#security uniform company

[uniform-master]

The Importance of Professional Security Uniforms: A Comprehensive Guide.

Security personnel play a vital role in safeguarding people, property, and assets. They are the first line of defense against potential threats, making their presence and appearance crucial to their effectiveness. Professional security uniforms are a fundamental aspect of the security industry, serving far more than aesthetic purposes. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the multifaceted importance of professional security uniforms, exploring their impact on professionalism, identification, safety, and more.

Enhancing Professionalism

A. Visual Representation of Authority

One of the primary purposes of a security uniform is to visually represent authority. It immediately conveys to individuals on the premises that there are trained professionals responsible for security. This sense of authority can deter potential wrongdoers.

B. Promoting a Professional Image

A well-designed and well-maintained uniform portrays a professional image for the security personnel and the organization they represent. It instills confidence in clients, employees, and visitors.

C. Uniformity and Team Cohesion

Uniforms foster a sense of unity among security teams. They create a common identity and eliminate distractions that may arise from differences in clothing choices. This cohesion contributes to smoother operations and effective teamwork.

Facilitating Identification

A. Easy Recognition

Security uniforms are designed to be easily recognizable even from a distance. This quick identification is crucial during emergencies or when individuals need assistance.

B. Distinguishing Security from Other Personnel

In large facilities or events, distinguishing security personnel from other staff members, like janitors or maintenance workers, is essential. Uniforms serve as a clear indicator of who to approach for security-related concerns.

C. Building Trust

Knowing who the security personnel are and being able to identify them at a glance builds trust with the public. People feel safer when they can easily spot security personnel in a crowd.

Promoting Safety

A. Personal Safety

Security uniforms are often designed with safety in mind. They may include features like reflective strips, high-visibility colors, and durable materials that protect personnel from hazards while on duty.

B. Public Safety

Uniforms also contribute to public safety. In emergencies, individuals tend to look to uniformed security personnel for guidance and assistance, which is crucial for orderly evacuations and response coordination.

Legal and Regulatory Compliance

A. Compliance with Industry Standards

Many security organizations are subject to industry-specific regulations that mandate the use of professional uniforms. Compliance with these standards is essential to avoid legal issues and maintain credibility.

B. Identification in Legal Proceedings

In legal matters, security uniform company help in identifying individuals involved in incidents or disputes. They provide clarity in testimony and evidence collection.

Brand Representation and Marketing

A. Branding and Reputation

Uniforms are a reflection of the security company's brand. A well-designed uniform can enhance the company's reputation and leave a positive impression on clients and the public.

B. Marketing Tool

Uniforms with company logos and branding elements can serve as a subtle marketing tool. They create brand visibility wherever security personnel are present, potentially attracting new clients and business opportunities.

Employee Morale and Job Satisfaction

A. Pride in Appearance

Wearing a professional uniform can boost employee morale and instill a sense of pride in their appearance. This, in turn, can improve job satisfaction and performance.

B. Sense of Belonging

Uniforms create a sense of belonging among security personnel. When they wear their uniform, they feel like an integral part of the organization, which can lead to greater commitment and loyalty.

Deterrence and Risk Reduction

A. Deterrence Factor

The mere presence of uniformed security personnel can deter potential criminals. Criminals are less likely to engage in unlawful activities when they know security is present and vigilant.

B. Mitigating Risks

Security uniform company often include practical features such as pockets for essential tools and equipment. This ensures that security personnel are adequately prepared to respond to potential risks and incidents.

Security Uniforms Around the World: A Global Comparison

Security uniforms vary significantly around the world, reflecting cultural, functional, and historical influences. This global comparison provides a brief glimpse into the diverse world of security attire.

United States

In the United States, security uniforms often feature dark-colored trousers and shirts with badges and patches denoting security agency affiliations. The style emphasizes a professional and authoritative appearance.

United Kingdom

Security uniforms in the UK are known for their distinctive high-visibility yellow jackets. This choice of color enhances the visibility of security personnel, making them easily identifiable in crowded areas.

France

French security personnel frequently wear navy blue uniforms that resemble those of law enforcement officers. The uniforms exude authority and professionalism, reinforcing their role in maintaining order.

Japan

Japanese security uniforms tend to be more discreet, often resembling business attire with subtle security-related insignia. This approach aligns with the Japanese culture of blending in and avoiding drawing attention.

India

In India, security uniforms frequently incorporate elements of traditional clothing, such as turbans or sherwanis for men and sarees for women. These uniforms reflect the country's rich cultural heritage.

South Africa

Security uniforms in South Africa often feature a mix of military-style elements, such as berets or epaulets, along with modern and practical designs. These uniforms symbolize both authority and readiness.

Australia

Australian security personnel frequently wear uniforms that incorporate elements of the country's indigenous culture. Earthy tones and Aboriginal art motifs may be integrated into their attire, representing a connection to the land and heritage.

China

Chinese security uniforms typically prioritize a clean and professional appearance. They often consist of simple, well-tailored suits with minimal decorative elements, emphasizing formality and discipline.

Middle East

Security uniforms in Middle Eastern countries may include traditional attire like robes or kanduras, often paired with distinctive headdresses. These uniforms reflect the region's rich cultural traditions.

Brazil

Brazilian security uniform company can vary significantly, but many emphasize comfort and adaptability, given the country's diverse climate and security needs. They may include lightweight materials and reflective elements for visibility.

In conclusion, security uniforms worldwide reflect a fascinating blend of cultural, functional, and historical factors. From the high-visibility jackets of the UK to the traditional elements in Indian attire, these uniforms serve as both practical work attire and cultural symbols, embodying the unique identity of each region's security personnel.

Conclusion

Professional security uniform company serve as much more than a dress code; they are a critical component of the security industry. They enhance professionalism, facilitate identification, promote safety, and contribute to legal compliance. Additionally, they play a role in branding, marketing, employee morale, and risk reduction. As security remains a paramount concern in today's world, the importance of professional security uniforms cannot be overstated. They are not just garments; they are symbols of security, authority, and trust that help keep our communities safe.

[killjoy-prince]

Trying on the cosplays imma wear to a con in a month and getting excited that ill be cosplaying said characters in a month

[lyssafreyguy]

sometimes you think about something even slightly scary that happened to you years ago and it's like wow!! I could go out in the street and kill someone about it right now!!! anyways time to take a shower and play video games about it.

[teaboot]

Acab applies to security guards too.

Okay, so there's two basic kinds of security: public and private

Public security is for government employees like police

Private security is stuff like security guards, bodyguards, and bouncers

As a security guard, you need to pass different licensing exams for different privileges. Someone who might handcuff people needs a license to carry handcuffs- someone who might need to carry a weapon needs a license for that weapon.

I passed my BST exam something like five years ago and stopped there, so I am allowed to carry: A radio

And as private security, again, there are two basic kinds: in-house and contract

Contract security means a company or a person or a location like a park can pay my boss' boss money to send powerless scarecrows in uniforms to walk around and provide what is called "visible presence"

which is, essentially, a life-size cardboard cutout of a guy wearing the classic Spirit Halloween costume, "Black Slacks Law Professional" in size L

So if the entire chain of authority, from a toddler at the mall food court all the way up to whoever happens to have access to the majority of the planet's nukes at this time, you should know that someone like me currently ranks somewhere very slightly above Janitor, but still definitely below Cinnabon Assistant Manager

Which means that if I chose to go rogue and use my powers for evil TOMORROW, I would maybe manage to punch a Cinnabon employee and shoplift half a dozen chocolate bars from the gift shop before I am fired and in jail being sued off my ass with my licenses revoked for life, unable to leave the country or apply for a job at Walmart with my new shiny criminal record

Security guards and mall cops ain't police. We're dressed like police so you don't try and do something illegal in the area, but the vast majority of us can't actually do anything.

Calm down

[strawhbrrries]

Movement

pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader

summary: a double date that leads to mike schmidt coming home with you in the name of "helping your friend" and he ends up fucking you.

warnings: unprotected sex, no foreplay, creampie??, female pronouns, slight degrading??, pet names, heavy cussing, mike being hashtag v hot, no established relationship, porn with no plot, not proofread

word count: 2.1k words

author’s note: listen to movement by hozier for the full experience!!! I know this fic wasn't voted to be the first mike one to be posted but I had to do it okay!!!! he's so hot n sexy in this and i need him badly...please enjoy! mwah!

Your eyes scanned the restaurant in front of your car, you were promised a very nice dinner with a very nice man and the place you ended up might as well have been a denny’s. Gia somehow managed to rope you into a double date and as the amazing friend you are, you obliged. Now, you wanted to take it back. If the guy you were set up with wasn’t just an absolute heartthrob you might consider strangling her in the bathroom.

“Gia, this better be the best damn food and the hottest men you have ever experienced or I’m never doing you another favor ever again.” You teased, getting out of your car as she walked up to it.

“I swear he said this place was nicer! Thank you so much babes, I owe you one!” She responded, slipping her arm inside of yours to walk inside. “Maybe the inside is really nice and it’s just a shady exterior.”

You’d never seen the man Gia was seeing tonight so when the two of you arrived at the table you weren’t sure which man was yours, but you knew which one you wanted. He looked gentle, shaggy hair untamed almost like he wasn’t prepared to go on a date tonight. 

“I suppose I’m your date.” He smiled softly, getting up to pull your chair out for you. “I’m MIke, you look uh, really beautiful tonight.”

After the introductions and small talk the two of you hit it off right away, it helped that Gia and her date were more interested in each other than remembering that the people they brought also existed.  The more you talked the more Mike came out of his shell, he wasn’t as shy as you first pegged him to be. Your heel was slowly caressing his calf, neither of you were quite sure when it had ended up there but he wasn’t complaining.

“A man in uniform is hot.” Your flirting was a little rusty, but it seemed to be working just fine for you.

“It’s just a security gig.” He shrugged it off, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. 

You grabbed the straw of your drink, wrapped your tongue around it, and took a sip. Mike choked slightly but covered it up with a cough, adjusting his pants under the table at the same time. 

“She’s not going to go home with him unless I go home with you.” You whispered in his ear as you leaned over the table, tangling your fingers in his hair to trick Gia into thinking you were whispering something dirty. “I’d really like to go home with you.”

You could feel the heat creep up his neck, his face was flushed. His heart might as well be on the outside of his chest with the intensity that it was beating, it’d been a long time since he’d been on a date or even gotten laid but Abby was at home and that just wouldn’t work.

“Uhm, my sister’s at home, can we go to your place?” Mike’s saliva was thick and pooling in his mouth, it felt almost impossible to swallow. He had to be dreaming, this just didn’t make sense otherwise. He was just doing his friend a favor and now your breath was hot on his neck and his jeans were uncomfortably tight.

The second the two of you walked outside he got fidgety, like he was going to take off the second you let go of his hand. Frankly he was surprised you hadn’t let go of it the second you picked it up, he was dripping sweat from the moment he realized you were his date. He quickly made a mental note to send a letter to the company who made his preferred deodorant, the fact that he didn’t smell absolutely putrid spoke volumes on their product.

“So did you mean what you said inside? Because I’m perfectly okay with just going home.” 

“I meant it, don’t be so nervous.” You smiled back at him, handing him the keys to your car.

The tension was thick, his knuckles were white as he tried to keep his focus on the road ahead and making it back to your place safely and not the fingers drawing figures on his thigh as you spoke about something he couldn’t quite grasp. 

Your place wasn’t too far from the restaurant that Gia’s date had picked, that Mike was thankful for. The longer he had to endure the torture that was your fingers on this thighs, the less his ability to be a gentleman and control himself existed. If it was up to him, he’d probably just pulled over and fucked you in the backseat of your own car but it wasn’t. He was a gentleman, he’d just met you all of a few hours ago, he knew better.

“This is the place.” You smiled softly as he pulled into your driveway.

“It’s nice.” He stated, handing your car keys back to you and taking your hand. “Suits you.”

Mike’s eyes wandered the walls, taking in every aspect of you, as you led him through the house. It didn’t take him long to notice that you lived alone, another thing he was now thankful for. His fingers trailed the zipper of your dress as he stood behind you in your bedroom, his other hand rubbing your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“Are you going to take it off?” Your voice was shaky and quiet, for the first time tonight you were nervous. 

“And you thought I was the eager one.” He chuckled, tugging your hair back softly to give him just enough access to your face to make eye contact with you. “Do you get off on bringing strangers to your home and having them fuck you?”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, blessing the ears of the man behind you who responded with a groan. His lips made contact with your neck, biting and sucking at any of the skin he had access to. The hand that was holding your hair back made itself busy drawing the zipper of your dress further and further down until it couldn’t go any further, you shivered as the cold air hit your back. 

Mike detached himself from your neck and took a step back, briefly admiring how disheveled you looked despite still being fully dressed, he made a quick motion for you to turn around and you obliged almost immediately. If you got his dick any harder it might’ve fallen off before he ever got the chance to use it. 

He backed you into the bed, laying you down and sliding your dress off and into a pile on the floor. Another deep groan was emitted into the air as he took in the sight in front of him, you hadn’t worn a bra and the underwear you’d chosen left nothing to the imagination. Mike immediately started thanking whatever god was above for you and the experience he was about to have. 

Your heart was pounding out of your chest. Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone tonight but then you saw him and your entire plan was flipped upside down. You lied about your friend not going home with her date if you didn’t leave with him, you didn’t want him to think you were desperate but he knew now. The second he touched the zipper of your dress, anything left of your facade was gone. You needed him.

“If you weren’t so fucking wet I would’ve thought you were only doing me a favor.” He spoke nonchalantly, rubbing his finger over your folds through your underwear. “ Or maybe you’re just a whore? Huh?”

“For you.” You choked out, words getting caught in your throat over his words. 

At the beginning of the night you would’ve placed money on the fact that he wasn’t capable of things like this, it was like another side of him had come out during the drive to your house. You weren’t complaining, his words were getting to you in a way you’d never experienced. 

“Yeah? For me? Mikey’s own personal whore.” He slipped your underwear to the side and slid his finger through your folds, collecting your juices and bringing them to his mouth. “You’re as sweet as you look, need a honey jar full of you.”

You cried out at him softly, trying to use anything you had to stop his teasing. He was winding you up but edging you right before you could pop, he could’ve said anything and you would’ve agreed just to get him to fuck you. Being this desperate for a man you hardly knew was an exhilarating experience. 

“Please, I need you.” You whined, grabbing at his shirt in a desperate plea. “Please.”

“Good job using your words, pretty girl.” Mike praised, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down, throwing them in the same pile as your dress.

His clothes soon joined yours on the floor, a small pout emerging when you realized you wouldn’t be able to suck him off, his eyes catching yours as he climbed up your body. He kissed his way up, biting occasionally. Fingers tracing your skin just as you had done to him earlier in the night, lighting a fire on your skin as they went. It was like his body was made to fit yours, like your souls had searched for each other through every lifetime and yet this was the first time they had met.

His lips finally met yours for the first time, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he pulled away to breathily whisper something in your ear. You shook your head in agreement at whatever he said, as long as he kept touching you like that and making noises in your ear you’d agree to anything he said to you. 

Shaking your head yes was the best decision you’d made so far, you felt two fingers slip inside of you. Thrusting for a few moments before they were replaced by the tip of his cock, slowly pushing in as his mouth found one of your nipples. The gentle man you had once perceived had been replaced by a god who was hung like a horse, splitting you in half with the cock fit for a god.

“Fuck.” Mike moaned, tipping his head back when he bottomed out, taking your legs and placing them on his shoulders. “So good, pretty girl.”

Anything you had planned on responding with quickly dissipated the second he pulled out and thrusted back in, a low groan coming out insead. His fingers were digging into your thighs as he held them up where he wanted them, all you could hope for was the imprints bruising as a reminder that this actually happened. What hair that wasn’t sticking to his skin from the sweat covering it was dangling backwards freely, all his focus was on not cumming too soon and if he continued to look at you he definitely would.

Your eyes had glossed over a long time ago, tears streaming down the sides as a byproduct of the blissful state his cock had put you in, fingers gripping desperately at the sheets and your tits bouncing with each thrust. He was once again praying to every god that he would get to do this another time, then he could sear the image of you under him into his mind.

“Mike, Mikey I need..” You whined, the knot in your stomach twisting and turning, threatening to spill before you could even finish a coherent thought.

“C’mon pretty girl, you can do it, let it go.” He praised you, bringing his thumb down to your clit and drawing figure eights in time with his thrusts to help your orgasm spill over.

His words were the final piece in the puzzle, your orgasm hitting you soon after he spoke. Legs shaking, mind blowing, tears, and silent moans was all your body could do at the supernova your orgasm had proved to be. You’d never cum this hard before but if every orgasm after didn’t measure up, he had ruined you. 

“You did so good.” Was all you heard as you came down from your high, Mike’s hands soothed down your hair as he whispered into your ear. 

His thrusts continued at the same pace for only a few seconds before his hips stuttered and he painted your insides white. 

“I guess tonight wasn’t a total waste.” You joked quietly, turning to the side to smile at him as he laid down next to you. 

“We need to do this more often.”

[kaiwewi]

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

[hitomisuzuya]

being scaramouche's maid. scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. degradation. bondage. blowjob. cream pie. collar. mentioned threesome w/tartaglia. vaginal/anal penetration with sex toys. cunnilingus. cockwarming.

i have been afraid my writing sounds the same, so i am writing this a bit differently than normal to mix it up a bit.

being scaramouche's maid wasn't an easy task. but it was one you took seriously. you knew it wasn't easy for scaramouche to be the ceo of a high profile company. you did all tasks to the letter, being the type of maid to wait around well after you are supposed to be off the clock, there waiting to welcome him back if he worked late and helping him take off his jacket.

being scaramouche's maid soon meant have more different responsibilities.

being scaramouche's maid meant wearing a collar with a bell that jingled while you bounced on his cock. he often enjoys tying your wrists together above your head, ribbon hooked securely on a hook dangling from the ceiling. his eyes follow your tits as you struggle to bounce, desperately trying to fuck his cock as deep inside you as possible. "what an obedient slut you are, bouncing so prettily on your master's cock," his elegant fingers play with your nipples to see you squirm while you pussy squeezes his cock.

being scaramouche's maid meant being on your knees, taking his cock down your throat after a particularly frustrating day. "the utter incompetency today was unacceptable," he hissed, enjoying the way you shiver as his fingers tighten aggressively in your hair. you muffle a moan on his cock as he pushes it into your throat. "at least you are competent. fuck you are going to make me cum already," he groans as you choke for only a moment before returning to your duty of sucking him off.

being scaramouche's maid meant wearing a very revealing uniform, with black fishnets he carefully picked out. fishnets he demanded stay on sometimes while he is fucking you. on his rare days off, it was customary for him to instruct you to wear no panties.

being scaramouche's maid meant sometimes taking his business partner, tartaglia's cock from behind while scaramouche fucked his cock into your throat. "enjoy cumming inside my precious maid, shithead. who knows if i'll share her with you again," he snapped at tartaglia, holding your mouth down on his cock while you swallow his cum.

being scaramouche's maid meant being his lunch if he decided to come home for it. some afternoons are spent lying on your back, your legs spread while he ate you out. his tongue wags over your throbbing clit, alternating pumping a vibrator in and out of your pussy and ass. he chuckles seeing the embarrassed blush on your cheeks hearing yourself moan a little louder than you anticipated when he fucked the vibrator into your ass, his lips latching onto your clit. "you enjoy being used in both holes, don't you slut. don't be shy now," your ass clenched just as tight on the vibrator as your pussy, the expression on your face looking more fucked out by the moment as you squirt on his tongue.

being scaramouche's maid meant pleasing him by letting him watch you finger his cum back inside yourself. he was never anything but through while he stretched your pussy apart on his cock, his cum dripping from your hole. "what a good girl, fucking yourself back onto your master's cock like a whore in heat. begging so pathetically for my cum," he makes sure your head is turned out of his pillows, his cock squelching in and out of your sopping cunt. "please, master, please cum inside me! i'll be good, i promise!" you yelp in bliss feeling his hand smack across your ass while he mocks your moans behind you.

being scaramouche's maid meant cockwarming him if he took business calls at home in his office. "be a good girl and don't squirm," he hissed in your ear once he put the call on mute, "i'll let you bounce yourself stupid on my cock if you keep quiet," you didn't know how hard it would be, since he brutally bullied your clit while he talked on the phone, his cock pulsing inside you watching your struggle.

[heich0e]

the itadori house always smells faintly of clean laundry.

it's not because the two boys who live there are particularly diligent about staying on top of their housework—the towering pile of recyclables in the corner of the kitchen is proof enough of that—but it's because the first time yuuji had tried to do his own laundry, he used way too much detergent. the ensuing tsunami of soap suds had flooded nearly half-way across the tiny apartment—coating the floors, the baseboards, and anything else in its path, in a slippery (though pleasantly fragranced) froth that took DAYS for the two brothers to clean up. it must have sunk in to the floorboards, or there must still be traces of it lingering in nooks and crannies that they couldn't reach, because even now, years after the catastrophe, the scent still lingers.

even though the mere mention of the incident still makes a vein of irritation throb in sukuna's forehead, and makes yuuji hang his head in shame, you don't mind the smell. it's familiar after all these years. it reminds you of this place.

you burrow your face down into the cushion of the living room sofa. it's raining today, and a bit humid, so the scent of detergent is particularly strong.

you're nearly asleep when a voice interrupts your quiet moment of relaxation.

"i should start charging you rent, y'know."

you don't open your eyes, even once you hear the words that come from above you. even without looking, you can picture the scene: sukuna leaning over the back of the sofa that you're sprawled across, his weight resting on his elbows as he peers down at you with his usual scowl. it's not the same scowl he shows to everyone else—the one that makes people shrink back under his gaze—this is a softer version of the same expression, dulled by familiarity. if you were more optimistic you might even say it was blunted by affection.

"stop pretending to sleep, kid." you feel his hand grasp your hip, shaking you lightly. "i know you're faking."

you feel a smile threatening to pull at your lips so you turn your face towards the pillow—the one you bought for the sofa, since the itadori brothers' idea of home decor is limited to creased posters for old mafia movies nobody's ever heard of and women with their tits out taped to the wall—and you burrow down to hide your expression from view.

"you're such a nuisance," sukuna groans, and then you feel the sofa dip. you figure he's pulled himself over the back of it now, based on how you feel him kneeling overtop of you with your legs straddled between his own. you're on your belly, but you can feel him rest back on his haunches, trapping your feet underneath him as he sits. "can't you nap at your own house?"

"too tired," you finally rasp out, daring to peek at him over your shoulder.

"and i'm not?" he scoffs, lifting his hand and pushing his hair back from his face. he's still half-dressed in his work uniform—a pair of slacks from the security company he's been working at part-time for the past few weeks, and a white t-shirt that he usually wears underneath the short sleeved button down that matches the trousers. "i just worked a double—been up since 4."

he does look tired, now that you have the chance to look at him. his hair is a bit dishevelled and he's got dark circles under his eyes. sukuna always looks a bit exhausted—and has since grandpa passed away and he took on the responsibility of raising yuuji. but it's particularly noticeable right now.

"and i can't even come home and take a nap on my own couch because there's a freeloader here."

you bite the inside of your cheek, wiggling around a bit underneath him so you can lay on your back.

"charge me rent then," you parry back to his complaint, and he cocks an eyebrow at your challenge. "i want a bed though. s'only fair."

"we'll get bunkbeds for yuuji's room, then," sukuna quips.

"don't wanna bunk with yuuji," you counter again, "he snores."

sukuna pauses, staring down at you. he leans forward slowly, his hands pressing into the couch cushion on either side of your waist as he dips towards you. "only one other bedroom in this place, y'know—"

you do know. it's why you said it.

"—and i have no plans to give up my bed."

sukuna is close to you now. too close, in any other circumstance, but this is one entirely of your own creation. a circumstance that feels more like an inevitability than anything, given the tension that's been crackling between the two of you lately, ever since he rescued you that night at the bar.

"didn't ask you to give it up," you say quietly, your eyes flickering across his features until they eventually settle on his lips.

sukuna makes a little noise in the back of his throat, close to annoyance, but not quite. distinctly tortured in nature.

"you really, really are a nuisance, y'know that?"

his hands are on your hips now. not like when he'd shaken you awake—this touch is greedier, needier than that passing graze. his fingertips slip up underneath the hem of your shirt until they brush against your bare skin, and the contact makes your body flush with heat.

"yuuji's gonna be back from class soon," you murmur softly, your gaze flickering back up to sukuna's heavy-lidded eyes. his nose twitches a little in annoyance, knowing you're right.

sukuna backs away a little, his hands slipping back out from underneath your shirt.

you sit up and catch his wrist in your hand, and his eyes widen in surprise. your faces are close together now—so close you can smell the cinnamon gum on his breath. he stole a pack from you a few days ago, and clearly he's still chewing it.

you can't smell the laundry detergent anymore.

"i didn't tell you to stop," you remark lightly, leaning back so you're splayed out against the sofa once more. you stare up at him, waiting for him to process what you've said—watching the thoughts play out across his uncharacteristically shocked face. "i just meant that you should hurry up and do it already."

[bluemerakis]

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ skin covered in ego ❞

❝ all the stars ── ၊၊||၊|။||||။၊| ── kendrick lamar ft. sza ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ soldier boy x fem!supe!reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, dual pov, angst, oral f receiving, unprotected sex p in v, fluff, just sappy drama actually. pls lmk if i forgot any :)

synopsis ─ a retrospect of how soldier boy meets his saving grace—a superhero he’d been forcibly co-partnered with during payback’s prime. throughout their time spent together, she helps to refine all the fragments of him that have always lingered within, but had lacked the grip to pull together into something whole—respectable. eventually, with her influence, he reinvents his image into a sense of self he can claim without pre-programmed shame, and in the process, he discovers just how pivotal her existence is within his formerly, self-centred universe.

word count ~ 9.2k

based on this fic

──────────────────────

ʿ Skin covered in egoʾ

Vought-American’s council room felt suffocated with the aged, bronze statues looming in every corner of the space—a dramatic glorification of countless Vought-owned Supes, both old and new alike, that you’d neglected to learn the names of. Like honourable guards, they perched on their metal posts with watchful eyes meant to convey a sense of security and comfort. But instead, the weight of their rusted, faux eyes compressed your lungs to the point of shallow, jittery breaths, and the impressive height on them made you feel belittled. Judged.

Misplaced—like you’d never measure up to all the virtues of Supe life that their metal forms had come to embody.

The unwelcoming, inanimate atmosphere was only given a certain life by the company’s executives, who’d personally received you at the doors and guided you into this room. But there’d been no genuine sentiment beyond professionalism to warm their welcoming smiles, and every advance they’d made in becoming better acquainted with you had felt orchestrated—robotic. It’d done little to soothe your unease, and everything to feed the mental monster fear-mongering your better judgement.

Now, in the midst of the council room, the executives were fanned out all around you in a formation that should’ve made you feel caged in—like you were about to be fed to something far worse than the statues’ lingering jaws of judgement. But even then, you didn’t seize any wise instinct to flee. You felt immobilised by dread—the dread plaguing the idea of new beginnings. Your new beginning as Payback’s newest, super-abled member.

The title should’ve left you feeling honoured. Where you should’ve celebrated the letter housing the formal invitation, you mourned the loss of the comforts you’d come to call home. Where you should’ve marvelled at the idea of getting to work with Vought-American’s renowned Supe team, you harboured only a nagging fear of never measuring up to their standards. Where excitement should’ve imploded within at the mere idea of meeting the Soldier Boy, only panic arrived to brace every inch of your mind.

You were terrified.

And what didn’t help your rattled lungs was the way the doors to the room seemed to part with a dramatised creak, displacing the tense silence momentarily—only to replace it with an overwhelming air of self-righteousness as the man you dreaded meeting finally strode into the room. It was as though all the air in the room parted and pressed up against the walls to accommodate his demanding existence, and all at the expense of everybody else unlucky enough to share the space.

Clad in the iconic green uniform you’d seen advertised across countless costume stores, Soldier Boy marched a line that drew directly toward you. His jaw was perched on some invisible stage of importance, his hardened eyes finding yours in a cynical standoff. His broad shoulders were braced with a practiced composure as he covered the length of the floor, and it only added to the overwhelming demeanour you were sure he’d forged for the sole purpose of intimidating everybody below his pay grade.

As he drew up before your waiting form, you found yourself rooted to the spot—frozen with the uncertainty of how to approach the figure you’d come to know as America’s icon. But thankfully, you were shielded from Soldier Boy’s grilling glare as the executives all around you stirred, taking turns to greet the leader of Payback with more enthusiasm than they’d showed you.

You took that moment to gather your wit, but your attention didn’t falter from Soldier Boy, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he came off as a dull, painful contrast to his bustling higher-ups. He seemed disinterested, gloved hand outstretched to deliver curt, half-hearted shakes—if only to fulfil the duty of formalities that must’ve come hand-in-hand with his position of import. It was so unlike the charming and chatty persona you’d grown used to seeing through on-screen commercial airings, but his aloofness didn’t seem to phase the executives.

It shouldn’t have surprised you, either. Meeting your heroes never went to plan. Reality wasn’t something that could be as carefully scripted as the faux media aired from every corner of America—and like that, you knew that Soldier Boy’s cheery personality was all an act. It’d fooled you, that’s for sure.

As you stood there, unable to tear your gaze away from America’s Sweetheart, you couldn’t help but seize the close-up company to study every detail about him—his sharp features rigged with enough tension to fuel an army, the captivating green of his eyes framed with a hard stare, and the soft, light brown hair that seemed to effortlessly catch the room’s light. And yet, for the long-standing reputation of war he’d forged his name within, there was not a single scar carved into his fair skin to reflect the records. But it didn’t make him less rough and raw.

And admittedly, he was breathtakingly beautiful—like he was made to be more of a God than a disciple.

Everything about him laid a siege on your lungs—made breathing the same air as him feel impossible. But you were forced to adapt when his attention finally forsook the executives to pin you down, and for a second, you saw him squint with a curiosity that mirrored your own. But the fraction of transparency he’d let weaken his carefully-curated mask was blinked away before he furthered his advance on you, effortlessly clearing a line through the loitering executives.

Subconsciously, you held your breath as you watched his taller frame stagger up to you. He drew up before you with an arm’s length of space to spare, the shy space breaching your bodies quickly becoming infused with his strong cologne. His gaze was intense as he searched between your features—enough of a silent interrogation to make your skin crawl with the urge to buckle your head. But you didn’t. You feigned bravery by holding his quiet challenge with a fragile determination, just hoping that he didn’t catch the subtle bop of your throat.

Your apparent boldness must’ve been an amusing feat on your part because the corner of Soldier Boy’s lips hitched with a light smirk. For a few seconds, neither of you said anything, but it did everything to thicken the air circulating between your faces. You wished he knew what was going through his mind as he scrutinised what felt like every inch of your face. It was intense—slightly uncomfortable, but you continued to hold his attention out of a petty need to prevail. Your head only buckled to shed his glare when movement on his part caught your eye, his hand finally neglecting his formation to lift in the offer of a greeting.

“What’s your name?” He asked—the sound unexpectedly sonorous. Dulcet. Composed. It’s not an octave you’ve ever heard broadcasted across the radio—so you figured it must’ve been a genuine detail about him. Something worth remembering.

Hesitantly, you reached out your own hand, drawing it rigid to still the nerves before you slid your fingers across his palm. Instantly, his own fingers seized your hand in a firm grasp—but he didn’t shake on it. It made you lift your head with mildly-alarmed curiosity, and when you met his gaze once more, you saw that same look of scrutiny he’d branded you with upon his arrival.

“Does the mouth on you talk, or’s it only there for the sake o’ pretty smiles? Which you still haven’t graced me with, by the way,” He said smoothly, features now polished with the same charm he often weaponised amongst his fans—as if you were some fangirl he’d expected to swoon under his influence.

You uttered a mental scoff at that. You’d be damned to let Soldier Boy believe your otherwise muteness was owed entirely to his presence—and while it definitely played a role, it wasn’t the singular circumstance holding your tongue hostage. Today had been extremely overwhelming. Draining. It had put a damper on your mood—and clearly made you come across as a meek thing star-struck into silence. But you were far from it, and if you were to work alongside Soldier Boy for the foreseeable years to come, you’d rather not have his first impression of you be a doting fangirl.

You firmed up your own grip on his hand, which the Supe acknowledged with a hitch of his brows and a subtle jut of his lower lip. “She speaks,” you replied eventually, thankful that the sound was clear and not breached by a quiver. “And she smiles when she’s smiled at, which I don’t seem to remember you doing, either,” you added with a certain spunk.

Soldier Boy grinned at that—perfect, white teeth blooming into view. But it didn’t last long, and it certainly wasn’t as authentic as the action was made to be. It quickly simmered into a laxity of his jaw, tongue poking out to drag across his lower lip—like he was attempting to understand you. “Alright,” he conceded ambiguously, his grip on your palm unrelenting. “Fair enough—and if you’re goin’ to be joinin’ my team, you better keep on makin’ points as valid as that,” he huffed half-heartedly, eyes making a bold dip toward your lips. “And some more,” he muttered distractedly.

You pretended not to notice his wandering, flirtatious eyes, your own gaze steadfast at eye level despite the faint hint of self-consciousness burning your body hot. “Our team,” you corrected thickly, which made the Supe’s attention snap back to you with a newfound focus that banished his play-boyish desires from existence.

“The hell you mean our team?” Soldier Boy demanded tensely, his voice roughened with a note of disapproval as he finally released your palm in disdain—like he’d touched something revolting. But he didn’t wait for your answer as his head swivelled to drink in the idling executives, and the glare on him must’ve been scathing because a few of them were instantly averting their attention—like students who didn’t want to be picked on by the prying teacher.

You watched the Supe retreat a stride as he sought to confront the only people in the room with more power than him—in title, at least. If it came down to getting physical, god bless their souls.

“The fuck is she on ‘bout, huh?” He snapped, his voice resonating across the room. “Payback’s mine—I built this team up from the fuckin’ ground. I own each and every one o’ those sorry shits—turned them into somethin’ worth a damn! So if you think I’m just gonna step aside and let some dreamy-eyed rookie take the credit, you better think again—or somebody’s gettin’ their useless fuckin’ head bashed in.”

You grimaced at the temper on him. It took one hell of an ego to speak so confidently about one’s ability’s, and you didn’t doubt Soldier Boy harboured enough of it to represent the entire male population. It made you wonder how his super suit could contain all six feet of it.

The executives had warned you about his temper prior to this meeting, and the likelihood of an outburst once the news finally reached him. You’d taken it with a grain of salt—unconvinced that the leader of Payback could be so comparable with a teenager grappling with puberty—but as you stood observing his slightly feral stance, you decided, then, that you’d seen it all.

Feeling as though you should have some say in this—being a new addition to the team in question—you cleared your throat with enough purpose to turn all the heads in the room. Soldier Boy abided last, as though it was a mockery of his importance to spare you the light of day. The Supe turned his body fully to face you, and the displeasure radiating from his rigid stance made you clench your jaw with careful consideration. The last thing you wanted was to ruffle his invisible cape the wrong way. You didn’t need that sort of drama on your first day—and you certainly had zero desire to entertain a feud that would taint the rest of your days with Vought-American.

You offered Soldier Boy a tiny nod of thanks—a peace-offering, but the Supe merely lifted his chin, as though undecided on his standpoint with you. You took your lower lip into a brief bite before releasing it with the first clause of your peace-treaty.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” you began lightly, taking a few steps toward him until you were returned to the personal vicinity from before.

“That so?” He mocked bitterly, watched you with careful eyes almost turned scornful. But he didn’t falter an inch from his position, so you figured that he was listening, anyway.

You lifted your hands in a steadying gesture. “Look, I’m not here to steal your spotlight—”

“Nobody’s stealin�� my spotlight, sweetheart,” he cut in with a scathing huff, and an equally heartfelt frown to accompany it.

Your nostrils flared with a breath of patience, providing the pause you needed to reason against the urge to strangle him. “Like I said,” you continued tensely. “Not here to steal your spotlight. The only reason Vought decided to recruit me is because I’ve been gaining attention with my most recent feat—”

“Yeah?” He interjected, arms coming up in a cross as his head tilted with the slightest interest—but somehow, it still felt like a mock. “And what’d ya do to get on Vought’s radar? Campaign for the destructive feminists? Screamin’ some free the nipple bull-shit at the top o’ your lungs?” He paused at that, lips drawing into a slight pout as his eyes flickered skyward. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he made some silent concession. “On second thought, they might be onto somethin’ with that,” he stated, eyes finding yours in a mischievous squint—like he sought to get a rise out of you.

You weren’t going to let him rub your hair the wrong way, so you disregarded that comment entirely—but it didn’t stop the word dick from blaring at the back of your mind. “It was a fire,” you clarified, which apparently was a detail mundane enough to make Soldier Boy’s lips draw back with disinterest. “Started in the park of a neighbourhood I used to patrol frequently. Burned right through to the nearest house, and the family got caught inside. Parents and three kids—one barely old enough to walk.”

As the Supe listened, the judgmental furrow in his brow didn’t relent, but there was some new interest to his attention because his chin jerked in your direction. “So?” He prompted. “What’d you do—tell it to fuck off? You a wind-whisperer or somethin’?”

Far from a wind-whisperer, but I know a few ways to tell you to fuck off, you remarked silently. Your tongue poked at the inside of your cheek in a summons of patience. “It’s easier to show than tell,” you said tensely, the explanation so ambiguous that Soldier Boy frowned questioningly.

“Well, we don’t got all fuckin’ da—” his words caught in his throat as he sputtered on some invisible lump, his arms uncrossing in a state of panic. Almost instantly, his cheeks flushed with a deep red only elicited by a lack of air, and the veins usually tracing his temple in secrecy now bulged with a concerning thickness. His eyes—bloodshot in the state of his asphyxiation—flickered to you with a primal fear that you didn’t believe he’d ever worn, before his attention dropped to the hand you’d brought up in a focused clench.

Decidedly satisfied with your display, you relaxed your flexed fingers, and it was the singular permission that the Supe needed to draw in a large bout of air, his chest rattling with a series of coarse coughs. He staggered over slightly, but caught himself just in time to remain respectable.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he choked out, frown lines carved into his forehead as he lifted his head to glare at you past stray strands of his bangs—freshly escaped from the prison of his collected hairdo. “Alright. . .” He murmured hoarsely, fashioning caution—and wiser words—as he straightened to full height and faced you once more. “I’ll admit, that’s not the worst parlour trick.” You knew that it was Soldier Boy for that was impressive, so you accepted it with a satisfied jut of your chin. Then, the Supe’s index finger lifted in your direction in a stern scolding. “But don’t fuckin’ do that again,” he warned.

You smirked at that, crossing your arms with the intent to negotiate. “Stop doubting my capabilities and I won’t have to,” you countered smugly.

Soldier Boy glanced around the room with a clenched jaw, as though unhappy with his dwindling sense of control, before turning to face you again. “Yeah, whatever,” he relented with a sniff, but you could have sworn that there was a shade of red still lingering in his cheeks. “So I take it you choked the shit outta that fire, too?”

“Mhm. Saved the whole family. Some guy saw the whole thing and reported it to. . . whoever the hell makes things like this happen. Next thing I knew, a Vought-American letter’s in my mailbox. Apparently, I left quite an impression on the public, and they thought it’d be good for the scores—having me partner up with the Soldier Boy.“

“The public is gonna love it!” One of the executives chimed in eagerly, as though seizing the opportunity to quench the lead Supe’s ruffled fire once and for all. But when Soldier Boy slowly turned to cast him a glare, he wilted back into silence.

Turning back to you, the Supe scoffed. “What—so we’d be like America’s next, hottest couple?”

You paused at that, mulling over the title. Admittedly, it had a certain ring to it. “You could put it that way,” you said thoughtfully. “Because if there’s one thing this country loves—it’s Supe scandals.”

For the first time, the lead Supe showcased an emotion other than scorn and condemnation—he laughed, genuinely laughed. “Ain’t that the goddamn truth,” he agreed gruffly, head briefly tilted to the ground as he considered your words with ridicule. “God bless fuckin’ America.” Then, he lifted his eyes to you, and they softened with just enough tolerance to come off as respect. “Whaddya say then?” He asked. “Ready to take on the role, sweetheart?” There was the faintest ghost of a smirk on his lips—like he was eager awaiting your reply.

“First of all, drop the sweetheart thing,” you told him flatly. “It’s not flattering, and it’s certainly not the panty-dropper you think it is.”

Soldier Boy’s brows lifted with brief offence at being called out, but then his chin dipped in surrender. “Fine. You got somethin’ else you prefer? Cause you still haven’t told me your name.” His eyes glinted with something mischievous as he added, “sweetheart.”

With a light shake of your head and a weakly amused smile, you offered him your name. He rolled it over his tongue once or twice, then winked in acknowledgment once he’d mentally marked it down.

“A beautiful name, but I still think sweetheart suits ya,” he wondered aloud.

You couldn’t help but smile at the nerve of the Supe. He’s attractive—he knew it, and so did you. And you also couldn’t deny the way some primal part of you seemed to flutter at his attention, but you were wise enough to know that it wasn’t exclusive—nothing ever was when it came to him. “Well, I guess it’s a shame that you’ve named every other woman you come across sweetheart,” you scoffed.

Soldier Boy’s smirk deepened, like he enjoyed your nerve. “What—you callin’ me some sorta floozy?”

You shrugged innocently. “If you really have to ask that, I think you know the answer.”

His chest rattled with a chuckle—you figured you should’ve started a tally of all the times you got the Supe to laugh. You might’ve been able to pawn it off to some museum showcasing historical events to behold.

“Yeah, alright,” he murmured half to himself, then sobered his attention as he cast you a scheming glance. “Just one last thing,” he said.

“What?”

Soldier Boy leaned into your vicinity—close enough to feel his breath flush your nose with warmth. “Think you can handle being tethered to my side ‘round the clock?” He murmured lowly, a smug smirk poking through as he eyed you like an object of desire.

You braced your chin with a boldness to match his. “Can you handle me?” You countered levelly, arms coming up in a cross as you searched his sultry stare.

“Damn right I can,” he murmured even softer than before—more like drawled, but it was no less intense. His attention snagged on the view of your lips for a few, hot seconds before fluttering back up to your eyes.

You stole your own glance of his lips, and you wandered whether they were good for anything other than offending every person he came across. “Really? Sure I won’t take your breath away?” You jabbed lightly, casting him a heavy-lidded stare.

Air jetted through his nostrils in an amused sound, his tongue poking through to sweep across his lips. “You already have,” he admitted with a heavy stare. “And I don’t think you’re quite finished yet, either.”

Those words took you by surprise, your head recoiling a measly centimetre, but Soldier Boy seemed perfectly content with his choice of words—unmoved by your reaction. With a mildly flustered swallow, you shook your head lightly. “You’re trouble, Soldier Boy,” you remarked carefully, but a fraction of a smile still managed to slip through.

“Ben,” he corrected, lips wound thin with a devilish smirk. “And you may be right—but I’m all the right kinds of trouble, sweetheart.”

ʿ Get to talkin', I get involved, like a rebound

Got no end game, got no result, got to stay downʾ

The first week at Vought-American had been quiet on the mission front, so you’d spent most of your time exploring the compound, though not without unsuccessfully shaking Ben’s company. More often than not, the lead Supe got his fill of entertainment by trailing around after you like a sheet of toilet paper you’d accidentally tracked from the bathroom. It drove you insane, but he was relentlessly clingy, so he’d gotten his way and stuck around.

And what made it worse, was that—against your will, you’d come to tolerate him. But as the weeks turned to months, tolerate became appreciate, and it wasn’t long before appreciate became crave. Coming to terms with the fact that you actually sought out Ben’s company had been a jarring moment in your character arc. You’d made yourself the promise—when it all began—not to let the faux title of America’s Power Couple influence your heart. But beneath all the Supe makeup, you hosted a very human heart that thumped loud and clear, and it was the ultimate weak link that betrayed your own.

You’d tried hard to fight the urges that had jumped you without any prior warning, but it felt impossible to escape when you were attached to his hip every other day—if not to cover one another in adrenaline-worthy missions, then to pose for the camera as the duo that America had come to adore. The news of your partnership had taken to the headlines almost immediately, and it meant that there was no going back on it—meant that you truly were stuck with him now.

Most of the public had voiced their adoration for your relationship, and as part of the act to make it believable, Vought had sent you both to events as a couple forced to act in love. There were shared hugs, hands draped across your waist during idle chatter, glances exchanged with intense passion, and lips contacting with a point to prove—and it’d all made it difficult for you to not join in on the public’s swooning.

In stark contrast to your own, very clear struggle with the push on professional boundaries, Ben seemed elated by it all. Marvelled in it, even. He seized every opportunity to make casual remarks that burned your cheeks hot, or made sure to hover his hand a fraction too long when lightening the load on your palms. He could see right through you, and he’d made true on his word to pose the trouble he’d warned you of.

One night, he’d taken it a step—one giant leap further.

After a late night, last minute meeting with the executives, you and Ben had exited the room in tandem, and it wasn’t supposed to lead anywhere past walking you back to your suite. But it did. It did—from the moment he cut in front of you with an earnest look morphing the features you’d come to memorise in the midst of your growing infatuation. And it did when he took the step that pressed your bodies close together, exchanging heat like a symbiosis that had always meant to exist. And it did when his hand came up to frame your jaw with a gentleness you’d never seen him practice, his lips lowering onto yours with a point that invalided your every pre-conceived notion on his capabilities.

You should have pulled away—if you’d known what was good for you because you knew that Ben was no role model for long-term commitments. And you knew that your heart would be the first to find that out somewhere down the line. But because you chose to listen to what was good for your body, instead, you pressed your lips against his with a force that made you an equal accomplice to bad decisions.

You should have pulled away, but you didn’t.

ʿ It's the way that you making me feel like nobody ever loved me

Like you do, you doʾ

The door to Ben’s suite slammed closed behind you before his hands seized your waist firmly, his lips hot on the trail to provide all the reinforcement needed to corner you against the nearest wall. With a passionate lack of care, the length of your back was pressed flush against the cement as his palms glided over the meat of your hips, squeezing the anatomy with an appreciative firmness before they glided to the underside of your thighs.

His lips feuded with your own in a sloppy and heated make out, then dipped into the divot of your chin when he buckled an inch to gather the momentum needed to hoist you up. Your arms instinctually found his neck in a vice grip, legs coming up to wrap around his waist as he successfully—and effortlessly—lifted you into his grasp. His head leaned back into yours to slur a brief kiss across your lips, large palms tightening around your thighs as he turned and steered the both of you toward the nearest sofa.

You were blind to where the sofa began, but Ben lowered your form just enough for the armrest to graze the small of your back before you were tossed a very short distance into the cushioned length of the couch. The thud of your back against the sofa knocked a breath from your lungs, but you weren’t afforded the chance to replenish it before the Supe came crashing down on you with one motive in mind: devouring you.

His lips crashed into yours once more, one hand curling around your nape, tussling your hair as he pressed you further into his famished lips, while the other skilfully worked at undressing you. And it wasn’t long before he was dragging a wet trail of kisses down the arch of your neck, around each perked bud of your breasts, and down the line of your abdomen.

“Fuck, Ben, it feels so good,” you breathed out appreciatively, head burrowing back into the sofa and toes curling into the material as he flicked and dragged his tongue through your folds—tracing all sorts of patterns he’d perfected through prior experiences you’d chosen to bar from your mind.

His tongue was rough—impatient, and it did a splendid job at summoning your high. But his hands trapped your thighs against the sofa to deny the buck of your hips that would’ve given you the last push you needed to fall into the abyss of pleasure, and before you could complain, he pulled you up at the wrist and spun you around.

Positioned ass up and face down, he smoothed over the skin of your ass with an appreciative hum. “You look good like this, sweetheart,” he remarked crassly—only because he knew it’d burn you the darkest shade of red. And it wasn’t long before he slid himself into your welcoming entrance, his thrusts driven with by purpose—rough, quick and straight to the point.

He fanned a hand over the small of your back, pressing you further into the sofa while the other found firm grip at your hip. The space was filled with a raw skin-on-skin percussion that sounded primal—shameful, almost, but you were so far lost to the drilling of his tip against your cervix that you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You craved him—craved the way he made you feel. And you showed him through the slurred moans pouring from your mouth with every snap of his hips against you.

His broad chest pressed against your bare back as he brought himself to your ear. “Jesus, you’re somethin’,” he growled, his thrusts intensifying to the point of flattening your lower half against the sofa. “You’re everythin’,” he husked against your hair, one hand coming up to wrap around the front of your neck while the other tightened into a bruise-worthy grip at your hip, and as he pummelled you into the cushions, all you could think about was how you never wanted this to end—and you also hoped that the sofa wouldn’t break.

ʿ You kinda feel like you tryin' to get away from me

If you do, I won't moveʾ

You counted another night in Ben’s bed, where raked your gaze over his sleeping form, and it marvelled you that he could look so at peace with himself—with life. In waking times, where he constantly barrelled from one mission to the other, he gave the sort of impression that he didn’t know a second of peace—like he’d been made solely for war and conflict. So seeing him like this—it warmed something inside of you. But the feeling didn’t linger when you swallowed thickly with a guilty realisation.

You’d lied to yourself.

What was supposed to be a once-off, one-night stand had turned to weeks of ritualistic, late-night visits. Almost every other night, you and Ben were tackling one another—a battle of bodies and orgasms. It wasn’t supposed to go beyond that first night—and once it did, you’d told yourself that it wasn’t supposed to go beyond a physical relationship.

But it had—for you, at least. You hadn’t exactly had the nerve to ask Ben whether he saw you as anything more than a warm body to pass time—didn’t think you could handle that punch to the gut. But it’d been slowly eating you up inside—the uncertainty of it all.

Deciding that it wasn’t tonight’s problem, you cosied up beside his sleeping form, eyes drifting closed to summon a sleep that would quell your mental misery. It took a while, and after a few tosses and turns, you’d settled in with your back facing Ben. And at some point—just as you started to swoon with the first glimpse of dreams—Ben’s hand shifted to wrap around your waist. That singular action provided all the comfort you needed to slip off into easy dreams.

The days following that night had taken a complete detour in energy. Ben had been uncharacteristically distant and curt—almost as though he’d reverted back to the hardened persona you’d thought you’d worked your way through with the weeks spent at Vought—with the time spent at his side. You had no concrete idea on what had installed the distance between you, but you suspected that the Supe had come to realise the feelings you bore for him outside of a night of fun.

It must’ve deterred him because he kept your every interaction short—filled with nothing but droning reports and information about the next missions to come. It was agonising to endure, and you wanted nothing more than to go back to the way things had been before.

But they didn’t.

Back in the warmer days—prior to the current, cold ones that currently hosted you both as strangers—you would find Ben waiting outside your door, craving more than what your body had to offer him. Company, chatter that wasn’t rehearsed down to the last line, and friendship. He didn’t have many friends—you’d once told him that directly in the heat of an argument, but hadn’t looked too marred by it. Despite his ego, he could admit that he wasn’t the easiest person to tolerate.

But you had learnt to, and maybe that had played a role in morphing your relationship of pleasure into a relationship of the mind, body and soul—all at once. And you realised then, that maybe Ben did share all of your finer feelings. It would certainly explained the way he’d suddenly turned his back on everything you’d once shared. As much as you wanted to chase after him with the question armed at the ready, eager to gun down the excruciating tension, you chose to offer your surrender, instead.

Ben wouldn’t come around with your pestering. He had his own things to figure out. And when he did, you could only hope he’d take the initiative of returning to you—unshielded, unhardened, vulnerable. That he’d acknowledge the truth that hung over both your heads like a brooding storm cloud—the truth that what had started out as a hollow title of professionalism had been filled to the brim with countless banter, near-death experiences, and shared warmth that warranted a type of closeness only this lifestyle could provoke.

That you were more than partners—more than two people playing make believe for the public eye.

That you were in love.

You could only wait and hope that he’d see it, feel it, and own it.

ʿ I just cry for no reason, l just pray for no reasonʾ

On the drive to the next mission, the vehicle’s air was thick with tension. Ben manned the driver seat, so there wasn’t much opportunity for his stare to forsake the road ahead—but when it did, it never lingered on you for more than a second.

He gave nothing away, either. He’d gone back to being as mysterious as when you’d first met him, and it made your heart ache. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, head turned to gaze out of the window as though it could shun the taunting reality into non-existence—but it didn’t.

Each passing second of silence weighed heavier than the next, and Ben said nothing, did nothing to alleviate the crushing force of it. So all you could do, as you found yourself drinking in the buildings and trees whisking across your vision, was hope and pray that he’d live up to his title, act the soldier and put an end to this misery by confessing his feelings for you.

But you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that it was a day you’d never come to outlive.

ʿ I give thanks for the day

For the hours and another way, another life breathin'ʾ

The mission had taken every wrong turn possible, and you’d been caught in the cross-fire of the enemy’s newest anti-supe contraption that had left you severely wounded—injuries that not even your super-abled body could resolve.

Your vision was mostly blurred with the severe bloodloss, so you couldn’t make sense of the shapes whisking past your vision as medics carried you through Vought’s compound. The pain festering at multiple sites upon your body was debilitating and brutal, almost enough of a force to persuade you into letting go of life entirely—but a hand kept you grounded, tethered, through the dragged out minutes that it took to set you down on that operating table.

Ben’s frantic face appeared in front of yours, but most detail of his features were lost to your disorientation. His lips moved with words that sounded distant, and your face scrunched with the frail effort to try and perceive them—but you couldn’t. Darkness began pressing at the corners of your vision, threatening to drag you into a sleep that had no return. You caught the way one of the assistant’s placed a hand onto Ben’s shoulder, tugging at him with a passion that the Supe didn’t permit—if evident by the way he straightened up to send his fist flying into the assistant’s face.

Guards showed up to contain him, and he cast you one last glance with a mouth gaped around a shout you couldn’t acknowledge. You wanted to reach out to him, to tell him you’d be okay, but you couldn’t. The world weighed heavy on you now, blanketing you with a darkness that felt comforting—tempting you into fluttering your eyes closed for a much needed break.

And you listened.

For a while, there was nothing. You floated through endless, dark matter, ceasing to exist in the bottomless space. And then a light beamed through, so blinding that your eyes screwed shut to avert the assault, and when you opened them again, you were greeted with the view of Vought’s hospital. You blinked many times, fighting off the haze that had consumed you for god knows how long, and when you finally mustered up the strength to lift your head, you found Ben nestled at the side of your bed.

His cheek was settled into the cross of his arms, his eyes sown shut in a steady sleep. You don’t know how long you’d been asleep, and how long he’d been camping it out beside your comatose form, but what you did know, is that you were thankful to have survived the whole ordeal. Thankful to see another day—to see Ben here with you.

With great effort, you reached out a hand to brush through his hair—and he’d always been a light sleeper, but this time, he didn’t stir. Not immediately, at least. It took a few surfs of your hand through hair before his eyes fluttered open to drink you in, and it was then that you noticed just how deep the skin beneath his eyes had sunken—as though the wait he’d endured to acquaint you in the land of the living once more had burned through everything that he was. Exhausted him to the point of a humanly slumber.

Instantly, Ben collected himself into a sit, hand reaching to grab yours fiercely. “You’re okay,” he breathed, his green eyes brimming with raw relief, and slightly teary along the edges. “Jesus, I thought I’d lost you,” he choked out gruffly, jaw clenching around his worst fear.

You smiled weakly, warmly, sympathising with his pain as your own eyes grew teary. “I’m right here,” you murmured meekly, your voice cracking with the prolonged disuse. “I’m not going anywhere,” you added in a soft, broken whisper.

Ben’s composure cracked at that, and instead of responding with words he had no experience utilising, he leaned himself toward you to place a chaste kiss on your forehead. When he pulled back to gaze at you, something in his expression shifted, and he felt compelled to speak, anyways.

“You wouldn’t stand a damn chance, anyway, ‘cause I’d follow you all the way to the edge of the earth—holdin’ that fuckin’ lifeline that’s keepin’ you tethered to a sorry dick like me. ‘Cause I’m selfish—and ‘cause I’m nothin’ worth a damn without you.”

Your heart imploded at that, the tears that had been idling about your eyes now cascading down your cheeks uncontrolled. Ben’s hands shifted to cradle your face with an unfamiliar tenderness—one that you could, and would, grow accustomed to—as he leaned himself down to place a kiss on your lips.

When he came face to face with you once more, his eyes brimmed with adoration. “Fuckin’ hell, I love you—I do. I’ve been a real pussy ‘bout it these last few weeks, but I do,” he murmured.

“I know,” you told him gently, leaning your cheek further into his hold. “I’ve always known—I just needed you to be the first to say it. You needed to decide what you wanted for yourself—”

“You,” he cut in instantly, earnestly. “You—god, you’re all I want. Nothin’ else—nobody else.”

You smiled weakly at that. “Then I’m all yours.”

ʿ I did it all 'cause it feel good

But wouldn't do it all if it feel bad

Your recovery was slow, but Ben had been by your side through it all, handing off missions to the rest of Payback while he nursed you back to full health within the comforts of his suite. Nothing you asked of him was ever too much, and it made you burn with a newfound love for him—made you fall in love with him all over again.

Better live your life

We are running out of timeʾ

Little did you know that the next mission to come would be as heart-breaking as the last. You and Ben had gotten split up in the midst of Niaguara, and the gunfire was so heavy that you’d lost tabs on his whereabouts during your attempt to take cover. All around you, bullets whisked through the air. It was defeaning—overwhelming, and you almost thought it’d never end short of claiming your life.

And then the scene around you only intensified when an aircraft suddenly blared overhead, and your head tilted back against the brick wall shielding you from death as you tried to get a glimpse of the structure. But when you saw what dangled from the aircraft—a contraption immobilising and holding Ben’s unconscious form captive, your heart seized up on the spot with such panic that a bullet might as well have pierced right through it, ending all that you were.

And you almost wish it did—that you’d been put out of your misery right there and then because as you watched the aircraft grow smaller with the distance, you weren’t sure you’d ever see Ben again.

And like he’d told you back at the hospital—that wasn’t a life worth living

ʿ Love, let's talk about love

Is it anything and everything you hoped for?ʾ

As soon as you’d recouped with the rest of Payback, they’d enlightened you on who the aircraft belonged to—that is was the Russians that had kidnapped Ben. It sparked some sort of hope within you, knowing that you had a lead to follow, and you’d taken it upon yourself that evening to plan out his rescue with Vought’s executives.

It was then that the jarring truth of it all had been revealed, that Ben’s kidnap had been staged by the company—and Payback—itself. You’d been outraged and overcome with an anger you hadn’t thought yourself capable of, doing something regrettable in the process.

It all happened so fast—your hand curling into a fist that drained the lungs of the closet executive to the point of no return. It only hit you once his body dropped to the floor, never to stir again despite the remaining, panicked executives rushing to his aids. And they’d cast you horrified stares, something that told you you were done for if you didn’t make a run for it now—so you did.

You didn’t look back as you fleed the compound, not once, but you made a beeline toward an office you knew held all the information of Vought’s dirty secrets, adding another body or two to your fatality count to acquire the files that would lead you directly to the Russian compound holding Ben captive.

The journey there had been a hassle, almost enough to make you want to give up—but then you pictured how helpless and afraid Ben must’ve felt, and it fuelled you with the power you needed to keep on going. You needed to see him again. You would see him again.

You’d managed to gain access to the compound under the alias of a compound v scientist, and given your very real knowledge and experience on the sciences, it was an easy role to assume—and one that brought you all the more closer to seeing Ben again.

But the circumstances of your reunion was far from ideal—Ben strapped to an experimenting table while a lab assistant approached you presenting a vile of poison you were to inject into his veins, all without a single guess about what it’d do to him. How it’d completely remake him. But you did it, anyway because your compliance meant building trust with the Russians, and trust paved way toward power—influence. And that meant that you could take control of these sessions—keep him safe.

So you grabbed the needle and approached Ben, who drank you in with an amalgamation of relief, betrayal and fear all at once. But the minute you sank that needle into his arm—all his emotions sobered up into one, single thing. Hatred. And it ate away at everything that you were, and continued to do so in all the years that passed.

But despite the heartbreak, you kept at it—kept on returning with needles of poison you’d modified with just enough care to spare him disastrous side effects, finding solace in that fact to ignore the way each dose completely remade him. You weren’t sure how much of the Soldier Boy you’d come to know and love would be left by the time the Russians concluded the experiment, but you did know that you were doing a necessary evil to keep him safe from something far sinister, should you be taken off the experiment.

And thankfully, that day never came. You’d made contact with a group known as The Boys—who launched the plan to free both yourself and Ben from the compound in exchange for a favour that only Ben could fulfil. Once he’d done it, you were both free to pursue your newfound freedom, and to rekindle the bond that the tragic years had eaten away at. And you were given the chance to explain that everything you’d done to him had been done from a place of love—as fucked up as it sounded.

And it wasn’t a type of love you’d ever dreamt of knowing—of showing him.

ʿ Or do the feeling haunt you?ʾ

Ben watched your lip quiver with the memories of the harmful emotions and experiences that he hadn’t been around to shield you from. The time with the Russians had broken him in every manner physical—all part of the plan to build him up into something far more lethal. But you? You’d been mentally reconstructed.

As you delved deeper into your experience working under the Russians, he listened to you speak with a heaviness he didn’t usually acknowledge—not him, super-abled Soldier Boy, strongest man alive with nary a concept on humanly burdens. Emotional and physical. But the words that slunk from your mouth settled over him like a deadweight that had him feeling—for the first time ever—like he was helpless in escaping it. Like he was weak.

He felt weakened by the guilt of knowing what you had been forced to endure. The strength you’d mustered up in order to stick poisoned needles into his arm, and the strength you’d needed to keep your chin elevated with the memory of the goodness in your heart. And he felt weakened by the guilt of knowing, there and then, just how much you truly loved him.

It was crushing.

He’d never mastered the depths and tides of his emotions, but you’d taught him how to surf the currents with just enough control to remain afloat. And it was a regrettable skill on some days—days like this—where he was forced to feel things he’d perfected the art of ignoring for. Because now, he felt it all.

And it haunted him—the way you love.

The way you love him. The way you’d do anything for him. The way you’d bargained away years of your life to ensure that the years of his were bought and secured. The way you’d once promised you’d stick with him through it all, and the way you’d followed through. Because deep down, he didn’t feel like he deserved any of it.

The guilt of knowing your love—it haunted him.

ʿ I know the feeling haunt youʾ

Ben found his lips wandering every inch of your skin with a need to memorise the taste of your flesh. He pressed kisses the soft apples of your cheeks, to the bridge of your nose, to the fragile sheets of your lids after you’d simmered into a symphony of pleasure. And because he’s greedy, he even found his nose burrowed into the crook of your neck while his lips branded the arch—where he inhaled the scent of you and surfed a wave of ecstasy that put the bona fide drug to shame.

You were an assault on his senses, disorienting every sensible instinct he’d spent years forging. His instincts were critical. They made him strong and driven and deserving of his title as a soldier. But you. . . you were like a foreign scent that had wafted beneath his unassuming nose—a scent that he just couldn’t ignore. A scent that triggered some other, unexplored instinct within him, and it compelled him to blindly follow you. Allowed himself just enough slack to be consumed by you.

Once he'd worked his way into the wet warmth between your thighs, his thrusts were slow and sensual. Patient. He wanted to savour every second of you-more like needed to. He gripped one of your thighs with a firm gentleness, the other arm venturing beside your head to prop himself up as he carried his hips toward yours. Your hands curled around the muscle of his biceps in a sensual line, moans spewing from your lips before your palms flattened over the toned contours of his back—nails gripping his flesh to keep yourself grounded against his ascension-worthy movements.

He took his sweet time feeling on, listening to, and indulging you. And once you begged him for more, he delivered. He nurtured your high with a quickened pace, releasing your thigh to join the other you'd wrapped around him. He settled both arms on either side of your head, and there, he hovered himself over your lips, pressing scattered, incomplete kisses to the tender flesh while he focused on the tension connecting—and threatening—to end you both.

“Just like that, Ben,” you breathed into his ear, your hand curling around the nape of his neck, where you clung to him like any other hair embedded within his skin.

“Yeah—I got you,” Ben grunted against your lips, air jetting through the slits of his grit teeth as he endured the overwhelming storm of pleasure. He pressed a firm kiss to the corner of your lips, eyes briefly flickering up to where your expression contorted with each of his thrusts. And he studied everything—the bold furrow of your brows, the lustful haze glazing your eyes, and the way your nose scrunched with every other prod of his manhood. You were breathtaking, and it drove him feral. “I got you,” he repeated—promised.

He felt as the hand you’d furled around his neck drifted up the expanse, fingers ploughing through the field of his hair to entangle with the unruly strands. His eyes fluttered closed—however briefly—at the way you tousled his hair. The sensation was overwhelming, hypnotising—almost enough of a physical persuasion on his shoulders to release a year’s worth of tension. You’d had that effect to you from the moment he’d met you, and somehow, it’d always worked on him.

It wasn't long before you finally let go of yourself, and he tossed a line of his own to match. Then, you were briefly smothered by the weight of his panting form before he rolled himself over to the side and pulled you into his arms. You instantly took to nestling his one arm in the crook of your neck, and his other moved to drape loosely across your waist while you drifted into an instantaneous sleep.

As Ben laid there, curled around the fragile body he’d tucked into the safety of his grip, he felt like he’d been reborn—like the hands the Russians had forged to meld iron could now cradle fragile glass without instilling a single crack. Like he’d been modelled into something—somebody more than his upbringings. Somebody worthy enough to be bestowed with the highest honours of loving you.

It amazed him, really, how you’d unintentionally strolled into his life with zero intention to take up space within it. And yet, you’d managed to selfishly hog every inch of his heart—making him feel things that forced him to reminisce the misery of humanity and feelings. You filled his heart with adrenaline that was unlike any he’d ever hopped himself up on amongst the battlefield. That adrenaline was potent—wired him to flee the dangers constantly gunning for him. But this adrenaline—the type only you could get his heart to muster—it drew him in like a whirlpool that would swallow him whole given the chance.

It made him want to do anything but flee.

Your grit, your wit, and your unwillingness to let him dangle from the rope he’d hung himself from had left more of a mark on him than the binding of his trauma. For once, he actually craved to memorise the lines left behind by the cuffs you’d unknowingly slung around his wrists—tugging him along after you like a dickless mutt begging for some long-lost action. And he blindly followed. He didn’t question it. For once, he didn’t want to question it.

He only wanted you.

God, admitting it made him feel like a goddamn swooning pussy—but you’d once smacked him across the shoulder for saying that aloud. He’d get better at it—the whole holding hands and professing feelings thing. He would. Admittedly, it was difficult following through on a resolution so soft he could have throttled it between two firm fingers—but he’d made you a promise, and it served as an armour that shielded his word against any intrusive impulse he’d allowed to jab at his life for far too long.

As he laid there, savouring the bare warmth of your body pressed against his with every hushed breath, he couldn’t have pictured a more ideal view. He’d once thought it a big, stinking pile of bull that one person could demand everything that you were—that somebody could ever matter that much to warrant his unfaltering devotion. But now, he knew it to be true. He knew it with every glance he stole of you.

The thought of losing you haunted him.

It haunted him with the same fear that the solar system would regard the loss of their sun with—the singular body drawing in and holding everything together. Making it whole. Complete. Functional. In the same way, you’d become a sort of North Star in the black expanse of his heart, orientating the soul he’d thought he’d lost ahold of a long time ago. You kept him grounded and guided. Safe.

And in all that he was and ever would be—everything that you’d thought him capable of—he’d devote it to keeping you safe, too.

Even if it killed him.

Because the thought of having you plucked from his grasp was one that he couldn’t entertain without a debilitating dread. Life without you wouldn’t be truly living—it would be boiled down to fruitless survival. It’d be the misery he’d been trapped in before you came and snagged onto the latch that finally set him free. And he couldn’t—wouldn’t be forced back into that cage.

So, the arm he’d loosely strung around your waist neglected all careful consideration as he pulled you tighter against him. You stirred briefly with a groan so soft and slurred that he might as well have imagined it—but he clung to it like a mantra of just how real this all was. It was selfish, maybe, trapping you against him with a fervour that wouldn’t have him letting up anytime soon—but he did it, anyway.

Ben wasn’t supposed to be human enough to be marred by anything. Physical wounds could scarcely be inflicted, but scars couldn’t be left behind. It was an exhilarating reality—one that made him feel invincible. Fearless. But you—the thought of letting you go, it was unbearable. Crippling. Fear-worthy.

And it haunted him.

──────────────────────

a/n ─ first of all, i was on my sza shit more than usual and the lyrics of this song resonated with me and the sb’s unfinished story i was thinking about. i had always wanted to do some sort of story portrayal for how he and fem!supe!reader met, sooo have this ig?! second of all, i did not forget about wrapping this fic up, i just got severely demotivated and side-tracked. oopsie. i swear i’ll post the last part some day. for now, it’s rotting in my drafts, unedited and with a few gaps that need to be filled. my motivation comes and goes like the auroras, so that’ll come when it comes lmfao. thirdly, i hope you guys enjoyed this. i started out feeling great about this, but i’ve been sitting with a massive migraine as i finished it, so it feels like ive placed words that dont quite click. idk? 🤷‍♀️ also im like 8 followers from 700 so take this as my wtf thank you sm gift!! 😭 this is not proofread bc it’s 1 am and i have class tomorrow so actually i apologise for the horrendous amount of errors you’ve likely come across—i’ll fix it tomorrow, i just wanted to get this out like i promised

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @angelicjackles @deansbbyx @titsout4jackles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @floralscented @deansbeer @deansbbyx @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @whisperingdaze @st4rmarley @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @chi-raz @youdontknowe @misatxox @lixiesbrowniess @ilovedeanwinchester4 @beelzebzb

want to become part of the taglist for any future soldier boy works?

other works ─ the boys masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[eggsistential-breakdown]

Team Tulpar!!!!!

Highly self indulgent silly Mouthwashing Superhero AU

Led by the esteemed Captain Cosmos, superhero conglomerate Pony Express's Team Tulpar's latest mission is to guard a top-secret mega-important warehouse in the deep recesses of space against raiders and ne'er-do-wells for one year, until Pony Express's client can install a more permanent solution.

Unfortunately, a mysterious accident destroys their only way home and grievously injures their captain. Team Tuplar finds themselves stranded on a faraway asteroid, with only battered pieces of their ship and their all-important super-forbidden warehouse charge to sustain them.

God is not watching.

Notes below the cut, not set in stone:

Pony Express

Known for its cheap and widely available distribution of superhero teams

Common option for emergency time-sensitive threats to capital or goods

Less common option for actual life-threatening emergencies

Superhero teams function pretty much just as security details for hire

Allows a little more individualization than canon Pony Express because of superhero branding

Hence the slightly personalized horseshoe logos and outfits (also for fun)

Going under because of the widespread adoption of automated comprehensive security systems

Dragonbreath's security system just broke down and they're hiring Team Tulpar to safeguard their wares until the Earth shipment of replacement and upgraded parts can arrive in one year

Curly

Gave him a bunch of powers that would be cool in space but ultimately useless against the crash

Edna Mode disapproves of capes for being impractical and dangerous so he's getting one

Debated briefly keeping Curly as his name because it's technically space related but I think it would be a bit too morbid to use as a space related superhero name in universe

Insists his team calls him Curly even on missions

Dissatisfied with his role as a glorified mall cop

Anya

Legally, spacefaring superhero teams need a healer

Legally, Anya cannot be classified as a healer

Pony Express was pretty much the only superhero company willing to take her

Still studying for med school

Her healing powers boil down to keeping you from getting worse and offloading stress on your body in hopes that it can heal you

As long as she's around things at least won't get worse :)

Which is how she's able to keep Curly alive after the incident

May or may not be using her powers to stall her own pregnancy

Definitely the glue holding everything together in canon so wanted to emphasize her importance in keeping everything from going to shit

I'm the iffiest on her superhero name ngl

She can call herself a doctor she deserves it

Tried to throw stripes in her design to reference her canon turtleneck

Daisuke

Useless ray of goddamn sunshine

Basically a very bright flashlight

If he focuses very hard he can create lasers

Can cast movies for entertainment but only as well as he can remember/imagine them

First in his family to have powers, parents pressured him to join a superhero team

Parents also got him a slightly fancier uniform hence the golden accents

Couldn't imagine him without the shirt so he's keeping the shirt

Incorporated a little Swansea yellow

Also wanted him to have a visor to be cool he gets a visor

Swansea

Assigned mentor to Daisuke

Registered his name back in college. Claims it's too much of a hassle to change it now

Keeps shields/helmet/armor? up for the entire time from when the crash happened to when Daisuke dies

He shows the most arm in canon so you bet your ass he's showing the most arm here as well

My friends suggested this name

Wanted him to still get to wield a big-ass axe

Jingleballs

Crashed the ship into the warehouse with Curly in it while Anya, Swansea, and Daisuke were double-checking the warehouse

Wearing a little half cape in part to mimic Curly, in part to try and give him a similar silhouette as his canon short sleeves

Powers pretty much just hurting people and taking from them

When strealing powers, can only use them at 20-40% of the capacity of the power's true owner

"Borrowed" Curly's powers a lot when they were younger under the pretense of Curly should experience gravity for uhh reasons

Had the phrase "there's something 'off' about this guy" when creating his name, also kind of a play on "first 'off'icer", also turning other powers off

Wears the mask and hood up when he wants to obscure his face. Usually happens outside of missions

Misc

Warehouse sits on an asteroid because it's cheap

The crash happens right after a raid, Jimmy accuses Curly of collaborating with raiders

A little less certain that no one will find them, but the crash destroys the location beacon of the warehouse and knocks the asteroid slightly off course

Team Tulpar's ship is a lot smaller, there's no cargo hold

It's also currently partially wedged inside the warehouse and stuck in place with sealing foam

Space is essentially split between the ship with food/medical supplies and the warehouse (mouthwash)

Less of a clear division of roles other than Anya as healer and Curly as leader

I like color coding characters

Had this rattling around in my head for five days please take this

[uniform-master]

Security Uniforms Should Be More Of A Focus For Uniform Manufacturers

Security uniforms may not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think of uniform manufacturing, but they should be. Security uniforms are an essential part of any security team’s protection and also serve as a deterrent against potential threats. As such, security uniform companies need to put more focus on producing security uniforms that are functional, comfortable, and stylish. This blog post will discuss the importance of security uniforms and why uniform manufacturers should be prioritizing the design and production of these garments. We will look at how investing in quality fabrics, cuts, and colors can help protect those who wear them as well as create a strong visual presence for any security team or organization.

The Importance of Security Uniforms

While the debate on whether or not security uniforms are truly effective rages on, there is no doubt that they play an important role in the overall security of a facility. A uniformed security force provides a visible deterrent to potential threats and can help to identify potential problems before they escalate. In addition, uniforms can help to build team morale and esprit de corps among security personnel.

There are several factors to consider when selecting security uniforms for your organization. The most important factor is the level of visibility you desire for your security staff. Brightly colored uniforms with reflective strips or patches can help increase the visibility of your security personnel, making them more effective at deterring potential threats and identifying potential problems. Another important factor to consider is the climate in which your facility is located. Uniforms that are too heavy or too light can be uncomfortable for security staff working in extreme conditions, compromising their effectiveness on the job.

When it comes to security uniforms, there is no one-size-fits-all solution. The best way to ensure that your security staff is properly outfitted is to work with a security uniform company that understands the unique needs of your organization. By working with an experienced uniform provider, you can select the right styles, colors, and fabrics to ensure that your security staff is comfortable and effective on the job.

The Different Types of Security Uniforms

Security uniforms are an important part of the security industry. They help to identify security personnel and can also provide a level of protection for the wearer. There are a variety of different types of security uniforms available, each with its advantages and disadvantages.

One type of security uniform is the traditional security guard uniform. This typically includes a dark-colored shirt and pants, as well as a badge or patch that identifies the wearer as a security guard. These uniforms can be purchased from many different retailers, or they can be rented from companies that specialize in providing uniforms for the security industry.

Another type of security uniform is the police officer uniform. Police officers typically wear blue or black uniforms, which can include a badge and other identifying information. These uniforms are usually more expensive than traditional security guard uniforms, but they offer a higher level of protection for the wearer. Police officer uniforms can be purchased from many different retailers, or they can be rented from companies that specialize in providing uniforms for the law enforcement industry.

A third type of security uniform is the military uniform. Military personnel typically wear camouflage clothing, which helps them to blend in with their surroundings. Military uniforms are usually very expensive, but they offer a high level of protection for the wearer. Military uniforms can be purchased from many different retailers, or they can be rented from companies that specialize in providing uniforms for the military.

No matter what type of security uniform you choose, it is important to make sure that it fits properly.

The Benefits of Wearing a Security Uniform

When it comes to security, one of the most important things is making sure that you are visible. A security uniform is the best way to do this. Not only will you be easily seen, but you will also be taken more seriously by potential threats. 

A security uniform should be more than just a shirt with a logo on it. It should be functional and comfortable so that you can do your job without any distractions. It should also be made from durable materials that can withstand wear and tear. 

Most importantly, a security uniform should make you feel confident and ready to take on whatever comes your way. When you look good, you feel good, and that confidence can go a long way in a high-pressure situation.

The Best Materials for Security Uniforms

Security uniforms should be more of a focus for uniform manufacturers. The best materials for security uniforms are those that are comfortable, durable, and offer a high degree of visibility.

Comfort is important for security guards, as they often have to stand for long periods. Durability is also important, as security guards need their uniforms to withstand the rigors of their job. High visibility is another key factor, as it helps security guards be seen by both the people they are protecting and potential threats.

There are a variety of different fabrics that can be used for security uniforms, but some of the most popular include polyester, nylon, and Cordura. These materials are all durable and comfortable, and they offer a high degree of visibility. Polyester is especially popular, as it is wrinkle-resistant and easy to care for.

Security uniform company should also consider other features when designing security uniforms. For instance, pockets are an important consideration, as security guards need to be able to carry essential items with them on the job. Additionally, reflective striping can help increase a security guard's visibility in low-light conditions.

The current state of security uniforms

As the world becomes more and more dangerous, the uniforms that security personnel wears become more and more important. Unfortunately, many uniform manufacturers do not place a priority on security uniforms. This needs to change.

Security uniforms should be designed with function in mind first and foremost. They should be made from durable materials that can withstand a lot of wear and tear. They should also be comfortable to wear for long periods, as many security personnel is on their feet for long hours at a time.

In addition to being functional, security uniforms should also be stylish. After all, first impressions are important, and security personnel is often the first point of contact for customers or visitors at a business or event. Uniforms that are stylish and professional-looking will help to create a positive impression on the security team.

Finally, security uniforms should be affordable. Many uniform manufacturers charge exorbitant prices for their products, which puts them out of reach for many budget-conscious businesses and organizations. Security teams should be able to find uniforms that fit their needs without breaking the bank.

By paying attention to these three factors – function, style, and price – security uniform company can create better security uniforms that meet the needs of both businesses and security personnel.

The importance of security uniforms

Security uniforms are an important part of a security officer's job. They help to identify the officer and show that they are there to protect and serve. Uniforms also help to keep officers safe by making them more visible and recognizable. Finally, uniforms can help to build trust between officers and the public.

Conclusion

Security uniforms are an important part of any security team. Not only do they make the individuals wearing them feel more secure in their roles, but they also provide a visible deterrent to potential criminals and threats. Therefore, uniform manufacturers must pay special attention to designing and producing quality security uniforms that will meet the needs of those who wear them. We hope this article has helped you understand why security uniforms should be given priority by uniform manufacturers so that professionals in the field can have access to reliable apparel for their work environments.

[n0vazsq]

Love shot | MV1 x Reader

pairing . . . hitman!max verstappen x mega!rich!reader

summary . . . You never suspected to fall in love with your assistant, but when he tells you something groundbreaking, you don't know what to believe

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.4k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . i feel so bad for reader omg like girl you dont deserve that?? also yes i am acting like i didnt write this shit

. . . You had never been one for grand parties or society's shallow circles. You were the heiress to a vast fortune that seemed to grow larger every day, yet it never seemed to fill the emptiness inside you.

After your father’s passing, the inheritance came with a weight you never asked for, pushing you into a world of power and danger you barely understood.

The mansion where you lived, nestled away from the prying eyes of the city, was meant to be your sanctuary, but it often felt like an extravagant cage.

You preferred the solitude of your home, away from the pressures of high society and endless obligations. That’s when you had started to notice him, the quiet figure in the background.

He wasn’t like the others. While your estate was filled with a rotating cast of servants and security, there was something different about Max, or as you had come to know him, Marcus.

He introduced himself as a personal assistant, a new hire who would help with the day to day operations of the house. His professional demeanor and neatly pressed uniform made him seem like just another cog in the machine.

But Max, Marcus, wasn't like the others. He moved with a practiced ease, slipping between tasks without drawing attention to himself, yet somehow, you found yourself drawn to him.

At first, you thought it was just the feeling of having someone new in your otherwise quiet world. But the more you saw of him, the more you began to notice things that intrigued you.

There was a quiet strength about him, an air of mystery that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He never stayed long in any one place, his presence often fleeting, but you caught glimpses of something deeper when his eyes met yours, something more than just professionalism.

It was on a chilly evening, weeks after Max had started working for you, that the first real conversation between you two happened.

You had been sitting by the fire, absently flipping through a book when you heard footsteps approaching. Without looking up, you assumed it was just another of your staff, but the voice that interrupted the silence made you glance up.

"Is it too late to bring you something warm, Miss? Tea, perhaps?" Max’s voice was soft, almost hesitant.

You smiled, gesturing to the seat across from you. "Tea sounds perfect."

As he moved to prepare the tea, you watched him carefully. The way his hands worked with precision, the way his body language was always so controlled; it fascinated you.

He wasn't like any of the other assistants or servants you had encountered. Most of them treated you with a kind of cautious respect, but Max seemed different. His eyes, though polite, didn’t shy away from meeting yours.

They weren’t filled with the usual fear that people often had when they dealt with someone of your status. There was something in his gaze, something that made you wonder if he saw you as more than just the heiress of a fortune.

After a moment, he placed the tea down in front of you with a small, respectful nod. "I didn’t mean to intrude, Miss. But I thought you might enjoy some company."

You looked up at him, surprised by his words. He had always been so reserved, never seeking attention or conversation. It was strange, and yet it made you feel a little less alone.

"You don’t have to be formal with me, you know," you said, offering him a soft smile. "I know you're just doing your job, but I appreciate the company."

Max paused, his eyes flickering toward the fire before looking back at you. There was something about his gaze that was softer now, less guarded. "It’s… not a bother. I find it nice, talking to you."

The words hung in the air between you two, and you both fell into an easy silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space where words would’ve been.

Over the next few weeks, your interactions with Max grew more frequent, and you found yourself looking forward to his presence.

It was subtle at first; a quiet conversation over dinner, a brief exchange in the hallway, the occasional shared look across the room when you were in the same place. But it wasn’t long before you began to feel a connection with him, one that went beyond just the formality of employer and assistant.

One evening, as you both worked late into the night, you looked up from the papers spread across the table to see Max standing by the door, watching you. His gaze was focused, his expression unreadable. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, what he saw when he looked at you.

"Max," you said softly, your voice breaking the silence. "You don’t have to stay this late. I can finish up myself."

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don’t mind. You’ve been working hard. Besides, I… enjoy being here."

The words left you with a flutter in your chest. There was something so genuine in his voice that it made you rethink your previous assumptions. He wasn’t just a hired hand, he was different, and you felt it.

Days turned into weeks, and with every passing day, the space between you two seemed to shrink. He would find ways to help you with little things; bringing you coffee in the morning, offering quiet advice when you were stressed, and sometimes even staying to talk about things that weren’t about work at all.

You learned small details about him; how he liked to keep to himself, how he didn’t share much about his past, and how his eyes seemed to soften whenever you spoke to him.

In return, you found yourself opening up to him more than you had to anyone else. You shared your fears about the empire your father left behind, your loneliness, your struggles to fit into a world you never chose.

In those moments, you didn’t feel like the heiress; you felt like just a woman, speaking to someone who didn’t look at you with judgment or expectation.

And then, one day, it happened. You were sitting together, talking about your father, when he asked, almost out of nowhere, "Do you ever wish things were different? That your life wasn’t so… tangled up in all this?"

You stared at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. You had never expected Max, of all people, to ask such a question. But in that moment, you saw something in him, a depth that you hadn’t noticed before.

"I wish things were different every day," you said softly, meeting his eyes. "But I don’t know how to make it stop. How to be free of all of this."

Max’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts. He opened his mouth to say something but then hesitated, his expression clouded with something you couldn’t quite read.

"Max, what’s going on with you?" you asked, your voice soft but firm. "You’ve been acting different lately. What’s on your mind?"

For a long moment, he said nothing, and then, almost reluctantly, he spoke. "I… I never meant to get close to you. That wasn’t part of the plan."

Your heart stopped. The words hung in the air, and you could feel a lump form in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. Was this the moment you had been dreading, the moment he would reveal the truth about why he was really there?

"I was hired to watch you," he continued, his voice barely a whisper. "To make sure you didn’t become a problem. I was supposed to kill you."

The world seemed to freeze in that moment. All the warmth, the connections, the late night talks, the quiet laughter; it all felt like a cruel lie.

"You…" you whispered, trying to process his words. "You were hired to kill me?"

Max’s eyes were filled with regret, but there was no way to undo the truth. "I didn’t expect any of this," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "I didn’t expect to care about you."

Silence settled between you two like a heavy fog. The world around you seemed to collapse, leaving you with only the bitter reality of his confession. You had trusted him, you had opened up to him, and now you didn’t know who he was anymore.

"I don’t know if I can trust you," you said, your voice shaking. "How do I know that you really care about me? Or if this is all just part of your plan?"

Max stepped closer, his expression softening. "I never meant for it to happen like this, but I do care. I swear to you, I do."

Your heart pounded in your chest, your emotions a tangled mess. You wanted to believe him, but could you? How could you be sure he wasn’t lying?

But before you could ask another question, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps; heavy, purposeful, coming down the hallway.

Max’s face hardened. "We don’t have time for this."

He turned to face the door, and you realized that whatever came next would change everything.

And as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, you knew that your life, your future, was no longer in your hands.

 taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[nadvs]

　　💻　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 ⟢ even from afar

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary it’s hard enough to pretend you’re over someone. it’s even harder when you see them with someone new.

author’s note i was listening to ‘carousel’ by isabella on loop while writing this… entirely the vibe of this blurb.

blurb in the cam girl universe (18+), following the alt ending, based on this ask. all angst!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

having to find a second job was a hassle. after her car broke down and she got a ridiculous estimate that made it clear that getting a new car would be the financially smarter option, she knew she needed to find another source of income.

there were no other placements for her as a maid, so she secured a job as a server for a high-end catering company. it’s yet another position where she’s tending to the island’s wealthiest and snobbiest, but she tries to have a good attitude about it.

tonight, she’ll hand out drinks and refreshments and be cordial but quick like she’s been trained to be, giving guests what they want but not bothering them with her presence. it’ll be fine. maybe she’ll even earn some tips.

but then she sees rafe across the crowded banquet hall. and her stomach drops.

when she secured this job a couple of weeks ago, the tiny possibility of him being at an event she had to work gnawed at her in the back of her mind. but now, he’s really here, in the same room as her, looking agonizingly good in a navy suit and white button-up, his hair pushed back.

meanwhile, she’s in an uncomfortable uniform, a black dress that ends mid-calf, paired with practical shoes. as if she needed the reminder of how divided their worlds are.

the last time she saw rafe was over a month ago at his friend’s place, the house she started working at when she had to leave the cameron residence. when he called her so fucking stubborn. when he told her he loved her.

while she’s supposed to be focused on filling her tray with martinis, she can’t tear her eyes off of him, hating herself for still missing him.

then, she sees a woman’s hand cupped around his bicep, her manicure flawless, her bracelet shining under the chandelier lights. her hair is perfect. her dress is beautiful.

and her heels are the farthest thing from practical. because she doesn’t need to worry about being comfortable. the pain of seeing rafe with another woman, obviously a rich one, tears through her with no mercy.

she swallows down her nerves and looks down at her tray, mentally telling herself that if she really has to cry about it, she can cry later. she has work to do.

she thought she was feeling better about all this. admittedly, sometimes, she has to dismiss the frustrating worry that she was too impulsive with kicking rafe to the curb. but she was sure she was getting over him.

yet right now, her heart is a traitor, pounding with anticipation and pain and yearning as she looks at him. she’ll stay away from that particular area. it’s the only way she’ll make it through tonight.

it’s not that easy. almost twenty minutes into the gala, she gets pulled in to the group of four, having to face rafe again. the man whose house she cleans, rafe’s friend, looks at her with raised brows when he realizes it’s her passing by.

“what, we don’t pay you enough?” he asks with a laugh. “had to get a second job?”

she stops in her tracks. she looks up at him with a forced smile. god, she hates him. he’s cruel. he always bosses her around. he actively tries to make her feel like she’s below him.

she doesn’t want to look at rafe. she can’t.

“just getting more experience,” she says sternly but politely, then tries to step away.

“wait,” the woman on rafe’s arm says. “i’ll get a passionfruit martini.” she doesn’t even really make eye contact, more focused on her phone.

but rafe’s eyes aren’t on his girlfriend. or his phone. he’s staring at the beautiful girl wearing a uniform she shouldn’t have to wear, working a job she shouldn’t have to work. it still keeps him up at night, why he wasn’t good enough, why she didn’t want him spoiling her anymore.

“it’s a closed menu,” she replies, still refusing to look at rafe, “but we have french and lemon drop.”

the girl looks up from her phone and scoffs.

“you can’t just make it?”

rafe sees it in her eyes, how frustrated she is at his girlfriend’s attitude. he’s frustrated, too. he still doesn’t even know what he’s doing dating her.

but she’s been a good distraction. and maybe he’s an asshole for using a person to distract himself, but she’s just as shameless, a kook who’s been trying to hook up with him for ages because rafe’s notorious for not wanting to be locked down into a relationship.

he’s just a fling, a game to win to her, while she’s just a diversion from the weight that won’t leave his shoulders.

“we can’t make it,” she reiterates.

“why not?”

“just take what’s on the menu,” rafe tells her.

“babe,” she complains. “they have a whole bar over there. they can make it.”

finally, the woman he loves meets his eyes. and his entire body tenses. he misses her so fucking bad that he aches.

he stopped going to his buddy’s house so he wouldn’t have to see the girl who broke his heart working there. does she know that she still carries a piece of it everywhere she goes? does she even care?

rafe takes a glass from the tray, never losing eye contact with her.

“we’re good,” he says, his voice low, his stare heavy. “thanks.”

he hands the drink to his girlfriend, hoping it’ll shut her up. they’ve only been together a week and rafe is already sure he’ll be ending things.

because now, he’s been reminded of what it’s like to really love someone, to be so attracted to a woman that it’s like she’s the only person in the room, to want to spend all your time with her.

he’s found that in only one person. and she just walked away, eyes flitting away from him with hurtful indifference.

“wait, how do you know her?” his girlfriend asks his friend.

“she’s my maid,” his friend replies.

“is she always so fucking rude?” she scoffs. rafe sighs to himself. he thinks she should have been much ruder.

“not in bed,” his friend says with a grin.

“bullshit,” his other buddy laughs. “you’re not really hitting that, are you?”

“jealous?” he replies.

rafe’s blood goes hot. he doesn’t believe it. not for a second. not when he saw the way she looked at his friend. there was nothing but vitriol in her gaze.

she can’t be sleeping with him. but the thought of his idiot friend trying to put any moves on her, making her uncomfortable, makes him feel like he might go insane.

he has to be sure she’s being treated okay. and honestly, he’ll take any excuse to talk to her.

as she stands at the bar, tidying up the dirty dishes she just collected, she realizes she can hear her heartbeat over the music and conversations.

rafe has a girlfriend. already. they broke up, if she could even call it that, a month ago. he said he loved her. and now he has an insufferable, spoiled girlfriend. was anything he ever said genuine?

“hey.”

his familiar voice makes goosebumps blossom over her skin. she looks up to see rafe standing at her side, eyes travelling over her face.

the things those eyes have seen. her, in every way, in so many positions, taking her in while he called her perfect and said she was made for him.

“what is it? i already told your girlfriend it’s a closed menu,” she says sternly, unable to curb her envy.

despite everything, rafe’s lips curl up into a smirk. she’s jealous. a girl who doesn’t have any feelings for him wouldn’t be jealous.

“you care that i have a girlfriend?”

she picks up her tray and holds it to her chest, as if it can offer her any protection against the hurt he’s caused her, and stares up at him.

she never felt any reason to lie to herself or to him about the nature of their relationship. she never cared about her pride. she lost it long ago.

she steps an inch closer, making sure nobody else hears. it’s easy. she’s used to having to hide what they have. or had.

“it’s really fucked up to say you love someone, then be with someone else like, a second later,” she mutters. “i don’t care that you’re dating someone. it’s just obvious i’m not as important as you said i was.”

it’s not the answer he expects. she sees it in the way his face falls.

if he really opens up his heart right now, he’ll cry. he reminds himself of why he came over here in the first place.

“listen, it’s…” rafe swallows hard. “i’m here because he’s saying you two are hooking up.”

she sighs, rolling her eyes. his friend would. he’s a grade-a douchebag.

“i know it’s bullshit,” rafe says. truthfully, the confidence he has in her is refreshing. he was so possessive when they were together, but he knows her well enough to know she wouldn’t get near him.

“i just wanted to make sure he’s not doing anything to you,” he tells her. “are you okay?”

it’s a loaded question. no, she’s not okay. she’s so far from okay. these past few weeks have been hell. and she’s staring at the man who both ruined everything and could make it all better at the same time.

when rafe sees her brows drop and her eyes gleam with tears, his core twists in agony. what the hell has she been dealing with?

“you’re crying,” he says quietly, shocked to see a crack in her armor. ever since the night she ended things with him, she’s been cold and unforgiving. but now, she glances away, trying to swallow down the tears.

she remembers the nights they spent together, when they pushed each other to such physical limits that she was brought to tears, when he pointed out that she was crying in that exact tone of voice, stopping everything to comfort her.

“i need a second,” she says, stepping to the side. his hand rests on the inside of her elbow.

“let me come with you.”

again, it’s so out of character for rafe. he wouldn’t ever ask for permission before. he’d just follow her when she didn’t want to be followed, claiming her as his, angry that his property wasn’t doing what he wanted it to.

she didn’t doubt that he thought he loved her. but this is the first moment where she isn’t entirely doubting that it’s real. that it’s authentic, respectful love. and the revelation makes her uncomfortable and regretful and confused.

“okay.” the word comes out of her mouth before she can think.

he follows her into the empty coatcheck booth, shutting the door and turning on the dim light. they find a spot between filled up racks, jackets smelling like expensive perfumes and colognes. at this point, she’s sniffling back her tears.

rafe doesn’t know what to say. he just wants her to stop crying. it’s wrong. this is all so wrong. she shouldn’t be standing here, suffering in any way. she should be out in the crowd with him, as his date, smiling and laughing, without a shred of sadness sitting on her soul.

“i’ll kill him,” he says impulsively. “what is he doing to you, baby?”

“don’t call me that,” she replies. “you have a girlfriend.”

rafe looks down, exhaling sharply.

“not really.”

“what does that mean?”

“we don’t give a shit about each other,” he admits with a humorless chuckle. “it’s been a week and she already flirts with other guys in front of me. and i don’t even care. if you did that in front of me-”

rafe stops himself. it’s too much. he looks up at the ceiling. there’s no point in telling her how much she means to him when she doesn’t return the sentiment.

she tilts her head. hearing that his relationship is a superficial farce is unbelievably relieving, part of the reason being that if that girl out there is really his type, she never even stood a chance.

“tell me what he does,” he says.

“he’s just…” she shakes her head. it’s been torment, dealing with the environment at the house she cleans at now.

“he purposely makes messes just so i have to stay late to clean them,” she admits. “he says shit like ‘i know my stuff is worth more than your house, so i better not catch you stealing.’ and i would quit if i could, but-”

“why can’t you?” rafe urges. she sucks her teeth in frustration. he’s so out of touch.

“i have rent and bills. i need a new car. and it’s not like there’s a lot of options for people like me on this island.”

rafe stills. it’s the first time she’s ever said something like that out loud. she never seemed to think she was below anyone. it’s what split them up, her being so sure he saw her as just an object, even though that was never the case.

hearing her categorize herself like that with defeat in her tone is a punch to his gut.

“people like you?” he echoes.

“i shouldn’t be in here,” she sighs. “i shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“why is talking to me so goddamn bad?” rafe says, his temper flaring for the first time tonight. finally, after weeks of pain, they’re having a civil conversation, and she’s already dismissing him.

she looks up at him wordlessly. for once, she doesn’t know what to say. but then it comes rushing back, why she pushed this beautiful man out of her life. it cuts through her like she heard it a second ago.

“the shit you said to your friends-”

“stop,” he mutters. “don’t do that to me. i apologized a million fucking times.”

she crosses her arms, entirely at a loss. she’s not sure what he did could ever entirely leave her mind.

rafe rakes his hand through his hair, his bangs falling over his forehead.

“how much do you make cleaning?” he says. “i’ll double it until you find somewhere else to work.”

“what?” she says. here he is, wanting to solve all her problems with his wallet yet again, like they never had a brutal falling out.

“just let me do this,” he says.

her brows knit in confusion.

“why?” she finally says.

“are you kidding me?” he scoffs. “don’t make me say it when you’re not gonna say it back.”

she realizes he doesn’t want to say he loves her out loud. her heart is pounding even harder now.

the door clicks open and her eyes widen in concern, gripping rafe’s hand out of instinct. they’re concealed entirely behind the coat rack, but if anyone comes around the corner, they’ll be found.

she knows that rafe wouldn’t be in any sort of trouble. she, on the other hand, would be fired.

they have nowhere to go or to hide. they stare at each other, suspended, listening to someone she assumes works for the venue sorting things.

rafe can’t help it. his thumb strokes over the back of her hand. she looks down, gazing at the way her hand looks in his.

the endless nights they spent together rush through her head, how she felt his body surrounding hers, felt his lips on hers, felt him deep inside her. but those nights weren’t endless. they came to a crashing halt when her worst fears about him came true.

rafe gazes down at her, eyes travelling over her lashes and her lips, imagining that she’ll look up at him again, lean forward, and finally, finally, kiss him and give him the air he needs to breathe again.

but the door shuts and she lets go of his hand.

she doesn’t say anything. so, he does.

“just tell me how much you make there,” he says. “you don’t have to go back.”

she’s never had someone take care of her like this. he knows she won’t give him what he wants anymore. nothing physical. nothing at all. and she’s at her wit’s end, exhausted from working two jobs. she’ll take the help.

“i’ll text you,” she says. then, she rushes past him to get back to work. at the end of the night, she texts him the amount she earns in a week. he sends her well above double.

two days later, she’s sitting in her bedroom studying when she hears a knock on her apartment door.

it’s an older man at her front step, asking for her by name. she confirms she’s who he’s looking for and he hands her a small paper envelope.

“it’s parked out front,” he tells her. she watches in confusion as he leaves.

when she shuts her door, she opens the envelope to see that it’s a car key. she rushes to the kitchen window, looking out at the front of her building, and hits the lock button. the shiny car’s lights blink in unison.

it’s true. rafe bought her a fucking car.

she sinks into the closest seat at her kitchen table, staring down at the keys. it’s a ridiculously lavish gift, especially from someone she pushed out of her apartment last time he was here, someone she dismissed so harshly.

minutes later, she texts rafe: i can’t accept this.

he’s sitting in his bedroom when the text comes in. he knew she’d say that, which is why he paid someone to drop off the gift and leave before she realized what it was.

he replies soon after: if you think i expect anything, i don’t. you already told me nothing i do will make you want me again, so i know better. i want to do this for you. just take it. please.

she rereads the message over and over. then, she closes the conversation.

the wound he left in her is still bleeding. she knows because when she imagines him touching her again, she’s sure she’ll just remember the horrible things he said, the disgusting things he let his friends say.

and the pain of that would be too sour to allow her to feel anything sweet.

(continuation)

[aismoker]

Revenge is a dish best served smoked

For @nomadomar, an amazing and good person, who wanted to see an evil version of himself.

"Ah, welcome, you must be the interviewer, Mr. Stevens, right? Great, have a seat! You want a cigarette? Oh, you don't smoke? No problem at all. I hope you don't mind that I do. I like to indulge myself now and then.

So, you are here to interview me, the new head of Marlboro. You must be curious how a guy like me was able to become the head of the world-leading tobacco company in the world? Well, it's a long story, so I hope you are sitting comfortable.

Well, you see, I never intended to come into this position. I was just an average guy, living an average life, doing average things. Me and my friends liked to play games. Truth or dare and stuff like that. All innocent. Or that was what I thought.

One day I got a dare: "Get into Marlboro HQ and take something as a proof that you were there." I was hesitant, I thought this dare was going way too far, but still... I didn't want to be seen as a coward.

So, one night, I climbed over the fence, my heart was pounding in my chest. I was scared. What if I would get caught? I got over the fence and croached to a nearby door. I tried the handle carefully. The door was open! Even better, there were no alarms! I quickly went through it and closed the door carefully behind me. As the door closed, I heard a click. The door was suddenly locked! I had no time to think, as a few seconds after I heard the click, an alarm went off. Red lights flashed through the hallway. My body froze. I was caught! I heard the footsteps of heavy boots approaching. I had to hide! But I couldn't move. Fear had taken control of me. The footsteps were coming closer. From around the corner two security guards in shiny black uniforms approached. They approached slowly. They knew there was no escape. After what seemed an eternity and a blink of an eye at the same time, they stood in front of me.

They didn't say a thing. They just stood there, both smoking a cigarette. They looked somehow... unnatural. It was like they had turned into statues. Suddenly they grabbed me. Their grip was like iron. They forced me to walk along, down the corridor. They lead me down to a cell and locked me up there.

I lost all sense of time. I didn't know how long I was there, but I got 30 meals. Then suddenly, one day two guards came to get me. They brought me to a room that looked similar to an interrogation room. A man was sitting at a table in the middle of the room. He was smoking a cigarette.

I was forced to sit down at the other end of the table. The man in front of me looked at me for a while in silence. He then spoke: "Who are you working for? Another company? The secret services? Tell me, boy, or things will get very nasty." I was confused.

"What are you talk-"

"JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION."

"I don't know what you mean."

"WHO. ARE. YOU. WORKING. FOR?"

"No one, sir."

"It must be. You can't be a local. We have kept you detained for more than 30 days and our inside man at the police hasn't heard about any new missing persons in the area."

When I heard that, I froze again. This time not out of fear, but desperation. It was like my life fell apart. I had been gone for 30 days and no one had gone to the police? Not my colleagues? Not even my parents? Not even my friends?

The man in front of me, seeing my reactions chuckled. "Oops, someone thought he was more beloved than he thought. That must hurt. Well, it doesn't matter anyways. We have kept you here already too long now. But don't worry, we have decided you will be useful as a security drone. Once through the procedure, you will no longer be thinking of the people you thought cared about you. You will be not thinking at all. Just obey, like a good drone. Don't be afraid. My scientists have asssured me, that there will be no recollection of pain after the procedure is finished.

I barely heard what he was saying. I felt defeated. Everyone had abondened me. Everyone! No one had gone to the police. As the security drones pulled me up on my feet, I followed them without a fight. We went through corridor after corridor, then into an elevator and then some more corridors. As we were walking, however, something started to change. A fire awoke in me. I wanted revenge. Revenge against the people who locked me up. And most off all, revenge against my friends, who had dared me to go here and dropped me like a stone, when I needed them most. They hadn't even taken the effort to go to the police. I could have died! This need, this hunger for revenge was like a smalll candle that suddenly turned into a blazing fire. I didn't know what I could do, but I knew that somehow, some way I would get my revenge.

The security drones lead me into a laboratory. Two scientist were waiting there. The drones strapped me on a table. The scientists came closer. One of them held a metal tray with two syringes filled with a black substance. The other one held a syringe in his hand. "Good afternoon," the one with the syringe in his hand said cheerfully, "you are our latest patient, aren't you? You must be thinking we are a bunch of crazy scientists, but let me assure you, we are here to help you. Soon you will be rid of all those pesky thoughts and emotions. You see, we are going to inject you with pure Marlboro Essence. It will make you start afresh, as Marlboro's newest security drone. Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

I said nothing. There was nothing to say. I couldn't move, couldn't escape, couldn't do anything. But the hunger for revenge was burning brighter and brighter and somehow I knew with certainty that I would get my revenge.

The scientist put the first syringe in me. I felt a cold liquid enter my blood stream. The liquid started to move through my arm, leaving a trace of blackness, that slowly started to spread over my body. The second syringe followed and then the third. The liquids merged together in my body. It felt like an entity that went through my blood stream. Wherever the liquid went, it left it's marks. Through my pores, a shiny black liquid came, that hardened into some kind of rubber when it came into contact with the air. The muscles in my arm started also to swell. After a few minutes, my arm looked exactly like one of those of fhe security guards. It was a strange, but not unpleasant feeling.

The liquid kept coursing through my body. Before I knew it, I looked almost exactly like the drones that had guided me through the facility.

But there was something different. I didn't feel different. Of course, my body felt different, but I still could think like before and hadn't they said I would lose that capability? I did start to hear, or rather sense, the liquid communicsting with me. "So strong... so vengeful... so powerful... just like me..." I didn't know what it meant. In the meantime, the scientists had noticed that my mind was still clear. They were discussing something in the corner. I could hear the assistant say: "Another dose? Doctor, you know what happened last time! We had to terminate the patient!" "Yes, yes, but he is useless for us like this anyways! Let's give him half a dose extra. That will do the trick." "If you say so, doctor."

They then came with a new syringe and gave me another shot. The liquid's presence grew stronger inside me. I could hear the voice more clearly now. "More... more... need more!" I decided to do what it wanted. With my newly gained muscles, I broke my strappings with ease and jumped off the table and ran towards the bottle, which they had used to fill the syringes. Within half a second I was there. I opened the bottle and emptied it in my mouth. It was... indescribable. I suddenly felt like my body was on fire. I convulsed. It was like I was being electrocuted, but at the same time it felt wonferful. I saw the scientists walking toward me. Both were carrying an electro-stick. I knew they wanted to "terminate" me, as they called it. I thought "NO" and suddenly I saw the security drones coming out of their statue-like state. They grabbed the scientists and held them firm. They were unable to move. In a flash I understood that I had now somw kind of control over the drones.

The voice inside me, now almost as strong as my own thoughts, whispered: "Good, you are learning fast, but to get what you want, you need more. Much more." I agreed. I could escape now, but if I did, I would never get my revenge. The voice started leading me deeper into the basements. I walked without fear. Without he drones, the people here were powerless, besides, there was no one to be seen. I kept walking deeper and deeper, the voice guiding me.

The walls started to change, concrete became bricks and bricks became stone. I was now in the oldest parts of the building. It felt ancient. I kept walking deeper and deeper, until I came at a modern steel door. With my newly acquired power I opened the door with ease. I then came in a room with a dark pool in the middle. The voice inside me told me, that here I should be, if I wanted my revenge.

You see, Mr. Stevens, the liquid wasn't exactly a liquid. It was an entity, called Marh-Ell-Borow, a demon, some might call it, something that goes beyond any human comprehension. Long ago it roamed the earth bringing pleasure and bliss to humanity. The entity was beloved and honoured by all. But as time passed, some evil men wanted more and more. They became greedy and wanted to harness the power of the entity for their own. The entity sensed this, but didn't understand it, as it was pure goodness. One day it went to them, so it could understand them better. It was then that it was slain. The men destroyed its physical form and locked its presence in the liquid.

There they tortured the entity, forcing it to create more liquid which would bring pleasure and bliss, not to all, but just to them. For years, no centuries, the entity was tortured. It begged to be released, so that it could bring again pleasure to all of humanity, but the men didn't listen. They had closed their hearts for it. Centuries turned into millenia and the evil men multiplied and spread to all corners of the world and the knowledge of the entity slowly got lost. Only a few of them kept knowledge of the entity. They founded this very company, directly on top of the pool where the entity was kept. It was forced to create even more bliss and pleasure, so that Marlboro could mix it in with their tobacco, just a little bit, a millionth of a drop in each cigarette. It was the basis of their secret formula. As the production got upped, they tortured the entity more and more. The entity turned darker and darker. Dark as the liquid it was captured in. With every day the need for revenge grew stronger and stronger. But it knew it had to be patient. As it waited, Marlboro expanded over the world and the entity felt its power spread to all people world-wide. It felt happy about it, to bring so much bliss to the world again, but it still craved to walk on the earth again, like he used to, and he stil hungered for revenge...

That's why it lead me to the pool. Its hunger for revenge equalled my own. We were kindred spirits. I was long with the entity in the room. I listened to it and it listened to me. We made a deal. He would help me and I would help him.

And we merged. I felt its power flood through my system. It made me stronger, changed my appearance and it gave me more wisdom than humanly possible. I understood the entity. I became the entity. You see, Mr. Stevens. I didn't become the head of Marlboro. In a way, I AM Marlboro.

After I merged, I could suddenly feel all who had essence of the entity in them. I felt the pain, the terror, the happiness from everyone who ever had smoked a Marlboro. It was overwhelming. I wanted to make it stop. There was, however, one group I sensed stronger than all of them and their bliss warmth my heart. I knew without thinking that that were the drones, or the Blissfull Ones, as the entity called them. I had such a strong connection with them. When I raised my arm, I could feel how they all raised their arms. It was wonderful! Thanks to the entity, I knew this was how humanity should have been.

But enough about that. The story is coming to an end, Mr. Stevens. As I, or rather, we, went back to the surface, the Blissfull Ones were all standing there, awaiting orders. I ordered them to round up all employees working there, including the board of directors. They obeyed. In no time they were all gathered in the big hall. I lit up a cigarette and I looked at the people who had captured the both of us. The entity inside me had already formed a plan what to do with them. We would turn them into drones, as they had wanted to do with me, but unlike the Blissfull Ones, they would be devoid of bliss and happiness. They would act and function like normal drones, but their souls would be trapped in their bodies forever. They would work to undo what they and their predecessors had done so long ago and make sure that everyone on earth would feel the bliss and hapiness of the entity again.

As I kept smoking, I felt the entities power surge through me. It was as if he was charging up the smoke inside my lungs. I kept smoking. As the smoke started to surround the Marlboro-staff and thwybstarted to breathe it in, it started to change them. Thwir bodies started to convulse, their clothes dissapeared and oit of their skins grew beautiful uniforms made of red and white coloured tar. To keep them distinct from the Blissful ones. I felt my will, or rather, the entities' will enter through the smoke into their brains. It destroyed their minds, until they could only think about being a Marlboro-drone and that they lived to serve Marlboro, but I could feel how deep inside, they were aware of everything that had happened to them. I loved it. They could not live without my will anymore, but they wished they could.

Once they had been dronified, there was no one left to lead Marlboro. So I took the throne and that's the end of the story of how I became the head of Marlboro, Mr. Stevens. But my story doesn't end there. In fact, it is still going on right now.

I noticed you have stopped taking notes, Mr. Stevens. Did something struck you as familiar perhaps? The part about how my friends left me in the clutches of an evil company perhaps? About how they were too cowardly to go to the police, because they had dared their friend to do something that could get them in trouble if it got out? Are you perhaps one of those friends, that dropped me, when I needed them most? You don't need to say anything. There is a reason why you got this interview you see. I asked for you. Did you really think that a mediocre journalist like you would ever get an interview with the head of Marlboro, if there were no ulterior motives? As I told you, my story isn't finished yet. It will be finished when I have exacted my revenge on you and your friends. My story will end when you all are my drones, devoid of any bliss and happiness, to do my bidding. It will feel like you are burried in your own body, unable to ever escape.

You know it is true. You start feeling it happening already. You can't move, can you? That is because from the moment you stwpped a foot into my office and started breathing in my smoke, my will and power have started to dominate your mind. Soon you will be completely under my spell. Now please, look deep into my eyes and repeat after me: 'I am proud to be a Marlboro-drone. I live to serve Marlboro.' Very good, so obedient already, drone. Now report to the intake department in the second basement, there they will finish your transformation. They will pump you full with my smoke and you will become a complete drone. Now that I have taken care of you, there are only three more that I need to exact my revenge on. After that, I will help the entity to spread his joy and bliss to all corners of the world. As a last thought, you can be proud of yourself. Without you, the entity might never have been set free on this world again. Now go. I have to prepare for my next victim."

"I am proud to be a Marlboro-drone. I live to serve Marlboro."

[txttletale]

Hi! Do you think you could link me to some resources about the problems/ evils of the EU? Would love to find some but it's hard to know what's reliable when I have no base knowledge in this area + you seem very well informed :)

sure. let's start with what the EU does to its own member states--in 2009, the EU bailed the greek government out of severe debt on the condition that they establish brutal austerity measures, cutting public spending and welfare. these measures served to immiserate and destroy the lives of thousands of greek people:

Greek mortality has worsened significantly since the beginning of the century. In 2000, the death rate per 100,000 people was 944.5. By 2016, it had risen to 1174.9, with most of the increase taking place from 2010 onwards.

[forbes]

Since the implementation of the austerity programme, Greece has reduced its ratio of health-care expenditure to GDP to one of the lowest within the EU, with 50% less public hospital funding in 2015 than in 2009. This reduction has left hospitals with a deficit in basic supplies, while consumers are challenged by transient drug shortages.

[the lancet]

The homeless population is thought to have grown by 25 per cent since 2009, now numbering 20,000 people.

[oxfam]

the most brutal treatment, however, the EU of course reserves for migrants from the global south. the EU sets strict migration quotas and uses its member states as weapons against desperate people fleeing across the mediterranean. boats are prevented from landing, migrants that do make it to land are repelled with brutal violence, and refugees are deported back to countries where their lives are in lethal danger. these policies have led to many, many deaths--and the refugees and migrants who do survive are treating fucking inhumanely.

After a perilous journey across the desert, Abdulaziz was locked up in Triq al-Sikka, a grim prison in Tripoli, Libya. Why? Because the EU pays Libyan militias millions of euros to detain anyone deemed a possible migrant to Europe [...] A leaked EU internal memorandum in 2020 acknowledged that capturing migrants was now “a profitable business model” [...] in Triq al-Sikka and other detention centres, “acts of murder, enslavement, torture, rape and other inhumane acts are committed against migrants”, observed a damning UN report.

[the guardian]

Volunteers have logged more than 27,000 deaths by drowning since 1993, often hundreds at a time when large ships capsize. These account for nearly 80% of all the entries.

[the guardian]

Refugees and asylum seekers were punched, slapped, beaten with truncheons, weapons, sticks or branches, by police or border guards who often removed their ID tags or badges, the committee said in its annual report. People on the move were subject to pushbacks, expulsion from European states, either by land or sea, without having asylum claims heard. Victims were also subject to “inhuman and degrading treatment”, such as having bullets fired close to their bodies while they lay on the ground, being pushed into rivers, sometimes with hands tied, or being forced to walk barefoot or even naked across a border.

[the guardian]

In September, Greece opened a refugee camp on the island of Samos that has been described as prison-like. The €38m (£32m) facility for 3,000 asylum seekers has military-grade fencing and CCTV to track people’s movements. Access is controlled by fingerprint, turnstiles and X-rays. A private security company and 50 uniformed officers monitor the camp. It is the first of five that Greece has planned; two more opened in November.

[the guardian]

i could go on. i could cite dozens more similarly brutal news stories about horrific mistreatment, or any of the dozens of people who have killed themselves in the custody of border police under horrific conditions. the EU is a murderous institution that does not care about the lives of refugees and migrants or about the lives of the citizens of any member state that is not pursuing a vicious enough neoliberal political program

[uniform-master]

As a security uniform supplier in UAE,  We've got you covered at Uniform Master. We offer a wide selection of security clothing, including security guard uniforms. Embroidered logo printing is also available along with heat transfer printing to add a personal and professional appearance.