#''Now THAT is some blue collar climbing''

[blondrafe]

body worship with rafe (this is apart of the 400 special)

cw; smut, praise, slow sex, light biting, light nipple play and sucking. Breeding

The early evening was coming in strong, colours of orange, light pink and a periwinkle type blue started to flood the sky as it made that transition from afternoon to evening. rafe had came home from a long day of god knows what, and all he wanted was his girl. He’d been thinking about you all day, unable to wait to get home to you, kiss and touch you like he had so desperately craved to since he left the house this morning.

So you bet when he got home, he was straight upstairs like a bullet, finding you in bed propped up against the pillows like a goddess. You were reading, catching up since you hadn’t read it awhile. The last light of the sun got caught on your face, lighting you up like an angel send down to earth by the one and only god himself. rafe stood and admired you, before slowing making his way toward the bed.

“Hey baby.” He mumbled softly as he climbed into the sheets, a big arm reaching out and grabbing the book from your hand, setting it down on the beside table. He hovered above you, fists at the side of your head as he kept his weight off of you though. He stared to pepper featherlight kisses all over your face, covering every bit of skin he could.

“Hello rafe.” You replied to him, a soft giggle escaping your plump lips as you shut your eyes, enjoying his newly come presence and kisses all over your skin. “Everything okay?” You then asked, fingers moving to gently stroke up and down rafes large, meaty arms. He hummed for a second, lips resting on a certain spot on your face as he took in your touch.

“Everything’s good now that I’m with you.” He mumbled sweetly, going back to placing his kisses. You smiled, opening your eyes as he made a trail down your jawline, then down your neck. He was being sweet today, just desperate for your body against his, your voice lingering in his ears and scent lingering in his nose.

Rafes hands slowly moved down your sides, catching the end of your T-shirt before gliding his hands underneath the cotton fabric, running his hands all across the smooth and soft skin of your chest and stomach. “So soft.” He cooed, lips finding your pulse point and placing a light bite to the sensitive skin, making you let out a soft breath of pleasure.

You leaned back a little more, body falling deeply into the plush white sheets as you absorbed yourself into rafes touch, melting underneath his hands like they were fire to your wax body. His hands massaged your sides, so gently kneaded your breasts and ran everywhere they could, covering and mapping out every inch of your skin.

“Your gorgeous baby, like a god damn goddess.” He whispered, slowly starting to suckle on a certain spot on your neck he knew made you go wild. A soft moan crawled from the back of your throat, leaving your lips as his warm hands played around with your nipples. He loved your breasts, and cherished them like they were lumps of gold.

He then trailed his lips down lower, following a path that led kisses over your shoulders, right down to gentle suckles on your collar bone. That was a sweet spot for you, making more soft, barely audible noises fall through your lips. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, through touch and both through words.

rafes hands moved from your nipples, instead going to tug up the T-shirt you had on, shielding your gorgeous body from his yearning eyes. “Arms up.” He said smoothly, voice sending butterflies through your stomach. You obeyed and lifted up your arms, letting him discard the piece off cotton to some place on the floor.

The cold air brushed along your chest, making your nipples pert and goosebumps trail over your body. Rafe watched, admiring your body like a genuine piece of artwork. He leaned down, hot lips catching on your breast. You let out a moan, your own hands moving to thread through his hair. He hummed around the bud he was sucking, the vibrations making your eyes roll back.

He suckled and suckled, his calloused hand paying attention to your other breast by rolling the nub between his fingers, the added penetration to your nipples making a whimper fall from your now parted lips. He knew how to make you feel good, how to make sparks fly through your body. He took his time, he always took his time getting to know your body.

I gently nipped, tugging at your nipple with his teeth. You whined so sweetly, and rafe had to stop his eyes rolling back at the sound. He continued to suck, his free hand trailing from your breast to the waistband of your shorts, gently tugging them down your hips, pulling them down your smooth legs.

Rafe pulled back, admiring you for another minute before his hands moved to his belt and unbuckling it. He trailed the leather out from his belt loops, letting it fall to the floor with a thud. He made quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans, pulling them off along with his boxers as soon as he could.

“I’ll be gentle, don’t worry baby.” Rafe cooed, knowing how much you cherished such intimacy, and never was too fond of going rough. Rafe had a hard time with that at first, but quickly grew to accustom both himself and you, making you both feel pleasured. He placed a quick peck to your lips before grabbing his hardened cock, alining it with your dripping entrance.

He looked up at you, waiting for a little nod or a moan if confirmation. you stared, admiring his features for a second before nodding, giving him the green light to proceed. His hips moved up, then he slowly pushed in with a grunt. There wasn’t much resistance, your heat growing wet enough to accommodate him without much struggle.

“You feel so good, so so good.” He praised, leaning down and resting his head close to yours, starting to pant in your ear as he started up a slow, deep pace that had your eyes rolling back in an instant. Rafe wanted to show you how much you really meant to him, how much he loved you, and he was going to do it right. He was going to pleasure you, yet make you feel loved as he did so.

“Gonna worship you, yeah? Gonna show you how much you mean to me.” He whispered, his voice growing a little strained as he focused on giving you good, meaningful sex. His hips moved against yours, his lower abdomen brushing against your clit with each rock. You whimpered and moaned into his ear, which spurred rafe on, boosting his ego so high.

“You’re so perfect, you’re my girl, my perfect girl.” He grunted, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his hands glided down, rubbed your sides and massaging your hips instead of simply holding them. “Always making me feel good, making me a better man.” He added, his words making your heart melt and brain go fuzzy.

You felt a coil in your stomach tighten already, his praising words making your orgasm approach quicker. Rafe felt it too, and he wanted to give you an earth shattering orgasm. He caught your lips in a slow, sensual kiss, his lips moving in time with yours like a slow dance two lovers would do on a wedding day.

“Im gonna make you my wife one day, never ever letting you go.” He whispered against your lips, feeling your walls convulse and tense around him. He picked up the pace only slightly, trailing his lips down from your lips to your neck once again, and sucking on a sweet bit of flesh just behind your ear. “Let go for me, let me feel you come.” He mumbled, letting out a groan as you whined out louder than usual.

You felt so blissed out as your orgasm came over you, like waves upon waves crashing against a shore, the sound and feeling both beautiful to the person admiring. That person being rafe, pulling back just to watch your face scrunch up in delight, pleasure he made you feel. “That’s it, did so well.” He said, leaning down and resting his forehead against yours.

He felt himself about to come, and he eased his pace to cherish it, to remember this moment for as long as he lived. He waited until he was just about to cum, burying himself to the hilt inside out to say three certain words, ones that have been shared before, but not with such a deep meaning. “I love you.” He groaned out, his voice rough with emotion and pleasure as his hot seed spurted deep into your womb.

You moaned in time with him, gasping a little at the feeling of his warmth shooting into you. He stayed like that, taking time to catch his breath and making sure you felt okay before he pulled out, sitting on his knees as he admired his work. “You okay, baby?” He asked, looking at the blissful look on your face.

“I’ve never felt better.” You replied with a soft smile, starting to feel a little tried from your orgasm. Rafe smiled back before getting off of the bed, making his way into the conjoint bathroom, grabbing a damn look warm cloth and some painkillers from the cabinet of medicine.

He sauntered back in, sitting between your legs and gently wiping you clean, being extra careful since you were so sensitive. “There you go, all clean.” He said as he threw the dirty cloth into the laundry hamper, grabbing the glass of water from the beside table and the two painkillers in his hand. “Here, take them.” He said, letting you take the pills from his hand and pop them into your mouth before grabbing the water, washing away the medication

You two laid back in bed, rafe still whispering the sweetest words into your ear and placing soft kisses to your neck. His large arm was slung over your waist, holding you tightly against him for both warmth and comfort. This was all you needed, rest and rafe laying by your side. It was all he needed too, and that’s how you both ended up drifting away into a sleep, keeping each other close.

[system-to-the-madness]

The Traitor - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 3 089 Warnings: mentions of torture, war, injuries, betrayl Summary: When Zuko attempts to break out the Avatar from Zhao’s prison, he is forced to bring someone else along as well A/N: Can be read as a oneshot; Part One of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

“We are the sons and daughters of fire, the superior element! Until today only one thing stood in our path to victory, the Avatar. I am here to tell you that he is now my prisoner!”

Admiral Zhao’s voice was booming over the crowd before him, and as tempted as Zuko was to roll his eyes underneath the blue mask he was wearing, he held back, rather focusing on sneaking past the guards.

He had one chance, this chance, to steal the Avatar right from underneath Zhao’s nose, and keep that boy as a prisoner himself. Then all he would have to do was make his way back to the Fire Nation, and present the Avatar to his father, and he would have restored his honour. Everything would be the way it was supposed to be. He by his father’s side, the Avatar in the deepest, securest cell the Fire Nation had to offer, and soon the world under the Fire Lord’s command.

His steps were quick, and almost inaudible, as he ran along the high walls, climbed down a rope and crossed a yard. Even when he had lifted aside the lid to the sewage, and jumped down into the underground tunnels, the water around his boots barely made a sound as if it was siding with him. He had to be quick, quiet and leave no trace. He had to be like a ghost.

The first guard that crossed his way was taken out faster than the poor guy was able to comprehend. The second guard, alarmed by the helmet Zuko had kicked out from behind a corner, followed suit as he tied him up and bound him, so he was hanging from the ceiling. As two more guards came to check, what the commotion was about, he attacked them from where he had hidden between some pipes on the ceiling. The last guard was taken out by a bucket full of water.

A moment later, he was able to slip into the cell, in which the Avatar was held. Pathetic, really, Zuko thought to himself. All this trouble just for a small boy dressed in oranges and yellows. Had that child really been able to put him through so much trouble? Swiftly he pulled his swords, ignoring the fearful screams of the Avatar at the action, and severed the chains holding him up. Surprised brown eyes looked up at him, as the Avatar was rubbing his uninjured wrists. Two more swings with his swords and the shackles around the boy’s wrists and ankles fell to the floor uselessly.

“Who are you?” The Avatar’s voice sounded so young, Zuko thought to himself, already turning to make his way out of the cell again. There was no time to lose; they had to leave immediately. “What’s going on? Are you here to rescue us?”

Instead of answering, Zuko simply pushed the door open and motioned for the Avatar to follow him.

“I'll take that as a yes."

Zuko quickly walked past the tied-up guards, when he heard the light footsteps of the boy catch up to him.

“We need to find my friend,” the Avatar said, urgency thick in his voice. “(Y/n) was captured along with me! I can’t leave without her- My frogs!”

The Avatar’s even footsteps halted, and when Zuko turned around, he found the boy kneeling on the floor, trying to catch some half-frozen frogs that desperately tried escaping his grabby hands.

“Come back! And stop thawing out!”

This time Zuko did not suppress the urge to roll his eyes, and instead walked back to the Avatar, grabbing him by the collar, and dragging him along.

“Wait! My friends need to suck on those frogs! And we need to find (y/n)! Hey, put me down!”

Zuko was hit by a gust of wind, knocking him forwards a step and making him drop the Avatar.

“I said: We need to find (y/n)!”

By all the spirits, this kid was annoying.

Zuko shot him a glance, as if to say ‘then where is she?’, and sure enough the Avatar turned and raced down another corridor, Zuko following him, while he tried to remember if he knew your name. He had run into the Avatar and his little team of run-aways before. There were the boy and the girl from the Water Tribe, and of course that Sky Bison. But there was another girl, too. Zuko had never paid any attention to her, and her clothes didn’t give away where she came from. Maybe the Earth Kingdom, or a remote region of the Fire Nation even.

Traitor.

If she was Fire Nation, why was she helping the Avatar? And if she was a traitor, why should he free her? It was only another risk, one that would put his whole mission in jeopardy. But he needed the Avatar to follow him out of the base without making a fuzz. And for that, apparently, he needed to free this girl. He would simply knock her out after they had made it past the walls. Then he’d grab the Avatar and he’d be back on track with his plan.

The Avatar led him to another block of cells, these unguarded, but behind every door, there was the groaning and complaining of hungry and beaten men. Behind every door except for one. While the Avatar had kept walking, Zuko stopped in front of the only door behind which it was quiet. Maybe the cell was empty, but his instincts told him differently. Getting on his tiptoes, he spied through the bars in the door into the cell, and sure enough he saw the small, curled-up form of a girl laying on the ground.

Not hesitating for a moment, he pulled his swords and hurled them against the locks keeping the door closed. The clash of metal against metal alarmed the Avatar, who came running back to his side, but by the time he reached the door, Zuko had already stepped into the cell.

You were slowly sitting up, clearly irritated at the sudden noise, and even in the twilight Zuko could make out the bruises on your face and arms. The soldiers had beaten you. Cowards, honourless cowards. You were no bender, you barely seemed to pose any threat as it was, otherwise he’d remember you better from his previous run-ins with the Avatar, but they still had beaten you.

“What-”

Before you could ask what was going on, or protest, he had grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. From up close, he could tell you were about his age, maybe even a little younger, and if it hadn’t been for the bruises on your face, and the dirt crusting your hair, you would have even been beautiful.

Then he saw the emblem of the Fire Nation dangling on the thin leather necklace you wore, and any sense of attraction vanished as quickly as it had flickered to life. You were Fire Nation, and you betrayed your country by helping the Avatar. He should knock you out on the spot and let you rot in this stinking cell. Who cared what the guards did to you?

In that moment a strangled cry of joy sounded from behind him, and like a lightning of orange and yellow the Avatar shot past him, practically wrapping himself around you.

“I found you,” the Avatar yelped, quickly letting go of you when you began swaying under the sudden impact of your friend. “This nice, masked man here is saving us! He’s just not very talkative.”

You were clearly dazed, from pain, a lack of water or food, Zuko wasn’t sure. But still you made him squirm in his boots as you stood up as straight as possible and took in his appearance for a moment. You weren’t as tall as him, but something in your eyes made him realize that maybe you weren’t as harmless as he had believed.

“Nice, masked stranger, hm,” you questioned, your voice raspy, and you swayed again.

Damn traitor. Who did you think you were, judging him like this?

Ignoring the racing thoughts in his mind, Zuko turned back to the door, leaving the cell without another word.

“We need to go,” the Avatar told you, and behind him, Zuko could hear two sets of footsteps following him, the light steps of the Avatar and your heavier, almost shuffling steps. You really were in bad shape. He knew it had been a bad idea to go save you. You’d only slow them down.

Together you were creeping through the corridors, back into the canalization system. As Zuko climbed out, he didn’t look back to see whether you were following. He could only hope the Avatar had enough sense of self-preservation to leave you behind, should you not even be able to climb out of a shaft like this. But a moment later, as he was standing pressed against a wall, spying around the corner, you came to a halt next to him, followed by the Avatar. Your movements were still not as fluid as his own, but you seemed not as sluggish anymore as when he had found you in the cell. Maybe the movement and the fear that was doubtlessly cursing through your veins gave you the energy to keep going.

Zuko motioned to the wall, where he had left behind the rope which he had used to lower himself into the yard, and following on his heels, you and the Avatar ran after him towards it.

“(Y/n), go first,” the Avatar encouraged, making Zuko want to shake him. Didn’t he see? You were unimportant, a traitor at that, and the slowest of the group. If anything, you should go last, so it was easiest to leave you behind.

But before even a sound of protest was leaving Zuko’s lips, you had already grabbed the rope, and pulled yourself into the air with surprising speed, immediately followed by the Avatar. He wasn’t going to get rid of you so easily, was he?

You had made it almost half-way up the wall, when suddenly an alarm rang and just a moment later a guard appeared over the edge of the wall, cutting the rope. For a moment Zuko was in free fall, having just enough time to realise that a fall from this hight would mean a few broken bones at best, when a gust of wind caught him, you and the Avatar, before you fell the last inches to the ground.

Quickly looking around, trying not to let the sudden plummet towards the ground get into his head, Zuko pointed towards the still open gates, immediately taking off with you and the Avatar close on his heels.

“Stay close to me,” the Avatar instructed and overtook Zuko and you, continuing the sprint towards the gate that was slowly closing.

A group of soldiers who had tried blocking your way simply got blasted aside by the Avatar, and Zuko couldn’t help but shoot you a glance to see your reaction. But your eyes were only focused on the gate, following the Avatar, as if you had seen him blast people out of the way a hundred times. You probably had.

That was the moment two soldiers got Zuko from the side, and even the Avatar had to grab a weapon, swinging it around, using it to create air blasts. For a moment, and with a reasoning Zuko couldn’t even explain to himself, he searched for you, fully prepared to jump to your aid, should you need it.

Instead, he found you standing over the crumbled bodies of three guards, who were groaning on the ground. In your hands, you were holding two swords, and Zuko couldn’t help but freeze. A blast of air picked up your hair, gently playing around it, as you stood proudly over your defeated enemies. Nothing seemed to be left of the sluggishness from just a few minutes ago, when Zuko had pulled you to your feet in that cell. Now, you seemed to be on high alert, perfectly aware of what you were doing, and ready for a fight. There was a light glimmering in your eyes that made Zuko wonder how he hadn’t taken notice of you before; after all he had run into you several times already. But something about the way you stood now, both feet securely anchored to the ground, this spark of defiance and determination in your eyes, fingers closed around weapons you clearly knew how to handle… for a moment Zuko couldn’t help but think how perfect you looked. The thought disappeared as quickly as it had come to him. You were a traitor to the Fire Nation, despicable, cowardly, disloyal. Before he could continue the list of negative attributes he associated with you, he picked up on the group of soldiers that were moving in from the side: Fire Benders.

Quickly pushing himself between them and you, he began attacking them with his own flames, only noticing from the corner of his by the mask limited vision, that you had picked the fight back up again. He was right in the process of firing a blast at a couple of soldiers, when suddenly a wave of fire was rolling towards him. No, not towards him, towards his left side- where you stood. Reacting faster than he would have thought possible himself, he grabbed your arm, his fingers closing around your biceps underneath that flimsical shirt you had been made to dress into as a prisoner, and quickly he pulled you aside, using his other hand to send a quick interval of fire balls back towards the attackers.

The chocked cry that suddenly reached his ears made his heart freeze over and the short shaven hair in his neck stand up. Had he been too slow? Had you been hit by the blast anyway? When he swivelled around, the smell of burnt flesh reached his nose, making sour stomach acid burn in the back of his throat. Small flames were licking at the fabric of your shirt, and when he pulled his hand away as if he had been the one who had been burnt, a fresh burn wound in the shape of his hand was wrapped around your arm. He had been in the middle of a blast when he had reached for you, burning you while trying to save you from being hit by the fire of the soldiers.

Quickly he drew in the flames on your shirt, extinguishing them, but the damage to your skin was done. He had tried to save you and instead he had burnt you. What a laughable metaphor for his whole life. But still something inside his chest tightened up, wound so tight he wasn’t sure it would ever come undone again. He shouldn’t care, he told himself as his eyes flickered to your pain distorted face. You were a traitor, a means to an end, you would be left behind the moment he and the Avatar had made it past the walls.

But still- he couldn’t help but wonder how you held yourself together. Burn-wounds were some of the most painful wounds there were, he knew that, and yours wasn’t exactly small. Still, no more sound slipped over your lips, and even though you had dropped the sword in your left hand, you were ready to keep fighting with the sword in your right.

But before it came to that, your attackers were blast away by an air current, and the Avatar came running.

“(Y/n), are you hurt,” he asked, his voice filled with worry. Envy spread in Zuko’s stomach. Nobody ever worried about him like that.

“It’s nothing,” you replied, quickly covering up your wound, hiding it from the Avatar.

But now your luck had finally run out, it seemed. You were with your backs to the closed gate, Zuko and you the last barrier between the approaching soldiers and the Avatar.

“Hold your fire!” The voice belonged to Zhao, who came stepping past the Fire Benders, that were ready for the final attack. “The Avatar must be captured alive!”

Quickly assessing the situation, Zuko grabbed the Avatar, pulling the boy so his back was to Zuko’s front, the blade of one of his swords dangerously close to cutting into the thin skin of this neck. At his side, he could tell you were moving to attack him, no hesitation in your movements when you realized he was threatening your friend’s life, but before you had even fully pointed your sword at him, Zuko had dropped one of his own, and held his open palm right into your face. One wrong move on your end, and he could blast your head away in a ball of flame. He wouldn’t, but you didn’t know that.

It seemed like the wordless demand Zuko was uttering as he stared over to Zhao was understood, because after a moment of internal debating, the Admiral pressed out: “Open the gate.”

Behind them, the gate opened, heavy metal running against the earthy ground, and Zuko dragged the Avatar backwards, motioning you to come with them. The expression on your face was one of pure disgust and hatred as you stared at the mask that was covering his face, but followed his instruction. Why was he even taking you along? He could just leave you behind now, then he wouldn’t have to deal with you later. But then again, the Admiral would start getting suspicious if he only took the Avatar and not also his friend. It would make it too obvious that he was after the Avatar. If he also took you, it would seem like one of your allies had come to your rescue. So, all in all, it would be better to take both of you.

At least that was what Zuko told himself as he was guiding the Avatar backwards, away from the slowly closing gate. You were watching each of his movements, as if you were looking for an opening to attack him. He had already hurt you; you knew what his flames were capable of, and still you were ready to take him on in a fight, just to defend your friend. It seemed as if while you were a traitor, perhaps you were not a coward after all.

That was his last proper thought before something silver shot through the night, and hit him in the head, knocking him out on the spot.

Next Chapter (04. Oct. 2024) | Masterlist

Tags (it seems like some of the tags aren't working, sorry...): @ghoststookourlifes @ashcal99 @4acoffee @pxrplewalnxt @toomuchboredd @banished--prince @oddobsessionbutotay @makik0 @joysflower @hamdehlesmis @mitski9328373 @angstylittleb1tch @lovecalll

[dilemmaontwolegs]

have you seen the video of the firefighter ice bath challenge where the firefighter sat in the ice bath with the lady and held her for how long they were in there. Can you write one where it’s Carlos x Y/N and they’re both drivers. Y/N has to do an ice bath, but she HATES being cold, so Carlos climbs in behind her and hugs her to his body and comforts her for however long they’re in there!?

Chilly Chilli || CS55

Singapore was hot. The heat you could handle but it was the humidity that was killing you. You would take another shower but the second you hopped out you began to sweat again. It was an unending cycle.

“She needs to lower her core temperature, but she’s refusing to get in the ice bath.”

You narrowed your eyes at your personal trainer as he snitched to Carlos. Your boyfriend immediately turned his whole focus on you, still sweating in your fireproofs after free practice ended. The look of disapproval had you shifting on your feet and you pointed angrily at the bath. “It’s fucking cold.”

“That’s the point, cariño,” Carlos chuckled, grabbing the zip at his collar and dragging it down his body. “Stop being stubborn.”

You watched with intrigue as he stripped down to his underwear and reached for your zip next. The blue William’s suit landed on his red Ferrari one before he stepped into the icy water and you noticed your PT had at some point discreetly left the room.

You bit your lip at the sharp intake of air he took and watched him swallow deeply as he sunk into the ice before opening his arms. “Come on, amor, it’s not so bad.”

It was inevitable that you would end up in the cold water but it didn’t seem as bad a fate to accept when you would be able to have Carlos’ arms wrapped around you. It didn’t stop your body reacting with wracking shivers and chattering teeth when you eventually stepped in between his legs and plunged neck deep with him.

“Fuck!” you hissed as your breath froze in your lungs and your ribs failed to expand for a few heartbeats. “I’d rather sweat.”

“We can do that later,” he teased in your ear as he settled you onto his lap and encompassed you in a tight hug, “if you behave now.”

You squirmed to get as close as possible to his warmth in the frigid water and tipped your head back to his shoulder. Looking up under your lashes you distracted yourself from the cold with his handsome features and couldn’t help but ask, “Behave good, or behave bad?”

“Cariño,” he groaned as you wriggled more. “As much as I want you, this is still an ice bath.”

Your brows punched together before you saw the pained look on his face and realised what he meant. “Oh,” you giggled, reaching between your bodies to confirm your thought was correct. “It’s really cold, huh? If only I knew some place warm and wet.”

“Your mind is filthy, amor,” he hummed as his fingers slipped over your body and between your legs. “I love it.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Prison-tech is a scam - and a harbinger of your future

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

Here's how the shitty technology adoption curve works: when you want to roll out a new, abusive technology, look for a group of vulnerable people whose complaints are roundly ignored and subject them to your bad idea. Sand the rough edges off on their bodies and lives. Normalize the technological abuse you seek to inflict.

Next: work your way up the privilege gradient. Maybe you start with prisoners, then work your way up to asylum seekers, parolees and mental patients. Then try it on kids and gig workers. Now, college students and blue collar workers. Climb that curve, bit by bit, until you've reached its apex and everyone is living with your shitty technology:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Prisoners, asylum seekers, drug addicts and other marginalized people are the involuntary early adopters of every form of disciplinary technology. They are the leading indicators of the ways that technology will be ruining your life in the future. They are the harbingers of all our technological doom.

Which brings me to Minnesota.

Minnesota is one of the first states make prison phone-calls free. This is a big deal, because prison phone-calls are a big business. Prisoners are literally a captive audience, and the telecommunications sector is populated by sociopaths, bred and trained to spot and exploit abusive monopoly opportunities. As states across America locked up more and more people for longer and longer terms, the cost of operating prisons skyrocketed, even as states slashed taxes on the rich and turned a blind eye to tax evasion.

This presented telco predators with an unbeatable opportunity: they approached state prison operators and offered them a bargain: "Let us take over the telephone service to your carceral facility and we will levy eye-watering per-minute charges on the most desperate people in the world. Their families – struggling with one breadwinner behind bars – will find the money to pay this ransom, and we'll split the profits with you, the cash-strapped, incarceration-happy state government."

This was the opening salvo, and it turned into a fantastic little money-spinner. Prison telco companies and state prison operators were the public-private partnership from hell. Prison-tech companies openly funneled money to state coffers in the form of kickbacks, even as they secretly bribed prison officials to let them gouge their inmates and inmates' families:

https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2019/02/mississippi-corrections-corruption-bribery-private-prison-hustle/

As digital technology got cheaper and prison-tech companies got greedier, the low end of the shitty tech adoption curve got a lot more crowded. Prison-tech companies started handing out "free" cheap Android tablets to prisoners, laying the groundwork for the next phase of the scam. Once prisoners had tablets, prisons could get rid of phones altogether and charge prisoners – and their families – even higher rates to place calls right to the prisoner's cell.

Then, prisons could end in-person visits and replace them with sub-skype, postage-stamp-sized videoconferencing, at rates even higher than the voice-call rates. Combine that with a ban on mailing letters to and from prisoners – replaced with a service that charged even higher rates to scan mail sent to prisoners, and then charged prisoners to download the scans – and prison-tech companies could claim to be at the vanguard of prison safety, ending the smuggling of dope-impregnated letters and other contraband into the prison system.

Prison-tech invented some wild shit, like the "digital stamp," a mainstay of industry giant Jpay, which requires prisoners to pay for "stamps" to send or receive a "page" of email. If you're keeping score, you've realized that this is a system where prisoners and their families have to pay for calls, "in-person" visits, handwritten letters, and email.

It goes on: prisons shuttered their libraries and replaced them with ebook stores that charged 2-4 times the prices you'd pay for books on the outside. Prisoners were sold digital music at 200-300% markups relative to, say, iTunes.

Remember, these are prisoners: locked up for years or decades, decades during which their families scraped by with a breadwinner behind bars. Prisoners can earn money, sure – as much as $0.89/hour, doing forced labor for companies that contract with prisons for their workforce:

https://www.prisonpolicy.org/blog/2017/04/10/wages/

Of course, there's the odd chance for prisoners to make really big bucks – $2-5/day. All they have to do is "volunteer" to fight raging wildfires:

https://www.hcn.org/articles/climate-desk-wildfire-california-incarcerated-firefighters-face-dangerous-work-low-pay-and-covid19/

So those $3 digital music tracks are being bought by people earning as little as $0.10/hour. Which makes it especially galling when prisons change prison-tech suppliers, whereupon all that digital music is deleted, wiping prisoners' media collection out – forever (literally, for prisoners serving life terms):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2018/08/captive-audience-how-floridas-prisons-and-drm-made-113m-worth-prisoners-music

Let's recap: America goes on a prison rampage, locking up ever-larger numbers of people for ever-longer sentences. Once inside, prisoners had their access to friends and family rationed, along with access to books, music, education and communities outside. This is very bad for prisoners – strong ties to people outside is closely tied to successful reentry – but it's great for state budgets, and for wardens, thanks to kickbacks:

https://www.prisonpolicy.org/blog/2021/12/21/family_contact/

Back to Minnesota: when Minnesota became the fourth state in the USA where the state, not prisoners, would pay for prison calls, it seemed like they were finally breaking the vicious cycle in which every dollar ripped off of prisoners' family paid 40 cents to the state treasury:

https://www.kaaltv.com/news/no-cost-phone-calls-for-those-incarcerated-in-minnesota/

But – as Katya Schwenk writes for The Lever – what happened next is "a case study in how prison communication companies and their private equity owners have managed to preserve their symbiotic relationship with state corrections agencies despite reforms — at the major expense of incarcerated people and their families":

https://www.levernews.com/wall-streets-new-prison-scam/

Immediately after the state ended the ransoming of prisoners' phone calls, the private-equity backed prison-tech companies that had dug their mouth-parts into the state's prison jacked up the price of all their other digital services. For example, the price of a digital song in a Minnesota prison just jumped from $1.99 to $2.36 (for prisoners earning as little as $0.25/hour).

As Paul Wright from the Human Rights Defense Center told Schwenk, "The ideal world for the private equity owners of these companies is every prisoner has one of their tablets, and every one of those tablets is hooked up to the bank account of someone outside of prison that they can just drain."

The state's new prison-tech supplier promises to double the amount of kickbacks it pays the state each year, thanks to an aggressive expansion into games, money transfers, and other "services." The perverse incentive isn't hard to spot: the more these prison-tech companies charge, the more kickbacks they pay to the prisons.

The primary prison-tech company for Minnesota's prisons is Viapath (nee Global Tel Link), which pioneered price-gouging on in-prison phone calls. Viapath has spent the past two decades being bought and sold by different private equity firms: Goldman Sachs, Veritas Capital, and now the $46b/year American Securities.

Viapath competes with another private equity-backed prison-tech giant: Aventiv (Securus, Jpay), owned by Platinum Equity. Together, Viapath and Aventiv control 90% of the prison-tech market. These companies have a rap-sheet as long as your arm: bribing wardens, stealing from prisoners and their families, and recording prisoner-attorney calls. But these are the kinds of crimes the state punishes with fines and settlements – not by terminating its contracts with these predators.

These companies continue to flout the law. Minnesota's new free-calls system bans prison-tech companies from paying kickbacks to prisons and prison-officials for telcoms services, so the prison-tech companies have rebranded ebooks, music, and money-transfers as non-communications products, and the kickbacks are bigger than ever.

This is the bottom end of the shitty technology adoption curve. Long before Ubisoft started deleting games that you'd bought a "perpetual license" for, prisoners were having their media ganked by an uncaring corporation that knew it was untouchable:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIqyvquTEVU

Revoking your media, charging by the byte for messaging, confiscating things in the name of security and then selling them back to you – these are all tactics that were developed in the prison system, refined, normalized, and then worked up the privilege gradient. Prisoners are living in your technology future. It's just not evenly distributed – yet.

As it happens, prison-tech is at the heart of my next novel, The Bezzle, which comes out on Feb 20. This is a followup to last year's bestselling Red Team Blues, which introduced the world to Marty Hench, a two-fisted, hard-bitten, high-tech forensic accountant who's spent 40 years busting Silicon Valley finance scams:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

In The Bezzle, we travel with Marty back to the mid 2000s (Hench is a kind of tech-scam Zelig and every book is a standalone tale of high-tech ripoffs from a different time and place). Marty's trying to help his old pal Scott Warms, a once-high-flying founder who's fallen prey to California's three-strikes law and is now facing decades in a state pen. As bad as things are, they get worse when the prison starts handing out "free" tablet and closing down the visitation room, the library, and the payphones.

This is an entry to the thing I love most about the Hench novels: the opportunity to turn all this dry, financial skullduggery into high-intensity, high-stakes technothriller plot. For me, Marty Hench is a tool for flensing the scam economy of all its layers of respectability bullshit and exposing the rot at the core.

It's not a coincidence that I've got a book coming out in a week that's about something that's in the news right now. I didn't "predict" this current turn – I observed it. The world comes at you fast and technology news flutters past before you can register it. Luckily, I have a method for capturing this stuff as it happens:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Writing about tech issues that are long-simmering but still in the periphery is a technique I call "predicting the present." It's the technique I used when I wrote Little Brother, about out-of-control state surveillance of the internet. When Snowden revealed the extent of NSA spying in 2013, people acted as though I'd "predicted" the Snowden revelations:

https://www.wired.com/story/his-writing-radicalized-young-hackers-now-he-wants-to-redeem-them/

But Little Brother and Snowden's own heroic decision have a common origin: the brave whistleblower Mark Klein, who walked into EFF's offices in 2006 and revealed that he'd been ordered by his boss at AT&T to install a beam-splitter into the main fiber trunk so that the NSA could illegally wiretap the entire internet:

https://www.eff.org/document/public-unredacted-klein-declaration

Mark Klein inspired me to write Little Brother – but despite national press attention, the Klein revelations didn't put a stop to NSA spying. The NSA was still conducting its lawless surveillance campaign in 2013, when Snowden, disgusted with NSA leadership for lying to Congress under oath, decided to blow the whistle again:

https://apnews.com/article/business-33a88feb083ea35515de3c73e3d854ad

The assumption that let the NSA get away with mass surveillance was that it would only be weaponized against the people at the bottom of the shitty technology adoption curve: brown people, mostly in other countries. The Snowden revelations made it clear that these were just the beginning, and sure enough, more than a decade later, we have data-brokers sucking up billions in cop kickbacks to enable warrantless surveillance, while virtually following people to abortion clinics, churches, and protests. Mass surveillance is chugging its way up the shitty tech adoption curve with no sign of stopping.

Like Little Brother, The Bezzle is intended as a kind of virtual flythrough of what life is like further down on that curve – a way for readers who have too much agency to be in the crosshairs of a company like Viapath or Avently right now to wake up before that kind of technology comes for them, and to inspire them to take up the cause of the people further down the curve who are mired in it.

The Bezzle is an intense book, but it's also a very fun story – just like Little Brother. It's a book that lays bare the internal technical workings of so many scams, from multi-level marketing to real-estate investment trusts, from music royalty theft to prison-tech, in the course of an ice-cold revenge plot that keeps twisting to the very last page.

It'll drop in six days. I hope you'll check it out:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

[xeeljii]

dry humping joost is peak. Shout out to dry humping joost gotta be one of my fav tropes here.

BIG SHOUT OUT TO DRY HUMPING! the dry humping community is thriving we grow each day lol (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

anyways let me share a snippet since I'm itching to post

WARNING! Explicit RPF! 

CW: 18+, f! reader, dry humping duh, alcohol.

also this is a prequel to SHE'S MY COLLAR which someone asked about some time ago ask and u shall receive <3

“Come here.” Joost grabs at your chin gently pulling you closer. He takes a long deep drag of the cigarette, lets it fill his lungs, he gently puts pressure on your jaw with his fingers so you will open your mouth and you do. He is half a breath away from your mouth, you can feels his heat, he opens his mouth slightly and pushes the smoke into yours softly, slowly, you can feel his lips ghost over yours. You inhale, so relaxed under his touch, it feels so good you want to close your eyes and melt on his hand right now but you also want to stare at his beautiful face, the way his eyes seem impossibly blue and the alluring almost white eyelashes that adorn them, all made more enticing by the small cloud of smoke that covers both of you. 

Up close you see the beauty mark right under his lip, it decorates his face perfectly, you become hyper focused on it and before you can stop yourself you are crashing lips first right into it. You place a soft peck on it, he feels his heart stop then you move upwards to actually reach his lips. He feels perfect, he tastes perfect, it is better than you could have imagined.

You chase after his touch, he moves his hand to your waist to hold you closer, you feel him breathing in an out, chests almost touching, it is addicting. Your lips move in uncoordinated harmony but it feels so good. The kiss lasts too little before you have to pull away slightly to catch your breath, you see a string of spit connecting your lips it makes you blush even deeper if that is possible, somewhere in the middle of it all you had climbed onto his lap and he had let you. You are looking down at him, stunned with how gorgeous he looks, lips slightly red from the kissings and shiny perhaps from your own lipgloss.

He puts the cigarette out on an ashtray nearby, now both his hands are at your waist, thumbs caressing softly waiting on your next move. You go back for more, feeling bolder now seeing the hunger in his eyes that you imagine matches the one in yours. His lips are soft and little chapped, they taste distantly like Bacardi and something sweet, the cigarette is there but more than anything it taste like him, you chase after it, push your tongue in his mouth desperate for it, he is just as far gone as you sucks lightly at the wet muscle and you moan in response, his hands go to the small of your back and then to your ass to pull you closer, he feels the fat there so delicious under his fingers when he kneads his hands into the soft muscle. You mewl into his mouth, this feels so fast and like time has stopped making you dizzy. 

You keep kissing, moaning into each others mouths, sucking at each others tongues in reckless abandon. Your hips started humping against his at some point, you feel heat building up in your core and keep chasing after it with soft little movements, he smiles against your kiss, feels your teeth knock together. You are so drunk,  he wonders if you would be embarrassed to know what you are up to, he is now almost lying against the side of the couch, it digs on his back uncomfortably but he can’t be bothered by it when he has such a beautiful vision losing herself on top of him.

He grabs harder at your ass and pulls you up towards his stomach so you will stop torturing him a little with your grinding right on his uncomfortably hard cock. Your little whimpers sound so delicious you are so lost on it, you keep kissing at his lips at his jaw down towards his neck, feel his pulse right under your tongue. He keeps moving your head to reach your lips, seems to be wanting to eat you alive, you open your eyes and you see his pretty face full of desire, full of need, for you. There is a hunger inside you rapidly growing and soon it has you feeling famished. He can feel you trashing against the planes of  his stomach looking for any friction, he can’t really tell if you are unaware or so unashamed in your state that you can’t stop yourself. But you are so desperate for him and he feels like a boiling pot about to explode so he uses the last of his self restrain to tell you, almost beg you.

“Have some mercy on me schat, you are driving me crazy.”

[aphroditestempleimagines]

My girl

Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!reader - 18+

Words: 971

Warnings: Care, bath, Massage, Oral (fem!receiving), fingering, aftercare, established relationship (married), praise, fluff & smut combined

Summary: You had a long day and your husband decided to take care of you.

Author's note: It's Nanamin, what can I say?

Colour: very soft and loving like a warm hug

You close the door behind you. It's finally over. You're home. You take off your pumps and drag your feet over the soft carpet of your living room. You do not want to sit with your outside clothes on the couch, but the need to lie down has been grown exponentially ever since you were asked to work overtime. On top of that, things are work were not the best for some time now, the project you had been currently working on being thrown on the rails every other day.

"Y/n?", your husband's voice comes from the kitchen. You smile at the sound. There is nothing more soothing than hearing your name leave his lips. Behind your half-closed lids you watch his shadow approach you. His arms wraps around you as he kneels next to the couch. "Hey", he concerns, "Everything alright? I was worried"

"I bloody hate overtime", you bury your face in one of the pillows.

He chuckles before placing a kiss on your forehead. "You and me both baby", his hand rubs your back. He takes your hand and plants another kiss on your knuckles before leaning close to your ear. "How does bath and dinner sound?", he kisses your cheek.

You give him a tired smile. "That'd be lovely", you place your hand over his.

He smiles. "I'll draw some water. You just go get yourself out of these clothes"

With that, he lifts himself up and disappears into the bathroom. You rub your tired body as you force yourself to stand. Those soft pecks on your skin from him were enough to motivate you to continue. You take off of your shirt easily, yet as you try to wiggle your way out of your trousers you lose your balance and fall onto the vanity's chair.

"What happened?", the commotion has Kento running in the bedroom. He spots you immediately. "Are you alright?", he reaches for you.

"Yes just tripped", you reassure him.

His sleeves are rolled up, his collar undone. His golden hair falls in front of his blue eyes, his glasses nowhere to be seen. He looks deep into your eyes as he kneels in front of you. His hand cups your cheek as he continues to ask about you.

"Kento", you feel the feverish warmth of lust overcome your senses. You are aware of the blush creeping on your cheeks while you lean in to claim his lips as your own.

He takes a deep breath as he reciprocates. You climb down from the chair to his lap, weaving your hands behind his back. His touch is exhilarating as it moves from your hips to your shoulders, his kiss deepening at the sound of your sighs.

"I thought you were tired", he whispers against your lips.

"I am", you say in the drunken tone of your drowsiness, "You just look so hot right now"

You feel his lips curve against yours. He picks you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the edge of your bed. "How am I supposed to react when you say such things?", his hands caress your cheeks before he climbs down to the foot of the bed. He hikes your legs over his shoulders. His kisses mark the path along the stretch marks of your thighs. "Seems my wife is particularly needy today", he pushed your panties to the side, "I'll have to take care of her".

He trails his kisses closer and closer to your folds until his tongue dives between them. Your fingers thread through his golden locks as you pull him closer, a soft moan escaping your chest. Your legs push him against you as he sucks on your bud, his digit slowly entering your walls as he observes your flushed face. You can feel him smile as you call out his name. He plants a few shallow bites on the soft skin of your thigh.

"Is my girl feeling good?", he scissors his fingers inside your walls.

"Mhm", you bite your lip.

You gasp as he inserts a third finger inside you. Your thighs squeeze him as he sets a faster pace. The sound of his own moans vibrates along your walls, setting your heart ablaze. You gasp for breath. Your hips tremble and lift up as your back curves in pleasure.

"Kento! Ah, right-right there!", your hand pushes his head against you as tears prick the corners of your eyes.

He hums against your clit which does all the more to push you over the edge. He holds you high as you ride your orgasm until you collapse, panting on the bed. He climbs up to kiss your lips.

"How was that?", he asks between kisses.

"So good Kento", you pant, "So so good"

He smiles. His hand cups your cheek. His lips caress your forehead. "Let's get you to the bath, alright?", he rasps. You would protest, but the warmth of his embrace as he carries you in his arms makes your eyes even heavier than they already are. "I'm gonna go make dinner alright?", he kisses your cheek.

You reach for his arm as he tries to get up. "Can we please order?", you ask, guiding his hand around you, "I just...I just need you with me right now".

He lets out a deep breath. He sits behind the tub, his arms wrapping around your body as he rests his chin on your shoulder. He kisses your supple skin as he drags the loofa over your torso, covering it with bubbles. "More than rough day huh?", he asks. You nod, pulling his arms tighter around you. "It's gonna be alright, my love", he holds you as if he is scared to let go, "We'll get through this together, like all the rest"

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{Xavier takes you shopping and comes to a realization. Zayne has a nightmare. And Rafayel gets a treat.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 5: Shopping

Saturday finally comes, to your palpable relief. You’ve never been so excited to go grocery shopping– or at least, you were. Until you see a neatly hand-written note left for you on the kitchen counter.

Y/N,

I apologize but one of my patients needed emergency surgery early this morning. I won’t be able to accompany you shopping. Please allow Xavier to chaperone. I will see you for supper. 

Zayne

You sigh and fold the note, putting both it and the credit card with it into your pocket. Zayne’s penmanship is hasty but legible, and so distinctly him. Especially when doctors have that bad rep for having illegible handwriting. 

You’re not sure what the game plan is. Should you look for Xavier? Or should you take some initiative and go to the store by yourself? Zayne texted you a list the day after you started here and you’ve added a few things in the short time you’ve been working. It’s funny to see the favorite for each of them listed, and you spent one of your breaks trying to guess which one of them ordered what. 

You assumed the tea and peppermint candy is from Zayne. The spicy chips and ‘ Chilean Sea Bass (NOT FROZEN)’ and the three other types and very specific fish are Rafayel. Xavier and Sylus are harder to guess for, but you assumed the protein powder was for Xavier (he’s a hunter after all. Needs the protein). And the chunky peanut butter must be for Sylus. 

It’s just guesses, but it makes you feel a little closer to these new roommates– employers? What are they to you exactly? Certainly not friends, though Rafayel likes to play hot and cold enough that maybe he’s an enemy. 

You put on your coat, the borrowed gloves and scarf, and tap away on your phone in search of the nearest store. 

Unluckily for you, it’s over a twenty minute one-way walk, and that’s to a convenience store. Not even a proper grocery. You scowl, remembering the frigid temperatures and that your bike is still parked on the other side of the city. Not that you could do a good grocery haul on a motorbike anyway. It’s not too far of a walk for nicer weather, but you worry about the state of your toes and lugging all the food in the snow. 

Luckily, for you, Xavier appears. Tucking a coat over his shoulders and adjusting the collar. He wears a deep grey-blue coat that’s cut just below the waist with shiny gold buttons.His gloves are white, along with his scarf, and you ponder– who is styling these men?

“Are you prepared?” He asks like you're heading into battle. 

“Where do you normally shop? I found a convenience store but it’s over twenty minutes walking.” 

 “I can drive us.” He answers as he pressed the elevator button. “There’s one store that the others insist on. It’s called…” He pulls out a piece of paper from his coat and reads it, “...Harrison’s Grocery.”

“Did Zayne leave you a note too?” You chuckle as the two of you descend to the garage. 

“He wanted to make sure I took you to the right place.” Xavier lets you exit the elevator first and you turn to wait for him. His expression is passive, neither seeming irritated nor pleased to be assigned your babysitter for the day.

“I appreciate your help. I promise when the weather is nicer I can go myself.” You assure, waiting for him to show you which car is his. 

“It’s fine.” He replied, sliding up to a sleek chrome number, the most modern of the collection. A sleek silhouette with little breaking up the single line from bumper to bumper. 

Xavier barely beats you to the door handle, opening it for you. You’re a little startled by the chivalry but smile gratefully as you climb in— he even hovers his hand near your head to make sure you don’t hit it. Such a subtle action, but it makes your stomach flip. 

When Xavier starts to drive, you're grateful to see the snow has finally stopped. The car is eerily quiet, and the soft whirring when he accelerates tells you it’s entirely electric. A stealthy vehicle for a peculiar hunter. 

While the days of petrol and diesel engines are gone, a fully electric vehicle is almost vintage. Hyper-efficient hydrogen engines are the norm now, or vehicles that run on protocore synthesized fuel. 

It takes almost fifteen minutes to get to the grocery, and you take note of the turns he takes so you can take them too. And when you arrive, you open your GPS on your phone and tag it. It’s a family-owned store. The reviews that pop up under the GPS listing rave about the friendly atmosphere and its owner. 

Xavier opens your door too and you thank him. The store is larger than you’d thought it’d be for a family-owned grocer, but it’s nice. When you enter and see the diverse selection of produce and the huge meat and seafood section, it makes sense. 

You open the list, grab a cart, and get started. Mumbling along as you grab things with Xavier hovering over your shoulder. He doesn’t comment much as you walk through the store, adding something here and there that isn’t on the list. You only grin at him– perks of being the babysitter, you get treats. 

You’re in the meat section, browsing the cuts in the display while you wait for the butcher. The greying man behind the counter approaches, and you read off from the list the half dozen cuts that are there. 

Xavier steps close to you, suddenly in your space and looking at you with a serious glint in his eyes, “Can you cook steak?”

Your brow creases, “Yeah? I mean, I guess? What kind?”

“Yes.” Xavier replies, and turns back to the butcher, “Three more sirloins, and a pound of skirt steak, please.”

“You like meat, I take it?” You ask as the butcher gets started on your oversized order. Xavier places his hands on his hips and nods, the soft feathery ash-blond hair bouncing. 

You collect the paper wrapped order and place it into the cart, having saved this for last before you check out. It takes a few minutes to get through everything, and you're hoping next week won’t be such a big haul. Stocking up on the longer term storage necessities they were lacking. 

“I saw a recipe for marinated skirt steak in an article not too long ago.” You say to make conversation while you check out, “How does that sound?”

“How long does it take?” Xavier asks, handing you a loaf of bread and then a box of pasta. 

“Usually overnight, but it can only be a few hours if you’re really hungry.”

Xavier opens his mouth to answer you, but a shift in the air pulls his attention. His brow’s knit together, and his expression turns stony as he looks out the open windows just beside the checkout. 

You turn to, halting in place as you wait for whatever it is that caught his attention. There was no sound. No rumble. But now that you paused, you could feel it. The tiniest shimmer in the air, like static electricity. 

A Wanderer? You have just enough time to think before the sudden rush of energy shudders through the parking lot and rattles the windows. The patrons in the store shout and startle, jumping back as a pair of rocky knaves and a glowing violet obscurum terror through the lot, crawling over cars and crushing them. 

Reflexively your hand goes to your hip, expecting the familiar weight of your firearm but finding nothing. An empty pocket and a reminder that you're not a hunter right now. 

“Stay here.” Xavier’s low command hums in your ear, as he slides past you, rushing out of the store to face the sudden threat. His gloved hand slides across your back. A physical touch to reinforce his order. 

Tossing the bread back into the cart, you decide to immediately disobey. Instincts you had thought dormant come rushing back, and you search for a weapon. An aisle with kitchen utensils is the best bet, and you find a pair of long, steel knives. Breaking open the packaging you grimace at the poor excuse for a weapon– especially against a Wanderer– but beggars can’t be choosers. And you’ll pay for the knives later.

Outside the store, Xavier– though you don’t know where he was hiding it– has a long narrow blade only pausing for a single moment before he lunges forward. The three Wanderers roar at him, howling as Xavier’s sword finds its mark. He’s nothing but a streak of light– a careening asteroid causing precise destruction. 

Wielding your pair of kitchen knives, you jump into action, heart pounding and head rushing in that delicious elixir of adrenaline and endorphins. The thrill of danger and of purpose. 

Xavier elegantly slashes at one of the knaves as the round obscurum attempts to lunge at him from behind. You leap forward, crashing into the beast with your shoulder and rolling to slice at its hardened hide with your knives. 

Xavier looks over his shoulder as the knave disappears into the stardust, and gapes at you and your little knives. You realize you must look insane. Neither dressed nor armed for battle, but brandishing some kitchenware like a straight-to-streaming slasher flick. 

“I can’t finish them with these!” You bark as you flip them in your hands, pointing the blades back to give you better leverage to shove the blades downwards onto the remaining knave's head. 

If Xavier replies, you don’t hear him. Only the song of his blade as it finds the obscurums weak point and banishes it back to the ether. 

In an effort to be helpful, you keep the knave busy. Preoccupying it with your ineffectual weapons. When the steel of your knives skid off the armor of the Wanderer for the third time however you toss them aside, dropping low and side stepping as it slashes at you. You manage to get around it, and you jump onto its back. It’s the more humanoid looking Wanderer’s but it’s big. Big enough to make climbing its back a challenge, but not so big you can’t get your legs around its middle and get into a makeshift headlock. 

A high pitch screech leaves, more enraged than hurt. With all the strength you can muster, you force the hollow head of the knave backwards, exposing the crystalline orb in its chest to Xavier’s front lunge. The tip of his sword cracks through the violet orb and the Wanderer releases an earsplitting howl and you feel the solidity of it begin to crumble. 

It dissolves into nothing but specks of light, scattering in the wind like forgotten dust. You jump back and onto your feet, brushing yourself off as you pant wildly. 

“Are you alright?” Xavier asks as he tucks away his sword and approaches you. Unlike you, he’s not breathing heavily in the slightest. 

You look up and can’t help the manic grin on your face, “That was some great teamwork!” You cheer, “Remind me to bring a gun next time though!”

Xavier just stares at you. His eyes are slightly wide and his breath is still. He looks frozen, and you tilt your head with a sheepish grin. You take his hand and shake it, though his grip is loose. 

“Good work, partner.” You say as you begin to walk back to the store, hoping to finish the trip you’d started, “Let’s finish up and head home.”

It takes him a minute to follow you, and he’s quiet the rest of the trip. Silent as you check out, wordless as he helps you put the groceries in the car, and the ride back is spent with nothing but the soft whirring of the car and the low volume of the radio. 

Anxiety gnaws at you, a corrosive pit in your stomach. Had you upset him? His hands are tense on the steering wheel– aggressively so, but he doesn’t say anything. Is he mad you defied him? Angry you stepped in? You thought you’d been helpful, given the circumstances, but maybe he didn’t see it that way?

It made the ride back a thousand times longer, and unloading the car painfully awkward. Xavier was silent as he set the last of the bags on the countertop, and he was walking away before you could even open your mouth to awkwardly thank him. You watched his back as he escaped down the corridor, and before he left your sight completely you noticed something. 

Were his hands shaking?

You tried to not let your mind speculate as you put away the groceries, making a mental list of everything and a meal plan for the upcoming week instead. The reactions from these men were so peculiar. Did they like you? Or not? 

The only one you felt even halfway certain about as Zayne, and that relationship was becoming harder to define the longer you lived here. 

As you put the last of the pantry goods away and sighed for the umpteenth time, you heard footsteps entering the kitchen. 

Xavier had returned. Dressed in a soft knit ivory sweater and jeans. In the soft midday light he looked almost ethereal. All soft edges and sugar coating. But his face was deadly. A look sharper than his blade that stared you down as he strode forward. Pressing into your space and pressing his hands to the sides of your face. 

He moved your face upwards, forcing you to look at him. He wasn’t bulky so the strength behind his gesture was surprising, because when you tried to pull away you didn’t manage to gain an inch of distance. 

“Look at me.” His voice was low, hushed growl. The warning of a wild beast that you hear before you can see it. 

Unlike his last command, this one you obeyed. Meeting his celestial eyes and the ravaging storm in them. His light colored brows were furrowed, barely tempering a rage swelling behind them. You blinked owlishly under this unexpected attention, unable to even wonder what he was doing, or why.

So, you just stood there. Hands out at your sides, unsure of where to put them as Xavier kept you pinned with his hands at your cheeks. He was searching for something. Scoring your face and your eyes like a message in disappearing ink may reappear if he focused hard enough. 

Once the initial shock of it had passed, you decided to wait. Maybe this was some kind of punishment? Some hazing to reinforce the pecking order because you’d jumped into a fight that should have been his?

“Is this because of–?” Your voice is barely a whisper when you finally find your voice, but he presses his thumbs into your cheeks firmly and shakes you ever so slightly. 

“Hush.” He mumbled, some of the sharpness leaving his expression. Whatever he was looking for, he wasn’t done, and he seemed keen to keep you there until he was satisfied. 

“Don’t tell me to hush.” You hiss back, irked. 

“I’m looking for something.” He explained, like that was get-out-jail-free. 

“Is it personal space?” You quip, tilting your chin down to sneer at him, “Or manners?”

Xavier blinked once, and the interrogation swimming in his eyes melted away. He’d found it. Whatever it was. Without the crease in his brow and his mouth pressed in a firm line, he looked so young. Boyish almost with those soft baby blue eyes and youthful blonde hair. His hands didn’t let go at first, and it felt like he was suddenly seeing you for the first time. 

“Is this because of the Wanderers?” You asked, continuing your earlier interrupted thought. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. I know I wasn’t much help but–”

“Where are your weapons?” Xavier asked as he finally released your face. You expected him to take a step back but he didn’t, remaining inside your personal bubble like he belonged there. 

“My firearm is upstairs, locked up.” You explain, “The others are in storage. I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring them all here– since it’s not my home.”

Xavier looked pensive, eyes drifting away from you in thought before he nodded and right back to you they went, “We’ll go get them in a few days. I’ll take you.”

Your stomach did a funny little flip, twisting in something similar to nervousness but also fluttery, “Why?”

“A Hunter should always be ready and armed.” Xavier explains, parroting a sentiment given to trainees in school, “I’d feel better knowing you followed that statue, especially if you’re so prone to jumping into battle so recklessly.”

“I was armed.” You argue, but realize it’s a poor one. “I even paid for the knives afterwards.”

“How are you here?” Xavier almost laughed, and sounded almost wistful. Like he was asking you how you’re here as in “how are you real?”.

You take a step back and cross your arms, “I needed some help, Zayne needed a housekeeper. I thought he explained that to you.”

It still stung, remembering the circumstances of how you got here. The pit of nothingness you’d fallen into that had led to your suspension and ultimate eviction. It wasn’t anyone’s business besides yours and Zayne’s, and it was too embarrassing to just blurt out to these strangers.

Xavier scoffed in a soft laugh and smiled lightly, “Right. Right he did. Well, you shouldn’t go too long without training. Maybe we could go together sometime?”

You felt like you might get whiplash. “Seriously?”

“You’re not planning on staying a housekeeper forever, right?” Xavier probed, tilting his head slightly, “You need to keep your skills sharp.”

You turned away from him and opened the fridge, fiddling with the organization of the fruit so you didn’t have to look him in the eye. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking about it. I haven’t….I haven’t trained in a while.”

You hadn’t done anything but the bare minimum for months. No extra training or exercises. No picking up extra shifts or patrols. Clock in. Shoot at Wanderers. Clock out. Rinse and Repeat. Until slowly but surely uo hadn’t held your gun for over a month, and hadn’t seen a protofield for two. 

“We can train together.” Xavier’s voice was feathery soft, full of something warm and syrupy that it hadn’t had before. “How about Monday morning? Before I go on patrol?”

You closed the fridge, the cool air cutting off and leaving you under the warm gaze of this beckoning friendship. 

That tired part of you didn’t want to. Didn’t want to train. To fight. To keep moving forward with pep and a smile. All that part of you wanted to do was sleep. But you were tired of indulging that venomous part of your mind. That tar pit of despair that had been slowly but surely consuming you. 

“Sure.” You forced yourself to say, despite the pit in your stomach. “Do you train here?”

Xavier nodded, “If you haven’t trained in a while, we’ll just do some basic workouts. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” You say, a little relieved. The idea of running through the training that academy had put you through sounded like torture. The battle simulations and evol training until you felt worse than a threadbare wrung out rag. 

Baby steps, you told yourself. Get back into training. Get another hunter to vouch for you and you’d be back to work in no time. Xavier had offered you asn express ticket back to your old life. 

Although, why did it feel so horrible to accept it? It felt like going back to a home with no one there. To a place that was now nothing but rubble and ash. Where you were greeted with memorial portraits instead of smiling faces. 

Baby steps. You repeated in your head again. Baby steps. 

Xavier spent the rest of the day lingering in the living room. The TV was on, and some quiet-spoken cooking show was playing, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was listening to you. He’d resolved to not follow you around the house like his mind had initially wanted, and settled for glimpses of you as you bustled about. 

He could hear you hum as you dusted the stairwell, and watched you from the corner of his eyes and you swept the hallway and mopped it. It felt wrong to watch you do menial work like this while he just watched, but something told him you’d shoo him away if he tried to help. 

Xavier couldn’t decide what to do now. What do you do when you realize something that shouldn’t exist not only does exist, but is dropped onto you like Newton’s apple. This was an impossibility. The four of them had agreed it was impossible, and they’d made their peace with it.

Resigned to a reality without you in it. Sentenced to exist with each other but without that which tied them together– an archway missing the keystone. A painting missing the centerpiece. An unfinished puzzle with the remaining pieces stolen from them. 

Things weren’t adding up. The puzzle had always been askew, and they’d made assumptions based on the information that they had. But now? Now they needed to start from scratch. Rethink everything they thought they knew. 

Only there was a problem. It’d been over a year since they’d spoken openly about their predicament. It wasn’t ideal– their living arrangements, but it was better than the alternative. Better than isolation. Better than falling into whatever pre-woven fate had been made for them. 

Getting them to convene again would be tricky, especially without proof. Speculation was a honey-trap of hope that would be undue punishment for those who were still hurting. Each of them had suffered in this reality. In this new life. All they had was each other, or that’s what they’d thought.

Sylus and Rafayel were animals. Wounded beasts licking at their wounds and wasting time with different exploits. 

Zayne was…Zayne. 

The sound of you in the kitchen pulled Xavier from his thoughts and he realized he’d dozed off. Lifting his head, he turned to see you pulling food from the fridge to start cooking. 

It was painfully, gut-wrenchingly domestic. An image he hoped he could burn into the back of his eyelid so that when he slept it was you that he saw. 

It's been so long. He didn’t even know how many years it had been. This life…this reality. It had taken so much time to find his way here that his mind was too full and his heart too old. It forgot what it felt like to be near you. So when it happened again, the sensation was so foreign he didn’t recognize it. 

But when you’d turned to him, sweat on your brow and the thrill of a battle won humming in your evol, he’d known. He recognized you like one recognizes their own reflection– changed, different, but unmistakably his. 

Xavier rose and decided to help you, even if it was just holding vegetables or stirring a pot. The distance between here and there was too much, and he wondered if his heart kept up this rapid pace if it might actually give out. 

Talking to the others could wait. They were likely to come to their own conclusions soon enough– his talk with Sylus had made that clear. 

For now, Xavier would relish in this realization and pretend that nothing else existed. No past life and sacrifice. No alternate reality. No separation. No death. No Astra. 

Rafayel was wandering around the darkened house in the wee hours of the morning. The rest of the house had been asleep for hours, even Sylus was back– probably crashed onto his bed still covered in gunpowder and rubble like when he’d walked in an hour ago. 

The house seemed….warmer somehow. And he didn’t need to ponder much on the reason why. Rafayel knew the reason the minute he’d walked into the living area to see you and Xavier scrambling over a smoking pan like a pair of startled wrasse. 

Xavier knew. Rafayel saw it in the way the blue-eyed man moved , orbiting around you like a lost satellite. A long-forgotten star he was finally able to see again. It would be cute if it wasn’t almost pathetic. 

Rafayel was bitter. Something in him shriveled up. Seeing your face didn’t spark the awe or rush of sentimentality he thought it would. It just…hurt. 

Ached like a wound that would never truly heal. Nerve damage and corroded bone making sure he’d feel that pain with every step. With every breath.

Pathetic. That’s what he’d thought when he’d seen Xavier all starry-eyed and gooey, but was he any different? Rafayel scoffed at himself and his own unfortunate circumstance. He was just as pathetic. Just as lost. A little boat lost at sea unable to stop itself from following the current of the ocean, drifting towards you without a paddle to even fight back from. 

He could pretend his heart was closed, and that he was just playing. Nothing real. It wasn’t real, he’d tell himself, but that was a lie. It was as real as the insignia burned into his chest. As real as the ever shifting tide, he was the ocean and you were the moon. Waters chasing after you in a perpetual, impossible dance. 

A crash from down below broke him from his swimming thoughts, and Rafayel’s brow furrowed. An intruder? Not possible. 

Another sound and Rafayel decided to check it out, for curiosity’s sake of course. 

He passed by your bedroom, slowing to see if you’d woken, but found it was silent within. Satisfied you were still asleep, Rafayel descended the stairs and went to find the source. 

The hall was dark, only a low light in the kitchen giving off any sort of illumination. Another low thud sounded and Rafayel entered the living room. 

Zayne was near the windows, hands pressed flat against the glass with his head hung low. He was panting, ragged frightened breaths that sounded painful and rough. 

Rafayel paused, waiting. 

Zayne, noticing the new presence turned, eyes blazing as they landed on the dormant sea-god. 

“Y-you…” Zayne rasped, voice strangled and hoarse. “Raf–yel.”

Rafayel relaxed slightly. Good, it was one of the versions of Zayne that remembered him. Which one though? 

“What’s going on?” Sylus was there, having come up the back staircase and waiting at the edge of the room just as Rafayel was.

“It’s another nightmare.” Rafayel explained, “He remembers me, so that’s good.”

Sylus looked over to Zayne with a stern expression, “Not Dawnbreaker then. That makes this easier.”

“Still sore from that?” Rafayel prodded with a chuckle, but Sylus didn’t seem to be in a joking mood. Recalling the last nightmare Zayne had had and the vengeful and dangerous Dawnbreaker demanding answers they didn’t have and lashing out at whatever moved. Funnily enough, of all of them, the only one Dawnbreaker remembered was you.

“Zayne,” Sylus said, voice almost a coo, “It’s alright. Calm down.”

The silver haired man approached the man in distress. Zayne clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, fighting something unseen in his mind.  He groaned and slumped further down the window, looking out through them like he might recognize the clearly foreign scenery. 

“Where am I?” Zayne was ragged, confused and frightened. He stood up taller and gripped the side of his head, “Where…where is she?”

Sylus kept a safe distance, but approached like one approaches a rabid dog– anticipating the inevitable bite. “She’s safe. She’s asleep. She’s here.”

A moment of clarity crossed Zayne’s face, and he turned to Sylus in disbelief. “Here? She’s alive? She’s here?”

Sylus nodded, reaching out, “This isn’t the world you know. It’s different. Your plan? It worked. We escaped.”

Another wave of pain nearly sent Zayne to his knees, and Rafayel stepped forward just a step behind Sylus– ready to help.

When Zayne looked back up, his flickering eyes shifted from Rafayel and then over to Sylus, “Sta–Stary–”

Sylus took Zayne’s offered hand and pulled him into him. The dark haired man all but collapsed against him. “It’s me. I’m here. We’re all here. You can rest. It worked. It worked.” 

Zayne shuddered in an exhale and gripped at Sylus’ shirt. “It worked,” Zayne chanted breathlessly.

“They won’t find us,” Rafayel said as he stepped forward, placing a hand on Zayne’s shoulder and squeezing. “Rest, Foreseer. Let us carry on now.”

Zayne sighed and relaxed, the fight of his warring spirits finally easing, and Sylus only had a single moment to catch him before he collapsed.

“Get his feet,” Sylus said as he lifted Zayne’s shoulders as gently as he could, “Let’s get him back to bed as quickly as we can.”

A soft rumbling overhead made them both freeze. Footsteps in the bedroom above. You were awake. 

“Dammit.” Sylus cursed.

“She can’t see him like this.” Rafayel hissed. “Carry him back, I’ll put her back to bed.”

Sylus’ eyes narrowed a bit but then he nodded, crouching down to unceremoniously toss Zayne’s limp body over his shoulder. Gentle and easy would have to wait. You couldn’t see them like this– too many questions. Not enough answers. 

Rafayel rushed back upstairs, making it to the hallway just as he saw your door begin to open. Scrounging his mind for a plan, he found himself freezing, words rushing in mind but none finding his lips. 

“Rafayel?” Your sleepy voice was slightly hoarse and you were even rubbing at your eye when you spied him. 

“Hey cutie…” Rafayel whispered, “I can’t sleep. You too?”

You were half-asleep. Eyes barely open and one of the straps from your sleep shirt had fallen down your shoulder. The curving line of your neck from your jaw down to your clavicle and over to your shoulder is a serpentine temptation. 

“I thought I heard something. Got worried.” You hummed, eyes practically drifting shut. “What’s wrong? Nightmare?”

Rafayel could eat you up. A sleepy little morsel he could swallow whole before you even had the awareness to know you were between his teeth. You were gluttonous supper before a starving supplicant, divine and not to be touched. 

And what a perfect, innocent opportunity you had presented to him. A test of his morals and willpower. Placing sugar candy upon your fingertips and expecting him to not lick it clean?

“Yeah, a nightmare.” Rafayel’s voice was rougher now, thicker with the rumble of a predator. “Can I lay with you for a while?”

Perfect, innocent sacrifice. Perfect devout follower. You rubbed at your face and looked at him with pity before nodding and turning to let him in. “For a little while.”

Rafayel slid past you and into your room, a wolf slipping through the cracks of the fence into the pasture. His little lamb climbed into her bed and nestled beneath the blankets unsuspecting and warm. 

With all the willpower he could muster, Rafayel did not pull back the blankets and invite himself inside. Your hazy mind would likely barely remember this interaction in the morning, and he wouldn’t take advantage…well, more than he already had. 

“What did you dream about?” You're asked, partially muffled by your pillow as Rafayel lay down next to you. 

Rafayel felt his heart pounding like the thunder of a war drum. Boom Boom Boom. It charged like a horse into battle, but his body remained still. Your eyes were closed and your form relaxed, sinking into the mattress and over abundance of plush cushion. 

He stopped himself from reaching out and touching you. Like a valuable work of art only to be admired and not sullied. Fingertips left marks, and he couldn’t…he wouldn’t. 

Not yet. 

Rafayel took a deep steadying breath. This was not how he thought this night would go, but what a fun turn of events. Zayne and his…affliction. You and your endless temptation. 

He considered your question for a moment, and answered even though he knew you were already asleep. “Drowning.”

[emssturniolo]

sleepy nights

pairing: christopher sturniolo x reader

summary: all you need is chris, all chris needs is you

a/n: this kind of short, but i think it's sweet. not my best work, but yeah :) enjoy ! have a good day/night

after a day out with friends, you were comforted by the familiar sound of the boys's voices coming from behind the front door of their LA house. opening the door with the spare key the boys had given you, you smiled as you lifted you head to find three pairs of blue eyes looking back at you - their faces in a soft, identical smile. “hey guys” you said, answering their soft smiles with one of your own. you got two ‘hey’s back, a missing one from chris, who was now making his way towards you - exhaustion painted on his face.  “hi my love” you let out softly. he hummed and latched onto you, hugging you as he took in your scent to comfort him. “hi pretty” he said, continuing “i missed you, can we go to bed? i have no idea why, but i'm really tired - it's fucking one in the morning, i'm always awake at one in the morning” he said. you giggled at his mumbling and asked him “you wanna go to bed?”, to which he responded with “yes please”

you exchanged a ‘goodnight’  to nick and matt, making your way to chris's room downstairs, him following close behind holding your hand. you let go  only to get changed into some comfier clothes, and both climbed into his bed, chris immediately latching onto you once again, and resting his head on your chest. he hummed in content, which made you let out a soft giggle. “what do you wanna do?” you asked, knowing he was tired. “i think i'm gonna go to sleep, i'm tired. you can stay awake if you want to” he whispered, wanting you to feel comfortable. “i can barely keep my eyes open” you said. chris pulled you closer, instantly making you feeling a rush of love him, you admitted that to him, though he already knew. “i love you, pretty boy” he kissed you collar bone, then put his head back to its original position on your chest “i love you too” and with that, you kissed his hair, and then moved to lay your head down on the pillow. chris copied your movements, without disconnecting his body from yours, and as you did with nick and matt earlier, the two of you exchanged  a ‘goodnight’. a comfortable silence fell in the room, which was tinted with a shade of love and affection. the rush of undying love you had for each other never slept, and woke you up to a lazy morning in bed, just content with each other's presence

[19burstraat]

Ok we all know guild me, build me exists due to my artistic abilities being very lacking in the visual arts, so rather than drawing the crows in the komedie brute, I had to write kaz in. however I had ideas for the others that I couldn't get into a fic, so I've put em down here

Kaz: (description ripped from guild me, build me):

a heavy black cape, sewn with stolen chains and jewels so that it jingled upon every movement (...) It was marked up and slit here and there, on the edges and at the collar, to give the impression of crow’s feathers, and it was made of some kind of shiny, velvety fabric that had the oily shine of crow’s plumage. The gloves were the same material, thinner and more embroidered than Kaz would have ever entertained, and the cane was a plain, inaccurate copy– (...) the mask; a silver crow’s head (...) crooked over the eyes and nose, almost like a Kaelish plague mask. But it left the mouth unblocked; of course it did. Dirtyhands needed to talk.

Inej:

Light and flimsy dark (doesn't have to be black; could be blue or grey) fabric for the veil and cloak. Has an element of spiderwebby fraying to it which is a nod to her being... Well, a spider lmao. But also meant to look ghostly and insubstantial, can sometimes see a metal shiny suggestion of knives underneath it. The veil can be parted just down the side of her face, so you can occasionally see a bit of her face, but never the whole thing. Would not be a practical costume to climb or spy in; too long and bothersome, the same way Kaz's Dirtyhands cloak would not be practical to pickpocket in. Sometimes productions get her a few cheap sheath knives.

Jesper:

Rabbit head mask, short cloak in some batshit colour like green or pink, lined w rabbit's fur and threaded with gambling chips, 'lucky' rabbits feet, coins, and stray bullets. Adornments tied on loosely so they swing everywhere when he moves. This way there's also a real risk of the Kaz and Jesper actors getting tangled together if they interact, which is not symbolic, just funny. This is our get-along Komedie Brute costume :) (we are stuck)

Wylan:

A once-fine red cloak with a high ruffly collar-- now tattered and singed and gone to seed. Little bits of wiring or string or pouches of powders etc sewn into it; sneakily embroidered with the Van Eck laurel around the edges. Mask, while elaborate and matching with the cloak, only covers the top half of his face, as if he's not quite as all-in as the others. For similar reasons, the cloak is half-length.

Matthias:

Wolf's head mask ofc, white fur cape a lot longer and more substantial than Jesper's, with heavy furring around the neck (made to bulk out the actor if they're not the right stature, which most will not be). Likely they also weight his boots to make his tread sound more imposing. Possibly a wig if they can afford one, since Druskelle are known for the long hair.

Nina:

Porcelain-doll Venetian style mask (you know the ones!) with a single black tear-- referential both to that bit in CK when they identified themselves that way in the crowd of Mister Crimsons, and the Queen of Mourning thing. Mask is covered with a very light veil, and she wears a long heavy silk cloak with a bit of a hint of a kefta, but not enough to get the Komedie Brute in shit from Ravkan Grisha lmao. Entrance usually heralded with a blue corpselight.

I imagine dependent on the production and the costumier they could look great and beautifully elaborate, or they could look cheap and shit lmao.

Bonus: I got bored and made a mock-up of a page of a Komedie play. I edited over the first folio for this, yes. Sorry to the Big W.S.

[rafeysbafey]

⭒ 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⭒

⭒ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

⭒ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

⭒ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 𝟏,𝟐𝟒𝟐

you snaked your way through the bodies of sweaty and horny teens, all reeking of alcohol and weed.

“top top top top!” you heard chanting from the balcony, your feet seeming to move on their own as you made your way to the commotion.

your eyes landed on rafe and kelce cheering on topper who was on the roof, a second later doing a back flip into the pool below.

“he’s fucking sick, man!” rafe said, smacking kelce on the back as they both laughed. you watched them take a seat in front of the low coffee table that had beer bottles and a bong scattered on top.

there were others with them but you couldn’t place a name to their faces. probably some tourens looking for a good time.

rafe took out a small plastic baggy you weren’t clueless too, shaking it in front of kelce before tossing it to him.

his eyes flickered up for a second before landing on your figure, pupils softening as a smile came to his face.

“hey, baby!” he called, waving you over as kelce made a line on the dirty table, grabbing a crumpled one dollar pill from the side.

you made your way to where he sat, his hands coming up to snake around your waist and pull you into his lap.

his lips found a place on your neck, leaving wet kisses on the skin as you whined at him to stop.

“rafe,” you mumbled, tugging at his collar as kelce told him it was his turn to take a line.

“give me a second, angel,” he whispered before leaning over, his hands holding your waist—keeping you in place.

“c-can you just,” you paused, causing him to pull away just inches from the white substance, “come with me?”

his eyebrows raised suggestively as he chuckled softly, humming in response, “yeah cmon, baby.”

he let you slip off his lap before placing you in front of him, his chest pressed into your back and arms wrapped around your shoulders as he moved you both through the crowd.

you climbed the stairs with him before entering the, thankfully empty, room. you were all too familiar with the bed sheets and curtains, waking up multiple times wrapped in rafe’s arms.

rafe had locked the door behind you two, guiding you towards the end of the bed as the back of your legs hit the edge.

“rafe-” you said, his lips immediately attacking your neck as he ran his hands up your shirt, causing you to let out a whimper.

he immediately pulled away, eyebrows furrowed together as his mouth went agape.

had he hurt you?

“what did i do?” he asked, worry filling his beautiful blue eyes you’ve fallen for many times.

you quickly shook your head, hand coming up to cup the side of his warm face.

“i wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

although he was confused—he nodded in response, letting you continue.

“i had another..” you paused for a moment, hand dropping to rest in your lap as he waited patiently, “another run in with my dad.”

his body tensed up at your words, eyebrows knitting together as he shook his head.

“where did he touch you?” he asked, voice quiet even though he was fuming. he wanted to leave right now and kill your dad, but he knew that would scare you—his anger.

you let your hand run under your shirt before lifting it above your head, the fabric leaving your body to reveal many bruises forming on your abdomen.

that’s why you had made that noise when he touched you.

he held your hand gently as the other ran through your tangled hair, an exhausted sigh leaving your lips as tears threatened to spill.

“where was jj?” he asked, his hatred for your brother seeming to disappear in the moment.

all he cared about was you.

“he was at the chateau with the pogues, he uh…doesn’t know,” you whispered, voice getting lower the more you went on, “i don’t want him to know.”

rafe wanted to do a lot of things right now. those being beat the shit out of your dad, kill luke, resurrect him to do it all again.

but he didn’t.

“let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” he asked, a faint smile on his lips as you nodded.

he brought you to the bathroom and placed you on the counter, your figure slouching as you sat in just your bra and shorts.

"i'm just going to clean these wounds with rubbing alcohol, is that okay, baby?" he asked, taking out the bottle from the cabinet and grabbing a new washcloth.

you nodded in response, letting him slip between your legs as he poured the liquid onto the fabric.

"alright, squeeze my hand if it hurts."

you did as he said, lacing your fingers with his as he went to dab your bruises, unknown cuts coming to the surface as you winced in pain, squeezing your boyfriend's hand a little harder than you expected.

"sorry," you mumbled, faint red marks appearing on his knuckles as he shushed.

"you're okay, baby."

you let him finish cleaning before bandaging the cuts he could see.

"there," he said, throwing the wrappers in the trash before turning to you with a bright smile, gently cupping your face in his hands, "all better."

he grabbed a clean t-shirt and boxers from his drawer to let you wear, a standard outfit you wore when staying the night.

the party seemed to die down over the hour, which wasn't much a surprise considering it was almost four in the morning.

"sorry for ruining your fun," you mumbled into his chest, his fingers running gently under your shirt and over the soft skin, an action he did to soothe you.

"you think i care about that?" he chuckled, vibrations from his laugh meeting your cheek as you shrugged, "i'd rather make sure your safe with me, than being coked out at some party."

"your party," you corrected, just now realizing he was the one throwing the party. it was in his house.

"actually, topper and kelce were the ones that threw it," rafe said while shaking his head, "always an excuse for them to get wasted and into someone's pants."

you lay in silence for a few minutes, just embracing in each other's warmth and comfort before you spoke up.

"i appreciate you, rafe," you whispered, "you take such good care of me."

"stay with me."

your eyebrows quirked together as you lifted your head, chin resting on his chest as you peered up to look at him.

"stay with me in tannyhill as long as you want, until you get sick of me," he joked, that smirk you adore so much making an appearance on his beautiful face, "i just need to know your safe."

"ok," you nodded, zero hesitation in your voice as rafe's eyebrows perked up.

"ok?"

"i want to stay with you."

his smile grew as he leaned down to kiss you, humming in satisfaction at the taste of your cherry chapstick coating your soft lips.

"i'll get your stuff tomorrow-"

"i'll come with," you cut off.

he paused for a second, hesitation covering his features before he nodded slowly in agreement.

"but if he's there-"

"i give you permission to do whatever, rafe," you smiled.

looking down at you, rafe knew he was where he was supposed to be.

[unusuallysubtext]

Hey, can I request a oneshot where Y/n (Mycroft's spouse) suddenly brought a puppy home; they found the puppy on the sidewalk. They brought the puppy home, cleaned him up, and then went to the pet store to buy supplies like dog food, toys, a bed, and a pad for the puppy to pee or poop on. They returned home with all the supplies.

Mycroft finally arrived home after a long day at work. He found Y/n on the floor and was confused at first until he saw the puppy they were playing with. He was perplexed and definitely against it at first, but a few weeks later, Y/n finds Mycroft in the living room with the puppy on his lap while Mycroft reads his newspaper.

Thank you in advance!

Thank you for your request! Requests are open as of 18/06/2024. Tags at end. To be removed/added to the taglist, send an ask or DM me. Critics welcomed, reblogs appreciated! :)

Today was one of those rare days off you had from work, but as usual, it was never in sync with Mycroft's busy schedule. You had awoken to a cold bed with the sun already beaming through the crack in the curtains. With a sigh, you climbed out of bed and stretched, making your way downstairs. A vase of sunflowers stood on the kitchen counter, a card beside it on top of a box of London’s finest pastries.

Good morning, my love. 

Salon appointment at two p.m. 

Take care of yourself.

Love,

M.H.

You smiled, admiring the set up and the time taken out of Mycroft’s morning. Of course he had booked out an entire salon; nails, hair, facials, drinks…

After getting comfortably dressed (a change from your usual business attire), eager to eat more than a few pastries (it would be unfair to try only a couple, after all), you ran downstairs and popped the kettle on.

As you sipped your tea, you pondered how to spend the rest of your day until a car picked you up at one-thirty. The idea of a long walk around the estate seemed appealing, especially with the rare London sun. 

Spring coat and boots on, you set out for your walk. The streets were quiet unlike the bustling inner city, and she much appreciated the calm; it allowed for decompression after high stress days at your demanding job. As she turned a corner into a small park, she noticed a small bundle of fur huddled in the bushes fronting the blue-painted metal rails. Curiosity piqued, you approached cautiously.

To your surprise, it was a puppy, shivering despite the unusual warmth, alone. You were expecting a rabbit, likely dead after the foxes got to it, not an uncommon sight in this area. The little creature looked up at you with wide, fearful eyes. You kneeled, allowing your hand to be sniffed before you picked it up. Upon further inspection, it was only a couple of weeks old, the size of your hand, and bore no collar.

"Poor thing, you must be freezing," you murmured, stroking its soft fur as you held it close to your chest. "Let's get you home."

She made a quick stop at a nearby pet store and vet clinic, purchasing everything the puppy would need—food, a bed, toys, and a small collar, which you left unetched without a name, only your phone number on the back of the tag. 

By the time she arrived back at the house, her arms were full of supplies, and the puppy seemed much more comfortable in your breast pocket. The clinic had not detected a microchip, making you wonder how long the pup had been outside as you set up a cozy corner in the living room. You watched as the puppy explored its new surroundings, following you with tiny, tentative paw taps to the kitchen, where you poured some water and food into its bowls. 

"Mycroft is not going to like this," you thought out loud with a wry smile, imagining his reaction. But the sight of the puppy, now curled up contentedly in its new bed, made her feel certain she had made the right decision.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of playing with the puppy, canceling your salon appointment and ride through Anthea, and preparing dinner after the pup grew tired enough to fall asleep in its bed. As evening fell, you found yourself anxiously awaiting Mycroft's return, wondering how he would react to your new addition and fearing his disappointment of being unable to enjoy his planned day for you.

The grandfather clock struck once, indicating five-thirty and you arose from the dining table to head to the front door. You opened it to see Mycroft, who was pleasantly surprised at your greeting.

“Good evening, darling. How was your day?” he asked, heading in. His smile immediately turned to scrutiny as he sensed something was wrong. “You didn’t go… Why do you have cat hair on you?” Mycroft asked, looking at you.

“Dog, Mycroft,” you rolled your eyes. You weren’t anxious anymore, just keen to see Mycroft discover what you’d done. You followed him to the living room, where he froze at the sight of the sleeping puppy across from you.

“Y/N, what on earth were you thinking? How will you care for it?” Mycroft cried. He never called you by your name. Only ‘Mr/Miss/Mx L/N’ before marriage, and ‘my love’ and ‘darling’ after.

“Mycroft!” you were taken aback, but still attempted to explain your situation. “She was abandoned on the side of the road, no collar, no chip. I couldn’t leave her there!”

“Do you know how many shelters there are in London? One-thousand-two-hundred-and-twenty-seven! Any one of them would have taken it in.” Mycroft was exasperated. “Y/N, please think before making such decisions…” he trailed off, softening his tone and expression as he caught sight of your teary eyes. He walked to you, touching your cheeks and kissing your forehead. “I love you. I don’t love that,” he indicated to the puppy with his head. “I do not want this matter to cause any stress to our relationship. I’m sorry for shouting at you.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “It’s okay. I’ll see what I can do about her as soon as possible.”

You understood where Mycroft was coming from. Both of you worked full-time, and taking care of a puppy who was rapidly transforming into a full-grown dog was like taking care of a toddler. She would need to be trained, spayed, played with for mental stimulation… it was going to be a lot.

While Mycroft showered, you heated up dinner. As the two of you ate, the puppy awoke and padded to the dining room, watching Mycroft curiously. The two of them stared at the other intently, frozen in place, and you watched in amusement. 

That night, you lay in bed on your side against Mycroft’s chest. It was a miracle that the puppy had not followed you upstairs, but was instead sleeping soundly in the living room. 

-

Mycroft had been sitting on the sofa after dinner, reading their mail while she tried to reach the seat beside him. Watching her struggle for a couple of minutes from the corner of his eye, he finally sighed and picked her up. She lay down next to Mycroft’s side, and he begrudgingly had let her. She fell asleep, as Mycroft mumbled, mostly to himself. “You don’t have a name, do you? You are rather annoying, going to places you don’t belong. Sofas are for humans, the dog bed, as implied in the name, is for you.” Mycroft thought for a moment, then chuckled in revelation. “Sheryl.” He seemed pleased with the name.

-

“Mycroft?” you say quietly, unable to see him. The curtains have been drawn for the night, the bed toasty from your combined body heat. 

“Hmm?”

“Are you jealous of her?”

There is a pause. “That is preposterous! Go to sleep,” you can feel him shaking his head as he is ripped from his near sleep.

You smile to yourself, turning around and kissing his cheek before drifting off to sleep.

-

Days went by, and you spent all of your lunch breaks and the extra ten minutes you had in the mornings at work calling animal shelters in London, despite the heartache. It would not be difficult at all to get the pup into one, just inhumane. Unsurprisingly, they were all overcrowded and underfunded. You glanced up from the website you were reading on your phone to the stack of paperwork overshadowed by your boss. You sighed.

“Working, are we, Mr/Mrs/Mx Holmes?” Ms Smallwood sneered, saying your name as if it were sour milk.

“Yes, apologies, ma’am. No excuses,” you said, grabbing a pen and opening the first file. 

Her beady eyes watched you for a moment before huffing and storming out on her four-inch heels.

You shot Mycroft a quick text.

Going to be late, sorry. Lots of paperwork, ughh. Can’t wait to get a transfer. - Y/F/I.H.

Don’t worry, my love. I’ll have dinner and a bath ready. Don’t stress, my darling. I shall see you this evening. - M.H.

You smiled at your husband’s preemptiveness, silently thanking the universe for having him to go home to. 

It was quarter-to-seven when you arrived home. You walked through the hallway past the empty study and dining room, the aroma of dinner making your mouth water. In the living room, you could see Mycroft, engrossed in reading the newspaper… out loud? Mycroft saw you, and hushed you, pointing to the sleeping puppy curled up against his belly. He finished reading one last sentence of today’s headlining news: ‘Two murdered bodies found in abandoned freezer at Wembley Sainsbury’s.’ 

“Goodnight, Sheryl, sleep well,” Mycroft said quietly, putting the newspaper down and patting her gently before picking her up and placing her in her bed. He then walked over to you. “Hello, darling, how was your day?” 

“Sheryl, huh?” you laughed.

“Too late to change it now, I have already had it engraved,” Mycroft said matter-of-factly. “I have already fed her–one cup–walked her around the estate, had her pee, and read her a bedtime story, of course.”

You squealed in joy, engulfing Mycroft in a hug. “We’re keeping her?!”

“Yes, of course we are, darling. How else will I keep in shape?”

“Oh, Mycroft! You’re already perfect. I love you! I can’t believe we get to keep her!”

Every night onwards, Sheryl lay in wait in front of the dinner table for the two of you to finish eating and take her for a walk. She would chase butterflies in the very park she was found in before returning to her home, where Mycroft would read her the headlines and let her pick her bedtime story from the papers. Some days it was stock trading tips, obituaries and juicy celebrity gossip, other days it was how her Uncle Sherlock was saving the arses of the Met Police, and gruesome murder-suicides. Every night, she fell asleep in Mycroft’s lap, even when she grew up to be a huge German shepherd. Every night, you snapped a picture of the two, compiling the photographs into an album that showed how their bond strengthened and their kinship blossomed.

-

Tagging: @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @that-ace-idiot

[blurredcolour]

Lavender's Blue, Lavender's Green

[One-shot]

Lewis Nixon x Enlisted!Female Reader

After you wind up injured in a freak accident, your relationship with Captain Nixon is forever altered.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Minor Reader Injury, Detailed Descriptions of Pain, Language, Alcohol Consumption, Weapons, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Oblique References to Nixon's Alcoholism and Infidelity, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral sex - m/f receiving, unprotected vaginal sex] - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Some liberties were taken in describing reader's family life/personal history for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 8358

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

The floorboards creaked beneath your jump boots as you followed O’Keefe into the backroom of the half-destroyed café in Thalem. You could hear the strains of a string quartet rising from the square below, and the conversation between Luz and Nixon a few rooms over. O’Keefe had shown up as a replacement during Easy’s second stay in Mourmelon-le-Grand, wide-eyed and eager to get his hands dirty. The rest of you had just been glad to make it out of Haguenau alive.

But there was something about the naïve boy that reminded you of your little brother back home, the youngest of four siblings born after you, last to join the party, the most eager to experience life when the rest of you were all jaded by the loss of your mother during his birth. Add in the fact that you too had been a replacement once, joined Easy in Aldbourne for Operation Market Garden – one of twenty-seven women selected as the first female paratroopers to join the 506th – and you had felt a certain protectiveness over the kid. Which was why you found yourself watching over him now, even in this relatively harmless town.

Another groan of wood had your eyes flicking to the floor, something about the pitch of the slats not sitting right with you, but before you could open your mouth to warn him, there was an ominous ‘crack’ beneath O’Keefe. He let out a horrific shriek as the boards beneath him began to give way and you lunged forward, snapping out your left hand to grab onto any part of him you could. Seizing him by the back of the collar of his ODs, you landed flat on your stomach with a grunt with O’Keefe dangling through the newly created hole in the floor. Your helmet tumbled from your head, bouncing off his and crashing onto the tiles below.

Your arm was aching under the strain of his body weight but as you tried to spread some of the load onto your second hand, you realized the butt of your rifle was jammed between the floor and your body, pinning your right arm against you by the strap over your shoulder. The sound of multiple sets of boots running into the room was quickly followed by several pairs of hands pressing against your calves, bracing you to keep you from following O’Keefe through the hole.

“I gotta let you go, Patty.” You grit out. “It’s not far, ok?” You assured him, able to see through the ragged gap in the wood that he was dangling only a few feet from the floor below.

His response was not what you were hoping for. “Don’t let me fall!” He cried out, looking up to you with wide, calf-like eyes. “Please don’t let me go!” He began to clutch at your arm, flailing his legs as though he wanted to climb back up.

His body swung like a pendulum, bouncing and jerking before ultimately wrenching your strained shoulder from its socket and careless words born of pain from your lips.

“Augh! Jesus Christ, you fucking meatball! It’s only two feet! Let go!” You cried out, clenching your eyes shut against the blinding pain, your grip failing as your arm started to go numb.

He continued to whimper nonsensically and thrash about as heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs followed by a set of lighter ones.

“Let go of her you fucking meatball!” You heard Perconte snap at O’Keefe from below and cracked your stinging eyes open to see that Bull had seized the boy around the waist, the thrashing finally stilling before the weight of him was released from your limb as, at last, he let go of your arm.

Relief tingled through you, though did nothing to lessen the raw ache in your shoulder. Afraid to move, afraid to inhale more than tiny sips of air lest you fan the flames of pain, you laid perfectly still with your arm outstretched toward the ground below.

“What a fucking meatball.” You heard Luz giggle from behind you as he stepped forward. “Let’s get you up.” His voice grew closer as he leaned forward.

Mortifying as it was, laying there in denial was not going to make the agony end. Taking a shaky breath, you asked quietly. “George, can you go find Doc, please?” You were hoping not to arouse the suspicions of Webster, Liebgott, and Nixon who were somewhere in the room still. At least one pair of hands was still firmly gripping your calves.

“Uh, the meatball is fine, I mean Bull might tear him a new one but…” He trailed off as you turned your head slowly to look up at him, brow furrowing as lances of pain pierced your neck and shoulder. It felt as though someone were pouring boiling water down the sleeve of your uniform.

“For me, please.” You clarified, perspiration dotting your skin under the strain of masking your discomfort.

The room fell silent, whatever Liebgott and Webster had been bickering about forgotten as Luz shoved his way past them and shot out of the room. You felt the pressure against your calves ease up before Nixon was kneeling on the floor next to you, features etched with concern. “Where are you hurt?”

“Left shoulder.” You exhaled, swallowing at the way his eyes ricocheted over your prone form.

“Think you can get up for me?” He asked, his voice enticingly soft, making your heart skip a few beats as you felt suddenly willing to try anything he might ask of you so long as he kept speaking like that.

“Maybe?”

The smile he awarded you with filled your stomach with bubbling effervescence. “Good, let’s get this out of the way first.” He carefully extracted your M1 from beneath your hip before sliding it off your good shoulder, handing it off to one of the other men in the room.

Sliding his arm around your waist, he started to lift your torso from the floor, punching the air from your lungs painfully. Gnawing on the inside of your cheek viciously you did everything you could not cry out in pain. You were not the first woman in Easy to get hurt – Esther had been hit by shrapnel from a tree in Bastogne and Pearl had been shot during Dike’s disastrous assault on Foy. Both had been awarded a purple heart. You were just a girl who’d tried to hold too much weight – there would be no medal for you, so it would be best not to make a scene.

“Shit you must be in so much pain, I’m sorry.” Nixon grumbled, seemingly at a loss as to how to get your arm out of that hole and you into a more comfortable position.

Roe’s voice downstairs broke through the haze of pain, and you clenched your teeth, willing yourself to hold on a little longer as you heard him hurry up the stairs.

“You two, out.” He said firmly to Liebgott and Webster who left without comment before his hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you backwards. “Bend ya knees for me, that’s it, good job.” He spoke calmly as he worked with Nixon to lift you up into a kneeling position well away from the hole in the floor.

As your left arm drooped, your right hand quickly moved to support it in more or less the position it had been when O’Keefe’s movements had pulled it out of place. A millimetre of movement in any direction had you whimpering pathetically in the back of your throat despite your best efforts to keep the sound sealed behind your lips.

“What’s going on?” Roe asked as he knelt in front of you, taking in the way you were supporting your arm before he started to undo your ODs and then your wool shirt beneath.

“It’s my shoulder, Doc.”

He nodded as he carefully pulled open the collar to take a look, his fingers skimming along the skin of your shoulder and the strap of your undershirt. As they honed in on the hollow where your joint ought to be, you let out a yelp and nearly keeled over backward at the searing pain, grateful as Nixon pressed a hand to your lower back to keep you upright.

“Yeah it is. It’s out of joint.” Roe confirmed the sneaking suspicion you’d had.

There had been something agonizingly familiar about the whole thing, taking you back to a hot summer day when you were ten years old, riding your father’s new horse despite his explicit instructions to wait for him to be done in the field before you tried to mount it. The horse’s black coat had shone almost purple in the sunlight of the afternoon, warm to the touch as the barely broken-in animal had suffered no more than one lap around the paddock before bucking you from its back.

The force with which you had struck the ground had dislocated your left shoulder that day, and the drive into town to see the doctor had been a torturous thirty minutes during which every jolt and bump had sent pain shooting through your body. But as soon as the doctor had put it back in place, the relief had been almost immediate.

“You can put it back, right?” You asked hoping to avoid transport somewhere like this.

“Yeah, I can.” Doc smiled softly and started digging through his satchel. “Let’s get ya some morphine first, alrigh’?”

“Wait, don’t, I’ll be useless.” You said sharply. “It’s just going to hurt when you put it back in, right?”

Roe looked to you with wide eyes, hands stilling before his expression hardened a little. “It’s gonna hurt like hell when I put it back in.” He clarified firmly and you felt Nixon’s hand twitch against your back.

“And then after that I’ll be fine.” You insisted bravely.

Nixon sighed your name, and you turned your head too fast, barely stifling a cry of pain behind trembling lips.

“Maybe you should just let Doc give you the morphine.” He said gently.

“No.” You replied stubbornly despite the fact that he was a ranking officer, turning your face back to Roe more carefully this time. “Just get it over with, please.”

Roe sighed heavily at you, muttering bitterly in French. You caught a word that sounded an awful lot like ‘mule’, but before you could question him about it, he set one hand on your bicep and the other on your forearm. A noise of pain snuck past your lips unbidden, and you clamped your free hand over your mouth as he shot you a knowing look.

“Yer gonna yowl like a goddamn alley cat, take tha morphine.”

You glared up at him stubbornly until he started to move again, bending your arm at the elbow before slowly pushing your bicep in to press along at your ribs. You let out a sob of agony against your palm, aware that the murmur of conversation downstairs had faded away, but helpless to quell your involuntary reactions to Roe’s manipulations of your limb.

You felt Nixon shift at your side, watched his knee slot between yours before he carefully cupped the back of your head to guide your face to press against his neck. Your hand fell to your lap as you burrowed into the collar of his ODs, cheek pressed against his skin, the fabric of his uniform doing a much better job of muffling the sounds of pain spilling from you. His hand sought yours between your bodies, clasping your forearm, and you gripped his tightly in return as Roe turned your left arm out from your body at a ninety-degree angle before pulling downward on your bicep.

A tremendous wail wrenched from your throat with enough force that you anticipated the taste of blood before an audible ‘clunk’ sounded from your left shoulder, resonating through your torso as your joint slid home. The tension melted from your body in an instant as the pain left you, replaced by nothing more than a dull discomfort, slumping against Nixon to take a few deep breaths. Long enough to note the hint of cedar in his aftershave before you remembered yourself.

You had found Captain Nixon handsome from the first moment you’d laid eyes on him, but as he was a married officer with an English mistress you’d also gone above and beyond to steer clear of that mess. Unfortunately, it had done little to dull your body’s natural response to his presence.

Straightening quickly, you frowned to see you’d left wet patches of tear drops on his collar, releasing his hand as though it burned you to try and brush them off.

“It’ll dry just fine.” He assured you warmly and you swallowed thickly, shuffling back a little to turn to Roe.

“Thanks Doc.” You frowned to see him pulling out a sling.

“Jus’ for a few days, can’t have it slippin’ back out.” Roe muttered and unceremoniously wrapped it under your left elbow before tying it behind your neck. “I’ll let Cap’n Speirs know yer on ligh’ duties, he’ll probably send ya up ta Major Winters as a runnah.”

You let out a sigh of relief as hopefully that meant no aid station, no getting separated from the company and lost in some replacement depot. Looking down you frowned at how open the collars of your shirt and OD jacket were and began trying to reassemble yourself one-handed.

“Here.” Nixon offered softly and carefully buttoned you back up to where you usually wore your uniform before he pushed himself to his feet, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you up as well. “Ok?” He asked and you nodded, trying not to notice the way the warmth of his body seeped through your clothes.

“Thank you, sir.” You said quietly and he nodded warmly in reply.

Grabbing his things, he gestured for you to lead the way out of the room, following close behind. As you reached the main floor, Luz held out your helmet which you took with a nod of thanks, putting it on your head before retrieving your rifle from Liebgott. You could hear Perconte continuing to give O’Keefe shit outside and you frowned deeply, making a beeline for the sound of his voice.

“Hey! I’m fucking fine, knock it off.” You barked tersely before you were beckoned over by Captain Speirs.

The sound of an explosion further up the road had your eyes fluttering open, the ruined village of Thalem dissolving into the sun-drenched back of a transport truck parked on the autobahn in Bavaria just outside the SS resort town of Berchtesgaden that 2nd Battalion was supposed to be taking. You’d been sitting here for at least twenty minutes now, the road blocked by a no-doubt man made rockslide that so far had proven impervious to everything the mortar boys had thrown at it.

Just what had pulled your thoughts back to that afternoon several weeks past you couldn’t say, though it was not the first time you had found your mind wandering there during a lull in activity. In fact, it had become harder and harder to find a time when you were not thinking about Nixon, much to your chagrin. It was not good for your health, even though his impending divorce had become very public knowledge nearly two months ago.

A palpable tension had been born between the two of you that day in Thalem, something you were certain others could sense as you’d spent two weeks at Battalion HQ, running into him more often than ever before. Averted gazes, stiffened postures, cleared throats – neither of you quite knew how to behave around each other anymore when interaction had been so natural and inconsequential before. Something had been changed that day in the café and there was no going back to the way it had been previously.

Shifting higher on the wooden bench you noted a couple of the guys in your platoon were dozing in the truck with you but everyone else seemed to have emptied out to watch impatiently as though the pressure of the entire battalion’s eyes might send the rocks cascading the rest of the way down the mountainside. The scuff of jump boots on pavement pulled your attention to the rear of the vehicle and you smiled to see O’Keefe approaching.

“Hey Patty, got tired of watching the blast boys?” You smirked and offered him a hand to pull him up, swallowing at his hesitation. “Come on, I’m fine I told you.” You chided gently.

He took it carefully and allowed you to help him into the truck and that’s when you noticed his helmet tucked under his arm, filled with wildflowers of all sorts of colours. Your breath hitched in your throat as the sight smacked of summertime at home, a dart of nostalgia and longing piercing through the layers of armor you had carefully layered over your heart to make it through this war.

His eyes followed yours and he beamed as he plonked down on the bench beside you. “There’s tons of ‘em just growing alongside the road. I thought you might like some.”

Looking to him softly you took his proffered helmet, setting it in your lap as you looked them all over, picking up a particularly vibrant purple one. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” You murmured distantly, practically transported by something so simple as wildflowers.

“Do you think that one is lavender?”

A snort from the back of the truck announced Liebgott’s return and you glanced over to see him leaning against the grill of the transport parked behind yours.

“Lavender grows in France, not Bavaria.” Webster corrected O’Keefe, tucking his notebook into his pocket before hopping up to sit on the bench across from the pair of you.

“Isn’t there that song about lavender, though? Lavender’s purple, billy billy?” Perconte squeezed in beside O’Keefe, crowding his personal space.

Ignoring their usual antics, you smiled softly to yourself, hands began to move from muscle memory as plucking the longest stemmed flower you could find before carefully winding the purple flower around it, repeating the process over and over as you started to sing.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, lavender’s green”

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s the song!” O’Keefe declared brightly.

“Shut the fuck up, meatball.” Perconte hissed through gritted teeth, elbowing him sharply so you would keep singing.

“When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so ‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so”

Unaware that your voice was carrying across the rockface of the mountainside, you were lost in the chain of flowers you were weaving from O’Keefe’s helmet, the verses coming back to you easily after years of singing them to your younger siblings.

“Call up your men, dilly dilly, put them to work Some to the plow, dilly dilly, some to the fork Some to make hay, dilly dilly, some to cut corn While you and I, dilly dilly, keep ourselves warm”

A hush fell over the valley, even the mortar team ceasing their attempts to break through. It was not the first time they’d heard you sing, you knew all the verses to ‘Blood on the Risers’ and happily shouted them along with the rest of the Company, but it was the first time you’d sung in such a feminine way before. You’d found the most expedient way to integrate into Easy was to be one of the boys, yet here you were, reminding each and every one of them that you were a woman.

“Lavender’s green, dilly dilly, lavender’s blue If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, and the lambs play We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harm’s way

I love to dance, dilly dilly, I love to sing When I am queen, dilly dilly, you’ll be my king Who told me so, dilly dilly, who told me so I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so”

As you finished the song, you curled the chain of blooms into a circle and wove it closed with several stems before turning to place it on O’Keefe’s head, blinking as it slipped down over his eyes. A chorus of harsh laughter at his expense broke out around you and you huffed in annoyance.

“Oh shoot, Patty, I put too many flowers in there, sorry about that. I’ll make you a new one.” You gently pried it off his head, setting the large crown aside before setting to work on a smaller one as the sound of a jeep could be heard coming up the road.

You’d barely put the finishing touches on the smaller crown of flowers when Speirs was ordering everyone to form up into their platoons and O’Keefe had to vanish. Mortifyingly, you found yourself standing on the pavement with both circlets clasped carefully in your hand, somehow loathe to leave them in the transport truck to be trampled but also aware that you couldn’t just carry them with you.

“Captain Nixon can look after those for you, Corporal.” Major Winters voice cut through the din of soldiers tramping back and forth to collect their gear and get ready. You turned to see him grinning at you from where he stood leaning against his jeep.

Nixon, for his part, was staring at you with an unreadable look on his face – Confusion? Bewilderment? Shock? Whatever it was it made you want to duck your head shyly, an impulse which you fought hard against as you hustled over to hold out your handmade treasures.

“Thank you very much, sir.” You murmured quietly, swallowing as he hesitated a moment before taking them gingerly, as if they were made of spun glass, while Major Winters watched on with a broad grin. “Sirs.” You saluted and hurried back to your platoon, not wanting to be the cause of any further delay, but still unable to put your finger on just what Nixon’s expression had been.

As it turned out you had quite a bit of time to puzzle it over. After securing the town without incident and cheering on the select few who made it up to the Eagle’s Nest, you ended up on a patrol under Major Winters where he discovered the ruins of Herman Goering’s hunting lodge. Left on guard duty overnight with Patty, you let him ramble on about all the things he wanted to see and do now that the war in Germany was practically over while you quietly tried to decipher the enigma that was Nixon.

Straightening from your lean against the stucco wall as you heard the sound of an engine approaching down the rather rough road, you swallowed painfully to see the man himself, posture quite relaxed as he cradled an open bottle of champagne.

“What is this place?” He asked as he climbed from the vehicle, dressed only in the wool shirt and pants of his uniform.

“Herman Goering’s house, we discovered it yesterday. Had it on double guard ever since.” Major Winters replied.

You nodded in greeting as they walked past you, though Nixon’s sunglasses made it even more impossible to interpret his mood than that last time you’d seen him.

“I can vouch for that, sir.” O’Keefe interjected quickly and you tried not to wince at his endearing awkwardness.

“Oh, anxious to get off duty, O’Keefe?” Winters taunted him.

“No, there’s just so much to see and do, sir.” The boy replied honestly, and you heard Nixon scoff under his breath as Winters unlocked the door.

“Heya meatball.” Nixon grinned in greeting as he followed Winters through the door and down the stairs and that time you really did wince.

O’Keefe looked at you hopefully and you motioned with your head for him follow them, knowing full well his curiosity must be eating him alive. Listening to the wind rustling in the trees, you sighed quietly, soaking in the peace of the moment before Winters made his way back up the stairs with O’Keefe, the boy yanking you into a hug.

“Victory in Europe! The Germans surrendered!” He crowed and you stared at him, stunned speechless for a moment before you hugged him back.

Major Winters chuckled behind him before nodding to you in confirmation, making you realize the bewildered expression that must have been on your face. You pulled back to slap O’Keefe on the shoulder with a grin.

“Gotta go get the others, there is so much booze down there!” He was vibrating with excitement.

Glancing over your shoulder towards the stairs you raised your eyebrows curiously.

“Go take a look, Corporal.” Winters nodded encouragingly before climbing into his jeep with O’Keefe and pulling out.

Hitching your rifle higher on your shoulder you carefully made your way down the stairs, mind still swirling with the news, fingertips buzzing with an odd energy you weren’t quite certain what to do with. As you stepped through the open gate into the expansive wine cellar, stocked from floor to ceiling, your eyes widened, trying to take it all in.

“What’s your favorite drink?” Nixon’s question interrupted your moment of shock, and you looked over to where he stood amid countless bottles of a richly colored red wine.

“Gin.” You replied walking further into the space, sliding your helmet from your head as he made a thoughtful noise in reply before beginning to hunt through row on row of bottles. You unshouldered your rifle to set the butt on the floor, leaning the barrel against a stack of crates before setting your helmet on top of them.

Gnawing on your lip you turned back to admire the intensity with which Nixon approached his task before a small cry of triumph escaped his lips and he pulled a green bottle from the corner, holding it out to you as he approached like the conquering hero. You could not stop the grin that tugged at your lips as you took it from him, looking over the unfamiliar label.

“Genever, from Holland. The precursor to gin. It should do.” He nodded with a self-satisfied smile.

“Thank you, Captain Nixon.” You replied warmly, doubting you’d need a whole bottle to yourself but still appreciating the gesture as you slid it into the jacket pocket of your ODs.

“Can you do me a favor?” He tilted his head.

“Sir?” You stood a little straighter.

“Call me Lewis.” He requested softly, his rich brown eyes seeking yours in the dim light of the cellar.

Swallowing roughly, your heart began to beat a little faster at the intimacy of his request as your mind flitted back to his earlier arrival.

“Only if you’ll do something in return?” You asked slowly.

“What’s that?” He leaned in, the sweetness of champagne still lingering on his breath.

“Can you stop calling O’Keefe ‘meatball’?” You tensed in anticipation of his reaction, your heart plummeting through the concrete floor when he recoiled as if you’d struck him. Guilt bloomed bitterly in your chest, a new crop to go alongside the one you had planted that day in Thalem. “Every time someone says it, I’m reminded of the worst thing I ever said to him.” You rushed to explain your request, cautiously optimistic as his gaze slowly returned to your face. “It…wasn’t his fault he panicked. I never should have spoken to him that way.”

Nixon’s brows furrowed a moment in consideration of your request. “You really care for the kid, don’t you.” He sounded resigned and you found yourself blinking at him stupidly as he made his way back over to continue perusing the shelves.

Slowly, your brain began to process the slump of his shoulders, the forced nonchalance as he examined various labels and added choice bottles to a wooden crate at his feet.

Could he possibly be… No, that seemed utterly improbable… and yet…

All that aside, it seemed as though it could not hurt to clarify your relationship with O’Keefe. “Reminds me of my kid brother, sir.”

Nixon raised his head slowly, turning back to look at you. “Like a brother…” He said thoughtfully and you bobbed your head in agreement. “Well, I suppose I can stop in that case then.” He smirked and you exhaled with a warm smile.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose at you expectantly.

“Thank you very much, Lewis.” You amended, pressing your lips together as they hummed in pleasure at forming his name.

Lewis’s lips stretched into a lopsided grin as he eyed you warmly for a few moments before turning back to the task at hand, filling the crate and adding it to a growing stack by the entrance before grabbing another one to repeat the process. Shaking your head, you perched a hip onto one of the tables behind you, eyes scanning the room, reflecting on its previous owner, surprised at the sudden tightness in your throat as you remembered the fresh news of the German surrender. Clearly it was going to take some time to sink in, and frequent reminders, but the tears that were threatening to well in your eyes needed to be quashed until you could find a quiet place to unleash them as silently as possible.

Partly out of a desire to simply say his name again, and largely out of a need to distract yourself from the rising tide of your own emotions, you called out to him softly again. “Hey Lewis?”

“Hmmm?” He replied and you found yourself taking far too much pleasure in how quickly he turned back to you.

“I, uh, I was sorry to hear about your dog.” You said meaningfully, that tightness in your throat returning with a vengeance when an unveiled look of fragility overtook his features.

For the first time in nearly a month you were utterly convinced of how Lewis was feeling and more than anything you thought the man was in dire need of a hug. Before your brain even registered you were moving, your feet propelled you across the floor to wrap around arms around him, pulling him close. Almost immediately his arms slid around you tightly in return, one hand clinging to your shoulder as the other pressed some unknown bottle into your lower back, his face burrowing into your neck.

Tightening your embrace, you held him warmly, almost a mirror image of how he had held you in Thalem. You were completely oblivious to the traitorous tears that had snuck down your cheeks until Lewis was pulling back, setting the bottle of liquor aside to cradle your jaw and swipe at them with his thumbs.

“It’s a hell of a dog, but not worth you crying over.” He teased gently and you rolled your eyes, mostly in frustration at yourself, shaking your head as you sniffed.

“Is this…really all over?” You whispered in disbelief, and he pressed his forehead to yours gently as he nodded.

“We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harms way.” He uttered and you let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, burying your face into his shoulder as he pulled you tightly against him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, unable to stop the flood of tears now that they had snuck past your defences, each shake of your frame somehow causing Lewis to hold you tighter as though he might prevent you from crumbling to pieces. The bottle of genever pressed between your bodies almost painfully, digging into your hip, giving you something tangible to focus on as you reined in your shuddering breaths, lifting your head slowly.

“God, I got your uniform all wet again.” You said, voice thick with the aftereffects of your breakdown and he shook his head as you wiped at his collar with your sleeve.

“It’ll dry just fine.” He repeated his assurance from the café with a smirk, and you gave him a watery laugh, wiping at your face roughly.

“Trooper, is that a bottle of Dutch-gin in your pocket or…” He grinned deviously and your jaw dropped before you smacked his shoulder playfully as a peal of laughter escaped your lips.

You shuffled back to put a proper amount of space between your bodies though you noted his one hand remained splayed upon your back. The one that had previously been at nape of your neck dropped to retrieve the bottle from your pocket. “If anyone is in need of a celebratory drink, it’s definitely you.” He murmured gently.

He tilted it towards you, and you reached forward to tug at the red ribbon as he held the bottle steady, breaking the wax seal over the cork. You let the debris fall to the ground before unsealing the cork with a promising ‘pop.’ You scoffed in playful protest as Lewis helped himself to first sip before setting the genever in your outstretched hand. Taking a swig, you blinked at the complexity of it compared to the dry gin you were accustomed to in England or back home. It burned its way down your throat into your empty stomach, igniting a warm glow from within.

A few rogue droplets had been left on your lips, but before you had the chance to swipe your tongue out to collect them, Lewis’s fingertips were tracing along the sensitive flesh. Your breath caught in your throat at the way his eyes were focused on your mouth as he worked at gathering every bit of liquid whilst also tracing the fullness of your lips before lifting his fingertips to suck them clean. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, Lewis’s proximity, and the way his eyes were now boring into yours, you swallowed tightly as his hand pressed tighter to your back, pulling you closer once more. His lips had barely brushed against yours when a host of voices sounded at the top of the staircase.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” He swore against your mouth before you darted back out of his grip, chest heaving as you shoved the cork into the bottle of genever and returned it to your pocket forcefully. You quickly began to look for something to be doing with yourself.

“I’ll start loading these into the jeep, Captain?” You asked, voice tight as a bow string and all he managed in response was a dazed nod as you quickly scooped up one of the crates filled with his choice of bottles, nodding to the newest crop of arrivals on your way up the staircase.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you set the crate into the back of the jeep Winters had left for you and O’Keefe during guard duty, trying to take deep breaths of fresh air to clear your head. Christ that had been close…close to being caught…close to kissing Lewis…You sunk your teeth into your lower lip trying to smother the broad grin that threatened to unfurl on your features. There were far too many people about now to be grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Fishing your canteen from your webbing, you took a deep sip of water before smoothing your hands over your uniform and, feeling somewhat collected, returned to the cellar to move more crates.

Lewis seemed to have regained control of his senses, not that you dared to look at him, but his directions rang out through the cellar to load most of the wine into the trucks that men has just arrived with for the enjoyment of the officers while you continued carting his personal stash up the stairs until the jeep was full to bursting. All in all, he claimed five truckloads for himself and the officers of 2nd battalion. You rode backwards in the jeep, doing your best to stabilize the crates over the rough track back into town, doing your utmost to ignore his proximity in the vehicle.

A very warm welcome awaited your return to the lavish hotel where the officers were billeted, and many hands made short work of unloading all those trucks so they might make another trip for the rest of the men. By the time you’d made your way to Lewis’s room with the last of his crates, there was barely space to move for all the alcohol stashed within. No more than a small walking path from the door to the bed, if you were being honest.

“This is the last of it, sir.” You said as you looked around for a spot to put it and he looked to you sharply.

“We talked about this…” He teased, shuffling forward to grab it from you, hoisting it over to another corner of the room but you barely heard him as your eyes fell onto the two flower crowns sitting on the window ledge beside the bed.

“You kept them?” You breathed in amazement.

He looked to you before following your gaze and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was told to look after them for you.”

Picking your way across the floor carefully, you knelt on the bed with your boots hanging off the edge behind you, smiling softly to see they were a little dried out but truly no worse for wear. “You did an excellent job of it, Lewis.” You barely whispered his name aware the door was still open.

Setting your rifle on the floor at the foot of the bed, you put your helmet on the ledge before picking up the larger crown, rolling onto your hip and then onto your butt on the mattress in time to see him closing the door. “I’d bet money this fits you.” You smiled softly.

“Save your money, I already know.” He grinned, ducking down beneath the circlet of flowers before straightening with it perched atop his dark hair.

Your eyes widened in delight. “It fits perfectly.” Your fingers gently straightened it, unable to ignore the softness of his chocolate strands at they brushed against your fingers.

Lewis’s gaze flicked to your lips briefly before looking back to your eyes and you took a slow breath before trailing your hands down to frame his face, enjoying the slight scratch of his stubble against your palms. “Lewis…” You exhaled, and he surged forward to seal his lips against yours firmly.

He settled onto his knees before you, hands gripping your waist as you parted your legs and dropped a hand to his back to urge him closer. Needing no further invitation, he scooted forward, pressing against you as his tongue licked its way into your mouth. You weren’t quite sure who started it, but your fingers were a flurry of activity, pulling at the buttons of each others’ uniforms. All he managed to reveal was the wool shirt you wore underneath, your webbing dangling limply from your shoulders, while you found his bare chest. Growing impatient, Lewis tugged your shirt and undershirt free of your pants and ODs until he was able to slide his hand against the soft skin of your abdomen, making your lips fall back from his with a whimper.

“Damn it why are you wearing so many clothes…” He growled and you pressed your face against his hair to smother your laugh, knocking the flower crown askew.

“Some of us were on duty today.” You muttered back, nipping at the shell of his ear before pushing his shirt from his shoulders, letting your hands skate along his back.

Leaning forward, he pushed you back into the mattress, nipping and sucking his way along your jaw before he methodically began to remove your layers of clothing and webbing, starting with a ruthless tugging on your boot laces, until you were left in your army issue brassiere and underwear. To say that they left a lot to be desired in terms of style was an understatement, but the reverence in his gaze as his eyes raked over his hard-won reward soothed your ego somewhat. Plucking the crown from his head, you tossed it gently onto the windowsill before hugging his hips with your knees and rolling him onto his back intent on returning the favour, your dog tags jangling against his in a metallic collision.

As you tried to slide down to reach the laces of his boots, however, he grunted in denial, hauling you in for a hungry kiss as he pulled your pelvis snug against his, making you inhale sharply through your nose at the feel of his hard length against you. “Gotta get your pants off, Lew.” You tried to speak but he kept interrupting you with brushes of his lips or darts of his tongue into your mouth. Huffing slightly, you rocked forward against him firmly, making yourself shudder, but you managed to get his attention as his head fell back, eyes staring up at you half-lidded, jaw slack in a silent moan. “Gonna start with your boots and then I’m gonna get your pants off.”

“And then you’ll do that again…” He breathed and you nodded licking your lips as he released your hips.

You were admittedly not nearly as efficient as him, fingers made clumsy with want, but through persistence you prevailed in removing his boots, pants, and boxers, adding them to the scattered heap of clothing on the small patch of floor. Skimming your hands up his bare legs you revelled in the way he trembled slightly, sitting up to watch you impatiently as you made your way up from the floor. Halting your progress a moment, you ducked your head to lick a warm, wet stripe along the needy length of his cock where it stood proud against his lower abdomen, drawing a shaky cry of your name from his lips that convinced you to linger between his thighs a little longer.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you swirled your tongue around the tip before slowly sliding his length into your mouth, watching his cheeks flush and eyes flutter close as he wrenched at the bedding violently.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart…” He panted, his abdominal muscles flexing erratically.

Smile curling around him, you dragged your lips up his length only to sink your mouth back down onto him, covering the last bit you couldn’t manage with your fist, allowing your saliva to run freely.

“Christ you’re good at that.” There was the edge of a whine to his voice and suddenly he was pulling your mouth from him, chest heaving. “Keep that up and this’ll be over before it begins…” He muttered and sat up, gripping your hips to guide you onto the bed properly.

His lips latched onto nipple through the thin cotton of your bra before you could open your mouth to apologize, making your hips buck up against his stomach greedily as your fingers delved into his hair. Pulling the cup down he laved his tongue along the sensitive peak, before shifting his attentions to its partner, your soft sighs of pleasure filling the room. Sliding his hands to your back, he guided you up to sit before making quick work of the hook and eye closure between your shoulder blades, tossing your bra aside onto a crate of liquor before pressing you back down into the mattress with a kiss to your sternum, just above where your dog tags rested against your bare skin.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them over your hips and down your legs before they too were unceremoniously tossed aside. “Goddamn sweetheart you are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He murmured, pressing his lips against the side of your knee before he hooked it over his shoulder as he came to rest on his stomach between your legs.

“Lew I…” You started to protest, embarrassed about the fact that you hadn’t seen a shower in a few days, but the words died on your lips as his fingers ran through your slick folds.

“You’re so wet, did I make you this wet?” He murmured in awe, and you nodded slowly, his answering grin almost blinding in its intensity. “Well, best not let it go to waste.” Lewis winked before sealing his mouth over your core, sucking the very breath from your lungs as his tongue delved hungrily to find your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Throwing your arm over your mouth, you smothered a harsh curse of delight into the crook of your elbow as he slung his forearm across your hips to pin them down so he might better intensify the level of pleasure he was dealing you as his tongue plunged into your heat. His nose took over the stimulation of your clit, while the stubble on his cheeks and jaw made your inner thighs tremble. The sounds he was making between your legs were positively lewd and only heightened the swirling headiness that wrapped around you. You clung to his hair as he began to suck on your clit, making you see stars behind your clenched eyelids, every exhale an eager moan or keen smothered against your skin.

Lewis’s hand slid up along your side to cup your breast, his fingers shifting to pinch and roll at your nipple, vaulting you over the edge as you rambled his name over and over. The tension of ecstasy slowly ebbed from your body, and he lifted his head with a broad grin, swiping at his upper lip with his thumb before sucking it clean. “Someday I’m gonna do that somewhere so remote you can scream at the top of your lungs.” He nuzzled your hair, pressing his lips to your ear as you laughed breathlessly.

“You sound so certain…” You teased, but he merely raised an eyebrow in response, his palm cupping your still-sensitive core, making your eyes roll back in your head.

“I am, yes. Certain that I can make you cum with my hands, my mouth, my cock. Certain that I’d like the opportunity to do so again and again…” You forced your eyes open to look over his features slowly.

“Yeah?” You exhaled, not quite sure what you had been expecting when you fell into bed with him, just knowing it was what you had wanted above all else in that moment.

“Yeah, sweetheart, until you’re sick of me.” He kissed you gently, the salty tang of your release still on his lips.

Gripping the back of his head, you returned the kiss hungrily, shifting your hips to rock up against his length, swallowing his ragged moan as you finally fulfilled your promise to repeat that motion. “Show me.” You whispered, aching to feel him inside you.

Lewis exhaled hotly against your lips before shifting his hips back, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance before he rocked forward to slowly sink into you. He sealed his mouth over yours almost painfully as you whimpered hungrily, his own rumble of pleasure reverberating through your chest. His head fell to rest against your collarbone, his breath caressing your skin once he was fully seated inside you, unmoving.

“Lew…” You whimpered softly, digging your fingers into his shoulders, writhing against him slightly.

“I know, sweetheart just…fuck you’ll be my undoing…” He whispered before he kissed you fiercely, pulling his hips back only to thrust forward once more, earning a moan of delight from you.

Your bodies began the push and pull of carnal pleasure, moving in tandem as though this were your hundredth coupling rather than your first. Grasping your knee, Lewis hiked it higher on his hip, angling his thrusts deeper into your willing body, making you toss your head to the side as you clenched your jaw against the desire to wail in delight.

“Wish I could…hear you so fucking badly…” He grit out before grasping your chin and turning your face back so he could press his mouth to yours as he rut against you firmly, his pubic bone grinding against your clit deliciously.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, the vicious undertow nearly obliterating your ability to think as Lewis quickly pulled out from your convulsing warmth to release across your abdomen with an agonized groan that was admittedly less than concealed before he collapsed onto the bed at your side. The pair of you lay there, speechless, covered in a sheen of sweat, chests heaving with frantic breaths before he shifted to feather soft kisses along the side of your face, reaching for a weathered scrap of green cloth that served as an army handkerchief to wipe your skin clean.

The ferocious growl your stomach emitted in the relative silence of the room had you tense as Lewis cracked up. “Sweetheart when was the last time you ate?”

“Oh, Christ I don’t know…” You muttered, covering your face with both hands in mortification.

Laughing richly, he kissed your knuckles before forcing himself up. “Alright, ok. Food. I’m going to find you some food. And then I’m going to spend the rest of this night right here in this bed with you, so don’t you go anywhere.” He looked down at you with playful seriousness as he stepped into the pants of your ODs, ruining the effect. “Shit.” He muttered.

Giggling into your palm, you shook your head before sighing as you pulled the blankets over your bare skin, feeling the chill of the mountain air now that he’d taken his body heat away from you. “Hey Lew?”

He looked to you quickly, nearly dressed – in his own clothes this time. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’ll be here.” You smiled warmly, the stretch of your lips only widened by the grin of glee he directed at you before climbing back into bed to kiss you warmly. Your poor, empty digestive system growled insistently, and he huffed against your lips.

“Alright, fine…I’ll be back with food.” Lewis kissed your cheek before sliding into his jump boots and stepping out with his laces untied in search of sustenance for you both, fully intent on not making another public appearance until the next morning.

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Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @fuckoffthanos

[elswifee]

Jealousy Jealousy

Warnings: violence, drug!use, alcohol!use, future smut, flirty!ellie, dom!ellie, jealous!ellie, bsf!ellie, nerdy!reader, strong language, sub!reader, f!nger!ng (r!receiving), strap!usage (r!receiving), scissoring, angst.. I guess??

Summary: player ellie finally convinces her bestfriend's, y/n to go to a party after school, when she get jealous of people start looking at her with hungry eyes. Causing a scene, may cost her, her bestfriend.

Part 1 | Part 2

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The sound of your alarm rings through your ears causing you to jump up. The weight of an arm around your waist keeps you down. You turn around to find ellie sleeping softly, her lips slightly parted. Her soft snores making it seem as though she is in a deep sleep. She looks so pretty.

"Ellie, ellie, wake up. We have to get ready for school, c'mon." You lightly rub her arm, causing her to stur. She grunts, mumbling something about not wanting to wake up. You slip out of her arms heading to your restroom to brush your teeth. You spit out the toothpaste and look up, ellie standing behind you in her sweatpants low on her waist, showing the waistband of her black boxers and a baggy black shirt. She leans over you, slightly brushing her front on your ass. She reaches for her toothbrush that you don't mind having in your house along with a few pieces of her clothing in your drawers. You continue to brush your teeth, bending forward to spit and rinse your mouth. The fat slightly showing from the bottom of your shorts. Ellie leans back just a tad bit to check it out before fixing her posture quickly when you come up to wipe your mouth.

Leaving the restroom to go change into some low waisted, bootcut jeans before putting on a dark blue long sleeve shirt that makes your figure look like an hourglass. Ellie walks in as you pull down your shirt, making her way to your drawers looking for something to wear. "How'd you sleep?" You say in a sweet tone. "I slept good actually, just wish you didn't have that alarm so early in the morning, though." She smiles, pulling out her black jeans before putting them on. She pulls on her black tee by the collar and over her head, making her toned abs flex. She settles on her grey long-sleeved shirt, pulling up the sleeves just below the elbow, showing the tattoo on her forearm. She had gotten a new sleeve on her opposite arm.

"Well.. it's good to wake up early, therfore we won't be late and you'll be able to buy me coffe on the way." You smile, putting on your black puffer jacket. "Oh wow, so you're using me now, too?" Ellie laughs. Putting on her jacket and convers. Following you downstairs were you get your keys and your backpack. Stuffing some snacks in for later and handing ellie some too. "Just a little bit" you say making your index and thumb close, just leaving a bit of space between the fingers. "WOW, how could you just admit that so carelessly. Like you for real hurt my feelings, doll." She puts her hand over her heart, acting hurt. You roll your eyes locking the front door. Pulling your jacket closer to your body due to the cold weather.

Climbing onto Ellie's 1967 Ford mustang, you buckle up as ellie round the front of the car to get to the drivers seat.

"I'll get a black coffee,please." You say. Turning on the radio, the Christmas music low as you receive your coffee. You thank ellie before looking at her. You reach over and peck her cheek. She smirks a little blush peeking through. It wasn't a wierd thing to show affection the way you did. It has always been a comfortable friendship you had.

When you finally reach school, ellie walks you to your first class. Her arm thrown over your shoulder keeping you close. As you guys approach the classroom door the warning bell rings, signaling that class is about to start. "Alright, goodbye doll. Don't miss me too much." She hugs you and places a kiss on your head. Walking backwards before shouting,"meet me in the parking lot for dismissal!"

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Your waiting on ellie, sitting down at one of those picnic table outside your school. Listening to music and reading a new book you got, Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas.. yeah a sappich book you're enjoying way too much. Your in the hotel scene.. your so into the book that you don't realize a body next to you. A tap on the shoulder has you jumping. You look to your right, ellie looking at you in adoration. You blush, shutting the book close, before tucking it into your bag. "Hey, doll. What you readin'," That sentence had your heart racing. Your brain was for real going to explode of embarrasment. "Uhh, nothing. Just a new book I got." You state getting up from your spot and walking towards Ellie's car. "Nothing huh? What you hiding, angle?"

All of the sudden you feel your bag being shuffled through. Your heart drops to your ass. You turn around so fast ready to yank back your book. Ellie opens it up to your bookmark, her eyes widen slightly, a smirk coming up to her face. "Wow, I never knew you liked this type of shit. And here I am thinking you're reading some cute romance. You surprise me doll."

A blush creeps up on your cheeks snatching the books aways, keeping it close to your chest. Oh my gosh, that is so embarrassing! You climb into the car. The ride to your house was embarrassing. "If you tell anyone, williams. I will kill you." Your threat just making her smile. You climb out of the car, making your way around it to your front door. "I'll pick you up at 8 later tonight, sweetheart." She winks as she drives off.

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You had just finished your everything shower. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous. You had no idea what you were going to wear, you were infront of your mirror in a matching black underwear set.

You are roaming around in your closet, when you hear your front door unlock. Ellie walks into your room. Caught off guard when she sees you semi naked. She was dressed in a black button up, sleeves rolled up at the elbow, revealing her tattoos, and some washed out jeans with her convers.

She looked good, a little to good.

"Hey, doll. Why aren't you dressed yet?" Her voice coming out as a rasp. She shamelessly checked you out, the way your lace bra did wonders for your breasts, and your black underwear hugging your ass perfectly. You looked like a goddess. You always tend to surprise her, since you never really show your body like that.

"I don't know what to wear," you let out a wine.

"Why don't you wear that?" She points at a glittery black dress layed out in the pile of clothes. It was tight, well fitted, short, and made your cleavage look amazing. It truly did fit you like a glove. Ellie was mesmerized by the way you looked. You finished your makeup, a little smokey eye made them pop out, you had straightened your silky brown hair. You were applying lipgloss when you realized that ellie hadn't removed her eyes from you for a second, causing butterflies in your stomach.

"Okay I'm ready, let's go." You say wrapping the strap of your heel around your ankle. You were so glad you painted your toes two days before. Black made you look good. You felt good about yourself. You felt yourself smile a little when you realized that you and ellie were sort of matching.

"Alright, let's go." She clears her throat, wrapping an arm around your waist. "You look absolutely ravishing, doll" She whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Oh shit, this is going to be a long night.

[ilivingonmyway]

My thought for the month was that Fugi-Dove only climbed the damn-poor tree to try to get Jay's attention.

"If the Ninjas came back to save the world again, Jay will come back to save me. And then we'll finish the villainy course so he can become my new partner!" — Fugi-Dove at some point in Dragons Rising, (probably).

So he climbed the poor-damn tree to call out to Jay. The neighbors were upset and forced him to get down, but he didn't know how to get down alone, so they had to call the Ninjas to get him out. He sulked the rest of the day because it was Kai who rescued him showed up, not Jay he even tried to "scare" Kai away only to keep calling for Jay, claiming that he would come to help him.

For the next 4 weeks he did the same routine. Climb up somewhere and shout out for Jay. Fail in getting his attention and by ended up being rescued by another Ninja. Things only got better when Nya grabbed Fugi-Dove by the collar and told him that Jay wouldn't come to him because he wasn't at the Crossroads, and actually, he was still lost somewhere in the Merged Realms. Fugi-Dove just gave her a sideway glance and walked away defeated. Six hours later the Ninjas received a call saying that Fugi-Dove had climbed another tree again, but now instead of screaming for the Blue Ninja he was crying at the top of his lungs.

I can't say I like the dove-guy, but he has his moments. Sometimes. When he's not being a creepy-half-idiot.

[chokiechips]

Yandere Head canons Part 2 : Wally Darling

hihi so sorry for the wait I was caught up with some work but here's part 2! Hope you like it!

Themes: Yandere, Obssesive traits, Murder

Wally can't seem to understand it, as time flew by. Your fascination with that stupid fool Howdy was just simply growing, and the more Wally could think about it, the more violent he felt.

What if you don't come and visit him anymore? What if you start visiting Howdy instead? Would you like him more than Wally? What the absolute hell does Howdy have that Wally doesn't?!

Wally no longer could sleep in his bed, the thoughts of you and Howdy Pillar circling his mind and invading his thoughts. He instead curled up in his yellow fluffy chair, slipping on an old sweater you had forgotten to retrieve, still unwashed, in your favourite color.

It still smells like you. Perfect. Your scent was like nectar of the gods, as he pressed the collar of the sweater close to his nose, breathing it in. It was as if you were sleeping with him, your hands wrapped around his body, snuggled close.

But that soon would not last, for when he woke up and got out of Home to see Barnaby, there you were, walking down the street with Howdy Pillar, heading to his grocery shop. Of course, he didn't know you were merely working for Howdy Pillar. How else were you going to pay for utilities and food?

So, Wally started to stalk ensure you were safe. In the morning, Home and Wally would watch you closely from the safety of Home, making your way to work. Then, Wally would leave Home, walking in your footsteps slowly, making sure Howdy didn't come over.

Barnaby and Julie immediately noticed this volatile change in Wally. He no longer showed up to their little get-togethers, no longer involved in the show much. Just you. Only you. When they could finally reach him, crouched in a bush in front of your house at night holding a pair of binoculars, he brushed it off, chuckling to them, with a bright voice.

"What? Me? Stalker?! Please! My dear neighbor here is just... involved, per say, with some bad folk! Can't have a bad apple ruin such a rosy red one like her!"

Barnaby and Julie left him after that, hurrying away, afraid to interfere any further. They saw the way his dilated pupils trembled with such passionate obsession, his hands shaking around the binoculars, your sweater poking out from under his dark blue cardigan. Something was deeply wrong with him.

You on the other hand, just seemed a little sad. What happened to your dear friend? You and Wally seemed so close, and all of a sudden whilst you were talking in Home next to him(mid speech too might you add) he had you shoved out of Home! Was your friendship doomed? Did he hate you? Did you say something wrong?

As you curled up in your bed that night, you felt your tiny heart ache a little. You were just gaining feelings for this neighbor, but maybe it wasn't meant to be? As you tucked yourself under the covers, your eyelids gently closing shut, you would have failed to notice the window of your house slowly creaking open, and a shadowy figure climbing in.

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

It had now been two weeks since you became doubtful about your friendship with Wally, the autumn hued sun dipping into the land for the moon to take over. You didn't have a good day either. With Howdy not showing up today to man the cashier and all the duties that came with a manager, you were stuck with more workload than you intended.

Dressed in your uniform, you walk gloomily back to your house making your way up the steps to your front door- wait a minute.

Your porch is a mess- but when you left this morning for work, the carpet that read Welcome Home was in front of your front door flat, your front door key hidden under it. Your door, locked tight. Now. there was dirt and a dried rust colored substance tracking the whole of the porch, the mat thrown to the side, and the key missing.

Your front door was ajar. Oh god no.

What if it was a burglar?! You had no weapon!

Grabbing a flower pot at the side, you creaked the door open, tiptoeing against the carpeted floor, damp with a maroon substance, leading to your bedroom.

Nothing seemed to be stolen from the living room, to your surprise.

Does this intruder want to... kill you?

You shake the thought away as you suck in a shaky breath, your hands shaking from nerves, and gently nudge your front door open.

In the light of the moon, a shadowy figure crouched by your bed, murmuring to himself, fiddling with two small objects on your bed, as if unsure of his decision.

The minute your eyes fell on the signature blue cardigan, you knew.

"Wally?"

He turned to look at you, hearts in his eyes, a crazed smile stretching across his face, hands drenched in blood, and a pair of eyeballs sitting on your bed, staining the bedsheets red.

"OH- Darling! Look what I got for you! That no good rotten Howdy of yours won't harass you any longer. I love you too much, don't you see that? You missed me don't you? I missed you too. "

He gets up, walking over to a frozen you, your (e/c) eyes shaking with a profound fear.

Burying you in a suffocating hug, his bloody hands circling around your waist, his head nuzzling your neck and inhaling your scent.

This was what you get, honestly.

You're the apple of his eye! Only his.

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

[yoonmetogether]

Not In the Cards Prologue

pairing: dirty cop!hoseok x mob boss!seokjin (rest of the story will feature bodyguard!yoongi x CEO!fem reader) genre: mafia summary: a tragic love affair sets the stage and unfolds the story yet to come. warnings: angst!!!!!, hurt/comfort, smut (not explicit), family drama, troubled childhoods, parental loss, trauma, su!c!dal thoughts, mentions of violence and murder (blood/guns), panic attacks, drug addiction/rehab, everyone is going through it, alcohol, weed smoking, age gap, borderline stockholm syndrome (whoops!) wc: 6.7k 😀 this is a loaded chapter, so i apologize ahead of time if it comes out like an info dump lol also reminder, Angel is reader's pseudonym minors pls dni, nsfw

teaser l prologue l ch.1 play nice I prelude. strangers 1/2 l ch. ii I

“Hey, agent Jung, are you busy?”

Hoseok peers up from his laptop to the rookie poking his head into his office.

“What’s up?” Taking it as permission to enter, the rookie looks behind him at the hallway before stepping in and shutting the door, fidgeting nervously with a manila folder in his hand.

“Um, I have something,” he murmurs quietly, and Hoseok’s fingers freeze above the keyboard. Glancing back up, the rookie stares at the ground as he stays in place in front of the door. Hoseok sighs and sits back in his chair, stretching his hands cramped from hours of typing up reports. This can’t be good.

"Don’t just stand there, bring it over."

“Right,” the rookie squeaks, rapidly shuffling forward and holding out the folder with a slight bow. Hoseok winces at the intimidation the rookie clearly feels from him and he lowkey hates how he’s grown a reputation of being a hard ass.

Nevertheless, he accepts the folder and silently prays it isn’t what he thinks it is but once he opens it and sees the face of the man already tattooed in his mind, he has to hold back a series of curses. His jaw ticks as he leans forward to flip over the many sheets of paper holding information to the case of the alleged son of the Crow don, filled with leads and scrappy evidence gathered over years of investigations that he once was a part of as a rookie himself.

“What are you showing me?” He grumbles, thinking he would be looking at some new report of a half-assed lead but there's nothing in here that he hasn't already seen and spent sleepless nights practically memorizing.

The rookie clears his throat and points to the second half of the folder, quickly glancing over his shoulder as if someone had suddenly appeared behind him.

“I found a copy of the warrant the CID is drafting up.”

Hoseok is glad for the countless hours he's spent training himself to pass polygraph tests, otherwise his heart would be racing out of his chest and there would be nothing but panic written all over his face. Criminal Investigative Division, the office he climbed himself out of to serve in the CIA instead, getting away from domestic law enforcement to try and keep a low profile.

The rookie, a seriously intelligent and experienced cyber tech, uses his employment to hack into the intelligence agency databases in order to keep Hoseok informed about the CID's investigation into the Crown organization that holds the northern cities by the throats, poisoning the streets with internationally traded drugs, military-grade weapons, and counterfeit goods, all for lower-hierarchy syndicates to play with in the black market and make a buck for themselves. The CID has been going after the don, Kim Dongsoo, for years, trying to take him down for hundreds of pages of blue and white-collar crimes, but thanks to generational power and sickeningly innumerous wealth, the pockets of politicians, cops, judges, and lawmakers have been lined by the don and it's hard to pin him down with any kind of conviction, since most of the evidence would have to be illegally obtained and therefore inadmissible in court. And now that the mob boss suddenly passed away, the CID turned their attention to his successor, Kim Seokjin, the face staring up at him from the manila. Or Atlas, as he’s known on the streets.

Hoseok suddenly stands up, gripping the folder in a way that crinkles the papers. He leans forward and doesn't miss the way the rookie gulps.

"Are you stupid? Bringing this here to my office when anyone could snatch this right out of your hand to have a look? Do you want to screw me over?" The rookie looks like he's shaking in his boots in response to Hoseok's menacing tone and piercing glare. Hoseok misses the time when he used to be the fun, goofy agent around the office.

(He blames it on the man who trained the sunny disposition out of him ever since he'd been forced to go down this dirty rotten path. D, the one who has a scar over his eye and shoots looks that could kill, who Hoseok had to learn to not be scared of. Now, they’re practically best buds; if there can even be such a friendship in this line of work. Sometimes the only fun Hoseok has is holding over D’s head the fact that he could arrest him at any point and lock him up for life. In return, D reminds him how he could snipe him between the eyes and in the balls from two skyscrapers away. But Hoseok knows the man is capable of far worse things - like round-housing him until he folds up like a pretzel, neatly slitting his throat to bury him in scattered locations without a trace of DNA, and even running him off the road going 200 kph, leaving without a scratch on his car or a burn on his tires. Not that he could actually do anything since Hoseok has been fucking the man they both call boss who fills their bank accounts. But he'll never find out that Hoseok gets a few more zeroes tacked on every month thanks to that same man. Well, play one game of poker and D could drain him of every last penny in the blink of an eye. Hoseok is shit at poker.)

"Sir, everyone's gone for the day," the rookie stutters and Hoseok whips his attention out of his daze to the window, finding it is indeed very dark outside, and then takes notice of the time on his laptop, indicating how fast the day had gotten away from him. He sharply exhales and drops the folder on the desk, sitting down with a plop to rub his hands over his face as exhaustion settles heavily in his bones.

"Next time, find me outside the building, or I'll have your job. Understand?"

The rookie rapidly nods, significantly paler, and Hoseok dismisses him with a wave of his hand and not a single word. Not even bothering to tell him that his offshore bank account will receive an exuberant reimbursement for his work because the rookie already knows that, and it's the only reason that he comes back to deal with Hoseok’s moody ass. He waits until his mole shuffles out and the door clicks shut to collapse in his chair, mind starting to race as he thinks of his next move.

One thing is for certain. This is his excuse to see Kim Seokjin.

Shutting off his laptop and gathering all his files into his briefcase because he's not one to stop working when the day is done, he quickly mulls over the contents of the warrant, looking for any reason the judge would have not to sign it, and drops it in the shredder with a vengeance when he finds none. He shreds the rest of the file and carries out the scraps to burn in the fireplace back home.

Once he pulls into his garage, he routinely checks his surroundings as he presses the button to lower the door, and when he's safely locked alone inside, he finds the panel he installed under the steering wheel to fish around for the early-2010s android burner that has only one contact, listed under 'astronaut.'

cabin this weekend? sent 21:22

Hours later when he's in bed, in his failed attempt to sleep before 4am, he puts the battery back in the phone and checks that he received a message just thirty minutes ago. For the first time all day, maybe even all week, all month, he feels lighter.

see u <3 received 3:36

He takes out the battery once more and puts the phone under his pillow. He lays his head down and tries to sleep but his anxious, racing mind has him slipping out of bed and packing for the overnight road trip, suitcase full of cozy sweaters and joggers. He won't be leaving until well into the evening, but he wants to be ready. He's looking forward to the 2-hour drive, but not the earful he'll be getting from his mother for canceling family plans at the last minute with vague lies about working overtime on a case. That's something he's had to get used to doing, lying to his family and friends. But he's worked through that, knowing there's no way they'll ever be able to understand all the risks he's been taking all these years. Back then, when he was a different, more honest person, he wouldn't have understood either. Now, with the access he has to multiple bank accounts which hold numbers that could support him and his family for at least nine generations to come, he tells himself it's not all for nothing. Even though he's not doing it entirely for the money. No, that's just a bonus. It's for the man he's going to drive up a mountain to see. A man who appears in the forefront of his mind any time he gets a second to close his eyes. A man he'd die for, who he hopes would do the same for him.

That's what this is all for.

Around eight that night, at a stoplight, Hoseok whips out his burner and types up a quick message to 'astronaut' that he's almost there. He smiles when he receives a grainy, irrelevant cat meme in response and drops the phone in the console as soon as the light turns green.

Driving up the steep hills, he soaks in the sight of blankets of snow that line the sides of the road and the trees. He knows this could be the last time he'll take this route that makes him look forward to the cozy fireplace waiting for him at the cabin, started by the man who makes his heart just as warm. A string tightens there when he worries it won't be long until he'll be forced to douse it.

The road is long and dark so his mind starts to wander, thinking back to how he ended up here.

He had just turned 25 when he was assigned to infiltrate the mob, acting as a hijacker of trucks and ships coming in and out of the harbor. He was sure it was a hazing thing, getting the ambitious rookie into a semi-dangerous situation to see if he had what it takes. He found out a bit too late that he should've been smarter. He slipped up and his one mistake landed him in a windowless van with zip ties around his wrists and a sack over his head that only came off once he was thrown onto a cold, concrete floor. After he adjusted his vision to the harsh bright lights, his breath was completely stolen from him when he realized he was kneeling before a man whose face belonged in a museum. He barely registered he was in a dungeon of sorts, or the suited guards packed with illegal weapons surrounding him, too busy taking in the sight of the glory that was Atlas. Behind him was a younger, doe-eyed boy who was practically the spitting image of the taller, more muscular man, and Hoseok assumed this to be his brother, what with the way he stared at him as if learning every move he made so he could one day be like him. And that was confirmed when Atlas let him throw the first few punishing punches and kicks to let Hoseok know just what he'd gotten himself into.

He held it together when he was interrogated and forced to beg for his life, seeing as he'd been made as the pig cop he was, and just as he thought he'd never see the light of day again, he and everyone around him were surprised that the mob boss did not decide to spill his blood right there on the stained floor, but gave him the option to die or become an informant, a mole, a dirty cop for his benefit instead. And of course he chose the option to live, even if it meant he would spend the rest of his breathing days in paranoia, anxiety, and fear. At least he'd be making more money than he could ever imagine.

Since he had been found out, he came up with a different story to tell his boss that didn't include being caught by the mob's successor, which ended with him being taken off of the case and sent into witness protection until further notice. And that landed him on another continent in a secluded location, where no one, not even his mother, knew he was there. So imagine his surprise when three authoritative knocks pounded on his door one day and there stood none other than Kim Seokjin. But he shouldn't have been surprised. Not when he knew that the don's son had the resources to find him. Hell, Hoseok probably had colleagues who were puppeteered by him and Jin was there to add him to more lines of strings.

And to do this, Jin set him up with Namjoon, an esteemed lawyer who doubled as a computer science engineer, producing the Crow’s digital landscape to increase their market using cryptocurrencies. Namjoon trained and tutored Jungkook, Jin's younger brother who once broke Hoseok's nose, since Jin complained he was too old for all that technology, but really it was a reason to get Jungkook off the streets for the time being. He worked with Namjoon to keep out traces of evidence in the CIA system that could lead back to Jin and the don, using his police access to wipe cameras, intimidate witnesses, and bribe judges and criminal lawyers. After a year, Jin introduced him to the man who called himself D, and they worked together to scope out other moles in the syndicate, the ones who worked against them, whether they were soldiers or associates, allies or rivals, and paid close attention to the guards employed to Jin's security team, and eventually his little brother's. He became the bad guy and even though the guilt and regret has taken years off his life, he doesn't care. Because he's doing all of this to protect Jin.

Hoseok learned that Jin was eight years his senior, but that didn't stop him from pining after him. He likes to think that it wasn’t some kind of Stockholm syndrome because Jin technically gave him an option to work for him or not (fucked up as it was) and employed him with a salary he'd never be able to spend in one lifetime. He could've killed him, but didn't. Instead, he arranged private, secret meetings that not even his personal guard knew about, under the guise for Hoseok to provide updates but more often than not, they would end up drinking and smoking and sharing stories and parts of themselves with each other. Jin does have a charm and a sense of humor, to the point that sometimes Hoseok forgets the man is who he is, responsible for the majority of the crime and corruption in the city and surrounding districts. Maybe it was all an act, a ploy, to get Hoseok trapped. And if it was, it fucking worked. Overtime, he fell. And fell hard.

Hoseok knew how dangerous Jin was but it didn't stop him from kissing him one night when it was late and they were silly and delirious from being high and sleep-deprived, because the spark had been there all along. Hoseok believes that's what had saved him in the first place. Jin took him to bed and fucked him until he saw stars.

Afterwards Jin dragged him onto the balcony where they smoked a joint together and for hours Jin pointed out constellations and planets littering the sky that they could see clearly from the cabin he's driving to now. Hoseok remembers every star Jin named, every fact about every planet and galaxy Jin gushed about, every dream Jin had of being an astronaut ever since he was a kid. He thought that because of how good he was at being lonely, he would do so well up in space. Hoseok wondered if Jin felt lonely when they were together, because he certainly didn't. Hoseok kissed him anytime he felt Jin needed a reminder - that he was there and wouldn't go anywhere unless Jin wanted him to. Down the road, Jin would tell him how his smile reminded him of the sun and make Hoseok's heart burst, because maybe there was still some good left in him after all, if someone like Jin could see it. And that was the beginning of the end.

He pulls into the snowy driveway of the cabin almost at the top of the mountain, edges of the roof lined in soft-yellow lights, smoke billowing out of the two chimneys, all signs of life hidden by thick forests of tall evergreen trees, and notices a silhouette in the window holding a steaming mug of hot chocolate, soon disappearing with a flutter of the sheer curtain once he puts the car in park. The door swings open and he chuckles when he hears his nickname "Sunny!" shouted through the windshield as he collects his things and a bag of takeout before stepping out of the car.

Strong, warm arms wait for him on the porch stairs and he wraps his free arm around the waist of the man who in another universe could be the love of his life. The embrace lasts for a little more than thirty seconds before he's tugged inside of the gloriously toasty cabin and isn't given the chance to release his lungs of cold air as his breath is stolen by a heated kiss. Jin shoves him against the door and his scarf is hastily tugged off, coat unzipped, and takeout carelessly dropped on the floor.

"Happy holidays, Sunny," Jin whispers in a warm breath of chocolate.

"You too, Jin," Hoseok whispers back, shrugging off his coat and tearing off his hat just as plush lips press again on his mouth.

He lets himself be manhandled towards creaky wooden stairs, mouths and hands never detaching from their touch-starved bodies. They pass the kitchen and Hoseok breathes in the festive smells wafting from the oven.

"You've been baking?"

"You know it," Jin mumbles, working the shirt out of Hoseok's jeans. "You don't mind waiting until later to eat, right?" Hoseok shakes his head and kisses him with a hum before Jin takes his hand and leads him upstairs, laughing when Jin clumsily trips over the steps and accidentally slams Hoseok into the railing.

It's snowing outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows but neither of them pay attention as Hoseok, again, lets himself be tossed back onto the ridiculously soft bed and mounted by the most beautiful man he's ever seen. He lets Jin fuck him into submission, to the point that it hurts, giving him full control of his body like he belongs to him. Because he does. As the mattress rocks, headboard thumping against the wall, he stares up at Jin through his swinging bangs, noticing the background shadow of falling snow cast on the ceiling above his head, but he can only focus on the fire and fury that blacken Jin's eyes when they're together like this and Hoseok understands why he gets this way sometimes, especially when it's been so long.

But he quickly takes the reins before Jin can get carried away, flipping him onto his stomach to take him from behind, forcing Jin to let go of his resolve, of his need to be in control because Hoseok knows how exhausting it is to be in charge all of the time. Especially of a bunch of goddamn criminals. His hand that presses on the back of Jin's neck doesn't just do the job of keeping his face planted in the bedding, but covers the flying crow carrying a skull branded just below his hairline (with four rings circled around its neck, marking Jin as the fourth blood successor) because sometimes it makes him nauseous to see it, to be reminded of who they really are, outside of this safe haven. As soon as they step foot back home, they'll have to pretend like they don't even know each other, where Hoseok will go back to being a national security agent and Jin to the most powerful criminal in the city, maybe even the country. A criminal from the very empire Hoseok was tasked as a rookie to infiltrate and build a case against, but eventually turned out to become a dirty cop, working to keep the prettiest and darkest eyes he's ever looked into out of prison because he's stupid and fell in love.

Even though both of them have never admitted it to each other, after all this time, it's there.

It's there in the way that neither of them have touched anyone else ever since they first started this, despite the months that have passed between times spent in secret. In the way they think about each other every day, when Jin sends him corny dad jokes and outdated memes that brighten Hoseok's week whenever he gets the chance to check his second phone. And in the way Hoseok drives all the way up a fucking mountain on a weekend he should be with his family, hours away from home, where Jin bakes and has hot chocolate waiting for him on the counter that has since turned cold and forgotten. And they’ll be in bed for hours, so the cookies and takeout will have gone to waste too. Oh, well. Hoseok would take Jin being under him, on him, inside him over baked goods and Jin's favorite noodles any day.

After the room has become blissfully hot and steamy with passion, the two men slip into a deep sleep that they both desperately need, arms wrapped tightly around each other as if neither of them have any plans to let go. However many hours later, Hoseok stirs to his favorite pair of biceps pulling him into his favorite broad chest, lips pressing against his temple. And as they lay there in silence, Hoseok begins to feel the air change with something that settles anxiety in his gut and even somehow lowers the temperature in the room. He pushes himself further against Jin in hopes to preserve that warmth that only exists between the two of them.

Jin turns on his back and pulls Hoseok onto his chest, turning his head to stare out of the window at the cascading snow blinding the horizon and Hoseok listens to the heartbeat thundering beneath his head.

"Y'know," Jin's gentle voice disturbs the solitude and Hoseok tries to blink himself awake. "It’s just a theory, but in the right kind of spacecraft, an astronaut could get almost as close as four million miles to the sun." "Really?" Hoseok asks, eyes drooping with a brain too tired to wonder why Jin chose now to bring up one of his space-obsessed facts. They haven't looked at the sky yet, not that there would be anything to see except the snow falling. And the sun set hours ago.

"Mm. Any closer and the astronaut would get burned." His eye peeks open at that simplistic conclusion and he huffs a worn out laugh, nuzzling into Jin's chest.

"I think they'd get a little more than burned, hyung." It's quiet for a moment. "Exactly." And Jin sits up suddenly, making Hoseok realize that wasn't just a theory. It was one disguised as a metaphor.

He panics and sits up as the elder whisks himself out of bed and heads to the bathroom, dragging a hand down his face when the shower turns on not seconds after the door shuts with a bit more force than necessary. Usually Hoseok would be traipsing off to follow him, but when he hears a heavy thud reverberate through the walls, an echo of Jin's rugged fist slamming into the tile, Hoseok swallows down the anxiety-ridden nausea in his gut and goes downstairs to shower in the second bathroom instead.

Upon returning to the bedroom to change, duffle bag in hand, he finds Jin switching out the soiled sheets and comforter. He goes to help, but he's waved off, and with an ache growing under his ribs, he quietly dresses and does his best not to become overwhelmed from this ominous tension forming between them. When the bed is made, Jin disappears downstairs and a small hill of hope arises when the cabin is suddenly blasted with holiday tunes and the smells of a new savory recipe. This time, Jin does let him help, passes behind him with hands on his waist while Hoseok chops and seasons, hips bumping occasionally as Jin maneuvers around the kitchen to cook up the best meal Hoseok will have had in months. Hoseok knows he's turned up the music extra loud so neither of them will talk. And he pretends he's fine with that.

After dinner, when they clear the table and wash the dishes in quiet tandem, and Jin turns down the music so Hoseok can hear his thoughts again, the older man heads to the window seat across from the kitchen, just under the stairs. He cracks open the window and Hoseok starts to scold him for letting in the cold air from the fucking snow storm outside, but then Jin pulls out a familiar roll of paper and a lighter and Hoseok shuts his mouth. He finishes drying up a dish, puts it away, and goes over to him, mid-step when Jin finally speaks.

"Say what you came here to tell me, Seok," Jin says flatly and Hoseok sighs as he plants himself behind him, hand sitting on Jin's lap while he tries to ignore the frigid air. He presses his frown to Jin's shoulder covered in the softest cashmere.

"You say that like it's the only reason I came here."

"But it's the main reason, right?" Hoseok leans away, frown deepening, and crosses his arms as his back settles against the oak wood wall. He stares at the snow softly falling over the hills, making the night grey instead of pitch black, wishing they could just be enjoying the view and not having this dreaded conversation.

"We only ever meet here when you have news about my case." Hoseok shoots a glare to the back of Jin's head and nudges his foot into his hip. "That's not true." He waits impatiently as the older man finishes up his joint with shoulders that grow more tense as the seconds pass by in silence.

"It's cold, can you hurry up?" Hoseok urges in a terse voice, watching as Jin nods once before taking a final drag and dropping the unfinished joint out of the window, letting the snow put it out. He stopped offering Hoseok weed ever since the office started doing random drug tests. Jin pulls in the frame, sealing out the cold, and settles back against Hoseok's chest, saying nothing when the younger man hesitates to uncross his arms and wrap them around his shoulders.

"They're getting ready to ask a judge to sign the warrant," he inevitably admits, eyes shutting as a tight feeling squeezes his chest when he feels Jin's entire body tense up.

"They're really gonna arrest somebody around the holidays? Who does that?"

Hoseok lets out a small snort, heart rate relaxing as he's reminded that one of the reasons he loves Jin so much is because of his ability to make light of a situation, no matter how serious.

"Tell me I'll at least get until after New Years."

"Maybe towards the end of January."

Jin huffs dramatically, enticing Hoseok to kiss the side of his head.

"I guess that means I won't have to get you a gift for your birthday." Hoseok tries to smile, but it’s tugged down with sadness.

“You know you never have to get me anything." Jin places a hand on his knee, a kiss on his elbow.

“Yeah, I do, Sunny. It gives me an excuse to see you." Hoseok's heart sinks and he tangles their legs together.

"And after tonight, who knows if we'll..." Jin's voice tapers off and Hoseok fights the urge to give into tears. He can't be weak. Not for something he's known he can't have.

“What are my charges? Since apparently they’re sticking this time.”

“Drug and weapons trafficking. They can’t get you for racketeering yet because the evidence is mostly linked to your father. But when you’re locked up, they’ll work on it.”

Jin stares at his cuticles for a few moments again, nothing but the sound of firewood crackling and snapping on the other side of the room, before he sits up abruptly again, knocking his head into Hoseok's chin.

"Fuck, what am I gonna do?!" Jin blurts, raking hands through his hair and tugging at the roots. Hoseok stays silent because he doesn't know what to tell him.

"Sol, he- he's not ready. He just got out of rehab for fucks' sake!"

A frown wrinkles Hoseok's chin.

"And Angel-" Jin continues, gulping down a breath. "She's barely spoken to me since she got engaged to that prick and I know that's the worst thing I've made her do but it wasn't my idea! It was his!"

Hoseok leans forward as he can sense the panic entering Jin's voice, paired with the shaking of his broad shoulders as he loses control of his breathing.

"This was his plan, he was never going to let them get away from all this. He knew the law was gonna come after him, he got too fucking loaded and it made him sloppy and now-" Jin sniffs and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Hoseok hangs his head like he's not supposed to know Jin is crying.

"Now I'm taking the fucking fall. And I could give a shit about what happens to me, but Sol and Angel?!" Jin twists around and Hoseok is taken aback by the wild, frantic look on his face, eyes tinged pink with raw tears.

"They can't do this, they're not supposed to do this! I was never supposed to let Sol take my place, much less get my sister involved!" Tears are streaming down Jin's face as he reaches for Hoseok's sweater, curls his fists in the fabric to pull him forward like he's the only thing he can hang onto.

"And now they both are and it's-" Jin sobs. "It's all my fucking fault!"

There's a pain in Hoseok's chest as Jin collapses and smothers his face against it. And Hoseok lets him cry for however long he needs to, because here, in this space, is the only place safe for Jin to release the hardness that has been driven into his soul by his father ever since he was a little boy. In his tears, he grieves the childhood he lost when his mother died and left him with a father who forced the youth out of him, forbade him from being anything but stoic, taught him that showing emotions meant he was weak and lacked control.

Yet somehow, Jin had been able to keep a part of himself, however small, that lets him enjoy and appreciate the little things in life, to crack stupid jokes, to have a smile on his face in the right company even if it's a mask.

And Hoseok knows it's because of Jin's siblings. He thinks that without them, Jin wouldn't allow himself to be charming, or silly, or to make stupid jokes. He thinks that despite how he was raised, he taught himself to be for his siblings the man he wanted in his father. Especially since he ended up raising them himself from ages four and two when their mother left and he vowed to never let their father do to them what he endured all the way up to a few months ago, to the day he buried an empty casket beneath a headstone engraved with his last name. He was glad that his siblings were made to take on their mother's family name, even though his brother had been born as a fallback plan to carry on the Kim legacy if something ever happened, and his sister never existed to their father, both kept in hiding only until they were needed for the family business.

Despite what he was taught, Jin loved them. From the moment he found out about them, he made sure to raise them as if their existence wasn't surrounded by death and greed and crime and sometimes pure evil. Even though all of them grew up without a mother, he wasn't going to let either of them feel abandoned or like no one loved them. Because he was determined to maintain their childhood that had been stolen from him. He was the one who took them away to a park whenever their father yelled at and threatened their mother, just before she left. As a fourteen-year old, he would pack them in the car and drive them far enough away from home, because with the way he was aging, he passed for at least seventeen. When he got back one day, their mother told him to take care of them and after that, he never saw her again. But he kept his promise.

He made them lunches, took Sol to school, stayed home with Angel until she was old enough to go to daycare, all while pretending to be the babysitter when he dropped them off so they wouldn’t be mistaken for family. Having different last names helped him feel like he wasn’t completely lying. As soon as he picked them up and brought them home, he always had dinner ready, helped them with crafty projects and homework while he did his own, got them ready for bed, read stories and sang lullabies, and stayed up way too late worrying about how much longer his father would let him do this.

He knew he couldn't always be the best brother, but he'd be damned not to try.

When he finished high school and his father took every spare moment of his free time away to instead spend grinding down the rest of his innocence in preparation to take over for him one day, he made sure his brother and sister were left with the best nannies. And as they grew older, he sent them away to the best boarding schools in order to keep them away from the family business for as long as possible.

In disguise, he went to Sol’s baseball games and math tournaments, and Angel’s piano recitals and debates whenever he could, and if he was unable, he sent one of his guards instead to film them undercover.

Sometimes when he hated everything, hated himself, wished he’d never been born, he spent one too many nights driving back and forth across the Han river bridge, wondering if his father would call him a coward for not having the balls to throw himself over. Because every time he stood on the railing and leaned over imagining what it’d be like to drown in water that pretty, he thought of the only two people he ever truly loved. The ones he hid a picture of in his wallet, because he couldn’t take any on his phone, or even leave some around his house that’s way too big and hollow for just one person, as it would put a risk of revealing both of them to his world too soon.

So each and every time, he got down from the railing, went back to his car, and pulled out his third phone to put them on a three way call, doing his best to keep the fact that he almost permanently abandoned them hidden from his voice. He didn’t care if they playfully complained that he interrupted something in their busy, accomplished lives in school, because he needed to talk to them so they could save him. Time and time again.

But now they have to be saved, and Jin doesn't know if he can. Because he fears that once he’s arrested, they’ll both be put in the worst possible danger and he won’t be around to protect them. He’ll be breaking his promise to their mother. And out of all the sins he's committed, that would be the one thing he could never ask forgiveness for.

So in the midst of his tears and panic, he comes up with a plan to make sure nothing will happen to them in his absence. If anything does, he'd have no problem sending himself straight to the bottom of the river.

They move to the living room for more comfortable seating while Jin goes through his process of formulating plans. Hoseok listens intently, taking mental notes and sharing ideas of how to ensure the safety of Jin's siblings. It involves him, Moon, and D, a plethora of guards and weapons, that would all, without fail, protect Sol and Angel at all costs. Making plans helps Jin calm down and he eventually returns to his place against Hoseok's chest, hiccupping every now and then from crying so much.

"Promise me you'll look out for them, Sunny," Jin pleads in a quiet, nasally tone, needing reassurance for the tenth time.

"I will. We all will. Me, Moon, D..." he promises.

And then, in a deep breath and a whisper, "We love you."

There's a pause just before Jin slowly turns around with a look in his eye filled with so much emotion that Hoseok has never seen before (and will never see again). There's a glint and a sparkle there as he glances at Hoseok's mouth, something that tells him he wants to say those kind of words back but can't. Instead, he makes a joke, true to his character.

"I've had fantasies about you arresting me,” Jin says, kissing Hoseok on the corner of his mouth as he huffs a laugh. “I don’t think I’d mind going to jail if you were the one taking me there.”

Hoseok cackles as Jin wiggles his eyebrows. "You’re a sick freak, hyung."

With an agreeing grin, Jin kisses him and fucks him right there on the couch, then makes love to him on the floor in front of the fireplace on the faux fur rug, under the warmest, softest blanket. They mark their territory on each other's skin with bruises and bites that will last for weeks. When they're both sweaty and breathless, Jin falls asleep on top of him and Hoseok tries to memorize every inch of his body, like he hasn't already done so countless times before, because he just wants to make sure he never forgets what love feels like. He succumbs to exhaustion with tears pricking the corners of his eyes that he won't let fall.

When he wakes, Jin is gone. Hoseok sits up in the eerily silent, practically empty cabin. The fire is now reduced to embers and it's significantly colder in the cabin. Hoseok hates the hollow feeling he gets as he moves around collecting his things, heavy blanket wrapped around him as he looks for any trace of Jin but finds nothing. The baking ware is gone as well. But there's a carefully wrapped meal left for him in the fridge that he won't be able to stomach until later that day.

There’s a big plate of decorated cookies on the counter and his heart stops and sags when next to it he finds an old phone turned off, covered in Jin's fingerprints, an astronaut sticker plastered and worn on the back.

Taped to it is a note that reads:

If you ever need to save yourself, it’s all right here.

And Hoseok melts on the floor in a puddle of tears at the notion that Jin is willing to sacrifice himself, his freedom, his life all for him if it's one day necessary. This is something he never would have imagined, especially not since years ago when Jin once threatened him and his family for his loyalty and devotion with a gun held to his head. Now, Hoseok thinks he would leave all that behind to stay with Jin. It's stupid and irresponsible, he knows, but Hoseok hasn't found anything in anyone like what he has in Jin. And he doesn't think he ever will. But none of that matters now. Because Jin will be gone and there is nothing Hoseok can do, except pick himself up and leave like none of that meant anything.

He's gotten really good at lying.

.

.

.

part 1. coming soon!!! (for real this time)

masterlist

thanks for reading! this is the last of 2seok we'll see in this series :( they'll be mentioned throughout, but there just won't be anymore interactions. maybe at the very end who knows. i also could be lying and suddenly change my mind lol. hope you enjoyed! let me know if i missed any warnings.

xxx- claret

notes: i hope this all makes sense, like with the legal shit lol, i'm kind of making stuff up as i go bc it's imperative to the plot that both Jin and his father are no longer in charge so bear with me. That and i love the idea of hoseok being a dirty cop and having some forbidden love with mob boss jin.

taglist: @polarnightmyg @rinkud