#the other an infiltrator who made it to the very top

[chaosordoffl]

THAT'S!!!! HIS BABY!!!

[jin0]

A Morning Between King Nicholas and His Queen - A Sequel to « Of Love, Lust and Wasted Time »

Summary : what does a morning between Nicholas and his lovely wife look like ? Sex. A lot of it, obviously. porn with like some kind of plot but who are we kidding really.

Pairing : King!Nicholas Alexander Chavez X Queen!Reader

Warning : 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, smut, p in v, fluff, size kink, slight breeding kink, cockwarming, morning sex, slight cum play, biting, lots of I love you, slightly mean!reader/spoiled!reader (she needs her sleep, nick needs her)

A/N : i have no decorum so I wanted to add this because why not so this is just filth. Also, you can find the ‘first part’ here :)

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It was morning such as these ones that reminded Nicholas that he had grown to be a rather complicated man in terms of where he could find his happiness. Because no matter what, to wake up in his bed, in the arms of his beloved, skin on skin, warmed by morning rays of sunlight, this was a pleasure he could only find here, in his home, with her.

Duty had required his presence abroad for days now and she had to stay and rule alone in his absence. It had been the first time they were separated since their marriage and both had to suffer without the other. To see her at the door, last night, as soon as he returned, his heart could thump of joy alone.

Wrapping himself around her frame, he felt every muscle of his body relax against her, finally feeling himself ease down from days of political conversations and trades. He laid on top of her, covering her whole while his arms crossed under her. His hands were tight around her waist, pulling her so close they could��ve merged together if possible. He wondered if she was uncomfortable, the look of contentment on her face enough of an answer for him. Her own hands were draped over his back, the pad of her fingers soft against his skin.

This was it, true Love like he had learned existed as soon as he had met her.

With his face nuzzled into her breasts, he inhaled deeply, enjoying being wrapped in her scent all over. Rubbing the tip of his nose along her mound, he kissed that very same spot with a grin. Was it human to be so happy ? Was it human to love so much ? To love a human with such ease and so naturally ? Some days, he looked at her and felt nauseated from not being able to surrender every second of his remaining time alive to her every wish.

Breathing in her heat, his fingers grazed her sides up and down.

Rubbing the sleep off of his face with one hand while his other arm held her close, his lips found themselves kissing and biting the corner of her jaw tenderly while she whined in her sleep from being moved off of her preferred position.

« Nicholas… » She groaned in a voice so sweet it traveled through every pore of his body and infiltrated her bloodstream.

Looking up to meet her narrowed eyes to avoid the sunlight. Oh, how marvelous she was, his girl. The love of his life.

« I love you… » He whispered dreamily. His mind was trained on her face and how delicious she tasted whenever his lips found her body. He kept going, from her neck to her bosom, all he could reach, before dropping his body on her again.

After their first night, Nicholas had been glad to find out that his large stature made for an excellent mattress for his wife. She loved nothing more than to cover herself of him or lay on top of him. By the time she could feel him on her whole being, she was satisfied.

« Settle down, my love…» He muttered as he moved them both again to be on his side but still, half his body covering her in a makeshift cocoon.

The princess squirmed a little to position herself correctly. Her legs wrapped around one of his, her arm draped over his side while the other was kept close to her chest. She kept close to him, whining until he moved his face to lay on hers. Yes, this was perfect.

He could only chuckle, amused by her demands to be comfortable. But he lived to serve and please her, even in her sleep. So much so in fact that when his hard cock grazed the inside of her thighs, pushing against her flesh and taking up space between them both, his grin widened.

Yes, King Nicholas would still enjoy a little more sleep. And like his wife, he would need certain adjustments to be comfortable, starting with her gapping pussy, still dripping of his load from the night before. He could see it between her legs, thick and sticky, what a vision.

He moved her body slightly, nudging between her legs to part them with a smile and a kiss to her lips. He hiked her leg up to his waist, and her reaction was almost instantaneous. In a matter of seconds, there she was, looking up at him with her big beautiful eyes, less than amused.

« Must you have me twice a day ? » She asked, blinking away the sleep which had been taken from her.

« If I have to be honest, twice a day is nearly not… enough » His response was punctuated by movements, attempting not to cum as soon as his tip pushed past her folds. « Remember, an heir is expected of us, sweetness. We must be hard at work on this, it is of the greatest importance. »

They both could’ve laughed. Becoming parents was important, the gender of said heir, less, and the moment they would come even less. But Nicholas couldn’t hide that he enjoyed working to bring said heir as quickly as possible. Less for the baby and more for the pleasure of fucking his lovely wife. And that he did, in various positions and rooms of the castle. It was as if he had found a source and from then on his thirst could only be quenched by the water of that very fountain. She was but Life itself to her lord husband, the only thing he would ever need. Even so early in the morning.

After all, what was decorum if not rules that a king simply could not be bothered with ?

Nicholas rubbed his face close to hers, kissing away the pout on her face with a smile. The domestic bliss he’d been enjoying could simply not be replicated, not without his darling. To have her displeased, in his arms, in their bed, together, was a pleasure that he now couldn’t go without either. Like honey to a bee, he craved the surge of happiness from waking up next to her, hearing her chat away about her day, seeing her live life in all its grace. It was all of this and more that made him desperate for her, so much so that he would tighten his hold on her body and push himself deeper until he was buried deep as can be. And in that moment he was home.

The sigh of relief they both breathed out could lead him to believe that to stay in that position would be enough. Unfortunately and, as always, Nicholas was a selfish man who could never be content with the bare minimum. He needed to have his wife carnally and then enjoy more rest inside her.

As she readjusted on him to return to the sleep slowly evading her, the queen grew needy as can be for her husband to continue what he had started. Her nails started to run along his back, digging into his skin occasionally, when the throbbing of his cock sent electricity through her pliant body. Luckily she did not need to say a word for him to move, or take action.

Covering her body with his more, his lips found every possible area of her face to kiss with tenderness and care while she moaned in pleasure under him. It would be quick, both knew, and he chose to make it as loving as possible. His hips rutted into her with slow yet forceful thrusts, the tip of his cock digging into her guts while she failed to utter a single word. To feel her husband so deep in the morning and to be held so nicely, it was as if he invaded each crevice of her. The soft of her hand now replaced by her nails digging new marks along his wide back, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and big down on his collarbone before kissing the same space her teeth had left their marks in.

« My darling girl… I love you… I love you so much… I could never go without you… » There was generally no reason to such words from him. All were inspired by her presence near him.

She trembled under him, all the way to her toes, curling and her legs shaking from the force of his body pushing into her. With each movements that reached her pleasure point came a small, hiccup like, cry of pleasure from the queen. The sounds of skin slapping, grunts from the king and moans from his beloved merged together, resonating through the room as the only sign of life. And as it was never enough, Nicholas always the greedy man, took his girl in his large hands, holding her by the plush of the hips to flip her over and have her sat down on his throbbing cock.

« Taking me so well, my love… Keep going… » He breathed out into her ear, his lips glued against it as he groaned loudly for each movement.

Suddenly entirely exposed to his eyes and the control he had over her, she abandoned herself in his arms. He planted his feet on the mattress and started bouncing her up and down his fat cock. He was quick to see his tip push into her cervix and lower stomach, a smile drawing on his face before he pulled her close to his chest to kiss away at the tears spilling from her eyes.

« F-Fuck… T- Mmmh, s’good » Her syllables blended together in concert with both their sounds while her hands found support on his shoulders to ground her. It quickly became insufficient thought, the queen wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her nose in his hair.

« I love you… So much. I love you, my pretty girl… Tell me, tell me you love me, my love, tell me you love me too… » His voice was thick with desperation, pleading for her words and her being.

« Yes ! Yes, yes, yes ! S’much, I love you so much, my love, yes ! »

He enjoyed having her in such a state. Barely awakened mind and body trying to process the force of his desire. It was now common for her to lose her thoughts as well as her words, both replaced by tears of pleasure dripping down her soft cheeks. His hands unceremoniously grabbed at the fat of her ass to fully bounce her on top of him, never loosing focus of the tenderness he gave her. Kiss after kiss, his lips never left her. From her lips to her neck, to the spot behind her ear that made her float in his arms, and the corner of her mouth, and her swollen eyelids, every single one of her favorite places he kissed. He even made sure to have his cock kiss her cervix just right to leave no place untouched.

« I…love… you … » A groan of pleasure soon turned into a soft cry erupting out of him. Each word punctuated with a thrust of his. As she tightened around him, he couldn’t take much more himself.

She was the first to finish, as always. The moment his thumb had grazed her clit, she was done for. He watched in awe as her eyes glazed over, her mind visibly blanking before she drowned him in her cum. Of course, he was no better, following only seconds later. The most amount of focus he could muster was put into her again, his eyes trained on her lower shim and how it bulged from his load. He’d never get tired of watching it, the way her body still struggled to take him whole.

These days apart had been difficult and it seemed they both had needed a little more to catch up, not that they would ever be satisfied.

As if nothing had happened, he flipped them both again, this time laying fully on top of her like they both loved and needed. Both bathing in the post coitus glow, breathing heavily and covered in sweat, they stayed quiet for a moment.

King Nicholas’s hands caressed her side, overtaken by admiration as he looked at her. She held his face and looked into his eyes, hers softening. Her thumbs caressed his eyelids, still breathing heavily as she came down from her high. He looked so beautiful, her husband. Her sweet love. She would complain about her sleep but to have him love her so loudly and at every hour of the day. The man she had chosen, to have him disregard the customs to profess his love at ever turn, she could never really be mad at her, not when he spoiled her of his Love.

« You have ruined my sleep, Nicholas… » The tone of her voice was playful, but the smile on her face was the greatest of treasures.

Nicholas dropped on top of her, smiling as she laughed in his ear, carding his hand through his hair and kissing the spot next to her ear.

Both fell asleep for the next few hours, the maids of the castle and any knight with functioning ears and a little bit of experience knowing better than to attempt to bother them.

Life in the kingdom would wait for the rulers to wake up.

[highvern]

Between the Titles

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (mature/18+)

warnings: egregious caffeine consumption, yoongi smokes cigarettes, reader is about the same height as yoongi (its me hello im almost the same height as him), gay taehyung, volunteer jungkook, silver fox yoongi (he just has some gray hair bc hot) smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering, oral (f. receiving), semi-public sexual acts, bathroom sex, protected sex, praise kink

Length: ~9.5k

Note: no thoughts, just big brain yoongi in a sweater smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. btw almost all the books in this are real but i haven't read them so if you have lmk if they're worth the read lmao. thank u to my dearest @gyuswhore and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing this

Summary: Five days a week in the library means you're very familiar with the senior research librarian. It also means he has no qualms about making his own book recommendations either.

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The sweet aroma of old books and strong coffee infiltrates your nose as the heavy doors into the library swing open, offering reprieve from the storm raging on outside. It’s far too early for anyone to be here beyond staff and a few other morning birds. You glide right to the circulation desk as if fatigue doesn’t pulse through your veins, barely quelled by the second cup of coffee you sip from.

As always, the same familiar head of dark hair with sparse silver streaks waits at the circulation desk. He’s the only person working this early despite being the senior research librarian but you never hear any complaints louder than muttered annoyance under his breath when he thinks no one is around to hear. Bent over his laptop, Yoongi doesn’t even bother to look up as he slides a heavy stack of books to the edge of the counter. 

Eleven total, ten heavy volumes on ancient fertility cults across the globe, and one book you know he’s mixed in for his own amusement. 

It’s become something of a game between you two. At first you thought he was mixing your materials with someone else’s, but every time you brought the additional copy back to his desk, Yoongi insisted he had no idea what you were talking about and questioned your reading choices. Each time the titles got more ridiculous: Castration: The Advantages and the Disadvantages, How to Enjoy Your Weeds, Amish Vampires in Space, the list goes on and on. But after he slipped Why Fish Don’t Exist into your stack a few weeks ago, you decided to start responding. 

You left the stack at his desk like usual, ears perked for his reaction to Fishes I Have Known. An amused snort rang out just as you opened the doors to leave for the afternoon. The sound was so unlike the stoic man you’d become accustomed to over months working on your thesis; not that you heard him talk much to begin with.

Since then you’ve made a point to match every book he leaves for you. Yesterday, Yoongi chose I Could Pee on This: and Other Poems by Cats. At the end of the day, you spent thirty minutes searching shelf after shelf for an appropriate response, every book failing to meet your expectations. It wasn’t fair he knew the expansive collection like the back of his hand but nevertheless you found something up to par.

Yoongi rolled his eyes when you passed your books over the counter, a copy of Staying Dry: A Practical Guide to Bladder Control, like a shining star on top. A brief pink of his tongue flashed across his lips, a feeble attempt to muffle an amused smile. It was the most obvious reaction since the first time you responded.

Smiling like the cat who ate the canary, you left on clouds last night.

But this morning you have notes to write.

Snagging the collection, you make your way deeper into the building. Your unassigned-assigned desk tucked away on the fifth floor, far enough away from any noise so you can fully immerse in work without the threat of distraction. An uninterrupted view of the courtyard below is an added bonus.

The wooden table top is covered in a neat collection of pens and sticky notes in minutes; your laptop and the foot tall collection of references you devour over the next eight hours taking up the other half.

A few titles you request over and over sit on top, too valuable to be checked out for long term use so you settle for keeping them in constant rotation since no one else bothers to read the dusty yellowing tombs. For now, you focus on the new pieces you hope hold the information you need.

Earth rites: fertility practices in pre-industrial Britain, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in the Ancient Mediterranean, Metamorphosis of Baubo: myths of woman's sexual energy— 

I’m in Love with Mothman…

Well there it is.

You thumb across the glossy cartoon cover, failing to bite back a smile. Yoongi has a penchant for tossing in the most outlandish romance books he can find. Maybe because he knows you spend just as much if not more time than he does between the stacks. The suggestion box at the desk was full of cards stained with your penmanship asking for longer hours; several of which you’ve seen Yoongi rip in half as he pointedly met your gaze.

Tossing it aside, you pull forward one of the more musty books and start reading.

When you finally manage to resurface from laborious tales on several cults of Aphrodite, the rain is long gone. Even the darkest corners of the old building seem to glow gold in the evening sunset filtering through the glass doors. They're the only thing standing between you and freedom in the form curling up on your couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of your favorite reality dating show. But first, Yoongi needs his books back. 

His desk chair is abandoned and the return cart is gone as well which means he could be anywhere in the building. Disappointment leaches into your spine at the fact you won’t be able to witness his reaction to the twelfth book in your pile; the one you spent an extra fifteen minutes looking for in the corner of the third floor. 

A thick piece of library paper lists the materials you’ll need for the next day lays atop the neon green cover of Pest Management Solutions: How to Manage Your Moth Problem. They decorate the corner of the desk until Yoongi returns to find them. Hopefully he appreciates your humor.

Yoongi isn’t at his desk the next morning when you come in either. Instead, a doe eyed man with a lip piercing occupies the chair, clearly playing some game on his laptop. 

Approaching the counter, you begin to ask, “Where’s Yoon–”

“Staff meeting,” he interjects like he’s already answered the question a million times despite the library opening only five minutes ago. The white of his teeth threaten to blind you. “But I can help you!”

His name tag isn’t the same engraved golden metal Yoongi’s is, it’s a plastic sleeve with a paper insert with barely legible handwriting you decipher as  “Jungkook” and below “Volunteer.” You’ve seen him before from a distance. Usually trudging through the shelves with the book return cart in tow, occasionally taking a quick read inside before putting them in their rightful place. 

“I need to pick up some books. I gave Yoongi the list yesterday.”

“Sure.” Jungkook jumps up, approaching the shelf lined with piles for other patrons. “What’s your last name?”

He combs through the list after you answer, finding your stack easily enough. 

“Alright so Yoongi left a note that the encyclopedias you wanted are on the usual desk you have upstairs. But other than that I’ve got: Historical Studies of Changing Fertility, Sacred Mushroom and The Cross, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in The Ancient Mediterranean…” Jungkook lists off the titles, checking to make sure they're all in order. “And, um, this one isn’t on the list.”

It must be Yoongi’s choice for the day.

“What is it?”

Jungkook looks like he’s trying to hide his own amusement as he slides it over for you to read.

If I Were a Bird, You'd be The First Person I'd Shit On.

“Huh,” you blush. “Wonder how that got in there.”

“He must have left it by mistake. I can put it ba–”

“No, I’ll take it.” You toss it on top of the other, less embarrassing books in your stack and gather it into your arms before Jungkook can get in another word. “Thanks for your help!”

Scurrying towards the hallway housing the elevators, you attempt to juggle the pile of books, your stuffed bag, and coffee without taking a spill. It’s one thing to have your silent battle with Yoongi, but having someone else witness it makes you feel downright silly. And for the first one witnessed by others to be such an absurd and downright passive aggressive selection sends embarrassment through your veins.

As promised, three encyclopedias sit neatly on your desk; the volumes so thick they protrude from the table top like a small mountain. No wonder he left them there instead of making you carry them up in individual trips. But Yoongi’s goodwill clearly ended there. A sticky note on top of the stack pens his discontent at your selection.

I had to spend 3 hours in the basement to find these. If you need them again, don’t.

Even though he hadn’t signed it, you know it’s from him. The tight script fits his personality; thin lines of annoyance bleeding through the ink, not just his words. A waft of musty old paper and dust breezes through your nose as you open the first copy. They must have been housed in a forgotten storage area. At least his bird book makes more sense now. 

You don’t dig into the heap until after the sun is halfway through the sky but when you do it only proves to unravel your wits. Reading on, the wrinkle in your eyebrows deepens further. Page after page of conflicting knowledge passes by, each sentence more confusing than the last; minutes negating months of research. The thick pages hardly provide a soft landing for your head as you allow it to thump forward in exasperation.

The scrap of chair legs alerts to a new presence watching your meltdown in real time.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asks.

With a heavy sigh, you respond.“I want to die.”

“Get in line.”

Shifting in your seat, you peer in his direction. A different day but the same wardrobe: dark button up, glasses, same unapproachable facade. But what Yoongi is doing sitting next to you is new.

Yoongi makes himself comfortable, picking at his nails as he waits patiently for an explanation. 

“Everything in my thesis is either wrong or the world authority on fertility in Europe is full of it.”

“Bummer.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.” You snap.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Boredom seeps across his face but he doesn’t move to leave, just sinks deeper into the chair. “You’ve read almost half the collection since you started coming here, why are some old dusty books such a big deal?”

“Because all of those books cite these books which means those books are wrong and all my work is in the toilet.”

“Those books are from the seventies, the information is probably out of date.”

Slamming the copy serving as a pillow shut, you take a second glance at the title: Encyclopedia of Women and World Religion, Volume 7.

“Yoongi,” you sing.

Yoongi’s gaze flashes to yours, a trickle of confusion flashing across his eyes.“What?”

You stack up the books and push them across the desk with some effort. Just to savor the satisfaction of besting Yoongi, you indulge a long sip of now cold coffee before speaking again. No one else is around to witness your victory but that won’t dampen the high.

“Looks like you’ll be back in the basement because you brought me the wrong editions.”

He opens his mouth to argue, snatching one of the books to investigate but you beat him to the punch.

“I asked for the twenty-fifth edition, not the seventh.” You smirk. “I think you're losing your touch.”

He watches you over the rim of the cover. A fleeting glance in your direction but it makes your heart squeeze with need.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” Yoongi sighs, standing. “Do you still need them for anything or can I go ahead and take them?”

With your approval, he heaves the heavy tombs on to his cart. The strain of his forearms, bare from rolled up sleeves, catches your attention. Veins raised under creamy skin, lean muscles leading down to hands you’ve noticed since the first day you started visiting the library.

If you keep staring, you’re likely to start drooling. So you dive back into one of the useful books littering your desk and pretend to read until he’s disappearing down the hall.

On your way out, leaving much earlier than a typical day due to Yoongi’s mistake, you drop the remaining books off at the circulation desk. Along with a copy of Avian Hunting Techniques. He’s absent again but it doesn't matter.

You continue out the doors and down the sidewalk only to spot him leaning against the brick exterior further down the street. Even from a distance you can make out the natural scowl he’s constantly sporting. Except this time his lips pout around a cigarette. 

Of course he smokes.

The quasi-mysterious librarian who flirts with you through book titles, smokes cigarettes and looks hot doing it. 

“You know those things will kill you, right?” 

“That’s what the box says but they aren’t holding up their end of the deal,” Yoongi responds, flicking the ash before looking at his watch. “Wow, out before six. I’ll alert the press.”

“Well, if someone gave me the right books then maybe I’d stay longer. But I’m not about to wait around while you get the ones I need.”

Yoongi takes another drag of his cigarette before responding, “Are you trying to say I forced you to take a break?”

The realization dawns on you. Yoongi is the senior research librarian. He’s never given you the wrong books, even when you request the rare copies needed to be loaned from a different part of the country. The few times you’ve offered understanding if he couldn’t get them were met with a challenge in his gaze and smug satisfaction when handing them over a week later.

“You brought me the wrong copies on purpose!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s lying. You know it. Yoongi definitely knows you know by the way he smirks. But he’s already crushing the filter under his shoe and moving back towards the library by the time your brain catches up to your mouth.  “Have a good night, Y/N.”

With a scoff of indignation, you stalk towards your car.

The next morning, you march straight through the class doors to where Yoongi sits, fueled by snowballed annoyance from the previous day. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is an understatement. If there are any gods, Yoongi should pick one and pray.

Your free afternoon of yesterday was spent dealing with the chaos your apartment has become over the past few weeks. Unfolded laundry, stacks of random papers, out of place books, and errant dust bunnies all became new victims to energy usually reserved for a full day of research. Taehyung practically shit himself when he woke up before dinner and found you scrubbing the bathroom sink.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hand to his chest like a flustered old woman.

Bleach curled in your nostrils. “I live here.” 

“Not between the hours of eight and seven.”

But after the mess was dealt with, aggravation set in. How dare Yoongi purposefully meddle in your work. Well meaning or not you were an adult and could decide when enough was enough. The purposeful mishap hadn’t set you back far, one afternoon but a drop in the bucket in comparison to the months you’ve already spent chasing new leads. But the principle of the matter is that it’s none of his business what you do and when you do it.

Yoongi slides a slimmer stack over when you stop in front of him.

“Encyclopedias are on your desk,” he announces through a sip of coffee. He continues to type away, feigning disinterest as you sort through your stack with measured annoyance.

“Are they the right copies this time?”

“Double checked them myself.”

You open your mouth to verbalize your doubts but Yoongi’s pick of the day catches your eye.

Surviving Your Stupid Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School.

Scoffing, you flip the book around and shoot daggers into his face with your eyes. “Do you think you’re funny?”

The corner of his mouth twitches then becomes a full blown smile. Leaning over the desk, he drops his voice, “I think I’m hilarious.”

Remembering you are, in fact, in a library, you manage to muffle a frustrated groan. You dump the supplementary reading back on the counter for Yoongi to deal with and head upstairs. 

Unlike the usual days where you put off finding a response to Yoongi’s extra copy until the waning hours of the afternoon, you drop your bags and head straight for the shelves. The fifth floor houses a collection of textbooks and other reference material. It’s why it's always deserted unless some poor fool stumbles on it by accident; the perfect place to work uninterrupted for hours.

You head down stairs, circling the fourth and then third floor like a shark in a feeding frenzy. A few covers spark interest but nothing captures what bubbles in your veins: annoyance, anger, confusion. A brief flutter of interest as to why Yoongi decided to mess with you but those feelings are more dangerous than the acidic ones.

Row after proves unfruitful in your quest for passive aggressive revenge. None have the same bite as his book, or seem to curb the homicidal thoughts raging in your head.

Until a little white book peeps back at you from the end of the aisle.

Yoongi jumps when you slam Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass in front of him. A feat in and of itself to sneak up on him given the loan desk has a perfect view of the entire first floor but whatever he’d been clicking away at on the computer was distraction enough.

“What's this?”

“Thought you might like some new reading.” You flash your teeth.

His chin jerks towards the glossy cover. “I already gave this two stars on Goodreads.”

Of course he has.

Face prickling in embarrassment, you turn back the way you came without a word.

Hours later, when half the day has ticked by and the ache for more caffeine burns your eyes, Yoongi stops by your desk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try and gain the attention you pointedly withhold. He sets a paper coffee cup on the corner of the tabletop and leaves.

You snatch up the cup after he rounds the corner out of sight. The lack of sugar leaves much to be desired but free coffee is free coffee, especially to a PhD student with limited means. 

It isn’t much of an apology but guilt blooms down your spine anyway. He meant well. You aren’t known for giving yourself breaks; unable to quit while you’re ahead. A voluntary day off is less likely than winning the lottery. You’re a busy body and the constant work keeps you from dissolving into chaos.

You don’t see Yoongi again until every book at your desk is exhausted, begging for a break from your manhandling. Double and triple checking notes and citations are the poor excuse you implement to delay the inevitable. At some point you’ll have to go downstairs to face the music. 

He’s waiting like always, scanning the mountain of returns littering the counter from a long day. Each step closer withers something in your stomach. 

The copies in your hand shift onto the wooden surface, joining the stack for him to work through. Yoongi flashes a polite grimace when you catch his eye before immediately diving back into his work. Hopefully he understands why you chose Thank You for Smoking. And why you covered the second half of the title with a sticky note.

Jungkook’s smiling face greets you bright and early. His name tag has been upgraded from flimsy paper to a plastic one and a printed label with his name. 

Handing over your library card, he quickly scans it and grabs the books meant for today’s dissection. 

“Yoongi wanted me to tell you that if you want more coffee while you’re working, you can go to the staff lounge on the second floor.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook continues sifting through your requests, making sure each is correct.  “Between you and me, the coffee down the street is better. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a coffee snob and thinks his shit—sorry—stuff is the best.”

“Okay,” you say, grabbing your pile. “Thanks.”

You set up your station like always, sorting through each book and devising a mental to do list. The desk resembles a feast but instead of food it’s encyclopedias, printed articles, and dusty manuscripts Yoongi wrangled from who knows where. On the outer board of your work station rests the feature of the day: How to Beg for Cigarettes.

A few hours pass between the pages. Your previous research is confirmed by the significantly less dusty encyclopedias this time, corroborating the basis of your thesis. A new work you haven’t seen is cited in the back, piquing your interest for more evidence. 

Instead of bothering one of the staff, you use the library website and find it in their catalog. It’s somewhere on the second floor where Yoongi offers free coffee. Two birds, one stone; a new book and a new cup of coffee.

The layout resembles all the other floors. A collection of study tables in the center crowded by bookshelves on all sides. One person, an undergrad by the look of pure dread on their features, occupies a table but that's it. Glancing at the note with the call number, you start towards the stacks on the left.

You find the correct area, eyes scanning up and down the different shelves to no avail. Hundreds of books, different sizes in an array of colors, flash by but none are the one you need. You’re about to call it quits when you spot it on the top shelf, just out of reach.

Call it a moment of stupidity, a brief blight of recklessness, but the book sits only a few inches beyond your fingers. You look around to make sure no one is around to witness the brilliantly flawed idea crest in your brain. With the coast clear, you hoist yourself up the shelf.

A deadpan voice nearly makes you fall.

“Looking for something?” 

Yoongi stands a few feet away, head cocked to the side. Of course he’d find you in such a ridiculous position. Even through the blur of your peripheral vision, the harsh lines of his usual uniform clashes against the back drop of books. Dark jeans fitted over his thighs, dark button down rolled up his arms, and a pair of glasses that make him look hot. But you’re in no position to dwell when the risk of falling on your ass is so high.

“Nope, just getting in some exercise” you grunt, moving your foot to the shallow hold of the next shelf.

Yoongi moseys up behind you before continuing. “And climbing a decades old bookshelf is how you stretch your legs?”

“You smoke cigarettes, I climb old furniture. We all have our vices.”

Your foot slips from its perch, making you squeak before catching your balance. 

“Alright spider-monkey, that's enough.” His hands slide across your hip, fingers curved around the softest part of your waist as he helps you down. 

Distracted by the weight of him still on your hip, the heat of his chest a scorching across your back, you don’t even think to disparage him for the cheap Twilight reference. The few inches Yoongi has on you allows him to reach overhead to snag the copy you need with ease. But as you watch his hands close around the spine everything beyond fades to black; like the universe pinholes where you two stand.

“This one?” You feel the vibration of his words up and down your spine, warm breath tracing across the shell of your ear.

Body on autopilot, you turn to face Yoongi. His mouth moves, eyes scanning the book cover but every word deafens in a muddy haze. He doesn’t seem to realize his hand is still on your waist, or how he crowds you into the shelves; chest to chest, stomachs barely an inch apart.

“Huh?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from his mouth.

“I said, if you asked for this book earlier I could have gotten it for you.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?” he asks, stepping further into you. “You look a little flushed.”

The bastard smiles. A God’s honest smile like his thigh isn’t between your own, or he isn’t waiting for a reply while his fingers dig in beneath your ribs.

Just when you open your mouth to say something, Yoongi silences you with a firm squeeze of his hand. His head lowers until his breath ghosts along your chin. 

Then you’re kissing; lips sliding together easily like he anticipated it. The world shatters all around from just a few passes of his mouth across your own, the weight of his body flattening you against the bookshelf. 

The first hint of his tongue against the seam of your lips makes you gasp and Yoongi takes the opportunity to taste you. You melt under his attention. Head tipping back, shoulders bowing to take more, your senses flood with the remnants of coffee and something else; something so quintessential Yoongi your head spins. It lights a new flame in your veins, one burning with pure want.

A handful of his shirt pulls him closer. Yoongi follows easily but gets more than asked for when one of your hands tangles in the back of his hair, tugging until he’s tilting his chin the way you want. It’s a bad habit other dates have subtly complained about but a noise bubbles in his throat at the dig of your nails; responding with his own palm squeezing roughly across your ass until your hips meet his. 

The crash of the book near your feet is like a bucket of ice water.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Jumping back proves futile as the shelf digs further into your spine. “I–”

Puffy lips and lowered eyes stare back at you, clear evidence that you haven’t hallucinated what just happened. Yoongi dips down to kiss you again but you slither out of his grip.

Forgetting the book on the tiled floor, you mumble an apology and flee back upstairs, beelining to the vacant restroom.

To your own mortification, your features mirror Yoongi’s; lips swollen, eyes glazed. Your sweater twisted around your torso clearly betraying your rendezvous in the stacks. Beads of sweat cling to your forehead and neck.

A few splashes of cold water help clear the fog in your brain but as it dissipates embarrassment sets in. Making out with a handsome man is one thing. Making out with the librarian assisting in the most important work of your life is an entirely different ordeal; one that can only spell trouble.

Pacing back and forth, the cool paper towel on the back of your neck helps calm your racing heart enough to leave the safety of the ladies room.

Try as you might to drown under piles of books, it’s useless. You pretend to read the same passages over and over but none of the words register. The kiss replays over and over and over again. You kissed Yoongi. Yoongi kissed you back. He tried to kiss you again when you pulled away.

The end of the day inevitably comes which means you have to face him whether you want to or not. But you won’t allow a single lapse of judgment to affect your work; a moment of weakness propelled by months of abstinence that just so happened to coincide with a surly librarian’s entrance into your life. You just needed to get it out of your system. If it hadn’t been Yoongi it would have been someone else. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

A glance at your watch informs you that today is the second day you’ll leave the library early. Rather than give into the stubborn instinct to stay, you decide putting as much distance between yourself and Yoongi is far better for your mental health. With squared shoulders and a raised chin, you head downstairs. 

Yoongi’s waiting behind the counter. He isn’t typing on his computer or scanning books. He watches every step you take, arms crossed in front as he leans forward like he’s eager for a confrontation. 

“Yoongi,” you say.

“Y/N.”

You use every fiber of will to maintain eye contact as you pass your stack over the counter. “I’ll need these same ones tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He nods. “And the kiss?”

“What kiss?” you croak.

Yoongi’s eyes blaze like you’re a new puzzle to be solved, like he wants to take you apart and find exactly what makes you tick. You feel naked. “The one where you—”

“Must have been someone else. Sorry. Have a good night!” You rush for the door before he can say another word.

Another morning is another day in the library, but this time your roommate begs to tag along. 

“Look, I’m not getting anything done on my thesis so maybe you’ll rub off on me,” Taehyung says.

Rolling your eyes, you step through the door he holds open. “I think you’ve had plenty of people rub off on you.”

Gasping with fake indignation, he catches up easily. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Yes.”

“Good, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Is that him?”

Yoongi and Jungkook are talking behind the counter. Jungkook’s hands wave wildly as he recounts whatever information to his boss while Yoongi listens with fake interest. Or that's what someone else might think. The subtle signs he cares are hidden in the details; the miniscule lift of shoulders, a cock of his head, and when Jungkook pouts in a way too ridiculous for a man his size, Yoongi hides a smile in the shake of his head.

“Yes.”

“And I’m the slut?” Taehyung scowls as you pinch his shoulder. “What? He’s a nerd’s walking wet dream.” 

“And he can hear you, so shut up.”

“Morning!” Jungkook calls on his way past with a cart full of books. 

He grins like he knows exactly what happened on the second floor yesterday but that can’t be true. Yoongi doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell. Only the type to kiss and tease you relentlessly for it when no one else is around to hear.

Taehyung’s attention immediately locks on him. You love your roommate, always have and, unfortunately, always will; but he is a slut and Jungkook is definitely his type. However, he’s on your turf and knows better than to fuck where you have to eat for the next few months. 

“Y/N, Y/N’s friend,” Yoongi says when you approach his desk. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Right,” Yoongi drawls, blinking lazily before sliding your books over and turning around to sort something on the opposite counter.

Taehyung, ever the gentleman, grabs the pile for you and follows upstairs. 

“Well he seems like a cup of sunshine,” Taehyung whispers. 

“Just because he isn’t fawning over you doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“I’m very fawn-able, ask anyone,” your roommate argues as you approach the fifth floor. “Wait, what's this… How to Defeat Your Own Clone and Other Tips for Surviving the Biotech Revolution. This is the type of shit he’s giving you? You’re easier than I am.”

“Give me that.” You snatch the paperback out of his grip. “Stop being nosy.”

Taehyung lets you work in peace after that, disappearing to gather more of his own materials. Even in undergrad he’d never been one to sit still for long. But he still managed to get a spot doing an engineering thesis despite the constant changes in his attention.

After several hours of mind numbing typing you need a break, and another cup of coffee on someone else’s dime sounds perfect.

“I’m getting coffee.”

“Bring me some,” Taehyung says without looking up from his screen.

The staff lounge is nothing fancy. A couple small tables with plastic chairs tucked around, a cork board covered with fliers, and a white board stuck to the fridge scrawled upon with black dry erase marker. The coffee pot sits full in the machine, still hot to the touch. 

You pour two cups. Taehyung’s gets loaded with creamer cups until it’s closer to white than black while yours is sweetened to sickening perfection. When you try to take a sip, the liquid immediately burns your tongue. Too hot coffee is better than cold coffee but an ice cube would help make it more palatable.

Moving back to the fridge, you go to open the freeze but stop when the white board catches your attention again.

Most notes are chores or friendly reminders about time cards but almost half the board is dedicated to a back and forth.

‘Unofficial Employee of the Month: Jungkook’ 

A note in Yoongi’s tight script: ‘You don’t work here.’

‘That’s why it's unofficial!’ in what must be Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

‘You’re my official employee of the month. - Namjoon’

At the bottom is a crude drawing of stick figures, two tall smiling ones holding hands under a rainbow labeled ‘JK’ and ‘Joon’ and a comically shorter one with evil eyebrows surrounded by storm clouds and ‘yoongi :(’ overhead.

“Snooping for secrets?”

“Jesus Christ,” you jump, turning to face Yoongi. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

“You’re in the staff lounge, there’s gonna be staff here.” Yoongi crosses to the coffee pot on the counter and pours himself a cup. He doesn’t add cream or sugar or anything else to lessen the bitterness. Cliche. “So, was bringing your boyfriend here your subtle way of letting me down?”

“You think Taehyung is my boyfriend?” You whirl around in shock. Yoongi raises a brow, prompting you to continue. “Jungkook is more his type than I am.”

Yoongi releases a pleased hum, eyes shining. “So no boyfriend then?”

“Nope.”

You’re shaking but don’t look away from his hungry gaze. Yoongi takes a step closer, and another and one more until you're pinned to the countertop and his mouth is on yours. 

This time, you're more aware of everything. The smell of his cologne, the tickle of his bangs along your forehead, all the tiny details that were muffled before. Yoongi’s lips are firm against your own, a little chapped but it only makes you hotter with each pass.

His mouth is everywhere; your chin, your jaw, peppering down your throat until he pushes aside the hem of your shirt and sets to work on the jut of your collarbone like he’ll never get a chance again. 

“Yoongi,” you hum on the first rake of teeth. 

He takes it as an invitation to dig in harder, sucking the skin until your spine threatens to break and you say his name again. Desperate for some kind of anchor, you knot your fingers back in his hair and pull. 

A throaty noise responds and the need to hear more rears its head. Yoongi who always watches with measured fascination undone by some light petting. The power is addictive. 

Legs spread, he presses in flat. The heat of his cock, rigid beneath the fabric of his jeans, teases across the seam of your own. You're technically still in public but the consequences concern you less than the knowledge that you’ll go mad if you don’t feel him. His arms circle your back, pulling you firmer against him, right to the edge of the linoleum counter.

Wedging a hand between your bodies, you manage to get his zipper undone while your tongue traces along his jaw. Yoongi angles his hips to help, curling into your palm when you cup him over the fabric of his boxers. Every press has him swelling harder. 

His hands reach under your shirt. Skin on skin, the rough calluses of his fingers trace your ribs, thumbs following the cup of your bra in a tease. It’s a simple touch but your own hands falter when he brushes a nipple. You melt into each other.

“Hey, Yoongi, do you know where—HOLY SHIT!”

Jungkook stops at the door, eyes wide, mouth wider. 

“Get out!” Yoongi barks. He’s trying his best to keep your body covered from the younger man’s view but even if Jungkook isn’t getting a full frontal he isn’t dumb enough not to realize what’s going on.

Yoongi shudders a few breaths. Head hung low, he tucks himself back into his pants without moving away. You’re already slipping down from your perch when he looks back up.

“I’m just gonna…go,” you mumble, scurrying out the door.

Jungkook waits outside, eyes still bugging out of his head but at least has the decency to pretend he didn’t catch you in the act.

Tugging your shirt down, you avoid his gaze. How far would you have let Yoongi go if Jungkook hadn’t interrupted? 

“Coffee?” Taehyung asks as you approach the table.

You know what you look like without a mirror. The same as yesterday with glassy eyes and bruised lips, clothes wrinkled. Thankfully, Taehyung is more interested in his modeling software than where you’ve been. 

“They were out.” 

With a sigh like he is personally victimized by the lack of caffeine, Taehyung collapses on the table and plays dead. But he perks up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind you.

“You left this in the break room,” Yoongi says, dropping a cup of coffee by your side before disappearing. 

You turn to follow his retreating for until he’s hidden back between the shelves. The back of his hair is still messy despite his attempt to fix it, same with the wrinkles in his shirt from your hands.

“I thought they were out?” Taehyung eyes you suspiciously when you look back at him.

Cradling the still hot cup in your hands, you avoid his gaze. “Shut up.”

“So you do have to sleep with someone to get a cup of coffee.” 

“I’m not sleeping with him,” you spit in a harsh whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

Because what exactly? There isn’t a good reason other than the fact Jungkook was the king of cockblocks. You would have let Yoongi do just about anything he wanted and he seemed to be in agreement. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

“You are so smart and so incredibly stupid.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, rising to pack his things. “I need to pee.”

You point him in the direction of the bathrooms and get back to work.

When Taehyung returns minutes later he starts shoving his things in his bag. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“This is like the epicenter of hot smart men and I refuse to suffer any longer.”

“You got Jungkook’s number,” you deadpan.

Taehyung can’t hide his own shit eating grin. “Yoongi gave it to me.”

“If you’re leaving, so am I.”

“Why?” your roommate whines. 

“Because I got you a hot date and that means you owe me dinner.”

“Technically it was Yoongi but I’ll concede.” Taehyung heaves his bag up. “Come now my dearest, we can still get happy hour if we hurry.” 

You reach in your own bag and toss him your keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ve gotta go grab another book real quick.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung says, mumbling something like ‘nerds’ under his breath as he heads downstairs.

You find Yoongi while on your way to his desk, already toting around the cart piled high with returns from the day. Several of the covers are Taehyung’s picks and somehow the knowledge they’ve spoken almost knocks you off kilter. Taehyung is a good wingman and that’s what worries you most.

“Hi,” he says, kneeling to put a book on a low shelf.

It shouldn’t have the effect it does but something about the way Yoongi looks up at you, on his knees, head tipped back, has your mind running wild with the image of him in the same position with both of you wearing far less clothing. Maybe if you weren’t interrupted in the staff lounge you’d have seen it in real life.

“Hi. Mind if I add these to the pile?” 

“Go ahead.”

The Stocking was Hung sits on top. You don’t wait around to see his reaction.

The temperature had steadily been increasing over the past weeks but this morning is the worst of all. That inescapable warmth fully seeded overnight and promised the comforting days of sweaters and pants are long gone.

Heat makes you lazy and fitful. In the early hours, long before you actually need to be awake, you stare up at the ceiling of your room. Not even a frigid shower helped the stickiness of your skin or laying still in your bed in nothing but one of Taehyung’s shirts and ratty shorts. It followed you everywhere until you left for the same brick building you spend more time at than at home.

Without thought, you throw on the first seasonally appropriate outfit in your closet; a thin dress that covers enough for the public but promises to keep you cool.

Yoongi seems to be taking the change in weather as well as you are. His usual attire is absent, nothing but a white shirt clinging to his torso. The pale skin of his forearms briefly catches your attention but you focus anywhere else to stop from rounding the desk and finishing what started upstairs.

You steel yourself and approach the desk, determined to act normal.

Familiar dark eyes flash up to greet you but Yoongi’s mouth doesn’t form any words. He just stares at you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulders, your neck, and then he pointedly keeps them trained on your eyes. Like he's willing to pretend yesterday didn’t happen. 

He doesn’t speak when he passes over the same pile of books as yesterday but you can feel him burn a hole in your back. Even after you climb up the stairs and out of sight, the prickling sensation you’re being watched follows.

You don’t get anything done. The words on the page might as well be another language as your mind races.

Yoongi didn’t give you an extra book today.

An endless list of potential explanations race through your mind. Maybe you’d been too forward with your choice. Maybe he’s gotten it out of his system, a quick tryst in the employee lounge enough to satiate his curiosity. Maybe because it’s the second time you’ve brushed him off. Even if it wasn’t your fault Jungkook stumbled in before anything worthwhile could happen. 

But he isn’t speaking to you and he isn’t giving you the random book you’ve come to look forward to every morning. 

Channeling the restless energy of overthinking, you take a lap around the floor. You pause to flip through random books as you zigzag through the stacks. Anything to take your mind off the unshakable tension sticking in the air like syrup.

Your laptop is in sleep mode by the time you reluctantly come back. Everything is as you left except a book you’ve never seen before sits on top of the open one you’d been reading.

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom. 

A sticky note sticks up from the inside of the cover. A bolt of excitement shoots down your spine. When you flip it open a familiar handwriting stares back: ‘on the seventh floor’.

You hadn’t been gone too long but the fear of making him wait has you rushing up the stairs. Each step brings you closer to where he waits until you’re opening the bathroom door.

“Yoongi?” 

A hand wraps around your upper arm, yanking you in. Another hand silences a surprised shout before you realize it’s Yoongi and not a murderer pinning you to the interior of the door you just came through.

“Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “It’s just not a good look for me to be up here.”

“Oh, really?” You smile. “And why is that?”

“This is my job.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you before.”

“Who says it’s stopping me now?”

He thumbs the strap of your dress, hooking under the thin material and dragging it down your arm. The heat and weight of Yoongi against you, touching you so simply, makes you vibrate. Yoongi moves into your neck, panting with a grind against your thigh. “I swear I don’t usually do this.”

You want to argue that you have two accounts that he does do this often, at least with you. But for someone who says they don’t, Yoongi is surprisingly natural. The tease prickling the end of your tongue fizzles out under his teeth across the curve of your shoulder, goosebumps blossoming along your back. 

A whimper unbecoming of an adult woman breaks the lullaby of summer air conditioner singing through the vents. You’re sweating under the cling of your dress, skin hot to the touch thanks to Yoongi’s attention; long fingers curved around your waist, thumbs skimming just under your breast.

“Could have fooled me.”

“This is a very nice dress.” His mouth bites down your neck, taking advantage of the new strips of skin the neckline unveils.

“That’s all it takes?” you pant from the wet of his tongue. “A pretty dress?”

“If you think,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m doing this because of your dress then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

The dark locks of his hair are too alluring to resist, tempting one of your own hands to scratch against the tip of his spine when Yoongi rolls against you again. A firm tug brings him to your mouth, lips molding to one another in a searing kiss. You can taste the coffee from the lounge and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, like he thought to hide it before asking you to follow him.

“How long? How long have you wanted this?”

Yoongi hooks one of your thighs higher, savoring the heat of your core against the crotch of his pants with a slow thrust. “Since you came in and busted my balls over not having that archived manuscript when the website said we did.”

You remember that day. Patience thin from Taehyung’s loud overnight guest, you stormed into the library looking to take it out on a photocopy of the manuscript only for the only copy to be AWOL. Yoongi became the surrogate for your rage, his eyes burning into your skull as questioned how he could let it happen.

The next day was when he started adding books to your stack.

“That was months ago.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

You want him naked; ache to catalog what he’s hidden underneath bulky sweaters and loose button ups over the past few months. But that idea has to wait for somewhere less risky. You settle for dipping your hand under his shirt, tracing your fingers over the elastic of his boxers peeking from the waistband of his pants.

Attempting to hide the effect he has, you loop your fingers in his belt loops and pull him even closer so your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. “There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Like The Stocking was Hung is any better?” Yoongi sighs as your mouth ghosts over the rising vein webbing the side of his throat.

“Hey!” you object, rising to face him. “I thought you’d appreciate it after that mothman book.”

“I appreciate you complimenting my dick plenty.”

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, hands palming at the swell of your ass the entire way from the door to the counter. He’s got one hand curved along your jaw, thumb hooked around your chin and his teeth bruising your lower lip. The edge of granite digs in your spine but not for long as he lifts you and settles on his knees to dive under your skirt. 

He kisses up your calf, tongue snaking across the knob of your knee then the plush of your thigh. Just when you feel a puff of breath against the damp crotch of your panties, Yoongi falls to repeat the same path against your other leg. 

You don’t suffer for long. Pooling the excess fabric around your waist, Yoongi blinks up from between your thighs. The pink of his tongue follows the edge of your panties, wetting the fabric more until it clings obscenely. 

He pushes his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, keeping the mess of gray and black hair out of his eyes before diving back down.

His tongue lathers over your covered slit with a groan. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it. On my desk, yours, against that fucking bookshelf.” Yoongi punctures each word with more wet kisses against your core. “In my car, my bed. Everywhere.”

A cool breath has your thighs squeezing around his head thanks to the erotic combination of his spit and your own fluids drenching your panties. “Is this all you think about?”

“I had to come up here and jerk off yesterday because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can indulge in the new visual blooming on the edge of consciousness. “Yoongi.”

Eyes closed, his mouth circles your clit, tongue gently stroking you to life. Every pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves has your thighs squeezing around his head. 

The first prod of fingers makes Yoongi’s hold on the crook of your knee tighten. He stretches you back open, eyes following the way you suck him inside; coating his spindly digits with more arousal each time.

“A-ah,” you shake. “Please.”

Yoongi chances a glance up at your face, the needy sheen in your eyes, the way your mouth gapes, and decides to take mercy. 

He latches back onto your clit. Yoongi groans as you tug his hair, knocking his glasses to the ground. The pace he works your remains lethargic, savoring the kick of your hips until you grind against his mouth. 

Throaty groans vibrate against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. Neither of you are doing a good job muffling yourselves but if it’s between getting caught and having him stop then you’ll deal with the consequences when they come.

“Oh, Yoongi.” Your chest pulls tight; spurred on by the sounds of Yoongi bullying your insides, his mouth smacking against your folds. “I’m— oh, oh, oh!”

The rough crook of his fingers sends you flying. Only the pressure of his shoulders keep you from slipping off the counter as you explode against his mouth. Euphoria rushes your veins, licks of pleasure overwhelming. Every muscle quivers as Yoongi works you through until you use his hair to pull him away.

He’s quick on his feet. You’re still recovering as Yoongi pushes your bra down and draws one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking until you pull his hair again. Eyes cinched tight, face wet, you force his pants open then his underwear until Yoongi is almost as exposed as you are; pretty in your palm, sticky and hot to the touch.

But it’s not enough to feel him in your hand, you need to feel him inside. To fill you up where you sit hollow and aching without his fingers to provide a sliver of relief. “Fuck me.”

Yoongi doesn’t tease, has no quip about how needy you are. He keeps his mouth on your chest and uses his hands to grab something out of his pocket. It happens so fast you don’t even realize the condom is on until he nudges between your legs.

Your nails dig into his back, breathing through the initial stretch is the only way you stay quiet. Yoongi hides himself back in your neck, strained noises clawing out of his throat.

Yoongi isn’t gentle. Not caution or waiting. Months of push and pull destroy any desire for him to treat you as something fragile. He rushes into desperately, forcing your palm flat against the mirror behind you for some semblance of stability.

“God,” he grunts. “You’re incredible.”

You whimper a quiet acknowledgement, too fucked out to blush under his praise; pulling Yoongi closer until he’s scooping his hands underneath your ass, thrusting into you over and over. His mouth finds yours. Greedy. Hungry. 

It’s Yoongi who struggles to stay quiet. Even through the kiss he moans loud enough you feel it in your throat. You listen to them all, twisting the hand knotted in his hair to hear the whine you’ve quickly become obsessed with.

“Should have done this sooner,” your back arches and Yoongi’s mouth slips back down. 

“I tried. But you kept ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t—fuck—ignoring you.” Yoongi is everywhere. His taste on your mouth, cologne burned in your nose. The feel of him all over your body. “Shit.”

He fucks you harder to prove a point, hand slipping down to rub your clit. Your second orgasm glows on the edges. If Yoongi keeps playing with you, stretching you in half on his cock and biting a mark into your breast, you know you’ll come.

You focus on breathing. Letting it come to you instead of chasing it, overthinking it to the point it evades you. It’s easier than usual. Yoongi doesn't leave room for anything else beyond feeling good. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the cord tightens. 

Everything turns white hot, pleasure tearing through your muscles and ripping them to shreds. You convulse in Yoongi’s hold, only pinned down by his hips fucking you brutally. Nerves shot, Yoongi babbles praise in your ear but it's indecipherable from the headrush.

Yoongi follows you over the edge a few strokes later, twitching inside you until he stills. His hips give a few arrhythmic bucks as he fills the condom with his load. 

There's something nastier about clothed sex. The way sweat makes your clothes cling tighter, the rush of needing each other so badly you can’t be bothered to do more than pull things to the side. 

You feel dirty but in a good way. Yoongi kisses across the apples of your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, even your brows, but never returns to your lips. Each leaves you more frustrated than the last, muscles twitching beneath and head turning at the last second to try and meet his mouth. 

Tricking you with a brief connection, he laughs when you chase his lips as he dodgers back. But a pout and whine bring him back into your orbit.

He cleans you up with paper towels, wiping away the mess between your thighs with something akin to disappointment. But he doesn’t complain as he fixes your clothes and then his own. Muscles like jelly, you fall into his side when he helps you down from the counter. 

With a kiss to your temple, “Let's get out of here.”

“Morning, Yoongi.” You smile as you walk up to his desk.

A set of dark eyes rise to greet you, taking the cup of coffee you so graciously offer before smiling as well. “Good morning.”

Jungkook gawks like he’s never seen you two speak before. Round eyes bounce between you and Yoongi as if it’s a tennis match instead of a normal conversation. Probably because Yoongi was less than subtle when he pulled you out of the building yesterday, telling him to call Namjoon if anything came up.

Or maybe because you’re wearing one of Yoongi’s shirts.

You discovered much about the mysterious librarian overnight. He’d taken you back to his apartment; a perfect extension of himself decorated with dark furniture and more books than anyone could possibly read. Yoongi owned a collection of vinyl records that rivaled his book collection, he was a great cook, and he was studying to take the entrance exam for law school. 

After you were wined and dined, Yoongi dedicated hours between your legs. On his couch, against the massive bookcase in his living room, between the sheets of his bed. 

He also had a kink for eating you out while you explained your thesis in precise detail.

You’d only been allowed to leave when Yoongi was getting ready for work, not that you'd put up much argument. 

You make a scene of sorting through the stack he slides over. It’s not that you don’t trust Yoongi. But now that you’ve had a taste, you’re addicted to his presence. But he unfortunately can’t follow you upstairs so you savor the time now. 

“One of my books is missing,” you say.

“Oh, right.”

Yoongi passes over an unfamiliar copy.

Maybe He Just Likes You

And the blue sticky note attached, with his handwriting. ‘Dinner when you're done?’

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[onelittlespiral]

Warning: Bear Attacks

As we move into the holiday season, we would like to issue our annual warning about bear attacks. With colder weather setting in, an increased number of bears will be driven indoors as they search for food, warmth, and mates. And bears are far more dangerous in confined spaces.

Take this specimen here for instance. At first glance, he seems like a kind, friendly, fuzzy man who would keep you warm through a cold winter night. Maybe not the most happening upstairs, but he means well. Would you believe that just this summer he looked more like this?

Young and cute, but certainly not the hairy beast we have seen him turn into this season. If you are going out this winter, be aware, and be alert for the warning signs and know what to do if a bear sets its sights on you. First, how do you identify a bear? There are a few common varieties, each with their own quirks:

You have the very standard Grizzly bear, warm and cuddly. Pronounced dad bod. Notice the expression, the signature bear smirk. This will be one of the earliest signs that a bear is on the hunt.

Of course you also have the muscle bears. Their signature muscles will be coated in a thick layer of fur, accentuating their size. Hair will peak out from beneath heavy biceps, and their tank tops give no doubt to the forest underneath. They will often infiltrate and train you up before attacking. They like their marks ready, bro.

Even the smaller, younger cubs present a danger this time of year. They may seem helpless, but let us assure you they are far more knowledgeable than they seem. They can cause some of the most drastic changes in age, hair, and temperament. Countless men soon find themselves caring for their cubs, foraging for them, and assuming responsibility as they age into papa bears for their sweet little cubs.

Now bears will all hunt in their own ways, but there are patterns to their behavior. First, bears tend to congregate together. If you notice one, be on alert for others. Second, beware of beer and whiskey drinks offered to you. These are the trademark drinks of several bear species. Third, monitor the air in a room. That many big, burly men will tend to warm a place up and start to sweat, and bear musk is among their most potent tools to pacify targets. And in greater numbers these effects can be amplified. Their fur traps the musk close to their skin, so the closer they get the more enraptured you will become. If you are subjected to a direct hit from, say, a bear’s pit, it may already to be too late.

In case you find yourself taken back to a bear’s den, all is not lost yet, but far more drastic measures may need to be taken. Continued exposure to them will accelerate any changes, so you must be quick and decisive. First, avoid any food they may offer you, no matter how starved you may suddenly feel yourself becoming. Feeding the insatiable new hunger will only awaken the bear that is growing inside of you. Second, avoid direct contact with their fur. They may appear warm and inviting, and their cuddles are indeed among the coziest in the world. But skin-to-fur contact encourages hair growth as your body grows a pelt of its own. Third, avoid getting under the covers with them. Their body heat will quickly begin to melt your wits and your body will begin sweating, creating a musk of its own to compliment. Take this young man for example:

He barely made it out from a cuddle session with a bear, but some drastic changes have already occurred. His 6 pack abs have begun their journey to a muscle gut. He can hardly go a day without shaving or a full beard will quickly cover his face. And the musk he now produces keeps him far hornier than he ever was before. The effect seems to be limited to just himself, for now. Can you believe he is only 21? Hasn’t been carded in months. He had to drop from his football team, no longer in the right shape for it. He now is much more suited to rugby. And he is one of the lucky ones. This one was not so lucky:

These two photos were taken mere days apart. He was, sadly, subjected to the final transformation: becoming a bear himself. After being taken to a den, accepting some greasy snacks, and cuddled into submission, this poor man was selected to be a bear’s mate. He was laid on his back, had his clothes removed, and the bear started massaging his legs and thighs. He ran his thick fingers over his hole and slowly worked his way inside to stretch him out for what was to come. It wasn’t long before his bear dick was pressed against him, and he felt the thick, veiny cock begin to slowly pump into his cavity. Once bears get started, it is nearly impossible to get them to stop. His thighs slapped against his target’s ass as his wild bush pressed against his hole. When a bear decides to breed, it is hot, steamy, and rough. Moans tend to erupt from victims as their body betrays them, fur pushing out from every follicle, minds consumed by thoughts of sex, food, and men. Their dicks tend to stretch to match that of their mate’s, growing thick as a beer can, and so sensitive. Any memories that conflict with the bear they are becoming are churned by a new, heavy sack. Testicles will swell to the size of golf balls under the effort. Their old lives leak out of their cocks as they are edged, molding beneath their captor until the bear is happy with their target. And then, the bear will come, pumping load after load deep into their new mate. The target’s belly bloats to contain it all, creating the signature bear gut that juts out over their new bodies. The effort will push any last memories out as their cock erupts. Both bears will quickly be exhausted, falling asleep in a sticky, smelly, sweaty heap. And then it’s over. We have yet to discover a way to revert any victims. Not that they would want to. They become enraptured with their new bodies, and begin to hunt on their own for new mates. It is said a bear has an insatiable appetite, and will change as many men as they can get their hands on in a winter season until they find the perfect mate for hibernation.

It is advised that men stay aware, stay alert, and stay away. Report any bear sightings immediately. And stay tuned for any further information.

[4imhry]

tutor-in-disguise/fuckboy!sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis: his fuckboy reputation made your crush on him slightly lessen until recently, he was hired to tutor you without you knowing. you could never be more fucked up at the fact the fuck boy next door was hired to tutor you. big brain came up with a godlike features and a prince charming like charms? absolutely enough to get your knees buckle.

you woke up with beads of sweat forming on your forehead. you were hyperventilating at the fact you just had a wet dream and the boy next door you low-key had a crush on is in it.

a pool of wetness appear on your shorts causing you to let out a grunt. yes. you were still horny. the image of sunghoon being on top of you, railing you inhumanly got you slipping your hand inside of your shorts.

nonetheless, half way nearing to your orgasm, you got reminded again that was your neighbour you were fingering yourself to. it made you slipped your fingers out of your dripping cunt.

“fuck.” you cussed frustratedly.

you cringed at the thought of sunghoon kissing you. it unbelievably felt real. that was very odd you thought. the fact he looked insanely attractive in the dream made you shut your eyes in realisation you don’t want to find yourself falling for the fuck boy next door.

your head were still preoccupied with the dream of sunghoon railing you–practically drilling you until you rolled your eyes in pleasure. you then thought if this was the consequences of watching your neighbour watering the plants in a compressed sleeveless T-shirt.

you couldn’t blame your hormones for acting up too quickly just by the seeing of an attractive young man. for instance, it happened to be a young man named park sunghoon. he was attractive. very attractive.

not that you wish he would actually fuck you but both you barely talked to each other or whatsoever despite going to the same school or living literally next to each other.

“y/n?” the sound of faint knocking sounds could be heard.

“yes, mom?” you scurried on your feet and swung the door open.

“will you dressed up properly because we got something to discuss about with a person I hired to tutor you.” before you get to open your mouth in protest, she peeked a bit to see what the latter was up to downstairs.

“the boy is downstairs. he’s very charming.” your mother smiled in glee. “I,m sure you would have liked him–”

“you hired someone without asking me?” you ignored your mother’s comments about the unknown person. “background check is important, mom.”

“because I wanted to surprise you, my dear. I noticed you have been keeping an eye on him.” your mother nudged you on the elbow with a teasing smile yet expression remained stoic. she noticed you have been keeping an eye on him?

who is “him” in question?

she slung an arm around your shoulder and her other hand waving around, drawing a nonexistent vision board in the air. “don’t worry. I have met his parents and throughly did a background check on him.”

your jaw dropped onto the floor the moment your eyes fell on the familiar figure sitting at the living room with all smiles on his face, talking to your dad. his hair was neatly styled and the scent of his cologne slowly infiltrating your senses as you approached him.

your dad excused himself as soon as you sat at a couch near sunghoon, leaving only the two of you. “hey.” he began.

his voice knocked you out of your thoughts. “hey.”

“we should get along since we’re mostly going to spend a lot of time together.” he reached his hand out and you unknowingly, found yourself staring at him, too dazed by his unbelievably unreal looking features.

moreover by the fact you dreamt of him before meeting him right now was creeping you out.

he lifted an eyebrow, glancing at his stretched out hand briefly before looking back at you. “oh.” you cleared your throat and grasped his hand, lightly shaking it. “yeah we should.”

a subtle smile can be seen on his lips. you found you heart pounding at the small gesture. you can’t let sunghoon affected you just like he did to others.

“so, are we starting tomorrow?”

“yup. 2 hours session every monday until wednesday.” he pressed his lips into a thin line and opened his mouth again. “do you prefer afternoon session or night session?”

“whatever works best for you, sir–”

“I believe we’re the same age and I should be the one asking you that.” he tilted his head to the side a bit, a single strand of his hair fell on his forehead.

your lips parted for a sec before continuing. “alright. um, night session. my brain works best at night.” your eyes not being able to me his which looking intensely at you at the moment. “i found myself not being able to process information properly if I study during afternoon. I easily got sleepy.”

“very well then. night session it is.” you can feel his gaze raking all over your face, not in a weird way of course nonetheless the boy was trying to take in how endearing you seem in his eyes.

he saw you at school before from afar but he haven’t had the chance to see you up close, not at this distance to see how pretty and innocent looking you looked.

the boy able to sense the discomfort feeling you were feeling. “are you alright with me tutoring you? did you agree with the whole thing in the first place before I come here?”

you eyes averted to your mother coming from behind him, with a tray of tea cups in her hand as she settled them down on the table. yes.” you said unhesitatingly, averting your attention to your mother.

he knew the answer weren’t a genuine one.

🐧

“HE IS GOING TO TUTOR YOU?” yunjin shrieked, receiving a few judging stares from people passing by the two of you.

you mumbled a thank you to the seller before linking arms with yunjin, immediately dragging her to an empty table. “lower down your voice.” you sternly replied.

she muttered a small sorry before properly clasping her hands on the table with a demanding expression on her face which reads spill-all-the-goddamn-tea. “i had no idea she would hired him out of all those potential tutors in this state.” you rolled your eyes.

“hey, you should be happy about this. you basically got the chance to got him wrapped around your fingers and woo over you.” she sarcastically cocked her head to the side, her blonde hair swaying a little.

“why should i when there’s a rumour lingering around he fucked like 4 girls a week just to get off?”

“okay but still.” she lifted an eyebrow as she took a bite of her sandwich. “guys with experience are so good in bed.”

she sighed when you remained a stoic expression. “what happened to your undying crush for him? you liked him a few years ago.”

“but that was a few years ago.” you grunted and buried your face in your palm. “the rumour ruined my impression on him. i thought he was a goody two shoes with no drama.”

“but that’s what makes him more interesting.” you looked at yunjin with widen eyes who was staring at you with determination on her face, encouraging you to keep liking sunghoon.

“nah not for me i,m good.” yunjin’s smile fell.

“you’re saying it as if you’re gonna move on from him that easily. sunghoon’s charm has a chokehold on you for 4 years, y/n.” you pouted at your best friend’s comment because apparently what she said is true.

it won’t be easy because it’s park sunghoon we’re talking about. “being near him often would ignite your feeling for him again.” she smiled, taking the last bite of her sandwich before caressing your other hand.

what yunjin said was presumably to be true. seeing him again up close with a considerably close distance for you–his strong charismatic and expensive aura radiating from him allures you in, as if chanting a mantra your head, telling you to forget about your move on attempt.

“how’s your day, y/n?” hearing your name rolled of his tongue made you tense up in your seat. “i want to hear about your day.”

“good i guess. nothing interesting happened today.” you uttered flatly. “how about you?”

“same goes for me. but I could say jake, a friend of mine failed to woo the girl he likes. it’s so funny.” he chuckled, reminiscing how flustered his friend looked when the girl lacked of reaction the moment the Australian asked her out.

“I think that’s one of the interesting thing that happens today..” he trailed off, his eyes fell on you who already looking at him. those doe eyes of yours. they’re really something isn’t it?

“so,” he cleared at his throat and glanced at you momentarily before took one of his books and placed it at the table, “which topic you’re struggling with? you may ask as many questions as you want.” sunghoon leaned back, his eyes raking all over your face.

you flipped over the page of your textbook to the topic you’re struggling with. he nodded and without wasting anytime, as if he switched into a different person, he got into a teaching mode. sunghoon’s voice becoming more precise and stern as he explained about the topic.

however, the boy was aware to not sound too intimidating because he wants you to be comfortable around him. “so, do you understand everything so far? am I taking things too fast?” you shake your head and he smiled in relief.

“good girl.” he didn’t fail to notice the slight smile on your lips when he praised you. he picked up his chair and decided to sit next to you. you kept wondering if he was doing this on purpose because his hand often brushed against yours whenever you pointed you struggle at a certain question.

“how bout this one? it’s different from the questions I did earlier.”

“it’s pretty easy actually.” he smiled and proceeded to take one of his pencils, leaned slightly closer to you and explain the precise calculation of the question. firstly, you knew you failed at being attentive and most importantly, failed at an attempt to move on from sunghoon.

his god like features was insane from up close. the way one strand of his hair fell on his forehead just make his features look more..alluring? your breath hitched when he suddenly turned towards your direction, your lips were inches from his.

“do you get it now?”

“y-yeah.” no. you didn’t understand a thing other than staring at him for a good minute.

…

“this part is going to be a little difficult because you gonna need to memorise–” his eyes averted from the textbook to you who had fallen asleep, your cheek slightly squished which was perched on your palm.

you were adorable. the sight before him unexpectedly made him folded. hard. light snores coming out of your pretty lips just made his heart pounded faster.

“it’s been 1 hour. you deserve a break.” he whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear to get a better look of your face. a small smile made its way to his lips.

you let out a whine, switching your position to burying your face in your palms. he chuckled at the sound you just let out. the simplest gesture you made was enough to pull his heart strings.

he had never felt this way before. he surely did fucked around a lot however he was never the one to catch feelings. nonetheless, you were different. he gradually founded himself grew more fond of you the longer he laid his eyes on you.

sunghoon had this feeling you’re a fragile and an innocent glass which should be protected from all the harm in the world however at the same time, wouldn’t it be nice to have you arching your back for him, hearing your sweet voice screaming for his name.

he ran his slender fingers through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh as he observed your sleeping state. what has gotten into him?

…

sunghoon joined your family to eat dinner since you parents keep insisting him to do so. the boy had no choice but obliged; watching how your parents seem so happy and welcomed to have him here.

you knew it was wrong to still fantasies about your hot neighbour even when he’s sitting beside you. the way his biceps flexed when he picked up a dish or picked up a glass of juice was enough to make your underwear pooling with arousal.

you barely eat, not when he grazed his long fingers on your exposed thighs. you wondered if that unintentional but it was clearly not when he let his large hands rested on your thigh for more than 10 seconds.

you drew in a sharp breath the moment he squeeze your thigh, earning both of your parent’s attention.

“this spaghetti is a little spicy than usual.” you forced a smile and fortunately, your parents agreed and threw a few remarks here and there.

“yeah. did the restaurant change the chef?” your mother wondered.

“whatever. it makes this spaghetti tastes better.” your dad beamed.

you silently let out an exhale as you took a glance at sunghoon, mouthing “what.are.you.doing?”. your eyes then briefly fell on his huge arm which was still resting on your thigh. “get your hands off me.”

sunghoon smirked at your reaction, finding it endearing. “feisty.” he mouthed before taking the last bite of his spaghetti. you rolled your eyes, harshly smack his arm, causing him to wince as he rub it and his lips broke into a small smile later.

the interaction between the both of you were noticed by your parents, noting it as a friendly exchange.

his hand then slowly crawled up to your inner tight, a subtle smirk formed on his lips when he realised you’re wearing a skirt. good choice.

he softly caress your inner tight, then play with the hem of your panties which barely cover your core. your breath hitched when his long fingers pushed your panties aside, giving him access to rub your clit.

You whimpered softly, however the sound was drained out due to your parents immersive talking about their company. Your chest heaving up and down, your hand tightly gripped onto his thigh as he played with your wet folds and circling your clit sensually.

faint wet and squelch sounds can only be heard by the two of you. “h-hoon..” you whimpered as he began slipping his two fingers inside of you. he bit his lip due to how hot you looked–lips parted, your chest heaving heavily, your core dripping with arousal.

he wanted to take you on right then and there.

“fuck.” he murmured. you shut your eyes in pleasure as your head lowered, not wanting your parents to see the state you were in however sunghoon occasionally flashing smiles at you parents as if nothing happened. his hands surely work wonders, thrusting in and out of you.

he then turned to you, softly smiling as he fingers you while his thumb rapidly rubbing your clit, sending shockwaves to your whole body. “you like that?”

you nodded eagerly as you bucked your hips up for more friction. sunghoon can’t deny he was getting a hard on from watching you whimpering softly and squirming just from his fingers. he was eager to see how you looked like when he ruin you with his cock.

…..

“really? in front of my parents?” you coldly stated as you escorted him to the front door. (forcefully need to escort sunghoon)

“yeah. what about it? maybe they thought we’re getting along.”

“don’t do it ever again. you don’t want that perfect image of yours you created ruined before my parents, don’t you?”

“I thought you liked it when I did that to you.” He said gruffly, leaning closer. his tall figure looming over you.

you got flustered by his comment and looked away briefly. “it’s not appropriate for a tutor to do that to his students.”

“you’re saying that as if I’m not around your age.” he smirks as his finger tuck the hem of your skirt and smoothly pulled you close to him, your body bumping against his. You can clearly feel the bulge in his pants made the tent in his black slacks grew tighter.

“don’t pretend like you didn’t fantasise about me doing such lewd things to you.”

part 2? or nah? ;)

[torturedtypewritersdept]

the sun + the sand - pt. five - something was wrong

↳PAIRING: bff!rafe cameron x fem!reader

↳SUMMARY:you have a stalker, but your best friend rafe won't let anything happen to you, even if he has to come clean about how he really feels.

↳WARNINGS: mentions of stalking, blackmail, inappropriate behavior (not from rafe), protective!rafe, etc.

↳A/N: this is a repost from my old blog @illicitfixations + @lovelornanonymity. all of my works are being reposted to this one + the previous blog has been deactivated.

You sat with your feet dangling off of his bed, sneakers adjacent to your feet where you’d previously taken them off. John B stood parallel to his dresser, pouring the white powder into four even lines with his debit card. 

“Come on in, y/n. The water is fine.” 

He spoke cheerily in a sing-song voice, snorting two of the lines back to back. You followed his lead as you traded places with him and suddenly, everything felt lighter. 

Snorting a line of coke off of John B’s dresser was probably not your best idea, okay, maybe it was your worst idea to date. But, you needed to forget about your sleepover with Rafe and the potential of marrying him before you began to hyperfixate and ruin everything. You had it good. There were drunk texts and phone calls and he even flirted with you from time to time. Apart from that, Rafe protected you and he was good to you and you weren’t about to throw all of those wonderful things away based on the tiny notion of a fake marriage, when you were sure he didn’t love you – not the way that you loved him. So, there you sat on John B’s bed, veins filled with cocaine taking in his lust filled eyes. He wasn’t all bad, he was nice to talk to and he was hot but that seemed to end the list of his good qualities. He was simply the warm body that you fell on top of when you were at your loneliest. But, he never filled the void. The only thing that did was looking at Rafe. In fact, you felt more warmth just talking to him than you ever had lying under John B in the middle of the night. That’s the reason he was the person you called to pick you up. You closed your eyes as John B laid you down, spreading your legs as he took off your clothes, piece by piece. He was gentle, at least, which shocked you because he was blitzed out of his mind in the same way that you were. You watched as he kissed above your pubic bone and up your stomach as he took your breasts into his mouth, suckling on them like a newborn pup. His tongue made circles around your teet, sucking and biting and palming your other breast as he went. You rubbed your hands through his long hair while he worked, looking down at him briefly through half-lidded eyes. It was only as he moved down to your pussy that you saw a shadow by the door through your drug-induced haze. You closed your eyes for a moment, blinking them open again in hopes that it would give you a better view of whoever stood in the doorway and it did. John B didn’t seem to notice, moving his tongue rapidly up and your vagina, placing kisses as he lapped up your juices. You almost got caught up in how good it felt, because quite frankly John B wasn’t very good at making you feel good. The feeling shocked you, but then you remembered the person in the doorway again and you fought to get away from the ecstasy that was trying to infiltrate your every nerve. You closed your eyes again only momentarily and this time when you opened them you saw blue eyes and blonde hair and a sinister grin and just as your eyes sent the signal to your brain that you knew who the boy was, you went into a panic. You grabbed John B’s hair, pulling him up from your pussy, which you quickly wished you hadn’t done because your legs were wide open and the man watching you got an eyeful. 

“Ow! What the fuck, y/n?!” 

John B growled and as he looked at you with accusational eyes, he realized something was wrong. You were scared and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. You couldn’t move, instead, you only pointed to the doorway and when John turned in that direction, taking in his best pal, he grew angry. 

“JJ, what the fuck are you doing here?!” 

He growled and JJ snickered. 

“Come on, JB! Don’t play pretend, you texted me and told me to come over and scare her.” 

You scoffed, knowing that you should’ve known he was capable of something like that, he was a pogue after all and that’s what you got for slumming it with one. 

“Y/n – hey, he’s lying. You can check my phone. I most definitely didn’t text him anything.” 

You swallowed thickly, unsure of which of the two to believe, as you wrapped the sheet around yourself. You wanted nothing more than to call Rafe but you knew he’d lecture you and probably kill both of the boys in front of you. So, you did what any self respecting person would and you got dressed, walking off of John B’s porch and into the night. You didn’t know anything other than the fact that you absolutely had to get out of there. 

-

Rafe looked down at you as he stood on the eight foot ladder he had leaned against the bricks of your house. Your watchful eye caught the small details of his t-shirt hugging his biceps, which was always a sight to see. His muscles contracted as he took the camera system in his hand and began mounting it to the corner of your house, where brick and sheetrock met. 

“How was your night last night, peach? I don’t think I saw you at the boneyard.” 

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should be honest and tell him that JJ Maybank scared the shit out of you. 

“It was fine.” 

You muttered, but he continued to pry. 

“Well, what did you do? You couldn’t have been with John B, because you didn’t text me to come get you.” 

“Actually, that’s where I was.” 

You replied in a monotone voice. 

“Well, did you spend the night or something?” 

“No.” 

“Then how’d you get home, peach?” 

“I – I uh, walked.” 

You muttered. 

“Why?! Do you know how many times I’ve told you to call me?! What do you think I’d do if something happened to you, huh?!” 

His voice quickly became booming, as he stood above you and you hung your head low in response, feeling unshed tears collect in your eyes. 

“Well, I would’ve just stayed there. B-but, I was scared.” 

The hair on the back of Rafe’s neck raised at your confession. 

“Why, were you scared, peach?” 

He questioned. 

“Can I be honest with you? You promise you won’t get mad?” 

You questioned meekly, pressing your fingers into your palms. He looked down at you from where he stood and he could tell something was wrong by the action of your hands; a movement you only partook in when you were experiencing extreme anxiety. He quickly stopped what he was doing and made a rapid but careful dissent down the ladder. 

“Peach, baby – whatever it is, I won’t be mad, okay?” 

He said, now standing in front of you, his gentle touch felt against the skin of your shoulders and biceps as his hands traveled up and down them. 

“Rafe, what do you know about JJ Maybank?” 

You questioned.

“Not much. I mean I know that he’s weird and there are rumors about him like fucking his sister or something, but I don’t think they are true. I kinda feel sorry for the kid, you know his dad is abusive, right? Why?” 

Your silence and refusal to meet his eyes, told him all he needed to know. 

“Sweetheart, did he do something to you? Because I’ll kill him.” 

He barked out and you caved. 

“Me and John – we had done a line and then we were, you know, doing the nasty. I looked up and there he was – just standing in the door, watching us. Rafe, he wasn’t just watching, he was laughing in this weird way and h-he scared me and then he said that John texted him to scare me, but I could tell he was lying I think. I don’t know – I just, I didn’t call because I was embarrassed and I was so scared I just put my clothes on and left.” 

You stuttered out the words and Rafe’s heart dropped. To know that this stupid boy had violated you in such a personal and private way, it hurt him so deeply and he wanted to kill him. 

“Hey, look at me, peach.” 

He said, bringing your chin in between his forefinger and his thumb. 

“I’m not mad, sweetheart and I promise there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, he violated you and I’ll kill him, okay? If you want, I’ll put him in the fucking hospital for doing that to you.” 

He said, strong and sure and serious. It made the walls of your heart contract – to know that he cared this much. You hoped he always would. 

“That’s very sweet, but if you’re in jail for attempted murder, who am I going to marry?” 

You asked playfully, giving him a smile and he returned it, placing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Okay, peach. But, I’m serious – you call me from now on. Matter of fact, I don’t even want you near him anymore. He’s fucking weird.” 

He said and you nodded your head in response. 

“Agreed.” 

as always, if you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know <3

taglist:

@maybankslover

[skywalkerslvt]

https://www.tumblr.com/skywalkerslvt/755200840017526784/rough-ride-so-rough?source=share

ok so… this but with anakin but reader doesn’t know this time (u don’t have to rewrite that part since we can just imagine Leon as anakin anyways unless you wanna change it up for his characterization. ANYWAYS this is the part where it gets into the cnc territory 😭) so later when everyone is sleeping, anakin goes to readers tent and sleeps with them and reader allows it and anakin tries to make her cockwarm him but ends up cumming instead. Reader wakes up and punishes him 🥰

a/n: tysm for the request! i had so much fun writing this u have no idea. ngl i was very sleep deprived while writing this so plot/spelling might be a bit iffy- i plan on editing this later. but in the meantime i hope u enjoy!! (btw i tried my best to stay on course with the request but lmk if i missed anything lol)

CW: 18+ smut, CNC, somnophilia, orgasm denial, cumming in pants, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex, mommy kink, sub anakin, 1.9k words

Anakin paced outside of your tent, the cool night air doing little to soothe the burning heat inside of him. Your soft, even breaths could be heard from outside, signalling your slumber, though Anakin already knew you were asleep. He could feel the serenity through the force, such a stark contrast to the raging turmoil currently inside of him.

This was all your fault, really. It had started earlier, while the two of you were on a mission to infiltrate the Separatist communication relay and sabotage it. It was successful and went without too much trouble. However, the journey back to base was a different story.

The Republic Gunship they were using was overcrowded with troops and equipment, leaving little room for comfort. With no other choice, you ended up sitting on Anakin's lap, your back pressed against his chest as the vehicle jolted and swayed through the turbulent atmosphere.

At first, it was just awkward. But as the minutes passed and the vibration of the engines hummed through both of you, the close proximity started to affect Anakin in ways he hadn't anticipated.

His breathing became heavier, but you remained oblivious his growing arousal pressing against you.

You were oblivious to his discomfort, focused instead on the mission and the journey back. Anakin, however, was fighting a losing battle with his desires, trying to control his reactions as you shifted slightly in his lap, your movements unintentional but torturous.

By the time you reached base, Anakin had cum in his pants, and was on the verge of losing control. While the other troopers filed out of the ship, you lingered for a moment, completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Whispering something about getting to your tent to rest, you left Anakin to deal with the aftermath of his suppressed desire.

But before you could make it to your tent, you were dragged away by General Kenobi, who insisted on a debriefing. Anakin had been left aching and desperate, his mind swirling with thoughts of what had happened and what he wanted to happen.

To top things off, Anakin had attempted to make a move on you, asking if he could sleep in your tent that night. You, of course, had agreed, but fell asleep before Anakin could even attempt suggesting the activities he had in mind. The heat of the tent mixed with his arousal was stifling, so he stepped outside of the tent to gather himself.

Now, standing outside your tent, the memory of your innocent touches and unaware proximity played on a loop in his mind. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed you.

Taking a deep breath, Anakin steeled himself and quietly slipped inside the tent. The sight of you lying peacefully on your cot made his heart clench with longing. He approached slowly, his eyes fixed on you as if you might disappear.

He stealthily slid into the cot beside you, making sure not to rouse you from your sleep. You had chosen to sleep in only an oversized shirt that night, the heat in the tent too warm for anything else. Anakin’s cock twitched at the sight of your bare legs, and he knew he wouldn't last long. Good–that was good. The less time this took, the better chance he had at not waking you up.

He pressed himself against you, clothed cock brushing against your ass as he lightly trailed his fingers along your upper thigh and under the hem of your shirt. He bit down on his lip, suppressing his whimpers as he began lightly grinding against your ass, fingers trailing higher until they found your breasts, lightly tweaking your nipples until your body responded to his touch, your nipples pebbling under his fingers. It was enough to make him grind harder, needing to feel the rough friction against his leaking cock.

Anakin felt so dirty, rubbing off on you while you were asleep, completely oblivious to how needy he was for you. But he just couldn't help himself, not when you teased him every day, leaving him stiff and wanting. Not when the sight of you alone could make him stiffen in his boxers.

Anakin, still kneading your breasts, was panting against your neck. He wanted–no, needed–to cum so bad, and his current movements against your pliant, sleeping body weren't working. He needed more.

Slowing his hips, he reached a hand between your bodies, and pulled his pants down just far enough for his cock to spring free and slap against his stomach. He positioned his flushed, leaking tip between the top of your thighs, and slowly pushed in, nearly moaning at the feeling of the plush flesh of your thighs squeezing around his cock. He was like a dog in heat, desperately fucking your thighs just to feel something–anything.

His movements only faltered once, his hips stuttering and the grip on your breasts loosening as you shifted and mumbled sleepily, but once Anakin realized you were still fast asleep, he continued.

His cock was grinding against your cunt, the thin panties being the only barrier between him and what he so badly wanted, and as your body reacted to his touch, Anakin could feel your panties dampen with every thrust.

God–it wasn't enough. Anakin needed to feel you–feel the warm, wet walls of your cunt squeezing around his cock. So he reached down and slid your panties to the side, positioning his flushed head at your entrance and pushing in.

It felt so good–too good. He stilled inside of you, panting as he reveled in the all consuming pleasure your cunt gave him. But poor Anakin was too pussy-drunk to notice your shifting, the protrusion in your cunt rousing you from your sleep.

“Oh, Anakin. I knew you were a desperate slut, but I didn't think you were this desperate.”

Anakin froze at the sound of your voice, a deer caught in headlights. He flushed from head to toe, stammering out a bunch of incoherent excuses. Not saying a word, you slipped his cock out of your cunt and moved to straddle him, pinning his hips beneath your own.

“You've been a very, very bad boy, Anakin,” you scolded as you positioned his cock at your entrance once more. “Did I tell you today that you could fuck me?”

Anakin shook his head, unable to form words at the feeling of you sinking down on his cock once more. You left a harsh slap on his cheek, then grabbed his face, urging him to meet your eyes. “Use your words.”

Anakin's breath hitched as he struggled to speak, his voice barely a whisper.

"No, you didn't," he managed to say, his eyes wide and pleading.

"That's right," you said, your voice low and dangerous. "And yet here you are, playing innocent and asking to stay in my tent, then using my body for your pleasure. You must really be desperate."

Anakin whimpered as you began to move, slowly at first, grinding down on him in a way that made his head spin. "I'm sorry," he breathed, his hands gripping your hips in a futile attempt to control the pace.

"Sorry isn't good enough," you hissed, slapping his hands away. "You need to learn your place, Anakin. You're mine to use, not the other way around."

His eyes rolled back in his head as you picked up the pace, riding him with a relentless rhythm that had him teetering on the edge of sanity. "Please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please, can't-"

"Oh, you can," you interrupted, your voice dripping with condescension. "You're going to take everything I give you, and you're going to thank me for it."

Anakin could only nod, tears of pleasure and frustration mingling in his eyes. He was completely at your mercy, and he loved it. The way you controlled him, used him, made him feel like he was nothing more than a toy for your pleasure-it was everything he craved.

"That's right," you purred, leaning down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss. "Good boy, Anakin. Now, let me hear you say it."

He choked on a sob as he thrust up into you, his voice trembling with need. "Thank you," he gasped. "Thank you, Mommy."

You smirked, pleased with his obedience. "You're welcome," you whispered, your movements becoming more frantic as you chased your own release. Just as he was on the brink of release again, you suddenly stopped moving, lifting yourself off him and leaving him desperate and throbbing.

Anakin's eyes flew open in shock, a pitiful whine escaping his lips. "No, please," he begged, his voice breaking. "I need to cum. Please, don't stop."

You smiled cruelly, enjoying his desperation. "You think you deserve to cum after sneaking into my tent and using me? I don't think so."

His hands gripped the sheets in frustration, his body trembling. "Please, I'm sorry," he pleaded. "I’ll do anything. Just let me finish."

You leaned in close, your breath hot against his ear. "You're going to have to earn it," you whispered. "And right now, you haven't earned anything."

Anakin's body ached with need, but he knew better than to disobey you. "Yes, Mommy," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want."

You sat back, smirking down at him. "That's better," you said. "Now, let's see if you can behave yourself."

You moved off him completely, leaving him lying there, desperate and aching. "Get on your knees," you commanded.

Anakin scrambled to obey, positioning himself at the edge of the cot. You sat on the cot in front of him, lifting your foot to rest on his thigh.

Slowly, you began to stroke his cock with your foot, the rough feeling of your skin against his making him shiver.

He moaned, his hips bucking involuntarily. "Please," he whispered. "Please, I need to cum."

You chuckled softly, continuing your teasing strokes. "You think you can just cum whenever you want?" you asked, your tone mocking. "You're going to have to beg for it."

Anakin's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he did as he was told. "Please, Mommy," he begged. "Please, let me cum. I'll be good, l promise."

You stopped your movements, making him whimper in frustration. "Good boys get rewards," you said, reaching down to grab his chin, forcing him to look up at you. "Bad boys get punished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mommy," he whispered, his eyes filled with desperation. "I'll be good. Please, let me cum."

You released his chin, stepping back and allowing him to collapse onto the cot. "We'll see," you said, a wicked smile playing on your lips. "But for now, you're going to have to wait."

Anakin's body trembled with unfulfilled need, but he knew better than to disobey you. "Yes, Mommy," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I'll wait. I'll be good."

You smirked, pleased with his obedience. "That's better," you said. "Now, let's see how long you can last."

As the night wore on, Anakin's desperation only grew, but he knew that he had to earn his release. And as he knelt there, waiting for your permission, he couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. He was yours, completely and utterly, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to please you.

[mymhameme]

Some more concrete designs for hero Touya and villain/vigilante Hawks.

Check below for more details.

All I've got so far is that Endeavor sent Touya to the HPSC to train with them to become a hero since he wasn't going to stop no matter what they said. He figures this way, Touya will be safer and preoccupied so he can focus on Shouto. With the Commission's training and support equipment, Touya made leaps and bounds, but none of it seemed to matter to Endeavor who never appeared impressed of interested in his progress. Touya kept at it despite feeling as if he was completely thrown away in favor of Shouto. He began to resent Endeavor instead of idolizing him and worked hard to become an even better hero than both Shouto and their father. After his debut, he quickly rocketed up in the hero charts climbing to the top ten by 20 and settling in at number four by 23.

After Shouto's class was attacked by the LOV, he begins looking into the group in order to capture them on HPSC orders. Shouto asks to intern under him instead of Endeavor, eager to know his brother and not have to deal with their father. He declines, irritated, but the Commission demands he take him in so they can gain more information. Touya does as he is told but is an asshole the whole time, always rushing ahead and not bothering to actually talk or teach his brother anything. Shouto doesn't let it dissuade him and continues to chase after his tail. It's infuriating to Touya since Shouto is actually very good at being a hero to no one's surprise. It almost seems effortless to Touya who had to fight every day and struggle to get where is he now only for Shouto to already be this close to his level.

If it wasn't bad enough, Shouto is attacked again by the League and the HPSC demands he try infiltrate the organization. His contact ends up being Keigo. Touya struggles with trying to balance overtaking Endeavor's new place as number one, still being a hero, a spy, and training Shouto during his internships.

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

Keigo's father was never arrested an eventually he and his mother began demanding Keigo go along to commit crimes, seeing how his quirk would be perfect for being a villain and getting them money for drugs and alcohol and anything else they wanted. Keigo refuses and his dad begins screaming at Keigo in public, about to hit him when Endeavor shows up. He asks what is going on and Takami tells the truth, that he's just trying to get his son to do what he's supposed to do. He's trying to look out for his wellbeing, but he just won't listen. Endeavor (who doesn't know there is a warrant for his arrest and frustrated with both Shouto and Touya) tells Keigo he needs to be a better son and do as his father asks; he's just doing what's best. With that, he leaves, completely shattering Keigo. Feeling defeated, he does as he's told and follows his father into a life of crime, hating every second. He's very successful and Japan begins to know of him. It leads to his father becoming more unstable and paranoid, demanding they get into more lucrative crimes that are worth the risk. Keigo does as he's told like always but gets an idea. By doing these things, he's able to get information and access to people who get off on the suffering of others.

He begins working as a vigilante, being very careful to cover his tracks so no one suspects the villain they're all working with to betray them. This leads him into the LOV after they attack the USJ, eager to see where the nomu come from and take them out from the inside. He plays along like he has for the last few years as a vigilante, getting cozy with the members. It's going well until he is found by Touya who insists on joining the league as well. He spins a sad story of his dad playing with eugenics and throwing him away and how he only became a hero to make him proud. Touya says it was all for nothing so why not just tear it all down and expose the hero filth from within? Keigo doesn't buy a second of it but once again, plays along. It would be good to have someone else on the inside trying to take these guys down besides him, especially since doing anything too drastic would fuck up his chances of continuing his vigilantism in the future once this mess is cleared up. As tests, he makes Touya dig up dirt on other heroes so he can expose them later.

---------

Fucking Christ. Okay, so that's all I've really gotten so far.

If you made it to the end of this, I applaud you. Thanks!

(side note- If Endeavor seems stupid or out of character for what he says to Hawks, it's based on a similar situation that happened to me as a kid- so it's not impossible. Especially for a guy who looks away at the own harm he causes for what he wants and thinks is best.)

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Old Therebefore 🐍🕊️ | A Six of Crows Imagine

Takes place after the events of S&B S2

My masterlists

Characters & Pairings: gang leader!reader x Crows (platonic). Kaz Brekker x reader (slight tension)

content warnings: profanity, mentions of violence and death, typical SOC themes. | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4k

Premise: it’s not often Kaz Brekker needs assistance to a job involving anyone other than his Crows. Yet, there is always a first. When a job comes involving not only a high cash prize but also chances of coming out alive slim, Kaz accepts it is out of his skill level. So, what does he do? Take a risk by recruiting his top rival since Pekka Rollins was run out of town….she’s got the charm of a snake with a voice of a songbird. 

Note: so as you can tell by the title of the imagine and song linked, I saw the new hunger games movie (back in November) and literally could not stop thinking about this song/scene. Then of course my hyperfixations like to collide and wallah: here is the end result.

Disclaimer as always: the song and lyrics belong to Suzanne collins and all the SOC characters belong to Leigh Bardugo

---------

“You know, Kaz, I know better than to question you on most things,” Jesper scanned his surroundings, voice low with slight concern. “But I can’t help but wonder why you’ve decided to drag us to the ‘Snake Pit’ tonight.” The sharpshooter sipped his glass of rum after a close inspection, “mind telling us.” 

Seated around him, Inej, Nina, and Wylan expressions bore the same unease. All on high alert the moment Kaz led them through the doors and down the spiral staircase into the Barrel’s infamous Snake Pit. 

Located deep on the opposite side of the Crow Club, the Snake Pit was an underground bar/club. Home of the legendary crime gang, the Blood Serpents. They’d been around since Kaz was 15, their leader to have been the same age as him. Yet the public knew very little of the notorious boss. Only by their code name. 

The Snake Charmer

Of course, this information made Kaz lose his mind at times. Unable to identify his anonymous rival who’s bested him on multiple occasions. If the opportunity arose, Kaz would pay any amount of kruge to find out who the Snake Charmer was. It’d been well over a decade. His patience was running thin.

Finally, the wait would pay off in the form of a messenger boy. 

Knowing Inej was too recognizable, Kaz sent a young member of the Dregs--who was under the radar to the other gangs--to infiltrate the Snake Pit the week prior. The boy returned hours later to relay a crucial piece of information. Now, Kaz was to test that theory. 

Clutching his cane, the crime boss did not spare a glance to his fellow Crows the second they entered the Pit. Even when they took claim to a rounded booth in a far corner by the bar. His attention was occupied. Analyzing the club and its features. Mentally noting the Blood Serpent members, who were identifiable by their red snake tattoos on their hands. 

One of which was the bartender that served them drinks. A young woman about their age, she wore a maroon pin-stripped 5 piece suit although the blazer was forgone. The tattoo was on full display. Kaz assessed her lingering on him when she pushed the tray of drinks toward Jesper. Likely recognizing him and by default the rest of the Crows. The bartender didn’t say anything after, only giving a nod before moving to the next customer. 

To the other Crows, they thought Kaz’s intense stare on the bartender was either because he thought she was attractive or making note she was just another member of the Serpents. But, what they did not know was Kaz figuring out if she was the Snake Charmer.

“A woman?” he questioned the boy, narrowing his eyes. “You are telling me the Snake Charmer--leader of the Blood Serpents--is a woman and works under the guise of an employee at the Snake Pit. Are you positive?”

The boy nodded profusely, “Yes, Mr. Brekker. I can assure you it was no man singing that song. She sounded like a siren if I must say. She calmed the snakes like it was nothing-- I see why they call her Snake Charmer.”

So a woman was responsible for a lot of Kaz’s failures. Not to mention winning the territory he’d hoped to gain when Pekka was defeated. They’d come to a settled agreement through a middle man. An action that annoyed Kaz. But he knew better than to wage war with the Snake Charmer. 

So far the women in the gang he’s managed to identify besides the bartender were two serving girls, a door bouncer, and two poker dealers. A total of six. Of the men, most of them were standing on the walls and mingling along the floor. 

Bet she didn’t expect him to enter her den. 

The Snake Pit was exactly like what the boy described. Dark wood floors and walls up to the high ceilings. Dangling chandeliers, poker tables, two bars on either side. Booths aligned the walls. The most notable and unique trait, however, was the glass snake enclosure right smack in the middle of the floor. It was cylinder shaped at the bottom, lining the floor to the ceiling where it branched out on either side to resemble a tree. Plants and dirt filled it. 

As did ten serpents. Ranging from tiny garden snakes to a python.  

Jesper cringed when his eyes landed on it. Wylan looked deathly afraid. Nina found it amusing. Inej thought it was fitting. Kaz was pleased to see it. To him, that was ammunition.

Kaz answered Jesper with one word that told the whole story, “Business.” 

“What business could you possibly have with the Snake Charmer?” Inej questioned, hand on her side close to her knives. “Don’t you think we should be discussing the plan?”

���And we are,” Kaz rebutted, leaning into the booth with his gaze set on the enclosure. “We’re here to flush out the Snake Charmer.” 

Jesper choked on his drink, meanwhile Nina and Inej looked at Kaz like he was crazy. “You’re fooling us aren’t you?” “Boss, jokes aren’t really your thing--.” “You’re insane, Kaz, if you believe that’ll happen.”

“You see that enclosure?” He cut off their rambling. All responded with a look of, ‘Of course we see the ginormous Snake habitat in the middle of the club full of our enemies.’ Kaz nodded to it, “we need to destroy it.”

Once again, Jesper choked. This time on his saliva. “You’ve lost it,” he ignored the glare from his boss, “Did going through the fold change you, Kaz? Clearly you’re not actually thinking we let loose a dozen snakes,” he leans forward to whisper, “we don’t even know if they’re venomous. If their bites don’t kill us, surely their owner will.” 

Analyzing Kaz, Inej lowered her tone, “what are you not telling us, Kaz?”

Giving one last scan of his surroundings, Kaz addressed his Crows with the truth of why he brought them to the Snake Pit. “I have a lead on who the owner of this establishment is.” Their reactions were immediate, Kaz continued. “A week ago I sent a young messenger boy here to scout out the place--find anything that could help identify the Serpents boss. During closing he snuck into one of their storage closets,” Kaz attempted to locate said closet, somewhere behind one of the bars. 

Kaz paid close attention to the bartender and the poker dealers. “At some point in the night, one of the snakes got loose. Or,” he turned to Jesper and Inej, “my theory is they use those snakes as a means to get information on people.”

“Great,” Nina sighs, “you want us to free the Serpent's torture method. Well done, Brekker. Excellent plan if I must say.” The heartrender received a glare, but Kaz did not entertain it further.

“As I was saying,” his tone was stern, making the others hold onto any additional comments. “The boy overheard the panic of one of the Serpents. Turns out, the Snake Charmer doesn’t take kindly to her pets being mishandled.”

“I can see why,” Jesper mutters, glancing at the enclosure. 

Kaz gripped his cane, watching the female bouncer approach the bartender and exchange words. “He then heard a woman’s voice. Singing.”

Wylan raised a brow, “Singing?”

“Whatever it was, it calmed the snake. Allowed her to return the animal back to its case. The boy said he heard arguing between a couple members who hoped to clean up their mistake before the boss discovered it.” Kaz shifted in his seat, “didn’t end well for them.”

“Did you get a look at her face?” Kaz peered out his office window, facing the direction of the Snake Pit’s location. Moonlight shining down, almost as though the Saints wanted him to see the building. Behind him, he heard the boy clear his throat.

“No, Sir.” He stuttered, tensing at the sight of Kaz lowering his head. “The door didn’t have any cracks or holes I could see through. I tried looking underneath, but only got a glimpse of their shoes.”

Kaz pinched the bridge of his nose, deep in thought. “What happened after she finished singing? How’d you get out?”

“Once the snake was handled, she ordered them to her office. She sounded….calm, but you know how you just know when someone is masking their anger. That’s how it was when she addressed them.” Kaz hummed, indicating he understood the boy’s implication. Considering he was guilty of such.

“And then?”

“I waited a few minutes until I was sure they were gone. The direction they went sounded like it was the far left of the club--opposite side of the spiral staircase that’s both the entrance and exit. I think there's a secret back entrance where they were because when I came out it was completely empty.”

Kaz found the secret back entrance. Camouflaged as a bookcase. He was able to spot the hinges carefully placed to where the light made it difficult to see them. But Kaz Brekker knew the art of illusion in the back of his hand. 

“This is what’s going to happen,” he became serious. The Crows lean in to hear him while maintaining their alert. “We need to expose those snakes from their enclosure. They’ll be our bait. From there we wait. If my theory is correct, those snakes only answer to their master. Or charmer in this case.” Kaz paused to locate the female workers in the club. “Her act as an employee is a ruse.”

Jesper followed his gaze, once again becoming riddled with unease. “You’re implying the Snake Charmer is either the bouncer who let us in, the gal who served our drinks, the serving girls working the floor or one of the poker dealers?”

“That’s exactly what I’m implying, Jesper.”

“Why would she do that?”

Nina snorted, sipping at her whiskey, “Isn’t it obvious?” she didn’t wait for an answer, “no one would pay a second glance to a worker. They are either too drunk or too naive to assume the pretty bartender or serving girl is the boss of one of Ketterdam’s deadly gangs.” She gestured to the serving girl closest to her. “My money’s on her being the Charmer.”

Jesper scoffed, “no way. To be a ghost and retain anonymity all these years you have to have a great poker face.” He states the obvious, “it’s one of the dealers.” 

Inej rolled her eyes, “are you seriously making this a competition?”

“You don’t think it could be the bouncer?” Wylan asked, scratching the back of his neck to relax the tension he felt. 

“No,” Jesper replied with a wave of a hand, “that would be obvious, don’t you think? Although….,” he rubs his chin, “considering they let us in -- and we know how much you and the Snake Charmer have been rivals so to speak all these years, boss -- you don’t think by letting us through that we walked into some sort of trap?”

Inej immediately straightened, “Jes has a point.” Nina stopped munching on her calamari, waiting for Kaz. She too realized the potential threat.

Kaz, however, remained relaxed. “It’s not the bouncer, but I know the Charmer has already been notified of our presence.” Wylan’s worry intensified.

“What makes you think that?”

“As we’ve been talking I noticed all the women working the club have interacted at some point. Some making it obvious to point us out,” He was referring to the bouncer nodding her head to the one serving girl. “Others are more discreet.” That was to the poker dealer and bartender. 

“And yet,” Jesper groans. “You still want us to make a scene. We are literally in a place crawling with snakes--pun not really intended.” the table rolled his eyes at him, save for Wylan who found the joke amusing. “Point is….you want to unleash the Snake Charmer’s serpents into a club full of innocent people--.”

“Innocent,” Nina scoffed under her breath. 

“What if one of us gets bitten?” Jesper kept his gaze on Kaz with mild concern. “I don’t believe for a second the Snake Charmer will kindly hand over the antidote to save our lives. She’ll take pleasure in watching us suffer a horrible death.” Picturing the scene, the sharpshooter downs the rest of his drink, cringing in the process. “Saints, this is not how I pictured I’d die.”

Kaz rolled his eyes, “No one’s dying today. No mourners.” Everyone glanced at each other.

“No funerals.”

“Right then,” It was time to work. “Here’s what we’ll do….”

A prayer slipped past his lips before Jesper inhaled deeply and let the bullet fly. The sound caused gasps from around him, though he was quick to hide the weapon in its holster before one noticed.

“Who did that?!” came a shout from the bouncer. Patrons were already making their way toward the exit. Not wanting to get caught in a crossfire. 

Jesper occupied himself with his rum, glancing over his shoulder to Inej, who signaled to him the bullet did not penetrate the glass completely. Sighing, he downed the contents, waited until it was clear, and shot again. 

The second bullet hit the glass with a loud clunk. Once again alerting the occupants of the Snake Pit. Many searched themselves for any sign of blood for fear they were shot by an unknown assailant. 

“C’mon,” Jesper whispered, peering at the enclosure. He saw the evidence of his bullet, a chip in the glass near the bottom. If he could time it right, without someone getting in the way, he’d hit the mark. 

Meanwhile employees of the club were trying to calm the crowd, “everyone please remain--.” Another shot rang out, more shouts echoing. Kaz’s patience was running thin. Their door to escape started to close as he noticed the security begin to close in on the Crows. No doubt suspecting they were to blame for the chaos. 

Kaz Brekker coming to the Snake Pit with his most trusted advisors for only a drink? Yeah right.

Then, almost in slow motion, the sound best described as ice cracking filled his ears. All eyes turned to the enclosure. Fear surfacing as they witnessed spiderwebs painting the glass. Then all hell broke loose when the glass gave way, allowing the beasts freedom from their isolation. 

Screams ensued. People climbing from the floors onto tables and chairs. Hissing from the snakes intensified the hysteria. Kaz even found himself moving when the python pivoted in his direction. Jesper of course found himself on top of a chair the moment the glass shattered. Inej was high up on a balcony on the opposite side of the club. How did she get up there? No one knew. Wyalan was close to Jesper. He too found safety on a stool. Nina meanwhile was listening to the heartbeats around here. The number decreased each time a patron made it up the staircase and out the door. 

Seconds passed and no sight of the Snake Charmer. Kaz was getting worried. Fearing the plan was a failure. His worry increased when he found himself scurrying on top of a poker table. Distracted with trying to find the workers he suspected of being the Snake Charmer to realize the cobra had got close to him. Had he not acted fast, the man’s leg would’ve fallen victim to its fangs. Catching Jesper’s eye, they shared the concern evident in their expressions. Wondering just how the fuck they were going to escape the situation. 

Suddenly his prayers were answered in the form of an angelic voice. Causing the screams to disappear…..

“You’re heading for heaven, 

The sweet old hereafter, 

And I’ve got one foot in the door. 

But before I can fly up, 

I’ve loose ends to tie up, 

Right here in The Old Therebefore.”

Heads turned, facing the direction of the sound. Their expressions turned into pure shock. Kaz may have had his suspicions, but it still came as a shock to discover he was right all along. 

Ketterdam’s notorious crime boss, leader of the Blood Serpents….was the Snake Pit’s bartender. 

Walking around the bar, crunching against the glass of broken bottles on the floor from the hysteria of customers fleeing to get away from the snakes, the woman kept her gaze on slithering animals. The hissing continued as she inched closer, however she did not seem fazed at all. Her singing continued.

“I’ll be along, 

When I’ve finished my song, 

When I’ve shut down the band, 

When I’ve played out my hand, 

When I’ve paid all my debts, 

When I have no regrets, 

Right here in The Old Therebefore. 

When nothing is left anymore.”

The hissing got quieter. The animals turning so they were in line with the woman. Slithering slowly but surely toward her. Confirming to everyone she was their master. Their charmer.

Off to the side, a few of the Blood Serpents rushed in with crates. Pushing people aside. Meanwhile the woman got to her knees, leveling down to the snakes who were now moving toward her. Eyes locked, face serious. The Snake Charmer was obviously trying to keep herself together. But Kaz felt the rage seep off of her. 

“I’ll catch you up, 

When I’ve emptied my cup, 

When I’ve worn out my friends, 

When I’ve burned out both ends, 

When I’ve cried all my tears, 

When I’ve conquered my fears, 

Right here in The Old Therebefore. 

When nothing is left anymore.”

The snakes smaller in size slithered up her outstretched arms. Covering both limbs in a tangle of scales. One slithering up to encase her neck, almost like a necklace. The Cobra took claim to her waist. The python circled her, almost like it contemplated joining its fellow serpents. 

Around Kaz, he made out the faint gasps of customers who had yet to depart. Glancing around, he witnessed them all in states of shock and awe. Even his Crows were at a loss of words. 

As was he.

The Snake Charmer’s voice turned strong. Echoing through the entire club as she belted out the next verse. Bringing chills to everyone’s arms.

“I’ll bring the news, 

When I’ve danced off my shoes, 

When my body’s closed down, 

When my boat’s run around, 

When I’ve tallied the score,

 And I’m flat on the floor, 

Right here in The Old Therebefore. 

When nothing is left anymore.”

Rising from the ground, she was covered by the creatures. Her python has wrapped itself around her leg. Its tail was on the floor while its head perched by where the cobra had secured itself on her belt. From the neck down the Snake Charmer was a sight to behold. Revealing why the nickname was not only because she was the leader of a gang filled with snakes. 

It was because she was gifted with the talent of charming their namesake.

Moving toward her subordinates holding crates, no doubt to keep the animals contained, the woman passionately sang the final verse. Giving it all she had. 

“When I’m pure like a dove, 

When I’ve learned how to love.”

Tone dropping, she leaned to lower the snakes into the crates. Gently as though they were newborn babies. Kaz caught her stoke the pythons head, her singing so low it was good the place was dead quiet. 

Right here in The Old Therebefore. 

When nothing is left anymore.”

Finally, after what felt like forever, the snakes were safely stored in the crates. Lids dropping shut with the gang members hurrying from the floor to transport them to another room. No one moved. Any and all eyes focused on the woman in the pinstripe suit. Back turned to the Crows and other patrons, but from the fearful look of her door bouncers, everyone silently prayed they’d make it to the morning. 

Moving her neck in a circle, a low crack from the joints that had been stiff, she slowly turned to face the audience. A clenched jaw and fury in her eyes made it clear what was going through her mind. Especially to Kaz, who was fighting to not look away when she instantly met his gaze.

Oh, she knew alright.

“Well…” the Charmer’s tone sent chills along the Crows' bodies. “You’ve certainly got my attention, Mr. Brekker.” Her spite was evident. Complete rage. Likely planning every means of torture she wished to bestow on her rival and his comrades. 

It was so quiet. So thrilling. Nobody dared to move a muscle. Patrons watching the stare down between the King, and now the unmasked Queen, of the Barrel. It was captivating yet terrifying. Wondering who would make the first move, and if it will end in a blood bath.

Then she snapped, “Everyone out!!” The floor cleared in seconds. Leaving only Serpents and Crows. They knew better than to attempt an escape. Plus the moment their boss addressed Kaz, the Serpents had circled them to prevent any sudden attack. 

Kaz remained composed. Watching closely as the Snake Charmer moved to the bar to pour herself a drink. “Before I kill you, Kaz Brekker, and your little birds too,” she did not look at him, paying attention to the liquid filling the glass. He tightened his jaw. “I want to hear you explain to me why you brought yourselves to my club,” bringing the glass to her lips, she downed half the alcohol in one gulp. Drawing her eyes up to make contact with him, “And destroyed my babies' home.”

Her footsteps echoed, walking toward the center of the floor where Kaz stood. “You’re a smart man.” She took another sip, this time slower. “Not only did you manage to draw me into the light, but you knew exactly how to do so.” A smirk plastered on Kaz’s face. A bold move considering the threat lingering at displaying his smugness to the Serpent Queen. Her lips were in a thin line, “What brings you to my den?”

Straightening his posture, Kaz stepped closer. Their distance is only a mere foot from one another. Making everyone--Crows and Serpents alike--suffocating from the tension between the two. 

“You won’t be killing us tonight, Charmer.” If only he knew her real name. Only having her title felt like she had some reign on him. Superior in a sense. The whole Barrel knew him as Dirtyhands, but Kaz Brekker had his own reputation. For her, people can now put a face to the name Snake Charmer. A beautiful woman with the voice of an angel. So powerful it made snakes bend to her will. 

Also, people would be shaken by the fact the deadly gang leader served them drinks during their visits to the Snake Pit. Hidden in plain sight. Listening to them spill their drunken secrets. 

Kaz leaned closer, the scent of her perfume hitting his nostrils. Jasmine. A flower known to attract snakes. He understood why she wore it. The smell was alluring. As was her presence, but Kaz dismissed the thought as quick as it came. “Doing so will result in you losing an important job I’m willing to negotiate your assistance on. Believe me, the reward is more than generous--enough for the both of us to share.” Now he got her attention, confirmed by the way her head slightly tilted, brow raised. 

“Humor me, Brekker.”

“Have you ever heard of jurda parem?”

[hikarry]

Girl, sit down. I'm about to slap you with another imagine

*claps hands*

Ready?

Imagine: 1802, Russia. Czar Alexander I in power

Crowley infiltrated the palace as a war General.

A maid just handed him an envelope while he was walking around the gardens, and he was quick to open it with his finger. It was Aziraphale's, from Soho, London. A long one, as they usually were.

He scanned it quickly, just taking the general idea - he would read more calmly when he was home, by himself, and not feeling like he was being watched.

At the end of the second page, finally, something actually caught his attention. Aziraphale was going to Krasnaya Polyana, around a day away from Moscow. Apparently, there had been a spike of demonic activity there, and Heaven had sent him to investigate. He was asking if Crowley had anything to do with it, but he clearly didn't. He had been stuck in Moscow for 7 months now. But, alas, he also had no idea who it could be. He was not informed that another demon was topside in this region. And, for some reason, the angel going to the encounter of an unknown demon was not sitting well with him. He folded the letter and hid it in his jacket's pocket.

Aziraphale was a big angel. He could look out for himself... yet that did not mean Crowley couldn't try and find out who was causing mayhem in Krasnaya Polyana, did it?

As soon as Crowley got home that night, he wrote a quick note to one of his contacts in Hell, asking for information and readied himself to wait for at least 3 days before he got an answer. Surprisingly, it took only a night. When he woke up, there was a small note on his bedside table. He picked it up and turned it around, reading quickly. He sucked in a sharp breath before re-reading the note, just to make sure he was understanding correctly.

Asmodeus was topside. Along with Vine. A Prince and a Duke of Hell, and Aziraphale was walking right to the lion's mouth by himself.

Right. Okay.

Crowley read it one last time before burning it in his hands.

He had to find an excuse to get himself sent to Krasnaya Polyana as soon as possible, preferably before Asmodeus and Vine caught Aziraphale's scent around. The angel might be an ex-cherubim, but Satan knew what a real Prince of Hell could do to him and Crowley was surely not going to sit in the sidelines to find out.

A week and a half later - way way later than he expected - he got himself in Krasnaya Polyana. As soon as he got out of the train, he was hit with the smell of sulfur and a heavy feeling of evil all around.

With no bags to carry or to worry about, he just closed his eyes and reached out for Aziraphale's essence. He could feel it, barely. If his senses weren't mistaken, he was somewhere in the mountain.

Could Crowley help it, he wanted to avoid meeting both the Prince and the Duke. He only hoped Aziraphale was still off their tracks.

It was snowing heavily. The mountain was covered in ice, and the wind was frigid and white, somehow. It made it very, very hard to see or even focus enough to grasp Aziraphale's essence and keep following it.

His boots sank in the snow, and it didn't take long for his legs to start hurting and his insides to feel raw from the cold.

At the peripheral of his vision, he could also feel two very distinguishable demonic essences. The stronger one was in the city, which Crowley had already left behind, and the other was barely visible, somewhere on the top of the mountain, but considerably far away from Aziraphale.

The angel was alright. Probably he was in one of those ski places slightly up the mountain. And, confident in that thought, Crowley forced himself to stop and enter a bar nearby. Exhausting himself would not help the angel, so he needed a little break to recover and be able to continue to climb the bloody mountain.

He was sitting at a table, half full glass of vodka between his hands, when a loud groan was heard outside and the whole building shook, all the lights going out. People around him gasped and yelled, holding themselves to the furniture and each other until the tremor stopped.

"Oh goodness, what was that?" A woman asked near the bar with a very heavy French accent, both her arms around a man that held her just as close.

"An avalanche." The bartender answered, walking around to light up some candles. "And a strong one at that. There might be replicas, so everyone should stay put for at least an hour or-"

Yeah...so, Crowley didn't exactly hear the rest. He just tossed the vodka down in a single swing and got up from his seat, slithering around the people in the bar until he reached the door. He felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him back when he reached for the doorknob, but he shook it away, finally getting outside.

The layer of snow outside was so thick now that his boots didn't dig into it. So he ran. Which didn't help with his respiratory system and, consequently, the rest of his body feeling raw and frozen all at the same time in less than few seconds. It took longer for his legs to get tired, but he was already tired, regardless. Still, he soldiered on, all riding on adrenaline and low-key panic.

"Aziraphale!" When Crowley started feeling his essence more clearly he started calling out for him, trying to see through the fog and the snow still falling. Not even his demonic eyes were helping on that task.

Eventually, he got to a spot where he could feel the essence so strongly that he actually felt its warmth, so he stopped and looked around, his heart hammering against his chest and his breath rasp and heavy.

"Aziraphale?" He turned on himself. There was no sign of Aziraphale anywhere... but he could swear the angel should be right here... and suddenly, it clicked. "No..." He was under the snow, wasn't he? "Fuck. Aziraphale!"

Crowley took a few steps to the left and fell to his knees, his trousers getting ice cold soaked as he dig the snow as fast as he could. He had no idea how much time had passed, but finally, he found some cream fabric under the snow.

"No, no, no, no. For fucks sake, Aziraphale!" Still digging, he started talking to himself, mainly not to let the panic spiral and keep himself grounded. "Why is it always you?! Don't those wanker archangels have any other angel to throw into a frozen nightmare after their bloody death?!"

From there, it was rather easy to dig his torso and his face from under the snow.

Aziraphale was frozen to the touch, his lips were an awful shade of bluish-purple and his corporation was not breathing.

Okay. Crowley. Just. Don't. Panic.

He held Aziraphale by the shoulders and pulled him the rest of the way out of the snow.

"Angel?" At some point he had thrown his gloves to the side to make digging easier, so now he placed his equally frozen, wet and trembling hands on Aziraphale's cheeks. With his demonic essence, he tried to reach out for Aziraphale's and the angel's essence reached back instantly like a cougar attacking its unattentive prey, surprising the demon, who staggered back, hands away from the angel, snapping his essence back inside his own corporation.

Alright. Aziraphale was quite clearly still here, and he was either so out of his mind he pounced on Crowley with the default intent to smite him, or he was just plainly terrified.

Carefully, both his hands once again on the angel's face, he slowly reached out, this time more prepared for when Aziraphale's essence jumped on him.

Aziraphale wasn't trying to smite him. He was reaching for warmth.

Crowley's corporation shallowed as he sat back and pulled Aziraphale to his lap, upping his body heat as much as he possibly could. It didn't feel great. In fact, it felt like he was having a very bad fever, and his mind swam a bit with the sudden difference in temperature, but he had to try and keep the angel warm. On a metaphysical level, Crowley's True Form surrounded Aziraphale's, as tight as metaphysically possible, trying to keep him stable. Keep him here. His essence was flickering a bit, and Crowley wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you dare discorporate, you bastard."

Crowley looked around. There was nowhere warm where he could take the angel close enough. Try as he might, this was only a temporary solution. One that wasn't doing much at that.

Suddenly, his head snapped back to attention as he felt a demonic presence getting closer.

Fucking Heavens, that was exactly the last thing he needed right now. There was nowhere to hide, and even if he found some place, the Duke would feel Aziraphale's essence and hunt like a starved dog.

Right. Think. Preferably before Aziraphale fucking discoporates in your arms.

The only idea that came to mind was miracling a small cabin or whatnot into existence right then and there. It would be a big ass miracle, and he would be exhausted afterward, but his priority was keeping Aziraphale here. So he took a long breath and snapped his fingers, a small wooden cabin showing up right behind them.

Gently, Crowley got up and took Aziraphale in his arms, walking them both into the cabin. At least inside there was no more wind or snow, and whatever body heat his body produced would remain trapped between the four walls.

Sitting Aziraphale on the floor with his back against the wall, Crowley detached his cape from his shoulders and wrapped it around the angel before turning his attention to the door.

Vine would find a cabin in the middle of a bloody mountain suspicious, as he should.

Crowley was tired, both physically, mentally and metaphysically, and his miracle reservoir was quite affected by that and the big ass miracle he just performed, but he had to put up wards around this place that not only masked the cabin, but both his and Aziraphale's essences from the Duke's radar. It was easier said than done, but he had no time to dilly dally. With each snap, he felt his mind go foggy, and his vision tilt to the side. Yet, he kept going until everything was more or less in place. All he could do for now was pray. Or not pray. He was a demon. Demons didn't pray

He sat on the floor next to Aziraphale and pulled him into his lap, hugging him against his chest and upping his body temperature once again. This time, he was invaded by a sudden nausea, and his eyes unfocused, but he kept it up, trapping Aziraphale's True Form with his own once again.

"Stay with me, angel." It was more a wordless request than a whisper.

There they stayed, Crowley with his head leaned against the wall and Aziraphale unconscious on his arms.

Slowly but surely, Aziraphale's skin started warming up, and his lips changed to a very pale pink, but pink nonetheless.

Crowley was exhausted. Part of him was begging him to close his eyes and sleep, but if he did his body temperature would go back down to normal and his essence would spring back to his corporation, letting go of Aziraphale and that wasn't an option. Not until he was concious.

In the back of his mind, he noticed when the demonic presence got dangerously close to where they were. Instinctively, he hugged Aziraphale more tightly, holding his breath. He felt truly frozen in place while the Duke slowly walked by them and only allowed himself to somewhat relax again when he was far away enough. Yet, he didn't put down the wards. They were consuming a lot of his energy, and his body was growing somewhat numb, but he refused to let go.

Aziraphale's corporation took a deep breath and slowly started shaking.

Good. That was good. He was coming back to himself.

It was a slow process, but when the night fell outside, Aziraphale finally stirred, opening his eyes with quite the effort.

"Crowley...?" His voice was sluggish, but Satan was it good to hear it. The demon was too weak to answer with words, so he only hummed, gripping him more strongly. "What happened...?"

Gradually, Crowley let his body heat fall to its normal temperature, and he let the ward hidding the cabin fall. It was like someone had taken a boulder off his chest, but his mind was still somewhat slow. He looked down at Aziraphale, his sunglasses lost somewhere in the snow outside while he had been digging.

"There's was an avalanche. You got trapped in it. Buried yourself 7 feet under a block of ice."

Aziraphale moved slightly on his lap, straightening himself up so he was actually sitting.

"You're supposed to be in Moscow."

"Observant."

"What are you even doing here, Crowley?"

He thought about dropping his arms from around Aziraphale, but he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"Saving your arse once again, obviously. If I had stayed in Moscow, right now your corporation would be a popsicle and you would be upstairs getting an earful from Gabriel or that wanker Michael. So, you're welcome."

The angel didn't say anything else. Instead, he let his head fall on Crowley's shoulder, and both of them stayed in silence, only their ragged breathes and the wind outside making themselves heard.

"You need to leave Russia. Or, at least, Krasnaya Polyana."

"I can't." His hand was gripping the front of Crowley's jacket, the demon wasn't sure he was aware of that. "I have an assignment to complete."

"It's completed." Aziraphale's head snapped up, looking the demon in the eye. "You came here to figure out why there was a spike of demonic energy here, yes? There's a Prince and a Duke of Hell. Asmodeus and Vine. That's why."

"I can't just leave these people in the hands of two demons! I have to find out whatever it is they are trying to do!"

"That's not part of your assignment. You had to know the cause, now you know. You will write your report as soon as you can and get the heavens out of here before they sniff you out."

"Crowley, you're being ridic-"

"You are leaving, Aziraphale." Now it was his turn to look the angel in the eye, his voice as cold as the ice outside. "You've never dealt with a Duke of Hell, much less a Prince. You've mainly dealt with me and, let's be honest with ourselves, I give you little to no trouble. You are not prepared to face either of them. Asmodeus could easily discorporate you on sight. Or kill you. Actually kill you. Destroy your essence. They are not some random demons you can waltz to and have a polite conversation with." Aziraphale stayed quiet, unmoving. "You are leaving and that's final."

"You can't order me around."

"I'm trying to save your bloody life, Aziraphale!" His arms let go of the angel, and his hands came up to grab his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "This is not a joke. They will not stop by to have tea and biscuits and discuss the weather while you convince them to leave. Stop being fucking stubborn for once in your damn life! You did what you came to do. Just tell Gabriel that they are here and leave." Aziraphale looks down to his hands. "I'm serious, angel." He held the angel's chin, pushing him to look up at him again. "I'm not leaving you here with them. You either come with me to Moscow or go straight back to London to the bookshop."

Crowley feels the vibrations of Aziraphale humming on his fingers.

"Very well, my dear. Whatever you say." The angel got up from his lap and the demon followed him, swaying on his feet. Aziraphale held his arm, stabilizing him. "Are you quite alright?"

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments until his mind stopped feeling sluggish. Probably because he took too long answer, Crowley felt Aziraphale's fingers brushing his. He finally let down the two last wards and took the deepest breath.

"I'm fine. Just. A lot of big miracles. And you grabbing at my essence and True Form like a dehydrated man in the desert." Aziraphale's hand flinched away and he was about to open his mouth to say something, but Crowley cut it, holding his hand, squeezing it. "I said I'm fine. Let's go back to civilization, shall we?"

They did go back to civilization. To Moscow in the first train out from Krasnaya Polyana, to be more precise.

Aziraphale stayed with Crowley in his flat at the capital for 3 days. He wrote the report as soon as they arrived, and both waited to hear something from Gabriel in the next few days, but silence was all they got. On the 3rd day, when Aziraphale had his train back to Paris and then to London, Crowley insisted on seeing him out, so he had to leave the palace in quite the hurry, with no chance to switch out his uniform.

"Thank you for seeing me out, dear. Or should I say..." Aziraphale tapped Crowley's hat. ", General?"

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly, smiling in response.

"Shut up."

"I'm not jesting. You've always looked rather... fetching in a uniform. When was the last time you wore one? American Revolution?"

"I believe so."

Aziraphale hummed, fixing Crowley's left shoulder pad.

"You always wore them much better than I did."

"Usually you are at the hospitals saving lives, angel. Not in the battlefield."

The angel snorted.

"Not like you are in the battlefield actually fighting yourself."

"Oi! I have fought!"

"Mmh. I've never seen you holding a gun. And the last time I saw you brandishing a sword was back in the Gallic Wars, back in 58 BCE."

"Ngk."

Aziraphale chuckled, taking a step back, grabbing his suitcase.

"Will you be back in London?"

"Myeah. Should be done here in another year or so."

"Shall I keep watering your plants?"

"You've got the key, don't you?"

"Indeed." They heard the train making the last call and both looked towards the noise before looking back at each other. "Do try to not get yourself discorporated."

"Likewise. I'll see you in a year, angel."

Aziraphale nodded and started walking away, dragging his suitcase behind him. Before stepping through the train's entrance, he looked back, spotting the demon exactly where he left him, still watching him. Crowley winked and saluted him, pulling a chuckle out of Aziraphale's throat.

Crowley was ridiculous.

And so the angel went back to London. Alive. And out of the rather of any demonic entity, apart from the one he wanted to stay in the radar of.

[the-bi-space-ace]

A Quick Cuddle - Part 1 - Wrecker

Hi all! Since I really needed some comfort (and it seems like many others need it right now too) this will be my first post for Echo-vember. I've decided to post one Echo-focused fic each week of November revolving around the first time Echo hugs each of the batch. If you want to be tagged when I post these fics let me know <3

Thank you @renton6echo for coming up with the concept of Echo-vember. I'm excited for it <3

Ao3 Link

Part 2 - Tech - Tumblr Link & Ao3 Link

Part 3 - Hunter - Tumblr Link & Ao3 Link

Summary: The first time Echo hugs Wrecker

Word Count: 1,021

Their mission had gone off without a hitch. It was the first of many, Echo hoped, as they boarded the Marauder to embark on whatever was next for the group. He could barely keep up with how fast everything was moving. One mission after another, no planet longer than a few days, so much to learn he was racing just not to fall behind. Rest days were far and few between. He slept even less with Clones Force 99 than he did when he was a 501st ARC. Even when he did it was always surrounded by people just as he liked it, constantly listening to the sounds of snores and chatter and even breathing. That was okay with Echo. He didn’t have too much time to think in between rushing into battle and his new squad was about as chaotic as he expected. They were nearly yelling over each other in the excited rush that followed their mission. It was swift, simple, but they’d run into the need for an explosion and that got all of their blood pumping. Who would’ve thought, the squad of excitable commandos liked when things went boom. He was busy smiling at them, ignoring the need to make a plan, set a path, move on, while they pushed each other around and chattered. 

“That was awesome!” Wrecker whooped as he whipped his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor. A wide smile stretched across his face, skin flushed with excitement. He shoved Echo’s shoulder. “Who knew you could do something like that?!” Right. Echo tried to bite back the grin but he was fighting a losing battle. He’d been on top of a walker, helping plant explosives while the rest of them distracted enemies for him and the big guy. Apparently using his grappling hook to swing off the side of it, wrapping its legs together, and tucking into a roll as he dismounted wasn’t just a common method everyone used. When he’d knocked the walker over he yelled at Wrecker to run, close enough that their backs heated while the explosion went off behind them. Echo wasn’t sure why it was particularly exciting but it may have been the domino effect of explosions that detonated throughout the battlefield that made them all so giddy. 

Something about fire. It just really made all of them bouncier. 

Echo shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Had to learn something from all of that ARC training.” It was the first time he’d truly felt confident with the batch. They’d only known each other for a few weeks, spent even less time in the field, and he’d fumbled a few plays - understandable - but he’d let it hurt his ego a bit too much. All those racing thoughts and unease had wriggled its way into his mind. A win was nice. It reminded him who he was. A time when they thought he fit in was even better. The batch was so tight he started to think infiltrating their ranks was impossible. 

Maybe he just hadn’t given them enough time. 

Wrecker laughed - bright and jovial - nudging Echo again, this time hard enough that he bumped into Hunter who steadied him with a grin. “You can say that again! We make a great team.” In a move that almost knocked all the air out of his lungs Wrecker swept his arms around Echo’s waist, lifting him up into the air. The shock came first along with a surprised noise from the back of his throat - not a squeak, thank you very much - as the big guy hugged him. His feet dangled in the air while Wrecker swayed him back and forth. 

This was the first time any of them had hugged him. For a brief moment it was like being doused in freezing cold water but the warmth radiating off of Wrecker made every bone in his body relax. Hugs certainly hadn’t been at the top of his list of priorities - he hadn’t really thought about it - but he found himself smiling regardless. Wrecker was a tactile guy, mostly shoving and throwing his arm around the others, but hugs weren’t out of the question. Echo just hadn’t realized that Wrecker would ever want to hug him with his metal and attitude and newness to the squad so he’d not yet attempted to get physically closer to any of them yet. At least Wrecker was the easiest to befriend, so quick to invite Echo to join him in their down time and offer him space. It felt nice to be treated like a part of things. He couldn’t really hug him back, not with his arms pinned to the side as they were, but he did chuckle, awkwardly patting Wrecker’s side.

“Any time, big guy. Maybe next time we can make it a few more yards away from the explosion before it goes off.” The light scold was taken lightheartedly with a laugh. Wrecker squeezed him tight one last time then put him down, holding onto his shoulder to keep him steady while he regained his footing. The smile stuck to his face so bad he almost had to hide it behind his hand. Something as simple as a hug and he was taken down, reduced to silence, watching dutifully as the rest of them kept getting under each other's skin. Lucky was a word he would use, he supposed. It may seem simple but the worry that his new squad wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to be tactile with him was slowly ebbing away, flickering to the back of his mind even for the moment. His hand itched to do the same things the rest of them seemed so comfortable with - shoving, ruffling hair, hugs - but he wasn’t quite there yet. Wasn’t ready to be the initiator for tactile forms of affection. Wrecker had opened the door, allowed in some form of familiarity he hadn’t quite realized he missed so much. There was still learning, sure, but hope bloomed in his chest at the thought that this could be more than a squad, more than a team, but something closer to his heart altogether.

[unhetalia]

England headcanons (pt. 1):

Chain-smokes like a motherfucker. Alfred, who doesn't smoke and pretends very hard to think smoking is disgusting, hasn't yet realised where his secret smoking kink comes from.

Currently works for British Intelligence/has infiltrated his own government.

Carries around either a cane or umbrella that hides a sword even though he has never ONCE had to use it. He just feels more comfortable having a sword. (He does also carry around a gun, which, in contrast, has been used often.)

Also carries around his own pen, and absolutely loathes the thought of using someone else's. The pen is a first edition Michel Perchin Serpent in Champagne LE Fountain Pen given to him by Alfred - only ten were ever made and it cost a cool 8k. While Arthur has more valuable things - especially from his time as a pirate and back when he personally knew his royal family - the pen is still one of his most prized possessions.

His favourite tea is actually French Earl Grey - which is Earl Grey with rose petals. Not actually French? But Arthur's still pretty annoyed about it.

As mentioned in a few of my other posts - Arthur is incredibly physical and has kept up with sword fighting and various martial arts over the years, and regularly goes to the gym. He's very disciplined about it.

Tends to eat only for fuel as opposed to enjoyment whenever he's left to his own devices.

If pressed, Arthur will admit his best friend is Francis. Francis would say the same about Arthur.

(Despite their individual body counts, Francis and Arthur have never slept with each other.)

(Arthur doesn't have a lot of friends and has a strained relationship with his siblings, and has always felt that people don't like spending time with him. Even when he was on top of the world, working with his government to become an Empire, he still felt like an underdog.)

On that note, Arthur worked with his government longer than the other Nations, and was a huge part of establishing the British Empire. It made his already fraught relationship with his siblings even worse, and he regrets a lot of it.

Nations get scars very rarely, because very few things have the ability to give them scars - magical weapons is one of those things. Out of all the Nations, England has the most scars.

England is amazing at knitting and crochet, and he gifts Francis crocheted figurines from French cartoons for his birthday every year, which Francis adores. He also knits Canada scarves and gloves and beanies whenever he remembers him.

One of Arthur's most embarrassing memories is getting gonorrhea during his pirate days. He didn't have sex for a month after his healing kicked in - a record back then - and he became a lot more diligent in procuring and using the linen sheaths they used as condoms at the time.

Three of Arthur's back molars are implants made of real gold.

Alfred is the first (and last) person Arthur will say he's ever fallen in love with BUT the closest he's come is with another American - a nurse that took care of him during World War I. She was blonde and blue eyed and once shouted Arthur down when he insisted on continuing to fight even with a bullet lodged in his shoulder. She completely disappeared in April 1917, just before the Americans officially joined the war. He sometimes wonders what happened to her.

[luvkyu]

rivals ( lee donghyuck/haechan ) part one

maybe donghyuck's school rival isn't as bad as he thought?

content : 2k words, male reader, angstish/fluff at the end, high school!au, academic enemies to lovers trope, toxic parents ( reader's ), just a little crying ( reader ) but hyuck is a sweetheart about it so it's fine <333

part two | part three

"haechan."

"..haechan?"

"donghyuck!"

donghyuck snapped out of his trance, turning his head toward his deskmate.

"huh?"

"class is over," jaemin said with a small snicker. he exchanged glances with jeno, who now stood beside his desk while clutching his bag over his shoulder.

"staring daggers at y/n again?" jeno teased.

donghyuck clicked his tongue in disgust as he looked back at y/n.

"he's top of the class again. he's a menace."

"pfft," jaemin scoffed, "he's a menace? he literally just studies and basically never talks. he's the opposite of a menace. he's actually very nice."

donghyuck only gave his friend a side eye in response.

"he's nice?" jeno asked, genuine.

"mhm! he lended me some money for lunch last week. he hasn't talked to me since, or asked me to repay him."

"he's a menace," donghyuck insisted. "next test, i'll get top of the class for sure. and he'll be stuck with second."

"that's what you said last time.." jeno muttered.

"hey!-"

"guys!" renjun's voice suddenly infiltrated their classroom. "you're like, the last ones left in here. c'mon."

"tsk." donghyuck gently flicked jeno's head as he stood up and gathered his books. jaemin laughed again, the three of them finally leaving with renjun.

y/n still sat at his desk while slowly packing up his bag, actually the last student left. a small smile tugged at his lips as he thought about what he'd overheard.

"haechan is very loud for such a gentle looking person," he mumbled, before snickering.

"n/n!"

y/n looked up at the sound of his nickname. mark now stood in the doorway of his classroom, waiting for him.

"can i walk you home?" mark asked happily.

"you always walk me home."

mark smiled and nodded, "i know. but i still like asking."

y/n rolled his eyes. as his neighbor and best friend, mark was always very attentive to y/n. especially since all y/n ever did was sleep, eat, and study. mark always wished he'd be more social - he thought it'd do him some good to stop worrying about his grades so much. but y/n's parents would definitely disagree.

after walking for a while, the pair finally made it to their neighborhood. y/n seemed way too in his head today, and it made mark worry even more.

"are you coming to the dance showcase tonight? jisung and i have been practicing for weeks."

y/n sighed and shook his head.

"can't. i'm tutoring tonight. i'm sorry."

mark frowned at first, but quickly perked up.

"that's okay! i'll get someone to video it for you," he assured. "what about tomorrow? you can hang out since it's saturday right?"

"sure, that's fine. wanna see a movie or something?"

mark nodded eagerly, "love to!! we can go in the evening and you can stay the night at my place if you want."

y/n nodded and gave him a small smile.

"sounds good. good luck with your dance tonight, let me know how it goes."

"mm! see you tomorrow!" mark replied.

donghyuck walked into the local public library, a small prance in his step. he always enjoyed tutoring other students, as odd as that may sound.

he found a small table and began setting out his study materials while waiting for his tutee. the smile that had been resting on his face, however, did not last long. after looking up, he found that y/n was sitting at another table not far from his. he scowled under his breath.

"our teacher got the top students to tutor others, but we were supposed to find different places. tsk." he quickly stood from his chair and trudged over to y/n.

"..." donghyuck waited for y/n to look up from his book, but the male was stubborn. or maybe he just didn't care enough to spare donghyuck a glance.

"if you're going to speak, then speak. if not.." y/n spoke while making a shoo gesture with his hand. donghyuck's brows furrowed.

"why are you here?" he asked, not caring about the rude tone of his voice.

y/n finally looked up from his book. donghyuck was pretty, y/n would give him that, but that was about it.

"i'm tutoring chenle. and what about you? are you stalking me?"

donghyuck felt a surge of panic run through his body. "wha- no?! i'm supposed to be tutoring here. you go somewhere else!"

y/n simply gave the other a blank stare. "sure," he answered sarcastically. "i'll go somewhere else, stand up chenle, and he'll fail our next test. then it'll be your fault. you really wanna be the reason chenle fails? i thought you were better than that, lee donghyuck."

"you-.." donghyuck clenched his jaw.

"y/n..?" chenle's voice broke between the two. he gave a small, awkward bow as donghyuck moved aside.

"chenle! ready to get started?"

chenle nodded while looking nervously at donghyuck. he didn't like seeing him aggravated, nor did he wanna get in the middle of something between him and y/n.

"i can give you guys a minute if-"

"no," donghyuck stopped him, "we're done."

y/n sent donghyuck an insincere smile before watching him go back to his table to continue waiting for his own tutee.

their tutoring sessions lasted about two hours, and the whole time, donghyuck would steal disgusted glances at his rival. he kept wondering how jaemin could say he's actually nice.

"maybe he's not nice to you cause you always give him such a hard time," jaemin had once argued. donghyuck scoffed. no, that couldn't be it. y/n had to be the problem.

donghyuck looked up from the paper he was supposed to be reviewing. y/n had a kind smile on his face as he moved his pencil from question to question, explaining the answers to chenle.

"yeah, he's definitely the problem," he whispered in annoyance.

"huh?"

donghyuck perked up, remembering the pupil beside him.

"mm? oh, nothing! let's go over these."

his student nodded as donghyuck slid the worksheet over to him. donghyuck's eyes naturally drifted to y/n one more time before taking a big breath and beginning to review the paper.

rain.

it just had to be raining when y/n stepped out of the library to start his way home. he sighed and stopped under the last awning of the building.

"fucking great," he muttered.

taking his phone out, he scrolled down to his mother's contact which he had at first planned to call. but then, he thought, his parents were the last people he wanted to see or be driven home by. so with that, he began walking.

usually, walking home was no problem for y/n. it was around a twenty minute walk to his neighborhood from both school and the library, as the two were only a couple blocks away from each other. his walks gave him time to listen to music and enjoy the weather, or just to be on his phone without the prying eyes of his parents.

but today, y/n could already feel the rain starting to soak through his clothes. the water dripped down from his hair and onto his face, making him let out another sigh.

"maybe i'll get sick this weekend and have an excuse not to study," he hoped quietly. his small smile fell after thinking about it for a minute. "if i get sick, they'll blame me for walking in the rain, though."

crossing his arms, he walked faster and lowered his head. while watching his shoes slap the puddles on the ground, his mind kept wandering. he felt incredibly sad. he wished his parents could just be his parents, instead of borderline dictators. education didn't mean anything to him, and yet he tried so hard to be top of his class just to earn some kind of validation from them.

before he knew it, he was crying. not a heavy sob, just quiet tears that blended with the rain while the color of his eyes faded into a tint of red.

suddenly, the rain stopped hitting him. his brows furrowed. the drops were still hitting the ground around him, but he couldn't feel them.

"idiot. you'll get sick if you keep walking in this weather," donghyuck scolded. y/n looked up to see the male holding a black umbrella over themselves. as much as he hated donghyuck, he was freezing, so he took the offer and mumbled a quiet, "thank you."

donghyuck had never been this close to his rival. their shoulders were touching, and he thought he should've hated it, but instead there was a small, exciting spark running up his spine.

"why are you walking?" donghyuck asked. when y/n didn't answer, he leaned over to see the other better under their umbrella. his face dropped with the realization that y/n was crying.

"ah.." he stood back up straight, unsure of what to say now. he hated that he felt bad for someone he was supposed to despise. but y/n was, after all, just another person.

"are you okay?"

y/n scoffed as he wiped his tears. "if i said yes, i'd be lying."

donghyuck nodded and looked around a bit awkwardly. he never thought himself good at comforting people, but he'd definitely try.

"wanna talk about it?"

y/n suddenly stopped walking. he could feel the rain hit him again when donghyuck kept walking, taking the umbrella with him. he turned in surprise before hurrying back to y/n to shield him from the water.

"why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?" y/n asked.

donghyuck met his eyes, quiet. y/n's eyes looked tired and strained from his tears, but beautiful despite this. he almost felt entranced from his gaze.

"i dunno.." donghyuck mumbled, "you're just a person, right? regardless of whether i hate you or not. and i don't mind listening if you wanna talk."

y/n's lips thinned into a line as he thought about it. he looked down at his soaked shoes.

"i don't wanna go home," he muttered out.

donghyuck frowned. something was definitely wrong, but he'd feel wrong if he pried into y/n's home life.

an idea struck him as they arrived at a sheltered bus stop. he pulled y/n's arm and finally lowered the umbrella to sit him down on the dry bench. donghyuck could see that the male was beginning to shiver, his jacket turned to a darker drenched color.

"take that off," he said while tugging at the wet fabric of y/n's sleeve.

"what?"

"take it off. you'll definitely get sick if you keep that on. take mine," donghyuck said while holding his now discarded jacket out to his rival.

y/n's brows furrowed in concern. "but you won't have anything to wear.."

donghyuck shrugged, "i'm dry. and i like the cold. really, please take it."

y/n nodded and slowly took his jacket off. it felt gross to handle such a wet piece of clothing around his body, but the dry and heavy fabric of donghyuck's jacket quickly made up for it. he sat back and snuggled into it with a content smile.

"thank you."

donghyuck nodded and set the other jacket aside. he could tell y/n was trying to keep his smile at bay, but he decided not to pester him about it. what mattered was that he was safe and dry now.

"..why don't you want to go home?" he finally asked. y/n's smile faltered.

"my parents are home."

donghyuck didn't really understand, but he didn't plan on being any more nosy. he looked around and spotted a restaurant behind the bus stop, deciding to focus on that.

"have you eaten?"

y/n looked at him in slight confusion. "what?"

"have you had dinner yet? we can go eat together before you have to go home."

"where?" y/n realized right after he asked that it didn't really matter where. any place would be better than a house with his parents.

"maybe that place?" donghyuck answered.

y/n turned to see the restaurant donghyuck was pointing at. he'd actually been there a few times with mark, so he quickly nodded.

"yes please."

[bryhoney]

Recognisance pt. 4

Here she is! Not 100% pleased with it so may come back and change bits but otherwise!

Previous. Next

AO3

Please see the tags for TW - MDNI! (COD Typical TW)

The base was a series of sprawling, networking tunnels built into the mountain range. The lack of natural light and the pristine cleanliness of the facility gave it an uneasy, clinical feel. 

You were free to wander around when Gabriel was away from the base, although the areas you were ‘authorised’ to enter were mainly communal spaces. Once the people occupying these spaces learned of your affiliation to Rorke, they became withdrawn and quiet - ignoring you when you walked through the door. 

You don’t visit those rooms very often. 

You were only barred from entering areas that contained their more recent advancements; notably their engineering and weaponry projects. No part of you wanted to be privy to that level of information. You’d been captured before, God knows what information you’d already gifted the Ghosts and their US superiors. 

It had been that sinking realisation that stopped you from pouring over the blueprints someone had left out on their workspace. You had gotten lost on your way to yet another meeting Gabriel had invited you to on your third day. The office hadn’t looked like it belonged to one of the Generals. It had been unlocked and there, right in front of you, were the locations and plans for the Federation’s most important asset: weapon-based satellites. 

LOKI

It was this kind of information that the Ghosts were after, possibly information you’d already fed to them - you wouldn’t give them any more. You had squeezed your eyes shut and stumbled away from the office, trying to wash away any memory of those files. 

The meeting you had been making your way to was already underway by the time you’d found it. You recall how Rorke had glared at you, shaking his head once you entered. He had been sitting at the front, arms crossed and facing the rest of the personnel. The General who led the meeting had explained their concerns regarding the US Army’s recent movements. 

It was a concern that echoed around the base in the days that followed. 

The Americans were growing increasingly bold and the Federation’s forces still weren’t large enough to launch effective counterattacks. Let alone another attack like the one attempted two years ago.

The attack you’d been captured in. 

The Federation had been forced underground to regroup and rebuild. Most of the manpower and the weaponry they’d been creating had also been lost that day. 

The Federation was still effectively in ruins. You weren’t sure what Rorke’s plan was regarding the Ghosts, the most he had revealed was that he’d proposed the completion of the facility you were in. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there shouldn’t even be a base this close to the border, or at least, not one that Rorke inhabits. 

You’d tried to make yourself useful around the base, the Federation higher-ups weren’t happy at Gabriel’s suggestion to put you on intelligence. Surveillance was more suited to you at the moment, something low stakes, watching the perimeter or keeping an eye on the entrances whilst boxed away in a stuffy, impenetrable room. You had no access to anything other than the screens in front of you. Occasionally you’d buzz in a squad team that had been sent out to patrol the area. 

Sometimes, it was Rorke you buzzed in and out of the facility. 

There were two others in the room, overlooking the base. It turned out that being infiltrated by the Ghosts multiple times had become a sore spot for the Federation. 

Besides, it motivated you to stay on top of the video feed. Your safety depended on the work you were doing. Gabriel had made it clear that the Ghosts intended to re-capture you. 

In the meantime, your routine largely stayed the same. You still found yourself locked away in a room facing your psychologist every morning. Regrettably, you still hadn’t warmed up to his emotionless approach, the same approach he was using today. 

He asks the same questions each day and it takes a great deal of energy each day not to leap over the table and throttle him. 

He’d just asked about your school life and realised you’d about reached your limit for the day. 

“What’s it to you?” you couldn’t hide your intense dislike of this man. He was cold, reserved and unfeeling. He scrutinised you and never really told you why he was asking these questions, what you could be doing to aid your healing. 

Just the same comment about your short-term memory improving. 

“Can I ask why you’re being so combative today?” he asks, voice unchanging despite the deviation from his normal questioning. 

“Am I not allowed to be?” your arms are crossed and you can’t bring yourself to sit upright in your chair. 

He jots something down, and you roll your eyes. Pretentious. 

“What’s your mother’s name?” he continues with familiar questions, thank God. You decide to just grin and bear the next few minutes with this man. 

“I don’t know” You’re looking at him now, you hope he can tell that you don’t like him. You’d been so polite, so hopeful that he’d help you. 

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” 

“I think so, I mean-? I told you, I don’t know” You knew with absolute certainty that you had brothers. You had brothers who loved you. 

You felt the intense need to keep this to yourself, maybe you’d tell Gabriel about your recent revelations. He was colder at the moment, intently focused on achieving whatever it was he set out to do whilst he was here. 

“How do you know Rorke?” 

“He’s my commanding officer. He’s helping me to get better, he’s-” you trail off, what was he doing? It felt a lot like he was playing chess with you, although you weren’t his opponent, you were one of his pawns. 

But he held you so carefully, comforted you-

“He’s?” the man prompts, as though you weren’t aware that you’d trailed off. 

“He’s leading the Federation efforts against the Ghost faction of the US army, I trust him”. Each time you admitted that you trusted him, something roiled within you. You knew it was because you were unsettled that he seemed to know more about you than you did. He also seemed to be using this information against you, rather than simply telling you what he knew.  

“Who is Elias Walker?” his voice monotone, clearly finding satisfaction with your previous answer.

“Elias! ELIAS!” It was the boy’s voice, your brother. Your brother knew Elias Walker. 

Your chest caves in on itself, and you quickly find it within yourself to steel yourself and shrug it off as a cough. 

Your brother had known Elias? Maybe he had been hunting him down? You’d need to ask Gabriel these questions if you wanted answers but everything in you told you to keep these fragments of your life quiet. 

“He was the leader of the Ghosts, Rorke killed him two years ago”. That was a fact. Every board that had information on the Ghosts could tell you that. Rorke had told you upon the anniversary of the Scarecrow’s death. A celebration he said, damning the man to Hell over and over again for his betrayal. Elias Walker had deserved a death less merciful than the one Rorke had granted him, he told you. You didn’t push him to elaborate on what that meant. 

“Who are Logan and Hesh Walker?” you knew this one too, the boards surrounding the offices were littered with pictures of them, sightings. 

“They’re Elias’s sons, they’re Ghosts. Alive. Dangerous”. That’s all you do know, except that you heard someone yell his voice once, promising to kill someone. Likely promising to kill you. They’d be some of the people who’d destroyed your mind. 

“Thomas Merrick?” 

A shove, playful “You got it!” a new voice. 

“Another Ghost, alive. He took over as commanding officer .” you roll your eyes, trying to remain calm at the flurry of new memories. 

“Keegan Russ?” 

“Don’t move, keep your head down” the deep gravelly voice, again. This one was beginning to annoy you. 

Instead of closing the session down, he continues, “Do you remember being captured?” 

You pause, “No. I know when I was captured but I don’t remember the actual incident”. You’ve often tried to remember the moment, to know where you had gone wrong. Why you’d been close enough for them to get to you. 

“Do you remember what they did to you?” He asks, 

“Yes. Bits and pieces. I- they-”. You breathe, taking a moment to compose yourself, “I remember some of what they did. I wasn’t trained to withstand it, I don’t-” You clear your throat, “They hurt me”. It’s all you manage, weirdly proud of your ability to compose yourself in front of this idiot who you’re barely restraining yourself from outright strangling. 

You hated that despite giving him the same answers each day, they still made you emotional and scared. 

“Can you tell me about it” he is furiously jotting down notes. 

“Do I have to,” is all you can manage, your head pounding. 

“If you could try for me- if you remember any details of where you were, who was there with you. I have given you enough time to process this”. He is calm, entirely unaware that your hands itch to hurt him. As though you could, the man is a soldier, and you’re not trained. 

Prick. 

“It was always the same room, there were no lights, except from above, when someone would enter. It was men in masks, the ghost masks - I never saw their faces but it was the masks from the photos it was-” You calm your breathing once again, cursing at yourself. “They would drug me, hurt me- they used knives or their fists or- I was interrogated, They knew how to hurt me but I don’t remember… It’s all so far away, it’s like it was a bad dream or”. You laugh at your rambling, which worries you further, you must be near hysterics. 

“Good, good”. He writes, a part of you desperate to read his notes another wanting to rip them apart, “Do you remember signing up for the Federation?” he continues, you’re confused by the sudden change in topic. 

“No”. These were the questions that upset you the most, the ones that truly unravelled the extent of the damage. You had no beginning, no solid memories of anything before being woken up by Rorke. 

“What do you remember before you were captured” he continues, glossing over the brief response. 

His body was pressed against yours, your back against a wall. His hands were holding your waist, “fuck” he moaned next to your ear. His hand move-

“How many times!? Nothing! All I have are pieces of memories that don’t fit! I have no idea who I was, what I liked or how I lived!” You are going to end this session before you burst into tears. 

“Okay, that’ll do it for today, see you tomorrow morning, I expect-” his voice was cut off as you slammed the door shut behind you. 

------

It had been almost two weeks since you’d arrived, and you knew nothing more about Gabriel’s mission than that first day on the landing pad. He frequently left the base while you were confined to the facility and its unwelcoming occupants. 

Gabriel had tried to make time for you, but it was clear his priorities lay elsewhere. He was hunting the Ghosts and you were nothing more than a distraction during the day. He’d visit your room each night to check in with you before you politely kicked him out. 

You were enrolled on weekly self-defence classes and weapons training at the request of Gabriel. He’d find a way to remind you in almost every conversation that the Ghosts had made themselves clear in their intention to recapture you. 

The thought of being back there was almost unbearable but you were growing increasingly restless inside the base. 

You were in the lower recesses of the compound, your daily walk during your surveillance shift break. Down here, you could peek your head out of an observation window and observe the guards walking around outside. It was the only real escape you could afford. 

Reaching your arm out, you could feel the gentle breeze through your fingers. You sighed as you forced yourself away from the window, moving towards one of the stairwells. 

It happened all at once. 

The peaceful silence is shattered by the deafening blare of alarms. You all but scream at the abrupt chaos. Your head snaps back and forth, desperately searching for a threat. Your heart is in your throat, choking you.  

As the corridor plunges into darkness you fill your lungs with a shaky breath, the onslaught of memories is unbearable. You were back with them.

A laugh, “Oh sweetheart, you’re awake. Good. We’ve still got some things to discuss”, the glint of a knife. Screaming. Laughing. 

No. You can do this. 

Move forward. 

The base was under attack and you weren’t where you were supposed to be. 

You did everything you could to regulate your breathing and remain calm despite the thunderous sound of your heart. Your hands were shaking as you reached for the handrail, to begin dragging yourself up the final flights of stairs. 

The emergency lights activate and now the darkness is ruptured by a deep red glow that dips on and off intermittently and plays tricks on your vision. It feels as though the shadows move, as though each time the lights come back on you’ll see a Ghost striding towards you. As though-

Not real. Move. Keep moving. 

You feel a tear run down your face. 

After running up three flights of stairs, you slip quietly through the doors to your level, praying that whatever caused the alarm was nothing more than a fluke or an exercise. You tried to keep your heavy breathing quiet despite the alarm still going off. 

You were halfway through the maze of servers that led to the surveillance room when your foot knocked against something heavy and soft. 

A body. It’s a body. 

You swallow a sob at the realisation that the body was a soldier. Someone you’d passed in the corridors - now they were gone. Gone. Gone. 

You're next if you don’t move. Move. Move. 

You whisper an apology to the individual as you raid them for their weapons, closing their eyes as you turn to listen to the room. You try and drown out the loud thrum of the servers and the continuous drone of the alarm while you listen for movement. You inhale slowly, it’s now or never. You seize the opportunity of darkness and sprint across the open control space towards the bright glow of screens that lie just meters from the surveillance room.

You scan the screens, looking for any communication broadcasts that might indicate what has led to this situation. 

Your head whips around as you hear a quiet thud behind you, your gun aimed out in front of you.  

You’re staring down a barrel, but that’s not what makes you freeze. 

The man holding the gun is a Ghost. 

[messrsrarchives]

Let me scream this, fanfic is the only form of literature that is divorced from capitalism

oh how i wish this were true 😖 i literally JUST wrote about the politicisation and capitalisation of fanfiction for an essay comp with my uni (i won :3) and UGH.

theoretically? yes! and being separate from capitalism is so important,,, not just for fanfiction but for literature as a whole? to be separate from this idea of profit, of your voice and ideas being profitable and marketable, of having to fit into a predetermined box for your voice and experience and words to be heard? capitalism ruins literature. it ruins freedom of voice when we see the demographic of those getting published (and like,,, that historically) but also it limits creativity and ideas when your focus is now on what's marketable and what's trending, and we go through waves of the same tropes/story being told over and over and over again until the next big trend hits. capitalism prohibits creativity. and theoretically,,, fanfiction is devoid from that, right? because we aren't profiting from it, we aren't buying it, and theoretically everyone's voice holds the same power and we aren't restrained by what's marketable and who's louder.

BUT realistically:

i mean obviously the first point - people selling binds. instantly bringing capitalism into fandom. fanfiction becomes capitalised on a monetary level.

but money isn't everything here i think! i think we have ideals in fanfiction/fandom that aren't necessarily about profit, but still uphold capitalist values.

especially over on tiktok, we see the same ideals through followers, likes, 'influencers'. we see it when cosplayers call themselves actors and want to use fanfilms for portfolios, we see it when fanfilms ask for money *before* content, which goes against the whole "fandom content is shared with you, not made for you" ideal, we see it when people start gatekeeping their ideas rather than sharing like we used to, etc etc - ideals of capitalism infiltrating. we start developing this hierachy of those at the "top" with more influence and more power and whose ideas we follow more, and those at the "bottom" start becoming more like consumers than enjoyers. fanfiction - and in turn, fandom as a whole - becomes a market. (and we see the same concept with hits and kudos on fanfics and how this determines what ones people think are worth reading)

we see it when people start criticising fics - again, not monetary but rather the same ideals - and determining which voices and which experiences can be heard, whilst the others are pushed aside. "no you can't write about this because i think it should be done this way and xyz and therefore your voice is irrelevant and we're going to cancel your fic online". people start determining whose voice can be heard and what the "right way" to do something is, the exact way they do in tradlit which is obviously dependent on capitalism now (which is a big part of why there's been a rise in selfpub recently)

we see it in the puritanical view people take towards fandom and characters - in the way certain ideals are restricted as being "too immoral" to write about and we end up, again, cancelling people (see here: period typical misogyny = the author being misogynistic and thus getting cancelled??) - we start, again, determining right and wrong ways of doing things and turn this sharing of ideas for fun from a hobby based mindset to more of a "i am a consumer and i am unhappy with the product i have received" type of mindset, which then leads to people making their ideas and works more "marketable" to the "consumer", and suddenly these capitalist values have changed the very way we produce content. are we doing X this way because we want to, or because people will get mad at us if we do Y?

we see SO many capitalist ideals in fandom that even if binds weren't being sold and fanfilms weren't taking extortionate amounts of money,,,, i still wouldn't say fanfiction is divorced from capitalism. i'd say we definitely have signs of the hierarchy, the restriction, the consumer x producer dynamic, and i'd argue that likes/followers/"the next big fic" etc etc are all signs of how fanfiction is infact not divorced from capitalism.

BUT!! my final point is that:

as a concept, absolutely it is! and in most instances, yes. fanfiction is divorced from capitalism - fanDOM is where it gets a bit trickier. but i think the big transition from more anonymous and communal ideas of fanfiction to a more interactive social media based one (esp platforms with high traction like tiktok) has meant that a lot of capitalist values (which are prevalent on SM in general) start infiltrating fandom so naturally because it's what we're used to! we're so used to the traction and the power and the hierarchy and the cancelling etc etc that we don't even notice it really. but fanfiction starts becoming more mainstream, people want traction, they evaluate the "market" and determine the best way to go about "selling" their fic, jump on the more "profitable" trends, etc etc etc. capitalism. hinderance of individual exploration and expression to appease the masses.

so theoretically and ideally? yes, fanfiction is divorced from capitalism. but realistically and in practice? no, because fanDOM isn't, and it affects fanFICTION

[nightsdreamgates]

NiGHTS HCs————————————

Since I wrote one for Reala, it is time for NiGHTS' turn; These headcanons are mostly based of NiD version along with NiDG, my AU interpretations. So let's get into it.

[•] General Headcanons :.

NiGHTS rebellion is a symbolism of finding the truth. The reasons for his choices in rejecting his "nightmare nature" are much more than simply having an affection for nightopia or the unknown, but recognizing that his nature was being exploited;

His relaxed, laid-back behavior and not caring about his surroundings also serves as a defense mechanism so that NiGHTS does not easily become attached to the people around him, perhaps out of fear that his influence and constant persecution could affect them;

After rebelling, NiGHTS had lost a good portion of his nightmaren power. This half was recovered as NiGHTS learned to connect his essence with the Ideyas of the visitors, or the visitors themselves. Creating an indirect link with nightopia;

With this, strengthening his dualization, something that, although he uses it in moments of desperation to escape from the Ideya prisons, in the beginning he only used it to free himself or strengthen himself (the loss of this half of his power made it easier for him to imprison himself), only for later on, he starts to help visitors to overcome and learn to use their own Ideya magic, to overcome their own fears;

NiGHTS does not consider himself a hero, but rather a being who simply chose to follow what he believes is right. Without being commanded or brainwashed over;

Many who meet him for the first time see him as someone very lively, cheerful and talkative, but the truth is that this is not his true personality, but a persona he uses to hide his true intentions or feelings. One of his other defense mechanisms. Ex: from the image below:

The first appearance, which shows more of his native nightmaren features, is his real face. Where he only shows this appearance to those he trusts and feels comfortable around, demonstrating that he is actually very quiet and less observant or attentive, because when he is super attentive, he tends to have his pupils dilated and eyes more open, while infiltrating the environment, just like in the second figure;

Despite it being his shapeshifting ability to "trick" visitors, it is also a common behavior of his to disguise himself and not look too out of the box while browsing through nightopia;

NiGHTS' eyes can change color depending on the environment. When it's very dark, his eyes become a vibrant violet color, now when there's a lot of light, they become a dark blue, something like indigo;

He was supposed to be the commander and emperor of Nightmera, but after his rebellion, now the one who has that title is Reala. Nowadays he is just a runaway prince;

His teeth are serrated and sharp, but he has some small fangs that stand out more;

His joints have the ability to dislocate and even disconnect from each other, which is why his hands are sometimes unconnected to his arms under his sleeves. He finds it more comfortable to disconnect his wrists from his arms as it gives him more freedom of movement and lightness;

His favorite pastime is literally wandering around, like sleeping in mid-air or giving little flute lessons by himself.

[•] Romance Headcanons :.

NiGHTS is not a traditional romantic, with over-the-top surprise dates, super extravagant gifts like roses and other very cheesy things like that;

He is more of a "Robin Hood" romantic, he likes to steal or take small things for you. And the gifts he prefers to give you are those that he can "mark you", such as accessories, perfumes and even him sharing his clothes, just so he can smell his scent on you. Something common in Nightmaren behavior;

As laid-back as he is, he likes to seduce his partner in a relaxed but skittish way, captivating his partner with small disturbances and flirtations that go outside the box, just to get his beloved off his rocker and see the cute reactions you make;

Because of his passion for flying, he would like to be able to fly alongside his partner, sharing his element, pride and tastes with you;

What he looks for in a partner is someone who understands his need for freedom and enjoyment of life. Someone who is too clingy, emotional or even dependent on him would suffocate him too much. Someone who knows how to respect his space and moments of solitude, but who can balance a cunning and a skittish attitude, or even have a calmer, more open and gentle base, to balance with his somewhat closed, observant and bold nature;

Their ways of showing love are through actions, gifts and quality time;

NiGHTS loves a competition over power in a relationship. This gives him more excitement and adrenaline (something he adores too) in bonding with their partner. But seeing their partner taking the lead by most, is captivating;

Often times, whenever NiGHTS feel affectionate, he would slide his arm around your shoulder or gently brush your cheek, hair or skin while admiring you, in a very genuine and passionate way.

This is what I got so far, hope you guys like my observations and interpretations for em'! Feel free to send asks for more headcanons like this 💜💜