#serbia fics

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hey hey steph! good morning or afternoon, wherever you are . just seeing if you have any fic lists that center mainly around sherlock’s time away/sherl in serbia?

Hey Nonny!

Ah, I have made a community post here before called Aftermath of Serbia / Serbia Fics (Dec 2022) that have several fics on it that you may enjoy, as well as some fics on my blog tag here that has some other fics not on the above Community post. AND I also have some similar lists linked below!

I went through my bookmarks and my MFL lists, and did a keyword search and organized them below, so I hope this satisfies the need!

And these aren't meant to be confused with Post-S2 fics! These are fics that deal SPECIFICALLY with Sherlock's time away and the trauma it caused! If you have a fic that fits that bill, please add it! This is a list that's been long-time coming, since I've been asked a lot for them :)

SERBIA / AFTERMATH OF HIATUS FICS

See also:

John Finds Out About Hiatus

John Joins Sherlock During Hiatus

Sherlock Returns from Hiatus Injured

Sherlock’s PTSD 

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

Both Sides Now by Silvergirl (M, 14,724 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TEH / Reunion Fix-It, Bed Sharing, First Kiss / Time, Undercover John, Couple for a Case, Assassin Mary, Big Brother Mycroft, Norfolk Coast, Angry John, First Kiss, Worried Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Alternating POV, Infidelity, Meddling Mycroft, Emotional Love Making, Matchmaker Mycroft) – Sherlock, undercover on the Norfolk coast, texts that he needs help; John is still seething after Sherlock’s gambit in the train car, and he refuses. When Sherlock goes missing, Mycroft sends John in to pose as Sherlock’s bit on the side.

Your Perfect Offering by CaitlinFairchild (E, 44,609 w., 6 Ch. ||  Hurt / Comfort, First Time, Romance, Angst With Happy Ending, Rape Recovery, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Trauma) – “Sherlock,” John continues, careful and quiet. “I’ve seen your back. I know you were hurt. I don’t want to pry, I don’t want to cause you discomfort but...I’m starting to think something else happened there. In Serbia. ”Sherlock rolls away and sits up on the edge of the bed, his back to John. “A great many things happened in Serbia,” he says, flat and remote. “None of them were pleasant.”

Winter’s Storm by LoloLolly (M, 51,812 w., 11 Ch. || Canon Compliant Through TFP/S4 Is Canon, Alternating POV,  Established / New Relationship, Parentlock with Rosie, Explicit Torture, Mentions of Sherlock’s PTSD, Mentions of Human Trafficking, References to Child Abuse, Violence, Kidnapping, Captivity, Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff, Case Fic, BAMF / Soldier John, Sherlock Whump, Mycroft and John Work Together, Marriage Proposal, Autistic Sherlock, Lestrade Finds Out, Polyglot Sherlock, Aftermath of Serbia) – Sherlock had buried the past. Shut Serbia away in the attic of his mind palace. Muddy footprints at a heinous crime scene, however, have led him right back to old enemies. And right back to captivity. For God’s sake, Mycroft. Part 2 of the Earthly Pomp (Is But a Dream) series

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns. 

MARKED FOR LATER

And one day you'll see the scars by thepurplewombat (T, 1,550 w., 1 Ch. || Post TEH, Aftermath of Torture, Angry John, Scars, Sherlock Whump) – songofages and I had a conversation about Sherlock's back in TEH, because really, how much must it have hurt to let John slam him into the floor like that after everything he'd gone through, and this happened. It turned out more angsty than I'd intended, and more Mrs Hudson-focussed, but I don't think you can ever have too much angst, or too much Mrs Hudson, for that matter.

English as a Foreign Language by standbygo (G, 1,739 w., 2 Ch. || Post-TRF, PTSD Sherlock, Reunion) – Sherlock is not quite right after Mycroft pulls him out of Serbia.

He Is Different, This One by ASilvergirl (G, 2,691 w., 1 Ch. || TEH Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Serbia, Neuroatypical/Autistic Sherlock, Snarky Sherlock, Big Brother Mycroft, Pining Sherlock) – How would the Serbian "interrogation" go if his captors knew that Sherlock was neuroatypical and had synaesthesia? This is an alternate version of the scene from "The Empty Hearse."

Wounded by Gregorovitch (T, 3,309 w., 1 Ch. || TEH Fic, Aftermath of Violence, Awkward Conversations, Sherlock’s Scars, Angst with Happy Ending) – John accidentally gets to see all of Sherlock's wounds after the Fall. Time for both of them to have a serious talk.

By the Rivers of Babylon by verdant_fire (T, 3,359 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post HLV Canon Divergence, Love Declarations, Exile, Pining Sherlock, Longing, Angst, POV Sherlock, Reunions, First Kiss) – Sherlock goes back to Serbia, and endures exile, boredom/torture, and a certain chemical defect, for the sake of one person and three improbable words.

Maybe I'am amazed by honeybee_motorcyles (T, 3,448+ w., 3/7 Ch. || WIP || Post TRF,  Implied Rape/Non Con, Sherlock’s Not Okay, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied Sexual Content, HIV/AIDS, POV John) – In which what happened to Sherlock in Serbia had a consequence that lasted a lifetime, (literally).

Places in the Mind by Calais_Reno (T, 4,411 w., 1 Ch. || Post HLV, POV First Person Sherlock, BAMF John, Hurt Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Memory Loss, Pining, Heavy Angst, Regret, Hurt/Comfort, Rescue, Protective John, Love Confessions, Drugs) – John rescues Sherlock in Serbia after he is wounded. This takes place after the Tarmac scene. Part 7 of Just Johnlock

The Great Escape by Castiel_For_King (M, 22,299 w., 8 Ch. || PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is Not Okay, Unstable Sherlock, Aftermath of Torture, Flashbacks, Protective John, Dissociation, Suicide Attempt, Big Brother Mycroft, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss) – Sherlock's mind has ruptured...and he didn't even notice until it was spilling it's contents like a broken jello mold. The lines between what he thought was real and what he wished was real start to unravel and Sherlock finds himself trapped in the clutches of his own broken mind, with no way to escape. Luckily, he has his conductor of light to lead him out of the darkness.

Learn My Scars by meet_me_in_samarra (M, 38,075 w., 31 Ch. || Post-TRF, TEH Divergence,  Aftermath of Serbia, Sherlock Whump, Caring John, Sherlock-centric, Big Brother Mycroft, POV First Person Sherlock, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Injuries / Scars) – After being thrown down and strangled, Sherlock leaves John in the restaurant, angry and deeply hurt. When John follows Sherlock to 221b, he learns that Sherlock's scars have not been acquired by “gallivanting around” for two years.

An Aftertaste Of Memory by Raithwithwings57 (M, 39,009+ w., 20/? Ch. || Post TRF, Rosie is in this Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, Amnesia (Sherlock), Torture, Scars, PTSD, Divorced John, Divorced Lestrade, Misunderstandings) – Sherlock Holmes was believed by most to have died by jumping to his death. A few people, Mycroft Holmes included believed he died in somewhere in Serbia, tortured to death, though his body was never found. Sherlock Holmes himself doesn't believe either of the above, obviously. After being extensively tortured in Serbia, he suffered a traumatic brain injury that left him with amnesia, and deafness. But the doctors say that the deafness is psychological in nature. It doesn't matter much to him. All he knows is that his name is William, and that he was once (and it seems he always will be) in love with a man by the name of John Watson. John has suffered much in the last eight years. Losing his best friend to suicide, marrying and then later being divorced by his wife, battling for joint custody of his child, and generally trying to forge ahead and figure out what the seemingly bleak future holds in store for him. But what he could never expect is Sherlock's sudden return. Nor the man's conviction that once upon a time they were madly in love.

Not the King's Men by StoneWingedAngel (T, 56,183 w., 25 Ch. || Aftermath of Torture, Swearing) – John finds Sherlock three years after he thought he'd buried him, scared and injured; broken to such an extent he can barely recognise those trying to help him. Battling against too many unanswered questions and his own feelings, John sets out to put him back together, but never stops to consider Sherlock's return may be part of a greater punishment in store for the both of them.

Flesh and Blood and Bone and Heart by SilentAuror (E, 59,990 w., 3 Ch. || Post S3/TAB Fix It, Romance, Terrorism, Bombs, Suspense, Kissing, Indfidelity, Murder, POV John) – As John takes Sherlock back to Baker Street rather than seeing him off to his mission in Serbia, Sherlock decides to reveal how very human he is, after all, and the fall-out will have enormous consequences for them both...

I want to go home. Series by IwillbeReichenbach (E, 82,514+ w. across 3 works || Series WiP || TEH / Post-Serbia, Canon Compliant, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Sherlock-centric, Torture, Violence, BAMF Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Canon Compliant, Mycroft To The Rescue, Dark, Pain/Hurt, Injury, Waterboarding, Electricity Misuse, Rape Aftermath/Recovery, Humiliation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Broken Sherlock) – A version of the events that occur in Serbia and shortly thereafter. Sherlock is in for a rough time. I have tried my best to keep it canon compliant. 

Shatter Me by Loveismyrevolution (E, 171,074+ w., 21/26 Ch. || WiP || Sherlock Dances, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Angst with Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Introspection, Mutual Pining, UST, Idiots in Love, Big Brother Mycroft, Implied Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions) – This is a story about two men trying to find their way back into the comfort of their companionship. No easy task in the aftermath of the events of Reichenbach, a wedding and a shot through the heart. They are facing a very rocky road ahead with a lot of introspection, misunderstandings, angst and pining. They each try to cope in their own particular way. Eventually, they'll find a way to communicate and learn about the true nature of their feelings.

Scheherezade by sgam76 (G, 197,576 w., 45 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF/Pre-TSo3, PTSD Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Humour, Protective John, Papa Lestrade, Big Brother Mycroft, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Aftermath of Serbia, Past Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, Drunk Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts / Attempt) – Sherlock is home, he and John are returning to cases, and all's right with the world--right? But a series of minor mishaps and injuries makes two things very clear to his friends and family: first, Sherlock's time away wasn't the grand adventure everyone has assumed it was; and second, that time has left Sherlock with a legacy that's bleeding into his life today. Sherlock is Not Okay, and it's not going away. Part 1 of the Scheherezade 'verse series 

Define Vulnerabilty by TheGracefulBlueCat (T, 240,606 w. 97 Ch. || Canon Compliant, Aftermath of Torture, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Sherlock's Violin, Doctor John, John is a Good Friend, Flashbacks, Case Fic, Sedation, Sherlock is a Mess / Not Okay, Nightmares, Big Brother Mycroft, Asperger's Sherlock, Fainting, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Triggers, Panic Attacks, Hurt Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Blood and Gore, Drugs / Drug Use, Helpless / Vulnerable Sherlock, Protective John, Painful Repressed Memories, PTSD Sherlock, Medical Procedures, Drugged Lestrade, Lestrade Whump, Drugged Sherlock, Recovery, Crying Sherlock, Dissociation, Forehead Touching) – Shortly after Sherlock's return John realises something is very wrong with his friend. He, Greg and Mycroft try to help Sherlock as he falls deeper and deeper into the abyss called PTSD. But Sherlock is not ready to allow anyone in, but then the events of the current case cause him to hit bottom hard. Part 8 of the Lessons in Friendship series, Part 1 of the Hiatus series

[i-mybrunettelady]

a gravitational pull

Summary: Renira goes on a date with a very singular woman. Content warnings: sensuality/making out (M) Spoilers: None Note: Happy Lesbian visibility week! I may not be a lesbian but Ren is and I wanted to write this for ages now but just.. didn't, so here's one for a ship that could've been, but never was. Ft Babymander Nyra.

Renira doesn’t ordinarily meddle with targets that don’t concern her current mission. The Vigil, as far as her orders go, are allies and not people whose secrets she should be focused on. A secret here and there is fine, but there is a line that the agents can’t cross. Not when there’s General Soulkeeper and Warmaster Kernsson on sight as two high ranking officers. The Warmaster, maybe, if she were daring enough to attempt to spy on him again at such a time, but the General? 

She cannot risk it; not as a Lightbringer. Not when her squad relies on her in this way. 

Yet when Kernsson’s pretty apprentice starts chatting her up and asks her for a date, Renira is all too quick to agree. There is no shortage of pretty women, but there is a shortage of time. Now, after that whole business with Ajax Anvilburn is done with, she can take a break for one evening. It’s nothing serious, after all.

Then again, Renira does wonder if digging up info on your date before you even go out is standard practice for anyone who isn’t of the Whispers. Probably not. Alysannyra Ainsaph’s name has popped up here and there - starting with a file in bold, red letters called the Hero of Shaemoor. She has family here in Ebonhawke. And now, apparently, she has joined the Vigil and bears the title of Crusader. 

That’s where she makes herself stop. There need to be conversation topics. She cannot know everything in advance. 

“Nice dress, by the way,” Alysannyra says with a slight curve to the ends of her lips. “I see you’re taking cues from the locals.” She then pauses and joins her hands before her. Her lips, full and pink, are slightly parted. “I think it suits you, personally. We’d wear it belted in Rurikton, for the waist emphasis, but it looks good like this, I think. And I think the flower I chose works well with it? As if I’d known!”

Renira takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” she says and accepts the flowers - a vibrant yellow to match the pink of her dress, just as Alysannyra said - and gently holds them in her hand. Then Alysannyra offers her a hand and off on the streets of Ebonhawke they go. 

She looks good tonight. They look quite the pair, unintentionally so. The thought makes Renira smile. Nyra looks rather good in the traditional Ascalonian embroidered shirt and a jelek. The shirt is open enough to reveal her collarbones and the tightness of the vest makes her chest look pronounced. Her hair is long and loose, brushed but only barely, alternating between brown, red and blonde in the dying light of day. Her face is bare. 

Renira hasn’t seen eyes as blue in a while. Or maybe the lack of romantic attention in recent times finally reared its ugly head. While not that common, blue eyes aren’t exactly a rarity either. 

“Your hair changes color in the sunlight,” Renira says, by way of observation. Their footsteps fall in rhythm.

“Only the wisest of men know what my actual hair color is,” Nyra supplies, and lifts her eyebrows. “It has been foretold, certainly, that one who guesses it right will win my hand in marriage.” 

“Should I keep looking then?” Renira laughs. She likes the way Nyra talks. The dryness of her humor is refreshing. 

“If you like. I like to be looked at. If you guess right, you might get me to pop the question, Ascalonian style.” 

“Oh? I assume your heritage allows you for more insight on that particular topic than my few months of living here does?” Renira leans in - rather, down. Nyra’s hair smells of fresh herbs. 

Nyra lifts her head to meet her eyes. She holds her gaze. “I could show you, if you’d like,” she says. 

Renira hums. “There is time, Nyra.” She masks the extent of the excitement the response leaves in her. Nyra is a woman of the court, and she knows the art of conversation just as well as Renira does, yet not everyone acquires the charm needed to get to be as good as it can be. 

No, it’s not charm, not really. It feels like she has something of a gravitational pull that makes Renira unable to look away. The steadiness of her gaze, the warmth of her hand, scent of herbs and a hint of perfume, all coupled with her head held high, tempts Renira to bend down and kiss her then and there. When has she grown attracted to muscle on a woman? That is a new development. 

Not that she minds. 

Nyra’s smile is lopsided. “Enough time to squeeze a second date in?” 

Renira laughs. “Maybe. If I don’t make up my mind by the end of this one.” She pulls her closer. The eye contact breaks when she snakes their fingers tighter together and runs her nails over Nyra’s knuckles. “We aren’t even at the date location yet. The night is young.” 

And indeed, the sun has just set. The moon is just peeking through, an invited, observant figure to  the chatter of people and their joint hands. By the end of this, Renira thinks, she could have Nyra in her bed if she wanted to. And where would the harm be, if she has a willing participant? 

Nyra nods, pink in the face. “That is for you to decide, but in the meantime, I think a delicious meal awaits us.” 

And the food is good, admittedly, the kind both humans and charr would enjoy. Well done meat with kajmak, chopped onion that neither of them are touching, reflections of the bright yellow flower in the little rakija bottles. Turns out Nyra isn’t a fan of it. She takes one sip, swallows like a battleworn hero she is, and places it down with all the grace of a woman of the court. Renira downs hers in one chug. Nyra lifts a brow, as if impressed. 

And maybe alcohol did lower their inhibitions, but they’re kissing in a dimly lit street later, with Nyra on the tips of her toes and her hands around Renira’s shoulders. She’s a good kisser, it turns out. 

“Billiard rooms,” Nyra explains in between kisses. It’s a rather silly high society excuse to stare at people’s asses and steal a kiss. 

Renira slides her hands down and squeezes Nyra’s ass. She doesn’t need any overpriced rooms. “Were there any bets?” she asks, curiously. A part of her laughs, almost; is she as cocky as someone like Nyra can afford to be, to place a bet to be the best she’s ever kissed? She doesn’t voice it. 

There are many things she hasn’t been able to afford herself. There’s something so very aristocratic about the way Nyra carries herself, the way she grabs attention and stamps her seal all over it. Even now, red in the face, with lips darkened by kissing and lipstick, she knows she looks good, she knows the world should be watching her. 

Arrogance, Renira thinks. Arrogance that’s hardly ever faced a pushback. Arrogance that makes her want to fuck her against that very wall, in this very street. What a luxurious thing. 

“Nothing that went beyond tongues,” Nyra replies after a thought. “My parents have always been of the old, Ascalonian cut.” 

Renira tilts her head and licks at Nyra’s lower lip. “And you?” 

Nyra looks visibly distracted for a moment. “I’ve never been to Ebonhawke before,” she says. “Is that good enough?” 

“More than enough.” Enough to write in your file later. Tastes divine, is hardly in touch with where her parents came from. Looking to reconnect. Doesn’t care about the way things are done here. She places a kiss on her jaw. Nyra’s nails dig into Renira’s skin. She then kisses lower, to her exposed neck. 

Then, she then feels Nyra’s hands pushing her face away from her neck. Just as Renira was about to ask to leave her a little bite. Rude, she thinks and smiles. You arrogant, rude, sexy aristocrat. You just need to be in charge. Did the world see that? Or do you keep these things to yourself?

“I know a place where we can have more privacy,” Nyra says in a voice that doesn’t invite questioning. A command wrapped in a statement, and the quietness of the tone doesn’t take anything away from its force. She slides her hand down so it rests on Renira’s hip. “It’s not that far away. Come.” 

She then takes Renira’s hand and goes down the street, lipstick stains on her face and neck be damned. She walks like it all belongs to her, like she’s the queen of the fucking world, with her head held high. Without shame. Arrogant. 

Not arrogant. Proud. 

It takes Renira a lot to fall in love, but maybe this is a closer thing. Or maybe it’s the rakija, and the kissing, and the moon whispering in her ear, and the Ebonhawke and its pressing history and its proud descendant that’s holding her hand. 

Whatever it is, Renira slides into the night with her. 

It is, after all, a call she can’t say no to. 

[estbela]

Anyway I know I have said that SerbRo is my OTP, but I realized I probably ought to share my favourite fanfic featuring them! :]

It's technically unfinished, but really fucking good!! It features a lot of Serb pining for Ro, Ro having kind of a bad time, Bul being kind of an asshole at first, thought he gets redeemed later on. Everytime I'm going Through It I go reread and it makes me feel better!! :]

Tbh, there aren't many SerbRo fanfics in the tag tho(I'm gonna change that as soon as I can get myself to write again). Also there is one more I love, but it's in russian and I read it translated by google like a madman cause I'm desperate lmao. It's pretty good, though, even if it went through google(but because it did go through google, some things are kinda confusing and not make very much sense). If you actually know russian i guess it might be even better. (Not gonna link it, but if youre curious it's one of the few fics in the serbia/romania tag)

[skoati]

Someone please draw nyo russia x serbia I beg of you 🙏

[movie--posters]

[bearfoottruck]

I don't know if anyone else has noticed this, but on Fanfiction.net, I looked at the stats for Russian Winter, Broken Hearts, and it showed one view from "Serbia and Montenegro", which I find ironic because both of those countries peacefully dissolved that union back in 2006.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

The Black Kaiser's Nightmare

Duncan Vizla x Assassin!FemReader

A/N: Shout out to beelmons and G for their endless support and help with my fics <3 :') where would I be without y'all?

Summary: You run into your long-time nemesis in the last place you ever expected, but things take a turn for the worst when you find yourself stuck with him during a snowstorm.

WC: 7.2k words

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), enemies to lovers speedrun into the bed, mentions and depictions of violence, fighting, accidental assassination of a third party, some serious bickering, abundant cursing, rough sex (unprotected, don't do it at home!), choking, very light knifeplay, dirty talk, slight degradation mixed with some praise, rampant sexual tension, ooey gooey lovesick fools who are just SO SO STUBBORN, I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything!

You are responsible for your own media consumption!

----

Triple Oak, Montana.

It’d been a while since you’d last found yourself in such a quaint little town, especially in the middle of winter, but you supposed you’d been in way worse places. It was barely even on the map, which made it a convenient place to lay low. 

You didn’t have to worry about interacting with many people, and you sure as hell didn’t think you’d encounter anyone you knew. At least for the time being, you felt like you could relax just a little bit while you made plans.

In a few more days, you’d continue driving north and cross the Canadian border into Saskatchewan, where you were meant to carry out your next assignment. Your target was a skeevy arms dealer that had to move his whole operation out of Serbia and was now shacked up somewhere in the vast prairies. 

You’d been tracking his activity for some time, slowly narrowing down the list of possible locations. You’d also scored some insider information about a big upcoming transaction with a terrorist cell, and your goal was to get to him before the sale was finalized.

Successfully eliminating him would pay handsomely, and you were already planning on a months-long vacation in which you’d go fully off the radar. Preferably somewhere by the beach, where you didn’t feel the constant threat of frostbite.

You pulled into a small gas station — the only one to be found in a long stretch of the highway between the town and more secluded cabins  — and occupied one of the three measly pumps. There was only one other old pickup truck next to you, but the owner was nowhere to be seen. 

You blew hot air into your hands as you walked into the convenience store, eager for some coffee despite how shitty it was. 

“Hey Lou,” you said to the now familiar attendant, the little bell above the door ringing as you pushed in. “How’s it goin’?”

“Eh, slow, the usual,” he shrugged. “At least it’s decently warm in ‘ere. They say there’s gonna be a snowstorm over the weekend, starting tonight.”

“Shit, really?” You groaned, not only because you loathed the freezing temperatures, but because it would set you back by a few more days. 

“Yup, perfect time to cozy up with the missus back at home.”

You poured yourself a large cup of black coffee and snapped the lid on top. On the way back to the register, you grabbed a couple of magazines and a pack of Ding-Dongs to eat on the road.

“Well, lucky you,” you said, putting everything on the counter. “I gotta find ways to keep myself busy and warm in case I lose power.”

As you spoke, the door to the restroom opened behind you and a tall, rugged-looking man stepped out. His eyes instinctively flickered between the two of you, even if he couldn’t see your face. He lingered close to the back, trying not to bring attention to himself.

“You sure you’ll be good all by yourself out there?” Lou asked. “Enough supplies and all?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself,” you said, fishing cash out of your wallet. “Give me thirty on number two, also.”

“You got it, tough gal.”

You chuckled as he rang you up, glancing outside. The man behind you tensed, gripped with the dread that came with sudden recognition. Your voice was one he knew well, the very same one he’d heard all seventeen times he’d almost died. Well, eighteen if he counted that one brief altercation in Belfast.

And that laugh… How many times had it been directed at him? Taunting him, teasing him, driving him utterly mad. 

It was perhaps the only thing that stopped him from actually getting rid of you that one night you slept so soundly at some shoddy little hotel in Madrid.  He’d watched your chest's steady rise and fall from his spot in the darkness, and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

And now he’d most likely have to pay for the consequences of his mercy. 

Lou looked over your shoulder at him, but you didn’t immediately notice since you were absently flipping through one of the magazines. 

“Need anything else, Duncan?” He offered. “Pack of Winstons?”

Your skin prickled at these two very familiar details, but you didn’t move, still staring down at the magazine without actually reading. It was probably a mere coincidence. Really, there had to be dozens of Duncans in the world that just so happened to smoke Winstons.

But then, a very particular smell reached your nose — cheap cologne you didn’t know the name of, with strikingly bitter notes that had flooded your nostrils when his hands were tightly wrapped around your neck.

You glanced up at the fisheye mirror above the register… and there he fucking was, in all his deadly glory. The Black Kaiser himself.

You couldn’t help an amused huff, especially after hearing the faintest rustle of a knife being unsheathed under his coat.

“Are you sure you want to stab me with that, old man?” You said slowly over your shoulder. 

“Less impersonal than a gun. I owe you that much, don’t I?” he said with that deep, gravelly voice of his that always made a stubborn tingle form at the base of your spine.

Your hand just barely inched towards the hidden holster of your gun. “Oh, but you know I get a little crazy when the knives come out.”

Lou looked between the two of you, confusion and a tinge of fear in his eyes. 

“Uh, you two know each oth—”

Before he could finish his sentence, you whirled around and shot Duncan’s head. He ducked, but not before hurling a large knife at you in return. You dove out of the way, hearing it whizz right past your ear, and it sank into Lou’s forehead with a wet thud. His body slumped behind the counter, blood spraying over the stuff you’d intended to buy.

“Hey!” You yelled from your hiding spot. “I didn’t even get my change back!”

“You’re not gonna need it anymore,” he said gruffly, his voice not too far from you. “But before that… want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” you said, glancing up at the fisheye mirror once more. 

Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t get a very good look at where he was, but you couldn’t stay put. You slowly began to inch to the end of the aisle, staying low. “Let me guess, you missed me so much these last three years that you decided to hunt me down.”

He scoffed. “Three years was not nearly long enough time away from you.”

You dove around the corner to the next aisle, but he wasn’t there. You started pulling yourself forward, but suddenly you were flipped onto your back. You were about to whip your gun around, but it was harshly knocked out of your grasp, sliding against the linoleum. You thrashed against the weight that pressed down on you, but he pinned your hands down beside your head. 

“Who sent you?” He asked. 

“No one sent me, you paranoid geezer!” You sneered, driving your knee up full force right into his crotch. “Not everything’s about you.”

He growled at the pain, swaying to the side, his grip on your hands relaxing. You pushed him off of you, scrambling to get to your gun. Right as you managed to get a hold of it, he was on you again, pulling you back by the legs. You tried twisting around all the way, firing another shot semi-blindly. It narrowly missed his shoulder, shattering one of the windows.

“Can’t kill me without paralyzing me, eh, little Nightmare?” He taunted.

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You swallowed a scream as he stepped on the hand you held your weapon with, his heavy boot cracking your wrist. Your fingers splayed involuntarily due to the pain, and he bent down to take the gun. He kept it pointed at you as he removed his boot from your wrist and grabbed your arm.

“You’re coming with me,” he stated, starting to pull you up. 

“Like hell I am!” You spat, but you froze as you felt the barrel pressed against the back of your head.

“You were saying?”

He dragged you to your feet, leading you through the broken window, glass crunching under your boots. The wind seemed icier than it had been when you first arrived, which made you remember Lou’s warning about a snowstorm.

There was no way in hell you’d be stuck with him during it, so you’d have to find a way to weasel out of his grasp… and kill him in the process. 

He led you towards his truck, but you pretended to trip at the last second, bending down and retrieving a knife you had hidden in your boot. You stabbed backward, aiming for his femoral artery, but he moved and the knife stabbed into his thigh muscle instead.

“Motherfucker,” he hissed through clenched teeth, but he didn’t let go of you, tightening his grip on your arm. He fired off a warning shot into the air, which made you flinch a little. “Try me again and I won’t hesitate to put the next bullet through your thick fucking skull. I only have so much patience.”

He shoved you into the passenger seat of the truck, managing to tie you up with the seatbelt. Your bound hands were still slick with his blood, and you smiled triumphantly at him as he slid into the driver’s seat, immediately peeling out of the gas station.

“This is what gets you hard, isn’t it?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re kind of a sick fuck, old man… but I didn’t expect any better from you.”

He said nothing, instead momentarily glaring at you. He grunted as he pulled the knife out of his leg, tossing it out of the window. You grumbled about him owing you a knife, but he continued to ignore you. He drove mostly in silence, winding through the icy roads as he gripped his wounded leg with one hand.

So far, it had been one of your tamest encounters. Really, it had all sort of felt like a game, but neither of you had won quite yet. After all, a game such as this could not be left unfinished.

Usually, the circumstances were vastly different. Your respective agencies had assigned you the same target a couple of times, and it always turned into a competition on who would finish the job first. As it turned out, the two of you were very competitive.

You’d left plenty of souvenirs on each other every single time you crossed paths – broken bones, an assortment of scars, and bruises as dark as the midnight sky. You wondered vaguely how much more damage you might make by the end of the day.

Why neither of you had succeeded in killing each other was… a bit of a mystery. Maybe he saw something in you that reminded him of himself, or perhaps he was growing soft with age. He would never admit it, but he’d had plenty of fun in this deadly dance with you so far, and it seemed a shame to let it come to its conclusion so soon. 

He’d have to do it though, after some thorough interrogation.

Soon enough, he pulled up a long gravel road hidden among the tall pine trees. In the clearing ahead, you saw what you supposed was his cabin. It was modestly sized and a little dilapidated, but at least it seemed to be sturdy enough to withstand harsh conditions.

“Nice place,” you said sarcastically. “I don’t suppose you have many visitors?”

“Rarely,” he said without looking at you. “I like the quiet. No one’s going to bother us here.”

“You mean no one’s gonna come running when you scream?”

He grunted, readjusting his position in his seat. You were mostly tied up at the arms so your legs had some room to move. Rookie mistake on his part, which you would definitely take advantage of. 

Before he could pull up in front of the actual cabin, you leaned back and kicked at the steering wheel. The truck swerved to the right, throwing you against the window. He tried to correct it on time, slamming on the brakes, but the snow made it careen right into a tree. 

It wasn’t a tremendous crash, but the windshield still broke, glass raining down on both of you. You were both disoriented for a moment from the whiplash, but then you began to untangle yourself from the seatbelt. You kicked at him when he tried to reach for you, but he managed to pin your legs down.

“Can’t you stay put for one fucking second!?” He growled, fully bracketing you between his sturdy legs as he freed you from the seatbelt. 

You panted heavily, trying to thrash beneath him, but he only pressed his legs tighter against your sides. A small, high-pitched whine escaped your lips as you felt the air being squeezed out of you, and you stopped moving. 

“Satis…fied?” You managed between gasps.

“Not nearly,” he said, grabbing a fistful of your hair as he pulled back. “Come here.”

He kept a firm grip on it as he dragged you out of the truck and towards the cabin. He wobbled a little with each step, his leg still bleeding some. 

“I warned you about the knives,” you said. “Even if you didn’t let me finish having fun.”

He chuckled sardonically. “No, you’re mistaken. The fun is only just beginning.”

He led you inside and locked the door behind him, making you sit down on a rickety chair. He bound your hands and feet with duct tape, wrapping some of it around your torso and the back of the chair for good measure. You decided not to struggle for the time being and instead ponder on your next move, covertly glancing at your surroundings for anything useful.

When Duncan was sure you wouldn’t be able to bolt, he went to grab something from an adjacent room, returning with his version of a first aid kit and a bottle of vodka. He looked at you from the corner of his eye as he undid his pants and lowered them to his knees.

“I didn’t realize it was that kind of fun,” you said, raising an eyebrow. 

Still, your gaze was drawn to his crotch first before trailing further down to the injury you’d caused. Rolling his eyes, he plopped down on the bed, which creaked a little under his weight. 

He took a long swig of vodka and then poured some on the bleeding gash, hissing through his teeth. Your expression of slight amusement didn’t change as he glanced at you once more, taking out a needle and thread.

“I have to be careful about infections, who knows where that knife of yours has been?” he said.

You merely watched as he began stitching himself up without so much as a grimace. His breathing was slow and steady as he concentrated, and you found yourself entranced by the precise movements of his hands.

An obscene thought about those hands wriggled into your mind, but you immediately pushed it away. It was all the more reason for you to get the hell out of there, especially now that his pants were down.

As he was finishing his stitches, you leaned forward onto your tiptoes and then threw yourself back as hard as you could. The chair broke apart under you, the force of the blow and the angle in which you fell spraining one of your wrists. The adrenaline made you barely register the pain, and you quickly wriggled out of the tape wrapped around you.

You pulled a Swiss army knife out of your boot and hastily sawed off the tape binding your ankles. He swore as you stood, lifting your arms and slamming them down to free your hands. You stumbled towards the front door and yanked it open.

Outside, the wind howled ferociously and a thick flurry of snow limited your vision of your surroundings. You felt the unforgiving cold slicing through you as you hesitated, knowing deep down that your chances of survival were very slim. 

Still, you were reckless enough to try and brave it. You started towards the steps when you were yanked back once more, your back pinned against the wall and Duncan’s hand around your throat.

“You just don’t fucking learn, do you?” He growled. 

“You only caught me because I hesitated, old man.”

His grip tightened a little in warning. “Didn’t anybody teach you never to hesitate?”

“There is a very fine line between foolishness and courage, you know…” The corners of your mouth twitched, an amused gleam in your eye. “I wonder how often you cross from one side to the other.”

He clenched his teeth and an absolutely devious, cheshire cat grin spread across your face. The mere sight of it made his blood boil with both rage and arousal, and he felt it flowing southward. Your back instinctually arched towards him, as if you could somehow sense the sudden influx of violent desire, and became infected by it.

You stared at each other for a charged moment before he suddenly fell upon you, intent on devouring you. His lips clashed with yours in a fierce kiss and you buried your fingers in his hair, tugging at it as you retaliated.

You bit his lower lip hard, making him groan into your mouth. You used this opportunity to slide your tongue against his, and he moved the hand that had been around your neck toward your jaw. Without thinking, you pressed harder against him, your fingers about to slide under the hem of his sweater.

He clasped your wrist to stop you, assuming you were reaching for some hidden weapon. You whimpered slightly, painfully reminded that it was in fact sprained. He pulled back to look at you, both of you panting heavily and still clutching each other tightly. 

“I fear that line was blurred a long time ago, and I suspect it’s the same case with you,” He murmured. 

His words broke through your daze and you immediately pushed him away from you, cradling your injured hand against your chest. A maelstrom of emotions roiled inside of you, predominantly confusion and a worrisome throb between your legs. 

“And what now?” You asked, glancing out of the window. “It’s clear neither of us are going anywhere any time soon.”

“Now we weather the storm,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“No, seriously.”

“I am being serious.”

You huffed in annoyance, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I… can’t believe I’m asking this right now but, maybe we can… put the killing each other thing on hold for a few days?”

“So you were coming for me.”

“No! I wasn’t!” You threw your hands up exasperatedly. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I have work further up north. This was just a pit stop.”

He assessed you for a moment, trying to find any clues that you were lying. You stood your ground, keeping your eyes on his face. He sniffed, leaning against the wall to get his weight off his injured leg. 

“I’m fine with a temporary truce, but only if we both keep our weapons in plain sight at all times.”

“I am a weapon myself, big boy.”

“So am I. I suppose we’ll have to keep an eye on each other as well, then.”

“Fine,” you huffed, stomping to the couch and pulling it over to the kitchen. “I’ll stay on this side of the cabin, you can stay on the other side.”

“What!? This is my house!” He scoffed.

“Yeah, well, I’m being generous by letting you keep your bed. Not to mention, your life.”

He rolled his eyes, limping back over to his bed. “Whatever you say. Now, can I please fix my stitches in peace for one fucking second?”

———————

There was no sleep for the entirety of the first night. 

The cabin creaked and groaned, straining against the disastrously strong wind. Your breaths fogged up in the air as you shivered under the thin blanket Duncan had given you. The cold seemed to seep into your very bones as if punishing you for your decisions. To distract yourself from the chill, you kept an eye on his prone form across the room, knowing well he wasn’t sleeping either. 

When dawn broke, a thin grayish light filtered into the room. The storm raged on and all you wanted to do was doze off, but you were still on edge. You clenched your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering, irritated by a headache. Your mood didn’t get any better when Duncan rose from his bed, crossing towards the kitchen.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You inquired, not moving an inch.

He stopped in his tracks. “I’m hungry. Don’t you want to eat?” 

Your stomach growled in answer and he lifted an eyebrow in slight amusement. You unwillingly threw the blanket off of you, getting up with an annoyed grunt. 

“I’ll give you the food. Let’s see what you’ve got,” you said, rummaging through the cabinets.

“I could just show you…”

“No, stay on your side. Even better, why don’t you go sit back down on your bed?”

He followed orders, not really wanting to start quarreling with you so early in the morning. You finally found some oatmeal packets in one of the cupboards, and you took out a few and poured them into a pot along with some water. You left it to boil over the stove top, crossing your arms over your chest and turning to face him.

“How’s your leg doing, anyway?” You asked. 

“Fine. Why do you care?”

“I really don’t.”

He chuckled. “Good thing you’re a better assassin than you are a liar.”

You sighed deeply. “Well, it is your house, I should at least have some manners.”

He scoffed, still amused. “We are way past manners. Our only courtesy to each other would be a painless death.”

“Oh, really? Painless?” You arched an eyebrow. “Did you forget Lisbon? And that grenade launcher you stole?”

“Okay, well, I wasn’t technically aiming at you. You just happened to be in the way,” He argued. “And it’s not like you haven’t given me the same sort of treatment…”

You shrugged one shoulder. “It’s only fair.”

The two of you lapsed into silence as you turned your attention back to the pot. Once the oatmeal was ready, you spooned it into two bowls and walked to the invisible line that divided the cabin in two.

He got up and met you there, reaching slowly for his bowl so as not to seem threatening. Not that you were viewing him that way, anyway. At least not in the clearly exhausted state he was in. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” you said. “Need me to blow on it first?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, resisting the lure of your impish grin. He figured it was perhaps the more masochistic part of him that made him so drawn to you. Always pushing him, testing him, keeping him on the edge. He would never admit it to himself — much less to you — but it made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t for a really long time.

He muttered a quick thank you before heading back to his side of the room, plopping down on the bed and immediately digging in. If he burned his mouth, he showed no indication of it, but you still huffed in amusement. 

When he was done, he said nothing as he lied down, his back to you once again. A little confused and wary, you watched him as you slowly ate. Soon enough, his breath evened out into a steady rhythm, and you assumed he’d fallen asleep.

You glanced over at the dining table, where the two of you had laid out all your weapons, and considered them for a long moment. 

It seemed too easy to have such a window of opportunity. Normally, you’d have jumped at any such chance, but once more, you hesitated. Not out of any sort of newfound benevolence, but something deeper than that. Something that had been gnawing at you since the previous night.

In the end, you opted not to do anything. Surely, it was bound to be a mistake to not have killed him at that moment. But that would be a problem for another day, perhaps when the storm was over. 

You sat down on the floor by the foot of the couch, back resting against the frame. Sleep deprivation was starting to hit you as well, and you knew that if you were to lay down you would certainly fall asleep. Instead, your eyes focused on the suspiciously peaceful sight of Duncan sleeping. 

The longer you stared, the blurrier the lines seemed to get. Literally. His broad form was smudged into a single sphere, and without much thought about it, everything suddenly went black. 

Until… Shit. 

How long were you asleep?

It had been long since you’d last awakened to a man in front of you, let alone holding a knife to your face. The blade shone in your half-open eyes, reflecting the setting sun outside the window. You must have been unconscious for over two hours.  Stupid, so very stupid.

You blinked the haze of sleep out of your eyes and followed the glint to his fingers, his forearm, up his broad chest and shoulders, until it finally landed on his face. 

 “So, the game ends at last, huh?” you muttered, your gaze not wavering from his.

“Could’ve ended long ago, but it didn’t,” he said, once again looking every bit the coldhearted killer he was. You could still see, however, the presence of doubt in his dark eyes. “Why didn’t you kill me?” 

“I knew you weren’t actually sleeping…”

“Even so,” he pressed, straightening to his full, imposing height. “You didn’t even try. Why?”

You blinked, not really having an answer, not one that would satisfy him at least. What's more, you had a set of questions of your own, ones that would likely also have no answer. 

The words slipped before you could even think about them. “Why did you kiss me?” 

Silence hung between you like a heavy drape. You were cornered in more than one sense. Windows for precaution and escape had long since closed, maybe even since the moment you ran into him in that little gas station. And through hardships, you learned that if there’s no way back, the only way is forward. 

The wound in his thigh didn’t seem to bother him as much anymore, so there was no way you could outrun him. You looked down to avoid his scrutiny and he used the back of his knife to force your chin back up. 

He didn’t speak, but his eyes bore into yours, almost as if seeing through them into parts of you that were foreign even to yourself. The flat part of the blade trailed up to your cheek in what could be interpreted as a caress. 

Your hand unconsciously intended to return the favor, running up his knee to his thigh, extra cautious around his wound. You noticed a change of pattern in his breathing, and so you looked down only to find one of the answers you sought — the print of his hardened cock cruelly imprisoned within his pants. 

“Oh,” you breathed, surprised. Then again, when the reality of what you were looking at fully sank in. “Oh.”

Your hand moved on its own accord again, slowly slipping further up his thigh. Again, he tightly grabbed your wrist before your fingers reached their target, and you hissed in pain. He immediately let go, withdrawing the knife as well.

“Are you hurt?” He asked. 

“A sprained wrist isn’t gonna kill me,” you said, keeping your hand on his leg to drive your point across. “Now that, on the other hand, has to be taken care of.”

“Taken care of, huh?” He rasped, his voice hoarse with want and self-directed anger because of it. 

He raked a hand through your hair, gathering it in his first and pulling your head towards his crotch. He pressed your cheek against his bulge, his hips bucking ever so slightly. 

“And how do you suppose that’s gonna happen?” He added.

“I have a few ideas if you’re open to them,” you panted, ignited in a way that almost fully consumed you. 

His eyes searched your face for a moment, drinking you in as he searched for any indications of doubt, and then he whispered, “Are you sure?” 

This time you didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He saw the feverish gleam of hunger in your eyes as he pulled away and unbuckled his belt, pushing down his pants. The outline of his cock was even more prominent through his briefs and you couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath at the sheer size of him. He was still holding onto your hair, stepping closer and effectively cornering you against the couch. 

You boldly started to reach for the hem of his briefs, but he said, “No. I want you to use your teeth.”

“Getting a little bold there, old man,” you said with a smirk, keeping your eyes on him as you dipped your head to plant a soft kiss on his thigh, right by his stitches. 

He winced slightly at the contact, but you could see his cock throb against the fabric covering it.  Your smirk only widened, “But I gotta admit I’m pretty impressed so far. Didn’t even have to slip a blue pill in your oatmeal.”

He gripped your jaw, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “I think you need more proof, actually. Allow me.”

With his free hand, he roughly tugged down his briefs and his cock finally sprang free — so thick and long and just fucking perfect — hitting his lower abdomen. The head of it glistened with precum, which he spread with his thumb. You shifted in your seat, biting your lip as saliva flooded your mouth.

“Open,” he ordered.

You immediately complied, wondering when the fuck you’d gotten so obedient. He gripped the base of it and fed it into your mouth slowly. You wrapped your lips around it, feeling it slide smoothly against your tongue. 

A small groan escaped him, his head tipped back at the first rush of pleasure. You hummed a little in response and he felt the vibration of the sound against his shaft. His hips began to move again, shuttling his length deeper into your mouth, until you could feel the head of it reach your throat.

He let you steady yourself by placing your hands on his legs, his hand returning to the back of your head as it bobbed up and down. Then suddenly, when you’d reached the very base, he kept your head down. Your nose was against his pelvis, your deep, even breaths fanning against the fine hair that curled there. 

Your nails dug into the flesh of his legs as you staved off your gag reflex as best as you could. Still, you couldn’t help but squirm a little, already pretty slick between your thighs.

 He cursed under his breath as he let you come up for air, an obscene string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock.

"If I knew you were such a cock drunk slut, I would have dropped my pants much earlier just to shut you up,” he said with a smug grin, looking down at you.

“More bold words from someone who’s only gonna last this round. I’m gonna have to take care of myself after you’re done,” you taunted lightly, making him pull at your hair.

You kept eye contact with him as you stuck your tongue out and traced it over a large vein on the underside of his shaft. You left a trail of wet, sloppy kisses as you made your way back to the tip, and he lightly slapped it against your tongue a couple of times before pushing your head back down on it. His balls tightened momentarily as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and you knew he was enjoying himself much more than he let on.

"Well, if it's gonna be only one, might as well make good use of it, don't you think?" He said, pulling you off of him and making you stand up.

His lips were on yours in the next moment, just as desperate and hungry as the first kiss. He kicked his pants off the rest of the way and yanked your sweater off along with your thermal undershirt. He reached for your pants, but you slapped his hand away, extricating yourself from his lips to undo them yourself.

As soon as they were off, he turned you around and bent you over the back of the couch. There was a wet spot in your underwear that made him smirk, but he also couldn’t deny the way his cock throbbed at the sight.

“This is in the way…” he grunted, tugging at your bra strap.

Before you even registered what was happening, he brought the knife back out and sawed the bra off of you. You let out a gasp that was both surprised and indignant as he proceeded to rip your panties off with his bare hands, tossing the scraps of fabric aside.

“Hey! Those are the only ones I have here!” You huffed, glaring at him over your shoulder. “Unless you have a secret stash of women’s underwear, you seriously owe me.”

He nudged your knees apart with his leg. “I don’t think you’re going to need them while you’re here. You were already ruining them yourself, anyway.”

Before you could retort, you felt him push inside of you slowly, grabbing your hips as he let out a low moan. 

“Fuck…” you sighed without thinking, leaning your elbows against the back of the couch. 

“Yeah? Does that feel good?” He cooed condescendingly.

“In your drea–”

His hips snapped into yours harshly, interrupting you. You felt the heat of him against your back as he leaned over you, his breath fanning across the side of your face. 

“If I were you, I’d be careful about lying again. I might just stop and leave you all drenched like this, with your hands tied behind your back so you couldn’t touch yourself.”

He felt you clench around him at that and his smirk turned victorious. He kissed and sucked at your shoulder and neck, making sure to leave plenty of marks. His thrusts were hard and deep at first, hips barely pulling back as his weight pinned you down.

You let out a sound that was a strange mix between a whimper and a gasp as he bit into the tender flesh of your shoulder, hard enough to leave teeth marks behind. The jolt of pain mixed with pleasure – not to mention the slight shame that came with the feeling of your arousal dripping down your inner thighs – only fueled the fire that was steadily growing within you. 

Then, a little mindlessly, you pleaded, “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

He straightened immediately, readjusting himself to start pounding into you at a nearly punishing pace. You bit your bottom lip to try and keep quiet, but wanton sounds of pleasure escaped your throat despite your efforts. He was hitting a spot that made your head spin, tugging you backward onto his cock to meet his thrusts.

The lewd sound of flesh slapping together, along with your collective pants and groans, filled the room. He reached forward to grab your throat again, keeping you semi-upright as he continued to take you. In truth, he was focusing hard to stave off his release. He had plenty of stamina for his age, but the way your cunt took him so perfectly, as if molded just for him, was enough to have his balls tightening again. 

But he would never hear the end of it. 

Your legs began to shake a little as the coil in your belly tightened, threatening to snap. “I-I think I’m gonna cum, fuck…”

“Not yet,” he said firmly, immediately stopping his motions. 

You cursed him under your breath, beyond frustrated. You pushed your hips back, intent on fucking yourself on him, but his firm grip stopped you. He landed a firm smack on your ass, making you involuntarily clench around him. He hissed, feeling the strong urge to give in and continue fucking you until you came all over his cock, but he kept his composure. He wanted to keep indulging you for as long as he could, still not fully believing he wasn’t just having a dirty dream.

“Do that again and I’ll rip your fucking head off,” you snarled as he pulled out, grabbing your arm and leading you toward the bed.

“I told you I was going to make it count.”

He tossed you onto your back on the bed, crawling on top of you and pushing your knees up to your shoulders. He positioned himself between your thighs and sank back into your cunt with no further preambles, his strong body covering yours once more.

His hands cradled your head as he began to move again, reaching impossibly deeper than before. You clawed at his biceps as he ground his pelvis against you, making your brain practically short-circuit.

“There we go… See? I knew you could take more,” he said, kissing the corner of your lips. “Are you scared I'll pull out again? You keep sucking me back in.”

Too dazed to form words, your lips chased his so he would kiss you properly. Your tongue trailed over his upper lip enticingly, and he opened his mouth so his tongue could meet yours. This kiss was deeper, less frantic, finally giving yourselves a chance to taste each other properly. 

Soon you were clenching around him again, too distracted by your mounting pleasure to continue kissing him properly. 

“Fuck, don’t stop, Duncan. Please, please, please, just like that,” you begged desperately, moaning as he moved to kiss your jaw. 

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up, too?” He rasped against your skin. “Claim this needy cunt all for myself?”

You nodded eagerly, face contorting with ecstasy as you held onto him for dear life. Your muscles seized up as your climax washed over you, overpowering your senses. His hips stuttered as you cried out, your hot flesh molding into his like the deepest embrace. 

He kissed you again as he felt his own release rippling over him, groaning into your mouth as he shuddered, unable to hold himself back any longer. He thrusted hard a few more times before remaining fully inside of you, and you felt heat flooding your cunt. 

A whimper of slight overstimulation escaped you, but he soothed you with a whispered praise in your ear. You couldn’t help but smile beatifically, almost purring in content as he kept his cum inside of you.

As you both rode out your highs, your kisses turned lazy, almost tender, and even the way he held you felt different. Somehow, in some deep recess of your mind, it seemed right… and that scared you a little.

Still, you tried not to let it get to you then. Not as he leaned his sweaty forehead against yours, still panting, and said, “I think I tore my stitches.”

You chuckled. “You should probably take care of that, then.”

“In a minute…”

He disentangled himself from you, pulling out and sliding his body down between your legs. You tried to draw your thighs together, but he stopped you, planting a kiss on your mound.

He spread your lips with two fingers so he could see his cum trickling out of you, but then he pushed it back in with those same fingers, making your hips jerk slightly.

“T-this was a one time thing, you know,” you breathed, trying to sound firm. 

He barely glanced up at you, seemingly unbothered. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

But only an hour or so later, you found yourself riding him on the couch. Then, he took you against the wall, over the kitchen counter, off the edge of the bed, and subsequently on the floor. He seemed intent on making sure you never questioned his endurance ever again.

Even throughout the night, you slept sporadically, pawing at each other whenever you stirred. Not many words were exchanged during this time, but that didn’t mean your mouths weren’t put to good use. As usual, you both wound up with bruises, bite marks, and scratches all over each other, but the intention behind them couldn’t be any more different.

The storm died sometime during the night, but instead of fleeing right away, you let him hold you until dawn broke. There were too many new questions floating about in your head, but you weren’t really sure you wanted the answer to any of them for the time being. Perhaps it was simply best to let what happened remain in the past and simply move on.

As quietly as you could, you got up from the bed, cleaned yourself up, and dressed. You sheathed your weapons, avoiding looking at him as you prepared to leave. When your hand was on the doorknob, his voice stopped you.

“You didn’t kill me again,” he said. “Should I take that as an indication that you like me?”

You looked over at him, frowning. “Absolutely not. I’m serious, this was the last time it’ll ever happen.”

“I’m not sure I can trust your word.”

You huffed, irritated. “Well, you’ll have to. I intend to keep it.”

You yanked the door open, about to stomp outside, but you heard the creak of the bed as he sat up. 

“You know, I’m going to be in Portofino in a few months. I heard it’s beautiful there in the summer, and I figured I could use a vacation.”

“Are you trying to make yourself an easy target?”

“...Maybe.”

“And if I decide not to hunt you down?”

He raised an eyebrow. “If?”

You grimaced. “All I’m saying is don’t get your hopes up. I’m a very busy gal, I don’t have time to play cat and mouse with you.”

“And who’s who in that analogy, hm?”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “Goodbye, Duncan. Truce is over, do you hear me?”

“I’ll see you in Portofino. Make sure you bring sunscreen.”

The door slammed shut behind you. 

---——-

Part 2 out now!

[meetinginsamarra]

Fanfics I Really Liked in July 2024

So. Since I keep a list of what I´ve read anyway (there´s always a list), I will rec all the fics I´ve wholly enjoyed on a monthly basis. Old and new, canon or AU, big or small authors, long or short but nearly always Johnlock (-ish).

+++++

People We Love by Calais_Reno @calaisreno

After the disaster at Sherrinford, the rebuilding begins.

As it says, a post-S4 fix-it. Several conversations between the main characters that have been well overdue.

The Rescuing by BakerTumblings @bakertumblings

Captain Watson to the rescue! Sherlock, off in Serbia, has been captured and severely injured. Mycroft recruits John to aid with freeing him and then overseeing his recovery. The story begins in London but will explode in Serbia, slide into a European hospital and then tiptoe through a safe-house before returning to Baker Street.

Medical realism. I love a caring doctor John!

Explicit by 7PercentSolution @7-percent

“Sex doesn’t alarm me.” Five times Sherlock tries but fails to avoid talking about sex, and one time when he succeeds but shouldn’t have. Each of the stories relates to one of the times in my universe when sex became a topic of conversation.

Lots of insights into this Sherlock's brain concerning his stance on sex. Locked to AO3.

Heart's Desire by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) @88thparallel

Reeling after a tragic loss, John Watson is surprised when he finds love again. After a lifetime of illness, Sherlock Holmes finally feels his heart truly beat for another. But as they move toward something more serious, an unbelievable truth is revealed that threatens to break both their hearts for good.

Such a moving AU story! Medical realism and sort-of soulmates.

The Guarded Secret by mycapeisplaid @mycapeisplaid

After his war injury, John feels broken, small, and useless. On a whim, he takes a position as a security guard of sorts at the gorgeous Holmes Hall in Yorkshire. As it turns out, he is not as broken, small, or useless as he thinks. A story of beauty and blossom, murder and mystery, loss and love.

A great AU based on "The Secret Garden".

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus

After months of tense flirting and teasing with the mountain of a man she only knows an König, Mouse finds herself in a life-or-death situation while on patrol in the Alps. Maybe her new admiration isn't as one-sided as she thinks…

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Wow! The response to this fic has been incredible, heartwarming, and just baffling to me! I cannot express how happy I am to share this with you all!

Being completely objective, this chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, the circumstance is not totally likely but alas, I am here for fun.

My college classes are starting up soon, so expect slower updates moving forward. As always, please feel free to leave a comment/reblog with a message saying you want to be added to the taglist or just interact in general!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus | 4.1k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

He’s a vision, he’s hard to miss on the horizon, he stands out like a mountain lion against his fellow men. He sways his hips wide, the trusty Glock Field knife he keeps on his belt shines like a beacon. It’s such an outrageously cocky move, to keep glinting metal on his person when she’s sure he’s supposed to be stealthy. He’s tall as a tree and broad as a train and always has some hood covering his face. He’s sniper candy, he’s so obviously right there it makes her dig blunt nails into her arm in frustration. He’s hard to miss, should be her straight shot. 

But he never is. 

She never gets the barked orders, the confirmation. She’s asked a hundred times. When it’s in the forest, it’s less warfare and more stakeout. She’s not paid enough to know what she’s looking for, but she always sees him. And she’s always been told not to shoot. She stops asking at some point, but like everything else with this man, she doesn’t quite remember when. Her life is a blur of missions and off time and him and nothing else.

It’s been months since the ravine and she’s seen him just about everywhere she’s been. When SpecGru was gathering intel on KorTacs drug affiliations, she saw him in the haunted deserts of Sonora, Mexico where she lies in the dirt redder than blood and coyotes sing her to sleep. She gazes down at him atop crumbling 16th-century Byzantine marble when she picks off the guards of a weapons supplier in Belgrade, Serbia. In the ancient and verdant bamboo forest of Yibin, China, hunting down spy affiliations, she camps across a creek from him for a night. 

It’s a small world, but not quite small enough for her to believe just how they keep running into each other. No matter where she ends up, their eyes always meet. 

The eyes of the apparition with bloody tears on top of an executioner's hood always flick right towards her, even when she’s under a ghillie or some camo or nothing particularly obtrusive at all. She’s even taken off her scope once or twice to reduce glare, to see if the monster still turns her way then. To see if the cat is following a laser pointer she’s unwittingly putting out. 

He does.

Always finds her.

No matter what. 

He would’ve been a good sniper, in another life. If he wasn’t built like the trees she climbs for her shots. 

Very few things are constant in her work. Very few people stay, very few people know. It’s awful, but she starts to hope to see him on the fields. Like he’s some coworker she’s been flirting with in the coffee lounge. 

But he’s not her coworker. Quite the opposite, he’s a soldier on the other side. The enemy. He breaks men’s spines on his knee like toothpicks. He hums with visceral energy, like mud, blood, and guts. He disembowels men like fish. He walks like a monster with three legs (and at some point about three months into their little game, she touches herself thinking about that third leg.) He swings wide, he keeps his knives sharper than cat eyes. 

His stare is constant, glacial, beautiful. 

She wonders what the rest of him looks like, with such a beautiful set of eyes. Beautiful thighs. Beautiful shoulders. He must have some reason for the mask, but she can’t help but think (or hope) he’s a good kisser under there. That his hands must be larger than life, that his skin must be warm. That his teeth must feel good if used in particular places with caution and moderation. 

She’s sure if he ever caught her, the cat would sink his teeth right in. 

She finds she wouldn’t quite mind getting chewed on by him when they accidentally pick up each other’s radio frequencies in the field. They should be encrypted. They shouldn’t be able to, but the cruel stars align and they make their pacts. 

It’s a game of cat and mouse.  They’ve got their own little rules, too. 

They don’t talk about work or positioning, he always knows where she is but never tells anyone on his team. Once she reaches out, he never gets any closer. Like it’s a game. Like they’re playing hide and seek and he knows he opened his eyes too early so he’s closing them again and pinky swearing not to tell. 

He must not tell, because SpecGru has yet to fall into an ambush. So has KorTac, though. If anyone knew they’d have their heads, but no one else does. The secret stays between them and their radios become the divining rods of close encounters. 

Mostly it’s just breathing on each line, mostly it’s just- 

“König?”

“Maus?” 

“Mhm.”

“Hmm.”

And that’s it. And they breathe at the same time, and he looks up at her in the trees or in her towers or wherever she is. And she hopes he’s thinking the same terrible things that she is, and she hopes that he keeps striking out at base camp and bars and wherever just like she has, and she hopes that he’s lonely like she is. That he has nothing else to focus on so she takes all the space in his head like he does hers. 

She knows she should get a shrink or a good fuck to stop fucking thinking about him like this, but sometimes he whispers a joke into his radio and she laughs, and sometimes she tells him about the book she’s been reading, and sometimes he shows her his favorite knife tricks, and sometimes she tells him stories of before she was in the military and he always laughs and asks questions to show he’s actually engaged and he cares and- 

She doesn’t know when she started missing shots. When she started covering his ass the three or so times he didn’t recognize some hostile getting a bit too close for comfort. 

When the fire is heavy and the mission is condensed into a 100th the size of their usual open field rendezvous, she’s seen him in action. He can handle himself, he can more than handle himself.  Some terrible part of her hopes, though, that he is thankful for her. Cover fire from a traitorous Angel in the trees, makes for a good romance novel but a terrible dynamic in war. And that’s what this is, right? It’s war? But what for? 

She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she wants to. So she keeps their little secret and she prays that he stays safe when she really can’t risk covering for him. To that point, though, he does himself no favors. He fights like he can’t get hit. 

When they’re alone he’s the perfect gentleman, he gets no closer than when she reaches out to contact him first. When they’re not, it's a whole different story. He runs into the middle field like if he can just reach her, he can keep her. If he can carry back his conquest, well… kings get their war spoils, don’t they? It’s a terrible secret she keeps alive only in her heart, but she hopes one day he finally will. 

She’d never shoot one of her own, to save his hide. But when it’s one of his own going after his neck, or when one of hers needs cover too, or one of some other guys on him, it’s easy. 

The Mouse saves the King. 

But a game is no fun with only one player. 

The King also saves the Mouse. 

It’s November, it’s somewhere in the Alps. She’s had quite the pleasure of seeing him so in his element, so proud, broad-chested, and covered in the swagger of a mountain as it walks with its own. The snowfall constricts her view but not his movement. He’s practically prancing around like a snow leopard and despite the temperature it’s warming her up a little to think about how happy he looks down there. 

“Are you gonna get me, kitty?” She hums into her radio, lips curling into a saccharine smile, when it’s just them alone in the cold. His eyes find her immediately after she’s made contact. Like always, they breathe in and out at exactly the same time once those terribly fantastic eyes of his meet hers. 

“Haha!” His whole body shakes like an earthquake when he laughs. “No. Just…” he stops for a moment like he’s catching his breath or remembering the right word, “-watching.” He says, hand reaching to his mask, lifting it up just enough so she can see a red, red, mouth and sharp, sharp teeth turning in a cruel, Cheshire Cat smile. He languishes on a stump, playing with his signature knife, downright admiring her from far away. He pulls his mask back down, but the outline of his exhales still turn into clouds in the snow. 

They breathe in tandem. Their hearts must sync. 

Today is unusual because he is actually working at something in his grasp. Usually, his beloved knife is his dancing partner, his muse of movement, the loyal companion of his oversized hands. 

Many times she’s been lost in the beautiful dance of his hands and his knife, as he flicks it up and catches it with ease. Every time he does so, her heart clenches in her all of a sudden seemingly too-small chest as she fears it’ll come down and slice him. She knows how sharp he keeps his many knives, she knows how terribly it would go for him should it ever fall out of its practiced battle dance. The knife, of course, never does. When he gets bored of tossing it, he starts doing little tricks. He balances it on his index finger, he spins it between the fingers on his massive hand, he can even juggle it between his hands without a moment's hesitation. What’s worse, is the whole time he does it, he is watching her with a relaxed posture. Like he’s showing off like he’s saying “Don’t you see how good I can be with my hands? Don’t you want to invite me over? Don’t you ache to know just what I’ll make them do for you?”

This surgical precision never ceases to amaze her because she’s seen him around his comrades. The steady hands she so admires (and yearns to touch her) disappear and shake like leaves the second he has to talk strategy or cover for others outside of immediate battle. He’s a capable soldier, he’s a great commander, he’s an excellent strategist, sure. But he’s never at ease enough to make his knife dance like this, never like he is with her. His hands shake without adrenaline and with the company. 

His hands never shake when the two exist like this, though. No, the shy soldier boy who won’t look anyone in the eye doesn’t exist to her. Like a fairytale, the second the two see each other, he disappears and instead, a man of ferocious devotion finds himself in her sights. He waits for her. He never once gets closer to her than the moment she reaches out to him first. 

It would almost be romantic. If it wasn’t war and she wasn’t herself and he wasn’t himself. 

Her comm line lights up, ripping her away from her inattentive, lovelorn adorations. Apparently, there’s an enemy scout that’s inching treacherously close to her position and slipped past someone further ahead of her. If he gets beneath her, she’s D.O.A in her tree. 

She sees König’s body tense a second after hers, the way she’s come to recognize he’s received a transmission. He stops his idle patrol and puts down the something he was working on in his hands. Quickly, he tucks it into his pocket. He’s ready to hunt all of a sudden, the relaxed air of his body falls away with all the quickness and ferocity of an avalanche. She knows to pity the poor soul on the receiving end of that look in his eyes and-

Is it her this time? Her heart stutters to a stop. 

The snow is picking up, she can’t see much of anything but she sees him blur into motion. Towards her spot. 

“Keep moving and I shoot,” she says to him. In warning. Begging him not to. She’d miss his comfort if he does make her. 

“It’s right under you, Liebling.” His voice rasps through static colder than the snow on the ground. 

She realizes she’s stranded on her branch, there’s a widow’s maker close enough to her perch to mean she’s screwed if she moves too quickly. She doesn’t have enough time to maneuver out of the tree safely and she’s a sitting duck for someone else’s shot, so long as all they’ve got is short range. If it were longer range she’d be dead already. She’s going to fall to her death or get shot at from below. It’s a shame, but she’s a little happy that it’ll be König, her cat, that’ll catch her corpse. 

She sees the would-be assailant on the horizon and she brings her gun to her cheek. He darts frantically between trees, careful to only go far enough that she’ll have to re-aim as he darts out again. He’s gaining a substantial amount of ground as she finally has a good enough line of sight to execute and-

Her gun jams. 

With all the futility of a mouse in a glue trap, she begins to shake and replace everything she can afford to in such little time to make her rifle usable. The man on the forest floor uses all of the seconds she cannot afford to waste as it becomes clear that he will reach her before she can either get down or get her gun unjammed. 

But by the time she’s gone to pray and say her goodbyes in her head while frantically looking around, she hears the footfalls of a desperate man crunching snow and she sees red spill out. 

König’s massive hands cradle one of his very own, dead. She sees the outline of hardwired explosive packs on the corpse’s chest, apparently a suicide bomber? Alone in the Alps? 

For his part, the giant doesn’t seem the least bit displeased with his kill. He wipes his bloody knife on his pant thigh and sheaths it like it’s nothing. He’s got another man’s blood all over his lower half, he sliced that poor bastard clean between his third and fourth ribs.

“Threat eliminated. My position is compromised, I’m moving.” She says to her comm. 

“Rog, Mouse.” Someone in command responds. 

She, very slowly, makes her way down to the carnage near the base of her tree, sniper rifle at her hip like a mother huddles an unruly toddler. When she’s only 12 feet in the air instead of 40, König spreads his arms out to her. It’s snowing. Hard. He doesn’t move, arms outstretched like a tree.

“Maus, I‘ll help you!” He says. 

It’s the first thing he says to her outside of the buzz of the radio. 

It’s her name. Or, the only one he knows her by. 

And the first thing he says is a promise. A promise of help. A promise of aid. 

She shouldn’t trust him. 

She tosses her gun to the pillowy snow, against all safety protocols and everything she’s ever known. He doesn’t move for it. He’s got a rifle of his own, well- not a sniper's rifle, on his back. Maybe he doesn’t need two?

She unhooks her cabling. 

It’s snowing hard. 

She kicks off the tree and into the air. 

It’s snowing really hard and dawn is breaking. 

He does, indeed, catch her. 

He audibly gasps when she lands in his arms. He doesn’t move, she’s much too small and light to move the man. He just holds her. For a moment- in the air. 

“… klein,” he all but whispers and puts her on the ground. His hands don’t start trembling as she expects them to.

She doesn’t know what that means and goes to pick up her gun and makes a quiet mental note to find a German Dictionary or self-teacher or something if this weird romance is gonna keep up. 

“What’s this guy's story?” She motions to the left. Where there’s the stump of a man who should’ve been her death. 

“Traitor, against both sides. Al Qatala. Made off with classified files.” He rolls his shoulders, completely unconcerned. 

It could be a lie. It could’ve been that this man just has a weird obsession with her and couldn’t stand to see her get taken out by someone that wasn’t him. 

Well, if that were the case, why’s she still around? He could just kill her. But then again, couldn’t she have killed him multiple times over? 

She doesn’t think he's lying. He’s affected by some things, not by others. He’s much too jittery and anxious of a man to lie so easily to her. She recognizes she’s putting a terrible amount of trust in the enemy, but if it’s gotta be anyone, she’d rather it be the man who sometimes radios her terrible jokes instead of some stranger. 

But now they’re as face to face as over a foot and a half of height difference will let them be. There’s still the hood on his face which is haunting, but this monster-  he’s scarcely made a move to her that hasn’t been some perverse version of love or care. 

She realizes she’s thankful for him. 

Stockholm syndrome, she decides. Even though this is the first time they’ve been within 80 yards of each other. 

“Thank you.” Is what she says instead, breathless and quiet, almost like she’s sorry she has to say the words out loud. Almost like they’re bad news like she’s telling the kids they have to put the family cat down. 

“Bitte schön,” he says, gentle and warm like a wool blanket. His hands are drumming on his thighs with nervous kinetic energy and he looks intently at where he grabbed her, maybe he’s worried he hurt her? But he’s not trembling. She tries not to think about it, that he’s not trembling. Her face is red and her heart is fast but for all the wrong reasons.

Before they part ways and go back to their little lives on opposite sides of some silly war she’s sure is not worth the human toll, he reaches into his pocket. 

He brings the little thing to his hood and places it right where she reckons his lips are. 

Their breaths puff into billows of smoke. 

They breathe in time. 

It’s bloody from his pant legs when he presents it to her, holding the tiny object in two forefingers and thumbs. She cups her hands in front of her like a child begging the family pet to drop an injured bird it found in the backyard. He drops it just like that pet, a few inches above her hands to avoid bloodying her hands directly. Like it would be a shame. Like he cares about tainting her. 

It’s a piece of light wood, whittled into the shape of a mouse. 

She holds the thing in the palms of her hands and they ache. It is so small, so hard for even her to hold. His field knife, the one he loves so much, is massive but she knows it was the one that he used to make it. She did research one day, trying to discover what sort of blade it was. It's a custom Glock Field Knife, with a near mirror-perfect patina and two whole inches larger than the standard issue. She also thinks he wrapped the handle himself because she cannot find that stark red chord on any seller’s website. It's a monster of a knife, for a monster of a man. It’s not made for woodworking, for whittling, for creation– it's a thing of utter annihilation and destruction. Yet, he changed its nature. He utilized his most favored possession to carve intricately into fallen birch wood. He’s given a second life in the shape of her name to what would rot without his attention. He has created, against all odds, something beautiful and delicate out of a brutal tool and doomed material. For her.

She is dumbstruck by this man. She has no words for him, for herself, she wouldn’t have any for anyone who asked either. Suddenly, the Alps aren’t so cold even though it is verifiably snowing. 

When he turns to go she thinks how much his hands must’ve hurt to make this little thing and she can’t just let him go, not empty-handed. 

“Wait!” She calls to him. 

He stops and looks back at her. She fishes around in her pockets and curses her nearly-frostbitten fingers until she finds it. 

She tosses it to him. 

He opens the little leather pouch and she sees his smile through his eyes as he recognizes what it is. It’s her pocket whetstone, with the crown she doodled onto the leather holder with charcoal. 

Her lucky charm. 

She shouldn’t trust him, she’s really got no reason to. But this man, he’s saved her life. He likes knives more than she does, hell, uses them more than she does. There’s really no reason for her to have it (just like there was no reason for her to put his symbol into the leather.) His glacial eyes melt while looking down at the object and she’s never known the winter wilderness to be so warm. She tries not to think about the way her heart speeds up when his eyes soften looking at the object. 

“I will only use this from now on, Maus.” He says, voice quiet and reverent. Like he holds the keys to his kingdom when he holds the cheap piece of rock. 

“Don’t. It’s- it’s not a great one. Just. My charm.” She shrugs. She wants to say ‘It’s a piece of shit and useless, just like I am. It’ll fuck up your knives. I know you love them. Don’t ruin useful things on my account.’ 

“All the more reason to treasure it.” He replies, simple and unburdened.

God. She wishes he wasn’t so charming. There’s no going back. 

She feels like she’s in his jaws already, totally caught. He seems not to realize that he could march off with her and go anywhere and she’d just let him. He walks away and it genuinely hurts when his form disappears into snow and trees and leaves no trace like he’s a fairy tale. Like he’s not real and never was and cannot be. 

And with that, the King had saved the Mouse. He turned and left and she moved her position before returning to base camp. 

The next time she sees him, about a week later, she sees him sharpening his massive field knife with the tiny whetstone on his comically large thigh, and in response, she thumbs at the wooden effigy in her pocket. They laughed into their radios to each other. Her cheeks flush red. Her thighs clench around nothing. She dreams about those big, big, hands, the ones that cradled her in the air, pinning her down and leaving black and blue bruises all over her hips and thighs. She thinks about that red, red mouth tracing said bruises with a gentle tongue. She thinks about the hands caressing her neck, the mouth kissing the top of her head. The hands, holding her at the hip snug to his massive frame throughout the night. The mouth, hushing her to sleep and promising to be there in the morning. 

She’s got nothing for him, though. Other than her body and the vain, ridiculous, impossible dream that’s enough for him. He doesn’t seem the romantic type. She doesn’t think he’d settle down. She doesn’t know him at all, not really.

But, she does have something for him. The answer to a question from what feels like lifetimes ago. 

“It’s because I’m quiet.” She whispers into her radio, half hoping he won’t pick up. 

“What?” He hums back. 

“Mouse. Because I’m short and quiet in the field.” 

“Really?” He asks back. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” A heartbeat too long of silence passes between them. She chews the inside of her lip to bits, waiting for a response. “Your turn,” she prods gently. 

“Because I am not.” Is his response. 

“Really, that’s it?” She chuckles into her radio. 

He just laughs on the other end. And now she’s really got nothing else to give him, save a rare book recommendation, a laugh in return for his bad jokes, and her sharp eyes always trained on his form in her scope. She’s got nothing to give him that she hasn’t already given him, and nothing he couldn’t just find elsewhere. 

But God, she wants him all the same. 

It’s dangerous to be at war. 

It’s dangerous to play cat and mouse. 

Even more dangerous to fall in love on top of those two. 

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalomee @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar 

[loonfull-sonnetzz]

To Soothe The Ache

Note: I lost motivation for this fic so I decided to just post the WIP since ya'll have been waiting for AGES. Sorry guys :') No beta we die like Frou Frou

༊*·˚Pairing: Alexei Vronsky X Soldier!Transman!Reader

༊*·˚Universe: Anna Karenina (2012)

༊*·˚Summary: You and Vronsky are soldiers and secretly find comfort

༊*·˚Warnings: menstruation, cramps, unsafe binding (do not bind with bandages!! Please!!), historical inaccuracies, mentions of war, probably out of character Vronsky (hadn’t read or watched Anna Karenina sorry :( ) 

༊*·˚WC: 1k

Divider credit: Florietas 

Finally, serenity.

The cavalry unit you had found yourself in had traveled across the Stara Planina, trekking through the jagged peaks and small cliffs while leading the horses, praying to god your foot doesn’t slip on the ice or one of the horses panic from the distant howl of wolves that haunted the vicious winds. All for the sake of fighting off the Ottomans in Serbia. However, the stress was worth it, even as your legs screamed to rest and your eyelids began to go heavy from the restless nights guarding the makeshift camps the unit had made throughout the weeks.

Now your unit had finally left the mountains, finding a decent clearing amongst the soaring pines to rest once again. The wind no longer howls with threats, but whispers along the gently rattled pine needles. Between the spaces of the trees, up high, you could see stars twinkling in the inky night sky, hundreds and thousands of stars gazing down upon you – you could’ve sworn you could see into the eye of the milky way – Something you could never experience in your home city St. Petersburg where the fog and smoke hid the celestials. 

You took a deep breath. One good, deep and well-deserved breath. The crisp winter air filling your lungs, held, then exhaled – coming out as white mist that danced in the dark before dissipating.

But soon enough serenity would not last. Sure, it was relieving to be out late, no longer burdened by your comrades’ complaints and sharing company with the stars, but your body protested. Not just with the ache that dully throbbed in your legs or your eyes that you had to fight to keep open, but the pains that shoot from your hips and to your stomach, an unfortunate reminder of your secret. Stress could do so much before there could be no more delays and the time of the month comes crashing in. Or Alexei Vronsky chiding you for wearing your bandages for too long.

Alexei Vronsky, the man that was just as handsome as his frivolity and ambition, became an unlikely friend. It was all an accident, really. Months ago when they were stationed at some headquarters back home in Russia. Soldiers had to share washrooms, but you were vigilant and always went early in the morning or late at night when it came to changing so no one could know you were born a different boy, a boy who didn’t have the same body as the others. But one of those nights Vronsky was out for a while and returned late, exhausted and accidentally stumbling to the washroom to only catch a brief look as you panicked and slammed the door on his face. 

Even to this day it was hard to know why you had come out to him in the first place. Perhaps it was his hesitant inquiry, or the guilt for being rude for shutting the door on him. Or perhaps something more, that you both didn’t exactly fit societal norms. Vronsky may be charming, ambitious and brave – bearing the image of the perfect soldier, but he is still a man with his own struggles. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t freak out or prodded you with uncomfortable questions as most other people, especially aristocrats like him, usually did.

Shaking your head and pushing the reminiscing thoughts aside, you briskly make your way back to your tent. Your nimble fingers made way to your buttons in a swift fashion, undoing them until the top of your military uniform started to slide down your shoulders and gooseflesh covered your exposed skin. The cold once again reminding you of it’s limited mercy as it bit your flesh and sent chills down your spine. But hypothermia was probably better than cracking your ribs in the long run.

You were already about to unhook the pins that held the bandages before you heard someone clear their throat and call your name. You whipped your gaze at the intruder, stiffening up and crossing your arms over your chest instinctively before you realized who it was.

“Come here, will you?” Alexei murmured, his voice low and soothing like the distant babble of the creek. He drew you slowly enough that you could have pulled back easily. “You’ve already done so much for us since the beginning of this journey, this is the least I could do.”

You felt your face burn from the sudden praise and care, but you soon felt your shoulders droop and arms fall to your sides. He was right in a way, you could collapse at any point if the cramps or your duty as a soldier didn’t keep you up. So you let him trace the pins, unhooking them and unraveling the bandages. Your gaze flickered from his hands to his face, his brows a little furrowed with compassion and concentration as he buttoned up your uniform – not letting a moment of the wintry air freeze you or the discomfort of having your body vulnerable and exposed go on any further.

He catches your gaze as soon as he finishes, his hands lingering on the last button before one glides over to caress your cheek. His worry became more evident on his visage. “Is there something on your mind?”

The lie on your tongue was silenced by another wave of pain, making you hold your own waist and curling further to yourself. Alexei quickly holds you steady, his sapphire eyes flickering all over you to search for the cause of sudden agony.

“I’m bleeding out,” You said with a slightly self-deprecating chuckle, a little amused by Alexei’s fretting to something natural as menstruation. This only confused your fellow comrade before it seemed to click and he sighs and embraces you, his arms wrapped around your waist.

“I’ll be okay, it’s just cramps,” You said, biting down your tongue to smother a wince. But you didn't make an effort to leave and neither did Alexei, who didn’t look convinced by your lame excuse.

“I know, darling. But I'm not leaving your side to suffer this alone. I just want to make you feel better,”  He said, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze again. His hands trailing down to hold onto your hips, the warmth soothing the ache. Alexei then dipped his head down, his soft lips pressed against yours before he whispers against your lips. “How can I be of service?”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey! I don’t know if it’s specifically a Johnlock fic but does anyone recall a fic where Sherlock is investigating a human trafficking ring, but it’s actually the people from Serbia and Sherlock let’s himself be captured in order to save the girls? Then John gets to be all badass and save him? I remember there being a bit where Sherlock has a pen knife in his shoe and somehow tosses it to the girls? 🤷🏼‍♀️

Hey Lovely!

Sorry, I sadly don't know this one!!

Anyone able to help us out?

[letzoespoilyou]

Still Salty about Civil War

As a Tony fan even after all these years I'm still salty about Civil War and Captain America.

I still get mad about Steve insulting Tony in Avengers and that Steve never understood just how much Tony is willing to sacrifice. Like Steve thinks he's so much better but he never got kidnapped or tortured, he didn't have to overcome PTSD or the death of his mother and the hostile relationship with his father. Who is Steve so belittle Tony and say he wouldn't make the hard play. Well yeah Tony proved him wrong.

But Civil War Steve gets to be all superior again even though Tony actually came to him in Siberia to make amends and help him out, but oh what was that Steve knew about Tony's parents death and just expected him to be OK. he expects Tony to be all my bad and just crawl back to him rather than help support him. Also there's no way leaving Tony with that damn shield embedded in his chest to di in Serbia isn't a dick move.

I'm also a massive Ironstrange shipper and live on a timeline where they got their happy ever after. But damn do i enjoy fic that aren't Steve Rogers friendly, I always felt that Steve thought he could "change" Tony. That typical egotistical type that thought Tony needed changing and he could do that and make him better while Stephen is more the type who loves Tony for Tony and thinks he's perfect faults and all. Stephen understands Tony and is very protective of him and can't wait to put Steve in his place and show why he's more boyfriend material for Tony.

[estbela]

I ought to make a north macedonia OC. The only things I sort of made up my mind about already are:

She's a girl

Bulgaria's sister

I like the name Rositsa, Liljana, Rosa and Rozalija for her(yeah im going with a theme lol. For Bulgaria, I gave him the name Tsvetan which means "flower", and so she gets a flower name as well).

[julilovesyou444]

the only exception ~ tom kaulitz

background: you and Tom had been hooking up for a while now, probably close to around half a year. you had a big crush on him but were very aware that he didn’t do relationships, so even though you were ‘physically’ with him, you never let yourself get super emotionally attached. Tom couldn’t say the same for himself, though. He wanted you, and only you.

warnings: nothing much just kissing and swearing lol

a/n~ sorry for being m.I.a!! I had to visit my dad in serbia and it sucked because I hate my dad and he hates me lolllll speaking of I wrote a fic that was requested where like the ready has daddy issues and tom like helps her through it but I think I made it wayyyy to like serious I think the word is? and its very long so I’m considering scrapping it idk, also I’m getting to all ur requests that I wanna do dont worry !!

~

“hello?”, i said, picking up my phone. it was tom, my long-term fling. I can’t remember exactly how I met him, or exactly how we started hooking-up. I had heard about his band before we met, and I thought they were cool, but i didn’t quite understand just how popular they were. Until after meeting Tom, i didnt know about his ‘reputation’ either. I didn’t know until after the first time we hooked up. He had made us trade numbers, and i was expecting a call at least a day or two after we had seen each other, but nothing. I decided to do some research, just to find out that the boy i was crushing on was in fact a hardcore player. A womanizer, if you will. Part of me wanted to never go out with him again, the smart part of me. But another part of me wanted him so badly, so overwhelmingly bad that I went with my heart instead of my head. I liked Tom, I really did. I couldn’t help it. But I didn’t want myself to get hurt, so I expected just about nothing from him. We fuck and then it’s over. Whenever he would ask me to stay the night or do any of that stuff, I would politely decline and leave. Sometimes we would go out and do non-sexual things, but they always ended sexual. I learned to become okay with that, and I ultimately stopped expecting us to do anything that was hooking up.

“Hey, are you busy?”, he asked.

“Hmm, i dont know, maybe, depends on why you’re calling.”, I teased. he chuckled.

“Uh-huh… well I was thinking, that if you’re free, I could take you out somewhere.”

“take me out, huh? is that code for fucking?”, this earned me another laugh.

“no, no, it can be, but I want to actually take you out.”, he chuckled.

“are you asking me out on a date?”, i asked, a little confused.

“…yes?”

I was quiet for a second, apparently a second too long.

“look if you dont want to, we don’t have to, I just thought-“, he started.

“no, no! sorry! I was thinking but yes, I’m free and we should go out!”, I interrupted. I heard him release a breath he was holding, probably one he didn’t intend for me to hear.

“okay, yea, cool. when can I pick you up?”

“hmm let’s say in about 30 minutes? does that work?”

“perfect.”

“mhm, I’ll see you then.”

“bye.”, he said just before I hung up.

tom kaulitz. taking me out on a date?? what????

I got up almost immediately and started to get ready. I wanted to look as cute as possible. I ran over to my wardrobe and searched through it for a good five minutes. I found this super cute, also pretty tiny, pleated denim skirt and this purple and black top that had a lot of lace detailing and these little puffy princess sleeves. I put on some jewelry, makeup, and these black boots I had. I left my hair down, i noticed that when I did, Tom always complimented it. I grabbed my purse and threw some gum, lipgloss, my phone, and my little digital camera in there.

I glanced at the clock and saw that he should be here any minute. I stepped outside and waited for about 3 minutes, which would’ve been fine, if it wasn’t as cold as it was. I didn’t feel like going back in, just in case he showed up right as i did. I was shivering a tiny bit and got some goosebumps, but to my relief, and pulled in front of my house not too much later. I got in, the warm air of his car heaters hitting me.

“shit, you look freezing. how long were you out there for?”, Tom asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“I’m cold but I’m fine.”, I laughed it off.

“okay, do you need a jacket or-“

“No!! I’m serious! I’m okay.”, I laughed some more.

“okay, okay! just checking.”, he smiled. I watched as his eyes did a quick scan over me.

“you look pretty. your hair looks really nice too.”, he said, his eyes averting back forward as he began to drive away.

“thank you. you don’t look too bad yourself.”

he playfully rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help but smile as well.

“sooo… where are we going?”, I questioned.

“you’ll see.”

“Oh, c’mon. I hate surprises.”

“You’ll like this one, trust me.”

I sighed and faced myself back forward. Some radio station was playing softly in the background as we raced down the highway.

the drive to the mystery place wasn’t far, only a 20 minute drive, which I filled with a lot of talking. mainly about random stuff, Tom telling a few jokes which never failed to make me laugh. He pulled into a parking lot which only had a few other cars. I looked around, it looked like we were at some kind of fancy park. A garden maybe? He leaned over the center console and grabbed something from the backseat.

Tom dropped a large black zip up jacket in my lap.

“My jacket, so you aren’t freezing your ass off the entire time.”

“Oh, thank you.”, i said quietly. He got out of the car and made his way to the back. I followed his lead, getting out of the car, putting on the jacket but not zipping it. I walked around to the back of the car where the trunk was open. There were two big woven picnic baskets. Tom grabbed both and I shut the trunk door as he began to walk off. I caught up with him.

“Do you want me to carry one?”, i motioned to the baskets.

“It’s okay, just follow me.”, he said, continuing his venture into the park. I followed close behind.

We didn’t walk for long, it was a really beautiful park. There were lots of flowers and little benches everywhere. Lots of really big and beautiful trees too. We stopped in front of this big pond, the water was so clear you could see the miniature fish swimming. there was a swan that swam around too.

Tom opened one of the baskets, revealing a big blanket. Without a word, I helped him spread it out over the fluffy grass. He sat down on it and patted the little space next to him, indicating for me to sit down as well. I did. He grabbed the other basket next to him and moved it to be in front of us. Tom opened it and inside were a ton of snacks. All of my favorites. I was shocked to say the least.

“Oh my god, how did you know?”, i said, mouth slightly agaped. He looked proud of himself.

“You mentioned some of your favorite snacks once or twice.”, he nonchalantly shrugged.

“This is lovely, Tom.”, I replied, sounding as genuine as I ever had. His eyes met mine and I gave him a little smile which he returned.

“What is all of this for?”, i added.

“Just wanted to do something nice for you, I guess.”, he mumbled and looked away.

I gently placed my hand over his, his head turned to mine.

“I appreciate it, I really do.”, i smiled. my thumb caressed his hand for a second.

“I like spending time with you, y’know? even when we’re not…”, he trailed off. I laughed, taking my hand off his, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Tom.

I grabbed one of the many snacks he packed and started to eat. In between bites, I would ramble about different things. He always would just listen to me talk, admiring me as he did. This went on for a while. Tom started eating some. Somewhere in the midst of this, my position changed. I now had my head laid across his legs, my legs stretched out and my hair splayed all over his lap. i stopped eating and just started talking. Tom gazed down at me. Eventually he lit a cigarette and started smoking. He held the cigarettes between his pointer and middle finger, moving it down for me to take a puff. I did, peering into his eyes as I did so. They weren’t filled with their normal lust, but they looked like they had something else in them. I couldn’t figure it out.

Tom talked some too, mainly making crude jokes. I always laughed, no matter how stupid. I think he enjoyed that.

He took a hit and then leaned over, his mouth hovering over mine. I opened and allowed him to blow the smoke in my mouth. He sat back up and watched as slowly blew it out.

“I know this isn’t a normal thing to do when we ‘meet up’, but i really like it.”, Tom said, his fingers intertwined with the ends of my hair.

“Really?”, i asked. I knew for a fact he enjoyed my body, but I wasn’t aware he liked spending time with me when we weren’t doing one another.

“yea… why’s that so shocking?”

“Um, i dont know. I guess I thought you really only wanted sex from me.”

“Oh.”

“Yea..”

“Uh, I guess that’s just what I wanted at first. But the more I started seeing you, the more I wanted to see you again.”

“Oh?”

“Yea, and whenever I would invite you to stay over or do anything like that, you would always say no. Kind of assumed you were the one who only wanted me for sex.”

“I don’t, I just assumed you were trying to be polite or something. It’s stupid, I guess.”

“No, it’s not. At this point, you know me and you know the reputation I have, so i understood why you thought that.”

“Sorry…”, I muttered, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Don’t be sorry.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, but it wasn’t awkward.

“I was thinking about maybe doing this kinda thing more often with you, I mean, we can still do our normal things we do, but maybe we can start doing more of this too.”

“What? Like go on dates?”, i furrowed my brows.

“Yea, something like that.”

“I feel like that’s something only couples do.”, i sorta laughed. He was quiet, which made me sit up, I looked over at him. He was staring at his lap in my absence.

“Is that… not a possibility?”, he murmured.

“But… I thought you dont do commitment? and relationships?”

“Yea, i dont usually.”

“I can’t go on dates with you and act all boyfriend-girlfriend unless you are actually going to commit. I’m not going to do that to myself, Tom. I can’t let myself get hurt like that.”, i said quietly but sternly. I had to be sensible, i didn’t want to be just another girl that got fooled by Tom Kaulitz.

“I know, but i want to try.”, he looked up at me with pleading eyes.

“What changed? What’s different now than from when I first met you?”, I asked, still unsure.

“I hate talking about my feelings.”, he huffed.

“I’m not gonna judge you or anything, I just need to know.”

“You changed me. You did. I didn’t want to date any of the girls I hooked up with for one night because they just weren’t worth it and they didn’t mean that much to me. You’re one of the only girls I’ve consistently seen for more than a month. I haven’t gotten with any other girl than you for like 4 months. I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t ignore it. And I want more of you. More than just the physical aspects. Dont get me wrong, I love those parts of you too, but i want you for more than just your body. Dude, I can’t stop saying stupid ass jokes to you just because I want to hear your laugh. So yeah, I haven’t ever really commited before because I didn’t really do relationship. But, for you, it’s different. You are the only exception.”

“What? Really? I had zero idea you felt that way at all…”, I replied, astounded.

“Well I do feel that way and have for a little while now.”

“You aren’t playing with me, right?”, i asked, still not believing it.

“Really?? I practically just confessed myself to you and you still don’t believe me?”

“Okay, I’m sorry! You’re right, this was just, unexpected from you.”

“So… what do you think?”

“I want you too, Tom.”, I managed to say. A smile grew on his once nervous face. He cupped my face in his hands and began to lean in.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Mhm.”, i responded. He kissed me so passionately, I felt like I was floating. My hand went to his jaw, my thumb subconsciously tracing little hearts on his lower cheek. I could feel him smile into the kiss. I pulled away, my forehead still connected with his. I started giggling a little, looking away and hiding my face.

“Oh, c’mon. Dont be shy, now.”, Tom pulled my back towards him so I was leaned against his frame, his arms wrapped around my torso. He left little kisses on the top of my head.

“Wow.”

“Hm?”, he hummed.

“Can’t believe I was your only exception.”, i said with a cocky smile in attempt to poke fun at him.

I could feel him roll his eyes.

“Uh-huh, whatever. Its true.”

“I kinda never thought this day would come.”, i said, my finger trailing up and down his, that rested on my stomach.

“Yea, me too, I guess. But I’m glad that it did.”

I smiled, turning my head around to kiss him again.

A new beginning.

His first real relationship.

It was me, I was his only exception.

Something about that phrase made me feel like the most special girl in the world.

~

[h0mocodes]

H 0 M O C O D E S 🌙

I figured I would talk a little about my life experiences beyond the spam posting of gifs ✨There is person with a story to tell 😭

My name is Dhyrek Grigorieva. Most just call me Derek. My partner thinks it's funny to mispronounce my name or call me comrade Zady 🤨 I'm 45 years old and I work as an administrator for CMS/SSA at a local hospital. I enjoy cookery (more specifically paleo/keto based), weightlifting & writing. I actually have four novels I am working on 😊

A lesser Evil which was a novel length witcher fan fic that I have removed all the copywritten stuff from & did a complete re-write.

Halycon is a classic cyberpunk series.

Quillington is a male queer Lovecraftian horror romance. It is written exclusively in Polari which was an English Pidgeon language used by gay men in Victorian/Edwardian period.

The Abysmal Horncall is Dracula but from the perfective of Draculas' wives.

I am also a musician. I make sample based lofi/cloud rap/vaporbient or drone noise music under the name h0mocides.

Music | h0mocides (bandcamp.com)

I'm creative but can also be very a bit standoffish with most people. I'm in decent shape; Average-height with olive skin, naturally dark auburn hair but the light makes it look darker with blue-gray eyes. I'm Serbian, well, to be specific my mother's side of the family are Bosnian and Balkan Jews who settled in Serbia. My father's family were from Hungary that came to work the molybdenum mines in Serbia. My extended family are Sicilian, Turkish and Hawaiian but I never met them. I grew up in a working-class neighborhood. I was raised by my mother; my father having left when I was young. I had a brother who killed himself about 2 decades ago. I have one stepbrother and two stepsisters; The sisters I have met twice. I feel like that was enough 🙄 My stepbrother is pedophile that made me sexual advances towards me, and I feel to some degree is a reason why I struggle with internalized homophobia. My stepfather...How do I describe him:

Well, insane but there's a bit more there to pick apart...

He believes in the great replacement theory

He believes that Jews are at the center of controlling the world bank (he doesn't see us as Jews because we don't present as he puts it 'New Yorker Jews')

He believes that America should not be a democracy but rather a Libertarian based theocracy

He believes in a strange Venn diagram where non heterosexual sex/gender meets with pedophilia and bestiality.

He supports project 25 and says there is no place in the modern age for faggots, embryo murders or California styled Bolsheviks.

He believes that the president is representative of God's will and no other religion than Jesus has a place in this great country.

So, simply put we don't see eye-to-eye. When my stepbrother was convicted of child sexual assault, he went off the deep end and then Trump appeared. I should note had it not been for a blood clot we later found out from text messages he fully planed on going to the J-6 rally to 'save America.' Won't shock you but he also is fatphobic and racist. The aforementioned was something he used to bully me about a lot which is why I yo-yo in-between BED and AFRID.

When I was 14 years old, we left Serbia because of the Bosnian War. Lived in Germany and the UK for a year. I loved living in the UK, but our solicitors fucked up and we were shipped to Canada but sadly they were over capacity for immigrants, and we were sent to Anchorage, Alaska while our claim was processed. We got citizenship and lived in Isla Vista, California, Yuma, Arizona and later Aurora, Colorado. That's where the rest of my mother's family is and I will post about it another time, but for obvious reasons I have nothing to do with them. My mother met her husband, and his family was from Tennessee; I lived here from 17-25 and then left for New York after series of bad events; Friends overdosing, physical abuse from my stepfather, etc. So, before the pandemic I was living in Floral Park, NY. I won't lie I was doing sex work, DJing and Mobile Messenger Service (those are the guys on bikes delivering documents to corps in NY). Then my mom got very sick. My lease was up so I decided to move back home briefly to take care of her. The intent was to move back to NY or CA but it didn't pan out that way. I actually almost moved to CA but that too is a post for another time. We found out what she had would later be called Covid related Tapia syndrome and Covid induced AFIB.

Within 5 days of arriving New York was shut down; I was rather lucky. I lived there from DEC 2019-MAR 2023. Sadly, my step and I had been on a long slow burn over issues with me accusing him of stealing money from my savings, creating credit cards in my name, stealing and destroying my personal effects and his issues with my religion (Rodnovery, or Slavic Native Faith), my clothing (apparently it looked 'too gay') and how I was flaunting the faggot shit. I will not make this already long ass entry long but just summarize. He attacked me and tried to kill me. Police were involved and watched until I safely got my stuff. My mother was beyond traumatized but I needed to leave for my safety, and I didn't want the stress to further impact her health. From March until August I was completely homeless without work or money living out of my SUV (mom was paying for it and buying me food secretly) under a bridge. I was talking to my new life partner, and I ran into my ex-boyfriend, Cory, who had me move in with him. Shortly later, Stephen and I went from boyfriends to partners and were in a position to move in together. I will say I love with living with him (despite the differences in our daily routines and our approach existing) but Christ on a stick I 🤬 hate Preakness apartments with unbridled passion lol 😖It has been interesting for two in love gay boys, one autistic with C-PTSD and the other with ADDHD moving in together building a life.

Sadly, the experiences of seeing murders, rapes, drug culture and gang violence along with my experiences throughout my life had a deeper impact that I realized. It was during that time I lived off of credit cards and recently the creditors have become particularly aggressive with litigation, but I am lucky that most have been charged off and I'm now with CCCS of Chattanooga which is helping me get back on track. I am pending 2 accounts to be added, on Oct. 4th I am going to court to see if one can be forgiven and 1 is with another agency so I am honestly making an attempt to fix my life and now that I am with a brilliant and loving man I feel hopeful but at the same time living in this Trump age is making us both consider our options. Japan, Scotland or Canada is on our short lists and we're going to Japan from Oct. 25th-Nov 15th so it's definitely a possibly. What a strange age to live in. Also, we're going to move out of Antioch in March as I literally hate this city 🖕 We have a few tours set up with nearby complexes at Tusculum, Stewart Ferry, Piccadilly and Heron Pointe.

Anyways, here's a survey to get to know me 💀❤️

Hobbies - I like Papier-mâché, Candle making and Walking

Have you ever collected anything? What was it? Yes, I collect enamel/button pins, vinyl stickers, vinyl's/cassette's.

How many relationships have you been in? 6-8, I think.

Turn ons - Confidence, Needing Me, Trust, independence

Turn offs - Ego, being the 'bitchy gay'

Favorite food - Riced Cauliflower Onigiri and ika sashimi

Favorite drink - Macha Latte and Water

Are you optimistic or pessimistic? Neither... I ama realist.

What is the most expensive thing you own? PS5, Gucci Shoes and SUV.

What is the cheapest yet most useful thing you own? knock off Plushes from China and maybe...my Tamagotchi lol

Text or call? Text...call if it is an emergency or our first time talking.

What is your definition of success? Being happy. Periodt.

Favorite song? VØJ, Narvent, KoruSe - Euphoria

Favorite artist? Yoshitaka Amano

Favorite flower? Chrysanthemums, Mushrooms & Ghost Flowers

What is the best gift you could receive right now? A kiss from Stephen

Do you like anime? Yes, but only 80s/90s magical girl, horror and cyberpunk. I absolutely hate harem, Isekai and mecha.

What was the name of the last book you read? Vampire Hunter D Volume 29: Noble Front

Do you believe world peace will ever exist? No, conflict and dominance is part of the human condition unfortunately.

Do you have any allergies? Onions, Dairy and gluten.

If you won a trip to Hawaii and you could take 5 people with you, who would those 5 people be? Stephen, Toby, My mom, Stephen's mom and best friend, Bree!

How many countries have you visited? 10 (Japan, South Korea, China, Iceland, Germany, UK, Canada, USA, Russia and Italy)

Do you consider yourself mature? LOL....No.

What is your favorite quote? “Transient guests are we.” ― Hideyuki Kikuchi

If you could live anywhere, where would you live? The place can be in an imaginary, fantasy, or the real world. If mythical I would love to live in Shangri-La, Toussaint from the witcher or maybe Night City from Cyberpunk 2077. IRL - maybe France or Portugal.

What were you like in 2013? A junkie. A Miss. I don't miss her.

If you could change one thing about society, what would it be? Get rid of all this MAGA bullshit.

Are you LGBT? Yes, Gay/Top.

What is the funniest joke you have ever been told? How does Darth Vader like his bagels? On the dark side.

What is your favorite animal? Narwhals, Cats and Goats.

What is one thing that everyone is bad at? Remembering shit.

What time do you normally sleep? How many hours of sleep do you usually get? 9-10. Maybe 6-7.

What is your favorite clothing store? Vapor95 and Incerun.

If you had the power to erase one person from the world so that nobody remembered him or her except you, would you, do it? First, it would be Donald Trump and hell yes, I would.

What do you fear the most? Losing Stephen. He's my heart.

If you could travel back to one year and relive it again, which year would it be? 2009. Would've kept clean and dumped Michael. He ruined so much for me.

What is the weirdest thing you have ever seen? RNC causing Grindr to crash lol.

What is something you will never forget? Grace and Compassion.

Is it harder to love or to hate somebody? I will say this quote ....Doug, you think killing is hard, huh? You wait in the bushes, the animal might outrun you or charge you. It's not easy to get your shot, hm? Try healing something. That is hard. That requires patience. You can break something in two seconds. But it can take forever to fix it. A lifetime, generations. That's why we have to be careful on this earth and gentle.

Coffee or tea? Both. Honestly.

[whywhatswrongwithblue]

FUCK-A-THON: ROUND 2

For the year's first tentoo day, (10/02/2024) the 10th of February, we're bringing back the much coveted Fuck-A-Thon!

There's a twist, though. The Fuck-A-Thon will run from the 10th of February until the 10th of May. A true marathon! And this time, we've got multiple prompts!

Here's how it works.

We've prepared two cards full of nsfw prompts, and a third card full of crack-y prompts inspired by a bot we have on the tentoo x rose discord server. Every prompt crossed off earns you points. At the end of the event, the person with the highest score wins a prize of their choice, created by the lovely volunteers on our server! :)

*prizes include personalised nsfw tentoorose art/fic!

Here are our prompts:

Feel free to save these so you can mark them off as you go!

And for our third, entirely unhinged list (WORTH 20 POINTS FOR EVERY CRAZY PROMPT YOU CAN WORK IN EFFORTLESSLY)

ALRIGHT. NOW FOR SOME RULES!

Goes without saying, this event is for tentoo x rose. We're looking for pro Tentoo content!

You can absolutely combine prompts. But! There's a limit. Each work you publish may only have a maximum of two prompts from each card.

On the other hand, there is no limit to the number of works you can publish! Remember, this runs till May.

The minimum word count we will accept is 1.5k words.

Your rating will have to be Explicit. This is an NSFW-only event. We are looking for smut!

As you may have noticed, the prompts on the third list are absolutely insane. Our challenge to you here is to utilise them in a way that they're important to the actual smut! (For example: A Podcast About Serbia has to be relevant to the way tentoo and rose get fucking in your story!) Get those thinking caps on :)

You do not HAVE to finish every prompt/combine prompts! Our top priority is to inspire you to make NSFW content for tentoo x rose. If a singular prompt inspires you, go for it! If none of the porne bot prompts appeal to you, feel free to ignore them!

One Shots and Multichapters welcome!

Please post your works to this collection starting from the 10th of February!

Tag this blog with your finished cards, and we will calculate your score.

Feel free to send in any questions you have to this blog!

And most importantly, have fun!