#cairo flats

[agreeewrites]

Magic Lessons p.3 | B.W.

feat. Bill Weasley x intern!reader

SUMMARY: Bill returns from Cairo, but doubt began to creep into your mind during his absence, dredging up old wounds for the both of you.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, mischievious twins, pleasuredom!Bill, angst angst angst angst, mentions of Fenrir’s attack and the war, mentions of divorce, some rough oral and piv, slight breeding kink, possessive!Bill, fluffy HEA

AN: this is now a completed series! yay!

part one | part two | masterlist

It was strange sitting in Bill’s office without him, curled up in the armchair he devoured you in, book open in your lap. You'd been trying for an hour to decipher his notes on a particular curse, tracing the small, angular letters with tired eyes, but your mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of its writer to absorb any of it.

Bill had been in Cairo for 12 days, six hours, and nine minutes, every tick of the clock like a barb in your skin, leeching black, poisonous doubt into your blood.

Would he still want you when he returned? Will the time away give him clarity to how insane you both were acting? Would you be reduced to a fling? No longer desirable now that you've been flung?

The time, the space, was making you second guess yourself, second guess him. What you were doing was reckless. Stupid, even. Risking the future you'd imagined for yourself since you were a first year at Hogwarts. You’d be a stain on Bill’s impressive career, and the thought of him eventually coming to resent you, regret you, for possibly ruining a decade of hard work…it made you physically ill.

Could you do that to him? To yourself?

But fuck, you wanted him desperately, the ache for him like a hole in your lungs. You found yourself spending longer and longer hours in his office, craving his presence, his aura, and the sanctuary of his space was the closest you could come to replicating that.

You sighed and set the notes aside for the night, the sun having set some hours before. With unhurried movements, you packed up your belongings and tidied his office on the off chance he returned the following day. You wanted it to be presentable for him, leaving no evidence that you'd been holed up there for nearly two weeks, besides the stack of completed work.

You took the Floo Station to the nearest one by your flat like you always did, ready to wash off your makeup, get into your pajamas, and order some Chinese food. Rain was coming down in sheets, wind buffeting against your coat, but when you rounded the corner towards your flat, the bulk of a man standing in the rain in front of your door stopped you in your tracks.

It took less than a heartbeat for you to realize who it was.

“Bill?” You gasped, and he lifted his head, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, copper hair pulled back in a messy bun.

He took a step towards you. “Sorry, I—”

You launched yourself at him, completely overcome with relief, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “You're home,” you whispered, relaxing fully when his arm looped around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest under the safety of the umbrella.

“I'm home,” he sighed, nuzzling into the top of your head. He smelled of train cars and petrichor, with lingering traces of cologne applied hours earlier, and you wanted to breathe it like air. “Can we go inside?” He asked, settling his hand on your hip with a soft squeeze.

“Yes! Merlin, sorry,” you giggled, a twinge of nerves in your stomach at the thought of having Bill inside your little flat.

You reluctantly pulled away and riffled through your bag for your keys. Bill's arm slid around you from behind, pulling you back against his chest as he nosed into the curve of your shoulder. Butterflies rioted in your stomach, your hands growing so clumsy to nearly dropped your key while you inserted it into the lock.

“Missed you, little bird,” he mumbled, pressing a tender kiss to your pulse.

“I missed you too,” you said, leaning your head against his. You managed to get the door open and Bill released you so you could move inside, and he closed the door behind you both, collapsing the umbrella and setting it by the door. “So, how were things in Egypt?” You asked, hanging your bag on the hook.

Bill slid your rain-soaked jacket off your shoulders, down your arms, his touch feather light, and hung it up as well. “You really want to talk about work? That's where you just came from, isn't it?” He said while shirking his own coat.

You flushed, embarrassed that he saw through you so easily. “It is,” you admitted. “And as long as you're alright, I don't want to talk about work.”

He smirked, reaching out to cradle your face in his hand, the other settling on your hip. “I'm perfect now, love. Although, we’re going to have a discussion about your work-life balance.”

You snorted. “Really? William ‘Never-Takes-A-Day-Off’ Weasley is going to lecture me on working too much?”

“Backtalk, too? Have you forgotten your manners while I was away?” He backed you against your kitchen island, lips a breath away from yours.

“No, sir,” you hummed, barely suppressing a grin as days worth of pent up desire came surging forth, your pulse racing between your legs.

He sighed, breath fanning against your cheek. “Merlin, you sound so pretty.” His hand on your hip moved around your back, pressing your bodies together. “Haven't felt anything soft in days,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

“Take me to bed?” You asked, brushing an escaped strand of hair from his face and tucking it behind his ear.

“Thought you'd never ask,” he chuckled and scooped you up into his arms—

Knock knock!

“Open up! We brought pizza!” The twins serenaded through the door, and Bill swiveled his head to look at you.

“Oh fuck, I completely forgot.” You squirmed and Bill set you back on your feet, though he didn't relinquish his hold. “We planned a movie night.”

“Tell them to bugger off,” he huffed, bending down to kiss your neck.

“Bill, that's rude!”

“Don't care,” he muttered, lapping at your pulse, and your mind began to drift, lost in the feeling of him.

“We’re getting soaked out here!” George called.

“Don't make me break in!” Fred warned, knocking with a little more force. “I'd hate to do it again!”

“Again?” Bill's head snapped towards the door.

“Just—fuck, get in the closet!” You tried to push Bill towards your bedroom, but only managed to move him a few steps.

“Why did he break in before?” He asked, fighting a smile at your helpless attempt to move him.

“I locked myself out! I'll get rid of them, just, please get in there!” You pushed your shoulder into his sternum, peddling your legs like cartoon character.

He sighed, taking a step back and nearly sending your sprawling onto the floor. “Ten minutes.”

“Thank you!”

Bill chuckled and walked the rest of the way into your bedroom at the same moment you heard George cast alohomora.

The twins barged in, wands raised as if you were in peril.

“What took you so bloody long?”

“Why are you just standing there?”

“Whose coat is that?”

“I, actually, um—” you wracked your brain for an excuse.

“Darling, is there a man in this flat?” George asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Uh—yes!” you whispered back. “I met him at work and we hit it off. I'm sorry, I forgot about our plans.”

George scoffed, a teasing smirk on his face. “So you'd rather have a shag then hang out with us?”

“Y’know, if you needed to blow off a little steam—” Fred started when something crashed in your closet, making the three of you jump.

“Is he…in your closet?” George raised an eyebrow.

“No, no! That's, uh—”

Fred pushed past you, striding into your room.

“Fred!” You snapped, trying to grab him, but he batted your hand away. “Just please, go.”

“You sure you know this bloke well enough to be here alone with him?” Fred asked, moving closer to the closet, the humor having drained from his voice.

“What's his name?” George asked. “Maybe Bill’s mentioned him?”

“It’s, uh—”

“You don't even know his name?” Fred whisper-shouted, glaring at you with a strange mix of pride and concern.

“No, I do! He, uh—”

“Are you okay?” George asked, his brothers concern reflected in his face. He placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “You're shaking, love.”

“Did this prick scare you?” Fred asked, turning his attention back to the closet door.

“No! Merlin’s sake, please just go! I'm fine!”

“Hey, fuckface, what are you doing in her closet?” Fred banged on the door, and you died a little inside.

Silence echoed around the flat.

“Open the door, mate,” Fred ordered, and George pulled you a little closer to his chest.

More silence. You had no doubt Bill had apparated, and the twins were about to think you were insane.

“Three, two—” Fred yanked open the door, revealing his older brother standing in the middle of your closet, his arms crossed over his chest. “B-Bill?” Fred stammered, taking a step back.

“You two have some fucking nerve,” Bill growled, and the twins scattered as he dashed out of the closet after them.

“We're sorry! We didn't know!” George called, vaulting over your couch.

“What the fuck, y/n?” Fred shouted, diving under your bed.

“Would it kill you two to mind your own fucking business?” Bill dragged Fred out by his ankles, his little brother desperately clawing at the ground.

You'd find it funny if it weren't for your secret being out, the very thing that kept you up every night for the last two weeks.

“You're the one fucking our friend!” George shouted, effectively diverting attention from his twin.

Bill turned on him, throwing one of your pillows at his head. “I'm not fucking her!”

Fred scurried behind your bedroom door. “Then why are you here so late!”

“And hiding in like a ghoul in the closet!”

“Can we just calm down—” You tried.

“I just got back from—come here, you little shit! I just got back from Cairo and needed to check in with her—George!”

“Bullshit!” Fred countered. “You're fucking our girl!”

“Hey!”

Bill froze, turning his head to peer at Fred, pillow aloft.

“Your girl?” Bill challenged, and you groaned.

“See! I knew it! Oh fuck—” Bill chucked the pillow at Fred and he apparated at the same instant, the pillow flying right through where he was standing and landing on your bed.

“Fucker,” Bill bit.

“Congratulations on your boning! Bye!” George chirped, apparating too.

Bill sighed, turning to you.

“Couldn't keep your cool, huh?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“They won't say anything,” he said, smoothing back his hair.

“I know, it's just—” Tendrils of anxiety wrapped around your throat, tightening until you were silenced.

“What, love?” He asked, taking a careful step towards you, sensing your mounting anxiety.

“What are we doing? This is—”

Bill was quiet for a moment. “You said you wanted this,” he murmured, a sharpness around the edges of his words.

“I do!” You cried, frustrated with yourself. “But that doesn't mean we should be doing it. Bill, if it got out that you were screwing your intern, your career would be over. And so would mine, before it even started. I mean, hiding from our coworkers, from your family, it’s just…”

His jaw flexed, shoulders squaring. “So you want to end things here? Go back to before we—” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Is that what you really want?”

Tears burned your eyes, nausea churning in your stomach. “I don't know—”

“I don't believe you,” he growled. “The way you look at me, the way you were holding me not even ten minutes ago—” his voice cracked. “I don't believe that you want to end this.”

“Maybe it isn't what I want, but it's what we should do. You know that, Bill,” you said through the lump in your throat, voice pinched and small. “We need to stop before this goes too far.”

He looked like you'd slapped him. “What do you mean ‘too far’?”

You turned away from him, tears coming in earnest now. He stalked into your bedroom and caught your elbow, spinning you back around.

“Tell me what you meant,” he pleaded, pulling your hands away from you face, your eyes wet and puffy with tears.

“You know what I meant!” You shouted, yanking your hands out of his grip.

“So even with the potential for…that, you’re still going to end this?” He asked, his voice low. “That isn't worth it to you?”

You couldn't answer him, you arms wrapped around yourself as you trembled, biting back the sob on the tip of your tongue.

“Answer me,” he repeated, softening his voice.

“What if you resent me? What if you—” your voice fractured, brittle with shame and fear. “What if you regret me?”

He leaned down, forcing you to meet his eye. “There's a lot of things I regret on my life,” he said, barely above a whisper. “But I never thought I would get the chance to love someone again, not after Fenrir. Not after the war, not after the divorce—” he drew a shaky inhale.

Guilt dogged at you, and you opened your mouth to speak, but he pressed on.

“There's nothing I wouldn't risk to have that chance again. I would give up everything, my career, my house, all of it. And regardless of what happens between us, I'll never regret you.” He cupped your face again, and this time you allowed him, eyes swimming with unshed tears, your heart mending and breaking all at once.

“Bill, I—”

“Don’t say anything else. I want you to sleep on it,” he said, straightening. “Take the day off tomorrow, too. Then you can tell me what you want to do, and we'll do it.” His voice was firm, but not unkind, a tone of finality that had you nodding in acceptance. “Goodnight, love.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, then released you, apparating away before you could blink.

You were left stunned and alone in your torn apart bedroom, reeling from Bill’s words. Growing weak, your knees folded beneath you and you collapsed onto the floor, a sob bursting from your chest.

Such a coward, you scolded yourself. Of course he's worth the risk.

You wanted or rush over to Shell Cottage and tell him, beg him to forgive you for being so stupid, but he told you to sleep on it. To be sure of whatever answer you gave him. So you shirked your work wear and climbed into bed, squeezing your eyes shut, and prayed for sleep to take you swiftly.

It didn't. You laid awake for hours, until finally, at two o’clock in the morning, you couldn't stand it any longer.

You pulled on your lucky pair of jeans and jumper, washed away your smudged makeup, and apparated to Shell Cottage.

When you landed sprawled in his yard instead of standing on his front porch, it occurred to you that surprising the Curse-breaker in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm was a stupid idea, but it was too late now.

Bill wrenched open the door, hair rumpled and dressed only in sweatpants, his wand aimed at you, green wisps of magic dancing at the end of it. Thunder rolled overhead, a crack of lightning making you jump.

“Bill,” you gasped, stepping into the light of his front porch, and he nearly dropped his wand.

“Y/n? What the fuck are you—”

“I'm sorry about what I said.” You jumped headfirst into your apology, needing to get it out before it drowned you. “I was scared and stupid and I didn't mean it. I want you, no matter the risks. I can't let you—I can't let this go by without trying.” Tears will spilling down your cheeks again, mixing with the rain, your words coming out in hiccuping gasps. “I'd never forgive myself for being too cowardly to try.”

Bill bound down the steps, grabbing you by the throat and silencing you with a savage, bruising kiss. He kissed you the way a drunkard takes to a keg, ravenous and greedy. You could taste whisky on his tongue, smoke on his breath, but it only made you kiss him harder, open yourself wider for him to devour.

“Inside,” he gruffed when you broke the kiss to breathe. “Now.”

You obliged, hurrying up the slick steps with him on your tail. The cottage was cozy and dimly lit, a fireplace roaring in the corner and the moon serving as the only illumination. There were books everywhere, piles of blankets and shelves lined with trinkets, art hung on every wall.

Taking advantage of your distraction, Bill scooped you up bridal-style, one arm notched under your knees, the other around your mid-back. You gasped in surprise, but quickly settled into the warmth of his chest, leaning your head against his bare shoulder to kiss along his rain-damp clavicle.

“I told you to sleep on it,” he murmured, carrying you across the living room and up a set of stairs.

“Couldn't,” you hummed, licking a jagged scar on his shoulder. “Not without fixing things.”

“Neither could I,” he said, nudging open a door with his foot and carrying you across the threshold. It was his bedroom, decorated with even more of his findings and a giant four-poster bed made of solid wood, the quilt a thick woven masterpiece that you only got to admire for a second before he was dropping you onto it and shirking your wet clothes.

He paused, muttering an incendio to light the fire place, and you sat up, head level with his sternum. Hesitantly, you kissed a long his abdomen, tracing the dips and swells of his muscles, his scars with your lips.

He hummed low in his chest, petting a hand over your damp hair. “Whatcha doin’, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice silken.

“Nothin’,” you mumbled, licking along one his scars, growing bolder as he placated you with scalp scratches. “Wanted to touch you.”

He chuckled. “Been wanting you to touch me—” he groaned when you shifted your body to lay down on the bed, kissing along the grooves of his hips, teasing the edge of his waistband with your fingers. “Baby, you don't have to—”

You cut him by licking a stripe over the hard bulge of his cock, feeling it twitch and swell through the fabric. You nearly moaned at the feel of him, thick and long and warm, and your pussy purred, fluttering around nothing.

“You want my cock, darling?” He asked, gently sweeping your hair into a ponytail, the strands held together by his fist.

You nodded, looking up at him through your lashes.

He tsked, smirking. “I suppose I could indulge you for a bit.” With his free hand, he reached into the front his pants, freeing himself. He wrapped his hand around the base, a pearl of precum squeezing from the swollen tip.

You caught the salty morsel with your tongue, kitten licking the underside of him. He tasted fucking divine, velvety smooth and masculine, and your jaw fell open on its own accord, eager to take more of him.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed, feeding the first few inches into your mouth before retreating, patting your tongue with his cockhead when it chased him past your lips. “Fuck, look at you. So eager to please.”

He eased himself back into your mouth, holding still so you could move at your own pace, bobbing your head in slow, sloppy movements, savoring the heavy feel of him on your tongue.

Soft, breathy moans spilled from his lips, his hand tugging a bit harder at your roots. He started moving you up and down his length, his hips rocking forward, thrusting gently into your mouth. You moaned around him, fisting the sheets below you as a flood of arousal made you pussy throb.

“Oh, darling. You want me to be rough, don't you?” He hummed, pulling his hips back until just the tip rested on your tongue.

Your eyes lifted to his and you nodded the best you could. Please, please use me.

“Your safe word is ‘hex’, okay?”

You nodded again, pleading with your eyes.

He thrust back into your mouth, his fist keeping your head in place as he forced his cock as deep as it could go. He set a punishing pace, fucking your face with every ounce of the brutality you knew he kept locked up right in his chest, hidden from the world.

Now, hidden from everyone but you.

You both needed to let go of control, to surrender to the truth in your heart, and with each other, it was starting to seem not only possible, but safe.

“Such a good fucking slut, gagging on my cock—this what you wanted? To be pushed to your limits?” Bill clutched your jaw with his other hand, feeling the strain in your muscles, the force of him stretching your mouth wider, and he groaned, head tipping back on his shoulders. “I'm gonna mold that pretty little throat in the shape of my cock, yeah? You're mine. This throat is mine.”

You could only whimper, taking every savage thrust like it was a gift from god. More than happy to worship at the altar of Bill Weasley.

He withdrew suddenly, leaving you gasping for air, a thread of drool connecting you. He craned your head back, lifting you until your hands left the mattress, back bent like a doll.

“This is it now, you understand? I won't go back.” His voice was rough with intensity, eyes shining with sincerity, vulnerability despite his hold on you.

“This is it,” you repeated, shuffling your knees underneath you and reaching for him. He loosened his hold so you could wrap your arms around his neck, molding your tender mouth against his in an attempt to convey what your were feeling, how much you needed him.

He kissed you back harder as thunder boomed above you, tongue twining with yours, and low groan loosened from his chest. He released you fully, sliding his hands down your back and scooping you up by your thighs, guiding your legs around his waist.

He held you aloft for a few moments, basking in the heat of the kiss, but it wasn't long until you were squirming in his hold, trying to create more friction between your bodies as desire blazed under your skin, raging like the storm outside.

In a quick movement, he broke the kiss and dropped you back onto the bed, sprawled on your back. Before you had time to process what happened, his rough hands forced your thighs apart, revealing the puffy, drippy state of you. One of his hands slid up to part your folds, exposing your sensitive bundle of nerves to the cool air of the room.

Again, you had the echo of the feeling that you were an artifact under his jurisdiction, being examined with the utmost attention, like the code to cracking you open was written on your skin.

Bill saw you down to the soul, and it terrified and exhilarated you in equal measure.

“You're perfect,” he murmured, moving to ease his middle finger inside of you, curling his knuckle to prod that gooey spot inside you and draw a moan from your lips. “The most beautiful curse I've ever had to break.”

“Bill,” you whined, hands grabbing at the sheets, hips trying to rock against his hand, needing more.

He smirked. “Seems I've already broken you, needy little thing. Haven't even gotten started.” He leaned down, laving his tongue over your clit before sucking it between his teeth, and you keened, vision tunneling as bliss washed over you. The relief so palpable it brought tears to your eyes.

He added a second finger, setting a slow but intense pace, stretching and molding you with his fingers, his mouth messily slurping on your clit to keep you loose and moaning beneath him. Pleasure singed every nerve, burning through your muscles like lactic acid, eating into your bones until they were gelatinous, a puddle of simpering goo on Bill’s bed. He was doing just enough to elicit pleasure but not enough to make you cum, and it was starting to make you desperate again, bucking your hips against him in search of more.

“Hush,” he scolded, swatting at your inner thigh when you opened your mouth to beg. “You'll be begging me to stop coming soon enough.”

You couldn't tell if it was a promise or a threat, but either way, you snapped your mouth shut, a fresh wave of arousal making your pussy clench around his fingers.

He took some mercy on you though, and picked up the pace with his fingers fucking you with his hand while he kissed up your stomach, leaving a trail of slick from his chin over your stomach to your tits. He guided a pert nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue before sucking hard, and your back bowed off the bed as you cried out for him.

You tangled your fingers into his hair, urging him closer, and he obliged, bathing your tits with his lips and tongue, using his teeth to elicit sharp gasps of pain before soothing the sting with pleasure. Your orgasm began to build, winding like a gear in your low belly until you were barely able to breathe, every scrap of energy drawn to the apex of your thighs.

“Merlin, your tight, love,” he murmured against the side of your tit, kissing his way back down between your legs. “Ready to come for me?”

“Please, Bill—fuck, please,” you mewled, dragging him by the hair to your needy clit.

“So pretty when you beg,” he purred, swirling his tongue just around your clit, careful to avoid direct contact. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You,” you immediately answered, trying to chase his tongue with your pelvis. “I'm yours, Bill.”

He grinned. “That's right. Mine.” With that, he fastened his lips around your clit and sucked hard, curling his fingers against your g-spot at the same moment, and something inside you gave way. You came with a scream, bliss bursting through like a tsunami and dragging you under.

It filled your mind and soul, an endless torrent of bliss drowning you in its bottomless depth. When if finally spit you back out, gasping and overwrought on the shore of Bill's bed, he was still lapping at you, his face and shirt soaked with your release.

“Good fucking girl, well done,” he cooed, withdrawing his fingers to massage the ache from your trembling thighs, his tongue dipping down to drink at the pool of your pleasure. “Twice more, now. That's my girl.”

You shook your head, feeling like a wrung out sponge, but sure enough, Bill has to ratcheted back up in no time, screaming his name, clenching around his fingers as you came a second and third time. It was like magic, the way he coaxed your body into doing what he wanted, even when you thought you couldn't. Playing you like an instrument, drawing whatever song he wanted from your body.

When you came down from the third, twitching and raw, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, he finally relented.

“Did so well, darling,” he cooed, easing his fingers from you and licking them clean. “Are you alright?” He asked, resting his cheek on your thigh as you caught your breath.

You nodded, grasping at his hair again to pull him up your body. He obliged with a chuckle, letting you crash your mouth to his in a desperate, messy kiss, your essence on his tongue making your head spin even more.

“Fuck me, please,” you mumbled into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist and tugging him fully onto the bed.

“Insatiable,” he purred with approval, shifting to slide down his sweatpants fully and kicking them off. He grasped himself, sawing through your drenched slit with a groan. “This was all I could think about in Cairo,” he rasped. “Being balls deep in this fucking pussy, feeling your wrapped around me, squeezing my cock the way you do my fingers.”

“Please, baby. Need you so bad,” you whined, rocking your hips in time with his.

“Need doesn't begin to cover what I'm feeling.” His voice was a strained growl, a primal sort of plea, and it drew another whimper from your chest. “You remember your safe word?” He asked, nearly trembling with effort of not burying himself to the hilt.

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He shuddered, a breathy moan fanning against your neck, as his control severed. He slammed his cock into you, sheathing himself completely in your depths, and you both cried out, clinging to one another as he dragged his hips back, then slammed them forward again and again. Rutting into you like a feral beast. Brutalizing every inch of your overworked pussy, your overworked mind, until you were brainless, boneless, his to claim entirely.

“Feels even fucking better—shit, baby. So fucking tight and hot, so wet f’me. My perfect little cunt takin’ me so well.”

You could only moan and nod, eager as a bobblehead. “Yours,” you parroted, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Mine,” he gruffed, yanking your head back by your hair so he could ravish your neck with his teeth and tongue.

You were so sensitive from before that you could already feel that knot tightening a fourth time, making you flutter and clench around him as he railed you.

“Come for me, love. Give it to me,” he growled, his free hand dipping down to work your clit, his thrusts growing rougher by the second. Tearing you apart on his cock.

Nothing else would ever satisfy you the way he was, he was molding you into the shape of him, ruining you for anyone else. No one could please you the way he did, understand your body so viscerally, so completely, that it bowed to him before it did you.

He owned you mind, body, and soul, and you wouldn't have it any other way, because you knew that you owned him too. Like a lion on a leash.

“Come with me, come with me,” you cried, your trembling body trying to meet him thrust for thrust.

“Fuck yes,” he huffed, breath hot and heavy against your neck. “Gonna paint this cunt white. Make you mine.”

“Yes, yes! Fuck, Bill, I’m—” You came so hard you couldn't even scream, your mouth falling open as pleasure exploded from your center, a bomb detonating in the depths of your soul.

Bill sank in his teeth into your neck, bottoming out while his cock kicked inside of you, fulfilling his promise and painting your insides with his release. You collapsed onto the bed, scattered pieces in the swallow of space, half-there with Bill as he fucked you both through it, kissing at your neck and muttering praise, and half-gone, a disembodied soul floating on a river of bliss.

Slowly, you returned piece by piece until air slammed back into your lungs and you were gasping, shivering, clinging desperately to him.

“Sh, sh I’ve got you. You're alright,” he shushed, shifting on the bed to fold you into his chest, raining kisses over your forehead and temple. “You did so well, my love. I'm so proud of you.”

“That was—” you panted, feeling the race of his heart under his skin, in perfect synchronicity with yours.

“I've never felt anything like that,” he murmured, nosing into your hair and taking a deep breath. “Like you.”

“Me neither.” You wrapped your arms around his middle snuggling closer. “You're a madman,” you chuckled, and you felt him smile.

“Only for you.”

You were quiet for awhile, the room filled with the sounds of your laborers breathing, the onslaught of rain on the roof, the pop and crackle of the fire.

“I'm sorry for leaving like that before,” Bill whispered, breaking the drowsy quiet. “I didn't trust myself to not lash out…” his voice trailed off, his hands tightening a bit around your body, like he was scared you'd pull away from him at the reminder of before.

“Thank you for trying to protect me,” you responded, lightly tracing the scars along his back, and tension in his body melted.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you, especially not me,” he said, lifting his head to look into your eyes, his dark irises so soft and sincere. “You really think you could fall for me?” He asked, bumping your nose with his.

“I think I've already started,” you whispered, bashful, and he beamed, catching your lips in a light, languid kiss.

“I know I was supposed to be the one teaching you…” he murmured against your mouth, kissing along your jaw, down your neck. “But you've opened my eyes so much, helped me learn the lessons I was avoiding—” his voice caught, and he buried his face in your neck, holding your naked body pressed against his, not even air separating you. “I feel like I can be the man I want to be with you,” he confessed, pressing a kiss to the bite mark he'd left along the curve of your throat. “Like I don't have to hide anymore.”

“You're mine too,” you whispered, and he loosed a breathy sound, almost like a whine, and held you even tighter. “And I want you exactly as wild and stubborn and clever and complex as you are.”

Bill shifted upwards, catching your final words with his mouth, moving purposefully, indulgently, against yours. Saying everything he couldn't express with words, and your heart was so full it started leaking from your eyes, tears snaking down your cheeks and getting caught in the kiss.

He moved his lips to catch your tears, shushing you softly. “I'm yours,” he said, pecking your lips again. “And I have those good-for-nothing jackasses to thank for it.”

You burst out laughing, flopping back onto his pillows. “They're going to be so damn smug.”

Bill groaned, burying his face in your tits. “Worth it when I get to show you off and crush their dreams.”

“They'll live,” you giggled, combing your fingers through his hair.

Bill's alarm suddenly blared from the side table. “Silencio,” he barked, and the clock fell silent once again. “We're calling out,” he mumbled.

You nodded, sleep already starting to tug at you, your limbs going heavy on the mattress. “As long as the boss says it's okay.”

He huffed a laugh. “Good thing he's a pretty laid back guy.”

You rolled your eyes behind closed lids, and hummed in agreement. That was a lesson for another day.

Thank you so much for reading and supporting this series! This is the last part of the core series, but I'm considering doing a few extra drabbles that go along with it (let me know if there's anything in particular you want to see!)

taglist: @itisjustwhatitis, @carmenschemtrails, @karina-v20, @acourtofexiles, @meteora-fc, @l1nd3n, @just-some-random-blogger, @astralissas, @novausstuff, @babyearthquakementality, @slytherin-min99, @buendiabebeta, @littlemadamred, @nislame, @mother-homunculus, @dreamyassasin, @lottalove4evelyn, @mmmunson, @th0tformikasa, @katie-tibo, @comicalivy, @polireader

[wesstars]

crush

cairo sweet x fem!reader (no pronouns used)

summary: when cairo goes home, what comes to mind are thoughts of you. wc: 2.3k tags: explicit, minors DNI!! all characters 18+. university au. masturbation, smoking, non-linear narrative. reader is cairo’s teaching assistant, reader described as masc presenting. a/n: let me know what y’all think :) for the vibes

masterlist

“Is Professor Miller not coming?” Winnie had just dropped into her unassigned assigned seat next to Cairo, two minutes before Greco-Roman Literary Theory started. The flipping of pages punctuated the chatter of other students waiting, a comfortable sound.

“He said he’d be gone today,” Cairo replied absently. “There’s a ‘guest lecturer,’ our teaching assistant.”

“Oh, right. Who’s that?”

Cairo shrugged. “Who knows.” 

As if on cue, the door swung open. Cairo didn’t even look up—Miller mentioned that he kept a handful of research assistants that would be there to help with the advanced reading. But honestly, Cairo wasn’t sure what they could tell her that she didn’t already know. A melodic hum fell through the air for just a moment, a chorus. 

“Good morning.” At your lilting voice, rough with the edge of 10am, Cairo started. She watched you set your messenger bag on the desk. Your white shirt pulled over your shoulders; there was a glint at your collar, a necklace peeking through. A thin watch adorned your wrist. Winnie, along with some of the class, echoed your greeting, and Cairo blinked.

Late spring afternoon draped across the furniture in Cairo’s room, the quickly waning light giving easy way to a blue hour. Dropping her bag at the door, she tore off her shirt and skirt with the confidence of one standing before a crowd. Running a hand up from her sternum to her neck, she stretched languidly, sinking down onto her bed. After so many uneventful days—when she applied to Yale, she didn’t think that there would be any uneventful days—she finally had a story to turn over in her mind. 

You. You were a mystery. Even as you had started the class with an introduction, telling Cairo you’d graduated from a middle-of-nowhere college in California and sought a writing career in Vermont before delving into research, she longed to lay out the details and pull them out from under the rug. Where did you learn to teach? Did you like to drive, or be driven? Mountains, or the sea? Where did you grow up? Was there coffee or tea in your cupboard? Cairo’s stomach burned to know. Her dark eyes burned the ceiling with smoke signals, searching for you even though you were god knows where in that seaside state.

Arching her back, Cairo let her hand travel down, palm flat against her stomach, to trace the seam of her upper thigh. As the class had progressed, your keenly observant nature did not elude Cairo. Maybe listening was something that your pedagogy instilled in you, but the way you held each student’s question in the cant of your head, an answer in your crinkling eyes, listening seemed to be in your nature. It was meticulous, the way you picked apart the class text, weaving in references and tying it all in. In that two hour lecture, Cairo learned that you watched the same way you listened. 

Balmy as it was, the humidity made her dark waves cling to her skin, and she shivered as she brushed them back, thinking of a different pair of slim hands. Your scrutiny of each student had an intention that she couldn’t quite place; a determination that thrilled her. Cairo imagined that you’d observe her the same way, that she would be the one you were most fond of. It was only natural that her own attention would draw yours onto her. Holding the weight of your envisioned gaze made Cairo’s core twist, a pleased little flush that she prayed you could see. Your affected impartiality didn’t bother Cairo—in fact, it pulled her into your shadow. In her bed, she rolled onto her stomach then her knees, shaking her hair out. 

Her hands were steady as she reached for her bedside table, thumb rolling on the wheel of her zippo as she held the cigarette to her lips. Cairo took a drag, blowing out neat smoke rings as she settled back on her heels. The skin of her own fingers was cool against her lips, and when she took the smoke away, she studied the pattern of her lipstick on the white paper as she had so many times before.

She’d watched, unabashedly and unafraid of being caught, as you drummed your fingers on the chalk tray. Would your fingertip be soft or work hardened if it pressed down her tongue? Would your skin carry the stain of her red lip as deeply, as obediently, as the malleable wrapping paper?

“Alright, class,” you cleared your throat, turning slowly around the room to make eye contact with each student. “As you know, Jonathan’s away on a conference today. I’ll start with a bit of roll, just so I can learn your names. Not many of you come to my office hours, I know.” You smiled easily. It was so guileless, Cairo mused, nearly childlike. You had the class go around the rooms with names and majors, a circuit that Cairo gave no attention to other than your lilting rhythm of hums, the tapping of your foot on the floor, the way you flicked the corner of the role sheet with your thumb. Your gaze was soon on hers, waiting expectantly. She looked right back with a blink.

“Cairo Sweet. English major.”

“Cairo.” Her name rolled off your innocent little grin, making her cock her head. “Wonderful.” Fascinating. Would you whisper midnight black desires in her ear, so deep and dark they might be murmured into the ink of your own empty room?

You continued, circling back to the front and easily transitioning to the lesson plan. You had an awfully effortless way of grasping the class’ attention, holding gently and never forcing. It wasn’t like Professor Miller, who always seemed to hasten through the lecture so he could return to his research. She could tell you liked the woods of the text, to fall down into the depths of each word, feeling its weight in you and letting it rock. Just like Cairo. 

She sighed into the warm air prickling up her skin, the curl of your voice around her name making her nipples harden in her bralette, even in retrospect. Exhaling around her cigarette, Cairo brought her hands up to palm her breasts, feeling the drag of her rubied nubs on her palms. Was it the high of the nicotine, the blur of smoke ridden air that made her float straight up into the lofty space you’d created in her mind? Though the feel of her own fingers scraping the lace against her skin was familiar, she found herself keen to think of your soft or callused hands. She was wet already, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten wet so fast.

The weight she imagined of your touch on her flushed skin was completely, deliciously foreign. Unbidden but intimately welcome, Cairo wished that your caress would find the map of her chest as familiar as a classic, something you had searched a million times over yet always managed to find something new. Shamelessly, Cairo trailed her fingers down her stomach, nails catching on every rib as she arched her back in the spilled moonlight. The mystery in the crossing of your long legs as you’d leaned back on the desk climbed up her belly, curling in the thump, thump, thump, of her heart. The uneven roll of your sleeves clung to the corners of her eyes, eidetic and oh, so, tempting. She had watched you so ardently—did you like to watch? Would you watch? 

The space between her thighs was achingly empty, craving the set of your narrow hips. She was comfortable there, and she remembered the taut stretch of wool as you dropped into your chair and set one ankle over your knee. There was something endearing about the way your trousers had pulled up to reveal slouchy black socks, and darker her mind went as the material pulling creases around your lap made her shudder and—she reached behind to pull one of her fluffy pillows under her, smoke billowing into the air. 

Cairo gave her hips an experimental roll, imagining it was the soft fabric of your slacks against her aching cunt, and grinned around her cigarette. Unlike the pillow, you would be ever so solid under her, grabbing for her thighs like a dog yearns to please. Were you more likely to bruise her skin, yanking her into you without care for blood—or would you guide her gently, make a home in her innocence and hold her more dearly than life ever could? Either way, your desire for Cairo would be so apparent that you couldn’t help yourself.

The dip of your tongue in her navel, the little smirk you’d undoubtedly wear as you went down further—would you go for her throbbing clit first, or would your lips press so warm—she didn’t know. She didn’t have to, content with all those different versions of you unfurling before her. In her bedroom, each time she moved her hips, it became easier to imagine you guiding her actions, the bump of your nose on her folds, damned if not addicting.

Cairo grinned as she fell onto her forearms, hips pushing into the soft pillow without abandon. The slide of her panties soaked with slick against her sensitive clit felt like the delicate press of your splayed hand on her desk as you’d passed, eyes occupied by the text you were holding. It had only been a split second, but it was enough for her to memorize every crease, every vein. Cairo let out a whine, a demanding little sound, as her movements grew erratic. Looking up into the heaven where you must be, she imagined that you’d murmur to her, “I’m here, I’m here, how could I be anywhere else but here?” as you traced the dip in her back. Her arousal took her down every sullied path she’d ever dreamed of, but her mind stuck on one gesture that made her mouth go dry. 

She remembered the way your shirt got just a bit untucked when you stretched during the class break. You’d instinctively tucked it back in, quick as you surveyed the class. Cairo thought that you’d dress yourself back up the same way after you bent her over the desk after class, pushing her skirt up and shoving your fingers into her, painting bruises onto her hip bones with how tight you held her.

The two of you would share a mutual understanding that she wanted this, wanted it bad enough for you to take it whenever you saw fit. Cairo decided that today, this time, you’d be as rough as you pleased, a cup of pens clattering to the ground as you pushed her down, forearm across her shoulder blades. Your necklace would be cold on her warm skin, would it be cold on her tongue? You’d put two, three fingers inside, humming in that absentminded way you did. She thought you’d nuzzle into her ear, all lips and sharp teeth, asking if she’d sprayed your favorite hair mist of hers because she hoped you’d notice—she did—and take her, break her, whatever you wanted. 

You’d send her plummeting down towards a deeper hell (or was it higher, up to your majestic heaven?), already knowing everything that her body needed. Cairo imagined herself coming so helplessly around the stretch of your fingers, so high strung from nights of trying to mimic the press of your touch on her clit, unable to reach the same heights you sent her to. As she held back tears, eyes on the ceiling in reverence, feeling herself drip to the floor, you’d sigh as your mind wandered to other things already, carelessly running a hand down her back. 

Cairo gasped, dropping her nearly finished cigarette in favor of gripping the bed sheets. The white fabric wrinkled around her fingers, reminiscent of your shirt creasing as you’d rolled your sleeves up. This was something new you could show her, just how fast she could come and just how wet it made her. It was a marvel, feeling the fabric cling to her cunt, almost as good as how you’d feel. Resting her forehead in the crook of her elbow, she murmured your name over and over again, a little susurrus of a litany, so similar to your preoccupied hum. Panting, Cairo giggled in her bliss, soft and bright as Californian oranges clinging to rich leaves. You were dark enough to be tucked into the wrinkles in the soft pillow, dark enough for Cairo to love, as a journal loves a secret.

Sated, Cairo grabbed her phone and typed your name in. The results spilled out, and she scrolled, looking for all of the details in the background of your social media posts, curiously drunk on the year’s gap in your CV. Cairo noticed the perfect little circle where the cigarette had burned when she dropped it, and she brushed away the remnants. The gesture smeared the ash on the sheets.

—

Walking into your office with barely a knock, Cairo took in the familiar room of an academic, but with your unfamiliar knick knacks around the place. A lighter, a leather wallet, glasses and wired headphones. You didn’t look surprised as you glanced up from your laptop. Instead, you smiled. 

“Cairo, isn’t it?” 

A flush of pleasure shot straight into her—you remembered. She nodded. Your shelves were covered in books and stacks of reviews, the morning’s leftover cup of coffee sitting on one of the ledges. Did you smoke before, or after your coffee? The terrible, terrible want to replace the taste of smoke on your tongue with the taste of her gave Cairo just the confidence she needed. 

“What can I do for you?”

Cairo leaned over your desk, watching the way your eyes dropped to her burgundy lipstick. “Would you be able to help me on the Aristophanes reading?” She pushed her copy of The Clouds towards you. “I can’t seem to grasp it.” Your eyes met hers. “Of course.”

--

a/n cont'd: can you read my mind, i’ve been watching you… there’s just something about you, baby… ♪ / hope you enjoyed @woewriting :)

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[halfmoonaria]

ignorant

pairing: cairo sweet & reader

summary: you are the next victim for the evil of cairo sweet, but this time it’s not planned.

word count: 6k

author’s note: somebody asked for more cairo sweet and i’ll deliver

Cairo Sweet was toxic.

Everybody at school knew it, whispered it, even feared it. It wasn't because she'd ever laid a finger on anyone—Cairo didn't need to.

She had a way of ruining people without touching them, a kind of quiet, deliberate destruction that made her dangerous in ways no one wanted to test.

Her manipulation was an art form, her lies sharp enough to shred reputations into confetti. A few well-placed rumors, a convincing performance, and she could have someone blacklisted.

Jobs, scholarships, futures—they all crumbled under the weight of her fabrications. Being on Cairo's bad side was like being branded: the stain followed you wherever you went.

People had seen it happen before. Just last year, Mr. Miller had been the unfortunate target. A teacher with a spotless reputation, gone in an instant.

A single accusation from Cairo had shattered his career. The truth? It didn't matter. Cairo's version of the story had been louder, more convincing.

Even when whispers of her exaggerations began to circulate, it was too late for him. By then, she'd moved on, leaving destruction in her wake like it was nothing.

You'd heard it all, of course. Everyone had.

The looks she got in the halls said enough—half awe, half terror. But what you could never figure out, no matter how much you watched her, was whether she enjoyed it.

Did she like that people were scared of her? Did it give her some twisted sense of power? Or did she just not care? Maybe, in some corner of her mind, she felt guilty. But if she did, you'd never know it.

And yet, despite everything you knew—despite all the warnings, the stories, the very real possibility that she could ruin you too—you found yourself getting pulled in. If that's even what you'd call it.

It all started one afternoon after English class. You'd been shoving your notebook into your bag when Cairo appeared beside your desk, casual as if it wasn't the first time she'd ever spoken to you directly.

"Hey, you mind if I grab a picture of your notes? I missed a few things."

The request wasn't surprising—everyone in English class talked to each other, especially when it came to assignments or study guides.

You'd even exchanged a word or two with her before, though only ever about coursework. She wasn't unapproachable, not exactly. Just... untouchable. Like someone you didn't dare get too close to for fear of the inevitable fallout.

"Sure," you said, slipping the notebook out again and holding it toward her.

She gave you a brief, unreadable smile, one corner of her mouth tugging upward as she pulled out her phone and started snapping pictures.

"Thanks," she murmured, her tone flat but not unfriendly. She didn't walk away immediately, though. Instead, she lingered, flipping through the pages like she was checking for anything she might've missed.

"You always this neat?" she asked suddenly, her eyes flicking to you.

You blinked, caught off guard by what sounded almost like a compliment. "Uh, I guess."

"You should see mine," she said with a dry laugh, tucking her phone back into her pocket. "It's a miracle I can even read them."

You knew that wasn’t true.

It wasn't much, but it was the first real conversation you'd had with her that wasn't about group projects or exam prep.

Cairo had a way of making even the smallest interactions feel like something bigger, like a spark catching on dry leaves. It was enough to leave you wondering as you walked out of class that day why she'd bothered talking to you at all.

After that, it was little things. A nod of acknowledgment when you passed in the halls.

A quick "Hey" when she slid into the seat beside you before class started. And then, somehow, it became more. She'd catch you after school, asking about homework or offering a ride home if it was raining. You told yourself it was nothing—she was just being nice, or at least her version of it.

But the truth was, you couldn't help noticing the way her attention made you feel.

Like she saw something in you that no one else had. It wasn't long before those fleeting interactions turned into something else entirely: Cairo waiting for you after class with that same unreadable smirk, Cairo texting you late at night asking if you were up, Cairo pulling you into her orbit in a way that felt effortless.

You told yourself you should've known better. You'd heard all the stories, seen the aftermath of what she could do.

But every time you thought about walking away, you'd hear her voice in your head, low and teasing, or see the way she leaned a little closer than she needed to when she talked to you.

And then it went further.

It had started slowly. Cairo had begun finding reasons to linger after English class, asking about your interpretations of certain texts or how you'd structured your notes.

She hadn't needed the input—she was one of the best students in the subject, her essays always marked with the highest grades and her name consistently praised in class discussions.

At first, you had assumed it was just convenience; you were one of the only people who matched her level of effort. But the excuses had become more frequent, her attention more focused, until her presence became a constant thread in your life, woven in so seamlessly that you didn't even notice when it tightened.

The night she showed up at your door had felt inevitable, though you wouldn't have admitted it then.

Cairo had mentioned offhandedly how she preferred studying with someone else for perspective, and at the time, you'd barely registered it. But when she appeared, backpack slung over her shoulder, her expression calm and unbothered, it hadn't been a surprise.

There was no preamble, no hesitation. She had walked into your room with a confidence that felt natural, claiming space without even asking.

At first, it had been nothing out of the ordinary. Books and notes spread across your bed, Cairo sitting cross-legged across from you as the two of you discussed the upcoming exam.

Her questions were sharp, her observations even sharper. She had a way of speaking that made you feel like she already knew the answer but wanted to hear what you had to say anyway. You'd spent hours like that, trading ideas and bouncing thoughts back and forth, her handwriting neat and methodical as she jotted down lines in her notebook.

But at some point, the conversation had drifted. It wasn't abrupt, just a natural shift, like a tide rolling in without warning.

She'd asked about the books you read outside of class, about your favorite authors, your least favorite, and before you knew it, the two of you were sitting closer, your legs brushing as you talked. Her voice had softened, her gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

It had felt harmless at first. Cairo had always had a way of commanding attention, of drawing you in even when you knew better.

But when her hand brushed against yours, the air shifted. It was so subtle you almost convinced yourself it was accidental, but then her fingers lingered, trailing against your skin just enough to leave you breathless.

By the time she leaned in, it didn't feel sudden at all. Her lips had met yours with a deliberateness that left no room for hesitation, her hand sliding to the back of your neck as she deepened the kiss.

You'd known then that there was no going back, that this wasn't just another moment to file away under casual study sessions. Cairo had a way of making everything feel inevitable, like it was all a part of her plan from the beginning.

The hours after that had passed in a haze. The notes and textbooks had been forgotten, your conversations abandoned as Cairo pulled you closer, her body pressed against yours in a way that made you forget everything you'd ever heard about her.

She had been as deliberate as ever, her touch calculated but intoxicating, like she knew exactly how to make you fall apart and was savoring every second of it.

When it was over, the room had felt heavier, the silence punctuated only by the faint hum of your desk lamp. Cairo had stretched out beside you, her head resting on your pillow, her expression unreadable.

She hadn't said much, only reaching for her phone to check the time before pulling her shirt back on with the same calm, unbothered demeanor she always carried.

And just like that, she had left, her notebook tucked under her arm, her goodbye nothing more than a casual "See you tomorrow." As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just turned your entire world upside down and walked away without a second thought.

That was when it all started.

The whole rollercoaster.

One day, it was like you were the only person in her world—her texts coming in rapid bursts, her presence at your side like she couldn't bear to be away from you.

The next day, she'd barely say a word, her gaze sliding past you in the halls as if you were just another face in the crowd. Cairo had always been unpredictable, but now, it felt personal.

One moment, she'd pull you into a corner after class, her touch lingering on your wrist as she whispered something that made your chest tighten, and the next, she'd laugh with her friends right in front of you, not even sparing you a glance.

The day after you'd slept together, she had acted like it never happened. She'd sat next to you in English like always, her notebook open and her handwriting as neat as ever, answering the teacher's questions with her usual confidence.

But there had been no acknowledgment of the night before—no sly glance, no shared moment of understanding. Nothing.

You'd tried not to let it bother you. Cairo wasn't the type to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and maybe you'd expected too much.

But then, just when you thought you'd misread everything, she'd catch your eye in the hallway, her lips curling into a smirk that sent your thoughts spiraling. She'd brush against you in passing, her hand grazing your arm, leaving you wondering if it had been intentional or just a coincidence.

The cycle was maddening. Some days, she'd text you late at night, her messages full of inside jokes and clever observations that made you feel like you were the only person who truly understood her.

Other days, your phone would stay silent, and when you saw her at school, she'd talk to you like nothing had changed, her tone casual, her demeanor almost cold.

You'd tell yourself you wouldn't let it get to you, but it always did. Cairo had a way of pulling you in, her charm disarming even when you knew better.

She could make you feel special with a single glance, only to leave you questioning everything with her silence the next day. It was a push and pull, a constant tug-of-war that left you breathless and exhausted all at once.

There were moments when you thought she might care—when she'd show up at your door unannounced, her face softer than usual, asking if you wanted to go for a drive or watch something with her.

Those nights, she'd talk about things she rarely shared, her voice quiet as she told you about her childhood or the pressure she felt to always be in control. She'd lean her head on your shoulder, her fingers brushing against yours, and for a little while, it felt real. It felt like maybe she needed you as much as you needed her.

But then morning would come, and she'd slip back into the version of herself that kept everyone at arm's length. She'd thank you for letting her crash or for the coffee you'd made her, her tone light and detached, and by the time she walked out the door, it was like none of it had ever happened.

The inconsistency was suffocating, yet you couldn't bring yourself to let go. Every time she pulled away, you told yourself it was the last time, that you wouldn't let her back in. But then she'd flash you that crooked smile, or send you a text that made you laugh despite yourself, and all your resolve would crumble.

It wasn't just about the moments she was kind—it was the way she made you feel when she was. Like you were the exception, the one person who could get past the walls she'd built. It was intoxicating, even when it hurt, even when you knew you were only setting yourself up for disappointment.

Cairo never apologized, not really.

When she pulled you close again after days of silence, it wasn't with words but with gestures—a hand on your knee during class, a smirk as she slid into the seat beside you, a text at midnight that said nothing but still made you stay up just in case she sent another.

You told yourself you could handle it. That the highs were worth the lows, that maybe someday, she'd stop running, stop retreating into herself. But deep down, you knew the truth. Cairo was who she was—beautiful, magnetic, and devastatingly out of reach.

And yet, you stayed.

Some nights, the loneliness settled over you like a second skin, cold and suffocating. You'd sit with your phone in your hand, staring at the screen, waiting for her name to light up. It became a ritual—hoping, waiting, trying not to check the time too often because every glance at the clock only reminded you of how long it had been since you'd last heard from her.

It was always the same. Cairo's excuses blurred together over time, a monotonous loop that left you questioning why you still held on. They came hours later, always casual, laced with just enough indifference to remind you where you stood.

Sorry, I was showering.

That one had been her go-to more than once. You could still remember the times you waited, your phone always within reach, even when you shouldn't have been so eager.

Multiple times, you'd been in the shower yourself, the water cascading down your back as you heard the buzz of your phone over the noise. You'd reached out instinctively, nearly dropping it as you wiped your hand on a towel to see her message. The words stared back at you, plain and detached. You replied as always, that it was fine.

It wasn't. But what else was there to say?

Sorry, I had no battery on my phone.

That excuse always came with a hint of carelessness, as if she hadn't even noticed the hours you spent waiting for her reply.

You'd been sitting on the floor that time, your back against the bedframe, knees pulled to your chest. The outlet was too far from your bed, so you stayed there, tethered to the wall like some desperate, foolish thing.

The charger stretched just enough for your phone to stay on, its faint glow illuminating your face. Her message arrived eventually, and you'd stared at it for a long moment, the words twisting something inside you. Still, you'd typed your response. It's fine.

Sorry, I was out with Winnie.

She always mentioned Winnie like she were some unspoken priority, a reminder that you were never really part of her world.

That particular excuse had come while you were in the back seat of a car, squished between your friends as they shouted along to your favorite song.

Their joy felt distant, like a muffled sound through thick glass. You'd glanced at your phone, your heart sinking as you read her words. It didn't matter that you were surrounded by people who cared about you—it only mattered that Cairo didn't. Your reply had been quick, almost automatic. It's fine. But the lump in your throat told a different story.

Sorry, I had class.

That one had come during History once, during a class you'd only chosen because she was in it too. Your phone had vibrated on your desk, and you'd snatched it up quickly, your pulse quickening at the sight of her name.

But the message itself had been underwhelming, just another half-hearted apology. You'd barely had time to respond before the teacher's shadow loomed over you, her hand outstretched to confiscate your phone. You typed back the same words as always, It's fine, even as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. It wasn't fine. It never was.

Sorry, I fell asleep.

That one might have been the worst.

You'd waited three hours that night, staring at your phone until the screen dimmed and the battery warning flashed. It felt pathetic, even in the moment, but you couldn't stop yourself from hoping.

When her message finally came, you almost wished it hadn't. The words felt like a punch to the chest, so casual and uncaring, as if she hadn't realized how long you'd been waiting—or worse, as if she had and simply didn't care. Your response had been the same as always, but this time, your hands had trembled as you typed.

These weren't one-off moments. They were patterns—predictable, painful, and yet impossible to walk away from. Every excuse carried the same weight, a reminder that you were never her priority, never the one she truly cared about. But somehow, even after all of it, you stayed. You replied. You waited.

Because part of you couldn't help but hope that one day, she might mean it when she said she was sorry.

Your friends had tried to tell you before. So many times, actually. They had spoken to you in their patient, understanding tones at first, as if easing you into a truth you already knew but couldn't bring yourself to face.

Cairo isn't good for you. You deserve better. She doesn't care about you the way you care about her.

The words had echoed in your mind, even as you'd brushed them off. You'd nodded, said you'd think about it, maybe even pretended to agree.

But the truth was, their concern had always bounced off the walls you'd built around Cairo. It wasn't their business, you'd told yourself. They didn't see the side of her you did—the glimpses of vulnerability, the rare moments when she made you feel like you were the only one who mattered.

But those moments had grown fewer and farther between. Lately, they felt like distant memories, the kind you cling to out of desperation rather than hope.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly when it shifted. Maybe it was the hundredth time she'd left your messages unread, or the way she only texted back when it was convenient for her.

Maybe it was the excuses that started to sound more like indifference than apologies. Or maybe it was the way you realized, slowly and painfully, that you couldn't remember the last time Cairo had truly asked about you—your day, your feelings, your life beyond what you could do for her.

And then there were your friends. They hadn't stopped trying, even when it became clear you weren't ready to listen.

Their voices grew sharper, less patient, but not unkind. You're breaking your own heart, they'd said once. She's not worth it. And for the first time, those words didn't feel like a slap; they felt like the truth.

It wasn't just the words, though. It was the way they looked at you—really looked at you.

Not with judgment, but with something softer, something sad. You'd seen it in their eyes when they caught you checking your phone, hoping for a reply that never came. You'd felt it in the way they lingered after conversations, hesitant to leave you alone with your thoughts.

And maybe that's what finally cracked the foundation you'd built for her—the realization that the people who truly cared about you were right there, offering you more love and patience than Cairo ever had.

You started to notice the things you'd ignored before: the weight in your chest when her name popped up on your screen, the exhaustion that came from trying to decipher her mixed signals, the way her words always seemed to twist just enough to make you feel like the unreasonable one.

It wasn't a sudden epiphany. It wasn't some grand, dramatic moment where you declared that enough was enough. It was quieter than that, slower. Like a tide receding, pulling back layer by layer, until you could finally see the damage left behind.

It happened one night when you were with your friends. They'd said something—maybe a joke, maybe just a passing comment about Cairo—and instead of defending her, you'd stayed silent. It wasn't because you were angry or hurt; it was because, for the first time, you couldn't find a reason to argue.

That silence was heavier than anything you'd ever felt. It wasn't the kind that begged to be filled with excuses or justifications. It was the kind that felt like acceptance.

And that's when you knew. You didn't need Cairo to apologize again, to make another excuse, to promise she'd do better and then fall back into the same patterns. You didn't need anything from her anymore.

For the first time, you realized the person you needed to save was yourself.

Which was why you decided to pull away.

It wasn't an easy decision. Cairo had a way of pulling you back in, of making it hard to let go of the idea of her, even when she'd done nothing to deserve your loyalty. But you'd had enough of being her secret. Enough of being good enough only when it suited her.

English with Mr. Solace was where it started.

Cairo slid into the chair beside you like it was hers by default, like she hadn't spent days treating you as if you barely existed. She gave you that soft smile, the one that always felt a little too rehearsed, before it shifted into something sharper—teasing, flirty. The smirk that had once made your heart race now only irritated you.

You kept your eyes on your notebook, pen moving in deliberate strokes. You weren't writing anything meaningful, but it didn't matter. The point was to ignore her, to refuse her the attention she always seemed to expect.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her watching you. She didn't like being ignored. You could feel her presence, her attempts to draw you in, like a weight pressing down on your shoulders.

She leaned back in her chair, her bag sliding off her shoulder and onto the floor with a soft thud. Her arm brushed yours briefly as she adjusted herself, and you knew it wasn't accidental.

But you didn't move. You didn't flinch, didn't look, didn't react the way you might have just weeks ago.

Mr. Solace’s voice filled the room as he began his lecture, his words blending into a low hum in the background. You were just starting to think you'd get through the class without an incident when you felt it—her fingers brushing against your thigh.

It was subtle at first, just the barest hint of contact, like she was testing the waters. Then her touch grew bolder, her palm hovering before she let it settle lightly against your leg.

Your heart didn't race this time. Instead, it sank.

This was Cairo, wasn't it? Always acting like you belonged to her when no one was watching, when it was convenient. Always making sure her actions stayed hidden, as if she couldn't bear for anyone else to know what you meant to her—if you even meant anything at all.

For a moment, you froze. The old you would've let it slide, let her hand stay there, and hoped it meant something more than it ever did. But not this time.

This time, you pulled away.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you shifted back, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of Mr. Solace’s lecture. A few heads turned, but you didn't care.

You felt Cairo's hand drop away immediately, her fingers curling into her palm as if she'd been burned. For a moment, you didn't dare look at her. Your focus stayed locked on your notebook, your pen frozen mid-stroke as you tried to steady your breathing.

But the silence beside you was deafening.

Finally, you glanced sideways, just briefly, and what you saw caught you off guard. Cairo wasn't wearing her usual mask of indifference. Her brow was furrowed, her lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Her eyes darted toward you, then away, as if she was trying to figure out what had just happened. She looked confused, maybe even hurt—but there was something else too. Anger. That familiar glint of frustration she got whenever something didn't go her way.

You forced yourself to look away before she could meet your gaze fully.

The rest of the lesson dragged on, but the tension between you didn't fade. Cairo sat rigid in her seat, her hands resting stiffly on her desk. She didn't try to touch you again, but you could feel her presence, heavy and unrelenting, like she was willing you to look at her.

You didn't.

When the bell rang, you stood quickly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder in one smooth motion. Cairo hesitated, her movements slower, almost hesitant, like she wasn't sure what to do next.

You didn't wait to find out. You walked out of the room without a backward glance, your heart pounding in your chest.

The hallway was a blur of noise and motion as you pushed your way through the crowd, your bag slung over one shoulder and your gaze fixed straight ahead.

You didn't want to linger. You didn't want to give her the chance to catch up, to say anything that might make you second-guess the boundaries you were finally starting to set.

You weaved around groups of students loitering by the lockers, dodging the occasional stray elbow or careless backpack.

The dull roar of conversations and laughter filled the air, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Your locker wasn't far now—just a few feet away. If you could make it there, if you could grab your things and blend into the crowd again, you might be able to avoid her altogether.

But then you heard it.

"Y/N!"

Her voice cut through the chaos, not loud enough to draw attention from anyone else but clear enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You pretended not to hear. You kept walking, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as if holding on to something solid could keep you from looking back.

The distance and the noise of the hallway worked in your favor for now, her voice fading slightly as another group of students spilled out of a nearby classroom, blocking her path.

For a moment, you thought you might actually make it.

But you should've known better. Cairo never let things go.

Her footsteps were quick and purposeful, cutting through the crowd with an ease that only someone like her could manage.

You felt the shift in the air before you even saw her—felt her presence, familiar and inescapable, closing in on you like a shadow.

"Y/N!" This time, her voice was closer, sharper, laced with an edge of frustration.

You didn't stop, didn't slow, even though the knot in your stomach tightened with every step. You could feel her catching up, her determination practically radiating off her like heat.

And then her hand was on your wrist.

The contact was sudden, firm, and you had no choice but to stop as she turned you around to face her.

Cairo stood there, her chest rising and falling slightly from the effort of chasing you down. Her hand stayed wrapped around your wrist, not tight enough to hurt but strong enough to keep you from pulling away.

Her expression was unreadable at first, a mix of emotions flickering across her face so quickly that you couldn't pin any of them down.

Her lips parted, like she was about to say something, but for a moment, she didn't. She just looked at you, her brows furrowed and her jaw tense, as if she were trying to piece together what had just happened.

The noise of the hallway felt like it faded away, the two of you caught in a strange, charged silence.

You pulled your wrist from her grasp, the movement sharp and deliberate, and took a small step back, putting space between you.

Cairo stayed where she was, rooted to the spot as if the act of you pulling away had left her momentarily stunned. Her hand fell to her side, and she tilted her head, her gaze fixed on your face, searching for something she couldn't seem to find.

Confusion flickered across her features, quickly giving way to something sharper—something almost hurt.

Her lips parted, but when she spoke, it wasn't vulnerability that came through. Instead, there was an edge, a hint of attitude in her voice that sharpened every syllable.

"What was that all about?" she asked, her accent thick, the natural rasp of her tone cutting through the air between you. Normally, it was the kind of thing you would've found endearing, even attractive. But not now. Not after everything.

You crossed your arms, schooling your features into indifference. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Cairo blinked, caught off guard for a split second before she let out a low, almost mocking laugh. She leaned slightly toward you, her cocky demeanor sliding effortlessly back into place.

"Oh, come on," she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear over the hum of the hallway. "I tried to touch you, and you freak out?" Her lips curled into a smirk, the kind she always used when she thought she had you right where she wanted you.

Her eyes narrowed, teasing, self-assured, as she added, "Am I that intimidating?"

She said it like it was a compliment, like it was supposed to make your heart skip a beat the way it always used to. It was a flirt, the kind of thing that once would've left you fumbling for words or glancing away to hide the flush on your cheeks.

But not now.

You didn't falter. You didn't give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you met her gaze with a calm, steady look that made her smirk falter, the corners of her mouth twitching downward as uncertainty crept into her expression.

"No," you said simply, your voice firm. "I just don't want to do this anymore."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Cairo's brows knit together, her lips parting in surprise as she stared at you like you'd just spoken a foreign language. Then, her expression shifted—confusion morphing into something sharper, almost disgusted, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"What?" she said, her voice laced with attitude, the word drawn out like she was challenging you to explain yourself. Her tone was a mix of disbelief and defiance, as if the very idea of you pulling away from her was both shocking and offensive.

You couldn't tell if she genuinely didn't understand or if she was playing dumb, but part of you suspected the latter. Maybe she hadn't considered this possibility—hadn't imagined a world where you would be the one to step back, to say no.

If she did understand, she was probably thinking about how this wasn't supposed to happen to her. People didn't end things with Cairo Sweet. She ended things with them.

But this wasn't even an ending, was it? It wasn't a breakup, because this wasn't a relationship. Not really.

Whatever it was, though, it was over. You weren't going to let her keep playing you like this.

The silence stretched between you, the tension palpable. Cairo's gaze darted over your face, searching for any hint of hesitation, but you didn't waver. For once, you were sure of yourself.

And it was clear, for the first time, that she didn't know what to do about it.

"Look, Cairo." Your voice came out steadier than you expected, even with the weight of what you were about to say pressing down on your chest. "I don't know what this is," you continued, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, "but I want it to be over."

Cairo's head jerked back like you'd slapped her, her brows knitting together in a sharp furrow as her lips parted slightly. For a moment, she just stared at you, blinking like she couldn't quite process the words you'd just said.

Her mouth twisted into something unreadable, almost like disgust, but you knew better. It wasn't disgust. It was shock. Maybe even hurt, though you weren't sure if it was for the right reasons.

"What?" she finally said, her voice low and almost breathless, like she'd forgotten how to breathe properly.

You could've stopped there. Maybe you should've. But there was too much left unsaid, too much that had been building up for far too long.

"I'm tired, Cairo," you said, the words simple but cutting.

Her expression shifted, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing her face before she quickly masked it with that familiar attitude, the one that had kept you hooked for far too long. But she didn't say anything, didn't interrupt, so you kept going.

"You treat me like I'm supposed to be grateful for the scraps you throw my way," you said, your voice low but firm, the words landing like a stone in the pit of your stomach. "But I'm done. I'm not waiting anymore."

Cairo's jaw tightened, her arms crossing over her chest defensively as she stared at you. There was no cocky smirk now, no teasing glint in her eye. For once, she didn't look like she had all the answers.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said finally, her tone sharp, almost dismissive, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. "Yeah, you do. You just don't like hearing it."

Her brows furrowed even deeper, her mouth opening like she was about to argue, but she hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For the first time, Cairo Sweet looked uncertain.

And it was oddly freeing, seeing her like that, knowing that for once, you weren't the one left doubting everything. You were done playing this game.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you looked at her one last time. She still hadn't said anything, her mouth slightly open as if the words were stuck somewhere between her throat and her pride. Her arms were still crossed, but you could see the cracks in her armor now—confusion, maybe even hurt, flickering across her face in ways she couldn't quite hide.

But it wasn't enough to stop you.

"Maybe you should find someone else to play with," you said evenly, your voice low but sharp enough to cut through the tension between you. You didn't say it with malice or anger, just a quiet, undeniable finality.

Her lips parted further, her eyes narrowing as if to mask the shock that was written all over her face. She didn't respond, and you didn't wait for her to.

Instead, you turned and walked away, your footsteps firm and deliberate, even as the noise of the crowded hallway swallowed the moment whole. You didn't look back, didn't let yourself wonder what her expression looked like now or if she was still standing there, watching you leave.

Because this time, you weren't leaving to get her attention.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 22] || [Chapter 23]

Rating: E Pairing: Ghost x Price || Price x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 500~ cw: angst, selfish john price, thinking of someone else while fucking (mental cheating? idk) Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: this is angsty. this is NOT gonna please some of you. john is a selfish man.

Chapter 22.5: Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, Tel Aviv.

John doesn’t know how it happened.

One moment he’s leaving, the next he’s on top of you on the bed.

You’re whining needily as he slowly rolls his hips against yours like it’s the first time.

You’re lying on your back, your legs are spread on either side of him, your ass propped up on his thighs as he kneels on the mattress.

“You’re so beautiful on your back like this, fuckin’ ‘ell…” John murmurs as he pulls you up to him, one hand snug around the small of your back, the other around your shoulders.

Your chest presses tight against him while your feet struggle to find a perch on the slippery edge of the mattress, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulder, hoping your weight doesn’t make him lose balance.

His lower arm rocks you back and forth on his cock, drawing more mewls of pleasure from your lips before he captures your mouth in his, your tongues blurring together.

For a moment he’s not in Hereford, in your flat.

For a moment, there’s a piercing poking his tongue, and another set of them rubbing against his lower belly, threatening to catch on his happy trail of hair.

For a moment he’s in Simon’s apartment in Cardiff.

For a moment he’s on a rainy rooftop in London, doing a stakeout on an armed militia leader.

For a moment he’s in Cairo, in a sandy warehouse, dead bodies around them, after stopping an arms deal.

For a moment he’s in Cabo, South Africa, sneaking back into a sex trafficking cell safehouse after it had been emptied, under the guise of ‘checking it over one last time’.

For a moment he’s in Tel Aviv, having prevented a missile launch that almost cost both their lives.

Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, or Tel Aviv…

He’s always fucked Simon like this. His pants just barely undone, Simon perched up on his lap, rocking back and forth on his cock, his moans being quieted by a tongue down his throat.

The only difference is that they’re usually huddled together in a corner of a room, so that no one spots it…

And not in the middle of a bed, in a comfortable, cosy, homey flat, where the only thing keeping you from serving as a counterbalance and landing you both on the mattress again is John’s sheer strength.

Tossing you down onto the mattress again, he breaks the kiss and rubs his open mouth across your cheek, down your jawline, and onto your neck. “So good f’r me.” He whispers in your ear.

You’re not Simon…

But you definitely make Simon happy.

He saw it in his eyes.

You make Simon happy in a way John never quite could.

And he makes you happy too…

John knows he’s not exactly a selfless man. He’s quite selfish, in fact.

But you’ve just extended him an opportunity to join you in making Simon happy.

And he’s bloody taking it.

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

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

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[willtheweaver]

‘Something’s not right’ writing prompts

•’Last time I checked, horses had flat teeth and only two eyes.’

• The hotel was only three stories tall. So why does the elevator go to the twentieth floor?

•The lights in your living room come on when you flick the switch. The only problem? The storm knocked down the power lines and the company said it would take a week to get the electricity back on.

• ‘These trees have eyes.’

‘They’re aspen. They only look like eyes. But they are just scars leftover from where there were branches.’

‘Then why did one just wink at me?’

•Character is in hiding. They have someone deliver supplies to their remote cabin every Monday. It’s Tuesday, and the delivery is 24 hours late.

•You just hooked a 12 ft. long shark. You also are fishing in an artificial lake, completely landlocked, and with no connection to the sea.

• “I heard you were having an open house today. May I come in?” Said the well mannered gentleman who did not cast a shadow.

•You run out to the fairy ring deep in the forest. When you get there, all you find is one very confused walrus.

•With its walls made of matte black stone, lack of windows, narrow hallways with body sized niches, and musty smell of decay, the building didn’t look like a hospital. It looked like a tomb.

•Closing time at the Cairo Museum. The security guard escorts the last few stragglers out. From one of the display cases comes a voice.

“Thank Amun-Ra for that. Those last few tourists were so annoying, trying to claim that my great temple was the work of extraterrestrials.”

•Character looks up at the sky. They see the words Are you sure you want to delete this file?

[anonymousewrites]

Burden of Truth

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Non-binary! Reader Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Non-binary! Reader Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Non-binary! Reader

Eventual! Father Figure! Jake Lockley x Teen! Non-binary! Reader

Book 1:

Follows the Events of Season One

Prologue: On the Precipice

Chapter One: In the Alps

Chapter Two: In the Flat

Chapter Three: To the Neighborhood

Chapter Four: In the Discussion

Chapter Five: Against the Jackal

Chapter Six: Across Cairo

Chapter Seven: Inside the Pyramid

Chapter Eight: To Mogart

Chapter Nine: In the Skies

Chapter Ten: Into the Tunnels

Chapter Eleven: At the Sarcophagus

Chapter Twelve: During the Ritual

Chapter Thirteen: Against Harrow and Ammit

Chapter Fourteen: After the Battle

Chapter Fifteen: In a New Chapter

Specials:

Pride Specials: 2024

Halloween Specials: 2024

Holiday Specials: 2024

Taglist:

@jaytheaceenby

@severussimp

@dmitrytherat

@slytherinroyalty16

@grippleback-galaxy

@alexpangender

@thewittyfanficreader

@aew-kun-age-regression

@oscarissac2099

@amberforest08

@kyalov

@yyourmotherr

@im-making-an-effort

@the-toskaverse

@wra-1-th

@noodleryworld

@snowy-violet

[egypt-museum]

Block Statue of Hotep

Middle Kingdom, 12th Dynasty, ca. 1991-1783 BC. From Saqqara necropolis. Now in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo JE 48858

In this example of a block statue made of granite, Hotep is wearing a smooth, flaring wig with a slight central parting that leaves his protruding ears exposed. In contrast with the modeling of the body the face, with its soft, delicate lines, is carefully finished. The eyes, with the typical eye-paint, are large, the nose is regularly shaped and the mouth small with full lips.

The chin is thrust slightly forwards and is adorned with a short beard striated with horizontal incised lines. The arms rest flat on the upper surface of the cube while the large legs with thick ankles and broad feet are well defined below.

Read more

[gydima]

Paddy/Eoin fic: Give Me Good Sleep

After Paddy is released from Ghadzi, Eoin needs him to stay out of trouble for one night. Just one.

Read on AO3 or behind the read more.

Rating: Explicit

Contains: First time, confrontations, oral sex, anal fingering, anal sex, barebacking, creampie, Vaseline as lube because IDK what else they'd have access to, Eoin treating his undershirt like a napkin again but worse this time

Notes: This is based on the TV show characters, as I have little to no knowledge of the real people. Set during S01E02, after Paddy is released from Ghadzi military prison and before SAS recruitment begins. For the sake of getting Eoin and Paddy alone together in a private room with a real bed, I'm pretending they needed to stay overnight in a Cairo hotel before meeting up with Stirling, Lewes and the other recruits. Title comes from "You Belong to Me" by Cat Pierce, which is a fantastic Eoin/Paddy song for the vibes of this fic.

Eoin is sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, head in his hands, when Paddy returns from bathing. Eoin's slept so little in the past few days, it takes a moment for him to catch on that Paddy's hair is wet but neatly combed, and he's wearing the fresh uniform Eoin brought for him. He does not look at all like he's ready to turn in for the night.

"What're you doing?" Eoin asks, fighting a yawn.

Paddy tosses the filthy clothes he'd worn in Ghadzi into the corner, where no doubt he'll leave them for good. "Going to meet Reggie, get some drinks," Paddy says. "You want to come with?"

The sleepy lassitude abruptly flees Eoin's body, and he sits up straight. "No," he says. "I don't."

Paddy had started to move toward the door, as though Eoin's company was a foregone conclusion. Now he stops and turns to back to Eoin, brow furrowed and left eye still half-swollen shut. He doesn't ask for clarification, only shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Adrenaline surges and Eoin's across the room before Paddy has fully pulled open the door to leave. Eoin reaches over Paddy's shoulder and slaps his palm against the door, shoving it firmly closed.

"You're not going either," Eoin grits.

Paddy doesn't turn to face him. His fingers are gripping the doorknob, and his whole body is stiff. Eoin knows he is standing too close, his chest less than a foot from Paddy's back, but neither of them moves for a long, brittle moment. It breaks when Paddy huffs out a breath like an angry bull and says, "The hell I'm not," trying to wrench the door back open. Eoin shoves with all his might to keep it closed against Paddy's furious strength.

"I said no," Eoin snarls, and finds himself shoving Paddy flat against the door with his whole body, pinning Paddy with a forearm across his back. He leans into Paddy with his full weight to rob him of his leverage.

Paddy is a tense, seething line of heat against him, but Eoin knows he could fight his way free if he wanted. He doesn't. Instead, Paddy drops his forehead against the door with a subdued thud and asks, "What is it then?"

Eoin's left breathing hard against the back of Paddy’s neck. He's glad Paddy doesn't turn, so Eoin doesn't have to look him in the eye. It leaves him with the courage to speak.

"Do you know what the past week has been like for me, Paddy?" he asks plaintively. "I have spent every waking hour trying to get you out of that prison. I had no power against the people who wanted you to get yourself killed in there. Did you think it a miracle that Stirling intervened? You think I didn't have to chase him down and beg him to pull any strings he could to free you? The way you make enemies, I thought I might never see you again."

Paddy remains silent and still, and Eoin is lost. Anger can't sustain him because it isn't what motivated him to begin with.

"I was scared, Paddy," Eoin confesses to Paddy's back. Paddy's hand is still on the doorknob, and Eoin's palm flat against the door. He finally lowers it, wrapping his fingers around Paddy's wrist so he can feel Paddy's pulse thrum reassuringly against his fingertips. "I don't want to change who you are. I can't take the fight out of you and would never want to. But I need you to stay out of trouble, stay safe, for one night. Just tonight, until we leave for Heliopolis in the morning. Can you do that?" Eoin asks. His voice cracks, so he tacks on: "Or do I have to tie you up, lad?"

It's meant as a joke, albeit a weak one. It doesn't land that way.

He feels Paddy's shudder every place they're touching, and his fingers tighten reflexively around Paddy's wrist.

"Oh," Eoin says softly, knees going watery on him for the briefest moment. Paddy must misunderstand Eoin's response, because he makes a sound of distress and starts struggling against Eoin's grip. Against his better judgment Eoin drops the arm he'd held across Paddy's back, molding himself to the contours of Paddy's body instead. "Hush now," he says, and lets himself press a lingering kiss to the nape of Paddy's neck.

Paddy's breath is ragged in the silence that follows, and Eoin's not sure he himself is breathing at all as he waits for Paddy's response. He'll let him go if Paddy tries to free himself again, though he won't know how to face him if that's what Paddy chooses.

Eventually Paddy does move, but not to pull away. It's a small movement, but there's no space between them to miss it when Paddy pushes his hips back, rubbing against Eoin in welcome.

It's Eoin's turn to shiver, cock stirring, and he rolls his hips forward to show Paddy he's not alone. He notes distantly that Paddy's hair is still damp when he skims his nose up Paddy's neck to rest in the spot between Paddy's hairline and his ear. "Will you stay tonight?" he murmurs.

The sound Paddy makes is a cross between a laugh and a sigh. "I'd not leave you now unless you told me to," he says, voice rough.

"Good," Eoin says, stepping back reluctantly and tugging Paddy's wrist until Paddy turns to face him. Paddy's gaze is fixed in the vicinity of Eoin's collarbone before Eoin nudges under his chin with two fingers. When Paddy finally looks him in the eye, his expression is unsure, no trace of the fiery focus Eoin longs to see.

Eoin dares cup Paddy's cheek and sweep a thumb over his cheekbone, under that swollen, bruised eye. "And will you come to bed with me?" he asks.

Paddy nods, then turns his face to brush his lips across the inside of Eoin's wrist. "You know I'd follow you anywhere."

"I didn't know," Eoin says honestly, joy surging into a smile. "But I hoped."

Paddy lets Eoin slide his fingers into his hair and pull him forward. He tips his head back and his mouth is softer and hotter than Eoin could have imagined when Eoin gets to kiss him at last.

He loses track of time, maybe, because when he comes back to himself, his fingers ache from how tightly he's holding Paddy. He doesn't know how long it's been since the kissing turned deeper, since he took possession of Paddy's mouth with his tongue and dragged Paddy's body so hard against his own that there's not a lick of space between them.

When Eoin pulls back just far enough to catch his breath, one look at Paddy knocks it right back out of him. Paddy's head remains tilted back, mouth red and wet, and his eyes are hazy.

Eoin is suddenly starkly aware of how hard he is, and that Paddy is, too, where he's pressed against Eoin's thigh.

"Come on, then," Eoin says, turning Paddy as if they're dancing, then walking him backward to the bed.

Paddy sits abruptly when the backs of his legs hit the mattress, and Eoin goes to his knees between Paddy's feet.

"Fuck," Paddy breathes. This time he's the one to reach out and cup Eoin's cheek. "A lovelier sight I've never beheld."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Eoin teases with a grin. "I've got more planned for you, if you’re keen."

He sits back on his heels and pulls Paddy's feet into his lap. He unlaces one boot, then the other, and eases them off carefully. Paddy's socks are next, and Eoin runs a finger down the arch of each foot just to see Paddy squirm. Then he moves in closer and dips his fingers under the waistband of Paddy's trousers. "You want to take care of your shirt while I take care of these?" he asks.

Paddy's stripped off both the shirt and his vest before Eoin's even finished easing the trousers past Paddy's hips. Once they're out of the way, though, it's the view of a lifetime, to look up at Paddy and see his chest bare and flushed, cock hard between his thighs.

"See, I've found something lovelier still," Eoin says, smoothing his hands up Paddy's strong legs, then hooking them behind Paddy's knees to pull him to the edge of the bed. "May I?" he asks, nodding toward Paddy's cock.

Paddy laughs. "May I, he asks! Never have I heard such a polite request to suck a cock."

"Hmmm," Eoin hums. "Well, you would be doing me a favor. I've wondered a long time how you'd taste."

Paddy's expression shifts from amused to heated, and he slides his fingers into Eoin's hair. "Have you now?" he says. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't make you wonder any longer."

"Such a kindness," Eoin says with a smile, eyes fixed on Paddy's face, watching his reaction when Eoin takes Paddy's cock in his hand and gives it a stroke.

Paddy doesn't disappoint, eyelids fluttering for a moment and his hips lifting instinctually into the pleasure. He licks his lips and looks down his body to where Eoin's keeping his movements slow but firm, drawing Paddy's foreskin over the head of his cock before dragging it back down so the tip is exposed again, growing sticky with precome.

Eoin can't decide whether he should keep watching Paddy's face or look down and try not to lose his mind at finally seeing himself touch Paddy so intimately.

"Christ, your hands," Paddy breathes. "I love your hands."

That decides it for Eoin. He looks down, first at the hand he's unconsciously rested on Paddy's thigh, then higher, to where Paddy's cock is straining in his fist.

"Fuck," Eoin says, the view making his own cock twitch. Why is he still wearing clothes, he wonders distractedly. But more pressingly, why hasn't he got Paddy in his mouth yet?

So instead of bothering with his own clothing, Eoin ducks down and licks the wet tip of Paddy's cock, then curls his tongue along the underside and drops his jaw to take Paddy in. Paddy smears across his tongue when he takes his cock deeper, and Eoin pulls back for just a moment so he can swallow the taste of Paddy before going back down.

He's only gotten in a few more good sucks, and barely started taking Paddy closer to the back of his throat, before Paddy's tugging at his hair, pulling him away.

"Much as I'm enjoying myself," Paddy says unevenly, "I won't last long if you keep going."

Eoin considers for a moment before pressing a kiss to the tip of Paddy's cock in a 'farewell for now,' and sitting back on his heels. He doesn't move his hands from Paddy's thighs.

"Would that be a problem?" Eoin asks. "Or is there something else you wanted?"

"Me?" Paddy says. "I'll take whatever you want to give me. Or give whatever you want to take. I just need to know which one it is first, in case you still need me hard for it."

Eoin squeezes his eyes closed and digs his fingers into the meat of Paddy's thighs at the same time. "Ah, fuck," he says. "I'll have you any way you want, but I have to get these damn clothes off first."

"Aye, I would like to see that," Paddy responds, and then he's leaning forward to tug Eoin's shirt over his head while Eoin fumbles with his trousers. He barely gets them open before he remembers to kick off his boots and socks.

Suddenly Paddy's standing from the bed, and Eoin stops with his trousers halfway down. "What are you--?"

His words dry up when Paddy walks naked to Eoin's bags and leans over to rustle through them. He's seen Paddy nude plenty of times, but this is not the same. It's all right now to drink in the sight of Paddy's muscled thighs, trim waist and tight arse; he doesn't have keep his eyes and thoughts to himself.

Still, he feels his face flush darker when Paddy turns back toward him and catches him staring. Paddy lifts an eyebrow and holds up Eoin's tin of Vaseline.

"Yeah, come here, come here," Eoin says, wrestling his trousers the rest of the way off and standing so he can catch Paddy 'round the waist, bring their bare skin together and kiss him again, deeply and thoroughly.

"I can taste myself in your mouth," Paddy murmurs against Eoin's lips, so Eoin dips his tongue back into Paddy's mouth and lets him taste as much as he wants.

Eventually they stop to catch their breath, foreheads pressed together, and Paddy asks, "How do you want me?" into the hot space between them.

Eoin shoots for the stars. "Would you let me fuck you?"

Paddy’s eyes slam shut and his face twists into a pained-looking snarl. He gives a chest-deep groan and shaky nod as he takes Eoin's hand and presses the Vaseline tin into it.

Eoin stands dumbstruck as Paddy gets on the bed, settling onto his elbows and knees before looking back at Eoin over his shoulder. "Well?" he says, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

Eoin wastes no time situating himself behind Paddy. From his new vantage point, the vulnerable curve of Paddy's body is too much to bear; Eoin can't take his time opening Paddy up the way he knows he should. He digs his fingers into the Vaseline and rubs it over Paddy's hole before sinking a finger inside abruptly. Paddy hisses, but pushes back into the stretch.

Eoin should take care, should focus on making it good for Paddy, but he barely manages to add more Vaseline and get Paddy to take another finger before he's smoothing his hand over his own cock to get it slick.

His hands tremble when he reaches down to line himself up with Paddy’s hole. He can’t look away as he rubs the head of his cock there.

"Fuck," Eoin breathes as he sinks the tip in just a bit, watching Paddy’s rim stretch to accept Eoin, to make room for him inside all that tight heat.

He stays there longer than he ought, barely rocking his hips to tease the crown in and out while Paddy’s back flexes and heaves underneath him, sweat gathering down the line of his spine.

"Perfect, you're perfect," Eoin says breathlessly, finally rolling his hips further forward and coring deeper into Paddy’s body. "So tight for me, love."

Paddy shudders out a sound akin to a sob and arches his back, lifting his arse to push himself onto Eoin’s cock and give Eoin a better angle to fuck him.

"That’s it," Eoin says, and lets himself bottom out in one too-quick, barely controlled thrust. Paddy moans again and Eoin’s hands find his hips, fingers digging in so he can hold Paddy just so, perfectly positioned for Eoin’s pleasure.

It takes only a few moments before he’s moving mindlessly, rutting into Paddy like an animal instead of the gentle way he’d always imagined doing. He could go mad from the way Paddy’s body goes supple, bending to Eoin’s will with such ease. It’s as though this is where Paddy is meant to be, underneath Eoin, letting Eoin reshape Paddy with his own lust, spreading his legs wider so Eoin can further debase him.

He thinks wildly that he should never stop; he should keep Paddy in his bed, slick and open, always waiting for Eoin to fuck him. Always dripping with Eoin’s come, claimed and safe. He thinks Paddy would let him if the world were different, and his breath punches out of his body at the thought.

He falls forward over Paddy's back, arms shaking where he's barely keeping his full weight off of Paddy. Paddy, who hasn't formed a single word since Eoin put his fingers inside him. Paddy, whose breathing is labored, his body jostling with the force of Eoin's thrusts. One of his hands is white-knuckled, gripping the sheets. The other must be around his own cock, given the flex of his arm and shoulder. Eoin, who already feels unforgivably selfish, greedily wishes he could see that too.

He presses his open mouth to Paddy's shoulder and licks at the sweat there before giving in and sucking a bruise into Paddy’s skin. Paddy’s broken moan makes him want to bite.

So he does.

"Eoin!" Paddy gasps, tightening around him, and Eoin feels it like a punch to the gut.

"Inside," he says in a rush, "can I come inside?"

Paddy cries out and shudders, pulsing around Eoin's cock, and Eoin knows Paddy's somehow found his pleasure despite Eoin’s selfish focus on his own.

Still, that will have to be permission, because Eoin's orgasm overtakes him at once. He fucks Paddy through it, his spend slicking the way even more in those last, hard thrusts. His arms give out and he lets Paddy take his weight now, bearing him down into the mattress, his hips rolling slower as he spills his last inside Paddy's lax body.

He would stay there, plastered to Paddy's back, but his cock starts to soften and he wants to see. Needs to see his mark on Paddy.

He pulls out and rises back onto shaky knees. Paddy is still gasping for air, with a darkening bruise and the shape of Eoin's teeth sunk into his shoulder, his legs splayed open. Eoin can’t help but touch where Paddy's rim is red and puffy, press his fingers inside and watch Paddy gasp and lift his hips whorishly.

He touches Paddy there longer than he should, until Paddy makes a quiet sound of discomfort and Eoin stops, chagrined, and grabs his discarded vest to perfunctorily wipe off his fingers and cock. He’s more careful cleaning between Paddy’s legs.

He tosses the soiled vest into the same corner as Paddy’s dirty clothes, then slowly settles next to Paddy, who turns on his side to face Eoin.

“Are you satisfied, then?” Paddy asks.

“Mmmm,” Eoin hums, leaning forward to kiss Paddy soft and fleeting. “For now,” he says. “Though I fear I may never have my fill of you.”

Paddy’s answering smile is one to cherish and tuck away in his heart. “Nor I of you.”

“What, no poetry?” Eoin teases, linking their hands together.

Paddy sighs. “Can’t remember a line of it. It would seem you fucked all the poetry out of my head.“

“Here I thought you would be more romantic," Eoin says.

“And for some reason I always thought you would be gentle,” Paddy says, and shakes his head when Eoin grimaces. “That is not a complaint. I very much enjoyed myself and your gorgeous cock.“

Eoin laughs. “Gorgeous?”

Paddy nods. “Aye, like the rest of you.”

This time Paddy’s the one to kiss Eoin, long and lingering.

“So you’ve thought about me like this before?” Eoin asks when they part. “Forgive me for asking, but you are known to be an impulsive man.”

“Oh, not when it comes to this. There have been times I thought of little else but you.” Paddy looks down at their joined hands and asks quietly, “And you said you’ve thought of me?”

“I have. Many times and in great detail. I think, though, I might not have acted on it now if I hadn’t felt so frightened to lose you.”

Paddy is silent for a moment before he meets Eoin’s eye again. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” Eoin assures quickly. “Not a bit. I’m glad of it.”

“Good," Paddy says. "That’s good.”

A great, jaw-cracking yawn breaks through Eoin’s attempt to suppress it. “Sorry,” he says. “Haven’t had much sleep these past few days.”

Eoin leans into it when Paddy touches his jaw gently. “I don’t understand what I’ve done to make you care for me so, but I am grateful for it,” Paddy says. “I’m sorry I caused you worry, and I wish I could tell you I won’t again. But I will do my best to remember this, and to think of you, when the next fella gets my goat.”

“Thank you,” Eoin says, knowing it’s as close to a guarantee that Paddy can give during a war. His eyelids droop from exhaustion. “Now come here, I’d like to hold you while I can.”

Paddy scoots closer, and their legs intertwine as Eoin wraps an arm around Paddy’s back and drags him nearer still.

“Rest now,” Paddy says. “I’ll be right here and I’ll wake you in the morning.”

Eoin nods and brushes one more kiss to Paddy’s forehead before he relaxes into sleep at last.

***

(Then they join the SAS, Eoin survives the first jump, they both make it through the war and live happily ever after together!)

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OC - Chapter 14

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

AO3

Summary: After some less-than-welcome command changes, Diana receives a much needed visit from an old friend

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.4k

Tags: @20th-centu-fairy-girl @6thofapril1917 @dcyllom @footprintsinthesxnd @regseekings @roseszirnheld @hellofanidea

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July, 1943

Jaspreet Nadar

Cairo, Egypt

Dear Jaspreet

I know I've said it before, but thank you again for watching the flat while I'm away. Buying one in the middle of all this certainly wasn't the best idea I've ever had, but I suppose I just like knowing it's there. I'm also aware that my collection of belongings over there is rather sparse and eclectic - when I was robbing the old man it became something of a hit-and-run situation, and my instincts got the better of me. Feel free to ignore all the taxidermy fish.

Apparently I’m still in the will. I assume it’s some weak attempt at trying to make me forgive him, but that’s not happening. If by some miracle I manage to outlive him, I shall certainly enjoy taking the money.

We're somewhere along the Suez at the moment - not far from home, really. Certainly the closest I'll be for a long while now. Not sure how I'll like Europe - I imagine I'll be cold for the most part.

Little to report back on 'you know who'. He keeps brawling with one of the new recruits, not sure what that's about.

I think often and deeply on what might become of me once this is all over.

Write back soon, or I probably won't receive it for quite some time.

Diana

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The smell of salt filled the air on the banks of the Suez, and Diana could taste it on her tongue as she thumbed the corner of her book, foot dangling over the edge of the wall as her toe brushed against the surface of the water. Withers had been sitting beside her a moment ago, a half-eaten pile of dog treats left in the grass as proof of his disappearance. Fraser must be around here somewhere, then.

To whom could she admit being frightened? The anxiety had tugged at the back of her mind for weeks, the promise of advancing to Europe always lingering on the horizon. Simply by being here, these men had gone further than she ever had. Even now, she was little more than a stone's throw away from the place of her birth in the grand scale of things. She'd only flown once, and it had been the worst night of her life. The ocean seemed the stopping point of her entire world, the thought of sailing away from here to foreign shores secretly terrifying, as if she were an ancient explorer charting the unknown.

Diana Fayed never seemed afraid. But until now, she had always been home.

The others wouldn't understand.

"Come on! You English fucker!"

Her serenity and contemplation swiftly dashed, Diana looked up from her book with a sigh, squinting as she glanced behind her. There was no need to search for the source of the noise. It had scarcely ceased for the last week.

"Look you Scotch cunt, I like a row as much as anyone else-"

"Mornin'," She chirped, thumping her book absent-mindedly against her thigh as she walked past the developing brawl without so much as a glance.

"'Eya, duck," Kershaw grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulder as she stopped beside him. He chuckled along at the sight before them. Diana stared blankly, unimpressed. She glanced over as Dave shook hands with Riley, her brow arching in question. "Bets. Want in?"

She snorted loudly. "Tryna get me in trouble? Nah, you're alright."

"Well, it's not like he'll find out," He shrugged, digging his knuckles against her shoulder in a teasing sort of way. In the month-or-so since Diana had accidentally let slip about kissing Reg, Dave had been little shy of insufferable. She supposed it would have been naive to expect anything else.

"What's this even about at this point?" She sighed.

Pat shrugged. "… You?"

Dave and Diana both turned simultaneously. "What." She asked flatly.

"Well, I mean, it's just a guess. But the whole thing only started after McDiarmid hit on you in that bar back in Cairo."

Her eyes narrowed, gaze slowly returning to the two men in front of them, who were currently being pulled apart to stop them from biting each other's throats out.

"Is that what that was? I just… assumed he was high on something."

Dave let out a bark of laughter, the arm he'd slung around her shoulder tugging her slightly closer. "I wouldn't rule it out!" Diana chuckled, poking an elbow into his side.

"Right, we're running late," She declared, wrapping a hand around one of his fingers and giving it a tug, his arm sliding off her shoulder.

He snorted. "When's that mattered?"

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As the men filed casually into the tent for their briefing, Diana wandered up to Paddy's desk, passing the major without a second glance as she approached and began to wordlessly flip through the files he'd left lying on the table. For as long as she could remember, her father's house had always been littered with military files, left open in the afternoon sun for any prying eye to read. The word 'classified' had never meant much to her.

"Afternoon," Paddy stated pointedly.

Diana hummed, turning the page. "Hey."

"Would ya put that down?" He pressed.

"Almost done."

He stepped closer, arms folded across his chest. "You're not allowed to read those… Maybe y'are, I dunno. What rank are you even s'posed to be?"

She shrugged. "Dunno, I don't pay attention," With a sigh, she tossed the file back onto the desk with a soft thud. "Not like I have anyone to tell all these military secrets to anyway. You think I'd hang around with you lot if I had other friends?"

The faintest of smirks tugged at Paddy's lip, the kind that would have been unnoticeable had she not known him for so long, and he tilted his head towards the rows of chairs, which were now mostly occupied, gesturing for her to sit. Having run out of reasons to protest, Diana obliged, taking the empty seat next to Dave as she scratched at the scar on her arm. A lasting reminder of their last airfield raid and the bullet fragment she'd taken as penance, the skin pulled taught and itched when it got hot - which, out here, was always. Reg was sat behind her, legs outstretched beneath her chair. Reaching out with her foot, she knocked her heel against the toe of his boot and felt him softly kick her back. She resisted the urge to smile.

As Paddy began to speak, any attempt at authority from the man seeming farcical to her, Diana rubbed a hand across the back of her neck, uneven tufts of hair brushing her skin. Each time her hair had begun to grow back in the months since that first chop, she'd pruned it back with a vengeance, cutting slightly shorter each time until she more closely resembled one of those old silent film stars, chic in a way that was simultaneously boyish. Last week she'd gotten drunk and debated the merits of shaving her head. That had struck her as a bit much.

"Yeah, well sardines live in the ocean by Sardinia, Paddy. Looks a lot like a map of Sicily to me, lad," The swell of laughter alerted her to the fact that she'd stopped paying attention, glancing up at the map with a squint.

"Looks like a pig's head," She pointed out flatly, rummaging in her pocket for a cigarette. Finding two, she held one out over her shoulder without sparing Reg a glance, and felt him pluck it from her grip with a muttered 'thanks'.

"That is exactly right - Capo Murro di Porco," Paddy affirmed, and Diana found herself resisting the urge to cringe every time he spoke. She never thought she'd miss the old, infuriating Paddy, who bickered with her like a child and shot gazelles when he got pissed. Then again, there were many things about their time in the desert she was beginning to miss.

David Stirling, you dumb fucking bastard.

Kershaw held up a light, their shoulders bumping together as she leant towards it, a white plume of smoke rising from the tip of her cigarette.

"Whatcha thinkin'?" He uttered.

"Whole thing seems like a plan to get us killed," Diana whispered with a shrug.

"… Same as usual, then?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Because!" Paddy's pitch rose to a yell, quieting the muttering that had begun to fill the tent. Diana and Kershaw leant back in their seats. "Our next mission is utter fucking madness. So we will require the services of mad men."

"Thank you, boss," McDiarmid's distinctive tone rang out from somewhere behind her. "And on that note - I would love to go home, by the way, Sergeant Happy-Face."

"I'll put you on a boat myself, mate," Reg barked back from his seat. Diana rolled her eyes, shooting Dave a glare as she noticed him slip some cash into Riley's hand.

"What?" He shrugged.

"Fuck's sake."

The bickering was rising in volume all over again, the atmosphere growing more tense by the second. She didn't have to turn around to know precisely what Reg was doing - she knew his brow was pinched the way it always did when he was roused to anger, knew his knuckles were clenched and whitened, his shoulders squared and perpetually prepared to throw a punch.

"You're like a wee kettle, boilin' with anger!"

"Shut your mouth!"

A low groan escaped her as the men behind her bolted to their feet, jostling her chair as they fought to restrain Reg and Jock, to keep them from attempting to tear each other's throats out for the second time that afternoon. If she'd slept better the night before, Diana might have been more inclined to tolerate their quarrelling. But as things stood, it was all rather intolerable, the beginnings of a headache blooming in her temple.

With a grunt, she pushed herself to stand, arms swinging casually at her sides as she strolled towards Paddy's desk, arching a brow as she seized his revolver. He tilted his head with a slight nod. Pausing a moment to check the chamber was loaded, Diana tilted the barrel up towards the ceiling, a deafening bang flooding the tent as she pulled the trigger. In an instant, the uproar had ceased, the room falling still. Diana stared up at the smoking hole in the canvas, plucking her cigarette from her lips, a cloud of smoke flooding her nostrils as she inhaled.

"Right then," She muttered, dropping the pistol with a clatter on the table. "Carry on."

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A lawn table sat wonky in the uneven grass at the water's edge, Diana's foot against the crossbeam keeping it from rocking. She tossed a date into her mouth, squinting against the sunlight as it glinted on the water's still surface.

Another fucking Stirling.

It was bad enough that she'd lost the first one - a tolerable one, one she'd actually liked, although it may not have always appeared that way. Now here came another, wanting salutes and order and respect like some fucking toff. Like her father. Like every officer that had ever come into her house and looked down on her for as long as she could fucking remember.

Perhaps she was sulking. She could have gone off with Dave or Pat or Johnny. Or Reg. But instead, she was sitting here, watching a cargo ship trundle past, its bow splitting the blue and sending ripples splashing up against the wall at her feet.

She'd never been allowed to sulk in her youth, back when it was still a quaint folly for children afraid of not getting their way. It was unproductive, and that was one thing her father had never abided by. Any time spent sitting around was time that could have been spent on something more important.

Diana found she rather enjoyed sulking.

Her brow furrowed as she bit down on another date, the honey she'd slathered them with sliding smoothly down her throat as she swallowed, overpowering sweetness a balm against her discontent. The sound of a car pulling up somewhere behind her did not disturb her trance, the hum of engines almost constant and entirely unremarkable in camp.

"Oi!"

She paused, her mind taking a moment to recognise the familiar voice. But once it had, she swivelled in her seat, a grin displacing her irritated scowl as she bolted to her feet, a bubble of laughter escaping her.

Jaspreet's red-painted lips were parted in a grin, bright eyes hidden beneath sunglasses, heels wobbling slightly in the uncut grass. Her dress draped over her shoulders, hanging shapelessly around her in a style that was almost twenty years out of date, but suited her just as well as everything else always seemed to, half-covered by a painted silk robe that rippled with each movement and pooled in the crooks of her elbows as she held out her arms for an embrace. "Holy shit," Diana chuckled, going for a hug without hesitation, squeezing with her forearms to avoid ruining Jaspreet's clothes with the honey that stickied her hands.

"You got my letter?" She asked, eyes squeezed tightly shut, the thick scent of jasmine flowers filling her senses as she breathed in.

"Didn't trust the post to get my reply to you in time," Jaspreet grinned. "Thought I'd be better off coming myself."

"Ah, the joys of unemployment," Diana teased. "C'mon," As she turned back towards the table, she seemed to notice for the first time that there had been two chairs all along, as if even in her irritated search for solitude a part of her had never wanted to be alone. Jaspreet sat down opposite her, painted nails plucking a date from the bowl and tossing it into her mouth. She had sat with her back to the sun, and as she noticed Diana's squint, she took off her sunglasses and slotted them onto her face without a word. There was a silent communication between them as Diana leant forward to receive them, the tinted lenses an appreciated shield against the glare.

"So," Jaspreet began, pausing to lick a smear of honey from her fingertip. "How is it?"

Her chest heaved as she sucked in a long, sharp breath, nodding slowly. "Uh… Yeah… Yunno, you expect - hanging around with a bunch of unwashed men in the desert - that they're gonna smell, but it still surprises you. I mean it is just so-"

"Diana."

She hesitated, brow raised over the rim of her glasses. "… Mhm?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

Diana leant forward, shoving a handful of dates into her mouth all at once. "Oh, God, we don't need to talk about Reg," She shook her head, speaking around the food. "If you tell me you drove all the way here to talk about that, I'm throwing you in the canal."

"I'm just not sure it's a good idea to get all weird about some random guy when you're supposed to be focusing on - y'know - not dying. And he's fucking English at that. At least tell me he's not blonde."

"… Well-"

"You're so predictable," Jaspreet scoffed.

"No- look- it's not weird. We've been doing crazy shit for best part of two years by now, a bit of snogging isn't gonna be the final straw that sends us all for a fucking loop."

"I'm just saying - historically, you haven't handled this kind of thing… all that amazingly."

"You're just saying that 'cause you hated Andrew."

"Damn right."

"Would it help if I said I visited him in the hospital and kinda-sorta lightly tortured him?"

"You fucking what?"

"Doesn't matter," Diana waved a hand dismissively. "You haven't told me about you."

Jaspreet frowned, brow pinched.

"C'mon," Diana urged.

"Fine! Fine!" She threw up a hand in surrender. "I'm fine! … I've got this charity ball thing I'm supposed to be running tomorrow night, raising money for The Red Cross. So it'll be boring but it's for a good cause."

"Aw. You little philanthropist."

"You are such a bitch," Jaspreet chuckled, earning a hearty laugh from Diana. They tittered gradually to quiet, the ghost of her laugh still etched in Jaspreet's smile as she nodded. "But, y'know. I have plans. They're not concrete or anything, but I have them."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," She took a deep breath. "I'm not gonna stay here. Once the war's over, I mean - I'm gonna leave Cairo."

Diana said nothing for a moment, lips pressed tightly together. "Mhm… Yeah, yeah - no, that sounds good… You know where you're gonna go?"

"I was thinking Italy… or Greece, or- somewhere with history, y'know? When I was a kid, my father was financing an archeological dig somewhere outside the city, so he'd take me to visit. I loved just watching them work; just this idea that we were standing on something ancient and important. Might even go back to university and finish a degree this time."

She couldn't pinpoint precisely when, but at some point, listening to Jaspreet, she had begun to smile.

"Good for you. Seriously."

"You think?"

"Absolutely. To see through all this shit and figure out what you want beyond it, I think that's great," Diana nodded, picking absent-mindedly at her fingernails as her gaze fell to her lap.

"… Hey," Jaspreet urged, and the table wobbled on the uneven ground as she reached across it, seizing one of Diana's hands in her own. "You'll get there."

She forced a smile. The prospect of Jaspreet leaving Cairo had knocked the wind out of her for a moment, but frankly, it had been naive even to think it a problem. It was naive to expect she'd live long enough to come back here to see her at all. For some people, the future seemed a given. Hers wasn't. She wasn't sure she'd last the week.

With a somewhat bitter chuckle, she nodded, squeezing her hand affectionately. "You are… much too good to be stuck in one place."

"Right back atcha."

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As the car pulled away, Diana caught Jaspreet's eye in the rearview mirror, offering a limp wave and one final grin of farewell. Hands planted on her hips, she watched the car until it disappeared from sight, and something inside her seemed to deflate, shoulders drooping as she let out a heavy sigh. She scraped a hand through her curls, tugging them out of her face and turning on her heel towards the tents, passing her weight tiredly from foot to foot as she walked.

Reg was coming the other way, weaving between the guylines, a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. The smile that creased her cheek was involuntary, but so slight as to be hardly noticeable. He noticed.

"Hey," She stopped, pausing to give her scar another scratch.

"Was just coming to-… There." Reg nodded, pushing one of the mugs into her hands.

"Oh. Thanks," Diana smiled, taking a sip and wincing as she felt the liquid scald her tongue. "Shit," She hissed, clicking her fingers and jabbing a finger at him as another thought suddenly entered her mind. "Hey. Stop all that weird shit with McDiarmid, 'kay?"

He groaned, rolling his eyes. "He's a prick."

"So are you, I don't give a shit. It's annoying and it's loud and it's giving me a fucking headache… And Pat says you're only pissed at him 'cause he hit on me so- I dunno about that, but knock it off anyway."

Reg's mouth opened and shut like an outraged fish. "I- No- That's- Right, yeah, fine."

"Right, good talk," She cracked a grin, nudging his shoulder as she brushed past, continuing her stride. Lifting the mug to her lips, she took another sip, the temperature slightly more bearable. Yet she winced all the same.

"Oi," Diana called. Reg had begun to walk away in the opposite direction, pausing his stride to look back at her. "Did you make this?"

"Nah."

"It tastes like shit."

He frowned down at his own cup, tentatively slurping a mouthful. He grimaced. "Fuck me."

A laugh escaped her at his look of disgust. "Yeah… D'you wanna find a beer?"

Reg nodded, hesitating so as not to look quite so eager.

"Alright. Yeah."

[toracainz]

Tell Me Where to Put My Love pt5

You and Steven haven’t been together very long, but that won’t stop either of you from fighting tooth and nail for a chance at a future together.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Series Ao3

Part 4 -  Unavailability Is the Only Thing That Turns You On

Part 5 - At Last, When All of the World Is Asleep

Part 6 - If it Falls, I Would Hold on for All it's Worth

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Swearing. Established relationships. Married relationship. Use of term “priest” in a gender neutral sense. Discussion about cheating. Discussion about homewreckers. Canon typical violence in later chapters. Angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 3.1k

The sun had settled in the midday sky as Steven and Marc took turns pacing in the flat as they discussed what this whole lucid dream adventure would entail. They had been mostly quiet after you and Layla had left as they cleaned up after dinner. Neither of them was really sure what to say. After showering and getting a good night's rest, the two of them took the morning to contemplate the situation and now by lunch they were discussing the pros and cons.

“Listen, Steven, I’m not too sure this is a good idea. You know how often dreams can turn into nightmares? It’s one thing when you have to deal with it yourself but to have…people there to watch it all happen? Look I knew going into this that trying to make this work would be difficult to say the least, I knew that. Geez, it’s all just. It’s a lot.” Marc could feel his muscles tensing as he paced, fists clenching at his sides. “Obviously, I want you to be happy…obviously you want me to be happy…I just…I never expected…”

“Never expected what? That I would want to continue my relationship with them once we came back from Cairo?” Steven didn’t mean to have a slight sarcastic tone, it just sort of happened.

“No, of course that’s not it. Of course not. I just…I never expected things to pick back up so quickly. Steven…” Taking a deep breath, Marc stopped his pacing to face the mirror in the loo, his hands pressed together as if pleading. “, listen…buddy, you gotta understand. All this—this vulnerability thing? That’s not my schtick, alright? That’s always been you…”

Steven looked at Marc from where he appeared in the mirror, a soft expression on his face. “I know, Marc. I know and you are doing amazing. Really. You’re right, it’s not going to be easy. Not like anything in our life has been has it? No. But things are different now, yeah? Before we thought we were alone…having to deal with what life threw at us on our own. But…we’re not alone anymore, we have each other, we have people that care about us.”

Marc looked at Steven like he had before, brows lifted into a soft almost pitiful look. He wasn’t used to this, to having this kind of support. He was still skeptical of this dream business. “If things go to shit…”

“We can call it quits. That’s the end of that. Don’t have to go any further than we want to, yeah?” Steven was quick to reassure Marc. Unlike Marc, Steven was intrigued and a little eager to see what would happen, find out how it would feel. Marc nodded, a sign to Steven that he was coming around to the idea.

The rest of the afternoon the two of them talked about contingency plans if things didn’t go in a way they were comfortable with, ways to make sure things stayed reasonable. Steven of course had plenty of ideas, of course outright saying that they were done or didn’t want to continue was top of the list. Marc had a few of his own. Being able to make “escape” plans helped to further ease Marc’s nerves and anxieties. By the time the night had begun to fall they each felt more confident and ready to face this new experience. All that was left to do was…call you and Layla.

~*~*~*~

You had gotten the call while you were out getting dinner. Though with how small it was you weren’t sure it would count as dinner. Really what you wanted was a nice cup of tea…from Steven’s favorite tea shop…the same tea shop he miraculously walked into after being missing from your life. As luck would have it the same seat you had occupied that day was open now, so you decided to sit there again. With a deep breath you mentally recreated that day in your mind’s eye, the busyness that the day brought, the light that had been shining through the windows giving the whole place a more open feel…and him standing in line waiting to order.

You had no idea then how things would get to where they are now. The both of you learning that you’re both avatars to ancient Egyptian gods, you learning that Steven was part of a system, and that the other part of the system was still married…to the woman Steven kissed while he was away from you.

You played with the napkin in your hands to busy yourself, trying to push such thoughts away. The tea helped, its warmth helping to ease your body and calm your mind.

As you finished tidying up your space after finishing your little meal, you received the call. He called you. Steven did text occasionally, but he was “old fashioned” and liked to hear your voice, and you his. He told you that he and Marc were ready and willing for this “dream adventure” he called it. How very Steven. It’s that humor that made you fall in love, among other things. Feeling how such a short conversation dredged up just how much you cared for him made your heart ache. You wondered if Marc had already told Layla or if he would after you and Steven had gotten off the phone.

It doesn’t matter. You have a job to do tonight and need to focus…but it wouldn’t hurt to get Steven a tea before you left the shop.

~*~*~*~

Arriving at the flat, it was Marc that let you in. Once again the two of you were caught off guard by the other. Marc stepped aside, giving you room to enter. It was strange being in a familiar place with someone not so familiar to you.

“I…uh…I brought Steven a cup of tea from his favorite shop. I wasn’t sure what you liked otherwise I–”

“Not a big tea drinker. I’m more of a coffee guy, so…don’t worry about it.” Marc was silent for a moment trying his best to make conversation. “Thanks though…that’s uh, thoughtful of you. Um, why don’t you make yourself comfortable? Layla’s on her way…”

So he prefers coffee…how funny. You nodded, hanging up your coat before going to take a spot on the sofa. The TV was on but had been turned down to a low ambient volume. The show looked like some kind of sports news channel. You knew it must not have been Steven that selected the show as Steven was’t much of a sports guy except for the occasional cricket match.

Marc stands on the other side of the fish tank, seeming lost in thought, but really he was looking for a sign that Steven was near the front, maybe he could give Steven control and let the two of you chat…he didn’t feel like he was very good company, but he couldn’t be so lucky. Letting out a deep sigh he comes around and sits in the empty chair near the sofa. He was uncomfortable for sure, he didn’t know what to say or what he could say, but he knew he should say…something?

“So…how long you say you been working for Tutu?” Being an avatar was really one of the only things the two of you had in common so he figured that was the best place to start.

“Oh um, a while. I mean, he came to me when I was younger…so it’s been a good while. But I wouldn’t say I work for him…more like I work with him.”

“That so? Can’t really imagine a god not bossing someone around and giving orders…must be nice.” Marc scoffed lightly. The idea that Tutu wasn’t treating you like some glorified puppet was a tough idea to wrap his head around. “Taweret doesn’t seem the type either.”

“It is nice. Tutu’s been really chill about when and where he calls on me. I know you didn’t really have that with Khonshu…” Now it’s your turn to wrap your head around how Khonshu could use and manipulate Marc like he had. Steven had explained a good bit of how Khonshu was, how he had manipulated Marc into being his avatar.

“You mentioned he tricked you into being his avatar…doesn’t seem very nice.” Marc had visibly relaxed by now. He had to admit you did have a calming presence, though a part of him wondered if that was some kind of passive ability from Tutu. Maybe having a calming aura helped with the work he had you doing.

“Yeah, well, when you’re dreaming and some fanciful figure asks you to be his hands, to help sooth the minds of dreamers, and help those plagued by nightmares…you don’t really think much of it. I said yes, thinking it was just another vivid dream where I was playing a hero or something to fight monsters…turns out I was partly right. But I had no clue until a few days later that the figure from my dream was not just a dream. I thought I was seeing things, that maybe my mind was having trouble differentiating between reality and dreams when I saw Tutu just out and about.” Looking back it’s almost laughable, how silly it all seemed. But in the moment, you really did think maybe you were going crazy or something. Tutu had alot of explaing to do.

“Hmm…seems to be a trend with the gods. Tricking people to serve them. Fucking glad the bird’s gone. Feel like I can breathe again.” 

(Don’t think I could have ever done it without Steven.)

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Marc’s mouth thinking about how Steven stood up to Khonshu, using his words against him. Steven had strengths in areas Marc didn’t, and vice versa. The two of them complimented each other…and Marc was so thankful to have Steven especially now that they could share their lives with each other.

“I can imagine. Or, well I mean I can sympathize.” You nodded, smiling softly.

The both of you fell into a somewhat comfortable silence as the conversation began to lull. Marc felt antsy, he wasn’t sure how much longer Layla would be, but it was mostly the nerves for this “thing” you were all about to do. Taking in a deep inhale through his nose he sits up a little straighter, hands rubbing and grabbing at the arms of the chair.

“Listen, I uh…I’m sorry about…outing you to Steven. That you were hiding something. He’s…important to me…and I care about him, so I just wanted to make sure…” Marc paused, he seemed like the very act of apologizing made him uncomfortable, made his skin crawl. It wasn’t because he didn’t feel sorry, in fact that was exactly why. He felt guilty for judging you, someone he’d watched from the sidelines all this time, someone that made Steven happy, someone so genuinely kind that it just felt wrong to have put you in that situation. With the tables turned, he would have been furious if someone had forced his hand to come clean about something so personal…it had happened before and he could have rung Harrow’s neck for bringing up Layla’s dad on top of everything else.

“No, it’s alright. I’m not upset or angry. I needed to tell him, I just wasn’t sure how to tell a walking egyptology encycolpedia that Egyptian gods were real and I served one. So, thank you. For giving me that push. It helped that Steven told me about Khonshu and the suit.”

Marc glanced at you, he knew exactly what you meant. Steven didn’t take it well when he told him the truth that day in the storage locker. Steven barely thought Marc was real, how was he to believe gods and avatars were real. So if someone Steven trusted so deeply had told him the same things…Marc wasn’t sure how Steven would take it, but he can’t imagine he would have taken it well.

There was a knock – Layla. Marc hopped up, rather quickly, to go and let her in. When he opened the door she flashed a courteous smile, but it became more tender when she recognized it was Marc that had answered. You stood as the two made their way into the flat.

“Alright, we’re all here. Suppose it’s time to get started then?” Laya looked from you to Marc, the both of you nodding in agreement.

Marc’s attention drifted to the mirror hanging by the front door, Steven was coming forward. Everyone really was here. “Listen, I um…I’m gonna let Steven kinda…take the driver seat on this weird ride, alright? Just until…” Marc’s heart was beginning to pound, his thoughts beginning to race. The whole dream world thing was scary enough when he and Steven were discussing it alone, he hated that the two of you might see him on the verge of a panic attack. Layla, recognizing how Marc’s body stiffened and tensed like a bow being drawn ready to be released, turned to face him a little more, her hand reaching out and brushing her knuckles against his.

“Hey…” her voice was soft, nearly a whisper, trying to draw his attention to her rather than what was about to happen. “Marc, hey. It’s okay. I’m not overly thrilled about this either, but well be doing this together, yeah?” Marc’s hand shaikly nudged against hers, his fingers slightly intertwining with hers as he nods, taking one deep breath after another.

“Yeah…yeah, I know, but…I’d still rather Steven be…I mean he’d rather be out here for this. He’s been excited about this.” He chuckles breathily, thinking about how Steven had kept them up going on and on about what he thought it might be like after they had gone to bed the night before. Layla nodded, she knew it would be better not to argue, to let Marc do what he felt comfortable doing. Marc’s posture began to shift, he turned his head ever so slightly as if he was about to try and crack his neck, when his head turned back the eyes that looked back at Layla were different. Steven’s hand was still where Marc had left it, intertwined with Layla’s as he stood there a moment getting his bearings. Clearing his throat he pulled his hand away, giving her a sheepish smile before looking to you, with a very different more adoring smile.

“Hello, love. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner. Are we ready to start the party?” Steven could barely contain how giddy he was. He hadn’t felt this excited, and scared, since he and Layla had entered Ammit’s tomb and saw the sphynx statues.

“Ready if you three are. Um, you can either sit on the couch or even lay on the bed, which ever would be more comfortable.” You gestured to either of the options, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the way Steven lingered with Layla when he came to the front and hoping they would choose the couch. What was he thinking of, seeing her there, feeling her hand on his?

As Layla and Steven settled on the couch a familiar presence joined the room, causing the both of them to jump slightly at his sudden appearance. Tutu. You pulled the chair Marc had been sitting in in front of the couch and close enough that your knees could touch Steven and Layla’s.

“Now then…” Tutu’s deep, calming voice floated through the air as the light’s in the flat began to dim. The room began to feel comforting, like a warm blanket on a chilly winter day. As the lights dimmed, it was as if the glow was gathering around you, your clothes being exchanged for what looked like a modernized egyptian priest regalia. It wasn’t often your “suit” was used in the waking world, perhaps Tutu was feeling theatrical. “Children…relax and let your minds wander.”

“Close your eyes, steady your breathing, just like you would when laying down for bed.”

Steven and Layla followed the instructions, shifting a little on the couch to get more comfortable. You reach out and gently take Layla’s hand in one while the other rests over her wrist. At the feel of your touch she opened her eyes, wary of what you were doing.

“This is just a token, to serve as a connection to me and Tutu. A conduit of sorts. It will help to strengthen your own lucidity while in the dream.” When you finished explaining, Layla was left with an Egyptian style, cuff bracelet covered in hieroglyphs and symbols associated with Tutu that were similar to the ones you wore, though hers had a number of scarab motifs as well. Satiated, Layla closes her eyes and begins to relax again.

Steven had glanced over, sensing the tension when you began to explain yourself. He watched as your hands moved to him to do the same. Your fingers softly dragging across his calloused hand. While the bracelet took shape, you couldn’t help but caress his hand with your thumb. It was as if just being in contact with him made you feel at ease and content. Steven felt the same. The way your hands felt against his was so different to how Layla’s felt when he had come to the front. He wished he could tell you that, but he knew it wasn’t the right time. Once his cuff bracelet was complete, covered in hieroglyphs but a distinct triple crescent symbol in the center, your hands lingered with his for a moment before the rumble of Tutu clearing his throat snapped out of your trance.

“Now then, children. Close your eyes, relax your bodies, and clear your minds.” Tutu, very much unlike Khonshu, never sounded demanding. Even when giving instructions it felt more like a request.

Steven and Layla abided and settled in. You take a deep breath as your eyes begin to glow. Tutu waves his hand over you all, and unseen by Steven and Layla, your hand copies Tutu’s as a blanket of sand drifts in the air, dissipating before it touches the ground. You feel your own body beginning to relax, the glow of your eyes becoming obscured as your eyes close.

And just like that, you, Steven, Marc, and Layla drift off to sleep, just like you would settling in to bed after a long day.

Tutu observes the three bodies before him. The flat is quiet save for the occasional soft snore coming from Steven. Then there is the sound of a few objects on a nearby shelf beginning to rattle as the lights flicker slightly.

“If this displeases you, perhaps you should have said something sooner, instead of hiding…old friend.”

Don't forget to reblog and/or comment! I love to hear from you all!!

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[midasslave1]

DISTURB RA AT YOUR PERIL.

PART 1

“Come on, guys, are you keen or not?” asked Caleb, the boisterous 22-year-old American college student, as he and his two friends downed the strong local Egyptian ale on a sultry, steamy late spring evening in Cairo. “Dude, you’ve had way too much of this stuff!” Alex replied—at least, he tried to say, as the ale and the hot night combined to ensure that this would be their last drink for the night on their Ancient Egypt Spring Break booze trip. Caleb waved around an old, rolled-up map, trying to convince his mates to share the spoils from the tomb of some obscure Egyptian god. Ricky, the third student in the group, looked totally disinterested and half asleep. "It's an easy walk from the old town we visited yesterday. I spent nearly all my vacation money on this map," Caleb explained. "This creepy, weird dude sold it to me and guaranteed I would be dripping gold by the end of tomorrow."

Alex spoke again, a little more coherently this time. “Egypt is bad for scammers and beggars. Didn't you say the entrance is under a whole lot of danger tape?” “Yeah,” Caleb replied abruptly. “Well, if there is danger tape, it's highly likely that this so-called fortune inside hasn’t been looted way back last century. Come on, man, just take the loss and let’s have a great day at the Sphinx tomorrow after a good sleep. Ricky's got the right idea.” Alex pointed to Ricky, whose face was flat on the table, with a pile of pretzels stuck to his sweaty cheek.

"Well, I'm going to keep it all to myself if you guys aren't coming!" Caleb said angrily as he stormed out of the bar, leaving a concerned Alex and a sleeping Ricky behind.

It was 5 hours later and as Ricky snored away on top of the bed, wearing only shorts and with broken pretzels still stuck to his sweaty face, Caleb put on a fresh white T-shirt, his 3/4-length shorts, and his NY Yankees cap—something he never went anywhere without—and was sneaking out of the room, unaware that Alex was pretending to be asleep while still concerned about him. Five minutes later, Alex put on a fresh khaki green polo and was ready to secretly follow Caleb. Before he left, he wrote a note for Ricky, who was in no condition to come with him or visit the Sphinx that day.

After managing to tail Caleb past the small town they had visited, Alex saw Caleb reach a mound of rocks in the middle of the desert through his binoculars

Caleb disappeared from view, so Alex made his way over there himself, determined to take care of his oldest and best friend, despite their supporting the two most bitterly rival teams in all of American sports. They had stuck together to make sure they went to the same college—NYU. Caleb made his way to the entrance with the danger tape across it. As he entered, he noticed a lot of torn and worn backpacks and sports shoes buried in the ever-shifting sand pile. “Maybe Alex is right. It looks like I’m not the only one who knows about this place,” he mused, spotting American college sports logos from all over, from the East Coast to the West Coast.

“It wouldn’t hurt to have a look now that I’m here, and Alex will be here soon enough,” he told himself, indicating he knew Alex had been tailing him all day. The stupid idiot forgot they had each other's location on their phone GPS just in case.

Caleb had walked for about five minutes and seemed to be going deeper underground. As he rounded a corner, he saw a golden glow illuminating the wall. “GOLD!” he yelled, starting to run, excited that maybe he would be covered in gold that day. When he finally entered the room from which the glow was originating, he kicked a medium-sized piece of rock halfway across the vast room. The rock clattered away until it suddenly stopped. Caleb, tending to a sore toe and keeping his head down, was suddenly engulfed by darkness as a dark shadow cast itself over him, blocking out some of the glowing light. He slowly lifted his head and saw a truly unbelievable and surreal sight: a man—no, a god—towering over him. The god was adorned with many golden decorations, including a glimmering golden mask of the sun covering his face.

“Who are you?” he asked nervously and softly, eyeing the god before him.

“YOU DARE DISTURB MY PLACE OF REST? YOU ARE ADDRESSING A GOD, MORTAL! BE MORE RESPECTFUL! I AM RA,” bellowed the god Ra, the Egyptian god of the sun—the most powerful god of them all, with the power to control the rays of the sun and manipulate the fiery star to his bidding.

“I’m so sorry, Sir! I don’t mean you any harm or disrespect!” Caleb replied, standing up, which only angered Ra even more.

“YOU ARE NOT TALKING TO A SIR! YOU ARE ADDRESSING A GOD! AND WHY ARE YOU NOT ON YOUR KNEES? MAYBE YOU NEED TO LEARN A LESSON ON HOW TO BE OF SERVICE TO ME FOR ETERNITY!” Ra roared at the now-knelt, scared, trembling Caleb, but it was too late for him to do anything to change the god's mind.

END OF PART 1.....

[flamingkorybante]

I pray to the broad flat thigh of the earth under my cheek to the paint spatter of vomit across the sidewalk, the intermingling of home and not-home, the gray-haired couple waltzing in the Christopher street subway station, the semaphore of smiles in basement bar, the far-off glimmer of bonfire through branches and fog and unfolding night. One breath for each and each in one breath, home and not-home, as if the earth holding my six-times-great-grandmother’s bones were different from the earth holding my alive toes simply by reason of being distant. Where is there a sidewalk not painted with vomit? Where is there no waltz? Let the earth remember me when I have forgotten. Let me ride the subway in Berlin. In Tokyo. In Cairo. Let me lay my cheek against the street in Vilna where my great grandmothers are buried and against the street in Brooklyn where they are not and let me remember.

vilna

[lesuccube]

➚ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 : ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ɢʀᴀɴᴛ — ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — how's life like with the sweetest british man ever ?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — fluff infection , mild smut virus

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — not beta'd , constructive criticism is welcomed . reblogs and comments are appreciated .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 1.6k

you and steven have been together for a good half a year and i picture steven as a more needy kind of boyfriend. the man lacked so much attention and affection before and now that he has you in his life, he never wants that to stop. he tries hard not to be needy or clingy but he can't help it.

he just wants you to look at him, love him and spend your time with him and only him. sometimes it's overwhelming but you always make sure to tell steven when it starts to get too much but those are extremely rare. you're always happy to indulge the man with some well deserved love and affection!

he's brought up the idea of you moving in with him when you hit the fifth month of being together actually.

you always end up staying over at his place whenever you two hang out (because he literally won't let you go home sometimes under the guise that it's too late for you to go back and he doesn't want anything to happen to you). i mean, he's already given you the spare copy of his keys with a matching koala keychain attached to the keyring.

you tell him that you'll consider it, not saying yes but not really saying no. he's hopeful though, would keep asking you about it after every week as both an inside joke and a serious offer.

after the whole ammit stuff that went down in cairo, steven actually reapplied at the museum! he managed to get word that donna was fired and someone else has replaced her spot . you convinced him to go back and do what he loves, reassuring steven that he'll do great.

it took a few days of convincing but in the end he did listen to you and applied for the tour guide position and he got the role with flying colors! the museum was thoroughly impressed by his knowledge of ancient egypt and gave him the job on the spot and he would be starting as a guide the following week.

you treated steven with home cooked vegetarian meals and wine that night and proceeded to end the night tangled between the sheets.

you definitely cook in the relationship. steven got a taste of you cooking stir fry once and he's begged you to keep cooking for him ever since.

he had shyly asked you to pack him lunch when he was about to start at his new role as a tour guide and you happily obliged! you make him cute vegetarian bentos daily and leave a small sticky note on his lunch box filled with words of encouragement.

you don't know this but he actually kept every single one of them in a tiny box and hid it within his shelves.

you own a car which makes steven your permanent designated passenger princess!

you think it's adorable the way he blushes profusely when you open the door for him and whines that he should be the one doing that for you, only for you to shush him and tell him that you enjoy doing it for him.

you 100% hold hands a lot especially during longer drives or if he's feeling cheeky, he'd sneak a hand on your thigh that would begin to travel higher and higher.

on those days you'd have to find a place to park and fast to sneak a quickie, edging poor steven until he's all whiny and submissive, begging for his release. but you do remind him he was being bad by distracting you while driving. he'd have to wait until later that day to be able to cum.

at times like that he's glad he wears loose and baggy clothings because it would have been embarrassing to walk around with a raging hard on outlining his jeans even though it's his fault in the first place that he has to deal with his boner while on a date with you.

you tried to build furniture together once. it was just a shelf actually, so that the book piled on the floor of his flat would have a better home. but you found out you both sucked at it, there were screws missing and the manual confused the hell out of you two even though the instructions were really easy and simple to follow.

you both gave up mid-work and the poor shelf ended up as a half finished product tucked away at one corner of his flat collecting dust.

i'm a firm believer that steven is a romanticist. he's pretty old-fashioned about it too.

he writes you handwritten letters every month celebrating the day you had agreed to be his girlfriend. if his shift at the museum ends earlier than your work, he'd pick you up at the lounge area of your work building with a fresh bouquet in hand. he plans your dates together!

he'd always make sure to ask you your free days and tries to align his own schedule with yours so you can go on a date next weekend for a trip at the farmer's market and then have some breakfast at a quaint café a little ways from the city. he's a romantic sap and you wouldn't have him any other way.

you buy gus the second new decorations in his aquarium. you never saw the original gus, all that you knew was that the first one really only had one fin.

when you asked about how the original gus was replaced he was hesitant at first, thinking you might be weirded out by his condition but marc was the one who dared him to try and tell you. so he let you know bits and pieces about his did, introduced you to marc after many heavy debates with his reflection (when you weren't around).

in conclusion, the chicagoan liked you for steven which in turn meant that he did too but that's a story for another time.

steven is a sub and you can't change my mind. bratty but a sub nonetheless. he likes that you take control and he's more than happy to give it to you with very little resistance. a little spanking sets him straight if he doesn't behave.

i also headcanon him being into bondage. he likes it when you tie him up, colorful ropes knotted and binding him in place, the anticipation of waiting for you to touch him turns him on even more.

he prefers things like silk ribbons rather than handcuffs and yes, you've definitely gagged him before when he starts to get too loud after receiving a complaint from your downstairs neighbor about your activities.

you once made an offhand comment about steven looking extremely peggable, it left him a blushy stuttering mess. but one day when you come home from work, steven is sitting on his bed looking nervous and squirmy, a big paper bag next to him.

"steven baby, what's wrong?" you ask as you set your bag on the floor next to him before kneeling in front of him, taking his hands in your own. "i um... do you remember love when you— you said i was... peggable?" he says the last word in a tiny whisper, a blush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down his neck. he lets go of your hand to give you the bag with shaky nervousness, looking away as you peer at the contents inside: a strap on and a big bottle of lube.

"d-do you think we could uh— would you like to try it love? i-i'm fine with it if you are." let's just say you and steven had a very fun time experimenting into his new kink.

i feel like sweet steven would propose to you after a year and a half into the relationship?

yes he knows he's moving too fast but to him, you're everything. you're it. (let's say marc and layla divorced after cairo okay? okay.) plus marc liked you too. he liked you a good amount (he loves you but marc's stubborn and insists he only likes you a healthy amount) he would front and spend some time with you too. to steven that's like the best thing he could ask for.

"we don't have to marry right away, love. we're busy with work with you getting ready for your promotion and i'm getting more and more tours and it's been hectic enough for us as it is but one day yeah? one day i would love to see you walk down the aisle where we'd both say our vows and by the end of it, i get to finally call you my wife." he rambles as he kneels in front of your crying figure, ring in hand.

i know we all think he'd be a blubbering mess when proposing but i personally don't see him doing that.

if that man proposes, it's because he's set his mind into it after thorough deliberation. if he proposes, it's with confidence and purpose.

he doesn't prepare a speech, just relays what his heart tells him and it's telling him that his love for you was more than life itself and that he wants nothing more than for you to give him the absolute honor of having him as your husband. you had to kiss him to shut up so you can finally tell him...

"it's a yes steven, it will always be a yes for me. i love you more with each day i get to be with you, and to spend the rest of my waking days with your last name as my own? if this was a dream steven grant, never wake me up because i would love to be your wife. i'm yours and only yours if you'll have me."

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Bloody Beetle | Part Four

Summary: life in the desert with Harrow and his creepy cult

Pairing: another one that’s mostly Arthur Harrow x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: that naughty boy Harrow is lying and manipulating people again, tut tut...

A/N: look at me posting two days in a row, who am I? For the purposes of this story, let’s just pretend Harrow has the ability to give people strength or make them need to sleep… as always spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)

Part Three | Series Masterlist

- - - - -

Egypt is hot. Way too hot. There’s not a single inch of your body that isn’t dripping with sweat as you follow Harrow and his disciples through the Egyptian desert. Arthur keeps you near him at all times, and you watch as the scarab that is floating above his hand directs him through the sands and suddenly points down. 

“We found Ammit. She’s here.” He says quietly before turning to face everyone and shouting in a language you don't recognise. The disciples erupt into cheers and laughs of joy. You just stand and watch them all. You don't understand how anyone could be happy about this. But then Harrow hasn’t managed to brainwash you like he has the rest of these people. 

As they celebrate Harrow is approached by Bobbi, the lady you recognise as the police officer who took you from Steven’s flat. She’s on the phone when he notices her. 

“Marc Spector is in Cairo. He’s tracking us.” She says just loud enough for you to hear, glancing over at you as she talks.

“I know.” Harrow replies quietly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “She’s here.” 

Some of the disciples get to work on unloading the trucks and setting up huge tents while others begin digging to find the tomb. Wanting no part in any of this you take yourself a good distance away from everyone, finding a rock to sit on. Arthur sees you and comes over, sitting next to you. 

“You look displeased.” He says. 

“Well you're one step closer to freeing the crocodile lady that tried to kill me and wants to kill a whole lot of other people so, yeah, you could say I’m displeased.”

“I wish you saw things the way I do.”

“And I wish you didn’t.” You shoot back and he smirks, but not in a malicious way. He is genuinely amused by you. You look back out at his followers all working like slaves under his command. It baffles you how happy they are to be working so hard in this heat, excited at the prospect of freeing Ammit. “How did you do it?”

“How did I do what?” He responds.

“How did you convince all these people to follow you?”

“They follow Ammit, not me.” 

“But they follow Ammit because of you, right? You told them about her.”

“I guess.” he says, noncommittal, wanting you to keep talking. 

“I presumed it was just that they were lucky enough to be judged as good by her, and that’s what made them follow her. But then I realised that even if she had judged me as good instead of condemning me, I still wouldn’t believe the same thing that she does. I still wouldn’t be okay with killing people just because they might do something bad. And I just don't see how this many people can believe that that is right.”

“Everyone has their own reasons to believe what they believe.” 

“Yeah, but when those beliefs result in murder-”

“Y/N…” Harrow sighs.

“I mean what about kids? What would happen if you tested the scales, or whatever you call it, on a kid. And it turned out that they might do something that Ammit classes as evil in the future. What would happen then?” You ask, but he stays silent. “Arthur?” 

“Don't ask questions that you won’t like the answer to.” 

“You’re even worse than I thought.” You get up and start to walk away. 

“Don't go far. It’s almost time for your daily healing.” He calls after you, but you just keep walking. You need to get away from this man. 

— — — — 

About an hour has passed since your revealing talk with Harrow and the dig is still in full force. You’ve made yourself as comfortable as is possible when in the middle of a scorching hot desert surrounded by unhinged cult members. You find a small mound of sand just large enough for you to lean against and you sit on the floor. Your face up towards the bright sky, eyes closed as you try to take yourself somewhere else in your mind. 

Suddenly you hear a man cry out “Help!” And open your eyes to see the sky turn a dark shade of orange. You sit up right and search the crowd for Harrow. He may be deranged, but for some reason you feel safe when your eyes land on him. He stops digging and looks up at the sky. He doesn’t look worried all. In fact, he looks irritated. 

“Keep digging! No matter what happens, keep digging! Do not stop. I am about to be called upon.” He looks over and gestures for you to come to him. You obey, getting up and running across the sand to where he stands waiting with his cane. As soon as you reach him he lifts the hand that is holding the cane up to the side of your arm, the wooden cane pressing into your bicep slightly. “It’s time.” 

He places his other hand on your head, closing his eyes. Out the corner of your eye you notice the cane glow for a moment and then its over. He removes the hand on your head, using it to call over one of his female disciples. “Y/N is going to need to sleep now. Take her to the tent, stay there with her until I return.” 

“Praise Ammit.” She responds with a nod before taking gentle hold of you and leading you to the tent. She unzips the door for you and before you enter you turn back to look at Arthur, but he is already gone. 

Harrow was right. Once you got inside the tent you suddenly realised how much you wanted to sleep. As the woman charged with staying with you sat on a stool by the entrance, you settled down on one of the two camp beds that are set up in the room and fell almost instantly asleep. You have no idea how long you were asleep for but when you wake, Harrow has taken the place of the woman and is now sat watching you. 

“You’re back.” You say as you sit up in bed. 

“I am.” he replies simply as he stands and moves over to one of the tables in the room.

“Where did you go?” 

“I had to talk with the Ennead council but it’s sorted now. Nothing to worry about.” A small smile appears on his face. “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine.”

“Good, good. I’m glad. The healing can make you feel tired for a while after so it’s important to rest.” He hands you a cup of water and sits next to you. He takes a sip from his own cup before talking again. “I saw Marc Spector tonight.” 

“Oh.” you say, trying to sound disinterested and ignore how your heart just skipped a beat at the mention of his name.

“He wanted the Ennead to put me on trial, but they saw through his lies and let me go. When I last saw him, he and Layla El-Faouly were meeting with a black market dealer-”

“Why are you telling me this?” You snap, standing up from the bed and stepping away from him.

“I thought you’d want to know.” It feels like he’s trying to wind you up, make you jealous that Marc is out there somewhere with Layla. 

“Well I don’t, okay? I do not care about Marc Spector.” You say firmly. A half truth. You don't know Marc Spector enough to care about him, but you do care for Steven and a small part of you still believes in him. 

Harrow stares at you for a moment before nodding. “Okay.” he says quietly before getting up and walking past you, stopping when he reaches the door. “Dinner is being served now. Once you’ve calmed down you may join us.”

He leaves and part of you wants to throw the cup of water in your hand at the door, but you don’t. Another part of you wants to just stay in this tent for the rest of the evening, but the grumbling of your stomach tells you that’s not a good idea. So you take a few breaths, finish the drink and head outside. 

— — — — 

As soon as you got outside with everyone, you wished you’d stayed in the tent. Something about the way the disciples watch you sends shivers up your spine. You get the feeling they don’t like having you around. Hushed conversations suddenly stop as you walk by. You keep catching glimpses of dirty looks and disproving stares being sent your way. If looks could kill, not even Harrow could keep you alive.

Harrow had been deep in conversation with a group of disciples so you walked straight to the food serving table and grabbed a bowl. You thanked the server who splashed a ladle of some sort of soup into your bowl and handed you a bread roll before you headed towards the table with the least amount of people sat at it. As soon as you sat down, the few people that were there got up and left, leaving you completely alone. Which you didn’t mind. At least you could eat your soup without judgement. 

Maybe its just because you haven't eaten a full meal in days, but the soup was actually delicious. You have no idea how they managed to make something so tasty with such few resources, but your empty stomach really appreciates it. A few moments later you notice the shadow of someone stood next to you. 

“May I sit?” Harrow asks, looking down at you with a sympathetic smile.

“Go ahead.” You say as you dip some bread in your soup and he sits next to you. “This is really good.” You say as you take a bite of the now soup soaked bread.

“Yes, Victor’s lentil soup. A favourite of mine.” He waves over to Victor who smiles at Harrow, but then he looks at you and his face drops.

“I don't think these people like me very much.” You try to laugh it off, but your insecurity sneaks through. 

“There are some doubts about you, I admit. Those who believe I’m wrong for sparing you after your scales judgement. But they’ll come around, once they get to know you.”

“They want me dead.” You say, a hint of sadness in your voice as you absentmindedly stir your spoon around your soup. 

“Y/N look at me.” He says and you look up, slightly startled by how close he now is. “No harm will come to you while you’re under my protection. You have my word.”

You just nod at him and he smiles, relaxing into his seat. You finish the rest of your meal in comfortable silence before Harrow offers to walk you back to the tent. 

“We’re going into the tomb tomorrow morning, as soon as the sun rises.” He says suddenly, and you don't really know how to respond. You want to try to convince him not to go, not to release Ammit. But you know there’s no point so you just say “okay” and continue walking. 

“I don't know how long I’ll be down there so I’ll need to do your healing before I go-”

“Wait, you're not taking me with you?” You ask.

“No, you must stay in the tent. I don't know what challenges I will face in there, it’s likely to be dangerous. I need to be able to focus and not be worrying about you.” 

“Why would you worry about me?” You laugh and he stops walking, turning to face you completely. 

“Because I care about you, Y/N.”

“Oh” you're surprised at his confession “Uh, I don't really know what to say to that.” 

“Then say nothing.” He says, reaching his hand out to pull back the entrance to the tent. “It’s time to sleep now. Tomorrow is a big day.” 

You enter the tent and head to the bed you’d slept in earlier. You're surprised that Harrow follows you in, placing his cane next to the other bed in the tent. 

“You're sleeping in here too?” You ask.

“Is that alright? I assure you, you are perfectly safe with me. But if you're uncomfortable I can swap with Bobbi. I’m sure she won’t mind-”

“No, no its okay. I don't mind.” You don't fully trust that Bobbi, or any of the other disciples, wouldn’t just murder you while you slept.

“Very well.” He says, climbing into bed. “Good night Y/N.” 

“Good night Arthur.”

— — — — 

The next morning you when you wake you can hear the sound of voices outside your tent. You look over and realise Harrow’s bed is empty. You get out of bed and creep closer to the tent door, listening to the conversation on the other side. 

“But sir, please, I want to help you!” The voice pleads. 

“You want to help me? This is how you help.” Harrow replies, calm but firm. “She can’t come with us, someone has to stay with her. I’m trusting you with to keep her safe.” He pauses. “Ammit has found you to be worthy enough for this important task. Don’t let her down.”

There’s sigh before the first voice simply says “Praise Ammit.”

You hear movement and quickly retreat back away from the door. A moment later Harrow and one of his disciples, a young lady, enters. 

“Y/N, this is Maya. She’s going to keep you company while I’m away.”

“Nice to meet you.” You give her a small smile, and she tries to smile back but you can tell she’s irritated. You turn your attention to Harrow. “You know I really don't need a babysitter. I’ll be fine in here on my own.” 

“I know. But just in case something were to happen, Maya will be here for you.” He moves closer to you. “Are you ready?” He asks, placing a hand on your shoulder and you nod. He places his other hand on your head, his cane glows and even though you’ve just woken from a full night sleep you instantly feel tired. He guides you back into bed, helping you settle in. “Sleep now. When I return, we change the world.” He says softly with a smile as you drift back into your dreams. 

— — — — 

The first thing you notice when you wake up is how quiet it is in the empty camp. It’s eery, kind of haunting. For the first time you actually almost miss Harrow and you're actually relieved he didn’t leave you completely alone. You sit up and look over to see Maya sat on the stool at the entrance, slumped against the side of the tent. She’s asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, you make your way over towards her as quietly as possible and sneak past her to the outside. 

Being alone outside sends a shiver up your spine. The camp looked abandoned, but you don't feel like you're alone. You get the same feeling you did at dinner last night, as if everyones eyes are on you. You head over to the food table and are thankful to find there’s still some porridge left over from breakfast in the serving pot. You grab yourself a bowl full and sit at one of the tables. You only get a few mouthfuls before you hear Maya shouting for you. She comes running outside, a look of panic on her face. A gun in her hand, which she lowers once she realises you're fine. She heads over to join you. 

“Why do you have gun?!” You ask in horror. 

“Harrow left it with me, so I can defend myself if I need to.” 

“Defend yourself against who?” You pause, surely not… “Against me?”

“No not you.” She tucks the gun away in her belt. “He just said if anyone shows up and tries to follow him or take you then I have to use it.”

“Who would want to take me…” you don't even finish your sentence as it sinks in. He must be talking about Marc. But if what he said before was true, then Marc wanted nothing to do with you. Maybe he knows something you don't and there are more dangerous people after you. But what would they even want with you? None of this makes sense, but it’s making you anxious. You decide to change the subject. “So, how long have you been with Harrow and everyone?” 

“Not long, only a few months now I think.”

“How did you get involved in all this?” 

“I made friends with some bad people when I was in college. Eventually they got me selling drugs and when my parents found out they kicked me out. I was living on the streets, meeting dangerous people. That’s when I met Arthur. He found me in an alley one night, tested my scales and took me in. He saved me.”

“Wow…” you don't know what to say. Looking at her, she can’t be older than 17. But already she’s been through so much. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“It’s okay. I’m in a much better place now.” She smiles, this time it’s real. “And once we release Ammit, I’ll be able to bring justice to the people that hurt me.” There’s a few moments of quiet before Maya speaks again. “Please don't tell Harrow that I was asleep.”

“I won’t. But why does it matter?”

“I was supposed to be watching you. If he knew that I’d fallen asleep, and that you were out here alone… he’s be so angry with me.”

“But why?”

Before she can answer you hear the sound of something being knocked over in one of the other tents, startling both of you. For a second she looks panicked while she tries to work out what to do next. 

“Back to the tent. Go!” She whispers as she gets up and ushers you to move with her. She escorts you back with one hand on your back, the other hovering over her gun which is tucked into her belt. Once inside she tells you to sit back on the bed, which you do. You both stay silent as you listen out for any more movement. “I’m going to have a look around. Stay here.” She says and you agree before she disappears back out the door. 

A few more minutes pass by and you see the shadow of someone creeping around the edge of your tent. The shadow of someone too big to be Maya. You get on the floor and shuffle under your camp bed just as someone enters. You clasp your hands over your mouth as you listen to heavy footsteps move around your tent, rifling through items and baskets of papers that Harrow left on the table. Something falls to the floor and drifts down to land in front of you, some paper covered in sort of ancient text. Your heart feels like its about to pound right out of your chest as the intruder moves closer. As they crouch down to pick it up you finally get a glimpse of who it is. He looks at you like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Y/N?” the British voice you didn’t realise you’d missed so much. “Y/N! Oh thank God you’re alive!” 

Part Five

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[try-again-bissh]

I really wish I was one of those ppl who write super long beautiful detailed ass essays on here, cause I wanna SCREAM about how fucking good Gameboys2 is !

I got tickets to see the online stream of the movie when it came out and it was fucking amazing I stayed up so late to watch it.

The second season has been impossible to find online but it's on fucking Tubi for some reason (shout fucking out to Tubi). I watched it all in one sitting Screamed, Cried and then played the whole fucking thing back again.

I LOVED the movie and somehow the second season still gave me so much more. All the little in between moments that I didn't know I missed but still hit me so fucking hard. There were some lines that fucking ripped me to shreds that I still hear ringing in my ears ( for example when Gav says "am I wrong to choose you?" the fucking noise that came outta me had only been heard by woodland animals nearing death)

A fucking masterpiece in acting as always from these two, I cannot talk about it enough I love this series so much and will always love it. By the end of the second season I was laying flat on my back with tears streaming down my face, I just love them all so much.

The first was really Elijah's show, acting his fucking ass off and killing it and we honestly all fell in love with Gav as Cairo did, watching him grow and open up was beautiful and I watched it during lockdown so it hit even harder. It gave me so much hope and peace Now season 2?! Kokoy De Santos the man you fucking are ! Give him the Oscar!!!!!!!

I was swimming in an ocean of pain and tears I need more ppl to watch this fucking series ASAP

[egypt-museum]

Girdle of Princess Sithathor

Middle Kingdom, 12th Dynasty, ca. 1897-1878 BC. Tomb of Princess Sathathor, Funerary complex of Senusret III, Dahshur. Excavation by Jacques de Morgan, 1894 Now in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo. JE 30858

The girdle of the Princess Sithathor is made of eight gold, half-open cowry shells. The ones at each end have flat reverses, and were joined by means of grooves to serve as a clasp, fastening the girdle when they slid one into the other.

The shells are separated from each other by rhomboidal polychrome beads of carnelian, feldspar, and lapis lazuli. Gold cowry shells were imitations of the real cowry shells that had been used in belts, bracelets, anklets, and necklaces since the pre-dynastic period. People thought that cowry shells possessed powerful magical properties and increase female fertility.

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