#located right under your massive nose

[dteamhugs]

all these ccs coming out of the woodworks like "THIS is my experience with Dream. one time in 2021 i messaged him "hiiiiiiiii Dream this is me ToeSniffer97 :) i noticed u weren't responding to my previous 63 messages haha Please dream i'll do anything. i can be your footrest if you so desire. jhaha" to which he responded "who is this" As a 22 year old minor and a victim of stubbing my toe, i find this incredibly rude and ableist. DREAM you are financially responsible for my costly therapy bill and 12 sedatives i had to take. Disgusting & Hope you and your dorky friends die in a fire." I DON'T CAREEEE I DON'T GAFFFFFF he could've spat in your face, kicked your baby, fucked your mom IDGAF!!!!!! what are WE supposed to do? throw bricks at his windows? key his car? steal patches? Me personally i will go Likely story. Proably true. then go back to liking post comparing him to pictures of baby deer

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Sorry to hear you're feeling shitty after your surgery. Don't worry, your nips are NOT going to fall off. Since you asked for fic requests, I've always wondered what Ed and Stede's very first night in their inn by the sea was like.

I love this one, thank you!! I'm feeling pretty good tonight (and significantly less worried about any nipple-related complications after checking in with my surgeon earlier and getting a thumbs-up on the healing so far).

--

Ed was trying not to think too hard about what Stede's last straw would be.

He was a really good sport about the awful smell, and even continued being a good sport when they discovered that the smell befouling the whole house turned out to be due to what was formerly some kind of animal rotting under the floorboards. Ed had a brief moment of worry when Stede got a bit pissed about Ed not wanting a hug after he came back from disposing of that whole mess, but they talked it through (as a crew of two) and Ed was happy to give Stede a hero's welcome after he washed up.

But they'd just kept running into snags. The sky roof (that's what Stede was calling the massive hole in the roof) was too big to cover with the spare canvas they'd brought for it, and Stede stuck his foot directly through some boards on the porch and needed to be rescued, and Ed attempted a sexy lean against a wall in a bid to get Stede to grab him by the hips and wound up going right through...

By nightfall, their list of things to patch before the house was safe for sleeping in had grown as tall as Ed, and they decided to just sleep outside.

Ed hated sleeping outside. It was hot, and he felt sweaty and gross, and there were bugs everywhere, and - oh shit, he was getting dirt on his shirt sleeve. And the worst part...

Stede was going to change his mind any second now.

Letting his breath out in a hitching jag, Ed glanced over at Stede, laying next to him on the blanket they'd spread out in the grass, who was looking up at the stars coming out in the sky, his hands crossed over his tummy. Noticing Ed was looking at him, Stede turned his head, his face breaking into a beaming smile -

"So," Ed managed, his voice watery, trying very hard not to blink because he was sure his tears would spill over. "Sorry it's not what you hoped for."

"Are you kidding?" Stede snorted, his hand moving almost instinctually between them to twine his fingers with Ed's. "I've got you with me. Everything else is just a bonus."

"I hate sleeping outside," Ed mumbled petulantly.

"Yes, you would, wouldn't you?" Stede wrinkled his nose - not making fun of Ed, just sympathetic. "Wanna do something about it?"

Before Ed knew it, they were propping up some of the extra canvas they'd brought on sticks around them in a makeshift tent, and maybe it was much less technically suitable if they cut a nice big hole in it above their heads so they could still see the stars, but they both really wanted to be able to see the stars. Stede used a broom to whack the worst of the leaf litter and general nature-y gunk away from their location, warning it very sternly to "leave poor Ed alone," and with their skills combined they were able to get some water going over a campfire to at least have something similar to their usual sleepytime tea.

And curled up together, Ed's head resting safely on Stede's chest, snuggled up safe from the rest of the world in their little makeshift tent...everything felt alright.

"Sorry the place sucks," Ed said.

"It's a fixer-upper," Stede said easily. "Good bones. Might take some patience! But as long as I've got you -"

Ed couldn't really help but smile, when Stede looked at him like that, like he hung every one of the stars up in the sky. "And as long as you're with me -"

"Yeah," Stede said, giving Ed a big cheesy wink just to make him laugh. "I think we'll be alright."

They'd have a busy day in the morning, when they'd have to start the task of actually trying to tackle the long, long list of issues with their new home. Probably, they'd spend most of the day trying to figure out which things were urgent to attend to and which were very urgent. There would be annoyances, and setbacks, and they'd probably have lots of silly little bickering arguments that ended with I'm sorry, I love you, I'm just stressed, and I know, I know you, I love you too. Tomorrow, the whole business of retirement would probably start to look a bit difficult.

For now, though? It was the easiest thing Ed had ever done.

[thegamingcatmom]

How do you think the denalis would react to a reader who loves giving head?

Same question for the Resident evil ladies

I mean-

Pretty much that, LMAO.

Ofc they´re all for it. What´s not to love about a beautiful lady expressing that love and devotion by devouring you like she´s got them cravings? 😩🤌

So, I´d say the inward reaction is more or less the same, no matter which lady we´re talking.

On the outside, however-

Listen, some of us got a reputation to uphold, aight?

...With that said:

(Imma switch to "you" here cause it flows a lot better and makes for a more immersive feeling. ;3)

Warning Promise: Things are about to get rather gay.

.

.

.

Tanya Denali:

doesn´t care about the place

outside, inside, up, down, above, under - great, she´ll take it

she does care about the position though

we´ve been through this - she´s no Bottom

so, don´t expect her to lie down like a pillow princess

she´s a leader, ffs

an alpha

she´s either gonna be sitting (preferably on your face) or standing

perhaps she´ll lift a leg for easier access if she´s standing

then it´s showtime

she enjoys herself thoroughly and has no problem letting the world know

why shouldn´t they know?

you belong to her just as she belongs to you, after all

let them hear

when she´s feeling particularly naughty, she´ll make sure to sound as much like a porn star as she can manage

to say she loves it when you turn as red as a lobster would be quite the understatement

it drives her wild

which is one of the reasons she does it in the first place

the other reason is to ensure her sisters won´t come within miles of the two of you

(and they better stay there)

...it´s also a massive boost to her ego though, it has to be said

seeing the effect she has on you, even when she´s the one receiving?

more often than not, that´s the final straw for her

Kate Denali:

like Tanya, she doesn´t really care about the place

but, unlike Tanya, she also doesn´t care about the position

she´s just damn happy to be here, yknow?

will curse

a lot

will also compliment you

a lot

it´s actually a combination, like-

"Fuck! You´re so pretty down on your knees. All f-for me? Fucking...p-perfect! My perfect little princezná. God-"

she loves letting you know what a mess she is

all because of you

her perfect little warrior

she´ll always worship you, even when she´s the one receiving

and not just vocally

she´ll touch anywhere she can reach

will comb her fingers through your hair

will cradle and stroke your cheek/s

stroke your back

massage your shoulders

just anywhere, yknow?

she needs that contact

(she might be a battle-hardened warrior, but she´ll turn into a huge sap softie for the right person)

she´s surprisingly sentimental too, afterwards

one might even call it poetic

"If my heart could still remember how to beat, it would race in your presence...my perfect little warrior."

Irina Denali

(I know that´s not from Twilight, but listen: I need me some gifs where Irina aka Maggie looks happy, pls and ty. 😭)

she´s big Mama

(yes, I´ll keep saying it because it´s important)

she finds your enthusiasm absolutely endearing

will giggle

hand covering her mouth and all

scrunching her nose

(she´s so precious)

unlike her sisters, she prefers a more private location

preferably in your shared bedroom

she might be convinced to do it just about anywhere in the house though, as long as it can be assured it´s free of prying eyes and ears

outside might work, but only if the area is rather secluded

(she´s a private person, aight? even more so when it comes to anything bedroom-related, like, excuse? it´s hard enough sharing you with her sisters, so she´s not gonna go and give some strangers a show that´s meant for her eyes alone-)

(...fine, and her sisters´)

(ugh)

vampires don´t get cramps or anything, but she still prefers lying down for it

it just makes the experience more intense for her because, despite being quite literally indestructible, she craves that vulnerability

it´s all about having someone you can bare your soul to, someone who gets you on a deep emotional level

she needs that connection to be able to fully let herself go

but when she does, oh boy-

she´ll make the sweetest sounds

whimpering, moaning, mewling - all of it rather high-pitched and shifting in volume, depending on how close she is

won´t stop running her fingers through your hair

will whisper sweet nothings

"My good girl...making me feel so good...I love you...so much."

will keep calling you her "good girl" all the way through because she loves seeing the effect it has on you

which affects her in return

which affects you in return

which affects-

.

.

.

Without further ado, onto the Village Ladies!

(Not sure if you were referring solely to the Dimi sisters? Anyhow, my thirsty ass added two more, hope you don´t mind. 🙃✌️)

Bela Dimitrescu

she´s a Momma´s girl

which means she's a mix between condescending and encouraging

(more condescending though)

will keep calling you her "little one"

she talks a lot actually

someone has to make sure you´re reminded of your place, after all

and of hers

(all that talking is more or less for her own ego tbh)

(she´s got a reputation to uphold, aight?)

(she´s more bark than bite, most of the time)

(except when she isn´t)

(that shit hurts like a bitch btw)

"Look at you, little one...d-down on your knees for me...as it s-should be..."

"You should count yourself l-lucky, little one...to be in a position d-desired by...many-" *proceeds to break into incoherent mumbling*

"S-Serve me well, little one, and I will...I will ask Mother to...k-keep you..."

(jokes on you, that was never a question)

you would never dare say it out loud (you rather enjoy living, tyvm), but the fact she´s such a tryhard will never not amuse you

it´s very obvious she´s trying to mimic her mother

trying to be all intimidating and shit

emphasis on trying

because she fails spectacularly at it

every time

she reminds you of a spitting kitten actually

(those claws hurt like a mf though)

Cassandra Dimitrescu

(I fucking love that shot. Look at that lazy ass bish. You just know she cba about pretty much anything.)

she´s a bit like Kate actually

minus the whole worshipping

which means she´ll pretty much curse the whole way through

also loves to dirty talk

"Fuck! Someone´s been practising, hm? F-Fucking the maids in secret, are you? Dirty little whore, of course you are...f-fuck! MORE!"

she´s loud

very

and proud

very

she loves letting the whole castle know just what the two of you are up to

especially because it annoys the heck outta her sisters

(especially Bela)

also has her sickle with her

always

(it´s her partner in crime, what did ya expect?)

she´ll use it as a way to ground herself

literally

sometimes, it misses you by a hair´s breadth when she goes about impaling the ground right next to you or the wall she´s leaning against

dw, she knows what she´s doing

...probably

listen-

there´s no way she´s gonna let such a dedicated little thing like you slip through her fingers

much less on accident

what a waste that would be

so I´d say you´re pretty safe

(for now)

Daniela Dimitrescu

she´s vibrating

literally

getting her to remain somewhat still is a struggle, lemme tell ya

she´s like a hyperactive puppy

and she chitters like a little birdie

sometimes, she´ll hiss like a spitting kitten too

with Dani, you got a whole farm in your bedroom, it has to be said

she´ll keep telling you how much she loves you

then she´ll switch to almost beheading you

accidently, ofc

she´s just so...excited, yknow?

and she has a rather tight grip on your hair indeed

oh wait, she´s back to telling you how much she loves you

...

it also becomes painfully clear to her that you haven´t said it back yet

"D-Don´t you love me?!"

...

"Mine, you´re mineminemineminemine-"

that´s her fav word btw

she´ll chant it like a mantra almost all the way through

sometimes, she´ll scream it too

"SAY THAT YOU´RE MINE!"

...

she´s back to telling you how she´s always dreamed of finding true love

all loving and tenderly

a stark contrast to the maniac who almost beheaded you only seconds ago

accidently, ofc

she loves you

"Y-You´re mine...my...my Princess Charming...aren´t you? J-Just like...in the books...yes? We shall have a...A SPRING WEDDING!"

...

ofc my love, whatever you say my love

(I luv u pls no kill)

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu

she´s Big Mama

literally

but also Scary Mama

literally

she´ll have them claws out just because

(mostly to intimidate you, let´s be real)

it makes her feel like the apex predator that she is as she reclines in that big chair of hers

it´s massive, really

(we still talking about the chair?)

one leg propped up as she´s being served like a true queen

as it should be

she´ll watch you with a mix of endearment and loftiness (much like in the gif)

dancing the tips of her claws along your back

or stroking them up and down

or running them through your hair when she´s having an extra soft moment

(those are rare)

her other hand is occupied holding a glass of wine

(duh)

swirling it occasionally

taking a sip here and there

in the meantime, she´ll be fantasizing about all the ways she could end your life

(shit turns dark rather quickly in this household)

a swipe of her hand would suffice...

it´s about power, aight?

thinking about the power she holds drives her wild

she also loves taunting you

"Sssuch a nimble little mouse..."

"Or perhaps...masochistic would be a more fitting term, hm? So eager to ssserve...a dragon..."

you won´t catch her moaning and whimpering like a mutt in heat

instead, she´ll draw out some of the syllables

or hiss

sometimes, she´ll pause in between words (probs the most apparent sign that what you´re doing is affecting her a lot more than she lets on)

when she´s getting closer, the occasional grunt might escape too

more like a growl, really

however, despite her aloof demeanor, she can´t deny that she finds your devotion most...charming

that´s probs why she keeps you around in the first place

cause we all know Big Mama likes getting her ego stroked

among other things

Mother Miranda

oh boy bird

she´s Birb Mama

feathers and all

she´s also crazy Mama

crazy eyes

crazy smile

yes, she does smile

occasionally

it´s more a smirk, tbh

she does so enjoy it when her devoted little followers show her just how devoted they are

she´ll wear them robes ofc

parted just enough to allow access

feathers poking out here and there

gotta be careful not to swallow one or smt

that´d be hella uncomfortable for sure

anyhow-

you´re in the church

(duh)

but the things going on there are far from holy

she´ll stand before you

more like you´ll kneel before her

as you should be

no hands

you ain´t touching none of that

divinity shall not be sullied by the likes of you

(...we´re not gonna talk about the fact you´re sullying her alright in this very moment)

just like Big Mama, she´ll taunt you

"Is this what you wish for in your prayers at night, hm?"

running her claws (aka her rings) through your hair

"Tell me, child...does this village harbor more corrupted souls such as yourself?"

grip getting tighter

and tighter

claws starting to dig in-

*hiss*

the sound of pain evokes a small chuckle

her grip loosens a smidge in response though

(see? she´s a huge softie :3)

"Perhaps I shall cleanse it, hm? Liberate it from its sinners... What do you think, little bird?"

it´s a rhetorical question ofc

(thank fuck)

Miranda does as Miranda damn well pleases

(the idea of Miranda threatening to erase a whole village while she´s being served is so real though)

she´s very composed, all things considered

("all things" being: you eating her out as if your life depends on it)

(I mean...)

it´s almost like she´s talking about the weather or smt, honestly

then she removes her rings

the only indication you´re nearing the grand finale

now she can actually hold on tight without having to worry about impaling your pretty head

very much so

shit hurts so good like hell

but it´s also a precaution

the thing is...Miranda might not be vocal about her feelings

but she doesn´t have to be

her transforming is all the confirmation you need

it´s her way of letting go, you could say

she won´t go all out though

just parts of herself

her fingers being one of them

(yall are familiar with her mutated form, right? them fingers be going on for days)

hence, the precaution

she has lost quite a few rings that way

she´s grown rather fond of the current set

it´s got black tips and all

🖤💅🏻

.

.

.

Yall noticed how it got more unhinged as we progressed? The slow descent into madness was real with this one, LMAO. 💀

I could feel the obsession starting to creep back in with every word, lel. Dani might have just become my fav among the daughters. :3

Thanks a lot for your ask! I had a lot of fun with this one. 💋

[emwritesstuff]

DYNAMO | Steve Rogers x Reader | part 1.

HYDRA has made their share of human experiments. You're just one of them. One of the least successful ones. One of the least functional ones. At least your life in the facility gave you a few things: unwavering resilience, cool(ish) superpowers and a great sense of humor. Steve Rogers would strongly disagree with that last one. A single chance encounter with him reluctantly brings you into the Avengers Compound, and you're determined to make his life as miserable as you can. Feeling's mutual.

AO3 | Masterlist | Playlist (coming soon!)

notes: starting off a steve x reader/oc that I had lying around for a long time to cleanse our palates. (warnings: mentions of human experimentation, violence, cursing, stressed!steve rogers) (2.5K words)

1: THE CATALYST

In The Adventure of the Dying Detective, sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote: “I wonder how a battery feels when it pours electricity into a non-conductor.”

Well here’s how she feels, Doyle: exhausted – drained, if we’re getting scientific – and with a massive migraine. Sometimes nosebleeds, too. That’s how you feel whenever you use your abilities. It’s never a good time, and lately it’s been getting worse.

That’s why you’re back in this godforsaken place. Not exactly back. You’ve never been here; this specific facility was basically only an archive of sorts, and when you were still HYDRA you were confined to labs and larger, safer bases.

This place is really under everyone’s nose. It sits under a parking building in Detroit, right at the corner of a busy avenue. It’s a smart choice of location, because amidst the bustle of people coming and going for their cars, nobody looked at you twice as you went in, dropped into a maintenance hatch and ambled around until you found the heavy vaulted door you were looking for.

You’re positive there’s some information about you and the experiment you were a part – the shining star, truly – of, in here. When HYDRA fell and all of its secrets were leaked to the internet, you weren’t very worried about backing up your own records. You just wanted to live.

When you’ve spent most of your life being trained and turned into a human weapon, only ever seeing the real-world during the few missions you’ve gone on, places like McDonald’s and department stores become a whole new world of wonders once you get to experience them.

But now you needed them. Soon after the fall, however, most of the data was erased by hackers that were still affiliated with the organization. Lucky you.

However, every good terrorist knows to keep physical copies for safekeeping. And if the manila files stamped with your name were anywhere, they had to be here. Or in at least 3 other places just like this one, but you had already checked the first couple of them, and the other was blown to shit by Tony Stark and his little avenging friends.

They were really very good at that – blowing things up and causing havoc everywhere they went. Aliens, HYDRA, murderous crazed robots – whatever the enemy might be, something was sure to be exploding. And in the end, they’re still revered as heroes. Must be fun.

Anyway. Back to the files.

There’s immensurable amount of them, and they were meticulously organized, thank god, but you still decide you’d go through each one just in case.

You’re not in Assets. Also not in Agents. Or Work in progress.

Either way, it has to be here somewhere. Just maybe misplaced. Or concealed.

This place is basically your last hope, before you’re obligated to hunt down the hackers you know of and squeeze the information out of them instead. One of them has to have kept a copy somewhere, but these people were hard to find, and you are starting to feel like you’re running out of time.

The migraines and nosebleeds are getting more frequent, lasting longer, and hurting more. Not to mention the amount of times you lost control and fried every electronic on the vicinity. You could walk into a hospital, but that would probably mean getting dragged to the Raft as soon as the American government took notice of your existence.

And you seriously doubt any regular doctor would know how to deal with… whatever is going on with you.

You don’t miss your former life at all – but at least the scientists and doctors in HYDRA kept you somewhat stable. You survived this far, so someone is to blame.

It must be the adrenaline, but right now you feel great. No spots, no headache. Bouncing on your heels, bobbing your head to the music on your earbuds, while you rummage through an ocean of paper. The archive has been long abandoned, a thick layer of dust covering every surface you hadn’t touched. It’s dead quiet, too, and you start thinking you might spend the night.

It’s been a while since you’ve rested your head in a quiet place, where you didn’t have to look over your shoulder every two minutes. Yeah, that’d be fucking nice.

You’ve been on the run for god knows how long. In fact, you do know – it’s been a little over a couple of years since the public downfall of HYDRA, and everyone you used to know was either arrested, dead, or had gone underground like the rats they were.

You like to distance yourself from your former peers, mostly because if you knew they were all a bunch of Nazis – or if anyone had told you they were actually the bad guys – you probably would have found a way out sooner. Imagine your surprise, finally being free to live in the real world and finding out that everything you’ve been taught was fabricated. Still, authorities weren’t about to make that distinction so, like a HYDRA rat, you also went off the grid.

It’s safe to say you don’t really trust people these days.

You hate it, having to live in hiding. You’re not really very good at it, to be honest. It’s hard being coy, and you wear your heart on your sleeve; your face betrays you when your lack of skill for lying doesn’t. Half-truths and misdirection are the only things keeping your anonymity intact lately, and it works as long as you lower social interaction down to almost zero.

Having to decide whoever looks like they would ask the least amount of questions is exhausting. So is dodging those questions. Dodging bullets is easier. You’d backflip your way out of a full cartridge before facing a 10-minute conversation with someone.

You huff in frustration. The dust that now swirls in the air makes your eyes dry and your nose itch, you’ve already been through what’s probably a good fifty files and still, you found nothing. Not even a mention to your name or your identification number.

You scratch their faint marks on your forearm absentmindedly.

It should be here.

You’re starting to get a little offended, even.

“Can’t find what you’re looking for?”

A male voice coming from the door gets you to stand in alarm. Its owner is tall and wears a navy tactical suit, and you can make out his striking blue eyes even in the dim light of the room. He’s carrying a shield, painted in red, white and blue.

You stare at Captain America, and he stares back. He’s blocking the door you entered from. From your earlier survey you know there’s a possible exit to your left, but you doubt you can get there before that oversized dinner plate of his slices you in half.

“Who are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Cap.”

He scowls at you and you give him a smile, a crooked thing that makes you look a little crazy. “Are you HYDRA? Nat— Yes. We got company.”

So, he came with a team. Cute. Just like the comics.

“Used to be, technically. I’m done with that life.”

He cocks his head. His gaze pierces through you like laser sight.

Now there’s someone you don’t want to be trapped in a conversation with.

“So why are you here?”

You sigh. Too many questions, not enough fucking off to wherever sunny green fields he lives with his superhero friends in.

“I must’ve left my library card in here somewhere. You’d think no one would care that much about Tolstoy, but they do.” 

“Do you really think this is the time for jokes, agent?”

You watch him as he tightens his hand around his shield, and moves his feet towards you a few inches. “Ah ah – I wouldn’t do that.”

He takes another step, and you narrow your eyes.

“I don’t feel like fighting today, so. Don’t.”

“Aren’t you done with the life? You shouldn’t be considering me your enemy.”

“Do you rehearse those lines or what?”

Cap clenches his jaw. It brings you a strange kind of satisfaction to annoy him. A small victory, knowing you can get to him like that.

Yet you still feel like you’re a gazelle being hounded by a lion.

There’s still a considerable distance between you, but you know he’s strong and fast, stronger and faster than you, especially when you haven’t trained properly in so long.

And Captain America hates HYDRA. He wouldn’t hesitate in kicking your ass.

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight. Come with me, and share your intel.” He puts his shield down, and you furrow your eyebrows.

He’s wrong. It always ends in a fight. That’s just how the world works.

“You might even get a lighter sentence.”

Of course. That’s what this was about: you giving them everything you know and then getting locked up. As a treat.

“I’ll pass. I do value my freedom, I’m sure you’ll understand. Considering.”

Gesturing vaguely to his outfit, you dip down to continue rummaging through the next box of files, even finding one with the 2006-7 New Year’s Eve Party planning, but nothing about your program. Priorities.

“I can’t let you walk out of this. I’m sure you’ll understand, considering.”

You snicker.

So much for having a good day with no headache.

On the wall to your left there’s an outlet. You put your hand over it, and the electric current floats towards your palm as if it was liquid. The lights start to flicker.

“What—” You hear Captain America stammer, and you chuckle. So blissfully ignorant.

He has no idea of the freak of nature you are. Well, not really of nature. You’re more of a synthetic made kind of freak.

More energy flows into you, and the room goes dark. You rise to your feet and watch electricity crackle around your fingers, illuminating your face with a blue glow. You don’t see the Captain anymore, but you do see the glint of the shield as it’s being lifted up.

You’re sure he sees you, but he’s probably too stunned trying to process what you just did.

“Apologies in advance.”

When you extend your arms in front of you, palms aiming to the spot where you think he might be, you can’t see much.

After power flashes out of you, everything is clearer. The bolts light up the space between you and him, much narrower than you calculated, and you have to adjust your position so you can hit him.

He gurgles and shakes like a fish out of water once it reaches him, blinding blue and white encasing his body like a cocoon. He drops to the ground.

It feels like hot water in your veins until it’s burning.

It hurts, it hurts like a bitch, and as Captain America is convulsing on the floor your groans turn to wails. You haven’t done this in a while, and you forgot how much pain there is when the fuel starts running out.

You stop after a few seconds, dropping your hands at your sides, and stumble into a metal shelf when your balance falters. You could never stand using your powers for very long. But this time you don’t have to. Cap is immobile on the floor, only his eyelids twitching. Maybe you went a little hard on him.

You’d feel more sorry if he didn’t want to arrest you.

At least he’s alive. That’s something.

You taste something ferulic and wet when you lick your lips. Nosebleed.

One. Two. Three.

Your heat starts throbbing, and suddenly even the dim light is too much on your eyes.

There’s the migraine.

You were almost returning to your search when you hear the faint voices coming from his intercom. Cap? Rogers, over. Steve, you there? Over.

Rogers groans, starting to stir up. You had to get out of there, and fast, before the rest of his friends came to the rescue.

Fuck it, you could always come back another time. Or even go after those hackers already, because you doubted this place would be up for much longer, now that the Avengers knew of its existence.

You wipe your nose on the sleeve of your hoodie, grab your backpack and slip through the left exit, leaving America there to deal with his own future headache.

It took a while for Steve Rogers to recover his senses. He gained control of his eyes first, finding himself staring at a humidity stained ceiling. His extremities were tingling, and his insides felt like soup.

The burning sensation on the surface of his skin subsides after a while. His heart is racing, and he can’t really remember the last time that happened. Or why. Right now, it’s because he just got attacked by a human defibrillator.

Steve? What’s going on, Cap? Over.

He needs a minute to realize the voices are in his earpiece, and not hallucinations in his head.

I’m starting to worry, Rogers. Over.

He groans, rolling over. “M’ here. Over.”

Steve hoists himself up, thinking the girl must’ve fried his pain receptors, because his toenails hurt. And his earlobes, and his right leg. He shakes his head as if his ears have water in them.

She’s gone. For a second, he even doubts she was there at all, but there are footprints on the dusty floor, leading all the way to a door on his right.

Who—?

“Damn, you look rough.”

“What the hell happened?”

Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes show up through the same hallway he had come from earlier.

“I—I got electrocuted, I think.”

“You think?!”

Steve picks up the shield, panting.

“There was a— girl. She’s some kind of enhanced. Can’t have gone far. I’ll explain later.”

His body regains its normal functions as he’s trudging through empty corridors, Bucky and Nat at his heels. He still feels a little frazzled, but it could be worse, and he’s thankful it was him and his serum-improved body at the receiving end of the lightning.

It could be so much worse.

As it turns out, the girl is nowhere to be found, not a trace to be followed even after the trio splits up to cover more ground. Bucky insists Steve needs to be checked at the med bay ASAP. Natasha assures him that they’ll clear out the facility afterwards, even if she’s convinced none of the paper files have anything of relevance anymore.

The girl seemed to be looking for something in there, though, and Steve remembers reading frustration and dread on her wide, doe-like eyes.

She didn’t even look like someone who could be an agent, though due to the too-large hoodie she wore there wasn’t much to analyze anyway. That gets him intrigued.

Steve has a hard time letting go of things. Especially open-ended things. He spent nearly two weeks obsessing over the ending of Blade Runner, because he needed a goddamned definitive answer.

He needs to know, like he needed to know if Deckard was human or replicant.

He’ll find her.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ll be seeing him and his team again. Maybe they’ll hunt you down, since there was a big demand for ex-HYDRA people they could fill jailcells with.

Whisking away along a maze of corridors and endless doors, you manage to find a second vaulted door. You leave the whole facility undetected, hopping out a window and disappearing in a back alley.

Maybe you are a rat.

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

Muse

music major!bang chan x art major!reader

Trigger warnings: none

Content warnings: your teeth might fall out over how sweet it is??? that's literally it. it's all fluff lmao

Summary: after what you believe is a chance meeting, chan becomes your muse.

Word count: 3237

Author's note: omg hiiiii babes it's been a minuteeee. this is kinda short but it was the first thing i wrote after finally working through some stuff. shoutout to @hopelessromantic5933 for requesting this, sorry for making you wait almost two years 🥲 anyways, i hope you all enjoy it! don't forget to check out my other work ❤ and don't hesitate to send in asks! also redoing my tag list so comment or dm to be added! much loveeeeee

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

content after the cut

You let out a soft sigh as you grabbed your bag and stood from your desk. You were contemplating changing your major as you made your way out of the classroom, digging through your bag to find your phone. You loved learning new concepts and trying new things but the technique you were learning this week was one you’d never appreciated. You didn’t hate it per se, but you definitely avoided that style. It just didn’t speak to you.

You finally found your phone and began scrolling through your notifications as you made your way towards your favorite food truck. You made a confused face when you saw an Instagram notification from right after your class started. You clicked on it and were greeted with a page full of photos that screamed music major. “Who the fuck is this?” You didn’t bother to go through his pictures, choosing instead to scan his bio for any indication that you knew him. All you came up with was that you attended the same university and shared some mutual friends. He was cute from what you could see so you shrugged and approved the follow request, pocketing your phone as you reached your destination.

You placed your order and stepped to the side, turning to survey the quad. It was a beautiful day and everyone seemed to be taking advantage of it. Maybe inspiration would strike if you sat and people-watched for a bit.

You heard your name a few minutes later and gave a polite smile as you took your food, then scurried off towards your favorite tree. Campus staff had placed a massive wooden lawn chair and some fairy lights under that tree and it always felt so cozy. Plus, you had the best vantage point from there. You could almost see the entire quad from that one spot and you often found yourself sketching study groups there. Today would be slightly different since you were trying something new, but you found a sense of comfort as you settled into the chair and happily munched on your lunch.

As soon as you’d finished eating, you grabbed your sketch pad and pencil and allowed your gaze to sweep across the open field. It was teeming with life so all you had to do was choose someone and start sketching. You shook your head and chose a stationary subject first, needing to build up the courage to locate someone you’d consider asking to model for you.

Your eyes settled on a petite young woman who was seated a few yards away, sipping on coffee with her nose in a book. She almost seemed out of place here given how regal she appeared. Her posture was perfect, shoulders squared and back straight, and her hair fell over her shoulders in romantic waves. She was a picturesque beauty.

You began drawing, allowing your pencil to glide along the paper and create a version of the woman that you felt did her justice. It was far from perfect but you were certain no artist could truly capture her beauty so you gave yourself some grace. You were adding more detail when she began to pack up her things. You let out a soft sigh, knowing you’d likely never see the goddess again and this was as far as you’d get with this sketch. You flipped the page and decided to take a different approach as you spotted two men throwing a frisbee. Both were attractive, though one had a more athletic build.

You focused on the athletic one and took mental notes on the way his body moved as you began to draw him. First, you sketched out the general shape of his body as he twisted in preparation to throw the disk, then you began to add more details. You focused on the way his clothing fell and the way the midday sunlight bounced off his caramel brown hair, getting a strange sense of familiarity as you scrawled notes in the margins on the colors you’d incorporate when you got the chance.

You watched him closely as you tried to find another position to sketch him in, perking up instantly when you caught him with his arm outstretched, the frisbee leaving his hand. He was smiling brightly, displaying the most adorable dimples, and your heart sped up for a moment. You quickly began to sketch, memorizing as much detail as possible before he moved too much.

You gulped but drew even more frantically when he lifted his shirt to wipe the beads of sweat rolling down his face, revealing a six pack and prominent v-line. His proportions were perfect and if you weren’t so flustered by how attractive he was, you’d ask him to model for you. He was exactly what you needed for this project.

That strange familiarity came creeping back in as you drew but it was only when you made brief eye contact that you recognized him. He was the owner of the mystery account who’d requested to follow you less than an hour ago. You frantically looked away and continued drawing, praying he wouldn’t have anything to say when he undoubtedly recognized you from your photos.

You thought you were in the clear when he didn’t approach you after about five minutes but just when the thought crossed your mind, your luck ran out and the frisbee came flying at your head. You ducked your head quickly and listened as the disk crashed into the tree behind you.

“Felix, your arm fuckin’ sucks, bro!” Your breath caught in your throat when your unwitting model’s Australian accent reached your ears as he jogged towards you.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Called the man who’d lobbed the plastic at your head - Felix, as you’d gleaned from hearing the athletic man mocking him. He looked panicked, hands covering his mouth as he watched from where he was frozen in place. He was just as pretty and you certainly wouldn’t mind him modeling for you sometime. He had a wholesome, warm appearance.

“Sorry about him, he’s usually not such a klutz.” Your mystery man flashed a smile as he rounded your chair, taking a glance at your work as he reached down behind you.

“Ah- no, it’s not a problem. I wasn’t paying much attention.” You offered up a shy smile before looking back down to your paper. You didn’t notice him studying your pad as he retrieved the disk so you were startled when he attempted conversation as he righted himself.

“You sure about that?” He chuckled softly as he leaned over your shoulder to get a closer look and you froze. “Looks like you were paying plenty of attention.” He teased as he studied your art. Who was he and why was he so comfortable? Your heart was thumping and you wanted to vanish. “You an art major?” He asked as he stood straight once more and came around the chair to properly look at you. He was still closer to you than a stranger should be but at least you could breathe again.

Your cheeks were flaming red at being caught and you simply nodded as you began to gather your things in a rush. “I am. Sorry, this is probably really weird for you. I should-”

“What? No! This is really flattering. I don’t know a whole lot about art but you did an amazing job. Can I take a look at some of your other stuff sometime?” You froze once more but his blinding smile won against your nerves and you found yourself nodding. “Great! Can I get your number to get in touch? Or is Instagram better?”

“Ah, so you recognized me…” You let out a single huff of air that somewhat resembled a laugh as you closed your book.

“Of course I did. It’s not often I come across such a beautiful woman.” His dimples appeared once more as your cheeks went pink and your jaw dropped slightly, a smile slowly taking over your face. “Here.” He handed you his phone and you took it slowly, trying to collect yourself and remember how to use your thumbs to type your number out. When you passed it back, his fingers ghosted over yours and you retreated quickly as his smile faded into something far more flirtatious. “Thanks, I’ll text you. I’m Chan, by the way.”

“Y/n…” You murmured, enraptured by the man before you. You were dumbfounded at the way he spoke so comfortably and seemed to take an interest in you. This man was Adonis and was looking at you with an unbelievable level of interest.

“Pleased to meet you, y/n.” He began to back away as he pocketed his phone, his carefully crafted confident facade beginning to crumble, revealing a giddy young man who was thrilled to have gotten a girl’s number so easily. “I’ll let you get back to it. But do try and get my left side. That’s my good side.” He winked and you involuntarily rolled your eyes as a smile finally appeared on your lips as he made his way back to his friend with a triumphant grin.

————————————————

Your phone buzzed just after 6pm that night and you froze at the unfamiliar number.

Hi pretty 👋🏻 it’s Chan. How are you?

You quickly saved his number before responding.

hiii i’m good how are you

Much better now that I’m talking to you 😉

You were at a loss for words but he quickly sent another message.

I’d be even better if I could take you to get coffee in the near future. Are you free next weekend? Say Saturday at 11am?

You felt a jolt of anxiety shock your body but shook it off. You’d never grow as a person if you continued to shrink away from people who wanted to get to know you. Plus, he was cute. Which is why we’re anxious, dumbass. This isn’t about human connection, this is about a beautiful man flirting with you. You shook your head and typed out a response.

i think i can manage that 😆

Perfect! I’m thrilled to see you and your amazing work. 😌

————————————————

The coffee date had gone smoothly, with Chan gushing about your work and lighting up like a neon sign when you asked him to model for you. He’d been so flattered and excited that you’d asked and had immediately set up a time for you to draw him. After you’d gotten home, you texted him with more details, including where to meet and what he should wear.

Now, he was standing in your living room and you were circling him with one arm crossed over your middle while you drummed your fingers of the opposite hand against your chin. He was fighting the urge to shift around under your scrutiny and let out a tiny sigh of relief when you stopped in front of him with a smile. “I think I have an idea.”

“Have your way with me.” He grinned, ears going red when you stared at him somewhat surprised by his words. “Uh- I just- h-how do you want me to pose? That’s what I meant…” 

You laughed at his flush and shook your head. “Don’t make it weird.” You warned playfully as you pushed him towards your bedroom. You had a daybed with warm-toned sheets and pillows and knew instantly that it was the perfect backdrop. “Come on, I know what I’m gonna do with you.” He seemed to grow more flustered as he processed where you were guiding him and you almost laughed again.

Over the last few weeks, you’d grown quite comfortable with him but he seemed a little less outspoken. He was still very flirtatious but in a more genuine, careful way. He didn’t come on as strong as he did at first. While getting to know each other, you’d come to realize he was a kind man with a lot of love to give the world and a strong sense of self, not just your typical college kid. Most of your late night conversations were deep, thought-provoking, emotional discussions about life where you could see his soul was just as beautiful as his exterior. So while he certainly had his moments of being just some guy, he saved his perverted humor for his friends and kept most things with you pretty PG and entirely sincere.

When you reached your room, you nudged him towards the bed and turned to set up your easel. “Take off your shirt and socks and get on the bed.” He hesitated at first and was on the verge of sputtering some shy response when you turned back with your bottom lip poking out. “Oh come onnnn.” You whined cutely, further exaggerating your pout. “It’s for class.” Your pout was quickly replaced with a little grin as you grabbed your canvas and placed it on the easel. “Plus, it’s not like I haven’t already seen your body before.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and began to unbutton his shirt. You watched him in your peripheral vision as you continued to set everything up and had an idea.

“Actually, hold on.” You stopped him as he began to slide the linen off his muscular shoulders and he slowly put it back in place. “Just leave it open like that, that’s perfect.” You smiled as your vision fully came to you. “Socks off and get in the middle of the bed.”

He followed your instructions while watching you scurry off to your en suite bathroom to fill a cup with water. When you returned, he was sitting almost awkwardly in the center of your bed and you chuckled softly. You approached him wordlessly and knelt beside him to arrange your pillows so they were nestled in the right corner. You gestured for him to recline and stood back once he was slumped. He wasn’t lying down, he was simply sprawled across your mattress at an angle.

“Okay, bring your right knee up and sort of prop on your left elbow.” You watched as he complied and scrutinized his positioning for a moment before crawling back onto the bed. “I’m gonna make some adjustments.”

You noticed his flush creeping down his neck as you adjusted his open shirt how you wanted it to lay. “Put your hand like this.” You instructed as you demonstrated how you wanted his hand to rest across his bare torso and he complied. “And relax your left leg a bit. I want you to almost lay like Adam in Creation of Adam.”

“I think I get where you’re going with this.” He nodded, a tiny grin settling on his lips. You lifted a brow as you waited for his guess and instantly rolled your eyes when he spoke again. “You’re trying to tell me I’m a classic beauty.”

“Yes, but no.” You laughed softly as you shook your head. “Look over there.” You pointed to where you’d be sitting and made some final adjustments to his shirt as he followed your instructions. You noticed him forcing his breathing to remain steady and his flush reaching his chest as your fingers accidentally brushed against the waistband of his cream colored linen pants.

You didn’t allow yourself to worry over how you’d just touched him or to get flustered at the effect your proximity was having on him and pushed ahead, reaching to fix his hair. You adjusted a single curl and brushed a few strands away from his eyes before your gazes met and you lost the battle to remain calm. Your cheeks went a soft pink as he smiled up at you. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You whispered back, smiling back at him and allowing your fingertips to trail down the side of his face. Seeing him this close made you even more certain of your decision to cast him as your model. His skin was flawless and his bone structure was heavenly. He truly was a god among men. And his lips…

“You’re staring.” He whispered, his smile slipping away as he noticed the way your eyes locked on his full lips.

“I’m not…” You refuted his claim but still couldn’t look away.

“You are.” His face grew redder and you thought he might kiss you but he didn’t dare move after you’d finally gotten him perfectly positioned. It was almost maddening.

“I’m not.” You finally looked towards his eyes and found him staring at your lips as well. “You are.”

“Can’t help it. You have pretty lips.” He slowly met your gaze and something in you snapped. You’d been wanting him to kiss you for a couple weeks and he hadn’t so you took matters into your own hands.

When your lips met his, he hesitated. Not because he wasn’t interested, but because he was surprised that you’d initiated it. You’d given him the impression that you wanted him to take the lead and he wanted to be careful with you so he hadn’t dared to do more than hold your hand. But now your lips were on his and he was in the clouds.

He slowly brought his hand up to cup your face without disturbing the careful placement of his shirt and allowed his lips to move against yours. Your heart was racing at how slow and sweet the moment was. It felt like the stars had aligned and you found yourself smiling against his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for a little while now.” You whispered and began to pull back.

“Me too. I’ve been trying to take it slow with you though. Didn’t wanna move too fast and risk scaring you off.” He explained quietly, not really letting you move as his hand slipped to the back of your neck. “So come back here, we’ve got a couple weeks of lost time to make up for.” He teased as he chased your lips.

“You did the exact opposite. You were driving me mad wondering what exactly was happening between us.” You laughed softly before allowing him to kiss you again. His lips felt perfect against yours and you knew instantly that you’d quickly become addicted.

It couldn’t have been more than three minutes of sharing chaste kisses but it felt much longer and you frowned a bit when you finally came up for air. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to get to work now or you’ll be stuck waiting here until late into the night.”

“I could wait an eternity for you, babe.” He winked before immediately cringing. You couldn’t help but laugh loudly at the face he pulled and he took a moment to admire your joyful expression before shaking his head. “That was so cheesy, I’m sorry.” He chuckled and settled back into his previous position. “Work your magic.”

“For the record,” you started as you stood and studied him once more. “I love little pet names like that.” You hummed, making your way to your canvas. “So I’d really like it if you continued to use them.”

“Of course, baby girl. But don’t be surprised if I rarely use your real name then.” He grinned and relaxed his hand, allowing his fingers to splay out against his stomach.

“I’ll hold you to that. Now give me an emotionally tortured smolder.” You smiled to yourself at his soft laugh and began to sketch out the god of a man lounging on your bed.

[swampstew]

Captain_CumShot

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Take a seat on the chaise lounge, plug your electronic device in so you can enjoy this multi-chapter, full blown smut story. The Captain is the snack and sadly, I have nothing to offer to soothe the yearning. As always, links to Wattpad and AO3 at the bottom. Enjoy, from your favorite loyal, cabin hoe♥

Summary: Eustass Kid finalized his OnlyFans account - let's hope it doesn't get reported again.

Minors DNI you will be blocked - for adult audiences only.

A digital illustration of ocean waves and a menacing looking ship sailing the waters graced the banner of the OnlyFans account, layered with a deep red, blood-stained filter over the art. Right under the seafaring artwork in bold letters spelled out Captain_CumShot, the owner of the account. A partially faded jolly roger was pinned behind the account name, as if to add to the mischievous vibe of the page.

The circular profile photo was a zoomed in snapshot of the Captain’s face. He looked dangerous – a pair of worn, welding goggles pushed back his long red hair, a red-painted, wide-mouth grin with his tongue poking between his teeth, and sharp golden eyes pierced anyone who looked upon the photo with a sly look. A long, narrow nose centered on his face, shaved eyebrows, two long scars over his left eye, and an anti-eyebrow piercing on the side of his right cheekbone accentuated his devilishly handsome face. Was the dark, liquid-like substance that stained his face blood or something naughtier? His location placed him in the great State of Desire.

Captain_CumShot’s profile page was expertly put together. The first thing one would notice was his About Me poster. Another photo of the undeniably sexy face graced the cover, this time in the middle of being splattered by a viscous looking liquid; it had the same blood-stained filter layered over it like the profile banner. The subtitle under the photo read: No Discounts - Only thirsty bitches willing to pay get to have a sip.

He had a message for his readers –

“Hiya dolls. This is the one and only page for Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid, the kind of guy all your parents warned you to stay away from. I’m terrible, toxic, and plain fucking awful for your frail little hearts, and I know that just makes you want me more. Unfortunately for you, I’m untouchable. Fret not, little dolls. Just because you can’t have a taste doesn’t mean I’ll leave you hanging. I’m nothing if not a huuuuge tease, with a huuuuuuuuge cock to back it up. Have a little morsel that I was decent enough to leave for you👇🏻 If you’re brave enough, subscribe to my page and I’ll show you the deepest, darkest pleasures that you’ve never known.”

A video with a thumbnail was below the message. From what wasn’t censored, one could see his luscious red locks falling backwards as he hung his head back, face screwed shut in the throes of pleasure.

*Press Play?*

The focal point of the camera was blurred as the massive, redhaired beast of a man stepped away from the device, allowing it to focus on its subject and present him in the highest quality. He was wearing compressed underwear and nothing more. A pile of abandoned gym clothes kicked away in a bundle off to the side of the incline bench press he stood next to as he flexed for the camera. Bulging muscles on every inch of him as he twisted and turned, all the while sneering at the camera as if to say, don’t you wish you could crawl through the screen to touch me.

He pulled off the headband from his forehead and shook his sweat-slicked hair, little droplets of perspiration reflected off the lighting in the room. An indoor gym – it must have been a personal, in-home gym or the man truly gave no fucks who saw him as he proudly began stroking his hardening cock through the dark underwear.

Using thick, red painted fingers, he bobbed his large bulge until it strained against the fabric. His balls gently jiggled behind the underwear the more he played with his cock.

“Alright, I’ll stop fuckin with ya,” he spoke in a low, gravelly voice. “You came all this way for some dick, least I can do is show ya what you’re gonna be payin’ for. It’s worth it, you’ll see.”

A small pop-up with a reminder to subscribe to his account showed before disappearing again after two seconds.

Captain_CumShot pulled his underwear off and stepped closer to the camera. His cock was beautiful. Long and thick, adorned with veins running from base to just below his tip. Engorged head redder than the rest of his shaft, the light reflected off the bead of precum that was threatening to spill out of his slit. Neatly trimmed red hair, darker than the hair on his head framed his shaft.

“Like what you see? You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he growled through his sneer, putting his headband back on before spitting in his flesh hand, returning it to his cock.

Slow, teasing strokes up and down his member, his hips buckled slightly as he tightened his grip around the head. Using his thumb, he ran the digit around the swollen tip, smearing precum down the rest of his cock before using two fingers to gently pull his sack, letting out a low groan as he let his eyes close.

“I want you to imagine,” he rasped, “You’re against this bench. And I’m gonna fuck you raw on it,” he grinned.

Turning his body to the bench press, he stood with the seated section between his legs as he pressed his cock against the smooth, black backseat. Then he started grinding against it.

He gripped the top of the bench press with his metal prosthetic, propping his flesh hand behind his back to provide a better view of his inappropriate use of the gym equipment.

“Imagine my heavy cock sliding against your warm, wet center,” he teased, hips snapping sharply. “Hitting against your most sensitive areas, making you writhe and cream against me, all before I even stuff it inside,” he cackled.

He hung his head back and let out a moan, slowing his motions in exchange for short, lazy snaps. Pulling back just enough to let his cock bob freely, a line of precum clinging to his tip and the bench.

“Mmmm, I normally go for much longer but this is a so-called teaser to draw you in to subscribe. Keep that in mind when you think of me when you’re alone. Or maybe when you’re out in public, I like kinky sluts like that.”

Moving the camera stand closer to the bench press, Eustass Kid moved back to his starting position and pace on the equipment. He spit in his hand again and coated his cock before he slapped it against the material of the bench, putting all his body weight against his cock as he grinded against it once more. Shoulder muscles tightened under his alabaster skin as he used both arms to steady himself, the camera’s titled angle allowed for a delicious view of his panting face, his flexing muscles, and on his pulsing cock as he shamelessly rut on the bench. Moaning loudly as he brought himself closer.

“Wh-where, where would you want me, I wonder,” his long tongue between his grit teeth as he panted. “I know my loyal cabin hoes would let me finish inside,” he winked. “Ah ah! Fu-fuck!” escaped from him as he let out a few final thrusts.

The tip of his cock turned a dark shade of red as all his blood pooled. Twitching, he let out ropes of thick, gooey cum that smeared and ran down the angles incline. White streaks sliding down around his cock as he lazily thrusted as he rode out his orgasm.

“Hnnghh, fuck yeah,” he breathed. “That’s just the first round. I have a lot of stamina. Vids are short for upload reasons but if you want, long, torturous, and sinful content, make sure you subscribe to gain access to my live streams. You’ll be creaming your pants and begging me for more. Check out the tiers, the bonuses, and my wishlist. The more you thirsty whores pay me, the nastier I’ll get. See ya inside,” he winked again, blowing the camera a kiss as he slapped his cock against the bench press before a still frame of his prices took over the screen.

Captain_CumShot’s Main Menu:

Tier I – Deck Swabber – access to content 1 month prior to subscribing, access to videos and cumshot photo gallery.

Tier II – Sea Wenches – all treats in the first tier, plus access to professional pin-up photo gallery, access to content 2 months prior to subscribing, and access to live streams.

Tier III – Cabin Hoes – all treats in the first two tiers, plus sexting (messaging only), a lewd monthly calendar template, access to all published content prior to subscribing, and personally catered 60-second degradation videos.

Pay me or buy me shit off my wishlist and I’ll let you see my menu of forbidden treasures. More add-ons, services, treats, and surprises only for loyal hoes inside.

It lasted for 20 seconds before the video continued on for the last 15 seconds. The camera zoomed in on the cumshot on the bench press. A thick, white puddle pooled on the sitting section as it dripped from the risen back section. The camera showed off the streaks of viscous, opaque lines that ran down from the angled section from where his seed had initially hit. The camera’s view went back to the puddle, where a red nail dipped into the thick of it, dragging his essence downwards until the video ended.

Leave a like to tip OR hit the reblog button to subscribe.

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

[vodika-vibes]

I‘m just gonna slide in here and kindly ask for Boba + holiday getaway 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Mountain Getaway

Summary: Boba treats you to a lakeside vacation, your first one since you were a child.

Pairing: Boba Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 1306

Warnings: Smut, oral M! receiving

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: This one doesn't feel as good as yesterdays, but I might be over thinking it. I'm probably over thinking it.

“Are you enjoying yourself, cyare?” Boba asks, his voice amused as he watches you balance on a stone wall, and he offers you his hand as you come to the end of the wall.

You grin at him, “Give me a break, I haven’t been on vacation in…ever?” You take his hand and hop down to the ground, sure that Boba would never let you get hurt.

“I know, that's why I paid for this.” Boba replies with a small grin, and then he spins you, and you release a delighted laugh before you twirl into his arms, your arms sliding up around his neck.

“Imagine being rich enough to afford to go on vacation,” You joke.

“I am rich enough to afford vacations, cyare. Not everyone is a starving artist.” Boba says as he holds you tightly.

“I’m not starving!”

“Only because I give you a weekly allowance for food.” He kisses you quickly, “Now, we’re never going to make it to our destination by nightfall if we don’t hurry.”

You give him a very innocent look, and he lightly taps the tip of your nose, “Don’t give me that look. We both know I’m right.”

“I know, I know. There’s just so much to see!” You thread your fingers with Boba’s and lay your head on his shoulder, “Okay, I’m done being distracted, lead the way!”

“You’ll be distracted again the moment you see a pretty flower.” Boba replies dryly.

You pout at him.

“Luckily, I love that about you.” Boba finishes with a fond smile as he brings your joined fingers to his lips and kisses them. And then he tugs you back to the path. “It’s also fortunate that we’re not far from where we’re supposed to be going.”

“You rented us a cabin?” you ask as you allow him to lead you down the path.

“A lake house, actually.” He leads you a little further up the path and then motions to a medium sized house sitting down the path, sitting almost right on the water.

“Ooh,”

“I had to pay extra to get a house located in just the right place to be able to watch the sunrise from the bedroom,” Boba grumbles under his breath, though there’s a warmth in his gaze that suggests that he’s not half as upset as he might pretend.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You say as you look up at him adoringly.

“Hm, to keep you looking at me like that, cyare, I’d do a lot more.” Boba replies honestly.

You duck your head, still a little shy even after over a year of dating, “I don’t look at you in any specific way.” You mumble.

“I disagree,” His fingers are light against your jaw, effortlessly encouraging you to focus your gaze on him again, “Come on, let’s get to the house and take a look at what we got.”

“Alright.” You agree, and the pair of you fall into a comfortable silence as you walk the remaining distance to the house.

It’s bigger than you thought, almost too big for two people, though it’s not as though you’re moving in, you’re only renting the place for a week. Boba explains that food has already been delivered, as have all of their clothes for the week, though you’re only half listening.

Because when you went upstairs, you saw that there’s a firepit on the massive balcony, surrounded by a massive lounge sofa. Massive in the sense that you could probably lay on one next to Boba and still have space to move around.

“Boba?” You call to the bedroom, where you can hear him stripping his armor off, “Can we light this?”

“What’s ‘this’?” Boba asks as he steps out of the bedroom only in the bottom part of his under suit. He follows your voice to the balcony and a slow smile crosses his face when he sees the fire pit, “Of course we can, cyare.” He kisses your temple, “Let me finish changing, and I’ll get started.”

“Thank you, Boba.” You reply cheerfully.

“You’re welcome, love.”

Half an hour later, you’re curled against him, half watching the fire dance cheerfully in the fire pit, and half watching the stars appear in the sky. Boba is reading something on his datapad, and you’re pretty sure that it’s work related, so you don’t even consider peeking at it.

No, instead you twist your body and press your face against his neck, and your lips travel to the spot just under his ear that you know drives him insane, and you press a light kiss against that spot. And then you, very gently, nibble on the same spot, and Boba groans.

You hear him set the datapad to the side, and a small grin crosses your lips as he wraps his arms tightly around you, tugging you so that you’re laying on top of him, “Is my perfect girl feeling neglected?” Boba rumbles in your ear.

You turn your head against his shoulder so you’re able to look at him, a small, almost innocent, smile on your lips, “Not neglected,” You correct, “Just wanted your attention.”

He hums in reply, and his hands drag down your body, pressing you firmly against him, “Well, you have my attention, cyare. What are you going to do with it?”

You blink at him, “I dunno, I didn’t think this far ahead.”

Boba chuckles and you smile softly, “I have an idea,” He murmurs. His hands, which had just been lazily wandering your body, start moving with more purpose, as he tugs and slides your clothing, until you’re totally naked, and still laying on top of him. 

You flush slightly, “Boba, someone could see.” You whisper.

Boba’s hands settle on your ass and he squeezes firmly enough that you squeak, “Let them. They’ll know that I’m a lucky bastard,” He crashes his lips against yours, one of his hands settling on the back of your neck to hold you tightly against him. 

His free hand slides over your thighs, and then dips between your legs to slide along your folds, and you gasp out his name in surprise.

“I think you like the idea of getting caught, cyare,” Boba whispers in your ear, “My sweet, shy girl,” His finger dips between your folds and a smug smile crosses his face when he finds you already wet, so he takes a moment to ease a single digit inside you, “You like the idea of letting people see that you’re mine.”

You whimper even as you clench around his finger, and he chuckles as he slowly pulls his finger out and brings it to his lips to lick it clean.

He groans in pleasure, “You taste amazing, cyare.”

Boba considers you for a moment, your eyes hazy and your lips parted as you breathe a bit heavier than normal, and he smiles slowly. He lightly taps your hips, to move you to the side for long enough that he’s able to peel his own clothes off. And then he smirks when he sees how your gaze lingers on his hard cock.

“What do you want, cyare?” He asks lightly.

You flicker your gaze to meet his, “Can I taste you?” You ask.

His hand settles in your hair, “Always. It’s adorable that you still feel the need to ask though.”

You slide down his body and lightly grip the base of his cock, “You never know, you might say no sometime.”

“Not to you,” Boba replies easily, a heavy groan falling from him as you trail your lips down his length, not taking him in your mouth just yet, but working your way up to it.

And, as you take his length in your mouth, you can’t help but think that this is the start to an excellent vacation.

[maskedcop10]

AI created by Dark Terran

He was in his full uniform and all masked, John wanted to do something different. He was a big fan of uniforms and especially total leather uniforms. It took John a long time to get the right mask. Finally it was there and it exceeded John's expectations. This mask with his uniform would be so good during the leather event, putting it on always got John all excited and now with the mask it was even better. His 9.5” soft cock hung down past his pant leg. Tight heavy cock ring around his massive balls. The bulge along his pant leg was great, he loved it this way. Next came the mask, which came with his uniform. No skin on his neck or anything. Two nose pipes for better breathing. Two red lenses to make it look even better. The best part of the mask was the black rubber tongue and the big teeth. John had customized the mask with 4 large fangs that could be seen when he opened his mouth. He looked in the mirror and clasped his big bulge. fuck he looked so hot. It was a stone's throw from his rented apartment for the next week. He walked to the street and after 2 minutes he reached the street where the main hall was located. John slowly walked around among the many leather and rubber guys, SWAT men and uniform guys. As a cyborg, John liked to play his role perfectly and walked around slowly. Men watched him and occasionally he felt a hand on his huge bulge. John saw a few friends but he didn't want to show his identity so he walked on. He walked down the middle of the street and stood on one of the corners. There were so many men walking around that it was hard to concentrate on just one. A group of full leather uniform men walked by. One in particular caught his attention. In perfect uniform, and very detailed, high riding boots, cap, gloves. A perfect man in uniform. John did not want to follow the group so he stayed in place. After a while he saw the uniform again but this time alone, The man walked to one of the beer tents and bought a beer. As John looked at the man he noticed that the man also extremely hung John likes men in that uniform. The man stood behind him and watched the crowd walk by. Suddenly John felt a hand between his legs and widened his legs slightly. The hand moved between his legs. John turned and looked at the man. Man how good you look said the man. I love that mask, it gets me all excited. John moves a little towards the man and the man saw John's huge bulge. The man's hand moves over the bulge. Man how big are you. Slowly John opened his mouth and his big teeth could be seen including his four fangs. The man looked at it and placed his mouth over the big mouth of John's masked face. The man felt the large rubber tongue that John had. The man's tongue moved inside the rubber mask and the man pressed his bulge against John's O, man I love being fucked by a monster like you said the man. Normally I'm top, but this made me get on my knees and worship you completely. The man placed a vial under the what he called nose of the mask and made John inhale deeply. This was the best stuff he had had in years and John inhaled again. The man did the same and put the vial away. They kissed and felt each other's bodies and the man was totally turned on by John. He pulled at his head again, now showing his big fangs even better and slowly moved to the man's neck. Oh man yes force those fangs into me body suck me dry with your strength. said the man and wanted to get all up in his role. This is what John liked and pulled him through the heavy crowd down to his apartment, where they both had the best time for a long time

[pantoneyoongi]

neon signs | nice gloves

title ; nice gloves  pairing ; campus crush!yoongi x campus crush!you 

notes ; 

this is part of the neon signs drabble series, where drabbles are released in random order (but listed chronologically in the masterlist!) 

series description ;

namjoon doesn’t think it can get any clearer outside of yoongi building a giant neon sign saying i have the absolute biggest crush on you but apparently, book smarts don’t exactly translate when it comes to you and your massive crush on min yoongi. 

(alternatively: namjoon and hoseok try for three years straight to get you and yoongi together.) 

word count ; 1.3k

tags ; fluff, it snowed recently so i had to write it, i love them sm they’re so cute n soft, pls go to masterlist for more / general tags 

your phone wakes you up at what you consider awful o’clock, largely because you’d been planning to sleep in today so who- 

namjoon. of course it’s namjoon. 

“what,” you whine, rolling so that you’re even further burritoed into your blankets. 

“open the door,” namjoon’s voice sounds awfully close for someone on the phone. “i’m outside.” 

your brows furrow. a cursory glance over your left shoulder indicates your roommate is still sleeping, looking like a lump buried under blankets on her bed, the way you would also like to be right now, if not for namjoon apparently being outside your room at - you squint at your phone - 10am on a saturday. 

“why are you here?” you complain as quietly as you can when you open the door, but instead of responding, namjoon simply leads you to your window. 

the gasp you let out is a little too loud, your roommate stirring, causing you to quickly slap your hand over your mouth to muffle yourself. “oops,” you mouth to namjoon, who snickers under his breath. 

“hurry up,” he gestures to your dresser. “hoseok is trying to get yoongi right now.” 

you frown. “i don’t think yoongi sleeps with his ringer on.” 

“no, but his roommate is usually either not here or sleeps like the dead, so if hoseok knocks loud enough, he can probably force yoongi out of bed.” namjoon conveniently leaves out the part where hoseok will mention your name as many times as needed to get yoongi out of bed. 

you usher namjoon out of the room to get changed, throwing on several layers before tucking yourself into boots and your heaviest winter coat. you snag a beanie and your keys and then duck outside, yanking the beanie low over your ears before beaming up at namjoon. “i’m ready.” 

namjoon grins.

.

.

.

you love winter. people say you’re more of a summer kind of girl, so they’re always surprised when they find out winter is your favorite season. but you love the holidays, the hot drinks, the snow. you love the snow. 

your eyes shine when you reach the doorway of your building, clear glass revealing the landscape of snow before you, still mostly fresh and untouched by students trudging around. namjoon taps the pompom of your beanie. “come on,” he opens the door, blasting you immediately with the cold air, making you wrinkle your nose slightly. “i don’t think hoseok’s strong enough to keep yoongi held outside for long.” 

the snow crunches beneath your boots, crisp and clean. you and namjoon locate hoseok easily enough, hoseok bursting out the doors of the student center as soon as he spots the two of you, yoongi miserably trailing behind him into the cold. you giggle at the look on his face - or rather - in his eyes, seeing as he’s bundled head to toe, scarf covering the majority of his face and his beanie covering the rest. 

“it’s cold,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the scarf. 

“but it’s so nice,” you inhale deeply, enjoying the fresh air. it always feels cleaner after a recent snowfall, and there’s just something so satisfying about being surrounded by it, before it can get muddied by people and cars. 

yoongi would disagree with you if he had what hoseok calls a backbone - “yoongi, stand up,” hoseok keeps telling him whenever he catches yoongi melting at the sight of you. but he just can’t help it. you look happy, and that’s really all that matters to him. 

and then namjoon smacks you in the back with a snowball, and yoongi watches the way your expression drops, a dangerous spark in your eyes. 

namjoon’s too busy cackling to notice the way you spin slowly, dipping down to gather snow in your bare hands, ignoring the way your fingers freeze immediately, skin turning red from the cold. none of it matters, especially when the snowball hits namjoon square in the face, snow still soft enough not to do any damage minus namjoon spluttering and coughing, pawing it off his face. 

you smile pretty at your best friend, that sweet smile that’s won the hearts of half the campus. but they all know you too well, can see the way your eyes light up with a challenge - and the teams are decided without words, namjoon chasing after you as you scream, snagging snow as you run around, spinning around to launch it at namjoon whenever you get a chance. yoongi makes a despondent noise when hoseok gives him a wicked grin, turning and shuffling away with bare minimum effort even when hoseok drops a wet pile on his head. 

it’s when you grab yoongi by the hands - tugging him out of hoseok’s reach, beaming up at him, that yoongi starts to actually move, letting you pull him along. “come on,” you giggle. “i don’t lose snowball fights yoongi, i’m not gonna start now.” 

yoongi wants to whine, it’s so cold, but how is he supposed to be the one to deny you? so he ducks and dodges and even occasionally whips up a snowball and lands a couple hits on namjoon (he’s an easier target than hoseok) before eventually deciding he’s better off just making snowballs for you behind the mountain the snow plows had dumped off to the side, using it as a fort for protection. 

“y/n,” he calls, drawing your attention, breathless when you spin towards him, glowing with happiness. he forgets for a minute what he wanted to say, but you tilt your head cutely at him and he beckons you over. you bounce over to him, full of energy, and he bites his lip, endeared. “hands,” he says, and you blink at him, putting your hands out in front of him while hoseok and namjoon are still preoccupied with trying to tackle each other. 

he slips his gloves off, tugging it over your hands instead, pointedly staring down at your hands instead of your face. your eyes are on him, lips parting slightly in surprise at the way he carefully makes sure the gloves are tugged down as far as they can go, a bit big on you. 

“won’t you be cold, yoongi?” 

he shakes his head, shrugging. “i’ll be okay,” he finally looks up when he’s satisfied with his gloves on your hands, smiling gently at you. your heart flutters, a habit for whenever his lips curve upwards like that, gaze soft on you. you smile back. 

both of your heads whip in the same direction when you hear a particularly loud yelp, to find namjoon on the ground, half covered in snow. hoseok cheerfully continues to bury his roommate, on his knees next to namjoon, glancing up to give you a big grin and a wave. yoongi watches as you run over immediately, launching yourself next to namjoon and kicking your legs out, making snow angels. 

“i love snow,” you sigh, tilting your head towards namjoon. “you’re the bestest friend ever.” 

namjoon, having given up on fighting hoseok, tries not to move too much from the pile he’s under. “i know,” he says. then, “nice gloves.” 

you’ll blame your red cheeks on the cold, but you do hold your hands out in front of you, stretching your fingers to display the gloves yoongi let you borrow. you don’t even realize you’re smiling again until yoongi’s head pops into view, hovering over you. 

your smile grows even bigger at the sight of him, and you wave. he pulls a hand out of his pocket to wave back, one corner of his lips tugging upwards. your hand twists to the side, yoongi taking the hint to tug you up. instinctively, he reaches out to brush the snow out of your hair and off your hat, making you feel shy. 

“should we go back inside, yoongi?” you ask, but he keeps his concentration on getting the snow off you, shaking his head. 

“we can stay,” he says, and despite the chill of the snow melting onto your clothes, you feel warm. 

masterlist ; neon signs

taglist ; @thelilbutifulthings @bbsantc @chickentenderx @taegijns @princxssly82 @manuosorioh @sugaluvmyg 

[chicgeekgirl89]

Fandom: 911 Lone Star Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes, Iris Blake, Nancy Gillian, Tommy Vega, Judd Ryder, Marjan Marwani, Paul Strickland, Mateo Chavez Summary: When the crew of the super yacht Firebug finds themselves in need of a new chef, stew Iris Blake is quick to provide them with a solution: her ex, Carlos Reyes. Second stew T.K. Strand is prepared to share his cabin with their new chef, but he is not prepared for how quickly Carlos Reyes heats things up in the galley. Will their boatmance set sail? Or will it sink to the bottom of the Caribbean Sea? A/N: I have loved Below Deck in all its iterations since the day it first aired, so as I was thinking about a fun summer fic, a yachting au came to mind. This is my first (technically, sort of, mostly *cough cough*) au, and it was a HUGE challenge. I'm not sure I've gotten every detail of yachting life correct, but hopefully it's close enough for a good time! Read on AO3

Chapter 1: On Top

“T.K., T.K. Nancy. What is your location?”

“Busted,” Mateo says from where he’s laid out, one arm thrown up over his eyes to block out the sun.

“What do you mean busted? My shit is cleaned and polished and ready for charter,” T.K. says, kicking him in the leg. “You’re the one who’s slacking off.”

He reaches for his radio without getting up from his reclined position in his lounger. “Nancy, Nancy, T.K. I’m on the sundeck.”

“Copy that. On my way.”

“You’d better leave before she gets here,” T.K. tells him. “She’ll rat you out to Judd.”

“Nah,” Mateo says, wiggling a little bit so he’s more comfortable. “I think she likes me.”

T.K. wrinkles his nose. “Doesn’t she have a girlfriend at home?”

“Maybe.” Mateo shrugs. “But the heart wants what it wants. And what happens on charter stays on charter.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works,” T.K. tells him. “Please don’t go having a boatmance with my chief stew. That’s going to make things all kinds of awkward when she dumps your ass.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna be dumping my ass,” Mateo says, clearly offended. “She’s gonna get one taste of the Chavez and—“

“I would’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Nancy says as she strides onto the sundeck, clipboard in hand.

“Hey Nance,” Mateo says, trying to cover up how flustered he is.

“I just passed by Judd. He mentioned you had a jet ski to clean,” she says pointedly.

“Oh um, yeah, yes. I’ll just go do that…right now,” Mateo says, scrambling to his feet and heading back to work as T.K. chuckles.

The new deckhand likes to talk big and it’s pretty hilarious. He’s as green as they come, but he’s a quick learner and T.K. knows Judd has been pleased with his progress. 

“I vacuumed the main salon, did the beds and the bath in the master, and cleaned and restocked the bar,” T.K. says. “Iris is finishing up in laundry and then she’ll be done.”

“What did I do to deserve having the most perfect co-second stews in the world?” Nancy says, feigning tears as she plops down into the chair Mateo’s just vacated. “I didn’t come to ask about that though. Are you cool if the new chef bunks with you?”

“Oh we got someone?” T.K. asks. That last he’d heard Captain Tommy had still been calling around.

“Yeah Iris’ friend that she mentioned during our tip meeting,” Nancy says. 

Right. The tip meeting.

He’d been sandwiched between Judd and Nancy on the sofa in the main salon, a glass of sparkling cider in his hand as they all toasted the massive tip their previous charter had left for them. It was their biggest so far of the season and for good reason. They’d worked their asses off.

“Okay so as you know, unfortunately Chef Pearce is no longer able to finish the charter season with us,” Tommy had said as she passed out fat envelopes of cash to each of them.

“And good riddance,” Nancy mumbled under her breath.

Pearce had made all their lives a living hell with his fastidiousness and inability to be flexible with their charter guests’ whims. When Nancy had brought back a steak that their primary guest had deemed too rare it had been the last straw for him and he’d immediately packed all his things and left the next morning without a goodbye to anyone.

“So,” Tommy said, giving Nancy a look that said she agreed with her but wasn’t going to badmouth any former staff, “we are currently looking. It’s a pretty big vacancy to fill and we need someone asap.”

“I have a friend who could probably do it,” Iris had immediately piped up. “Well, technically he’s my ex, but he’s also a friend. I’ve known him since elementary school. One time in third grade, I punched Jimmy Echolls in the face and he—“

“Iris,” Tommy said gently, guiding her back to the moment at hand.

“Right, sorry. His name is Carlos and he’s a chef. A really good one.”

“Give me his contact information and I’ll reach out,” Tommy said. 

That had been two days ago and the last T.K. had heard about it. Thank god they’d had an extra day in between groups so they hadn’t had to explain to any guests that their dinner choices were boxed mac and cheese or Chinese take-out. The crew had been taking it in turns to make dinner for themselves so they wouldn’t starve, but nobody had the skills necessary to serve five star meals to guests shelling out over a hundred thousand dollars for a vacation.

“Seriously, you’re going to make me bunk with another temperamental chef?” T.K. sighs. “Pearce made me clean the grout in our bathroom with a toothbrush.”

“Judd and Mateo are bunked together,” Nancy says. “I don’t want to move them because Judd’s a good influence on the greenie. Marjan and Paul refuse to be separated from what they have started referring to as their “bestie cave.” And I’m certainly not giving up Iris. She doesn’t snore or leave the toilet seat up. So that leaves you.”

“This is really unfair,” T.K. grumbles. “I feel like you’re taking advantage of my easy going nature.”

“Oh I for sure am.” She gives him a pat on the leg as she gets up. “Gotta go. Next guests want an 80’s themed dance party so I gotta call the provisioner. Get ready for some glow in the dark body paint. New chef’ll be here in like an hour so if you have any weird sex stuff lying around go take care of it now.”

“I want a new chief stew!” T.K. yells as she heads back inside.

She turns around and flips him the bird before the sliding doors close behind her.

He’d known he’d end up being the one sharing and he doesn’t really begrudge Nancy’s decision. It doesn’t make sense to move everyone around when they’re already comfortably settled in their rooms. Plus it’s not like he’s going to force Iris to shack up with her ex. It’s just been nice to have the room to himself after dealing with Pearce for a month.

He groans and hoists himself up from the chair, grabbing his towel to carefully wipe away the ring of condensation his sparkling water has left on the side table. Judd is a pretty kind and understanding bosun, but he’ll rip you a new one if he catches you dirtying up the boat after the deck crew has already cleaned things off for a new charter. 

He takes the stairs carefully down to the galley and swings by laundry on his way to his cabin. Iris is in there with her headphones on, bopping away to something he can’t hear as she irons one of Tommy’s white shirts. He taps her on the shoulder and instinctively ducks out of the way as she whips around, arms flailing defensively. “You scared the shit out of me!” she says loudly as she rips out one ear bud.

“Sorry. I came to see if you need any help.”

“Nah, just finishing up Captain’s stuff and then I’m done,” she tells him. 

“I heard your ex is going to be my new roommate,” T.K. says. “Anything I should know?”

“About Carlos?” Iris shrugs. “He’s a guy. He’s nice. Good chef.”

T.K. waits but Iris doesn’t say more. “That’s it?” he says.

She looks at him with her big, wide eyes. “What more do you want? He’ll be good at the job. Oh and he likes his room really clean. So maybe like, pick up your towels and stuff.”

She gives him a smile and then sticks the earbud back in, a clear dismissal.

T.K. rolls his eyes and trudges to his cabin saying hello to their lead deck hand, Paul, as he passes by.

He spends some time making sure the place looks decent. He’d switched to the bottom bunk and started using the top as extra storage the minute Pearce walked out, so he takes all the clean clothes he left up there and shoves them into drawers or under his bed, and then checks to make sure he hasn’t left out anything sensitive in the bathroom.

His phone buzzes with a text from his dad, and he sits down for a few minutes to answer it. Yes, he’s doing fine. Yes, Tommy’s a great captain. No, he doesn’t need a meeting right now. Yes, he’ll be around if his dad flies in to see him for a weekend next month. It’s standard father/son stuff, but it’s a little suffocating, and not for the first time T.K. feels glad that he’s finally out from under his dad’s shadow a little bit. 

Owen Strand had been the captain of the FireBug until about six months ago, when he’d been offered the chance to captain a much bigger boat out in the Mediterranean. He’d wanted T.K. to come with him, had basically assumed it was happening until T.K. had informed him that he wasn’t ready to leave the Bahamas or the FireBug or the family he’d made onboard. Crews like this one don’t come along every day. Judd is a competent and kind bosun. Paul, Marjan, and Mateo are hard working deckies, and fun to be around. Nancy is the chillest chief stew he’s ever worked with. Iris is a sweetheart, if a little blunt, and Tommy has turned out to be a skilled captain, rounding out the team in a way that just seems to work. 

T.K. loves it here. He feels free. Safe. Loved. Which is a pretty big change from how his life used to be. 

Another glance at his phone shows him the time. He needs to get back to work, there’s only an hour or so until the guests arrive. He takes a few minutes to change out of his sweat stained red t-shirt, the Firebug’s name emblazoned in white on the chest and the sleeve along with a distinctive curl of flame, into his more fancy looking white shirt and black shorts, before heading to the main salon to check it over one more time. Heaven only knows somebody has probably tracked something across the carpet by now.

He’s walking past the galley when he hears a softly startled, “Oh fuck,” and then a loud crash. 

Figuring Paul has gotten into another fight with the juicer, he stops and enters the galley doorway, a sassy bit of teasing ready on his tongue. Only he doesn’t find Paul or anyone else from onboard the boat.

Instead he comes face to face with the most gorgeous ass he’s ever seen in his entire life. Literally, this ass is a thing of beauty. It looks like it’s been sculpted out of marble by a master craftsman. This ass is life changing.

And then the rest of the human it’s connected to stands up and T.K. feels like he’s been hit by a rogue wave. If he thought the ass was life-changing, he doesn’t even have words for the full man who stands before him.

Eyes, dark and soft, and hair so curly that T.K.’s fingers immediately itch to run through it. Even through the man’s dark blue button down and chinos T.K. can tell that he’s got a great body. The kind of body that has, in the past, caused T.K. to make some very stupid, but very fun, decisions. 

His gaydar is practically screaming at him and it takes him too long to realize that he’s staring and that this strange god of a man is talking to him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” T.K. says quickly.

“Sorry about that,” the man says. “I didn’t realize the shelf was loose.”

“Yeah. Yeah that one’s a little faulty. Judd keeps fixing it and it just keeps coming out again,” T.K. says automatically. “Are you…you must be the new chef?”

“Yes, hi, sorry, Carlos. Carlos Reyes,” the man says, holding out a hand.

T.K. shakes it and feels like his knees might give out. Holy hell he can’t remember the last time he felt this instantly attracted to someone. “I’m T.K. Strand,” he manages. “Second stew. Well, co-second stew. Iris is the other one. Which, you already know because you and Iris are…well you…”

He is blowing this so freaking bad right now. He spots a large rolling suitcase in front of the fridge and clears his throat to try again. “Did you come straight here before unpacking your stuff?”

“Yeah I went up and met the captain and I was on my way to the cabin, but I saw the galley and got distracted,” Carlos says sheepishly.

Kind of like how T.K. had been on his way to the main salon and now can’t find a single reason to care about whether or not the throw pillows have been karate chopped into perfection. “I get that. Professional hazard.”

“Yeah something like that,” Carlos says, flashing him a smile that threatens to bowl him over. 

He’s Iris’ ex, he’s Iris’ ex, he’s Iris’ ex. T.K repeats it to himself sternly. That makes him off limits. Completely. Nothing more than a fantasy for T.K. to have when he’s alone. 

And he will be having that fantasy. 

Probably a lot.

He realizes he’s gone awkwardly silent again and searches for something to say that won’t sound weird or horny. “We’re sharing a cabin. I can show you.”

“Oh yeah, thanks, that would be great,” Carlos says, grabbing his suitcase and following T.K. down the hall.

The cabin is tiny. Just two bunks, a teeny wardrobe and a couple drawers each, and their bathroom with an awkwardly small shower. T.K. takes a quick glance at Carlos and wonders how such a large man is going to fit, and then quickly shoves it away. He can’t be thinking about his new roommate naked, soapy, water sluicing down his body…

“I left you the top bunk. Is that okay?” T.K. asks, hoping to god his voice sounds normal.

If it was anybody else he wouldn’t even ask, he’d just pull the longevity card because like hell is he undoing his whole bed, but something about this man has grabbed hold of him and he finds he would literally go dive into the ocean if it would make Carlos happy.

“That’s fine,” Carlos says. “I like it on top.”

T.K.’s knees go weak and he immediately breaks out in a sweat even though the A/C is on full blast. Thank god Carlos has turned around is starting to pull things out of his suitcase, so he doesn’t see T.K.’s complete loss of motor function.

“When you’re ready I can introduce you to everyone else,” T.K. says when he finally recovers.

“Yeah give me like ten minutes, I just need to change,” Carlos says.

T.K. makes a hasty exit and goes down the hall to sit at the table in the crew mess while he waits. The last thing he needs is to see Carlos naked. His brain is already on overdrive, if he gets any more input he’s going to need an extremely cold shower, and there’s no time for that.

Carlos emerges almost exactly ten minutes later, now dressed in his chef’s coat. Somehow it makes him look even hotter, all professional and buttoned up and T.K. nearly swallows his own tongue trying not to say something stupid. They head up the stairs and through the main salon to the aft deck where Paul, Marjan, Mateo, and Judd are doing some last minute polishing of the railings so they gleam beneath the Caribbean sunlight. 

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally back. Grab a bucket and start scrubbing,” Paul teases as they walk out through the automatic doors.

“You think I want a cushy job like this? Please. Interior is where the fun is. Vomit. People’s dirty underwear. It’s like an unending hazardous situation,” T.K. teases right back.

He sees the look of curiosity on Carlos’ face and fills him in. “I used to be a deckie,” he says. “Made the change to interior about a year ago. It’s a better fit.”

“What he means is that it’s easier for him to charm all the guests,” Marjan says, wiping a hand across her forehead. Her makeup is impeccable and she looks like a movie star even in the deck crew’s bright red shirts.

“I didn’t see you complaining when our tips were almost double last charter,” T.K. tells her. 

“Pretty sure that was because of the good time I showed them on the water toys,” Mateo says.

“Mateo you couldn’t even get the jet ski started this morning,” Judd says with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t think you were the reason we got a good tip.”

“Anyway,” T.K. says, breaking up the teasing, “This is Carlos. The new chef.”

“Hey Carlos. I’m Judd. Bosun,” Judd says, sticking out a massive hand to shake Carlos’.

“Paul.”

“Marjan.”

“Mateo.”

The rest of the team chimes in and shakes hands as well. “Nice to meet you all,” Carlos says. “I’m excited to be here.”

“We’re glad to have you,” Paul says. “These people have been making me pull double duty on the deck and in the kitchen so we don’t starve.”

“You made one meal,” Marjan says, smacking at him with her towel.

“I made chili!” Paul says. “That’s so much work it’s basically three meals!”

“Wow, thanks for rolling out the red carpet and making a good first impression guys,” T.K. says, glancing at Carlos to gauge his reaction to the team shenanigans.

Carlos chuckles. “Chili is a lot of work, and I’m sure it was delicious.” He looks down at his watch. “I’m really sorry to cut it short, but I think I’ve got my work cut out for me in the galley.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t let us keep you,” Judd says, waving them off. 

“They seem nice,” Carlos observes once they’re back in the cool air conditioning of the interior.

“This team is solid,” T.K. tells him, feeling himself puff up with pride. “Judd has been with the boat since day one. The rest of us have been here at least a couple years. It’s family.”

He’s about to open his mouth to ask Carlos a little more about himself when there’s a yelp and a body comes hurtling toward them at light speed. Iris throws herself at Carlos, wrapping him up in an aggressive hug that almost takes them both to the floor. “You’re here!” she yells, glee evident in every line of her body.

Despite his initial shock Carlos immediately softens, his face going tender and warm. His hand cradles the back of Iris’ head and he practically cuddles her right there in the salon, making T.K. feel like he’s awkwardly intruded on a private moment. “Hey chica,” Carlos says, his voice full of something so tender that it sends a jolt of jealousy through T.K. Whatever happened between him and Iris, it doesn’t seem like Carlos is over it.

He pulls back after a minute, cupping Iris’ face in his hands as he studies it closely. “How are you? You’re good?”

“Oh my god, you’re such a worrier. Yes. I’m good,” she says with a laugh. 

“And Michelle?”

T.K.’s memory vaguely supplies that Michelle is Iris’ older sister. “Yeah she’s good too. Chief stew on a boat in Italy right now,” Iris says. She sends a glance at T.K., her eyes sparkling. “I see you met T.K. already. He’s your roommate you know.”

Something odd flashes across Carlos’ face. “Yeah I know,” he says, looking almost embarrassed.

T.K. desperately wants to know what’s going on. He feels like he’s missed out on a private joke, but at that moment Nancy strides into the salon. “Okay enough chatting people we have guests coming onboard in—” she checks her watch, “—less than half an hour.” She stops when she sees Carlos. “Oh hi. You the new chef?”

He shakes her hand. “Yeah, Carlos.”

“Thank god. Nancy. Chief stew. We should talk.”

“Yes,” Carlos says. “I didn’t see the preference sheets for the guests in the galley. Do you have them?”

She holds up a stack of papers. “On my way to post them now. Want to come with and we’ll figure out what kind of fancy ass food these people want?”

“Definitely,” Carlos says.

“And you two can start making drinks and getting cold towels ready,” Nancy calls over her shoulder.

“Already done!” T.K. and Iris chime together.

Nancy turns and walks the last few steps to the doorway backward, pointing at them and then clasping her hands over her heart. “And that’s why you two are my favorites.”

“So?” Iris says as she and T.K. step behind the bar to finish setting up the cocktails. “He’s hot right? I told you.”

“Actually you didn’t,” T.K. says mildly. She could not have said less about it in fact. 

“I didn’t?” She scrunches up her nose and thinks for a second, then shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Whatever. He is though, right? Very hot?”

“I’m going to be honest here and say I think it’s kind of weird that you talk about your ex like this,” T.K. says, pouring champagne carefully into glasses.

“What does him being my ex have to do with it?” she scoffs. “He’s objectively hot. You have to see it.”

T.K. is going to admit to no such thing. And he knows if stalls long enough Iris will move on. Her attention span tends to be on the short side.

“God, why do they make these fucking skorts so short?” she asks seconds later, yanking at the black fabric covering her thighs. “It’s sexist. And misogynistic.”

“Aren’t those kind of the same thing?”

She glares at him. “You can mansplain sexism to me when you have a skirt the size of a postage stamp riding up your ass. Okay? Okay.”

She grabs the tray of champagne glasses from him and whisks them away without another word. He huffs out a laugh and opens the fridge to take out the towels and stack them up on a second tray as Tommy’s voice comes over the radio announcing that the guests will be arriving in less than five minutes and to please get to the aft deck.

Everyone looks fresh and ready in their whites and Tommy gives him a nod as he joins the line-up, tucking in at the end next to Iris. Seconds later another body slides into the open space on his left and he looks up to find Carlos. The other man gives him a quick smile, a trace of nerves hiding behind it. T.K. feels the overwhelming urge to reach over and squeeze his hand in reassurance. Thank god he’s occupied with holding the towel tray because he’s not sure he could stop himself otherwise. 

And then he’d have to throw himself overboard, swim to a deserted island, and start a new life with nothing but a volleyball for company.

“There they are,” Judd says half a second later, nodding toward the dock where a group of impeccably dressed men and women are walking toward the Firebug.

“They look rich,” Mateo says.

“They always look rich,” Marjan tells him with a roll of her eyes. “Only rich people can afford chartered yacht vacations.”

“Yeah but there’s a difference between looking rich and being rich,” Mateo says.

T.K. has to agree with him. People who are rich tend to have high expectations, but are usually pretty nice and leave big tips. People who look rich…that’s a crapshoot. And they usually end up being assholes.

T.K. hopes it’s the former this time.

There are greetings and handshakes all around and then Nancy takes them off to tour the boat as T.K. and Iris wash the champagne glasses and throw the towels in the laundry before heading down to help put away the luggage the deck crew has hauled onboard.

Then it’s a whirlwind of drinks and snacks and cleaning (there’s always something to be cleaned) as they set sail away from the dock, the white prow of the Firebug gleaming as it cuts through the cerulean blue of the ocean. 

T.K. doesn’t get more than a glimpse of Carlos again until dinner. When Nancy calls him over the radio to come for service he walks into the galley and stops dead in his tracks. The guests asked for a sushi spread but what he sees is…unbelievable. It should have been physically impossible for Carlos to produce this much food at this level of quality in the few hours he’s been on board. 

“Holy shit. This is gorgeous.” The words are out of T.K.’s mouth before he means them to be.

“Thanks,” Carlos says, slightly flushed from the heat of his work. He’s pouring heavy cream into a bowl, probably working on dessert already. 

“No seriously this is…how did you do all of this so fast?” T.K. asks.

He’s worked on boats for years. He’s seen impressive food before. Michelin star worthy meals. But this tops all of it. 

Carlos shrugs and starts whisking, the muscles of his upper arm flexing back forth in an impressive display. “It’s my job,” he says simply. “I put the crew dinner out too. Make sure you get some.”

Nancy and Iris still haven’t arrived, so T.K. sneaks over to the crew mess and finds Paul devouring an equally impressive spread of sushi. “Save some for the rest of us,” T.K. says, snagging a California roll and shoving it whole into his mouth. 

“It’s so good though,” Paul groans. “I thought Pearce was good, even if he was a son of a bitch, but damn. This new guy….”

T.K. agrees. The California roll is the best he’s ever had in his life and he stands there at the table devouring a few more mouthfuls before Nancy and Iris sweep in and force him back to work. 

Dinner service goes shockingly smoothly. No one yells. No one sulks in passive aggressive silence. Carlos and Nancy communicate perfectly, food goes out on time, the wine flows, the guests are thrilled, it’s literally the best night they’ve had on the boat in weeks. 

Tommy comes down halfway through, a soft smile on her face when she sees how easily Carlos has slipped into the role of chef. He smiles and laughs as he cooks, chatting away easily with the captain as if they’re old friends. There’s a sense of relief flooding through the boat. Carlos is a good fit. Thank god.

T.K. and Iris run down in between courses to turndown the cabins (thank god these guests seem pretty neat and tidy) and then Iris heads to bed as soon as dinner service is done so she can get up early to run breakfast. The meal has created about a thousand dishes and Nancy starts to help, but T.K. shoos her away. He’s on lates tonight, staying up to make sure the guests have any late night drinks or snacks they need, but she should get some sleep.

Carlos is wiping down counters. His chef’s coat is partially unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to expose his incredibly muscular forearms. The second T.K. sees them he repeats his mantra from earlier: He’s Iris’ ex, He’s Iris ex, He’s Iris’ ex…

Maybe if T.K. keeps reminding himself of that, his stupid heart will stop trying to leap out of his chest at the sight of this beautiful man.

“Oh thanks,” Carlos says, relief on his face when he sees T.K. roll up his own sleeves and start scrubbing away at the rest of the dishes. “I thought I was going to be here all night.”

“Happy to help,” T.K. says lightly.

“So how long have you been on the Firebug?” Carlos asks.

“Like, three years now?” T.K. says as he carefully sets some glassware to the side. “My dad used to be captain.”

“Oh cool,” Carlos replies. “Where is he now?”

“Boat in the Mediterranean. It’s a bigger vessel. They have good wine over there.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” T.K. hesitates and then asks because he has to know. “So you’re from Austin? You and Iris grew up together?”

“Yeah the Blakes lived down the street,” Carlos says. “My sisters and I were always over at their house. They had a dog and a trampoline. We did not.”

“I see the appeal.”

“So three years here, where before that?”

T.K.’s stomach lurches. Before is hard to talk about. Before was full of pills and booze and shame and it’s something the crew all knows about, but it’s not a story that everyone can accept. The thought of this perfect looking man getting weird over it forces T.K. to hold back. “New York,” he says softly. “Manhattan. I lived there with my mom when I was a kid.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to New York.” Carlos sets a pan back into its place. “I have to know. Are the bagels actually that good? I mean…they’re really just regular bagels, right? Bagels aren’t even that great to begin with.”

“I’ll have you know that New York bagels are legendary,” T.K. tells him immediately. “There will be no bagel slander on this boat.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Carlos says with a laugh, holding up his hands. “I take it back.”

“You’d better,” T.K. says, also laughing. This guy is fun. Why the hell did Iris break up with him?

Carlos finishes what he’s doing and comes to dry the dishes T.K. has washed, but T.K. waves him off. “Head to bed,” he advises. “I know how much travel days suck and you’ve got to be up early for breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Carlos says, fatigue creeping in at the edges of him. “See you in the morning.”

T.K. puts away the last of the dishes and then heads up to check on the guests. He’s shocked to find Mateo hosing down the teak and not another person in sight. “They went to bed like ten minutes ago,” he says with a shrug. “Easiest night ever right?”

“Yeah seriously,” T.K. says. “You on anchor watch?”

“Yep,” Mateo pops the “p.” “All night long baby.”

“Don’t let us blow into a rock.”

“Ha ha.”

T.K. bids him goodnight and then heads toward his cabin. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s that Carlos brought up New York and now T.K.’s memories of that time are swirling around in his head. Maybe he’s distracted by the fact that these are the easiest guests he’s ever had in his entire life. Whatever the reason is, he forgets that Chef Carlos Reyes is his new roommate until he opens the door and sees him standing there.

In nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

Holy.

Fuck.

It’s just a reality of boat life that you see people naked or nearly naked on a regular basis. Quarters are tight and honestly, after so much time together, it literally doesn’t even matter. T.K.’s seen pretty much everyone’s butts and boobs and dicks onboard at this point and it doesn’t even phase him anymore.

But the sight of Carlos, hair still wet, the entire room damp from the steam of his shower and smelling like sandalwood and pine, feels so intimate that it nearly sends T.K. to his knees. 

And he’s pretty sure he would do just about anything Carlos wanted once he was down there.

T.K. was right. The man has muscles. So. Many. Muscles. He’s an Adonis. A god. He can’t possibly be real.

He’s like T.K.’s dream guy wrapped up in neon yellow caution tape that screams OFF LIMITS.

Oh god. 

He’s not going to make it through this charter season.

Hell.

He’s not going to make it through tonight.

“Sorry, am I in your way?” Carlos asks as he continues threading his chef’s coat onto a hanger.

Something flashes across his face. If T.K. didn’t know better he’d almost think it was something smug. Like he’s seen T.K. ogling him and possibly, maybe, is standing in their room mostly naked on purpose.

“No,” T.K. says quickly, squeezing in and shutting the door behind him.

Bad idea. Oh god. This space is so small. He’s practically chest to naked chest with Carlos and he can’t breathe or think and if he doesn’t do something right now he’s not going to be able to stop himself from reaching out and touching those washboard abs…

“Are you done in the bathroom?” he manages to squeak out.

“Yes,” Carlos says, that smug-ish look still on his face. “All yours.”

“Thanks.”

T.K. practically runs inside and locks the door behind him, collapsing onto the toilet lid. 

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

[hamsternella]

SNIPER | König x Fem!OriginalCharacter

TW: non-con, blood and violence, angst, strong language, explicit content. This is pure fiction. Also, English is not my first language; so feel free to correct me if you see something strange in the writing. That's normal, I'm trying to work with the expression. 😭 AND- don't be scared if you found this in AO3 (and Wattpad), because I wrote it in Spanish first.

He had lost count of the bullets that slightly tore the surface of his breastplate, as well as those who had marked his skin under the fabric in various shots at point-blank range. He recognized the quality of the sniper in command, and it was well known that luck was far enough for them to have made some worn and distant trenches; although the murmur of bullets still reached them, and therefore, the girl still saw them. Perhaps she played, perhaps she hoped to have a broader vision to finish them off. König could not know exactly.

Oja was the code name for the sniper who burned them in the distance. Reports they had been given at the base months ago indicated that she was a rookie, but with the passage of time her value in the field was proven. Her immediate attachment was to the McMillan TAC-50 rifle; breaking a record for long-distance killing in less than twenty minutes. That afternoon they lost companions at the speed with which rainwater falls: thus the bullets fell on the bodies in the field. There was no compassion for peepholes; Oja was unstoppable. They could not prevent her face covered in some dark nook and cranny, pointing unperturbed at them with the cold-bloodedness that characterized the occupants of the camp (regardless of the ideal); just as they could not wake up in time when they ran in terror to the next location, and her eye was always on the right zone to disarm the formation.

The first time König saw Oja, it was by chance at a red zone from massive use of explosives. He was the only one nearby, and he quickly agreed to find wounded comrades. Among them was the girl; bent on her knees, rummaging through the pockets of a dead soldier with balaclavas up to her nose; with the lips between open, and the tongue resting its tip between the teeth, in a gesture of clear concentration. As soon as she perceived König she drew a pistol with a single bullet that never arrived: König knocked her down with brute force to restrain the sniper to the ground, with both her legs under his. She was a plug at his side: a chunky woman, small but angry. She bit the dust furiously, never in fear.

"Kill me at once; you won't have information.", Oja had muttered.

König felt his hands sweat. He didn't know what to answer, or how to act, but his heart beating strongly against his chest gave the necessary answers to an Oja who began to smile cynically underneath him.

König did not understand what was happening to him; but it was well known that something else awakened within him after so many attempts to his own life. Anxiety and desire collided like a firestorm: incredible and dangerous.

"What's wrong, big guy? Now you can't finish your work?" A snort suddenly ran away from her. "Damn, yes you weigh..."

"Bitte," König muttered startled. "It wasn't my intention to be so abrupt."

Oja opened her eyes to the fullest, dumbfounded.

"What the fuck are you talking about, piece of asshole...?"

The murmur of footsteps distracted König, and the girl took advantage of it. Making an accurate kick she put her foot in his groin, and provided him with a dose of pain full enough for him to let go of her body; then she rolled over, gave him part of what could have been a good punch, and flew out with the hysterical screams of a flock of hurried men. Everyone had seen it, but only König enjoyed it. He liked that hit.

Of that encounter he barely held a portion in his memory, and it was the repetition of the blows he had received. His body was still shaking slightly as he registered Oja's sweaty and nervous face; as well as her soft hands and her accurate foot. He would have wanted something more, maybe. That dictated the heat of his erection.

The last nights he did not stop dreaming of her, of her voice and of the dark fantasy of being able to subdue her as he had done, but this time humiliating her to the lowest degree she could imagine. He recreated her with the same face, the same tone of voice, but with a heart-wrenching cry and with the warmth of her tight vagina; abusing everything he could open by force, holding his member between his wet hands. Little by little, the fear of being gunned down turned into an obsession to dominate the beast that hid behind the collapses, drowned in bullets and peepholes. König wanted to break her beyond death; he wanted to keep her alive, and for himself.

There was no one who could understand him, much less listen to what he had to say. On the one hand, König did not deal with anyone beyond the professional; and on the other, a fraction feared his person enormously. Therefore, all doubts and dark fantasies were drowned in the silence of his room, alone, barely interrupted by the gasps and grunts of a personal vent: between him and the Oja of his dreams. The one who cried and asked for forgiveness. The one that was his; the one he had been able to catch...

... until luck was on his side, and there was no need for fantasies.

Blood was spilling over the corridors of the house, and fire covered the streets like meandering blankets of extreme heat. The screams, the machines, the bullets and cutting bursts occupied every fraction on stage; so there was not a sigh or cry, not even a cry for help that could be heard: it was war in hell. König took advantage of that.

A couple of steps, maybe one or two blind shots, and soon he saw himself in a living room. He tried to occupy a corner as best he could, ignoring his height and proximity to open spaces; and he walked glued to the wall to a damp-eaten staircase, with the mold climbing just as he did, but silently. Little by little, with his heart in his throat, he found what he was looking for: Oja.

The woman with the sniper rifle rested tense on the ground, insulting left and right at her wounded leg. In one of her laps she opened her eyes, thought she saw a shadow, and replaced her companion ... which it wasn't. Then she took her second gun, aimed and-

"SON OF A BITCH..." Oja cried, desperate. König had shot her in the other leg.

She aimed again but too late, and the beast kicked her that made her wrist creak, tearing off another scream of agony. König took advantage of that pain, and dragged her to the corner blindly from all the vision she enjoyed while crouching on the ground; leaving her face down, making sure to press the open wounds that cried blood to seas.

The heat of that substance made his member throb under his pants. It was hard again.

"Hallo wieder, Oja," muttered König, anxiously. "Too distracted to cover the reflection of your silencer, right?"

"Let go, you piece of...!" Another scream shot out of herself: a cry of deep pain. "Don't even try." König warned.

"No one is going to listen to you."

Oja wanted to play hard and ignore the crying, but she couldn't take it anymore when she noticed the bump pressing on her stomach. Then she melted into tortuous wailings, and babbling interrupted by the sobs emanating from her aching throat. She barely processed the thousand and one scenarios where he could do whatever he wanted; even rape her, if she took into account the hot lump that retracted and pressed back on her, in a swing.

König felt in heavens, ignoring the gunshots and the bitter smell of smoke. If he concentrated, he could perceive the metallic sweetness of his victim's blood, and feel the wetness at his fingertips when he fiddled with Oja's swollen face; it was a couple of slaps before he had her half quiet, almost without strength to continue crying and begging.

He continued to rub, almost involuntarily, his erection against the woman's stomach, seeking the immediate relief generated by the morbidity of that situation. He was humiliating her at last. He could almost tear off his balaclava to spit on her; bathe her lips with saliva, and run with his semen the marks of his hands on those reddened cheeks. Oh, what König would give to bury the hard, wet member in her mouth; hold her head, and push himself into the farthest recesses of her throat; drowing every last drop of his seed, straight to where she could not return it and had no choice but to accept what he gave her. Oja submissive groaning, with eyes gone, and bruises covering the figure in similarity to a mantle of sharp thorns; tortuous in the freezing cold of the morning. She would be naked, unprotected and humiliated; outraged, with legs supported at her sides, dazzling a gated entrance that would soon be forced to open; distributing a last dose of pain that König, by himself, he would be happy to offer her, even if she didn't want to.

He had the little beast under him, in the middle of a hellish war, and he could not stop the scenarios of erotic violence that unleashed in him an endless guttural grunts and sharp electric onslaughts along his member. He felt the moisture of the pre-semen penetrating the fabric of his clothes; and wished that Oja's tender flesh would be the receptive of that hot juice.

"Du bist wunderschön, Oja" gasped König over her ear. The cloth itched against her cheek, and she complained. "You're making me harder than I thought."

"Let me go... Please, forgive me... Please..." Oja cried, desperate.

"That mund you use to complain so much, little beast, could be full of something much better."

König's free hand traveled tentatively down Oja's belly, and ascended near her hip to reach his own, seeking the clasp of his trousers. The girl noticed it, and a little cry escaped from between her parched lips.

"They're going to find you..." She murmured broken, little by little furious. A flash flashed through her eyes, and König smiled under the balaclava. "They're going to kill you! They... They will destroy you..."

"Do you want them to find you like this?"

"I'm going to kill you by myself!" she cried loudly. "I'm going... I'm going to kill you...!"

König threw his head back, stroking his member a couple of times, seeking to spill some liquid on the bare skin of Oja's belly. She shook, disgusted. A couple of moans escaped him as he closed his fingers on the tip; bowing high enough to gasp in front of the wrinkled face of the woman crying louder and louder, horrified.

"I'm going to kill you first, Oja" König whispered, agonized. "Even if you go out alive... Your ass could accompany us all."

The deep laughter that König exhaled was enough: Oja had started crying again, in a mixture of pleas and insults that were deaf words to him; very busy in his new task, ignorant of the pain of others, smoke and bullets.

He had begun his new mission. And this would definitely be the best of all.

[littlegrrl7]

I was born with a broken heart.

It jumps feebly in my chest as I evaluate my next move. My half sister, Vasilisa, was always destined to be a queen. With her gleaming golden hair and summer-sky blue eyes, it’s no surprise she attracted the czar’s attention. She’s the only one in my life I would drop everything for, and now I’m up to my knees in trouble, trying to rescue her. Because gods know she won’t rescue her damned self. 

Shoving a soaked, bedraggled lock of dark hair out of my eyes, I stare bleakly into the pouring rain. Mud sucks at my boots, pulling like corpse hands in this vile weather. I stumble as the wet earth claims my boot, and my foot tugs free. Rough stones scrape my palms. Blood mixes with the thick muck, and I bite back a swear that would make any mother blush. Spitting, I try to clear the bitter taste from my mouth.

My weak heart flutters. Damn this illness. Out of habit, I reach into my pouch and put some herbs in my mouth to chew, hoping the irregular beat will ease. This isn’t one of my better days. 

The view of the distant mountains I was heading toward blended with the dark storm, and night fell too quickly to find shelter. Rumor has it Koschei makes his home in those rocky peaks. That villainous wizard took Vasilisa—stole her right from under her oafish husband’s nose—leaving me to find her in this foul weather. She’s the czarina. As a witch, I’m the most likely to track her successfully. 

Why the old codger steals a woman every few years is beyond me, but it’s been going on forever. Some man, usually a husband or lover, slays the wizard and rescues the woman, and a few years later, Koschei is alive and at his mischief again. As ancient as he must be, his twig and berries are probably as shriveled and dry as he is. 

Lightning cracks above as I unsuccessfully attempt to locate my sacrificed boot. A low growl hums in my ears, and at least three sets of glowing red eyes float into view through the sheets of rain. No no no… not now. Soaked woolen skirts tangle around my legs as I try to stand.

The largest of the wolves prowls forward, its daggerlike teeth shining white in the next lightning strike. “Little witch as skinny as a fledgling bird, you’ll barely make a snack.” His low growl ripples along my skin. Eyes like chips of ruby stare me down. Ominously, the thunder rumbles again as the rain eases.

I scramble backward. “Then let me pass. We have no quarrel with each other. I’m certainly not worth your time or effort. As bony as I am, I’d likely just get stuck in your teeth.”

“My quarrel is with all of your ilk.” The beast crowds me. His hot breath pierces my soaked clothing as his snarled muzzle grinds against my chest. 

Fast and shallow, my heart continues its irregular beat. My breaths feel cold and useless, and the edges of my vision tunnel. The wolf sets one massive paw on my thigh, sinking me deeper into the muck.

I turn away from his fetid musk. “Please, leave me be.”

“Things are not always as they appear. I smell the power on you, little witch. I’ll relish it as I crunch your bones and suck out the marrow.”

I thrust one hand into the earth. Come, dormant seeds. My other hand presses flat against the beast’s chest to hold it back. Maybe I can entangle him enough to buy myself time to run. The wolf’s eyes widen into bloody pools as the thick, thorny vines swell from the ground to wrap around his massive body. His snarls turn into screams as the swordlike thorns slice through his flesh.

I clamber to my feet and run blindly into the darkness. A howl rips through the night behind me, echoed by two more. Claws tear across my back before twisting thorns shoot past me, and a wolf yelps in pain.

My heart flutters then stops before speeding up in uneven jerks. A thick, cold lump settles in my throat. I’m not sure where to run. Blindly, I push past low-hanging branches and stumble over the uneven rocky turf. This is madness. I’m in no shape to outrun wolves. A sharp pain stabs my chest, traveling up my shoulder and into my neck. Gasping, I go another couple of steps. At a few muttered words, green vines weave in a wall behind me, sprouting thorns that drip a poisonous ichor. It has to be enough to stop them—I have nothing left. Thickness fills my lungs, and breathing becomes impossible. I lurch into a smooth tree.

No, it’s a door. A lightning strike reveals a highly polished wooden door decorated with an intricate brass design. I pound on it, and thunder mimics the noise. There’s got to be…

My heart squeezes and stutters, bringing stinging tears to my eyes. I can’t fail here. This isn’t where my quest ends. My knees hit the cobbled entryway as I pound on the solid wood again. In the distance, wolf song mixes with the roll of thunder. Sobs fall from my lips, and a sucking darkness pulls on me. I knock again, but I’m too weak to make much noise.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The door flies open, spilling me forward to where a tall, slim man stands. There’s something incredibly familiar about him. His long white hair hangs in a thick braid over one shoulder, and his skin is ghostly pale against the darkness. Brilliant-green eyes widen as he looks down upon me then beyond my crumpled form into the night.

“I claim the right of sanctuary in exchange for a witch’s boon.” I reach out and grasp his hand. “Do you accept my bargain?” Blood roars in my ears as stars dance across my blackening vision.

His sharp features pinch as he scowls at me in surprise. I must be delirious, because it’s the most devastatingly handsome expression I’ve ever seen on a man. Sculpted cheekbones frame expressive eyes and a pointed, smooth-shaven jaw. My heart skips then flutters again. I reach for my herb pouch, but it tumbles from my numb fingers. His eyes dart to the spilled herbs then back to me.

“I accept. Sanctuary given.” His hand closes over mine. A shimmer of emerald flashes, limning us as my magic seals the pact. Before I can thank him, the darkness of death closes its icy fingers around me, and my sickly heart stops. One last wry thought follows me to my doom. Well, that was the shortest bargain ever struck.

Read the rest of Inessa's tale in This Hollow Heart

Illustration commissioned from @madbrake

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Davos I (Chapter 9)

Lightning split the northern sky, etching the black tower of the Night Lamp against the blue-white sky. Six heartbeats later came the thunder, like a distant drum.

The guards marched Davos Seaworth across a bridge of black basalt and under an iron portcullis showing signs of rust. 

+.+.+

He was soaked and sore and haggard, worn thin by grief and betrayal, and sick to death of storms.

Just wait.

+.+.+

Six heartbeats later came the thunder, like a distant drum.

x

Lightning flashed outside, making the arrow loops blaze blue and white for half a heartbeat. One, two, three, four, Davos counted, before the thunder came. 

x

Two heartbeats later came the thunder. 

The storm is getting closer and closer.

+.+.+

He was an ugly man [Godric Borrell, Lord of Sweetsister], big and fleshy, with an oarsman's thick shoulders and no neck. Coarse grey stubble, going white in patches, covered his cheeks and chin. Above a massive shelf of brow he was bald. His nose was lumpy and red with broken veins, his lips thick, and he had a sort of webbing between the three middle fingers of his right hand. Davos had heard that some of the lords of the Three Sisters had webbed hands and feet, but he had always put that down as just another sailor's story.

Couldn't tell you why the author has given the lords of the Three Sisters this trait.

So we're all on the same page (and because I'm a map whore), here's a map of where we are.

(I've also included markings for other locations that might be of interest.)

+.+.+

"I have been called worse things too."

"Aye. Traitor. Rebel. Turncloak."

He bristled at the last. "I have never turned my cloak, my lord. I am a king's man."

I'd respect you more if you were a turncloak.

+.+.+

Nine-and-twenty ships had set sail from the Wall. If half of them were still afloat, Davos would be shocked. Black skies, bitter winds, and lashing rains had hounded them all the way down the coast. The galleys Oledo and Old Mother's Son had been driven onto the rocks of Skagos, the isle of unicorns and cannibals where even the Blind Bastard had feared to land; the great cog Saathos Saan had foundered off the Grey Cliffs. 

Guess where the author is sending Davos!

+.+.+

It was as if some angry god was exacting payment for their easy voyage north, when they had ridden a steady southerly from Dragonstone to the Wall. 

An angry god named George?

Use dark magic, and see what happens.

+.+.+

"If it is White Harbor that you want, why are you in Sisterton? What brought you here?"

A king's command and a friend's betrayal, Davos might have said. Instead he answered, "Storms."

[...]

"Salladhor the Beggar, that's what your king has made me," Salladhor Saan complained to Davos, as the remnants of his fleet limped across the Bite. "Salladhor the Smashed. Where are my ships? And my gold, where is all the gold that I was promised?" When Davos had tried to assure him that he would have his payment, Salla had erupted. "When, when? On the morrow, on the new moon, when the red comet comes again? He is promising me gold and gems, always promising, but this gold I have not seen. I have his word, he is saying, oh yes, his royal word, he writes it down. Can Salladhor Saan eat the king's word? Can he quench his thirst with parchments and waxy seals? Can he tumble promises into a feather bed and fuck them till they squeal?"

Davos had tried to persuade him to stay true. If Salla abandoned Stannis and his cause, he pointed out, he abandoned all hope of collecting the gold that was due him. A victorious King Tommen was not like to pay his defeated uncle's debts, after all. Salla's only hope was to remain loyal to Stannis Baratheon until he won the Iron Throne. Elsewise he would never see a groat of his money. He had to be patient.

Perhaps some lord with honey on his tongue might have swayed the Lysene pirate prince, but Davos was an onion knight, and his words had only provoked Salla to fresh outrage. "On Dragonstone I was patient," he said, "when the red woman burned wooden gods and screaming men. All the long way to the Wall I was patient. At Eastwatch I was patient … and cold, so very cold. Bah, I say. Bah to your patience, and bah to your king. My men are hungry. They are wishing to fuck their wives again, to count their sons, to see the Stepstones and the pleasure gardens of Lys. Ice and storms and empty promises, these they are not wanting. This north is much too cold, and getting colder."

I knew the day would come, Davos told himself. I was fond of the old rogue, but never so great a fool as to trust him.

Excuse you?

Salladhor Saan is a Lynesi sellsail. He does not owe Stannis Baratheon his loyalty. He receives money in exchange for his services.

Instead of being paid, all he has received is fucked up religious ceremony, lost battles where he was not properly utilized, and a destroyed fleet.

I'd bail on your ass too! How dare you call that betrayal.

+.+.+

"Storms." Lord Godric said the word as fondly as another man might say his lover's name. "Storms were sacred on the Sisters before the Andals came. Our gods of old were the Lady of the Waves and the Lord of the Skies. They made storms every time they mated."

This is the funniest sentence ever written, and I am absolutely treating it like Storm x Storm foreshadowing, despite the gender swap.

+.+.+

Sisterton is hell enough. Davos feared the worst. The Three Sisters were fickle bitches, loyal only to themselves. Supposedly they were sworn to the Arryns of the Vale, but the Eyrie's grasp upon the islands was tenuous at best.

"Sunderland would require me to hand you over if he knew of you." Borrell did fealty for Sweetsister, as Longthorpe did for Longsister and Torrent for Littlesister; all were sworn to Triston Sunderland, the Lord of the Three Sisters. "He'd sell you to the queen for a pot of that Lannister gold. Poor man needs every dragon, with seven sons all determined to be knights." 

I'd prefer Sansa avoid this place.

I'm not sure I'll get my wish.

+.+.+

Lord Godric stirred his stew. "Did that old pirate Saan make you swim to shore?"

"I came ashore in an open boat, my lord." Salla had waited until the beacon of the Night Lamp shone off the Valyrian's port bow before he put him off. Their friendship had been worth that much, at least. The Lyseni would gladly have taken him south with him, he avowed, but Davos had refused. Stannis needed Wyman Manderly, and had trusted Davos to win him. He would not betray that trust, he told Salla. "Bah," the pirate prince replied, "he will kill you with these honors, old friend. He will kill you."

He even offered to take you with him! He tried to save you from yourself!

That last line is ominous.

+.+.+

"I have never had a King's Hand beneath my roof before," Lord Godric said. "Would Stannis ransom you, I wonder?"

Would he? Stannis had given Davos lands and titles and offices, but would he pay good gold to buy back his life? He has no gold. Else he'd still have Salla. "You will find His Grace at Castle Black if my lord would like to ask that of him."

I love when characters ask themselves questions they already know the answer to.

He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. Would she betray him if he sat her down and told her that he was still Ned Stark's son and a man of the Night's Watch? He hoped not, but he dare not take that risk. - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

Borrell grunted. "Is the Imp at Castle Black as well?"

"The Imp?" Davos did not understand the question. "He is at King's Landing, condemned to die for the murder of his nephew."

"The Wall is the last to learn, my father used to say. The dwarf's escaped. He twisted through the bars of his cell and tore his own father apart with his bare hands. A guardsman saw him flee, red from head to heel, as if he'd bathed in blood. The queen will make a lord of any man who kills him."

Kind of a strange question. Who would escape King's Landing and go to Castle Black? :)

I think the author might be telling us to question the stories we hear from this man.

+.+.+

"When there were kings on the Sisters, we did not suffer dwarfs to live. We cast them all into the sea, as an offering to the gods. The septons made us stop that. A pack of pious fools. Why would the gods give a man such a shape but to mark him as a monster?"

<- Tyrion III

You are no knight and I am Hugor Hill, a little monster. Your little monster, if you like. 

+.+.+

"My lord, will you grant me leave to send a raven to the Wall? His Grace will want to know of Lord Tywin's death."

"He'll know. But not from me. Nor you, so long as you are here beneath my leaky roof. I'll not have it said that I gave Stannis aid and counsel. The Sunderlands dragged the Sisters into two of the Blackfyre Rebellions, and we all suffered grievously for that."

Weird insertion.

+.+.+

"You have tasted sister's stew before?"

"I have, my lord." The same stew was served all over the Three Sisters, in every inn and tavern.

"This is better than what you've had before. Gella makes it. My daughter's daughter. Are you married, onion knight?"

"I am, my lord."

"A pity. Gella's not. Homely women make the best wives. 

<- Tyrion III

A homely maid, thought Tyrion, but sometimes the ugliest ones are the hungriest once abed. 

+.+.+

The beer was brown, the bread black, the stew a creamy white. She served it in a trencher hollowed out of a stale loaf. It was thick with leeks, carrots, barley, and turnips white and yellow, along with clams and chunks of cod and crabmeat, swimming in a stock of heavy cream and butter. It was the sort of stew that warmed a man right down to his bones, just the thing for a wet, cold night. Davos spooned it up gratefully.

[...]

There's three kinds of crabs in there. Red crabs and spider crabs and conquerors. I won't eat spider crab, except in sister's stew. Makes me feel half a cannibal." His lordship gestured at the banner hanging above the cold black hearth. A spider crab was embroidered there, white on a grey-green field. 

The wedding guests gorged on cod cakes and winter squash, hills of neeps and great round wheels of cheese, on smoking slabs of mutton and beef ribs charred almost black, and lastly on three great wedding pies, as wide across as wagon wheels, their flaky crusts stuffed to bursting with carrots, onions, turnips, parsnips, mushrooms, and chunks of seasoned pork swimming in a savory brown gravy. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

Obviously the Manderly Rat Cook clues are strong on this one, but I wonder if there's more to these three crabs.

Tyrion, Varys, and Daenerys?

+.+.+

"We heard tales that Stannis burned his Hand."

The Hand who went before me. Melisandre had given Alester Florent to her god on Dragonstone, to conjure up the wind that bore them north. Lord Florent had been strong and silent as the queen's men bound him to the post, as dignified as any half-naked man could hope to be, but as the flames licked up his legs he had begun to scream, and his screams had blown them all the way to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, if the red woman could be believed. Davos had misliked that wind. It had seemed to him to smell of burning flesh, and the sound of it was anguished as it played amongst the lines. It could as easily have been me.

Notice how he shifted the blame to another person?

It could as easily have been me.

He can do better than that.

+.+.+

He tore the bread apart and offered half to Davos. "Eat. It's good."

It was, though any stale crust would have tasted just as fine to Davos; it meant he was a guest here, for this one night at least. The lords of the Three Sisters had a black repute, and none more so than Godric Borrell, Lord of Sweetsister, Shield of Sisterton, Master of Breakwater Castle, and Keeper of the Night Lamp … but even robber lords and wreckers were bound by the ancient laws of hospitality. I will see the dawn, at least, Davos told himself. I have eaten of his bread and salt.

You silly goose, those days are long gone.

+.+.+

"Is it saffron that I'm tasting?" Saffron was worth more than gold. Davos had only tasted it once before, when King Robert had sent a half a fish to him at a feast on Dragonstone.

"Aye. From Qarth. There's pepper too." Lord Godric took a pinch between his thumb and forefinger and sprinkled his own trencher. "Cracked black pepper from Volantis, nothing finer. Take as much as you require if you're feeling peppery. I've got forty chests of it. Not to mention cloves and nutmeg, and a pound of saffron. Took it off a sloe-eyed maid." He laughed. He still had all his teeth, Davos saw, though most of them were yellow and one on the top was black and dead. "She was making for Braavos, but a gale swept her into the Bite and she smashed up against some of my rocks. So you see, you are not the only gift the storms have brought me. The sea's a treacherous cruel thing."

Not as treacherous as men, thought Davos. Lord Godric's forebears had been pirate kings until the Starks came down on them with fire and sword. These days the Sistermen left open piracy to Salladhor Saan and his ilk and confined themselves to wrecking. The beacons that burned along the shores of the Three Sisters were supposed to warn of shoals and reefs and rocks and lead the way to safety, but on stormy nights and foggy ones, some Sistermen would use false lights to draw unwary captains to their doom.

Implying Lord Godric used false lights to sink the Sloe-Eyed Maid.

Potentially important for later in the story.

+.+.+

"If Stannis thinks the fat man will ride the stag, he's wrong. The Lionstar put in at Sisterton twelve days ago to fill her water casks. Do you know her? Crimson sails and a gold lion on her prow. And full of Freys, making for White Harbor."

"Freys?" That was the last thing that Davos would have expected. "The Freys killed Lord Wyman's son, we heard."

"Aye," Lord Godric said, "and the fat man was so wroth that he took a vow to live on bread and wine till he had his vengeance. But before the day was out, he was stuffing clams and cakes into his mouth again. There's ships that go between the Sisters and White Harbor all the time. We sell them crabs and fish and goat cheese, they sell us wood and wool and hides. From all I hear, his lordship's fatter than ever. So much for vows. Words are wind, and the wind from Manderly's mouth means no more than the wind escaping out his bottom." The lord tore off another chunk of bread to swipe out his trencher. "The Freys were bringing the fat fool a bag of bones. Some call that courtesy, to bring a man his dead son's bones. Had it been my son, I would have returned the courtesy and thanked the Freys before I hanged them, but the fat man's too noble for that." He stuffed the bread into his mouth, chewed, swallowed.

What a fun paragraph.

+.+.+

"I had the Freys for to supper. One sat just where you're sitting now. Rhaegar, he named himself. I almost laughed right in his face. He'd lost his wife, he said, but he meant to get himself a new one in White Harbor. Ravens have been flying back and forth. Lord Wyman and Lord Walder have made a pact, and mean to seal it with a marriage."

What did you eat, meat pies?

+.+.+

If he tells it true, my king is lost. Stannis Baratheon had desperate need of White Harbor. If Winterfell was the heart of the north, White Harbor was its mouth. 

They* say you should beware of mouths in this story.

*Me. I say.

+.+.+

If Winterfell was the heart of the north, White Harbor was its mouth. Its firth had remained free of ice even in the depths of winter for centuries. With winter coming on, that could mean much and more.

That's probably important.

+.+.+

As for your King Stannis, when he was Robert's master of ships he sent a fleet into my port without my leave and made me hang a dozen fine friends. Men like you. He went so far as to threaten to hang me if it should happen that some ship went aground because the Night Lamp had gone black. I had to eat his arrogance." He ate some of the trencher.

What do we know about Stannis Baratheon?

He's one of the biggest hypocrites in the entire story.

+.+.+

"Now he comes north humbled, with his tail between his legs. Why should I give him any aid? Answer me that."

Because he is your rightful king, Davos thought. Because he is a strong man and a just one, the only man who can restore the realm and defend it against the peril that gathers in the north. Because he has a magic sword that glows with the light of the sun. 

Davos Seaworth, you are such a fucking donkey.

If there's a silver lining to Shireen Baratheon burning alive, it's that I get to throw it in this guy's face.

+.+.+

"The Hand has lost his tongue, it seems. He has no taste for sister's stew, or truth." Lord Godric wiped his mouth.

Hm.

+.+.+

Davos understood. He nurses doubts. He does not want to find himself upon the losing side. "Stannis held Storm's End against the Tyrells and the Redwynes. He took Dragonstone from the last Targaryens. He smashed the Iron Fleet off Fair Isle. This child king will not prevail against him."

"This child king commands the wealth of Casterly Rock and the power of Highgarden. He has the Boltons and the Freys." Lord Godric rubbed his chin. "Still … in this world only winter is certain. Ned Stark told my father that, here in this very hall."

"Ned Stark was here?"

"At the dawn of Robert's Rebellion. The Mad King had sent to the Eyrie for Stark's head, but Jon Arryn sent him back defiance. Gulltown stayed loyal to the throne, though. To get home and call his banners, Stark had to cross the mountains to the Fingers and find a fisherman to carry him across the Bite. A storm caught them on the way. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter got Stark to the Sisters before the boat went down. They say he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly. Jon Snow, she named him, after Arryn.

Obviously you can ignore the Jon Snow part.

I'll let you decide whether there's Sansa hints here or not.

+.+.+

"Be that as it may. My father sat where I sit now when Lord Eddard came to Sisterton. Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward. The Mad King was open-handed with them as pleased him. By then we knew that Jon Arryn had taken Gulltown, though. Robert was the first man to gain the wall, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. 'This Baratheon is fearless,' I said. 'He fights the way a king should fight.' Our maester chuckled at me and told us that Prince Rhaegar was certain to defeat this rebel. That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true … but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.' "

"No more than I was," said Davos Seaworth.

We may lose our heads (Ned, Robb), it's true … but what if we prevail?

Again, I'll let you decide whether there's Sansa hints here or not.

Final thoughts:

I see no reason why we couldn't start this journey in White Harbor.

For whatever reason the author wanted to introduce us to the Three Sisters.

-> return to menu <-

[dobits]

CALLIE & ANGEL -- NIGHT FORTY

location: evening / the boat cruise

featuring: @graftisms

ANGEL

“how much are you loving this?” judging by angel’s grin, he can tell the answer is a lot. still, seems like he’s enjoying watching her enjoy it more. sat at one of the bar’s tables they can overlook the ocean and watch the water lap warm and forceless against the side of the vessel. “how’s it compare to your old man’s boat?”

CALLIE

"oh, i'm buzzin'," she laughs, not having enough tact to even pretend otherwise. her eyes are on the ocean as if there's a pod of dolphins out there, when in reality she's just missed actually seeing the water. "comparing his boat to this is like comparing... that guy," she points to the average looking bartender, "to chris hemsworth." no offense, mate.

ANGEL

“well, this is kinda a bit much anyway,” angel defends mr. michaels with a shrug of his hand. “like, you can’t even feel the spray on a joint like this.” the yacht seems designed to negate the whole point of being on the water, all the messy, salty, fun bits he imagines you get on a good ol’ fashioned fishing boat. “— chris hemsworth?” he arched a teasing brow at her. “see, i knew you had a thing for the josh types.”

CALLIE 

"yachts are too much for you?" she teases, brushing her knee against his under the table. "no, you're not wrong. this thing is massive. i went to find the loo earlier and got lost." on a boat! ridiculous. the mention of naomi's boyfriend immediately makes callie's nose wrinkle. "josh wishes he looks like chris hemsworth," she shakes her head, "but nah, that was just the first, like, conventionally hot guy i could think. i'm more of a chris pine girl myself."

ANGEL

“only when i don’t have my cigar,” in that posh, upper crust tone. a hand curls the back of callie’s knee, pulling her leg between his as he leans forward to court a kiss. “maybe we should go find the loo and get lost,” he suggests, grinning. “you look beautiful, y’know.” a snort has his head nodding, isn’t entirely surprised by any of that. “i’m kinda more chris evans vibe. but, like, not another teen movie era.”

CALLIE

she leans forward to meet his kiss easily, hand resting on the top of his knee, giving it a squeeze. "i'm willing to bet jenny and jude have thought of that already," she jokes, but it's not exactly a no, eyes shining. "chris evans? what teen movie was he in?"

ANGEL

“please, as if they’d do us all the favor of finding somewhere private,” angel quips. knowing those two, they’d start exploring each other’s bodies right there on the dance floor if it suited them. a cheshire grin stretches over his mouth, too pleased she’s opened herself up to the joke name of the movie. “not another teen movie,” he repeats, hardly restraining laughter. “c’mon, i know they have parody movies in australia.”

CALLIE

callie laughs through making a face, eyes sweeping around to see if she can find them. safe to assume what they're doing since she doesn't see them. "good for them," lips press together to hold back a smile, shaking her head. "naur, sorry. the only movies we have in australia are nature documentaries, and stuff with nicole kidman," eyes widen in faux disappointment. "no, i've just never heard of that. sounds stupid."

ANGEL

the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs, his head shaking. “you’re out on the water for an hour and already you’re ODing on aussie-isms.” not unlike the way she gets when her and dylan talk together, or jude and adela. he scoffs dramatically. “it’s not stupid, it’s fucking hilarious and you’re gonna love it when i make you watch it.” angel squeezes the back of her knee again before he leans back in his chair, smiling at the prospect of still learning things about her. “what kinda movies aren’t stupid then?”

CALLIE

"me? have you heard eden, she always sounds way more aussie," she argues, as if it's a bad thing. it's not, but callie likes to think that her few years in america makes her a little more cultured than that. "you should be keeping a list at this point." it's not the first time he's told her they're gonna watch something, nor will it be the last. there's a pause as she considers the questions thoughtfully, before shrugging. "i don't know, i'm not much of a movie person," she admits. "but parody movies are made to be stupid, aren't they?"

ANGEL

“nah, you been really hittin’ those naurs lately, it’s cute as fuck.” between her and jude, he’s definitely going back to LA with a few extra slang terms. angel brings a finger up to tap his temple. “already keepin’ a list, babe. we’re gonna start off with fast and furious. every single one.” he’s laughing because he fully could’ve called that, callie doesn’t exactly seem like the kinda person to sit home and geek out over a screen. “no, you’re probably more like why watch a movie when we can just live it?” which, kinda fair. “oh, totally stupid. the chris evans one is a banger though. god, i haven’t seen that in forever.” if only they could pull up netflix or, better yet, just do anything besides drinking and talking about other people’s relationships. “y’know, mr. not-chris-hemsworth behind the bar over there is, like, the only fresh blood we’ve seen in weeks. maybe he’s got, like, exciting news from the outside world.” he’s joking, until suddenly he’s not, leaning forward into callie conspiratorially. “maybe he’s got weed.”

CALLIE

"naur, i have not," she defends, before pausing. "--okay, that time i heard it." eyes roll lightly in jest at herself. "every one? how many are there again?" those movies really don't sound like her cup of tea, but she is curious to see why he likes them so damn much. "wow, you make me sound like a douche," she laughs, shaking her head. "nah, i just don't have the attention span for them. i'm never just chilling alone and think, hm, i should put on a movie." though now she misses them, since they can't watch any here. "victoria and santiago erasure," she laughs, though turns to give the bartender a second glance. the mention of weed has her head snapping back to angel, eyes narrowing playfully. "there's no way," she says, but she's not confident in that, leaning forward too. "should i ask? shake him down? that is the only thing that'd make this night better."

ANGEL

“they’re doing a tenth one,” he tells her, totally indulged. “in one of the other ones vin diesel stomps on the ground and makes an earthquake, man. so sick.” angel’s definitely part of the joke that the movies suck, but he also definitely still likes them anyway. “nah, yeah, i feel that. honestly, i think it’ll probably be, like… a long minute before we’re gonna be able to do the normal chill stuff together, huh?” presumably after this they’ll travel, do press and marketing for their various business deals, do appearances. seems like there will hardly be any time to bop around a random grocery store together. “they’re, like, cast. i’m talkin’ bonafide normal person.” the line is pretty fine. he chuckles lowly at callie’s immediate interest, thrives under that attention. “way. c’mon, boat bartender?” angel points out under his breath. surely this guy has a joint. never mind the fact production can definitely hear them and will squash the bit when they feel like it’s gone on too long. he nods eagerly. “mhm, go toss your hair at him. oh, do that little slanty smile thing you do, that’ll bring it home.”

CALLIE

"you must be joking," her head falls back as she laughs, just at that mental image alone. "i don't think that's actually possible. what are those movies about, anyway? besides cars." or is that what it's only about? callie hadn't actually thought about the next time they can sit down and watch a movie, but angel saying that does make her consider it. "damn, when you say it like that, it's kind of depressing," she admits, with a little chuckle. it's weird to think about when they get out of the show, they won't just be going back to their normal lives; there's the added layer of everything that comes with this. "there's no way they'd let us get some..." but her voice trails off, considering it. what does she have to lose? "alright," she takes a deep breath, smacking a kiss on his lips before rising to her feet. "i'm going in."

ANGEL

“so it starts with them doing street races with their homemade rides and then by the end of the series they’re committing, like… international espionage.” a shrug, like it’s a natural progression. super sick. for someone who’s spent the majority of their adult life working, staying low key and in his lane, there’s a semblance of excitement to living the antithesis. it’ll be like playing a role for a little bit, playing pretend, before he goes back to the shop, back to reality. callie breaking it down to the dubious bare bones though has him nodding slowly with realization. “huh. yeah, i guess, kinda,” he concedes. then he jerks his chin toward her. “at least we’re gonna be doing it together, right?” that’s the silver lining to anything, he figures. it brings a spark of excitement to watch callie talk herself into playing the game with him, especially since she’s about to do all the heavy lifting. “hell yeah,” he hypes, can’t find the restraint to not lean forward and smack her ass when she starts toward the bar. “you got this.”

CALLIE

"oh, naturally," she deadpans with a nod, as if that's the most normal thing in the world. "what's happening in the tenth one, are they going to the moon?" i guess, he says, and it's clear that he doesn't totally agree with her, which makes callie smile to herself. now that she thinks about it, maybe it's for the best that they don't get a movie night in the near future; those movies sound terrible. "nah, it'll be fun," she assures him, because while the idea of celebrity life feels increasingly overwhelming the longer they're here, part of her recognizes she's probably overthink it. it's not like they're becoming the next kardashians. but she feels a bit like one of them while on this yacht, channeling their energy as she struts over to the bartender, arms resting on the bar between them in an effort to come off as cute and approachable as possible. the conversation's quick, only a minute or two, before she's coming back over to angel with a restrained smile, immediately laughing as she sits down. taking his hand, she passes him the only thing the bartender gave her: a cigarette. "okay, that man did not speak english," she tells him, keeping her voice down despite some residual laughter. "i tried to mime a blunt, but... he was so happy to give me this. i didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise." a pause. "or the spanish."

ANGEL

“what you mean? weed is a universal language,” he argues playfully, also trying to restrain his low laughter as he inspects the cigarette. angel heaves a sigh, begrudgingly grabbing a stray lighter abandoned on the table before lighting it up, his hand cupped around the end. “do you think your grandparents are gonna like me?” he wonders randomly, the smile lining the edges of his mouth aware of his glibness. “or, like, oh my god, your friends? are they gonna, like, ice me out if i don’t have a vagina?” it’s a joke, can infer as much but his light chuckles, but it is a vague curiosity.

CALLIE

"then you go ask him for some," she nods in the direction of the bar, but it's half-hearted. callie shakes her head when it becomes apparent he's going to use her own cigarette. "what?" the question is so out of left field for a second all she can do is laugh. "oh yeah, sorry. did i not mention? all my friends are man-hating lesbians," her eyes roll at that. "of course they're gonna like you. hate to break it to you, but we wouldn't be doing this if i thought they wouldn't. besides, you gotta be, like, parent catnip, right?" callie finds it hard to believe anyone just wouldn't like him.

ANGEL

“yeah, flip my hair at him?” angel jokes, a boyish smile settling on his face. it only broadens at callie’s tease. “shut up, it could happen.” he’s sure he’s seen it in a movie once, surely written by a man. the plume of smoke is ripped away by the water’s gentle breeze, he ashes into one of the trays. “nuh uh,” angel defends his nonexistent bad boy image, his smile slanted and bashful and no help. “i mean, i’d try to be. but i’m, like, the guy with no degree, barely a job, mostly a bunch of debt. or i dunno, maybe they’d want you with an aussie or somethin’.” somebody to keep her close, he could understand that considering his immediate plans to steal her away to LA. “tell me about your bestie. not dylan.” ‘cause he just figures.

CALLIE

"is that how you flirt?" she teases, already knowing the answer to that. her hand outstretches, silently asking for the cigarette. may as well, since they can't get actual weed here. "barely a job? don't you run your own shop?" she laughs incredulously. "you do remember i'm, like, actually unemployed, right? my nan's gonna just like that you have ambitions." it's not really something she's thought about, but if anyone should be worried about family not approving, it's probably callie. not just the fact that all she has to her name is a golden retriever and a surf board, but also for having to watch her drama unfold with frankie. now she really does need this cigarette. "um, i have a few of them," she admits, taking a drag from the smoke. "there's hannah and bri, who i grew up with. hannah's still in sydney, which made moving back home not completely dull. bri's over in brisbane now, getting her phd. she's crazy smart." definitely the friend that's the least like herself. "there's also amanda, who was my roommate back in san diego. i'm still really close with her. she's constantly trying to get me to move back, but she's living with her girlfriend now, so it's not like she needs the roomie." she takes another puff before handing it back. "what about yours? are they gonna like me, even though i don't know shit about cars?"

ANGEL

“don’t act like you don’t love it when i flip my hair,” he warns, brows lifting and falling like he’s said something salacious. the ciggy’s slotted between her fingers as he sniffs, cants his head in a shrug and plays with her free hand. “yeah, but it’s, like… not jiffy lube or anything,” angel laughs, modest. “it’s hard to say if i can make it into a thing, y’know?” by all accounts a confession, an admission of his real world fears which feels too large and looming backlit by the silly villa qualms of who’s grafting who. “that’s different. you can do anything you wanna do, plus… like, i’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of you.” a sentiment laced with a false sarcasm, like the heteronormativity and the gender roles are just a joke. angel does believe it though, if even just a little bit. for all his progressive new agey vibes, he admittedly would wanna make sure he was bringing home the bacon. “i love that you have friends in california,” angel buzzes, his smile thinly veiled. “you know hannah and bri from, like, school? that’s kinda sick, i dunno if i’m still homies with anybody from high school anymore.” he takes the cigarette and ashes it, head shaking playfully. “yeah, you’re gonna be walking a thin line. they’re gonna trivia you for sure.” breaking into a laugh, angel cheeses. “nah, my closest buddies aren’t even gearheads. you’re gonna be fine.”

CALLIE

"what, when you flip it in my face while i'm trying to sleep? it's very cute, yeah." it's not like she hasn't admitted time and time again how much she likes his hair, okay. "what do you mean, make it into a thing?" eyebrows arch, not sure if he's being modest or if she just doesn't have the whole picture. "it's a business that you run and you make money from it, don't you? that sounds like a thing to me. like honestly, angel, that's... really bloody impressive." really intimidating too, because it's so wildly different to the life she's returning to, one where she actually has to figure out what she wants to do. in reality, callie will probably just end up living off influencer money for as long as she can, because optimistic notions aside, she can't really do anything she wants when callie has no desire to work at all. though him making the comment about taking care of her throws her off enough to make her cough up her cigarette puff, reaching for the drink in front of her before giving him a dirty look. "what are all your friends from, then?" she asks, once she can breath again. if he didn't meet them as kids or from work, where else do you meet people? "who am i gonna get to meet?"

ANGEL

“mm-mm, i can’t help flipping it in your face ‘cause you’re always, like, all over me when we’re sleeping,” he exaggerates, enjoying the bickering way too much. an inhale is held for a beat of thought, eyes passing over the waves before slinking back to callie. “i mean, make money…,” mouth twists into a shrug, “like, i break even. i dunno, maybe i just been away too long, y’know? getting in my feelings about it. i’m always kinda wiggin’ that it’s gonna fall flat as, like, a passion project kinda vibe, but, nah, i know i can build it up. hire the right guys, maybe open another location one day.” his fire stokes a bit at the thought of her being impressed, an electric jolt with the steep awareness that there’s a whole lot left they’ll be able to see of each other’s lives outside of the villa. callie’s reaction makes him belly laugh, though he opts not to double down for fear of having her hack up a lung. another drag gives him a little time to recount the origins of his besties. “mmm, so i met jimmy through juno, actually. he’s her ex from college. they didn’t date, like, super long, but me and him became homies, like, that’s basically my brother now. then i met my other buddy, mick, through him. he’s, like, this musician, his family’s all in it and shit, but he stays mostly in new york. uh, aside from them, i really just chill with, like, my cousins, y’know? but they’re all gonna love you.”

CALLIE

"oh, yeah, i'm always all over you?" she laughs, swatting him lightly in the arm. "i'll remember that." an empty threat, and surely he knows that by now. "how long have you had the shop for?" she asks, knowing it takes a while for a new business to make profit. how much time, she doesn't know—she was only a psych major in uni. "having your own business sounds so stressful," callie exhales, a little jokey but also fully meaning it. "but no, it sounds like it's been doing pretty well already, and once we get back? i'm sure there's gonna be plenty of new clients coming in, hoping to see some of that heart rate challenge action," she teases. but it's hard to ignore that this place does come with a platform, one that has the ability to really change their lives. "how does she feel with you being besties with her ex?" callie's trying to imagine how dylan would feel if they were in their shoes, but genuinely can't. she had almost forgotten that he said he had all this extended family, more people that she's going to have to be introduced to. california's going to be overwhelming; callie's been so focused on how easy he's going to fit into her life, she hasn't really thought about whether she'll even fit into his. "how many cousins are we talking about?" she laughs a little, trying to will the nerves away.

ANGEL

between the sweetness and the sarcasm, angel feels like a conduit of cringey pda and yet he can’t manage to feel even a scrap of shame for it. “no worries, if you forget i’ll remind you.” because the lack of personal space in their bed is as much his doing as it is her’s. “like, the physical shop i’ve had for… man, almost two years now? before that i was kinda just working on my own rides and, like, renting ‘em out for photo shoots or whatever. so the shop is more like a new venture.” which doesn’t make it easier to be away for even a couple weeks, though callie’s reassurance has him nodding, believing. “hey, that’s same for you, y’know? every fuckin’ surf brand is gonna be paying hand over fist to get you in their stuff. and you already know i’m hiring you as pit crew as long as you’re wearing that fit.” he sighs dreamily with the memory, teasing as much as he is nostalgic for it. his shoulders shift in a shrug, stealing a last hit of the cig before crushing it into the ashtray. “she’s chill now, it’s been, like, a few years, they both dated a bunch of people since then.” he wonders briefly if those two have backslid before since him and jimmy have become friends, decides immediately to abandon that consideration and remain ignorant. “well, i got, like, seven aunts and uncles and they all got at least two kids each… probably ten or so that i’m actually tight with.” angel watches callie’s face a moment before breaking out into a grin. “you feelin’ overwhelmed?” a concept that tickles him, usually only ever sees her utterly in control, her agency absolutely measured. “don’t worry, i’m not gonna throw you into anything you aren’t ready for.”

CALLIE

"a new venture," she parrots back, because it sounds so fantasy when he says it like that. like he's a real business person—which he is, really. it's surreal to think of her angel as someone's boss, paying checks and working and 9 to 5. does the shop even have those hours? there's something to be said about how callie can probably list which fast and furious movies angel likes in order, but the day-to-day operations of his work is a complete mystery to her. "did you make a decent chunk of money doing that, the renting?" she asks, genuinely. "but yeah, i know. part of me is stoked for it, too. i could use a new wetsuit," callie admits, lips curved. "but i don't know. we'll see. i'm not ready to go back to real life just yet." some parts very much so, but others—like working—can definitely wait. "yeah? can i get a job at the shop?" she squeezes his knee from beneath the table, grinning. "that's good. my brother dated hannah for a bit in high school, but it ended totally shit. i was pissed at him for weeks after." so awkward when your friends date your brother. callie makes a face when he calls her out for looking overwhelmed, though he seems so happy about it she can't help but laugh. "a little bit," she says, not afraid to admit it, "but in a good way. i'm excited for it. my family's gonna feel so small compared to yours, though."

[vodika-vibes]

Today, I have Rynn and Delta squad bouncing around my head. So here you go, have Rynn.

Warnings: Some angst

Time Period: After Order 66

The ship is quiet, save for the hum of the hyperdrive that echoes through the ship. Rynn peeks her head into the main sitting room, where the holo-table is located, and a small frown pulls down her lips. Sev is sprawled on the couch, covered in bandages and bruises. Healing from the fiasco that was Kashyyyk. Well, healing physically, at least. It's going to take some time for him to recover from the emotional hurt that came with his pod brothers abandoning him. It's a hurt he'll have to handle eventually...but not today. Or even tomorrow. After all, she doesn't even know where the other three members of Delta are right now. And with the Jedi largely wiped out, it's not like she has a massive support network to fall back on. Logically, Rynn knows that they're with the Empire. Logically, she knows that finding them will only lead to heartbreak. But Delta was hers, is hers, and she's not willing to give up on them yet. She found Sev, after all. Rynn settles on the couch next to Sev, and gently smooths her hand over his short hair. He doesn't know what happened. She didn't have the heart to tell him that Boss tried to put a blaster round through her back. And she doesn't have the nerve to tell him that she's since lost track of his brothers. Slowly, she leans down and presses her lips against his forehead, a surge of guilt filling her as he stirs and peers up at her through tired eyes. "Hey you," His voice is rough, rougher than usual, and if Rynn was a lesser woman she would allow herself to hate the empire for hurting him so badly. "Hey yourself," She whispers. "I'm sorry for waking you." "S'alright," He shifts so he's able to lay his head on her lap, "Do I get your attention because I'm hurt?" "Of course you do," She replies. "And the others are okay with it?" Rynn's soft smile doesn't flicker, she has enough control over her emotions that there's no physical evidence of her distress. But Sev knows her, better than she knows herself at times. So when he scowls and reaches up with heavily bandaged hands to cup her face, she allows her smile to fall. "What happened?" Rynn doesn't avert her gaze, "There was an incident." She says, "Boss tried to kill me." Sev sits up suddenly enough that he hisses in pain, "What?! He would never." "But he did. Fixer and Scorch tried to help him. I didn't hurt them, but I don't know where they are either." She explains, gentle hands encouraging him to lay back down. He doesn't fight her, relaxing under her gentle touch. "What happened?" He repeats. "The clones turned on the Jedi, almost to a man." Rynn's voice is soft, "The Jedi were almost completely wiped out. There are a few of us who survived...but not enough. Not nearly enough." Sev stares at her, "...I'm sorry." Rynn shakes her head, "Boss, Fixer, and Scorch are mine. Just like you. I'm not giving up on them. Not yet. Will you help me?" "As if you have to ask," Sev replies, "Where are we going?" "There's another group of clones who have managed to stay themselves, they're based on Ord Mantell right now. Once you're healed, we'll go there and see what they know." Rynn explains. "Alright," He agrees, his eyes closing, "Rynn?" "Hm?" "Thank you for coming to get me." "Silly man," She whispers, her fingers gentle against his bruised cheek, "As if I would do anything else." She leans in one more time and kisses the bridge of his nose, before she pulls back, "Get some rest, Sev. We have a lot of work to do."