#not that i think my art is good enough to get stolen or anything

[borbealis]

"I think I understand why you lied about the painting," Mike said. He pulled a worn and creased letter out of his pocket. "I wrote this not long after you left Hawkins. I was going to give it to you, but... I couldn't. I was afraid of how you would react, and I didn't want to risk losing you. Especially after how I treated you all summer... I guess I almost lost you anyway," he said quietly. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, here—" he held the letter out towards Will, "this is for you."

Lettergate fanart for bylerweek 2022!

[incognit0slut]

MASTER OF PERSUASION

Part 4 of kinktober | main masterlist

meandom!Spencer/Hotch x fem!reader; Threesome, creampie, dumbification, degradation, brat taming, abuse of power, edging, dubcon

Your involvement in a heinous crime was questioned by the two FBI agents who were eager to do anything to get you to talk.

Words: 6802

a/n: This one is dedicated to my nasty, touch-starved btches who secretly wants to be manhandled by two older men. Enjoy this pure filth🫶

YOU WERE FAR FROM BEING A GOOD PERSON. From the surface, you seemed like a normal, typical woman, just one of the countless faces within the crowd. But when the doors shut behind you, you find yourself involved in endeavors you should never have pursued in the first place.

You knew too much. You were acutely aware of how many crimes happening in your vicinity. The number of deaths resulting from these heinous acts should be enough to terrify you, but it didn't, because unbeknownst to your peers, you were one of the reasons why they happened.

Although you never played the role of the perpetrator, you were the person these criminals came to for information. You were good with technology, you could hack into any secure system in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if you were a deity of the dark web, a mastermind whose mere presence served as a godsend to those carrying out these crimes.

It was easy money; you gave what they wanted, received what they paid you, and most importantly, you made sure to never look back. You always wiped everything out after each job was done, but somehow, after working on so many deals, your luck finally struck out.

Somebody hacked into your system—no, somebody good hacked into your system. This person knew what they were doing. They managed to hack through your firewall and retrieve a few of your data while also discovering your identity.

You honestly wanted to praise whoever was on the other side because you had never encountered someone who could match, if not surpass, your own skill. But it wasn't until you heard the loud banging on your front door, followed by people in uniformed vests rushing in and pointing their guns at you, that you finally realized who had breached your system.

It was the FBI.

So that was how you found yourself sitting inside an interrogation room hours later with two agents across from you. A very tall, intimidating man stood at the corner, his arms crossed as he watched you silently. Dr. Spencer Reid was how he introduced himself, and the way he emphasized the title in front of his name, you were certain he was the type of person who took extreme pride in his intelligence.

He seemed a little too cocky.

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, on the other hand, was hard to decipher. The older man appeared somewhat guarded as if his job had forced him to put on a facade devoid of genuine emotions. Maybe it did. He was, after all, a federal agent. Both of them were. These men were probably taught to master the art of maintaining an inscrutable poker face.

Nevertheless, they were both intimidating, and you wondered to yourself, was good cop bad cop not a thing anymore? Because as far as this was going, none of them seemed inclined to make things easy for you.

The man in front of you cleared his throat, his voice was a well-practiced blend of authority and curiosity. "You've been quite elusive, haven't you, Miss Y/L/N?"

You leaned back, studying him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the edges of the table with a cool, almost casual detachment. "Elusiveness is a matter of perspective, Agent Hotchner. I prefer to think of it as adaptability."

"Adaptability?" He leaned in closer, his sharp gaze never wavering. "You've made quite a name for yourself. You've infiltrated government agencies, stolen classified data, and even orchestrated financial heists... Impressive, I must say."

A faint smile danced upon your lips, revealing just a glimmer of amusement. "I simply explore the hidden avenues of the World Wide Web. It's not about the thrill; it's about the knowledge."

His eyes narrowed. "But your actions have consequences. You've caused quite a chaos, don't you think?"

"Consequences are a part of every action, whether in the digital realm or the physical world. As for chaos..." You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Well, sometimes chaos is necessary for evolution."

He leaned back, his expression unyielding. "Evolution or anarchy?"

"As I said, everything is a matter of perspective, even anarchy," you replied, your voice smooth as silk. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm just a catalyst. Society's flaws were there long before I came along."

The man in the corner took a step forward. His eyes bore into you with resolve as if he had grown weary of the ongoing debate. "You've had your say," he interjected with a steely tone. "You know why you're here. Our victim's files were found on your computer, we need to know who requested them."

You met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, unfazed by his direct approach. "Doctor Reid," you said, your voice laced with a hint of mock surprise. "Always chasing ghosts in the machine, aren't you?"

His expression remained composed, his intellect undeniably sharp. "We're not here to discuss my pursuits. We're here to talk about the life you've disrupted."

"Disrupted? I'd say I've merely revealed the cracks in the system. Your victim, as you call them, was a casualty of a much larger game."

"Games have rules, Miss Y/L/N. You seem to operate outside of them."

"Rules are made to be broken, Spencer," you retorted, your tone cutting like a blade through the air. "I can call you that, right? I hate having to speak with such formalities."

"It's Doctor Reid," he corrected. "Tell us who you're working for."

His unwavering determination was met with a subtle, knowing smile from you. You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with a hint of intrigue.

"I don't know, Spencer," you began, your tone slightly softer, as if you were letting him in on a secret, "The digital world is a labyrinth of information. Files come and go, they disappear and reappear... It's like trying to catch a shadow in the dark. It's useless."

He addressed you with a cold stare. "You're playing a dangerous game here."

You raised an eyebrow, your voice honeyed with allure. "Oh, I'm well aware of the game we're playing. But don't mistake my refusal to cooperate for arrogance. It's just that some secrets are meant to stay hidden."

The room seemed to contract, the air thick with unresolved tension. Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes fell back on him. "Miss Y/L/N, give us a name and we can make things easier for you. But if you don't cooperate..." His eyes traveled down along your body, the goosebumps rose on your skin in response to the heat of his gaze. "I'm afraid we have to resort to extreme measures."

A brief pause hung in the room. There was something in the way he was staring at you. He was looking at you with a profound determination that seemed very different from the way he assessed you before. Under the weight of his scrutiny, you felt your body growing hot. Your breath hitched, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck and tingled in your cheeks.

You regarded him for a moment before you finally spoke, your voice calm but tinged with a hint of defiance.

"If you think you can break me, Aaron, you're gravely mistaken. But if you're interested in the name..." you leaned back, crossing your arms. "I guess you'll have to earn it."

The tension in the room escalated as your words hung in the air. His jaw clenched, and when you thought you had won the upper hand over this battle of wits, he surprised you by waving his hand in the air, and Spencer came forward.

It was as if they had planned this. The way Aaron instructed his partner to move seemed rehearsed and calculated. Spencer walked over to you and before you could register what was happening, he grabbed onto your arm and wrenched you out of your chair with a force you didn't know he possessed.

Your voice carried a mix of anger and frustration as you protested, "What the hell are you doing?"

You suddenly felt him run his hands along your arms. "Checking for weapons."

The scoff you gave him was loud. "Oh, now you're treating me like a criminal?"

"It's a mere precaution."

And then you felt it, the way his touch lingered on your body. It was far from any normal search. His hands felt warm on your skin, even over the material of your shirt, as he continued to pat down your arms. There was a certain roughness in his movements as he slid his arms around your backside and you couldn't mistake the way he gripped your ass more than he should probably have.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath. "You won't find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that." He slightly shoved your shoulders. "Put your hands on the table."

You reluctantly did as you were told, silently gritting your teeth. His hands moved with purpose, and as much as you wanted to stop this questionable act, your body was reacting in a way that had you questioning yourself instead.

Why was your heart beating so fast as he stood behind you? Why was it getting so hard to breathe when his hands slipped around your waist? And why did it seem you were anticipating more when his palms slightly hovered over your breasts?

"Is this really necessary?" You asked quietly, trying to act as if his rough hands on you weren't affecting you. "This feels more like an attempt for intimidation."

You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he asked, "Are you intimidated, Miss Y/L/N?"

You liked to think that you weren't, but honestly, you didn't know anymore. You had tried your best to put on a mask to avoid appearing weak, but as he started to squeeze your breasts in the palm of his hands, it finally dawned on you what was happening—You were finally caught, there was a high chance of you ending up in jail, and now a federal agent was touching you inappropriately, groping you in a crude form of patting you down.

And to your dismay, you actually liked it.

But you had too much of a pride, that was why you found yourself lying through your teeth. "No."

Spencer hummed a reply as if he didn't believe you. He squeezed your breasts through your shirt again, palming at them as he slightly felt your nipples stiffen through the material, and he couldn't resist rolling them as his touch continued lower. Your breath hitched as he mapped out your curves, one of his hands delving between your thighs before he stopped right at the center of your heat.

You let out a gasp.

"I-Is this even legal?"

Your mind went blurry as you felt his fingers touching you through the thin fabric of your pants. "Are you questioning how the law enforcement works?"

You couldn't answer him. Not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to form any coherent words as he continued to palm your sex, his fingers continuing to rub you. You were suddenly so focused on the way he was touching you, your head hanging low as you felt the sensation throughout your body, that you didn't even hear Aaron calling out your name.

It wasn't until Spencer retrieved his hand from between your thighs, and yanked your hair from behind, that you were forced to meet Aaron's gaze. "He called you," Spencer mocked, tightening his grip.

Aaron leaned forward, assessing the way you were arching your back with both of your hands planted on the table. "You have two options. One, we can play nicely, you give us a name and we'll go easy on you." His voice dropped lower as he continued, "Or two, you keep with this attitude and we might have to coax the answer out of you."

You locked eyes with him, a silent challenge burning in your gaze. Despite being in this vulnerable position, there was an undeniable strength in your stare, a refusal to surrender to their intimidation. Aaron met your gaze with a profound understanding.

"The hard way it is then." You saw him lean back in his chair as he crossed his arms, the subtle movement actuating his broad chest. "You know what to do, Reid."

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way Spencer handled you after those words. He shoved you, knocking the air out of your lungs as you gasped, your body pressed against the cool surface of the table. Somehow between your struggles, he managed to slide his hands around your waist, unbuttoning your pants before pushing them down your legs.

The air hit your bare skin, and even when you felt the cool breeze, your body was seething with fire, burning through your veins. The warmth spread along your cheeks as you realized you were wearing your skimpiest underwear, a flimsy material of dark lace that barely covered your sex. He gripped your ass with the palm of his hands, fingertips digging into the plush skin as he spread you apart.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" You felt him shift behind you and you imagined him kneeling right in front of your heat. The moment his knuckles brushed along your wet patch, your hips bucked involuntarily. "She's wet, Hotch, I think she's getting a little too excited."

"I'm not surprised," the older man said. "She does seem like a slut."

Your head snapped at him. "I am not a slut."

"Oh, you are a slut." He leaned forward and reached out his hand, holding your chin in a vice grip, forcing you to look at him. "And we'll prove you how much of a whore you actually are."

Right on queue, a surprised gasp left your lips when Spencer's large palm burned your skin, giving your ass a harsh slap. The sound echoed in the room and he repeated the motion, watching in satisfaction the way your ass rippled for him. You fell into a false sense of security as he began to soothe his hand against your burning skin before pulling back to give another loud smack, and your mouth fell apart in pleasure.

"Not a fucking slut?" Aaron taunted, his thumb brushing on your lower lip. "That's the most farfetched lie you told us ever since you walked through that door."

You glared at him, but your defiance slowly shattered when you felt Spencer pulling down your panties over the curve of your ass, slipping them down your legs. The evidence of your arousal stuck onto the fabric and you felt your cheeks going warm in embarrassment. Spencer sucked in a gasp as he took in the sight of your lower half completely naked for him.

"Barely even touched you and you're soaking wet," he murmured, letting his thumb brush over your pussy, gauging your reaction. Your nose scrunched as you tried to bite back a moan that threatened to slip out. He started with gentle strokes, keeping his fingers only on the outer side, yet you could still feel his touch everywhere.

Each downstroke he made gave a light pull against your clit without giving any direct contact, and each time his fingers came back up, he slowly spread your folds open for him, briefly allowing your slickness to come in contact with the cold breeze of air.

Your mind became hazy, and just when you thought your body couldn't react more to his touch, he slipped a finger between your folds, feeling your slick against the dainty flesh. The motion caused your hips to buck erratically and your hands immediately reached up to grip onto the edge of the table.

He slipped deep inside you as your arousal coated him, circling your tight entrance as he felt the way your walls fluttered around the tip of his finger. He let out a low grunt as he felt how tight you were around him, curling at the knuckle while he began to drag his calloused pad against the soft spot inside you, making your body shake just from the mere contact.

The subtle reaction didn't go unnoticed by Aaron and he watched as your eyes glazed over. He couldn't stop himself from smirking, his features revealing a hint of amusement.

"You're enjoying this too much. I'm starting to think you're keeping your silence for the sake of this." You moved your head away from his grasp, only for him to grip your jaw harder. "Don't fucking move. Keep your eyes on me while he fucks your tight little pussy."

You never thought you'd be hearing such crude words from him, not with his stoic demeanor and polished facade, nor did you expect your body to react the way it did when those words filled your ears. You couldn't help it, your body betrayed your mind as your cunt continued to throb between your thighs. You could feel the desire building inside you, threatening to burst as you felt your body shake, and Spencer was well aware of this as he felt your walls clenching around his finger.

The laugh coming through his lips rang in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "She liked that."

Aaron raised his eyebrows at you. "You like it when I talk like this?" He taunted. "You like it when I tell you how much of a slut you are taking his fingers so deep inside you?"

Your eyelids dropped lower at his words, and right at that moment, a lewd squelch filled the room as Spencer slowly slipped another finger into your dripping cunt, stretching you out as he began to thrust them inside you at a steady pace. Your body quivered as your breath quickened, and you found yourself grinding against his touch, desperately trying to get him to press the same spot inside you.

"Look at you fucking yourself on my fingers," Spencer cooed, his free hand smacking your bare ass again, and you found yourself arching your back. "You really are filthy."

Aaron laughed. "Acting like you didn't want it a second ago." He gripped your jaw tighter, forcing a gasp out of you at the subtle pain. He took advantage of your opened mouth by slipping his thumb inside. "Suck on my finger, Sweetheart."

You didn't know which one surprised you the most, his sudden term of endearment, or the order he gave you. You hesitated, because the moment you willingly sucked on his finger, you knew you would lose. The moment you followed through to his demand, he would have the upper hand and you would simply be the pawn in this game.

Aaron, as you realized, wasn't a patient man. His other hand reached for your hair and then, with a sharp and sudden yank, he tore at your hair. "Don't make me use more force than I already am."

Your roots tingled, your scalp throbbing, and a few tears welled up in your eyes. You blinked them away, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, and leveled your gaze at him.

He pulled your hair again. "Suck."

The pain was so much for you that you found yourself wavering. You swirled your tongue around his thumb before closing your lips and sucking with an approving hum. A husky moan was pulled from deep within him, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth on him, and, especially, the sight of you. "That's it," he praised you. "Suck on it as if you're sucking my cock."

Your walls clenched again. A sound of pleasure erupted from Spencer as he felt your cunt sucking in his fingers, and without warning, he pumped them into you with so much force you couldn't stop yourself from moaning this time. He laughed, as did Aaron, and your body shook as you felt that familiar sensation tightening along your body.

The room around you seemed to blur and melt away at the pleasure coursing in your veins. It started in the pit of your stomach, a warm, liquid sensation that spread like a slow-burning fire, radiating outwards in waves. Your hushed moan was muffled by Aaron's thumb in your mouth, but the sound of your pathetic whining didn't go unnoticed by both men.

You were so fucking close you could feel every nerve in your body on high alert. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your body quivered with the intensity of the sensation. Your eyes fell shut as the lewd sound of your arousal filled the room, and just when you were about to let go, Spencer suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, wrenching away that peak of pleasure you were desperately chasing.

Your eyes shot open, dilated pupils now wide with shock and confusion. Aaron met your gaze with amusement, a sadistic smile dancing on his lips as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop. "Stupid girl, thinking we'd actually let you cum."

The abrupt contrast between the heights of your pleasure and the stark void that followed was jarring. But before you could comprehend your disappointment, you heard a shuffle behind you followed by footsteps circling you. Spencer finally came back into your line of vision and with no one standing behind you, you tried to push yourself from the table, only to be shoved back down by Aaron.

"Fucking stay where you are," he commanded, his sharp voice piercing right through you. Your eyes were fixed on him, gaze unwavering as he slowly rose from his seat. And then suddenly he was the one behind you, and now Spencer stood right in front of you, looking down at you with amusement.

"You know," he started, his fingers trailing the side of your face. You moved your head away from his touch, but unlike Aaron, he didn't force you to look at him. He merely chuckled as he continued, "You wouldn't be in this position if you had given us the name."

Hearing this, you finally glanced up at him. The self-confidence he carried was starting to annoy you and you couldn't stop yourself from spitting venom, especially when he had ripped away the pleasure thrumming in your body. "I told you to fucking earn it."

The remaining air was knocked from your lungs when the palm of his hand collided with your cheek, your head jolting to the right from the force of the impact. Bright white stars danced behind your closed eyelids, and for a second you thought that you were dizzy from the shock. But then you felt it, the pressure that had been building in your core giving way, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

"Dirty girl," he taunted. "Here I was trying to shut you up and you actually liked that? You like being slapped around?"

You remained quiet, looking away from him.

"And don't worry, you will tell us by the end of this." You faintly hear the sound of metal ringing in your ears. Your eyes fell back on him and your heart sank when his hands moved down to his belt, unbuckling it as he let it hang around his hips.

His fingers moved to unbutton his pants before tugging down the fly. The sight of his hard cock tenting beneath his briefs had your cunt clenching in anticipation, as much as you hated to admit it. Then his thumbs dipped into the hem of his boxers, tugging the fabric down, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He was bigger than you'd expected. He was thick and solid, veins danced along his length and the droplet of wetness on his tip was too mesmerizing you couldn't look away.

He wrapped a fist around his length, hissing in relief as he made his way towards you. "Now let's put that filthy mouth of yours to good use." He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you as he leaned forward. "Open."

The musky scent of him overwhelmed you as you breathed in and you involuntarily opened your mouth wide to accommodate his girth. The flat of your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he gave soft, shallow thrusts inside your warm mouth. His fingers held onto your face as he watched his length disappear inside you.

"God, look at you—" Spencer rasped, his voice sounding strained. "Good fucking girl."

Each roll of his hips has more of his thick cock slipping inside your mouth. His palm moved to the back of your head, holding you steady as he forced his length further down your throat, watching as your cheeks darkened and your eyes watered. Your hands moved up to push at his thighs as you struggled against his grip, the desire to breathe overwhelming as you tried to push him away.

You suddenly felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and you began to cough and splutter around him, your throat constricting as the sensation flowed directly through his cock. The sensation made him groan out in pleasure as he finally eased his grip on your head and leaned back, allowing you to breathe as you continued to splutter, drool dripping down your chin as you gulped for much-needed air.

Your head felt delirious. You were too focused on catching your breath when you unexpectedly felt something thick pushing into your cunt in one swift motion, knocking you over as you let out a scream.

"Hotch," Spencer laughed, tightening his grip on your hair while he positioned his cock back onto your lips again. "You shocked her."

Aaron merely grunted a reply as he held onto your hips and started to thrust his cock into you. His thickness sent a ripple of pain between your legs. He was definitely bigger than anyone you'd been with before, your breath coming out in soft, shallow pants as he drove more of himself inside your tightness. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip as a dull ache filled your body, trying to ignore the pain as he continued to stretch your tight heat.

There were no words after that, the room was hazy with desire as the heat built within the small space. The two men focused their attention on your body as you took them at the same time. It was filthy, depraved, and something you'd never done before. You never thought you would be in this position, nor did you think you'd actually enjoy being used like this.

Because you did, you really fucking did. Your entire body felt hot, a scorching fire flowing through your veins as you embraced the sensation, an indescribable pleasure taking over as Aaron's cock curved towards that delicious spot inside you with precision.

Your body was pressed against the table, sweaty and exhausted. It was torture, the way he was slamming his cock inside of you at the pace that left you breathless, it hurt and burned with pleasure at the same time. Each thrust had you hanging on the edge of release, unable to think straight as your mouth continued to mindlessly babble around Spencer's cock.

Every so often he'd hold the back of your head securely so you couldn't move away as he continued to bury himself in your throat. A pleased sound escaped his lips as you started to choke around his girth. It felt like you were starting to drown yourself as he shoved into you ruthlessly. Your lungs cried out for air as you began to feel woozy from the lack of oxygen, desperately trying to breathe through your nose.

"Fuck," he hissed, finally easing his hips back to give you relief. You spluttered as you gasped for air, a mixture of his arousal and your spit dribbled down your chin. "So fucking messy."

You tried to calm your breathing, but it didn't take long for your brain to turn into mush again because Aaron snapped his hips, pulling a moan from your lips as he started a harsh pace. Fingertips dug into your hips as he buried more of himself inside your tightness, your inner walls pulsing around him.

His thrusts were hard and you were certain you'd have marks on your skin from the way he was rutting against you, a dull ache panging inside your lower half. Your mouth fell open in a constant moan as you tried to hold your body up against the table. A throb coursed through you as you tried to hold onto the edge, your breath coming out in harsh pants. You were so desperate for your release, your body so close to coming undone.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, are you going to cum?"

You mumbled out a garbled reply as he continued thrusting into you relentlessly, your fingertips digging into the table as you felt his cock dragging against your inner walls. Aaron grunted at the sensation of you clenching around him. His eyes drifted down to where your bodies were connected and watched the way his cock slid in and out of your tight cunt.

He was on the edge of his release, you could tell by the way he thrust into you desperately. You prepared yourself for your own pleasure, your hips moving involuntarily, meeting his erratic movement, as you seek more friction from him. You whimpered, feeling his fingertips dig into your skin almost painfully and you felt the familiar sensation traveling along your body. Fuck. Fuck yes. You were finally going to—

A drawn-out whine left your lips when he pulled his cock out from your tight heat. The sudden emptiness had your body shaking violently. It wasn't until you felt a streak of wetness spluttering on your back that you realized he had reached his own high without letting you reach your own.

"Shit," he gasped, slapping your ass as he watched his own liquid seeping down the curve of your back. "That was incredible."

You groaned. Fucking selfish man.

"What was that?"

It then dawned on you that you actually mumbled those words out loud. You shook your head and he groaned at your lack of words. "That didn't sound like nothing."

And suddenly, as if you weighed nothing, he grabbed onto your body and turned you over, pushing you onto your back. You were too weak to even fight him as he shoved your pants off your feet before spreading your legs apart. You watched as he leaned down and a long string of clear liquid fell from his lips toward your cunt, letting it trickle down between your folds.

"Knew you were a slut," he hissed, before straightening himself and tucking his cock back in his pants. Your eyes drifted toward him. He was big, just as big as you felt him inside you. But it wasn't his sheer size that surprised you, it was Spencer standing by your feet that had your heart peaking up its pace. Aaron smirked as he stepped back and Spencer quickly took his place between your legs.

"Look at you still holding back," Aaron taunted, genuine curiosity lacing in his voice as he paced around the room. "You're worn out. You're filthy. Aren't you tired of playing this game?"

You looked over at him tiredly. Amidst the pulsing waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, you fought to maintain your focus. "Y- You haven't done anything m-much to earn—"

His laughter sent a chill through the room. "Oh, Sweetheart, you think you're winning, but you're not." He then locked his gaze on you. "Trust me, we already have you in the palm of our hands."

You tried retorting back but the once-sharp edges of your concentration began to blur when you felt Spencer's throbbing cock right between your pussy. Each pulse of pleasure sent tremors through your resolve as he eased his hips back to drag the thick, swollen head through your outer lips. His eyes focused on the way you spread for him as though inviting him inside.

"You're already fucked out," Spencer murmured, dragging the tip of his cock through your wetness, feeling it catch against your tight entrance. "Yet look at you swallowing me."

He let the underside of his cock split your folds open, resting it between them snugly as he let out a low groan at the heat radiating from your core. The sinful noise that left your lips had his cock throbbing painfully, the thick veins protruding from his length. He angled your body against him, pushing more of his thick girth inside your trembling body, feeling the way you squeezed around him as he stretched you out.

Spencer pressed his fingers into the curve of your hips as his gaze flickered between your face and his cock splitting you apart. You gasped, your breaths growing more erratic as he managed to push all of his length inside you. He ran his hand over your abdomen as he tried to feel his cock inside you, pressing against your pelvis as he pulsed at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, "Taking me so well."

And then he slowly dragged his cock away from you, keeping just the tip in your entrance before plunging back inside in a harsh, jarring movement, jolting you in surprise. You arched your back and tipped your head back in pleasure, just to find Aaron towering above you, looking down at you with an eerie smile.

His fingers trailed down your shoulder blades before they hovered at the buttons on your shirt, slowly unbuttoning them. "I think it's time that you give us a name."

Your body writhed in response to the waves of sensation as you tried to ground yourself. But it was hard to keep thinking straight when he grabbed onto the underlayer of your bra and lifted it over your chest. The way your perky breasts spilled out from beneath the fabric made both men hum in satisfaction.

Calloused palms grabbed onto your breasts and your eyes rolled at the back of your head at the sensation. His thumb brushed against your soft nipple, watching as it began to rise to a stiff peak as he mimicked the action on your other breast, all the while as Spencer began thrusting into your cunt at a painfully slow pace.

"Come on, Sweetheart, don't you want to cum on his cock?"

"Fuck," Spencer grunted, feeling you clench around him. "Keep talking to her."

Aaron chuckled as he continued playing with your breasts. "It's torture, isn't it?" He closed his index finger and thumb around your nipples, pinching ever so gently. You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes as arousal flushed through you. "Give us a name and we'll give you what you want."

And then you felt Spencer rocking his hips at a steady rhythm, burying himself deeper and deeper before he slowly began increasing his speed. Your body jerked wildly each time he pushed deep into you. Noticing this, his thumb moved to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. It felt too good, so good that you could no longer hold back from moaning out loud.

Your cries of pleasure snapped him into action and his hands moved down to your ass, holding you up to him as he started pounding harder into you. Your head fell back, chest heaving up and down, and that was when you felt Aaron closing his lips around one of your nipples. You writhed, your body thrashing underneath both men. Your senses reeling, the warmth of multiple hands on your skin sent jolts of electricity down your spine, igniting a wildfire of pleasure within you.

Aaron pulled away from you and your eyes flickered open at the loss, only to be met with Spencer hovering above you. Your eyes swept over him, and you looked down where you were joined, watching how his hips moved in constant thrusts. He was enjoying this, you could tell by the way his fingers burned your skin and the occasional grunt escaping his lips.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up at his face, glistening with a sheen of sweat while his messy hair tousling over it. The moment your gazes met each other, something inside you snapped. The muscles in your core began to coil, tightening and constricting around him right as your climax slowly pushed through the fog inside your head. Spencer felt it too, and he suddenly slowed his pace, throwing you a cunning smile.

You felt your resistance starting to crumble. The intensity of your pleasure grew almost unbearable, and you could no longer deny it. Your eyes welled with tears at the overwhelming sensation, and the thought of having your orgasm ripped again from you seemed like another torture you didn't want to endure.

You were going to regret this. You definitely would. But you couldn't dwell on the consequences of your actions when desperation coursed through you like a fever, an all-consuming hunger that you couldn't deny. Your body ached for release and craved it with an intensity that was maddening. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and then your eyes, wide and filled with desperation, pleaded with him silently as you found yourself finally giving in, muttering a name you had tried to keep to yourself. A name involved in the crime these men had been pestering you for. A name that had Aaron smirking devilishly as he leaned over to you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek in a caress that was so foreign.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his voice lacing with satisfaction at the way you finally crumbled. He was right, you were already in the palms of their hands, it was simply a matter of time until you caved in. "Good fucking girl."

Once you surrendered, you couldn't stop the whine falling through your lips. Your desperate moan rang deeply in the room, snapping something primal inside Spencer, and he trusted his hips into you roughly. A gasp escaped your lips, legs falling open wider as he split you wider than you already were.

Your mind went absolutely numb with pleasure as he kept rutting up inside you, your body becoming nothing more than a mess, overtaken by a wave of sweat and erotic bliss. You felt yourself trembling, your breathing becoming more ragged as his thrusts became sloppier.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, noticing the way your mouth fell open as pleasure engulfed you. "That's it, baby, let me fuck you dumb."

You cried out, babbling incoherent sentences as he thrust harder, grabbing your hips and tilting into you slightly, making him go even deeper as he moved with you.

"Go on, cum on my cock," he growled breathlessly through his rapid pounding. "Let me feel you."

“Fuck—” You cried out for him, your overstimulated body shaking beneath him. Wave after wave of pleasure came rushing through your body, erupting in the most intense way. He watched the way you convulsed beneath him in your release, watching the way a white, sticky liquid circled his cock every time his skin brushed your inner walls. His thumb was unrelenting against your clit and you tried to angle your body away from his touch, the pleasure too intense as your lower half throbbed around him.

You continued to clench around him between your bliss, your legs trembling from the position as he arched his back, focusing the power of his thrusts straight into your tightness. A shiver burst through you at the sensation. And with one final thrust, his whole body tensed. He pushed forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, spreading his warmth in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips.

You were breathing hard, trying to regain your composure, and a moan left your lips when he finally pulled out. Cringing at the fluid slowly leaking out of you, you tried to close your legs only to be stopped as he gripped the back of your thighs, spreading your legs apart to expose your body. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release.

“Look at the mess you made." Piercing eyes watched you as white liquid trickled down your ass. A feeble mewl left your lips as his thick fingers moved down to catch it, deliberately pressing against your folds as you wriggled in his grasp. A laugh left his lips as he dragged the string of wetness along your sex, pushing it back inside you.

"I think I ruined her."

Aaron's laughter filled the room, and just as you were about to push yourself off the table, you felt him grasping both of your hands, pushing them above your head. Your eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Then you felt it, the cool metal wrapped around your wrist, sinking into the flesh of your skin as you tried to move from his grip. An unexpected panic surged within you. "Sweetheart, we know you're involved in more than one crime." The soft click of the metal lock was loud in your ears. "You need to give us more names."

Your body, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, now felt more exposed than ever. You looked up to find both men staring down at you, and at very moment, you realized, as you felt the handcuffs digging into your wrist, that you were going to be here for a very long time.

[amyispxnk]

My Kind of Woman

Chapter 1: Special.

Series Masterlist

Series summary - Your song captivates Joel the second he hears you that night in Jackson, but he struggles to work up the courage to confess his feelings. With some (very heavy) encouragement from Ellie and Tommy, you two get closer and closer until he finally thinks he’s ready.

Chapter summary - You and Joel finally sit down together after a year of stolen glances.

A/N: OH MY GOD IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE WRITTEN A FIC I MISSED IT SM. Let’s all collectively pray that I actually finish this series, btw. It kind of just came to me earlier today and I barely have anything planned but.. you know me by now.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: alcohol, light language, (kind of) fluff, nothing much really in this chapter

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

“Come on man. We’ve been here for almost two years and you still haven’t made any friends. I see how you look at her- just say something! It is actual torture having to watch you dance around people like this.” Ellie groans dramatically, trying to kick some sense into the man who sits across from her. Joel just grunts, continuing to eat his stew as she looks blankly at him. “She’s nice enough.” She adds after a moment, trying to get him to say something.

After more silence, she speaks again with an exaggerated sigh, “I guess I’ll just go talk to her then, tell her that my old man has a big, fat crush on her. Maybe then you two can-” her smirk falters when Joel interrupts her.

“Don’t you dare go doin’ that,” he grumbles “Y’ gon’ make me look stupid-”

“So you talk to her then! Stop moping around all the time.” Ellie concludes, before standing up and saying goodbye, going to clear her tray and giving him a look before leaving the mess hall.

Joel watches her go before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. First, Tommy was on his ass about making some friends - “You’re scarin’ people, y’know. Givin’ everyone death stares when you walk around, being so.. withdrawn all the time. It’d do ya some good,” he’d told Joel one evening at the Tipsy Bison - and now Ellie was too. And, knowing Ellie, that kid wouldn’t be as patient, probably already concocting some sort of plan to force you and Joel together.

As he leans his head back and mulls over his options, he looks out the window. Of course you’re out there, playing with the kids of Jackson. You’re one of the most popular people in Jackson, always being friendly and knowing just about everyone.

..Except him, of course. You’ve had some small chats with him, but you never really see him. He sees you though, having been.. observing you for the past year, keeping his distance - being respectful, in his eyes, being a wuss, in Ellie’s - and he knows enough about you to know that he probably has no chance with you.

You’re funny, sweet, fucking stunning, and he’s seen multiple guys try to approach you at the bar. Younger, more attractive guys. Mainly, you help teach kids things like art and music at the Jackson school, and you also do patrols a few times a week. On some nights you also sing at the Tipsy Bison when there are events and dances. The band will play, often with you as the lead singer. He always makes sure he’s there when you are.

The first time he saw you was on one of his very first nights in the Tipsy Bison. Tommy had dragged him along, Ellie going too, with promise of a fun night.

He came mainly to keep an eye on Ellie and to get some alcohol in his system, not expecting anything ‘fun’ to happen. Boy, was he wrong.

It had been around half an hour of him nursing his whiskey in the corner of the room when you came onto stage, million-dollar smile on your face as you spoke into the microphone.

“Good evening, Jackson!” You began, already getting a loud cheer from the crowd of people there that night. “It’s great to be singin’ for you again, you know I missed ya! Now, tonight, we got a few songs lined up, but this first one is a special request from Mister Tommy Miller over there!” You had said, pointing over to Tommy who was sitting with Joel, the younger brother grinning widely at you.

The band started and you began to sing one of Joel’s favourite songs from before the outbreak - somehow, it sounded even better in your voice. Joel glared at Tommy when he realised what he had done, and Tommy just shrugged before looking back at you. He couldn’t stay mad at him though, because by the end of it he was entranced by the sweet melody of your voice and how gorgeous you looked singing your heart out under the lights.

You were beaming at the audience after finishing as they showered you with applause, though it took Joel a second to actually start clapping and stop staring at you.

He tried denying it, but, as cheesy as it sounds, it was love at first sight for him.

It scared him, definitely. It had barely been a year since he lost Tess, and although he wouldn’t go as far as saying they were in love, it was the closest thing he’d had to it in decades. To think he even liked you from just hearing you sing one song.. that fucking terrified him.

Which is why he kept his distance for so long. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he realised he actually liked you. He hadn’t had any sort of connection other than Ellie and Tommy in so long, and they were his family. You, though.. you were so different.

He sighed deeply before opening his eyes again, finishing his meal as he watched you smile and laugh in the snow through the window.

A week later, Tommy manages to convince Joel to come to the Tipsy Bison again, promising ‘no funny business’ to go on. Joel isn’t sure he’d really mind.

Time goes by quietly, a simple Monday afternoon not having much going on for them, but then you turn up. He sees you as soon as you walk through the doors, an unfamiliar tiredness in your eyes. It looks like you’ve been on a long patrol.

You look around before noticing Tommy and Joel, walking over with a small smile.

Joel stares daggers at Tommy. “You said no funny business,” he grits, a strange panic flooding his system. Did he brush his hair this morning? Do his clothes look tidy? Did he have anything in his teeth?

“Ain’t no funny business here, brother.” Tommy grins at him, not giving him a chance to reply as you get to their table.

“Hi Tommy!” You smile, hugging him before turning to Joel. “And Joel! It’s so great to see you!”

Joel blinks at you. Fuck, you’re talking to him. He needs to say something back.

“Yeah, you too.” He mumbles, clearing his throat awkwardly.

If you pick up on his discomfort, you don’t mention it, looking around before continuing.

“Are y’all stayin’?” You ask, now leaning forward a little with your palms on the table.

“As far as I’m concerned.” Tommy replies, to which you nod. “Y’ wouldn’t mind if I sit with ya, then?” You ask.

“Not at all, darlin’.” He says, and you slide into the booth with them, starting up a conversation about what you did today, mentioning that draining patrol you just got back from.

“I’m tellin’ ya - morning patrols are like hell on earth, Tommy. ‘S not fair to be makin’ us go out at 6 am.” You groan, to which he smiles. “Nothin’ a little coffee can’t fix.” Tommy replies, which makes you perk up.

“You have coffee? Since when?” You gasp, wide-eyed at him.

“New trade opened, and since Joel here is such an addict, we got our hands on some.” He gestures to Joel, and you look over at him, a smile creeping onto your face.

“I see.. being Tommy’s brother has its perks then? Got you hoarding all the coffee for yourself?” You tease, to which Joel chuckles quietly at, sitting up a little taller.

“Not hoardin’. Nobody else has asked for any.” He tells you, looking into your eyes and trying not to get lost in them for too long.

“And if I wanted some?” You say, tilting your head sideways slightly as it rests on your palm.

“Y’ always welcome to come get some, sweetheart.” He isn’t sure what possessed him to use the pet name with you, but he’s very thankful for it as a soft crimson paints your cheeks and you bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. “Well, thank you.” You reply, before a man comes over to get you your drink. “Whiskey, neat please.” You tell him and he goes off to get it. Joel is pleasantly surprised by your choice. He never really thought about what you might order from the bar, but the fact that you shared the same drink of choice made you even more attractive in his eyes.

2 hours later, Tommy had gone off to handle an issue with the council and you and Joel had been talking and drinking and laughing. It’s around 3 now and he barely realises in time for his afternoon patrol, finishing off his whiskey before telling you, noticing the slight sadness that appears on your face at him having to go.

“Oh! Alright then. I’ll see you around. Have a good patrol, Joel.” You smile at him, and he offers you a small smile back.

“See ya ‘round.” He says before leaving and going back to the stables.

Later that evening, Ellie somehow figures out what went down earlier at the bar (Joel’s already planning on giving Tommy a talking to tomorrow) and makes fun of him endlessly for it, saying that he was apparently so shy when he was talking with you.

“I’d have never thought that someone could make the big, bad Joel all nervous and flustered, but she just continues to prove me wrong. She’s definitely special, huh.” Ellie grins, before bidding Joel goodnight and leaving him with his thoughts.

He hated to admit it, but Ellie was right in saying that. You were special.

Tysm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! 💞

Next Chapter

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Trust [K. B]

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

wc: 7.8k

summary: something goes wrong with a heist and Kaz's anger lashes out at you, only later realizing it's not for the reasons you thought.

A/N: I feel like it took me literally YEARS to write this. Someone requested the central idea but I decided to expand a bit and since in anon he mentioned that they like hurt/comfort I hope I have achieved it. I hope you like it, thanks for reading!

warnings: trauma (again)

taglist: @be-lla-vie @milkshake0 @ladespedidas

As soon as you stepped foot inside The Slat, you felt enormous relief to think that you could finally get some rest. The day before, the boss had told you that it was necessary to recover something and had drawn up a general outline of how things would be carried out, so to avoid mistakes, instead of sending just one group, the whole team would go. But at a certain point things had gone wrong and then the whole mission had gone awry. You were scared and everyone else was scared, but you knew that Kaz was probably the most upset about it. He hadn't spoken to anyone since you had to flee the mansion.

“Well, I declare that a resounding failure. Good night, my friends,” Jesper said, holding his side with a wince. Wylan was at his side to catch him in case the pain buckled his knees.

You sighed, defeated, and started walking towards the stairs to take a shower to remove all traces of dust, blood, and shame that you had impregnated on your skin, however, Kaz's cane stopped hitting you in the stomach, blocking your way and suffocating you at the same time.

"Are you crazy?" he asked, his voice raspier than usual. You asked yourself if he was referring to your plans, which he obviously couldn't know about, and why he was upset, but it didn't take anything more to get an answer, "What the fuck was that in the mansion?"

Oh, that is what he meant. 

To recap a bit, your goal that night was to recover a few bags of cash that a new gang at The Barrel had stolen but originally belonged to the Crow Club, i. e you guys. It was a payment for an exchange that Kaz had made days ago with art supplies or something, it was a business that none of you were very involved in.

The black-haired man knew the place where it was kept (he always seemed to know the whole city like the back of his hand) and so he had drawn up a pretty solid plan with which you could get away with it. Regularly his plans contemplated in the most opportune way each of your abilities: guns, stealth, the Grisha qualities, strength, chemicals, and the skills with your hands in which you surpassed the man. It was almost like something in you and your friends used to joke that your hands were a kind of magnet for everything shiny, although those same hands also worked perfectly to use a pick and give access to many places.

Things were going well that night, until you had to make a last-minute decision when you found out that an unknown person was in the place and you wanted to get them out of there so they wouldn't be in the crossfire. That was the 'certain point' I had mentioned before, where everything got screwed up. It was about a poor and defenseless servant girl who started screaming like crazy when she saw you and although you tried to calm her down that was enough to draw the attention of the guards, who came towards you to capture you. And since you were very busy struggling with two armed goons, you couldn't fulfill your part of the plan, which was to open the vault where the money that you were going to steal was. It had been a rather unfortunate chain of events.

"Kaz, you know I didn't mean to…"

"Are you deaf, then?" he interrupted you, ignoring your attempt at justification. He took a step towards you, limping a bit due to the lack of a cane, and then you could see the expression on his face.

You'd only seen Kaz this angry once and the poor man who caused it was already resting in peace, so you cringed in on yourself like a scared little bird.

"Or why didn't you do what we agreed?" you didn't know if he wanted a verbal answer, but even if he had, what could you say to that? It was more than obvious why you had done it "If there is a plan, it is because that plan must be executed as I have said, if not, then what would it be?"

"I shouldn’t…"

"No, you shouldn't," he interrupted again, speaking louder than usual to look imposing. And boy he was doing it. “That was the stupidest thing you've ever done, and all for a damn maid? What were you thinking?

"I wanted to help her"

"Oh really? And how did she thank you? Yelling at the guards to come to get you! Did you think about that before acting? Do you ever consider the consequences?” his voice didn't drop in volume, but rather rose gradually with each word that came out of his mouth.

You were in a panic, somehow strangely having the strength to meet his angry eyes, for you didn't think he would start saying such things to you in front of everyone else, who had been silent since the exchange had begun. You tried to think of anything to defend yourself, but even if you found the right argument you knew you couldn't outsource it due to nerves.

Even with your devoted silence, Kaz did not seem satisfied and he continued speaking.

“You had to follow simple orders: wait for the signal and open the vault. Everyone stayed in their positions. Was it very difficult for you to do that?”

"Kaz, I don't think…" Jesper started to say, trying to help him out of the situation, but he fell silent as he watched the black-haired boy turn his head to look at him. It was true, you guys hadn't seen Kaz in that state more than a few times and even the gunslinger, who loved you immensely, thought it wiser to keep silent if he didn't want the opponent's anger to lash out at him.

"Look at Jesper," he said close to your face. If he hadn't been so averse to touching you, you were sure he would have held your face to keep your gaze on him, because by this point your eyes were cloudy and you were trying to focus on anything other than the conversation “He's hurt. You are hurt. Imagine what would have happened if we hadn't been able to get out in time or if Inej hadn't come to your rescue, do you think those men would have tempted their hearts before killing all of us? Of course not! There's no room for charity here because until that servant was in real danger, she wasn't your problem. You behaved stupidly and those actions affected all of us” Kaz fell silent and you thought that was it. You were with your arms crossed, perhaps as an unconscious act of seeking protection, not daring to look at him.

But he took a few seconds to examine you and then said something else:

It is your fault that we are now in this state; without a single penny in our pockets.

The words your fault, and without a penny were the cause of a tug across your chest. It was useless to hold back the tears that had already treacherously begun to slide down your cheeks and that you wished you had the strength to wipe off with the sleeve of the jacket you were wearing.

In all the time you had belonged to the crows he had never spoken to you like that. There had been disagreements, of course, and he'd even called you out for neglecting some tasks he'd given you, but those kinds of hurtful words were reserved for criminals from whom he extracted information or threatened. That's why you were so upset, because Kaz was terrifying when he put his mind to it and you'd just had the misfortune to experience it firsthand.

The rest of your friends were also perplexed by what had just happened, since most of them had found your outburst in the mansion quite justifiable, since it was an innocent life that you had tried to protect, a very present code always.

The other part that had managed to break you was knowing that the man's annoyance was actually due to the money you had caused him to lose rather than the fact that you or someone else had been in danger. Or at least that was what you had understood by the final sentence.

The silence was sepulchral, no one even dared to breathe harder than usual for fear that he would take them as the next victim, and only a small sob that escaped you broke the silence. You hoped that would soften Kaz’s expression a bit, but he didn't flinch.

A part of you thought, due to shock, to apologize to him, but you weren't even able to. You just stood in the middle of that room under his questioning gaze.

When your body finally wanted to react, you walked directly to the stairs to go up to your room, without even looking back, collapsing on the floor and crying as soon as you closed the door behind you. You didn't even think about taking a shower anymore and the burning pain in your ribs, which you hadn't mentioned to anyone about, intensified. You had to cover your mouth with your hand so that the crying wouldn’t reach the floor below and you felt that everything around you was spinning.

You stayed in that position for a few minutes, which felt like hours, until someone opened the door and stuck their head inside. It was Nina, who had surely gone of her own free will but also partly at the request of others. She could hear your erratic heartbeat and your lungs struggling to hold some air, so it didn't take her more than a second to kneel next to you to wrap her arms around you and start running her hand up and down trying to comfort you. She offered to heal you and you agreed, but through it all you thought that even though the blows on your body burned like hell, what was definitely causing you the most pain was the wounds you just received to your heart.

After that night you could say that the tension in The Slat could be cut with a knife. You thought that the others were also going to blame you for the failure of the heist, with justifiable reasons, but you were pleasantly surprised to find out that this wasn’t the case, since they all told you so explicitly as soon as they had a chance. Matthias, who was most of the time the most mature among you, told you that sometimes things went wrong and that at least he was glad that you were okay; with Nina there, the physical problems could be solved and the money would be recovered somehow. But, to your surprise, it was Kaz they weren't very happy with.

You never meant to start a mutiny against the boss, God knows you didn't, but as much as you tried to change their minds, they were distant and reluctant to talk to Brekker. And Kaz, in turn, didn't exchange a single word with you.

Jesper and Nina were the ones who showed it the most, the first one kept looking down at your friend as if he could make him combust spontaneously with his eyes while the woman simply didn't say anything, as if he were invisible. The rest of the group hadn't cut off the communication suddenly, but it was evident that they weren't entirely happy with the black-haired man's behavior.

Although there were few occasions when the seven of you, or the majority, coincided in the same space, since you were always doing other things around The Barrel or the club.

You weren't the proud type, yet you refused to offer an apology for something that wasn't wrongdoing and finally stopped feeling guilty for applying this silent treatment to thinking that Kaz deserved it. Just a little. Also, if he didn't bother to talk to you, everything would be easier for you, because, although you still did some general tasks, most of the time you spent locked in your room, doing anything to entertain yourself.

If you looked at it from the outside, unaware that you guys were a bunch of criminals living in the same horrible building, that looked like a real teenage fight. But you couldn't blame yourself too much, because you were teenagers.

Sometimes, when he didn't notice, you watched him from afar. You analyzed his expression, his posture, his eyes, anything that would help you figure out if he really cared about your absence or the silence of others. You tried to believe that he was in a bad mood (more than usual) because he wanted you to not be angry anymore, but after a long time you always came to the same conclusion; he was inscrutable, shielded in that armor that you highly doubted could shatter, much less by you. Sometimes you wished you could know what Kaz was thinking so you could figure out if he had noble motives for acting the way he did or if he was just a heartless jerk. And, although your desire to read minds wasn’t fulfilled, you began to bet more on the latter the day a new job was presented. It was, now, a kind of revenge against the men of the opposing gang (who had stolen your business payment in the first place), however, when the meeting took place you noticed that he was skipping a detail. 

"And what will Y/N do?" Jesper had asked, going ahead of you, after listening carefully to the plan and realizing that you weren't contemplated anywhere. You expected Kaz to say you were going to stick with him, even if it was so he could keep an eye on you and avoid another outburst, but when he shook his head you were completely offended.

"She's not coming"

It was one thing to have received a scolding for the mistake made and quite another to be removed from the team just like that. And that Kaz had responded as if you weren't there made you feel completely humiliated and, consequently, angry.

"Great, so now it turns out that I'm grounded," you said sarcastically. It was the first time in weeks that you had spoken directly to Kaz and he just looked at you sideways for a few seconds, as if examining you, which made your blood boil even more "Are you really going to leave me out?" you continued, now with more seriousness than before. You wished he dared to face you with an answer, and you were surprised at how quickly this happened.

"It’s not personal. This time it’s better that you stay” was all the explanation he offered you. The way he said it made it clear to you that it wasn't up for discussion and you felt powerless, but before any of your friends could say anything in your defense, you decided to take it the best way.

If Kaz didn't want you around, you weren't going to make him. If you didn't receive even a measly part of the money from now on, you didn't care. If it was true that you had screwed up, you weren't sorry for anything and you weren't going to give in so easily, despite the love and respect you felt for him.

“Good luck then,” was all you said, offering the best fake smile you could have and purposely patting Kaz on the shoulder. He watched you walk away with eyes wide open in surprise, even though you didn't even notice it when you got lost in the hallway, and it was hard for him to keep his composure as he turned around again to clear up any doubts regarding how the crime would be carried out; although he tried to hide it, almost most of the group could tell.

What the hell did Kaz have against you lately? The others had made mistakes countless times and never suffered consequences as harsh as yours, because probably the hardest part had been dealing with the boss's anger and being forced to find a solution for what they had screwed up. You probably would have offered to get the money back yourself if he had let you end the problem, but you couldn't even do that because you knew it would only fan the fires of anger.

So when you left there everyone thought that things had already gone on too long and someone had to point it out to Kaz.

"Is everything clear?" he asked, looking at the crows and receiving a general nod.

We would have to wait until night to work, so once there was nothing more to say, each one dispersed in opposite directions.

“Inej,” Kaz said, not even looking back. He knew she was there, he always knew, as if there was a connection between the two of them "Everything okay?"

“Everyone is where they should be. The carriage is on its way and the streets are free”

"Good"

“But there is something else we need to talk about”

Kaz was afraid it was something to do with you, and he closed his eyes for a moment at the possibility. They were on a roof, he too close to the shore to be able to supervise that the robbery was carried out effectively, and she took a few steps until she reached his side. The two kept looking down for a few seconds, preparing internally for what was coming; talking about feelings was never one of their strengths.

"What would that be about?”

"About who" she corrected him "This discussion with Y/N has already escalated to exacerbated levels, you didn't have to forbid her to come"

"And what did you want me to do?" he muttered, more upset than he would have liked, and he had to take a deep breath before speaking again, “She's… was impulsive and… she doesn't measure the danger she's putting herself in. She is like a child, without conscience or limits”

“We all know that, but you called her stupid. That's very different."

“I don't want her to end up killing herself,” he said, and Inej caught a hint of sincere concern tinging her friend's voice. Kaz hated seeing himself like this, but there was something about her that made him trust her with that part of him. “Y/N acts with her heart, that's the problem. And I worry that she doesn't know how to control it. I don't want anyone to hurt her and she just doesn't cooperate” he sounded desperate, helpless, and then Inej realized how many things were being ignored by the team about the boss's decisions, apparently cruel, but quite considered in the background. It was like… acting badly for the right reasons. Or something like that.

“Well, if you really do this to safeguard her welfare, you should tell her. Because I don't think you're giving him the right message with your actions” Inej told him. Then she decided that she wasn't going to pry into the matter anymore from that point on, wishing that the conversation had been enough to make the black-haired man see reason.

He thought about it for a second and wished he could ask her more, but then he noticed that, as always, she had already vanished into the night.

Kaz tried very hard to focus on the robbery and stop thinking about you or what it would be wise to say to you, but he was having some trouble. In the next hour, to everyone's surprise in general, things went perfectly; there was no guard, just a driver who didn't resist, and they were coming back with some juicy loot. Almost too easy to be true.

Kaz didn't give much thought to the nature of the success they'd just had and they all just set off, their group spirits much better now that things were looking up.

It would be foolish to deny that Kaz had been thinking about how quickly you would have managed to carry out the robbery and also had missed the joking duo that you formed with Jesper, who now had barely looked at the blue-eyed man.

On the way he got a bit withdrawn and was mentally torturing himself about what was the right thing to do when he got home. After thinking it through, he concluded that he should take Inej’s advice and talk to you to fix things. Brekker wasn't used to apologizing, but at least he could explain things to you the way he had with the girl, so that you would understand better and hopefully forgive him for the idiotic behavior he had been displaying for the past few weeks. Although he was still upset, it was worth putting that aside to try.

After going to the club to save the cash they went back to The Slat and when he stood in front of your door he never thought to feel more nervous in life, while he started to ask himself if that was a good idea. Maybe he should just let time wash away your bad face and carry on as before... but he was also aware that that wouldn't happen.

He hesitated for a long time about whether to knock on your door or not, but after a few minutes he finally did and was frustrated when no one answered, despite a strip of light coming through the door grate.

"Y/N, I know you’re there" he tried, but there was no response. Kaz ran a gloved hand through his hair and exhaled in frustration. "Fine, don't talk to me if you want, but that's not going to stop me from coming to tell you what I came to say," he muttered determinedly. Even trying to communicate assertively, he couldn't help but sound rude. “I didn't mean to yell at you like that when we got back from the heist, I just didn't know what else to do. And today I asked you to stay here because it could be dangerous and I'm trying to take care of you because apparently you don't give a damn about your own life, not because I hate you or because I'm upset with you. It's just that…” he was having a hard time talking, so he had to take a deep breath to collect himself a little “I worry about you. And I want you to be okay. Safe"

Kaz was silent, waiting for you to say something, but again there was nothing. He felt so foolish and embarrassed that he even thought his eyes were going to glaze over with helplessness. He was trying his best to go there, but you didn't seem to care, and honestly, he didn't blame you.

His gaze lowered to the floor, the pressing sensation of rejection flooding his chest, and only then did he notice the glow emanating from a section of the floor. With difficulty he knelt to take the substance with his fingers and his glove was stained with a fine powder that gave off an iridescent glow, which until that moment he had not realized he was scattered over various sections of the corridor. And next to that dust, there was a bloodstain.

Kaz didn't even wait for a second to lunge at your bedroom door and yank it open, which he hadn't done before out of respect for your privacy, only to realize that everything in there was turned upside down. There were remains of a smashed nightstand, books scattered on the floor, the bed in disarray, and sporadic stains of blood that he prayed weren't yours. The window was wide open and the white curtain billowed violently in the night air.

Someone had broken into your room and it wasn't hard to put the pieces together to find out what they had broken into. Someone had kidnapped you.

His eyes traveled all over the place looking for something that would give him clues and he decided to start rummaging through the books hoping to find a note, the amount for your ransom, whatever. When he read ‘We're even, Brekker’ written on yellowed paper and signed with the seal of a snake, he felt that his balance was missing.

That's why the robbery of the carriage had been so easy, because they had wanted it that way. Their plan was always to enter The Slat. You were there, alone, and they kidnapped you because Kaz had allowed it. Because in his eagerness to protect you, he had delivered you directly to the enemy.

It was all his fault.

"Jesper!" he screamed, on first impulse. He didn't know if it was difficult for him to get up from the floor due to dizziness or because of the limp “Inej! Wylan! Whoever!" he continued, wanting to get the attention of anyone who could help him. He was in a panic and he was also furious. He would be capable of torturing the men who had kidnapped you in the most horrible ways ever seen, as soon as he found out who they were.

All the people present in the building followed the sound of the boss's wailing and when they observed the state of your room a collective sigh of surprise filled the silence.

"Where is Y/N?"

“I don't know,” Kaz hissed, sounding desperate. That didn't even matter to him anymore "They took her, they set us up"

“We have to find her,” Matthias muttered, and he wanted to hit him for saying something so obvious. But he had to calm down, for everyone's sake.

"There's blood and this in the hallway," said the black-haired man, showing everyone the dust that still glittered on his glove.

"It's a trail," Wylan exclaimed, his features lighting up like when he had an idea. He stepped forward to analyze the sample and then nodded. “I gave this to her, it's a bioluminescent powder we were experimenting with. In theory, when…" he walked around the room as if looking for something until he found a box of matches that you had lying around "it comes into contact with the fire, it emits a blue flame" he explained, going into the corridor and demonstrating the information practically.

There was hope, if they hadn't taken you too far your friends might track you down and rescue you. You had been scared enough to leave a clue because you knew they would look for you.

In that moment Kaz felt so guilty that he had ever even suggested that he doubted your abilities.

“You have to follow it. We have to find where they took her right now” he ordered and, of course, no one argued. Everyone went ahead to get the necessary things to look for you and Kaz leaned against the wall for a moment, breathing slowly in an attempt to contain one of those panic attacks he sometimes felt, not imagining that this would only be the beginning of an awful night. 

And the worst wasn’t over yet.

The crows moved faster and more efficiently than ever before, and within minutes Wylan had figured out how to follow the trail. Sometimes there were long lines through the streets that were lit with a single match, but other times they had to look for them more carefully and that consumed time that Kaz considered vital. Although he wasn't saying anything the others could tell that he was quite upset by the situation, so they did their best. Also, you were part of the group, so they too were extremely worried.

By the time they reached Fifth Harbor, Kaz was already burning all the way down his leg, but that didn't matter to him. They were all out of breath, but that didn't matter. And the trail ended right at the pier, but that didn't matter because they saw in the distance a boat with two robust men, one of them holding a lamp and the other struggling with a girl tied by her hands and legs who was screaming in despair.

It was you and you were yelling Kaz's name.

They rushed to find a boat tied to the dock big enough for the six of them and when, luckily, they found it they jumped on it. Matthias and Jesper were in charge of rowing and the movement did not go unnoticed by the men who had you captured, nor by you.

A feeling of relief swept through you as you realized that the silhouettes approaching you were your friends and you felt that all was not lost. Kaz thought that they had arrived just in time and that calmed him down for a second, but he didn't count on the fact that the man would lift you off the ground and, with a sharp gesture that surprised everyone, he would throw you straight into the sea.

Your cry was drowned out by the roar of the water and the black-haired man's breath caught, while everything around him was spinning again. Until then he realized the position he was in: in the middle of the immensity of the sea, in danger of drowning. It was then that the memories of his brother's body came back to him like needles sticking in and he felt like he might vomit.

Kaz didn't know how to swim and even if he had known how to at some point in his life it was now impossible due to his limping leg. But he wasn't going to let you die. He can’t.

In the midst of the attack, he was dimly aware of what was happening. You were now within safe distance of the other boat which allowed Inej to throw a knife at one of the men and Jesper took it upon himself to put a bullet into the other. In hindsight, Kaz would have wished they had stayed alive so he could take it upon himself to give them a slow and painful death. There was no point in letting the men who had kidnapped you die so mercifully.

The water was dark and they couldn't see anything, but still Matthias was the one who ventured below the surface to find your body, hoping that when he did it wouldn't be too late.

Nina kept her hands up to monitor the beating of both your hearts and the rest stood without saying anything, looking expectantly out at the water that rolled in small waves. Only Kaz's erratic breathing broke the silence of the environment.

A few seconds passed, and when there was no sign of him or you, concern gripped the group. Now there wasn’t only the fear that you wouldn't get out of the water, but also that Matthias wouldn't and thus lose two members of the group. Nina winced when she heard one of the heartbeats slowed down considerably, though she didn't comment on it to the others.

When he finally surfaced everyone was relieved to see that he wasn't alone, even if your body was just an unconscious bundle that he was pulling with difficulty.

They still put you in the canoe and you had your limbs tied with rope, so Inej was in charge of cutting them with a knife, while the others crowded around you to try to see how you were.

“She's not breathing,” Matthias gasped. Nina knelt to try to expel the water from your lungs, but for some reason your body was resisting. If she didn't get the water out of your lungs, the lack of oxygen would permanently affect your brain.

"This isn't working," she snorted after several hand movements.

It was only then that Kaz dared to look at you. You were pale, wet, and a trickle of blood was coming from your forehead and you had some bruises. He never thought that he would feel the same pain that he seized when he traveled to the coast with the lifeless body of his brother.

Wake up, he wanted to tell you, but his voice wouldn't come out. You have to wake up.

Nina kept trying and until he finally saw you jump up to vomit up the salt water, he too felt like he could breathe again.

When you finally finished inhaling the air around you everyone bombarded you with questions to check your well-being and you just nodded to them all, a little dazed and scared. Nina took it upon herself to help with the cut and bruises, while the men took up the oars again to reach the dock.

Kaz was the last to get off the boat and he was also the last to enter The Slat, as if he needed to check that the rest of you had done it, since he didn't want to leave anyone behind again. Never.

“Let me accompany you,” he said. It was the first thing he had said to you after the incident and you were so exhausted that you didn't offer any resistance. When you walked up the stairs and into your room, you thought Kaz would leave without another word, but instead he stood in front of the door.

You looked at him with a neutral expression, trying to understand what he was trying to do.

"You were very intelligent" he began to say "When you left the trail"

"Thank you," you said quietly. Your throat was a bit sore from the water you had swallowed.

"How it happened?" he asked. The trip had made you recover a bit and you were calmer than before, so you didn't mind telling him things.

“They were supposed to be looking for your office, but they saw my light on and thought it would be a better idea to go after the helpless damsel. They got in through the window and… voila,” you said bitterly, gesturing with one hand at the mess around you. “They held me here and tied me to a chair, but the knots were so painful I got free in a few minutes. They interrogated me to ask about things of value or obtain some information, but I didn't say anything. My fighting could irritate them, but I think I really pissed them off when I smashed a vase over the head of one and plunged a knife into the other's leg. Maybe that's why they decided to throw me into the sea”

Kaz was a bit dismayed at how calmly you said things and he wondered if you really didn't care or were just pretending. Although he wanted to say the same things to you that he had said to your empty room a few hours ago, the truth was that remembering it made him feel ashamed. It had been a sincere apology, but he didn't think he could say it twice.

"I'm sorry I put you in danger," he said, stepping forward for more privacy. He watched your reaction to what he said and what he did, hoping that if you were still upset you would show it. But the near-death experience seemed to soften both of you.

"Why apologize? you didn't send those guys. It was just some… being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have happened to anyone."

“I know, but maybe if I hadn't asked you to stay here, they wouldn't have hurt you” he admitted and although you wanted to recriminate him for that, you decided to remain silent, feeling curious as to how far he could go with that talk "And if you don't… if you hadn't been smart right now you wouldn't be here”

"But I am" you answered with determination "And that's what hurts me, Kaz, that you doubt me" you expressed. You weren't going to forget so easily what had made you walk away in the first place and you thought it was the right time for him to know what you thought about it “I made a mistake, it's true and I take responsibility for that. But you didn't have to treat me like this."

"I know that too," he hastened to say, "I don't doubt you, I never have."

“It is not noticeable. Today you pushed me aside and you told us that trust is always the most important thing. And although I was stupid, I consider that this behavior is not worthy of making you stop trusting me just like that. You know I didn't do it to screw you over, I just wanted to save her."

“It's not about that woman, I don't care about her. You know that I too would have prevented her from getting hurt if the situation arose."

“Then what is it about? Is it only the mistake of the century if I make it?”

“This is about you, Y/N” Kaz said, pointing at you with his open palm and starting to sound desperate “I got so mad because you were the one who ended up in the hands of the enemy. I hate that you act like that because I care about you too much to allow myself to lose you”

You didn't expect that and he didn't expect to say it either. It was even more embarrassing than what he had refused to tell you in the first place.

He said that he didn't want to lose you and you thought about the meaning of that expression: did he not want to lose what you brought to the team or did he not want to lose your person?

"These weeks I thought you only hated me because I made you lose money"

"Oh, I do hate you a little for that," he said, taking a surprise "Not for the money itself, but for what that money implied" there was no point in keeping secrets, if Kaz had already started to sink then he preferred to do it completely and with dignity “The club is going through some difficulties, Y/N. I sold those things so I could keep it going. Because while our criminal jobs give us some kruge, you know that the main source of income for that group is the Crow Club. Also…” he felt his breath shake and had to take a moment to calm down “I've been thinking about something these past few months. A long time ago you said that you had always wanted to go to university, do you remember?” he asked you and you nodded your head “Jesper had the opportunity, but he is a lost cause, because he prefers this kind of life to having an office job or a quiet home and I respect that. But not you, you ended up here because you had no other options” Kaz was silent, hoping that if you had something to say you would say it now, but then he continued, “And I thought if I gave you some money you would have that opportunity. That way I could get you away from all these Dregs and you'd live the way you wanted. That's why that robbery was important”

You were totally stunned.

You never expected Kaz to have that opinion of you or even care about you to the degree that he had just confessed to you. He had listened to you, had seen beyond the apparent happiness of living in The Barrel to find your true dreams, so forgotten within yourself that you no longer thought you could reveal them to anyone else.

You mistakenly believed that the only thing that mattered to Kaz Brekker was dying suffocated by piles of money, but you had just realized that the true engine of life of the black-haired man was the love he had for that peculiar family that you made up.

“You… you know that's not necessary, right? You don’t have to do it"

"But I wanted"

The gap was less since Kaz had walked towards you and you decided, venturing a bit, to take another step towards him.

"Why didn't you tell us that the club has financial problems?" you asked softly, because you thought there could be no other way to talk to him in a situation like this.

"Because it wasn't important"

"Yes, it is, Kaz" you walked in his direction again. At that distance, if you raised your hand a little, he could reach to take hers "That's the point, you decide to swallow all the problems without talking to anyone and then we have no idea what ails you or why this or that is so important. Jesus, if you had told me that money was so vital, I would have put my life into opening that vault as quickly as possible” it was at that moment that you really regretted what you had done and thought that, if possible, you would have returned in time to listen to him and not just your instincts.

"It does not matter anymore. I can't spend my life telling you all the bad things that happen around here."

“You should do it, Kaz. We are a group and we can't just enjoy the rewards without knowing the sacrifice, stop burdening yourself with that alone” he warned seriously “You take care of all of us, but then who takes care of you?”

His reaction was the same as you had a moment ago: stupefaction. Kaz didn't know at what point in his life he had to become that, but he thought that perhaps Jordie's death was decisive for him to have to fulfill the role of the person he had just lost. To be for others what no one had been for him, so they would not suffer what he had suffered. It was quite an altruistic act if he thought better of it.

But after so many years it was exhausting and he wished he could just fall into someone else's arms to rest, figuratively speaking. And there you were right in front of him, probably the person he loved the most, with an expression that reflected a willingness to listen to what he had to say.

So Kaz thought that, maybe for once, it was okay for him to be vulnerable.

“I had an older brother” he murmured, after a long while and you were a bit confused by the sudden change of subject, but you nodded your head so he knew you were listening “He died during the plague epidemic. And miss him so much"

You knew little, if anything, of the personal life of the man in front of you, so you didn't know how to react to the disclosure of that fact. You imagined a little Kaz, scared and sad because his brother was gone. You didn't think for a second about the horrible things he had to go through and that he, with some luck, would dare to tell you later.

But even with this paltry piece of information you couldn't help but feel enormous compassion. He was human, like everyone else, and he was afraid that death would come to take another person important to him. Now you understood better.

"What was his name?" you asked in a whisper, as gently as possible. Kaz was silent for a moment, reflecting no sentiment, then swallowed.

"Jordie"

You weren't going to ask him any more questions after that, you just looked into his eyes and you knew that this was his way of telling you that he trusted you to keep that shred of his past.

"Well, I think Jordie would be happy to know that now there are six of us who love you as he did" was what you replied. You didn't know if it was the answer he expected, but at least it was the one that had come from your heart. When he looked at you, you swore that his eyes were teary, although later you convinced yourself that it had only been an effect of the light.

"I hope we're fine now" he murmured, regaining his composure, referring to the problems that had existed between you after that discussion.

"Calm down, everything is fine. I know you can't live without me."

"Actually, I've had enough of Jesper seeing me with those murder-eyes."

"Then you noticed," you joked. You were completely exhausted and at that moment you were even more conscious, as if you were going to pass out the next second “Everything is fine” you repeated “I just hope this doesn't happen again. I… will try to be less impulsive. And you have to tell me if something's wrong and we'll figure it out, okay?"

Kaz hummed back and you put on a tight-lipped smile. Then you looked around you to analyze the chaos that had been left by the fight with those men, feeling exhausted just thinking that you would have to pick up the pieces of wood, the books, or clean the stains, and he realized what you were thinking by the look on your face.

“I'll send someone to clean all this up tomorrow, I promise. For now, you just… lie down”

"For the first time, I'm not going to argue with you," you laughed bitterly. Then a yawn invaded you and you felt your eyelids tremendously heavy, which he perceived. Kaz didn't want to leave there, even if you were on the verge of exhaustion, however, he didn't know what excuse to use to stay “Good night, Kaz. You should rest too"

"Yeah, um... I'll do it"

“Good”

There was silence for a few seconds. 

"Have you really forgiven me?" he asked, looking to make sure you weren't upset anymore. You smiled and, amid your delirium from exhaustion, you stood on your toes to kiss him on the cheek. He paled and held his breath, but you didn't notice.

“As much as you have forgiven me for screwing up the mission. Now go and sleep"

Perhaps it was the shock of receiving something like this from you that caused Kaz to practically run out of your room, without even saying goodbye, staying in the hallway for a moment to process things. The speed of the contact hadn't given him time to panic, but that didn't stop him from feeling the pumping of his heart hammering like crazy under his chest and hot cheeks under the memory of your lips on them.

When he locked himself in his room he tried to calm down, when he was taking off his clothes to put on his pajamas he tried again, washing his hands and face, going through paperwork before going to sleep, lying down on the bed, closing the eyes... but nothing worked.

And eventually he fell asleep with the ghost of your kiss haunting him through dreams.

[ark-fork]

💌Love letters; 👨‍🌾content farm

Recently, a situation happened to my blogger friend that really pissed me off. It took me some time to put my thoughts in order and think about what I wanted to convey in this "podcast".

(Yes, this column is back because you, beloved and dear anons and not only, are constantly doing something crazy)

To begin with, let's start with something less complicated and scary but just unpleasant.

🔴Declarations of love to bloggers \ flirting with them.

Okay, I think this already sounds crazy, for the simple reason that you confess your love to a media personality in their inbox.

To begin with, this is not just strange - but also rude to some extent because a blogger does not always want such attention to themself. Many of them already have their soulmate in life, which is why most declarations of love or flirting are considered ignorance and an unpleasant event.

But still, the prevailing part of them may simply not be looking for a relationship here. Therefore, the best solution would be NOT to TRY to impose your feelings on them and not talk about it.

(Considering that some of you actually write something like: "Haha, I'm obviously going to regret this decision later, but I'll do it anyway because I want to").

If you like this blogger and personality, keep your flirting and declarations of love to yourself. You will spoil your relationship with them in this way. It's stupid and embarrassing for both of you if you still admit your feelings to him. Damn it, there may be a hundred, a hundred, or more of you who want to confess to them!

Ahem, I hope the general point can be grasped because I'm not so good at talking about anything and simply expressing my feelings about the situation as a whole and, for the most part, being hot on the head.

🟠Accusing someone of making low-grade content.

This particular situation infuriated me the most.

Now, I want to talk about what "content farm" is and what they are eaten with.

To begin with, the content farms are YouTube channels that strive for more views on this site and get to the recommendation pages for your kids. These are common unflattering animated videos with questionable context contained in them.

Their distinctive feature is repeated stock images of characters, stolen pictures, and designs, interweaving characters from completely unrelated works with the one based on which they make their videos.

Well, I hope this brief description of what content farms are is enough.

I don't understand people who see the obvious, admiration for the author of any show and create their content with care and soul, investing ideas and efforts, and accuse them of being one of these pathetic bastards from YouTube who absolutely don't give a fuck what they release on the platform, caring only about views and clickbait.

Before you write insults to the author in the anonymous mode in their inbox, think a little, damn it. Just think how much you insult a person who is burning with their art and ideas by saying such words to them while under the guise of anonymity, a fucking coward.

[writeshite]

Smart Cookie

Summary:

“Huh, impressive, Dr. Reid; you’re a smart cookie.” You hold a door open, and he passes through; confused, he turns back. “Smart cookie?” “Yeah, you know, clever, intelligent,” you explained, “a smart cookie.”

Pairings:

Spencer Reid x Male!Reader

Tags:

Fluff | Inaccurate Laws Probably | First Meetings | Tattooed Reader (Because I Don't See Enough Of That) |

Words: 3871

Author's Note:

Guess what I started watching 😂 but like seriously, I am loving Criminal Minds, and as you can see, Spencer has become my favorite, I just wanna wrap this man in a hug or something.

Next

“Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing, and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses.” 

- Ann Landers

Spencer’s knowledge of romance could be put together in a mountain of anecdotes and books, labeled by theme, source, and moment of discovery - sexuality, unknown source, age 15, conclusion: gay panic. Practical experience, however, could be summed into a blurb on the back of a book and promptly thrown in a fire. Friendship was something far easier; he’d come to learn it later in life - with childhood peers who took pleasure in putting him through the worst of what the American high school hierarchy had to offer - and even now, in adulthood, there were times he would think that those around him much preferred his absence over his presence.

The BAU was a lot kinder than high school was. Still, there were moments when patience would run thin, tempers may flair, or the occasional reminder that now was not the time for a tangent or a pointless anecdote or ‘do you ever shut up?’ or anything else along those lines - he didn’t mind, not like he’d used to as a child, besides, more often than not, the comments came from outside the BAU. Bystanders, police, investigators - very rarely did Spencer feel the need to squeeze himself into a neat little box and present what was deemed desirable to others, at least not until now.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.”

Change was never readily accepted by the BAU; in regards to new and retiring teammates, it was met with distaste; the change came in the form of you - a recent transfer to the team - your first case with them in Seattle, Washington. An open case, the unsub would stalk their victims and gather intel on them and their lives before attacking; victims had the murder weapons clutched in their right hand and some form of personal belonging stolen by the unsub. Trophies for his collection, his victims, all graduating students from the local university - he had access to the victim’s schedules, details of their personal lives, and used tools at the scene. 

“We’ll split up,” Gideon says, “ask around the university, staff, students, and the victim’s families.”

Spencer gets paired with you, questioning the university’s Faculty of Arts, the main focus of the unsub. The Faculty of Arts focuses on creative arts, writing, philosophy, and humanities - the liberal arts - with the campus’ main library in the area. “Wow, this is fancy,” you remark. Fancy’s an understatement; the faculty entrance was grand, with a pediment and columns overhead and the university emblem on a banner at the door. With the recent deaths, fewer students had been attending classes in person; the faculty head, Professor Jody Cunningham, was an older man with dark graying at the edges, a well-trimmed beard, and smoothed clothes.

“Professor Cunningham….” you called his attention, introducing yourself, “....and this is my colleague, Dr. Reid; we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“A pleasure; thank you for coming; we’re all devastated by the news.”

“Did you know the students?” you ask.

Professor Cunningham nods, “They’d just handed in their thesis, and I’d been making my way through before, you know….” he ran a hand down his face, “now, none of my graduates or other students are coming in.”

“The murders all connect back to one of the subjects taught here; the first was arts, the second, humanities; if he’s going by alphabetical order, then the next one should be natural sciences,” Spencer describes the first two victims, their characteristics, similarities, differences, “do you know any graduate students doing the natural sciences who fit that profile?”

“Three students I can think of, though one of them’s not in the States anymore, so it can only be the other two, Jesse Hudson and Lynn Watson. Jesse’s majoring in biology, and his thesis, I believe, was on the role of the clock gene in protection against neural and retinal degeneration; not 100% caught up on what that is yet, Lynn —”

“The clock gene is a major circadian system regulator found in mammals and fruit flies, the latter of which the transcription factors - clock and cycle - combine and stimulate the transcription of the period and timeless genes. The two proteins bind together and enter the cell nucleus, where the timeless gene then begins to degrade and the liberated period gene interacts with the clock and cycle to prevent them from activating gene expression.” His explanation comes to a stop, and he’s hoping he hasn’t managed to weird you out.

You turn to him, “What happens after?”

“What?” He’s dumbfounded, “uh…well…you want to hear me speak more?”

“It’s why I’m asking,” you reply. “If that’s ok, you don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I’d love to; I just….people usually ask me to stop talking,” he shrugs. You raise your eyebrows, and he feels giddy, beaming a little; he carries on, even after you’re finished with professor Cunningham, you don’t deter him. Head tilted to glance at him, your undivided attention. “....I read this from an old thesis in my junior year.”

“And you still remember it?” 

He nods. “I don’t forget much,” he points to his head, “eidetic memory.”

“Huh, impressive, Dr. Reid; you’re a smart cookie.” You hold a door open, and he passes through; confused, he turns back.

“Smart cookie?”

“Yeah, you know, clever, intelligent,” you explained, “a smart cookie.”

Spencer’s a smart cookie. 

He’s a smart cookie.

He’s your smart cookie. 

Well, technically, he’s not, but you’re the only one that calls him that nickname, not all the time; of course, you still call him by his name, but you also call him smart cookie. He bounces on his feet when you call him that, a little grin on his face as he turns to you, “What’s got you all happy, cookie?”

“Nothing, just happy to see you too,” he responds earnestly.

“I’d hope so; otherwise, this coffee run would’ve been for nothing,” you remark, placing his order on his desk, a smile on your face; then you go to your desk, to the left of him, and across from Morgan - kick your legs up and lean back on your chair. 

“What none for me?” Derek pouts.

“Sorry, only deliver to sweetness,” you wink at Spencer, and he grins.

Morgan fakes offense, “Oh, oh, that’s how it’s going to be, alright. Don’t expect me to play middleman with you and Nick again.”

You snort, “Doubt that’s ever going to happen again,” you tell him, “that ship has sailed.” You move your hand through the air, mimicking a wave. 

“Nick?” Spencer asks.

“Morgan’s friend, we hooked up a few times, but it never went anywhere,” you reply.

“Yeah, loverboy here did a hell of a job with him, could barely walk the next day, not that he was complaining,” Derek added on, “Said you had quite the package.”

You throw a pen at Derek, tongue stuck out at him, “TMI Derek,” Elle voiced; she’s just arrived, her own coffee in hand, chuckling while she shakes her head. 

“I’m just giving performance reviews,” Derek shrugs.

“Oh god,” you laugh. 

Spencer feels a little hot under the collar, knocking his knees lightly to keep his imagination at bay - your voice by his ear, hands roaming his body before settling on his hips, his own arms around your shoulder - he shook his head a little, eyes slightly wide as he sipped the coffee.

“You alright there, cookie?” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the cookie nickname?” Elle voices.

You shrug, “Spence’s a smart cookie.”

“That’s a weird name,” Derek says.

“I think it’s adorable,” Elle counters.

“Adorable name for an adorable guy,” you wink again, and Spencer looks away, flustered. 

“Well, I’m not adorable….adorableness inspires great affection or delight; you use it to describe someone or something that makes you love or like them, usually because they are….” attractive, he wants to say, but that might imply something and people didn’t like it when he implied things. He’d like you to keep liking him.

“You good there, Reid?” Derek’s voice snaps him from his thoughts, and he nods, finishing off with a lesser, more implicating adjective. Attractive, there was a 50% chance you found him attractive, but he couldn’t get all that information out of a singular nickname, let alone a few interactions - you liked his rambles and tangents, that was something, right? You’d made him an origami heart - that he kept tucked away in his journals - and called it a hint.

“No facts for me today, cookie?” You’re parked just further along the street of your target - a suburban house in Atlanta, one car in the driveway, three bedrooms, and the target of your unsub - Hotch and Gideon were on the opposite end of the street, Elle, and Derek were shacked up in the house across from it. JJ and Garcia were back at base. 

“Facts?”

You turn to him, “Yeah.” You tilt your head, and he feels something, the little fluttering in his stomach, his hair brushes by his cheek when he tilts his head as well, and before he can reach up to sweep it away, you beat him to it. 

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright….” Spencer wishes he’d stopped talking right there, that his mouth just shut or Hotch’s voice filtered through earlier before he laid down his knowledge on human touch and then proceeded to end it with the words love hormone - quite the subtle move. On the plane ride back, Reid feels every muscle in his body knot and stiffen as he goes through the interaction in the car; you’re sat beside him, dozing off with your head propped by the wall. He glances over at you every once in a while, faintly touching the side of his head you’d touched, “love hormone,” he whispers to himself.

Dr. Spencer Reid was something else; when you’d joined the BAU, it took some adjusting, your first case in Seattle was a handful, and the unsub - a student advisor - had access to his victims. He’d begun with the Faculty of Arts, and chosen graduate students from each subject, starting alphabetically; he’d only managed two before you’d caught him. You’d learned that Dr. Reid was intelligent, had an impressive memory, and “....I read this from an old thesis in my junior year.” And his voice was really nice.

He seemed to like the nickname smart cookie, bouncing on his feet and grinning when he responds; he does the same when you greet him either way. “What’s got you all happy?” you ask him after a coffee run. 

“Nothing,” he responds, “just happy to see you too.”

“I’d hope so. Otherwise, this coffee run would’ve been for nothing,” you remark, placing the warm drink on his desk. Granted, it’s not really a coffee run; you’d only gotten him coffee, mainly for the smile on his face. You turned to your desk across from Morgan.

“What, none for me?” he pouts.

“Sorry, only deliver to sweetness,” you wink at Spencer, who grins in response as Morgan fakes offense, mouth agape.

“Oh, oh, that’s how it’s going to be, alright. Don’t expect me to play middleman with you and Nick again.” 

“Nick?” Spencer asks.

Morgan’s friend Nick had been nice; you’d had a double date with Morgan, and one of his dates, then gone on a few more dates and spent a few nights together, but it hadn’t worked out - nothing personal, but that ship had sailed. 

“Yeah, loverboy here did a hell of a job with him, could barely walk the next day, not that he was complaining, said you had quite the package,” you threw a pen at Derek, groaning, as Elle regretted walking into work at this moment and hearing the tail end of that conversation. Spencer goes quiet, and his eyes dart away as he sips his drink, a blush creeping along his face.

“You alright there, cookie?” you ask him, and he turns his attention back to you with a small smile.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the cookie nickname?” Elle asks; she looks between you and Spencer.

You shrug, “Spence’s a smart cookie.”

“That’s a weird name,” Derek says.

“I think it’s adorable,” Elle counters.

“Adorable name for an adorable guy,” you wink again, and Spencer looks away, flustered.

“Well, I’m not adorable….adorableness inspires great affection or delight; you use it to describe someone or something that makes you love or like them, usually because they are….” he doesn’t finish right away, stalling, as you assume he gathers his words. You’re not sure what he was supposed to say, but you don’t think it was “....small.” Even after, he looks deep in thought, mind wandering away from the present.

You don’t think about it much and proceed with your day; it’s a slow day at the BAU, so paperwork seems to be the main task today, though there’s not much of it, so the majority of the day is spent idling by each other’s desks. You’ve been throwing scrunched-up paper balls at each other; Spencer had started off on the discovery of paper, then its distribution globally, and was now on its more uncommon uses. “....and you could use the paper to make worthless currency.”

“Like Monopoly money?” you question.

“Probably.”

You toss back the paper, and when he catches it this time, he unfolds it and refolds it into a swan, “You can also use it to make origami, though I wouldn’t consider that an uncommon use.”

When he hands you the swan, you take another piece of paper, fold it into a heart, you drop it in his hand, “You can also use it to leave hints,” you say, and he stares down at the heart, rosy-cheeked.

Dr. Reid was also easy to fluster.

“No facts for me today, cookie?” you ask him during surveillance; the house is empty, a decoy set in place to catch the unsub, surrounded on all sides; now all you had to do was wait. 

“Facts?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you turn to him, tucking his hair back, his eyes widen again, and a blush runs along his cheeks. You apologize, withdrawing your hand.

“No, it’s alright….touch builds up cooperative relationships and reinforces reciprocity, and studies show that it signifies safety and trust. Basic touch can calm cardiovascular stress and activate the body’s vagus nerve, which is involved with our compassionate response. A simple touch can trigger the release of oxytocin, the, uh, love hormone,” he pauses, “why did I say that?”

“We’ve got movement.” Hotch’s voice interjects before anything else can be said, and you’re both out of the car, guns drawn as you track up to the house. The unsub tries to run back through the back, but Morgan’s waiting for him, knocking him down before he can escape. You don’t stick around in Atlanta, exhausted; you all pile into the plane, and you’re out; you wake to Spencer tapping your shoulder.

You stretch your arms, “Thanks for waking me, cookie.” 

“No problem,” he responds. 

You’re out the second your head hits the pillow, and wake up uncomfortably in yesterday’s suit. The new apartment looks homier and less empty, with most of your things already set out; you toss the old clothes in the hamper and get ready - shower, teeth, breakfast, and out the door. It’s a warm morning, so you carry your jacket in your hand.

“Damn, loverboy, I didn’t know you had sleeves.” You’d bumped into Derek on the way in, and he’d been immediately drawn to the ink on your arms. 

“Oh, these old things,” you quip, “they’re nothing special.” 

He whistles, and you lightly smack his arm, “Oh, shut up.” Derek wasn’t the only one taken back by the tattoos; the others were either shocked or intrigued, gathering by your desk to gander at them.

“Never, ever, keep your sleeves down again,” Garcia pleads.

“I’ll try,” you chuckle.

Spencer walks in last and takes a double glance at you, “You have tattoos? Wow,” he pauses, “wow.”

The others soon dissipate, but Spencer lingers a bit, looking between you and the ink; he reaches out but then hesitates, you hold out your arm and nod, and he traces the imagery. “That's one of my favorites,” you comment on the one he’s tracing.

“It’s beautifully detailed,” he observes, “they all are.” 

“Thanks, I’ve had them done over the years,” you say. He traces the lines to your fingers, and when he finishes, he moves to the other arm - he gives you facts on the origins of tattoos and asks about some of your tattoos. You get lost in your own world, carrying on with the conversation as you’re called in for a briefing.

“What about this one?”

Spencer fixates on your tattoos, tracing them over and over, eyes following his fingers as they go over the lines again, “My second tattoo, got it a few months after my first one on my birthday.”

“What was your first one?” You’re going through paperwork looking for clues and hints to lead you to the unsub, “It’s a spinal tattoo,” you tell him and his eyes widen, “I can show you if you’re curious.”

He brings a folder to his face, a nervous laugh, and he looks like he’s considering it; he shrugs a little, “Only if you want,” he murmurs.

“Oh, cookie, I could eat you up,” you reply, and he makes a sound of amusement or surprise, or maybe it’s giddiness - as he kicks his legs a bit.

“Hey Morgan, how does dating work?”

Morgan slowly lowers the paper in his hand; it lays on his desk as he leans forward and glances over at Spencer. “Come again?”

“How does dating work?” Spencer repeats, “I assume you’re the most adept at this matter, I mean, I know how it works, but I’m also not…are you alright? Your face is doing —” Spencer gestures uncertainly.

“Just….just savoring this moment, " he replies, smiling, “I know something you don’t,” he cheers.

“I don’t not know about dating, I’m aware of it from societal expectations, facets, and data, but I lack the field experience.”

“Don’t,” Morgan holds his hands up, “don’t ruin the moment,” then he’s back, a smirk on his face; he asks, “Is it loverboy?” Spencer nodded; Morgan clapped his hands, a satisfied grin on his face, “I knew it!” he whispered before returning to the matter at hand, “So,” he cleared his throat, hands together on his desk, “dating.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll start simple; what do you know about dating? Not the facts, just the practical, like have you ever been on a date?”

“No, well, there was this one time I did get asked out by this girl in my class; we decided to go to the local park, but then I overheard her tell her friends it was a prank and they were going to douse me in some concoction, so I didn’t go,” he responds, “does that count?”

Derek shakes his head, “No, it does not, and are you ok?”

“Oh, yeah, it was a long time ago,” he shrugs, “so, what do I do about —” he winds his hands in a circular motion. “Is there a set of words I should say? Are there things I’m expected to do?”

“No, no, look,” Derek replied, “just, he likes you, for you, so don’t worry, just be yourself.”

“Be myself, huh? That’s the first time someone’s said I should do that,” he remarks. “Wait, how do you know he likes me?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “He looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass,” he responded, “trust me, he likes you.” Spencer would like to believe Derek, and he does, but the little nagging voice in the recess of his mind, he starts wringing his hands a little and runs them along his pants to calm his nerves. “Hey,” Spencer glances up; Derek’s moved from his seat to his desk to his, leaning, “he likes you, ok?”

“How can you be sure?” Spencer purses his lips, twisting the strap of his bag, “He doesn’t deviate from how he acts when he interacts with all of us, he flirts with you just as much as he does with me, and Garcia, and Elle —”

“Why don’t you just ask him,” Derek points to the brief room; you’re currently standing by the door to it in deep conversation with Garcia. Spencer turns back and shakes his head.

“I think he’s busy; I —I’ll do it later.”

Later, in layman’s terms, really meant not ever. Preferably on his deathbed if he had to, but now that he’d asked Derek, any moment he’d look over, Derek would gesture to you, head tilted towards where you’d gone or were. Sometimes he’d mimic movements with his hand - one hand you, the other him, and they’d smoosh together into a kiss - then he’d groan, running a hand down his face when Spencer would shake his head frantically.

He’d like to avoid you and give a chance for the infatuation to die, but either he can’t bring himself to or doesn’t want to. He’s been playing the potential outcomes in his mind, he could confess, get turned down, and you’d remain friends, or he’d confess, get horribly rejected and then never see you again, or he could confess, and you could return the feelings. Considering all the options, he won’t be doing anything; he’ll just let this float away.

“You’re staring, cookie.” It’s the two of you in the kitchenette, no case, just tying up loose ends. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“A potential hypothesis,” he responds.

“Oh yeah, what about?”

“Uh….I’m not sure how to put it into words,” he responds.

“Well, that’s a first,” you laugh, turning away from the kettle heating, “come on, give it a go.”

He nervously rubs his hands together, “Actually….it might be easier if I–I demonstrated it.”

“In the kitchen?” You ask, and he nods, asking you to close your eyes; you raise an eyebrow.

“Just trust me,” he begs, “....please.”

You do so, and there’s a split second where you can hear him mutter to himself - you can do this, come on - there’s a soft push against your lips, and it takes you a moment to realize he’d kissed you, holding your wrist to balance and ground himself, and then it’s gone. Your eyes open, and Spencer’s pursing his lips, hands wrangling more intensely, “R–results?” He’s not just asking; he’s hoping, the subtle worry underneath his voice as he waits for an answer.

You take one of his hands and reel him back in with a slight tug, and he looks so terrified as if bracing himself for the worst, so you kiss him, hoping it displaces any of his fears - Spencer clings to you, even after, your bodies are flush as he hides away in your arms; drawing back every once in a while to look at you, before shying away, a frivolous laugh caught in his throat. 

“Good?” You inquire, and he nods.

“Very good.”

End Note:

I apologize profusely for using the word cookie as a nickname for Spencer, but I named the fic and got committed so you get to suffer with me. Stay Hydrated.

[bengiyo]

Century of Love Ep 5 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Vee decided that he wanted to steal the stone to heal his grandmother, and so pushed San to let him live in the house. Vee wanted to get into the locked room, and was eventually let in by San. Vee also learned that San has suffered every night for a century. Vee also tried to seduce that man, leading to another wet dream. Nephew came back to start shit again. Goons kidnapped grandpa, and then one of them snuck into the house, stole the stone, and stabbed Vee!

Ah, Grandpa wasn't kidnapped. They just wanted them all away from the house.

Watch enough Thai dramas and you start to recognize the hospital hallways.

I hope that was a decoy stone intended to be stolen to learn who their enemy was.

Nephew! I knew it was you!!

In typical drama fashion, we have to reveal exactly how we outsmarted the enemy.

Not only does Daou look great in this hoodie, it makes it easy for any stunt doubles.

Oooh a car chase.

WELP, DROWNING IN A CAR IS ONE OF MY PRIMAL FEARS.

Don't worry, Vee, they don't know you also tried to steal the stone.

I do like that Vee is having fun teasing San. I haven't forgotten his homelessness story from last week.

Oh that was a good cut from the bench back to the room.

POND PONLAWIT

It's interesting that Vee knows Third already. We're gonna flip multiple dynamics in this lifetime. Already thinking about the observation from I think @mysterygrl20 that this time around San pushed Vee into a loveless marriage.

San looks familiar to Third! The plot thickens.

Juu is my favorite. She will never give San a break.

Now, San, no one said anything mean about you; that was all you. Vee is also correct that he doesn't have to prioritize the lore about previous lifetimes, especially when San insists that he isn't Vad.

Honestly, I'm totally down to see what kind of romantic chemistry Pond and Offroad can build with these characters. They can play out this jealousy plot for a bit if I can get that.

LOL, Juu. She does not want to follow them.

I feel like the dino art reaction is a play on Daou's fandom thing.

I'm with Juu. He barks orders like an old man, and then he wants a friend.

A balloon arch! How fancy.

An upside down book. It's a common trope, but now I want to watch Goblin again.

Oh good. I was hoping Vee would catch them in the picture.

That's right, Vee, tell his old ass that he has no right to control you. You're allowed to entertain suitors!

OOF. Vee is taking this in stride, but it definitely hurts to be shunned.

Not this show getting me to root for Third! I am such a sucker for second chance romance for the gays.

WHY LIGHT THE FIREWORKS IF HE AIN'T ACTUALLY KISS THAT MAN?? SPARKS ARE NOT ENOUGH!!

I'm happy for Vee that he got a response out of San, but curious how he navigates more interactions with Third next week.

This show is so smart, and is having a lot of fun interrogating its own premise. I like the implication of Trai being reincarnated as Third, and having a genuine relationship with Vee that he wants to turn into romance, whereas San is being possessive of Vee in a way that's about someone else entirely. San has to also build a real relationship with Vee, and it's good that the show knows that. We noted that Vad and Vee have similar features, but I'm curious what the investigation into those relatives will turn up and if there is a female Vad doppelganger with the same birthday as Vee.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hiya, you think you could do a jealous! Enid x reader story where the reader is getting attention from another person and Enid is…less than for that. To make a long story short, the reader isn’t getting Enid’s hints so she has to say it straight to their face?

Enid wouldn’t admit to jealously but she didn’t have to because everyone at Nevermore could see it, clear as day upon her usually preppy face. The reason? The new transfer student, a fae named Charlie, had been hogging your attention the second they stepped foot in Nevermore. Whenever you went, Charlie went even when you didn’t share the same classes; Charlie would still follow you like a lost puppy dog. Desperately clinging onto the claim that they were still getting use to Nevermore’s layout or that they ‘forgot’ where a specific classroom was. So when someone offered up their help, Charlie would merely brush it off before going on to say that your help was the only help that they wanted.

At first Enid understood that it was your task to help give Charlie the rundown of the school grounds, the dos and don’ts, the cliques, the extracurriculars and so on. She had the same responsibilities placed on her when Wednesday first arrived to Nevermore and she was thankful for how respectful you were at that time. However what she doesn’t understand was that even after getting accommodated to everything, Charlie seemed to hang on to your side even more then before; Stealing you away from her before she could even utter a word to you and going so far as to shoot her a smug look when the fae dragged you far enough from your friends. This has became so routine that Enid felt it was time to call in for some reinforcements.

“What’s this about Enid.” Wednesday asked straightforwardly as she, Thing, Enid herself and Xavier were scattered about the dorm room in a rather messy formation. Enid heaved a heavy sigh, “y/n has been stolen-“ “y/n has been stolen!? Enid, how come you haven’t told principle Weems about this, they could be anywhere by now. Dead even!” Xavier exclaimed as he stood up from his chair and was about to storm to the door when Wednesday ordered Thing to stop him before he did anything unnecessarily dramatic. “Y/n isn’t really stolen. Enid is just jealous that Charlie keeps taking y/n away from us and when I mean us specifically, I mean her.”

Xavier’s eyes softened as he looked at Enid who was sat at her desk, moping over a framed photo she kept of the two of you after official becoming friends. Her fingers trailed across your smile and the creases they left across your skin before stopping to boop your nose. The poor girl wore her emotions so openly it was a wonder how you haven’t caught onto how badly Enid clings to your arm as you walk down the hallway to class, how she would always save you a seat during lunch and share with you anything remotely good that was up for grabs; Nor how she laughs at everything you said -funny or not- but most of all you didn’t seem to notice the sparkle in her eyes that Enid would get when you enter the room as though you had life and light behind you.

Everyone could tell Enid liked you but it was the hard task of making you see that her actions were based more then kindness and friendship like you’ve let yourself believe. Thing would on the verge of screaming, Wednesday looked as though she was contemplating murder, Enid was the literal definition of a lost puppy and Xavier himself felt like a disappointed dad at your nativity towards her advances. “I’ve heard of Charlie, seen them around a couple of times but even I can tell their bad news and I don’t want y/n getting dragged in that.” Xavier said as his eyes darken in protectiveness. You were his friend first and foremost and he wasn’t about to let some fae get away with any devious dark shit that they might have up their sleeve.

“None of us do. So how about we devise a plan to keep Charlie at bay whilst you grab y/n, taken them somewhere secluded like my art studio for instance and confess your feelings?” Enid perked her head up at this and looked at Xavier with a hopeful expression. “You think it could work? You think I could get my y/n back from the evil clutches of that…that bitch.” Xavier shrugs, “it’s worth a shot, I’m game if you are,” he turns to Wednesday and Thing, “Wednesday? Thing? You guys in?” Thing scurried to a marker pen on the desk and used it to draw two thick horizontal lines across his skin on either side before tossing away the marker.

Wednesday looked up from Thing to address Xavier with a blank stare, “Thing and I are in but we’ll mostly be your eyes in the skies for this operation. As much as I hate to say this but y/n is my,” she swallowed thickly, “friend too and Charlie shall pay the price for taking what doesn’t belong to them.” Enid practically felt giddy at her friends willingness to help her get you back that she couldn’t conceal the squeal that left her lips as she hugged Xavier so tight, the poor boy swore he was loosing oxygen.

“Awww, Thank you guys! Thank you guys so much for helping me out! I love you all so much, you have no idea how much this means to me!” Xavier was practically tapping out at this point at how insanely strong Enid was before reminding himself that she was a werewolf. Just a werewolf unable to transform; Still the immense strength that a werewolf possesses was no joke. “Just glad to be part of the team.” He croaked, feeling about ready to pass out.

The day of the operation had finally came to ahead and everyone was firmly in position from were Thing had texted them to be on Wednesday command, seeing as she still refused to become a mindless, chronically online footstool of social media and the internet. Enid was riddled with nervousness and her mind was plagued with doubts. What if you didn’t like her? what if Charlie had manipulated you against her and your friends by spreading false rhetoric? You surely couldn’t believe them, could you? Xavier, who was stood nearby, saw her uncertainty and crossed over to comfort her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s all going to be okay Enid. This plan will work and you’ll have y/n by the end of the day.” Enid looked at Xavier, her fingers were pulling at the loose thread of her cotton candy coloured sweater out of habit. “How can you be so certain that this won’t blow up in our faces?” She said upsettingly, fearing the worst that was yet to come from all this should their plan prove fruitless. Xavier smiles sympathetically at the werewolf, “I just know that y/n ain’t the type to submit to the whims of a siren song without a fight. I believe that y/n knows us better then to believe someone else’s lies, they’re more then aware of how we are,” he grasped her shoulder in reassurance, “how you are and they wouldn’t want you any other way. As cliche as it maybe but you just gotta believe.”

Enid smiled mid-way through Xavier’s speech, remembering all the trouble you, herself and Wednesday always seem to get into on an daily basis. However you never seemed to waver under it all, rather yet you chose to stand strong alongside her to embrace it all. She remembered asking how you haven’t left them yet and you shot her a bright smile that could put the stars to shame that night. Enid remembered your response and clung to it tightly as her resolve. You were loyal, compassionate, strong and free spirited. She’d be damned that she let that go now after everything you’ve gone through together.

“You’re right,” Enid says, “I just gotta believe and see this through and emerge victorious.” Xavier beamed with pride but just before he could say anything, his eyes darted elsewhere and naturally, Enid followed his line of sight before they stopped short on you but no Charlie in sight. Xavier looked back at Enid to see that she was already looking at you with longing and decided that now was the time to act. So he gently shoved her into your arms, causing you both to fumble for stability before taking notice of how close you were to the one another. Enid was at a loss for words as she couldn’t help but take a really good look at you and your beauty, so much so that it left her breathless.

“Hi Enid, I’m sorry for not spending as much time with you anymore I-“ “I like you.” You both fell silent at the abrupt confession but due to how in line with Enid’s personality it was, you couldn’t help but laugh heartily, leaning against her shoulder for support. “I like you too Enid, every time I was with Charlie, you were always on my mind.” You said as you pulled away to cup her face in your hands as her hands immediately come up to rest on top of yours. She smiled brightly as her eyes shone like stars that you always found yourself getting lost within. “Really?” She asked, “you really think of me when your with…them?”

“Of course I do, you’re my best friend!” Xavier, Wednesday and Thing -if possible- facepalmed at your words, groaning in disbelief as Enid’s smile faded off of her lips, pulling away from you slightly. “No… I don’t think you understand that when I said I like you y/n, I meant it in a romantically.” You blinked once, twice, three times before leaning towards Enid to press a kiss to her cheek. “I totally knew that.” You chirped but Enid only laughed as she rested her head against your shoulder. “No you didn’t,” she chuckled. “You’re right I didn’t but I’m glad we cleared that up or this would’ve been very awkward.” You said, holding the girl tightly in your arm as hers came to your waist. “Yeah, mega awkward.”

[minzis]

My Achilles Heel

Art Credits: angelsandskullz

ꨄ︎༻Simon Riley One-Shot༺ꨄ︎

✦❘༻Summary: After another mission of ignoring protocol and barely making it out of alive Simon is far from angry.

✦❘༻Tags: sfw, hurt/comfort, 1.7k words.

✦❘༻Author’s Note: For one sorry this took so long I’ve been a bit busy lately and I was orginally working on a different Ghost fic but I wasn’t liking it wether that will be posted idk but if it does you’ll see it. For those who like listening to music I listened to ‘Poison Tree’ by Grouper while writing it :3

══❀•°❀°•❀══

The expected slam of the door never came as he shut it behind you both. “Y/n…” he said your name in a tone he hadn’t used before, he always used your call sign or kid. He sat down in the chair at his desk. He looked more exhausted than usually. “Are you mad?” a stupid question after the stunt you pulled on the last mission.

“I’m not mad just disappointed,” something about it coming from him hurt more than anything. It felt like whiplash, air stolen from your lungs. It meant more when he said it, hurt more cause he was the one who said it. Wide scared eyes that watered as you stood stiff in front of his desk.

You weren’t going to cry, you are not going to cry. Not in-front of him. A harsh eerie silence filled the room his eyes focused on you unwavering. You always had something to say but this time you weren’t, you were silent. You sniffled softly trying to keep it quiet as possible.

But he heard it you knew he did, his eyes softened a bit when he realized you were practically already crying. He’s said many things to you and for the very first time he had made you cry.

“Can’t you just be mad?” you said in a small voice like a child crying to her father, soothing coos you never heard. It’d be easier if he was angry maybe then it wouldn’t be so hard, so hurtful. The pain in your voice seemed to surprise him, you’ve always taken his criticism with no issues.

To say you and Ghost were close would be an overstatement if he had to admit anything. He’d say you were a leech or some lost puppy that always followed him around. You’d have to pry the thoughts out his cold dead body if you wanted to truth.

“Kid almost got yourself killed, you-,” he cut himself off a deep sigh coming from him pinching at the bridge of his nose. You wanted to speak but no words seem to form a good enough excuse.

‘You were going to get hurt’

‘You needed help’

What were you wanting to say, sorry? You weren’t you’d probably do it again. You have though on more then one occasion. Reckless decisions assuming you knew better despite any consequences.

“You got lucky and you won’t get so lucky again,” he huffed out.

“I was saving you,” you trailed the whisper hardly meeting his ears. His eyes shot up to yours a look of fury in them, this time he sure as hell looked angry.

“I do not need you to save me and I sure as hell don’t need you risking your life for me,” his voice raised as he stood upright his hands slamming against the desk. The man who stood by you in every moment you were alone, the man who was there for every tear, laugh and award. The person who said you were going to be okay the first time you got injured on the field.

You never talked about your family and maybe it was easier to forget than think of them. It was only understandable that you’d look up to him like a safe heaven. Ghost doesn’t have nor ever wanted any kids, not like he believes he could be a good father. The man could hardly keep himself on two feet, he seen the signs maybe it’s why he tried to push you away in anyway he knew how.

“You’d be fucking dead if it wasn’t for me,” your defense seemed useless against his wrath as he rounded his desk stopping in-front of you. You were ready to retort but his trembling hands clung to the sides of your shoulders. It felt desperate just like the terror and adamance in his eyes.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” he was yelling. He never yelled at you like that before, with purpose laced in a hurtful anger. He couldn’t understand why you would risk your life for his and you couldn’t understand why he thought his life wasn’t worth saving.

His hand fingers clung at your arms shaking at you for some realization at how stupid what you did was. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if you had died back there,” he was never angry he was afraid, the few moments where he thought you were dead was the most pain and fear he had ever felt.

He was breathing but it was to much air yet too little, the few minutes felt liked pain staking hours. He didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to find your lifeless body in the rubbles. It made him want to throw up, the fact you survived and hadn’t been torn to shreds was a damn near miracle.

The team was in a frenzy trying to find you within what was left of the building. But there he was frozen in fear, a terrifying stillness he hadn’t felt since the day he lost his family. They talked and talked, loud footsteps shuffling through the place. Yet he hadn’t heard a single thing. His brain deciding not allowing him to hear was the next best thing.

All he could hear was ringing even a mask wasn’t going to hide the seeping emotions from him. He was cracking, breaking as each second past. He wondered what he had said to you last, he couldn’t recall. Was it kind words? Words that you deserved to hear?

And so he began praying, he had never asked for a single thing in his life. He never dared to but if a pray had even the smallest chance of saving you it’s what he would do. If you asked for the stars he’d give you the fucking galaxy. It’s all he wanted to hear the stupid whines he swore he hated, your complains and praise anything, just anything.

He’d say sorry, apologize for being so stupid for not letting you in. He’d say how much he needed you around what made black and white be painted in vibrant colors. If you just came back alive in once piece, he’d be there and he would stay.

Price had been the one to find you, alive and thankfully only with minor injuries. When he heard your voice it was like he could breath again, the air finally filling his lungs properly. His heart no longer beating at its confinements of child-like fear.

It was around then he realized how much he truly cared and it terrified him. He had faced many horrid things in life yet facing the possibility he could one day lose you seemed to be the hardest one. He had something to come home too. A comforting face that was happy to see him. You were waiting for him, wishing him well, wanting him to be happy.

Something that made it all worth while, something he had to lose.

He couldn’t protect you from every force in the world and he knew that but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. If he was going to care he was going to do it right, no cutting corners half assing the shit. In all honesty he didn’t fully understand what he felt he just knew he couldn’t move on if it meant doing it without you.

His love was unseemly, harsh but yours? Your love was beautiful, graceful as the sun dawning on a Sunday morning. A gentle love that picked up his inner child with laughs and smiles that told him he was going to be okay. The child in you healed his own finding the beauty in all the parts of him he thought were hideous. You were what made him want to live not just survive.

His arms wrapped around you in a tightening hug yet he had never felt more exposed. For the first time in the long time you’ve know Ghost it was like you were seeing him for the first time, you were seeing Simon. Ghost wasn’t the one hugging at you so desperately, Simon was.

You could feel the tremors as he held onto you like you’d up and disappeared. You froze for a moment unable to work through the millions of thoughts and emotions. A guilt washed over you, the feeling of his broken form cluttering yours and all you could mutter was, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head in silence, your arms wrapped around him it was a comforting hug one that felt like home after a long trip. One that you both needed even if neither of you had a home to come too you’d find one together. His thoughts shouted at him as if your presence wasn’t something he deserved but he had no intentions of letting you go. He’d just keep you close enough to protect you.

“Does this mean I get to call you Dad now?”

“No,” he groaned seemingly annoyed but you knew he was smiling even if you couldn’t see it. You snorted a bit the happiness dying as fast as it had risen.

“You can’t leave now okay?” You spoke quietly louder than the little girl in you who still craved the absence left by a family you begged for love. Love you never had to ask him for. There was a lot you looked up to him for, “as long as you stop doing stupid shit.”

“I wouldn’t say it was that stupid.”

“It was.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“I will put you on cleaning duty.”

“Fine,” you folded your arms sighing dramatically expecting another remark but he only laughed stepping back. Your eyes softened at the sound of it. It sounded like home with a warming welcome, yeah this is home.

[tamelee]

As a beginner artist im only happy when people reupload and share my art. I don’t want to be arragont enough to think im like samdoesart or something and you’re not really on that level either no offense though your art is inspiring me a lot

Okay, I'll address this then... (Art-rant for anyone who cares;) 

... no offense taken. I'm very aware of my (skill)’level' in art and definitely feel a certain type of way about it ;-; .... but that aside, what is your argument here?

Is anyone who doesn't want their art reposted or uploaded on other accounts considered arrogant? Is there some kind of popularity threshold you need to cross before you can request something as simple as this? And if so, what's that threshold to you? I'm genuinely curious.

When does someone become "good" enough to have the right to say that their art is theirs and protect it from being stolen or decide where it gets shared? Who has any say in it, other than the artist or creator themselves? Isn't that extremely subjective to base it solely on that?

Hm. If you're a beginner artist, I'd like to offer some advice....

It's entirely up to you whether you read it, give it any thought, or find it valuable in any way. I'm no Sam, after all. But there are plenty of ways for others to support your art, engage with it, or share it even in their own accounts without taking anything away from the original creator, whether it's art/writing or any other type of creation. However, it's also perfectly fine if you personally don't care about it or if someone allows it only with proper credit because that's your decision as.. you know- the original creator.

You mentioned that you're happy when your art gets reuploaded as a form of "sharing." But do you know what makes me the happiest as an artist Nonee?

Do you know what really brightens my day? 🥹

...It's knowing what people are saying about my work because I can read it on my own posts that are on my own accounts. When I can respond and take it in fully. When I see people using tags that make me snort my drink or when I have to stifle a laugh to the point I’m choking because it's just SO funny! (I genuinely need to make a compilation!!) Sometimes, I get comments that are cursing me out in a playful manner, and it's often followed by an incoherent keyboard-smash. I end up making embarrassing alien-like noises because of it that makes me more grateful than ever to live alone. Other times, I bawl my eyes out because someone left a comment or tagged it with something that just hits differently. A while ago, I got an ask that said I should stop saying 'thank you' on everything because it got repetitive/annoying(?), but I genuinely feel so grateful for all of it 😭!!

I get new ideas because someone suggested something different. I see friends having entire conversations under a drawing that I'm not even a part of because apparently, what I drew resonated with them personally, or it made them feel a certain way, which is oddly fulfilling with art ;-; Just so you know, I read everything... and all this feedback (because it's all feedback in a way) can be very inspiring, don't you think?

Honestly, when it comes to activities like drawing, it's true that it is better to never do it solely for the sake of engagement. Drawing, or more specifically, living as an (aspiring) artist is incredibly lonely.

So, so lonely...

Relying on engagement alone to keep you creating for hours, days, years, or maybe even decades is just not sustainable. It takes an enormous amount of time and dedication to practice, come up with new ideas, and endure the inevitable frustrations that come with it. With anything, keeping yourself inspired at times takes effort also because it requires for you to be in a state of mind that allows new idea’s in the first place which in itself takes practice because you won’t always feel like drawing. You might even encounter nasty comments or discover that something you poured your heart into gets criticized, YOU as a person may even be criticized because what you drew with your current skills (and such a journey is never-ending) in a single moment could get paired with your entire personality or even your humanly morals (ffs) to judge. Which can be more hurtful than you'd expect... especially in the beginning.

Although it may sound silly, the saying "the fun is in the journey” is very real and likely the most important thing to keep you going as an artist. No matter what, you gotta have fun or find a way to have fun.

Yet, even so, now more than ever, the process of creating is very underappreciated as many are looking for “content” that's quickly generated for entertainment. Tsk, some even call art “content” which, IT IS NOT. It's a proven fact that we, as humans, currently have become dopamine junkies with short attention spans. (I totally understand this – I was diagnosed with ADD, hence my extreme hyper-fixations also 😆 it's both a blessing and a curse, tbh.) So, right now, the very thing that can support artists (which means you as a beginner also!) on their creative journey is letting them know you appreciate their art in any way or just let them know your thoughts maybe even by specifying what it was you liked about it so they can carry that into their next drawing.. which is only truly possible through your own accounts y’know? :’) I'm being sincere when I say this really can help. 

I get that many people believe that creating should be satisfying in itself, and everyone may expect you to think that way because, after all, you want people to see what you've made and a reposter ‘helps’ you with that, so, it should be enough and you should be happy and grateful actually. Anything beyond that might be considered "arrogant."

And... based on your ask, it seems like you might view having your art reuploaded as a form of 'help,' and if that's the case, it's totally fine. But I want to share a rather harsh reality, because even if those who repost your art provide credit...

They don’t do it for you and it’s not necessarily because they love your art so much 👀 rarely anyone cares to go through a description full with useless trend-based tags or promotive texts they always use only to put in the effort to find your name and most likely, if they follow such accounts there is zero connection with the original artist/creator which means it is WAY more likely in this case that the art you worked on for idk how long ends up becoming a forgettable blur as it is scrolled past 🤷🏻‍♀️

And even if the reposter likes your art personally, that's probably not their primary motivation to share it (except for a very few who are in it for a fandom, sns has a few also). Art that gets ‘selected’ for reposting is typically selected with a specific, often trend-oriented, goal that has little to do with the artist. It's frequently shared with the mindset of a rather poorly-driven marketer. Especially on platforms like IG- many of these accounts exist to benefit the account owner only by making high(er)-follower accounts that later get a different purpose. Many of these accounts will discard all art once it has reached an engagement goal to then move onto something new that's more financially profitable to the account owner, which original art by others is not. And yeah, a lot of these accounts are sold after. There are especially many now due to the IG affiliate program, and recently tiktok also. The same is quickly happening on X with its monetization... and guess what :’)!!! Although original art is hard to monetize, Ai is completely approved.... 🤨🙄 But I won't bore you with all the specifics any longer.

Me not wanting my art on other platforms/accounts, has little to do with credit nor do I think in the very least that I have some sort of control over it by making that decision... but still. I refuse to willingly take part in anything that currently takes ‘art’ (any creative form) and makes a mockery of it, using it for mere "content" or treats it as this ‘thing’ that appeared out of nowhere to then just use any way people like and participate in the narrative that gives the impression that investing time in creating something isn't valuable or a cherished part of human expression that brings and promotes joy. 

Because rarely do people take the damn time anymore.

I want all artists/writers/creators/etc- to be acknowledged for their work in general, or, even in the least, acknowledge the work that isn't seen that goes into the final result for others to enjoy. I don't want to continually see art stolen and exploited so rapidly. This phenomenon enables tech bros who don’t have a single ounce of argumentative skill or self-proclaimed "entrepreneurs" to generate their little stolen jpg’s for their absurd 3 a.m. morning-routine videos and use them as banners on their get-rich-quick schemes, scamming the unsuspecting and spamming the internet with this bs, largely thanks to AI making this partly possible... for example. There's not a single platform left that supports artists or helps them fight for security and protection for their work. I know and I'm aware. At the very least, we can say 'no' to reposting because giving up completely makes no room for possible solutions... and then we can work from where we are at all times to find ways to protect a right (because it is) that some might perceive as trivial. 

Nevertheless, it is a right, and it definitely isn't an issue of arrogance or skill.

[themildlyanxiousmage]

I'm disappointed in you Tumblr. There's a caring, fatherly DILF, and there's barely any hornyposting or fangirling (gender neutral) for this magnificent character. Where's the love for Varsh Ko'kuu?

(pic stolen from the wiki, sorry. Don't have screenshots)

Where's the reader insert fics where you raise the egg together or whatever the heck we all collectively fantasize about? Where's the art to express yearning for living in a small cottage with 3 cats while making artisanal bread? He's right there, wanting to protect an unhatched egg in a culture that demands he kill it, and he's holding on and getting more emotional than his gith upbringing allows. This is like prime Tumblr obsession bait. He's even weirdly thin and has a monocle. I don't know what more you all want.

Yes, I know I'm included in my disappointment, but I'm not a good writer, and I have zero romantic experience, so you would be disappointed in my work. Also, every attempt of mine to write anything drifts into parody because I can't take myself seriously. But there are some great writers and visual artists who I think could do this character justice. I challenge you all to prove me right.

This drunken ramble has gone on long enough, but please spread the word about this beautiful character. He's like the only attractive male gith ever (fight me), and only a handful of people acknowledge it. I beg of you, let's start a wave of unhealthy obsessions. We can only read hornyposts about Astarion and Halsin for so long. I love those two, but we need variety, and this dude seems to check a lot of boxes for unhealthy obsessions. Just look at him, and look at how he doesn't treat you with as much disdain as the other gith do. We can fix him, Tumblr. We can fix this emotionally repressed sad DILF man together.

Idk how to end this bye

[vodika-vibes]

Confessions

Summary: It's time for your first date with Keeli, but you're a little worried. After all, it's not every day that you confess to being a thief to someone.

Pairing: Captain Keeli x Reader

Word Count: 1715

Warnings: Thief!Fem!Reader, Heated make-out session, tooth-rotting fluff

Tagging: @trixie2023 @the-bad-batch-baroness

Divider by Saradika

When you first met Keeli last week, you hoped that it would lead to a proper date. Hence the whole stealing his comm and profiling him to make him want to spend time with you.

But a part of you didn’t actually think that he was going to ask you out on a date. You know yourself well enough to know that your lifestyle might cause problems for some people.

But the same night, he sent you a comm asking you out on a date.

And you almost, almost, told him about what you do for a living over the comms, but luckily you’re smarter than that, so instead you invited him to your house, in the hopes that you can talk before going on the date.

Best case scenario, he doesn’t care and you get to go on a date with a gorgeous man. Worst case scenario, you have to jump out a window and flee to a safehouse and leave the planet.

Luckily, you already have a safe house set up, and you made sure that there’s nothing in your apartment that might be used against you, if the worst should happen. At your boss’ insistence, of course.

You smooth your dress, and absently fiddle with the necklace you’re wearing, while you cast your gaze towards the chrono.

Keeli should be here soon. Hopefully. Unless he got lost.

You jump a little bit when you hear the doorbell ring. And then a delighted smile crosses your face and you hurry across your apartment to pull the door open.

Keeli stands on the other side of the door, a small grin playing on his handsome face, “Hey there, cyare.”

“Hey yourself,” You reply with a delighted smile, “Come on in.” You move out of the way to let him into your home, and close the door as soon as he’s inside.

He looks around your apartment, his gaze lingering on your furniture, and some of your decorations. “We still have a couple of hours before our reservation.” Keeli says absently, as he walks over to a painting.

“That’s totally fine,” You reply as you bounce over to his side, “It means we can just hang out until it’s time to go.”

He flashes a grin at you, and then glances back at the painting, “This is a very well done print.” He asks.

“Hm?”

“Oh, the original painting went missing about five years ago. Stolen right out of the museum.” Keeli says, “One of my brothers in my battalion is big into art, and ranted about the theft for several hours one day.”

“What did he say about the theft?” You ask, amusement in your voice.

“That the thief probably sold it for spice money,” Keeli replies dryly.

“Well that’s rude.” You say lightly, “I kept it to hang on the wall.”

“You…what?” Keeli turns to look at you, surprise on his face.

“Yeah. It wasn’t even that hard to take. Security was laughable. Honestly, I did the painting a favor by taking it.” You reply easily, “Or else someone else might have taken it.” You turn and head further into your apartment.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re an art thief?” Keeli asks, taking one more look at the painting, and then turning and following you into the living room.

“Former art thief. Former jewelry thief. I got better. I steal other things now.” You say nonchalantly.

Keeli stares at you, his jaw slack, “...I have…so many questions.”

Well, this is going better than you feared, “Go ahead.”

“One. What do you steal now?” Keeli asks.

“I’m part of a crew that targets rich, corrupt assholes who will never see the inside of a courtroom. We help their victims get some justice…and maybe a little revenge.” You explain as you sit on your couch.

“Follow up question, you do realize that theft is illegal, right?” Keeli asks.

You shoot him an amused look, “Yeah, Keel. I’m aware. I’m just not good at anything else, so-”

Keeli sits on the couch next to you, “So you just kept all of the stuff you stole?”

“I fenced some of it, and kept some of it.” You tilt your head to the side, “I have a very nice nest egg.”

“And yet you’re still stealing.” Keeli points out.

You shrug easily, “Sometimes the law can’t, or doesn’t, help the people who need it the most. Sometimes good men like yourself can’t help the people who need it the most. And it’s not your fault.” 

“Who’s fault is it?”

“The rich and powerful like to stay rich and powerful, Keeli. So they make laws that allow them to stay that way.”

“That’s not-”

“Palpatine.” You interrupt, very gently.

His mouth closes, “Were you investigating Palpatine?” Keeli asks, after a moment.

“We were discussing it. Have been discussing it for years now. Turns out we should have just done it.” You say with a slightly bitter smile, “I am sorry about that. If we acted rather than debating-”

“You’d probably be dead.” Keeli interjects dryly, “But…I suppose it’s nice to see that your group had a problem with the situation.”

You shrug again, “You’re handling this pretty well.” You finally offer hesitantly.

He considers you for a long moment, “I have a couple more questions,”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I like you, and I don’t like the idea of lying to you. Relationships are built on trust, and I want that trust.” You reply promptly.

His breath seems to catch in his throat, and then a soft laugh slips from his lips as he reaches out and lightly touches your cheek, “You could be taking a risk on me.” Keeli points out.

“I could be, yes.” You agree.

“As it happens, I want that trust too.” Keeli admits, and you beam at him. Something that puts a small smile on his lips, “Though, I suppose you’re incredibly rich.” He mutters under his breath.

You shoot him a puzzled look, “It’s just money, Keeli. Most of it just sits in a bank incase I need medical attention.”

“Right. Right, that’s sensible.” He says, “It’s just…I got you something, a present, for our first date. And now I’m thinking it’s not enough.”

You perk up, “You got me a present? Can I see it?”

He hesitates, “I can get you something else. Something better-”

“Please, Keeli?” You ask as you slide closer to him.

He falters, and averts his gaze for a moment. You don’t push him, and you’re rewarded for your patience with him pulling a small box out of his jacket pocket and handing it to you, “If you don’t like it-”

“I’m sure it’s great,” You interrupt gently, as you run your fingers over the cardboard box, “Can I open it?”

“Yeah, of course.”

You take the lid off the box, and your breath catches in your throat.

Laying in the box is a delicate looking necklace on a silver chain. A quick glance tells you that it’s real silver, but that’s not what caught your attention. No. Your gaze remains locked on the simple pendant hanging from the chain.

You pull the necklace from the box and set the pendant on the palm of your hand. It’s an intricate looking swirl, in white in red, made out of a material that you don’t recognize.

You run a delicate finger over the swirl, “I don’t recognize this material,” You admit to Keeli, without looking up from the necklace.

“It’s…uh…it’s plastoid. A piece from my armor. My old armor.” He reaches over and lightly taps the red paint, “My color.”

“Oh.” The word falls from your lips in a breathy whisper, and you curl your hand around the pendant and hold it tight against your chest, “Can I keep it? Please?” Your voice sounds thick with tears to your own ears.

He blinks at you, surprised at the tears in your voice, “Of course. It’s yours. I…” Keeli laughs sheepishly, “I spent my first paycheck on the chain for you, and I made the pendant myself. But I’m sure the necklace you’re wearing now is more-” He stops mid-sentence as you pull the necklace you’re wearing off, breaking the chain, and toss it to the side, “Cyare?”

“This is the most valuable item I own.” You say, “Help me put it on?”

“Yeah. Of course.” He takes the necklace back, and moves so he’s standing behind you. Keeli gently drapes the necklace around your neck, and fastens it, and then he rubs his thumb across the soft skin of the back of your neck, “There. How’s that?”

The pendant sits just below your collar bones, and you beam up at him, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Keeli stays close to you, his hand resting on the back of your neck. And then, slowly, his hand follows the chain of your necklace to lightly brush against the pendant you’re wearing.

“Keel-?”

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, sounding wistful. “I know we haven’t even been on our date yet, but…” Keeli trails off, “Can I kiss you, please?”

“Yes,” Your reply is immediate, and his reaction is just as immediate. He leans in and catches your lips with his own. The kiss is soft and slow and gentle, as if he wants to savor the moment.

Your hands come up to cup his face as he breaks the kiss, and then kisses you again and again. “I have an idea,” He murmurs as his lips hover over yours.

“Oh?”

“Mm,” He kisses you again, almost like he’s unable to keep his lips off of yours, “How about we skip our reservation? We order food, and I spend the rest of the night kissing you?”

“That sounds like a wonderful plan,” You reply with a breathy sigh. A sigh that morphs into a quiet moan when he lightly nips your lower lip. “I need,” You sigh again as his lips trail to your jaw, “Need to call my team and let them know I’m okay.”

“Want to meet them.” He murmurs against your jaw.

“Later.” You whisper.

“Definitely later.” Keeli agrees before he drags his lips back to yours, and catches yours in a passionate kiss, “My perfect, beautiful cyare.” he murmurs against your lips.

[writingwell]

20 13 fanfic questions

Thanks to @randomfoggytiger for the tag. I didn’t do all of them, just the pertinent ones, and I modified those just to include ffnet as well. 

1. How many works do you have? 26 on AO3 (for my mature rated Spy Castle stuff); fanfiction.net has 278 Castle fics;and about 300ish archived at Gossamer for X-Files.

4. What are your top fics by kudos/reviews? The Return of Vulcan Simmons, Tempest (not a spy work!) on AO3; ffnet would be One Hundred Days of Summer (co-authored with SandianeCarter) and Dash It All.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yeah, I think if you take the time to contact me, you deserve the respect of hearing from me. It might not be a full-blown conversation, but I’ll do what I can with a full-time profession and a writing one as well. Also, suuuuper sorry, just discovered AO3 has an inbox. 300 days ago, some of you messaged me and I am just now seeing those. Lol. 

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I have a spy fic where the two of them are just so at odds, so grieving with and over each other… okay that’s most of them. But I try not to end on angst, as it’s supposed to be the journey not the destination. (Angst is a twisting of the heart, not a place where you stay. According to me.)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Dash series has the ‘happiest’ endings. Not because life is happy, but because they figured out how to create contentment within what they’d been given/dealt in life. And in ways other versions of the Castle characters hadn’t accomplished. They did the work.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Oh definitely. A while back, I turned off comments on tumblr for about a year as I processed and healed from some targeted attacks, and I can say that I came out more certain of myself and my writing. But I was also an adult who had not been forced to weather these attacks as a vulnerable 13 y-o on social media (as so many of you are unfortunately dealing with). I was able to detach, center myself once more, and rise above because I’d grown up IRL, so to speak. I have a faith in something bigger than me which, while it doesn’t look like what it did, has sustained me and given me the confidence to know my worth even as it spurs me to be/do better. 

9. Do you write smut. If so what kind? Oh definitely, lol. It’s on AO3. Usually I like to explore M/F with a third in there for kicks, as the concept of generosity and giving within the sexual relationship/experience is intriguing to me.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I objected to the term ‘stolen.’ I’ve had my fics, without my knowledge, posted elsewhere, translated without my knowledge, and changed to other fandom characters to be posted elsewhere. However! I’ve had loads of people ask me too, and I really appreciate being able to go visit them. (Stolen would indicate I somehow own these fanfictions, and I do not, as that would be a legally difficult hill to stand on. I also do not perceive collective fan art in this manner, because the world is all of ours.)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? Oh there’s a co-written story that me, carto, and muppet47 started and have NEVER finished. We all know Castle has to go to jail, but we can’t write it.

16. What are your writing strengths? Writing it the first time. Correctly. As in, it comes out the way it should or ought to or how I am seeing it in the moment. I have the right rhythm, I can spell and I have the grammar skills. My first draft is fast and good enough for submission. Of course, I go back and edit, and I have to, but I’m very blessed in not ever going through anything like writer’s block.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Secondary characters. I have a tendency for tunnel vision, where all I want to do is talk about and to and for the main characters. If they have friends or family, I barely include them. I can’t manage to care that they exist. But all of us live in a complex web of relationships and community; no one is alone. My last novel, Taste of Salt, was an concentrated effort to include as many other perspectives as possible, so it was told through the POVs of the two main characters and interspersed with flashback chapters from the POVs of their friends, family, coworkers, chance encounters, medical personnel, kids, support networks… there you go.You have to do the thing that’s hard. Write it out, over and over, keep practicing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? Yeah, sometimes it becomes necessary for the character. But please keep it to a minimum (imo) as it detracts from the reader’s understanding and experience of reading. It ought to be rather easy to understand what the person is saying due to context or just the flow of the scene. If you’re writing in English, and you have a character visiting France, then obviously some of that ought to be in French, but after a while, you can indicate that the language is being used while writing it in English. I say this because most of you are fandom writers who are not writing for literary audiences; therefore, don’t ruin everyone’s fun my making it incomprehensible or inaccessible. Please.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? Don’t ask me to choose between my children! I can tell you that Dash holds a special place in my heart due to the amount of readers who said it gave them understanding of their own sensory issues or their child’s autism, etc. Spy gave me one of my greatest friends, carto, who continues to love and support me and my writing. 

I won't tag anyone, because I deleted so many of these questions, but feel free to answer or share or talk with me about them!

[brofisting]

Brief thoughts on AI writing/art data-scraping and subsequent content production, & the conclusion I've come to.

Thought #1: There has been a lot of discussion about how AI is or is not art theft (or writing theft); from my understanding every model works slightly differently. What isn't up for debate, though, is that all AI models require data to function, and that data has to come from somewhere. The companies developing AI have a strong incentive to get data by any means possible; the internet is the easiest place to start, but there's no way to get permission from every single person who has ever put something on the internet for the use of that thing to develop the AI, even if every single person were inclined to give it.

Conclusion #1: Doesn't matter if the AI's output is a copyright violation; instead, it was a violation of copyright to feed that data to the AI in the first place, making the AI itself inherently legally problematic.

("BRIEF" DO NOT @ ME OKAY. SEE BELOW FOR THE REST OF MY BIG ASS ESSAY. I WILL REBLOG WITH THE SHORTEST TL;DR I CAN MANAGE.)

Thoughts #2&3: Due to how easy it is to scrape data online, and the way technology is currently progressing (silicon valley motto of Never Ask "Should" I Do It, Just "Can" I Do It), there is almost no way to prevent these AI from being developed with stolen data, and there's enough out there to make these very, very good. They've gotten immeasurably better in just the past few years. Also, preventing them from scraping one thing (ie archive-locking fic) is probably not going to do anything about the problem as a whole, even if it stops that one thing from getting used (and if it even does prevent that thing from being used; I am not sure there's not ways to get around that kind of obstacle).

Conclusions #2&3: Can't stop the technology from developing, and trying to prevent your data from being accessed through technological barriers is at best small potatoes and at worst futile.

Thought #4: What is the incentive for people to do this? Money. These AI are being developed in hopes that they can be used to do things humans can currently do, for cheaper, so they can sell them to companies who will then use them to replace human labor. Will it produce results as good as human labor? No. Will that matter? Not enough, and not in all circumstances.

Conclusion #4: How to prevent this from happening in a way that loses people jobs (or loses the least jobs, or at least protects creative work, or does the whole thing slowly enough to save your job and my job)? Make it so companies cannot legally make money by using the output of these AIs.

WHICH... takes us back to Conclusion #1 -- due to the copyright violation inherent in these programs, it is important to make sure the output can't be copyrighted. Which, at the moment, legal precedent says it can't be. But that's something that companies which stand to make money off AI-generated work are going to try to change.

THEREFORE... we gotta fight those fuckers every step of the way to make sure that AI generated work can't be copyrighted. Which, IMO, means:

educating people about how these models are developed using data theft

make the connection between AI development and potential harms clear (both things like face recognition tech and hurting creatives by replacing them in jobs)

encourage people to fight legally instead of technologically; ie instead of archive-locking work on AO3, continue to throw a fit at the AI company, file legal copyright complaints, etc (any useful suggestions here would be great!)

And then, bonus, if your company is considering using this kind of technology to replace artists or writers, throw a giant fucking shit-fit. Bring up possible legal ramifications. Bring up possible public backlash ramifications. Bring up ramifications of you personally quitting and being a huge bitch about it the whole time. Whatever you can safely do!

I don't think we can prevent AIs, nor do I necessarily think they're inherently evil; I DO think they are being made by people who do not care if they are being used or made in an evil way or not. I'm not sure we can prevent their usage to replace creative jobs entirely, but I think we should try. And I am willing to put my money where my mouth is on that. Which is all I can say about it!

NOTE: I am not a technical expert or legal expert on AI; I am some guy online, but I have a vested interest in this both as someone who pays to have art made and who makes art themselves. I have recently done a fair amount of research into this, and this is what I came to personally. If you have more information from a legal or technical perspective that contradicts this, I'd love to hear it!

[stevethehairington]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

i was tagged by @scimitar-and-longsword, ty Lolo for the tag!! 💕

How many works do you have on ao3? 118

What's your total ao3 word count? 667,938

What fandoms do you write for? the most recent fandom i've written for and posted for is stranger things, and i am still writing for it! i have also recently been dipping my toes into writing for both the terror and challengers (though i have not posted anything ~officially~ for either yet)

Top five fics by kudos:

good for my boy - steddie; wayne pov, the first time wayne meets steve! | 4,4,564 kudos

can't hide the way you make us glow - steddie; sequel to good for my boy, also wayne pov, this time how wayne finds out steve and eddie are together | 3,154 kudos

i want to hold your hand - steddie; steve has a crush on eddie and really reaaallly wants to hold his hand | 2,361 kudos

sloe gin fizzy, do it till you're dizzy - steddie; steve and eddie make a habit of getting high together... and also making out | 2,204 kudos

the world will follow after - steddie; steve accidentally kisses eddie on his way out the door | 2,000 kudos

Do you respond to comments? yes!!! i'll admit, i'm suuuper behind on this (a combination of being ridiculously busy and not having my laptop for a hot minute) but i absolutely do respond to every comment at some point! the way i see it is if you're kind enough to take the time to say something nice i'm gonna take the time to say thanks!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ooh angstiest ending? i fear i end all of my fics happy haha, but i suppose... well, i suppose keep you on a rope would fit the bill. this one is my tommy pov hs reunion fic, and tommy sees steve happy with eddie and then goes home drunk and upset soooo yeah that's a pretty unhappy ending for him lol.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? god, like everything else i've ever written?? lmfaoooo. i truly don't have one specific answer here because ALL my fics are happy endings if i can help it.

Do you get hate on fics? nah. i've gotten like a couple dumb comments before but they haven't been like mean outright hate or anything. i hope to keep it that way!

Do you write smut? hah, so, technically yes. but it's been a REAL hot minute, and every time i've tried to write smut recently i feel like i just get so stuck with it and then give up. soooooo.

Craziest crossover: i Do Not Like crossover fics so none! lol

Have you ever had a fic stolen? ummmm, i don't think so?

Have you ever had a fic translated? i've had a couple people ask before, but honestly idk if they ever actually did? so maybe lol

Have you ever co-written a fic before? i've tried! several times! but the, like, motivation/inspiration for those fics sort of fizzled out before they could be finished, so nothing has ever been posted.

All time favorite ship? oh man!!! this is a hard question!!!! because like, my favorite ship is obviously going to be the one i'm most invested in at the moment, but like i do still hold a very special place in my heart for the ships of the past i've fallen out of the fandoms for.

the current ships i'm coo coo for cocoa puffs over at the moment are steddie, fitzier, and tashi/art/patrick (honestly do not know what the "official" ship name for them is lol)

but if i had to pick my favorite out of all the ships ive ever written for... man i think i have to go with stucky!! there's just something about that ship that reaaaaally hits, and even though i don't really write for it anymore, just thinking about it makes me go bananas and feel so much, so yeah, stucky my beloveds.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? HAH okay i have an answer for this one: my steddie two night stand au!!!!! it was going to be my fic for the steddie big bang but i had to drop out of that bc irl got in the way, but i have like. at least half of the fic written already and a solid plan for the rest and i was totally loving what i had for it, and ive been DYING to write a two night stand for literally any fandom i've ever been in so i REALLY want to finish this one at some point... i hope i will!!!

What are your writing strengths? i would probably say my characterization!!! i try really really hard with that and i've gotten lots of comments that have pointed this out specifically, which makes me extra proud!

What are your writing weaknesses? i feel like sometimes when i get too in my head about things i end up, like, getting kind of repetitive, like i'll start using "smile" or describing eyes too much lol. i always try to like fix this when i edit before posting, but it's definitely something i notice myself doing.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? i don't really have an opinion on this, like, whatever fits your fic best, so long as there's a translation somewhere that is easily accessible to the reader!

First fandom you wrote in? skam!!

Favorite fic you've written? oooh okay. i think i'm either going to go with keep me on a rope or under my umbrella!!

i'm going to tag: @withacapitalp @steddielations @henderdads @stevesbipanic @greenlikethesea @toburnup @thefreakandthehair @heybluechild @steddieasitgoes and anyone else that wants to do this!!

[mauesartetc]

PSA regarding character design asks

For those of you who are new here, if you take a look at the "character design" tag in this blog's archive, you'll notice I post a fair bit about the subject, sometimes helping others improve their own designs. I love getting these kinds of asks, as working out design kinks is a fun challenge for me (despite urgent life shit delaying my response times. Folks who've sent me design asks in the past few months: They're in my drafts and I thank you for your patience).

But recently I received an ask that displayed some rather disappointing behavior, and I thought I'd take this opportunity to nip it in the bud. This isn't a callout post, and I'm not trying to sic the shame squad on this person. I just want to stress to all of you that this isn't okay.

The ask included an image of a character they drew and some brief paragraphs of background information. Typical fare for this kind of ask. Everything was fine until the last two sentences.

I have to confess that I shamelessly stole the [clothing article] from [someone else's character design]. But since [worldbuilding info related to a real-life thing the other person's design was based on], it made perfect sense.

I looked up the original design they were referring to, and sure enough, they had traced so much of it that half of their design wasn't really theirs. Because it "made perfect sense."

I'm going to say this in the most civil way I possibly can.

ANYTHING. Would have made more sense. Than art theft.

"But Maue, it's just part of a design, not the whole thing". Doesn't matter. Theft is theft. And I want to make it clear to everyone reading this that if you think it's in any way acceptable to rip off another character designer, my posts haven't taught you a damn thing. Frankly I'm a bit insulted that this person assumed I'd be complicit in this.

For the record, professional designers do NOT steal from others, or at least the good ones don't. They might be inspired by an existing design, but, importantly, they'll use other inspirations too, and put their own unique spin on it. It's just a starting point, not the final product.

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but this ain't just imitation; it's the equivalent of copying another kid's homework in school. This is cheating. I've had one of my own characters shamelessly ripped off before, and there was nothing flattering about it. It just made me feel used, like a parasite had sucked me dry. I never want anyone else to feel that way, and I hope to God none of y'all do either.

Folks, if you want to design your own characters, do the research and actually design your own characters. It's really not that hard. Sure, the first attempts might look terrible, but at least they'll come by their shittiness honestly. Ugly art that tried has infinitely more charm than gorgeous art that didn't.

I'm sorry if this comes off as harsh, but I take this shit seriously. So please don't send me asks containing stolen artwork. I won't respond and you'll earn yourself a block. Fair warning.

Don't get lazy. You know better, so do better.

Thanks.