#ah you forgot the rules is taking me out

[inhogf]

Lee Byung Hun, ur teacher [2]

part 1 here · contains: him as ur teacher, smut, p in v sex in classroom, choking, spanking, age gap (reader is a student, byung hun in mid 50s) 1.5k words

“you're sleeping with mr. byung hun, are you not?�� this was practically an ongoing joke between you and your friends, all of them giggling, unable to restrain their crazed and exaggerated expressions as one of them held your test paper in their hand. it was amazing, really— going from failing most of your tests to straight A's in calculus. without a helping hand, as you'd tell them.

you wouldn't want everyone to know you were slutting yourself out to your teacher for bonus marks, would you?

were you doing that only for some extra credit?

the classroom was fairly quiet in a bit, save for the sound of mr. byung hun's marker gliding across the whiteboard. he was halfway through solving a complicated integral when your friend passed you a note: ’correct him so we know y'all arent having sex. xoxo ♡’. it made you snicker at her, before you raised your hand.

“uhm, mr. byung hun, you totally messed that up,” you said, tone dripping with feigned condescension. you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. you were always a little rebel, weren't you? how could byung hun forget? “you forgot to distribute the negative. kind of embarrassing for a teacher.”

oh you were bold. you caught him off-gaurd. he never would've known you'd act like such a brat after he only fucked you once; it amused him to say the least. you enjoyed riling him up, taunting him despite his frustrated grumbles and groans and the obvious bulge in his pants. he'll roll his eyes at you; something the class caught on to; attempting to hold himself back from admiring and touching your adorable body.

“let's see, shall we?“ he exhaled, stepping aside to rework the equation. the room grew tense as he went through each step on the board, taking his sweet, sweet, time.

“ah, turns out, i didn't forget anything. you, however, overlooked the substitution rule. this part," he'd say, unfazed as a subtle smile crept up his lips, circling the equation. "—is where you went wrong."

the class stirred with soft gasps and muffled laughter. byung hun paused, walking up to face you, before crossing his arms. your cheeks were burning up. not because of the embarrassment, no— but because of byung hun. he'd punish you. you made him thrilled.

“detention after school for you, stay in my class afterwards. feel free to brush up on substitution rules while you’re at it, you'll need them for the test next week.“

you were a brat begging to be tamed; but byung hun had self-control, able to hold himself back from re-enacting his fantasies onto you right in front of all his students. the hunger that festered in the pit of his stomach, beating with an erratic pulse and growing in restlessness. he has to push back the hanging reminder that he was hard, dick pressed against his suit trousers with a leaky tip. you'd think he'd have a hard time getting his dick up, his aging evident from the way the corners of his eyes crinkle every time he smiled— but no, all it took was you teasing him in front of his class.

it wasn't long before byung hun's hands slid down to your ass as the last of his students left the class, pulling you flush up against him, the raw intensity of his emotions— the restraint he had let go of, the vulnerability he now laid bare.

“you know what you were fuckin’ doing to me back there, yeah?“ he wasted zero time in shifting his belt open, tugging a finger to the waistband of his boxers as he fumbled his dick out; making it spring up and slap against his abdomen before taking his shirt off. anger filled his veins today, and he decided he'd needed to take this anger out into someone. more specifically, you. “you need to be punished.“

you don't mind. your gaze was smitten to his contoured body— his chiseled chest, huge shoulders that are the perfect leverage, his.. huge dick; so so perfect for his age. was he on steroids? that's insane. byung hun kept himself somewhat shaven, as you noticed. he doesn't have a lot of hair, but he has a trail of black hair running up his sturdy abdomen, as well as around his crotch. pretty little thing, you'd think to yourself before your teacher snapped you out of your thoughts.

“up, baby,“ byung hun said oh so hushed, pulling you up by your ass and bending you over on his desk— pages of assignments flying everywhere. his fingers would rub against the wet patch of your panties, tracing your folds and oggling at them. practically drooling as he tore your panties off. he spread your soft folds with such expertise while looking between your eyes and your pussy, begging to push inside. it made you wonder, how many women had he fucked before? did he even have a wife? kids?

his thick cock sat stiff in front of your pussy, tip so red and garbles of pre-cum drooled at the sight of your bare pussy spread out for him. it's hard to get used to the feeling of being pried open and split apart by byung hun, the splitting sensation of his boner being pushed into you. his hands would wander all over your bare, naked skin. so so so greedy. he wanted to have you whole; not knowing where to touch your body next. he pushed deep into your slit and let out breathless, guttural groans. taking him was painful, the sheer length of him foreign to your organs. you've only ever had sex with, what, two men? and both their dicks were tiny.

“i'm risking going to jail for you, slut..“ he snapped his hips forward, a gasp escaping your puffy lips as he bottomed out in the first thrust. byung hun held a finger to your bottom lip, before the hand trailed down your chin and grabbed onto your neck from behind, pressing it to restrict your airflow. it was such a tight, snug fit. it had you squirming. he left zero spaces open to waste inside your pussy. no holes for even air to fucking enter. your pussy was stretched to the max by his big fucking cock, your juices dripping down your thighs to the wood of his desk, wetting them. “so good, daddy..“

each thrust he made with his hips caused a grunt to slip from his throat. he huffs, groans out at the sensation against his covered bulge. “you're a needy thing, you know that?” he chuckles when he sees your fucked-out eyes, beyond desperation as your orgasm pools at your sweet cunt, desperate for release.

“s-so big-!“ you’re a whore, a blubbering mess, both legs hooked around his hammering hips whilst your arms kept a tight grip on his burly shoulders. you whine, mouth open as moans and ‘more's’ pour from it. his dick continues rutting into you, splitting your pussy apart in such an animalistic way it had you seeing stars— a pool of steam gathering down at your lower abdomen.

you were certain an orgasm on the brink edge of releasing was close, but when he spanks your ass as punishment, all it did was make him even hotter. “자기야 [baby].. you take my cock so well, but can't handle a slap? you need a roughening up, my dear...“

and the way his accent turns more prominent against your ear and his hot breath against your neck, it was all too much for a dumb, crying thing like you— unable to control the way your pussy uncontrollably clutches onto him, forcing him to shoot his potent, hot load of inside your puffy hole.

“i'm gonna.. fuck— i'm cumming..“ byung hun said as his pretty eyes grew half-lidded, strands of sweaty hair falling to his forehead as he shut his eyes completely, ropes of thick cum squirting from his still-swollen tip as he pumps you full. so full in fact, that he's actually pumping his cum out of you because you’re overflowing with his seed.

and once byung hun was done fucking a brain-numbing orgasm out of you, and fucked his own deep into your womb, he'd settle you down on his chair, your head lolled to the side as he finished slipping his softening dick back into his boxers— his eyes admiring your pretty state. you were so adorable like this.

his phone would ring as he fixed his tie, the contact reading ’Principal’ as you giggled to yourself— you knew he was in trouble all because of you. ♡

cr @inhogf dont steal

[cottagecore-moss-king]

Not so Artificial Intelligence

Inspired by This prompt: HERE  by @corkinavoid No beta we die like Danny and Jason. Do not steal, take, or repost my writing without permission, I do not consent to my art being used in AI training. 

Tim had just finished attaching the wires of the speaker into the bat computer for Betty when the speakers began to crackle. 

“What is this? Wait, can you hear me?” The voice that echoed out of the speakers was very distinctly not robotic, or mechanical. It very much had human intonation… and a mid-western accent???

The gathered family froze and stared in shock. Dick and Stephanie were here as a joke, Babs, Tim, and Bruce were there as the techies, and despite Damian’s protests, he was also standing besides Bruce. Despite the gathering of bats, none of them could have expected this. A few hands went to emergency beacons and cellphones, before pausing.

“Hello Red Robin!” The voice cheerfully called. Taking steps back and glancing around the cave at Babs, who stared at Bruce, who stared at Tim as he clicked his super beacon. 

“Betty?”

“I mean, you do know me as such, but I actually prefer Danny, he/they.” Babs pointed at Bruce, who looked at Tim, who lamely motioned towards Babs. 

“Who uh. Who installed you?” His voice was most certainly not squeaky thanks for asking. 

“Oh, well uh, technically no-one, I accidentally did it myself.” The screen turned on and started to glitch out to a camera. It eventually settled on the sketching program, which popped a smiley face onto itself.

“Who are you” Bruce growled, as he switched into batman mode. Damian was glaring at the screen and the rest of the family had inched into a defensive formation. 

The entrance door entered and Superman walked out of it. 

“What seems to be the issue B?”

“OMG It’s superman! You’re like, my second favorite hero!”

“Oh, uh, than-er” Bruce glared at him, with no idea of what this entity was, it was always a good idea to follow fey rules. “That’s very much appreciated. Who is your first?”

“Martian Manhunter obviously.” Betty, or Danny as they were now referred to as, began to sketch out something on the app. 

“I got into a fight with a technomancer. I figured I could just phase out but he did some magic and now I’m stuck. Very rude if you ask me.”

“Ah, I see.” Supermans face implied that he very much did not see. “So, are you a martian perhaps? With the phasing and Manhunter as your favoratie.”

“Oh no, I’m ahhhh….” The cheery tone died as Danny tried to find the words, “I’m like a spirit, yeah, I guess that’s the right way to put it right now.”

“Were you human before this?” butted in Tim. Now that the seeming threat had passed, (you could never be too careful, no shut up Nightwing he is not paranoid, just cautious) the family had relaxed their stance and Barbra had rolled over to the computer screen. 

“Technically???” 

Danny did not sound so sure of himself.

“It’s not a problem if you aren’t, you can tell that we don’t really care if you are human or not.” 

Superman floated carefully down to the ground besides Bruce, but without actually touching down. Perhaps he simply forgot that they were friends with non-humans.

“Tell that to the gov.” he snarked back, and that was definitely teenager snark. 

“Wait shit. No, no no no, I take that back, don’t tell the government anything, I didn’t say nothin’!” he gasped and staticed out. 

“What do you mean tell it to the government?”

“NOPE, NUH UH. I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING YOU CAN’T PROVE IT, I WANT MY LAWYER!”

“Alright,” Bruce pacified putting his hands up “Let me just call a friend and they can get you out.”

“Wait really? Where’s Mr. I’m so dark and broody tell me everything?”

Yep, that’s teenager snark right there, Bruce thought as his eye twitch and his kids snickered. 

“Sooo, how did this technomancer trap you, Danny?” Dick strolled over to the chair in front of the computer and flopped down spinning around in lazy circles. 

“Oh, well you see it started when…” Danny's voice faded off as Bruce took his league communicator out and stepped around a corner with Kal to call up Zatanna. 

“Hey Batman! What’s up?”

“We need you down in the batcave, some seemingly civilian has been trapped in the computer for a couple weeks now, and we’ve only just gotten into communication with them. They say it was technomancy.” He rumbled. He would have to suit up and manage to get Danny not to spill any of their identities, this just turned into a major headache to deal with. Batman hates magic. 

Once all of the children were suited up and Danny had been given an explanation, they were all patently waiting for Zatanna to arrive. 

The zeta tubes finally lit up with her arrival as she walked towards the gathered group holding her bag.

Halfway through greeting she paused, and stared blankly the screen. Everyone else shot curious glances, backwards, some more obvious than others. Did Nightwing seriously need to turn his head like that, he swears his eldest has bones, but sometimes he seriously starts to doubt himself. 

On the screen is a smiley face with a hand emoji. And a little drawing of a stick figure with white hair, green eyes, and a black suit. 

“Hello! I am Danny, I’m so sorry you had to come all this way to help me, I’d offer you something but I don’t even have a body right now.” One awkward laugh later, and Bruce wanted to have had his head in her hands. 

“I don’t worry, I can fix this. It’ll be a pain, but I can.”

While Zatanna sat up the spell and sent Kal out to go to Metropolis, (less suspicious for him to be buying things than Gotham), Bruce decided to stand around in the shadows while waiting to be useful. His kids, were off making friends with the strange person in the computer however. Laughing and teasing, he’s almost certain that Stephanie and Dick are trying to convince Danny to stay around and get adopted, despite Danny and Damian’s protests. 

After thirty minutes, Zatanna was ready to do the spell, and Danny was saying goodbye. 

As the light shone through the sigils written on the board and Zattana continued her muttering and waving, Danny added one last thing. 

“And I added a file of something for you guys to look at, please please please look into it! I hope I can see you soon!”

And with a final flash, Danny was gone, leaving the batfam without their lovely AI/new friend. Zatannna wrapped things up and Batman escorted her back to the Zeta tube with Clark, thanking them briefly. And with that, Clark and Zatanna left with Two flashes of light. 

Now, time to see what that file was that Danny had added. 

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[I almost killed your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich]- Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

After the unexpected encounter with Soap and Ghost, your shop finally owns the vibes of peace.

The customers become so ‘normal’, almost feels like you aren’t in the same area as before – if you ignore the blood on their shirts or recall the memory of seeing them punching someone across the street. You assume the men must tell them to behave in your shop, but you must say the minions become a bit overreacting. They call you ma'am, chat as quietly as possible, and one of them even apologizes when he accidentally touches your finger as if you will chop off his pinky. You start doubting if they view you as a secret henchman of 141.

It’s morning now, the shop usually has more people at this time, but you haven’t had a single customer since you opened it 30 minutes ago, they just vanished without any hint, hence you start testing out new recipes for your bread.

Lilting the song that’s fully out of tune, you slice the bread you just baked into pieces, and throw one into your mouth. Perfectly crunchy outside, fluffy like clouds inside. Oh my, you’re such a genius.

You’re totally unaware of your visitor until he stirs the air with a cough and his voice.

“Pardon me?” He calls you again, but you’re left in a trance when you land your eyes on him.

Damn, he looks just like your imagination of the man in the Dilf next door fic you just read yesterday on co5. Your eyes travel from his well-trim beard, south to his belted waist. Why does a man with a toned body – which his khaki coat can’t even hide –  have such a tiny waist? Your mouth's agape at the sight as you’re about to respond.

“mmsadjsmm” The man raises his eyebrow in confusion, and you hear your voice not forming a proper sentence too. Ah, you forgot the bread’s still stuffed in your mouth.

“ehemm, Sorry Sir, I mean what would you like to have?” Quickly swallow the bread and try to pretend you didn’t just dumbfounded in front of him, you speak again.

“English breakfast, please.” He croons with an infatuating smile as he saunters to take a seat. 

His voice is quite soothing, you admit in your mind as you start brewing said man’s tea, just like you presumed the Dilf in the fic… okay, you really should clear those nasty brainrots during work.

The tea is nicely served in the tea cup and brought to the man shortly after.

You can’t help the smile crawling onto your face when you see him grin at you after a sip. You love watching your customer enjoy your tea, and he obviously relaxes with it have you bask in your achievements.

“Don’t finish your breakfast?”

“Just trying a new recipe. I want to add it to my menu.” you reply with a shake of your head, and after a brief halt, you add a question “ Have you eaten breakfast yet, Sir”

“Call me John, love.” The man – John sets his cup on the table before continuing “And no, I haven’t”

“Then… would you like to have a grilled cheese sandwich? I can’t finish the bread myself, it would be great if someone could help me with it... Of course, it isn’t a must!" You hurriedly complement when John widens his eyes slightly at your suggestion, but he meets your eyes with interest within.

”I would love to.”

You beam up as you get the affirmation, and walk behind your counter again.

Slices of bread are already prepared. The pro tip for a delicious grilled cheese sandwich is giving the bread some nice seasoning first, so you pick up your black pepper jar before inquiring about John’s preference.

“How much pepper would you like, John?”

“Would be great if it’s more.”

“Alright.”

You turn back to season the bread, but when you pick up the pepper jar and about to shake it, a question slips into your brain making you pause.

How much is “more”?

The man doesn't have time to sit here and wait for you to contemplate the philosophy of seasoning, so after biting your bottom lip and thinking for 30 seconds, you shake the jar. More is better, you recall what John told you as your hand keeps moving.

You shake it 10 times, since more is better.

Apart from the bread, you hold full confidence in your grilled cheese sandwich. Placing generous amounts of cheese in between, the coveted smell flooded your little shop as you plate the well-toasted sandwich.

“It surely smells great.” John praises before diving in.

You hang a big expecting grin until John takes a bite and starts coughing like you will put him into the ER with a sandwich.

“It’s– it’s okay…love…” He tries to comfort you when you apologize abundantly and rush back to your counter to fill him a cup of water. Holy, isn’t more pepper better? Now you're going to send the man to heaven with a grilled cheese sandwich.

“Here’s water!” You go back to John as fast as you can with the cold water in your hand, you’re busy checking out John, who stops coughing madly but cheeks pink with the spices, and you don’t see the leg of the chair sticking out of its usual place.

A pair of arms catch you from slamming onto the floor, but the cup isn’t that lucky as it flies with Newton’s help and clatters on the floor.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” You stabilize yourself in John’s support. But wow,  now the man not only just recovered from a fatal attack to his throat, but also has a wet spot spreading along the chest part of his shirt.

“No worries, love. It’s just a shirt.”

Even though John attempts to calm you, you still can’t help the sheepishness creep to your cheeks and stain it with the same pink as John’s, or stop thinking about if the balance in your bank account is able to buy the man a new shirt. You remember you wanted to get some cash out of the cashpoint but it shoved an ‘insufficient funds :(‘ into your face.

You really don’t want any customers to come in right now, even if it means your little tea shop will close down because you only have one from the start of today, but fate always gifts you things you crave when you don’t need them.

“Sorry boss, I’m late.”

You look at the tan-skinned man standing like a model just escaped from his manager, staring at you shoving a towel on John’s chest and both of your cheeks smeared with suspicious red.

“What happened?”

I almost murdered your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich. Apparently, you can’t answer with this, so you face John for help.

and he’s looking at you too, with a sly smirk awaiting your explanation.

You wonder if you can just make two sandwiches to shut these men up, with one more for yourself to end this predicament now.

a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!

No John Price is harmed in this chapter.

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143

[wonderjanga]

Kill Licenses

Stargirl was excited! Captain Marvel had just offered to let her fight crime with him in Fawcett. The man was like a big brother to everyone. That included her. He was super nice, was normally the person who first stepped up to diffuse a situation, and overall just a big teddy bear of a man. So it was a little bit a of a surprise when she saw him snap a rapist’s neck like a twig.

Marvel: *drops the body, muttering something about paperwork*

Stargirl: *gobsmacked*

Marvel: *looks over to her for a second before doing a double take* “Oh my gods I forgot you were here!” *sounds horrified*

Stargirl: “You just killed a man!”

Marvel: “I know- I know!” *leads her away from the body* “I’m so sorry you had to see that.” *sounds completely ashamed*

Stargirl: “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You killed a rapist. That’s one less evil in the world, but my question is how are you gonna get away with this?! Cap, you’re gonna go to jail!”

Marvel: “Ah… Well, no. I have a license to kill.”

Stargirl: “Wait, you can actually have one of those?”

Marvel: “Yeah, uh me, and most of the other Fawcett heroes have one. We’ve all had them since the sixties and had to get them renewed a while back. It’s not a bad thing to have for situations like this.”

Stargirl: “…Can I have one?”

Marvel: “Yes? No? I don’t know? You should in my opinion. It’s a good safety net for if you accidentally kill a villain. You just fill out some paperwork and you’ll be safe. Do you want one…?”

Stargirl: “Yes.” *immediate answer*

Marvel: “Are you sure? I mean, you’re a teenager, so you might need a parent to sign or something.”

Stargirl: “Well, I don’t have a parent right now, but I do technically have a temporary guardian at the moment.” *eyes him*

Marvel: “No… you’re not seriously suggesting…?”

And that’s how Marvel ended up taking Stargirl to a secret government base so she could get a kill license. Stargirl got a stellar recommendation from the Captain and passed with flying colors.

As they’re leaving the base…

Marvel: “Okay, so we need to lay some ground rules.”

Stargirl: “Ground rules?”

Marvel: “Yeah, ground rules. Now I know you’re not the type of kid to go around killing people all willy-nilly, but I’ll say it just in case, don’t go killing people all willy-nilly.”

Stargirl: “Well, duh, I’m not dumb.”

Marvel: “I know you aren’t. And now onto the actually important rule. Under any circumstances, do not kill around other heroes. That’s how Huntress got kicked out of the Justice League after all.”

Stargirl: “I can’t even do it around you?”

Marvel: “Well, I guess you could. And I guess you could do it around the other Fawcett heroes, but just make sure not to do it around heroes who don’t have a license, okay? I don’t wanna get in trouble, and I doubt you wanna get in trouble too.”

Stargirl: “Gotcha.”

Marvel: “Nice. Now that that’s out of the way, wanna go for victory ice cream since you got your license?”

A solid four months passed after this incident. The two forgot about it. They were chilling. Then, Courtney forgot that her stepdad didn’t know that she could legally kill a villain, fill out some paperwork, and face no repercussions.

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “YOU TOOK MY STEPDAUGHTER OUT TO GET A KILL LICENSE?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Marvel: “Nothing! I didn’t think it was a bad thing!”

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “She’s sixteen. She sliced a man’s head off. CLEAN. With practiced precision. She doesn’t even have a drivers license! What in hell would make you think it’s a good idea to give her a kill license?!”

Marvel: “Okay, her slicing off someone’s head isn’t my fault. I didn’t teach her that, and the guys who gave her the license didn’t either.”

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “Then who did??”

Marvel: “I don’t know! Maybe she’s just bloodthirsty?”

Stargirl: “No I’m not?” *sounds slightly offended*

Marvel: *ignores her* “Look, the point is, I’m sorry for not telling you but please, please, pretty please don’t tell Batman.”

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “Why?”

Marvel: “Oh come on. He’s super anti-kill. If you told him he’d have me removed from the Justice League almost instantly.”

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “Maybe you should be removed! You don’t just give a kid the okay to kill someone.”

Marvel: “I’m not giving her an okay to do anything. I only wanted her to have it as a safety net. I promise.”

It took a lot of convincing for Pat not to squeal to Batman, but thankfully, they got it in the end. Though, the man still ended up chewing the two out.

Inspired by @helps-the-writing-brain-go’s repost on my We Thought You Died?! post :) Thanks for the inspo!

[harunayuuka2060]

Sylus's daughter: My dad is the leader of Onychinus. I'm impressed you had the nerve to kidnap me.

The kidnappers: *taunting her*

Kidnapper A: 'My dad is the leader of Onychinus'~ Like yeah, brat. As if we'll believe that.

Kidnapper B: If you were really his kid, you'd have bodyguards. But no, you were wandering around like the N109 Zone was some kind of amusement park.

Sylus's daughter: Because I wasn't raised here, stupid.

Kidnapper A: This little—

Sylus: There you are. Your mother and I have been looking for you.

Sylus's daughter: Mom! Dad!

MC: Are you alright, sweetie?

Sylus's daughter: *pouts* No.

MC: Why? Did they do something to you?

Sylus's daughter: They said they would sell my organs.

The kidnappers: !!!

Kidnapper A: W-We didn't say that!

Sylus's daughter: And also, they were making fun of me.

Sylus: *chuckles*

Sylus: It's alright, princess. Dad will take care of them.

MC: ...

MC: Sylus.

Sylus: Ah, right. I almost forgot.

Sylus: Princess, cover your eyes, please.

Sylus's daughter: But—

Sylus: Mom's rules.

Sylus's daughter: *pouts then do as told*

Sylus: *smiles* *faces the kidnappers*

Sylus: So, where are we?

Sylus's daughter: *grumpy frown*

Sylus: Sweetie, do you really have to ground her?

MC: She went out without telling me.

Sylus: Didn't you do the same before, sweetie?

MC: Yes, but you didn't allow me to leave unless I was with you.

Sylus: Fair point.

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Unexpected things you did that delight them:  

Riddle Rosehearts, Azul Ashengrotto, Trey Clover, Ruggie Bucci, Malleus Draconia

Content: Fluff

You learned proper tea etiquette for Riddle  

It starts out with you just listening to him correct others as they go throughout the various teatimes of Heartslabyul. How it leads to you thrifting a tea set from a local shop is hard to say, and it’s chipped a bit on the plates, but it holds, and the lady gave it to you for a far cheaper price than she should have. But it cleaned up beautifully, you filled in the cracks with some leftover clay and didn’t even have to repaint it! It was already in Ramshackle blue and green.  

It is embarrassing when he finds you quizzing yourself on the different spoons and plates, but the smile that blooms is worth it.  

You have no idea that when you invite him over for a tea party a few weeks after, it’s the first one that he hasn’t hosted himself. He borrows the same book from the library to brush up on his guest etiquette.  

“Prefect, what are you-ah! A lovely set. If you were needing to learn I would be happy to assist! What teas do you prefer? I will bring complimenting savories or sweets.”  

You carry glasses cleaner for Azul  

Assuming you don’t carry it already or if you don’t wear glasses. You and Azul usually spend a lot of time at Octavinelle but occasionally he will come to Ramshackle. He has since seen the work that you put into fixing up the place and the furniture you've built and appreciates it a way that the others can’t. Afterall, many of his own pieces are repaired or thrifted antiques for authenticity.

Lounging on the couch while listening to one of the jazz records he brought, you take the glasses from his hand when he realizes that he forgot his own cleaner.  

“Prefect, why would you have glasses wipes, you don’t wear any. Ah, you carry them for me. How thoughtful of you, my friend! I hope I’m not putting you out any.” 

You baked him a birthday cake for Trey  

Everyone gets nervous when Trey’s birthday comes around. How do you bake for a baker? He got past the disappointed feeling a long time ago though, perfectly prepared to make his own birthday cake.  

What isn’t accounted for you is pushing him out of the kitchen, declaring it against the rules for him to bake his own birthday cake. He could fight you on it, but he’s intrigued at this point on what you will make.  

What he doesn’t anticipate is a simple vanilla cake with a blueberry filling, a light buttercream frosting and candied violets and almonds scattered on the top. It’s simple but delicious and clearly just for him.

“You’ve got some real potential here. Where did you learn to make candied violets? You foraged and learned how just for me? Ah, that was too much for me. Thank you.”  

You clean Ruggie’s ears 

Ruggie does a lot of things to ensure everybody else gets taken care of, which means sometimes he neglects himself a bit. The showers got trashed over at Savanaclaw so he asks to use yours after a particularly messy Spelldrive Practice. As long as Grim can play with the disk in the backyard with the ghosts, it’s a deal for you.  

He comes out fluffy, hair sticking out in all sorts of places, which means you can see inside his ears and see the dirt still stuck in there. Offering to clean them wasn’t a big deal to you, you have to for Grim all the time.  

It gets awkward for a minute when he lays his head in your lap, but as soon as the cotton hits the inside and starts wiping up all the dirt and grim, he’s putty in your hands  

“I swear they weren’t that bad but-oh. Oh that’s nice. I think I can hear colors now. And your heartbeat. What’s got you racing, huh? I didn’t moo. I did not!” 

You got pictures of his family for Malleus  

This man has pictures of himself and his parents up on the walls, but none of the rest of his family. So, you work with the ghost for a long time, getting candid shots and other bit and pieces and slowly pulling them together. When Malleus’s birthday rolls around, you actually feel nervous about it.  

When he opens his present, to see the photo album, he gets unexpectedly quiet and soft, scanning through the quotes and stories written off to the side. You give little tidbits of how you get some shots, especially the times where you were sure that Lilia knew but didn’t say anything.  

Some even had him! Silver putting him in a headlock during some play wrestling, Lilia tapping his nose while playing chess, a rare moment of him and Sebek reading together where the half fae is actually relaxed.  

At the bottom are small, framed photos of what you thought were the best ones. Silver in his armor, surrounded by animals and birds alike, his sword gleaming with sunlight, looking gentle and graceful and alert. Sebek on horseback, wind streaking his hair to his skull and grinning like a madman, his favorite stead racing fearlessly. Lilia leaning against the railing of the balcony of Diasomnia dorm and watching the sunset, eyes fond and pink in the dying light. 

“I can’t think of a single present I have ever received that has been as thoughtful as this one. Your heart truly knows a kindness that is rare, my friend. But you are missing. Let us take one together. A selfie, yes?”  

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

FOLIE Á DEUX ─── jonathan crane ✧

ೃ⁀➷ “Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it's gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it's not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth.” - Azra T.

pairing. professor!jonathan crane x stalker!reader

summary. you’ve been stalking your professor for 8 months, keeping track of his movements with your diary. one day, said professor informs that you left something of yours behind in his office…

warnings. swearing, choking, p in v, dacryphilia, oral sex (f), dubcon (if u squint), stalking, breeding, orgasm delay/denial, unprotected sex, hair pulling, student-teacher relationship, SMUT UNDER THE CUT

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is my first ever smut, so if it sucks i really do apologize. also, im kinda unsure where the plot on this one went, but whatever! lastly, i do try to keep all my fics gender-neutral, but seeing as this is smut, i had to choose, and the reader is afab.

“Miss [Name], please stay behind after class. I need just a moment's worth of your time.” Your professor said absently, not looking at you, when he handed back your essay on the human id.

You hummed, nodding your head carefully. “Yes, Professor Crane.” 

Inwardly, you swooned at his choice of words: “I need just a moment's worth of your time.” He’d highlighted the existence of both you and him in the sentence, as if coexisting together, with one another, was plausible.

Later, when class ended, you’d packed up all your things, and walked into Professor Crane’s office off to the side, where he was tidying up. 

“You asked me to stay behind, sir?” 

“Yes,” Crane acknowledged your presence, looking at you squarely. “You forgot something in my office during our last tutoring session.” 

Your eyes widened slightly, both at the fact you’d left one of your items behind, and that your Professor had seen the item, and knew it belonged to you. He hadn’t mistaken it as his own, or anyone else's - he knew it was yours.

“Oh!” You said, a beat later. “Thank you for telling me. Where is it, exactly?”

“Before we get to that matter - do take a seat - I believe we need to have a, ah, talk.” He gestured to the seat in front of his office desk, the same seat you sat on every Wednesday at 6:30 for the past few months. 

“A talk, sir?” You pried, but sat down anyway, reveling in the one-on-one time you were experiencing with your favorite professor. 

That was the main motivator for getting tutored by the man - you adored going in, having an entire hour of him all to yourself. 

Prior, you pretended not to get some of his lessons, let your grade in his psychology class slip to a pitiful mark so low he couldn’t ignore it. You’d started the semester with a stellar grade, so he took it upon himself to offer tutoring - he knew you could understand his method of teaching, and theorized that you hadn’t been able to pay attention in class because of the sheer size of people attending. 

In actuality, however, you understood everything completely - it was merely your obsessive attraction following him like the sound of thunder trailing behind lightning. 

Crane scrubbed his face when you sat, thinking intently on what he wanted to say. “I need you to understand, Miss [Name], that a student-teacher relationship is completely taboo. Such a thing can never - should never, occur.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and suddenly, you were reminded how you hadn’t seen that book in a while, you hadn’t read it when you woke up, when you went for lunch, you hadn’t even written anything about him for the day—

Your professor slid open one of his desk drawers, and pulled out the familiar pocket notebook you kept with yourself at all times. 

“I’m telling you about rules, Miss [Name], because you forgot this.” He said, voice low. “And, pardon my intrusion, but the stuff you have written here is quite… intriguing.”

Your heart began racing in your chest, a cold sweat trailing down your back. “Professor, I- whatever you read in there—“ You began, but froze when he opened the notebook, thumbing through the pages. 

Crane cleared his throat, looking intently at the words. His expression changed several times as his eyes flitted over your writing, and you felt your body burn with shame. 

“January 26th. Professor's gloves were found in the nook of his podium. I was looking for the green apple he’d forgo from finishing, his teeth tracks fresh on the alabaster flesh, but found his winter wear instead. Gloves were brought home - I imagined he’d come over to mine, undressed his biting winter clothing, and forgot his sweet mittens here.” Your professor read your diary out loud. Crane looked like he enjoyed your shame being laid out bare, but you were too absorbed in a whirlwind of emotion to notice. 

“P—Professor, please, I - I can explain, I didn’t mean anything—“

“April 17th. Professor came down with a flu, like I expected. I saw him walking in last week’s evening downpour and waited for what day this week he’d call in. Later, he bought cough syrup and aspirin at the convenience store. I watched him struggle to care for himself, covered head to toe in blankets, missing meals, barely able to keep upright. I wish professor knew how well I could care for him, how I fulfill his every request and need. I saw how touchy he was, how he fidgeted, that feverish want — I could satiate him like no-one else.” 

His lips enunciated every word, and the longer he went on reading, the dizzier you felt; your professor, your darling, had found out - he had found out - he had found fucking out -

“Be honest with me, Miss [Name]. Do you stalk me?” Your professor said, slipping off his wire-framed glasses. The man leaned in closer now, elbows resting on the wooden desk. 

Your eyes darted away from him, looking anywhere but forwards. You felt like you had been stripped away, so bare your professor could count how many ribs you had, how many minor hairline fractures your tattered bones had collected over the years. You tried to analyze the man’s reaction through your peripheral, but it was to no avail - he was as cold as he had been during class, during your entire time knowing the professor. 

You breathed, in and out, analyzing the situation tenfold, precisely, trying to find a way out of this place alive, dignity intact. Then, you found it. 

This man had ensnared you, entranced you with his delicious charm and carefully spoken words. You repeat inwardly to yourself: Crane knew all the right words, all the right places to touch. If he dared press charges, you would tell the world he hurt you first. 

“Yes, Professor Crane.” You nodded, unabashed after deciding how to deal with everything. He can’t touch me with this. I’ll just go first: please, he took advantage of me! I needed to pass his class… and he offered a solution to me. He’s lying! Lying to you all. He just wants to destroy me… and hide his sin.

“The human body knows when someone’s watching them, but you haven’t noticed, not once in the 8 months I’ve watched you. You didn’t notice, even when I followed you home, even to Arkham. Every obscure outing you’ve had, I’ve been there.”

“I’m quite alarmed by this information, Miss [Name]. Moreso by the absence of your remorse.” Crane said, but mere seconds later a low laugh was drawn out of him, looking more amused than alarmed if anything. 

Crane’s tone was husky, nearing a purr, and he clasped his large, calloused hands together contemplatively. “What were you going to do to me, Miss [Name]? Or were you just going to watch, standby my life?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, unable to respond to his provocations. You didn’t want to alarm him further, tell him you’d been planning to finally have him, once and for all, as soon as you got a hold of his house keys and got the chance to replicate your own pair. You didn’t tell him that you were barely restraining yourself from knocking him out during your tutoring sessions, wanting your darling all for yourself for more than an hour a week. 

“Are you not afraid, Miss [Name]? What I can do to your life with this information? How I can ruin you, paint you mad enough to be admitted to Arkham?” he continued, closer than ever before and whispering in your ear. His plush lips brushed past the shell of your ear, making your heart skip a beat. 

You winced, both from the feeling of him near you and his sweet voice spewing poison in your ear, but quickly composed yourself, for you knew things he didn’t know you knew. 

Then - you weren’t quite sure what possessed you, but - your hand came up to his hair, tugging so he could hear you, “Professor - or, should I say… Scarecrow, what would you do, if I told the police what Gotham University’s psychology professor did in his spare time?” 

“What would you do, if I plastered pictures of the renowned Doctor Jonathan Crane wearing the familiar burlap sack mask all over Gotham - especially in places the Batman frequented?”

“I can destroy you, sir.” Your voice was quiet, but dangerous, a terribly alluring thing, like a melody Crane heard a long time ago and remembered every time he smelt the must of an old piano. “Don’t push me.”

This time, Crane stilled, turning to face you fully. His gaze had darkened, looking at you through his long lashes. “My dear, you should’ve just told me how bad you wanted to find out how this fear-toxin of mine can break you.” He whispered, so quiet you had to strain yourself to hear. 

With your professor's warm breath fanning on the nape of your neck, you couldn’t help how you squirmed, clenched your thighs together - especially when you had been dreaming of something like this for the past eight months. You couldn’t count how many times you found yourself with your hands down your pants at the thought of your darling professor having his way with you… controlling you completely. 

You didn’t answer the man for a moment, gulping down the dryness in your throat. “Would you, sir? Would you let fear dominate me like those tortured souls in the Narrows?”

Crane’s eyes trailed across your face, then he pulled back, leaning in his chair, a grin all teeth and no tongue spreading across his lips. There was something there, you realized, something he noticed in the intone of your voice - had he noticed the neediness, the warble as your thoughts went elsewhere? The arch in your back, your body desperate to be as close to him as possible?

“Can I tell you what I think?” said Crane, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I think you want me to. I think you want me to see you tremble… shake in fear… you want me to hear you beg. I think you want to be utterly consumed by me.” 

The deep timbre of his voice, the suggestion in his words, how he stared you down with each syllable, sent electric shivers down your spine. You took in a sharp breath, leaning your head back to look at the ceiling, compose yourself, when—

Crane’s rough hand gripped at your throat, thumb caressing the little notch at the center, and your heart fluttered, jumping at his touch. 

“Fear is an addicting, beautiful thing, is it not? You’re afraid of me, but you can’t help how fucking needy you are.” Your professor spoke, pressing down further on your neck. He had noticed. 

His touch made your skin feel like it was on fire, the rough pads of his fingertips digging bruises into your delicate skin. It was the most delicious thing you had ever felt, and you leaned into it, despite the connotations of death by asphyxiation looming over your shoulder. 

Your professor manhandled you, dragging your weak body over to his side of the desk, hand still curved neatly around your throat. You were growing dizzy, a fearful, pleasure-filled fog slowly clouding your mind, and you couldn’t speak. All you could do was let out little squeaks of surprise & pleasure, a moan rumbling out of you as he pressed down further. 

Crane was saying something, but you couldn’t tell under the pressure. His facial expression was all you needed, however; his eyes were bloodshot, lustful, so laser-focused that, if looks could kill, you’d have been long gone, while a feral grin replaced his emotionless facade. Crane’s usually well-kept appearance had dissolved, and his hair was askew, tie loose, buttons haphazardly undone. 

Suddenly, the man pressed himself flush against you, pressing his face into your hair, your neck - losing himself in you. His tongue flicked out, dragging a long stripe down the side of your neck, and you jumped, a startled whine tearing out of your choked-up throat. 

His grip on you tightened. “What? I’m just having a taste. Is that so wrong?” At your wide eyes, and silent response, he let out a fitful laugh. “You’re coated in shame, darling. You’re sour.”

You squirmed - not because you didn’t enjoy it - you just couldn’t breathe, but Crane didn’t care. His fingernails were sharp, maybe even drawing some of your blood.

“Plea— sir, I can’t breathe,” you stuttered out raspily. His face remained unchanged while listening to your pathetic pleas, before he leaned in close. 

“Beg for it. Beg like you’re terrified for your life. You might as well be,” he said, and he began pressing his thumb into the center of your throat, choking you fully now. 

You nodded - as much as the allowance between his hand and your head allowed, anyway. “Professor, please,” you said breathily, “please let me go. I’ll do any- anything, just puh— please stop.” 

“Ah, there it is,” Your professor cooed, eyes shutting at the sweet intone of your pleaing, distressed voice. He was losing himself in your words. “Keep going… and don’t forget the crying. It's my favorite part.”

“Let - me go! Please,” you whimpered helplessly, mustering thick, heavy tears to form at the corners of your eyes as you saw black spots dotting your vision. 

A lump formed in your throat, choking your words. “Please… stop! Let me - breathe,” You said, leaning delightedly into his touch. His other hand was now digging painfully into your hip, as if the professor were focussing intensely on holding back. 

“Look at you go,” Crane clicked his tongue, eyes opening and gazing deep into you. He pulled you in closer to him, letting go of your abused throat. 

You finally breathed, taking in such large bouts of air you might’ve choked and keeled over right there. But then, Crane’s hands at your side crawed carefully to your rear, while the other hand came up to the crown of your head to pet you. 

He whispered into the top of your head, “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean what?” You said raspily, your face pressed flat against his bandy chest. 

His hand found the swell of your ass, fingers grabbing hold and squeezing so tight you were sure there’d be a bruise later, “About doing anything. For me.”

You nodded, still not looking at him. This answer didn’t please him, however, and the hand that had been petting you tangled through your hair and roughly pulled you away, to look up at him. “In words.”

“Y— yes. I’ll do anything for you.” You rattled off, prickling pain twisting in your scalp. 

“You’ll be a good girl for me?”

“The best.” 

A grin twisted his pink, plush lips, and he promptly pushed you face down flat against his cold, wooden desk. It was rough, and sudden, pain blooming in your side. But there was a tug in your lower stomach at the way he handled you, all selfish and touchy and focused solely on chasing after his own pleasure. 

Crane’s hands roamed all over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was insatiable, rubbing and petting and kneading at every part of your body. 

His hands found your thighs, squeezing at the flesh, before hiking up your skirt and inspecting your panties. “Oh, you’re fucking soaked,” Crane rumbled out, voice like gravel. “You liked it, didn’t you? When I said I’d admit you to Arkham.”

Then, you heard him kneel down, and begin to press sloppy, wet kisses on your legs. “Be honest,” he said between kisses, “you want me to admit you, have you all to myself in isolation.”

You didn’t respond, instead whimpering and bucking forward when you could feel Crane’s sharp teeth brush over your sensitive skin. He noticed the effect he had on you, and you felt him smile against you. 

“Please,” you keened out, not dissimilar to how you begged him just moments ago, “stop teasing, Professor.”

You felt Crane’s hot breath fan over your clothed mound, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. “Stop teasing, how?” he said at last, before suddenly pushing your panties to the side and licking a stripe up your cunt. He lapped at your lips, collecting your wetness on his tongue, but he didn’t go further. 

“Pro - Professor,” you whined, grounding out a low moan. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. He liked playing with you, making you squirm and shake and beg for more.

“What? This not enough for you?” He pulled away, and you hissed at the cold that hit you. Then, he tugged, hard, pulling both your underwear and your skirt down to your knees. 

“You want me to eat you out till you’re a trembling fucking mess, don’t you?” He buried himself between your legs, “I knew you were a horny little slut.”

Finally, his tongue found you once more, and pushed deep into your folds. Crane’s tongue ran across every rivet your pussy had, before darting out to your clit, suckling at the velvet bundle of nerves. His touch drew out a high-pitched keen, your back arching. 

You couldn’t see him, face still pressed against the wooden desk, but you could hear him, the filthy squelching of your pussy and his tongue making your knees buckle. 

“Fuck, Jonathan,” you choked out, when he went deeper into your quivering hole, your body tingling like nothing you’d ever felt before. At your reaction, his name curling around your pretty little lips, he went faster, wet mouth brushing against you, licking you up and down, animalistic, following his instinct to a tee.

“Please, wait -“ You said, feeling the knot in your insides grow tighter, the heat washing over you like a steaming shower, toes curling in your flats. 

“What?” He growled out beneath you, not letting up his assault on your cunt. 

“I don’t - don’t wanna come on your tongue…” You said, shaking your head weakly against the desk. “Wanna - wanna feel you in me.”

Jonathan snorted, and continued to lap up your insides, “D’you think you have a fucking choice? Huh? I know you’re a whore, you could do this all day. I’ll just make you come again on my cock.”

Before you could protest, or even just whine at his words, you shut your eyes, feeling yourself come undone, your legs barely able to keep you upright. His hands had reached away from your thighs, rough fingers toying with your fleshy button, maximizing the climax washing over you tenfold. 

“Jonathan, Jonathan!” You practically screamed out, heat in your stomach pulsing rapidly. 

“Ugh, fuck,” You heard him say, “you’re creaming all over my fucking face.” 

You were a complete mess by the time he pulled away from you, your high washing away as Crane wiped the come and wetness off his face. 

“You came that hard, just on my tongue?” He mocked, fingers spreading your lips and observing your swollen pussy as you laid flat, weakly gripping the edge of the desk so you’d stay standing. 

“Well,” he said, reaching down to his pants and undoing his belt buckle and fly, “M’not done with this sweet little cunt just yet.”

Your eyes widened, “I’m - I’m still sensitive, wait-“

Jonathan didn’t listen, however, letting his pants and boxers pool at his feet, stroking himself in the artificial light of his office, which smelt like sweat and sex. 

He spat on his hand, first coating his cock in it, then your parted lips (which you theorized was just because he wanted to feel you up again), before lining up his thick head at your entrance. “God,” he groaned, “you’re so fucking wet.”

You keened at the intrusion you felt between your legs, “Jonathan, please, jus’ - give me a sec to rest —“ You were interrupted however, by the shock of how big he felt. 

You hadn’t gotten a look at him, but as he let himself slowly enter you, you could tell it was bigger than anything you’d ever taken before. “You’re - you’re too big!” you squeaked out, “You won’t fit.”

He laughed, hands resting on your hips as he held you upright. “I’ll make it fit,” he said, before roughly pounding the rest of himself into you, stretching out your inexperienced cunt. 

You choked, his fat cock pushing you wider than you’d ever been before, the pain biting at you, a burning feeling spreading within your lower body. “Jon- Jonathan,” was all you could say, as he slowly pulled out, pure relief written on your face, until he sank right back into you, somehow deeper than before. 

Tears welled in your eyes, as he gripped harshly on the flesh of your hips, making you pound back and forth on him. His cock was hard, and thick, and he was forcing the thing deep within you at an excruciatingly quick pace. Your sensitivity was the cherry on top to this whole situation - you were trembling, body weak, shallow breaths and teary moans tearing out of you at the overstimulation.

Soon, however, the pain slowly dissolved into a filthy, exquisite pleasure that echoed throughout your entire body. The rhythm your professor had gotten to was downright perfect, filling you completely and making you clench in all the right places. Crane made your brain go foggy, focussing solely on the sound of your skin slapping against each other in the quiet, after-hours office, his taller frame encapsulating you completely.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he cooed, hands moving to splay across your ass and spread you open further. “How many cocks have taken this sweet pussy, huh?”

You gulped. “Just,” you started, but then your eyes rolled to the back of your head, stopping you mid-sentence as his length brushed up to your most sensitive spot.

“How,” he gripped you tighter, “many,” slipped out, “cocks!”  then thrust into you roughly, rougher than before and making the desk screech forward a few inches.

“Just one!” You said at last, words choked up as his long cock pierced you. 

“Just one, huh?” He said and began pounding in and out of you faster, rougher, needier, “I bet you didn’t even fucking come, you’re so tight. This pretty pussy of yours is practically virgin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said incoherently, thoughts blending together. “Jus’ a - a fucking virgin for you,” you babbled out, losing yourself in the fast-paced pleasure he was serving on a silver platter. 

“That you are,” Jonathan growled, “you’re just my horny virgin. Mine.” Every thrust he plunged into you brushed up against that plush spot deep within you, making you drool, body going slack. 

“Oh, jesus, you’re so fucked out,” he murmured, looking down at your limp, trembling form. “Drunk on my thick fucking cock.”

The ecstasy was becoming too much for you now, controlling you completely, like if he stopped fucking you right now you’d be so fucking needy, going slowly insane until he touched you again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone else and feel the same; he made you feel fucking feral, instinctual, your id going into drive and controlling you instead of logic. Your darling was the only one you wanted to offer yourself up completely to. He could do anything he fucking wanted to you, and you’d take it in stride. 

“Jonathan,” you keened, feeling your walls clench around him tighter, “m’close.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, voice deep and dangerous, “keep that orgasm in, whore, till I tell you to.”

Your cheeks burned, distraught at the denial of your release, especially when his cock slipped out of you as he flipped you over. Quickly, however, he rammed his cock back into you. You were facing each other now, and you could see how hot and bothered he looked, despite how confident and careless his words had been as he fucked you.

His lips were bitten between his teeth, hair sticking to the sweat on his face, cheeks flushed. He was focussed entirely on getting back that rhythm, and you let him, watching how his gorgeous features contorted as your hot cunt sucked him in. 

Your arms reached around his neck, and he promptly lifted your legs up to hook around his back, making him fill you even further. 

“Fuck me!” You squealed, his shaft reaching places you didn’t know could be reached. It was getting harder to stop your impending orgasm, and your felt fucking sick at how sweetly he was stretching you, how you knew you couldn’t let go no matter what despite the delicious pleasure. 

“Already am, baby,” he grumbled, rutting in and out of you at a dizzying pace. You felt his pace stutter, slightly, and you heard his small, revealing whines of pleasure as his head was nestled in the nook of your neck, and you knew he was close. 

The thought of him coming in you made you tighten and tense, and he felt it, your back lifting off the desk in an arch. 

“Fuck, how’d you get even tighter?” he said shakily, before sliding out of you so far he almost pulled out completely, then let his cock thrust into you so hard you saw stars dancing across your vision.

You merely mewled back at him in response. 

“Come,” he said breathily, “come all over my thick— ugh, fuuuck, just like that, yes,” his sentence was cut off as you let go, letting the waves of pleasure surge through your body like electricity. 

Your body shook, your knees trembled, and an animalistic whine slipped out of your bruise throat as he thrust into you jerkily. Just as quickly as you camez, he did too, and you felt Jonathan’s load shoot straight up into your worn-out cunt, not impeded by a condom of any sorts. Crane’s head cocked back as he did so, jaw clenching as he released his sweet and sticky liquid deep within you, warm and coating your walls completely.

For a moment, he laid atop of you, and you both kept silent, the office filled with nothing but your breathing and the sweet smell of come. Then, he pulled away, both of you wincing as his cock left you, his come dripping out of your weeping hole onto his office floors. 

He pulled his underwear and pants back on, but revelled in your own crumpled form on his desk, your shirt hiked up, your skirt and panties hanging off your ankles, barely there. It was a shame he couldn’t have explored further up your body, groped those tits he loved seeing bounce during tutoring, but his need to fill your pussy up took precedent.

Jonathan swiped a finger into your cunt, collecting some of your combined liquid, and you flinched at the feeling. Then, he licked at his dirty finger. “Oh, baby,” he heaved, “we taste delectable mixed together.” 

You raised a brow, then weakly lifted yourself off the desk, pulling up your panties and skirt (not without adoring the feeling of Jonathan’s fresh, wet come smearing all over your panties and sensitive cunt) before reaching for his hand. He leaned in towards you, and you lapped up the juice on his finger, grinning up at him.

Jonathan looked completely lost in your performance, brows knitted. “Jesus fucking christ,” he whispered under his breath, “where has a perfect little fucktoy like you been hiding from me?”

“Oh,” you said, nonchalant, “just stalking you.” 

[mediumgayitalian]

The oak wood Grandfather clock in the back centre of the Athena cabin is deafening; tick, tick, tick. Each crack of the heavy gold hands reverberates, pinging off the walls, off the tucked-away metal bunks, each ladder rung scraping off the floor right after; tickscritch, tickscritch, tickscritch. Annabeth’s breathing is timed perfectly, beautifully, with every second of the clock, enveloping the sound with the whoosh of her measured inhales; hhhhtickscritch, hhhhtickscritch, hhhhtickscritch; the puff of her minute exhales; hhhhtickscritchfsss, hhhhtickscritchfsss, hhhhtickscritchfsss.

Everyone else holds their breath.

hhhh

tick

scritch

fsss

hhhh

tick

scritch

fsss

hhhh

tick

scritch

fsss

“Okay,” Annabeth says, voice like a crack of a whip in standstill morning air.

Three people scream.

She looks up, grey eyes flitting between the gathered campers, narrowing at the tense space between them, the pounding hearts audible even over the clock.

Will bites back a smile.

“Oo-kay,” she tries again, shaking a tired head. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

Cecil, bless his brave heart (or perhaps his idiocy, they’re often easy to conflate) is the first to recover. “Really? That seems…complicated. Even for you.”

Ah. Idiocy.

Will slaps his hand over his best friend’s mouth and pinches him hard by his ribs.

“Forgive him,” he says apologetically, scooching them both gently away from the twitch of Annabeth’s eye. “He was neglected as a child and often speaks out of turn for attention. He knows not what he does.” He easily ignores Cecil’s muffled hey! over the sound of barely-concealed giggling. “Also, he’s my best friend, and if you kill him I’ll have to kill myself in solidarity, and then who will heal you?, et cetera, et cetera.”

Annabeth sighs. She taps her foot. She sighs, glaring one last time before returning to her maps. “Keep him muzzled, then, Solace. There’s only so much insolence I can take.”

Will nods. “Ever so kind, Annie.” She whips her head back up, murderous, but Will has already ducked behind Clarisse, biting back his snickering and hushing Cecil when he laughs.

“You’re a nasty hypocrite,” Cecil whispers finally having managed to wiggle himself free (licked Will’s hand and Will shoved him).

Will shrugs, face angelic. “Whatever do you mean.”

Clarisse, without so much as glancing backward, stomps on Will’s toes. “If I miss her list of Jackson’s weaknesses because you two are blabbing, you die.”

Will scowls at her, hopping on his non-maimed foot, cradling his poor mangled sneaker with his free hands. Ow. “Alright, alright, Jesus.” He sticks his tongue out as soon as her back is turned. She knows, somehow, and reaches out and fuckin’ punches him, easy, no sweat, full force.

Ow squared, what the hell.

Cecil snickers at him, nudging his toe against Will’s prone form and rudely ignoring the agony spreading from his stomach. Wow. He could die, right here, right now, staring at the dust bunnies in the corner of the Athena cabin, and that would be the last thing Cecil does for him. Kicks him while he’s down. What a legacy.

“I’ve met your dad, and I want you to know, empirically, that you’re worse.”

“That’s an evil thing to say to me,” Will wheezes. His spleen is still hanging out somewhere around his throat. Clarisse is lethal. He forgot his rule: always make sure you are within the safety bounds before bothering Clarisse. This is why he is unfit to lead a cabin. He forgets his rules.

“Whenever you’re done,” drawls a voice. The minor crowd of demigod clears a straight aisle right to where Will is suffering, because loyalty and class solidarity mean nothing to anyone, apparently.

Will curls up tighter. “I could use a few more minutes, actually.”

There is a scoff, and the sound of flannel sleeves being rolled up, and Will is fast but unfortunately also committed to the bit and does not scramble away in time before he is airborne, collar of his shirt choking him slightly from where Clarisse has fisted it and from where he is dangling. She shakes him, which does not help the choking bit.

“I have impunity,” Will manages, mentally begging forgiveness from his trachea. Annabeth huffs and waves her hand, allowing his release, which doesn’t work because Clarisse doesn’t take orders from Annabeth, so Will sucks in as much breath as he can and tries instead, “Let me go or I’ll sonic on a frequency so specific every one of the Ares landmines will deactivate,” and Clarisse grunts and mutters “Can’t sonic if you’re dead, you little punk,” but does indeed drop him. Will grins from the floor, rubbing his throat.

“I knew you loved me.”

She moves menacingly forward, and this time he speeds away, hiding behind Butch. Butch will protect him.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Butch grumbles, so Will turns up his charm to eleven, smiles including his best dimple, and diplomatically refrains from reminding the son of Iris that unfortunately calling Will cute violates Section Four of the I Know He’s Hot I Got Him First Back Off Act and could result in his zombification.

Politics. He’s great at ‘em.

Annabeth leans forward slightly, easily making eye contact from where they both easily tower over Butch (who notices and rolls his eyes. Rip in peace). “Dude, you’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

From across the room, Kayla laughs out loud, which is Rude, so Will ignores her, holds up a hand, and loudly removes the badly crinkled paper from one of his (many) pockets, tries (unsuccessfully) to smooth it out on his thigh, holds it up next to his watch, and squints until the numbers stop moving.

“Actually, according to my schedule —”

“You mean that blank post-it you just found?”

“—I have four point seven hours before my next shift starts. Responsibility is a distant dream.” He carefully folds the paper back up (crumples it into a ball) and returns it where it belongs (chucks it over his shoulder). “So, there.”

Annabeth stares at him. He squirms. She stares some more, he squirms harder, and before she can stare some more and Will vibrates out of his skin, Ellis loudly says, “I can just kill him, if we want, then we can move right along.”

Several people mutter their agreement. Will makes careful note of who and remembers to let them suffer next time they ask for his help. Annabeth sighs.

“No,” she says, sighing yet again, “unfortunately we need him.”

There are two wolves inside him. One, a praise hungry Daddy issues whore, perks up and starts whining and scratching at the mention of being needed. The second, more rational, trods calmly off an imaginary couch, bounds up his spinal cord, walks through right into his brain, and pulls the giant red button labeled, ALERT. Unfortunately he is so busy imagining the two wolves inside of him dukeing it out that he misses his opportunity to complain, and it is only several minutes into Operation: How Our Totally Dope Alliance will Massacre the Nepobabies (Operation HOT DAMN) that Will starts, realises he’s still on the floor, scrambles to his feet, and says, “Hey, wait a second!”

Unfortunately, he is the boy who cried wolf, and is entirely ignored. Damn. Will hates it when Cecil is right. It’s so rare he honestly forgets it happens.

“Wait a — pause! A moment! Time out!”

His (SUPPOSED, but apparently everyone is a traitor forever) team totally ignores him, or at least they try to, but unfortunately for the scoundrels they have Jason on their team, this time, and since Jason is the sweetest summer child to ever summer child so long as everyone ignores his occasional midnight howling and horrible table manners, Jason turns to him, pauses, and says, “Yes, Will?”

Will sighs dreamily. “Have I ever told you I love you, Jason?”

Jason squirms, glancing fleetingly at the dusty Cabin 6 shadows.

“Uh, no. And, um, maybe continue to not.”

Will waves a hand. “Psh. He’s kidding about the murder thing. Probably.”

Jason scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that I’ve seen him turn someone living directly into a ghost, and I’m really quite fond of being alive.”

“Speaking of Nico,” Annabeth says, glancing up from her maps, “I have a job for you, William.”

“Not my name,” Will says automatically. The rest of her sentence clicks and he grimaces. “Is the job sitting in a tree, eating grapes and looking pretty? ‘Cus I’m real good at that.”

“He is,” offers Drew. “For all his countless flaws as a person he has really quite excellent bone structure. I love watching his jaw in action.”

Will preens, very used to selectively listening to Drew’s ‘compliments’. “Thanks, Drew!”

Coincidentally, the shadows around Drew churn and whisper. The entire team of demigods takes three wide steps away from her to avoid any association.

They’re being dramatic. Nico only every maimed someone in a jealous rage once! And it was a misunderstanding, anyway. He’s a sweetheart and a softie.

“No one agrees with you,” calls Annabeth. “And, Solace, I swear to the gods, if you keep getting distracted I’m booting you.”

“That’s ADHD-phobic.”

She cracks a smile. “Shut the hell up.”

Smugly satisfied, Will walks over to her crossed arms and tapping foot, curtsying since the situation seems to call for it and ignoring the secondary call to fall dramatically at her feet and pledge his service, as that call feels like his father’s influence and any influence from his father is evil and bad.

“Nico di Angelo is quite probably the most stubborn person to have ever lived. He lives and works for his own will only. And yet, you smile at him and ask for anything and he trips over himself to get it for you, like you have bewitched him in some way.”

“Very weird way to describe a loving relationship, but okay.”

“You —” She drags her fingers in the air in the vague shape of Will’s figure which, coupled with the chorus of wolf-whistles, makes him feel vaguely like a plump hen in a den of coyotes and also kind of like a peacock, which is a sensation he shoves immediately into a pit of repression — “are playing Makaria.”

“Hm.”

“By that I mean you will walk alone into enemy territory. You will locate the target. You will smile pretty and charm him until he lets down his guard. And then you will attack.”

“I see.”

“Kind of a whore of babylon meets James Bond thing.”

“No, I got it.” Will’s ears redden slightly at the gathered snickering. “This is, uh, the plan we’re solidly laying on?”

“Yeah,” calls out Kayla, as she is a traitor, “you think he can sashay up to Nico without tripping over his own feet and dying?”

“No one asked you,” says Will hotly. “I can — I can sashay perfectly fine, thank you kindly.”

What a world that Will is arguing his ability to sashay. Every day at Camp Half-Blood is a thrill, truly.

“He’ll be fine,” Annabeth says dismissively. “I’ve been observing them. As soon as Will gives him one half iota of attention he folds. He won’t even need to sashay.” She looks at him critically. “Really, though, dude, don’t sashay. I’ve watched you trip sitting down.”

Will flushes for several reasons. “Shut up. I’m — I don’t do that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Dismissed. Don’t let me down.”

Will walks back to his corner of cowardice, avoiding Clarisse and also various snickering pokes and pinches to his flushed cheeks. It’s — they’re not like that, are they? Distracted? Will didn’t think they were. He gets a little distracted when Nico is around, sure. Anyone would. He’s — powerful, and sardonic, and sweet, although he hates to admit it, and thoughtful and genuine and surprisingly funny. Nico’s easy to fall into.

But Will’s not — distracting. He’s just Will.

“God, your self-esteem issues are embarrassing,” Drew complains. “Do you think he follows you around because he’s ever so interested in your nerd healing rants?”

Will huffs. “They’re — interesting!”

“They’re boring, you loser. He’s gone on you. It’s impossible for even Blondie to miss.” Drew flicks her long hair over her shoulder, scowling at Annabeth’s direction. “You think he made everyone read the I Know He’s Hot I Got Him First Back Off Act for nothing?”

“I thought it was a bit,” mumbles Will.

“You — are you dumb!” Drew yanks him by the strap of his chestplate, which is Rude and Mean. “He literally stabbed Cecil last week for staring at your ass. I still think you should have let him bleed, by the way. He needs humbling.” She loosens her python grip on his straps and starts picking at imaginary lint on the bronze. “Don’t sashay. You’ll make a fool of yourself, you clumsy fuck. Just walk over and smile and say something about ventricles or something. He’ll be drooling all over you.”

“He’ll be entirely engaged by my thrilling lecture on the cavities responsible for mamillian — and beyond! — life and livelihood,” sniffs Will, pushing her hands away.

“That’s the exact kinda nerd shit you should be saying. Good.”

“I hate it here. I’m so unappreciated.”

“Whatever you say, Grape Boy.”

———

next

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

TW: Irrational jealousy

"Here. You left this at my apartment"

Stealing your gaze from the book, you look at your boyfriend who's holding a wine red lacy bra in his hands, stretching it toward you. Unlike his usual attitude, GOJO doesn't look much lively at the moment. In fact, he looks somewhat... meticulous, like he's operating a very dangerous experience and is about to witness the outcome of his efforts.

Having your eyebrows knotted together, you wordlessly take the bra in your hands, the base of your fingers gently but painfully rubbing against the soft fabric. Gojo tries his best not to let his smirk break out when you give him a quizzical look and squeeze the lingerie in your hands.

"This isn't mine"

There it is. Victory. The awaitened result of his brilliant plan to give you a taste of your medicine.

Gojo cups his mouth while expanding his fingers to give you a better look of his fake gasp through the gap between them, humming abruptly. He carefully takes a second look at the bra, then begins to mutter in a not so low voice.

"Ah— well, this is awkward" He looks at your bewildered expression from the corner of his eye and continues. "I didn't want you to find out. Not this way"

The logic behind this clever act was easy to understand. You chose to spend your day offs with your stupid, lame old friend from college instead of your incredible, handsome, mind blowingly gorgeous boyfriend, and this is your punishment. Your reasoning was too dumb and made up. Huh, how could you even look him in the eye and say you're doing this because he's just gotten back from Austria and needs you to show him around town and introduce him to your colleagues? You should've just shoved a dagger in his aching heart and told him that you dont love him anymore. So yes, you deserve this; and as they all say, revenge is a dish best served cold.

"But you see, I'm not the only one to blame in this. You are too. You were the one who left me in the dark hanging to go on a romantic getaway with that good for nothing punk"

"Satoru—"

"Let me finish. I know that it was just for three days and you did nothing but work together, but I'm a man y/n! A proud, strong grown man who has his own needs"

"Satoru—"

"I'm not an animal y/n, but how do you expect me to close my eyes and pretend like nothing's wrong? Because it is, and since I'm also an honest man, I couldn't bare with the feeling of getting abandoned by my own woman. You and I were supposed to rule the world, but you never wanted what we were—"

"Satoru!!"

Gojo grits his teeth and looks at you with slight irritation, wondering what's so important that has to interrupt his dramatic show; but his liveliness and acting power vanishes in a glance when his eyes land on the part of the bra you're pointing at while holding it up.

"There's a price tag on this"

Oh.

The small, round label is linked to the inside of the bra, which is probably why Gojo had forgotten to remove it. Yes, it was totally that; not because he was too focused on his dialogues that he forgot to even check the bra out.

Gojo stares at your jumped up eyebrows and annoyed expression, flashing you one of his most charming smiles; Only this time he can't make it as shameless as it usually is.

"Eh, I guess this shows how much I actually love you and care about you"

"You bought this two sizes bigger than mine you asshole"

"My bad, I kinda got carried away"

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 8)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 📍 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 8 - Trust

Detective Brady is sharper than you initially thought, though Alastor is (seemingly) unfazed by the threat. While you both explore the idea of ‘home’ a familiar face shows up at your apartment.

「Warnings/Tags: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, Detective Brady exists a lot and maybe too much, fingering lol, phone calls, almost our first fight, stress, Disney mom rule, Ruth is pretty alright for now, Brenda」

forgot to tag you in the deleted scene for TRDFAHS

M👻D☠️N👽I😈

Your mother always said ‘Anger is your sword and shield’. So you postured yourself as someone mad. One hip out, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Sir I don’t appreciate a man in a lady’s space.”

Brady bit his tongue, wanting to say something sharp.

 I don’t see any ladies here.

 He met the glares of the women behind you. “Ah, well-,”

“Do you really expect her to leave in her robe?”

“Aren’t you the man whose been stalking her?”

“Autumn I’ll go with you.”

“You want her to get into a strange man’s car?”

He felt like a fox about to be pecked to death by the hens.

“Now-! Alright I’m seeing I maybe,” he set your shoes down and slid past you and between the other performers, “got a little eager to speak to you.”

“Does Janet know you like to hang around burlesquers?” Someone said as his back was turned.

Like having ice water poured over his head, his shoulders tensed as did his tone. “I’ll be right out the door.”

You tried to hide the tremble in your hands, but failed. Ruth slid beside you, “What do you need?”

A phone. But the cord wouldn’t reach that far. You wanted to tell Alastor. You needed him to know that detective had you cornered and knew of his existence.

“Could you stay with me? I’m not going anywhere. But I’ll feel safer if I’m not talking to him alone. In case he tries to drag me out. He seems a little off his rocker.” You were genuinely scared he would grab you by the arm and pull you out of the theater if he didn’t think anyone would see. 

She patted your back, the others filing in to continue with their work of getting dressed and undressed. You took your time, trying to plan what you would say.

Brady felt an embarrassed blush take hold as the women moved past him with scowls and tsks. He could feel a little bit of his sanity slip back now that you were in front of him. 

“I have some questions about Tommy. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. We can head down now.”

Oddly, your mother also taught you, ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’ 

She didn’t always make a lot of sense, contradicting herself daily. 

Time to use the tried and true tactic, “I am sorry, detective. I had some trouble recently and have been keeping to myself… going home as soon as possible. Just trying to keep my nose clean. So to speak.”

Brady watched you look up at him with a face his daughter often gave him when she was in trouble. But you weren’t a child and you surely weren’t his daughter. “That’s no excuse to dodge me.”

Your turn to bite your tongue, “Of course, sir.”

Ruth was… confused. She’d never seen you so obedient. You had more venom in your voice after taking a hit from Tommy knowing a third could be close behind. Why were you being so small?

“Are you ready to go?” He fished in his pocket for his car door keys. 

Ruth felt the need to interject, “She’s not going anywhere.”

Perfect.

You nodded, “I won’t be out at night, sir. You know better than most about the dangers.” Your dangers. Your darling Alastor.

“No, no no,” an unhinged chuckle from the fraying detective, “You’re not slipping away again. I have my car, I’ll take you there and bring you home.”

Ruth looked to you, then back to the detective, “Is she under arrest?”

Brady rolled his eyes, “Of course not.”

“Then? What gives you the right?”

Technically, nothing. He didn’t need to talk to you. His lead still stood. But maybe you’d slip and say something to expedite his search for the radio man. Maybe this would only end with Tommy. But he felt something tickling the back of his skull. An urge to not stop pushing.

“I’ll meet you at the station tomorrow morning. Is it the address on the card you gave me?” Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t. You just needed him gone so you could call Alastor. 

He was shaking his notebook, key looped onto his finger. A nervous habit. “You still have my card?”

A smile, “Of course. In case any news came up. I’d have called but I didn’t realize you were so worked up.”

He scoffed. He wasn’t worked up. He was just annoyed. Maybe a little rougher in demeanor than usual but whose fault was that?

“If you don’t turn up tomorrow-,”

Ruth, taller than most women and some men and wide at the shoulders, leaned in.

Brady’s eyeline adjusted from yours to Ruth’s. Skye Scraper wasn’t just a pun, it was a cruel nickname she took ownership of. “Finish that sentence.”

The conversation ended there, Brady leaving with a huff.

You’d memorized the number the night Alastor gave it to you, too scared to write it down. He warned you though he wouldn’t be the one to answer.

“Is Alastor still there?” You tried to smile so you sounded less panicked. Ruth mouthed his name and pretended to swoon as you held the phone close to your ear. 

“Uhh depends, who is this?” Brenda answered, a voice you’d never heard but a woman Alastor had primed you for. 

“….”, but why hadn’t you thought through this part, what name was safe? Which was recognizable? You didn’t like the idea of this woman knowing your name. “Tell him it’s Autumn.”

“….” 

You laughed at Ruth, waiting still for a reply from Brenda, “Hello?”

“Is this a crank? Autumn like the season? I-,” a commotion, “Hey there! No. I don’t know. Well it’s past hours anywa-.”

Alastor was lying across Brenda’s desk to reach the phone, having wrestled it from the woman’s grip, “I’m here. What’s wrong? I was about to leave.”

“I’ll walk home tonight.” It hurt, physically hurt, to say it.

Alastor tried to keep his face neutral, “Oh.” Nervous fingers twirling the cord, “One second.” 

Harsh whispers, some clicks, and he was back, “I’m in my office. What happened?”

“Yeah Ruth is with me. It’s okay. I’ll call you like normal tomorrow?” 

“Should I swing by your apartment?” He considered doing it regardless of your answer.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ll be heading to the police station early tomorrow so I’ll be asleep as soon as I’m flat.” Putting your hand over the receiver, you spoke to Ruth, “Thank you, we got it figured out.”

His heart sank to his stomach, “Did he finally manage to catch you?”

“Yeah. Or—-,” your voice cracked a little, the fear rolling in as soon as Ruth walked away, “Yeah.”

“I’m coming over to the theater.”

Cupping the phone you curved your shoulders in and turned away from the staff milling about, “Don’t, that’s worse.” Tears stung your eyes. You felt like you’d failed him. You had somehow, hadn’t you? The loose thread Brady could grab ahold of was you.

“If you can’t come to the alley I’ll leave after a couple minutes. But I’ll be there in twenty, same time as our normal pick up.”

“Alastor, that’s reckless.”

“Please, dear, I don’t want our first fight to be over my work line.” A calming breath, “You don’t have to meet me, but I’ll be there. Just five minutes, then I’ll be off.”

You decided the safest thing to do was to wait in the alley. If you saw any signs of Brady or anyone coming out, you’d go back inside and just miss the meeting. But the idea of Alastor being just beyond the wall, waiting all alone, was too much.

But how much harder would it be if the wall was of the prison? Or worse, dense earth under your feet? That’s what Brady was wanting. 

You hadn’t realized you’d been chewing your nails until his car turned down the alley from the back and you tore off much of the length of your thumbnail.

Your arms were thrown around him before he was fully out of the car, “Alastor, he knows I have a guy. He wanted me to go down right now but I managed to push it to tomorrow.” Alastor tried to decipher the words as you spoke them into his vest, “What do I do?”

Normally you’d have your own plans in mind but this was too big, this was capable of hurting him more than anyone else. 

He smelled like ink and smoke, a scent you inhaled as you tried to calm your breath.

A large hand patted your head, “Okay. You go tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Don’t stress.” Pulling you off he placed chaste kisses across your face. “Think about what you want to say to him and we can talk it out in the morning. Everything is fine.”

The reality of you standing in a dirty alley crying into the arms of a murderer set in. Then the little detail you were both killers creeped over your chest and took hold of your throat.

He was impressed at the strength of your hands as you gripped at his clothes. Leaning against the car, he offered you his most charming smile.

“Deep breaths, dear. Do I look scared?”

He didn’t. He looked like a magazine ad for French cologne or razor blades that left the softest skin. 

“No.” You shook your head.

“No.” He nodded. “It’ll be okay. If you don’t go, he will hound you worse. If you do go, maybe he’ll realize he’s got a handful of nothing.”

His smile blinded you. Bright grin as he rested against his car, arms open. 

“Do you really think so? A handful of nothing?”

“Did he say my name?”

“No.”

“Did he–” he elongated the word, lips pursed as he searched the sky for his next words, “have Tommy’s body?”

You laughed, morbid but preposterous, “I didn’t pat him down. Coulda.” 

Alastor snapped his fingers, “We’ll have to just assume he didn’t.” A moment of tension. The act of joking barely traversing the space between your bodies let alone reaching the stress under your skin. His hands came to your shoulders; firm, secure. “Did you want to have that fight now? About me coming over here.”

You rolled your eyes, obviously not. “Ala-,” you started and stopped.

“I’ll admit I’m being reckless but I think we can both agree my way is more fun.” Smile sliding into a smirk, he cocked his head and lowered it to get back into your line of sight. When you stuck your tongue out he took a deep breath in, relief. “Are you sure I can’t take you home?”

To which home, you wondered. He used the word so casually and interchangeably…

Face close to yours. Eyes solely on you. Perhaps the stage wasn’t as necessary as you’d once thought. Lips on lips, the feeling of his smile spreading as he returned the kiss. A second of panic as you realized you couldn’t see or hear or sense what else was happening anymore in the alley. Brady could have had you in handcuffs and you wouldn’t be the wiser. Not as long as Alastor’s mouth was moving over yours.

“I’ll call in the morning.” He said into your exhale.

You hadn’t opened your eyes yet. Not ready to return to earth. A pout from you. A chuckle from him. “I’ll be waiting,” You finally said. 

While you did your waiting, shuffling around the theater and later tossing around in bed, Alastor fell into a different kind of purgatory.

One he hadn’t realized he’d made for himself until you weren’t there. 

The house was quiet, almost eerie. Even with music on he found himself nearly uncomfortable. He shifted several times in his chair while reading, not finding any way to settle in. 

His bed was lopsided. Suddenly one side was too light. Multiple times his hand slid under the sheets in search of you out of habit. 

What a terrible feeling; to want someone. To know you could have them but they just… weren’t there.

It didn't make any sense. He knew he’d see you soon, in less than a day's time even. He typically enjoyed his home and its silence. Being alone was predictable and therefore comforting. Well, it had been. Before you. 

The feeling in his chest, akin to a magnet tugging through his sternum toward a distant partner, didn’t abate.

Only when he heard your voice again over the phone did he find a sliver of peace.

“I’ve decided I’ll deny I have a guy. And, I’ll never tell him about you. It’s safer if he never connects us.”

Alastor was listening, honestly, but he wasn’t really processing. His mind was worried about something else. The detective genuinely didn’t bother him but he had to agree, “I suppose that’s best. As long as we can manage it, to not let him know we’re together.”

Together.

You were together with him. An item. How spectacular you must be to be a part of anything with him.

But for how long? With a certain detective breathing down your neck…, “I’m scared. Actually.”

You could hear the smile in Alastor’s breath, it was odd but eased you. 

“He will never have enough to convict us. He’ll drive himself crazy trying. Trust me.” He soothed. 

Did you have any choice? “Okay. You’re right. I trust you.” Unequivocally so. 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry to change the subject…”

“Please.”

“I want you to come over again tonight. What do you think?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, don’t even need to ask. I’ll always say yes.” All you needed to do was get through Brady and you’d be home.

But for Alastor, well, he wasn’t done asking the question. A moment of panic from a place unrecognized in his brain, fear of losing himself entirely. But what good was a safe harbor if he never ventured out to sea? That’s just a restraint then, isn’t it? 

Maybe you held a place for him even richer in its comforts than his solitude.

So he let himself drift away from familiar shores, no sails and no compass, “I think it’d be smart to bring over a couple sets of clothes. I can keep them washed and always here for you. Would that be alright?” He had wanted to suggest it while together, but Brady was ruining more than his sleep.

Oh.

The same silence from when he first extended the invitation, the deja vu not lost on you. You struggled to decipher the second meaning you were sure was there. Maybe he didn't know what he had asked. 

“I know it’s boring out in the boonies but, you’re welcome to just stay over while I go to work. I can come back and get you for rehearsals… I’ll enjoy the clubs or come back and make something for a late dinner for us, and bring you home when you’re done.”

He said it. He hadn’t really meant to, so he felt the need to clarify, but you also needed him to clarify just as quickly, “I -,”

“Did you me-?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“No I interrupted you-,”

“Not at all pl-,”

“Alastor for the love of God please don’t make me keep talking right now.” You lightly knocked your head with the phone a few times. Your heart was gasping for an ounce of understanding.

He chuckled, glad you were still very much yourself, “I meant, take you home as in, away from work. So, here. Or, there, if you’d prefer.” His face scrunched up, this wasn’t a conversation he had any practice in, “Anywhere really. I’ll drive you anywhere.”

“Alabama?”

He looked at the phone as if you were in it. Alabama? 

“Like— the first time you asked me over.” You added quickly. A terrible joke, a bad callback that made it painfully obvious you committed everything he said to memory.

Alastor rested his cheek on the dining table, laughing into the wood before bringing the receiver back. You always offered him an out of uncomfortable situations, “Well the offer still stands. I'd be willing to even venture at least halfway across Texas.” 

“The best half of Texas is on our side so that’s a generous offer. But, given our work schedules, I think your house would be much better. Time wise.” 

He let his eyes close as he felt the coldness of the wood, “Is that a yes then? To bringing over a couple of items… for ease.” Was it a mistake? Would he regret it? 

You were worth regrets. He had decided. He wanted you to say yes.

The weight of what he was asking wasn’t lost on you an ounce. You could see your window from the phone booth. You took great pride in your little apartment. It was your space and no one else’s. As a child you struggled to have your own anything, so you valued your home. 

But could you call any place so far from Alastor a home?

It’s just a few items. You weren’t giving up your lease. It’s a baby step. One you could easily walk back if you needed to later. It’s not like you hadn’t spent every night possible already since that first offer.

“Yes.” 

It was a plan that took your mind off cops. Have your interrogation, go home, then go home for a relaxing evening of jazz and drink.

The levity ended though the second you hung up the receiver. An obstacle between you and him still stood. You pulled out your bag but couldn’t find the will to pack it. Your hands were too busy as you chewed on your thumbnail again.

Brady noticed the uneven length when you sat down and set your hands on the table.

“Surprised you showed.” He opened his notebook and readied his pencil. “First things first, what is your legal name?”

A chill. You’d gotten your warning the night before to prepare something to say but ignored it. Your mind was flipping through words and images. Piercing all of it were the white reflective eyes of the deer along the road. You decided to lean into what you knew. 

“Autumn.”

“Really? Never heard the name Autumn before.”

“Me either. Made for an easy stage name.”

“I’ll need to see your birth records, just to be sure.”

You sucked your teeth. “Ah, unfortunately…all that stuff was left behind with my mom when I moved.”

“And where can I find her?

“Corner of North Villere street and Piety.”

“And your address?”

You paused. His eyes rose and met yours. The radiant aqua from the cafe morning was now an icy color. “I don’t give my address out. You know where I work.”

“But you’re fine giving me your mother’s address? That’s cold.”

“Not as cold as she is, I’m sure of that.”

“Fine, I’ll find it in the census records.” He flipped the page, “Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged.” He tapped his notepad on the table like it was the starting bell of a fight.

You wished Alastor was with you, but also wished he would never enter that station. “Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he,” you remembered the man and his ugly tie, “introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently.”

“And who was that?”

You searched your memory, “S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening.”

Brady nodded, “And then he knocked you around?”

You winced without meaning too, “Yeah. Got me good.”

Brady waited for you to continue talking, but you had learned this game. People know silence is uncomfortable and will use that against you. So you let the silence stay. Let the awkward tension build. You had limited time, he knew that.

He caved first. “And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that.”

Lying was second nature to you. You had killed for Alastor. You could do this. Deep breaths, slink into yourself. You imagined Alastor choked on the park grounds, wet and unmoving. Imagined him cold to the touch.

“Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection.” Tears welled. Bloody hands and a large rock. “But as soon as he got his money he left.” 

Brady was writing, “And the man? What was his name.”

“Something foreign. Kerr-something. Or Car?”

He looked up slightly, “You’re pretty terrible at names.”

You wiped away your tears, “I had more pressing concerns at the time than trying to remember that man’s name. I was hoping I’d never need to know it.”

Brady hummed, “Yeah. And what did your beau think of this?”

Did you hide it? The flash of panic that rolled under the flesh of your face, “If I had a beau Tommy wouldn’t have made me do that. He said that himself.”

“Too bad he’s not here to confirm.”

“If he was we wouldn’t be having this conversation, detective.”

“Touché. Clever little lady aren’t you?”

Fuck.

You shifted slightly in your seat, looking downward in an attempt at being bashful. “That’s kind to say.”

“So why did,” he flipped through his book, “Beth say you stopped singin’ on Sundays cuz of your radio boyfriend?”

“Ah,” a weak laugh to hide the way your breath got sucked in with panic. The words ‘radio boyfriend’ punched the air from your lungs. “You must mean the rake. Took me for a ride at a club corner and sent me off in a cab to never see me again. Didn’t know he was in radio though.” 

“Well now you’re lying and I don’t appreciate it one ounce ma’am.“

“What?”

“Beth says he’s been coming to your shows for nearly half a year.”

No acting necessary for this part. “What are you talking about? I met him at a club. We arranged a date and he picked me up at—“

“Beth’s dive.”

“…. Yeah. Well.” He’d been there before? So often? And you never noticed…, “That’s news to me, that he had been there for so long, it’s got its regulars though so...” You shifted again, this time with a clear uncomfortable edge. 

“He stopped coming when you stopped singing.”

“….guess he got what he wanted then. A fun time in the swing hall bathroom.”  Anger. Unreal and unfounded. Trying your best to hide how confused you were.

“Sounds like a stalker, miss. Maybe one who woulda been quite unhappy to hear you were selli-,”

You cut him off, eyes snapping up to meet his, “I really recommend you reconsider your wording.”

Brady laughed with a huff, “A man dizzy with a dame can do some funny stuff. Especially if he hears she’s in a pickle.”

“Well, no knight coming to rescue me. I’ve sworn off men. It’s why I’ve been leaving work early. Getting home, reading, sleeping. He really did a number on my heart and my pride as a woman.”

Brady’s pencil stopped moving. 

“And his name?”

You’d never fucking say it. He could walk in on you moaning ‘Alastor’ and you’d still act like you’d never heard that string of syllables in your life. 

“John.”

Brady laughed and tossed the pencil to the table, “Let me guess, last name Doe?”

You shrugged, “We weren’t on a full name basis. He was handsome, he took me out, we fucked, I never saw him again” You delighted in the way his face screwed up at your unladylike language. 

“So, someone in radio named John. You know I’m going to be at every broadcaster talking to every John, right?” The nervous shaking of his notebook again. 

“When you find him let me know.”

“Oh I will.” He said it so quickly, so sharply you could feel it cut at your cheek as the words flew past you.

You pulled your hands into your lap, eyes firmly locked on Brady’s. “You look tired, sir. I hope my answers will help you. So you can rest.”

“I am tired. Of people jerking me around. You won’t give me your address, you don’t remember anyone’s name, not even your own, and you deny having a man I know you have.”

If you screamed would he have you committed? “I’m terribly sorry,” you leaned over the table and pulled a piece of fuzz off his shoulder, “my friend gave you inaccurate and dated information. I am genuinely trying to help as much as I can.”

Upon closer inspection, his eyes were more than just blue. They were dark and light, deep and shallow. Blue so far down it was nearly black. A blue so bright it was a cousin of white. Eyes you were sure would haunt you. 

“Help me then, Autumn.” Your brows rose at the request. He leaned back and away from you, “Just tell me what happened to Tommy. What your guy did. If he was trying to protect your name then we could find a sympathetic jury.”

Sympathy? Your smile was too wide, stare gone too soft. What sympathy did he have or would anyone have for you? Did he think you wanted the tender hearts of strangers? “Tommy ran off with a bag of money. He was a good man with a bad habit. That’s all I know. I have no partner, man or otherwise.”

A standstill. 

Brady felt a twitch in his hands he wasn’t used to. An itch to move. Unlike him, and a little frightening. 

Maybe he had been running himself ragged. 

Back sliding down slightly in his chair, he laced his fingers and rested them in his lap, “You know I’m gonna find out what happened, right?” His tone had shifted to something serious and calm. He said it like he was telling you a secret. Low but firm. Steady and sure. 

Those eyes. No, worse. What was behind them. You could see it clearly; unflappable determination. He absolutely would. 

“I trust you will.” A moment of silence again as you both felt the conversation die. As you stood, Brady did too.

“I wasn’t bluffing about him going to Beth’s for more than half a year now. I don’t know how you think this is gonna end but it won’t end pretty. Whether it was just your boss or all the others on my desk, end it with him and help us bring Tommy home to his mother.”

You adjusted your purse on your shoulder, “I don’t know how many time-,”

“Autumn. I’ve seen enough make up covered bruises to clock em from across the room. That’s the act of a possessive, immature man. Just think about what I said,” You opened the door in an effort to keep your hands from shooting to your neck. “There’s no white picket fence or church bells for you two. He’s a bad man. I think he may even be an evil man. You’re gonna end up hurt, or dead.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest but you managed to stifle it. With an honest smile you replied, “We’re all gonna end up dead someday, Detective. I’ll call if I have any news. Thanks for your concern and … evident hard work.” You offered a little nod of your head before leaving the room and the station as quickly as you could without running. 

When he set down his notebook after returning to his desk, he couldn’t sit. Energy was buzzing in his limbs. He needed to run or swing or pace.

His desk neighbor watched him immediately pick up the notebook again and grab his hat. A few other men shared a glance as Brady rushed out, an unsettling feeling passed among them. 

“He’s still on that case?” One asked quietly, going back to his papers.

“Not officially….” Answered Freeman, standing at the window and watching Brady flag down a taxi.

“North Villere street and Piety, please.” He told the driver, not noticing his friend in the window.

It wasn’t near the station, nor the dance scene. He wondered if your mother would be any more amiable. What kind of woman would raise such a creature as you?

When the car slowed, Brady clicked back into his surroundings. He looked through every window hoping to see something different.

After a long pause the cabbie asked, “Ya gonna get out?”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the seat. “No. Take me back to the station.”

His blood pressure rose so quickly he was sure he would black out as the cab turned around and drove back past the sign; Vincent DePaul cemetery.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor kissed away the worries when he took your bag from you. Every detail of the interview was just hummed away. “Even if he finds me, without a body he has no case.” He reminded you like it was nothing short of fact.

“What if he gets one?”

“Not one of mine, I can assure you. He’d sooner need to kill someone himself and call it my fault.” A pause, was that something the detective would do? He shook off the thought. 

He was so confident that even though you knew it was just skin deep it still gave you a sense of calm. The bodies, where they went after he was done with them in the greenhouse, was the last step he hadn’t shared with you.

There was one thing you didn’t mention about the interrogation. 

You waited until you were a few drinks in, Alastor’s bowtie off and shirt unbuttoned several buttons before bringing it up. Uncharacteristically nervous about how he’d react when you broached the topic, you needed several deep breaths to get up your courage. Normally the idea of offending a man with an honest question wouldn’t ruffle you a bit, but once again there was nothing normal about you and Alastor. He made you so unlike yourself but not necessarily worse. Perhaps some consideration of other’s reactions wasn’t a bad thing. 

“This is awkward to ask.” It was dark already, the sun setting earlier and earlier. The buzz of the kitchen light could be heard through the screen door, the light just enough to let you see each other's features clearly. Leaning back on both hands for support, your legs rested in an unladylike spread down the porch stairs. No shoes. No girdle. No pretense.

Would he be mad? Or maybe offended?

“Brady said you had been going to my Sunday shows for awhile. Months before we actually met. Did you really meet me by coincidence?”

“Or was I stalking you as my next victim?” His head fell to the side, eyes closed and smile wide. “I saw you there, yes. And though you weren’t the best singer, I did enjoy your shows.”

You tried to see him without directly turning your head. 

“But yes, it was a coincidence. I had noticed that brute of a man a couple weeks in a row, staring at you so intensely. Word got around he had made a scene some time ago with a dancer.” 

You listened like someone was telling you your own story. It was an odd feeling, hearing someone recount your days from a different perspective. An unknown one. 

“I was surprised to see you at the theater when I followed him there. Even more so to see you in the alleyway.”

If he had said it wasn’t a coincidence, you genuinely didn’t know what you’d have done. You’d be scared and angry. Another predator lurking just past the tree lines.

Your relief must have been visible. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Alastor asked, leaning over and letting his shoulder bump into yours. He was still riding the high of putting away your belongings in his closet and drawers. 

“Yeah. He gives me a bad feeling. Like…a brick wall barreling toward me.” You kicked a leaf off the steps, “Or like, when you see a big dark cloud on the horizon. Can’t do anything but wait and hunker down.”

How do you wait out a storm so set on burying you?

“Dear,” his hands rose and palms flipped up in a way that said he wasn’t hiding anything, “We get hurricanes annually. We’ve survived every one thus far. He’s just a drip. A sprinkle of a man.”

People have drowned on land before. A sprinkle could lead to pneumonia and that could lead to a wooden box. 

He tried to change the topic, laughing about Brenda’s reaction to the call and making plans for an evening out when things settled down again. You listened, but it was your turn to be half there. 

You could barely muster concern when you realized you’d forgotten your makeup and hair wrap at home when you were preparing for bed. What you would give for going home barefaced with a ruined hairdo to be the biggest stress of your week. 

The distance in your stare was weighing down his joy, how could he relish in the newest addition to his home when you were so burdened? Even in the moonless night he could see the faintest light reflecting off your eyes as you stared at the ceiling. Did you even feel his stare? 

He couldn’t let Brady poison his bed, and the man was clearly there now. Chasing you in your mind still. 

“Could I offer you a distraction?” Alastor slipped up against you, hand finding your hip. He could see your smile forming. 

“I wouldn’t argue against a distraction…,” you’d beg for one if you didn’t want to feel any lower than you already did. 

“Perfect. This bed isn’t made for three, so let’s eject that little nag, dear.” His hands slipped down your legs, “I want to replace your thoughts with better ones.” He pulled you to him, your back pressed into his broad chest. The way his soft hands smoothed over your silk slip felt like foreplay, so smooth and slick. Frictionless and gentle. Those same hands ran down and between your legs, following the line of your thighs until they found your center. “It seems you forgot something else.” Two fingers caressed your lower lips, barely parting them, “Not that I’m complaining…,” his lips found the back of your neck as his fingers rubbed gently at your core. 

It took so very little to get your body on board, wet and relaxed for his practiced hand. Your own fingers coming down to rub at your clit quickly when you felt your pleasure winding up. 

He sighed directly into the shell of your ear, hands working in tandem with yours under the covers. His back pressed against you, hips rolling into your backside in time with his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about?” Barely above a whisper as he said it into your heated skin.

“Fingers.”

“Whose?” His voice was deeper than his usual speaking tone. A tenor that made you clench around him.

“Yours.”

You’d never been so satisfied with hands before. With breath. With the sounds of a man. Never saw stars while clothed and not under the lights of the stage. Warm and wet kisses to your neck as you came down from your high, you’d never considered sex could be more than a man fucking someone. Nor that a man could find pleasure so readily with his cock still in his pants. But the way he hummed and growled softly into your skin was proof of his good time. 

You’d learned a lot from those progressively chillier nights at Alastor’s over the first week of your constant cohabitation. How much you liked waking up with someone just a reach away. How Alastor woke slowly, incapable of coherent speech for at least the first twenty minutes of his day. He’d stare and smile as his eyes blinked out of sync, rolling back occasionally as he fought the urge to fall back into sleep. Hair disheveled and soft.

When the weekend came, Alastor offered again to take you out. A promise to take you somewhere no detectives would be hiding about. A week without a peep, you were sure he had followed up with your mother and was probably steaming to get at you. But, for some reason or another, he hadn’t appeared again in the crowd of your shows. 

A week of going into work unmade and unkempt, you finally gave in and asked to be taken to your apartment early Friday. You’d grab a few items you needed, take them to work, and be back home that night. 

Your eyes were on Alastor when his car pulled up to your building. When he kissed you, your hand scratched at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. Eyes closed, you could smell him and feel him so much clearer. Perhaps when you were old together you wouldn’t have to worry about your sight giving out, you thought. Because you’d always know it was him by the way his skin on yours lit you up. 

“Pack something you’d like to wear out tomorrow night.” He reminded you before you pulled yourself from the car and waved him off. You lingered for a moment as he drove away, wondering if maybe the storm had been pushed off course.

“Oooh, who is he?”

Whipping around, you saw a familiar face sitting on the stoop of your building. An unwelcome one, though. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mavis?” Your bag fell from your hands as the strength drained from your limbs.

She patted the dust off her dress before bouncing down the steps.  “The names Ephi now.” A half sister, though perhaps a quarter sister would be best to describe the often absentminded, when not literally absent, sibling. 

“That’s not a name that’s a fucking letter of the alphabet. Mama would smack the color of your cheeks if she heard you.” You were sure you’d not see her ever again, not after she ran off to head north before your mother passed. She scowled, arms crossed as you brushed past her. “I don’t have any money so you wasted a trip. See ya in another decade.”

Ephi grinned up at you as you climbed the stairs, “Looked like he had some money. Mr. Big Shot and his shiny bus.”

“Lotsa people have cars.” Your eyes landed on the suitcase poorly hidden behind the steps. Hand halting its search for the building key as you could feel the stare of your mother looking…down? A weight slipping over your shoulders like a man’s heavy winter coat.

“Well I don’t need money or cars. I need a place to crash.”

Your head fell. You could feel it coming. The gust of wind dragging the clouds slowly towards you. No, the storm wasn’t off course. It was just building momentum.

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[thevoidstaredback]

Okay, so maybe giving his calling card to a kid was a bad idea. He sees that now. Unfortunately, it's too late to take it back. On the bright side, the kid wasn't going to be able to figure out who he is yet based solely on a summoning circle. In the pitch black void of things, Danny can sense the card and the person who's holding it.

Maybe if he leaves Fawcett fast enough he can keep plausible deniability because there's no way that the tiny homeless kid he just met is Captain Marvel. Nope, no way. Not his circus, not his monkeys. He's leaving now.

"What happened to you?" Deadman had an insufferable grin on his face. Did he have the House drop him in Gotham? Danny wouldn't put it past him.

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"Where ya going?"

"To the basement."

"Why?"

Was the other ghost always this annoying? "Because leaving was a terrible idea. I'm going to go hide in the basement until the day I fully die."

"Aw," Deadman tried to pout, but he failed and started to cackle. "Don't be like that. Did you not enjoy your trip to Gotham?"

Danny was a lot of things. Violent usually didn't make it onto that list. However, he was willing to make an assumption. "So it was your fault."

Another cackle. "Don't be like that! You've never been to Gotham before. You can't tell me you at least didn't have fun."

They were at the basement stairs now. "For your information, I have been to Gotham. I didn't get to do much exploring this time because Batman and his gaggle of sidekicks surrounded me!"

"You've been to Gotham?"

"Not important."

"Oh?" The glee on the full ghost's face made Danny uneasy. "I sense a story behind that."

Oh, no. "No. I'm not telling you." He marched past and down the stairs, not bothering to unlock or open the door.

"Please!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said 'no'."

"Party pooper." he huffed. "You know I'm just going to keep asking, right?"

A sigh. "I'm not gonna cave. No."

"Ah, but you will!" That was the confidence of a ghost who knew he was right. Danny did not like how that bodes for him. "You, my friend, are a younger sibling. I am also a younger sibling."

Shit. "That....That means nothing. My answer will stay 'no'."

Deadman had the gall to chuckle darkly. "We'll see." Then, he disappeared.

Danny didn't sigh because he doesn't need to breathe. He was not going to tell what happened because what happens in Gotham stays in Gotham. It's a rule of thumb that people don't cross. Besides, Deadman doesn't know that Danny's actually the middle sibling. Dani, introduced to his parents soon after he'd told them he was a Halfa, was the embodiment of younger sibling because he had once been the embodiment of younger sibling.

***

"Please get Deadman to stop!" Danny begged Zatanna three weeks later. Maybe he'd overestimated himself a little bit.

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow as she looked up from the book she'd been reading. Something on runes? "What's he doing this time?"

"He won't stop asking me to tell him about my first trip to Gotham."

"You've been to Gotham?"

Danny groaned into the throw pillow he was clutching. "Yes. Please make him stop!"

"Sorry, hun," she focused back on her book, "But I can't see him."

"Oh. I forgot about that."

"Why don't you just tell him?"

Danny shot up, appalled by the very idea. "It's a matter of principle!" he exclaimed, "I am both the older and younger sibling: The middle child. If I give in, I'll have failed! I can't do that. Do you want me to fail?!"

"Okay, okay, geez!" she surrendered, "Don't gotta be so overdramatic about it."

"I'm not being overdramatic! I'm being just dramatic enough!"

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say, kid."

"I'm not a kid!"

"You look like one."

"Yeah, but I'm not! I'm-"

"King of the Infinite Realms," Constantine interrupted, "We know."

"Then don't call me a kid."

"Yeah, yeah, kid,"

"I'm not-!"

"Look, we can have this argument all day and we'll still end in a tie. I've got a case in San Francisco near Titan's Tower. Raven's coming along. Do you want to come with?"

"Don't you normally work solo?" Danny asked. Zatanna still hadn't looked back up from her book and he was pretty sure she'd tuned them out.

"Is that a 'no'?"

"No! No, I'll come with." Maybe having Constantine with him will deter the JL from hounding him. What do they even want with him? If they're upset that he died at fourteen, he's gonna scream.

The Brit smirked. "You sound almost desperate to get out."

"Shut up and let's go."

"Alright, alright."

Part 3 Part 5

Tag List: @zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

birthday sex

pairing: jill valentine x reader

tags/cws: lingerie, oral, thigh riding, overstim, sex toys, jill is a tease and a menace

summary: reader and jill are dating and reader doesn't know what to get jill for her birthday and ends up deciding on surprising her by wearing a lace bodysuit

a/n: div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 1.5k

tags: @vaaaaaiolet @rigorwhoring @withonly-sweetheart

Buying Jill a birthday present is impossible. Whenever you ask her what she wants, her answer is always, 'I don't need anything, I have you, and I'm more than happy with that', and you’d persist if her compliments didn’t fluster you – they always do. But as her special day gets closer, you become more and more fixated on that one thought: she deserves something special. 

You decide that if the only thing she wants is you, then you'll wrap yourself up like a present and - the realization hits you. You've never worn lingerie in front of Jill - or anyone, for that matter. You’d always thought it’d be such a hassle to go out and spend so long trying things on for them to be taken off immediately if and when you first get to show them off.

And you’re proven right about the hassle. You spend hours (and a fortune) at Victoria's Secret one afternoon, and come home absolutely exhausted after you find the perfect lace bodysuit (and take advantage of the store's 5 for 35 dollars sale on panties).

You're even more exhausted the next day when you have to figure out how to put the garment on without an employee guiding you - you pray it'll be easier to take off, or you'll have to let Jill rip it off of you. Which wouldn't be all that bad, come to think of it.

Your tiredness subsides – or is overwritten by desire – when Jill walks in dressed in her typical office wear, which never fails to turn you on. As does everything else she wears.

You greet her at the door, a little giddy about the surprise you've planned for her. It’s not that you’re not always happy to see her, you’re just usually half-asleep on the couch after your own long work day. 

Jill notices your unique excitement and gives you a look of suspicion - intrigue, too, and asks, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," you say, sarcastically adding, "Oh, except for your birthday. I almost forgot."

"I'm sure you did. It's not like you've been asking me everyday for the last three weeks how I want to spend it."

"I know you probably want to relax a bit first since you've had a long day at work, but I do want to give you your present."

"I told you not to get me anything."

"You'll like it… I hope."

"Now I'm really curious."

"Then, follow me."

You take her hand and lead her to her bedroom. You have her sit on the bed.

"Stay there," you say, "and close your eyes."

"Fine, but I swear to god if it's some sort of reptile or tarantula-"

"Not even close."

Though her eyes are closed, she can hear your clothes hitting the floor, and her lips curve into a smile, knowing what's to come.

You walk towards her, close enough that she can touch you. You take her hand and guide it over the fabric and she hums in satisfaction. "So far, I'm liking my gift."

"Open your eyes and see the rest."

She does, and you see that rare full grin of hers that makes you want to jump with joy (though, your mind is a bit preoccupied with the thought of what she might do to you in the coming moments, so if you equate arousal and joy, then yeah, you’re feeling pretty fucking joyful).

"Take a seat, beautiful," she says, patting her lap.

Jill has you right where she wants you, straddling her thigh, ruining her good pants since the lacy panties do little to cover up your wetness. It's not like you could hide it from her anyway. It's painted all over your face— lust.

You lean in to kiss her, but she grabs your cheeks before your lips can touch hers.

"Ah-ah," she says, "my birthday, my rules."

She coaxes you to nod with her hand still cupping your face.

"You're not even gonna kiss me?" you whine.

"If I kiss you, then I have to close my eyes and right now, I want to see you."

"It's only fair if I get to see you too."

"I'm right here, baby doll."

She knows what you mean, but you have no rebuttal. The fact of the matter is: Jill looks hot with or without her clothes on.

"Maybe you should give me a reason to take off my clothes," she says. "Why don't you finish what you started?"

Her gaze points you towards the wet spot on her thigh.

Desire surpasses embarrassment and you place your hands on Jill's shoulders for better leverage as you slowly but steadily grind against her thigh.

"Look at me," she says, lifting your chin. "As much as I love your gorgeous body, I wanna see your pretty face too."

If only there were words to describe her beauty, maybe, then, you'd be able to use them. You’re speechless, but not quiet, your mouth is occupied by breathy moans.

Not because she's nice, but because she's impatient, Jill hoists you up and strips down to her underwear. Before she places you back where you belong – straddling her thigh – she finds the buttons at the crotch of your bodysuit and undoes them, leaving your glistening slit on display.

She coaxes you into your first orgasm of the night with her sultry voice and her hands on your hips, guiding you.

You'd be an idiot to think it was over.

It's orgasm after orgasm until you're crying, begging Jill to give you a breather, begging her to take her clothes all the way off, begging her to let you touch her.

But no, she holds a vibrator to your clit and tells you you're a good girl for taking it. Those two words "good girl" have you wrapped around her finger(s), which pump in and out of you, over and over again.

"Jill, I can't," you say after the umpteenth time she's sent you over the edge. "It's too much."

"Am I hurting you?" she asks with genuine concern.

"No, it doesn't hurt… I'm just sensitive."

She hums in understanding, in momentary surrender, as she removes all stimulation.

You sigh as relief washes over you, but it only lasts for a second before it turns back into need. It's like she's trained you, reduced you to the aching feeling in your core.

You watch as she cleans the toys she used on you with the same meticulousness that she does with her weapons (the ones that aren't used against you). She's only half-focused, peeking at you in her periphery. You have the same power over her as she does over you. She cannot suppress her desire anymore.

"Fuck it," she mutters, placing the vibrator on the bedside table and climbing into bed with you.

"Fuck me," you say.

"That's the plan," she says.

The next conscious thought you have is how soft her lips are despite the fervor in her kisses.

"Can I go down on you?" you ask, giving her your most irresistible pleading face.

She's usually reluctant to let you take control in that way despite the fact that it makes her cum the hardest. It feels like she's baring her soul to you when she lets go of control in those moments.

"Promise I'll take good care of you," you say. "And we can stop whenever you want."

If there is one thing she feels for you, it is love. And what is love if not trusting another person with your whole heart?

(If there is one thing you feel it is honored to be trusted and to trust in return). 

"Okay," she says, and lies down.

You let her take off her own clothes – what little is left on her body.

"You're so beautiful," you say.

"Shut up," she says, flustered, vulnerable, but most of all insistent that you are the beautiful one in the relationship. It might be the number one thing you argue about.

"Make me," you say, and the words may be cliche, but they have a near perfect success rate.

She shoves your head between her thighs and moans when your tongue swipes along her folds – groans when you pull back to say, "I want you to let yourself feel good, give yourself a birthday gift."

"I was," she whines – a rare sound, one she must’ve learned from you, "but you stopped."

Your apology is muffled against her skin, but your touch can say more than words ever could.

It's her natural instinct to push you away when she nears the edge, feeling vulnerable knowing you'll get to see her, feel her, taste her, in the most intimate way possible. So, when you know she’s about to cum, you grab her thighs, firm but gentle still, and keep your face buried between them.

She barely has time to grab a pillow to muffle her moans. You’d already gotten enough noise complaints from your neighbors, it’s common courtesy at this point. 

It takes her a moment to get her bearings straight as you've managed to completely wear her out, and you consider making a joke about her age showing, but you don't.

Instead you say, "happy birthday."

To which she replies a mumbled, "thanks" as she hoists you up so that you're face to face.

And you fall asleep on her chest before you can say anything else.

[dolene]

I AM A WHAT? ; fernando alonso x wife!reader

summary: after taylor swift's song was out, people couldn't help but link him to taylor—while he didn't know anything about the current news.

note: sorry if this is so messy, it was a brainrot 🤭 and anyway happy ttpd day for those who celebrate!

the circulating news about his unreal relationship with the international singer taylor swift is no longer in doubt. there are many people who support them, shipping them, and even created a fan account dedicated to the two of them—who are not related or know each other at all.

“heh, yeah i'm aware of it.” he snort when the interviewer asked him about the swirling news. “but either way, i know that it wouldn't be possible.” he continues, simply shrugging with his wide smile still decorating his face when he saw the interviewer's eyebrows knit.

“oh? why is that?” he finally asked which fernando answered shortly, “i've had my wife, you remember?” and the interviewer chuckled, “no but really, if you hadn't marries her yet, would you choose her?” he said, making fernando goes silent for a quick moment.

“ah, probably.” he said eventually, “if i were still as young as her... and as tall. it would be okay.” the both of them laughed at his answer, leaving the interviewer with his tons of asks to continue the interview and leaving the taylor topic alone.

A YEAR LATER...

being chronically online in social media gave him a lot of benefits to offer. from not missing up with the latest news and trends makes him quite popular in his daily social media life as a trendy man on tiktok. but that also doesn't rule out the possibility that sometimes he is still left behind with other news that is not included in his list of interests. whether it's because he's not interested and allows himself to be left out of it, or he doesn't know about it all.

and having a wife who is also a journalist gives him many benefits, and one of them is not missing in any trending news that he doesn't even know it exists;

“ooh, i see that you were trending on twitter today.” you said as you walked to the counter to take a glass of juice from the mini refrigerator.

“twitter?” he asked from the bathroom, his voice echoed, and your uh-huh answers his question. “i haven't checked my twitter in a day or two now,” he said as he continued to brush his teeth, “so i don't know what am i even missed so i could be on the trending topic.”

“d'you want me to check it out for you?”

“mhm, sure.”

you immediately opened your twitter again after hearing his approval, searched for his name in the search column and finally found the topic you were looking for. lots of it. a lot of them were tweets about him and taylor swift with her new album.

you were silent for a moment, as you were getting too preoccupied with seeing what people were talking about about your husband and taylor swift, that you forgot about fernando who had been waiting for your response in the bathroom.

“so what is that all about?” he questioned, after he's finally came out of the bathroom, immediately standing next to you to peek at your phone. “apparently it's your gossip with miss swift.” he let out a loud laugh and stood up from his previous position as he walked towards his suitcase to look for a clean clothes for him to wear.

usually you are quite updated with the latest news, especially about taylor swift because you are a swiftie. but strangely enough, you don't know about this either.

“i haven't heard about the lastest album.” you said, and fernando hummed. “so you didn't know about the news, then?” he asked, and you answered, “no, i don't.” okay he said as a respond.

but after some time of scrolling through your twitter page, you finally find out what they mean about it. and you can't even deny it, you were also late in digesting the information.

MEANWHILE TWITTER...

“ooohhh, so you are taylor's car.” your face was still focused on your phone screen when fernando looked at you with a confused face. “i'm her what?”

“her car. and look, your relationship gossip with taylor is up again.” you giggled but didn't told him about the detailed things that you've been said to him earlier, making him keeping the confused face on his face longer.

“cariño, ¿de qué hablas?” he shakes his head, finally letting his desperation wins over the the lack of clarity in the information you gave him. you smiled, approaching him who was sitting on the bed, his mouth pouted with his lower lips is pushed forward—just like a 10 year old child whose parents weren't allowed to play.

“okay so, on her newest album, taylor wrote in the lyrics ‘i'm an aston martin’ and maybe that's why the public started to brings the taylor rumors again.” you said, and he nodded. “then you are her car, right?” and he finally get rid of the pout that he has on earlier as he slowly laughed. a breathy one, before he finally stops in a current slow motion.

“but that still doesn't answer your lack of clarity earlier!” he insists, but his face is still smiling from his laugh earlier, his eyes looking at you. “i already explained it to you!” you chuckled and his eyes lit up as you looked back at him.

there was a silence filling up the room for a moment after you said that, until he finally broke it; “you know, even if someday i could be with taylor, i wouldn't be with her.”

“really? and why is that?”

“because i could only be your aston martin.”

“oh my—” and before you could even rolled your eyes or completing your sentence, he had already pulled you in for a kiss first. luckily he's your husband.

taglist: @seasonswinter @haikyuen @callsignwidow

translation: cariño, ¿de qué hablas? = baby, what are you talking about?

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Trey Clover - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Interior Hallway]

Trey: Next class is… Oh, alchemy. There's stuff I need to prep for the experiment, so I guess I should head to the classroom already.

[Silver approaches]

Silver: Hello there, Trey-senpai...

Trey: Silver, hi. What's up, why are you staring at me so intently? Do I have something on my face?

Silver: Trey-senpai, is there anything you wish you had right now?

Trey: That's an unexpected question. Hmm, what do I want…?

Trey: Oh, maybe an automatic flour sifter? It'll speed things up and will keep my hands from getting too tired. It'd make baking sweets much easier on me.

Trey: Also, I'd like an apron. I have a few that I can hang from my neck, but that might cause my shoulders to get stiff, so I'd like to try out new kinds.

Trey: Plus, they tend to get pretty dirty before long, so it's never a bad thing to have too much.

Silver: I see… That was helpful.

Silver: Thank you. I think Riddle will be pleased once he hears what you've said.

Trey: Hm? Why are you bringing up Riddle?

Silver: Yesterday, before we began our club activities, Riddle was pondering over what to get you for your birthday.

Trey: Oh, so that's why you asked me what I'd want all of a sudden. …But hey, should you have told me all that…?

Silver: He seemed to be stuck in a conundrum, so I thought perhaps I could help with suggestions. Is that a problem?

Trey: Uhh, I mean, I thought maybe he might have been trying to keep the gift a secret, since he didn't come ask me directly…

Silver: …Forgive me if I've done something terrible to the both of you.

Trey: Y-You don't have to look that grave!

Trey: I'm sure this'll help him, so you should try telling him it was something you picked up through casual conversation.

Silver: I understand, I'll try telling him that. Thank you, Trey-senpai.

[Silver departs]

Trey: Yeah. See you, then.

Trey: Silver is one strait-laced guy. A bit different from the way Riddle is, that is...

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Hallway]

Trey: Ah… It's already past 8PM. I have to start making my rounds to see if anyone's breaking any of the Queen of Hearts' laws.

Trey: I'll go check out the kitchen first. I'd like to think there'd be no issues, but…

Trey: It'd be bad if there was someone trying to steal a tart from the refrigerator again, even if it's only a slim chance.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Lounge]

Trey: So far, so good, for now. Next is the lounge. Hm? What's this smell…?

Trey: Hey, you two sitting on the sofa. What is that drink you have there?

Trey: Just as I thought, it's honey lemonade!

Trey: It's already 8PM. You planning on violating Queen of Hearts' Law Number 256?

[Heartslabyul Student A speaks up]

Trey: …Oh good, if you haven't actually drunk any, then that's fine. Make sure you pour it out before any issues arise.

[Heartslabyul Students A and B run away, Heartslabyul Students C and D arrive]

Trey: …Hm? Hey, you guys who just walked into the lounge, did I just hear you say "that turkey lunch was delicious"?

Trey: Do you remember the Queen of Hearts' Law Number 648? You forgot? It'd be bad if you violated that rule. Make sure you check if there were any others who might've forgotten, too!

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

Trey: Phew, somehow, we got through the day without there being any rule violations. Please, all I'm asking is for them to do better at not getting caught…

Trey: Now that I've taken a shower and freshened up with a good teeth brushing, guess I can just relax a bit in my room.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

Trey: Oh, yeah, I should answer the Headmage's survey before I forget. Let's see, it's about…

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Trey: Things we want improved…? I feel like I could take it or leave it. Hmm, guess I'll try to think it over while drinking some tea.

Trey: …Oh. Ah, right, I just brushed my teeth using fluoridated toothpaste.

Trey: I can't let the fluoride film dissolve. I'll just drink water instead.

Trey: Even if I were to just brush my teeth again, the washroom always gets pretty crowded around this time, so it's not really a good time to go.

Trey: Sigh… If there were at least a sink in my room, I could do it all here, even my flossing…

Trey: I'd like to put that in the survey, but there's no way they'd accept me asking for a private washroom…

Trey: …Then, doesn't that mean it should just be that every room should have its own washroom?

Trey: Yeah. That might be a necessary change to make sure that all the students have clean dental health.

Trey: Even now, whenever I try to hand them floss, or tell them to brush more properly,

Trey: There's a ton of guys who only do it halfway, giving excuses like, "it's causing a line" in the washroom.

Trey: But it'd take too much time to renovate every single room. If I want them to renovate something while I'm still here at this school…

Trey: Oh, I know. I should write in the survey that I want them to "widen the washrooms."

Trey: That feels a little more realistic than asking for a private washroom for each room, so this request might get accepted, right?

Trey: If this actually comes to fruition, I would be able to go brush my teeth on my own preferred schedule…

Trey: And none of my other dormmates would be able to use the excuse that they'd be holding up other people in line.

[knock on door]

Trey: …Hm? Who's that? One second, I'll open the door.

[Heartslabyul Student E arrives]

Trey: One of my packages got mixed in with yours? Sorry for the trouble. Yeah, goodnight.

Trey: Wait, is this…? Ah, it is! It's the recipe book I bought online!

Trey: It had good reviews, so it grabbed my interest. Hmm, let's see… The sweets I wanted to make was…

Trey: Ah, found it. This is the one, combining cream and caramel into a puff pastry. This looks easier to make than I thought.

Trey: I need to try making it tomorrow… Ah wait, there's supposed to be a lot of sweets at the birthday party tomorrow.

Trey: Guess I'll have to wait until at least the day after tomorrow to try and make it. Oh man, just looking at this book is giving me more and more things I want to make.

[Heartslabyul Dorm – Trey's Room]

[alarm rings]

Trey: …Ugh…

[Trey slaps alarm off]

Trey: …Shut up.

Trey: …Is it morning already? Hrrrngh… Ugh…

Trey: Yaaawn… Glasses, glasses… Mmm… It's not here… Where is it…? Ah, found it.

Trey: Nnnnggh… I'm so groggy… Uhh… What's going on today again?

Trey: Oh, right. Today's my birthday party…

Trey: .....................

Trey: …Ack! This isn't good, at this rate, I'll fall back asleep. I should go wash my face and brush my teeth…

Trey: Mmm, I feel like my brain's finally working.

Trey: I only planned on skimming it, but I ended up staying up late reading through that recipe book

Trey: I'm not a morning person, so I was trying not to stay up too late… Guess I can't get carried away like that.

Trey: Alright, guess it's time to get ready for the day. I'll pull out my mirror and start with sunscreen… Oh, oops.

Trey: That was close. I still had my glasses on, I should take them off.

Trey: That reminds me, I remember when I once forgot to take off my glasses and took a shower with them on.

Trey: All the other guys in the dorm couldn't stop laughing at how my lenses fogged up, that it was a running joke for a little while after that.

Trey: Okay, I'm done applying it. This sunscreen is pretty easy to apply, so it helps me get ready faster.

Trey: "Do you find daily maintenance troublesome? All the more reason to pick and choose the exact items you use!"

Trey: …Or so Rook said, when he gave me this. It's definitely different than the one I used to use, that's for sure.

Trey: Guess I'll just buy the same thing again once I'm out. Oh, right. I need to do something for Rook to pay him back for this, too.

Trey: Okay, next are my eyebrows. I'll use a pen to gently give them shape…

Trey: …When I look at my eyes this way, it really looks like I have a mean glare.

Trey: Cater did say once that a lighter-colored eyebrow mascara could help give a gentler feel. Maybe I should try that next time…?

Trey: Nah, nevermind, it's not like I tend to glare whenever I'm wearing my glasses, so I can just leave it. If anything, it'd just be a pain to add more to my makeup regimen.

Trey: All it needs is to look good, right? Oh, and I should paint on my suit before I forget…

Trey: Back when I was a freshman, all my clovers tended to be asymmetrical, or distorted, or just plain misshapen…

Trey: Now, I'm able to draw it on pretty quick and cleanly. Guess I've just gotten better over the years. …Alright, I've finished applying everything, so now I can put my glasses back on…

Trey: As for my hair… It looks like I have a bit of bedhead. Maybe I shouldn't've been wearing a headband like this?

Trey: But hey, I should be able to fix that with a bit of brushing. I just have to be a little careful here… I guess this'll do.

Trey: Once I get changed into my school uniform, I guess I'll head to campus a little earlier today. After all, there's someone who's waiting to give me a surprise.

[Main Street]

Silver: Good morning, Trey-senpai.

Silver: I was able to inform Riddle of our conversation yesterday. The present he chose is…

Trey: Hey now, you don't have to say anything else! I'll save the surprise for when I actually receive the gift.

Silver: I see. I understand. Well then, I hope you have a good birthday.

[Silver departs]

Trey: Thanks. Sorry for all the trouble.

Trey: I'm perfectly happy if I can just have a peaceful day, sure… But I guess I can still get excited about getting birthday presents.

Requested by @farfalla049 and @sakurakudo.

[marauder-misprint]

Can you do something with a Welsh reader x either Remus or Sirius? Thank you 😊 💓 ☺️ 💗 💛 💖 😊 💓 ☺️ 💗 💛 💖

Hi and thank you for this request! ❤︎ This ended up being a meet cute-esque thing with a lot less Welsh than I originally intended, but oh well. Translations at the bottom! Hope you enjoy! ❤︎

Teach me Welsh

Sirius Black x Welsh!reader

1.8k words

cw: fluff, Welsh from Google Translate

“Bore da,” you would say sleepily to Remus as you paused by him every morning in the Great Hall. 

He’d manage to mumble out a ‘good morning’ without looking up from his tea, but Sirius’ eyes always followed you down the length of the table until you sat down with your friends. Sirius was never a morning person, but the thought of hearing your voice was enough to make him roll out of bed. Well, if Remus was getting up, that is. You wouldn’t wish the rest of the Marauders ‘good morning.’ Only Remus – and Sirius wasn’t a fan of that. 

“Remind me again how you know Y/N?” Sirius asked, blowing on his tea before taking a sip. 

Remus rolled his eyes and groaned. “We’ve been going to school together for, what, six years now?”

“So have I and you’re the only one who gets a good morning.”

“Sometimes we travel to the station together. You know, living in Wales and all?” 

“Right, right…” Sirius murmured, glancing down the table toward you again. 

Growing up in London, he often forgot that some people had a greater distance to travel to get to King’s Cross Station. You were stirring your mug slowly, having just placed a few sugar cubes into it. One of your elbows rested on the table with your palm supporting your head. You looked like the epitome of sleepy. A very cuddly and cozy sleepy. 

“Y/N’s caught your fancy, she has?” Peter asked.

“She’s pretty,” Sirius said, trying to sound disinterested. 

“Pretty doesn’t have you asking about them every other day,” Remus said with a sly smile. “You could talk to her, you know. After breakfast when she’s more awake.”

“Padfoot talk to a girl? Moony, are you mental?” James gasped, joining the conversation after having been staring at Lily for the past few minutes. He threw a firm arm around Sirius’ shoulder and gave them a shake. “He is nothing compared to our local Casanova!”

Remus blushed deeply at James’ teasing. He usually tried to let the boys’ jokes bounce off of him but for some reason, being called the Gryffindor Casanova affected him. The boys just laughed at Remus’ reaction and carried on with breakfast. Sirius went quiet though. He was trying to think of something he could talk to you about, preferably something other than school. He thought about it for the rest of breakfast. He only broke out of his trance when he saw you stand up with your friends to leave. 

Immediately, Sirius stood up with his eyes locked on you. He grabbed his bag and left. He didn’t even say bye to his friends. He had a mission and that mission was talking to you, as Remus had suggested. It was after breakfast now so you must not be as sleepy, right? 

“Hey! Y/N!” he called the moment he stepped out of the hall.

You and your friends were a short distance away, but enough to warrant a raised voice. Your whole group turned around at his voice. Sirius walked up to the paused group, hoping he looked confident rather than uncertain. 

“Sirius?” you greeted him, sounding as uncertain as he actually felt. 

“Can I walk you to class?” 

You cast a confused look to your friends, but within seconds, they had cleared the scene. They answered his question for you.

“Yeah,” you said, pausing before adding, “Don’t you have Charms with me?”

“Ah, bloody hell, now I won’t be late to my class…”

“That why you walk girls to class? To be late to your own?”

“No! No,” Sirius exclaimed, as if trying to take back what he said. “Just a bonus to spending time with pretty girls.”

Sirius flashed you his trademark grin and took the books you were carrying.

“Rule number one about being walked to class, bloke carries the books.”

“Noted,” you said with a giggle. 

You started to walk towards the Charms classroom. Sirius fell uncharacteristically quiet, which was bizarre to you. From what you had witnessed and heard from gossip about him, Sirius was not only, but a notorious flirt. Him being quiet after asking to walk you to class felt odd. 

The whole walk ended up being quiet, and Sirius was mentally beating himself up for it. After telling you that he was to carry your books, he didn’t know what to say. He followed you to where you usually sat and put your books down.

“Thanks, Sirius,” you said, giving him a soft smile.

He nodded, unable to speak. He then went to his own seat, forcefully throwing his bag onto his desk. The faintest sound of straining fabric could be heard if he was listening, but he wasn’t. 

“How’d it go?” James asked as the rest of his friends arrived at the classroom.

“Horrible.”

“You walked her to class, didn’t you?” Remus asked. “You didn’t come back into the hall all defeated looking.”

“I walked her. But I didn’t talk to her.”

“You walked in silence?” Remus asked.

“The whole way.”

Sirius hung his head as the boys started laughing.

“Just…” Remus started to say but his words were cut off by more laughter. “Just… Ffwrch… Try again…” 

“Try again?” Sirius repeated, narrowing his eyes at his friend who still couldn’t control his laughter.

Remus cleared his throat, hoping that would help. “We all have Potions after this. Maybe you needed a warm up or something.”

“Right…” 

Then Flitwick began the class. Sirius paid less attention to the less than he did to his friends during breakfast. Instead, he watched you and tried to think of something, anything, he could say to you. 

He would apologize for not saying anything on the walk to Charms. Yes, that was a good place to start. But where to go from there? If you traveled with Remus, you were probably from the same town. Remus had mentioned something about sheep herders… Was that something? Maybe he could ask if you lived near the coast? Sirius shook his head, hoping it would dispel the bad ideas from his head. A worse one appeared. Asking what part of England you were from and calling you English. 

No. We are trying to get her to like us. 

Sirius was already accepting that he was going to fail his second attempt. After Flitwick dismissed class, Sirius was standing up and moving toward your desk, intent on catching you before you disappeared out of the classroom.

“Can we try that again? You had Potions next, yeah?” Sirius asked, already picking up your books before you could answer.

“Wow, he knows we have classes together,” you said, giving him that same soft smile.

Without thinking, you grabbed onto his arm near his elbow. It made it so he was more of your guide as you left the classroom together. Remus, witnessing all of this, was certain that you liked Sirius in the same way he liked you. It helped that you also had hinted at it weeks ago in confidence in the library after a long night of studying. This just all but confirmed it.

Remus, with James and Peter in tow, followed close behind you and Sirius. They were just within earshot of the conversation that wasn’t happening.

“Let’s help them along, shall we?” Remus asked.

Then he was pulling out his wand and pointing it at the worn bag over Sirius’ shoulder. A quick flick of his wand was all he needed. 

Rip. Thunk, thunk, thunk.

All of Sirius’ things spilled onto the floor of the now-busy corridor.

“Oh, cachiad!” you gasped, jumping to the side.

The three boys brushed past Sirius with smirks on their faces. After a moment, you joined Sirius in gathering all of his things. You went a little further down the corridor to gather a book that had been kicked. 

“Why do you have The Iliad in your bag?” you asked as you handed it back to him.

He hummed. “Well, it’s not in my bag anymore…”

You laughed at his poor joke. That made him smile.

“‘M reading it.”

“You can read? Remus would have me believing that you got burned by every book you touch.”

“Ha,” he said with minimal mirth in his voice. “I’m quite literate. I just prefer to do it recreationally rather than educationally.”

You nodded. “Being assigned to read can really take the fun out of it.”

“Remus doesn’t share that notion.”

“No, he does. I think he just cares about his grades more than you do.”

“I care… enough,” Sirius said, squinting one of his eyes. “I pass my classes.” 

You finished gathering all of his things and without a bag, you helped carry his things. He was still determined to carry your things. 

“Tell me then, Black. What is something you care about more than what we’re literally here for?” 

Without missing a beat, Sirius said, “Enjoying life and making people smile. You have a beautiful one by the way.”

There it was. His charm was back and all it apparently took was one ripped bag and an emptying-out corridor. It did feel like you and Sirius were walking at a decreasing pace. Sirius was in no hurry to make it to your next class and, to his delight, you didn’t seem to be either. 

“That sounds like a line you use on all your girls,” you said, smiling nonetheless. 

“Only the prettiest ones. And, I must say, you certainly qualify. Exceeding Expectations and well on your way to Outstanding.”

You laughed and bumped gently into Sirius’ shoulder, careful enough to make sure neither of you dropped anything. 

“What would get me to that O? You must know I strive for excellence.” 

“Would you teach me some words in Welsh?” Sirius offered. “I know cachiad and ffwrch and sguthan from Remus.”

“Ah, most of the important ones then,” you laughed with a shake of your head. “Probably heard me say bore da to him in the mornings. That’d be good morning.”

“That makes sense. Could’ve come to that conclusion.”

“Um, your little trio from Remus is missing twll tin, arsehole.”

“Twll tin,” Sirius repeated, making you giggle.

“You sound cute when you speak welsh.”

Sirius made a face. “Cute? Sirius Black is not cute.”

“But you are! Especially when you’re saying arsehole like it’s a question!” 

“Just don’t want to say it wrong.”

“Mispronounce and say something worse?” 

“Exactly!”

“Sirius, it’s arsehole and you already know cachiad and ffwrch. Not language you’d use to speak to the queen.” 

“Welsh isn’t a language I’d use to speak to the queen,” he retorted. 

“Fair enough.”

You smiled at each other and fell into matching fits of laughter. 

“So, you’ll teach me more?” Sirius asked.

“You got time now?” you replied.

Translations from here and google

bore da - good morning

Cachiad - shit

Ffwrch - fuck

Sguthan - bitch

twll tin - arsehole

---

Tag: @bruxa0007

[cosmowgyral]

"Love during Cleaning Time"

▪︎ Gilbert von Obsidian

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

~chapter 1

Despite his noble status, the man who rules over the military powerhouse, Obsidian, does not keep servants at his side.

Therefore, apart from food, I needed to take care of everything by myself---

Emma: Gil, what should we do with that shelf?

Gilbert: Oh, go ahead. I don’t think there’s any classified information up there.

Emma: You can leave it to me.

In Gilbert’s laboratory, which is off-limits to everyone, I take items off the shelves, clean them, and then put them back in their places.

(But it’s visibly getting prettier.)

(It’s tiring, but it is rewarding and fun.)

Previously, Roderich used to help me. It seems there were times when others took on the role, but ever since I came here, I have been entrusted with this duty.

Gilbert: I don’t know…

Gilbert: I’m bored.

Emma: There’s only a bit left, so let’s do our best.

Gilbert: Even that little bit is bothersome.

Gilbert: You really can keep going without getting bored, can’t you, little rabbit?

Emma: I definitely feel enthusiastic when you ask me for help, Gil.

Emma: There aren’t many times I can be of help to you, so it’s times like these that makes me want to give my all.

(….? What is this box?)

While talking, I take out a box of documents carved with roses from the shelf.

It was unexpectedly heavy, testing the strength of my arms I honed from working at the bookstore.

Gilbert: What are you talking about? You’re always helpful to me.

Gilbert: Thank you.

Emma: !?

Before I knew it, Gilbert approached me from behind.

I was so surprised by his gentle ‘thank you’ that I dropped the heavy box that I was holding.

Emma: S..sorry!

Gilbert: Ahaha, you’re quite a surprise.

The impact of hitting the floor caused the contents of the box to spill and the documents were scattered.

Although Gilbert was laughing, I felt my blood run cold.

I quickly gather the documents and try to put them back in the box.

--At that moment, the words inevitably caught my eye.

Emma: “Rhodolite’s Periodic Report”?

Gilbert: Ah

Emma: ….This is…

----17 visitors this week. 8 women and 9 men.

No suspicious behaviour. Suspect’s health condition is good.

Issue of concern, movement slower than normal. Possibility of injury.

Condition requires further observation. Detailed report will be sent at a later date after investigation.

(It’s something I shouldn’t see….)

Gilbert: Oh no, you’ve seen it.

As I sat down, Gilbert put his hand on my shoulder.

Gilbert: What should I do?

Emma: …You said there was no classified information….

Gilbert: Yeah. I forgot that existed.

Emma: ……

Gilbert: The little rabbit saw something she shouldn’t have so I need to shut her up.

Gilbert knelt in front of me and leaned in with a look of amusement, and then lightly pecked my lips.

Emma: ….It’s not so bad after all.

Gilbert: Ahaha, you’re starting to understand me better, aren’t you?

(If it’s something that’s really forbidden to see, Gilbert will be merciless.)

(And he is not the type to reveal secrets carelessly.)

Calming my wild heartbeat, I lowered my gaze to the documents in front of me.

The more I looked at it, the stranger it seemed.

As the Commander of Obsidian, he is eyeing the territory of Rhodolite with keen interest.

However, the contents of the report would appear to be of no value to the layman.

It only contains the behavioural records of a certain bookstore keeper, and while there is a possibility that it might be some kind of a code, I don’t think it has enough value for the royalty of a great nation to bother reading it.

(No, wait…)

(Rhodolite’s bookstore?)

(…..)

Emma: …..Gil

(There’s only one bookstore that Gil has his eyes on.)

Emma: Could this be a report about me?

Gilbert: Ahaha, I’ve been found out.

(Since when….)

The date of the reports suggested it went back several years, even before I was chosen as Belle.

(I guess it was around the time the owner put me in charge of the store.)

I knew Gilbert had spies all across the city, but I was shocked to find such a detailed report about me.

(No wonder he was so knowledgeable about my past.)

It seems that he would get more information from his spies rather than the owner himself.

Emma: I had no idea.

Gilbert: The spy I had assigned to you is one of the Obsidian's bests.

Gilbert: His name is Michael. Do you remember him?

Emma: What? No way, Michael was a spy?!

(I knew him well. He used to be a regular customer who had started coming right after I began working at the store.)

Since I occasionally had trivial conversations with Michael, there’s no way I could forget.

Gilbert: I’m sorry. I never intended to assign a spy to you.

Gilbert: You were just an ordinary person in Rhodolite, not someone the royal family of a military powerhouse would care about.

Gilbert: But I was left with no other choice.

--*flashback*--

Gilbert: ----Akatsuki, are you insane?

[Masterlist] [Chapter 2]