#so like you could read that line as one being informed by a long familiarity with institutional power

[communistkenobi]

not sure if this was intentional or not but nemik saying in his manifesto “Remember this: Try.” is an interesting sentiment given that “do or do not, there is no try” is like one of the more famous lines from the original trilogy

[yiiyiiwrites]

🗡️ | Relics and Ruins | 1

[Series masterlist] [acotar masterlist] Summary: you come from a long line of healers in the dawn court, but it seemed to have skipped you completely. So you find that your mind is more equipped to read magical objects, fixing broken or cursed relics. What you don’t expect is an Illyrian warrior seeking your expertise on his favourite broken dagger. 1455words

The blade on the table rattled to a stop, whatever secrets it whispered, you did not understand the language it spoke.

A shadow lurked over the table, you glanced to the night courts high lord, Rhys opposite you, a smirk pulling his lips as his eyes flicked from you and his friend behind you.

“Are you going to stand over me whilst I work?” You raised a brow, neck aching as you twisted in your seat and looked to the Shadowsinger.

Rhys muttered an apology on behalf of his friend. Azriel stepped back from your desk, allowing the light to creep back in. You swatted one of the stray shadows still lingering, it rolled over your finger like the curl of smoke.

The small studio space you rented, barely allowed enough room for you to navigate. Tables and shelves filled with an assortment of objects still screaming at you to fix. You were sentimental when it came to the place, the first and only part of the court that was yours. Knew the layout like the back of your hand, large windows that bathed the area in light that no dark corner could be found. And you hated the dark.

You bit your lip trying to suppress the smile at the awkward Illyrian’s taking up the space. Their Highlord’s wings vanished before he entered the confined space, the other two however had tucked their wings in tightly and tried not to move too much within the organised mess.

The longhaired one, Cassian had given you some valuable information on a shield you’d given up on decades ago. You couldn’t help but mirror his smile whenever he offered you one, brows scrunching as he translated the text engraved on the metal.

The other winged male did not speak to you, he hung back clouded by shadows. Every now and then, little black wisps brushed against the tip of your short hair, a breeze ghosting over your shoulders.

But when he did finally speak, you found yourself wanting to look at him. The knot in your stomach twisting, his smooth voice called to you and it felt familiar, comforting. You wanted to hear it again.

“How long do you think it will take to mend?” Azriel leant on the desk, gloved hands supporting him as he gazed down at you. His attention solely on you, even up close he was breathtaking.

You blinked, hands fumbling over the desk as you knocked a pile of ancient tomes over. Dust settling in the air, the action kept going on like dominoes. A cannon ball hitting the mannequin of ancient armour into the hoards of Elven bows stacked up high.

Cassian tried to catch the next thing falling, but his wings flared ever so slightly as he tried to keep his balance. Forgetting about the tight space, his wings swiped the entire contents as well as the shelf off the wall. Metal clanged to the floor and he froze.

“Do not touch that,” you snapped, running to Cassian, your fast movement making him step back. “Unless you want it to haunt your dreams for the next hundred years.” You nudged the fallen contents with your boot, keeping them all together.

“We would not want that,” Rhys paused, glancing around the studio and the mess scattering what was left of the floor. “Perhaps we should allow you the time to do your work.” He flicked his wrist, the Elven bows stacking on top of one another.

You couldn’t help but gasp, it would have taken you hours to sort out the mess, but Rhys had put most of it back in its original place. Except the items you warned them not to touch, even that being extended to another persons magic.

The three men walked through the studio, you following closely behind them. Your hands hovering behind their wings as if waiting for them to knock into more things as they went.

Cassian doesn’t meet your eyes as you stand in the doorway, the three of them tense as if waiting for one of them to speak. You turn to Rhys expecting him to say something.

“We have business with your Highlord, so we will be around if you need anything,” Azriel said, bowing his head slightly. His shadows twirled in frenzy, black wisps tangling in your hair one more time.

You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the pesky wisps.

Azriel cleared his throat, shadows returning to curl round his ear as if to tell him a secret. “How long do you think it’ll take to mend the truth-teller?”

“It will take me a while, I need to familiarise with the energy surrounding the blade.” You could already hear truth-teller beckoning you. A broken echo, the voice not quite pronouncing your name properly. But it called.

They bid you goodbye and you returned to the room of relics. The noise always a welcome distraction than listening to your own thoughts.

*🦇*

Azriel’s shadows had not stopped mumbling of the girl of sunlight. He kept swatting them away, the text he was trying to read in front him blurring at their constant interrupting.

“You think she knows?” Rhys asked, his hands in his pockets as he watched the sun bathe the sky in dusky pinks and orange hues.

The thought crossed Azriel’s mind, part of him thinking there was a moment when their eyes met, but the way she retreated from his shadows made him think otherwise.

“Nah, there’s no way. Too much energy in that room. Don’t know how she can surround herself with all those relics,” Cassian said, his fingers rubbing his temple.

Relics kept their energy and magical properties forever, outliving the ones that created them. They might not be able to wielded again, but if one was worthy enough to channel that power the object would call for whoever it could hear. Most times it was a distant mumble, only a trained ear or shadow could hear it.

“Now you know how we feel brother, when we spend too much time with you.”

Cassian pulled up the chair opposite Azriel, smirking as he got himself comfortable. “Maybe I should help her, you know familiarise that energy surrounding truth-teller. I do know some riveting tales…”

“The only thing snapping will be your neck if you meddle,” Azriel spat, he slammed his book shut as if closing anymore discussion on the mender in the dawn court.

The anger spread like wildfire in his chest, ever since the bond snapped he’d been overwhelmed with emotions. His shadows were equally as messy, not sure whether to follow him or stick behind with her. A few stray wisps fell back, hiding between the relics in her studio and keeping a safe distance.

Azriel couldn’t get her off his mind, he wondered if she’d ever been beyond her home or stepped into the darkness. He knew that his life wasn’t for everyone and didn’t want to subject someone full of so much light, to something so cold.

“Did you sense it whilst we were there?”

Cassian’s question dragged Azriel back to why they were truly there, the matter of his mate paused until they got what they were looking for. But Azriel didn’t realise that the one thing he’d be looking for was her.

“No, nothing.” Rhys turned as the doors opened, the dawn courts high lord entering.

“Well why didn’t you ask my favourite mender?” Thesan asked, but he waved his hand as if answering his own question. “She did let you in, did she not?”

“I fear that our missing relic is still under the mountain, her collection did not give us any clues,” Rhysand said glancing to Thesan, the warmth in his eyes dulled at the mention of the mountain. He too had been trapped beneath it, the last resort of returning was changing to a definite return.

“Ah,” Thesan paused, a strained smile twitched his lips. “ You see the mender is a relic herself. She too survived under the mountain and is the reason we have so much knowledge on the subject.”

Azriel felt the tight pull in his chest, so she had known darkness. He rubbed his chest, wondering if she felt the same jolt there too. His shadows being a reminder of her time there, maybe that’s why she preferred the light glaring down upon her. No curtains or furniture blocking the large windows that dominated the small studio she worked in.

“Would she be able to show us the way without actually going there?” Cassian asked. Azriel thankful that he had spoken up first. His thoughts were tangled, but they all led to her and her safety.

“You would have to ask her.”

[Part two]

I wrote this on my phone and not edited so might be some errors

[moonchildstyles]

rêvasser

élan part two: harry was too observant. y/n worried he could see the cracks in her walls.

wourdcount: 12.8k+

—————

Fran🫧

      send me a pic of your nails when ur done!!!! 

After answering with an agreeable response, (Y/N) flicked to an email from her stylist. Details were being rehashed over what she wanted to wear to the 132 Gala coming in the next few weeks, Dom again trying to push her in the direction of a darker outfit while she gravitated towards her usual palette of softer hues. Outside the window, glimmering buildings swept by with too many cars on the street and too many people, not paying attention, trying to cross the pavement. 

Harry was a silent wall beside her, quiet and stiff. Just like usual. This was the first she'd seen him since the pilates incident. Though he was in a substantially better mood than that last meeting, even giving her a slight smile when she climbed into the SUV beside him, (Y/N) still heard the round of reprimanding he doled out for her. 

She'd happily take Harry over her father, though. Now that, for the first time ever, he'd followed through on a threat (i.e. getting a bodyguard for her), there was a level of worry tied to any contact involving her dad. But, he hadn't called at all this week—not even a passive-aggressive text sent her way. When she had texted him that she finally RSVP'd to the upcoming Gala like he'd been hounding her to do just a week prior, he'd left her on read. While she much rather preferred this limited contact, she had a brewing worry that something worse was in the works if he was willing to ignore whatever information Harry had relayed or anything he'd read in the press.

But, she'd take what she could get. Focusing on the Gala with prepping and planning was something she'd happily let take her attention, even if the whole bodyguard/handler/professional babysitter thing was going to be hard to ignore given that Harry would have to accompany her to any and all events surrounding the event.

Though there was one thing her mother did instill in her before she divorced her husband and began jaunting around the world with (Y/N) left at home: Nothing could ruin a good nail appointment. Not even the presence of a bodyguard was an exception to that rule as far as (Y/N) was concerned. 

"Thank you, Sully," she chirped, stepping out of the SUV with a wave over her shoulder. Harry predictably followed right after her, the soles of his shoes patting against the concrete. "You don't have to come with me, if you don't want," she told him, stopping him before he could close the door behind and prompt Sully to leave, "It's kind of a long appointment, so if you wanted Sully to take you to get something to eat or whatever, I'm sure he'd be okay with that." 

While she couldn't imagine Harry taking her up on the offer, at least not after the clear line he made earlier in the week, she still felt it was something she should give as an option. Nail appointments weren't very exciting if you weren’t the one in the chair.

"No, thank you," Harry answered without a lag, closing the door behind him with a slam. He didn't even look at her as he spoke. 

Turning on her heel, (Y/N) took in a deep breath and moved on. Stepping through the front door held a moment of deja vu with the way Harry trailed behind her silently. The women manning the front gave her the same curious looks as the waitstaff at the brunch shop though they all treated her with more familiarity after coming to her regular appointments for almost two years now. 

"Hi! Welcome in, (Y/N)!" the same blonde woman that always greeted her said, her eyes floating above her shoulder to find Harry, "How are you?" 

The shining smile that earned her a top spot in the rumor mill bloomed on (Y/N)'s lips, "I'm doing perfect, thank you! You?" 

"Same as always," she chirped back, the same answer she always gave despite never detailing what the same even entailed. "You're in with Carlotta this morning, right?" 

"I am," (Y/N) beamed, stopping at the front podium with her designer purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. 

"She'll be right with you," the girl started, pointing in the direction of Carlotta's usual station over her shoulder, "You can take a seat at her station while you wait." 

"Got it, thank you," (Y/N) said, voice ever-pleasant and rehearsed. 

Taking the first step towards her chair, she saw the way the eyes of the other woman reached around and spotted Harry. He'd been seen at her side enough times to be recognizable to the right people, unfortunately. "Are we checking in for two appointments today or do we just have a friend tagging along?" 

"Just a friend," (Y/N) answered quickly. Hopefully the word friend would work through the media circuits just as well as everything else being said. 

Taking her seat at her usual station, (Y/N) made herself at home with a cross of her legs and her purse hanging from the hook drilled into the table. Harry pulled a vacant seat to sit beside her, taking the outermost side to leave her bookended by the wall and his body. Protector instincts, she figured. 

It wasn't long for him to begin to squirm, a fidget to his fingers. 

"Sorry," she whispered to him, pulling her phone from her bag to find the photo she was using for inspiration. 

A pinch appeared in Harry's brows. "What do you mean?" 

Keeping her voice low, she left her attention on her phone while she spoke, "I know it takes a bit to get used to knowing people are watching you, so..." 

It wasn't a surprise to feel others' eyes on her though it had been a while since her presence was notable to the staff here at her nail shop. The addition of a friend at her side was surely something that was garnering her more attention than usual, but Harry clearly wasn't used to it with the way he couldn't settle where he sat. While she was sure there were times that Camila and Monroe, his previous employers, were photographed with eyes on them, she couldn't imagine it was at the same level as she was currently going through. 

He'd get used to it. Maybe. 

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry swept his gaze around the room. "It's a little different, but I can handle it." 

She didn't doubt that. She couldn't imagine there was much Harry couldn't handle. 

Soon enough, Carlotta came out from the back with a fresh pair of pink gloves on, her usual smile, and big bouncy hair. 

"Good morning, honey! How are you?" she asked, brown eyes glimmering in the bright sunlight streaming through the sweeping windows. (Y/N) saw the second she seemed to register the extra guest at her side. 

"I'm good, thank you," (Y/N) greeted, stretching her hands out for Carlotta to have a look once she took her seat across. "How are you?" 

"Good," Carlotta sang, prying her eyes away from Harry to glance at (Y/N)'s nails, "What are we thinking for this set?" 

As much as (Y/N) was sure Carlotta wanted to ask about Harry, and why he was the first extra to ever come with her to an appointment like this, she kept her focus. She listened as (Y/N) went through and showed her the simple inspiration photos she had in mind from grazing through instagram. Glossy nudes with a sparkling French tip was the request at the moment, something easy before the elaborate set she would be getting right before the Gala night. 

The appointment went on as normal, Carlotta keeping her conversation to (Y/N) and the rapport they've built over the years. She was sure her tech was waiting for her to bring Harry into the flow, but (Y/N) didn't deviate from the route they'd already embarked on. Besides, Harry was much too involved in his brain and his job to be answering any kind of questions Carlotta may have wanted to ask. 

Despite Harry's perfect patrolling and the perfect distraction Carlotta was being, it wasn't long after she had started filing and shaping (Y/N)'s acrylics that there were titters and hushed whispers to be heard across the studio. Harry stiffened beside her, his jaw hardening as he scoped out the sound. 

Peeking around him, she saw a group of teenaged girls giggling around a single station as if they were waiting for their own tech to arrive. Two of them had eyes on her while the third was looking at her phone that had the camera conveniently facing towards where she and Harry were sat. The second they realized they were caught, the trio clammed up and looked away, phone disappearing under the lip of the table. Rushed whispers were exchanged between them though none of them dared to return her gaze. 

While (Y/N) was used to the treatment, something inside her ticked. It was another set of photos taken without her consent that would build towards another narrative that was anything but true. She was more than accustomed to that, this week had been enough already. More photos of herself was the last thing she wanted. 

Nonetheless, there was no way she could react other than with a smile and brushing off the moment. Still, she won't be called "kind" or "warm", she'll be called stiff. At least it wasn't "bitch", though.

When the girls caught her smiling, they gave her a small wave before erupting into more giggles in their corner of the studio. Harry barely held back his scoff as he watched the scene. 

Carlotta had gone quiet the second (Y/N)'s attention had shifted. They both saw as Harry shot a stiff look towards the girls, even when they were too caught up in themselves and whatever was going on in their phones to notice.

"Sorry," (Y/N) whispered, leaning towards Harry. She was hyper aware of Carlotta's quiet presence, but she couldn't forgo addressing the moment with the way Harry was reacting. "They'll be over it soon, it's okay." 

Harry only shook his head.

She wished she knew what was going on in his head. She wanted to know what he thought of that moment, what he collected from the way she reacted, or how much he was beginning to regret taking this job now that so many eyes scrutinized him. 

"Do you like this, or were you thinking a little bit sharper on the edges?" 

Carlotta's question pulled (Y/N)'s attention back to her nails, right where it needed to be. 

—————

"I'll be right back," Harry murmured, standing from his spot as he scoped out the bathroom. 

(Y/N) sent him off with a quiet okay, her attention placed on the sweeps of the small brush going across her nails.

"So," Carlotta nonchalantly mused, her gaze stuck on her work, "you know I don't believe everything I read, but I have to ask... Is that the guy?" Guiding (Y/N)'s hands under the lamp, Carlotta flicked her gaze up to look at her client through the fan of her dark lashes. 

With her back stiffening and lips thinning, (Y/N) didn't know what to say. Despite the conspiratorial smile on Carlotta's face, (Y/N) didn't feel like she was in on the joke. Her nail tech was one of the closest people to her in a funny way (nail appointments sometimes felt like therapy after a long week, and too many times had (Y/N) shown up hungover beyond repair), so it cracked at her shell just a bit to know that random stories could wriggle into the mind of someone who actually knew her. 

Shaking her head, (Y/N) gave her a mild smile. "It's not like that." She paused before offering up the rest of the story. "He's my new security actually." 

"Like a bodyguard?" Carlotta bubbled, taken aback as she paused in her line work of the French tip she was making. She seemed to mull over the possibility before nodding her head some. "I guess the stories have gotten a little out of hand, recently." 

"Yeah," (Y/N) offered lamely, "He'll at least make it sound a little bit more intimidating when I need photographers to get out of my way when I'm trying to get to my car." 

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) suddenly found it hard to speak about it all. Other than Francesca, most people didn't want to hear about how "hard" her life was; it was a joke, as if there was no way she could have anything negative happening. While in many ways that was true—she had a home, income that she never had to worry about, and the kind of time to indulge in herself that she knew many others didn't—but that didn't negate the fact that there were unique challenges in her life that wore on her. She hated to think about Carlotta listening to this and talking to her coworkers later about her spoiled client. 

Lighthearted as always, Carlotta's features lit up with a smile as she guided her hand in for the final round of drying. "I'm sure he will with those shoulders." 

Just in time, Harry returned with the conversation quieting then. Only a round or so more of drying with her hands under the lamp was needed before Carlotta was doing her ending spiel of how best to take care of the acrylics despite the fact (Y/N) was a longtime client with some of the best retention she'd ever seen (at least that's what Carlotta told her). 

"I love them!" she bubbled to her tech, standing up from her spot with her hands spread out to catch the clean lines of the French and crisp edges in the shaping. "Thank you so much." 

"Of course," Carlotta said, rounding her station to offer (Y/N) a loose hug, "I'll see you soon for your Gala nails, right?" 

"Right—hopefully, I'll have an idea ready then." A round of pleasant, albeit a bit forced laughter sounded between them. 

Goodbyes were shared before Carlotta went about cleaning up her station and (Y/N) and Harry were silently heading up to pay for the service. Only, (Y/N) was stopped with a rushed call of her name, the voice high-pitched and jittery. 

Stopping where she stood, Harry beside her ready to step in at a moment's notice, she turned to see that trio of girls, their own nails glimmering with paint and artificial length. They all looked at her with hopeful eyes and flushed cheeks. They were young—as young as (Y/N) was when she started traipsing around town by herself. She hoped they were being careful and looking out for one another. 

"Yes?" she pleasantly chirped, lashes fluttering in a quick blink. 

One of them dared to shuffle forward in her Prada sandals, sparkling iPhone clutched in her hand. "Can we get a picture with you?" 

Without a second thought, (Y/N) answered with an "Of course! What are your guys' names?" 

High on her attention, they flushed and giggled, hands shaking as they took turns to introduce themselves. The one with the phone in her hand—Izzy—was the ringleader it seemed, the most fearless of the trio though she seems just as incredulous to the fact (Y/N) was actually speaking to them. 

"You're, like, my favorite person on Instagram, bestie," Izzy chattered off, too-white smile beaming, "My parents hate that I follow you, but I don't care—I think your outfits are cute, and I can't wait until I'm old enough to dress like that without them telling me no." 

While the girls laughed and giggled, getting into position for the photo, (Y/N) tried to play along with a bubbling smile. It was more than uncomfortable to hear that these girls' families hated her, as well as hear about how much they couldn't wait to wear the same ensembles as she. At least, they were being nice.

Honestly, (Y/N) hadn't even thought that the outfits she posed in were something that should be reprimanded. She dressed in a way that made her feel pretty. She hadn't thought that the summer dresses she'd favored these last three months would be a subject of debate in households she didn't even know existed. 

Suddenly the off-the-shoulder bodysuit and pair of high waisted jeans she was wearing weren't enough. She wished she had pulled on a sweater despite the heat outside.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) just laughed along, playing the part long enough to keep them happy before retreating for the day. Taking the offered phone, she turned towards Harry with it stretched out towards him.

"Will you take a picture of us, Harry?" she asked, acknowledging him for the first time since he grew stiff when the girls had initially spotted them. 

"Sure," he answered gruffly, his gaze on her intense as usual though there was more curiosity than scrutiny this time around. 

The girls posed around her, arms around her waist and beaming smiles directed at the camera. Harry tapped the screen a couple of times while the girls giggled at her sides. The breakaway was seamless afterwards, Harry passing back the borrowed phone and (Y/N) slipping away from where she was swaddled between them. 

"It was so nice to meet you guys," she beamed, "But, we really need to head out. I'm sorry!" 

"Totally fine, thank you," Izzy spoke for them, bouncing on the balls of her feet, "Maybe we'll see you at our next appointment." 

"Maybe," (Y/N) laughed just before offering a wave as a final goodbye. 

Her smile stayed stiff on her cheeks as they walked away, though the girls must not have gauged their volume very well with the way she could hear them clearly over the growing distance. 

"That's her new boyfriend, Sydney! The one that she left Damien before, remember? He's the one in those pics from the other day," Izzy chattered off, much too loud to be appropriate in a place that would be considered a spa. And, because the subject of her gossip was within hearing range. 

It was an interesting thing to be a few teenaged girls' favorite villain. Even with the way they seemed to like her, they still would believe that she'd lie and cheat and fight like that. 

Harry was a solid, silent pillar beside her. He was a brick wall following wherever she went, only giving out a curl of his lips when he was acknowledged and he knew it was polite to do so. He stayed quiet up until he was escorting her through the plaza to meet up with Sully. 

"Do y'ever get used to that?" he asked, voice just a hair louder than the click of her heels over the bricks under her feet. 

"Hm?" she sounded, paying a little too much extra attention to the photo she was trying to take of her nails to send to Francesca. 

"Having people watch you all the time and take photos of you. Do you ever get used to that?" he detailed, casting his eyes around to where Sully could be waiting along the curb. 

Shrugging, (Y/N) tossed her phone into her purse. "I mean, kind of? It's been happening since I was in high school, but it's definitely been a little different lately just with... everything being posted about me and all." A beat passed once Harry spotted their car, the route changing as she followed after him. "I think I get it on the easier side, though, compared to others. At least people aren't attacking me or anything, right?" 

Harry's lips thinned at her words, jaw tight. "Right." 

Definitely the wrong thing to have said. 

Replaying her words with Harry's icy reaction, (Y/N) wanted to cringe. Why did she even say that? Of course he wouldn't think that was funny or even lighthearted when his entire job was to keep her out of harm's way. 

For a split second, she wanted to tell him about the letters and the photos she received. She wanted him to know that she knew that facet of her existence was serious—that she took his job seriously. But, that topic was more than off limits—something that would no doubt end in a phone call from her father and a one-way ticket to a Swedish cabin with no internet or link to the outside world for a minimum of six months. 

(Y/N) followed Harry to the SUV, silent as ever as there was no way to really recover from her slip. He held the door for her to slide inside before he came in next to her. 

Sully, the perfect breath of fresh air, twisted in his seat when they filed in. A broad smile could be seen under his moustache. "Let me see," he told (Y/N) offering a hand out for her. 

Happy to show off her nails, she gave her hand to him. "They're a different shape than normal, but I thought they would look nice with the French tip." 

"They're amazing," he smiled at her, the same response he always gave her when coming back from a nail appointment. "My daughter is going to want some just like that when she sees them on her phone." 

Settling back into her seat, (Y/N) smiled. "Let me know, and I can set up an appointment for her and everything. She'll just need to take care of them." 

"I'll tell her you said that," he told her before twisting back to face forward in his seat, "Anywhere else for the day?" 

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry observing the moment. Just like usual.

She could go and start some prep for her Gala night outfit, take a look at Vivienne Westwood and Dior, but the idea of Harry being her only companion after her misplaced joke wasn't something she had much interest in. She, at least, needed Francesca for something like that. 

"Just home today, Sully. Thank you." 

Sitting in the back of the SUV, bench seat shared with Harry, (Y/N) felt exposed. She just hoped she was making the right moves under those watchful eyes. 

—————

Heaving a sigh, (Y/N) listened to Francesca with her phone pressed to her ear, her gaze cast across the New York skyline. 

"I'm sorry," Fran pouted through the line, (Y/N) practically able to hear the flutter of her lash extensions through the receiver. "If I had known, I wouldn't have promised I could make it." 

"It's okay, it's not your fault," (Y/N) soothed, chewing her bottom lip, "I can move my fittings to later in the afternoon, maybe? Would that work?" 

"You know how my mom gets when she comes into the city," Francesca sighed, sounding exhausted before the day had even started, "Her and her husband are back on that thing about me being a gallery owner, so you know they're planning on taking all day to make me realize how much of a dream it is for me—I just don't know it yet."

(Y/N) couldn't help the itty, bitty smile that touched the corner of her lips. How silly the two of them were; Francesca's worst problem is her mother wanting to gift a gallery to her, while (Y/N) squirmed at the thought of having a personal security guard follow her to keep her safe. 

Nonetheless, she did feel her heart deflate a bit knowing that her best friend wouldn't be accompanying her to something they both loved doing. As a bonus, Francesca would have also been acting like a buffer between she and Harry. Now she was going to be left with him sitting and brooding in the corner with his criticizing gaze while she twisted and turned in a multitude of mirrors.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)," Francesca said again. 

"It's okay, don't worry, okay?" (Y/N) repeated, hearing the sounds of the city from her free ear as the morning rush began and wouldn't stop until late at night. "Tell them I said hi, and I'll send you pictures of my favorites. Maybe we can still do our alterations together if everything matches up?" 

"Yes, definitely! I'll see you tomorrow night and we can talk about it more then." 

"See you tomorrow," (Y/N) settled, sinking into her lounger, "Love you." 

"Love you, too, bestie!" 

With that, (Y/N) pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call. Out on her balcony, the morning chill touched at the bare slashes of skin revealed by the open, crochet knit of her cardigan. Despite growing up with a fear of heights, sitting up in the balcony of her high-rise apartment, it was easy for (Y/N) to luxuriate in the thin air and clear out her brain for even a moment. 

She was going to get through today. Even if she is photographed today, if she receives an intrusive letter, if another story is spun dragging her name through the rain and mud, she was going to make it through. Besides, she loved going to Fifth Ave; the fashion houses were her second home in the city. She couldn't back out on them now, not when her stylist pulled rank and ensured she would have a private fitting at Vivienne Westwood and a tour across an archive of Dior jewelry just for her. 

(Y/N) was just going to have to trust the opinion of sales people who worked on commission and were too scared to look her in the eye half the time. To be fair, they hadn't steered her wrong just yet, even if they never really looked at the way the garments fit her, just because that would require a longer than a single second glance at her. 

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) reminded herself: she was going to get through today. 

A buzz in her hand alerted her, taking her from the skyline and back to her phone. 

Sully👑

      I'm here and ready whenever you are.

At least she would get to see Sully this morning. It was always a good day when he was there to ground her. 

Trekking through the building, (Y/N) gave her usual smile to the uninterested doormen and avoided eye contact with the man who was tapping away aimlessly on his phone, another person waiting to be buzzed up, she was sure. 

Peering through the glass doors, she saw the SUV on the curb, Sully having made his way to sit just outside the entrance. He was stationed outside the car, his hand poised on the door handle to help her in. Even with the deep tint on the windows, she was sure Harry was waiting inside. A silhouette with too nice of a profile to be wasted on a security detail.

Sully's features softened into a grin when he saw her step outside of her building, his usual all black attire just as immaculately pressed as always. "Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," he greeted, hand on the door to pull it open for her. 

"Morning, Sully," (Y/N) reciprocated, the long form of her cardigan fluttering behind her. 

Just as she suspected, Harry was waiting patiently on the bench seat of the SUV when Sully pulled the door open. He didn't look up as she slipped inside, crossing her legs once the seatbelt was secured across her form. 

"Good morning, Harry," she murmured in the quiet of the leather interior.

Glancing up at her from where he had been tapping away on his phone, Harry took her in in a brief sweep over her form. He brought his knuckle up to his nose, brushing underneath the tip. "Good morning." 

The sound of Sully's door slamming shut brought (Y/N)'s attention forward from where she was stuck on the flickering green of Harry's eyes. "Now to Ms. Francesca's apartment?" 

"No, actually," (Y/N) clarified, shifting in her seat, "Franny's mom is coming into the city today so she had to cancel." 

"Oh no," Sully genuinely pouted at her through the rearview mirror, eyes meeting hers, "I'm sorry, (Y/N). Straight to Fifth Ave, then?" 

"Yes, that's perfect," (Y/N) chirped, feeling Harry's gaze on her through the interaction, never once did the shift to Sully. "Vivienne first, please. Dior after." 

"Got it." 

Pulling away from the curb, Sully was the expert driver he always was, slipping them seamlessly into the traffic without so much as a jostle over the pavement. Cars were slow moving at this time in the morning, but she knew he would make quick work of the distance. 

"Jus' us today?" Harry piped up, his voice a low gravel that had (Y/N) pulling her gaze on her nails to land on him. 

Swallowing, she nodded. "Yeah. If you don't want to sit through all the dress stuff, though, I'm sure Sully can take you elsewhere while I'm busy. I can just let you know when I'm ready to move to the next spot." 

No hesitation before he spoke again: "No, thank you. I'll be staying with you." 

She didn't expect any other answer if she was being honest, but it was the polite thing to ask. 

With no room to argue, (Y/N) fell silent, leaving just the sound of distant car honks and the light radio melodies playing. The route to the Vivienne Westwood location on Fifth Ave was a familiar one, even with the traffic and swerving drivers it didn't seem so long from where (Y/N) sat. She gazed out the tinted windows, the world looking just a little bit blue. People in too high of heels to be walking on the crumbling sidewalks with brand name shopping bags tucked under their arms were blurs beside her as Sully toured them through the city, 

The car slowed when the storefront came into view, the elegant font of Vivienne's name bold over the crystal windows. 

Sully sent them off after helping (Y/N) onto the concrete, promising to return as soon as he received word that she was ready to move on. Harry was her silent shadow as she stepped over the sidewalk like a runway. The mannequins in the windows were corseted and perfect, standing on thick platforms with sparkling jewelry. An effortless smile stretched across her lips as she pushed the door open, the brassy golden handle warm under her palm from the New York heat. 

Her heels were muffled as she stepped over the eccentric carpet. (Y/N) swore she could breathe just a bit easier in here. Many of the shops along this Avenue were the closest thing to being at home, especially when she was growing up and itching to do anything but be at home with her parents. She had an abundance of nice memories tied to these stores and brands; summers spent with Francesca and a credit card, impromptu fashion shows with pieces that wouldn't go together on a runway. While there were more than a couple of workers that became annoyed with them after only a few minutes of the duo walking into the shops, these places were the easiest escape. 

Sweeping her gaze across the shop, she took in the elaborately dressed mannequins and clean shelving. Everything was lit up on display, highlighting the contrasting colors and the punk-inspired pieces that gave Ms. Westwood her name. Racks and displays were scattered throughout, leading the walkways like a twirling river of black and white streaks. (Y/N) gravitated towards the racks with the signature structured corsets of the Westwood brand, draping fabrics and glimmering pearls. 

The entire space was quiet, her stylist—Dom—having made his calls and ensured the space would be free of any other shoppers while (Y/N) was getting her fitting done. (He was a little paranoid when it came to others leaking looks and style choices when it came to events like this Gala. It had happened once a few years earlier with a different client, and he seemed to have never forgotten). That left the entire morning free for (Y/N) to try on all of the imported pieces they had picked from the archives and Harry to brood around her like a temperamental potted plant. 

It didn't take long for a familiar head of coiffed blonde hair to appear around the corner of a jewelry case. A too-white, too-straight, too-perfect smile was plastered across his face—the kind of smile (Y/N) was halfway sure was fake, but that was just commission-based customer service. 

"Will!" (Y/N) greeted with a matching smile, breaking the ice as she turned on her heel to face him fully.

"(Y/N)! How are you, my love?" Will bubbled, posh accent wrapping around her name. He was adorned in his usual all black suit, velvet accents lined throughout. The length of the flared pants made him look that much taller, long limbs strong. The classic Vivienne Westwood pendant had been refashioned into a broach he pinned to his lapel, chains falling from around the Saturn that glimmered like the gunmetal manicure on his fingers. Something shimmery rained over his eyelids, just punk enough to fit Vivienne but high class enough to please those that guarded Fifth Ave like a dragon's treasure. 

When Will approached her, hands delicately held out with his lips puckered, she didn't hesitate to turn her cheek and indulge in the air kisses he always made a fuss about. Though it made her cringe, like one of those girls she knew in private school that spent the summer abroad and suddenly started speaking in an accent and bringing up their travels at any given moment, she enthusiastically partook in the greeting. 

Best behavior was required in shops like this, the associates tending to be some of the worst gossips and best storytellings in the city. If she was anything but perfect, with the way the media was already latched onto her, it wouldn't take much convincing for someone like Will to sell a story to any publication. 

"I'm doing so well now! I was hoping I'd be paired with you for my appointment." 

He waved her off with an incredulous face. "Well, of course they'd pick me. They only give you the best, hunny!" 

A round of laughter erupted between them, something that sounded just as fake as it felt in her throat. Harry was notably quiet, watching everything unfold. He didn't bother to try and step in to introduce himself, observing as always. 

"Come, come," Will gestured, inching towards the grand fitting room plotted in the back of the shop, "All of these gorgeous archive pieces made it in last night, just for you! I shouldn't be surprised, you and Dom have such wonderful taste, but I just love to see it, really." 

Will chattered to her as he escorted them through, bubbling about how excited he was to show her the garments as well as see them on her. While she knew a portion of his personality was a customer service front, he was one of her favorites here. He was more positive than uppity, unlike most of the other sales people she'd run into during her time perusing this street. 

Making it to the large fitting room in the back, (Y/N) immediately spotted the white garment bags hanging from the single stall. It was a large room that could have easily fit in stall after stall, but instead was used as a luxury space for only a single patron. Plush carpeting was installed under their feet, black lightning bolts breaking up the creamy white. A shimmering chandelier hung above the circular dais situated in front of the three-sectioned mirror on the far end of the room, crystals dripping from the wrought iron branches almost low enough to graze the head of the person standing on the dais. Cozy chairs were pushed throughout, the space anticipating guests, along with the tray of champagne glasses and a chilled bottle awaiting serving. 

Finding a pause in the chattering, (Y/N) asked, "Are any of the girls helping today, or is it just us?" 

"Just us!" Will chirped, carefully uncorking the bottle of frosty champagne, "Dom made it especially clear that he didn't want anyone unnecessary to be here; he said he wanted to make sure no one could leak anything." 

"Sounds like Dom," (Y/N) sighed with an affectionate smile, dropping her purse onto one of the houndstooth printed armchairs. 

Harry found his own chair silently, sinking into the cushioning though he didn't seem to relax much at all. His gaze stayed alert, looking around the entire space—probably looking for any cracks as if a supervillain could swing through the drywall and take her captive. Or, anything (Y/N) could damage should she finally snap in his presence.

She wondered what he thought, not three weeks into the job without a single tantrum that she knew her father had prepared him for. Hopefully she was showing she wasn't as much of a problem as her father was convinced. 

Shrugging out of her cardigan, (Y/N) caught the way Will eyed Harry. He swept his gaze over, analyzing the same way Harry analyzed everything else. 

"But, I see you brought a friend," he tittered, looking at her with that sly gaze. Harry didn't even flinch at the first acknowledgment of his presence. 

Keeping her demeanor perky and bright, (Y/N) made a point to look confident—but not too proud. She didn't want to look like she was showing off a significant other, so she couldn't smile too much, but she still had to smile just enough not to look shy or smitten. She didn't want to give Will any reason to describe her as being "bashful, over the moon for her new man". 

"Yes, that's Harry," she gestured to him, Harry barely offered a small smile when he took a second to look in their direction, "He's my bodyguard" 

"Bodyguard?" Will asked, blonde brow raised in an arch. 

Sighing, (Y/N) politely took the offered glass of bubbling champagne from Will's hand. "You know how it goes sometimes," she started, sipping delicately from the flute for a chance to pause, "Photographers have been a little crazy lately, so I figured I might need a little extra help." 

"Oh I'm sure," Will bubbled, looking at her with a furrowed brow feigning concern, "With everything that's happened with Damien, I bet those paparazzi can't get enough of you." 

He eyed her the same way he eyed Harry, as if there were details he could glean from her with just a glance. He was hoping she would spill, give him something to whisper over. 

Shrugging it off as nonchalantly as possible, she took another careful sip of her champagne. "Anything for a photo, you know," she said, rolling her eyes as if being hounded for personal information and photos of intimate moments was nothing more than an inconvenience. "But!" she perked up, popping her hip with a spark to her voice, "I want to see what Dom picked out for us!" 

Hooked by her excitement, Will caught the giddy way she talked and reacted with his own enthusiasm. "Okay, okay, sit down and close your eyes," he instructed, waving her back into her spot, "Because, you are going to freak." 

Doing as asked, (Y/N) settled into her seat with her eyes fluttering closed. She could hear Will padding away, leaving her with just Harry though if she hadn't already known he was there, she would have assumed the complete silence meant she was alone. She couldn't imagine being so quiet all the time, alert and scrutinizing. She wished she knew what was going on in his brain. 

The zip of garment bags and rustling of fabric drew closer as the time ticked on another minute. With the way her heart peaked, her giddiness was no longer an act. This is the stuff that made these events worth it for her; she loved playing dress up as a girl, and this was just the same but even prettier, in her mind. She could pretend to be a real princess this way. 

"Okay"—a pause for dramatic effect—"open," Will said, a smile clear in his voice. 

Blinking her eyes open, (Y/N) saw the flash of pearl pink laid hanging in front of her. Will held the padded hanger up for her to take in the entire gown, his free arm behind the skirt to help put it on display under the light. The fabric looked like liquid pearl, tinted in a pastel, cool pink that glimmered with a golden sheen in the light. It shifted before her eyes, showing shades of silver and purple, metallic and pearl. A blend of everything pretty in the world, (Y/N) decided. The top was the signature corset that she loved from the Westwood designs, the neckline featuring a deep scoop to show off her chest, structured and tight. The skirt was a length that would drag behind (Y/N) as she walked, draping down from the corset with a thigh high slit up the side. The sleeves to hold it up were nothing but a three-tiered string of pearls, each loop bigger than the last to rest lower and lower on her arms when she put it on. 

While there was a small collection of garment bags hanging up behind Will, (Y/N) couldn't imagine looking at another gown after this. It was too beautiful—the perfect personification of her thoughts that she had jumbled together to Dom during a late night FaceTime. She couldn't have ever imagined her scattered thoughts coming together enough for him to know exactly what dress from the Westwood archive to request for her. 

But, this was exactly it. 

She almost felt as though she needed to wait, to make sure it didn't just melt off of the hanger and drip onto the floor. She wanted to ensure it was real before she became too excited.

"Dom picked a couple from the archive and a few from the most recent runway, but this is my favorite," Will told her, his tone conspiratorial like he was sharing a secret just for her, "I think it would look gorgeous with your coloring, too. And, I know you're a pearl girl, so." 

Standing from her seat, she abandoned her glass of champagne on the side table. She was sure her eyes were too wide on her face, taking in all of the gown as if it would disappear if she blinked too long. 

"Are you kidding?!" she bubbled, "I love this! I almost don't want to see the others, I love this so much." 

Will shook his head immediately. "No, no, no, we're playing Barbie today, you're still trying on the others. But, I'm happy we're on the same page with this one." 

In a split second, (Y/N) saw something flourish in Will's eyes. The corner of his lips quirked up, too sly of a curl to be innocent. He turned towards Harry, showing off the dress just as grandly as he did for her. 

"What do you think, Harry? This would look gorgeous on her, don't you think?" 

Harry, the master of nonchalance and being chronically unbothered, barely batted an eye when Will caught his attention. If not for the fact (Y/N) knew who he was and what his job entailed, she would have thought he was one of those people from Williamsburg, where it was cool to be uncaring. Fortunately, she knew he genuinely couldn't care less about what was going on in this fitting room as long as (Y/N) wasn't being assaulted or causing property damage.

His eyes fell over the gown, sweeping over the details in that scrutinizing way he always looked at his surroundings. "It looks nice, yeah. I don't know much about this kind of stuff, but 'm sure it would look nice on her." 

A beat passed. Will waited for more, waited for his digging expedition to come up with results. Harry only blinked. 

"Okay, well!" Will moved on, smile a touch stiff. He turned towards (Y/N) with those same bright eyes. "Let's get you all tied up into this, and then we'll see for sure."

(Y/N) eagerly allowed Will to usher her through the door to the changing stall, eyes flitting to the dress as soon as she could spot it in the mirror. He didn't waste a second before he started chattering to her about some drama that apparently happened when the garments were dropped off the night before, trivial things that were embellished for the sake of getting her to laugh. (Y/N) wanted to say she listened intently, enjoying the way he prattled on and told the story as if it were a myth, but she honestly couldn't spread her attention between him and the dress that was beginning to swath around her body. 

Her day clothes were dropped to the floor at her feet, leaving her in undergarments before Will helped her into the dress, the corset stiff with the boning straightening out her spine. The beginnings of the look came together before her eyes, the fabric forming around her body the tighter the corset was zipped. The skirt seemed to be dripping off of her body the way it moved under the light, molten and sticky. With the slit opening up as high as her hip, the pearl glimmer stood out against her skin. Will helped her push the straps of her bra down, sliding them into the sides of the corset to make it look that much more real. 

Times like these were the only moments (Y/N) felt as if she could be photographed—wanted to be spotted. She loved dressing up, she loved feeling pretty in her skin, she loved these kinds of special moments. It never got old to her, feeling the glide of silky fabrics on her skin, the glimmer against her skin tone, looking like the princesses she used to idolize when she was a kid. 

Twisting and twirling in the mirror, (Y/N) could feel the smile curling on her lips. 

"Well, what did I tell you?!" Will beamed, standing back in the mirror to meet her eyes in the glass, "Better than the runway, my love!" 

"You're so sweet," she told him, a pout on her lips as she matched his eyes in the mirror, "Thank you." 

"Let's go look in the big mirror, see it from all the angles," Will prompted, reaching his hand out to help her step off the circular, raised platform in the dressing room. 

(Y/N) followed him through the door, letting him take her to the three panel mirror at the head of the room. He held the skirt for her as she stepped onto the platform, her feet chilled through her socks once she was steady. He fanned the gown around her, the split showing off the stretch of her bare thigh. She stood tall with her posture corrected with the corset, but the confident tip of her chin had everything to do with the way she felt in the dress. 

Running her hands over the fabric, she followed the ripples in the pearl with her eyes. Seeing herself like this, she didn't care what her dad had to say about her, the tabloids, or the rumors. She liked what she saw in the mirror, and that was enough. 

"Do a spin, look at the back," Will instructed, hands clasped together with his own smile beaming on his features. When (Y/N) did as much, showing off the deep dip in the back that showcased the planes of her back and the seamless lines of the corset, his smile only widened. "Classic Vivienne," he murmured, impressed as if it were his own work, "What are you thinking for your hair?" 

Using her hands to loosely emulate the idea she currently had in her head, (Y/N) craned her neck as she looked in the mirror. "I'm not sure yet, but I think Dom had something vintage in mind. Big and drape-y to show off the dress, but I haven't talked to my hair stylist yet." 

"Jewelry?" Will asked, circling around her as if appraising a diamond.

(Y/N) launched into a description of what she and her stylist were thinking, imagining the Dior pieces glimmering against her skin and the way her hair would tickle her collarbone when she turned her head. She could already see the set of pearly nails that were going to be on her fingers, the tiny bag that she was planning on hanging from her elbow the whole night. Her bare feet shifted to be sheathed in the perfect pair of Manolo's she knew Dom was going to insist she wear to go along with the gown. 

Everything came together with each twist and turn of her body in the mirror, pearls and crystals sparkling in her mind.

Will chatted away to her, telling her something about how the skirt could be altered to lower the slit (something she was not interested in doing, honestly) and how glimmering crystals could be added here and there. She offered him a bubbly smile in the mirror, nodding along, though she might have been a little too absorbed with the way she felt in the gown to be paying any real attention. 

In the mirror, with a twist to show off the back once more, (Y/N) caught sight of Harry. Just as usual, he looked at her with those ever-observant eyes. Even from the distance he was sitting away in the long room, she knew he was watching everything. 

This time, though, he sat with his elbows crossed over his knees, leaning forward as if he couldn't see enough. A furrow of his brow shaded his eyes. Though he tended to keep his eyes latched to her anyway, he looked earnest this time; like there was more he was trying to find before him. 

(Y/N) swallowed. He hadn't even realized she was looking at him, she didn't think, at least with the way he didn't shy away when she found him staring. Or, he just didn't care. 

Maybe, she could argue, he found Will as a possible threat being so close and so touchy with her. That was his job anyway, see those kinds of possibilities where she normally wouldn't. And, he took his job seriously. 

"I know we've pretty much picked already, but let's take a picture and try on the others," Will propositioned, pulling her out of her head, "We'll send them to Dom and see what he thinks, right?" 

With a flutter of her lashes and her gaze disengaging with Harry's form, she straightened her falling smile. "Right! My phone's over there, if you want to take the pictures really quick!" 

With her phone in hand, Will began snapping photos of her, (Y/N) posing and smiling with every angle on display for her stylist to analyze later. The moment erupted into giggles as the posing became more ridiculous, Will fueling her with the ways he angled her phone and goaded her to get more and more wild. 

All the while, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her. 

She found she didn't mind having his eyes on her. 

—————

In front of him, (Y/N) twirled and twisted while her friend took photos of her. Harry watched the whole time, cataloguing the way the dress formed around her body, the silk sliding over her skin and glimmering under the light. 

Harry's chest felt tight. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. 

She looked gorgeous.

In the front of his mind, he knew well that he would do better to be paying attention to their surroundings, watching her friend's hands, anything that actually pertained to his job. 

But, he didn't. Instead, he watched his client. Even when she caught him.

—————

"Yes, sir, we're on the way." 

Harry's voice was gruff and low as he spoke on the phone, (Y/N) listening in from where she sat next to him in the SUV. She played with the slowly dulling edges of her nails, pretending as if she had no idea as to what her dad was saying and asking on the phone to Harry. 

She pretended not to catch the way he glanced at her from the corner of her eye, his gaze sweeping over her form before he was facing forward once more. "Yes, sir—she's dressed appropriately." 

(Y/N) had to tune it out then. She didn't care to hear more of the checklist Harry had to go through in order to approve her walking out of the house. She felt more than exposed; under a microscope with everyone awaiting her downfall. 

Not soon enough, it seemed the end of the phone call was finally nearing. Harry shifted in his seat as he spoke, giving a time estimate to their arrival before a mild "See you soon." left his lips and the call ended. 

Biting back a sigh, (Y/N) sunk into her own seat that much more. 

Of course, her father would call Harry over his actual daughter. She couldn't be trusted to give honest answers, obviously. Some days she felt disappointed over the way he acted with her, other days saddened for the little girl inside of her that ached for her parent's love, but days like this brought anger to the surface. She couldn't fathom how important he must think he was to believe he could speak to and about her the way he did.

Though the thought of looking at—let alone speaking to—him today was making her more than annoyed, she was already on her way to the country club and she couldn't back out now. At least she could eat as much as she wanted and buy just as many drinks all on her father's card.

He was going to be way too enthralled with his stupid country club friends—and Harry—to even acknowledge her, anyway. Whenever she was invited to see him on the green, she was meant to be nothing more than a pretty accessory, to show that he was a family man too, not just a ruthless businessman. She was there to be gazed upon by men way too old and way too married to be looking at her the way they did, but that was part of the reason she was called upon.

By the time the structure of the gated country club came into view, (Y/N) was already reading through the familiar menu in her head. She was going to buy the entire patio a round of drinks, she decided. Maybe even two rounds. 

Going through the gates, Sully pulled them to the front of the building. The golf course stretched for miles around the main building, perfectly green and manicured, gorgeously maintained attractions throughout the holes with fountains and elaborate sand traps. The perfect kind of course for people with too much money and not enough actual understanding of the game. Around the back were the tennis courts and pool, everything warm blues with mosaic tiles, waitstaff crawling all over the place to tend to every whim of the clientele.

The bistro was her father's favorite part, though. That was where the whiskey was served.

He only pretended to care about golf just so he could laze around the club and smoke cigars in the afternoon and drink whiskey with people too stupid to realize he only saw them as dollar signs. 

She could only hope he'd already had a chance to drink this morning with his friends, leaving him too sloppy to care if she snuck off to play some tennis or out to the koi pond in the garden. Maybe, Harry would even become too distracted with her father, too wrapped up in the schmoozing and drinks and promises, to follow her out. Maybe she could get a real chance to be alone this afternoon. 

Sully helped (Y/N) out of the car as Harry waited for her on the walkway, the grand building behind him full of warm woods and golden fixtures. Large glass windows almost filling the complete space of the walls showcased the inside of the villa, the view only obstructed from the amount of greenery planted outside, tall bushy trees and manicured hedges acting as shades. 

Keeping her tennis skirt from riding up her thighs, she used Sully's hand to steady her as she stepped onto the stone walkway. 

"Thank you," she told him, voice quiet compared to the nature-esque sounds that came from the club and the various activities others were partaking in. 

Sully nodded at her, gentle smile on his cheeks. "I'll be back soon. Do you want me to wait for your father's cue or yours?" 

"Mine," she answered immediately. If it were up to her father, she'd spend the entire evening here with no end in sight. It would probably turn into some unwanted date with a random man he thought would be good for her.

Sully's smile was understanding as he nodded to her. "I'll be here as soon as you need me." 

With that, she shared her goodbyes with her driver before joining Harry at his silent post a few feet ahead of her. He barely glanced at her before he started leading her into the club, opening the door for her to step ahead. He once again took the helm as he led her through the country club, (Y/N) standing back in favor of lagging behind. He might not know the club as well as she, but he at least knew where her father was expecting to meet them. This way, he would be the first person they saw, as well; that could buy her a couple extra seconds of being off before slipping into her role. 

Walking into the Bistro, (Y/N) was greeted with the familiar smile of the waitstaff that knew her well. They didn't stop them as she gave a small wave, already assuming she was there to meet her father at the most boisterous table in the restaurant.

It was easy to spot him in the otherwise polite eatery, other patrons quietly dining with fresh tans or aching sunburns from the time outside. Sidelong glances were sent in the way of her father's table, some envious, others annoyed. She could deeply relate to those who were fed up with his noise. He was always much more bothersome after a few drinks. 

Men gathered around him, clustered around his small table. (Y/N) recognized most of them. Some of them elicited a stiffening in her spine, her guard going up the much further in case their eyes wandered too close to her, others she knew as investors he most likely originally meant to meet here, and some she didn't know at all. It was still easy to suss them out, anyway; it was the giddy smiles on their faces and the way they barely drank, that showed they were people who had been fighting to be invited to the table and were way too excited to be in such a close orbit to her father and his friends. Gullible, the only way to describe them. 

Twisting her Cartier bracelet around her wrist, (Y/N) tipped her chin with faux-confidence and plastered her tabloid-famous smile the second they stepped into the dining area. Harry was still in the lead, glancing at her over his shoulder once he also spotted their intended table. 

Her smile didn't waver, ensuring he didn't catch any kind of reaction that could be relayed to her father. 

The second her father turned to face them, stopping his conversation short, she knew the whiskey in his hand was not the first of the day. His eyes were glazed and warm, less scrutinizing but still nowhere near kind. 

He lit up when he registered Harry's presence. "There he is!" her father shouted across the restaurant, a waiter's steps faltering at the outburst. 

Stepping just out from behind Harry, (Y/N) noticed the way her father's gaze didn't deter from her bodyguard; a man he had met for the first time only a few weeks prior. In some ways, she was relieved to be ignored—it was easier this way, she knew—but other parts of herself were sore from the sting of being nothing worth noting to her dad. 

Harry gave a small wave, still a touch too far away to give his own greeting back. At least he was being courteous of the other diners. 

"This is the Harry I was telling you all about," her father continued, much too loud for the space though no one corrected him, "He's my daughter's handler." 

Noises of recognition rattled around the table, some pretending, others giving knowing smiles. (Y/N) didn't dare to think about the stories he shared about her and Harry. He would no doubt be painted as a shining knight, clean and unwavering in control, while she would be left to be the troll of the story, the one being needing to be controlled. 

Once they were near enough, those surrounding the table stood to introduce themselves to Harry, offering hands to shake and exchanging pleasantries. Harry took it in stride, his deep voice sticking out from the too-excited greetings of the others. 

(Y/N) stood quietly behind. She could feel a pair of eyes or two falling upon her, but she was largely ignored in favor of Harry. 

It's better this way, she reminded herself. None of these men's attention was worth it. 

Feeling more like decor than a person, (Y/N) stood and watched as Harry was roped into the conversation, even taking a seat her father pulled up. All the while, her father sang Harry's praises, a hand clasped over his shoulder. Harry was just so smart, and qualified, level-headed and strong. (Y/N) had been so much better-behaved even—she might even be ready to be a wife instead of running around the city with her friends. Who knew it was a babysitter his wild child needed to finally calm down; another man to tell her what to do. 

That comment made her smile dip. She hoped no one noticed. 

The table erupted into laughter at his comment, jovially agreeing as if she wasn't standing right there. Harry was the only one to look at her from over his shoulder, a smile notably missing from his lips. He matched her eyes for a lingering moment before he dropped his gaze.

"Right," he said once he rejoined the conversation, the word missing the same enthusiasm the rest of the table held.

She stood for a moment longer, listening in as she fiddled with her bracelet, before she started inching away. "I'm going to go," she mumbled, noting the way no one seemed to look in her direction but Harry, "Probably get food or something." 

(Y/N) turned on her heel then, half expecting Harry to follow, though she was sure the bigger priority was to stay with her father than continue babysitting her. She could feel the eyes of other patrons on her as she left the table, but she didn't stop to reconsider before she was slipping out through the backdoor. 

The patio was bathed in bright sunlight, country club members lounging in the warmth with cocktails in hand while waitstaff meandered through the wrought iron tables. She didn't pay anyone any mind as she made her way through, giving smiles to those she made eye contact with before glancing away in favor of making as small of an impression as possible. Though it was generally frowned upon by the club to exploit its high profile members with covert photos or posting any details about the dealings within, that didn't mean it didn't happen. She knew more than a few times stories of her time at the club had been leaked to the press along with blurry photos, and she definitely didn't want that to happen again today with the way her father was shouting her business across the entire dining room inside. 

Stepping off the stone patio, she made her way towards the gardens. A short hedge "maze" made most of the garden, leading her through with flowers littered around the space, small fountains, and a koi pond glittering in the center. Other than the tennis courts, this was her favorite space at the club. 

The scent of the vibrant flowers beckoned to her, drawing her into the mini maze. A small smile took over her features, reaching out to caress the soft petals of the blooming roses. Fluffy bumble bees flittered between the blossoms, their tiny bodies covered in pollen as they went to each plant. A soft buzz filled the air as she walked, her careful footsteps over the plush grass adding to the delicate noise. It was easy to block out the rest of the commotion like this; the thumps from the tennis court, splashes from the pools, and the chatter from the patio all melted away. Trickling from the tiny waterfall fountains led her closer and closer to the center. 

Zagging through the maze, she felt the sun warming her shoulders around the straps of her tank top. That same warmth seeped through to her bloodstream, floating her to the clouds just a little bit. 

This was the first time she'd been out without Harry at her side. She'd almost forgotten what that felt like. 

To be fair, she was beginning to get used to the feeling of having an extra shadow following her everywhere she went. That unsettling edge she had tied to having a security detail had begun to dull, finally. She didn't completely mind knowing that someone had eyes on her at all times, whether he was checking for her safety or for her bad behavior to peak. It wasn't something she would consider a normal feeling yet, but she could get there.

Hopefully, though, she wouldn't have enough time to get used to him. Hopefully, he'd be relieved of his post before she got that far. 

With the lack of stories being printed about her, she even hoped that her father would grant her freedom sooner rather than later. The only things she saw about herself tended to be things about her summer outfits, or analyses of her instagram posts. Nothing major had been posted since Damien. She had to be on the right track if rumors about her were losing traction.

Falling back down to earth, (Y/N) grounded herself as she gazed down into the koi pond. The concrete barrier was carved with roses, the reliefs matching the actual blooms coming through in the hedges. The fish were graceful pops of color in the clear water, bright calico coral tones shining under the sun. Lilly pads with tiny flowers floated on the surface, allowing the kois to move like ghosts underneath. This was her favorite spot in the gardens, making it easy for her to sink to her knees with her hands perched on the lip of the barrier and gaze down at the creatures. 

That childlike urge in her to reach out and pet the fish rose, wishing she could treat them like pets. (Y/N) almost wanted to laugh at herself with the way she had to remind herself to keep her hands to herself. 

Suddenly the sound of footsteps sounded through the maze. They were close enough (Y/N) could hear the quick pace, the purpose someone would have to have to breeze through the leisurely maze like that. 

For a split second, her muscles tensed, her lungs squeezed. Her first thought made her want to run. 

The letters. 

Whoever wrote them didn't want to hide anymore. They waited until she was alone like this. They could do and say anything they wanted here. No one would even know with the cover of the hedges. 

Her heart raced in her chest when they grew close enough (Y/N) swore she could hear the sound of the grass crushing under the intruder's feet. Her breath caught in her throat. 

She whipped her head around just in time to see someone breaking into the clearing.

It was Harry. 

He had a scowl on his face, shoulders tensed, and eyes hard. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her sitting there in the grass, legs folded underneath her. 

(Y/N)'s hand fluttered up to her throat, a sharp exhale leaving her lungs. It was just Harry, he reminded herself. 

"Jeez, you scared me so bad just now," she breathed, sinking from how hard she had been tensed in wait. 

"Sorry," he said, lips thin as he shifted his gaze to the koi pond behind her. 

Though he looked just as closed off as he usually did, his demeanor matching his dark clothing, there was a bit more of an edge to his aura. If she didn't know any better, (Y/N) would think he was angry. 

He heard her say she would be out back, she knew that. He couldn't be angry at her when he didn't follow her out of his own volition. Right?

A slight pinch knitted her brows together as she looked up at him. "Are... Is everything okay?" 

Not shifting his gaze from where he had landed them on the blooms of roses in the maze, he gave her a curt nod. "Yes." 

"Okay," she said, unsure of what else to offer in the quiet of the maze. Awkwardly, she rose to her feet, brushing nonexistent dirt from her tennis whites. 

A beat passed before (Y/N) turned to face him once more, finding his gaze already on her. "You can keep walking if you want. I didn't mean to interrupt you," he said, his voice low as if to match the buzz of the bees. 

"Are you sure?" she asked, still catching the storm in his eyes even if it had settled some. 

Only a single nod was given in response. 

With that, (Y/N) was the one to lead him through the maze. Harry was a welcome ghost behind her, silently following. He didn't complain with every lingering step between the blooms, didn't bother her as she felt the softened rose petals, didn't push her through in annoyance of the bees flying around their heads. 

The second half of the maze seemed to relax him from the way she saw his shoulders relax, his gaze softening the longer they spent away from everyone else. She almost wanted to take him back to the beginning when they finally finished, the end of the maze opening up to a stone walkway that split with two avenues. One took them back to the bistro's patio, the other to the golf courses. 

"Are you hungry?" 

After the quiet that followed them through the maze, Harry's voice was a shock. 

"Yeah, actually." (Y/N) answered after a beat.

"C'mon," Harry said, gesturing for her to follow after him as he started down the pathway rounding back to the restaurant. 

The patio was just as bustling as when she had slipped through earlier, the expansive windows allowing her to peek inside and find her father still holding court. Pushing through the small gate that separated the space, the waitstaff turned to look at them from the pinched creak the iron hinge gave. 

A familiar woman smiled from where she stood at the extra hosting podium stationed outside. "(Y/N)," she brightly greeted her, "Are you dining with us after all today?" 

A short glance was spared in Harry's direction before (Y/N) was nodding. "Yes, please. Thank you." 

The familiar hostess quickly seated them, menus and glasses of water left on the table. The waitress would be only a moment away, they were told. The service was always on the quick side whenever (Y/N) was here; they knew good and well who her father was, and the club loved a generous member. 

Harry was quiet as they were waited on, looking over the menu as if it were a textbook to study. He didn't even look up when the fair-haired waitress made her way to their table. She introduced herself as Carly, though (Y/N) already knew her well enough from the last handful of times she had been dragged here by her dad.

"Before we start, were you wanting to open up a separate tab today, Ms. (Y/N), or put today's meal on your father's?" she asked, her smile bubbly as she relayed the same question they always posed. 

"On her father's." 

Flicking her gaze from the waitress, she saw Harry still looking at his menu as if he hadn't just spoken. That storm had returned to his gaze, a pinch appearing between his brows. 

Carly was silent, looking between the two of them. 

"On my dad's tab, please," (Y/N) confirmed, offering a soft smile before the silence had time to settle for too long. 

"Perfect," Carly answered, writing down whatever message needed on the pad in her hand, "I'll give you guys a moment with the menu and come back and take your order. Sound good?" 

"Sounds good," (Y/N) answered for them both, perfect smile on her lips until their waitress stepped away. 

Silence settled between the two of them, Harry still focussed on his menu. Though it was a bit bold for Harry to assume they were going to be dining on her father's dime, she couldn't deny it was a little funny. That was her own plan after all, she just hadn't anticipated his vehement agreement. 

Soon enough, their waitress returned. "Had enough time?" she posed, reaching to her apron pocket for her notepad.

Glancing at Harry, she saw the small nod he gave. "I think so," (Y/N) answered, already familiar with the menu enough to not have to glance through. 

"Great," Carly chirped, pulling her notepad out, "Any drinks? Starters?" 

Before she had a chance to order her raspberry lemonade, Harry piped up, "A whiskey on the rocks, please. And, the coconut mango cocktail." 

There was a beat that passed as Carly wrote everything down. (Y/N) looked at him with raised brows. That was not at all what she had expected; wasn't he still on the clock?

For the first time, he glanced at her over his menu, something loaded in his eyes as he tipped his chin towards the leaflet with all the drink specials printed. 

"And, for you?" Carly asked, facing (Y/N). 

"Um," she fumbled, "Can I get a glass of Chardonnay please? And the raspberry lemonade." 

(Y/N) didn't plan on drinking her wine, but felt as if she needed to match Harry in the ordering process at least. 

"Alright, I will get all of that going for you, and I'll be back to take your lunch orders." With that, their waitress left, her notepad snapped shut and her gaze just a touch wary between them. 

(Y/N) couldn't blame her. 

A moment passed before (Y/N) dropped her menu to lay flat on the table. Harry looked up at her through his lashes. 

"Are you really going to drink all of that?" Honestly, she wondered what a drunk Harry would look like. 

"No," he deadpanned, "But your father is still going to pay for it whether I drink them or not." 

The smile that tugged on the corner of (Y/N)'s lips was something that she couldn't help. It was out of character for the person she thought Harry to be—a loyal follower of her dad—, but definitely something she would have (and has) done herself. 

"Right," she answered, gaze shifting to the menu in search of the most expensive items she could spot. 

Maybe, Harry was closer to being on the same page as her than she thought.

—————

"Thank you, Carly," (Y/N) said as she signed the check, quickly passing it back to their server. 

"Of course," Carly beamed. Her smile only widened when she saw the three digit tip on the line for her. "Thank you, Ms. (Y/N)." 

(Y/N) didn't linger then, knowing Sully was up front waiting for them to be taken home. "Ready?" she asked Harry as she stood from her chair. 

"Ready," he answered, much more relaxed than at the beginning of their meal. 

Ignoring her father, (Y/N) left the bistro behind. He probably didn't even remember inviting her out for the day. It didn't matter, though, she thought. 

He'd remember the three extra appetizers and handful of drinks left untouched on their table.

—————

rêvasser is to daydream in french.

I know it's a little light on harry at the start of this story but more exciting stuff is coming!!!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas or anything please let me know !

[former-ghost-of-the-internet]

One Night in Medellín

(Screen shot and image edits done by me)

Summary: Takes place during s2ep5, when Los Pepes first attacks the narcos on the streets of  Medellín. You lose your hearing during a standoff and are dumped at the Search Bloc base. Javi comforts you in the aftermath, finding ways to communicate through your temporary deafness. 

Javier Peña x f reader

Word count: 3526

Rating: 18+ for some dark content in the background. My blog/‘place I keep my reblogs’ is very Mature, so no minors allowed there, sorry.

Warnings: series typical violence, hurt/comfort, soft Javi, tiny bit of your blood, descriptions of panicked reader, generally able-bodied reader, might read as shorter than Javi, only one instance of female clothing for a funny awkward moment, no specific descriptions of reader, hopefully this is fairly inclusive for everyone. No y/n, no smut.

Authors note:   100% bad information on everything medical related in this story. Any cultural inaccuracies are my own fault too. Apologies to Steve Murphy for being the butt of a joke or two. First time writing in second-person. Not American so the spelling will be slightly different.

Please enjoy 😊

....

Medellín nights were always festive, despite one man’s war with the Colombian government. 

You’d had a long but good day, far far away from the UNICEF office and in a little communa church hall, where you and the other doctors and nurses had vaccinated as many children as could be rounded up. Even the abuelitas had rooted out the most stubborn kids, and either guilted them into coming down, or whacked them in the right direction with their walking sticks and shoes, if not open palms on skulls. Each time was a commotion, and to ease hurt childish feelings, you slipped enough pesos into their hands for an ice cream. For the hard-working abuelitas a coffee cart vendor happily provided free coffee, after you had thrown a pretty smile his way and warned him the little old women were worked up enough to be a threat to anyone not on their side. And he absolutely wanted to be on their side. 

With the unused vaccines stored at a major hospital, and saying goodnight to the local doctors who’d been right next to you since sunrise, you’d headed to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant one nurse raved about during one break you’d taken with her, with free coffees, thanks to a sharp glare from the abuelitas, bless their hearts. 

It was further from the city centre than where you’d been told to stay close to at night, but you hoped your very bright UNICEF shirt would offer some protection in the dark. Even your backpack had a big red cross on it. Anything to say you were a doctor, here to help, and absolutely not a threat. 

The restaurant was packed, even the few plastic tables shoved outside were full, and the small waitstaff offered paper plates to take-away, which many people had chosen, and sat on the street curbs to eat, under the yellow streetlights.

At last the line to order, which the waitstaff had banished to wait outside the actual restaurant, had shortened to only you and the two men in front of you. They both carried full gym bags. And as you noticed with a slight chill through your spine, handguns tucked into their belts. They chatted together without a care in the world, as you looked away to make sure you didn’t see their faces, even in low-light. 

You stared up the street to the top of the hill and the man who walked down it with an assured swagger, encased in khaki pants. Like he’d stepped out of the jungle. 

You frowned as he passed under a streetlight. Something about his face was familiar in a bad way. 

He had his focus on the men standing next to you, and in a blink, drew his own handgun out. 

An arm grabbed you around your shoulders, pulling you back into a chest, your backpack falling to the ground. Then the cold metal of a weapon held to your ear. 

Shouts in Spanish between the men, some sort of negotiation happened as you tried to simply breathe. This is what everyone was afraid would happen to you, from the president of Colombia, to your superiors, and your family, down to the Medellín officials and a couple of American DEA agents. They’d all wanted you to stay out of the murder capital of the world. You’d told them no one would target you. The local doctors were still here, so why shouldn’t you? 

Now you were a human shield, not because of your work, but because you were the closest person to grab. You had never considered the possibility of it before this minute. 

The man behind you moved a step back, taking you with him. Except your legs refused to work, staying where you had left them. Another step back, dragging you along, and your legs crumpled underneath you, making you slide down his body at an awkward angle. Enough for the man in khakis to shoot.

The bullet entered his chest right by your ear. All sound stopped and you were falling.  

You landed on a dead man’s chest. On instinct, you curled into yourself and away from everyone, hitting the rough and hard concrete of Medellín’s streets. 

Hands grabbed you and hauled you to your feet, half carrying you to a waiting SUV. First you, then your backpack were bundled into the darkness of the back seat. The dead men’s gym bags also ended up with you. The owner of the hands hopped into the front, and the driver took off.

A hand came back to tap your cheek, grabbing your chin and twisting your head to look up. The accidental light of street-lamps and cars flashed across your view. He smiled at you and his mouth moved as if he was talking.

You frowned and focused on his mouth. None of his words were getting through to you. You blinked hard to try to clear away the fuzziness of the world, but it changed nothing.

His mouth made these exaggerated shapes and his spare hand moved in circles, like a hamster spinning uncontrollably on a wheel. Maybe he was shouting at you.

You blinked again to be sure, and then had to shake your head. You couldn’t hear anything.

He smiled then tapped your ear and gave a thumbs down. You nodded. 

That caused an explosion of arms from him, as he whacked his driver on the shoulder. Looking back at you, he took note of the UNICEF insignia on your shirt, and you realised where you had seen him before. Carlos Castaño. A paramilitary man based in the jungle, fighting communist guerrillas. 

You had met once before. You’d had to get permission from every side, paramilitary commanders, regular military commanders, government officials, and even the guerrilla commanders, before they let you step anywhere near the Amazon. All so you could vaccinate a few children in a communist village.

The communists had been straight-forward to convince, once you talked in their lingo, focusing on healthcare for all. For the others, a bribe that came out of your pocket, another a promise not to get in the way of anything and to get out in under 24 hours. The Castaños you convinced by saying the communists were dirty, potentially disease-ridden plague carriers. If the brothers couldn’t promise you every communist in the jungle dead in three months time, then they had to let you in to vaccinate, so no epidemic could start from their continued existence. 

You hated saying it, and drunk too much later that night to get the sound of it out of your mouth, but it worked. Those kids wouldn’t die from a preventable disease. But you couldn’t save them from a bullet shot by mad, greedy men. 

Carlos smiled at you again, and pointed his driver to take the next left. 

Some minutes later, the car pulled up to the curb.  Carlos turned to you and put a finger over his lips and shushed you. Then he dragged the same finger across his neck and finally pointed it at you. 

You didn’t know what your face was doing at this point, you probably looked like a scared rabbit, all wide eyes and trembling body. Carlos broke and laughed at you, waving you out of the car. You fumbled with the car door, and stumbled onto the dark, damp street, dragging your backpack with you. They sped off into the night as you stumbled with your own weight.

Not far away, in a pool of white light, was a gate-way guarded by Search Bloc officers. Carlos had dumped you, the little lost foreigner, in front of their base. Your legs co-operated long enough to get you to the gate.

The guards stopped you with one hand up and the other resting on their rifles. You raised both hands up, and announced to everyone’s ears but your own, your name and nationality, that your passport was in your bag. The words felt like they slurred coming off your tongue, like they were heavier than usual. You wondered if you made any sense, but one man nodded at you to continue. It took you no time to dig out your passport. 

With a short inspection of your passport, and a torch flashed into your face, the guards waved you through the gate. One of them touched your ear and brought it up to your eyes to show you blood. The other held his radio up to his mouth. 

As you checked your ear for more blood, a police car came from the base, and the guards helped you in. A short ride and you were taken inside the bright building. The lights blinded you, and you tried to cover your eyes, barely seeing the medic ushering you to a bench. 

You kept blinking, like if you could turn off the world for a bit you would be alright again. You’d be able to focus, to think, to speak, to hear. The outside world was right there in front of you, and as much as you tried to reach out, you were locked behind your eyes. 

A warm hand caressed your arm and shoulder, bringing your attention to its owner. Javier Peña. He stared at you with big brown eyes, looking you over better than any doctor. His hand slid down to yours, keeping it safe under his. 

Javi listened to the medic, then his attention went to a nearby officer, and you saw his lips ask a question, his eyes straying to the dark streets beyond the base. You shook your head, grabbing his shoulder with your other hand, pulling his eyes back to yours, shouting out your warning in clumsy sounds you couldn’t quite hear. If you had your way, no one, not even the narcos, would be out on those streets tonight. Especially not him. 

Because Javi cared. No matter what anyone, or even he said. His heart cared for so many people you’d lost count, though he tried to keep it secret from the rest of the world.

And somehow, somewhere, he decided he cared about you too.

Javi nodded, as serious as ever, and cupped your cheek. Message understood. Relieved, you crumple into him, his arm wrapping around you to hold you close. His chest rumbled, maybe talking to you, or maybe to the officer. After a few breaths, he squeezed your hand and tilted your body back to look at him. He nodded towards the stairs. You nodded back and he helped you up, letting you lean against him.

He led you upstairs, past many doors, until he reached one particular darkened room, and ushered you in. You recognised some of Javi’s colourful shirts piled on a chair, and larger piles of Steve’s shoes, pants, and tops, scattered over half the room and one of the two-tier bunk beds.

Javi led you to a small desk, its small lamp draped a soft light over the room, pulled out the chair for you, and poured a glass of whiskey. He made sure you had both of your hands cradling the drink before he let you take the slight weight from him. You sipped a little at the strong drink, watching as he first gathered up his few visible clothes, shoving them in a suitcase, and then collected Steve’s mess, roughly sorting and folding, then at last dumped into a closet.

Javi went to the neater bunk bed, not Steve’s, pulling back the thin covers, inviting you to rest there. But you didn’t move. You just sat there blinking at the world.

He came back to you, dropped to a knee, and untied your shoelaces, gently taking off your shoes. Setting them aside, his eyes looked you over again, and settled on the whiskey in your hands. He pointed at it, and then glanced up at you. It took a second or two before you realised he was asking if you wanted more. You shook your head and moved the glass away from you. Javi plucked the drink out of your hands. He had a quick debate with himself, ended with a short shrug, and then downed the remains.

Putting the glass on the desk, he swallowed again, before catching your gaze with his. He lifted both hands to his chest, cupping them like the air was something heavy he could hold up, and jiggled them up and down. Then he pointed at you and made a gesture like he was swiping a cobweb away. You frowned and he repeated the sequence. This time his cupped hands looked like a bikini top. You still had no idea what he wanted to say.

With a quick lick of his lips, he reached forward and tapped a finger on your bra strap under your top.

Your face heated as you realised his question. Did you want to take your bra off? Yes, you did, and you nodded at him.

Javi joined you in nodding, but then put a finger up, telling you to wait. Another nod from you, and he was on his feet, dragging out his suitcase again, digging to the bottom of it. At last he brought out a khaki green t-shirt, and placed it on the end of the bunk for you. As you got to your feet, he shoved the suitcase away and retreated to the door, closing it behind him.

He could have stayed and turned his back, but maybe Javi thought that was too hard to mime. You change out of everything except your undies, draping it all over the back of the chair, and slipped on the t-shirt.

The door remained shut. It felt colder without him in the room. You rubbed an arm to try to stop your shivers. Was he coming back? Should you wait? Or was this everything you could expect from him? He had done plenty for you.

He’s probably not there. Why would he be? He’s got files to read still, the radio to sit by, informants to call, Steve to rescue, or maybe he’s finding another bunk to sleep on. So long as he stayed on the base it would be fine. He would be fine.

The hallway is empty. It has to be. You were on your own, you just had to be alright with that. And you would be. Eventually.

It would take time but you would be good again.

You huddled into yourself, your eyes dropping to the ground, as you tried to make your heart understand that Javi had done enough for you tonight. Then you saw the shadow under the door, like something was behind it. Your hand was on the knob before your brain could think.

Javi twisted his body to face you. He had stood guard on your door as you changed. The worried look over his features seems to be a permanent guest this evening.

Your eyes must have said please come back, as he maneuvered you inside with a gentle hand above your elbow, and followed, closing the door again. He sat you down on his bunk bed, and then further down to lie on your back.

He rubbed your arms a few times, slow and comforting, staring at you for a while. At last one hand came up to cup your cheek and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You nuzzled closer, his mustache tickling your skin. Your heart, mind, and body called out for Javi to stay. Nothing else would help you, could soothe your tremors, calm you and find yourself again, like being close to him.

Javi drew back, and your hand shot out to grab his arm, gripped tight so he couldn’t leave you.

His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb soothing over the slight hurt he’d caused.

When your breathing eased, you pointed at him and then at the bunk below you.

Javi looked over his shoulder at the door, like he was saying he would find another place to sleep, but that wasn’t what you meant.

You jostled his shoulder to get his attention once more, pointed forcefully first at him then at your bunk. Not another bed, this one. With you. This time he understood. His eyes flicked from place to place, your bunk and then Steve’s bunk, even down at his shoes as he thought of something, and then he nodded.

You were shuffling to make room for him when he stopped you. Javi pointed at you then covered his eyes with a hand. He wanted you to keep your eyes closed, so he could get comfy too. But it meant you’d be down another sense. No sight and no sound. The world would be even further from you.

His eyes begged you to trust him. You took a few deliberate breaths, and he waited for you, watching for any sign of major distress. At last, you nodded and used both hands over your eyes to show you weren’t peeking.

In your darkness and quiet, the only company you had was the bunk under you and Javi’s weight next to your thigh. You could smell his aftershave and cigarette smoke, not overpowering, but most definitely there with you, and not leaving anytime soon. Nice and comforting and him. You took deep breaths of it.

He shifted his weight forward, one way then another. Shoes, you guessed. He came back to you, and did a short wiggle. Something landed next to your arm, soft and warm. His shirt.

Javi’s weight left the bunk completely. Panic made your muscles clench, and you forced your hands down into your eyes, trying to glue them in place, and breathed as best you could.

Something rougher and stiffer and warm landed on top of his shirt. Jeans? He was still here.

You waited a long, long moment for something more to happen.

Two fingers tapped the back of your hand. A deliberate action, purposeful, a message to you. Safe to look now. You drew your hands away and saw Javi standing next to the bunk in a pair of white boxers, folding his shirt and jeans away in his suitcase. He leaned over and placed a quick kiss on your forehead. A thank-you for your bravery.

He left before you could catch him, going to the bottom end of Steve’s bunk, lifting it up and closer to your bunk. He repeated with the top end, and you got to your knees, reaching over to grab the metal frame and pulled it in snug next to yours.

Javi, the genius man that he is, had just created a queen-sized bunk bed. Room enough for your body and his broad shoulders.

You watched as Javi climbed into his side, wondering how he wanted to sleep, when he draped his arm over to you, hugging you to lay snug against his side, your head resting on his bare chest, one of your arms across his waist. He fussed with the covers for a moment or two, making sure most of your body was underneath it.

He was warm and smooth and solid. Safe. At last. You breathed in deeply, his unique scent filling your nose, and then let it go. Another in, and out again.

Your heart had settled. The world was as far away as it needed to be right now. Or perhaps the world was as small as this room, as this bunk. This man. Your arms around him, and his around you.

If your eyes closed tonight, Javi would be there, under your touch.

One more thing left to do. You shifted to look into his eyes. They were filled with concern, until you whispered your thanks to his ears alone. Even a tiny smile on his lips crinkled the corners of his eyes. You couldn’t stop yourself from planting a kiss to his cheek. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, and he nuzzled his nose against yours as soon as your lips left his skin, then moved up to your forehead, kissing it again.

Those brown eyes locked with yours for a moment, before he closed his eyelids, and then opened them quickly and nodded at you.

He wanted you to close your eyes. So you did. You felt Javi lean in closer still, and then his lips placed a kiss first on one eyelid, then the other.

Opening your eyes, you pressed your forehead to his, and moved your hand from his chest, to soothe over his jaw, his chin, then trace over his lips. You wanted to kiss him there. And from the glint in his brown eyes, he wanted it too.

But it wasn’t the right time. Both of you knew it. Besides, you wanted to hear him.

Javi’s lips twitched into a soft grin as if he heard your last thought. His mouth formed words, slow but firm. Three short words. Then he settled you back down onto his warm chest.

You felt Javi’s heartbeat against your cheek, counted its beat without numbers, let its languid pace lull you further towards sleep, until at last your eyes closed with the peace he gave you.

And in your dreams Javi’s heartbeat was your world.

....

Thank you for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Jay Halstead: Sensory Overload 

I’m not sure how I feel about this one...But I spent the time writing it so you might as well get the option to read it. It was definitely better in my head.  

Warnings- Mentions of sensory overload, minor violence 

There is now a part two To Be Continued

You continued tugging Jay down the hallway of the police department. He and Adam had just gotten into a loud and unnecessary fight. Jay had been irritable for the last few weeks from the pressure of this case that involved an old military buddy of his and Mouse weighing heavily on him. He had crossed the line when he had swung at Ruzek connecting firm with a well-aimed hook that had knocked the other officer flat on his ass.  

Jay hadn’t protested when you had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of intelligence and down to the locker rooms. But he did when you pulled him through the room and into a smaller hallway out the back. “I know, I know I shouldn’t have hit Ruzek-” You snort at that. “I said I know I fucked up.” You open a half-empty supply closet, and the lights flick on automatically. You pull Jay into the room and the door slams closed behind you. “What the hell. If you're looking for a hook up all you had to do was-” 

“Shut up Jay,” His eyes meet yours before you reach back and flip off the light switch. He expects a forceful kiss and you to start tearing at his clothes. Why else would you possibly take him into a secluded room and turn off the lights? Jay wasn’t complaining. You were an attractive woman, and he would have to be blind not to notice. He is taken aback when instead you release your grip on his forearm, and he feels you shift back a step. “Just take a few breaths,”  

“I’m not having an anxiety attack.” Jay shoots back his voice bouncing harshly off the walls. His skin crawled when he thought others viewed him as vulnerable.   

“I know,” You soothe, “Just for once listen to me. Take a minute.”  

Jay scoffs, muttering to himself as he shifts on his feet before reluctantly doing as you say. He is already here, standing in the dark, feeling more than a little bit ridiculous. He might as well oblige you. It takes almost a full minute before he understands. He can feel his body reacting to the change in stimuli.  

When he had been up in the intelligence bullpen it had been stiflingly hot with the air conditioner being broken down. His clothes had clung to him making his skin feel too tight and like his nerves were trying to crawl their way out of his flesh. The florescent lights had been making his eyes burn and he swore the hum from them was echoing through the room. Everything was loud in that room. It seemed like everyone was yelling instead of talking, the noise reverberating through his head and making his head and behind his eyes throb.     

 This room is cold and dark. The only sound is the two of you breathing and the hum of the air coming through the vent. He could feel his irritation calm. His body was relaxing, the throbbing in his head dulling. It was as if a dial had been spun down to the lowest setting on everything. Jay sunk into the feeling. 

When his thoughts returned to him, he wasn’t sure how long you had both been standing in the dark room. “How did you know to do that?” He had whispered but it sounded louder, breaking through the silence.  

“It helps me, I was hoping it would help you too.” You whispered back. “Sensory overload can be completely consuming.” 

“Sensory overload,” Jay repeats trying to think if he had ever heard anything about it when he had done his mandatory counseling in the army. It sounded vaguely familiar but nothing concrete when it came to information. That's when it occurred to him. “Is this where you sneak off all the time?” 

You hum in agreement, “It helps when I’m having a hard time. When I need a minute to myself before I get back to it. I hope it helped you too.” You feel slightly awkward. You had been so sure that it was what Jay had needed when you had drug him down here. He sounded better but you couldn’t be sure. The two of you weren’t close. It was mostly your fault. You were on the shyer side, not a detective but a forensic scientist for the department.

Jay was cocky and sassy, always sure of what he was saying. It was intimidating. Not to mention you found him just a few degrees too high in the looks department. Despite that, he was a sweet guy. He had, on more than one occasion, stopped people from talking over you or butting in when you were laying out forensic information. At first, it had been awkward knowing you had everyone's full attention on you when giving your reports. In the end, it gave you a confidence boost.     

You hadn’t been thinking when you had grabbed his forearm and yanked him to follow you after he had laid out Adam.  

“It did,” Jay rasped, “Thank you.” He was closer to you now. You could feel his body heat like a walking furnace burning next to you. You trembled as you thought of the implications of the two of you being locked in this room together. His own words about hooking up ring back through your ears. You had flushed brightly with embarrassment that he had blissfully missed because of the darkness you had blanketed the two of you in.  

“We should probably get back,” It had been a significant period, and you were starting to lose your rationality of the relationship you two had. 

Barely friends, maybe not even friends.   

You heard his agreement, his focus returning to the case at hand, and felt him take a few steps to the door. He was reaching for the light switch when the impulse overtook you. You grabbed his forearm again to stop him from turning on the light. You pressed up on your toes and pressed a full but gentle peck on his lips. It was quick and chaste. Your confidence had died off quickly leaving you feeling embarrassed.  

Your heels had barely touched the floor again when Jay’s body was wrapped around you. His lips captured yours in a heated, lingering kiss. It was the only thing you could focus on. The intensity was wild and burned through you singeing all your senses.  

When he pulled back, he traced your bottom lip with his calloused thumb, “To be continued.” He promised. 

[ofallthingsnasty]

capture kill

Pairing: M!Werewolf x F!Reader x M!Werewolf Tags:  teratophilia, yandere, dead dove: do not eat, noncon, abduction, (attempted) forced impregnation, creampies, chubby reader Word count: 3.8k Summary:  Two men are secretly fighting over you.

Unfortunately, you’re about to find out.

Note: This started out as some dialogue that popped into my head and it was a lot of fun to write out the dynamic between these two OCs! Please read the tags properly and enjoy. Requests are open!

You smell before you feel.

The air is ripe with motor oil and wood, just like your family's little shack during summer evenings. An almost musky note lies underneath, mixed with something metallic, rusty - old equipment, maybe? It’s quiet, the only thing you can hear is your own breathing, deep and constant. There is the occasional creak from the boards, expanding and moving against each other in the heat. The wall you're propped up against is hard but warm from the sun - it’s not a comfortable position and the moment you realize it, a familiar ache settles itself in your lower back, clearly a sign that you’ve spent a long time sitting like this.

Did you fall asleep hiding behind one of the shelves with a book in hand, enjoying a lazy summer evening? 

It wouldn’t be the first time: The shack is the only place where you can truly be all by yourself - without any disruptions from your family, without anyone asking for you, without any chatter and the constant clatter of dishes or the static of the tv. You’ve always liked to hole up right here, seated on a cushion and with some snacks in hand. You’ve spent many quaint evenings like this, forgetting the world around you.

There is only one problem: You don't live anywhere near your parents' house anymore. 

And you’re pretty sure that you were just enjoying your favorite iced drink at the cozy little café around the corner. The thought shocks you from the very last bits of sleep.

It’s dim around you. You can barely make out the rest of your body while an unnatural drowsiness still clings to your eyes - it seems to sit right on top of your lids, weighing down on them like a ton of bricks. You feel so incredibly groggy, as though you’d die if you didn’t fall back asleep this second. A small part of you fights against the feeling - it’s too easy, you think, to just simply give up. Something is off, something terrible churns your stomach around nothing but air.

Rolling up your head, you blink at the ceiling. 

Green eyes peer back at you, big and apologetic. They're lined by silvery-white fur, between them a muzzle. Too high above you to be a dog, too broad. The thing is bipedal - more bear in body than canine, with disgustingly big paws that look like they could rip you limb from limb. It eyes you with something akin to curiosity, intelligence clear as day in its gaze.

You blink again, brain trying to catch up with your eyes.

And then it speaks. Awful, garbled words. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

You can’t help but scream.

Or at least you try to, because your mouth won’t open. Your lips are held together by something hard and sticky - duct tape, your mind numbly supplies as if it’s of dire importance.

The thing looks stunned - panicked, even, as far as you can tell from its eyes widening at your muffled protests and your head wildly swinging around.

“Yeah, yeah you’re sorry”, another voice cuts in, only making you thrash around harder. “We get it, you’re trying to save the romantic atmosphere or some shit.”

It comes from the corner of the shack, where a shadowy mass stands, postured leisurely against the wall. It is dark - but there is no doubt that it looks just like the wolf-man in front of you. You feel like you’re hallucinating. As if being abducted wasn’t something out of your worst nightmares already - these animals are so bizarre, your poor brain doesn’t know what to do with all of this information.

“Well, how do you expect me to go about it?”, the one in front of you hisses back, eyes not leaving you for a second.

“It definitely helped the whole fighting thing, dumbass”, the other thing snickers and the wolf-man growls at the mocking tone. “I told you we should have just done the deed when she was out cold.”

The sentence confirms all of your worst fears. You whimper against your makeshift gag, trying to suppress tears. The thing gives you what you think is supposed to be a sympathetic look but it only looks ghoulish on its canine face.

“That’s barbaric”, it says, voice thick with disgust. “Yeah, and this right here is the height of chivalry and romance”, the dark one chortles. “As always, you’re a fucking hoot.”

“Shut up.”

“Well- I’m sure, the missus would like an explanation. So quit yapping and do your little monologue, will you?” “Fuck you.”

It gives the other an irrated look and then takes a step forward. You flinch away from it, only to meet the wall behind you. An attempt at raising your hands in defense is foiled thick rope binding them together - you can only cower behind your forearms, fingers swiping, gripping wildly through the air with what you hope is enough to keep it at bay. The wolf-man looks almost sad at your motion but doesn’t back off - those giant paws wrap themselves around your shoulder with surprising gentleness as it crouches down, completely disregard your attempts at scratching it. The thing holds your gaze with big, sad eyes and takes a stuttering breath. It seems to want to say something but isn’t able to - and the fingers on your shoulder tighten themselves into the fabric of your shirt.

Then it says your name- and chokes up. “I can’t-”, it grits out. “I can’t say it-” “You’ve been preparing your shitty talk all the way up here, grow some fucking balls.”

It whines in response, the sound high and miserable. “She’s going to hate me for this.”

“Oh my god, shut up, Evan!”, the dark one snarls again. “She’s gonna hate you either way, believe me.” Evan. The name rings a faint bell even in your panic-ridden brain. Evan. The baker from your favorite little shop a few minutes down - who has the same green eyes to match this thing. A couple years younger than you and so very sweet like the pastries he bakes - you can hardly believe he is this monster. But clear as day, in front of your own two eyes, the wolf responds to his name and has his eyes - even his blond hair sort of matches its coat, if you squint. You thrash in Evan’s grasp, thoughts rushing through your head. You feel like you’re dreaming and dying at the same time - that thing can’t possibly be a human - and this situation can’t be real, either. It’s all too much, too fast. You’re starting to feel faint.

“I-”

“Fine. I’ll do it myself, cuck.” The other steps forward and you get a better look at him, even through the black and green spots that are sprinkled all over your vision - his dark fur is peppered with silvery streaks, his muzzle turning white from age. One of his canines is chipped and makes him look roughed up, makes him look scarier than he already is.

"You see, sweetheart - me and Evan over here are quite… interested in you. Tried to settle this issue for weeks. But then our alpha stepped in and came up with", he waves his paw around as if to show you something, "this."

"And now we're gonna fuck you and see which one knocks you up first, hm?"

You lose it. Whimpering against the duct tape, you throw your legs around, desperate to fight them off. Some animalistic part of your brain supplies you with the thought that just trying to scream no, no, no against your gag might make them spare you, might make them go away. But Evan doesn’t let up, he keeps his hands on you, heavy and warm.

"You scared her, fucking asshole!", he snarls, teeth bared and fur raised.

“She wasn't gonna like this either way, boy. Some woo-woo words and a little sap won't make her fall for you immediately.”

You thrash around helplessly, efforts futile against the monster holding you down.

"You had the chance to ask her out every damn day when she took her pretty little face to your shop. And didn’t you follow her home sometimes?”, the other one snickers, clearly delighted in picking on his mate.

It makes you stop dead in your tracks and you look at Evan with wide eyes, scared. 

The darker one laughs. “Would you look at that. Did I tattle?”

By now Evan’s claws are buried in your shoulder. It hurts, even through the cotton of your t-shirt. Not even your whimpered protest seems to reach him. He looks positively murderous. “See, loverboy over here isn’t as innocent as he’d like you to think. Nasty little creeper, that one.”

“Shut up, Bill-”, Evan grits out.

Bill. Such a mundane name for a monster like him. Unlike Evan, it doesn’t ring a bell - but you’re sure he is a local just like the young bakery worker.

“That's enough”, Bill says, voice suddenly full of authority. “You’re only making this worse for her, boy.” The paw on your shoulder trembles. “At least let me go first.” His voice is nothing more than a whimper now, more reminiscent of a sad child than a fully grown man grotesquely stretched into the body of a wolf. He sounds absolutely pathetic like this and you’d pity him in any other situation.

Bill laughs, deep and ugly. It’s an almost dry chuckle that gets gradually louder. The atmosphere shifts to something more dangerous, more serious - gone is the playful teasing, now it sounds like he’s ready to rip Evan’s throat out with his bared fangs.

“I am your elder. I get to go first.”

Evan doesn’t respond. He just stares at your lap with an indecipherable expression.

“You hear me, boy? Hugh said this was the way to settle things. Trying to question your alpha?” The threat in his voice is clear. Evan finally opens his mouth. “No.”

“Good. Very good.”

He finally lets go of your shoulder and steps aside. Bill doesn’t waste any more time - you’re grabbed by your ankled and roughly pulled onto floor, helplessly flailing your bound hands through the air. He’s on you almost immediately, caging your head in with two thick arms. You can only stare up at him with pleading eyes, trying to beg him to stop with your expression alone.

“Sh, princess”, he says, almost gentle. He bows his head down and nudges the crown of your head. “I can play nice with you, you know? I just don’t like that little cuck over there”

His words do little to calm you. 

Whimpering against the tape, you let tears spill freely. You just want to be home, in your bed - just anywhere but not here. “It’s okay”, he murmurs and licks them away with his rough tongue. “You’ll be fine. You’re a little fighter, I know you are.”

A growl sounds from the corner but Bill isn’t fazed. He caresses your face with one clawed finger and crinkles his eyes at you. It’s another attempt at a soothing gesture, another one that doesn’t work.

“Poor thing, hm? Let’s get this over with.”

You can barely cry in protest before he rips your shirt open with sheer force, digs his claws into the cotton like it’s butter. Your skin prickles with fear as he eyes you, soft form and all, like the finest cut of meat he’s ever seen. Gone is that almost-warm expression, that deceptively gentle touch. He’s back to his snickering, old self. “Cute bra, baby. Too bad it has to go.” And with that, Bill slashes the straps and rips the band away. Your torso is completely bare in a matter of seconds, leaving you to shiver on the rough wood, the scraps of your shirt barely shielding your back from the ground.

Evan groans from his place and the sound curdles your stomach. 

“Just ignore him, baby”, Bill says and bares his teeth into a ghoulish smile above you. “He’ll have his turn but I’m gonna knock you up and keep you.” With another rip of elastic and cotton, he frees you from your pants. The floor is cold against your skin and you already can feel the splinters that are about to bury themselves into you - but it’s nothing compared to the terror awaiting you. “A little uncomfortable?”, he hums above you. “Sorry about that, babe. Gonna have to do for now.” He stuffs his whole snout into your bush and groans. The feeling is alien, his muzzle warm and wet and you shudder with it. “You smell divine.”

When he pulls back, his dick is unsheathed, hard already. He palms himself while he stares down at you, dark eyes enraptured by your form. 

“You’re just-”, he grunts. “About the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen-”

He pinches the fat of your belly with a surprising gentleness, the sting tender. 

“Look at you, all soft and round. So perfect for me.”

He leans over and kisses and bites your neck, your shoulder, even your jaw - gently, which only freaks you out more. He really won’t stop, will fuck you in a matter of minutes and you can’t do anything about it. You know you aren’t ready to take him and he is definitely bigger than average in this form. The dread that blooms in your stomach feels like a punch to your gut. 

“Deep breaths, princess”, he rasps above you, able to read every single thought that flits through your head in your terror-filled eyes. “Nothing much you can do now.”

As sick as it is, it rings true somewhere deep in your panic-riddled brain. Bill shuffles around a little bit, without ever breaking eye contact. There is a warmth that touches your leg and you know exactly what it is - his cock rests heavy and hot on your skin. Slightly wet with pre-cum, it twitches between your thighs. You barely dare to peek down, not wanting to see what is about to happen.

“I’m gonna enjoy this.” Bill groans, buries his muzzle in your shoulder and pushes himself into you. He is incredibly thick and it burns. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve experienced before - raw fear for your life leaves you dry and clenched uncomfortably around his dick, making him snarl and hiss above you. You can feel your own tightness around him and fold your bound hands into nothing, fingernails digging themselves into your palms.

If only you had something to grasp, to make this more bearable. The only thing you can do now is grit your teeth and take it.

“Oh shit, princess”, he sighs, completely blissed out and without any regard for your pain. To your surprise, he bottoms out slowly and waits for you to adjust - or at least what he thinks adjusting is. You're still not ready when he finally starts fucking you in earnest, slow and deep. 

"Fuck-", Bill grits out directly into your ear, his voice muffled. "You got the perfect cunt, baby. So fucking- tight."

You pay little mind to his words, too focused on the steady push and pull, on the dry stab of his cock.

“Knew it when I first saw you that you'd be perfect for me. And I'm gonna-”, he moans obscenely loud as your cunt flutters around him. “I’m gonna fuck you full of my pups- just wait-” The thought of being pregnant with this monster’s child almost makes you weep. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”, he groans, his pace picking up. “My cute little wife. That’s what you’ll be, princess.” The sentence earns him another threatening growl from Evan. He only laughs in response, deep and unspeakably ugly. “Yeah, you’ll be perfect-”, his hips crash into yours as he fucks you even faster, the sound vulgar and loud in the otherwise silent shack. “I’m gonna make sure that this little cuck will cry himself to sleep for the rest of his life. Gonna give you a bunch of brats-” It’s clear that he’s just rambling now, too entrenched in his own pleasure. But the thought still makes you still freeze in fear, the very possible future of being with his child terrifying. He’ll give you at least one, to claim you. Ruin you forever.

You clench around him in fear and he loses it - snarling, drooling and almost hollering above you, he fucks you so hard your head gets pushed into the wall again, every thrust bending your neck into an awkward angle.

You know he has to be close now and you’re grateful for it. One, two heartbeats pass as keeps pounding you so hard you know you’ll feel his dick in you for days to come.

“Oh- fuck”, he grits out as he buries himself into fully, the stretch making you bite your cheeks to bear the pain. “I’m gonna knock you up-” And then he’s spilling himself into you, the hot, wet feeling of his cum deep within you. Bill yelps and shouts as he empties himself into you, various curses and praise peppered in between the moans. It takes him a good minute to calm down again, to collect himself.

Still a little out of breath, he smiles down at you with almost sadistic glee as he licks the side of your sweaty face. “Come on, cuck. Time to get your sloppy seconds.” He’s on his legs in a heartbeat, still marveling at the mess he made just seconds ago. “You better do it quickly because my swimmers are already working their way up there”, Bill laughs and all but shoves Evan out of the way as he goes back to his place in the corner. “Have fun, boy.”

The younger man is by your side in an instant.

“It's okay, honey, it's okay”, he whispers, those big green eyes filled with tears. He tries to soothe you and strokes the top of your head but the gesture only freaks you out more. “This is all my fault, and I'm sorry, so sorry.”

The apology would have been a little more sincere if his dick wasn’t already poking your thigh.

“Oh, darling”, he sighs tearfully. “I’m so sorry it had to be like this- I just- ”, he starts but interrupts himself with a hiccup. “I swear, if I had talked to you sooner-” Not even the snicker from Bill’s corner can snap him out of it. “But I’m gonna make it right. You’ll see, I’m gonna make it up to you, darling”, he babbles on, his words only unsettling you more and more. “You’ll have to forgive me, yeah? You have to.”

He’s a goddamn lunatic. 

You can’t help but look back at the older man, almost wanting him to intervene. Before you can make any eye contact, you’re pushed into a hairy chest by a tight hug. “I promise. But first, we’re gonna get through this”, Evan rumbles out above you, making the dread flare up again.

He wastes no time after that. You’re freed from his arms and placed on the ground - gently, but with unsteady hands. He looks as though he’s drooling above you, parting your legs and sniffing your belly with anticipation. His cock seems to be a little smaller than Bill’s, but considerably thicker - it bobs up and down as he licks your stomach, your tits and your neck, his tongue almost shy.

At least Bill’s cum serves as a lubricant, you think, as sick as it is. “My pretty girl”, he hums. “And soon all mine.”

And indeed, the stretch is almost bearable as he enters you. You’re glad he doesn’t reach as deep as Bill does because the speed at which he fucks you is sloppy and fast from the start - he pushes into you with so much need and desperation it knocks the air out of your lungs with every thrust.

“I love you”, he moans. “And we’re gonna- we’re gonna spend our lives together, yeah? I’m gonna take such good care of you-”

He’s talking himself into a frenzy, his words nothing but the lovesick rambles of a freak - they just make you feel more hollow. “Really love you, angel- oh-”

His muzzle opens and he kisses you over the duct tape, tongue pressed against the plastic and spit sliding down to the sides of your face. He doesn't seem to mind, not with the way he moves his jaw against your taped mouth, frantic and uncoordinated. It’s disgusting.

Unable to move away, you can only press your eyes together and let it run down your skin.

“You’ll love me too, I know it. Just know it-”, he pushes your hands onto your chest as a leverage to go even faster. “We were made for each other.” “We’ll forget about this and live happily ever after.” Now he sounds completely delusional.

His twisted little fantasy of domestic life with you only spurs him on, his moans getting more choppy and broken with every slap of his hips against yours. He seems to be a quicker shot than the older man, too hung up on his bizarre dreams and hopes. You thank whatever godly entity out there for it.

“Fuck- darling, I think I’m about to-”, he whines but doesn’t get any further before his orgasm rips through him.

You’re a proper mess now. The second load of cum feels obscene within you, all warm and sticky as it spills out around his dick and onto your quivering thighs. He fucks into you for another few, sloppy thrusts before he stops to catch his breath. Evan looks so calm suddenly - gone are the tears, the shakiness. He gently kisses the top of your head, the gesture tender. 

“You lovebirds okay?”, Bill says, his voice suddenly quiet, higher.

Evan’s head snaps again, a weak growl telling the other to stop his teasing. You use the shift to peek up from underneath  him, curious as to what changed. A naked man stands in that same corner in Bill’s stead, smoking a cigarette without a care in the world. Salt and pepper hair is fluffed up on his head, slightly greasy - your tired eyes have seen him once, you’re sure of it. 

“Like what you’re seeing, babe?”, he grins and whistles out some smoke. 

“Leave her be, Bill. She deserves some peace now.” He barks out a laugh, then takes another drag from his cigarette. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” Finally, Evan pulls out, forcing out an obscene amount of cum and fluids out of your abused cunt as he withdraws. It lands on the floor beneath you unceremoniously, the noise sickening. He caresses your stomach before he gets up, already contemplating how you’ll look like swollen with his child. “We’ll have to wait a little but she’ll stink like one of us soon”, Bill snickers at the sight, one chipped tooth just as pronounced as it is in his wolf form. He pats Evan on the shoulder in an almost brotherly fashion, both too worn out to fight anymore. Bill stomps out the cigarette with another sigh and stretches as though he is simply a little tired from a long day. He grins before holding the door open, the world outside already dark.

“Don’t worry, princess. We’ll be back tomorrow morning to make it stick.”

End note: And? Who would you pick? Maybe even both? Do tell me 👀💕

[deadricslover]

Relationship dynamics with SV5

here's my masterlist!

a/n: this is the first formula one post on my account! if you read my late night thoughts volume one, then you will know my love for f1

summary: just some relationship dynamics and scenarios with our fave <3

warnings: use of y/n...IM SORRY, language, mentions of sexual themes, long post?

pairings: fem!driver!reader x different eras!Sebastian vettel

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obvious x oblivious

the Australian Formula One race. It has always been one of your favourites to drive. It is clear why you have such a liking for it because you have so many happy memories from there. The time difference from your home country is the one thing you detest; it is impossible to wake up and go to bed at the right times here.

"last year's winner, how are you feeling" your teammate and best friend Fernando asks, nudging your arm and stopping you from what you are doing

"sleep deprived but excited. what about you? did you sleep at all"

"Very little. I watched a few of the films you suggested to tire myself out, but it didn't work" he responds in that all too familiar Spanish accent

you respond, "they were just too exciting" and you giggle a little. You two continue talking while you get ready for the upcoming race in the sweltering heat. Fernando says he is going to do some laps around the paddock to get some fresh air and invites you to come and you agree, needing to get out of the claustrophobic garage. You two are chatting about strategies and the meal you had the previous night until you hear your name being called. Lewis grabbed your attention since he hadn't spoken to you all weekend and wanted to ask you a few questions and say hello. You tell Fernando to keep moving and you'll soon catch up with him.

he agrees and continues walking until he gets to the red bull garage and spots Sebastian.

"hey mate, how's it going?" seb asks the world champion

"all good, man. what about you?" he replies

"good good. Ferrari are looking strong this weekend."

"yeah we are. this track really suits y/n's style of driving so I have high hopes for us this weekend." Fernando compliments, as soon as he says your name he looks over to you and lewis talking and seb follows his line of view to find you. seb secretly-- well, he thought he was subtle but infact he was the complete opposite, seb had a thing for you and Fernando always tried to get him to ask you out but he never had the guts to.

"yeah, she's great" he says, love oozing from him as he stares at your smile when talking to lewis and the way your hair falls.

"seb, seriously. I cant bear this anymore. please ask her out. you've got a hard on right now" Fernando informs the red bull driver

"what?!" he replies, looking down and seeing nothing and realising Fernando had caught him out.

"fuck off" Sebastian replies.

you look over to see Fernando and Sebastian talking and you smile and wave over, completely oblivious to the looks seb is throwing at you. this wasn't the first time though, seb had tried flirting with you before but you always thought it was friendly banter. you never thought Sebastian could have feelings for you.

"y/n's gonna be too tired this weekend anyway so you got off easy." Fernando tells him honestly. He wasn't wrong though, he could straight up say 'i love you' and you would just thank him. the jet lag kills you.

"another day or I swear-" Fernando starts

"okay, I get it. you want me to ask her out. I'm working on it"

"she is also just so oblivious to the signals you're giving her, so it's not entirely you're fault"

"thank you" seb replies sarcastically as he just now is realising that you're unbeknownst to his attempts.

another day... hopefully.

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

bf who speaks another language x gf who is learning for him

it's widely known in the formula one community that Sebastian is infact German and German is his first language. for you, however, you don't speak German and you feel like him speaking your native language all the time is a bit unfair. so, you decided to get some lessons and watch some videos to try and learn some German for Seb. he doesn't know about this though and you thought it would be a nice surprise for him. you feel confident enough in your skills now to have a conversation with him. You both were at his parents house for dinner and German was being spoken here and there to accommodate seb's parents.

"Aus diesem Grund werde ich deinen Vater nie wieder kochen lassen" (because of this, I am never ever letting your father cook again) seb's mom tells him and the three of them laugh and so do you, seb looks at you confused and asks

"you don't need to laugh if you don't know what we are saying, basically she said that-" he starts but you cut him off telling him what she said

"she's never letting your dad cook ever again because he destroyed her favourite dish" you inform him and he looks at you lovingly but also even more confused than before.

"how did you know what that meant?" he asks

"I've been learning some German for you. did I get it right?" you answer

"for me? you didn't need to do that, darling" he replies placing a hand on your thigh and drawing shapes on it to show a bit of love.

"it's unfair that you're always speaking English for me, so I need to return the favour"

and with that he couldn't keep his eyes off of you the whole night. for you, it's nothing much, just showing appreciation. but for him, it's everything, the fact you were willing to learn a whole new language just so he could feel a sense of home. he appreciates it more than you know.

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

chef bf x gf pro taster

you have spent the whole day with one of your dearest friends who moved away a couple of years ago with her boyfriend, but now, she is back in town as they broke up and you offered her a place to stay until she gathered herself and found her own place, of course you had ran this past Sebastian and he was also okay with it as he knew how close you two were even when she wasn't physically with you. you two just got home from collecting her from the airport and getting lunch while seb was out also doing his own thing.

the aroma coming from the kitchen as soon as you stepped inside was unbeatable, Sebastian had spent the evening cooking a lovely meal for the three of you to eat when you got home. you show your friend to the room she is staying in and then make your way down to the kitchen to see seb. you enter the kitchen to see his back turned to you and he was stirring a pot.

"what are you making" you ask appearing next to him.

he informs you what he is making and the sides he is preparing also. he takes the spoon out if the pot full of the food and blows on it to cool it down before placing it in font of your mouth to taste.

"taste it for me? be careful, it's hot" you say before blowing on it again and taking a bite. it was delicious.

"seb, that's so good" you compliment

"I try" he replies smiling

"is this what it's gonna be like living with you guys for he next couple of weeks?" your friend comments entering the kitchen to find the two of you.

"she is my professional taste tester, I need her opinion" he replies to her and we all just laugh it off and eat dinner which was unreal. if Sebastian failed as a driver, he could have been a chef and would have been a renowned world famous one too. not that he wanted that but he sure could have been.

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

overly affectionate x blushes easily

seb is the most affectionate man you have ever met, he always must be showing you love in some way, whether it's holding your hand, bringing you flowers, letting you decide what movie to watch, he just wants you to know how much he appreciates you. he also notices and takes into account, every little thing you do so he can incorporate that into his daily life.

for example, this f1 season had started out great, but a couple of races back, Ferrari had gotten some new upgrades to the car that didn't work and have been jeopardizing your performance. They assured you and Fernando that they would work out and to give them time and experiment different tactics that suits this particular upgrade. Needless to say, you were not looking forward to this race at all. you hear your name being called from the front of the garage, so you walk out to find seb in his racing suit, ready to go but with a t-shirt saying I heart you but with your initials and racing number. you could have kissed him right there but wanted to keep the pda away.

"seb that's so sweet, I love you so much"

"anything for my favorite driver"he replies which makes you blush

"that's a bit biased, don't you think?" you reply while he grabs your hand lightly in his

"I don't care" he smiles

despite you trying to avoid pda for the cameras, you don't care in the moment, so you kiss him. just like you said you wanted to. To be completely honest, with Sebastian you don't really mind showing a little bit of pda because you care for him so much. he just brings that out in you, he brings out the best in you.

the gesture replays in your mind and you start to blush just thinking about it, seb's lips against yours and his hands around your waist add that all add to that blood rush.

"awh, you're blushing." seb teases as he pulls away

"stop" you whine slightly embarrassed at how easy it is for him to get you to blush. again, seb just really brings that out in you.

seb hums in disapproval as if to say no way and places a kiss in your hair whilst keeping you close to seal it all in. you make a mental note to snap a photo of him in this t-shirt to brag to your friends about how much better seb is than their boyfriends....kidding obviously....

------------------------------------------------- I have a pt. 2 if you guys want it!

[dailydoseoflhs]

04: Media.

══════════════════════════════

Lucille receives a notification from Instagram. Her eyes reads along the line of THE Charles Leclerc liking her story and her post.

The first instinct she does was to call Julia and fangirl with her.

The two girls was screaming at the top of their lungs as if they have won a lottery. Her profile getting followed and her post getting more engagement due to Charles' engagement to it.

Her phone pings, Julia sending her articles of "their" supposed relationship. When in fact, her and him are completely strangers to one another.

Some fans goes far as calling her homewrecker saying that she ruined Alexandra's ans Charles' perfect relationship.

Lucille hangs the call, closing her phone to detox.

"Anak? Okay ka lang ba?" (Lucille? Are you okay?) Her mother questions as she enters the room with Lucille's favorite snack.

"Okay lang po ako, ma." (I'm fine, mom) Lucille answers with an assuring smile on her lips.

The girl takes the snack and place it on her nightstand. Her mother was not chronically online, so she remains oblivious to what is happening.

The media is now calling her the new love interest. The scary part is, they are trying to get more information on her.

Good thing, she doesn't input her information in any of her social media accounts. Only birthday and nickname.

"She's 9 years younger"

"That's an age gap trope😍"

Some approves due and some remains not so happy with it.

══════════════════════════════

withlove_lucille posted a story 1min ago●

══════════════════════════════

Notification 🔔

@charles_leclerc liked your story

@charles_leclerc has started following you back

══════════════════════════════

Lucille saw the notification and decided to ignore it.

Charles is definitely just being a nice gentleman and appreciating his fans support for him. She knows that the man is still undergoing a heartbreak recovery.

Probably, sooner Charles will undo everything and realizes he is being hazy.

But Lucille despite her self-assurance could not shake it off. Why her? Why did he chose her to interact with? Was there any reasons?

Something in her mind is telling her something.

The invisible red string glowing gold as two soulmates has found their way to one another.

Entangled with hardship but by the looks of the string, it was a string that is strong and cannot be cut off.

══════════════════════════════

Meanwhile.

Charles accidentally liked his fan's post and story. Her congratulating him and posting him on his story, he felt big joy seeing it.

He knows his fans are ones who never gives up on him and so, he will not give up on them either.

Charles couldn't undo the like thinking that the user might think he didn't like their post and story, so he let it be.

But the next few hours, he didn't expect that it will blow up and a theory about his relationship. He couldn't understand, why he couldn't appreciate his fans at peace without a rumor being created?

He returns to the user's profile and liked the newly posted story about the situation, them clearing things up.

Charles accidentally clicked the follow as if his finger has its own mind. He panics making him close the phone and pace around the room.

He couldn't unfollow the user now especially his eagle-eyed fans that saw him following the account.

He is so doom. He is so done.

The media will have a field day with this. All because his fingers always slips up with this particular account.

Indeed, the medias has released articles about it already. Not even an hour passed and there are articles already.

He starts to feel bad for the person he dragged into this. The innocent person behind the account will be entangled in this mess.

Despite his panic, there is a certain feeling of familiarity. A sense of knowing towards the account as if he have know the person behind it for a long time.

The red string of fate do really have its own way. The accidents that he experience were not accidents but a glimpse of the future.

MASTERLIST || PREVIOUS || NEXT

Author's note

Update for you all! I survived my midterms, I'm kinda free from uni works...but I can't say I'll update regularly.

Regarding the taglist, it is open for everyone. I still have to fix it as I can't tag some accounts.

🏁🆑️🏎❤️

[transnats]

Chapter One - One That Got Away

Dont buy TLOU | Daily Click | Series Masterlist

Kinks/Warnings: Canon-typical violence, death, light gore, mild language, canon-typical setting

🎙️ Xan Says: Woo woo I really like this chapter actually! 😆 I did edit this late last night but for the most part there shouldn’t be many typos? But if there are, just ignore them. :p So anyways I hope you guys enjoy this! Also also, if you didn’t notice I added dialogue in from the game! I’m really proud of that but I think its a wee choppy but look past it for the love of god.

W/C: 1.1K

A loud bang wakes you from your sleep. You jolt awake, your dreams of a peaceful life fading away fast. You were familiar with the person standing before you — a new addition to the WLF that was learning quickly.

“Did you forget? We’re doing that raid on the village today. Issac told me to come find you. We have to go, now.” She said, obviously being in a rush. “Cmon, we have to go,” She’s trying to pull you up but you don’t move. “Seriously!” She stresses.

You were reluctant to leave for two reasons. One, the raid was poorly planned. It seemed like another one of Issacs plans for more bases all over Seattle. It was so fucking stupid. You had no other information other than you’d go in, wipe them out, and take over their village — horrible in the eyes of others but a-okay in the eyes of these soldiers. Second, because you were exhausted.

The large black clock on the wall of the dingy med-bay reads 09:45:06. Why was literally anyone willing to leave right now? You could barely see anything from how dark it had been, not to mention that it’d been raining out.

You weren’t really in the mood to hear anything from Issac or anyone else, so you drag your feet towards your worn backpack, retrieving your guns and snagging a med kit before following the girl. 

Rain water sloshes underneath your feet as you step out. You pull your hood over your head before you listen for instructions.

“Listen up!” Issac barks from the front of the group. “We’re raiding that island of Scars. Don’t hesitate, take anyone and everyone out immediately. Do we understand?” His voice was full of disdain when speaking about the Scars. A resounding “yes sir!” waves over the crowd. A few people break off into groups but of course, you were stuck with Issac and his posse.

You hated every second of this. You were shivering as it became slightly windy out, the trees swaying in the direction of the wind. Leaves are spread across the ground of all different shades.

Had you have been inside right now, the rain would’ve been peaceful. But now you hate every second of the rain. 

The trip to the village was long and hard. Seraphites were in your every corner. You heard the screams from your people and theirs. It was gruesome to say the least. This overall seemed like a death mission. It was too risky — it seemed like they had more people than you and god were they armed to the nines.

You can hear bullets in the distance mixed with your own. You’d never gotten used to the kickback on this new gun you’d stolen once on lookout, but you were trying it again.

You ignored the shoulder pain and you continued forward. Whistles vary from long to short, which you’d assumed was their way of communicating. These people might’ve been trained but you knew you were better.

In terms of skill, you and Abby were on the same level; albeit not like, exactly level. But you two had skills that could get you a spot as the “best Scar killers” compared to the other soldiers. 

You’re currently ducking behind a large truck as you reload your guns and wrap bandages around any scars that were visible to you at the moment.

“How did we let this happen?” A male Seraphite questioned. “I don’t know, but we’re ready.” Another male responds. But how ready were they? This was like a two-fer. They let their guards down just enough so that they hadn’t been paying much attention to their surroundings.

You aim your gun. Inhale. You line up your shot on the first guy, resting your finger on the trigger of your gun. Exhale. You pull the trigger and the bullet flies, landing in his forehead. The other guy looks around frantically, yelling and pointing his gun in any direction.

You sneak up behind him, putting him in a chokehold. “Not a word.” You grumble angrily, grunting with effort. When life slips away from his body, you toss him to the floor. Obviously you pick up their guns, inspecting them and taking the ammo out. Slim chance any of this could be useful anyway. 

You make your way back to your group, moving through the mainly cleared parts of the village. Boots sloshed in the mud and people screamed as your guns blazed. You switch to a pistol with a makeshift silencer. The gun, in your opinion, had been a bit faster than the one you were currently using.

“Maggie, is this area secure?” A man yells over gunfire. “It better be! We just mowed down these fucks. What’s the plan?” She responded while also firing her gun. “We’re heading to the capital. Take your team and clean the villages by the farmlands.” 

You listened to the conversation, and it intrigued you. You almost followed the woman but any ideas of that are gone as more Scars appear. “How many of these motherfuckers are on this island?” You grumbled. The bloodshed continued, more bodies dropped and weapons flew.

To the unarmed, scared people, this would’ve been a great area to snag a couple guns and whatnot from. You continue following behind Issac. For what it seems now, it was clear. Walking the streets was.. hard. Bodies of Seraphites and Wolves line the streets with gruesome injuries, blood gushing from their wounds. The sight of death always almost nearly made you gag, but you chose to ignore it.

Chatter passes through Issacs group. He was taking the group towards an old radio tower. You looked up into the distance and it didn’t seem to be very far away — maybe a few minutes give or take. You were glad that by now the rain wasn’t as hard as it was. It was quiet for a while, then gunshots rang out.

“More Scars ahead. Keep your head on a swivel.” Issac instructed. The groups ahead of you were fighting back, but it’s hard to tell if it’s a winning or a losing battle— but why would you care about that right now? You wanted to survive. Every man for himself. Horrible mentality to have obviously. But that’s just the way this crazy, fucked up world works. 

You join your team in the onslaught of killings, snapping necks and killing Scars that lunged at you. Some part of you wishes that this wasn’t so gruesome.

A gun fired. “Got one!” A guy from your team yells. Your head shoots up, looking towards him. “No! Yara!” A voice yells. You know this voice, it’s all too familiar to you. You couldn’t believe it. “Holy fuck, is that Abby?” 

[kurov1864]

Balam hcs: how you met

- Balam would probably be one of the firsts to catch on that maybe, just maybe, you weren't who you really claimed you were. (The other being Kalego, because duh background checks)

- Considering that he's the one interviewing due to his bloodline ability, he would've sensed that you meant no harm towards the students or Babyls, but you just keep lying about the weirdest questions??

- Questions like, "What's your favourite food?" (you said "grilled devicoons", but it was your mom's tomato soup), "What do you like to do in your free time?" (you said "reading", which wasn't necessarily wrong, you just didn't specify you read books on how to survive in the demon world because despite living here for almost 5 years, you still couldn't get rid of the paranoia that there was always something more you could learn or obtain which would let you feel safe, and well, with survival constantly on your mind, reading wasn't that enjoyable anymore)

- You get the idea. You were suspicious, but not suspicious enough to warrant them not hiring you. Besides your questionable honesty when it came to casual information, you were the ideal candidate they were looking for to teach rune magic. Not a lot of demons used it after all, and Momonoki sensei was already handling a lot of classes.

- But that didn't mean that Balam would just stop, no no no. He was the white gargoyle of Babyls, which meant that if there was a suspicious figure on school grounds, it was his job to monitor it.

- So he would memorise your schedule, always be monitoring you from the corner of his eye, you get the idea

- From this, he would also pick up small habits of yours, like how you hate the bitter taste of coffee but need the caffeine, so you decide to give yourself diabetes by adding like 5 packets of sugar inside, instead of just switching to tea.

- After a while of you being a good little human demon though, his suspicions would ease just a bit and you would find it easier to approach him now (Not that he wasn't approachable in the first place, but whenever you guys talked it seemed as if he was probing you for something? Call it the fourth sense or whatever, he simply felt unsettling to be around)

- Maybe after a few chaotic events or two, you would've earned his trust by consistently proving that yes, you indeed did protect the students and Babyls, and no, whatever you were hiding probably would not cross over into the professional side of things. And that was good enough for him.

- After that, normal coworkers.

- Completely normal.

- Besides the increasing desire to see you? Yeah. Completely normal.

- Maybe it's because he's spent so long monitoring you, but he realizes that every time he enters a room, he subconsciously searches for your familiar figure

- Not that he's going to do anything about it, of course

- He's self-aware and emotionally competent enough to realize that he feels something towards you, but partially because he doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, and partially because he's scared you'll reject him, he decides to keep his feelings hidden

- Spoiler alert: he's unsuccessful

- Anybody with two eyes and a brain can easily figure out that he is absolutely smitten with you.

- Whenever you walk past, his eyes would naturally gravitate to your moving figure, forgetting what he was even doing as you saunter out of his line of sight. This would only be worsened if you notice him and give a friendly smile and wave, practically sending him into a stuttering mess, in front of students no less.

- This spread rumors, and boy did they spread fast. Students gossiped, and sometimes even teachers contributed, but somehow someway you still remain oblivious. Balam didn't know whether to be thankful or not.

- Of course, what brought you two closer is our dearest protagonist, Iruma.

- The way you met Iruma was simple: you overheard him muttering to himself something about "missing Japanese food"... but wait. Japan? There wasn't any Japan in the demon world-

- So Iruma sort of outed himself to you (accidentally). After this incident, you made sure to properly warn him about the dangers of using human terminology anywhere that wasn't his house, because seriously, what if somebody from border patrol overheard him instead of you? He would be interrogated and even if he had the excuse of being one of the great three's grandson, he would be considered somebody suspicious. (And if you started favouring him just a little bit over your other students, nobody had to know)

- And of course, we all know how Balam literally broke the staff room door when he found out about Iruma's lack of wings.

- Coincidentally, you were in the staff room at that time. Worried about Iruma's shock from almost getting found out, you decided to follow them, only to see Balam leading Iruma into his lab.

- That... doesn't seem like a good sign.

- You leaned against the door, trying to listen in to their conversation. If Balam still suspected Iruma, you were just going to have to find a way to distract him and get the hell out of there. But oh, imagine your surprise when you heard the conversation.

- "I'm... actually human".

- Argh seriously, that damned child. This is the reason why you hate kids.

- You immediately throw open the door, ready to blast Balam to get both Iruma and yourself the fuck out of there when you see Balam collapse from his chair, leaving both you and Iruma staring awkwardly at each other. Him, because he didn't know how to explain this situation, and you, because now you look like an absolute maniac almost destroying Balam's door. (Congrats, clap clap clap)

- Clean up time! Once Balam gets over his initial shock (of Iruma being human and you almost breaking his door AND knowing about his situation the entire time), you both chew Iruma out for being careless and randomly blurting out his special status, of course reaffirming each other and even perhaps bonding??

- Anyways, it seems as if Balam is more trustworthy than you thought :D

[schneiderenjoyer]

My Descent Into Madness About Unilogs

This is more of a full blown conspiracy theory than a theoretical analysis of information, keep that in mind.

So, as always, this will be VERY long and ramble-y so take your time reading!

I left off in my discussion about The Wheel's connection to the Storm and it being the possible key to how it all works without really explaining it. This is why.

The Wheel doesn't just have the ability to create fog that repels the Storm within the suitcase, but also has the ability to summon arcanists.

Through a two dimensional golden thread weaved onto the spindle, it can't be felt tangibly and it doesn't seem to truly "exist" in that realm. But with enough of these "nonexistent lines" can Vertin call out to an arcanist and bring them there.

Specifically any arcanist of any timeline. Regardless of if they've ever been reverse into that era yet.

As well as the implication of summoning an arcanist not just from their timeline, but from another universe's timeline.

Now, I'm about to pitch you the conspiracy theory part of the essay, so entertain my insane ramblings for a bit because this is gonna be one of my hottest takes known to man.

Sonetto didn't survive the Storm in the prologue.

Here's my reason why I consider this a possibility:

We barely knew Sonetto's personality in the prologue, so it'd be easy to do this switch compared to doing it at a later date. But what we can glean from pre-1966 Storm and post-1966 Storm Sonetto is her immediate tonal shift.

Sonetto before the Storm is far more subdued with her way of speaking with Vertin. Professional and could even be considered more polite.

We can chalk this up as her being on Work Mode and with the Storm's arrival approaching, it's far more important to get the task done than her relaxing her mood.

So, let's think about why I think it's not possible for her to make it back to the Foundation on time. In the prologue, we see them discuss a new form of teleportation device still being improved by LaPlace.

It's a means to have a better way to teleport a large group of people from a much farther distance.

With this in mind, it's important that they have the disks to immediately evacuate because it'll take longer to get back to the safety of the Foundation. But they used all three of it. One to summon Vertin.

One to intercept the enemies.

And one-

Was used by Regulus to escape.

And with that time, they only hade 45 minutes left before the Storm hits. Sonetto instructed her squad to go back ahead, leaving her to go with Vertin to investigate.

Even if we're absolutely generous in stating she can get far with using consistent fast travel arcane spells to move her to safety, how much time did she have?

Not enough. Not even the best teleportation spell can get her back in time assuming the nearest London branch is just a subdivision away.

Speaking of teleportation spell, we can even use one of the teleportation spells as a reference. Aferoj Around.

It's one Sonetto suggested Vertin used to summon her, but immediately dismisses it as a possibility. It could be because of the fact that the range wouldn't make sense assuming that Sonetto's been summoned from the main headquarters all the way to where Vertin is. So even an advanced arcane skill like that can't just summon someone in that great amount of distance.

While it's also should be taken into account that with the reverse having send them from 1966 England all the way to 1929 America, it's still an impossibility if they were to still be within London. Because if that kind of spell is so easily executed consistently, then they wouldn't be developing the Teleport disk. It's an advanced skill for a reason and even that has limitations. So other less taxing teleport skill wouldn't have the distance needed to get Sonetto back in time.

Which brings us to post-1966 Storm Sonetto and the wild implication of her summoning. For one, her reaction is far more brighter and excited, familiar even. Much more like the puppy we consider her to be now. It can also interpreted as shock, but the demeanor compared to post-1966 Storm Sonetto at least has a slightly noticeable difference.

One of the biggest difference though, is this:

Madam Z somehow knew about what Vertin's doing and has instructed Sonetto specifically to seek her out.

If we can believe in Vertin's words here, she's never told anyone about this. Not even Madam Z. So to boldly be told that they knew all along is a strange difference that even took Vertin off guard.

Why this is important is to ask you this. Just how much can you tell if someone is replaced with another version of themself? We're all lead to believe that those differences are drastic, but alternate universes doesn't have to be full blown change. It can be as simple as putting on your right sock first rather than the left that day.

Which is why it'd be so cruel and so sneaky to actually have done this switch in the first place. Because we don't know Sonetto enough to have noticed the change. And Vertin doesn't know her enough either after 4 years of not really being that close to her.

And how can I say this could be possible without a little bit more evidence to entertain it? Well, Chapter 5 is the reason I'm making this theory in the first place. And that's because of one person.

Diggers.

This man. THIS MAN.

Canonically fukin joins the Manus. This manfailure is the sole reason, aside from one more reason but i'll get into later, why I thought about this possibility.

Because you can say that maybe after this event in the island he'll just defect to Vertin's team later after suffering the injustice of the arts or whatever, but I like to point back to one of the listed descriptions of Unilog's capabilities.

It can sometimes change the fates of people. So what I'm suggesting is that the Diggers we end up recruiting isn't the same Diggers, but an alternate universe one who didn't join the Manus as he was literally ripped from his timeline to join Vertin's instead.

This could explain many more of the characters in the roster being from timelines far into the past or even far into the future like John Titor. Heck, it explains dead people like Click and Poltergeist being there when they're supposed to be dead. Because summoning them through The Wheel has the potential to change their fate.

So yes, you can also argue that means Vertin did end up saving Sonetto from reversing and they actually do have their timeline's Sonetto still, but there's still the possibility that she's just another universe's Sonetto. She's both this timeline's Sonetto and not at the same time.

Schrodinger's Sonetto. (Note that this isn't the accurate use of Schrodinger's cat logic, it's mainly a joke)

Which now leads up to 100% the ultimate reason why I wanna pitch this idea as possible and y'all already know where I'm leading up to, this is just a huge build up to one thing and one thing only.

S C H N E I D E R.

THAT'S RIGHT. IT WAS SCHNEIDER ALL ALONG. You think I wouldn't go a single damn analysis without talking about my bbygirl? You're dead wrong. If this summoning system has the damn ability to yoink people from another universe and change their fate, then the possibility of getting Schneider back is far more real. Heck, you can even pull a version of her that actually IS an arcanist like y'all I fukin swear I'm not delulu, PLEASE--

ahem.

So that's my thoughts about what could unilogs do. I know it's extremely far fetched, but I like to entertain these ideas in hopes that it might give people a lot of other theories to craft!

[jahayla-parker]

Ok, this is my first time requesting anything but I've been reading your works for a long time and I am a complete sucker for platonic fics so here it is: Headcanons for being Jeremiah and Conrad's younger sister. If you don't wanna do this it's totally fine. Thank you

Hi, thank you so much for all your support and reading my fics!

Obviously they’re brothers so you can’t be the sister of one without the other, but I’m breaking it up a bit to organize my rambling Headcanons about your relationship with each of them individually too.

Younger-Sister!/Fisher!Reader x Sibling!/Platonic!Conrad & Sibling!/Platonic!Jeremiah Fisher Headcanons

Jeremiah As An Older Brother:

He would indulge in every hobby, interest, sport or activity, etc. that you ever found yourself enjoying or wanting to try. He’d do it to not only support you but to spend time with you as well; even if he didn’t enjoy the particular activity you’d be doing.

He’d be both supportive and protective when it came to you dating. He’d worry for you and your wellbeing but also encourage you to not be shy or insecure.

Jeremiah would make tons of jokes in front of your crush. Sometimes he could accidentally go too far; as such, he’d apologize for it and probably fumble over himself in his attempt to undo it.

Jeremiah would offer tons of advice (although it might not always be the best or most helpful).

He would attend all of your extracurricular activities to cheer you on.

He’d be the one to teach you how to drive, making playful jokes throughout your progress.

He’d be more relaxed about you aging and trying more adult things like drinking. That’s not to say he wouldn’t be watching you closely to ensure you were safe. He just wouldn’t be as direct or restrictive about it.

Conrad As An Older Brother:

Whenever you were sick, you could count on Conrad to be there to take care of you. He’d be probably a bit over-the-top at first with it, but he means well.

Conrad would be very protective when it comes to you dating. He’d be overly cautious about your love interest hurting you in some way. He’d warn you of any red flags he saw. That’s not to say he wouldn’t be there when things went wrong. Instead….

Conrad would be there to help you get through any heartbreak or breakup. He’d likely rely on the adult women in his life (such as past lessons from or experiences he’d seen Susannah handle, or from talking with Laurel) to know what to do. But, you can count on him come to your defense and aid and to have your fav ice-cream (or other comfort food of your choosing) ready, your favorite movie pulled up on the screen, and face masks/etc ready for you and he’d never truly say “I told you so”, even if he did; he’d only say it if you pushed him to and even then it would be in a joking lighthearted manner.

He wouldn’t be the best when it came to handling you dating, but you could count on him to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.

That being said, he’d try to keep Jeremiah’s jokes in front of you crush from truly crossing any lines or hurting your feelings. He’d laugh along with the ones that caused you to blush, etc. but wouldn’t let them go too far.

Conrad would be the best for advice. He would frustratingly always seem to have the answers. Conrad would even look into topics in which he wasn’t very familiar with or informed about before offering his advice to you.

He would attend your sports and extracurriculars. If he knew enough about them, he’d be able to offer tips or tricks on how to improve; if you were okay with that.

Unlike Jeremiah, Conrad would struggle a lot with you growing up. He’d have to work on not being so controlling and restrictive. It wouldn’t be easy for him to let go and not see you as someone he needs to constantly look after/over. He’d be proud of all your accomplishments and milestones, but he’d also feel somewhat distraught about the changes.

Overall, Conrad and Jeremiah would really do everything they could to be good older brothers. It would honestly at times almost be competitive in nature between the two of them. But, at the end of the day they would both love you and do their best to care for you and help you become a great person.

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[raven-fucks-around-and-writes]

ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ᴡᴇ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀꜱ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ..?

Reader finds out their relationship was nothing but a lie

word count: 803

In hindsight, you should've seen this coming. Yelena arrived out of nowhere. She planted herself in your life, and seemingly changed it for the better. You two were extremely happy together; calling each other things like angel and my love., having movie nights, taking each other on stupid dates. Even her group of friends welcomed you with open arms and smiles on their faces... It was amazing while it lasted

reblogs > likes

You and Yelena hadn't seen each other for a week. Your work was keeping you occupied, and her job was as well. You worked in the government, which meant constantly being around and handling sensitive information. You were used to it, though.

The week without her was bizarre. She was distant, and it felt like the world without her was quiet and lonely. It sucked, but atleast your vacation was coming up. No work, no stress, just you and Yelena.

As soon as friday came, you kicked off your shoes and threw off your jacket, flopping on your couch with an exhausted sigh. "I'm not leaving this spot for the next 4 days." you mumbled to yourself, typing in your girlfriend's number. Atleast you had her. she had been patient with you, she loved and cared for you.

No answer.

That was fine, you knew she was busy. Time passed and eventually, you slipped into a deep sleep with one hand held around your phone and the other peacefully resting on your stomach.

—

The next morning, you woke up to a text from Yelena. Your heart jumped, and you felt moonstruck as if she were your first love. You fumbled to grab your phone, aggressively combing the hair out of your tired face as if she could see you

Her text read:"Hello, my love. My apologies for being busy, I've had some things to attend to. Could you please come over to my house at 10 AM? I have something I'd like to share with you."

You eagerly stood up from your awkward sleeping position from the couch and began getting ready, making sure to wear something you knew looked good on you.

You arrived at Yelena's house carrying a basket of her favorite things, knives, muffins, etc. As you walk up the stairs, you notice her door is open.

 "Huh, weird. She's usually very adamant about security."

You keep walking up the stairs as you hear your girlfriends strained and frustrated voice, worry pricking the back of your mind.

"Look, Barton. She's on her way now."

"Yea, she fucking better be, our asses are on the line here." You heard his deep voice reply back, sounding equally as frustrated.

"It hasn't even taken me that long. Earning someones trust takes time, you know this."

You recognized "Barton" as your mutual friend who you met through Yelena. You two had gotten close over the past few months, and you had never been happier with so many new friends. They were honestly better than your own family

Their voices became more clear as you got closer, practically standing a few feet the doorway now.

"Look.." He released a heavy, exhausted, sigh

"You just need to get the codes from [reader]. That's it.. then you can do whatever. Never talk to them again, act like this never happened, whatever. You just have to do this one thing.”

Your heart dropped as a million questions danced in your mind. Your breathing picked up and you felt dizzy as their conversation continued. What were Yelena and Clint talking about? 

Their voices began to sound muddled as you got lost in your own head, at this point you could barely hear their conversation as you stood in a daze, still close to the doorway.

Was your girlfriend just using you this entire time? All those nights you two spent together were just a damn lie?? all for what.. just some codes? Why does she even need them? What the hell?

Finally, you snapped out of it and realized there was sudden silence in the room you weren't even really in. You looked up and saw your girlfriend's familiar green eyes looking at you. Not with love, but with.. a blank expression you hadn't seen on her before. It was.. determination? fear? realization? Either way, she knew her cover had been blown. You had heard everything.

You stared at her, tears filling your eyes as you backed away. 

“Yelena? You there?” Clint’s voice rang through her phone, easier to hear with how suddenly quiet the world felt. 

He was in on this too. They were all in on it, it was all a fucking lie. Every single friend you made through her, every single connection was just built on dishonesty made to deceive you.

She stepped towards you as you backed away a few steps.  

“I can explain.” She said. Typical.

“No.. you can’t. If you ever call me again - No, if you ever come within 50 fucking feet of me again. I’ll.. What can you even do to someone like her? What even was her real job? Her real name? call the police.. Pathetic.

You turned on your heels, the tears finally spilling from your eyes, walking away from Yelena, who was a stranger you once knew. 

[swaps55]

Mezzo - 10 - Jagged Lines

Pairing: mshenko | Rating: M Tags: Canon-typical violence, trauma, dealing with your problems poorly, body autonomy struggles   Summary: The twists and turns of ME2, through the eyes of everyone but Commander Shepard. Chapter Summary: Horizon.   Thank you so much to @sinvraal for being an amazing beta!

Chapter 10: Jagged Lines | Read on Ao3

11 December 2185, Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik System, Normandy SR-2

Shepard comes out of his briefing with the Illusive Man a different person than when he went in. Cold, brusque, locked on a target only he can see, like a grenade without a pin. Jacob takes up position on the far side of the conference room table. As if that will somehow minimize the splash damage.

“Seems like we got something,” Jacob observes, as Miranda, Dr. Solus, Vakarian, Massani, and even Jack file in and take up places around the table, where a projection of a planet Jacob isn’t familiar with rotates slowly. Only the krogan is missing.

“Colony in the Traverse lost comms an hour ago.” Shepard speaks into the comm. “Joker, I need a course laid in to get us to the Iera System in Shadow Sea. Right now.”

Jack leans a hip against the table, twirling a mote of dark energy through her fingers, about as far from Miranda as Jacob is from Shepard. If squad cohesion is the goal, Shepard’s got some work to do.

“Uh, that’s a tall order, sir. Iera isn’t exactly next door.”

“I don’t give a shit, Joker. Get me there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“EDI, I need everything you have on the planet Horizon.”

“Downloading requested information to shore party datapads.”   

Jacob flips on his own datapad and opens EDI’s freshly delivered file to do a quick skim. For several of the colony abductions, Freedom’s Progress included, comm failure had been the first sign of trouble. But by the time the silence had been noticed, attempts made to raise them, and scout ships deployed to investigate, they had been far too late to even see a collector, much less stop them.

The Illusive Man had set up monitoring programs for virtually every human colony in the Traverse. Seemed like a monumental amount of resources to spend on what amounted to looking for a needle in a haystack.

…Unless you actually find the needle.

“Long range scans from the Illusive Man don’t show anything in orbit,” Shepard goes on. “We’re going to do our damndest to get there before the collectors make their move.”

Pipe dream, Jacob thinks. He skims through the data. “Population’s over six hundred thousand. If this really is the collectors, it’s the largest colony they’ve hit yet. Could mean numbers.”

“We’ll adapt,” Shepard says flatly.

Miranda taps a nail against the conference room table. At the rate she speed reads, she’s probably already through most of the report. “It has to be the collectors. Human colony in the Traverse, independent from Alliance control. They’re a perfect target. This could be our chance to test the countermeasure and gather some intel on what they’re doing with these colonists.”

“And save more people from abduction,” Jacob prods.

“Of course.”

Solus paces back and forth from his spot beside Shepard, three paces each direction. “Countermeasure ready to be tested. However, if seeker swarm density exceeds test models—”

Shepard cuts him off with a scowl. “We’ll adapt.”

Jack folds her arms across her chest. She hasn’t touched her datapad. “What’ll they give us in a fight?”

“We know they have at least one ship capable of taking out a frigate without breaking a sweat,” Jacob replies. “As for the rest, guess we’re about to find out.”

Garrus swipes at the holo projection of Horizon on the conference table, the reticle of his visor flickering as he adjusts the HUD interface. A rendering of the main colony site map takes the place of the planet. He points a talon at something on the southeastern perimeter. It flashes red.

“Since when do independent human colonies have Alliance AA guns?”

Shepard’s iron gaze flicks away. “Since a few weeks ago, apparently.”

“Is Alliance on the ground?”

The gravity well does a somersault. Jacob’s eye twitches. Like nails on a chalkboard.

“Yes.”   

Read from the beginning | Read the rest on Ao3 | The Mezzo Playlist

[vasiktomis]

Sick Leave (Nanami Kento x GN!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Years after you both quit working at the office, Nanami is still scandalised by your lack of workplace etiquette.

Rating: Explicit (minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~2500. Warnings: Kind of sexually deviant behaviour. Masturbation. Premature ejaculation. Reader Is A Wearer Of Cardigans. Read it on Ao3 Here!

He’d known you from the life he’d abandoned. Across rows of desks, wedged into the corner of the room where as few people as possible could ever see your monitor. He’d known you from the lunchroom. From taking his meal break long after everyone else so his return to work would only warrant another measly hour or two before he could leave again.

He’d known you from brief eye-contact and small-talk, and far too many work absences to justify for an office worker in Tokyo. On the odd occasion, the boss would lament your absences due to sickness, but if there were any telltale signs beyond indicators of hangovers, you seemed in perfect health when you were present. 

For a while there it entertained him, wondering if you were actually ever even sick. Both of you seldom interacted with the rest of the office, but you did manage to hold his attention, if not be fascination, then at least by resentment. 

When he left, he gave no notice period. By no means was he looking forward to becoming a sorcerer again, but dropping a full-time job after years of fruitless dedication was…thrilling. For the first time, he understood the hype.

You left an impression on him, even if he had no intention of staying in touch. 

Perhaps that’s why he so readily recognises you when he’s standing in line at a cramped little deli four years later. Hunkered down in a corner booth by the window as always. Phone in one hand. Sandwich in the other. He’s never seen you without office clothes, but he’ll admit, the cardigan is a nice change. 

He’s ordered lunch already. Gojo holds up the line behind him, stroking his chin at every single menu item on the board. It’s plenty excuse to break away from being publicly associated with him, stepping to the side to observe you while he waits. 

You look nice. Time has been kind to you.

Then, you look up, and god help him, he doesn’t look away fast enough. There’s no pretending he wasn’t looking. 

“Nanami.” You greet, offering a lazy wave from your table. 

You remember him. 

His posture straightens ever more, bumping Gojo’s chin when the man tries to peek around his shoulder. 

It’s with a curt nod that he acknowledges you, as well as the server, plucking his sandwich from the counter and turning away to reciprocate with your own name. He’d rather walk out altogether, but he’s trapped waiting for Gojo to hurry up and decide on his damn order. 

Instead, the man follows him to your table.

“Been a while.” You say.

“It has.” He agrees. With every response, his current coworker’s gaze shifts between you. No doubt gathering as much information as he can through nonverbal means. It’s acceptable, for the moment. At least he hasn’t started speaking, yet. 

Your gaze combs him, head to toe. It’s a look he’s grown more familiar with in recent years since returning to the school. White-collar spinsters recognising the visage of a salaryman who dedicates far too much of his time to himself and therefore won’t ever have to be dealt with in prospective marriage. 

“You got bigger.” 

Here we go. 

“I have.”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

…

Unexpected.

“No, it doesn’t.”

A little smile creeps onto your face at that. Nanami, meanwhile, gives you nothing. He’d like to compliment the cardigan, he thinks — but such a thing would be incredibly forward. Especially under the scrutinising gaze of his coworker.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and Nanami steels himself to be made a mockery of. 

“Hey.” Gojo mutters, affording you a glance while he regards Nanami. “I’m gonna order. You stay here and catch up.”

With that, he’s striding off, leaving the two of you alone. Part of Nanami is relieved that he isn’t being dragged through a humiliating spectacle. Another part seethes at how astute his coworker has decided to be for this interaction and this interaction only. 

There’s an awkward moment of silence. You were never stupid; no doubt you’ve registered why Gojo has aborted the conversation. Nevertheless, you gesture to the seat across from you. “S’not taken, if you and your—“

“Coworker.”

“Coworker…” You trail off. “Doesn’t look the office type.”

“He’s a teacher.”

Your head tilts to the side. Curious. “You’re a teacher now?”

“No.” Nanami answers. Then he sets his lunch down, shrugs out of his blazer, and sits. 

“Well look at this. First lunch we’ve had together.”

That’s not necessarily true, but he won’t say anything. He’s spent plenty of lunch hours in the distance past sitting unseen at a table while you shake the life out of a vending machine. 

Nanami neglects his sandwich for now, folding his hands atop the bench. “Are you still at the office yourself?”

You snort. “God, no. Left not long after you did.”

“I see. What do you do now?”

“Freelance, for the most part. And you, if not teaching?”

“Let’s go with freelance.”

You chuckle at his response, and he does not like the spark of old camaraderie it strikes. He does not like the memories it stirs up. He’s not before been so aware of how prone he was to studying you across tables in the past. You smile at him like you know him, and he does not like how appealing he finds that.

Gojo better hurry up. 

“You’re looking well.” He probes, clearing his throat. “Are you feeling better?”

That earns another curious tilt of your head. “What do you mean?”

“You always took a day off during the week. I assumed you were sickly.”

“Oh!” Realisation crosses your face, halting you moments before you take a bite out of your sandwich. “Yeah, that was bullshit.”

Nanami almost chokes. Outrage comes first. Then, passing amusement that his suspicions held water. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I knew it. How did you justify such dishonesty?”

“Just hated the job. I was pro rata. Whenever I accrued nine hours of sick leave, I took a sick day.” You explain. “Then, when I quit, I took my payout without having dipped into it.”

A lump forms in Nanami’s throat. Stilling him.

You’ve been playing the system. That’s scandalous. That’s downright indecent. Something in his core tightens, turning molten in milliseconds. Terribly familiar. Exceptionally rare in the presence of others. 

He does his best to level ire at you rather than admiration. “That’s not a particularly respectable way to build your career.” He comments, and the way you smile at his admonition has him slipping further. 

“Nanami.” You chide, leaning forward just slightly, and even across the table Nanami feels compelled to lean back lest this all become far too intimate for public witness. The tone you lace around his name. The minute tap of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Something’s wrong here. Something feels wrong. “Being a worker ant sucks. The boss refused me a salary to worm his way out of bonuses. Why not work the system to get a four-day work week?”

A surge hits him out of the blue, so ecstatic and shameful he has to avert his gaze from you to keep from implicating you in whatever’s happening to him. A throb follows, leaving arrhythmic little echoes in its wake, and all of a sudden, Nanami feels every muscle in his body momentarily slacken.

He catches his exhale before it can incriminate him, swallowing audibly.

Crap.

He — he can’t have — 

Yet a sickly new warmth is the nail in the coffin. Spontaneous orgasm. No — not spontaneous; you pulled him through such a shameful confession, and he fucking came because of it. This was your doing, and he’s terrified at both possibilities — that you either know what you’re doing, and this is deliberate — or if you’re totally ignorant to his situation, and he’s far more messed up than he imagined. 

At least he’s skilled at holding his composure. On your end, his only tell might be the tick of a muscle in his face. 

He has to get away from you. Immediately. 

Your expression shifts. A notch concerned. “You okay? Your eye was just twitching— "

“Everything’s fine.” He states. It will be, once he’s retreated. “I’m leaving. Excuse me.” Then, he’s shimmying out of the booth and snatching his blazer to situate in front of him before he — let alone anyone else — can assess the damage. “My coworker is — I need to —“

Gojo is still holding up the line with his order. There’s no chance of using him as an excuse. He has no choice. He has to abandon ship.

You don’t move from your seat, watching puzzled as Nanami slips away. The sandwich remains poised in front of you. A mission not quite aborted. “Well, all right, it was nice chatting.”

Nanami isn’t so sure. As he hurries out of the building and shambles to the car, he can’t decide whether this interaction is the second or third worst thing to ever have happened to him.

Ijichi straightens out to glance at the rear view mirror when the sorcerer clambers into the back seat, taking refuge with his blazer held fast in his lap. “That was quick.” He comments, and Nanami makes an effort not to take offense. “Where’s Gojo?”

“Drive me home please, Ijichi.”

“But he’s getting my lunch…-“

"Now, please."

Ijichi’s disappointment radiates in a slump as he flicks on the indicator and pulls onto the road.

_________________________________

The instant he’s shut the front door, Nanami wastes no time. He tosses his blazer on the hallway table, moving through his apartment. First things first; he needs to get himself cleaned up. 

One hand hurriedly tugs at his belt while he heads for the bathroom, reserving the other for turning on the light and bracing his weight against the basin as he unzips his fly. 

Nanami assesses the damage, checking beneath his waistband. A disgusted scoff escapes him. Thankfully nothing has soaked through his trousers, but it’s a mess, and what’s worse — he’s hard. 

He weighs up his options. He’s going to have to wash up, either way. He could punish himself for such a slip-up, or he could give his body what it wants and curb the craving. 

It’s been a long time, after all. 

Screw it. 

His fingers feel freezing wrapped around his cock. It breaks immersion and pulls a choked breath from him all the same.

Nanami doesn’t draw it out. He’s far enough along and has far too much to do to warrant anything but efficiency. If he’d have gone out of his way to conjure such thoughts he’d be ashamed, but they come like an assault, crashing over his thoughts. Washing out the rational in their wake and leaving him with a photo book of rapid-fire images to spur him on.

His pace is led by instinct. You’d be torturously slow with your mouth, winding him down after a long day, toying with him when he lacked the energy to get himself off. Your hands would be faster, working him with precision in minutes-extended breakaways from work. 

A shiver runs through him. His grip on the basin tightens. Last round's spend and pre-cum soak the gaps between his fingers, adding a wet tap to the rhythm of his hand. Now that’s a nice thought. Applying a fraction of his salaried hours to this. Sneaking off with you. The higher-ups none the wiser that they’re paying the two of you to get each other off on company time— 

God, would you have the same attitude to taking your own pleasure? Or would he have to speed you up, compensate for your laziness?

He could show you. He could do it. He could have you fluttering around his fingers with seconds to spare before you both returned from another intermittent smoke break. 

Four day work week. Four day work week. 

His core tightens. He’s close. He doesn’t even realise he’s been stifling his breaths until his vision turns spotty. 

You could learn so much from each other. You could teach him to meander. To enjoy the merits of wasting time. Taking up space. Stealing property that’s already been a tax write-off. Trying new experiences like sleeping in and eye contact and cockwarming. It’s foul of him to imagine such things of you, but it’s impossible to resist. You’re far too clever about evading what ails him not to see eye to eye. You’d know precisely how to use him for your pleasure, and you’d give him the same opportunity. 

He’d fuck you clothed. Not sparing any time for prep or cleanup — god, you’re reckless enough that you’d like it that way, too. He could have you folded over a barely-ergonomic chair in the break room, bringing you undone in as little time as possible. Then, when neither of you are on the clock and he’s far too exhausted from a day at the school to put in the effort, you’d exact your revenge; perched in his lap, riding him even when he has nothing more to give. 

Nanami’s breath hitches. An unconscious hum stirs in his throat. If he weren’t alone, he’d be embarrassed by the pitch. He feels himself skirting the edge, swelling just a little more in his hand as he works himself faster. 

Four day fucking work week. That’s — god, that’s unreal. 

Nanami’s orgasm crests, trembling through him until he’s holding onto the basin for dear life, brow furrowed as he tries in vain to suppress the low whine that slips from his throat. His cock throbs. Uneasy stripes of cum paint the basin, licking up the tile wall. Liquid heat spills over his fingers as he works himself through the release, coaxing out every last drop until finally, his strength gives out. 

Now left with just dwindling aftershocks and total exhaustion, Nanami lets his head drop, sweat-dampened fringe dusting his brow while he regains his breath.

“Shit.” He sighs. 

It’s divine, the degree of sleepiness that follows. He’ll let it take him, once he’s cleaned himself up. The less time he has to spend reflecting on this, the better. 

“Yo Nanami! I got your old coworker’s number for you since you were too chicken-shit to do it yourself—WOAH YOU’RE JERKING OFF!”

Nanami’s head snaps in Gojo’s direction, the man standing freshly teleported in his shower cubicle. His stomach drops. “Get out!” He barks, hunching over to cover himself as best he can. “Get out of my house!”

Gojo does not leave. He’s shocked, sure, but he doesn’t budge. “You got it on the mirror?!”

“Stop looking!”

“I can’t! How’d you manage that!”

Nevermind. 

“GOJO, GET OUT!”

This ties for number one. 

[ofallthingsnasty]

I need more Evan content in my life TT_TT would you consider writing something about him following the reader home and stalking them from his POV?

Aah, I'm so happy you like him!! He's my big, pseudo-soft creep vuv💕 I made him more soft than creepy in this, because he really thinks he is being cute and the good guy™

fic referenced (be sure to check the warnings before reading)

tags: yandere, stalking, minor nameless bill cameo (squint and you'll miss it... he's the mechanic), fem reader, chubby reader, minors dni but this is sfw, tagged as terato bc evan is a werewolf but that doesn't really come up here word count: 1.2k

Never has anyone been as happy as Evan to sit behind the wheel of their car, just waiting in the parking lot of the local grocery store. His favorite station is softly announcing tomorrow’s weather as he drums his fingers on the leather, eyes trained on the brightly-lit entrance of the shop. Waiting. Anticipating.

You went in just about five minutes ago, an hour before closing. 

He loves it when you do your weekly grocery run after work - it’s takes the edge off every long day when you dip out of your apartment with that familiar shopping bag slung over your shoulder, keys dangling from one hand as you make some last-minute adjustments to your digital shopping list. You always go to the same store, usually around the same time as well. It’s so easy to keep track of your routine and watching you putter about has become one of his guilty pleasures, following you to and fro with his car, on foot, on his dingy bike.

You’re not using a shopping cart today, opting to tuck one of the plastic baskets into the crook of your arm instead. Ah, your car is broken, can’t carry much more if you have to haul it all home. Of course, he already knows that - you had told him yourself and he is still delighted by the fact that you’d readily share the information with him. You had been so cute, so grateful when he had recommended you a mechanic, someone he could trust not to upcharge you for whatever it was that was broken (even though his attitude could be horrid - but you are a tough cookie, he knows that. You can handle a little bit of attitude thrown in your direction.)

He checks the time again, waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass. Ten minutes. He’s always aiming for ten minutes. A short list, just a little run to store for some milk, really, and he gets to see how you crunch your face together when you search for something on the shelves, gets to watch you being lost in thought, oblivious to the world around you. Sometimes he treats himself to waiting in line behind you in check-out, eyeing your little haul and listening to the sweet little thank you you chirp at the cashier.

He doesn’t always duck in when you do - no, no, too obvious, really - but today he will. You’ve been to the shop less than usual in the last week, undoubtedly saving up some money for your repairs and he misses you, your face, your voice. 

Evan sighs as his eyes dart over to the clock again. Finally. He shoots out of the car like he’s been bitten by something and doesn’t even bother to grab a basket for himself. Just milk. He’s here for just a carton of milk, anyway.

He finds you by the fruit, critically eyeing some apples and it takes him every bit of strength not to stop and stare. Just milk. Maybe some gummy bears if you keep yourself too occupied with bruised produce. 

He doesn’t want to miss you at the check-out, after all. You sure take your time today. Evan has gone over the different types of milk (plant-based included) twice before you finally dip into another section. Full-fat, low-fat, almond, oat, no milk at all - it’s all the same to him and he just grabs one off the shelves as he sees you trotting over to the freezers. He knows damn well where you’ll go to next and he hurries over, positioning himself as though he has some reason to be here, his eyes flitting between on- and off-brand ravioli as if it matters.

It doesn’t take long until you tip into the canned goods section and - oh, you’ve noticed him. Your free hand waves awkwardly at him as you two look at each other and you mouth a cute little ‘hi’ to him. He smiles and does the same, his heart soaring in his chest at the gesture. So, so cute.

The moment is over way sooner than he’d like it to be but you’re probably tired after work, so you turn your attention back to your list, biting your lower lip in thought. Poor thing.

You’re always so lost in thought, with an iron grip on your smartphone as you check your little shopping list. It’s as though you’re all alone in the big store, the way you softly mumble to yourself and listfully touch the packaging to inspect the product.

Evan almost forgets to look back to the ravioli before you turn to him again.

It’s the only interaction he allows himself for the evening. He wants to ask you about your day so bad, wants to know what you’ll be baking (cooking?) with your carefully picked apples, but it’s just too obvious - he consoles himself with the fact that he’ll get to stare at you while waiting in line for the check-out.

He lets you go for the rest of your grocery run, not even watching as you complete your little list. Brave. He’s being so brave about pretending to care for some stupid candy while you probably compare the prices on the weekly deals close to the register - he counts to ten and fists a bag of licorice, peeking around the corner to find you shovelling the content of your shopping basket onto the conveyor belt. Jackpot.

Evan takes a spot behind an older man, close enough to really watch you and far enough to not be too blatant about it, and lets himself really drink the sight of you in.

You wear something cute. Not that your usual work attire isn’t - there is just something about you in something comfortable, something casual that makes his heart swell in his chest. A hoodie. That ridiculously adorable pair of printed sweatpants you have. Or, when the weather allows it, something shorter: a dress, a skirt, shorts. And today, he is oh-so-lucky: you’re in his favorite short number, something that makes the wait so much more worth it. If you let him, he’d buy you a million of the same garment in a dozen colors. 

The conveyor belt stutters forward and you greet the cashier with your sweetest voice. He wants to melt on the spot.

He thinks often about what it would be like to complete such a mundane task with you, as a little family. You with a fat little baby on your hip, pushing the cart while he loads it up. What meals would you enjoy together, what would you try for the first time? He knows what you like to cook for yourself already but he doesn’t know the exact recipes. Would you share them with him? Oh, you would.

He almost misses it when the cashier tells you your total and you rummage through your wallet to hand them some bills.

Only one bag of groceries today, barely stuffed. You hurry the straps over the fat of your shoulder, whistling out an exhale in an adorable manner. It seems heavy - he wants to carry it home for you, wants to at least help you if your car isn’t working. But he can’t - you don’t know him like that so Evan is left to stand and stare while you trudge through automatic doors, headed back home. But you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it, he thinks. Soon enough it’s going to be him who carries that bag for you, who gets you your favorite pesto brand from the top shelf. For now, he’ll just follow you home to make sure you’re safe.