#and yeah of course the clothes have to be tailored or at the very last to be modifiable

[just-a-little-unionoid]

When I saw the first post I immediately thought "oh yes we have that in France this is so stupid I'm gonna comment on it" and then the post was literally about it

And yeah a few months back when I was in argument with people about it I did a quick addition to show that it would cost too much for the government to pay for it itself, and look at that, I was right 🙄

Btw in France we don't have freedom of religion anyway (not at school at least, we theoretically have it outside) so don't worry, Muslim girls already doesn't have the right to exist wear a hijab at school

Im so sorry if this is controversial but wanting school uniforms in a country without school uniforms is a reactionary and conservative thing no matter how much progressive paintjob you put on it. You gotta be stupid as hell to think it’s a progressive thing.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Hii lovely!! I'm not sure if it's alright but just hear me out. maybe a fic stalker theo completely obsessed w reader, maybe kinda dubcon but if not i totally understand !!

Very convenient timing considering I just read Haunting Adeline this weekend. I kinda used one of the parts in it for the instigation, but I hope this works!

Fuck Off

Theodore Nott x F!Reader

Warnings: DUB/NONCON PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE THIS STUFF, oral(female receiving), unprotected sex, cream pie, cussing, stalking.

18+ Minors DNI

You've had a stalker for a few months now. They would leave gifts outside your dorm to begin with. Then they started showing up in your dorm. The gifts were sweet and tailor specifically to your likes and wants, which you couldn't decide if that made it creepier or not.

The gifts weren't the only thing you got from your stalker. They would also send you texts from an unknown number. They weren't threatening or anything that suggested harm to you. Maybe creepy since they'd talk about what you were doing in that moment, even when you were completely alone. Sometimes they were sweet, sometimes they were sexual. And you hated to admit it, but they knew exactly how to talk dirty to you, they could get you worked up so easily. It freaked you out but you weren't in danger. Right?

You were sitting in your bed reading, unwinding from the hectic day you just had when your phone went off for a text notification. It startled you out of your little world and you opened the message.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are when you're reading?”

Your stalker again.

“A few times.” You replied. At this point, you've given up ignoring them since they'll just keep messaging you until you respond.

“I'll tell you a million more times. You should be reminded every day how beautiful you are.”

“You already do that.”

“Maybe next time I say it, I can say it while my cock's buried deep inside you.”

“Pervert.”

“Only for you. You know you drive me insane. You make me so hard just sitting there. Especially since I know the filth you're reading. You're not so innocent yourself, bella.”

You looked at your phone for a moment before looking around. You did read dirty books, but only in your dorm. Another ping from your phone drew your attention back to it.

“You won't find me, amore mio. You should know this by now.”

“Fuck off.” You replied, angry at him for how he's treating your privacy.

“Careful, principessa. If you say that again, I'm gonna come fuck that little pussy of yours.”

You scoffed, disgusted by his words. Would he really come do it? No. Was part of you also curious if he would and wanted to see who he was? Yeah. That's why you couldn't stop yourself from replying.

“Fuck off.”

“You're in for it now, cara mia.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to your book. Your eyes felt heavy after a while and you put the book aside to fall asleep.

The next day, you got up and headed for the showers, getting ready for the day. You stripped and got under the hot water of the shower, relaxing for a moment before starting your shower routine.

You always got an eerie feeling of someone watching you or being right there when you closed your eyes while rinsing the shampoo and conditioner out of your hair. This time, though, when you opened your eyes after rinsing out the conditioner, there was someone right in front of you. You knew him, of course, everyone did. Theodore Nott.

You screamed and backed away from him, hitting the shower wall while you covered your body as best as you could.

“Get the fuck out!” You yelled.

“I'm not going anywhere, cara mia.” He smiled. You noticed he was fully clothed as he stepped towards you, drenching his clothes from the shower.

“You? You're the fucking creep that's been stalking me?” You made the connection after hearing him call you the same pet name as your stalker.

“If you recall that little conversation last night, I told you I'd come fuck you if you told me to ‘fuck off’ again, which you did.” He took another step closer, his shoes nearly touching your toes. “And I don't make empty threat, principessa.”

“I could scream right now and someone will come in and stop you.” You threatened, hoping to deter him.

“I'm hurt you think I'm so stupid. I put a silencing charm on the room and looking charm on the door so no one could come in and you can't get out.” He said as he brushed a strand of your wet hair from your face.

You flinched from his touch, closing your eyes. “What are you gonna do to me?” You whisper.

“I'm gonna make you feel so, so good, bella.” He said and moved to kneel in front of you.

As soon as his knees hit the tile, you pushed him out of the way and ran out of the shower, trying not to slip.

“I already told you, you cant get out, cara mia.” He called out to you.

You ignored him and tried the door to the bathroom. Wouldn't even budge. You didn't have your wand on you either since you were showering. Hands wrapped around your waist and you fought against him, kicking back to hit him, which just ended up making you both fall to the ground. He was much quicker than you, propping you on your knees so your face was down and ass up for him while he held your hands behind your back. You couldn't see him from this angle, but felt his tongue flick your clit, making you moan.

“You act like you don't want me, but your soaking, cara mia.” He said before licking and sucking at your clit.

Your words died in your throat, replaced by a moan leaving your mouth instead.

“Your body knows what it wants, amore mio.” He licked up to your entrance, prodding his tongue inside.

“Fuck.” You moaned, eyes rolling back before closing.

He moaned against you and kept his onslaught of pleasure on your pussy until you came.

“That's my good girl. That's what I wanted.” He said as he helped ride out your high.

“To force yourself on me?” You asked as you caught your breath once the orgasm faded.

“To make you feel good, principessa.” He shuffled behind you a bit as he kept a hand holding yours down still. You could hear the sound of his pants being undone.

“I think there could've been another way to fuck me that didn't involve stalking and harassing me.” It probably wasn't a smart move to mouth off to your stalker, but you were so angry. You pulled your hands out of his grip and tried taking off, but he just grabbed your legs, making you fall back on your stomach.

“I think you like this, though. I see how soaked you are from this.” He pulled you back onto your knees and held onto both your wrists with both of his hands. His cock teased your entrance, coating it in your arousal.

“You think I like you forcing yourself on me?” You said, hissing from how sensitive you were when he nudged your clit.

“You haven't told me to stop.” He said before thrusting into you, immediately bottoming out and making you cry out. “You're practically dripping from how wet you are for me, cara mia.”

You couldn't even deny that, maybe you were crazy, but you were embarrassingly wet from all this.

He started thrusting in and out of you, his grip on your wrists tight, bruises will probably form later from all of this.

“Not even trying to fight back anymore. You finally accepting that you're enjoying this?” He asked, letting go of your wrists to grab your hips. “Or maybe I got you too cockdrunk on me. Is that it? Am I making you feel so good you can't talk?” His voice was condesending.

“Fuck off.” You said, clawing at the floor to grip something.

“You love testing me, principessa. I don't mind. I'm happy to put you in your place each time.” He said and you could practically hear the smile in his voice. “You can stop acting like you hate this. I can feel you clenching my cock like you can't get enough of it.”

“As if.” You said between moans. He was hitting you so deep and fast, it had another orgasm building quickly.

“Keep talking like that and next time I'll have to punish you, amore mio.” He said, moving a hand from your hip to grip your hair. “How about you be a good girl instead and cum on my cock for me, yeah?”

“Fuck, shit!” You cried out, so close to cumming.

“Scream my name when you cum. Wanna hear how it sounds from those pretty lips.” He groaned, he was getting close himself. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, principessa.”

You came around him, trembling as his name fell from your lips over and over.

“That's the most beautiful sound I've ever fucking heard. Shit!” He said before moaning, his hips stilling as he came inside you, filling your pussy with his cum.

He pulled out as you both caught your breaths and stood back up, quickly redoing his pants before pulling out his wand and undoing the spells. He left the bathroom without another word to you as you slowly got up and went back to the shower to scrub the filth of what you'd done off of you.

And hopefully convince yourself that you didn't enjoy that.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @yourenogoodforme @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff

@soaked4abby @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @motherfing-stargirl @brittney-121

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddlesbitch @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@demieyesore

Let me know if you wanna be added!

[sp0-t]

Preview of some upcoming stories?!! (sort of rambles)

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

You and Simon used to date, it was a while ago, 5 years, 7 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days ago to be exact. You never kept count, you wanted to forget everything. It was Simon that kept count, every second, every minute, every hour. He was there keeping track. You moved on, you had a whole new life at this point, new job, new house, new car, even a new partner. You wanted nothing to do with that old life that old place, that old job still haunting you some nights. But that was all behind you, long ago, no reason to dwell on it, you have a new life a new start that not many got. Your old life was behind you forgotten, like a bad dream.

Except this dream came back to haunt you, physically, in the present. In the physical form of Simon “Ghost” Riley. He was the reason you couldn’t sleep at night, the reason you needed a new life in the first place, needed to run away from the past.

Him

HIM

The last person that deserved to come back into your life was here. And he is persistent per usual, no matter what you do, or what you say to him, he was not going to budge he’d stay stolid and still and he’d be that way for the rest of time if he had to.

He’d wait…

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

Gaz and you are two of the biggest names in the modeling world. You can’t talk about it without either name popping up. What makes it even more of popular topic, is the rumor of a certain type of relationship between you two. However these aren’t true they can’t be, at least not yet…

You are in a contract with one of if not the biggest modeling agency in the world, you being their top model, however, you have a very close runner up. They’ve been gaining more and more attraction every year, placing them higher and higher in the rankings. Social media isn’t helping in this case, it’s the very thing that gained them their popularity in the first place. One post about their new male model and the internet goes fucking batshit.

“Who is he?”

“I need him!”

“He’s so fine, omg!”

“The things I would do…”

Well, who is this mystery man, no other than Kyle Garrick. He normally goes by his stage nickname “Gaz”. No one knows where it comes from, but then again no one really cares enough.

However this year both your agency’s are competing for first, both agencies have to put out their best models in a runway show, a panel will then decide who the best is. But then why do people suspect a relationship between the two. A simple cigarette, that was it, a cigarette. Paparazzi can be some nosey individuals, it was after a clothes fitting, both agencies were required to have it done by the same tailor company to remove any bias, and no changes could be made to outfits by this point. It was late out probably 11pm, about to be 12. I guess paparazzi doesn’t sleep, you went out for a cigarette or two. About to light your second you hear the door open behind you.

“Mind if I join you?”

Of course it was him, why wouldn’t it be Gaz

“Do as you please.”

Your voice comes out a bit muffled from the cigarette between your lips. You try and light your cigarette again, you spark the lighter multiple times no flames ever coming to light. You get more and more frustrated the longer it takes to see flames. You bring the thing up to your ear and shake to hear if there’s any liquid, it’s empty. In frustration you throw the lighter against a nearby wall.

“Fucking piece of shit.”

Still muffled from the unlit cigarette you sigh out in frustration and defeat, leaning against the wall behind you. You run your hand through your hair as your about to push off the wall to walk back inside the building, when a flame is placed in front of you.

“Need a light?”

You look up at him a bit confused

“Yeah. Thanks.”

SNAP* SNAP* SNAP* The image of Gaz leaning over slightly cupping the flame to prevent the wind from blowing it out, while you tilt your head a bit up to get your cigarette to reach the flame while Gaz looks down at you. That’s what was going viral, the image, the circulating stories and rumors going around. Both of your names were everywhere, one couldn’t be without the other in the media.

All over a damn cig

💿: I only have two for you today, these are just quick summaries. I’m sorry these are on like “cliff hangers”, I really wanted you guys to make your own assumptions and theories. I do want to start writing an actual full on story for one of the quick ideas I’ve wrote(author!price, PoliceForce!141, and these new ones). I’ll most likely put up a poll for people to vote on which one I’ll write first, so definitely stay around for that if you’re interested!!

(sorry the Simon one is so short but if I added more it would be like double this whole page)

written by: @sp0-t ©️

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Wedding Invitations (2)

Summary: Colter Shaw x Fe!Reader -> You and Colter have known each other since you were 15. He was there to help you once, and he's here to help you now.

Disclaimer: This is Part Two. Fluff, maybe some light swearing. Mostly just cute fluff, with the added addition of some slightly annoying family members.

“Reenie,” Colter’s voice came out a little shocked as he held up the suit in front of him. “It’s tailored.”

Reenie smiled on the other end of the phone. “You’re welcome.”

“How is it tailored?”

“Relax, James Bond. I have a video, remember? I sent it to Bobby and he used his magic and got your measurements.”

“What video-” Then Colter remembered. “Please delete that.”

“I don’t think so. You’re very…appealing to the eye, shall we say. But the look of shock on your face…I think I might make it my screen saver.”

“Please don’t.”

“Just make sure to get to the venue on time.”

“I will.”

And he did. 

However, it just took him a little longer to actually find his date. 

But once he spotted you, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

You stood, dressed in the bridesmaid’s gown you’d been given, in the corner talking - or rather, being interrogated – to one of your aunt’s. 

But Colter’s breath knocked him out for a few seconds. He’d seen you dressed up before. He’s seen you…like this before. But something just felt…different. 

“But, honey, if he doesn’t show, what am I meant to say? That my niece got jilted at the altar and is now making up dates? Do you know how that would look?”

“There is more to me than being engaged,” you replied. 

Colter smiled. 

You frequently kept in contact with each other and over the last couple of months, you seemed happier. Certain things you’d remember when you were with Jonathan and you’d, slightly, be thankful that you were no longer together. 

Now, you could bake whenever you liked in the kitchen, not having to be worried if it would upset his sense of smell. You could finally finish TV shows you’d been dying to watch, without fear of spoilers or someone getting bored and switching it over. You could also finally decorate your bedroom how you liked. Of course, you liked it how it was. But the small things, like the colour of the throws, and pillows, and the way you organised your clothes. It could be…you. 

When certain events came around, it hurt. Like what was meant to be your wedding day. The entire day you just walked around a garden centre looking at plants until you grew hungry and went to get a pizza. 

You even managed to go on a couple of dates. 

They never lasted longer than a month or so, but it was nice to have the feeling of moving on. 

Until you got cornered by your aunt, interrogating you over your relationship status and if you had in fact made up your date for the evening. 

Thankfully, luck was on your side because just as she was about to point out the list of pros a relationship can provide, Colter came up behind you. 

And your aunt fell silent. 

At first she was shocked. The fact that you did, in fact, have a date and it just so happened to be a man that looked like Colter was the first part. Then she smiled. 

“My goodness, didn’t you strike lucky with this one,” your aunt said, talking to you. 

Until you felt Colter’s hand on your arm. “I did.”

You smiled and leaned a little into Colter, silently revelling in your aunt’s shock at his answer, rather than yours. 

“Please, excuse us.”

You walked Colter away from your aunt before she could quite literally jump on him. 

“Thank you for coming, nice tux by the way.”

“Reenie.”

“Figured. She does know a good tailor.”

“What was that back there?”

“My aunt? Oh, yeah, apparently being a tenured history professor doesn’t live up to the same standing as being a married tenured history professor with a kid on the way.”

“Shouldn’t they be more focused on, I don’t know, your happiness?”

You nodded. “Most of them are, but there’s just the odd few who don’t realise how deep they’re actually digging their knives.”

Colter studied you for a moment. “Are you okay?”

You looked up at him. “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“I have been up since four am, I feel like I’ve been poked, prodded, burned, scratched and pinched on every surface of my body. God only knows how Ida is feeling, and she’s the bride. I just hope they start the wedding soon because my feet are killing me.”

You lowered your hand to meet your raised ankle, to rub at it for a moment. 

“Don’t you wear heels for work?” 

You nodded. “I do. But they’re broken in. These are not.”

“But I thought-”

“Last minute change.” You quickly explained. “Either way, I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.”

“No need. I was in the area.”

“How was the case?”

“Quick, easy. Stolen car. The husband reported it missing, but it turned out his mistress had stolen it because he still hadn’t left his wife.”

“Wow.”

“I was there when they had the argument. Got heated, let me tell you that.”

An hour later, the ceremony started and Colter’s eyes rarely left you. People laughed and cried during the speeches and you couldn’t have looked happier for the couple. However, the minute it was over you found Colter before he could find you in the sea of wedding guests. 

And for the next forty minutes whilst the new bride and groom shared some alone time surveying their venue, yourself and Colter found two seats at the back of the hallway. 

From your purse you pulled out a small pile of plasters. 

“Here, let me.” 

Colter tore some of them open whilst you angled your foot to place them on the growing hot spots. However, just as you placed your feet down on the ground, thankful to feel the flat floor, your aunts seemed to have jumped out from the corner beside Colter. 

And you were both subject to different questions until they finally opened up the doors to the dining hall. 

“Thank god, I’m starving.”

Colter managed to get yourself and him around the crowd to find your seats. You’d been placed at table four with a couple of the other bridesmaids and their partners. 

For most of the night, it ran smoothly. You ate, drank, danced. All in all it was a fun evening. You listened to the different speeches made by the parents and new in-laws. 

However, when couples were dragged onto the dancefloor, you were fully prepared to sit that section out. Until Colter reappeared from the gents toilets, just past the bar, and lowered his hand to you. 

“Colter…”

“It’s just dancing.”

It took you a moment before you placed your hand in his and allowed him to pull you towards the dancefloor. 

Holding you in his arms, his hand enveloped yours by his chest whilst his other hand remained securely on your back, your own hands in his and on his shoulder. 

For a while, you both danced. Slowly, holding each other closer. Until Colter shocked you by dipping you slowly with the song. 

And you smiled. 

And so did he. 

Bringing you back to your feet, he spun you close to his body before pulling you back in. 

“I don’t know if I’ve said this already, but thank you. For coming, I mean.”

Colter smiled, leaning down. “You never have to thank me for coming to you.”

“I do mean it, though.” You told him. “I could have made up an excuse or found someone else. You didn’t have to say yes, and you did, and I’m…glad. Thank you.”

“Do you have anything else to do? For the wedding?”

You shook your head. “Not unless Ida needs to go to the bathroom.”

“Can’t the other girls help her?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Want to get out of here?”

Usually, you would have said ‘no’, but something changed when you looked at Colter. So, you replied. 

“Yes. But let me say goodbye, first.”

Colter nodded, letting you go for a moment whilst you walked around the dance floor to where Ida was standing by her table, finding her drink. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Ida smiled as she looked over your shoulder and back to you.

After that, you grabbed your bag and found your hand in Colter’s as you both made your way out and away from the wedding. 

Colter helped you into the passenger seat of his truck, closing your door for you. By the time he got into the driver’s seat, you already had one of your heels off. 

It wasn’t long before Colter was pulling up alongside his home, and grabbing the small bag of groceries from the back whilst you hooked your heels through your fingers, hitched up your dress and carried the pizza box inside. 

Shutting the door behind you, Colter came back out from his home and took the box from you before helping you up the stairs. 

By the time he closed the door behind him, you were already pulling the pizza box open as you sat down by the table. 

“So they just had one delivered to the classroom?”

You nodded. “Yep. It was the final day and they did share, so I let them off with a warning. It’s fun to have cake delivered to the classroom, but it’s also not school policy to have food delivered during class time.”

“Sounds like I missed a party.”

You laughed before taking a bite of your pizza. 

It wasn’t long before you found yourself snooping around Colter’s place, leaving him sitting at the table, watching your every move. 

“You have a mug from every state? Hey, wait a minute.”

Colter hung his head to cover the smile creeping up on his face before he looked back at you. He tried his best to remain guiltless, but you could practically smell it on him. 

“This is my mug.”

“Is it?”

“This is my mug that has been missing for three months.”

“Three months? Sure you didn’t just leave it at work?”

“This is my mug that you stole-”

“Stole?” Colter asked. “You should have set up a reward.”

“-from my home.” You gasped a little, trying to hide your smile. “Oh, Colter. I never pegged you for a thief.”

“Finders keepers, I say.”

“Oh,” you said, your eyes never leaving Colter as he stood and walked closer to you. “The Rewardist is calling finders keepers now, is he?”

“I believe he is. Considering you never set up a reward.”

“Because I thought I lost it.”

“Oh, well in that case.” Colter plucked the mug from your hands before placing it back on the shelf in pride of place. “It’s still lost.”

“Oh, really?”

He shut the door. “Really.”

However, when Colter looked back at you, you felt something shift. It felt silent in the camper. Too silent. And yet somehow, too loud. You were suddenly aware of your own breath, trying to find a way to keep it controlled in order to avoid suspicion until you noticed Colter seemed to be, albeit more subtly than you, doing the same thing. 

However, just as you felt yourself leaning in a little and seeing Colter doing the same, it was like something pulled you back into reality. 

Cleaning your throat, you placed your gaze anywhere else. Or, at least, the very least, you tried. Every other second, your eyes flashed back to him as you both leaned against the counter and dared not look at each other. 

“I better-”

“Yeah.”

However, despite that awkwardness passing when Colter jumped into the shower and you had full access to snoop. You found a picture of himself, his brother and his sister. By the looks of it, his mom had made them all pose for it. And it didn’t look like it was that long ago.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“This your brother?”

Colter paused for a moment. “Maybe. Why?”

“He’s hot.”

Colter tried his best to hide his groan. “Please don’t tell him that. It’ll only inflate his ego.”

You chuckled softly. “Relax, Colt. It’ll just be our little secret. Besides, he’s a little too…burly, for my type.”

“Burly?” Colter asked, trying his best to not let his smile show in his voice. But you heard it. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view though. Your mom seemed to strike gold with her children.”

Colter paused for a split second, not holding back the smirk. “Are you saying I’m good looking?”

“Shit,” you thought to yourself. “Don’t let it inflate your ego, Shaw.” You told him. “Just because you’re not…unpleasant to look at.”

The shower cut off and a moment later, the shower door opened causing you to turn around and face Colter as he stepped out, sweeped up in steam whilst his towel remained securely wrapped around his hips. 

“Unpleasant?” Colter repeated. 

“You have nice…” you swallowed, taking in the picture in front of you. Colter. Shirtless Colter. Wet hair, smelling great, shirtless…Colter. “Eyes.” you forced yourself to finish, whilst also forcing your eyes to look at his face. 

But he caught you staring. 

He half smiled coyly. 

“Eyes, hm. Never heard that one before.” 

Turning around, you found yourself watching him and his back, partly memorising the small scars you saw littering his back before he turned back around and closed the door. 

Ten minutes later, it was you being his bedroom door getting changed. However, the struggle came with your dress. 

“Colter?”

“Yeah?”

“I need your help.”

You slid open the door. “My dress. Can you do the zip?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Walking closer, Colter found the top of the zip and pulled it down watching it loosen around your shoulders and hips before it reached the bottom. 

“Thanks.”

Colter cleared his throat a little as he closed the door on you once more to let you get dressed. 

When you opened it again, you were dressed in a t-shirt and what looked to be Christmas pyjama bottoms. 

Your hair that had been styled for the wedding was now a little messier, but out of your face a little more. 

And at some point between brushing your teeth and arguing with Colter over which movie to watch, you fell asleep beside him. 

Little did you know, everything would change when you woke up. 

A small sliver of light was coming in through his blinds, lighting up the side of your face in a warm glow of the first breath of the morning sun. And all Colter could do was watch you for a moment. 

You were so still and calm. No thought process that made your brows furrow or made you rub your hands across your face. Not worrying about getting up early or grading papers or teaching a class was only taking it for the credit rather than the actual joy of the subject. 

You were just…you. 

“Are you watching me sleep?”

“You look peaceful.”

“Only seems fair. I watched you.”

“I knew it!”

“Shut up.” You laughed a little, digging your head further into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Early, I’d guess.”

“How early? Because if it’s before eight, then I’m using you to block out both the light and the cold.”

Colter turned over and looked at his watch. 

“It’s before eight.”

You groaned and when Colter turned back around, it looked like you were wishing for the bed to swallow you whole. 

“Come here.”

Scooching closer, Colder wrapped the blankets, along with his arm, around your back before allowing you to lower your head against his chest. 

“You really are like a hot water bottle.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

After a few moments of silence, which included Colter unknowingly tracing patterns on your back with his hand that lay under you, you asked him a question. 

“Where did you get your scars from?”

“Hmm?”

“The scars on your back. They’re small, but they’re deep. Where did you get them?”

“Since when did you know how deep a cut was?”

“I’m a History Professor.” You told him. “I’ve seen plenty of case pictures.”

Colter smiled a little before nodding and explaining a couple of them. 

“Okay, so what about this one?”

Your finger lightly traced an old bullet wound on his shoulder. 

“Bullet wound.”

“What?!”

“Relax, it wasn’t fatal.” Colter assured you. “Hurt. But it was a clear wound.”

“I can’t believe you got shot.”

“Twice.”

“What?”

“And that’s just recently.”

“Do you make it a habit of getting shot?” You asked him. 

“I try not to.”

And then there was that look again. Except this time there was no turning away. There was no escaping to a shower or bathroom. Mostly because, well, you were interlinked. 

But also because…you didn’t want to. 

Laying beside Colter, it made you feel…calm. And for the first time, you didn’t want to turn away. 

So when Colter pulled away for a moment before leaning in further, accepting your nod, you let his lips meet yours. 

It was shy at first. New. Uncertain. You’d both been friends for over twenty years and in the blink of an eye, you were kissing him. 

But then, something broke. Or, rather, moulded into place. 

You pulled Colter closer, holding the side of his face. Whilst his own hands pressed you closer to him before one creeped up towards your own face, through your hair and back down your back. 

After that, it felt like your body was moving independently, or maybe with your mind. 

Pushing up, Colter rolled onto his back, still holding onto you before you managed to move to straddle him, your hands running down his chest before he shot up to meet you once more in a kiss where your arms stretched over his shoulders just as his own hands were beginning to make a mess of your hair, letting it down from the scrunchie you had thrown it up into. 

However, before things could go any further, a call came through Colter’s phone. 

Looking to his bedside desk, you looked back at him and for a moment, you wished it would stop. But then, reality hit. 

“You should answer that.”

“Wait.”

“Answer it, Colter. It could be important.”

It took Colter a moment but he stretched back as you climbed off him, escaping out of the bedroom as he answered it. 

“Hey Teddi,”

Forgetting your shoes, you grabbed one of Colter’s sweaters and made your way outside, being hit with fresh, but very cold air that was as close to a cold shower as you could get for the time being. 

However, it wasn’t long until Colter opened up the door and walked down the steps to where you were pacing back and forth. 

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- we-we shouldn’t have-”

“Shouldn’t we have?”

“Should we have?” 

“I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re asking. Do you regret it?”

“No. At least, not yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stopped pacing and faced him. “What is this, Colter? Because I don’t have any answers. And we’ve been friends for, what, twenty years? I didn’t even see this coming. I- did you see this coming?”

Colter had to speak truthfully. “Not exactly.”

“See. So…what do we do? Do- are…are we meant to forget it? Do we move on?”

“Do you want to move on?”

You shook your head. “Colter…I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe we don’t have to know.”

You looked at Colter. “You do know me, right?”

Colter smiled a little and walked closer towards you, albeit a little slower than normal. 

“I do,” he nodded. “Which is why I am going to ask you this. Not thinking of anything else, not thinking of how it will change things, did you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,”

“And not thinking about that, would you want to do it again?”

“Colter…” You could feel yourself blushing, hard, as Colter got closer to you. 

“Just answer the question,” he smiled reassuringly, his voice a little softer. 

“Maybe…yes.”

“And if I asked you that tomorrow night,” Cotlet took one of your hands in his, slowly, before picking up your second.”Could I take you out on a date, what would you say?”

“Yes.” 

“Then, tomorrow night, at seven o’clock, can I pick you up from your home and take you out on a date?”

You finally met Colter’s eyes fully, for the first time, since you were lay in bed. 

“Yes.”

Colter smiled, leaning in closer. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes.”

[jay-m3]

Role-playing

Scenario: You get them to role-play as your favorite characters in the bedroom

Male reader! Warning* Language, NSFW themes (Heavily implied), Implied cross dressing Characters: Alastor, Adam, Lucifer, and Vox

Alastor

It was a hard feature to get Alastor to agree to do role-playing. Even worst as you suggested for him to dress up. But with a lot of obeying orders like a good boy and batting your eyelashes, he finally caves in.

"If I do this...role-playing, you will owe me a favor." Alastor states, taking the clothing that you bought just for him. He looks at the suit, making sure not to wrinkle it even though, it will soon be tossed away as the role-playing progress.

"Uh huh, yeah. Go put it on!" You say dismissively, wanting to see how he looks. You spent a lot of money for this.

Giving a silent sigh, he makes his way behind the screen room divider to change.

"And who am I dressing as?" Alastor asks, stepping around the divider to show you the outfit.

"Sebastian Michaelis!" You squeal out, rushing in front of him to look how the outfit fits. Which was perfect! Of course, going to the tailor that Alastor usually goes to was a smart plan since they already know of his measurements.

"The one in your comics, yes?" He asks, basking in your attention. He won't admit it though the outfit may be for a lesser person of power, it was comfortable and formal. The only thing he was not appreciative is the gloves. Instead of his black gloves that reaches his mid forearm was white wrist gloves. White was not his color.

"It's called Manga and yes. Sebastian is a very powerful butler demon. He's very cunning, manipulative, and charming. So I don't think you'll have any trouble fitting that role." You hummed out, adjusting his tie that was perfectly in place but you just wanted to touch already.

"Well then," Alastor pulls you in by the waist, "as a butler I should start doing the task that is wanted of me." He takes your chin in his hands, lifting your face to make you're eyes make contact with his own. His natural red eye color a perfect match for Sebastian.

Adam

"I feel stupid." Adam whines out behind the closed door. He's hiding in the bathroom after taking the costume with him to change.

"Oh, I'm sure you look amazing. Just come out!" You encouraged, sitting down infront of the bed where it was facing the door that Adam was behind.

"I don't look nothing like the guy." He complains before a thud is heard and the door shakes a little.

You sighed, knowing that he must have tapped the door with his head, a little bit too aggressively.

"So? I didn't look anything like Misa Misa but I still wore it last time." Last time was his choice of what you guys do in the bedroom. He picked out Misa Amane from Death Note. Apparently, he has a thing for goth chicks, also stating that your dick in panties was a bonus for him.

"Ugh! Fine. Just don't luagh. I swear, the things I fucking do for you." You were in mid eye roll when Adam opens the door. The sight of him makes you hold in your breath. There he was, in a Iron Man costume that you and him worked hard in finding. It wasn't amazing like those cos players but way better than the Halloween version.

"Go ahead. Luagh-" Adam didn't get to finish as you start to kiss him. Immediately, he holds your waist, pulling you close as you both make out. Your hands cupping his face, feeling the freshly styled facial hair that he formed to a goatee for this day. This man let it all grow just for you.

"Fuck." Adam gasps, pulling back to take a breath. Looking down at your flushed state, a smirk forms on his face.

"I'm Tony Stark and I've saved my best weapon for you."

Lucifer

You and Lucifer are in the beginning of love making. Kissing each other passionately, clothes already thrown to who knows where. His hands running up and down your sides, sending thrill of arousal mixed with tingles that supposed to make you luagh from the ticklish sensation. As it progress, you pull away, looking down at him from your place straddling his lap.

He quirks a brow at you, wondering why you pulled away, leaning back with a shy look instead of attacking his neck with love bites.

"Is something wrong?" He asks, running his hands down your thighs to soothe you and himself.

"I just...I want to try something new." You mumble out, looking away from him. The heat that's spread on your form rises. Making your skin fill in goosebumps from the thought in your mind.

"Oh? Tell me baby. I'm all up for it." Lucifer states, feeling warmth flood his system at the idea of you asking him many things that he can provide. This whole sex thing is nothing new, nor kinks. He has done many things in the past, some questionable but when you have centuries of free time, one gets bored.

"You know how you can shape shift...right?" You ask like it was something new to him even though it's one of his powers that he usually uses just cuase he can.

He nods staying silent, letting you keep the pace with your thoughts. As he sees you struggle, you lean over to the bedside table and grab your phone. You type in Voogle and show the image to Lucifer.

"...You want me to shape shift to Lucifer Morningstar in that TV show?" You groan, throwing the phone to the side and cover your face in embarrassment.

"I know, I know...but at least it's still basically you." You mumble out, more to yourself before you feel a slight shift under you. Uncovering your eyes, you come face to face with the Lucifer that the TV series betrays him as.

"Now then..." Lucifer purrs, getting into character before he flips you both over so he was now on top.

"Tell me, what do you desire?"

Vox

Role-playing wasn't something that was talked or thought about in your relationship. Until Vox noticed your obsession with a character that you'll bring up time to time. Even collected figurines and posters.

He hasn't payed much attention to it but the more you obsessed over this fictional character, the more thought of just figuring out what gift he can give you about this character for your birthday. You basically have almost all the merchandise. A room dedicated for your obsession, filled and nicely decorated.

As he enters the room, he takes a picture and image search this bitch. Immediately, he gets taken to many sites and other images about this character. Which leads to a deep dive of cosplays.

"Vox?" You call out, walking in the bedroom to find your boyfriend. You already searched the whole penthouse except here.

"Hey." A familiar voice that wasn't Vox makes you perk up. Turning around, there leaning on the door frame acting cool and nonchalant, arms crossed is your boyfriend dressed as the one and only Kakashi Hatake.

"How did you do that!" You rush toward him, a big smile plastered on. You don't know if to luagh or fan boy.

Vox takes in your reaction, feeling out of his comfort zone but the stars in your eyes makes him relax. He's sure you're referring to his screen. Instead of his usual face, he digitalized his screen to form Kakashi's face or half of it since the mask was in the way.

"A whole team of animators and lots of replacements." Vox even changed his voice filter to sound like the ninja.

While you admire him, he takes a step forward to lean close to your face, seeing how you hold your breath.

"Would you like to act out a scene from my book, Icha Icha Paradise?" He asks seductively, pulling out a replica of the book from his back pocket and taps your head with it.

[novankenn]

The TA -- Joan(Jaune) Arc

Artwork Inspired Posts - First / Second / Third

(Artwork created/owned by @pilot-boi, No rights Claimed/Implied by the author of this story)

Joan(Jaune) had a quandary on her hands. She had opened the box that had been addressed to her. Inside she found two sets of shoes and several packages of clothes. Well five clear plastic wrapped sets actually. Four where standard slightly modified Beacon female uniforms. Blouse, skirt, blazer, socks.

The fifth was significantly... different. Joan(Jaune) liked the fifth one. It had a certain allure to it. There was even a card with it!

"Welcome to Beacon Ms Arc. I hope you have an enjoyable time with us. The Beacon uniforms are dull, so after speaking with Mrs Cotta-Arc I was able to assemble something I hope is more to your liking." -- Sincerely Headmaster Ozpin

"I think I like this outfit better." Joan(Jaune) whispered to herself, a sly grin on her face. "And I know just the accessories for it!"

"Joan(Jaune) we're going to be late!" Glynda called out as she finished touching up her hair. "Aren't you dressed... WHAT ARE YOU WEARING???

Joan(Jaune) shot her Aunt a Cheshire grin as she posed in the doorway to her room. Joan(Jaune) was almost in a complete copy of Glynda's own outfit, except for the fact Joan(Jaune) was wearing what looked like tailored black pants, instead of a skirt. Very well tailored pants. They hung perfectly, clinging in just the right places.

The outfit was topped with a tasteful white blouse, and a black corset type vest, that gave Joan(Jaune)'s lackluster chest a needed boost. Then of course there were the accessories. A pair of black wire rim cat's eye glasses, and what had to be at least four inch high stiletto heeled calf high black boots.

"You like?" Joan(Jaune) asked a huge smile on her face. Glynda was getting a headache. She knew exactly who had snuck this outfit into the order she had made for Joan(Jaune). "Well?"

"You look good Joan(Jaune). You do, but... the glasses? The heels?"

"The glasses i can toss, not that I need them, but the heels..." her voice grew dark, and sinister, a scowl crossing her once happy features.

"Joan(Jaune)?" Glynda asked a little shocked at the sudden emotional shift in her niece.

"Were a gift from Saph an d Terra. No one touches them!" Joan(Jaune) hissed. Yes actually hissed.

"I was just..."

Glynda was cut off as Joan(Jaune) strutted past her with perfect poise and balance. Grabbing the attaché case Glynda had given her last night, and without any sign of faltering or flaw in stride, Was out the door.

"Joan(Jaune) wait up!" Glynda called after her. "We have a staff meeting first!"

After a forty minute staff meeting, that really could have been handled in ten minutes, or even better and email. Joan(Jaune) followed her Aunt into her first class of the day. The bustle and hum of active conversations abated as Joan(Jaune) watched her Aunt take center stage.

"Attention class! I am Professor Goodwitch, and this is your designated Combat Class." Her voice was strong and powerful. Commanding respect and attention. Joan(Jaune) half listened, as she tried to determine how she too could get the type of voice her mom and Aunt both used so easily.

Pyrrha had tuned out Professor Goodwitch's opening speech, to focus on her inner turmoil. She noticed the person who entered with the Professor, and recognized them instantly. That was were her current crisis was focused, as her mind fractured and began arguing with itself.

"She's a babe!" voice one.

"Don't be stupid. He's a dude." voice two.

"Are you sure. I think those are boobs." Voice three.

"I don't think they are." Voice four.

"I swear to you all NOW. That is a girl! Look at the clothes, the bust, those hips, THAT ASS!" Voice one.

"I agree with the ass, but I don't a bust. So I'm going with a dude." Voice two.

"Eh? Guys can wear feminine styled clothes just as much as girls can were masculine stuff. So that argument doesn't work, but yeah those are boobies. Girl."

"You guys need your eyes checked. Ass yes. Hips okay, yeah, clothes... don't care. Boobs? Don't see any. That's a Guy."

"You are all shitheads! That is a fucking girl!" voice one.

"Watch the gods damn language! there could be kids around her!" voice two.

"Seriously. Kids. In our own head?" voice three.

"Listen, it looks like an introduction is going to happen. Let's hear the name, and then we can have our sexual identity crisis after. Sound like a plan?" voice four.

"Okay." the three other voices agreed.

"Now as you can see their is a charming young woman who has accompanied me to this class. She is Joan(Jaune) Arc, my niece and will be serving as my Teaching Assistant." Glynda continued to address the class, her very tone forcing compliance and attention for everyone, well almost everyone.

"YOU'RE A FUCKING GIRL????" Pyrrha Nikos shot to her feet, her face a blazing red.

"Ms Nikos!" Glynda started to reprimand the four time champion only for Joan(Jaune) to decide she need a piece of the action.

"Is that a problem?" Joan(Jaune) snapped "Do you not believe your eyes? What is it my tits? Yeah, that's all your huntsmen and huntresses focus on. Big honking hooters!"

"Joan(Jaune) enough!" Glynda tried to regain control, but as soon as Joan(Jaune) started to rant, she knew the only way to regain control was to use "the glare"

"You know what I got, that is better than sweater stretchers? DO you?" Joan(Jaune) continued to rant, her eyes focused directly in Pyrrha. "Well Ms Nikos, do you?"

"I have this!" Joan(Jaune) twisted about popped her hips and gave her own behind a hard smack, causing the sound of flesh striking flesh to echo about the room. "I have an ASS that can beat yours any day of the week!"

Glynda pulled unleashed "the Glare" just as the room burst into chaos, and Ms Nikos promptly fainted, overcome a whirlwind of confusing thoughts and arguing voices that filled her mind.

"Everyone! Sit! NOW!" Once order was restored, Glynda instructed Joan(Jaune) to escort Ms Nikos and her team to the infirmary. Before Joan(Jaune) could complain, Glydna added. "This is your mess. You started it. You end it... civilly!"

"Yes, auntie." Joan(Jaune) sulked for the whole trip.

[sgiandubh]

Context, always the context

After we had gagging fun - and some, a small and unjustified heartbreak, too - with the newest 🎪 pic, let's put it a bit in context. I confess I am more and more immune to these: they are aimed at this fandom, of course - just to fuel further web wars and talks: never forget Xmas is round the corner, too. But they are also aimed at the Casuals, who still can't place McIdiot on her map and do not really care, to be honest.

So, what exactly do we have, here?

This:

After more than ten years in showbiz, our C still needs a pointer to tell ignoramuses like me where exactly she is, on that picture?

How odd. How unfair. But let's imagine I am from Mars. I have no idea who these people are, including to each other. The legend tells me nothing: just C and T and zero details. They could very well be co-workers, acquaintances, friends...? Oh, she's married to him. Oh. Ok. For sure, they ooze bliss and happiness. For sure. I've seen broomsticks act more convincingly than this.

Also, the photographer. As a very trusted friend pointed out (thank you, forever indebted to you), this Bennett guy was all over the place, yesterday. According to Getty Images (https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/search/photographer?photographer=Dave%20Benett&assettype=image&sort=best&license=rf%2Crm), he attended at least seven other high profile London events yesterday and was paid to cover them, too.

Their list immediately places this minor happening in its right context and at its right place:

"Leave The World Behind" - UK Special Screening and afterparty. The one she attended with McIdiot.

Hackett London x David Gandy Wellwear Launch Party - Savile Row tailors, established in 1983. Huge success story from a humble Portobello Road clothes stall to a 160 shops global network and a part of LVMH group (remember? LOL). The one she did not attend with McIdiot.

"Femme" - Gala Screening - After Party - UK thriller, premiered at the Berlinale last spring. Will be released tomorrow in the UK and IE. 95% approval rate on Rotten Tomatoes. The one she did not attend with McIdiot.

Skye McAlpine Celebrates The Opening Of Tavola's Christmas Pop-Up Shop, in Knightsbridge (along with Fitzrovia, my favorite London spot). Tavola is a high end tableware collection, carefully curated by Skye McAlpine - celebrated British cookbook author and an expert in Italian cuisine and fine dining. You should think two gin entrepreneurs would be thrilled to meet her, at another event she did not attend with McIdiot.

A Reception By The All Party Parliamentary Group Honouring Elton John For His Dedication To The Global Fight Against HIV AIDS. No further comments needed for this very, very posh event she did not attend with McIdiot. I doubt she has this type of connections.

The Anti Slavery Collective Inaugural Winter Gala at the Battersea Arts Center in London. Attended by royalty (yeah, ok: Fergie - but also, her two Princess daughters!), aristocrats (Count Nikolai von Bismarck comes to mind), showbiz people (Ed Sheeran - hello?) and of course, the press. But this is another very high profile event she did not attend with McIdiot.

Longines Dolce Vita Exhibition and after party - aimed at the high end luxury crowd. Another event she did not attend with McIdiot.

Smirnoff Celebrates New 'We Do Us' Initiative In Partnership With Tilting The Lens And Sink The Pink. Smirnoff, that legendary vodka which story started in Tsarist Moscow and now continues as part of the behemoth Diageo spirits group. Mhm. Now with an event tailored for the well-heeled LGBT+ and Generation Z crowds, organized in partnership with Tilting the Lens,  Sinéad Burke's consultancy firm with an absolutely spectacular client portfolio, featuring Gucci, Starbucks and -hey, nice to see you! - Soho House. LOL. You would think they could have grabbed a black cab and do anything to at least drop in and say hi. You would think they would be interested to meet with the other, less obvious, partner of this event, Stonegate, a major player on UK's hospitality scene. What a pity this was another event she did not attend with McIdiot!

Make no mistake. London is a real global metropolis. Une ville-monde (a World City), a notion coined by one of my masters, the wonderful French historian Fernand Braudel. As such, it currently stands at the epicenter of all that is trendy, new, exciting and expensive and it offers an endless array of opportunities for the brave and the bold. That was but a very incomplete sample of a Wednesday night on the London scene, busier than usually with all those end of year events. Out of the other seven of this sample, she had a profitable and realistic choice between at least two or three other events. She could have even coupled that after party with at least another one of those, if she had the right network to attract an invitation.

It is also plain to see, by now, TMcG is by no conceivable means the successful, multimillionaire businessman and entrepreneur. He is nowhere to be placed on this very rich, very diverse event scene. He does not attend any events by himself, whereas she carefully attends events all alone and does it very well - wouldn't that be because she has a name in her own right, too? He apparently does nothing, he apparently is Nobody. You should think a successful, multimillionaire, ambitious businessman would be proud to be seen just about everywhere with his up-and-coming actress wife, isn't it?

The sad truth is this clown only makes it to a cursory mention in a Daily Fail picture gallery when dragged along by C. At an event she most probably managed to get an invitation via Rami Malek, her co-star in The Amateur:

That, my friends, is not C playing her Greta Garbo. That is C squandering every shred of sympathy capital she ever managed to acquire, with absurd determination.

But sure, keep on screeching, Stans. Keep on screeching. All of the above are cold, hard FACTS your queens carefully keep out of your reach. God forbid you come to the realization.

[bloomeng]

I absolutely love Superboys Halloween costume. What costumes do you think the batboys would wear for Halloween?

Oh I’m so glad you asked.

I think as a kid Dick was very typical in that he liked dressing up as things he thought were cool, Robin Hood, pirates, cowboys. One memorable year he tried to convince Bruce to let him go as Robin and for Bruce to go as Batman, and he was unrelenting. Finally they compromised and Dick went as Batman and Bruce went as something vaguely resembling Robin. (He wore a red suit with like a green shirt and yellow tie.) As retribution Dick went as Superman the next year and now that’s his go to costume any year that he doesn’t have a better idea. The last few years he’s been really into pun costumes. Last year he went in a running outfit, then over the top he layered like sewing items and went as “Tailor Swift.” This year he constructed a cardboard chapel and grabbed an oar to be “Chapel Row’in.” Get it… like Chappell Roan. Yeah his family all groaned too. (Credit to Micarah Tewers for those ideas, I’m not nearly that clever)

Jason loved Halloween as a kid. He was really excited by the idea of dressing up as his favorite characters, but none of his favorite characters were things that normal 13 year old boys liked. So it was always like Mr. Darcy or Dr. Frankenstein. And he’d really get into the accuracy of the costumes, totally taking advantage of Bruce’s bank account. Bruce would of course indulge him, though it was usually Alfred helping him put his costumes together. Post-Death Jason stopped dressing up all together. It’s only been recently that he’s been getting back into it. The first year he decided to dress up again he opted for something simple that he thought had plausible deniability as “not a costume.” Dick clocked him immediately.

“Are you dressed as the guy from The Shining?”

“His name is Jack Torrence. How did you get that so fast, you don’t even know his name?”

“Jason, you would never wear flannel voluntarily.”

This year he’s going as a Deep One from “The Shadow Over Innsmouth.”

Tim is the definition of low effort costumes. Most years he doesn’t bother to dress up and when confronted about it he’ll say he’s dressed as “Tony Hawk.” However, he absolutely refuses to be that person who throws on a witch hat or some animal ears. When he does actually dress up it’s usually as someone famous in a specific niche community/field that most people would never know off the top of their head. This year he is going as someone “very obvious;” Magnus Carlsen. (Aka he’s wearing a suit, no tie and carrying around a chess board.)

For his first few Halloween’s with the Waynes Damian just let Alfred choose costumes for him. He had to approve of them, but other than that he claimed to not care, but really he was insecure about picking something for himself. He had limited exposure to pop culture and didn’t really even know his own taste at that point, so Alfred dressing him was safe. Alfred’s picks were nice, if a bit generic, and super biased. One year he went as a prince, another year Sherlock Holmes, really anything Alfred wanted to see on Damian. Around 12 he started feeling comfortable enough to pick for himself. Last year he went as the male lead in his favorite Shoujo manga (I don’t know if the manga he likes in canon has a name). This year Jon talked him into a group costume, so Jon is going as Naruto and Damian is going as Sasuke (the designs from the original series, not Shippuden.)

Duke tends to opt for famous film characters. He prefers costumes that he can build out of normal clothing, but as a kid he totally dressed up in those cheap Spirit Halloween costumes. If Marvel existed in their universe, he would have loved going as Miles Morales’ Spider-Man. Now that he’s a teenager, he’s too embarrassed to go as things he deems dorky. He has toyed with the idea of a MMA related costume, but that’s still too embarrassing for him, so he defaults back to cool movie characters. He’s gone as a lot Quentin Tarantino characters. It started with Jules Winnfield, and it spiraled from there. This year he’s going as Warren from “Hateful Eight.” (Not his favorite Tarantino film but he’s running out of new characters and he thinks his outfit is cool)

You didn’t ask about the girls but I have ideas for them too.

Steph ADORES Halloween and she goes all out. She loves dressing up in costumes that she feels hot in. Not in the “insert costume but sexy” way just things that allow her to dress up nice. When she and Tim were dating she tried to get him to do a couple’s costume with her. The result was a very high effort beautiful Corpse Bride next to the lowest effort Victor you’ve ever seen. She learned her lesson and the next year she dressed Tim herself (he bitched the whole time but admitted he looked good when she was done). They went as Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett. She usually planned their costumes a year in advance, but sadly they broke up before they made it to doing Ichabod Crane and Katrina Van Tassel. Tim awkwardly offered to still do it but she declined. Instead she went as Mary Van Tassel. This year she’s doing something classic, and going as a vampire, complete with Twilight-style sparkles. She’s also a big fan of fake blood and usually tries to incorporate into her costume in some way.

Cass is the wildcard of the family. She always keeps her costume a secret until the night of. As far as themes, her costumes tend to be all over the place. She tends to stay in the generic realm, so less referential, but she mixes it up whether or not she does something scary, or funny, or cool. I do think she tends to prefer costumes that include masks or helmets. I don’t know what they’re called but I have a friend who is really into those like cyberpunk robot helmets, I think she’d love those. However, this year she really mixed it up and decided to go as Ellie from “Last of Us” and roped Bruce into going as Joel. He had no idea who that was, but Cass sharing her Halloween plans prior to Halloween is a big deal, so he agreed immediately.

Babs is also a victim of the low effort Halloween costume. She’s fine throwing on a witch hat and calling it good. When she does dress up the costumes are usually fairly recognizable and comfortable. She likes to dress up as red haired characters like Kim Possible, or that one year she went as Lois Griffin (she thought she was hilarious). Another year she went as Link from Wind Waker specifically, just because she had a lot of green in her closet already. The most effort she ever put into a costume was when she poorly recreated (intentionally) the Discowing suit. This year she’s going as Ellie Sattler from Jurassic Park.

Also not a batboy, but we’ve done the whole family might as well do the Bat himself. When left to his own devices Bruce usually goes as one of two things: The Grey Ghost or James Bond. He basically just cycles between those two costumes every year, unless one of his kids requests something else (that is also reasonable). One year he lost a bet, and he dressed up as Superman and that was memorable. As I mentioned this year he is going as Joel for Cass. He hadn’t seen the show before she asked, and to be honest he’s probably only watched the first episode simply for the costume.

When asked Alfred says he’s dressed as the “Butler who did it” in reference to the murder mystery trope.

[keleren-ie]

Soooo...

*shyly tugs at @trickstarbrave 's skirt*

I've been writing something for a while (like, I started in july because I wanted it to be some kind of a birthday gift but huh yeah it's september now). Thanks to you I'm obsessed with nerevoryn now, so here's the result. It's not finished, nor am I satisfied with it but I dont think I'll ever be. So I'm trying to be brave and post it anyway.

It takes place in Moon-and-Star au, after meeting Vivec and before Sil, and is based on a mention of Gilvoth encouraging Nerevar to leave Kogoruhn. Nerevar is having a panic attack for no reason because I wanted Voryn to comfort him.

Anyway here's the thing :

Warning : possibly misused words, typos, and incorrect sentences. I am not a native english speaker.

Voryn was standing still, careful not to move as the tailor took measurements and stuck pins here and there. Now that he had finally stopped growing, his mother had decided that it was about time his ceremonial robes as future leader of House Dagoth were prepared. It was a pragmatic decision, as always with Morvani Dagoth : she still had years, maybe decades before passing out. But she anticipated it anyway, knowing full well that her son would have enough things to handle after her death, not to add standing not moving for hours for new clothes. Besides, those took time to sew and embroider, and he would need them quickly once he’d become the new head.

So there he was, lost in his mind and surrounded by a very punctilious and meticulous tailor, her assistants and apprentices, and a few servants. And Gilvoth was there too, for some reason. Voryn wasn’t really sure why exactly his oldest brother had invited himself, but there he was, standing in a corner of the room like he was keeping watch.

Voryn was used to this, but he was still bored, staring at the mirror in front of him while a maid did his hair. And so it was a relief when he saw the door opening and Nerevar’s head appeared, glancing inside. His until now neutral face cracked into a warm smile seeing his friend, and Nerevar smiled in return. His face was a little red, and he seemed slightly out of breath. He must have rushed here after his morning training, without taking time to drink or clean himself.

“Neht !” Voryn greeted him with a smile, and everyone turned their heads in his direction as Nerevar smiled back.

“Hey-“ The tailor cut him off “Oh no, out here you ! This room is already too crowded.” she snapped, motioning him to go away. Gilvoth stood up, and she corrected herself. “I didn’t mean this about you my lord, we are nearly done anyway” but he waved it off and mumbled something about having things to do anyway. Then the door closed, and Voryn was back to the pins.

It upset him that Nerevar was sent away so rudely, but then again the tailor had a point. The room was indeed crowded, but he wasn’t happy about it still. He would just have to wait for the trying-on session to be over, then.

Thankfully, they were actually nearly done and after a few more long minutes Voryn was allowed to leave. He rushed towards Nerevar’s room, eager to see his best friend. Despite him living in Kogoruhn, they had not seen each other much in the past few weeks. Of course Voryn had been busy as always, but there seemed to be something else.

Nerevar had changed in the last few years. Not that much, he was still himself, but he seemed more secretive than before. Back when they were children and teenagers, his best friend would tell him absolutely everything and never hide anything from him. But now Neht sometimes lied to Voryn when he asked him if everything was alright. Of course Voryn knew he was lying, he knew Nerevar well enough to see it immediatly. But he had pretented not to see it. Maybe it was simply because they were now both adults. Maybe it was because of that blow Nerevar took to the head a few years ago...Voryn didn’t know, and that incertitude killed him slowly but surely. Part of him tried to accept it ; it wasnt uncommon for childhood friends to grow apart after all, and if Nerevar wanted to leave he was free to do so. But by Mephala did he want to keep Nerevar by his side, as selfish as it was.

As he approached Nerevar’s room, Voryn noticed that the door was cracked open and there were voices coming from inside.

“I mean Voryn no harm, I swear ! He is my best friend and-“ That was Nerevar’s voice, defending himself. He was cut off by an angry voice Voryn knew just as well. “Don’t give me that shit you little s’wit !” Gilvoth. Voryn sped up, ready to defend his friend. He didn’t know what accusations Gilvoth had thrown at Nerevar, but if it implied hurting Voryn of fucking course he was wrong. “Do you think I am stupid ?! Or blind ? You sleeping next to him is already far too much. Be responsible once in your life and leave before you make something stupid. Think about-“

“What exactly are you talking about ?” Voryn threw open the door and stepped in, a snarl on his face.

---

After Nerevar got the door shut in his face, he retreated to his room. He was dirty from his earlier training session after all, and intended to clean himself up and change his clothes before he'd get a chance to see Voryn again. His mind trailed off as he walked, wondering how Voryn would look in ceremonial robes as the leader of House Dagoth. Of course he would look good, Voryn was a stunningly beautiful mer. But how exactly would he look ? His hair would look like a night sky, with stars of gold in it. The ceremonial markings on his face would be divine too, Nerevar knew it. Already his usual make-up was gorgeous, but the perspective of seeing Voryn as a lord in all his glory was so much. Gods knew Voryn deserved to be worshipped just as much as the good Three.

Even lost in his thoughts, Nerevar quickly noticed with surprise that Gilvoth was following him. Actually, Voryn’s brother followed him all the way to his room, and came inside without asking. Did he want to lecture Nerevar about disturbing Voryn in his duties ? It wouldnt be the first time. So many times Voryn's brothers - especially Gilvoth and Vemyn - had lectured him about his behaviour, his manners, or how he was dragging Voryn down. Most of the times when their younger brother wasnt around. Bunch of s'wits.

Gilvoth wore his lecture face, and when he pushed the door and put his hands on his hips, Nerevar prepared himself to endure whatever would be thrown at him. But he hadn't anticipated what was coming.

"I want you to stop disturbing Voryn during his duties. Or after. Don't you think it's time you leave him alone ?"

"I am not disturbing him," Nerevar countered "Voryn takes his role very seriously, if I bothered him he wouldn't hesitate to ask me to leave and-"

Gilvoth let out a loud sigh of exasperation. "I’ve had enough of your attitude." He snapped. "I have warned you already about staying away from my brother ! He is actively preparing to become our future lord now, so I don’t want to see you crawling around him, trying to ruin it. "

Nerevar opened his mouth, and closed it. "What ? I'm not-"

"Don't pretend you don't know ! I've seen how you look at him. Do you even realize this may cause rumors, scandals ? Do you even fucking care ?!" Gilvoth spat trough his teeth, a furious glare in his red eyes, and Nerevar started to panic.

Of course, he knew full-well what Gilvoth was talking about. He had always loved Voryn very dearly, but since a few years he had accepted the obvious truth that he actually did love Voryn, not simply as a friend. How could he not ? Voryn was the kindest soul he knew. Of course, not to most people. The young heir of House Dagoth could be cold, vicious and manipulative. But that knowledge only made his behaviour toward Nerevar sweeter. Knowing that his face was stern for others, but smiling for him. That he was composed and polite with strangers, but relaxed and sassy with Nerevar. That he loved critizing people, but always had words of encouragement for him. Of course he loved Voryn.

And of course Nerevar knew he didn't stand a chance. He was perfectly aware of the situation, actually. He knew Voryn was expected to marry another noble, to forge a strong alliance and have his own heirs in time. Besides, he had never shown any sign of affection apart from their friendship. And meanwhile Nerevar had been allowed to work for house Dagoth only because Morvani Dagoth loved spoiling her youngest son. Now that he was an adult, it was only a matter of time before they kicked him out. And maybe it was time.

But gods Nerevar wanted more. He wanted to stay at Voryn's side so much. To watch him become a lord. To serve him. As much as it was foolish.

“I mean Voryn no harm, I swear ! He is my best friend and-“

Gilvoth started to yell even more, and Nerevar winced. If he kept screaming everyone would hear and know, including Voryn. And he really didn't want-

The door was thrown open, and Voryn stepped inside, furious. Nerevar's face turned white, and his mind turned off.

---

Voryn walked into the room, ready to demand answers from Gilvoth, but before his stupid brother could say anything Nerevar stormed out, running like he was chased by a daedra.

"Neht ?!" Voryn called him, alarmed. He turned to Gilvoth once more. "What were you talking about ? What did you tell him ?"

Gilvoth seemed to hesitate. Clearly he was poundering his options. He couldn't get away with a lie : Nerevar was clearly distressed when he left, unable to look at Voryn.

"Gilvoth." Voryn spoke again, raising his voice. He was the future lord of House Dagoth, and brother or not Gilvoth would explain himself. "What. Did you. Tell him ?"

---

Nerevar ran like a devil through the streets outside the stronghold, his heart pounding in his chest.

Voryn knew. Voryn had heard Gilvoth, and now he hated him. He had looked so furious when he had entered the room, and no doubt he never wanted to see Nerevar again. Nerevar was already on thin ice with House Dagoth, but it seemed now they would finally kick him out.

He stopped at a small foutain, panting. He was panicking. Nerevar was well aware of it, but still his reasoning was perfectly sound. What other reaction might have Voryn had ? Why would anyone want to keep him after this ? He knew for a fact nobody except Voryn appreciated him here. It wasnt paranoia, it was sadly true.

And if he was being completely honest, it was doomed to happen sooner or later. Nerevar knew Voryn cared about him a lot, sometimes to the point of stupidity when they were younger. But now they were adults, and already Voryn had less and less time to spare with him. Despite living in the same stronghold - despite having their rooms in the same hallway - they had started to see each other less and less frequently over the last year. Slowly but surely they were growing apart already. At least their friendship would end swiftly then, instead of years and years of agony before they became strangers.

And he didn’t want it to end like their first life either, when he was nothing but a toxic tyrant keeping the mer he was obsessed with by his side. He knew Voryn didn’t love him in that lifetime, why would things be different now ? All Nerevar knew was that he couldn't bear to hurt Voryn with his selfishness again.

Nerevar needed to leave. But he ran away in such a hurry that he left all his stuff behind. His travel pack, his clothes, his sword...he couldn't leave without them. Maybe he could get them back tonight ? Go back to his room once everyone was asleep, collect his things and quietly leave Kogoruhn. And if he was expected he'd explain he was just packing to leave and would never bother them again. Yeah. Maybe that could work.

---

Voryn was besides himself trying to find Nerevar. He was still furious that his brother tried to shove Nerevar away, and worried for Neht. Nerevar had looked terrified and distressed after all, likely having a panic attack when he realized what Voryn had heard. Nerevar always acted like a strong and confident person, and he was up until a point. But Voryn also knew that he had always been afraid of rejection because of his childhood, and likely didn't want to face Voryn at the moment.

But mostly Voryn was overwhelmed by joy and hope, as selfish as it was. Nerevar loved him. He wasn't completely sure of it yet, but it made a lot of sense. "Maybe Nerevar loved him" was enough to make his heart flutter too. Voryn had hidden his feelings up until now, certain that Nerevar only liked him as a friend and very aware of the power imbalance between them. What if he confessed but Nerevar felt forced to play along ? But apparently, from what Gilvoth said and from Nerevar’s reaction...Neht loved him.

Nerevar was likely hiding away somewhere in Kogoruhn, if he hadn't left the town entirely. At least Nerevar was easy to spot, with his white hair and light skin. Most people in House Dagoth had darker hair and skin, not to mention that a lot of people knew him because he was the young lord's friend.

After asking the guards if Nerevar had left the city ("No, young lord") and to lead him gently back to the stronghold should he try to leave ("Yes, young lord"), Voryn went back to Nerevar’s room. He tried to remain calm but really he was worried for Nerevar.

Voryn had seen Nerevar a few times when he was in distress, and knew just how he didn’t do well alone in this kind of situations. He could be paranoid when triggered, and likely wouldn't calm down without someone he trusted by his side. And Voryn was about the only person Nerevar trusted. Maybe he could go to Vivec's place - the simple thought made Voryn furious - but it was unlikely.

Voryn was getting anxious, and hoped his hypothesis that Nerevar would return to his room at some point was correct. As he looked around, he could see that Neht had left without his sword. If there was one thing his stupid beloved 'guard' wouldn't abandon, it was his blade. All Voryn had to do was to wait. The chances of finding Nerevar by searching the city around the stronghold was too uncertain. He just had to be patient.

---

By the time the sun set, Nerevar had calmed down enough to compose himself and walk back to the stronghold, praying to the Good Three he would not cross anyone's path. Especially Voryn's. The guards and servants were ignoring him as usual, at least. Nerevar made his way to his room, half-expecting to find it empty with Gilvoth, Vemyn or Uthol ready to lecture him and kick him out for good. He inhaled deeply and opened the door.

His stuff was still here. But most importantly, Voryn was here. Nerevar opened his mouth in shock, as panick overwhelmed him all over again. He tensed, managed to mumble something along the line of "I'm sorry" and turned, ready to run away. Again. But before he could a spell hit him and he froze, paralyzed.

Now he was panicking.

---

Voryn was stupid. The most stupid idiotic dumbass of Resdayn.

After hours of anxious waiting, Nerevar had returned to his room. But upon seeing Voryn he mumbled something unintelligible and was about to run away. Panic got the better of him and he cast a spell to paralyze Nerevar. What kind of friend did this ? Voryn rushed to Nerevar, embracing him firmly before casting dispell and apologizing profusely.

"I'm so sorry Neht ! Gods I'm an idiot, I didn't mean to-" Nerevar was still as stiff as when he was paralyzed, but quickly Voryn felt him shaking in his arms. He tightened his embrace, knowing it had helped with Nerevar’s panic attacks in the past.

"It's okay, Neht. I'm here. I don’t know what's going on in your head but everything is alright" Voryn said softly, stroking Nerevar’s back with one hand and caressing his head with the other. "I-I'm sorry, Voryn, I'm so sorry..." Nerevar spoke with a shaky voice. "I'll leave Kogoruhn, I won't mess up your life anymore, I-" his voice cracked. "You don't have to pretend anything, I understand that you're upset with me and-"

Now Nerevar was just being delirious. Leaving Kogoruhn ? Messing up his life ? Voryn couldn't live without Nerevar. He needed him by his side. "Neht, please look at me" he said, his voice gentle and soft. Nerevar's breath was uneven, and after a few moments Voryn lifted his chin. His heart sunk seeing how devastated Nerevar looked, and as soon as their eyes met Neht's face twisted even more, and tears appeared in the corners of his eyes.

Voryn simply couldn't bear the sight. To oblivion with being cautious, he cupped his beloved's face and whispered "I love you". He saw many emotions cross Nerevar's eyes : shock, incredulity, hope, before he broke into heavy sobs, returning the embrace and hiding his face in Voryn's robes. Voryn started rubbing Nerevar's scalp, and resumed rubbing his back. "It's okay" he whispered, "let it out, Neht".

It was a bit awkward to confess and get a crying mer as a result, but likely Nerevar was still coping with his panic attack and had not yet fully processed what Voryn said.

Voryn tilted his head to press a kiss to Nerevar's head, and immediatly realized he wouldn't be able to stop himself. Holding Nerevar in his arms, whispering how much he loved him and would never leave him and peppering him with soft, tender kisses was everything he ever dreamt. And he did just that, pressing kiss after kiss on Nerevar’s face until the crying stopped.

"I'm sorry, I don’t know what happened" Nerevar finally whispered, looking down. Voryn was drying his cheeks from the spilled tears now, and slightly frowned. "What are you sorry for ? I love you, Neht".

Ah, how he loved that spark in Nerevar's eyes when he said that.

"No, I mean...sorry for. Panicking like this and causing a scene. I thought you were mad at me and that it made sense. You're a lord and well-"

"And you're the bravest, smartest, kindest and most beautiful mer I know" Voryn stated firmly. Nerevar looked up to meet his eyes, and there was so much love and adoration in his gaze that Voryn couldn't speak for three solid seconds. All he knew was that he desperately wanted to kiss him. But before that he needed to be sure, to hear it from Neht-

Voryn cupped Nerevar’s face, and with a hint of hesitation asked "What about you ? Do you...want me...?" And before he knew it Nerevar’s lips crashed against his, and his eyes fluttered shut as he moaned softly. It was incredible. Intense, hungry and desperate, just like them. Nerevar's tongue started to play with his own, and his hands gripped Voryn's waist.

"Yes. Yes, I love you, yes I want you more than anything !" Nerevar panted against Voryn's lips.

[redrose10]

Hey, here's the first pill to ease your anxiety

Member's fashion company is going under and only a collab can save them. Problem is, you, the Creative Director of the other company he aims to collab with, are not easy to impress.

Shenanigans ensue, where he tries to convince her to take the job

But what if the outcome is something else?

Basically OC has her Shit together and her A Game on and our poor member doesn't. 🤣

Here you go! I really hope this is okay. I know absolutely nothing about how fashion brands work. Thank you for sending the request! @sumzysworld

Tiniest little hint to some possible smut at the end

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Sir the quarterly reports are in and the company sales are down 54% from this time last year. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to hold out at this rate.”, Jin spoke slowly sliding the reports over to his boss, Jimin Park, also known as the the ceo of Filter, a once very popular fashion house that was slowly failing.

Jimin sighs, “I know, I know. I’m going to figure something out. We need to bring the brand back into the spotlight.”

“What about a collaboration with another brand? You know like Fendi and Versace or Dior and Nike did. Something to get people talking.”, Taehyung, one of Jimin’s top designers spoke up.

“That could possibly work. Let me think about it for a while and see where we go.”, he replied gently shooing the other two men out of his office.

Jimin spent days calling around to any and all contacts he had trying to get a collaboration going, but no companies wanted to associate themselves with a failing brand such as Filter. Jimin had one final number he could call, but he was really really dreading it. After hitting call he waited a few seconds before hearing a familiar voice on the other end.

“I’m sorry, you what?”, you laughed into the phone.

“Y/N, please…We really need a good collaboration to get Filter back in the game or we’re going to shut down and lots of people will loose their jobs. I really think working together with your brand can help save us.”

Jimin nervously chewed on his lip while he waited for your response.

You sighed into the phone, “Alright fine. We’ll meet in one week and you can present your ideas for this collab, but you better bring your A game Jimin because I’m not going to risk loosing everything for you.”

“Wait so we’re going to collab with Y/N? Like Y/N from Purple You Fashions? I’ve heard she incredibly hard to impress.”, Taehyung asked after being informed of the upcoming meeting.

“Well we’re going to try. It’s all we really can do.”, he replied.

Jimin along with the rest of his team spent the following week coming up with branding, markets strategies, new clothing designs, and anything they could think of to convince you that working together together would be a good thing.

Jimin stood outside your office trying to catch his breath with the few minutes he had to spare. Of course the first time he forgot to set an alarm since he was in high school just had to be the night before the big meeting. He took the fastest shower of his life, nicking his neck when he tried to shave a little too quickly causing him to be even later and also having an unsightly cut. He grabbed the wrong tie, but didn’t realize until he was already half way here so he spent the rest of the drive trying to convince himself that his tie printed with a chicken wearing dark sunglasses and the pun ‘What the cluck are you looking at?’ (a gag gift from his best friend Yoongi) actually looked nice and professional against his tailored suit.

After taking one final breath he knocked twice on your door before hearing your faint voice giving him permission to enter.

“Nice tie Park. I didn’t know that chickens were in this year.”, you smirked.

“Uhh yeah well you know me, always trying to be a trendsetter.” Quickly he took the tie off while you weren’t looking and shoved it in his pocket mentally smacking himself for not thinking of doing that earlier.

He placed a to go cup down in front of you, “Here Y/N, I got you a Caramel Macchiato. I wasn’t sure what you liked so I hope this is okay.”

“With almond milk?”, you asked. “I’m allergic to dairy.”

Jimin felt his stomach twist, “Oh I’m sorry. I did not know that.”

You chuckled before handing the drink over to your assistant for her to enjoy.

“Sit down Jimin. I don’t have all day and we’ve already wasted quite a bit of time.”

“Oh sure sure.”, he said frantically trying to set up his laptop. He hit the power button and nothing happened. No lights no sounds. Nothing. He pressed it again and again, but nothing. Then his hand came up to smack his forehead. He’d forgotten to charge his laptop last night after double checking everything one more time.

“Sorry I seem to have forgotten to charge it. Let me just grab the charger from my bag.”, he awkwardly chuckled. He continued to dig around in his bag trying to find the elusive cord when like a truck it hit him that his charger was in fact neatly wound up and sitting safely in his kitchen drawer where he put it last night to stop his cat, Mr. Fluffybutt McWhiskers the fourth (yes that’s his real name), from chewing on it.

“Umm I really apologize. It looks like I’ve left my charger at home.”, he nervously chuckled.

Feeling kind of bad for the guy you decided to throw him a bone, “Call one of your team members and have them email the presentation directly to me. I’ll go through it on my laptop.”

Frantically Jimin called Jin and asked him to send the file over to your email. A few minutes later a notification popped up on your feed showing an email from a sender listed as Mr.WordWideHandsomestFace7. You chuckled, but Jimin just wanted the floor to swallow him whole at this point. Jin must’ve forgot to switch to his professional email.

You clicked on the link but no power point popped up as expected.

“Oh I am so sorry.”, Jimin whispered in disbelief. Instead of the presentation that he had spent hours and hours working on he was looking at an email he had sent to Jin in the early morning one day last week after a particularly exhausting night and one too many glasses of wine. He didn’t think his face could turn any redder.

You on the other hand found it hilarious and started reading the email out loud for all to hear. Detailing how Jimin referred to you as an evil snake queen that he’d still very much like to touch even though he knows he’d probably end up dead. Jimin groaned from his seat next to you and made a mental note to remind Jin to double check his work.

He knew everything was falling apart around him so he resorted to what he knows best. Last he heard he was still a legend at his old college for being the only person to ever get an A+ in Ms. Yen’s World Literature class and it was all thanks to his shameless flirting abilities.

After reading the letter you looked over noticing Jimin staring at you seductively. He had hit bottom lip between his teeth while his fingers gently rubbed a small circle on the back of your hand. Somehow his eyes sparkled like little diamonds. His voice lower and more sultry than normal when he spoke, “You know Y/N, how about we just forget this whole presentation and I can take you out for lunch. Get a few drinks. Maybe we can just discuss things that way.”

As you watched him smirk you seriously considered it for a moment until you shook that thought out of your head, “Not a chance Park. You’re not going to buy my business with flirting and some cheap drinks.”

Jimins shoulders dropped as he came to realize that he was about to loose his only chance. He started to pack up his belongings when you stopped him.

“You know I don’t think that it would be a good idea for our brands to collab. It’s just not going to work.”

He nodded, “I know Y/N. Thank you for your time though.”

“But I do know of this up and coming brand. They’re newer, but already making a ton of noise especially with the younger crowds. It’s called HopeWorld. The owner is a good friend of mine, Hoseok Jung. I’d like to get you two together and see about working something out. I think your two brands would compliment each other well.”

Jimins face lit up, “Y/N thank you so much. That would be amazing and so incredibly helpful!”

You smiled as you gathered your things and headed for the door.

“Oh and Jimin, I expect you to pick me up at 8pm tonight. We’ll go have dinner and some drinks and who knows what else. We’ll see how the night goes.”, you said with a wink.

He nodded in agreement as he watched you walk out the door before popping your head back in a few seconds later, “And maybe don’t wear the chicken tie tonight unless you want to bring it for uh other things.” You walked back out the door and he smirked to himself making sure the tie was still safely secured in his pocket.

[butterfrogmantis]

Wanted to expand on some of the stuff I wrote down on the religion hc post the other day + expand on the Julian stuff + … oh who am I kidding you guys know I’d just snap up any excuse to draw em rn I make no efforts to hide it /lh.

But on a serious note, the human-au specific notes;

1. Tailor develops his first crush on a classmate at the age of 10 on the boy that sat next to him during his Sunday Hebrew School; Noah Rubin. Noah was an intelligent and studious boy, Tailor finds himself coming over quite shy whenever he sees him, and he has a strange fluttery sensation in his stomach if he thinks about him … hm what could this mean?

2. Tailor talks to his synagogue’s Rabbi Levi. A compassionate and genuine man, Tailor felt safer talking to Levi even before his parents.  As expected, it was good call. They had a very genuine conversation that day about being born the way you’re supposed to be. Levi also knew Modiste and Yarner well enough to encourage Tailor to talk to them openly, which of course also goes well :)

3. The textile trio have a teenage talk some years later. All 3 discover none of them are straight and in Weaver’s case, not cis either.

4. Teen!Tailor meets a local sports star Julian Adkins. Julian is a regional champion ice skater, with the costumes to match. He’s confident, charismatic, charming … at least to begin with.

5.Yeah that smooth personality didn’t last long. Julian’s true personality comes out once he thinks he has Tailor on the hook. Selfish, manipulative, egotistical … Julian was only really after some fashionable clothes and a warm body for free. By the time Tailor got the sense to leave him it had already done some damage to both his optimism and his graduate programme, which he dropped out of due to having to see Julian on campus so much.

6. Adult!Tailor takes up his cousin’s offer to come and be their business partner in a little start up village they’ve heard about in Europe. The town could do with some clothes makers and the three think it would be an excellent start-over. Tailor thinks this might be a good opportunity to make some new friends at the very least … the villagers seem nice :)  

7. Several months after his wedding, Tailor Nudell-Cotter wrote a letter to Rabbi Levi. It mostly wished him well but also thanked him for being the first person he spoke to all those years ago, and reassured him that Tailor was truly happy where and who he was with now. He received a letter back a couple of weeks later that was genuinely proud of him. Tailor keeps the letter in his nightstand. He still looks at it sometimes.

Tailor, Spinner, Weaver (named but not design) and Farmer (c) The Smurfs

Noah, Levi and Julian are mine

[animmortalrecord]

I'm in spending jail for 60 days and I'm going to get dressed about it. Come along with me!

Does anyone else spend a million years deliberating over certain articles of clothing, only to get them home and not be totally in love with them? But then also, sometimes you grab something on impulse, totally expecting to regret it and beat yourself up over it, only to have it be one of your favorite items? Yeah, this dress is the second thing. I'm obsessed with how the cotton crinkles and the full skirt is amazing. It's my first Kate Spade (RIP) piece and why didn't anyone tell me about these amazing zippers?! It goes up like butter. It's a bit roomy in the bust, but I've come to expect that as a card carrying member of the tiny ribcage club. I may get it tailored in the future, but for now, I'm really just enjoying the extra space.

Has anyone tried out the new Snag 30 denier pantyhose? I may have bought 3 pairs... this particular color is the Lemon and they are solving my "how to wear tights in the summer without dying of heat stroke" problem quite nicely. The polyamide still isn't that breathable but I'm willing to suffer in order to have highlighter yellow legs.

I bought this belt because it was in stupendous condition and the best shade of pink, but it ended up being too big for me so I used a leather hole punch and a tape measure to fashion a few new holes and I think it looks good? Of course I just found a very similar but perhaps even better actually leather version on Lucky Vintage IN MY EXACT SIZE so I'm kicking myself a bit. Anyone need a pink belt? I can't believe it's 20+ years old. We really have made enough stuff to last us several lifetimes on this planet 😬

Dress: Kate Spade New York - 100% cotton - ThredUp (thrift)

Belt: Brand Unknown - Synthetic Leather - Etsy (thrift)

Tights: Snag - 84% Polyamide, 15% Elastane & 1% Cotton - Snag (new)

Shoes: Croc - Plastic Foam - Croc (new)

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 24 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Carlos Martinez

With the threat of burglars assuaged, John and I enter the house and join the mysterious David in the living room.

My main concern was that the dogs might have escaped through the open door but this, too, proves to be a needless worry.

They flank David like a pair of backup dancers, attuned to his every move and obey John reluctantly when he tells them to go lie down on their beds.

Even then, they keep their eyes trained on our visitor, ears pricked forward, as if ready to leap up at the slightest hint of a command.

"Some guard dogs you two are," John mutters, casting them a disapproving glance.

"Don't be hard on them, John," David says.

"You know they can't help it. Just like it seems you cannot help yourself."

He turns his gaze on me, his grey eyes flashing silver as they catch the light.

"It appears the bond is quite strong already and growing fast and you told me there was no effect."

He shifts his attention back to John and I remember to breathe.

The guy has a presence I can hardly describe and like the dogs, I'm having a hard time taking my eyes off him.

He's taller than John and though not as muscular, carries himself with a confidence that speaks of great strength.

His hair is a light ash blond, almost silver and cut short in the back and longer in the front.

I get the sense he's old, though how old I can't guess but his skin is flawless and stretches smoothly over high cheekbones and a sharp jaw.

His tastes run expensive and while I don't know enough about clothes to guess what he's wearing, I'd wager his shirt and slacks are custom-tailored by some Italian name.

"I didn't lie," John says, glaring at David.

"He's not infected."

"Clearly."

David smiles.

"But that is not the effect of which I speak. What symptoms have you experienced?"

John rubs his jaw and I sense a struggle taking place behind the stoic mask of his expression.

"Some synchrony of thought and feeling," he says at last.

"And... maybe a little possessiveness."

David nods.

"Entirely natural and you?"

"I don't even know what the heck you're talking about," I say.

"No?"

His smile sends a chill up my spine.

He'd taken one of the low, cube like reading chairs, representative of the house's modern style, ensconcing himself like a lord upon a throne.

John perches tensely on the edge of it's mate, while I remain standing, resting my butt on the sofa's arm.

As David rises and comes towards me, I straighten instinctively, not wanting to appear shorter than I am.

Five-nine is a perfectly respectable height... plenty of famous actors are five-nine... but next to six-six, or whatever David is, it feels small.

"John has a very distinctive scent, wouldn't you agree?" he asks.

"Uh... Weird question but sure, I guess he smells alright."

"And you are drawn to him, are you not? You feel... aroused in his presence?"

I glance past him to John, who looks as uncomfortable as I feel.

"Yeah, that's not really any of your business, is it?"

"It is my business, actually. John is very dear to me. He is the son of my blood. When he told me of the threat you pose to him, I came immediately to help him manage it or to neutralize it, if needed."

"David, please..." John rises as well and approaches cautiously.

"There's no need. I have it under control."

"So it appears," David murmurs.

"But do you, really?"

John answers with an audibly strained.

"Yes. Perfectly."

"Good. Then you won't mind if I have a closer look."

Before I know what's happening, David steps forward, invading my personal space so that we stand toe-to-toe.

Instantly stripped of power, I can't move or speak or offer any protest as he pulls the band from my long hair, letting it fall free around my face and inhales through his nose.

"Ah, I see the appeal," he says softly, eyes glinting silver.

"You've found something special here. A rare vintage. Of course, what appeals to you will appeal to me, we are the same, after all."

"David..." John's voice is strained to breaking and past David's shoulder 'which I'm barely tall enough to see over' he radiates tension.

"Please, stop."

"But, why? If what you say is true, this won't bother you one bit," David says easily, caressing the side of my neck.

He pulls the collar of my shirt aside and lowers his head, nuzzling my skin with his nose and lips.

I shudder with a horrible mix of revulsion and arousal as a low purr rumbles in his chest.

"Mmm, delightful. Perhaps you wouldn't mind sharing, John? We could take turns with him or even... both at once."

I feel his hot breath, the brush of his lips and then... with the startling suddenness of a lightning flash... he's gone.

A second later, the matching thunderclap arrives as he crashes into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

John stands between us, shoulders heaving, eyes blazing and a pair of fangs glinting as he speaks.

"Hands off," he growls.

"He's mine."

He turns towards me and approaches and I shrink away, terrified by the look of pure hunger on his face.

Then he's yanked backwards and thrown across the room in turn, crashing into the television and knocking it off the wall.

David dusts off his hands and shakes his head disapprovingly.

"Now, John, if only you'd been honest, we might have avoided this unpleasantness. Clearly your bond is..."

John launches himself at David like a tiger leaping on prey.

The pair crash over the back of the sofa and I skittle away and take shelter in a corner.

As much as I want to help John, it's clear I'd just be getting in the way and possibly getting myself killed if I try to intervene.

Besides, this is obviously a vampire thing and I have no choice but to let them work it out in their own way.

The ensuing battle is difficult to follow.

There are blurs of motion, grunts of pain, crashes and bangs and sounds of things breaking, and finally, John on his back with David standing over him amid the wreckage of the living room.

Both of them have cuts on their faces and arms, torn clothing and mussed hair but John is definitely the worse for wear.

There's a deep gash on his cheek, a bruise darkening one eye and bite marks on his shoulder, bleeding through his shirt, though his more visible injuries seem to heal before my eyes.

"Excellent," David says, smoothing his hair back into place.

"Now that we've established dominance like the animals we are, we can deal with this like civilized people."

He extends his hand and somewhat to my surprise, John accepts it and lets himself be helped to his feet.

"Forgive me for provoking you, John but you understand why I did. What just happened would have happened inevitably, far better that it happened while I was here to intervene. I doubt it would reflect well on your career if you ripped the head off some unsuspecting fellow who happened to flirt with your man and caught you in the wrong mood."

"He's not... my anything," John huffs, nursing his ribs and leaning on a chair for support.

[wander-wren]

i’m back again. i told you i have 3-5. we’ll see how long my focus hangs out. the second historical niche i really love is the Village of Eyam. this one is for the black plague babes. under a cut this time, sorry i messed up and didn’t do it on the last reblog and now it’s too late to fix. pls forgive me.

i believe it did the rounds on tumblr at the start of the pandemic, which is how i learned about it, so bear with me if you know the story.

the village of eyam is a tiny community in derbyshire, england. as we all know, the bubonic plague wiped out most of europe in the 13-1400s, but it remained an intermittent problem for centuries after. this story takes place in 1665 & 1666.

in september of 1665, a tailor named george viccars visiting eyam ordered a bale of cloth. unbeknownst to anyone, the cloth arrived carrying fleas which were carrying the plague. within days, he began to show symptoms, and the disease started to spread. over the winter and spring, 42 villagers died, and many were preparing to flee their homes. the new reverend, william mompesson, stepped in. h decided the town needed to quarantine.

(if you’ve heard anything about eyam inventing quarantine that’s a lie. i believed that for a bit, so i’m not sure how common it is. quarantine comes from a french word referring to sending plague victims out on a boat for four weeks and seeing who had survived after, iirc. but that was centuries earlier.)

he wasn’t very popular and of course no one was eager to agree to stay to die. but they were convinced eventually, and everyone settled in to wait. a well at the outskirts of the village was set up, filled with vinegar, and coins were left there to pay for supplies that were dropped off so as to avoid contamination. church was held outside, socially distanced. everyone was confined to their houses.

in fourteen months, out of a village of anywhere from 350-800, 260 people died. burials in the churchyard were prohibited in the summer of 1666, when deaths were coming every single day. we know the exact dates of every single death thanks to william mompesson’s record keeping.

sorry seeing this makes me so fucking emotional. eyam hurts me. i’m not sure how much tumblr bungled the quality, so i’ll link the list at the bottom, but if you can read that i want to direct your attention to a few different stories.

first, i know i read this but can’t currently verify it, so i don’t have names. but i remember reading about a boy and girl who snuck out to walk in the hills together, only to bring the plague down on both of their families.

teenagers. trying to take a walk. and everyone died for it. even if it isn’t exactly true, fuck, you guys.

but about the actual confirmed deaths and stories. all of these are from august, the worst month for deaths.

first, august 27th and 30th—joan and william howe. marshall howe was an early survivor of the plague and buried many of the victims, believing he could not catch the plague twice. his wife and son were likely killed when he brought home contaminated objects stolen from the dead. i have no information as to whether this was a malicious graverobber and an act of karma, or a man trying to survive and find a little light with dubious morals. either way, he killed his family. and that’s. yeah.

also august 25th: catherine mompesson, 27 years old, william mompesson’s wife. the day before she died, they took a walk in the hills. she was the only person during this time to be buried in the churchyard, by her husband himself. he thought he would be sick before long and join her, but he managed to survive the plague. she was one of his first and only supporters in quarantine, but she may have initially wanted to leave if some sources are to be believed. it was his decision to stay. i get so torn up about it.

now, my personal favorite eyam story and the one that makes me want to cry.

august 3rd. john and elizabeth. august 7th. oner, john, and william. august 9th. alice. august 10th. anne.

elizabeth hancock buried her husband and six children in eight days. they’re buried behind her house, in a field, currently known as “the riley graves” for the owner of the field. this image is used everywhere as a depiction of her, but i haven’t managed to find the artist.

i just. god. i can’t imagine.

i mean, in a way, we know covid, right? but the plague moved so much faster, and these people had little to no understanding of how it worked, no treatment. just empty houses and a whole lot of graves.

it’s said that others from nearby villages sometimes stood on the hills to look at eyam from afar. i keep wondering about elizabeth hancock. wondering if anyone was watching her in those eight days. if she was angry at them, if she had room to be. if she was too busy grieving and preparing for her own death. i wonder if the other villages pitied them, or grieved them, or wondered about their stories. or if they were just grateful to be saved by sacrifice and stopped there.

god, eyam rips me up inside. it’s so fucking sad. and we have so many personal stories because of the records that were kept, but we also have so many mysteries.

link 1, link 2. again, i already knew most of this off the top of my head, but those are starting points for more info. the second link includes a better image of the death list and a transcribed version with more information gathered from other records.

let’s talk historical niches

i firmly believe most people have a historical time period or event or trend they are extremely interested in and know a lot about. someone alluded to one of mine in class today and i have not calmed down about it, so let’s share! reblog and infodump about your niche history interest <3

[foxilayde]

The Putz and The Perv [professor!Jonathan Levy x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Showing off your anatomy in the anatomy lecture hall. 

Word Count: 8.2k 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Exhibitionism, age gap, infidelity, drinking warm Jack Daniels like a true college gurl, taking the Lord’s name in vain, 1[one] singular use of the word “cunt”, whoops now there are two cunts. Okay now there’s three. Penis in hand, penis in mouth, penis in love?? Your immersive experience may be hindered if you speak yiddish and or have a cashew allergy.

Authors Note: Heh, anatomy, get it? I think I’m clever. Validate me and I’ll love you forever. Also don’t you ever, don’t you dare, don’t you even wish to dream to think to send me requests for shit. Because this is what happens. This is from the Scenes From A Marriage universe, but can be read as a standalone thot piece. 

You’re a pervert. You’re fucking disgusting. You tell yourself that it’s harmless, this thing you’re doing, but really, the only people who would agree with you on that are other perverts. 

You should have dropped this class weeks ago. It doesn’t even line up with your major anymore. You’re still undecided- flitting around the disciplines, last semester it was Art History, this semester it’s Psychology. So you took a somewhat safe bet with Anatomy, thinking it’d be a nice, neutral choice while you figure out what it is that you really want to do. This shit isn’t safe, or nice, or fucking neutral. It’s nuclear, and you’re making it worse every fucking class period. Look, anyone can teach you anatomy. There isn’t a specific skill to the memorization of the origins and insertions of each muscle. You just have to sit down and memorize them. Any teacher would do. And, fuck, it is just so inappropriate of you to be doing what you're doing. You should leave the poor man alone. 

But, god, why- why is he so sexy? Without trying to be? How powerful is his magnetism that his outfit of loose corduroy trousers and Costco Dad sneakers does nothing to mitigate your attraction? It’s objectively fucking horrible. But there’s something hot about it too, like, the fact that he doesn’t care how fucking hot he is. Or, more like, he’s treating his hotness with great responsibility. Not flaunting it or accentuating it with tailored looks, but putting on the first outfit he grabbed at a goodwill in an attempt to bring gravitas to the thing that he’s teaching. He’s going to have to find much baggier clothes for that to work on you. Like a monk’s robe, maybe. No, no, not a monk’s robe. Now that’s opening up a whole new can of worms, of vows of celibacy, forbidden attraction, and, yeah let’s not go there-

Also, yes, okay, you see the ring. Of course you see the ring, you fucking pervert. Because of fucking course he’s married. He’s married and probably very happy and fulfilled. In any case, he definitely doesn’t need you sitting in the front row of his lecture hall with your short skirt, flashing him your lack of panties. Pervert.

At first it started out as an accident. You were wearing an above the knee, black business styled flared skirt for a career fair at the library. You wore that outfit all day with no trouble, until you got to your anatomy lecture. You sat in your usual seat at the front of Levy’s class, the front row, still raised a good two feet or so off the ground. And to be fair, you were wearing panties that day. Bright red panties. 

You’re a good student, and you’ve also got a big fat crush on him, so of course you were paying attention to him, and of course you saw the moment he saw them. A slight glazing of the eyes, gaze suspended momentarily between your knees, followed by a small rapid head shake and pink cheeks. You weren’t really sure what was going on at the time, but then- then he came up to your desk at the end of class. 

- - ~ - -

“Don’t forget to have those actions and insertions memorized! Particularly the SITS of the rotator cuff, because after next week, we are moving onto the lower body!” He calls to the class as they gather their notes and make their way up the stairs of the tiered seating and out the door at the top of the hall. 

“Hey”, he raps a knuckle on your desk, You pause packing away your textbook and look up at him. He’s covering his mouth with his hand as he says your name, his eyebrows are furrowed and he strokes his beard, looking at the floor. He is adorably nervous and isn’t meeting your eyes. “I want to talk to you about something that might be a little bit sensitive,” he glances around to make sure no one is in earshot.

“Okay, yeah, shoot.” You lean back in your seat and set your packed bag on the desk. You don’t know what it could be that is making him this jittery, but his proximity and unsureness is making your tummy twist. I mean, if anyone says ‘I want to talk to you about something’, regardless of context, it’s full on alarm bells and fight or flight chemicals.

“Your um, your… clothing choice.” He waves his hand in a circular motion as If you’re supposed to understand what he’s talking about with such a vague thing. As if “your clothing choice” would be a lightbulb moment or something. 

“Uh, sorry?”

“Not that you don’t look very nice today, you do!” He amends with vigor and shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting for you to speak.

“Oh… kay.”

He takes a big breath and whispers very quickly to you, even though you’re the only two people in the room and he doesn’t need to speak as covertly as he does.

 “It’s just, you know, certain items of clothing combined with the way the lecture hall is set up. It’s uh- it can be a little bit revealing. And I know you don’t normally wear skirts, so um, just a something to keep in mind for the future, yeah?” He meets your eyes then and you go a little fuzzy before his words catch up with your brain.

Oh… ohhh! 

He’s beet red and he clears his throat uncomfortably, doing a tiny bow before retreating back a few steps looking completely lost. He turns around at that point so you know he doesn’t see your smile. God, he must’ve gotten a real good eyeful of your devil red panties for him to be this flustered.

“Thank you for letting me know, I truly didn’t realize. I promise to be more mindful about… that.” You say it calmly, not seductively or anything. Looking back, you probably decided in that moment, what it was exactly you were going to do about this situation. Pervert. You stand and lift your bag strap over your shoulder. “Have a good evening, professor Levy.”

And you kept true to your word. You had been more mindful. You started wearing skirts exclusively, and stopped wearing panties to his lectures entirely.

The next class, you are bold and brazen and downright shameless. You lean back, parting your thighs and see the exact moment he clocks it, your bare pussy. It’s instant. His lips part drunkenly and he swallows thickly before turning his eyes on yours. You give an innocent smile and a nod. 

Weeks now, this has been going on for weeks. You do wear panties most of the day, you aren’t a complete heathen, buuut right before Anatomy 220, Tuesday Wednesday Thursday; you head to the bathroom on the second floor, remove them, store the flimsy briefs in the outer pocket of your pack, and willfully expose yourself to Professor Johnathan Levy. 

Pervert behavior. No getting around it.

Has he said anything about it since the red panties day? No. Have you caught him staring, going pink in the face? Losing his train of thought? Yes. 

You think he tries to be covert about looking, trying to hide the way his eyes strain all the way to the side with his cheek propped on his fist during attendance. 

Its kind of fucking exhilarating. Giving your married professor a full on peep show while you’re in a crowded room of people. You’re totally innocent to any onlooker; quietly taking notes, raising your hand if you have a question or answer. You sit in his front row and he’s got a front row spot to your little show. The only eyes on you are the eyes everyone else is looking at. It’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong, but god damn if it isn’t a thrill. You even linger slightly after class. You don’t address him, you don’t bat your eyelashes as you say goodbye or ask if you can do anything to earn extra credit. You’re just seemingly very careful with packing up your book, your notes and your water at the end of the lecture. You take each step deliberately, making sure you’re the last one out. Letting him check out your ass if he feels so inclined. And you never turn around to catch him in the act. 

It’s a fucked up game you're playing. If the tables were turned, if he was treating you the way you treat him, you’d think you were losing your fucking marbles. Because the only salacious thing you’re doing is not wearing underwear. An inherent lack of action. Which places the act of looking all on him. What you’re doing is considerably more egregious because you’re kind of forcing him to be a pervert too, since you don’t lead him on with anything else, no addresses of invitation; you’re forcing him to feel dirty and perverted, you just know it. He’s got to be doubting his sanity. And boy is it fucked, you know it’s fucking fucked up; but just thinking about his conflict, the way he attempts to covertly sneak glances towards your open thighs, the way he licks his fucking thumb to grab your quiz and place it on your desk, the way his palm lingers flat on the surface for a second too long before moving onto the next student. You’re devious. You’re a monster. And it feels so good. The little notes on the top of your quizzes, red felt tip pen markings 100% A+, ‘Excellent!’ ‘Fantastic!’ ‘Well done!’ Well done, indeed. 

Most days he arrives to class with the same lively animated entrance, same stainless steel travel mug, and leather laptop bag slung over his shoulder. On Tuesdays he asks the class how their weekend was. He smiles and puts up the warmup quiz on the projector. You can tell he enjoys his work. He loves teaching. But today? This particular Tuesday, he wanders into class like a zombie. He’s got his bag, but no mug, his clothes look particularly worn as if he slept in them the night before, and he doesn’t smile. His hair isn’t tamed- grey curls are sticking up and out like he’s been pulling on his hair in frustration. And instead of setting up the projector and timer for the warmup quiz, he just sits down at his desk and looks lost, looks like he hasn’t slept at all last night.  

Most of the class is chatting with each other, some are working on other homework and no one notices that he’s a total zombie. You cross your legs because he doesn’t look in any kind of receptive state to be entertained by the show between your thighs. 

After a minute he shakes his head from his zone-out and looks over to your crossed knees and up to your face. Oh my god, he’s got the most pathetic puppy eyed red rimmed stare imaginable. You raise your eyebrows and point your pen at the projection screen and mouth “quiz?” 

He inhales sharply as if being woken from a dream. The breath propels him upward and he makes his way to the little projector table to put on the quiz. Even his movements are sad and unwilling, like each button he pushes costs him a grand amount of life-force. He doesn’t say anything to the class, but he doesn’t have to. Everyone knows the drill. The routine of it doesn’t appear to have fixed him, it’s just there to buy him more time so he can sit back at his desk and stare into the abyss. Jesus. He is not okay. 

The quiz goes fine, he bumbles a bit through the answer key and ultimately forgets to collect them at the end of the warmup, so Kendall has to bring them to his desk. The lesson isn’t much of a lesson at all. He plays an animated youtube video about the parasympathetic nervous system. The lights are off and and he’s resting his head on his arms. Once the video is over he doesn’t stand up from his desk, doesn’t move, and the whole class hears him snore.  A few people snicker and Kendall takes it upon themselves to turn the lights back on. It’s five minutes till class is over and Professor Levy is asleep at his desk. The snickering continues when he snores a second time and everyone shrugs at each other, placating different iterations of “class is almost over anyway…” and they all slowly make their way to the exit. You do not. You’re transfixed, taking in his horrible defeated posture,  light snores emitting from the pillow of his forearms. Fucking hell. You can’t leave him like this. There’s gotta be another class that comes in soon. You step down the few feet to the floor of the lecture hall and approach his desk with uncareful steps, hoping that the noise of your feet might rouse him. It doesn’t. You perch on the side of his desk, examining his form and staring at him the way you only stare at someone who’s unaware you’re looking.

“Pssst!” You make the noise loud and close enough to his ear to alarm him.

He shudders as he rouses, head on a swivel, glasses adorably askew. And looks up at you like you’re the last person he expected to see after a nap. 

“Where is everybody, what happened? Did I fall asleep?” 

“Uh, yeah, and now the whole class knows you snore.”

He scoffs, “fuck.”

“It can’t be that much of a surprise to you. Hasn’t your wife informed you how loudly you saw logs in your sleep?” The comment is supposed to be funny, the intention was to make him laugh, dammit. Mission failed. His face falls even more, if that’s possible, and he groans. 

“Fuck.”

It doesn’t escape your observation that his expression shattered at the word ‘wife’. Marital problems, then. Nothing a little Jack Daniels can’t temporarily solve.

“You need a drink.”

“What?”

“You need a drink. A strong one. I can tell. I know a place.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Only the length of that weird movie you showed us. Really phoned it in today, huh Levy?” 

“Then it’s 4pm.”

“Correct.”

“4pm is too early for a drink.”

“4pm is entirely acceptable to drink. Especially if you never fell asleep last night. If you miss a night’s sleep, technically the whole next day is just one long afterparty.”

“How did you know I didn’t sleep last night?”

“Uh, the sawing logs, for one. And you look like garbage.”

“Thanks.”

“C’mon Rip Van Winkle, let’s get you some booze and you can tell me all about it.”

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

“My ID says I am.”

“Is it a fake?”

“That is between me and the great state of New York.”

“Woah, I am not-“

“I’m joking. Yes, I’m old enough to drink. Up, up, up. Lets go.” 

You hand him his book bag with the laptop inside. He looks at his desk worriedly. “Where’s my mug?”

“You didn’t bring it today.”

He cocks his head, “Wait, what day is it today?” He tugs his hair and looks at you wild eyed. 

“Tuesday.”

Jonathan sighs in relief, smoothing his hands down his silver stained beard. 

“Good. No more classes today.”

“Great. Because I don’t think you could literally handle another moment of undiluted consciousness.” You make your way up the tiered room’s aisle and turn back around to see him unabashedly staring at your ass. “You coming or what?”

“To do what? Oh, bar. Drink. God, I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”

“I’m going to try to not be offended by that.”

You hear his steps hurriedly behind you and he’s one step below you as he bemoans, “I didn’t mean you, I mean the past 24 hours. Complete nightmare, I can’t believe-“

You interrupt him, “No no, save it for Jack Daniels. He’s a much better listener.”

“What bar are you taking me to? I don’t really feel like running into any students.”

“Scotty’s. Its nearby. And we won’t run into anyone. Its 4pm on a Tuesday, everyone there at this hour is older and sadder than you.”

He chuckles at that. Progress. 

—-

You walk to the bar in near silence. On weekends this place is filled with students, but just as you predicted, in the late afternoon the only other patrons at the bar look like they could tell you stories about cattle wrangling and ‘the good ol’ days’. You take two stools at the end, far away from the meager crowd and Scotty takes your order of “two Jack doubles. Keep em coming”.

Jonathan looks…uncomfortable. Wether its the rickety stool or the atmosphere, or your company; you have no idea. He’s out of place and time, it’s dimly lit in here, like all shit bars, and the red glow of the twinkle lights that line the bottle shelves are admittedly flattering on his features, softening the dark circles under his eyes. 

You cheers and both take a swig. He grimaces and sets the drink down, rubbing his hands together uncomfortably.

“You… come here often?”

You snort, “You hitting on me, Professor?”

“No! I just, I- you seem to know…” He gestures to Scotty who is doing the most stereotypical thing a barman can do: drying the inside of a pint glass with a microfiber towel.

“Scotty”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah I do come here often. Never this early though. And never with a teacher.”

He nods and attempts to take another sip. 

“So…” you lead, leaning your elbow on the bar, your cheek resting on your fist as you face him fully. “Talk to me. Tell me about this waking nightmare.”

He thumbs the rim of his glass, staring into the brown liquid. “The simple answer is; I’m a putz.”

“A what now?”

“A putz, it’s yiddish. It means I’m a jerk. A loser.” he takes a big sip, face protesting in a grimace. “I thought I was doing alright,” he shakes his head with a scrunched nose that has nothing to do with the alcohol, “turns out, I was a putz all along.”

“What makes you think that?”

He rubs at his tired eyes like he could wipe away this reality and exchange it for another. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m taking several psychology classes this semester, had my heart set on psychiatry, hence the anatomy class. Not so sure about it anymore, but I’m a pretty decent listener.”

“My wife has been having an affair.”

“Oh damn. I was afraid of that. Definitely above my pay grade, we need reinforcements. Scotty! Another round stat!” Scotty is lightning fast, god bless him, and you set the fresh cup beside the one he’s got curled in his hand. 

“You were saying?” 

Jonathan downs his first glass and rests his forehead on his palm, “My wife is in love with another man. She’s with him right now, on a work trip. They work together. Halfway across the world. She wants a divorce and my life is… over.”

“That is some shit. But I’m failing to see what makes you the putz in this situation.”

“You should see the guy she left me for,” he whistles and shakes his head, “a global businessman, 6 foot 2, nice suits, private jet, Poli. A real mensch. And me…” He waves his hand, presenting himself from head to toe, “…a putz”. 

“Poli? As in ‘want a cracker’?”

He snickers into his drink, you smile and nod. Laughing, good.

“I was dying to see what this guy looked like. I found him on social media, which I am not on… so I set up an fucking instagram account last night at 3am to find him and I went through the entire thing while Mira slept like a baby. Trust me, compared to him, I’m a putz.” 

You can picture it, him sitting on the floor of a nice bedroom, wife with lovely hair and a silk sleep mask; he’s verifying his email address through teary eyes and then doom scrolling on some fuckboy’s instagram; self esteem being bulldozed and finely ground into powdery sand. 

“You’re not a putz. They sound like the fucking putzes in this scenario.” 

“There were even couple-y photos from months ago on there. Just posted there, online, for everyone to see. I can hear Mira now, ’ Go ahead and post it, Poli. Jonathan won’t know, he doesn’t have an instagram, because he’s a putz.’”

“I’m going to need you to stop calling yourself that. And I’m going to need you to start getting angry at these fucking… schmucks? Is that the right word?” 

Jonathan considers and nods, “Sure”.

“Because these shmucks seem very selfish and gross. Getting played doesn’t make you a putz… or maybe it does. I’d need more time with the language to fully know I guess, but trust me anyway. You’re not a putz. You’re a mensch.” 

Jonathan hums with disbelief “I don’t know about that.”

“Honestly neither do I as I don’t speak yiddish. What’s a mensch?” 

“Mensch,” Jonathan balls his fist and grits his teeth, “a man, but,” he raises a finger and points it at you “an honorable man. Like my Saba- my grandpa. He was a mensch. Took care of his family, loved them to a fault. When he finally got money, he’d- haha, he would leave the needy families from temple envelopes of money, totally anonymous. Drove my Bubbie crazy. One of my first memories is her, in their living room, cursing up a storm because one of the families told her they saw him dropping the envelope at their door and wanted to repay him. Saba just read his newspaper and ignored her until she was finished with her rant. And then, I’ll never forget this, he folded up his newspaper very carefully, very slowly, and set it on his lap and said, ‘Matya’-that was her name- ‘Matya, do you not have everything you need? Hmm? Has God not blessed us beyond compare? If you want to complain to someone, then pray.’ He- Saba was a mensch.”

You nod thoughtfully. “You’re a mensch too.”

Jonathan scoffs, “you don’t even know me.”

“I know that I’ve been flashing you my pussy for the past month and you haven’t made a move.”

It’s bold, its unprecedented, you’re saying the unsaid thing- and it catches him off-guard mid sip and now he’s coughing up warm Jack Daniels. 

“So you have noticed. I’m flattered.” You smile ruefully and bat your eyes, honestly titillated at the blush creeping up his cheeks. 

He dries his chin with the back of his wrinkled sleeve, “Noticed? Of course I’ve noticed. You haven’t been exactly shy about it! I thought I was going crazy. But you just… kept doing it and God I’ve been…. Never mind.”

“No!” You slap his shoulder playfully, “you have to tell me! You’ve been what?”

Jonathan cant look at you when he admits, “I’ve been having to hide my erection behind textbooks like I’m fifteen fucking years old!” 

All you can do is smile, he’s embarrassed but he shouldn’t be. He’s not the one who has been brazenly exposing themselves for hours upon hours in a crowded classroom. 

“Why-“ he starts, stopping himself again, “why?”

You take a deep inhale, wishing you had something to occupy your fingers besides the short whiskey glass on the bar when you say, “Let’s just say, I’d never put on that kind of show for a man who I thought was a putz.”

“You have a crush on me.” He accuses with a tired smile. Cute fucking smile.

You waggle your eyebrows, “I do.” 

“Is it the teacher thing?”

“No, it’s more of a you thing.”

“So you’re not doing this to any other professors?”

“Ha! How well do you think that would go over in my Abnormal Psychology class?”

“I guess that would depend on who’s teaching?” He smile is so big right now, his eyes are so scrunched and his teeth show. He even reaches for the mixed nuts Scotty sat down between you. 

“For Ab Psych? Fletcher.”

“Gloria?”

“That’s the one. What are my odds? Think I can pull her?”

“I think you could pull just about anyone.”

“So could you.”

He shakes his head and chews thoughtfully. Clearly having some kind of debate upstairs you’re un-privy to.

“You’re not failing my class. I know because I’ve checked. That first day you...flashed me I checked your grades. 100%. So what’s the deal? Do you need some kind of letter of recommendation? The access codes to the Dean’s office? Are you after my money? Because I don’t really have much-”

“You have codes to the Deans office? His office is coded? Like Star Trek?”

“No, I don’t have codes, I’m just trying to figure out what this is, what you’re doing, cheering me up, hanging out with a-“

“Do not say putz, Jonathan I swear to god.” He puts his hands up defensively, and lowers them again, going for another fistful of cashews. “I like you. I think you’re sweet and sexy and I love the way you get all flustered but you still sneak glances. You’re… endlessly endearing. You’re kind, and thoughtful, and you care about your work. You always grant extensions, which is fucking benevolent. I’m getting wet just thinking about how fucking patient you are. And the clothes. God your stupid clothes. I love them so much. You look comfortable, comforting- like good leftovers. And I know that sounds… not like a compliment, but I am of the notion that Chinese take-out tastes so much better the next day.”

“You should never talk to Mira. You’d have nothing in common. At all.”

“That can’t be true.”

“She’s revolted by me, trust me. You don’t get shoved while you’re trying to hug your wife and not get deemed ‘revolting’”

You whistle at the embarrassing admission, “She sounds like a real cunt, just putting that out there. But she married you, didn’t she? So, at one point she must’ve loved you. And I bet her list of reasons why she fell for you- look a lot like mine. It’s not your fault. This shit just happens with people. We fall in love and we fall out of love, and if we are schmucks, then we destroy everything around us during the falling out portion of the cycle. You ever hear of the 7 year itch?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s science. You’re a good guy, so you probably don’t get it, but for the rest of us animals out here- we are disgusting perverts looking for someone to touch our genitals so we can feel important and loved and sexy, etcetera.”

“You’re not a pervert. You’re… bold, maybe. But not a pervert.”

“Ha! Bold. Good one. Agree to disagree, teach.” You take a few cashews from the bowl and chew as you ask, “so, any plans tonight? Besides getting some much needed sleep?”

“My parents have Ava for the evening, so no. God, how am I going to tell Ava?” He groans and clutches the roots of his hair with both hands, elbows propped up on the sticky bar.

“Who is Ava?”

“My daughter.”

“You have a kid?” You exclaim with a full mouth of partially masticated cashews. “That makes it so much worse!”

He turns his head slowly and eyes you and you know you just said The Wrong Thing. Idiot.

“Uhhh, sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I know. It’s a mess.”

“So, Ava doesn’t know… have you told anyone else?”

“My friends already knew. For months, apparently,” he scoffs and takes another sip, “and I told my parents this morning when I dropped off Ava. I told them we had a fight, I didn’t tell them she’s planning on leaving me.”

“Hold the fuck up. Your friends knew? Jesus Christ, Jonathan.”

“I know. I can’t even commiserate with them because they’re polyamorous and-and that’s fine for them, I’m happy for them, but they just- don’t understand. You know, I’m so stupid, so so stupid- I used to think that they were crazy and unhappy because they would bicker and argue about their other lovers and I, stupidly, thought wow I’m so lucky to have such a stable monogamous relationship and I felt proud of that. Putz, I tell you.”

“Everytime you say putz I’m making you take a shot from here on out.”

Jonathan laughs heartily. Progress. 

You see a lightbulb go off in his head and he slaps the bar. “Dammit.”

“What?”

“I- it’s nothing. Shit.”

“Tell meee, you’ve told me everything else.”

“It’s nothing, I just forgot to pack Mira’s sound machine. She takes it on all her trips, she can’t sleep without it.”

“Excusemewhatthefuck? You forgot to pack? You packed her luggage?”

“Yeah. She was manic, she was having trouble.”

“The luggage she’s taking on her affair trip? The ‘goodbye forever’ bag?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wait, wait, wait;” you push your finger to your temple, “was this before or after she told you she was shacking up with the parrot man who shall not be named?”

Jonathan looks sheepish and admits, “After”.

“Oh dear lord, hallowed be thy name. Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I backed her bags for her yeah.”

He packed her luggage, after she said she was jet setting with her boyfriend. This poor fucking sap. What a mensch. Any other person would have packed up her stuff alright, and then thrown the boxes in the fucking Hudson. 

“You’re a good man, Jonathan. A good husband.” You pat his shoulder. “But there are some things that even Jack Daniels can’t cure and holyyyy shit, are you one of them.” 

He chuckles, “truly a lost cause, I know.”

“No, not a lost cause. But I do have a cure for what ails you.”

“Oh yeah? Let me guess- a bullet?” 

“Oh that was dark. But funny. And, no. I’m not going to murder you, I’m going to take you into the ladies room and suck your dick so hard that the Dyson company will have to revamp their vacuum technology. Think of it as a… karmic consolation prize for getting royally fucked over.”

The shocked look he gives you makes you consider that you might want to keep at the psychiatry classes after all, if only to save yourself some money in the future on therapy for your own perverted mind. 

“Can’t karma only be portioned out by the cosmos?”

Well, that wasn’t the answer you were expecting. He must think you’re joking.

“Oh he’s Jewish and Buddhist now. A man of many hats. I’m serious, Jonathan. I will suck your dick so good you forget about everything for at least…” you pretend to do calculations in you head “… 2 full minutes. And that is a stronger offer than even Mr. Daniels can make you.” 

“The bathroom? Here?”

“Sorry, I called the Ritz and their powder room is booked till next February. Yeah, the bathroom here… Or, second option: we go back to my dorm room. My roommate is cool, Aleesha. You know her from class! She’ll put on headphones and pretend we aren’t there. Lord knows I’ve done it for her enough times.”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“Okay… third option: we go back to your home- you know, the place where your wife ripped your heart out and scrubbed the floor with it? We go there and make love in the bed she’s never coming back to. Hows that sound?”

“First option.”

“First option. Excellent choice.” You down the rest of your drink and slam it purposefully to the rubber mat at Scotty’s station. Tossing a 20 next to it. You stand up and sling your bag over your shoulder, giving Scotty a wink. He just shakes his head at you, unloading the dishwasher. God bless him. 

You hold out your hand to Jonathan but when he doesn’t take it you lean in close to his ear and sing-song “I’m not wearing underwear”

His shoulders un-tense and he lets you lead him like a dog to the off-shooting hallway where you know there’s a single stall ladies room with a lock on the door. Not that you’d need to lock it anyway, there are no other women here as far as you know. But you lock it nonetheless as soon as you’re both safely inside. The walls are red like the twinkle lights at the bar and he looks equal parts tired and terrified.

Jonathan stands there like a blushing fucking virgin on a middle school dance floor, you can tell from the tent in his trousers that he’s raring to go, but all his other body parts seem to be speaking a different language entirely. 

“You going to kiss me, or should I get down on my knees first?”

“Kiss you. Definitely kiss you.”

His hands are purposeful and tender as they cradle your cheeks, the press of his lips is soft and unhurried and ultimately unbefitting the seamy surroundings. He tastes like your favorite cheap whiskey, lips slightly sticky with the sweetness, like the surface of every counter in this dump. 

You’re kissing your professor, absorbing the wordless lessons from his lips and his tongue as it naturally slips into your mouth. He is sweet and shy and searching. At first.

And then, all of a sudden he’s kissing you like he’s got something to prove, like he’s not the man who has been holding back from checking out your ass as you saunter out of his classroom. He is the man who has written tiny encouragements on your quizzes, all graded in red ink, all forgotten and stuffed in your bag, slung over your shoulder like a million secret love notes. 

You grab his messy curls in your hands, telling him with your fingers on his scalp that you’ve longed to do this, that you’ve longed to lick into him with abandon, that it wasn’t a game you were playing, but a long-con; comprised of temptation and adoration. That though you’re sorry he’s going through this bullshit, the timing couldn’t selfishly be fucking better and you invite him in with every suck of your lips, with every flick of your tongue to taste all the things he’s ever denied himself, because he does deserve it, and fuck anyone who doesn’t think so. 

You push his back into the peeling red wallpaper between the sink and the latched door, your lips leaving his lips and traversing away from his heavy breath and fogged spectacles, down the softness of his beard, to kiss open mouthed at his neck. His hands feel like they’re everywhere at once; smooth on your back, rough in your hair, tender along your cheekbone. And the relieved moans coming from his throat serenade you in an encompassing tenor as you unbutton his awful wrinkled top- the one he probably slept and cried in the previous evening. 

You push the objectionable fabric from his shoulders, it falls to the floor, the floor that you know hasn’t been mopped in months, and you kiss your way down, down his unencumbered form; cherishing every new landscape. You read his body like fingers on Braille, like chalk on a board; you go so far south that you’re forced onto your knees and you can see the protestations on his face- because he is a good man. You can read it all like the eye of a projector lens. To him you are too precious for debasement. But it isn’t debased if it is desired, and you fucking desire it. 

The linoleum is harsh on your bare knees and you’re very aware of your lack of underwear at this moment because despite the heat inside of you, your wetness is exposed to the freon cold and the coldness spreads thinly down the insides of your thighs the longer you lick at the trail of hair above his waistband.  

 You unbuckle the flimsy vintage belt from his corduroy pants and chuckle to yourself at how much he compared himself to this Poli fucker. With his ‘good suits’. There could be nothing sexier to you than the exact version of the man stood before you. You don’t tell him this, instead you press your face to his corduroy clothed crotch and inhale deeply. You want to smell and appreciate the lust he’s hidden from you, the hardness he’s kept tame in his pants at the thought of you. All the joys he’s denied himself, you acknowledge and respect. You breathe the musky cravings into your lungs and luxuriate in them.

He smooths his hands along your hairline and you sigh, kissing at his tented hardness. 

“Fuck, you’re incredible.” His lips are parted in awe, eyes half lidded with lust and exhaustion.

“I haven’t even started yet” you say as you unbutton, unzip and slowly pull down his two layers along his firm thighs. His cock bobs out, thick and hard and… uncut? Well, well, well. 

“This is… interesting.” You muse as you stroke him easily with your desperate hand. You revel in the sight of his clear precum dripping over the top of his dark foreskin. 

“I’ll,” he gasps, “tell you all about my parents feud with the Mohel later if you want, just… please, fuck.”

“No skin off my nose…. And no skin off your cock for that matter.”

“Think you’re real fucking cute don’t you?” Ohhh, he’s wrecked, isn’t he? Probably hasn’t gotten blown in a long fucking time and based on his choice of words, some animal within has taken the helm and you couldn’t be more thrilled. 

You smile up at him, licking the bead as it dribbles down his shaft. “I know I am.” 

Before you take him into your mouth you tell him, “Jonathan, I don’t want you to be gentle. Don’t be shy” you kiss the side of his shaft, “not here. Not ever again. Fuck my mouth like you’re fucking my mouth in a dirty bar bathroom. Hold my hair,”  you demand. 

And without a second’s hesitation, his fist comes to curl in the roots of your scalp, he grips tightly when you’re finally on him, enveloping his hardness with your pliant little mouth. His short nails scrape the top of your head and you marvel at how easy it was for him to follow direction this time, where every time before he dragged his fucking feet. But now? Right now? He’s guiding your skull up and down his shaft leisurely, like he’s done this a million times. 

Jonathan’s stunted breathing fills the air of the cramped little washroom and its so different from the controlled expression of his hands in your hair. He is close already. The way is hardness grows ever more substantial under your tongue as he fucks your throat, the pushy rasping of air betrays the calculated thrusts of his hips. You can tell he wants to gallop to the edge, but there’s something about the way he reigns it in that is intriguing to you. Perhaps he doesn’t want it to end. Maybe he is trying in vain to savor every fleck of pleasure, terrified he will never have your soft hair under his fingers again. Never have your pliant willing mouth at his disposal after today. Because to him, today is a fluke, a miscast, an undoing; and every bit of you that he thinks belongs to him, was never really his to begin with. 

But he’s wrong, he’s wrong about himself and what he thinks he’s worth; and you tell him as much when you beg him to cum in your mouth, you beg him not with words, but with tongue and lips to taste him- you beg, relaxing your throat and sucking down sweetly with every pull-back, to have his spend on your tongue. You dig your nails into his buttocks, and force your mouth down so hard that your chin gets tickled by his balls. You want it down your throat. In a simultaneously sick and caring way, you want him to be able to walk through the front door of his broken home a changed man- impervious to the jagged edges of the wreckage his wife left behind. 

You want him to think less of her when he thinks of you. Its not honorable, but it is honest. And god you really don’t want to be thinking about his faceless wife as he cums down your throat, but that’s life, baby and you’re beyond caring. If there was ever any doubt of your pervert status, there isn’t anymore. You’re getting your throat fucked by your still technically married professor, in a bar bathroom at 5 o’clock on a Tuesday. They might just put you in the pervert hall of fucking fame. 

He clutches your scalp and you can see the unforgiving way his bottom lip quivers as he shudders and empties himself in the warm give of your pliant mouth. 

He pulsates hot thick semen onto your tongue. It drips down into your belly via your relaxed throat and you suck gently on his lickable foreskin as he braces his strong palm against the sharpie stained bolted mirror. You can make out “Lonnie 4 evR” between his thumb and index finger. His whole hot, sweat slicked body shivers as he flexes over your kneeling form. 

You could tongue him for hours if he’d let you, suckling the shrinking head of his uncut cock, but he pulls out; shaking, sensitive, and self conscious. He kneels on the floor to be at your level, his corduroy pants still covering his knees and shins but he’s bare everywhere else. He embraces you and you cradle him in a ruby red dream, a scarlet ship in the sea of the nightmare that has become his life. In this locked little room, nothing feels real but who cares- who fucking cares about what’s real? Reality is fucked, reality is so much messier than this sticky bathroom floor. He clutches your torso like a pillow and twists his hands in your hair like legs in sheets. 

-

Holy fuck, he thinks. He usually falls asleep after he cums, his body trained through years of fisting himself in the en suite at midnight, and he is so fucking tired he’s worried he might pass out in your arms. You’ll leave him here; he’s certain, here on the floor, unconscious. A student will eventually find him here, trousers at his ankles, and he’ll lose his job on top of everything else he’s lost today. But you’re scratching his back lightly and not budging an inch under his heavy embrace, and he can’t bring himself to worry that you’ll leave him. You wouldn’t do that.

-

You twist yourself within the crush of his gratitude and kiss the tip of his lovely nose. His hair no longer looks like its been pulled from frustration, but from passion; and his red eyes are no longer haggard but dopey with relief. He smiles widely and chuckles with disbelief, planting his forehead on your clavicle. 

“I haven’t gotten a blow job in… I don’t know, at least 3 years?” He sounds giddy and he laughs against your chest. 

“You poor mensch.”

“That was… amazing. You know- I didn’t think this was where the day was going to take me but…. Shit. Honey.” He’s still shaking, pawing at the back of your top and kissing your sternum. “You’re going to make one hell of a psychiatrist, you know.”

You stroke his hair and kiss the top of it and giggle. “If that’s psychiatry, then I want my student loans cancelled.” 

He shakes his head. “That was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“I’m nothing if not a philanthropist. Now get up and get dressed, we should call you a cab.”

“My car is in the staff lot.”

“And there it shall remain.”

He tilts his head to look up at you, the heaviest eyelids you’ve ever seen behind crooked glasses. 

“You don’t want me to return the favor? I’d really fucking like to return the favor. Been dreaming about putting my head up your skirt for a month straight.”

You rub your palms up the warm smooth flesh of his chest. His offer is tempting, very very fucking tempting. You’re wetter than a rainforest, but he’s so very tired, and there will be other bars, other bathrooms, more anatomy classes. Besides, this was for him. “Keep dreaming, professor. No offense but you look half dead right now and I’m not into necrophilia.”

He blinks slowly at you a couple times before agreeing, “That’s fair.” 

He straightens his glasses and braces himself against the wall to stand. He offers you his hand and he hoists you up. You help him button up his shirt that, thankfully, has no visible stains from the dubious floor. Once he’s all zipped up, you check yourselves in the marked up mirror. You’ve got a bit of smudged mascara and your hair is, well, very tangled at the roots, but you pull yourselves together well enough to not draw too much attention when you exit and make your way back over to Scotty. If anyone noticed or cared about your dual emerge from the ladies room, they sure do play it cool. 

“Scotty, you grabbed his bag, yeah?” You brace your hands on the bar, giving Scotty a winning smile. 

Scotty says nothing but stoops to reach under the bar for Professor Levy’s bag and hands him the leather sack over the bar. Scotty is always on it. What a peach. 

“Thanks…” Jonathan had obviously forgotten that he’d left his bag behind when he followed you to the bathroom. Scotty gives him a single nod. 

Jonathan nudges your shoulder and whispers, “can you ask him if he has my mug?”

“You didn’t bring your mug today, remember?”

“No.”

“Well you didn’t.” You slap a fiver on the rubber mat for Scotty. “One more favor, Scotty, can you call this mensch a cab?” You wink at Jonathan who doesn’t seem to catch what you’ve said. He’s leaning on the wooden top, eyelids curtaining and it seems a miracle that he’s still upright. To most people, especially within the context of the bar, it’d probably look like he was drunk, but you know that he’s nodding and swaying from exhaustion.

You face him and put your hands on his hips, hugging his middle. He raises his eyebrows like that’s going to help prevent the closing of his heavy lids.

“I’d love to stay and see you off, but I gotta go- I have a psych group project and if I don’t leave now, they’re going to put my name at the bottom of the power point. You know that’s the death row. And since, as we established, I’m not showing my chocha to Gloria, I doubt she’ll be as lenient as you might be.” 

He nods and waves you off off of him, “I’ll be fine, go, go.”

You step away from your casual embrace tentatively. “Yeah? Because you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I was standing before you were born.” He smiles, amused with himself and fuck if he isn’t the cutest thing.

You’re about to leave but then you remember… “Oh- one more thing”, You reach into the front pocket of your bag and pull out a handful of red lace, bunching it in your fist you covertly shove it into the front pocket of his loose corduroy trousers. Not even Scotty saw that move. 

Jonathan eyes you quizzically and reaches into his pocket and when he feels what it is, his eyes go even more dopey, if that’s possible. 

“Thank you.” There’s a gravity behind those two little words that feels weightier than cheap lace panties. 

“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow professor.” You wink at him at him and wave goodbye, turning on your heel, heading for the door- bag slung over your shoulder. You hope to christ you remembered to pack the the ab psych notes for Aleesha or she’s going to bite your damn head off.

With one foot out in the sunlight you turn around to call, “Bye, Scotty! Take care of him, and make sure he gets his cab.” 

Scotty gives you a thumbs up from behind the bar, landline receiver at his ear, already calling the yellow taxi. Fucking champ. 

-------

I tagged people who asked and others who I thought would be interested. 

@roanniom @jedi-mando @santiagogarcia @supernovafeather @paper-n-ashes @veuliee @soyelfuegoquearde @montygirl @wyn-dixie @witchyavenger @writefightandflightclub @isvvc-pvscvl  @picklesgoose @mylifeisactuallyamess  @general-latino @winniedaboo96-blog @youvebeenlivingfictional @aerolanya @tlcwrites @revolution-starter @mariesackler @millllenniawrites @woakiees @dreamingindigital @writing-in-april @nowritingonthewall @waatermelon-sugaar @pumpkin-stars @kesskirata @budcooper @kikis-writing-world @blackberries45 @teacore-hunny  @beepboopyoda @jellybelle @hotchlover-blog  @ophelialoveshandsomemen  @samspade @emilykjh @writefightandflightclub @gottalovethefandom @temptressofwaikiki​ @mstgsmy​ @brandyllyn​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @abelslittlebunny​ @moon-kn1ght​

[sbnslver]

Say It Ain’t So

Pairing: Stephen Strange x reader

Warnings: Alcohol mentioned (nothing bad), One curse word.

A/N: I’m back and it feels so good to be able to write again! Requests are still open.

Word Count: 1121

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Although you promised yourself you’d never come back to one of these, here you are at a Tony Stark party in your best clothes, searching for the reason you even showed up. Your eyes finally met him and you smiled, walking over to him.

"Y/N, you came." He chuckled, pulling you in for a brief hug. He looked gorgeous in his well-tailored suit, not that he ever didn’t. "I’m going to get another drink. Can I get you anything?"

"No, I’m fine, thank you." Ever since the last party, you have learned your lesson on letting go a little too much. Stephen disappeared in the direction of the bar, and you made your way to Natasha, who was watching the interaction go down.

"You tell him yet?" She smirked into her glass, taking a sip. 

"Hey! You promised you wouldn’t interrogate me about him anymore." You playfully slapped her arm.

"Don’t make it so obvious that you’re into him then," she laughed. "Anyone in this room could see that you’re in love with him, except him, of course."

"What about you? See anyone at this party worthy of your taking?" You joked, turning to look at her as she choked on her drink.

"Are you crazy? Most of these people are just rich assholes; they are definitely not worth my time." She downed the rest of her drink. "I’m getting another. Are you coming?" She was already walking away, waiting for your answer. 

"No you go ahead, I’ve seen what I’ve come to see. I’m going to leave soon." She laughed, finally walking away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You had been at this party for over three hours, and it was enough for you until you heard yelling coming from the opposite side of the room. You looked over and saw Stephen on top of one of the very expensive tables in an attempt to sing. You rushed over and called out to him to get him to come down.

"Stephen, what are you doing?!" You gently pulled on his arm, bringing him down to the table. What you didn’t expect was for him to put all his weight on you to keep himself steady. You struggled to lead him to the seating area, staggering away from the center of the party.

"Y/N, you came!" His cheeks were tinged pink and his eyes were droopy. You knew he could take his alcohol, so you were confused as to why he let himself get this way.

"Yeah, you said that earlier." You quipped as you tried to get him to take a drink of water. "Stephen, I think that’s enough partying for you. Let’s get you to lie down. Can you stand?" He nodded and shot up, running to the elevator without you. "Hey! Wait, I have to make sure you’re okay." You pushed the button, beckoning the elevator to you.

"You’re always so nice to me." He giggled, poking your cheek. "I am sure drunk, aren’t I?" He burped.

"Yeah, and in the morning you’d better expect a lot of questions as to why. This isn’t like you." You looked at him worriedly. He always talked to you when he was going through something, so you were a little hurt that you were left out of the loop this time.

The elevator dinged and you dragged Stephen inside, pressing the button to the floor where your room is. You’d never make it if you had to take him to his house. Once you reached your floor, you placed his arm around you and dragged him to your room, where he plopped on your bed.

You began to take off his shoes and tie when he said, "At least take me to dinner first." You laughed and stared at him pointedly.

"You are going to owe me so much, Stephen Strange." You moved to unbutton his collar so it didn’t choke him when he grabbed your cheeks in his big hands and pressed his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. "OH-" you jumped back and moved your hands to cover your lips. You could feel your cheeks burning. 

It felt like hours before you looked back at him. You could tell he was asleep and was blissfully unaware of your racing thoughts. You stared at him, his chest rising and falling with every breath. All this time, there was a mutual attraction going on, but neither of you made the first move, so to say the least, you were shocked.

You finally moved forward and grabbed your comforter to place it on him as he peacefully slept. Moving to your closet, you pulled out extra blankets and pillows to make a makeshift bed on your floor. Not bothering to change, you forced yourself to sleep, ignoring the millions of thoughts that were going through your mind after the kiss.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You woke up to the sound of groaning, and instantly you were reminded of the night's events.

"Y/N? Why am I here?" You heard Stephen say as he sat up and rubbed his head. 

"Well, you were really drunk and you started climbing on tables. For your safety, I brought you here to sleep off the alcohol." You yawned, stretching your arms above your head.

"Oh no." He groaned. "Thank you for that. I don’t know what came over m-" He stopped in mid-sentence. Afraid, you shot up and turned to look at him. He had a look of sheer horror on his face.

"Stephen? What’s wrong? "

"I remember kissing you. Why do I remember kissing you?" He boomed, causing him to wince at his sudden loudness. "Did I... kiss you?" He whispered, finally meeting your eyes. 

"Well..." He groaned, throwing himself back on your bed and covering his face with his hands. You could see his ears turning pink.

"Stephen, it’s okay. Honestly, it was just a drunken mistake." It hurt to say, but it was the truth.

He peeked at you through his fingers to see if you were angry. "Well that’s just it, it wasn’t." He sighed. "Originally, I had taken a drink as liquid courage to finally face you and tell you how I felt, but obviously I couldn’t control myself... I like you... Y/N" He looked at you, and you could tell his confession was heartfelt.

"I like you too. I thought I made it obvious." You said brushing down his unkempt hair. He leaned down, eyes on your lips, until you pushed him back lightly. "I would totally kiss you, but I can smell the alcohol from here." You laughed.

"Right, right. I’ll go get cleaned up and I want that kiss later." He laughed. 

"Of course I’ll be waiting." you joked, joining in his laughter.