#half socks suppliers

[carnalcrows]

EX MARKS THE SPOT — THANOS

pairing: plug!thanos x male!reader

synopsis: After a messy breakup, you turn to Thanos, a dangerously smooth dealer in a suit, for more than just supplies—and somehow end up making your ex jealous while questioning your life choices (and his cologne).

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, drug usage, mentions of alcohol, myung-gi is reader's ex, marijuana, drunk sex, riding, shot-gunning, breeding, creampie, myung-gi is an asshole.

word count: 2.2k

A/N: this is hands down the funniest thing i've ever written lol. enjoy!!

Texting your ex always felt like poking a bear—pointless, frustrating, and dangerous. Yet, here you were, staring at a string of messages from Myung-gi, your recently demoted ex-boyfriend, as he passive-aggressively reminded you of all the things you’d “lost” when he left.

“Good luck finding anyone who’ll put up with you. Or supply you. 😊”

The nerve. You could practically hear his smug tone through the screen, and it made you want to chuck your phone into the nearest body of water. This man had cheated on you, lied about it, and somehow still had the audacity to act like you were the problem.

You rolled your eyes so hard you swore you saw the back of your skull. Myung-gi might’ve taken his flashy car, his designer cologne, and—worst of all—his “supplier,” but there was no way you’d let him hold your good times hostage.

Still, it was hard not to get irritated. Myung-gi always had a way of making your blood boil while somehow convincing you it was your fault. He was like an evil mastermind but dumber, pettier, and with terrible taste in socks. (Who wears neon argyle with loafers? Seriously.)

You shoved those thoughts aside and scrolled through your contacts. A friend had slipped you a number a few days ago, prefaced with, “This guy’s the best in town. Professional. Discreet. Just… don’t piss him off.” You hadn’t planned on using it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

You took a deep breath and typed out a message:

You: “Hey. Got your number from a friend. Need to talk.”

The reply came almost instantly, which was mildly unsettling.

Unknown Number: “Come to 10th & Main. 9 PM. Cash only.”

Straight to the point. No pleasantries. Not even a "Hello."

You hesitated for a moment before typing back:

You: “Cool. What’s your name?”

Unknown Number: “Thanos.”

You stared at your screen, blinking slowly. Thanos? Thanos? Like the purple guy from the Avengers? What kind of name was that?  Was this some kind of joke? You half-expected his next message to be something like, “Bring me the Infinity Stones,” or, “I hope you enjoy dust.”

A dozen questions raced through your mind. Should you be scared? Impressed? Concerned he might snap his fingers and wipe out half your neighborhood? You weren’t sure if you were meeting a dealer or the final boss of a video game.

After a long moment of contemplation—and a quick Google search to make sure “Thanos” wasn’t slang for something illegal—you decided to go for it. Worst-case scenario, you’d die in an alley, and Myung-gi would probably gloat at your funeral. Best-case scenario? You’d have a cool story to tell.

With a sigh, you texted back:

You: “Alright. See you then.”

Unknown Number: “Wear something cute.”

Your jaw dropped. Was he… flirting? With you? Oh, this was going to be interesting.

When you showed up at the alley, you immediately regretted your decision. Thanos was leaning against the wall, his lean frame illuminated by the dim, flickering streetlight. His head gleamed like a polished amethyst, and his piercing gaze locked onto you the moment you stepped into view.

“So,” he said, his deep voice rolling over you like a summer storm. “You’re the newbie.”

You swallowed hard, clutching the cash in your pocket. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

He pushed off the wall, his towering presence somehow even more overwhelming up close. His suit, far too nice for a back-alley transaction, clung to his broad shoulders like it was tailor-made.

“You guess?” he repeated, tilting his head with an amused smirk. “Pretty boy doesn’t know what he wants?”

Your brain short-circuited for a moment. “I’m here for… you know… the stuff.”

His grin widened, and he handed you a small bag of green nuggets. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not gonna bite. Unless you want me to.”

Your face flushed, but you tried to play it cool. “Thanks,” you muttered, already turning to leave.

“Hold up,” Thanos called out, stopping you in your tracks. “Do you even know what to do with it?”

You hesitated, clutching the bag like it was a live grenade. “Uh… yeah?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Don’t lie to me, pretty boy. Come on.” He gestured for you to follow him, and before you could protest, he was walking toward a nearby bench under the dim streetlight.

You trailed after him, curiosity outweighing your embarrassment. He sat down, pulling out a rolling tray, papers, and a grinder like he was some kind of cannabis sommelier.

“Watch and learn,” he said, his hands moving with surprising finesse as he broke down the green nuggets and ground them up. He sprinkled the freshly ground product into the paper, rolled it up with precision, and sealed it with a quick lick.

“There,” he said, holding up the perfect joint like it was a masterpiece. “Now you try.”

“I—uh—I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” he said firmly, pushing the supplies toward you. His large hands hovered near yours as you awkwardly tried to mimic his movements. Your fingers fumbled with the paper, and you could feel his amused gaze on you the whole time.

“Here,” he said, reaching over to guide your hands. His touch was warm, steadying. “Like this. Don’t roll it too tight. You want it to burn evenly.”

You felt your pulse quicken as his fingers brushed against yours. By the time you managed to produce something vaguely resembling a joint, you were red-faced and flustered.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” he said with a chuckle, lighting your creation and taking a slow, deliberate drag before handing it to you. “See? Not so hard.”

You took a hesitant puff, coughing immediately, which earned a laugh from Thanos. “Easy there, sweetheart. No need to impress me.”

As you recovered, he leaned back against the bench, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re cute when you’re trying too hard, you know that?”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just focused on not coughing up a lung.

Thanos grinned, watching you with that same predatory confidence. “Don’t be a stranger, pretty boy. You’re fun.”

A few days later, you found yourself at a house party you didn’t even want to attend. The music was loud, the drinks were cheap, and the pool in the backyard looked way more inviting than the sweaty chaos inside. You’d planted yourself there, floating in the shallow end with a Bacardi in hand, silently regretting your decision to show up.

And then, of course, he appeared. Myung-gi . Your ex was lounging by the pool with his new girlfriend—a painfully perfect, Instagram-model type who looked like she’d never experienced a bad hair day. He was laughing loudly, probably for your benefit, his arm slung around her like he wanted to rub it in your face.

You downed the rest of your drink in one go and muttered to yourself, “Great. Just great.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

You turned at the sound of the deep, familiar voice, and your jaw almost hit the water. There, standing at the edge of the pool, was Thanos. He looked unfairly good—white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark slacks that hugged his thighs in all the right ways, and that same smirk that made you question all your life choices.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice coming out more surprised than accusatory.

He crouched down, his golden watch glinting in the moonlight. “Got invited. Seems I’m more popular than I thought. But seeing you here? That’s a bonus.”

Your face heated, and you quickly looked away. “Well, enjoy the party.”

“Not until you stop sulking.” His gaze flicked to Myung-gi and back to you. “Ah. That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“You’re sitting here like a kicked puppy because of him.” He gestured toward your ex with a tilt of his head. “Pathetic, honestly.”

You bristled. “I am not sulking.”

“Sure you’re not.” Thanos chuckled, then slid off his shoes and rolled up his pants, stepping into the pool like he owned the place. The water rippled as he waded closer, stopping just a foot away. “Wanna make him jealous?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” He leaned in slightly, his smirk downright devilish. “We could give him a little show. Something to really stew over.”

Your heart raced. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He cocked an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You glanced over at Myung-gi . He wasn’t looking now, but the idea of wiping that smug grin off his face was very appealing. You turned back to Thanos, who was watching you with an expectant look, and something in his confidence made you throw caution to the wind.

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “Let’s do it.”

His grin widened. “Atta boy.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, Thanos closed the distance between you, one hand cupping the back of your neck as his lips met yours. The kiss was anything but subtle—his mouth moved against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, his other hand gripping your waist as if to anchor you to him.

The water lapped around you, the sounds of the party fading into the background as you lost yourself in the moment. His lips were soft but commanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp.

You vaguely heard the sound of spluttering from the side of the pool, and when you opened your eyes, you saw Myung-gi standing there, his face a mixture of shock and rage.

Thanos pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushing against yours as he murmured, “Think he’s mad yet?”

You glanced at Myung-gi , who looked like he was about to explode, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, he’s pissed.”

“Good.” Thanos grinned, pressing another kiss to your lips, this one slower, almost teasing. “Serves him right.”

By the time you finally broke apart, Myung-gi had stormed off, dragging his bewildered girlfriend behind him like a kid throwing a tantrum in a grocery store. You barely noticed, too caught up in the heat of the moment and the rush of adrenaline coursing through you.

Thanos leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “You’re welcome.”

“For what?” you managed to ask, your voice a little shaky as you tried to play it cool.

“For reminding him that he downgraded,” Thanos replied with a smirk, his thumb brushing a stray drop of water from your jaw.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He tilted his head, his piercing gaze making your pulse quicken. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Before you could come up with a witty retort, he reached out and took your hand, pulling you out of the pool with an effortless strength that left you momentarily flustered.

“Come on,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, rich and enticing. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding, letting him lead you away from the crowd and the noise of the party. Your heart pounded as he guided you down a dimly lit hallway, past closed doors and muffled laughter, until he pushed one open and gestured for you to step inside.

The room was cozy and dim, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. As the door clicked shut behind you, the weight of the moment settled over you, thick and electric. Thanos leaned back against the door, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

“You good?” he asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

You nodded, your breath hitching slightly. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible, and as his lips found yours again, all thoughts of Myung-gi —or anyone else—faded away.

You didn’t know how you ended up in this position. Or maybe you wanted it to happen. The booze and the weed had certainly gotten to your head.

Thanos was puffing on a blunt while you rode him, bouncing up and down on his cock with fervour.

“That’s it my boy…Taking it like a champ,” he mutters, the praise going straight down to your dick.

The hand that wasn’t holding the blunt was wrapped around your waist, guiding your hips on his length. He slowly took in a slow drag of his blunt while locking eyes with you, his dark orbs stained with red from all the substance. It certainly was a sight to see.

He pressed his mouth to yours, shot-gunning the smoke straight to your throat as you inhaled. You had gotten slightly better with the weed by now, so thankfully, you didn’t start coughing all over the place.

Your pace on his dick slowly sped up, you were at the brink of an orgasm. “Fuck… cum for me baby,” Thanos groans as his grip on your waist tightens. He takes another long drag of his blunt, before handing it to you.

You feel the scent of the herb hitting the back of your throat, and with that, you climax all over the purple-haired man’s stomach with your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Thanos releases soon after, painting your insides white.

You bask in the after-glow of mind blowing sex, lazily leaning forward on Thanos’ shoulder. The click of the doorknob alerts the man, who looks at a fuming Myung-gi and his still-confused girlfriend (the poor thing).

“Rise and shine my boy, I think we have an audience~”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and I take genuine effort to do them.

[themockingcrows]

Darn, the compression socks would've been an easy little bit of help. Can I ask what length you tried? I've heard that compression socks sometimes aren't helpful unless you wear them all the way up to the waist, were you able to try the waist high ones? (I don't mean this to be pushy, just wondering; I get that sometimes stuff just doesn't help, and it sucks, hoping that you still get to find *something* to help)

I've tried knee high, thigh highs that go all the way up to my hips, and both of those at different times in tandem with a waist compression band that was also prescribed bc the local supplier didn't have any that went up to the waist in one piece. ol-< I've had this for more than half my life now and it's just kinda steadily gotten worse as I've aged, which. Tracks I guess since I've also got EDS with it so the stretchy bits inside will remain stretchy. but damn, man, I'm tired of being sick and tired lmfao.

[customsweaterproducer]

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[moronic-validity]

About me + Request Info

So let's start with stuff about me!

Hi, I'm Teddy, I'm 23, I'm a creative writing major, and I'm a Taurus.

All super cool and useful info, right?

My blog is open to all ages, but I do post a lot of 18+ writing. That being said: if you are under 18 and interacting with my adult content, I will block you. I check.

Tags I use a lot:

nsft: my 18+ writing

Teddy Talks/Theo's Thoughts: stuff I've written or just me talking to the void

My Other Sock: my lawfully wedded husband and better half (and the supplier of half my fic ideas), @stickyarbiterwombat

Add Some Sage: the all powerful and all knowing, possibly my twin, @callsigngrim!!!!

Zoo Pals: my long lost sibling, sharer of the same childhood stomping grounds, @depressed-celestial-body

Waffle House Spouse: my best friend and partner in crime, @milkteamars

Wifey for Lifey: my best friend since 7th grade and wife for probably just as long @subatomiccherry

Ouija Chats: fuck me running, I befriended a Ghost? Everyone say hey to my friend with a cool ass name! @written-by-ghosts

Moth Balls: my two Gravity Falls projects that I'm working on! The tag is really funny, but most of y'all don't know that yet (follow @d1rt-ang3ls for the diary entries)

DWU: Diana Winterkov Universe, it's one of the easiest ways to find the chapters I've posted on here. I need to update the masterlist and link it here (and make sure all chapters are posted rip), but for now the tag is the easiest way to find it. The DWU is currently on hiatus and you can find the announcement here!

I'm also in college, just took over my dad's small business, and mainly write fan fiction as a way to keep my writing skills sharp and develop my style.

That is to say, fics and requests may be a little bit slow.

Which is a great segway to my Request Rules

I write slasher shit, F&C, Gravity Falls, and CoD

I will not write 18+ for any character under 18 or animals. I feel like that goes without saying, but ya know.

If I don't want to write a pairing, it's not snub at you if you ship it. I just don't want to write it

I used to have masterlist and at some point I'll take a day and remake it.

If you'd like to support me and get some fun stuff I won't be posting anywhere else, buy me a ko-fi?

Last but not least,

I run an 18+ multi fandom shitposting server. I will never post an open invite on here. If you are 18 or older and want to join the chaos, shoot me a dm!

[vanandmannow]

10 Clever Ways to Save Money on Your Home Removals

Being able to move into one's own home is a dream come true, and everyone is happy to have their areas that are designed according to their needs and preferences. However, there are several things to take into account while planning a move from purging to packing the necessary goods. Once you have someone to handle the loading, unloading, and transportation of your items, hire them. All of these expenses may be too much to bear. Van Man Now Moving Services can assist you with packing and moving the items professionally. Lets us look at the ways which can be adapted to save the cost of moving a house:

Plan: Making a plan and a timeframe that must be strictly followed is the first and most crucial step. The family members might divide up the work to avoid any last-minute delays.

Compare the quotes: It is not advisable to choose residential moving services at random. A thorough search is necessary before choosing a supplier. If a packing and moving service is transporting a load to the location where you are also relocating, they may be able to carry your load as well if you are familiar with them or have moved with them in the past. After being accommodating with the dates and times, you can cut the budget in half with this method.

Decluttering: After organizing, decluttering is a crucial next step. Things/items/gadgets that haven't been used much or are obsolete can be packaged safely, marked as obsolete, and made to leave the house. However, certain items, like clothing and shoes, can be donated to help people save money overall and spare themselves the hassle of purchasing home products they don't even need.

Try to arrange for boxes rather than buying: Instead of buying brand new supplies such as boxes or wrapping and packing material the best option. The best option, in this case, is you can approach friends or neighbors who have just shifted if they have moving boxes or any leftover packing material such as tape. Items such as socks, towels, T-shirts, and sweaters all work great as alternatives for wrapping glassware and protecting your valuables.

Pack yourself: The Residential moving service provider can lend a helping hand with packing and organizing the belongings. Due to the need for more labor, more funding is necessary. The ideal course of action would be to pack the items oneself rather than leave them to the hiring provider because this could result in financial constraints.

Book off-season to move: Consider moving during the week or during non-holiday periods when there is less demand and moving and packing services offer significant reductions on their standard prices.

Go for a garage sale: While moving you are in a situation where you have stuff that has no space in your new home or is no longer required then the garage sale is the best way to make money and put less burden on the pocket. By selling clothes, crockery, and furniture you will decrease the load of the vehicle and hence have to pay less.

Don't hesitate to ask for help: Get help from family and friends as it is a challenging task and can keep us on our toes for a long time.

Prepare a bag of necessities: The final, and most crucial, step is to keep a bag of necessities that will be needed right away at the new home. It needs to be available to the family and include all they'll need. It may contain food, fresh towels, toiletries, toilet paper, and medicines.

Compare and negotiate: Compare the prices of the various moving and packing services before making a van and man reservation. A reasonable representation of the current market rate will be provided. One should also read the service provider's reviews. Make sure there are no unforeseen charges before you sign the contract. Find out whether any additional fees for insurance and tolls will affect the overall budget. Van Man Now moving services provides the optimum solution to ensure a smooth and hassle-free transition to a new home.

[scarletwidowsbaby]

Lover's Quarrel

Summary: A simple few happenstances lead you to two very special women.

Pairings: Omega!Fem!R x Alphas!WandaNat

Genre: Angst, sprinkles of WandaNat fluff.

Warnings: ABO dynamics but no smut. Reader seems a bit depressed.

A/N: This is my first attempt at ABO so pls be nice :)

*credit to owners*

You still struggled to be normal around the brightness of the day. Normally, you’d be holed up in an ex-HYDRA safehouse and hide away from the sun before you would do what you needed, but you were running low on supplies and needed them, now. 

What am I talking about? Oh, sorry, you’re still new here.

You, Y/N Stellaluna Romana, grew up in HYDRA. You don’t remember much of your parents, except for the fact that they sold you for protection. You jumped between what you now know to be HYDRA and the Red Room, but the female-dominated organisation had a much better teaching style for aggressive female omegas. 

Whilst HYDRA was always there as a threat, the Red Room forced your body into labour if you misbehaved. Growl out at an instructor? Stand on your head in the corner for a time limit set by the victimised instructor. Refuse to make a kill? Your dinner is sacrificed to them, but is laced with cyanide, making you fearful of every meal that touches your lips. 

Bite an instructor? You will be beaten black and blue until you pass out, for which some girls wake up and don’t remember who they are.

But enough of that - you were free. You got out. Now, you were just trying to get through every day without your status in the world being revealed. You took your suppressants daily, which you were on your way to get more of, kept your head up and acted confident, which were all the behaviours of an Alpha.

You should know, since you studied them.

But for now, you relaxed slightly, having taken your second last suppressant this morning and now waiting in line for your coffee. It was a truly beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, whilst the wind kept it cool enough for a light jacket.

Speaking of, you were going to have to get new clothes soon. Your daily ‘uniform’ was becoming bland with a simple pair of jeans, a graphic shirt, sneaker and a cap. You paid the seven dollars for your coffee before making your way out of the cafe, down to the mall, and in search of some better clothes.

You strolled through some normal big chain stores like Myer, Cotton On and H&M, and even though nothing caught your attention, that was exactly what you needed. You grabbed three pairs of jeans and four tops, just like the ones you had on, as well as a jacket, a hoodie and some extra socks. 

After paying in cash you found your way towards a shoe shop two stores down, but there were some people standing outside of them, like bouncers. You casually moved to the side like you were checking your phone, but you carefully brushed your hair away from your ear as you listened to a new couple coming in.

“Sir, Ma’am, we need to check your status, please.”

“We’re both Alphas.”

You watched them show some form of ID, probably their drivers licences, which contain both sexes of female/male and Alpha/Beta/Omega. They were then let in, and you saw this with almost all of the other shoe shops.

*Dumb laws.* You grumbled, pulling out your umpteenth fake ID as you made your way to the shop.

“Status, please.” The bouncer asked and you handed the Alpha ID over.

He let you in, but hesitated and you gave him a trained Alpha stare, to which he let you in quickly for. You found two pairs of shoes, almost exactly the same, and quickly made your way back home. 

Once you returned, you quickly dumped your bags and checked outside - almost sunset. Your supplier was going to meet you soon and you had to be there on time. He knew you were an Omega and was a strangely kind Beta, feeling sympathetic for how you acted like an Alpha but couldn’t deny your half-yearly heat and your drops.

You threw on the new set of clothes, knowing that meeting with old clothes led to the possibility of your scent releasing. They were comfy, but they felt new, like how the hoodie’s fluff wasn’t built over time, but stock-standard.

As soon as the sky changed, you eyed the figure coming out of the shadows to your left, his lips curled into a gentle smile.

“Y/N! It’s been a while.” He shook your hand, which led to you handing over half of the money.

“So, you got it, Vladi?” You asked as you walked with him to the truck.

“Oh yeah. I have some strong stuff too if you’ve run out, by the way.” 

You shrugged. “Normal order.” 

“One of everything, coming riiiight up.” He grinned, rummaging through the boxes to find yours. 

You were patient and handed him the other half of the payment before he began to drive away, your whole body tense until you locked your apartment door behind you. You tipped the last suppressant into the new box before hiding it behind the sink drain pipe, keeping the other ones hidden within your belongings. Inspections were random sometimes and you needed to be prepared when hiding your illegal suppressants.

The next day was even more boring since you had nothing to do; no suppressants to collect, no clothes to buy. It was just another day, spinning on the big dumb rock. 

Or so you thought.

You decided to treat yourself and go to the top of the roof for the evening, watching the stars whilst eating your takeaway noodles. It was peaceful and it was the only time you could truly let your guard down, even if that meant no scenting because of your suppressants. 

You leaned back in the sunchair and observed the different constellations, connecting the dots much more easily than the average person. Pegasus was angled slightly down, with Perseus to the left and Capricornus to the right. Hercules was just in front of it, whilst Ursa Major and Minor sat next to each other.

But then you heard the sound of tinkling metal from behind you, as well as the scrapes of it digging into the rooftop. You waited patiently as the almost silent footsteps came closer to you before you stood up and kicked the sunchair back, the mess of blonde hair in a white suit wincing at the hit to her stomach.

“Ow!” She growled, and you could smell the Beta in her.

“Who the hell are you?” You growled back, extending a set of claws.

“Look, I just want to talk. What do you know about the dealing of suppressants around here?” She asked calmly, a thick Ukrainian accent matching it.

One you almost acknowledged. “Those are illegal.” You commented like an Alpha.

She nodded. “Indeed.”

She backed away from you but not without your eyes catching a small vial of red, another grappling hook attaching to the rooftop before a noirette with bright blue eyes came into your vision.

“Yelena! What the hell?!” 

The name only confirmed your suspicions.

“Kate, not now!” She hissed at her, a smirk coming onto your face.

“Lover’s quarrel?” You jeered.

They both gave you a glare and you put your hands up. “I’ll leave if it helps.”

Kate sighed and faced you. “Has anybody moved in here recently? Like, four months?”

You shook your head in a stone-faced lie. “Not that I’ve heard of.” 

Yelena looked you up and down before she pocketed the red vial, to which you watch them leave you alone and head back down their grappling lines. You calmly made your way back to your apartment before you looked at the time - 1:30am.

“Man, work’s gonna be a bitch.” You grumbled, collapsing as soon as your head hit the pillow on the ground.

And it truly was, yet you were only a quarter of your way through it. 

Bartending was a profession most Omegas went into, serving drinks, doing dishes, serving food; it all helped calm down a bit of the biology. Your bar manager, Sophie, was a Beta, which helped mute out the smell an Omega could possibly give off when under stressful conditions. And your restaurant manager, Danny, was a married Alpha who often had dinner with his wife Alura and kids, Raquelle and Jason.

It was a slow start to the night at the bar section, which allowed Sophie to leave you alone and help the kitchen staff with delivering orders to tables. You were what she liked to call a ‘spicy Omega’, which she saw as an Omega who could stand their ground.

At least she didn’t know about your other Alpha-resistance training.

But then you recognised two heads at the front of a group of people, a very recognisable group - the Avengers. You mentally caved and regretted ever having a conversation with the blonde and noirette as they came over to you.

“Nice to see you again.” Yelena commented.

“Not so sure I can say the same.” You smirked.

“What can I get for you?”

“A table-”

“For ten, booked under Stark.” The one and only billionaire interrupted Yelena and you lightly scowled at the only Omega celebrity you knew.

“Your table is over there, but let the lady speak next time.” 

He nodded before guiding the group over with Captain America's hand in his own, your eyes noticing a child and a teenager which led you to grab some crayons and colouring pages for Sophie as she passed by. You didn’t try to listen to their conversation, instead focusing on keeping the glasses and trays stocked and clean. 

Sophie soon came over to you about three minutes later with a large order of drinks. A few cocktails, one for each woman you assumed, whilst a couple of beers would be for the men and the lemonade and apple juice were for the kids.

You also noticed that the little girl was watching you from the end of the booth, propped up on her knees to watch you mix drinks. Now that you had an audience, you were prepared to amaze her.

Flipping the drinks and shakers around, you mixed the drinks up and watched her smile grow as you threw in a few extra flips here and there, gathering a crowd of attention now. You finally laid out the four cocktails and expertly poured straight across, receiving a cheer from the people sitting nearby as well as a loud squeal from the little girl.

You then decided to make your way over to the table, all of the drinks weighted neatly on your tray before you started to hand them out. You were right on all of your guesses, smiling at the little girl when she showed you her messily coloured picture of a scene in Bambi, whilst the teenager was still busy with his Lord of the Rings picture.

“Would you like me to frame it?” You offered her, a couple of surprised chuffs coming from the adults.

“Yes please!” She begged and you took the picture, making your way back to your station before pulling out a picture frame. 

You carefully slid the picture in, making sure it wasn’t dirty, before clasping the frame together and hanging it on your wall. You then took over a couple more menus since you saw them struggling, and put your hands in your pocket to reach your ordering device.

“Alright, is anybody ready to order?” You asked and they all gave each other confirming looks. 

“Would you like to put names on the order or just keep it under Tony Stark?” 

Some raised eyebrows came your way and they decided to do separate names, but only after checking with you that it was okay. You took down their orders and slowly ‘learned’ their names, even if you already knew some of them.

“I-I’m Morgan, and can I have some pizza please?” She asked you sweetly, putting her hands together.

You smiled at her. “Of course. What kind of pizza would you like?”

“Cheese and-and ham! And the yellow fruity triangles!” She exclaimed.

“Hawaiian, please.” Tony clarified, to which you winked at Morgan.

“I was hoping to have the kitchen staff confused so I could make it myself.” 

A few more chuckles came from the group until you took the last two orders from 'Wanda' and 'Natasha', but you noticed how their eyes lingered on you for a touch too long. 

And then you made the mistake of taking note of their scents.

Six of the eight adults were Alphas. Shit, shit, shit.

You gave them a curt nod and tried to not scurry back to the kitchen, needing to take a break even if you were scheduled for one later. Once you were in the back room, you scrambled for your small bag of belongings and saw the extra strong suppressants Vladi had given you.

You chucked one down and took some deep breaths. An Alpha or two you could handle, but six? Might as well shoot you with a tranq dart.

You quickly made your way out when you were done and asked Sophie to manage that table from now until they finished, getting an alarmed look from her but you explained that you were fine, just overwhelmed. 

“I just had a talk with them, sweets. They won’t be doing any more scenting, okay?” Her lovely Southern accent calmed you and you nodded, letting her kiss your forehead before she moved to the back again.

By now there was a steady stream of customers at the bar and you were handling it well, speeding through margaritas and cocktails whilst scotches and vodkas were a simple pour-n-go. However, you did almost have a heart attack when Wanda and Natasha were the last in the line.

“Hey, can we get two more of those cocktails? Just for us.” Natasha asked calmly and you nodded, beginning to make them at a slightly slower pace.

“Morgan likes you, you know.” Wanda added, bringing out a small smirk from you.

“Does she now? Well, you can tell her that her picture isn’t coming down any time soon.” You pointed at it.

They both chuckled. “So we were wondering…”

*Don’t say my name, don’t say my name.* You muttered in your head, but their eyes inevitably flitted down to your nametag.

“Y/N… could we see you outside of this establishment at some point?” Wanda questioned curiously.

“We could just get coffee if you want?” 

You gulped down the Omega in you and shrugged. “What days? I’ve got a busy schedule.” 

“Any time.” Natasha replied.

You looked at the two of them. They were Alphas, you were an Omega, the possibility was there. But were you mates? Did all three of you share marks? Yours were placed just underneath your neck, a perfect hiding spot when coupled with a jacket, hoodie, bartending shirt or even a low ponytail. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember my schedule off of the top of my head. Calendar and all.” You chuckled sheepishly, handing over their drinks.

“We can give you our numbers if that’s more helpful?” They both asked at the same time, pulling out their phones.

You were suddenly called to your station and had to abandon the girls, but they were determined. There was something about you, something wrong, yet so right. Dinner came and went, dessert came and went, and as the bill landed in front of them, they made their move. 

You opened the bill to sort the receipt, ignoring the two pairs of eyes on you as they tidied up, and saw a message written on the back. ‘Y/N - hope to see you soon! W&N xx’ 

You hid your blush well but felt a presence behind you, a familiar yet towering one at that. “Hi, Danny.”

“Hi, Y/N. Are you feeling okay? They were giving you some very weird looks.” He commented, watching the group leave quietly.

“I’m okay.” You murmured, but he knew you.

“Go home, Y/N. Take the night off, I’ll still pay you.” 

“Danny, that’s not fair-”

“You made us more than enough profit tonight. Go home.” He put a hand on your shoulder and you sighed.

“If you say so.” You shrugged, grabbing your bag and heading out the back door. 

Yet, those voices were still there. Wanda, Natasha, Yelena, Kate, Tony - you could decipher them all. Some were different and you couldn’t match them without a face, but you steadily followed behind them as you walked home.

You eventually crossed the street, your apartment a few turns away from the Avengers Tower, which drew the attention of Wanda and Natasha. They told the group they’d meet up in the Tower and they followed after you, just making sure you got home safe.

But a group of men were wolf-whistling you, and they watched them crowd around you.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out at this time all alone?”

“She’s not alone.” Natasha growled, the group jumping at the sight of the two Avengers before a man stepped forward.

“Oh yeah? What, is she your little bitch? Keep her on a lead next time, or she’ll be ours.” He grabbed you roughly and pulled you into him, something which you did not like.

You pushed him out, grabbed his right wrist and flipped him over, pinning his arm back in an excruciating hold that had him whining like a pup. “Submit.” You growled, trying to sound as Alpha as possible.

He tapped three times quickly and bared his neck, making your ego inflate at your acting abilities. You looked at Natasha and Wanda for a few more seconds, trying to decipher their objectives, before turning 180 and heading into the building.

Wanda’s eyes glowed as the men turned to them. “Try it, let’s see how you feel being thrown fifty feet into the air before dying on impact.” 

They scattered like prey and it almost enticed them to chase, but they waited until you were inside of the elevator before going back to the Tower.

The next afternoon, having slept away the morning, you sent a generic text to the two Avengers saying hi. They then sent back dozens, asking to meet for lunch or afternoon tea by the shore. You sighed, knowing they wouldn’t budge until you said yes, so you obliged and agreed to meet at 4. 

Now, you were making your way down there, a casual stroll in your step as you came into the sunshine in your simple jeans, top and hoodie. No cap this time as it was shaded, and you smelled the two Alphas at the restaurant before you came to the front door.

“Status, please.” The bouncer asked.

*What the fuck?* You grumbled in your mind, handing over your Beta ID since you saw it on his.

He held it to your face and you took off the hoodie, revealing your ponytailed hair and the rest of your body. He handed it back to you before you walked over to the girls, reining in your scent.

The conversation was light, learning about each other and how they met. You were surprised to hear they were on opposite sides twice, but now that the Sokovia Accords were scrapped, they were okay. 

“How about you, Y/N? Got a partner?” Wanda asked and you shook your head.

“Still looking. Haven’t really had time to look, though.” You shrugged, sipping on your hot chocolate.

“Are you gay or straight or…?” Natasha questioned.

“I like women. Not really good at the labels.” You replied nonchalantly.

“Fair enough.” 

The chatter went on mindlessly for a bit longer and if it wasn’t for your training, you weren’t sure you could have kept it up for so long. The questions were so mundane, so dull compared to your ever busy life. 

But then again, you should really knock on wood when you say something like that. Or an explosion will go off underneath the waterfront.

The ground shook beneath you and people ran for safety, whilst Natasha and Wanda recognised the group of people as HYDRA agents. Wanda’s magic protected some civilians whilst Natasha’s trusty guns fired upon some, a trigger in one’s hand that set off another explosion.

“Y/N, get inside!” Natasha commanded but you ignored the Alpha, moving to help some other restaurant goers. 

“Y/N!” Wanda barked, but watched you help up a lady and her son.

“Go! Get inside!” You yelled, but the ground shook again, almost like the bomb was underneath you. 

You stumbled and almost gained your footing, but the rushing crowd tripped you until you landed face first. It earned you a graze along your cheek, a few scrapes on your arms and elbows, but that was the problem.

Now, there was blood. And blood was not something a suppressant could do anything about.

You looked up and saw the bouncer fall over, his eyes going to you in shock. “Omega?” 

Your face turned ghostly at the status, scrambling to get to your feet. You spun around to see Natasha and Wanda looking for you, but when Wanda saw the state you were in, you knew it was too late.

‘Omega?’ She mouthed to you.

You sprinted faster than you’d ever sprinted in your life. Fear had truly grasped your heart, not letting go until you were in the safety of your apartment. You locked the door before barricading it, doing the same to the window in the bedroom and bathroom. 

Your breathing was still heavy as you slid down the wall of the bathroom, trying to regain your senses as you cleaned yourself up. You had to admit, it was more of a struggle when your surroundings were spinning and you had two Y/N’s to look at in the mirror.

You slowly bandaged yourself up before looking for another apartment, your time here up as not one, not two, but three people had just found out about your status. You scrambled to pack your things, only taking away the barricade when you were completely ready.

But the sight of two Alphas was enough to make your knees wobble.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy, Y/N.” Natasha caught you, her touch warm to your skin.

“Holy shit, you’re jacked.” 

You rolled your eyes at that well-known fact for ex-Widows and ex-HYDRAs. They guided you to the bed and helped you sit down, your eyes unable to stay open for very long as pain rang through your head.

“Y/N, you might have a concussion.” Wanda explained, raising her hand up to your head before you grabbed it.

“Don’t touch my head.” You growled. 

She backed off, confusing you. Alphas were supposed to be demanding. Why wasn’t she demanding? Natasha came to try next, but soon there were two of her and two Wandas, sending your Omega core into a state of confusion.

“How did we not smell it before?” Natasha’s voice sounded far away as you stood, but four hands tried to keep you down.

“Get off me!” You growled, pushing them away with the same force of an Alpha.

“This doesn’t make sense…” 

You collapsed as Natasha failed to finish her sentence. Or maybe your ears just didn’t wanna listen. Either way, you welcomed the familiar darkness.

.

.

A/N: Part 2.

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this as a part of my advent calendar fics, I hope you like it!

It is a Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x gn!reader imagine.

Thank you @marvelandotherfandomimagines for proofreading!

Day 8: a walk in the snow

Warnings: none

Jake Seresin was a serious man, and he loved taking walks in the snow.

He liked the intimacy the silence of winter brought you, the two of you were alone together and could talk about anything and everything.

The cold of the environment brought you closer and you spent the time holding hands and holding each other close, for warmth and comfort.

You usually didn’t stray from his side during those walks because Jake was your best supplier of warmth, but you were unusually playful one day.

The snow was making you giddy so you ran ahead just to look back and see your footprints or moved to brush some snow off of branches to see it fall, while Jake watched all of it with a silent chuckle and a tiny smile on his lips.

He followed you in his usual slow walking pace while you strayed around, a broad smile on your face as you turned to look at Jake occasionally.

When an idea started to form in your head you let Jake walk ahead, only to catch up to him as quietly as possible.

You had to keep yourself from giggling and reached up to deposit the snow you had in your hand in his collar.

“What the fu-,” Jake started as he whirled around, moving to try and get the snow away from his skin and out of his shirt and coat.

You couldn’t hold in your laughter anymore and it started to fill the air around you, which gave Jake no choice but to chuckle as well.

After his initial confusion died down he growled jokingly, scooping low to pick up some snow before he took you by your collar and unceremoniously pushed your face into the snow he had collected.

The icy white cold sobered you up and you let out a loud gasp of protest.

Jake let go of you to glare at you, before you both started laughing.

You moved simultaneously to both grab some more snow, shoveling that in your partner’s direction and ending up wrestling in the downy, freezing white.

After a while Jake pulled you up to lay on top of him, both of you laughing breathlessly as you held each other.

You could see how pale and cold his skin was but a blush adorned his cheeks, which complimented his eyes beautifully.

When Jake glanced down at your lips you brought your head closer, kissing him gently but passionately as his hands roamed your body.

You were concentrating on the way you were feeling when you squealed out in surprise, because Jake let his ice cold hands travel below your coat and pullover.

When you pulled away he grinned up at you gingerly, and you growled in both amusement and protest.

Jake leaned up to peck your lips apologetically, before he caressed your cheek.

“Let’s get you home, before we catch a cold,” he whispered as he hurried to stand up, pulling you along with him.

“I know a way to warm you back up again when we get there,” he winked, and you had to laugh at the joke he meant half-seriously.

Nevertheless you hurried home, because you were just as eager as he was.

tagging: @wildbornsiren @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @hederasgarden @letsfvckingdance @shadeds-library @a-reader-and-a-writer @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bespinnn @softromantist @malindacath @oliviah-25 @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @glowingtree @natasharomanoffisbaebby @luckyladycreator2 @blue-aconite @tipsykeen @airedale17 @iangiemae @dempy @princessofglitterland @teti-menchon0604 @butaneandthebeast @katesmadness @call-sign-hurricane @kajjaka @kkrenae @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern @mavrellover91

(please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist, or use this link)

[ladylilithprime]

Keep My Love Warm

Series: Fluff Is My Jamstiel

Fandom: Supernatural: 

Pairing: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Proto-Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: General

Tags/Warnings: Witch Sam Winchester, Hunter Novak Brothers, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Bones Is Best Girl, Big Cloaks Are Awesome

Summary: There were benefits to being openly known as a witch in northern California. Occasional drawbacks, but the benefits mostly outweighed them.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 7: Cloak

Read on AO3

THERE WERE BENEFITS to being known as the local witch, and even more benefits to being one of several self-professed "witches" in town. Sam Winchester kept in regular contact with the leaders of the local coven and many of them came to his shop for herbs or teas, and of the ones who actually had power they had an amicable trade of information and the occasional surplus of materials. Lily Baker's bees provided honey to several individuals and small businesses like Moore Coffee Please, for instance, and Scott and Ava Carey's sheep farm was one of the main suppliers of wool to the Weft and Weave which produced a lot of hand-spun and -dyed yarns that Sam enjoyed working with for his knitting. And there was also a certain level of gentle checks and balances, everyone checking in and making sure that nobody was getting any unsavory attention or, in a couple of cases, "backsliding" towards the kind of habits that got the attention of the "out of town" hunters.

Another benefit was that, in addition to this being northern California and therefore somewhat expected to draw in eccentricity, when you were a self-professed witch even the "uninitiated" population tended to just overlook some things. Tattoos and jewelry of more esoteric designs might raise an eyebrow or two, but mostly just garnered a query about where the person went to get them. Knitted socks and sweaters and scarves that had embroidered runes were regarded as "unique craftsmanship" and earned more compliments on the quality of the knitting than the subject of the embellishments.

And if Sam wanted to walk around in a huge oversized hooded cloak instead of a jacket or coat, not even Dean would try to stop him.

The cloak was actually one of the first things Sam had made for himself after escaping John Winchester and reaching Stanford. He had been invited along to an SCA event by a friend in one of his classes and had gone mostly out of courtesy which had turned into curiosity upon discovering the world of historical reenactment. The idea for making his own cloak came from seeing a similar one on another attendee, a huge thing made of brushed denim with a purple satin lining that could and did easily fit two people under it. The guy wearing it had been happy to tell Sam how he had made it, too, which led to Sam, Brady, and Jess taking a trip out to trawl through the local fabric stores.

Luck or the gods of sewing had been with him and Sam had ended up with an entire bolt of brushed black denim twill for ten bucks thanks to a bleach splash that Jess assured him could be fixed with a couple bottles of Rit and some vinegar. The silk-satin lining fabric was a lot more expensive and they ended up purchasing it over the course of two months, during which Jess also dragged Sam to the library to look up sewing manuals and pattern guides. The results of their research, hard work, and a borrowed sewing machine was a seven-panel cloak that, when laid out, went one and a half circles around and covered Sam's boots when he wore it. With a deep hood, four reinforced interior pockets, and a silver cloak clasp shaped like a pair of ivy leaves, Brady had joked that he could audition to be an extra on Lord of the Rings, but it was comfortable and handy to have the pockets to store snacks, not to mention its use as a walking blanket for the three of them when the air got chilly.

Sam had put the cloak away for a while when Brady had died, for multiple reasons. He didn't exactly forget about it, but he didn't think about it either until the seasons started to change towards the colder temperatures and he went looking for a jacket. The hem on the outer layer was fraying from brushing the ground, so Sam put it in his workroom  to mend and ended up card weaving a new hem. And then he kept going and discovered that his ability to embroider protective runes extended to denim twill and silk thread, and the smaller thread and needles made the runes more subtle around the edges of the cloak and hood. Just to be thorough, he turned the cloak and lining inside out and reinforced the seams on the pockets.

He still might have hesitated over wearing it again if not for Dean catching him dithering over a jacket when his brother came to get him and Bones for a night out.

"We're going to a Spartans game, dude," he said with a shake of his head. "The obvious choice here is to bring the giant blanket so you're nice and warm and smug at me while I'm freezing my ass off until I break down and beg a fold of it like usual and the rumors about us dating restart around town."

"Thought you hated those rumors," Sam raised an eyebrow, because he had taken that psychology course while he was at Stanford and come to a few uncomfortable realizations about a number of things, including a few things about his relationship with Dean.

"Yeah, well, I hate young punks and demon bitches sliding into town and messing with your heart more than I hate people assuming we're dating 'cause we can't cop to the brothers thing," Dean grumbled.

"So this is about the Novaks," Sam concluded, rolling his eyes. "I don't get why they're still bugging you, dude. They showed up thinking there was a hunt, confirmed there wasn't, stayed to be supportive for the funeral, and left again. I know you remember what that was like, so why papa wolf routine?"

"Just doesn't feel like we've seen the last of them is all," Dean muttered, making Sam snort.

"Well, yeah, I gave them my card for if they need a magic consultant, so they might call someday," he shook his head fondly.

"You gave them your card," Dean repeated, staring at him. "Dude, you never give hunters your card!"

"Most hunters I meet these days are trying to kill me," Sam pointed out dryly. A shuffle from the hall had him looking up. "Bones, please tell my idiot brother that he needs to stop worrying about the Novaks coming back."

"You absolutely need to worry about them coming back," Bones answered distractedly, tugging at the slip dress she was wearing until it covered her breasts enough to be decent. "They both smelled of lust looking at you, and they brought you food more than once. Please tell me you're bringing the cloak? This dress is not going to be warm enough if I can't wear my fur."

Sam threw up his hands and grabbed the cloak out of the closet, swinging it around his shoulders and immediately feeling the weight and warmth settling into him. He still thought his brother and his familiar were making too much of things. He remembered the migrant hunter lifestyle, same as Dean did, and he was quite sure that even if he did see the Novak brothers again it wouldn't be for a few years, if they came back through this way at all.

He ignored the way his chest ached a little at the thought; they had a game to get to.

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Her Matching Pair of Socks - George Weasley

Title: Her Matching Pair of Socks Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, Adrian Pucey x Fem!Reader (ish, not really) Summary: George will always protect Y/N, even if it means confronting his true feelings . A/N: for the anon who wanted George being overprotective of the reader who was being teased!! The house of the reader is unspecified b/c it truly doesn’t matter but I pictured her as a Hufflepuff as I wrote, please do with that what you will haha. Feedback is always welcome!!! Tags: @feltondarling​ @pandaxnienke​ @raerae27​ @thefifthweasley 

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

“George? George?” Y/N asks, waving her hand in front of his face. She giggles as his eyes seem to refocus on the world and he smiles at her. “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

George nods as he searches his brain, trying to see if any part of it retained any of the things Y/N had been talking about just a second ago while he’d been daydreaming. Y/N is magnetic. She has warm eyes, a kind smile and the biggest heart George has ever seen. She draws people in with one look, and once she’s captured them they have no chance of getting away; not that they’d want to. Unfortunately for George this means he rarely gets a moment alone with her, which is something he so desperately craves. Y/N has been the star of George’s thoughts since the first moment they met when she had quite literally saved his ass.

He and Fred had just pulled a prank on a few Slytherins and were running away from Snape. They had split up at some point, and as George ran away he could hear Snape gaining on him. George was sure he was about to be caught when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him into an empty classroom. Y/N had simply placed her finger over her mouth and winked at him, and as soon as Snape ran by their hiding spot she’d burst out in a fit of giggles. George had never heard anything so beautiful, and he sat there with her for hours, sometimes talking, but mostly just watching her knit. Y/N is sunshine encapsulated, and George could have sat there for days, basking in her rays of light and warmth.

Fred had found him eventually and dragged him back to the Gryffindor common room, and George worried that he’d never see her again. But the next morning at breakfast the hat she had been knitting was sitting in his usual spot waiting for him, and when his eyes met hers across the Hall she winked. From that moment on George has been caught in Y/N’s magnetic field, constantly swirling around her but never quite connecting the way he wants.

“Were you? Then what did I say?” she questions with a grin, one of her eyebrows raising.

George’s heart melts and he leans in closer to her, resting his chin on his hand. “I’m sorry, love. I wasn’t giving you the attention you deserve. Tell me again.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully and puts her knitting needles down so she can ruffle George’s hair. “That’s okay, Georgie. It wasn’t that important anyway. What’s on your mind?”

“Just this Transfiguration assignment,” he lies. George isn’t quite sure why he hasn’t shared his true feelings with Y/N, and it’s not as if he hasn’t tried either. There have been quite a few times when his confession was resting on the tip of his tongue, but each time someone ended up being drawn to Y/N and stole her attention away. “McGonagall’s really giving it to us this term.”

“Maybe your assignments would be easier to handle if you didn’t wait until the last minute to do them?” Y/N suggests with a wink.

George’s heart flutters in his chest and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself down. “Ah yes, but if I didn’t leave my homework until the day before it was due then who would sit here with you and keep you company while everyone else is outside soaking up the last of the weekend?” George is sure that anyone Y/N asked for companionship would drop everything to sit with her, and he feels honored that she always chooses him.

“Now how can I argue with that?” she teases, picking her needles up once again.

Watching Y/N knit is one of George’s favorite pastimes. She’s tried to teach him a few times, but he always ends up just creating a big knot of yarn and using the needles as drumsticks. The way her fingers move mesmerizes George to no end and he loves watching whatever she’s making start to take form before his eyes. More often than not whatever she’s making somehow always ends up in George’s possession, not that he’s complaining. So far this school year he’s added two new jumpers, three hats, a scarf and half a dozen pairs of socks to his wardrobe. Every item radiates the same warmth Y/N does, and on days where he can’t have her to himself he puts something on and when he closes his eyes it’s as if she’s right there with him.

“Whatcha makin?” George asks, completely abandoning any attempt at finishing his homework. McGonagall will probably be shocked that he did any of it at all, and he doesn’t want to put her into an early grave by actually finishing it.

“A sweater,” she responds sweetly, not looking up from her work. “And before you ask, no it’s not for you,” she chuckles and gestures towards the skein of yarn she’s using. “Though you may recognize the yarn.”

The yarn Y/N is using is a soft lilac color with glitter interwoven throughout the soft strands and George recognizes it because he’s the one who bought it. He and Fred had ventured into Diagon Alley a few days before Christmas to check out the space they were thinking about opening their joke shop in, and the yarn had caught George’s attention from a window display. He spent quite a bit of money buying every skein the store had, but it was all worth it to him. Lilac is Y/N’s favorite color, and George would do just about anything to see her smile. He gave it to her on the first day back from break a few weeks ago, and he can practically still feel how tightly she had hugged him.

“Does look kinda familiar, I bet a world class bloke gave that to you,” he jokes. Y/N laughs, and it makes George’s stomach feel queasy.

“Best bloke I know anyway,” she compliments with a wink.

George can feel his cheeks heating up, and he’s thankful for the distraction when students start to pour into the Great Hall for dinner. He sighs heavily and starts to pack his homework up, disappointed that his time with Y/N is already coming to an end. “See you in class tomorrow?”

Y/N nods as she stands up, gathering her latest project into her arms. “Most definitely, Georgie.” She leans over and boops him on the nose, before turning away and heading towards her house table.

“Hello lover boy,” Fred greets suddenly.

George jumps, having been too focused on Y/N to notice his brother’s sudden presence. He glares at Fred as he plops into the seat next to George, and he smacks him on the chest. “Screw off.” Suddenly the tables in the Great Hall fill with everything needed for dinner, and George starts piling his plate with food. “You get everything we need?”

Fred nods as he does the same as his brother. “Oh yeah. We’ve got enough Chinese gun powder to level all of England. It’ll be delivered to the store next weekend. We can apperate to Diagon Alley from Hogsmeade to meet the delivery person.”

“Wicked,” George responds, a glint of mischief in his eye. Fred had used the secret passageway into Honeydukes basement to meet a guy who deals with explosives at the Hogshead Inn. They’re starting to put their plans together for their joke shop, and the first step has been to find decent suppliers so they can start producing some stock. “You take care of the other stuff I asked?”

Fred rolls his eyes and hands George a bag from Honeydukes. “Yes, you big softie. I got everything on the list, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks, prat.” George takes the bag from Fred and peers inside to make sure he actually did pick up everything George requested. Y/N’s sweet tooth is one of George’s favorite things about her and he’s always sure to have a stash of her favorites on hand at all times. “Where’s my change?”

Fred grins and pats his pocket. “Consider it my fee so you could spend the day staring at Y/N inside the warm castle, while I tread through a dark underground tunnel.”

“Whatever, drama queen,” George huffs with an eyeroll. He puts the bag down and starts to eat, turning his attention to Y/N. She’s sitting with her friends talking happily, and George can feel his heart rate increase as a smile spreads across his face. But just as quickly as it appears it vanishes, when Adrian Pucey comes up behind Y/N and taps her on the shoulder. He watches her nod as they talk, and when Adrian walks away he looks way too smug with himself.

“That didn’t look good,” Fred comments, nudging George with his elbow.

George shrugs, trying to seem like his stomach isn’t churning with dread. “You know how Y/N is. People like talking to her. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

-

“What did Adrian want yesterday?” George asks Y/N the following evening, trying to sound casual. They’re sitting in the library working on a Potions assignment, and it seems like there has been a never ending stream of people approaching them to speak with Y/N. He’s been dying to ask her about Adrian, but he wanted to wait until they were alone.

Y/N bites her lip as she looks up at George. “He asked me on a date, actually. To Hogsmeade next weekend.”

“Oh,” George says softly. His stomach has dropped into the floor and it feels like he was punched in the chest. “What did you say?”

“I told him that I would think about it.” Y/N gives George a look and there’s an unreadable expression on her face. “Do you think I should say yes?”

The tips of George’s ears feel like they’re on fire, and he has to put his quill down so he can wipe his sweaty palms off on his school trousers. What he wants to say is no, that she should go with him to Hogsmeade instead, and then lean forward and kiss her. But instead he shrugs and says, “If you want to, I guess.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N responds quietly, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “Thanks, I guess.”

George refocuses his attention on his homework for once, hoping that the sound of his heart pounding in his chest isn’t audible.

-

The next day by lunch time word has gotten to George that Y/N agreed to go on a date with Adrian. It makes his chest feel hollow, and he avoids her gaze at all costs. He avoids her in the hallways and when she asks to study with him in the library George brushes her off, claiming that he already has plans with Fred. He can tell that she’s upset, and it breaks George’s heart as he walks away.

He’s never been jealous over Y/N before. Even though he craves her presence and would give anything to spend every moment of every day with her, George has never minded sharing her with others. He’s spent countless hours with Y/N where they never even speak because her attention is captured by other people. Whether it’s people catching her in a casual conversation, or someone who takes a seat with them for a deeper interaction. George has always been content to just sit there and watch her face light up as she talks about whatever topic is at hand. Even if he’s not around Y/N, he loves to watch her from across the room as she talks to people. He finds everything she does absolutely adorable, and Fred often teases him for how hard he swoons.

But the thought of Y/N being alone with Adrian fills his chest with so much jealousy it feels like he’s drowning in it. He knows he has no right to be jealous, he’s never shared his romantic feelings with Y/N, and she isn’t his girlfriend or even a girl he’s casually dated. She’d even asked his opinion on whether she should accept. And instead of doing the smart thing and just telling her how he feels, he’d basically brushed her off.

As much as George wants to avoid Y/N, he’s still stuck in her orbit, so on Wednesday afternoon during break he parts ways with Fred and heads over to Y/N. “Got room for one more?” he asks, grinning down at her. Y/N moves over but doesn’t say anything. George frowns as he sits down. “What’s got you down, clown?”

Y/N cracks the faintest smile before she lets it fall from her features. “Just wasn’t sure you were talking to me is all. You haven’t been around lately.”

“I’m around now,” George points out, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve just been a bit busy with Fred is all. You’re still my number one girl.” George’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest as he raises up one of his pantlegs. “I wouldn’t be rockin’ these bad boys if you weren’t.”

Y/N giggles as she looks at George’s sock, shoving him playfully. It’s neon pink and is truly the most offensive piece of clothing she’s ever seen. The yarn had been left over from a Christmas present she made for a young cousin a few years ago, and Y/N needed to use it up somehow. She originally planned on leaving them in her sock drawer for a few months before donating them to a charity, but the second George saw them he nabbed them from her, and he’s worn them quite a few times sense.

“They look wonderful, Georgie. Though I think it’s best you keep them hidden, they clash terribly with your Gryffindor tie and your fiery hair.” Y/N reaches up and tugs on a strand of George’s hair and he can feel his blood pressure spike.

“Well in that case.” George leans down and rolls up the cuff of both his pant legs, so a few inches of the socks are visible. “How do I look?”

“Ravishing,” Y/N says with a laugh.

It’s the most beautiful sound George has ever heard, and it sends a shiver down his spine. “Bet you wished you kept these for yourself now, don’t ya?”

Before Y/N can respond, one of her other friends swoops in to talk to her about her upcoming date with Adrian, and George sneaks away to avoid the heart break.

-

“Are you excited for your date?” Y/N’s friend Emily asks as they head towards the entrance to the castle.

Y/N nods happily, letting her eyes scan the crowd of people heading out of the castle. She gets her hopes up when she spots a shock of ginger hair bobbing above the crowd, but they evaporate when the person turns around and it turns out to be Fred. Y/N hasn’t seen George in three days, and his absence has been driving her crazy. She’s friendly with everyone but only has a few true friends, and she considers George to be one of them. She would even consider George to be her best friend, and it feels weird to not have spoken to him in a few days.

“What are you guys going to do?” Emily asks, pulling Y/N’s attention back to the present.

“Just have some butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, hang out, talk. Nothing too super crazy. I don’t really know Adrian that well, so I think it’ll give us a nice chance to get to know each other.”

Y/N had agreed to meet Adrian there, so when her and Emily reach Hogsmeade a few minutes later, she parts from her with a wave and heads right into the pub. She grabs a drink at the bar before settling in at a table in the back corner. When Adrian is 5 minutes late Y/N brushes it off, figuring that he got caught up leaving the castle or lost track of time. When he’s 30 minutes late, Y/N has already ordered another drink, figuring that he’ll be there any minute. And when he doesn’t show up after an hour Y/N decides to throw the towel in and head back to the castle.

Y/N feels emotionally drained as she makes her way back up towards Hogwarts, and she blinks back a few tears. Even though she’s not particularly interested in Adrian romantically, it had felt nice to be asked out and she truly was looking forward to getting to know him more. She always gives anyone who wants it a piece of her day, and Adrian not showing up make her feel as if she’s been taken advantage of. Her plan is to try and forget this ever happened until dinner that evening.

Y/N turns around when she feels something hit her in the back of the head, and when she turns around she can see Adrian, Marcus Flint and Theodore Knott laughing amongst themselves. There’s a piece of balled up parchment on the ground, and Y/N tries to ignore their stares as she leans down to pick it up.

How was the butterbeer? Lonely?

Y/N’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and she quickly turns back into her seat, shoving the piece of parchment into her pocket. She forces her tears away as she tries to get back into the conversation going on around her, unable to stop herself from searching George out in the crowd.

-

For the next week it seems everywhere she goes Adrian, Marcus and Theo are following a few paces behind. They never directly talk to her, but they talk about her loud enough for her to hear.

“Can’t believe she actually thought I wanted to go out with her!”

“How pathetic. I can’t believe it took her over an hour to realize you weren’t going to show up! What a moron.”

“She’s such a weirdo, no wonder she has no actual friends.”

It doesn’t help that George seems to be avoiding her as well. He doesn’t pass her stupid little notes in class anymore and when their eyes lock across the Great Hall he immediately looks away instead of giving her a cheeky grin. Every time she tries to ask him to come sit with her in the library he turns the other way in the hall before she catches him, and when she catches a peak of him and Fred outside pelting snowballs at Ron, he’s wearing his Gryffindor beanie, instead of one of her knit caps.

She misses George like crazy. He’s one of the only people who doesn’t want something from her. Most people only spend time with Y/N when they need to vent or ask her a question. George is the only person who is content with just sitting there with her in silence while they do their homework, or she knits. She could sit in silence with George for hours and just exist, so having him gone while also being tormented by Adrian and his gang has left Y/N with a deep ache in her chest and a pit of loneliness in her stomach.

-

Avoiding Y/N has to be the hardest thing George has ever done, and he once spent a week with his Great Aunt Tessie when he was 8. He craves her presence, but the thought of hearing about Adrian endlessly makes his stomach churn. Watching Y/N’s face fall every time he dodged her absolutely broke George’s heart, but he can’t stand to see someone else make her happy.

“You think she’s going to cry?”

George grimaces when he’s brought from his thoughts of Y/N and notices that Adrian and his goons are a few feet in front of him. Most of the school is in the Great Hall having dinner, but George didn’t feel like eating. Y/N had spent most of Transfiguration trying to get George’s attention, and ignoring her has left his stomach queasy.

“Reckon she might with how soft she is. Bet she’s cried herself to sleep every night this week.”

He has no idea who they’re talking about and he figures they’re tormenting some first year who is walking ahead of them. George is a little too far behind them to see who it is, but he decides to follow them anyway, in case he needs to intervene.

“What a stupid girl.”

Adrian’s words cut George deep. How could Y/N be interested in someone like him? George clenches his fist and starts to walk faster to catch up with them. He’s been wanting to smack Adrian and his smug face since the day he asked Y/N out, and this seems like a perfect excuse.

“Will you leave me alone!” Y/N shouts, and George’s blood runs cold. Her voice is shaky, and George knows that if she’s not already crying she will be soon.

Adrian, Marcus and Theodore stop in their tracks and cackle, and the sound makes George even angrier.

“Aw, poor pathetic Y/N has finally managed to stand up for herself. How cute,” Adrian taunts.

Y/N sniffles, and George can feel anger swell up in his chest. “Standing me up wasn’t enough for you, was it? Now you have to torment me about it too? Is that why you asked me out? So you could be mean to me?”

“Why else would someone ask you out? You’re not worth anyone’s time.”

George reaches them then, and he grips is wand tightly in one hand while the other grips the collar of Adrian’s shirt. He pulls him back sharply, causing Marcus and Theodore to take a few steps back as well. George takes one look at Y/N’s tear stained face and lets the anger in his chest consume him completely. “Leave her the fuck alone,” he spits, turning to face Adrian.

“Shove off, Weasley. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something,” Adrian seethes, squaring up against George.

“Not anymore you prick.” George can hear Y/N crying, and he moves slightly to shield her behind his back. “Now get lost before I make you.” Adrian takes a step forward and George raises his wand, pressing the tip of it to Adrian’s throat. “Unless you want to end up in the Hospital Wing for the next three weeks I suggest you move along.” George’s jaw is clenched, and his voice is deep and dark. George doesn’t move until they disappear down the hall. Only then does he drop his wand and turn around to hug Y/N.

Y/N presses her face into George’s chest and lets out a few more tears. “Thank you, George,” she mumbles.

“Of course, love. I will always be there for you, you know that.” George squeezes her tighter and resists his urge to kiss the top of her head. Instead he rests his chin there, and his eyes flutter closed as he soaks in her warmth. “How long have they been bothering you?” George asks quietly when he starts to feel like himself again.

“Since last Saturday, after Adrian stood me up.” Y/N pulls away from George’s chest so she can look up at him. “How come you’ve been ignoring me, Georgie? I’ve missed you so much.”

George’s heart breaks, and he brings a hand up to wipe away the last few tears from her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too, Y/N. I was being an idiot, like usual.” He takes a deep breath to prepare himself for what he’s about to say. “I’ve liked you Y/N, for as long as I’ve known you. And after Adrian asked you out I got so unbelievably jealous that I couldn’t be around you, I couldn’t hear you talk about your date with him and how excited you were because just the thought of him being alone with you made me want to throw up.”

Y/N bites her lip as she considers what to say next. “You’d do anything for me George, right?”

“Of course, Y/N. Anything,” George confirms, cupping her cheek gently.

“Kiss me,” she breathes.

George hesitates for a second before he leans down and presses their mouths together softly. Their lips move together slowly, and George can feel his head spinning. His knees shake when they pull apart, and when George looks into Y/N’s eyes they shine brighter than the sun.

-

“Nice sweater,” George compliments as Y/N joins him in that Great Hall that Sunday. She giggles and does a little twirl for him and George feels like he’s soaring through the air.

“Thank you, my boyfriend gave me the yarn I used to make it.” Y/N leans over the table to press a kiss to George’s cheek before taking the seat across from him. She digs around in her bag for a moment before pulling out a pair of socks, knit from the same lilac material as her sweater.

“For me?” George asks, giving her a bright smile. He takes them from her excitedly and kicks off his shoes so he can pull them on.

Y/N laughs as George bring one of his feet up to show off the lilac sock, letting the glitter in the yarn shine. “Of course. What’s a sweater without a pair of matching socks?”

George leans over and kisses Y/N gently. “I’m always down to be your matching pair of socks.”

[idefix-1982]

For some time now I have been working as a supplier for a private delivery service and deliver parcels by bike. Last Friday I got an order to deliver a package, the last one luckily because afterwards I wanted to go on a trip over the weekend so that I let my friends and family know that I won't be available again until Monday. So I made my way to the address, when I got there I took the package under my arm and rang the doorbell, the door opened and a sturdy man stood in front of me, I took out my cell phone to confirm the identity, if I needed one Picture of the ID, the man bathed me in because he had to look for his ID and it started to rain. We went into the living room where he went to a box and rummaged in it, when he turned back to me he pressed a cloth into my face that smelled a bit minty, but at the same time my eyes went black and lost consciousness. The man sat me on the couch and got a roll of duct tape and began to clench my left hand into a fist and glue it completely, then do the same with my right hand. Next he put a sock in my mouth and then began to wrap the tape tightly around my head until the entire lower half of my face was glued. Next, he began to take off my shoes, pants and jacket, to take off my backpack with cellphone and wallet and to pack everything in a closet and lock it.

Then he came back and gave me a few slaps in the face so that I came to. Immediately I noticed that something was wrong, I tried to scream but only a blunt HHHMMMMMM came out, I wanted to free my mouth and immediately noticed that my hands were also stuck together. I panicked when the man in front of me was standing in a latex suit, he said I was his toy for the weekend, he also knew that nobody would look for me on the weekend because I would go on a trip, because he had read on my cell phone can while i was away. Then he said that he had my things and that I wouldn't be able to get out of here anyway, so it would be best if I would join in.

But in complete panic I jump up and walk towards the door, but there was already a second guy who was holding me and then the other came and pressed the cloth into my face again and I only heard how he said the hard way . When I was gone, the two of them took me to their playroom and laid me on the floor. Then one of them started undressing me completely and the other got a roll of foil from a box. Next, the two began to put the latex suit on me so that I was completely naked in the suit, just the one. Tail peeped out. Next came the guy with the foil and wrapped a few strips around my legs and a few strips around my upper body. Then I was woken up again and now stood there lightly tied up in latex, immediately I started screaming again, which didn't work, then the two stood in front of me, one with the foil Indian hand and the other with a box of duct tape, then we take care of it sometimes for not trying to flee again, but we want to hear your screams and see your fear in your eyes, if you defend yourself too much you will see that we have the means to get you calm. I immediately started fidgeting again to free myself, but that didn't help much. And now the guy with the foil began to wrap me tightly from bottom to top more and more lanes until I could no longer move my legs. Still, I tried to fidget, which led to the fact that I suddenly had a strip of duct tape over my nose and couldn't breathe anymore, then the guy said if you want to breathe again, please keep still. In even greater panic, I tried to hold still so that I could breathe again, you could see exactly how the two enjoyed seeing me suffer. After a while I actually stood in front of them wrapped in foil and could only move very minimally. ............ End of part 1

[giftwrappingpaper]

wangxian bakery au

prompt: "I'd love to enable a creator to write/draw that self-indulgent niche workplace AU they've always wanted to make."

Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying baking bread in the kitchen of a hole-in-the-wall bakery in Yiling.

-----

A low, all too familiar voice hesitantly calls his name. "Wei Ying?"

No fucking way. Wei Ying looks up, raised eyebrows wrinkling his flour-dusted forehead. Yep, that’s Lan Zhan alright; no matter how many years pass, Wei Ying could recognize that face anywhere. His sharp, meticulously perfect appearance makes him look like a high-fashion magazine model cutout slapped on a stock photo of yellowed plaster and secondhand baking equipment.

“No customers in the back,” Wei Ying advises before returning his attention to the dough in his hands. A picture of informality, with a small smirk playing on his lips — a half-hearted attempt to conceal the shock and surmounting panic bubbling in his gut.

How the hell did he find me? one side of his brain despairs, while the other side reassures that at least it isn’t Jiang Cheng.

Lan Zhan continues his stalwart breach of Burial Bakery’s kitchen. What a rebel. “Wei Ying,” he says again.

“That’s me.”

“You’re here.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You’re in a...bakery. Baking.”

Wei Ying breathed in the calming smell of fresh sourdough and tangy levain. Thank the heavens he had been able to convince Wen Ning to take a lunch break, leaving Wei Ying to man the kitchen alone. This isn’t going to be pretty.

“That’s kinda what we do here, yeah,” he says, eyes trained on his workbench, crowded with floured bannetons and formless lumps of dough. “A helping hand would be nice. I’d appreciate that much more than the gawking.”

Lan Zhan blinks, jawing clenching and ears flushing. Wei Ying’s smirk lifts into something softer. Even after all this time, it’s still so easy to rile him up.

“How’d you even find me, anyway?” he wonders, stretching his dough flat against the workbench, stopping right when it’s about to rip. Gently, of course. Wouldn’t want to pop the gas built up after hours of proofing.

“The back door is open,” Lan Zhan answers faintly. His expression mirrors the face of a guy after finding a years-long missing sock long since chalked off as having been eaten by the dryer. “I saw you from the counter.”

A quick glance to the entrance confirms this. Wen Ning must’ve forgotten to close the door when he left. Damn, that’s no good. Can’t let the cold air flow in. Might mess with the dough proofing in the walk-in.

“Could you close that for me?” Wei Ying asks, briefly letting go of the dough to rub the back of his neck. When Lan Zhan continues to stand there, motionless like a beautiful, bewildered statue, Wei Ying tsks and says, “I’m not going anywhere, Lan Zhan. Gotta get yesterday's proofed loaves in the oven by the hour.”

Miraculously, Lan Zhan obeys. Wei Ying half expected him not to. He and Lan Zhan have never been the closest of friends; Wei Ying was an annoying student, and Lan Zhan has a zero tolerance for annoying classmates. But people can change, he supposes. It’s been over four years, and neither of them are the same people they were before Wei Ying packed up his things and gave up his cushioned life in the Jiang estate and his scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country to start slumming it with the Wen siblings and A-Yuan in their closet of an apartment.

“Aw, thanks,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan returns. He belatedly realizes that he should’ve asked Lan Zhan to close the door behind him as he leaves the kitchen that he, as a non-employee, isn’t supposed to be in. Oh well; Wen Qing can chew him out for all the health codes he’s violating later. Isn’t she supposed to be manning the front? Lan Zhan must have snuck past her to get here, so she’s just as guilty.

“So you’ve been here the whole time?” Lan Zhan says, watching Wei Ying shape the dough. “Since you — left?”

“Basically.” Stitch the dough into itself. Then fold and tuck. Push the dough underneath itself with the palm of your hands to create surface tension, giving the newly formed loaf that tight, professional finish. Took Wei Ying ages to get the method down pat enough to be consistent. “Wanted to get out of the Jiangs’ hair, so I left soon after dropping out of uni.”

Dust the loaf with rice flour. Place it into a banneton, seam side up. Into the rack, then repeat. “A friend of mine had just inherited their family bakery. I volunteered to help out, and it eventually ended up becoming a full-time thing.”

Lan Zhan stands there without a word — not that Wei Ying minds. He hadn’t let himself dream they’d see each other again, hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up that he'd be lucky enough to see a familiar face again after all this time. Damn, he thinks, sneaking glance after glance between the loaves he’s shaping, he’s more handsome now than ever. Who knew the gorgeous teenager he’d harassed throughout two years of university would turn out to become a gorgeous adult who somehow stumbles into Wei Ying’s bakery? Even the unflattering cast of the yellow, flickering overhead light Wen Qing had been meaning to replace can’t wash out how black Lan Zhan’s hair is, how his skin is as smooth as a baby’s. How golden his eyes are, peering at Wei Ying as if he’s the sunrise after a long, cloudy night.

Bah. Where the hell did that come from? Maybe Wei Ying really is as self-centered as Aunt Yu claimed him to be.

“I wasn’t aware of your...baking aspirations,” Lan Zhan says, causing Wei Ying to choke out a laugh. He’d forgotten how funny Lan Zhan could be.

“Me neither,” Wei Ying admits. He sidesteps the kitchen mixer he’d spent the last year fixing up — he’d bought it in a sorry state, but Hobart engines are built to last a lifetime, and he couldn’t pass up the deal he paid for — to place another filled banneton into the rack. “But I’m not too mad at where I’ve ended up. Speaking of. How did you end up here?”

Lan Zhan's shoulders hunch suspiciously, and Wei Ying's eyebrows arch into fucking parabolas. “I wanted bread,” Lan Zhan replies defensively. “So I went to a bakery.”

Wei Ying scoffs, unimpressed. “A bakery all the way in Yiling?”

Lan Zhan glances away. “I travel a lot for work.”

Fine — he’ll let it go for now. “Well, as long as you don’t tell anyone back home about this, I guess it’s fine.” Wei Ying pauses. “You’re not gonna rat me out, are you?”

The thought should scare him, but a traitorously large part of him thrills at it instead. The Jiangs' are a key food supplier for the Lans' hotel chain, so Lan Zhan has to have some form of communication with them. Does Jiejie think about him from time to time? And Jiang Cheng...well. They’re still brothers, aren't they? Surely he must, at some small capacity, miss him.

But no brotherly love, whatever left there may be, could erase this: the cold silence that hung over the Jiang family table whenever Wei Ying would show up for dinner. Aunt Yu’s constant disapproval and Jiang Cheng’s wavering willingness to put up with it. The car ride. The screech of metal. The hospital said their Range Rover flipped four times. Wei Ying must have passed out after the first. But he was lucky: only a broken arm and whiplash. He had lied about being too hurt to attend the funeral.

It had been a good decision to leave. It had to be.

The back of his neck stings; a constant reminder. He hangs his head low as he stitches the dough.

“I’m not going to...rat you out,” Lan Zhan denies. He’s closer than he’d been since the last time Wei Ying looked up, his slack-clad hip brushing against the corner of Wei Ying’s workbench. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t. Thanks.” Another banneton in the rack. Slower output than usual. He’s going to have to speed up to reach today’s quota. He gestures to the door. “Now, if you’re not gonna help out…”

Lan Zhan doesn’t take the hint. “You left. Without saying goodbye.”

“Must’ve forgotten to leave a note,” Wei Ying says, nonplussed.

“No one knew where you had gone off to.”

“Kinda preferred it that way.”

“But I didn’t —” Lan Zhan stops. Takes a breath. This is the most emotional Wei Ying has ever seen him, if mildly discomfited could constitute as emotional.

When he meets Wei Ying’s eyes again, his face is in its usual state of aloofness. “I was worried about you,” he tells him. “I wish I had known that you were alright.”

A block of guilt presses on Wei Ying’s shoulders. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just — with all that happened with the, the accident, and the handling of the estate —”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me you’re not comfortable with.”

“And my relationship with Jiang Cheng was down the fucking gutter —”

“He misses you.”

“I just felt that it everything would’ve been better off if —”

“I understand.”

“— I just left, y’know?”

At this, Lan Zhan frowns. “I fail to see how your sudden disappearance made anything better,” he says.

“Well, you weren’t there.” Wei Ying sighs, and what little fight he had to defend himself from the past drops to the floor. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

Lan Zhan bristles. “I didn’t mean to — that’s not why I’m here.”

Then why are you here? But Wei Ying is done playing this game. “Look, it’s really nice to see you again. But I kind of have a lot on my plate right now, so if you don’t mind.” This time, his gesture to the door is clear. Leave.

Of course Lan Zhan doesn’t leave; he’s always been so damn stubborn. After a beat, he walks over to the empty sink — Wei Ying prefers to wash the dishes as he goes — and washes his hands. Dries them. Rolls up the sleeves of his button up, revealing forearms Wei Ying can’t help but swallow at. Makes his way to Wei Ying’s side, staring down at the lumps of dough like how a runner glares at the bottom of her shoe after stepping on a pile of dogshit.

“Alright,” he says, “how do I do this?”

Wei Ying blinks. “What?” he asks, like an idiot.

Lan Zhan experimentally cups the nearest dough mound with his palms. It sticks to his hands as he lifts them, streaks of the stuff already clinging to his slender fingers.

“Gross,” he says, monotone, pinching two ends to stretch it; an imitation, Wei Ying realizes, of his own technique.

Wei Ying stares. An incredulous smile spreads across his lips. “You’re —” He laughs. “You’re so weird, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan squints at him, confused, hands still making a mess out of the dough. “You asked for my help.”

Perhaps all those years away from home was enough penance for, at the very least, this. “Yeah," he says, soft. "I guess I did.” Wei Ying sways closer to Lan Zhan’s side. He discreetly sniffs the air in a selfish bid to find...ah, there it is, masked between notes of wheat flour and sourdough starter: sandalwood aftershave, brushing past Wei Ying's nose when Lan Zhan turns to him with an expectant glance.

Wei Ying laughs again. “No, not like that. Like this.”

He lays a floured hand over Lan Zhan’s and, together, they get to work.

-----

also posted on ao3

promo post on twitter

fic commissions

[alexthedrummerboy]

Field hockey anon (me) 🤝 Brit

Hating running

ALSO

SHIN FUCKING GUARDS AND KNEE FUCKING SOCKS

After a game they are sweaty and disgusting, most people I know take them off immediately after the game is over. You’d need to ask a person who plays soccer whether inner socks (socks you wear under your shinnies so they’re less manky when you sweat) are common for soccer. The knee socks are generally pretty normal but if they have coloured stripes the colour bleeds and it gets really annoying. One time I went through 3 new pairs of socks in a season because the school got a new uniform supplier and the socks were so weird that no matter how you washed them they bled and lost all elasticity in the first wash.

Mouth guards are always manky. You gotta rinse them after use or they’ll smell bad. No matter how cool the pictures of clear and/or glittery mouth guards are, do NOT get one/give a character one (11 year old me made that mistake, SO not worth it)

Oranges at half time!!! Oranges!! At!! Half!!! Time!!!!!! (I cannot stress this enough). Also a lot of teams have That Parent who bakes super well, ours made the literal BEST choccie brownies every week for after the game.

End of season celebrations where they have free pizza usually turns into “how much pizza can I shove down my throat before I die” competitions.

And don’t get me started on the bus. (It always smells bad, we vibe to music, we change on the way from training to school, it’s funky but idk if that’s a universal thing or just my school)

okay idk about inner socks but i did read about soccer uniforms and knee socks and shin guards are definitely a thing! i guess i’ll have to do a little more research 👀

also i don’t think it’s customary for soccer players to wear mouth guards!! at least none of the websites i read said they had to - just regular uniform stuff. but i can imagine how wearing mouth guards would get pretty disgusting

also 🥺 thinking about the squad sharing orange slices during a break or something....fkn soft. 

my OC for reggie’s mom from poyp might have to make a comeback as the team baker mom 👀bc i love her and i have a crush on her

also: there’s something i love about school trips and getting onto a kind of gross school bus and being surrounded by peers. i miss it :(

[erics-meep-morps]

Stars in the Daytime Part 1

A self-ship fic with Lapis and Peridot

Summary: I’ve always wanted to see space, and with the help of Peridot and Pearl they build me a spacesuit. Lapis carries me and Peridot comes along as we fly into the cosmos. I will note this fic isn’t quite scientifically accurate, but I hope it’s still a good story for you to read. 💙💚

Although the light pollution from the city hides some of the stars, our home is far enough away where we can still see a decent amount. Often at night when the temperature was comfortable and the bugs weren’t bothering us we would lay in the grass and stare at the sky.

“Do you know where Homeworld is from here,” I asked. 

“Homeworld is in that direction,” Peridot said and pointed.

“How many planets have you two been on?” 

“Too many to count,” Peridot replied.

“Same. Unfortunately everything I saw on those planets was destroyed once they started forming gems,” Lapis said in a somewhat somber tone.

“Well, you helped save two,” Peridot said and squeezed Lapis’s hand for comfort. 

“True, and the last time I terraformed was thousands of years ago. Not worth feeling bad about it now.”

“What’s it like up there? The cosmos I mean,” I asked.

“Dark, with a bunch of stars and stuff,” Lapis replied with a shrug.

“I guess for us it’s not as exciting since we’ve seen it many times,” Peridot said.

“The highest I’ve been is on an airplane, and even then I couldn’t see the curvature of the Earth. At least once I’d like to be up in the darkness of space and look at Earth, truly seeing how it’s a small speck in our universe.”

I could sense Peridot was looking at me so I turned towards her and she had a giant grin on her face. “We could easily make that happen,” Peridot said excitedly. 

“I mean... you can’t just fly me up into space since I need oxygen to breathe.”

“Of course, silly! We’ll build you a spacesuit so you’ll be safe.”

“Uhh, we,” Lapis asked in a confused tone.

“I’m referring to Pearl,” Peridot replied.

“Are- are we actually doing this? You and Pearl can just build me a spacesuit and you two can fly me up there,” I asked.

“Of course! We can head over to Beach City tomorrow and get started on it.”

“Oh! Well, okay.” I was definitely excited, but also very nervous about being able to fly into space so soon. I thought I would be at least middle aged before I would have the chance, and even then I wouldn’t have had my hopes up too high.

The next day we flew to Beach City to meet with Pearl about our plan. Going there took a couple hours, and Peridot floated on a metal lid while Lapis held me. Most of the time we flew in silence, but occasionally we had short conversations. 

We had texted Pearl before leaving and she was more than happy to see us. As we neared the beach house we could see Pearl standing on the beach and waving to us. “Hello you three,” she said excitedly as we landed.

“Greetings Pearl! So, what do you think of our plan,” Peridot asked.

“I will be honest that normally I would be very against the idea, however since you don’t require a spaceship like Steven and I did during that... botched attempt at going into space, I think Eric will be quite safe with you two. However, we’ll need to do some tests on the spacesuit to make sure it will truly work.”

“And how do you propose we do that,” Peridot asked.

“Once we complete the spacesuit, Eric will take it underwater at a shallow depth to make sure there aren’t any leaks. Assuming that works out then I’ll wear it and take it deeper into the ocean to make sure it can handle under pressure,” Pearl explained. 

“And during all of this, Eric and I will observe. Or just be lazy, which ever we prefer,” Lapis said casually.

Pearl squinted. “Very well, but we’ll need your assistance at some point.”

“Yeah okay, just text me,” Lapis said hastily as she grabbed me and took off. 

“So what do you want to do lazy Lazuli,” I asked with a chuckle. 

“Let’s lay in that meadow and relax for awhile,” Lapis said as she gracefully floated down and landed.

“Sounds good to me,” I replied.

“I suppose we should’ve asked before, but are you sure you want to do this? I mean, you’re definitely in safe hands, but I understand being nervous,” Lapis said as she laid down in the soft grass.

“I’ll be honest that I didn’t expect this opportunity to appear so soon, if ever, but as long as you and Peridot want to do it then I definitely want to do it. Will you... be holding me as we fly into space?”

Lapis giggled. “Of course,” she said and snuggled beside me. “But if something doesn’t feel right or you feel too nervous then definitely let me know and I’ll fly you back.”

“I will,” I said while stroking her hair and lightly kissing her on the forehead. 

We snuggled for awhile and ended up taking a short nap before Lapis’s phone started beeping. She received a text from Pearl requesting us to come back to the beach so I could try on the spacesuit.

“Damn they’re quick,” I commented.

After getting back to the beach, Pearl and Peridot presented the spacesuit I would be wearing, which looked pretty much like any spacesuit you would see an astronaut wear. 

“Now we need to make sure it actually fits you and there aren’t any leaks in it,” Pearl said.

It was a little bit of a struggle putting it on, and it felt kind of like wearing heavy winter clothing besides the space helmet of course. Since it was warm outside it didn’t take long for me to get hot wearing it. 

“Alright, you two follow Eric into the water. And Eric, you give a thumbs up if everything seems to be working, and thumbs down if something doesn’t feel right,” Pearl instructed.

“Roger that,” Lapis said. 

Since the spacesuit was heavy it was difficult walking on sand and into the water. As the water got up to my knees I could feel water soaking my socks, and I immediately gave a thumbs down. 

“What’s wrong,” Peridot asked.

“There’s already water getting in,” I replied.

“Hmm, well this wasn’t a good start. Alright, take it off and we’ll fix it,” Pearl said. 

I was sweating a little, but it felt quite relieving taking it off as the ocean breeze cooled me down. While Peridot and Pearl went back to their workshop, Lapis and I sat on the beach and waited for them to return.

“Doing okay,” Lapis asked me.

I sighed. “Well that didn’t really ease my anxiety about this.”

Lapis took my hand. “Remember, you don’t have to do this.”

“I know, but I should do it. Life is about taking risks sometimes, you just have to know when it’s a good time to take a risk. Since Peridot and Pearl are probably better at engineering than most humans, this is a risk I’m okay with taking.”

“They may be nerds, but they’re also really good at building stuff.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, they know what they’re doing. Plus it’s not like we’re in a rush.”

We laid on the beach for awhile until I started getting hungry, so we went to Fish Stew Pizza so I could get lunch. Out of all the restaurants in Beach City, this was my favorite as it combined my love of seafood and pizza. The Big Donut was a close second, but that was mainly for breakfast or when I wanted something sweet. 

As I carefully ate my pizza and tried to not look messy while eating, Lapis got a text from Pearl saying the repairs were complete. Now I was starting to eat fast since there was still half a pizza left.

“Woah, slow down babe. No rush, remember? Besides, you can just put it in the fridge at the house and finish it later,” Lapis said.

“Fair point. To be honest I’m actually really full,” I said with a chuckle, and grabbed a to-go box. 

After going back to the beach, Pearl and Peridot explained their fixes even though Lapis and I didn’t quite understand what they were saying. I put the spacesuit back on, and once again went into the water with Lapis and Peridot following me. As I went deeper into the water I was mentally preparing for water to suddenly rush in, but so far the spacesuit was working. I gave Lapis and Peridot a thumbs up, and we stayed underwater for a few minutes to admire some fish. 

“So I’m guessing it went well,” Pearl asked as the three of us returned to the beach.

“Yep! Though how will I get oxygen when I’m in space,” I asked.

“Ah yes, that’s the next part of the project after I see how it handles under pressure from deep ocean depths. Once the oxygen tank is complete and we attach it to the spacesuit, I’ll go to the moon base via the warp pad and check the oxygen levels. If it’s working properly then you’ll be ready to set off, and if not then Peridot and I will make the required fixes,” Pearl explained.

“Wait, why don’t we just use the warp pad to the moon base and Eric can see space from it,” Peridot asked.

“I mean... that’s the quick way, but I wouldn’t get quite the same experience as flying into space. Though if building a spacesuit is too complicated I’d be okay with just doing that.”

“Oh it’s no problem at all. Besides, I’m sure you prefer flying into space in Lapis’s arms,” Pearl said with a smirk.

I chuckled and blushed. “Well you got me there.”

Peridot giggled. “Building the oxygen supplier will take awhile, possibly into tomorrow, so for the night we’ll sleep at our home at Little Homeworld. In the mean time you two can head over there while Pearl and I continue working.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lapis said with a thumbs up.

I had only been to Little Homeworld a few times, and being around new people whether they were humans or gems always gave me a certain amount of social anxiety. The gems there were really nice though, so I tried to remind myself that.

When we got there it was starting to become evening. As we walked to the house we passed several gems that waved to Lapis. I recognized a couple of them, and a couple even recognized me as Lapis and Peridot’s partner. Both Lapis and I aren’t the most social, so conversations with gems were short. 

Most of the evening was spent watching Camp Pining Hearts and cuddling on the couch. We weren’t sure when Peridot would get here, and there was a chance her and Pearl would work the entire night. As day turned to night we decided to go back to the meadow and watch the stars. 

“I suppose the view up there isn’t much different from here, besides the fact I’ll be floating and I’ll have a view of Earth,” I commented.

“Well you can see a lot more stars without the light pollution,” Lapis said.

“True. Do you think I would have a good time visiting Homeworld?”

“Hmm, maybe?”

“Well that’ll be a trip for another time. Pretty easy to go there when we have warp pad technology. If you’re okay with going there that is.”

“Oh yeah, it’s changed a lot for the better. Though it may get overwhelming with all the gems there, and since humans almost never go there they’ll probably be quite interested in talking to you,” Lapis said with a chuckle.

I chuckled along with her. “Oh jeez, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The breeze started to pick up, which made it a little chilly outside. We decided to head back and settle in for the night. Peridot still wasn’t at the house, so we assumed her and Pearl were still working. Lapis and I snuggled in bed while I tried to take my mind off being nervous about going into space. Lapis rested her head on my chest since it felt soothing for her feeling my heartbeat. 

“Hm, your heartbeat feels faster than normal. Does that happen sometimes,” Lapis asked.

“I’m just... still nervous. It’s fine though, it’s natural to be nervous about risk taking.”

“Okay. Well, try your best to get some sleep,” Lapis said and kissed me. 

“I will. Good night Lapis.”

“Good night Eric.”

It didn’t take long for Lapis to fall asleep. She lightly snored and it felt soothing as I held her. Unfortunately I wasn’t tired despite trying my best not to think about the worries of space travel. It was probably hours before I started to get sleepy.

Unbeknownst to me, Peridot was about to slam open the door and announce the completion of the oxygen tank, but she realized we were probably sleeping. Instead she slowly opened the door and tip-toed in. As delicately as possible she got in bed with us.

“How did it go,” I asked her quietly. 

Peridot was slightly startled since she assumed I was asleep. “Pearl is testing it out on the Moon right now. If that goes well then it’s ready for you to use.”

“Oh wow, you guys are quick.”

“Well we are quite skillful. I’m slightly more skillful than Pearl, but she’s very close to my skill level. But anyways, did I wake you up?”

“Nah, I’ve been trying to sleep but I’m pretty nervous about going into space. I definitely trust you guys of course, but it’s still a risk, you know?

“At the first sign of even a microscopic issue we’ll quickly take you back to Earth, but I promise the chances of that are minuscule. Assuming Pearl’s tests go well would you be ready to go up tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll definitely still be nervous, but I’ll be ready as long as I have my two partners by my side,” I said and smiled. 

Peridot smiled back and kissed me. “Well let’s try to get as much rest as we can. Good night Eric.”

“Good night Peridot.” 

I was hoping with Lapis and Peridot snuggled up beside me I would be able to sleep, but unfortunately that wasn’t case. As they softly snored I laid awake with thoughts going through my head like the fact that I would be one of only a small number of humans that has gone into space, and wondering if my perspective of Earth would change once I saw it from above with my own eyes. Seeing it from an airplane was in itself an amazing experience, but to see the entire globe I wasn’t sure how I would react. 

While I eventually fell asleep, I didn’t get much before morning came. Lapis and Peridot were still snuggled next to me and I gently kissed both of them on the forehead. The lack of sleep quickly caught up to me and I could barely keep my eyes open. Since I wasn’t in a rush to get up, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to fall back asleep.

When I opened my eyes again Lapis and Peridot weren’t there. My stomach growled and I realized I didn’t have anything to eat yesterday besides that pizza. I got out of bed and went downstairs, and to my surprise there were donuts on the table. 

“Good morning! We know you love the Big Donut so we went there and brought back breakfast for you,” Lapis said.

“Although donuts are by no means nutritional, I know they’re a popular confectionery of breakfast for humans,” Peridot said.

“Awww, thanks guys! Did you two sleep alright?”

“More importantly how did you sleep,” Lapis asked.

“Uhhh, not the best but not terrible either.”

“Well depending on how you feel this is either good news or bad news. Pearl said the oxygen supply worked perfectly on the Moon, so it’s ready whenever you are,” Peridot said.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Alright, I’m going to eat, take a shower, and then we can head out.”

“Sounds good,” Lapis said.

Even though I was hungry, the nervousness I was feeling made it a little difficult to eat. I took my time taking a shower partly due to the nervousness, but also knowing that we weren’t on a schedule. 

An hour later we headed to the beach house where Pearl was waiting with the spacesuit. “Are you excited,” Pearl asked enthusiastically.

“A little nervous, but yes I’m also very excited,” I replied shyly.

“Ah, definitely understandable, but I’m sure you three will have a wonderful time. If you’re able to you should take a photo of Eric’s reaction when he sees Earth,” Pearl said.

Lapis giggled. “I have my phone ready for that.”

My heart was pounding, but I did my best to breathe normally, especially after I put the spacesuit on. With the oxygen tank it was much heavier, like trying to carry a backpack full of bricks. 

“There’s a limited amount of oxygen so don’t stray too far from Earth. There’s enough for a 12-hour roundtrip,” Pearl said.

“You sure you’ll be able to carry me,” I asked Lapis. 

“Let’s find out,” Lapis said and swiftly scooped me off my feet. 

“You’re so strong,” I said in amazement and blushed deeply.

Pearl giggled. “Well, I think that’s everything. Have fun!”

“Will do! Thanks Pearl,” I said and waved as Lapis took off.

“See you later,” Peridot said to Pearl as she took off on her metal lid.

To be continued in Part 2! 

[thebestestboyo]

How Remus Started Working For Patton: Part Five And A Half

Master post

Since I am currently wracking my brain for ideas on the actual next chapter, I decided to write what happened when Roman had been dropped off at Logan's place! Enjoy!

Tw: Swearing

When Remus said he was dropping him at a friend place, he expected to be at some stripper's house, or at the apartment he and Virgil shared. He even wouldn't put it past him to just take him to work! (It had happened before, and while dull, was quiet enough to sleep under Remus's desk.)

But even so, he was most certainly unprepared to find himself at this impasse with the most gorgeous man he had ever met! Never mind the fact that he had that weird shield thing on his head and the house smelled vaguely of smoke.

Wait, did he himself even look decent?? Remus had just taken him directly from his apartment, he probably looked horrid!

"Apologies, my brother tends to whisk me to places at the most inopportune of moments, I doubt you'd actually want me here in the current state I'm in." Oh god this could have gone so much better if Remus had just let him fix his hair or something!

"While normally random men are not dropped off at my domicile for observation, you are Remus's brother it seems, so I can't blame you for showing up so spontaneously. Have you eaten anything yet? I still have some breakfast left over from earlier."

"Actually I just had coffee, but I don't want to intrude-"

This absolute Apollo of a man turned his head so fast to look Roman in the eye, that he wouldn't have been surprised if he heard his neck crack. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day and I would be damned if someone in my house didn't eat at least something."

"It's really no trouble-"

Oh my, he hadn't even gotten his name yet, and already he was being lead to the kitchen by Remus's friend, sat down at the counter.

"Do you harbor any allergies?"

"Mm, shellfish, but other than that, no."

"Noted. I presume eggs are satisfactory?"

"Yes please! Oh, where are my manners, I'm Roman." Shoot he had his back turned! Ro couldn't do that cool prince thing where he kissed his hand!

"Dr Logan Quinn. If I may ask, why would your brother feel the need to drop you off here? You appear perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, are you sick?"

"Most certainly not! I am in pristine health, he's just overreacting."

Glancing back at him, Logan gave him a once over, then turning back. "I see. Then the dark shadows under your eyes are simply runny eyeshadow?"

Roman let out a gasp, a hand flying to his chest. "As if I would wear black eyeshadow to bed! Or at all for that matter, it makes me look unkept."

"While I do not know your normal-" He rummaged in his pocket for a set of...flash cards? "-vibe, I would not expect your typical state to be pajamas and socks with sandals either. I just thought to ask."

"My dearest Logan, are you worried about me too?" Fluttering his eyelashes, he couldn't help but smile at his words.

"Merely curious as to why you're here. I wouldn't say I know you well enough to worry too quite yet. Perhaps a bit, but not as much given the circumstances."

"You wound me! I've known you for...about ten minutes and you don't feel the same way I do for you?"

"If how you feel is 'confused and slightly concerned' then I feel exactly the same way."

Letting out a laugh, Ro set his chin across his hands, smiling wider. "Not quite, intrepid scientist."

Logan set a plate down in front of him, before opening his fridge again, giving Ro an eyeful of some suspicious-looking vials. Was that...squid ink?

"...what's that look on your face?"

"Is that...is that the squid ink my brother used on our cousin's car?" Roman resorted to using his brother as a conversation? He must be very overworked, or he would have thought he was losing his touch! Who talks about their gremlin brother on their first meeting?

"I presume so, I am not aware of any other supplier of raw squid ink that Remus would frequently visit."

God why did Logan have to speak so eloquently? Roman was a mess and this was his first impression on this absolute stunner of a man? "Do you happen to have any other scientific-"

"You probably don't want to hear about them, they aren't all that interesting in the eyes of others."

"No, no really! I'd love to see some, I have no idea what the original experiment was for but I'd absolutely love to learn if you'd be willing to talk about it...?"

Ok maybe this wasn't so bad of an idea, judging by the way that the scientist's eyes lit up. "Well, squids have been known to change color to match their surroundings, both for protection and sneaking up on prey. I was researching what exactly causes their skin to do this, and if it can be replicated, as it is a trait we have also seen in octopus, chameleons-"

Roman's food long forgotten, he focused solely on him, not even minding that he didn't understand several of the words within Logan's sentences. It was mind boggling that he could even know so much and still had things to add to his theories and his experiments, hands gesturing rapidly as he explained.

"That's the only part of what I've discovered thus far- my apologies, I rambled again didn't I?" His face began to tint pink under his glasses, an absolutely beautiful sight to glimpse.

"Not at all! It was quite interesting as far as I could understand, even if I don't know all the terms you mentioned." Maybe not all hope was lost for them to become...friends? Lovers? Roman wasn't sure right now, his brain was sorta fuzzy from the effects of his coffee beginning to wear off. He needed to put more caffeine in it next time, even if the taste was horridly bitter.

"Well, that's-" He took out another flashcard, that looked like it had Remus's handwriting on it? "Quite groovy if I say so myself, if you'd like you could come see the squid I have in the tank?"

"I would be happy to gaze upon the subjects of your scientific endevors, but are those flashcards made by my brother...?" Goddammit he had to stop bringing his brother into this!

"Yes, he has helped me with slang and thought it best to write me up some examples and reminders."

"Some of those are probably not typical slang."

"Yes, I was actually wondering about that..."

"Here, if you'd like, I'll check over them for you just to make sure he didn't fill them all with innuendos or whatever."

After Logan remembered the importance of breakfast (making Roman eat the breakfast he had previously ignored) the two of them walked to the in-home lab that was set up, Ro amazed at all the squid, as well as all the dick jokes that his brother had written in his explainations of modern slang. No people did not use 'mood' to show that they were horny! Most of the time anyways.

As the caffeine eventually left his system, and Logan got back to work with Ro sitting down at a small desk near him, it wasn't before long till Roman was passed out facedown on the counter. He really needed a better sleep schedule. But at least the thump of his head let Logan know, otherwise he probably would have fallen out of his chair.

At the very least, his mind decided to take pity on him, for once not giving him nightmares, and instead, let him imagine him and Logan, at the aquarium gazing into an abyss of squid.

He should really thank Remus later.

[mintjamsblog]

Wet (by MintJam)

Peaky Blinders fic: Tommy x Alfie

Read on A03

Summary: In which Alfie is not feeling himself.  

"He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off."

Warnings: NSFW!

Wet

It’s raining when Alfie wakes up on a Thursday morning. Proper rain. Not the usual damp London drizzle, but big, fat droplets that seem to fall too slowly and land too loudly. He hasn’t looked out yet but he can hear them smacking thickly against the glass, warning him to stay put. It makes a pleasant change, he supposes; it’s usually the birds that wake him first, welcoming the not-yet-dawn, although it seems they’ve all taken cover this morning, too busy keeping their feathers dry. Contrary little fuckers, birds; happy enough to chirp delightedly each morning over the Somme, heedless of the acres of filth and stench of death, and yet silenced by a simple downpour.

He lies still, listening to the water collecting in the gutters outside, running down the street and gurgling noisily into the drains. His sheets are drenched and he needs a piss. He ought to get up. No doubt the rain had a hand in conjuring up last night’s choice selection from the darkest recesses of his mind: Old Archie Pembroke. Fucker should have paid up of course — was one of the few that could afford to. Alfie had made sure it was a suitably watery end for the landlord of The Ship, The Lock Tavern and The Black Buoy. Drowning. In a barrel of his own beer. The ripples it sent through Camden doubtless saved the lives of a dozen other landlords who thought better of standing up to the volatile Jew thereafter. One life wrung out for the loyalty of dozens; he’d do it again in a trice.

The level of detail his subconscious mind can recall always staggers Alfie — the strength of grip required to keep a man's head beneath the surface; the frantic gasps for air after each submersion; the surprisingly long time it took for him to finally stop struggling.  He'd forced the bar staff to watch (there's really no point in the theatre of it without an audience to spread the word) and they had gasped their way into his sleep too. Still, it was a far better death than many Alfie witnessed in France. Gas was the worst. When you've watched a man retch up yellow liquid from the depths of his own lungs over two whole days and nights — before finally drowning in it — then it's hard to feel sorry for a man like Pembroke.

Funny how the battlefield is not the thing that haunts Alfie. It haunts Tommy, he knows that much. Not that they ever discuss or even acknowledge that fact unless absolutely forced to. If Tommy’s aware of Alfie’s dreams then he doesn’t let on. Which is fine. It’s the same tack Alfie’s taken many times in reverse because no good comes of dragging those thoughts into your waking hours, far better to leave them wrapped in the sheets. Food or a fuck is Alfie's preferred medicine — although seeing as the cupboards are bare and Tommy hasn't been in London for days neither is on the menu this morning.

The rain continues unabated as he splashes cold water over his face; washes his eyes, his hair, his beard. The dream refuses to wash off, its remnants cling to him like smoke; not the specifics, just a vague feeling of unease that he knows will last well past lunchtime. Which is why, when Edna shuffles in, a blast of petrichor in her wake, he welcomes the distraction and insists she drink tea with him. She knows the score, knows she'll find wet sheets when she heads upstairs, but Alfie's strange gruff manner doesn't bother her. She'd never have lasted this long if it did. And so they share tea and Alfie asks after her brother, a man so wrecked by the war he never leaves the house. They share the bagels Edna brought in comfortable silence until, with warm tea and food in his belly the heaviness starts to lift. Alfie can't help but think of his mother, like Edna a hard-working, uncomplaining woman. He wonders vaguely what she'd make of the man he's become? Would she be proud or dismayed? Neither, probably, she was always a pragmatist. Alfie's pulled from his thoughts by the shrill ring of the telephone in the other room. It's Olly, all of a panic — there's been some sort of flood at the bakery. He's starting to wonder if his watery dream was an omen.

–––––

The mess at the bakery is nothing short of a disaster; the priority is keeping the surviving barrels dry and protecting the molasses (that stuff is still not easy to come by — not quite the liquid gold it was a few years ago, but valuable nonetheless). He spends half the day knee-deep in cold, filthy water and the other half bellowing at his staff, the insurance broker, several suppliers and anyone else with enough of a death-wish to come within 5 yards of him. Which all means that by the time he gets home he is freezing, stinking and ready to kill the next person to so much as look at him the wrong way.  He runs himself a bath (upstairs; he's too tired to fill the copper tub) and lies in the warm water pondering the fucking fortune it's gonna cost to sort out the buildings — not to mention the lost stock, revenue and good will. The one saving grace, if you can call it that, is that the whole shebang appears to have been an act of God, which at least means he doesn't have to add retribution to the list of actions required (the Lord God Almighty is outside even Alfie's jurisdiction). He lays there, eyes closed, and tries to empty his head, to think of nothing, to think of the value of sight, but his mind is too busy and it isn't long before he finds himself wondering what's been happening with the Shelbys. In and of itself, this fact is downright bloody disturbing. The last thing he needs in his current mood is an unsolicited image of John and Arthur skittering across his mind — it's enough to make his already disinterested cock retreat back inside his body entirely. Fucking hell. He's not one to cast aspersions on the virtue of the late Mrs Shelby, but the idea that Tommy was born of the same blood as those two gormless idiots is just ... well it's fucking preposterous is what it is.

If he's honest, he's a bit disappointed that Tommy hasn't been in touch for days. Not that he's made any running himself, of course. Tommy will be in touch when he's good and ready. Or when he's spectacularly fucked himself up somehow. One or the other. He drags himself slowly out of the bath and decides to turn in for the night because he's not feeling all that great — throat a bit sore, chest a bit heavy — all that fucking cold water no doubt. It doesn't prevent the ghastly dream that follows shortly after, it's William Taylor tonight (stabbed in the chest) although he wakes halfway through the grisly climax because there's banging coming from downstairs. Shit, he forgot to lock the fucking security bars. He grabs his gun as he stumbles onto the landing, physically shaking off the nightmare as he limps down the stairs. It’s Tommy, of course, and he's clearly had a couple of drinks ... not a skinful, but enough to make him a little louder than usual.

"You haven't locked the fucking security gates, Alfie."

"Well hello to you too, darling."

Tommy's looking at him strangely, brow furrowed. "Did I get you out of the bath?" he asks.

Alfie looks down, momentarily perplexed, before realising his undershirt is soaked. "Yeah, yeah, s'nothing," he grumbles. "Shitty day, that's all." He'd rather not have to explain exactly why he's drenched in sweat, but one of the benefits of sleeping with an emotionally repressed numbskull is that he's highly unlikely to pry. Especially when he's had a few. Alfie heads back upstairs and straight to his room, retrieving a fresh undershirt from the press. He's just changed into it when Tommy appears from the bathroom, looking less clothed but more bemused. He sits down on the edge of the bed and opens his arms in a clear signal he wants a hug. He's definitely had a drink, then. Alfie walks into the embrace, stands between his open thighs and lets warm arms wrap around his waist. Tommy rests his head against Alfie's stomach for a moment and it fucking warms his cockles, even if the man does smell of whiskey. Of course then Tommy opens his mouth and spoils the whole bloody moment, but that's him all over innit? "Nearly broke my fucking leg in there," he mumbles into Alfie's shirt. "S'water everywhere. Wet my socks. And you didn't empty the tub, it's full of cold water."

"All fuckin' right," Alfie says defensively. "Anything else you'd like to complain about? It is me own bleeding house, mate." He was going to add an amusing quip about whales and blowholes but his brain doesn't want to play ball. It wants to close down for the night, despite the slightly drunk man clinging to his middle who is now trying to nose down his shorts.

"I really need to get some shut-eye, mate."

"Too tired for a blow job?" Tommy says, fingers tucking into Alfie's waistband.

"Fraid so," Alfie mumbles, at which Tommy looks absolutely incredulous. Which is a bit offensive actually. It's not like he's a total whore on an average day now, is it? Although, actually ...  where Tommy is concerned ... now that he looks back on the past few months ... well whore's not quitethe word he'd choose. He can't help it if he's generally enthusiastic. Because Tommy is genuinely the best shag of his life and can get him hard just by walking through a door... usually ... bloody hell, which is a sure sign he's not one hundred percent tonight, but doesn't mean ...

"Alfie? You sure?"

"Fuckin' hell Tom, never thought I'd say this, but yes."

"Alright," Tommy says, pushing himself up. Only now he's fucking pouting. Alfie can't resist reaching over and flicking the bottom lip that's protruding just enough to have crossed the line between sexy and childish. It doesn't go down well – Tommy smacks his hand away irritably and proceeds to unbutton his shirt. If Alfie was feeling more himself he'd find a suitable way to repay Tommy for that. But he's not. So he doesn't.

"Just get in, Tommy," he sighs as he pulls back the covers and slides one leg into the bed. The sodden sheets make him recoil instantly, "Oh for fucks sake," he yells. Tommy looks up at him sharply. "S'fuckin drenched. Just like this entire wretched day. I'm gonna sleep in the spare room." He heads for the door in exasperation, fully expecting Tommy to follow. He doesn't. He just stands there looking like he's been slapped. "With you, you bloody idiot," Alfie snaps, grabbing Tommy by the hand and physically dragging him across the landing. How come, right, he's the one who's just relived, with ungodly realism, a brutal (albeit necessary) stabbing; he's the one who feels like shit, and yet Tommy's the one who needs reassuring?

He gets into the spare bed and manhandles Tommy into some sort of spooning position. He can't tell whether the man's still pouting or not, but the way he presses his back against Alfie's chest suggests not. He kisses the back of Tommy's head, hopeful of a more peaceful night now that this surly, peevish little gypsy is back in his bed. Well, not his bed, technically. His spare bed. But the point stands. He's asleep within moments.

–––––

The bloody birds are back on form the next morning, little bastards, cheerily welcoming the new day. At least that means the rain's stopped. He's confused for a moment when he opens his eyes, can't quite place where he is. He feels rough as old boots – his head aches, his throat feels like glasspaper and his limbs feel like sandbags. He's overslept, must have done, the sun's already up and there's no sign of Tommy. He realises that the clothes he was wearing when he got into this bed last night are nowhere to be seen either; he's naked as a newborn. It's pretty disconcerting that, because a man needs to keep a grip on a few basics in life doesn't he? Like the whereabouts of his own fuckin' underpants. All sorts of other things can start going awry if a man doesn't know where his kecks are or who took 'em off. Not only that, but there's a towel in the bed. It's all bunched up and digging into the backs of his knees uncomfortably, but it's very definitely under him. He digs his fingers into his eye sockets as if that might rub some recollection into them. It doesn't, so he throws himself back down against the pillows instead.

"Morning, Alfie," Tommy says a couple of minutes later, carrying a tray into the room. Alfie tries to reply, but all that comes out is a strained croaking sound. He coughs and tries again, but it's not much better. Fucking hell he is on the back foot here — Tommy is up and dressed and back to his usual rigid self. He's looking as beautifully buttoned up as ever, whilst Alfie doesn't even know where his clothes are, let alone how he got out of them.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Tommy mocks. "Has Alfred Solomons lost his voice?" He looks fucking delighted with himself. Bastard.

"Well," Alfie croaks, "I am of course only here to ensure a smile passes your lips at least once a week. Glad to see my misfortune has achieved that already this morning."

"Shut up, Alfie," Tommy says, "you sound like a toad."

It's a fair point. Rude, but fair. He manages to stay quiet for all of twenty seconds before curiosity gets the better of him. He has a feeling he's not going to like the answer to this question but he asks it anyway.

"So did you have your wicked way with me last night whilst I was unconscious or has an evil fairy performed a vanishing spell on my clothes? Hmm?"

"They were wet," Tommy says dismissively, before swiftly changing the subject. "Thought you might like something to eat," he says, placing the tray down on Alfie's legs. "Tea, toast and some weird-looking pastry things," Tommy says, recoiling from the plate.

"It's a type of food, Tommy. Some of us actually enjoy that, you know."

"They remind me of pissing contests in the school yard."

"You what?" Alfie splutters.

"You know, all of us boys would line up and see who could piss the highest up the wall. That's what they look like — a row of little dicks."

"Fuckin' hell Tommy, that is just nasty." Despite which, he finds himself wondering who won, even rooting for eight-year-old-Tommy. His brain is quite clearly addled. "They're called rugelach; Edna makes 'em. You should try one."

"No thanks," Tommy says, grimacing. "Only dick I wanna put my lips around is under those blankets."

That makes Alfie laugh, or at least try to, it catches in his throat and turns into something between a wheeze and a cough.

"I've gotta go," Tommy says, leaning over to give him a peck on the forehead. "Think you'd best stay here, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah, m'not going anywhere. All that bloody water. Must've caught something."

"I'll be back later. Got people to see."

–––––

Alfie spends half of the day in bed, hoping he can sleep off the worst of whatever this is. He avoids the towel and the damp sheets by sleeping on Tommy's side, but eventually his back forces him up — staying still for too long never does it any good. The light is grey and watery, must be afternoon by now, so he finds himself trousers and an undershirt, pulls them on as carelessly as ever and covers them with not one waistcoat, but two. He wraps a scarf around his neck for good measure and makes his way downstairs. One thing's for sure, he can't go to the bakery in this state. Men work harder for a monster than they do for other men – it doesn't do to humanise oneself with the staff. He makes an exception for Edna, calls Olly and has him send her over even though it's not one of her days. Be easier, maybe, if he installed a phone at her house. He makes sure to berate Olly soundly for all the things he knows will be sliding in his absence, as much to satisfy his irritability as to keep up appearances.

His theory on leadership is reinforced nicely by Edna's reaction to his watery eyes and rasping voice. "Oh Mr Solomons, you're not well. You must let me light you a fire. I'll bring honey and lemon. And make you some soup."  See? Just like that he is no longer a leader of men but a little boy, as feeble and fallible as the rest of them. Much as he can't stand fussing, he can't deny that the soup, when it arrives, is deliciously welcome.

"If you could change the beds, Edna, please," he says, blowing across his mug of hot lemon. "I'll have a visitor tonight."

"Very good, sir. But ... " she pauses, nervously, "are you sure you're up to guests?"

And there it is again, that line being crossed purely and simply on grounds of his temporary infirmity.

"I'm up to this one," he answers gruffly.

Once she's gone he takes himself back up to bed. His whole body feels heavy and slow and unusually cold but the clean sheets are a luxury he can never take for granted — not when he's slept too many days and nights in mud thick with excrement and the slime of rotting flesh. Give him cool, crisp cotton over lice-ridden wool for the rest of his days and he will consider himself blessed. He should bathe really, but he can't face the bother. Maybe in a little while...

A hand on his cheek wakes him that evening. Fingers unmistakably cool and dry. He's fully clothed atop his sheets and feels a little better for the rest. But he's  cold.

"Come downstairs for a bit, it's warmer," Tommy says quietly. Bloody hell, he hates this, feeling weak, coddled. He's tempted to refuse on principle. But Tommy is waiting for him on the landing and the fact that he isn't pushing forces Alfie to comply. "Not sure I can be arsed, mate. Too much bloody effort," he mumbles as he follows. He draws the line at Tommy holding his hands out, though.  "I'm not a bloody invalid," he snaps, before undermining his point entirely by taking them nonetheless. Well, lying down all day has made everything seize up a bit more than usual.

As they reach the living room it's obvious that the fire is roaring in the grate. In front of it is his huge copper tub, like a ship ready to set sail, already steaming. And, that is something innit? He perks up a little at the sight, before frowning again, because it is rather disconcerting that Tommy managed to come into his house, get the tub from the yard and complete the laborious task of filling it with hot water without Alfie ever waking. He should be bothered by that. Very fucking bothered. Except there's a pleasant warm feeling in his belly that he chooses to go with instead.

"Come on then, get 'em off," Tommy chides, gesturing to the clothes he's still wearing, "before it gets cold."

The hot water is a joy to his aching joints. He's just leaning back against the high end when Tommy, fag dangling from the corner of his mouth, uncorks a small brown bottle and pours something into the water. The room immediately fills with a fierce, fiery smell, like pepper, or mustard, or fuck knows ... cloves or something. It's pungent and so acrid it hits the back of his throat.  "Good god, Tommy, what the fuck is that? Are you tryin' to off me?" he coughs, just as the ash falls off into the water. Bloody hell, no finesse that boy.

"It's good for the chest," Tommy says, obliviously putting the cork back. "Fetched it from Ada's this afternoon."

"Smells like it's meant for horses, not humans."

"It is," Tommy answers bluntly, swirling his hand in the water to spread it through.

"Fucks sake, you're not even joking are you? You can take the boy out of the caravan..."

Alfie rests his head on the back of the tub. As the smell recedes a little it becomes familiar, sparking a memory of the first time he ever set eyes on Tommy, all those years ago. "This what you used after the Italians did their job on you?" he asks.

"It is."

"Fuckin' hell, talkative tonight, aren't we?"

Tommy ignores him as he throws his cigarette end into the fire and starts removing his cufflinks, rolling his shirt sleeves up to the elbows. When he's done he pulls a footstool over and seats himself right up against the tub. "Sit up a bit," he orders, as he scoops water into a small cup. Alfie complies, wondering what the fuck he's doing. "Look up, you don't want this stuff in your eyes." Alfie is just about to ask him why when Tommy pours the water over the back of his head and starts raking his fingers through his hair. He feels like he ought to protest, but Tommy's already doing it again, pouring the water and raking it through, three times, four times, all brisk efficiency and alright, this has taken Alfie a bit off guard but he is suddenly intrigued. Tommy's movements are swift and awkward and he's very definitely looking at anything but Alfie; almost like he's embarrassed. Which is kind of odd, because it's not like anyone asked him to do this did they? He can see Tommy leaning down for something out of the corner of his eye. "That better not be any more of that horse potion," he mumbles, but it's soap, which Tommy is lathering furiously between his palms as though it's done him an evil in a past life.

The next thing he knows the soap is being slapped onto his head. Tommy proceeds to scrub at his hair so roughly it makes Alfie's head joggle on his shoulders, and yet he can't help but smile broadly. Here he is, a grown man approaching the fourth decade of his life, having his hair washed like some school kid visiting the nit-nurse. The man doing it is so bloody awkward it's comical, like he's actively trying to sabotage his own (rather thoughtful) gesture by deliberately going about it in a way that suggests he doesn't care at all. It really shouldn't be so fucking endearing. Alfie suppresses the desire to outright chuckle, because despite the absurdity of the situation he doesn't want it to end. Instead he shifts himself slowly backwards until he's leaning against the end of the tub again. Tommy stands up and walks round behind him, and somehow, being out of Alfie's line of sight seems to relax him a bit — his movements slow down and his fingers soften, which in turn allows Alfie to settle. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Tommy's fingers as they slip down to his shoulders, more sure of themselves now; they start a slow, firm slide upwards, thumbs pressing into the nape of his neck, fingers splaying out behind his ears. That's it. That's much better. When they reach the top of his scalp they start turning small circles around his crown, his hairline, his temples. Bloody hell, it feels good; he lets out a low, satisfied groan.

"Alright?" Tommy asks quietly.

"Yeah s'alright. S'fucking good, mate. Really fucking good." And so Tommy keeps going, firm fingers pressing and scraping all over his head and neck until it's sending actual shivers down Alfie's spine, and not just from the pure physical pleasure. It's the fact that Tommy, a man generally oblivious to his own physical well-being, is lavishing attention on him. Care. Part of Alfie wants to rebel, to fight the implication that he needs this in anyway, but the truth of the matter is that no one has ever done anything like this for him before. His mum must have done, once upon a time, but he's blowed if he can remember it and damn sure the bath wouldn't have been this hot or the fire this bright. And so he contents himself to watch the water — glowing orange like a sunset as it reflects the copper and the flames — and to lap up every delicious second of Tommy's hands on him. It's affectionate and intimate and Alfie would like to acknowledge that he appreciates it; to tell him that it means something. But in the end he's too wary of breaking the fragile silence, so he sits and sighs and silently enjoys the attention.

Eventually Tommy fills the cup again and pours water over his hair; Alfie has to sit up a bit so that it doesn't run onto the floor and Tommy moves to better reach him. He uses one hand to shield Alfie's eyes from the soap, smoothing his palm and pushing the water backwards. It makes Alfie's stomach flip, alarmingly. Just the way he's being so damn careful about it, tilting Alfie's head, stroking his hair, concentrating.  Hard to believe that it's Tommy. Tommy, who is always so stroppy and closed up and desperate to maintain his distance and his composure. Tommy, who only articulates anything meaningful under duress. Tommy who stripped his damp clothes in the night; who pretends not to know the real reason for the wet sheets; who brought him a towel to sleep on and breakfast in bed. Tommy who fetched some remedy from Ada's and heated pans on the stove to fill this cumbersome old bath — despite there being a perfectly functioning one upstairs — because he knows it's what Alfie prefers. He wishes it was easier just to say all that out loud, but it's not, is it? Because it will make Tommy self-conscious and evasive and defensive and then Alfie will have to spend hours (if not days) coaxing him back round. So he reverts to safety, to actions not words, because this is what they do.

"Get in," he growls. Tommy looks down at him, a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. Alfie grabs his wrist until he drops the cup and looks him straight in the eye. "You, are gonna get in here in the next sixty seconds or I'm pulling you in with your clothes on."

"You feeling a little better?" Tommy asks, with an actual, proper smile.

"I'm planning on feeling a little gypsy," he replies, pulling harder on the arm. Tommy starts to move, irritatingly slowly, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his trousers (too easily Alfie notes). "You need to eat something," he says.

"Fuck off," Tommy snaps back, and Alfie chooses to fight that battle another day, because he's meant to be feeling appreciative. Instead he focuses on the sight of Tommy folding himself up between Alfies legs, back to his chest, both facing the fire. It never fails to amaze him, how small Tommy can make himself, so lithe and wiry he can bend in two. He smoothes his wet hands across Tommy's shoulders, making his skin glisten. He really has a rather lovely neck, Alfie thinks as he leans down to kiss it, slipping his hands around to smooth over the pale planes of his chest. He is too fucking small, but it's hard to care when he’s nestled into Alfie like a cat, practically purring as Alfie continues to nuzzle at his neck. When his fingers find Tommy’s nipples they tease gently and a low sound vibrates in Tommy's throat. Alfie squeezes harder, pinching both nubs painfully and not letting go. The water splashes gently by Tommy's left foot as he flinches at the harsh touch, which only makes Alfie let out a low groan of his own.

He doesn't relent, just pinches harder still until Tommy tenses his feet against the foot of the bath and pushes back against his chest. Fuck, there he is, Alfie's needy little bastard. He finally lets go when Tommy hisses. And just like that, the atmosphere has changed, been charged. He runs one hand down Tommy's side and slides it over to cup his cock, satisfyingly hard already. "Mmmm," Alfie whispers into his neck, gently teasing his balls, "think you've earned yourself a reward. Get on you knees."

Tommy hesitates, turning to peer over his shoulder at Alfie. "I thought you weren't feeling well," he says. Which is not an outright refusal, is it? More a play for time.

"Never said that," Alfie replies. Which is true. Plus he is never going to amit that the gypsy potion might be doing some good.

Tommy slowly starts to lift himself, confused but compliant, clearly a good boy tonight. "That's it, face the fire," Alfie says, hands already stroking up and down Tommy's thighs, admiring the view. He's kneeling upright, between Alfie's knees, back to his face.

"Alfie, what are you doing?" he asks, sounding a little fed up.

"Just hold onto that end for me," Alfie says, nodding towards the foot of the bath. He resists using the words "bend over," even though that's exactlywhat he means, because they both know Tommy doesn't like it.

"What the ..." Tommy starts to protest and Alfie just cuts him off. "Just do as you're told, eh?" Tommy swallows and reaches towards the end of the tub reluctantly. When he's got both hands on it, back slightly arched, Alfie lifts his knees, one at a time, and places them either side of his own. That's better, the stance is wider and he runs his hands over the smooth cheeks now just in front of his face. He really wants Tommy to bend down lower, but he's willing to take his time. He leans for the soap and lathers it up to a thick foam before reaching for Tommy's cock — less hard than it was before, signalling his self-consciousness. It's disappointing, but Alfie is unperturbed. He proceeds to massage the soap all over Tommy's balls and cock before stroking over his arse. "What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy asks, sounding a little shocked.

"Just returning the favour, love," he says, tone all innocent. His intentions are anything but as he rubs his thumb down the crease between Tommy's pale cheeks, feeling him flinch each time he passes the hole. He's enjoying the view immensely as he rolls Tommy's balls with the other hand, soaping them gently like a pair of delicate eggs. The hand on his arse keeps stroking the crease, up and down, catching on that puckered little hole on each passing glide. Tommy is starting to relax, to push back slightly and lower his head. That's it, Alfie thinks, like coaxing a kitten to a saucer of milk, he'll go gently and get what he wants. He slides his hand back to to the re-hardened cock, spreading the suds until everything is soft and slippery and too captivating to ignore.

He can't help but stare at Tommy's arse while he slides his hands over everything. He pushes the tip of his thumb into the hole and quickly back out - the little gasp from Tommy like music to his ears. He repeats the movement, quickly, eagerly, just short, sharp stabs that make Tommy clench and Alfie sigh.

"Just stay there love, right fucking there," he says, gripping one thigh like a warning. He picks up the cup and pours water from the small of Tommy's back, watching as it floods down the perfect crevice of his arse. When the soap has all gone he slumps slightly in the water and prises the cheeks apart with his thumbs. Tommy rocks forward slightly at that, everything tightening against the scrutiny, but Alfie keeps his grip, keeps him spread. Then he does what he's wanted to do for a very long time and flicks his tongue over the tight little entrance, once, twice, three times.

Strange that this should  feel forbidden, despite everything else that they do. Which may or may not explain the gut-punch of lust overtaking Alfie right this bloody second; the unusually vocal sound Tommy makes as he sloshes forward in the water does absolutely nothing to quell it — it's as if he's trying to escape, but Alfie just puts his hands round the front of his thighs and pulls him back into place, because he has no intention of stopping. But neither does he have any idea of what might actually feel good to the recipient, he realises. It can't be that different from kissing he figures, so he presses his lips to the hollow dimple and licks softly, reverently until Tommy responds with a strange, strangled sound.

"Just relax," Alfie mumbles, because fuck this is turning him on; the heat, the smell, the smooth, fluttering muscle – the way Tommy's subtly resisting – pulling away and tightening up so that Alfie has to grip his hips hard and hold him in place. He lets his tongue flatten and skates it upwards, firmly, licking the length of his crease slowly, repeatedly. He pays some attention to the back of his balls but can't help but return to lick over the central nucleus, wetting him, lapping him, tasting him.

When Alfie's tongue dares to dip inside Tommy's head droops dramatically downwards; he moans out a curse and seems to collapse, shoulders dropping like he's suddenly boneless. His head rests on his forearms, draped over the end of the bath and he groans so carnally that Alfie feels his stomach lurch and his cock respond. He starts sucking as well as licking, sealing the entire loosened ring with his lips and flicking gently with his tongue. Tommy loosens up further — moans and pushes back — which just makes everything easier to reach, to admire. He delves as deep as he can with his tongue, intrigued by the feel of it, so tough yet so soft. He keeps stopping to look, pulling back and opening him before plunging back in with his mouth. Fuck, he is in awe, as usual, of how delightfully Tommy moves, intermittently bearing down and clenching up like he's drawing Alfie in.

The problem is that Alfie's neck his aching, and though he doesn't want to stop, not with every flinch and every quiver so delightfully on display, he knows Tommy's knees must hurt too. Not that Tommy's complaining, but then again he never does, even when Alfie hurts him. Which is what finally does it, forces him to make the move because he wants Tommy enjoy this too.  

"Upstairs. Now," he growls, pulling himself upright and slapping Tommy's arse for emphasis. They both move impressively quickly, fleeing the bath with a haste that showers water and soap over everything. The each grab a towel and head up the stairs, like children playing tag.

Once in his room, Alfie lays Tommy on his belly and stuffs enough pillows under his hips that he looks like a fucking invitation, perfectly positioned for Alfie to lick until his tongue burns from the exertion. Which is exactly what he does. He delves and circles and laps at that perfect pink ring like a tiger grooming its cub. Any earlier malady is forgotten in his hunger for every squirm and sigh and stifled moan from the man beneath his mouth. By the time he crawls up the bed Tommy's arse is so slick with drool that he doesn't even bother with oil; simply laces their fingers together as he lines himself up and presses relentlessly in. Tommy gasps as he's entered, arching rigidly against him, and making a high, shaky sound that turns Alfie's legs to liquid. When his full weight rests flat on Tommy's back he just waits, marvelling at how he can fit himself inside the taut little ring he's been licking. It doesn't look possible, and yet here they are, slotted so tightly together. When, after a minute, everything is quiet and utterly still he murmurs, "there we go," softly against the curve of Tommy's ear.

And then he fucks him, slow and heavy, like he wants him to feel every inch and every ounce, to understand the weight of his want. And when even that's not enough he wraps his arms under Tommy's chest and pulls him onto his side. Actions are easier than words for Tommy, he's learnt that much by now, so Alfie wraps him tight around the chest and fucks him till he's exhausted, till everything hurts. He presses their bodies so close together it's like he's trying to join them with pressure, to cold-weld them together. Tommy just lets him, shallows his breathing to compensate and lets Alfie fuck him senseless.

Only when he's trembling right on the edge does Alfie loosen the embrace, moving one hand down to stroke him thoroughly through it. Tommy comes with a sharp gasp of breath, which makes Alfie moan unabashedly — lost in the sight and the sound of Tommy letting himself go. He can't see his lovely face at this angle, but he knows that his mouth will be open, his eyes closed, his brow gently furrowed. He kisses the parts he can reach — ear, neck, shoulder, clavicle — so focused on those that he's not even thinking of his own climax, just pumping his hips on pure instinct, lost in the moment, until Tommy makes a strange whimpering sound and taps his arm frantically. And for some reason that brings him back, tips him over until he is coming too. "Fuuuck," he groans as he floods into Tommy, shuddering helplessly as he tries to hold still.

Tommy goes limp with relief, slumping drowsily onto his belly and Alfie moves heavily with him, arms still wrapped round his chest. They lie like that for several minutes, still stickily joined together. Tommy clenches once round Alfie's softened dick as it withdraws in a hot rush of slick. He seems half-asleep but still murmurs irritably at the loss, which makes Alfie want to kiss him all over again. He presses his lips to Tommy's back, smoothing a hand down his side, pausing to pull the sheets up slightly, before he starts to shiver. He sinks lower, kissing all the way down Tommy's spine to the small of his back, revelling in the smell of sweat and sex and Tommy. And affectionate as this is, his mind is being slowly overtaken by an obscene and confusing thought. He's mildly troubled by it (or more accurately, by what Tommy might think of it) but he'll find out soon enough because he's already shuffling down the bed, under the sheets, kissing as he goes. Tommy groans sleepily as Alfie pushes one of his knees up the bed and out of the way because he wants to look, to see where his cock has been, what it's done to that innocent pink hole. God, he can smell himself down here which surely has no business feeling so satisfying. He moves one hand to spread Tommy's arse and is vaguely aware of an irritable response, above the rushing of blood in his ears. "Alfie, what the fuck...?"

"Shhh," he soothes, before biting Tommy's arse-cheek gently, teeth clenching round the firm muscle. Then he pulls it aside, looking straight at the evidence of his defilement. He moans involuntarily, a sound that rattles in his aching chest, and runs one thumb up the cleft of that beautiful backside. Tommy's hand comes round to swat him, but Alfie just grips it easily and holds it in mid air. He is focused shamelessly on that glossy, wet passage — can't help but push his thumb back inside — just to see how easily it glides in now that he's fucked it open. He pumps a few times, insistent but gentle, watching the mess that drips out of him. It's impure and possessive and Alfie couldn't care less until Tommy frees his hand and grabs his hair and pulls him up the bed. "Fucking hell, Alfie," he sighs, which might mean he's cross or self-conscious. Or neither. He sounds more tired than anything. Either way, he escapes to the bathroom, leaving Alfie alone with his thoughts.

"Who else you done that for?" Alfie asks when Tommy slides back in beside him.

"What?" Tommy asks, frowning. "If you mean have I ever let anyone lick..."

"Not that!" Alfie laughs, he know enough to be sure that that was a first. "The other stuff. The bath and the hair and ... you know, the towel and that."

"Charlie," Tommy says, reaching over to the nightstand for his cigarettes. "He likes it when I do bath time. Ada, when she was a kid. Arthur was never interested in helping." He pauses as he lights the cigarette. "My mother... towards the end." He looks wistfully at the ceiling as he blows his smoke in the air. Alfie just stares at him, picturing all the things he's just said, thinking of all the things he doesn't know about Tommy. How that always surprises him.  "I can look after people you know," Tommy says, looking mildly affronted.

"Hmmm," Alfie says in a tone that sounds entirely unconvinced. "Just not yourself, eh?"

"Fuck, off," Tommy replies, but he doesn't actually deny it. He finishes the cigarette and turns to stub it out in the ashtray before pulling Alfie in close. It feels strange to be the little spoon, but Alfie goes with it, shuffling down under the covers. He's going to regret the exertion in the morning, he can already tell, his chest feels like it's filled with hot sand. He might have to hold onto that little brown bottle, without telling Tommy of course, because he did manage to forget feeling ill for a while. Bloody hell, what is happening to him? Fucking horse medicine. But he drifts into sleep happy and sated and to dreams that are filled only with stallions. Which wouldn't be his first choice, let's face it, but could be an awful lot worse.

[flash-impact-for-good]

Rethinking how we produce and deliver essential goods - 5 lessons from the surgical mask shortage

Image from Juanjo Menta https://www.pexels.com/fr-fr/@juanjomenta

The Covid-19 pandemic revealed the weaknesses of supply chains mostly relying on centralized production in cost-effective Asia, tiered contractors and subcontractors, limited inventory and just-in-time procurement. When the epidemic started in Wuhan, parts manufactured in China went scarce. As early as February 7th, 2020, although the outbreak had not reached Europe yet, auto makers warned they could shut down European plants due to Chinese parts suppliers not resuming operations [1]. Masks, that are essential for health workers to treat patients, went scarce too.

Could we imagine a more resilient system for essential goods? How would the supply chain look like? How could a revamped production and distribution model be more environmentally sustainable?

1. The Internet distributed architecture, an enlightening model for a more resilient supply chain

During the Cold War, the United States government began to focus on computer science research to conceive the most secure and resilient communication system which they would need in the event of a war [2].  In particular, this system should ensure that the chains of command would not be broken in the case of an attack.

The Internet we know today stems from this ambition. It is based on a distributed architecture of independent network nodes that are able to route messages until they reach their destination and handle peak demand in a decentralized way. The Internet is also very robust to localized failures thanks to the ability of nodes to reroute effectively.

Before Covid-19, China alone was producing about half the world’s sanitary face masks, around seven billion a year [3]. When Covid-19 hit China, factories closed and the manufacturing output sunk.

Masks are simple products but still, no western country was able to immediately produce enough for their health workers, let alone for the general population. There were only 4 mask factories in France: Kolmi-Hopen, Segetex-EIF, Macopharma et Paul Boyé Technologies with production capacity of about 4 million masks while 10s of millions were needed immediately [4].

No country either had sufficient stocks. After a few weeks, new production facilities were turned on, either manual workshops of the textile industry or automated chains. This new production capacity was instrumental to cope with an increased demand.

2. A localized production, an agile set-up with environmental benefits

Developing the local production capacity was one of the immediate and spontaneous answers to surgical mask shortage. In France, in less than 2 months, hundreds of companies mobilized capabilities to produce masks.

After decades of globalization, re-localization of industries is back in the political and economic agenda. There is a push from states to re-localize strategic industries among which pharmaceutical, technologies and food.

The combination of two trends makes this localization shift possible today: automation technologies enabling a cost-competitive local production, and a consumer demand for local products and improved traceability.

Added benefits are three-fold:

1. Development of local and resilient know-how on essential goods and business critical processes.

2. Efficiency and cost gains from shortened supply chain with improved lead-time, less inventory at each step and reduced product waste and scrap.

3. Reduced greenhouse gas emissions from long-haul transport. Transportation is responsible for almost one quarter of direct CO2 global emissions from fuel combustion [5].

After the Covid-19 crisis, companies should certainly reconsider their production and logistics organization to adapt to an increasingly volatile, uncertain, complex and ambiguous environment.

3. Interconnected data systems to manage a distributed production and a diffuse demand

How many masks do we need per week? How many do we have left in inventories? How many can we produce? The lack of information slowed down immediate actions.

The crisis revealed an important weakness in our capability to manage and consolidate data from different sources (suppliers, government, hospitals). Indeed information systems are traditionally badly interconnected with external partners and customers.

Digital collaborative platforms can be a part of the solution. An example came from the fashion industry. Together with the brand Le Slip Français, a fashion association launched Savoir Faire Ensemble, a collaborative platform to connect people who need masks, with companies that provide materials and supplies.

Collaborative tools and interconnected information systems will be key in the future to support efficient and resilient supply chains.

4. Collective intelligence for innovation and resilience

There have been countless innovative initiatives from citizens all over the world who have sought to tackle mask shortages: from video tutorials on how to make a mask with a sock and a pair of scissors to more industrial projects from the textile industry. US Major League Baseball and Fanatics partnered to manufacture masks and gowns. Many fashion players participated to the global effort and retooled their production to help: to name a few Gap, Zara, Etam, Petit Bateau, Lacoste, Saint-James, LVMH, Chantelle, Le Slip Français. Although these masks do not provide the same protection as the N95 or FFP2 worn by health workers, they do help slow down the spread of the virus.

The solidarity effort has been praised. Furthermore, this is a striking example of the ability of an industry to adapt its manufacturing and supply chain to new needs very rapidly. Commercial success or failure of the textile industry has been largely determined by the organization's flexibility and responsiveness (short time-to-market, the ability to scale up or down quickly and the rapid incorporation of consumer preferences). This is definitely an inspiring model for other sectors that want to develop more agile and resilient production systems.

5. Planning for the future

We are painfully realizing from the Covid-19 sanitary and economic crisis, that we are not very good at imagining disruptive futures. We plan them based on our known past. To avoid this cognitive bias, it is a good discipline for organizations to build strategic scenarios to be more resilient in times of disruption. As general and statesman Eisenhower rightly said “Peace-time plans are of no particular value, but peace-time planning is indispensable”.

Distributed systems, targeted localized productions, data enabled ecosystems, collective intelligence and planning, these are 5 key factors for a resilient supply chain with an ability to absorb shocks from supply and demand.  These principles are also beneficial to corporate sustainability: more transparency, more accountability, reduced greenhouse gas emissions from transports.

This article was originally published on https://www.transitionroute.com/

Corinne Bach, MBA INSEAD 05D Entrepreneur in ecological transition

Philippe Raynaud Senior Advisor in Supply Chain Transformation C-way

References

[1] Global automaker supplies threatened by China coronavirus crisis, Automotive News, February 7th 2020 https://www.autonews.com/china/global-automaker-supplies-threatened-china-coronavirus-crisis

[2] A Brief history of the Internet by Stanford Computer Science Department https://cs.stanford.edu/people/eroberts/courses/soco/projects/2001-02/distributed-computing/html/history.html

[3] As Coronavirus Spreads, Face Mask Makers Go Into Overdrive New York Times, February 29th 2020 https://www.nytimes.com/2020/02/06/business/coronavirus-face-masks.html

[4] La course pour faire renaître de ses cendres l’industrie française des masques, Challenges, April 4th 2020 https://www.challenges.fr/entreprise/sante-et-pharmacie/la-course-pour-faire-renaitre-de-ses-cendres-l-industrie-francaise-des-masques_704955

[5] International Energy Agency https://www.iea.org/topics/transport