#wxm

[wxm]

Fusion

[evieettx]

who's your daddy

↪ synopsis » Seth's deep attraction to Yn creates a tense atmosphere during their journey home, marked by rising desire and jealousy, especially as he watches her interact with her father. After dinner, Seth's growing anger as he reminds yn that she only has one daddy and who that is.

↪ pairing » olderdom!sethrollins x youngersub!reader

↪ word count + warnings↴

wc:: 2.2k warnings:: SMUT18+, strong language, smacking (use of a belt), dirty talk, praising, pet names, teasing.

↪ this was requested by:: occasionallycunningshepherd

↪authors note::

I absolutely love writing this, hopefully I wrote what you had envisioned. just a disclaimer I won't be on her everyday as I do work and study but I will try and post as much as I can. :) enjoy!!

Seth’s hand clamps down on yn’s thigh, his grip tight his fist gripping tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. The car hums along the quiet suburban street, the engine’s low growl a stark contrast to the electric tension crackling between them. Yn’s dress, a sleek black silk that clings to her curves like a second skin, has ridden up slightly, exposing more of her smooth thigh to his touch. His thumb brushes against the sensitive skin, a slow, deliberate stroke that sends a shiver up her spine. The air inside the car is thick with unspoken desire, the kind that lingers like a storm waiting to break.

“You look so fucking hot in that dress,” he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the car. His eyes, dark and intense, flick to her for a moment before snapping back to the road. The way he looks at her—possessive, hungry—makes her pulse quicken. She knows what’s coming, what’s always simmering just beneath the surface when they’re together. Yn smirks, her lips curving in a way that’s both playful and provocative. She leans back in her seat, the leather creaking beneath her, and crosses her legs, the movement drawing his attention to the way the dress hugs her body.

“You’ll just have to wait till we get home,” she replies, her voice laced with a challenge. Her fingers drum lightly on the door handle, her nails painted a deep crimson that matches the flush creeping up her neck. Seth’s jaw tightens, his grip on her thigh firming for a moment before he releases her, his hand retreating to the steering wheel. The air between them sizzles, charged with unspoken desires and the promise of what’s to come. Outside, the world is quiet, but inside the car, the tension is intense, like a live wire waiting to spark.

The car pulls into the driveway of her parents’ house, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house looms ahead, its warm yellow lights spilling out of the windows, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside the car. Seth kills the engine, the sudden silence heavy and oppressive. He turns to her, his eyes scanning her face, his expression unreadable. The weight of his gaze makes her breath catch, but she holds his stare, her smirk never fading.

“Remember,” he says, his voice a warning, “tonight, you’re mine. No one else’s.”

Yn raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Jealous, Seth?” she teases, her voice light, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge. He doesn’t respond, just opens his door and steps out, leaving her to follow. The cool evening air does little to cool the heat still simmering between them. She takes her time getting out of the car, smoothing her dress over her thighs as she steps onto the driveway, her heels clicking against the gravel.

Eloise, yn’s mother, greets them at the door with a warm smile, her arms open for a hug. “You’re here! Come in, come in,” she says, her voice cheerful and oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around her daughter and Seth. The house is cozy, filled with the scent of roasting meat and the sound of soft jazz playing in the background. Edward, yn’s father, emerges from the kitchen, a glass of wine in hand, his smile just as warm as his wife’s.

“Seth, good to see you,” he says, extending a hand. Seth shakes it firmly, his expression neutral, but his eyes flick to yn, who stands just behind him. She steps forward, her movements graceful, and greets her father with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hello, daddy,” she says, her voice sweet, but the words are like a punch to Seth’s gut. His jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists at his sides. She’s mine, he thinks, I’m her only daddy. The jealousy spikes through him, sharp and bitter, clouding his vision. He forces himself to relax, to smile politely, but the tension in his shoulders is undeniable.

Dinner is a blur of polite conversation and forced smiles. Seth sits across from yn, his eyes never leaving her, his mind a tempest of possessive thoughts. She chats with her parents, her laughter light and carefree, but to Seth, it’s a mockery, a reminder of what she’s denying him. Every time she looks at her father, every time she calls him “daddy,” it’s like a knife twisting in his chest. He grits his teeth, his fork clinking against his plate louder than he intends.

Finally, the meal ends, and they rise from the table. Eloise insists on helping with the dishes, leaving Seth and yn alone in the living room with Edward. The tension is palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. Seth’s gaze is cold, his lips pressed into a thin line as he watches yn interact with her father. She catches his stare and smirks, her eyes daring him to make a move.

“We should be going,” Seth says abruptly, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. Yn turns to him, her expression questioning, but he’s already moving, his hand extending to her. She takes it, her fingers slipping into his, and allows him to lead her out of the house. Eloise, rushes to the door and she says her goodbye's to yn and Seth. The cool night air does little to ease the heat between them, and as they walk to the car, his grip on her hand tightens, his thumb brushing against her skin in a silent warning.

The car ride home is tense and silent. Seth’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched. Yn sits beside him, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. The air between them is heavy, charged with the unspoken words and the promise of what’s to come. She can feel his anger radiating off him in waves, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she leans back in her seat, her smirk still playing on her lips.

“I’m going to punish you when we get home,” Seth snarls, his voice cold and dangerous. His eyes flick to her for a moment, his expression dark. “You won’t be able to fucking walk after I’m done with you.”

Yn’s breath hitches, her heart pounding in her chest. She knows what’s coming, what she’s invited with her words, but the anticipation is both terrifying and exhilarating. She doesn’t respond, just sits there, her hands trembling slightly as she waits for the storm to break. Her mind races with thoughts of what he’ll do, how he’ll make her pay for her defiance. But deep down, she knows she wants it—needs it—as much as he does.

The apartment building looms ahead, its stark concrete facade a stark contrast to the warmth of her parents’ home. Seth parks the car and steps out, his movements sharp and purposeful. He doesn’t wait for her, just strides toward the entrance, leaving her to follow. The elevator ride is silent, the tension between them almost palpable. She stands close to him, her body brushing against his, and feels his muscles tense under his shirt.

The moment they step into their apartment, Seth slams the door shut, the sound echoing through the space. He turns to her, his eyes dark and hungry, his expression fierce. He grabs her by the wrist, his grip firm but not painful, and drags her toward the bedroom. His movements are urgent, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She doesn’t resist, letting him pull her along, her heart pounding in anticipation.

“You’re mine, yn,” he growls, his voice low and rough. “And you’re going to remember that.”

He pushes her onto the bed, his hands rough on her skin as he tears her dress off, the fabric ripping with a sharp sound. She gasps, her breath coming in short gasps as he looms over her, his eyes scanning her body, his expression fierce. He’s already unbuckling his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss. The sound sends a shiver down her spine, and she bites her lip, her body arching slightly in anticipation.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice a whisper that’s more commanding than any shout. “Who’s your daddy?”

Yn bites her lip, her heart pounding in her chest. She knows what he wants, what he needs to hear, but the words stick in her throat. He raises the belt, the leather gleaming in the dim light, and lands the first strike across her ass. The sting is sharp, a jolt of pain that makes her gasp and arch her back. Her skin flushes instantly, the heat spreading through her like wildfire.

“You are,” she gasps, her voice breathless, her body trembling. But he’s not done yet. He strikes again, the belt biting into her skin, leaving a red mark that stings and throbs. She cries out, her nails digging into the sheets, her body tense and quivering. The pain mixes with pleasure, a heady combination that makes her head spin.

“Say it again,” he demands, his voice hoarse, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “Who owns you?”

“You do,” she whispers, her voice broken, her body shaking. “You’re my daddy.”

He strikes her again, the belt biting into her skin, the pain sharp and intense. She cries out, her body arching, her breath coming in short gasps. He drops the belt, his hands moving to her hips, his touch rough and possessive. He pulls her to the edge of the bed, his eyes dark and hungry as he unbuckles his pants, his cock already hard and throbbing. She watches him, her breath caught in her throat, as he frees himself from his clothes.

“That’s right,” he growls, his voice deep, his breath hot against her ear. “I’m your only daddy. And you’re never going to forget it.”

He pushes into her, his cock thick filling her completely. She gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body tense and quivering. He moves slowly at first, his thrusts deliberate and controlled, but soon he’s pounding into her, his movements urgent and desperate. The bed creaks beneath them, the sound echoing through the room as their bodies move in rhythm. She feels him everywhere, his scent, his touch, his weight pressing her into the mattress.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice a growl, his breath hot against her neck. “Who’s fucking you?”

“You are,” she gasps, her voice broken, her body trembling. “You’re my daddy. You’re the only one.”

He growls, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. His hands grip her hips tightly, his nails digging into her skin as he pounds into her, his cock relentless. She cries out, her body tense and quivering. The pleasure builds, a coil tightening in her core, and then she’s screaming, her body shaking as she comes, her walls clenching around him. Her voice echoes through the room, raw and unfiltered, as her orgasm rips through her.

“That’s right,” he growls, his voice deep and demanding, his breath ragged. “Cum for me, baby. Cum for your daddy.”

He follows soon after, his body tensing, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spills himself deep inside her, his growl of release echoing through the room. He collapses beside her, his breath coming in short bursts, his body still trembling from the intensity of their encounter. For a moment, they lie there, their bodies still entwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal. The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and her skin still tingles where he’d marked her.

Seth rolls onto his back, his eyes closed, a smirk playing on his lips. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against her cheek, his touch gentle despite the roughness of their encounter. His thumb traces the line of her jaw, and she leans into his touch, her eyelids fluttering closed.

“Next time,” he says, his voice low and warning, “maybe you’ll think twice before calling him that.”

Yn shivers, her body still buzzing with the aftermath, her skin sensitive and alive. She turns to him, her eyes meeting his, a mischievous glint in her gaze. “Maybe,” she whispers, her voice soft but challenging. The air between them crackles with unspoken possibilities, the game far from over. Seth’s smirk widens, his eyes darkening with anticipation. He knows this is just the beginning, the first move in a game that will push them both to their limits. And he can’t wait to see what comes next.

As they lie there, the silence between them is comfortable, charged with the knowledge that this is only the start. Yn’s fingers trace lazy patterns on his chest, her touch light and teasing. Seth watches her, his expression softening just a fraction, before he pulls her closer, his arm wrapping around her waist. Their breaths sync, and for a moment, the world outside their apartment fades away.

But the game is never truly over. Yn’s smirk returns, and she leans in, her lips brushing his ear. “Or maybe,” she whispers, “I’ll just enjoy watching you try to stop me.”

Seth’s grip tightens, his eyes flashing with a mix of amusement and challenge. “We’ll see,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. The air between them hums with anticipation, the tension of their earlier encounter now replaced by a different kind of heat—one that burns slow and steady, a fire that will keep them both warm long into the night.

And as they fall into a restless sleep, their bodies still tangled together, the unspoken words linger in the air: the game has only just begun.

please do not translate, copy, publish or edit my works or have them published on any third party website or app. I do not give any consent © eviettx

[plscallmeeren]

P E R S O N A L

Jessica Jones x Reader

Request: Dragonsw

Summary: you're a natural born fighter (martial arts, fire manipulation) who fought for money and enlisted in SHIELD to avoid jail, then got kicked out again. You now reside in Hell's Kitchen and meet Jessica by chance in a bar... where certain individuals are looking to cause trouble

Warnings: Swearing; violence; intentions of sexual assault but nothing happens; insinuations; unedited

Word Count: 2K+

Jessica Jones sat in her usual spot. Her usual bar. Her usual bartender. Her usual silence, peace, quiet. Her usual white noise, if you will.

Of course, a variation of elements was rendered unrecognizable from one visit to the next, let alone the customers who hadn't been visiting the same place for at least thirty years. Or since their wife made them move because their old place 'just wasn't a good family area'. They had been raised there just fine, thank you very much. Born and raised and intending to stay, but unfortunately some people loved their wives or had simply made the mistake of exchanging favor for acquiescence.

The mournful bell over the door chimed, its stained glass triangles dipping away to reveal you, handsome you, to someone too preoccupied with why the locals were local to realise she was staring.

How couldn't she? Jessica knew what looks were. She'd seen them around. Easy on the eyes. Lean muscle, humble anatomy that curved like a coy smile under dark long sleeves. But pretty wasn't perfect - she knew that as well as anyone. Pretty, if anything, was often arrogant, and arrogant raised bad kids. They too tended to stay, unless forced to be otherwise.

But you didn't come. You didn't sit down next to her and prop up a carefully calculated arm and smirk like you knew where this would end and so should she - no, you barely glanced in her direction.

One beer, one booth, and you were seated, sipping sporadically. Watching, closed eyes, not waiting, not wallowing in the void of a phone. Just sitting. Enjoying your spot, your silence, peace, white noise.

She couldn't look away.

She couldn't stay silent.

She couldn't be at peace.

"Out of everything on the menu - beer?" she inquired loudly, catching your attention immediately. After all, she only had Old Timmy's rambling murmurs to compete with.

"What can I say, they were out of orange juice," you replied, not opening your eyes. She decided that if only one thing could happen tonight, it would be that you look at her. Properly. Fully at peace.

Jessica chuckled. "What, can't handle the hard shit?"

"Sure, just - I don't know if you've tried it recently, but it tastes fucking disgusting."

"Doesn't matter if you want the full effect," she quipped, leaning back in her adjacent booth with an unexplained smile.

"I only hope I'm not someone who needs the full effect so desperately." You looked at her with eyes that dragged the weak in.

"What, like me?"

A moment of silence she spontaneously regretted.

"I dunno. Guess it's fair to need a little support once in a while. Timmy wouldn't last long without dear barkeep, I expect," you nodded at the elderly man at the counter.

"You know Timmy? If you come so often, why don't I know you?"

"What, you'd notice me?" you teased, and she felt like slapping the blush off her face.

"Answer the goddamn question."

"Well, first of all, you don't need to be around much to know Old Timmy," you paused to make sure that point had come across before continuing, "and I come every Thursday. That not suit your schedule?"

"It's true. I have violin practice that day." You laughed loudly. She wanted you to do it again.

The bell over the door rang loudly, announcing the five newcomers at the top of its lungs.

"Hey, man, why don't you get me and my friends some drinks?" one of the men yelled across the counter. The barman only shook his head, pulling out whatever he assumed people wanted when they didn't specify.

"I'd take any screeching violin over this," you said snidely as the guys continued to yell ideas and comments at each other.

"Where'd ya go, Mark? Still scared of a little vodka after ol' Fanny?" The group guffawed at whatever inside joke the broad man with uneven stubble had mentioned.

Jessica nodded at you, meeting some mutual understanding that it wasn't worth trying to talk over them.

A couple of them staggered over to a booth once they had downed their respective shots, another two still leaning against the bar.

One, apparently Mark, approached Jessica's booth instead. She didn't miss the way your eyes remained on the obviously drunken youth.

"Hey pretty lady," he drawled, "you wanna get outta here? I know a nice place downtown..."

"Not if you paid me," she cut him off curtly, sipping at her tequila.

"I could pay you, y'know. Pretty thing like you'd be worth a pretty sum." He grinned, displaying murky teeth, looking plainly proud of himself.

"You're getting repetitive," Jessica laughed, but now the attention of almost everyone in the place was on the interaction. Mark noticed, it seemed, for where he may have otherwise walked away, he couldn't let this happen under carefully watchful eyes. The barkeeper had disappeared into a backroom, and Timmy was slowly teetering over the threshold with a little encouragement.

Mark's eyes darkened as he looked at Jessica. "Get out," he said simply, looking at you for a moment.

You didn't move, didn't even look at him as you sipped further at your beer.

"You got a hearing problem, Bruce Lee? Get out!"

Still, nothing.

Jessica couldn't help but be irritated. She could take all of those guys out easily - why couldn't you just go? Of course you didn't know, but any normal person would just... "Just do what he says," she exclaims out loud, scoffing at the insinuations the men make through hands and laughs.

"I'm not done with my beer," you said simply. Her annoyance grew.

Mark huffed loudly, and Jessica could have sworn she saw the glint of metal as he approached you, but just as realization set in, he was next to you, it was too late-

You grabbed his wrist before he could stab you with the knife, twisting it so that he would let go. In his moment of confusion, you rammed the blade into his hand, kicking him away for good measure.

Jessica stared at you in awe and bewilderment, but not for long. Commotion broke out all around as Mark started shouting and whining about his hand.

She took advantage of their joint panic, kicking the guy approaching her now with so much force that he slammed against the opposite wall of the room.

She tackled another, struggling to ignore your own fighting skills. It would have been hard to track your hands, feet as they whirled around your opponents' heads gracefully, pressing the heel of your palm into the right places just after... was that fire...?

The barkeeper emerged frantically from the back upon hearing the excitement, though by the time he was in your midst all five guys were already lying on the ground.

You pulled a loose 20-dollar note out of your pocket, handing it to the man. "For the mess and the beer," you said simply, walking away. The barkeeper only stared at his hand, however, apparently undecided as to whether he should call the police or just haul the men outside after the unnerving experience.

"Hey!" Jessica called, running out after you. She should have known something was off about you. How hadn't she noticed?

You turned around, almost making her stop in her tracks. There was something so refined, maybe dignified, in the way you moved...

"What was that?"

You only looked at her, eyebrows raised, in need of elaboration.

"I had that handled, why did you escalate?" she yelled, still pulling on her leather jacket.

"I wanted a drink, I had a drink."

"So you don't think it's reckless to put everything on the line for half a glass of beer?"

She could feel herself drowning if she looked you in the eye much longer, tried to concentrate or grasp onto any other part of your face, but they were only the outer rim of the vortex.

"Of course it's reckless, but in case you hadn't noticed, I can take care of myself. I know now I had nothing to worry about, but forgive me for doubting a single person I just met could take on five big guys," you countered, not raising your voice even as your tone changed.

You were struggling to be irritated as well. Her expression was hard, but you could still see the fine lines that, when tweaked just a little, would gaze softly like before. She was guarded, yes, but you had no trouble discerning that there was definitely something there worth guarding.

You hadn't realised you were still walking side by side until she stopped you, fingers around your arm, and you never wanted to be free of those five prints of warmth on your skin, even divided by your sleeve.

"What if there had been guns?"

"Result would have been the same."

Who are you?, she thought desperately, trying to remember some fire-weaponizing fighter who lived in the area and was free on Thursday evenings.

"How did you burn that guy?"

"How did you throw a guy across the room?"

"Personal," she answered defensively.

"Personal," you agreed.

Jessica could respect that, but it still didn't explain...

"Were you trying to impress me? Is that it? A quick way to get in bed with me?" Ironically, she was leaning closer and closer towards you, a mere breath away from your body as she glared.

She had met plenty of that kind; who wanted a hookup, and so did she, and nothing ever came of it because it had only been inspired by one accidental glance at a pretty woman in a club. That was fine. But if that was all you were, she would find it intolerably frustrating.

But she accepted it; she leaned in further, on her toes, her lips at the perfect point to indulge the slant of your neck-

You backed away gently, looking mildly insulted but otherwise unaffected. "No, some assholes came into a bar and forced my hand. That's all." You walked on, but this time she didn't follow.

"I didn't need your help!" she cried, hating that she sounded so childish.

"Just because you can take something on, doesn't mean you have to. Also, I think that's the first thing you've said to me tonight that wasn't a question." You smirked, turning and stopping after all. Before she knew it a business card was flung in her direction, which she caught with ease. "If you're ever in a jam even you can't handle - or don't want to handle - give me a call. Always looking to keep my skills sharp."

You walked again, but again she stormed up to you, fiery determination mirrored in the glint of her eyes. She handed you a card also. "I'm a private investigator. Always happy to make some money."

You chuckled, a rumbling sound that emanated from deep within your chest. "Thank you, Miss Jones," you read from the card. "Have a good night."

You turned for the last time that night, striding along the sidewalk as if you had all the time in the world. She stared. There hadn't been many occasions where she was the one chasing after someone time and time again.

She had liked your voice.

She held onto that specific thing, because if she let herself contemplate beyond, she would be sucked in yet again. Just your voice.

Maybe she should have picked something else, however, because during sleepless nights or when among distant thoughts, nothing carries as clearly as a familiar voice.

Perhaps she would see you again. Probably not, but perhaps.

And with that thought, she wandered along her own streets, away from where things had almost become personal.

[mirlambda]

QQ and eye-searing colours!? Is it 2012 again?

[forgeline]

Repost from @weaponxmotorsports. Who here uses their racecar as a daily driver? Fresh off the track, slicks still on, rain? Gotta make it to work! 🤷🏼‍♂️ _ Let us know down below what your racecar daily is. . . . . . . #weaponx #Xgonnagiveittoya #weaponxmotorsports #wxm #c7 #corvette #corvetteracing #weapon7 #stingray #lt4 #xmarksthespot #zr1 #forgeline #forgelinewheels #forgedwheels #customwheels #forgedmonoblock #GS1R #notjustanotherprettywheel #doyourhomework #madeinUSA #🇺🇸 www.weaponXmotorsports.com

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Purpose

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d i s s o c i a t i o n

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chasing shadows