#Powder Dispersion

[idexindia]

Understanding the Importance of Powder and Tablet Handling

Powders and tablets are incredibly versatile and useful in a wide range of industries. From pharmaceuticals to food and chemicals, these forms offer numerous advantages. Powders provide a base for creating precise and stable medications, while tablets offer a convenient and accurate way to consume them. The chemical industry relies on powders for various processes, benefiting from their large surface area and easy handling. Both powders and tablets excel at providing consistent and precise amounts of substances, making them invaluable in countless applications.

[cxfanxitex]

Disperse Printed with Golden Powder 100% Polyester Fabric with Star Pattern

[rupalic]

Powder Induction and Dispersion Systems Market Size, Share and Forecast

[etheraltides]

Tide of Temptation

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x married!Reader

Summary: What begins as a weekend of opulence aboard a luxury yacht turns into a dangerous game of forbidden attraction when Rafe Cameron, your husband’s best friend, decides he wants you.

Warning(s): SMUT – pinv, oral sex, dirty talk, degrading kink, sex tape without consent. Jealousy, infidelity, drug and alcohol use, humiliation (from her husband part), toxic/manipulative behavior. +18 only. mdni!

A/N: I want to write two more parts so let me know if you wish to be added in the taglist

The summer sun shimmered on the Atlantic, casting diamonds over the endless expanse of water. The Elysium — a name far too poetic for the vulgar display of wealth it represented — cut through the waves with practiced ease. All around was excess: champagne on ice, bronzed bodies lounging on plush daybeds, and music thrumming softly, a seductive bassline that vibrated against your chest.

You leaned against the rail, the ocean breeze playing with the loose strands of your hair. It was a fleeting escape from the suffocating company inside the yacht — a blur of intoxicated laughter, clinking glasses, and the hollow pleasantries of people who thrived on spectacle. Behind you, your husband, Nathan, was in his element, regaling a small crowd with exaggerated stories about his latest business venture. His voice, a practiced drawl, carried over the hum of conversation.

You were nothing more than the glittering prize at his side, a role you’d grown used to. Married at 24 to one of the wealthiest men in the Outer Banks, you’d signed up for a life of luxury — but it often felt like the price was your individuality. Nathan adored showing you off: the perfect smile, the designer dress clinging to your curves, the effortless charm you wielded like armor. But when the party ended and the audience dispersed, so did his attention and you were left to deal with the aftermath of a man with too many drinks and lines of white powder.

It didn’t matter. You had perfected the art of being seen and not heard. Until recently, anyway.

Rafe Cameron was a complication.

From the moment you’d boarded the yacht, his eyes had been on you, a palpable weight you could feel even when your back was turned. He was Nathan’s best friend — a dangerous cocktail of charisma and cruelty, all sharp edges wrapped in smooth confidence. And yet, he was magnetic.

Nathan had once described Rafe as “trouble in a designer suit.” and now, as you glanced over your shoulder to find him lounging in the corner with a whiskey in hand, the words felt like an understatement. His blond hair was perfectly tousled, his sculpted jaw shadowed with just enough scruff to make him look effortlessly rebellious. He was staring at you now, unapologetic, his lips quirking into a smirk when your eyes met.

You turned away quickly, heat creeping up your neck.

The yacht swayed gently, and you steadied yourself against the rail. A voice, low and velvety, cut through the sound of the waves.

“Careful. Wouldn’t want you falling overboard.”

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Rafe.

He was closer than you expected, leaning against the rail beside you, the scent of his cologne mingling with the salty breeze. His voice was like a slow drag of smoke, leaving a lingering burn.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” you replied, your tone brisk, though your pulse quickened.

His gaze swept over you, deliberate and slow, settling on the pink bikini you wore beneath a sheer cover-up. “Fine is an understatement.” he murmured with a smirk, bringing the glass of whiskey to his lips.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Smooth.”

Rafe chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “I call it like I see it, doll.”

From the corner of your eye, you caught him biting his lower lip, his blue eyes practically devouring you. There was something predatory in the way he looked at you, and instead of feeling repelled, you felt… alive. It was a dangerous thrill, one you couldn’t quite shake.

Of course you were used at men looking at you as if you were nothing more than breasts and ass. Nathan was all about it but there was something different in the way Rafe’s gaze unraveled you – something that wasn’t entirely selfish.

Inside, Nathan’s voice carried through the open doors as he delivered yet another boastful anecdote, oblivious to the two of you.

“Shouldn’t you be in there?” you asked, your voice tinged with mockery. “The golden boy, laughing at your best friend tales?”

Rafe’s smile widened, a flash of white teeth that was both charming and menacing. “I’m more interested in what’s out here.” His gaze lingered, unapologetic. “Or who.”

Your laugh was low, edged with disbelief. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Not when I see something I want,” he replied, his voice dropping an octave.

The words hung between you, heavy and electric.

You wanted to walk away, to laugh it off, to brush him aside like every other man who thought a pretty face entitled him to your attention. But Rafe wasn’t just any man. He had a way of getting under your skin, of making you feel seen in a way Nathan never did.

And maybe that’s why you stayed.

“Do you always go after what you want, no matter the cost?” you asked, tilting your head.

He stepped closer, the heat of his body brushing against yours. “Only when it’s worth it.”

The space between you was charged, the distant chatter and music fading into the background. His fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through your body. You didn’t pull away.

“Rafe…” Your voice was a warning, though it lacked conviction.

“You’re wasted on him, you know that?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers traced the edge of your cover-up, skimming the bare skin of your arm. “He doesn’t see you. Not really.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribs.

“And you do?” you challenged, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

There was no way Rafe Cameron had catch on on what was happening to your relationship.

Rafe’s gaze locked onto yours, his blue eyes dark with intent. “I see everything, princess.”

The air felt thick, the space between you shrinking as his hand came to rest on the rail beside yours. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Tell me to stop.” he murmured.

The charged moment was interrupted by the sudden sharpness of Nathan’s voice, cutting through the tension like a bucket of cold water before you could even say something.

“Hey!” he called from inside, his tone loud and commanding. “What’re you two doing out there? Get in here!”

You flinched at the sound, instinctively stepping back from Rafe. The distance didn’t stop the heat coursing through your veins, but it was a necessary barrier, one that allowed you to regain your composure. Rafe, however, didn’t move. His smirk remained intact, amused and unbothered.

“He sounds impatient.” Rafe said, his voice laced with a teasing edge, pure mockery.

Without another word, you turned and headed toward the open doors, desperate for a reprieve from Rafe’s gravitational pull. He followed closely behind, the low thrum of his footsteps reminding you that his presence wasn’t easily shaken.

The yacht’s main lounge was awash in golden light, the decadent decor reflecting Nathan’s insatiable need for extravagance. He was sprawled on one of the oversized couches, a group of partygoers surrounding him like moths to a flame.

When his eyes landed on you, he beckoned you over with a crooked finger, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Come here, babe,” he drawled.

You obeyed, as always, crossing the room with the practiced elegance of someone accustomed to being watched. The second you were close enough, Nathan grabbed your hand and pulled you onto his lap, his grip firm but careless, like you were just another one of his possessions.

The room felt heavy, the air thick with a mixture of cologne, champagne, and indulgence. You stayed perched on Nathan’s lap, trying to ignore the way his hand wandered absently over your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles that were more for show than affection. His laugh echoed through the lounge, loud and exaggerated as he took another sip of his drink.

“You’re being awfully quiet, babe,” Nathan said, his voice laced with feigned concern. His hand slid lower, fingers brushing the curve of your ass. You tensed, shooting him a sharp look, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“I’m fine.” you said curtly, reaching for the champagne flute on the table in front of you as you lied again. The two meaningless words already automatic.

“Fine isn’t good enough.” Nathan said, his grin widening. He leaned over, plucking the champagne from your hand and setting it aside. “Come on, loosen up a little.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him reaching for the tray again, his movements fluid despite the alcohol coursing through his veins. He picked up the credit card, carving out another line of coke with the ease of a man who’d done it far too many times.

“Here,” Nathan said, his voice taking on a coaxing tone as he dipped his head closer to yours. “Have some fun with me.”

You pulled back slightly, shaking your head. “I told you before, Nathan. I don’t want to.”

His grin faltered, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“I said no.” you repeated firmly, crossing your arms. You’ve had enough of snorting lines because he had put you under pressure, to feel like you belonged in this crowd.

Nathan let out an exaggerated groan, tossing the card onto the table. “Fine. Be boring, then.”

He leaned back, his hand slipping further down, squeezing your ass with a possessiveness that made you grit your teeth. “Rafe!” Nathan called suddenly, his tone shifting from irritation to mock camaraderie.

Rafe, who had been standing near the bar, raised a brow in silent acknowledgment.

“Don’t just stand there looking pretty.” Nathan said, smirking as he gestured to the tray. “You want in on this? It’s the best shit I’ve had in months.”

Rafe’s expression didn’t change, though something flickered in his eyes — something cold and distant. He shook his head, his voice steady as he replied, “I’m good. Been away from that for a while now.”

You couldn’t help the frown in your brows as you looked at him. You couldn’t even count in both hands how many times you had seen Nathan, Rafe and Topper sneaking away to do that shit. That was… new.

Nathan chuckled, leaning his head back against the couch. “Oh, right. Mr. Reformed. Forgot about that.” He waved him off with a dismissive laugh. “Whatever. But do me a favor, would you?”

Rafe tilted his head, waiting.

Nathan’s hand slipped from your waist, gesturing lazily toward you. “Go dance with her or something. She’ll just sit here whining if I don’t entertain her, and honestly…” He turned to you with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re killing my vibe, babe.”

Your stomach churned, humiliation bubbling beneath the surface, but before you could respond, Nathan gave you a light slap on the ass, his grin widening.

“Go shake that body for me, baby.” he said, his tone dripping with mock affection.

Rafe’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his eyes darkening as they flicked between you and Nathan.

You stood quickly, needing to escape the suffocating weight of Nathan’s presence, your cheeks burning as you avoided meeting anyone’s gaze.

Rafe stepped forward, offering his hand with a calm ease that belied the tension crackling in the air. “Come on” he said, his voice low but firm. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand – but the decision wasn’t a hard one: dealing with a bunch of coke heads ogling Nathan or ignore your body thrumming got Rafe while being close to him – allowing him to lead you toward the makeshift dance floor where a crowd of people swayed and writhed to the heavy pulse of electronic music.

The bass reverberated through your chest as Rafe pulled you into the center of the chaos. His hands found your waist, his touch firm but not overbearing, guiding you into the rhythm of the music. The others around you moved with reckless abandon, their bodies lost in the beat, but all you could focus on was Rafe.

His eyes locked onto yours, intense and unreadable, as the two of you fell into sync. The proximity was intoxicating, his body brushing against yours with every beat of the music.

You swayed against him, your movements fluid and confident, the tension from before melting into something more carefree, something electric. Rafe’s grip on your waist tightened as you arched into him, the thin barrier of fabric between your bodies doing nothing to dull the heat.

The crowd pressed in around you, the energy of the room frenzied, but it only heightened the intimacy of the moment. Rafe’s hands slid lower, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips, his touch deliberate and tantalizing.

Your breathing quickened as he leaned down, his lips grazing your ear. “You’re full of surprises, princess” he murmured, his voice thick with something that made your knees weak – he was sure you would pull away as soon as his hands touched you but he was so glad you didn’t

The world around you blurred, the pounding music and flashing lights fading into the background. All that mattered was the way his body moved against yours, the way his hands gripped you like he couldn’t bear to let go. How someone was finally giving you some real attention.

You tilted your head back, your gaze meeting his, and in that moment, the unspoken desire between you was undeniable.

It was reckless. It was dangerous.

And it was exactly what you wanted. What you needed.

His grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer until there wasn’t even an inch between your bodies. His breath ghosted over your ear, and the heat of it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You deserve better than him, you know” Rafe murmured in your ear, his voice barely audible over the music.

You froze for a second, your body stilling against his. “What?”

You weren’t sure if you had heard him right or your mind was projecting the worlds you so desperately wanted to hear. Nathan had provided you everything money could buy and you didn’t want to be ungrateful – the relationship was nice in the beginning. He used to give you attention, spoil you rotten until he didn’t. You’d spend hours alone at home, only seeing him at night and then be neglected in bed. Everything became about him. Your clothes, your companies, trips and parties, even the sex.

Rafe leaned down further, his lips so close to your ear that his words felt like a caress. “Nathan. The way he treats you — like you’re some kind of trophy instead of a real woman.”

You pulled back slightly, turning your head to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were piercing, filled with something dark and insistent.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. The last thing you wanted was to have people gossiping about it and you weren’t so certain if Rafe wasn’t going to ditch you to Nathan, saying his so perfect wife was going behind his back to complain about him to his so called friends.

Rafe’s smirk was faint, tinged with something sharper. “Don’t I? I’ve watched him, princess. The way he ignores you, shows you off like you’re a prize he won at a carnival. The way he treats you like arm candy instead of a woman.” He paused, his gaze flickering down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And don’t even get me started on what I heard last night.”

Your stomach dropped, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over you. “What are you talking about?” you asked, though part of you already knew.

Rafe’s smirk widened, but there was no humor in it. “The way you faked it, moaning his name like it meant something. You’re a good actress, I’ll give you that. But you can’t fool me.”

Your cheeks burned with equal parts shame and anger. “You don’t know anything about me, about us.” you snapped, your voice shaking slightly as you could feel the tears prickling in your eyes. Couldn’t you have a single moment of peace?

He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. Instead, he moved even closer, his hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, holding you firmly against him before you had the chance to walk away.

“I know enough.” Rafe said, his voice low and laced with conviction. “I know you haven’t felt wanted in a long time. Haven’t felt seen in a long time. It’s written all over your face, doll.” His fingers trailed up your spine, the touch sending a jolt through your body. “And I know I could change that.”

Your breath hitched, your mind screaming at you to push him away, but your body refused to obey. You were so fucking touch starved that it was infuriating to yourself.

“Rafe…” You tried to warn him, but your voice came out weak, shaky. Pleading for him to be the one to walk away, to respect you and his best friend.

His lips brushed against your ear again, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. “I’d make you scream my name all night, princess. You wouldn’t have to fake a damn thing.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as his words sank in, their meaning hitting you with the force of a tidal wave.

“I’d show you what it’s like to be with a real man.” Rafe continued, his hand drifting to your waist again, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. “Someone who doesn’t just want to show you off, but actually wants you. All of you.”

The heat between you was unbearable, the air thick with unspoken tension. Your heart raced as you searched his eyes, desperate for something to anchor yourself, but all you found was his unwavering intensity.

“This is wrong.” you whispered more to yourself, though the words felt hollow.

Rafe’s smirk twisted into something darker, more intimate. “What’s wrong is the way he treats you like you don’t matter.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the corner of your jaw. “Let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like. Let me show you what you deserve.”

You closed your eyes, torn between the voice in your head screaming at you to stop and the magnetic pull of the man in front of you.

Many things were already wrong in your relationship, right? Adding something else wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?

“I could ruin you, princess,” Rafe murmured, his lips grazing the skin of your ear. “But I promise you’d love every second of it.”

The world around you faded away, the pounding music and flashing lights melting into the background. All that mattered was the way Rafe’s hands gripped you, the way his voice wrapped around you like a siren’s call.

Your chest tightened, the air between you crackling with tension. “Shouldn’t you be with Nathan?” you asked, deflecting. Your heart beating so fast that you were sure everyone around you could hear it. “He’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

Rafe shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Nathan’s busy impressing people who don’t matter. You, on the other hand…” He let the words hang, his gaze dipping briefly to the curve of your throat before meeting your eyes again. “Plus he did told me to keep his girl entertained, didn’t he?”

“I’m not interested in whatever game you’re playing.” you said, though the words felt hollow, as if you were trying to convince yourself.

Rafe chuckled, the sound rich and infuriating. “It’s not a game, princess. Not with you.”

You turned away, needing space, needing air. But when you felt his hand on your wrist, gentle but firm, your pulse skipped.

“Come with me.” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing.

You frowned, trying to pull free, but his grip held steady. “Rafe—”

“Relax.” he interrupted, his thumb brushing over your wrist. “Just for a drink. Somewhere quieter.”

Your eyes searched his, looking a trap. But there was something disarming about the way he looked at you, something that made your resistance falter.

“One drink.” you said, more to yourself than to him.

His smirk returned, satisfied but not smug. “That’s all I need.”

The suite Rafe was staying was nothing short of extravagant, a private sanctuary draped in rich leather and polished wood. The lights were dim, the air perfumed with the faint scent of his cologne. It was intimate, almost too intimate, but you forced yourself to keep your guard up.

He poured you a drink from the sleek bar in the corner, handing it to you before settling into one of the armchairs. Nathan made sure to stock everything with top shelf drinks.

“See? No tricks” he said, spreading his arms as if to prove his innocence.

You leaned against the edge of the bar, the cool glass of your drink pressing against your palm. “You could’ve just left me alone, you know.”

Rafe chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Could’ve” he agreed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with everything unsaid. You took a sip of your drink, the burn of the liquor grounding you, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the heat coiling in your stomach under his gaze.

“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Rafe’s smile softened, but his eyes remained sharp, piercing. “I think you’re not nearly as happy as you pretend to be.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass, his words striking a nerve. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“C’mon. I’ve known you for years now, doll.” he said, setting his glass down and standing. The way he moved towards you was unhurried, predatory. “I know the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching. The way you bite your lip when you’re trying to stay in control to don’t scream at him in front of everybody.” He stopped just in front of you, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I know you felt something earlier. Something you haven’t felt in a long time.”

Your breath hitched as his hand came up, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your arm.

“Stop” you said, though it sounded too weak to be a command.

His hand lingered, his thumb tracing a lazy circle on your skin. “Do you really want me to?”

The weight of his presence was suffocating, intoxicating. The logical part of you screamed to leave, to push him away, but the rest of you… the rest of you burned.

And then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was a tidal wave, sweeping you under and leaving you breathless. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved against yours with a hunger that left no room for doubt.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t.

As your glass slipped from your fingers, shattering unnoticed on the floor, you surrendered to the pull of him, to the heat and chaos and everything he made you feel. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

For once, you didn’t care about the consequences.

His voice dipped into a gravelly whisper, thick with want, against your lips. “That tiny pink bikini is struggling to do its job, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the waistband with agonizing slowness.

The heat of his gaze lingered on every curve, his touch teetering on the edge of possession. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” His thumb slipped lower, a deliberate tease that made your pulse thunder in your ears.

With each second that ticked by, the pressure between your thighs grew more insistent, your body responding to his words, his touch, his very presence as you couldn’t help but ground against his as his tongue explored your mouth.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Rafe growled, his breath a searing rush against the shell of your ear. His voice was rough, like a match striking, igniting a fire deep in your chest. “Dressed up all pretty for him, and he doesn’t even care to look.” His hands gripped your waist tighter, his fingers pressing into your skin like a silent claim – just shy of leaving bruises. “But I see you,” he rasped, his lips brushing your jaw. “Every inch of you is mine to see, mine to touch now. Isn’t it?”

He stepped back, his eyes raking over your body in a way that made you feel both exposed and desired. "Take it off.” he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Let me see what's mine."

The music from the party was a distant murmur, a muffled backdrop to the drumming of your racing heart and his harsh breaths. You took a deep breath, the boldness coursing through your veins like a drug, and slowly, deliberately, you untied the strings of your bikini top.

Your eyes never left Rafe’s as you let it fall to the floor, revealing your full breasts to his ravenous gaze. His pupils dilated, his jaw tightening as he took in the sight of you – his eyes tracing every curve, every inch of your exposed skin in a way that awakened goosebumps all over your body.

You stepped closer, the music a muffled heartbeat echoing through the cabin. His gaze didn’t waver, didn’t miss a single detail as you slid your thumbs into the waistband of your bikini bottoms, hooking the material and sliding it down your legs with a seductive grace that seemed to defy the tremble in your knees.

You’ve been feeding on crumbles of attention for the last year and now that you have a decent portion, you’d make sure to enjoy every second of it.

The fabric whispered against your skin as it fell away, pooling at your feet, leaving you completely bare before him. You felt his eyes devour you, feasting on the sight of your nakedness like a man who hadn’t eaten in days.

With a smirk that was all challenge and no apology, you bent over, giving him an eyeful of your ass, and scooped up the bikini bottoms. You threw them at him, watching as they slapped against his chest and fell to his lap.

If that wasn’t basically the only thing you had to wear, Rafe’d have stuffed it in his pocket to never retrieve to you.

Rafe’s eyes followed the path of the fabric before snapping back to yours, his gaze burning with a fierce desire that made your stomach flip. "Look at you…” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

"So fucking perfect." His eyes dropped to your center, where your folds glistened with your arousal already. "And that tight, wet little cunt of yours... it's begging for me."

You felt your face flush at his words, but instead of shrinking away, you found yourself pushing back against his hand right below the curve of your breast, craving more. "Prove it," you challenged, your voice a sultry whisper.

Rafe's smirk grew into a full-blown grin, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Oh, I will, baby. You have no idea."

He stepped back, unbuckling his pants with swift, sure movements. The sound of his zipper echoed through the cabin, a seductive promise of what was to come. His hands slid into his briefs, gripping his hard cock, and you watched with rapt attention as he pulled it out – long, thick, and heavy with desire.

"Now, doll." Rafe said, his voice a gravelly command that made your knees wobble. "Get down there and show me what that pretty little mouth can do and if you’re a good girl, we can talk about a reward, huh.”

You dropped to your knees before him, his cock standing tall and proud, demanding your attention. He stroked it slowly, watching you with hooded eyes as you leaned in, your breath hot against the velvety skin. Your mouth watering at the sight.

He watches you, eyes blazing with lust, as you tease the tip with your tongue, right before taking him fully into your warm mouth.

"Shit. That's it.” Rafe groaned, his voice a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air of the room. "Suck it like you mean it. You know you want it. You know you've been craving a real cock.”

His words were like a spell, compelling you to obey as you took more of him into your mouth, your tongue swirling and teasing the head of his cock, feeling it pulse and throb against your tongue.

"So eager.” Rafe murmured, his hand threading through your hair, guiding you to take him deeper. "Such a good little slut for me. You've been waiting for this, haven't you?" His voice was a purr, stroking your ego while simultaneously reducing you to the most basic of urges – his to claim, his to use.

He palms the back of your head, guiding you in a rhythm that matches his thrusts, your cheeks hollowing as you eagerly sucks him like he's the only man who's ever mattered.

Rafe’s grip on your hair tightens, his hips flexing as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest. You moan around his cock, the vibration sending shockwaves through his shaft, making him groan with pleasure. His eyes are squeezed shut, his face a mask of pure ecstasy as you devour him, eager to taste his desire.

But he’s not content with just that. He’s not a man who does anything halfway. He pulls back, leaving you gasping for air, your mouth slick with saliva and want. "On the bed.” he orders, his voice thick with need.

As much was he wanted to keep watching you as you greedily took his cock, he wanted even more to taste your sweet cunt, to feel how you wrapped around his cock – he could still remember how Nathan often bragged about you around the boys. The best pussy he ever had. Worth every penny of the money he spent on you.

You scurry to the plush king-sized bed, the silky sheets cool against your overheated skin. He follows you, his eyes never leaving your body. You lie down, your legs spreading for him without a second thought.

Rafe climbs onto the bed, his weight shifting the mattress beneath you. He settles between your legs, his gaze locked on your slick entrance. "You're so wet for me.” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Has he ever made you this wet?"

You shake your head. "Never." The admission felt like a secret whispered in the dark, and the truth of it hangs heavy in the air.

Rafe’s smirk turns into a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Maybe I should invite him to see how a real man fucks." He leans down, his mouth hovering over your sex, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "What do you think, baby? Would you like an audience?"

The thought of your husband watching sends a thrill through you, a delicious mix of fear and excitement. "Rafe, no.” you breathe, though your hips arch upwards, silently begging for his touch.

He chuckles darkly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Oh, you'd love it, huh?" he says, his voice dripping with confidence. "You'd love watching him realize what he's been missing all this time. Watching him see how much better I make you feel."

You bite your lip, the thought of it making your stomach flip. But before you can respond, Rafe's mouth is on you – his tongue sliding through your folds with a hunger that steals your breath away. He tastes you, devouring you like a starving man, and you can't help but moan his name, your body responding to his touch.

As his tongue flicks against your clit, Rafe feels the vibration of his phone in his pocket, and suddenly, his eyes are on yours, a glint of mischief shining through the desire. Without a word, he pulls out the device and presses record, the screen capturing the blissful expression on your face, the way your body arches towards him, begging for more. You're too lost in the sensation to even notice – his touch so masterful, so intoxicating, that everything else fades away.

You couldn’t help the way your hips lifted from the bed, grinding against his face as if it was the first time you had been eaten. Your skin was on fire, your veins charged with electricity.

Rafe groaned dirty secrets on your ear about how he'll make you scream his name louder than any man has ever made you, while his hips piston into you with an intensity that leaves you trembling and oblivious to the video evidence he's meticulously capturing of their illicit encounter – his phone discreetly positioned against a jar of flowers on the bedside table.

Your eyes roll back as he hits that sweet spot, his cock swelling with each punishing thrust. The sound of your moans fill the cabin, growing louder with every passing second. He's so rough, so primal, so everything you didn’t know you needed until this very moment.

“Fuck, Rafe, yes, yes, yes!” you scream, your voice hoarse from the endless moaning. The bed creaks beneath you, his hands like vice on your waist, keeping you in place to take each powerful drive into your wet, welcoming heat.

Rafe’s eyes glint with triumph as he watches you come apart, his cock relentlessly claiming what he’s decided is rightfully his. He pulls back, his dampened chest rising and falling rapidly, the muscles of his abdomen flexing with every movement.

He whispers into her ear. "You love that I'm fucking you better than he ever could.”

Your nails dig into his back as he whispers those wicked words, a confession that resonates deep within your soul. You love the way he makes you feel, the way he touches you, the way he fills you up so completely that you forget everything else. You can't help but nod, your body trembling as his cock hits that perfect spot again and again.

"That's it.” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress that sends shivers down your spine. "Admit it, baby. You've never felt like this before. You've never come this hard for him." His strokes grow stronger, more demanding, and you know he's right. You've never been taken like this, never been owned like this.

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe brings you to the edge of oblivion. Your eyes fly open, locking with his, and you see the triumph in their depths – the knowledge that he’s the one giving you what you crave. "Cum for me, doll.” he growls, his voice a command that you obey without thought. "Cum all over my cock, baby. Show me how much you love it."

Shit, you were sure that if the music wasn’t blasting on the deck, Nathan’d have thrown both of you in the ocean.

Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath, making your body bow off the bed. You scream his name, the sound echoing through the cabin, as your pussy clamps down on his cock, pulsing and tightening around him. Rafe’s own release is swift, his hips jerking as he buries himself deep inside you, filling you with his hot, thick cum.

As your climax subsides, his strokes slow, his cock still lodged deep within you – as if he didn’t want to leave the new discovered paradise of your walls. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, his voice a mix of satisfaction and a hint of something that makes your pulse quicken. "You're mine now.” he says, his voice a gentle rumble.

Panic sets in as reality crashes over you like a cold shower. Feeling some of his release dripping down you. The thought sends a jolt through your body, making you tense around him. Your eyes fly open, meeting his, which are still so dark that you can barely see the blue in them. "Oh my god, Rafe!” you gasp, pushing at his shoulders. "What the fuck?"

Rafe's grin turns wolfish, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. "Relax, doll." he murmurs, planting a gentle kiss on your neck. "It's just a little fun." But his words do nothing to soothe the anxiety coiling in your stomach.

You push him away, the stickiness between your legs making you feel both wanton and cheap. "This isn't fun, Rafe" you say, your voice trembling. "What if I…?"

Rafe's smirk fades, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks down at you. "You're on the pill, aren't you?" he asks, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather.

You nod, feeling your heart rate slow slightly. "But...what if..."

Rafe cuts off your protests with a shake of his head, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away one of the tears – the result of how good he had taken you. "Shh, baby," he says, his voice soothing, his gaze intense. "Don't worry. Nothing’s gonna happen, alright?”

The dim light in Rafe’s suite flickered softly, casting a golden glow over the disheveled scene. You ran trembling fingers through your hair, still catching your breath as you steadied yourself against the edge of the bar. The aftermath of what had just happened swirled between you like a charged storm cloud, heavy and impossible to ignore.

Rafe stood by the door, his shirt untucked and his expression maddeningly calm. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves with deliberate care, a smug satisfaction written all over his face. His eyes flicked to you as you straightened your bikini top, trying to fix the evidence of his hands, his lips, his teeth, before you both returned to the upper level.

“You good, princess?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You shot him a sharp look, ignoring the heat still simmering beneath your skin. “If you say a single word to Nathan…”

His smirk widened, his gaze drifting unapologetically down your body. “Then I’d have to kill him.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned toward the small mirror on the wall, smoothing your hair and adjusting the sheer cover-up that now felt even more like a useless attempt at modesty. “We shouldn’t have done this.” you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Rafe stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he loomed behind you. His reflection in the mirror met yours, his lips curling into a smile that was equal parts wicked and triumphant. “No, we shouldn’t.” he admitted, his hands fixing the back of your bikini bottom before gave your ass a sharp slap. “But you’ll think about it every time he touches you.”

Your stomach twisted, shame and desire warring within you as Rafe moved to the door, holding it open for you. “Come on” he said, his tone light but commanding. “Wouldn’t want Nathan getting suspicious, would we?”

You didn’t reply, brushing past him and walking down the hall toward the stairs. Your pulse still thundered in your ears as you ascended to the upper deck, the sound of music and laughter growing louder with each step.

The Elysium’s upper deck was a blur of neon lights and pulsating music, the crowd of partygoers moving in sync with the heavy bassline. But none of it registered as you stepped back into the chaos. The charged intimacy of Rafe’s cabin still clung to your skin, a tangible reminder of how far you’d fallen – and how little you cared in the moment. The only thing worrying your mind was the thought of being caught.

Nathan’s voice rang out above the noise, slurred and commanding as he spotted you. “There you are!” he called, his grin widening as he sprawled further back on the oversized couch.

Your stomach churned as he motioned for you to come over, his glassy eyes flicking between you and his drink. You hesitated, your legs rooted to the spot, but Rafe’s presence at your back – o steady, so unapologetic – propelled you forward, his hand slightly pushing your lower back.

Nathan barely waited for you to reach him before grabbing your wrist and yanking you onto his lap. His grip was firm, his fingers digging into your hip possessively as he shifted you into place, his cologne mingling with the acrid scent of alcohol and sweat.

Rafe’s jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfold, his smirk fading into a thin line. His hand flexed around the drink he held, recently taken from one of the trays the waiter kept serving around, the glass thick enough to resist it.

“Come here, baby” Nathan slurred, leaning back with a lazy grin. His other hand, still clutching a drink, gestured vaguely at the tray of cocaine on the table beside him. “You’ve been hiding, huh? Thought you’d run off and left me to deal with all of this on my own.”

“I was just getting some air.” you said, keeping your tone even as you tried to slip off his lap.

But Nathan didn’t let you. Instead, his hand slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you back against him. The pink bikini he’d chosen for you —more string than fabric – offered little protection from the heat of his palm, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep your reaction at bay.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his shoulders stiffening as Nathan’s hand wandered. A faint muscle ticked in his jaw as he forced himself to stay still, though every instinct screamed at him to intervene, to yank you away from Nathan’s careless grip.

Nathan chuckled, his head dipping to the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. “Nah, stay right here” he murmured, his voice muffled. His hand squeezed your thigh, the motion casual but claiming.

Then, to your mortification, his head tilted, and his teeth scraped against the curve of your breast where the bikini barely covered you – not giving a shit to the eyes and phones around you.

“Shit.” Nathan muttered, his voice slurring as he bit down lightly on the soft flesh. “Can’t help it, man. I love these boobs.”

Rafe’s grip on the drink tightened, the liquid sloshing against the sides of the glass as his knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched as he watched Nathan humiliate you, turning you into a spectacle, a prop in his drunken display of ownership. The sight made something burn hot and sharp in his chest – a jealousy so visceral it almost startled him.

Heat burned across your face, and you tensed, trying to shift away, but Nathan tightened his grip with a laugh that echoed around the room.

“Look at this!” he said, addressing Rafe with a drunken smirk. “See these? Best goddamn thing I ever bought. Look at this tiny thing she’s wearing. Picked it out myself.” He ran a clumsy hand along the edge of the bikini top, as if to display his prize. “Ain’t she perfect?”

Rafe’s lips pressed into a tight line, his smirk long gone. His fingers twitched around his drink, and he forced himself to take a slow breath, his eyes flicking to you. You looked mortified, your gaze fixed on the floor, your cheeks flushed with humiliation.

Nathan, oblivious, barked out a laugh and gestured to Rafe again. “Where the hell were you, huh? You having fun, or what?”

Rafe didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smirk — a deliberate act to mask the anger simmering beneath the surface.

“You’ve no idea.” he replied finally, his voice smooth but edged with something darker.

Nathan laughed again, slapping your thigh as if Rafe’s response was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “That’s what I like to hear! Good vibes, huh? That’s what it’s all about.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to relax, taking a measured sip of his drink. His eyes remained on you, his gaze dragging down the length of your body with an unhurried, deliberate motion that made your breath hitch.

Nathan, too far gone in his high to notice the undercurrent between you and Rafe, leaned back with a glassy-eyed grin. The man smirked as he saw the red, fresh marks on Rafe’s shoulder. “Damn straight. Lucky bastard, huh?”

Rafe’s smirk remained in place, but his mind was a storm of conflict. He forced himself to take a sip of his drink, the burn of the liquor grounding him, even as Nathan’s words grated on his nerves. Pathetic. That’s what Nathan was sometimes — a pathetic, arrogant fool who didn’t realize the treasure he had sitting right in his lap. The way he paraded you around like an accessory, like you were nothing more than an extension of his ego, made Rafe’s jaw clench.

He wasn’t blind to his own faults — arrogance, selfishness, an insatiable need to take whatever he wanted, even if it was you — but Nathan’s careless display disgusted him.

And now, Rafe wanted you.

It wasn’t just the way you looked in that tiny bikini, though that certainly didn’t hurt. It was the way you’d responded to him, the fire in your eyes when you challenged him, the way your body had melted into his back in that cabin. He’d had a taste, and now it was like blood in the water. If there was one thing Rafe Cameron didn’t do, it was deny himself something he wanted.

And he wanted you.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it” Rafe said finally, his voice low and deliberate, his smirk curling into something darker, meant only for you.

Your eyes darted to his, widening slightly as his words sank in. He didn’t look away, didn’t blink, even as Nathan threw his head back with another laugh, too high and oblivious to catch the undercurrent in the room.

Rafe could feel his pulse hammering in his veins as his gaze lingered on you, heat pooling in his chest. You were his best friend’s wife, a line he knew he shouldn’t cross — but lines had never meant much to Rafe. And now, with the memory of your taste still fresh on his lips, the idea of letting you go felt impossible.

One way or another, he’d have you. Nathan was too blind to see it, too lost in his own indulgences to notice the storm brewing right in front of him.

The room felt suffocating, the heat of Nathan’s body beneath you and Rafe’s eyes burning into you from across the space. And as Rafe raised his glass in a mock toast, his smirk never faltering, you knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐕𝐈 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

She’s the sweetest of sweet girls, I just wanna hug her >_<

Warnings: Intimacy but not anything explicit | set post season 2 |

A/N: Photos by Foggy Master on Pinterest

She’s never really had anyone to talk to about her problems, so she doesn’t. All her life she’s been protecting others, yet no one was able to do the same for her. She felt like a bother for any small thing she did and it would eat her alive. But after seeing how much you truly care, that you were willing to be there at her worst; she knew it was time.

Settling down is hard, she’s been fighting since she was a child, being able to finally live is something she never thought was possible.

She looked into the fireplace, watching small sparks fly out and disperse into the surrounding wood. A hand creeped onto her shoulder, it was yours, she’s always recognized it. Her head fell back onto your stomach as she looked up, seeing the face she loved so much. “You okay?” You leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead. She didn’t immediately give an answer, thinking back to the horrid events that took place in the war. The loss. Powder-blue eyes stared within yours, a thin lipped smile on her face. “No, it’ll take a while for me to be but…I will eventually.”

Is big on eye contact, especially when opening up. She’ll look you in the eye whenever you’re talking, doing remotely anything.

Loves to read; her favorite genre is fantasy or mystery. After she finishes a book, she’ll talk to you for hours about the entire thing.

“He couldn’t find her during like—the entire duration of the book but then suddenly she pops out at the end and it’s just so crazy! And then—“ she rambled on until her eyes saw your face. You were smiling, expression filled with nothing but adoration; you were listening. Not a single speckle of boredom present. “Then what else?” You tilted your head. A smile began to twitch at her lips before she continued on.

Gets creative with nicknames; anything food related, honestly. You were starting to think it’s because she’s hungry all the time but she has interesting reasons.

“You sure, cheesecake? I heard it’s—“”Wait, wait, what did you call me?” You interrupted her with a confused laugh. “Cheesecake? What’s wrong with it, you’re soft and sweet, like cheesecake.” She leaned her head on the palm of her hand. You simply shook your head at the her, “You sure have a way with words.”

One of the sweetest in a batch of bad people. She is not at all flawless, she’s made her mistakes, but her caring nature is undeniable.

When the two of you get intimate she’s always soft, can’t see her being rough or mean.

She placed light kisses on your neck, calloused hands gliding down your body. They felt rough, yet her motions were gentle—handling you like royalty. She worships you, from your head to your toes.

Absolutely touch starved, no arguements. Even if it’s the smallest touch from you, it’ll have her melting like ice cream on a sunny day.

Playing with her hair is an absolute must; your fingers smoothing over pink strands that’d stick up.

Gives the best hugs ever, she’ll squeeze you tight, wanting to provide security.

Occasionally drools in her sleep—imagine waking up and seeing it dribbling down her chin. It’s a sign that she’s comfortable.

[inkdrinkerworld]

can i request a girl flirting with spencer but he is too oblivious to understand she is flirting (bc of course he doesnt) so he keeps talking to her, and reader (they are dating) is FURIOUS and he is sooooo confused. i think it could be funny 🤭

post prison!spencer x sunshine!reader are out with the team when spencer gets sidetracked, you don't like that he is. 1.2k

You’re frowning into your long island iced tea. The entire team can see it and Luke is itching to make a comment. He also knows that despite your sunny disposition you might kick his shin under the table. 

“You could always just go bring him back here,” Matt says, sipping his beer as he watches you burn holes into Spencer’s back. 

You’re not jealous, no matter what any of them might imply. 

“He’s a big boy. If he doesn’t want her flirting with him, he can just leave.” 

JJ laughs into her drink, Penelope rolls her eyes as she chews her cherry and Emily shakes her head at you. 

Spencer likely will remove himself from the girl if he doesn’t want to be flirted with- but since he’s been there for the last twenty minutes you suspect he isn’t as into you as they’ve all suggested. 

It was silly of you to let your heart be captured by a man fresh out of prison you suppose. Your frown worsens at your thoughts, Spencer isn’t the ‘lead a girl on,’ type. Still you feel the hot and heavy sting of jealousy and something bitter settle in your chest. 

“He’s still a bit awkward about this,” You roll your eyes this time. They all talk of Spencer like he’s a thirty three year old virgin. He isn’t. You know he isn’t because Penelope had informed you that he’d been in serious relationships before. 

Not that you’d wanted to know. 

When Spencer comes back, you’re itching for a game of cards and the rest of your team is itching for some sort of reaction from either of you. 

It’s been clear over the ten months you’ve been working at the BAU, that you and Spencer have begun to orbit each other. You’re like Pluto and Charon. You bring each other breakfast, make each other’s coffee, you were even almost halfway in his lap on the jet the other day ‘doing crosswords.’ You really were doing crosswords. 

They suspect you’re both just too oblivious (you) and frightened (Spencer) to do anything about the feelings everyone can see you have. 

“Sorry I took so long,” though he says the words loud enough for the entire group to hear, his eyes are on you. 

“Did you at least get her number?” You kick Luke in the shin then, earning a smirk from the man across from you. Maybe if you put salt in his protein powder he’ll relent. 

“What?” Spencer asks, sipping his rum and coke. He brushes a curl of hair from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. 

You reach into your bag and pull out your sparkly deck of cards and shuffle them. “Oh are we doing readings?” Penelope asks, you don’t trust the peachiness of her tone. 

“The girl from the bar.” Matt clarifies for Spencer, whose eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. 

“Why would I get her number?” JJ looks at you with a, ‘do you see what we’re saying,’ look but you only shake your head. 

You don’t care if Spencer did get her number or if he’d been flirting back with her. You’re not dating. You don’t care. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. 

“She was flirting with you man.” Luke says and Spencer shrugs, leaning into you as Penelope takes the cards from you. They’re only playing cards, but she’s been trying to get you to read them as well as she reads tarot. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer whispers in favour of a reply to Luke, eyebrows knitted together when you shrug him out of your space. 

“Fine.” Emily chuckles which only worsens Spencer’s frown. 

“Hey, what about this song?” JJ says, the entire group dispersing. Penelope is the last to go, leaving the ace of hearts face up on the table. 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asks, hand reaching for your chin. You shake your head from his hand. Spencer feels burned. 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. I’m just enjoying a night out with my friends.” You make it a point to stress the word friends and Spencer almost flinches. 

“I don’t believe you.” he says the words plainly. “Are you upset with me?” You turn to face him then, face stony, an expression on your face Spencer has never seen. Other than that day you were on the phone with your brother. 

“Why would I be upset with you? You’re just the clueless thirty three year old everyone thinks can’t tell when a pretty girl at the bar is flirting with him.” Your words are hushed and low, your eyes dark in the poorly lit booth. 

Spencer sighs, his shoulders reaching his ears before falling. “You’re jealous?” 

You grumble, no point in hiding what is so very clear. “You flirt with me for ten months, and then you spend almost thirty minutes letting a stranger put their hands all over you and come back here like you didn’t know she was flirting? If you just wanted the attention you could’ve said so from the beginning, Spencer Reid.” 

There’s no ‘Doctor,’ before his name that lets him know you’re being playful or funny. No, your words and your expression are the iciest thing he thinks he’s ever witnessed. You sound hurt more than anything and that makes Spencer’s heart crack right down the middle. 

His hand reaches for your chin, turning you to face him. “I didn’t just want attention, you know that,”

You roll your eyes, “Oh do I?” Spencer likes this attitude on you, he can’t even pretend to lie to himself. He just doesn’t like the way you doubt him. 

“I like you. You know I like you. Yes, the woman at the bar was flirting with me, but the conversation was being redirected. She was flirting with me till I told her I wasn’t interested and that I had someone waiting for me.” 

You don’t believe him, “Took you twenty eight minutes to do that?” 

Spencer smiles then, pressing his forehead into yours. “You’re worked up, sweet girl.” The nickname settles you a little. “It took me a little to catch on. I’ll admit it takes some getting used to from total strangers. But I didn’t enjoy her flirting with me if that’s what you’re really asking.”

Spencer’s thumb presses into the slight divot in your chin, your eyes stuck on his as he refuses to break eye contact. “I only want you to flirt with me.” 

Your breath hitches, Spencer smiles. “You let her touch you.” He laughs at how petulant you sound, he knows your grip on your anger is slipping. 

“Am I supposed to push her hands off me?” You nod and Spencer lets his nose run along your jaw. “You’re too much.” 

Spencer doesn’t leave your side the rest of the night.

[inknopewetrust]

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝—𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 [𝐀𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] [𝐰𝐜: 3.5k]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

The band had long ceased playing.

As the strings of confetti laid scattered on the floor and the lingering drips of spilled champagne stained the linens, the new year had rung in with a start. London was electric; buzzing in the underground of the darkest shadows—there was nothing more thrilling.

For a deal had been struck as smiles beamed.

And Alfie Solomons had never felt so alive when the guests dispersed and he sat at a vacant table in the golden light. A cigar burning in his hand, the man leaned back on his chair in victory.

The tendrils of smoke swirled in the air; dancing around his face and into the room. It carved him as a Prometheus of men—Camden’s king that gave and protected those who needed it most.

He intrigued you, Alfie Solomons.

A ruggedly handsome man with the mouth of a foul sailor. He had eyed every person in the room before they could clock him but he was never difficult to miss, not after how much Tommy had talked him up.

It would be easy, he said, charming the socks of Alfie to warm a deal between the two sleuths.

Easy was an understated word when the night had worn thin and all you had done from your table of rich ladies and their scrawny men was stare at him. He’d caught your eye one too many times as you tried to gain his attention throughout the night—but he never made his way to you.

You knew there was no doubting he knew you worked with Tommy, that you were being used in a way to sweeten prospects with batting eyelashes and a dress that dipped a little too low in the front. Alfie had seen that before. The desperate nature of a con too important to lose.

It was why when the guests had left the building and the music had stopped he remained. You’d left to powder your nose, he’d heard your excuse to a woman at your table who happened to be the wife of an employee. He sent his snakes far too. Tommy wasn’t the only one who played for keeps.

When you re-entered the space, Alfie sat at the table with the smoke billowing around him in puffs. His cane slanted against the table while his legs spread wide, thick thighs resting themselves on the chair in welcome.

He teased absentmindedly. He was erotic when he tried not to be, more so as you looked upon him from your perch in the hall.

You thanked Tommy endlessly for sending you. This line of business wasn’t hard work when the goal was a specimen like Alfie was. You stood in the doorway with confidence faltering under the surface and leaned against the wall as seductively as you could imagine.

Yet Alfie said nothing.

He continued to smoke at his cigar with the knowledge of you standing there. You felt your heartbeat pick up.

You shifted on your feet, crossing them together and pulling your hands behind your back. It popped your hip out to the side and for a brief moment, you swore Alfie’s chest lifted in a scoff but he sat too far from you. You truly couldn’t tell.

He smoked for another eternity, a minute perhaps before inhaling dramatically and blowing it out again.

“And to what,” his messy drawl was thick, “do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss—“

“I think you know why I’m here,” you answered in kind. He shrugged his shoulder casually.

“Perhaps. But Tommy ain’t exactly a friend,” his eyes narrowed a bit. “If you know what I mean?”

“He’s not asking to be your friend, Mr. Solomons. He wanted to ensure the deal was final.”

Alfie stuck the cigar between his lips. “I see he won’t be doin’ that ‘emself now?”

“No,” you smiled abashedly. It was cute, he thought, how you played so innocently at this larger game. “He knew your interests lie elsewhere.”

The smoke blew once more. He put out the cigar on a glass tray on the table before beckoning you with two fingers.

You might as well have floated against the wooden floors of the room as you approached. Hips swaying, shoes echoing in the room. You traversed the tinsel and confetti and spilled champagne to meet his table and rest in front of him. Alfie was shameless in the way he let his eyes wander. Slow and unforgiving, he could see everything if he wanted to and this was a kind of gift from Tommy—you.

You were close to the operations of the Shelby’s. He had heard about this woman, as beautiful as you, being as ruthless in Birmingham as the brothers. He knew your name, your family, your history even if he played it off as not. A childhood friend, Alfie supposed, brought on to pull strings in ways only women knew how.

He imagined you like Polly—cunning with a tongue and if you let the slit in your dress draw apart, maybe with other bits of you as well.

“The word from Thomas?” Alfie asked gruffly. You set your small bag down on the table beside you and rested a hand on your waist.

“Three boats from Camden Yard every morning for a month,” you reminded him. The details of the deal were boring, listed off like a grocery list of things to do or get and the most relief you felt that entire evening is when you finally stopped talking.

“How does he plan to have the payment delivered?”

“Through me.”

Alfie hummed. He looked around the room, mind already aware of the deal being sealed and delivered to Tommy by one of his own men in that very moment. He’d sent one of his finest to Birmingham on the off chance the one Tommy had sent was less than capable.

Alfie could admit he was wrong in such an assumption.

“You know,” Alfie shifted in his seat to widen his legs. The expanse of his stance, the seat directed towards you had your eyes trailing his torso, falling square to his crotch and back up to him. His arms rested at his thighs. Hands flat and rough. “This is our new beginning, here in Camden.”

“Shana Tovah, Mr. Solomons.”

“Did he ask you to study? He knew it was a holiday. The Shelby’s aren’t Jews.”

“I think you underestimate our worldly knowledge, Mr.—“

“Alfie,” he corrected.

“—Alfie,” you repeated. “Birmingham isn’t a shithole all the time. We are cultured people.”

Alfie smiled slightly, turning his head away to gaze at the entry way. “Eh,” he grunted. “It’s all shit if you really think ‘bout it.”

You looked down at him as he sat and he peered back at you. His eyes shadowed by his hat in the shimmer of the light.

“Why you still ‘ere?” He tested. “I can’t imagine you sneakin’ around for some challah when the cooks have gone on home.”

You adjusted your stance on your leg causing your dress to ripple. His eyes flickered in the dark.

“Tommy send you to seduce me, treacle?”

Treacle. You’d never heard someone use that word before. You ran your tongue over your lip as it jutted out to clear the dryness that manifested.

You weren’t nervous, per se. But Alfie was a strong, loud man who was more than capable of sending a message to his friends, or enemies, without remorse.

It enticed you—He enticed you greatly. The danger, the selfless anger that rested under his thick skin.

“No,” you answered honestly. “I fear I may be doing that myself.”

“There ain’t anyone here any more.” Alfie only looked at you. His eyes underneath the shadows swallowed you whole. They drew you in and spit you back out.

“Oh?” You feigned obliviousness. You knew everyone had left as well.

Alfie rubbed his hands over his thighs in warmth. His fingers danced along the tops of them.

“Step closer,” he ordered.

Without hesitation, you stepped closer and closer until you stood between his open legs and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. You could smell the cigar, his scent strong and burly.

“I’m sure you’ve heard what kind of man I am.”

“No more horrible than the rest.”

“What would Thomas say, eh?” He leaned his head backwards to look up at you. His fingertips twitched against his pants in want. “That his little friend is so willing.”

“I didn’t say I was willing.”

Alfie’s smile barely ghosted his face. Amused, he flicked down to your breasts and back up to your face.

“Your body says otherwise, love.”

He could see your nipples pert against he fabric of your dress. Your chest rose and fell erratically.

“Tommy sent me to ensure the deal was final, that is all, Alfie. I do not need to entertain you to see it through.”

“But you chose this beautiful dress,” he lifted a hand dramatically. It grazed the side of your body to feel the silken fabric that laid over the parts he wished to see further. “And these women,” he motioned to the empty room, “don’t dress like you.”

“Well they follow a different code than I.”

“And what else does that code allow?”

Alfie had yet to drop his hand. It played at the fabric that hung at your hip. He pinched it between his fingers and tugged gently.

“It depends on what the caller is asking of her,” you proposed and took his other hand into your own.

His hands were bigger than yours by a mile. Rough and calloused from his life, Alfie allowed you to overturn it and caress it in your touch. He watched your eyes, not your motions as you dragged his hand up toward your body, resting his hand not tightly gripping your dress on the space on your chest not covered by clothing.

Your skin was hot to the touch. It burned him as he felt the softness so different from his own.

“I do feel a bit cold, yeah?” He questioned and in an instant brought you down onto his lap and in a scramble of legs to straddle him.

Legs now on either side of his thick thighs, you sunk to rest your core where the zipper of his trousers began to bulge.

Alfie breathed you in deeply. His gripped turned bruising as you wrapped one arm around him and the other hand reseted on his chest.

“Why Mr. Solomons,” you snickered, “this is a bit forward.”

“Says you.” His hand slipped from you uncovered chest to one of your breasts and squeezed then soothed over the pebbling bud. “Don’t know the game your playin’, love. It’d be a dangerous one for a girl like you.”

You smiled at him. Tilting your head into his, you shuttered a breath as he slipped the dress from your shoulder and let the fabric fall to reveal you to him. You shifted your hips on top of his to feel his growing sensation.

“I know my game, Alfie,” your lips barely grazed his. He chased it, nipping your bottom lip and for a moment you thought yourself crazy for acting such a way with a man like him. “Do you know yours?”

Alfie responded by meeting his lips with yours abruptly. The hand on his chest cupped his face while his simply wandered along you. His beard was long and tickling your skin as he begged to dominate your mouth with his own. You tipped his hat off and laid it on the table before pulling away with a pop.

“My God, woman,” Alfie mumbled. You rolled your hips against his softly. He moved both of his hands to grasp the sides of you and encouraged you to grind against him. Your dress fell further down your chest and bore your luscious tits to him.

You entranced him with your movements. The roll of your body, the jiggle of your breasts as you moved. He grew hard under you and his palms wandered further to gather your dress at your waist.

“You were prepared, eh?” He commented lowly at the absence of your underwear.

“I took my chances.”

One of his thumbs met your core and found your clit quickly to rub circles at the pace of your thrusts. Your body jolted at the feeling. You were out of your mind, letting him pleasure you. Yet you didn’t say no. You couldn’t say no when you were so enraptured by his entire presence.

He was thick and heavy in his trousers which only stirred you further.

Alfie circled your clit ferociously. Meticulous and rapid, he wound up the coil within you to the point of no return. His thumb gathered the wetness greedily. You cupped his head, nearly swaying him as you lost yourself and inclined your head backward as your eyelids drooped.

“Alfie,” your voice was barely above a whisper as it hitched. He had found a good spot. One so tender and reactive. He grinned slyly.

You moved to undo the belt of his pants and slid it out from the loops the best you could. He hadn’t worn suspenders or an absurd amount of vests to add to the layers. Fingers deftly popping him open and carving the lines of his cock with your hand, you worked him out of the trousers and into your palm.

“You feel plenty warm to me,” you suggested with a purr.

Alfie sat up straighter. The advantage catching the back of your neck and drawing your lips to his again. You groaned into his mouth; savoring the feeling of your lips on his as his breath mingled with yours.

You stroked him lazily in your hand while he was more deliberate in pleasuring you.

Alfie’s mouth trailed along the sides of your neck. He left foul, bruising kissed on the column as he made his way down to your tits again and took a nipple inbetween his mouth. He pulled back, gently biting it between his teeth and letting go with a tug.

“You were right,” you breathed in heavily. Rolling your hips against his hand, you had the sudden urge to have him inside of you. “I have heard the stories about the kind of man you are.”

“And? I don’t suppose you give a fuck about them now, love.”

“No,” you smiled shyly. “But I would be lying if I wasn’t interested in the things I’d heard.”

Your ran you thumb over the head of his cock to wipe at the cum that had leaked out of hum. Smoothing it over and down his shaft, he might as well have shivered at the sensation.

“I am more interested in the man I haven’t heard about. The one like this.”

Alfie quirked a brow and stopped his movements. He helped lift you slightly, taking control of his dick as his hand replaced yours and ran it along your slit.

“You wanna be my lover? A gy—“

You shushed him with a kiss. “I didn’t say that, Mr. Solomons. It’s not something anyone needs to know of.”

“Too dangerous, treacle.” He swiped his cock’s head along you clit and you could feel the blood rushing, the heartbeat that pulsed as hard as the one in your chest. “I’m not in the business of leading women as beautiful as you to an early grave.”

You shook your head gently. “I don’t believe you.”

Alfie hummed and with it, pushed the head of himself into your aching pussy that had been warmed by his previous ministrations and he was taken by the way your mouth fell agape. Shoulders relaxing and falling as you took him in as much as you could before sinking down to close the gap. You went as far as you could until there was nothing more left to take of him.

“No,” Alfie said deeply. His chest rumbled with the word and echoed as far into the room as it could reach. He didn’t allow you to adjust yourself on his cock. Alfie held your hips down and made you sit there, still.

“I don’t believe myself either.”

He relished the way your cunt swallowed him. Alfie’s mind wondered if all of your holes could take him the same and in the times you’d come to Camden to collect the payments on behalf of Tommy, he’d be able to explore all the scenarios that plagued his mind as you clenched down on him and gripped him tightly. So warm and inviting, he could stay like that forever and if this was the feeling of your first meeting, he wasn’t romantic enough to consider how he’d feel after your tenth, twentieth, or more.

Alfie’s mind traveled to you kneeling under his desk and taking his cock in your mouth; feeling you spread out before him on a table in the distillery room and watching you gush around him. He could see himself under covers in the dark pleasuring you with his mouth and the taste of you on his tongue. In the tub with your back against his and the water splashing over the sides and if he was lucky, as the sun broke the horizon in Margate in his house by the sea.

As he let you sit on him and rake your fingers through his short hair, he caressed your sides and backs of your thighs as the muscles trembled.

“When you collect the money,” he whispered as much as a man like he could, “come straight to the bakery. Go to the office and if I am not there, do not let anyone in who knocks.”

“Afraid of what your men will do to me?” You questioned and his grip tightened.

“They’d be fuckin’ idiots to try.”

You learned quickly that Alfie Solomons loved to kiss you. He enjoyed the feeling of your lips on his and the selfless way you let him take control of you. He pushed the boundaries of comfort and with his cock still inside of you hard and pulsing with want, it was hard to imagine letting another man touch you in the same way.

“You come straight to me. You take the money and I’ll leave you walkin’ funny till you return to those fuckin’ Shelby’s so they know who you belong to.”

You pulled Alfie in close around his shoulders. He loosened his grasp on your hips as you lifted yourself up. His cock coated in your slick slid along your walls and before you lost him completely, you sunk down on him again and he guided you with ease every bounce you made.

You barely squeaked as his dick filled you. Thick and long, he was exactly as you’d imagined him to be based on the man you’d heard so much about. His large thighs supported your weight and he complained not about any part of you that you’d deem less than perfect.

Letting Alfie maneuver you, you leaned back onto his thighs and your hands placed themselves on his knee caps and allowed the space between you to be viewed completely by the man. He watched you sink onto him. Watching as you took him with languid rolls and calculated moves that barely drew a sweat on your brow. He held onto you tightly and helped speed up the movements as he pulled you into him once twice and then repeatedly.

The sounds of your pleasure were lewd. For anyone could waltz in and see you both openly fucking in the dining hall of the beautiful building but they wouldn’t. The sun had long set, the doors long had been locked and all that was left was you and Alfie left to settle a score.

And it was building rapidly.

Too much. It was overstimulating—the force of his actions and the long drawl of his cock against your plush walls. You were soaked. Soaking him and his trousers that were barely pushed down enough to set him free. Your body trembled as the quick revelation of your orgasm approached. Gripping his knees so tightly your nails dug into the caps, you couldn’t help the yelps turned into weak, whimpering moans that spilled from your lips.

Alfie muttered words of mere nothing at the quake of your thighs. Your stomach’s muscles tightened and with a jolt, you lurched forward and clung onto his shoulders as your release reached its peak. Your pussy clenched down on his cock with all the strength it could in the moments between your tremors. Alfie sore disorienting profanities as your orgasm threatened his own.

He wanted to pull out. He didn’t need more on his plate than what he already had and certainly not any child that bound him to the Shelby LLC for eternity. Alfie huffed, breathing through his teeth as he lifted you up slightly and barely managed to empty himself onto your stomach and bits of your dress.

You watched as his release waded down your body and his hold loosened greatly at his finish.

“So,” Alfie spoke lowly. “Do I have your word?”

“Of what?” You responded breathlessly. He grinned at your fucked out face. The way you could barely hold yourself upright even if it wasn’t the most intense fuck either of you had ever had.

“You come straight to me, got it?”

And well, Mr. Alfie Solomons didn’t have to ask twice.

Happy almost end of Kinktober! I’m trying my best to get all the fics out that I’ve promised. I’ve never written for Alfie before and this might be equivalent to horse shit but at least I posted… right? Right!?

[lichenaday]

Chrysothrix candelaris

gold dust lichen, mustard powder lichen

Not all that glitters is gold--sometimes what glitters is lichen! A LOT of lichen. C. candelaris is a leprose lichen which grows on bark, wood, and rarely rock in sheltered microhabitats in cool-temperate, undisturbed regions. As you can see from these pictures, it can have a very extensive thallus, covering large areas in a thick, wooly layer, or it can grow in more dispersed, dusty patches across the substrate. It is always bright yellow in color, but can appear more orange or green tinged depending on its moisture level and how much sun exposure it gets. If you get up close and personal with it, you'll notice that C. candelaris is entirely composed of granules of fungal hyphae wrapped around bundles of chlorococcoid algae, primed for dispersal and ready to travel to a new substrate to colonize.

images: source | source | source

info: source | source

[idexindia]

How Can High Shear Mixers Enhance Product Quality in Pharmaceuticals?

Particle size control is essential for achieving reliable drug performance and maintaining manufacturing consistency in pharmaceuticals. The particle size control of pharmaceutical powders plays a crucial role in ensuring the consistent quality of solid oral dosage forms.

[cxfanxitex]

Disperse Printed with Golden Powder 100% Polyester Fabric New Design

[i-chrystophylux]

Re-Encounter - The First Cookie AU

This is an AU.

However, the way I view it, is as follows.

GingerBrave came from one specific witch. The one that created him and Dozer on accident. This same witch created Wizard, and Strawberry cookie- also on accident. This stems from leftover dough from Gingerbrave's batch being split into 3 parts. The one with GingerBrave in it- Wizard's Batch, and Strawberry Cookie's batch.

(because no logical person bakes different types of cookies together, that's insanity)

GingerBravve and Dozer were made first. and Wizard followed, then Strawberry Cookie.

After the point where GingerBrave and dozer try to escape, Dozer gets taken by the witch.

Strawberry and Wizard Cookie come to life in the oven in their own respective batches- but because the dough was split up, only so much magic powder was dispersed through the batches and only they actually came to life- leaving the rest of their batches as regular cookies

The witch spent hours looking for GingerBrave while Strawberry Cookie and Wizard Cookie were baking. (GingerBright and Skater Cookie too, if you stan them)

This witch is fixated on GingerBrave as he is her first living creation. On accident no less.

The Gingergang saw her eating cookies - and in this AU, they fought their way out of the witches house. GingerBrave eventually manages to snag the witches hand, and get her to stab herself in the eye with a fork as a distraction tactic as she went to pull her hand free.

The witch has a very deep grudge with him because of him damaging her beautiful face, leaving her half blind, and escaping.

To her, she was the original, so when she saw all these other sentient/living cookies appearing out of no where, she knew that someone claimed credit for coming up with these... silly little creatures.

She actively looks for GingerBrave, sort of like a patent or proof of her being the original sentient cookie creator. The first one to bring these snacks to life before it become some... silly little past-time for witches to make these little beasts their own little worlds.

She is demented.

Did she eat dozer? . . . .

No

Should I bring Dozer into this AU as a living character...? Maybe. I probably wont.

- - - -

This being said, this witch is not aware of the fact that, most likely, Wizards made cookies first. Plenty of cookies were rumored to already be on Earthbread. The witch just didn't know of this already.

GingerBrave is one of the first to ESCAPE the oven, as he wasn't supposed to be alive but came to life. Meaning he learned the truth of cookie creation (as per the witches, at least)

Meaning that the fight this witch is fighting in this AU is actually entirely useless. All of her chasing is for nothing, all of the trauma won't go away and when she does find out it was for nothing- she is not going to be happy.

[thewinter-eden]

Don't Look At Me Like That

images are mine (except middle HH pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 4 of the skz crack!horror series (this concludes the Hyung Line).

pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: hitman!Hyunjin’s next target is you, the child of a foreign diplomat. But when he shows up to do the job and finds you ambivalent to the threat upon your life, he can’t help but ask what the hell is wrong with you.

warnings: Terminal illness, smoking, asshole family, political family, angst, unrealistic trust fund, drugs, implications of overdose, implications of involuntary overdose, assault, discussion of surgery, depictions of cysts/tumors, USD instead of Korean Won, Gossip Girl reference, some language, kidnapping.

word count: 6k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info PART 2 INFO

The first igniting drags of your cigarette feel like a second glass of wine. For a second, you’re lighter than air and the world tips on its axis.

Your family hates your penchant for cigarettes. They call you disgusting; unhygienic; stupid.

Although, In a way, your literal toxic trait has actually strengthened your personal hygiene—a rigorous unskippable skincare routine, to fight the weathering of your face, expensive and regular dental care to prevent the yellowing of teeth, your hands under a constant layer of hand sanitizer and scented perfume to combat the clinging stench of smoke, every surface of your bedroom cleaned daily and your laundry crisply pressed and regularly washed—just because you’re a shameless human chimney doesn’t mean you intend to wear the grime of cigarette smoke as an accessory.

Not that any of that matters anymore.

You take another drag and feel your body settle into the familiar rhythm. In front of you, on the other side of your glass cage (read: bedroom window) the city stretches out in front of you, lights poking holes in the blanket of darkness that covers it.

The clock reads 6 PM.

Lifting one hand, tapping a black-polished nail against the glass, watching your arm tremble, you give a resigned sigh and blow a puff of smoke through the opening. The plume rises and disperses into the atmosphere, vanishing before your eyes.

You finish your cigarette and crush the filter into your ash tray, yanking the curtains closed. The next few minutes are muscle memory—shrugging out of your robe, spritzing it with vodka to remove the smoke smell, exfoliating your hands and arms with a sugar scrub, brushing and whitening your teeth, covering yourself head to toe in moisturizer.

All for the sake of appearances.

When you close yourself into the bathroom to change half an hour later, all you smell is coffee from the sugar scrub and the sickly sweet aroma of your flowery lotion.

“You’re coming, right?” Your best friend Lisa’s voice booms through the phone, the sound of pounding music and raucous laughter filling the background.

You’re already dressed, brushing excess highlighter and powder off your face as you stand before your mirror. “Of course I’m coming, I promised you I would. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” You take a second to check your watch.

Lisa had made plans with you to meet at the party at 8, but she always arrives early enough to be four or five drinks ahead by the time you show up. This inevitably leads to her finding someone to spend an hour in the closest lockable room with and you calling your dad’s driver to take you home.

It’s not that you don’t ever want a hook up or a boyfriend or anything, it’s just that you’re the seventeen-year-old daughter of a politician and you have rules.

You can’t be out after 11, you can’t be seen with mile-deep cleavage or thigh-high hems, and you certainly can’t be drunk in public—especially as a minor. So you smooth the fabric of the just barely appropriate outfit you’ve chosen and check your reflection one last time.

It takes a second to convince yourself that the heaviness of your eyes isn’t because of your dark liner, that the dullness in your expression isn’t obvious.

“Well hurry on over. I’ve found someone you just have to meet.”

When you arrive, you’re wading through a house that’s teeming with high schoolers, the walls reverberating with pounding music. You find Lisa near the kitchen, one arm slung around the neck of one of her friends, the other hand clutching a plastic cup.

When her eyes land on you, she all but screeches your name over the clamor and reaches for you. The girl that she was just leaning on takes the opportunity to pull away and stretch her arms upward, trying to correct the awkward hunch that Lisa had put her in. She shoots you a grateful smile and disappears into the crowd, looking for her boyfriend.

Lisa’s in your face in the next second, her breath already reeking. She catches you in a tight, sloppy hug, the contents of her cup splashing your shoulder as she trips. “I’m so glad you’re here,” She says, and if her body language says drunk, her voice certainly doesn’t. Her lipstick is smeared and she’s staggering a little but her voice is crisp and sharp. “I was worried you’d change your mind again.”

She runs a hand up the back of your neck and playfully squeezes the knot of your hair that you’ve taken the time to elegantly pin.

It’s a ritual at this point.

You have the worst habits—smoking and drinking and slipping your curfew after everyone’s asleep—but you don’t go anywhere without a Princess Grace-like appearance. Because it doesn’t matter what you do as long as you’re not shitfaced on the front page the next morning. Even if you’ve snuck out at night to meet a boyfriend, when the cameras catch you on the streets you’re perfectly coiffed and sleekly styled.

Even now, you don’t look like you’re dressed for a high school party so much as a cocktail one, but Lisa tells you it makes you look more like Blair Waldorf than the homeschooler you’re always worried you emulate.

You push her hand out of your hair and check to make sure the pins haven’t come out. “Did you get me one of those?” You nod towards the cup in her hand and her eyes light up.

She nods towards the kitchen. “I got you, babe, come with me.”

You follow her, one hand reaching for her hip to steady her when she falls off one of her high heels, and then you’re in the kitchen and the noise of the party is muffled behind the heavy swinging door.

There’s one other person in the room with you, a tall, slender guy near the sink, shoulders hunched slightly as he gazes out the window. You’re still trailing after Lisa, but your eyes are taking in the long black hair that the guy has pulled back in a half pony, the slim-cut jacket with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, the ripped jeans that cinch at his small waist and hang loosely around his legs.

When the two of you enter, his head turns, and you see the sharpness of his jaw, the definition of his features. There’s a flutter in your chest when his dark eyes land on you, and you whip your head away, crowding yourself behind Lisa.

She’s crushing something with a spoon, dumping it in the cup she’s just poured for you. Then she spins on one heel—surprisingly stable as she does—and passes it to you. “Here.”

You stare at the powder floating on top, and then back at her. “What did you put in this?”

“Nothing heavy.” She assures you, and knocks back a couple of the tablets herself. “Just something to take the edge off. Go ahead.”

It doesn’t matter anyway.

You drink, sucking in the yeasty beer with fervor, trying your hardest not to taste it as it goes down. Before you can finish the cup, Lisa catches your arm and turns you towards the man at the window. She introduces you without giving you a chance to question her, and tells you his name is Hyunjin—the guy she wanted you to meet.

He turns to you fully, eyes tracing you head to toe. There’s a gentle smile on his full lips as he notices the blush that rushes to your face. “Nice to meet you,” He says kindly. “I think I’ve seen you on TV.”

As the words reach your ears, you feel yourself growing more guarded despite the opposite effects of the alcohol. You’re used to being recognized, you’re used to being used for your dad’s fame and fortune. You’ve been burned before, and you have no intention of using this time to be manipulated again.

So you pull yourself up into a respectful posture and prepare to treat him like the occasional politically-conscious “fan” who asks you to take a picture. It doesn’t happen often, but you do tend to be popular amongst the poli-sci students at the local college.

“He’s a senior.” Lisa says, and gives you a nudge towards him. “He’s going to study art.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, and you look over Hyunjin again. At second glance, he does look the type. He’s effortlessly fashionable, quiet, reserved—at least on first impression. You extend your hand politely. “Pleasure to meet you. Are you a practitioner or a history buff?”

At your strictly professional tone, Hyunjin laughs under his breath and steps in to take your hand, enveloping it in the warmth of his own. “A little of both, I suppose. I sketch and paint. Lisa tells me you’re quite the watercolorist?”

You blush a little at the recognition of your most intimate hobby. “I play around with it a little, but it’s just for fun.” When you notice he’s still grasping your palm, you gently pull your hand back.

Lisa grips your arm again, and leans in so close that you can smell the cologne of the last boy she had her hands on. “Why don’t you two hang out a little? You’re both the same about parties, so I figured you’d get along. Cool? I’m going to go find Mingyu.”

There’s nothing you can say to make her stay, even if you could think of the words to try. So you just watch her disappear, the noise of the party warbling strangely as the door swings back and forth behind her.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Your eyes snap back to Hyunjin. “What?”

“When I said I’d seen you on TV.”

“Oh.” You pull another long sip from your drink and wince. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re standing like you’re at a press conference.” His eyes are alive with mirth as he watches you subtly try to shuffle your posture, brows lowering.

You’re coming back to yourself, your body acclimatizing to the atmosphere and whatever it was that Lisa put in your drink, your nerves no longer responding to every little glance that Hyunjin gives you. So you just shrug a shoulder and search the kitchen for your drink of choice. “I’m not uncomfortable as long as you’re not interested in some kind of fifteen minutes of fame bullshit.”

There it is.

You drain your beer as Hyunjin chuckles behind you and rinse your cup of the vile liquid, instead filling it with about four ounces of whiskey from a glass cabinet.

Hyunjin watches your movements with an eyebrow cocked. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t meant to be a party favor.”

You nurse the drink slowly, settling into the comfort of the initial burn. “You gonna tell on me?”

He examines you again, shaking his head. “Not if you pour me one.”

You do, and then settle back against the counter. “Why come to a party if you’re going to hide in the kitchen?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Kinda surprised your dad lets you come to something like this.”

You used to be, too. Now you just huff. “As long as I’m not a scandalous headline tomorrow, he doesn’t care where I go or what I do. And I don’t usually hide in the kitchen.” It’s true, you don’t. There’s a handful of people out there that you like to talk to, a couple of them you even like to dance with if the occasion calls for it, but right now you’re not itching to leave where you’re at.

Hyunjin’s eyebrows raise as he looks at you, and he glances towards the door. “Then why—”

“Because I’m talking to you.” The confidence comes with the whiskey. The taste of it in the back of your throat distracts you from the blush you would ordinarily be fighting if you had said those words soberly to someone as attractive as Hyunjin, and right now you’re just enjoying the way his eyes crinkle and the sweet smile explodes across his face.

It’s cute.

He’s cute.

He shuffles his feet beneath him for a second, the air between you comfortable as he lets the effects of your statement fade. When the flustered state is mostly gone from his face, he glances up at you again, almost shyly. “You’re really pretty.” And then, feeling the weight of his own words as they drop off his tongue, his eyes widen and he hastens to soften their impact. “I like your earrings.”

But you just smile, watching the pink in his cheeks as he swallows a regrettably large gulp of whiskey.

“You’re really pretty, too.” You say, and his head snaps around to you.

For a long second, he just stares at you.

It’s not often that you find yourself talking to someone you want to open yourself up to, someone you like to see so flustered, but he’s so completely enchanting that you can’t take your eyes off him and you don’t want to stop saying things that make him look at you like that.

There are only so many things that you can enjoy in a life like yours, and you want to enjoy this.

Hyunjin pours you both another drink.

You’re grateful, especially because there’s a nagging part of you telling you to go outside and smoke a cigarette, so instead you bring your cup to your lips and sip. You move to reach for a bottle of lemon juice and it puts you right next to him, feeling the radiating warmth of his side as you mix your drink into a whiskey sour.

He doesn’t move away.

Out of the corner of your eyes you catch the faintest tremble of his hand, and a smirk curves your lips.

His eyes are on you as you pinch a sprinkle of sugar into the drink and then suck the granules off your thumb.

You turn slightly, so close that you don’t even have to reach to offer him your drink. “Want to try?”

His eyes flick from yours, to the drink, and back to your face. Hyunjin’s tongue appears to swipe across his lower lip, and then he nods, taking the cup from you.

You thoroughly enjoy the swirling in your stomach when his fingers brush yours.

He drinks from your cup, face scrunching slightly as he takes in the taste of it.

At the crumpling of his eyebrows, you frown, suddenly interrupted from the sense of control you feel. “You don’t like it?”

Hyunjin lowers the cup from his lips with a look of surprise, shaking his head. “I love it.” He holds it out to you. “Would you show me how you made it?”

It’s not a complicated drink, the whiskey sour.

You find yourself smirking again, and push the cup back towards him. “Keep it. I’ll make myself another one.” And you take his whiskey from him, turning to fix yourself another drink. When he just stands there, mentally processing how he somehow ended up trading drinks with you, you know you have him.

So when he edges closer, the heat of his body flooding into your skin, you’re not surprised. You keep your hands moving, your eyes on your drink, pretending you don’t notice the way he’s suddenly leaning into your side.

“You smell good,” He says lowly, and your heart does a flip.

But you play it off casually, focused on getting the lid off the lemon juice bottle. “You like it? I’m not so sure yet.”

It’s gotta be the oldest trick in the book, but he takes the opportunity like it’s a written permission slip and then his face is at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the whisper of his breath on your skin.

“I like it,” He murmurs.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him place his cup on the counter next to you, and then both of his hands settle on your arms. His touch is light, gentle, his thumbs smoothing questioning strokes against your sleeves, asking permission.

When you tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to him, it’s a yes.

His lips are on your shoulder then, his fingers wrapping firmly around your arms.

Your entire body heats up.

He’s leaning into you, trailing his mouth from your shoulder to your neck, then slowly up your throat until your head is edging back, leaning against his shoulder, giving him access. Hyunjin’s hand slides up one arm, cupping the curve of your neck as he litters wet kisses across your jaw, and his other hand reaches around to cover both of yours where you realize that at some point you abandoned your efforts to make a drink.

He turns you around and you let him, throwing your head back as his mouth leaves a glistening trail across your collarbones and up your throat, moving up to suck gently at the point of your jaw beneath your ear. “I really do like your earrings.” He whispers, and you feel him flick the dangling gemstone with his tongue.

You’re trembling under his hands, and you wish you could say it’s from his highly effective ministrations, but you know it’s not. You peel your eyes open, all but panting as his arm circles your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead drops against yours, and you watch his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

“Can we move this somewhere more private?” He whispers, and then he’s sucking at your jaw on the other side, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips.

You can’t help a laugh. “More private than the closed kitchen where it’s just us?”

“Please?” He whimpers against your throat.

You have absolutely no reason to protest. You’re nodding, aching, allowing him to push you towards the kitchen door, because this could be it. This could be your last. He’s every fantasy you’ve ever had, the absolute embodiment of beauty and seduction, and even one night with him could be everything.

What do you have to lose?

You stand to lose more by turning him down at this point.

So when his hands guide you through the living room, your ears barraged by music and laughter, your eyes assaulted by the flashes of too much skin and way too much pda, you just lean into his touch around your waist and let him find a room to duck into.

That’s how you find yourself pushed onto your back on someone’s bed, your heart in your ears as Hyunjin straddles you, his face returning to its spot against your throat, kissing his way towards your collar.

You feel his hands trail up your sides, his thumbs sweeping at the swell of your breasts, and for a second, you panic.

You’re not sure what he’ll think of you, how he’ll react to you when he finally gets his hands on you, but you can’t even worry about it for long because he’s nipping at your throat, his hands dragging your arms above your head.

Breathing in gasps, heart hammering as he laces the fingers of one hand through both of yours, trapping your hands above your head, you arch yourself into him as his free hand comes back towards his hip.

“You really are very pretty,” Hyunjin breathes into your ear, and then he presses a surprisingly chaste kiss to your cheek. “I just want you to know that.” Still holding your hands, he settles his weight back on your hips and pulls something out of his pocket.

You frown at him, chest heaving with breathlessness, confused. “What do you mean?”

Hyunjin brings his free hand back into view, now holding something cylindrical. Bringing the end of it to his mouth, prying off a plastic cap with his teeth, you can see the object as it catches the light.

A hypodermic needle, filled with something.

He spits the cap out of his mouth, eyebrows pinched in concentration. “Don’t move, angel, this doesn’t have to hurt.”

But you’re not moving, you’re just staring at the needle, trying desperately to make sense of the complete shift in atmosphere. You’re no longer trapped in a lovers’ embrace, you’re trapped. He has your hands immobilized, your lower body caught beneath his own, completely vulnerable.

He arches his body, reaching to slip the needle into a vein in your arm, and you understand.

You understand.

A deep sigh rushes out of your lungs.

You thought you’d have more time, but at this point, what does it matter?

Just before the needle pricks your flesh, Hyunjin seems to realize that you’re not fighting him at all. His eyes flick down to you, and he finds you blinking solemnly at his shoulder, not a single emotion on your face.

He pauses.

You close your eyes, suck in a deep breath, and let it out.

There’s no fear, no more surprise, no apprehension.

Just exhaustion; resignation.

It doesn’t matter. He leans in towards your arm again, angling the needle to prod your vein. You don’t even flinch as it pricks your skin, sliding into your flesh. His thumb hovers over the plunger, but doesn’t press.

He’s never had a mark just lay there.

They’ve never just…accepted it.

He glances at your face again. “Angel…do you know what’s happening right now?” You had only had a few drinks, and the flush of your face could be from the drugs or the drink or his lips on your throat, but surely you should be a little concerned by the sheer volume of what he’s about to push into your bloodstream.

“I know,” You respond flatly. “He shouldn’t have bothered, honestly, but it’s not like he knew.”

Hyunjin’s brain stutters with confusion. “He?”

“My father,” You say, and your eyes meet his. “He wasted his money, hiring you to kill me.”

Huh.

That’s not at all how he expected this to go.

“I guess he’s paying Lisa, too, since she started with the pills.” It stings, knowing your best friend would accept cash to kill you, but you also know that your father wouldn’t have offered an insignificant sum.

Whatever he’s paying Lisa will set her up for life.

“So they’ll find me, tonight or tomorrow, just another stupid teenager who tried to have too much fun, and the two of you are just the dumb high school friends to corroborate that it was just an accident. Right?”

You don’t cry, you don’t fight, you don’t yell.

He stares at you, shocked. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“You don’t seem apprehensive about killing a girl for money.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens. “It’s my job.”

“So you don’t go to this high school, then.” You mutter sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t go to any high school.” Then he catches your gaze again. “But it really is my job. It’s not like it’s personal.”

You take a second, absorbing the reality of what’s happening to you. It’s over.

It’s over.

This is it.

Forget three months.

It’s over now.

You weren’t prepared for this timeframe, but you are prepared. You have coped.

It’s not a new idea.

So you just nod. “Okay.”

It’s like he starts to lean to finish the job, and then pulls himself back. “Why did you say he shouldn’t have bothered?”

You laugh then, a loud, inelegant burst of laughter, almost directly into his chest.

He’s startled, eyes wide, leaning back on your hips to stare down at you. “Angel, I’m literally about to kill you, why the hell are you laughing? There’s no way you’re that drunk.”

And you’re not.

The sheer adrenaline of his lips on your skin burned through that alcohol what seems like hours ago, and now you’re just sinking into oblivion, still laughing.

Finally, tears of irony in your eyes, you wheeze up at him. “Go ahead and finish it, Hyunjin, or whoever you are. It doesn’t make a difference anyway. I’m alright. Finish it.” You nod upwards, towards the direction of your joined hands, and wish that the scent of his skin wasn’t still making your head swim.

It’s really not the time to be attracted to the assassin whom your father hired to murder you.

But he’s stuck, indecisive.

Because you’re laying underneath him, sniffling past a rush of humor—of all things—completely unconcerned and telling him that you’re alright with him killing you. That you’re alright with him subjecting you to a drug overdose that’s going to be painful and terrifying and the end of your life.

At this point, you seem to be more alright with it than he is.

And then you’re smiling at him. “Thanks for being nice about it.”

His heart lurches. “What the hell.” He yanks the needle out of your skin, releases your hands, and sits back on your hips again, eyes wide and unbelieving. “I mean—what the hell? What is wrong with you?”

You roll your eyes. “He must not be paying you much if you’re willing to back out just because I’m pitiful.”

Which isn’t true, he’s supposed to be paid quite a lot for this job, but he just can’t comprehend how you’re reacting.

“Why shouldn’t he have bothered?”

You’re no longer trapped except for the way he’s straddling your hips, so now you’re just laying against an uncomfortable pair of pillows, feeling the pins of your updo poking into your neck. If he’s supposed to kill you, why won’t he just do it? You search his eyes, finding only confusion and concern.

Sighing, you reach for his hand—the empty one that used to be holding both of yours against the headboard.

Oh, how you expected a very different outcome from this situation.

He flinches as he suddenly finds you bringing his hand towards your chest, jerking it back when you lay his palm over your breast.

It’s almost comical the way his face heats up.

Clearly, his earlier show of attraction towards you had been aided by a hurriedly consumed volume of alcohol and a professionally put-on flustered attitude, but now, when you made him touch you, he seems genuinely awkward.

And, for your side of things, you were going to let him feel you up anyway, so what’s the difference now?

You quirk an eyebrow. “I’m not asking you for anything, just give me your hand.”

He doesn’t protest when you catch his hand again, his cheeks flushed pink, until you drag his fingers across the slope of your breast and they trip over a lump of flesh that’s hard as a rock. The flustered color drains from his face, and then he’s frowning, leaning in, moving of his own accord to swipe his fingers over the place once more, as though he wasn’t sure he felt it the first time.

You let him.

When he pulls his hand back into his lap and stares at you, you just smile. “Did you know, in the early days of breast cancer surgery, a woman went in to have a lump removed, and when she came out of anesthesia, she was missing an entire breast, some ribs, and like half of the muscle wall of her chest? And the fuckass doctors were like “we got it!” Like, you don’t burn down the house in order to kill a spider and then say, “Don’t worry, we got it!””

Hyunjin blinks at you, mentally parsing your unexpected rambling. “They’ve, uh…come a long way in terms of cancer surgeries, I think.”

A puff of breath escapes your lips, another sardonic laugh. “It’s too late for that. It’s in my bones, my lymphatic, everywhere. I got to it too late.” You roll your eyes and press a palm to your forehead. “So, yeah, he shouldn’t have bothered. Three months and I would have been out of his hair for free.”

A few seconds pass as you process the words you haven’t yet admitted out loud to anyone, as he processes what you’re telling him.

He’s trying to kill a girl who’s already dying.

No wonder she didn’t care.

“So, how much is he paying you?” You question lightly, eyes searching for the syringe. You assume he’ll finish the job—everybody has to pay the rent, and it’s not like you’ve got your life ahead of you anyway.

Hyunjin scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Three million.”

You outright scoff at that, shocking him once again. “He’s ripping you off, dude. Did he tell you why he hired you?”

“I don’t ask. I am a professional, you know.” He brings his hand to his chest like he’s offended, and allows the slightest smile to twist his lips when you roll your eyes again.

You wedge your hands under you. “Can I sit up? I need to smoke and you’re killing my back.” You wiggle your hips and try to scoot yourself back. As he lifts his own hips off of you, you raise an eyebrow. “Not that I mind.”

At that, he flushes again.

Laughing softly, you pull yourself up to sit against the headboard, dragging your knees to your chest, and watch as he sits himself in front of you, cross-legged. For the time that it takes you to slide a cigarette from your purse and light it between your lips, he’s silent, watching you.

The syringe is at his side, laying between the wrinkles in the blanket, forgotten.

“My trust fund defaults back to him if I die before I hit eighteen.” You inform him. “And it’s 25 million dollars.”

His mouth falls open. “Why the hell is your trust fund so much money?”

“When my mom was dying, my father promised her he would help her allot her estate into a trust fund for me, plus a hefty sum from his own assets as a romantic gesture. For all his faults, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved her.” You scoff, sucking in a comforting drag of smoke. You’re careful to blow it away from him, to knock your ashes into the ring tray on the bedside table instead of allowing them to fall into the carpet. “But that was fifteen years ago, and I guess he forgot that he loved her once.”

“So he wants your trust fund.” Hyunjin says, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm. “Because he forgot he loves you too?”

Your lips pinch. “I’m just a reminder of when he used to be a better man.”

Silence ticks between you, and the smell of your cigarette permeates the air. You can’t care enough to apologize to him for your filthy habit, because if it’s the last cigarette you’re ever going to have, you might as well enjoy it.

But he doesn’t seem put off by it, instead wrapping his hands around your ankles and pulling your feet into the criss-cross of his legs so he can scoot closer to you, resting his hands on your thighs.

You’re surprised, but not displeased with the gentle embrace of your legs.

“I don’t want to kill you, angel,” He says, and rests his chin on your knees.

It’s too much, the doe-eyed boy staring at you through the dim light, holding you close to him and running his hands up and down your thighs, fingers sweeping low enough to run across your hips.

You can’t look at him.

Turning your eyes away, you knock the ash off the end of your cigarette and laugh. “That’s so kind, thanks.” You drop the rest of the butt into the tray and brush your hands together. “Alright. I’m ready. Let’s get you paid.” You scoop up the syringe and hold it out to him, eyes wide and inviting.

He takes it from you, but he doesn’t take your arm again.

In the quiet of his indecision, you can’t help yourself. Your fingers find the soft swoop of his hair falling over his forehead, letting a few strands slide through your fingers before you pull yourself together and extend your arm to him. “Do it, Hyunjin.” You say softly, ignoring the way your movements made him look at you. “If you don’t do it, he’ll hire someone else. His campaign isn’t doing well, he’s facing asset forfeiture—he needs the money. If you don’t kill me, someone else will.”

Hyunjin’s hand finds yours, his fingertips smoothing up the underside of your forearm towards that vein that he found earlier. A drop of blood has gathered where he pricked you, the trail where it dripped dry and crusted.

You’re not scared, you’re not worried.

You’re a little relieved, actually, that you don’t have to pretend anymore. Because you’ve known for months that your time is running out. You’ve known for months that no one would care even if you told them.

The pounding of the music outside the door fills the space, reminding you that you were supposed to come in here to have the night of your life, and now, instead, the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen is going to inject poison into your bloodstream and leave you to die on a stranger’s bed.

That does dishearten you a little bit.

He presses his thumb against the vein. His eyes flick up to yours. “When is your birthday?”

You cock your head curiously, wondering. “Next month.”

Hyunjin lets the vein go and sets the syringe down near his hip. “I’ll make you a deal.” He takes your other hand, too, peering into your face with sincerity. “If I keep you alive until your birthday, we split the trust fund, 70-30. Then at least you don’t let your dad win, and maybe you can see if there’s some super expensive doctor who can help you. Or something. What do you think?”

You blink. “You’re going to trade being an assassin for being a bodyguard just for eight million dollars?”

He smirks, a flash of teeth in the dark. “Seven and a half, actually. And it’s a better gig than killing a dying seventeen-year-old just so her asshole father can take her trust fund. So, what do you say?”

You’re almost a hundred percent sure there’s no doctor or surgeon in the world who can fix your cancer at this point. All the ones you’ve spoken to so far won’t even recommend radiation or chemo, because there’s no point. They keep saying things like “quality of life” and “keep you comfortable,” not, “if only you had more money.”

But it’s interesting, this deal he’s put forward.

Die tonight or spend a month with a gorgeous young assassin?

Is it even a choice?

“We split it 50-50.” You say. “All I want to do with my half is give it to cancer research.”

He’s surprised again, his mind now struggling to grasp an influx of almost thirteen million dollars, and he nods slowly. “Okay. So we have a deal?”

He’s already holding your hands, so you can’t exactly shake on it, but you nod with a shrug. “Deal.”

You’ve never seen a smile as sweet as the one he gives you after that. “Good. Get your coat, angel—you’re coming home with me.”

Eyebrows skyrocketing, you follow his movements as he bounds off the bed and scoops up your purse. “So you’re going to kidnap me instead of murdering me?”

He holds out a hand and waits for you to take it. “Are you arguing?”

You let him haul you off the bed and find yourself laughing as his arm circles your waist and he hurries you out of the room. “Not in the slightest.”

Comment a request to be tagged! Han's is next :)

PART 2 INFO

Let me know what you think!!

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[autumn-sweet-fae]

I like the idea that the bridge riot began as a protest march.

Like the plan was to gather the protest in Zaun and then march together across the river to Piltover and do a sit in perhaps. A big show of Zauns solidarity and its refusal to be ignored.

It would explain why Vi , Powder and their parents were there to begin with. Something like that would be an event parents might bring their kids with them to partake in.

It’s nice to think of what would happen if they were allowed to cross the bridge. The people of Zaun gathered in a Piltover square, chanting and singing their demands for rights, recognition, and independence. Refusing to leave until a councilmen comes to speak to them and hear their demands.

I could see Silco drawing out these plans in the Last Drop with Vander. Explaining strategies to hold the line and keep the protesters safely together once they’re in Piltover. He’d recognize the risk of a bottle neck crossing the bridge would be, but insist they will be able to push through with the numbers they will have.

To have so many people, normal everyday people, peacefully protesting right at Piltovers doorstep, there’s no way the enforcers could turn violent right?

But of course the enforcers do. Blockading the bridge, demanding the protests disperse, and then moving in with shields and batons to beat the protesters back.

Escalation after escalation, until the zaunites fight back and the enforcers declare it a riot and open fire.

[maximwtf]

“I would endure endless defeats before burdening you.”

Capitano x Reader

Words: 4200

Google Docs Pages: 7ish

Warnings: 5.1 spoilers but just about Capitano, established relationship but everything has to be horrible so it’s not established but kinda is but just when you think it is, it’s not. Angst/ kinda comfort? Idk you try to comfort an immortal man rotting from the inside and see how it goes. I guess like the tiniest amount of fluff but that’s sad too. Bad communication, emotional hurt. I imagine him with more real rot, maybe with some abyssal like Dain? Idk, but this is written based on that :) Rotten man, save us.

Opening: Does he have people to open up to about all the years he’s spent with his condition and the thoughts of regret he’s accumulated? Would he allow himself that comfort even if he did? Because that has been for you to figure out, bit by bit. 

AN// G/N reader. I don’t think yall understand how happy I was to get this lore drop on Capitano. Like wdym they have a suffering old man in the cast, and you kept him from me for this long?! Anyway, I feel like it was my duty to write something for him due to that. Enjoy.

If you have any fic ideas for him, feel free to request :)

“I would endure endless defeats before burdening you.”

The hallway outside was silent, matching the space behind the door at the very end of it. A faint light on a sturdy wooden table, a couple other lights scattered here and there. But no amount of warm candles nor a bigger fire could truly disperse the coldness in the room. The man inhabiting it, so stupefied by it by now that he barely noticed anymore. And the people who had before, dared not mention it anymore either.

The light outside had disappeared some time ago. The sun never truly rose in mid winter, or at the very least it didn’t seem like it did. Especially on the days when the snowfall was so thick it painted the horizon white. Covering the sun along with its soft blanket. And so it had done on this day as well, and by the look of it grown tired by the end. Yielding, and soon the snowflakes turned so small it looked more like powdered sugar from afar. Only a little too late for the sun to make any sort of appearance anymore, the chance for that long gone. 

Did the sun have regrets at the end of days such as this? Had it not tried hard enough to repel the heavy snowfall on this day? And now that it had failed, would the people who’d longed to see it shine once more at the end of the day be disappointed? Would they be blinded enough to not see that it had tried to save the end of the day with a few rays of its light, only to realise it was far too late for that? And that it would try again just as hard if another chance was given. 

Capitano stared outside through the window of his office. These seemingly eternal thoughts running through his mind yet again. At times hoping his mind would rot enough to be able to forget any sort of regret he may have still been holding on to. But a curse seemed to stay as such, unable to forget and let his mind rest. 

Not when small things around could be used to remind him, having to shut his mind from viewing these aspects around him on such a deep level. In truth having nothing to do with the past and the actions taken and left undone. All the more reason to try and forget any regret. 

His eyes gazed outside at the snowfall. It coming down in a straight line, placid as ever as it settled to its rightful place. To perhaps be blown to a new location the next day with a gush of wind. The weather was so calm it almost appeared warmer outside than in the uncomfortably chilly office of his. The cold that would have sent a shiver or two down his spine in the past.

Capitano’s eyes focused on his reflection against the window. A man he’d constructed his outer appearance to be, something to stay unchanging as everything else was torn from him bit by bit. That was a man with no regrets, someone powerful to look up to. Someone he’d once been fortunate enough to truly be and live as.

Not that he wasn’t that now as well. Enjoying the respect of his peers, troops and alliances. But each show of power reminded him of who he wasn’t anymore. The person he could no longer even become. A rare few amongst the people he met even being able to comprehend the status he’d held all those years ago. 

His head lowered, a careful pair of hands taking a hold of the carefully constructed mask. Removing it with a slow, almost dragging motion. Lowering it along with his hands, eyes having returned to peer at his reflection. The space dim enough to not allow his full appearance to truly show off. But he knew exactly what the blurry and darkened out parts looked like. What the mask so diligently hid behind it. 

What the outer man he’d built was concealing underneath. The commander he’d been and the person he’d turned into. Forced into being. Cursed with something others would spend their lives seeking, not understanding the cost of living beyond their years. How the flesh would deteriorate and rot. How even his soldier’s will and self respect wavered under the power this change had. How his mind had to come to terms with what used to be and what was now. Who he had to be and what he could now do in order to use what he’d been given to make a mark. Even if only to himself, he wanted to be able to to make this time count. He’d be a disgrace to his former homeland if he had given up all that time ago and frozen in place. The only option was to move on. Even if this curse was eating him alive. 

A part of him sighed in relief when the silence deep in the hallway was disturbed, releasing his mind of these thoughts. Focusing on figuring out who was nearing his door. There was no knock, steps that were silent as ever and that paused almost right after as the door behind this person closed once more. The silence, almost like a vicious entity, taking over the space like it was guarding it. And just before that Capitano had come to a conclusion, you. 

“Greetings,” he spoke with a surprisingly formal tone. Quick to adapt from his thoughts to the current situation. Not foolish enough to not have a guess as to what you were doing here at this hour, but hopeful enough a conversation might make you change the course. But the sound of your voice as you replied, ‘evening’, suggested there was a little chance you’d yield. 

There was much he could have done to try harder, yet he surrendered so soon. Who was he to resist your sheer will? The same will he’d tried to direct elsewhere in the past multiple times, yet it always returned to him. A seasoned warrior smart enough to recognize a losing battle when stumbling upon one, he would have known. 

Your eyes followed keenly as Capitano placed the mask from his hands onto the table. The man’s eyes looked piercing in the faint light of the room, no doubt even frightening to the less knowing. You couldn’t even see his face, only the broad frame of his back. Only the blue shine from the glistened against the reflection from the window, as if peering back at you. The sight overall something not seen every day, something most never saw.

There was no reason for your eyes to be the ones to be allowed to see, to watch and analyse. Or so you believed, if there was a reason neither of you dared to word it. As if doing so would unleash some sort of a spell neither of you wanted to see the aftermath of. There was only so much change a person could bare to their person, so whatever it was that Capitano refused to word, was good as it was. 

Of course, you hadn’t come here for simply the joy of visiting. That never seemed to have formed into a habit, but instead seeking him out when word of him rose from the troops. Anything alluding to his person, not the more usual reputation talk. If that ever changed was when it felt almost mandatory to see him. A difference in the behaviour of a person such as Capitano was sure to never go unnoticed. 

“How was your day?” You broke the silence, seemingly ignoring the reflection from the window. He wasn’t a man to hide himself from you, yet some part of you liked to imagine that respect made you not bring his condition up. Not so soon. 

Waiting for his response after a deep ‘hmp…’ felt like an eternity. Allowing you a chance to slip closer to his desk, eyes skipping mindlessly on the items he’d left there. His words had a deeper growl in them when he spoke so silently, “nothing out of the ordinary.” Which likely was true. Your eyes had scanned the papers on the table, a very few left there to linger. Nothing important ever left for the prying eyes to catch. Yet it proved his words correct, no straight lies ever told. He had no reason to lie to you, to hide anything. But the both of you knew the question had been intended for a deeper analysis of his day instead of an overall view. He hid things. Not out of malice, you knew better than to think such things. 

“That’s good,” you answered soon after. Straightening out a few of the papers, stacking them so the corners met each other in a straight line. The moment was so heavy and you’d only now started to realise as much. There was never much you could do if the murmurs around the troops turned out to be true. He felt so far away even when he was so close, merely on the other side of the desk.

You knew him, better than most, yet he’d seen more than any mortal could likely wrap their head around. So who were you to tell him that it would simply ‘be okay’ or that you were ‘there for him’ when you started to notice his gaze wander. He was not simply sad, he appeared melancholic. But at times even that seemed to be rooted so deep down within him that you couldn’t find a word to describe the emotion radiating from him. And he was unable to give you a word for it. Leaving the now physical distance between the two of you to form into a deeper pit of confusing aches. 

But there was also the root of the problem. This was by no means the first attempt of coming to him, seeking him out and attempting to figure out why his mind wandered. Where it was trying to get for it to be something he couldn’t word. What was the reason for the superficial answers, as if speaking to any one of his soldiers. Why let someone so close, but keep them at the threshold when they were willing to come in?

Though, thoughts like these felt ironic. Knowing you played along with this act of his, not only to entertain him but because it felt easy. How easy it was to allow him to care and dutifully take care of his tasks as he always had, and when it came time to actually connect with him to just let it slide each time. His actions never held any malice nor betrayal, there was no man more loyal to their own morals and comrades than him. So who were you to simply blame him for not letting you closer, when it was you who indulged in his way of communicating. 

“The men seemed to have lived a different day.” You commented after, hoping Capitano would pick up on what you meant. He was not foolish enough to be fully unaware of what his own men were doing and talking about when his back was turned. 

And you’d been correct, the comment made the man look down at you over his shoulder. The piercing eyes of his holding so much in them, it was hard to put to words, but you could tell he knew what you meant. And so you indulged in this way of communicating once more.

Seeing as he had nothing else to ‘say’, you continued. “Thankfully the snowfall gave in on the way here. It was an honest nuisance today…” Continuing to speak of the things you always did, the things you found slipping from your lips each time instead of the actual questions and words you wanted to say. But what use would that be when it felt as if there was no one who truly received those words. 

“Here’s to hope tomorrow will be better on that front,” you continued on alone but knowing full well he was listening, even if he knew exactly the topics you’d choose. The mantras you repeated. His attention on you while you slowly circled around the desk to his side, hand sliding against the smooth surface of the desk. The act as if a final cry to ask for him to reciprocate. 

The fabric of Capitano’s clothes rustled, the movement appearing heavier than they likely truly were. He gave you space near him, allowing you to join him near the window he’d been so keen on. “Hm, may it be so then.” He replied, leaving the end of his response hanging. As if there was more to be added, but left out due to the everlasting heaviness of the room and the air inside it. But you didn’t need more. Past a certain point the conversations you held as a coverup to attempt to communicate started being more tiring than standing in silence to try and understand him better. 

Your eyes gazed at the window, his reflection. Turning to peer at his face soon after. The rot, having consumed so much of the man he used to be, carved him into someone else. You had not seen how he’d looked all those years ago, but he’d insisted that even his comrades from then wouldn’t have been able to recognize him today. 

So how could you ever understand him truly? You weren’t sure what sort of explanation you were waiting to gain from him to make you understand, when there likely was none. He’d seemingly accepted his fate a long time ago, an eternal life ahead of him each morning he woke. Up until the day his body would falter at last. 

But in your eyes that was not a life worth leading on, not with the regrets you knew he held. How could a man rotting from the inside still yearn to fix something that hadn’t even been within his power to save in the first place?

You’d initially not even realised that was likely what he was thinking when his mind started to wander. Not when you’d first seen his face, seen the state he lived in each day. You’d initially feared he held some form of heaviness within him for the way he looked. For a human, losing everything you had and who you were would have been a fate worse than death. Losing the strength you held and the person you had been. Yet he held himself the same each day, seemingly no shame in his condition, if only a flickering light of anguish against the fate he’d been dealt. 

On top of that, he had seemingly never let himself fall to ruin. The person he’d been might have changed into something unrecognisable that could easily disturb the too comfortable. But this was a man of honour, a dignified soldier. For the sake of others, you’d concluded, he diligently kept himself clean. Kept the rot that bothered him not, from causing disturbances to the rest. 

So it was clear, by no means had he given up. He was in terms with who he was now, yet at times like these it seemed like his mind hadn’t. When you so clearly tried conversing, attempting to get him to speak his mind, he refused. Treating you gently, leading your conversation on for long enough to tire you and finally make you stop worrying for him. 

You gave the mask on the table a look, an attempt to lean back towards the topic. Neither of you had forgotten nor had it gone unnoticed by him either. Not now or earlier. 

Capitano followed your movements, eyes landing on the all too familiar mask. Not having to even gaze upon it to know what was being asked of him. And he wished, internally held up hopes that the rot was messing with his mind, feeding him thoughts that weren’t true. That you hadn’t come back to him out of sheer worry yet again.

He was ready to be moulded by you into any shape, ready to yield in front of you if that’s what you asked of him. He cared about what you thought, but in some sense wanted to keep you from worrying. The burdens he held within were self inflicted, he knew that much. A part of him knew the regrets he had were foolish, he couldn’t have done anything more than he had. So when he wasn’t driven mad by those thoughts, he had time to try and form a bond with you. A bond which he wished to not be based on a worry of him. 

He knew you were curious, that was only natural. That was why he’d been open about who he was now, what he could offer you anymore. But what would have been the point of going further into his thoughts, those were his burdens to bear. A fault in himself which he’d created. 

“Your cheek appears irritated?” You said silently, gazing at his face with keen eyes. Pausing for a moment as he turned to face you. “I’m sorry if that-” Backing away from what you’d said a little, cringing if it had come across mockingly. Capitano raised his hand slightly, pausing your rambling. “I know. No need to apologise, you’re fine,” he said after and watched as your expression softened back to normal. 

But you’d been honest, the irritation was no mere frostbite that’d got him. You’d seen it before when he hadn’t had the time to upkeep the condition. A neglect he didn’t participate willingly, but something his work on some occasions forced him to pick up. And which you’d find he let you take care of on those very certain occasions. The least you could do to ease your own worry and the yearning to communicate with him about himself. 

Your hand moved to brush some of his hair from his shoulder to a better position. Running your fingers through it gently so as to not tug him on accident. And he didn’t move, not even if you had. Watching you with the same fond expression he always seemed to. Following keenly when you turned your back to him, abandoning his hair and the caresses he’d grown fond of by that point. Rummaging through the upper drawer of his desk. 

The light in the room was rather dim, not allowing you to see what you were seeking for at first. But your hand knew the shape of the small jar containing a lotion you were familiar with. It was no match for something as detrimental as his condition, but seemingly if this world carried anything that did anything to combat it, it was worth it. 

You fiddled with the jar for a moment, turning it in your hands before daring to look back up at his towering form. He didn’t move an inch, even without the mask he appeared honourable as ever. To you, maybe even more so now. 

An old ache radiating from unsaid words and praises stung your chest at moments like these. An uncountable amount of exalted thoughts of him that you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him, to make him understand that you wanted to share his burdens. None of them would make you view him any differently. No matter how many regrets, scars or rotten flesh would face you, he’d still be the same honourable and respected man in your eyes. 

Your eyes gave him an asking look, almost automatic. The request yet again something you couldn’t put into words, and that would leave an awful ache into your chest for not saying. But you adored how he still always understood, hesitated like he’d always done and still ended up accepting. It was you, after all. 

Capitano sat down on the chair behind him. The old wooden thing let out a small noise under the added weight, the room not falling fully silent after. He watched as you undid the lid of the jar, placed it on the table and carefully leaned closer. Taking some of the product onto your finger and with the same tenderness spreading it on the irritated parts. Yet, even from so close up it felt as if some sort of unremovable distance stayed. Always. 

Capitano closed his eyes for a moment, a low breath escaping him as his form allowed his shoulders to ease ever so slightly. Your touch was always gentle and careful, no matter how far he kept you from his burdens and regrets. So who was he to completely refuse your care? He never wished to turn you down or push you away, but he’d also had the time to rot for 500 years. Building something like this was exceptionally hard, and he’d only now come to figure out what that meant truly. 

You made sure the salve was nicely spread before pulling back, watching as his eyes opened after. Feeling how they followed you when returning back to the lid to put it back on. With movements clearly familiar to the situation, you placed the jar back into its rightful place, closing the drawer with a faint thud. 

“Thank you,” his low voice called out with the familiar growl at the end of his words. Capitano leaned onto his knees, pushing himself up from the chair to return back to the window. His silhouette appeared more frail than when he had the thick cloak on, something that somehow still surprised you every now and then. He was by no means a small man to begin with, yet the cloak changed him so much. Making you wonder if that was why he preferred wearing it so. 

You watched him walk up to the window, this time clearly gazing out rather than at his reflection. Following the now faint snowfall outside in silence. Following along from the side, attention moving back to his reflection at what almost felt like force. Mind so occupied by him it felt impossible to focus on the weather outside. 

You felt almost on edge with how much you wanted to tell him, let him know of what you thought about him to get him to tell you more. It felt almost as if something in your chest stung each time a good moment like this was spent in silence. 

Which was why you almost jumped when he began to speak, not turning around to do so, but nevertheless. “I understand you have your fair share of curiosities about this. But allow me to be selfish, and have you without burdens. And if that by itself is a burden too heavy to carry, you’re not obligated to stay. Know, you are respected even then.” Capitano’s familiar voice spoke, this time for longer than you’d heard during this entire time. Leaving you slightly shaken for a moment, though for an odd reason the air didn’t feel heavy. As if air itself had paused to allow you this conversation. 

And it stayed that way as you walked behind him, hesitating for a moment before placing your forehead against his broad back. Arms sneaking gently around his waist, lose in their hold as your eyes closed. You took a deep breath, mind ticking to form a response. Feeling Capitano tense for a mere moment in the hold before his muscles eased once more. 

Normally, no matter how many walls of protection you shattered from around him, he didn’t seem to react to anything. No matter if he was wearing the helmet or not. A part of you wondering if the corrosion was a sort of a mask itself. 

“I’m not going anywhere. But I don’t want the way I see you to be written on your epitaph. Let me in, make this easier.” The words coming out in a whisper loud enough for him to hear, but not disturb the usual silence. 

A low chuckle escaped Capitano, a part of him amused by the plea. But nevertheless taking it seriously, knowing you’d meant it. “You’re more hopeful than I am,” he replied with a hum. Placing his hands over yours, against himself. Pressing them together lightly, as if hoping that was an answer enough. Aware that it wasn’t, but using it as a way to ask for more time. 

He feared he’d overstep a boundary of sorts, if he told you of his thoughts on a deeper level. He didn’t wish to put them on your shoulders, protecting you from himself in a way. If that was one of the only things he could do for you, not expecting anything from you in return, ever. 

The squeeze from his hands made you lean against him more heavily, a gentle sigh escaping. Not bothering to feel frustrated, not at him. The curse wasn’t his fault, what’d happened to him wasn't his fault and he was in no way obligated to ever let someone so close as he’d allowed you. So even the smallest of actions kept you close to being carefree, in the sense that you didn’t fear that there was no way to help him. There was, and you’d allow him to show that path to you on his own terms.