really?” she asked.

You shrugged a shoulder. “Sure, why not,” you replied. “You’re right, I don’t know anyone here. Might be nice to make some friends.”

“Yes!” Foggy exclaimed. “I can absolutely, positively assure you that you will not regret making friends with us.”

Somehow, you had a feeling he was right.

[cloudedangels]

A TEST OF CONTROL ☆ PT 3 (18+)

Part 3/? ▪︎ 5,225 words. (still not for minors! go away!)

Part 1 -> here ~ Part 2 -> here •

After three weeks of silence, Caleb shows up unannounced with stubble, longer hair, and a desperate need to know if she still wants him. What begins as tension and emotional reconnection quickly spirals into steam, sweat, and surrender. She peels the Colonel off of him piece by piece—until there’s nothing left between them but truth, skin, and a promise not to hold back this time. cw and tags: f!mc/reader, established relationship, light dom/sub dynamics, emotional smut, makeup sex sorta, orgasm delay/denial, colonel!caleb, oral sex (f receiving), shower, pretty slow burn, soft dominance, worship kink, begging, light angst, overstimulation, smut with feelings, praise kink, fingering, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, edging, piv, caleb is pent up and assertive but still soft for mc, creampie, big dick caleb >:), stupid sl*ts say anything but i love u, dirty talk, stretching

an: i cannot express how long and how much this took to write. but i love this n them so so much u have no idea. it's filthy but also very sweet and intimate. could be read w/out pts 1 + 2 but i reccomend reading them for context! they're a good bit shorter.

enjoy bb apples hope u like! :3 i'm off to finish my fluff fic now. (　＾ω＾)>>♡

She smells him before she sees him, that woody citrus cologne he wears, mixed with the smell of leather and machine oil, ozone. 

As MC enters her apartment, late from work, she’s sweaty from fighting wanderers, tired enough to almost hear her bed calling her name. She turns her key and opens the door. The scent of him hits her before anything else. Her breath stutters in her throat and she’s stopped in her tracks. She hasn’t caught the smell of him in weeks, she almost thinks she’s imagined it. She shuts the door and locks it, barely getting her hand over the dish when she notices a second set of keys inside of it. Then boots. Tall, black and untied. Then the small duffel beside them. the hat on top of the duffel. Then… him.

Caleb is sitting upright, asleep on her couch with his uniform still on. He’s leaned back, legs spread, head lolled back against the backrest. ‘His hair never gets this long’ she thinks. It’s too long to still meet protocol, tousled and slightly damp at the ends, brushing the back of his neck and the side of his face in a way she’s never seen before. He has one glove off, the left one, held in his other, still gloved, hand. The vein in his neck pulses visibly, his jaw, dusted with stubble, is tight, eyebrows knitted together. He doesn’t look peaceful in any way. Even though he’s asleep, he looks like he’s still held at attention.

She’s slow to approach him, taking off her shoes and padding over to him in her socks. She doesn’t want to wake him—this version of him is so rare that it’s something she wants to savour selfishly. She sits next to him and he doesn’t wake. The rise and fall of his chest is deceptively calm, considering the rest of him is so tightly wound. He looks like he showed up, sat down, and passed out without his own consent.

After watching him sleep, she laces her fingers into his left hand squeezing it gently. His hand twitches before it grips her back instinctively, before relaxing again.

“Caleb.” she whispers his name softly.

Nothing. She squeezes his hand tighter a couple times, trying again.

“Hey. Caleb. Wake up, it’s me.”

He jerks slightly, his eyes flashing open, wide with sudden fear, pupils shrunken. He looks around with brief terror before he recognizes her hand in his. 

“Caleb.” she practically whispers, wondering what he could have dreamt about to make him so afraid when he woke up. “It’s okay. You’re okay… You’re here with me.”

“Pipsqueak?”

He looks down at her hand but not her face yet.

“Mhmm, the one and only. You look tired.”

He exhales and steadies, his body relaxing if only a little.

“I’m sorry, pips, I didn’t mean to scare you, I don’t even know how I fell asleep… I–”

She squeezes his hand once again, a hand on his face, nudging him to face her.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t scared, just surprised,” her voice is eggshell careful as she makes eye contact with him, continuing. “Is everything okay? Why are you here?”

He breaks eye contact by looking off to the side. He looks like a puppy confessing that it did a bad thing.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, pips,” his voice is quiet, hoarse, “I needed to know if you still were m–” He shakes his head. “...if you still wanted me. I didn’t want to assume but… I couldn’t keep giving you space.”

Their eyes meet again Caleb smiling weakly, hopeful.

“I have a week-long leave. Told them it was an emergency. Flew straight here from Skyhaven after debrief. Used the key you gave me. I didn’t even sleep on the flight. Didn’t have time to change.”

She exhales. “You came straight from the fleet?”

He nods.

“That’s why you’re still dressed like a regulation nightmare.”

He huffs a short, guilty laugh. “Didn’t even change. I was scared I’d lose my nerve if I stopped moving. I guess I could've shaved. Or cut my hair.”

Silence again. Tight as a drawn string. 

Finally she asks, “Why didn’t you call?”

His hand lifts slowly, touches her cheek with the back of his glove. His right hand. The colder one. “You didn’t either.”

She closes her eyes and leans into the touch. “I thought I was too harsh last time.”

“You weren’t.”

“I was trying to be… dominant,” she says, whisper-soft. “But I didn’t want to hurt you. After… you left before I woke up.”

He flinches, as if slapped by her softness.

“I was scared,” he admits. “Scared I’d ruined it. Or looked pathetic. I just…” he looks up at her, eyes dark and full. “I wanted to serve you. I liked it. I loved it. I’ve never wanted to be good for anyone like I do for you. Making you feel like that made me feel on top of the world. More of a man than this uniform ever will.”

Her hand is still in his. He rubs a thumb along her palm and then lifts it to his lips. Kisses the center.

“You’ve still got the key to me,” he murmurs. “You say the word. Say anything. I’ll kneel or I’ll command. I’ll beg or I’ll hold you down. Strong or weak. Whatever you need. I want to be what you need.”

“…Then let me take care of you for once.”

He freezes. Blinks.

She places her hands on his chest, running them gently over the sharp lines of the jacket. The thick fabric. The polished belt. She kisses him, with hesitation first then all in. He kisses her back with both his hands on either side of her face. She pulls away, their eyes heavy, breath too.

“This thing looks stuffy.” patting his chest. 

“Yeah.”

“Can I help you take it off?”

He nods, a slow blink his only reply at first. “Yeah. Please.”

She starts with running her fingers through his hair, working out knots.  His hair is softer than she expected. Slightly damp still, disobedient waves resting over his forehead and ears. She touches his ears as she brushes the hair behind them.

“You’re not supposed to let it get this long.”

“I know.”

She swallows.

Next is the jacket. She unclasps the polished chest pin, fingers brushing along the rope chain detail that stretches from his shoulder across the lapel. The stiffness of the regulation fabric resists her at first, but she peels it back. His eyes never leave her.

“You still smell like metal, oil and the tunnels,” she whispers.

“Sorry.”

“No.” Her voice softens. “I missed it.”

She pulls the sleeves down slowly, his body shifting forward as he shrugs them off. He’s heavy from exhaustion. His white shirt underneath is wrinkled, the top button still tight at his throat. She’s gentle undoing it. Her fingers brush his skin, and she feels him inhale.

“I can do the belt,” he offers, lifting his gloved hand.

“No,” she says. “Let me.” 

She takes off his remaining glove. Then,  her fingers work through the weighty belt at his waist, undoing the metal catch, the fabric relaxing under her hands. She slides it out in one motion and sets it beside the hat. Her eyes fall to his boots.

“You want those off too?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “They hurt.”

She kneels on the floor, sliding her fingers over the laces. They’re loose, mostly untied from when he passed out, and one tug lets the first boot fall away. He doesn’t watch her. His head has tilted back again, eyes closed. Not in sleep, just in rest. Just letting her take him apart.

She works the second boot looser and gently pulls it off, setting it aside. He’s only in his undershirt and slacks now, his body caving slightly, hands resting slack beside him.

When she stands again, he reaches for her. 

Pulls her into his lap. “Thank you, pips. I don't like being the Colonel around you.” He's kissing her face, arms strong wrapped all the way around her waist. 

She feels him beneath her, his body solid, warm, grounding. Even now, wrapped in slouch and softness,  rooted and wanting, he's impossibly strong. His thighs are tense under hers, arms locked behind her back like he’s never letting go again. Their mouths part and meet in slow, drugging kisses, lips brushing, tongues barely touching.

He smells like fleet metal, ozone, and the kind of sweat that only comes from long flights and longer tension. She presses her nose into the crook of his neck, breathes deep.

“I like you like this,” she murmurs, her hand finding the back of his head, fingers threading through the longer waves. “You should keep your hair like this.”

He laughs under his breath, voice husky. “Might have to take the court martial just so you can grab it like that again.”

“You serious?” she asks, brushing it back so she can see more of his face.

“I was already close to getting written up,” he admits with a small, almost shy smirk. “Told them I had an emergency going on. Softened the blow. Swore I’d cut it before leave ended.”

“Let me guess,” she whispers against his ear, “You wanted me to see it first.”

He hums, nods faintly. “I had a lot I wanted you to see.”

Her breath catches. She always misses him, always. That fact stays quiet between them, even when it hums through her fingertips.

She’s still in her hunter pants, still in the sweat and grime of the day, but Caleb doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it winds him tighter. His hands are slow but possessive, one on her waist, the other tracing up her spine beneath her shirt. She kisses him again, lets her hips shift, unintentionally grinding against the hardness pressing up between his legs.

He groans against her mouth, forehead against hers. “Pipsqueak…”

“What?”

“You feel that?”

“Mhm,” she hums with mischief, tilting her hips again.

He grips her tighter, exhales through his teeth. “That’s your fault. You come home smelling like sweat and gunfire in those pants, put your hands on me like that… Tell me, pips, what’d you expect to happen?”

She grins into his neck. “Guess I’ll have to clean us both up.”

His voice is a low murmur. “Say the word and I’ll follow.”

“I want to shower with you,” she says. “I want to wash the Colonel off of you.”

He stares at her, like he’s about to kiss her again but wants to say something first. Then he just nods and lifts her off his lap.

They make their way to the bedroom first. She undresses him like he’s a gift she’s waited too long to open. Her fingers trail from the hem of his undershirt to the waistband of his slacks. He lets her do it all. Silent. Patient. The tent in his briefs is undeniable now, straining and obvious, but neither of them says a word about it. It’s a fact. She kisses his thigh as she lowers herself to take the briefs off of him. 

He undresses her too, with the same careful devotion. Her clothes peel off slowly, sweat sticking cotton to skin, her breath uneven. She feels shy for the first time in a long time.

Then they’re in the bathroom, bare, soft-lit, the shower starting behind glass. Steam begins to cloud the room, trailing down the mirror, wrapping them in a haze.

He reaches out and pulls her in with him, arms around her waist. They’re both warm and slick from the water almost instantly. His hair clings to his face, his chest rises and falls fast.

“I missed you so much,” he murmurs.

“I missed you more.”

He brushes her wet hair behind her ear. “Let me clean you off.”

“Not yet.” She lifts a bottle of soap, pours it into her hands, begins rubbing it into his chest. “My turn first.”

He groans quietly but allows it.

Her hands are gentle, but she doesn’t waste time. She runs her palms over the hard muscle of his chest, down his abs, watching the bubbles cling to the hair on his arms. She massages him, soapy and slow, standing close enough that her breasts slide against him with every stroke. Her fingers slip down his sides, curl around his back, working the tension out of his shoulder blades.

He’s hard and she can feel it pressing into her thigh, twitching every time she drags her hands lower. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t act.

“You’re so tense,” she whispers.

“I’m trying to behave.”

She turns him gently, hands on his waist, starting on his back. Her fingers dig into the knots of his lower back, the long slope of his spine. “Relax for me.”

“I’m trying, pips. I swear.”

She’s too nervous to look at his face, glad he's turned away from her. She focuses on the way his muscles shift beneath her hands. The wide expanse of his back, the smooth skin marred with old scars, the way water curves around his waist.

Eventually, she turns him back to face her. “You’re clean now.”

He smiles down at her, soaked and flushed. “My turn.”

He doesn’t wait for permission. He turns her with careful but undeniable force, bringing her back to his chest. His arms wrap around her waist, and his lips find her shoulder. His hard cock rubs against her from behind. She whimpers a little without meaning to. 

“I missed this,” he whispers, kissing her skin between words. “Missed your body. Missed touching you.”

His hands are all over her now. Shoulders, arms, chest, hips. He spreads his hands over her breasts, brushing over them again and again with wet fingers. He’s gentle but focused, teasing and precise.

“You’re already wet,” he says, tone dark and teasing, slipping his hand lower to her belly.

“That’s because you’re touching me,” she breathes.

She trembles in his arms, hands reaching up to hold his wrists, but he doesn’t let her guide them. Not yet.

He hums low in his throat. “Mm… no, no no, I have to return the favor, pips. Gotta get you clean first.”

He kisses her neck, then her collarbone, then the back of her shoulder again. Every kiss is wetter than the last, half water, half mouth. Her legs are already shaking.

“Caleb,” she whimpers as he drags a palm slowly down her thigh, cupping her ass.

“What?”

“You’re being mean.”

He chuckles into her skin, low and warm. “I’m being thorough.”

He keeps washing her, now with soap sudsing over her. His hands are moving with slow, full strokes that slide over her belly, between her thighs, around her hips. Her nipples are stiff, her stomach tight, her thighs involuntarily parting as his touch glides across every inch of her. He doesn’t go too low, but it’s a tease now. A claim on control.

Her back arches into him when he brushes under her breast again. “You’re making me crazy…”

“I know,” he whispers, voice low and full of promise, “and I’ve only just started.”

He lifts her by the armpits and puts her under the water to rinse, stepping out to dry off.

“Hey… where are you going?” She calls after him. 

He peaks around the door of the shower. Towel around his neck another in his hands.  “Shower's done, come on. Lemme dry you off. There are more ways to help me relax. I'm not going to until I get everything I need.”

Caleb stands just outside the shower door, towel wrapped loose around his hips. He watches her step out, steam trailing behind her like a second skin. Her eyes find him. Naked and flushed and damp. and for a moment, she forgets how to move. He holds the towel out for her like he’s offering her something sacred.

She lets him wrap it around her shoulders, his hands slow and gentle, attentive. He doesn’t speak, just presses a kiss to her temple, then to her cheek. His lips trail downward, wet warmth brushing her collarbone.

“I need you,” he says, finally, quietly.

Her breath hitches. He’s looking at her like he did the first time she gave him an order. Like he’s ready to obey again, if she asked.

“Bedroom,” she whispers.

He lifts her without a word. She clings to him, legs wrapping around his waist, arms over his shoulders. Their mouths never part as he carries her there. The towels fall. She doesn’t remember them being dropped, just remembers the feeling of his skin against hers, the weight of his body above her as he lays her down on the bed like she’s a prayer he’s about to answer.

He kisses her again. This time deeper. Slower. There’s urgency in the tremble of his hands, but not in his mouth. His tongue is languid. Exploring. Tasting. She moans softly, curling her fingers through his still-damp hair, pulling him closer.

When she parts her legs for him, he’s already between them. Thick and hard, brushing against her folds with aching deliberation.

She gasps. Her hips jerk. “Caleb…”

He groans, low and tight, forehead pressed against hers. “You feel that?” he whispers.

“Yes…”

“You’re so wet. That all for me?”

She nods, dazed. Her voice catches when he rocks against her again, not pushing in yet, just coating himself with her slick.

“I’ve thought about this every night since I left,” he says, voice cracked and warm. “Thought about what it would feel like. Being inside you. Watching you fall apart for me.”

“Then do it,” she breathes. “I want it too.”

He groans again, kissing her lips, her jaw, her throat. His hand trails down between her legs and when he touches her, they both inhale sharply. His fingers stroke her slowly, teasing her open, gathering slick.

“I’m gonna get you ready for me first,” he murmurs, sliding one finger inside. “You’re tight, pips. So fucking tight.”

She whimpers and lifts her hips to meet his hand. “Please…”

He doesn’t answer, just kisses her again. Adds a second finger. Works them in slow and careful. Curling them. Finding that spot inside her that makes her hips buck.

She moans, legs falling wider open. “Caleb. Caleb… Oh my god…”

“I know, baby. I know. Gotta stretch you out.”

His fingers move in a slow, lazy rhythm. He watches her face the entire time, memorizing how her eyes roll back, how her lips part, the way she gasps when his thumb finds her clit. He fucks her with just those two fingers until her thighs are trembling. Then he pauses, pulls them out, and she whines.

“Don’t stop…”

He kisses her stomach, then lower. “Not stopping.”

She feels the press of his mouth between her legs and her whole body jerks. He groans against her, hands on her thighs, spreading her wider. He licks her slow, lazy, like he’s got all night. His tongue moves with the same rhythm his fingers did. And then those fingers return. Two, then three.

She cries out.

“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing her clit before licking again. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers curve just right. His mouth never stops. Her hips twitch and her breath breaks, pleasure crackling like fire up her spine.

He doesn’t stop even when she’s shaking. She clutches at his hair, moaning his name. When she finally tries to close her legs around his head, he holds her open and pushes his fingers deeper, tongue pressing harder.

“Please… Caleb… I…”

He pulls his mouth away just enough to speak, his voice wet and thick. “Yes, you can. Give it to me.”

And she does.

She breaks with a cry, hips jerking under him, mouth slack and gasping. He keeps going until she’s pushing at his shoulders, too sensitive.

He rises up over her, his mouth shining, eyes glassy with hunger.

“I’m not done,” he says, kissing her again, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “I need more.”

He positions himself between her thighs, stroking himself once before pressing the head against her entrance.

Her breath catches. She feels the blunt, hot press. He’s huge. Thicker than she imagined. He pushes in just barely, and her whole body clenches.

“Oh god….”

He groans, teeth grit, pulling back. “Fuck… You’re too tight still.”

“Don’t stop,” she whispers.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“No. You won’t. I want it. I want all of you.”

He kisses her again, then moves lower, kissing her thighs, her hips. He slips a finger inside her again, then two. Works her open more. She’s soaking wet. Her walls flutter around his fingers.

“You’re getting there,” he says. “You’re perfect.”

When he slides back into position, he lines himself up again and pushes in slowly. Just the tip. She gasps.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.

“It’s not. Don’t stop.”

He goes deeper. Just an inch. Then another. Then pulls back.

She moans, arms reaching up around his shoulders, holding on tight. Her nails dig into his skin.

“You’re killing me,” he breathes, holding himself back with shaking arms.

“You feel so good,” she says, voice broken. “You’re so big. I want it. I want all of you.”

He groans and sinks deeper. Halfway now. She cries out, legs tightening around his waist.

“Almost there,” he pants. “Almost… you’re taking me so good.”

He kisses her again, breathless and needy. When he finally bottoms out, they both freeze. His cock twitches inside her. She can feel every inch of him, stretching her full.

“You okay?” he whispers.

She nods, tears in her eyes from how full she feels. “Don’t move yet. I just want to feel it.”

He kisses her forehead, cheeks, lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

And when she’s ready, she rocks her hips. Just a little. And he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Steady.

It’s not enough. But it’s too much.

She’s panting, begging, crying. “More. Caleb. Please.”

He groans and starts to fuck her in earnest. Every thrust is deliberate, firm, but held back. He’s pacing himself. Holding on by a thread.

He pulls out when he gets too close. Lets himself cool off. Then slides back in. She whines every time he leaves her empty.

“Why do you keep stopping?”

“Because I’m not done with you yet. I want to feel you cum again.”

He rubs her clit as he thrusts, murmuring in her ear. “You’re mine. All mine. You make me lose my mind, pips.”

She grabs his face, kisses him hard, rocking against him. “Then lose it. I want to see.”

He moans into her mouth, thrusts deeper, harder.

Still, he doesn’t finish.

She can feel him leaking inside her, warm and steady, his cock twitching with need. But he holds on. Like she’s the thing anchoring him to earth. Like she’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

And she adores him for it.

Loves the way he worships her body with every motion. The way he waits. The way he edges himself to give her everything.

And she’s not done adoring him yet.

She clutches him tighter, voice high and broken. “Caleb, God, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he whispers, but it’s a promise he’s afraid of breaking. His arms shake. His thrusts stutter. Every time he sinks into her now, it’s with a groan like it hurts to hold back. Like he’s begging his own body to listen.

She moans louder, biting his shoulder, pulling at his hair. Her thighs twitch around him. Her hips lift greedily to meet every thrust.

“You feel too good. Too good… Shit, I can’t–” she cries, voice splintering.

His breath is ragged in her ear. “Yes you can. One more. Just one more for me.”

“I already… So much…” She tries to protest, but he’s already shifting his angle. Pulling her legs up, knees to her chest, cock so deep now it knocks the breath from her lungs.

She gasps. “Oh fuck! Caleb?”

He grits his teeth, eyes glassy. “I know, I know, it’s too much. I’m sorry, pips” He’s not sorry.

Her hands scramble for his arms, his back, anything to hold onto as he grinds deeper. His pelvis presses tight against her clit with every thrust, and it’s unbearable, blinding, exquisite.

“I can’t take it,” she sobs, voice caught in her throat, tears on her cheeks now. “You’re,  oh my God…. you’re…”

“Caleb,” she sputters his name again.

He presses his forehead to hers. His body is slick with sweat. “Yes you can. You’re so close, I can feel it. You’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck, I need you to cum for me again, pretty girl. Please.”

She whimpers, body arching. “It’s too much! I’m gonna… Caleb… Caleb—”

Her voice shatters like glass as her body seizes, clenching hard around him. Her second orgasm rips through her with no warning, more violent than the first. She thrashes beneath him, sobbing, nails digging into his shoulders. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out—just pure feeling. Raw, overwhelming, wet.

He moans a deep, guttural groan, as she tightens around him. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. Good girl. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

He doesn’t slow down.

She trembles under him, overstimulated and gasping, her thighs shaking as he keeps grinding into her, each thrust deliberate, controlled—but trembling at the edges.

Her words fall apart. “I-it’s too much… I can’t…”

He kisses her mouth, her cheeks, the corners of her eyes. “Shh. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Just let it happen.”

She shakes her head but clings to him tighter. “You’re still so hard. Fuck, Caleb, how the hell are you still—?”

His eyes flutter shut. “I don’t know. I-I can’t finish until I know you’re done. Until I know you’ve had enough of me.”

“I have,” she whispers, voice raw and cracked. “I have.”

He lets out a broken sound. His pace slows, finally, just barely—deep, dragging strokes that make her twitch and sob into his neck.

She’s sensitive everywhere. Every thrust now is fire and sugar and pleasure and too much. And still, she doesn’t want him to stop.

“Say it again,” he begs against her ear.

“What?”

“Say you’ve had enough of me.”

She whimpers. “I haven’t. I never will.”

He groans like she’s just hit him. His hips falter. His jaw clenches.

“Fuck.”

“Please,” she breathes, eyes wet, “You can cum. I want you to. Please, Caleb. Cum inside me.”

“No,” he says, voice tight and hoarse, like he’s holding himself back from the edge of a cliff. “Not yet. Not till you say you’re mine.”

She gasps, body tensing. “I’m yours. You know I’m yours. You know that.”

He kisses her fiercely, like he’s drowning in her mouth. His thrusts speed up again, but still don’t lose control. He’s teetering. On the verge.

But he’s still hers. Still in control.

Just barely.

“Say the word,” Caleb breathes, voice low and strained against her cheek. “If you want me to stop, I will. I’ll pull out right now.”

She shakes her head, breath catching in her throat. “No. Don’t. I don’t want you anywhere else.”

His hips slow, just slightly. His forehead presses to hers. “You sure?”

“I’ve been sure,” she says, voice trembling. “I’ve thought about it for three weeks. Every night. Every morning. I want it. I want you to finish inside me.”

Caleb lets out a sound that isn’t quite a groan, something rawer. Like the last bit of his restraint just cracked in the middle.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers.

“Then let go,” she replies. “Let me feel it.”

He starts moving again. Slow, deep thrusts that drag along her walls. She gasps, trembling beneath him, body overstimulated, nerves fraying. But she doesn’t stop him. She never wants to.

“I’ll take off work,” she adds, voice breaking in a breathless laugh. “Fuck it. I’ll stay in this bed all week. You’ve got seven days, Caleb. Seven days to fuck me inside out. You can’t forget.”

He swears under his breath, mouth falling open. “Jesus.”

“I mean it. It’s safe. I’m on the pill. You don’t have to hold back anymore.”

He groans, thrusting deeper, rougher now. His control is still intact, but barely. Like he’s holding it in his teeth.

“I don’t know if I can cum again,” she admits, voice small, hoarse. “I really don’t. I feel… used up. In a good way. I feel so wrecked.”

But then his cock hits that spot again, and her body betrays her. It's arching, clenching. Another orgasm building low and hot in her gut, despite everything.

He watches her crumble. “There it is,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you?”

She moans, high and needy, cock-drunk. “Caleb…. C-Caleb…”

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

She grabs at him, his hips, shoulders, anything she can reach. Her fingers curl tight around his waist and pull. Hard. Dragging him in deeper, faster.

“Don’t stop. I need it. Please,” she gasps, breathily. “Please, I need all of it.”

His voice is soft again, with adoration and lust, a bit raspy. “You’re perfect. You’re taking me so well. I’m close, pips. I can’t keep this up much longer.”

She doesn’t let him slow. “Good. I want it. I want it so bad.”

He thrusts harder, faster, deeper, like her words set his rhythm on fire. Sweat drips from his chest onto hers, his arms trembling on either side of her face.

“I’m not sorry,” he growls, voice shaking. “I’m not gonna apologize for this. I’ve waited too fucking long.”

She whines, begging without words now, just sounds, soft and lewd, broken and full of him.

He slams into her again, all the way to the base, and stays there a second, cock pulsing.

“You want me to cum inside you?” he asks, voice wrecked.

She nods frantically, nails dragging down his back. “Please… yes please, Caleb, I need it. I’ve never had anyone else. I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

He moans, deep and shuddering. “Fuck. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I do,” she whispers. “I feel it. Every time you move. I want you to ruin me.”

And he does.

His thrusts lose rhythm, grow erratic, brutal, beautiful. He chokes on a gasp, and then he’s slamming into her hard and fast, panting against her mouth.

“I’m gonna fill you,” he growls. “So deep you won’t remember what empty feels like.”

She cries out, pulling him deeper, wrapping her legs around him like she never wants to let him go.

“I need it. I need all of it. Please, Caleb, please. I want every drop…”

And then she cums. Again.

Impossible. Devastating.

Her whole body shatters around him, wrung out and crying, and the way she clenches, wet and trembling, breaks him open.

He groans, loud and wild, as he thrusts deep and stays there. His cock pulses, and she feels it: his cum spilling inside her in waves, hot and thick.

She moans like she’s being blessed.

He stays buried, panting against her shoulder, kissing whatever skin he can reach. Her cheek. Her jaw. Her throat.

Neither of them speak for a long time. They just breathe. Seven more days.

[hunkpossession0]

**Riding a New Life: A Ghost's Journey**

I had been a wandering spirit for what felt like an eternity. Ever since the accident that severed my connection to the living world, I had been drifting through the ether, invisible and forgotten. That is, until today.

I found myself in a dimly lit parking garage, the scent of gasoline and rubber filling the air. The growl of an engine echoed off the walls, and that’s when I saw him—a young biker, effortlessly cool in his black and red leather suit, leaning casually against his sleek Honda. He was everything I had once admired from afar, back when I was alive.

I watched him for a moment, a pang of envy and longing coursing through my spectral form. Then, almost instinctively, I felt myself drawn toward him. There was a sudden pull, a rush of energy, and before I knew it, I was inside his body.

The moment I slipped into his form, it was as if the world exploded in sensation. The first thing I noticed was the heat—the intoxicating warmth of his skin, the snug embrace of the leather suit wrapping around me. It was a second skin, tight and form-fitting, accentuating every contour and muscle. The leather was smooth and supple, a mix of security and allure that was almost overwhelming.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the resistance of the gloves, the reassuring grip they provided. I couldn't help but admire the strength in these hands, the power in this body. My heart raced, not just from the thrill of possession, but from the sheer intensity of feeling alive again. The suit clung to me, a perfect fit, and I relished the way it made me look—strong, confident, and undeniably hot.

Every step I took in the leather suit was a new discovery. The way it accentuated my broad shoulders, the way it hugged my biceps and triceps, making every muscle pop with definition. I could feel the smooth caress of the leather against my skin, the way it moved with me, an extension of my newfound strength.

After an exhilarating ride through the city, I decided to explore more of what this new life had to offer. I had noticed a gym bag in the trunk of his bike, and an idea struck me. I headed to the local gym, eager to test the limits of this new body.

Entering the gym, I felt a wave of excitement. The scent of sweat and metal filled the air, and the rhythmic clanking of weights created a motivating soundtrack. I walked confidently to the locker room, changing into a tank top and workout pants that showed off my muscular physique. The reflection in the mirror was almost surreal—I was now this fit, handsome biker with a body that drew admiration and respect.

I started with some light stretches, feeling every muscle respond with a fluidity and power I had never experienced before. Moving to the weight section, I picked up a dumbbell, the cold metal heavy in my hand. I began a series of bicep curls, watching in awe as the muscles in my arms bulged and flexed.

The intensity of the workout was intoxicating. I pushed myself harder, feeling the burn in my muscles, the rush of endorphins coursing through my veins. I moved from one machine to another, challenging myself with each set, reveling in the strength and endurance of this body.

Between sets, I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror. The way the tank top clung to my chest and shoulders, the way my arms looked pumped and powerful—it was a heady mix of vanity and pride. I couldn't help but snap a quick selfie, capturing the moment of pure, unadulterated strength.

As the workout continued, I felt a growing sense of accomplishment. This body was capable of so much, and I was determined to explore its limits. The sweat poured down my skin, a testament to the hard work and effort I was putting in. And with each rep, each lift, I could feel myself growing more confident, more comfortable in this new skin.

But something was missing. My spectral journey had been long and lonely, and I longed to share this new life with someone who understood. That’s when I remembered my closest ghost friend, another lost soul who had wandered with me through the void. He deserved this chance too.

Later that evening, I returned to the parking garage, where I found another biker—a friend of the man whose body I had claimed. He was tall and lean, with a rugged handsomeness that made my decision easy. I called out to my ghost friend, guiding him to this new vessel.

With a rush of energy, my friend entered the biker’s body. The transformation was immediate. He blinked, adjusting to the new sensations, then looked at me with a mixture of awe and gratitude. We were no longer lost souls. We were alive, and we had each other.

Together, we returned to the gym. It was a surreal experience, seeing my friend in his new form, watching him flex and admire his new physique. We took a moment to capture it—a selfie of the two of us, side by side, strong and proud. The bond we shared as ghosts had transformed into something deeper, something more intimate.

In the gym mirror, we stood close, our bodies radiating strength and confidence. My friend, now in his own muscular form, flexed his bicep while I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Our tank tops clung to us, revealing every sculpted muscle, every defined line. The pride in our eyes was unmistakable. Here we were, two souls reborn, finding a new life and love in the most unexpected way.

As the days passed, we explored our new lives together. We rode our bikes through the city, feeling the wind on our faces, the thrill of speed and freedom. We worked out side by side, pushing each other to new heights, celebrating every achievement.

Our connection grew stronger, evolving into a romantic bond that felt natural and right. We were a couple now, navigating this new world together. The love we had for each other, forged in the ethereal realm, blossomed in our new, physical forms.

And as we stood together, gazing at our reflections, we knew that this was just the beginning. We had found a new home, a new life, and most importantly, we had found each other. The road ahead was ours to conquer, and we were ready to face it together.

The leather suit, which had started it all, became a symbol of our transformation. Every time I slipped into it, I felt a rush of excitement and power. The way it hugged my body, the way it made me look and feel—it was exhilarating. And as we rode together, side by side, I knew that we were more than just bikers. We were partners, lovers, and together, we were unstoppable.

[hoshifighting]

Hockey Captain!Reader x Nerd, Diner Owner!Seokmin

— Synopsis: You're the hockey captain at your university, rocking a cool leather jacket and cruising around in your dad's vintage car. Seokmin, on the other hand, is just a nerd from your Campus in a dirty shirt from washing dishes at his dad's diner—a spot you frequent for pre-game meals. — WC: 4.1k — WARNINGS: Emotional struggles, smut, fluff, fingering, penetrative sex, body fluids (cum), chocking, dirty talk, creampie.

[Issue Club Serie]

You arrive at the diner, and park your dad's old, sleek car in the garage out front. The familiar little bell above the door jingles as you step inside. The scent of greasy burgers and fries on the air.

Sliding onto a stool at the counter, you notice the middle-aged man behind it, drying a cup with a warm smile. His kind eyes crinkle at the corners, and you can't help but smile back.

"Hey there, Y/N," he greets you.

"Hey, Mr. Lee," you reply.

You take a moment to glance around the diner, absorbing the familiar sights and sounds. The jukebox in the corner plays a soft tune. your gaze lands on a table near the counter, where a familiar figure is hunched over a pile of biology books. 

"The usual?"

You nod, brushing your hair back.

Seokmin had noticed you the moment you walked in, Y/N, the hockey team captain from his campus. You, with your cool leather jacket adorned with silver details, and your dad’s vintage car. You walked confidently in your fine shoes, exuding an aura of confidence, making him feel small—like, really small. 

He kept his head down, trying to become invisible as he pretended to be deeply engrossed in his biology notes. The white shirt he wore still had faint smudges from washing dishes, and he felt a wave of embarrassment. He hoped you wouldn't notice him.

"Seokmin, can you serve Y/N a strawberry milkshake while I prepare her burger?" his father’s voice called out.

Seokmin's stomach dropped. He closed his eyes briefly, dreading your reaction. You always had that serious, kind of threatening look on your face. He was certain you would think he was a loser.

"Sure, Dad," he mumbled, making a beeline for the milkshake machine. He focused on the task, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. He felt your eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look up.

When the milkshake was ready, he placed it on the counter in front of you, his hand still holding the cup. He was about to retreat back to his table when he felt your hand on his, holding him in place.

"Oh, Seokmin! I didn't know you worked here!" you said with a smile.

Seeing you smile with a friendlier expression than when you are walking down the halls. It was something Seokmin rarely saw.

Seokmin stared at you in shock. You knew him?

"Uh, yeah, my dad owns this diner," he stuttered, feeling a flush creep up his neck.

"Really? Wow, that's so cool! Does that mean you get free strawberry milkshakes?" You took a sip, your eyes widening in delight.

"Kind of," he managed to say, still in disbelief that you were talking to him.

You peeked over at the table he was studying at. "What are you studying for?"

"Biology," he replied, feeling a bit more at ease.

"Hmm," you said thoughtfully, sipping your drink. "I saw your score on the last test. You're really good."

Seokmin's eyes widened. "You saw my score?"

"Yeah, it was impressive. Actually, I heard you were tutoring. Do you think you could tutor me?"

Seokmin blinked, momentarily speechless. "You want me to tutor you?"

"Yeah, if you have the time. I mean, you're one of the best in the class."

"Uh, sure, I can do that," he finally said.

Seokmin watched as you left the diner, your cool leather jacket catching the light as you waved. His heart did a little flip when he noticed the money and a note with your number under your plate: "Text me! :)". He glanced out the window just in time to see you accelerate the car away, leaving a faint smell of exhaust.

Seokmin always thought you were too intimidating, with your serious expression and occasional grumpiness. He never expected you to be this kind. 

He knew you frequented his father's diner but always avoided you, preferring the back where the employees smoked cigarettes. He hated the smell, but your presence scared him more. Yet today, you had been gentle, asking him for tutoring. It had almost made him drop his books.

The next day, Seokmin arrived at the library early, choosing a round table at the end of the hallway between two bookshelves. It felt strange, expecting to see someone like you in this academic setting. You, the intimidating captain of the hockey team, among the quiet, studious crowd.

He spent the whole night preparing the content, wanting to make sure he could teach you effectively. When you arrived, he was surprised at how attentive you were. Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, you took notes diligently as he explained the concepts and showed you images from the book.

Not that he expected you to be on your phone or filing your nails, but he wasn't used to this side of you. His only other memories of working with you were from a few group projects in your second year, and back then, you had always seemed distant and totally unapproachable.

you find yourself genuinely interested. Seokmin is a good teacher, his explanations clear and concise. You take notes, asking questions when something isn’t clear. You notice how passionate he is about the subject, his eyes lighting up when he talks about cellular structures and genetic coding.

"You’re really good at this," you say, interrupting his explanation.

Seokmin looks up, slightly startled. "Oh, thanks. I just really like biology."

"I can tell," you reply with a smile. "It’s nice to see someone so passionate about what they do."

Seokmin blushes slightly, looking down at his notes. "Well, I’m glad I can help you."

The session continues, and you realize that Seokmin is not just smart but also incredibly funny and patient. You find yourself relaxing, enjoying the time spent learning from him.

As the session ends, you gather your things, feeling a bit more confident about the upcoming test. "Thanks, Seokmin. I really appreciate this."

"No problem, Y/N. Anytime you need help, just let me know."

You give him a genuine smile. "I will. And hey, don’t be a stranger. I’ll be back at the diner soon."

[...]

You had two productive sessions with Seokmin, and the biology concepts were finally making sense. You felt confident that you would pass your upcoming test with flying colors. But then, something changed. Seokmin disappeared.

He had texted you to meet him at the library after his shift on Thursday. You arrived early, settled in, and waited. As the minutes ticked by, 7 p.m., 7:30 p.m., 8 p.m., there was no sign of him. You called him, sent messages, and even tried to focus on the content alone. Nothing.

"Hey, I'm waiting."

"Where r u?"

"Are you serious?"

"nvm, I'm going home."

"You at least should've told me you wouldn't come."

You walked back to your car, stomping your rage on the asphault. Friday came, then Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Seokmin's absence from college was unusual, and as the days passed, your anger shifted to worry.

Seokmin wasn’t the type to skip classes.

Determined to find out what happened, you headed to the only place you could think of—the diner. If Seokmin wasn’t there, at least you could talk to Mr. Lee.

As you approached the counter, you noticed a young boy in place of Mr. Lee or his wife. Confusion clouded your face as you walked up.

"Hi," you greeted, your voice tentative.

The boy looked up from the counter, giving you a polite smile. "Hi, what can I get for you today?"

"Actually, I was looking for Mr. Lee or... Seokmin," you said, your worry evident.

"Oh, they’re not working today, but I can serve you," he replied.

"Thank you, but I didn’t come here to eat. I’m worried about Seokmin. I haven’t seen him at college," you explained, hoping for some answers.

The attendant gave a sad smile, his expression softening.

Seokmin had been excited about your study sessions.

But life had a way of throwing curveballs. On Thursday, just as he was about to leave for the library, a family emergency struck. His father, Mr. Lee, had collapsed from exhaustion and had to be taken to the hospital. 

Between helping out at the diner and taking care of his father, Seokmin hadn't found a moment to breathe—let alone check his phone. He knew he was letting you down, but he didn't have the energy to reach out.

The guilt gnawed at him, especially knowing you were waiting for him at the library. He had been so excited to tutor you, to spend more time with you. But now, everything felt like it was falling apart. The texts from you kept popping up on his phone, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

The young boy at the counter seemed to hesitate before speaking. "Mr. Lee... he’s in the hospital. Seokmin’s been with him."

Your heart sank. "Oh my God, is he okay?"

The boy nodded slowly. "He’s stable now, but it was a scare. Seokmin hasn’t left his side."

Guilt washed over you, replacing the worry. "I didn’t know. I’ve been sending him messages, but I had no idea."

The boy offered a reassuring smile. "I’m sure he appreciates your concern. If you want, I can give him a message."

"Yes, please," you said, scribbling a quick note. "Tell him I’m sorry for being upset and that I’m here if he needs anything."

Returning home for a brief moment to shower and change, Seokmin found the note you left at the diner. He felt a wave of relief. He texted you immediately:

"Hey, Y/N. I’m so sorry for disappearing. My dad was in the hospital. Thank you for understanding. Can we reschedule our session once things settle down?"

You text Seokmin back immediately, telling him not to worry about it. "When your dad gets well, we can continue. No rush." Seokmin responds quickly, "Thanks, but the exams are next week already."

You assure him that you can get by with what he’s already taught you.

When Seokmin finally returns to university, you make a point of asking how his dad is doing. Some of your friends tilt their heads in surprise at the sight of your smile. Seokmin, still feeling guilty about skipping your tutoring sessions, tries to teach you some things during shared classes. He’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you grasp the material.

One thing that makes you feel a bit sad is how Seokmin hides everything. Despite his dad’s situation, he’s always there, cheering you and his friends on, looking like the happiest person in the world.

You’re surprised by how quickly he have broken through your icy exterior. You catch yourself laughing at his jokes or sharing subtle glances, trying to hold back your laughter when you both notice your funny teacher’s odd clothing choices. You can’t help but wonder how his demeanor changes when he faces his problems at home.

Today, your hands fumble with the edges of the paper from the test, determined to get a high score. The thought of making Seokmin proud crosses your mind. He’s taking the test in another classroom, and you’re anxious to meet him afterward.

When you leave the classroom, test paper in hand, you find Seokmin sitting on a bench outside. He’s holding his own test paper and looks up as you approach, a smile spreading across his face. You run to him.

"How much?" he asks, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"9.5 out of 10," you reply, grinning. "And you?"

"9.75 out of 10," he says, then adds excitedly, "And I have good news!"

Your eyes light up. "What is it?"

"My dad is already home!" he exclaims.

You feel so happy for him that when he suddenly hugs you tightly, you can’t help but hug him back. You both jump up and down in the middle of the hallway, laughing with joy. The teacher inside the classroom looks at you two, confused, through the window of the door.

For as much as you wanted to visit Mr. Lee, you decided to go home to give them family time, thinking about paying the visit another time.

The next day, before your hockey game, you pass by Seokmin’s dad’s diner. You’re so distracted by the upcoming game that you arrive at the counter, asking for the usual. The new guy with the notebook and pen in his hand looks at you confused.

Before you can speak, someone chimes in, "Her usual is burgers with fries and a strawberry milkshake." The attendant nods, and you widen your eyes.

"Mr. Lee? What are you doing here? You should be resting! You just left the hospital yesterday," you exclaim, approaching one of the tables where he’s seated.

"I know," Mr. Lee replies, "Seokmin and Mrs. Lee won’t let me work, so they made me sit here." He glances at them as they look at him from the kitchen.

You cross your arms, "As they should."

Mr. Lee smiles, "Why don’t you sit with me and keep me company?" You agree and sit down. Seokmin glances over from making your milkshake, surprised to see you sitting with his dad, smiling warmly.

When Seokmin approaches your table to serve you, he hears you mention how nervous you are about the game. "You’re going to do well, as always," he interjects.

"Do you think?" you ask, biting into your burger.

He hums in agreement, "You always do."

"Have you ever watched me before?" you tilt your head.

"Yeah... very often, even," Seokmin admits, sitting beside his dad, across from you.

"Oh, I never saw you there," you say, widening your eyes.

He laughs, "Maybe because you’re so focused on your game."

You blush, nodding, "Are you going to watch me today?"

"I have to work," he says, glancing at the clock showing 5:06 p.m.

Mr. Lee puts a hand on his shoulder, "The new employee is doing well. Go cheer for her."

"Really?" Seokmin asks, wide-eyed.

Mr. Lee nods, "But go take off that apron and freshen up. You’re not going to watch her smelling like fries, right?"

Seokmin runs to the back of the diner, and Mr. Lee just nods.

After finishing your lunch, you leave the diner—without paying since Mr. Lee insisted it was his treat so you could do well in the game. Seokmin is in your passenger seat as you drive to the campus.

He looks around the car, "Oh, your car really is all red inside. The rumors are true."

"Rumors about the inside of my car?" you ask, glancing at the road.

"The book club wouldn’t stop talking about it," he says, making you laugh as you arrive at the campus garage.

Your stomach churns with anxiety. Seokmin notices too. You take off your seatbelt and lay your head on the seat. "Fuck, I’m so nervous..."

Seokmin looks at you, "Wow... but you’re the captain. I thought—"

"I get nervous every single time before my games," you cut him off, nodding. "I just hide it in my car before all of them."

Seokmin fumbles with his fingers. You rub your face, trying to calm your nerves. Suddenly, Seokmin leans in and kisses your cheek. "You’re going to rock it," he says.

The sensation of his lips on your cheek puts you on alert. You turn to him slowly, his face still close to where he kissed you, so you’re millimeters apart. "Do it again," you whisper.

His eyes widen. "Here?" he asks, pointing to your lips.

You nod, closing your eyes. You hear him gulp, then he presses his lips to yours in a fast kiss. But you pull him by his collar, making it last longer. Your hands find his hair as you slide your tongue inside his mouth. Seokmin can taste the strawberry milkshake he’s so used to, sick of even, but it suddenly tastes new and special on your tongue.

If you knew Seokmin kissed this well, you would have kissed him during your first tutoring session. 

Your mouth seeks more of his kiss, and you have to leave your seat to sit on his lap, Seokmin gasping in surprise. You feel him melting in your hands as you lower your kisses to his neck. 

His hands squeeze your thighs, but you guide them to squeeze your ass through your game uniform shorts. He squeezes it, bringing you further on his lap, making you hump on his bulge, a whiny moan escaping your lips. As you repeat the motion, Seokmin’s perfect nose grazes your cheek as he moans. You’re sure that if you hump again, your shorts won’t hold your wetness anymore.

You glance at your watch. The game starts in 30 minutes. "We don’t have a lot of time," you mumble.

Seokmin gets the message. His hand slips inside your shorts and panties, fingers playing with your wet folds, making you flinch, a broke moan leaving your lips. Your head almost hits the car ceiling, and your hands clench his shirt. 

You expected him to suck a titty or something. But you are far from complaining about it.

He feels you clenching as he teases your sopping hole. He can’t help but slide a finger inside, your pussy swallowing his long finger as you moan all whiny in his ear. Seokmin’s eyes close in delight, and he slides another finger in just to hear you moan slyly in his ear. 

Despite your shorts muffling it, he can still hear the wet sounds your pussy makes as he slides his fingers in and out.

His fingers are so long, and you never thought fingers could make you break like this. Yours never did all of this. You feel a bit stupid for how loud you're moaning just from fingering. Your face hides in the crook of his neck as his fingers slide in and out fast, your body contorting above his.

Your moans grow louder. He tries to hold your hips still, but he fails. Your hips hump against his fingers as he closes his eyes to savor every second of your reactions. He can feel your juices drenching more of his hand, and your continuous moans turn into a silent gasp as you writhe.

You suddenly hold his forearm, moaning desperately, announcing, "I cummed... I cummed."

His hand slides out of your shorts, and you leave his neck to look at him and his glistening fingers. You hold his hand to your mouth, sucking his fingers just to give him a little show of how you would suck his cock. 

He moans, clearly affected by the sight.

"Let me take care of you too," you coo. Your fingers race to his belt and jeans, as Seokmin lowers his pants and underwear down his thighs. His cock slaps against his stomach, the head pink, almost red, with veins apparent as it stands proudly on his abdomen. You bite your lip at the view, salivating.

However, you are short on time, and the space is very limited. You can't even take your shorts off. You pull the mesh to the side with your panties, aligning his cock with your messy pussy. 

Seokmin rolls his eyes as you begin to slowly lower down. His cock is so long that you thought it would never bottom out, but when your pussy touches his pelvis, you sit down. Seokmin lets out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

You wanted to go slowly, but before you knew it, your hips were doing their own thing. The windows are becoming blurry, and whenever you rest your hand on them, you leave a handprint on the glass. Seokmin's face is contorted with pleasure and almost pain as he looks at you. His hand on your ass makes you push harder, while the other slides up your belly to your neck, choking you.

When he does, you gasp, your mind going numb as you concentrate solely on the sensation of his cock digging into you. 

When he stops choking you and caresses your neck as you breathe in again, you have a blissful view of him. His cheeks are flushed, his hair clings to his face, and he moans constantly, his cock twitching inside you. 

He occasionally checks the windows to see if anyone is in the garage, but it is located behind the campus and is completely empty. However, if anyone passes by your car, they may have a clear view of your captain's college jacket with your name on it, as you roll your hips nonstop on his destroyed form.

You grip the headrest behind Seokmin as you ride him, your moans filling the confined space of the car. The car windows are completely fogged up now, creating a humid cocoon around you both. You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "You're so deep, Seokmin. I never knew you could fill me up like this."

Seokmin’s eyes flutter open, meeting yours, “You’re so tight, Y/N,” he groans, his voice shaky. “I can feel every inch of you squeezing me.”

You feel a surge of confidence at his words, your hips moving faster, the wet sounds of your connection filling the car. “Is this what you imagined when you watched me, Seokmin? Did you think about fucking me like this?”

He moans louder, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements. “Yes, I thought about it all the time. Watching you out there, so strong and confident… I wanted to see you like this, falling apart on my cock.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. “Well, now you have me. Do you like seeing me like this, Seokmin? Do you like making me cum?”

He nods, his face flushed and eyes dark with lust. Seokmin's cock moves deeper with every thrust of his hips as they rise to meet yours.  

"Oh, God, Seokmin," you gasp, your body trembling with the need for release. "I'm so close. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

His hand moves from your neck to your breast, squeezing and teasing your nipple through your shirt.

His fingers work magic, and you feel the coil tightening inside you. Your groans become frantic screams as every shove brings you closer to the brink. "Seokmin, I'm gonna— Oh fuuck!" Your tone falters. 

His voice strained with need, he begs, "Do it. Just do it, please."

Your orgasm crashes over you, causing your muscles to tighten and your head to tilt back. A loud moan escapes your lips. Seokmin follows you as your pussy clenches around him, his own climax striking him hard. He groans your name as he thrusts up into you one last time, spilling inside of you.

When you finally slide off Seokmin, your shorts snap back into place, trapping the warmth and wetness inside you. Both of you are sweaty and breathless, as if you'd just run a marathon. You dress quickly, trying to make yourselves presentable before leaving the car. Your hockey bag feels heavier than usual as you sling it over your shoulder and start towards the locker room.

Seokmin’s voice calls out behind you, “I’ll be at the grandstand!”

You stop in your tracks, turning back to him with a sudden impulse. His eyes widen, not knowing what to expect. You run back to him, grabbing his face and kissing him passionately. His hands instinctively grip your waist, pulling you closer.

When you finally pull away, you look into his eyes. He whispers, "Good luck," before giving you a soft peck on the lips.

You rush to the locker room, parting ways with him, but the feel of his touch lingers on your skin. As you arrive, your friends ask where you’ve been, and you mumble a quick excuse, your mind still racing.

The game starts, and the crowd’s cheers are deafening, but your focus is on Seokmin, standing out in the grandstand with a smile that lights up the entire field. You feel his support like a warm embrace, grounding you in the moment.

The game is intense, your adrenaline pumping as you skate with a renewed sense of purpose. Each play, each pass, each shot—everything feels sharper, more precise. Seokmin’s presence fuels you, his smile a beacon that keeps you going.

In the final moments, the score is tied. The puck is passed to you, and time seems to slow. You weave through the opposing team, your muscles burning, heart pounding. With a final, powerful shot, the puck sails into the net. The crowd erupts, and your team rushes to you, lifting you in celebration.

As you look towards the grandstand, you see Seokmin standing, clapping, and cheering louder than anyone else. 

As you charge forward, a single thought echoes in your mind, a mantra that fuels your every move: Play like you’ve got nothing to lose, because in this moment, with Seokmin watching, you’ve already won everything that matters.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

All That Lingers PT 6

Jake Seresin x fem!reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Six Weeks Later

8:45 a.m. – OB/GYN Office

She’s been quiet all morning, bundled in Jake’s oversized hoodie, hands hidden in the sleeves like she’s trying to hold herself together.

Jake hasn’t pushed. He just stayed close. Dropped Robert off with Phoenix and held her hand in the car the entire drive. Now, in the waiting room, he sits next to her with one knee bouncing, like he’s trying to keep his nerves from spilling out.

Y/N exhales slowly. “I’m scared.”

Jake squeezes her pinky, eyes soft. “Me too. But we’re here.”

She nods, her eyes fixed on the floor. She hasn’t let herself imagine anything—not really. Not since the test. Not since she whispered, “I’m pregnant,” through tears in their bathroom. Because imagining means hope, and hope feels risky.

They haven’t told anyone. Not until they know for sure.

⸻

Exam Room – Ten Minutes Later

The paper crinkles beneath her as she lays back. The ultrasound tech hums softly while she preps the machine, gloves snapping into place.

Jake stands at her side now, hand resting on her forearm. The room feels frozen in time.

“We’re measuring around seven weeks,” the tech says as she glides the wand across Y/N’s stomach. “Let’s take a look.”

Jake leans closer. Y/N can feel her heartbeat in her throat.

Then—on the screen—something flickers.

And then—another one.

The tech pauses, then slowly smiles. “Well,” she says gently, “you two are going to have your hands full.”

Jake blinks. “Wait—what?”

The tech points at the screen, her voice soft and warm. “There’s two. Two babies. Two heartbeats.”

Y/N stares, stunned. “You’re kidding.”

The tech shakes her head. “Not at all. Congratulations. You’re having twins.”

Jake lets out a breath that sounds more like a laugh than anything else, watery and stunned. “Holy—twins?”

Y/N’s eyes fill with tears. “I… I didn’t even think that was possible.”

Jake’s hand grips hers tighter. “Guess the universe had big plans.”

The room fills with the quick, fluttering sound of two heartbeats. Like tiny wings. Like music.

Y/N sobs, full-bodied and quiet.

Jake presses a kiss to her temple. “We’re having twins,” he whispers, voice thick. “We’re having twins.”

⸻

Parking Lot – 45 Minutes Later

They sit in the car, neither speaking. Jake’s holding the ultrasound printout with both heartbeats circled and labeled Baby A and Baby B. His hands are shaking.

Y/N’s leaned back in the passenger seat, one hand resting over her stomach, the other covering her mouth as another tear escapes down her cheek.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she murmurs. “I’m happy. I really am. But… two. That’s a lot.”

Jake turns toward her slowly. “I know it’s scary. But we can do this. You’re not alone in this.”

She nods, eyes still shimmering. “I just… I want them. Both of them. I want them so badly.”

Jake reaches over and takes her hand. “Then we’ll make this work. One baby or two—this family’s already full of love. We’ve got room.”

She lets out a broken laugh. “Robert’s gonna flip.”

Jake smiles softly. “Yeah. He’s gonna be the best big brother to both of them.”

She turns to look at him. “Twins.”

“Twins,” he echoes, wonder still in his voice.

Then, after a beat—he grins, cocky and golden, trying to lighten the moment. “So… does this mean we’re naming one after me and one after you?”

Y/N laughs, sobbing again, and leans across the console into his arms.

———

Two and a Half Months Later

Hard Deck – Late Afternoon

The bar buzzed with the usual post-training chatter—Rooster at the pool table, Hondo commandeering the jukebox, and Phoenix tossing peanut shells at Jake behind the bar when he tried to look busy.

Y/N sat in her usual spot on the worn leather couch tucked near the corner windows, stretched out just enough to relax but with one hand lazily resting across her stomach. Robert—now three and growing fast—had finally worn himself out and was snoozing beside her, his little head leaning against her side.

She brushed his curls back with a soft smile, her other hand idly playing with the hem of her oversized shirt.

Phoenix caught that right away.

“You’ve been dressing like you’re trying to hide something,” Nat said, sliding into the armchair beside her.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “It’s just comfortable.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “You used to live in tank tops. Now you’re layering flannel like it’s fall in Vermont.”

Rooster wandered over, drink in hand. “Also, didn’t she turn down Penny’s key lime pie the other night?”

“I love Penny’s pie,” Y/N said defensively.

Phoenix narrowed her eyes. “You used to.”

Jake glanced up from where he was wiping down glasses. His eyes flicked to Y/N, then to Phoenix, and he went right back to his glass like it owed him money.

Rooster stepped in with a grin. “Jake’s been acting twitchy. I caught him googling ‘safe cheeses’ the other day.”

Jake didn’t even look up. “Camembert is a soft cheese, Bradshaw. It’s a fair question.”

Nat turned slowly toward Y/N, arms crossed. “Okay. Spill. You’re glowing. You’re hiding your body. You’re ditching caffeine. What’s going on?”

Silence.

Jake finally stopped pretending to work and walked over to the couch. He scooped up a sleepy Robert from Y/N’s side, settling him easily on his shoulder. His other hand slipped into Y/N’s.

Y/N took a slow breath. “We weren’t planning on saying anything yet. Just wanted to wait until things felt… safe. But—yeah. I’m pregnant.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then chaos.

Phoenix practically squealed and launched herself at Y/N in a hug. Rooster whooped and clapped Jake on the back, almost causing him to drop Robert. Hondo yelled across the bar for Penny to bring out something bubbly and non-alcoholic.

Jake gave Y/N a look—a quiet one, full of affection and the tiniest trace of nerves.

Phoenix wiped at her eyes dramatically. “You guys. That’s amazing.”

Rooster grinned. “Wait. How far along?”

Jake hesitated for a beat, then shrugged, casual as ever. “Almost three months.”

Nat squinted. “Wait. That’s not even the best part, is it?”

Jake couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. He turned to Y/N, who nodded softly, giving him permission to let it out.

Jake cleared his throat. “It’s twins.”

A wave of stunned silence hit again—then Phoenix lost it.

“TWINS?!”

Rooster dropped his drink. Hondo shouted something about “double trouble” and Maverick actually choked on his coffee.

Y/N leaned into Jake, who still had Robert in one arm. Robert, now fully awake, blinked blearily at all the shouting.

“Why is everyone yelling?” he mumbled.

Jake crouched down, keeping Robert steady. “Hey, buddy. Guess what?”

Robert rubbed his eyes. “What?”

“You’re gonna be a big brother. To two babies.”

Robert stared. “Two?!”

Jake laughed. “Two.”

Robert’s eyes widened. “Are they gonna be loud?”

Y/N grinned. “Probably.”

Robert thought for a long moment, then looked up at Jake.

“Do I still get to be your best friend?”

Jake blinked—his throat tightening, heart tugging painfully. He looked to Y/N, who gave him the gentlest nod.

Jake reached out and touched Robert’s cheek.

“You’re always my best friend, buddy.”

Robert smiled, satisfied, then pointed at the jukebox. “Can I play the dinosaur song?”

Y/N laughed as Jake handed him off to Rooster, who obliged with a groan.

As the others got distracted with music and mock dancing, Y/N leaned into Jake, resting her head on his shoulder. Her hand settled over the slight swell of her belly—just barely starting to show.

“This time feels different,” she whispered.

Jake kissed her temple. “Because it is. But you’re not alone this time.”

Her voice cracked the tiniest bit. “I’m still scared.”

“I know.” He cupped her face gently. “But whatever happens, we’re doing it together. These babies? They’ll be loved just as much as Robert is. Always.”

She didn’t answer with words—just nodded, tucked under his chin, surrounded by warmth, music, and the sound of their little boy laughing as he requested “the dinosaur song” for the third time.

———

Late That Night

Their Bedroom

The house had finally gone still.

Robert’s plane-shaped bed creaked faintly down the hall, a sign he’d finally flopped into a deep enough sleep to stop practicing his takeoffs. The little blue glow of his nightlight spilled into the hallway through his open door, casting shadows that flickered with every breeze rattling the old windows.

Jake lay on his side in bed, shirtless, his hand curved protectively around the full, unmistakable swell of Y/N’s belly. She was only three months along, but twins didn’t leave much room for subtlety—especially not after a first pregnancy. Her bump was firm and prominent now, pushing visibly against the fabric of her tank top.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured, voice scratchy with sleep but affectionate.

Jake didn’t even look away. “Can’t help it. You look… amazing.”

She snorted softly. “I look like I swallowed a watermelon.”

“More like two cantaloupes,” he teased gently, brushing his thumb over the center of her belly. “Perfect ones.”

“Remind me never to let you talk during OB appointments.”

Jake grinned, eyes soft. “You love it.”

They were quiet for a minute, the kind of comfortable silence that only came with time, with trust, with deep love grown slowly through heartbreak and healing.

Her fingers found his over the roundness of her stomach. “Do you think we’re ready?”

“For two babies? Hell no.” He laughed softly, then kissed her shoulder. “But we’ll get ready. Just like we did before.”

She hesitated. “This feels… different.”

He lifted his head slightly to look at her face. “Different how?”

“Not in a bad way. Just… I was so broken the first time. I didn’t think I’d survive it. But this time, I’m scared because I want to live through this. I want to see it all. And it feels so big, Jake. It feels like more than I deserve.”

He reached out and gently tucked her hair behind her ear. “You deserve this. All of it. Every laugh, every sleepless night, every little baby sock and sticky pancake morning. You survived the worst, and now you get the good stuff too.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes bright. “You’re gonna be such a good dad to them.”

Jake gave a half-smile. “I just hope I don’t mess up pancakes with three kids screaming at me.”

“I won’t scream. I’ll just cry,” she joked.

“That makes it worse,” he teased, making her laugh, even if it hurt a little.

They laid there a little longer, hands joined over her round stomach, until—

thud thud thud thud

Tiny feet pounded the hallway floor.

The bedroom door burst open, and Robert launched himself onto the bed like a human missile, landing square between them.

“The moon is out! I’m hungry!” he announced cheerfully, bouncing once.

Y/N groaned, lifting her head. “Buddy, it’s the middle of the night.”

“But I didn’t have dessert,” Robert countered, snuggling into her belly like it was a pillow. “The babies are hungry too.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Nice try.”

Robert grinned. “Can I have pancakes?”

Y/N gave Jake a sleepy look. “You created this monster.”

Jake sighed, dragging himself out of bed. “One pancake. And maybe one cartoon.”

Robert jumped down and ran ahead, yelling, “With syrup!”

As Jake followed after him, Y/N stayed back a moment, rubbing her belly softly. The weight of it grounded her—real, alive, growing.

Two tiny lives. A loud three-year-old. A patient, goofy man who loved her in all the ways that counted.

It wasn’t what she imagined her future would look like.

It was better.

———

Three Months Later

Naval Base Hospital – OB Unit

The room was dimly lit, the only sound the soft hum of the ultrasound machine and the rhythmic tapping of Jake’s foot. He sat close to the exam bed, one hand cradling Y/N’s, the other resting protectively on her thigh.

She was enormous now—there was no polite way around it. Six months pregnant with twins, and it looked like she was smuggling a beach ball under her shirt. Her shirt barely covered her belly, a maternity tank top stretched over her swollen form.

Jake had called her beautiful five times since they walked into the clinic. She still didn’t believe it, but the way he looked at her—like he saw something holy—helped.

Dr. Kessler, a maternal-fetal specialist they’d been referred to for a twins checkup, squinted at the screen. She’d been quiet for a few seconds too long.

Jake noticed first. “Everything okay?”

Y/N tensed, holding her breath.

Kessler turned the monitor toward them slightly, pointing with her pen. “So… both babies have strong heartbeats. Good movement. Baby B is especially active, which might explain why you’ve been feeling like a punching bag, Y/N.”

Jake smiled, relieved—but Kessler didn’t.

“But,” she continued carefully, “the twins share one amniotic sac and one placenta. That means we’re dealing with a condition called monochorionic monoamniotic twins. It’s rare—only about 1% of twin pregnancies. And sometimes, like now, it comes with complications.”

Y/N’s mouth went dry. Jake instinctively tightened his grip on her hand.

“What kind of complications?” he asked.

“Right now, it looks like Baby A is receiving more blood flow than Baby B. It’s something called Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome. It’s a blood-sharing imbalance. Baby A is getting too much—her heart is working overtime. Baby B isn’t getting enough, which is affecting his growth.”

Y/N blinked at the screen, watching their tiny daughter kick with wild energy, while their son seemed curled and still.

Jake’s voice cracked. “What does that mean for them?”

“If we don’t treat it, Baby B could stop growing. Baby A’s heart could fail. It also increases the chance of preterm labor, or worse. And because you’re the source of their shared blood supply, your body is under extreme stress trying to support the imbalance.”

She swallowed hard. “What are our options?”

Dr. Kessler’s voice softened. “We caught it early. There’s a specialized laser surgery we can perform to seal the connecting vessels in the placenta and separate the blood flow. It’s delicate, but it works in most cases. The risks are still there, but this gives both babies—and you—the best shot.”

Jake looked like he’d just been punched in the chest. “Is it safe for her?”

The doctor paused. “Safer than doing nothing. It’s a risk, but not doing it is a greater one—for everyone.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Then we do it.”

Jake looked at her. “Are you sure?”

“I’m already their mom, Jake. If this gives them a better shot, then yes. I’ll do it. We’ll do it.”

He exhaled shakily, then pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

“No, I’m just their mom.”

—

A Few Days Later

Surgical Recovery Room

The lights were low, the IV drip slow and steady, the machines beeping softly. The surgery had gone well. No complications. Both babies now had their own blood supply, and the tension in Jake’s body had finally—finally—relaxed.

He sat beside her bed, his hand holding hers, his other hand gently resting on her belly, now bandaged and still.

Y/N blinked awake slowly. “You stayed…”

Jake gave her a teary, exhausted smile. “Where else would I be?”

She licked her dry lips. “The babies…?”

“They’re okay.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

Her eyes welled with grateful tears. “Good.”

Jake leaned forward, kissing her forehead. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

———

The Hospital — Labor and Delivery

The tires screeched into the ER drop-off. Jake barely had the car in park before he was at Y/N’s side, helping her out. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ve got you, baby—I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple as nurses rushed out with a wheelchair.

They whisked her inside.

Her contractions were already close together—strong, painful, and relentless. Time turned liquid. Nurses spoke in clipped, efficient tones. The Dagger Squad wasn’t here. Just them now.

Jake changed into scrubs in record time and never once let go of her hand as they got her settled in the labor and delivery suite. Monitors beeped, IVs dripped, and through it all, Y/N kept her eyes on him.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice trembling as another contraction built.

“I know,” Jake murmured, brushing her hair off her damp forehead. “But I’m here. We’re doing this together, remember?”

Her fingers gripped his wrist like a lifeline.

Breathe in. Breathe out. She did it with him. Every breath. Every scream. Every push.

⸻

The Birth – Baby A

It happened fast.

“Alright, Mama, baby’s coming. One more push—just like that!”

And then—relief.

A cry. Piercing. Beautiful.

“It’s a girl!” someone exclaimed.

Y/N sobbed, exhausted and elated, as they laid the baby briefly on her chest. Jake kissed her, kissed their daughter, kissed her again.

“You did it,” he whispered. “You’re amazing.”

But the moment of peace didn’t last.

Monitors beeped again—sharper this time. The doctors frowned.

“Baby B’s in distress. Heart rate dropping.”

“What does that mean?” Jake asked, gripping Y/N’s hand tighter.

“He’s stuck. We’re going to try to maneuver him, but we need to act fast.”

Y/N blinked, dazed, terrified. She looked at Jake. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not leaving you,” he promised, tears already in his eyes.

Doctors called orders. Nurses pushed meds. The pressure mounted. Then—an alarm.

“Losing oxygen. We have to take her to surgery now!”

Jake was pulled back as they rushed her through the doors, her fingers slipping from his grasp.

“JAKE!” she screamed, the sound swallowed by the corridor.

“I love you!” he shouted after her. “I love you! I’ll be right here!”

And then he was left alone.

Baby B was delivered safely. A boy. Breathing. But something shifted in the room.

Y/N’s blood pressure dropped suddenly.

“She’s hemorrhaging!”

Suction. Orders. Panic. A code called overhead.

She faded fast.

A stillness settled over her, even as they worked to save her.

A stillness that gave way to Sunlight.

She blinked, and the pain was gone. No sterile lights. No beeping machines. Just warmth on her skin. Her hospital gown was gone—she wore a sundress, the kind she used to love. A soft breeze moved through the trees. A field of wildflowers stretched endlessly before her.

She turned.

And he was there.

Bob.

Smiling, soft and familiar, exactly as she remembered him. In jeans and a faded blue shirt, hands in his pockets, eyes shining.

She staggered back. “Bob?”

He stepped forward slowly, arms open. “Hi, my love.”

Her lip trembled. “No, no. This—this isn’t… I was just—Jake was—”

“I know,” he said gently, tears already in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She fell into him, sobbing, shaking in his arms as he held her like he used to—safe, warm, home.

“I wasn’t ready,” she cried. “I didn’t say goodbye. I just… I wanted to meet them. I wanted to hold them—our daughter. Our son—”

“I know,” Bob murmured into her hair. “I know, sweetheart.”

She pulled back to look at him, desperate. “Tell me I’m not dead.”

He swallowed. “You are.”

“No,” she whispered, staggering back. “No, I have to go back. Jake—Robert—our babies—please.”

His voice broke. “I knew this was how you’d die. From the beginning.”

Her sob tore through the still air. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Bob took her face in his hands. “Because if I had, you never would’ve had the twins. You never would’ve let Jake love you. You would’ve been so afraid of the ending that you wouldn’t have lived. You gave Jake everything. You gave Robert a family. And you brought those two perfect babies into the world.”

He kissed her forehead, lingering. “Jake needs them. And they’ll need him.”

“I miss you,” she choked out.

“I never left,” Bob whispered. “I was there every step of the way. And now… I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

She collapsed into him again, sobbing, and he held her tight.

In the distance, sunlight broke over the wildflowers like golden fire.

————

Jake stood in front of them—Phoenix, Rooster, Hangman’s entire crew, Maverick, Hondo. Everyone had gathered the second he called.

“She’s in surgery,” he told them, voice tight. “Baby B got stuck. They had to act fast.”

A tense silence fell. Maverick stepped forward and gripped Jake’s shoulder.

“She’ll pull through,” he said quietly. “She’s strong.”

Jake nodded once, eyes glassy. “I—uh—if anyone wants to meet Baby A in the meantime… she’s in the nursery. She’s… she’s beautiful. Looks just like her mom.”

Everyone rose without hesitation. Phoenix squeezed his arm before walking past him. Robert, who had been curled up asleep on Hondo’s lap, stirred, and Maverick picked him up to carry him toward the nursery.

Jake watched them go, alone now in the sterile hallway. The world smelled like antiseptic and fear.

Ten minutes passed.

Then the doors opened.

And the doctor stepped out.

His face said everything.

Jake stood. “Is she okay?”

The doctor didn’t speak right away. His silence carved Jake open.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Seresin. We… we did everything we could. But after the surgery, she hemorrhaged. She lost too much blood, too fast.”

Jake’s knees buckled. The air disappeared from the hallway. A roaring, crushing silence flooded his ears.

“No. No—she was fine. She was fine. You said—”

“She was stable until she wasn’t,” the doctor murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Jake’s fists curled at his sides. His mouth opened like he might scream, but no sound came out. He slammed his fist into the wall behind him. Once. Twice. It didn’t stop the pain. He turned and pressed his forehead against it, chest heaving, until his legs gave out completely.

He sank to the floor.

Gone.

She was gone.

——

Hospital Room – Later That Night

No one left him.

Even when visiting hours ended, even when nurses suggested they go home to rest—Phoenix waved them off.

Robert was sleeping in Maverick’s arms on the cot they’d dragged into the room.

Rooster had passed out with his feet up on a chair, arms crossed over his chest.

Hondo sat in the corner, his eyes barely open but still alert.

And Jake… Jake sat alone by the window, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. His elbows rested on his knees. His hands trembled.

His eyes burned, but the tears didn’t come yet.

Until they did.

He covered his face with both hands. The sound was quiet—just the faintest sob, like something sacred being shattered. He bit down on it, swallowing the noise so no one would wake.

And then, barely above a whisper, he spoke.

“Bob,” he croaked.

The name burned in his throat.

“I forgive you.”

Silence answered.

“She loved you first. I know that. I always knew that. And I hated it sometimes, but… I also understood it.”

His voice cracked, shattering under the weight of a love that had never stopped being shared.

“You waited for her. You were patient. You held her in ways I never could. And when you died, I got to love her with everything I had left… because of you.”

Jake looked up at the ceiling, blinking against tears.

“I don’t hate you. I couldn’t. You were her beginning, and I was lucky enough to be her end. And now you’ve got her again.”

He sobbed, shaking now.

“I don’t know how to do this without her. So I need you to help me, man. I need signs. Something. Anything. I’ve got the kids now—our kids. And I’ll raise them to remember her, to know her. I swear to God, I will.”

He wiped his face, breathing ragged.

“I’ll never love again. She’s it. Forever. Just like she was yours.”

———

The wind danced gently across the Texas cemetery.

There was no ceremony—no procession. Just Jake, holding a now four-year-old Robert’s hand, while the twins rested in a stroller under the shade of a nearby tree.

He stood in front of two matching headstones. The grass was freshly trimmed. A vase of wildflowers rested between them.

Lt. Robert “Bob” Floyd

Beloved Son. Fiancé. Aviator. Forever in the Sky.

1990–2023

And beside it:

Y/N Seresin-Floyd

Loving Mother. Fierce Friend. Wife. Loved Always.

1993–2026

Jake crouched and brushed his fingers over her name.

“You’re home now,” he whispered.

Robert knelt beside him, looking at the stones. “Is Mommy with Bob now?”

Jake swallowed thickly. “Yeah, buddy. She is.”

Robert looked up at him. “Do you think she misses us?”

Jake pulled him close, wrapping an arm around his small frame. “I know she does. But she’s always watching. Always.”

The twins cooed in their stroller nearby, one kicking their little feet, the other blinking slowly in the golden afternoon light. Jake looked at them, his chest tightening with love and sorrow.

“I’ll tell them everything,” he whispered. “They’ll grow up knowing exactly who their mama was. I’ll make sure of it.”

A soft breeze rolled over the hill. Jake closed his eyes as the warmth of the sun touched his face—gentle, like a kiss. A brush of something he couldn’t quite name.

And far beyond what any of them could see, standing a few paces back from the graves beneath the oak tree’s wide shadow, they watched.

Y/N stood with her arms around Bob, head tucked beneath his chin.

She was radiant again—no pain, no fear. Just peace.

Bob’s hand was in hers, his thumb tracing over her knuckles like he’d never stopped doing. His other arm wrapped protectively around her back as they watched the man she had loved in life love the children they had left behind.

“They’re okay,” she whispered softly.

Bob nodded. “They’ll be more than okay.”

She leaned into him a little more. “He’s still loving me. Even now.”

Bob’s voice caught for just a second before he said, “I know. And I love him for that.”

Their fingers remained intertwined as they stood in silence, eyes on the family below.

Love hadn’t ended.

It had simply changed form.

Jake didn’t move for a long time.

And above, in the quiet places between the sky and the breeze, Bob and Y/N held each other and kept watch.

Forever.