#rowe fine furniture

[rocketjumper]

Family Room Enclosed in San Francisco Mid-sized 1950s enclosed family room image with white walls and a brown floor.

[icamestraightfromrome]

Bedroom Master in New York Example of a large trendy master medium tone wood floor and brown floor bedroom design with gray walls

[heartorbit]

el wiwi ATTACK

[comfortless]

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

[homunculus-argument]

I think another thing cats got right is the recreational smackfight. Like walking up to someone you live with and just unpromptedly smacking them just because you're bored and want some conflict to spice up your day, thump thump thump thump and knocking over some furniture, and then you're done as soon as you got it out of your system, and you're both completely fine with each other because obviously it was no real fight, just a little row of recreational sparring as civilised people do.

[apuckishwit]

Making Room

Steve never gets into DnD.

Not even after Eddie convinces him to join a one-shot over one Christmas when the kids are all back from college and jobs and far-flung adventures. He's not a jerk about it or anything. He sits and makes a character with his boyfriend and he does his best with the role-playing and he only asks Dustin for help with the dice seven or eight times (and everyone had promised to give him an even dozen before they gave him shit about it, so it was fine). It's fine. He's not mad that he spent the time doing it with Eddie and the kids (some of them taller than him now, in spitting distance of college degrees and first apartments and jobs and spouses and lives, but they'll always be kids to him).

But afterwards he kisses Eddie and says it really and truly isn't for him, sorry babe.

And that's okay.

When he and Robin are scavenging through yet another thrift store for furniture and dishes and lamps for the apartment she and Nancy are getting in Indianapolis (he's so sad that her room in the little house he shares with Eddie is going back to being a guest room, but he's so damn happy that she and Nance have stopped dancing around each other...and they're only moving about half an hour away, he'll still see her all the time), and he spots an impractically long desk/table, onviously custom-built, with an absurd number of drawers and compartments built into it, he buys it immediately. He wrestles it into Eddie's van that they borrowed for the day, and smiles apologetically when Robin has to hold like three boxes on her lap. He gets it into their dining room while Eddie's at work, graciously gifting their own table to Robin and Nancy, and it's worth all the hassle (and the fact that one end of the table pokes about a foot into the living room space) when Eddie comes home to something big enough for even his most complicated campaign maps and with plenty of storage for all his dice and miniatures and source books.

And sturdy enough for Eddie's most...enthusiastic...thanks, they find out that night.

Steve never gets into DnD.

But every time Hellfire (whatever incarnation of Hellfire it is, be it the Hawkins crew or some of the guys from the little record shop Eddie works at in town, or some combination) meets up for a game, they get used to Eddie yelling, "Stevie! Evens or odds?" everytime a situation calls for a luck die. They learn that complimenting the snacks Steve sets out will sometimes get them advantage on a roll. They watch Eddie snag Steve's wrist as he passes in or out of the dining room and get him to roll a D20 for various and random reasons. Steve always obliges, before drifting back to the couch with a beer or a slice of pizza and whatever basketball or baseball game is on.

Steve never gets into DnD.

But sometimes Eddie spreads newspapers over the Campaign Table (TM) and sets pots of paint and rows of miniatures out, and he and Steve sit together for a few hours, Steve slapping on the basecoats with a single pot of white, gray, or black and Eddie going to town on the details while they chat about their day, playing footsie under the table or stealing kisses while they wait for something to dry.

"Babe! I need a name for the friendly barkeep who knows more than he seems!"

"Carl."

"He's a half-orc!"

"Those are the big green guys, right?"

"Yeah!"

"Hmmm. Big Carl."

"Perfect!"

Steve never gets into DnD. But he loves Eddie, and he loves how into DnD Eddie is. So he makes room in his life for this thing that Eddie loves.

***

Eddie never gets into sports.

Like, objectively he understands that some people enjoy running around getting all sweaty, trying to keep some kind of ball away from other people and make it go into some kind of receptacle. And he certainly appreciates the view of some of those people in tight little shorts.

Particularly Steve.

Like honestly? If it wouldn't get him labeled a total creep (and they weren't so careful about giving anyone a reason to question the assumption that they're just two young friends living together to save money until they find respectable women to marry)...he'd park his van out by the little middle school where Steve teaches gym and coaches basketball and baseball every day during his lunch break, just to watch his boyfriend run the mile with his students in those shorts that hug the muscles of his thighs just right.

But he doesn't like sports apart from the strictly prurient interest he has in watching Steve wear sports-appropriate clothes.

He tries. He wants to know just what it is that keeps Steve glued to the TV when his favorite teams are playing, wants to understand why Steve yells and groans and jumps up with wild cheers, spilling popcorn all over the living room floor. He just...doesn't get it. Steve tries to explain March Madness to him one year and it makes no more sense than when Wayne tried to when Eddie was a kid. Eventually he just shrugs, kisses Steve's nose, and goes back to petting through his boyfriend's hair with a, sorry, baby, it's not for me.

And that's okay.

He gets up early the week Steve is overseeing baseball tryouts, to make sure his boyfriend has a travel mug of coffee fixed just the way he likes it, and a good breakfast waiting for him when he gets out of the shower. Steve is unquestionably the cook in their relationship, but Young Eddie ate a lot of breakfast for dinner over the years and Adult Eddie makes damn good pancakes, omelettes, and French toast.

Eddie never gets into sports.

But he gets Lucas to break down exactly what kind of notes and stats Steve will be keeping track of and draws up a template "character sheet" for baseball players, spending an hour at the local library laboriously making copies with their cantankerous mimeograph machine.

He sure as shit never gets up at the crack of dawn to go running around the neighborhood the way Steve does...but on days when it starts raining or snowing halfway through Steve's run, he'll drag himself out of bed and throw some towels in the dryer, so they're nice and warm when Steve comes back inside.

Eddie never gets into sports.

But he takes every overtime shift he can for a month, so he can take Steve to Chicago for his twenty-fifth birthday to see the Bulls play. The seats aren't great or anything, and it's noisy as fuck, crowded as fuck, and he has no idea why his boyfriend is losing his mind every time that Jordan guy so much as touches the ball...but Steve's eyes are sparkling, the color is high in his cheeks, and when they get back to their hotel that night, they've barely closed the door before Steve is shoving him against it, devouring his mouth.

"Hey Eds, Ohio State or Georgia Tech?"

"For what?"

"I'm doing my brackets for the pool I've got with Hopper and Lucas!"

"Um, whoever's in red!"

"Ohio State it is, thanks babe!"

Eddie never gets into sports. But that's okay. He loves Steve, and he loves how happy Steve is when he's playing, or coaching, or running (God help him, he fell in love with someone who gets up at six am to run. Without anything chasing him.) So he makes room in his life for this thing that Steve loves.

Because certainly, love grows in shared passions and matching interests. But it also flourishes in the carefully tended space you make just for the things that make your person happy...even if it's just not for you.

[captain-hawks]

waking reverie

levi ackerman x f!reader

summary: sick and tired of overhearing the sounds of you fooling around with a fellow squad leader, Levi decides to confront you afterward at a particularly inopportune moment.

or, Levi catches you getting yourself off and has a thing or two to say (and do) about it.

word count: 4.3k

content: NSFW, 18+, smut, masturbation, fingering, oral sex, squirting, unprotected sex, rough sex, squirting, dom!levi, possessive!levi, creampie, choking, spit kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms

Hange is going to kill him if he keeps stealing their pencils. 

It’s the first thought that crosses Levi’s mind when a loud cracking noise is followed by something sharp jabbing into his palm, and he glances down to see the writing utensil crumble into a sad clump of shards over his page of notes. But he doesn’t mull over it long, not when he’s distracted by something he’s heard far too much of over the past few days—the sound of you giggling, followed by the door to Squad Leader Daniel Flore’s office slamming shut.

Tonight’s pencil met its earliest grave yet, the wood starting to splinter an hour ago when the mess hall cleared out, at which point Levi had begun unconsciously squeezing it in irritated anticipation of…this. 

There’s a scuffling of boots and the squeak of a chair scooting across the floor next door. But then things are relatively silent for a few moments after, and Levi looks up at the ceiling pleadingly, wondering if maybe he’ll finally get some peace tonight. But no, his hopes are quickly dashed when he hears the muffled yet unmistakable sound of you fucking moaning. 

Levi wishes he had another pencil to snap in half. 

Maybe the chair legs will have to do.

It’s not that Levi gives a shit about his fellow Survey Corps members getting laid. In fact, if it means they’re less high strung on the field, he’ll gladly set up a goddamn matchmaking booth outside of the building, if only to save himself the headache of trying to maintain order over a group of sexually frustrated idiots. Whatever it takes to make his life a little less miserable.

He’s perhaps a bit more judgemental when it comes to Squad Leaders pairing off, often shamelessly barking at them the next day not to let their “messy shit” get in the way of doing their damn jobs. Yet he generally waves it off all the same, rolling his eyes when the lovesick idiots start to realize what a bad idea it is to grapple with feelings when you’re supposed to be saving the world from man-eating Titans.

Anyway, you and Flore are both Squad Leaders. Fine. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

Whatever.

But the real fucking issue here is the fact that Flore keeps his desk up against the wall that he shares with Levi’s office. And he’s been fucking you up against—or on top of, maybe—that stupid, shitty piece of furniture for the past three nights in a row.

Loudly.

So loudly that Levi’s not sure if Flore’s got something to prove or if he’s just downright stupid. Probably the latter, if Levi’s being honest. Either way, he’s well and truly on the verge of losing his mind at this point.

And if a tiny part of it is because he’s downright fucking baffled that you’d go barking up Flore’s tree of all people? 

Levi Ackerman is not jealous.

…he just assumed you’d have better taste.

—

Perhaps fucking Daniel Flore a mere wall away from Captain Levi’s office wasn’t quite your best decision as of late. 

And not just because of the fact that he can more than likely hear the two of you going at it like foolish teenagers, which is just asking to draw more ire from the already irritable man. 

Not just because, despite your tendency to bicker with one another like it’s your job, you actually have quite a solid working relationship with the Captain. Something you’d tentatively call friendship—and he might even be inclined to agree, on his less moody days. 

The most conflicting part of your tipsy decision that has since turned into a multi-day affair is something else entirely. Something that, in reality, shouldn’t even matter. 

…because it’s not like he’s even interested.

At one point or another, you found yourself developing feelings for Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

—but the idea of Captain Levi fucking Ackerman deigning to get down and dirty with you of all people is laughable, at best. He can hardly step out of his office without turning heads, let alone when he makes his way through town. With the reputation that he’s built for himself over the years, he could have anyone he wanted.

Flore’s nice enough. And he’s a decent kisser, you’ll give him that. But as you glance back at the brown-haired man leaning against the chair and panting, a smug grin on his face as you slip your pants back on to conclude your activities, you internally cringe at the feeling of your underwear brushing against your sad, throbbing clit.

A throbbing clit that you’ll have to sneak off to your own office down the hall to take care of yourself for the second night in a row, because while you ended your first encounter somewhat satisfied, Flore hasn’t been able to get you off since. You’ve put on enough of a show each time to leave him thinking otherwise, half convinced that maybe there’s just something wrong with you, but after tonight, you may have to rethink your arrangement.

There’s a small, well-worn couch situated in the corner of your office, which you make a beeline for after closing the door and shucking your pants off once more. The material drops onto the wooden floor in a careless heap as you slump back onto the cushions, letting your thighs fall open as you lean your head back and slowly swipe a finger over the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. 

Your folds are frustratingly dry, your fleeting thoughts of Flore doing absolutely nothing to help dampen your situation. So, also for the second night in a row…your thoughts betray you as they drift to a place you know will leave you slick and whimpering.

A vision of soft, black hair, steel gray eyes, and a familiar commanding, low voice is all it takes to encourage the sticky arousal now dripping at the apex of your thighs, a shameless little moan falling from your lips as you slide two fingers into your aching cunt.

“Have you ever considered that there are other people in the barra—”

The door to your office flies open as Levi storms in without knocking, though his barked out words are immediately cut off the moment his eyes stray to the sofa. He freezes in place, not even bothering to turn around as he slowly kicks the door shut behind him.

And it would be comical, just how many emotions are fighting their way across Levi’s normally composed face, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s now staring at you while you finger yourself because you were so desperate to get yourself off that you forgot to lock the fucking door. 

He blinks, crossing his arms. “You’re joking.”

Fingers still lodged inside of your wet heat because you can’t decide whether or not that’s less awkward than pulling them out and wiping them on the couch, you realize that you have no idea what to say. “I—”

“Was fucking like animals for forty-five minutes up against the wall beside my office not enough for you?” he deadpans.

Your face heats up in embarrassment, and you pull your eyes away from his heavy gaze, looking off to the side of the room as you subtly shift your fingers to your thigh. “That’s not exactly…I just didn’t…” you mutter, trailing off. 

Levi scoffs as he swiftly ascertains what you’re alluding to, “Don’t tell me Flore doesn’t even know how to get a woman off.”

You bristle with embarrassment over his forwardness, finally snapping your legs closed and hastily tugging a pillow over your lap. “That’s none of your business.”

“If two Squad Leaders are fucking on my watch, it’s my business to make sure your messy little relationship doesn’t end up getting us all killed in the field,” he sneers. 

“There’s no relationship. We’re not dating. It was a one time thing”

Levi doesn’t respond.

“Okay, a few-times thing,” you amend with a huff, shifting uncomfortably. 

He continues to stare at you, waiting.

“I was lonely and tired of taking care of things myself. Happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

His boots hardly make a sound as he takes a step closer to you and observes, “It looks like you’re still taking care of things yourself, anyway.”

You sigh heavily, “It’s slim pickings around here, Captain.”

Another step.

“So Flore was your top choice?”

Despite the fact that you’re nearly naked in front of the man who’s currently raising an eyebrow as he nudges your discarded underwear with the toe of his boot, you manage to school your features into a mask of cool indifference as you shrug, “My preferred taste is a bit more…unattainable.”

“Let me guess, Commander Erwin?” he drawls.

You can’t help the choked out laugh that escapes you at that—just how very off base his assumptions are. If nothing else, perhaps it means you’ve done a somewhat decent job at not making your crush on the Captain wholly apparent. 

“I mean, he sure does look like he’s fantastic in bed—”

“Spare me,” Levi groans.

“...but he’s just not quite short-tempered and difficult enough for my tastes,” you finish, letting your mouth quirk upward in the ghost of a smile. 

Levi’s knees bump into yours as he reaches the couch, looking down at you with his hands resting casually in his pockets. “And someone is?”

“Someone unattainable,” you concede.

Your breath hitches in your throat when Levi leans down, making a noncommittal noise as he swipes a layer of dust off of the couch’s wooden frame. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he asks, “So…you’d rather do this,” he gently thumps a fist over the pillow in your lap, “than try and approach this someone?”

Refusing to back down from his stare, you flippantly reply, “Sometimes the fantasy ends up being better than the real thing, anyway.”

Levi’s jaw ticks, and he asks you carefully in a low tone, “And just how often do you entertain this little fantasy?”

“Every night,” you breathe out, not missing a beat.

This time, when Levi leans in, his breath is hot against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “I can assure you the fantasy pales in comparison.” 

With that, he stands up straight and heads for the door without so much as a goodbye.

Gaping, you call out, “Captain Levi?”

His hand pauses on the doorknob, and without turning to look at you, he says cooly, “My office. Now.”

“I—”

“It’s cleaner.”

—

It’s ridiculous, the way your fingers tremble as you slip your pants back on—forgoing the underwear completely this time. On the field, you wield the dual blades at your sides with a steady, focused grip and instinctual precision that once upon a time granted you a top spot in your Training Corps class. 

And yet here you are now, caught in a battle between the stubborn button of your pants and your shaking hands, your entire goddamn axis thrown off kilter by the devastatingly handsome Captain currently waiting for you a few doors down. With a sigh, you give up, tugging your shirt down and hoping for the sake of the last charred bits of your ego that you didn’t misunderstand his invitation. 

Are you really about to go and fuck Captain Levi Ackerman?

You don’t have to ponder the question long, because you’re hardly two steps inside of Levi’s office, having slipped inside the door that he left open just a crack, when you find yourself firmly pressed up against it. 

Levi’s body is warm as he cages you in, eyes boring into your own while he reaches behind you and flicks the lock shut with an abrupt click that seems to echo throughout the room. You’re both silent for a moment, and he takes half a step back.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” 

The question catches you off guard, but you nod.

Levi inhales sharply through his nose and adds, “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you exhale quickly, already feeling more than a little breathless.

He leans in, letting his fingers ghost over your chin, his breath mingling in the vicinity of yours as he warns you softly,  “I’m not a gentle lover.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle,” you assure him, taking no small delight in the way his eyes briefly close at your affirmation.

“...and I don’t share,” he whispers, thumb skating over your lower lip.

“Neither do I,” you challenge, though you’re well aware you’re getting far too ahead of yourself with your implied request.

“I would hope not,” Levi chuckles lowly. “From now on, you come to me and only me.”

Searing heat drips through your veins, your lips parting slightly as the full weight of his words hits you. 

Levi’s lips hover over yours, so close you can nearly taste the promise on them as he murmurs, “...and you come for me. Only. Me.”

Oh.

Toes curling, it takes every ounce of restraint inside of your body to hold back the pathetically desperate whimper vibrating through you in response. The quiet, shaky “yes” that leaves you is hardly audible over the rapid beating of your heart.

But it’s all Levi needs to hear, that last exhale, before he cups your face in both hands and slots his lips against yours. 

There’s a focused, measured precision in the way Levi kisses, a push and pull in the way his mouth both guides and chases your own. With a tease of teeth along your bottom lip and a sensual dance of his tongue along the seam of your mouth, you’re caught up in a hungry, electrifying undercurrent that leaves you dizzy on the spot. 

You’ve spent more time than you’d like to admit thinking about Levi’s mouth. The delicate curve of his cupid’s bow. That restless tongue that’s always clicking against his teeth, as if it’s just waiting to be put to use elsewhere. The prominent taste of tea you could guarantee would be lingering on his lips. 

But there’s one thing you hadn’t accounted for, one thing that knocks the air from your lungs.

—it’s the way Levi murmurs your name into the kiss, the curve of each letter so sensual, his voice so rough that you know the memory of it is already irrevocably seared into your mind. 

You let yourself tangle your fingers in the silken, black strands of his hair, earning a pleased, rumbling groan in his throat in response. Pushing your luck, you tug on the locks, and the hot trail of kisses Levi’s blazing along your exposed neck is interrupted by the soft growl that leaves his throat as he bites down on your sensitive skin and begins to suck. 

The firm, solid pressure of his body against yours as you arch into him leaves you keening, and his hands drift down to grasp your hips while he presses hungry, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, as low as your partially-unbuttoned shirt will allow. You rock your hips into him, already drunk on his scalding, attentive touch, and a small moan escapes your lips when you feel the rock hard evidence of his own arousal drag against the apex of your thighs.

“Levi,” you pant out, rolling your hips once more.

He groans languidly, bringing his lips back up to yours for a chaste kiss. Fingertips skating beneath your chin, gray eyes bore into your own as he asks, “Safe word?”

Mind blanking for a moment, every single word you’ve ever known ceases to exist in the heady, addictive presence of the man before you. Your eyes land on something sitting on his desk; it’s broken to pieces but still unmistakable. 

“Pencil.”

Levi huffs out a low laugh, staring at you a little incredulously before he intones, “Tch. Fine.”

At that, he lets his hand trail down between your legs, another amused sound leaving him when he realizes you didn’t bother buttoning your pants back up before slinking into his office. 

“Eager?” he questions, only to let out a near feral noise when he notices your underwear also didn’t come along for the trip. 

All you can do is whine as he slides his hand into your pants, no small amount of satisfaction gracing his features when he feels the damp pool of arousal that’s since soaked through the material. 

“I hope this was all for me,” he observes, sliding two fingers through your slick, sensitive folds. 

You shiver, pushing into his touch, afraid that you might collapse if he doesn’t start sliding those thin, dexterous digits into your aching cunt soon. 

“You know it is,” you pant.

Your legs quake when he brushes his thumb over your swollen clit, fingertips teasing at your fluttering entrance. 

“I wonder if that’s why you couldn’t come for him,” he muses, bringing his hand up to eye level and watching the way your sticky arousal hangs between the digits. You’d whine at the loss of contact, if it weren’t for the way he sticks his fingers in his mouth and licks them clean.

His hand trails back down to your wet heat as you try to remember how to breathe, his gaze heavy as plunges two fingers into your cunt and rasps, “Because you wished it was my cock inside of you, fucking you stupid.”

Levi doesn’t wait for an answer as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of your needy hole, each thrust punctuated by the wet squelch of your gratuitous arousal. Heat spreads under your skin under his thorough exploration of your narrow, saturated channel, digits curling to meticulously stroke a spot that has you gasping his name. Your fingertips dig into his collarbone, and Levi surges forward, lips crashing into yours as he swallows your pleading moans. And for what may very well be the first time in your life, your climax takes you entirely by surprise, liquid fire whipping through your insides with the force of a raging gale.

He nips at your bottom lip while you come down from your shuddering wave of pleasure, but your fingers have barely begun to reach for his stiff length when Levi suddenly drops down to his knees in front of you. Nails dragging along your hip bones, he swiftly tugs down your pants and tosses them aside before pushing your legs further apart and burying his face between them.

Prickles of overstimulation crawl up your spine, and you let out a small sound of protest, but your core immediately turns molten again at Levi’s ragged tone as he breathes out, “One more. One more before I fuck you.”

There’s nothing calculated about the messy, hungry way he goes down on you, parting your folds to sink his tongue into your cunt, nose pressed firmly against your clit, a moan reverberating through him as he laps up every last drop of the cum that’s leaking out of you. His fingertips dig into your thighs, saliva running down his chin, and he moves to slide two fingers back inside of you while he begins to mouth at your sensitive bundle of nerves

At this point, even if Levi hadn’t made it explicitly clear that whatever this is between the two of you is very much exclusive—

…you’re not sure if anyone else could even come close. 

Reality trumps the fantasy, indeed, Captain. 

And with a firm crook of his fingers, the steaming pressure building up inside of you bursts, clear liquid spraying from your pussy and soaking Levi’s face and hand as you ride out your second orgasm.

If you thought Levi looked feral before, it’s nothing compared to the look that crosses his face as you squirt for him. “Oh fuck.”

He all but drags you over to his desk, unceremoniously swiping everything off of the surface and letting it all clatter to the floor before lifting you up—with strength that honestly shouldn’t surprise you—and placing you on its surface. Fingers aching to touch him, you grapple with his shirt, pulling it over his head while he trails his way down the remaining buttons on yours. You hardly have time to enjoy the planes of his bare chest before you, because he makes quick work of your bra, cursing under his breath at the sight and wasting no time in leaning in to taste your supple breasts. 

A small part of you almost wants to make a comment about dirtying Levi’s clean desk with the arousal you know is dripping out of you once more—you’re so fucking wet for him it’s boredline ridiculous—but all thoughts go fizzling from your mind when he latches onto your nipple and begins to suck.

“Fucking perfect,” he grunts, teeth grazing the sensitive bud. 

Unable to wait any longer to finally see what’s straining for release between his legs, you unbutton his pants, humming in satisfaction at the feeling of his deceivingly thick cock throbbing in your palm. Saliva coats your tits as he sucks more fervently in response to the way you’ve begun to stroke his length, your other hand tangling in his hair.

“Stop.”

You freeze at the command in his tone, waiting as he pushes down his pants and underwear, kicking them out of the way before stepping closer between your legs. 

“Next time,” he amends gently, leaning in to graze his teeth along the shell of your ear, lips and tongue pressing into the tender skin behind your earlobe. “Because I might very well lose my mind if I don’t fuck you right now.”

You exhale, muscles aching with anticipation. “Please, Levi.”

He pushes your thighs apart, swiping his fingers through your arousal and using it to coat his shaft before notching its reddened, leaking head at your entrance. And remembering your earlier words about just how you like it, there’s no warning when Levi plunges his throbbing cock into your slick, wet cunt, plastering his mouth onto yours to swallow down each delicious moan that echoes out of you as he splits you open.

There’s nothing gentle about the way Levi fucks you, sweaty hair plastered against his forehead as he revels in the warmth of your tight cunt with each snap of his hips, every thrust deeper than the last. The push and drag of his fat cock has you whining and moaning so loud your throat begins to burn, satisfaction curling in your gut at the mirroring sound that leaves him when you roughly pull on his hair.

Belatedly—too distracted by your lust-fuelled frenzy—you realize that smacking flesh and needy, desperate noises aren’t the only sounds echoing throughout the room. With each punishing snap of his hips, as Levi stuffs you full of his cock over and over, his desk violently smacks into the wall.

The wall that Flore is very likely currently sitting on the other side of at his own desk.

You tell Levi as much, and he makes no effort to slow down as he growls, “I don’t fucking care.”

And well, maybe it’s a little fucked up.

But given that the object of years worth of your wet dreams is currently balls deep inside of you and groaning your name repeatedly, you can’t bring yourself to give a shit, either.

So instead, you whimper, “Harder, Levi. Please.”

Hands trail along your throat, and Levi meets your gaze. You nod, and he tightens his grip, your dwindling airflow setting your nerves alight with pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waist, the balls of your feet pressing into the small of his back, and as he continues to choke you, your tight cunt chokes the width of his cock in equal measure.

It feels so fucking good that tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and your chest aches from the heaving, panting breaths you repeatedly continue to demand of it. The pressure on your throat lessens, and you feel Levi’s hand come up to cup your chin, his thumb pulling down on your bottom lip.

Though it’s only one word, you know he feels just as wrecked as you by his low, rough tone as rasps, “Open.”

You part your lips, and Levi leans in, spitting in your mouth. He feels the way your cunt clenches down on him in response, so after you swallow, unconsciously letting your lips fall back open, he spits again. 

In turn, you grab him by the hair and pull him in for a filthy kiss. Levi’s mouth devours yours as he grabs you by the throat again, moaning against your lips, “Good girl.”

The ache between your thighs blooms red hot, the coil of pleasure twisting in your gut unfurling so rapidly your vision goes white as you come hard, gushing around the stretch of Levi’s cock. He chases your lips as you throw your head back in pleasure, kissing you hard while he drives his length deep into you one last time to the hilt, hips jerking as he empties himself inside of you.

You let your body fall against his as you both come down from your climaxes, breathing heavily. Levi begins to rub soothing circles against your back, callused fingertips skating across your smooth skin, the gesture an amusingly stark contrast to how brazenly he just fucked you. When he pulls out of you, thick cum leaks from between your thighs, making a mess of his desk. 

And for once, it’s a mess that Levi Ackerman doesn’t mind.

Instead, he cups your cheek in one hand, a glint in his eyes as he murmurs, “I think I can get four out of you next time.”

Your eyes widen, laughter bubbling up in your chest as you lean in, lips ghosting over his as you retort, “Cocky bastard.”

Tongue clicking against his teeth, he rolls his eyes and mutters, “Brat,” kissing you again.

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 3: Al-Haitham x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6757

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, power dynamics, petplay, collaring, predicament bondage, spanking, vaginal fingering, tail butt plug, object insertion

A/N: A few people asked for a follow up to Al-Haitham's piece from last years Kinktober and I'm personally always glad for any excuse to write about more petplay scenarios, so here we are! I hope everyone enjoys! 🫣

⭐

“So,” He intones, casually slouched to one side so he can brace his shoulder against the door jamb. With his arms crossed over his chest he looked the picture-perfect image of idle, confident arrogance standing there before you in the faint glow of a nearby street lamp. It was enough to almost make you sick. “You really decided to muster up the courage and come here after all. Consider me impressed.” 

Hands balled into tight, sweaty fists in the front of your breezy skirt, you pointedly keep your eyes downcast so you won’t have to look him in the face. Damn Al-Haitham and damn you for being fool enough to go through with this stupid idea. Hadn’t he humiliated you more than enough the last time? 

“Is that alright? I could always come back some other day …” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re already here, why send you away?” Straightening up, Al-Haitham shifts to the side to unblock the entrance to his home and grant you entry despite looking anything but welcoming. “Come in. And try not to look so scared.” 

You can feel your cheeks quickly growing hot enough to fry an egg on but you stubbornly shove aside all the uncertainty and ill opinions you had of the scribe in favor of focusing only on your objective. Of course that was in many ways exactly what had gotten you into this mess in the first place, yet it seemed you still hadn’t quite learned your lesson. You wouldn’t have shown up at his doorstep like this otherwise. 

Steeling yourself, you stiffly move forward to shuffle past him to stand just inside his foyer while he closes the door behind you. His home isn’t particularly large but it's finely furnished and surprisingly quaint in its own way. You wonder at that as you take in the decor, noticing an odd disconnect between one piece of furniture or knickknack and the next. While some of it was quite stylish other bits and bobbles leaned more towards an eclectic taste that didn’t seem to match. 

And then your eyes land on the neatly lined up row of shoes just off the main entrance. 

Two different sizes. 

“Don’t worry. My roommate is out on business tonight.” He says, supplying an answer to the unasked question, and you bring your head up with a quick snap. 

“I didn’t know you had a roommate.” 

His hand is suddenly right in front of your face when you turn towards him, making you startle, but he merely slips those long fingers underneath your chin to further nudge your attention up at him. Verdant gaze studying you closely, Al-Haitham searches your expression for a drawn out beat — for what, you do not know — before deigning to speak again. “Well, I do. Have one I mean. He won’t be bothering us any time soon though, so tell me what it is you want.” 

Your natural disinclination for him quickly rears its ugly head, and you narrow your eyes up at him in annoyance. “How do you know I want something?” 

“Please. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t. Now spill it.” 

Clicking your tongue, you irritably pull away from him and take a step back to put some distance between you two. Hopefully that would be enough to give you a chance to think straight, even though it was clear you hadn’t been doing much of that at all recently. “Look. I know you and I don’t exactly get along even under the best of circumstances but … do you recall what you said to me back in the Grand Sage’s office?” 

“My office, at least for the moment, and yes. I said a great many things to you that day. Which are you referring to specifically?” 

“Gods, you’re such an ass.” You murmur, wondering why you’d even come here when you knew good and well how he was. It’s much too late to start giving this second thoughts though, so you lift your chin in defiance of his surly attitude. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Acting Grand Sage, but I believe you told me I could come to you if I ever wanted a refresher course on our last — lesson. Does that offer still stand?” 

“Oh?” Looking really quite smug now, Al-Haitham allows his roguish mouth to curl into a brief smirk. “Is this supposed to be your way of asking nicely for something? Gotta’ say, your methods could still use some work but I can see we’re making progress. It’s better than the last time, at least.” 

“Are you going to answer the question or not?” You demand, feeling your jittery nerves start to get the better of you. 

If you’d had any other option here you would have gladly taken it before ever subjecting yourself to this particular man’s presence ever again but you just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the time you’d spent with him in his office. By the end of it you’d been all but preening at his soft spoken praise only to then be cast back out into the real world where people in polite society didn’t talk to each other like that. It was maddening in the worst possible way. 

Worst of all, he still hadn’t signed off on that damn expense sheet even after saying he’d give it another look and yet that seemed to be the farthest thing from your mind anymore. The only thing you really wanted at this point was to experience the same warm buzz of satisfaction you’d felt when he spoke to you in that uncharacteristically soft, doting manner as before. Was that seriously too much to ask for? 

“Just relax. We really need to work on that impatient streak of yours.” He says, evidently recognizing the frazzled look on your face for what it is. “And don’t worry, my offer still stands. I’ll play with you again. Good timing, actually. I recently bought a few things at the bazaar that I think you might like.” 

“Huh?” You blurt, turning to follow him with your eyes when he brushes past you into the rest of the house. “Don't tell me you actually knew I’d come here like this?” 

“That’s a bit of a stretch. All I did was calculate the odds that you would eventually decide to seek me out again, so the expense was justifiable despite being preemptive. Get undressed while I grab everything and wait for me until I get back.” 

And just like that he’s gone, disappeared down the hallway into a room on the far end of the house by the sound of it. 

For a long moment you just stand there, too stunned at Al-Haitham’s gall to take action. You weren’t sure who he thought he was but as usual it was already giving you a headache. Nothing ever went as you hoped it would whenever he was involved. 

Rousing yourself though, you quickly get to work. Far be it that you were any more comfortable with the thought of being naked in front of him than you were the first time, but you’d known what you were signing up for when you chose to come to him like this. And you’re glad to find it’s a little easier without him standing there, looming over you like some scrutinizing gargoyle while more and more of your body is slowly revealed to him, so there was that perk. If anything you were just glad he hadn’t sent you away. 

But once you find yourself standing nude in his living room some of the uncertainty starts to come back. Just what the hell were you doing here? And how were you supposed to position yourself, should you sit or stand? Did he expect you to seamlessly fall into the role of obedient dog again even if he wasn’t there to guide you through the process like before? 

There was no clear cut solution to any of these problems you now faced, and you at last decide to err on the side of caution. You would prostrate yourself for him, since he seemed to get so much satisfaction out of that, but you’d wait for further instruction before doing anything else. It was undeniably silly, but you didn’t want to seem too eager. 

Thus when Al-Haitham returns after another moment or two, he finds you kneeling on the ornate rug laid out across the floor with your legs neatly folded underneath you. He noises a soft sound of acknowledgement as he strides across the room and you attentively zero in on the wooden box he’s got in his hands. 

“What’s that?” You chance to ask, earning a quick, vaguely amused look from him. 

“I wasn’t aware dogs knew how to speak to ask such questions of their masters.” 

Flushing all over again, you breathe out a soft huff through your nose but remain otherwise silent. You’re much more interested in observing him anyway, particularly when he sinks down to sit on the nearby sofa before placing that mysterious box next to him on the cushions. 

Then the full brunt of his attention is back on you. “Come here.” He commands, indicating the spot next to his feet. 

You catch yourself starting to prickle, your pride almost getting the better of you once again, but you quietly remind yourself that this was what you’d wanted. After being hounded by indecent thoughts for weeks now, all of them revolving around the scribe, there was no point making any qualms about it or pretending otherwise. 

So you somewhat grudgingly shift forward to brace on your hands and knees before crawling over to him. You’re acutely aware of the sway of your breasts while you do so, particularly when he was watching you do it and no doubt seeing every little detail of your body in this humiliating position, both the good and the bad. The crippling note of self consciousness that shudders through you is not nearly enough to douse your anticipatory excitement though, and you hesitantly tip your face towards him as you shuffle up to the sofa, earning a nod of approval. 

“Sit.” 

Obediently plopping your ass down on the carpet, you make a point of straightening your back for him to push your bare tits up and out. You felt incredibly foolish for being so concerned about his opinion of your body but that lingering sense of stubborn combativeness quickly fades when he reaches out to pet over your head with an indulgent gesture. 

“Good girl. I have something for you.” 

Feeling fuzzy and warm, you blink up at Al-Haitham through the growing fog as he reaches for the box. That he makes a point of opening the lid towards you so that you can’t see what’s hidden inside almost manages to annoy you but you quickly stamp it down in favor of simply watching him. With a faint rustle, he lifts what you immediately recognize to be a collar from inside and silently presents it to you, just observing your reaction. 

The flustered look on your face must be an interesting one though, because he chuckles a brief laugh only a moment later. “Do you know what this is?” 

Reluctantly nodding, you shoot him a wary look. 

“Excellent. Then I shouldn’t have to waste any time on explaining it.” 

His large, dexterous hands get to work on unfastening the little eyelet so he can pull it open while you frantically try to rationalize this in your mind. Unaware of how hard your heart is pounding in your chest, he leans down to wrap the surprisingly thick band of leather around your throat so he can secure it into place at the back and you just sit there as if in a numb stupor while he does it. 

You couldn’t believe this was really happening … 

“As long as you’re wearing this,” He drawls, still fiddling with the catch to ensure it was sufficiently snug on your neck. “You’ll be my pet and I expect you to act accordingly. I won’t hesitate to punish you if you misbehave but … I also won’t hesitate to reward you either. We can play this game as long as you’d like, and when I take this off we’ll go back to our usual roles. No questions asked. Does that sound fair to you?” 

You slowly nod your agreement, suddenly finding it incredibly difficult to even think a coherent thought. As if being collared by him had effectively pulled a hazy, disarming shroud over your head, you were struggling to formulate anything at all in your mind when the only thing you could seem to focus on was the brush of his hands against your skin, the smell of him. The domineering way he’s leaned over you from his elevated position and the close proximity that came with it. You’d understood on some innate, instinctive level that you wanted him to subjugate you to his will again but you hadn’t expected it to have such an all encompassing effect on you. It was as if your higher functioning ego was slowly slipping away, like sand through your fingertips. 

And when he at last deems the collar to be adequately secured, leaning back to look at you with an unreadable expression, you positively quake under the spotlight of his attention. Al-Haitham may have been able to irritate you far beyond what any other person had ever accomplished, but when he looked at you like that … Archon’s, you would have done anything he asked of you if it only meant he’d praise you for it. 

“You’re certainly being good this evening. Guess you must have really needed this.” His eyelashes drooping to attractive half mast to mirror a very small fraction of the anticipation you were currently feeling, he reaches out to casually flick at the metal ringlet attached to the front of your new collar. “It’s just as I thought. Pink really does suit you. That being said, you have no idea how long it actually took me to find one of these in this color. You should probably thank me for it.” 

You shoot a quick, hungry look at his lap, the muscles in your legs already bracing to lean forward and put your mouth on him, but he stops you in your tracks with another quiet chuckle. 

“Not like that, though I do appreciate your enthusiasm. As long as you continue to be good for me I think we’ll be just fine.” Straightening up from his comfortable slouch, Al-Haitham then reaches back into the box to dig for something else. The sound of metal clinking together makes your heart skip a beat and you anxiously fidget there on the floor while he pulls out a long, complicated string of chains that all seem to connect in the same spot. 

Having no idea what to make of it, you blithely glance up at him in question. 

“This is to help you stay in position. Think of it like a training aide.” 

Evidently that’s all the explanation you’re going to get and you swallow hard, nearly choking on your nerves, when he leans down again. With a simple gesture of his hand, Al-Haitham secures the topmost latch to the front of your collar. The links are slight enough that it doesn’t add much additional weight to your neck, which you’re rather grateful for, but you can tell that they’re still sturdy enough not to break easily.

You start to understand what’s happening in a far off, dreamy sort of way when he reaches for one of your hands next. Directing it up to about chest level, he makes quick work of securing the thin cuff on one of the other trailing chains around your wrist to keep it elevated, lest you pull unnecessarily on the collar should you try to bring it back down again. He repeats the process on the other side to leave you in an approximation of the same begging position he’d made you assume last time, and you just let him do it because … you have no idea why. 

By all accounts this should have been setting off every single alarm bell in your head but it just doesn’t. If anything, your fast thrumming excitement only ratchets up another notch to leave you all but vibrating there at his feet. 

And when he finally settles back to take up the last chain, this one longer than all the rest, you immediately recognize what it is. A leash. One that he wraps the excess length around his knuckles before slowly tugging on it to pull you up to your knees. A shuddering moan slips out as you rock forward under the steady guidance of his gentle yet insistent pulling with your hands uselessly restrained in front of your chest. This was so incredibly dehumanizing … 

“Good girl. You look lovely like this.” His mouth faintly curling again, Al-Haitham reaches out his opposite hand to casually flick his finger back and forth over one of your tightly coiled nipples. “Feeling comfortable?” 

Helplessly mewling, you force your sluggish head to bob in agreement. This was too much and yet somehow not nearly enough at the same time. You felt like you were going mad. 

“On the floor then. All the way.” 

Tense and shirking, you slowly ease back to sit on your haunches before carefully leaning forward to brace your arms on the rug. You have to go slow or risk yanking on your collar, and the insidious nature of this set up quickly makes itself known. Not only were you effectively restrained and at his mercy like this, but the short length of the chains forces you down close to the ground to leave your backside pointed up in the air. Completely defenseless and vulnerable. He could have done anything at all to you in this position. 

The thought alone is enough to make you tremble uncontrollably, and you suck in a deeply frazzled breath when you feel him lean over you again. His hand finds your ass to smooth over it before giving you an encouraging pat that only seems to rush straight to your slicking cunt, making you whine low in your throat. What was he going to do to you when the possibilities seemed limitless and each one made you feel that much more desperate than the last? 

You soon get your answer when he silently withdraws his palm only to bring it back down on the meat of your backside in a stinging, hard handed swat. The suddenness of the slap shocks you more than the actual sharp burst of pain does, and you rock forward with a startled squeak. But he’s quick to do it again, targeting the other cheek this time, to make you mewl and fitfully squirm on the floor. 

“Don’t move.” He warns, giving the now aching skin a mean squeeze. “I’m just going to get you warmed up first before the main event, but if you decide not to be good for me I’ll have to really punish you. Surely you don’t want that, do you?” 

Half delirious, you slowly shake your head and the resulting clink of the chains rattling with the motion further highlights your position here. Even if you’d wanted to fight it there was nothing you could do with your hands secured as they were, nowhere for you to run when you were stark naked and effectively trapped in his home. All you can do is kneel there and take it, feeling your ass jolt in the air when he brings his hand down again to spank across your sit spots in rapid succession before focusing back in on the fattest part of your behind. 

What was initially a briefly sharp starburst of pain quickly morphs into a constant, throbbing sting that seems to spread across your whole backside while he peppers back and forth between your cheeks over the next some odd minutes. It seems to stretch on for an eternity but, logically, you knew it must have only lasted for a short while. Just enough to warm up the skin and leave it tender in the wake of his hand. That’s what he’d said, anyway. 

And you’re so far gone in the hazy stupor you’d slipped into that you couldn’t even fully grasp just how humiliating this really was. Being forced into such a position with your ass shamelessly presented for him to do whatever he liked and yet he chose to spank you. You’d probably be furious with him later on, and rightfully so, but in this particular moment the only thing you can bring yourself to care about is how turned on it was making you. 

The single other instance you could recall where you’d been quite this worked up was the last time you and him had played this game, sequestered away in the relative privacy of the Grand Sage’s office. Never before and never since. 

Here you had real privacy though and a much smaller chance of discovery, particularly if what he’d said about his mysterious roommate being out for the night was true. And it’s clear Al-Haitham plans to take full advantage of the freedom allotted to him by doing this in his own home, because no sooner does he finally pull his hand from your throbbing ass do you feel his fingers descend upon your cunt. 

Yelping a mindless sound of startled delight, you eagerly arch your spine and rear back on his hand in humble supplication for more. He laughs a low, rumbling sound at the display even as the rough pads of his fingertips skirt down the seam of your labia to rub sedate circles over your clit. The gesture quickly makes you realize exactly how soaked you are with copious arousal when he smears it across your pussy lips in the process, making an even bigger mess of you. 

Bless the gods, but you were going to cum in record time. 

“I wish you could see yourself right now, trembling like that with my handprints all over your ass. If it weren’t for your usual attitude I’d even say you look like you were made for this. Do you enjoy it when I touch you here?” 

You let out a needy, faltering groan and jerk your head in a quick nod, making the chains jostle again. 

“Then let me hear you, darling girl. Speak.” 

It’s a real struggle to think clearly when he was still intently drawing his fingers over that sensitive pleasure button but your cotton stuffed head somehow manages to parse what he was asking of you. It was the same as last time. The same ‘trick’ he’d taught you in his office. The memory of idiotically barking like a dog had kept you awake many a night since, and not for the reasons you would have liked … 

You absolutely hate how much it excites you, your cheeks flushing incomprehensibly hotter even as you hang your head low and force out a weak, “Wh - woof!” 

“Oh? Is this not to your liking? My apologies then. Perhaps you want it here instead?” Abandoning your clit, Al-Haitham trails his fingers further up to your entrance where he quickly sinks one of those sinuously long digits into your cunt, forcing the inner sleeve of your body to stretch open around him. 

Stiffly lurching at the unexpected penetration and the jolt of friction that comes with it, you desperately ball your hands into tight fists against the rug in an attempt to ground yourself. “Woof! Woof wh - oof! Ahhn!” 

“Mmm, pretty sounds for a pretty girl. And so tight too. Don’t tell me you haven’t been playing with yourself at all since our last session? Too embarrassed or … were you just waiting for me to be the one to play with this needy little pussy for you?” 

You try to bark again, knowing he was likely to stop if you didn’t, but you can’t quite seem to find enough oxygen to do so. Your lungs were constricting much too tight with the short, labored gasps you rapidly suck in as the tension inside your cunt dizzyingly swells to near discomfort. You were beyond soaked, and the sticky wet clicks he pulls from your shuddering body when he adds a second finger only attests to that. The obscene schlucking sound that starts up when he begins to fuck you with them seems to echo in the space between your ears, adding to the total onslaught to your senses. All you could do was squeal helpless, dire tinged animal noises into the static charged room while he mercilessly pounds into you from behind. 

“Are you going to cum for me already, sweetheart? Gonna’ squirt all over this carpet just like you did on the one in my office? Huh?” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, neither slowing down nor ceasing his ministrations for even a moment, and your eyes soon begin to roll back when your impending orgasm suffocatingly bears down on you. The building pressure was too much, the deliberate jabs of his fingers far too concentrated on that receptive bundle of nerves within you. Your body simply couldn’t take it even as you continue to gush excessively around the intrusion, and then all at once the scales seem to tip. 

You cum with a shuddering jerk, frantically wailing in pleasure when you feel your pussy give out to release a fresh deluge of slick. Screwing your eyes shut, you deliriously ride out the juddering waves of pleasure that sweep over you in a torrent as your squeezing cunt uncontrollably erupts around Al-Haitham’s fingers, having once again expertly coaxed you to this unseemly state. It was like being stretched too thin on such a bone deep level that by the time you finally start to come down from the reeling high another moment later you barely even know who you are anymore. 

All that seems to register in your punchdrunk mind is his unmistakably masculine presence hovering over you, his hand slowly withdrawing from your cunt with a messy wet slurp that makes you sensitively twitch. The smell of him, his taste on the back of your tongue. In retrospect it was no wonder just that one fateful encounter with him had ruined you so irreparably. 

How in the world had you not seen it sooner? He was the singularly most infuriating man you’d ever met, yes, but he was also the only person you’d ever known who seemed to understand you better than you understood yourself. You hadn’t even thought you were capable of squirting before this. Damn him. 

Issuing a groggy groan into the rug, you slowly begin to stir from your semi comatose state. You weren’t sure when exactly you’d pressed your cheek into the floor but you force your head up as primly as you can manage given the circumstances. And still trembling with the lingering remnants of your release, you shoot a cautious look underneath you only to grimace when you spot the telltale wet stains bleeding into the carpet. Unfortunately you’re not allowed much of a chance to recover or find your bearings though, and you give a faint hiss when Al-Haitham nudges your attention up at him with a firm tug to the leash. 

That he still looks frustratingly cool and collected despite everything that had just transpired bothers you a great deal but you stubbornly keep those thoughts to yourself. He was going to get an ear full from you later. The least he could have done was put a towel down instead of purposely embarrassing you like this again! 

“Doing good so far?” Luckily he seems to take your nod at face value, and he reaches out to brush a bit of hair away from your face with an unexpectedly tender stroke of his hand. “Good. I’ve got something else for you, if you feel up to it.” 

Rousing from your hazy delirium a bit more, you somewhat roughly clear your throat after not using your voice for so long before venturing to speak. “I know I’m supposed to be playing a role here but I have to ask. When exactly did you find the time to plan all of this? You seem suspiciously well prepared.” 

“It’s not so much that I planned it, but rather I simply followed through on an idea that already existed.” He says, earning a skeptical lift of your brow, and he quietly clicks his tongue when he realizes he’s going to have to offer up a better explanation than that. “You seem to remember everything else I said the last time so I’m surprised you don’t recall this. I told you if I’d had some warning beforehand I would have purchased a few things in advance. Well, I decided that I wouldn’t be caught unawares again. If you came to me I  wanted to be ready.”

“The collar.” You murmur, idly reaching up to touch it with a brief rattle of the connecting chain. “You did say that, didn’t you? What else do you have in there?” 

“Want to find out?” 

Shooting him a wary glance, you consider your options here. It sounded like he’d let you go if that was what you wanted after already having gotten off once, which was unexpectedly conscientious of him, but … were you really satisfied with just that? You’d thought about this almost nonstop for weeks and now that you were in front of him, collared and kneeling at his feet, you weren’t so sure you were ready to call it a night just yet. 

Besides, he still hadn’t made any attempt to see to his own needs and the low simmering pulse in your cunt hadn’t been fully satiated. Perhaps if you played along a little longer he’d stretch you out and stuff you full with something hopefully a bit more substantial than his fingers. A girl could certainly hope, at least. 

“Alright. I’m listening.”

“That's a good pet.” He murmurs, sticking his hand out to lightly palm over your head and you don’t stop long enough to reconsider it before nuzzling into the gesture with a soft purr. It seemed your earlier impression was correct. As long as he kept praising you, you’d do anything he wanted. 

Pulling back, Al-Haitham directs his attention back around to the contents of the box again. You listen to him dig for something, wondering how many items he’d actually purchased for the sake of being prepared, but you can’t quite see what he finally pulls out from your position on the floor. Even when you try to crane your neck up for a quick look the only thing you can make out is him fiddling with something. 

“This might be a bit cold at first.” He warns. 

That’s all the notice you get before he leans over you, hand stretching out on a sure and steady trajectory towards your backside, and you outright squawk when you feel him smear something sticky over your asshole. He does it so casually, such idle surety in the motion, that it sends your heart shooting up into your throat. 

Mewling a soft sound of confusion, you shudderingly try to twist around on the floor to see what he’s doing but he just follows you when you angle away. His ministrations don’t even falter while he continues to smear that mysterious wet goop over your puckered hole to thoroughly coat you in it, your uncertainty growing by the second when understanding starts to dawn. 

Surely he wasn’t — 

“Don’t tense up. You need to relax.” He murmurs, slowly rubbing over your ass with concentrated strokes now to encourage the muscle to loosen. 

Oh, he most certainly was. 

“W - w - wha - -“ 

“No words now, pretty girl. Unless it’s to tell me to stop and that you don’t want to do this anymore, I’m not interested in hearing it. You’re going to be a good pet for me, aren’t you?” 

Whimpering, you screw your eyes shut and try to focus on your breathing. That was easier said than done though, of course. You weren’t used to being touched like this and the prospect of having something inserted up your ass makes you far more nervous than anything else he’s done to you this evening. But it’s clear that was what he’s working his way up to, especially when he starts to carefully prod at the center wrinkle where the tight muscle begins to slacken and give way. He only taunts you with it though, never quite fully slipping his finger inside to penetrate you, and instead he focuses on merely teasing around the interior rim. 

You quickly realize he’s making sure you’re as well coated with that slippery lubricant on the inside as you are on the outside, and it becomes that much harder to keep your head on straight. 

Positively squirming when he at last pulls away some time later to leave your asshole sticky and loosened, you seethe into the rug while you listen to him dig something else out of the box. You have a few guesses in mind, naturally, but nothing quite prepares you for when you crack your eyes open at his behest only to find him dangling a long, fluffy tail in front of your face. 

Attached to the other end is what you can safely assume to be a plug based off the smooth, rounded tip that widens out into a bulbous base before then narrowing down to a thinner stem. The faux fur appendage dangles tauntingly from the bottom of it, and you softly groan at the full bodied shudder that tears through you. He really was going to put that thing inside your body. 

“Take a deep breath for me and let it out slowly. That’s it. Again. Such a good girl you’re being. I want you to focus on relaxing into it and bear down when I tell you to, alright?” 

At your faltering nod of understanding, in far too deep to back out now, Al-Haitham scoots to the very edge of the sofa and leans over you again. Using one hand to spread your sore cheeks open, he brings the plug close with the opposite to gently touch you with it. You jolt at the contact like he’d electrocuted you but quickly still again with an anxious little sob. Helpless to do anything else, you just kneel there at his feet and accept what’s happening while he lazily draws the toy through the excess lubricant he’d smeared all over you. 

When he finally starts to push in on the slackened pucker after another drawn out moment you go stockstill at the unfamiliar pressure, gasping roughly into the carpet. He softly tuts at you, encouraging you to calm down with soft words of praise, but it’s hard. Almost impossible when this was completely foreign to you and the slow stretch of yet untested muscle seems so debilitatingly sharp even in your punchdrunk state that you don’t know what to make of it. 

It doesn’t hurt though, you’re quite relieved to find. Just uncomfortable and more than a little strange, particularly when you could feel your asshole slowly losing the fight. There was too much lube for you to reject it and keep him out, the plug sufficiently smooth to make the penetration more of an easy glide than you’d expected it to be. In tortuous slow motion, he makes you take one millimeter at a time until your hole is stretched wide around the thickest part before gradually pulling back to repeat the process. 

Again and again, he makes your body open up to him before at last issuing the command for you to push. You almost don’t do it, unsure if you even could when the once tight ring of muscle felt so horribly strained, but with a low groan you comply. At the same time you bear down on the intrusion he gives it a quick push, and all at once the whole thing slips inside you straight down to the base. You rock forward with a haggard gasp, mindlessly jutting your ass up in the air as you weakly squeeze around the narrow stem only to realize that it was already too late. 

The toy was firmly wedged inside you now and taking up space that only seems to highlight how very empty your pussy is. He pulls back to admire his handiwork, letting the long tail settle against your soaked cunt with a faint brush of the fur. Trembling almost violently, you dig your toes into the rug and nudge your pelvis up as if you were little more than a bitch begging to be mounted. 

You really didn’t want to think about how apt that comparison actually was right now. 

“Just look at you, darling girl. I can tell how much you’re enjoying this from here,” He says, breaking through the delirium just enough for you to pick up on the vague note of satisfied awe creeping into his voice. Like he couldn’t believe you’d really allowed this to go so far, or maybe he was just finally starting to notice the effect this was having on his own body. It was hard to say with him. 

Groaning fitfully, you press your hot face into the ornate rug and give your ass a brief, supplicating shake. The tail shifts with the motion where it dangles down between your legs, brushing your pussy just so, but it’s not nearly enough to feel good. If anything it just makes you more desperate for his attention, his hand, his cock. Whatever he wanted to give you would have sufficed.

But of course Al-Haitham doesn’t relent and give you what you want. He never does, not directly anyway, and you seethe through your teeth when you feel him stand up from the sofa to loom over you. 

“Sit for me.” 

Blinking through the disorienting fog, you gingerly comply. Push up onto your forearms and get your knees adjusted under you before slowly sitting upright even when you dizzily sway with the motion. The change in position seems to make the plug feel even bigger where it’s keeping your ass stretched open around its width, and you faintly groan at the sensation. 

Al-Haitham is as unreasonable and demanding as ever though, and he barely allows you enough time to get situated in front of him before issuing his next command. “Good. Now beg.” 

The mere thought of assuming that position again makes you wince, your body already a mess of aches and pains, and throbbing arousal, but you comply with this too. It takes a bit of effort on your part to get your legs to cooperate but you eventually manage, somehow. 

And once you’re squatted before him, precariously balancing on your toes with your hands securely fastened up by your chest, you look to him for his next order. You no longer have any wherewithal left to feel at all embarrassed or ashamed of having your cunt on display like this, nor do you have it in you to second guess any of it. All you knew with certainty was that you were drowning in it, this hazy feeling of absolution that seemed to rend you to pieces and mend you back together again in the same breath. Perhaps it was a bit fatalistic, yes, but you’d never felt quite so sexually satisfied in all your life. 

Especially when he smiles, pinning you with one of those exceedingly rare, genuine little tugs of his mouth to indicate that he was pleased with you. It’s fleeting and short lived but you don’t miss it by a long shot as he proceeds to gently pull on your leash to make sure he’s got your attention.  

“Wag for me, pretty girl? Think you can do that?” 

You don’t stop to rethink this either. You just do it, struggling to shake your ass in this awkward balancing act to feel the tail swishing back and forth on the floor underneath you. It’s humiliating and dehumanizing in equal measure, but you would have gladly done that and so much more just to earn another doting pet of his hand, another soft word from his mouth. 

Al-Haitham had awakened something inside you that day in his office, and now you were his responsibility. For better or worse, he was your master and you his obedient, loyal pet.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[elderberries-and-honey]

The Baudelaire family returned to Ireland the next day, only this time, they never had to worry about leaving.

Their new home had been abandoned years prior to them purchasing it and had been left vacant for quite some time after the previous family had fled those lands that had once been filled with such rich history. Overtime, the stories had been forgotten, perhaps almost purposely by those that occupied the neighborhood nowadays, existing only as children's fables or as myth.

One thing they did know though was that the land used to be a vegetable farm, quite a successful one too, and Lawrence intended to make it profitable once more. Already, the farm boys were put to work planting rows of cabbage, carrots and most notably, potatoes.

Hours of labor had gone into restoring the house to what it had once been before the family arrived and at last, it was returned to its original state of elegance. The perfectly laid brick was covered by thick ivy, and the grounds were surrounded by beautifully vibrant flowers, lush green plants, and tall, brilliant marble statues.

It all seemed like something out of a storybook rather than real life.

The travel horses pushed forward through the gates, and all any of them could do was gawk, unable to believe they were truly going to live here. Even the children, fussy and tired from such long travels, sensed the exhilaration from the adults and had begun to perk up with curiosity.

Ozzy, who rode with Beth in her carriage, stared up at the house in wonder, as though his little mind was trying to comprehend such a big change. "This is our new home, my little dove. We're going to live here now!" Beth whispered to the seemingly awestruck toddler next to her.

"Wooooow!" He exclaimed almost breathlessly, and though it was unclear if he actually understood what it all truly meant, Beth laughed in response, happily agreeing that 'wooow' was right.

Most of their belongings arrived before The Baudelaires, already unpacked and put away thanks to a moving crew hired on by Lawrence. In addition, he had also taken it upon himself to hire various help, like maids, gardeners, cooks, and even a personal chef, and as Lawrence stepped out of the carriage and onto the stone pavement, he could see one of their footmen waiting patiently to greet them at the door.

"Well, hello there, Baudelaires!" He called out from the porch enthusiastically.

Lawrence waved a quick hello before holding out his arms to take Atticus. "That's Mr. O'Bannon. He worked for the family that lived here previously." He explained once Winifred had situated herself.

They joined Beth and Ozzy next, and walked hurriedly up the front steps while Mr. O'Bannon welcomed them home.

Winifred audibly gasped as she entered inside, her eyes growing wide in amazement at everything around her, and once everyone had stepped through the front door, they understood her reaction at once.

After they had filed in one by one, Mr. O'Bannon offered a tour of the house and they happily accepted. He informed them of the origins of their new furniture, boasting about the craftsmanship of the Irish workers and the prestigious color schemes of the wallpapering, most notably, the newly popular Scheels green in the parlor and the dining room.

The new decor was so complimentary of the things they had brought from home, they were almost unrecognizable sitting amongst such fine things, almost as if they were new items themselves.

They had only made it through the first two floors before Atticus started falling asleep in his mother's arms, while Ozzy began to grow rather antsy. Winifred excused herself to rock with Atticus for a while and Beth, wanting to avoid a tantrum, decided to take Ozzy outside to get a better look at the water fountain out front. Which left Lawrence to finish off the tour with Mr. O'Bannon.

However, Mr. O'Bannon dismissed himself as well, needing to check how the luncheon was coming along and confirm the table was being set correctly. Lawrence didn't mind all that much, if anything, he was relieved to see how serious his staff seemed to take their jobs.

And so, just like that, everyone was off in different directions, making themselves right at home.

Lawrence, who now found himself alone, fancied himself a celebratory smoke out on the balcony. There, he smoked cigarette after cigarette while he watched over the farm hands below, reflecting how just months prior, he would have been down there in the dirt just like them. But, tilling soil and yanking weeds were a thing of the past, and someday soon, nothing but a distant memory.

Now, all there was left to do was assimilate to this new way of life.

next / previous / first

[ash5monster01]

Getaway Camp : Prologue

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!FemReader

Warnings: language, flirting, fluff, annoyance towards others, harsh parents, meet cute.

Summary: Charlie leaves home early for volunteer work in the Catskills, finally feeling free from his father, and on the path to the life he always dreamed of having. Yet when he arrives he meets someone who can’t help but capture his attention and he realizes fairly quickly that he’s already screwed.

word count: 2.3k

Masterlist

→ One

June 4th 1961

Charlie wouldn’t consider himself much of a nature guy, but anything would do if it meant getting out of his parent’s house sooner. He had already been accepted to Columbia in the Fall but he didn’t have enough money to rent an apartment in the city quite yet. Which is how he discovered Adler’s West Lake Resort and Lodge. His counselor said the school looked fondly onto volunteers who worked there in the summer. So Charlie packed everything up and got himself the job. After all how bad could it be? A summer away in the Catskills, free food, free boarding, and a few rowing lessons here and there. He could handle it.

“Alright honey, do you need anything for your drive?” his mother asked from the porch, watching as he loaded his stuff in the back of the station wagon. She tried to pretend that she didn’t notice he had packed everything but a small part of her heart broke. This was truly it.

“I’m fine Mom, I promise” he told her, mind stuck on the five hour drive ahead of him.

“Okay honey, make sure you call and let us know when you get there” and both of them pretended not to notice the small chuckle that left his fathers mouth as he read the paper on the patio furniture.

“I will and you have the address and number to the resort already” Charlie reminded her, jogging up the porch where he quickly towered over his mother’s height. She hated how tall he had gotten, a grown man now, no longer her little boy.

“Be safe and good luck at school” she told him before pulling him into a hug. Charlie squeezed her right back, thankful to at least have a loving mother.

“I will Mom, thank you” he told her and she sighed, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. Her only child driven away by the harsh expectations of her husband. He had been hurt so much by the world already and the minute he graduates high school he is off and running away from her.

“I’m about to head off, sir” Charlie says as he pulls away from his mom, walking to stand in front of his father.

“Good, you wouldn’t want to hit the afternoon rush traffic outside of the city” his father mutters, hands flipping the page of his newspaper. He felt that he owed nothing to his son. The only things his son had ever done was get himself kicked out of the best school in Vermont and cost him a lot of money pulling strings to still get him in an ivy league school.

“Exactly so thank you sir” Charlie said, holding his hand out and waiting for his father to bid him goodbye. He never cared much about what his father thought of him but he also figured if his father didn’t say some sort of goodbye he would always have control over some aspect of his life.

“Goodbye son, don’t dick around too much. That’s my name you’re tainting when you do that” his father responded, hand sliding into his own and firmly shaking it.

“I’ll do my best sir, I promise” Charlie said before letting his father’s hand go one last time. He was going to use these next four years to his benefit and take the well deserved break he needed. He couldn’t believe he spent all those years at Welton wishing his parents wanted him around more. What a waste.

“I guess we’ll see” is the last thing he says to him before returning his attention to the paper in his hand. Sighing Charlie brushes his hands down the front of his button up shirt and turns back to his Mom with a soft smile.

“Goodbye Mama” he says, swiftly kissing her cheek and the tears finally break through and cascade down her cheeks as Charlie jogs to his car that holds every piece of his belongings. He knew he didn’t need all of it for camp but he also knew his car could act as a private storage locker so he wouldn’t have to come back here before classes started.

“Bye baby, we’ll miss you” she calls out as the car rumbled to life and Charlie waved a hand out as he shifted the car in gear and headed down the long driveway. He knew his father would more than likely not miss him but it was kind that his mother still tried, so he waved his hand out his open window for her until she could no longer see him driving down the road.

The drive was fairly easy. Only two missed turns and one incident with a wrinkled map and Charlie was finally pulling his car up to the main lodge, the sun casted over the large lake beside it. It was quiet since campers wouldn’t be here until next week and Charlie was surprised to feel peace from the quiet and warmth that resonated in the area around him. Killing the engine he stepped out the car and started for the doors, prepared for direction to his cabin for the next three months.

“Hello camper!” a chirpy blonde girl perked up as he pushed through the cabin doors. He briefly wondered if it was an act, to be so excited about not having a real shower and mosquotio bites for three months on end. Yet the bright white smile on her face suggested otherwise.

“Hey” Charlie muttered, not one for too much enthusiasm. Actually he was pretty sure he hadn't been excited about anything since his Junior year of high school.

“Did you just arrive?” she asked, hands reaching for a large book that Charlie figured held all the information on every worker for the entirety of the camp. It's possible the smile could be fake but someone with this much responsibility had to enjoy this life somewhat.

“Yeah, Charles Dalton. I’m a Columbia volunteer, new rowing instructor” he said finally reaching the desk, hands falling and crossing over the top. He just wanted to find a bed and lay in it, especially after that drive.

“Well welcome Charles, let me grab your orientation packet and parking pass” she grinned still as cheerful and Charlie nodded, almost scared by how happy she is.

“Just Charlie is fine” he told her and she nodded before bouncing off and finding all the things he needed to get settled in. After only a few minutes she had a small stack of papers set in front of him.

“Okay so everything you need to know you can find in here. Cabin number, work schedule, map of the resort, and anything else you can imagine. When you get to your lodge you’ll find your walkie and uniform waiting for you. Meals and everything are all inclusive for staff and we hope you have a great summer” she finished her well practiced spiel and Charlie smiled as he collected the thick packet from in front of him.

“Thanks..”

“Josie” she filled in and he nodded.

“Thanks Josie, see you around” he tells her before heading back towards the front doors and where he left his car. Using the map to find employee parking Charlie found himself unloading the two suitcases he packed specifically meant for camp and locking up the rest of his belongings in his car. It was a bit harder to find the cabins but finally he was in the upper woods, brown buildings matching the next all in various rows. A big fire burning with a few people chattering around it and Charlie quickly looked for cabin number sixteen.

Valerie had only been here an hour and already smelled like wood smoke. This wouldn't have been the case if she didn't somehow end up in a cabin with Chrissy Norwick. Valerie didn't necessarily mind the girl but she liked having a chill first day and Chrissy already had five girls compiled in the small shared cabin as she retold the stories of each date she had with Nate Fanning over the school year. She knew it would be the same thing, Nate would appear at camp and pretend Chrissy didn't exist, that was until the fall when he no longer had all of the camps options to focus on.

So Valerie sat by the fire with a few old friends she had been volunteering with since she was sixteen and listened to their much more relaxed conversation as she waited for her cabin to be much less crowded. It was then she saw a taller boy, chestnut hair falling in his eyes, as he walked the trail up into the cabins. It wasn't often new volunteers came around here so she was immediately perking up. He was handsome, in a soft way. A suitcase hung from each of his arms and she could tell from the hike and the strain off the weight, his chest was puffing out broadly. The small beads of sweat collecting at his hair line convinced her to approach him before no one else could.

"Hey, you need some help?" she curiously asked, straightening out her shirt as she appeared on the trail beside him. He jumped only lightly due to her quick appearance and she tried to hide her amusment.

"I’m fine" he muttered even though his hair was now starting to stick to his forehead from sweat.

“First rule as a staff camper, no job is too small to ask for help” and she was snatching one of the suit cases out of his hand that had been weighing him down the entire trek up the hill. Realizing she wasn’t going away anytime soon he finally took a moment to take her in. The white staff shirt laid across her shoulders and the eagle symbol stretched across the center of her chest. He admired her full hips and bright smile. Her long brunette hair tied high in a ponytail that hung in curly strands down her back. She was pretty and he was supposed to last all summer around girls like this. He prayed she wasn’t a lifeguard.

“For the record, I never asked” he told her before starting towards the cabins where she followed quickly behind.

“Well what cabin is yours then Mr. Independent?” she asked, ignoring his previous statement, and the boy sighed. He was realizing pretty quickly that most people around here were pretty cheerful and stubborn.

“Sixteen and the name is Charlie” he caved and finally she was beaming a smile back at him that made her eyes sparkle. He hated that her eyes sparkled.

“Well Charlie I’m Valerie and you’re in luck. I just so happen to be in cabin fifteen” and she was walking along and leaving him behind, going in a direction all too familiar to her. Charlie was a bit shocked by her ease but followed nonetheless as she led him to a destination he had been counting on the last five hours.

"So clearly you're new, so I'll share some wise wisdom as a camper of three years" Valerie told him, thrilled to have something to do other than stare at a campfire in the middle of the day. The June sun was already hot enough. "Never use the showers on the south end. Theyre used the least so not only do they include a variety of bugs you've never seen before but they’re also the showers that lose hot water first"

"This is not making this anymore exciting" Charlie says and the laugh that comes from Valerie surprises them both. Charlie hates the way the sound wraps around his heart and makes him content.

"If Big Al enters the bathrooms wait at least thirty minutes before going in. If you don't know who that is you'll find out fairly quickly. If it's an emergency we're surrounded by woods for a reason" and now Charlie is the one laughing which based on his attitude when they first met has Valerie fairly surprised.

"Lastly tuesday nights mystery dinner sounds fun but it's actually a mix of leftovers from the previous week so we have staff dinner here" Valerie says just as they approach cabin sixteen only to hear the girl laughs from the one beside it.

"Shouldn't you be in there giggling away?" Charlie asks as he takes his suitcase from her and sets them both on the small porch step.

"God no, no use giggling about cute boys inside when I can be out here talking to them" and much to Charlie's surprise she winks at him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It’s so quick he's almost convinced he didn't see it.

"You seem to have it all figured out Valerie" Charlie says and she softly shrugs, glancing up at the tall trees above them. Birds chirp and in a few hours the cicadas would buzz and she'd finally be right back at home.

"I'm sure there is more I'm forgetting to share but when I remember I promise to tell you. In the mean time Charlie you can find me at cabin fifteen or the lake" she says, oddly comforted by the new guy herself. There was something nice about knowing she got to be the one to greet him here.

"Why the lake?" he curiously asks as Valerie moves to walk away and she flashes a quick grin at him, fingers gliding through her curly brown hair and Charlie nervously gulps.

"I'm a lifeguard" she informs him and for the first time for the entirety of this conversation Charlie accepts that he's screwed. Valerie was not the kind of girl you ignore despite how badly he wanted too. Now worst of all he had to spend every single day of the summer with her in tiny red bathingsuits.

"Of course you are” he says and she quickly flashes him a grin before starting back the way they came, ignoring the group of girls in her very own cabin. Charlie hates how he watches her walk away, admiring her long tan legs in her tight jean shorts. It had been ten minutes and he was already screwed.

“Shit”

Happy 35th Anniversary to DPS. This is my love letter to this film <3

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

[miffy-junot]

The birth of Junot and Laure's first child

-From the book "La Generale Junot, Duchesse d'Abrantès, d'après ses lettres, ses papiers et son 'journal intime' inédits" by Joseph Turquan, a biography of Laure Junot featuring previously unpublished information given to the author by Georges Aubert, Junot's grandson.

The book is from 1901, and therefore is a little dated in some regards, but overall creates a good portrait of Laure and Jean-Andoche Junot.

Portrait of Josephine Junot as a little girl

Mme Junot was nearing the end of her pregnancy. It was with noble intoxication that she saw herself soon as a mother. One day, her husband entered her room and found her leaning over the cradle waiting for the little being to come: she seemed to be in ecstasy. Junot, under a somewhat harsh exterior, under the frequent brusqueness of his manners and his thoughtlessness, hid, as is often seen in these kinds of natures, a tender heart, sensitive to the joys of the family. Understanding perfectly the holy ecstasy of his wife, he embraced her with an expansiveness which added the height of happiness to she who was going to be a mother.

She had a daughter. At first she feared that this little girl would not be welcomed with as much enthusiasm as a boy. Her father-in-law, who was not very gallant, had already told her: “There was no point in crying so much to have a daughter!”

But the general did not share his father's error: he was perfect for his little wife, perfect for his little daughter and tears of tenderness showed Mme Junot that he would be the best father.*

A pain in the middle of all this happiness; Mme Junot lost her mother. If anything could bringing consolation to her grief was the thought that the poor woman was delivered from the sufferings which, for some time, had been incredibly torturing her.

Junot and his wife had asked the First Consul to be their daughter's godfather** and he had granted this favour with much good grace. The day after the baptism, which took place in Saint-Cloud and not at Malmaison which Bonaparte was beginning to abandon, Mme Bonaparte sent the young mother a necklace of fine pearls in several rows; the pearls were the size of a large gooseberry and the padlock formed by a solitaire of admirable white and water. This gift was superb, but it did not come close to that which the First Consul gave to Junot: he gave him the title deed to his hôtel on the Rue des Champs-Elysées. This was a gift of two hundred thousand francs, which increased the income of the young couple by the entire price of the rent. Instead of continuing to live on the same footing as before, which would have been just reasonable, they increased the size of the house, they decided to renew the furniture and they received more brilliantly than ever before.

*Like all men of the era, Junot wanted to have a son to continue the family line. However he showed an equal amount of love for all of his children, and when he was on campaign would send very affectionate letters and gifts to his daughters Josephine and Constance, and to his niece Clotilde.

**In addition to this the godmother was Josephine Bonaparte, who Junot's little girl was named after.

[kimmiessimmies]

Honeycomb Hills Apartments

Malte's home!

I shared a preview yesterday, but here is the full post. And when I say full, I mean "OMFG, Kim did you really have to write another essay?!" Yes. That kind of full. I'm not even sorry.

I was so happy about finishing these apartments that I plunked down three in a row. 😄

Each building has four apartments, all similar: 2 bed, 1,5 bath.

Currently, I only moved one person in: Mister Malte Nerhus, aka Rachel's... I wanna say boyfriend, but then I might be getting ahead of things... crush! Let's say crush!

Malte came to Honeycomb with not a lot of money in his pocket, happy and eager to start working at the university library. When he started looking for a place to live, a two-bedroom apartment wasn't really what he had in mind, (Malte would have been fine in a studio apartment) but it was the only thing available to non-students in Honeycomb Hills and the rent was quite affordable because these apartments are part of an experimental project set up as part of "Greenify Honeycomb Valley": the tenants of the first apartments get a discount on their rent if they fill out regular questionnaires containing questions on how to make the apartment more sustainable and eco-friendly.

So, Malte moved into a two-bedroom apartment, claiming the smaller bedroom as his own and leaving the larger one empty. If they decided to come over, it could potentially sleep his entire family (his mother, grandmother, and two sisters). He spent his money wisely and using the resources available, soon made a home out of this place.

The large windows are Malte's favourite feature of his home. He built sofas out of old mattresses. The Honeycomb campus has two rather large student dorms and whenever a student graduates and moves out of the dorm, the mattress on the bed they used gets replaced for the next resident. Some of those old mattresses are too filthy to even look at, but many are actually still in good shape. Priding itself on being green, the university actually has a website on which they put up old-but-still-good-for-another-round furnishings, free-to-collect. Malte put new, cheap coverings on the mattresses. Easy to take off and wash when needed.

Malte loves cushions and blankets. You find those all around the house. Some were already his, the others were flea-market and thrift store finds, just like all the rugs in his home. Old crates function as a coffee table and makeshift shelves. Of course there's books everywhere. The lamps are wall fixtures that were already in the house, as were the curtains, and the poster on the wall is the cover of one of Malte's favourite books, gifted to him by his colleagues from the library where he works as a housewarming present. The guitar and the laptop are Malte's own possessions and the plants are the one item he actually spent a bit of money on, because plants are a must.

Malte is a creative spirit. Painting, drawing, writing and making music all keep him sane. The painting easel was a thrift store find, and to protect the floors of his rented home, Malte put down a tarp underneath. The easel faces the window, of course. All the artwork on the wall is made by Malte or his sister Solveig. The shelves he built himself from old wood and on the top shelf there's a picture of Malte and his family. A little reminder of home.

The kitchen came with the apartment. The table consists of a couple of boards on two sets of trestles. That was an easy build.

The two folding chairs (there's a third folded against the wall next to the fridge) Malte brought from home and the other two chairs are old discarded university classroom furniture Malte found on the previously mentioned website.

Malte's bike has a place on the wall. It's his main means of transportation. The car in which he took Rachel on their second date wasn't his, a colleague lend it to him.

In the other corner of the room, there's a little workspace. The desk was another university reject and the chair a thrift store find. The paintings are Malte's own work and the pictures show him and his mother and eldest sister.

Here we have three very similar pictures from Malte's bedroom, but I still wanted to use them all xD. Here we find old mattresses again, although the top one is new. Old crates also make great night stands and a bedroom without books isn't a bedroom. The yellow lamp is a thrift store find and the green one a Swedish furniture store one. On Malte's nightstand there's a picture of his mother, grandmother and sisters. The poster above his bed as well as two on the other wall (see next picture) are enlarged prints of Saarqartoq pictures. Rachel had these printed as a gift for Malte because she knows he does miss home sometimes.

Malte doesn't have a wardrobe, but installed a rod against the wall which does the job perfectly.

In the orignal design of the room, the architect intended for people to place a bed below the high window. Malte thought this idea was no good at all. He wanted to wake up with a view! So he went against the design of the room and put his bed against the wall so it faced the tall windows and the green outside. The watermelon bean bag was his latest thrift store gem. It was just too cool to pass by.

And that concludes the tour of Malte's home. There's also a bathroom, which is just a bathroom, and a balcony, which I didn't take any pictures of at this time, but which will show up in a story post, I'm sure.

[quicktimeeventfull]

heart-shaped bed: a misa & light fic

650 words Takes place post-timeskip Read on AO3 or Dreamwidth Content notes: (strong) implications of domestic abuse

He buys her roses for her birthday and that’s how she knows he loves her. Six of them, tied up with a pink bow — her favourite colour —  and she didn’t even have to ask. He tosses them on the table on his way out the door and says here, Misa, these are for you, and I’ll bring back takeout, or something. 

There is no one but Light to remember her birthday but that doesn’t matter because he always does. It’s how she wants it, actually. Misa and Light, Light and Misa; she has no one else and neither does he and so they’re tied together by a chain as thick as an artery. If she takes away his eyes, which are also her eyes, he will die. If he leaves she’ll be all alone forever. If there was one person on earth she had to share a circulatory system with she’s glad it was Light, who loves her. Her god with eyes all golden and a sweet soft smile which she rarely sees but which is all the better for it, a rare thing, a flash of white teeth glittering just for her. 

She unties the ribbon to put in her box of things Light has given her, then finds her sharp knife to cut the base of the stems. She slits them, then puts them in a glass vase with water. Light didn’t bring back the packet of powder that often comes with them so she adds a spoonful of sugar to make them last. Then, satisfied, she puts the glass on the counter and sits down to look. 

A petal is hanging loose. She plucks it and presses it between her fingers. 

There are so many ways she knows he loves her. He doesn’t speak much but when he does it’s always to her. He tells her slivers of his plans and says we need to fix the caulking around the sink and the air conditioner is making a stupid noise and one time her fingers slipped making breakfast and she sliced her arm with her sharp, sharp knife and he placed a bandage on her skin with hands so tender, his face a little pale which means he was sick just for her, and he laid a hand on her temple and said there, you’re fine, so don’t worry. He said it just like her mother used to do before that man slit her up and Kira killed him for her. Light said, you didn’t even cry. He’s never hit her, not once, even though she can tell sometimes he wants to. He gets close, his body large and his breath sucked through his teeth; he’s so much bigger than her, with arms that could wrap around her and a shadow that covers her up and when she can’t move the furniture he does it for her, it’s nothing to him, if he wanted her could take her by the wrist but he doesn’t. He calls her an idiot but he’s never called her a bitch. 

They are creatures of their own. The rules don’t apply. When he scares her she knows just how to soothe him. 

The petal is wet beneath her skin. She looks down. It’s bled red over her, crushed dark pigment. It doesn’t look a thing like blood. She takes one of the roses out. With six, there are enough to waste. She can press them between the pages of a book and they won’t die like all the rest and so she’ll have them forever, just for her, evidence Light gave her of his love. 

One by one, she plucks the petals off. It’s easy. She’s careful not to tear. Then she lays them all out in front of her in a near little row and she and looks and looks and looks. 

[cherry-holmes]

Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña

Chapter 12

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: As your relationship with Javier progresses, ghosts from the past return to avenge what was taken from them.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word count: +2.9k

Warnings: Violence typical of the series. Author decide no to give more details to avoid spoilers.

A/N: I’m sorry for the delay! But here is chapter 12, hope to bring chapter 13 ASAP!✨

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In less than a week, you moved to Javi's apartment. It could be quicker if you were completely able to walk and if he wasn't that busy at work. Javier felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, he didn't want to leave your side not even for a second. After the attack, torn between worry about your injury and the possibility that you might need help at home, he did anything he could to stay at home with you even when you assured him that you would be just fine and that you understood he have to go to work. But Javi stayed, took good care of you, and the next day, after a session of sweet kisses on the bed, he reluctantly left to work, with Steve giving him a ride.

You assured him that you would be okay and promised to call him immediately if you needed anything, but he didn't feel you were safe anymore. The responsibility and guilt for what happened weighed heavily on him. He needed to take action to ensure your safety and seek justice. He swore to himself that he would make those responsible pay for what they did to you.

He helped you to moved into his place as soon as they assigned him a new truck. You talked with the the landlady of your building to ended up your contract and you sold most of your furniture. You only kept your favorites and replaced Javi's with them.

When he saw at how different his usual manly, lonely and cold apartment looked now, he felt a healing warmth on his chest, and he couldn't feel more comfortable, grateful and in love in his entire life. He knew, in that moment, that he wanted to spend the rest of his days just like that. By your side.

One day, he even seriously thought about calling his dad and ask him to send him his mother's wedding ring as soon as possible.  He didn't, though. Not because he changed his mind about share his life with you or that he had doubts about if you were the one. But because he wanted to do a formal, beautiful proposal. He wanted to do it when you both were far from that dangerous and cruel scenarios; when he take you to Laredo to meet his dad and the ranch and he also wanted to know your sisters and your so beloved grandfather in Mexico.

Javier wanted to do things right with you.

When he was engaged with Lorraine, he didn't even gave her his mother's ring. That should be a signal, he thought. His excuse was that that ring belonged only to his mother and not even his father's constant insistence could change his mind. He was sure, even if he didn't say it, of course, that what he felt for Lorraine could never compare with the bond of pure love his parents felt for each other.

But he could perfectly see you wearing that ring and he thought about how well it matched the necklace he gifted to you on your birthday and that you never took off.

But Javier knew that if he wanted to achieve that, he needed to make sure you will be safe. He felt you were his responsibility, he wanted to provide you and protect you from everything and everyone.

Whatever it took.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"You're gonna be late, Javi," you warned him between kisses and silly smiles, "...again."

"I don't care," he shrugged, seeking your soft lips once more, "as long as I can kiss you."

His mouth captured yours, and you suppressed a soft moan, aware that if he heard you, he would take you back to bed for another round of morning sex. It's not that you didn't want that, but you were mindful that it was the third day in a row he would arrive late at the office. If you had learned something during your time with him, it was that Javier Peña's cock was simply addictive.

As his hands traced the contours of your body, you gently pushed him away, a playful smile on your lips. "Javi, you really need to go."

He sighed, a mixture of reluctance and desire in his eyes. "I know, I know," he said, stealing one last lingering kiss before reluctantly pulling away. "I miss you at the office," he said, "I miss that pencil skirts you wear," he added, giving you a playful wink.

"I'll be back this Monday," you reminded him, "And you'll see me in those skirts all day."

You left another sweet peck on his lips, absorbing his scent and warmth. "I was thinking...," he started, taking the tip of your pointer finger and playing with your red nail, "maybe we could have dinner out, at that fancy sushi restaurant you like."

"Really? Are you sure?" you asked, a hint of excitement that you couldn't hide. You and Javi had been locked in your apartment since the attack. You knew he was doing everything to protect you, and even though you loved the warm nest of pure love and intimacy you had built together, you needed to confront the world sooner or later.

He nodded, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your beautiful face, "Yeah, don't worry, we'll be fine," he assured you, kissing your forehead. "Call me if you need anything, okay?" he reminded you, his gaze filled with genuine concern.

You nodded, appreciating his caring nature. "I will, mi amor. Please, take care of yourself," you crossed him, as you always did, and planted a last kiss on his lips.

And with that, he left, leaving you with a sense of longing and a smile that lingered throughout the day.

•••••••

Messina allowed you to take your typewriter and continue working on your translator duties at home. Actually, she didn't have any other choice, as you were the only translator responsible for Javi and Steve's daily reports. It was also beneficial for you, as it provided a sense of normalcy amid the chaos of the ongoing circumstances. Working from home allowed you to maintain a routine, even though the circumstances were far from ordinary.

The day unfolded swiftly as you balanced your work, domestic tasks, and the rhythmic tunes of music on the radio. Javier called, checking on you and informing you about the delay in his return. However, he still eagerly suggested dinner, leaving the plan open for you.

In the late afternoon, after completing your tasks, you treated yourself to a refreshing shower and took extra care with your makeup and clothing, anticipating Javier's return. Remembering his preference, you adorned yourself in red, a color he often praised for accentuating your radiance.

You were ready for the hour he estimated for his return, but it didn't happen. Initially, you used his delay to double-check your papers. However, as an hour and a half passed without his arrival, worry set in. You attempted multiple calls to both the Embassy landline and his personal cellphone, but none were answered.

Sitting on the couch, you turned on the TV, but your mind couldn't shift away from concerns about Javier. It was highly unusual for him not to respond to your calls, especially without prior notice for a date delay. Attempting to calm yourself, you considered scenarios like a sudden meeting or heavy traffic, reassuring yourself that his phone might have died, leaving him temporarily unreachable.

You tried to relaxed, took an aspirin for your heard and tried to pay attention to the television.

Javi is just fine, he'll come at any moment.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A lightning strike in the midnight sky woke you up, your heart racing, and sweat forming on the back of your neck. Glancing at the kitchen clock, you realized it was half past eleven p.m. with still no sign of Javi. You changed into your pajamas and proceeded to call Javi's desk three times in a row and his phone three times.

"Por favor, mi vida, contesta," you prayed. Nothing.

You decided to go upstairs to the Murphy's apartment and knocked until Steve finally opened. You felt a hint of guilt as you saw his sleepy face and a fresh stain of formula on his pajama.

"I'm so sorry for the hour," you said, embracing yourself, "Javi hasn't come home. I tried to call him, but he didn't answer."

Steve's expression shifted from groggy to alert as soon as he heard your words. He invited you in, so  could you explained the situation in more detail.

As you sat on the sofa, Connie emerged from their bedroom, little Olivia on her arms, and approached to you, calling your name softly.

"What happened?" She asked.

"I'm sorry; it's Javi. He hasn't come back," you explained. Connie sat beside you, and her husband asked you about what Javi told you. "He called this afternoon and said he would stay late in the office, but he assured me that he would come for our date," you told them, prompting Steve's eyes to flicker with a mix of surprise and concern. He exchanged a quick glance with Connie before turning his attention back to you.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked, a subtle hint of worry in his voice.

You hesitated, grappling with the unease that had settled in your gut. "Yeah, he sounded occupied. Why? Is something wrong?"

Connie glanced at Steve, and there was a silent exchange of concern between the couple. Steve took a deep breath before speaking. "He left the office as soon as they assigned him a new car, around 3 or 4 in the afternoon," he explained. "I thought he had come home; I called him, but he didn't answer. I thought that you both were, well, busy."

Concern etched across your face as Steve and Connie exchanged a worried glance, silently acknowledging the gravity of the situation. A sense of unease lingered in the air.

"I'll try calling him again," you said, reaching for the landline next to the sofa. Each ring seemed to intensify the tension in the room. No answer. Anxiety coiled within you as you contemplated the possibilities.

Steve broke the silence. "I should go to the office. Maybe he's still there."

Nodding, you began to stand up, Olivia's sleepy eyes watching you with a hint of concern from her mother's arms. "I'll go with you," you said.

However, Connie placed a gentle hand over your shoulder, pulling you down again. "Honey, we should stay," her voice sweet and reassuring.

"I can't, I..." your voice cracked as the emotions you had been suppressing pushed to come out, as if you were a pressure cooker about to explode. "I need to know where he is. What if they found him and...?" you stopped yourself, not wanting to even imagine if something terrible had happened to him.

"I know you're worried about Javi, but it would be safer for us to stay here," she explained, and you felt powerless. "Steve is gonna find him, right, baby?" She sought help from her husband, and he nodded.

"I'll call you immediately as soon as I find him," he assured, and after changing his pajama, he left the apartment.

Connie suggested going back to your place, in case Javi called or returned. You sat there, a mix of fear and impatience consuming you. Connie stayed by your side, offering comfort with every reassuring word. The tick-tock of the damn clock echoed through the room, each passing second intensifying your worry.

As you anxiously waited for Steve's call, Olivia shifted in her sleep, sensing the tension around her. Connie softly hummed a lullaby, a melody that seemed to soothe both the child and the anxious mother.

Minutes felt like hours, and the hours were torturous, but finally, the ringing of the phone pierced the heavy air. You grabbed it hastily, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Hello?" you answered, the desperation evident in your voice.

"It's me," Steve's voice came through the line. "I found Javi."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Oh, thank God!" you exclaimed, relief washing through your body. Connie relaxed immediately when she heard you. "Can you hand him the phone, please?" you asked, but your heart sank again when you heard Steve let out a heavy breath. "Steve?"

"Listen, I'm at the hospital," he admitted, and you felt your legs get weak as you staggered back.

"Ho-hospital? What happened?" you urged, a lump forming in your throat.

"He was investigating leads on Diego," Steve explained, his voice reflecting the worry etched on his face. "There was an ambush. Javi took a bullet."

You felt the room spin as the gravity of the situation sank in. You almost fainted, if it weren't for Connie, who held you. She took the phone, and you didn't even protest.

Connie's voice was the lifeline you desperately clung to. She gathered details about Javier's condition from Steve, all while you fought back tears and waves of anxiety. Your mind raced with thoughts of Javier in a hospital bed, a victim of violence that felt far too close to home.

As you listened to Connie, she assured you that he was receiving medical care and in the process of recovery. However, the news of him being shot lingered in your thoughts, and a mixture of emotions flooded your senses—fear, anger, and an overwhelming desire to be by  his side.

Why do things like this have to happen to us? Can't we just be happy, like any other couple? Is this the price of dating a man with his profession? To look over my shoulder every time I go out, to pray for him to return home alive.

"I need to go to the hospital," you declared, a newfound determination replacing the initial shock.

The wait for Steve, since he refused to let you drive in the mental condition you were in, felt like an eternity, each passing moment amplifying your worry.

The knock on your door finally came, and you gathered your things and the ones you took for Javi—clean clothes and personal stuff—rushing to the door.

"I'll call later," you said to Connie, who obviously had to stay with Olivia. She wished you the best as she watched you open the door.

But it wasn't Steve who was standing outside.

A gun was pointed right at your face as a hand grabbed you by the neck to push you back inside. He looked different, years older in a matter of months since you last saw him. But those eyes, full of anger and frustration, were something you could recognize anywhere.

"I've got you, fuckin' bitch" Diego snapped, his voice filled with rage.

As he gripped you against the wall, the force making you stumble. The door slammed shut behind him, cutting off any escape.

"Why are you here?" you managed to choke out, trying to steady yourself.

He glared at you, the gun still trained on your trembling form. "You think you could just leave and forget about everything?"

"I don't want any trouble," you pleaded, your mind racing for a way out of this dangerous encounter.

Diego's laughter was bitter, devoid of any warmth. "You don't get to walk away, not after what you did."

"I didn't do anything," you insisted, your voice shaking. The air felt thick with tension, each moment stretching like an eternity.

Diego's expression twisted into a sinister sneer. "You took everything from me."

As the weight of his words sank in, realization dawned upon you. Diego was blaming you for the turmoil in his life, and his anger was palpable.

You tried to process the situation and plan your next move when suddenly, he turned his head to the living room and spotted Connie, paralyzed with fear, clinging to her daughter's delicate body.

It was evident that he had thought that you would be alone, and a witness was now a problem. He took you to his body, an arm around your neck as he pointed the gun towards Connie. Both of you gasped with surprise and fear as your friend tried to protect her daughter with her own body.

"NO, NO," you shouted, panic creeping up through your system, "Wait, don't hurt them!" Fear gripped you, but you maintained composure. "Diego, please, we can talk about this. There's no need for violence," you pleaded, the urgency in your voice belying your attempt at calmness.

His laughter echoed through the room, devoid of any warmth. "Talk? You think talking will fix this mess? You took everything from me, and now you'll pay."

The moment he unlocked the gun, you felt a heavy pang in your stomach. Connie started to cry, and you were shaking so much that your jaw hurt.

"Please," you begged, taking him by the arm, pulling him to the door, "You're here for me, let them alone, please..."

"If you call the police, I'll come back and kill your daughter, do you understand?" he said to Connie in Spanish, but she managed to comprehend and nodded.

You felt relief the moment he stopped pointing at them, but your heart raced harder as he forced you to the door.

"Walk, bitch," he muttered, this time pointing the gun at the back of your head, so you didn't have any other choice than to follow his orders.

He took you outside the building and into a car where two other men were waiting for him. He climbed into the car next to you and made you cuff yourself and wear a mask on your head as the car disappeared into the night.

NEXT CHAPTER

[ukulelevillainwrites]

Heist time

One shot

Warnings: swearing, spoilers for the empty grave sort of

Content: I used the characters from the show, but it’s set after the events of the empty grave tho it’s a tiny bit canon divergent. B99 Halloween heist for our favourite agents.

Summary: Lockwood and Kipps engage in another bet, only this one involves a heist.

Word count: 7.3k

This fic was inspired and triggered by this post

Quill Kipps believed that the longest, most excruciating moment of his life had been when he almost bled out from a stab wound caused by a relic man’s sickeningly rusted blade. But now that he thought of it, he sort of missed the cold and comforting embrace of the Other Side. If it were up to him, he’d cross over again in an instant. Anything to get out of lifting yet another heavy piece of furniture up the never-ending stairs of this damned house. Lockwood might have been satisfied with the new look he was giving his home, but Kipps’s back certainly disapproved of his decoration choices. His former rival and current part-time employer had taken the easy side of course and led the way up to his bedroom, the last piece to complete the Portland Row puzzle. How had his life come to this? He had asked himself this question countless times since he had more or less joined the agency. One day he was a highly esteemed Fittes agent, the next he was playing mover for his much younger boss, which was certainly not part of his job description. He almost tripped over the carpet on the landing but at least they had reached the final floor. Lockwood could find a way to fix the headboard of his new bed on his own, Kipps had already done enough.

“Quill?” Lockwood started, obviously about to ask him another favor.

“Nope. I’m going to get some tea, ask someone else.”

The boy didn’t insist. Well, he was eighteen now, but he was still a boy to him. He probably always will be. What happened next certainly confirmed his intuition. As he headed down the stairs to go put the kettle on, he caught sight of the worst prank he had ever seen.

“Are you serious with this?” He asked, detaching a frame off the wall.

“Oh, nice look out, Quill! This is obviously in the wrong place! I usually hang it along the first flight of stairs, where more people can see it.”

Lockwood took hold of the framed article. He didn’t look ashamed, not even a little bit. Instead, he smiled. A wide and proud grin that Kipps really wanted to punch off his face.

“This isn’t funny. You know how badly written that article is! It made me look like a total fool.”

“My point exactly.” Lockwood winked before passing him in the stairs.

“Here! This is much better!” He said as he hung the frame on the first landing of the house. Kipps wondered if he had done it on purpose to hang the article in the one spot where sun shone brightly to reflect in the glass and make it even more apparent than it needed to be. Knowing Lockwood, he probably did. But for a moment he considered if even divine forces were against him in this fight.

“Take it down. I thought we’d grown past this.”

“Well, obviously you haven’t.”

Kipps stayed silent for a moment. However childish Lockwood was, that pesky boy had still managed to get him right where he wanted. Fine. If he wanted childish, he’d give him childish.

“Take it down or I’ll do it myself.”

His light but somehow threatening tone had gathered a crowd around the landing. Lucy was intently listening to their bickering, apparently very entertained. Holly and George were standing by, not sure where this conversation was headed.

“I won’t let you.” Lockwood responded with a grin.

“It’ll be when you least expect it.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Wanna bet?”

George audibly sighed at the offer. Kipps didn’t look away from Lockwood’s defying stare, but he could sense the researcher rolling his eyes behind him.

“What are the stakes?” Lockwood asked back, seemingly eager to humiliate him one more time.

“If I manage to steal that article before 6pm today, I get to burn it.”

“Interesting. I’m willing to agree to your terms,” he kept the attention of the room, voluntarily lingering before certainly overbidding, “but if I win, you have to call me the best agent/genius and wear a shirt with this very article printed on it for a day.”

“Are you really this childish?”

“You’re the one getting mad over a piece of paper.”

Kipps paused to consider the offer. How hard could it be to out-think his pompous and overconfident rival? Lockwood held out his hand for him to shake and without hesitating much longer, Kipps agreed to his terms.

As soon as he shook his rival’s hand, Lockwood could feel the cogs turning in his brain. Besting Kipps should be easy enough, but he wanted his plan to be extravagant. After all, when was he not? With a proud grin, he looked back at his audience. George seemed exasperated.

“What? This one doesn’t involve the future of the agency!”

It did nothing to relax him. Instead, he cleaned his glasses with a concerned frown on his face, like a disapproving parent disappointed in his son’s poor life choices.

“So, how are you gonna do it?” Lucy asked with much more enthusiasm.

“Well, you could always help me out, Luce.” He winked at her and enjoyed seeing her blush slightly.

“Hold on,” Kipps interrupted from behind him, “if you’re getting outside help, I should too!”

“I’m out!” George exclaimed, “I have work to do for that case coming up in two days. A case we should all get acquainted with, by the way.”

“I’ll help you out!” Holly volunteered, “Let the responsible adults win for once.”

“I will allow no such courtesy.” He declared. “Now, time to strategize.” He grabbed Lucy’s hand and lead her towards his bedroom to discuss his plan behind closed doors.

He didn’t register the inherent intimacy of such a gesture until he saw Lucy lingering near the door, unsure where to sit. The desk was still lying in pieces on the floor, his office chair was downstairs, the headboard was resting sideways against the dresser and the only available seat was the bare mattress resting on the bed frame, the one piece of furniture he actually got around to building. Awkwardly, he signed her to join him behind his dresser that was acting as a protective sound barrier. Hopefully, the chest of drawers would keep Kipps and Holly from hearing anything in case they were trying to eavesdrop.

“Is this really necessary?” Lucy asked out loud.

He brought her near and whispered, “You can never be too careful.”

Besides, he would be lying if he said it wasn’t a good opportunity to stand closer to her. His hand didn’t leave her arm while he explained his plan.

“I need you,” he locked eyes with her and closed his hand around her forearm, “to take care of Holly while I distract Kipps.”

“That should be easy enough, how do you want me to proceed?”

“How good are you at making a mess?”

She smirked. “Good enough to drive Holly insane. What about Kipps?”

“Oh, don’t worry… I’ll get him to leave the house.”

He sent her a knowing smile and she looked back at him with a warning stare. He knew she would object to part of his plan, but she wouldn’t get mad over something so insignificant. Besides, she looked adorable when she gave him that look.

During her years at the agency, Lucy had become more than familiar with Lockwood’s tricks. She knew them so well that she could guess which ones he would use before he said it out loud. She even called some of them her own now. This experience also gave her enough hindsight to know that she shouldn’t get her hopes up. Every attempt Lockwood had made at costumes and disguises had failed horribly. The future of the company wasn’t at stake here, which was a relief. But she had already taken to the game, even though it had barely begun, and her competitive side was showing.

“Please, don’t do an accent.”

“Come on Luce! Don’t you have a little faith in me?”

“Only a little…” She mumbled teasingly. She was lying of course. She knew that he would find a way to make it work somehow. He still hadn’t let go of her arm and brought her closer. She felt flustered. She wasn’t used to this proximity yet. His eyes dropped down to the necklace that never left her neck and he smiled softly.

Suddenly, a thud knocked against the door, revealing the anticipated eavesdropping of their competitor. With a grin, Lockwood offered her his arm before heading towards the door and opening it in a dramatic swing. Kipps did his best to discreetly stand up straight and look like he was casually checking out one of the books on the nearby shelf.

“How about some tea to set the start of our bet, Kipps?”

Lucy felt bad for him. Sort of. He was clearly running out of excuses. He mumbled under his breath and led the way down the stairs with a defeated gait.

“I’ll prepare the mugs.” Holly declared, following closely behind him.

Lockwood and Lucy grinned at each other before joining them, ready for the first part of their plan.

They were sipping in silence. Each of them eyed the other over the freshly poured mug she had handed them. Lucy and Lockwood kept throwing side glances in the other’s direction and Holly couldn’t tell if it was just them being them or if she should be on high alert for heist-related shenanigans. She knew the point was to have fun. She knew the rivalry between Kipps and Lockwood wasn’t really relevant anymore. But it did little to prevent her from keeping a professional and watchful attitude. Old habits die hard. After another stare-filled silence, Lockwood put back his mug on the Thinking Cloth with more noise than necessary. He announced that he had some work to do and winked at Lucy in a very unsubtle way before exiting the room. Something was up, that much was clear. But what was he planning? Before she or Kipps could object, Lucy spilled the content of the honey bottle both on Kipps and the floor.

“Oh no Kipps I’m so sorry!” Lucy apologized. She talked loudly and there was an edge to her voice. This was a distraction and Holly knew better than to get caught up in it. She stared at the basement door, sure that Lockwood would try to sneak back upstairs in the commotion. She tried to stay focused but out the corner of her eye she saw Lucy approaching Kipps’s stained sweater with a tissue. She could already picture the bits of white paper sticking to his ruined clothes and the frustration in his brow. He did care a lot about his black turtleneck.

“Lucy, no! Stop! Start by scraping the excess honey then use dish soap.”

The girl took her jam-covered knife, loosely scraped it on the side of her plate and was about to make matters worse.

“No! Forget it, I’ll do it.”

She got up, and before she could attend to the sticky stains George came in with a call for Kipps. The room fell silent when he answered.

“Wait, who is this?”

He seemed perplexed. George went back to the library undisturbed, and Lucy jumped up to reach for the dish soap. Oh no. She wasn’t going to… Before Holly could react, Lucy covered Kipps in dish soap, making him jump up and walk into the pool of honey formed on the floor by the spill. He shrieked as he almost slipped and Holly couldn’t help her high pitched scream at the mess.

“You told me to use dish soap!” Lucy justified.

“Not like this! Is this your first day being alive?”

Kipps gestured them to shush but apparently the caller had hung up. He set the phone on a spared corner of the table, looking down at the mess.

“What did I do to you, Carlyle?”

“I’m… sorry?”

“A very touching apology, thank you! Well, apparently there’s an emergency staff meeting at the restaurant I work at… whatever that means. I guess I should go.”

“Please, don’t make a trail of honey around the house, it’ll take forever to clean up!” Holly said, already dreading the hours of cleaning ahead.

Kipps nodded and exited the room with his shoes in his hand. He gave her a weird look before leaving. “What about the heist?” she thought. She looked back at Lucy’s fake sorry look and before she could scold her, Lockwood came back up.

“What’s all this noise about? Oh, Holly, you’re doing that thing with your face again.” And then he smiled, his usual wide charming smile like he was a perfect angel who had never done anything wrong. Whenever she got stressed out, Holly had this unconscious habit of furrowing only one eyebrow, giving her face an asymmetrical tension that made the two idiots next to her laugh occasionally. A giant, impossible to clean, sticky puddle of honey was more than enough to stress her out. She did not laugh at his remark and he toned down his gigawatt smile.

“I’ll be with George working on our next case, if you need any help.”

No. He wasn’t getting away that easily.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Working?”

“Who do you think I am, Lockwood? The fact that you thought this would work is seriously offending.”

“You can come watch me work if you want.” He asked with the same grin.

“Yes, Holly, you can go. I’ll clean, it’s my mess after all.”

At least, she was acknowledging it. She turned around to follow Lockwood into the library when a glass hit the floor, breaking into a thousand little shards most likely wedged in honey or hidden in unattainable corners. She shut her eyes tight, annoyed but also impressed at how easily they had played her.

When Kipps arrived back at the house, he already knew what he was going to find. A stressed-out Holly, a proud Lockwood and a missing frame. At least he wasn’t covered in honey anymore. His rival hadn’t been too discreet about his ploy. He had recognized the boy’s voice through his horrible accent when he had picked up the phone. His sudden disappearance and Lucy’s exaggerated efforts to mess with his favorite turtleneck only confirmed his suspicions. He wasn’t too offended by the simple and frankly idiotic way they had used to get rid of him. At least they felt threatened enough to need him gone before attempting anything. 

When he crossed the door, he didn’t even go upstairs to look if Lockwood had bothered to replace the frame with a fake. He headed straight for the kitchen to relieve Holly from the work she was certainly still attending to. Lucy and Lockwood were nowhere to be found, probably too busy celebrating to keep an eye on their prized possession.

He found his partner in crime trying to get the honey out of the multiple sponges she had used. The floor was spotless, but now the mess had been moved to the sink. He came to stand next to her and looked out the kitchen window to surveil the garden at the back of the house. She turned and apologized for having been so easily distracted. She was ashamed of how simple it had been to sidetrack her. Kipps said nothing. After a minute or two of pensive silence, Holly asked if he was upset, worried she had messed up his plans for good.

“You did a wonderful job.” He simply offered, the shadow of a smile forming on his stern face. She looked back at him with a frown.

“What do you mean?”

“I knew it was Lockwood’s plan from the start.”

“And you let him get away with it?”

“Are you familiar with the Hungarian fencing term ‘husszú görcs’?”

She sent him a look to let him know how pedantic he was being. He knew that already, he just couldn’t resist.

“It’s a strategy-”

“Of letting your opponent win points early to give them a sense of overconfidence thus exposing a much easier target for you later.” Holly finished.

He stared at her in stunned silence.

“I was an agent at Rotwell remember? And our fencing coach was Hungarian.”

He had trouble hiding the thin smile slowly twisting his lips. Even though she took away his moment, he was incredibly grateful to have her on his team.

“Now the real question is: how do you know where he hid the frame?”

He lifted an eyebrow and looked back at her with a smirk.

“Oh. Right. Lucy.”

They looked back at the garden in unison. There were two things that even a stranger could figure out about Lockwood by just looking at him: he had too much confidence and he was head over heels in love with Lucy Carlyle. This specific girl happened to have done a lot of gardening in the last few weeks, planting flowers in the back garden, which made for a perfect hiding spot in the turned soil.

“How do you know for sure he hid it there?”

“I have eyes everywhere.”

They stepped outside and a small shadow emerged from the apple tree at the end of the garden. Bobby Vernon had stayed loyal to Kipps even after his humiliating demotion by Penelope Fittes. Or should he refer to her as Marissa now? He was grateful for the boy’s admiration and even more grateful for his help.

“Is that where he hid it?”

Bobby nodded. “Just like you said he would.”

The three of them stayed out of view from the windows and approached the new patch of purple and yellow pansies freshly planted last week. Kipps took the lead, crouched down and looked around in the dirt, trying not to disturb Lucy’s recent work. Lockwood wouldn’t have been so careless as to mess up her gardening for the sake of a bet. He must have hidden it somewhere he could disturb without risk. The three of them crawled out of sight to the next empty lot where the soil had been turned recently.

“That’s where I saw him.” Bobby confirmed.

It didn’t take much digging to reach the white plastic bag sticking out of the dirt. Inside sat the frame and its perfect example of bad journalism.

“Thank you for your time, Bobby. That’ll be all.”

He dismissed the boy, hid the frame underneath his sweater and asked Holly if she wanted to keep the bag. It was covered in soil but she had the habit of keeping every plastic bag they used since it could ‘be useful still.’

They were surprised to see George back at the Thinking Cloth, scribbling away something probably regarding the upcoming case.

“I thought you were working in the library?” Holly asked innocently.

Her tone was far too conspicuous to Kipps’s taste. It was obvious they were hiding something. Karim would figure it out instantly. He nonchalantly bent slightly over, hunched over the frame to try to hide its shape under his clothes. A sudden pain in his lower back reminded him of his labor earlier that day. It also made him realize that he must look ridiculous. The bet was messing with his head. But he’d need to stash the article somewhere safe before letting his guard down.

George asked Holly further details on the clients’ rendition of the events, what they had described precisely on the phone to get a better idea of what they should be expecting in the coming days. Her professionalism took over, she sat down at the table and took out a notebook he didn’t realize she had with her this whole time. Kipps used the distraction to slip out as discreetly as possible. He checked on Lockwood through the library door ajar. He could see why Karim had preferred to move back to the kitchen. They were lying down on the couch, sharing one magazine, tangled together under a blanket. Lockwood seemed to be reading the article out loud, Lucy staring at him starry-eyed. He had to admit that it was rather sweet, a bit nauseating if you stayed with them too long perhaps. He didn’t mind though. It provided him the perfect distraction to complete his plan.

He started up the stairs slowly and carefully. They may have redone a lot of the house in the recent months, but the foundations were still old. Those stairs can reveal any attempt at sneaking around. Luckily for Kipps, he had worked on those very steps when fixing the damages. He knew them like the back of his hand by now. Every single one that creaked and where to step to remain invisible. This part would be a piece of cake. He made his way up the first set of stairs without trouble. He smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see Lockwood’s face when he would pull out the frame from its cache at 6pm. Right under his nose from under his bed. He began his way up the second flight of stairs confidently. Despite his boots, he could feel where he had worked, where the wood was solid and silent. He was three steps short to the landing when suddenly a loud reverberating creak alerted everyone of his whereabouts. Betrayal. He had worked so long on those stairs, listening, learning their pattern, but most importantly renewing them. He gave them his time and patience to rebuild them and for what? He wondered how it was even possible for him to have missed a stair in such bad shape. He heard shuffling downstairs. The love birds had probably been alerted by the wooden backstabber. He didn’t have time to dwell on treachery, he needed a place to hide. Fast.

He made no effort to conceal his footsteps anymore. He rushed to the landing and into Lockwood’s room but the others were already catching up to him. He didn’t have time to lift the mattress and secure the frame there. Panicked, he looked around for a new hiding place. There were still some cardboard boxes lying around the landing. They would have to do. He picked the one filled to the brim with random items and buried the frame among them. When his rivals reached the floor, they found Kipps leaning in that same falsely casual stance he had when they caught him eavesdropping earlier.

Creak. Something wasn’t right. Lockwood could hear Holly in the kitchen. It must have been Kipps. He had to check what he was up to. But doing so meant getting up. Getting up and giving up on having Lucy in his arms. It was a tough choice. So tough that he considered letting Kipps win the bet for a moment.

“Did you hear that?” Lucy suddenly said, listening intently.

Before he could answer she rose to her feet, determined to see who was making a move on the frame. It didn’t matter much since he had replaced it with a fake. However, it did little to stop her. She would hinder the plan of anyone who dared try to take victory from him. Lockwood couldn’t help but stare for a moment, watching her fondly while she resolvedly climbed the steps to investigate the noise they heard. His heart was beating fast when he caught up to her. He reached for her hand and tangled his fingers with hers.

They arrived on the landing hand in hand to find Kipps looking at the same bookshelf he had earlier. He was visibly panting, his chest rising fast despite his best efforts to seem casual.

“Still can’t find that book, Quill?”

“Erm… I was just uh…”

“Maybe you’ll have more luck in the library. There’s plenty more there. I can help you look for it if you’d like?”

“No need for that.”

“No, please, I insist.” He offered him a gracious smile, internally proud they managed to disrupt his plan.

Lockwood took pleasure in watching his opponent’s defeated face as he slowly turned back towards the stairs. He squeezed Lucy’s hand before letting go and escorted Kipps back downstairs.

While the two of them were busy squabbling on their way to the library, Lucy used the distraction to check on the decoy and on their hiding spot. The fake frame was still hung on the stairs which was a good sign. What worried her was what she might find in the garden. It would be bad if Kipps’s team got the frame, but she would be lying if she said it was her only source of worry. Lockwood had been mindful of the freshly planted flowers but she feared his rival had not made the same effort. She quickly followed downstairs and waited for them to enter the library. Out of the corner of his eye, Lockwood slightly smirked at her to signal her to go check their hiding spot. She made sure Holly wasn’t spying from the living room. The coast was clear. She silently reached for the handle on the kitchen door she overheard George mumbling, probably about that case he had been talking about. It wouldn’t be the first time she heard him talk to himself out loud. She could always ask him to stay quiet. Maybe bribe him by giving him her next biscuit in the rotation. She turned the handle and before she could step into the room, Holly’s familiar voice answered George’s. Lucy froze in place. This was perfect, Holly wouldn’t be watching her every move. But she had to release the handle unnoticed, and more importantly a much more acrobatic mission awaited her. As delicately as she could, she released the handle and stepped back from the door, silently aiming for the entrance. Walking backwards, she passed Lockwood again, who made Kipps carry as many books as he could before the poor man had enough of his nonsense. When he saw her going towards the front door, he dropped yet another book onto the pile Kipps was already carrying, making him drop everything. In the commotion, Lucy quickly opened and shut the door, slipping outside without anyone knowing.

The next part would be harder than anticipated. Without taking the time to think too much about it, she jumped to reach the top of the garden wall and pushed on her arms to pull herself up. It was easier to do when she didn’t have an eleven-pound silver-glass skull on her back commenting on her form and mocking her graceless performance. She let herself drop in the garden and remained low as she made her way to the flower beds. She was relieved to find them untouched. Kipps and Holly had had the good sense of digging into the empty patch of dirt next to it. It was good news for her gardening, but the turned soil also meant that their rivals had the frame in their possession. Luckily for them, they had a grouchy reluctant ally to keep track of the frame’s location.

Getting back upstairs hadn’t been easy. Lucy tried her best to sneak around the landing as silently as she could. Coming through the front door, she hadn’t had the chance to check if Holly was still busy with George. She counted on the researcher’s inability to keep his explanations short to keep her cover safe. She retrieved the ghost-jar from its hiding spot and made her way into Lockwood’s room, their rendezvous point. It still made her queasy to go into that room like it was her own. He had said to make herself at home, even in the middle of half-finished furniture. She hesitated, unsure where to settle the skull before getting answers.

“Just put me anywhere but the bed. Lord knows what you did there.”

She put it down on the floor with a crash, no longer caring about being discreet.

“Looks like I hit a nerve,” the annoying ghost said, “Will lover boy be joining us?”

As if summoned by the nickname, Lockwood entered his room and sat on the bed with giddy anticipation.

“So? What did you find out?”

“Kipps has the frame. He dug it up from the garden.”

“Damn it. Did the skull see where he hid it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Skull answered with a crooked smile.

“Yes, we would. Now tell us!” Lucy asked not so nicely.

“I’m not sure I was paying attention.”

Oh, how that ghost could push her buttons.

“You were the one begging to participate in the first place! But fine if you won’t tell us maybe I’ll leave you in the oven again so George can get back to his experiments…”

“I was not begging! It’s just nice to be included for once. Fine. I saw the ginger head run upstairs and he hid the frame in a cardboard box on the landing.”

“Perfect!”

She ran back outside.

“What did he say?” Lockwood asked, his eyes following her to the landing.

She came back in disappointed.

“It’s supposed to be hidden in a cardboard box there but I’ve looked through all of them… it’s not here. Looks like Kipps was faster.”

“Damn! That son of a bitch is good…”

Kipps joined her and George after a loud bang was heard from the library. It sounded like books being dropped, another task for her later. Probably seeing the exhaustion on her face, he told her that he had taken care of it.

“Another meagre distraction of Lockwood’s.”

She laughed at his comment before asking George if he still needed her help.

“No worries, Holly. I can finish this by myself, thanks.”

“So, what is our next move?” She asked her partner.

He threw a sideway glance at George who was back to reading his casefile intently. He nodded towards the door and she followed him without a word. She thought he might be taking this whole thing a little too seriously. George said he was too busy with the case to participate, he wasn’t a threat. Still, she followed him in a corner of the library and listened intently as he whispered his misadventure with the steps. She tried as hard as she could not to laugh when he rambled about the steps of the house betraying him. It got especially tricky when he went on about dishonor and treachery.

“Now, I need you to go back upstairs and get the frame from that box I hid it in.”

“On it.”

“I’ll keep an eye on George.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes and went upstairs. When she got on the landing, she heard Lockwood’s muffled voice coming from his room. He must have been elaborating a new plan to steal back the frame with Lucy’s help. Hopefully, that would distract him enough while she looked through the boxes. They really needed to unpack them soon, it clogged the stairs and the access to their rooms. She opened the first one she could find. Inside were items that certainly belonged to Lockwood’s parents. She felt uncomfortable rummaging through them like this, especially for a silly bet. She opened the rest of them and looked but tried not to disturb anything. Her search was not successful. Instead of disrupting the items, she tried to call Kipps discreetly.

“Do you remember which box you put it in?”

“I think it was that one…”

He opened the box and looked delicately through it, just like she had done. One box after the other, his face went from relaxed, to worried, to panicked.

“Where is it, where is it?!”

“Lockwood must have taken it back.”

“Damn! That son of a bitch is good…”

He barely had time to think of a plan when the door to Lockwood’s room opened, letting his rival on the landing with them.

“Kipps! What a surprise…” He said in that smug tone of his. “It’s almost 6.”

“It looks that way yes.”

They stood face to face, each glaring daggers in the other’s eyes. Lockwood might have come back before he could get the frame from where he had hid it, but Bobby was still watching his every move, standing by behind the apple tree. Kipps was still sure of himself and he knew he would best his rival at that game.

“I’m gonna get that frame back!” They both declared at the same time.

Kipps’s faith in his plan and in himself evaporated before his very eyes. His conviction was shaken. Was Lockwood imitating him poorly? Was he making fun of him? Or was he genuinely convinced that he had the frame in his possession? His rival’s mask slipped too. So Lockwood did not have it. And he didn’t have it. Then who did?

“I’m gonna get that frame back!”

As Kipps exclaimed the same sentence, Lockwood took a step back in surprise. What game was he playing? He stared at him for a few seconds, trying to read whatever ruse he was attempting. The longer he stared and the more obvious his confusion was. How could he look so sincere? Kipps had really worked on his poker face, he thought. Unless he wasn’t acting and the frame was actually out there, out of both their reach when time was running out. Lucy might have an idea. But before he could turn to her to try to read her expression, she bolted down the stairs.

“I’m gonna get that frame back!”

The fact that both boys exclaimed that sentence at the same time threw a gust of cold air through the landing. Everyone stood silently, staring, observing, waiting for someone to stop pretending. The moment never came. One voice broke the silence.

“How strange. It’s almost like that box just disappeared, isn’t it?” Skull asked in that smug know-it-all tone Lucy was so used to. “Didn’t Karim take care of the boxes? No that must have been another day. Unless…?”

Without thinking, Lucy rushed to find George. She didn’t know whether it was the adrenaline, her feelings for Lockwood or her sense of competition, but she had never climbed down the stairs so fast. She called for Lockwood to follow her and heard the hurried footsteps of three eager agents rushing to meet her first. She made a mental note to stick that bloody ghost-jar in the oven for a good forty-eight hours for being so unreliable.

They found George still hunched over his research in the kitchen, so focused that he didn’t seem to register their arrival, no matter how loudly they opened the door.

“Please don’t bother me because of your bet.” He said without looking up from his notes.

Lucy took a tentative step forward.

“Actually… We were just wondering what you might have done with one of those boxes that

are on the landing.”

“You mean the ones I asked you to sort out about a week ago?”

“Better late than never?” she tried to justify.

“I put most of them in the basement.” He answered after a long sigh.

The four of them rushed through the cupboard-like basement door. Lockwood and Kipps tripped each other the whole way down, resulting in loud banging noises against the iron spiral stairs leading the way to their office. Kipps threw himself on the first box he could find, hurriedly but somehow delicately pulling everything out of it and laying all the items on the floor next to him. Lockwood and Holly did the same, and she joined the party a few seconds later without results. Both rivals looked up from their respective boxes visibly panting with matching defeated looks. Apparently neither had prevailed from their thorough search. Where could that frame be?

“Look there’s another one in the storage room!” Holly exclaimed.

With one last race, they all scurried into the room. Before they could turn around, the door slammed behind them, effectively trapping them among magnesium flares and iron chains.

Kipps spun around first to see the iron door sliding shut. He put all his weight to try holding it back but it was no use. Panicked, he tried to go for the back door, rattling the handle vigorously like it would make a difference.

“It won’t budge, Kipps. I made sure of that.” Came a mocking voice from outside.

“Is this your idea of a joke, Karim?”

The gap in the storage door slid open, and mischievous eyes peaked inside.

“Indeed, it is.”

Only his eyes were visible, but it was obvious from his tone that he was smiling in that self-sufficient way of his.

“Cut it out, I’m claustrophobic.”

“You weren’t that claustrophobic when you slept in that broom closet to avoid bunking with me. I think you’ll be fine.”

The humiliation slowly dawned on him. The four of them looked around the room, unsure of their fate. Kipps looked at his feet, defeated. When he looked back up, he saw the three others at different stages of confusion. They didn’t seem to know what was happening either. However, he noticed that Lucy had a small smile on her face, almost satisfied. Did she betray Lockwood to win the bet? Or worse, was Lockwood up to this?

“What is this about, George?” Lockwood asked before Kipps could.

“This,” he paused dramatically, “is how you lose.”

Slightly squinting through the hatch, George reveled in seeing his friends squirm. He wondered if that made him some sort of evil villain, but he liked seeing Lockwood stare at him with that fly-catching gape way too much to care. Even more so when it was joined by Kipps’s despair-filled eyes. He took the general tensed silence as a sign that they had not in fact anticipated this turn of events.

“So you were playing all along?” Lucy asked.

“No. I just saw an opportunity and took it.”

Kipps rolled his eyes and George couldn’t help smiling wider.

“I knew I had to be weary of you Karim.”

“I appreciate the compliment, Kipps. Though, obviously, you weren’t cautious enough.”

“So how did you double-cross us all?” Lockwood asked. If he didn’t know any better, George could almost hear a certain pride in his friend’s voice.

“Well… Since you’re dead set on turning anything into unnecessary races, I had to find a way to teach you a lesson.”

He heard Lockwood scoff.

“I’m with him on that one.” Lucy added in a lower tone.

“So, when you asked me to make you that fake article to use as decoy, I saw an opening.”

“Hold on. Karim was helping you too? How is that fair?”

“I know Bobby’s pocket-sized, Kipps, but since you had him surveil the house I’d still say your teams were pretty equal.” George retorted.

“You knew about this?”

“You had Bobby watching us?” Lockwood asked his rival.

“I mean, we planted Skull too.” Lucy tried to reason him.

“The skull was in on it too?!” Holly exclaimed.

“When Lockwood asked for my help,” George started again, effectively shutting up any other protest emerging from the small room, “he asked me to replace some parts of the article with more modest words like ‘Lockwood is the best agent/genius.’ Instead, I added my own version, almost certain that Lockwood wouldn’t even bother to check. Turns out I was right.”

“Lockwood! You couldn’t even look through it?” Lucy said.

Kipps let out a self-sufficient laugh.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t check either!”

Before any other fight could erupt, George carried on with his explanations.

“Even though Lockwood kept his hideout secret, it wasn’t hard to figure out that it had something to do with Lucy. I mean… even Kipps thought of it.” Through the hatch, he saw Kipps’s eyes throwing daggers his way. “Which left either the attic or the garden and given the number of times I caught you all coming back inside, it was obvious it was the latter. I didn’t need to bother getting it myself though, Kipps did an excellent job retrieving it, as I knew he would. What I needed was to mess up his plans instead.”

Silence had returned inside the storage room. They all had their eyes focused on his, waiting to hear more about their defeat.

“While Kipps and Holly were outside, and Lucy and Lockwood weren’t paying attention to anything besides themselves, I slipped into the hall to mess with the stairs. I made sure enough of them creaked to make sure Kipps would panic-hide the article. I have to say, you avoided a lot more creaky steps than I thought you would, I was impressed.”

Kipps stared back expectantly, clearly curious to know how he had managed the rest of his plan.

“When you hid it on the landing, I had a much easier target to disrupt all future strategies. Now the last part was harder. I had to move the box one step at a time very quickly to make sure you wouldn’t see me. First, while Lockwood and Kipps were in the library, I kept Holly busy with the case, pretended to go to the bathroom, saw Lucy sneaking out the front door and I ran to put the box in my room. Then, Kipps’s paranoia dragged his team in the library while Lockwood and Lucy where in his bedroom, so I took the box back into the kitchen. Finally, while you were realizing the box was missing, I was busy placing it inside the storage room, like a piece of cheese on a mouse trap. A trap in which you all fell being none the wiser.”

He paused for a minute to savor their reactions. Lucy accepted defeat and laughed at the situation. Holly looked stunned. But the most priceless reactions were the two rivals going through different stages of grief. He wished he could record this moment to look back at it a hundred more times.

“I bet with this whole getting-locked-in-the-storage-room thing you didn’t even see the frame I placed inside the box, right?”

Lockwood and Kipps exchanged a glance and jumped on the box. They battled to get hold of the frame first. Lockwood prevailed, holding the prize up high before looking at it more intently. He scoffed and looked back at him through the hatch.

“Well, what does it say?”

“George Casper Karim is a genius hidden two, no three times-”

“It’s actually four times.” George said with a smile.

“Lockwood is a loser” he continued, “Kipps must incline in front of George and so does Lockwood, Kipps still managed to lose spectacularly to George Karim.” He concluded.

They all looked back at him, Kipps’s murderous eyes contrasting with Lucy’s barely contained laughter.

“Are you proud of this?”

“Very yes, thank you for asking.”

“But where is the actual article?” Lockwood asked, almost too certain he found a chink in his armor.

“Oh, you mean this?” He said as he pulled the piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it through the hatch.

There was another stunned silence. Lockwood shook his head, slowly admitting defeat. 

“So, what now?” Lockwood asked.

“I believe you both need to say something.”

They exchanged a look, Lockwood now amused.

“George Karim is the best agent/genius.” They said in unison.

General relief flooded the storage room now that the bet was over. George certainly hoped it would deter them both from making more bets any time soon.

“Well, maybe we can celebrate with a cup of tea?” Holly offered.

“That’s a sweet sentiment Holly but I’m not opening this door.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed, louder than necessary.

“You see, I’ve worked all day on our next case and you’re all way behind. I’m gonna need you to catch up. You’ll find the materials on the shelf next to Holly.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Don’t worry, I left some water and a box of doughnuts for you, I’m not a monster.”

Lockwood tried to force the door, like Kipps had earlier. They all shouted a mix of indignation and insults his way. It all sounded like incomprehensible gibberish.

“You can keep screaming if there’s more, but I’ve got a date with Flo!” And with that he left them there, the protests and the clattering of the metal door fading as he went up the stairs.

Note: I’m guessing that, just like Lockwood, you didn’t check the article hanged at the top of this post. You might want to check it out. *wink* (you have to zoom in because it blends in)

[kultavalo]

The Horizon, Jake Kiszka/Chris Turpin

Chapter 2: Dancing On The Shore

Summary: Their fingers laced together in the sand when suddenly, in the distance, they could hear the ringing of a ship’s bell. Just one at first, and then two, and three and more and more until the entire night was filled with the sounds of an armada sailing into port. 

The new fleet had finally arrived.

Tags: AU-pirates, angst, 1700's, golden age of piracy, emotional hurt/comfort, alcohol use (wine), skinny dipping, light pining, kissing, religious references, crying, love confessions, mentions of pregnancy (background character), sadness, grinding, romance, sexual references.

Word Count: 8.2k

A/N: once again a huge thanks to my besties @scarletvanfleet and @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka for the continuous support and beta reading. This is a bit of a long chapter but what can I say, it's a big story. please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any future updates! Thanks for reading!

The candlelight, reflected on the waves, turned the rippling water into folds of molten amber. The sun had dipped low beneath the horizon, and the soft melody of the sea was the only sound that echoed through the grotto as Jake finished setting up the dinner he had prepared. 

The rocky ground was sturdy enough to support the simple wooden table and chairs he had hauled in there many moons ago. The entrance to the cave curved slightly. A narrow path on the left, flanked by a small stream on the right snaked its way into the cliffside alcove, both eventually widening out into a shallow tidepool and a larger rocky plateau.

Jake had found this location on one of his many lonely walks along the beach during his early days as an ensign. The little spot, protected from the elements and largely hidden from sight, had become a bit of a safe space for him.

Life in the navy barracks was fine and comfortable enough, but it didn’t make for much privacy. Sleeping with a dozen other young men in the same dorm meant that almost every hour of the day was spent with other people in the vicinity.

Jake needed some space for himself. A spot he could retreat to when everything became a bit too crowded. A spot where he didn’t have to worry or hide his true self.

He spent many afternoons there, slowly crafting it into a space of his own. Sweeping the plateau and creating a border between it and the water with a carefully laid row of rocks. On warmer days he’d wade into the shallow pool and clear it of the flotsam and jetsam that washed in with the tide. 

Over the years he had collected random pieces of furniture people had thrown out onto the beach. He squirreled them away into his little grotto and fixed them up using the limited skills he had picked up from watching and assisting the shipwrights. After a while he had assembled a small but sturdy collection; a small square table, two wooden chairs, a little bookcase, a chest, and an old sleeping cot.

It wasn’t much, and the cave was not completely cut off from the elements so he would still have to perform regular upkeep on the wooden furniture. But he managed to completely weatherproof the chest, which meant he could use it to keep a bedroll, some blankets, and some pillows dry and ready to use whenever the barracks became too crowded.

Chris had found him here. Like he had found him everywhere.

                                                                                𓊝

The moment they met would forever be seared into his memory. It must have been about four and a half years ago by now.

Jake had been laying on his cot, reading through some of the letters he had received from home. Most were from his twin brother, Josh, their correspondence being the most frequent as they were not used to being so far away from one another.

Josh had voiced his desire to move closer to Jake. He had just finished his training as an apprentice tailor and was ready to start his own business. But their small and quiet hometown had no need for another craftsman and Josh had no desire to make the same frock and coat over and over for the rest of his life. 

Jake’s port town might not be a major metropolis, but it was a thoroughfare for all sorts of people and trade. Jake had seen the giant rolls of fabric being hauled off of ships, met the travelers from all over the globe who would pass through port on their way elsewhere, stopping for provisions and garments for other climates. Josh would be able to make a name for himself here.

As he read over his brother’s words for what felt like the hundredth time, aching for that little piece of home as he imagined Josh’s voice reading the words to him, a sudden crack of thunder rang out over the beach.

The day had been bright when Jake had entered the cave. Warm enough for him to dare a swim in his tide pool, after which he had dressed only in his breeches, not wanting to get the rest of his clothes wet.

The storm that now raged outside had come in suddenly. Dark clouds and big, heavy raindrops combined with a barrage of hailstones pummeled the beach and the surf. Jake could spy a sliver of the outside world from his spot on the bed. He regarded the ominous weather for a moment, thinking it matched his current mood rather well, before turning onto his other side and unfolding the most recent letter he had received.

The grim weather did not bother him. His little sanctuary was warm and dry. Kept that way by the candles he had placed onto the cave’s natural shelves and alcoves. He had his blankets and his letters and his books. He had even managed to make a stop by Mrs. Oliver before heading to the beach. She had supplied him with a batch of yesterday’s cinnamon muffins which were deemed too stale to be sold, but were still some of the best baked goods Jake had ever had. He could stay here all night if he wanted, wallowing in his homesickness and stuffing himself with the overflowing box of pastries.

But destiny had something else in store for him.

With his back now turned to the entrance of the cave, and the deafening roar of the thunder outside, Jake didn’t realize he was no longer alone until a trepidatious voice rang out. An uncertain “Hello?” made him shoot up, tossing his letters to one side and grasping at the dagger he had hidden beneath his pillow. He didn’t pull the weapon out yet, not wanting to immediately escalate the situation, but still preparing himself in case the voice belonged to someone looking for trouble.

But the man who had entered his domain did not look like he was looking for trouble.

He looked like an angel.

His shoulder length blond hair clung to his face in windswept tendrils. His light linen coat and shirt were soaked through, as were his black trousers. His black leather boots were obviously more suited for walking around town, or maybe a stroll in the park, than they were for a treacherous climb down the rough end of the beach, and the walking cane the man was holding completed the look of an unprepared gentleman out on a stroll on unfamiliar terrain, finding himself in a sudden storm and heading for the nearest cliff for shelter.

Jake’s grip on his dagger eased slightly but his fingers stayed wrapped around the hilt. He didn’t know this man. Had never seen him around town, and despite his soft and gentle appearance, Jake knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

“I’m-...I’m sorry to have disturbed you, I- I don’t mean to intrude, it’s just… Well, I was caught in the downpour and I saw this opening in the rocks…I…would you mind if I waited out the storm here? I can compensate you for your hospitality! I don’t have much money on me but I have some… My name is Christopher, I arrived in port about a week ago…I-” the man rattled on until Jake lifted his free hand, a gesture for him to stop speaking. Christopher quickly complied and looked down at his own hands, a slightly embarrassed expression painting his features.

“My name is Jacob.” was all he could think to say. 

Jake was an eloquent man. Soft spoken and intelligent, he did not often find himself at a loss for words. But something about this stranger had wiped all coherent thought from his mind.

His fingers slipped out from under his pillow, leaving the dagger in its resting place. Both hands now free, he quickly grabbed the shirt he had dropped at the foot of his bed, suddenly hyper aware of his state of undress. He slipped the garment over his head and tried to make himself as presentable as possible.

“Please, take a seat, you’re welcome to wait out the storm here.” Jake awkwardly gestured to the simple wooden table with its patchwork chairs. He never knew why he had bothered to drag both chairs in from the beach. He didn’t plan on bringing anyone else here and he didn’t need two chairs for himself. But the backrests had these beautifully carved birds and it had seemed like a shame to leave them behind.

The man, Christopher, bowed his head in gratitude and quickly made his way over to the chair. The silence that followed as he sat down was slightly awkward. Jake was still somewhat unsettled by the sudden presence of another soul in his little sanctuary. He felt the need to shift his melancholic mood into something more pleasant. Christopher had obviously not expected to find him here either, he was simply seeking shelter from the sudden barrage of rain and hail.

As he gathered his thoughts Jake stole a glance at him. The other man was awkwardly shifting on his chair, his rain soaked hair dripping onto his shirt, turning the fabric slightly see through. He picked at the skin around his fingernails as his eyes flitted about the cavern. They landed on the chest and the bookcase before drifting over the rows of candles along the walls.

Jake was just about to speak up, introduce himself properly, when Christopher spoke again. His voice was quiet, almost like he was afraid Jake would actually hear him, and when the words hit Jake’s ears they seemed to be steeped in sadness.

“Do you live here?”

The question snapped Jake out of his sullen mood and he let out a giggle at the absurdity of the situation. The sudden loud noise startled Christopher, who finally dared to look up and make eye contact. The expression on his face was one of confusion tinged with fear and Jake quickly stifled his laughter. Christopher must think him insane, a half naked man in a cave who laughed at simple questions. He was making a fool of himself. He cleared his throat and lightly shook his head before he answered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Your question, as heartfelt as it seemed, simply caught me off guard. no, please let me properly introduce myself. My name is Jacob Kiszka, I am a lieutenant commander in the New England navy. I am stationed at the barracks near the ports. This place is simply my little hideaway, I come here when the base gets too crowded or I simply need to think. I’m not from around here you see, I can’t really go home on the weekends like the other fellows, so I made a bit of a space for myself here. But no, I don't live here full time.”

Jake wasn’t sure why he had said all that. He was usually a very private man, not sharing much about his personal life with anyone. It had even taken Mrs. Oliver a good few months for him to open up and tell her about his hometown and his family but even she didn’t know about the cave.

But Christopher was already here, had already seen the most private thing he had to offer. And there was such kindness in his eyes…

Jake’s words seemed to reassure him. A bit of his nervous energy dissipated and his expression turned from confused to intrigued. He listened attentively to Jake as he explained his job and his rank and the circumstances that led him from his tiny town in Sault Ste. Marie all the way to a New England port.

How being the youngest of a set of twins, but simultaneously older than his younger sister and brother left him essentially feeling a bit like the middle child. Left adrift between his other siblings who either required less or more care and supervision. From a young age he had been attracted to sailing. Having been the only child who had gladly accompanied his father as he went out with his sailboat on the weekends to catch fresh fish. A supplement to their otherwise quite boring diet. When the navy recruiters had flocked into town one summer, it had taken very little convincing for Jake to enlist.

“I was only sixteen, and in hindsight probably far too young to leave home. But they promised an education that my family simply couldn’t afford otherwise. My mother was heartbroken when I left but she knew it was for the best. I’ve managed to make a career for myself and she’s very proud of me. She writes often. I try to go back as frequently as I can.”

In return Jake hung from his very lips as Christopher told him about his life in England, how he had been an apprentice to his father, a master clockmaker, for as long as he could remember. How he, in turn, had also become a master of his craft. 

“It seems unkind to say but the reason I couldn’t stay in England is simply that my father trained me too well. He taught me everything I know but it’s all I know. And it’s all people know to expect from me. Everyone just knows me as young master Turpin, but for once in my life I would just like to just be Mr. Turpin. I love my father, as hard as it is for an Englishman to say, but I needed to leave before the constant comparisons to him made me turn sour.”

Jake had joined him at the table now. Their conversation flowed as smoothly as the tide washing in and out of the cave’s pool. There was no explaining it, as soon as they had opened their mouths there had been a connection. The awkwardness of their first few moments together had melted away and it seemed like they had known each other for years.

They talked for hours that night, not even noticing when the storm let up and the sun started to set. They ate from the box of pastries and drank from the bottles of fresh water and wine Jake had stored on the bottom shelf of his book case.

After the rain had passed the night turned humid. The air hung heavy around them. Oppressively warm as only an August evening can be, and aided by the heat of the candles burning in the cave. A layer of salt seemed to descend over everything, but whether it came from the sea or the two bodies providing conversation that echoed off of the cave walls no one could say.

The rain that had soaked Christopher to the bone had long dried on his skin but the sweltering heat was quickly becoming uncomfortable in a similar way. His shirt was sticking to the back of his neck despite him having removed his jacket hours ago. Etiquette prevented him from stripping any more items of clothing beside his waistcoat and cravat, which he had quickly taken off after he realized Jacob was also only in his shirtsleeves. He was simply not yet used to this new world heat.

Jake could read the discomfort plainly on Christopher’s features. He could feel the sweat starting to form on his own brow too and his shirt clung uncomfortably to his back. The humidity was becoming unbearable and it made it hard to focus on the conversation at hand. Emboldened by the half a bottle of wine flowing through his veins, Jake offered a way to cool down.

“Christopher, I don’t mean to be too forward, but the heat is starting to wear on me. And please correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe it has caught you as well. Would you be amicable to taking a short swim to cool off? I know the temperature of the water in this cave should be quite pleasant and I promise you it is completely safe, I swim here quite frequently during the warmer months.”

Jake tried to make himself sound as formal as possible. This would simply be a way for them to get out of the heat. A completely innocent swim to regulate their body temperatures and replace the salt of their sweat with the salt of the water. The fact that he had become more and more mesmerized with this fascinating man who had stumbled into his cave had absolutely nothing to do with it.

The flush on Christopher’s cheeks seemed to deepen for a moment, something Jake attributed to the heat and the wine but not his words. The man had been well spoken all night, voice clear and steady, never stumbling over any of his words, but suddenly his speech became jumbled.

“Well…I uhm, I don’t have a swimming costume you see, or well, at least not at hand at the moment. Nor do I have a towel or, or a clean shirt for that matter… and what if the tide comes in? Or washes out? Or however it works, I admit, I’m not familiar.” 

Jake stifled his laughter. He didn’t want to make Christopher any more uncomfortable than he already was by laughing at him. And truly he wouldn’t be laughing at him, simply at the situation. Living in the navy barracks had taught Jake to very quickly get over any sense of bodily shame he might have had. When you live with two dozen other men in very close quarters you see much more than you ever bargained for and it soon becomes routine. But Jake also realized that this was not a common thing and that the average civilian had a much more puritan way of seeing things, so he understood Christopher’s hesitation.

“I have some towels here for when I go swimming by myself. I must admit I also don’t have a swimming costume on hand. No one else ever comes here you see. I understand if my suggestion was out of line and I sincerely apologize, please, let us continue our conversation. I’d hate for you to leave.”

Jake wasn’t sure why he added that last part. Some hidden sense of desperation finally bubbling to the surface of his mind atop a sea of wine, and heat, and pleasant company. The need of finding a true friend and conversationalist finally fulfilled, he feared he had squandered it all by his overly familiar suggestion. But much to his surprise Christopher quickly shook his head and spoke up resolutely.

“No I- I think a swim would do me good.”

Jake lost the struggle to keep a smile off of his face at those words. He quickly stood and walked over to the weather proofed chest, retrieving two clean towels he had stolen from the Navy’s laundry room when he was on wash duty. They were slightly worn but still functioned well enough. When he turned back around he was met with the vision of Christopher pulling off his unbuttoned shirt and neatly hanging it over the back of his chair. His skin was pale and unblemished. Completely unlike Jake who, in his line of duty, had become tanned and scarred.

He could see the sinewy muscles shift underneath Christopher’s skin and for a moment Jake became enamored by the curve of his shoulder and the way his hair fell across it as he bent down to unbuckle his shoes. He realized he was staring as Christopher sat back up and he quickly averted his eyes, moving instead to place the towels on the table and move a few of the rocks that made up the border of the tide pool so they would have an easier time entering and exiting the water.

Shirt, shoes, and socks now shed, all that rested Christopher were his trousers. Jake could sense his hesitation and quickly started stripping off his own clothes in order to make the other man feel more at ease. Being naked was uncomfortable for most, but being naked while others were still dressed always seemed worse somehow. Jake undressed with the utmost nonchalance. He figured if he treated this as he would any other swim, or communal shower at the barracks, he’d have the most chance of making Christopher as comfortable as possible.

Jake had only bothered to dress in his shirt and pants after his solo swim earlier that day and thus reached the same state of undress as Christopher within seconds. Continuing in one fluid motion from shucking off his shirt, he deftly undid the row of buttons keeping his pants closed and easily stepped out of them. He neatly folded them over the back of his chair and sat down on the cleared edge of the pool, lazily dipping his legs into the water and letting out a content sigh at the coolness that enveloped them.

As he let himself submerge fully into the water he could hear the rustle of fabric behind him and the sound of one of the chairs scooting back across the rocky ground. Jake opted not to turn back around until he heard the splash of another body entering the pool, granting Christopher at least that modicum of privacy.

He could hear the other man let out a similar sigh of relief at the coolness of the water and as Jake turned, he caught just the slightest glimpse of tiny blond curls sinking into the darkness before the rest of Christopher’s abdomen and torso followed. Soon he was submerged down to his chest. The pool was shallow enough for both men to stand, and in the corner farthest from the entrance it even held a small, underwater ledge which could function as a natural bench. Jake made his way over and took a seat, planning on staying in the water for a while, or at least until they had both cooled off enough to brave the humidity of the rest of the cave once more.

As Christopher made his way over to take a seat next to him, Jake busied himself by scooping handfuls of water up over his hair and face, washing away the sweat and slicking back his already damp locks.

Before Christopher sat down he fully submerged himself for a second or two in a similar attempt to rid himself of the sticky sweat that clung to his skin.

As he reemerged Jake adjusted his previous observation. Christopher didn’t look like an angel, he looked like a siren. The way his hair clung to his face, the intense pale blue green of his eyes, amplified only by the slight redness in the whites from the sea salt, the way the candle light played across his pale skin. Jake was completely enraptured by him and in a moment of weakness, he reached out and tucked a strand of the damp hair behind one of Christopher’s ears.

Shocked at his own actions Jake quickly retracted his hand and went to apologize. But he only managed to draw his hand back a few inches before Christopher caught it, and all the words he managed to squeeze out were simply the other man’s name. 

“Christopher”

They stared at each other in silence for a singular, everlasting second, Jake’s wrist caught in Christopher’s hand and his gaze captured in those sea glass eyes.

“Please Jacob.. Call me Chris.” Chris said in a whisper, a smile playing along his lips and a glint of…something in his eyes.

“Jake… please call me Jake” was all Jake could reply before Chris placed the hand he had captured back onto his cheek and leaned into his touch.

That first meeting had been almost four and a half years ago to the day. Chris had visited the cave nearly every night after that. They would talk, and swim, and talk some more. Becoming closer and closer as the days passed. Never once had Chris thought to bring a swimming costume.

                                                                                𓊝

After nearly six months of almost daily visits, Jake had become utterly devoted to Chris. The man occupied his mind all hours of the day and night. Every waking moment he longed for the other man’s company and in his dreams their relationship blossomed into a beautiful intimacy, the likes of which he had never experienced before.

Jake kept these thoughts to himself of course.

Besides having become closer to Chris in their constant conversations, they had also grown somewhat closer physically.

After that first night where Chris had refused to let go of his hand, opting instead to nuzzle into it as Jake stroked his thumb across his cheek, their touches had become more and more frequent.

They would greet each other with an embrace during which Chris would always tangle his fingers into Jake’s hair, untying whatever ribbon he had used to keep it in a neat ponytail and making it flow loosely over his shoulders and back instead.

In turn Jake would assist Chris in taking off his coat and placing it over the back of one of the chairs. As the nights went on and they became more comfortable, more and more items of clothing would be shed, often resulting in them conversing in nothing but their pants, or even completely naked, submerged in the moonlit water of the pool.

It was during one of these nights, once again aided by a fair helping of stolen wine, that Jake had thrown caution to the wind and fully crossed the line into the unknown.

The night had once again been unbearably hot, and it had taken them no time at all to end up in the pool once more. Having become more comfortable with each other’s nudity, Jake had flung his clothes in Chris’ general direction, laughing as they hit the other man square in the face, and diving into the pool with a great big splash. Chris joined in his laughter and dove in after him, surfacing right in front of Jake’s face and splashing him with water. Jake splashed him back, starting a brief but intense water fight that ended when Jake managed to capture Chris’ hands. They were both heaving with laughter, reveling in the childish games their age didn’t often permit them.

As both men caught their breath, hands still clasped together, stray giggles forced out between pants, Jake simply couldn’t stop himself. His body moved as if possessed, lowering their entwined hands into the water, forcing their bodies closer together. The cave was quiet, save for the crashing of the waves on the shore outside and their slowly steadying breaths which now landed on the other’s face.

Chris made no moves to distance himself from Jake. His eyes were wide, not in shock, but in an effort to absorb every millimeter of Jake’s face in the dim candlelight. The fact that Chris made no attempts to flee filled Jake with the last shred of courage he needed to finally ask the question that had been stuck in his throat since the moment he laid eyes on the other man.

“Christopher…Chris. May I kiss you?”

He had barely gotten all the words out before Chris’ lips were on his. The warmth of his skin, pressed so impossibly close to his own, flooded all of Jake’s senses. He felt enveloped by him. The way his arms roamed over his back and pressed them closer together, one of his hands snaking its way into his hair and gripping it tightly. Chris kissed like a parched man finally feeling the touch of water on his tongue. His movements were hungry, desperate, but somehow also gentle, nearly reverent.

Jake felt like he was being worshiped. A ravenous kind of devotion was placed upon his body and as Chris’ lips moved from his own, across his cheek, to his ear, and down his neck, his continuously muttered stream of “you may, you may, you may” sounded oddly like a prayer.

The feeling was overwhelming. Jake had been loved before, sure. His mother loved him, as did his father, and his siblings all loved him in their own ways. But he had never been adored before. His veins felt like they were on fire as Chris’ lips made their way down his chest. A sob thundered through Jake’s rib cage as a kiss was placed right over his heart.

Chris straightened himself faster than lighting, his eyes searching for Jake’s expression through the flood of tears that rolled down his face. His hands tenderly cradled his cheeks, thumbs wiping away the torrents that flowed down his skin.

“Jake, my dearest, my love, what happened? Did I hurt you?” Chris asked, only partially successful in his attempt to hide the panic in his voice.

Jake shook his head as hard as the hands cradling him allowed. His head was flowing over with the love he was feeling and all his body could think to do was cry.

“You are so beautiful, so beautiful.” was all he managed to force out before another sob was expelled out of him and Chris pulled him into an embrace that felt like he was holding love itself.

“Oh my love, my love…” Chris muttered against the crook of Jake’s neck and the heat of his breath made it feel like the words were being seared into Jake’s skin. He was being marked as Christopher’s love, by Christopher’s love. 

“Let out all your sorrows my dearest, I am here. You have me, I am yours.” 

Chris held him for what felt like hours, letting Jake cry onto his shoulder until all his tears were gone and all that was left was the feeling of Chris’ arms around him and the steady rise and fall of his chest against Jake’s cheek.

“I’m sorry…” Jake began to apologize but Chris just held him tighter and shushed his words away as his fingers combed through Jake’s dark locks.

“Don’t apologize Jake. you have nothing to apologize for. If we are to share this love, my only condition is that we also share our pain.”

Jake pulled himself away from Chris’ chest just enough to look into his eyes.

“Love?” Do you love me?” He asked, his voice sounding smaller than he had sounded in years. And there was that kindness In Chris’ eyes again. That gentle and easy reassurance combined with whatever that glimmer was that had flitted behind his irises that first night in the water.

“I think I do. I think I have for quite some time now, I have no other way to describe this utter devotion I feel towards you.” Chris spoke, and this time it was Jake’s turn to parch his thirst on Chris’ lips. His kisses were softer, less urgent. Jake had always been of the opinion that if something was worth doing, it was worth doing well and without hurry. 

He created a map of Chris’ body in his mind as his hands roamed his skin. The crook of his neck, the ridges of his spine, the way his hips pressed against his own when he pushed against the small of Chris’ back. It all became a part of the idol he was building in his head. It would become a tiny piece of home Jake would be able to take with him whenever his ship left the harbor. The map of Chris’ body had become the new north on his compass.

They kissed and hugged and simply held each other the whole night through. When the water had become too cold for either of them to stand they had dried themselves off and slotted their bodies together on Jake’s tiny sleeping cot. They kept each other warm that night, and many nights after in the four years that would follow.

But now, as Jake lit the final candle lined up along the walls of the cave, he wondered if that time might be coming to an end.

He had received his call to duty a day or so ago. It had been nearly a full month since the conversation Chris and him had shared on that bench outside the church. They had been given more time than they could have hoped for, but it hadn’t been enough. It would never have been enough time. 

The days had warmed up since that dreary July morning where Jake had shared the truth about the severity of the pirate problem the navy was facing. They had once again slipped into the heady heat of August, but despite the humidity Jake had still decided to dress in his Sunday best.

It might have been the last opportunity he would get.

There was no need to invite Chris to the cave. He would be there, as he had been every night Jake spent on shore and off duty for the last four years. All Jake had to tell him was to dress up and bring his good wine. The smile Chris had given him at those words had been bittersweet.

Jake had gone all out, cleaning the entirety of their shared slice of home. He had picked flowers along the dunes and placed them in old jars all around the cave, he had washed the sheets of the cot and even brought a table cloth he had found to cover their old rickety table with. He floated small tealights on pieces of driftwood, spreading the amber light even further than it had ever reached before.

The meal he had prepared wasn’t much special, just a simple dinner of meat, vegetables, and potatoes, but he had managed to convince Mrs. Oliver to bake him Chris’ favorite cake; spiced blood orange.

He had just laid out the final pieces of cutlery when he could hear the telltale approach of his beloved. Heeled boots clicking across the rocks and crunching over the fine layer of sand that managed to cover the floor no matter how much Jake swept. He turned around and there he was, his siren.

Chris was dressed in the exact same suit he had worn that first night they met. The cream colored linen had softened over the years and the shirt had become slightly tighter as Chris had grown stronger and bigger from hard work and sturdy meals, but he still looked as beautiful as he had all those years ago.

Jake could feel the tears prickling behind his eyes, but he quickly swallowed them down and replaced them with the loving smile Chris deserved.

“Hello my dearest.” Jake spoke as he walked over to help Chris take off his jacket, just like he always did. Chris smiled and planted a soft kiss on his lips before turning and allowing Jake to help rid him of the garment. When Chris turned back around his eyes finally drifted over the interior of the cave, landing on every candle and flower Jake had added before finally settling on the dinner for two that was laid out on the table.

Jake could see the same swell of tears behind Chris’ eyes but his love quickly blinked and softly cleared his throat as he spoke.

“You truly are the most adoring man that has ever lived. Every day over you make me proud that you’re the keeper of my heart.” 

Jake beamed at his words. Chris’ praise was always so poetic and it made him feel seen in a way that no one else ever had.

“Come, sit down, before the food gets cold.” Jake ushered him over to the table, pulling out a chair for Chris to take a seat before sitting down himself. They talked as they ate, discussing their day and any news from around town as they did every night.

“I think Mrs. Oliver may be with child.” Jake gossipped as he sliced into the meat on his plate.

“Really?!” Chris replied, his eyes wide in amused wonderment as he listened attentively to the rumors and daily minutiae Jake had picked up since they last spoke twenty four hours ago. He reveled in the feeling of normalcy and routine. Just for one last night.

“Hmm, I doubt she knows I noticed but with the way Mr. Oliver dotes on her you’d think she was made out of the finest china available. It’s quite adorable.” a smile danced around Jake’s lips as he looked down at his plate. He was truly happy for them.

“Well I for one would not be surprised if you were to receive a request to become a godfather. Mrs. Oliver has always said you are like a brother to her. It would only be fitting.” Chris grinned at Jake who was still staring at his plate. His smile had faltered slightly. As much as he would love to be a godfather for his best friend’s child, he knew he would be shipping out within a day. And there was no promise he’d return.

He lightly shook his head, plastering the smile back in its place as he stood up from the table and extended his hand to Chris, urging him to get up as well. 

“Come, I have something to show you.” he said as Chris placed his hand in Jake’s and allowed himself to be pulled up. Jake led him over to the book case where on the middle shelf a small, worn, wooden box rested. Chris had never seen it before, despite his frequent visits to the cave, and the presence of the item confused him slightly. All questions he might have had were expelled from his mind however as, with his free hand, Jake lifted the lid off of the box and the cave was filled with the small tinny waltz as played by a music box.

“It washed up on shore about a month ago. I must admit I’m no expert when it comes to cogs and springs but I fixed it up as well as I could and she seems to work like a charm.” Jake muttered, seemingly a little flustered at having kept his tinkering a secret for so long.

Chris couldn’t help it. The tears flowed freely down his cheeks now, and when Jake looked up from the box his hands immediately flew up to cradle Chris’ face.

“Oh I’m so sorry my love, I wanted this night to be one of joy and light but it seems now like that might have been a foolish idea. I never meant to upset you my dearest but I know the entire situation itself is upsetting.” Jake spoke as silent sobs wracked Chris’ body.

“I wish you wouldn’t have to go.” Chris lamented between labored breaths “I know it’s selfish but I wish you wouldn’t have to go. Every time you deploy it feels like my heart is carved out of my chest and stored in the hull of your ship. I wish you wouldn’t have to go.”

Jake felt his own heart shatter at Chris’ words but only because he felt the exact same way. Whenever he sailed out he couldn’t shake the feeling that part of his soul remained ashore.

“I wish that too my love, I wish that too. I am bound by duty but know I am bound to you too, and know that I will do everything in my power to return to you, I promise you that.”

Chris’ breathing evened out and the flow of tears slowly subsided. The sadness he felt was far from gone but he didn’t want to spoil their last evening together with a never ending flow of tears, and so he took a deep breath and pressed his lips against Jake’s.

Their kiss was urgent in a way. Chris tried to convey every ounce of love he felt through the connection of their skin, he hoped it would be enough.

As they parted, Jake wiped at his own eyes with the back of his hand. He sniffed once before forcing the return of his smile to his lips. The music box still played softly behind them and Jake took Chris’ hands in his own once more as he asked with a deep bow “Mr. Turpin, may I have this dance?”

The three kisses Jake received translated to the reply he knew so well; “you may, you may, you may.”

They assumed the positions for a slow and gentle waltz as the music echoed off of the walls of the cave. Their steps were clumsy and Chris could tell by the tiny movements of Jake’s mouth that he was counting along with the rhythm of the song. Neither of them were skilled dancers but they reveled in the closeness of their bodies and the shared movement. 

It didn’t take long for Chris to rest his head on Jake’s chest, the sound of his breath slowly entering and leaving his lungs, and the steady drum of Jake’s heart against his cheek was all he needed to calm him down. The music faded away into the echoes of the cave and it was just the two of them once more. Their shuffling feet and Jake’s quiet counting the only sounds that filled the air. 

The sun had set outside their rocky abode but the humidity still clung to them like flypaper. Their movements became sluggish until they finally stopped altogether.

“Could we go take some air for a moment? It’s dark now so no one should be able to see us.” Chris suggested and Jake nodded his head in agreement. Leading each other by the hand they excited their cave for a moment and sat down near the surf. It wouldn’t be long until the tide would come rolling in but they didn’t plan on sitting there long. Just long enough for some of the heat from their skin to dissipate and to breathe in the cool sea breeze.

The night was clear and the stars shone brightly above them. The light of the moon cast a silvery glow over all and the sand seemed to almost sparkle as they sat down.

“Have you told your brother you’ll be shipping out?” Chris asked softly.

“I have.” Jake answered. About two years ago Josh had finally made the big step and left Sault Ste, Marie to join Jake in New England. He had opened up a small tailor shop near the harbor and he was doing quite well for himself. Chris and Josh had met a few dozen times and Josh knew that Jake and him were good friends but despite their closeness Jake hadn’t yet been able to tell Josh what exactly Chris meant to him.

“He is anxious as well but he wished me luck and a safe and speedy return. He asked if I needed anything mended before I left so I’ll be picking up the last of my clothes from his shop tomorrow morning. It’ll be good to see him one last time before I go.” As he spoke, Jake absentmindedly traced his fingers through the sand. He drew spirals and hearts and stars until, as he came to the end of his sentence, he wrote Christopher’s name on the shore.

Chris smiled as he saw the letters of his own name appear in the sand in Jake’s handwriting and with his own hand wrote ‘Jacob” underneath.

Their fingers laced together in the sand when suddenly, in the distance, they could hear the ringing of a ship’s bell. Just one at first, and then two, and three and more and more until the entire night was filled with the sounds of an armada sailing into port. 

The new fleet had finally arrived.

Jake’s imminent departure was real now. Without the new ships it had all felt so far away. There were preparations at the docs, sure, but it hadn’t felt like an army sailing out yet. There were no ships and so nothing had felt imminent. But now there they were, pure white sails floating through the darkness like ghosts on the surf. The waves of their boughs traveled to shore on the incoming tide, washing away their writing in the sand.

Chris looked down at the vague indentations of the letters left behind.

“I suppose that was bound to happen at some point. It’s not a very permanent way to record our love.”

As he spoke he untangled his fingers from Jake’s and reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and retrieved a small dark blue box.

“That’s why I made you this. So you can take me with you wherever you go.” he said, as he handed the box to Jake.

A look of surprise washed over Jake’s features as he accepted the present and took off the lid.

Inside, nestled on a piece of deep black velvet, lay a shiny golden pocket watch. The front cover was decorated with an intricately carved crescent moon, its softly smiling profile looked oddly similar to Chris’ own face and when Jake popped it open he was greeted by the beautifully painted clock face. Along the row of roman numerals, painted in tiny lettering was Chris’ brand. 

“Christopher Turpin

Master Clockmaker”

But that wasn’t what caught Jake’s eye. For on the inside of the cover, etched in Chris’ own handwriting, were two simple words, repeated thrice.

“You may, you may, you may.”

Tears welled up behind Jake’s eyes again but this time he let them flow freely as he closed the watch, placed it back into the box, closed the lid, and put the box in his pocket before crashing his lips against Chris’.

His movements were fierce, pouring all his love and hopes and wishes into the connection of skin they shared. Jake’s lips roamed across Chris’s face, covering every inch he could reach in kisses and whispered declarations of love. Chris giggled at the tickle of lips on his cheeks, and his eyelids, and his forehead. His laughter was cut off with a gasp as Jake hoisted himself onto Chris’ lap, grasping his face in both hands as he placed another kiss upon his lips. But this kiss was different from the previous ones. There was a hunger here that seemed to seep out of Jake’s bones and onto his skin. A ravenous desire that burned out of his fingertips and outward from their chests which were now pressed together.

Chris answered that hunger with his own, opening his lips to let Jake feast on him. Jake’s tongue ravaged his mouth, tasting every millimeter, deepening the lines on the map of Chris’ body that lived in his mind. Maybe if he could keep tracing those lines he’d have some sort of reassurance he would be able to make it home.

Jake’s hands slid up into Chris’ hair as his tongue flicked across his teeth. Chris in turn held onto Jake’s hips like a drowning man onto a buoy. As soon as Chris’ hands landed on him, Jake let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Their lips disconnected but their foreheads melted together instead as Jake’s hips rolled forward against Chris, seemingly on their own accord.

“I need you.” Jake breathed, his words spread an undeniable heat across Chris’ skin.

“You have me, I am yours.” Chris responded as the tide of Jake’s hips continued crashing against his own. His hands sank down and grabbed onto Jake’s backside, pulling him as close as he could, intensifying the sensation of their groins pressed together with every wave.

Jake let out a groan at the feeling of being held so tightly, his ass cradled in Chris’ strong hands while his member slid up and down the steadily growing bulge in his lover’s pants. His grip on Chris’ hair tightened, pulling his head back slightly and exposing Chris’ pale throat. Jake could almost see his panting breaths flowing through his windpipe. As his right hand held the grip on his hair, his left traveled down to feel Chris’ heartbeat pulse against the side of his throat. It fluttered against his finger so rapidly. Even through the fabric of his cravat he could feel Chris’ life beating a steady, racing, rhythm against his hands. 

The feeling was intoxicating. 

Jake tried to set the grinding of his hips in time with the beating of Chris’ heart but it proved to be an impossible task. The faster his hips moved, the faster the pulse thrummed against his fingertips. Jake was snapped out of his reverie in the end by Chris letting out a soft whine. His hands roaming across Jake’s back, grasping at the fabric of his waistcoat, fighting for any sense of purchase as the warmth of Jake’s length slid against his own.

“Jacob please,” Chris forced out as Jake finally slowed his relentless grind.

“Please, please, please, I need you too, please take me, use me, I’m yours…. I’m yours.” he babbled and as Jake looked down at his face he could see Chris’ pupils blown with lust. He released the grip on his hair and gently combed his fingers through Chris’ long locks instead.

“Tell me what you need my love, I’ll give it to you. Anything you ask for, I’ll give it to you.” Jake muttered to him as he pressed their foreheads back together. They breathed in each other’s air as Chris sorted through all the things he could possibly ask from Jake. His mind was a maelstrom of wishes but in the end he landed on a singular simple request.

“Take me to our bed Jake.”