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silverzoomies · 4 months

Note

Imagine quickie rails u so good u squirt but you’re low key embarrassed bc that’s never happened before but he talks you through it so sweetly and so hornily bc he obviously finds it the hottest thing in the world and he’s kinda obsessed with the fact that you just did that bc of him

…..yeah I need to know what he’s like talking you through it …….

anon, i'm so sorry. i dunno if this is what you were expecting. but i went a little off the rails. i haven't actually sat down and written anything in fifty gajillion years. apologies in advance if i'm super duper rusty. you're a doll, by the way. thanks for the inspiration !! this ask had me red in the face all over again !! 🤍 here's a short drabble for ya 🤍🤍🤍

In the boring emptiness of some secret, government research facility, soft squeals call out with ecstasy.

Hold that thought.

Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?

🤍

Since the OG X-Men were busy with more important endeavors (another fancy gala. Huge snore fest), Xavier took it upon himself to recruit some newbie trainees. He sent three of them to a top secret facility. Super below radar. The building sat far away from the bustle of society, hidden at an off-the-record base.

It’s around one AM when Quicksilver himself finally crashes your boring, patrol party. He zips through the entire building, scouting the area; before checking in on the trainees. After sending the other two off on their twenty minute breaks, he soon finds you.

A newbie he’s far more acquainted with. In more ways than one.

But not as many as he’d like.

You look bored as hell sitting there by yourself, swirling in a swivel chair. A series of CCTV screens flicker before you. But you barely pay them any attention. Keeping your head down, clipboard on your lap; you doodle all over a security protocol sheet. Your legs kick in a childlike way.

Your first, official mission is the most lame of X-Men operations. But even despite that, you appear to be in high spirits. Peter’s almost jealous. The first time he joined up with the team, all he got out of it was a lousy, broken leg.

Anyway, you’re cute and all. But…don’t you have a job to do, you slacker?

Peter leans against the doorway, his hands nestled in the pockets of his silver, bomber jacket. Beady eyes watch you through the lenses of his goggles. His earphones hang around his neck. A quiet jam resonates from them. But you're so mesmerized by your doodling, you don't even notice.

In a flash, Peter makes his presence known. Big hands grab your shoulders hard. He leans in to whisper sternly in your ear. His voice vibrates, robust and quaking in an attempt to spook you.

“GOTCHA! Annnnnnnd, yer dead, kid! Mwahahaha!”

You swivel around in an instant. Hopping from your seat, you raise your hands in defense. Jeez! Peter's caught off guard by how quickly you react. Blinding beams of golden light burst from your palms. The same glow floods your eyes. You hurl scorching hot rays in Peter's direction.

Well…shit.

Thanks to Xavier's mad training skills, Peter's a little faster than light nowadays. And he's ultra lucky for it. Had you raised your hands and gone pew pew pew so many years ago - he probably would've charred to a crisp right then and there.

“Damn! You got some killer aim! That was a close call.” He whistles. Peter gawks at the holes seared into the wall, straight through some ruined blueprints. A smirk plays on his lips. He gestures at the damage with a thumb, “Eh, they probably got backups ‘a those lyin’ around, right?”

Your only response is an affectionate eye roll. But Peter notes the curl at the corner of your mouth as you try not to smile.

Screw it. You're pretty fun. Why doesn't he hang with you for a bit? He's probably got some time to kill. At least before Chuck realizes the speedster isn't dressed to the nines, bored out of his mind at the gala.

The two of you goof off for a few minutes. As you doodle, Peter looms over your seat. Watching the CCTV screens with a ready eye, he teases you about your lack of focus on the job. You're just such a supreme newbie, he can't help it.

To which you respond with a counterpoint - isn't he the reigning champion of getting sidetracked?

Touché, little newbie. Touché.

Boredom quickly makes him antsy. And being antsy has Peter's brain reaching for any stimulation he can find. Pacing the room, Peter casts subtle glances at your figure in tactical clothing. Hot damn. Black really does highlight your most bodacious assets.

Amidst casual conversation, Peter shamelessly flirts with you. And when you flirt back, he isn’t all that fazed. The two of you are always making saucy passes at one another. Horny topics of discussion happen more often than they should. You once poured your heart out for twenty minutes, complaining that you couldn’t squirt when you got off. Part of him took this confession as a challenge.

Peter never forgot how sexually charged the energy of that night was.

Or…maybe it wasn’t? Maybe you just wanted to vent to someone who would listen. Yeah. He’s probably uber delusional. That ‘energy’ might’ve come from the sunbeams radiating in your genes.

Sure. Nothing sexual.

But if that’s the case, why else are you giving him bedroom eyes - if not ‘cuz you really wanna bone?

Expelling a bland sigh, Peter leans back against the console where the CCTV screens are. He bounces a random ball he swiped from a researcher’s desk. Flirtatious teasing continues back and forth, remaining casual.

Until Peter makes a needlessly suggestive comment.

“I’m just sayin’. Picture this, ‘kay? You ‘n me, goin’ at it like there’s no tomorrow. Pretty sure I’d get you off in under, say, three minutes er less. That’s not a promise, it’s a fact.”

Throwing you a sly look, Peter smirks payfully. He bounces the ball again.

“Pshh. Not fast enough.” You mumble.

Peter’s dark gaze leers at you from under his brows.

Oh. Oh no, you didn't just...

His eyes fire across each CCTV screen, double checking for any unwanted visitors. All clear, it’s go time. Moving swiftly, he props you up on a nearby desk. At record speed - before you can begin to comprehend his impossibly fast actions - he crams six inches of girthy, speedster cock inside you. All without any warning.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have been so impulsive. But in the microsecond it took him to move your body and pull your pants off, at the very least; he had the courtesy to prep you with his fingers. And now, you’re coming undone as he jackhammers your cunt. Peter rolls into you in a blur of silver motion. Your walls clench perfectly over his cock.

You protest through shallow moans, “W-Wait! Oh my g-...too fast, Peter! Too fast!”

The tips of his fingers circle your clit, the vibrations shattering your moans. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you bring him closer. Peter shivers as your pussy squeezes him so tight. It’s an outrageously awesome sensation that drives him to drill his dick deeper. Tilting forward, he groans, his lips grazing yours.

“Y’think I can make you squirt like this?” He chuckles, his throat bobbing as he swallows down a moan.

You shake your head wildly, whimpering the softest, “Noooooo! I told you already, I cannnnn’t!”

“Huh? What’s that, cutie? Aw. Too bad. ‘Cuz I’m not gunna slow down ‘til you do.” Peter teases, looking over his shoulder at the CCTV screens. He smirks crookedly, “Better be quick. Yer teammates’re gunna be back soon.”

You tip your head back as you whine again. Peter ruts into you so inexplicably fast, his pace renders your lungs useless. His fingers keep torturing your clit, guiding your pearl in a whirring dance of speedy buzzes. You shudder, clawing into his arms as your hips move on instinct.

Speeding the rhythm of his thrusts, Peter furrows his brows. His cock pulses when he watches your tits bounce in your shirt. He bites his lip to stifle a whimper. Below him, you try to call his name. But his powerful movements rupture your pretty voice. “Hell yeah, gorgeous. That’s it. Don’t hold back, ‘kay? Just let it happen. Gunna cum, pretty girl? C’mon, ya gotta cum for me. You can do it. C’mon.” He begs, his tone a little closer to a whine.

Not even two minutes into sexing you up, he has you gushing a spritz of luscious heat. Score. He'll be thinking about this sexy success for weeks. The corners of your eyes leak hot tears, as a rapturous orgasm overtakes you. The entire, lower half of your body tightens, muscles clenching. Your pussy pops with a juicy burst. Leaking down your thighs and ass, your slick coats his twitchy cock.

He kisses you, his breath burning hot, “Doin’ so good, princess. So good for me. Was that fast enough for you? Hmm? Oh, fuck. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-”

Pulling his soaked length free, he showers your tummy in virile, white jets. Leaning over you, Peter laughs again, exhaling a long sigh of elation. His lips capture yours, drinking in your kisses for a few beats. He feels his heart twist with satisfaction. All at the awesome notion that he drove you to such an intimate, breaking point.

“How’s that for a quickie?” He teases with a cheeky grin, winking down at you.

Your blinky eyes gaze over his shoulder, looking somewhat dazed. Beneath him, you stir in place. You’re trying to say something. But you’re so braindead from the totally slammin’ orgasm he gave you, the words won’t happen.

But then, Peter notices the way your glazed hues narrow. That vibrant, golden glow from earlier returns. Sitting up on an elbow, you raise a hand to point at the CCTV screens behind him. Oh, you probably saw someone on cam. Peter’s dark gaze widens. A sudden beam of light pulsates at the tip of your finger.

“NO, NO, NO, NO-” He starts.

Too late. The golden flash fires like a speeding bullet from your fingertip, colliding into the screens. A powerful burst shatters the entire CCTV setup on impact. Electric static buzzes amongst broken glass and fried wires. Peter sighs, looking over his shoulder, then back down at your cute face.

“Babe, seriously? Now’s not the time to be tryin’ interior decorating!” He rolls his eyes, playing ignorant to your shared romp in the research lab, “Hold that thought...aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”

#listen...i know him rushing things like this might be a little ooc but bear with me ok #sorry i dont remember how to write at all skjghskdjgddsg #txt #peter maximoff #peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader

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ivy-loves-chocolate · 6 months

Text

Texting them “I need you right now”

Note: hi everyone! So sorry for not posting in months, life wasn't easy on me. I managed to sort things out (hopefully they will stay organised this time, or else I'm starting a new life in Spain), and I plan to write more. I'm also taking commissions again (the financial situation it's not good, so every commission would help me a lot!). Anyway, I haven't written anything since January, so please be kind with me.

He won't see your text right away because he's a busy man. After he has some free time, he checks his phone and immediately opens the chat with you, ignoring everyone else.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I just don't feel okay. Can you come over?"

The text is demanding, and he knows something is wrong with you, so he tries to finish faster whatever he had planned for that day, which he fails because he is constantly thinking about you. So, he dropped everything and came to you.

Wesker is a man of his word, so he arrives on time.

"Have you been crying, my love?" he asked as he saw that your eyes were all red and your face was swollen.

"Yeah...petty reason."

"If it was petty, you wouldn't have called me."

You wasted no time and threw yourself in his arms, sinking into his embrace and burring your face into his chest.

Being busy all the time, you barely see him. Maybe once a month nowadays, and this long wait only contributed to your sadness. You yearned to talk with someone like him because he made you feel safe. You knew he was listening, and you knew he didn't judge. Also, he would comfort you with small kisses and gentle touches and would praise you for being strong.

He moved you to your sofa, made your favourite tea, and listened carefully as you talked about your worries and recent unfortunate events.

During that time, he received a lot of calls and texts, but he turned his phone on silent because his main priority was you.

He hugged you tight, telling you that he'd always be there for you, no matter what. One hand would gently massage your hair, and the other would massage your back. It hurt him so damn much to see you like this and hear you sob in his arms. He wanted to hurt everyone who caused you to end up like this, and he was very vocal about his intentions.

"You can't protect me from the world, Albert. All you can do is be here for me when I need it."

He didn't like your response or agree with your opinion, but for now, he kept you tight to his chest.

He usually stays until you feel better, and then he leaves to do his work. He will be worried all day because you're still on his mind, so he checks on you frequently, promising to take you on a small trip to calm your mind.

The government agent is always busy. He's either stuck in his office completing paperwork, training new recruits, or on a mission on the other side of the globe.

He wasn't away on the field, so when he saw your text, he immediately responded. Even if he was busy doing desk duty or fighting, he would try to respond asap (he will hide in a corner if he had to, if that means he'll get five minutes of peace to text you back because he knows how worried you can get).

"What's wrong, doll?"

"I don't feel well. Can you come over?"

A pretty demanding text means an urgent need, so he left early, abandoning everything he had scheduled for today. That annoyed some of his superiors, but he got away without much trouble.

Leon tried his best to arrive on time. He was being pressured by time and worry; he drove like a maniac to your place on his motorcycle, but he stopped to buy your favorite sweets.

"I bought you something good," he said, smiling in the doorframe and opening the bag to show the inside. However, his smile dropped.

"Have you been crying?" he asked, quickly cupping your face and caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. Your face was flushed and very warm to the touch, and your eyes were swollen and teary.

"Yeah...petty reason."

"You don't cry like that for a petty reason," he said as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You quickly hugged him and burried your nose at the crook of his neck. He hugged you back tight, a trail of kisses caressing your skin, starting from your neck to your face.

He guided you to the bed, where he listened to you and held you tight. His fingers kept brushing over your face, and his lips would occasionally press tiny, affectionate kisses over your skin. His body was glued to yours, and the warmth from such an intimate embrace made you feel safe. You felt safe not only to express your emotions, but you also felt sheltered from the rest of the world.

"You are not alone," he whispered as his hand caressed your back in a gentle manner. "I told you, no matter how hard it gets, we'll find a way to get through it together."

He usually stays until he makes sure you feel better. After that, he texts you the whole day, asking how you feel because he can't ease his own anxiety. He promised to take you on a vacation.

He noticed your text right away, but he's stuck with his research and can't reply instantly. He will text you back as soon as he can.

"What's wrong, mi bella princesa?"

"I just don't feel okay. Can you come over?"

With much difficulty and a lot of excuses, he manages to leave his laboratory and come to your place.

Upon seeing your red and watery eyes, he quickly came inside and cupped your face.

"Have you been crying?" he asked, worried, his fingers brushing over your warm, red cheeks.

"yeah...petty reasons." You tried your best to smile.

"Querida, you don't cry like that because of petty reasons." He gently kissed your forehead.

He pulled closer to him, and you quickly hugged him, buring your face into his chest. Luis kept kissing you and whispering kind words to help you feel better.

"Just talk to me, ok? There isn't anything in this world that we can't get through."

Despite the firm grip around your body, he managed to caress you with tenderness. His strokes were as delicate as a feather, and every soft kiss felt warm and loving.

He was so kind and gentle, and his attitude only made you more vulnerable, so you started crying again.

"Please, my love, don't cry. It breaks my heart to see you like this." He whispered.

He guided you to the bed and cuddled with you. His arms were wrapped around your body, and his nose was buried in your hair.

"Is there anything I can do to make it all go away?" He said, hand stroking your back.

"No, just hold me like this."

It breaks his heart to see you like that, so he kept thinking about making you feel better.

"How about you and I go for a walk?" He said this as his fingers ran through your smooth hair. "Or we can stay here and cuddle; watch that movie you like. I can make something to eat, and we can relax."

"It sounds good," you said, your smile making a shy return. "I'm sorry if I freaked you out."

"it's fine." He pressed a lingering kiss on your cheek. "You know I'm always here for you."

"I know, and I appreciate that." You caressed his face, your fingers exploring every inch, going through his fluffly hair over his beard and over his lips. You two were looking at each other with the same enamoured gaze as in the beginning.

"We can spend some time tomorrow if you want," he added, being enchanted by the shared intimate moment, feeling drawn in by your presence, and wanting to spend more time with you.

"What about work?" you asked.

"Don't worry, as much as I hate it, I will find the lab in the same place I left it today."

Your light chuckle made him feel a little better. Whenever you are sad, he feels his heart shatter into tiny pieces. You mean the world to him, and he'd do anything to protect you.

He was training the new recruits when his phone buzzed in his pocket. After a quick glance, he gave the men a five-minute break so he could respond to you. Jack blames himself for not giving you proper attention since he is always on the field, so when he can, he drops everything and focuses on you entirely.

"What's wrong, beautiful?"

"I don't feel well. Can you come over?"

His subordinates were thrilled to find out that they had the rest of the day off.

He is a punctual man, so he arrives on time and not a minute late, holding a bag with your favourite snacks.

He tried to hide his worry behind a comforting smile. He quickly noticed your puffy face and teary eyes.

"Have you been crying?" he asked in a low tone, coming closer to you. He cups your face and brings you closer to him, pressing small, gentle kisses all over your face. His tenderness was endearing, so much so that warm tears began to drip down your cheeks again.

"It's just...petty reasons." You said it with a trembling voice.

"Bullshit."

He pulled you closer to his chest and held you tight. His hands were stroking your back, his head pressed to yours. His much larger frame swallowed you whole, seeming as if you had disappeared completely.

You felt safe in his arms. It was so warm and comforting, and not only his embrace made you feel this way, but also his reassuring words that he'd whisper constantly.

He carried you to the bed, and as he was sitting close to you, he brushed his fingers over your check and listened closely to what you had to say. It broke his heart to see you like this, and he couldn’t stop asking himself if, if he were there more often for you, you would still end up like this. This type of question tormented him, and you could feel that.

“I’m sorry, maybe it’s a lot too dump on you.” You said this as you caressed his face, your fingers trailing over his scars.

“No, not at all, love.” He took your hand and placed a lingering kiss in your palm. “I just wish I was there for you more often.”

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. The important thing is that you’re here now, and that means a lot to me."

You felt his lips kissing you softly once your head was pressed against his chest.

He still feels guilty, but it doesn't press over his shoulder as hard anymore. He promised to spend more time with you.

#resident evil #albert wesker #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x you #resident evil 4 remake #luis serra #jack krauser #krauser x reader #wesker x reader #luis serra x reader

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writeyouin · 3 months

Note

I dont know if this went through but can I get a valentines day request for tfa sentinel prime falling in love with a g/n human reader?

Sentinel Prime (TFA) X Reader – Making Alliances

Description: After the war between Earth and Cybertron ended, you were recruited to work alongside Sentinel Prime. Yet, he tries to make your job hard, determined to keep on hating humans. Yet, given time, he finds it almost impossible to dislike you, no matter how hard he tries.

A/N – I had such a basic bitch plan for this and instead it turned into one of my longer fics.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

“Guys, really, it’s fine. I’m fine,” You tried to assure the Autobots.

Optimus, Bulkhead and Ratchet looked at you doubtfully. Bumblebee looked more annoyed.

“Fine? How can you be fine with this? This reeks!” He exclaimed, waving his arms around.

You stifled a laugh at his over-dramatics. “Okay, I’ll admit, I never saw myself working with Sentinel, but… It’s not a terrible idea.”

Although you had your doubts, you believed what you said. Now that the war was over, and Megatron had been defeated, Cybertron had officially launched the Earth Alliance Program. Since the Autobots had been posted on Earth during the war, there was no point denying Alien existence, even though many Cybertronians didn’t think much of humans. Having been stationed on Cybertron for a week while you acclimatised, you had heard the hushed comments about how you weren’t advanced enough to be there, and how weak and fragile your frame was.

When the Autobots had come to your planet, they had faced their share of xenophobia, some of which continued to this day. Now that you were on their planet, you were beginning to get the same treatment.

In an attempt to bring your races closer together, Ultra Magnus had decided it would be best for you to be placed with a high-ranking officer, and as such he had made you Sentinel Prime’s assistant. Although he could have just as easily put you to work with Jazz, or left you with Optimus’ team, you understood his reasoning. If Sentinel could get over his prejudices, then anyone could. Besides, you still had one week left before you were to begin your work. In that time, you were expected to report any struggles that you had living on Cybertron.

In your first week, you had reported that the shower in your specially-made apartment was too hot, the cooking facilities were inadequate, and that you needed your own mode of transport so nobody else had to help you get around.

All the issues were addressed relatively quickly and now you had a motor-scooter which ran on autopilot. The vehicle did have a function for you to drive it yourself, but it had been dictated that you could not use that unless it was an emergency, otherwise you would be in breach of the first Cybertronian law written with humans in mind; it seemed that the governing body didn’t trust you to drive, though their fear and prejudice didn’t bother you too much.

“Are you even listening to me?!” Bumblebee waved his arms erratically.

While you had been lost in thought about your new position, he had been ranting about what a scrap heap Sentinel was.

You held up your hands placatingly, feeling a tiny pang of sadness that Prowl wasn’t there. It used to be him that ended Bumblebee’s tirades but… Well, everyone knew that war had its casualties; you just wished that it didn’t have to be someone you knew.

“Yes, I’m, listening. But seriously Bumblebee, you don’t have to worry about me. It’s just a job.”

‘A job I feel massively underqualified for,’ You added in your head, thinking how you had only been chosen because you met the Autobots by chance and they trusted you as their second human liaison.

Sari would also start her life on Cybertron, but seeing how she was techno-organic and only a teenager, she was going to school to learn about her Cybertronian heritage and culture.

Jazz and Bulkhead were going to stay on Earth, and Optimus was going to travel between both planets in an attempt to cement the worlds’ budding relationship. So, for a while, you would be alone, at least in a working capacity. Granted, Ratchet and Bumblebee would be nearby, but this was something you would have to do on your own.

“Alright,” Bumblebee grumbled. “But if he’s a glitch-head, get me and I’ll kick the scrap outta him!”

“You and what army?” Ratchet commented drily.

You chuckled and thanked Bumblebee, touching his arm to soothe him. A blush dusted his cheeks.

“Uh games night?” He said hurriedly, attempting to hide his feelings before racing off to where Sari was waiting for you all.

You ignored his flush red, fully aware of how he felt about you. You knew that was a conversation that the two of you would have to have one day, but you waited for the day he might bring it up. Besides, since this was the last night everyone would be together for a while, you didn’t want anything to jeopardise the fun, especially when faced with something as tough as unrequited love.

“I’m here,” You said breathlessly, shooting through the automatic door just in time for work.

Sentinel glared at you. He had been counting on you being late so that he could complain about you to anyone who would listen afterwards.

“So… What would you like me to do, Sentinel Prime, Sir?” You bowed formally. There was no need to do so, but you hoped that by addressing him with such respect, he might warm to you somewhat. Having met him once or twice before, you knew how arrogant he could be and had decided for an easy life it might be better to stroke his ego somewhat.

Your gambit paid off as Sentinel forgot whatever sharp insult he was about to say. Instead, he blustered, puffed out his chest and managed to order you to stay out of his way while he did his job.

“Sorry Sir, but Ultra Magnus ordered me to help you in whatever way I can.”

“I know that! It doesn’t matter. I don’t need your help. Just stay out of my way and at the end of all this, we can tell Ultra Magnus to have you reassigned.”

“No, sir,” You said adamantly, standing your ground.

“What?” Sentinel spat, his lip curling.

“I’m here to work with you. I won’t be shunted to the side just ‘cos I’m human. Our planets worked together to capture Megatron, now we have to work together to show that our races can do the same.”

Sentinel stared menacingly at you. He didn’t want to be anywhere near you. You were small, organic, filthy. With that in mind, he wished you would just leave. He didn’t want any of your gross germs on him. Yet, it seemed that you were also stubborn in your mission.

“Fine,” He said after a minute, though it was clear he wanted to tell you where to go. “Just don’t do any of that gross human stuff. If you sneeze-” He didn’t finish his sentence, shuddering at the thought.

You gave him a thumbs up, “No sneezing, got it.”

With that, Sentinel finally gave you some work to do, and you began what was sure to be a rocky relationship.

Working with Sentinel was difficult.

Sometimes, he would barely give you any work at all, insisting you use your ‘initiative’ to find tasks that would aid him. On other days, he would pile your workload impossibly high, and if you were struggling to understand the reports that he had ordered you to complete, that was your fault and he wouldn’t help you.

Either way, at the end of the shift, he would get to kick back at the bar and complain that you either didn’t understand the job or couldn’t keep up with the tasks provided to a bunch of equally closed-minded mechs who wanted to see you fail.

Still, you didn’t complain, doing your best to learn all you needed to succeed. To Sentinel it was infuriating, but you knew that if you complained, it would validate everything he thought about you, no matter how unfair it was.

Fortunately, you learned how to better work around him by talking to him with the utmost respect, complimenting him, and generally getting him talking about himself. On days when he indulged you with stories of his glory days, he was a little kinder, occasionally throwing you a bone and helping you out a bit with some of your workload, or sometimes instructing you on things you had been struggling with.

Still, your working relationship wasn’t great and wouldn’t be viable unless something changed.

Such a day finally came when Sentinel had the terrible idea that you should be faster, and very suddenly presented you with his patented human speed shoes… They were rollerblades.

“I can’t use these,” You sighed when he threw them at you, too afraid to hand them to you in case you touched him.

“You can and you will,” Sentinel harrumphed.

“Sentinel, I can’t rollerblade, at least not with all the things I have to carry about, and-”

“Is this you refusing to work, human?”

You rolled your eyes. Not only was he seeking an excuse to stop working with you, but he was also playing his trump card by calling you human instead of using your name; he did that whenever he wanted to instil a feeling of power imbalance upon you.

“Fine,” You sighed, giving in. “I’ll wear the damn rollerblades.”

“Speed-shoes,” Sentinel corrected.

“Speed-shoes,” You conceded, finding him to be extra impossible.

As you had told Sentinel, using the rollerblades for work was impossible, especially when you were carrying a stack of oversized datapads that you couldn’t see over, since Sentinel was also being unreasonable about your workload.

It started as a stumble on one of the higher walkways that had been provided like scaffolding around the office for you to work with. Yet, instead of falling, you dropped the datapads, tripped backwards, and screamed as you fell over the handrail.

While Sentinel was mostly paper-pushing since the war was over, he was still trained for battle. He hurriedly spun around at the sound of your scream and ran to catch you. While he was timely in his rescue, he wasn’t gentle and he blanched at the sound of bone snapping.

He expected you to cry out again, but you were worryingly quiet upon the realisation that your leg had broken.

“(Y/N)!” Sentinel yelled your name. His processor skipped over the necessary sentences as he scrambled to think of what to say next. He was stuck between asking if you were okay, even though you clearly weren’t, ordering you not to tell anyone about the speed shoes that had caused the accident, and demanding you to tell him how to fix you.

“I- I-” Tears streamed from your eyes.

Sentinel was taken aback by how pale you were and how unusual it felt to hold you. He was certain he would drop you if any liquids came out of you, yet here you were crying and all he wanted to do was hold you closer and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

You were soft and warm and… completely unexpected.

“R-Ratchet,” You managed to say between your sniffles and grunts of pain, pulling the rollerblades off, even though it hurt to move.

“Right!” Sentinel exclaimed, snapping out of his silence.

He transformed into vehicle mode, grimacing when it caused you more pain to be jostled about, then he sped to the medical school where Ratchet was spending his twilight years, passing on his knowledge to another generation of bots.

“What in tarnation is going on here?” Ratchet demanded of Sentinel as he held you out to the older bot in the safety of a private med-bay.

“I-(Y/N)-” Sentinel stammered, feeling the pressure of Ratchet’s stern glare.

“I fell,” You said weakly to Ratchet.

“Fell, huh?” Ratchet said doubtfully. “Where are your shoes, kid?”

You shook your head, indicating that it didn’t matter, but Ratchet was an astute old bot, and he shot a scathing to look at Sentinel, even though you hadn’t sold him out.

“Really, Ratchet. It- it was my f-”

“Never mind that, kid. Let’s get you seen to.”

Although Sentinel wanted to leave, he stayed, mostly because he couldn’t fathom why you hadn’t told on him. He regretted that decision when Ratchet asked him to chat privately after treating you. By that point, you were too tired to protect Sentinel further, and the pain medication had made you somewhat woozy. Besides, even if you had been in any shape to argue, you couldn’t keep up with either of them on a bandaged leg, and without assistance you couldn’t get down from the medical berth provided.

Once Ratchet had got Sentinel out of your sight, he began yelling, “I don’t know what you did, but you're darn lucky that kid isn’t selling you out! That’s far more loyalty than you’d ever give to them!”

“Wha-” Sentinel spluttered, offended and slightly intimidated by the older bot.

“Don’t you dare try to explain yourself to me! Young bots are all alike, all arrogance and no spark. Do you know how long it takes for an injury like that to heal in humans?! AND (Y/N) WILL BE TRAPPED HERE FOR A FEW DAYS, BORED AND ALONE SINCE YOU KEEP TELLING EVERY DAMNED BOT WHO’LL LISTEN TO YOU HOW LITTLE YOU THINK OF HUMANS!”

“I-” Sentinel held up a finger to argue, but Ratchet slapped his servo away.

“Don’t you dare try to argue with me,” He said dangerously. “I’ve seen (Y/N) a few times since she started working with you. You’ve overworked that poor kid for no reason at all, and let me tell you something- That kid won’t quit. You can pile on all the work you want, and (Y/N) will do it. They’ll exhaust themself to do anything you ask, all because they’re the bigger person and want to be friends.”

Ratchet barked a mirthless laugh, continuing his tirade, “Friends, HAH! But you won’t let that happen, will you, Mr. Bigshot. No, ‘cos you’re so superior. Well, anything to say for yourself now?”

Sentinel looked somewhat ashamed and contrite after Ratchet’s verbal rebuke, yet he let his anger bubble up and overtake him.

“I am your superior officer,” He spat contemptuously.

Ratchet shook his head, disgustedly. “Then lead by example and do something worthy of the title.”

The older bot was about to walk away, but Sentinel wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction, so he stormed ahead first, rushing back to the room you were stuck in.

“Come on (Y/N), I’m taking you home.”

“I just told you (Y/N) has to stay here,” Ratchet yelled, catching up.

“Not if there’s someone to take care of them.”

“And you’re gonna do that?”

“Yes!”

Sentinel picked you up, more gently than before, and this time, he was extra careful as he transformed so as to spare you any discomfort.

He wasn’t entirely certain whether to take you to your own home or his, but after some thought about organic fuels and how much effort you would have to put into traversing his sizeable house, he opted for taking you to your place, next door to the techno-organic and down the road from that insufferable Bumblebee.

Sentinel especially hated the contentious yellow mini-bot since he always found reasons to bother you at work and it was a massive distraction. It didn’t help that Bumblebee was obviously head over pedes for you and that he had no respect for Sentinel at all; he only ever left at your insistence, and always with an insult for Sentinel about the workload he gave to you.

Hm… your workload. Sentinel couldn’t help thinking about what an aft he’d been of late.

“When you’re fit for work, I think you should take it easy. No more 12 groon days.”

A groon on Cybertron was more or less an hour, and you nodded along sleepily in understanding, grumbling a half-word that didn’t make sense outside of your head.

“Hey, are you listening?”

Your eyes shut heavily and you could barely lift them open to respond.

“Great, I suppose I have to take you to bed now too?” Sentinel complained, covering just how worried he was that you were acting out of the ordinary.

When he got you home, Sentinel struggled to take care of you; he had very little knowledge on humans, except that they had corrosive spit, though most were apparently too civilised to use it. Your house was a hybrid of human-sized equipment and catwalks, and lounge space for several Cybertronians, yet having never been there before, Sentinel didn’t know the layout, nor did he understand what half your appliances did, or what certain rooms were for.

He did manage to find your bed and lift you up to it, but after that, he felt like he should be doing something more to help. You were recharging now, but you would probably need things when you woke up.

Stuck on what to do, Sentinel reluctantly knocked on your neighbour’s door.

“What do you want?” Sari asked obnoxiously, annoyed to have been interrupted in the middle of the day, right after she had returned from class.

“I- I-” Sentinel made an effort to swallow his pride, an act which took a good five minutes. “I need your help.”

It took Sari about 10 minutes to stop laughing, but she got very serious when Sentinel begrudgingly explained that you were injured and that he didn’t know how to help you. After seeing you in bed, sleeping off the pain medication that Ratchet had administered, Sari explained very carefully how long it would take for your leg to heal, and what Sentinel had to do in the few coming days to help you out, such as placing a water bottle by your bed, and making sure your crutches were in reach.

Sentinel listened to everything she said, ignoring the back-handed insults that came his way, then after Sari left, he settled into the bot-sized lounge, waiting for you to wake up. He put the TV on, watching a show from Earth you had left in the player, synching the volume to his audials, but keeping it low all the same in case he needed to hear you wake up.

Having watched several episodes of the comedy show you had, Sentinel had to admit, it was pretty funny… for something humans had made. The idea of Ghosts being so ridiculously stupid did amuse him.

You woke up quietly, sucking in pain through your teeth as the medication you had been given started to wear off. Admittedly, you were surprised to see Sentinel in your house, even though you vaguely remembered him promising that he would be there.

It was amusing to see him actually having fun for once. Usually, he was tense and angry around you; you hadn’t realised he could be happy without putting someone else down.

You tried to get up without disturbing him but the crutch clattered to the floor before you could grab it.

“(Y/N),” Sentinel stood up quickly. “How are you feeling? Do you need Ratchet again?”

“I’m-” You thought about saying you were fine, as was the expected social response. Instead, you decided to answer truthfully. “I’m tired, but my leg was bothering me a bit.”

“It’ll be fine,” You added hurriedly before he could rush off to get help you didn’t need, “It’s just sore.”

Sentinel nodded. “From what I understand, it will be painful for some time,” He didn’t mention that by that he also meant the memory of inadvertently hurting you.

You nodded with a tired smile, “Yeah… Could be worse though. Thank you, for getting me help.”

“Thank… Thank you for your loyalty.”

You nodded again, “Yeah uh… You- You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. I can take care of myself.”

Sentinel would have gladly left if he didn’t feel so responsible for you. “I need to stay for a while if you are comfortable with me being here.”

“Okay,” You agreed, reaching again for your crutches so you could go to the bathroom.

Sentinel hurried to pick them up for you. “Okay,” He agreed solemnly.

Sentinel was surprisingly attentive to you. Although you only needed him for a day or so, he insisted on staying the full week. After that, he brought work to you for a while, afraid that if you returned to the main work base, you’d somehow make your recovery take longer.

Yet, the reports that he brought you were easier than before, confirming your suspicions that he had initially made your job harder than it needed to be; the deadlines were also laxer, and he took the time to explain a few things to you.

He stopped complaining about you to bots at the bar, and now on the odd occasion you sneezed or cleared your throat, he didn’t flinch or make nasty comments. In short, he was getting used to you, and you realised that when he tried, he could be very nice.

The peace was short lived however when Bumblebee came over to visit for the fourth time since you’d been hurt.

“You should quit,” He told you, point-blank, having abandoned the video game the two of you had been playing.

“Excuse me?” You asked, wondering what had prompted his response this time.

“Quit! Go back to working for the correct Prime. Optimus would treat you better and he wouldn’t make you work when you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. A broken leg is not a sickness.”

“It’s an injury,” Bumblebee said accusingly, raising his voice.

“Bumblebee, this is for our races to work together. This is a good start.”

Bumblebee blushed. The way you spoke so passionately about your races working together made him think that you were talking about more than work… Maybe, you were talking about you and him. Together.

“Besides,” You added, “Working for Sentinel isn’t half-bad, you know. He’s- He’s been kind to me.”

Bumblebee froze at the look on your face. Pink-dusted cheeks, a soft smile that he had imagined would be reserved for him, the way your eyes glazed over almost dreamily when you spoke about Sentinel. No, no! This couldn’t be happening. You could not get feelings for that pompous, arrogant, pile of SLAG!

“How did you get hurt?” Bumblebee asked, dangerously quiet, though you missed the intention behind his tone.

He had asked you before, but you rattled off an excuse about being careless.

“I already told you,” You started, only to be cut off by a Bumblebee who was angrier than you’d ever seen him before.

“HOW DID YOU GET HURT?!”

“Bumblebee-”

“HOW?! IT WAS HIM WASN’T IT!”

“I-”

Bumblebee ran out of your house, transforming as soon as he was on the streets. He was determined to give Sentinel a piece of his mind.

It took a while for Bumblebee to find Sentinel, not knowing the places that the Prime frequented. Yet, he eventually found him leaving a store with a small box that fit under his arm.

Bumblebee rushed at Sentinel, throwing a punch against the larger bot’s jaw. Had he been prepared, Sentinel might have faired better, but as it was, he dropped the box he was carrying and stumbled backwards, against the alley wall.

Bumblebee tried to pin him but Sentinel pushed him back, grappling his arms.

“WHAT THE FRAG ARE YOU DOING?” Sentinel demanded as the two struggled, holding each other’s shoulder plates and trying to get the better of their opponent.

Bumblebee headbutted Sentinel in the chassis to little effect, “IT’S YOUR FAULT (Y/N) GOT HURT! ADMIT IT! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

Bumblebee waited for the adamant denial Sentinel was known for. He pushed Sentinel back, readying his stingers, and only stopping when Sentinel answered.

“Yes.”

Bumblebee stopped in his tracks, mouth agape. Sentinel had never once taken responsibility for his actions.

“What?”

“It was my fault,” Sentinel admitted bitterly.

For the first time since finding him that night, Bumblebee really looked at Sentinel. “Why? Why now? After all this time, you finally admit to something…”

“It’s not natural…” Sentinel said more to himself than to Bumblebee. He was thinking about his feelings towards you, certain that it wasn’t right for a Cybertronian to feel anything romantic towards a human. He bent down to pick up the box which had spilled its contents onto the floor.

Bumblebee glanced down finding that it was all things for humans. Imported books from Earth, snacks you had been known to eat, herbal tea that Ratchet often recommended, and some pain medication.

Bumblebee picked up the tea, staring at it morosely before handing it to Sentinel who took it warily.

“(Y/N) doesn’t like that flavour,” He said quietly.

“I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bumblebee nodded. He didn’t apologise for his actions, though it was implied in his tone when he addressed Sentinel for the final time that night, “Take better care of them. They’re everything to me.”

Sentinel nodded, watching Bumblebee walk away afterwards. He stayed there a few minutes longer before heading over to your house to gift you the things he had bought.

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#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #maccadam #transformers animated #tfa #ratchet #sentinel prime #sentinel prime x reader #sentinel prime x you #bumblebee #bumblebee x reader #making alliances

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qvrcll · 1 year

Note

Hi! So I love your blog and I have a request if you're up for it!

So imagine Vendetta!Leon or ID!Leon with a younger, Rookie D.S.O agent. So the reader is learning about what it takes to be an agent and they are skilled but a little reckless. The reader and Leon end up going on a mission together and something happens to where the reader does something risky/reckless to save Leon and afterwards while Leon is patching them up he's also scolding them for putting themselves into a dangerous situation...

I just thought it was a cute idea and I adore your blog so obviously no pressure and thank you regardless! :)

change

summary: training to be a d.s.o agent has its perks and its fair share of dangers, and who would know that best other than the acclaimed leon s. kennedy? former rookie cop turned myth, you’re troubled as you try to not question your worth to your duty — to him.

warnings: intense violent imagery, d.s.o. agent reader, talk of death / loss, talk of wounds / stabbing, weapons mentioned, angst (comfort i swear!!!!!!!), written with infinite darkness ! leon in mind

a/n: bam stop using deftones songs as titles FAILED. and hello??? ur mind??? revolutionary. but thank u so much for the request!! i did make it more angsty than intended 😭 but happy ending i swear !! this is just a general disclaimer, but i’m trying my best to get as many requests done as possible, but finding myself easily burnt out, so please bare with me if i take some time to get these pieces out!! enjoy :-)

word count: 3.5k+ (help)

You’re well put together — inundated at the seams and bursting in the areas that made you an excelling recruit, something of a common place practice when one gets appointed to a station as alpine as the D.S.O.

It’s gruelling at first. The training, not the people — the people here offer you awkward but veritable grins, cloying pats on the head when you’d surpassed a notable fix in your inculcation, maybe even conversation in places you’d expect hard worn expressions, bumps of the shoulders, a lack of acquiescence for a new comer such as you.

“Turns out, there’s a new donut place opening in the city” someone speaks through a mouthful of food, grinning when admonished by their peer. They look at you with tired yet cordial won eyes, something like a respite in comparison to the gruelling training and pains you endure in staple hours.

You laugh, craning backwards, replying “Really? Wanna go sometime?”

And they teem, sheen with surety as you set a date. The date passes and you’ve got your fridge brimmed with donuts — pastel, sugar coated and chockfull of profuse fillings.

You’re home. You’re staring at your laptop. The device whirrs with effort, the screen fulgent with simulated light as block words stare back at you — MULTIPLE KILLED IN GOVERNMENT ORDAINED PROJECT. SEVERAL INJURED.

The next day, you press your lips together and wait for the space ahead to be filled with a familiar face, some day old blistering talk about donut shops and parties and mandated leaves.

No one comes. You chew your bread in wanton silence.

And your days blur as usual — your attitude is unparalleled. You give yourself the credit for coarsening against such losses, of confidants who offered you their time and remaining nuance of sentience. You don’t, however, congeal like they do. You do not die or recoup.

You move senselessly and so do the days.

It’s several months later, when you’ve gathered yourself in the training room, greased with sweat and vigour, when you meet him.

Leon S. Kennedy, in the flesh.

There’s talk of him in the corridors, rumours of his barely capricious resolve and even more so of his loyalty to the D.S.O. Of his habitual reclusiveness, ordained leaves and near blank appearances.

He’s almost a myth.

Still, you’re real and working and need to cavort around your training till your muscles bleed and chalk up with pain that marks enough effort for the night — you do not want to stay a rookie forever. There’s a insecurity underscored in your brain somewhere, in bright red lines and despite the sweat of your skill in your hands, but you decide to delineate it for tonight. Try to focus on the knotty feel of the compress against your knuckles as you strengthen your feet, begin to get into a stance most up to par, a gracing thought of ‘please don’t break my bones’ pressed into the bean bag before—

“Hello?”

The addition of another voice, besides the earsplitting one in your mind, makes you falter. Makes you lose your footing and touch the target in front of you, rather than skirting it with a hard worn touch — the sight would’ve made you chuckle on a normal day. But today was not normal, it was marked with a accent of irresolutions. So you swivel on your feet, baring your teeth like the caitiff the D.S.O had disillusioned everyone into being. The pretence doesn’t fool anyone, not even yourself, but you give it a try.

And maybe you give yourself some credit, for stoking it up to the myth, the caricature of duty himself, Leon Kennedy. In the flesh, complexion enervated in his well earned stack of muscle, that seemed to be garbed with a leather jacket. Jeans.

How… normal.

You lose tension in your muscles. Ditch the shout in your brows. Abandon the faux, heavy lined bellicosity in your belly for curiosity. Some guilt and embarrassment, too.

“Leon S. Kennedy?” you gasp, feel the air hit your tongue. The room grows a faltering few degrees hotter, and some part of you is convinced you’ll sink into the floor in a matter of minutes.

But Leon offers you one of his complimentary smiles that scream business. His hands are discarded in the wide sinews of his jeans, where they are distracted and nonplussed with the goal of hurting the material with diverted fingers. Yet you linger ahead of him, visibly sweaty and awkward, and it blunders his heart with some peace that you’re biding that same level of awkwardness.

“In the flesh,” he jokes, but the room is too small, too dark to determine tone. To determine the weight of his words or his presence. You still find sentience in you to laugh, snort even, and it makes the air between a lot more genuine, “I’ve come to discuss something here with you.”

“With me?” you croak, not wanting to sound delirious but inevitably falling for the trap — what did the Leon Kennedy want to do with a single recruit that is you? Skilled, yes, but sharing the innumerable roster of missions as him? Not a chance. Still, you grab a towel and a bottle of water, finding rhythm in your step as you talk alongside him to the exit.

Slogging be damned.

He offers a small nod, resigned in a way that made sense to the both of you, “We’re to be assigned in a collaborative project. A mission, if you will,” he opens the door, allows you to step past the threshold first and doesn’t miss the way you flesh out with a terrible blush as you skitter ahead, “Nothing too out of the ordinary for agents like you and me. Just a simple clear up.”

But we are nothing alike, you want to ink the air with the words. And some part of you stiffens as you hear the intractable comparison. Still, you’re curious above all things else and hear him out — not that I can refuse, you add mentally. Scribble out with imaginable red ink.

“When will it be?” you ask, feet jittery and muscles still sheening.

“A month from now” he confirmes. You work to notice the exigent lines of wear and tear on his face, the follow of a stubble beginning to thread against his chin and jaw. The sharpness giving way to kindness in his eyes as he looks at you.

Oh god, he’s looking at you.

“I see,” you say, gaze falling to the gravel and spit of stone as you corner the exit. As the wind hits your skin, you’re pathetically assuming a shiver. You hope Leon isn’t as perceptive as the rumours pin him to be, but you never truly get anywhere with that wish — he places a warm, kind hand on your shoulder, “You’re freezing.”

“Yeah I should probably—“

“Get back?”

“Home, yeah.”

And an awkward, painfully annoying silence courses the space between you two — between you and this acclaimed proxy you barely knew prior to these graceless seconds. The better part of you ushers the thought away and the worse part of you is antsy to prove something — anything.

“Get home safe…” he offers some semblance of a tight lipped smile, again as reclusive as he can get. His back is turned to you, departing, and you’re pulled in the other direction by your feet, when you suddenly turn around.

He’s gone already.

The month beneath his guidance is as you expect it — resilient and tough on the flesh. He manoeuvres you in ways you’d never have begun to correct yourself (“Lift the end of your arms here, instead of down here.”)

He presses feeling and rigour to his praise (“That’s it — you got it. Good job — now give me 20 more.”)

He holds you back from splintering push forwards, from the bridge between you and your apex. Holds a hand against your wet shoulder to shoulder your eagerness (“Woah, woah — don’t get too ahead of yourself.”)

You make it known of your gratefulness. You buy takeout and share it on the stairs. You communicate your worries and walk out free of them.

You also hate him for rubbing raw of your potential. You hate him for the wounded look in his eyes when you falter. You hate him for the itch in his fingers when you push yourself some more.

But you keep that one for the shadows. Don’t make it known. Hide it behind falsity.

You share takeout on the stairs again.

The night before the assignment couldn’t be more gruelling.

You’re welcome by the sheets, yet find no recluse in them, as you twist and turn as the hours come. Your feet are stretched and throbbing with hurt from the range of pushing exercises from the day before, your fingers curling with effort only.

And your head is plagued. Swimming, bathed, with those reticent thoughts. Those same block letters that spoke back to you, flagged the death of thousands you knew from passing glances to remembered conversations.

You turn on your side, try to flush the thought away. But they come back with vigour, with spit.

You knew them.

You’d eaten with them.

You’ll die just the same.

Fuck this.

Your feet find the cold, hard-wood floors immediately. They’re a ridged comparison to the heat of the sheets, but a blistering reminder of what’s to come tomorrow. You pace your apartment, crowd your brain with tasks, busy your hands, till the sun flits past the clouds like routine.

And with your heart in your throat, you ready yourself to the chin, gripping yourself with the promise of doing what you must to euchre death on its own doorstep — both for you and Leon.

The day arrives with a quick start. You’re deployed in a vehicular that is smaller than anticipated, holding your fears in your hands with cupped palms. Leon sits beside you, eyes vacant of anything palpable. You’d talked once, but that’s all of what either of you offered each other up till now — now, it’s you and your fears, cut-throat and fusty, ahead of you.

A thought of your friend passes your mind.

A thought of the donut shop.

A thought of the bottom of your coffee cup.

A thought of the post-mortem images. Of the flesh. The blood. The time. The place.

“Remember,” Leon cards you out of your worst, thoughts crumbling against themselves as you swivel to glance at him, “on me at all times. No sudden moves. Got it?”

He is far more profound here, the spitting image of the rumours materialised into the skin of a battle worn agent — his tone is pebbly, no semblance of that night’s patience in it anymore.

He’s in it for good. And you should be too.

“Got it,” you reply when the seconds flow too far. He nods back, curt and sharp and you want to talk him up. Want to offer your share of strategies. Want to card through the wounds on your arm and how to avoid the bloody things. Want to loop your fingers through half of his experience and not want to set him back.

But it was never that simple. And the ride is just as silent.

Two hours in and you’re stationed against crumbling brick, jagged stone, MK-45 gripped tightly in your hands. The smell of rot, mycelium, abused your lungs. Makes you stagger forward and hold yourself by the seams like flesh on plying bone.

But when you look at Leon, he’s everything but as discomposed as you — his eyebrows are tightly drawn, a shadow to his eyes that wasn’t there prior. There’s a bite in his step, in the way he holds his weapon, in the way he surveys the area.

Get yourself together, you think.

Within minutes, you force yourself to straighten your back, swallow back the burdensome bile stretching against your mouth and prime yourself to the futile smell of the dead at every carrefour you cross.

“Ahead,” Leon speaks and clings to your attention.

You look ahead, noticing an array of groaning zombies clawing at a car that seemed to have initiated its alarm. The smell is amplified by the rub of petrol curdling out of the car (from the repeated clash of the zombies, you’re sure) and you frustrate yourself into not gagging — think ‘fucking hell, I really hate these things.’

“You go to the left, I’ll take the right,” Leon whispers and you realise his motive.

Mutual accomplishment built on the precipice of trust.

Still, he looks at you like he’ll splinter without a response.

Like he relies on this circulation, no matter how damning, how short. His eyes scream ‘don’t you dare do anything stupid’ and you choose to blur it into something nonsensical, a thought of ‘it’s common procedure, a set of instructions he needs to hand feed me’, choosing to ignore the obvious side of things, the bleeding flush of his words, the trepidation nailing every withering seam of his body.

He’d grown to interpret you as more than just a rookie, someone capable of vigour and strength of the winning.

He needed you alive.

You needed him to look at you other than a wounded animal.

You offer him some little nod, feet hurrying up to the fluster of zombies against the few cars gathered there — as you get close, you can see the vegetation cram against the side walk, the stink of flesh against the windshield.

But you’re skilled, not stupid.

Your weapon purrs with warmth in your hand as you pin down the first vier, working your second round of bullets with the other five you’ve attracted— their fractured groans are animalistic, orotund where human capability shouldn’t be.

But you’re twice the work than they ever are.

“Fuck,” you whisper, realising close proximity doesn’t hold up with your choice of weapon — so, working against better judgement, you retrieve your knife by the hilt, scoring it against the reeking flesh of the first two. You quickly gain footing and stab the other two point black in the skull, feeling the vibrating collusion fill the blade.

And you’re close — you feel it. With another plow, the last of them falters to the floor with a wet thump. Blood pools at your feet, curdles against the material of your boot as you curl a hand against your hip in weariness.

And yet, you have half the nerve to concern yourself with Leon.

As you turn, you quickly see that he is struggling. He’s cornered, stuck between a stretch of the building that allows a swift gateway of those creatures to buckle within arm’s reach. And there’s little solace as you learn the fact, as you ready your weapon — you’re aiming before you can think, firing before you can feel.

Leon spots you, as his jaw goes slack.

His voice is swollen with disbelief and you’re sure you catch the words “get out of here!” but you’re moving on the pure pump of your blood, of the stretch of muscle and skill in your body. Two, three, four enemies crumble at the bite of your bullet and your fingers sink against the sting of gunmetal.

Memorise the step of their movements.

Formulate an opening.

Ignore Leon’s snare and his warnings and the way his arms curl around his weapon and the look in his eye and the fickle hope in them and the way they look at you like you’re something wounded.

Ignore the way a grunt sounds in your ear, a pale and cleft palm clinching your shoulder like an orifice — and finally, you realise, Leon had been right.

The zombie is quick to remind you of your mortality — it swings you to the side with it’s astounding asperity, frightens you with the dexterity of its bones as it makes quick work of the distance between you. It’s teeth stitch against cold bone, blood and meat between the gaps.

You gasp out a hoarse cry — your weapon is out of reach and your arm stings with a burn, a swelter. Your leg feels numb and you’re sure you’ve caught it on something, and you’re convinced you’ll be half mauled to death, when suddenly,

“Shit!”

Leon rattles through the zombie towering you, sears it with a knife — it falls atop you like meat and you shove it off with awfully numb hands. You’re barely catching respite as Leon hauls you above his shoulder as he runs to some place else, and the world quickly melts beneath your eyelids.

The next time you’re conscious, it’s much quieter.

There’s a dripping noise from your right — you try to play with that recurring sound till you’ve figured your bearings, but the throb in your head is searing. Your leg jumps with a pain so awful you choke a cry when you’re all opened eyed and slack jaw, and you catch sight of Leon in front of you, balancing your leg atop his lap for inspection.

“L-Leon?” you gasp, feel the burn of your throat. You’ve said nothing but he quickly hands you a water bottle, and you allow yourself the contents almost immediately — “Where are we…?”

“A few ways off the target location. Recuperating,” he answers, too quick, too harsh. You wince, both from his demeanour and the growing image of your maimed leg — the skin is dented with much blood, the flesh peeling apart with ease and the pain hits you like a train. His fingers are trembling and spat with your blood, moseying around the quiver of the wound.

And you can’t figure out where your pain ends and where his anger begins.

For one, there’s some grip to his movement, in the way he bandages the broken flesh of your leg. The way he swats your hand away when you go to dictate the amount of hurt it would bring.

Only then does he look up and your breath hitches — his eyes are red rimmed, mouth set like hard stone in a frown and his jaw sharp, blistering to a furious degree.

“I’m sorry—“

“Are you? Because you would’ve been dead without me having been there” he spits out, lashing against your apologetic words. You press your lips together, a bitter feeling fermenting in every space your framework can produce.

“I said I’m sorry Leon.”

“Will that fix your wound?” He grates and his voice sounds like a threat. It worries you. It angers you. Its rends you like glass, cuts you like a skiver.

“Maybe if you didn’t look at me like a fucking wounded animal, I would quit taking my chances at dying” you force out, tone through clattering teeth when his fingers pause over that delicate and awfully repulsive spot on your leg.

“What?”

“Oh, please don’t play pretend with me Leon,” it’s your turn to hit the brakes, “It’s that look you give me — like I’m some backwater D.S.O rookie here to drag you through glass. Like—Like I’m here to get myself killed.”

You pause, breath cut short with an unsatisfactory cry as you throw your head back from the gushing pain from the wound. You crack open a weary eye to spot his movements have resumed, but his jaw is quivering, jagged, his eyes unfocused and his hair in his face.

Shit, shit, shit — I’ve really done it now.

“Wait, Leon—“

“Is that what you think this is?”

You blink — his fingers are on the ground beside your hips, his eyes flooded with disbelief. Much like earlier, only this time, it’s counterpart being woe instead of anger of disappointment. He lifts his head, cradles the anguish in his eyes with a tattered sigh and you realise, oh. You had it all wrong.

“That you’re just some agent I don’t care about?” he’s close, somehow, “that—that I care for you out of duty?” closer, now, with his breath on your neck, on your face, in your ear, “That I don’t want you gone so soon because I only tolerate you? Not because—I like you?”

Your anger drops its futile act.

“What?” you whisper, because you’re so beguiled that it’s a trick. A trick from the pump of adrenaline in you, from the fear. The sweat. But he’s looking into you, at you, and his stare is not sympathetic. It stinks of love and admiration and truth and some close call of fear.

“I’m saying that I like you.”

There’s a few moments of clouded breath. You’ve never done this before — never held this song and dance of emotion between another and certainly not at a time like this, but god, Leon looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, not admonished like the wounded thing that you are.

He looks at you like hope.

Like love and love and love.

And you’ve never appreciated the stench of rot on you or another, and you’ve never appreciated distractions. But the burn of his lips against yours is delicious and swirling with something addictive when you meet him with nothing but rigour — he kisses you back like he’s meant to, like he’s going to run out of you if he doesn’t.

And when you pull away, groaning as your leg spasms with hurt, you smile at him gently, curve a laugh from your overworked lungs.

“Buy me dinner first, Kennedy.”

“Kennedy?”

“Would you prefer Scott?”

“God, you’re awful.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy fic

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ohforficsake · 6 months

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The Margay (COMPLETE)

Series Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert government agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. Two frayed things toe the line between the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. And maybe, just maybe, they make it out alive. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions. * - Denotes smut.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC Audrey 'Moose' Goddard. POC OFC. No age gap.

Rating: Explicit 18+ / Minors DNI

Chapter 1 : There was Bogotá That One Time * Chapter 2 : Not So Much 'Squeezing' as 'Crushing' Chapter 3 : The Laughter of Damned Things * Chapter 4: His Other Nickname * Chapter 5: 'That Your Husband?' * Chapter 6: If You're Both Lying to Me, I Swear * Chapter 7: Apologize to Housekeeping * Chapter 8: Benadryl * Chapter 9: Memorize it. Destroy it. Chapter 10: Read the Last Page Chapter 11: What Happens in the After * *NEW 7/7*

Extras

Art Commissions from the lovely @kenobiwanx : An Embrace and Frankie and Aud in Jamaica Chapter 8 Moodboard Chapter 9 Moodboard Chapter 11 Moodboard

Margay Universe One-Shots

Down, Boy * - Frankie Morales x OFC Audrey Goddard The boys end up at a dive bar on Frankie’s birthday. Snipers are good at pool. Frankie’s not gonna be able to wait until they make it home. Can be read as a standalone.

Margay-Adjacent One Shots - Written about Frankie x Audrey but flipped to reader perspective. Can be read as stand-alones.

Dominica * He’s like this sometimes. When his demons curl their talon-tipped fingers into the back of his skull. That’s when he replaces them with yours. Barbados * You've been carrying on with whatever this is for months, pushing and pulling, until one night Frankie wants control.

Author Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading.

#don't mind me just updating the masterlists #the margay #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #ohforficsake

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hundredthousandtimes · 1 year

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PERIODDRAMA APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 4: Favorite time period/era:

Tang dynasty:

The Tang dynasty, or the Tang Empire, was an imperial dynasty of China that ruled from 618 to 907, with an interregnum between 690 and 705. Historians generally regard the Tang as a high point in Chinese civilization, and a golden age of cosmopolitan culture. The Lǐ family (李) founded the dynasty, seizing power during the decline and collapse of the Sui Empire. (source: wikipedia) In general, garments were made from silk, wool, or linen depending on your social status and what you could afford. Furthermore, there were laws that specified what kinds of clothing could be worn by whom. The color of the clothing also indicated rank. During this period, China's power, culture, economy, and influence were thriving. As a result, women could afford to wear loose-fitting, wide-sleeved garments. Even lower-class women's robes would have sleeves four to five feet in width. (source)

Wu Zhou dynasty:

Zhou, known in historiography as the Wu Zhou was a short-lived Chinese imperial dynasty that existed between 690 and 705, when Wu Zhao (commonly known as Wu Zetian) ruled as empress regnant. Despite Wu's infamous rise to power, there is evidence that suggests women were granted more privileges during her reign, and China was in a state of great prosperity during her rule. Wu Zetian greatly enhanced the prestige and effectiveness of the civil service recruitment tests, filling government positions by skills demonstrated in written examinations, and opening them up to men of all classes. (source: wikipedia)

#luoyang #wind from luoyang #court lady #weaving a tale of love #the empress of china #jiu liu overlord #stand by me #cdrama #asian drama #stuff:mine #perioddramaweek2023

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wen-kexing-apologist · 1 month

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Bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus

For those of you who don’t know, I decided to run the gauntlet of @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus, which is comprised of 9 units. I have completed four of the units (here is my queer cinema syllabus round up post with all the films I’ve watched and written about so far). It is time for me to make my way through Unit 5- Lesbians, which includes the following films: The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls in Love (1995), Bound (1996), Water Lilies (2007) [Skipping for now until I can get access to it], Saving Face (2004), D.E.B.S. (2004), Set It Off (1996), The Handmaiden (2016), Carol (2015), Imagine Me and You (2005), Two of Us (2019), Rafiki (2018), and The Color Purple (1985).

Today I will be talking about

D.E.B.S. (2004) dir. Angela Robinson

[Run Time: 1:31, Language: English] [Content Warning: there is one use of the r word] Summary: Plaid-skirted schoolgirls are groomed by a secret government agency to become the newest members of the elite national-defense group, D.E.B.S.

Cast: -Sara Foster as Amy -Jordana Brewster as Lucy Diamond -Devon Aoki as Dominique -Jill Ritche as Janet -Meagan Good as Max ___

This write up will not be very long because this movie is not working with substantial, in-depth, layered messaging. BUT HOLY SHIT IT WAS SO MUCH FUN. This is a shitty little cult classic that sees a paramilitary agent (who was recruited from some secret questions in the SATs) and a supervillain falling in love and running off into the sunset together.

So, I’ve seen low budget films that have quite a lot to say and know it can be done, so I was curious about how in-depth this film might go into discussions of law enforcement, mostly because in the evil lair there is a sign that says The Only Good D.E.B. is a Dead D.E.B. But this is a light hearted comedy piece so though we do get Amy literally saying she’s a cop, there is not a whole lot of like anti-cop sentiment or anything in the film.

The premise is a spy and a supervillian literally crash in to eachother, have some level of instant connection, the spy has her queer awakening and runs off with the supervillian, is rescued essentially mid coitus, and the supervillian is inspired to start returning all of the things she’d stolen over the years in an effort to get Amy to leave D.E.B.S. and just be in love with her. It’s riddled with hilarious sound effects, forcefields made of plaid, and a SECRET TUNNEL!

What it does is show that the world’s most wanted supervillian is pretty chill, very gay, and has maybe been portrayed as more ruthless than she actually is (yes that is in fact Madam Super Villan dancing with her henchman in the gif above). What it does show is that little Miss Perfect Score on the secret spy test does not want to be a spy but felt obligated to do so because she was good at it. I did enjoy the repeated questioning of standardized testing, Lucy asking what the spy test tests for and Amy realizing that she doesn’t know and never bothered to ask yet that test was deciding her entire future.

But again this was SO. MUCH. FUN. to watch and I would recommend it to many people even as just like a silly little wind down film if they were in need of a quick pick me up.

Also there was lots of gay kissing, which I feel is important to note.

Favorite Moment

My favorite moment was Lucy breaking in to the D.E.B.S house to see Amy the first time. What an iconic piece of comedy: the plaid forcefield around the property that matches their school uniform, Lucy cutting a hole in the forcefield with what legitimately looks like a sonic screwdriver from Doctor Who, jumping over laser detectors on the grass that are also plaid, and climbing up the wall with those like hand-held suction cup things with the most hilarious and incredibly incorrect popping motion every time she sticks the suction cup to the wall.

Favorite Quote

“Yes, well, the poster child doesn’t know it yet but she’s into me.”

I love when queer people recognize queer people, and appreciate that because Amy is young and was just getting out of a relationship with her boyfriend that she might not know her own sexuality yet or have a full understanding of what she is feeling. But Lucy Diamond is an established, adult, queer woman who definitely sees the way that Amy is acting around her and understands immediately what is happening.

Score

10/10

For this moment alone

THAT SAID. I do feel the need to justify this scoring. I tend to score things by what they put forth, so a show with campier premises and executions like this one would be scored almost exclusively by vibes. Things like The Miracle of Teddy Bear, for example, which takes itself incredibly seriously, has multiple layers of messaging, and incredibly realistic depictions of queerness, homophobia, and domestic violence is something I would score with a number of actual story telling factors in mind.

This gets a 10 for vibes, I don’t think I had a single critical thought in the entire hour and a half watching it and I was having a fucking BLAST.

#D.E.B.S.#D.E.B.S. (2004)#bengiyo queer cinema syllabus #queer cinema syllabus #unit 5: lesbians

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misstrashchan · 9 months

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So... Please tell me I'm not the only who has Thoughts. About Hayward's plan to recruit Shrue and specifically Carpenter's involvement in it because. Adjudicator Shrue has been working to legalise the Trawler-Man's people and was working with Mason and the current Katabasions. Before that they were trying to eradicate them, being the one to hire and send out Mercer and Gage with their own platoon of soldiers.

Which brings us to Faulkner and his murder of Mason and Thurrocks, his opposition to the Katabasions plans to legalise them and let the Withermark and their people be used as a weapon of war, and the story he spins pinning the murders on Carpenter, painting her as a traitor who was working with the legal authorities (aka Shrue) and undermining them:

FAULKNER:

I could never have imagined that the Legislatures could have won her over to their cause.

It was Sister Carpenter who alerted the government’s forces to the location of the Paraclete’s Gulch.

(With a weary finality)

But they had, and of course her return was no coincidence at all.

It was Sister Carpenter who attempted to undermine our defences from within.

And after their attack failed, thanks to the combined strength of our disciples…it was Sister Carpenter who waited for a moment when the entire Gulch was gathered below in joyful celebration, and she assassinated Katabasian Mason and poor Sister Thurrocks.

(3x01 Something Dreadful Shall Arise)

And we know how strongly Carpenter feels about the idea that she would ever work with the government legislatures against the people who were once her family, how angry she is that Faulkner has written a story that has made that lie true:

CARPENTER:

You think I’d ever make peace with the people who did it? You think I’d work with them against my own family?

Against my brother, my parents, my grandmother?

You think I wouldn’t have put a bullet in my own skull already if I had that weight pulling me down?

And I think it's important to point out that Carpenter has no idea why Faulkner killed Mason and Thurrocks. She doesn't know anything about Mason and the other Katabasisons plans to legalise their god by proving themselves useful as a tool in the war. But we do know that in the past, when the idea of legalising the Trawler-Man was brought up before in S1 by Paige as a more peaceful way forward, she loathed the idea as much as Faulkner:

PAIGE:

But this is what's absurd, isn't it? We're talking about ancient history. Laws from 50 years back, long dead legislatures.

They're accepting new faiths back into the canon all the time now. You just need to get your god's name on a petition and-

CARPENTER:

Listen to her, Faulkner. "Our god's name, on a petition". Well. Why shouldn't we be reasonable about all this? Now that the Peninsula is ready to hear our case?

Why shouldn't we go through the proper channels? Why shouldn't they be allowed to get away with it?

FAULKNER:

Carpenter, let's keep this quiet...

CARPENTER:

My parents were dragged in shackles to the Saints hydroelectric dam, a year after I was born. They were dragged there, they were sentenced, and they were tossed off the side into the churning waters.

And the last words that they ever heard were that they were to be devoured by something that they did not understand. Because the dam was new, and on unconsecrated, and because a god must feed, and because these false faith renegades from deep in the fens made for the easiest sacrifices.

I will not hear that the world is a better place than it was because there is process. I won't and I can't.

(1x12 And To Fight Is Just to Choke)

And now Carpenter is with Hayward, and are headed towards Adjudicator Shrue to try and work with them so they can help the Woundtree seem more sympathetic and have someone who can better tell their story, as it were.

Carpenter is still being hunted by Faulkner's schism, only being given a break by being in a no man's land, only now she won't be, as she's heading into Glottage.

CARPENTER:

(Staring out of the window)

If we stayed on this road heading south, we’d make it down to Marcel’s Crossing by nightfall.

Another day’s driving, and we’d be at the Paraclete’s Gulch.

(3x06 The Wise Man Knows the Taste of Rot)

So the next time Faulkner hears about Carpenter, it's going to be about how gosh, you were right all along Katabasion Faulkner, that devious Carpenter is working with the same government official who tried to eradicate us and who is now trying to legalize us to use as a tool in their war! (that's not even mentioning she'll be seen with Hayward as well, who as far as Faulkner is aware is the cop who was hunting them down back in S1) And Faulkner is just gonna be like

Wondering if he told his lie about Carpenter working with the legal authorities undermine the Parish of Tide and Flesh so convicingly that he made it into the truth and what's that? IT'S THE FOILING TO VAL AND THE LAST WORD WITH A STEEL CHAIR READY TO BEAT ME SENSELESS-

#the silt verses #tsv meta #wanted to post something for new year and this post specifically before the next episode comes out so #WHOO #brother faulkner #sister carpenter #tsv s3 #tsv theory

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beanghostprincess · 7 months

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Trans fem buggy anon back at it again with the brainrot

Crocodile going Full Mafia Boss Husband is so near and dear to me, but like. That makes Buggy the Mafia Boss Wife.

And I dunno smth about the clichés about that is so wild to me bc I feel like she'd fit that bill so well and yet so very NOT at the same time.

There is One Woman Crocodile Listens To, and it's his wife. He sometimes listens to Mihawk as well, but for different reasons. Mihawk ALSO listens to Buggy for the same reasons as Croc. It's not that Buggy is conventionally powerful, it's a mix of Happy Wife, Happy Life, and Buggy somehow slotting so well into the fold and running the backdrop with both efficiency, flair, and endearing fuck ups.

Buggy absolutely endears herself to many of Croc's business associates, charming them out the ass, and they think this mouthy little clown is a bit of a ditz and doesn't Get It, so they talk more freely around her. None of them catch that little glint in her eye as she listens attentively, making notes to ferry back to Crocodile and Mihawk both. Oh? You have big plans in the future? A loan, you say? Oh well golly, yes, I've been there before, teehee, tell me more, mister~

She has more dirt on the underbelly organizations than most can fathom, all locked up nice and neat in a code written lovingly in her fluffy heart shaped neon blue and green notebook.

She plays the role of eye candy well, and she likens it to playing on stage.

Behind the scenes, she's mouthy, bold, sharp, and useful, learning the tells and systems, realigning her general management with this new information, much to her husbands' surprise. Crocodile absolutely spoils her and Mihawk both rotten, but it's a mutual affair.

Buggy just having these wildly powerful men wrapped around her finger.

((And her fans/underlingsbare just gobbling it up bc THAT'S THEIR CAPTAIN, yeah captain Buggy is a QUEEN and she is SO GOOD AT THIS WOOOOO-))

MEANWHILE

The world government: she's a clown. Wait she was Roger's? Okay. Alright. A threat. We can mitigate this. A warlord - shit. Fuck the warlord system is going down. Oh God. Okay. Uhhh. We'll just drop a bounty. Yeah. That's good - Oh. Oh my God. Holy fuck did she just recruit MIHAWK and CROCODILE?? Okay. Emperor, then. It's fine. This is fine - THEY'RE MARRIED?!?!? WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?

The whole mafia concept with Cross Guild just fits so well. I mean, you've seen Crocodile already, he was literally made for that scenery. Crocodile and Mihawk may handle the money and men, but Buggy as a "trophy wife who looks dumb but actually knows what's going on all the time and keeps pulling the strings" is just amazing. Crocodile listens to two people only and he trusts them with his life. Buggy might seem like only a sexy bimbo clown but she actually could murder somebody violently on the spot and both Crocodile and Mihawk would stare at her with pride and then buy her all the things she wants. She's actually extremely strategic and intelligent and she's pretty much the one who makes all the plans since she knows the most about everybody they need to take advantage of.

And it's not even the dynamic which, I mean, it's pretty obviously a mafia dynamic but-- The whole aesthetic too? These three are just constantly giving "mafia boss x femme fatale wife x mysterious murderous husband". Crocodile sitting at his desk, Mihawk by his side and Buggy sitting on his lap? The image won't leave my head. It's just so, so good for them.

Not to mention that the Marines are all extremely frightened of this trio and Buggy's history and won't even dare to come close to them because they don't even know how the hell this relationship happened. And it's concerning and scary and they might end up dead if they approach them.

But yeah, this whole thing lives in my mind rent-free all the time and this is exactly how I imagine them. Cross Guild is just a mafia and Buggy always gets what she wants because she gets the job done and both Crocodile and Mihawk genuinely love her to death. Like literally. Don't touch her. You'll die.

#fem buggy my beloved she's a failgirl but also femme fatale to me #she keeps murdering and manipulating people and then she has breakdowns and meltdowns in the comfort of their private room #girl is so mentally ill to me okay i adore her #also crocodile and mihawk genuinely falling in love with her and protecting her with their life despite saying they hated her is... amazing #one piece #buggy the clown #sir crocodile #dracule mihawk #fem buggy #transfem buggy #cross guild

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fatehbaz · 2 years

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Thinking about the Holocaust in Africa.

Here, European notions of anti-Blackness and antisemitism became intertwined.

There was a fusion between the dispossession and racism of European imperialism and colonization projects of the late nineteenth century, and the prison regimes imposed by European fascism in the early twentieth century.

Scholars Sarah Abrevaya Stein and Aomar Boum have recently written much about the importance of recognizing the trauma of labor and internment camps in North Africa during the second world war.

And I want to express my gratitude for their work. I want to share some of what they’ve written in a couple of recent articles.

In their words: “Nazism in Europe was underlaid by an intricate matrix of racist, eugenicist and nationalist ideas. But the war – and the Holocaust – appears even more complex if historians take into account the racist and violent color wheel that spun in North Africa.” [1]

France's prison camps in North Africa were filled with Algerians, local Jews, deported European Jews, Eastern European refugees, domestic political dissidents from France, people fleeing fascist Spain, Moroccan residents, Senegalese subjects of French rule, other West Africans displaced by French occupation, and more.

The anti-Blackness and antisemitism that had fueled Europe's colonial expansion was finding new expression in fascist Europe.

---

Seems France is a central antagonist in the story of evolving approaches to empire, racism, and resource extraction.

After their 1940 alliance with the Nazis, the Vichy French government maintained technical control of French colonies across Africa. Beginning in 1940, the French government “alone built nearly 70 such camps in the Sahara.” [1] This was in addition to another six labor camps which the French government built in West Africa (in Senegal, Guinea, and Mali).

---

By the beginning of the twentieth century, French-influenced or -controlled territory in North Africa was home to around 500,000 Jews, many of whom had been living in the region for centuries or millennia, speaking many languages, “reflecting their many different cultures and ethnicities: Arabic, French, Tamazight – a Berber language – and Haketia, a form of Judeo-Spanish spoken in northern Morocco.” [1] The Vichy French government officially stripped North African Jews of formal citizenship and seized their assets.

Then, deporting residents of Europe and political dissidents in “early 1941, the Vichy authorities transferred hundreds of Jewish and non-Jewish refugees, including women and children, to the Saharan labor camps.” [2] Under French rule “in Algeria [...], it was estimated that 2,000-3,000 Jews were interned in camps [...] resulting in a total prisoner population of 15,000-20,000.” [2] France pursued an “unrealized dream of the nineteenth century” [2]: the completion of the Mediterranean-Niger railroad line in the Sahara, a transportation route across the vast desert to connect the prosperous West African port of Dakar with the Mediterranean coast of Algeria.

Meanwhile the “Vichy regime [...] continued racist policies begun by France’s Third Republic, which pushed young Black men from the empire into forced military service,” including forced recruitment from “Senegal, French Guinea, Ivory Coast, Niger and Mauritania; [...] Benin, Gambia and Burkina Faso; and Muslim men from Morocco and Algeria. In these ways, the French carried on a wartime campaign of anti-Blackness and Islamophobia, pairing these forms of racialized hatred from the colonial era with antisemitism. Antisemitism had deep roots in French and colonial history, but it found new force in the era of fascism.” [1]

---

In late 1942, during the Nazi occupation of Tunisia, the SS “imprisoned some 5,000 Jewish men in roughly 40 forced labor and detention camps on the front lines and in cities like Tunis.” [2] The fascist Italian government had been experimenting with racist and anti-Black policy in their colonization of East Africa; these policies were expanded in Libya. Here, “Mussolini ordered the Jews of Cyrenaica moved” as “most of the 2,600 Jews deported [...] were sent to the camp of Giado” while “other Libyan Jews were deported to the camps of Buqbuq and Sidi Azaz.” [2]

---

Stein and Boum describe the diversity of prisoner experience: “In these camps, [...] the complex racist logic of Nazism and fascism took vivid form. Muslims arrested for anti-colonial activities were pressed into back-breaking labor” and “broke bread with other forced workers” including ‘Ukrainians, Americans, Germans, Russian Jews and others [...] arrested, deported and imprisoned by the Vichy regime after fleeing Franco’s Spain. There were political enemies of the Vichy and Nazi regime too, including socialists, communists, union members [...] overseen by [...] forcibly recruited [...] Moroccan and Black Senegalese men, who were often little more than prisoners themselves.” [1]

As Stein and Boum describe it: “Vichy North Africa became a unique site [...] where colonialism and fascism co-existed and overlapped.” [2]

They write: “Together, we have spent a decade gathering the voices of the diverse peoples who endured World War II in North Africa, across lines of race, class, language and region. Their letters, diaries, memoirs, poetry and oral histories are both defiant and broken. They express both faith and despair. All in all, they understood themselves to be trapped in a monstrous machine of fascism, occupation, violence and racism.” [1]

---

[1]: Sarah Abrevaya Stein and Aomar Boum. “80 years ago, Nazi Germany occupied Tunisia - but North Africans’ experiences of World War II often go unheard.” The Conversation. 15 November 2022.

[2]: Sarah Arbevaya Stein and Aomar Boum. “Labor and Internment Camps in North Africa.” Holocaust Encyclopedia online. Last edited 13 May 2019.

#holocaust remembrance day #swana

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soupthatistohot · 2 years

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Soukoku is a bit fucked up... but that's why they work

Dazai and Chuuya do not have a normal relationship, however you want to define that (platonic or romantic). Without the context of their backgrounds, it reads as like... really fucked up. And that's true, to an extent, but to eliminate their circumstances is to do them a great disservice, in my opinion

First of all, I'd like to acknowledge that I'm fully cognisant of the fact that skk were not written to be a romantic pairing— Asagiri simply does not intend for them to be perceived as such. That being said, this does not mean that audience interpretations of a media are invalid. I ship skk, and as such this analysis may include my romantic interpretations of them as a pair and i acknowledge this bias at the same time that I acknowledge the validity of my interpretation.

Let's look at Chuuya's background first. He has little to no memory of his life prior to 7 years old, when he was separated from his family and treated as a government experiment. After his escape, he was an orphan on the streets taken in by a group of fellow orphans. He quickly rose to be the leader and protector of this group, who would eventually literally stab him in the back when he was manipulated into working with and eventually joining the Port Mafia. He spent his teen years with a suicidal maniac as a partner, watched countless friends and a clone of himself die, and found out a literal god was living in him, forcing him to question his humanity.

Dazai's past is much less clear. We don't know what his family was like, but we know that Mori recruited him after discovering him after a suicide attempt and began grooming him as the Demon Prodigy. He was forced to be an accomplice to a murder, and was constantly manipulated by and possibly physically abused by Mori. He was known for his coldness and was feared by many as a monster for the majority of his teenage years, and was expected to eventually become the boss of the Port Mafia through assassinating Mori, which the latter was paranoid about. Finally, one of his best friends betrayed him and the other died in his arms when he was eighteen years old, something plotted out by Mori, which resulted in his defection from the organization.

As teens, skk had a weird relationship (and that's putting it lightly). There was a certain level of contempt they held for one another. Chuuya resented Dazai's pessimism and lack of regard for others, and Dazai resented Chuuya's emotional and aggressive nature. Yet, they both had a deep understanding of one another that no one else really seemed to have at the time. They recognized one another as human when the individual himself did not. They had full faith and trust in each other, not allowing each other to die despite their disdain. It was complicated, and it wasn't quite healthy... but it was pretty damn good considering they were traumatized children in the Port Mafia.

There's a certain level of abusive behavior between them as teens, and I won't ignore that. Dazai played a large part in manipulating Chuuya into entering the mafia, and Chuuya insulted Dazai's suicidal and depressive nature a lot. Dazai found pleasure in causing Chuuya pain, both physically and emotionally. Chuuya literally has a list of torture techniques to use against Dazai. This is why I often stray from portraying an established romantic relationship at this point in their lives. I don't think they understood who they were fully yet, and sometimes projected their issues onto each other. Even if they were in love at that time, neither of them would have been ready for that type of commitment. I also just think they were too emotionally constipated to get to that point, anyway.

Something that I do love about their relationship as teens, though, is how they let each other be kids. Their bickering and arguments were childish and dumb, but that's the closest thing they had at the time to being normal teenagers. Amongst all the doom and gloom that surrounded them in the mafia, they knew that they could always go to each other and have a mindless argument or competition. In a way, this is how they reclaimed their stolen childhoods.

We see this when they're adults, too. In their first encounter in four years they tease each other about the same things as before, slipping right back into their childish banter. It's silly and immature, but that's how they operate. They allow each other to have that, and I really love this aspect of their relationship.

I think there's something to be said for how their time apart was good for them. Dazai is most clearly in a better place than before. Sure, he's masking a lot of the time, and he's still clearly suicidal, but I think the work he does with the agency is more fulfilling than at the mafia. He has more of a purpose, even if it's just to stay true to his promise to Oda (though I do believe it's more than that now). At his core, he's still a suicidal pessimist who finds humanity utterly disgusting and doesn't quite consider himself to be human, but I think there's a level of contentment of what he's doing with his life.

It's less obvious how Chuuya has changed, but I think that he has. He exhibits more self-confidence and maturity than in his teen years. He's more capable and well-rounded as an executive, and it's a personal headcanon of mine that in Dazai's absence, he was forced to pick up some of his skills of perceptibility and deduction. I think he is in a better place than before, as well, especially because he was able to establish himself independent of Double Black. He has also settled within Port Mafia, recognizing them as his family, which means he, too, is likely more content.

So as adults, they display less of the abusive behaviors than they did previously. Of course, there's still a certain level to which they're abnormal. Their jokes and quips about one another are sometimes quite dark, and there's a certain level to which Dazai still exhibits power over him when it comes to deciding to use Corruption. But that trust is still there, despite their time apart, and so too is that understanding of each other. They're not perfect by any means, but given their traumatic upbringings... they're kind of perfect for each other.

There is the fact that they want to kill each other. I'll admit that I struggle to explain this aspect, but I'll try my best, because I think it's not as bad as it sounds. I just think it makes sense for them. They're both sorta unkillable, so this aspect of their rivalry denotes a certain respect for each other. It's also a matter of likely knowing that they actually won't ever kill each other (and no, this isn't me being in denial about ch. 101, I fully believe that Chuuya is not dead, there is no way he's going out like that). This is one of the more complex aspects of their relationship, but when you add it to everything else we know about them, it just sorta works. I mean... thinking of ways to kill your partner for 7 years? That's kinda gay.

At the end of the day, skk keep each other in check and allow each other to have fun. They trust, know and respect each other, and though they claim to hate each other, I really don't think this is true. It's much more than that. They're rivals, they're partners, they're soulmates! And honestly, that's what makes them so goddamn interesting.

#skk #soukoku #dazai x chuuya #chuuya x dazai #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #character analysis #relationship analysis #soup rants #fellas is it gay to be thinking of ways to kill your partner for 7 years?

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thatscarletflycatcher · 4 months

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I rewatched Agent Carter 2x04, and it was worse than I remembered!

No matter how high up Michael is, it is very difficult to believe that the SOE would recruit within Bletchley, because codebreaking work is a very specialized kind of work that requires a particular set of skills and interests that... do not seem to overlap at all with those of a field agent-spy. Besides that, it would duplicate the costs, as it would require covering the costs of SOE training for Peggy AND for her replacement at Bletchley. It's nonsense. Even if Peggy had been asked for for ciphering (which is clearly not the case because the series is trying to explain why and how she ended in the SSR), it doesn't fit because ciphering depended on its own special branch of the army and was, for obvious reasons, different to the one used by the Germans that Bletchley was trying to decipher.

Michael, Peggy, and her fiancé are freely chatting in a public place about government secrets. MICHAEL, PEGGY AND HER FIANCÉ ARE FREELY CHATTING IN A PUBLIC PLACE ABOUT GOVERNMENT SECRETS.

Last and least but still bothers me, unless they were lucky in the "recycling an old bridal dress" department, Peggy's wedding dress is nonsense. Yes, clothes weren't rationed until 1941, but that doesn't mean fabrics weren't much more scarce and expensive before that, because of... you know... sea warfare and Britain getting so much of its resources from overseas. Besides that, she's engaged to a soldier, meaning she is to get married whenever he gets leave. Ain't no time for making much of an elaborate dress, or leisurely try ons. Because besides that... SHE'S A GOVERNMENT EMPLOYEE IN ONE OF THE MOST INTENSIVE BRANCHES OF THE WAR EFFORT.

In a more realistic setting, Peggy would have probably been recruited directly into the SOE -where did Peggy ever show a knack for words and numbers and puzzle solving in the way codebreaking is?- and if you want to preserve more of what was written for s2, you can make it so that her recruitment has to do with something her mom thought was unfeminine in her, have Michael support her, and her breakup with her soldier fiancé being about... well, her joining the SOE, which would have been incompatible at that point with marriage.

#Agent Carter #Agent Carter s2 #Peggy Carter

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nishloves · 1 year

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okay so i have been dying thinking about this but thoughts on svt as mafia!!!!!!

seventeen as mafia<3

okay for some reason, i never thought about this??? how??? even after that rock with you special video??? tysm anon for requesting <3

svt head cannons // warnings : harsh language nothing else // words : 1.1k // @kflixnet

choi seungcheol - leader

gang leader for sure, approves of work, jack of all trades, knows how to make business deals (tho he does usually take help of jeonghan for brainstorming) somehow is very good at stocks and keeps the mafia rich and has a very clear public image but no one knows what happens behind the scenes do they? on paper owner of all the white companies of the mafia (people think he hid gold in his backyard) recruited soonyoung and jihoon, the two other pivotal members of the mafia.

yoon jeonghan - advisor

doesn't and won't ever get his hands dirty, someone who will vanish in thin air when there's a fight, one of the most crucial members of mafia— if there's a truffle between gangs he's the mediator. so beautiful that people actually don't ever doubt him even if they internally feel wary of him, it's like "nah, he's a good man, i feel guarded for no reason." owns a cat cafe as a disguise 🥺

hong jisoo - poster boy

ceo/shareholder/trustee of the five companies which the mafia has in white, charming man on whom people can just never doubt, if he's shareholder of a business that business is probably the most honest one.

wen junhui - does the dirty work

people are so charmed by him that it's that easy for him to kill them off, probably a psycho with deadly good looks, can get a job done in max three hours, you would not be disappointed.

kwon soonyoung - the socialite

fetches shareholders for the white businesses of the mafia, is an informant; son of a chaebol, nearly a model or influencer— thought to be fuckboy yet he has such a bubbly and gullible personality that people just won't hate him and would never even imagine him to be a secret member of such dangerous organisation, probably the best double agent in existence. also the jack of all trades (can dirty his hand and clean up), was in for adrenaline and then just got too attached with the members to want to leave. is weirdly adored by every member of the mafia?

jeon wonwoo - the lawyer

works extra hours to keep the police and government off the numerous dark business of mafia, can get his hands dirty but won't. harvard graduate maybe, well known lawyer but notorious for high rates and not accepting just anyone as a client. the mafia is a client under the name of the three leaders of different factions— seungcheol (the intelligent man who somehow always invested in great stocks), woozi (the ceo of all underhanded companies of mafia— but a well known songwriter/composer on paper), soonyoung (the son of chaebol).

woozi - the overworked second hand

manages the several underhanded companies of mafia, people don't know where his wealth comes from, claims it's because of his royalties over too many songs he had written for others. lives a quiet life, not really in a social circle to be under the radar, interacts with soonyoung and jeonghan the most just so he could get an idea of how the things are going on in the outside world and how can they affect him for his business.

xu minghao - the dealer

drug dealer under the mask of selling aromas and perfumes, owner of a semi-popular chain of perfumes. does the deals from the mafia's side in underground; best at deception and disguises, people won't know it's him until he wants them to know that it's him. prefers working alone but will take jun's help at times.

kim mingyu - advisor of the advisor / undercover

he has no idea how he joined this business, it just... happened? he was studying to be a chef 💀 is so smart that people were shocked that he wanted to be a chef before he started working for jeonghan, he just said that he wanted to be happy :((( and is in one of the most dangerous business somehow 💀 idolises and hates jeonghan for being so cunning. he's sometimes happy that he's not his boss's victim. gets a kick out of mafia work and is sometimes used as undercover for female targets, he can't help it. people like him too much 😏

lee seokmin - joshua's right hand

bro accidentally saved seungcheol's life 💀 someone was going to shoot cheol when he appeared out of thin air and screamed at the rival organisation who had somehow found cheol vulnerable, threw a brick at the perpetrator and ran off with cheol. cheol was touched and placed seokmin under joshua's wing. at first he didn't really know about the mafia but when he did get to know, he ignored his morals and joined his brothers, because they were always there for him, got weirdly attached to soonyoung and seungkwan in the process.

boo seungkwan - informant / undercover

was recruited by soonyoung when he tried to rip him off 💀 was a broke college student who tried to sell a pen used by taemin of shinee to soonyoung, soonyoung suddenly realised that seungkwan's words sounded like his words when he first lured people into investing, then he proceeded to kidnap seungkwan for trying to rip him off and then offered a very high paying job based on his skills. now seungkwan enters social circles as an undercover agent or goes in as soonyoung's assistant. (they both fight a lot, also hates it when people say that he's working under that furry but secretly likes his boss a lot 🥺, would fight anyone if anyone else called soonyoung a furry 💀)

chwe hansol - jihoon's assistant

was working under jihoon when he accidentally discovered jihoon's actual work, said that he would do anything for jihoon when held at a gun point, is surprisingly adept at business management and helps jihoon a lot with both of his works, jihoon sometimes cries because of how amazing of an assistant he has working under him. can get his hand dirty but won't cleanup.

lee chan - does the dirty work pt2 / undercover

got adopted by seungcheol when he was seventeen 💀 he's the one adopted but sometimes it feels like he's the one who adopted everyone else, doesn't like to work alone because well he feels alone 😔 but will definitely get the job done perfectly, he's kind of a perfectionist. once offended everyone by saying that soonyoung is his favourite hyung. once called seungkwan thomas and realised that kwan isn't only a good orator but has otherworldly kicks. can be sent as undercover but svt doesn't really want him to be out in danger like that :(((

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treacheryinblue · 4 months

Text

Chapter 1/?

Word Count: 8.5k

Masterlist

A Noah Sebastian x OC x Nicholas Ruffilo Series

× Summary: In the not so distant future, there's only Above and Below ― a "castle" that reaches the sky and the gritty underbelly that's looked down upon ( both literally and metaphorically ). The guys are recruited to carry out the task of taking down this power with the assistance of Scarlett: a confident and seductive, yet mysterious, force that may be closer to the enemy than what she lets on. Themes: dystopian, cyberpunk, post-apocalyptic, etc.

× Warnings!: Things get smutty. Language. Death - both spoken of and written. Violence. Anti-government. Broody Noah. Precious baby angel Nicholas. A girl who can't choose. Drinking, drugs, etc. Unreliable narrator? Each chapter will have its own set of separate warnings if there's anything additional.

× Author Notes: ( 1 ) Just going to be honest straight up ― if you don't like world building, then you may not like this. ⍨ ( 2 ) This chapter is more Nick centered because he deserves some recognition on my page. ( 3 ) Feedback of any kind is welcomed. Happy reading! ❤

Known affectionately as Lost Angeles, the last true and vast surviving city.

Made up of Heaven and Hell, most commonly referred to as Above and Below.

Why? Because, well, the latter was quite a ways down from the glimmering mega tower that you either hated with a passion, or desperately wanted to become a part of.

Although, anyone with at least two working brain cells could see that Heaven was a cruel and sadistic facade ran by a dictator by the name of Silver. Its main purpose being to inflict fear upon those belonging to Below; a way to control them, a warning they were always forced to see no matter where they stood within the decaying city.

This is why Noah chose to conduct the majority of his doings even further down, right in the underground of Below.

“You want us to what?”

A fit of laughter erupted from him, the three men standing a bit further back following suit with amusement of their own.

“You've got to be fucking joking.”

The older man’s face reddened with anger, his pudgy fingers rapping against the table top that separated him from them. This man in reference was Ulrik, a well known con man and loan shark that had a way of getting things done. Did you have a messy job you needed performed to completion? Ulrik was your guy, but always for a hefty price.

This is how Noah knew he had to be truly desperate if he was outsourcing his jobs now. Or maybe he just needed to find someone stupid enough to agree to the suicide mission.

“I was being nice by asking. Did you forget that you owe me a favor?”

A heavy sigh was then expelled, his gloved hand lifting to rub his chin from over the black ski mask that covered the entirety of his head. It's the same mask the other guys wore as well, the one thing keeping their identities secret.

It wasn't an odd thing to see. People of Below were known to wear masks - some more simple, others terribly intricate - solely because it kept them safe from the debris and dust that was constantly floating through the air. Wearing them inside was a little less popular.

“I'll even make it easier for you,” Ulrik continued with a toothy grin that was riddled with bits of gold. “There's a girl-”

“A girl?” Noah repeated, brows raised beneath the mask.

“Yes, a girl. She can help you get in and out of the Tower. She's smart. Does work for me sometimes.”

Another laugh was pulled from him, followed by a roll of his eyes. Noah leaned back casually in his chair, though his hands remained clasped atop the table. He was staring the man down, silently daring him to feed him bullshit one more time.

“Cut the shit, ‘Rik. Everyone knows you don't just enter the Tower and then live to tell the tale when you don't belong there. People go up, but they never come down.”

Ulrik’s grin lingered, becoming more and more smug by the second.

“Ah, you see, that's where you're wrong. She has gone both up and down.”

× × ×

Seven wasn’t exactly where he was expecting to end up that night. He stared up at the neon-lit business front, flashing signs indicating the purchase of companionship, while others promised music and dancing. He had passed by the building many times, but never stepped foot inside. Tales of the happenings inside ran rampant, though. From what he gathered, it wasn't a place for the faint of heart.

“I can't believe you agreed to this shit.”

Noah glanced over to Nicholas as he took a deep drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground. The motion was followed with a shrug, his expression remaining blank.

“I agreed to us talking to the girl. I never agreed to us taking the job.”

“When it comes to Ulrik, you may as well have signed our lives away.”

That could've possibly been true, but Noah was going to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Maybe nothing would come of this visit. Maybe he would let them turn the job down. Maybe they'd laugh it off together. Or maybe all of them would end up with their tongues cut out.

Noah didn't say anything else before taking long strides up to the building, Nick trailing begrudgingly behind him. Despite the masks still covering their faces, the rather large and buff man at the door nodded them in. If they looked like buyers, then there was no issue.

…now he wasn't so sure what that said about them.

Inside of Seven was dark, the only source of light coming from the red and blue LEDs sporadically placed around. It was cleaner than he was expecting, but there was still a sharp scent in the air that led him to believe strong cleaning products were used on the regular. Noah didn't want to think about what they could possibly be cleaning in depth so often.

“Hey there, handsome.” A woman cooed almost as soon as they walked into the main area, her hand grazing along his chest as she sauntered by. She didn't pause to entice them in, though. Probably because she could sense their lack of engagement due to his skill of avoiding eye contact, and basically acting like she wasn't there to begin with.

Stepping deeper in, Noah was on high alert. He looked to every corner, studied every face, and noted every exit that could be seen. Never know when you'd have to make a quick getaway.

The music playing throughout had a deep bass to it; one of those dark wave tracks that was supposed to sound sexy, but it only bored him. Dolled up women were seen with every sweep of his gaze, as well as desperate men looking for someone to force their fantasies on. A few of the women were encased in large metal cages, their bodies moving rhythmically to the songs playing.

Yeah, this place definitely screamed ‘Below’. It was gritty and filthy - in the kinky sort of way. Depraved was possibly a better word for it.

“Hey,” Noah called out to a man who stood to the side with his hands clasped in front of him. He was obviously security, so hopefully that meant he could point them in the right direction.

“We’re looking for a girl that goes by Scarlett. You know where we can find her?”

Macho security man took one look at them and shook his head.

“Ah, come on!” Noah grinned beneath the mask with his attempt at being inviting. “A friend of mine said she was the best. I just want to try her out for myself.”

Fuck - how badly he wanted to gag and cringe at his own words.

“If you don't know which girl she is, then she isn't the girl for you. Now fuck off.”

Noah figured it was best to not argue with security, so he took a few steps back and then turned to Nick. “The hospitality here is something to be desired.”

“Why don't we just take a look around? Maybe one of the other girls will point her out.”

Just as Noah was about to agree, a sweet voice cut through the atrocious music that was still thumping ridiculously loud through the club.

“Did you say Scarlett?”

Both him and Nick simultaneously turned towards the voice, only to see that it belonged to a girl in one of the cages. Her manicured fingers gripped the bars as she kneeled down to their level, eyes bouncing back and forth between them both.

“You know her?”

The girl's fair shoulders gave a shrug, though she smiled when she briefly locked her gaze with his.

“Everyone knows Scarlett.”

The girl was running a hand up and down along one of the bars that separated them. Noah assumed this was a way to entice the desperate men in, leading them to think of her hand wrapped around their unsavory dicks and not the metal.

“Hi, pretty eyes.” Her focus was now on Nick, which didn't surprise him. Even with the masks, he was sure Nick appeared nicer than he did. Someone that would be easier to talk to. Easier to butter up.

Leaning in closer to the bars, her hands spread across to widen her grip, showcasing her cleavage that was popping out from the skimpy top she wore. Noah knew the games, and he knew Nick did too, but that wasn't going to stop his friend from falling for it. Hard.

“What will it take for you to introduce us to her?”

The girl smirked, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she thought.

“Buy a private room for an hour. Ask specifically for number thirteen.” She tore her gaze from Nick to look over to him, obviously showing no shame in the way her eyes raked up and down his tall stature. “I'll make sure she's there.”

With that, she stood up to her full height and made a motion to the side which prompted someone to unlock the cage.

“Go on,” she smiled at them before she could exit, shooing them away to a cashier.

“Ulrik better fucking reimburse us for this.” Noah grumbled while already beginning to pull the cash from his pockets.

× × ×

Room thirteen was on the second floor and sat at the very end of the hall. He assumed this was the most private of all the rooms, merely from the location alone. While making their way to it with the key clutched in his grasp, he could hear all the unpleasant things happening beyond the other doors they passed. Most sounded like noises of enjoyment but there were some that reminded him of pure torture. Those were the ones he didn't want to think too hard about. They had a task at hand, and worrying about what 'paying customers’ did was not it.

As they entered the room, all outside noises suddenly stopped upon closing the door. That sure was interesting. He shook his head, cautious steps then being taken further into the room. It was reminiscent of a hotel room, but not as luxurious. There was a bed, a dresser, and a darkened doorway which he assumed led to a bathroom.

“This is fucked,” he murmured with a glance to Nick who had just plopped down into a chair that sat in the corner.

“Do we know anyone that comes to these sorts of places?”

Noah chuckled, his head ducking a bit in an attempt to see if he could inspect behind the mirror attached to the dresser. It was easy to assume that they were being watched and listened to.

“I doubt it, unless you mean know like how we know Ulrik. My guess is he's a big spender here.”

A gloved hand ran along the seam of the mirror pressed to the wall, looking it up and down suspiciously. Did each room have a camera? Or just some perverted guy sitting behind a two way mirror monitoring their doings? Either way, he fucking hated the feeling of being watched.

“What are you doing?”

Well, that voice surely didn't belong to Nick.

His eyes flickered up to the door of the room that was being closed, the same girl from the cage standing in the entryway.

“There's a reason why I told you guys to request this room. No cameras. No mics.”

There was something different about the girl now - other than the fact that she had covered herself in a black silk robe that hit the top of her thighs. Was it that her voice wasn't as sweet? Her eyes a little more piercing? Or had she just completely dropped the act now that they were behind closed doors?

“Where's Scarlett?” Noah ignored her initial question, instead choosing to respond with one of his own. He didn't have the time or patience to play this game.

The girl arched a brow, her eyes brightening with a hint of amusement. She walked by where he stood, then bent at the waist when she was at the end of the dresser. From the bottom drawer she produced an unlabeled bottle, as well as three glasses which she placed atop the dresser.

“I think she is Scarlett…” Nick spoke up, still seated.

With a widening grin, the girl put her fingertip to her nose and looked back to Nick from over her shoulder, the same finger shifting to point his way. “Good job, pretty eyes. I'm glad at least one of you can put a two-piece puzzle together.”

A glass of amber liquid was extended to him, which he had no choice but to take upon her forcing it to his chest. He noted that she was much more gentle when offering an identical drink to Nick, the other being kept for herself.

“Before anything else is said, I'm going to need you guys to take the masks off.”

Noah immediately shook his head. “That's not happening.”

An intense look was sent his way from Scarlett. Her hand was on her hip, heel-clad feet carrying her closer to him.

“Either you take off the masks or we're done here.”

SCARLETT

“Well?” Her brows quirked as she stepped around the tall one, slow motions being taken closer to the one with the clear blue-grey eyes. She was already more fond of him.

“Just do it,” he exhaled, quickly pulling his mask off as if he was ripping a band-aid free in one swift motion.

Mumbles of aggravation came from the tall one, but she knew he had done the same based on the sounds of shuffling around and the way his mask was then tossed to the edge of the bed. When she glanced back to him, he was working his fingers through his hair, but that wasn't what caught her attention

“Hold on…you guys are Entertainers?” Scarlett’s eyes went wide with excitement, her sights going back and forth between the two of them again. The guys said nothing, though they shared a silent look with each other that had her interest piqued.

“Ulrik failed to mention that when he told me I'd have visitors.”

“That's because Ulrik doesn't know. That's also how it's going to stay, got it?”

Entertainers were some of the most important people, both Above and Below. They had a way of controlling the masses and getting messages out, especially these specific Entertainers she was currently in the company of. If anyone was to know they were in cahoots with someone of the likes of Ulrik, they would probably disappear in a snap.

“Are you always so feisty?” Scarlett shook her head as she brought her drink to her lips.

“Since you recognize us, does that mean you've seen our shows?”

Nodding, she reached over to lightly drag her fingertip along the seated one’s jaw. His bright eyes lifted to meet with hers and she instantly graced him with a sweet smile.

“A few times, actually. Let's just say…I'm all about your scene.”

The scene she spoke of being one that was kept hush hush, all because of their leadership in the powers that wanted to overthrow Above. Not everyone was privy to this information, though. To be a part of it meant sure death.

“Listen, Scarlett, that's not why we're here. Ulrik told us to come talk to you, see what you could do to help us with this job he has, so we can decide if we're going to take it or not.”

“Oh, honey, if you're here talking to me then you've already taken the job.”

Although she was addressing the tall one on the opposite side of the room, her sights remained set on this sweeter one she had taken much more of a liking to.

“Do you think you just happened to run into me by chance downstairs? No. I knew you were coming, that's why I was on the floor to begin with. Just waiting for the guys with an ‘air of arrogance' to arrive.”

Scarlett looked back to the tall guy, her eyes drinking him in again. She was well aware of the perplexed expression he wore as he studied her, obviously trying to figure her out. Jokes on him, because he would never be able to.

“You two have names?”

“Nicholas,” her favorite almost immediately revealed. “Nick.”

“Fucking seriously?” The unknown guy hissed, now looking at him in disbelief. “You're just going to drop your name like that all because you're hypnotized by her tits?”

Scarlett rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“My eyes are pretty nice too, but don't get your panties in a twist. You need something from me, correct? So, how can you trust me with that if you don't even trust me with your name?”

This got him to shut up for a second because he knew she was right. Something told her that he didn't like being the one who wasn't. His arrogant demeanor wasn't exactly her favorite quality about him, but she was going to let it slide this time. All because of her own curiosities.

“Noah,” he finally answered after a long pause of silence had settled between them.

“Can we just cut to the chase? No more of your seductive cage dancer bullshit. We bought the room - you - to talk, not to play little games.”

Scarlett retracted her touch from Nick, her body language immediately shifting to defensive mode. She was finding it harder and harder to play nice when it came to this Noah jackass.

“Not that it's any of your business but I'm not a cage dancer and I'm not for sale.” Her eyes narrowed at him in a silent warning, though she still found her way in front of him despite how badly she wanted to drop him on his ass.

“That know-it-all attitude of yours is going to leave you dead one day. So if I were you, I'd compose myself a little more, especially when you're asking someone for help.”

She could tell that he wanted to say something else, but she continued before he could.

“Sit down and shut up. I don't want to hear another peep from you until I say. I'll be directing my attention and questions to Nick.”

Scarlett motioned to him, her smile returning as she did. She was going to show Noah that you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so maybe he could learn a lesson or two to take home with him to resonate on.

“Now, Nicky, why don't you tell me about this job Ulrik has so kindly signed you up for?” She sat on the edge of the bed closest to the chair he remained perched in. Her back was straight, one leg crossed over the other, and her focus was now solely on him.

Nick took in a deep breath before tilting his head back to down what remained of the liquor in his glass. He grimaced slightly, just enough to bring a genuine smile to her lips at the sight.

“He wants us to break into the Tower.”

Scarlett slowly nodded since she had already gathered as much. “Is…that it?”

“No…” Nick shook his head. “Once in the Tower, he wants us to cut the power to it permanently and then kill Silver.”

It felt as if someone had punched her right in the gut, that's how strong the shock was when she heard his words. Had Ulrik lost his goddamn mind?

“He wants you to kill Silver? President Silver? The man who runs Silver Life Industries, also known as the company that provides every-fucking-thing we lay our eyes on?”

The destruction included.

Nick could only nod and when she glanced back at Noah, he had his elbows propped up on his knees with the heels of his hands digging into his eyes. It was obvious that they knew how ridiculous it sounded. Not to mention how dangerous it was. Hell, this was the only room in Seven not bugged and even she started feeling nervous that someone could hear them.

“Well…shit.”

“Can you help us or not?”

Scarlett wanted to scold Noah for speaking before she allowed him to, but with the situation that was just dropped into her lap, she no longer cared about his manners.

“I mean…yeah, I can get you guys into the Tower, but you have to survive to actually make it out too.”

“Perfect. All we needed to know.” Noah dropped his hands to his knees in a slap then stood from the opposite corner of the bed he had claimed. The mask was tugged back over his face and adjusted properly, thus signaling to Nick that it was time for them to go.

“How do we get in touch with you?” Nick questioned after mimicking Noah's motions, both of their identities now concealed.

Scarlett smiled before opening the door, a rush of mixed noises immediately assaulting their ears.

“I'll find you.”

× × ×

And find them she did, although nearly a week later.

It definitely wasn't her fastest work, but a lot had been on her mind since their little meeting at Seven. Not to mention the guys had done a pretty good job at not leaving much of a trace of themselves in the outside world. Unless you knew the right people to talk to, which she did.

Scarlett had been a little nervous when taking the rickety elevator down to the lower level of the apartment building they resided in. It's where she had been told they spent most of their time because it was secluded and away from the prying eyes and ears of those watching from Above.

Thinking back on it now, maybe she should've announced herself before waltzing into their glorified man cave. This thought came to her as she stepped off the death trap of an elevator, only to immediately feel the cool barrel of a gun pressed to the back of her head.

“Who the fuck are you?”

When she didn't answer right away, the gun was cocked as a final warning. The sound alone sent a chill down her spine, but she still released a huff as if annoyed by the hold up.

“Are all of you this paranoid?”

The gun was nudged against her head, his prior question silently being asked again.

“Scarlett,” she then answered, though the gun remained firm in place.

“Don't know a Scarlett.”

“And I don't know why I'm being held at gunpoint, yet here we are. Both of us confused.”

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Jolly! Gun down!”

There was a rush from behind her and then the loaded weapon was no longer pressed to her head, but instead decocked and set aside based on what sounds she could pick up.

Bickering began to unfold, something about them explaining to him who she was a few days ago, him claiming he didn't remember, then a few soothing phrases and words were exchanged to calm the trigger happy man down.

Scarlett glanced back during the altercation, seeing that it was Nick lightly touching the guy's shoulder as another unknown male stood a bit off to the side. Noah was nowhere to be seen but that was okay. She was only popping by to show her face and obviously let it be known that they weren't super hard to track down.

“I'll send a carrier pigeon next time telling you guys I'm stopping by,” she joked once Nick was making his way over to her. “Maybe avoid a bloodbath.”

“I would say ‘sorry’ for him…but you are the one intruding. How the hell did you get past the locks, by the way?”

For a moment she was confused by his question, but then remembered the coded pin pads she had easily bypassed to even open the elevator doors. “Oh,” she waved the confusion off, laughing. “It wasn't exactly the hardest of programs to crack. You guys should probably get someone better to handle that for you.”

Nick squinted at her, his smile wavering. “I set those locks…”

Damn. She couldn't remember the last time she had truly been embarrassed, but this was definitely going to remain fresh in her mind for a while.

“Right…well…I'll have to give you some pointers.”

“What are you doing here?”

Scarlett smiled at his sudden change of topic. She found herself taking a slight step closer to him, pleased to be able to clearly see his eyes without dim or harsh lights drowning out the color.

“Not happy to see me, Nicky?”

Nick took in a deep breath, those eyes of his trailing her up and down unabashedly. “No…no…seeing you has definitely been a highlight…”

Grinning, she reached out to lightly touch his cheek, just before her eyes shifted to the guys lingering not far back.

“Are you going to introduce me?”

“Shit, right.” Nick cleared his throat, his body turning so he could carry himself closer to his friends. While Scarlett did recognize them from the shows she had attended, it was still best that he initiated the exchange of their names.

Did she already know them? Maybe.

“Scarlett, this is Jolly, and I promise he isn't as quick to pull the trigger as you may think.”

“Clearly, since I'm still alive,” she taunted.

“And this strapping young man is also Nick, but we call him Folio. So, yeah…this is Scarlett, the girl Ulrik told us about.”

Jolly scoffed as he examined her with what appeared to be great frustration.

“This little sparkle fairy is supposed to be the one helping us? My foot is bigger than her!”

“Sparkle fairy?” She repeated with a look of distaste for the term.

“I'm sure my foot can cause more damage too!”

Now this caused her eyes to narrow, jaw setting into a firm clench. What is it with men and their need to always underestimate her? Most of the time it didn't bother her too much because it typically worked out in her favor when they did, but sometimes - like now - it truly pissed her off. Here she was, offering her services and also her time, and it was unappreciated.

“Do you want to test that theory out? I have no issues with shattering every bone in your foot with my own goddamn heels.”

Jolly appeared taken back for a moment, but a smile then pulled at his lips and he was wagging his finger in her direction. “Never mind. I like her.”

“Same…but she's a little scary…” Folio murmured under his breath as he and Jolly led the group to a sitting area.

“Just some knowledge to place upon you,” Nick called out to Folio while dropping his hand to his shoulder. “All women are scary.”

This made her smile, another slight laugh leaving her. “I always knew you were the smart one.”

A few more steps and they were within an area that held mismatched chairs, rugs, and other random decor pieces. It was obvious that the guys grabbed whatever they could that was still in decent condition, and she didn't blame them. Sometimes it was the simple things that were hard to come by nowadays.

“No Noah?” She questioned as she dropped her bag onto one of the random chairs, this one being a deep green color.

“He said he was going down to the corner store but that was…” Nick glanced at the others, “maybe about an hour ago.”

“Well, I guess it's a good thing this was more a social call than actual planning. Pretty much just needed to see what - and who - I'd be working with.” Her eyes drifted between all three of them, lips pursed as she sized them up. Scarlett had a knack for reading people. Very rarely was she incorrect in her assumptions.

The point of her nail angled towards Jolly, slowly nodding. “I'm guessing you're the muscle, yeah? Good with weapons, intimidating, a pretty decent shot.”

Scarlett didn't give them a chance to respond before she was moving on to the next. Her focus fell to Nick, immediately giving him a sweet smile as she had done consistently now.

“The kind of guy that knows his way around tech…probably the smartest one in the room but doesn't like to show it…voice of reason.”

Their eyes remained locked for a long moment, though she looked away first before anyone could question it. The reddening of his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by her, though.

“And Folio…the wild card. Every good group has one. Never know what you're gonna do next, but it somehow always works out to be helpful.”

“Damn…are you psychic?” Folio asked, his eyes wide with awe for her little party trick.

Before she could reply, a different voice cut through.

“Guess that makes me the asshole leader.” Noah strolled in and paused a few feet from her. He crossed his arms over his chest, letting her know that he was trying his best to make himself look bigger. An intimidation technique, obviously.

“Arrogant, bossy, doesn't know when to quit…”

“The one who ends up getting someone killed.” Scarlett quickly snapped, her head whipping around to show him just how serious her expression was. “Not yourself, though. No, you're the one who gets to live with the guilt of his pretentious, pompous attitude being the reason a friend doesn't make it out alive.”

NICHOLAS

The room grew so quiet that he was convinced you could hear a pin drop. He was looking at Noah, at Scarlett, and then back to Noah, studying the way they now glared at one another. His best friend appeared as if he wanted to explode (verbally? physically? both?), but he was doing the best he could at holding onto his composure.

Flexing his shoulders backwards, Noah gave a single nod. Seconds later, he was disappearing to the other side of the room where he could slip through a typically concealed doorway that led to their makeshift studio area.

“I'll draw up a plan and see you guys in a couple of days, yeah?”

Scarlett was smiling again as if nothing had happened but he could pick up on the slight waver in her voice. That had him curious.

Unfortunately, she was gathering her belongings and strutting away before he could even stand from his seat.

“Hey, Sca-” Nick rushed to his feet to try to stop her, but she was gone. The sound of the elevator doors closing rang in his ears - a reminder that they really needed to fix that.

“Shit, she's brutal.” Jolly shook his head. “I still like her, though.”

Nick heavily exhaled while turning on his heel, now heading back the other way to where Noah had slid away. He found him sitting at the old, out of tune piano, lightly pressing random keys as if just testing the sound.

“Maybe I should just do this alone.”

That was the last thing Nick had been expecting to hear.

“Absolutely not.”

“No, Nick, she's right. I should've told Ulrik to 'fuck off’. It's my fault we’re in this, and I'm not going to let anyone else die because of me.”

Nick could sense how heavy those words were for him to say. He could hear it. He could feel it. They were all still mourning in their own way, though Noah’s preferences were a little more on the self destructive side.

“You've completely lost it if you think any of us are going to let you do this alone.”

Despite his statement being true, he couldn't bring himself to tell Noah that he was wrong for experiencing guilt and blame that he placed on himself. Things had happened in the past because of him. Nick figured it was best to not outright say this, though.

“Fuck!” Noah abruptly growled, his hands slamming down on the piano keys with such force that a couple remained permanently sunken in.

“Why do you always have to be so fucking understanding and loyal? Why can't you for once just tell me I'm a piece of shit? Huh, Nick?”

How the hell had this suddenly become an attack on him?

“I know you're thinking it. Jolly and Folio obviously are too. Shit, even your girlfriend read me like a fucking children's picture book.”

“What? Scarlett isn't my-”

“Obviously, Nick. A girl like her?” Noah snorted a laugh. “She would rip you to pieces.”

Nick stared at the back of his best friend’s head, since he had refused to turn around since their conversation began. There was a lot he wanted to say, but he swallowed every harsh word because he knew Noah would regret this by the next day. That's just how things went with them nowadays.

“Y’know, maybe Scarlett was right about some things. Your attitude will be your downfall.”

× × ×

The last thing he wanted right then was for Noah to be right. He refused to let that fucker wear a smug smile while muttering 'I told ya so’ to him. Why was he so quick to assume Scarlett would get the better of him? All because he was nice? Because he knew how to smile? Because he didn't need to be a broody asshole day after day?

Nick wouldn't let himself believe that.

Taking in a deep breath, he shook his hands out to rid the nerves, then he pressed the faintly glowing blue button on the outside of the door. There was nothing for a long moment, so long that he almost walked away, but as he was considering it, the door creaked open slowly.

“Nick? What…how did you find me?”

Not even seeing Scarlett’s face right then could calm him. Although, the fact that she recognized him within less than a second while he was wearing his mask did make his heart swell a bit.

“It took you how long to find where we were?” He cracked a slight smile. “Just had to show you how it's done.”

Even through her confused expression, he could see a smile threatening to appear and overtake her stoic demeanor. Nick was praying that meant she was at least a little happy to see him - invited or not.

He watched as she contemplated silently to herself before finally taking steps back and widening the entryway for him.

“Wait…don't go any further.” After closing and securing the door with multiple locks, Scarlett’s form rushed by him so she could begin pulling the curtains closed around the living room. The area darkened significantly, though he understood why she was being cautious.

“I'd rather not become Above’s nightly entertainment,” she explained once she was turning to face him, her arms loosely crossed over her chest in what he could assume was another one of her infamous defensive stances.

SCARLETT

Why was her heart racing right then?

Why was Nick in her home?

Why was he looking at her like that?

Before she could verbalize any of these questions, he was tugging the black mask off his head and shaking his fingers through his hair.

“You shouldn't be here…” she softly murmured, the nerves setting in. “It's not safe for either of us.”

Scarlett desperately wanted to tell herself to ‘shut the hell up’ because having him there actually felt nice. Her apartment wasn't so lonely for once. It was going to be a fleeting feeling and she knew this, but what was so wrong with enjoying it while she could?

Oh, right, the high risk of death.

Nick nodded in agreement, but instead of turning and leaving like she was expecting him to, he actually took fast steps over to her. His rough hands grabbed her face within them and he leaned down as far as he needed to, to force his lips hard against hers.

The shock of the kiss nearly knocked the breath out of her, but she was able to recover almost instantly before he got the wrong idea from her reaction. It took about the same amount of time for Nick to soften the claim his lips had made on hers. Scarlett wasn't going to let that slide.

As they engaged in their yet-to-be-broken kiss, her hands ran up along the length of his waist and over his arms where she could briefly grip his wrists. Since he had just come in from outside, he was wearing far too many layers that were used to shield him from the elements. So, she quickly went to work at ridding him of them.

First, his jacket was pushed from his shoulders, followed by the secondary lighter one he wore beneath it. Nick graciously helped her, eagerly tugging at the sleeves and tossing each article of clothing aside. She couldn't help but to smile against his lips since she found his excitement to be cute.

Scarlett released a slight sound of surprise as he gripped beneath her thighs and lifted her up into his arms, forcing her back into the wall. Her legs secured around his waist, pressing herself right against where she could feel the growing bulge in his dark jeans.

“Someone's excited…” she taunted, her breathing heavy after parting from the kiss. Nick’s lips were flushed red, pupils dilated as he stared directly at her. Her thumb swiped along his lower lip, gently soothing the tier from where her teeth had sunken in at some point. She swore she saw his eyes darken just before his lips were crashing to hers again.

Scarlett moaned, her fingers working back into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. He must've liked this, because next thing she knew he was pressing himself firm between her thighs, grinding against her aching core. The sensation caused her to shiver, legs then tightening around him in an attempt to bring him in closer. Nick’s grip on her thighs embedded deeper and now it was his turn to break from her lips, just so he could begin trailing hot kisses along her neck and the front of her chest.

“Nicky…” she breathed out to gain his attention. That's all it took for him to detach himself from her skin, his bright eyes lifting to meet with her own. “I should probably tell you that I'm not looking for anything serious.”

The man she was currently wrapped around was sweet and she knew he had a good head on his shoulders, anyone would be lucky to have him, but these days…it wasn't that simple anymore.

His eye searched hers as he carefully lowered her back down to her feet, though he didn't move away from her. Actually, he pressed his body flush against hers, trapping her between himself and the wall. Scarlett smirked, her hands slipping beneath the shirt he wore so she could feel the heat of his bare skin.

“I know,” he nodded while his hand smoothed along her jaw and to the back of her neck. “That's fine.”

To her, that was a green light to continue.

Scarlett pressed up onto her tip toes so she could kiss him again, just before she placed her hands flat against his chest and pushed him back. Grabbing his shoulders, she guided him to the couch and forced him down into a seated position. Nick’s hands instantly attached to her hips as he gazed up at her with a smile, though his obvious desire for her was still present in his eyes.

Grasping his shirt, she pulled it off in a swift motion and tossed it back to be tended to later. Despite his hands eagerly beginning to lift the dress she wore, Scarlett sent a look his way that caused him to immediately stop, though his touch didn't leave her body.

“You listen well,” she taunted. “I like that.” With a lingering smirk, she gently nudged his hands away so she could slip her own beneath her dress, her panties being pulled down for her to step out of.

Nick watched her for a moment, but then began fumbling with the belt he wore, followed by the button and zipper of his jeans. He really was just so fucking cute. Most people she had been with in the past always tried to play it way too cool, making it appear as if they really didn't give a shit about what was happening. But Nick? Well, he clearly had no issue with showing his excitement.

Stepping back to him, her hands slowly ran up the expanse of his thighs. Nick took in a sharp inhale as she grazed the obvious bulge that was straining in his jeans, the reaction causing her to arch a brow.

“Sensitive?” Her smirk widened when he cursed under his breath but ultimately nodded in response.

Scarlett gently pressed the heel of her hand into him before her fingers began to massage his lengthening hard on over the fabric. Her eyes fixated on his face, joyfully watching the change in his expression as his hips bucked up into her palm and his brows knitted together.

“If I wasn't so eager to have you, I'd make you cum just like this…” she softly threatened.

Nick heavily breathed out at this, his frustrations quite apparent. She understood how maddening it could be because she was feeling it as well. The only difference was that she had a bit more composure than he did, though only because she had claimed the dominance between them. At least this time.

Hiking her dress up, she situated herself on his lap in a straddling position. She was lifted up onto her knees so she could further undress him, now moving faster than she previously had been. Scarlett dragged his jeans and boxers down as far as necessary, allowing his cock to spring free at full attention.

Then, she was positioning herself over him with the guidance of his hands, but she didn't yet drop herself down.

“You've been thinking about this since the moment you saw me at Seven, haven't you?” Scarlett hovered right over the swollen head of his cock, only allowing him to feel the heat her cunt radiated. His grip on her hips tightened in anticipation, jaw clenching from how she was dragging this out.

“I bet you've imagined how wet I'd be for you…how tight…what sort of noises you'd get me to make…”

Closing the space between them by only a few centimeters, she briefly shut her eyes when she felt the tip nudging against her soaked entrance. It took all of her self control to not just fully give in because Nick felt better already than even she had imagined.

So what if she had spent a night or two cumming around her fingers to the thought of him?

“Are you going to let me find out?” Nick retorted with a smirk of his own, his hips shifting slightly as he attempted to press up into her. He probably thought he was successful in this, but Scarlett had let it happen, both of them gasping in unison when the head of his cock buried further.

Leaning in, she began to kiss along his jaw as her hands shifted back to grip the top edge of the couch. She was slowly taking him in now, stroking herself up and down while engulfing his cock inch by inch.

“Fuck…you feel amazing.” Nick groaned, a twitch of his cock reiterating his words.

His fingers then flexed along her hips and she was suddenly being forced all the way down, his hips lifting simultaneously. A loud moan echoed through the room, easily drowning out the sound of his own groans. Scarlett bowed her head into the crook of his neck, heavily breathing from the rush of ecstasy that radiated through her. Her cunt tightly clenched around his throbbing shaft as she tried to quickly adjust.

Nick pushed the thin fabric of her dress up while they remained flush together so he could fully expose her body to him. One hand slid up her abdomen and between her breasts as the other returned to her hip, eagerly trying to guide her hips along.

It took a moment, but she was finally able to get her bearings and find a proper rhythm. Breathy moans escaped between them once she was sliding up and down his cock with a newly established ease. Each drop of her hips had the tip stroking along just the right spot, causing her to arch her lower back in a desperate need to feel more.

“Nicky…oh!” She gasped, her mouth falling opening and her hips briefly stuttering atop his. “Yeah, just like that…”

Scarlett nodded when his tattooed hands assisted in lifting her up and down, forcing her harder into his lap with every downward motion.

Tossing her hair aside, a hand released the back of the couch so she could grab his jaw. Nick’s eyes were forced up to hers where she held his gaze, just so he could see how fucking good he was making her feel. Something about the eye contact must've really done it for him, because his grip shifted back to her ass to keep her up so he could drive himself up into her aching pussy at a rapid pace. The action caused the entirety of her body to tense and her breath to stall, the pleasure nearly too much.

“I'm going to cum…” Scarlett again nodded. She dropped a hand between her thighs to begin rubbing her clit in fast circles, the act immediately drawing Nick's eye down. Watching him watch her, as well as the sight of his cock disappearing up into her petite body again and again, had her right there.

Only a couple of more thrusts from him beneath her and her cunt was erupting around him, briefly causing her composure to break. Scarlett had to latch onto his shoulder with her teeth to keep herself from crying out his name too loud - they couldn't draw too much attention. His arms circled around her waist to hold her in close as her entire being trembled and quaked with her orgasm.

Nails raked down his arms, involuntarily marking him before she even realized she had. Oh well. Maybe Nick liked the slight pain that came from it, though, because his own hips jerked after he demanded her pussy remain with his cock buried as deep as possible.

“Shhh,” she soothingly hushed him, a hand immediately flying up to cover his mouth to muffle all the moans and profanities he was now expelling. Despite the need to keep quiet, Scarlett whimpered at the sensation of his cum overflowing and spilling out between them, mixing with her own small mess she had made.

Once his body stilled, she slowly lowered her hand and instead covered his mouth with her own. They shared a desperate kiss, all eager tongues moving in sync with teeth clashing as they both tried to overtake the other.

“You good?” Nick mumbled the best he could, receiving a nod from her in response.

“Good.”

In a swift motion, Nick had her on her back across the couch and he was driving himself between her thighs again. She stared up at him with wide eyes for only a second, utterly shocked by his ability to go again almost immediately, until the over-stimulation of him thrusting into her spent cunt clouded her mind.

Scarlett suddenly didn't care anymore if her apartment neighbors heard them. Hell, she would rip her curtains down and let Above watch if that's what it took to make sure he didn't stop.

Propped up on one elbow, his opposite hand began exploring her body. He grasped her neck for a moment, then dropped down to knead and massage her breast that was bouncing with each forceful snap of his hips. Scarlett’s noises spoke to her approval because words were impossible for her to come by right then. The smirk he wore showed his enjoyment in the sounds she made for him.

Nick concluded his exploration when the pads of his fingers made contact with her swollen and overly sensitive clit. A simple touch made her hips twitch and attempt to retract, despite how good it felt at the same time. This didn't stop Nick, though. He sat up on his knees and pulled her in closer, driving in harder and faster while his thumb stroked her clit in time.

Scarlett writhed in ecstasy beneath him, hips rolling up to meet with his, before she was suddenly cumming again. Her pussy gushed and quivered through her climax, to the point that she thought maybe she would pass out from the intensity.

“That's it…you did so good.” Nick cooed, this being a side of him that was taking her completely by surprise. Had he not just been the more submissive between the two? Wasn't she supposed to be the one in control?

Too bad she couldn't focus on that right now because she was too busy watching his face contort as he released inside of her once more. Nick’s head hung at a downwards angle once his hips stopped spasming, the only movement from him now coming from the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He groaned and his jaw clenched as he slowly pulled out, bringing forth a pout from her due to the lack of being filled.

Sex had always been something Scarlett could go without for long periods, simply because there were always more pressing matters that needed tending to. Trying to survive was a daily task that took up most of her time, if she was being honest. But now? Well, now she figured she would have to drown herself in this job of theirs so as to not become carried away each and everyday she was around him.

“We can't tell anyone about this,” she spoke up first after catching her own breath.

Nick had shifted to the opposite end of the couch to regain normal brain function, his eyes settled on her. She wasn't sure how to read his expression, but he eventually nodded in agreement.

“I'm serious, Nick. It could jeopardize everything.”

Taking in a deep breath, Scarlett carefully sat up, her knees being pulled closer to her chest. He was then softly chuckling, head shaking at her comments.

“You should work on your pillow talk,” he teased. “I mean…my cum is still in you as you're telling me this has to stay a secret.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, a decorative pillow soon being tossed his way once she had dislodged it from behind her back. “Shut up,” she demanded with a huff.

Nick smiled despite being well aware of how serious she was about everything. It wasn't like he was going to go back and gloat to the guys about what they had just done because Scarlett knew he wasn't the type. He may have surprised her a bit towards the end there, but that didn't change what she already knew about him.

“What about…?” He motioned between the two of them and their still fully exposed bodies. “Was this a one time thing?”

Now that was a question she didn't have an answer for. She knew what she should say but it definitely wasn't what she wanted to say.

“Let's just focus on keeping you and the others alive first.”

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