#this was drawn within two hours . which is very quick for me

[rokonrrc]

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I see the vision

[wandussyfantasy]

Free Use (WandaNat)

Summary: After the events of Feeling Twenty-Two, Wanda invites you to stay with her and Natasha as long as you please. With the condition that they can have you whenever they want.

Word Count: 2.1k

WARNINGS:

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!

bottom fem reader, g!p Wanda, g!p Nat, oral, threesome, legal age gap, praising, degrading, creampie, and freeuse

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

“I just don't understand why you won't tell us where you're moving to?” Kate gripes as she moves a box of your things into the moving truck. Wanda was happy to pay for it and even offered to hire movers but you didn't want to explain something you couldn't afford to your friends. After your trip to your home town, you returned to start a new semester at school. But you couldn't stop thinking about the women who made your twenty second birthday the most memorable birthday ever. They even took care of you the next morning and you never wanted to leave but you told them you had a flight a couple days from then that you couldn't miss. They understood and Wanda made you an offer that she allowed you to think about. She didn't want an immediate answer. She wanted you to think about it.

Which you did, every moment of every day. It was an unusual offer. But it was also a very beneficial one. It took her until the end of her summer break to feel confident in an answer. She had gone on several bad dates within that time and no one caught her eye enough to have a one night stand with. But she had plenty of nights by herself, masterbating to the memories of that night. 

“Kate, will you please drop it? I’ll come visit when I can. Besides, we have a few classes together. It's not the end of the world,” you say to comfort your friend. When you finally called Wanda and agreed, she invited you to her office. She is a lawyer, so she had a few legal documents of the arrangement drawn up. There is a discretion clause, meaning that you couldn't just parade around that you agreed to be a sex object for the couple. She said that you are allowed to have outside relationships and even have friends over at the house. But until you could figure out a way to explain your situation without explaining it, you didn't want your friends and family to know anything.

“Alright, I guess I can't say anything to make you stay,” Kate throws her hands up in defeat. “Just know, it's your fault if I end up in prison.”

You laugh at the thought of her blaming you for her actions. “How would that be my fault?”

Kate shrugs, “You keep me from doing stupid stuff. Now I can do all of the stupid stuff I want.”

You shake your head, “I’m sure your new girlfriend will supervise you.”

“Yelena will be in the cell with me, excuse you,” she pretends to be offended. 

The two of you share a laugh. You look around to see that everything you own is inside of the moving truck. “I’ll see you in class next week,” you pull your now former roommate into a tight hug. 

“I’m not going to see you for a whole week!” she is upset by the idea, but you couldn't promise any sooner. Not when it's your first week on the job. 

Live-in Nanny, is your official title. They don't have kids or even pets for that matter. But it looks good on paper for when you have to get a job after graduation and employers won't ask too many questions. “You’ll be fine without me for a week,” you say as you shut and lock the truck. 

You pull Kate into a quick hug before getting into the cab of the vehicle. You are anxious to get to Wanda and Natasha’s. Wanda had messaged you that they have a special welcome home celebration planned. You wanted to be there several hours ago. 

Arriving at the mansion again, your pussy gets wet at the first memories made here. The night of fucking and the morning of aftercare. Oh how excited you are to be back here. Once you park the vehicle, a moving team is ready to unpack the truck. You climb out and look at Wanda and Natasha with confusion written all over your face. “As excited as we are for you to move in, we aren’t going to waste time with that,” Natasha explains. 

“It’s not a waste of time,” Wanda corrects her wife. “We would have been happy to help you move in,” Wanda guides you into the house with an arm around you. “We just thought it was to preserve our energy for… other things.” You shift as you think about what the energy will be spent. 

“The little whore wants to ride our dicks while the movers work,” Natasha says to her wife in a low tone. Wanda shakes her head.

“Well, she will have to wait. I made a special dinner.” Wanda surprises you with a kiss on your neck. “But don't worry, babe, we'll have fun as soon as your stuff is moved in and the audience is gone,” she promises. 

“Of course, uh, what are we having?” Walking into the dining room, your question is answered without either having to say a word. Displayed among an extravagant dining table is a full spread of delicious looking food. “You really didn't have to,” you say to Wanda. 

“We know,” Natasha says as she pulls a chair out for herself. “But that's what makes Wanda so amazing,” she blows a kiss to her wife. She blushes and you love the way the couple interacts with each other. Wanda informed you that they've been together for close to eleven years but only married for four years. You asked her why they wanted to include you if they were happy with each other. Wanda told you that they have always wanted to have a more polyamorous relationship. But never could find someone that worked for both of them. Sure, there were people that were okay with being with a married person. But there weren't many that were okay with being with both Wanda and Natasha. You are the first. 

The meal is fun and easy. You were worried that although there is a great sexual chemistry, there might not be any other connection. But, those fears fade as the three of you engage in conversation for hours without an awkward silence. The food was amazing and you made sure to compliment Wanda. She flushed and asked you to stop raving, “You can thank me later,” she continued suggestively.

“I most definitely will,” you say as you imagine what you're going to do with her once you can. 

The three of you move to the living area to watch a movie. They insist that you sit in the middle and snuggle up to you shortly after the film starts. Halfway through the movie, the manager of the moving crew informs you all that they are finished. Wanda gets up to pay the man and his team. She leads him away and once the front door shuts, Natasha nudges you onto her lap. You comply out of curiosity and feel her erection at your entrance. She tries to pull down your yoga pants but finds it difficult to do so. Annoyed, Natasha rips the pants open so that your ass and pussy are exposed. She roughly massages your ass as you continue to watch the movie while getting increasingly aroused. 

Then, Natasha unzips her jeans and pulls herself out. She rubs her cock along your entrance, getting it covered in your juices. “Of course, you're ready for me,” she slips inside and you let out a low moan. Natasha bounces you on her cock. “Oh I hate this part of the movie,” she says. 

“Yeah, it's, it's, it's not my favorite,” you respond. When Wanda returns, she has a bowl of popcorn and she sits comfortably next to you and Natasha. You get turned on even more as they go about things as normal while Natasha is fucking you. When you had signed the contract and agreed to the FreeUse clause, you had no idea just how much you were going to enjoy it. 

Natasha cums inside of you and plops you back onto the sofa. She tucks her softening cock away and they pick the next movie. Wanda takes your hand and places it over her bulge. You hungrily release her penis from the tightening pants and put it in your mouth. You love the taste of her cock, especially her cum which you are working hard to earn. Already on your first day, you have cum dripping from your pussy and cum in your mouth. You are going to love it here.

A few weeks later, you are laying on your bed as you study for an exam when Wanda enters the room. Her cock is standing out of her pants and she climbs onto the bed, hovering over your body from behind. She enters you without warning and you gasp. “Hey Wanda,” you greet as she slowly humps into you. 

“Hey darling,” she kisses your neck. “What are you working on?” 

“I have an exam at the end of the week, just getting some studying out of the way,” you say. Wanda reaches around your body to play with your clitoris, causing you to clench around her thick cock. 

“That’s great, I love how studious you are.” Wanda praises. “You’re going to make a great business woman one day.”

“Thank you, baby. That means a lot coming from you. Oooh,” Wanda picks up her pace a little bit and you start to lose focus on your notes. She rubs your clit harder and harder until your body is spasming around her cock, milking her cum out of her. 

Wanda doesn't leave before eating out the mess from your pussy, giving you another organism. She kisses you and wishes you luck with your studying. You thank her and she is gone. 

A couple days later, you are making breakfast when Natasha walks in with her morning wood. “Wanda already left for work,” she says as she roughly enters you. She doesn't have a lot of time so she pounds into you until she is ready to cum. She pulls out and shoots her sperm on your back. “That looks good, have a plate ready for me when I come back down, please.” 

“Of course,” you say as you finish making the meal. 

One day, you arrive home after class to find Wanda and Natasha fucking on the kitchen table. You drop your things to join them. Gravitating to Wanda’s cock to suck on her as Natasha rams her cock into the woman's pussy. “Welcome home,” Wanda says through gasps. “How was your day?”

You pop her cock out of your mouth to answer. “It was good, I'm happy to be home though.” You take her cock back into your mouth and Wanda's head falls back at the over stimulation of her cock and pussy at the same time. When she is cumming, Natasha swiftly pulls out of her and pulls you off of Wanda by your hair and shoves her cock into your mouth. Wanda's cum continues to shoot out, making a mess on her stomach and table. Natasha fucks your face ruthlessly until she is releasing her orgasm in your mouth. 

“We’re so happy to have you back,” Natasha says through her grunts. She pulls out of your mouth breathlessly and looks at her dirty wife. “Clean her up,” she orders you as she walks away. 

Dutifully, you nod and start to lick up all of Wanda’s cum. “Thank you, baby,” she says as she lazily strokes your hair. You kiss her belly once it's only glistening with your saliva. She looks so beautiful and delicious splayed out naked on the table. You can't help kissing the rest of the way down to have your tongue in her sensitive pussy. “Ohhh,” Wanda says as you lick her just the way she likes. “I’m so happy you agreed to love us,” she says. 

“Not as happy as I am,” you reply sweetly. “Besides, it's easy loving the two of you.” 

Your words make Wanda emotional and she sits up on the table, requesting that you stand up. She pulls you into a deep kiss as she wraps her legs around your middle and her arms around your shoulders. “Please don't leave us.” 

“Never,” you promise, because you have no plans on ever doing so. 

“Nat and I have been wondering,” she starts a little nervously. Suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “Would you start sleeping in our bedroom, with us?”

You grin, feeling giddy as the relationship progresses, “Of course!” 

Wanda mirrors your expression. “I’m glad because,” she pulls your ear close to her lips, “I want to wake up with your tongue inside of me,” you get wet at the idea of how much more access the three of you will have to each other now. You never thought when you agreed to go home with her almost a year ago that this would be your life. But you are so grateful that it is.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession @devoted-people-hater

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: ptsd, violence, attempted murder references, self-deprecation, implied references to gambling addiction, vaguely implied drug or alcohol abuse, implied past child abuse

AO3 link

Chapter 52 - Wylan

It was almost four bells half chime when Wylan woke, gasping for air, trying to cough non-existent water out of his lungs and grapple away from the shadow of hands that weren’t actually wrapped around his throat. He fumbled in the dark, almost falling off the little bed, and eventually found himself curled on the warped wooden boards with his head pressed against the mattress behind him and his knees drawn tight up to his chest. Breathe, Wylan. He was trying.

The nightmares were hardly new, but that didn’t make them any easier. He remained on the floor for some time, counting to five over and over again as he tapped his fingers against the floorboards. Thumb first, the others in quick succession, lift them again - palm still flat against the wood - then start over. One two three four five. One two three four five.

His other hand rose to his face, he wasn’t sure if he’d really meant for it to or not, and began to trace slowly over his scars. He could feel the press of the knife against his skin, the wet blood dripping down his face as it mingled and mixed with his tears. Breathe, Wylan. One two three four five.

Ghezen, he was pathetic. You’d think after spending most of his day crying on Nina’s settee that he’d gotten over himself by now, but apparently not. Wylan hated that he could not control this feeling, could not stop it, could not hold a pillow over its non-existent head until it stopped thrashing and then bury what remained of it somewhere deep and hidden in the woods.

It took several minutes, or maybe longer, he wasn’t sure, for Wylan to pull himself up off the floor and stand, shivering, in the centre of the room, uncertain of what to do next. He hadn’t wasted the precious little money he had on nightclothes so slept in a vest and undershorts, which were quickly proving useless against the cold of Ketterdam - especially after the storms that had ravaged Kerch these past few days and were expected to continue. It wasn’t raining now, or at least not heavily enough for him to hear it on the window sill behind his closed curtains, but the air was cold and damp from it all and Wylan’s room at the boarding house was nothing if not draughty. He didn’t own a watch or timepiece of any kind - why would he when he couldn’t look at it? - but peering round the edge of his curtain determined that dawn would arrive within an hour or so. Not fancying a return to sleep, and having been a naturally early riser anyway - though not usually quite this early - Wylan did not feel any allure back to his flat little pillow. Well, except perhaps for the warmth that even his thin duvet would provide better than just standing here. He lit a candle with shaking fingers, dressed in the half-darkness, wandered to the bathroom down the hall to wash his face. There was no running hot water, of course, but there was at least a slightly pathetic cold tap that he could make do with.

What to do, then, with these extra hours of his day? His first thought, painfully, was of his flute. At home he could have slipped quietly into the music room and stolen the time away for himself; lost himself in the flow and rhythm of the notes and let the world melt away around him.

“It is excellent that he can play, still,” he’d overheard his new nanny telling his music tutor, in and amongst the first few lessons after the accident, “He needs to feel that he has not lost who he was before,”

“It will limit him that he cannot see the sheet music though,” the tutor had replied, “He could have been a great musician, I think, but now? It will be much harder to develop his skill any further. Still, he is a child, and he needs a hobby,”

“You underestimate his memory,” the nanny said, “Play him the song first, name the notes out loud for him if necessary. Trust me, he’ll find the tune,”

The music tutor had not sounded convinced, but he put her theory to the test all the same. And she was right; Wylan, once he knew what the outcome was supposed to be, could feel the shape of the music and translate it into the movement of his fingers without ever being presented with a page of sheet music. It had opened a new avenue, a new release, a kind of safety in the music that Wylan didn’t have the right words to express the importance of, or how much he needed it.

But now his flute was ruined, full of water, warped out of shape and still sitting lonely at the bottom of his bag. Even though he’d emptied everything else out of it since Jesper returned his things to him, he could not bring himself to lay hands on the carcass of his beloved flute.

What else would he have done, on mornings like this at home? Sat at his bedroom window and watched the sunrise, not having to worry that anyone knew he was doing so, but judging by the grey sky it was going to be too cloudy to see much of that - and it wouldn’t start for some time yet anyway; worked on one of the sketches he kept hidden at the bottom of his wardrobe, beneath the floorboard he’d managed to prise up with a stolen - borrowed - hammer when there was work being done on the house, but he had no papers or drawing materials here because he hadn’t risked putting them into the luggage his father would surely search; crept downstairs and round to the back of the house to see Anya, before Anya was gone. The few friends he had here, if it was safe to think of them as such, would either still be sleeping or soon going to sleep though, wouldn’t they? The Barrel may have been an almost nocturnal place but this was the inbetween, the liminal part of the day’s cycle, where some were almost ready to wake and others almost ready to sleep.

It was that thought, of the Barrel and of the people that he was maybe allowed to call friends, that hit him with the memory, the acknowledgment, of what he had done last night. Or rather, what he had done two days ago, and what the Dregs had done last night thanks to his handiwork. He suddenly felt very cold again.

That had apparently settled it, though Wylan didn’t remember consciously making the decision, and he pulled on his scuffed shoes to walk straight to the Slat. He didn’t dare go anywhere near the bridge itself - there were sure to be stadwatch officers, crowds, angry citizens of the Zelvar District, maybe even Council Members all gathered around it. People who might recognise him. And anyway, Wylan wasn’t sure that he could look at it. The remains of it. What if someone had been crossing it, or even just nearby, when someone lit the fuse that Wylan had built? The canal water was pressing at his chest. He briefly thought he might throw up.

He wanted, he realised both unsurprisingly and yet somewhat unexpectedly as he made his way through the narrow streets along the journey that he had easily memorised, to talk to Jesper. He didn’t know if he wanted to tell him that the bridge was on his mind, that he couldn’t stop thinking about it, but he probably didn’t. He was embarrassed, he was ashamed to realise, that he felt remorse. This was the newest on a long list of places that he didn’t fit in, another world where he could never belong, and he didn’t want any of them to know that he didn’t know how to exist here, to be like them. But he did want to talk to Jesper. To listen to him talk. To be near him. Maybe he would describe the sunrise to him, the way he had the sunset on the steps of the University Library. Maybe Wylan needed a cold dose of reality.

But there was still the feeling of Jesper’s hand against his, his arm around Wylan’s shoulders, Wylan’s head against Jesper’s shoulder. Jesper’s fingers moving so lightly through Wylan’s hair.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t. It couldn’t. Because Wylan could never tell the Jesper the truth, and lying to him was slowly burning him from the inside out. Not even Wylan was stupid enough to push anything here; he knew it only ended with the flames engulfing them both.

If Jesper was at the Slat by now, he would surely be sleeping. Wylan knew that. He’d gone in search of him last night and only found Raske, who told him that Jesper was working all night and into the morning at the Crow Club. Jesper seemed to spend a lot of time at the Crow Club. Wylan had wandered back to his boarding house alone, not entirely sure why he’d gone seeking Jesper out in the first place.

As he approached the Slat now it wasn’t exactly louder than he’d expected, it seemed the house was loud at all hours, but definitely busier. Maybe these people just didn’t sleep at all, maybe their existence was maintained entirely by other forces. But if you studied them for long enough, Wylan thought, you could hear something cracked beneath their joyous voices, see a weight inside their eyes, something slick and black and heavy wrapped over them like a permanent funeral shroud to trap each of them in their own individual, endless night. These were only imitations, he realised, of the emotions that had first seemed to exude from every crack and corner of this place. These were people who had given in to the fear that Wylan felt tugging at him; the want to never sleep again, to fill his mind with something, anything else. They were half-burned phoenixes, yet to find their way out of the ashes.

Was it easier that way? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it just came with its own, fresh kind of pain.

“Hey! Hey, Hendriks!”

It took Wylan a moment to realise that these shouts were directed at him. He’d been weaving his way through the crowds slowly, cautiously, not really sure what he was doing, where he was going, if he even had an aim, but now he turned towards the source of the sound, pretty sure he recognised the voice before the shape of a boy came running into view. Roeder. The boy that Kaz had sent to follow him for Saints only knew how long.

He marvelled, privately, at the transformation that had taken place in Roeder between the boy he’d met and the boy standing in front of him now. The first had worn shadows like a cloak, wrestled thugs off Wylan’s throat like it was no sweat off his back, carried weapons that glittered in his hands like stolen jewels dipped in blood. This boy felt younger; his cheeks were flushed, his hair tousled, his smile eager but maybe had the tiniest hint of nervousness. His voice crackled in the air like it had a physical presence. Wylan was pretty sure he’d been drinking.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, like he was greeting an old friend. His words were ever so slightly breathy, as though he’d been exercising; Wylan had seen this boy fight, if briefly, he knew the run across the Slat shouldn’t have winded him like that, “Fahey’s not here,” he added, “if you were look for him,”

Wylan shook his head, not quite sure what to say, and Roeder’s smile might have widened ever so slightly, just faintly, like something was softly tugging on the corners of his mouth.

“You can join us if you want,” he pointed to a group Wylan mostly didn’t recognise, draped over a small sofa and set of spindly looking chairs across the room, then seemed to catch himself before saying: “We’re in the back corner, to the right. I can introduce you,”

“Oh, I, erm-” Wylan wasn’t really sure where that sentence was going.

“Ah, come on,” Roeder’s hand landed on Wylan’s shoulder, not an unfriendly gesture but Wylan flinched all the same.

Roeder didn’t seem to notice.

“One drink,” he continued, still not moving his hand away, “That’s all I ask,”

Wylan tried to say something but the words refused to take shape, dissolved in his tongue like granules of sugar. He stepped back slightly, and, thank Ghezen, Roeder let go of him.

“C’mon,” Roeder said again, beckoning him, “we can-”

“Roeder,”

Wylan and Roeder both jumped at the sight of Inej, appearing as if from nowhere, melting out of the shadows and rising into being as though she were actually part of them herself, now manifested into a physical form. He hadn’t had cause to see the Wraith often, but he’d been ceaselessly impressed by her ability to erase and reconstruct herself each time he had. He was also nervous, after knowing she’d stayed silently in Kaz’s office whilst they spoke, that she also suspected he wasn’t being entirely truthful about his sight. It made him wary of her; he hoped to avoid her where he could, but it seemed it wasn’t ever up to you whether you found each other or not. And then, of course, there was still that this was Inej; this was the girl who’d sat down next to him in a Chemistry class and talked to him like no-one at university ever did, the girl who’d asked him for help with Kerch translations and to explain nucleophilic substitution, the girl he’d walked with between classes and thought he might be able to call a friend. The girl who’d lied to him. But then, once again, who was Wylan to demand the truth from anyone?

“Kaz wants to talk to you,” she said, eyes still so fixed on Roeder that it was as though she’d barely noticed Wylan was there.

“What does he want?”

Inej only shrugged and Roeder sighed, glanced back at his friends for a moment, then Wylan a strange, short goodbye and wandered off, straightening the lapel of his ugly jacket as he went. Only when he’d vanished up the stairs did Inej say:

“Everything went off without a hitch. The money will take a while to come in, and it will have to be laundered through one of the Dregs’ businesses first, to be safe, but it shouldn’t take too long,”

Wylan swallowed tightly, nodding.

“Whose-? I mean-”

Inej watched him for a moment, with dark eyes that seemed to cut straight through his skin and see deep within him.

“The bridge is only three years old, and the collapse doesn’t look intentional. The architect’s other work is suddenly going to be called into question, including the biggest ice storage in the Warehouse District. They’ll send inspectors to the ice house and find several unforgivable violations; the ice house will close, the price of ice will suddenly rise. The Dregs have stock in one of the smaller ice storages in town - and, as of two days ago, a deal with a very successful fishmonger who will unexpectedly have to raise his prices when it suddenly costs him so much more to keep his produce cool,”

Wylan stared at her. They were tampering with the markets. Embarrassingly, his first thought was that’s illegal. But then he was struck by something else: this was the way his father thought; the way the entire Merchant Council protected their fortunes.

“But that’s…”

He swallowed his words as he realised he was about to say clever. He had not appreciated how much thought, how much preparation, how much detail, there was; how much this was business. He could’ve been sitting in that stupid Economics of Business and Markets class zoning out the lecture and pretending he didn’t know that Jesper, not that he’d known his name back then, was staring at him from across the room.

Still, this didn’t explain all of it, did it? Jesper had said they had to keep someone distracted all night; what role did the card tables play in any of this?

It was becoming very clear to Wylan that information was a currency in the Barrel, just as much as strength and cash and blood, and between Kaz and Inej he was pretty sure he knew two of the richest people in Ketterdam. He just had to make sure they didn’t manage to steal anything from him.

[sam-is-my-safe-word]

Happy Friendiversary Dreamer!!

Do you believe in platonic soulmates. No, get your mind out of fandom for like five mins. I'll be realy quick & we can all get back to the sweet release of fiction. Do you believe in friendship soulmates? Two people who are perfectly made for each other, but not in a romantic way. (Normalise platonic love, people) I didn't. I love my friends dearly. I'd jump in front of a car for them. I keep living for them. But that was it.

Then I was scrolling through ao3 two years ago today & saw a really interesting fic.

(Ignore the last tag, it wasn't there when I found the fic, but since Run It All Over is a podfic now, D added that one lol)

Now normally I'd scroll right on past that. Minimal tags, minimal description. I like to know what porn is contained within lol. But that Brotherly Platonic Handjobs just grabbed me.

The universe aligned that day & brought me & Dreamer together. And I thank the fanfic gods every day for that.

I don't know how to sum up the last 2 years. It's been wild. We quickly outgrew the ao3 comments section, and then exchanged thousands of emails. Seriously, I have the transcripts. THOUSANDS. We're verbose mfs. And then we moved to fb & the convos could happen in real time y'all. Google docs & discord servers, facebook & group chats, hours upon hours spend on voice chats that I wish we'd recorded.

Hundreds of story ideas sparked to life in those places and hundreds more thoughts about life discussed and dissected and investigated.

It's very hard to sum up what the last two years have meant to me. We've weathered a few storms of mental health, helping the other up and being helped in equal measure. She shares my pain & my joy with equal attention. She encourages me to care for myself when I don't think I deserve it. And she thinks I'm funny. Which is like, the best compliment ever really.

Through a series of gentle but persistent prods, she is starting to believe her own self-worth & honestly, what greater joy is there in life than to see a loved one flourish?

There's a theory out there that soulmates are formed because two people's atoms were near each other when the universe formed and are forever drawn back to each other. I like that theory. It's funny, cos physically, me & D could not be further apart on this planet lol. But still our atoms found their creation buddy.

Happy Friendiversary @runawaydr3amerao3. Love you endlessly <3

[fairyoutlanders]

Miguel O’Hara is the Antithesis of the Spider-Man (Vague Spoilers)

I watched Across the Spiderverse a couple days ago and this idea has been driving me up the wall for the past 48 hours so I decided to finally sit down and hammer it out.

TLDR;  “It wasn’t done purposefully. It was done accidentally. But I think it was the best thing we did: making it so [Spider-Man] could be anyone under that costume.” ---Stan Lee

In Across the Spiderverse, Miguel is both an antagonist within the story but he is also an allegory (intentional or not) for the kinds of fans that are obsessed with gate-keeping and “canon events.” Miguel is obsessed with this idea that Miles isn’t supposed to be Spider-Man, and both diegetically as well as thematically fails to understand what exactly it means to be Spider-Man. Similarly, the kinds of fans that are obsessed with gate-keeping comics, characters, and canon, often fail to overlook the purpose of the art and the story that they so fervently protect.

The hypocrisy of Miguel and those like him is that they are not only antithetical to what Spider-Man is, but what comics are. Comics, especially superhero comics, are fan-made creations. Perhaps they didn’t start that way, some just started with two Jewish kids from New York. Eventually, those comics reached a wider audience. Kids from all over the nation were flocking weekly to their local pharmacies to pick up the brand new issue of Amazing Spider-Man. And those kids fell in love. And what they read as children inspired them to go on to write for those companies. It was fairly common in the comic book industry (especially during the Silver and Bronze age (60’s-80’s)) to have writers hopping around from [character] title to title. People added things and took things away, Steve Ditko himself transformed Spider-Man from the goofy awkward high schooler to something darker and more angst-ridden. But to this day, the quick talking Spider-Man and his awkward counterpart, Peter Parker, prevails. Canon is never truly fixed in comics, which, much like fan fiction, creators add what they want to see and if that idea or concept or “canon” becomes the most popular or the most utilized, it cements itself into the canon of the character. Retro-active canon in comics is very real and is still something you can see in characters like Batman, Superman, Cyborg, Wolverine, Spider-Man. Rewriting the same story over and over and over again is common! Rewriting it until something sticks and is accepted is the norm: some [comic] runs stand out and others flop. Comics are influenced by other media as well: actor portrayals very visibly affect the way the character is drawn and the way that they are even characterized. Christopher Reeves changed the way that Clark Kent was drawn. There are artists that still pull his film portrayal of Clark Kent as a reference for their depictions. You can’t control canon, even as much as publishing companies and comic dude bros (and also apparently, fictional futuristic Spider-Men), want to. Canon is changed and shaped and defined by so many other factors than just what is written down. Canon in comics is malleable and ever-changing, sometimes contradicting itself. But comic canon is this wild beautiful mythology that grows and changes and is shaped by the writers and the fans and the movies and the time and place in which they were written. 

And as to Spider-Man… Miguel’s insistence that Miles is an anomaly, that he wasn’t supposed to be Spider-Man, is wrong. He focuses on the fact that Miles was bitten by a spider from a different universe, therefore, if Miles hadn’t been bitten by someone else's’ spider, the Peter Parker from Earth-1610 (Mile’s Universe) would’ve survived and Miles wouldn't have been Spider-Man. He singles out Miles as different, as anomaly, something that was true within comics for many years after the very first Black Spider-Man (Miles Morales) debuted. But the truth of the matter is that Spider-Man isn’t supposed to be anyone, he’s just… a guy: a friendly neighborhood guy. Just a kid from Brooklyn. A nerdy, dorky kid from Brooklyn, who got pushed around at school and happened to get bit by a radioactive spider. Miguel himself wasn’t even bitten by a spider! Half his DNA is spider DNA due to comic book zaniness and pseudo-science. By that sheer factor alone, Miguel wasn’t supposed to be Spider-Man either. Peter Parker isn’t supposed to be Spider-Man. Miles Morales isn't supposed to be Spider-Man. Fuck, Gwen Stacy being alive is an anomaly in most universes! All of the Spider-Men shown in Across the Spiderverse consistently break Miguel’s rule that someone else is supposed to be Spider-Man. Peter B. Parker has a daughter—something that doesn’t often happen. Jess Drew is based on a scrapped version of Spider-Woman from ‘74! What makes the Spider people Spider-Men is that they choose each and every day to take on the great responsibility that comes with the great power that they have. Anyone can wear the mask. You just have to be brave enough to put it on. In a multiverse of infinite possibilities, anyone can be Spider-Man. The first movie, in retrospect, understands this thematic element that Miguel O’Hara simply cannot seem to grasp. As Miles says, “Anyone can wear the mask. You can wear the mask. If you didn’t know that before, I hope you do now.”

And in the words of the man himself:

 “It wasn’t done purposefully. It was done accidentally. But I think it was the best thing we did: making it so he could be anyone under that costume.” ---Stan Lee

[frozenjokes]

To Keep // 7

Prev/Next - Ao3 Link

The rock wall rained dust as Cub collided with it in a heavy crack. He dove left, teeth snapping so close to Cub’s ear, he could feel the sharp exhale of Scar’s rancid breath. Cub shoved hard, Scar toppling without the use of his arms for balance, but that didn’t stop him from kicking out, his boots smashing against Cub’s chin. Cub reeled toward the cave entrance, dazedly cradling his mouth. It was only seconds before Scar was back on his knees, and he wasted no time lunging forward, delivering a nasty headbutt that couldn’t have hurt Cub more than it hurt Scar. Though, Cub didn’t see Scar’s reaction, falling heavy against the jagged floor with ringing ears. Scar’s weight fell on top of him, but whether or not that was intentional or the result of a new head injury, Cub wasn’t sure.

“I’d say this is another win for me, which is a little pathetic if I’m being honest,” Scar huffed out, ragged,” It’s like you don’t even want to use me like a pincushion anymore, which, as much as I’ve enjoyed our time together, those weren’t any of my favorite moments, so it’d be lovely if you let me go. ”

“I’m not usually this slow,” Cub breathed, wincing at the deep discomfort in his jaw. Had Scar broken something? “Off.” Cub pushed weakly, but Scar adjusted, keeping his balance.

“I’ve been good, haven’t I? I haven’t even killed you once despite numerous opportunities. You’re not very good at subduing me, but I’ve been kind and helpful and I think that’s deserving of a little trust, yeah?”

“You don’t gain anything by sending me back to Spawn. You’re still stuck.”

“No, I don’t want you going back to Spawn at all, even after I’m free. I’d much rather you stay here where I can beat the piss out of you, even with my arms tied behind my back. Literally.”

“Ah, well good. Then we don’t have a problem.”

Scar gawked, but before he could speak, Cub shoved again and sent the other rolling with a yelp, followed swiftly by several complaints that Cub deftly ignored. He didn’t bother hiding his huff of frustration as he left the split cave, still cradling his jaw. This was the second time in a row he’d been unable to subdue Scar, but even before then, Scar had managed to catch him by surprise more times than that. He made his way to his bag, sulking over his box of potions, most of which he’d brought for healing. He’d already gone through half of them; more on himself than on Scar.

Something about this connection- spell- whatever was going on between them, it was making Cub weaker. Day after day, his head felt so much foggier, his limbs heavier. It wasn’t unpleasant. He was happy to work out here, losing track of time and spending hours with his eyes shut, basking in Scar’s magic, but.. Whatever was happening to Cub, it didn’t seem like it was happening to Scar. Scar was still sharp, still quick, and while some of the effect had to be rubbing off on the other due to the nature of their shared minds.. Cub shook his head.

Scar couldn’t know.

Cub felt another wave of Scar’s magic pulse from the cave, washing over him and burning away his discomfort. He closed his eyes, watching the colors dance and fade, and relaxed. Cub wasn’t entirely sure what Scar was doing, releasing energy like that with seemingly no purpose or direction. Maybe it was instinctual? Territorial? He certainly left his mark; any vex within a mile’s radius would know something strong lived here. Cub had even seen one or two floating around, drawn in by the presence and then fleeing upon seeing the two of them. Cub himself had never felt any sort of inclination to make his presence known in this way, but typically, that wasn’t the goal he had in mind when hunting vex. Did Scar realize the effect he was having on them? On Cub? Cub doubted it. Scar would much rather see Cub sulking than making an effort to keep him happy and relaxed.

///

“.. Earth to Cub.. Earth to.. wow , you’re really out of it, huh? Hello? Anybody in there..?”

Cub blinked his eyes open at an unpleasant buzz of magic ringing in his ears, then jolted backward seeing Scar, towering over his sitting form. Scar laughed (was he normally this loud?), wobbling a little with his bound legs. His head was framed eerily by the moon, his short hair almost glowing white.

“I thought you were dead there for a moment! Well- dead- ahhh,” Scar rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean. I was worried for a second I wouldn’t have anyone left to get me out of these restraints! Yeesh! That was a long nap there!”

Cub squinted, then blinked some more, but his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus. “Nap..? Was.. it wasn’t dark before..”

“No. It wasn’t,” Scar said simply, and Cub was having a difficult time telling if he was being genuine or making fun of him, “If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure I also conked out for a while. Wild, huh?”

“You don’t look like you did.”

“What?”

“You look good.”

“Why, thank you!”

“No. I mean you.. look.. fine..” Cub gestured helplessly, his hands still looking fuzzy. It felt like a hard film had fallen over his eyes, one that wouldn’t fade no matter how many times he blinked or shook his head. Scar half-sat half-plopped to the ground, still looking pleased.

“Bad nap? I get it. Ghosts don’t normally do that, so you’re probably out of practice!” Scar bumped his shoulder against Cub’s with a grin, “I, on the other hand, am a professional.”

“I don’t understand. This is wrong. You didn’t- you didn’t drug me, did you?” Cub found himself patting the sides of his lab coat, searching. He hadn’t left anything in there, not that Scar would have been able to take anything, or that would have been dangerous. The key around his neck still remained as well, and Cub was certain no matter how many ‘naps’ he fell into, Scar wouldn’t be able to get it without his noticing. But something was missing- something important. Like walking out of the house and just knowing you’re forgetting something, that something wasn’t right, that..

“Drug you? How would I have done that?” Scar rattled the restraints that kept his wrists bound behind his back for emphasis, but it did nothing to calm Cub down.

“Scar, how much time has passed? What did you do?” Cub failed to keep the fear from his tone, his state only worsening at the glint in Scar’s eye. Cub shuddered as he felt a pulse of Scar’s magic run through him, his body untensing against his mind’s will.

“Shhh, relax, relax. You’re fine. I’m not going to hurt you, Cub, not yet. You’ll know,” Scar narrowed his eyes, smiling to himself, “You’ll know. I mean, you gave me the option to fight, and I’m a gentleman, so I promise to return the favor.”

“Scar..”

“Relax, Cub. You can let go now, I’ve got you,” Cub felt Scar’s hand on his back, the movement awkward given his limitations, but still, Cub felt himself melting into the touch. At another pulse of Scar’s magic, he felt his mind loosen as well. In a moment of desperation he tried to shoot back his own wave of magic, anything to fight Scar’s hold, but he found himself lacking the will.

“You’ve got me?” Cub muttered, eyes fluttering.

“I’ve got you.”

The dancing color of Scar’s magic under closed eyelids was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

///

“Cub? Cub, are you there?” Cleo’s shout cut through the haze of Cub’s mind, jolting him back to reality. It was dark, still dark, his eyes still refusing to adjust, and he- “Cub? Where are you? Where is Scar?”

Scar. Not Scar.

Cub stumbled to his feet, failing again to blink away the fog. The pounding of hooves reverberated painfully in his ears, each impact landing as if Cub was being trampled rather than the dirt. How long had he been here? Long enough for Cleo to come looking? Cub tripped over his legs, zeroed in on the dark crack in the cliff face. He ducked inside, using the walls for balance as he cast a quick spell to mask their location; one that would never work on Cleo, zombies resistant to magic as they were. Honestly, given his weakness, it probably wouldn’t fool any ghosts either. Scar had pressed himself into the far corner, crouched low, lips pursed.

“Scar, whatever you’ve done to me, you need to release it- dispel it- whatever - I can’t protect you like this.”

Scar opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by another call from Cleo, so loud, Cub had to slam his own hands over his ears. The effort did nothing to dampen the noise. The shadows near the cave entrance shifted.

“Scar-“

“I can’t, it’s not- it’s not like that, this whole thing required a lot of careful set up on my part, and honestly, I don’t know entirely how releasing you would work .”

“You- dammit!”

“Is she going to kill me?”

“Quiet.” Cub shut his eyes against the noise, fumbling with a chain around his neck. He produced the key, locking it between his fingers and shoving it in the keyhole for the restraints on Scar’s legs. Cub felt Scar’s anticipation, felt the breath he held. “You’re going to run, hear me?”

“What about my arms? How am I supposed to defend myself?”

“You’re not going to hurt Cleo.”

“I wouldn’t! We’re friends, Cub, still to me at least. Please.”

Cub shook his head, struggling to throw the haze. He gritted his teeth as Cleo called again- so loud , why was everything so loud?

“Turn around then,” was all he could manage, grabbing at Scar’s shoulders to move him somewhat forcibly. Scar leaned into his touch, somewhat hindering Cub’s ability to unlock the restraints, but he managed regardless, mourning the loss of this era, all too short. He braced himself for teeth and claws tearing through his neck and chest, for Scar’s weight to leave him once more, and for another painful separation.

Scar did not move. He stayed, back against Cub’s chest, even letting out a soft, relieved sigh as he stretched his arms forward.

“Shit, that hurts,” Scar breathed, calm against Cub’s alarm.

“Scar, you need to go. You need to run,” Cub stressed, pushing weakly against Scar’s back despite his own body’s pleas to stay, just like this.

Scar shushed him gently, but was unable to keep his voice level, descending into a soft laugh, a gesture revealing enough to make Cub’s blood run cold. He didn’t hear hooves anymore. He didn’t hear Cleo. Scar turned his head with dark eyes, lips dangerously close to brushing his cheek.

“She’s not here, Cub. I got you pretty good, huh? Unfortunately, she might come around soon, and I’m not about to stick around and wait for that to happen. I wouldn’t take it too hard though, I mean, yesterday you spent the whole day in the rain, then got confused later when you were wet. The day before you spent your evening wandering aimlessly, and got so lost I had to help you back. You’ve still got the sense to follow a trail though, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“I.. I don’t..” Lost. He was lost. He couldn’t- where was Spawn?

“Don’t remember? I’m not surprised. You’ve been a little out of it,” Scar snickered, “Honestly, I was a little worried you wouldn’t hear my Cleo, but turns out a little fear lights your nerves up. Good to know! Ah, now this is the part where I tell you you’re in danger. As cute as it’s been to watch you bumble around, I’m a little sick of taking care of you. It’s time for me to do an experiment of my own.”

“Scar, no, you can’t.. I don’t.. There’s something important I- I need to find it before you kill me,” Cub shuffled back, and Scar let him, watching with narrowed eyes.

“Not ready to die? Well, you’ve got, say, a minute to do something about that. I’d suggest putting some distance between us, maybe even getting that little club of yours, though, I’m not sure you’re in the right state to use it.”

“You don’t understand-“

“I’m counting, Cub. Better get going.” Scar pushed Cub away with his feet, sending him stumbling upright. A minute. A minute to find spawn. Fear rooted Cub to the spot, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus, to figure this out, but the intricate color of Scar’s magic made everything worse.

“One.. Two.. Three..”

Cub ran.

He was lost, completely aimless, just as Scar described. Cub almost never knew where he was going in the untouched wilderness, but this was different. He couldn’t focus on a single landmark, couldn’t recognize a single tree. His sense of direction was thrown as well, like his ability to do so had just been snatched away. Panic burst like electricity in his chest. If Scar killed him, would his spirit be able to find its way back?

Up.

Cub had to go up. Even if the haze followed him, Scar couldn’t reach him above the tree line. If he went up, he could escape. Cub felt like swimming through syrup as he tried to float away, his own treacherous mind screaming to stay.

Claws hooked into his legs, dragging him down.

Cub shrieked and kicked out, but his foot found no solid purchase on Scar’s body. In a moment of panic, he dove downward, aiming to drive Scar against a tree, but the thing about running headfirst into trees, is that you , the guy in front, also get a face full of bark if you’re not careful, which Cub was decidedly not. Cub reeled back, unsure if the screech filling the air was his own or Scar’s. He sat, suspended in a daze, but didn’t get the chance to recover before Scar pounced, dragging him to the ground in a sharp pin. Cub tried to scream, but only tasted dirt.

“A nice try. Can’t say I’m all too surprised though.”

Scar wrenched his claws across Cub’s back, Cub opening his eyes fast enough to see the sneer on Scar’s face. He seemed to wait for Cub’s response, cruelty dancing in his expression.

“Scar,” Cub choked. He didn’t want to tell him, he didn’t want Scar to know, but desperation forced the words forward, “I need to find Spawn. I need-“

“What happens to a ghost that can’t find their way back to Spawn, Cub?” Scar’s eyes glittered with excitement. Cub’s heart sank.

“I don’t know.”

Scar laughed, raising his arm to strike, but drew out the moment, long enough for Cub to push upwards and rake his own claws across Scar’s face, catching the left side where his skin had grayed. Scar screeched as Cub scrambled out from under him, but his movements were still so sluggish, and Scar was so fast. Cub managed to put a few feet between them before Scar leapt again, but it was becoming increasingly clear he wouldn’t be able to run.

Cub turned to face him, just fast enough to catch one arm, but not the other as Scar dragged it down his chest. Scar only grazed his skin, but given the malevolent excitement in his eyes, Cub got the impression that was on purpose. He was being played with. He lashed out clumsily, but Scar stepped back, diving forward at the follow-through and knocking Cub back to the ground. Cub kicked out again, but still couldn’t seem to strike where the other’s scars had made him physical. He thrashed as Scar shoved his arms to the ground, but there was no escape.

“You’re so afraid,” Scar breathed, eyes alight with fire. He carefully drew one of his hands away from Cub’s wrists, inviting another bout of struggling until the same hand squeezed around his neck, “Careful now, you might get cut.”

“This is bad, Scar. Please.”

“You’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you, promise.”

“No-” but Scar had already ripped away his throat, sending darkness swirling through his vision.

[unseededtoast]

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part Four

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Finale

"They don't believe me." Your words shatter his heart completely.

"Don't worry about them. You're all that matters right now."

For hours, you've sat in the same spot at the dining room table, watching Spencer work with a tenacity you have never seen before. His eyebrows are drawn tightly together, his tongue darts out between his lips as he concentrates. Every so often he runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

You feel like you should be helping him, but you find yourself all too distracted by the simple fact that your stalker knows where you live. Who knows how long he's known, and what else he's done that you're not even aware of. The thought of a stranger walking around in your apartment makes you sick to your stomach.

But what really sends you over the edge is the fact that your stalker took an item of your clothing and then returned that same night to deliver the folder. He was right outside of your door while you sat petrified in your bedroom and he now possesses a part of you, no matter how small that part is.

The thought of what he's using your sweater for sends a chill down your spine and you shudder. Your sudden movement must have snapped Spencer out of his trance and he sets down the picture he was analyzing. You see the sleep-deprived bags under his eyes and know you likely don't look any better. His eyes soften as he looks you over.

"You should get some rest, you've been at this for hours." Your voice is scratchy from not speaking. Spencer is quick to shake his head.

"I'm fine, you should go lay down though, I know you didn't sleep all night." Though his guess is accurate, you won't admit it.

Before you answer, you take a second to let your eyes focus on his hand resting on the table. Under different circumstances you may even say the veins in his hand were oddly attractive, but you refuse to let that thought run wild and instead focus back on the matter at hand.

"No, really I'm fine." You fight the urge to yawn and you know you don't have him fooled in the slightest.

He stands straighter and crosses his arms across his chest. Like you're a child being reprimanded, he gives you a stern look, one that lets you know exactly what he's thinking. A silent exchange occurs only through the look in each other's eyes. His are golden-brown, like fresh honey, and they transport you to a time when things were simpler.

For a moment you're taken back to your first day at the BAU. You were fresh out of the academy, recommended to the team by your trainer. The nerves had your stomach twisted and upset, and you vividly recall walking through those glass doors for the first time; your heartbeat pounded in your ears with each step. Everyone had been welcoming, warm, and kind. And you very distinctly remember seeing the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on. His hair was long, maybe just a touch messy, but it was the kind and reassuring smile he offered that let you know you had made the right decision to join.

And now, sitting only a few feet away from him, you can't help but to feel reminiscent. Your relationship with Spencer had grown far deeper than with anyone else on the team. You had been there when he was wrongfully imprisoned and now he's here when you're being stalked. The two of you celebrated the arrest of each unsub together and worked wonderfully as a team, playing to each other's strengths.

A feeling within your chest flutters, one that you've been trying long and hard to suppress. And it had worked for a long time, that is until very recently.

"I know you're not fine. Please, just come on." His voice is soft and he offers his hand out to you. Not thinking twice, you take his hand in yours and let him lead you to the sofa.

Without you even having to ask, he makes sure that the curtains are closed and you watch as he scans the street for anyone who looks out of place before he sits next to you. He's warm and inviting, and if given the opportunity you know you could fall asleep in his arms.

You lean your head on his shoulder instead, and he wraps his arm around you, hugging you closer to his side. His hand rubs up and down your arm, comforting you as you allow your eyes to flutter shut.

Not another word is shared as you feel yourself being lulled to sleep by Spencer's presence. Just having him near is enough to make you feel safe and secure. You vaguely feel him lay you down on the couch, and you feel a pressure to the top of your head. And you're not sure if you're hallucinating or half-dreaming, but you swear you could hear him whisper to you,

"I promise that I will find who is doing this to you."

-----

Hotch arrives at the office early in the morning before anyone else. His signature scowl is plastered on his face and he's deep in thought about what Derek presented to him yesterday. While the system clearly shows that you were the one who made all of the alterations to the case reports, something deep within Hotch tells him that you're innocent.

There's just no way you would go to these great lengths for simple recognition. But it seems the others on the team are convinced you're behind all of this. Their insistence is the only thing giving him pause. He makes a mental note to follow up with them again sometime today, perhaps there's more that wasn't initially disclosed. There's just no way they've all been swayed by simple electronic records, ones they know are hackable.

Hotch sits at his desk and looks over the reports again and again, hoping that the answer jumps out at him. And it's on the fifth re-read that he notices something. It's a very small detail, but he thinks it could be an important one. He grabs a highlighter and begins marking up the reports.

After a few hours, Hotch walks down to Penelope's office. When she opens the door she's surprised to see Hotch on the other side, but she knows that whatever he's here for is something serious; Hotch doesn't make these visits often.

"Can you show me the video footage on the night that the document changes were made?" He asks, nodding to Penelope's plethora of monitors.

"Certainly sir." She says and sits down, pulling up the footage. She's watched it a hundred times, she knows this video like the back of her hand.

Hotch sits next to her and she plays the video. Just as she watched with you, and the others, the video has been tampered with. The shadows on the ground make that obvious.

"So someone got into the computer system and altered the footage." Hotch states the obvious.

"It appears so, yes." Penelope says, nervous about where this conversation is headed.

In the past day Penelope has had the same conversation with just about every other member of the BAU. Each of them didn't want to believe you had orchestrated this elaborate scheme, but they couldn't ignore the evidence.

Everyone was reluctant to admit that they believed you were responsible; Spencer was the only one to flat out deny your involvement. He was adamant about it, and his passion caused Penelope to second guess the others.

Of course she would never say that out loud, but it caused her to do some digging. She remembered how upset you were about the flowers, and she wasn't sold on the narrative that you had planned this for recognition and praise.

"Is it possible for you to-"

"Already ahead of you sir. I got into the system and looked for interferences. And it shows that she was the one who got into the camera systems as well, only a few minutes after the documents had all been changed. And it was her badge that scanned into the office." Penelope cuts Hotch off, eager to share what she learned from her sleuthing.

Hotch nods his head shortly and takes a moment to collect his thoughts. There are only a few people in this building with the kind of expertise to be able to pull something like this off. But he is apprehensive to accuse anyone of anything without further, concrete proof.

"Can you send this to me, along with the edit history?" Hotch stands from the seat and goes to leave Penelope's office, who sends him the video right away.

Being no stranger to situations like these, Hotch knows he has to keep this investigation under wraps. Especially if the team has seemingly turned their back on you. The BAU has had their fair share of rough moments, and during those moments the team always stuck together. But for some reason, this caused everyone to doubt you. It just isn't adding up to Hotch.

He returns to his office and looks out into the bullpen. Everyone is working diligently and he plans on how to handle this. While he forms a plan, he picks up his phone and makes an important call.

-----

"What do you mean I can't go in?" You ask Spencer, who just got off the phone with Hotch. Spencer sighs and sets his phone down on the coffee table. Running a hand through his hair he answers,

"Hotch said it's best if you stay out of the office while he figures out what's going on. He didn't say much about specifics, just that it would be best if you didn't come in." The words feel like a hot knife being pushed through your heart. Does this mean you're under investigation? Will you be suspended from the bureau?

You sit down on the couch, shocked about what's happening. As if being stalked wasn't bad enough, it might actually cost you your job? Not only your job, but some of the closest friends you've ever had?

Rubbing your eyes, you try to make sense of it all, but you just can't. There has to be something you're missing. There's a missing piece of the puzzle, that one piece would complete the picture. But now, it's just fragmented and incoherent.

"What am I missing? There were the flowers, the document changes, the re-tagged evidence, the tampered video, and now the folder." You speak, mostly to yourself but you know Spencer is listening as well.

You rub your temples as you try to connect the dots. Obviously it tells you that there's a stalker, and the evidence points in the direction of that stalker working for the bureau but you cannot figure out why the stalker would take those specific actions.

"Whatever it is, we will find it and we will find who is doing this." Spencer's voice is low and even, the determination is obvious. He moves to sit next to you, his leg only a few inches from yours.

You turn your head and look at him. His hair is disheveled from the amount of times he's run a hand through it in frustration, but it's charming.

"And what if we don't? Spencer you know how these things end." You simply state. As you say the words you realize you're not speaking as a profiler, but rather like a victim. And you're not sure how that makes you feel.

Spencer places his hand on top of your thigh and gives a reassuring squeeze; your heart races with the contact and you try to hide the feeling so that he can't perceive it on your face. The way his eyes dart down to your cheeks and lips make you think you didn't do a great job of hiding it. His tongue wets his lips and he goes to move a piece of your hair behind your ear.

"I don't care how many times I have to repeat myself. But I promise you that I will not rest until we find who is doing this to you. I will hunt down the man who is making your life miserable, and I will make him pay for what he's done." His words are laced with malice and venom. You nod your head and swallow, unable to think of anything coherent to say.

After a few moments, Spencer squeezes your thigh again before he gets back up to analyze the folder for the thousandth time. As he walks away, your heart swells with gratitude, and your skin buzzes where his hand was.

-----

Spencer walks into work with a feeling he can't quite place residing in his chest. It's something raw, and intense. His focus feels like it's been dialed to 100.

While he felt bad for leaving you at home alone, he knew that he would be able to do his best work here, without distractions. He had dedicated every piece of evidence to memory and was sure he would see the full picture soon.

But until then, he's got a job to do. And that job is to track down whoever is making your life a living nightmare. Spencer is unable to find the words to describe how upset he is every time he sees you looking over your shoulder in fear, or fending off sleep because of anxiety.

He hadn't felt a rage like this in a long time.

Spencer drops his bag on his desk and walks to Hotch's office. During the call Hotch made to tell you to stay home, he had also told Spencer that they needed to talk as soon as he got in. He isn't sure whether or not it's in your defense, but he knows it has to deal with your situation.

Hotch's back is turned when Spencer enters and as he turns around Spencer sees the file in hand and the scowl on Hotch's face.

"Please, sit." Hotch takes a seat and motions for Spencer to take the one across from the desk. Spencer tries to get a glimpse of the file Hotch has, but he's unsuccessful.

"We have some things to discuss." Hotch speaks again with a sigh. Spencer nods, agreeing. He only hopes Hotch believes you're innocent as well, or else he fears this discussion might become heated.

"You've probably already seen the electronic records with her credentials and the tampered video, I assume?" Hotch questions.

"Yes, I've seen them." Spencer doesn't give more information than necessary, not until he knows which side Hotch is on.

"Give me your unbiased professional opinion." Hotch leans forward on his desk, fingers interlaced and elbows resting on the wood. Spencer blinks a few times, trying to formulate an opinion void of personal feelings.

What he realizes is that he's been handling this entire case almost entirely with his personal feelings. But he recovers quickly and soon finds the words he's looking for.

"I think that she is being stalked by someone who works here. But not a regular agent, I believe it's someone pretty high up." Spencer says. Hotch nods, stoic expression not revealing anything.

"And why do you believe that?" He tilts his head just slightly to the right, something that tells Spencer that Hotch is genuinely interested in what he has to say. It's one of his small giveaways.

"Well, there are only a few people here that would have the expertise and ability to access and change credential logs like that, and to be able to get into the system and change the video. It would also take someone within the bureau to know where she's located at within the building, to send the flowers to. And whoever it is would have enough working knowledge to know how to retag evidence properly." Spencer rattles off, becoming more and more confident with his theory as he speaks. It's like saying this all out loud is helping him connect the dots.

Hotch takes a moment and nods while he studies Spencer's face and body language. It's usual profiler behavior and Spencer has seen him do this hundreds of times before with other people.

"But what else?" Hotch eventually asks. Spencer's shoulders tense up and his eyebrows scrunch together.

"What do you mean?" Spencer questions, recounting the evidence and what he explained. What more could there possibly be to say?

"You raised you hand like you had something else to add onto your explanation, but then you said nothing. What else were you going to say?" Spencer curses Hotch for being so observant just this once. With a sigh, Spencer decides it's easier to just lay everything out as plainly as possible.

"I know she didn't do it because I was with her the nights before everything happened, for the most part." Spencer doesn't elaborate any further, wanting to keep your relationship with him as much to himself as possible. Hotch's eyebrows raise in surprise, but he recovers quickly.

"I see. You'll be glad to hear I don't think she did any of this either. But what we think and what we can prove are two different things here." Spencer is all too familiar with this premise.

In fact, the similarities between this and his wrongful imprisonment are beginning to share too many things in common. You're being framed just as he was, evidence was planted and tampered with, and you're scared out of your mind because you don't know how this is going to end.

But not only that, he remembers in vivid detail how you helped him find sobriety after Tobias Hankel, how you stayed by his side through the entire journey when he was terrified. And he remembers how supportive you were when Maeve died right in front of him. You had shown him love and compassion when he thought neither of those things existed. It was you who stuck beside him through it all.

Spencer remembers the fear of being framed and the anxieties that accompanies the unknown. He hates that you're experiencing this, and he so badly wants to take it all away. And he knows the only way he can do that is to catch whoever is doing this. Now it's his turn to return the favor, to stick with you until the end. With strong resolve, he leans forward in his seat.

"So what's our next move?" Spencer asks Hotch, ready to put in as much work is needed.

Hotch nods his head and explains to Spencer his plan. It's simple, but should be effective.

-----

Hours later, Spencer sits at his desk, trying to look like he's busy. All he can think about is how you're doing back home, he worries that you're scared and wants nothing more than to run back to you; to keep you safe and away from the man wreaking havoc.

His daydreams are cut short as the agent from the IT department walks through the doors. The agent walks into Hotch's office where Hotch asks him to see if he can find any evidence of credential fraud.

The agent sits down at your desk and Spencer can't help but notice how nervous he looks. His shoulders are tense and his eyes are darting every which way as he acquaints himself with your space. Spencer's eyes narrow in suspicion and decides to keep a close eye on the man.

Spencer finds an old report and acts busy, when in reality he's watching the man's every move with careful and clinical eyes. He notices how the agent's eyes linger on the flowers sitting on your desk, and how he keeps momentarily looking at your photos.

Alarm bells are sounding off in Spencer's mind and he has to remind himself to keep calm. He reminds himself of what's at stake and forces a nonchalant demeanor. His knuckles turn white with how tightly he's gripping the paper in his hands and he's thankful the agent isn't a profiler, otherwise it would be a dead giveaway about just how angry Spencer is.

The agent works diligently, and then Spencer sees it. The man's shoulders go rigid, he holds a breath, and his eyes grow ever so slightly larger. He swallows and looks around the office before returning his focus on the screen in front of him. Spencer pretends not to notice.

While the agent is obviously dealing with some sort of turmoil, Spencer is envisioning lunging across the table at him and demanding answers. When he realizes his train of thought, Spencer knows he hasn't had these kinds of violent thoughts since he spent time in prison.

And somehow, he's okay with it. He knows that if it led to finding answers that he would be okay doing whatever it takes. He's also quick to understand the lengths he's willing to go for you and the risks he's fully prepared to take.

Abruptly and without a word, the agent returns to Hotch's office, just out of earshot from Spencer. And within minutes the agent is hightailing it out of the office, not even sparing a passing glance.

Curiosity gets the better of him and Spencer goes to speak with Hotch almost immediately. Sitting behind his desk with a troubled look on his face, Hotch's eyes flick to Spencer as he enters the room.

"Please, close the door and have a seat. We have some things to discuss. There's been a slight change in plans." Spencer closes the door quickly before taking a seat in front of Hotch's desk.

Spencer's heart beats heavily in his chest and it's like he can feel the blood pumping through his veins. Before Hotch says a word, Spencer knows that whatever he is about to say is nothing good.

"What happened?" Spencer barely recognizes the serious tone of his voice. Hotch sighs,

"The agent told me he found evidence of AES 128 bit encryption." Hotch says and Spencer's heart sinks.

"Rijndael Algorithm. It's never been cracked before." Spencer says, his heart rate increasing as his mind processes what this means for the case.

"I'm going to put Garcia up to the challenge. But I believe you're right, whoever is doing this is very intelligent and has a lot of access to our systems. With that said, I'm going to have her placed under twenty-four hour surveillance." Hotch says matter of factly. Spencer shakes his head,

"I'll be there at night, she wouldn't want to be constantly watched like that." He tries to advocate for the least invasive surveillance possible. Deep down he knows that the twenty-four hour monitoring is safest, he also knows you're likely to protest about it.

"I believe in your abilities to keep her safe. I'll put in for twelve hour surveillance, with additional overtime as needed." Hotch nods his head and Spencer thanks him.

The only thing on his mind now is getting back to you as quickly as he possibly can.

-----

You jump as loud knocks on the front door echo through your apartment. Normally you would go and answer it without a second thought, but you catch yourself worrying about who is on the other side.

Three more knocks sound off and you approach the door cautiously.

"Hey it's just me." Spencer's voice can be heard through the door and you release the breath you had been holding.

You answer the door for him and he wastes no time coming in. He turns and locks the door as soon as he's inside and he doesn't bother taking his shoes off before he's buzzing around. He's closing the curtains and pulling the couch away from the window like a mad man with thirty seconds to complete the mission.

"Spencer what's going on?" You feel a new wave of anxiety bubble up within you. You've never seen him act like this before.

Spencer stops moving around and you see him take a deep breath. He rubs his eye with the palm of his hand, and your eyes grow wide. You've seen that mannerism before, but you haven't seen it in so long. Something bad happened while he was at work today. Something very bad.

When he opens his eyes he walks up to you, leaving only a few inches between the two of you. He places his hands on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

You see a tenderness in them, but you also notice almost a crazed intensity, like his mind is working a hundred miles a second and he's having trouble keeping up with himself.

"I will explain everything shortly. But please let me do this first." You nod wordlessly and watch as he walks back into the living space. He tosses blankets over the curtain rods to make sure nobody can see through the windows.

He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and moves the couch even farther away from the window. And just for a split second your fear is forgotten as you admire the way his biceps flex under the material of his shirt.

There's something about his behavior that seems different, and you can't help but be attracted to it. Like a moth to a flame or a bee to clovers, your eye is drawn to every move, every flex of a muscle.

After he's satisfied with the changes, he walks over to the dining table and opens the folder. You had put away all of the photographs earlier, you couldn't stand the feeling of having them out in the open, it was like they were taunting you.

Spencer spreads the materials back out across the table and leans forward. You see his eyes dart over all of the pictures and the notes before he stands back to his full height and tugs at his tie, loosening it from his neck.

Your eyes stay glued to him as you step forward. His eyes glance from the photos to you and you can see how his face instantly softens.

"Will you tell me what happened now?" You ask and he nods, gesturing for you to join him on the couch.

You listen intently as he explains that Hotch believes you're innocent and that he had called in one of the IT workers. And a fresh wave of nausea came over you as he explained the encryption that was found. This most definitely is not just some guy, no, this is the work of someone sophisticated and organized.

"But, listen to me, I will not rest until we find him. Believe me, there is no obstacle too challenging. I promise you that I will not stop until you're safe again." Spencer says following a few moments of tense silence.

You've done so well to hold your emotions together, well, the best you could anyways. Up until this point it was only fear that you felt, but that fear has morphed into several other things much more terrifying than simple fear. You bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling and blink rapidly to keep from crying.

Your breaths are shaky and you look down at your lap. This is no longer just affecting you, but the whole team as well. Spencer and Hotch are willing to go out on a limb to prove your innocence while the others are convinced of your guilt. You feel guilty about the anger you harbor for your teammates who don't believe you. And truthfully, you don't know how you will be able to move forward after this.

This stalker has already taken from you something near and dear to your heart; they've taken your team.

It's then, when you accept the reality of what is, that you let the first tear fall. It's full of anger and sadness and remorse, and just a little bit of love.

Spencer envelopes you in his arms and the dam breaks. He holds you close to his chest, your tears staining his shirt. But he doesn't seem to mind. No, instead he hugs you tightly and presses the most delicate of kisses to the top of your head. You grab onto the front of his shirt and let the emotions finally break free.

-----

Spencer cradles you in his arms and as you cry it breaks his heart just a little more with each sob. He hates seeing you in such distress. Once you finally calm down a little, you sniffle and look up at him with wide, watery eyes.

"They don't believe me." Your words shatter his heart completely.

"Don't worry about them. You're all that matters right now." He says, running a hand up and down your back to try and soothe you. 

But your words remind him that he needs to speak with the team about this situation. Even he can't believe they've apparently turned against you so easily. It makes his blood boil; the team is supposed to stick with each other, not work against one another. He does his best to suppress his own anger towards them, knowing that if he expresses his distress that it will likely only make you more upset.

Instead, he focuses on nothing except you in his arms, and his anger dissipates almost immediately. He doesn't think he'll ever admit it out loud, but he secretly loves the way you cling to him. He loves how you trust him, how you confide in him, how you've taken care of him and stuck beside him through thick and thin. He loves the way your smile brightens his day, and how even the smallest glance sends butterflies soaring through him.

He presses another kiss to the top of your head as he realizes and admits to himself for the first time that he's in love with you.

He is absolutely and undeniably in love with you. And God help whoever threatens his love.

Part Five

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

taglist: @yondiii @juhdoche @themarauderseraslut @shardsofmarxx @mel-vaz @bippityboppityboob1tch @babyspiderling @honestlyloving @emisback @thatredlipped-classic @desperately-seeking-serotonin @threespacemonkeys @small-and-violent @ropickle @honestlybabymiracle @hiireadstuff @suckstobrlaurie

[could-it-be-a-dream]

desperate times

pairing(s): peter ballard x fem!orderly!reader

summary: peter’s been frustrated lately. you take notice and decide to help out.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI! slight dom!reader, oral (m receiving), face fucking, pet names, praise kink, minor st4 spoilers (sort of)

words: ~1.1k

a/n: on my KNEES for this man istg🛐🛐 sorry if this seems rushed, i wrote it within like two hours (there may or may not be a second part coming, though😏) also, please note that there are MAJOR st4 spoilers in the tags!!! enjoy!

(i do not give permission to translate or post any of my work anywhere else!)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

the repeated tapping of a lab-issued dress shoe striking the floor is the only sound, save for the quiet ticking of the wall-mounted clock, that can be heard in the hawkins lab break room. for the most part, the room is usually cleared out this time of day. you glance up from the book you’ve probably read thousands of times, your eyes finding the source of the noise. 

seated at a table across the room from you, you find peter ballard, your coworker and fellow orderly. despite seeing one another every day, the two of you never interacted much past the polite greetings when you pass each other in the halls or the catching one other’s eyes during lunch breaks and staff meetings. although, you’ve found that you enjoy watching him, studying his habits, his movements. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to him.  

which is why you can’t help but admire him as he sits almost silently at the other end of the room; the way his eyebrows are drawn together as if being pulled by a string, forming creases in his forehead. the way he lightly chews on his lip as he stares at the table in front of him. the way he readjusts in his seat to try to hide the very noticeable tent in his pants. 

you swallow at that last thought, plenty of other thoughts flooding your brain in response to the observation. you notice him looking up at you, but when your eyes return to his face to meet his gaze, he looks away again.

you frown and, after a moment of contemplation, rise from your seat, the shrill cry of the chair legs scraping against the floor breaking the silence. peter looks up again, this time not looking away as he follows your movements with his eyes. you grin, eager to mess with him.

“looks like you’ve got a bit of a problem there, peter.” you comment, eyebrows raised as you briefly cast your eyes down to his lap.

“i-“ the corners of your lips quirk up as he fumbles for something to say, his face turning a beautiful shade of pink.

you reach out and grab his chin lightly, pressing your thumb onto his bottom lip. you drag it downwards before releasing it, watching it fall back into place. 

“you want some help with that?”

“what?” his voice comes out as little more than a surprised squeak as he looks up at you, face burning at the suggestion.

you opt not to say anything, instead dropping to your knees in front of him. his breath hitches when you place your hands on the insides of his thighs, spreading his legs apart. you slowly massage your way up his thighs, barely grazing his bulge through his pants before retreating and resting your hands on his upper thighs. he lets out a shaky exhale at the brief contact.

you look up at him through your eyelashes. “is this okay?”

peter swallows, nodding quickly.

“use your words, pretty boy.”

“yes, ma’am.”

you hum in appreciation, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his clothed dick as your hands resume their previous action, touching and stroking him through his pristine white pants. his head falls back and he groans as you reach for his belt, undoing it quickly.

“look at me, peter.” as soon as he pulls his head up, you lean up and connect your lips to his. he hums appreciatively, and you manage to get his pants undone, pulling his cock free from his boxers. from what you can feel, it’s not overly thick, but what it lacks in girth is more than made up for by the length. as you begin to stroke it, using the bead of precum at the tip as lubrication, peter moans into your mouth, and you take the opportunity to slip your tongue in. 

peter’s hips buck up into your hand, and you chuckle into the kiss. pulling away, you sink back to your previous position, shooting him a coy glance before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his weeping tip. you lick a broad stripe up the vein on the underside of his cock, and peter whimpers. 

you’re suddenly thankful that you’re kneeling, otherwise you’re pretty sure the sound would’ve made your knees give out.

you moan before wrapping your lips around him and taking him into your mouth. you hear peter mutter a string of expletives above you as his hand comes up to tangle in your hair.

“oh god, y/n. feels so good.”

his words make you moan around his cock. ignoring the gathering wetness in your panties and taking him further, you gag slightly, but his hand tightening in your hair combined with the noises he’s making spur you on. 

you grip the outside of his thigh to stable yourself as you quickly bob up and down, your free hand stroking what you can’t fit into your mouth. peter whines, his head falling back as you pull back and swirl your tongue around the head of his cock.

“shit, y/n, i’m so close. god- don’t stop.” 

with the hand he has in your hair, he forces you down further on his dick, bucking his hips up into your mouth. you cough around him as he cries out, quickly clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle his moans. within seconds, you feel him fill your throat and loosen his grip on your hair. you pull off of his cock with a pop and swallow the saltiness. leaning in, you give him a soft kiss on the lips, both of you panting into it. 

“you did so well, baby. so good for me.” he smiles dazedly at the praise, but it’s soon replaced with a frown. 

“what about you?” he asks, gently holding your waist.

you smile. “don’t worry about me, pretty boy. this was about you.” 

you fall silent for a moment as he reluctantly stands and begins tidying up his appearance. after a moment of thought, you speak up again.

“if you really wanna make it up to me,” you smile coyly, bringing a hand up to his chin and angling his head to face you, “meet me in storage room b after dinner tonight.” 

his pupils dilate as you let your arm trail down his chest. you turn around and walk out, leaving him with a half-hard dick and a fun night to look forward to.

[ink-and-dagger]

Astrofuckinintheprivatebalconydrabbleplsnthanku

*scurries away*

VIP BOOTH [Very Important ~King~ Pin]

Silco x Reader || Silco x Astrid || Established Relationship || NSFW || MDNI || Semi-public sex || Dirty talk || Light choking || Very slight belly-bulge kink || Rough sex || Sub/Dom Undertones || After-care || Wc: 4.2K

Author note: Written for Astro, but can be read as general sassy AFAB reader. Messy wet smooches to @insult-2-injury for beta-ing and being a general babe 💜 Also shout out to @a-gal-with-taste for boinking me on the head when I needed it. Thank you all for being patient with me and my slow brain. Happy Sinday lovelies 💜

Drink With Me Masterlist🥃

“Boss man says you’re to go up and see him in half an hour.”

It isn’t uncommon for Sevika’s greetings to cut straight to the point. But what’s less common is Silco requesting your presence in his office mid-shift. You raise an eyebrow at the tall, dark woman towards whom you nudge a generous glass of tequila.

“And did boss man say why?”

“Nope.”

“How come he doesn’t want me up now?”

“Just the messenger, princess,” Sevika dismisses flatly, already turning away with her drink in hand and her attentions set upon two pretty women across the dance floor.

You roll your eyes at her retreating back but don’t speculate on it any further. Likelihood is that Silco simply needs your help with his eye treatment, or else your input on some other work matter. 

Half an hour passes quickly enough with the club at full capacity, and it isn’t long before you’re slipping out from behind the bar, with a quick word to Jasper, and weaving your way through the revelling crowds.

The tumultuous bass-line rumbles through the treads of your boots as you spring your way happily up the stairs to the balcony – bobbing your head along to the blasting beat of the music and absently singing along beneath your breath.

Gods the place really is heaving tonight. Seems every square inch is filled with thrill-seekers and trouble-makers alike. You slink through the narrow gaps left between bodies as a salmon would between riverbed weeds; fighting a current you’re built to withstand, but that pushes against you nonetheless.

You round the corner and begin to make your way past the row of private booths which line the final approach to Silco’s stairwell. Each alcove is fitted with a central table, two ox-blood leather back benches, and is dimly illuminated by a singular, moody chem-sconce mounted on the rear wall. Thick, three-quarter length curtains of deep plum velvet adorn either side of every entrance should those within require a little more discretion, and although they are only drawn across a handful of booths tonight, it seems that each one is occupied regardless.

You mind your own business; pointedly ignoring the illicit objects strewn across each table as you pass. Cards, drinks, drugs, money, weapons—

Quick as an asp, a hand shoots out from inside the penultimate booth, latching onto your arm and yanking you unceremoniously through the closed drapes. You land heavily in someone’s lap with a surprised shriek that quickly transforms into a spitting snarl as you twist, fist raised to strike your assailant. But once again he’s faster; snatching your wrist and halting it mid-swing.

The limited light dispels the gloom just enough for you to register a devious, sharp-cut smirk, and a glinting pair of mischievous eyes; one of sea-foam green, and the other of forge-fire orange.

“Asshole,” you hiss emphatically, even as you sag in boneless relief; spine moulding to the familiar shape of Silco’s front and head lolling back to rest atop his shoulder as you attempt to slow your stampeding heart-rate.

An arrogant little chuckle rumbles beside your ear, and Silco wastes absolutely no time in making the precise reason for your abduction abundantly clear. 

His arms wind around you, pawing none-to-subtly across your breasts and stomach as he gathers you into a possessive embrace that grinds your ass insistently down atop his clothed erection.

Your sharp inhale catches in your throat, before expelling as a sultry laugh. You drop your cheek against the luxurious softness of Silco’s collar, bringing your lips to his ear to be heard above the relentless din of the club beyond the curtains.

“ Shit Silco,” you praise, voice a throaty purr to accompany the appreciative roll of your hips, “Been in here all alone gettin’ yourself hot and bothered?”

He drops a hard, proprietorial kiss to your throat, and his knees slip together between yours and begin to push them slowly, purposefully apart – unashamedly spreading your legs at his own leisure. Your feet dangle a half an inch off the floor from your boosted seat upon his lap, leaving you entirely at the mercy of the large palms which drag a tantalising promise up the insides of your thighs.

“I’ve been 'hot and bothered’ since you sauntered out of my office earlier wearing this indecent scrap of fabric.”

He arrives at the hem of your skirt and plucks reproachfully at the material to emphasise his point.

Your teeth prick your lower lip as he runs the seam between fingers and thumbs, knuckles skimming across your skin to the outside of your thighs before tracing back inwards again – a sensual, goosebump-raising metronome of touch that further stokes the molten heat oozing steadily outwards from your core.

“It’s called a skirt .”

Silco’s scarred lips shift infinitesimally, casting a hidden smirk into the trench above your collarbone, and you tip your head further back with a sigh, baring your throat to the heavens as his tongue runs down the swallow-tail of your clavicle to pinch a biting kiss to the top of your sternum.

“Surely not,” he drawls, dragging his mouth up the thrumming artery at the side of your neck to speak directly against the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. The horizontal graze of his knuckles diverts to a vertical drag that lifts the material of said skirt up over your hips to bunch around your waist, leaving your underwear as the only barrier separating you from his lap (if a thong can indeed be considered a barrier in the first place), “It barely covers you.”

“You don’t like it? I thought it rather suited me,” you sulk playfully, swirling your ass in a provocative figure of eight.

He grunts softly at the movement, before nipping at your neck in sharp penalty for misbehaving. Not that the punishment achieves anything other than driving your pelvis down harder atop the strain in his pants with a needy little gasp of your own.

“That isn’t at all what I said,” he croons in your ear. One hand sneaks up under your shirt to sketch cruel, taunting sickles on the undersides of your breasts, whilst the other slips a scant inch beneath the band of your underwear to tease the lowest reaches of your belly with light, ticklish strokes, “I think my opinions on this particular item of clothing are rather evident. Wouldn’t you say? I haven’t been able to focus on my work since you left.”

“And so you thought you’d come down here and interrupt my work instead of taking care of things yourself like a big boy?”

“ You caused this problem,” his fingers dip lower, skimming the periphery of your clit in three sadistic loops before continuing down to nudge at your slick-soaked entrance, “I think it only fair that you fix it.”

Your breathing shallows, lungs bound by the tightening noose of arousal clamping hot and heavy around every sense you possess. Your nails dig into burgundy sleeved forearms and your gaze darts towards the pervious swath of fabric that separates you from the mingling crowds just beyond. Yours and Silco's boots are already visible to anyone who might bother to look down, and the salacious arrangement of legs and footwear is hardly subtle.

“Aren’t you worried we’ll be caught? That people will find out about us?” You ask, even as you tilt your hips towards the promise of his fingers.

His chest rumbles against your spine; a low growl laced with an impatience that thrills you.

“You know just as well as I the numerous sins committed under this roof each night,” he insists, dark and gravelled, gluttonous hands dragging their way back to your hips, “I am certain that everyone will be far too busy with their own misdeeds to pay any attention to ours. Up,” he instructs with a brusque, stinging smack to the side of your bare buttock.

You obey instantly, gripping the edge of the table in front of you and pulling your weight up and forwards to hover above his lap. Balancing en pointe like some inelegant ballerina in your clunky Undercity boots. Silco’s sleeves brush the backs of your thighs as he tears at the buttons on his trousers beneath you. 

“Were you always this horny before I came along?” You call over your shoulder, just loud enough for him to hear over the teeth-rattling drum and bass.

“Not since I was a teenager,” he rips your underwear aside and guides you back with a hand on your hip until you’re suitably poised for him to lewdly drag the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself with the evidence of your own lust. “Such is the effect you have on me.”

“Oh Gods,” you huff, half amused and half thick-throated desire, “Please don’t say that ‘I make you feel young again’ .”

“Again?” 

You offer a cheeky, heavy-lidded smirk.

“On the contrary, sweetheart, ” he continues with a sharp yank at your hips that has you sinking down onto him oh so sweetly , “You very much make me feel like a man.” He punctuates his statement with the upwards snap of his pelvis – meeting you halfway and burying himself to the hilt. 

The leather upholstery creaks beneath you both as you melt back against Silco’s chest. The hedonistic whine which falls from your lips a soulful counter-melody to the vacuous blast of the club music. No matter how many times he’s inside you, there’s a perfect divinity in the way you fit together that never fails to leave you breathless.

Silco’s arms encircle you once more, hugging you tight against his front with a ragged sigh of relief that stirs the fine hairs at your temple. Easing you into the thick stretch of him with slow, rolling thrusts that have your head tipping blissfully back atop his shoulder.

Your eyelids lower beneath the bewitching weight of his mouth pressing down the slope of your neck. Tongue curling hot and wet over skin in soothing licks even as he sucks flaming marks upon your throat. Claiming you. Painting you red and purple to match the lighting which slinks beneath the curtains in pulsing flashes.

The limited space between the table and bench restricts your movements a considerable amount. But you make do with any and all leverage available to you. Arching your spine to optimise the rock of your pelvis. Reaching back to curl fingers around the nape of Silco’s neck, to slide your palm down his tailored waist to the hinge of his hip, thumb slotting perfectly into the crease of his groin beneath your ass. Using the thickened toes of your boots and your Sump-Snipe thigh strength to slide yourself up and down the heat of his shaft if only an inch or two.

Not that you’re in any way complaining about such a gloriously deep-seated fuck.

Your head spins, caught in the whirlpool of sensation sweeping through your mind and body. The relentless pump of the music and unintelligible drone of a hundred voices pressing in all around you. Silco’s breath dampening your skin and the ravenous drag of his teeth and tongue and lips against any part of you his mouth can reach. The strobing lights which throw the world into sin-addled darkness only to rip it back to crimson brilliance a split second later like an eternal, ceaseless tug-of-war. The obscene feel of him filling you up so completely only intensifies with each upward buck of his hips.

Electric anticipation gathers like static around every nerve and synapse with each flawless grind of his cock against the trembling plush of your walls. Forever in amazement at how the shape of him seems so faultlessly crafted to knead all the sweetest spots inside you no matter the position you find yourselves in.

Erotic and scorching is the hand that once more slides up under your shirt to roll a pebbled nipple between thumb and forefinger. Your hitching gasp elicits a velvet hum of approval at your ear – a sound which lengthens and pitches down into something husky and bestial to accompany the splay of Silco’s other hand upon your lower tummy, pressing hard to feel for himself just how deeply he’s sheathed inside you.

“Always such a good girl for me,” he murmurs beneath your sharp inhale – high and ragged and pleading thanks to the pressure of his palm forcing your g-spot more firmly against the continuous burrowed-slide of his cock. “Always so obliging, despite that smart little mouth of yours.”

A soft, whimpering sob spills unbidden from between the pliant seam of your lips.

“What was that, darling?” He releases your nipple, hand smoothing up your sternum to emerge through the collar of your shirt. Palm blanketing your windpipe, fingers and thumb closing either side of your throat, “Were you agreeing with me? Are you my good girl?”

Your attempt to nod is crippled by the tightening of his grip, constricting your arteries just enough to heighten your already dizzying pleasure and to convey his unspoken instruction crystal clearly.

“Yes,” you babble skyward, head pressing further back into the sharp-boned pillow of his shoulder and voice rising as you’re driven closer to climax with each deep-seated thrust, “Ye- ss. I’m g- such a good girl for you. Puh- please. Silco— ”

“Shhhh,” he hushes, smooth as velour and arrogant as a king, releasing your neck to slide his middle and index finger over the crest of your chin and into your mouth, pinning your tongue flat. “We wouldn’t want anyone finding out your dirty little secret, hm?”

The hand on your tummy shifts too, dexterous pads sliding south to massage your clit in progressively quickening circles whilst his thumb remains solidly pressed above your pubic bone. Your pelvis jerks, even as your lips close around his fingers and suck with a greedy, muffled whine .

“What would they all think?” Silco growls, carnal grit colouring his words and dismantling his usual debonair grace, “If they knew that you let the Eye of Zaun fuck you however he pleases? When and wherever he pleases?”

You moan around his fingers, trapped tongue crudely lavishing the salt of his skin as much as you’re able. The movement of your hips now less of a practiced roll and more of a desperate writhe as you chase the promise of blinding pleasure that’s barrelling towards you. The pressure of his thumb relentless. His fingertips a blur upon your clit. Every cell in your body tightening, bracing for impact. All of it so impossibly intense that the corners of your eyes prick with zealous tears and you aren’t sure if the flesh you're driving your nails into is Silco’s or your own.

“Not only that – but that you’re spread and dripping for him at a moment's notice? That you love it?” He snarls, planting a harsh kiss to the hinge of your jaw and breathing you in deep. Scarred lips lingering against your skin and voice softening to a rasped whisper, “That you love him?”

You shatter. 

Mouth flying open in a silent cry; caught and trapped in your chest by the paralysing force of your orgasm. Every tendon and muscle beneath your skin straining agonisingly taut, mortal body locked in place but mind and soul soaring with indescribable pleasure, rupturing through you in throbbing bursts. 

And that is the tempo you lose yourself to, not the rhythmic beat of the jukebox. Dazzled not by club strobes but by blinding stars . Swept away upon euphoric swells which lick warm and wet through every inch of you.

Gone. Adrift. For a lifetime. Or for mere seconds.

Coaxed back to lucidity by a low-toned voice.

“Are you with me, sweetheart?”

Your lashes flutter, vision clearing, settling. Unravelled body slack within the arms of another. Spine supported against a long, lithe torso. Chest heaving with laboured breaths. 

A pair of fingers slip from your mouth, trailing wet beneath your jaw, down the column of your throat.

“Yes,” you croak, exquisitely wrung out, dropping your cheek towards Silco and gazing up at him through drooped lashes.

He scans your face, his hips having slowed to a gentle, absent rock beneath your backside – ensuring you’re alright before even contemplating seeking his own release.

But Gods you can see how he needs it. 

And you can see exactly what it is that he’s so sorely craving from the wild, animal edge in his eyes. A specific desire he no longer submits to without your endorsement.

Lucky for him, then, that you take such pride in being his good girl.

“Do it,” you pant, “I can take it—”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Your insides lurch with the sudden motion of Silco shooting to his feet and hauling you with him. Not granted even a split second to find your bearings before the table comes rushing to meet you – or rather you it. The impact of your torso against the surface forces all the air from your lungs in one brutal rush, and your boots scrabble upon the booze-sticky floor to secure your footing before the beast at your back really goes to town.

Your palms squeak against the wood, top and skirt bunching ever higher as Silco seizes your hips and yanks you backwards into each vicious thrust. Driving into you with a merciless velocity that out-paces even the rhythmic pump of the music.

Mindless. Savage. Immaculate.

Silco fucks you totally and utterly dumb . Mouth hanging open, nonsensical sounds moaned directly into the wood beneath your cheek. What little strength remains in your quivering muscles is channelled directly towards arching your spine to send him plunging deeper.

You don’t even need to look to feel the laser burn of his eyes raking hot over your cock-drunk expression. Scorching down your spine. Setting your cunt ablaze as he watches himself piston in and out. Scratching this carnal itch that arises from time to time despite your partnership. Power. Dominance. Control.

Even over the unceasing clamour of the club you can hear the susurrant hiss of Silco’s breath pushing through bared teeth above you. Serrated grunts of exertion and depraved satisfaction that are far more gratifying to your ear than any music could ever be.

His vise-like fingers release your hips; blood rushing to flood the bruises he’s undoubtedly left upon your skin and restoring sensation to your numbed flesh. One hand shifts to the dip of your waist whilst the other hooks over the top of your shoulder. He bends close, his body heat a sweat-inducing shroud and the pound of his hips slowing in speed but not in ferocity. High, aquiline bridge of his nose pressing into your temple as he uses his grip on you to drive himself impossibly deep. Impossibly hard. Rattling the entire table beneath you with each pointed, barbaric thrust.

And you’re so utterly lost to Silco’s amorous frenzy that you’re completely blind-sighted by your second orgasm; spearing through you unexpected and sharp. Violent, blinding rays of bliss that send tears streaming over your lashes.

The feverish, pulsing clench of your sex pulls a coarse, ragged groan from the depths of Silco’s lungs as he too climaxes with staggering force. Sheathing himself completely, grinding deep, flooding you with decadent, throbbing warmth. Hips rocking steadily slower until he’s simply seated inside you, completely spent.

Your ribcage swings with fast, laboured breaths. Silco’s heavy panting stirs your ruffled hair, tickling your sweat-soaked neck.

His hands soften and smooth tenderly down your sides.

“Are you alright sweetheart?”

You nod, cheek still pressed into the surface of the table.

“You’re certain? I didn’t hurt you?”

You reach behind you to cup his face, thumb swiping along the hinge of his jaw in reassurance. Short of breath, and wielding a thick, clumsy tongue, “Yes I— I’m fine, Sil. I’m— Janna’s tits that was fucking incredible.”

Silco releases a lengthy exhale, allowing himself to fully relax atop you – slim body a welcome, comforting weight and the blade of his nose grazing affectionately behind your ear. Large, warm palms worship you in slow, roving strokes that have your muscles melting . Soothing your bruised hips. Trailing down the outsides of your thighs and over the swell of your backside. Caressing up your spine. Sweeping along arms. Brushing back messy hairs from your face with his knuckles. All of it so heartbreakingly gentle.

“You are—” he begins breathlessly, losing his words with a shake of his head and a quiet, awestricken huff. Planting soft kisses upon the skin of your jaw, lips brushing warm towards the corner of your mouth between low, earnest words, “Perfect. My beautiful, wonderful, perfect girl.”

You purr, happy and content, basking in his warmth and affection.

You grumble, petulant and sulky, when he disappears without warning. 

“Bagh,” you complain. Scowling over your shoulder but remaining stubbornly recumbent on the table whilst he slips from you; long, sharp face pinching in a fleeting grimace. He sweeps a gentle, assessing thumb around your entrance, and once he’s satisfied that you’re truly unharmed he tucks himself away and conjures a clean napkin from a hidden pocket.

You snort softly against the wood, “Came prepared I see,” you mumble, “Cocky prick.”

Silco doesn’t lift his gaze, nor pause in his dutiful cleaning of your thighs and the apex between them – merely gestures towards his ear with a small shake of his head.

“Your hearing is freakishly good and you know it.”

The very corner of his mouth quirks, and his eyes tick up to meet yours.

Swift and deft as a fox, the soiled napkin is discarded, your clothing is fixed, and his warmth returns as he brings his mouth to your ear.

“Can you stand?”

You shift your hands beneath you and press yourself slowly upright, Silco’s palms a comforting presence on your waist.

You straighten. 

And your legs promptly buckle.

But of course Silco is ready to catch you; arms wrapping easily around your middle with a low chuckle.

“Weak at the knees, darling?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so dreamy, ” you swoon over your shoulder, batting your lashes for good measure.

His eyes glitter with silent mirth and he scoops you up, sitting back down on the bench with you tucked close against him – legs swung over his lap, head pillowed upon his collar, and nose grazing the perfumed silk knot of his tie.

From the first moment you met Silco, the rest of the world has always had a habit of simply melting away whenever you’re with him. Even now, the thunderous motley of music and nightlife feels like little more than background noise beneath the steady, calming swell of his lungs beneath your cheek. The spilt booze and body odour of the club negated completely by cigars and cologne. Strobing lights nary a bother behind the contented droop of your eyelids.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Silco murmurs, shaking you gently, “When you’re able to walk we’ll get you upstairs.”

You whimper longingly into his shirt, “I can’t leave Jasper in the lurch. Not tonight. The club’s rammed.”

“I’ll send Thieram to cover the rest of your shift.”

“You sure? You can spare him?”

“I’m sure.”

You smile, snuggling deeper into the crook of his neck with a happy little hum, “Whoever said that dating your boss was a bad idea?”

“Certainly not me. I did, however, say not to get too comfortable.”

“Too late.”

His chest depresses in a long-suffering sigh, but he gathers you closer in his arms regardless, and drops a kiss to your hair. 

You remain quietly entwined together for a short while, sharing just as private and intimate a moment as those which preceded it. Curtained off from the rest of the world.

“Silco?”

“Hm?”

“I wouldn’t care, you know. If people found out about us.”

The fingers which had been sketching lazy circles to the outside of your thigh come to a stop. There’s a moment’s pause, before he answers carefully, “This is how it has to be. To keep you safe.”

“I know,” you sigh, lifting your head from his shoulder to properly meet his gaze. Fiddling with the gold trim of his waistcoat as you speak softly, earnestly, “So long as you know… That loving you – Silco – it isn’t some terrible secret I’m eager to keep.”

He releases a long exhale, shoulders sinking and lips thinning ruefully. There’s an apology in his eyes. One you don’t allow him the chance to voice.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him gently, capturing his face between your palms, “I just want you to know that if I had bragging rights… I’d use ‘em.” 

You brush a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. And another when he gives chase – hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Mouth pressing just a little deeper against yours. Tongue tips lightly brushing in a way that sends your stomach swooping.

Lips part, and foreheads join. His thumb circles tenderly over your pulse beneath your jaw.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

You smile, small and soft, “It’s so nice to hear you ask that in a good way for a change.”

He huffs the smallest of laughs, tucking some rogue hairs back behind your ear, “Come on, let’s head up.”

You blink owlishly at him.

He clicks his tongue, “In a minute then,” he relents.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” you murmur, happily tucking yourself once more into the crook of his neck.

[babyharleezy]

The imagine could be based on this video https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMNkUFJV7/?k=1 instead of Madison Beer was yn and her ex boyfriend (any guy u want) but at the end she was dating with Jack Harlow

you deserve better

(jack harlow x reader)

bloo's notes: oo okay this is gonna be an interesting one link

tag list: @creme-delacreme @wittyjasontodd @harlowcomehome @sealpuptrash @moody4world @thinkingaboutjharlow

jack harlow had made a big name for himself. he was easy to like. he was sweet but a perfectionist when it came to his work. sooner or later he found himself looking for an assistant. after many many interviews he didn't find anyone, up until the last interview. neelam was the one interviewing and jack would be on a zoom call with neelam so he can be present without actually being there. you just so happened to be the last interview. you were head strong, confident, serious about your work, and you also were a perfectionist like jack. which is why he was so drawn to you, and he gave you the job immediately. well, neelam gave you the job immediately.

you got the job about three years ago. you and jack quickly became very close to each other. you always had a small crush on him but you knew you couldn't act on it considering he was your boss and you also had a boyfriend. you two were always stuck to each other, mainly because of your job. he needed you at all hours and you honestly loved your job, it kept you busy. within the three years jack had a massive crush on you, he didn't care that you worked for him and he hated how you had a boyfriend. but he just wanted you to be happy, whether that was with or without him. he always made an effort to invite you and YOUR boyfriend to places. it wasn't odd to invite your boyfriend since he was also an artist as well. jack hated charlie (puth) but for you, he acted like he loved him.

tonight jack decided to go out the the club and have one last chill, party night before tour starts up again. of course all of his friends and team were there. you were excited to go out and enjoy the night. truthfully your relationship with charlie has been on edge. everyone saw how he treated you so horribly. but you loved him and he didn't always treat you horribly. but as of lately you had just become over all of the shit. so you hoped a night out would help. you were wrong. within minutes of getting into the club, charlie darted to the bar area and he took 4 shots. great you thought. the group and you made your way to the vip section, jack asking you if you were okay because you look irritated. "yeah jack i'm okay. don't worry about me. you have to enjoy one of your last nights before tour. you're gonna be hella tired" you said, trying to get his attention off of you and onto him. he didn't fall for it. he just chose to keep an eye on you tonight. as some time passed by jack spoke up again. "where's charlie?" jack asked. and you had wondered the same thing. the both of your eyes darting around to find your boyfriend. both your eyes and jacks eyes land on charlie making out with some blonde. you were furious. you excused your self and made your way to charlie. you dragged him out of the club within seconds.

"are you fucking serious right now" you yelled. you were frustrated and that led to you crying. "what did you expect me to do? my girlfriend hasn't been satisfying my needs" charlie yelled back. at this point paparazzi's were across the street taking pictures and videos, good thing they couldn't hear anything. the group you had came in with had also made their way outside, going to another club. jack had seen you out of the corner of his eyes and he got neelam's attention quick. the both of them bolting toward you.

"you know what charlie, fuck you. i want all of your shit out of my house in the next 24 hours before i burn all of it to the fucking ground" you yell and push him away from you. you made your way into jack's arms and he instantly took you in, kissing your forehead. "oh i knew you were fucking mr. kfc" charlie spat. "we're not fucking, unlike you i'm loyal. mr. kfc probably has better dick than you" you yelled back in anger before walking away with jack and neelam.

"hey i'll see you guys later. y/n and i are gonna go home" jack announced the group. "jack i'm fine. go enjoy. i'm just gonna go home with neelam" you said. "nah you going home with me. my home is your home now. i'm glad you're done with that clown. i been wanting you ever since i laid my eyes on you" jack said while making y'all's way into the car. "jack are you serious? i've liked you too but i obviously couldn't act on my feelings because i work for you, so i ended up getting a boyfriend" you say in shock.

that whole incident was a year ago. jack took you to his house that night and you never left. you were grateful for him. even the paparazzi pictures showed how much happier you were with jack. "hey baby, you ready to head out?" jack asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. "yeah, i'm reading. Louisville bound" you holler, making jack giggle.

[smilerri]

goncharov and the homeric epics

as a classics student I honestly consider this whole goncharov thing to be a kind of breakthrough. for DECADES even CENTURIES people have been debating how the homeric epics were composed orally and I can't help but think that this is it? a community of people encounter a single piece of inspiration, in the case of goncharov a knock off label and in case of homeric society memories of a far-off war, and from it they build something beyond the imagination of any single person. with too much plot to ever fit into a 2 hour movie or two printed books, all communicated by bursts of words, art, and music.

naturally there is the issue that tumblr and the internet as a whole is far more permanent and far-reaching than forms of communication in archaic greece, but I still think that this provides us a feasible answer to the homeric question (that is, who is homer? a single man who composed two epics? a group of people? or is it an abstract term used to help us comprehend a societal phenomenon wherein oral communication and performance has permitted such epics to come into existence? (in case u can't tell I think it's the last one)). tumblr was able to creat goncharov within a matter of days because of the speed and reach if online communication. the odyssey and the iliad, however, we have no specific start and end date for. rather, the period in which they may have been composed stretches from the late 8th to early 7th centuries BCE (Before Common/Current Era) - what's to say it wasn't in the process of composition that entire time? slowly, very slowly, word would have spread from person to person, each adding their own ideas, characters, and themes, until a plot began to emerge, over the course of many, many years. then came the bards, the performers, who pieces together these floating ideas until they had something cohesive, which they then performed at festivals or privately or wherever, and then their audience would add their own ideas - to put in into modern terms, "fanfiction" and "headcanons" would make excellent equivalents.

or maybe the artwork came first. vase paintings, graffiti; anything to act as an outlet to preserve just a few of these ideas that otherwise would disappear as human memory fades. goncharov has an advantage in that way, as posts online are more accessible and, to an extent, immortal, while the spoken word is quick to dissipate and material items are perishable. for as long as tumblr survives (which it's proven itself to be very good at), those fanarts and posts will remain preserved in their original condition.

I'm no expert on all things goncharov but I checked out the masterdoc for the basic plot and one thing that stood out to me was the "debated scenes" section, because that's some thing that always bothered me about the epics. what is translated of homer is mostly drawn from manuscripts dated to around the medieval period, many many years after the epics were supposedly composed - meaning that, as oral tradition began to lose its popularity, the epics were recorded physically, and in doing so lost their flexibility. I have no doubt that there are hundreds, even thousands of different versions of the homeric epics, whether those are complete narratives - like goncharov, with it's "directors cut" and "private screening" versions - or individual scenes and stories that slot into the (arguably shaky) narrative we currently have, just like goncharov. I truly hope that, unlike this, no one tries to permanently tie goncharov down into one "correct" narrative, because what makes this phenomena so great, and what makes the oral tradition so great, is precisely it's flexibility.

there is a beauty in ambiguity, that is only emphasised by our yearning to find the "truth". for homer's epics, that ambiguity has somewhat (not entirely!) been lost as people settled with the narrative we have been given as the "true" version, but for goncharov, which has essentially been plucked from the air rather than dug up from under thousands of years of history, ambiguity is its main allure and the reason it has gained so much popularity - people saw the potential in its ambiguity, picked it up and ran with it. and, all those thousands of years ago, an ancient people very well may have done the same.

I could go on to talk about thematic similarities because it makes me laugh how society continues it's tendency towards homoeroticism to the point that, when a microcosm of a global (though primarily english-speaking) community is given the chance to create an entirely new piece of media with so little prerequisite they immediately saturate it with homoerotic subtext and, in some of the "debated scenes" they just make it fully homosexual which I respect so much you people are geniuses and the ancient greeks would be proud (also the parallels between goncharov and andery and achilles and patroclus are THERE and you bet I'm going to talk about them. just not right now lol). but unfortunately I have many essays to write on this very topic that I have been ignoring! so enjoy this rant I hope it's not entirely unintelligible!!

[ink-on-the-brink]

Yandere Engie x Reader ~ Dark Nights Come With A Cost [PT 10]

Chapter Selection

A/n: Heyyyy been a while. I'm still suffering from the worst writers block I've ever had in my entire life but I did manage to finally finish this part. Sorry it took so long ^-^;

Knock

Knock

Knock

A sound lightly tapped on his door which very hastily pulled him from his daydreaming once again.

"Just a sec" he spoke as he immediately tried to wipe the red from his face. He closed his laptop and stood up before he hastily made his way to the door, soon opening it.

On the other side stood a person he'd seen about a million times before. They were around their mid thirties, though you wouldn't be able to tell at a quick glance of their short stature. They had short blonde hair with a pair of glasses crookedly held on their face, most likely because the bags they held didn't allow them to fix it. They held a serious expression, though a smile was hidden in the slight curl of their lips.

"Well Howdy Kit, nice'a you ta make-"

"Please, cut me the openings. I know how you Conagers work" they quickly interjected, a cool snideness found in their tone. Dell stopped as he gave them a slight sneer.

"Well if you're gonna go around callin' me Mister Conager then Ah just might feel so inclined ta start actin' like him" Dell sarcastically replied, a chuckle hidden behind his words. He took a step away from the door and allowed them to walk in and was not surprised to see them rolling their eyes at his comment.

"Alright, alright I don't need your speech. Let's start with the wipe. Where and when" They asked as they set their bag onto the ground before unloading it onto the desk nearby. Dell quietly closed the door, hoping that no one was woken up.

"One of the apartment buildings down the street'a the library a few miles. Might just be easier if I brought it up" he spoke as he took a spot next to them. They nodded and began plugging up some wires to Dell's computer, setting it up for what they needed.

"Alright, so besides cameras and all that was there anything else that recorded you? Any witnesses?" They asked the question with a tone of absentminded thought as they got to work, their familiarity with the interfaces they clicked through shown in how swiftly they moved from one to the other.

"Just someone Ah was with. Didn't record though and I was with 'em a while after. No need for anythin' there" he clarified as they brought up a rather familiar screen.

"Good. Didn't feel like dealing with Tony today anyway. Here, type it in'' while they spoke rather lightheartedly the truth in their words was still most definitely palpable. It earned a short chuckle from Dell as he leaned over to type in the address.

"And Ah don't blame ya for that" he commented before doing as told and quickly clicking to the next screen, the information popping up on the screen once again changing to a jumble that he didn't understand. Kit once again took charge, their eyes moving to scan through what to Dell might as well have been a foreign language. Yet they seemed to fully understand it and, within a few minutes, were able to find what they were looking for.

"Time?"

"Round seven"

"Floor?

"Second"

"Mmhm," they muttered before finally clicking onto what Dell had been waiting for. A video feed popped onto the screen, Kit wasting no time in fasting forwarding through it. Dell watched intently as they did so, his intrigue drawn when Damien appeared in view. He was surprised to see that the man had waited a full hour before the two of you had even shown up.

Kit paused the video just before the interaction could occur and instead clicked to another window, going through a similar process but with a video feed from a different day.

They did a few other things across the screen but frankly Dell had stopped paying attention. He had sat on the bed by this point, waiting for them to finish. An hour passed before they were finally done.

"And there you go. One of my finer works I would say" they spoke into the now silent room which quickly caught Dell's ears. He stood before walking back over to the computer where they played a clip of the man simply walking away. He looked a bit different, but not enough for you to notice unless you were looking for it. It was only a few moments after that when you walked through the hall and into your apartment with no hint of animosity or sign of Dell.

"Mighty fine work" he complimented, a half smile found on his face.

"Good to hear. Now you said you had a name too?" Once again Kit seemed to have no time to waste. It didn't worry Dell though, he knew they really didn't mind this work...

At least he thought so anyway.

"Well, part'a one. But Ah have a suspicion he won't be hard ta track."

"Just tell me the name and what you know" they asked again though a small bit of exasperation could be found in their tone.

"Damien. Rich kid 'Round mah age, maybe younger. Natural brunette but died his hair blonde. Skinny...that's about all Ah know" Dell described as much of the man as he could, hoping to unearth what he sought for.

It took a while of waiting around and answering a few more questions to the best of his ability along with a rather surface-level search by Kit before they found what they were looking for.

"Well, well, well. I think I found your man" they announced as they pulled up a final screen, a picture he recognized immediately as the man from earlier popping up.

"Yep, that'd be him" he eagerly answered, relieved to finally have access to the file.

"I'm assuming you don't need me to babysit you?" They asked in a bit of a snide tone that caused Dell to feign a sense of worry.

"Well Ah ain't too sure Kitty, Ah'm just a poor ol' mechanic after all" he held a wary tone that he had trouble not smiling through. It earned a slight glare from Kit, them seemingly not so amused by his tone or the nickname he'd given them.

"I'm going to go get breakfast, good luck finding whatever you're looking for" they responded as they stood from their chair, allowing him to take a seat as they left. Dell could have sworn he saw a bit of a smirk on their face though.

Without wasting much more time he quickly took a seat, his hand immediately clicking through what they had found. His eyes were drawn from one set of information to the next, glancing over bits and pieces of a bigger whole. He clicked around a few minutes as he scanned the info, though he didn't find really anything of interest.

That was until he went digging a little deeper and eventually found Damiens court history, upon which he found a restraining order. It wouldn't have caught his attention too much. Things like that happen often enough, and from what he could glean from his previous encounter with the man and your history with him it didn't really surprise him...

That is until he realized that it was filed by him. And towards Mandy.

'Hm...don't seem like they really were meant for one another huh' Dell thought, quickly storing the tidbit away.

It was his first bit of info that could be used, but he'd need more than that if he wanted to get Damien away from you for the rest of the man's miserable life.

Clicking through more he still found just general history though he began looking a little closer.

Single child

Former wrestler

Graduated high school

Last name Fontaine-

He paused, the name catching his attention. His eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at it, his thoughts trying to focus fully on where he'd heard that name before. Somewhere on campus? Could be. He knows a lot of the staff really well. But he'd never heard of Damien before, so maybe not. It could have something to do with family work. Would make sense, considering they were rather wealthy. It's possible, but he sees about a dozen names a day, knowing for a fact would likely take hours of digging. And that's if his hunch is right.

After a few moments he grew a bit frustrated and settled on simply writing the name down and looking into it later. For the time being he was growing rather bored. The dirt he was hoping to find was not as readily available as he would have hoped.

What drew his interest next though was a little link labeled photos. He'd been weary of clicking on it for a while since he knew what he'd end up looking for if he clicked on it. However, curiosity and boredom got the best of him and, against his better judgment, he clicked.

He scrolled a while, most of the pictures not as interesting as he wished they were. After all, it was hundreds upon hundreds of not just photos Damien had saved, but ones he'd deleted too. Lots of them were blurry and poorly taken.

Dell tried to stay focused and look through each one to find something incriminating. However this was short-lived as his curiosity only grew stronger and, eventually, he just skipped down a few years. He didn't have to scroll for long until he found what had distracted his search.

You

The first photo of you in his phone had you, Damien and Mandy sitting at a table in what he could best assume was some sort of lunchroom. With how young the three of you looked he could tell this was your teen years.

He found himself staring at the photo for a while, his mind replaying the history you had explained just last night. How you had trusted and cared for two people who would soon come to stab you in the back.

He kept scrolling, his eyes glancing over months of time through photo upon photo of smiling faces. After a while he eventually made it to the year you and Damien had been dating. His face twisted in disgust at pictures of his lips against yours, of photos showing his hands holding onto the person he should never have been allowed to touch. It brewed hatred in Dell to see this man who only last night had threatened your safety now in photos pretending to have ever cared about you.

Dell stopped, however, when something new popped up...

A video

He hesitated a moment, unsure what could lie behind it. He looked at the date, only to realize it was on new years. With his curiosity yet to be sated, he clicked play.

The shaky video zoomed, the lens slowly focusing to reveal your apartment hallway as you stuck your key in the door. There was quiet chuckling as a separate voice was quietly told to shut up. You struggled with the handle for a moment, frustration growing as you tried to push open the seemingly stuck door.

"Come on really! Again! God fucking dammit" you cursed under your breath, your head leaning defeated on the door. You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down. After a moment you took a step away from the door, angling yourself into a braced position. A few seconds of silence followed before you flung yourself at the door only to not hit it and instead seemingly fall straight into the room, a faint scream was heard before a loud slam, followed by a shattering sound. It was then that the laughs began again and the camera grew shakey, the quick sound of running footsteps beginning for a second before they stopped and the camera turned and faced into a room full of laughing people with their own cameras out.

"Whoops! Didn't know you were at the door!" A woman similar enough to be recognized as Mandy spoke down to your fallen form. You laid on your back, your eyes just coming down from their dazed state as you slowly realized what was happening. Embarrassment grew clear as you looked around at the six or seven other people surrounding you, clearly mortified. You attempted a smile, as if to laugh even at yourself, but the look was soon wiped off your face in favor of dismay when your eyes landed on a shattered item that lay next to you. All you could manage was a sharp breath as you shot yourself into a sitting position, your hands hovering over the pieces of colored glass with a sense that you were at a loss of what to do, devastated by the shattered pieces.

"No! No no no no no no-"

"Well damn! About time you got rid of that thing!" The smooth but infuriating voice of the cameraman spoke up, your eyes turning to him with a look of pure devastation that slowly dripped into anger. You grabbed a shoe that lay near the door and threw it at him, fury on your face.

"You- You- You fucking- ASSHOLE!" You screamed, standing up with a slight wince as the pain registered. The camera panned away a moment, a loud thump hitting what was most likely a wall before the camera turned back to the fury written on your features.

"Woah! Calm the hell down. It was just a joke-"

"God, everything's a joke with you! It's not fucking funny! You broke my bunny-!"

"Well, technically you broke it-"

"GET THE FUCK OUT!"

"Fine! Fine! Geez! You don't have to be such an ass about it"

And with that the video ended, the conclusion leaving a ticked-off look covering Dell's features. The sheer audacity of what Dell knew to be your ex was astonishing. To do that to your own significant other is one thing, but to give so little regard when the "joke" goes south really had Dell boiling in his chair. I mean, if the man had so little regard for you that he didn't care about upsetting you when you two were together, then why didn't he just leave you alone-?

"Everything going good in here?" The familiar voice of Kit made Dell jump, his mind having been too focused on the last frame of the video to notice that they had even opened the door. He didn't panic once he recognized who it was, his hands moving to click off the video.

"Ah guess. Found part'a what Ah was lookin' for anyway" he commented, his hands moving to turn off the machine and begin helping with the unplugging of the wires.

"What were you looking for anyway?" They asked once again as they grabbed their bag they had come with and prepared to start putting away their possessions.

"It's a bit complicated. Mostly dirt. Ah'm hopin' if I can tag the guy for somethin’ then Ah can get him busy 'round someplace far from where he was last night" Dell explained, his comments vague enough to leave room for curiosity, which is just what began to grow in Kit.

"Uh huh...and where exactly was he last night?" Kit questioned further, their tone nonchalant as to not make themselves seem too nosey. Dell caught on though. This wasn't his first time in the mental ring with Kit.

"Someplace he had no right bein'. Ah think he learned a bit of a lesson, though Ah can't be too sure 'bout that" Dell effortlessly dodged the question which only grew more intrigue from them.

"Mm-hmm...alright then" they spoke with somewhat of a pep in their voice. The forced feeling that came with it let Dell know they were anything but satisfied.

After finishing cleaning up the tools and wires the two were able to finally walk away from the desk. Dell helped with the bags on their way to the door but handed over the rest once they stood outside of it. Kit turned to Dell with a sickly sweet and highly unnatural smile that Dell had learned the meaning of all too well. He stared at them a moment, hoping that the smile would fall from their face. When it didn't Dell let out a sigh, defeat found throughout his face.

"You're-"

"Going to find out anyway, yes" they finished the sentence for him, their irritation shining through their teeth. It left Dell mildly agitated but not especially so. He knew Kit wouldn't tell a secret even if it meant losing their life, so he didn't worry about them spreading news. However, what he was worried about was them looking into you. It felt invasive to him, almost disgusting in a way. Sure, he could look through the lens of other people's history and if you just so happened to be in it then oh well. But to purposefully go through your history? To have someone else do that? With no restrictions on what they could look at? He despised the idea and the guilt that rose in him when he realized that he was to blame for it. So he let out a frustrated huff, looking back up to Kit with a mild look of annoyance.

"Okay look, Ah'll tell ya. But Ah don't need pa or papaw ta know about it yet. Ah'm still workin' on gettin' 'em comfortable with me" Dell whispered, Kits attention quickly grabbed as they leaned a little closer. Dell had to suppress his anger for the moment, seeing as he despised having to tell them this.

"Ah met someone, a friend- the one ya saw in the video. They uh...They've been goin' through a lot. Surrounded bah some nasty people. One of 'em, the Damien fella, showed up at their house last night. So Ah'm just lookin' ta make sure he stays far away from 'em. S'that good enough for you?" Dell admitted his reasons (most of them anyway) in hopes that doing so would satiate their curiosity. And for a moment, just one small moment, a strange look passed their face. It was so quick that Dell hardly noticed it before it was replaced by a sly grin.

"Well, Mr. Conager. I hope you have luck protecting your...'friend'" They spoke in a knowing tone, their implication causing only a further growing annoyance in Dell, the emotions in his chest that came with the implication not one he fully understood yet.

"Ah ain't that easy ta read am Ah?" he joked, his tone light and his face in a smile. Their eyes twinkled with some form of recognition. Dell noticed it but said nothing about it.

In situations like this, it's great to have grown up in a sugar-coated family. Makes the smiling a lot easier to muster when he needs it.

"Either that or I'm just good at reading you" they spoke in the same sarcastic tone they'd started in, it was really beginning to irritate him.

"Ah'm gonna go with the latter, your job in all. Anyway, it was nice seein' ya. Hope your week treats ya well" His voice was a calm sound as he gave a small wave. They returned the gesture before walking off and he was able to finally close his door.

He let his body slowly relax, the situation having stressed him a little. However he could think about that later, his mind was instead once again distracted by the smell of his sweater. A small, more genuine smile fell on his face as he looked down at the cloth, however it quickly turned bittersweet.

He missed you.

Next Chapter

[hereforhalstead]

Showtime

*Gif not mine, credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader.

• Requested: Not this one! Just fancied writing a little jealous Jay piece as I thought it had been a while👀 hope you enjoy!

• Warnings: Swearing

• Summary: Voight asks you to go undercover with Adam in which you decide to tease Jay about it as the unit are unaware of your relationship.

• Words: 3083

****

You sat at your desk as Voight called everyone to gather round his office, he makes his way over to the whiteboard and swings it round to show the information on the other side, your eyes wander over the board and the sight of so much detail and CCTV stills. You can’t help but realise you never saw him write any that down, so dread to think the hours he was here until last night to put this plan together. 

He was clearly having one of his days where no options were wanted and or needed, he blitzed through the minor details and barely stopped to take a breath. You all stood watching as he reeled off information that you were all supposed to be taking in, you were secretly hoping someone else was paying more attention than you as it seemed to be going in one ear and out the other. You find yourself loosing concentration as you focus on a random spot on the board, you jolt as Kevin nudges your arm. You turn to see Voight raising his brows at you, jaw hung open with the corner of his lip turned in spite “Sorry, what?” you quickly straighten up and actually focus on what he’s saying. “Nice of you to join us again, Y/N” he shakes his head and continues to point out details on the board.

A few moments later you had pretty much got the gist of the plan but it then came to giving out roles “Halstead, you’re gonna be posing as a bar tender to keep an eye on movements inside”. He barked his order and Jay nodded in response, “Kim, you’ll be a drunk club goer who’s trying it on with Jay so you’ll both be near by”. She rolled her eyes at Jay who always seemed to be used in some form of flirtatious way during these things which suited him but didn’t sit well with you. You trusted your team and would never doubt their intentions but it still wasn’t ideal for them to throw themselves at Jay during these missions and you couldn’t even make a well natured sarcastic comment about how he was yours.

You and Jay had been somewhat of an ‘item’ for a few months, you found yourselves growing closer after becoming partners and soon one thing led to another. Unbearable tension built and Kim was the one to call you out on it, fed up of being put in the middle of your silly spats and childish arguments when it was clear how drawn to each other you were. You decided to keep it between the pair of you as Voight made it clear he wasn’t a fan of relations within the unit, Jay struggled at first but after seeing the way Voight laid into Kim and Adam he soon realised you had a point. It was all fun and games at first, sneaky glances across the room, little touches in the locker room but there was always going to be some negatives that you hadn’t planned for. For example, the way girls throw themselves at Jay was something you’d never get used to. I mean he truly was something else but the way they would do anything to get his attention made you cringe, what was even worse was how he would try and wriggle out of the situations but they would follow him around like a lost puppy. You’d watch as he’d get more frustrated with not being able to tell them he wasn’t single and how he looked to you for help but you couldn’t do much more. 

Jay found it equally as hard as he was quite a jealous and protective person, this was magnified when he was thrown into the deep end of men flirting with you and him having to just stand back and watch. He would step in every now and then if they really weren’t getting the hint but if he intervened every time he wanted, someone definitely would’ve caught on by now. 

Voight finished giving out instructions and demands of Hailey and Kevin taking roles of surveillance in the van parked outside the venue. He was quick to dismiss everyone which left you and Adam without direction, “What about us Sarge?” Adam questions and the group hang back, thinking they’ll be involved in a change of plan. “Oh yeah, how could I forget. The main stars of my show” he slings an arm round each of you as he pulls the pair of you to face the rest “Everyone, meet the new hot couple in Intelligence” he proudly announces and you see Jay’s face drop but you’re just as confused “Come again?” you question but Adam doesn’t need telling twice as he doesn’t seem to doubt Voight’s decision “Fine by me” he winks towards you. You look to Kim and cock your eyebrow with an unimpressed glance, she shrugs back at you and smiles which puts you slightly at ease as you didn’t want to step on any toes due to you knowing how it felt to be put in that position with a certain detective. “I’m putting the pair of you undercover, Adam as the big man and you being his not to clued up eye candy” Voight pats you on the shoulder as you notice Jay roll his eyes “Thanks Sarge, won’t take it personally” you sarcastically respond. 

“Go on, go get dressed up the pair of you.” he releases you from his hold as Adam receives a high five from Kevin followed by a “my man” in praise. “I sent Trudy out to pick up some outfits for you, go and get them from her and get your arses into gear. We leave in an hour.” Voight heads back into his office and shuts the door behind him, you make your way over to Kim’s desk and perch yourself on the edge “Why couldn’t he choose you? Surely he knows you have much better convincing power with Adam than me” you mutter but considering the room was in silence you knew everyone could hear. “You know what he’s like with me and Adam, he’s probably doing this in spite of me” she moans “Just remember to stay on his left side, he always favors his right” she adds and you laugh “he’s such a girl”. 

“M’Lady, shall we go and get red carpet ready?” Adam approaches and offers his arm out to you, you run your eyes up and down his body in judgement but he doesn’t move “Come on, it could be worse. You could be stuck with Halstead” he scans his eyes over to Jay who was already leaning on his elbow and watching the pair of you “Suppose you’re right” you respond to play along with his jokes. Jay tilts his head and a sarcastic grin flashes on his face before turning back to his paperwork “Let’s go you two, why are you still here?” Voight’s rough voice echoes through the room as he storms out of his office “Trudy picking outfits? If I come back in a bin bag just know it was better than whatever god forsaken mess she has picked” you whisper to Kim who chuckles as you take Adam’s arm and head down the stairs to Trudy. 

You’re taken by surprise as she pulls out the clothes from the bags, she’d picked out a nice white shirt for Adam with some tailored black pants and some black leather shoes. “A little magician like for me but I’ll take it” he comments as he takes the bag from her, she stares him down with her intense gaze and then turns onto you. You feel yourself dreading what she will present you with but your jaw nearly drops to the floor when she picks out a little satin black dress and when you say little, you mean little. The corresponding black heels soon get placed on the counter and you can see Trudy trying to conceal her smugness but failing “This the kind of thing you wear for Mouch?” Adam asks and laughs to himself but Trudy doesn’t mirror his humour “I rarely wear anything for Mouch” she winks and Adam clears his throat “I’ll leave that alone if you don’t mind”.

You take the bag into the locker room and slip into the dress, this wasn’t you’re normal attire but you were not mad in the slightest. The shortness of the dress would take some getting used to but once you got the heels on you felt incredible. Luckily, you always kept some make up in your locker due to plans within Intelligence being pretty last minute and you liked to make some touch up’s before you headed out to Molly’s for the evening. You took yourself over to the mirror and began applying your make up, a little heavier than usual as you wanted to match the aesthetic of your outfit but still nothing crazy and thanking yourself for washing and straightening your hair the night before so it was already good to go after a quick brush through. You studied yourself in the mirror and was quite impressed with the outcome and dare you admit, excited to see how riled up it would make Jay. You took out your phone and sent him a quick text message, simply saying ‘Sorry in advance’ so you could say you gave him some form of pre warning. 

Stuffing your old clothes back into your locker you head back upstairs and can feel your heart racing as you get closer and closer to the top of the steps. As soon as you come into sight, you’re met with wolf whistles and various comments to which you never know how to respond “Damn girl, didn’t know you had it in you” Kevin pipes up as his eyes roam your body “Not mad about it, not mad at all” Adam chimes in as Hailey coughs to interrupt “Keep it in your pants boys, you don’t see Halstead drooling over her. Be more like him” she adds and you laugh to yourself at the irony. Jay clears his throat and makes his way over to you, your heart thumping so hard in your chest that you’re sure everyone is bound to hear. He hands you a necklace and you stare at him confused, he picks up your hand from your side and places it in your palm with more force than you were expecting, taking you slightly aback “Voight wants you to wear this, something about how it can be a present Adam gave you but it will really be where your mic goes”. Adam peers over at the necklace and nods “I’ve got good taste, you’re very lucky” he suggests with a wink, Jay soon returns to his desk, avoiding all eye contact and turning his attention back to his monitor. 

“Are you not meant to have a bag of some sort?” Hailey asks and you check inside the carrier bag Trudy gave you but see nothing resembling any accessories “Nothing in here, might’ve left it in the locker room though”. You place the bag on Kim’s desk and head back down the stairs, passing Trudy’s desk as you go. She takes a double look as you stroll past and nods to herself “Not bad Y/N. You’ve got a great stylist” she compliments and you dramatically flick your hair in response, “What’s up with the mood Halstead?” she keeps her eyes on you despite her talking to Jay who makes his way down the stairs “I’m not in a mood?” he snaps back, regretting instantly as she widens her eyes at him “Tell your stompy feet that then” she looks him up and down and then smiles at you “Smash it kid”. 

You feel some sort of warmth from Trudy despite what people think of her, she always had a soft spot for you and you found comfort in seeing her as your ‘work mum’. God for bid she ever found out that you think of her that way though, she’d probably stop speaking to you all together.. 

You stand at Trudy’s desk and wait for Jay to leave but he doesn’t seem to be budging, you feel him staring at you as if he is waiting for you to make the first move “Sorry, did you want something or?” she asks and Jay shakes his head “Voight sent me down here to help Y/N look for something in the locker room” he is quick to respond but you knew it was bullshit, Voight couldn’t care less about you finding a bag let alone putting 2 people onto finding it. You push your thoughts aside and carry on walking to the locker room you had just been getting ready in. The sound of your heels clicking on the hard floor sure turned some heads and it was just your luck a drunk group of men were in one of the rooms to awaiting questioning. One of them leant against the door frame and wolf whistled, the other joined him and made some comment about how you looked but you didn’t give it any attention, Jay on the other hand couldn’t stop himself “Sit back down and shut the fuck up before I make you, we clear?” he slammed the door shut behind them but you kept walking.

“What are you really doing here Jay?” you question as you enter the room, holding the door open for him before walking over to your locker. You hear a loud thud as he shuts it behind the pair of you and leans his back against it, his knee bent as he picks off a bit of fluff from the thigh of his jeans “That dress new?” he asks, still not looking up at you and focusing on his jeans “You know it is, Voight only told the entire team that Trudy bought us outfits?” you huff as you fail to find any form of bag or purse that was intended for you to use. 

You begin to walk around to check other areas you had been within the room, the bathroom, the mirror but nothing seemed to jump out. Meanwhile, Jay was still stood leaning against the door and watching your every move intently “You gonna let me leave and do my job or?” you stand in front of Jay but he doesn’t budge. Instead he simply turns his nose up and shakes his head “Well then do something useful and help me put this necklace on” you hang the jewelry from your hand but he just stares at it “Or I’ll just do it myself then. Fuck sake” you mumble under your breath and walk back over to the mirror.

A few moments go by and it was no use, you couldn’t get the necklace on by yourself and Jay was still being as useless as ever and not moving to help, instead strolling over and sitting on one of the benches in the middle of the room. “Guess I’ll just get Adam to put it on for me, or Kevin. I’m sure they’d jump at the chance to help” you think aloud and strut past Jay who reaches up to catch your wrist before you can get any further “Come here then”.

He pulls you down onto his lap and you can feel his breath against the nape of your neck, a shiver run down your spine as he touches your skin and moves your hair to one side “Looking forward to being coupled with Adam? You look great together” he remarks and you roll your eyes at him for ruining what could’ve been one of your private moments that you were starting to crave. You stand from his grasp as he manages to fix the necklace round your neck and head for the door to leave but he is hot on your trail “Something bothering you?” you ask but Jay responds by looking down on you with that glint in his eye and mischievous smirk to try and divert your attention from how he is behaving “You don’t even have to say a word for me to know you’re lying if you say you don’t care" you chuckle but Jay isn’t amused. 

“Go and have fun, I’m sure I’ll have a great time watching the pair of you all over each other” he comments with gritted teeth “I’m sure we will have a blast, might even stick my tongue down his throat" you quickly add and curse yourself for not thinking before you speak “Go for it, gotta make it convincing” to your shock he agrees but the way his fists hang tight at his side and his nostrils are flared tell a whole different story “You really need to work on your lying skills detective”.

You can sense the rage running through him as the pair of you stand in silence, your eyes flick over to the clock and realise you’re meant to be leaving at any moment and they will be wondering where you are. You place your hand on Jay’s cheek and see him lean into your hand slightly, no matter how tense he is with you he can never stop himself from giving into your touch. “We best get going, I’ve got to see a man about a new boyfriend” you tease causing Jay to regain himself and straighten up “I dare you Y/N. I dare you to put on your little act as best you can because you know I’ll be watching and ready to remind you who you belong to when we’re alone” he threatens and you feel as though your legs could give way out of the weakness he causes you. You know him too well to know these weren’t empty threats and you were now set on going above and beyond to make him jealous “Enjoy the show, baby.”

***

Inbox and requests always open💃🏼

After popular demand, Part 2 to this is now up!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Desperate Measures 1

Warnings: nonconsent and rape (miniseries); stalking, fear, intimidation.

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: At first, you think it’s a joke when you get the strange messages, but when they don’t stop, you realise too late how real it all is.

Note: This was going to be a one shot but it kept going and going and going, so it’s gonna be split in 2.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Have a piece of American dream Open up, and swallow, on your knees And say Thank you I'd like some desperate measures, please

💌

The first picture was sent on Monday. You remembered it clearly unlike most Monday mornings. It was the same boring ritual; a coffee that had long turned cold, a pen that wouldn’t write, and a computer that ran as if on dial-up. 

The only bright side was that your small desk was near a window and you could look out onto the city streets, though they were hardly less miserable than your own existence. You were so high up the people were merely moving specks. You often found yourself distracted by the crowded traffic below.

You were drawn from such a distant reverie by the buzz of your phone. You kept it face down by your monitor. Despite the temptation, you limited yourself to succumbing only once an hour. You sat back and your chair creaked as it tilted beneath you. You checked the time in the corner of your screen and reached for your cell, the rubber case scuffed and scratched at the edges.

Notifications for the same emails that sat open in front of you and a few personal ones in the next bubble. Another for the game you played on the subway or when you were overly listless, several updates for your hoarded apps, and a single text. 

There was no number attached to the message, only the foreboding thick font that read ‘unknown number’. You chewed on your thumb as you leaned forward on your elbow and swiped your screen up and punched in your password. The screen flashed and you hit the last notification. No words, just a file. You hit download.

You blinked as it ate your data and the image of your apartment door appeared. You glanced around and laughed to yourself. You shook your head and keyed in your response; ‘very funny, Eva.’ You hit send and set your phone back down. 

Your old friend liked her jokes and you hadn’t missed her little ploy the last time she showed up at your place angry over her latest fling. You had thought she was getting a picture of the stain on the hallway carpet that looked suspiciously like blood… or feces… or a mixture of the two.

You went back to your work and switched the document you’d been picking at for most of the morning. Your job was as entertaining as watching paint dry then peel from age. When you applied for an editing position, you’d expected thrillers and melodramas. Instead, you got dry textbooks and educational guides.

You yawned and pushed through to your scheduled break. You dumped your cold coffee and headed down to the café to grab another. The coffee they kept in the office was cheap and bland. You ate your salad in the lunchroom as you watched the clock tick away. You checked your phone. No reply to that unusual text. Eva must’ve chickened out.

You scoffed and switched chats to send her usual number an ‘lol’. You tucked your phone in your pocket and punched back in before you headed back to your desk. A couple more hours and you’d be home to stew in the early week daze.

The last half of the day went quicker and your subway ride was uneventful; well, for New York. You walked home from your stop and pulled out your phone as you climbed the stairs. You slowed down and moved your feet blindly. You’d finally gotten an answer. ‘Eva?’

You opened the chat again and hit the image. It filled the screen and you squinted as you came to a stop. The stain wasn’t there. Your landlord had finally relented and had the entire hallway torn up and replaced with an even duller shade of grey. The picture had been taken since then; within the last month. The last time you’d seen Eva, you’d gone to hers.

Your chest clenched and you gulped. You hit the little icon in the corner of the conversation and hit ‘block’. You continued to your floor and neared your door. You looked down the hallway and back to your door. You tried the handle. Locked. You took a breath.

It could still be a joke. The stoner next door, Perry, had your number from when you agreed to feed his cat that one time. Maybe he was high or just trying to be funny. Still, it hadn’t come up under his name. Well, he might have changed his number since then.

You unlocked your door and scurried inside. You made sure to turn the latch and slide the chain into place. You tossed your bag beside the mat of shoes and added your flats to the pile. You dropped your phone on the coffee table and untucked your work shirt as you walked around the small living room. 

Nothing was out of place, not that you truly believed whoever it was had gotten past your door. You rubbed your forehead and went to the small kitchen that looked out into the living room. You grabbed a can of sparkling lime whatever and plopped it next to your phone.

You went to your bedroom and stripped yourself of your stiff work clothes and pulled on the night shirt crumpled atop your blanket. You looked down at the thin grey cotton and reached under to unhook your bra. You flung it in the corner knowing you’d be cursing yourself when you couldn’t find it the next morning.

You flopped onto the couch and grabbed your remote. You turned on some mindless Youtube video and opened the mobile game which had taken too much of your life from you. You connected three and four and five and somewhere in between your existentialism kicked in and had you wondering at the point of it.

You closed the app before it ate all of your battery and your phone shook in your hand. 

‘You didn’t tell me who Eva is.’ The message flashed over the top of the screen then disappeared. You pulled down the notification and hit it. You were certain you’d blocked the number. The other messages were gone though and ‘unknown number’ was still emblazoned across the top. You blocked the convo again and dimmed the screen. 

You plugged in your phone and sprawled out across the sofa. You stared at the television, a blur and a buzz to your frantic mind. 

It was dark already when you dragged yourself off the couch and heated up a microwave dinner. You ate it without tasting and your phone chimed to signal a full charge. You left it as it was on the arm of the couch and resumed your repose on the sofa. You fell asleep to the angered commentary of a gamer trying to fight a clam.

You awoke with a start. You blinked through your daze as your television showed stills of mountain and grassy fields. You sat up and grabbed your phone. You checked the time; midnight. Another message.

‘She’s the one you had coffee with last week.’ It said.

You gaped and dropped your phone. You looked around as if whoever it was would be hiding in the corner. You shook as you reached down and took the phone. You swallowed and began to type.

‘Whoever this is, this isn’t funny anymore. Cut it out.’

‘Funny?’ The response came quickly.

‘I mean it. Stop.’

‘Good night, sweetheart.’

You recoiled at the message and bit your lip to keep it from trembling. You checked your door again, the chain still in place, checked every inch of your apartment in your paranoia. Nothing. You let out a breath and took a blanket from your bed and huddled up on the couch. You turned on a playlist, not sure you’d be sleeping much that night.

💌

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep again but you rose before your alarm. You drank your coffee as the sky turned a duller shade of grey. You went through your usual morning dance and headed out the door with a bagel hanging from your mouth. You chowed down on your way to the subway. You felt your bag buzz as you stepped on the train.

You ignored it and clung to the bar as you counted the stops. You got off and stopped by the coffee shop. You ordered a black tea and headed down to your building. Your desk was as it was when you left it. The chair was tucked in and your mouse was hidden behind the keyboard. You sat and booted the laggy machine.

As you waited for it to start, you stirred around in your bag for your phone. You had another message. You dreaded opening it but the circle just kept spinning in the middle of the monitor. You hit the bubble and your phone unlocked.

You took a sharp breath as the image glared back at you. It was you, on the subway, that morning judging by the jacket, staring at the door as the photo was taken unknowingly. Your phone slipped from your grasp and you spun in your chair.

Everything was as it should be. Your co-workers looked just as dead inside as you. Your boss was boxed up in his office on a ‘conference call’. You shuddered and turned back to your desk. You burned your tongue on your tea and signed into your computer. Your phone vibrated beside your shoe and you bent to retrieve it.

‘You looked tired this morning’. The next message blipped on the screen.

You were quick to sweep the clock upward and type. ‘Who the fuck is this?’

‘Sweetheart. I don’t like that kind of language.’ The response was quick and sharp, even in text.

‘Tell me who you are? Why are you doing this?’

‘One thing at a time.’ The letters burned into your vision.

‘Who are you?’ You keyed in again. No answer. 

You set the phone down and watched it. Five minutes, no buzz. You hovered your hand over your mouse and tried to focus on your monitor. Your heart was so loud in your ears, your head began to pound.

💌

When you got on the subway at the end of the day, you looked around frantically as you settled into a seat, your bag hugged to your chest. You glanced up and down the car a dozen times over as you awaited your cue. Your toe tapped anxiously and you stood so fast you were dizzy when your stop came up.

You rushed down the sidewalk, peeking over your shoulder every other step. You didn’t say anything unusual; no one following you, no one watching. You ran up to your building and unlocked the door clumsily. 

You hurried up the stairs and down the hall to your apartment. The key slid in roughly and you turned it so quick, you were certain it would bend. You skirted inside and put the chain in place.

You looked down as your thin-soled boot brushed over something. A pile of flyers slipped through the slot in your absence. You picked them up and sorted through them, an envelope amidst the mess. On its face, it read ‘for my sweetheart’.

You hovered by the door, staring at the envelope. After a moment, you slung your bag down on the floor and placed the flyers on the end table by the lamp. You clicked on the light and ran your thumb along the lip. You carefully opened it and pulled out the paper inside. You unfolded it and your breath caught in your chest.

It was a sketch, quite well done, of you. You’d worn that sweater last week. You went to the park and walked around, sat by the fountain, tossed rocks into the babbling basin. They had been there, whoever it was. How long had they been watching?

And they had been at your door, close enough to slip this through the slot. You folded the drawing and shoved it back in the envelope. You stomped into the kitchen and tossed it into the bin beneath the counter. You backed up and gripped the other counter behind you. You felt a lump in your throat. 

What the fuck was going on?

💌

You started going in early to work; catching the train half an hour before your usual one. You left late and changed your route between the station and your building. You entered through the back, hopping the low concrete barrier between the apartments and the backlot.

Still, it only gave you a single day of peace. No messages, no pictures; and you thought the game was over. You hoped it was. That it was just a sick joke that had finally grown tiring. 

But Thursday saw another image of you just outside your work building. Friday, another of you on the subway.

The weekend was listless. You did your shopping quickly and on Sunday, you wore a loose hoodie to the laundromat. You could find nothing peculiar around you. The city was full of sketchy people but none seemed to be watching you. The hordes were still about their own lives; ignorant of those around them. You felt entirely alone, as if you were being hunted.

Monday was much the same as the last but how could it ever be dull again. You shut your phone off so you could focus on your work. When you were finally done, you dialed the toll-free number for your provider. You took a taxi home and spent two hours on the line but you got your new number and a sense of relief.

You kept your phone on, ringer on max, and nothing. You watched the screen rather than the television but it only lit up with emails and a random text from your mother. You slept in your bed that night,almost soundly.

You still kept your eye over your shoulder. Still searched out any sign of unusual interest. Perhaps you were clueless or maybe your lack of response had finally gotten through to them. Once their messages bounced back as out of service, they might have given up. They got their laughs, now you wanted peace.

It lasted until Friday. 

A full week and you were certain it was over. You finished work and stopped by the liquor store for a bottle of wine on your way home. You could finally let loose. Life had gone back to its usual tedium. You browsed the reds lazily but pondered a pack of coolers instead. Your phone buzzed. You slid it from your pocket out of habit.

‘That cabernet on the top shelf is on sale. Just to your left.’ You stared at the message and backed away from the shelf. You looked around but all the other customers seemed intent on their own purchases. You gulped and blocked the unknown sender.

You left emptied-handed and ran for the train. You got home an hour later than usual. You raced up the stairs and stopped dead in front of your door. The tall gift bag looked familiar; it had been hanging in the store by the till. You neared and peered inside. The golden cap of the wine that had stood in front of you; top shelf.

You bent and flipped the little card attached to the string.

‘For you, sweetheart. Enjoy your weekend.’

You stood and grabbed the bag. You glanced up and down the halls and stormed back down the grey carpet. Your feet hammered down the stairs and you burst through the back doors. You threw the bag into the dumpster and heard the shatter. Your lip trembled as you spun and sprinted back inside.

When you reached your apartment, you called Eva. You struggled to open your dresser with one hand and started pulling out clothes and stuffing them into your neon duffle. She finally picked up.

“E-eva,” you stuttered, “can I-- Can I stay with you, please? J-just a night or two--”

“Wohoa, whoa, slow down,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t… I can’t tell you now. I’m just-- I’m freaking out and I can’t stay here.” Your voice cracked and you sniffed back tears, “I-- Please. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I… I have plans but I can cancel,” she offered.

“No, no, I… don’t--”

“You’ll have the apartment to yourself,” she said, “I’ll just let Ray know I’ll be late.”

“What time are you supposed to--”

“Seven but it’s fine,” she assured you. “You okay?”

“I… Wait, you’re fucking around with Ray again?”

“Do you want the couch or not?” She half-kidded, “you want me to meet you there or--”

“No, no,” you whisked into your washroom and grabbed your toothbrush, “I’m coming right now.” You returned to the bedroom and shoved an armful in the bag. “Eva… thank you.”

“Stay on the phone,” she said softly. “Please… you’re scaring me.”

“Okay,” you zipped up the duffle, “yeah, I’ll stay on.”

💌

You hung up as you came up to Eva’s building. She met you at the door, a thick silence between you as you sensed what she wanted to ask you. You weren’t sure how to tell you. You weren’t sure if you could.

You pushed the door closed behind you as you entered her apartment. It was cuter than yours, a spiral staircase led to a loft above and the curtains were lace and matched the dainty pillows on the couch. You placed your bag on the floor and she turned to you.

“Just give me a moment,” you said. She didn’t need to ask.

She went to the desk in the corner of the spacious room and turned on the ring light of the round mirror. She fished through her make-up box and pulled out her eyeliner. She was already done her base and highlight. You neared and hovered just beside her desk.

“I don’t even know…” you stopped yourself and went to your bag. You pulled out the paper you’d shoved in the side pocket on your way out. “Look.”

You crossed to her again and unfolded the sketch on her desk. She glanced down from drawing a wing along her eye and lowered the pencil. She blinked and shrugged.

“Look, someone dropped this through my mail slot. No address on the envelope, just this.” You felt crazy. “And I thought it was all some joke. They were sending me pictures, of me, of my building… I blocked them but they just kept on. I even changed my number.”

She scrunched her lips and looked back to her mirror. She finished her other eye and set the pencil down.

“You call the police?” She asked calmly.

“I… the drawing is all I have. I just deleted the messages when they came because… well, I didn’t think much of it at first. Not until… There was a bottle of wine waiting for me when I came home. The very same I was looking at right before I booked it for my train,” you rubbed your cheek, “Eva, I’m not crazy. I swear.”

“I believe you,” she said, “why wouldn’t I but… there’s nothing you can do but keep a log of what happens from here on out. Screencap everything.”

“You think… you think the police would help if I did?” You asked.

“Not much. Stalking isn’t really something they take seriously. I knew this girl in college-- Well, the evidence can at least get you a restraining order… if you ever figure out who’s sending you all this,” she paused and glanced down at the drawing. “Whoever it is, they got talent.”

“I’m sure they’d be happy to hear that,” you scoffed and crossed your arms.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here with you?”

You pondered her offer but shook your head.

“As much as I think you should send Ray along, no. I can’t ask any more of you.” You sighed and grabbed the sketch. You dragged your feet to the couch and flopped down on the cushions, “I really do appreciate it.”

“I always told you to get out of that neighbourhood,” she said as she searched her assortment of make-up, “but you know I never mind you hanging out.”

💌

You spent the night on Eva’s couch, alone. She didn’t get home until three in the morning and you waited until noon for her to wake up. When she did, her face was smeared with eyeliner and her hair a mess. 

You hadn’t touched your phone since the night before. You chewed your thumb as you waited for her to emerge from the shower, restless and unsure what to do with yourself. She slammed the lid down on her coffee machine and growled as she turned and crossed her arms.

“Are you okay?” she asked sharply.

“I’m sorry,” you said as you stopped pacing. You barely remembered getting up to walk circles around the coffee table, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Well, how about a latte?” she yawned behind her hand, “my coffee machine is fucked… again.”

“Um, maybe that’s best, get out and… distract myself,” you twiddled your fingers as your stomach ached. You hadn’t eaten anything since the day before and that was just after noon.

“We’ll get lunch,” she rubbed her forehead, “soak up the wine.”

You shook your head and said nothing. She always drank too much around Ray but you didn’t have the energy for that argument again. So you stayed quiet and watched her disappear into her bedroom.

She emerged as you zipped up your purse. You didn’t bother with your phone as you waited by the door but felt listless without the device. It was like a shield you used when you went out in the world. It kept you from eye contact or awkward conversation.

You set off and headed down the street to the pub that seamlessly shifted from brunch to ladies’ night every Saturday. You ordered breakfast tacos as you sat just inside the large floor length windows that looked out onto the shady patio. The other guest lent a sense of normalcy as they carried on their own conversations and reminded you that you were just another ant on the hill.

As you got your latte in the stemmed glass, Eva pulled out her phone and scowled at the shaking. She was so wrapped up in her texts with Ray she hadn’t even mentioned the reason for your overnighter. You were happy for it and yet, you couldn’t think of anything else.

“Jesus, I told him we were having breakfast and he’s blowing up my phone,” she huffed, “just a second.”

“Eve,” you said as she stood and slid her thumb across the screen, “our foods gonna be here--”

“I won’t be long,” she promised and lifted the speaker to her ear and turned away, “Ray, I’ll be over later, promise. I barely slept--”

Her voice trailed away as she wove between tables and pushed out onto the patio and went to the short fence to chat beyond the ears of diners. You sipped from your drink and stared down at the splintered curve of the table. You couldn’t stay with Eva forever and she was hardly any comfort in her distraction with her on-again, off-again dirt bag. Maybe, if you moved--

“There you are, sweetheart,” the low voice startled you and you sat stalk straight as a figure smoothly slid into Eva’s empty chair, “you gave me quite a scare, up and leaving without a word…”

You stared wide-eyed at the stranger across from you. Well, you knew who he was. Everyone in the city, in the country, even the world, knew Steve Rogers. He smiled at you as his blue eyes glimmered. His posture was cool and confident and it was you who felt out of place.

And you knew, it was him. The shock was not enough to fuel your denial as that feeling deep down assured you of it. That little voice that told you this was your tormentor and that you were fucked.

“I…” you breathed and blinked. You couldn’t find the words, you hardly understood the storm of emotions flowing through you. You glanced through the window as Eva threw her hand up and continued berating her phone, “it’s you?”

“I hate that it has to be this way,” he said, “you know, my work keeps me out of town so much and I just wish we had more time.”

“Wha…” you gulped and gripped the edge of the table, “why--?”

“You haven’t been answering me,” his smile fell, “I don’t like being ignored.”

Your hand shook and you kept it in your lap to hide the rising terror along your spine. You sat paralysed as he sighed and glanced around the restaurant. He tilted his head and pushed his shoulders back.

“You threw out my gift,” he said evenly, “that wasn’t very nice.”

“Go…” you uttered, “go, please--”

“Sweetheart, we’re just talking,” he took a gulp of Eva’s Americano casually, “I missed you… I miss you every day and it hurts that we have to be apart.”

Your shoulders slumped and you clutched your hands in fists on your lap. You could scream but what good would that do. He was Captain America, the first avenger, a hero. 

As if your thoughts sent a banner waving, a young kid approached the table and smiled nervously as he held one of the colouring pages supplied by the restaurant in his hands.

“Um, Captain, uh, America,” the kid stuttered, “will you sign-- Will you sign my--?”

The kid smiled through tight lips and held up the colouring page. Instead, Steve chuckled and took his cap from his head and fished around in his pocket. He pulled out a sharpie and signed the brim and placed it back on the kid’s head.

“There you go,” he said.

“Thank you, Cap!” the kid almost squealed, “oh my gosh!”

“No problem,” Steve laughed and watched the kid run back to the table where his mother sat, she waved at the man across from you and mouthed a thanks. He cleared his throat and stood as he tucked away the marker, “sorry, this is why I didn’t wanna do this in public,” he gripped his hip with one hand, “but… we’ll have our time.” He slowly backed away, “I’ll text you. You’ll answer.”

He grinned one last time and strode away. He stopped before the door as he held it open for Eva and she batted her lashes at him as she gushed. You could guess at her star struck words but couldn’t make them out. He left as she finally stopped her babbling and she almost skipped over to you.

“Oh my god, did you see him?” she trilled, “I didn’t think he’d be even better looking in-person.”

“See who?” you asked dumbly as you tried to disguise your discomfort in your latte.

“Steve Rogers,” she announced, “ugh, even without your phone, you got your head in the ground.”

[poguestvff]

LIKE A BIG SISTER SHOULD — WHEEZIE CAMERON

in which wheezie cameron finds that blood doesn’t make you family, love and affection does.

taglist | masterlist | 2.5k words | @pogueslandia ,

warning(s): food, she/her pronouns, ward slander, a little sarah slander but that’d include reading between the lines. why’d this make me want to make a series of reader and Wheezie being best friends.

There's always been a heavy feeling of loneliness that rested upon the youngest cameron's shoulders, weighing her down as it seemed to pile over the years. Her siblings were always older, an age gap between them that even if it was shortened by a few years, their worlds would still be two different things. All three of them were in three different stages of life yet somehow it felt like Wheezie wasn't even there at times.

Throughout the entirety of her schooling career so far, everything had somehow been about Rafe and Sarah. Sarah was the perfect one; the paragon who could do no wrong. Even if Sarah tried to disobey, it'd be turned around to be made out as a minute mistake. She'd probably be able to get away with it a second time if she did it a different way. Maybe the same way.

Rafe was quite the opposite. The bastard child who needed a plentiful amount of attention in hopes he can be more like the paragon. With all this attention, his head only grew. It never gave him the space for growth. It minimized the space to stay exactly where he was for years on end.

This left Wheezie to be the ostracized sibling. She wasn't a social butterfly or a poster child like Sarah and she definitely wasn't a loner or the 'damaged goods' child like Rafe. She was just... average. With average grades and an average personality. Just average old Wheezie. She told herself this consistently, watching her father balance his attention between making sure Rafe stayed between the lines he'd drawn for him in a radius such as a dart board and allowing Sarah step out of them, even erasing some of the lines so she could walk on by them without a second thought.

But Wheezie was stuck in that tiny little circle in the middle, the bullseye as if scared to move out of those lines. The one place that was the hardest to pinpoint specifically by her father. But there was one thing Ward Cameron always said correct about his younger daughter. That he wouldn't be able to pin point his little dart of control into the middle of the board because she was misunderstood and misunderstood she was.

Though one person had been able to pick up on every single one of Wheezie's emotions.

Y/n Y/L/N was a pogue who had done tutoring on the side for a little extra money and when John B had recommended Y/n for help with Wheezie's homework, Ward was quick to say okay. He hardly even asked a thing about Y/n, just telling her to help Wheezie pass eighth grade and that was all. It was made very apparent to Y/n that was Wheezie was not as much of a priority to Ward as other things were.

Their first tutoring session, Wheezie was awfully dismissive. She didn't care for any of Y/n's efforts as they sat within the comfort of Wheezie's bedroom. She just wanted the entire hour to be over with the second she'd entered her room but Y/n was insistent, knowing that by the end of the school year she would have something instilled in Wheezie's brain. She just didn't know what that something was yet.

The second time they met, Y/n was more passive aggressive in hopes of breaking down the brick walls Wheezie had stored between her and everyone else in hopes of not disappointing them like the way she thought she'd disappointed her father. Y/n sat her down in her desk chair, swiveling her chair to her as she rested her hands on the younger girls shoulders. "You are going to have a really awkward couple of weeks if you and i don't become friends so no work today. We're playing 20 questions."

That night, Y/n learned a lot about Wheezie Cameron that she never thought she'd learned. Wheezie hated the color purple, she just painted her room that color because Sarah liked that color. Wheezie loved to paint and to draw, it was her favorite activity, she just rarely showed it bevause she hadn't believed in herself. Though, when she showed Y/n the canvas' that were shoved at the back of the closet, Y/n marveled at them. But Y/n's favorite fact, and the same one that almost made her hug Wheezie on the spot, was that she was never taught to swim and Y/n made her a promise that she would teach her.

As the weeks went by, Wheezie waiting anticipatingly for Y/n's beaten down, green ford bronco to pull up on the driveway and she'd leave the house with a giant smile on her face. It’d be early in the morning, a little less than an hour until school started, just like how Wheezie liked. She'd jump in the driver seat, embracing the smell of vanilla from the scented item hanging from the rear view mirror. She’d toss her bag to the back as Y/n would ruffle her hair, just like she had every morning. "And beloved was set in... late 1856!" Wheezie answered excitedly as Y/n drove down the final street towards her school after the two had gotten breakfast together.

"Perfect! You're gonna do so good on your test, Wheeze, I promise." Y/n told her ecstatically as she pulled into a parking space. Just before Wheezie could get out, Y/n held her upper arm just to gain her attention before she got out. "Tell Rose she doesn't have to get you after school. I'll leave school early and you and I are having a girls day. No studying, just me, you and a shit ton of sweets."

Wheezie smiled, she could feel the muscles in her jaw begin to hurt from how wide she had. She tilted her head to the side out of curiosity, eyeing the look of excitement on Y/n's face. "But why?"

Y/n shrugged, adjusting in her seat and fixing her rear view mirror. "Cause, you deserve it. I'm so proud of you, Little W." She told her, looking back towards the girl and seeing her smile slightly drop. "You okay?"

Wheezie couldn't remember a time where she was genuinely told that. Yeah, sure, Ward said it a few times but it'd be in a lousy tone before he'd wave her off, saying he was busy with whatever office work he had to attend to. Sarah may have said it a few times but it was rushed before she'd run after her friends with a quick goodbye to Wheeze, leaving her alone in the sand. It was never sincere. Not in the way Y/n had said it.

She rubbed her hands against her jean clad thighs with a sharp breath before nodding. “Yeah. I've just never really been told that before. Like—Like genuinely." She said, lowly, in hopes Y/n would understand and wouldn't push it.

Y/n had known Wheezie long enough to know her tells and avoiding eye contact was one of the biggest ones. So she didn't indulge further in the conversation, brushing it under the rug but knowing she'd have to go diving back in for that little tidbit later on. Instead she wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug from over the console. "I'll tell you i'm proud of you everyday if i have to." Y/n muttered before kissing the top of her head. "Now go, if you're late to first period, your dad will kill me." And Wheezie was able to leave the car with a smile on her face, already looking forward to the day planned later on.

Y/n was overall consistent, it was one thing Wheezie enjoyed knowing that when she made promises she tried to keep them as best as she could. Sometimes things slipped her mind but Wheezie could recognize that Y/n didn't forget a thing when it came to Wheezie. Like she made sure to engrave bits and pieces of her into her mind like a data chart. But it showed she cared and that was enough for Wheezie.

Y/n cared enough that when she entered her car after school, the smell of her favorite cinnabon's filled the car that made her look in the backseat, seeing a picnic basket. There wasn't a chance, right? You could only get them on the mainland. She turned her body swiftly towards the elder girl who sat with a smirk on her face. "You didn't?"

"I did. Second I left fourth period, got on a ferry just for you to have those overly sweet treats." Y/n said, tapping her nose with a 'boop'! "And I almost got stuck on the mainland because of it so you better enjoy the hell out of them."

"I will, I promise." Wheezie said dramatically as Y/n smiled, pulling out of the parking space to head down to the beach. Wheezie had said she didn't have a bathing suit, not prepared for the outing, though Y/n already said she had ransacked her room for clothes for after. Y/n was the only person allowed in Wheezie Cameron's room without Wheezie being there and the elder girl took pride in it.

As Y/n set up their small area for the few hours, she noticed Wheezie standing just where the water and the sand met. She kicked around the water with clear disinterest causing Y/n to huff, hands on her hips, before tossing off her hoodie to get in. The splash she'd made by pushing herself into the water made Wheezie jump, a laugh falling from the two's lips. "Come on." Y/n said, standing and holding her hands out to Wheezie.

"Y/n/n, I can't swim."

"Y/n/n I can't swim, well, obvi, i know that, little W. But, you have your amazing best friend to keep you afloat. I won't let you go, i swear." Y/n said, holding up her pinky.

"Swear?"

"On my life." She reassured with a trusting smile before Wheezie walked further in. When the water had gotten to her above her waist, it'd freaked her out a bit though Y/n talked her through it, coaxing her further in slowly. Wheezie was kept above the water as Y/n held her hands as the buoyancy was used to their advantage. "See, not as bad as you thought?"

Wheezie shook her head though still nervous. "Not as bad, not my thing though."

"Why don't we try actually swimming? I won't force you if you don't want to and we can get back to shore right now but maybe just try?" She asked as Wheezie had to think about it for a moment. She almost felt guilty, remembing just a few months ago when Sarah had asked her if she could teach her but she refused. Though maybe, just maybe, it was because of Y/n being a bit more trust worthy that Wheezie said yes this time.

It took a while, Wheezie was frightened by letting go even as Y/n would say she was okay. Wheezie would tighten her grip on her shoulders before trying again and again until she eventually got it. She finally was able to keep herself above the water without flailing, recognizing that she was okay. Y/n cheered as she watched, not caring for the stares of others around them. "See, dude? You just have to start applying yourself! You did it!"

"I did it!" Wheezie said as Y/n hugged her, the two laughing before Wheezie screamed making Y/n's laughter die fast. "Something touched me!"

"Wheeze, it was seaweed." Y/n said softly before turning and letting her place her hands on her shoulders. "Yeah let's get you out of here before a jellyfish gets you."

Wheezie widened her eyes. "Jellyfish?"

As the sun had began to set and people had packed up their things and left, Y/n and Wheezie stayed. Wheezie was on her fourth doughy treat, even though Y/n told her to slow down two treats ago. Towels were wrapped around each of their shoulders as they watched the pretty colors fade in to one another, a mixture of pink, blue and orange array of colors combining to make a cotton candy sky. Wheezie watched as Y/n got up, accepting a phone call from Ward, the only phone call she hadn't silenced since they'd left the car.

In the time she'd left, Wheezie took advantage of it to recognize how appreciative she was of all that Y/n was doing for her. She came in as a tutor and, to Wheezie, was to stay as a friend. As family. Wheezie was more then ecstatic to have someone who would be there to rant and rave about the other Cameron's, someone she could trust with her secrets and the contents of her always running brain. Someone who was just there.

"Hey, your father would like us back in thirty so we should leave in ten." She said coming back and sitting beside Wheezie as she caught sight of her face, the lack of the smile that was there previously concerning her. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing, really. Just... I really enjoyed today, Y/n. It really lets me know you're not just here for like... like the money or something."

Y/n let out a scoff. "Are you kidding? I enjoy nothing more than watching you freak out over the existence of jellyfish." She joked as Wheezie pushed her to the side with a laugh. Y/n recovered, letting out a content sigh as she tossed an arm over Wheezie's shoulders. "You're stuck with me now, Wheezes. Can't wait to record you falling at your next soccer game."

Wheezie couldn't help the laugh that slipped past her lips, leaning into Y/n's embrace as her head rested against her clavicle. "And I'll be looking for you in the stands, Y/n/n."

Y/n and Wheezie had both found out something about the other that night. Wheezie found that she didn't want to be like Sarah and she was glad she wasn't like Rafe. She was content with her own little circle on the dart board but maybe she could take a bit after her newest role model. And Y/n found that she was able to instill several things into the youngers mind including To Kill a Mockingbird, Inca Civilizations, and that she now had a true and present big sister to look up to.

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.5 (NSFW!)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

'Cassandra's favorite', the other maids call you.

You can't tell if they mean it as a good or a bad thing. Hell, you can't even tell which of the two it really is.

Being her 'favorite' does not make you immune to harm in any way; bruises litter your shoulders and sides from when she grabs you too forcefully and cuts from her nails sting at your neck and stomach, renewed each time she comes to take a kiss.

None of that existed back when you were something of zero interest to her. On the other hand, she's told you several times you're 'a thing of beauty' --her thing of beauty-- and she won't let anything ruin a natural piece of art.

If you know anything about Cassandra, it is that she takes art very seriously. Your interpretation of the word greatly varies from hers, you're sure, but it doesn't change the fact she won't easily raise a sickle on you.

Cassandra won't break you. She won't let Daniela do so, either. Bela doesn't even care to hurt you. It means you're safe for now...

Unless Lady Dimitrescu decides you're best taken away from her daughter. Permanently. You don't dare meet her eyes, but you can feel them on you, scrutinizing, every night at dinner.

You're pretty sure she knows.

The thought sits heavy in your mind while you're cleaning bloodied steps off a corridor at three in the small hours of the morning, along with another maid. Adella is a quiet and hardworking one; the two of you make a good team and you know you'll be done in record time.

But it only takes a single moment for everything to go wrong.

Adella is hastily walking back to you with a bucket of fresh water in hand when you hear a different set of steps approach from the side. You make to warn her, but it's already too late.

The collision happens at the turn where the two passageways meet. As soon as you see black robes dripping wet you pray to whichever God will listen for mercy.

Because Cassandra has not been in a good mood all night and she is not the understanding type regardless.

Adella gasps and shakingly backs away, a waterfall of apologies spilling from her lips. Cassandra rolls her neck and draws her sickle, advancing on her slowly. She looks terrifying.

"Don't move now." she orders.

And you just- can't watch this. You don't know why, but the realization you cannot hits you like a speeding truck. You can't stand there while the the woman you frequently kiss cuts away at a girl you know is as good and compassionate as a human under your circumstances can possibly get.

You react.

Before you can even think how impossibly stupid you're being, you drop the mop in your hands and dash forward, crashing into Cassandra's form. Your right arm wraps around her waist and your left grips at her wrist like a vice. Your heart is pounding. You don't even know what you're saying;

"Cassandra, no! Please. Don't." Cold and rigid as she is, it may as well be a statue you're holding. "Cassandra, stop. Please." Once impulse dies down, you realize you've just signed your death wish for two seconds of playing hero.

And you thought you were smarter than that. Ha. But maybe, just maybe, part of you wants to die, so long as it's quick and painless.

With Cassandra, though, you doubt it. Especially with how lethal she sounds when she says:

"You. Disappear." You hear, rather than see, Adella scurrying off for her life. "As for you..."

You only register a blur, nausea, cold nails piercing at your neck, over already existing marks. You are shoved into the nearest wall so powerfully you can't breathe for all of ten seconds. It's a wonder you don't hear any cracks from within your body.

Cassandra is on you, her fingers harsh on your chin and breath chilly on your lips. "Good pets don't bark against their own masters. What made you so bold, hm?"

You don't answer, too busy summoning your mental strength for what comes next. The way her eyes and the lines of her pretty face have hardened, she looks nothing like the flirty girl who comes to steal kisses from you at random times during the night.

"Maybe I've been too nice to you. The first time you call my name and it's for some other maid?"

She looks like she wants to let out a bitter laugh, break something and slice you into stripes simultaneously. And then you realize; Cassandra is jealous.

It doesn't get any worse than that.

"Maybe I should make sure you never say anything again." The corner of her lips curls up in dark amusement as she talks. "You don't talk much, anyway."

Well. She did say she wouldn't let anyone ruin your looks. Never promised anything about what's on the inside.

You're shaking, even if her grasp doesn't leave much room to do so. Your brain is restlessly trying to come up with something to get you out of this mess-

"I'm of way more use to you with my tongue intact." you somehow manage to speak without stuttering. It makes you wonder where the hell this confidence came from.

Cassandra stills for a moment. Her grip eases the slightest amount, probably from surprise.

You wonder what the hell you're even doing, yourself, when you bring your hands to her sides and lean in, to the curve of her nice jawline. You've never kissed her neck before, but you remember from the times you've given her a massage that she's very sensitive around it.

Cautiously, you press your mouth to the soft spot under her ear.

She smells so good and her skin feels so smooth you're not exactly forcing yourself to kiss her. If you're going to be mutilated anyway, the part of you that must be severely messed up muses, you may as well take some pleasure for yourself beforehand. Who knows, it may change her mind along the way.

So you lick her there and suck over her faint pulse. You don't get any stimuli from her, at first.

Until her hand trails from your shoulder to your nape, urging you harder against her. It's the green light to keep going.

You put all your skill into it as you lavish her neck and collarbones with open-mouthed kisses. She's loose and moaning low in her throat now.

You can't tell why, but the sound echoes right though your adrenaline-induced system, tickles down your spinal cord to pool low in your stomach. You either had a kink for danger you never knew of, or you developed one in the castle.

Whatever the case, your fingers are working on the buttons of her outfit and she doesn't seem like stopping you has even crossed her mind.

When the robes barely hang onto her shoulders, Cassandra maneuvers you to the closest room, shuts the door and presses you against it. Hard. Your lips slide together hungrily. You taste wine on her tongue.

At this point, your hands are the only thing supporting her outfit on her. She looks too fucking sexy for words like this, half-undressed, lipstick smeared, so turned on and ready for you. But you also want to see more of her, so you let the black fabric drop.

She's getting impatient, though. Being more vocal, tugging your hand to the apex of her legs.

"Cassandra." you moan when you push the midnight lace of her panties aside and touch her. She's so wet.

Her mouth falls open in a soundless gasp, brows drawn softly. "Oh, you're lucky I like my name on your lips." she says, breathless.

You did start this trying to prove to her how useful your tongue can be attached to your body, however... so it's only fair that's how you finish it.

Finish her.

Cassandra looks dazed and confused when you kneel in front of her, but it's quickly replaced with a broken moan when you take her into your mouth. You revel in every single gasp you coax out of her, every minuscule shake of her perfect thighs.

She bites into her own hand when she reaches her peak, nails leaving four parallel marks on the wall.

You're gentlewomanly enough to pull her outfit up for her while she's coming down from her high. Your gaze takes its sweet time admiring the contours of her chest as you button it closed. She really is the most attractive girl you've ever seen, if you somehow don't take into consideration her body count.

"Good?" you ask when she opens her pretty eyes to look at you.

"It's not cute to be smug, plaything." Cassandra makes a soft grimace at you, though you can see the lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lip. "But. I suppose your tongue has its uses to me, after all."

You gently push off the door to let her exit at her leisure. The movement makes you realize you won't really be able to move tomorrow, with how sore you already are.

To your surprise, Cassandra takes a moment longer in the room.

She turns back to you and raises her hands to your torso, then carefully adjusts your wrinkled shirt. Her long fingers smooth over the imperfections she caused...

And you don't know why after everything the two of you just did, it's this that feels the most intimate.

The same digits brush over your throat as she pulls away.

By the time your mind starts working right again, Cassandra is already gone. Absently, you trace over the weeping scratches on your neck.

-

-

Later, at the main hall of the castle...

"Oh, boo, look who's late again." Daniela rolls her eyes at Cassandra's fashionably delayed arrival.

"Surprise, surprise." Bela smirks, casually leaned against the side of the fireplace.

"Are you two done being insufferable or should I come by later?" Cassandra asks.

"And scar our ears and minds with another round of your 'oh's and 'ah's, sister? I think not." Daniela comments.

Bela raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Had a nice time?"

"You two have very active imaginations, you know? Tells a lot about you." Cassandra chuckles. "She was just giving me a massage. But do go on. Be thirsty. I can wait."

Daniela and Bela share a look, thrown off their game by the nonchalance.

Cassandra hides a smirk under her hood and steps out first, into the peerless dark.