#WILL WOOD. WILL WOOD SAVE ME SAVE ME WILL WOOD

[daycourtofficial]

I will follow you into the dark

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 3k | warnings: character death, depictions of violence and gore, depressive tendencies shown

Summary: going through the five stages of grief after Azriel’s death is much easier with his shadows’ assistance

Alternate summary: “daycourtofficial stabs everyone in the heart” - @milswrites

Author’s note: this is heartbreaking as hell but I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever written. I legitimately sobbed while typing this. Tagging my pookie @illyrianbitch bc I sent her an early draft and her fic ‘when the heart is still longing’ inspired a scene in this

Cold. Ruthless. Calculated.

Words used to describe who Azriel was for the first five hundred years of his life. He wore a mask of indifference, a cold exterior to the world, letting them believe he was nothing more than the cruel exterior he showed everyone past his beloved family.

Until he met you.

You, whose extraordinary kindness and never ending patience for him helped him through the darkest pits of his soul.

It’s this past self he thinks about as the blade meets his skin, tearing through layers of muscle, blood spilling down his chest as it’s removed.

It’s this past self he reaches out to, begging for one moment to go back. To go back and save himself so much time. He would go back, his wings carrying him across Prythian, his landing harsh as he sprinted through your hometown.

He wouldn’t stop until he knocked on your door, his knuckles aching from how hard he would knock. He’d give anything to go back, even if it was just an extra forty-five minutes. He would run until his lungs burned, his legs barely able to hold himself up. He’d run down the cobbled street the two of you would walk down after a night at Rita’s, leaning against each other for support after a night of drinking.

He’d run past the bakery the two of you would meet at every Thursday morning, splitting pastries between the two of you and gossiping about your friends. He’d run up the stairs to your apartment, running up the steps you two walked thousands of times. He’d stop in front of that green door, the spot you two stood in for your first kiss.

He would knock and knock and knock, his fingers bleeding from how hard his knuckles were hitting the wood. He’d look at you as you opened the door, confused as to who he was and what he was doing there.

“You don’t know me, but in a few days I’m going to run into you at the bookstore. I’ll be with my friend Nesta and she’ll push me into you. She’s never admitted it, but I think she saw how I was staring at you and did it to force me to talk to you.

“You were so pretty, paging through some novel. I owe Nesta everything for pushing me into you, making me fall into the chair you were sitting in. It looked ridiculous - Nesta made sure to let Feyre broadcast it to everyone.

“I never cared. You were everything then, and you’ve been everything to me for over a century. What I wouldn’t give to come back here, to find you earlier, even just forty-five minutes. I’d give anything for more time with you.”

His eyes would peer around the apartment you moved out of decades and decades ago, moving all of your furniture into the house a ten minute walk from here. It would all smell like you, not a trace of him on you yet.

He would beg and plead with any god as to why he deserves just one extra minute of your time.

But he’s not in that apartment that you don’t own anymore, he’s somewhere in the present, he thinks. Azriel’s not sure where he is, but he reaches out towards you, trying to send every ounce of his love down that bridge that connects the two of you. He reaches a hand out, wanting to hold you one last time. He can feel your fear thrumming his chest as your hands frantically apply pressure to his neck, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

He interrupts your pleas, stroking his fingers on your cheek, smearing his blood across it.

You’re here, he thinks.

He loved making you blush, your own blood changing the color of your cheeks as he flirted with you. Now his own blood was coloring your skin, a last marking of himself on you.

Every word from his mouth caused the blood to gush from his wound, but he didn’t care. He was fighting for every breath, every word. He knew this was the end. He was just grateful to the Mother that the last thing he’d see in this life was you.

He chokes on his blood, coughing exacerbating the wound.

“In every life.”

He pulls himself up, using your shoulders to brace himself. He pulls your lips to his, soft and delicate, as if it’s the first time he’s kissing you all over again. As if you’re back on that cobblestone street, the two of you standing right in front of your door, a mess of limbs and lips.

The blood on his neck is traded for the tie he wore, one that you had complimented him on as you saw him. You had pulled him down to you by his tie, pulling him to your lips.

And now he was pulling himself up to you, a final goodbye.

He pours everything into it, pouring every last bit of himself through the string connecting the two of you, clinging desperately to that connection for every moment.

You kiss him back just as urgently, hands holding his wounds. His mouth is salty as your tears start running into the kiss, your hands sticky and warm with his blood.

Your kisses become more and more urgent as he starts losing energy, your sense of urgency increasing as he starts fading, that golden bridge connecting the two of you not as bright as it was with each passing moment.

You know he stopped kissing you back a moment ago, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. This should be a fairytale and true love’s kiss is enough to bring someone back.

You pull back, moving his face into your neck, unable to let go. You can’t hear anything except the echo of where your bond was, as if it clanged all the way down your body as it disconnected you from him. You feel someone grip your shoulders, desperate to pull you away from your mate. Your sobs are piercing as you tighten your grip on him.

He’s still warm, he can come back. Still warm, he’ll be back. You start rocking with him in your arms, your tears creating tracks in the blood on your face. A body is pressed to your back, large and warm, and large tan hands cover your own on Azriel’s face. You hear slight sounds, you think it might be Cassian, but you’re not sure.

You don’t feel his tears on your neck

All you feel is a deep, gaping hole inside of you where Azriel lives.

Lived.

Your breaths come fast and choppy, and you start jerking in Cassian’s arms, the feeling of him too much, too much. You felt suffocated, your powers boiling within you as his body grows colder.

His shadows slithered over you, several of them still remaining with their master. Their patterns were meant to be soothing, but it wasn’t working. Several of them cloak Azriel in mourning, their usual energetic nature dulled in the aftermath.

The air in the room changes as all the heat is sucked into your body, your skin blazing. It happens so quickly - you feel Cassian pull away from you as someone slides Azriel’s body from yours, somebody else rushing forward and tackling you to the ground. Instead of hitting hard flooring, your head hits grass, your body racing with adrenaline.

You look up to find Rhysand letting go of you before backing up. He has tears down his face, his eyes a muddier shade of violet than before.

“Let it out. Here. Now.”

Your skin is boiling, everything in you desperate for release. All you feel is the tendril of a lone shadow around your ankle as you burn. You can’t hear Rhys’s sobs, only the roaring of the fire as the grass catches the spark.

The next week goes by in a blur. A funeral - one where the town of black wore deep blue to honor your mate’s lifetime of sacrifice. A few shadows remain with you, the only reason you’re able to get through his funeral is with their touch.

“Hey Az.”

The grass is wet with dew, the early morning fog sticking to it. You don’t notice how damp the ground is beneath you as you sit next to him. Your hands grasp the grass next to his grave, the dirt over his grave too fresh for anything to be growing on top of it.

Your fingers thread through the blades, holding tightly, as if you can uproot them and pull him back to the surface, back to you. As if you kept digging you could find that bond nestled within you somewhere.

Your lip wobbles as you try to say something, anything. The various flower arrangements that surround you both speak of how many visitors he’s had.

He would tell you that the bouquet of orange lilies are from Elain, because those are currently in bloom in Day. He would tell you that the arrangement of blue and black came from Rhysand and Feyre, the flowers meaning ‘a great sacrifice’.

You can’t bring yourself to tell him how the world has become duller in his absence, how you hardly eat or bathe, hardly leave your home at all. How Nesta and Feyre take turns visiting you, ensuring you eat and bathe, getting you to move your legs at least once a day.

He’d be disappointed you weren’t taking care of yourself. He’d want you to continue on, despite the unbearable horrors that live in your chest. It felt like your entire ribcage were burst open, your pain and sadness leaking out of every pore for all to see.

Despite the fact that centuries together have led you here, at the end of the road. A road you happily traveled, knowing it would end here eventually.

You’d never regret choosing him, opening yourself up to this inevitable heartache.

You just regret every moment that happens now that he’s gone.

His shadows have followed you to the cemetery, their presence one you’re grateful for. You know they love you, much like Azriel did, and you’ll take any part of him you can cling onto.

You know they’ll leave eventually. No one understood them. Were they sentient beings? Or were they mere whispers of Azriel’s presence, an echo of an echo of his power, disappearing whenever they wish?

You sit, your back leaned against his tombstone, the words “beloved mate” pressing into your back. You moved over, wanting to be as close as possible to him. You don’t much care if the dirt sticks to your skirts. Nuala and Cerridwen won’t say anything to you. They felt his absence too.

You push your hand into the dirt, grasping at it in hopes he’ll grasp your hand back. All you feel are the shadows swarming your fingertips, imitating his soft touch.

-

You lay in your bed, the one that is much too large without your mate. The shadows cloak over you like a blanket, carrying his smell with them.

They missed him too.

You sealed some of Azriel’s clothes away, a magical enchantment that preserved their smell. You were grateful you had the shadows for now, however fleeting their presence may be.

Where Nesta and Feyre helped you bathe, the shadows helped keep your room clean. You stayed in the House of Wind, everyone agreeing you shouldn’t be alone during this time. That was weeks ago, you think.

You’re not really sure.

Time wasn’t moving like it used to anymore. Hours and days pass without your notice, a gray fog hanging over you at all times. You move through the monotony of grief, unaware of your surroundings or how you get anywhere half the time.

You blink and find yourself at his grave.

“It was supposed to be me,” you half yell at the grave marker, your blood getting warmer with your anger.

You hate it. You hate how everything he was, six centuries of a life well-lived, were boiled down to adjectives and monikers.

“Beloved mate.”

“Beloved brother.”

You hated those words, as if that’s all he were. The words don’t tell how he would pick you up when you fell asleep reading and carry you to bed, how he’d help you cheat every time you played cards against Cassian because you laughed so hard whenever he flipped the table, or how his fingers would brush the hair from your face when the two of you cooked dinner every night.

‘Beloved’ is nothing to how your chest felt when he’d come home and see you before he updated Rhysand after being gone so you knew he was okay.

‘Brother’ is not enough to convey how much he loved Rhysand and Cassian, how much love and sacrifice they poured into each other.

“You said I could go first. You promised. And now I’m here, alone, without you. And I don’t- I don’t know how to do it.”

You were yelling, screaming at this slab of granite. You kicked the flowers on the grave, watching them fly through the air as the petals fell.

Yellow for friendship.

“It was supposed to be me! Not you!”

You tug at your hair before you lose all your strength, sinking into the grass covering his grave. Your tears resemble morning dew as they cling to the grass, your knees becoming green with the contact. A few shadows wind through your hair, a few others bring back the bouquet you kicked, placing the flowers back where they were, albeit a bit damaged.

“You’ve never broken a promise before.”

Your voice is weak, the stone in front of you unresponsive to your breakdown.

-

Life moves on. Everyone feels Azriel absence - even Lucien, so full of words is quieter around you. They don’t know how to talk to you anymore, your life becoming more and more hollow as the mating bond in your chest decays, growing into a moldy, decaying thing that turned you rotten.

Why him? Why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Why was it your mate - the one who sacrificed everything all of the time? Why wasn’t it Cassian or Rhysand or any of his spies?

Anyone but him.

You’d do anything.

The days keep moving, the forward progress of time a joke to you. Or perhaps you were the joke to the Mother. You slug through the days, finally able to bathe and dress yourself, but struggling to remember to eat.

Then the voices start.

It’s one soft voice, one you could hear in any lifetime, any world and know who it belonged to. His voice soft as ever delicately telling you to eat, coming and going on the wind around mealtimes.

You listened to it. You could never stay no to him, even if it was just an echo of him living in his shadows.

-

It was well known amongst his family members that Rhysand required his beauty sleep. Eight hours minimum of undisturbed slumber.

Which is why he is tearing through his house on a warpath at whoever is at his door at 2:30 in the morning. He angrily slung on a robe, harshly opening his door, ready to chew out who lay on the other side.

He did not expect to find you, panic stricken, shadows swirling around you.

Your sobs fill his ears, “they won’t stop, Rhys. They keep telling me everything. That Feyre’s asleep, Nyx is asleep and cooing. Cassian’s snoring, Nesta’s awake and brewing tea. They won’t stop.”

You start to collapse, but the shadows hold you up long enough for Rhysand to grab you and bring you in through the threshold.

He places you down on the couch and inspects the shadows swirling around you. He watches them flit about, some moving away, some circling you. He steps on one as it slithers past him, holding it in place.

He looks at you as he grabs the shadow, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, watching it wiggle in his grasp.

“Is this the first time they’ve spoken to you?”

You shake your head no, whispering, “they speak one at a time usually. And not like this.”

His gaze is sympathetic, sitting you on his sofa. “What do they usually say?”

You look down at your shoes, a sense of shyness overcoming you. You pick at your pants, “mostly to eat and take care of myself.”

You hum, remembering, “last week one of them told me Nyx was going to fall, which is how I caught him so quickly.”

Rhys’s eyes are penetrating as he gazes at you, his eyes are a curious shade of violet.

“Can we try something?”

-

Months later, you return home, the black of your clothes hiding the blood soaked within them. You traipse through the foyer, forgetting it was even family game night. Their conversations halt at your appearance. Despite wearing the same colors of the Night Court, the black looks like a deeper shade on you.

Or perhaps the shadows circling you made you look as if you belonged amidst them rather than the fae looking at you.

You nod to Rhys, your only form of communication these days. He nods back, a strained smile on his lips, devastated to watch what you’ve become, grateful he made a pact with Feyre to never continue on without her.

You don’t miss how his hand squeezes her a little too tight.

Your family watches as you step back into the shadows, the darkness consuming you once more. You prefer to stay in them instead of being alone. You linger in their embrace, their consumption of you everything you need, the remnants of Azriel’s scent lingering in this liminal space. You inhale his scent once more, tears stinging your eyes. In the darkness that surrounds you, never knowing where you end or begin, not knowing exactly where in the world you were.

Where nothing and everything existed, floating through your mate’s truest companions, you hear his voice calling to you, the soft tenor of his voice coming from a direction you can’t quite pinpoint.

Or perhaps it was only an echo.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading 💕

[jflemings]

— visiting hours

pairing: jessie fleming x reader

synopsis: five times you got a visit at work and the one time you returned the favour

warning: minimal allusions to sex

୧ ‧₊˚ 🧸 ⋅ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

you and jessie had been seeing eachother for a while now, having met one hectic morning at a coffee shop during her first few weeks in portland. you had spilled your drink all over her training kit and stammered your way through an apology whilst attempting to dry off her shirt with some near by napkins. in your frantic effort to clean her up she had placed a hand over yours and shyly told you that you could make it up to her by letting her take you out.

you agreed with a shy smile and nod before realising the time and hurrying to your car so that you wouldn’t be more late than you already were, choosing to write your name and number on her own cup and practically flying out the door.

it all snowballed after that first date, the two of you quickly realising how much you enjoyed eachother’s company leading you to spend whatever time you could spare together.

1. FORGOTTEN LUNCH

jessie navigates her way through the school halls quietly as she tries to find your classroom. the brown paper bag in her hands crinkles slightly as she readjusts her grip, hoping that you were where the lady in the admin office said you would be.

she nervously bites the inside of her cheek as she approaches your open classroom door, peaking her head inside and rapping her knuckles against the wood three times to get your attention.

you look up from what you’re doing with a smile before a slightly shocked expression takes over your features “jess?”

jessie steps inside nervously “hey” she greets quietly “you left your lunch this morning”

your face drops in relief, your hand immediately falling to your stomach “you didn’t have to drop it off, i was just going to buy lunch”

the canadian shrugs as she walks to your desk and puts the bag down in front of you, her palm flattening on the wooden surface “it was my fault you were late” she mumbles looking down, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks “it was the least i could do.”

you smile up at her, crossing your arms and leaning them on your desk. the memory of this morning’s activities flashes in your mind and you smirk, jessie’s sudden embarrassment being a stark difference to her needy, cocky exterior from a few hours ago.

“i don’t recall me complaining” you tease as you tilt your head and look over your girlfriend’s shy form. she’s dressed in her training gear, the white shirt accentuating her broad shoulders in a way that has you reeling.

she cracks her knuckles against your desk and rolls her eyes playfully as she watches you check her out shamelessly. folding her arms, she turns and sits herself on the edge of your furniture, her posture going lax as she crosses her ankles and tucks her head into her shoulder slightly.

“stop staring” she mumbles quietly into her shoulder

you can’t help but smile slightly before you prop your chin up on the palm of your hand “am i making you nervous, fleming?”

jessie squints at you slightly, unfolding her arms and leaning back on her hands “i didn’t say that”

“you didn’t have too” you smirk before standing and leaning over to kiss her cheek “thank you though, saved me both time and money”

the canadian smiles “anytime”

2. DROPPING IN

it’s during your free period when jessie drops by unexpectedly. she stands in your doorway aimlessly before knocking, making you look up from your laptop.

you smile “what are you doing here?”

“got bored at home” she says as she walks in “thought i’d come see you for a little bit”

you push out the chair that’s next to your desk with your foot, signalling her to sit down. she does so and tucks her hands into her pockets before kicking out her legs and crossing her ankles “finished your book, then?”

she nods “this morning. then i put on some laundry and sorted dinner out but i quickly ran out of things to do” she picks at the hem of her shorts “what are you up to? i’m not interrupting am i?”

“no, i just finished up a couple emails and was hoping to put a dent in this stack of assignments i’ve got to mark but i can’t focus” you assure her whilst pushing your laptop away “you’ve given me a reason to have a bit of a break”

jessie hums “the ones you were marking last night?”

“yeah. i only got through about three before i fell asleep”

“you were up until midnight doing them” jessie points out with a cock of her head, now only noticing the bags under your eyes. she tuts “you’ve gotta stop stressing yourself out”

“i could say the same to you” you rebuttal, referring to the numerous times jessie’s stayed after training to do some practice by herself. you cock an eyebrow “you overwork yourself”

“so do you”

“but i’m not an athlete” you point at her as you prop your legs up on her own “if you don’t rest your body you’re going to do yourself more harm then good, jess. you don’t need me to tell you that”

the canadian shifts in her seat and rests her hands on your legs, running them up and down your shins over your jeans. she leans her head back and rolls it on her neck, coming to look at you half over her shoulder. she raises her eyebrows before huffing “fine” she says “dinner tonight then? sounds like we could both use a bit of down time”

“you said that you already had dinner sorted” you point out.

“i do” she nods her head “i actually came to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner, i’ll cook and you can just sit and look pretty”

you can’t help but smile at jessie “i would love to”

3. EXAM SEASON

you were freaking out. an absolute a wreck as you go through your bag, folder and every drawer in your classroom.

exam season hit you hard and fast. you had been barley sleeping so that you could finish grading your sophomore’s and junior’s midterm english exams, determined to not make them wait for their grades longer than they had to. you had finished them last night and now you had lost them.

checking your watch, your eyes go wide at the time. only ten minutes before you had your sophomores for first period. ten minutes before you had a bunch of tired highschool students in your classroom awaiting their grades, and you’d have to tell them that you didn’t have them.

it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if they hadn’t complained to you earlier in the week that most of their teachers had yet to give them their other exams and assignments back. you had of course tried to explain to them that grading exams wasn’t as quick as taking them, especially since most of the staff had more than one class, but you still promised to have them marked and ready by the end of the week.

only, you didn’t have them.

they weren’t in your backpack, your laptop bag, tucked away in your desk or misplaced in another drawer. they just weren’t here.

you hang your head and screw your eyes shut, cursing at yourself for being so stupid and misplacing them when your classroom door opens, interrupting your train of thought. you turn around to greet whoever it is with the best smile you can muster, only to be met with jessie dressed in her training gear and holding a stack of papers.

“you left these on the kitchen bench this morning” she holds them up and waves them “i tried to call you but you didn’t pick up so i thought i’d just come drop them to you personally”

you drop your jaw “jessie you are a lifesaver, oh my god” you laugh in relief, crossing the length of your classroom to meet her at the door. you take the papers off her and kiss her hard, her hand finding your hip easily “you have no fucking idea how stressed i’ve been trying to find them”

jessie smiles and squeezes your hip “babe, you have got to stop putting so much pressure on yourself” she says lowly “and you need more sleep”

you roll your eyes playfully and tap the thorns crest on her training shirt “yeah, well, i’ll be sleeping a lot better now that exams are done with” you say lightheartedly before realising what jessie’s dressed in. your eyebrows shoot up as you look at your watch “and you need to go, jess, you’re going to be late!”

she puts her hands up as you push her into the hallway protesting “i’m not going to be late—”

“jessie go!”

the canadian pecks your lips “i’ll see you later” she says as she begins to walk down the hall. “don’t stress!” she yells with a smile as she rounds the corner, winking at you before dashing off.

4. FOUND OUT

jessie’s once again sat on the chair next to your desk when a student comes looking for you. she loudly walks into your class before seeing the canadian, immediately going quiet and pausing when she realises you aren’t in the room.

the two of them stare at eachother for a moment before the teenager speaks “i’m looking for miss l/n…” she trails off.

“she just went to the bathroom, she’ll be back a minute” jessie answers, sending her an awkward smile as your student nods. the canadian was sure that all the kids had left and she doesn’t know what she’ll say if the one in front of her recognises her or asks what she’s doing in your classroom.

you approach your door from the hallway, catching your student and jessie in what looks to be a staring contest. a wave of relief washes across jessie’s face as she spots you.

“olivia, what do you need?”

olivia turns suddenly, a book in her hands “i’m not coming to school on monday so i thought i’d give you this back so i don’t forget” she explains quietly.

the rattling of a keychain gets jessie’s attention. she squints and sees it’s a little chelsea jersey with FLEMING 17 printed on it. jessie smiles but diverts her eyes back to her phone, not wanting to get caught staring.

you smile “thanks, liv” you say as she nods at you “have a good weekend!” you tell her.

the teenager smiles and nods again, sneaking a glance at jessie before she rushes off down the hall. you tilt your head as you watch her leave before turning back to your girlfriend.

“did she talk to you?” you ask as you approach your desk.

jessie shakes her head “we kind of just… stared at eachother. i didn’t know what to say”

you huff a laugh as you tuck the book away into your desk “she’s a fan” you say “she’s a chelsea supporter and was really excited when you signed with portland. she talked my ear off about it after she went to watch the first match”

“i saw the keychain on her bag” the canadian says quietly.

“she’s told me you’re the reason she plays soccer” you admit whilst putting your laptop in it’s bag “i’m not surprised she didn’t tell you though. she’s pretty shy”

all jessie can do is nod in thought. it was nice to be the reason someone fell in love with the sport she so passionately played, even more so that it was a teenage girl.

you clap your hands once as you hike your backpack onto your shoulder “right. i think we should make pizzas and watch that movie we saw on hulu last night, what do you say?”

jessie’s attention is now completely on you “pizzas from scratch or pizzas with store bought bases?”

“who do you think i am, fleming. store bought bases, obviously, i can’t be bothered making the dough”

when olivia returns to school on tuesday you have a signed portland thorns fleming jersey waiting for her. the look of gratitude on her face when you give it to her is priceless.

5. SOFT SPOKEN

“it was a hard exam” you say softly to olivia who stands in front of you. she’s gripping her paper tight and looking down on it like she wants to make it disappear “but you can get your grade back up to an A by the end of the semester if you do extra credit. i promise it’s not the end of the world”

“my parents are going to be so mad at me” she whispers “i studied so hard”

“exactly. you studied hard and you did your best, that’s all you can do”

olivia nods weakly, the paper crinkling in her grip as she looks at you “i just really wanted to keep up my grades this semester, especially after last semester” she admits to you, her voice quiet “i thought i did so well on this”

“you aren’t the only kid who got a bad grade, liv” you attempt to assure her but frown when you realise you might not be getting anywhere. you found your desk and open your top drawer, pulling out a packet “here’s a little bit of extra credit to start you off. get it back to me by monday, okay?” you hand it to her and tilt your head “we’ll fix your grade, i promise”

olivia takes the packet from you and nods before putting it, along with her graded test, in her backpack. just as you open your mouth to speak again you get a knock at your door.

you expect it to be another staff member, or maybe even jessie seeing as though she would’ve finished training by now. instead you lock eyes with an awkward looking christine sinclair. her eyes shift between you and olivia as she smiles sheepishly “sorry, i was just looking for y/n l/n?”

“that’s me!” you exclaim before turning back to your student “come see me on monday, okay?”

“how many soccer players do you know” olivia whispers to you, completely ignoring your request. you smile as her and jerk your head in the direction of the door.

she walks out, giving christine a smile and nod as she passes, before you turn to the former canadian international “what can i do for you?”

your sudden perk up makes her eyes brows raise “jessie gave me her house keys to drop to you. she’s in with the physio and didn’t want you getting locked out of her place”

you smile gratefully and beckon her in with a wave of your hand, taking the keys from her as you stick your free hand out for her to shake “i know you know, but i’m y/n”

“christine” she says smiling “jessie’s mentioned you before but i didn’t realise you, uh, were seeing eachother”

you feel heat begin to creep up your neck “yeah, a few months now”

the footballer nods “it’s good to meet you” she says, putting both hands behind her back.

you smile “it’s good to meet you too” you echo before clipping the keys onto your key ring “is jess okay?”

“she’s all good, it’s just a tweak in her calf. it was bothering her during training so she got it checked”

you nod along “alright”.

the canadian jerks her thumb in the direction of the door “you’re good with her” she says “your student, i mean”

“yeah, they’re great kids” you can’t help but smile “most of the time, anyway. they have their moments”

“don’t we all” christine jokes before checking her watch “well i’ve gotta run but it was really nice to meet you finally. i’ll see you around?”

“definitely”

+1. CLEATS

jessie was one of the most organised people you had ever met. she has a place for everything, her books, her training kit, her shoes, her spices, everything. she even leaves all her training gear by your front door when she stays over so she knows exactly where it is and doesn’t have to run around silly in the mornings.

this morning she hadn’t even been in a rush. she’d woken up at the right time, made the two of you coffee and breakfast, had a shower and got changed, and then left your place.

you had unfortunately woken up sick with a stuffy nose and nasty headache, meaning you took the day off work but even that didn’t disrupt her flow. she simply left you with painkillers, a full waterbottle and a kiss on the forehead before leaving.

so it was a surprise when you got up to make yourself a cup of tea and saw her cleat bag by the door. you checked your phone to check if she’d called, which she hadn’t, and then realised that she might not even know yet. you quickly abandoned your tea and got dressed into something you wouldn’t mind being seen in public in before making your way to the thorns training grounds.

you sent jess a text before leaving and then again as you pulled up before walking into the facility and stopping a staff member apologetically. he told you that they hadn’t started training yet and then pointed you in the right direction before he disappeared, leaving you to navigate the building on your own.

you cursed yourself and your stuffy nose as you went, just praying that you’d find jessie or at least a player you recognised.

you turn down a hallway when a door opens, revealing your canadian peering out puzzled “i swear i had them, they were with my bag when i left this morning!”

“maybe you were distracted” an unknown voice teases, earning a snicker out of a few other people.

jessie frowns and rolls her eyes “no, janine, i wasn’t distracted i— y/n?” she exclaims when she sees you, a look of surprise on her face “what are you doing here?”

“y/n!?” the voice from before — janine — shouts from the room jessie just came from.

she shuts the door quickly and holds it closed, smiling at you as you wave her boots “you left these this morning”

“oh my god” she says, taking them from you and pulling you into a hug. because she can’t help it, he places the back of her hand against your forehead “you’re not burning up like you were when i left”

“headache’s gone too” you say proudly “nose is still stuffy though”

she pouts momentarily before the door pushes open, revealing a blonde freckled woman. she grins at you “you’re y/n?”

“that’s me”

she pushes the door further and sticks her hand out for you to shake “i’m janine” she introduces as jessie rolls her eyes “jessie here has been a bit tight lipped about you”

“no i haven’t” your girlfriend groans.

janine rolls her eyes and pushes the door open fully to lean her hand on it “yes you have! we didn’t even know you were seeing her until sincy dropped your keys to her”

“but you knew she existed!”

“even that wasn’t clear!” janine exclaims again, throwing jessie a look “we thought you were making her up” she mumbles to herself.

“oooookay! y/n is sick so she has to get home” the younger canadian pushes back on the door. janine gives up and waves you goodbye, the grin still present on her face, before jessie clicks the door shut. she smiles at you “she’s joking”

“about you being tight lipped or about ypu making me up?” you half smile, grabbing her free hand.

jessie blushes “about making you up”

“ahhhhh” you say teasingly whilst nodding.

jessie squeezes your hand and tilts her head “thank you for bringing me my boots”

“anytime” you say quietly, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “call me when you’re finished?”

“of course” jessie says as you drop her hand, waving you goodbye as you walk down the hall.

[hyuny-bunny]

cybersex | ot8 series

prologue. chapter I

MDNI (18+): this series will depict sex work and acts of sex. this prologue has suggestive themes, nudity, and mentions of butt plugs

skz x fem!reader

a/n: I'll have chapter 1 up soon but I hope you all love this series as much as I do!

synopsis: after a month or so of becoming a camgirl! your career really takes off, you decide to get a place of your own to film content. a lovely building opens up with the perfect space for all your necessities but to your surprise, your favorite waiter boys and long time crush on the head chief of the restaurant you work also happen to live in the building. Bringing you to meet their own assortment of friends. what happens when they find out there's some holes in the stories you tell about your life style?

prologue

You always had a keen interest in the sex work. You had an nsfw twitter page for yourself but it was only really used as a means of saving material or on a bold occasion, posting some captions with said material. There was a thrill of seeing your notifications filled with compliments and praises of like-minded people who were just as horny as you. Your roommate Sana had gotten into doing camgirl work pretty early on. You had indulged your curiosity on occasion when she and her girlfriend would be streaming just down the hall from you. Popping onto the stream to see your roommate's body on display and her girlfriend sat cutely between her legs wearing nothing but a heart-shaped butt plug. Sana would encourage you to try it out at least, very aware of how much you had desired to try it out but always holding back. Financially speaking, you could only benefit from it. In comparison to what you two made in a week at your measly waitress jobs, she could make both your checks for two weeks in just one night and even double dependent on how long she streamed for.

“You’re not worried that someone will recognize you?” You asked standing in the newly furnished cam room, floor to ceiling decorated in all shades of pink imaginable. 

“Not anymore, I revealed my face on stream so long ago, I haven’t given it much thought since. Besides, I could walk away at any moment I decide. I will admit there was a certain thrill with covering up in the beginning. I think there's something about hiding your identity while being in such a lewd state that elicits such an adrenaline rush. It makes the excitement of being watched and gawked at all the more fun.” Sana is now leaning on the desk where her camera and lighting equipment reside. 

“I like the fun, bring me as much joy and excitement as it probably does for my followers,” There’s a slight flush that rises to the tops of her cheeks that you can still make out in the fluorescent lights, “The biggest thing for me is it gives me the confidence I need, the financial security is just a bonus.”

The windows were covered by drawn curtains that covered the entirety of the walls, allowing the room to only be lit by the neon color-changing lamps which to no surprise were set at a baby pink. The floors were covered by a fluffy throw rug, with very little wood peaking. There is a makeshift sofa bed that's covered by an assortment of pillows and silk sheets and another fluffy blanket. There sat on the floor is the giant white teddy bear, Mina, Sana’s longtime partner, gifted her just a month ago. You stayed quiet, absorbing your surroundings. You were amazed but also… jealous. Jealous of how she could find confidence and find security in what most people found so vulnerable. You let out a sigh, sitting on the almost too-silky sheets that caused you to slide right off the bed. 

“Careful. You can imagine how slippery they are in the nude,” She laughed softly as she stared at you, waiting to speak again. “I see the gears turning… What’s on your mind kit-kat?” Your eyes bolt up to her.

“I’m just... A bit taken aback I guess. You could say jealous maybe. This is the frist time I’ve ever considered it as a viable option…” You let the sentence trail off not knowing what to say.

All your life, you had complexes about your body. Measured your self-worth in the way your body looked, and how it compared to other girls you had admired. The older you got, the better you were about mentally checking yourself, to realize it was okay not to be shaped like other girls. Finding it in yourself to feel secure in the body you had. Although you could keep those insecurities at bay most of the time, they would crawl out from under the bed like a hideous monster to plague your thoughts when you felt down about the lackluster love life. Bad dates, unreciprocated feelings, and talking stages that never went anywhere, that was the extent of your love life. 

“You want to give it a try?” That question pulled you out of your thoughts, now you were the one with a bright flush across the tops of your cheeks. “I can help you get started, set up your account, and start promoting you on my own account to start you off with a bit of a following. That’s if… you really are serious about this.” Sana had always been so sweet to you, she had already been letting you take the spare of her 3-bedroom rental as you couldn’t afford to live on your own. She had always extended a helping hand when you needed but here was a chance to finally get you to land on your own feet for once. How could you refuse such an opportunity?

“I don’t know… I don’t think I’m cut out for something like this I mean look at you! I don’t know how anyone is supposed to get off looking at-”

“Finish that sentence and you’re never allowed to see Jiji again,” Sana interrupted, Jiji was your shared house cat who was slowly becoming more yours as time went on. “ I don't want to pressure you into anything but I just think you could actually see the benefit in this. Give it one try and if you don’t like it, I erase every trace of you.”

You sat with the thought, your brain tugging you to go for it. One chance and if it doesn’t work out no harm right? 

“When can we start?”

masterlist • next chapter ->

[misstycloud]

Platonic. Fae father

Fae father! Who loves you more than anything. He’d trade his immortality and beauty a million times if it meant saving you. It’s worth nothing if he can’t be with you.

Fae father! Who originally wasn’t very interested in you but simply didn’t have the heart to throw you to the wolves like he would if it’d been any other baby- you were his, after all. But as time passed, he found himself more enamoured with you for every second you spent together. Before he knew it, you were an irreplaceable part of his life. He can’t imagine how he managed to live for centuries without you.

Fae father! Who is very protective and while he knows you’re safer inside his territory than you’d ever be anywhere else, there’s still a possibility something could happen you you. He can’t have that happen! What if you accidentally trip on a root and scrape your knee? Sure he can heal you with his magic, but he’d rather spare you the unnecessary pain and tears.

Fae father! Is scared that you’ll leave him eventually. This is especially regarding when you’ll have grown up. He never hid your half-human side(you were bound to find out anyway, considering you didn’t have magic in the same sense as him, and your ears were slightly rounded unlike his purely pointed ones), but he’s beginning to think it was a mistake. His attempt at good parenting could backfire and you would become naturally curious as you got older. Then you would request to leave the safety and familiarity of the forest you grew up in, to go adventure beyond it and come into contact with your human side.

Fae father! Who thought about how horrible that would be. He knew the cruelty of humans. They were greedy beyond imagination and an ugly stain on the world; truly a mistake of creation. He thought about what they could potentially do to you- a wonderful, kind yet naive child. His child. You were part fae and that was obvious- if he had to be honest, he had always been happy you appeared more fae than human, it made him feel more connected to you- the price that you would go for on a market was immense. Fae father nearly faints at what kind of filth could be wanting to get their hands on you.

Fae father! Who wove to protect you at all costs- even lying and misleading you. The only way he saw to do that is to keep you in the forest; your childhood home and his domain.

“Father, what’s beyond the forest? Are there really human towns? The animals tell me they are bustling with life- and there’s so many strange and new things!” You asked your father. You two were in your favourite meadow, you sat up in the lush grass, making a flower crown.

Your father had laid down a while ago and was content with the relaxation the summer weather brought. However, the moment you began talking about humans and your cutiosity for the outside, his eyes snapped open and he, too, sat up.

He gave you a soft smile, “The animals told you that?”

You nodded vigorously. He reminded himself to warn the animals to not tell you about such things, afterwards. If he had to guess, it was most likely that damn squirrel friend of yours that didn’t know when to shut up.

“Well, dear-“ he said, finding the way you were hooked on every word incredibly endearing, “yes, there there are human settlements outside these woods. But I do not want you going anywhere near them, you hear? It’s simply not safe for you.” Your father ended the sentence with booping you on the nose.

“What? What do you mean?” You exclaimed.

He chuckled, “I am older- I have many tricks to defend myself with; you do not.”

Pouting, you crossed your arms and said in defiance, “Why would you have to defend yourself? You’re not fighting, are you?”

You father ran his hand through his long locks with a sigh. “Dear, I am afraid that might not be the case.” You looked at him in confusion. “You see, we- as in magical kind- have not been on good terms with mannkind for centuries- maybe even ever.”

You were silent, pondering over what this meant as your protector watched. Had it not been a serious subject, he would have thought about how cute you look whenever you are thoroughly grumbling over something. He took it upon himself to expand his reasonings while combing through your hair.

“We are rare, beautiful, immortal and have powers they could only dream of.” To prove his point, your father held out a seed in the palm of his hand. He closed it for a second and a green light flashed. Opening his palm again, the little seed quickly grew into a wonderful, fully grown flower in a matter of moments. “See, if they had the means to do this, then a new war would break loose every day. They are greedy and selfish and struggle because of it, while we live away from such mundane troubles.”

“But what about all those amazing things they have invented? I hear they sing and dance just like us. They have families too, just like us. They can’t all be bad!” You protested. If all those things your friends had told you were true, then you needed to know and find a way to see them for yourself.

Your father sighed once more. He appeared to be doing that a lot during your conversation. He grabbed a hold of your hand and squeezed it tight. “I understand your curiosity regarding humans- trust me, I do. I was young once upon a time, as well. You believe that I did not sneak away to peek at the towns myself?”

“You have gone there yourself?”

He nodded to confirm your question. “However, they are far from what your little friends have been tricking you into believing. They are not fun and do not sing nor dance. Like I said, they are selfish and horrible, you best stay away from them.”

“But-“ you tried.

He cut you off immediately. “-No ‘buts’. You stay away from the town, alright? Simply stay here where you’re safe. I won’t tolerate any violation of the rules when it comes to this.” He took notice of your gloomy expression and added, “It’s for your safety, nothing else. Oh, sweetie, I do wish the world was different. However, this is a truth we must face. You do understand, correct?”

Seeing your worrying father’s serious demeanor as he urged you for an answer, you looked down before saying, “Yes, Father. I won’t go into human towns. I’ll stay out of trouble.”

He sighed in relief. “Good child. Remember, I am only looking after you. I’m your father, I know what’s best for you.

[silken-moonlight]

The stag fae

A/N: I love the fae folk. I had this little idea while walking my dogs in the forest. This will maybe get a part two. I hope you like it! - Moon/Swan

Imagine taking a little stroll through the woods, wearing a pretty dress and perhaps taking some pictures. You walk alongside a small river, deciding to bathe your feet. You wade through the water, just being happy.

Suddenly, on the deeper end of the water, you see a stag trying to swim to safety, but it seems exhausted and unable to escape the flow. Without a second thought, you rush after it, but the stream grips you, pulling you underwater. You swim for your life and see the stag. You grip it. Placing its head on your shoulder, the antlers caught your hear and poked your skin. Finally you get hold of a branch, finally able to get the two of you out of there.

You never let go of the stag for even a moment, whispering, "We're going to be okay..." as you tried to get the both of you to a shallower area. Your arms hurt, you were cold, but somehow you managed to keep going and dragged both of you to where you could both stand. You waded out of the water, both collapsing onto the riverbed. Before you knew it, you fell unconscious. Everything turning to black...

When you woke up again, you were in a bed. Everything Was hurting. But you were not cold anymore. Had somebody found you? What about the stag? Poor thing must have been so scared and exhausted. Slowly you sat up and looked around.

"Wife! You have awoken! No, no, you have to rest..." A voice said, and suddenly a man came into your sight. You blinked many times to see if your eyes were betraying you. The man in front of you had antlers. Antlers. Surely you must be mistaken, and it's some sort of headband. You didn't even hear what he said. He took that as a good sign and was at your side. Grabbing a wooden cup and bringing it to your lips:"Drink drink...." You obeyed, realising how dry your throat was.

"Where is the stag…?" you asked in a hoarse voice. The man grinned. "That's me! You saved me! Now you will be my wife. Nothing else could prove your love for me more than jumping into the river and risking your life. I am so happy to have a wife like you!" You stared at him in absolute disbelief. "You're...you're kidding me," you said. He chuckled, sitting down on the bed as you backed away. "Silly human...I am not." You stared at him, in shook and confusion.

"May I have your name?" he asked sweetly. "M-my name is Y/N..." you answered, unaware that you had just given away any possibility of escape. He chuckled even more now. "You're mine, forever. Has nobody taught you to be wary of the far folk?" You stared at him in utter disbelief. "Fae?" you asked, finally wrapping your mind around it.

"Fae, fair folk, wandering people... We have many names... I am a wood fae. I take the form of a stag. And now that you have given me your name, you will be mine forever." He whispered sweetly as he grabbed your hand and kissed your palm. You quickly understood that you were in a very difficult situation. You knew a few things about the fae, remembering what you had read in your childhood.

It did not help that he was strangely attractive, and that he smelled so good....also your partner had broken up with you just a week ago....and you hated your job....maybe you should stay? Or was this the fae influence making you think this?

[strang3lov3]

Raise

Roman Roy x f!reader (6.1k)

Summary - Roman will increase your raise substantially, so long as you don't lose his game.

Tags - 18+ smut mdni, harassment, manipulation, coercion, dubcon, blowjobs, fingering, oral, brief ass eating and play, unprotected piv, rough sex, creampie, reader has a bush but is otherwise not described, roman is dominant because i like him that way, reader has a sick cat.

A/N - hello Roman readers!! it's been a while, but I hope to write a little more of him for you this summer. Thank you for being patient with me and for all of the love and support on Invisible Line . Enjoy the smut my friends

Graciously edited by my love @noxturnalpascal <3

You’re sitting at Roman’s desk, staring at the back of his monitor, counting the number of pens in his cup. You wonder how much he actually writes with them, if he has a favorite and which one it could be. Roman’s making you wait on him, just because he can. He likes to watch you squirm. He’s got an analog clock on the wall that ticks loudly, something he probably hand picked himself. Obnoxious, just like him. 

It’s been about a year of you working at Waystar, a year of putting up with Roman’s antics. It started with some light hazing, as others called it. Roman would humiliate you in meetings, going out of his way to make your day worse. He’d stick a leg out in the aisle of his jet to trip your feet, scuff your pretty heels you worked so hard saving up for. Most bullies get a rise out of their victim’s reaction, but Roman always seemed equally amused by your lack of one. He was relentless, and his tormenting only escalated as time went on. Pinching your ass cheek in a crowded elevator, groping you on the jet, whispering vulgar things in your ear. Roman, ever the walking sexual harassment lawsuit, but nothing you can’t handle. He seems to know this too. 

He’s harmless, after all. Gossip is rich at Waystar Royco, especially when it comes to the family. Kendall went on another bender, Logan’s pissing in closets and losing it, Roman can’t get it up - scared of pussy, always has been, always will be. You’d heard it all before, so you know that all of his touching, inappropriate sexual remarks, they’re just a façade. But yet, you’re not immune to the anxiety he invokes within you. Your heart pounds when Roman enters the room, pounds harder when he locks the door behind him. You feel the pulse between your thighs. 

Roman takes a seat across from you at his desk, papers in hand, and taps the edge of them on the wood to line them up. Your legs are crossed, you’re wiggling your ankle. Anxious tic. “Are you nervous?” he asks. “You don’t have to be. It’s just me and you, you and me. Nothing to be nervous about.”

“I know,” you reply quietly.   

“Cool. So I’m gonna start us off. You’ve been here for uhhh….” Roman hums, thinking, “Little over a year now, so congratulations are in order. So congrats,” he says, motioning to you with the papers in his hand. 

“Thank you,” you say.

Roman continues, “It’s been nice having you here, for a number of reasons. Number of reasons,” he smirks, his voice a little lower. You shift uncomfortably in your seat when he glances at you through his eyebrows, still mostly looking down at his papers. “I like having you here, a lot. I do,” Roman says. He’s throwing you off though,  and you know he’s trying to make you second guess yourself, walk on eggshells around him. And it works. “It’s just…I don’t know. Not that impressed with your performance lately.” 

“Okay…Why, exactly?”

“You tell me.”

Roman’s good at what he’s doing. He knows exactly the kind of inflection in his tone he needs to take to really get under your skin, make you pick at your nails a little more urgently, tug at that loose string in your skirt until it breaks. Roman likes you - really, he does. You’re quiet, you do as you’re told, you’re maybe a little meek for his taste, but there’s worse things than that. He had a conversation with you recently on the plane and got to know you a little better. 

-

During the flight he’d noticed the cat photo on your phone’s lock screen and asked about it. “Who’s this?” 

“Artie,” you replied. “He’s my baby. He’s a sick old man, but he’s my baby.”

“Sick? How sick?”

You shrugged, not really wanting to get into it entirely. It’s difficult to think about. “He’s getting uncomfortable. He’s got a few years left in him, I think, but he’s got some stuff going on. I take him in for these treatments every two weeks, and they’re getting too expensive. And he’s got teeth issues, so he’s in pain. And just - none of it’s affordable, so I’m considering…I don’t know. You know.” 

Roman nodded sympathetically, then asked what vet’s office you take Artie to. You stifled your laugh when he told you that he always considered himself a cat person. Roman, a cat person. It’s hard to think of him as an actual human at times, bizarre to think of him as a human that could identify with any sort of animal. If anything, you would have guessed he’d associate with a snake. Bearded dragon, maybe. You don’t know.

 “Seriously, I love ‘em,” he explained, “Dogs are just so in your face, you know? I don’t know. They’re fine, I guess. One of god’s creatures. I’ve just always liked cats.”

“Didn’t know that,” you replied with a small smile. 

“You do now,” he said. He was a little too close for comfort, sitting next to you bicep to bicep, thigh to thigh. Roman whispered, “I can help you, if you ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know. You’ve got an anniversary coming up, yeah? Usually means a raise. What do you think, would five percent be enough? Take care of your kitty cat and a little extra for you?” Your eyes lit up at that and you nodded excitedly. “I need you to ask.” 

“Can I have…” Nervous it might be a trap, you trail off, but Roman raised his eyebrows and nodded, encouraged to go on. It felt less like a trap than normal, though. “Five percent?”

“Oh, it’d be my pleasure. We’ll have a performance meeting here soon, we’ll bang it all out,” Roman squeezes your thigh a couple of times, you don’t even jump like you usually do when he touches you and flirts. “Yeah?”

-

You tell me.

You’re caught off guard, zero clue what Roman could be referring to. “I don’t - you - what did I do?” your voice comes out shakier, more defensive than you intended.

“Hey, relax. Just you and me, like I said. It’ll be fine.” Roman waits for you to reply, but you’re silent. “It’s not a big deal, really, and it’s fixable. You know, with discipline and all that. I’ve just noticed you’ve got quite the habit of sneaking off to the supply closet? Hours at a time, sometimes, and always when I need you most. What is it you’re doing in there?”

Still silent. Moreso now, as if that’s even possible, because you know exactly what Roman’s talking about. You wonder how much he knows, if he’s heard or - god forbid - seen anything. You’re not going to talk about it.

“That’s fine,” Roman says, “Don’t tell me. Anyway, I see here you’re asking for a five percent raise, the best I can do is one and a half. Insulting, I know, but - well - you know, keep up the hard work. I’m sure you’ll get there.”

“But the plane,” you argue, “Roman, you told me to ask for five.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not - ugh -” he groans then, an exaggerated groan, like he’s really trying to sell it. You shouldn’t have trusted him on the plane, you should’ve known he’d fuck you. He always fucks you, he fucks everyone. “I’m not happy about this either. I think you deserve your five percent. Fuck it, I think you deserve ten. But my hands are tied.”

“But they’re not, Roman, you said–”

“I know what I said, but I told you: you’re dropping the ball, and I just don’t feel that you deserve that five percent anymore. Don’t think it’s representative of the kind of work you’ve been doing here.”  

Roman stares at you from across his desk, putting on his own pouty face to mock yours. You feel disappointed, both in him and in yourself. Dejected. It’s your own fault, for two reasons: A, trusting Roman to throw you a bone and B, getting called out for the closet thing. He stands up, tapping fingers on his desk as he rounds it to sit in the chair next to you and puts a hand on your thigh, always with the hand on your thigh. You’re almost used to it. He says, “You’re upset. I know. I’m sorry. But some raise is better than no raise, right?” with a squeeze to your flesh.

“Yeah. I guess. Was just excited, you and I…we talked about this,” you whisper. Poor Artie. You had told him excitedly that he’s gonna start having good days again. Good thing cats don’t speak English.

“I know. I don’t - yeah, I don’t know. That was before though, wasn’t it? Maybe if you tell me what you’ve been doing in that supply closet I’ll wiggle a bit.” Roman looks at you quietly, a sly smirk on his lips, still drumming his fingers against the top of his desk as he allows you time to explain yourself. When the silence hangs long enough, he decides to switch gears. He bends down and lifts your leg up onto his lap, escalating those touches of his again. “Nice heels. I like these on you,” he says. 

“Thank you,” you mumble cautiously. Is that it? Is the meeting over? He brought you in here just to tell you that your raise might as well be nothing at all, and then what? He’s turning your foot in his hand, now, and you’re tensing up with his touch. 

“Sure.” Roman says. He doesn’t ask permission when he pulls the shoe off, exposing your foot - he’d never ask permission. With his pointer finger, he traces your skin, starting at your heel, tracing up, up, he watches your toes curl as he follows the curve of each one. He tells you he likes the way your toes are pedicured.

“Roman,” you protest, trying to pull your foot from his grip. Roman ignores you and squeezes your ankle tightly with his other hand as he continues to touch your skin. 

“You’re ticklish,” he says, now tracing the length of the bottom of your foot. You’re wiggling and fighting not to kick him but you do, accidentally. You kick harder than you expected, certainly harder than Roman expected as well. This much is evident when he lets out a surprised noise, a groan of pain, and chuckles at that.  “Alright, alright, don’t hurt me. I’ll stop.” 

Stop tickling you, maybe. But he’s not done touching you, oh not at all. He pulls on your other leg and brings it to his lap, rolls your chair until it’s as close as can be, flush with his legs. He sits your feet on top of the arm rests of his chair and his hands are traveling up your legs now, fingers skating over your kneecaps and you jolt again, one of your shins hit the hardwood of his desk and you suck a sharp breath through your teeth. “You’re ticklish here, too?” Roman asks, circling your knee with his middle and forefingers. His question is answered when you squirm and shimmy in your seat, reaching to pry his hands away as you bite down on your lip to hide the smile that betrays you. “Wow. Sensitive, very sensitive. Are you sensitive everywhere?”

One of his hands is climbing up your thigh now, his fingertips hidden beneath the fabric of your skirt. You look over her shoulder, then hear the click of Roman hitting a button on his remote. Shades descend down the vast planes of his indoor windows, concealing you and Roman in privacy. 

Not that there’s many people in the office, anyway. Your stomach drops and your heart pounds loudly, loud enough that Roman might hear if it weren’t for your heavy breathing, made up of fear, arousal, anticipation. You face Roman again and the sun is setting behind him, there’s not much light on his face and he looks almost like a movie in black and white. Fuck, he’s so sexy like this, sleeves rolled up and his small, crooked smirk. He’s gorgeous, with his longish strands of dark hair, his eyes that flicker between colors of hazel and green, now darkened nearly black. He taps you, “Hey, you. I asked you something.”

“Y-yeah, I’m ticklish,” you stutter.

“Well duh, I know you’re ticklish, look–” Roman reaches behind himself to tickle your foot again, and he catches your ankle when you try to kick him away. Your foot goes right back where he wants it. “I asked if you’re sensitive. Sensitive like, what’re you gonna do if my hand goes up your skirt?”

“Roman, what are you–”

“Nothing you don’t want me to do.” he interrupts. Roman continues, “Maybe my hands aren’t as tied as we thought. I could get you that ten percent, if you’d let me.” 

With one hand drawing lazy patterns on your bare thigh, the other is unbuckling his belt, the sound is unmistakable. He’s palming his bulge through his Calvin Klein briefs, groaning as he does so. Then he pulls his cock out, where it springs up against his tummy. You must look shocked or scared by this, because Roman tells you to relax. “I’m not doing anything. You don’t have to suck me off, I don’t even have to fuck you. I probably will, though. It’s easy.”

“What’s easy?”

“What I’m gonna do to you,” he says plainly. He continues, “If you let me have my way with you, toy with you for as long as I’d like, however I like, I’ll get you your ten percent. Promise. I know it’s like, super off the books, but…more fun this way, I think. And you’d agree too, wouldn’t you?”

“Roman, we’re gonna…we’re gonna get in trouble, Roman,” you caution.  

“But you don’t disagree, though.” 

“We’re going to get in trouble,” you repeat.

“Only if you tattle. And you’re not gonna tattle on me, are you? ‘Cause that would be stupid. You know what’d happen - they’d ask if I harassed you, and you’d say yes, of course, because you know I love to. They’d ask you how long it’s been going on for, da da da. You know. But then–” Roman pushes your knees apart, opening you up wide for him and your skirt bunches up at the top of your thighs, “I’ll tell them how you spread your legs for me, how you moaned for me - ‘cause you will. Oh, I’ll make you. And I’ll tell them how you wanted it this way. Always wanted it this way, didn’t you?” he asks. “You can be honest.”

Your body will do nothing if not betray you. You nod, because you’ve fantasized about this. Oh, you’ve fantasized about all of this, about Roman. And they’re never normal fantasies, always the dirtiest and most shameful. Roman fucking you against a window he masturbates on, people below could watch if they wanted. Roman hitting you, hurting you. Teasing you. Making you cry, then kissing away your tears. You’ll squeeze your legs together on the plane when you think of these things, often sitting across from Roman or right next to him. Slip away when you need relief, desperately dance your fingers around your clit. Roman always watches you after you emerge from your hiding place, like he knows, like he can smell it on you.“Yeah, I know. This’ll be fun then. Lotta fun.” 

Roman brings one of your feet to his lips and kisses it, kisses up your ankle and your leg, his stubble brushing and scratching against your skin. Remembering his rule, that he’ll do as he pleases and that you just have to take it, you ask him, “What are you, oh fuck–” you gasp and moan when he sucks on a spot near your inner knee, an area you didn’t even know could feel that way. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he taunts. He kisses your other leg, swirling his tongue in circles on your skin. “Whatever I want, that’s what I’m gonna do to you. Does that answer your question?”  

Roman bends forward, wriggles his hands beneath your skirt and paws at your hips until he hooks his fingers into the fabric of your panties, then pulls them down and off your legs. He admires his work, seeing as they’re already slick with your arousal. “Wet for me already,” he comments, sniffing your panties before tucking them away. You’re embarrassed by that, heat creeps up your neck and paints your cheeks. Roman continues, “But yeah, I don’t know, though, to answer your question. What do you think I’m gonna do to you?” 

“Touch me,” you breathe. You’re not sure if it’s an answer to his question or a demand. Roman smiles at your desperation.

“Well yeah, of course I’m gonna touch you. I’ll touch you more than I touch myself, and you know that’s a lot. You should probably be scared.” 

Roman inches closer, placing one of his hands on top of the back of your chair, caging you in. He has such a way of making you feel so small. A hand sneaks between your thighs, where he first toys with your tuft of curls, dampened by your arousal. “How nice. You shaved for me.”

He dips his fingers between your lips, dragging them through your slickened folds. You’re sighing, your head falling back against your chair as you finally feel him where you’ve been needing him most. You’re so wet, he notices, parting your flesh. Wet enough that as he touches you lightly, just teasing, your cunt makes sticky, lewd noises for him. He dips a finger inside you, circles your clit with his thumb to see what he’s working with. He wants to know how easily you moan, how he can make you whimper. He wants to find out just how sensitive you are really. You’re loud, despite your fighting to keep quiet. Roman hushes you, “Shhhh. Are you always this loud? Or is it just for me?” 

You’re already close and he knows this by the way your clit twitches under his thumb, how your cunt is beginning to pulse and squeeze his knuckles. “Just for me,” he mumbles under his breath. He clears his throat before speaking, “One - one little caveat though, sweetheart, and I think you’ll wanna listen.”

“I’m listening,” you rasp. Roman’s movements never falter, but you’re not even conscious of the way you’re frantically holding his wrist. Don’t stop, don’t stop. 

“If you come, you’re not getting a raise.” 

You lift your head to look at Roman. “What?”

“What?” He mocks you. “Yeah,” he says, “Double or nothing. I’ll double your ask if you’re good and if you don’t come. Or - er…I mean, you’re getting one and a half percent, and a jump to ten would be…” Roman does the math in his head, “Like, six point six repeating. So technically, sextuple or nothing but fucking…whatever. Isn’t that fitting, sextuple?”

“Roman–”

“You come on my fingers, tongue, cock and you get…nothing at all. It’s a game, it’s a fun game. Fun for me, at least.”

Roman continues to tease you. You stare at him for a moment, when the eye contact becomes too intense you drop your eyes to your lap, staring at the fabric of your skirt that dances with his movements. 

“Look–” he says, “You can tap out if you want. Take your one and a half percent and be on your way. You know I’m not gonna force you to do anything.” 

Roman changes the angle a bit, curls his fingers until he finds that spot that makes you gasp and shudder. He hums in amusement as you squirm and bite back a moan. “Roman, I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” you pant, “I need a second, Roman.”

Roman stops, to your surprise. You didn’t really expect him to. “Works out, actually, because I need a moment to think about what I’m gonna do to you. On your knees for me, sweetheart, come on,” He reaches to help you move, your slick on his fingertips now on your legs. Once you’re on your knees for him, just how he wanted. He pumps his cock a couple of times and reaches with his free hand to take you by the chin, guiding you to where he wants you. “There you go - good girl. Good girl.” 

He keeps a hand on your head, urging you lower until the tip of his cock breaches your lips. You swirl your tongue around the head a couple of times to tease him, but Roman doesn’t have it. “Nuh-uh, cut that out. No teasing, down you go,” he says, pushing your head down on his cock. “Down. Hand goes here,” Roman reaches for one of your hands and spits in it before guiding it to the base of his cock where he wraps his fingers around yours. He twists your hand for you as he keeps a firm pressure on your scalp, encouraging you to take him deep. You whimper and sputter on his cock, it’s too much yet. He’s thick and long, filling your mouth entirely. “Can’t, Roman, it’s too much,” you whine.

“Oh, come on. Yes you can,” Roman pushes himself into your mouth once more, controlling the pace to his liking though it’s still too much for you and he knows it, he can feel it when he bucks his hips, cock hitting the back of your throat and you gag. “I think you’ll get used to it.”

But you don’t. Roman fucks himself deep into your mouth and your eyes prick with tears, your jaw is so sore already. You wonder if he’s even thinking about what he’s gonna do to you, like he said he would. He doesn’t appear to be, not with the way his eyes are rolling back and his brows are furrowed together as he moans softly. He squeezes your hand, reminding you to put it to use. “Look at you,” he says, holding the side of your face and skating his thumb over your cheekbone, you’d almost call it tender. “God, you’re good at this. I think you’re made for this, don’t you?” You bob your head, trace your tongue along the veins of his shaft and Roman answers his own question, “You are.” 

Your jaw is still sore with the newness of it all, but you’re finally about used to the feeling when Roman pulls you off of his cock. His eyes are bright and excited, he wears a mischievous smirk as he pulls on your swollen, wet lips with his thumb. Roman takes your hands and pulls you to your feet at the same time as he stands up from his chair, he leads you to his couch and sits you on the armrest as he unbuttons your shirt, unhooks your bra. He holds your torso in both of his hands, breathing heavily as they travel up, up, where he cups your breasts, teasing your nipples with his fingers. Pinching and rolling one, flicking the other. “You are sensitive, aren’t you? I bet I could make you come like this. Maybe I’ll try.”

“Roman, please don’t.”

Roman tilts his head in amusement. “Really not your call, but I won’t, sweetheart. Maybe next time. Open your mouth for me.”

“Rome–”

 Roman reaches into his pocket and pulls out your worn panties. He stuffs them in your mouth, the cotton is rough on your tongue but you can still taste your own arousal. “I guess you’re not always so quiet, huh? Didn’t know you could make so much noise. Just had to wiggle it out of you. I’ll keep it in mind,” he comments, loosening his necktie now. Once loosened, he turns you around and presses a kiss to the blade of your shoulder. “This–” he says, tying the silk around your wrists, “Is so you can’t cheat and push me away. You are going to lie here and you are going to take what I give you, and you’re playing by the rules. No coming, I mean - not unless you wanna lose your raise. It is all up to you, my darling.” Roman pushes you down then, your face in the cushions of the couch as he pulls your hips back, putting you right where he wants you. “And don’t try lying to me, either, telling me you didn’t come. I’ll know. I know the noises you make, and I’ve watched you come. You’re very obvious.”

You let out a muffled noise of surprise at that. Roman chuckles. 

“Yeah, I was waiting to see if you’d fess up to what you do on your little supply runs. Been getting off to it actually, you know? Cameras everywhere. You put on a nice little show for me.”

Well, fuck. Cat’s out of the bag. Has been actually, if Roman’s telling the truth, and you know he is.  

“Yeah, no. It was odd. It was last week, and you were in my office doing whatever it is that you do. And then I came in all sweaty from my workout, I don’t know. You gave me this sort of deer in the headlights look and ran off, something about needing new Sharpies. And I just found it odd for just a…just a couple of reasons, you know? Like one, I like Sharpies, those slutty little pens. So I keep them around, and two, you have an iPad. You don’t use Sharpies.” Roman finds the zipper on the side of your skirt, pulls it down slowly before pulling the skirt off of you entirely, tossing it behind him. You’re bare for him now, all exposed and your arms tied tightly behind you. “So I mosey on down to security, and I’m just curious. Naturally, of course. I take a seat and I flip through the channels until I find you in your closet and sure as shit, you’re fucking yourself. And those cameras have mics too, so I hear everything. Roman, oh Roman,” he mocks. “That was my favorite part. All pathetic and desperate for me, music to my ears. I must really do it for you, don’t I? When I’m all sweaty and gross. You’re a freak, huh? My favorite little pornstar, and you didn’t even know it.”

You feel him move behind you, anticipating the feeling of his cock breaching your entrance. But the feeling never comes. Instead, you hear the small crack of his joints as Roman kneels behind you. You let out a muffled gasp when you finally feel him touch you, his big hands squeezing your ass cheeks before he spreads you apart, spitting on your hole. How vulnerable you must feel, Roman wonders. He wonders how much you trust him, if at all. Now you’re gonna have to.

You first feel his tongue circling your tight hole, then he presses a few kisses there, all wet and sloppy. He dips his tongue inside you and you squirm a bit at the unfamiliar sensation. It’s different and unexpected, especially coming from Roman. 

He pulls away from you momentarily, “I know. I promise I’ll get you off soon,” and you feel him smirking against you before swirling his tongue one last time around your hole, and then his lips travel lower. He’s kissing at your slick folds now, dipping his tongue inside your wet heat as he inhales you, your sweet arousal. He traces you with his tongue, just for fun, just for a moment before finding your clit, sucking and licking at the sensitive bud. 

He doesn’t eat you the way he should. He doesn’t savor you, there’s no love in it. Passion, determination, sure - but no love. His tongue and lips on your clit is not something he’s doing for you, it’s something he’s doing to you, for his own amusement. It’s all aggression, all fingernails cutting into your skin under his bruising grip, a relentless assault on your sex. His scruff scratches your inner thighs and rubs you raw, you’ll be feeling him for days after, skin burning under the lather of your lavender scented soap in the shower. And worst of all, you fucking love it. There’s nothing you can do about it, and you fucking love it. Even in your fantasies, all those midday supply closet visits, you always knew it’d be like this. No tenderness or adoration, not from broken Roman and certainly not like this. You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You’re moaning something but you don’t know what, not with your own panties shoved down your throat. Roman thinks it’s his name, he thinks he can hear the two syllables. He keeps you still, held tight in his grip so that you can’t writhe and grind against his mouth and take control of your pleasure like he knows you’re trying to do. Like Roman said, you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna feel his perfect, pointed nose tease that space he just fucked with his tongue. Feel his lips lap at your poor, swollen clit. He eats you voraciously, consumes you whole and you’re beginning to see stars.

Roman intently listens to all those different noises you’re making. Muffled cries and those wet, lewd sounds of your cunt being licked, sucked, kissed, lapped. And he can feel your thighs twitching with your impending release, “Don’t come,” he reminds you in a singsong tone. “I’m not gonna stop this time. Don’t come.”

Your groan of frustration is muffled too, but unmistakable all the same. Only when Roman’s jaw and his tongue begin to tire does he finally relent, pulling away from your body but not before he kisses and bites your ass cheek right where it meets your thigh. Roman stands then, pumps his cock a couple of times with his fist before he lines up with your entrance, notching himself inside you. He offers no warning before burying himself in you unceremoniously, splitting you in two. You cry out, balling your bound fists. In a small gesture of kindness, Roman reaches for your hands and squeezes, rubs his thumb comfortingly over your palm as he allows you just a moment to get used to the stretch and the ache. When the tension dissipates and your fingers relax, he pulls out of you all the way and pushes himself right back in, even harder and faster than before. “God, you’re fuckin’ tight.”

He fucks you slow at first, searching for the right pace and angle to make you squirm. You arch your back and keen into the sensation, then quickly pull away as you realize you’ve given him another tell. But Roman’s attentive. With your sweet spot now in mind, he sets a quick pace with a zealous snapping of his hips, his neatly trimmed tuft of pubic hair rubs against your ass. He works a hand between you and his couch, pressing his fingertips against your clit and using his thrusts to stimulate it. He gives you his all and you can do nothing but take it, take him. “Fuck,” he pants, circling your asshole with his thumb before pressing it inside. “Oh, fuck. Tough nut to crack, aren’t you? I’ll get there. I’ll break you, just you wait.”

It’s not easy, and knowing what you’re not supposed to do. And it’s what Roman’s not trying to do that makes it all the more impossible. He’s fucking loud, all whines and groans and swears. And you’ve heard it all before from his mouth, but the way he strings it together has you dizzy. ‘Oh, fuck’ followed by a moan and another ‘Fuck’. Heavy breathing, ‘Such a good girl’ and a sharp inhale. Your panties feel extra obnoxious in your mouth now, knowing how much noise he makes himself. Glass houses, you think. Roman pulls out of you and flips you over so you’re face to face with him and then he’s right back at it, entering you once more and thumbing your clit just like he did in the chair. He’s glad he did so, learned what kind of tight circles to paint your clit with to make you moan loudest. 

It’s sensitive and you’re right there, aching for release you know you shouldn’t allow yourself. It’s a constant fight, a push and pull between indulging in your pleasure and trying your hardest to block it out. You can’t quite read his expression when Roman notices your tear stained eyes, but he pulls your spit-soaked panties from your mouth and wipes your wet cheeks. 

“You’re fine. You can take it,” he encourages. He pulls you closer so that you’re face to face, chest to chest, holding you tightly against himself. “It’s a lot, I know. You’re doing good.” 

“Oh, Roman,” you moan, your eyes knit shut as you lean forward and bite into his neck to subdue your cries of pleasure. It helps to stave off your impending release. 

“Oh, you bite hard,” Roman taunts, “Do what you need to do, whatever you think will work.”

It doesn’t work. He continues to round your clit with his thumb as he rolls his hips into yours and you know it and he knows it. Your breaths are shallow, your moans are strangled and you’re squirming. You’re so fucking close. 

“It’s gonna happen, isn’t it? And you can’t do a fucking thing about it, can you?” Roman goads, “You gonna come for me?”

“No,” you whimper. 

“Oh, come on. Just let go. You know I’m gonna get it out of you, one way or another. So quit torturing yourself, just let go for me. Hey–” he pulls back to look you in the eyes, stroking your back with one of his hands and his voice is kind, saccharine. “Just let go.” Roman nods, eyebrows raised as he searches for your confirmation. When you nod back, Roman smiles. He’s got you in the palm of his hand. 

It’s a just few seconds of Roman teasing your clit with those tight, steadied circles as he fucks you deeply. And then you’re there, and god is it intense. You shake and stutter in Roman’s arms, and you’re certain you’re breaking into pieces, he’s just holding you together and thank god for that. Roman’s jaw twitches and he’s about to come undone with you, but he never loses focus on you. You’re gonna give him everything you have and he’s gonna make sure of it. 

“Roman, Roman, Roman,” you cry. “Oh my god, Roman, please.”

“Fuck me,” he hisses. It’s too much and too sensitive as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release. He comes with a whine, painting your insides with his hot come before his thrusts slow to a still. Roman pulls out of you slowly, groaning as he does so. His come spills onto the expensive upholstery of his couch, but he doesn’t seem bothered. He’s still close to you as he fumbles with the knot of his necktie holding your wrists together. You can smell him, the fresh sweat and faint cologne. When he unties you, you rub your irritated wrists in your hands, doing your best to process what just happened. You dress yourselves silently, the rustling and swishing of your clothes, the clinking of Roman’s belt buckle are the only sounds in the room.

The ripping up of papers startles you. Roman crumples the shredded papers that discussed your raise and tosses them in his trash can. Dramatic. You watch as he does so, your heart dropping. “Don’t start with the waterworks. You came on my cock, you knew the rules. This is on you,” he says, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You’re fucking fine. Everything’s fine, okay?” 

-

It’s been about two weeks since your encounter with Roman. You’ve avoided him as much as one in your position can do, though it’s not easy. You use a variety of techniques, grey rocking, silent treatment. It doesn’t seem to deter him much. 

Artie sits in his carrier as you pull out your wallet to pay for what’s probably his last treatment. You can’t help but feel so selfish, so consumed by guilt.

“Oh–” the vet’s office receptionist says, “It’s been paid for already. You guys are good to go.”

“Oh no, that can’t be right. Here–” you hand her your card.

But the receptionist doesn’t take it. “It is, actually. There’s a credit on your account.”

“What?”

“Yeah, someone called a couple of weeks ago and put a substantial credit on your account. You’re good for a long time.”

“Who?”

The receptionist shrugs, “Anonymous donor. They left a message though, if that helps.”

“What’d they say?”

“Uhmm,” the receptionist blushes and stutters. Instead of answering you verbally, she turns her monitor around to show you. 

“For my favorite pornstar and her cat. Take care of him. -R”

If you enjoyed, please reblog, leave me a nice comment <3 your words keep me motivated.

[vulpixisananimal]

(The plan was simple.)

(You're currently sitting at a table in the small yard outside where you were staying. Carving away, seemingly without a care in the world. Just out of the way so that anyone coming to the front door through the yard wouldn't see you at first. Isabeau was just inside, Mirabelle right behind him. Madame Odile was at one of the windows, Nille and Bonnie were staying back, not wanting to put Bonbon in danger.)

(All the actors were in place, they had their stage direction, and you had yours. You were the star of the show, and you even had a speech ready for the big bad antagonist who was to show up soon.)

(You listened to the surrounding sounds. Some people walking past, chatting, gossip, you heard birds and insects. The hustle and bustle of Jouvente. You hear the unmistakable sound of the gate to the yard being pulled open.)

(You breathe in and out. Lights. . Curtains. . .)

(You held your breath as you saw your adversary walk right past you. They seemed, nervous. They paused at the front door. Rubbing their side and taking a few breaths. You wait, and speak up as they're about to knock on the door.)

"Ramos?"

(Ramos jumps, and turns around.) "Y-yes? Sorry do, do I know you?"

(You smile.) "Nope! But I know you! You're looking for Isabeau right?"

"Y-yeah! Yeah I am! We're old friends, do you know if he's in?"

(You shake your head.) "Not right now, everyone's gone out on their own errands. I'm holding down the fort until they're back."

"Everyone else-? Ooooh!!" (Ramos smiles and walks towards you. Hmm. They look genuinely excited.) "Wait, are you one of the saviors who helped stop The King?"

"Mmhm" (You twirl your knife.) "Siffrin your trusty traveling rogue at your service~"

(Rogue? Really? We are good with traps, but why rogue?)

(I read it in The Cursing of Château Castle, 4th issue, seemed like a fun title to have~)

"Haha! Well, I'm Ramos, but you already seem to know that." (They hold out a hand.)

(You wave back instead of shaking hands.) "Good to meet you finally, and sorry, I'm not good with touch."

"Ah that's alright!" (Ramos puts his hand down. Looking at their face, did they seem suspicious? Hmm, not likely. They take a seat.) "So, how do you know me?"

"Isabeau talked about you." (You talked so casually, expertly carving away with your knife.) "Quite a bit actually."

"Wh-" (Hmm? Ramos looked genuinely shocked. Their eyes were wide open in attention.) "I-I, what'd he- what'd he say?"

"That you two were friends. Helped each other with the Defenders exams." (That was the lie wasn't it? The one Ramos was spreading? Maybe they were surprised you already knew it.)

"I-. . ." (Ramos blinked, then looked away. They looked, ashamed? Confused?) ". . . He, really remembered me? Mentioned me?"

(You nod in response.)

"That's. . ." (They didn't look you in the eye. They were rubbing their shoulder and sinking into their seat.) "That's, not really true, haha."

(You stop carving.) "Oh?"

(They continue.) "Isabeau he. . . Well. . . I always looked up to him. We were friends, sure, but I was always trying my best to be just as strong as him. Brave as him. Really, he was the one helping me with exams."

(What in the stars. . .)

"I felt like an idiot when I didn't go with him in saving the world. 'That's what a true Defender is' was what I thought. I would have done anything to be as strong. . ."

(Now, cue the dramatic lighting.)

"And so you wished that everyone would see you as his equal." (You say, starting to carve again.)

(Ramos glanced at you.) "H-huh? What do you-"

(You slice off a chunk of wood, it makes a loud sound.) "You made a wish to be just like Isabeau. Strong, brave, loved by everyone."

"I, I don't know what you're-"

"And what you got in return is a new little craft trick." (You emphasize by slicing off another piece of wood.) "Mind craft. Correct?"

(You look up into Ramos' eyes finally. They look terrified.) "H-how, how did you. How do you know."

"I have my ways." (You pause for dramatic effect.) "You touch someone and you change their memories. And You're doing that so everyone thinks You're the best~"

(You could see Ramos starting to sweat. To shake. Clearly, they had no plan to be confronted like this. Why would they? They get to change the script in the middle of the play. Too bad for them, you already had the whole thing memorized.)

"I. . . M-maybe. . ."

"There's no maybe about it." (You say harshly. Another chunk of wood gone.) "You wanted to be the best. Was that your plan yesterday, too? Kidnap Bonnie then show up like you found them yourself? Like you're the hero?"

"Now hold on!" (Ramos stood up.) "I, I-I may have messed around with mind craft but I didn't try to kidnap anyone!"

(You look up at them wearing a bored expression.) "Uh-huh, and so it was some other stranger with a wishing star pendant?"

"Some-" (They pause. Putting a hand up to feel around their neck, and then fiddle with the bandage they had.) "Y-you're just trying to get at me!"

(A strange reaction. Continue provoking them.)

"This isn't a joke Ramos." (You stare daggers into them.) "You tried kidnapping Bonnie. And wanted to change my friends memories. That means we're enemies."

"I didn't- look! I promise I didn't try and kidnap Bonnie, whoever that is." (They're getting desperate.) "Just, just, I can, I can make this right, alright? I'm not even doing anything bad! Right?"

"If You're trying to make yourself be a big strong hero You're doing a terrible job~"

"S-shove it! Go eat a crab! I-It doesn't matter if you know about any of this I just! I-I just need to change your memory a-and then, and then-" (They take a step towards you.)

(You stab your knife through the table. It forms a large, visible crack. Ramos stops in their tracks.)

"I'm not stupid like some people are~" (You wave a hand.) "Come on out."

(There's a click from the front door. Isabeau is standing there, Mirabelle beside him. The rest of the party was gathering behind them. Ramos turned to look.)

(Isabeau's face. . . He looked so pained. No, pained and scared. Scared. Mirabelle was ready to fight. Odile, Nille, Bonnie, all of them looked disappointed. You've seen that look before.)

(Slashing, beating, ripping and tearing away at sadness. That wasn't you, pre-se. But it was a memory you had access to, a Memory of Sadness. You already knew what must be going through Ramos' mind.)

("They're afraid of you")

"I-isa--"

"Why." (Isabeau cut them off.) "Ramos you, you didn't need to. . ."

(They didn't respond. They're shaking.)

(Mirabelle stepped forward.) "Why would you do something like that!? Change someone's memories just so they like you? I know it's hard to, well, fit in sometimes, but doing that's just wrong!"

(They stumble back. Covering their face with their hands.)

(. . . They're starting to cry.)

(You are very good at scaring people.)

(Thank you~ it's all in the eye. All I had to do was act like Stardust did at the last loop. You stand up.)

"You can't just wish your problems away, Ramos." (You walk over to them, now for the great redemption.) "You can just talk to him, y'know. Explain everything and-"

"Siffrin!!!" (Odile's voice, she had shoved past the others and had an outstretched hand. A moment later a wave of force, creative craft, blasted you away from Ramos!)

"M'dame!" (You shake your head and where about to curse out your researcher when you noticed it.)

(Tears. Big, thick tears that dripped like molasses.)

"Gems alive. . ."

"Wh, what is. . ."

"Ramos!?!"

"Look out, everyone!"

[supernatural-24]

People need to talk about how fucking funny Supernatural Season 1 is. Sam and Dean rock up to a smallfuck hillbilly town in the middle of nowhere where people are being viciously slaughtered by some unfathomable creature, in a sick as fuck vintage car with stolen license plates. Then they rock up to the crime scene in their boots and zip up hoodies and brown leather jackets with their very obvious fake IDs and babyfaces all like “oh yeah we’re federal officers!” and the local cops are like “for sure playa, here’s everything you need to know on the case”. Then they’re chilling in some motel that looks like its been abandoned for like ten years and has been festering in a swamp since then, and Sam’s like “Dean what if it’s a *insert generic monster name here*” and Dean’s all “no way, it's definitely not *insert generic monster name here*. I actually don’t even know what we’re doing here, this definitely isn’t our type of problem, we’re supposed to be looking for Dad”. Then this random hot girl’s brother or husband or boyfriend or cousin or best friend or something idfk gets slaughtered by the monster and Dean’s like “fuckgjhjajsifoa maybe it is a *insert generic monster name here*” and Sam’s like “well we all know the one way to kill a *insert generic monster name here*: silver bullet right in that mofo’s heart” .Then the hot girl goes “I’m sick of the cops in this town doing nothing about it! I’m going after it myself!” and Sam and Dean go “okay that’s chill whatever, but we'll come to cause we can protect you” and she’s like “I can look after myself thanks very much, I don’t need your protection”. Sure enough, she ends up needing their help, and they burst in the room or hotel or mansion or bridge or woods or something idfk guns blazing shooting everything. Then the *insert generic monster name here* fucking stabs Sammy and Dean’s like hyperventilating “no one beats the shit outta my brother but me!” BAM silver bullet right in that fucking abominations heart. Then Dean viciously makes out with the hot girl while Sam fucking bleeds out on the floor. Then the next day they’re driving in the car together and Dean’s all “we should do this more often, you know saving people, hunting things, fucking bitches” and Sam’s all “I’m only in this to find Dad cause I gotta find that yellow eyed dickhead”. Then a closing shot of the Impala driving into the sunset with fucking Kansas playing the background. How did anyone take this show seriously back in 2005. How did it get renewed for another fourteen seasons. How did it become one of the most iconic series of all time. I am furiously making out with the cast and also stabbing the writers.

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [SEASON 2] - 001

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[10.9k] A whole month after John B and Sarah vanish at sea and the remaining four pogues are in for a jaw-dropping surprise that flips their world upside down (or right side up?) and it looks like they might be finding a way to the Bahamas

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, mentions of firearms, graphic depictions of drowning, unestablished relationship

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ woohoo season two!!

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

IT’S BEEN A MONTH SINCE JOHN B AND SARAH WERE LOST AT SEA. Nothing had been easy. At all. You hadn’t seen your mother since that night and you doubted she’d be eager to get you back home. You, Marley, and JJ had been holed up at The Chateau, honoring it for John B. 

You and JJ have been bussing tables down at The Beach Club to keep the lights on and the water running, making a return to Pogue life actually offered you some odd kind of comfort. It had to have been around half past nine when the two of you arrived at work, getting yelled at for simply walking in late, aprons thrown at your chests.

Serving rich folks wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Well, at least when those rich folks weren’t talking about your two deceased - presumably deceased friends. 

JJ was serving one half of the outdoor dining area as you tended to the other, both of you making your best efforts to keep your heads down as the guests badmouthed your friends.

“Of course it was a Pogue. Did you expect anything less?”

“He’s a murderer.”

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

Ever since John B and Sarah vanished, dealing with the pricks of Figure Eight had given you a much shorter fuse. Every other day — an argument with a customer here, a borderline fist fight there. It was as if all someone had to do was say or do the wrong thing at the wrong time and boom. 

And today was one of those days.

You took a deep breath, approaching Topper’s table with your notepad in hand ready to take their orders when the girl at the left edge spoke, voice laced with disgust for a boy she never knew. 

“You should be glad.” She directed at Topper. “John B got what was coming to him. And it saved them the expense of a trial…” She shrugged, sipping her mimosa as if the words that tumbled from her lips were casual. And they were. Casually cruel. “John B’s going to hell for what he did to Peterkin.”

Your notepad slapped against your thigh as you let your arms fall, head rolling to the side. Topper’s mouth opened immediately, noting your expression of annoyance as the table you were waiting on continued to converse as if you weren’t there or as if they had no idea who you were. “Guys, they’re still investigating…” He tried, laughing nervously.

“John B didn’t kill Peterkin.” You spat, eyes glued to the girl who took another sip of her drink, eyes fleeting before they came back to you, looking you up and down. She chuckled, stirring the small black straw around the circumference of her glass.

“There’s no need to defend a dead guy, sweetie.” She taunted you as if you were a child. “We all know your friend was a murderer.”

“You wanna see a real murderer?” You interrupted, leaning forward and planting your palms down in the wood of the table. “Take your Corvette down to Tannyhill and you’ll find two.”

Topper scooted his chair closer to you, laying a palm on top of yours. “C’mon, just…walk away.” You stood back up to your full height, snatching your hand from up under his with a look of pure disgust written on your face.

“Get the fuck off me, Topper.” You spat, the table rattling underneath your swift movements.

“Is everything alright over here?” JJ’s voice came from over your shoulder. You made no moves to look back at him, still glaring at the three assholes crowding the table.

“Your girl’s over here losing her shit.” Kelce chipped, always looking to pick a fight where he could. “Might wanna look into a leash. Maybe a muzzle, too-”

“The fuck’d you say?” JJ challenged, stepping out from behind you as Kelce rose from his seat. The two were toe to toe at this point.

“Now is not the time…” Topper tried, standing from his own seat but you blocked his path.

“Why don’t you sit down, Top?” You said, less of a question, more of a warning. The boy didn’t respond, simply looking down at you as he prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue. As you two stared each other down, the other two boys got even more heated.

“Do something, JJ. Be a Pogue, man. That’s what got your friend killed, maybe you’ll get lucky-” Kelce’s words were cut off when JJ took a pitcher of water and threw it in his face, Kelce grabbing the blonde up by his collar as Topper went around you and attempted to intervene.

Within seconds, some of the older male guests pulled the young men apart. Raz, the manager, wasting no time in yelling both you and JJ’s names. The older, dark-haired man stood feet away watching the interaction occur. But he was never one to scold his high paying guests. 

You and JJ both nodded in his direction in silent agreement, reaching around yourselves to untie the aprons and shove them into the manager's chest. 

“You ready?” JJ directed at you. You simply grimaced and nodded, shrugging your shoulders.

“Let’s go.” 

With that, you both walked out of The Beach Club and into the parking lot where JJ’s motorcycle was parked. Halfway there, JJ’s heavy breathing stopped you in your tracks, looking to your left to see the blonde with a hand pressed against his chest.

He’d suffered from panic attacks here and there after everything that had happened. You’d been helping him through them to the best of your ability. He refused to tell Kie or Pope about them, you suggesting he do so in case they happened when you weren’t around, something you weren’t completely on board with. But it was JJ’s decision.

Setting a hand on his shoulder to stop him from walking, you rounded to stand in front of him. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah….” He breathed out, hand still on his chest as he shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“JJ.” You tried to ground him, stepping a bit closer. “Fuck those assholes in there, okay? They don’t know shit.”

“I know.” He nodded, gulping in whatever air he could gather in his lungs, shaking himself out of the oncoming panic attack. 

“Alright?” You asked, needing to affirm that he was okay. He responded nonverbally with a strong nod before motioning for the both of you to continue walking. Reaching the bike, JJ handed you the helmet he’d bought you, letting you mount the back of the bike as he slipped his own helmet on and threw himself in front of you.

You wound your arms around his waist as he started up the motorcycle, the vehicle jumping to life underneath you both as he sped off, not before letting the back tire dig a hole into the soil of the plants decorating the Club’s parking lot.

RETURNING TO KILDARE COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL WASN’T EXACTLY ONE OF YOUR TOP PRIORITIES AT THE MOMENT. You didn’t exactly know what to expect when walking through the doors but you figured it couldn’t be that bad…

You figured wrong. 

You and JJ had just pulled up behind Kie’s SUV in your newly revived Ford Bronco, car doors slamming almost simultaneously as you all got out. Nothing had felt the same in the past few weeks. And you meant nothing. Walking into school used to be no big deal. Now it felt like a task to keep your head down.

Kie and Pope had been a few times since everything went down, so the kids were more focused on you and JJ.

The students gawked at the two of you like escaped zoo animals, pointing and whispering. Some not making any effort to conceal their gossip.

“I wasn’t sure they’d ever show up.”

“I heard they got arrested.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me.”

You heard Kie sigh heavily, trying to keep looking ahead. But looking ahead only made things worse. 

The school had this big rock that sat in the middle of the front yard. It was blank before, maybe save for some graffiti here and there. Now, it was covered with pictures of John B and all sorts of memorabilia. For kids who all thought he was some kind of murderer, they were quick to write his name in spray paint and take pictures next to a glamorized rock. 

“Think they had something to do with it?”

“They had to.”

Even now, the whispers and staring eyes were such a slap in the face. John B was everything to all of you and the audacity of all these kids who’d been going to school with you all for years to think you had something to do with anything that happened to him or what they were trying to say he did…

It made you so angry. 

“Fuck this.” You spat, hiking your backpack further up your shoulder. “I’m not staying here for this shit.” You declared, ready to turn on your heels and leave. You didn’t have to stay here and be these kids' mascot for the day. You’d take summer school over this. You hadn’t even taken a full step away before a hand on your shoulder was pulling you back.

You looked up to see JJ, glaring at him with squinted eyes and a hard expression “Don’t leave.” He pleaded, looking you in the eyes. “Six hours.” He said. “Okay, you just have to sit through it for six hours and we can leave, go back to The Chateau, make noodles and watch that reality show you love so much.” 

You stood there for a moment, not saying anything until Kie piped up. “He’s right. We gotta stick together.” You figured they were right. The four of you had already lost one friend. Better not to abandon who’s left.

You sighed. “...Okay.” You huffed. They all smiled smally. None of you had really smiled much anymore. But it gave you the smallest piece of hope that maybe one day everything would feel normal again. 

“...AND THE SLAVE BECOMES THE NEW RULER.” Mr.Sunn read aloud, back facing the class as you took notes, trying to avoid the frequent fleeting eyes of your classmates made it a lot easier to do your schoolwork than you thought. You could still feel the stares, but as long as you didn’t see them, you couldn’t get upset, which means you didn’t do anything “impulsive” as Pope put it. “Now, Diocletian splits the sprawling Roman Empire-” The teacher’s words were cut off by a chorus of phones going off at once, the chimes all similar to yours, Kie’s, Pope’s, and JJ’s. You knew for sure that one of them was yours, the desk vibrating underneath your hand. “-Into four separate kingdoms.” He finished, now facing the class, eyes scanning the room. “...Whose phone was that?” 

You remained silent, stealthily sliding the device off the desk as you sat your face in your free palm. “...Nobody?” The educator continued to press. “You will be tested on this.” He warned before nodding, turning back around to the chalkboard. “Now, who was Diocletian? An ex-slave who became the ruler of the Roman Empire…”

You leaned back in your chair as the man continued teaching, opening your phone to reveal a notification. 

Unknown Number

1 iMessage

You looked up at your friends, Kie the closest to you whispering. “Did you get it?” She asked all of you. You nodded in her direction. Who’d be group texting the four of you only? Sure, you had your fair share of trolls since everything went down, but nobody had said much recently. 

You and JJ shared looks, being the farthest two across the room, you both got out of your seats and crept quietly over to Pope and Kie, crouching in between the two. You all opened the text simultaneously, an image being the first thing to pop up. 

It made your heart stop. It was a picture of Sarah and John B. A picture you’d never seen before.

“Oh my God…” Kie whispered, straightening in her seat. You and JJ shared a look, being the first two to practically bolt out of the classroom, Kie and Pope lagging behind. You darted out into the hall, almost bum rushing a janitor.

“There’s no way it’s real, right?” You panted, trying to keep with the blonde as the other two caught up. “Right?” You asked again as the four of you burst through the doors to the courtyard.

“I mean, is that even possible?” Kiara added, skipping down the steps. “Shoupe said that they didn’t make it. That’s what he said.” She worried, throwing her school bag down on the nearest table. There were only two people out here, a couple minding their own a handful of feet away. 

You sat on the table top as you all crowded around one another, phones still in hand. “Maybe we’re overreacting right now ‘cause we can’t rule out the possibility that this could all be some kind of sick joke.” Pope said as he and JJ sat on a table across from you and Kie.

“What if it’s actually him, though?” JJ proposed, leaning his elbows on his thighs. 

“We'll never know unless we ask.” You said with finality in your voice, opening up the text thread and typing. 

You

Is this really you?

Moments of silence went by before you saw those three dots start to bounce on the screen. “He’s typing.” You perked up, eyes looking up from the screen for a moment when you heard the reply come in. 

Unknown

Is JJ there?

Your brows furrowed, looking up from your phone and instead at the blonde looking down at his own. You saw him typing with a serious expression written across his face.

JJ

I’m here Bree

Moments went by once more as the person on the other end typed, it felt like you were all waiting for a bomb to go off when your phones chimed once more.

Unknown

Did you pimp my shortboard?

Silence went by for a few seconds before you all chuckled, one after the other. The saddest yet relieved chuckles you had let out in the last month.

“It’s him.” You tearfully laughed out, throwing your head back to look at the sky gratefully for a brief moment. You could feel tears in your eyes but they weren’t enough to fall down. Bringing your head back down, you looked over at Kie, both of you sharing bright smiles and throwing yourselves into a hug. 

You released one another to go over to the guys. JJ had stood at some point and you couldn’t stop yourself from jumping on the blonde, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he held you tightly and spun you around, cheering. 

You couldn’t contain your watery laughter, still latching to the boy when one of your arms reached out to dap up Pope. You unwound yourself from JJ, the Maybank boy setting you down gently. Your noses brushed against one another as he let you slide down the length of his body, your breathing hitching for a moment before you backed away.

Your phones chimed again, another message coming through.

Unknown

Laying super low in Nassau

“How the hell did they get to the Bahamas?” Kiara inquired, browns pinched together as she stared at the text on screen. 

JJ just shrugged, a lazy smile on his features. “Can’t kill a pogue, dude.” He said gleefully, you and Pope laughing along. He had a point. Shoupe made it seem like John B and Sarah had zero chances of making it in that storm. But you figured his word was never to be trusted. Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone buzzed again.

Unknown

Can you clear my name? Wanna come home

You couldn’t do anything but roll your eyes, a sassy smile on your face. “Duh, we’ll clear his name. Is he joking?” You proclaimed. You’d torch the Sheriff’s Station if it meant John B could come home.

Unknown

Be in touch. P4L.

The four of you looked at the boy’s last text with smiles, JJ being the first to cheer. “P4L, man. That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” He cheered, snatching the baseball cap off of his head. The blonde jumped up on the empty table, the three of you laughing at his display of excitement. “P4L, baby!”

THE FOUR OF YOU HAD DECIDED TO DITCH THE REST OF THE SCHOOL DAY,  going to the docks behind The Wreck. You were still kind of reeling. You don’t know how to describe the feeling of having someone you love basically come back from the dead, even if the dead part was only really in your mind.

“So, we goin’ to the Bahamas or what?” JJ asked, throwing his bag on the wooden bench as Pope and Kie sat down. 

The brown-haired girl scoffed, leaning back on her hands. “There’s absolutely no way we’re getting to the Bahamas.” She dismissed the blonde, shaking her head. 

“Well, John B is gonna get cuffed sooner rather than later.” You chipped in, standing with your arms crossed and eyes squinted from the harsh sun, the wind blowing your hair. “If we’re gonna clear his name, we have to do it, like, now.”

“I’ll tell you how we can do it.” JJ said, leaning over the wooden railing.

“Oh, you have it all planned out?” Pope poked, eyeing the blonde with a usual amount of skepticism.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” JJ stood up straight, in front of the three of you as if he was presenting. His usual level of theatrics returning in full swing. The thought made you smile a bit. “We kidnap Rafe.” That made your smile fall. 

“I’m sorry.” You waved your hands in front of you, a look of bewilderment written across your face. "What?”

“We kidnap Rafe, tie him up and stick the gun in his mouth,” He reiterated, using his hands to mimic a gun. “And just wait ‘til he starts squawking.”

“Y’know, under other circumstances, I’d be fully on board with that.” You shrugged, looking at the other two who looked at you just as shocked as they were looking at JJ. “What? What’d I do?” You asked, to which they simply shook their heads.

“You know, torture’s a war crime.” Kie informed, eyes locked on you and JJ specifically.  

“Yeah,” Pope added, agreeing with her. “So, how exactly do you plan to clear John B’s name from a prison cell? Because that’s a felony.” 

“Okay, well, what ideas do you two have?” You asked, shifting your weight and giving the two opposers the floor. 

“All we need is a material witness.” Pope put on the table. “We saw Ward’s plane fly right above our heads with the gold inside of it. He didn’t fly it. If somebody else flew, they were there on the tarmac. They saw Peterkin get murdered.” He explained, you and JJ both taking a seat as he continued on. “We just have to find whoever that was and get them to confess on record.”

Kie shrugged from her spot, her brown eyes on Pope. “How are we supposed to do that?”

Pope pondered on the question for a moment, head bobbing as he did so. “...A little light espionage.”

JJ smiled from his place next to you, sliding the baseball cap over his mess of blonde strands. “A little ghost recon.”

KIE TOOK IT UPON HERSELF TO DRIVE THE FOUR OF YOU DOWN TO THE PILOT’S HOUSE. It didn’t take much to figure out who he was — some middle aged white-man named Gavin, lived a couple miles out in a small house with his wife. You were all still on the road, still a good twenty minutes from your destination. 

“If this guy flew planes for Ward, he'd be pretty tight-lipped.” Pope said from the passenger seat, Kiara driving with you and JJ in the back. There was still a lingering cloud over you two but nothing that hindered the friendship. Or whatever it was now.

“So, then direct approach gets my vote.” JJ said simply, cocking back the gun you didn’t even know he’d brought with him. Although, you weren’t surprised.

“JJ, no.” Pope scolded him like a child. “Put the gun down, man.”

“We gotta keep this simple or else we’ll never get John B off.” 

“I agree.” You shrugged, eyes staring out the window as the trees passed by. 

“Not helping.” Pope reprimanded you as well. 

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“No guns, no violence. We’ll just simply tickle the wire.” Pope informed you all, holding an airpod between his fingers. “I plant my phone in his car, and then we listen in on your AirPods.”

Kie shrugged as she drove, both hands on the wheel. “Sounds like a solid plan to me.” The car pulling to a slow stop in front of the house. It was a decent sized home — two stories, a backyard, a garage, not any neighbors within walking distance. It seemed Ward had to have been paying this man well.

“I think this is his house.” Pope peeked out of Kie’s window to get a good look at the house, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Alright, uh, honk or yell or something if you see something suspicious.” He said, opening the passenger side door and getting out, crouching through the greenery to get around the house.

The car went silent as you all watched him disappear around the side of the house, JJ leaning back before speaking, his words directed at Kie. He wasn’t a fan of silence — no matter how awkward or comfortable. You’d noticed that over the years. “How’s it been goin’, Kie? Y’know, with Pope and all?”

“It’s good.” The girl replied shortly, not really able to see her face as she continued staring out of her own window.

“It’s good? All right…” JJ trailed off, tapping his fingers. You knew that meant another question was coming, a small smile making its way on your face. “In the bedroom, is he like, kinda freaky, ‘cause it’s Pope, y’know?”

At that, Kie turned around, looking between annoyance and disgust on her face that made you hold back a laugh. “Why are you asking?”

JJ just shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “I dunno. Just curious. Just spitballin’ here.” The girl simply turned back around in her seat.

“You don’t need to spitball.” She said, shoulders square. “We could sit in silence.” She suggested, staring back out the window once again. “Or we could talk about you two, since we’re spitballing.” Kiara threw out, the odd suggestion making you reel your neck back.

“What do you mean ‘talk about us’?” You asked, eyes fleeting towards JJ whose eyes were on you, the blonde taking a gulp and looking out of the window. You doubted he’d told Kie or Pope anything about what happened. But maybe he did?

Kiara just chuckled humorlessly from the driver’s seat. “Nevermind.”

You’d noticed Kiara’s odd behavior a few weeks ago. She kept dropping passive-aggressive comments as if she knew something but you’d chalked it up to John B and Sarah’s disappearance taking a toll on her. But there really was no excuse now. You’d wondered if you’d done something, but you kept drawing blanks. 

Just then, Pope jumped back into the vehicle, the atmosphere having shifted in energy. “Okay, phase one complete.” He panted breathlessly with a smile, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. Nobody replied or responded, causing the boy to look around the car awkwardly. “...We all good?”

THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN ODDLY FAST IN THE TIME YOU’D BEEN WAITING TO “TICKLE THE WIRE”. Pope figured it was best not to do it right away in case someone had seen him sneaking around the house. But almost an hour had passed and he was giving the green light.

“So, whose tickling?” The dark-skinned boy asked. “‘Cause I planted the wire so, someone else has to volunteer as tribute.”

“I drove.” Kie threw her hands in surrender, both pairs of eyes turning to you and JJ in the back. You rolled your eyes and grabbed the phone.

“I’ll do it.” You said, to which the blonde pouted and shifted in his seat.

“What if I wanted to do it?”

Your face twisted in ‘are you serious?’ kind of manner before speaking. “Because you always try to disguise your voice as a woman and you end up sounding like a recovering female nicotine addict.”

“That is not true-”

“It is true-”

“I have a very lovely, feminine voice-”

“Guys!” Kiara shouted, eyes darting between the both of you. “Can we please focus?” You sighed and pressed call. The phone rang four times before it was picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello?” You attempted in a deep, masculine voice that came out nothing like one. You decided to ditch the cover up and use your real voice. Clearing your throat, you spoke again in your regular voice. “Is this Gavin?”

“This is Gavin. Who’s this?”

You looked around at the three people in the car with you, a second of hesitation. “I know what happened on the tarmac.”

The man on the other end let out a nervous chuckle, perhaps he was around people. “...Who is this?”

The first step was done — get him rattled. Now you had to let him know about the leverage, without letting him onto who you were. “I know it was Rafe Cameron who killed Sheriff Peterkin. And I know you knew about it and lied to the police.”

“Okay, who the hell is this? I’m not kidding around.”

“I have proof.”

“You’re gonna tell me who this is right now, or I swear-”

“You could’ve saved Peterkin, Gavin, and you didn’t. You chose not to. And you’re not getting away with it.”

“Listen to me!”

“None of you are.”

“Who is this?! Who-” The man’s yelling was cut off when you ended the call, heart pounding wildly against your ribcage. You sat the phone down on the center console, leaning back into your seat.

“Was that okay?” You asked, an air of uncertainty to your tone, hoping you didn’t say too much.

“No, that was perfect.” Pope assured, JJ giving you a high five. “All right, we tickled the wire. Phase two complete. Now, we wait and listen…” He explained, pulling out the airpods. He was about to put both in when you stopped him.

“Give me one.” You said with your hand out, palm up. “I tickled the wire so I should get to listen.” Pope shrugged, seeing no flaw in your logic as he gave up an airpod. Gavin’s headlights shone through the bushes just as you put the airpod in.

“All right, here he comes. Stay down.” Pope whispered, all four of you sliding down in your seats. Gavin’s car drove by, all of you straightening back up as his car disappeared behind  Kie’s. 

“He didn’t see us. Hit it.” JJ declared, Kie putting the car into drive and following Gavin as stealthily as possible, but close enough that the bluetooth would work. Within a few minutes, you and Pope could hear from the inside of Gavin’s vehicle.

“Call Ward Cameron.” His voice boomed through the earbud, phone ringing echoing out next. 

“What’s happening?” Kie asked, head whipping between Pope and the road, JJ’s eyes were glued to you.

“He’s calling Ward.” Pope said shortly, trying to focus on listening. The audio was muffled and borderline inaudible, you were only able to make out a few words.

“The audio is bad. Kie, you need to get closer.” You said, hand on the back of the driver’s seat.

“I’m trying.” The girl assured, accelerating the vehicle in the slightest. The closer she got, the clearer the audio came in. 

“I need to be paid more, alright?”

“You need to stop and think very carefully about what you’re about to say here, okay,” Ward’s voice emerged. “Because I have treated you very well. And I can’t figure out why I should give you one more damn penny-”

“I’ve got something that could put you away for life, Ward!” 

“What are you talking about?”

“I…I’ve got the gun, Ward, that your son used. I have it. I know you told me to get rid of it but I know how you work. So, I kept it.” You and Pope shared a look of astonishment, not going unnoticed by the blonde next to you.

“What? What is it?” You turned your attention to him.

“Gavin has the gun that Rafe used to kill Peterkin.” You told him, voice low as you continued listening.

“Somebody called me, okay?” Gavin continued, frantic and talking a mile a minute. “People are onto me. Somebody knows what’s going on.”

“Gavin’s trying to use the gun as leverage to get more money out of Ward.” Pope concluded.

“Nobody is onto you. There’s nobody that knows anything. Somebody is just screwing around with you, you just gotta calm down.” Ward tried to coax the man. 

“I want triple and I want the plane.” Gavin told Ward, conviction in his voice. 

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t care.” Gavin cut him off. “You have to figure it out, I’ve got the gun!”

“Shit, he’s pulling over.” Kiara panicked, the SUV slowing in its movements. “Do I pull behind him? What do I do?” 

“Just go around the block.” You commanded quickly with little thought, hopefully you'd still be able to catch most of the conversation.

“I want the money, now. You need to meet me tonight.” As Kie passed Gavin’s truck and made the first turn around the corner, the airpods went static, no more audio passing through.

“I can’t hear anything. I’m losing the signal.” Pope warned, tapping the earbud as if that would make it work. And as if things couldn’t get worse, Kie’s car pulled up to a ‘ROAD CLOSED’ sign, rendering you unable to go around the block as planned.

“What the hell is this?” Pope exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat.

“I’ll just back up and turn around.” Kie stuttered, putting the car in reverse right before a construction truck blocked the path behind the car. Luck was not on your side tonight, you guessed.

“Fuck it.” You muttered before jumping out of the backseat and booking it through the grass, JJ calling your name the loudest as the sound of another car door slamming was heard in the distance, Kiara then calling out for Pope. 

You booked it through some poor family’s backyard, triggering their motion sensor lights as you hopped the fence into the next. This time, interrupting some kid’s idea of a pool party. 

“Hey, Y/N!” A girl’s voice called, you looking to the side to see a brunette girl — Samantha from your history class. You gave her a quick smile and wave, nearly tripping over your feet as you did so. You could hear audio again right as the squad of kids disappeared from your sight, stopping in the middle of an unclaimed patch of grass as Pope skirted to a stop next to you, sliding.

“Gavin, you can meet me now at the construction site near that surf shop. Do you understand?” Ward’s voice crackled through. “You bring the gun, I will bring you your money. And then we’re done.”

“Yes, okay. I’ll, um, I’ll see you there.” Then the call was ending and Gavin’s truck was driving off. You took the airpod out of your ear just as Kie and JJ caught up to the two of you, both out of breath.

“What?” JJ said, throwing his hands out and stepping closer. “What’s that look?”

“He’s meeting Ward like, right now.” You told them enthusiastically. “We gotta go. Now.” You instructed, walking up to him and patting his shoulder before running back in the direction you came. “Now!”

THE FOUR YOU FOLLOWED GAVIN TO THE MEETUP SPOT WITH WARD. Some old surf shop off an old street, fairly unoccupied considering a lot of the buildings were being renovated. It was pouring cats and dogs and Pope had some old-timey camera he was using to look at things from afar.

“Nice camera, where’d you dig up that relic?” JJ jabbed, raindrops making his hair stick to his forehead, despite the baseball cap on his head. “Why not just use your phone?”

“Well, first of all, I like my antique electronics.” He sassed back at the blonde, face concealed by the black and blue plaid hood he had over his head. “Secondly, this is a telephoto. It allows me to get a close image from far away.”

“Lord of The Dorks.” Kiara joked.

You shrugged, tugging your own hoodie farther over your head. “Gotta hand it to him. It’s comin’ in hella handy now.” Just then you spotted the unmistakable figure of Ward Cameron running down the road in the rain, large bag in hand. “There he is.” You pointed out to the others.

“Yo, get down.” JJ whispered, the four of you ducking further below the wooden fence you were hiding behind. “There’s Gavin.” JJ pointed just as the man in question came jogging in from the opposite direction, both men entering the empty construction site. 

Pope stood his full height again, peeping through the camera. “Where are you going?...” He said to no one in particular as the two men disappeared within the building. “No, no, shit. I’m losing them.” He scolded, retracting the camera from his face. “We need to get higher.”

“I think I saw a fire escape back down the alley. Think it could get us to the roof?” You informed, licking the rainwater from your lips. 

“Better than nothing.” Pope replied, the three of you scurrying to follow your lead to the rickety fire escape you’d spotted minutes ago. As you expected, it got you high enough to see more clearly within the unfinished structure, a clear outline of two shadows from where you stood.

Pope wasted no time in kneeling behind the wall, camera to eye as you all waited for him to say something. “Okay, I can see them.” The anticipation was killing you, nothing but the sounds of rain and thunder while you waited for Pope to notice anything, anything he could take a picture of and give to the police.

Even though, admittedly, you weren’t sure the cops were on your side after everything that happened. Shoupe considered Ward a good friend, so whatever you gave him better be damn good, or at least good enough for him to look into Ward himself.

“I wish we could hear.” You threw out, still waiting for Pope to say something. 

“Ward just handed Gavin something. I think it’s the duffel bag he had with him.” The boy finally spoke. 

“Guys, I think this a payoff.” JJ voiced his thoughts. You simply scoffed.

“Of course, it’s a payoff. But do we really think Ward is just going to give into blackmail? He has to have something up his sleeve…” You suggested.

“...Gavin doesn’t look happy about something.” Pope perked up, zooming the lens in even further. “He’s yelling at Ward.” You could see the silhouette of the men, the larger one pointing harshly at the other. Within seconds, it looked like the two men were fighting. “Shit…”

“What’s going on?” Kiara demanded to know.

“I dunno,” Pope replied frantically trying to steady the camera with their rapid movements. “It looks like they’re fighting over something. Ward’s kickin’ the shit out of Gavin…”

“What is it?” JJ asked, the question on the tip of your own tongue.

“Can you see what they’re fighting over?” You piped up.

“No, I…” Pope stuttered over his words, watching the men continue to fight like dogs before the smaller shadow, who you guessed to be Ward, threw Gavin into some kind of structure, his body hunched over in pain, it seemed. “Holy shit. Ward’s got a gun, he just took it off Gavin.”

“Probably the one Rafe used to shoot Peterkin.” You concluded, crouching closer to the edge as rain obscured your vision. Silence filled the rooftop, watching the two men from afar. It looked Ward was walking off until he stopped in his tracks, his figure turning around in one swift motion and shooting Gavin point blank. You audibly gasped, crouching behind the wall completely as the others followed suit, Pope letting the camera fall from his face in shock.

“Oh my God!” Kie whisper-yelled. “That did not just happen.”

“Pope…” JJ croaked, recovering from his shock as Pope edged back up the wall, putting the camera back in front of his vision. “Tell me you just got that.”

Pope nodded. “Enough to put this asshole away for life.” He said, still looking through the lens. Ward’s figure suddenly stepped out of the structure, looking straight and nearly catching the four of you before you all ducked. It looked like he was looking for something. The thought of him seeing you didn’t instill as much fear as you thought it would, almost like you wanted him to.

“I think we should go now.” JJ suggested, the four of you getting up before Pope spoke again.

“Hold on, he’s coming out now.” He told you all, watching Ward’s figure roam the flooded streets. “I think he’s looking for the gun.” He said curiously, the remaining three of you watching with naked eyes as Ward crouched over a sewage drain. “I think the gun just went down the drain. He’s trying to get it…”

“Hold this,” Kie threw her bag in you and JJ’s direction, the pair exchanging a glance as she stood up on the edge, cupping her hands over her mouth. “Murderer!” Your eyes went wide as you and JJ attempted to pull the girl down back behind the wall. What was she thinking? “What is wrong with you?! Killer!” You and JJ managed to successfully pull her down, the girl shrugging both of you off.

“The fuck’s wrong with you? That doesn’t solve anything or help us, at all.” You scolded, angry at the girl's impulsiveness. Lord knows what could’ve happened if he saw you all. And who's to say he didn’t?

“I don’t care if he hears me. He’s a murderer.” She spat back.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure the murderer knows that he’s a murderer, Kiara. And I don’t think he really cares.” You retorted. “What? You want him to murder us next?”

“Guys…” Pope straightened, removing the lens from his vision once more.”He sees us!” He whisper-yelled. 

“Are you serious?” JJ said, shooting a brief annoyed look at the brown-haired girl. “C’mon, we gotta go.” He instructed, Pope being the first to run down the fire escape, followed by you, JJ, then Kie. You don’t know what happened but, somehow, on the way down, JJ bumped into your back, which caused you to nearly fall on top of Pope, which caused the boy to drop the camera — the device taking at least a ten-foot tumble to the ground. 

“No, no, no…” Pope cried, bolting down the last flight of stairs, picking up the camera out of the mud, which was now in pieces.

“Are you kidding? You fumbled it?” JJ threw his hands out, the boy with the broken camera in his hands whipping around to face you. 

“Y/N pushed me!”

“I didn’t push you!” You argued back, annoyed. “JJ bumped me!”

“Kiara was rushing me down the steps!” JJ defended himself, the three of you turning the girl in question.

“I was trying to hurry!” Was her excuse. Just then, you saw a figure coming down the alley, still too far to be able to see any of you. Hopefully. Instinctively, you grabbed JJ’s wrist and dragged him as you ran.

“He’s coming!” You warned, the four of you jumping over a brick wall and running to where Kie had parked, wasting no time in jumping into the SUV. Sodden clothes sticking to the seats, an unwelcome chill coming over your soaked bodies. 

“Can someone fill me in on what the fuck just happened?” JJ nearly screamed, Pope letting out an angry groan. “Holy shit, I can’t believe it. Wait, what were they fighting over?” The blonde asked, leaning over the passenger seat to look over at the camera in Pope’s hands.

“It was a gun, the one Rafe used. Gavin kept it.” Pope muttered, attempting to get the camera to work again.

“God, pick up, pick up, pick up…” Kie cried from the driver’s seat, all heads turning to her.

“Who are you calling?” JJ asked, face twisting. 

“Who do you think?!” The girl spat back tearfully, thumbs pressing incessantly at the screen.

“The cops?” You asked incredulously.

“Who else am I supposed to call?!” She yelled towards you and JJ in the backseat.

“Why would you call the police? That’s Ward!” JJ reminded her.

“He has the entire Sheriff’s department in his back pocket! What makes you think that’s a good idea?” You reprimanded her. 

“Shut up!” She basically screamed at the both of you as an operator picked up. All you could do was sigh. What makes Kiara think she can make decisions for the whole group? Especially with something like this. As if the police didn’t help to run John B into a storm that got you all into this mess in the first place… “Hi, hello? Someone’s been shot at the Grand Street construction site! You guys need to hurry ‘cause he’s dying, I don’t know if he’s already dead or not!”

You just sighed, sliding a palm down your face as she practically screamed at the operator before ending the call. “Okay, well, we can’t just stay here. We’re sitting ducks!” JJ pointed out.

“What do you want me to do?” Kiara cried, looking around the car. 

“Just drive!” Pope told her, the girl changing gears and speeding away from the crime scene.

 

“LOOK, IT WAS RIGHT HERE. THIS IS WHERE THAT MANIAC CLAIMED HIS NEXT VICTIM.” Kiara tried to explain to Shoupe, who’d of course been the one to respond to her 911 call. He’d insisted on taking us to where the “alleged incident happened.”. You simply leaned against a wooden post, letting her rant about crime to a man who would never believe the four of you until the day pigs flew. 

“Right…” Shoupe dragged on, eyes peering at the four of you individually. “And how long ago did you say this happened?”

“Like, forty-five minutes ago.” Kiara estimated, throwing her arms out in confusion. 

“‘Kay…” Shoupe nodded, writing something down in his notepad before looking back up at you all. “And so, Ward Cameron just popped one off and shot him? Execution style?”

“I mean, not exactly execution style,” You jumped after not saying much of anything the entire time, shrugging. “But I digress.”

“And he cleaned it all up in forty-five minutes?” Shoupe asked, a look of disbelief shining through his eyes.

“Yes.” Kiara insisted. “We filmed the entire thing.”

This made the Sheriff perk up. “You filmed it?” He inquired. 

“Yes,” Kiara sighed. “But we can’t show it to you because I rushed JJ down the steps and he bumped into Y/N and she fell into Pope then Pope dropped the camera and it…broke.”

“But we, we were there and we’re witnesses-”

“So, the dog ate your homework?” Shoupe sighed, planting a hand on his hip. 

“No, Shoupe, I know how it sounds-” Kiara pleaded, looking up as she spoke.

“Look, I don’t know what you kids expect me to do with this!” Shoupe scoffed, shaking his head at the four of you. 

“Your job, maybe.” You sassed from your place against the wooden beam. “But I, for one, barely expected you to do that.”

“You four dragged me out here in the middle of the night for nothin’.”

“No, it’s not nothing!” Kiara continued to fight.

“Except for some crazy stories about how Ward Cameron’s out on a random killin’ spree!” He explained.

“We’re not makin’ this up!” JJ jumped in. 

“It’s not a random killing spree.” Pope backed him up. “Gavin was his pilot. He was paying him hush money because he was on the tarmac the day Peterkin was killed, he saw everything.”

“Gavin was blackmailing Ward because Gavin kept the gun that Rafe used to kill Peterkin.” Kiara added on, using her hands for emphasis.

“He called him here and tried to pay him off but it wasn’t enough so, he shot him. With the murder weapon.” JJ concluded, Shoupe listening to each of their testimonies. You, on the other hand, figured it was pointless. The police would never help out pogues, even if it came at no cost. Ward had Shoupe wrapped around his murderous little fingers.

“How do you know that?” Shoupe asked the teens.

“Pope did this thing with his phone, he put it in his car and-” Kiara was cut off when Pope explained for himself.

“We heard their whole conversation,” He motioned between himself and you. Shoupe then pointed between you and Pope.

“Y’all wiretapped him?” He interrogated. 

You simply shrugged, looking at Pope then back at Shoupe. “Is that bad or?” Shoupe simply held up his palm.

“Stop. Just stop.” He warned, pointing at all of you. “I’ve had enough.” He concluded, eyeing you all once more before walking off. You let a humorless laugh, pushing yourself off the wall. You expected nothing less. Or anything more.

“You’re just gonna look the other way again?” You shouted after the older man, the four of you trailing after his figure that was going down the steps.

“Why would we make this up?” Kiara whined, trailing behind you. 

“Why can’t you believe us for once?” JJ shouted, heavy combat boots making the most noise against the unfinished wooden steps. 

“All right, there’s nothin’ up there!” Shoupe told his guys as he exited the construction site, the extra deputies and officers piling back into their squad cars and turning their lights off. “False alarm, let’s all go home.” He said, walking towards his own police vehicle, the four of you still hot on his tail.

“What’re you gonna do when his wife comes looking for him? Huh, Shoupe?” You pressed the officer, watching as his hand touched his car door before he turned to you all, a cautious hand outstretched in front of him to keep you all at bay.

“Hey,” he said in a warning tone. “I know you’re upset and I know you think your friend was innocent-”

“He is innocent.” You said with finality, lowering your gaze.

“-But you weren’t there.” He said. “The only actual witnesses who are above ground say the exact opposite. And both of them have a hell of a lot more credibility than any of you, right now.” His eyes drifted towards Kiara. “I saw your little art project on Ward’s wall.” He told her. “Do not do that again. Gonna make things a lot harder for both of us...” He advised, opening his car door and getting in. “Go home.” He waved the four of you off as he shut his door and drove off. 

“I told you this would happen.” JJ scolded Kiara, snatching the baseball cap off of his head as you and Pope walked in front of the two. “Like, you’re the one that had to drop the camera.” He turned his attention to Pope, who paid him no mind. Kiara, however, did.

“It was your fault!” She told the blonde, turning to face him.

“That was my fault?” He asked, unbelievably. “Why do you always take his side?”

“Oh, the same way you always take hers?!” Kiara spat back, prompting you to turn on your heels. 

“What do I have to do with this?” You asked, pointing towards yourself. “You’re the one who started the chain reaction that led to camera dropping!” You threw at Kie. 

“Guys.” Pope tried to no avail.

“And of course you come to his defense! I wasn’t even talking to you!” Kiara retorted, throwing her arms out at her sides.

“I was coming to my own defense, thank you.” You sassed back.

“Guys!” Pope tried once more, all of your angry eyes snapping towards the boy. “We’re not out of this yet.” He told you three, turning back and looking down at the sewage drain in front of his feet. “We can still go get the gun.”

“WELL, IT’S NOT IN THE TRASH, SO…” JJ breathed out, throwing the last trash bag from the drain onto the ground. It was the next morning and the four of you didn’t waste a second of sunlight before heading for the creek where the drain let out. The boys had spent the last hour pulling trash bags out of the drain while you and Kie searched them with no luck. 

“It’s gotta be in the storm drain, then.” Pope concluded, taking deep breaths with his hands clasped on top of his head. 

“Of course it is.” Kiara scoffed, shaking the messy bun on top of her head. “So, what’re we gonna do? Play rock, paper, scissors?” She suggested, throwing her arms out to her sides. JJ retrieved a crowbar from his bag that he’d insisted on bringing before the two of you left The Chateau. He and Pope pried the crate over the drain open as Kie continued talking while you fanned yourself, the Outer Banks sun making you sweat bullets. “Or, like, oldest goes first?”

The boys groaned as the crate opened wide enough for one of you to fit through, standing up straight and panting, JJ spoke. “There’s this worm down there — it gets into your blood and has to come out through your pecker. So, that would be a hard pass for me.” He declared his stance, eyes squinting from the sun as he adjusted the cap on his head. 

“That’s gonna be a no from me, too.” Pope raised his hand with the other on his hip, staring down at his feet. 

“No, I get it,” Kie smiled mischievously. “You guys are scared.” She mocked.

“Okay, why don’t you go in, then?” Pope threw out. Kiara just shrugged, looking away from the group.

“I just spent an hour digging through trash, so,” She informed, pursing her lips as her eyes drifted to you, the other two pairs of eyes following her lead. You immediately threw your hands out, letting them slap your thighs.

“For the record, we both spent the last hour digging through trash,” You retorted, squinting your eyes at them. “But since you’re all a bunch of pussies…” You taunted, holding your hands up in surrender as you walked to the entrance of the drain, the three of them protesting behind you.

“Woah, now…”

“I just don’t want pecker worms.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Wouldn’t want y’all getting pecker worms, right?” You assured, getting on your knees as they hit the little puddle of water seeping from the drain, the dark tunnel staring you back in the face. The smell of the drain was already wafting up your nose. “Gross…” You muttered, shaking it off.

You didn’t waste any time crawling forward on your hands and knees, water splashing after each step. “And hey,” JJ’s voice sounded behind you before you got too far, looking back to find his face. “Just, uh, be careful. Alright?”

You looked the boy up and down for a moment, not judgmentally just observantly. You never noticed how blue his eyes actually were before now, or how his eyes resembled those of a puppy when he was genuinely worried. Realizing you’d just been staring, you swallowed and nodded, “Got it. Can’t lose any more pogues, right?” You joked, sending the blonde a wink before turning back around and continuing your crawl into the drain.

The drain smelled of rust and something reminiscent of stale cannabis. Although your frame was small enough to fit through, it was still pretty tight. You made your way further in, inch by inch, loose change and sticks scraping at your arms and legs. You’d had to have been crawling for a couple minutes by now.

“See anything?” Pope’s voice echoed into the pipe.

“Nothing yet.” You called back, coming up on the catch basin. You dragged yourself out of the tunnel, now sitting in at least six inches of rancid drain water. Above you was another sewer crate, allowing the sun to give you some light.

The water wasn’t exactly clear enough to see through, especially with all the soda cans and plastic floating around on the surface. Using your hands, you felt around the bottom of the basin — everybody knows a gun when they feel one. But all you felt was what seemed like rocks, pennies, and lost keys. 

Some long, twine-like structure started to wrap itself around your fingers and your face twisted, lifting your hands to find someone's hair intertwined between your hands. “Ew, ew, ew…” You shook off the hair into a different section of the basin, shaking the disgust off and resuming your search.

All of sudden, you felt something large and hard, grabbing it in both hands. “I think I found something!” You called, lifting the object from the water, but it was no gun. 

“Is it the gun?” Came Pope’s voice but you were too busy inspecting the object — it was heavy, smelly, hairy, and… bloody. Extremely bloody, you couldn’t contain your yelp that came out more like a scream. 

“Oh my- ah, fuck!” You exclaimed, letting the thing fall from your hands back under the water. 

“Are you okay?” JJ’s voice traveled through the drain. “What is it?!”

“There’s something dead down here!” You yelled back, now backed up against the ladder that led up to the drain exit. 

“Don’t touch it, that’s how you get worms!”

“It’s a little too late, J!” You called back, hands slapping against the water in annoyance as you regained your composure. You were about to put your hands back under when your shoe slipped against something in the water. Your brows furrowed, kicking the object around for a moment. “Dear Jesus…” You prayed before reaching your hand back down and picking up the object from under the water — revealing a gun, dripping with water.

You let out a breath of relief, a small smile on your face as you twirled the object around in your hand. You could only hope it was the right gun. Something told you to inspect it — A Colt Rail Gun, serial number starting with 18J.

“Did you find the gun?” Kiara asked. “Y/N, did you find the gun? Is it Gavin’s?” You gathered your breath to respond when something in the way the water moved changed. The water startled to gurgle, the waves moving rapidly — someone was flushing the storm drain.

“Shit,” You cursed, the water getting warmer and more aggressive the more it came your way and you knew it was only a matter of time before it started to rise and you knew you didn’t have nearly enough time to crawl back the way you came. “Guys, the water!” You warned in a panic.

“Dammit! Y/N, get out of there, now!” JJ’s voice boomed over the gurgling of the water. 

“I can’t, there’s no way out!” You told him, you figured your best bet was the sewer opening above you. You hoped by some grace of God that it’d be loose enough for you to push it up. So, you tucked the gun into the waist of your shorts before climbing up the ladder, the water attempting to push your body back through the exit. 

You swore you could hear your friends calling out for you but there was nothing you could do but try and get them to where you were. Reaching the top of the ladder, you pushed and pushed to no avail. The metal wouldn’t budge.

Out of pure frustration, you started banging on the metal grate, the water below you rising by the second. “Help! Guys!” You screamed at the top of your lungs before fitting your fingers through the openings in the grate, wiggling them in the hopes that someone would see or hear you. “JJ! Guys, I’m over here!”

The water was at your chest when you saw what looked like three figures hovering above the sewage grate, a familiar set of fingers brushing against yours just as the water touched the base of your neck. “We’re gonna get you out!” JJ told you, all three of their fingers going through the opening as they attempted to pull as you pushed.

Your arms ached as you used all of your strength, the water touching your chin as you tried to keep your face as close as possible to the opening. “The water’s coming up, guys, come on!” You wailed right before the water went over your head, submerging you underneath as it came up through the grate. You held your breath and continued pushing before you felt the grate open, wasting no time in basically jumping out of the sewer and landing on the street.

You coughed up water, laying on your stomach before pushing yourself up to sit on your knees. You felt two strong yet lanky arms wrap themselves around your shoulders, pulling you into someone’s chest as you caught your breath. “You alright, princess?” JJ’s voice asked next to your ear. You couldn’t help but chuckle through a cough, pushing him off of you playfully, even though one of his hands remained on your shoulder.

Looking up, you didn’t miss the looks of suspicion on Kie and Pope’s faces but you ignored them, leaning back on your arms. Reaching around to the back of your shorts, you pulled out the gun, holding it up like a trophy. “Look what I found.” You taunted with a breathless giggle, wiggling the firearm around in the air. 

Pope and Kiara cheered, smiles on their faces. “Oh my God! Holy shit!” JJ exclaimed, a boyish grin on his face as he pulled a bandana from his pocket and grabbed the gun from your hand gently. 

“You actually did it!” Pope praised, dapping you up. Kiara outstretched a hand to help you up that you accepted, swaying on your feet slightly from dizziness. JJ must’ve noticed, planting a palm on the base of your back to hold you steady.

“Let’s get this baby to Shoupe.” He instructed, still giddy as he threw an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side as the four of you walked back to the car. 

“Y’ALL ARE TELLIN’ ME THAT THIS IS THE FIREARM RAFE CAMERON KILLED PETERKIN WITH?” Shoupe inquired, leaning back in his desk chair. You and Kiara sat in the two chairs across from him while Pope and JJ stood on either side of you. JJ had presented the gun to Shoupe — the firearm sitting clean and dry on the man’s desk.

“That’s exactly what we’re saying, Shoupe.” JJ started.

“And it’s the exact same firearm that Ward just used to kill Gavin.” Pope told the man, slamming his hand on the wood of the desk.

Shoupe stuttered over his next words, letting out a sigh before speaking. “And where’s that body again?” 

“Didn’t you check?” Kiara asked, an air of pity in her voice.

“I checked the hospital. I went by his house. He was out.” Shoupe nodded as he spoke, almost as he was trying to get himself to believe something.

“Well, of course he was out, Shoupe.” You piped up, still cold and damp from the sewer water. “He’s dead.”

“Just because he’s not in his damn house does not mean he was the victim of a homicide.” The officer told the four of you, lips curling in frustration. 

“You gotta be kidding.” JJ scoffed, shaking his head and he snatched the hat off of his head. 

“Are you even gonna send it in for ballistics ‘n shit?” You asked, leaning forward in your chair. “Or are you just gonna sit on your ass and continue to pin a murder on a kid who you know didn’t do it?” You pressed, voice biting.

“He’ll sit there and wax that mustache.” JJ taunted, throwing a hand out in the man’s direction. 

“I’ll wax your-” Shoupe stood up from his seat, chair scraping against the floor as he pointed in JJ’s direction before Pope and Kie chipped in, in sync.

“Shut up, JJ!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt his feelings?” JJ mocked as Shoupe made his way over to the door of his office, swinging it open.

“Get out. I got work to do.” The Sheriff ordered, motioning his hand outwards for the four of you to leave. “And y’all are smellin’ up my office.” 

Kiara was the first to leave, pushing herself up from her chair and approaching the man at the door. “Did Ward pay you? This doesn’t make any sense…” She said sadly before leaving the office and walking out of the precinct. 

“We brought you the murder weapon,” Pope spoke, walking towards the door. “There’s no logical reason for you not to turn it in.” He suggested and warned at the same time before leaving, leaving just you and JJ left.

You stood up from your seat, scoffing as you and JJ walked towards the man. “Protect and serve, my ass.” You spat, looking the man up and down as you walked out, JJ right behind you.

“You ain’t gonna do shit.” JJ taunted, walking closely behind you as you both left. 

“Out!” Was the last thing Shoupe shouted behind the pair of you as you exited the precinct. 

YOU CAME OUT OF THE BATHROOM AT THE CHATEAU FEELING A LOT CLEANER THAN WHEN YOU WENT IN. You had on an oversized shirt of JJ’s that you’d stolen some weeks ago, a towel wrapped around your head to keep your wet strands from dripping onto your shoulders. Marley greeted you warmly within seconds.

“I know you aren’t actually happy to see me again,” You told the animal, scratching behind her ears as she pawed at your thighs. “You liked it better when I smelled like sewer water.” 

The retriever just panted, mouth open as she cuddled into your legs, appreciating the scratches. You looked up to find JJ sat on the worn couch in the living, eyes on the pair of you. You made your way towards him, Marley following close behind as the nails on her paws scratched against the wood. She hadn’t been properly groomed since you left home — you brushed and bathed her as you could here and there, but you were too cautious to go near her with a pair of clippers and razor for fear of hurting her on accident.

Taking a seat next to JJ, who’d taken a shower before you, you noticed the look of frustration on his face. Kie and Pope had ventured off after taking the two of you home. You nudged the blonde’s shoulder with your own, gaining his attention with a cocked eyebrow.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” You asked, unraveling the towel from your hair. You tried to remain casual. It hadn’t been hard to communicate with JJ after what happened between you both, but it was definitely different.

“We’re running out of options.” JJ sighed, running his fingers through his messy blonde strands of hair. He was shirtless, only in a pair of shorts he slept in regularly. “If we can’t clear Bree’s name-”

“We will.” You affirmed, the boy's eyes connecting with yours. “You know, I don’t know if you remember,” You started, fiddling with your hands in your lap, a small smile on your face as you spoke. “But my dad, he was a really, I don’t know…spiritual guy, I guess. He was really big on karma.” You explained. “He always believed that even if we couldn’t give people what they deserved that the universe would. That’s how he taught me to never lie as a kid, made me believe that his punishment couldn’t be worse than the one the universe would inflict upon me. That if I didn't take accountability for my mistakes on my own, the universe would find a way to hold me accountable. His form of punishment was just yelling and then ice cream anyway, but still,” You told him, both of you laughing softly.

“...All I’m saying is that even if we can’t clear John B’s name, Ward and his psychotic son will get what they deserve.” You said with finality in your voice. At that, JJ smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He lightly agreed. 

One glance at your phone had you realizing how late it’d gotten. Gathering your towel and phone, you stood from the couch, JJ’s eyes following your frame. “I should probably get some sleep. You, too.” You yawned.

“See you in the morning?” 

You nodded, about to turn and head for the guest room that was technically his when something urged you to stop. Turning around, you took two swift steps and leaned down to peck the blonde on the cheek softly. “See in the morning, J.” You didn’t stick around long enough to catch his reaction, whistling for Marley to follow behind you, but you could’ve sworn his cheeks were bright red. 

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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©loveharlow.

[made4radio]

Ready or Not [Ch.3]

Explicit | Multi-Chapter | Alastor Art by @lustylita

Pairing: Human!Alastor x OFC

Content Warning(s): Alcohol, Mentions of past abuse and family issues - if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 2.4K

[Previous]

The golden lights overhead illuminated Alastor's caramel-colored skin, adding a warm glow to his features as he meticulously polished a glass behind the bar. The speakeasy was alive with the low murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of ice against glass, creating a lively atmosphere that filled the room. Alice sat alone on her stool, her friends still nowhere in sight.

"Is this where you work?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the smooth dark wood of the bar, her emerald eyes fixed curiously on him.

With a toothy grin, Alastor placed the sparkling glass on its shelf and replied, "Heavens, no! Mine is the voice that serenades the city at night; I host a rather popular radio show, if you recall."

Alice felt her cheeks flush with warmth as she tucked a coppery lock behind her ear. "Oh yes, I think I remember you mentioning that," she admitted sheepishly.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, my dear," He reassured her, his deep amber eyes twinkling with amusement above his thin glasses. "But if you ever find yourself awake at those late hours, you should tune in. My broadcasts are quite a treat, if I do say so myself."

A blush crept onto Alice's freckled skin as she bit her bottom lip lightly. "I'd love to," she confessed. "But unfortunately, I don't own a radio."

"Well, that is a shame," Alastor responded, his lips curling into a half-smile. "We'll just have to fix that now, won't we?"

The girl laughed, a sound that seemed to dance through the air like a delicate melody. "Perhaps one day. For now, I’ve gotta save every penny I can. I want to find my own place instead of relying on Miss Anjanae's kindness."

There was a momentary silence as Alastor's expression softened into something contemplative. He poured himself a ginger ale, the fizz of the carbonation breaking the tension. As he brought the glass to his lips, his gaze never left Alice.

"Saving is a wise choice," he murmured after taking a sip. "Independence is a precious thing. Precious and rare." His voice held a hint of darkness, a shadow that flickered just beneath the surface, as fleeting as the smile that graced his well-defined lips.

Alice's nod was slow, thoughtful. She found a truth in his words that resonated deeply within her. For a heartbeat or two, the barroom's cacophony seemed to recede into a hush, leaving the two of them adrift in their own island of quiet understanding.

"Independence is precious," she finally said, her voice low and steady.

"Indeed it is," Alastor agreed, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that made her feel as if he could see right through her. His silence was probing, expectant, until it wasn't—until he shattered it with a question that sounded too casual to be innocent. "So tell me, how does a dame like you end up living with my dearest mother? Surely there's a beau out there just dying to make you his pretty little wife."

The words, delivered with a teasing lilt, had Alice's freckles flaring to life against her porcelain skin. The indignation sparked within her, and yet she couldn't help but laugh—a light, airy sound that belied the tightness in her chest.

"Mr. Alastor, I think I might need something stronger to drink if we're going to venture down that particular path," she retorted.

"Is that so?" His smile was a sly curve of lips as he leaned back against the polished wood of the bar. "What's your poison, then, sweetheart?"

"I- I've never actually..." Her admission was a whisper, suddenly shy beneath his penetrating gaze.

"Never?" His eyebrow arched in genuine surprise. "Well then, let me fix you up something nice." Alastor set about his task with the grace of a maestro, the clink of ice against glass punctuating each deliberate movement. He presented her with an Old Fashioned, the amber liquid swirling seductively as he slid it across the bar to her.

"Go on," he urged. "Just take it slow."

Alice brought the glass to her lips, the rich scent of whiskey wrapping around her senses before she took a tentative sip. The burn was immediate, fierce, searing a path down her throat and eliciting a cough from her unaccustomed palate. But as the heat subsided, it left behind a complex warmth that was somehow... comforting.

"Small sips," Alastor advised softly.

She nodded, following his counsel, finding her rhythm with the drink. Emboldened by the Old Fashioned's fiery embrace, Alice began to unravel the thread he'd tugged at.

"My father," she started, the words coming easier now, "he made arrangements with one of his buddies for me to marry his eldest son."

"Ah," The man murmured, leaning forward, his interest peaking as he rested his elbows on the bar, glasses glinting in the low light.

"Yes, 'ah,'" The girl echoed, rolling her eyes. "They're rather well-off, you see. My father... he believes this will secure my future, ensure I'm taken care of." A bitter note crept into her voice, belying the sweetness of her demeanor. "But the man... I can't stand him."

"Rebellious little thing, aren't you?" The edge in his voice wasn't unkind; rather it held a note of respect.

"Perhaps," she conceded, taking another careful sip of her drink. "So, I rejected the proposal. My father—he didn't take it well and I couldn't bear the thought of living under the same roof as him anymore. He’d always been a wrathful man, but I fear I really pushed him over the edge…So, I packed a bag and left."

"My, where did you go?" His curiosity was palpable, his lean frame coiled like a spring, ready to absorb every detail she offered.

"Anywhere. Everywhere. Slept in the park for a few nights," she confessed, her voice a mere murmur over the rim of her glass. "Until I met Miss Anjanae."

"Mother has always had a soft spot for strays," He sighed, his smile tinged with fondness for a moment before it sharpened again. "And she took you in?"

"Like an angel," Alice said, her gratitude clear in her shining eyes. "Fed me, let me wash up, and in return, I helped around the house. And then we came to an agreement that I could stay."

"That is quite the tale, my dear," Alastor mused, his voice a low purr that seemed to vibrate through the smoky air between them. "You've got spunk. Can't say I'm not impressed."

"Well, thank you," Alice replied, her gaze unwavering even as the edges of her world softened with the whiskey's embrace. "I do believe I'll need all the spunk I can muster."

The man leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Alice's as he asked the question that had been burning in the back of his mind. "So, I simply have to know - what is it about this man that you find so disagreeable?"

Her lip caught between her teeth, Alice's gaze flickered away, a tumult of thoughts wrestling within her. He noted the hesitation, the vulnerability in the clench of her jaw. "You don't have to share anything you're not comfortable with, cher," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm that seemed to seep into her very soul.

A warmth spread through her chest, a sensation she hadn't felt in ages. It was as if the man’s words wrapped around her like a protective cloak. How strange it was that this man, whom she half expected to judge or dismiss her, offered solace instead. A prickle of tears threatened her control, and she blinked rapidly in a futile effort to keep them at bay.

"Please, don't apologize," she murmured when she saw his expression fall. "It's not your fault. Not at all."

But the tears betrayed her, one escaping to trace a path down her cheek. Before she could react, Alastor's hand was there, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin. His thumb swept away the moisture, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. "We can't have you ruining your lovely face over such trifles," he quipped, trying to lift the somber mood.

The laugh that bubbled from her lips was unexpected, a sound that seemed foreign to her own ears. His hand lingered, warm and reassuring, before finally retreating, much to her silent dismay.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Alice found the courage to reveal the truth. "Louis... he's a brute, a child in a man's body who throws tantrums when he doesn't get his way." The words poured out of her, a dam broken. "He has no regard for anyone else's feelings, only his own entitlement. And—" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "he's violent. He's…put hands on me before."

The atmosphere shifted, charged with an invisible current as Alastor's demeanor changed, a shadow falling over his features. "I see," he stated, the two simple words hanging heavily between them.

The weight of her confession hung in the air, a thick fog of vulnerability that she had never intended to wade into. The silence stretched between them, taut as a violin string, until his voice cut through, soft yet steady. "In that case," he said, "you can feel free to stay as long as you need." A smile danced on Alice's lips, fragile and hopeful. This night was blossoming into something unexpectedly pleasant.

She once more glanced around the dimly lit speakeasy, realizing her friends were still nowhere to be found. Yet, with Alastor's presence, their absence became an afterthought. He was the last person she expected to find comfort in, but there they stood, two kindred spirits adrift in the same stormy sea.

The band struck up a new melody, slow and beckoning, stirring the smoky air with its sultry notes. Alastor leaned toward her, the scent of sandalwood teasing her senses. "Ever danced before?" he queried, a playful lilt in his transatlantic accent.

"Of course I've danced before," She chuckled, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying her rising excitement.

"Not like this, you haven't," He countered, his hand finding hers with confident ease. He led her onto the dance floor, where shadows played across the faces of the other dancers, all lost in their own worlds.

Close to him now, she felt the solid strength of his body as he pulled her nearer than any gentleman ought. Towering over her by nearly a foot, Alastor was the embodiment of masculine elegance—his broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist that contrasted sharply with her petite frame. She was porcelain to his caramel, a delicate doll encircled by his protective embrace.

They moved together, bodies swaying to the rhythm, two souls momentarily entwined. After a few heartbeats, curiosity bubbled up within Alice, compelling her to ask, "So, what's your story? Surely you’ve got a wife at home?"

His giggle vibrated through her. "If I had a wife, I certainly wouldn't be here, dancing with a pretty, young thing like you," He replied.

A flush warmed her cheeks, the heat of it reaching the tips of her ears. "So why have you never married? Surely there are plenty of ladies eager to take you off the market."

"Ah, relationships," he mused, his gaze never leaving hers as they spun slowly. "I've had a couple, but none substantial enough to capture my interest for long. I simply moved on."

As they glided across the dance floor, she sensed the layers of Alastor's enigma wrapping tighter around her curiosity. "So, you're content being a bachelor then?" she pressed, searching his face.

"Perfectly content," he affirmed, his voice soft as velvet. "Some things aren’t meant to be sought-out, my dear - they simply come to you when they do, regardless of whether or not you are ready for them."

And in that moment, with the music enveloping them and Alastor's arm possessively around her waist, Alice couldn't help but wonder if she'd unwittingly stumbled upon one of those unexpected instances herself.

The warmth of his hand on her waist seeped through the fabric of her dress, igniting a fire that flickered beneath her skin. Their shared smiles, once carefree, now held a weighted tension as the heat between them thickened.

Alastor's gaze ensnared hers, his amber eyes smoldering with an intensity that made her heart race. He swallowed hard, the movement of his Adam's apple stark against the low lighting, drawing her attention to the sharp line of his throat. As he leaned in, the space between them dwindled until only a breath remained, his face so close she could count the dark lashes that framed his piercing gaze.

Alice's eyes fluttered shut, the world falling away until there was only the anticipation of his lips pressing against hers. Instead, his breath danced across her skin, a teasing caress that traced the curve of her cheek before coming to rest at the shell of her ear. His voice, low and rough, sent shivers down her spine. "I think it's time I get you back home."

Eyes snapping open, Alice's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and longing. She'd been spellbound by his charm, the gentle strength of his grip, and how effortlessly he led her across the floor. With a nod, she accepted his subtle cue to depart, her body still thrumming with unfulfilled desire.

"Let's," she agreed, her voice a whisper lost amidst the fading music.

Alastor offered his arm, and together they stepped out of the haze of the speakeasy, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth they left behind. The city was hushed, save for the distant echo of a streetcar and the soft click of Alice's heels on the pavement. Midnight had long since passed, the moon hanging heavy in the ink-black sky.

"Get some rest," Alastor said as they approached her front door. "I will be joining you and mother for dinner this evening."

"Thank you," She answered with a smile, "I’ll look forward to seeing you, then."

As she reached for the door handle, his voice halted her movements. "Alice," he called out, a note of urgency in his tone. She turned to find him staring intently, his silhouette etched against the streetlights. "Please don't mention tonight's activities to my mother. She'd be beside herself to know I set foot in a place like that."

A giggle escaped her, light and airy. "Your secret is safe with me," she promised, her green eyes glinting with mischief.

"Goodnight, Alice," Alastor said, his smile returning as he tipped his head in a gesture of farewell.

"Goodnight," she echoed, and with one last glance, she slipped inside the house.

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

SAVE ME I/ME/MYSELF BY WILL WOOD

[goyurim]

I agree that sol has loved him and tried to save him selflessly but so has he to the same extent? He loved her in two time lines and will in this third one as well for 15 years selflessly without knowing at all that she has feelings for him, he also saved her life multiple times risking his and is ready to do it again paying the price with his life. The reason she has to go back and save him is literally because he saved her spent 15 years miserable because of guilt he couldn't save her legs and then got murdered for it. No to mention the other thousand things small and big he did for her safety and care in all 3 timelines. I don't think I have seen a character love someone so selflessly or devotedly as sun jae so I have to disagree with you there.

you're very welcome to disagree with me! we don't have to agree on everything anon, that's the beauty of it, as @sunlighthroughthe-ashes so eloquently put it, "the beauty of art and entertainment media is the subjectivity of its interpretation. one little show can mean so many different things to so many different people, and i think that's wonderful."

i think you've misunderstood me slightly though so i'd like to address that - you seem to interpret my statement about sunjae liking sol selfishly as some sort of bad thing - as if being selfish in love is wrong and cannot coexist with being selfless, too. you're absolutely right about sun jae being selfless in the way he loves sol, in everything he's done for her. but he's also been selfish in his devotion to her too, he wanted her to love him back, he wanted to be someone special to her. he gets mad at her in the woods during the retreat when she's been avoiding him like the plague, and even back when she bought him all those self-help books, he shuns her away out of his house by saying "you can't give me what i want so just go". does that make sun jae a bad person? of course not! when you love someone you want them to acknowledge it, that's perfectly valid and true. doesn't make it any less selfish. sun jae choses to be selfish, that's why he ends up with sol, and tae sung does not. tae sung's love, in my eyes, is truly selfless. the kinda love that wants their object of affection to be safe and happy, even if that means they themselves will never be on the receiving end of the same.

to me, the whole "i like you" "i love you" scene was a direct continuation of the scene where sun jae misses his flight and returns to sol after finding everything out. he literally asks her to stop worrying about him and allow herself to like him. sol doesn't respond, she's too overwhelmed with everything that's just happened. the "i like you", this time around, was her response. she tells sun jae that she's listened to him. that she's allowing herself to unabashedly like him. his response being "i love you" encapsulates everything he told her back then, but also somehow something more. when you love someone so much, the lines between selflessness and selfishness begin to blur, bc it's not about doing the right thing anymore, it's about doing right by this person. bc your compass of morality isn't a direction anymore, it's a person. sun jae's verbalising these thoughts to her, through his "i love you". these two have loved each other through time and space, over and over again, and their love has evolved over time. from a crush and a fan, silent and afar, to truly devoted, unapologetic love. but neither of them knew! what they've been doing for one another! all this time! the "role reversal" i was referring to might sound weird to the audience bc we know both their feelings from the start. but they don't! they never got to lay their hearts out so openly in front of one another. they're finally doing that now.

[bestworstcase]

do you have any thoughts on The Hunter’s Children? when i read it my immediate reaction was “this has to mean strq reunion” (and i have been banging that drum for years now) but i’m curious what you think about it

in general i read fairytales of remnant as an ozpin character study so i tend not to have STRQ at the forefront of my mind (see also: ‘the warrior in the woods’ was not originally about a silver-eyed warrior), and my immediate reaction to the hunter’s children was to look at this:

“No,” said the younger sister. “We need to study the Grimm, so we can figure out better ways to protect against them.” […] The younger sister ventured into the woods near her village and built a structure high on a tree branch from which she could observe Grimm safely. Whenever one came near, she calmed herself enough to avoid its attention while she made careful notes and sketches. But studying the Grimm in this passive state did not provide useful information about their strength and abilities in combat. […] “I was wrong. The best way to learn about the Grimm is by fighting them,” said the younger sister.

and then this:

This is one of my favorite fairy tales, and I include it here not only because its messages still resonate today—perhaps more than ever—but also because the hunter’s four children bear a striking resemblance to the four-student teams at each of our Huntsmen academies. One wonders if the king of Vale had this story in mind when he established them after the Great War.

and then exchange a meaningful glance with the corner of my brain where i just replay WOR: grimm on a continual loop and crack the fuck up. ozma modeled the curriculum of his academies on a story whose overt moral includes "scientific study of the grimm is a waste of time and useless, the right way to learn about them is killing them." and in the end killing is all that matters………

OUR marvelous capacity to learn from the experience of fighting grimm; THEIR perverse form of self-preservation making them more effective killers. salem is the funniest fucking person alive

also considering ozpin says it’s his "favorite fairytale" (and thus probably one he either made up in the first place or has retold often enough to have shaped the traditional narrative) and his CONSTANT PROJECTION,

“Because I hate the Grimm for killing your mother,” the hunter might answer. “And I hate myself for not being there when she died.” Dinner conversation was silent on those nights until one child would ask softly, “Tell us about Mother again.” And soon they would be sharing their favorite memories of her, such as her sharp sense of humor, her beautiful singing voice, and her gentle but firm hand in guiding their combat training.

<- this is about salem. or more specifically, it’s ozma’s grief and remembrance of salem refracted through an allegorical story about a man who couldn’t save his beloved wife from the grimm. (which. lmao.) and well. the lost fable begins with salem humming, and her way of teaching and training cinder is not far off from a twisted "gentle but firm" approach. that’s 2 of 3, and 3 of 3 taking into account her occasional moments of WITHERING DEADPAN SARCASM esp in narration and the "your mother said those words to me"/"hm! her again? :)" attitude she has adopted about these girls’ mother being her general and the "hm! you certainly do enjoy collecting assets!" gently ribbing cinder and the nasty "she thinks… she wants…" bit when she uses her sarcasm for evil. and "perhaps you and i can have a better working relationship :)" LISTEN TO ME. SALEM IS FUNNY. HUMOR IS HOW SHE COPES. OZMA MISSES HER JOKES…

ahem.

that said, rereading the story again i do see where you’re getting the STRQ parallels / reunion foreshadowing because yeah it’s.

younger sister: her semblance suppresses or banishes emotion with waves of "overwhelming calm," she uses it to go… live among the grimm…

younger brother: his semblance lets him hide in plain sight by closing his eyes, but grimm can still sense his presence; he stumbles around "safe" but blind until the younger sister rescues him.

older sister: her semblance leads her toward whatever she needs most, which in the story this turns out to be her younger siblings. she pledges her service to protect the village, but the grimm are so numerous and the villagers so upset that they’re forced to adopt a nomadic lifestyle to stay safe.

older brother: his semblance allows him to create a shared pool of aura between large groups of people connected by a rope; he travels around until he finds a surviving village and becomes their champion until they, too, are overwhelmed and forced to flee.

if summer willingly joined salem, then… yeah all four of these characters map very neatly onto team STRQ.

summer joined salem and learned from her how to tame / command / ally with / otherwise live safely among grimm; she’s the younger sister.

"bravado" is a description that suits tai’s character quite well, and when he’s "alone in the forest"—left by raven and summer and qrow—he winds up lost and blind, depressed, and he’s (emotionally) trapped there still, surrounded by grimm that have overrun vale and patch.

raven’s semblance links her to her family so she can always get to them; there’s some resonance too between the older sister’s leadership of the village and the branwen tribe in that the branwens need to stay on the move because, as bandits, they’re walking grimm bait. and the older sister is left behind, which is… pretty clearly how raven feels toward the rest of her team.

qrow as the older brother on the surface seems like he’s the odd one out but…considered metaphorically, the older brother’s semblance makes him weak when he is alone and strong with the support of a community, which is qrow’s emotional arc exactly; and the older brother also travels the world and (literally) binds people together, which, gestures at qrow telling yang where to find raven and bringing RNJR into the loop and so forth. also the clover pin semblance key change in v8.

…gonna put this one down as another tally in the "tai’s 'assignment' keeping him away from vacuo is summer" column.

[gremlin-pattie]

babe are you ok? you’ve been almost exclusively listening to will wood lately

[teehee-vibes]

Agonized over the fact that when Chip reunites with Arlin, no matter how it happens, whether Arlin is dead or alive, corrupted or stable, preserved as he was or aged by time and magic… whether it’s a moment of joy and relief at a long-awaited reunion or a heart-shattering episode of grief because Chip is too late, Chip can’t even cry about it.

[forcedhesitation]

astarion origin playthrough worth it just for all the extra moments where he does the "sad wet cat" face