#Cargo Tracking and Tracing

[corameiwrites]

𖦹 searching for love 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: your shift at a small bookstore is about to end when a handsome stranger walks in five minutes before closing

wc: 2k

pt. 2

A far off chime sounded from the old grandfather clock, signaling the passing of another half hour. That meant it was 8:30, and more officially, 30 minutes past closing time. Normally, you would have been packed up and locking the door by 7:58, eager to get home to your grouchy cat, messy room, and half-written research paper. There was nothing normal, however, about the six-foot something man with biceps the size of your head, meticulously browsing the shelves of your bookstore. 

Well, not yours, but the number of shifts you picked up having to pay the bills for your not-so-cheap Gotham apartment had basically made this place your second home.

So when the very fit and handsome stranger walked in a mere five minutes to closing, you lingered a little. Behind the counter at the front of the store, of course. It was far too scary to go and ask him if he needed help—you would run the risk of embarrassing yourself further. 

Earlier, when he had entered, you made the mistake of welcoming him with a rushed “Good Morning” despite the full moon visible through the store windows. He had glanced in your direction, nodded, and walked further into the store, going to start his long search of whatever it was he came here to look for. 

Which, by the looks of it, he found. 

He set the books down near you, looking at an assortment of random trinkets and bookmarks displayed on the counter. 

You smile, recognizing the titles. “Are you a fan of Austen?” 

His head sprung up as though he hadn’t been expecting you to speak to him. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.” 

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” Looking up the titles on the rather out-dated computer, you ring them up on the register. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.”  The corners of his mouth twitch up in a semi-smile as his hands retreat into his leather pockets. An odd choice to zip a leather jacket all the way to his chin, but who are you to judge? It's only now you're looking that you notice the scars littered across his face, as well as the few wisps of stark white hair across his forehead. You look down into his eyes, and though it was only a fleeting moment of prolonged eye-contact, it made you feel far too vulnerable.

 Looking away and vaguely remembering some staff meeting about professionalism, you read the total amount due to him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” His face blanks, and he blinks twice before digging through his pockets. His brows furrow. “Sorry, I…” his hands pat down his cargo pants before his shoulders slump. His face turns to one of slight annoyance. “I lost my wallet.”

“Oh.” Frankly, you don’t know what to do in this situation, and by the looks of it, neither does he. It's a little awkward—do you suggest he trace his steps? Call the bank to pause all his cards? But he’s paying in cash. Oh god, a thought crosses your mind. Is he a criminal? Fortunately, your mouth speaks before you even process what's coming out of it. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, and it's embarrassing the way your eyes track the movement. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. “I work tomorrow and Wednesday until closing if you want to come in around this same time, but I could tell my other coworkers of the situation if you come in a different day or time.” 

Silently, he stares at the poster. You recline back to your standing position, mentally slapping yourself for sharing your work schedule with a complete stranger who could very well be a criminal. A hot criminal. 

“...You close at eight?” 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” Thank you for finally showing up, customer service voice. He frowns, lifting his arm and pushing the sleeve of his leather jacket up before looking at you in shock. 

“You're closed right now?” he asked, though it sounded more like a state of a fact. 

You start to fidget with your clothes. “Technically speaking, yes.” 

His hand flies to his face, semi-face palming. “Shit,” he starts to back away slowly towards the door. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You smile at his panic, feeling a little amused despite yourself. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

“No, it's horrible, I’m horrible.” You can’t help but let out a small chuckle at his apologetic demeanor. By now he's halfway out the door, but turns back at your laugh.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up Pride & Prejudice, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

To that he nods, leaving and walking down the sidewalk in a rush. You stand for a minute, replaying the strange yet exciting interaction, hoping that the man would come again to claim his books. 

You were absolutely going to text your best friend about this when you got home. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♥  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

Jason Todd had lost track of time. Maybe it was the warm lighting that made the strain on his eyes decrease, or the soft music soothing his aching head, or the various earth-tone decorations that made him stay longer than he intended. He had only meant to hide for a couple minutes, enough to get Condiment King off his trail and onto Tims. That was until he spotted Pride & Prejudice on a shelf with the exact cover of the one he read in Bruce's library when he was younger. Blaming it on nostalgia, he picked it up, and before long the quaint bookstore became less of a hideout and more of an actual store. 

In all honesty, he could have spent the rest of his patrol in the place if not for an angry text from Tim cursing him out; something about going MIA and getting the mustard and ketchup smell out of his suit. Snapped back into reality, he found himself with a rather large amount of books he definitely couldn’t fit into his motorcycle bag. 

Through little internal debate, he lowered the amount to three books, Pride & Prejudice, 1984, and This Is It, chastising himself as he made his way to the front. It was reckless spending so long hiding when he was supposed to be out on patrol. Hell, his helmet and guns were thrown behind a dumpster in an alleyway down the street! For all he knew, they could be stolen and pawned by some homeless person. 

But there was just something about this store and its ability to make him lose track of time. 

He hurried to the register, glancing at the super-hero themed erasers. He spotted some of his family's personas, grimacing inwardly. Ever since coming back to Gotham, they had been pestering him to join them at the manor outside of vigilante duties. Personally, he would rather be shot ten times before–

“Are you a fan of Austen?” 

He looked up, a little spooked. Did he totally forget that there was another person here, working? Maybe. Scrambling his head for a response proved a daunting task, and that smile you were giving him wasn’t helping. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.”

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” You looked through the books, ringing them up on your computer. You seemed almost pleased with his choice in literature. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.” That knowledge, for some reason, makes him happy. From what he remembers, he also enjoyed the tale of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy when he was younger. 

He put his hands in his jacket pockets, slouching a little more than usual as he studied your clothing and your face. You were young, probably around his age and good looking, working at a bookstore; definitely not anyone dangerous. He knew his height and build tended to intimidate people, and despite its uses when he wore the mask, off-duty he rather disliked it. He didn’t look kind or soft the way you did. Conscious of his build and the darkness outside, he did what he could to hopefully put you at ease. 

You turn back to the register, clicking a few buttons. “That’ll be $14.33.” you look back up at him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” Legally, he couldn’t use cards since he was supposed to be six-feet under. He moved his hands around in their pockets, trying to find his wallet. “Sorry, I…” Patting down his pants, he inwardly groans, remembering leaving his wallet in his safehouse of the week before going out for patrol. “I lost my wallet.” 

“Oh.” Yeah, he's a dumbass. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” Your voice is hesitant and he swears on everything he will always check if he has money in his pockets before entering another establishment ever again. 

Running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he picked up on, he waves you off. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. You're still talking to him, but he looks at your face, noticing small details he hadn’t before, like the unique slope of your nose, the shade of your lips and how delicately your lashes fall over your eyes. When you stop talking, he averts his gaze at what you pointed to. 

“Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M., Sat.---Sun. 12 P.M. to 5 P.M.” He reads it again, trying to remember the day. Damian wasn’t on patrol, so it was a weekday. “Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M.” He rereads it once more in confusion. Given the darkness outside, there's no way it wasn’t past eight already. 

“...You close at eight?” he hesitantly asks. 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” If you were closer, he probably would have teased you about the customer service voice. He checks his watch. His whole body freezes as he reads the time. 

8:34

His head whips to you in confusion. “You're closed right now?”

“Technically speaking, yes.” You seem almost bashful as you answer.

Instant mortification fills his body, and he could hit himself for what he’s done. Not only did he unintentionally skimp out on patrol with Tim in a bookstore, potentially scaring the innocent and hot worker, but he wasted that workers time by wandering around for thirty fucking minutes past closing.  He starts to leave, apologizing to you, and despite your assurances, he can’t bring himself to face you knowing he’s kept you working later than you should. He's halfway out the door when he hears you laugh, and he momentarily pauses, turning halfway to face you. 

You’re smiling.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up a book, waving it at him, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

His throat seems to close up, and whether it's from embarrassment or that smile, he can’t tell. Nodding, he quickly leaves the store, walking in long strides back to his gear. Guilt, shame, and confusion all pile up inside him as he puts on his thigh straps, holstering the guns he put a little more care into hiding. Zipping down his leather jacket, he puts his helmet on, which immediately reconnects to his line with Red Robin. He's met with instant accusations and threats. 

“Wait for me down Fourth and Main, I’ll be there at nine.” He murmurs quickly, grappling to the top of the nearest building before disconnecting from the line. He perches over the edge, watching the lights in the bookstore shut off before you run out, closing and locking the door.

He takes extra care to keep himself hidden from your sight, ducking behind various rooftop structures and grappling to different buildings, silently protecting your late walk home. It’s only when you’ve entered your building and he sees a corner apartment window light up that he leaves. 

He’ll return to that bookstore tomorrow.

[dmitriene]

THOUGHTS ABOUT PRICE AND PREFERRING SITTING ON HIS LAP OFTEN.

cw: tooth rotting fluff, comfort, slightly suggestive, established relationship, lap sitting, flirty teasing, pet names, touching, intimacy, kinda cuddling, male anatomy, hard on, hints on blowjob, desperation and horny price, reader doesn't have gender description in the story, john might be ooc since he's wearing a glasses. pairing: bf john price x gf fem reader

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

there was something in john’s thighs that attracted you every time, like an affectionate yard kitten, to the lap of a passing person.

of course, the point is not at all in how attractive his muscular, wide thighs look in his military cargo pants or jeans, in which the second only further emphasizes how wide and soft his thighs are, and his light home shorts reveal them fully every time, making them even plusher, exposing dark thick hair hiding a scattering of healed scars underneath.

a great place to sit down.

therefore, you can never resist climbing onto the limp muscles, just at the moment when he smokes his usual cigars on the viranda, thick clouds of smoke dissolve with a tart smell around his figure when he holds a half open book with his free hand, glasses on the tip of his nose, not a necessary necessity, but convenient in order to preserve his eyesight, slightly weakened with age and military service.

john feels your presence almost immediately, as soon as the door opens slightly, albeit almost silently, but he clings to the slight shuffling of steps, and intuitively raises his hand with the book just when you fall into his arms, plopping your butt right on his rounded thighs, feeling how the muscles beneath you tense before relaxing, and a heavy hand traces the curve of your hip and waist, thick fingers tenderly squeezing the skin over the fabric of your light clothing.

— “feeling comfy, sweetheart?„

he purrs with a hint of hoarseness and a chesty, amusing grumble, blowing thick smoke through his nose and rings through his lips, letting the smoke rise up from his mustache and dissolve in the light breeze, blue eyes narrow as he examines you, familiarly running a warm palm along your leg and to the hip bone, tracking your satisfied purr with a smirk on his lips, corners of his lips hiding under facial hair.

— “very much so„

you answer sincerely and satisfactorily, settling on his lap with a slight fidgeting of your butt on his thighs, pressing against his wide chest with comfort and fluttering eyelashes, when you look into his blue eyes, cold in color, but so warm when he looks at you, despite at your sly squint and the way you move soft touches over his chest and to his thighs, outlining the skin with your fingers, as if planning something.

and john will know what excatly very soon, when you'll imposingly rise from your usual comfortable place only to kneel in front of him, settling between his already spread legs, not looking at the slight discomfort in his knees from the wooden surface of the veranda, completely concentrating on his darting gaze and slightly nervous swallowing when you place soft palms on his thighs and move them, causing his hairs to stand on end while your face getting closer.

he rolls his head back with a slight chesty growl and a scratch of his beard when you, so charmingly cunning, nose yourself between his legs, poking into his wide thigh and very close to his crotch, where under shorts and boxers swells and throbs from your mere presence next to him and a reverent gesture in his direction, holding him on the edge almost all the time, and now only further inflaming the feelings seething inside him.

a heavy hand rests right on the top of your head to gently stroke your hair, lightly scratching and moving towards your face, cupping with one palm and gently tickling the skin near your ears with the callous pads of his fingers, while you lean towards the touch, catching notes of tart tobacco and light woodiness, a characteristic, relaxing aroma, and he sees how your facial features soften into absolute limpness, lazily fluttering your eyelashes and causing a slight chuckle in your direction.

— “looking adorable down there, darling, hope you're enjoying this position, eh?„

he earns a meek nod and an almost sleepy — “mhhmm„ in his direction, before you press yourself tighter, not into his palm, but into the skin of his leg, creeping further, closer to his crotch, and john fidgets slightly uncomfortably, not from your actions, but from not wanting you to notice his obvious arousal, although this is pretty noticeable in the dark pupils enveloping the blue of his eyes and in the way his eyelids become heavy, his eyelashes cast a shadow over his eyes, and the bulging silhouette of his cock enthusiastically rubs against the fabric of his shorts and press into the barrier.

you will definitely repay him in full later, but for now you will remain a little longer in the same place, where his legs themselves slightly squeeze together, squeezing you slightly between them, rolling pleasant sensations across your skin, and you lick your lips, not immediately registering his strangled, breathy sigh in response to your actions and how much tighter you are pressed against him, your parted lips practically where he burns and demands, but he waits, patiently, until then he allows a quietly grumbled word to slip from his lips — “killing me, all looking like that, shi'..„ before john takes another drag from his almost finished cigar, calming himself, as you smile to yourself in response to his words.

you will definitely take care of him, just a little later, promise, john.

[joelalorian]

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Thirteen

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 7344 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Cursing. Secret spy shit is not so secret anymore. Angst. Being held captive. Violence. Murder. Vengeful Dave. Rescue. Desperation. Dry humping and coming in the pants.

Series Masterlist

The frantic search for you took a day and a half. In that time, Dave hadn’t slept. Had barely eaten. Time blurred into a feverish cycle of tracking leads, chasing cold trails, and battling the gnawing fear that he was already too late.

Mac had been so careful – almost too careful. Every trace of you vanished the second he stole you away from the safe house. They had nothing until that old, grainy gas station video of you was discovered. Dave’s tenacity paid off – he wasn’t going to give up until he found you.

During that day and a half, Dave had Resnik digging through every bit of footage from satellites to doorbell cameras, Kovac calling in every favor the group had left, and Ari – furiously sidelined but stable in a private hospital room – tracing Mac’s digital footprint for the past ten years. Sprinkled in there, Dave made frantic calls to the emergency vet to check on Ranger’s status. He needed that dog to be okay, just like he needed you to be.

Every dead end fueled Dave until his desperation to find you warred with the urge to rip the skin from Mac’s bones.

That grainy gas station footage changed everything. He knew McCall would slip up somewhere along the way. And involving your traitorous mother in his plans was a huge slip-up for McCall.

While you watched in horror as McCall snapped your mother’s neck, Dave and the boys raced to the docks to find you, Susan Plummer and her team of reinforcements not far behind. The weather turned fast as they neared your suspected location, the wind whipping, rain thundering down on the SUV’s windshield so hard the wipers could barely keep up.

“The temperature’s dropping, boss,” Kovac said, eyeing the readout on his military-grade watch. “We’re gonna need the GORE-TEX over our Kevlar.”

Dave slowed the vehicle to a crawl as they entered the empty dockyard, tires splashing through the building puddles. Killing the engine, the team moved fast to distribute their gear. The men looked like the lethal strike team they were – quiet, efficient, and deadly in their black gear.

Dave spoke before they turned to scour the dockyard, his voice barely louder than the driving rain but no less clear.

“This is not a negotiation. This is not just a rescue mission. This is war, one I intend to win. Are we clear on the mission objectives?” Dave’s expressionless face masked the turmoil within.

“Crystal.” Kovac and Resnik replied simultaneously. With a simple nod from Dave, the team moved like shadows, spreading out with weapons drawn, senses honed from years of training.

The nor’easter tore through the dockyard, turning the world into a violent blur of rain, wind, and crashing waves. The cold air smelled of sea salt and pungent metal as it whipped through rusted shipping containers and old boats, making them groan and creak like dying beasts. Puddles turned into small rivers, water rushing between cracked concrete slabs and through exposed soil beneath their boots as they moved, rifles raised, senses sharp.

Lightning flashed overhead, casting eerie shadows over the towering cargo stacks and boat masts.

“Clear,” Kovac’s voice crackled through the radio once he entered the lone building on the property, a dilapidated structure that once served as the dockyard office. Now, the roof had caved in with age, and nothing remained inside except one small room with a single chair and…

“Lisa’s dead,” Resnik added grimly, having followed close behind Kovac. “McCall took her out.”

“He’s not leaving any loose ends behind,” Kovac muttered as Dave stepped into the room beside him. He bent down to check for a pulse despite the obvious signs of lifelessness.

Dave barely registered the words. Lisa was already a ghost to him – collateral damage in a war she had no business starting. You were the priority, his only priority.

He assessed the rest of the room for clues, eyes settling on a pile of rope on the grimy floor. “There’s a rope over there. He must’ve had her tied to that chair.” Dave could picture you restrained, eyes wide with fear as tears rolled down the soft skin of your beautiful face.

What had Mac put you through?

Dave prayed you were in one piece when he found you. Part of him even hoped you gave his former commander hell.

“Come on, York. Let’s search the grounds. We’ll find her.” Resnik led the way out of the poor excuse for a building to search the abandoned cargo containers and boats scattered about the dockyard.

The men split up, Dave taking the northern approach. His eyes scanned every shadow, head on a swivel as he searched for any signs of you and Mac. The downpour made it impossible to track footprints in the quickly flooding ground, and the howling wind masked all sounds except for the occasional creaking of the aged containers.

But there was no hiding the dark blue sedan, visible from the corner of his eye as he stepped out between two empty cargo containers. Dave’s head snapped toward it, and his gut twisted. Parked haphazardly near the water’s edge, it rocked slightly from the wind.

Dave knew. He just knew.

He sprinted toward it, barely feeling the icy rain slicing against his face. Strong fingers curled around the trunk handle, yanking it open as he heard the faint, rhythmic thump coming from inside.

You.

A sight for sore eyes, as they say. Bound, gagged. Cold. Shaking.

But most importantly, alive.

Your wrists were bound with zip ties, delicate skin chafed and bloody from struggling against the restraints. Your lips trembled from the chill with nothing more than your lounging clothes and a ratty blanket covering you. Dave lost his breath as you stared up at him, eyes wide and glassy in the dim glow of the trunk light.

Rain had seeped into the trunk, leaving your clothes and the blanket damp, your body curled tight as if you were trying to disappear into yourself. He had to get you out of there.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dave breathed, reaching for you with shaking hands. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

His gloved hand brushed a lock of damp hair from your face. You were exhausted, shivering from the cold, and crying as he pulled the knife from his ankle to cut the zip ties. You whimpered as he undid the bindings, and he eyed the raw wounds on your wrists. With slow, gentle movements, Dave placed careful kisses on the torn skin before ripping the gag from your mouth.

“Dave,” you croaked, throat too dry to do much more. Your hands, stiff from the cold and lack of proper circulation, clutched his jacket as if making sure he was really there and not just a figment of your imagination.

He pulled you from the trunk, wrapping his arms tight around you and wishing he had the time to warm your body with his and tend to your wounds. Before your feet even touched the ground, a shot rang out, the crack echoing across the abandoned dockyard.

The bullet whizzed past his head, slamming into the metal of the open trunk with a deafening echo. It missed him by an inch.

Fuck!

He whipped around, shielding you instinctively as another shot hit the pavement just inches from his foot.

“Sniper!” Kovac’s voice roared over the radio.

Dave swore under his breath, his mind flipping into tactical mode. The storm made it nearly impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. McCall could be anywhere – hidden on what little remained of the rooftop, perched inside a container or in a tree, waiting for the next clean shot. It’s what Dave would have done in his shoes.

Mac wasn’t hiding, wasn’t running.

The asshole was hunting.

And this? This was his kill box.

Double fuck!

Dave kept a soft grip on your arm, careful not to be too rough after everything you’d been through, pulling you further down behind the car as another bullet ricocheted off the trunk. He knew McCall’s playbook. Knew exactly how he liked to set his traps.

Unfortunately, this time, Dave was the one inside it.

He yanked off his coat, wrapping it around your shaking frame. He tugged the hood over your head, tightening the strings and adjusting so you could see. Once you wormed your arms into the oversized sleeves and were all zipped up, he gripped your arm tightly, forcing you to focus on him.

“Stay down, kitten. Please,” he ordered, his brow pinched. Pulling the pistol from the holster, he held it up toward you. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

“C-conceptually,” you stuttered, teeth chattering from the frigid air.

Dave nodded. “I’ll give you the basics.”

He provided a few instructions on where the safety was and how to hold the weapon. “Just point and shoot. Got it?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the pistol in your hand as he passed it over. You demonstrated the movements once, and Dave’s lips curved into an almost smile.

“Remember: stay low. Stay out of sight. Only use it if you need to.” Dave leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was tender yet overwhelming, saying everything that neither of you could say out loud, given that you were being hunted and there just wasn’t time for loving proclamations. “I promise this will be over soon.”

Your fingers curled around the weapon as you nodded, but your expression was pure fear. “Dave—”

“Do not move until I come back for you.” His tone left no room for argument though your lips parted as if to try. Rainwater clung to your lashes as you nodded.

Then, he moved. Darting behind cargo crates, Dave used the storm as cover as he began his own hunt. His breath was steady, his hands were calm.

McCall was good. But Dave York?

Dave York was better.

Nothing tested your mental fitness like being bound and gagged in a dark trunk during a nor’easter. It was an entirely humbling experience.

The first thing you noticed was the cold. Not just from the frigid winter air seeping through the gaps in the metal but also from the way it had settled into your bones. Your adrenaline and fear had spiked and settled a dozen times already, leaving your exhausted body more susceptible to the cold.

You had been here too fucking long. Hope was almost starting to dwindle now that the storm was in full swing.

Your wrists burned from the zip ties cutting into your skin, fingers tingling from hours of restricted circulation and movement, half numb from how tightly they were bound. Your ankles the same, though at least they were free now. Fat lot of good that did you – it’s not like you could break out and run away. You already tried everything you could think of - kicking out the taillights, kicking at the backseat, feeling around for an emergency pull tab. Needless to say, you failed. It was impossible to see anything in the dark.

Every breath felt shallow, muffled against the fabric of the gag knotted at the back of your head. The edges of the material were damp from the tears you couldn’t stop shedding.

The trunk was too small, the barely covered metal pressing in on you from every angle. Your knees were curled to your chest, your body forced into an awkward, suffocating position in the limited space. Your limbs – scratch that, your whole body – ached, the stiffness turning into something so sharp and relentless that it became a part of you, something you barely felt anymore as all you knew now was discomfort. And fear.

That was all you could feel.

It ebbed and flowed, swelling and cresting like the storm-churned waves crashing over the sea wall outside.

This fear didn’t just sit in your chest or take up space in your mind. No, it wrapped itself around your throat, coiled in your stomach like a sickness that refused to leave. It stole the breath from your already depleted lungs and frayed your already frazzled nerves. Every moment, it threatened to shatter the lingering hope in your heart that Dave was coming.

He promised he would always come back for you.

Blinking hard against the very idea that Dave would not fight to find you and keep you safe, you tried to focus on the here and now. What good would that do, though?

You had no idea how long you’d been in here, been gone from the safe house.

Hours? Days?

A fucking lifetime?

You had no way of knowing – you never wore a watch and had been stripped of your phone even before you were dragged from the place you were told would be safe.

The place where you watched a madman stab your sweet dog as he tried to protect you. God, you hoped Ranger was still alive, and Ari too. That they got help in time, you couldn’t bear the thought of the alternative…

No.

You couldn’t let your mind go there.

Time blurred together when you were left alone with nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat thudding too fast in your ears. It echoed in your head like the drumbeat of a marching band.

And even worse than that?

The waiting.

It was a lesson in futility, waiting for time to pass.

You waited hours for the SUV to stop when McCall first took you.

At some point, you must have passed out from the adrenaline crash, as you woke up in the trunk of a car instead of the SUV an unknown amount of time later.

Then you waited for the car to stop.

The interminable time spent waiting for the trunk to open.

Waiting to find out if that was it – if McCall had finally decided you were no longer worth the effort of keeping alive.

At first, you screamed. You fought, hard, thrashing against your restraints until your wrists ached, your muffled cries swallowed by the sound of the engine, the wind, the gag, the sheer indifference of the world around you.

McCall had been silent all that time. He hadn’t said a word until he had you tied to that rusted chair in the broken-down building. Only he and a God you no longer believed in knew where you were then. You thought for sure that was it, the end.

But no, McCall had a plan. His silence had been intentional. His goal to spook you, to keep you on edge.

It worked.

You were shaken to the core when your mother revealed herself, and her role in this horror film come to life. Shaken further still when he ended her life right before your eyes.

McCall never hit you or hurt you – the current cuts at your wrists were your own fault from struggling to free yourself.

You finally understood why - why he physically hurt the others instead of you.

Because your torture was psychological.

He let the cold do the work. The exhaustion. The fear.

Sure, he taunted you in that building, tried to make you doubt Dave’s intentions. But he knew, just as you now did, that the real damage was being done here, in this trunk.

Hours in the trunk turned into a prison sentence inside your own head.

You thought of the girls. Alice’s laughter. Molly’s tiny arms wrapping around you before bed.

They already lost their mom. And yours was a piss poor substitute during the brief time she was pretend married to their father. You were the closest thing they had to a mom again.

Would they think you left them? That you abandoned them –

No.

No, you couldn’t think like that.

Your thoughts shifted to Dave.

His handsome, clean-shaven face and neatly styled hair. You wondered what he’d look like with a little scruff along his jaw and upper lip. How he’d look if he let his hair grow a little – would it curl at the ends?

You loved him just as he was, every bit of him, but wondering about things like that kept your mind occupied, distracting you from the horrifying reality. You longed to run your hands through his hair. To kiss his mouth, neck, down every inch of his strong chest. You ached to just see him again.

What would he find first, you wondered?

Your body?

Or just the empty shell of you, hollowed out by whatever else McCall had planned.

What if Dave wasn’t even looking for you?

Your mind was doing it again. McCall tried planting that seed back in that room long before he threw you in here. It didn’t work then. It wouldn’t work now.

Dave was coming.

You hoped.

Hoping was fucking exhausting though.

Nuzzling further into the ratty blanket to shield against the unending cold, you fought another rising wave of panic. You needed to get out of this trunk, away from this terrifying man, and back to Dave and the life you yearned for, now that you knew you could have it for real.

You tried again, in vain, to find an emergency cord or something to free you from the trunk. You feebly kicked at the taillights again to no avail. Crying out in frustration, you beat at the metal trunk just for something to do.

Suddenly, it was light. Blindingly so. After so long in the dark, you flinched, curling away from it and whoever was standing above you.

Then…

Warm hands. Strong arms. A familiar voice.

You cracked your eyes open, half afraid you were hallucinating. There he was.

Dave.

The storm raged around the dockyard, rain hammering against the rusted metal of the cargo containers, the wind howling like a living thing. Lightning cracked across the sky, momentarily illuminating the abandoned dockyard.

Dave moved silently, a ghost slipping between shadows, using the rain and wind to mask his approach.

Mac was perched somewhere high – Dave knew it. The vantage point, the angles. This was a sniper’s playground. And Mac had the advantage.

Except he didn’t.

Dave had years of insight into how the man’s tactical mind worked. He knew how McCall planned his kills, his missions. And right now?

Right now, he knew McCall was waiting for him to make the wrong move. To step out from cover. To make a run for it.

Dave knew all this, so he gave Mac nothing. No sound. No silhouette against the lightning. No desperate charge into the line of fire. Instead, he did what Mac wouldn’t expect.

Dave waited. Listened.

And like clockwork, there was a shift in the wind. A faint movement. The slightest creak of metal above the wind.

There.

Dave swung his rifle up, aiming toward the source of the sound – an abandoned crane platform above the dockyard.

Dave fired first. The shot shattered the rusted guardrail where McCall had been. There was a blur of movement, and McCall rolled just in time, avoiding the impact before retaliating with a shot of his own.

The bullet whizzed past Dave’s head.

The shot was rushed and sloppy. Dave grinned despite the situation. Mac was rattled.

McCall moved, abandoning the sniper’s perch, realizing too late that Dave had already predicted his next play. He needed to reposition. Unfortunately, that allowed Dave to move as well.

Dave’s forward pressure kept him on the defensive, herding him down from his high ground. Cutting off his exits.

This was not good.

His plan was unraveling before his eyes, leaving McCall spiraling. He had always been an apex predator, a master tactician with meticulous planning skills. But Dave York had been trained to kill apex predators, that training reinforced by Mac during the years under his command.

The roles had reversed. The student became the teacher.

For the first time – McCall was the prey, and he didn’t like that one damned bit.

You watched from behind the sedan, your breathing uneven, pulse pounding in your ears. Your hands were still shaky from the adrenaline and cold. But you weren’t scared anymore, not with Dave and the guys here.

No. Now, you were fucking pissed. A complete 180 from how you felt while trapped in the trunk of that damned car. Your mind rehashed the events of the past couple days with a new perspective.

Your mother had been complicit in all this. She set you up. She betrayed Dave.

You knew she could be a royal bitch, had experienced her wrath first-hand your whole life, but this was next level. She handed you over to a madman, getting rid of you so she could have Dave, even after he told her he was not the least bit interested in her.

McCall used you as a pawn in this charade. He tried to break you in his efforts to get to Dave. He killed your mother right in front of you like she was just another sacrificial piece on his chessboard. And, yeah, that was fucking traumatizing, but it pissed you off even more.

Because what was the point of all this?

It seemed like revenge or something, but you didn’t quite understand. You didn’t have the full picture. You didn’t need it, though. All you needed to know was that Dave came for you. He was out there fighting for you, trying to take out the man who kidnapped you.

The man who underestimated you.

Peeking over the hood of the sedan, your eyes searched the grounds. Through the haze of rain, wind, and gunpowder, you saw him.

Dave’s movements, flanked by the guys, forced McCall into a position where the man’s back was exposed to you.

Functioning on pure instinct and rage, you moved. Ignoring the searing ache in your limbs from being tied up and tossed around, shoved in a trunk for hours. Your fingers curled around the pistol grip, the metal ice cold but solid in your hand. Recalling the limited instructions provided by Dave, you held the weapon with both hands, thumb flicking off the safety as you stepped silently, stealthily through the puddles.

A flicker of movement to the left caught your eye – Resnik was moving forward in time with you. A glance to the right showed Kovac doing the same. The men were some distance away, but you all had the same target in your sights.

Suddenly, you spotted Dave step out in front of McCall, his dark, angry eyes locking with yours over the older man’s shoulder for a short beat before focusing on the man at the center of it all.

Dave had moved through the storm like a predator, rifle raised, every muscle coiled. McCall was leading him somewhere. Dave knew it, and still, he followed.

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the dockyard for a fraction of a second. It was just enough to see where the man was heading. McCall shifted, backing down an old, half-rotten dock, waves crashing against the beams with such force that the entire structure groaned under the pressure.

Dave didn’t hesitate.

Neither did you or the guys.

Dave stepped onto the dock, the wooden planks slick beneath his boots, the storm wrapping around the two men like a cage.

You and the others stayed along the seawall, close enough to hear their shouts above the wind.

“It doesn’t have to end this way, Mac,” Dave called, voice carrying in the wind as it blew towards the shore.

McCall let out a breath, almost amused. “You really believe that?” His posture was relaxed – too relaxed – weapon hanging loosely in his grip. “I’m already dead, York. I died years ago in that bombing. The difference this time – I get to take you out with me.”

Dave shook his head. That would not be happening. “You have another choice. Walk away.”

McCall’s lips curled at the edges, dark eyes squinting against the driving rain. “Like you did?”

The words hit harder than Dave expected, and he thought of you, standing back on the seawall. He didn’t have to think too hard about what was coming – McCall was going to air all of Dave’s dirty laundry for you to hear. What would you think of Dave after that?

McCall let out a breath, shifting his stance. “You and I, we’re the same.”

“No, Mac,” Dave refuted, shaking his head. “We’re not.”

McCall studied him for a long moment before glancing past him back to the shore. Dave knew Mac was staring right at you, and he couldn’t help but turn his head to look at you over his shoulder. He needed to see your face when the truth about his past deeds was revealed.

“Tell me, York,” McCall shouted. “Does she know? About all those contracts you took. Murder for hire to the highest bidder. Does she know she’s in love with a contract killer?”

Despite being barely visible through the wind-driven rain, Dave saw your mouth drop open in surprise, your eyes shooting to meet his in question. He stared back at your stricken gaze, imploring you to reserve judgment for now, and mouthed, “I’m sorry. I’ll explain later.” He hoped you understood.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Good luck explaining all that now.” The older man laughed when Dave turned to face him once again, studying him with an assessing gaze. Satisfied with whatever he saw play across Dave’s face, McCall spat his parting shot. “Like I said, you and me, we’re the same. And if you pull that trigger, York, you prove me right.”

A beat of silence, then two. At the third beat, both men raised their weapons, and the world exploded in gunfire, even though only two shots were fired.

The first shot hit McCall in the upper left chest.

The second hit Dave’s left bicep, pain flaring hot and sharp as the bullet sliced through the protective layers into his flesh.

McCall staggered backward a step, his lips parted and body swaying. His dark gaze met Dave’s with something that might have been resignation. Rifle still in hand, he reached up as if to fire another round in Dave’s direction but…

The deteriorated wooden planks beneath his feet snapped, and McCall fell with a frustrated shout. The stormy sea swallowed him whole, a flash of red blooming in the waves before being swept away by the raging tide.

Dave stood there stunned, chest heaving, blood dripping from the bullet wound in his left arm.

The wind howled. The waves crashed. Robert McCall was gone. Dave collapsed on the wooden planks as the storm surge washed over the dock.

No one moved until your scream pierced the air. Then, it was chaos.

You were barely aware of the gun being removed from your clenched grip, the hands grasping your arms gently, the huge, warm body guiding you away from the scene toward an awaiting SUV. The storm had worsened during the showdown, and the gunfire had long since faded, yet your ears still rang.

You felt outside of yourself, like a ghost watching over the scene. Nothing seemed real.

Strangers in tactical gear moved around you, calling out orders and questions. The arms supporting you helped you into the backseat, heat on full blast, and a rugged face with a thick, grizzly beard hovered in front of your line of sight.

Kovac.

An older woman appeared beside him, badge on her hip and phone to her ear. “Target is down, confirmed. What about the asset?”

Her eyes met yours, her face a mask. Your heart stopped.

“No,” you whispered, stomach lurching. It looked like a wound to the arm from where you’d been standing. Surely, he didn’t… he wasn’t… Your vision began to blur at the thought of losing Dave after all of this.

The woman turned away, dropping the phone to her side with a grim smile. Confused, you followed her gaze, and you saw him.

Racing toward you through the storm, blood spreading through the field bandage hastily wrapped around his wound. His face was pinched with pain, but he was alive. His eyes met yours, and you cracked.

“Dave.”

He caught you in one arm as you fell out of the truck, his name a sharp cry, clutching him to you like a lifeline. Wet hair matted to his head, blood-soaked and exhausted from days of stress, and still, he never looked more beautiful to your eyes.

“I’m here,” he rasped, voice rough. “I got you. We’re safe now.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. Dave was alive. He saved you. The nightmare was over.

“Susan,” Dave rumbled a few minutes later as you fretted over his wound. “Thanks for the backup.”

The older woman nodded. “Good to see you alive, York. We’ll debrief after you get that checked out,” she replied, gesturing towards the gunshot wound. “But we got the others in custody and recovered the intelligence data. Mission’s over.”

Dave merely nodded. You stared up at him as Susan walked away after gently patting his right shoulder, searching his face for a reaction to the news. He stared back at you with warmth in his eyes, his forehead falling forward against yours. “It’s over.”

The storm waned then, the downpour slowing to a drizzle over the dockyard. The wind still howled, but its fury had died along with the villain. You weren’t thinking about any of it, though.

All you could see was Dave. Your Dave.

His handsome face was pale, arm slick with blood still oozing from the wound, his movements slower than usual as he let Resnik step closer to wrap a new bandage around his arm. The sight of it made your stomach twist, panic clawing its way up your throat despite the relief of having him alive.

You stripped off the soaked jacket and gently tugged Dave with you as you slid into the backseat of the SUV once again. “Dave.”

His tired eyes flickered to you once you were both settled. You reached for him, hands trembling as you embraced his right side, your fingers pressing into the solid warmth of his skin where his layers had been torn away, as if anchoring yourself to reality. “You’re bleeding,” you whispered, the breathy tone rough with emotion.

Dave exhaled, something between a chuckle and a sigh. “Yeah, kitten. I noticed.”

Your eyes burned with a mix of relief and frustration as you gaped at him. “This isn’t time for jokes, baby. You need stitches. A hospital.”

He shook his head. “I’ll live.”

“That’s not the point!” Your voice broke, and suddenly you weren’t just worried over him. You were frantic, the emotional toll of the past few days finally coming to a head. “You keep getting hurt, and one day you may not—"

Your throat closed up, the words refusing to come out. Dave saw it. He felt it. Without hesitation, he cupped your face in his good hand, his thumb brushing away the tears trailing down your cheek. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice quieter now as Kovac and Resnik climbed into their seats. “I’m right here.”

You let out a shaky breath, laying your head on his shoulder. “You scared the shit out of me. This entire thing scared the shit outta me,” you admitted. “I’m gonna need counseling after this.”

Dave’s lips quirked at the edges. “You and me both, Firecracker.”

A broken laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. Then, just as quickly, the panic slammed back into your chest.

“Ranger!” you choked out, pulling back suddenly. “Where—is he okay?”

Resnik turned in his seat to look back at the two of you as Kovac drove toward the nearest hospital, his expression uncharacteristically soothing. “He’s back at the house with Ari. They’re both milking their injuries for all they’re worth, getting all the treats they deserve.

Your stomach clenched, the relief almost knocking you flat. Dave’s fingers curled around yours, grounding you. “He’s tough,” he said softly. “Just like you. He’ll make a full recovery and be back to being your shadow in no time.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding, but part of you still wouldn’t breathe properly until you saw Ranger and Ari with your own eyes. And then, as if your heart wasn’t stretched thin enough, another thought slammed into you with full force.

“The girls. Are they okay?”

Dave’s hand squeezed yours. “They’re safe,” he reassured you. “Enjoying their time with their grandparents in the Poconos. They don’t know anything.”

Your chest ached. You needed to see them. To hug them. You weren’t alone in that.

Dave’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes as he watched you. He needed them too, just as much if not more.

Hours later, after a visit to the emergency room and a debrief with his DIA team, you and Dave were finally home. The house was eerily quiet without the girls. Ranger laid on his bed near the fireplace, midsection wrapped in a large bandage and a cone of shame around his neck, tongue lolling out of his mouth, a little out of it from the vet's medication.

The storm had passed, the mission was over, and you were freshly showered, layered in warm sweats, and relieved to be home. And yet – the air wasn’t entirely clear.

You stood near the fireplace, arms crossed tightly over your chest to both keep warm and protect yourself. Your mind was a mess of emotions you weren’t sure how to untangle, yet you ached for him, to be with him. You and Dave needed to have one more important conversation before things could finally settle.

Dave sat on the couch, his injured arm resting in a sling, the bandages still fresh from having the bullet removed. He watched you, waiting, his face unreadable, except for the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows.

He knew what was coming. He knew you heard every word McCall said out there on that dock, through the roar of the wind and crashing waves.

“Tell me, York! Does she know? About all those contracts you took. Murder for hire to the highest bidder. Does she know she’s in love with a contract killer?”

He knew the words had stuck. Burrowed under your skin like a splinter you couldn’t pull free. He only hoped that you’d let him explain, try to understand. He couldn’t lose you after all you’d just gone through, not over something like this.

You took a slow breath, the question burning on your tongue as you slid next to him on the couch. “What did he mean? About murder for hire? And please, don’t lie to me. I deserve the truth, now more than ever.”

His eyes softened, his brows pulled in and up, making him look like a sad puppy, yet his body still carried the weight of a heavy burden that had been buried for too long. He leaned forward, resting his right elbow on his knee as he faced you.

“I won’t lie to you ever again,” he started. With a visible gulp, Dave continued. “It’s true, what Mac said. It’s not something I’m proud of by any means, but it is the truth.”

You stayed quiet, listening with an open heart and an equally open mind as he explained how he’d been injured in the explosion they all thought killed McCall, how their team had been dismantled, leaving money tight and options limited. He went to work for the agency, but the pay just didn’t cut it. There had been secret contracts for off-book operations. People with names and targets and high price tags attached.

He looked at you with such guilt in his raw, unfiltered gaze. “So, I took the jobs.”

Your pulse thrummed in your ears as you tried to make sense of it all. “You—”

“Did things,” he finished for you in a flat voice. “Killed people who needed killing. Some were threats to national security. Some weren’t.”

Your chest tightened, your heart aching for this dichotomous man sitting before you. “Murder for hire,” you murmured, McCall’s words echoing in your mind.

Dave’s jaw ticked as he looked down at his hands, almost expecting to see the blood of others still staining them. “I told myself it was just work. Just another mission. A way to make money to support my family. That it wasn’t personal.” He swallowed. “Until it was.”

Your brows furrowed at that. “What do you mean?”

His hand curled into a loose fist against his knee, and you reached over, prying it open to tangle your fingers with his. Dave’s eyes met yours again, the burnt umber filled with such remorse your heart hurt.

“The last job I ever took – it wasn’t for the agency. It was private.” His throat worked as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing beneath the smooth skin. “A man approached me and the boys with an offer we couldn’t refuse. The money was just too good to turn away. I had just found out about Carol’s cancer, and my cut would have been enough to pay for her treatment in full and still have plenty left over.”

You could barely breathe as you waited for him to continue.

“We found out too late that it was blood money and came at a cost I wasn’t willing to pay.”

“What happened?” you questioned, squeezing his hand gently, urging him to continue.

A long silence stretched between you. The only sound was the faint creak of the house settling, the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

“The target turned out to be a DIA asset. We didn’t find out until after we did the deed. That woman at the dockyard? Susan Plummer. She’s a fellow agent and was assigned to investigate the hit. It made the news. She called me in to assist. It was a fucking mess. The client demanded that we eliminate her, but I just…”

 You’d never seen Dave like this – physically injured and so emotionally broken – it tore at your heart. “You don’t have to continue, Dave. I understand. I mean it.”

He shook his head adamantly, avoiding your gaze as he rasped out a sharp, “No. I need to tell you this.” Dave took a few breaths before carrying on. “You need to know everything before you decide whether or not you still want to be with me.”

“I couldn’t do it. She was a colleague, a friend, who did nothing wrong. She didn’t deserve to die for doing her job, trying to uncover the truth,” he explained. “The guys supported me in that decision, and we went after the client instead. Eliminated him and any evidence of a connection back to us. Somehow, Mac found out what we did.”

Everything began to come together in your head – why Dave wanted out of the DIA, how he was connected to McCall, why they were at odds, what the man was getting at on that dock.

“I’d already decided to give up the extracurricular work before he showed up at my door like a dead man walking. I thought that’d be the end of it. I was wrong.”

Your arms tightened around him as Dave shook his head, his voice low, regretful. “I’m sorry about all of it. I never wanted that part of my life to touch you or the girls. I thought I could just leave it behind. I’m sorry about your mom, too. She didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, tilting his head against the cushion to avoid meeting your gaze. “You must think I’m a monster.”

Your breath hitched. “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Dave’s head snapped up at that, dark eyes studying you carefully. “Then what do you think?”

You swallowed, searching for the right words.

“I think…” You hesitated and started over. “I think you’re a complicated, many-layered man who did what you had to do to support your family. I think you hated it, hated having to do it, but you were good at it and got the job done. You provided the means for a beautiful life for your family. The girls want for nothing because of what you sacrificed. I think you are a great father and an amazing partner. I hope to someday discover how great a husband you are, too.”

His throat worked as his eyes darted back and forth between yours, searching for any hint of falsehood in your words. He came up empty, and those dark orbs began to water.

“I love you,” he whispered, unbelieving that you could be so understanding, supportive of a man who used to kill for money.

Nodding, you sank back into his side, cuddling against his warmth to reaffirm your love for him. “I see you,” you whispered against the salty skin of his neck. “The whole you. Not just the parts you let me see. And I’m still here. I’ll always be right here.”

Dave exhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening, his shoulders sagging in relief.

“And for what it’s worth, my mom totally got what she deserved. She fucked around and she found out. Part of me is sad because she was my mom, but she was never a good person. And she would have let that man kill me if given the chance.”

A low, dark chuckle sounded in your ear. Perhaps there was a dark part hidden inside you that matched Dave’s inner darkness. Perhaps you were both complicated, flawed people who happened to be perfect matches for each other. You really liked the thought of that.

Sitting up, you gazed at Dave, taking in his strong features. The jut of his brow, the cut of his nose, those perfect cupid’s bow lips. The patchy scruff along his jaw from a few days without shaving. The sparkle in his eyes as he watched you catalogue him. The urge to kiss him, be with him became too much, and you slowly, carefully eased your body into his lap, straddling his slim hips.

You were too exhausted to really do anything sexual, but the desire, the heat, the need was too great to do nothing about it. After such traumatizing events, you needed to feel normal again. Feel wanted. Feel fucking alive.

Eyes wide open and watching each other’s every move, you leant forward and kissed Dave. It started soft and slow before quickly morphing into a frenzy of lips and tongues, teething clashing and nipping. Your fingers weaved through his hair, nails gliding along his scalp as your hips pressed down. Dave’s cock stirred, hardening quickly under the weight of you against him.

Hindered by the injured arm, Dave steadied you with his right hand as it grasped desperately at your tit, thick fingers pinching the nipple in time with the roll of your hips. You moved against each other, fully clothed, mouths feasting on one another, and gazes never wavering.

The tension built quickly – too quickly – after days of separation and stress, and you came in Dave’s lap, the friction of grinding against him hitting your clit most divinely. He swallowed your mewls, pulling you closer to him as his hips jerked upwards once, twice, thrice, and Dave came in his pants with a guttural growl. You could feel his cock pulsing beneath the layers of clothing separating you and you sunk against him in exhaustion.

The moment reminded you of that first time on the couch in your basement suite, when you dry humped until you both made a mess of yourselves. Back then, the moment was rushed, hidden away in a secret relationship. Now, you were on the couch in the sitting room, relationship no longer a secret, no further lies to keep hidden.

“Let’s get you to bed, my little Firecracker,” Dave murmured as he peppered tender kisses along your neck and face. “I’m sure we could both sleep for the next day or two.”

For posterity, you both slept in your basement bedroom.

tbc

Chapter Fourteen

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69 @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @inept-the-magnificent @wannab-urs @thundermartini @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @sunnytuliptime @vie-is-punk @lovely-vamp-princess

[crucifyjonnie]

♡ Assassin!Mattheo - First meeting

Summary: Mattheo got assigned the mission to end you, and he would find you at every price. But what he didn’t know was that you already knew about him.

Warnings: mentions of violence, dark themes, blood, stalking

Mattheo held the photo of you in his hand, studying your features thoroughly. Your coffee-colored locks falling down your shoulders, crystal clear eyes that could make any man drown. Sharp jaw, plump lips, and a small button nose. A beautiful creature, but he had been taught they were the most dangerous. Charming with their looks, devil in their soul.

For weeks he had been studying you, tracing your every step during the day. Keeping himself in the shadows to not be seen, keeping a distance between the two of you. He made sure to know your exact locations during the day, tracking down where you lived, where you worked, what gym you went to. Keeping the time of when you woke up in the morning, when you went to work, when you had lunch, when you got off work. He followed you to the gym, kept tracking what you trained. He had it all written down and made sure he wouldn’t miss a single damn detail.

Tonight was the night. The night where he was supposed to take your life, the night where he would see your blood pool around your feet, the night when he was going to witness life leaving your eyes. 

Mattheo pulled on his black cargo pants, together with his black leather holster. A pitch-black, tight t-shirt clothing his tense torso. He pulled on a black zip hoodie, pulling up the hood to cover his head. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, running his hand through his locks. Adjusting his holster, he placed a gun with a silencer  together with five throwing knives. His eyes still locked with his reflection, he picked up a throwing knife and spun it around his finger before putting it back in the holster together with the other four. 

Somehow, a strange feeling pooled in Mattheo’s stomach this night. Usually, he was never nervous going on his missions. But this time, it felt different. It was something with you, something with the picture of you, something with the way you were. Somehow, it didn’t feel right. He shook the feeling quickly and went out the front door. 

Walking down the pavement, Mattheo kept his mind on the one thing he had to do tonight, and then he saw you. And you saw him. Eyes locking for the shortest of seconds before you disappeared into the shadows. Mattheo followed shortly after, trying to comprehend the small and first interaction the two of you had ever had. You couldn’t know about him, could you?

Mattheo found himself in a dark, old, abandoned warehouse. He looked around but couldn’t see you. Only your footsteps echoing in the dirt of the empty warehouse walls. Mattheo looked around but couldn’t see even a glimpse of you in the shadows. 

“Mattheo… Riddle? Correct?” 

Mattheo’s eyes widened, twisting and turning his head. He could still hear your footsteps on the dirty floor, circling around him in the shadows. 

“You didn’t think I knew, did you? To be fair, you’re not so subtle when you stalk people. I’ve known your presence for the last few weeks.” 

Exasperation grew like a knot in Mattheo’s stomach. The thought of you knowing he had kept track of you all this time was damn near bewildering. It felt almost like a bad joke, and he couldn’t understand how he could’ve missed something like this.

“And if you have known all this time, why haven’t you done anything to prevent it?” Mattheo’s voice was firm. He felt calm, though the uncomfortable feeling of you knowing about him still lingered.

“Because… Where would the fun in that be?” Your voice was still echoing between the walls. You stood in the shadows, having Mattheo right where you wanted him. You aimed your gun towards him; the bullet would hit right in the middle of his forehead. But then he spoke again, and you lowered your gun.

“Yeah, you’re right. Where would the fun in that be? Bet you love the thrill, don’t you?” Mattheo’s voice took on a taunting tone. “Like you wanted to be followed.”

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. Not in his wildest dreams could he believe in his own words. But right then and there, a throwing knife flew right beside your head, cutting your cheek, if only so slightly. With the tips of your fingers, you wiped away the blood. But when you looked up again, Mattheo was gone. Your blood ran cold in your veins because now you knew he had turned the tables, and with a sudden pull, he dragged you out of the shadows and into the middle of the room. 

“If we’re going to play this kind of game, we’ll play it fair.” Mattheo’s eyes bore into yours. You had only seen him from a distance before, except for the photos you had of him. But his features? Oh, he was handsome; his chestnut hair, his deep dark eyes, sharp jawline. You two weren’t so different from each other––both had experience in the same field, assassins. But it didn’t seem like Mattheo knew about that. 

You stood in the middle, and Mattheo circled around you like a wolf ready to eat its prey. His eyes roamed up and down your body, but his eyes were glued to the cut on your cheek. He reached his fingers to the cut, tracing it with his fingertips. “Such a shame…” he said with a low and husky voice, though a smirk tugged on his lips. “What is?”

Mattheo leaned into your ear, moving a strand of hair before whispering, “That I have to kill you.”

© cvrcingjonnie 2025. Please do not copy, translate or repost any of my works. Reblogs, likes and comments are welcomed though ♡ you are accountable for your own media consumption.

[universe-prime]

Are you in need of transport A.S.A.P?

Looking to deliver some goods across Cybertron faster than a turbo-fox chasing its own tail?

Tired of having to keep track of overbearing passports just for a single ride to the nearest colony??

Well look no further than Cybertron's finest—

The mighty Click-Clack and Co.~!!

I've been thrown back into my transformers love HARD and decided to revamp/create a bunch of ocs to cope with it lmao. Anyway, meet Click-Clack and(a small part) of his dandy crew~! Click-Clack(or just Clacker for short) specializes in delivering all manner of goods and services across the vast expanse of Cybertron in just a few days time. Whether it be weapons, medical supplies, building materials, or simply an independent company needing help traveling from point A to B, he doesn't really discriminate and just LOVES doing his duty as a gigantic mailman train

To really put Clacker into perspective, I put him beside a few iconic bots from tfa...👀💦

And as an added fun bonus, I even made a map of his internal layout when he's in train mode(which is pretty much his default tbh)

But what's a train without his helpful crew, ey? This is only a small part of it, my pal @simplych4i has ocs that cover a good majority, but I can at least give a quick overview on my own fellas!!

Needlepoint

The one and only medic! If there's an incident or injury, she'll take care of you with a patient servo and a caring spark

She was assigned to Clacker due to a recent scandal that ruined her career. Her patients mysteriously wound up dead or missing memories while under her care, and enough of these reports piled up to the point where her license was revoked and no respectful hospital would ever hire her again

Overall she's a doting maternal figure to the crew and, although a bit quiet and reserved, she's always happy to lend a shoulder to cry on or a listening audial fin

Rocket

Self proclaimed demolitions expert and part-time mechanic! Should the train ever be attacked by Decepticon's raiding it for it's cargo, or any other outside threat, she's there on the front lines ready to blast them back to the hole they crawled out of

Former Elite Guard, Rocket was quickly demoted and shunned from her station due to her "sudden" fatuation with explosives and anything that could cause them. After a near-death experience that nearly extinguished her spark, she went off on a personal mission to recreate the enlightening blast that started it all in the hopes of "seeing home" once again....whatever that means

Nowadays, Rocket is just as explosive as her passion. Loud-mouthed and unafraid to speak her mind, she's always ready to slam a fist into anyone who crosses her path while also gleefully spreading a few headaches across her fellow crewmates

Tag

And lastly, our head of navigation! Despite their age, Tag has a natural gift for plotting out routes, understanding complicated maps, and making sure that there's always a backup route should the current one ever be interrupted

(Former)delivery mailbot by day, graffiti street artist by night, Tag often explored the seediest parts of Cybertron along their route and saw injustice firsthand. Using their artistic talent and the access they had to private letters, they'd anonymously paint rebellious ideology and personal defamation against elites as a way of speaking out. Tag's artistic trail was eventually traced back to them, and they were swiftly demoted to a spot on the Click-Clack

Tag is overall what you might expect from a young bot who was practically raised in the underbelly of Cybertron. Cute and sweet one minute, then cutthroat and petty the next, Tag is just a bundle of energy constantly looking to prove themself alongside the much older "adult" bots of the crew they're with. They can't quite grasp why everyone insists on protecting them so much(they're a fully grown bot for crying out loud!), but slowly Tag has learned to accept this ragtag group of weirdos and ex-convicts as their true family

[yuesgirlfriend]

awaken, my love!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

warnings: AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, third person POV, oral sex, PIV sex, praise kink, shy!simon, first time (ambiguous)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

This is the end of us, Sleeping with the moon and the stars I know where you've been, oh You can see us far then near

Let me into your heart!

-Me and Your Mama/ Childish Gambino

“Well, this is the place,” she says, setting her keys and bag down on the counter. Simon is as noiseless as always, following behind her silent but for the soft shut of the door and click of the lock. 

Outside, the hum of traffic and sounds of the city are easy to hear through the thin walls. She glances nervously at him, barely able to meet his eyes as he takes her space in. He seems too big in her tiny flat, like by just walking in he made the walls shrink around him. God, was it always such a mess? The peeling wallpaper and dingy couch and perpetually leaky sink didn’t seem too bad that morning. Something familiar twists in her stomach, heats her face. 

She can’t even remember the last time she had company over. What are you even meant to bloody do?  

She settles for grabbing his wrist and leading him bodily to the couch.  “Ah, uh, please- take a seat.” He only looks a bit ridiculous, a huge tank of a man squished on an blue loveseat with frayed seams she found at Goodwill. What does he think of this little home she carved out of a mold ridden pocket of the city? Why does she care so much? 

The awkward hunch of his shoulders and untidiness of his blonde hair brings her back to herself. Laughing a bit, she sits down next to him. She can feel the heat of his body from where their thighs brush and shoulders press together. Something like anticipation coils in her stomach. 

Suddenly, she’s feeling brave. She takes one of his (intimidatingly large) hands in hers. Turns it over, traces the lines of his fingertips and the soft material of his fingerless gloves. 

She presses a kiss to the center of his palm. His eyes seem unfocused and- it’s not her imagination- trained on her lips. 

His hand is warm and surprisingly gentle when it cups her cheek. And his lips against hers even more so. Soft, slightly chapped, their mouths slide together, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, and all she can giddily think is we’re kissing, he’s kissing me, over and over like an idiot. 

She pulls away for half a second to catch a breath, stupidly sighing his name, and he crushes his mouth against hers with an unexpected vengeance. 

Their mouths work together, euphoria threatens to burst from her chest; But something keeps knocking at back of her head. A half dreamed, half baked fantasy. Simon breaks away from her lips and moves to kissing along her jaw and neck and- god, that feels nice- but she wants-

Out of nowhere, she jumps to her feet, startling him. Outside, cars honk and someone shouts. A train’s breaks squeal and rattle in its tracks. 

“I- are you alright?” 

Simon’s sitting on the couch, face flushed and scarred lips kiss bitten. His ears are pink. And between his slightly spread legs, something waiting for her. His hands clench into fists, like he can feel her eyes on him. 

“I’m doing lovely.” She sinks to her shaky knees between his. The nerves from earlier are coalescing into something white hot in her chest, between her hips. “Thanks for asking.” 

She runs a greedy hand along the inside of his thighs, feeling the heft and weight of the muscle there. Thick, strong- she wonders absently what the hell he does for a living to look like this. She wonders less absently what else must be thick and strong. 

He’s clearly feeling something- when she risks a glance up, his eyes are nearly all pupil, his mouth slightly parted, his chest barely moving. When she gives up any subtlety and nuzzles her face into the heavy, cargo pants-covered bulge, his breath hitches, but he makes no move to touch her.  He doesn’t grab her and force her down, or tug hard on her hair. The polite man takes whatever she will give him. 

His eyes close completely and his hips buck just a bit when she runs a hand over his clothed groin, gives him a gentle squeeze. “How’s this, love?” She asks, unable to stop herself from laying a kiss on him. “Feels nice?”

His answering  yes is so low she can barely hear it. Nonetheless she unbuttons, unbuckles, unzips her way to- at last, victory. 

Surprisingly thick and as flushed as his face, his cock rests in her hands quite nicely. She gives him a few gentle tugs, eyes trained on how he tips his head back, how his chest somehow heaves silently. What would she have to do to make him give up his control? How far would she have to go? 

She settles on swallowing him down as far as he can go in one full swing. It’s alot to take, but she’s no quitter. He’s thick and heavy on her tongue-and his answering gasp is music to her ears. 

Breathing through her nose, she lets drool gather along him, running her hands along his twitching thighs. One of his shaky hands grabs hers- the other holds on for dear life to her squished (also Goodwill) couch pillow. She smirks around his cock, humming, pleased. His hips jerk at the sensation.  

She releases him, just for a second, wrapping a hand around him to keep him company. His hips are making desperate little bucking motions into her hand, clearly against his will. His eyes are unfocused and trained on his cock in her fist, but when her other hand squeezes his, he meets her gaze- dark eyes hold hers for only a few seconds before it clearly becomes too much. 

He shakes his head, tipping his head back, hips jerking when she begins to move her hand. He seems a bit less restrained, but not quite there yet. She swallows him down again, sighing through her nose,  like this is just what she needed after a long day, to hear his helpless muffled sounds. 

 Suddenly a big hand is on her head, against her cheek, not helpless after all. Mouth still hugging his cock, she looks up through slightly teary eyes- his face is that of a man holding on by a thread, panting and flushed. 

But there’s a gleam in his wine-dark eyes that wasn’t there before. So she generously lets him sink down to the earth beside her and crush his mouth to hers. And lay her on the carpet. And fold his body over her, covering her like her own night sky. 

And she lets him kiss his way down her clothed chest and belly, hiking her blouse up to her chin and unceremoniously tugging down the waist of her skirt, like fully undressing her would take too much time. 

He won’t reach under her skirt though or pull it down all the way- he just laves kisses against her tits like they’re not in a faded beige bra. Wanted to do this for ages, she barely hear him as he mumbles into the flesh of her hip. She wants more, though, she wants it all- his white hot tongue on her nipples, his hands on her waist and neck, his-

“Simon. Simon, c’mon.” Her hips squirm against his thigh. For Christ’s sake, his cock is still out, flushed at the head and twitching with every unconscious rut of his hips. 

“Fuck. Like it when you say it.” His lips meet hers again, and its good, so good, but she needs-

“Simon, come on, put it in. Inside.” She pants against his lips, feeling out of her mind, unable to formulate a real sentence. “Come on.” Her hand moves with a mind of its own down to where he’s hard and wants her. 

“In- in a minute, yeah?” He’s breathless and moving down, hiking her hips up to his face and- oh. 

He doesn’t work her up to it or tease her at all; he just dives in with his mouth already open. She’s wet down to her thighs already, but at the feeling of his tongue where she’s sensitive and wanting has her burying a scream behind her palm. 

His tongue runs circles over her clit and slowly a finger eases inside her where she’s slick and already clenching with the waves of an approaching orgasm. She clings to the carpet, but its not enough. Her hand travels to his hair and clenches hard- and he moans where his mouth is wrapped around her clit. Groaning louder than he did when she had her mouth on him. She tugs again, and he moans again. 

The corners of her mouth twitch up. “D’you- ah, ah- like that?”

No response from him other than dark eyes meeting hers even as he doubles his ministrations on her cunt. “Oh- god-” She moans at the feeling of his eyes on hers and drops her head back, feeling the waves rise again, higher and higher, until her orgasm snaps through her body. 

She isn’t even finished twitching before he’s climbing over her again, rutting into her hip, and shoving his tongue into her mouth- she takes it all with the gummy high that comes on after coming. 

“Fuck, can I? Please, love?” He pants into her mouth, thread of control long broken.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mere,” she says, kissing him and pulling hum closer. Wrapping her legs around his waist. Feeling the length of him prod at and then slip inside her, one unrestrained thrust at a time. 

“Fucking hell-” he moans desperately. He’s so heavy inside her she could weep. 

Sighing into his hair, she tightens her hold on him as he presses his hips to hers and grinds. “-Ah- sweet thing-”

She floats somewhere warm and comfortable as Simon pushes out helpless ah ah ah’s out of her mouth, and as his groans get heavier and his thrusts get faster, sloppier. Unable to move from under his weight, forced to recieve his biting kisses and panting praise of feels good, feels so good, so tight around my cock- 

“That’s it, Simon,” she says, dizzy with the force of his praise and his frantic thrusts, when he mumbles m’gonna come, love, please- “come in me, oh- take what you need, baby, give it to me-”

A flush of white hot heat deep in her as he groans against her lips, some desperate grinding as deep as he can go, and he’s done. Trembling on his elbows, shoulders shaking when she gently runs her nails between his shoulder blades and rubs a palm across the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. 

He’s still for a good while. She can’t really fully breathe with his whole weight pressed on her, but she doesn’t mind- it’s comforting. Like a weighted blanket, or maybe a very large cat. Eventually, though, the situation between her legs gets too uncomfortable to ignore. 

“Simon. Hey. I can’t breathe.” She pats his shoulder. The kids upstairs stomp and shout, a car honks outside. 

He doesn’t respond beyond his shoulders shifting as he breathes deeply. She nips at his ear, tugs at a lock of his hair. 

“Hmph?” he lifts his head up, shifts a bit, bleary eyes meeting hers.

“Hi. Did’ya fall asleep?” Her chapped lips stretch around her grin. He just looks so soft. 

He shifts onto his elbows, taking some weight off her. “No, I- I think I just- blacked out.” 

She laughs and watches his face face change from punch-drunk to something like exasperation, but fonder. 

“There y’are again. Always laughing.” His voice is tinged with humor but still quiet, as always. He buries his face in her neck. Hiding from her, she thinks. “What’s so funny, hm?” 

Don’t go back to hiding, she thinks but doesn’t say.  Instead, she giggles- “If you don’t want me to laugh, don’t be so sweet.” 

He scoffs, avoids her eyes, but his ears are tinted pink again. “Yeah, sweet like sour milk.” 

She runs a hand through his short, mussed hair, and hums. “Hm. No.” 

He pushes up to his knees, rubbing her bare thigh. She scrunches her nose at the feeling of him finally leaving her body. 

“Will you stay for dinner?” The words leave her mouth before she can reign them in. Before she has time to worry about his response, he slips an arm around her back, tilting her up. 

“C’mon.” His eyes are gentle, something behind them she can’t name. “Lets get cleaned up for dinner.”

[eustasscapitankid]

Eustass Kid x Reader | GN! AFAB! Challenge: Kikitober 2024 "Loyalty" Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Tags: Hate, Swearing, Revenge, Swearing, Grief, Loss Summary: You never knew how much it would hurt to lose everything. Word Count: 903 ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Notes: This series will include graphic material. As such all chapters will be marked as 18+ regardless of their content.

This isn’t going to be easy.

Unfortunately for you, the man who took your lover’s life is far from ordinary—or weak. Granted, if he had been killed by anything less than a powerful opponent you’d have brought him back from the dead just so you could kill him yourself…

You fucking prick. Why did you have to go and die?

There is not a chance in hell you can take on his whole crew. Honestly, it won’t be a piece of cake dealing with him on his own. You’re going to have to get this fucker alone. Not that that was going to be a piece of cake. As for the rest? Well, you’ll still have to figure that out...but you have time. Intel will be crucial, and it would take time to gather. After all, either this plan succeeds...or you reunite with Kid earlier than anticipated. You’ve got nothing to lose. Dead or alive—you’d do anything for that wild red-haired man. You’ll be happy either way.

I will get revenge—or die trying.

Calm down. You need to do this right. Tracking him down is going to take a lot more than wild rage. Pirates are rarely alone and you doubt Shanks is an exception. As much as you adored Kid, following in his hot-headed footsteps would definitely see you reunited. The object of your new sick obsession was a Yonko for fucks sake. A fate preferable to a time after you’ve exacted your revenge—not before.

These thoughts and a million more clouded your mind—a cacophonous lullaby. Sleep came easier than it should have. A smile plastered on your face. The kind that graces someone’s lips when they give away everything they own. When they tell their loved ones how much they care for them while giving away their belongings. It wasn’t the manifestations of a need for vengeance that greeted you—it was him.

You were back on the Punk Victoria, your home, and he—everyone—was alive. You could feel his rough hands wrapped around your waist tucked under your shirt, his fingers laced together on the small of your back. His cologne was the sea, spiced with iron and gunpowder. His laugh echoed across the ship. That wild, reckless, boisterous laugh that often borders on maniacal. Music to your ears.

“You really think you can take me on?” he teases, his voice sending vibrations through your body like a distant thunder. He pulls you closer. You return his question with a snarky retort, eliciting another rumbling laugh from the muscled man holding you. You always challenged him—and he loved it. Though, to be fair, your spars often started on the deck and ended in his quarters. He went easier on you in the bedroom than he ever did in your fights. And that was saying something, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You were in love.

Today though, he wasn’t in the mood to fight first. He hoisted you up before you could protest, swinging you over his shoulder like piece of cargo. A booming laugh vibrated through you as you sent a round of punches you didn’t mean into his back—telling him to put you down. You both know you didn’t mean it.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled “I’ll put you down.”

Already at his door, your feet met the floor as he set you down gently. Kid’s arm reached for the handle, and he stepped inside. A cruel twisting feeling began to snake through your body—a pit forming in your stomach large enough to swallow you whole. In horror you watched his body started to unravel. You clawed at the air in front of you, traces of his image filtering through your fingers. If you could just call out to him—tell him you love him...maybe... Your mouth moved, but couldn’t form a single word. The smell of metal that clung onto him like cologne dissipated. You tried to scream, but produced no sound. Then he was gone.

You resolve to follow him, taking a decisive step over the threshold. You didn’t need to know what was waiting on the other side to follow him through. Wherever he went you would follow. If he was there that was all that mattered. Your foot crossed the threshold, but instead of making contact with the Victoria you found yourself falling through her floor—cascaded into an endless red void.

Your eyes snapped open. The sting of tears on your cheeks roused you. Sweat and tears drenched your clothes and bed, sticky and cold. You sat up, trying to regain your bearings, tugging at your wet shirt. Then reality hit you all over again. Like a ton of bricks, it brought you down with a force, the weight almost crushing you. He was gone. The steel returned to your back quickly enough though, as you recalled your resolve last night.

No matter what it takes, no matter what it costs, I’m going to make you suffer.

Peeling yourself off your bed, you grabbed your only change of clothes. A large, ratty t-shirt with illegible text, and a round spiked jolly roger on the back. Held together by various thread, safety pins, and a prayer. You pulled it over your head, taking a moment to inhale it’s scent as you pulled it over your face.

The smell of the sea, iron, and gunpowder.

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

[callsignmarz]

MDNI | 18+ | König x Reader

TW: mentions of knife play, weapons, explicit language, sexual content, bondage/chains.

“Prisoner of War.” PT.2

A creditable sigh eases itself out while König watches the consequential duel between bravado and submission in your irises. Sliding his finger out from the depths of your mouth, a residual smile is left clinging onto your lips.

“I'm a whore who you desperately crave to have control over."

The words fell from your mouth with little to no trouble at all, dripping with the appalling truth. Underneath the hood, König's upper lip plucked in annoyance but he held his unwavering gaze as you taunted him with a giggle.

"Ich hasse dich. (I hate you.)"

He didn’t deny it.

How could he?

Though truth be told, hatred was the vital element that pumped through his veins all those years of tracking you down, infatuated on the day when you would finally meet your demise.

But now, you were finally at his mercy.

As it should've been from the very beginning.

In turn, you couldn’t care less if he hated you or not. All you needed was to buy enough time to make an escape and if you had to go to the extreme...then so fucking be it.

"I don't think you hate me, König. In fact, I think it's the complete opposite of that."

"Do tell, meine schatz. Because if I remember correctly, you've been nothing but a monumental pain in my ass the last few years."

"Oh, please." You scoffed. "Don't act like it didn't get your dick hard every time you saw my ass get away."  

Growing tired of your petulance, his hand forcibly clasped onto either side of your cheeks to shut you up, squeezing them uncomfortably with powerful pressure, painful enough to leave bruises beneath the pads of his fingers.

This act alone, furthered to prove your point.

His milky blue eyes, become the only thing you see as he gets in your face and whispers a new threat, one that catches you completely off guard and has you pooling in your panties.

"We'll see how much talking you'll be doing after I fuck that tight ass of yours." A sinister smile ghosts over his lips and under the hood.

The metal of the chains, collide together, sharp and angry as König rips away the chair beneath you, it skids across the floor until it crashes against the concrete wall.

In seconds, you found yourself laying flat over the table, baring your teeth as his fingers were replaced by a tactical knife, the cool steel pressing into your skin and you feel the warmth of your blood leaking down your face like thick sap oozing from a maple tree.

Your heart begins to race at a unhealthy rate with predilection igniting your nerve ending when he kicks your feet apart to position himself behind you.

"Was? (What?) Too scared to say something smart now?”

König chuckles with his eyes darkening as he gently drags the dull part of the blade from your cheek, down your neckline and roaming your back freely.

"If you didn't cause so many fucking problems for everyone, I think you and I could've...worked something out."

A fervid chill charges down your spine at the sound of his hand undoing his belt and khakis with no difficulty, leaving plenty of space for his bulge to swell as he pressed against your perfect ass.

"I bet I won't even feel a thing." You blatantly lie through your teeth.

"Hartnäckige Sache. (Stubborn thing.)" He rasped with a hidden smirk while his eyes raked over your curves, imagining how your body would looked with nothing on.

"I promise, you're going to feel all of me."

Smoothly, he reaches around, taking his sweet time to unbutton and tug your cargo pants down, bunching them mid-thigh. His cock shivers with palpable need when his eyes fall on the thin waistband of your black thong before soaking in the soft curvature you were blessed with.

"So perfekt. (So perfect.)"

Your breath hitches at leathery feel of König's gloves, tracing and caressing your delicate skin. With your mind spinning in all directions, you hardly didn't notice that you had rose to your tip toes, your body grinding into him, fueling the flames of libido.

Between your ragged breaths, you purr.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to fuck me stupid like a real man?"

[ask-hound]

*hooded figure approaches and forces a chloroform soaked rag over Hound’s face. He finds himself in an abandoned warehouse, tied to a chair and bleeding from a somehow reopened scar*

Do you know why you’re here? You do know drugs are illegal right? Or at least the ones you were injecting with someone else. We have eyes everywhere. Do you have anything to say to defend yourself?

*the hooded stranger grabs a knife and traces it against Hound’s scars*

Hound… well. Hound is out of it.

They blink sluggishly, trying to get the world to stop spinning for long enough that they can figure out where they are. It’s dark, dark and cold, especially so considering that Hound’s been stripped down to their undershirt and cargo pants by the disguised figure holding a knife to the track marks marring the inside of their arm.

They think they hear about half of what the person said, something about drugs being illegal and eyes everywhere and having to defend themself. It feels like every thought is moving through molasses, making it nearly impossible for Hound to string together what their captor is trying to tell them.

“Who… ‘re you?” they slur, eyelids heavy; the only thing keeping them from passing out is the adrenaline beginning to flood their veins as the gravity of the situation slowly sets in. Hound’s head drops toward their chest, too exhausted and dazed to keep staring straight at the figure. Their captor, seemingly annoyed, grabs them by the chin and wrenches their head up so Hound will look them in the face, despite their unfocused gaze and tenuous hold on awareness.

[mscresta]

Title: On the Train, Off the Rails

Haymitch x Effie.

Cw: drinking, alcohol, hunger games, mention of death.

———————————————

Ps: someone said they didn’t like when I did the bold and italic writing, because it made it harder too read so I didn’t do it with this one! Lmk if you like it better or worse!

The train rattled along the tracks, a sleek silver snake cutting through the District 12 landscape, dragging the weight of its cargo—Haymitch Abernathy, a bottle of whiskey, and the most annoying Capitol escort in history. The air inside the train car was almost too clean, too bright. Haymitch hated it. The stiff, pristine furniture. The polished silverware. The damn fancy food. Everything screamed Capitol excess, and he just wanted to disappear into the bottle in his hand.

The tributes—mostly trembling teenagers—had been introduced in the dining car, but he hadn’t bothered to stick around. He could hardly stand the sight of them, fresh-faced and scared, pretending they had hope when they didn’t even know what was coming. So, as usual, he did the only thing that could dull the pain: he got drunk.

Now, slouched in his room with the door locked, he kept the bottle close, taking another long swig. The familiar burn in his throat was the only thing keeping the chaos of his mind at bay. The walls of the compartment were as sterile as the rest of the train, the cold, immaculate bed a reminder that this place wasn’t meant for someone like him. He didn’t belong here. Not with people like Effie Trinket, who couldn’t see past her perfectly pressed dress and those ridiculous heels.

Effie. He couldn’t shake her. He thought he’d be rid of her once they were back on the train, but no—she always found a way to worm her way back into his life. He cursed under his breath, his fingers tightening around the bottle. He was just about to take another drink when—

Knock. Knock.

“Go away,” he slurred, not even bothering to lift his head.

Effie’s voice came through, sharp and unmistakable. “Haymitch Abernathy, if you think you can hide in there forever, you’re sadly mistaken!”

He leaned his head back against the window, staring out at the blur of landscape. “I wasn’t planning on hiding, darling. Just thought I’d get a little peace before you show up to ruin my buzz.”

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me.” She didn’t even wait for him to respond before the door swung open.

Haymitch didn’t look up as Effie entered, but he could feel her presence—the click of her heels, the rustling of her absurdly fluffy dress. He took another swig, savoring the burn, but mostly hoping she’d just get the hint and leave.

She didn’t.

Instead, she stood there, arms crossed, looking down at him with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “I cannot believe you’re doing this again. I told you before, you need to at least pretend to care about the tributes, or at least pretend to care about your job.”

“Ah, my job,” Haymitch scoffed, glancing up at her with a lazy smirk. “That’s rich coming from you. I don’t see you out there slaying any dragons. Just telling me how to pretend like I give a damn. Makes you sound so… noble.”

Effie’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a split second, Haymitch almost felt a flicker of guilt. Almost. “You’re impossible, Haymitch,” she muttered, stepping closer, her heels clicking with each deliberate step. “Do you even remember what it’s like to care about anything that’s not in a bottle?”

Haymitch let out a short laugh, the bitterness in his tone clear. “Well, let’s see. I care about not getting my face squished by your heels, if that helps.

Effie stopped just short of the chair opposite him, her arms still crossed, and for a moment, there was a tension in the air. It wasn’t the usual tension that came from her lecturing him or his obvious disdain for her. No, this was different. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t fake. She was… frustrated. And maybe—just maybe—he was too.

“Why do you do this?” she asked, her voice softer now, though it still held a trace of that Capitol-bred authority. “You don’t have to drink yourself into oblivion every time. You don’t have to shut down every time we get close to the Capitol. We could—”

“We could what, Effie?” Haymitch interrupted, his voice growing more forceful as he leaned forward. “What do you think is gonna happen? I get all sunshine and roses and suddenly I care about your little Capitol circus? No. I don’t care. I never will. The tributes come and go. The Games happen. And I—” He cut himself off with a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m just here to survive, like everyone else.”

Effie’s eyes softened for just a moment, but then that damn spark of defiance flared again. She straightened up, narrowing her eyes at him. “Well, you’re not going to survive much longer if you keep drinking yourself into a stupor every time something gets hard.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Haymitch drawled, his smirk returning. “Maybe I like the way it feels. Maybe I like not thinking about the crap you’re trying to shove down my throat.” He took another swig from the bottle, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Or maybe I just like the idea of being the only one in this ridiculous train ride who isn’t pretending to be happy about anything.”

Effie opened her mouth, probably to deliver some scolding about his “self-destructive tendencies,” but Haymitch couldn’t help himself. His sarcasm bubbled out before she could get a word in.

“And hey,” he said, his voice lowering to a teasing tone, “if you’re really so determined to make me behave, you might want to try a different approach. I mean, I’m a sucker for a woman in power. But you? You might want to take that corset off before you start squeezing the life out of me.”

Effie froze, her face flushed with a mix of annoyance and something else—something Haymitch couldn’t quite place. He watched her for a long moment, enjoying the discomfort in her eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” she finally managed, her voice trembling, but she didn’t leave. And that, Haymitch thought, was the real kicker.

“Yeah, I know.” He took another drink and leaned back, looking her up and down. “But you keep coming back for more. Either you’re a glutton for punishment, or… you’ve got a soft spot for me. I knew it.”

Effie rolled her eyes, but there was a soft laugh in her voice that almost made him regret his next words. “Maybe I just pity you.”

“Ah, so you’re my knight in shining armor then?” Haymitch chuckled darkly, tilting his head toward her. “I could get used to that.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but something shifted in her gaze. A flicker of uncertainty, mixed with exasperation, passed through her eyes before she sighed dramatically, giving him a small, almost reluctant smile. “You know, you’re insufferable. But if I’m your knight, you’re a very difficult prince to rescue.”

Haymitch smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “I like a challenge.”

Effie shook her head, but there was no real heat in it. She seemed almost… resigned. “You’re impossible,” she said, though the words weren’t as sharp as usual.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

For a moment, the air between them was thick, not with tension, but with something else—something unsaid. He didn’t know what it was, but it was there, lingering like the whiskey on his tongue.

[a-spicy-reader]

Midnight Desires

Synopsis:

Jaehyun and Amara escape into a weekend made for two. Wine, records, slow conversations—and no reason to rush. What begins as a soft, cozy night between longtime lovers quietly builds into something far more heated.

WC: ~1k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

☆ Warnings: established couple, slow build, oral (m > f), dirty talk, riding, creampie, praise kink, rough sex, multiple orgasms, sensual domestic heat 💦🖤

English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes

---

The vinyl crackled gently on the turntable. An old jazz record spun lazily, filling the room with the warm sound of a live recording. Candles burned low on the console, bathing the space in golden light and dancing shadows.

Jaehyun sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa, his back relaxed against a cushion. One hand held a glass of wine, the other rested on his bent knee. Above him, Amara was sprawled across the couch—legs open, one bent against the armrest, the other stretched out, her bare foot brushing his shoulder. Her toenails were painted a deep navy blue that shimmered in the flickering candlelight. Her laughter filled the room in a way that made his chest vibrate. They were on their second bottle of wine, talking shit, remembering things they didn’t share with anyone else anymore.

— Don’t tell me you actually wore cargo pants with chains in high school, — Amara laughed, swirling her glass dramatically.

— Proudly. And hair gel, too. We were all disasters, — he replied, grinning into his wine.

She laughed harder, leaning forward. Her red hair tumbled over her shoulder, and he reached up to grab a strand, wrapping it loosely around his fingers.

— Still getting used to this color. But on you... it’s criminal.

Amara raised an eyebrow, pretending to look unimpressed.

— Thought you were more the “natural beauty” type.

— I like what fits you. And this — he tugged gently at the red strand — fits too damn well.

She smiled. The kind of smile he’d memorized. The one that showed up when she really felt seen.

The song changed to a slower track—some live version of “I Like It.” Jaehyun tapped his fingers against her knee, keeping the beat.

— This one’s a classic. Dance with me.

Amara sighed dramatically but held out her hand. He pulled her gently, sliding her off the couch until they stood together, bodies close, swaying slowly under the flickering light.

— Aren’t we too old to be slow dancing in the living room? — she whispered with a smirk.

— Nah. We’re just old enough to finally enjoy it right.

She rested her forehead against his. They rocked in silence. His fingers traveled down her back, tracing her waist, settling low. She fit into his hands like something custom-made.

— You know this is dangerous, right? — she murmured.

— I know. Too late now.

The kiss started slow. Then deep. Then hungry.

They stumbled to the bedroom between kisses, laughing, bumping into furniture, knocking a pillow to the floor. But when they hit the bed, the air changed. No more laughs. Just heavy breathing and raw want.

Jaehyun laid her down gently, but his eyes were on fire. He peeled off her shirt like unwrapping something sacred, then kissed every inch of skin he revealed—from collarbone to bellybutton.

She yanked his shirt by the collar and kissed him hard. Her legs parted, pulling him in. Jaehyun stripped her fully, then undressed himself in a rush. His cock was already hard, thick, throbbing, aimed at her.

He knelt between her thighs and went down on her. His tongue found her clit instantly, and Amara moaned loud, arching up. He took his time. Licked, sucked, teased. Her legs trembled.

— Fuck, Jaehyun...

He growled in response, holding her hips down firmly.

When she came, it hit in sobs. She clawed at the sheets and screamed his name.

Jaehyun kissed his way back up her body. Their lips met again before he positioned himself and pushed in, all at once.

— Fuck me, — she gasped.

And he did.

Hard. Fast. Deep. The sound of skin slapping filled the room. He gripped her hips tight, yanking her into each thrust.

She moaned louder, eyes shut, mouth parted.

— Just like that...

— Your pussy’s fucking perfect — he groaned, voice ragged.

The rhythm turned frantic. He came with a shout, buried deep. She followed right after, unraveling around him.

Jaehyun collapsed onto his back, chest heaving, face slick with sweat. But his body still pulsed. Still buzzed. His cock was hard again, sticky and throbbing between his legs.

— You still want more? — he rasped, voice broken.

Amara didn’t answer. She climbed over him slowly, her eyes locked on his, and straddled his waist like she was meant to live there. One hand on his chest, the other wrapped around the base of his cock. She sank down in one motion.

They moaned together.

— Fuck, Amara... — he choked, tossing his head back.

— Shut up, — she whispered, already riding him.

She moved with hunger. With rhythm. With purpose. Her thighs worked him. Her tits bounced with each bounce. Her moans melted with curses and shallow gasps. Jaehyun’s hands couldn’t decide where to stay — her waist, her breasts, her neck. He wanted all of her at once.

— You drive me insane... — he groaned.

— I know, — she whispered, never breaking her rhythm. — And you love it.

She bent down to kiss him, open-mouthed, moaning into his tongue. Their bodies slapped, wet and intense, like nothing else existed beyond this — beyond the sound of slick heat meeting skin.

— Ride me... just like that... — Jaehyun moaned, fingers digging into her flesh.

Amara shifted her motion — stopped bouncing and began grinding, deep, slow, dragging him inside her with full force. Jaehyun growled like a man possessed.

— Fuck my cock, baby... just like that... — he gasped, eyes rolling back, legs shaking.

She laughed breathlessly between moans, sweat dripping down her temples.

— You gonna come like this? All wrecked for me?

— I’m close... fuck... I’m—

She didn’t stop. She went harder. Faster. Her hips swiveled, her thighs tensed, her cries grew louder. The bed creaked violently, the headboard thudding against the wall. The room was thick with sex — the smell, the heat, the sound of it.

Amara came first — loud, wild, her body locking up as she screamed. She arched back, hands pressing into his chest, her orgasm ripping through her like flame. Jaehyun felt her tighten around him, and he lost it.

— Come with me — he begged, thrusting up from below.

Twice. Three times. Four.

And then he came — hard. Again. Inside her. Deep. Hot. Relentless.

His body seized. Hers collapsed onto his chest.

They stayed like that, stuck together, breathing like they'd run through a storm. His chest rose and fell under her weight. His hands still gripped her waist like he was afraid she'd vanish.

Amara buried her face in his neck. Jaehyun kissed the top of her head.

— That was... — she started, but couldn’t finish.

— I know, — he replied, with a tired, crooked smile.

She laughed softly, still breathless, and exhaled a long, slow sigh against his chest.

[hidefdoritos]

Lately, I've created two bantering sportscasters who narrate my actions as a yard switcher (I move semi trailers around at the cargo job).

Darryl: Another incredible parking job from Moss! This back-in park required only two tries, with a brief forward realignment. Chuck, hit me with that replay.

Chuck: As you can see, Moss made an incredible first turn. 23-foot trailers are squirrelly, and you can see Moss get a little dramatic on their first try. However, they immediately recognize line divergence and take it forward again to fix it, this time returning for a perfect parking job.

Darryl: It's now 6 pm, and Manager John has called for a hot swap on door 28. Hot swaps are a tricky maneuver: you've got to pull the full trailer, find its parking space, find an empty trailer, and put that one on door. All the while, there's a conveyor indoors filling with boxes, up to three people waiting and making faces out the window, and potentially other truckers in the yard to judge you.

Chuck: Moss has many skills, but their track record with social pressure is pretty rough. Their stats show their IQ dropping a full 15 points per "real" trucker observing their actions.

Darryl: Their setup turns were very wide this time, and you can see an early mistake: turning the wheel the wrong direction. This folded the trailer into an even sharper angle, which is embarrassing. It's now lined up with the trailer on door 27. And, in an impressive series of going backwards and forwards, Moss has managed to fully Austin Powers their trailer in the middle of the yard.

Chuck: Let's get a close-up on that scowl.

Darryl: They really choked under the pressure this time.

Chuck: Now we see them give up and loop around the yard again. They're gonna give this hot swap a second try.

Darryl: Come on, rookie.

Chuck: Much better setup this time, Darryl. Notice them breathing deeply--it's a mental game now.

Darryl: Focusing solely on the trailer and the lines is a good move. And they're mostly in line! It takes a few backwards and forwards alignments, but it looks like they're getting it!

Chuck: And they're on the door! Three adjustments (the second time around) is pretty reasonable for how much pressure they put themself under.

Darryl: Moss has shown some really promising progress this year. Earlier this year, they were an average college senior who thought landing gear and air lines were just for planes. However, the 5'8 rookie has been catching on. They've had a rough few years and a few false starts with craft stores, cashier jobs, and burrito joints, but they seem to really be finding their groove.

Chuck: Let's check in now on this empty trailer pull. Coming off door 9 with another 23-footer. The yard is getting crowded now, so they'll have to try backing in from the blind side.

Darryl: Which they taught themself to do. Last night. And it's now dark.

Chuck: Check out that excellent serpentine maneuver for the setup! The truck is very close to straight. Now they just have to back up smoothly.

Darryl: Chuck. Chuck, are you seeing this!

Chuck: Come on, rookie, we're all rooting for you.

Darryl: They find the line in the bubble mirror, and the back tires are tracing it perfectly.

Chuck: It's almost there.

Darryl: Annnnnnd.............PARK!

Chuck: It's a miracle! A blind side backup job in ONE SMOOTH MOTION!

Darryl: IN THE DARK! FROM THE BLIND SIDE! IS THERE ANYTHING THIS ROOKIE CAN'T DO?

Chuck: And with real truckers watching? Incredible. This is gonna boost their credibility for sure.

Darryl: We're gonna cut to commercial while they unhook the lines and park the switcher. But we'll be right back to watch them try to remember how to put straight truck 095 in gear. Don't go away!

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 49

Free Heap

As I was leaving, one of the guards by the town entrance was muttering to himself about a pair of missing hunters. This was Oseram muttering, so clearly audible over the strikes at the forge. 

His name was Kaeluf and he’d sent two hunters out after the bandits' attack to track a herd of Behemoths. He’d organised to trade their cables with Petra—another part essential for her defence weapons. He was meant to have gone out himself with a huntress named Beladga, but traded posts with Jorgriz in an attempt to play matchmaker. It sounded like another job; good hunting, good salvage, and a chance to help Petra’s craftsmanship reach new heights. 

I asked Petra more about the trade and why she needed the cables. That of course led to me admitting what Kaeluf told me about the lost hunters. Apparently the whole heap is aware of Beladga and Jorgriz’s feelings for each other except them. Petra had agreed to the trade on the condition that Kaeluf would be leading the hunt, and wasn’t happy with the swap—just what Kaeluf was afraid of. Botched deals and imminent scolding aside, the hunters could be in danger, and if they didn’t track the convoy, there wouldn’t be another passing through for months. According to Petra, Free Heap don’t trade what it can hunt for itself. Keeps the band self-sufficient—apart from relying on the odd Nora outlander, I guess. 

I rode out, tracing the hunters’ trail to the north west. I could hear their argument winding all the way down the path, which means the machines could hear it too. I caught up with the hunters and Beladga explained that she’d lost the herd. I knew I’d be faster tracking them alone, but I thought the hunters could learn a thing or two. Don’t want to encourage this unhealthy dependence after all. 

I quickly came to regret my decision. The pair argued all the way, Jorgriz asking constant, pedantic questions that set off Beladga’s temper. Set off mine too. I snapped at them. Why couldn’t they just come out and admit how they felt instead of pestering each other as an excuse for the other's attention? That silenced them. Then we caught up with the convoy.

Four Shellwalkers and three Behemoths. I started by overriding one of the Shellwalkers, letting it take on its friends and keep their shock explosions away from the real fight.

I detonated the chillwater canisters on the Behemoths, the resulting explosion freezing two of the trio. Hardpoint arrows to their echo shells caused further explosions of force and sound, taking them down quickly, before they could start slinging boulders around. Plenty of salvage, stripped from the machines themselves and the cargo they were carrying. Beladga and Jorgriz helped me harvest the cables that they’d take back to Free Heap. They thanked me for my…unsubtle nudge as well. Said they have a lot to talk about, among other things.

I’ll have to stop by Free Heap again when next I’m out this way. I’d like to see how Petra makes use of those cables.

Moving on, I came across a machine site on a plateau, the one where Brin told me I’d find a Corrupter carcass to satiate his thirst, or his death wish. After what I've discovered about Hephaestus, and about the ancient beasts it used to model its new machines, I was hoping he could offer another small piece of wisdom in his ramblings.

I overrode a Sawtooth in the area to deal with the Lancehorn herd, then pressed on and took down the scavengers pecking at the Corrupter carcass and harvested its ‘blood’. 

Back on the road, I was ambushed by a group of bandits near the Eclipse's old camp by the Tallneck, one of them touting a Firespitter that threw me from my mount. I ducked out of sight and circled around, coming down on the heavy hitter from above, then used his weapon to take down the rest of his fellows. Fortunately my Charger wasn't too badly damaged.

I continued west, leaving my mount away from the massive hoard of machines gathered at Brin’s doorstep. His feeding ground?

Even Brin admitted the stuff was disgusting—by his grunts and tremors it burnt on the way down. The vision he relayed to me once the acid settled was, again, alarmingly accurate between its esoteric lines. He described the Corrupters as not belonging to the herd, but to the ancient past, a time of feasting. He spoke of a metal ingot inscribed with circles and lines, allowing the Corrupter to control other machines—just like the insides of my override module. I asked him how he knows these things; he said only the blood knows. Unhelpful, but I don’t think he’s lying, and while I want to find out how he’s receiving this knowledge, I’m not about to down Corrupter fluid to verify it myself. 

Stalker blood was next on the menu for Brin. Well, I suppose I’m heading for the Jewel anyway. 

Back on the road, I headed east around the ridge and south to Lone Light to spend the night. I was hoping to find it populated again since I put a stop to the constant Glinthawk attacks, but the town was still empty. Food rotting at the market stalls where it was abandoned; sand accumulating on the floors through open windows and cracked boards, swept in by compounding storms. No trading for me, no stories to swap and no fresh cooked meal to enjoy. Is it still too dangerous here? Maybe none of the city guard can be spared to return. It’s a shame. 

Alone in the bedhouse once again. Sand between the sheets.

[sunpoffin]

A little continuation of my kamuegi AU based off of @theamityelf 's tags and agere Izuru AU!

Fluff under the cut 💕

After coming back to himself and surveying the state of the room he was in, several things are immediately clear to Izuru. First and most obvious is that he doesn’t know how he got here. The light coming from the window outside slants across the floor, casting late afternoon shadows. Izuru has lost several hours. Second, the damage in this room was done by none other than himself. The footprints kicked against the wall fit his own shoe prints perfectly and line up with someone his height. And the blows have caused dents in the iron rebar behind the plaster that are proportional to his own power. (Though used recklessly, thoughtlessly, not a focused attempt to destroy the wall.) The blinds have been pulled down and scattered, the table in the room flipped over, gripped so harshly that the metal edge of it was deformed into a cast of the inside of a fist. Laying his own fingers into the divots proves that this too was Izuru’s doing. As he breathes, taking in all of this, a few strands of his hair stick to his face. Reaching up, Izuru finds that his cheek is wet with the remnants of tears.

It's as though he just had a child’s tantrum fit.

In tandem with that thought, a memory comes to him. Izuru is sitting in a car, in the cabin rather than as cargo for the first time in his conscious existence. The blanket he was given because Izuru was ‘only wearing a hospital gown’ still rests over his shoulders, the fingers of one hand idly tugging at an uneven seam. Naegi Makoto sits across from him radiating unnecessary worry, Izuru’s eyes tracking the world moving past them even as Naegi speaks.

“...I don’t want to overwhelm you or anything, so just say so if you’d rather not talk about this stuff right away,” The sound of a seatbelt creaking as Naegi leans forwards, an unconscious sign of sincerity. “but just in the interest of being completely honest with you, we did look into your background a little... We’re still trying to find out where your family is, so if you have any idea wh-“

“Hinata Hajime’s family is not my own. I do not remember the life of the person who inhabited this body before me, nor do I have any desire to return to it.” Izuru answers him, his eyes tracing over a mountainside of dead trees and exposed rock. The layers in the cliff face tell a clear story of erosion due to a lack of plant life buffering the runoff, the brush and trees having died off due to pollution. In the end, just as Izuru assumed, this world of despair was every bit as predictable as the supposedly hopeful one before it.

“You... only remember the Hope Cultivation Plan?” His voice is gentle, more of that worry bleeding through his attempt at neutrality.

“No.” Izuru doesn’t try to look back at the window, resigned to finish this line of questioning. “The Hope Cultivation Plan has been completed. I woke up in captivity and have remained so. First under the ownership of Hope’s Peak, then the Future Foundation, and now you have me.”

“Kamukura-kun... You’re not an object. I’m not planning on keeping you or anything close to that. You can stay with us for as long as you want, of course, but no one is going to stop you from leaving. I promise.” Because it would be tedious to explain to him that Izuru was always capable of freeing himself, he stays silent. That doesn’t seem to stop Naegi from continuing though.

“It’s alright not to know what you’re going to do next. You’ve got options. Staying here, or we could help you with getting a spot in one of the more established settlements, or even going off on your own. You’ve... apparently only been alive for two years and you’ve spent all that time in a cell pretty much, so I get it if this is a lot.”

“Two years, ten months, and nine days.” Izuru corrects him. “It’s closer to three years.”

Three years old.

It does not escape Izuru how his current circumstances, losing his memory for a short window of time within which he seemingly developed a different personality, compares to Fukawa’s experiences. It could very well be that Izuru, having been completed entirely within captivity, is not suited to this life. He cannot experience emotions like others do. Being presented with choices that mean nothing to him because everything is the same... is pointless. In that case, perhaps this is evidence of a new self coming through? A self which is more adaptable- a child. Izuru sweeps broken glass off the desk and begins to write.

In the end, Izuru favors brevity, noting down the basics of his situation, how this child should comport themself in order to be safe, and the locations of the hiding spots that Izuru plans to build for them within Naegi’s headquarters. He folds up the note and stows it in his shirt’s breast pocket, a small fold made on the outer edge so that it will be ever so slightly uncomfortable and therefore noticeable to the child.

With that, Izuru makes to clean up the mess the tantrum caused. Logically, Izuru understands that if he is right... Then suddenly being saddled with a child with limited self-control and access to his own abilities will make things difficult for him. Whoever this other presence in his mind is, they are a weakness. And any outgrowth of weakness from him should be pruned off. Realistically, it should have ended up as a hunk of grey matter on a surgical tray while Izuru was still in the process of being formed. Izuru’s body draws backwards and his head dips forwards, his hair falling over his forehead and across his face.

No. He does not want to destroy this presence. His teachers cut away Izuru’s emotions and stifled any pleasure Izuru could have gotten from making or realizing his own goals. This was because Izuru was meant to be a tool, something to be used for hope. The new presence within him, this child... is not like that. They very clearly feel. They very clearly need support and protection and care. They are lost, and lashing out directionlessly because of it. They have not mapped out the world through points of pain or boredom and won’t know that it will be necessary to defend themself. In that case, Izuru will provide the care they need.

As he exits the room, Izuru notes the small noises that tell him people are still in the building. This despite how the hallways are clear, and the main door leading outside the building has been propped open. Pointedly, Izuru ignores this. If Naegi wants him to leave, he will have to be more direct than that. These headquarters have made for a convenient place to rest, and will double as a safer place for the child personality. And until Izuru is ousted more forcibly, he will make good on his promise and fashion a few hiding spots for the child to escape to.

When Izuru next surfaces from a haze over his mind, he finds himself in one such hiding spot. The blanket he set down for the child to cover themself with if they chose, was all bundled up into a ball in Izuru’s arms, his fingers sunk deeply into the fabric. Taking account of his body, Izuru notes his steady heartbeat, his relaxed muscles, his renewed energy. Good. The child took some time to rest. And seems to be comforted by the act of holding soft things... One hand moves to his breast pocket to retrieve the note, this time smoothed of the fold that Izuru put into it earlier.

Spreading the paper out, Izuru sees that the back of it has been written on. It’s... his handwriting but not. It’s sloppy and quickly written when Izuru’s script was perfect and had no flourishes at all. Several places in the paper have also been punctured mid-character as though the child forgot themself and applied too much pressure. In the letter, the child thanks Izuru for building the hiding spots and for leaving snacks. That they liked the doughnuts especially and are there more? That hiding was alright but they were very tempted to talk to the other people living in the building. Why is it bad to talk to them? Why are they living here if it’s dangerous? They made a lot of loud noise while crying and that they’re sorry for making a mess. Will Izuru write back? Is it okay to go outside? They know things that they don’t remember learning about and they want to, quote, ‘meet a bird.’ The letter ends abruptly after that.

For a long moment, Izuru just holds the letter. Then he carefully folds it up and puts it in a different pocket. It occurs to him now that he has something he wants to keep, that he could store the letters between himself and the child somewhere in the room that Naegi gave him. Though the child asked many questions, Izuru has questions of his own. His head buzzing with ideas, Izuru returns to his room. He wants to bake for the child if they like sweets. He can gather materials about birds, or make them puzzles to entertain themself with while they hide. If they like to eat sweets, would they also enjoy baking? Where would they want to go if these headquarters aren’t ideal? Would they like a new name? Would they like Izuru to name them?

While Izuru sews them a plush rabbit to hold while napping, he thinks of even more questions. He notes them down carefully between sewing, and writing out recipes for macarons and lemon pound cake and flan, and finding a book of baby names to leave for them. Izuru Kamukura, stripped of kanji, of any ties to family, was an appropriate name for Izuru. Perfect, remote, with nothing to do with humanity. But this child is a person. They feel, they want, they are capable of change. They should have another choice besides Kamukura. They should have every choice. Izuru will ensure that they do.

After a while, a rhythm develops. Izuru gathers things for the child in the hiding spots he built and in his room, (as time wears on, it’s apparent that Izuru’s room won’t be intruded upon and that it’s safe to lower his guard there somewhat.) And the child, sometimes calling themself Izuru as well, sometimes Kotaro, or Hinako, or Usagi- they haven’t settled on a name yet... But little Izuru, will regale him with everything that they did while ‘awake’.

It's a comfortable enough pattern that when one afternoon, Izuru finds himself slowly coming back to consciousness while curled up on a couch in the lounge room, he can’t put his finger on what’s wrong right away. Until gentle fingers stroke through his hair and Izuru sits bolt upright, eyes wide and heart thundering in his chest. Naegi Makoto’s hands hover in the air above his lap where Izuru was just resting, his expression one of such bafflement that Izuru almost can’t consider him a threat at that moment. His features soften from shock into gentle concern. “Usagi-kun?”

Izuru shakes his head.

“Izuru-kun?”

Izuru shakes his head again.

“...Kamukura-kun?”

After a few beats of silence from Izuru, Naegi speaks again. “Sorry about surprising you like that. I didn’t mean to touch you without permission. Are… you okay? Toko sometimes gets a little disoriented when she switches, so it’s alright if you want to rest here. O-or if you just want to in general! I really don’t mind.” He sounds very genuine. Izuru has not moved from his spot pressed up against the far edge of the couch, the armrest digging into his lower back.

“Why are you talking to them?”

Naegi’s brow furrows in confusion. “What?”

Izuru is focused on Naegi and on the exits and on taking inventory of himself to assure he is unharmed. “The child. Why are you talking to them.” Izuru’s throat feels tense and he would correct it if there weren’t other, more important things to focus on. “I don’t interact with you because you make no demands of me. But if you were to ask me for something, I would do it. I instructed my other self to refuse any of your requests if they really do want to speak with the other people here. So why are you being kind to them? Manipulation is not necessary. It would be much faster to simply ask me for whatever you might need.”

For an unknown reason, Naegi looks hurt. “Kamukura-kun... I’m nice to them because everyone deserves kindness. Everyone should have someone safe they can go to. And if I can be that, even for a few people, then there will be a little less loneliness in the world.” He blushes, seemingly self-conscious. “…That and I really do just want to make friends with you.”

“You want to be my friend?” The answer is a reflex, more than a conscious decision. Slowly, Izuru is putting things together. Little Izuru felt safe enough to sleep around Naegi. On the TV, a documentary on sea creatures plays- his other self has mentioned an interest in starfish before. And the blanket that was covering Izuru a few moments ago, is patterned with little rabbits.

Naegi smiles. “Yeah, with little Izuru and with Kamukura-kun, both. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way though, you can still stay here as long as you want. You really don’t need to do anything for me...”

The thick feeling in Izuru’s throat is becoming painful. But he no longer feels as though Naegi is a threat.

“Thank you.” He says it carefully, like stepping out onto a sheet of ice that he isn’t completely sure will hold his weight. “…If that is the case, then I will watch the rest of this here.” Izuru announces. “to see what my other self likes about it.” It would not make sense to draw away now. Izuru was just asleep and if Naegi wanted to harm him, he would have done so by now. Which is why it’s perfectly logical for Izuru to stay. And then, afterwards, to follow Naegi into the kitchen and bake the cookie dough that he had made together with Little Izuru earlier.

[sebsxphia]

wip (thursday) wednesday. here’s a snippet of my two current wips!

natasha ‘phoenix’ trace x reader.

Until you. She made it work with you because she wanted to make it work. More than anything she had ever wanted. Sure, she worked fucking hard for her place in Top Gun, but for you, she would fetch the moon and the stars if you so asked. She thought you looked like an angel in reincarnation as the soft, golden, glowing light in your bedroom framed your face between her now bare thighs. As she was lost in the giddy waves of love and excitement due to being back with you, you had shed her Navy Academy shirt from yourself, her cargos, white t-shirt and her underwear. You were both lying bare naked with each other and you wasted no time in pressing your nose against her plush cunt and inhaling her familiar scent deeply into your airways.

As your nose nudged against her clit, she let out a choked moan and a curse of your name. Your hands wrapped around her thighs with your fingertips pressing firmly into her flesh. You kept her thighs held open as she bared her naked pussy to you. You couldn’t help the small smirk that twitched at the corners of your lips, as you noticed an already slick shine of her arousal seeping through her folds.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

He saw you there with one arm shakily bracing the sink and your other hand, shaking just as much, clasped over your mouth. You faced the scratched up Motel en-suite mirror, but your eyes were screwed tightly shut and Rhett saw how your tear tracks had already stained your hot cheeks. He wanted you to know that he was with you there. He reached out to touch you, to feel you. He invited you twice back into the Motel room and to come with him, to lay down in bed with him.

thank you so much for the tag: @sugarcoated-lame! 💌

no pressure tags: @floydsmuse @lewmagoo @rhettabbotts @attapullman @bradleybeachbabe @unmistakablyunknown @whatislovevavy @auroralightsthesky @sorchathered

[this-week-in-rust]

This Week in Rust 582

Hello and welcome to another issue of This Week in Rust! Rust is a programming language empowering everyone to build reliable and efficient software. This is a weekly summary of its progress and community. Want something mentioned? Tag us at @ThisWeekInRust on X (formerly Twitter) or @ThisWeekinRust on mastodon.social, or send us a pull request. Want to get involved? We love contributions.

This Week in Rust is openly developed on GitHub and archives can be viewed at this-week-in-rust.org. If you find any errors in this week's issue, please submit a PR.

Want TWIR in your inbox? Subscribe here.

Updates from Rust Community

Official

Announcing Rust 1.84.0

This Month in Our Test Infra: December 2024

Foundation

Announcing Rust Global 2025: London

Newsletters

This Month in Rust OSDev: December 2024

Rust Trends Issue #57

Project/Tooling Updates

cargo.nvim - A Neovim plugin for Rust's Cargo commands

Context-Generic Programming Updates: v0.3.0 Release and New Chapters

The RTen machine learning runtime - a 2024 retrospective

Observations/Thoughts

The gen auto-trait problem

Async Rust is about concurrency, not (just) performance

The Emotional Appeal of Rust

[audio] Brave with Anton Lazarev

[audio] Lychee with Matthias Endler

Rust Walkthroughs

Creating an embedded device driver in Rust

Const Evaluation in Rust For Hex Strings Validation

Concurrent and parallel future execution in Rust

[video] Intro to Embassy: embedded development with async Rust

[video] Comprehending Proc Macros

[video] CppCon - C++/Rust Interop: Using Bridges in Practice

Miscellaneous

December 2024 Rust Jobs Report

Tracing Large Memory Allocations in Rust with BPFtrace

On LLMs and Code Optimization

Nand2Tetris - Project 7 (VM Translator Part 1)

Crate of the Week

This week's crate is vidyut, a Sanskrit toolkit containing functionality about meter, segmentation, inflections, etc.

Thanks to Arun Prasad for the self-suggestion!

Please submit your suggestions and votes for next week!

Calls for Testing

An important step for RFC implementation is for people to experiment with the implementation and give feedback, especially before stabilization. The following RFCs would benefit from user testing before moving forward:

RFCs

No calls for testing were issued this week.

Rust

Tracking issue for RFC 3695: Allow boolean literals as cfg predicates

Testing steps

Rustup

No calls for testing were issued this week.

If you are a feature implementer and would like your RFC to appear on the above list, add the new call-for-testing label to your RFC along with a comment providing testing instructions and/or guidance on which aspect(s) of the feature need testing.

RFCs

Rust

Rustup

If you are a feature implementer and would like your RFC to appear on the above list, add the new call-for-testing label to your RFC along with a comment providing testing instructions and/or guidance on which aspect(s) of the feature need testing.

Call for Participation; projects and speakers

CFP - Projects

Always wanted to contribute to open-source projects but did not know where to start? Every week we highlight some tasks from the Rust community for you to pick and get started!

Some of these tasks may also have mentors available, visit the task page for more information.

rama - see if improvements can/have-to be made to rama's http open telemetry layer support

rama – add rama to TechEmpower's FrameworkBenchmark

rama – add rama server benchmark to sharkbench

If you are a Rust project owner and are looking for contributors, please submit tasks here or through a PR to TWiR or by reaching out on X (formerly Twitter) or Mastodon!

CFP - Events

Are you a new or experienced speaker looking for a place to share something cool? This section highlights events that are being planned and are accepting submissions to join their event as a speaker.

Rust Week (Rust NL) | Closes on 2024-01-19 | Utrecht, NL | Event on 2025-05-13 & 2025-05-14

Rust Summit | Rolling deadline | Belgrade, RS | Event on 2025-06-07

If you are an event organizer hoping to expand the reach of your event, please submit a link to the website through a PR to TWiR or by reaching out on X (formerly Twitter) or Mastodon!

Updates from the Rust Project

469 pull requests were merged in the last week

add new {x86_64,i686}-win7-windows-gnu targets

arm: add unstable soft-float target feature

-Zrandomize-layout harder. Foo<T> != Foo<U>

best_blame_constraint: Blame better constraints when the region graph has cycles from invariance or 'static

mir_transform: implement #[rustc_force_inline]

run_make_support: add #![warn(unreachable_pub)]

account for identity substituted items in symbol mangling

add -Zmin-function-alignment

add default_field_values entry to unstable book

add a list of symbols for stable standard library crates

add an InstSimplify for repetitive array expressions

add inherent versions of MaybeUninit methods for slices

add missing provenance APIs on NonNull

assert that Instance::try_resolve is only used on body-like things

avoid ICE: Account for for<'a> types when checking for non-structural type in constant as pattern

avoid replacing the definition of CURRENT_RUSTC_VERSION

cleanup suggest_binding_for_closure_capture_self diag in borrowck

condvar: implement wait_timeout for targets without threads

convert typeck constraints in location-sensitive polonius

depth limit const eval query

detect mut arg: &Ty meant to be arg: &mut Ty and provide structured suggestion

do not ICE when encountering predicates from other items in method error reporting

eagerly collect mono items for non-generic closures

ensure that we don't try to access fields on a non-struct pattern type

exhaustively handle expressions in patterns

fix ICE with references to infinite structs in consts

fix cycle error only occurring with -Zdump-mir

fix handling of ZST in win64 ABI on windows-msvc targets

implement const Destruct in old solver

lower Guard Patterns to HIR

make (unstable API) UniqueRc invariant for soundness

make MIR cleanup for functions with impossible predicates into a real MIR pass

make lit_to_mir_constant and lit_to_const infallible

normalize each signature input/output in typeck_with_fallback with its own span

remove a bunch of diagnostic stashing that doesn't do anything

remove allocations from case-insensitive comparison to keywords

remove special-casing for argument patterns in MIR typeck (attempt to fix perf regression of #133858)

reserve x18 register for aarch64 wrs vxworks target

rm unnecessary OpaqueTypeDecl wrapper

suggest Replacing Comma with Semicolon in Incorrect Repeat Expressions

support target specific optimized-compiler-builtins

unify conditional-const error reporting with non-const error reporting

use a post-monomorphization typing env when mangling components that come from impls

use llvm.memset.p0i8.* to initialize all same-bytes arrays

used pthread name functions returning result for FreeBSD and DragonFly

warn about broken simd not only on structs but also enums and unions when we didn't opt in to it

implement trait upcasting

mir-opt: GVN some more transmute cases

miri: add FreeBSD maintainer; test all of Solarish

miri: added Android to epoll and eventfd test targets

miri: adjust the way we build miri-script in RA, to fix proc-macros

miri: illumos: added epoll and eventfd

miri: supported fioclex for ioctl on macos

miri: switched FreeBSD to pthread_setname_np

miri: use deref_poiner_as instead of deref_pointer

proc_macro: Use ToTokens trait in quote macro

add #[inline] to copy_from_slice

impl String::into_chars

initial fs module for uefi

hashbrown: added Allocator template argument for rustc_iter

account for optimization levels other than numbers

cargo: schemas: Fix 'metadata' JSON Schema

cargo: schemas: Fix the [lints] JSON Schema

cargo: perf: cargo-package: match certain path prefix with pathspec

cargo: fix: emit warnings as warnings when learning rust target info

cargo: make "C" explicit in extern "C"

cargo: setup cargo environment for cargo rustc --print

cargo: simplify SourceID Ord/Eq

rustdoc-json: include items in stripped modules in Crate::paths

rustdoc: use import stability marker in display

rustdoc: use stable paths as preferred canonical paths

rustfmt: drop nightly-gating of the --style-edition flag registration

clippy: add new lint unneeded_struct_pattern

clippy: auto-fix slow_vector_initialization in some cases

clippy: do not intersect spans coming from different contexts

clippy: do not look for significant drop inside .await expansion

clippy: do not propose to elide lifetimes if this causes an ambiguity

clippy: do not remove identity mapping if mandatory mutability would be lost

clippy: do not trigger redundant_pub_crate in external macros

clippy: don't emit machine applicable map_flatten lint if there are code comments

clippy: don't suggest to use cloned for Cow in unnecessary_to_owned

clippy: fix type suggestion for manual_is_ascii_check

clippy: improve needless_as_bytes to also detect str::bytes()

clippy: new lint: manual_ok_err

clippy: remove unneeded parentheses in unnecessary_map_or lint output

rust-analyzer: add a new and improved syntax tree view

rust-analyzer: add config setting which allows adding additional include paths to the VFS

rust-analyzer: re-implement rust string highlighting via tool attribute

rust-analyzer: fix JSON project PackageRoot buildfile inclusion

rust-analyzer: do not compute prettify_macro_expansion() unless the "Inline macro" assist has actually been invoked

rust-analyzer: do not offer completions within macro strings

rust-analyzer: fix env/option_env macro check disregarding macro_rules definitions

rust-analyzer: fix ref text edit for binding mode hints

rust-analyzer: fix a bug with missing binding in MBE

rust-analyzer: fix actual token lookup in completion's expand()

rust-analyzer: fix another issue with fixup reversing

rust-analyzer: fix diagnostics not clearing between flychecks

rust-analyzer: make edition per-token, not per-file

rust-analyzer: implement #[rust_analyzer::skip] for bodies

rust-analyzer: implement implicit sized bound inlay hints

rust-analyzer: improve hover module path rendering

Rust Compiler Performance Triage

A quiet week with little change to the actual compiler performance. The biggest compiler regression was quickly recognized and reverted.

Triage done by @rylev. Revision range: 0f1e965f..1ab85fbd

Summary:

(instructions:u) mean range count Regressions ❌ (primary) 0.4% [0.1%, 1.8%] 21 Regressions ❌ (secondary) 0.5% [0.0%, 2.0%] 35 Improvements ✅ (primary) -0.8% [-2.7%, -0.3%] 6 Improvements ✅ (secondary) -10.2% [-27.8%, -0.1%] 13 All ❌✅ (primary) 0.2% [-2.7%, 1.8%] 27

4 Regressions, 3 Improvements, 3 Mixed; 3 of them in rollups 44 artifact comparisons made in total

Full report here

Approved RFCs

Changes to Rust follow the Rust RFC (request for comments) process. These are the RFCs that were approved for implementation this week:

No RFCs were approved this week.

Final Comment Period

Every week, the team announces the 'final comment period' for RFCs and key PRs which are reaching a decision. Express your opinions now.

RFCs

Supertrait item shadowing v2

Tracking Issues & PRs

Rust

remove support for the (unstable) #[start] attribute

fully de-stabilize all custom inner attributes

Uplift clippy::double_neg lint as double_negations

Optimize Seek::stream_len impl for File

[rustdoc] Add sans-serif font setting

Tracking Issue for PathBuf::add_extension and Path::with_added_extension

Make the wasm_c_abi future compat warning a hard error

const-eval: detect more pointers as definitely not-null

Consider fields to be inhabited if they are unstable

disallow repr() on invalid items

Cargo

No Cargo Tracking Issues or PRs entered Final Comment Period this week.

Language Team

No Language Team Proposals entered Final Comment Period this week.

Language Reference

distinct 'static' items never overlap

Unsafe Code Guidelines

No Unsafe Code Guideline Tracking Issues or PRs entered Final Comment Period this week.

New and Updated RFCs

Make trait methods callable in const contexts

RFC: Allow packages to specify a set of supported targets

Upcoming Events

Rusty Events between 2025-01-15 - 2025-02-12 🦀

Virtual

2025-01-15 | Virtual (London, UK) | London Rust Project Group

Meet and greet with project allocations

2025-01-15 | Virtual (Tel Aviv-Yafo, IL) | Code Mavens 🦀 - 🐍 - 🐪

An introduction to WASM in Rust with Márk Tolmács (Virtual, English)

2025-01-15 | Virtual (Vancouver, BC, CA) | Vancouver Rust

Leptos

2025-01-16 | Virtual (Berlin, DE) | OpenTechSchool Berlin + Rust Berlin

Rust Hack and Learn | Mirror: Rust Hack n Learn Meetup

2025-01-16 | Virtual (San Diego, CA, US) | San Diego Rust

San Diego Rust January 2025 Tele-Meetup

2025-01-16 | Virtual and In-Person (Redmond, WA, US) | Seattle Rust User Group

January Meetup

2025-01-17 | Virtual (Jersey City, NJ, US) | Jersey City Classy and Curious Coders Club Cooperative

Rust Coding / Game Dev Fridays Open Mob Session!

2025-01-21 | Virtual (Tel Aviv-Yafo, IL) | Rust 🦀 TLV

Exploring Rust Enums with Yoni Peleg (Virtual, Hebrew)

2025-01-21 | Virtual (Washington, DC, US) | Rust DC

Mid-month Rustful

2025-01-22 | Virtual (Rotterdam, NL) | Bevy Game Development

Bevy Meetup #8

2025-01-23 & 2025-01-24 | Virtual | Mainmatter Rust Workshop

Remote Workshop: Testing for Rust projects – going beyond the basics

2025-01-24 | Virtual (Jersey City, NJ, US) | Jersey City Classy and Curious Coders Club Cooperative

Rust Coding / Game Dev Fridays Open Mob Session!

2025-01-26 | Virtual (Tel Aviv-Yafo, IL) | Rust 🦀 TLV

Rust and embedded programming with Leon Vak (online in Hebrew)

2025-01-27 | Virtual (London, UK) | London Rust Project Group

using traits in Rust for flexibility, mocking/ unit testing, and more

2025-01-28 | Virtual (Dallas, TX, US) | Dallas Rust User Meetup

Last Tuesday

2025-01-30 | Virtual (Berlin, DE) | OpenTechSchool Berlin + Rust Berlin

Rust Hack and Learn | Mirror: Rust Hack n Learn Meetup

2025-01-30 | Virtual (Charlottesville, VA, US) | Charlottesville Rust Meetup

Quantum Computers Can’t Rust-Proof This!

2025-01-30 | Virtual (Tel Aviv-Yafo, IL) | Code Mavens 🦀 - 🐍 - 🐪

Are We Embedded Yet? - Implementing tiny HTTP server on a microcontroller

2025-01-31 | Virtual (Delhi, IN) | Hackathon Raptors Association

Blazingly Fast Rust Hackathon

2025-01-31 | Virtual (Jersey City, NJ, US) | Jersey City Classy and Curious Coders Club Cooperative

Rust Coding / Game Dev Fridays Open Mob Session!

2025-02-01 | Virtual (Kampala, UG) | Rust Circle Kampala

Rust Circle Meetup

2025-02-04 | Virtual (Buffalo, NY, US) | Buffalo Rust Meetup

Buffalo Rust User Group

2025-02-05 | Virtual (Indianapolis, IN, US) | Indy Rust

Indy.rs - with Social Distancing

2025-02-07 | Virtual (Jersey City, NJ, US) | Jersey City Classy and Curious Coders Club Cooperative

Rust Coding / Game Dev Fridays Open Mob Session!

2025-02-11 | Virtual (Dallas, TX, US) | Dallas Rust User Meetup

Second Tuesday

2025-02-11 | Virtual (Tel Aviv-Yafo, IL) | Code Mavens 🦀 - 🐍 - 🐪

Meet Elusion: New DataFrame Library powered by Rust 🦀 with Borivoj Grujicic

Europe

2025-01-16 | Amsterdam, NL | Rust Developers Amsterdam Group

Meetup @ Avalor AI

2025-01-16 | Karlsruhe, DE | Rust Hack & Learn Karlsruhe

Karlsruhe Rust Hack and Learn Meetup bei BlueYonder

2025-01-18 | Stockholm, SE | Stockholm Rust

Ferris' Fika Forum #8

2025-01-21 | Edinburgh, GB | Rust and Friends

Rust and Friends (evening pub)

2025-01-21 | Ghent, BE | Systems Programming Ghent

Tech Talks & Dinner: Insights on Systems Programming Side Projects (in Rust) - Leptos (full-stack Rust with webassembly), Karyon (distributed p2p software in Rust), FunDSP (audio synthesis in Rust)

2025-01-21 | Leipzig, SN, DE | Rust - Modern Systems Programming in Leipzig

Self-Organized Peer-to-Peer Networks using Rust

2025-01-22 | London, GB | Rust London User Group

Rust London's New Years Party & Community Swag Drop

2025-01-22 | Oberursel, DE | Rust Rhein Main

Rust 2024 Edition and Beyond

2025-01-23 | Barcelona, ES | Barcelona Free Software

Why Build a New Browser Engine in Rust?

2025-01-23 | Paris, FR | Rust Paris

Rust meetup #74

2025-01-24 | Edinburgh, GB | Rust and Friends

Rust and Friends (daytime coffee)

2025-01-27 | Prague, CZ | Rust Prague

Rust Meetup Prague (January 2025)

2025-01-28 | Aarhus, DK | Rust Aarhus

Hack Night - Advent of Code

2025-01-28 | Manchester, GB | Rust Manchester

Rust Manchester January Code Night

2025-01-30 | Augsburg, DE | Rust Meetup Augsburg

Rust Meetup #11: Hypermedia-driven development in Rust

2025-01-30 | Berlin, DE | Rust Berlin

Rust and Tell - Title

2025-02-01 | Brussels, BE | FOSDEM 2025

FOSDEM Rust Devroom

2025-02-01 | Nürnberg, DE | Rust Nuremberg

Technikmuseum Sinsheim

2025-02-05 | Oxford, GB | Oxford Rust Meetup Group

Oxford Rust and C++ social

2025-02-12 | Reading, GB | Reading Rust Workshop

Reading Rust Meetup

North America

2025-01-16 | Nashville, TN, US | Music City Rust Developers

Rust Game Development Series 1: Community Introductions

2025-01-16 | Redmond, WA, US | Seattle Rust User Group

January Meetup

2025-01-16 | Spokane, WA, US | Spokane Rust

Spokane Rust Monthly Meetup: Traits and Generics

2025-01-17 | México City, MX | Rust MX

Multithreading y Async en Rust 101 - HolaMundo - Parte 3

2025-01-18 | Boston, MA, US | Boston Rust Meetup

Back Bay Rust Lunch, Jan 18

2025-01-21 | New York, NY, US | Rust NYC

Rust NYC Monthly Meetup

2025-01-21 | San Francisco, CA, US | San Francisco Rust Study Group

Rust Hacking in Person

2025-01-22 | Austin, TX, US | Rust ATX

Rust Lunch - Fareground

2025-01-23 | Mountain View, CA, US | Hacker Dojo

RUST MEETUP at HACKER DOJO | Rust Meetup at Hacker Dojo - Mountain View Rust Meetup Page

2025-01-28 | Boulder, CO, US | Boulder Rust Meetup

From Basics to Advanced: Testing

2025-02-06 | Saint Louis, MO, US | STL Rust

Async, the Future of Futures

Oceania:

2025-02-04 | Auckland, NZ | Rust AKL

Rust AKL: How We Learn Rust

If you are running a Rust event please add it to the calendar to get it mentioned here. Please remember to add a link to the event too. Email the Rust Community Team for access.

Jobs

Please see the latest Who's Hiring thread on r/rust

Quote of the Week

This is a wonderful unsoundness and I am incredibly excited about it :3

– lcnr on github

Thanks to Christoph Grenz for the suggestion!

Please submit quotes and vote for next week!

This Week in Rust is edited by: nellshamrell, llogiq, cdmistman, ericseppanen, extrawurst, U007D, joelmarcey, mariannegoldin, bennyvasquez, bdillo

Email list hosting is sponsored by The Rust Foundation

Discuss on r/rust