#concrete wall cutting company

[advance-cutting-com-au]

Here What You Should Do in Case You Encounter These 5 Issues While Using Track Concrete Cutter

Concrete cutting requires precision, patience, and experience to work. If you look at the difficulty of using track concrete cutter, you want to be careful in avoiding errors that could compromise the quality of your project, or worse, your safety.

Read more: https://www.advancecutting.com.au/2022/12/19/using-track-concrete-cutter/

[dumbbitchgalore]

“Wanna cum? Too fucking bad Birdie.” - Blue collar!Price 💙

Running a construction company was no joke. Idiotic workers, idiotic clients and idiotic paperwork fucked with his head more times than it should. Today was astronomically strenuous, his workers came in late, the council didn't approve of the building plans and now he's left with trucks loaded with concrete mix with no place to use it. So what better than to get his baby to help him with his stress?

And that is how you exactly found yourself in such a position. With your body slick with sweat, thighs burning from exhaustion as you slide up and down John's chubby cock. Head thrown back as you use hand to keep yourself propped up. Hands in front of you or behind you for support, nothing felt comfortable.

Your body ached, your throat dry and hoarse from pleading, begging, whinning. John on the other hand had a smirk on his face, arm resting behind his head as he looked at you doing all the work. He saw how tired you were, so how desperately you wanted to cum. But as if he's gonna let you cum that easily. If he has to work so do you; he works for money and you for your release.

You groan with exhaustion, planting your hands on his chest as you continue to ride him.

"God, baby... please-" You begin to plead again only to be cut off by his deep voice.

"No." He gives your arse a smack, making you yelp and ride him harder, faster.

"You have to work for it. Home makers have to work too, ya know."

You whine, unable to keep up your pace. Laying on top of him, you begin to lazily rock your hip as fatigue took over you. John tuts your action, gripping your hips as he guides your action.

"What a lazy little baby you are." He mocks, flipping you over and onto your back on the bed.

He hovers over you, a smirk plastered on his face giving your nipple a pinch before smacking your tits hard, leaving a light handprint. You cry out, pain and pleasure mixing together within your views. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you pull him close to you. He cock flush against your dripping cunt.

John huffs at your pathetic attempts for an orgasm. Rolling his eyes, he decides to give in. Putting a pillow under your hips before sliding his cock inside your pussy causing you both to moan in unison. He pistons in and out of your weeping pussy as it drools into the pillow underneath you. The height providing John with an angle to perfectly hit the gummy spot inside of you that made you see stars.

Back arched, you groan cockdrunk. You grab the headboard to ground yourself slightly. You began to see your heavenly release in sight as John continued to bully your cervix.

John presses his hand down on your abdomen causing your body to jerk. Your impending orgasm growing stronger as your sight goes hazy. His continuous pace causes you to topple over the edge, your release coating his lower abdomen, your body shaking as John own orgasm washes over him, coating your gummy walls with his cum.

He pulls out slowly groaning at the sight of his cum spilling out of your used hole. His thumb begins to smear his cream all over your pussy making his way to your clit, rubbing it gently as your body jerks from the oncoming overstimulation causing John to chuckle softly at your body's response.

"Oh, sweetheart. Gonna tap out before your old man?"

[reasonsforhope]

The Klamath River’s salmon population has declined due to myriad factors, but the biggest culprit is believed to be a series of dams built along the river from 1918 to 1962, cutting off fish migration routes.

Now, after decades of Indigenous advocacy, four of the structures are being demolished as part of the largest dam removal project in United States history. In November, crews finished removing the first of the four dams as part of a push to restore 644 kilometres (400 miles) of fish habitat.

“Dam removal is the largest single step that we can take to restore the Klamath River ecosystem,” [Barry McCovey, a member of the Yurok Tribe and director of tribal fisheries,] told Al Jazeera. “We’re going to see benefits to the ecosystem and then, in turn, to the fishery for decades and decades to come.” ...

A ‘watershed moment’

Four years later, [after a catastrophic fish die-off in 2002,] in 2006, the licence for the hydroelectric dams expired. That created an opportunity, according to Mark Bransom, CEO of the Klamath River Renewal Corporation (KRRC), a nonprofit founded to oversee the dam removals.

Standards for protecting fisheries had increased since the initial license was issued, and the utility company responsible for the dams faced a choice. It could either upgrade the dams at an economic loss or enter into a settlement agreement that would allow it to operate the dams until they could be demolished.

“A big driver was the economics — knowing that they would have to modify these facilities to bring them up to modern environmental standards,” Bransom explained. “And the economics just didn’t pencil out.”

The utility company chose the settlement. In 2016, the KRRC was created to work with the state governments of California and Oregon to demolish the dams.

Final approval for the deal came in 2022, in what Bransom remembers as a “watershed moment”.

Regulators at the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) voted unanimously to tear down the dams, citing the benefit to the environment as well as to Indigenous tribes...

Tears of joy

Destruction of the first dam — the smallest, known as Copco 2 — began in June, with heavy machinery like excavators tearing down its concrete walls.

[Amy Cordalis, a Yurok Tribe member, fisherwoman and lawyer for the tribe,] was present for the start of the destruction. Bransom had invited her and fellow KRRC board members to visit the bend in the Klamath River where Copco 2 was being removed. She remembers taking his hand as they walked along a gravel ridge towards the water, a vein of blue nestled amid rolling hills.

“And then, there it was,” Cordalis said. “Or there it wasn’t. The dam was gone.”

For the first time in a century, water flowed freely through that area of the river. Cordalis felt like she was seeing her homelands restored.

Tears of joy began to roll down her cheeks. “I just cried so hard because it was so beautiful.”

The experience was also “profound” for Bransom. “It really was literally a jolt of energy that flowed through us,” he said, calling the visit “perhaps one of the most touching, most moving moments in my entire life”.

Demolition on Copco 2 was completed in November, with work starting on the other three dams. The entire project is scheduled to wrap in late 2024.

[A resilient river]

But experts like McCovey say major hurdles remain to restoring the river’s historic salmon population.

Climate change is warming the water. Wildfires and flash floods are contaminating the river with debris. And tiny particles from rubber vehicle tires are washing off roadways and into waterways, where their chemicals can kill fish within hours.

McCovey, however, is optimistic that the dam demolitions will help the river become more resilient.

“Dam removal is one of the best things we can do to help the Klamath basin be ready to handle climate change,” McCovey explained. He added that the river’s uninterrupted flow will also help flush out sediment and improve water quality.

The removal project is not the solution to all the river’s woes, but McCovey believes it’s a start — a step towards rebuilding the reciprocal relationship between the waterway and the Indigenous people who rely on it.

“We do a little bit of work, and then we start to see more salmon, and then maybe we get to eat more salmon, and that starts to help our people heal a little bit,” McCovey said. “And once we start healing, then we’re in a place where we can start to help the ecosystem a little bit more.”"

-via Al Jazeera, December 4, 2023

[callsign-songbird]

This was supposed to be a short rambling and ended up turning into a mini fic lol. I know the tense shifts, I know it's sloppy lol

Anyway, Simon has a sweetheart who gets kidnapped and gets to meet "Ghost" for the first time.

The first time you meet Ghost, it's supposed to be carefully planned and controlled. After all, Simon was so worried about opening that part of himself up to you. To you, he was Simon. Soft, introverted, sweet, desperately trying to break a cycle of generational trauma. You had never met Ghost.

But, of course, nothing in Simon's life can go according to plan, and when you have people that mean something to you, they become weaknesses. So, when you get kidnapped by a Russian military company with the intel that you were important to Task Force-141? Ghost has already burnt down the world once, you're sure as hell that he would do it again for his love. So, when you meet Ghost, it isn't carefully rehersed and planned like Simon wanted. No.

Instead, you're terrified, bound, and gagged on a cold concrete floor wearing little more than your skivvies as tears stream down your face. Then, out of the blue, gunfire and shouting rings through the halls. Stealth be damned, as soon as their cover is blown, you know that Ghost will fight like a rabbit animal. He barges into your cell, tackling a man against the wall with a knife to his throat and a gun at his head.

Those eyes that had looked at you so softly and tenderly were completely unrecognizable when they were this wide and intense, wild with bloodlust. "Where is the girl?" He spits out in fluent Russian before his eyes catch sight of you.

'BANG'

A single bullet through the soldiers' skull, splattering Ghost with even more viscera and gray matter. Ghost doesn't even seem phased as he holsters his pistol and pulls away, letting the body drop with a sickening thud. He walks brazenly up to you, but pauses as he notices the way you frantically back yourself into the corner, trying desperately to stay away from this monster who had surely come to drag you from one hell to the next.

Then, he crouches down and outstretches a gentle hand to you, letting you come to him. He called your name so sweetly, and that was a voice you recognized. You tried to muffle out his name through the rag shoved into your mouth and tied around your head. That earned a low chuckle, a dangerous one that you hadn't heard before. "Not quite, love. Ghost. Now, let's get you home, eh?"

Ghost. The name echoed in your mind, bouncing around as you tried to remember where you had heard it before. Your eyes flicked over to the corpse splayed in the doorway of your cell, making you nearly vomit in your mouth before looking away. Ghost shifted closer, using the knife still in his hand to cut through the rough ropes binding you. "Bloody hell... idiots didn't even use chains, could have escaped right easy, you could of." Ghost muttered, mostly to himself. The words were terrifying to hear.

He reached to untie your gag next, a chuckle rumbling lowly in his chest as you flinch away. He gives you half a second to compose yourself before he unceremoniously rips the gag off of you and tosses it to the side. Red marks are etched into your cheeks where the gag had dug in, and the sight makes Ghost seeth. "Oh, love..." His words are soft, but his tone is enraged, as if those marks alone could start his new crusade.

"LT!" Blue eyes and a neatly groomed Warhawk pop into the door, stepping casually over the corpse as the new face made his way over to you. "This her, LT?" A thick Scottish accent was present, along with a bit of thinly veiled appreciation. "Off limits Johnny, this is her. This is my girl."

Whenever Simon called you his, it was soft and reverent, as if astonished that he could call someone so precious his. But when Ghost said it? It was commanding, possessive, and left no room for argument. You were his. And that thought was almost scary.

Ghost wasted no more time, scooping you up into his arms and making their way quickly through the facility you had only caught glances of while Ghost and Johnny talked in some military jargon you didn't understand.

That's when you noticed it.

Even though Ghost was holding you so tight and close, even though his touches seemed so rough and careless, even though he was splattered with all sorts of blood and viscera, you had none of it on you. Ghost had been so careful with his touches, with how he held you, determined not to stain and taint your delicate skin with the fuel to his fire, the essence of his soul. And that was quite possibly when you realized that 'Simon' and 'Ghost' were merely two sides of the same coin. And they were both yours as much as you were theirs. his.

[libingan]

someone needs to spoil the captain once in a while amirite

i have a fuck ton of shit to do but im too lazy to do it so im cramming them tomorrow

gf the atmosphere in the base was thick with tension, the kind that hung heavily in the air and seeped into the cracks of the concrete walls. you could see it etched across captain price's face as he paced back and forth in his office, muttering to himself under his breath. it was clear he was stressed, and you couldn’t just sit back and watch him suffer.

“he needs to relax,” you said to gaz, who leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed, watching price with narrowed eyes. his gaze flicked between you and the captain, a knowing smirk forming on his lips.

“agreed,” he replied, his voice low and sultry. “let’s give him a little break.”

after exchanging a quick, conspiratorial glance, you and gaz quietly entered the office. price looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes as the door clicked shut behind you, cutting off any chance of escape.

“what the fuck are you two doing in here?” he snapped, brow furrowing in confusion, but you could see the intrigue sparking in his gaze.

“just thought you could use some company,” you said sweetly, stepping closer, your heart racing with anticipation. gaz mirrored your movements, closing the distance between you and the captain. before price could protest, you and gaz moved in unison, pulling him to a standing position.

“wait—” he started, but the protest died in his throat as you deftly unbuckled his belt, the sound of the metal clinking echoing in the otherwise silent room. you pushed his trousers down, and gaz immediately dropped to his knees behind price, his hands sliding over the captain’s ass with a practiced ease.

“bloody hell,” price groaned, his hands gripping the edge of the desk for support, knuckles white. you wasted no time, pulling down his boxers and taking him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip as you slowly began to take him deeper.

the captain let out a low, appreciative moan, his head falling back as you expertly worked him. gaz was right behind him, pressing kisses along price's lower back, fingers digging into his cheeks, spreading him open just enough to give himself access. the combination of your warm mouth and gaz’s skilled tongue drove him wild, and you could feel the tension in his body start to melt away.

“that’s it, captain,” you encouraged, pulling off him just enough to speak, your breath hot against his shaft. “let it all go.”

“you two are fucking insatiable,” he panted, his voice breaking, a smirk breaking through his serious demeanor. “god, it feels so fucking good…”

the sound of price’s voice only spurred you on. you took him back into your mouth, bobbing your head in rhythm with gaz's movements. the noises filling the room were lewd, the slurping of your mouth against his cock mixing with the wet sounds of gaz’s tongue teasingly working his way between price’s cheeks.

“you love this, don’t you?” you murmured, your lips still wrapped around him. “being taken care of like this?”

“fuck yes,” price hissed, the words dripping with need. “but i want to see both of you.”

with a sudden burst of energy, he pushed you both back, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “kneel,” he ordered, and you and gaz complied, sinking to your knees in front of him, hearts racing with anticipation.

price grabbed his cock, stroking himself slowly, relishing the sight of the two of you eagerly watching him. “open wide,” he commanded, his gaze locking onto yours, the dominant edge in his tone sending shivers down your spine. “i want to see how well you can take it.”

you and gaz exchanged a glance, your eyes filled with excitement and lust, the thrill of the moment flooding your senses. as price quickened his pace, the sound of slick skin echoed in the small room, each stroke making your mouths water, desperate to taste him.

“you’re both gonna love this,” he grunted, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he neared the edge. “get ready.”

with a final, guttural groan, captain price let himself go, spilling his load onto your faces. hot ropes of cum splattered across your skin, thick and sticky, and you couldn’t help but feel exhilarated, your heart racing at the raw power of the moment. gaz’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and you could tell he was equally aroused by the sight.

“that’s right,” price breathed, his voice low and commanding as he watched you both. “take it all.”

the warmth dripped down your cheeks, and you savored the taste, your lips still parted as you caught your breath. the thrill of being dominated by the captain only heightened the experience, and you shared a triumphant smile with gaz, both of you satisfied with how the unexpected break had turned out.

as the captain’s breath steadied, he looked down at the two of you, a satisfied grin spreading across his lips. “now that’s what i call a good fucking stress reliever,” he said, chuckling softly as he took in the sight before him.

“you’re a right mess, captain,” gaz teased, wiping a bit of cum from his cheek, an amused glint in his eyes. “but you can bet we’ll be doing this again.”

“absolutely,” you replied, grinning back at price, who was still catching his breath, clearly pleased with how the day had turned out.

“i like the sound of that,” price said, a smirk forming as he adjusted his clothes, looking more relaxed than he had in days. “but next time, i get to pick the venue.”

“deal,” you and gaz said in unison, excitement bubbling between you, knowing this was just the beginning of many more encounters to come.

[blueiscoool]

‘Ancient Roman’ Solar Roof Tiles Power Pompeii Villa

Ancient Roman ruins at Pompeii have been fitted with invisible solar panels, in a move that will contribute to the archaeological site’s sustainability efforts and cut costs. The innovative panels, which blend into the background by imitating traditional materials, were installed on the House of Cerere, on a thermopolium — a Roman snack bar — and on the House of the Vettii, which recently reopened following 20 years of restoration work.

“They look exactly like the terracotta tiles used by the Romans, but they produce the electricity that we need to light the frescoes,” said Gabriel Zuchtriegel, the director of the archaeological park of Pompeii, in a press release.

Each year, 3.5 million tourists explore the vast ruins of the ancient Roman city, which was buried by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD. But due to Pompeii’s size, energy bills are expensive and conventional methods of providing power across the site can threaten its appearance.

“Pompeii is an ancient city which in some spots is fully preserved,” Zuchtriegel said. “Since we needed an extensive lighting system, we could either keep consuming energy, leaving poles and cables around and disfiguring the landscape, or choose to respect it and save millions of euros.” The new technology will help the archaeological site to cut energy bills and make it more enjoyable, he added.

The invisible solar panels — or “traditional PV tiles” as they are technically known — were created by the Italian company Dyaqua. They can be designed to appear like stone, wood, concrete or brick, and hidden on walls, floors and roofs, according to Elisabetta Quagliato, whose family owns Dyaqua, in the press statement.

“We are an archaeological site but we also want to be a real-life lab for sustainability and the valorization of intangible heritage,” Zuchtriegel said. “Our initiative is not merely symbolic. Through the million tourists who visit us every year, we want to send a message to the world: cultural heritage can be managed differently and in a more sustainable way.”

Other locations in Italy using the invisible solar technology are the commune of Vicoforte in Italy and, soon, Rome’s contemporary art museum Maxxi. Public buildings in Evora, Portugal, and Split, Croatia will also install the panels, according to the press statement.

Pompeii’s recent use of these panels is just the beginning, Zuchtriegel said. “From now on, we will be taking this solution into account for all future renovation and restoration projects.”

By Garry Shaw.

[wh0re43van]

Sparks (Evan Peters X Reader)

Summary: You’re a set director on American horror story’s Freakshow. Evan has been trying to convince you to ‘smoke and chill’ for months, but you’ve always rejected him in fear of jeopardizing your job. After a particularly stressful shoot, Evan finally convinces you to spark with him.

Warnings: intense smut, face fucking, choking, drug use.

Word count: 3k

A/n: This is my first time writing in awhile so I’m bit rusty

"Hey y/n I just re-upped,” Evan announces as he walks up behind me.  “He's got the best homegrown around and It's cured perfect every time. Come to my place tonight and I'll let you sample," He offers as he slips an arm around my shoulder. "You don't even have to match, just give me something else in return," he says lowly in my ear. My heart skips a beat and my cheeks blush red. Evans been blatantly flirting with me since we started shooting. It's been my own personal hell having to reject such a perfect man because its 'not professional to have personal relations with the cast'.

"Evan," I sigh as I look up at his dark eyes. "I honestly would love to-" he cuts me off.

"Then consider it y/n," he simply states. I smile at him. I have to admit that he's starting to wear me down

"Evan, I have to finish my walk through before the shooting starts" I turn back to the counter to consult my mockup. He backs up and leans against the wall.

"I’ll just keep you company then," he grins.

•

•

‘Fuck’ I curse internally as I run from a very angry Mr. Murphy. One of my idiot crew members forgot to do their only job and set out the menus for the next scene. We’re an hour behind on filming and we’re only here for three days. The director is pissed to say the least.

I throw open the door to the storage room and start ripping open boxes. I swear I'm going to lose every last ounce of sanity I have left. We started shooting two hours ago and I've rolled my ankle, got broken glass stuck in my hand, and of course, been bitched at constantly.

"Did you find them?" Evan questions as he closes the door behind him.

"What?" I ask, not processing what he's saying as I rip haphazardly through every single cardboard box in this room, brown paper flying everywhere.

"Did you-" He begins to repeat, then pauses. I feel him grab my arm gently, stopping my whirlwind of motion. "Y/N," he says calmy.

"What Evan?" I snap at him. I can feel the stress dripping out of every pore of my body. Turns out stress smells a lot like sweat. Evan jumps a bit at my tone, then simply points his 'lobster claw' to a box of pink menus that I opened without even realizing it. I was so stressed and overwhelmed I didn't even realize I found the goddamn menus four boxes ago.

I groan and lay my head on Evans chest.

"I'm such a fucking stupid idiot." I mumble his white shirt, feeling tears well up in my eyes. Evan chuckles and clumsily lifts my chin up with his makeup bound hands. His smile immediately drops when he sees my face.

"Hey y/n don't cry," he coos, his voice laced with concern.

"Evan I'm losing my mind," I sniffle as he pulls me into a hug.

"You know what you need?" He asks I shake my head 'yes.'

"A blunt." We both say in unison. I feel his cheek stretch into a smile against mine, proud of himself for finally convincing me.

•

•

My hand shakes as I ring the doorbell to Evans hotel room.

“Ma’ Lady,” Evan bows as he opens the door for me. What a dork.

“Thank you good sir,” I attempt a curtsy as I walk in. I guess were both dorks.

We chuckle as he latches the door behind me.

“Right this way,” he ushers me to his balcony looking over the city. I step out onto the cool concrete, hearing Heaven Beside You by Alice in Chains playing. There's two bean bag chairs set up with a bundle of blankets on each one. Purple and white string lights hang all around the ceiling and railing of the small balcony.

“Wow Evan, this is really cool. I’m impressed with how you spend your free time,” I admit, sitting down in one of the chairs, pulling a blanket into my lap.

“Actually,” he sits down in the chair beside me as he picks up the rolling tray. “I’ve never done this before. I set all of this up as soon as I got home,” he chuckles.

“I don’t even know what to say,” I tell him honestly. I’m dumbfounded. This might seem like a small gesture, but this is one of the sweetest things anyone’s done for me. He went out of his way just for me.

“Then don’t say anything. Just grab me that bong,” he grins, pointing to the glass sitting on the ground next to the door. I stand up and bend over to pick up the simple clear bong, feeling Evans gaze burn into the back of me. When I hand him the piece, I get close enough to his face to see that his eyes are already glossy.

“Evan Peters,” I tisk. “did you start with out me?” I ask putting my hand to my chest in faux offense.

“I was a little nervous, I’ve been waiting for this for so long… I was scared if I was sober I’d mess it up,” he admits. His pale cheeks tinting pink.

“I’m flattered,” I smile. He opens the metal grinder sitting on his lap and begins to pack the bowl. “but it is rude to start a sesh before your guest arrives.” He hands me the packed bong.

“Well how’s bout you get this all to yourself and we call it even,” he wagers. I take the bong with a smile, accepting his offer. As I put the cool glass to my lips, I reach for the lighter on Evans thigh, but he snatches it, looking me in the eyes as he flicks the zippo, igniting a hot bright flame that he circles around the bowl. He begins to pull the flame away, but I grab his hand to hold the light in place for a couple more seconds. His eyes widen a bit and he smiles.

“Damn I’m glad I didn’t want any,” he chuckles, finally pulling away to spark his own joint. I pull the stem and inhale the milky smoke sharply, holding it in my lungs for bit before exhaling slowly. The smoke clouds around my face before a small gust of wind disperses it.

“Yeah, me to,” I grin softly as Evan takes another hit off his joint. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but with the past few weeks I’ve had, I’m goanna need a lot more than some weed to recover from all this stress,” I take another hit and lay my head back in the soft chair, finally feeling my muscles relax as the golden light flows through every nerve of my body. I turn my head and open my heavy eyes to look up at Evan.

“Wow that is bad,” he says, staring at something in the distance. I take this moment to truly admire the man beside me. The purple lights cascade onto his sharp features, violet pin pricks reflect in his coffee-colored eyes. The wind blows his loose brown curls around on his forehead as a rough hand holds the paper filter up to his pink lips. The end of the cone glows crimson as his chest rises, taking in a hit of hot smoke. Evan looks down at me to finish his thought. Had I been sober, I would have quickly looked away. But right now, nothing could tear my eyes from this perfect image in front of me. Evans’ eyes lock into mine as he releases the smoke slowly out through his mouth and nose. “Y/n, I-“ he begins, but before he can finish, I sit up and pull his face into mine. Gently kissing him, the smell of smoke mixed with his cologne is intoxicating all on its own. He tenses for a moment, processing what had just happened, before putting his hand on my back to bring me closer.

“I’m sorry,” I pull away suddenly feeling embarrassed for being so forward. Evan looks at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks for a second before furrowing his brow,

“Are you kidding me,” ashes fall from his joint onto his pants, reminding him of its presence. He takes small drag before finishing. “That’s all I’ve wanted since the moment I saw you.” I smile at his confession. He holds the joint to my lips offering me a hit. We hold eye contact as I pull the smoke into my mouth, then to my lungs. “You’re beyond beautiful y/n,” he compliments. I lean into kiss him, shot gunning the smoke to him. He kisses hard and inhales the smoke as if it’s his last breath. He sits the joint in the ash tray then puts his hand on the back of my head, gently but firmly, so I don’t pull away this time, Evan exhales the smoke though his nose, so he doesn’t have to break the kiss. I clumsily crawl into his lap to straddle him, and his hands instinctively grab my ass. The heat from his hands warming me through the thin fabric of my leggings. I feel hungry, starving for more and more of him. As my knees sink into the soft chair around him, I begin to grind my hips against his.

“Evan,” I breath out, begging to feel more of his skin on mine. He looks at me with lust filled eyes and kiss bruised lips as I begin to lift his shirt up. He grabs my hand gently.

“Let’s go inside, darling,” he whispers. “You never know if one of those creeps are near by.” He looks around, checking for paparazzi. I was puzzled for a second, before remembering Evans’ status. I nod and climb off him. He stands, his dark jeans tented at the crotch and his white t-shirt rising and falling quickly on his chest. He grabs my hand to guide me inside.

“Can’t forget this,” I grin, stopping to grab a fresh blunt and the zippo. He chuckles as I spark the cone. He pulls me into his lounge, locking the door and closing the blinds. After I had a few hits, I hand the joint to Evan as I sit down on the leather couch.

“We don’t have to do anything more than this if you don’t want y/n,” he almost whispers through the smoke, sitting down next to me. I look into his desperate eyes as he hands me the warm paper.

“Please,” I inhale. “Please Evan I need you,” I beg the stoned man in front of me. With that, in one swift move, he takes the cone from my hand, putting it on the side table ash tray, removes his shirt and smashes his lips to mine, laying me down on the sofa. His kisses trail from my lips to my ear. Grabbing my throat gently he whispers. “You have no idea how desperate I am for you,” all I can do is moan in response my brain too high off THC and lust to form a coherent thought. His kisses continue trailing down my neck as his fingers work with the buttons on my black flannel. He smiles like a child when he sees that I have nothing underneath the warm button up. His mouth quickly drops to one breast swirling his warm tongue around as his hand massages my other breast, sending me into a fit of pleasure. After giving the same treatment to the other side, he rips off my leggings. He grabs the waistband of my thong. “May I?” he asks with heavy bloodshot eyes.

“Please,” I nod. He wastes no time removing the flimsy fabric and spreading my already trembling legs. He dips a long finger into my heat, groaning at how slick I already am.

“All this, just for me?” He licks the fluid off his finger, just to dip it back inside of me and out once more. “Have a taste baby,” he reaches his finger up and I close my mouth around it, licking seductively, making sure to keep eye contact.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself. “Good girl,” he praises with a kiss on my nose. He quickly dips his head back down, licking from my entrance up to my clit, sucking and licking with expertise, earning a loud moan and a string of profanities from me. I quickly feel my orgasm building in my stomach, but its not enough.

“Evan, I need you to fuck me, please,” I whimper. He pulls his head up, his mouth and chin shimmering. I definitely didn’t need to ask twice. He jumps up dropping his pants and boxers allowing his perfect cock to spring free, giving himself a few good pumps. I shiver at the sight. Evan dips his head down to my core one last time, giving me a kiss then allowing a trail of warm spit to drip down and trickle to my entrance. The sight is enough to make me melt into this sticky leather couch. Evan lines his length up with me, pulling my hips up and guiding me onto his dick. Slowly filling me, stopping halfway in allowing me to adjust, but I don’t want it. I buck my hips forward, making him bottom out immediately. A string of curses leaves both our lips as he pokes at my stomach from the inside. He begins thrusting quickly, taking the hint that I’m not  wanting to make love tonight. Evans’ toned body begins to shimmer with sweat as he brings a strong hand to my throat squeezing the sides, making me just lightheaded enough to intensify the pleasure. He looks down at me, biting his lip, as he watches my face contort in pleasure from what he’s doing to me. The louder I moan, the harder he pounds into me. My breathing starts to hitch with each thrust as I clench around him.

“Evan I’m going to-” before I can finish my sentence, he pulls out completely, making me groan from the sudden empty feeling. I curse and open my mouth to question him.

“Turn over,” he demands as he stands up. I obey and begin to shift on the couch. “hands and knees.” He specifies, slapping me hard on the ass, I cant help but giggle as the sting lingers on my sweaty skin. I prop myself up on my forearms on the arm of the couch and spread my legs, wiggling my ass a bit as wait for Evan to fill me back up.

“Your body is so perfect,” he says as grabs and kisses my ass before I feel him line himself up again, quickly thrusting in to satisfying the ache in the empty space he left behind in my stomach. Once he finds his rhythm, I feel his hand snake around my throat and the other around my torso as he pulls me flush against him. My shoulders press against his as I arch my back. In this new potion, he hits my g spot perfectly.

“Shit Evan! Yes please,” I pant. “just like this. Please fuck me just like this! Don’t stop,” I plead as I squeeze his strong arms that are wrapped around me. Even groans lowly at the praise.

“I need you to cum y/n,” he whispers in my ear, reaching down to rub circles on my clit. “Can you do that for me, gorgeous?” All I can do is moan and nod my head ‘yes’. His thrust propels me towards my orgasm as I scream out profanities. “That’s it, good girl,” his hot breath moans into my ear laced with the smell of stale smoke. I curl my toes and grip his forearms with all my force, leaving nail marks as my whole body tenses, then releases in pleasure.

“Evan I’m cumming!” My screams and the sound of our skin slapping together fill the room. “Fuck you make me feel so good,” I whimper as he begins to slow down his thrusts, allowing me to ride out my high.

“Good job baby,” he pulls out, pumping himself. “now get on your knees. Open your mouth.” I quickly obliged. I drop down and look up at him. The sight of his heaving, glistening chest and his brown curls sticking to his red sweaty face is enough to make me orgasm all over again. He reaches his veiny arm down and pulls my hair into a ponytail and. I happily open my mouth for him as he gently taps his rock hard tip on my lips, I moan quietly as he begins to slowly thrust in my face. I take it upon myself to press his dick as far as I can down my throat, gagging as my nose touches his abdomen.

“Holy fucking shit baby,” he pants out, now fucking my face. It doesn’t take long before he’s twitching in my deep in my throat and the salty pre cum drips into my mouth. “That’s it baby, fuck,” he swears as he grips my hair so hard I can feel a few strands snapping. It takes all of my strength to pull my head a away.

“Cum on my face, please Evan,” I gasp for breath, looking up at him with tears running from my pink eyes, as thick strands of spit string from my lips to his perfect dick. With a few pumps, and his death grip still on my hair, I open my mouth and hum in satisfaction as he releases his strings of hot liquid all over my face. He groans and curses, finally releasing my hair.

“Fuck y/n,” he sighs, looking down at the beautiful mess he’s created on my face. He brings his thumb to my mouth scooping up some of his cum and bring it to my lips. I smile around his thumb, lapping up all the liquid. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” he looks at me with such strong admiration in his eyes, I can’t help but blush as I lay my head into the hand he puts on my cheek. “Lets get you into the shower,” he begins guides me to the bathroom but I stop him.

“Don’t you want a cigarette first” I offer, grabbing the menthols from my flannel pocket. He grins. “Well, I’m not going to ever turn down a cigarette after sex that good,” he looks at the state of my face again. “But let me at least wipe off your face first. It’s the least I could do.” I giggle as he walks over to get a wet rag. This is absolutely worth risking my job for.

[eternalfarae]

Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content, language, and situations, including voyeurism and emotional manipulation. All characters are 18 years or older. If any of these themes are not to your liking, please proceed with caution. • toxic megumi,soft yuji •

Megumi x reader x yuji

You stroll down the dimly lit hallway, the echo of footsteps from distant classrooms your only company. A muffled sound reaches your ears, faint but insistent. It's a moan, definitely human, and definitely not from a place where it should be. Your curiosity piqued, you pause, straining to pinpoint the source.

A soft voice, a girl's, floats down, "Meg... Megumi!" It's a name you know all too well—your heart skips a beat as the words resonate through the silence. You've heard that name whispered in the hallways, seen the way girls at school giggle when he passes by, and felt the cold shoulder from those who know you two are together. But why would she be calling out for him here, in the school's abandoned rooftop?

You tiptoe closer, each step feeling like it's echoing through your very soul. Your hand clutches the railing, your knuckles turning white as you lean over to peek through the narrow gap between the stairs and the rooftop. Your breath catches in your throat when you see them, Megumi Fushiguro, your supposed boyfriend, with his pants around his ankles, and a girl you don't recognize sprawled on the dusty concrete, her legs wrapped around his waist. The sight is like a punch to the gut, and you feel like you're watching a movie scene that's been paused mid-action.

Tears begin to well in your eyes, the first one slipping down your cheek, leaving a warm trail that feels like a brand. The sound of your own breathing fills your ears, heavy and painful, as the reality of the situation sinks in. You can't believe it—not Megumi, not with someone else. The betrayal is a thick, palpable thing in the air, choking you.

As you make your way home, the world feels like it's spinning out of control. Your feet feel heavy, each step a struggle as you replay the scene in your mind over and over again. The rain starts to fall, cold droplets mixing with your tears, creating a sad, blurry mess on your cheeks. You don't bother to wipe them away; you're beyond caring what you look like.

When you finally reach the sanctuary of your room, you throw your bag onto the floor and collapse onto the bed, the soft mattress not providing the comfort you crave. Your phone, a silent accomplice to your pain, lies on the floor, forgotten until it vibrates. The screen lights up with a message from Megumi, saying he misses you. The irony is so bitter it's like a slap in the face. You snatch it up, your eyes burning with rage and despair.

With a growl, you hurl the phone across the room, watching as it smashes against the wall. The sound echoes through the quiet space, a physical manifestation of the chaos in your heart. Shards of glass scatter, glinting in the light like a shattered promise. You don't bother to go to it, to check if it's still working. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters right now except the crushing weight of his betrayal.

Days pass by in a blur, each one a little heavier than the last. You avoid Megumi at school, unable to face the lie of his smile. The whispers of the students cut like knives, but you keep your head high, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. You don't know how he explains your sudden coldness, but you suspect it doesn't bother him much. After all, he has his little rooftop escapades to keep him entertained.

Then, one rainy afternoon, you find yourself in the quiet embrace of the library, a place you've come to seek solace in. That's when you meet him—Yuji Itadori, a new student with a gentle smile and a warm aura that seems to light up even the darkest corners of the room. He's Megumi's friend, but you don't care. You're desperate for someone to understand the pain you're in, and the way he looks at you, with genuine concern, tells you that maybe, just maybe, he'll be different.

You strike up a conversation, and somehow, it feels like the first real conversation you've had in days. He listens, nodding thoughtfully, not judging or interrupting. His eyes, a deep brown, seem to see right through to the core of your soul, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel heard. You don't mention Megumi, not yet, but there's something about the way Yuji speaks about his friend that makes you hope he's not the same. You're cautious, though; you don't want to be fooled again, so you keep your guard up, even as he offers you a cup of tea and a comforting smile.

The weeks that follow are a strange dance of avoidance and comfort. You find yourself drawn to Yuji, his kindness a stark contrast to Megumi's cruel indifference. He notices you at school, always making a point to check in, to ask if you're okay. It's in these small moments that you start to let your guard down, to believe that maybe not all men are like Megumi. You share your love for books, your dreams, and your fears. He laughs at your jokes, and his eyes light up when you talk about the future.

One evening, as the rain taps a rhythmic beat against the library windows, Yuji's hand brushes yours as you reach for the same book. The contact is electric, sending a jolt through your body. You look up, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, time seems to stop. The air feels charged with something new, something hopeful. It's not the same all-consuming passion that Megumi had once kindled in you, but it's gentle, it's kind—and it feels right.

As the tension between you becomes palpable, you both slowly pull your hands away, the moment lingering like the scent of rain on skin. You clear your throat, trying to shake off the sudden warmth that's spread through your body. The silence stretches, filled with the sound of your racing heart and the soft rustle of pages as you pretend to focus on the book in your lap.

Yuji's eyes are on you, searching, but he says nothing. He seems to understand that you're not ready to talk about it yet, that the wound is still fresh and raw. You appreciate his patience, his unspoken support. It's a stark contrast to Megumi's constant pushing and prodding, his need to be the center of your world.

As the tension between you grows, it morphs into something different, something that makes your cheeks flush and your palms sweat. It's not the fear and anger you felt on the rooftop; it's a new kind of heat, a yearning for a connection that's not tainted by manipulation or deceit. The way Yuji looks at you, the way he seems to truly see you, it's like a balm to your soul. You find yourself leaning closer to him, drawn by an inexplicable force.

One day, as you sit side by side in the library, the silence becomes too much to bear. Your eyes meet, and for a moment, it feels like the air around you has thickened, like it's holding its breath in anticipation. You're acutely aware of his presence, the way his leg presses against yours, the warmth of his hand so close to yours on the armrest. Without thinking, you reach out and take it, intertwining your fingers with his. He looks surprised but doesn't pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, sending a wave of comfort through you.

The rain outside has turned into a storm, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance like a warning of the tumultuous emotions growing inside you. You lean into him, feeling his heart beat in time with yours. His eyes never leave yours, and you can see the question in them, the hope and the fear all rolled into one. You nod almost imperceptibly, and he understands. His hand moves from the armrest to your thigh, his touch featherlight, as if asking for permission to go further.

As he slides his fingers under your skirt, you gasp, but not in protest. The feeling is foreign yet familiar, the sensation of someone touching you with care and respect. He keeps his eyes on you, watching for any sign of discomfort, his movements tentative. You bite your lower lip, nodding again, and he continues, his touch growing bolder. Your body responds to his gentle exploration, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the anger that still lingers from Megumi's betrayal.

His thumb traces the line of your panties, and you lean back into the chair, your eyes fluttering closed. The sound of the rain and the rustle of books are the only sounds in the library, creating a cocoon of intimacy around you. Each stroke sends a shiver up your spine, and you find yourself letting out a soft moan. He stills, his eyes searching your face, making sure you're okay. You give him a shaky smile, your breath hitching as his touch becomes more insistent.

"Does that feel good?" he whispers, his voice a soft rumble that sends waves of pleasure through your body. You nod, unable to find the words to express the sensations he's stirring within you. His fingers slip under the fabric, brushing against your wetness, and you tense for a moment before relaxing into his touch. The library's strict rules and the fear of being caught add an illicit thrill to the moment, making your heart race even faster.

You lean into him, his hand cupping your cheek as his other hand continues to explore your body. His eyes never leave yours, searching for any sign of distress, any reason to stop. But all you feel is the warmth of his touch, the sweetness of his concern. You bite your lip harder, trying to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer to him, silently begging for more.

The library around you fades away, and all that's left is the sound of the rain and the thunder of your heartbeat. His hand slides further, his fingers slipping inside you, and you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and you clutch at his shirt, your nails digging into the fabric as he begins to move, his touch tender and sure. His thumb keeps up its steady rhythm, and you feel yourself rising, your body tightening with each stroke.

You're aware of the risk, the danger of being discovered, but the thrill of it only adds to the moment. You bite your lip hard, trying to keep the noises in, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You can feel the eyes of the books on you, the pages seeming to whisper of forbidden love and passionate encounters. The scent of old paper and ink mingles with the sweetness of your desire, creating a heady mix that fills the air around you.

Then, through the fog of pleasure, you catch a glimpse of someone in the distance—Megumi, his eyes wide with shock as he sees you in Yuji's arms. The realization of what's happening dawns on his face, and you feel a twinge of satisfaction, a twisted vindication at his reaction. But it's quickly overshadowed by the intense sensations coursing through you as Yuji's fingers dance within you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Yuji's smirks widens, his eyes flicking over to Megumi before returning to yours, his gaze filled with a mischievous spark. He seems to take a perverse delight in knowing he's caught his friend's eye, his movements becoming more deliberate as he watches the shock play out across Megumi's features. His fingers move faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, and you can't help but wonder if he's doing it to taunt him, to show that he can give you what Megumi never could.

You cling to Yuji, your nails digging into his arms as the pleasure builds. It's a feeling you haven't experienced in so long, one that feels so right it's almost painful. Megumi had always found your clinginess annoying, a sign of your weakness, but in Yuji's arms, it's like finding home. You moan his name, the sound barely above a whisper, your cheeks flushing as you feel Megumi's gaze burning into you. But this time, it's not fear or anger—it's triumph. You're with someone who cherishes your touch, who makes you feel safe, who doesn't treat your love like a game to be won.

As you reach the peak, the tension in your body snaps, and you come undone. The world around you shatters into a million pieces, each one a spark of pure bliss. You lean your head back, the rain outside pounding in time with the pulse in your neck, and let the orgasm wash over you. Megumi is just a distant specter, his shocked expression frozen in your peripheral vision as he watches you with a girl in his arms, but you don't care. You're too lost in the moment, too caught up in the warmth and tenderness that Yuji's giving you to bother with the cold, hollow feeling he's left behind.

Yuji's hand slows, his touch gentle as he brings you back down to earth. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, his breath hot and damp from the rain that's seeped into the library. You're trembling, your legs weak, but he's there, holding you up, supporting you as you come down from the high. His eyes are filled with concern, but there's also something else—a hunger, a need that mirrors your own.

You nod, and he helps you stand, his arm around your waist as you make your way to the bathroom. The cool tiles feel like a slap in the face, a harsh reminder of reality, but his presence is a warm blanket that you cling to. He helps you into a stall and locks the door, his hands shaking slightly as he takes care of you. He's not like Megumi; he doesn't treat you like a conquest to be used and discarded. There's a softness in his touch that you hadn't known existed.

Yuji gently wipes away the evidence of your encounter, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. You watch him, the way he focuses on your every need, the way he whispers reassurances that you're okay, that you're safe. You can see the guilt in his reflection, the understanding that he's just been a part of something that was never meant to be. But there's also something else—desire, raw and unfiltered, that makes your heart race.

He helps you adjust your clothing, his hands careful not to cause any discomfort. Each movement is deliberate, as if he's trying to erase the memory of Megumi's roughness with his own gentle touch. The coldness of the bathroom is a stark contrast to the heat of your bodies just moments ago, but it's also a sobering reminder that what happened was real, and there's no turning back.

[lilac-5ky]

Roommates from Hell, pt.8 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 8: Nine to Five

Chapter 7 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

A/N: Don't come at me for the ending :)

Warning: fem. masturbation, sex toys, and mentions of explicit sexual content, MDNI!

“Again, thanks for everything, Shiu. Can’t even imagine what we would’ve done without you. No money, no car—”

“Don’t worry about it.” A loud chortle rumbled against the man’s chest as heavy smoke wafted from the cigarette dangling between his teeth. “Wouldn’t pass up the chance to see this failed Casanova humiliate himself for the world.”

Your exchange was cut short as Toji forced his way into the apartment, mumbling curses under his breath. You hadn’t made sense of a word he’d said since he gave into your pleas for calling for help (No way in hell we are hijacking a car, Toji!), refusing to acknowledge his friend’s kindness in the same hopeless way he refused to acknowledge their friendship.

You wondered what it was like between them when you weren’t around to calm the spirits. Neither screamed “chatty” exactly, and pulling words out of their mouths was slightly less excruciating than plucking out a wisdom tooth with pliers. Aside from work, they seemed to have little in common. Shiu’s pride and joy was his extensive collection of tropical fish, while Toji only knew the grilled mackerel you served with his rice every morning.

“You should stop by for dinner sometime. I’m sure Toji would—”

“He wouldn’t.” A gruff voice rang from a distance that defied an ordinary human’s hearing range.

You experienced all the embarrassment that came with excusing a difficult child’s behavior. But Shiu was understanding. After all, he and Toji went back even longer than you did.

“Make sure that idiot’s ready at 8. And tell him this is borrowed, not kept.” You received the garment bag from his hands and gently folded it over your arm. “Pulled enough strings to land him that job. He screws up; he’s on his own.”

You nodded, your curiosity beating him to the elevator. “What kind of job is it?”

“Zen’in didn’t tell you?” Shiu shook his head in amusement. “‘course he didn’t.” He flicked the cigarette butt and stubbed it with his sole, therefore mocking the no smoking sign on the concrete wall behind him.

“Look, don’t want any part in your sappy love story, but cut him some slack. That prideful bastard wouldn’t bow that stubborn head of his ‘less it was chopped off its place—you know how he is—yet he practically begged me to find his ass something respectful.”

Begged…?

“Point is, you don’t get into those companies without a bunch of glorified parchment, and a hit list doesn’t count as CV. He’ll have to work his way outta the mail room. He soaks up experience, and maybe he cracks it to sales. Just make sure he actually goes. Pay’s good, perks even better. Feel free to start pumping out kids.”

“You wouldn’t know why he needed the job, right?”

A cryptic smile accompanied him into the lift. Without answering, he reached for the crumpled Lucky Strike pack in his jacket’s inner pocket and pressed the button to the garage. The only times you saw him without a cigarette was in the short interval between his switching from a burnt-out to a new one.

“Eight sharp. Not a minute later.” He warned as he leaned back against the railing, fumbling with an unresponsive lighter. “Fucking ‘ell.”

You held the bag to your chest, practiced a small bow, and sincerely thanked him for all those years he took good care of Toji.

“Dinner offer’s still on! I can do Korean—how’s dakgalbi with lots of cheese sound?”

“Can’t believe how hard that bastard lucked out.”

The doors began to close before you could make out what he said, the final rings of smoke dispersing with his departure.

A trail of misplaced dirty laundry welcomed you into the apartment; slippers flipped and sweatpants scattered, with black boxers strewn outside the bathroom door like a doormat. You scrutinized the dried precum stain on the latter with near scientific interest, not being in any real hurry to stow them away until the water flow that streamed from the shower head dramatically decreased.

Shit, shit, fuck!

Sprinting across the hall, you dunked the clothes into the basket in time for Toji’s grand entrance with nothing but a towel his thumb and forefinger kept clipped low around his hip. Steam rolled in spirals from each contoured muscle that adorned his scarred skin, a light red coloring him from head to toe.

“That jackass left?”

You tried to block out the sensual slink of his hips as he strode to your shared wardrobe, focusing instead on the countless smudges that dressed your mirror. Still in view, he fished out a clean pair of boxers—one that he had no qualms changing into, the curve of his ass distinct as the fuzzy towel pooled around his feet.

“He—um.” Droplets of water rained from long obsidian strands while he shook off the excess moisture, the reflection of his jade eyes narrowing at the lack of follow-up. “What did you ask again?”

The sweet and spicy notes of a deodorant that could only be new took you by surprise as Toji towered over you with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I asked, when did ya turn into such a perv?”

You deserved that.

“Like what you see?” His tone was more inquisitive than condescending, like your answer actually mattered to him.

Even after an entire night of touching each other, you doubted you could ever get used to being with someone whose body fit both the requirements of a marbled statue and an action movie star. You felt stupidly giddy, longing to squeeze your head between his pecs and lick him up like an overly affectionate pup who knew neither shame nor boundaries.

Admitting to it was a different thing.

“You should let me cut your hair.” You begrudgingly looked up. Not that his face didn’t bring out the same primal instincts. “People will think you descended from the mountains.”

“Didn’t ask about people. Only care about you.”

Fuck it.

“You turn me on.”

“Yeah?” His voice turned into a low purr, hooded eyes locked with yours up until your lips connected.

The pleasant warmth of his fingertips as they tipped your chin clashed with the cold, damp hair that tickled your cheeks. It went both ways. He showed you when he pushed your hands from the hard ridges of his stomach to the harder erection his underwear packed, firmly cupping your smaller palms against it.

“Wanna be inside you so badly.” Toji murmured, nipping at your bottom lip while you rubbed at his bulge, long strokes earning you little sighs of satisfaction. “Feel you wrap around me. The things I want to do to you—fuck.”

Wetness leaked from his slit, ruining yet another pair of underwear. He was so achingly sensitive, his balls twitching for the sweet release that would either quench or worsen his thirst.

Eight sharp. Not a minute later.

“You are gonna hate me.” Your palms traveled up his chest, mostly failing to put distance between your mouth and his, as he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled your bodies together.

“Could never hate you.”

“Never?”

His tongue broke free from the kiss. He didn’t like the sound of that. “What did ya do?”

“Nothing!” You reassured him with a nervous smile, pecking his lips. “It’s just—it’s 7:30, you know?”

“Good. And I thought the telemarketing watch I ordered was lost in the mail.”

“Shut up!” You chuckled. “Shiu said I should have you ready by 8.”

“Don’t give a damn what he said.” Toji went back to littering your skin with kisses, starting from your cheek and slowly expanding to your neck. He tugged your shirt off your shoulder with his teeth, sturdy hips bucking against your flimsy shorts. “I can do with twenty minutes. No foreplay.”

“Toji—”

“Fifteen minutes.” His palm squeezed around your breast, wet tongue flicking right behind your earlobe. “Just bend over f’me and I’ll take care of the rest. Fuck you full with my cum.”

“Oh my god, Toji.” Your breath stuttered in your throat, your panties clinging to your slit as if you’d been standing under rain.

“Yeah? You’d like that?” He mouthed at your neck, sucking at least three more marks you had no way of concealing unless you scarfed up. “Ready to see what ten years of wanting to pound that pussy feels like?”

He practically begged me to find his ass something respectful.

He screws up; he’s on his own.

“Toji…”

His affections ran out at the same time his mood spoiled, forehead resigning against your shoulder. He knew what his name in that tone meant, and he hated it—more than you hated yourself for denying him.

“Y’are fucking killing me,” was the last thing he said before hopping into your bed, springs creaking beneath his weight. “Tell him I ain’t goin’.”

Of course he hadn’t bothered drying off, and of course your sheets soaked up the water from his body like a sponge. He buried his head in your pillow and stretched his limbs across the mattress. No sound. No movement. Like a corpse washed to the shore. He did say you killed him.

Such a baby.

You padded toward the bed and took a seat beside him, running your fingers through his choppy hair. He didn’t react. Not at first. You assumed this was him being pouty, but then you recalled all he had to deal with in the last 48 hours and felt incredibly sorry for him. Heading to work without a wink of sleep was the final nail in the coffin.

“What are you doing?” Green eyes blinked behind a veil of black as you brought the towel to his nape and gently wrung the lower tufts.

“You’ll get a crick in the neck if you nap with water in your hair.”

“Not trynna convince me to go?”

“Why would I? You said you’re not going and that’s it.”

Toji sat up against the headboard, the look on his face one of disbelief.

“I’m happy supporting you.” The bed dipped as you resumed your handiwork, brushing a strand away from his creased forehead. “It’s like having my very own kept man. Makes me feel rich.” You smiled.

He didn’t return it. But he did sigh. “We need money. Y’always whine about that.”

“You won’t hear me whine again. Besides, my schedule is too light. I can always ask that old man for a few extra shifts.” That was a lie. You bordered on exceeding the legal limit of working hours per week.

“And you’re fine with that.” He stated rather than asked, and when you didn’t reply, he simply rolled to the other side of the bed. “Fucking liar.”

“What happened to you not hating me?”

“I don’t. My balls do. They wanna smack your pussy.”

“You’re so damn vulgar!”

You still giggled as you nestled in the little pillow space he’d left, arm draped over his waist and fingers finding purchase somewhere between his abs. You kissed down his shoulders, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply into the scent laced through the pores of his skin. He’d gone a bit overboard with the quantity, but that wasn’t unheard of from someone who only used fragrance-free toiletries.

Still, it suited him.

“Said the tease.” He contemplated peeling your hand off him but decided against it when he felt you moving lower. Way lower than he thought you would without his guidance.

“Who said I’m teasing?” Your fingers dipped into the waistband of his underwear, feeling out the smoothness of skin and the coarseness of hair above the sole unexplored part of his body. “I want you, Toji. Not what you bring or don’t bring to the table. Just you. God, you’d probably laugh your ass off if you knew how much I actually want you.”

Tears prickled your eyes, swelling as emotion in your heart. Being this sincere scared you, especially with how rapidly your relationship was escalating. Ten years was a long time, and two days felt awfully short to recuperate all that was lost—to shake the image of his footprints slowly fading into snow eight years ago.

A hand closed around yours, thick fingers delicately squeezing between your knuckles, wary of the fresh nicks they donned. “I wouldn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” Your voice a frail whisper made of glass. “I mean—”

“Because I want you more, dummy.”

“Didn’t realize this was a competition.”

“It is now.” Toji pulled your hand away from his body and pinned it to the mattress, his other arm crossing over your shoulders as he gently rolled you below him. “And I won.”

He gazed down at your face, all flustered with glassy eyes that fluctuated between overwhelming lust and unspoken worry. You think too much. You worry too much. You feel too much. He wanted to accuse you of every single one of those crimes but couldn’t find the words to do so, because he liked that about you.

He liked how your hands trembled with need when they touched him, how your voice broke like it couldn’t bear the weight of its words, how vulnerable and small you looked in his arms—but most of all, he liked what you breathed into him, what your puny fingers sculpted his soul into. Because he only ever liked himself when he was with you, and that was exactly why he wanted to offer you more than a tattered old shirt with rips around the seams.

“How much time?”

“Huh?” You gaped.

His scar twisted into a smirk as he lowered his face to yours—a crooked grin once you closed your eyes and puckered your lips in expectancy of his. So much more. He pressed down against your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip until his thumb slipped in and you gave his nail a firm, albeit painless, bite.

“Better not do that when my dick goes in there.” He tsked.

Immediately, you coughed out his finger along with an aggravated “Toji!”

“There she is,” the man in question chuckled. “Nearly had me fooled.”

You scoffed, part of you grateful that the tension between you was resolved, but not the part that showed. “If you must know, I spoke from my heart’s depths.” Your fist moved to your beating chest.

“Mhm, bet ya did.” Toji helped himself to a kiss, chaste enough for his tongue to remain in his mouth. “Sly wench.”

“Wench?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Prefer bitch?” He retorted.

“Wench is fine.”

The way his shoulder blades rolled while he was hunched above you had you sidetracking from the clock that ticked away your time. You figured he’d be an excellent salesman—supposing he made it to that point—because you were sold on staying there with him, spinning your entrapment by his bulky physique into the perfect excuse to play hooky. Sakurai would understand. Hopefully.

“Five. Lemme hold you for five minutes, and then y’are free to frill me up.”

You were the one who was now “killed,” and yet you accepted your death with grace as your positions were switched. Toji collapsed beside you, squeezing your clothed breasts against his naked chest (remorse for not ridding you of your shirt first) while you huddled together, legs tangled, and mouths inched too close not to meld into one.

For someone who claimed to do only what he wanted to, he succumbed to your will an awful lot.

“What’d you want a sly wench for?” You muttered, playing with the hair that hung low over his neck. “Regular wenches out of stock or something?”

“That eager to find out?” He drawled, both his voice and eyelids weighed down by exhaust. “I’ll show ya when I get back from work; everything a sly wench’s good for.”

“Sounds like quite the ordeal.”

“You’re a big girl. ‘m sure you can take it, and if not—well,” he ran his tongue along your lips. “No reason to talk about what ifs. You’ll be good for me, mm?”

“Depends on whether you actually put on the suit Shiu brought.”

“Women and your suits.”

“You said—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what I said.” Toji scoffed, one of his hands sneaking under your shirt. “You’ll make it up to me.” He decided.

“I told you, you can just not go.” You objected.

“Oh, really? And ya would’ve let me stay home without breaking my balls?” He let a beat pass and added, “Thought so.”

“What would thine royal ass favor?” You humored him with a fake, posh accent.

“I’m easy to please.” You held back a snort. “You’re gonna lemme doll you up with however many or few clothes I want. Fair?”

“Is that all? Doesn’t sound too bad—”

“And then,” he continued, his smirk as sharp as the teeth behind it, “you’ll lemme strip ya. Nice and simple, huh?”

“Your five minutes are running out!”

While Toji was off brawling with a pair of cufflinks, you relocated to the kitchen and brewed two cups of coffee, figuring he could do with a sip before heading out.

A pink sticky note awaited you on the counter, your sister’s messy handwriting begging you to call her as soon as your windpipe reopened—whatever that was supposed to mean. You crumpled it and tossed it in the trash, resuming your coffee-making duties. She wanted details you had no intention of discussing, especially when you didn’t even know what to call him anymore. You felt like no word was descriptive enough of your current status.

“Whatcha thinking about?” A hand snatched the spare cup from your grasp, scarred lips rounding around the searing rim.

You turned around to a Toji you’d never seen before. Surely, his thin eyebrows were drawn together in the exact same scowl he wore when you first showed him the black slim-fit suit of Shiu’s choice. His hair was still damp, sticking to his forehead in wet tufts. The rest of his body was also physically there, boxed inside the narrow lapels and shoulder bite of his jacket—but that was where the similarities ended.

The difference between the Toji you left in your bedroom a mere ten minutes ago and the sharply dressed man in front of you was that you didn’t feel the need to pay a ticket simply for the honor of staring at the former.

“Just admiring how handsome you look.” You straightened out the creases on his lapels.

“Yeah right.” Toji rolled his eyes, continuing to swig coffee. “Just saying that to get into my pants.”

“Please, if I wanted to get into your pants, all I’d have to do is ask.” You wiped his chin before the liquid got to drip down his collar, sparing him an earful.

“At this point, you wouldn’t need to ask.” He glanced down at his suffocating thighs, the seams around his crotch threatening to burst at any given time. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not—”

“Looks like I’m in a damn sausage casing. ‘s too fucking small.”

“You’re just too big.” You smiled sympathetically, not realizing your blunder until that sly smirk you knew and hated (loved) made its reappearance. Oh no.

“Mm, am I?” Toji cooed, his smug tone making your fingers grab at the counter behind your back. “Even for you?”

You bit your lips into a straight line, your eyes following the hand that slotted a blue striped tie in your fist and ordered you to get it over with. He took a step back, allowing you to remove his jacket and loop the fabric once around his collar. That was pretty much the full extent of your tie-tying knowledge.

“Gonna keep staring at it?” He cracked under the pressure of your intense squinting.

“I… don’t know how to do it.” You admitted.

“Didn’t your dad wear one to work?”

“Didn’t yours?” An immediate glare. “Never mind. Forgot the Zen’ins are stuck in Edo period.”

He had nothing to say. The times when he sauntered around his family’s compound in that gloomy garb weren’t as far behind for him to forget they ever happened.

You carefully folded the tie in half and handed it to him. “Just ask Shiu to show you. But here, lemme—”

You fixed whatever minor detail could be fixed, combing his hair with your fingers, plucking out a couple of loose threads, and securing his cufflinks. He didn’t need the jacket. As long as no one gawked at his crotch, he passed as your average overworked thirty-year-old who’s yet to give up on their early retirement dream.

It was 7:58 when you and Toji argued over the few footwear choices in his possession. He settled for the combat boots he sported mostly during the winter, but scoffed once you reminded him you’d have to go shopping in the following days.

It was 7:59 when he lingered about the door frame like a harbinger of bad news who didn’t know how to break them down, eventually lifting a hand and giving your head a rough pat that suited a Pomeranian more than an actual human.

“Don’t miss me too much,” which in his language meant I’ll miss you.

“Remember Home Alone?” He nodded. Then he realized.

“Brat.” And with that, he hurried down the hallway, cussing at himself when his cellphone began ringing before he’d even caught the lift.

Your smile remained on your face as you closed the door and spotted the tie he’d accidentally left beside his mug.

I’ll miss you more.

You underestimated how much you would actually miss him.

Your first day apart was spent with you plugging every drain hole in the house. Toji might’ve told you to forget the incident ever happened, but even a regular centipede was capable of reducing you to tears. Curse or not, you weren’t prepared to confront another of those critters, and if peace of mind came at the cheap price of plastic, then so be it.

You didn’t have the chance to miss him yet.

At work, you kept staring at his vacant booth, wondering whether his workplace had a kitchen or a cafeteria—whether he had enough cash for a meal—and every time you did, you scolded yourself. He was a grown man. He could take care of himself without you babying him.

But you still hoped he’d call.

“You won’t believe what that new girl Noda did today.”

You made it home a little after sundown, Chinese takeout under one armpit and handbag under the other. “You’re gonna love this!” Chuckling, you kicked the door shut and stalked toward the kitchen, dropping both bags on the table with a labored huff. “Three words: vampire repellent fries. How someone mistakes garlic powder for salt is beyond me.”

No response. Weird.

You laid out the containers before casting a glance at the ongoing football match on your TV. A reel played between the first and second halves—mass hysteria from the crows that celebrated over their team’s scoring as opposed to the apathetic mop of tousled black hair that was spilled over your couch, expressing neither cheer nor jeer. Not even his usual grunt of acknowledgment.

“Did you not hear me? I said—”

Your eyes finally caught up with your mouth as you processed Toji’s sleeping form, his dress shirt unbuttoned and dangling from his slacks, with a belt unbuckled but not quite removed.

“To…ji?”

Again, nothing.

So much for a night of passion.

Rather than eating alone in the kitchen, you brought dinner to the couch and sat down beside him, secretly wishing the rich scent of Sichuan pork revived him. You switched to an overplayed romcom that’d otherwise have him barfing, only to find his content expression far more enticing than whatever vow the main couple exchanged.

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

You watched over him as he stirred enough for his head to climb up your lap, a large palm engulfing your hip while he breathed in the bare skin of your thighs. More than once, you thought he was awake and tried to ask him about his day, but a snore was all you got in return, the quiet symphony eventually lulling you to sleep.

The rest of your life started when you met him.

Toji was already gone by the time you woke up, miraculously tucked under the covers of your bed, without an actual clue as to how you ended up there. The food you’d stashed in the fridge was gone with him, and so were your hopes of catching up over breakfast.

Your day was a reprise of the previous one. You drank coffee—alone. You did laundry—alone. You trapped a spider and carried it outside the window—alone. And then you met with your landlady—again, alone.

The house felt empty without his brooding figure leaning over the fridge to hurry you up; without his raspy voice calling you from across the house to fetch him the remote that lay on the coffee table; without his low whistles whenever you bent over to catch something from the bottom drawer. Things that once annoyed you, you’d started to miss.

On impulse, you drew your phone and began typing a message you deleted. He was finally acting responsible, and there you were, all butthurt because you didn’t get to talk to him for one day. Big deal.

You packed your bag and braced yourself for a torturous nine-hour shift at the diner, hanging onto the frail hope that once you closed shop, you’d be free to run to him.

Every kiss, every touch, every hug—every single moment of affection became a gale you rode on, reaching the apartment with your heart in your mouth. Surely enough, his shoes were parked by the front step. A good sign. The dubious smell of charred meat bubbling in a cauldron on the stove—not so much.

Hesitant to analyze the green broth’s origin, you searched for the dish’s chef in the other rooms, finding his remains splayed on your bed. Eyes shut, rumbling snore, and a tight grip around your pillow. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, convincing you that it was best to let him rest it out. You took off your clothes and squeezed in beside him, sleep not coming to you as easily as it did the night before.

You missed your conversations. The snarky remarks he’d have about his colleagues. The glint in his eyes that signaled his attentiveness, regardless of his snorting at everything he thought dumb. His bottled laughter. The suggestion in his tone. You’d never told him, but his voice was your favorite thing about him, and now you missed that too.

“Hope your dreams are worth it,” you mumbled against his shoulder, enveloping yourself in the warmth of his body even when you knew you’d wake up to a fistful of cold sheets.

That night, you missed him the most when he was right there with you.

“Not so fast, mister.”

If the sound of your voice wasn’t enough to stop Toji in his tracks, the Glock 22 aimed at his skull certainly was. He stepped away from the door, hands up in mock surrender, as a smirk carried him to where you stood in the middle of the living room, looking not-so intimidating in the pistachio-colored sleepshirt you’d hastily draped over your body.

“Where did ya find this?” He asked, his voice still groggy from sleep.

“I know you keep a gun taped under the nightstand.” You smiled, planting your fingers away from the trigger. “Busted.”

“Then y’know it ain’t loaded, right?”

“Really?” You thought you could tell by shaking it near your ear, only for Toji to leap forward and clasp your palms between his, directing the muzzle to the ceiling in the blink of an eye. “Thought you said it wasn’t loaded!”

“Hmm, let’s see.” The magazine popped out, empty except for a bullet he stowed in his pocket. “Won’t you look at that!” To your amazement (and horror), he reassembled the gun with a single move and returned it to you, defending himself with a “Shouldn’t trust a word outta your opponent’s mouth.”

“Art of war?” You pinched the grip and hurled it onto the couch. Sometimes you really questioned your decisions.

“More like, quit meddling with stuff you can’t handle. Although, if you threw some handcuffs into the mix,” he walked closer, pulling you onto him by the waist, “I could get behind this.” He kissed your lips and gave your ass a squeeze. “And that. Definitely that.”

Your fingers met behind his neck, heart fluttering in your chest. He smelled so nice. Just the right amount of intoxicating. “You’re all talk.”

“Missed me?” You nodded, unwilling to phrase those words out loud. “Then what’d ya want that gun for? Thought we got a lot friendlier these days.”

“Are we still friends?”

“Why?” His thumb brushed against your cheek. “Any plans to unfriend me?”

“Friends don’t do the things we do.”

“Really good friends do.” Toji insisted, his tongue slipping between your lips as if it never left—as if the past two days didn’t happen.

“Want more?” He tugged at your lip with his teeth. You weren’t sure whether he referred to kissing or something else, but whatever he offered, you wanted more of. “Me too.”

His cheek pressed against yours, burning with the same kind of fever you felt pooling in your stomach. You stayed like that for a good while, basking in the intimacy of an inconvenient hug until you felt bold enough to interrupt it. “If you ever avoid your girlfriend again, she’ll kill you.”

He huffed in your ear, then drew away after piecing a loose strand behind it. “My girlfriend can’t even use a gun.”

“Say it again.”

A grin.

“What part?” He asked coyly.

“You know what part!”

“Can’t even use a gun?” He sneered, holding your wrists as they tried to bat his chest. Your reddened complexion only added to his amusement. “Like being told you’re my girl?”

You didn’t answer him—a bad decision, really. It gave him the freedom to run his mouth on about how there were more things he could call you and a couple of other things you could moan back, sparing the details for the sake of the rising boner in his pants. While the premise excited you, the past two failures were hard to forget.

“And for the record, I wasn’t avoiding you.” Toji peered into your mind. A hand rubbed at the back of his neck, his dress shirt lifting from his slacks. “That place’s hell.”

“That bad? Is it the people, the job itself, or…?”

“Fucking everything.”

You could practically hear a can of worms cracking open; see the litany of complaints unfolding over your feet.

“Getting paid to spit on papers like a damn dog. My ass going sore from being glued to a chair all day long. Food tasting like coal briquettes. Dumb kids trynna strike a conversation every chance they get.”

“You poor thing!” You gasped dramatically. “Don’t tell me they also smile at you!”

His glare betrayed him. “Place’s like a fucking kindergarten.”

“Better zip your dirty mouth in front of the kids, then.”

He frowned, and you laughed, genuinely happy that his coworkers seemed to welcome him—a sight you decided you wanted to see with your own two eyes sooner rather than later.

“I won’t be late.” Toji promised once you’d escorted him to the front door.

Your arms folded in front of your chest. Eyebrows arched. “Right.”

“I mean it.”

“Sure you do.”

A sigh. Poking fun at him was always so much fun.

“What about you?” He abided by his little ritual of leaning against the frame, his stance mirroring yours. Unhurriedly since he’d gotten an early headstart on his day. “‘Today’s your day off.”

That’s a first, you thought. He never asked about your plans.

“Oh, you know me. Pilates at 9; golf course at 12. Might go yachting around 5 if you don’t come back early.” You quipped.

He rolled his eyes. “Stop fucking around.”

You poked his tongue at him, not wanting to admit that today would be ten times lonelier without a distraction, similarly to how you didn’t to spoil the surprise in the making.

Except your expression revealed something that your mouth didn’t.

Turning away from you, Toji began coughing like a cat with hair clogged in its throat, eventually spitting out a round, hairy lump of purple. Disgust was written in every line of your face, fading into recognition once the ball expanded into Wormie. The creature tried to wrap itself around its master, who seemed to have a better idea by offering it to you.

“Here. So you don’t die of boredom.” He explained.

You were skeptical at first, but Wormie robbed you of all options as he skipped to your arms and snuggled his head in the crook of your neck.

You never thought the day would come when you’d be hugging a worm, but the feeling wasn’t half as vile as one might expect. He had the weight of a feather and the scent of whatever bowl of cereal Toji had downed that morning. If you closed your eyes, you could think of him as a giant (exotic) pet.

“Hey there, little guy. Missed me?” You rubbed his back. Or what you thought was his back, anyway.

“Pretty sure he’s just trynna eat you up.”

“Shut up.” You glanced at Wormie’s mouth, just in case. “You’re simply jealous of what we have.”

“Sure.”

Satisfied with the image he left behind, Toji finally opened the door and walked out of the apartment.

“Don’t let that idiot get into trouble.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“And I wasn’t talking to you.” He smirked. “Later.”

A moment passed before his comment registered, long enough for the elevator gates to separate his snickering from your dissonant complaints.

“You’re such a lousy boyfriend!”

In the hours that followed, two things became apparent. One, you’d probably make for a decent parent, because when you instructed Wormie to sit quiet on the counter while you cooked a meal for Toji, he did as told without protest, and two, he was the greatest sous chef you could’ve ever asked for.

“Wormie! Pitch me the ladle,” you’d say, and a second later the item would fall in your hands.

Not just that. You could cut away vegetables without walking to the trash whenever the counter became clogged with scraps. Wormie ate up everything you fed him, whether that was onion peels, lettuce butts, or a spoonful of the stewed beef that had him singing toot after toot like a trombone.

Toji was right. It wasn’t as lonely with Wormie around. But he was dead wrong about his pet only obeying him. The second you wiggled those leeks, the little glut switched loyalties.

You wondered whether you could train him to give paw.

Stacking a bunch of Toji’s favorite side dishes inside a lunch box, you phoned the one person who could give you an address. Shiu picked up right away, his tone lax as he accused you guys of having his number on speed dial. You profusely apologized and carried his words to a piece of paper, renewing his dinner invitation with little to no zeal. You were grateful toward Shiu, but all you looked forward to was a weekend alone with Toji.

You hung up the phone and turned to Wormie, gesturing for him to gobble up the tupperware.

“Let’s go see your dad, mm?”

Toji’s workplace turned out to be an impressive thirty-story building on the outskirts of Minato. It belonged to one of the largest telecommunication companies in the country, with an enormous silver plate that bared its three-lettered logotype. Shiu did claim he pulled some strings, but a lobby big enough to double as a landing zone was not what you expected.

The guards at the entrance welcomed you with a curt bow, seemingly undisturbed by the worm that hitched a ride on your shoulders. You remembered what Toji said. The vast majority were incapable of sensing cursed energy around them, and those who did would rather question their sanity than accept the notion that the folktales their grandmothers fed them were real.

You gave Toji’s name to one of the girls at the front desk, who in turn asked her colleagues, but none of them seemed to know him. You weren’t surprised. Thousands of people paraded through these doors on a daily basis, their only accomplishment being the white collars around their necks. You either made it big or died as a nameless corporate slave. Neither celebrated nor remembered.

The receptionist did, however, point you to your destination and provide you with a visitor card. You followed her directions to the elevator, barely finding a spot for yourself in the crammed space that, little by little, cleared up. Your reflection stared back at you—inaccurate, as Worm was nowhere to be found, despite shrieking your ear off a minute ago when you accidentally prodded his tail.

This doesn’t make any sense.

You navigated the maze of cubicle offices before reaching the mail room at the end of the fourth floor. Most employees ignored your presence, while some straight-up shot daggers at you like you were an intruder. You failed to notice the sickeningly amiable smiles Toji described until you saw him surrounded by a bunch of high-heeled man-eaters who vied for his attention.

He was making copies for each of those women, taking away their excuse to loiter around the copy machine and stomping on their confidence with one-worded replies. The less dedicated ones sorted themselves out, while the true contenders stayed back to help him with his workload.

You wished you could get closer and enjoy the show, but you didn’t want to interrupt. Instead, you knelt by an empty desk and placed Wormie on the ground, ushering him in Toji’s direction.

“Make sure he gets it, and I’ll fight for your rights!” You spoke in a hushed voice. “Good boy, Wormie. Now go!”

Certain of your partner’s success, you dashed to the elevator, leaving both him and the company grounds behind for good.

It never occurred to you how much time you spent with Toji since he moved in. And it never occurred to you how long it’d been since you’d last touched yourself either—not until you were lying naked in bed, legs arched and hands stuffed between your thighs, guiding the rabbit vibrator in and out of your sopping cunt while you panted out his name in broken moans.

The hows and whys were unclear. All you remembered was stripping so you could change into a comfier fit, and the next thing you knew, your toy was calling out to you from its hiding spot, fully charged despite its extended period of inertia. You didn’t dare use it when Toji was home—and he was always home. His keen senses trained on you, slashing through every illusion of privacy your bedroom’s paper-thin walls provided.

But he wasn’t there now. And he wouldn’t be there for hours to come. And he looked so damn sexy in his suit, that all you could think about was ripping it off.

“F-fuck, Toji.” You turned the ears speed up a notch.

Each little buzz circulated through your body as tingles of pleasure that enhanced the fantasies your mind crafted. You pictured him leaning over you, wearing nothing but the tie he’d finally mastered. The cocky smile that’d stretch wide on his lips as he’d part your knees with big, veiny arms and stick a thick finger in your pulsing hole, asking you whether that was all for him even when he knew it could only be his—you were only his. He’d ask you to say it out loud; have you repeat it countless times while drilling his cock into your pussy, discovering depths that neither your fingers nor the silicone were capable of.

He’d suggested he was big. God, you’d gotten so close to seeing for yourself. You wanted to touch it, lick it, kiss, bounce on it so many times that the room began to spin around you. Even if it was big, you’d make it fit. Even if it was too big, you’d let him split you open.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you thrust the bunny upward, trapping your clit between the little ears that flicked rabidly in sync.

You needed him to fill you up. You needed to somehow justify all those years of starvation for him, his body, and his cum—you needed to feel it running down your trembling thighs, hot and sticky, as you milked every drop he had to offer.

The tension in your guts finally snapped as you focused on the three little words you longed to hear the most. You didn’t care whether he whispered, moaned, or grunted them out. You wanted to hear them in his voice at least once in your life. You needed him to be yours just as you were his—to love you like you loved him too.

The sweat on your forehead barely had the chance to cool down, when your eyes opened to a sight far more palpable than your crumbling high.

“Is this what ya do when I’m not around?”

A/N: next chapter will have smut, i'm not that ruthless.

[sstormyskyess]

Pitch Black - Prologue

author's note: hello hello everyone!! welcome to my first long form series on this blog! i'm excited to share this story i've been cooking up since summer last year and i hope everyone likes it as much as i've had fun brainstorming it 😊 this is gonna be a little short prologue to set the mood and give a little context for reader so things make sense later on! please enjoy 💜

cw: descriptions of injury, mentions of vomiting

word count: 1400+

Everyone and their mother knows that Russian winters were ruthless. It was a widely accepted fact, even for those who hadn’t personally experienced one of said agonizing winters. Snowfall was common for six months out of the year, and the temperatures could reach —44 degrees fahrenheit.

Cold air seeped in from under the door of the tiny room you were confined in. You shivered while you sat on the old, flimsy cot against the back wall of the solitary prison cell. Your vision was unfocused and blurry, though it was hard to tell because it was too dark to see anything. The walls were made of dark concrete and half-rotted wood slats. It smelled musty and stale, the air circulation in the room severely lacking.

You wince when the door suddenly opens, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to block out the blinding LED lights beaming into the room out of nowhere. Your breath catches in your throat from the surprise, your chest stinging from the feeling. You peek an eye open when a metal food tray clatters to the floor. The sound was deafening as it cut through the murky silence you had been wallowing in, making you bring your hands up to cover your ears. The man that dropped the tray barks something at you in Russian before slamming the door shut once again.

Konni Group.

An up and coming Russian private military company, the target of your squad’s operation, and the people that had taken you prisoner.

The stated goal of your team was to clear out a known Konni base and to capture or kill the colonel they knew was posted up there. The POI had led a recent attack on a U.S. arms convoy and taken a number of highly lethal weaponry from the wreckage. The weapons were likely hidden somewhere in the base, and it was imperative to locate them before they were used anywhere.

The operation had gone less than optimally. It was doomed to fail from the start; the intel your squad was given was faulty, you had your cover blown by an ambush, and to cap it all off, the chaos allowed for Konni to get their hands on you and whisk you away.

 The only thing you could think of was time. How long had it been since you’d been thrown in here? Days, weeks, months? You couldn’t tell. Just thinking about it made your head hurt.

The only measurement you had was how long it was between the miniscule amount of food you were granted by your captors on a seemingly random schedule. You were practically able to feel your body consuming itself, your stomach growling at you angrily. You would cry, but the waterworks had run dry ages ago. You couldn’t afford to lose any more water; you didn’t have that privilege anymore. 

Years of active service in the U.S. Marines had gotten you used to grueling conditions, but nothing like this. Even out in the field, dispatched from whatever base you were stationed in, you knew you’d be able to secure some kind of sustenance. Food and water felt like a luxury now.

Despite the cold, the hunger, and the wear and tear on your body, both internal and external, the worst part was the lack of contact. You couldn’t even hear anyone moving outside, no matter how hard you strained your ears. There was no light peeking from under the door, so you couldn’t track shadows moving. The only indication that someone was behind the door was the meager rations being put into the cell. Between those meals, for all you knew, no one was present in the facility anymore.

Too much time had passed for anyone to still be looking for you or trying to rescue you. It hurt, at first. The feeling of being forgotten or being considered disposable had been crippling for a while, so painfully debilitating that it had you weeping endlessly for days, maybe even a week or more. The muscles of your stomach ached afterwards. Mixed with all the kicks and punches you suffered from interrogations, your heaving sobs had you nauseous and throwing up bile frequently.

You ruminated over what could possibly be the reason you were still being kept here instead of being executed. You weren't being interrogated anymore by now. You were just left with the wounds that you sustained from hours upon days upon weeks of interrogation. The bruises had healed, but the cuts were infected from the shoddy cauterizing job they had attempted. It felt like the bones that were broken were healing incorrectly.

You sigh shakily, your perpetually shivering body getting uncomfortable, so you try to shift a bit. The only thing you accomplished by trying to roll over on your tiny stone cold cot was falling face down onto the floor. You wince and give a weak groan, curling up and holding your stomach. You try your hardest to just close your eyes and get some sleep, no matter how restless it was.

When you woke up, you were finally back in the present. You were finally back in the little old house that you found after escaping that Konni facility, the sun just barely rising over the horizon.

It had been two years since you were abducted. The realization hit you hard. Two years you spent in that dark, cold, suffocating cell. Two years you spent withering away, slowly but surely. Two years you spent in your own special hell, alone, battered and beaten, left scarred for years and years to come.

You roll over and get out of the bed, a headache already springing forth in your head, making you rub your temples. You sigh and amble over to your rucksack full of all the essentials—well, most of them at least. You frown at the sight that greets you. Only a few MREs left and all of them were your least favorites. But, you’ve been through worse.

You pace around the room as you eat, reading some of the files you pulled off the rickety table in the corner of the tiny one room cabin. You scan the files and run a thumb over the insignia on the front of the manila folder containing everything you needed for your next job.

Al Qatala.

A terrorist organization based out of Urzikstan, the current boogeyman of the western world, and your current contractor.

The life of a freelance intel agent was an interesting one, to say the least. You had been around the world making problems for a countless number of political and military bodies, but the money was worth it. Not to mention the anonymity that came with not being tied down to any one organization.

You went off the grid after you escaped from Konni. You wanted to go back to normal life, but something in you told you to stay away from it all. Maybe it was the fear of being found and captured again. The logical side of your brain told you that there was no reason they would want you back, but it was hard to reason with a brain torn apart by the sort of trauma you went through.

You hadn’t cared to check up on any of your old teammates. There was an underlying resentment present in the back of your mind. You were betrayed by them, after all. They left you for dead and didn’t look back. Thinking back on it made you frown. You watched them leave you behind with no hesitation, run away without looking back. So much for no man left behind, right?

By the time you snap out of your frustrated thoughts, you’re already finished with your food. Your headache has gotten worse. You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. You would really have to invest in some painkillers.

Based on how high the sun has gotten, you figure it’s about time to get moving. At least focusing on this job would keep your mind off the events that led you here. You flip through a folder and look at the location that was printed on one of the papers. Then, you take a peek at the pictures of the people you were meant to track.

Task Force 141.

A multinational task force recently founded, a team dedicated to making the world a better place, and ones that had been causing problems for your current contractor.

You take a deep breath and pack all your things away, ready yourself for the trek to the task force’s current location, and leave the cabin with the determination that kicks in whenever you set out on a mission.

𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[advance-cutting-com-au]

The 4 Contributions of Diamond Wire Sawing Technology to Today’s Industrial-Scale Environment

Diamond wire sawing technology is having a big impact on the way we do things in the modern, industrial-scale environment. And one of the main ways it’s contributing is through its ability to enhance precision and accuracy.

Read more: https://www.advancecutting.com.au/2023/02/15/diamond-wire-sawing-technology/

[anabdaniels]

I have a request if you don’t mind. I would love to see how Agent Whiskey is when it comes to dating a trans masc person. Maybe the reader has a crush, but always sees him flirting with women, and isn’t sure. It could end in a sweet smut where he shows you how handsome the reader is. Im just so feral for this man and I know he’s so sweet to his lovers 🥰🥰🥰

Hi there! First of all, forgive me for the eternity it took me to write this hahaha. I loved your request, and yes, we know Jack is a sweetheart with his partners. Hope you enjoy it! 🥰

Heart to heart, eyes to eyes

Paring: Agent Whiskey x TransMasc!Reader

Word counting: 3.4k

Rating: +18

Warnings: Slight mentions of transphobia, minor mentions of male unpleasant behavior (not related with our cowboy, as always), reader does binding and haven't done any gender-affirming surgery (Is this the right name of it? I don't trust google 100% with these topics.), slight smut, fingering, unprotected sex, implied age gap (only if you squint), no beta (we die like half of Pedro's characters).

A/N: This is a new field of writing for me and I did my research to not mess up with anything, but I highly appreciate (respectful) corrections in case I had write anything I shouldn't.

Masterlist

Despite not being the most antisocial person in the world, you used to run from some of the Statesman parties, even after working there for a few years, you still couldn't understand how everyone in the company seemed to have so much disposition for parties and alcohol.

That was one of the occasions when you made an exception and attended the party, regretting immediately when you saw that some guys from another distillery had been invited; while Statesman people could drink a whole barrel of bourbon and still keep their common sense and morals untouched, those fellas from the other company were a bunch of douchebags even before they started to drink.

You looked over the party to find your group and, judging by the expression on their face, you weren’t the only one hating the presence of the guests. You approached your friends with a slight smile, stopping next to them.

“Y’all could’ve texted me about those assholes, I’d have come back home.” You said letting clear your dissatisfaction.

“And have one less person to hate ‘em with us?” Tequila retorted before taking a sip of his bourbon.

“I hate to be this type of person, but I’m with Tequila on this.” Ginger affirmed in her usual calm tone.

“Seems that at least one of us is having fun with them.” You pointed while observing Jack seeming to be having the time of his life while talking to the guys along with Champ, envying those scumbags for a moment, after all, it must be amazing to have Jack that excited and close to you. You took a sip of your Marguerita to ignore your thoughts, not wanting to let your teenager-in-love-like thoughts take over. During all that time you worked at Statesman, you could see Jack having most of the ladies sighing for him, but you never got anything concrete when the subjects were men. He seemed to be sympathetic and friendly with most of them, but nothing more than that. You weren’t up to being the one to find it out, only the scenario of making your friendship with him weird with your feelings already made you uncomfortable enough.

Your wandering thoughts were cut when you saw Jack walking towards the group, rolling his eyes and loosening his tie after taking the remaining whiskey in his glass at one sip.

“This job ain’t worth the stress.” Jack sounded drained “Those fellas can’t be for real.” He shook his head and leaned on the wall next to you.

“What was it this time? All women are gold-diggers or the world is losing its values?” Ginger rolled her eyes as she remembered the miserable few times she had to talk to them.

“Yeah, they complained ‘bout women, even that I doubt they ever touched one and started with the whole anti-gay bullshit. Next time Champ calls them, I ain’t showing up.” Jack snorted and rubbed his temples.

“Now that ya back, can we get outta here?” Tequila questioned without disguise how much he was hating every minute of that and Jack agreed promptly.

As it was usual when the parties were horrible, the four of you left the bottle-shaped building and walked to the bar on the dependences of the distillery. Jack unlocked the front door and turned on the lights, already walking behind the counter, making himself comfortable with a glass of whiskey. You smirked at the opportunity to mess with him a bit and sat on one barstool, resting both elbows on the counter.

“Can you get me a drink handsome?” you pressed your lips together, doing your best to pretend you weren’t feeling butterflies in your stomach. Engaging your little joke, Jack threw a dishcloth over his shoulder and placed a toothpick on the corner of his mouth while approaching you.

“And what such a beautiful thing likes to drink?” he asked with his hands resting on his side of the corner, smirking with the charm that only Jack Daniels could have.

“A Statesman with coke.” You emphasized the Statesman part, looking from the crown of his Stetson to the top of his boots, daring the most you were capable of at the moment to clarify what you meant, feeling your legs trembling with the chance of it getting wrong. Jack wasn’t naive, he knew very well the difference between a joke between two friends and an actual flirt, and he was aware that you weren’t joking with him.

“You ain’t only a gorgeous face, hum? Have an amazing taste either.” Jack winked at you and moved to grab the drink for you.

If wasn’t for the rush of adrenaline, you would’ve noticed Ginger and Tequila chuckling and nudging each other with their elbows while observing you and Jack interacting, both staying at a safe distance to not interrupt the moment since they had noticed long ago that you had a little crush on Jack.

Despite feeling your heart beating in your throat, you kept a neutral expression as Jack handed you the glass and drank from it, running your tongue over your lips as you tasted the drink, mesmerized by how talented Jack seemed to be doing anything he tried.

“I’m starting to believe that the looks of the bartender match the quality of the drink.” You pointed in a soft tone.

“Is this good or bad?” Jack asked with a smirk, his lips glistening wet by the whiskey.

“In your case, is fantastic.” You shrugged with a playful smile, taking another sip of your drink.

The moment was interrupted by someone’s phone ringing, you and Jack looked towards the other side of the room, seeing Ginger picking up her phone with a not-amused expression, rolling her eyes a few times during the call. When she was done, she sighed and finished her drink.

“Apparently Champ talked too much about our technologies to those bastards and now they want to hear more.” Ginger explained unpleased with the situation.

“My condolences.” You said playfully and she chuckled.

“This is the moment I consider starting to believe in supernatural forces to ask ‘em for help.” Ginger said calmly and looked at Tequila “I’ll not suffer by my own.”

“I’ll get another buzz and meet ya halfway.” Tequila answered without getting what Ginger was trying to do, making her raise her eyebrows and tilt her head slightly towards you and Jack, only then making him realize what she meant. “Y’know what? I’ll cause some deficit on the good drinks Champ saves for those assholes.”

Promptly they left, leaving you two alone; you felt a few butterflies in your stomach as you realized that, worrying about all the previous flirting jokes. Jack took a sip of his whiskey as he walked around the counter, sitting on the stool next to you.

“I thought you’d never admit it.” Jack said with a smirk, shamelessly looking at your mouth and then back to your eyes.

“What do you mean?” you questioned with a nervous chuckle, playing with the cup coaster on the counter.

“I ain’t blind, sugar. I’ve seen the way you looked at me.” He explained with no flourishes, making you turn red as the Budweiser cans on the fridge.

“Don’t get me wrong, Jack. I know we’re friends and co-workers and I get it if you didn’t like what I’ve said…” you got interrupted by Jack’s thumb pressing gently against your lips, making you weak on the heart.

“Calm down, sweetheart, I’ll not bite.” He leaned slightly forward to your face “Only if you ask.” Jack whispered and winked at you, keeping his hand on your face.

“So, you’re fine with it?” you asked hesitantly, fearing the answer. You knew Jack’s reputation as a heartthrob, but you always saw him with women, short, tall, black, white, skinny, fat, blond, brunette, ginger, blue eyes, dark eyes, everything, but always women.

“I’m more than fine.” He chuckled and caressed your cheek, leaning a bit more and pressing a gentle peck on your lips. You sighed louder than you expected and threw your arms around his neck, not hesitating to enjoy the opportunity life had just thrown on your lap, letting yourself go as he turned that into a real kiss.

Jack wasn’t clueless, realizing faster than the blink of an eye that you were into him and he couldn’t be more satisfied with it, after all, he was far away from having no interest in you, in fact, Jack had been interested in you since the very first day he saw you at the distillery, and after you started to work on the agency laboratory with Ginger, he was always finding an excuse to go there, but when you seemed to not be up to take a step huger than friendship even with the signs that you were into him, Jack conformed himself with being simply your friend. And, in your defense, at the beginning, you thought that Jack was only being sympathetic with you and when he started to frequently show up at the lab, you assumed that his thing was with Ginger, since they had a pretty strange relationship, seeming to hate each other sometimes, just to be all friendly and holding each other the next day.

You got lost in your thoughts as you processed that you were truly tucked between Jack’s arms, feeling your heartbeat wilder than ever as the adrenaline ran through your body. When Jack got out of his stool and stood between your legs with one hand in your hair and the other on your hip, you felt a hint of disappointment at the bottom of your heart, but at the same time you weren’t surprised; he wouldn’t be the first man to want to hook up with you in an arguable place, away from everyone.

But, of course, Jack Daniels wasn’t an ordinary predictable man.

Realizing that you seemed slightly tense, Jack assumed that he had moved a bit too fast, so he leaned slightly back, keeping his hands on you and resting his forehead against yours with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Y’ okay, honey?” he asked quietly, gently rubbing his thumb on your hip.

“Yes.” You nodded while assimilating the unexpected changing of events “Just processing everything.” You admitted the truth and chuckled, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“We have all night for you to put yourself together.” He whispered and pressed another soft kiss on your mouth, making you smile against his lips.

As both of you expected, at some point in the night Jack was requested to get back at the party. You got back with him, imagining that he would act as always around you in front of other people and you couldn’t be more mistaken. He walked holding your hand all the way back to the central building and didn’t let go of you once you were back at the party, randomly passing one arm around your waist or caressing your fingers while speaking with everyone.

It seemed to take forever until the party ended and you were thanking all the possible existent deities for it. Catching you by surprise, but not that much since you knew him very well, Jack offered to take you home and you accepted without thinking much before answer, but you sure were thinking even less when you invited him to enter while he was parking in front of your house.

Everything after that seemed like one of the thousands of thirsty dreams you used to have; the first 20 minutes you two spent complaining about everything you could at that party were fine, but then came that miserable elephant-in-the-room moment, that both of you knew that was necessary to talk about, but wasn’t that easy to start, so the most you dared to do was kiss Jack’s cheek and try your lucky nestling on his arms, being warmly hugged by him while his fingers caressed your scalp, ending up with both of you falling asleep on the couch.

Heaven.

Undoubtedly you were feeling in heaven those last weeks.

On the years of friendship, you had already realized that Jack was an incredible person, but you were amazingly surprised with how much of an amazing boyfriend he could be and how proud he seemed every time he had the chance to show you off. Every time he saw you around Statesman, he wouldn’t waste the chance of holding or kissing you, always seeming to be the happiest someone could be.

You got to spend a lot of time at each other’s house, and that Saturday wasn’t different. Jack had picked you up in the middle of the morning and as usual made sure to keep you comfortable and papered while he cooked lunch, only the smell of it making you hungry. Once the meal was done, somehow you ended up tucked on Jack’s lap while eating, being distracted a few times by him cleaning the food sauce from the corner of your mouth or simply leaning to kiss the top of your head or the curve or your neck. The cold winter afternoon made the bed way too inviting, so you and Jack got cozily under the covers, talking about a lot of stuff, per usual, Jack didn’t waste the opportunity of dropping a few flirting comments, extinguishing your focus on anything else.

Another thing that wasn’t a novelty, there was a reason why the two of you had spent a good amount of time making out, only making out.

Yes, you were completely feral for Jack and he needed no effort to throw your libido in the heights, but you needed some time before taking a bigger step, still unsure of how it’d work, after all, the most you were in love with Jack, he still was a middle-aged southern cowboy and you didn’t have the best experiences with this category of men.

As usual, you worried only about enjoying the moment, not being able to say when you got mounted on top of Jack, sighing heavily as his hands moved over your back, thighs, and ass. With the passing time, things started to get more complicated to manage; you started to feel your body heat getting almost unbearable, your breath was getting complicated to catch since Jack seemed focused on leaving you breathless, and the soft nudge of his restrained erection between your legs didn’t make you any favor.

Diving on your desires, you sneaked your hands under Jack’s shirt, groping his skin as you moved your hips involuntarily against his fly, sighing heavily against his lips. Following your rhythm, Jack allowed his hands to travel over your body, sneaking in your t-shirt, and making you contort involuntarily under his calloused palms. You didn’t think much about what you were doing as you completely untucked Jack’s shirt from his jeans and started to open its buttons.

Your wave of courage was cut at the very second you realized Jack’s hands reaching your binder, making you freeze and lean slightly backward. Jack realized immediately that something was wrong and cupped one of your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, sugar?”

“I might’ve not told you some details between the lines.” You spoke quietly, sitting on his thighs “I haven’t made any surgery after the transition.” You looked away chewing your bottom lip “And now you probably see me as a woman.” You couldn’t hold back your pre-judgment, after all wouldn’t be the first time someone invalidated who you were simply because you didn’t feel the necessity to make any surgical change.

“Hell no.” Jack retorted without second thoughts, getting sat on the bed on a jump, keeping you cooed on his lap “I’d never start to see my man as a woman because of a little detail like this. You’re a guy, if I wasn’t aware of the details, I’d surely think you always have been a man… No, I mean, I know you always have been a man, but I think you got what I’m trying to say.” You couldn’t hold back a chuckle with his little desperation to explain himself, afraid to sound like a jerk.

“I got what you mean, don’t worry.” You smiled and leaned to give a peck on his lips “So, you’re fine with it?”

“Not wanting to sound harsh, but I don’t care about these things. I like who you are, I like you being a man, I’d like if you were a woman, or if you weren’t neither of them.” He confirmed calmly, catching you by surprise with his last remark.

“Someone has made his homework about the queer community, hum?” you questioned playfully, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sincerely I got lost about some stuff, but was quite interesting.” He confirmed resting both hands on your thighs, caressing your skin softly.

“Don’t worry, you’re getting the way.” You said in a melted chuckle and leaned to press your lips on his, sighing as he grabbed you by the hips, flipping you to lay on your back.

Once more you saw yourself lost in Jack’s kisses, having a hard time concentrating on resuming your task, getting rid of his shirt. The further you got into removing each other’s clothes, the more you knew you’d be obsessed with having the warm feeling of his skin all over yours, especially when he was that gentle with you, even when was clear that he was as thirsty as you.

Any crumb of hesitation you could have left vanished as you dived into the attention of your handsome cowboy and, once his idle fingers reached between your legs, everything was a blur in your mind: his mustache tickling against your neck, his free hand caressing from the middle of your chest to your lower stomach, his velvety voice whispering and mumbling about how handsome you were, how soft you felt on his hands, how much he was planning to make you lose your straight thoughts even more. There was no room for you to do more than dive in on his teasing and fall apart on his fingers, contorting and whimpering as your orgasm made your muscles feel like jelly.

Fascinated by the vision of you boneless, Jack couldn’t help himself, picking you and nestling you on his lap as you calmed down while he soothingly rubbed your back. When you recovered strength enough to straighten up, you didn’t beat around the bush to get mounted on Jack’s thighs, eager than ever to go forward, wondering how better that could get.

“I hope all your bragging about your stamina at Statesman wasn’t a lie, ‘cause you might’ve just encouraged my dirty thoughts.” You said with a soft smile, hanging your arms on his neck.

“Y’ can bet I can deal with your naughty, honey.” Jack affirmed with his usual cocky grin, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer, shamelessly letting his hard cock nudge your throbbing core, taking a quiet whimper of you.

“Now that’s some good news.” You retorted playfully and moved further, slowly taking him inch by inch inside you. Wanting to savor that moment, you sank your face into the curve of his neck, taking a second to enjoy everything going on.

Amused by your contemplative manner, Jack wrapped one arm around your waist and leaned you against the pillows, kneeling between your legs without moving your upper body away from his. Bracing himself in one arm while keeping the other around you, he started to move at a calm pace. Your moan came out louder than you expected, but you couldn’t help it while feeling that good, all cozy while nestled in Jack’s arms, surer than ever that letting him know you had a crush on him was the best decision you ever made in your life.

Getting that deep in your thoughts, only worked to make everything feel even more intense, making you unconsciously squirm and sink your hands on Jack’s skin, squeezing it tight.

“Everything alright, love?” Jack asked as he felt you tensing up.

“Yes.” You nodded slowly, needing a bit of effort to open your eyes and look at him “Just got a bit carried away here.” You admitted and leaned your head, resting your forehead on his jaw, smiling with his low chuckle.

“You better get used to it, beautiful boy.” He answered playfully and kissed the top of your head “I have no plans to stay away from you.” Your smile widened and you tucked yourself even more against him, having no doubts that he meant it.

Tagging: @missladym1981

[threehuskiesinatrenchcoat]

ask and ye shall receive. the fight is homoerotic i promise

lore under the cut

basic outline:

alejandro isn’t a fan of enhancements but had to get stuff that military absolutely demanded + to keep up. leads one of the rare units that still try to do what’s right and not what’s most profitable. but they have a reputation and they do their job, so they don’t get much shit for it from any higher-ups. alejandro had to refuse offers laced with underlying threats more than once tho.

shadow company soldiers mostly get hired by corporations (elite stuff), enough money and reputation to afford expensive and exclusive stuff. also the reason their work is mostly borderline illegal and unethical jobs. hard to stay ethical when you work for corpos. they’re not pushed to go beyond what the field requires in terms of cyberware but most do anyways.

alejandro has a firm belief that the more complicated something is, the more it's prone to malfunctioning (which is not wrong). he's confident in something that he's used to and which reliably works. he thinks that whatever base required implants he has is enough, rarely upgrades them, and relies more on rigorous training. has more of a brute force head-on fighting style.

graves is on the opposite side of the spectrum, he takes and embraces the risk for the high reward. he won't even consider something objectively obsolete. relies on stealth, speed and quickhacks. can keep up in close range but prefers to keep his distance. one can probably say he’s overreliant on his cyberware.

tbh they're kinda like... a brick nokia and a flagship samsung. one is old, can only do basic functions, but very reliably, and probably will punch through a concrete wall and keep working. the other can basically do whatever your heart desires, but be ready for it to get turned into nothing but a pretty accessory with a bad update.

graves really wants a fun fight out of him, which is why he kind of throws ideas and friendly advice at him while they’re still on the same side, knowing what’s to come. see, graves is arrogant and overconfident in his abilities, but so is alejandro, and he never fought someone fully decked-out with expensive high-end stuff head on, he will lose if he’s not careful. so graves goes easy on him the first time they fight, as a little training session of sorts. next time he won’t, tho, so it’s on alejandro to learn from that and find weaknesses to exploit. and by all means, he might be arorgant at first, but he’s not stupid. he will.

assorted ideas:

- graves tries to hack ale to get the idea of what he’s working with and he manages to do it so fast he’s literally baffled and drags him to get better stuff. bitch you live like this

- makes him punch himself before he does tho. just to prove a point.

- their fighting styles are each other’s weaknesses

- the fact that graves is usually stealthy and just darts around to find an opening for a good hit allows him to ramble endlessly which makes ale so mad

- graves absolutely flirts with ale when they fight (50% to stall for time by shocking him 50% because he actually has a crush)

[mister13eyond]

I stayed up too late writing a lore dump on my phone.... sticking it under the cut just so I have it somewhere concrete

MANA. 

This is one of the basic building blocks of the universe. Just as physical things are made of atoms, spiritual and magical things are made of mana. 

There is mana abundant in the universe, but it isn't something everyone can access. Human souls are made of mana, but most humans cannot cast magic. After death, human souls are returned to the fabric of the universe just as human bodies decompose into carbon and rejoin the earth. For most people this is all that exists after death: a return to whence we were made. But for some, deals can be made. That's where angels and demons come in. 

Angels are beings who are capable of drawing, storing and casting mana as magic from the universe around them. They are capable of miracles, and can change their shape at will. These beings have formed an organizational structure for dealing with humankind and human souls- we call this organization Heaven. 

Heaven is run with a similar structure to a government. Officials are elected by vote, with representatives being chosen at larger scales the higher up the ranking one goes. At the top level of heaven exists what is essentially an angelic Supreme Court- those who have the final say on what is or is not angelic law. Angels work to uphold a sense of order and balance in the world, and to create a fair and just existence. 

In order to do so, angels make deals with humans to reward their souls with preservation after death. When a human has been deemed to have a positive impact on the world around them, and when they have prayed to angels for life after death, their souls are kept in Heaven. This is something between walled garden and museum display- a collection of the mana that once made up the humans deemed worthy by angelkind.

The environment in Heaven is best thought of as political. Angelic relationships tend to remain professional,  polite, and above all private. Since the entire system is run democratically, reputation and status mean everything to angels. It is far more dangerous to be caught up in a whisper campaign in Heaven than any physical threat- a poor enough reputation will trap angels in lowly positions with no hope of advancement, while a good reputation and a solid network are needed to maintain any sort of influence over the celestial legal system. 

Human souls are judged and reviewed by the Celestial Court, a legal system that reviews the life and impact of each human soul brought in as a potential candidate for preservation. Celestial defense attorneys, such as Asphodel (before their quiet exile) are tasked with presenting a case as to why this human is worthy of Heaven. Those souls rejected in court will be released into the universe once more. 

Celestial court also handles cases where human souls cross paths with Demons. Demons are a different kind of being, and their dominion is known as Hell. 

Demons are not capable of drawing mana from the universe. They are formed from mana, but after establishing themselves as sentient beings, they cannot pull from the fabric of the universe the way Angels can. This means demons must rely on another source of mana: that contained in the human soul. 

Hell functions a lot like a large corporation. Demons make deals with humans to grant them favors in exchange for their souls, after which their souls are sent up the pipeline to the Devil. The Devil then distributes from the mana pooled by all demons under his employ, with the amount of mana each demon receives proportional to their position in the company. Promotions up the ranks happen when demons are exceptionally skilled or experienced, with demons at the lower ranks serving more menial or administrative jobs. Vin worked in a position where his job was keeping track of records and collections, managing data on how much mana came and went through his pipeline. Other demons, like Nik and Ike, would have been in charge of writing contracts or making offers directly, in what more closely resemble sales positions. 

The atmosphere in Hell can be thought of more like a large company with many small social groups and networks. Because the work is stressful- and because demons need to know human vices and pleasures well in order to offer them- Hell has a rather rowdy party culture. Demons are known for indulgence and hedonism, working only so that they can run wild in their hours off. 

Because they are both attempting to collect human souls for different purposes, demons and angels consider themselves to be enemies. However, there is a small portion of both populations who spend their time on Earth, and who have acclimated to one another. These may be those who work in the field directly- offering deals or miracles- or they may be exiles. 

Exiles are demons or angels who no longer live in Heaven or Hell. There are a variety of reasons this may happen, but most often this is due to negative circumstances. For example, Vin is exiled due to a series of loopholes which resulted in an unfulfilled contract. Because he was accidentally summoned with a summoning circle typo, he was summoned for magic he could not actually provide. On top of this, his summoners died immediately from their bungled magic, which left Vin unable to negotiate any adjustments to their terms. As a result, he must stay in earth indefinitely, as the terms of his contract dictate he's only free to return to Hell once he has completed his end of the bargain. Most demons trapped on earth are similarly bound by contracts or exiled for their failures to perform their jobs in Hell. 

Angelic exiles, on the other hand, tend to be a bit subtler. Angels have a system called Falling that can be used to cut an angel off from all mana in the universe. However, this is an incredibly dangerous process. An angel cut off from the source of all mana creates something like a black hole in that angel, causing them to pull indiscriminately from everything around them- compromising both the magical equilibrium of a location as well as draining and potentially killing any humans, demons and/or angels around them.

To avoid this outcome, fallen angels are collared. The collar binds the fallen angel, containing them to a singular form and quantity of mana. Collared fallen can no longer shapeshift, cast magic, or absorb mana. They are held in stasis unless their collar is removed- which would result in the aforementioned magical black hole. This means that properly Falling is a very rare verdict for the celestial court, reserved only for those whom the creation of a dangerous magical weapon still presents less threat than leaving them to their own devices in Heaven. 

Instead of Falling, exiles like Asphodel tend to have been quietly pushed out while making it seem like their own idea. Since reputation and status are so important to angels, many angels who are looked down upon, isolated from or shunned by their peers quietly slip away to earth under the pretense of a project or vacation. This is generally framed as the exile's own decision, though it is usually clear that the angel's peers and superiors are making the decision for them. In these cases, exiled angels are more like estranged family members- quietly cutting off those in Heaven unless an emergency happens, cut off themselves from any access to mana or magic. Exiled angels tend to be reclusive and low-key, living among humans and avoiding drawing unnecessary attention to themselves. 

Amongst these circumstances, it's hardly odd for a reclusive pair of exiles like Vin and Asphodel to cross paths. And while Vin may no longer be able to earn mana from hell, there are ways for demons to collect it that do not need the same process. 

Human souls tend to shed mana the same way their bodies shed skin cells and hairs. On an individual level, this is a negligible amount of mana, but at larger concentrations of people this amount of mana can be collected quite easily. Human souls tend to shed more mana when emotions are high, so events where large amounts of people gather and experience strong collective emotions make for excellent opportunities for demons. These may be things like concerts, movies, theme parks, gatherings, or even streams- mana operates on emotional closeness or collectivity with the crowd, not physical. 

As a result, many exiled demons become involved in culture or the arts. Music, theater, art, filmmaking and dance are all common ways for demons to engage with humans in order to draw them together and unite them in collective experiences in order to harvest mana. Combined with demons’ hedonistic culture in hell, it means a great deal of demons also frequent clubs, bars, raves and parties. 

[srorgana1]

Honoring the Past

Rock Star Kylo Ren/Reader

Warnings: physical and mental abuse of a child, alcoholism, mentions of homophobia, and lots of complex emotions

Huge thanks to my amazing friend and Beta @mrs-zimmerman ❤️

A cackle of laughter hits Kylo’s ears as he enters D’Kar Studios. He smirks, settling his helmet on his hip as he sees Taylor "Trax" Johnson, DeeDee and the front desk clerk Amelia laughing jovially at something on Trax’s phone. It still amazes him how different it is here compared to First Order Records. He remembers how stuffy and by the book it was. There was no joy, no smiles, just cut-throat business practices and the music that fueled in. He thanks the deities above for letting him finally see the light and detach himself from that toxic black hole of a company.

DeeDee turns to him, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Hey Kylo” she says through giggles “you all are set up in Room #3 today.” He nods at them, and heads down the hallway. He turns left at the intersection and takes in the various awards and accolades adorning the walls. He sees their platinum award proudly displayed under a shadow box along with a vinyl sized picture of the front of the Trials and Errors album. It broke records in sales and downloads and won them multiple awards. It showed the industry that success could be done differently.

He scans the walls at the other awards from other artists proudly displayed alongside. It didn’t matter here if you were fresh off YouTube or one of the biggest names in the scene, you were treated equally with respect and kindness. You were part of the D’Kar family. Kylo can attest it’s a great fucking place to be.

He sees the record light lit above Room #3. Looking through the window his brows crinkle slightly in confusion. He was used to seeing you at the soundboard with your custom sparkly blue Bose headphones on. But no, you are in the studio room alongside D’Kar’s videographer Vincent recording Vic on your phone. Why is the record light on then if you're both in there? His hand squeezes the doorknob and twists, entering silently.

A wave of nostalgia hits him as the haunting melody of Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) floats on the cool air-conditioned air. His head snaps to the large window as Vic hits the strings of his acoustic guitar, transitioning into the well-known chorus.

It’s something unpredictable

But in the end, it’s right

I hope you had the time of your life

Kylo sets down his motorcycle helmet on the soundboard and leans on his hands, losing himself in a memory…

He is twelve years old, walking down the sun baked sidewalk. His worn and dirty Converse slap the concrete below, a size too small for his rapidly growing feet. The strap from his heavy book bag digs into his shoulder. He looks at the watch on his wrist. The cracked electronic screen blinking up the time. He cannot go home yet. His dad is still there.

The healing burns on his shoulder flares upon thinking about it. He shifts his bookbag away from them, hiding a wince. He got off easy this time and he knows it. He was dumb and thought he wouldn’t notice. He was wrong.

The sad thing is that it’s something he learned a long time ago through multiple bouts of blood, tears and broken bones. You cannot rely on or put your trust in others. It’s the only way for you not to get hurt.

So he continues on with no real destination. He could’ve stayed at school but it would have just raised more questions. He hated when they tried to pry. Just as much as the looks he got from the other kids, whispering snide comments on his height or his hair or his ratty clothes. He knew they would never truly understand. So he held it all in and walked, hoping someone or something would give him a sign that things would get better.

He stops under a shop awning to get a reprieve from the hot Arizona sun. He leans on the bricks, wiping his sweaty black hair out of his eyes. He watches the busy street, the cars and people heading here and there. The various shops bouldering the open air flea market across the street are buzzing with people. Maybe he could sneak in and grab a sandwich again. The nice lady who runs the arepas stand may turn a blind eye like she has before. His mind made up, he takes a step towards the flea market to be stopped in his tracks by the unique sound of music hitting his ears.

For some unknown reason, he turns and heads towards the music. It invades his senses, calling his soul forward. His dad never played music at home, only hateful talk radio. Said it reminded him of his good for nothing bitch of a mother. To be honest, Kylo doesn’t really remember her. She left when he was little. He totally gets why she left though. He just wishes she brought him with her. Anywhere had to be better than here.

He comes to a dingy little shop squished between the payday loan place and the barber shop. How has he missed it before when he has walked most of the streets on this side of town? Regardless, the music rings out the open door like a siren call. Kylo’s feet lead him closer. A small sign hangs overhead matching the peeling paint on the bay window. Corellia Records. The song changes to a more soulful tune, but still with as much power as the one before.

He stands at the threshold looking in cautiously. The space is small and dimly lit. Rickety shelves line the walls full of albums and other what he assumes is musical equipment. The back wall behind the glass counter has multiple instruments hanging. A portly greasy looking man in a stained gray t-shirt and an ill fitting fedora is standing by one of the tables, shuffling through a box while grumbling to himself.

Kylo shuffles in slowly, taking in more of the shop. The song ends as the man looks up at him. “What you need kid?” he says gruffly. Kylo immediately freezes and looks at his shoes, already able to feel this man’s agitation. “Um” he starts, suddenly wishing he had not entered. “Hey kid, it’s okay. What do you need?” the voice comes again. He can smell the man’s musty body odor as he takes a step towards him. He reactively flinches, pulling his book bag closer to himself.

He continues to stare at his shoes as the man sighs and shifts away from him, groaning as he sits on the stool behind the counter. It squeaks loudly under his weight. “You like music kid?” he asks, switching out the record on the record player and pulling a bag of Cheetos Puffs from below. The man opens the bag and shakes it towards him. The classic smell hits Kylo’s nose, making his mouth water almost instantly. “I can tell your hungry kid. Come and have some” he gruffs.

He eyes the man as he slowly walks up, placing his book bag on the floor and hopping up on the adjunct stool. The music is louder over here and seems to flow through him. He shuts his eyes as his body reacts to the emotion of the music. “You like Soundgarden kid? I feel this album is one of their best” the man says, placing the ripped open bag on the counter. Kylo grabs a couple and stuffs them in his mouth, moaning at the delicious taste of orange artificial cheese.

He takes a couple more before answering. “No, I don’t know who that is. I just, i don’t know… i just like it” he says in a small voice. The man hums to himself, taking a Cheeto for himself. “I feel ya there. Music has always spoken to me as well. Led me to some awesome places. Made me believe in the better of people.” Kylo looks up at him, strangely feeling a connection to this man. “I can tell by your eyes kid, you’re the same. My name’s Raf, what’s yours?”

Kylo sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He doesn’t notice you, Vic and Vincent watching him with concerned eyes. He’s too lost in his memories.

Raf became the pseudo-father figure Kylo needed. So much more than his drunk of a father could ever dream of being. He offered Kylo a job at the shop, saying he couldn’t pay him much but it was there if he wanted it. Kylo took him on his offer instantly. From only a couple of interactions, he found out that Raf had once been in a band, playing guitar and bass. Left the band years ago over creative differences and used the royalties to open the shop. He always said he felt he was meant to give back and help inspire the next generation.

He taught Kylo how to appreciate the classics. The Beatles, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Patsy Cline, Queen, Chuck Berry, The Stones, The Eagles, ACDC, Led Zeppelin, Kiss, Tom Petty, The Cure, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Leadbelly. Showed him how musical influences never really change, they just meld and flow into the next generation. Just like the notes on the wind.

They figured out a schedule, with Kylo working the four days his father worked the late shift. He would race there after school, working the counter and unpacking boxes as Raf quizzed him on music history. He then started teaching Kylo how to play keyboard and then eventually guitar, saying learning both would instill the notes in faster. He was gruff but fair in his style of teaching but never cruel, allowing Kylo to make the necessary mistakes without judgment.

As the years went on, his home life got worse. There were multiple times he would come in battered and bruised. Raf would fix him up and then would let him stay in the back, popping open a cold Jarritos for him. He would give him a pained look before leaving Kylo to the boxes.

At fourteen, Raf recommended Kylo to play at the local Cantina’s open mic night. Said it would be good for him to try it out and to test out his skills in front of others. Kylo will never forget that night for as long as he lived. He stood backstage at Los Nopales, his body wracked with nerves. He remembers shaking and his sweaty hand almost staining the wooden neck of his borrowed guitar.

His name was called followed by some random applause. He took a shuddering breath and walked out under the spotlight, sitting on the stool and attempting to fix the microphone to his height. It squeaked and slid all the way down, hitting the guitar with a thud. A couple people laughed and shook their heads. He fixed it quickly, his cheeks burning hot. He looked up and saw Raf by the bar, his rotund self settled on a bar stool. He nodded at him with kind eyes, silently saying you can do this.

He nodded back and focused on the feeling of the guitar in his hands. The sound of bottles clicking and the low murmur from the crowd. It’s oddly centering. He shuts his eyes and lets himself be enveloped by the energy. He strummed the opening chords, letting himself get lost in the notes. Letting the music carry him away. His rendition of Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi brought the crowd to their feet. He left the stage with a smile on his face and his heart full to see Raf’s face full of pride among the others.

He played there off and on, often on weekends. He would sneak out after his Dad passed out or left for the bar, hopping on the bicycle Raf gave him. Raf was almost always there when he performed, a glass of cold beer in front of him and a big grin on his face. It was something that struck Kylo to the core. How good it felt to have someone believe in him.

But life decided to remind Kylo of his reality. One weekend afternoon when Kylo thought his old man was out cold, he left and headed to the shop. The hot dry air hit his face as he petaled down the street, excited for his shift.

He recently had gotten into a couple newer bands: Foo Fighters, Green Day and Linkin Park. Raf had laughed and rolled his eyes when he caught Kylo rocking out in the back to them, saying how much he could hear Depeche Mode and Rage against the Machine in their sounds. Regardless, he let Kylo order some along with some other bands and they were due to be delivered today.

Kylo parked his bike and chained it up, concerned with the yelling from inside the shop. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the sound of a familiar voice. Please no, he prayed as he slowly walked out of the alley and to the front door. His heart sank in his chest to see his wreck of father cornering Raf by the counter, a threatening finger in his face. Raf stared down the irate man, his large face stoic. His eyes catch Kylo behind him, worry flashing in his dark brown irises.

“I knew you were coming here boy” his father snarled, turning from Raf to him. His feral anger emanated from him as he cracked his neck. “When I heard from Pedro that he saw you playing at the Cantina, I knew this is where you were sneaking off to you little shit” Kylo gulped and watched him in fear as he began to pace. It was a sign of bad things to come.

“C’mon man, he’s just a kid” Raf said, pushing himself off the counter. “DON’T TELL ME HOW TO RAISE MY BOY!” his father roars, knocking a box of vinyls to the floor. Kylo winced at the sound of them smashing to pieces. “You come here now” he snarled. Kylo took a breath, knowing he cannot get out of this. If he fights it’ll be ten times worse. He walked up to his father slowly, yelping when his hair was grabbed roughly. “You will never come back here” he voice getting louder “you will never play at that Cantina again and you will never see this fat fucking faggot ever again. Do you understand me!?”

As much as Kylo was scared, he couldn’t take his eyes off Raf. The pain in his eyes mirrored his. He suddenly knew why Raf had been so nice to him at the beginning. He had experienced this. He had his own abuser and was reliving it with Kylo.

It gave Kylo the strength to do what he needed to do. He pulled away, hissing through the pain of his hair being ripped out at the root. He shut his eyes and swung, colliding with his father’s jaw. A shot of pain shoots through his hand and up his arm. He groaned through ragged breaths, holding his arm to his chest. “Ky” a gruff voice said. The voice of his anchor through all this fucking bullshit.

He opened his eyes to see Raf’s eyes wet with tears and his father out cold on the floor. His arm throbbed hotly. “I’m calling the cops Ky, this needs to end” Raf said as he rounded the counter, heading for the back. It was then that Kylo noticed a silvery scar under the tattoo on Raf’s neck, so similar in shape and size to ones he had on his shoulder. “How’d you get out Raf?” Kylo grits out through the stabbing pain. “Music my boy, and I suggest you do the same,'' he responded softly. Kylo nodded as he watched Raf’s wide body disappear behind the wall.

The cops came quickly, escorting both Kylo and his father to the hospital. They set Kylo’s broken hand and arm and questioned him about what happened. He told them everything. They wrote down everything, giving him that pitied look. He hated it. They escorted him home so he could get his meager belongings and was thankfully sent to stay with Raf until the trial.

During that time he recommended Kylo to file for emancipation. He was plenty old enough to and met the qualifications with a job to support himself and had a place to stay. Why not, Raf had said, you’re more of a man now then your father ever was. It was a better option than getting sent to some shitty foster care setup until he aged out.

The courts took their time, but ultimately granted Kylo his emancipation and his father a prison sentence. He continued to play at open mics and work odd jobs along with the shop. He was happy for once. He was doing what he loved and had someone who believed in him.

The day after his sixteenth birthday, Raf told him of an opportunity of a lifetime. It was a job at Raf’s cousin’s restaurant in Los Angeles which came with a small studio apartment and a promise he could perform at every open mic night there. Raf knew it was Kylo’s dream to have his name in lights, to play his guitar for the masses. LA is where music and dreams are made and Kylo deserved to get his shot. He graciously accepted, crying into Raf’s shoulder. He helped Kylo prepare, all the while giving random snippets of advice and pointers on the music industry there.

On a hot April morning, Raf drove Kylo to the bus depot. They sat side by side on the bench until his bus was called. He told Kylo to wait a moment as he huffed and puffed back to his car. Kylo stood there confused with his small tattered duffle bag and second-hand suitcase. As Raf turned back, he saw a familiar leather case. He knew inside was Raf’s vintage Fender, the same one he learned to play on.

Kylo tried to decline but Raf refused to take no for an answer, saying it was his now and to make him proud with it. He hugged him and thanked him, promising he would do his fucking best. He hopped on the bus with teary eyes, and watched his guardian angel fade as the bus pulled away.

He never saw Raf again. He passed away two years later from heart failure. By that time Kylo was in deep working for First Order, working himself to the bone to show he was worthy. He only found out when he and the guys went for drinks at the old cantina he used to work at to celebrate their work on the StarKiller album.

Sergio, Raf’s nephew who was now the manager, let Kylo drink on the house after telling him the news. As much as the other guys tried to lift his spirits, he wallowed miserably in tequila and whiskey. Truly in mourning of his first true friend and mentor. The only one who knew the whole story at the time was Vic so he lifted a glass, toasting the man. Speaking the words Kylo held in his heart but couldn't put into words.

The memories fade as the weight of arms wrapped around his shoulders along with a pair of soft lips kissed his cheek. "Ky, baby what's wrong?" your soft voice says, full of concern. He shakes his head, finally feeling the wetness on his cheeks. "Just memories baby girl, don't worry about it" he says, turning in your arms and tucking his head in your shoulder. He feels your nails scratch at his scalp in an attempt to calm him. He knows you know the story. He told you everything. He takes a shuddering breath, attempting to compose himself.

"Kylo, I am so sorry man. I know how much that song means to you. We thought we would’ve been done by the time you got here…" Vic says coming up to them, his blue eyes full of emotion. Kylo looks up at him, giving him a warm smile through teary eyes. He knows Vic is telling the truth. He should’ve been more prepared than he was. It was known he was playing that song today, with it being one of the most requested songs on their social media poll. But like always, it hit him right in the heart and sucked him in.

"I know Vic" he says releasing you, wiping one of his red rimmed eyes with his hand. "It's on me, not you. But I can definitely say your performance was moving." Vic gives him a sad smile, finally taking a seat on the couch as you stand by his side. "How about we break for lunch and then you can do yours Ky. I can have Rae move up our order" you say, clicking a couple keys on the sound board.

His mind still swims with visions of the past: of Raf's happy tear filled eyes when he performed for the first time, of his gruff laugh and affinity for odd but comforting snacks, the last hug they shared at the bus depot. He looks over at his guitar sitting in its case next to Vincent on the couch. Obviously more worn but still the same. His only memento of the man who changed his life for the better.

"No, no I have to do this" he says, kissing the top of your head and turning to grab the guitar case. He sees you nod as you take a seat at the soundboard, your hands fidgeting with your headphones. "You want me to record it for you?” Vic asks, shaking his phone in his hand. Kylo nods as he heads into the studio. He hears Vic and Vincent follow him in. He looks over to see you blow him a kiss through the glass. He catches it and puts it on his chest with a soft smile.

He scans the studio room, deciding to sit on a tall metal stool that was discarded in the corner. He grabs it and moves it to the front of Vincent, setting himself atop it. He feels he’s right back in that dim music shop, learning his chords alongside Raf. He tunes his guitar, almost able to feel his spirit with him.

His fingers stop, his mind offering a silent thank you. He looks up and nods to you. He sees Vic and Vincent start recording as the record light goes on. "Hey all this is Kylo from the Knights of Ren, thanks for joining us for our newest segment of Classic Covers. I would like to thank each and every single one of you for your continued support of the band and we hope you like and subscribe to the channels below." He has to tell himself not to roll his eyes when Vic cracks a wry smile at him for once following the approved script.

"This next one is really special to me for a lot of reasons and I would like to dedicate it to Rafael Hernandez Corellia and his family. He meant more to me than I could ever express in words. So in memory of him, this is Fell on Black Days by Soundgarden." His calloused fingers hit the strings, starting into a song that lives in a part of his heart. His version is gritty and passionate, so much like Raf. He feels tears prick his eyes as reaches the end, barely noticing the growing group of people in the ajoining room. All amazed at the outpouring of emotion from him.

He strums the final notes, giving the camera a tearful smile and wave. Vic stops recording and immediately rushs over to give him a hug. He grunts as Vic’s body hits him, pushing the guitar into his gut. He ignores the discomfort and wraps an arm around him, holding his friend close.

A series of applause and cheers come through the speakers when they release. He looks up to see over half the staff and a couple other artists all giving him a standing ovation. You are standing in the middle with tears streaming down your face.

His eyes hold yours and can feel your love emanating from them. He can barely hear you whisper I love you over the crowd but it’s there. He lets the tears finally flow. He has honored Raf in the best way he knew how. He has you and his band mates and his friends. He has D'Kar. He has honestly and truly made his dreams come true.

soooo...yeah that happened. How ya all doing?! Lemme know what you think here or on A03 ❤️

You can find the whole collection here including the original story:

[thedryswan]

Scott scowled in the direction of the pile of rubble which had been a shopping mall. The damned building was nearly new, built using the latest technology and materials so architect and construction companies arses would be hanging from sharp, painful walls if he had anything to do with it.

Beside him, Virgil was discussing with the local fire chief who had led the rescue, finalizing their comments for the report while Gordon packed up the last of their equipment in the pod.

It had been a bloody mess, they'd rescued more survivors than expected but as always, each person the teams failed to bring out alive was one person too many.

Chief Halford tugged his helmet off and ran a hand through his grey, sweaty hair.

"My guys are bringing out the last pair they could find." he said, groaning at the stiff cramp in his neck.

There were calls for extra hands as firefighters slowly emerged carrying a stretcher with a young woman strapped to it.

They had immobilised her neck with a brace and she had cuts on her face and arms, her dark jeans had traces of concrete and plaster dust and dark patches here and there which were likely more bleeding injuries.

Her shoulder length hair was brown but the ends had been bleached and dyed blue and around her right wrist was a charm bracelet.

"What?" murmured Scott under his breath. "No." he said a little louder, starting to walk towards the group, then running. "No-no-no-No-no!"

"Scott?" Virgil called after him.

Stopping next to the stretcher, Scott looked down in horror at a familiar face.

"Is she alive?" he asked, fighting a wave of nausea, brushing blood stained hair from her pale, lifeless face.

"Yes, but we need to evac her now."

As the paramedics took the stretcher and moved towards the ambulance, Scott kept pace with them, grabbing Hannah's hand. Virgil had caught up with him and was surprised not only to see who the injured woman was but also his brother's reaction.

"We're taking her to Pearce Memorial Hospital, if you wanna meet us there?"

Scott nodded mutely, watching as the doors slammed shut and the driver fired up the engine and their sirens, pulling away and speeding for the hospital.

"What the hell?" Scott groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Why was she even here? This isn't her neighborhood, she's supposed to be working today! She told me she was working the lunch shift."

"Was that Havoc?" asked Gordon.

"Her name's Hannah!" snapped Scott, without thinking, digging his phone out and plotting the quickest route to the hospital. He needed to be there when she woke up. When, not if. Because she had to. She had to wake up, if she didn't... Well, that was a possibility Scott didn't want to consider.