#stop policing Black expression

[sideblogwhoa]

Some of you need to touch grass and listen to Tupac

fuck killing a victorian child by making them listen to hyperpop all you gotta do is make a white tumblr user listen to rap

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[sugoroo]

GOOD COP, BAD COP!

ʚɞ summary: you get arrested and are determined not to reveal a single piece of information about your associates. that is, until the two officers interrogating you start employing... unique tactics to get you to talk.

warnings: fem!reader x choso kamo & toji fushiguro, police officer!au, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, praise kink, voyeurism, leg humping, power play, 18+ minors dni.

wc: 7.0k

it was a simple job — or atleast, it was supposed to be.

it began with the same simple plan as any other low stakes bank heist.

get in, get the money, get out.

but unfortunately, this time, someone in your little group decided to snitch - alerting the authorities of the exact location and time of the job before it even began.

so while you were in the middle of stuffing wad after wad of cash into a duffle bag, the last thing you were expecting was for a bunch of police officers to come barging into the bank, guns raised and badges being waved.

well shit.

silently cursing whichever person from your group that informed them, you made a break for it, darting towards the back entrance with the duffle bag clumsily slung across your shoulder.

but you didn't make it far.

the rest of your group managed to escape the bank in time, piling into the awaiting getaway car, but of course, you had to get stopped by a large hand wrapping around your wrist. you desperately tried to tug it free, but their grip was firm; almost frighteningly so.

"shit. guys, wait for—!" you attempted to yell, but the sound of the engine revving as the car dashed away interrupted the sentence, almost as if it was mocking you.

"looks like your little friends left you behind, doll." a low voice you assume belongs to the hand around your wrist rumbles from behind you, the amusement in his tone clearly at your expense.

"fuck you." you spit out, still stubbornly trying to tug your arm from his iron grip even though it's abundantly clear that it's a fruitless endeavour.

"ah ah," the voice chides, yanking a pair of handcuffs from his pocket with his other hand and effortlessly clicking them in place over your wrist, then doing the same with the other, despite your relentless struggling. "an attitude like that won't get you anywhere now."

with your movements now severely restricted by the harsh metal of the cuffs, you have no choice but to comply as the police officer manhandles you, roughly spinning you around until you come face to face with him.

unsurprisingly, the man's cocky expression fits his voice. his lips, which have a noticeable scar running down the side, are pulled up into a smug smirk as he looks down at you, and some messy strands of black hair are falling into his eyes.

"got nothin' else to say?" he snorts, his smirk only widening when he notices the way your features contort into a scowl — clearly fighting the urge to snap back at him again. "yeah, that's what i thought."

it takes every ounce of willpower you have not to list off every single curse word you know as the officer practically drags you through the bank, carelessly shoving you into the back of his squad car.

so much for a simple job.

so that's how you manage to find yourself slumped against an uncomfortable plastic chair in an interrogation room at the local police station, handcuffed to a desk.

it feels like it's been hours since the arrest, but there's no way of telling how much time has actually passed in this frustratingly empty room since there isn't even a clock to decorate the plain white walls.

when you'd first been left in here, you'd been angry.

angry at whichever member of your group decided to snitch on the operation, angry at your accomplices for leaving you there in the bank (although you probably would've done the same if the roles were reversed) and angry at the irritatingly smug officer who arrested you.

but eventually, that anger started to slowly but surely fade away —instead replaced by an overwhelmingly painful sense of boredom as you sat here with nothing to do.

you resorted to counting the tiles on the ceiling above you in a last ditch attempt at keeping yourself atleast somewhat amused. what number were you up to again? oh, right. eighty two... eighty three—

"hey, hey! s-sorry i'm so late." a voice hurriedly announces as the person it belongs to clumsily stumbles into the room, rambling about something to do with a coffee machine malfunction as he slides into the seat opposite yours.

slowly casting your eyes down from the ceiling to take in the police officer now sat in front of you, you're relieved to realize that it's not the same one from earlier. no - the difference between them is almost comical.

this one has dark tresses of hair pulled up into two messy pigtails, a small tattoo inked across the bridge of his nose, and his pale hands are shaking on the table where they rest. he seems nervous — almost as if he's the one about to be interrogated and not you.

"u-uh, yeah, as i was saying..." the man continues after a few moments of squirming under your gaze, pushing a mug across the table. "i thought i'd get you some coffee to help you feel more at ease. but the settings on that pesky machine are so complicated! i-i'm new here, by the way."

"i gathered." you murmur with a small, bemused smile pulling at your lips in spite of the situation you find yourself in. you then glance down at the mug, raising an eyebrow — it's not like you can pick it up and bring it to your mouth with your hands cuffed to the desk.

"o-oh, shit. i didn't think of that," the officer curses under his breath, grasping the mug in two trembling hands and thrusting it towards you. the movement jostles the liquid slightly, causing some of it to drip onto the table. "here."

you lean forward to reach the outstretched mug, taking a small sip of the warm liquid and resisting the urge to wince at the overwhelmingly bitter taste; this guy really wasn't joking about not being able to use he coffee machine properly.

"thanks." you push out with a somewhat strained smile, not wanting to appear ungrateful for the kind gesture. he nods quickly, seemingly pleased by your manners, placing the mug back down on the desk and pulling some files from his bag.

"so..." he begins, fanning the various folders across the desk and squinting down at them, as if trying to make sense of what's in front of him. "oh, wait! i forgot to introduce myself. i'm officer kamo — but you can call me choso, i-if you want, that is."

"right. well, it's nice to meet you, choso." you respond carefully, silently observing the way the apples of his cheeks flush a subtle shade of pink at the sound of his name leaving your lips. interesting.

"y-you too, um..." choso stammers awkwardly, glancing down and reading your name aloud from one of the files. "so, it says here you were the only suspect apprehended from the group who attempted to rob a local bank earlier today. is that correct?"

"it is." you mutter, pushing at the bed of one of your nails as some of the anger from earlier surfaces again. why did it have to be you who got caught? you should be at home rolling around in a heap of cash right about now, not sitting in a sterile interrogation room answering questions.

"i see," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck in a clear sign of discomfort as he takes note of the sudden defensiveness in your demeanour. "well, um, i was just wondering— i mean, i have to ask you... is there any information you can give us regarding your accomplices?"

your head snaps up at this, a flicker of uncertainty alighting in your chest. obviously, you were anticipating this question - but hearing it said out loud is an entirely different feeling.

the small part of you that still burns with anger wants to spill everything, get your fellow group members roped into the same predicament as you as payback for them abandoning you at the bank. but the other, more rational part of you, knows that nothing good can come of snitching on them. it would only serve to get you in even more trouble; just not with the law.

"no. i'm sorry, but i don't have anything to tell you." you lie through your teeth, toying with the edge of the metal handcuffs where they're digging into your wrist.

"a-are you sure about that?" choso prompts, seeming slightly unconvinced. he's trying to catch your eye, tilting his head towards you. "names, addresses, vehicle numberplates... anything?"

you subtly clench your jaw, shaking your head from side to side. as strong as the urge is to supply him with the information he wants, deep down you know it would only make things worse for you in the long run.

choso huffs out a small breath of air, fidgeting in his seat as he tries to remember his interrogation training. he may be new to this — but he's not oblivious. he can tell you're not being truthful, and although he understands the reasons behind that, he needs this intel if he wants to hand over a satisfactory report to his boss at the end of the day.

"if you're worried about the consequences of confessing, we can always put you into witness protection." he tries, his voice soft and earnest. it's clear he's not putting on an act, he does mean what he says. but that does nothing to change your mind.

"i don't have anything to tell you." you repeat without hesitation, your blank expression betraying nothing of your inner turmoil. you have to keep silently reminding yourself — it's not worth the risk to snitch.

"alright." choso sighs in response, wringing his hands atop the table as he seemingly tries to think of another approach to get you to talk. he has a feeling none of the other methods from his basic training are going to work with you. "um... how about i offer you something in return for your cooperation?"

"like what?" you mutter cautiously, fully intending on rejecting whatever it is he has to suggest.

"well, let's see," he hums thoughtfully, glancing back down at the files before returning his gaze to you. "how about a shorter sentence? i think we can do that."

this makes you pause — if only for a moment. a shorter sentence does sound tempting, but you can't let the idea weaken your resolve. after all, once you got out, there would be hell to pay for snitching. "less jail time isn't going to change the fact that i don't have anything to tell you."

choso's shoulders visibly sag with disappointment at your continued refusal to give up any information; he really thought that suggestion would have swayed you. "o-okay. so how about something else then?"

now that catches your curiosity.

because what else could he possibly offer you aside from a reduced sentence? that was usually the absolute best bargaining chip police officers were allowed to utilize in interrogations — you'd seen enough tv shows to know that.

he perks up when he notices the subtle signs of increased interest in your demeanour, leaning forward in his seat with clear eagerness. "okay! you're curious, that's good. s-so... what i'm suggesting is... um..."

you raise an eyebrow at his sudden hesitation, noting the way his eyes dart away from yours and his already pinkened cheeks flush further. "what you're suggesting is...?" you prompt.

"that... um... i—" choso tries again, anxiously digging his nails into his palm. he can't believe he's actually going to say something like this out loud, but he needs to get this information if he wants to make good progress at his new job. "i s-service you."

what?

you have to hold back a choked sound somewhere between a snort and a gasp at his words, your eyebrows raising so high they almost disappear above your hairline.

hearing this timid-looking, blushing rookie police officer say something so... suggestive was definitely not the way you expected this interrogation to go.

it was like the start of some cheap porno.

"are you serious?" is all you can manage to mutter, leaning forward in your seat slightly to get a better look at his expression, searching for any signs that he's just playing with you; maybe trying to get you to lower your guard so that you're more likely to spill intel.

"...yes," comes choso's meek reply, his voice so soft and quiet it's hardly audible, despite the lack of any other sounds in the room. he looks like he's about to die of embarrassment, his flush spreading down his neck and disappearing below the neckline of his uniform.

"i don't see how that's supposed to get me to supply you with information that i don't have." you huff bluntly, keeping up the act as best you can; but you can't deny there's a small part of you that's curious as to what he would actually do if you were to agree to the proposition.

he finally meets your gaze again at this, the look in his eyes telling you point-blank that he knows you're holding back the truth from him. and he knows that you know he knows.

it's a stalemate.

"h-how about..." he mumbles after a long stretch of silence, rolling a dark strand of his hair between his fingers nervously. "how about i just try something? you don't have to agree to anything yet. i-i just want to try."

again, choso manages to capture your curiosity.

he's now basically offering to please you for nothing in return — although he's obviously hoping he'll be able to get some information out of you eventually, maybe during or after this 'service'.

you wish you could say you weren't tempted by his offer. but as a criminal, most of the people you associate with are disgusting lowlifes who you wouldn't even dream of letting in your bed.

needless to say, it's been a long while since another person brought you pleasure.

"so if, hypothetically, i was to say yes, i wouldn't have to actually agree to anything yet?" you repeat cautiously, your demeanour still guarded. you can't afford to let him get the upper hand here, no matter what happens.

"y-yes," choso nods in response, seeming slightly pleased by the fact you haven't outright rejected his suggestion or threatened to report him to one of his superiors. "hypothetically." he adds, for good measure.

another few moments of silence pass where you mentally weigh up your options. you come to the conclusion that it couldn't hurt to go along with his little proposition for now, as long as you make sure you keep your guard up throughout. right?

"okay." you hum, leaning back in your chair and observing the police officer before you. he seems to be trying to hold back his excitement at having won you over, but then you can see the exact moment it dawns on him what it is he's actually signed himself up for.

choso swallows thickly, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he stands up from his chair, legs visibly trembling in his dark uniform trousers as he awkwardly shuffles closer to your side of the desk.

you open your mouth to speak, but whatever you were about to say instantly leaves your mind when he sinks to his knees before you, effortlessly moving your chair to the side so that he's positioned directly between your legs.

"i know you said that you're new and all," you mutter with slight amusement as you watch him look up at you with those wide eyes from where he's knelt on the floor. "but i'm pretty sure most police officers don't do this for suspects."

"i-i know that," he huffs sheepishly in response, the tips of his ears reddening to match the shade of his face. "but i couldn't think of any other ways to get you to talk."

"who said i'm going to talk?" you murmur, enjoying the way his bottom lip juts out into a little involuntary pout in response to your words. "i didn't actually agree to say anything, remember?"

choso doesn't reply this time, seeming to have come to terms with the fact that he can't convince you with his words alone; this situation clearly requires him to use his actions.

the problem is, he's never actually performed said actions on a woman before. sure, he's watched his fair share of porn — but he knows that doesn't compare to the real thing.

he's just going to have to wing it.

he brings a shaky hand up to one of your legs, slowly trailing his fingers up the skin there. it's soft to the touch; much softer than he expected. he had this stereotypical notion imbedded in his head that a criminal's skin would be rough and hardened - but not yours, clearly.

choso can feel your eyes on him the entire time his digits travel up the length of your leg, can tell that you're curious about exactly what he's going to do as his so-called service to you.

he couldn't tell you even if you asked — he's just going to make it up as he goes along and hope he does atleast something right that might get you to spill some information while you're lost in the throes of pleasure.

eventually, his fingers reach the hem of your skirt, and he pauses for a moment to look up at you, as if asking for silent permission. you nod with a small jerk of your head, so he steels himself before continuing.

he lifts up the material of your skirt slightly, taking a quick peek underneath to see what he was to work with. and oh, he almost forgets that he's supposed to be the one holding the power in this situation when he catches a glimpse of your covered cunt.

your panties aren't anything special — since you obviously weren't expecting to end up in this position today. but choso couldn't care less, his closed mouth filling up with salvia as he stares at the small wet patch forming on the front of the fabric.

you can't help but huff out a small laugh, the sound halfway between bemusement and slight embarrassment as the police officer before you just kneels and stares between your legs, the silence in the room so thick you could hear a pin drop.

"trying to make me uncomfortable by staring isn't going to make me tell you anything, you know." you mutter with eyes narrowed in suspicion, causing his head to dart up in surprise.

"w-what? oh... um, sorry. i didn't mean to stare." he rasps hurriedly, forcibly shaking himself out of his daze. he knows you're right; he's not going to get anywhere by just kneeling here completely motionless like a statue.

he needs to get to work.

choso starts by brushing a gentle, barely-there kiss against your inner thigh, his lips soft as they press against your skin. it feels a little too intimate for what is supposed to be an interrogation tactic, but right now, he can't bring himself to care.

you feel a small shiver ripple down your spine as he leaves a trail of sweet kisses up to the apex of your thighs, his head disappearing underneath your skirt with just the tips of his dark pigtails peeking out.

this entire situation is so overwhelmingly surreal — just hours ago you were being arrested, and now you're in an interrogation room with a pretty rookie police officer inches away from making contact your clothed core.

what a strange turn of events.

your sink your teeth into your lower lip once you feel his breath fan across your panties, attempting to hide any sounds that threaten to escape. you have to make sure not to let on how much you're enjoying this - have to make sure you don't lower your guard and accidentally let any information spill.

choso presses a chaste kiss to your covered mound, and it's all you can do to hold back a little gasp at the action. he's just so sickeningly gentle with you; like he's handling his lover and not a criminal under arrest for robbing a bank.

a soft rumble, almost a groan, comes from under your skirt, the sound vibrating against your skin as it leaves his lips. you can't see his face, but if you could, you'd see how drunk he is on you already — just from the miniscule taste of you he's gotten through your panties.

"h-hah," he breathes quietly, mostly to himself, flicking his tongue out gently against the now-dampened fabric to get a better taste. "i never thought a criminal would taste so sweet."

fuck.

those simple words shoot straight down to your cunt, causing a small gush of arousal to trickle out into your underwear. you're sure he can feel it against his tongue, and you wince. it's going to be more difficult than anticipated to keep your composure if he's gonna keep saying things like that.

choso gasps slightly, the sound quickly morphing into a satisfied hum when your syrupy slick seeps through the fabric and onto his awaiting tongue. despite never having done this before, he's sure no one else could possibly hold a candle to how delicious you taste.

he's in trouble.

at this rate, he's going to be the one falling apart first instead of you; he can already feel himself growing hard in his slacks, pushing against the restricting material.

gently pulling your soiled panties to the side, he swipes his tongue through your glistening folds, gathering more of your juices on his tastebuds. he's not sure what else to do to please you, all he knows is that he wants more and more of that sweet sap.

choso is so lost in 'interrogating' you with his mouth, and you're so lost in trying not to forget about the consequences of snitching and just tell him everything you know, that neither of you notice when the door creaks open.

"well, well, well... i assign you to your first solo interrogation—" an irritatingly familiar voice grunts out, the sound of the door clicking shut sealing him in the room with you. "and where do i find you? with your tongue on the suspect's cunt, kamo."

it's him. the way-too-smug officer with the scar on his lip who arrested you back at the bank, who fastened the handcuffs so tight the harsh metal dug into the skin of your wrists. who simply laughed mockingly at your struggles to break free. him.

choso breaks free from between your legs so fast he probably gets whiplash, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he peeks out from under your skirt. he resembles a deer frozen in headlights.

"oho, don't go stoppin' on my account." the other officer chuckles deeply, sauntering closer and grasping one of choso's messy pigtails. he uses the grip to push him back under your skirt, forcibly pressing his face against your needy flesh.

choso whines, a pathetic, drawn out sound, feeling conflicted. he's unsure if he's supposed to stop or continue; unsure if his boss's words are meant as sarcasm or not. is this some sort of test from his superior? he doesn't want to risk losing his job, not when he worked so hard to get here.

"c-captain fushiguro... i'm sorry. but i-i don't understand." he mumbles shakily, his meek voice vibrating directly against your core.

"tch. thought i told you before to j's call me toji, didn't i?" the smug officer — toji, apparently— huffs in irritation, practically ignoring your presence entirely as he shoves choso's face right into your pulsing heat. "now get back to fuckin' work. that's an order, rookie."

unable to resist the authoritative tone of his voice, choso's tongue peeks back out from between his lips and swipes through your sopping folds again, his mind quickly going pleasantly blank a second time from your sweet saccharine taste.

toji's eyes then meet yours for the first time since he stepped into the interrogation room, seemingly seeing effortlessly past your careful blank expression. he smirks, in the same annoyingly smug way as he had when he arrested you.

he knows that while his subordinate may be trying his best, the small amount of stimulation from the inexperienced man isn't anywhere near enough to properly please you.

and if they want their stubborn little suspect to break, you need to be more than properly pleased.

"y'er not gonna get her to reveal any damn information like that, kid." toji grunts in a mix of amusement and annoyance, tugging choso back by his pigtail and causing him to whimper pathetically. "d'ya even know where her clit is?"

"c-clit?" he repeats timidly, glancing between your pretty pussy and his boss's unimpressed face, as if unsure which to give his full attention.

"yes, clit. jesus, what are they teachin' you youngsters these days?" toji mutters disapprovingly, snaking his free hand underneath your skirt to point directly at your puffy little bud without much trouble. "should be right... there."

you can't stop the sharp gasp that escapes your lips when he pushes down on your sensitive clit like a button, snapping your head to the side to send a sharp glare in his direction.

"aww, look at that," he coos mockingly, removing his finger as quickly as he had placed it there and returning your scowl with his trademark smug grin. "little lady still has 'er attitude, i see."

"fuck you." you hiss out, not appreciating where this is going. the sweet rookie officer servicing you was one thing, but the infuriating one who arrested you joining in? now that's an entirely different situation.

"ah ah, doll," toji hums, waving the finger he just had pressed against your clit in front of your thoroughly irritated face. "'m not here for that, unfortunately. just thought i'd give kamo here a little... helping hand, 's all."

"well i don't want your helping hand." you scoff in response, but despite your desperate struggling against the handcuffs that still have you chained to the desk, you can't do anything to slap his hand away when it returns between your legs.

he ignores your protesting movements completely, angling his face down to glance at choso, who is watching his superior's pudgy finger rubbing teasingly slow circles on your clit with rapt attention, seemingly tuning out the bickering between the two of you.

"y'see now, rookie?

choso nods a little too enthusiastically, and the moment toji removes his finger, his tongue is back on your cunt. but this time, it's circling messily around your little bud, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated.

a small moan escapes your lips unwarranted, and you instantly snap your eyes shut in embarrassment — it's becoming increasingly harder to keep your priorities straight with these two extremely attractive police officers attempting to wreck your resolve.

"yeahhh, she likes that," toji leers mockingly, rubbing his fat thumb against the edge of your thigh just to work you up even further. "dontcha, pretty?"

"shut... up." you push out through clenched teeth, fighting not to lose yourself in the sensations they're providing you with. you have to stay strong. you won't become a snitch.

he only snorts in response, pulling his thumb back and giving you a brief moment of relief before swiftly slapping a hand against your folds, the obscene wet squelching sound echoing throughout the room. "don't tell me what to do, girl."

"t-toji," choso whines, pulling his tongue from your clit and glancing down at your twitching flesh from the slap, which he starts peppering with gentle kisses in an attempt to soften the blow. "that was mean."

"oh, that was mean, was it?" he scoffs, rolling his eyes and giving the other man's pigtail a sharp tug as punishment for his words. "what would've been mean is if i fired your scrawny ass the second i got in here for fraternizing with a suspect. but i didn't, did i?"

"n-no... you didn't." choso murmurs meekly in response, his eyes wide and pleading at the prospect of losing his job. he quickly attaches his mouth back to where toji showed him your clit is, suckling gently in an attempt to please both you and his stern boss.

"now thaaat's more like it," toji croons lowly, his voice rich and gruff as he pats the top of choso's hair like he's a well-trained dog. "good boy."

a quiet mewl spills from his busy mouth in response to the praise, his hips weakly bucking against your leg as he tries desperately not to let himself fall apart without getting the information they need from you first.

toji notices, because of course he does, and he wraps a hand around your chin and forces you to look down at the pathetic display below you. "look at him, pretty. y'got him humping your leg like a damn bitch in heat. pussy must be sweet as candy."

"i-it is— shit, it is." comes choso's slurred mumble, popping his mouth from your clit with an lewd pop! before delving his tongue back between your sweetened folds. he may be inexperienced, but he's a quick learner.

"'s that right?" he chuckles, tilting his head to the side. he's speaking to his subordinate, but his eyes never leave yours. it makes you shudder involuntarily, his smirk stretching wider when he takes note of your reactions to him. "lemme get a lil' taste for myself then, kid."

choso obediently moves to the side to make room for toji, but when he doesn't join him on his knees, he looks up with an adorably puzzled expression across his features.

his boss moves his hand from the other man's pigtail down to grasp his chin, roughly pulling him up into a bruising kiss before he can even think of uttering a single protest.

choso whimpers helplessly into the kiss, not bothering to fight back at all as toji sucks lewdly on his tongue, stealing your sweetened juices straight from his subordinate's mouth.

he smacks his scarred lips once he pulls back, humming in satisfaction as his eyes return to you. "rookie's right; that's one ripe cunt y'got there. too bad it's wasted on a damn criminal."

his words make a mixture of arousal and annoyance flare up in the pit of your stomach, another small trickle of wetness gushing out of your core to pool on the plastic chair beneath you as you glare up at him.

"you're deluded if you think i'm telling you anything when you talk to me like that." you spit out, the look on your face one of pure disdain, despite your situation.

"oh, dollface," toji chuckles deeply, ignoring the squirming choso beside him and leaning down so his face is level with yours. "you're not gonna tell us just anythin'. you're gonna tell us everything."

before you can scoff right in his face, choso has been shoved back between your legs by his hair yet again, the feeling of his sweet, warm mouth sucking on your clit making your eyes almost cross in your head.

taking your distracted state as an opportunity to rile you up even further, toji shoves a pudgy thumb between your lips, pressing it right to the back of your throat so you can't even think of talking back anymore.

your resolve is hanging by a very, very thin thread.

despite how much you despise toji, you instinctively start to suckle on his thick digit, too blissed out from choso's sloppy ministrations to bother with how shameless you must look right now.

"mhmm, that's a good girl," he coos mockingly, swirling his thumb around inside your mouth. as composed as he seems, the feeling of your warm, soft little lips around his digit is making him extremely hard in his slacks. "knew y'had some obedience in ya somewhere."

choso mewls again when he feels your spongy walls fluttering around his tongue when he slides it inside your needy hole, assuming that must mean you're close to the edge; close to spilling the information they need.

instinctively, he speeds up his movements, fucking you on his tongue in such a lewd yet somehow gentle way as he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you from squirming on the chair.

but suddenly, just when you can feel the coil of an impending orgasm building up in the depths of your stomach, all the stimulation is gone.

toji's thumb leaves your mouth with a wet pop!, and choso gets yanked away from your core with his mouth open and drooling like a dog.

"what the fuck?" you pant out breathlessly, your eyes half-lidded as you glance between them quizzically. choso looks just as confused as you, wriggling against toji's grip on his hair in a fruitless attempt to get back to your sweet pussy.

"what? y'thought we were g'nna let ya cum that easily?" toji chuckles richly, a wide grin stretching across his scarred lips as he easily restrains a rabid choso with one strong hand. "nah, girl. y'gotta tell us what we wanna know first."

shit.

you should've known this would happen. to begin with, you were sure you could manage to keep yourself together if it was just choso servicing you. but now, with your body writhing and desperate for release and it was just toji standing in your way to stop you from getting it?

you were surely about to break.

"what's the matter?" toji croons, his voice dripping with mock concern as he thumbs at your lower lip with his free hand. "lost y'er attitude, pretty?"

you could just stay quiet. refuse to talk — get sent to a jailcell with your panties soiled and your cunt still throbbing with need.

or, you could tell them what they wanted to know. spill the beans on your shitty team members who had abandoned you and were probably rolling around in heaps of cash right now at your hideout without a care in the world. and in return, get your first proper orgasm in a long, long time.

you already know which option you're going to choose.

your voice quiet, you mutter the numberplate of the getaway car your group had used to escape the bank. it's all they need to find your associates; a little tracking using the police system and they can easily decipher the exact location of the vehicle.

toji grins, reaching up to give your head a condescending little pat as a reward while he releases his grip on choso with the other hand, causing his subordinate to dive face first back into your needy pussy.

a shameless moan escapes from deep in your throat, your hips weakly grinding up into choso's face as he feasts on you like it's the last meal of his life. you can feel him smiling happily against you, clearly pleased his method of interrogation worked out in the end, even if he did need his boss's help.

you end up hurling into an overwhelming orgasm when toji spits down onto your cunt, the salvia being swiftly lapped up by choso's eager tongue without a moments hesitation.

your entire body convulses against the plastic chair, the handcuffs digging into your wrists as you writhe and squirm, shameless mewls and cries escaping your lips as you attempt to come down from your high.

you can't even remember the last time you came that hard.

"aww, y'didn't even make 'er squirt, kamo," toji huffs in overexaggerated disappointment, causing the other man's swollen lips to form into a confused little pout. "dontcha think she deserves a proper reward for givin' us the information we were after?"

"squirt? how do i make her do that?"

"tch. damn clueless rookie," he huffs, shoving choso away from between your legs and sinking to his own knees before you. "let me show ya."

suddenly, the consequences of snitching don't seem so important anymore.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[saddayfordemocracy]

How the Watermelon Became a Symbol of Palestinian Solidarity

The use of the watermelon as a Palestinian symbol is not new. It first emerged after the Six-day War in 1967, when Israel seized control of the West Bank and Gaza, and annexed East Jerusalem. At the time, the Israeli government made public displays of the Palestinian flag a criminal offense in Gaza and the West Bank. 

To circumvent the ban, Palestinians began using the watermelon because, when cut open, the fruit bears the national colors of the Palestinian flag—red, black, white, and green.  

The Israeli government didn't just crack down on the flag. Artist Sliman Mansour told The National in 2021 that Israeli officials in 1980 shut down an exhibition at 79 Gallery in Ramallah featuring his work and others, including Nabil Anani and Issam Badrl. “They told us that painting the Palestinian flag was forbidden, but also the colors were forbidden. So Issam said, ‘What if I were to make a flower of red, green, black and white?’, to which the officer replied angrily, ‘It will be confiscated. Even if you paint a watermelon, it will be confiscated,’” Mansour told the outlet.

Israel lifted the ban on the Palestinian flag in 1993, as part of the Oslo Accords, which entailed mutual recognition by Israel and the Palestinian Liberation Organization and were the first formal agreements to try to resolve the decades-long Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The flag was accepted as representing the Palestinian Authority, which would administer Gaza and the West Bank.

In the wake of the accords, the New York Times nodded to the role of watermelon as a stand-in symbol during the flag ban. “In the Gaza Strip, where young men were once arrested for carrying sliced watermelons—thus displaying the red, black and green Palestinian colors—soldiers stand by, blasé, as processions march by waving the once-banned flag,” wrote Times journalist John Kifner.

In 2007, just after the Second Intifada, artist Khaled Hourani created The Story of the Watermelon for a book entitled Subjective Atlas of Palestine. In 2013, he isolated one print and named it The Colours of the Palestinian Flag, which has since been seen by people across the globe.

The use of the watermelon as a symbol resurged in 2021, following an Israeli court ruling that Palestinian families based in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood in East Jerusalem would be evicted from their homes to make way for settlers.

The watermelon symbol today:

In January, Israel’s National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir gave police the power to confiscate Palestinian flags. This was later followed by a June vote on a bill to ban people from displaying the flag at state-funded institutions, including universities. (The bill passed preliminary approval but the government later collapsed.)

In June, Zazim, an Arab-Israeli community organization, launched a campaign to protest against the ensuing arrests and confiscation of flags. Images of watermelons were plastered on to 16 taxis operating in Tel Aviv, with the accompanying text reading, “This is not a Palestinian flag.”

“Our message to the government is clear: we will always find a way to circumvent any absurd ban and we will not stop fighting for freedom of expression and democracy,” said Zazim director Raluca Ganea. 

Amal Saad, a Palestinian from Haifa who worked on the Zazim campaign, told Al-Jazeera they had a clear message: “If you want to stop us, we’ll find another way to express ourselves.”

Words courtesy of BY ARMANI SYED / TIME

[soon-palestine]

as an american citizen, you have the right to assemble. the police and other governmental agencies violate this right through mass arrests, illegal use of force, criminalization of protest and other means that threaten our right to free expression.

DO NOT TALK TO THE POLICE:

they are not your friends. they are not there to protect you, regardless of your race. their presence there is to protect the interests of the state.

what to do if you are detained or stopped by the police:

do not resist, even if you think they are violating your rights.

calmly ask someone to record.

ask if you’re free to leave. if you are, walk away.

how to stay safe during a protest:

write phone/legal aid numbers on your body. bring a sharpie for others to do this.

ALWAYS use the buddy system. don’t be selfish & stick to your own friend group. if you see someone alone, invite them into your circle.

don’t know where to seek legal aid?

before attending/during a protest, visit http://nlg.org/chapters/#massdefense.

NLG chapters are organized into regions. find. your region and write their number on your body.

encourage others around you to write that same number on their body.

4. if you are threatened with or under arrest:

you have the right to know why you’re being arrested. calmly ask. if they refuse to provide a reason, stay quiet and ask for legal representation immediately.

do not give any information or sign anything without a lawyer present.

what to do with your phone during a protest:

put your phone on airplane mode

disable face ID/touch, replace with 6-digit passcode instead

spreading awareness is great but avoid posting photos of people that include identifying features.

police want everyone to leave the area, what should that look like:

shutting down a protect through a dispersal order must be the last resort for police.

a clear danger must be present.

police must give adequate time for protesters to disperse and an exit route.

what are your rights if you’re being stopped or detained by police:

you do not have to consent to you or your belongings being searched. if you consent, anything can be used against you in court.

police can conduct a “pat down” if they suspect you have a weapon.

if you see someone being detained, what should you do:

record the interaction. police can not demand to view or delete any footage without a warrant.

use calming affirmations towards the person being detained. they are likely scared. be there for them.

use whatever privilege you have to protect others.

if you see a disabled person struggling, offer to help. find medics to assist people experiencing anxiety or having a panic attack. if you see a BIPOC being harassed, surround them.

personal note on using your privilege: i have seen white people, countless times, place themselves in front of BIPOC when police draw weapons/approach protests. it often works.

do not be a person that just acknowledges their privilege, use it for good.

10. remember that we protect us. ignite this chant as a reminder to everyone present if you have to. communities are supposed to help one another. don’t be a sell out, offer support, share resources, food and water. be a kind soul.

if you can not participate in a protest for whatever reason, you can still help! drop-off supplies! (water bottles, allergy-friendly foods/snacks with ingredients labels on them, sharpies, cards with legal aid numbers on them, masks, makeup remover wipes, hand sanitizer, etc)

sources/disclaimer: main source:

@ACLU and my own opinions. this is not legal advice. consult legal representation if you are in need of assistance.

stay safe, be on the right side of history. black lives matter, no one is illegal, we protect us, land back, all oppression is connected and free palestine. 🇵🇸

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Christopher Mathias at HuffPost:

A coalition of 185 social justice and religious groups published an open letter Monday expressing support for the campus protest encampments sweeping the country in opposition to Israel’s siege of Gaza, and calling on university administrators to end the brutal crackdowns of the student-led demonstrations. “We commend the students who are exercising their right to protest peacefully despite an overwhelming atmosphere of pressure, intimidation and retaliation, to raise awareness about Israel’s assault on Gaza — with U.S. weapons and funding,” the letter states. “These students have come forth with clear demands that their universities divest from corporations profiting from Israeli occupation, and demanding safe environments for Palestinians across their campuses. ” Groups that signed the letter include Gen-Z for Change, Working Families Party, IfNotNow Movement, Young Democrats of America Black Caucus, Movement for Black Lives, Sunrise Movement, MPower Change, Jewish Voice for Peace, Palestine Legal, and the Unitarian Universalist Association.

Some 900 students have been arrested during anti-war encampments and demonstrations at American universities in the last 10 days, per a tally from Al Jazeera — a tumultuous period that mirrors volatile demonstrations against the Vietnam War in 1968, when police arrested at least 700 students. The open letter Monday represents one of the largest shows of support among progressive groups for the burgeoning student protests, and makes clear the divide between establishment Democratic figures and social justice groups when it comes to U.S. support for Israel. President Joe Biden has refused so far to condition the sale of weapons to Israel. “Our communities have been horrified to see the militarized and violent response to students protesting an ongoing genocide funded and supported by our government, and our coalition of organizations join millions of our members across the country in standing in solidarity with the students’ efforts in support of the people of Gaza,” Yasmine Taeb, one of the main organizers of the letter, told HuffPost. Taeb is a human rights lawyer and political director at MPower Change, a Muslim social justice group.

“Instead of attacking young people mobilizing for Palestinian human rights, President Biden needs to listen to the majority of Americans who have been calling on him to stop funding and supporting the atrocities committed against the people of Gaza,” Taeb said.

[...] Israel has killed over 33,000 Palestinians since Oct. 7, when the Gaza-based militant group Hamas launched an attack in which nearly 1,200 Israelis were killed. In January, the International Court of Justice ruled that Israel’s siege of Gaza — which has displaced 85% of the population and put the occupied territory on the cusp of famine — left Palestinians at risk of experiencing a genocide. Last week, health officials in Gaza said medics had discovered mass graves at hospitals raided by Israeli troops. “We join [the students] in calling for an immediate and lasting ceasefire and an end to the U.S. government’s and institutions’ role in the ongoing genocide of Palestinians in Gaza,” Monday’s letter states. “As we stand in solidarity with the students protesting in encampments across the country, we reaffirm our commitment to amplifying their voices, condemn the university administration officials’ violent response to their activism, and demand that universities remove the presence of police and other militarized forces from their campuses,” it continues.

[...] Meanwhile, Republican Party officials and right-wing media figures have accused the demonstrations of antisemitism, falsely equating criticism of Israel with bigotry towards Jews. Although there have been scattered reports of actual antisemitic incidents at or near the encampments, many were not perpetrated by students but by interlopers. Many of the student protesters across the country are Jewish. Far-right agitators, including Christian nationalist activists, have also targeted the encampments, with MAGA pastor Sean Feucht leading hundreds of Christian and Jewish Zionists on a march around the Columbia campus on Thursday. The rally ended with pro-Israel demonstrators yelling through the gate at pro-Palestinian Columbia students. “Go back to Gaza!” they screamed.

More than 185 groups, including IfNotNow, Jewish Voice For Peace, MPower Change, and Working Families Party, signed a letter in support of the campus protests against Israel Apartheid State's genocide against Palestinians in Gaza.

[yawnderu]

If Simon and bimbo!reader ever had a big fight (not petty disagreements), what would they fight about? How do both handle serious fights and making up?

ahhhh :((( anon when I catch you. It'd likely be at the beginning of the relationship, before she knows about his job and he always leaves for weeks without telling her much about it

>Simon and bimbo!reader fight and make up.

“I just don't understand why you do this to me... just tell me.” Your voice is as pleading as it is demanding, eyebrows furrowed and face scrunched up in a mix of frustration and sadness.

“I can't—” He's interrupted by a small scoff coming out of you, your arms crossed as you look away and take a deep breath. He's never seen you like this before, never so... frustrated and angry. Anxiety starts to fill his soul within seconds, stuck between wanting to keep you away from his job, and wanting to reassure you.

“Do you just.... have a second family or something? Is that what it is?” The accusation makes his own face scrunch up in a mix of mild disgust and confusion. Was his unwavering loyalty to you not obvious? He never even looks at other women at all, his eyes are for you only.

“I don't.” It's all he can say to defend himself. How does he go about telling you he kills people for a living? Sure, he's protecting the world and serving the Queen, but would you look at him differently when you find out the same hands that are so gentle with you will forever be tainted with another's blood?

“Then what is it, Simon?” You never call him Simon. Even when you first met, you've always called him Si. He lets out a small sigh, shaking his head. He doesn't want to be around to fight, he just wants it all to be okay like before— yet he also understands why you're acting that way after months of being kept in the dark.

“I'll be back later.” He turns around to leave the shared flat, only being stopped by another scoff.

“Fine. Leave like you always do.” It was a low blow, you can tell that much by the way his muscles visibly tense up, bulging out of his black shirt. He shakes his head, the hand on the doorknob trembling slightly. He loves you more than anything, but can he really handle seeing the expression on your face when he tells you why he's away?

“'M in the military.” He finally turns around, walking back to you and holding your hand, sitting down on the couch and pulling you on his lap, one of his hands running down the length of your hair.

“SAS. I'll show you my contracts if you don't believe me.” He's willing to do anything to make you believe him. Each silent second only increases his anxiety, barely managing to look down at you just to see the gears shifting in your brain, putting two and two together.

“.... Is that why you always stink when you come back?” There's enough mirth in your tone to let him know you're joking, barely managing to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“Y'sniff me like a fuckin' police dog when I'm back, love. You like it.” No matter how much you roll your eyes in fake annoyance and pretend you don't like it, you both know the truth. You cuddle up closer to him, resting comfortably on his burly body.

“Y'wear the cool uniforms, Si?” Your voice is softer, almost shy to even ask the question. He knows you like masked men— he's heard you rant about Pyramid Head and Ghostface enough times already. He hums softly in reply, nodding his head.

“Sometimes. Cool mask and all, you'd like it.” He's just teasing you at this point, trying to hold back a smile when he feels you rapidly shifting in his arms just to get closer to his face, unable to hide your excitement.

“Yeah? Can I see?” Your giddiness is almost contagious, making a deep chuckle finally escape his lips. You're not looking at him like he's a monster, you're simply excited about the idea of him wearing a mask. Maybe letting you see Ghost isn't a bad idea.

“Hmm...” He drags out, looking away and pretending to think about it just to tease you. The smack to his arm is enough to make him grin at you, stealing a kiss before adjusting you on his lap, finally allowing his body to fully relax.

“Yeah, I'll show you.”

Bimbo!Reader Masterlist

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Ex Appeal

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin gets a frightful visitor on Halloween.

CW: Angst, fluff, suggestive themes, alludes to past cheating

WC: 3500+

This fic was written for @roosterforme’s Rocktober challenge! Inspired by the song Poison by Alice Cooper.

Masterlist

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jake says with a look of disgust – as much of it as he can muster. You, after all, have been his greatest source of misery as of late.

You give him a dirty look – your specialty – and barge into his home as though you own the place and Jake’s just a goddamn doorman. “I need to lay low for a bit.”

Jake narrows his eyes as he turns to face you. He keeps the door open because he’s still hoping you’re going to leave any minute. “Lay low?” he asks mockingly. “What’d you do? Commit murder?” He wouldn’t be surprised.

You peek around his arm to glance out at the street. “Someone’s looking for me.”

Jake watches you impassively. “Is it the police?” Then, after a moment, he adds, “Is there a reward?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re the only one in this neighbourhood that I trust,” you say, pushing on the door that Jake is obstinately keeping open.

Jake nods. “Shame that trust doesn’t go both ways,” he comments contemptuously.

You eye him irritably. “Close the door.”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

“I just did.”

Jake shakes his head. “You could not have been more vague.”

You sigh. “Close the door and I’ll tell you.”

Jake exhales warily and shuts the front door. He surveys your outfit. “What are you wearing?”

You glance down at your ensemble: a black, form-fitting body suit and fishnet stockings. You’re also sporting knee-high boots and you’ve got what looks like six extra arms coming out of your back. You look back up at him with an annoyed expression on your face. “It’s Halloween,” you snap defensively.

Jake grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” He gestures to a cauldron full of candy sitting near the front door. “There’s gonna be a fuck-tonne of children coming through here trick-or-treating in like half an hour and you’re dressed like a gothic porn star.”

Instead of being offended, you lift your eyebrows in surprise. “You’re handing out candy?”

Jake sighs and places his hands on his hips, fixing you with a stern look. “Yeah, I’m handing out candy. That’s what adults do on Halloween.”

You stare at him as a smile materializes on your face. “Is that your costume?” you ask facetiously, gesturing at his checkered polo shirt. “Adult?”

Jake squares his jaw to mask the fact that he found your joke humorous, but you seem to notice the shift in his features because your own grin broadens. “My mom got me this shirt,” he says.

“Ah,” you respond. “A fellow adult.”

Jake tears his gaze away from you, focusing instead on the shiny, pointed toes of your stilettos. “Why’re you here?” he asks again, this time a lot less peevishly and a lot more grimly.

You bend down to unzip your boots. “I’m a spider,” you say. “Black widow.”

Jake glances up to meet your gaze as you straighten up. He nods. “Suits you.”

You give him a flat look. “I was at the bus stop and some dude started harassing me.”

Jake’s eyes trail down your scantily glad body. “You don’t say,” he remarks sarcastically.

Your jaw drops in outrage. “Are you victim blaming?”

Jake chuckles and shakes his head. “It was a joke.”

You cringe. “It was in poor taste.”

Jake closes his eyes and lets out a tired sigh. He’s had about enough of your attitude. “You wanna talk about poor taste?” he asks. “Where’s that lovely boyfriend of yours?”

You watch him sourly. “We’re not together anymore, if you must know,” you reply.

Truth be told, Jake probably didn’t need to know. But, now that he does, it’s only fitting that he respond with, “Shocking.”

You give him the finger. As if he were the one who’d been dating two people at the same time.

There’s a knock on the door. “Fuck,” he mutters, giving you a moody look. “Hide,” he says. “Unless you’d rather traumatize a bunch of eight-year-olds.”

You grimace at him. “You think eight-year-olds haven’t seen worse?”

Jake scans the low-cut neckline of your costume. He can’t think of anything more erotic if he tried. But, if he’s being honest, it’s not the outfit so much as your insane body that’s the culprit. He reaches out to grab your hand and pull you aside, making sure you’re tucked safely behind the door before opening it.

He smiles down at the two little kids on his porch when they yell, “TRICK-OR-TREAT!” at the top of their lungs.

“Well, well, well,” he says cheerily, bending down to grab a handful of candy out of his cauldron. “Who do we have here?” He puts the candy into one of their bags. “Are you a mermaid?”

The girl nods happily.

Jake wows in amazement. “You’re the prettiest mermaid I’ve ever seen!” He bends down to grab another handful of candy and drops it into the second child’s bag. “And you must be Iron Man!” he exclaims. “That’s one cool costume, bud. You look great!”

When Jake finally closes the door and looks at you, he sees that you’ve got your arms folded over your chest and a giant smirk on your face.

“What?” he asks darkly.

Your smile widens. “That was cute.”

Jake takes a step from the door and looks away from you. He’s not about to get sucked back into your web of lies, no pun intended. “You wanna hand some out?” he asks.

“I thought you don’t want me traumatizing the children,” you respond sarcastically, stepping out of the corner toward him.

Jake glances at you with a small smile. “I can give you some clothes, if you like.”

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Adult clothes?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Come on, before more kids show up.”

He makes his way into his bedroom and grabs a pair of jogging pants and t-shirt and brings them back out for you. “Bathroom’s down the hall,” he says.

“I remember,” you respond, but you’ve already started to remove your bodysuit.

Jake turns away in alarm and holds out the clothes for you. “Do you?”

“Come on, it’s not like you haven’t seen it all before,” you say. “Shoot, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Jake groans. “Are you for fucking real?”

“You got a pair of boxers?”

Jake swallows uncomfortably. “Hold this,” he instructs, keeping a hand over his eyes as he hands you the crumpled clothes and starts back for his bedroom.

“You know what? I’ll just go commando.”

Jake takes a deep, cleansing breath and turns back toward you. He keeps his eyes closed and holds a hand out so as not to bump into anything as he walks. Of course, as luck would have it, he stumbles into you.

“What the fuck, dude?” you exclaim as his hands cling to your naked body, steadying you so you don’t fall over.

Jake squeezes his eyes tightly so that they don’t open inadvertently. “Sorry, sorry!” he winces, finally stabilizing both himself and you. He feels the softness of your skin underneath his palms as his hands do a final sweep along your back before he lifts them away from your body with a grimace. He’s bracing himself for a punch in the face.

“Are you a dumbass? Open your eyes!” you screech. “You’ve seen me naked how many times?!”

“Twelve,” he responds, a little hoarsely. All he can think about is how smooth your skin felt in his hands not a moment ago and it’s driving him a little mad.

“It was a rhetorical question,” you say pointedly. “You counted?”

“Are you decent yet?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“I’m never decent,” you mutter under your breath and Jake can’t help but smirk. “But if you’re asking whether or not I’m dressed. Then, yes, I am.”

Jake releases a heavy sigh and opens his eyes cautiously.

You scowl at him. “What, you think I’m tricking you?”

“Well, you aren’t treating me.”

You stare at him coolly. “You’re such a delight. Can’t imagine why we ever broke up.”

“Need a reminder?” he calls as you make your way back into the front hall. “It’s because you cheated on me!”

You’re standing at the front door with your arms crossed. “I didn’t cheat, for the last time,” you retort. “We weren’t exclusive.”

Jake presses his lips into a thin line. “I was exclusive.”

You shake your head in frustration. “Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

There’s another knock on the door. You sigh irritably and reach for the doorknob.

“Hello!” you exclaim enthusiastically the moment the door is open.

The mob of children on Jake’s doorstep all look up at you with exuberant grins and yell their opening line in a loud, messy chorus.

You react with an animated gasp. “Oh my goodness! You guys are a frightful bunch!”

The kids laugh. Indeed, they’re dressed as zombies, ghosts, and vampires, and, when you comment on their appearance, they growl and make scary faces at you. Jake smiles at them and then at you as you distribute the candy from the cauldron excitedly.

Once the door is closed, however, you drop the act, giving him an icy look as you settle yourself on the little bench near the door.

Jake fights the urge to sit next to you and maybe get a little lost in the smell of your perfume. He still gets a whiff of it from time to time when he walks by his closet. Which reminds him –

“I have your sweater,” he says awkwardly.

You glance up at him coldly. “Well, why didn’t you give it to me? It’d probably look better than this.” You tug on the hem of the t-shirt he gave you.

Jake doubts it; the fact that he could see your nipples through the fabric of his own shirt is even more of a turn on than your low-cut bodysuit had been. But he responds with, “Probably. But I’m not about to let you change again.”

You snort. “Fair.”

Jake wonders just how detrimental sitting next to you might be to his personal journey of recovery. He figures that you also would prefer that he stay as far away from you as possible. Ultimately, however, he decides that it’s his bench, after all, and that he’ll be sharing it with you and not the other way around. And, with regard to getting over you, well, he can try again tomorrow.

Jake makes his way over to the bench and you eye him cautiously as he approaches. Silently, you slide to make room for him. He gulps nervously and lowers himself onto the seat beside you.

“What were you doing at the bus stop, anyway?” he asks, staring down at his own clasped hands because he can’t handle looking at you when you’re sitting so close.

“Frank and I were on our way to a party,” you respond sullenly.

Jake glances up at you despite himself. “Thought you two broke up.”

You meet his gaze and promptly look away – apparently, you’re not too keen on engaging in eye contact at this proximity either. “We did,” you say curtly. “About an hour ago.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “An hour ago?”

“We had a fight on the way. I hopped out of the car at a red light.”

Jake leaps out of his seat. “Are you crazy?” he exclaims. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

You give him an amused look. “Don’t you fly jets for a living?”

Jake gapes at you incredulously. “I trained for that,” he retorts.

You let out a small laugh. “You’re right,” you reply. “I should’ve practiced first.”

Jake draws a hand over his mouth. “Okay, so you got out of the car in the middle of traffic,” he says with a wince. “And he, what? Just let you go?”

You shrug. “Wouldn’t you?”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “In what you were wearing? I wouldn’t even let you go to the bathroom by yourself.”

You stare at him with a grin. “That’s a bit excessive.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “How many guys made passes at you before you finally decided that taking the bus home wasn’t the brightest idea?”

You lower your gaze without responding.

“As if that douchebag just left you,” Jake says angrily.

“Well, I wasn’t being very nice.”

“There’s a surprise.”

You eye him dangerously.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” Jake says. “This isn’t the safest neighbourhood.”

You suck in your cheeks and nod. “Yeah, I was pretty freaked out actually,” you admit. “There was a group of guys following me and they kept making lewd comments. When I got to the bus stop, they sort of surrounded me…”

You trail off and Jake’s hands curls into fists of their own volition. “I could kill your boyfriend.”

“Ex,” you remind him.

“Whatever,” he says. After a moment, he asks, “Are you okay?”

You nod. “I pretended to call someone – you actually,” you say with a laugh. “I had a whole fake conversation with you on my way over. They lost interest in me after a little while and took off.”

He watches you solemnly. “You could’ve actually called me,” he says.

Your face turns skeptical. “Right. And you’d pick up?”

Probably not. “Of course,” he responds. Then he sighs and shakes his head. “Maybe I wouldn’t.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

Jake sighs and sits back down beside you.

Several more groups of trick-or-treaters come and go and you and him take turns answering the door. Occasionally, both of you jump up at the same time and end up oohing and aahing in unison at the various costumes that grace Jake’s doorstep.

This activity does little to help quell the feelings he’s tried for months to repress. He remembers grudgingly the night he told you he was falling for you and you telling him that you weren’t ready for that kind of commitment. That’s when he found out that he wasn’t the only one you’d been seeing.

In your defense, it’s not something you had been actively hiding. In fact, you probably thought that Jake was also sleeping around, given his reputation. But Jake caught feelings like an idiot and was heartbroken when you finally showed your cards.

He spent nearly a year convincing himself that you’re absolute scum. Yet, here you are, looking cute as a button in his joggers and t-shirt, laughing giddily at the neighborhood children like you’re some kind of sweetheart. Like you could fool him now.

Jake slumps back down on the bench, trying to interact with you as little as possible. He can sense that you’re starting to win him over again, and he can’t have that happen. He will not be seduced.

You sit beside him with a grand sigh and lean your head back against the wall. “You get a lot of kids here,” you say lightly.

“Mm-hm,” he hums, bending forward to rest his arms on his legs.

“I’m getting hungry,” you say. “You?”

Jake closes his eyes. The last thing he needs is a fucking dinner date with you. “There are some leftovers in the fridge. You can go heat some up for yourself.”

You lay a hand on his back and Jake goes rigid. “You’re not going to eat?” you ask.

“Not hungry,” he manages to say.

Your hand slides unhurriedly down his spine, your fingers grazing him delicately. Jake brings a fist to his mouth to suppress a moan. “I’ll wait, then,” you say softly. Then, before Jake can gather the strength to remove himself from the situation, you lean your body into his and rest your head on his shoulder.

Jake sits very still, trying to decide how best to navigate this turn of events.

“Do you ever miss me?” you murmur faintly.

Jake turns his head to look down at your face while his heart springs into his throat to constrict his breathing. “What are you doing?” he asks huskily.

Your eyes stare deeply into his. “I’m just wondering,” you whisper.

Jake sighs and rubs his forehead. “You just broke up with Frank.”

Your eyes start to fill with tears. “I miss you.”

“Fuck,” Jake mutters and straightens his back. His head drops like a deadweight against the drywall in behind.

You’re displaced in the process but, once he’s situated, you slowly move closer, until your head is resting over his chest.

Jake grits his teeth but wraps his arm around you and, in response, you lay your arm over his abdomen. He can feel your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt. He tightens his embrace around your shoulders and curses some more, in silence this time. What is it about you that he just can’t resist?

You lift your head off his chest so you can be face to face with him. Jake tries very hard not to lock eyes with you because that would likely be the end of him. “Jake,” you say in a wispy sort of tone and Jake instantly loses that fight. He meets your gaze, and your eyes entrance him. “I want you to kiss me,” you breathe.

Jake can almost taste the citrus of your perfume; it hangs over you like a veil. He can already hear your melodic moans; he knows what you sound like when he touches you. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the ardent urging of your hands as they slip underneath his shirt.

But what he can’t do is kiss you.

Your lips… your lips are all he can think about. He wants you more than anything in the world but you’re not here the same way he’s here; you’re just passing through while he’s here to stay.

You come impossibly close, aching for just a split second of contact. “Don’t you want to?” you whisper.

Jake can hardly stand being this close to you. “Why are you doing this?” he asks in a low, uneven voice.

You gulp and the tip of your nose brushes his. “I want to be with you, Jake,” you whimper, your fingers digging persistently into his ribs. Your travelling hands ignite a chain of pyrotechnics under his skin that sort of set his entire chest ablaze. “Don’t you want that?”

If only you knew how much. He shakes his head, cupping your cheek in his hand. “How can that be? When you’ve only been single for an hour?”

Your eyes start to sparkle. “You don’t believe me?”

He’ll never believe a word you say. But that doesn’t make him want you any less. He catches the tears that stream down your face with his thumb.

“I never got over you, Jake,” you say, clasping your hand over his on your cheek. “I think about you all the time.”

Jake leans his head into yours and grips your hand in his. If you’re telling the truth, he sympathizes. But, more likely than not, every word coming out of your mouth is fiction.

You push him away and sit up straight, wiping at your tears. “I never meant to hurt you,” you say. “I made a mistake. I realized that the moment you left. And I was too proud to go after you.”

Jake grimaces. “So, you dated Frank for ten months?”

You shrug. “On and off. He cheated on me, so…” you trail off with a cynical laugh. “Got what I deserved.”

Jake furrows his brows. “You don’t deserve that.”

You glance up at him with renewed hope. “I don’t deserve you,” you say with a strangled sigh. “I know that. And you know that, obviously. Which is why you won’t kiss me.”

Jake shakes his head.

“I know that it’s long over, Jake. I’m not delusional,” you say, your eyes so penetrating it feels like they’re clawing right into his soul. “And, I swear, I did not come here for this. It’s just, seeing you again – and your fucking disgustingly adorable adult shirt – handing out candy like a well-adjusted member of society – it reminded me what I missed out on.”

Jake lifts his eyebrows. “A lame, costume-less, party-less Halloween?”

You smile. “It’s not lame. It’s perfect.”

Jake watches you wretchedly. You may look innocent sitting before him in his very own baggy joggers and t-shirt with your dizzyingly beautiful eyes. But you are a fucking black widow. With a venomous bite. And sweet lips that spew lies, webs of which he could never untangle. Poison on the tongue. Toxic to the bone. Fatal. “You’re perfect,” he says.

You gaze at him tenderly, waiting for your moment to strike. Jake is waiting too. There’s no use fighting it, he lost the moment he met you. And he’ll lose as many times as it will take to win you for good.

Hangman Tag List:

A/N: The rest of the list will be in the comments. Let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

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[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Cod Men with Drunk!Reader

Requested: Yes [Can I request cod men with fem reader who is drunk with friends and when he goes to pick her up, she’s like refusing and saying she has a bf and starts blabbering about how much she loves him and she doesn’t even recognise him 😭]

Warnings: Reader is actually mostly GN cause I couldn’t find any way to casually mention them being fem, there is one Königin (german word for Queen) mention though, Drunk people behavior, Violence, Cops get called, Reader gets lots of kisses but nothing more than that

Ghost

Ghost is more than a little amused when you squirm in his hold as he picks you up, vehemently fighting him with your limbs what were weak from your drunk state, blabbering on and on about how you already have a boyfriend that you love with all your heart. It warms the empty black pit where his heart once resides, making the cracked edges of his soul pulse with life. Even like this, you still wanted him? Still didn’t want anyone but him? It didn’t even matter that you were so inebriated that you didn’t recognize him, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Your wide eyed expression, your mouth hanging open, made him chuckle.

And he promptly had to dodge your open hand trying to slap at him as you cried about how your boyfriend was gonna beat him up for that.

Soap

Soap can’t help but laugh at you as he slings you over his shoulder, adoring the squeak that you let out when he does so, his hand smacking your ass rather harshly, telling you that he’ll just have to fight your boyfriend then. He asks if your boyfriend is stronger than him, more handsome, braver, as he drags you to the car, forcefully buckling you into the backseat, his grin only widening when you say that he is. He’s certain he’s never been more in love than in this moment, nuzzling his nose to yours affectionately before putting on the child locks to the back doors and taking you home. (He was a little less amused when he got pulled over by the police on the way home because you somehow found a pen and some paper in the backseat and used it to ask a nearby driver to call the cops)

König

König finds it quite endearing but it’s also a bit nerve wracking, worried that people around you will get the wrong intention as he tries to quietly escort you to the car as you insist that you have a boyfriend that you already love, trying to sneak past him back into the bar. The words warm his heart but people are starting to look at him suspiciously so he shushes you softly.

“Königin, please. You’re making a scene.” He tells you softly, his big hands cupping your face as you stare at him with confusion before loudly demanding to know why he knows the nickname he always calls you. König sighs, knowing this was going to be a long trip home.

Alejandro

Alejandro just laughs, pulling you into his lap right there at the bar, pressing kisses all over your face as he remarks on how lucky your boyfriend is to have such a beautiful and loyal partner. Your flustered and defiant look only amuses him more and he presses extra kisses to your cheeks before nibbling at your ears, standing up with you in his arms. “You’re really adorable, Amor!” He tells you, carrying your writhing body all the way to the car, buckling you in securely, kissing your lips softly before getting secured himself. Thankfully you fell asleep on the way home so he didn’t have to drag you kicking and screaming into the house.

Krueger

Krueger is a mix between exhausted and amused as you try to fight him at the bar, crying about how you can’t go home with him because you have a boyfriend already and you love him. It’s cute but people are starting to look distressed and he even thinks he sees some people on the phone starting to call the police, his gruff and blank face does the situation no favors. No amount of reassurances seem to quell you so eventually he just tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and marches to the door. One guy actually tries to block the door, thinking you were in danger, and Krueger tries to get around him but the man is insistent and the both of them are getting more agitated as time passes so he eventually just clocks the man in the face, knocking him out cold before dragging you home.

Keegan

“That so?” Keegan hums when you try to push him away while claiming that you already have a boyfriend, a smirk on his face as he leans into your face, snickering at how your nose scrunches up so cutely. “I think I could take him in a fight.” He says, only growing more giddy with how you vehemently deny it, telling him how your boyfriend could kick his ass sooooo easily. He’s delighted by your loyalty even while in such a state and he chuckles, nipping your nose and pulling you into his arms, nuzzling the top of your head as you bang your fists against his chest and shoulders. “C’mon, Doll. It’s time to go home. And in the morning we can talk more about this boyfriend of yours.”

[dalliancekay]

Aziraphale does NOT need to suffer MORE

Can't believe I have to say this. TW: grief, mourning, death (sorry) I have, since falling into the fandom 6 months ago to escape real life, seen many takes on how Aziraphale needs to (or at least should) suffer in S3 to match Crowley's suffering. As the counterpart to the moment Crowley thinks he lost Aziraphale as he's looking for him desperately in the burning bookshop....

...after this he drinks, we suppose, to dull his pain, waiting for the Armageddon. Or, for the way Crowley suffers at the bandstand argument, the 'I Forgive You' moments, which many people find utterly devastating and incredibly heartless from Aziraphale. Not to mention when he doesn't react in the 'right way' to Crowley's confession in the Final 15. And then on top of that, 'abandons' Crowley. For Heaven. Oh and also for, and I quote: "The smug and entitled way Aziraphale went around in S2 assuming Crowley would love and follow him everywhere." And so for all this pain that Crowley endured for him, Aziraphale should suffer in S3 (to I assume) even out the scores. Or... to deserve Crowley. Some people also want to see him lose it, show his emotions, to cry or beg or otherwise show how much he misses Crowley and how very sorry he is for what he has (so thoughtlessly) done.

Now for the TW grief content I motioned above. You can skip to the next sentence in bold.

I was on holiday late September last year, visiting my mum, stepfather and my two younger brothers. We went to a cousin's wedding. It was great. The day after, as I was hanging out reading a book, my mum got a call. The kind of call every mother fears. My youngest brother (he was 27) died in an accident. We needed to speak to police and the coroner. She cried and cried. She's still crying. She asks questions. She gets no answers. I...did not cry. I talked to the police. I googled a funeral home. I bought my brother his last set of clothes. He lived in a hoodie and torn black jeans. Mum wanted a suit. I texted a lot of people. I bought snacks for the many friends who came to the funeral and wanted to speak to us after. My grief feels like a vice. I am not sad. I do not appear sad. Contrary to what people expect. But I am ANGRY. I am furious. But nobody can see this. I am not fine and I wish no one would ever* ask how I was again. TW/Personal content over. WE ALL SUFFER DIFFERENTLY Since I was small (because I am weird like that) I genuinely wondered if, finding myself in danger, I could scream like people in films do. I don't think I could. I cope with hard situations, fear and stress and anxiety by shutting down, sometimes by retreating as well, and by furiously (but quietly) trying to find a way out. And I think Aziraphale does the same. And that's why I love him so much. And why I feel I get him and understand that people sometimes can't tell how much he's actually feeling. I also express love the way Aziraphale does - by organising things for people, inviting them places, making plans. When Crowley said you call me for three things (and it's basically any old reason) I felt SO SEEN. This is what I would do with a friend who I know is feeling unmoored, sad, stuck (Crowley's 'What's the point of it all' at the beginning of S2). I'd text them with any old thing. I'd never actually say I love you, but I would try to get them to talk, meet me, go somewhere. Aziraphale does not express emotions the same way as Crowley.

But his emotions are valid nonetheless. He is worried for Crowley from around 3 minutes into their acquaintanceship. And he NEVER stops worrying from then on.

And are we quite sure he has never lost Crowley?

How many times did Aziraphale's heart freeze in horror when he realised Hell has taken Crowley and he had no idea if he'll ever come back and what is happening to him?

How did Aziraphale spend the night after vanquishing the demons and starting a war? He had no idea where Crowley was. What happened to him. He was probably sick with worry that Hell just took him away. We didn't see him drink and cry, but surely, the worry must have been overwhelming. The wait for what will happen now.

ALL his worries over the Arrangement. Was he worried for himself? Do we really think that?

Crowley thought he lost Aziraphale in S1, yes, we saw that. And what happened to the angel then?

He got blown into atoms which I bet wasn't pleasant and when he arrives in Heaven he limps. Why is he hurt? And why is he quickly pretending he isn't? Why is he always hiding how he feels? Also, he immediately deserts, wants no part in the Holy War and quickly finds an extremely unconventional way to get back. It's not a grand gesture, he doesn't deliberate, doesn't worry that he will Fall (although surely that must have been what he thought will happen if he survives this), there's no pomp around it, he thinks it and then does it. No hesitation.

Is this coming from an angel who just can't leave Heaven behind and longs to be a part of it? Who loves to follow rules? And let's not forget in those moments Aziraphale thought Crowley was most likely gone. That he probably left for Alpha Centauri. Last he heard from him he was told he was talking to an old friend and had no time for him. Why we NEVER talk about how that might have felt for Aziraphale? About his sadness?

Things are not as simple as Aziraphale has been supressing his emotions and lying to himself about how he feels and he should get over it and become free. That's not how this works. First of all, he was suppressing his emotions OUT OF LOVE. His main goal was always to keep Crowley safe. They simply couldn't run away or hoodwink Heaven and Hell. They had nowhere to go. They had no hope and yet they kept loving each other. That's courage. I know we all grew up with Romeo and Juliet and Heathcliff and Cathy and we FORGOT that those were CAUTIONARY tales. And this is not what Aziraphale wants for them. He would never allow himself to go so fast he would hurt Crowley. He feels guilty enough for agreeing to the Arrangement and for meeting Crowley at all when he knows they can be discovered and punished at any point. And Crowley knows it and RESPECTS it. He does not tolerate Aziraphale's decision to not go on a date and to hell with circumstances. He understands Aziraphale's reasoning and he respects Aziraphale's decision. Don't forget, they have NO POWER. They can't change Heaven and Hell. They can't stop believing in God and work on their religious trauma. Their Heaven and Hell are real places with real power and they both BELONG to them. Aziraphale's trauma and his personality are deeply intertwined and he'd probably never be the kind of person who is open in showing their grief or stress like Crowley does. He will learn to be more open, I'm sure. With his love especially, we see him reaching for and touching his demon in S2. Openly being with him, looking at him without guarding himself. They got a little bit of freedom for themselves despite ALL odds. So. Just because Aziraphale is not crying and screaming and I dunno, tearing his hair out or whatever some people would have him do, does not mean he isn't overflowing with pain, fear, uncertainty, doubts, worries, and so much anxiety that if he let it all out, half of the solar system would turn to ashes.

Aziraphale does not need to suffer in S3 to level out Crowley's suffering. They are, unfortunately, equal in their pain as they are in love. If there is one thing Crowley would never abide, it'd be this take from the fandom. * One more note on grief: (obviously from my personal experience) As initiated by @anthony-crowleys-left-nut in a comment

It's not that I mind to know people care and worry etc, not at all. But asking how I am can only end up in me lying (fine, thank you) and both of us knowing it's not really true and feeling awkward or not lying (I feel like shit, mostly cos I can't sleep and think the world is a stupid, unfair place) and both of us feeling awkward anyway. Does that make sense? I wish I could tell friends/colleagues to ask what I've been up to or something similar instead. What I've been reading (um, AO3, but I'll make something up), watching, do I want to go see some spring flowers bloom (I do). I think...this would probably work not just for someone who is grieving but also for someone who you know is dealing with depression for example or a serious illness etc. Edit 2. It's now almost (in 15 days) a year since my brother died. The random attacks of pain and grief have lessened and I have started to do more of the things I enjoyed before... and I am able to answer how are you questions without feeling like they are trying to mock me (the questions, not the people). So I suppose things do get ... lighter? More diffused? I'm not sure. Because it's still exactly as unfair that my brother has not lived this past year as it will be however many years I will be here without him I expect.

[multific]

The Confession Killer

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warning: torture, blood, violence, kidnapping

Summary: They called him, 'The Confession Killer', but to you, he was nothing but an unsub, another man who needed to be caught. But the sudden knock on your door one late evening will change your entire life.

"The unsub we are looking for is a white male 30-35. A sadistic narcissist who tortures his victims both emotionally and physically." Morgan began to give the profile to the members of the Austin Police Department.

"He makes them call up their husbands, boyfriends or even their fathers so they can confess their love before killing them. We believe he is doing this due to a rejection. His ego can't move forward, so he takes it out on women who look like the woman who rejected him. Given the time of deaths and kidnappings, we can assume that he works at a gas station or supermarket. He kidnaps them at night and then locks them up, then the next evening he makes them call and by the next morning, he kills them. This unsub hates women with a passion, and often he can't mask the hate." you continued as everyone took notes.

"Look for men who are keeping to themselves, if you talk to their coworkers they will tell you that he sometimes has outbursts at women for apparently no or very little reason. He most likely has a hidden house far from where he lives." Finally, Hotch finished and everyone went off to work.

Soon you all finished for the day and headed to the hotel. You ordered some food to your room as you continued to work.

You continued to listen to the last victim's call to her father. Even if Penelope did analyze it already, you wanted to go over everything. 

Then, there was a knock on your door.

"I didn't order anything," you said but they knocked again, you stood up and headed to open the door and tell the person to just leave you alone. 

The door flung open and all you saw was the tall man before he hit you on the head and you blacked out. 

The next morning, everyone found it interesting when you didn't show up but they didn't question it too much. Even Hotch knew that sometimes you needed to be left alone. Sometimes you come up with the most brilliant ideas that way. 

But when you didn't even call by the late afternoon, everyone grew suspicious.

Then, Spencer got a call. He barged into the room where everyone was and put it on speaker.

"S-Spencer, I'm so sorry." you sounded so desperate, everyone knew this was bad. Very bad. You cried and there was a loud bang, it made everyone jump a little before you continued.

Morgan quickly dialled Garcia so she could track the call.

"I should have told you this sooner. I should have been brave but I'm a coward. Truth is I have always loved you. Every time someone asks you to stop rambling, I just want to ask you to continue. Every day I just want to tell you that I love you but I'm a coward. I'm sorry I didn't tell you this sooner." there was a pause as you cried, everyone felt their stomach drop. "I do love you, Spencer Reid." you whispered the last part before the line was cut off.

"Garcia?!" yelled Hotch. 

"Sir... I lost it." 

"This is not good, we all know he kills them after the confession," said Rossi.

"Rossi," David looked at Hotch who had a stern expression and motioned to Spencer. 

Spencer's mind was visibly running at a speed and yet, his mind was blank.

He knew your words were true, he noticed the way you looked at him.

He needed to find you.

"Guys, I think I have something." Hotch barged into the room. "The victims never used the word coward before. This must mean something."

Then as if a lightbulb was turned on, Spencer understood. 

---

You sobbed as you looked up at the man keeping you hostage. 

He then threw you back into the closet he kept you in and locked it before heading upstairs.

"Whore." you heard him say before he left.

You were in complete darkness. He kept you locked and only came down to occasionally torture you.

Small cuts now adored your arms and thighs.

He called you Clara. The woman that hurt him, and now because of what happened with him, he was taking it out on you and other women. 

You knew his MO. You knew you didn't have long. 

Now you just hoped at least one member of your team understood your secret message before it was too late for you.

At least you told Spencer how you felt.

That was something.

Even if you were crying and sobbing while doing so.

The door slammed open as you heard footsteps. Your tears began to fall once again as he dragged you out of the closet and upstairs by your hair.

"You are all the same." he said. "Fucking WHORE!" he said as you lay on the floor, he was above you with a huge knife.

This was it, you thought as you cried.

This was your end.

You shut your eyes and awaited death.

"FBI! Put the knife down!" you heard Derek's voice but you were too scared to open your eyes, then you heard a gunshot and then, silence.

Silence until Derek came, picked you up from the floor and you finally opened your eyes.

He had officers behind him as he carried you out of the cottage.

You caught a glimpse of Emily as you were taken to the ambulance.

The next thing you knew, you woke up in a hospital bed.

Everything hurt, but at least you were not in there anymore.

To your left, Spencer was reading in a chair.

"For a second, I was scared I would wake up in that closet." you said and Spencer shot up, going over to you and holding your hand. "It was so dark in there."

"It's over now. You are safe." he said and you believed him.

"I knew someone would understand my message."

"You are safe now." he said and you nodded.

"You know Spencer, I didn't lie. My confession. I really do have feelings for you." you avoided looking at him, you were scared of rejection.

"I-I know that you were serious. Your tone and... sorry. I'm rambling. I'm trying to say that I also have feelings for you." this time, you looked at him.

Both of you were rather embarrassed, but the feelings were there and were real. 

All you could see was love. Pure love mixed with desperation.

"Kiss me please." you said, easing his desperation. 

He sat down on the bed next to you.

At first, he was awkward, not sure where to put his hands, or what to do, but then, he eased up and after a big sigh, his lips found yours.

You let him take the lead, even if he was a bit hesitant and careful, he found his rhythm.

He was so sweet. 

You were sure he ate some candy not long ago, but he was also perfect.

His lips moulded with yours so easily. 

It was meant to be. Even if he was rather hesitant in the beginning, he started to get bolder by the second.

He pulled away way too soon, but you might have just scared him when you started to use some tongue. He pulled back but didn't go too far, your hand was still on the back of his neck. 

"We should go on a date." he suddenly said. Then he started to ramble on and on about perfect dates, perfect places to go to and more and more and more.

"Spencer, some dinner and drinks will be perfect." you tried to help but then he started to think about different restaurants. "Let's do some Italian," you said, again, helping him.

"I know the perfect place." he said and you smiled. "How silly of me, you should heal."

"Then you can come over and we can order something," you said and he quickly nodded.

Who could have thought that you getting kidnapped and tortured would turn out so well? 

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[miley1442111]

stalker- s.reid

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

summary: spencer saves you.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: general criminal minds topics, gore and brief descriptions of harm, mutual pining, heavy topics, stalking, reader if from Texas

Spencer sat at his desk, a less than pleasant expression on his face. His glasses had slid down his nose, his usually perfectly gelled hair was messy, and a frown played at his lips. 

“If you stare any longer you’re going to end up with your face stuck like that,” Jj joked as she placed herself in his eyeline. Spencer’s frown deepened and Jj chuckled. “Come on, we have a case.”

Spencer got up, falling into stride with you as you left your desk, hanging up the phone.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked, trying to make small talk. You were new to the team, an old contractor Strauss had hand-picked, you were smart (smarter than him), beautiful, and you were so polite and dutiful that Spencer couldn’t tell if you were actually his friend. You just had an air of coolness that seemed so unreachable for Spencer. You and Derek had worked together in Chicago, you two made sense as friends, Penelope, Emily, Jj, and you all got along well, that made sense. David and you had a shared love of cooking, something SPencer couldn’t even begin to understand. You even made Aaron laugh on the worst of days with some witty comment or sarcastic joke. 

Had Derek just asked you to befriend Spencer for the team's sake? Why would you be interested in him? It made no sense.

You smiled. “My friend from home.”

“Where are you from?” He asked as you two sat in the conference room, Aaron shot you two a look that Spencer clearly didn’t see so you didn’t answer. 

“Tell you later,” you whispered as the briefing began. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking into the sweltering heat of Texas from the lovely air-conditioned plane was quite the shock to the body. 

“Fuck it’s hot,” you sighed, pulling off your hoodie to reveal a tight black top beneath. Yes, it was work-appropriate and completely within regulations, but Spencer’s eyes all but popped out of his head like he was in one of those cartoons. 

“You’re drooling,” Derek joked from beside him, pretending to wipe his chin. Spencer pushed his hands away with a shy smile, trying to recover from his embarrassing moment. 

“Ok, Spencer and Derek you two go to the latest crime scene, Y/n, Jj and I will go to the precinct, David and Emily you two will go talk to the deceased family,” Aaron gave out jobs. “Oh and Y/n, I want you with someone at all times, this unSub is going after women with your exact description and our team is a definite hit for him. He’s made contact with the police asking specifically for you and me,” Aaron explained. 

You all dispersed into your separate cars and began working the case. The precinct was full of slimy cops who all promised to ‘protect you’, just not from themselves.

“We want you to wear this,” Jj handed you a bulletproof vest and you rolled your eyes. 

“Seriously? I’m not a porcelain doll, I can handle myself-” You tried to reason with them but the look on Aaron’s face made you stop. He, himself, was wearing one too. “Fine.”

“Good,” Jj smiled. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer was worrying himself sick at the crime scene, rambling about all the ways the unSub could get to you and how you shouldn’t even be in the state.

“Spencer!” Derek exclaimed. “Go to your girlfriend, send Jj back after you. You’re no help when you’re like this.”

Spencer didn’t take kindly to the small jest, but he didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed the keys and drove down to the precinct, finding Jj immediately and making up a poorly executed lie about feeling sick. She saw right through him.

“Hope you feel better Spence,” she smirked. “Y/n is with Hotch interviewing a suspect here,” she pointed it out on a map. “See you later.”

After grabbing the keys to Emily and David’s vehicle (they’d just come back from the crime scene) and driving there, anxiety ran through him as he found the door to the farmhouse open. He turned the corner, finding three figures. One was on the floor, shouting in agony, the other was standing, hands above their head. The third was holding a gun.

He turned back, dialling Derek’s number. 

“We need back-up, we’re at 34 Terrace Avenue! Agent down!” He spoke quietly into his phone. 

“We’re on the way kid, don’t go in without back-up,” Derek told him. Spencer didn’t respond. “Spencer?”

“She’s dying,” he reasoned and hung up, walking in. “FBI! Put your weapons down!” 

The unSub, Mitchell O’Hara had been obsessed with you since high school, you’d rejected him in senior year when he’d asked you to the prom since you already had plans with friends. All over the farmhouse, there were photos of you from every stage of your life. Childhood to teenage years, to college years, to your various positions before joining the BAU just a few months ago, including your CIA and covert Ops positions. 

Spencer could see you on the ground, multiple knife wounds in your exposed torso, he’d made you take off your vest, Spencer thought. You groaned in pain on the floor. “Spencer?” You asked hazily. Spencer kept his gun trained on Mitchell. 

“Yeah?” He was stalling, waiting for Aaron to get his own gun or for back-up to arrive. 

“Good,” you were slipping out of consciousness. “I’ve always liked you,” you smiled hazily. Spencer would be elated at those words if the circumstances were different. 

“This is your dream guy Y/n?!” Mitchell shouted. “Him?!” 

“He’s nice,” you managed. “He’s funny.”

“I’m nice! I’m funny!” Mitchell screamed. 

“You’re not Spencer,” you mumbled as everything went dark. 

SWAT suddenly filled the room and Spencer ran to you, trying to stop the bleeding. Thank god Derek had ordered for an ambulance to follow them to the scene.

As Aaron cuffed Mitchell, Spencer went with you in the ambulance. He watched as they attempted to treat your wounds, needing to cut open your shirt. Spencer was shocked to find what looked like 50 different scars. Some from bullets, others knives, others things he couldn’t name. He knew you’d been in the CIA and on a Cover Ops team, he never thought you would’ve been hurt this many times and still have the strength to go on. The ambulance pulled up to the hospital and you were brought straight into emergency surgery. 

He waited for hours there just pacing, nervously biting at his nails, or attempting to sit there as no one told him a thing. He lied, saying he was your boyfriend. Technically it wasn’t a lie, you liked him, he liked you. He just hadn’t asked. 

“Dr. Reid?” A nurse called out. He stood immediately. “She’s stable and should be waking up soon, you can see her.”

Spencer nodded a ‘thanks’ her way and entered your hospital room. 

You were alive. You were here. You were awake. 

You smiled at him. “Hey.”

Your voice was hoarse, tired from the shouting you’d done. 

“Hi.”

“Thanks for saving me Spencer,” you smiled. “And about what I said… if you don’t feel the same I’d totally get it. I just thought I was… y’know dying so…”

Spencer shook his head and smiled. “I like you a lot too.”

You grinned. “Good.”

He leaned down, a sudden surge of confidence ran through him and he kissed you softly.

“I’m from Texas by the way,” you smiled against his lips. 

“I actually guessed that, yeah,” he joked, making you laugh. God, he loved your laugh. 

He loved you. He just wouldn’t tell you that yet.

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

criminal minds masterlist :)

[ellieslittlewh0re]

OIL & WATER - VI X CAIT

pair - Vi x Caitlyn (arcane)

synopsis - years had gone by, Caitlyn was the chief of police and vi was, well, vi was too busy living in the past. Something about an illegal fighting pit was brought to Cait’s attention, and she decided to check it out. What she didn’t expect was to see her ex girlfriend there, and not only that, she was one of the champions.

tags - NOT SPOILERS!!! smut, blood mentioned, switch vi, switch cait, pussy & ass eating, fingering, humping, kinda sad idk

It was humid that night, and the air felt more dense down here than on topside, fumes from surrounding factories making it hard to breathe.

Caitlyn had her reasons for being in the lanes tonight. It was brought to her attention earlier in the month, some commotion surrounding pit fighting.

As far as she’s aware though, it had nothing to do with shimmer, Jinx or Silco’s still very much active posey, even in death, that being said, she couldn’t give less of a fuck, but being chief and all, the least she could do is check it out.

Thankfully, or maybe not depending on who you ask, the tips she was fed were right, and this wasn’t a complete waste of time.

It was an unassuming location, tall, but fit right into the neighboring buildings, wedged between the two and countless others that stretched out into a narrow maze.

As she stood, waiting, watching, the dim light outside flickered a green haze as she observed the people leaving and entering- consistent and rough, definitely the type of place she should’ve brought backup for.

But, as stated previously, she didn’t give a shit.

She started to walk towards the door, pulling the jacket tighter to her chest, and kept her head low. She wasn’t in her uniform, and tried the best to wear something to make her fit in, but her memory of the fashion down here was a little hazy.

She entered, heavy mental blaring loudly over the many speakers, the crowd even louder.

A man’s voice louder than the rest came over the intercom, the reverb making it hard to distinguish, but the crowd seemed to understand, and they liked what they were hearing.

As she continued further into the building towards the center where the action seemed to be, she stumbled, a hard shoulder trusting into hers.

“Fuckin’ watch it.” The man spat as Cait held her arm, his gold teeth flashing.

She definitely didn’t belong here.

Luckily for her, the man continued on without it escalating further than a scowl on his face and insults muttered under his breath.

Or maybe he’s the one who’s lucky.

She approached the buildings sunken center, doors on either side of the pit opening, and more incoherent yells coming from the announcer and the crowd as it was time for the show to start.

On the left, a large man, freakishly large, his mouth open, and face red as he yelled into the crowd, fists raised up high.

“Jesus”, Cait shuddered in thought, holding the edge of her hoodie by the side of her face, shielding her profile from those in close proximity.

Caitlyn’s mind raced as she absorbed the environment around her, surely, no sane person would go against him, or if they did, they didn’t plan on leaving here tonight alive, which was the only conclusion that seemed logical to her.

She stared at the other door, pitch dark on the other side, and waited for the opponent, but seconds passed and no one showed.

Maybe he chickened out? That wouldn’t be totally irrational.

Caits vision shifts to the man in the ring as he circled around, his fists banging on the metal walls like he was in an adrenaline induced rage, yells from the impatient crowd only fueling it.

But that’s when the man stops yelling, a stone cold expression taking over as he looked to the other side of the pit.

Her eyes followed to where he stared.

The second champion had arrived.

It wasn’t a man at all, but a woman, hair jet black, and smudged makeup around her eyes and down her cheeks to match.

Cait couldn’t help the way her jaw slightly dropped, a fastening in her breath that also went unnoticed at this time.

They stood far apart on either side of the pit, circling around each other like they were waiting to see who would lunge first.

The man was clearly impatient, itching to land a hit on the women, whereas the woman was more composed- serious, but ready, holding her fists out in front of her, blood already soaking through the bandages around them.

Does she fight here often?

Was this even her first fight of the night?

Cait had many more questions and that woman could be the key to answering them.

A bell rings out, and the man doesn’t waste a second to fling himself across the pit, but just as his fists are about to connect, the woman dodges, avoiding his advances, and lands a blow to the center of his stomach.

He falters. It was slight but noticeable, not just to the crowed but to the women as well.

She uses this to her advantage, and lands another fist to his face, blood now smearing the side of his jaw.

This angered the man, causing him to lash out, and an eagerness to connect his tight fist to her body, but that’s where he fucked up.

She was smaller than him by a long shot and lighter too, one second she was there, centimeters away from feeling his wrath, and the next she was both behind him and somehow, also, one step ahead.

It was almost unlike anything Caitlyn has ever seen, but it reminded her of someone.

Cait continued to observe, eyes glued to the mystery fighter, and didn’t dare look away.

It’s like she was toying with him. At many times, she could’ve ended it, but didn’t, instead she’d let him get up only to send him flat on his face again.

It was equally impressive as it was terrifying, and if Caitlyn wasn’t a police officer sent to scope out the place, she’d be offering her respects to the woman.

To Cait, it couldn’t have been more than a 5 minute fight, like it was over before it even started.

But in the same breath, she saw it all so vividly, a slow motion picture that she could’ve described in agonizing detail.

The dark haired woman celebrated, her fists high up in the air and her teeth baring, the crowd sound colliding like a mixture of both celebrations and defeats.

Finally being able to put a face to the voice over the speaker, Caitlyn watched as the man, microphone still in hand, greeted the women in the pit, and held her and up by her wrist, the crowd chanting something that she couldn’t quite comprehend- A name of sorts, not a real one, but a stage name.

She was known here, that much was obvious, and based on her performance tonight, it’s no surprise.

The woman was handed what looked to be a satchel of money before she turned her back towards the crowd, and disappeared back into the dark from which she came.

In Caitlyn���s awe, she almost forgot why she was there in the first place- to gather information, and the one who she wanted to talk to was no longer in her sights.

She lets go of the railing, fingers slightly stiff from how hard she had gripped it during the fight, and leaves the building.

Once outside, Cait searched for the mystery woman, narrowing her eyes down the outstretched alleyways, but it was like she really had disappeared without a trace, in fact, almost no one was around.

Caitlyn should’ve left. Should’ve called it a night, and come back around the same time next week in hopes she’d see the woman again, but all logic seemed to slip from Cait’s mind.

Instead, she rounds the building, and walks down an even narrower corridor towards the back of the building, looking for another exit the women could’ve slipped out of.

Part of her didn’t expect to see her again, but she did.

The woman was about 50 feet away, walking with her back towards Caitlyn, the patch on the back of her leather jacket only noticeable as she passed under the sparse lightning.

Cait’s hands slipped into her pockets, head low, and kept at a safe distance as she began following the woman.

She could be dangerous for all Cait knows. And usually, Cait would think things like this through before doing something as stupid as following a stranger home in a territory that’s mostly unfamiliar to her.

But it’s not like she was going to engage with the women, not tonight anyway, and certainly not alone.

Sometimes, some things go well beyond your control, chief of police or not.

The woman once again disappears from Cait’s sight as she turns the corner up ahead, and Caitlyn uses this time to close the gap by picking up her pace.

As she rounded the corner, she pauses, confusion in her face once she realized the woman was gone.

Caitlyn continued anyway, thinking the woman had lived in the area, and she had simply turned off into one of the many smaller alleyways.

The heel of her boot rang a hallow clunk in the otherwise still surroundings as she stepped forward, a faint scuff being heard from behind just as she was about to take another.

“Who the fuck are you, and why are you following me?”

Cait freezes, slowly bringing her hands up to submit to whatever violence was about to pursue, but still didn’t answer the voice coming from behind.

Even her voice was familiar.

“Are you seriously going to make me ask you again?”

Cait could tell her silence only angered the women more, but she didn’t really think ahead enough to come up with a cover story in case something like this were to happen because she wasn’t supposed to fucking engage tonight.

“I- I’m a fan.” Caitlyn finally speaks, and god, did she feel stupid.

“What?”

“I saw you fight tonight. I’m a fan.”

This was Caitlyn giving it her all- a lie disguised as a genuine excuse for following her, but maybe that’s not all it was.

And this was also about the time the woman knew that this wasn’t just some random stranger.

“Caitlyn?”

Cait’s hands slowly descended back to her sides as she turns, coming face to face with the woman.

It took her a second, and in hindsight, it was so obvious- the fighting, and how she moved-

“Violet?”

They both stood there at a loss for words, and memories of the past on replay, their eyes being the projector.

There was a silence between the two, but there was so much being said in that silence, but none of it seemed to matter right now.

Cait’s eyes glanced down, noticing the droplets of blood on the cobblestone at Vi’s feet.

“You’re bleeding.”

Vi holds up her hand, the white of the gauze no longer visible from her wrist down.

She sighs, her chest noticeably falling deeper.

“Go home, Cait.”

Caitlyn watches in bitter suit agony as Vi turns away from her, leaving her behind, and it’s like she was right back in the place, her mother dead and Vi nowhere to be seen or heard from again.

“I can’t.”

Vi pauses, glancing back over her shoulder, and waited for an explanation that didn’t look like was coming.

Cait looks elsewhere, the floor, walls, the light post a few feet away… anywhere except for Vi, which is ironic because that’s the only thing she wanted to look at.

She stumbles over words, and opened her mouth before she shuts it again.

It’s been awhile since Cait has felt like this- so unsure and out of control, even lying, which isn’t out of the ordinary for her job, but it was never her taste.

She was desperate. Hurt.

It was a job turned personal, and she wanted answers.

“You’re under investigation. I’m going to have to ask some questions.”

Cait sounded like it didn’t phase her, professional and cold- like it totally didn’t make her want to crawl inside her skin and die, but that was far from the truth.

She hated this reunion, or more specifically, she hated how how often she thought about this day happening- the day she’d finally see her again, and this was never how it played out in her head.

“Really?” Vi scoffs a laugh, half turning to face her, “Now?”

All Caitlyn could do was nod, she didn’t dare trust the ever growing lump in her throat.

This isn’t how Vi thought it would go either, never wanting to be on the other end of Cait’s authority, well… not like this anyway. But at this point, Vi had nothing to lose, and she’d take whatever Caitlyn gave her.

Vi’s hands stung, sticky bandages clinging to open wounds as she shoved them into her jackets pockets.

“We can talk at my place. It’s just up there.”

She nodded her head in the direction further up the street, and started walking before Cait could suggest something else or resist altogether, but even in Cait’s sanest mind, she wouldn’t dare.

Caitlyn, against her better judgment and years of police training, followed Vi, but the thought of this being a set up also crossed her mind.

And almost, as if on cue, Vi looks over her shoulder, pulling a set of keys out of her back pocket.

“We’re here.”

She proceeds to lead Cait up a steep set of stairs, metal bars crumbling to rust under Cait’s hand as she approached the second story apartment, still keeping the idea of it being a set up in the back of her mind.

It was dark. Dingy. A polar opposite to what Caitlyn was used to.

Bottles littered the floor, some empty- most empty, others at varying levels of emptiness, and a small bed shoved into the corner.

As nonchalantly as Cait could, she looks around at the cramped space, and Vi did what she always did upon coming home- grabbing one of the said half empty bottles, and sat on the edge of her bed, taking heavy swigs between labored breaths.

Vi’s forearms rested on bent knees, only moving from this position to take another swig as blood continued to leak from her knuckles.

“You wanna talk so talk.”

Again, another sip, and a gash from Vi’s eyebrow that hadn’t been noticed before started to bleed, a thin trail of crimson flowing down the side of her face.

A bitter taste filled Caitlyn’s mouth, lingering resentment she thought she was well past rising to the surface.

“So this is what you’ve been up to?” Cait scoffs out, sounding somehow even more bitter than she’d ever expected, immediately wishing to take it back.

Vi either didn’t hear or she was pretending that Cait’s words weren’t like a fucking dagger to her heart, taking a final swig before setting the bottle aside.

She began unwrapping the bandages, her lip slightly twitching as the fabric peeled from open skin, and as much as she tried to keep her pain hidden from Cait, it wasn’t working.

Caitlyn kneels to the ground, and pulls out a handkerchief with some fancy emblem sewed into the corner.

“Here. You’re going to bleed more if you keep shaking like that.”

She grabs Vi by the wrist, holding her still, and started dabbing the area clean.

It was so gentle. Cautious. Almost healing upon contact.

It’s been so long since Vi had been handled with such care. The last time also being Caitlyn right before shit hit the fan.

It was against everything in Vi’s nature to let someone else care for her, but this time, she found it impossible to refuse.

“I thought you were here to arrest me, not play doctor.” Vi hisses, the plain cloth now dosed in the high proofed liquor she had just been drinking, and it definitely being on purpose on Caitlyn’s behalf.

“I’m not going to arrest you, Violet. I told you, I just had some questions.”

Vi’s eyes rolled, a huff passing her lips, “So why aren’t you asking them?”

Caitlyn thought for a moment, and moved to be seated next to Vi, using firm grip with her index and thumb on Vi’s chin to move her head to the side, and started to clean the cut to her eyebrow.

“How long have you been fighting there?”

She asked, or more so demanded, really playing into the scary cop archetype, but that clearly wasn’t the case as she cleaned away at the girls soon to be scar.

Again, Vi winced, trying to pull away from the burning sensation on her eyebrow, but Cait wouldn’t let her get far.

“Dunno. A few months, half a year… Maybe more.” Vi answers, although not very helpful, and she knew it too.

Vi knows exactly how long it had been, not necessarily the fighting, but how long it had been since she’d seen Cait, just so happened they were one and the same.

Caitlyn’s hand lingered a little longer than needed, after noticing (and hoping Vi didn’t) she pulls away.

“Who runs the operation?”

Cait looks over her shoulder after a few seconds of no reply, only to see Vi lying down on the mattress, and her eyes hidden behind her arm that was draped across her face.

Vi chuckled, a half hearted one at that. Her canines flashing briefly, “Why would I tell you that?”

She moved to her elbows, resting her weight on them, and looked to Cait who seemed to be a bit distracted.

Could be because something that has never happened to her just happened- not getting her way, or in this case, not getting her questions answered, but it wasn’t that.

She was distracted by the sudden intimacy. Both of them being so close on a bed, dim lighting just adding to the heightened senses, and she was distracted by Violet herself. Sure, it’s the worse Cait had ever seen the girl, including the time she was stabbed and bleeding out. But it was different. She looked stronger, more mature, and all the exposed skin that Caitlyn wasn’t used to seeing was no longer hidden away due to the limited coverage of her chest bindings.

And it certainly didn’t help that whenever Cait was near her, even back then, the tension was suffocating.

Vi has lost a lot before this moment, but now, it’s Caitlyn’s turn to lose.

Caitlyn joins Vi, and mimicked her position on the bed, fingers interlocked over her stomach as silence crept in.

They both stared ahead at the cracked, flaky ceiling, a silent mental game to see who would look at the other first, but Violet was especially weak in that field.

“Is this really why you came? To ask questions about the pit?”

Vi asks, sounding so small, so quiet like regardless like of what the answer was, the idea of it possibly leading to something bigger terrified the girl.

Caitlyn turned to face Vi, tucking an arm under her head.

To Vi, it felt too good to be true to be with Cait like this like that one time all those years ago when things were ever so slightly easier. On nights where she’d had gotten too drunk too fast, and too alone, she’d fall asleep to that memory, but now, it felt like a lifetime had passed since then, and neither of them resembled who they used to be.

“I was just checking it out and then I saw you fight…” Caitlyn trails off, and her eyes squeezed shut, letting more silence intrude, “I didn’t know it was you until you said something.”

Vi thinks for a moment, the pouding in her heart growing a little louder as Caitlyn turned onto her side to face the once pink haired girl.

Caitlyn speaks first, of course she did. Vi was too in her head, too anxious to engage a conversation without the promise of a stutter or slurry of pent up emotions all coming undone at once.

“I don’t care about the pit, Vi… never did.”

Caitlyn’s body tightens, arms cradling around herself as she didn’t dare look Vi in the eyes.

In a way, it was a confession, an apology. A way of saying that even though a lot of time has passed, things done that shouldn’t have been allowed, and words spoken that never should have, she still always thought of her.

“Then why are you here now and not then?”

Caitlyn fills with dread. Every ounce of that question felt like she was being faced with all her regrets because the truth is, she didn’t have an answer. It was everything and nothing all at once, an endless loop of what felt like excuses.

This is when Cait finally looks up, meeting the icy blue of Vi’s eyes that seemed a whole lot dimmer than what she remembered.

“I thought that’s what you wanted… for me to stay away. I thought it would be… easier.”

Caitlyn couldn’t have sounded more guilty, more afraid by an impeding reaction. But Vi isn’t like her.

“Do you still think it’s easier?”

Vi asked, a humor hidden behind obvious hurt that it wasn’t the explanation she wanted, but she’d happily take, reaching a hand out a little further on the mattress between them, praying Cait would take the bait.

And Caitlyn did.

First, it was hand on hand, then fingers intertwined, and breathing fastened.

It was the hardest decision she ever had to make, but the question had gone completely forgotten as hand touches turned into opened mouth kisses, and Caitlyn’s fingers wrapped up in the longer layers of Vi’s hair as she climbed on top.

Vi’s hands were on Cait’s back, running along the length of it, and in the divot of her spine- feeling, reeling the shape of her, memorizing every detail in a matter of seconds in case this was just another “easy” decision on Caitlyn’s behalf.

But there was also no way in hell Vi was going to make the same mistake twice.

“Say you mean it.” Vi mumbled between the kisses to Caitlyn’s chest, ridding her of her jacket just moments prior.

“What?”

Caitlyn’s confusion didn’t stop there as Vi hooked an arm across her back, maneuvering them both with ease so that Cait was underneath her.

There was an eagerness- a lack of regard that Caitlyn felt from this position- the familiarity of it, and what it has led to in the past like a drug that you worked so hard to rid yourself of just for it all to crumble in an instant when laid out in front of you- or in this case, on top of you.

“Say you mean this.”

Vi’s tone emphasizes, and in any other context, it could've come off as demanding or harsh, but right now, it was unmistakably desperate.

Vi’s eyes lock onto Cait’s as she lowers her head down, her tongue connecting with the hot flesh across Cait’s lower stomach.

A hum is pulled from Caitlyn’s lips- subtle but there, and Vi took it as permission, hooking her long fingers into the waistband of Caitlyn’s pants and proceeded to pull them down just enough to see how far the lace of Caitlyn’s black panties went, which to Vi’s surprise, went pretty far- all the way type far.

She thought she was going to make Caitlyn work for it. Beg for a touch, a feel, a taste… Some sort of payback was expected, but that was before the kiss, or the way Caitlyn looked at her, and definitely before Vi got a hint of her taste through the lace.

“I mean it-“ Caitlyn stutters, her head falling a little heavier against the mattress as Vi’s mouth envelops Caitlyn from down below, lace heavying with the spit-precum mixture.

Whether Caitlyn meant it or it was just another empty promise to get what she wanted didn’t matter to Vi. She needed it just as much as Caitlyn did- the orgasm, the empty promise, either would suffice when your reality is beating the shit out of people before they could beat you up first, and drinking until the term “blackout drunk” didn’t seem like it was enough.

Before Vi, or Caitlyn for that matter, could think about the consequences or the impending repeated heartbreak that would come from this, Vi slipped the few inches from the bed to the floor. Her knees clashed against the cold concrete, pulling Cait along with an arm wrapped under her thigh and her other hand busy, an index finger hooking the small patch of cotton where Caitlyn’s pussy was previously hidden behind, pulling it to the side.

“Holy shit… I’ve missed you.” Vi exhaled, unsure if the statement was directed at Caitlyn herself or the part of Cait that Vi’s face was centimeters away from.

Vi continued slow licks, bring her head up every so often to more closely observe Caitlyn’s movements- the rise of her chest, the soft mews and almost wines of contempt when Vi would stop, even if it was only for a few seconds.

She showed incredible restraint, not because of the payback that she promised herself she’d get, but because she wanted to make it last, savor it, but Caitlyn on the other hand wasn’t as sentimental.

“Stop-“ Caitlyn starts but is cut off. A slight clench in her jaw as she winces, and a stinging sensation spreading high on her inner thigh where Vi’s teeth bit down.

“stop teasing.”

Vi tongue slid across the freshly made mark, soothing it before looking up, and meeting a less than enthusiastic Cait.

She chuckles, a quick breath leaving her nostrils, “Oh? You don’t like how I do it?”

Vi’s teeth flash, and the corner of her lip upturned.

Maybe this was her payback.

“Show me how you want it then.”

Caitlyn stared for a second before moving, a split decision that showcased just how fragile her patience truly was.

She gets up, hand and knees on the mattress, and held a hand out for Vi to take, which she does.

Cait pulls her onto the bed, putting her hands on the front of Vi’s shoulders as she climbs on top to straddle her waist.

Vi in all of this was a little starstruck, going along with whatever Caitlyn wanted even if it meant imminent death, but luckily for her, that seemed like a far off possibility right now.

Caitlyn reaches behind to unclasp her bar, letting the straps fall naturally down her arms before tossing it the short amount of distance to the floor, and Vi did her best to not stare, but old habits die hard.

Instead of a witty remark on Caitlyn’s behalf about “having some dignity” or “my eyes are up here” she welcomed the attention, even encouraged Vi to go beyond just looking, but Vi didn’t need the extra incentive.

Her hands danced along the sides of Caitlyn’s torso, squeezing her smallest parts with the cuts and scraps long forgotten before they reached her breasts.

She cupped them, letting the natural curve guide her fingers, and didn’t stop until Caitlyn leans forward to kiss her.

First, it was slow, pecks overlapping into drawn out kisses before tongues intertwined into a maze with no beginning or end, and hands cradling, holding parts of each other that have been neglected of touch for far too long.

For Caitlyn, it was nice at first to have this and nothing else, but the itch was building into a painful rupture, and Vi wasn’t far behind.

Cait’s hand glided down Vis stomach, fingers curling over the ridges of her prominent abs until they’re forced to a stop by the heavy hardware of Vi’s pants.

“Can I?” She whispered against Vi’s lips, heavy breathing filling the momentary silence before an answer could be spoke, but it wouldn’t take long.

With permission granted, Caitlyn lowers herself to mirror Vi position from just a few minutes before, undoing the buckle, and with the help of Vi, she pulls the ripped, dark denim from her legs.

As soon at the warmth of Cait’s mouth became the only thing Vi could feel, a tear was almost shed- gratitude or the longing for things to stay like this forever had become overwhelming even for a girl like Vi.

Vi’s hands reached, fingers intertwining with the dark blue hair that flowed loosely around Caitlyn’s face, a total opposite to the tight updo Cait had worn not even 20 minutes ago, now having a slight wave to its usual unbending pattern.

“Fuck, Cait-“ Vi groaned, swallowing it down as she bit her lip. “-I’m gonna cum.”

Already? But Caitlyn just started?

Maybe her first impression of Vi after the time apart had failed her. Surely, she had different girls in and out of this room, sometimes more than one in a single day, but clearly that wasn’t the case.

Cait eased up, applying less pressure, and only allowing the lightest of touches to Vi’s clit before stopping all together to tempt a finger inside.

“Oh fuck-“

Vi tried sitting up to look at Caitlyn, a plummet in strength as Caitlyn’s knuckle disappears inside, and shortly after, another finger was added.

Cait continued like this- in and out, slow, agonizingly slow at first, pulling all the way out, before stuffing her full, over and over again she did this until she picked up speed.

The light pressure of Caitlyn’s lips on Vi’s inner thighs proved to be little distraction to the pressure building deep inside Vi’s stomach, but seemed to be more effective when Cait’s lips reconnected to her clit.

Vi heaved, the bindings around her chest tightening even more as her chest rose deeply, and her whines softening into a delicate cry, which was a rare occasion for her.

But she was sensitive, starved, also didn’t help Cait happened to be quite the perfectionist, even in sex.

VI’s hands threw down, pressing on the back of Caitlyn’s head, and held her there with her hips rolling with the motion of Cait’s tongue, and without a minute to waste, Caitlyn’s mouth filled with her, over pouring until it was dripping down to the peak of her chin.

Despite the hard-hitting orgasm Vi just endured, it didn’t take long before she pulls Cait onto the bed, and with Cait’s mouth still glistening with Vi’s climax, she kisses her, tongue lodging itself deep into the back of Cait’s throat. As she’s doing this, she’s molding Caitlyn, putting her into position before she could process.

Vi’s hand is on the back of Caitlyn’s neck, kissing her deeper and deeper before she stops, a thin trail of spit breaking as Vi pulls away.

“Vi…” Caitlyn breaths, eyes glossy, and on the brink of tears as Vi’s hand trails along her spine, applying pressure.

“Do you trust me?” She whispered, maintaining eye contact as her lips grazed Caitlyn’s shoulder.

Caitlyn’s bottom lip is taken hostage for a brief moment between her teeth before releasing, giving a slight nod, but enthusiastic nonetheless.

Vi is brought to her knees, positioning herself behind Cait, and her hand on Caitlyn’s back lowering her down.

With cheeks squished against the mattress below and unable to see Vi directly, Caitlyn could do nothing but anticipate what’s to come, and because she couldn’t see Vi, the touches to her ass and inner thighs only felt amplified.

Now, this is where Vi hand all the power, all the time in the world to see Caitlyn how she’d often think about her in her dreams, specifically on nights where her hand couldn’t come close to ever being enough.

Her hand is dragged along Cait’s back, fallowing it all the way down to the space between Cait’s thighs, and cradled her cunt in the palm of her hand, letting the moisture soak through her skin.

With this little amount of pressure, Caitlyn pushes her hips back into Vi’s touch, the arch in her back deepening, and her cunt clenching at what’s to come.

Seeing how eager Caitlyn was for her touch, Vi had to feel it for herself, so she hooked the thin stitches of the laces with her fingers and pulled, and with a harsh, quick yank, it broke away from Cait’s hips.

Another whine is emitted as Caitlyn attempted to look back at Vi, who was lowering herself to be eye level with Cait’s lower set of lips, pulling her ass apart to more clearly see how much of a mess she was, even when she tried so hard to seem composed.

She licked, and licked, and licked. There wasn’t an inch of Caitlyn that hadn’t been touched by Vi’s tongue. They had no off-limits, and the term “gross” wasn’t even in their vocabulary. They had nothing to be embarrassed about when it was just them two, and Caitlyn is learning now that even after years apart, it’s still the same.

Even the lockjaw that was threatening Vi’s mouth didn’t stop her- her thumbs centered between Caitlyn’s thighs, physically holding her lips apart as she flexed inside her, pushing the hot muscle as deep as it could possibly go, Caitlyn’s muffled whines sounding a whole lot less muffled even with her face buried in the sheets.

That’s when Caitlyn found some strength- a mere ounce of it, and she used this strength to reach a hand behind in search of the only hand she wanted to hold.

She squeezed until her nails left indents on the back of Vi’s hand, and Vi knew she was close.

Vi narrowed in, working through the sore jaw and neck, squeezing the plush of Cait’s thighs until the skin around her pads turned white.

Caitlyn cursed as she came, and in the same breath, she also spoke Vi’s name so sweetly that it made up for the obscenities.

Vi could’ve stopped there, but what then?

Caitlyn would spend the night?

Move in?

One of those is more plausible than the other, but Vi didn’t like her chances.

As Caitlyn laid there, stomach flat to the bed, and her head resting on forearms, and seemingly trying to catch a breath, Vi crawled on top of her, bandagings coming loose as she lowers herself onto Cait, and kissed her across her shoulders.

It was sweet- possibly the most innocent form of physical touch, but that’s when Vi’s creeping hand continued to lowers itself until her wrist was snug between Caitlin’s ass.

VI’s head lowers, her bottom lip grazing Cait’s ear, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Her breath is heavy, not from exhaustion or something similar. She was insatiable, greedy, and the guilt was loud for what she was about to do, but her hunger was louder.

“Okay..” Caitlyn responded, her eyes widening a bit as Vi’s hand grabbed the underside of her jaw to turn her face to feed Vi’s greedy lips once more, sinking two fingers inside.

A gasp disconnects them briefly as the full length of Vi’s fingers disappears inside but is quickly taken ahold of by Vi's greed once again, whose motion of her wrist was quickly growing in pace.

One orgasm had passed, then two…

Caitlyn cried out, all her strength exhausted as she squeezed at the forearm that was seat-belted across her chest, and Vi’s less busy hand ever so gently fitted around Cait’s neck, lightly applying pressure with her fingers to the sides.

It was so sweet- a little rough and almost sadistic if you noticed the details- the tear-stained sheets, the handling of Caitlyn’s lower half, but, overall, sweet and undeniably passionate.

As Caitlyn cried out- louder, and her voice on the brink of a scream, Vi face muzzles into the side of Cait’s cheek, and places a kiss to the tear-stain by her eye, catching the saltwater with her lips, “I wanted to marry you, did you know that?”

“You left, and I wanted to marry you. I still do.”

Again, Caitlyn was left unable to reply. She couldn’t form a sentence, nonetheless have a conversation of this degree.

So, instead, she says her name, a meek “vi” leaving her lips as she looks over her shoulder to look into her eyes.

“Please.”

Like clockwork, Vi did what she was asked, and kept a steady, consistent rhythm.

Sweat-drenched hair stuck to Caitlyn’s forehead, and her nails curling into Vi’s skin as her screams continued for a few more seconds, each time getting cut short as Vi’s fingers collided with her cervix until the fluid seeped out around Vi’s hand.

She retreats, and pulls out carefully to minimize Cait’s discomfort before lying on her back next to her, heavy breathing shared between the pair.

Vi didn’t speak. She couldn’t. This was her one opportunity to get her back- fix things to be how they were supposed to, and she fucked it all up by letting her emotions get out of hand.

It wasn’t even Vi’s problem to fix, Caitlyn left, not her, but it was in Vi’s nature to try.

Vi rolls into her side, hovering a hand over Caitlyn’s shoulder, hesitation upon not seeing her face.

“Cait?”

Her hand finally connected, a pit in her stomach starting to form, but quickly melted away as Caitlyn looks at her.

Vi knew that look, and she knew Caitlyn enough to know that not all is lost.

Caitlyn couldn’t promise it today, tomorrow, or even a year from now.

But until that day comes, no more year long absences and no more drowning in the ‘what could’ve beens’ of the past, but someday, when things are less fucked up, and they’re able to give each other the versions of themselves they used to be, there will always be a home waiting for them.

[naffeclipse]

Dance, Detective, Dance

Detective!Reader x Police Chief!Eclipse

Commission Info

Who's ready for some dancing with Police Chief!Eclipse? I had a delightful time writing this darling little fic which was requested by Anonymous. The detective reader must navigate a situation they truly do not want to be in and are ultimately rescued by a very dashing Eclipse. Now, time to hit the dance floor.

———

This is not where you’re meant to be.

The candlelight twinkle of the capitol building’s chandeliers cast the ballroom floor in gentle, romantic lightning. The marble columns of the great architecture build a grandness to the politics and party tonight. Men, women, human and animatronic alike, flutter around the space in bird-like trillings of socialization. The suits are finely pressed and the gowns are exuberant and shimmering. The large, photo-ready smiles mean nothing to you. Though fellow officers mingle among public workers and rich city members, you stand deliberately away from the conversations in a shady nook against the wall.

You must remind yourself to unfurrow your brow lest you stand with a perpetual scowl on your face for the rest of the night. This should not be mandated as part of your job—a charity ball, put on by your police precinct no less. Your time is better spent pooling over castfiles and running down streets to locate criminals. 

You tug at the collar of your formal attire, dark and fitted for a black-tie event. The weight of your gun rests heavily on your hip, hidden beneath your clothes. You wish you could stroke it, hold it in your hands, and count the rounds. The number of bullets inside the clip is branded in your mind, but the routine is grounding. But, your hands lie empty and repeatedly clench.

The night has worn on. This has been your service for the evening. You can excuse yourself on the basis that you’re needed back at your desk to study the recent string of crimes the Celestial Gang conducted. Surely that’s better spent time than standing here, stuck in fancy clothes that do little to make you more approachable.

The door. Your eyes have been returning to it constantly in the last hour. You could piece together what’s been eating away at you about the last rival gang slaying. What are the Celestial Gang building up to? Why suddenly strike so hard and fast at enemies? Do they simply have more confidence or is there something moving in the underground, dark and silent as a reaper?

This is enough. You’re going back to work. You step out of the shadow alcove you’ve lurked in all evening. Shoulders hunched as you begin to slip between oblivious attendees of the charity ball, you keep your eyes on the door. Single-mindedly, you weave towards the exit without seeing one face or hearing a voice in the crowd’s babble.

Someone emerges at the top of the grand staircase to the left of the doors. A familiar figure, tall and lithe and adorned in sun rays, descends the steps.

You stop in a crowd. Eyes drawn up, you stare at the police chief.

Eclipse. You’ve never seen him so sleek and sharp in a tuxedo of deep crimson. He fixes his bow tie with deft fingers, his eyes lifting to the crowd as if he’s lost something. His expression is intent, unsatisfied as he searches for the brief moment it takes for his gaze to swiftly land upon you.

Your lips part for an inexplicable reason. To call out to him. To explain why you’re making a beeline for the door. Say hello before you tell him goodbye. You have no answer. No words slip from your lips as he holds your stare as if you were the only person standing in the room.

His canary yellow optics brighten. His hands fall, softly opening in a gesture that seems to invite you closer. The police chief tilts his head. He finishes descending the steps as you push through the crowd—not to escape the ball but to meet him at the foot of the staircase.

He says your name softly in a manner you consider dangerous.

“Eclipse,” you greet, though it’s unnatural to say his name while the two of you are very much not alone. Yet, the crowd leaves you two in a pocket of privacy, unaware and unconcerned with a commanding officer and his subordinate.

Music pulls on strings, echoing in the air. Dancers begin to meet and pair behind you on the polished dance floor. Eclipse’s eyes briefly stray to the live music conducting the beginning of a couple’s dance, but his black pupils return to you. 

“Where are you going?” He reaches out and touches the sleeve of your clothes, smoothing down a non-existent wrinkle. 

“Out,” you answer, almost shoving it between your teeth. “I have work to do.”

His grin tightens like glass crunching in on itself. His fingertips slip further down your arm, trailing carefully over the sleeve that’s far too stiff for your liking to loosely encircle your wrist. He keeps you in place.

“You are expected to remain for the entirety of the charity ball; the same as every officer in attendance.” He speaks with the firmness of authority.

You narrow your eyes. He meets you unyieldingly. Your fist clenches just underneath his large, dark hand.

“I need to go over the case files from last week. I can’t stand here all night.” You look out over the band playing, accompanying dancers as they step and twirl. The bodies are organized yet chaotic in their colors and energies. A few people are laughing and others are stone-cold serious, focused on the rhythm while others kiss their partner.

“Detective, you can last one night at a social event.” His voice gravels low, almost touching a note of mirth.

His thumb slides down the bones of your hand, caressing your skin softly. A shiver subtly works its way up your spine. You turn back to face him. A stubborn argument crawls upon your lips but you stop short.

The police chief is strangely quiet. No, distracted. His eyes roam up and down your person. You stand frozen under his inspection. You dressed appropriately. He can’t fault you for improper attire but you can’t unravel the motive for his silence. His expression deepens into something soft. His optic lights dust you gently with his attention.

The strange exchange prompts your study of the police chief. He’s never been one to slack in his appearance nor fail to dress for the occasion. There is an undeniable charm to how the tuxedo looks on him. His fingertips are soft against the pulse on the inside of your wrist. The deep crimson color compliments his maroon and indigo sun rays.

A beat passes. Eclipse finds your eyes again.

“You look exquisite, sweetheart.” The note of affection in his tone sends a weakness into your knees.

“I’m not staying,” you say. Eclipse knows better than to charm you—though you must breathe to regain the feeling in your legs. “Even if I will miss seeing you look so sharp and spiffy.”

“Thank you,” his voice is low and gravelly. It echoes him finding you late at night, working at your desk, and walking you halfway to your home. A voice greeting you first thing in the morning with a cup of coffee. A question of concern, wondering if you’ve had enough sleep lately.

He holds out his other hand. The hold he has on your wrist is loose, soft and so unlike the coldness of handcuffs you’ve experienced before. You’re reminded again of his relation to the Celestial Gang mob bosses. Though what happened to separate Eclipse from his brothers and lead them down such different paths eludes you. You don’t pry. You won’t ask him to give it all up. 

He is not his brothers.

“Since you must stay here, we can make use of your presence.” His fingers unfurl. His dark digits and silicon palm wait before you. Like an offer of hope. Like an invitation to sneak away, just the two of you. His optics are lower in light. “Won’t you dance with me, Detective?”

You stare at the offering. A weak stirring begins within you. You tilt your head back to hold his gaze.

“I can’t dance.” You have the bluntness of a hammer. He knows this. He has always known this.

Eclipse’s grin remains unwavering. 

“I’ll lead.”

The music swells to a final jazzed ending. Couples drift apart and shuffle, and others stay perfectly together, waiting for the next song.

This is dangerous. Your hand falls into his. Him leading you deeper onto the dance floor to lose yourselves in the crowd and yet, find all the privacy. 

“Stand on my feet,” he says.

“You’ll regret this,” you warn him gently for his own sake. You fix your shoes upon him, scuffing up the shiny black polish but Eclipse doesn’t even glance down. His optics are firmly fastened on your gaze.

He chuckles low within his metaphorical throat. The first twirl begins, and you are perfectly safe upon his footwork. If anyone notices that you’re not truly putting in effort, allowing Eclipse to lead and put in all the moves, no one says anything. No one truly looks at you. All the politicians officers and city workers are engrossed in their dramas. You almost feel as if you were alone with Eclipse.

The music slips over you. The string cords and the waltz rhythm of the instruments tug you both along. Eclipse effortlessly weaves and carries you through the people, his attention tilted down to hold you in his vision while the room spins at the edges. You stare into his optics. Yellow with pinpricks of black. His smile is softening at the edges, his sharp teeth less visible in his focus.

“How do you know how to dance?” you ask, your interrogation voice coming through full force.

Eclipse tilts his head. A glint in his gaze gives way to something you can’t help but find unusual for the police chief.

“Personal interest and a need to fulfill certain duties a police chief must uphold such as appearing at public events. Especially for an animatronic,” his voice is gravelly.

To be charming and capable in every manner, to have to give even more than a human would in his position. Your hands clench his as he cuts through the space, leading your clasped hands like a wedge through the masses. Your grip tightens upon him. A burn sets in your chest, hot and spitting.

“You don’t have to dance,” you say, “Not with me.”

“I know,” he says softly. His voice lowers. “It’s a shame I don’t see you like this more often.”

You grimace as you glance down at yourself.  “These clothes are too stuffy. Who could chase a criminal down in this?”

Eclipse’s smile is poignant as he remarks, “It’s a very good thing you’re not on active duty tonight then.”

A sound between a huff and a growl escapes your mouth. Eclipse twirls you in a motion that leaves your head spinning slowly until you remember to focus on his eyes. His light is constant through the movement of his practiced swaying. 

You fight the urge to close your eyes and rest your head on his chest. His height gives you the perfect advantage to rest against him. You might be tired. The entire social event has sucked you dry and now you’re stuck in a slow whirl with the police chief. It’s difficult to remember that you wanted to leave only a few moments ago.

“Eclipse, I have to go,” you say over the ringing of the music. You’re getting distracted. You feel weak, held up by him so tenderly. His hand presses into the small of your back as he shifts you in his arms. 

“Would it kill you to spend an evening with me, looking so fine, and dancing?” His eyes burn low. You can’t look away.

“Maybe.” He doesn’t let you loose, so you must grit your teeth and admit, “I dance and wear nice clothes only for you.”

Eclipse grins. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, and his movements grow stronger. 

You cling tighter to him. Held flush against his chassis and fine suit, you watch the room twist upon itself. Eclipse draws you in and out, and he carefully stops to gently set you back on your feet. You immediately freeze like a wild animal set in a civilized place. Before you can succumb to your failure of not knowing a single dance, Eclipse takes your hand and lifts your arm above your head. Pressing your shoulder softly, he guides you into a soft spin upon your toes. You almost stumble. He holds you steady.

Then he takes you by the waist, holding you tight as he dips you low. You’re parallel to the floor, parallel to the police chief's smile as he hovers above you. You both hide below the crowd. The music swells.

His mouth has never been closer. You don’t realize how much your chest heaves, your heart alive in your ribcage as if amid a shoot-out, but it’s him. It’s only him. A smokey-amber scent fills your senses. He’s so close, and you drown in him.

Eclipse gently lowers himself closer. His optics flash between your eyes and your lips. You breathe out. Your eyelids flutter close—

And gunshots ring out.

Your eyes fly open and Eclipse’s optics flare. People scream. The stringed instruments cut off with abrupt notes souring the air. In a blur of a second, Eclipse pulls you back onto your feet. You whirl around, your hand upon your gun and freeing it from its concealed holster. 

The doors are wide open, held by men in dark attire as more shots ring out, thrumming out of Thompson machine guns. Gleeful criminals stare down at the panicking charity ball. You step forward. Eclipse's hand falls on your shoulder, pulling you back just as a politician in a suit dashes right in front of you. Eclipse’s grip tightens on your collarbone.

The gangsters glance around, lowering their weapons. Screams of panic ring out again but the gunfire stops—they have everyone’s attention.

“Eclipse,” you utter. Your finger is careful on the trigger. There are too many civilians. The boldness of crashing a party in the heart of the capital building leaves you seething.

“The Celestial Gang,” his voice lowers. He knows. You both know.

Henchmen step aside and hold open the doors to the dark, cool night. Dressed in fine suits, sharp and oily as finger-rubbed gold, the mob bosses of the most feared gang in the city step into the ballroom. They hold guns in their hands, gleaming cold and dark. Their eyes, gray and pale, and red and black, cut through the panicking people. 

Eclipse is half-frozen beside you. He steps forward, placing himself between you and the mob bosses. His brothers.

Your eyes dart around the room. The people have crowded against the far wall. Other officers have drawn their weapons. You glare down the animatronics bearing the themes not unlike the police chief, one of a pale yellow sun, and the other of a dark and silvery moon.

“Oh, Moon, I hope we’re not too late to the party,” Sun announces. His fingers stroke the trigger of his gun. His mouth curls sinisterly. “It’s so nice to see all the elites of this rotten city celebrating their charity.”

“Look, brother,” Moon tips his dark hat at you. “We’re just in time.”

You grit your teeth where you stand, and glare back.

“I think you’re right.” Sun laughs, cold and chilling against the marbled columns. His attention rests on you, hungry with avarice.

Moon lifts his gun into the air and smiles with sharp teeth. He announces, “We will be stealing the detective for a dance.”

[fatehbaz]

The government of Australia’s northeastern state of Queensland has stunned rights experts by suspending its Human Rights Act for a second time this year to be able to lock up more children.

The ruling Labor Party last month [August 2023] pushed through a suite of legislation to allow under-18s – including children as young as 10 – to be detained indefinitely in police watch houses, because changes to youth justice laws – including jail for young people who breach bail conditions – mean there are no longer enough spaces in designated youth detention centres to house all those being put behind bars. The amended bail laws, introduced earlier this year [2023], also required the Human Rights Act to be suspended.

The moves have shocked Queensland Human Rights Commissioner Scott McDougall, who described human rights protections in Australia as “very fragile”, with no laws that apply nationwide.

“We don’t have a National Human Rights Act. Some of our states and territories have human rights protections [...]. But they’re not constitutionally entrenched so they can be overridden by the parliament,” he told Al Jazeera. The Queensland Human Rights Act – introduced in 2019 – protects children from being detained in adult prison so it had to be suspended for the government to be able to pass its legislation.

---

Earlier this year, Australia’s Productivity Commission reported that Queensland had the highest number of children in detention of any Australian state. Between 2021-2022, the so-called “Sunshine State” recorded a daily average of 287 people in youth detention, compared with 190 in Australia’s most populous state New South Wales, the second highest. [...]

[M]ore than half the jailed Queensland children are resentenced for new offences within 12 months of their release.

Another report released by the Justice Reform Initiative in November 2022 showed that Queensland’s youth detention numbers had increased by more than 27 percent in seven years.

---

The push to hold children in police watch houses is viewed by the Queensland government as a means to house these growing numbers. Attached to police stations and courts, a watch house contains small, concrete cells with no windows and is normally used only as a “last resort” for adults awaiting court appearances or required to be locked up by police overnight. [...]

However, McDougall said he has “real concerns about irreversible harm being caused to children” detained in police watch houses, which he described as a “concrete box”. “[A watch house] often has other children in it. There’ll be a toilet that is visible to pretty much anyone,” he said. “Children do not have access to fresh air or sunlight. And there’s been reported cases of a child who was held for 32 days in a watch house whose hair was falling out. [...]"

---

He also pointed out that 90 percent of imprisoned children and young people were awaiting trial.

“Queensland has extremely high rates of children in detention being held on remand. So these are children who have not been convicted of an offence,” he told Al Jazeera.

Despite Indigenous people making up only 4.6 percent of Queensland’s population, Indigenous children make up nearly 63 percent of those in detention. The rate of incarceration for Indigenous children in Queensland is 33 times the rate of non-Indigenous children. Maggie Munn, a Gunggari person and National Director of First Nations justice advocacy group Change the Record, told Al Jazeera the move to hold children as young as 10 in adult watch houses was “fundamentally cruel and wrong”. [...]

---

[Critics] also told Al Jazeera that the government needed to stop funding “cops and cages” and expressed concern over what [they] described as the “systemic racism, misogyny, and sexism” of the Queensland Police Service.

In 2019, police officers and other staff were recorded joking about beating and burying Black people and making racist comments about African and Muslim people. The recordings also captured sexist remarks [...]. The conversations were recorded in a police watch house, the same detention facilities where Indigenous children can now be held indefinitely.

Australia has repeatedly come under fire at an international level regarding its treatment of children and young people in the criminal justice system. The United Nations has called repeatedly for Australia to raise the age of criminal responsibility from 10 to the international standard of 14 years old [...].

[MR], Queensland’s minister for police and corrective services, [...] – who introduced the legislation, which is due to expire in 2026 – is unrepentant, defending his decision last month [August 2023].

“This government makes no apology for our tough stance on youth crime,” he was quoted as saying in a number of Australian media outlets.

---

Text by: Ali MC. "Australian state suspends human rights law to lock up more children". Al Jazeera. 18 September 2023. At: aljazeera.com/news/2023/9/18/australian-state-suspends-human-rights-law-to-lock-up-more-children [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[lolita-lollipop]

Platonic yandere Miguel? You're an alt universe version of his daughter that he's taken in (aka kidnapped) so that he'll never lose her again, poor traumatized sod just wants a family again

Spiderweb

YANDERE MIGUEL O’HARA X READER

Preview:

When anomalies begin to enter universe 20477, Miguel is assigned to tracking them down. He wasn’t expecting to see himself, with a girl like you, scared and wide eyed on his arm. You were his, you just had to be.

(Platonic)

He knew what you would be to him.

He knew who you were.

He knew he had to protect you.

He knew he wouldnt let you go.

He couldn't.

It was purely coincidental, seeing you, that is. He just happened to be in your plane of existence that day, chasing down an anomaly that was jumping from universe to universe every other day. None of the others were able to catch him, a fast fujjer he was. So Miguel was a last resort, the only one capable enough to catch the guy. There was a chase down the streets of whatever universe he was in, then a catastrophic fight near the center of the city.

This place was so similar to his own universe, The same skies, the same cities, the same feeling, the same sadness as his own realm. He wanted to get in and get out, that's all. In fact, he was moments- seconds even- seconds away from catching the anomaly, seconds away from leaving this sad awful reminder of what happened to him. And then he saw you and his world stopped in its tracks.

You were teary-eyed, crying like a little baby. A few pieces of concrete that had been knocked up from the ground during the fight had cut your cheek, leaving a small dribble of blood streaming down your face. There was such a fear laced in your eyes, such a terror that flooded your expression. But that wasn't what shocked him about you, as his eyes panned from you to the man you had your arms wrapped around, his face fell completely.

You were clutching onto him. HIM. Miguel o’hara. You had your arms wrapped around his, clutched tight in fear, the two of you were trapped against the side of a building with rubble that had eroded. He was him, you were holding onto him, you had to be his daughter, and the way you were looking to him for protection was enough to show the parental status he had.

He had a daughter again.

You were his daughter.

He stared at the sight of the two of you for a moment, sending a harsh glare to his copy, his fake. Whoever you were clinging to, whoever you were wrapped around, he couldn't protect you. Miguel wanted nothing more than to pull you up and take you with him, take you home. But he couldn't, he had to play this carefully. He's lost a daughter before, he wouldnt do this again.

Like a flash, the tall man dressed in a black and red suit disappeared completely, along with the anomaly. Leaving the Town square In rubble. You blinked, just once, and when you opened your eyes once more, you had been pulled out from the bone-crushing concrete and were laid across the grass. It was too fast for you to see the man who had done it, to see the way his hands lingered at your waist, to see how he swiped the blood off of your face, to see how he looked at you. Of course, you hadn't. Maybe if you had, you could've avoided this.

---

You were shaken, to say the least. Things like this, like supervillains flying through the air and shattering buildings and corroding concrete, throwing people around like frisbees. Things like this just didn't happen, not ever. So to be trapped like that, stuck in rubble covered in blood as you had to watch the scene unfold… You were terrified. Even more so when your father had been hurt.

It was fast for the two of you to get away from the scene, especially since whatever was happening screeched to a halt, and the two figures disappeared, leaving the police, and you, completely confused. You just couldn't understand what the fudd happened, how could two people just disappear? Why did this happen all of a sudden? Why did that man- Why did he look so familiar?

It was supposed to be a fun little outing between you and your dad, a walk in the park to go get some food and have a picnic, but before you knew it you were shoved against a wall with glass and rock stuck in your face, your dad holding you close To shield you from the chaos around. You had been squeezing your eyes shut tight enough that they itched and ached now.

You were in too much shock to be able to give the cops any valuable information they would even remotely need, too focused on the fact Things like this didn't happen here, they just didn't. You cried on the way home, holding your (now bandaged) dad tight as you could. He hushed you, comforting you to the best of his ability. But you were both tired, too tired to care about taking your dirty clothes off or going to actual bed.

You slept on the couch, on your dad that night.

But when you woke up the next morning, he was gone.

It wasn't too strange for him, working as a doctor he was often called in early mornings to late nights, too early for you to be up when he left. But still, something felt off about it this time, usually he would wake you up for a few moments to say goodbye and give you a kiss. There was none of that today, just you, left under a blanket lying down on the couch, cold and alone and still scared straight.

The house felt different, dead. Like something was weighing heavy in the air, dragging all the air down and making it suffocatingly tight in the room. You wanted to get out, to go outside and go on a walk or something. But yesterday… with what happened. The feeling of dread sat in the back of your head, forcing you not to step out of your apartment, too scared to leave but too bored to stay.

You sat on the couch all day basically, watching reruns of old sitcoms. You knew your dad wouldn't be mad that you didn't want to go to school today, most of the time he came home too tired to do more than eat and sleep so you doubt he would even notice.

The sound of the door opening, along with uncharacteristically light footsteps Alerted you that your dad was home again, you sat up, pushing the blanket off of your shoulders and sitting up on the edge of the couch to look at him. At the sight of him, your head fell into a tilt, he looked… not bad, but different. A little bit more tired looking, his wrinkles were far more set into his face, and his was shorter, and far less groomed than it usually was.

“Hola Papa. Did you cut your hair or something? It looks different.” You narrowed your eyes at him with a small smile. He nodded, staring at you with some foreign look in his eyes. Setting down the few grocery bags he held in his hands.

You blinked, and within a moment he was on top of you, embracing you in a tight hug. You were immediately lifted off of the ground with a slight squeal, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he held you tight, breathing in your smell. How odd. Your dad isn't like this. Not very touchy, he never showed too much affection. The hug lasted for what felt like hours of you in his arms, held tightly.

You came realization only a few seconds in that you liked it, this is what you needed, and it felt nice. All the dread from your system completely drained out as his arms got tighter and tighter, and tighter. Since when has your dad been so muscular? Last you can remember, he was softer, not as rough. Strange, isn't it?

“Mija. I missed you so much baby, so much.” he breathed in the smell of your hair again, pulling you higher up onto his chest. His words should've sent off red flags in your head, you had just seen him hours ago right? You stayed quiet, choosing to relish in the moment of comfort this gave you. His voice was scratchy and rough, like he'd been screaming.

“Me too. I didn't go to school today, too scared.” Your voice was muffled against his chest, but you could feel his heartbeat with every breath he took. At your words his arms tightened slightly, and you squished your face further onto his neck. He was like a human furnace, radiating heat in your too-cold apartment.

“Oh baby- I’m here now. I’ll protect you, you won't ever have to be scared ever again.” With that, he brought a hand up to cup the back of your head, and his lips met your forehead in a warm kiss. If you maybe hadn't been so wrapped up in the fact that this felt so warm, so nice, you would've noticed the look he held in his eye. How deranged he looked, how terrifying he was. Maybe you would've paid more attention to all the little things that weren't adding up about him.

“Mi ninita. I’m so glad you're okay, I will never leave you again.” The two of you shared a glance, and that heavy feeling of dread pooled back into your system. There was something else in his eyes, something terrifying. Maybe you were just tired, or maybe you had head trauma from yesterday.

Moments passed as you enjoyed the warm hug, before he began to move, still keeping you in his arms, but walking elsewhere, you muttered a small “Hm?” squirming slightly in attempts to get yourself back on your own two feet, but he just shook his head at you, and squeezed.

“I got dinner while I was out, empanadas. I figured we could eat in my bed and watch a movie, You'll sleep with me tonight” He took note of your confused face, then went on to continue “ I don't want you alone anytime soon, especially not with all that's happening in the neighborhood. You don't want to get hurt, right? “

You just shook your head, letting yourself relax in his grip. Truly when had he become so strong, or on a different note, as affectionate? Usually, your dad was exhausted, he loved you, yeah, you knew that, but coming home from a 12-hour hospital shift at an understaffed medical center drained him. He usually didn't have time, and when he did he really didnt know how to spend it.

You slept better than you ever have in your entire life that night, close to your dad in his bed, cuddled under a warm blanket with your father's arms relentlessly wrapped tight around you, caging you in… you didnt hate it.

…

The next few weeks were different, strange, and not like you were used to. Everything changed. At first, it was just the little things, the things you would usually glide over. Miguel would come home early, leave later, and bring you food and clothes and stuff you were never able to afford.

Kids at your school started avoiding you, even though you never did anything to make you avoidable. It was weird for you, to see such a sudden shift in your life. The weirdest part about it though, is you had no idea what changed.

Not long after though, it got worse. Your dad would look through your phone, something he never cared about before, he always excused it with the same “I'm just looking out for you mija”, but it felt like a lie. Eventually, your contacts list shifted and changed to your dad.. And your dad. If you got any texts or calls he would look at them before you could, and decline them.

You stopped going out of the house as much, he excused you from school, telling you that you needed a break after all the trauma you've been through in the past few weeks. And without school or friends, you didnt have any reason to go out unless it was for mail or groceries. Even then, sometimes your dad would walk with you or just go himself instead. Eventually it got to the point that you weren't allowed to go out, not by your own choice anymore..

And Miguel, he would tell you things about what was going on outside. How all of a sudden there were villains on every corner, people were dying every day, crime was high. It scared you, and he clearly knew that, he used it to keep you inside, to keep you from going out.

It just got to the point where you did nothing, absolutely nothing. And you were tired of it. You wanted to go out, live your life and see people and see things, have fun with friends, do stupid teenager things. Things you should've already been doing. But he wouldnt let you, he made you stay inside, held you tight so you wouldnt leave.

And with the realization that this man was controlling you, your rose-colored glasses flew off of your face entirely. Your father wasn't like this, he barely cared enough to ask how your day was. Let alone keep you caged in your own home every day. Something was very very wrong. And just like that, it all snapped into place.

This isn't your dad. The way he acted, the way he walked, the way he held you, the way he looked at you, the way he controlled you, the way he comforted you when you were upset. There was not one thing about this man that made sense, not one similarity. Whoever this was, it wasn't your miguel ohara, it was a fake. A phony.

“Mija? Are you feeling sick? Whats wrong” He stared at you, letting his brows cluster together in worry. He had you sitting on the counter as he cooked, wearing one of your dads white t-shirts, it clung to his back muscles, showcasing the spider tattoo on the back of his neck. Your dad thought tattoos were trashy and unprofessional, and your dad most certainly did not have muscles like that. How had you been so daft as to miss that?

You stared, narrowing your eyes at the man who was wearing your dads clothing, your dads skin.

“Y/n?” he turned, placing the knife down on the counter, and grabbing your shoulders. The stranger stood in front of you, bending over to have his face at your level. He looked into your eyes, tilting his head. The position brought you back to your senses, and reminded you that this man, whoever he was, was extremely stronger than you were, and could overpower you without even thinking about it.

You snapped up. “Oh! Sorry. Just thinking.” you spoke with a shaky voice, grabbing his large hands with your own and straightening up from your slouched position on the counter. You met his gaze and squeezed his hand, his big hand. He was too big for you, you couldnt get away if he didn't want you to, you would have to be sneaky.

“What has you so deep in thought? Is my ninita daydreaming again?” a grin broke out on his face, showing his pearly canines. You returned the smile with a shaky breath. What were you supposed to do now? He hadn't made any move to hurt you yet, but he certainly could if he wanted to. You sent a glance towards the TV, where the local news was playing, the man left a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder before turning around and picking his knife back up.

Your entire body went frigid at the sight of the tv, you inhaled a small gasp, bringing your hand up to your mouth.

“The body of 31-year-old Miguel O’hara has been found, a resident doctor at the local medical center, any information about the whereabouts of this man’s disappearance should be reported to the authorities. Local police are currently investigating possible causes of death, and are contacting family and loved ones right now. This is Miles Morales with the six O-clock news, stay safe out there.”

Your hands shook violently as a photo of the scene splayed across the screen, it was a bloody mess, an utter monstrosity of a crime scene. The body was blurred completely, probably too gruesome to show on public access news, but you knew it was him, he had those old white shoes from the hospital on, the ones that he wore even though they were battered and covered in holes. And his wedding ring, the one with the tiny stone embedded at the edge of it. That was your dad, that was your fudding dad and he was dead. Mutilated and shown on the news.

You involuntarily let out a whimper at the sight, the hand you had on your face squeezed and shook, trying to keep your composure, keep yourself from sobbing and blowing your cover. You failed miserably, as tears clouded your vision and fell on the countertop. Your irregular breathing and whimpers brought the attention of the man in your kitchen wearing your father's skin, your dead father's skin.

“Ai dios mio- Mija what's wrong? Are you hurt?” immediately the man was on top of you, with his hands running up and down your arms, checking for any possible injuries. He was using that fake worried tone he always did, the one you would usually fall for. The rage that consumed you blurred your vision, that along with the cloudy tears. You smacked his hands off of you, pushing yourself back further onto the countertop. You stared with wide eyes.

“Who the fudd are you? “ You asked, staring at him with those teary eyes of yours, there was a pure hatred laced throughout your expression, his eyes flicked from you with shock as he muttered a small “language”, they then panned to the tv behind. His face slipped from confusion to dread, his eyes went wide and his brows unfurrowed and dropped. His shoulders went completely slack, and he just stood there, waiting for you to make your next move.

“Mija- just listen to me before you do anything stupid- I know it's scary but you need to listen to me for a second” he rushed out, his sweet voice now dripping with fear, why was he scared of all things? He was the one with the advantage. You squirmed back, hopping off the other side of the counter, you continued to back away, eyes staying just as wide.

“You didn't answer my fudding question. Who- Who are you.” He made no move to get closer, only staring at you, so you continued “ Did you- did you kill my dad? My real dad?” The way he tilted his head with those soft eyes of his answered your question enough. Your hands kept shaking, your head kept pulsing with fear, and finally… you let out a piercing scream. One the neighbors were sure to hear.

But in the blink of an eye, he was on top of you.

“Please- please mija. I am your father- your papa. Please, You don't have to be scared of me, I love you- I'll never hurt you.” His hand pressed against your mouth, leaving a white film that held your it completely shut. Your screams were muffled now, but still audible. He had you on the floor, on top of you, his hands pinning you down with his entire strength. You thrashed and looked around for anybody to help, but the more you moved the tighter his hands got. You were shaking, whimpering like a kicked cat.

“I promise you- Prometo mi ninita- I just wanted to protect you, I will never EVER lay harm to you. “ He was deranged, quickly rushing out the words in a panic. You had never seen him so fearful, so desperate, both your father and him. You stopped thrashing, Instead choosing to stare up at him. He was so… scary, now that he wasn't being sweet, now that he was forcing you onto the floor, holding you down. The look in his eyes was terrifying.

All of a sudden it was like you realized the position you were in, he could kill you right now, this imposter could crush your head in his hands and leave like nothing happened, he was going to hurt you. Kill you. Like he did your father. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god. You were frozen, your hands began to quiver harshly, and tears streamed down your cheeks freely, panic flushed through your veins, overtaking that rage that you previously, pure fear rushed over you entirely. And you couldnt control your body anymore.

You couldnt breathe, or think. Or feel your body, you were overtaken with a fuzzy terrified feeling, your entire body quivered as you stared at him. The film over your mouth certainly wasnt helping, you tried to inhale, but you couldnt, as your vision blurred further. You couldnt feel anything. You hadnt realized you were digging your nails into your skin until there was blood dripping out of your wrists.

“Baby- you need to calm down. Your hurting yourself, you don't have to be scared, I’m not going ot hurt you. Just breathe- Tienes que respirar mija- por favor” The usually completely stoic miguel ohara, the leader of the spiderverse protection program was panicking, more so than he ever had in the past. You were having a panic attack, a bad one, that much was obvious, he had never delt with this before. You kept shaking, his words doing nothing. So he brought his arms around you, hoisting you up to his chest once more. Now it wasnt comforting, now it made you more fearful.

“Shh- I’m here. It's okay- I’m going to calm you down, don't be scared - Youll be okay.” He hushed, before bringing his head to your neck, it left you completely speechless and shocked, before he brought his lips to the nape, and bit down firmly. The tips of his canines dipped in, and the tiniest bit of his venom flushed into your veins.

You were only able to let a small scream out, before the venom overtook your senses. And your quivering figure went slack in his arms. He held you tight, lifting you off the ground entirely and clutching you. He wouldnt let you hurt yourself, he wouldnt let anybody hurt you, he couldnt. He ruined his chances before, He couldnt do it again. Even if you were scared, he would help.

“Lyla?” he spoke to the watch resting around his rist, setting you on his hip in the process. A small “yes sir?” rang out from the device, before he continued “Lets go home, I expect the office is ready for her.” His voice was harsh now, commanding like it should be.

“Yes sir. A-are you sure this is a good idea? She clearly wont be able to handle something like-”

“I’ll take care of it. Just do your job.

Were coming home. finally.”

———————————————————————

This is not very good. But I kinda like it. also MIGUEL OHARA TAKE ME NOW… anyways.

ALSO I COME FROM A HISPANIC FAMILY BUT I USE SPANISH LIKE NEVER SO IT IS NOT GOOD DONT BE MEAN.

Thanks for requesting anon! And thanks for reading! Please don’t be scared to write comments I absolutely love seeing them!

Have a great day! Bye!