#but that could get a bit complicated for an off the cuff post

[omegaversebookshelf]

one of my sub-sets of omegaverse worldbuildings is a fantasy setting where alpha/omega is fae gender. “beta” is literally just humans.

[x-authorship-x]

I loved your Tenten/Shisui post-drabble and I was curious to ask, is there any other Shisui ship you might like with the Konoha 12 (except imouto Ino and cousin Sasuke ofc)?

Hey Anon!

Hmmm, TenTen was completely off the cuff tbh... But let me see what I can do.

Disclaimer: I'm going to have to point out that I look at ships I write and ships I read in very different ways. Reading pairings is completely up to how well the writer convinces me, I only have a few combinations that I dislike and won't move past. Writing... My writing is a bit too complicated for that, I really struggle with just slapping characters together. If you've read my previous shipping posts, I generally try to find a common ground/harmony between people. I'm Ace, it's just how I define romance and relationship, and ships...well, theoretically anyone can sleep together. To me, shipping is the meeting of personalities so just... Bear that in mind. I can't just write about people being hot lmao

Shisui, as a meeting of characters, is very very good for shipping. In Narutoverse, people are defined by their devotion to causes, people, their own "nindo". Shisui can skew in lots of directions; on one hand, he's a sweetheart with undying devotion; on the other, there is nothing he's unwilling to do for his cause, he can torture and deceive and it will be worth it for the result. So much potential!

Disclaimer: this is if I personally could write it, not a condemnation of shipping or characters

For the Rookie Nine Generation:

TenTen: you came here because of this so~

Lee: nah, there's a difference between dating someone younger and dating Gai's pseudo son and Shisui just would NOT

Neji: there is a huge potential here for the bonding of older geniuses who have their whole lives laid out for them in the service of their younger, Heir cousin. Shisui's Mangekyou ensured that no one could ever really control him, he was tied only by the devotion and obedience that he himself cultivated. Neji, however, has (sorry for the heavy handed metaphor) clipped wings; the stronger he gets, the more vital it is that the Elders keep him under tight control. I think they could have marvellous angst as well as a lot of tenderness. Mirroring each other, opposites of each other, Neji may deeply resent Shisui's freedom and Shisui might lament the clarity of status within the Hyuuga. Neji may also understand that if anyone can help him break free, it would be Shisui and Shisui would definitely help him. We could get a lot of Uchiha-Hyuuga friction, the spare nephews coming together despite this

Shikamaru: this is a bit of a funny one. The chances of Shisui getting involved with the Commander's son are so slim it's hilarious, also Shisui is all about speed and terrifying precision and giving his all 100% of the time, literally the opposite of Shikamaru for most of the series (the precision is there but it's often late or acknowledged but unused). However, after the war? Shikamaru is jaded, he's sharpened by wartime, he's brutal, but I still don't think they'd align. Shisui has been this all along and I don't think he'd be able to forgive Shikamaru intentionally dragging his feet for so long, just as I think Shikamaru would look into Shisui's darkness and go "hmm, troublesome". It's funny though because I'm imagining Shikaku's reaction and it involves almost swallowing his cigarette 🤣

Ino: no. Just... No. Even if they weren't basically related in my mind, the mess of personalities would be massively entertaining but also deeply disturbing and now I'm like agshqjskqka ewwwwww~

Chouji: this is cute only because they are both cute, wholesome people who deserves warmth and acceptance and domestic bliss. Maybe Chouji would be strong enough to hold Shisui even in his darkness, maybe they'd be viciously protective in the field but soft and warm at home. As people, they would be a good pair only because they'd know how to be good to someone else. But can I see them together-together? No ❤️ Shisui would be a great surprise groomsmen at Chouji's wedding though, maybe I should write a spin-off about him babysitting all of InoShikaCho...

Naruto: Shisui would rather jump off that cliff again ✨ a lot of people would push him (for his own good)

Sasuke: 🤡 no

Sakura: Ino would leave no survivors. There is a lot of cuteness in this ship, a lot of great art, but it's not gonna happen in my writing ✌️

Hinata: she's shy but strong, Shisui would be great for her self esteem and her growth as both a person and a Shinobi. I'm not sure Hinata wouldn't just heavily remind Shisui of Itachi. As it is, they would be great friends, really good for each other as people, but romantic? Not in my books, tbh

Kiba: I don't think Shisui would be able to handle meeting Hana's eyes, not even getting into the rest of it. They picked their siblings up from school together, Shisui and Hana and Itachi, and it's just... 🤡🤡🤡🤡

Shino: I'm sorry but Shino wouldn't want Shisui 🤣 like with Hinata, there is such potential for understanding and growth and companionship but not romance

🎉Bonus Round!🎉

Temari: this is a great ship, just because of the Wind Country antics. Would this classify as a political marriage? Temari is brash and strong but also manipulative, I feel like they'd get on a treat. She's a proper spitfire, Shisui knows exactly how to push buttons without getting REALLY in trouble. Also I love love love the idea that Gaara might be Kazekage but Temari is her father's Heir and she's a princess too, Shisui is technically her foreign diplomat kept husband. Also Shisui would be A MENACE with mirages and his speed across the plains and dunes... *Dreamy sigh*

Gaara: the ANGST, the TENDERNESS. Shukaku is losing his fucking mind that the person Gaara dates is the Uchiha with the ability to rewrite reality and this has the potential to be absolutely hilarious. Also Gaara's ultimate defence shield against Shisui's Shunshin would be so so fun, wandering the dunes together and being murder husbands with gentle words ❤️‍🔥 Shisui, through growing up with Itachi and also helping Tenzo, will be well versed in helping Gaara navigate his lack of socialisation as well as bloodlust, Gaara will be able to look into Shisui's darkness and touch him very delicately and deliberately. This whole thing screams knowing silences, dramatic landscapes and very carefully chosen words with a wealth of meaning behind them. Also imagine the serial killer AUs. Yes, yes I have been revisiting Hannibal (TV) fanfic.

Kankuro: this has the potential for play and for bite. Lots of discussion of masks, the sanitisation of Shinobi life, the performance of it all. Kankuro is snarky, he would rather have the last word and be killed for it than let something lie, and this would be unsettling as much as it would...scratch an itch in Shisui. The ability to wound your partner without irreparably harming a relationship would be something... good, maybe. Sometimes you need to be gentle and careful and other times you need to lash out and have a partner who will meet you blow for blow, like two waves crashing together. And afterwards, you are panting and bleeding but you're also alive and the other person has proved that they are too, that you're equal matches, and that would be very good for Shinobi. Kankuro also has a mischievous, playful side that matches Shisui. They can act out, Shisui will get away with it and Kankuro might not, and it would be a shared game and camaraderie between them. They absolutely fuck with people, the more scandalous the better, and their favourite victims/audience are politicians during fancy meetings they attend as part of the Kage entourages (Diplomat Shisui + Advisor Kankuro, anyone?) They also take a lot of pride in embarrassing Gaara+Sasuke+Ino+Temari+Itachi

This is a lot, probably way more than you signed up for, but...enjoy! ✨

[gideon-ix]

Nona Identity Conspiracy Theory #5098372038

I haven’t seen anyone else make this joke(?) about who Nona is - I mean, it started as a joke, at least.

But consider: we can be fairly certain Nona is in Harrow’s body, and they’re apparently trying to figure out who she is (most likely between Gideon and Harrow, all things considered, and especially with the Ass Jokes Thing lol).

Four things to consider, now:

1. They seem to be thinking of this as a definitive “either/or”. The joke tally, etc., and some comments they make, seem to make this pretty clear.

2. Pal has somehow gone from living in a skull/hand to residing in Cam’s body. He also transferred his own soul into that skull, initially. Pyrrha also was independent enough of G1deon that since his death (?) she’s got the body - probably a Gideon-And-Harrow type situation, sans lobotomy. So this lil group has the ability to keep souls independent, and transfer them back and forth into bodies AND objects, and what that’s like/how it manifests.

3. Nona’s inner monologue mentions her childhood, which is particularly interesting:

“ Palamedes had soft cool eyes of brownish grey, like bare ground in the cold mornings when Nona had been little,”

4. We have those little bits of second person poking through, as some people have pointed out. What I’ve kinda noticed about those is the nature of them: almost instructional about how to behave/consequences of mistakes, or referential to essential information about who you can trust or what people are like, etc.:

“ Her fingers fumbled a little with the vest, but she was fine pulling on the UV sand shirt, even with arranging the cuffs, which could be complicated and if you got it wrong you had to stand in the bath to take it off again in showers of yellow dirt.”

“There was a baby wailing in morning-related outrage a few apartments away, so Nona walked on the balls of her feet to not add to the noise. The people underneath hated it if you walked loudly,”

“ She could not even make out a letter, not of any alphabet she’d ever been shown, which interested everyone except herself. But you could always trust Cam.”

“[P]eople noticed your hair growing less when it was already long, Camilla said. Camilla and Pyrrha both got to have short hair, which she envied. Cam’s was dark brown and bobbed off sharply at the chin and it felt nice against your cheek,”

“Coffee, Nona?” even though she always said, “No, but thank you”—Palamedes liked giving you options—and he even waited until she said, “No, but thank you” before he poured the boiling water twice.”

“In their absence Nona considered the eggs. They were a uniform yellow colour, with dusty black flecks of pepper. You were allowed to put as much thin, fiery red sauce on them as you liked,”

So where am I going with this? I’ll use the alphabet this time so I can refer to the numbers:

A. Gideon and Harrow’s souls were maybe all...wonky? post HtN. Muddled up enough that while they were separate, it was hard to tell the difference. We at least get The Pool Scene, and what seems to be Harrow’s perspective, but there are a couple oddities, which indicate some sort of ‘scramble’ here, maybe between Gideon and Harrow?:

“I like it. I like the water, I like her hands.”

“Her hands?”

“They’re the things around me—maybe they’re my hands.”

B. Anyway. So Camillades, or whatever spelling we’re all going with, maybe opted to Science It. Split ‘em up, and just figure out one. But do we have quite enough function from this one now that it’s been isolated? Proooooobably not. Homebrew lobotomy and all.

C. So we (Camillades) need a soul that functions as a living being, but is distinct enough from Harrow or Gideon. The more distinct, the better.

D. At this point, we cannot forget the summary: 

“In many ways, Nona is like other people. She lives with her family, has a job at her local school, and loves walks on the beach and meeting new dogs. But Nona’s not like other people. Six months ago she woke up in a stranger’s body, and she’s afraid she might have to give it back.”

E. And another essential individual, who we have not seen in the preview, but we know about via the cover of the book, and the Dramatis Personae:

“Noodle, king of dogs in secret, white-adjacent, small sized, six legs”

F. At this point, you may see vaguely where I am going with this. Because here is the joke theory I propose:

G. Nona is Harrow and Noodle in Harrow’s body. H. And Gideon is in Noodle.

I. Here’s my overall logic:

A dog’s soul would be pretty damn distinct from a human soul. 

“Loves walks on the beach and meeting new dogs” sounds like...well, a dog. 

A dog would need a few reminders on How To Human, and What Is Expected Of A Decent Human, 

And providing those? VERY Harrow, I think? I don’t know that Gideon would give a fuck lol.

One of these is, apparently, putting on clothes properly. Specifically “arranging the cuffs”, which leads me to -

“The things around me” as a description of hands? Dogs don’t have hands, so maybe the description thereof got weird when being conveyed to Camilla. And it’d explain some of the weird issues with ‘arranging the cuffs’, although that’s stretching it a bit maybe, lol.

“She could not even make out a letter, not of any alphabet she’d ever been shown, which interested everyone except herself.” Dogs, of course, cannot read, but Pyrrha and Camillades would probably have expected that whoever’s Human Soul is in there would take over for that part?

Camilla’s hair “felt nice against your cheek” - other than some of the ‘Nona has a crush on Camilla’ vibes here, this would be a brand new sensation for a dog. 

As for why a dog for this specifically? If you put Harrow in a dog’s body, that would be a VERY weird dog. Very distinct from how dogs usually are, and let’s be real here, this would be a nightmare scenario combination between a dog (loves bones) and an osseo (we do bones, motherfucker)

Gideon, however, would probably fit right in as a dog.

Nona is very attached to Noodle, it seems. King Of Dogs, and all that. Why? Maybe some undercurrent of the whole “I am undone without you” thing. 

Noodle has 6 legs. Maybe some Bones were used to help transplant the soul. Or maybe the world is just fucked up and we wound up with a dog with 6 whole leggys. The latter is more likely, but the other dogs seem to be perfectly ordinary 4-leggy dogs.

Dog soul: would prioritize Dogs for birthday party invite. 

YOU WILL LOVE NONA, AND NONA LOVES YOU. Doggo confirmed.

But also Harrow, because of latent memories. The Pool Scene - and the thing about soil “when Nona was little”. 

And we can’t forget that Harrow was pretty little when all that Wild Shit happened with her parents, and she probably didn’t really go outside in the mornings much, anymore.

(Gideon did, though, if I remember correctly. Talking to the skeletons, wondering if any of them were her mom, etc etc., plus training, etc...I don’t think she would classify cold morning soil as a “when she was little” sort of thing.)

Anyway. Like I said, this started as a joke theory, and is still a joke theory, but like...I don’t even know anymore. I’m finishing this writeup during a combat session in one of my D&D games, because that’s where my life is at. 

I will leave you with a requisite “Nona loves you” - regardless of who Nona turns out to be. And feel free to rip this apart, I love all the theories, I know I’ve forgotten stuff, etc etc. 

[logmosswrites]

That Hum of Night

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Hanzo Shimada x fem!reader x Jesse McCree

Words: 4k

Warning: NSFW! 18+ only. Definitely PWP, wet dreams, BDSM dynamics, Dom Hanzo and Jesse, Sub reader, dirty talk, humiliation/degredation (verbal and otherwise), praise kink, nipple play, dry humping, rope bondage, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, orgasm delay/denial, vibrator use, unsafe sex, creampie, oral sex/cunnilingus, come marking, aftercare. No y/n.

Author's note: cross posted to AO3.

There was nothing but heat. No up, no down, no world at all outside of the bodies pressed against yours. Your legs parted to make room for them, urging them closer still with every whimper and moan rolling off of your lips. You were hopelessly desperate, open and dripping for anything that would fill you. Fingers lazily fucked you open, joining a writhing tongue inside of your pussy. Hanzo and Jesse were everywhere all at once, sating your hunger as quickly as it appeared. Their mouths claimed every inch of skin they could find, the hot flash of teeth and tongue on your neck leaving you to gasp for air. You thrust your hips forward, shame long abandoned to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. Please, you begged, just at the precipice of orgasm. Suddenly, deft fingers latched onto your aching clit, hard and punishing; you rocked with them, winding tighter and tighter until-

You woke up.

Slowly, the world came back to you, trickling in like a leaking faucet. Your mouth was dry; your heart pounded in your ears. You felt overheated, damp with sweat where you were sandwiched between Jesse and Hanzo- oh shit, Jesse and Hanzo .

“Sweetheart?”

And there was Jesse.

He was leaning over you, lit up by the moonlight filtering in through the curtains. Bracing yourself, you looked into his eyes, surprised to find concern instead of the amusement you expected.

“Are you alright, darlin’? It looked like you were having a pretty intense nightmare, there.”

Wait- nightmare?

“You nearly pushed me off of the bed,” interjected Hanzo from behind you, voice betraying his worry. It was only then that you noticed the rumpled blankets, piled up where you had tried to kick them off. Shit.

In response, you simply rolled over and tucked your flaming face into Jesse’s chest, unwilling to correct their conclusion. Jesse allowed this for a moment, but soon took your chin in hand, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, now, you don’t have to hide from me–from us. There’s no shame in bein’ a little shook up by a bad dream, sweetheart. Hell, even I get scared by what my brain decides to cook up sometimes,” the man said, sealing his words with a kiss to your forehead. You felt a tiny bit of guilt gnaw at you as he settled back down onto his side, bleary eyes watching yours for any sign of distress. But it wasn’t really lying, right? How would they ever even find out?

“Come here,” said Hanzo, snaking his arm around your waist. You went freely, fighting a shiver as you felt his familiar body conform to yours. “You are safe, my love,” he whispered, “in this bed, you are safe.” With that, your boyfriend pressed his lips to your neck, ghosting over it as he had in your fantasy. Your body reacted accordingly, hips rolling forward and a gasp hitching in your chest. You slapped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late; the room was fraught with tension, none of you daring to even breathe. Well, fuck.

“Sweetheart-”

“I-”

Silence once again.

“Do you need us to sleep somewhere else, darlin’? It’s alright if-”

“No!” you exclaimed, eyes wide. Jesse searched your face for the truth, scrutinizing your awkward expression. You avoided meeting his eyes, shifting under the weight of Hanzo’s arm. Slowly, the cowboy seemed to put two and two together, lips pulling together into a dimpled smirk.

“Hanzo, I don’t think our baby girl had a nightmare."

Kill me, kill me, kill me, you chanted inside of your head, feeling Hanzo’s grip tighten as he caught up to the idea. For a split second, you considered actually lying, dismissing it just as quickly when you saw Jesse's smirk turn devilish.

"Is that true, beloved?” Hanzo asked, breath warm on your ear, “Are you trying to hide something from us?”

This time, you couldn’t suppress your shiver. Damn, Hanzo and Jesse knew just how to play you.

“You naughty little slut,” admonished Jesse, “Let’s see how wet you are under those panties of yours.” Lightning-quick, the man reached under the covers, hooking his fingers into the offending piece of fabric. Viciously, he tore them down, yanking your knees forward in order to get them all the way off. Your breath caught in your throat as he brought your panties into the hazy light of the bedroom, showing off the soaked inner lining.

“Well, would ya look at that? Our baby girl made a mess of herself, Hanzo. What should we do about this?”

Holy shit, you were going to die, right here in this bed.

“I think,” spoke Hanzo, voice gravelly, “that we should make her clean it up.”

And fuck, if that didn’t make you even wetter. Jesse considered you for a moment, eyes gaining a ferocious gleam as he noticed your quickly-growing arousal. Without preamble, he pushed your underwear into your mouth, wrapping them around two of his thick fingers. Instantly, you began to suck, tongue working around the cloth. Jesse pushed deeper and deeper in response, nearly activating your gag reflex. As it was, your eyes swam with tears, barely able to make out your boyfriend’s face turning deathly serious as he concentrated on you. Hanzo, unwilling to be left out, began to knead his hands into your flesh, pulling your sleep shirt up in order to play with your quickly hardening nipples. His scorching-hot mouth then sank onto your skin once more, lavishing your neck with kisses. You could hardly think, hardly breathe. Desperate sounds came from deep in your chest, muffled by Jesse’s unrelenting fingers.

Minutes, or maybe hours, flew by before your panties were taken from your mouth. You drew in a greedy breath, panting from sheer desire. God, how much more could you take? You were positively soaked at this point, aching with a need for friction. You knew better than to try and seek your own release, yet you still gasped when Hanzo snatched your hands away from your throbbing clit, reprimanding you with a harsh bite to the shoulder. A hoarse cry tore from your throat, reverberating loudly in the dark bedroom.

“You,” drawled Jesse, “have been a bad, bad girl, princess. First, you made a fucking mess of your panties, which you tried to hide from us. Then, you went and played with your tight little pussy even when you know you’re not allowed to. I think you’ve earned yourself a punishment, slut.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck , that could mean anything. Punishments from Hanzo and Jesse were rare, but you knew you were in deep, deep shit regardless. And if his predatory grin was any indication, Jesse knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Hanzo, put her on her back. I want her begging by the time I’ve finished tying her up.”

With that, your world was disoriented, your view changing to that of Hanzo’s face right above yours. You felt more than saw Jesse getting off of the bed, quickly distracted by your other lover smothering you with a savage kiss. You did your best to reciprocate, but you were no match for Hanzo’s overwhelming influence. You could feel his hard cock pressing into your thigh where he straddled you, covered only by his cotton briefs. Before you could even think about moving your hands towards it, though, they were captured once more and pressed up above your head; holy shit, Hanzo moved fast.

“What a little whore,” Hanzo spoke, finally allowing you to draw in a breath, “So desperate for cock, you poor thing. How did you ever survive before we came along?”

Jesus Christ.

Hanzo, satisfied by your stunned silence, turned back to the task at hand, finally tearing off your shirt and sucking hickeys onto your bare chest. His goatee was coarse against your feverish skin as you rose up to meet him, writhing beneath his iron grip. You threw your head back, only opening your eyes when you felt Jesse grabbing your now-unoccupied wrist. In his other hand you saw a length of red rope, a frequent addition to your bedroom activities.

“Color?” Jessie asked, momentarily abandoning his dominating façade. Hanzo paused as well, considering you like he might consider his bow; serious and straightforward. You sucked in a deep breath, stomach swooping in anticipation when you croaked out a confident “green”.

With that, you were pulled back into Hanzo’s blazing inferno, hands and teeth and tongue setting your skin aflame. As Jesse maneuvered your wrist into a complicated cuff pattern, Hanzo took hold of your nipples once more, rolling one between his fingers as the other was caught between his teeth. Christ above, it was like someone had injected fire straight into your veins.

“You likin’ that, baby girl?” Came Jesse’s voice, off to the other side now and distinctly smug. You sent him a glare, tempered by the heady sensation of satiny rope being pulled against your sensitive skin. Jesse merely winked back, his roguish attitude written all over his relaxed-yet-confident posture. With one final flourish of the cowboy’s fingers, your hands were firmly tied to the headboard, spreading out to either side of you in a comfortable stretch of your shoulders. Before you could get too settled, however, Hanzo was moving his rough, calloused hands towards your hips–with a jerk, you were pulled flush against him, his erection just barely grazing your sex. Two forearms planted themselves next to your head, decisively caging you in.

“Jesse, tie her up like this. I want to make sure we have plenty of room to fuck her without restraint.”

God. You couldn’t believe Hanzo’s mouth.

“You got it, boss,” Jesse replied easily, taking your ankle in his hand. Heat curled low in your gut as your legs were spread wide by the cowboy’s unyielding grip, exposing you to Hanzo’s hungry gaze. The heat multiplied as Hanzo adjusted his hips, your own twitching up to meet him halfway. Yes, yes, yes, you thought, nearly salivating in anticipation. Slowly, ever so slowly, the archer began to roll his pelvis against yours, finally giving you the friction you had been craving. It was heaven; it was perfect. Hanzo steadily began to increase his rhythm, grunts of pleasure growing louder and louder along with your punched-out gasps. The man loved to do this with you, spending hours grinding on you as you cuddled to watch a movie or even as you were falling asleep in his arms.

“That’s it, beloved. Can you feel my cock? Do you want it?” Frantically, you nodded, head swimming in a slurry of arousal and desperation. “Then beg for it, you whore.”

Fuck. You could barely think a coherent word, much less say them–but you tried anyway, panting a quiet oh and yes and please as sweetly as you could. The archer only gave a noncommittal sigh in response, clearly unimpressed by your performance.

“How disappointing, Jesse; it sounds as though our little whore doesn’t want to be fucked after all,” came Hanzo's patronizing voice, sinking low in your stomach–the man never made empty threats, especially in the bedroom. A teasing slip of Jesse’s hand set you to begging, words tumbling past your lips before you could even process them. “God, please, please, Hanzo, fuck, Jesse, please, fuck me!” you cried, pleading your case in a way that could make a porn star blush. After a moment of stunned silence, all three of you came back to your senses.

“Fuck,” Jesse snarled, chest heaving. “Fuck.”

In a flurry of motion, he was tying you off, finishing the cuff on your other ankle; then he was diving towards you, capturing your mouth with his in an animalistic mix of lips and teeth. Small, possessive noises issued from the cowboy’s throat, buzzing on your tongue like the bubbles of a sweet champagne. A scorching hand burned down the lines of your body, setting your newly-formed bruises alight with sensation. You shivered in anticipation–you wanted, needed Jesse and Hanzo inside of you now.

All thinking stopped, however, when deft fingers finally reached your oversensitive clit; you jackknifed upwards, breaking your kiss with Jesse. Your hips bucked under Hanzo’s weight as you gulped in air, starving for oxygen and touch in equal measure.

“That’s it, slut,” Jesse said, voice rigid. His eyes were positively wild, stormy with need from where he was hovering over you. A glance at Hanzo’s face revealed much of the same. You imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a ship in a storm, to be something so small in comparison to nature’s unparalleled power. You opened your mouth in silent prayer as Jesse’s fingers laved over your sopping cunt, dragging them over your lips like the pages of a book. Without warning, he slipped two thick fingers inside of you, stretching you open while working his thumb in small circles over your clit. Oh, God. Your dream couldn’t even begin to compare to the actual feeling of Jesse’s hand, moving in and out with enough force to rock your whole body. Lewd noises filled your ears, setting off yet another round of sparks fizzling through you. A familiar surge of pleasure began to crescendo in the pit of your stomach, drawing out more breathless whimpers from somewhere high in your throat. However, just before you could reach your orgasm, Jesse’s thumb slipped from your throbbing clit, leaving you to clench around his fingers to no avail. Fuck, fuck, no! Just a little more...

Your eyes opened to meet Jesse’s face, finding that his impish smirk had slipped back on.

“Awww, darlin’, ya look so sad,” the man teased, crooking his fingers just to make you whine. “Don’t worry though, we’re just getting started…”

Equal measures of excitement and dread shot through you at his words. Hanzo and Jesse, while loving boyfriends, knew exactly how to push every single one of your buttons; in short, they could be assholes. Beautiful, sexy, lovable assholes. Paying your trepidation no heed, Jesse withdrew his hand from your hole, leaving you empty and shivering. Jesus, you were a mess.

“Wanna taste?” Jesse asked–but he wasn’t talking to you. No, he was offering his hand to Hanzo, who regarded the cowboy with relentless heat in his gaze. A silent something passed between them, before Hanzo was leaning in and taking the slick digits in his mouth, staring into Jesse’s eyes the entire time.

“Good, right?” Jesse said, voice gravelly once more. Hanzo simply hummed in response, before withdrawing once again. Another tense moment slipped by, in which it got harder and harder to remember how to breathe. Jesse’s eyes flicked downwards, then back up to Hanzo, seeming to ask a question; nearly imperceptibly, the archer nodded, drawing in a short breath when Jesse’s hand moved down to grasp the hem of his underwear. You bit your lip as Hanzo’s cock was revealed, red and leaking at the tip. With just a touch of Jesse’s fingers, precum was dripping onto your stomach, increasing your own arousal tenfold. Leisurely, the cowboy began to jerk Hanzo off, grip loose and taunting.

“Look at our girl, Hanzo,” Jesse commanded, swiping his thumb over the other man’s cockhead. “Look at how fuckin’ desperate she is for you”.

Hanzo’s eyes snapped to yours, and you felt the full weight of his attention crash down on you– fuck, he looked feral, lips pressed in a snarl and dark hair falling just past his chin. You couldn’t help but look away, feeling suffocated by Hanzo’s gaze; however, a metallic hand grasped your cheeks, wrenching your head back to look at your powerful lovers above you.

“Eyes up here, slut,” Jesse reprimanded, “I want you to watch him as he ruins that pussy of yours, understood?” You nodded. “Good. And don’t you fuckin’ dare cum before I tell you to, or else I’ll edge you for a week straight, got it?” Another nod, and he finally relinquished his hold on you, leaving a dull pain that you hoped would flower into bruises.

As you were told, you kept your eyes trained on Hanzo’s face, watching his eyes flutter as his cock was guided to your entrance. Once, twice, he slipped out, before he was slowly pushing in, inch by inch. God, he filled you perfectly. Finally, as Hanzo sank completely into you, Jesse relinquished his hold, stepping away to admire how the archer curved around you like a great beast getting ready to devour a meal. Arms shaking, Hanzo fell onto his elbows for support, hot breath sweeping over your face. He was close enough now that you could see beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. You were the only one who got to see Hanzo like this, aside from Jesse–it was a fact that never seemed to get old, no matter how many times you had joined him in bed. Equally as tantalizing was the slide of his cock inside of you, beginning to move in short, calculated thrusts. Instinctively, you clenched down, earning a warning glare from Hanzo–but you were already in trouble, weren’t you? What would be the harm in doing a little teasing of your own?

Staring Hanzo in the eye, you purposely flexed your muscles once more, feeling a hot rush of slick slowly drip out of you. In a momentary lapse of control, Hanzo buried his head into your shoulder, letting out a strangled moan. You couldn’t keep from responding with a shit-eating grin, putting Jesse’s own signature smirk to shame. However, your expression dropped as you caught Hanzo’s thunderous face, towering over you as he rose back onto his hands and knees.

Oh, shit.

“You. Worthless. Whore. ” the man hissed, jaw clenched, “It seems as though you need to be reminded of your place.”

With surgical precision, Hanzo bottomed out inside of you, pausing for just a moment before retreating once again. Another thrust, and it was clear that your self-control would be pushed to the limit; already, you were falling apart, legs shaking from the sheer effort it took to hold back your orgasm. But Hanzo took no mercy on you, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning helplessly. Fuck, this was getting difficult-

“Jesse, bring me the vibrator.”

God fucking dammit, you thought, your stomach dropping. Without so much as a stutter in his hips, Hanzo took the wand from Jesse’s outstretched hand, watching you intently as he nestled it right next to your clitoris. Your eyes flickered between the two sights, drinking in the sheer power your lover held over you. Then, with a click of a button, you were straining upwards, feeling as though you were being wrenched straight out of your body. Another click, and the vibrations grew even more intense; you longed to bury your hand in Hanzo’s hair, to scratch your nails across his muscled back, to do anything but sit there and take it. Each breath you drew in was cut off by the next, a staccato beat matching the rhythm of your racing pulse. You were close, so close that you could taste it on your tongue– shit!

“Did you really think I would let you cum, slut?” Hanzo asked, still thrusting in and out of your hole without care. Your whole body shuddered helplessly, hypersensitive after being denied once again. As you attempted to catch your breath, Hanzo reached down and twisted your swollen nipple, forcing you to lock eyes with him.

“I asked you a question, whore; answer me,” the archer commanded, practically growling, “Do you think you deserve to cum on my cock?” As if to punctuate his question, Hanzo slammed his hips forward, fucking you hard enough to pull against the ties at your ankles.

“Fuck! No!” you screamed, on the verge of tears. Your voice was wrecked with desperation, hoping beyond hope that the teasing would be over soon. However, you were soon at the mercy of the vibrator once again, letting out a whine at the feeling of it on your tortured clit. Hanzo sped up his pace, sitting up on his knees to watch every inch of your thoroughly marked body writhe underneath him. “That is right, you cumwhore. You do not deserve the honor of an orgasm at my hand. You are lucky that I am willing to fuck you in the first place.”

The vibrator was shut off once more, and you humped against it frantically, reserve long abandoned. “Go ahead, you stupid whore,” Hanzo encouraged, “Humiliate yourself. I want to see how pathetic you look when you cry.” A sob flew from your lips as the toy buzzed to life, only to be shut off seconds later, then turned on again, a sadistic pattern that made your hips jump and stutter on Hanzo’s cock. You could feel the archer’s perfect rhythm begin to falter, signaling his quickly-approaching climax; his moans burned hot on your skin, sending wave after wave of throbbing pleasure through your trembling body. Finally, you felt Hanzo seize up, almost uncannily still in the wake of his orgasm. Scorching cum flooded your hole, arousing enough to make your battered walls flutter with desire. A few heartbeats later, and Hanzo was crashing back down over you, gulping in air like a dying man. Tenderly, he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, love and awe written in his furrowed brows and slackened mouth. As he breathed against you, you could feel your own hitching breaths slow, agonising desire fading just slightly into a dull roar.

Two pairs of hands whispered over your body, freeing your limbs from their confines, massaging the marks imprinted upon you by the ropes. You felt yourself float away just a little, untethered by chaste kisses pressed to your cheeks and soft hands stroking your thighs. Hanzo’s shifting body weight brought you back to the present, where Jesse was taking his place between your legs; Hanzo unceremoniously flopped to the side, grace all but forgotten in his post-orgasm haze. Your eyes opened slowly to see Jesse looking down at you, positively fit to burst with quiet affection. You smiled back, tensed and eager all the same.

"Ya did so good, darlin'," Jesse said, tone far softer now, "So good for us. Are ya ready for your reward?"

The praise melted into your skin, smoothing the raw edges that had been so expertly laid bare by Hanzo. With a simple nod, Jesse leaned in to kiss you once more, as slow and saccharine as honey. You embraced him in return, palms gliding over the coarse and ruddy plains of his cheeks; you felt like you were glowing from the inside out. Like a wave drawing across the sand, Jesse retreated, hands whispering down to your thighs. The rest of his body followed close behind, settling down between your legs with practiced ease.

"So beautiful, sweetheart," Jesse praised, "I can't wait to make you cum."

And there it was again, the knife's edge of hot desire. Almost subconsciously, you weaved your hands through Jesse's locks, giving them a tug. Jesse groaned deep in his chest, rekindling the flames in your gut. Your cowboy was so responsive. You pulled his hair again, set alight as Jesse muffled his moans into your sweat-soaked thigh.

“You’re gonna kill me, darlin’,” Jesse threatened, kissing his way towards your drenched pussy. A witty retort died in your throat as his tongue flattened against your swollen lips, lapping at the obscene mixture of cum and slick slowly dripping out of you. “Fuck,” you breathed, struck senseless by the hot-wet pleasure of Jesse’s plush mouth. An answering groan rang in your ears as the cowboy finally dipped his writhing tongue into your hole, drinking in the lewd slurry with feverish dedication. Your hands tightened into fists, pulling Jesse further and further in until his nose was pressed flat against your pussy. You whined; a sharpness ran through you along with pleasure, heightening each in a whirlwind of sensation.

Breathless, Jesse pulled back for a moment, sucking in air like a drowning man. In the low light, you could just make out the shine of your slick soaking the cowboy’s goatee–holy shit, that’s hot. Then, with fervor, Jesse was back to it, making you yelp as he latched onto your clit. You ground against him, his tongue sending shockwaves up and down your body; you were shaking with the oh-god-too-much of it all. Every inhale was a battle. Every movement made you see stars. Then, finally, finally, Jesse tore himself from your body, looking you in the eye as he said, “Cum for me, sweetheart."

You felt the command flow through you, breaking down walls and crashing into your nervous system. Jesse bent his head and sucked your clit hard, bringing you to the very edge once again. Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm, he encouraged you, nearly whimpering; he was bucking his hips, and fuck, fuck, fuck, shit! You were cumming into Jesse’s mouth, vision whited out by a dazzling starburst. Your legs crashed into the cowboy’s face, pinning him to your gushing pussy as you rode out your orgasm; your whole body was spasming, uncontrollable with pleasure. Then, like a puppet cut loose, you were limp, releasing Jesse from your death grip.

The cowboy shot to his knees, ripping his boxers off as fast as possible; his flushed cock was bared, aching and practically dripping precum. "Fuck, babygirl," he moaned, hand flying, "I'm gonna-fuck, I'm gonna cum!" A final groan, and Jesse was falling off the edge with you, release streaking against your rolling abdomen--followed quickly by Jesse actually falling on top of you.

"Holy shit," you laughed, "Get the hell off of me, you jerk!" A gargled mess that might have been a "no" was your only response for a moment, before the pile of sweat and various sexual fluids that was your boyfriend rolled off of you. You couldn't help but giggle at his dramatics--god, you loved your idiots. A moment of silence permeated the room, until you yawned; oh yeah, it's like three A.M...

"If you two are done, I believe it is time for some aftercare," said Hanzo, sounding equally as tired. With his help, you got up, only to fold in half from the sore feeling radiating through your pelvis--fucking fuck, you forgot how much of a bitch this could be. Seeing your discomfort, Hanzo scooped you up, carrying you to the en-suite bathroom. You heard Jesse follow you in, fetching a second set of sheets from the linens cabinet. Carefully, you were set by the toilet, Hanzo turning to allow you some privacy. After finishing your business, you were escorted to the shower, where the archer tenderly cleaned you off. From there, things got blurry--you vaguely remembered the smell of arnica cream, the feeling of a soothing wipe on your swollen lips, strong arms carrying you to bed, and a tender kiss placed on your forehead. Then, you were off to sleep, dreamless and peaceful.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Likes are appreciated, reblogs/comments keep me writing! Let me know what you thought, your favorite passage, or even what time you're reading this at (bonus points if it's 1 A.M. or later). Toodles! ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

[butwhyduh]

A Date to Remember

Damian Wayne x Superman’s daughter reader

Damian is 20, reader 19, Jon is her little brother at 18 and Kon acts like an older brother to her.

Warning: angsty and kidnapping

You’d always told Damian that the sunset on the Kent farm was the best in the world. Damian smiled a little as he drove down the long road to Smallville. Damian had thought about classic dinner date in one of Metropolis’ fanciest restaurants but you insisted on meeting him in a barn.

He felt underdressed. Blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Why did he let Jon help him get dressed? He felt ridiculous but at least he wore sensible shoes. But deep down Damian knew you world like it. And he was certainly willing to feel a little foolish for you.

Clark was off world and Lois was on a mission. Jon had his own date in the city so it was the both of you alone tonight. How long had it been since the two of you were alone without someone around? Between his half a dozen brothers and your family with literal super hearing... yeah it’s been tough. So being 50 miles from everyone was kind of a dream.

Damian pulled in the driveway with some flowers and walked up to the house. He knocked on the door only for it to swing open. Damian noticed the splintered door frame and his heart sped up. He called your name. Act like the rich billionaire son while working like Robin, even though he wasn’t quite sure he still wanted the name.

He scanned every surface and he noticed a small scratch near the back door after looking through every room. Most people wouldn’t even notice it. You weren’t there. He looked closely and saw drag marks in the gravel path to the barn. His heart was thundering at this point. You weren’t in the barn either.

You were half Kryptonian but the genetic inheritance was complicated. Jon had won the lottery with having most of his father’s powers and not being as sensitive to Kryptonite. You had lost it. Hypersensitive to Kryptonite and only some speed and increased hearing and strength. Barely about the average human. You weren’t a fighter.

Damian pulled out his phone to call Jon.

“Bit busy here, Damian,” Jon said, sounding far from amused. Damian could hear kissing noises in the background and frowned. He didn’t want to hear that.

“Your sister is missing,” he said and he heard a lot of movement on the phone.

“What??”

“The door jam was kicked in and there are scrap marks of her being dragged away. I think she’s been kidnapped,” Damian said. His voice felt tight. He, son of Batman, let his girlfriend get kidnapped. “Whoever it was clearly waited until she had no other Kryptonians around to grab her. It wasn’t a coincidence that she was taken tonight. Can you get out here? I’m calling father to try and trace her. Her phone is missing too.”

“I’m leaving in 5. Damian, if Luther has her, she can’t handle Krytonite,” Jon said, worry bleeding into his voice. “It’s like it poisons her.”

“I know. But we don’t know who has her. Let’s hope they don’t know she’s part Krytonian,” Damian said, already mentally moving on to his next step. Contact Bruce. Get the bat computer to trace her. Look for more evidence. Don’t freak out completely that she might be poisoned by Kyrotonite.

“Okay. I’m about to fly. I’ll see you soon,” Jon said before hanging up.

——————————

You woke up with a cough. You head throbbed and your stomach rolled as you laid in a bed? Maybe a couch? It was a horrible feeling but you knew exactly what it was: Kryptonite. You couldn’t forget what how that stuff made you feel. You tried to look around to see it but the room was completely dark. Night vision would be nice but you got human eyes. Your slightly enhanced hearing heard nothing but the wind outside. Okay, you were ground level or higher.

You tried to twist in the cuffs that bound your hands only to cry out. There was the Kryptonite. It was on the outside of the cuffs and you almost threw up at it touched your skin. You were cuffed with Kryptonite to a hospital bed, you figured. What other bed had areas perfect for cuffs? Your legs were equally restrained and you felt so exposed in the dark room.

Your dad was off world. He wouldn’t hear you if you called for him. But Jon might. But if you yelled, someone might come in and who knows what they would do. You’d wait a little bit longer. You wanted to fall asleep. The Kryptonite made you feel so dull. Like the first time you were exposed to it.

You were all of 4 years old. Your dad had brought you with him to the Justice League meeting. Relatively safe and Batman promised Robin would watch you. Dick was so excited to be a babysitter. You had hugged him tight enough to hurt before running to the climbing wall.

“Hey!” Called the 16 year old. “I brought games instead!”

You warily walked back over to him and card games and board games fell out of a duffle bag as he opened it. Half the stuff you were far too young for. You bent down as he scooped up his gameboy. You pulled out some games and open a side pocket to grab a small metal box. Dick sat down his gameboy carefully before turning back to you.

“Don’t open th-“ he started before you pulled open the box to show a bright green stone. Followed by you throwing up all over his bag of games. You dropped the box and sat on the floor. Dick quickly closed the box with the piece of Kryptonite and put it in his pocket. He had boroughed one of Bruce’s bags that apparently wasn’t fully unpacked.

“Dad, I don’t feel good,” you said as Clark ran over. Dick looked at you so guiltily.

“I didn’t know,” he swore. “I’m so sorry.” Bruce stood by quietly.

“We need to talk later,” Clark had told Bruce and yeah, they were mad at each other for a while.

——————————————

Jon arrived shortly in a dress shirt and slacks and he looked at Damian just as weird as Damian looked at him. They had basically switched clothing.

“Not to judge but that’s date clothing? You told me to not wear flannel,” Jon said accusingly.

“That’s because your sister wanted me to wear this,” Damian said back. “Let’s focus on finding her. Father’s calling me now. We’ll change in a minute.”

“Hello, you’re on speaker phone,” Damian said.

“Her tracker is showing a warehouse owned by Luthor Corp in downtown Metropolis,” Bruce said. “Do you need help? I can see if Dick is nearby.”

“No thanks. Jon will help me. Thank you, father,” Damian said before hanging up.

“Luthor. I knew it,” Jon said with a frown. “Wait, you put a tracker on my sister? Does she know?”

“Now is not the time. Let’s get to Metropolis,” Damian said, changing the subject while both got dressed. Jon nodded and offered his arms. “I’m not being carried like that. I’ll hold on your back,” Damian said. Jon rolled his eyes and nodded again.

As they flew over corn fields and pastures, Jon began to question Damian. “So when did you put this tracker in? Does she even know? Where is it? Do I want to even know?”

“It’s sub-dermal in her forearm and I haven’t told her yet. And it’s irrelevant right now as it might save her life,” Damian said and Jon looked disgusted. “We need to focus on saving her and then you can be her angry brother.”

“Wow...”

————————————

You moved and the cuffs burned your skin. You gasped and screamed “Jon! Kon!” You called out to them hoping one of them would hear you.

“Dad!” you cried frantic. There was no way he would hear you. “Damian! Jonathan! Conner!”

You panted and your head pounded. You were so tired. You’d lose consciousness if no one saved you. Then who knows what they would do to you.

“Superman!” You screamed desperately before finally passing out.

——————————

“Did you hear that?” Jon said as they flew towards the Metropolis skyline.

“No all I hear is wind. What did you hear?” Damian said.

“Y/n. She’s calling for us,” Jon said speeding up.

“Is she okay?” Fear bled into Damian’s voice.

“I can’t tell. I’m trying to hurry,” Jon said flying quickly towards the industrial area of the city. He landed on the roof of a warehouse. Jon’s eyes glowed as he looked through the building.

“7 men. 4 posted outside the door to the room that’s she’s being held on the 2nd floor. Her heart rate is steady and she isn’t screaming any more. Almost sounds asleep,” Jon said after his analysis.

“Probably tranquilizer. Father’s data said this building is used for research purposes. Does that fit?” Damian asked.

“Uh more like research subject holding. Maybe a small lab on the first floor but other than cameras everywhere, there isn’t much science stuff that I can scan. But also the basement is sealed off,” Jon said.

“How?”

“Lead bound. You can check it out while I rescue her. 4 guys is nothing,” Jon said making a fist.

“Hold on. Luthor would probably have her surrounded by Kryptonite. Just in case one of you look for her. And that’s the last thing we need,” Damian said. “I’ll rescue her and you look for the basement. Knowing Luthor, it’s probably an entire facility of experiments below. He just hadn’t gotten her room ready yet.”

Jon looked frustrated. “Fine. You rescue her but be careful. She is the weakest of us. She’s not invulnerable to bullets or anything.”

“Most of the people I rescue aren’t either,” Damian reminded him. “And I’m certainly not taking a chance with my beloved.”

Jon looked over to respond but Damian was already gone. Just like the rest of the bats: silent goodbyes. Jon quietly moved down to the first floor. He was working but at the same time, his ear was trained on his sister’s heartbeat. Jon might be the younger sibling but she didn’t have powers and he felt so protective.

—————————————

Damian rolled his eyes at the 5 ways he could see that the security sucks in the 3 minutes he hung out the window before climbing in. Large rafters and guards who didn’t bother to look up. Not to mention the fact that they let there be a solid wall between the set of guards which meant that Damian was easily able to jump down to knock them out in pairs without the other set knowing. If the security was any worse they would leave the door unlocked.

The door wasn’t unlocked but it was a deadbolt that Damian easily disabled. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was on purpose. He gulped before opening the door. What if you were really hurt? Or dead? Ignore and get in there.

Damian opened the door and he felt white hot rage. You were tied to a bed and were unconscious. You were in a nice dressy shirt and sweatpants. They’d clearly taken you while you were getting dressed. Damian wanted to kill them. He had to take a breath to help you. Jon was taking them out and Damian was on rescue. He had to stay level headed.

Even the cuffs on your wrists were inadequate. If they had attempted to restrain Damian, he would have gotten out in 3 minutes. When he was 6 years old. The Kryptonite had left nasty red burns on your skin and he clenched his jaw at the sight. Jon better be punching extra hard.

Damian picked you up bridal style and you groaned a little before turning your head against his chest. The farther he got you from that fucking Kryotonite the better you were. He took you to the roof and you started waking up.

“Damian,” you said softly and a little confused.

“Hey you’re awake. How are you feeling?” He asked looking all over your face for injury.

“Kryptonite. I hate that stuff,” you said. Damian grabbed your hand and you hissed. He looked to see bright red knuckles. You’d clearly fought at some point. He certainly knew the signs of punching someone.

“You fought back?”

“Yeah and hitting someone in a helmet and body armor sucks. I got just a few in before they pulled out the damn rock. I throw up every damn time,” you said shaking your head.

Before Damian could comment on how brave and stupid it was to punch body armor, there was a huge crash down on the first floor as someone flew in the building through the window. You grabbed him tightly.

“What the hell is that?”

“Kon. Conner’s here. I’m up here,” you yelled.

Conner flew up to the roof. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Kidnapped. Damian and Jon saved me. He’s still down there actually. Can you check on him?” You said. Damian suddenly stood up.

“What if you were a distraction and the real problem is downstairs?” Damian suddenly said with clarity. The Kryptonite alone was enough to hold you down. The half ass security was to hold their attention when they rescued you. Jon was already flying back down before Damian could say more. Damian weighed his options: leave you alone, bring you with him, or stay out of it and while the last sounded nice, he’d have to go in case of more Kryptonite.

Before Damian could decide, Kon was back on the roof. “You’ve got to come see this.”

Downstairs was a lead lined basement. That alone had you nervous. Jon stood by the door. Little spattering of blood could be seen on his hands. He had a hard look.

“Warning: this is going to be messed up,” he said and you were even more worried. You walked in to see cages. Kids. Unconscious adults lay around in the hallway. “They were experimenting on them.”

You felt nauseous.

“My father is on the way. This is much bigger than I thought,” Damian said messing with his comms. His free hand was on your shoulder protectively.

There were 8 kids in cages. Bruce was running tests on their blood and investigating the area as you helped to get them out of the cages. What a terrible Valentine’s Day.

“Beloved, let’s get you home. We can stay at the farm tonight. You need sleep,” Damian said worried. You looked at him distracted.

“They’re just kids.”

“Come on. Let’s go. Kon is going to stay there too. Just for the night,” Damian said helping you up. Kon flew you both back to the farm.

“I’m going back to help. You okay, kid,” Kon asked as Damian inspected the house.

“I’ll be alright. Just help those kids,” you said.

“Yeah, of course,” he said ruffling your head. You rolled your eyes. “But seriously, the way you screamed I thought you were being murdered.”

You stiffened. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Kon knew when to quit. Something he had learned from Tim. He gave you a big hug and flew off towards Metropolis.

“Hey. I made your bed so you can sleep,” Damian said quietly. “And a change of clothes.”

You nodded and went upstairs. Damian helped pull off your shirt and put on a sweater. He looked at the marks around your wrist and red knuckles but didn’t note any more bruises or cuts. You pulled on sweatpants and climbed in small twin bed that Lois kept for guests. The pink and yellow flowery quilt felt warm and comforting on your skin. Damian lay beside you after changing and looked at you seriously.

“What is it,” you asked.

“I was so scared tonight. I have been doing this for years and I’ve never been so worried,” he said softly and you looked down and flushed. If you weren’t so freaking sensitive to Kryptonite this wouldn’t have happened. Damian gently lifted your chin and you looked at him.

“I was scared to lose you,” he said running his thumb across your cheek. “I’m going to drive you absolutely mad because I don’t want to take my eyes off of you.”

“Yeah?” You said with a little smile.

“Uh hm. But first sleep,” he said and your body certainly agreed. You curled into him and rest your head on his chest. His arms held you tightly before rubbing your back. You fell asleep to Damian staring at you. He stared at you all night, not even sleeping when Kon came in a few hours later.

———————————

“I have to know what all that was, Bruce,” you said at the Batcave the next day. “I was in there.”

He looked at you for a minute. “They were experimenting with meta DNA. All of those kids have gifts and they wanted to take you too. There were even plans to inject those kids with your blood to see if it would affect them.”

You shivered a little at the thought. Lex Luthor and his obsession with Kryptonian DNA.

“All the records were burned. Most of the warehouse too. Your brothers were.... thorough. And Clark will be home in a few days,” Bruce added.

“Really?”

“Yes. And he’s furious at Luthor. Probably will call soon. He wanted to let you sleep earlier. We’re just running programs here. Why don’t you and Damian go upstairs,” he suggested.

“Bruce Wayne,” came a stern voice behind you. You turned to see your mother, Lois Lane, looking like she was going to beat up Batman. “You put a tracker in my daughter without her permission?”

“You what?” You said.

“Actually that was Damian. Though I want to point out that it helped save her life,” Bruce added. Lois slapped him soundly across the cheek. Bruce just blinked and rubbed his cheek.

“Damian, you put a tracker in me?” You asked shocked. You’d assumed Jon had heard you or Damian’s detective work brought them to the warehouse. Not an invasive tracker in your body. “What the hell?”

“Well I can explain..”

[dinosaurtsukki]

solitude | fyodor dostoevsky x gn!reader

part 3 of broken, continuation of savior

summary: for the first time in a long time, you're free of fyodor with him in prison. however, you find yourself wondering if this is what you truly want

word count: 1.1k words

contains: stockholm syndrome-ish (depending how you look at it), slight manipulation

anon: Hi ! First, I hope that you’re okay, I wanted to tell you that your work is soooo great, I really support you. Then I wanted to ask you if you could write a part 3 of « broken ». I really loved « broken » and « savior », you are very talented.

a/n: ahh i'm so flattered but thank you !! broken was actually my first fyodor fic so i'm surprised people like it and asked for a sequel. i was kind of on the fence with how to end this series because y/n and fyodor's dynamic is a bit complicated but i hope it came across here!

you're loathe to admit it, but every time you heard a doorbell ring or a knocking on the door, you hope that it's fyodor finally returning home.

it had been more than two weeks since fyodor had enacted his master plan using cannibalism to get the port mafia and armed detective agency to turn against each other. you weren't completely privy to all the details of fyodor's plan or the bigger organization he was working for, but he did let you know that being sent to jail was a part of it.

"you're free to use this space, especially since the special division and armed detective agency are cracking down on the rats of the house of the dead," fyodor told you one night.

"is that so?" you raised an eyebrow at him. "i see you're playing favorites then."

"you've only noticed my favoritism now?" fyodor chuckled. you found it almost funny in hindsight how your relationship had evolved from him manipulating you to playful banter between the two of you.

"you won't be seeing me for a long time," he hummed, absentmindedly twirling a piece of your hair with his index finger. it had become a habit of his that you didn't find entirely unwelcome. "should i leave you a little souvenir so you don't miss me?"

"you're already leaving me your place," you scoffed, waving a hand at him. "that's enough. i have to lay low for the next couple of weeks too."

"that would be advisable," fyodor nodded, letting go of your hair and sitting a little farther from you on the sofa. you hated that you almost wanted to move a little closer. "i've made sure to take care of my tracks. they shouldn't inspect this place."

"alright," you said, paused, before adding "thank you."

the next morning, he was gone before you even woke up. aside from the emptiness of the apartment, you were left with an ambiguously melancholic feeling.

now, he was gone and you had more than enough room to breathe. if you wanted to, you could even finally run away after making sure the coast was clear. but you had already established a while ago that there was more benefit to you staying with fyodor.

maybe the decision you were grappling with was whether or not you actually missed fyodor.

'impossible,' you thought, physically shaking your head as if trying to correct yourself. and despite what you told yourself, there could only be one explanation as to why you frequented fyodor's study so much and took care to wipe his cello case clean every night.

in fact, you began staying in the study more often each day. the desk was as neat as fyodor had left it with his laptop and several files and books stacked neatly on the table. one book in particular, caught your eye.

"the complete collection of t.s. eliot poems," you read aloud. suddenly, you remembered one of the first time you and fyodor had talked in the library, back when you were just a college student and he was just a handsome stranger.

of course, you could tell that the placement of this book could only be deliberate. "of course you'd leave something for me," you spoke out loud, as if he could hear. carefully, you opened the book and found a space neatly cut into the middle of the pages and a flash drive embedded inside.

...

"well, if this isn't quite ironic."

fyodor doesn't look surprised at all to see you standing in front of his jail cell. in fact, it looks as if he had been patiently waiting for you all this time. and that's because he has.

"you couldn't have left your escape plans in a more obvious place?" you sighed at him.

"but that was obvious," fyodor blinked innocently at you. "i knew you would find it at the right time."

did he know you'd be spending most of your time in his study? it was embarrassing to be known that well but you read intently through the plans he had encoded in the flash drive. you couldn't believe what fyodor was asking of you this time because surely he overestimated your abilities.

"couldn't you have asked someone else, someone more capable, to do this for you?" you asked him.

"what for? i have complete confidence in you," fyodor smiled. he was dressed in the white clothes all the other prisoners wore. you could tell that he had lost quite a bit of weight due to his stay and both of his hands were cuffed. and yet, he looked absolutely delighted at seeing you.

and that gave you a deep sense of satisfaction.

you pressed a hand to the bulletproof glass of his jail cell. "remember that night? when you broke me out of jail?"

"of course i do," fyodor hummed, leaning back and closing his eyes as he savored the memory. "that was sloppy work on your part. anyone could tell that you had an ulterior motive to get yourself caught."

"yeah, yeah. i'm aware," you rolled your eyes.

"ah, but look at you now," fyodor cocked his head. 'you've changed,' was on the tip of his tongue and you could only agree. even if fyodor wrote up the plans for his escape, you were still the one who snuck into the facility and incapacitated more than a few security guards to break him out.

who would have thought this is where you'd end up?

you keyed in the passcode on the door before stepping inside the jail cell. fyodor held his cuffed wrists out to you and you sighed and crouched down in front of him.

"you couldn't have at least picked the lock on your cuffs?"

"i'd rather you do it for me," fyodor smiled at you.

you didn't even need to be told twice. he was the one who had taught you this skill after all and your fingers worked quickly at the lock. of course, you were aware of fyodor intently staring at you and the way his fingers brushed at the inside of your wrist. finally, the lock clicked open and his metal cuffs fell away.

"finally. they tightened those a bit too much," fyodor sighed, rubbing the red marks on his wrists.

"you must have said something to offend them, like always," you emphasized.

"how was i to know they were going to be offended?" he scoffed as the two of you practically strolled out of the jail cell and into the hallway. "i assume you've been enjoying your time alone at the apartment."

"the silence was definitely a plus. although admittedly..." you trailed off and caught fyodor's glance. "i do miss the sound of your playing."

"is that so?" he chuckled amusedly and flexed his wrists. "i'm out of practice but, i think i can arrange something for you when we get home."

you nodded with a bemused smile on your face. "when we get home."

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

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[onigirimsby]

call me home [ch. 6]

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Character: Ushijima Wakatoshi

Pairings: Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader

Tags: angst with a happy ending, post-timeskip, fake-dating

Warnings: none (so far)

You’re an ex-child star, now professional model. Ushijima is the professional volleyball player you get paired with for an ad campaign. Somehow, you convince him to simply let the paparazzi spread dating rumors for publicity. What could possibly go wrong?

masterlist ao3

Chapter Six: beloved (past tense)

Though you made a point to arrive on time, Ushijima was all ready to go by the time you got to his apartment. He had the door open as soon as you buzzed his doorbell, as though he’d been waiting nearby. Pleasant goosebumps crawled up your skin when you saw him. Ushijima couldn’t help but notice how you’d bit the inside of your lip a little as you smiled at him and took in his outfit. His shirt was a nondescript dove grey that looked soft but fitted exquisitely, flowing over his broad shoulders and chest, before tapering down his waist. His trousers were a much darker shade but still grey, as expected of Ushijima. They fit just as well, though you tried your best not to dwell on that for propriety’s sake.

Ushijima gathered himself first, remembering his teammates’ reminders to compliment your outfit. “You look beautiful.” He looked so serious as he said it that you couldn’t help the heat creeping over your chest.

“You look really good too. Did you have this tailor-made?” You asked as you reached over to unbutton Ushijima’s cuffs to gently fold them over his solid forearms. He looked a little too uptight otherwise. Ushijima’s skin prickled deliciously where your fingers brushed against him, and your proximity had his heart thudding in his chest. A few inches closer and you would be inside his arms. He shook the thought out of his head.

“I had a few sets tailored for press conferences and dinners with my mother when she’s in town.” Ushijima said.

You thought about that. Ushijima had always given off a very unpretentious, even modest, vibe to you, outside of volleyball. In fact, even his aggression and confidence on the court was never overblown, and simply because he was just that good at the sport. You wondered what kind of life he led where having dinner with his mother meant dressing up. Could it be possible you were more alike than you realised?

“Toshi, you went to Shiratorizawa, right?” You asked as casually as possible.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Don’t be mad,” you looked up at him after finishing with his other sleeve. “It’s protocol for my mother to do a background check on the people around me. My image affects the image of my mother’s agency, of course. If I’m not perfect, then parents won’t sign their little rising stars up to be managed by my mom’s agency.”

Ushijima’s lips pulled down ever so slightly. “I think my mother did a background check on you as well, when the rumours of us dating started. I told her we were just friends, but I’m sure she did the check anyway.”

“I thought so. Shiratorizawa is an expensive private school, right? You’re not really an ordinary person, are you, Wakatoshi?”

No one had ever accused Ushijima of ordinariness in his entire life. It never used to bother him, even when his high school teammates teased him about how odd he was, it was always in a friendly way. “Do you want me to be more…ordinary?” Ushijima asked, though he couldn’t quite understand what you meant.

You shook your head and smiled up at him. “I don’t think I’m very ordinary myself. I was just worried I was dragging you into something much too complicated, but maybe I’m underestimating you.”

Ushijima cleared his throat. “Are you sure you won’t be too cold?” He asked, pointedly looking at your dress. You’d chosen a fit that accentuated your best features, in a colour that complimented your skin so that you were practically glowing.

“I’ll be fine.” You said. “Shall we?”

---

As predicted, there were photographers outside Kaoru's building, and they were doing a terrible job of pretending they weren’t there. You saw Ushijima frowning in their direction as he helped you out of the car.

“Don’t worry. We want them there, remember? It’s part of the…thing.” You said, surprised at how guilty you felt putting him in this situation. You placed a soothing hand on his stomach for the cameras’ benefit, marvelling at what you felt beneath the smooth fabric.

Ushijima nodded, though he wrapped a protective arm around your shoulders, turning both your backs against the cameras. You thanked your driver, knowing he’d be parked and waiting for you when you were ready to make your escape. You slipped an arm around Ushijima’s waist as you made your way to the elevator reserved for Kaoru’s penthouse.

As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, you reluctantly dropped your arm from around Ushijima’s waist. You could already imagine how exhausting Kaoru’s party would be and you anticipated a certain someone being there too. The thought made you want to lean into Ushijima even more, but you knew you didn’t have the right to do that. The two of you may have gotten along well, but for his sake you didn’t want to make the mistake of indulging in the fantasy of intimacy. Ushijima took your cue and let go of your shoulders, letting an uncomfortable silence permeate the elevator.

When the elevator opened, you saw that the party was already well underway. The penthouse was large and minimally (but expensively) decorated, yet you couldn’t even find your friend among the guests. You wove between people, towing Ushijima behind by his hand, until you found the hostess.

It was easy to spot Kaoru once you were in the same room. She was dressed in a vibrant pink and green bias cut dress made of silk that flowed over her body, the effect a combination of effortless luxury and offbeat youth. Her dark hair was styled in a way that was eccentric yet somehow flattering on her. And of course, her bright energy commanded the room. When you finally caught her eye, you greeted each other with squeals of delight.

“Where’s the birthday boy?” You asked.

“He’s taking a breather! Do you want to see him?” Kaoru noticed the little wrapped box in your hand. “You can leave your present in his room.” She practically had to shout over the din.

“Of course! By the way, this is Ushijima Wakatoshi, my plus one.” You said, staying pointedly vague. “Toshi, this is Miyake Kaoru. She conceptualised and designed that ‘mythical creatures’ photoshoot I did.”

They greeted each other politely, though even in the party’s dim lighting you could tell Kaoru was eyeing Ushijima up and down. It was hard to tell whether she was attracted to him or judging him, and for Kaoru, it was often both.

Kaoru led you down a less crowded hallway, greeting people and talking to her guests all the way. Finally, she stopped at a room and opened the door quickly, ushering both you and Ushijima inside. The room was obviously designed with a puppy in mind. There was a beautiful dog house styled as a castle in one corner, and a large chest of dog toys. Low cushions and seats dotted the room. Treats and hygiene and bath supplies were safely tucked away on higher shelves. It was a playroom full of everything a dog could need and more.

“Valentinoooo!” Kaoru crooned as a gorgeous golden cocker spaniel bounded to the door. “How’s my baby boy? We’re not being too loud are we?” Kaoru continued in a cooing voice.

“Hey boy, happy birthday.” You said kneeling to lavish the dog with praise and affection.

Valentino finally noticed Ushijima who stood awkwardly against the door. The dog sniffed him up and down, clearly Kaoru kept him well-socialised. He was unafraid of strangers. Ushijima on the other hand looked at you helplessly.

“Valentino, this is Ushijima.” You said to the dog, mostly for the man’s sake..

“Let him sniff your hand.” Kaoru said. Ushijima did as he was told, squatting closer to the dog. Valentino gave his hand a cursory sniff but as he was no threat, immediately grew bored and returned to you and Kaoru.

You thought Ushijima almost looked like he was disappointed and wanted to pet the dog. After all, Valentino was incredibly soft. “Do you want to pet him?” You asked. Ushijima nodded and came closer, petting the dog tentatively.

“He likes you.” Kaoru said encouragingly.

After a few minutes of playing with the birthday dog, Kaoru excused herself. She had other guests to entertain after all. You followed shortly, making sure Valentino’s door was securely shut.

“Do you want something to drink?” Ushijima said, speaking close to your ear so he could be heard. You could almost feel his lips against the shell of your ear. You felt the sudden urge to turn your head just the fraction it would take to kiss him. The thought startled you enough that you could only nod.

Ushijima could easily see over the crowd of party guests, and he pulled you close against his side as he carved a path to the bar. Your heart stuttered when you spotted a familiar figure ordering a drink. He was tall and lean, with wavy hair that was almost blond, styled to look effortlessly sexy. The man turned and locked eyes with you. It didn’t matter that it was too dim, the only light coming from the colourful strobe lights scattered across the penthouse. You could never forget the exact shade of his hazel eyes. He smiled brightly, as though he’d been waiting for you all night. He called your name, and you could feel the cold sweat prickling your skin. It was all too familiar; the way he said your name, the way he smiled at you as though he could read your thoughts and found them laughable.

“Luc…” You managed, as soon as you were close enough for him to hear. Ushijima noted the unusually blank look on your face, and how it didn’t match the other man’s friendly grin, though you two only had eyes for each other.

“Hey, I was hoping you’d come.” Luc said, in place of a greeting. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” You said. It felt like your brain was short circuiting. It didn’t add up how he could talk to you so casually after breaking your heart so thoroughly.

“Who’s this?” Luc said, referring to Ushijima.

You collected your thoughts, reflexively balling your clammy hands into fists. “This is Ushijima Wakatoshi. We did a sportswear ad campaign together.” You said, and Ushijima wondered why your voice was suddenly hollow and small. He’d never heard you like this before, and for some reason it bothered him, though he didn’t know why.

“I’m her plus one.” Ushijima said, repeating what he’d heard you say before. He draped an arm around your shoulders, protective, but not possessive.

“Fujiwara Luc.” The man said, reaching out for a handshake. Ushijima let go of you to shake Luc’s hand, and he was surprised when you grasped the back of his shirt. Ushijima had never been the best at reading or understanding people, but it worried him that he couldn’t tell if you’d held onto him on purpose or not.

“How do you two know each other?” Ushijima asked. You tried to look calm, but inside you were flushed with shame, and some frustration at Ushijima for asking the question. He didn’t notice the bemused expression on Luc’s face, or the way you focused your gaze to the floor.

“You never mentioned me?” Luc addressed you instead. He was smiling and feigning offence, but there was a smug edge to it. You wondered if Ushijima could tell. “We used to go out. It was kind of a Thing online for a bit. People get so fixated on celebrity couples, you know?” He said dismissively.

Ushijima shrugged expansively, keeping you secure under his arm again. “No. She never mentioned you.” You looked up at him and recognised Ushijima’s expression. It was close to the intimidating confident look he wore on the court. You weren’t aware of your actions, but Ushijima felt your grip on his shirt loosening.

Luc’s smile faltered into a frown for a split second, but he’d always been excellent at mastering his expressions. He gestured to the bar behind him. “Chuhai, right?” He said, addressing you again and ignoring Ushijima pointedly.

“Actually,” You addressed the bartender, “I’ll just have a tonic and lime, please.” You were already uncomfortable and unsettled. You didn’t need alcohol to complicate things. Ushijima ordered a soda, taking your cue.

You received your drinks quickly and excused yourself. “I’m going to go say hi to everyone.” You told Luc. “It was good seeing you again.” You said, walking away before he could respond.

“Are you okay?” Ushijima asked, leaning close as soon as you were far enough away from the bar.

You were surprised how relieved you felt. It had been months since you last spoke to Luc, and when you did, you were devastated to find he still had that much control over you. Now, he certainly still had an effect on you, but you’d managed a normal enough conversation. You knew he’d be at the party, and you’d been dreading seeing him again, but you couldn’t avoid him forever. It was a relief, you realised, that you could step away from him little by little.

You placed your free hand over Ushijima’s cheek, and to your surprise, he leaned into the touch. “I am. Thank you for having my back there.” You said. Ushijima was glad to see you smiling again.

“Let me know if you want to leave.” He said.

“Toshi, I should be the one telling you that.” You said, laughing, though you appreciated the gesture. “Unfortunately, the night’s far from over. Come on, we have more people to greet. We’re here to see and be seen.” You said jokingly, though it was the truth.

You took Ushijima’s free hand in yours and pulled him through the crowd in search of more familiar faces. His skin, rough and warm against yours, felt like an anchor in the sea of people who probably weren’t all that different from the likes of Luc. This is part of the job , you reminded yourself, but perhaps the job wasn't so bad with Ushijima around.

[moonlightmidtone]

Can you do a lore dump sometime about your campaign? I’ve been following @underdog-arts for a while and I’m really interested in Jasper

My iPad is dead rn but I can start gathering up resources to make a masterlist of lore!!! It’s a lot, and it would probably be beneficial to have it all written down somewhere. The lore for my campaign spreads across two campaigns, in which a LOT has happened so there is quite a bit to cover.

I’m a world builder at heart so I make things too complicated tbh. The last campaign was loosely inspired by Medieval “Europe” (specifically Ireland, Norway, a bit of Greece, and Britain I think?) with an desert kingdom across the sea. /This/ campaign is loosely based on the Tang Dynasty in China, but because the continent is so large that it splits in its cultures, I.e. one area is a little more influenced by Korea instead, or one takes after a mix-matching of the Philippines and Japan because it’s a melting pot city. The areas closest to New Cania (old campaign) would be places similar to Turkey, Italy, etc and the further you go away from the mountains the more inspired by Asian cultures it gets.

I’ve been doing my best to do research about the Tang Dynasty and the other dynasties surrounding the actual Dark Ages period, but it’s still very much only loosely inspired. I’m not trying to actually recreate China or any other countries, but I want to incorporate different societal customs and dress and beliefs into dnd because it’s a nice change of page. Much of my campaign is off-the-cuff meaning I come up with a lot of stuff on the spot, and my knowledge of the Dark Ages and the medieval times are VERY rooted in Europe because it was/is still a special interest for me.

It’s not entirely representative of Asia as it could be, but that’s purely because I don’t want to be inspired by too much and still keep it mostly homebrew. Every continent in the world in my campaign is “inspired” by a real continent, mostly for geography. So I have people walking around in different cultural dress like kimonos and hanfu and they have their own cultural customs due to the religions I have placed in there and such.

I hope that’s good enough for now until I can actually start posting about the campaign!!!

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Poshest Bedstead in Islington

Part 10

3 weeks before Weasley plus Granger move in

Harry rolled over in his bed and stretched as morning light filtered through the curtains. He hadn't slept so well…possibly ever…as he had in the few days. Nightmares no longer plagued him and he slept through the night. He didn't even sleep as well at Hogwarts, and he'd always thought that the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept in. This, though, his own room put together just for him, had it beaten by a mile.

(Not that he'd forgotten that night in the graveyard. Cedric. Any of it. Three days of sleeping properly had helped him have a bit more perspective, though he really wanted to be with Sirius. He thought, maybe, Sirius would understand the complicated feelings and the guilt that still twisted his gut. He'd never forget Mr. Diggory.)

He had a private bath and his own entrance to the house because Sirius thought that a bit safer for him. He could wait, now, until the Dursleys were busy and slip out for a walk. Kreacher, he thought, wasn't appreciated nearly enough. Maybe they should have a little party just for him when they were all at Black House.

He blinked sleepy eyes and sat up. As usual, Kreacher waited for him, a steaming breakfast on the little table. 

"Morning, Kreacher," he rasped, running a hand through his hair. 

"Good morning, Master Harry. It is seven o'clock. If Master Harry would like to wash, Kreacher can set out clothing. Kreacher has had an idea to share and brought the post for after breakfast."

"Thanks, Kreacher." He headed for his bathroom, watching the elf go to the wardrobe and consider the contents.

He found it much easier to do as Kreacher (or even Sirius) told him these days. A bit like Mrs. Weasley, he supposed, but Kreacher and Sirius were all his. Although, he wasn't sure he ought to call Sirius just by his given name. He'd done a good bit of reading and it seemed like that would be frowned upon. 

But…maybe Sirius didn't want to say their relationship was any closer? Calling him an uncle would certainly do that. In any case, he thought maybe the caring and knowing about it made all the difference. It was easy to want to make them happy. 

Harry exited the bathroom, his dressing gown on over fresh underthings, and went to see what Kreacher had laid out. It'd only been a few days, but he thought maybe he'd started to get the hang of it. There were so many new bits to remember. 

He sat on the bed to put his stockings on, taking the disappointingly plain garters from Kreacher to hold them up. Kreacher had been so distressed about the other ones that he didn't want to say anything, but he'd liked the embroidery—that little bit of something fun, just for him to know about.

He buttoned the bands at his knees and slipped his feet into soft slippers before he stood, his smock falling around him. He took a green linen undergown off the bed first and slipped it over his head, doing up all the tiny buttons that ran from the mitten to his elbow and the tiny hook and loop at the back that kept the collar smooth against his throat. He adjusted the ties to close it and settled his smock and undergown skirts more comfortably. Dark green wasn't a color he'd really wanted to wear much before, but it seemed to delight Kreacher every time he wore it. 

Next, he took up the over-gown, also in linen, but in a pale straw gold. He wriggled into it and did up the fastening, surprised by the short sleeves. He didn't think he had anything with sleeves like that with the cuff embroidered in golden hippogryphs. The low, wide collar had the same embroidery. He finished dressing with a dark green girdle tied around his hips. 

Once dressed, he sat at the table and tucked into breakfast. He didn't try to talk yet; Kreacher preferred he concentrated on his meal first. Something about him getting distracted by conversation and never finishing and several paragraphs about him being too skinny. He unfolded the paper and stared at it. It wasn't The Prophet. The Comet stared at him from the masthead, little shooting stars bursting around the title. 

The truth, in print, for all to read

Established 1742

Well, he certainly hoped it was more truthful than the usual. The front page (below the fold and headlines about global news and the ICW and Voldemort…good to know someone actually reported on that) held an account of a disturbance at the Ministry, coming from the DMLE office. Harry ate toast soldiers dipped in his egg as he read about miniature clockwork bears chasing Ministry employees through all levels. Miniature for bears being relative, of course. One poor clerk got stuck on top of the fountain for hours. 

He wondered, idly, if you could train clockwork bears to be part of a security system. No one would expect them. He turned the page to find a tasteful advert for shoes and boots (the finest leather, worn by the discerning buyer) and then the Astronomy section. 

That was more useful than anything he'd ever got out of the Prophet. He wondered if you could get bound volumes of back issues. It would help immensely with his essays, knowing what had happened and where everything was. 

He finished his breakfast with the next section, which seemed to be Society news. Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so had a party and Miss Whatshername wore a daring gown in the style of the 1930s and Mrs. Snobbery Incarnate gave a card party. 

"Once you are confirmed as his Heir, his Grace will put an advertisement in the papers." Kreacher finally spoke. He'd been tidying Harry's desk and setting something out. 

"Is that how it's done?" Harry wasn't sure he liked that idea. "Won't it cause some problems? It being me?"

Kreacher snorted. "Master Harry was brought into the family by his Grace. There will be no problem. The only other potentially viable heir was born to Mistress Narcissa, who married out."

"Married out?" Harry asked. He didn't like the sound of that. 

"Mistress Narcissa took the name of the family she married into. Her marriage contract specified that she would no longer be a daughter of House Black and that her children would not be eligible to inherit." Kreacher explained, looking a bit shifty. "Kreacher looked, once, while Kreacher cleaned the muniment room. Kreacher was, perhaps, not meant to look."

"Is it like that for all families?" The whole concept seemed so odd. Harry smiled a bit at Kreacher snooping through the family papers (honestly, who had more right?) but didn't remark on it.

"Kreacher doesn't think so. The Blacks have rules others do not. Now, if Master Harry has finished breakfast, Kreacher will share the news."

The breakfast dishes, except for the tea things, packed back into the hamper with a snap of Kreacher's fingers. Harry poured a cup of tea and leaned forward. 

"What is the news, Kreacher?"

"A letter from His Grace." Kreacher held it out. 

Harry read the short missive quickly, smiling as he got to the end and saw 'Uncle Sirius'. Had Sirius signed any other letters like that, as a hint, and he'd missed it? Maybe he really was wanted. He'd have to try to call the man what he wanted to be called, in any case.

"He's arranging a meeting with Madam Bones? Really?" He couldn't believe it. "So soon?"

"Kreacher is not privy to all the details, but Kreacher believes it will be in the coming weeks. His Grace very much wants Master Harry confirmed as his Heir and living with him." Kreacher patted his hand. "The Weasleys and Miss Granger will also be coming to stay."

"I saw that in his last note." Harry ran a finger over the page in his hand. "In a few weeks?"

"There have been threats." Kreacher said. "Kreacher does not know what threats, but they worry his Grace. Kreacher has plans for Master Harry that will keep him too busy to be lonely. And Kreacher will bring letters. His Grace has been clear that Master Harry's friends are to write as much as they like."

Harry brightened a bit at that. Letters with no restrictions meant Hermione would write novels to him. He might even get a page or two from Ron. He'd accepted, a very long time ago, that Ron was not one of the universe's great letter writers. He was an excellent friend; he just hated sitting down long enough to write. 

"That will be nice." He said, finally. "But what's this about keeping me too busy to be lonely? I'm already doing penmanship drills. And I think I've got my summer essays done, and done well. The extra books made it so much easier. It's the fastest I've ever been able to finish."

Kreacher looked entirely too pleased with himself. 

"Kreacher will check the essays. Kreacher has decided that Master Harry needs to learn all the things that make an accomplished young magical. There are OWLs. Master Harry must learn the things not taught at Hogwarts."

"Er, will I have time for all this?" Harry followed Kreacher to his desk, bringing his tea with him. A thick parchment packet awaited him. "OWL year is supposed to be nasty."

He remembered Percy during the year. And Percy after taking twelve OWL exams. Oliver had practically carried him back to get him to bed.

"Master Harry is a young man of intelligence and fortitude." Kreacher said.

That didn't sound as comforting as it ought.

"Kreacher hasn't had this many young people to guide along the best educational path in decades." His ears drooped. "Kreacher was looking forward to working with bright young minds "

"I'm sure it'll be fine. You do know what you're doing." Harry patted his shoulder, side-eyeing the parchment. Well, it wasn't as if he could spend time playing Quidditch in Little Whinging. "Let's see what's there."

Kreacher urged him to sit and popped onto the desk. He opened the packet, which proved to be a listing of all the OWLs offered at the Ministry and a precis of the requirements.

"We will have lessons in Geography, English Language and Literature, English Writing, and Mathematics. Kreacher has taken the liberty of looking at the current History curriculum and will supplement that. In addition, we will select supplementary OWLs." 

"Kreacher, this seems like a lot." He stared at the words blurring together.

"Master Harry will likely be ready to take some of the OWLs by the end of the summer…if Master Harry applies himself." The look Kreacher leveled at him had him squirming. 

"It's…there's…when people are trying to kill you every year, essays just don't seem as important?" Harry tried.

"Threat of imminent death is no reason for the Heir of House Black to ignore his studies." Kreacher said decidedly. "Death threats come and go. OWL scores are eternal."

On the whole, the Black family had a lot in common with Hermione, Harry reflected.

"Death is preferable to expulsion, then, I assume?" He asked, morbid curiosity taking over.

"It would be far better to die than to bring such shame to a noble line." Kreacher gave him a look. "Master Harry will apply himself this summer. There is no reason to waste a good mind. There hasn't been as much encouragement in Master Harry's life as there ought to have been."

"Yes, Kreacher." Harry looked back to the packet. "What do you recommend, beside the academic things?"

"Plain sewing, three types of needlework, the fine arts, etiquette, and plain cookery. This is in addition to penmanship, magical and mundane academics, and adding Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."

"Ancient Runes and Arithmancy too?" He couldn't help but feel daunted. "That sounds like so much."

"Kreacher wishes Master Harry had had better advice when selecting courses. Care of Magical Creatures is, of course, a useful subject, but Divination is not. Master Harry is not expected to take an OWL in either Runes or Arithmancy yet. Those will be taken later, when Master Harry is ready."

"That would be right after NEWTs, right? If it takes three years to learn the material." He picked at a corner of the parchment.

"I may take less time when Master Harry is not beholden to the pace of a class. Self-study is common for many who wish to take more exams than are offered. Kreacher is…not happy with the current state of Hogwarts, but Kreacher also faces reality." The elf sighed. "There is only so much any one can do with a limited budget. And the old families unwilling to help." 

"I'd never thought about how they funded Hogwarts." Harry squinted at the close text covering a page. 

"The Ministry bases funding on the number of students, Kreacher was about when it was decided. This world has seen two Dark Lords and a few outbreaks of magical diseases. Kreacher thinks the current Minister is up to something. His Grace Arcturus never liked him. Here, Master Harry, here is what you would learn for a sewing OWL." Kreacher flipped the packet open to a later page, abruptly changing the subject. 

"Oh." Harry read. "I thought it would be…more. Are all of the supplementary ones like this?"

"They are meant to be worked on through the year. Most do not have a written component, although some require demonstration. They are meant to be pleasant changes from a heavy load of academics." 

"That's…well, that's easier than I thought it might be. I know a bit of sewing already, just from mending my own things. And…and some cooking too. I expect there are different ways to do things?"

"Kreacher is an excellent teacher and Mrs. Weasley will help once you join us." Kreacher promised. "His Grace sent an embroidery kit already?"

"Er, yeah. I haven't looked at it yet. I was…I was practicing writing." 

"Kreacher is pleased with Master Harry's industry." 

Harry felt his cheeks heat. There was something about Kreacher being so pleased with him that made him want to crawl right under the bed and stay there. He thought that would be frowned upon, though.

"Thanks, Kreacher. Er, d'you think I can learn all these things? They don't look particularly hard, but with more academic classes and…" Harry trailed off as he looked at the Mathematics requirements. "It only goes up through Algebra?"

Kreacher sighed. "The magical realm does not always respect non-magical education as it should. Kreacher does not think Master Harry will have difficulties, but if the workload is too heavy it can always be rearranged."

"I…thank you. I'll do my best." It felt…good…to have someone believe in him that way. That Kreacher also took his feelings into account only made it better.

"Kreacher knows. Would Master Harry consent to a course of study in social dance, as well? As the Heir, Master Harry will be required to know the most popular dances, like the country dances or the Cotillion." 

"Required?" Harry squeaked. "I haven't ever even  heard of a Cotillion."

"Yes, Master Harry. It would not have to be an OWL or NEWT course, although those are offered, but it would help in the future."

"Right." Harry said. "Right, I think it would be best to do the OWL and NEWT courses. Er, and maybe some extra help."

"Didn't Master Harry dance at the Yule Ball?" Kreacher asked gently.

"The, er…the opening was the champions waltzing—"

"Master Harry waltzed?" Kreacher interrupted. "Before Master Harry was presented?"

"No one said anything about that? And, Kreacher, I don't think what I did could actually be considered a waltz. You could ask Parvati Patil. Don't think she's speaking to me, yet." Harry stared at his desktop.

"And a daughter of House Patil!" Kreacher, hand on his narrow chest, popped off the desk and back to the floor. He sat heavily, his back against the drawers.

Harry wondered if he should call for help. Dobby, maybe? Kreacher looked shocked to the core.

"Would you have some tea, Kreacher, please? Professor McGonagall said we all had to." He rose and poured out a second cup, sugaring it heavily. 

Kreacher drank automatically when Harry pressed the cup into his hands, spluttered, and came back to himself. 

"Kreacher," he started weakly. "Kreacher will make certain this is fixed. Master Harry was required?"

"Er, yeah. I told Professor McGonagall I didn't want to and she said I had to. And, hang on, Dobby?" It was worth a try.

"Dobby is here, Master Harry Potter sir!" Dobby popped exuberantly into the room.

Harry would never quite know how to describe the look on Kreacher's face, but he reckoned it came close to Aunt Petunia finding a weed in her flowerbeds. Dobby wore four of the hats Hermione had made.

"Kreacher would like something stronger than sugar." The old elf muttered. "This elf is Dobby?"

He turned to Harry, ignoring the bouncing young elf.

"Yeah, Kreacher. Dobby's been a friend since my second year." Harry gestured to Dobby to relax, but that seemed to be impossible.

"You is Kreacher?" He breathed, eyes impossibly wide. "The Head of all Black House Elveses?"

"Yes. They call me Kreacher." He looked somewhat mollified by the deference in Dobby's tone.

"Dobby is honored to meet a venerable elf of House Black." Dobby breathed. 

"Dobby must learn some decorum." Kreacher grumbled. "Dobby has been too long without a proper place."

Harry stared between the two of them, hoping he hadn't done something ill-advised. 

"Dobby is a free elf and earns wages." Dobby declared proudly. 

"Dobby is an elf torn asunder from his land." Kreacher countered. "Dobby is only happy earning wages because he has no connection. Dobby is not rooted. Dobby could be."

Harry had no idea what was happening and only hoped it wouldn't lead to disaster. He didn't think Siri…Uncle Sirius would like a disaster. 

"Is Kreacher offering Dobby a place in House Black?" Dobby's ears quivered. 

"Kreacher is. House Black and the lands cry for new elves, young elves, to live and work within the demense. Dobby could be first elf of a House reborn."

Dobby's eyes went wider than Harry had thought possible. "Dobby would have a land?"

"A land and people." Kreacher promised. 

"Will Dobby be bound by the clothes covenant?"

"Black elves," Kreacher answered, "only bind themselves to the land. They may also bind to the family, as Kreacher did to leave Wales, but only the land requires a bond."

"There is Winky." Dobby murmured. "Dobby can't leave Winky."

"Is Winky a free elf?" Kreacher asked.

"Winky couldn't bond with Hoggywarts." Dobby explained. "Winky has to take wages because the school wouldn't take her."

"Winky is welcome to come with you." Kreacher said gently. 

"Dobby could go get Winky?" 

"Yes. Do." As Dobby popped out, Kreacher turned to Harry. "The Head Elf arranges for new elves to join the household…or should. Few Houses do so now."

"Er, this won't cause a problem, will it?" Harry twisted his hands in his lap.

"No." Kreacher assured him. "No problems."

Dobby popped back in with Winky, who smelled strongly of butterbeer. 

"Winky is ailing." Kreacher murmured, voice gentler than Harry ever heard before. "Winky needs care."

"Winky does." Dobby agreed. "Winky, this is Kreacher, most venerable Head of House Black Elveses. Kreacher offers Winky a place."

Winky blinked damp eyes at Kreacher, trying to understand. "Winky is offered a…a place?" She finally asked.

"Winky is offered a place to heal and to rest." Kreacher took her hands in his. "Winky could bind with the land of Winky chooses, once Winky is well."

*No covenant?" Winky quavered.

"No, no covenant." Kreacher assured her.

"Winky would like a place. Winky would like a…a…a family." She clutched desperately at Kreacher. "Winky is a disgraced elf."

"Winky has been hurt." Kreacher said firmly. "The Black Magic welcomes Winky."

"Winky…Winky feels it."

"Winky will be welcome to rest and get well with the elves of Black Keep. Would Winky go now?" 

"Winky will. Please." She whispered. 

They popped out of the room. Harry stared. Had he just facilitated house elf theft? Except Winky was a free elf and could go as she pleased. How did one leave a job, anyway? Winky oughtn't have been working in the first place as far as he could see. She looked nothing like the healthy but frightened elf he'd met at the Cup. 

"Er, you and Winky won't have a problem with Hogwarts, right?" He asked Dobby.

"Dobby and Winky is free elves and come and go as they pleases." Dobby assured him. "Dobby is…Dobby is so grateful to…to Master Harry for calling."

"I was worried about Kreacher. He'd just heard about the waltzing at the Yule Ball and I thought..I don't know. He looked so shocked. You were the first person I thought could help." Harry tried to explain himself. He'd just known to call for Dobby but he couldn't explain why.

Kreacher popped back in then, looking far too pleased with himself. "Now, Dobby-elf, do you also wish to be welcomed by the Black Magic?"

"Dobby does." Dobby bounced lightly on his feet. 

"Then be welcome at Black House Islington." Kreacher said. "His Grace cannot yet have human servants and Kreacher needs help."

Dobby gave a delighted squeak and popped out of the room. 

"Now, Master Harry, we will finish discussing academic and supplementary courses." Kreacher popped back onto the desk as if the last quarter hour hadn't happened. 

"Er, yes, Kreacher. Er…what's the Covenant of Clothes?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Kreacher will explain after we are finished with more important topics." He tapped the parchment and Harry sat again, trying to focus. 

Listen to Nanny, indeed. He wondered if…Uncle Sirius went through this as he listened to Kreacher outline his summer.

[chrisevansgoodgirl]

i've heard allegations 'bout your reputation, i'll show you my shadows if you show yours

summary: requested (like a year ago, sorry!)  Reader and Andy getting in a legitimate fight or maybe flirting in front of him with one of his colleagues to get under his skin because he hasn’t touched her in weeks from being so busy jealous Andy would be so dominant I’m weak i took some liberties and set it at the christmas eve party at andy’s office.

warnings: andrew barber being r o u g h  😩 😩 😩 and jealous 😩  and mean bc i just so deeply want this man to yell at me and pull my hair bc he’s an angry daddy, however, he is not called daddy in this story bc i don’t do it unless you guys ask me to. so smut, and he’s in charge and i’m dead about it. more videos being made bc apparently that’s on my mind.

word count: around 7,500

pairing: andy barber x reader

a/n: i hate that it took me so long to post this but here i am, almost a month late with a christmas eve party story. i have very little shame tbh.

You were not unreasonable, no matter what Andy claimed. You could always admit what was your fault—which was about 80% of all disagreements—but Andy had his faults, too. Tonight? Well, you weren’t innocent…but you were not the only one to blame.

This was the third Christmas party he had taken you to. The first year had not completely been his doing. Lynn had been bothering him about it and he would have gotten away with pretending it just wasn’t possible had Lynn not run into you at the coffee shop near Andy’s house.

You had been accustomed to Andy by then. He didn’t put distance between you two because he wanted to, he just simply wasn’t the best at getting close. You practically forced him into sometimes, and it had never gone wrong, so he trusted you. A lot.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to say that much longer. You had your moments, those situations where you pushed him just a little too far. Not so far that he was angry about it, but far enough that you ended up with a sore ass and maybe a few finger-shaped bruises on your skin.

As if that was an incentive to stop?

Lately, things had been…off. Andy was working on a big case, one that he had just finished the day before. You expected that he was going to come home and make up for not having touched you in 17 days. Yet, that didn’t happen.

You weren’t trying to complain too much. The “honeymoon phase” was something that could not be applied to your relationship because you were as happy as any other day, you loved him more and more as time went on, and you guys always had sex. Always.

But there were the cases that sometimes threw a slight pause in that. That was fine, you understood and it wasn’t like you were with Andy for sex. You loved that man so fucking much, you could deal with some neglect for a little bit. Emphasis on a little bit.

17 days with no immediate plans to remedy it was crossing a line. So, on the 18th night, the night of his office Christmas party, after he merely kissed your head, told you that you looked beautiful, and didn’t fuck you in your tiny, sparkly dress, you also wanted to cross a line. A specific line because it was hard to get a reaction out of him any other way.

Andrew Barber was a jealous man. It was something you never played with because he was jealous. He wasn’t some immature idiot who was going to cause a scene, but he would interrogate you about people he felt were “suspicious”.

On your way to the party, he had wanted to catch up. He felt like this was the first time he was able to breathe since he was put on the case, and he had noticed some distance between you two. You told him about the very basic parts of your day—work, friends, family.

When he placed his hand on your thigh, you had to wonder if this was a game. Why hadn’t he fucked you? Was he trying to make you beg? That was something Andy thoroughly enjoyed, and you trusted him so much that you rarely ever knew when he was doing it. If you stopped to think about it, you would probably find a few times he’d managed to get away with it.

He let you hold his hand and to avoid having to pull away from you, he told you when to move the gear shift. It was cute, too cute for how long you two had been together, but Andy seemed willing to indulge you. He always did when he could.

But as soon as he got to the party, there was more work talk and he had basically pawned you off on Lynn. She was thrilled, of course, she rarely had time for friendships, but she valued Andy, and because of that, she loved you almost as much as he did.

It had been two hours by the time you were completely fed up. Lynn had decided she was about to head out, so she was making her rounds, and that meant that you were stuck with the other partners. Men, women, they were all talking about how great their lawyers had been lately.

Yet, reminder, you hadn’t been fucked in nearly 18 days. You weren’t going to sit around and listen to that for the whole night, you innocently decided to wander a bit. Andy was talking about his case and seemed almost oblivious to your presence. Why did he even bring you? He was the one that reminded you about it, you probably wouldn’t have realized it had gone by until well into next year since work was so hectic.

Regardless, without an answer, you were left to entertain yourself. What else were you supposed to do? Just sit around all night and not speak to anyone? Andy was a complicated man and he had only a handful of people at the job that he liked, but fewer people that he disliked. Most people, he felt indifferent about, and those were the pawns for your current game.

You flit all around the party, laughing, talking to everyone, and though you saw him seeking out your whereabouts every now and then, there was no reaction at all. He didn’t care that some of these sleazy men were staring at your cleavage or your legs—two things he should have done earlier but did not.

By the time you’d nearly spoken to everyone, you felt…possessed, there was no better way to describe it. You were mad and confused and tired, and till the day you died, you would swear on everything you held sacred, the following was not part of your plan. You simply had no other choice than to go along with it when it practically fell in your lap.

Andy hadn’t noticed your best attempts but as soon as Neal was standing in front of you, he was watching. You had not and would not have gone to Neal, it was the other way around. He was possibly picking up on all your sadness and desperation, he was probably able to spot attention-seeking from a mile away since he pulled those kinds of stunts regularly.

Andy was finally paying attention to you and that was why you didn’t walk away. Your boyfriend could deny it all he wanted, but you saw something in his eyes. There was that anger, of course, but there was also that dark gleam. The one that he had when he liked to lay you out under him and remind you who you belong to.

That was all you wanted, that was the only reasoning behind your actions. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong, not until you laughed at something Neal said and he laughed back, and then he touched your shoulder.

And that was when you knew things had gone too far. You crossed a line, and you should have known better than even trying to use Neal. Because he envied Andy to no end, understandably. Why wouldn’t he try to flirt with you? No one got Andy as angry as Neal, and you should have just put your ego aside and spoken to your boyfriend.

But that window had closed and your time for being a mature, communicating adult was over. You quickly broke away from Neal after that and Andy took only seconds before he was dragging your ass out of that party and to the car.

You weren’t sure what to do. Pretend you didn’t know what the big deal was? Maybe just start blurting out apologies. He opened the car door for you, ushered you in, and then got into the driver’s seat in complete silence.

Andy had been mad at you before, but he had never been so angry he wouldn’t look at you or speak to you. He was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white. His jaw set, brow furrowed, shoulders tense—he stayed that way the entire drive.

Andy wasn’t like this, he usually always had his temper in control. You were worried because you were one of the few people Andy sincerely trusted. It would devastate you if this gave him pause.

When he stopped the car, it became uncomfortably silent. It had taken you almost a minute to decide where you wanted to take this. “Andy, I’m—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“But I am s—”

“Get upstairs, take your dress off, and wait for me on the bed.”

Shit. You fumbled with the handle for a moment, scurrying inside and up the stairs. This was everything that you had wanted, wasn’t it? Then why the fuck were you nervous? Why were you shaking? Why did the idea of a black hole appearing and swallowing you sound so appealing?

You took off your dress and hung it back in your closet. You’d only been in it for a few hours, that didn’t warrant an actual wash. Shakily, you made your way back to the bed and sat there. What about your bra and panties? He hadn’t said. Your shoes? Fuck, what were you supposed to do?

Andy walked in and flipped on the light.

Idiot, why hadn’t you done that?

He made his way to the dresser off to the side of the bedroom, he removed his jacket first, then his cuff links and his tie. He started rolling up his sleeves and you had to look away.

You turned down to your lap. “You didn’t tell me if you wanted me to keep anything else on.”

“I also didn’t tell you that you could speak,” he asserted.

Your stomach dropped, the mere thought of not following his directions was unsettling. When Andy got like this, you wanted to do what he told you to. You wanted him to think you were his good girl. Any time you failed at absolute perfection, you didn’t take it well.

You didn’t know if you should apologize or remain silent. You were wringing your hands, something you became aware of only when he made his way in front of you and placed his hands over yours. You startled slightly, looking up at him.

He grabbed your chin with his thumb and forefinger, keeping your head tilted back. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. You didn’t want him to feel bad because you were feeling some type of way. You also didn’t want to think this had anything to do with him. He’d never given you reason to be nervous.

“Are you scared?”

“Kind of.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He leaned down, face directly in front of yours. “Before we start, I need you to understand that you’ve never disappointed me. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.” That didn’t really help as much as he probably thought it would. Even if you hadn’t disappointed him, there was always the chance that you would. And you weren’t sure he was being completely honest anyway. Neal? What the fuck was wrong with you?

“You don’t need to be nervous or scared, just be completely honest with me.”

“Of course.” You would never lie to him.

“Who do you belong to?”

Your answer was immediate, you didn’t even need to think about it. Recalling life before you met Andy was a bit blurry. Who had you been? Where? What had you wanted? “You.”

“So,” he ran his thumb over your bottom lip, “this mouth…”

“Is yours,” you confirmed.

He hummed, fingers trailing from your face all the way down, between your breasts, over your stomach, stopping at the band of your panties. He paused, noting the shakiness in your breath, the goosebumps on your skin, your hands that were gripping the sheets.

Abruptly, his hand dropped to where you had been expecting it to. Your breath hitched and your hips jumped off the bed, desperate for his touch.

He made a small noise of disapproval and you hurriedly settled back down on the bed. “This pussy? Is that mine, too?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He pulled your panties off to the side and his fingers ran up your wet skin at an agonizing pace. He brought them up to his lips and his tongue slipped out to taste you. He smiled because you had managed to stay almost completely still, apart from a bit of squirming. “You’re such a good girl, baby. You know that’s one of my favorite things about you, how good you are for me.”

That gave you these awful butterflies and you felt hot everywhere. That was all you ever needed to hear. His hand returned to your center and his first finger slid into you. You looked down to see but he grabbed your jaw again and turned you back up.

“Keep watching me, baby.”

He liked to test you, you knew that. He would give you an order and try to make you disobey him. This time, when his hand fell away from your face, you forced yourself to keep your head tilted. You ignored that burning part of you that wanted to see his fingers pushing in and pulling out, covered in what was dripping from your pussy.

You focused on just feeling. One thick finger was slowly working you open for him, he always stretched you out as much as he could meaning you had to be prepared for some teasing. He prioritized this because he was big and he knew it—and you had been smitten enough before he fucked you, but after, there wasn’t a second of the day your body didn’t crave Andy’s.

Despite how rough Andy could be with you, and how generally tough he was, he liked to baby you. Sometimes, he liked treating you as delicately as one would a bouquet of flowers. He could see a lot of comparisons if he really thought about it. You were beautiful, soft, and smelled so sweet. And if he didn’t pay attention to you, well, he’d been reminded of those consequences at the party.

You kept your eyes on his the entire time. You didn’t falter when he added his second finger, nor when he curled his fingers against that spot inside you, nor when his thumb pressed down firmly on your clit.

He pressed one hand down on your shoulder, a cue to lie back. After you had obliged, he pulled his fingers out of you and told you to open your mouth. You instantly did so, closing around his fingers as soon as they were in your reach.

He pressed his fingers down and kept going until your body jerked and the noise of you gagging echoed in the room. “I wanna see those beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, baby girl.”

You eagerly sat up, still sucking on his fingers as you pulled his belt apart, yanked the button of his pants open, and tore down the zipper. Glancing up at him to look for any signs that you didn’t have his permission to proceed, you pushed his pants and boxers down cautiously until his cock was out.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth and nodded. “Go ahead, baby.”

You moved back on the bed and situated yourself onto your stomach, propping up on your elbows. One hand wrapped around his hard length and you let the tip of your tongue come out to catch the precum dripping from his tip.

He released a shaky breath, hands at his sides because he wanted you running the show. For a while, a least. He didn’t want to guide you, he wanted to see how exactly you were going to make up for your slight misstep at the party.

You ran your tongue up his shaft lightly, feigning that whole soft act that you knew he loved. It wasn’t so much an act, but you had been bent over his desk, hair pulled, ass spanked, both holes thoroughly used. But you liked soft, too. You liked slow and gentle mornings, whispered words, careful touching. You liked whatever he wanted to give you.

You closed your lips around just the head of his cock and sucked. Unlike all other men you had been with, Andy was as patient as a saint. He loved when you teased him. Once, he had you edge him with your mouth for nearly an hour and thinking about how he fucked you after still made your toes curl.

His eyes closed and he sighed. “Fuck, baby.” His hand lightly settled on the back of your head. “So good, I could fuck your mouth for the rest of my life.” He didn’t push you down, he just ran his hand through your hair over and over because he knew how much you liked him to play with your hair.

But then his hold tightened and he pulled you off, much to your dismay. He noted your pout and pleading eyes but was kind enough not to taunt you about them. “Get on your back, sweetheart.”

You knew what he wanted as soon as he stepped away. You quickly climbed up toward the edge of the bed and rolled over, bending your neck over the mattress. You automatically opened your mouth for him, but he placed his hands on your shoulders first.

“Relax.” He leaned over and ran his hands along your arms, setting them on the mattress. He pressed your thighs down, waiting until you had lost all the tension in your body. He curled his hand around his length and stroked several times with a loose hand and a slow pace.

You watched in utter fascination. It never failed to get you wet when Andy showed so much control, over himself, over you. He was in charge of every little thing and you could tell that he got off on that. Every time he reached the head of his cock, he would press down so slightly, so close to your lips but just not enough.

“Andy,” you whispered. “Please.”

He smirked again. “Open your mouth for me.” And as soon as you did, he was slowly sliding in. He was slow at first, keeping his hips still as he slipped the straps of your bralette past your shoulders. He rolled the remaining material down until your breasts were exposed and squeezed them in his hands.

You pressed your thighs together, arching up into his hands more. You tried to relax your throat for him, knowing he was only stopping to give you a moment to prepare.

He pinched your nipples painfully and didn’t stop until you whined. He loved feeling you make that sound when his cock was down your throat, and the deep breaths as the pain faded away. Again, he tortured your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, yanked a little, until you were squirming all around the bed, making these noises around him that he rarely ever heard, your eyes filled with tears.

He leaned over quickly, releasing your breasts so he could give them both a brief kiss. You closed your eyes, humming in satisfaction. He took his time sinking his teeth into your sore, erect nipples and you squealed both times, back arching again. His tongue rolled over your stinging skin and you tilted your head eagerly, attempting to take more of him.

Sometimes, it was enough to get him naturally high, how much power he had over you, your body. He could hurt you and you would thank him; he could turn around and give you just a second of gentleness and you looked at him like you’d never loved anyone as much as you loved him. You claimed that, quite often. Andy wasn’t sure if he believed that, not because he didn’t trust you but because he wasn’t wired to think of himself as special in any way. Why you treated him like he was, was confusing to him at times.

But you were special, so fucking special. You were smart and funny, and so kind to every single person you encountered. It was a nice change from the environment he regularly found himself in. That was what you were supposed to be—a breath of fresh air from his hard life. You were not supposed to become his only source of oxygen, yet there he was. It didn’t seem he was reliant on you because Andy wasn’t comfortable expressing reliance on anyone, but he knew he was.

He stood and watched your body move with those deep, sharp breaths you were taking. Abruptly, his hand whipped across one breast, then the other. You cried out, a nice vibration around him, and now you were quivering. It was so easy for him to play your body like this because you were just needy enough that anything would have given you pleasure. Another thing he knew, another thing that made him so damn cocky.

“Open your legs,” he told you and you parted your thighs. Again, he pulled aside your lace panties and pushed two of his fingers inside you. Your cunt was dripping, your arousal gushing out as his fingers thrust in, curled, searched for that spot that made your eyes roll back. The noise of it made his cock twitch.

Your pussy was throbbing, yearning for the release that only this man could give you. You didn’t care how he did it, you just needed Andy. Hands, mouth, cock, you would take anything he wanted you to have.

“Listen to that greedy pussy,” he directed, voice low and quiet. “So desperate to be filled and fucked. But by who, baby?”

Your stomach twisted at not being able to answer him. That was why he asked when you had your mouth full of him, because if you could speak, you would blurt out reassurances that it was only him.

“Me?” he pressed.

You spoke, despite knowing it was going to sound like nonsense.

“And no one else?”

You were quick with your denial. And maybe, by now, since his cock was always in your mouth, he was a professional at understanding what you were saying. Or possibly, it was just the look in your eyes.

“You sure, baby?”

Once more, your voice came out muffled but hurried, almost panicked. He had to know that you didn’t even think about anyone else. He had to know that you thought he was the most beautiful man in the world.

He dragged his free hand up your body and it settled over your neck. Finally, he pulled out from your mouth only to thrust back in harshly. You choked, your throat contracting around him while he massaged his thumb and finger over your pulse points. He let you breathe through it before he started rocking his hips ever so slightly. You could feel him moving along your tongue and your cheeks, but they were small motions.

You always loved this position; it was easier to take all of him. It was easier to breathe on your back with your chest open, and, unlike being on your knees, it left you open for him.

He leaned forward slightly, pressing one hand off to the side of the bed while the other reached between your legs. His fingers danced along your skin without any real intent, but occasionally, he would touch your clit.

You were reaching for any part of him you could touch. Your hands mindlessly grasped at his back and kept slipping off because of his shirt. You couldn’t ask but you wanted it off. He felt your hands working open his buttons and decided to let you have something. He was going to take and take tonight, he could give you a little.

He stood up and loosened his tie enough to pull it off, then shrugged his shirt off. Once again, his palm settled to your neck. “You should see yourself right now. Shaking, wet, such a good girl.”

You reached up, gripping one hand in his pants, the other around the buckle of his belt and you pulled him in more until your throat was struggling.

“Easy, baby.” He took your hands off him, keeping a hold of one and placing the next back down on the bed. He pulled out carefully, dragging his hand up, and inch by inch, pushed back in. “You should see how deep I’m getting. I can see it right here.” The palm of his hand hovered over your skin, just enough that you could feel him, and he followed his cock again, letting you know how much of him you were taking.

It was a lot of him, not enough. And he was deep, but you needed more. You whined, a plea for him to move this along. He couldn’t want to drag this out, not after almost 18 days.

Again, he leaned over until he could touch you. His hips moved steadily, a controlled move that matched how strategically he was working your cunt, everywhere but the most sensitive part of you.

You hated that you couldn’t beg, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if you weren’t shaking or if your cunt wasn’t clenching desperately, you knew if he couldn’t feel it, he could at least see it. This went on for several moments, he was proud of how well you were taking him, and wanted to give you some type of award.

You were more than just caught off guard when you felt his lips against one of your thighs. Fuck. He couldn’t, you wouldn’t last long. But he went on, scattering kisses over your thighs, fucking your mouth just a fraction harder as he grew closer to your pussy.

As he licked down from your clit to your entrance, your eyes rolled back. Your hips jumped off the bed and one of his hands held you down in response. You were trembling, whining utter nonsense.

Several times, his tongue ran through you and you’d been so worked up, so wet and frustrated since he’d pulled you out of the party, since he hadn’t fucked you in a while, and this was just happening too fast. You wanted to focus on him, you wanted to apologize in the best way you knew how.

You tried to push him back with your hands on his thighs, but you were nowhere near strong enough.

He turned his head to kiss your thigh again. His hips stilled, most of his cock out of your mouth just in case. “Do you need a moment, baby?”

You debated. If you actually made him stop, made him pull out even if just for a second solely so you could ask him not to make you come...he would be outraged. He might even turn you over and spank you. But he also might not let you come at all. You would die, you knew you would.

You let your hands fall away.

“You okay?”

You hummed slowly, comfortably.

Still, one hand settled on your hip bone to keep you from moving, the other you felt on the back of your thigh close to your ass. He kissed your pussy slowly, sucking at your skin just a little, but not your clit, not yet.

He was careful as he began fucking your mouth again, worried he had pushed you too far. He waited until he was sure you were okay before he sucked your clit between his lips and slipped two fingers into you.

You whined around him as your body shuddered.

He kissed you again, several times to get you to calm down. “It’s okay, baby girl. Be a good girl for me.”

So, you understood, he realized that you wanted to object to this, but Andy was the greediest man you had ever had in bed. You weren’t surprised that he just didn’t care. You found it hard to mind as he began fucking his fingers in and out of you, sloppy, wet noises echoing around the room.

He was sucking again and you were desperately clutching at any part of him you could, his sides, his legs. You weren’t pushing him away now, you were pulling him in.

You were so close, your body arching up as much as it could. You felt tension building in every part of your body. Your own hands came up to your breasts mostly because you knew he would feel your hands moving underneath him.

“Fuck,” he cursed. He left your cunt neglected of his mouth for several moments, only using his fingers, as his cock drove down your throat hard.

You were choking loudly, your body again moving wildly as you gagged. It couldn’t have been more than a few times but they were determined thrusts, you were sure he was going to come in your mouth.

Instead, he pulled out completely and you whined shortly. You didn’t want him to go, but you couldn’t say that. All you could do was try to catch your breath. He didn’t even give you a moment to protest before his face was buried in your cunt.

In seconds, you were a mewling, moaning mess for him. Your body was so tight, so full of unbearable tension. You were shaking, sweating, your pussy was loud and soaking wet and you knew you were dripping everywhere, on him, on the bed.

He didn’t tease, he wanted to let you come because he wanted you coming all night. His favorite form of punishment was too much of a good thing, not withholding how much he enjoyed touching you.

You finished with a scream loud enough that the neighbors probably heard. Again.

Andy touched you through it until you stopped moving, save for the shaking aftershocks when he got a tad too close to your clit. When you were loose and sated on the bed, he started to sit you up.

You quickly turned to him, grasping his face. “I love you, only you.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I would never look at anyone else.”

“I believe you.” Even if he didn’t, this was not the place to voice that. This...state he got you in when he was this dominant, this demanding, was not completely unlike you. It was just a very obedient, sensitive version of you that he knew he had to be careful with. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt your feelings.

He touched your face and that was when you realized you were crying, he was wiping away your tears. It was either from your finish or from choking on him, you weren’t completely sure. “You’re okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I’m okay.”

He kissed your forehead and you felt hot. As if what you two were just doing wasn’t filthy, this was what made your heart beat faster and gave you those butterflies in your stomach.

He pulled back and kept hold of your face. “What does my baby girl want?”

“I want to feel you inside me.”

As his lips met yours, he began removing all the remaining clothing on either of your bodies. He moved you up the bed until he could lay your head on a pillow and then positioned himself over you.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he promised. “Keep saying it.”

As he carefully pushed into you, you continued to tell him you love him. You stared at him the whole time, willing your body to relax for him. He didn’t like it when you got so worked up, especially over the games he played in the bedroom. The thing with Neal was bad but it was over and you knew he wasn’t mad at you. He wouldn’t fuck you like this if he was.

You clutched onto his shoulders, trying to hold him as close to you as you possibly could. He was the one that grabbed your legs and cued you to wrap them around his body. His cock sliding into your pussy was a feeling you couldn’t understand why he’d left you deprived of.

Once his hips were settled against your thighs and he was completely buried inside you, you reached up to his face. You loved his cheekbones, you could trace them with your touch for days if he let you. And his beard, you loved feeling his beard under your fingertips.

He let you do this, explore him as if you could possibly forget anything after all the other times you did it. You remembered the first time he fucked you, you couldn’t stop staring, you couldn’t stop touching—he was so painfully beautiful. He was so patient with you, always had been, and now, despite how badly you felt his need to move, to fuck you, he was going to wait for you to be ready.

“You did this on purpose,” you muttered.

“Did what?”

“You didn’t fuck me. For 17 days. You…wanted me to make a scene—”

“That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

“I could take it to court and win,” you countered.

He smirked. “Could you? What’s my motive?”

“You like being possessive. You like dragging me out of places, you like bringing me home, you like reminding me who I belong to.”

“And were you reminded?”

“No one really belongs to anyone or anything at the end of the day—”

“No,” he interjected, tone sharp. You always liked that tone. “You belong to me.”

“Maybe…”

“You are mine,” he repeated. “And you’re going to say it or we’re going to have a long night.”

“I will say it if you admit this was your plan all along.”

“You think I wanted you to flirt with Neal?”

Your stomach flipped. “I wasn’t—”

He nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I know, I didn’t mean to word it like that. I know you weren’t—”

You felt slightly like you were about to panic. Flirting with Neal? No. “Never, I would never—”

He shushed you. “I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t because you are a good girl. I promise I know that.”

You settled somewhat but that lingering feeling in the pit of your stomach was hard to ignore. Flirting with Neal? You couldn’t bear him thinking you would ever do that to him. Flirting in general with people Andy felt indifferent to was off the table unless you wanted to placate his desires. Certainly, he had to know that.

“I wanted to hear you beg,” he insisted. “That was what I wanted. I wanted honest begging because you are so fucking beautiful begging for my cock.”

You huffed. “Well, you should have asked.”

“I didn’t want to have to ask.”

“You could have given me a hint. I was going around your party trying to get your attention—”

“You had it, you always do. Now, tell me who you belong to.”

“I think we all belong to the stars.”

“No,” he sighed.

“Or the moon, people who experience menstruation especially. The moon controls us, it’s been studied by scientists. There are articles.”

“Scientific articles do not support that,” he asserted and you couldn’t help but laugh. Andy was exact. He didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t see or that couldn’t be proven. Even now, inside you, he couldn’t turn that part of his brain off.

“Baby,” he sighed as his hand came up to curl around your neck. It just rested there, a heavy reminder of all the times in the past he had held you like that, or those other times when he applied just the right amount of pressure. “I want to fuck you, I want to make you cry, I want you to be shaking after I’m done with you, I want to fill you up with my cum. Don’t you want that?”

You nodded, once again turned on beyond comprehension.

“Then be good and say what I want you to say. Don’t make me make you say it.”

“What if I want you to make me?”

“You don’t.”

Andy’s punishments were always so elaborate and such a blur. He knew how to reduce you to nothing but need, and you needed him so badly sometimes. He loved seeing you like that, but he didn’t always like taking you there. He knew how careful he needed to be during and after, so he reserved it for major misbehavior.

You brought one hand up and set it on his forearm. You could feel his skin and his muscles. “I belong to you.”

Just barely, as he stared at your face, his hold tightened. Your breath stuttered but you made sure not to get too worked up too soon. You didn’t want him to have to stop before he finished inside you.

“That can never happen again, baby.”

“I know. It never will. I’m so—”

He tightened his hand again. “Don’t say sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let you say the one word you so badly needed to say.

“I don’t blame you, sweetheart, I’m just saying…it can’t happen again.”

You caught the lead of his tone. “But what if it does?”

“I might have to make sure he knows that you’re mine.”

You wanted him to let the whole world know. You knew he saw your eyes light up because he smirked. “How would you do that?”

“I might have to let him see how I fuck you. I might have to show him how I can make you beg for me, or how willingly you bend over when I’m going to spank you. I might have to show him how wet you get after I mark up your ass, maybe how whiny you get when my hand is around your throat. But maybe I’ll just have to send him the video I’ve been recording tonight, how well you can suck my cock, how badly you want to.”

You were stunned for a moment—recording? Where was the camera? The idea of Andy recording you was such a turn on. You loved making videos for him, but you’d always wanted to see one where he was with you. “You’ve been recording?”

“Would you be okay with that if I was?”

“Yes. I want to watch you fuck me.”

“You’re such a good girl.” He pulled his hips back once and then snapped up noisily, pulling a moan from your throat. “You know how much I love that sound? When you can hardly breathe but you still make all those noises you know I want to hear.”

He leaned in to kiss you, hips stilled, hand still wrapped around your neck. It was brief, a reward, a reminder. You were being good and he loved you, but he was going to fuck you.

You broke away, nodding to let him know you were ready, that you wanted this. “Please.”

He rolled over so you were on top of him. He kept his hold on your neck to keep you sitting up and used his opposite hand to grab your ass. After he kneaded your skin hard enough he knew it would bruise, he spanked you loudly, harshly. Your body jerk forward, taking him in deeper than you knew was possible.

You whined, trying to pull back a little. He gripped your ass again and held you there. It was painful but exciting, you wanted him to push your limits tonight. He so rarely did, concerned with pleasing you second and treating you delicate first.

He let you go only to spank your other ass cheek. Again, you moved forward and you felt fuller than you ever had. You ached between your legs, almost uncomfortably but the idea of having him this deep in your body was making you wetter by the second. You were dripping, you could see how wet his skin was, how much of a mess he was making of your pussy.

“Ride me, sweetheart.”

You found a comfortable position, your hands on either side of his waist in the mattress. He settled his arm between your breasts so he could still see them moving as you began jerking your hips back and forth. They were sharp, abrupt movements because you wanted to come so bad, you could hardly think of anything else. Save for your disbelief over the fact that he was making you do this yourself. But you didn’t argue because the last thing you wanted was punishment for talking back.

He closed his hand more, every sound you made was short and strangled. You moved faster, knowing he was closer when he choked you harder. His free hand took one of your breasts. He was so delicate at first, a gentle, slow touch before he was pinching your nipple so hard you were whining. He smacked your breast and you shuddered, nearly falling forward onto him, but he kept you up. Mostly because he wanted to do it again to your other breast.

Every slap against your breasts—loud and stinging, always surprising because he didn’t want you to have the comfort of a pattern—was pushing you closer to your orgasm. You were mindlessly bouncing on his cock, uncaring of the pain you felt every time you came down just a little too hard for how big he was. You felt like an animal, like you were simply a victim to your body’s depraved, primal desires.

You finished first, screaming things you would be impressed if he actually understood. You could cry, the tension built over days was finally all gone.

He rolled over once more, taking his spot on top again.

You clung to him, legs and arms, pulling him in like you would die if he wasn’t close enough. You needed to feel his whole body against yours.

“Hear that, baby?”

Oh, you heard. You’d been trying to ignore it, but of course, not if Andy had any say in it.

“Hear how wet your pussy is?”

So wet. Every time he pulled out and pushed in, the noise would fill the room. You only nodded.

Since you were wrapped around him so tightly, it wasn’t difficult for him to grab your hip and move you up the bed with him. He set you against the headboard, the pillows under the small of your back, propping you up for him.

He was on his knees now for more leverage. You knew he was going to fuck you hard. “Look at this, baby.” He slowly pulled out and you turned down to watch. “See how messy you’re getting my cock?”

“Yes,” you whined.

He grabbed his cock, used it to drag up and down your cunt several times.

“Andy, please.”

He shushed you, a slow, calm action that contrasted when he smacked the head of his cock against your clit.

You gasped and your hips jerked forward.

“Stay still,” he warned.

He did it over and over, and enjoyed watching you fail at trying to stay seated on the bed. He thrust in completely, quick and hard, only to pull out and smack your clit again. This was his routine for what felt like an agonizing hour, but you knew it was nowhere near that long. You knew even he didn’t have that kind of patience.

You cried out when he finally buried himself inside you again. As he pushed forward, he pulled you down. His fingers found your clit and you were soon tumbling over that edge once more.

As he finished, he pulled you on top of him, lying back on the bed. One arm wrapped tight around your back to pin you against his chest, his opposite hand tangled in your hair tightly. He hid his face in the bend of your neck, grunting as his hips continued to rock just slightly.

He kept you there for several long moments until he had completely satisfied himself. You were intoxicated being this close to him. You angled your head as much as you could and kissed the side of his face.

He turned over, setting you on the bed as he pulled out. You watched him curiously, moving to sit up with him. He made a disapproving noise and you laid back again. Once again, he made his way to the dresser and grabbed his phone.

“You were seriously recording?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do I usually bluff?”

Nope, never.

“Now I have a reference if you ever forget how a good girl is supposed to act.”

You suppressed an eye roll.

“Open your legs.” He came closer, directing the camera at your pussy. He touched you, spreading his cum all over your skin, rubbing circles around your clit, just barely dipping his fingers into you.

You watched his face the whole time. You loved how much Andy loved you and when he stared at you after fucking you, it was hard to miss. He was obsessed with you and he never minded showing it.

For almost a month, you watched that video every day. You were fascinated by him, the way he moved, the way he touched you. After that, you started wanting to record more and Andy never minded.

requests to be tagged:

@onetwo3000​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @donutloverxo​ @kleohoneyao3​ @cevans-fics​

[supercorpkid]

There’s a first time for everything.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2890.

“How exactly did this happen?” Jamie looks at the F in your test and you roll your eyes to the sight of it. This is bad. This is really bad.

“I didn’t have time to study. But it’s ok, I’ll study for the next one.” You say, agreeing with your head to make Jamie and Maya’s worried expression ease up a little.

“Babe, you should’ve told me you needed to study. We could have had a study session or something.” They’re still worried. You look at Jamie raising one eyebrow, so she knows there’s more to the story. It takes her a few seconds, but she seems to finally realize your life is more complicated than stupid French tests.

“Oh, it’s a one-time thing.” Jamie says dismissing it with her hand. “It’s good, now you know what the rest of us feel when we don’t go so well.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” You joke with a smile, and that seems to be what’s necessary to make Maya less worried.

“We’ll study together for the next one.” She says and you agree.

It’s just when her mom picks her up from school, that you can tell Jamie what was really going on with you.

“Ok, so what really happened?” Jamie asks and you breathe deep before starting.

“Ok, it all started the night before when Kara put her head inside my bedroom to ask me:

“Hey kid. What are you up to?”

I looked up from the books I was organizing on my table to start studying. And since I thought it was something fast, I answered. “Nothing.” While obviously ignoring the books in front of me.

Then she went on like “Well. There is a big commotion downtown, a bunch of aliens got together to destroy some things and the whole place is a mess.” And I just shook my head agreeing because I thought she just went to tell me why she was leaving. But, like, she kept going and she asked me: “Do you want to come with me? I figured we could use some help.”

I was beaming in excitement ‘cause you know it’s kind of hard for Kara to just admit she needs help, so I thought there was probably a hell of a mess there. Which means she really did need my help, right? So, I was like “Wait! Really?”

She smiled too. “Sure! Go put on your-” But I used my super speed to change and I was in front of her all suited up in a blink of an eye. “Suit.”

“Let’s do it!” I ran out of the bedroom feeling like I could fly away just by being invited to it. You know it’s all I ever wanted. Kara seeing me as a person who could back her up during trial times. I was almost out of the house when I heard Lena’s voice from the living room and I came back to kiss her goodnight. So, she was like:

“Where are you guys heading to?”

And Kara said, check this out:

“I need back-up for this fight.”

I mean, she literally said the words I was so eager to hear and my smile just grew wider.

“I’m back-up!” I said, beaming in excitement.

But, well, you know my mom. She immediately went like:

“It’s school night.” She looked at momma. “She needs a good night of sleep.” Like I wasn’t even there to speak for myself! But lucky for me Kara said:

“Don’t worry, love. She’ll help me stop the aliens and bring them to the DEO, and I’ll do the clean up part.” Kara assured mom, who let out a sigh, like she does whenever she knows she is defeated.

“Are you sure you want to go?” She asked, putting her hand on my shoulder. And honestly, I don’t know what she was expecting. Did she think I was going to say no? Anyways, I obviously answered:

“Oh my God, yes! Don’t worry mom, I can handle it.”

Then she was like: “Ok, then. Don’t take too long.” She kissed my cheek, and then Kara’s mouth. “Be careful. Both of you.”

Then I looked at momma, still smiling, and she smiled back super excited. I just couldn’t believe I was going out to have adventures with Supergirl! I always thought I would have to sneak out with Superboy to have them, but then like, momma invited me to it!

So anyways, I tagged along to fight some hellgrammites that were causing trouble downtown. And like, dude, Aunt Alex gave me an earpiece for communication and Rao it felt so good to be a part of the team!

And she would talk to me through it. Jamie, I swear it’s as fun as you can think. So, aunt Alex was like:

“Superkid, be careful with the spikes. They’re strong enough to penetrate metal, it could harm you.”

And Kara was like:

“They also possess superhuman strength.”

And I was like:

“Okay, guys. I know hellgrammites, just chill.”

But like, aunt Alex went on:

“If you can’t win, try using their own spike against them as a last resource, Superkid.” And I was like ‘ok’, And then I hit one so hard he was thrown to a post light, and it bent, and made the light flicker. It was so funny, but I obviously couldn’t say that, so instead I said:

“Sorry. I’ll fix that!” And I flew to him, looking at the spike on his hand. Then I made my voice sound stronger and said: “You can come willingly or I can make you.”

“Pff.” It was his answer. What a dumbass, right? So, I had to keep using my strong voice.

“Got it. I’ll make you.” And then I punched his face a few times until he was unable to recover, and put him in cuffs. And I was so happy I yelled: “Got one!”

I looked at Supergirl, who had already caught the other three. She gave me thumbs up and a smile. Well. At least I kinda helped, right?

“Bring him to containment at the DEO.” I heard Alex’s voice through the comm, and picked up his floppy body and made my way towards Supergirl.

I asked if she was ready and she agreed with her head. So, I picked one other guy up, throwing each one over my shoulders, and I flew into the DEO with Supergirl, putting all four of them in a cell.

Aunt Alex was looking proud of me, which is incredible. You know the feeling! And she went like. “Great work, kiddo!”

“Thanks! That was fun, it was like playing video-game!” I said making them laugh. But then Supergirl went:

“Ok, time to go home. I’ll go clean up the mess they made, and I’ll meet you back there in a bit.” And she was ready to fly away when I held her hand.

“I can help. Still early.” I said pointing at my watch, but I lied ‘cause it was already late. Supergirl narrowed her eyes at me, and I knew she was going to say no, so I said: “At least let me unbend the post light.”

So she went:

“Ok. Let’s go.” Supergirl flew and I flew behind her.

In the end, I ended up helping her clean up everything, and we had to sneak in home so Lena didn’t see what time we made it back home.

And then, when I laid in bed, I was feeling exhausted, but I was so tired that it was really hard for me to fall asleep, so I missed my first wake-up call with Kara knocking at my door, and when Lena woke me up a while later, I was so tired it was hard to focus. But I could never tell her that, ‘cause she would be pissed since she was right in the first place. So, I rolled out of bed and came to school.

The problem was that it takes a lot of effort to shut off my super hearing and pay attention to the test, and I wasn’t able to do that while feeling so tired, hence my F.”

“Well, at least you had a good time supering yesterday.” Jamie says after you finish your story and you agree with your head catching your breath.

“It was awesome! Even your mom looked impressed.” You lean over a pillar and look at her. “Except Lena will be so mad that I got a bad grade, because I was supering.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t do everything. Save National City and get a good grade the very next day.” She said and you think about it. No, you can’t do everything, but you’re supposed to. Besides, school is more important than saving National City since Supergirl could have done it all by herself, clearly.

But Lena doesn’t need to know, does she? It’s not lying if she doesn’t ask you about it, so there’s no reason you will run to tell her about it, right? Right. It’s fine. You’re fine.

But you’re not fine.

“Hey, babygirl!” Lena says when she walks in home later that day, your soul almost leaves your body. You jump so high in your chair; she furrows her brows at that. “What are you doing?”

“Having a heart attack!” You put your hand on your chest, and you feel your heart beating fast.

“You shouldn’t get scared so easily. You have super hearing.” She points out and you think about it for a second. She is right, you shouldn’t.

“I was distracted.” You defend yourself, and Lena comes closer to kiss your head. She looks at the books in front of you.

“Ooh, français. Très bien!” She jokes.

“Mhm, yeah.” You smile through the pain you’re feeling to just blurt it out right there. It’s very hard not to say anything. You hate keeping secrets from your moms. “How’s-How was work?”

“Oh, you know Fridays and meetings. They don’t usually go well together.” Lena says that grabbing a bottle of wine and a glass. “But at least we have family night today, right?”

“Right.” You smile and she excuses herself for a shower (glass of wine in hand), while you finish studying.

Kara gets home a while later with dinner in both hands, but she still manages to push your books out of the way so she can put them on the table. She ended up dropping all of your books on the floor, and you smile at her.

“Sorry, little one.” She bends out to help you with it, and you hear a loud gasp.

“What?” You ask surprised, and you look at what she’s pointing at. “Oh no. Oh no.”

“You got an F?” She yells in pure shock, and your eyes widen at the sound of that.

“Shhh! Will you keep it down, please?” You lower your glasses to make sure Lena is still in the bedroom and can’t hear you. Lucky for you that’s the case.

“An F!” Kara’s still shocked. She picks up your tests and reads it. “You were aware it was a French test, right?”

“Um, yes?”

“Because I’m pretty sure this is English, this is a math equation? And would you look at that! You wrote stuff in kryptonese! I’m not sure she could understand that.” She keeps looking at it, making you blush in embarrassment until you pull it out of her hands.

“I was… distracted.” You say, putting it inside of your book, and looking back at her. “Please, don’t tell mom.”

“Kid-”

“Please, mommy.” You try with your sweetest voice. “I’ll study harder for the next one and I’ll get an A, just please. Please. For me?”

“Don’t.” Kara looks at your pouting face and you can see she’s very inclined on hiding this with you. But she blinks twice looking away. “No, that won’t work. The pouting, and the ‘please for me’ bit. You know we don’t do lies in this house.”

“That’s not fair!” You cross your arms, upset. “Last week mom asked you if you ate all the chicken parm and you said no.”

“Are you serious?”

“You broke three glasses when you closed that cupboard a little too strong yesterday, and you told her nothing was broken.”

“Nothing important was broken.”

“Momma!” You pout again. “It’s not fair.” You hear Lena opening the bedroom door and making her way to where both of you are, and you raise an inquisitive eyebrow at Kara.

“Hey honey.” Lena says making her way behind the counter for another glass of wine. She looks at both of you having a stare down on the other side.

“One of us is going to tell her and she would rather if it was you.” Kara whispers close to your face, and you know Lena can’t hear her. You frown, and can’t believe Kara would do that. You can’t believe she won’t have your back about this.

“What’s-” Lena clears her throat, calling your attention back to her. “What’s going on?”

“Oh. Hi, love.” Kara makes her way to the other side of the counter and kisses Lena’s mouth. “Your daughter has got something important to tell you. I’ll go shower so we can have dinner and watch a movie.”

Kara leaves the kitchen and Lena raises her eyebrows at you, encouraging you to start. You don’t. You just look at her, and the book where your test lays inside. And you think about a lie. But you know you won’t lie, so it makes no sense for you to think of one in the first place. So, you get your test out of the book, and you come closer, holding on to it like it’s suddenly going to make it turn into an A instead.

“I, um, have something to tell you.” You sit on the other side of the counter, and she looks at the paper you’re clinging to so desperately. She does her eyebrow raise, and your heart feels like it’s going to stop with the thought of disappointing and upsetting her. Your mouth feels dry, your palms feel sweaty. It’s a whole ‘is this what a heart attack feels like?’ situation, before you can get your words out. “I didn’t do so well on a test.”

“Ok.” It’s what Lena says. She raises her hand at you, and you wince when you realize she will look at it. “Can I see it?” She pushes, once she realizes you’re still clinging to it, like holding onto a wrecked life-boat.

“Can’t you just take my word for it?” It’s your last desperate self-preserving act. Lena shows you her hand again, and you know that’s a clear ‘no’. “Ok.” You breathe out, handing her the paper. She takes it and looks at it, with furrowed eyebrows.

“Didn’t do well.” As in she’s saying that’s a very light way to put what she’s looking at.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time, I promise!” You blurt out. “Please, don’t make me stop supering. Please. I swear it was a one-time thing. This won’t happen ever again.”

Lena puts the test down, goes around the counter and stops in front of you, while you still rumble your apologies. She doesn’t say a word which is very distressing. You wish she would just yell and ground you, just do something, instead of radio silent like right now.

“Ok.” She finally lets out. Ok? What does ok mean? “You’ll do better next time.” And then she hugs you. You take a few seconds to wire your brain and acknowledge what’s happening, before wrapping your arms around her, and letting out a breath you’ve been holding the entire time.

“So, you’re not mad?” You ask, still in shock. Lena gives you a chuckle and whispers softly in your ear.

“I’m not mad.” She tries to move away, but you hold her tightly.

“Still hugging, still hugging.” You say, earning another chuckle from her, and she doesn’t move away. “So, I can still go supering with momma?”

“You can still go supering.” She whispers again.

“And I’m not grounded?” You ask again, and you feel Lena moving to kiss your cheek. You smile, very happy.

“And you’re very much grounded.” She whispers, and finally lets go of you, with a bop on your nose. “But nice try.” Lena gets her wine glass and looks at you with a soft expression. “Can I just ask you a favor?”

“Anything.” You’re so happy she’s not mad, and that you can still go supering, whatever she says, you’ll do.

“That physics formula it’s exactly what I was needing for an experiment. May I steal it?” She smiles, making you smile back.

“Really? Wow, it’s almost like I wrote that for you.” And you have, in fact, because you were listening to her during your entire test. And you feel like she somehow knows that because the English part is the explanation she was giving about the experiment, then you wrote the formula she was trying to come up with, and the kryptonese part actually says ‘I love you, mom’. So, you figured she must have put two and two together and she possibly knows.

“Oh, and babygirl?” Lena adds, looking at you from her wine glass. “Khap ukiem rrip, inah*.”

Yeah. She knows.

Notes:

*Khap ukiem rrip, inah = I love you, daughter*

[gointothevvater]

Her full profile is finally here! Seven pages of information! I may have gone down the rabbit hole just a tiny bit! 

.

St. Cecilia Jameson

Gender: Cis female

Status: Alive

Occupation: Singer for British rock band Stiletto ("Like the knife or like the shoe?" "Yes.")

 Family: Elizabeth Robinson, née Wallis (Mother), Bryony Robinson (Older half-sister), Esme Robinson, née Davies (Grandmother, deceased), Herakles Zafeiriou (Biological father, though she's never met him), Evander Zafeiriou (Older half-brother, who she's also never met, though they've exchanged family photos and stories via email)

Voiced by: Florence Pugh (Speaking), Lzzy Hale (Singing)

Age: A few months younger than Pickles

Date of birth: December 15 (Sagittarius)

Place of birth: Oxford, England

Birth name: Felicity Robinson (Initially, only Sammy knows this, though the rest of SnB learns it at Esme's funeral)

Nicknames: Ceelie (By Pickles and Sammy, mostly, though the Dethklok boys pick it up eventually), Star (By Magnus), princess (By Skwisgaar)

Ethnicity: Half English, half Greek (Though she's unaware of the latter for most of her life)

Height: Five-foot-one

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship status: It's complicated. It's always complicated. She's unlucky in love. 

Current location: London, England

Appearance: St. Cecilia is a petite woman (She's half a head shorter than Pickles!) with golden skin and long white-blonde hair, which she wears in a high ponytail. She has thick, dark brows and bright brown eyes (Skwisgaar says she has "wolf eyes"). She has three white marigolds tattooed on each shoulder, a labret piercing, and a vertical collarbone piercing at the hollow of her throat. Her ears are pierced three times each, in which she wears two silver hoops and a silver stud on each side, and she has a small black star beneath each eye. She has a Christina piercing, nipple piercings, and a belly button piercing. She has a No Time For Antivenom tattoo on her sternum, and a European robin tattoo at the back of her neck. Along her spine, she has a tattoo reading "to thine own self be true." She has a shitty stick-and-poke crown tattooed behind her right ear. She has a pear body type, with wide hips, a small chest, and an even smaller waist (Nathan can encircle her waist with his hands). She typically wears a black muscle shirt, ripped dark jeans, heavy boots, black driving gloves, and a studded black leather collar with a D-ring at the front. She also wears a Gibson pearl guitar pick on a necklace, which was given to her by Pickles when they first started dating in the 80s. She wears a silver cuff on each ear, and her tongue is pierced with a simple silver stud. 

During flashbacks to the Snakes N' Barrels era, she's shown with darker blonde hair cut in a mullet style, and only her labret and ear piercings, plus one on the right side of her nose. She wears a cropped white tank, with high-waisted jeans and black Converse sneakers. She wears mismatched armbands, one black, one striped, and the same collar she wears in the present.

Her more casual look consists of a black button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up, which she wears tucked into a pair of leather pants. She wears pumps instead of boots, and her hair is twisted up in a clip. She keeps her collar, but doesn't wear the pick necklace or her ear cuff, and she switches her hoop earrings for studs. She doesn't apply her stars.

For fancier occasions, she wears a black dress with spaghetti straps and a very short, flared skirt, black opera gloves and black strap pumps. She, as always, wears her collar with it, and she pulls her hair into a high bun. 

Personality: St. Cecilia is cocky, witty, and teasing, but ultimately good-natured. She's a bit selfish and stubborn, but she does everything with 110% effort, hoping to impress people, even if she winds up getting hurt in the process. She'll do literally anything for validation. To say she's vain would be an understatement. She's something of a coquette who flirts with both men and women, and is she has a tendency to "think with her dick," as Tony once put it. She's slow to anger, but quick to jealousy, and she holds grudges for far too long. She's the playful type, but it's largely in a chill way. She's an obvious extrovert, and the role as frontman for Stiletto came very naturally.  

Skills & Hobbies: St. Cecilia writes good poetry, great song lyrics, and terrible erotica. She likes plants and is quite the chess player (Though she hasn't managed to beat Charles even once), which she learned during her school days. She also learned to fence, ride horses, and speak fluent Latin there.

Musical Talents: She's a classically trained singer (When she was little, she was part of her church's choir), and she writes most of the song lyrics and some of the music for her band, Stiletto. In Snakes N' Barrels, she played lead guitar on a white Jackson Pro Series Rhoads RR3, but during their reunion concert, she plays a more modern Gibson Explorer '76 Reissue 2010 Cherry. She took piano lessons for several years as a child, and she's still pretty good. Nothing outstanding, but if Stiletto needs to incorporate a piano into a song, she's perfectly capable of playing it herself. 

Relationships: 

-Pickles the Drummer: Their relationship is a complicated one. They've known each other for ages, and they've been together through the highest highs and the lowest lows, all the way down to rock bottom. She partially blames him for her late teens and early twenties being the fiasco they were, and she cut off contact with him for a long time after the SnB breakup. During the run of the show itself, the two reconcile somewhat and even become more or less friends before Abigail shows up and things start to crumble again. They have a hard time admitting it, but there's love between them, and there has been for a long time. They're both afraid to try getting together again, though, as there's a mutual fear of the relationship ending as it did the first time, with them hating each other again. They're back together at the end of Doomstar, but there's no way of telling if the love between them is enough to keep them together or if they'll just fall apart all over again. 

-Magnus Hammersmith: They were more off-and-on than anything, but they were together for years, even though quite a bit of it was long-distance. It wasn't supposed to be a serious thing. It was just supposed to be a quick fuck. Then it was supposed to be a performance to annoy Pickles, but Magnus quickly realized that St. Cecilia's feelings for Pickles were too strong for her to be any use to him in his revenge plot. The basis of their bond formed because they understood each other on a level they've never known with anyone else: Former Snakes N' Barrels guitarist St. Cecilia Jameson and former Dethklok guitarist Magus Hammersmith both understand on a fundamental level what it's like to be left behind and forgotten. Magnus caught a bit of feelings, and when Roy Cornickelson's funeral came around, Magnus warned St. Cecilia not to attend. It was their last interaction, and it forever cast him in a positive light for her, even after she learned what he was doing with the Metal Masked Assassin. 

-Nathan Explosion: They get along pretty well. Their first meeting was at a singers-only Crystal Mountain party, and they ended the evening with a quickie in the coatroom. He wrote a song about the encounter, but Pickles never figured out that it was about St. Cecilia, which Nathan thinks is just the funniest thing. He mostly sees St. Cecilia as one of the guys once she meets with Dethklok again for the SnB reunion. It's a "been there, done that" kind of deal. She's not brutal, but she's funny and she's fun, and goddamn, is she pretty, and they would absolutely hang out if they could get their schedules to line up.

-Skwisgaar Skwigelf: St. Cecilia is nothing short of enchanted by Skwisgaar. It's not a crush, exactly, but she has a huge amount of admiration for him. They've practiced together a time or two, but she's a little rusty and winds up with her fingers bleeding because her calluses have gone soft. He tends to tease her over her soft hands. A guitar god, he tells her, can't have hands like a princess. His calling her “princess” becomes a bit of a thing for them. The two of them often have brunch together, talking shit and drinking. She's good for him; He's never had a female friend before.

-Toki Wartooth: Within the series itself, St. Cecilia hasn't given Toki much thought. He's cute, but he's just sorta there. His incident during the SOBERTOWN USA concert really scared her, and she more or less avoids him after that. Post-DSR, though, their relationship changes. He, like her, was hurt by Magnus, and even with him dead, Toki misses him terribly. St. Cecilia misses him, too. As sad as it is, this becomes their common ground. Their other connection, odd as it sounds, is pole dancing. St. Cecilia does it for exercise, and Toki did it for money, and they often compete to see who's better on the pole. 

-William Murderface: St. Cecilia actually has a begrudging fondness for Murderface. He's awful, but he's also pretty funny, and she likes to hear him talk about knives and medieval weaponry, as her family home is full of such things. They clash over things, of course, but she likes being around him more often than not.

-Charles Offdensen: St. Cecilia really likes Charles, actually. He's basically the only person on the show who's really "on her level" class-wise. He attended Harvard, and she attended Oxford, so they have a great deal to talk about. They play a lot of chess and fence on occasion, and if it weren't for her feelings for Pickles and his obligation to the Church, they just might have gotten together.

-Dick Knubbler: They're friends, in a way. She thinks he's kind of a weirdo, but he knows how to have a good time, so as long as he isn't hitting on her, she likes being around him. 

-Abigail Remeltincdrinc: They became friends mostly due to the fact that they were both women in the music industry (And both working for Crystal Mountain) and supporting each other seemed the right thing to do. Abigail getting involved with Dethklok and catching Pickles's attention quickly became a sore spot, and they drifted apart after that. After DSR, things got even worse. Abigail, naturally, is glad that Magnus is gone, while St. Cecilia is devastated by the loss. They had something of a falling-out over it, and they haven't really spoken since. 

-Edgar Jomfru: Despite being very different people, St. Cecilia really enjoys Edgar's company. He merely tolerates her at first, but she grows on him, to the point where they're legitimately friends come Doomstar. The two of them often have lunch together on the roof of Mordhaus so they can get some fresh air. 

-Family: St. Cecilia's family consists of her mother, Elizabeth, her older sister, Bryony, and her now-deceased grandmother, Esme. St. Cecilia has a very formal, cold relationship with her mother, and she has no desire to change that. As far as she's concerned, her mother doesn't deserve to have a good relationship with her. St. Cecilia adores Bryony, though. Though Elizabeth brags about her, Bryony remains modest and is very close with her sister because of it. Though there's seven years between them, they may as well be twins. Esme, who passed away in 1993, was more of a mother to St. Cecilia than Elizabeth ever was, and St. Cecilia still misses her terribly. She was a big part of getting SnB off the ground, and the boys even came to her funeral.

-Snakes N' Barrels: St. Cecilia adores all the boys, of course, but Sammy is the only one she really kept in touch with after the breakup. He was her favorite long before Pickles joined. There was a pregnancy scare not long after the band took off that somehow, against all odds, brought the two of them even closer. Sammy was St. Cecilia's first love. Her relationships with Tony and Snazz were much more professional, though none of them were anywhere near professional. The crown tattoo behind her right ear was done by Tony on a drunken night in, and it was too good a night for her to even consider covering it or getting it removed. 

-Stiletto: She gets along with them all quite well! She's known Niamh McLoughlin, their bassist, the longest, and their friendship dates back to their school days. Lex Clarke and Priyanka Dayal, the drummer and the guitarist respectively, came as a package deal, as they've been more or less married for years. St. Cecilia adores them and the sweetness of their relationship. She's a little envious of them, actually, though she would never say so.

History:

-Childhood: St. Cecilia was born in Oxford, England to Elizabeth Robinson. She was raised more or less at her family's girls-only boarding school, away from her mother. When she was fourteen, she fell off a horse during an equestrian class and badly injured her shoulder. She was one of the popular girls during her school days, up until she hit fifteen and decided that she was no longer a child and had a right to demand respect from her emotionally distant mother. She quit the piano lessons she had been taking for several years and took up the guitar, though it aggravated her injured shoulder and even as a teen, she developed a dependence on painkillers. This rebellious period stretched until she was sixteen and ran away with the help of her grandmother. St. Cecilia was given her name just before she left, so it would be easier for her to hide, as well as a hefty sum to tide her over until she could get herself settled. She was only in LA for a few weeks before she met Sammy at a bar where the SnB prototype band was playing. Naturally, Snazz and Tony weren't thrilled with the idea of Sammy's kinda-sorta-girlfriend trying to become their lead guitarist, and when Snazz disparagingly referred to St. Cecilia as Yoko, she broke his nose (How could he have not expected violence when a Beatles-loving British girl was called such a horrible thing?). This earned their respect and is an event that they laugh about to this day. 

-Snakes n' Barrels era: St. Cecilia stuck with the band for several months before they found Pickles, and she was smitten with him the moment she heard him sing. Esme was an important source of financial support during their formative years. The band made it big after not too long, and they all grew quite close. St. Cecilia ended up in an ill-fated off-and-on relationship with Pickles as time went on, and to this day she doesn't remember the first time she told him she loved him. It wasn't long after his first OD and his following stint in rehab that she told him, and they were both drunk in celebration of his release. His tolerance, even post-rehab, was far higher than hers, though, and he remembers, though he sometimes hates that he does. Though there was genuine love between them, the stress of the band and both of their substance abuse problems drove a wedge between not only the couple, but also the entire band. Coupled with Pickles fucking groupies behind St. Cecilia's back and St. Cecilia's becoming a rather serious Vicodin addict to combat the pain in her injured shoulder, the band was doomed. Pickles came to see St. Cecilia off on her flight back to England, saying he would meet her there when his next residuals check came in, but he never made it, and they didn't speak to each other for years afterward. It hurt, but St. Cecilia supposed it was for the best. A clean break, and all that.

-Preklok: After SnB broke up, St. Cecilia returned to Oxford, staying with Bryony in their mother's guest house as she tried to figure out her next move. Despite her gift for writing lyrics, she had no talent for writing books, and that idea quickly went down the drain. She still received a large amount of money in residuals, but she was reduced to a mere socialite, though it mostly agreed with her. At her mother's insistence, she attended a few classes at Oxford University. She absolutely loved it. In 1992, Esme passed away. St. Cecilia only told Sammy about it, but he took the initiative and brought Pickles, Tony and Snazz with him to the funeral. St. Cecilia was initially pissed, but she really appreciated the support. That was the only time she saw Pickles between SnB's breakup and their reunion concert. He was devastated when her parting words to him were "I love you with everything I am, but I never wanna see you again." In the mid-90s, she posed for an issue of Playboy, and Pickles has a copy of the issue tucked away somewhere. It wasn't until 1998, when she moved to a little flat in London, that St. Cecilia reunited with her school friend Niamh and the idea of Stiletto came about. They found Priyanka and Lex at an open mic night at one of the local clubs, and they hit it off, both as friends and as bandmates. They played at many clubs and pubs, and they were soon found by a scout at another open mic night. They signed with the UK branch of Crystal Mountain Records and were assigned the surly but efficient Melinda Glasscock as their manager, and within three years, Stiletto was huge, due in part to St. Cecilia's residual fame from Snakes N' Barrels. Their first tour was through Europe, but the second came to America, where St. Cecilia met Magnus in a bar post-show. They got on really well, and she invited him to her hotel room for the night. They exchanged numbers and got quite close over time, with her even flying him out to London from time to time so they could hang out. Magnus knew who she was from the start, and while he planned to use her feelings for Pickles to get her on his side, that soon faded and he came to genuinely like her. She wouldn't learn who he was until later on. A few years before canon, she had a quickie with Nathan in a coat room at a singers-only part at Crystal Mountain records, and he used the fact that she couldn't fit her mouth around his dick as inspiration for Dethklok's infamous song "Glasgow Smile."

-Season 1: 

-St. Cecilia's first mention within the confines of canon is during Performance Klok, when Pickles mentions he hasn't been in a serious relationship since the '80s despite the fact that he would certainly thrive under such attention. 

-She first appears in Snakes N' Barrels, during the documentary the Dethklok is watching. The guys are a little critical when they (Save Nathan, who's known for a long time) learn that part of SnB's downfall was due to Pickles's failed relationship with St. Cecilia. There's some comedic nonsense talk about fucking one's guitarist before Pickles goes to speak with Charles. Though St. Cecilia is working on an album with Stiletto when she's asked to go the reunion, she manages to push through and finish in time, though she arrives nearly late. She finds Pickles backstage, and when he sweeps in to kiss her, she pulls away a bit, saying they can't do this, as she's spoken for. She lets him hold her close, though. The rest of Dethklok finds them like that, and St. Cecilia excuses herself to go find Sammy, Tony and Snazz. There's some talk about Pickles not leaving Dethklok, which he says he won't, but they're rather worried after catching him with St. Cecilia in his arms. Meanwhile, she manages to find the boys, and they meet with Pickles backstage. While the boys partake of the Totally Awesome Sweet Alabama Liquid Snake, St. Cecilia doesn't, as she once humiliated herself by passing out on stage and doesn't wish to repeat the incident. She presses a kiss to Pickles's palm before they go on stage, an old ritual that they were never able to shake. What happens is far worse than someone just passing out, and she and Pickles leave the stage amidst the chaos while the medical Klokateers take care of the boys and see them off to the hospital. It's a disaster. She's embarrassed and angry, and she turns down Pickles's offer of a ride home and calls someone instead, as she didn't get her money converted and can't pay for a cab. This someone turns out to be the man who's claimed her, Magnus, and Pickles is none too happy about it. He tries to stop her from going with him, but it doesn't work. 

-She isn't seen in Dethkids, but she is mentioned. When Pickles starts drinking harder than usual, he finally gives in to the urge to call her, to talk about how Sammy and Snazz and Tony are doing, and to tell her that she should steer clear of Magnus. He's so drunk, though, that she barely has even an idea of what he's talking about. 

-Offscreen, but somewhere between the two SnB episodes, Magnus and St. Cecilia abruptly break up. She has a feeling something was going on with him, but his sudden disappearance really hurt her. They had been together off and on for years, after all. A few weeks before he left, he bought her a little pink knife and showed her how to use it, just in case he wasn't around to protect her. When he left, he left his guitar behind, and she still has it as of Doomstar. 

-Season 2: 

-She's mentioned by Seth in Dethwedding, though only as "that British chick" he thought Pickles would eventually have married. Pickles nearly decks him for even mentioning her.

-St. Cecilia's next appearance is in Snakes N' Barrels II. In part one, during the advertisement for the SOBERTOWN USA concert, she's missing from the band lineup, and Pickles is both relieved and a little concerned by her absence. 

-In SnB II part two, Nathan, Skwisgaar and Toki find her among the crowd at the SOBERTOWN USA concert. Nathan asks if she wasn't invited to play, but she says that she was: She just didn't think it was right to play without Pickles. Realizing that Pickles is sneaking around backstage, she leaves to go find him and try to keep him from doing something he'll regret. She only finds him just as Tony, Snazz and Sammy start freaking out, and she only just manages to keep Pickles from killing Rikki Kixx, though she honestly doesn't mind the thought of him dead. She pulls Pickles away from the stage, where he calls the Klokateers to take care of Sammy, Snazz and Tony, and she sets to icing down his bruised knuckles. She tells him that she and Magnus broke up, and he's thoroughly pleased about it: She's too good for him, anyway. That irritates her a bit, but she tells him to call her sometime, though she insists he do it when he's not drunk off his ass. 

-Season 3: 

-Ironically, when Pickles calls her in Dethhealth to inform her that he's dying, he's in fact drunk again. She wants to go to Mordhaus to see him, but he tells her to stay where she is, as he doesn't want her seeing him like that, though she's seen him at rock bottom as it is. At the end of the episode, he's drunker and higher than ever, but he calls her again to let her know he's all right. She can't understand him, though, so he puts Nathan on to explain. She’s thoroughly relieved, but she’s still considering going to Mordhaus to see him. She implores of Nathan, "Take care of him, all right?"

-Offscreen, in the time between Dethhealth and Dethmas, Pickles goes to London for a while to appease St. Cecilia, and to their mutual surprise, it's not really all that different from how it was when they were actually together. There's lots of cuddling and kissing and great sex and just... Hanging out. It's easy for them to be together. They have their share of problems, but the old spark between them is still there. Pickles is honestly a little scared of that: What if he falls for her all over again just for her to break his heart like she did last time? The fact that she has Magnus's guitar makes him doubly suspicious. He starts drinking harder than ever to drown out the thoughts of her. 

-In Rehabklok, when Pickles's drinking is brought to the attention of the band and he's sent to rehab, he tries for a while to blame it on St. Cecilia. She broke his heart, and he drinks to cope. It makes perfect sense, until he starts to really think about it and realizes that he's equally at fault for how their relationship (And also SnB) fell apart. He realizes, after many years, that he hurt her as badly as she hurt him. And that makes him feel even worse. He talks the doctor into letting him call her to apologize, but it doesn't go well: She's a little offended that he would even consider blaming her for his drinking, given he was a drunk long before they met. "Is that what I am to you now? An excuse to get drunk and act a fool?" Not long after that, Pickles realizes the real cause for his drinking.

-Just before Charles goes to speak to the UN in Doublebookedklok, he calls St. Cecilia and cryptically asks her if she speaks Latin. She owes him a favor for getting her out of some legal trouble, so she can't really refuse. Several months before, she punched a scummy paparazzo who called Magnus washed-up, and Charles used his reeducation program to keep those involved from pressing charges or damaging St. Cecilia's reputation. 

-Season 4:

-In Fanklok, before Charles meets with the band to discuss Klokikon, he welcomes St. Cecilia to Mordhaus and presents her with an ancient-looking journal that belonged to Aurelius Isambard, one of the original prophets of the Church of the Black Klok. She's taken down to the basement, where she's introduced to Edgar Jomfru, and gets to work. 

-In Diversityklok, after he's spoken to Edgar, Charles speaks to St. Cecilia. He finds her engrossed, but thoroughly worried. She asks if this is real, and she's even more worried when he tells her it is. 

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia has been hard at work translating the journal, and she's come to a passage that seems to describe the growing tension between the band. It also mentions an approaching star, and she takes to sitting on the roof at night to observe the sky. 

-In Prankklok, when Pickles tells Nathan that he's not allowed to drink any tequila during their friender-bender, Nathan tells him he can't visit St. Cecilia when they stop in London. Pickles reluctantly agrees. Not long after, we see Pickles on his phone, though, debating on calling her just before he notices the storm warning.

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia approaches Charles about a phrase repeated over and over in the journal: Fata sidus oritur, the star of fate is born. 

-After Charles breaks the news about Ice Festival to Skwisgaar in Bookklok, he goes to speak with St. Cecilia and Edgar in the basement. She's tacked two star maps to the wall: One from the previous week and one from the previous night. There's a spot near the center of the first map that seems bigger on the second one. She looks like the world is ending when she tells him it's the Doomstar. It's real. It's coming? When? Soon, she says. Far too soon.

-When Charles tells the boys he's going out of town in Dethcamp, it's to take St. Cecilia to an observatory, where they meet with Ishnifus and spend a few days tracking the Doomstar's movement as it comes closer and closer to Earth. 

-In Going Downklok, when Pickles shows up all decked out for his meeting with Abigail, Nathan is quick to ask, "Don't you have a girlfriend?" Pickles insists he doesn't; He and St. Cecilia was hurt and angry the last time they spoke. On top of that, he believes she's all the way in London, and Abigail is right there. 

-Offscreen, between Dethdinner and Breakup Klok, St. Cecilia is tagged in the video of Pickles leaving Dethklok by a drunken Toki. She's incredibly hurt. Pickles has nothing, he said. She, apparently, is nothing.

-In Breakup Klok, Pickles tries to call St. Cecilia to invite her to his wine tasting, but she refuses to answer and sends him straight to voicemail. Towards the end of the episode, after the escape from Salacia, Charles requests a check-up on Edgar and St. Cecilia back at Mordhaus, and Pickles is stunned and angry to learn that she's been more or less within arm's reach for months. Had he known, he's certain things would have been different-- He wouldn't have tried to make a move on Abigail and he wouldn't have fucked up his chance to get back with St. Cecilia again.

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia speaks to Charles about staying at a hotel for a few days, just until Roy Cornickelson's funeral, after which she'll return to Mordhaus and her translation work. The day of the funeral, though, she receives a call from Magnus telling her she absolutely cannot attend, as he can't guarantee her safety. It's the last time she has contact with him before his death. We also see her watching the news about Dethklok's breakup and the insinuation that Abigail caused it, and St. Cecilia chucks a bottle at the TV, mirroring Pickles's actions in SnB II.

-In Church of the Black Klok, St. Cecilia is fetched from the hotel by Klokateers and taken to the Dethsub, where she meets with Charles, pointedly ignores Pickles, and goes to work with Edgar instead. 

-The Doomstar Requiem:

-In "One of Us Must Die," St. Cecilia can be seen on one of the slides, staring up into the sky with Isambard's journal held to her chest. Towards the end of the song, reading from the book, she sings, "Dethklok, they must be rejoined/Evil, it must be destroyed/No more apathetic stoics/They can learn to be heroic/Write the song that will be our salvation..."

-In "Training," while carrying the journal, she sings the lyrics, "As the prophecy foretold, the Doomstar has been born/And you all will be endowed with a power known to none." Nathan, Skwisgaar and Murderface are looking at the art of the Prophecy, but Pickles is watching her. Ishnifus places a hand upon her shoulder, and they sing together, "The Deth lights are within you all waiting to be woken/And when the five are united, the evil will be broken," in a show of solidarity.

-In "En Antris et Stella Fatum Cruenti," just after Ishnifus is killed and the Doomstar goes red, we see a shot of Charles, Edgar and St. Cecilia at the Church, watching the sky. 

-In "Morte Lumina," in a mirror to Nathan and Abigail's kiss, we see Pickles approach St. Cecilia, and she presses a kiss to his palm (Which is a really significant gesture between them) before he pulls her into his arms. 

Trivia: 

-The stars on her cheeks are actually a makeup trick, as she's afraid to have a needle so close to her eyes. 

-She smokes Honeyrose Cherry cigarettes (Which have roughened her voice a bit), but she doesn't drink to excess, save when she's with Pickles. He's a terrible influence on her, but she adores him just the same. Considering him and Magnus, she has rather bad taste in men.

-Her signature scent is Estée Lauder's Cinnabar, which features notes of jasmine, orange blossom, cloves, and patchouli. She uses a cinnamon body oil when she wants to get Pickles's attention. It always works.

-She wants nothing more than to be loved, but she's keenly aware of the fact that most of the people who "love" her only want to coast on her fame. It's resulted in her having a hard time trusting people. The fact that Pickles and the rest of Dethklok don't need to coast off her is part of why she likes them so much.

-She's an iced coffee addict, and she prefers chocolate, caramel, or hazelnut varieties.

-She was raised Catholic, and while she lapsed a long time ago, she has occasional bouts of Catholic Guilt. Her name is related to her religion, as St. Cecilia is the patron saint of music.

-Her preferred alcohol is Bombay Sapphire gin, though she also likes white wine and champagne.

-She's a plant mom. Her flat is full of plants, including a little devil's tongue cactus she bought at a farmer's market in LA when she first came to America. It's traveled the world with her! It lived in the cupholder of Snazz's van for several years, and now it lives in her kitchen, perched on top of the microwave.

-She has a pretty serious oral fixation. She's always got something in her mouth: A cigarette, a pen, a popsicle, someone's fingers, a dick. Depends on her mood. Getting her tongue pierced helped a little, as she can play with the stud, but some habits just can't be broken.

-She and the rest of Stiletto own a condo building in London together, and she naturally has the penthouse to herself. It's very airy and open, with lots of mirrors and plants and exposed brick. One corner of her living room is just a huge window that looks out on the city. It's her favorite feature. Magnus is too nervous to go near it.

[nah-she-didnt]

Erm.... hi.... I don't think this was on the prompt list that you posted recently, but it's a prompt I've seen somewhere else on Tumblr: for Wolfstar, could you do "I love you no matter what your brain tells you."? It's totally 100% okay if not ofc, no pressure <3

Hello! Sorry this took a bit, inspiration struck, but free time did not. I altered your prompt a tiiiny bit to make it a cleaner fit for my idea.

Also, while I LOVE my jily-centric followers so much, if any wolfstar blogs out there wanted to reblog this I would love to get into that space more since I do write a fair number of remus/sirius fics!

Enjoy! Once again, I did not proof read this thoroughly, so I apologize for any obvious typos!

--

“I Love You No Matter What Your Head Tells You”

Remus was utterly exhausted.

His first night as a prefect had not gone smoothly. One particularly thick first year had managed to get himself lost on the way to the Gryffindor common room, a feat that Remus previously thought was impossible considering that the prefects always led the first years to the dorm in one large group. However, Matthew McMorris claimed he’d been so distracted by a painting of medieval witches on the third floor that he’d looked up to find his group nowhere to be found. And so, it fell to Remus to retrieve him. Thank god for the map.

Remus turned to shoot McMorris a stern look as they climbed through the portrait hole. “Right, straight upstairs with you. You’ll be grateful for a full eight hours of sleep before your first lesson tomorrow, trust me.” The boy scowled at him before scampering away to the boy’s staircase. 

Remus yawned and stretched dramatically as he glanced around the room. Most of the students had already gone to bed, but James, Peter, and Dorcas sat together on the couch in front of the fire. 

“Alright?” James asked absentmindedly as he studied his hand of Exploding Snap cards. Peter held his hand upside down as if hoping that a new perspective would allow inspiration to strike. 

“Fantastic,” Remus muttered as he dropped into the seat next to Dorcas, “who’s winning?” 

“Who do you think,” Peter grumbled as he watched James play a particularly good hand, “how do you manage to rope me into this stupid game every time?” 

James shrugged. “I guess you’re a glutton for punishment.” 

The boys continued to bicker. Dorcas nudged Remus with her elbow. “Do you know what’s up with Black tonight?” 

Remus didn’t meet her gaze. He knew that Sirius had been in a particularly bad mood on the Hogwarts Express. The mood must have been the result of an entire summer spent cooped up in Grimmauld Place. “What do you mean?”

“The berk snapped at me earlier!” Dorcas scoffed, “I asked him how his summer was and said ‘mind your own fucking business.’ Very uncool.” 

“Yeah,” Remus said distractedly as he glanced towards the boys’ staircase, “extremely uncool.” 

“Don’t even think about going up there, Moony,” James called over his shoulder, “he’s not in the mood. We’re giving him some space before we go up.” 

Remus frowned at James. “You mean you’re just leaving him up there, alone? After the summer he’s had?”

James shrugged again. “He said he wanted to be alone. I wasn’t about to argue.” 

Remus shook his head and stood. “Well, I’m going to check on him.” 

“Godspeed, mate,” Peter called at his retreating back. 

Remus marched towards their dormitory determinedly, but lost confidence with each step up the spiral stairs. Sirius could be wildly unpleasant when he was in one of his moods, and he’d already had a stressful night of rounding up wild first years. Nevertheless, Remus couldn’t bear to think of him up there all alone. Perhaps when Sirius said he wanted space from his friends, he didn’t mean Remus himself. Maybe Sirius would be glad to see him. 

Remus paused with his knuckles inches from the door. One last chance to turn back, he thought to himself. After a moment’s hesitation, he shoved his worries aside and rapped loudly on the door. 

A loud hmph greeted his knock. Remus took this as an indication that he was allowed to enter. 

Sirius was sprawled out on his four-poster bed, still fully clothed. He stared up at the ceiling as he tossed an old quaffle up into the air only to catch it at his chest again and again. He didn’t look around as Remus sidled into the room.

“Um, hi,” Remus offered awkwardly, “did you have a good time at the feast?”

Sirius grunted again.

“Oh. Well, good,” he waited for Sirius to say something back, but he seemed fixated on throwing and catching that damn quaffle. 

At least a minute of silence passed. Remus felt himself sweating slightly. He glanced around the room, desperate for something to talk about. The silence was oppressive. If he didn’t say something soon, he would explode faster than Peter’s cards.

In his desperation, Remus felt himself ask the worst possible question. “Did you have a good summer?” 

Sirius caught the quaffle one last time, then hugged it to his chest. Remus could have smacked himself. 

���I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I just meant- we don’t have to talk about your summer, let’s talk about something-” 

“No,” Sirius said softly, still gazing at the ceiling, “it’s alright. My summer was shit, thank you for asking.” 

There wasn’t a hint of irony or anger in his tone. It was a simple truth. His summer had been pure, total shit. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus mumbled to his shoes. 

He heard Sirius scoff. “Not your fault.” 

Another moment of silence followed this pronouncement. However, this silence wasn’t like the one before. Sirius seemed to be thinking long and hard about what he had just said, completely lost in his own thoughts. It was as if he’d forgotten that Remus was in the room. 

Finally, he spoke again.

“They’ve gone absolutely mental,” he nearly whispered, “mental. You know they’re full-on blood purists now, right?” 

Remus shifted uncomfortably. He knew that Sirius’ parents had become more and more radicalized over the years, but Sirius had rarely opened up about their beliefs, and Remus never asked.

“They think I’m the ultimate blood traitor. Worse than a blood traitor, actually. A ‘lazy, ungrateful, sorry excuse for a son.’ That was what she called me last night when I told her I didn’t want to come home for the holidays. Ungrateful because I don’t want to end up a hateful, spiteful hag like her.” 

Sirius grew more agitated with every passing word. Remus could see his knuckles growing white as he gripped the quaffle fiercely into himself.

“And the really fucked up part is that they clearly love Reg more. And I get it, right? I can see why they love him so much because he kisses their arses. I know he loves me and all, but he cares more about what they think than about supporting me. That’s the worst fucking part.” 

Sirius brought his hand to his face under the pretense of scratching his nose, but Remus knew that he was wiping a tear on the cuff of his shirt. 

“I just can’t get them out of my head,” he sighed, “stupid, useless, blood traitor. Unworthy of love. And all the rest. It’s like there’s a record in my head that plays over and over again, and I can’t turn it off. It’s hell.” 

Remus felt completely frozen. He had absolutely no idea what to say to any of this. All the responses that ran through his head felt tired and unhelpful. Sirius did not need someone to lie to him and tell him that his parents really cared for him, deep down. He didn’t need someone to tell him that it would all be alright in the end, that everything would work itself out.

The only thing he could think to say tumbled from his lips before he could stop himself. 

“Well, I love you no matter what your head tells you.” 

Sirius’ head snapped up. He looked Remus in the eye for the first time since he entered the room. A beat passed between them, a moment that allowed Remus to realize what he’d just said. He felt his cheeks burn with panic. 

“We! We love you, me and James and...and Peter,” Remus finished weakly. Excellent. There was nothing unreasonable about expressing the familial love shared between four boys who were like brothers, right? 

Sirius blinked at him, then nodded slowly. He looked as if he were trying to solve a particularly complicated arithmancy equation in his head. “Right. Thanks, Moony.” 

Remus let out a breath. He started to back up towards the door to the dormitory. “Well, I’ll leave you alone again. Or, I dunno, do you want to come downstairs? Pete’s about ready to blow James’ head off if he wins at Exploding Snap again.” 

Sirius still looked preoccupied as he eyed Remus. Finally, he lifted his gaze back up to the underside of his four-poster. 

“Nah,” he grunted as he threw the quaffle into the air again, “you go. I’m not in the mood.” 

Remus nodded, then turned to leave. Just before he could shut the door behind him, Sirius called, “Moony?” 

Remus nearly tripped over himself as he hurried back through the door. “Yeah, Pads?” 

Sirius grinned his lopsided grin. The one that made Remus’ head go fuzzy. “Thanks again. I love you too.”  

Remus smiled back, then closed the door. He hardly noticed the way he pounded down the cold stone steps back into the common room, as he was too busy walking on air.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

The Talking Dead - FTWD 7x01 and TWB 2x03

Happy TWD Sunday, everyone! Today I wanted to do a quick post about last week's the talking dead. There wasn't a whole lot that jumped out at me from this episode, but just a couple of things worth noting. So, this will be short and sweet.

This was for FTWD 7x01 and TWB 2x03.

They had a big emphasis on Strand becoming a super villain. I suppose we all could have guessed that, but it sounds to me like they're not going to have him waffle back and forth like they have for so many seasons. He really does seem like he's going to become majorly villainous moving forward.

Nicolas Cantu (Elton) was on the show. I noticed he was wearing a yellow coat and a red shirt. The outfit was probably to mirror the yellow corduroy suit (tuffystitch) he wears as armor in the show, but we've said before that it mirrors Beth's yellow polo, and Elton is of a proxy of her. So, seeing him in his outfit on TTD caught my attention.

During the “In memoriam” for TWB, they mentioned the possum. That's not weird in and of itself. The In Memoriam bit is usually focused on walkers, but they will put any animal or human, anything that dies, in it. However, it did feel like there was an emphasis on the possum. They labeled it, "Not playing possum possum.” That means this possum really was dead and not just faking it, but it's also sort of an acknowledgment by the show that there might being other creatures ‘playing possum’ at various points.

One of the guests was Aisha Tyler, because she directed the episode. In talking about the scene where Elton and Percy accidentally step into a graveyard that I talked about last week, Aisha Tyler had a line that really caught my ear. She said, "if you step on a human’s eye, you are going home." She was talking about being nervous because the walker extras really were buried and both characters had to run through that scene. She was worried about the extras getting stepped on.

But they put a lot of emphasis on the eye Elton saw opening up, and this quote from her had both a mention of the eye and of going home. It totally sounded casual and like she just said it off the cuff, but as a general rule, I don't believe most comments like this are made off the cuff. They are good at making them sound like they are, but always find a way to work them into the conversation. So, I think this line from her was intentionally planned so she could mention some TD symbols.

For the record, they also showed the eye open in the in memoriam for TWB, and of course all the flower walkers. So, there was a huge emphasis on the symbols in the scene.

They had a pre-recorded interview with Coleman Domingo what he was talking about Strand and why he killed Will. He said that Strand, "doesn't need the complication of Alicia's love…" The idea being that her love cause him to make him make better choices and choose to be good. It would keep him from being evil and bring back his humanity. I just thought that was an interesting theme. While Daryl has never chosen to be evil, Beth definitely brought out the better in him and increased his humanity. And we’ve already established that Alicia is being heavily paralleled with Beth this season.

They also said there would be a flashback later in the season of Will and Alisha that will explain what happened between them. I'm looking forward to that.

Beyond that, Aisha Tyler was asked about Easter eggs in the episode and she's the one who talked about T. Brooks Ellis, and the fact that he was wearing the double helix bolo tie. If she hadn't said this on TTD, I'm not sure anybody would have picked it up. So once again, I feel like this question was specifically put in so she could talk about this.

She also very openly said that the Commonwealth, the CRM, and each of our groups are all connected. Granted, we could've told you that a long time ago, but it was nice to have someone who's in the know, a director and such, finally admit that. That the CRM and the CW are interconnected somehow. Once again, it's just confirming all of our theories.

That's it for TTD. Anyone's hear anything I missed?

[the-scarecrxw]

📓 :D

okay <3 I'm very fond of The Boys Retiring apparently but I have this one fic that I've just barely started but it's probably gonna be long.

So au Jeremiah going crazy plotline never happens. it's just chaos of chaos' sake. Rome still gets shot and is out of the picture for awhile. Jonathan and Jervis are up to no good until Jervis gets arrested (Jonathan very rudely does not give a fuck and doesn't help him) then like a week later Jerome emerges and together they cause chaos.

After a seemingly only Jerome attack on the gcpd (jim voice: that knockout gas hasn't been identified, tho. could be Crane.) Jim and Harvey are searching around the gcpd for any stragglers of Jerome's followers and such and whoops they check an alley and completely interrupt Jerome and Jonathan's post mission adrenaline rush bang and after some awkward back and forth (and Rome admitting he tossed his gun the moment he saw Jon) Jim is like "fuckin idiots. please cuff yourselves."

As they're leading them away Harvey makes a snide comment calling them freaks (bc Jerome made a joke about handcuffing Jonathan) and Jonathan does Not take it well and promptly elbows him and bolts, and Jerome quickly follows. Jim and Harvey take fire but the boys are able to duck out of the alley unscathed.

or so it seemed. Jerome looks back to not see Jonathan. He of course immediately turns back and oh god Jonathan is on the ground and there's blood and Jerome is panicking and getting angry because and Jim Fucking Gordon shot his boyfriend in the lung and hes probably dying.

this got long whoops one sec

Jim. feels very bad. he has very much so always felt bad about Jonathan. he always thought if he'd been quicker he could have saved him from his dad's serum. if he payed more attention to his case afterwards he wouldn't have gotten sent to Arkham. Abused there. Wouldn't have become Scarecrow. And now he just shot him. he's just a kid, really. barely 18.

Jim of course is like "okay, be mad later and help me stabilize him. get him on his side, put lots of pressure." in the bg Harvey is calling an ambulance and a patrol car to take Jerome to the precinct. Jerome very fiercely fights that he's not leaving Jonathan, who at this point is very out of it. So out of it that Jerome is very concerned and Jim is like "uhh yeah he's in shock because his lung just collapsed" and Jerome is like👌this close to strangling Jim but that would mean taking pressure off of Jonathan's wound.

Patrol car is there, ambulance another few minutes out. Officer switches places with Jim so he can take Jerome to the precinct [AND THIS IS WHERE I LEFT OFF WRITING SO FAR] but Jerome is still refusing but he eventually manages to pull him away (Harvey replaces him to apply pressure) While they're driving to the precinct Jim awkwardly tries to reassure him that Jonathan will be okay, the operation to help him rarely has complications. Jerome doesn't respond and Jim just... politely pretends he doesn't hear Jerome biting back sobs.

They keep Jerome in one of the interrogation rooms while Jim ya know washes all this blood off himself (Jerome is still covered in it) I haven't thought much about this portion of the fic, it's moreso time filler for until Jonathan gets out of surgery. Probably just gonna be Jerome refusing to talk to anyone until he can see Jonathan. Eventually Jim gets a call from Harvey that Jonathan is out of surgery, stable, and just waking from anesthesia so it would be the perfect time to interrogate him and Jim reluctantly agrees.

Jim, though, does have a heart and informs Jerome of the news and he immediately flips and demands to see him but Jim keeps refusing until Jerome yells "I'll stay in Arkham peacefully for the rest of my life if I can just get some time with him!" Jim reluctantly agrees (and helps clean him up bc they're not gonna bring him in covered in blood)

When they arrive Harvey has already been questioning him for a bit but it hasn't gone far bc Jon is still loopy and very good at avoiding questions. The moment he sees Jerome he tries to get out of bed except he's been quite literally strapped down to it so that doesn't go well. Harvey steps back and lets Jerome sit by Jon

We get very soft times from the pov of the awkward observers. Rome holds Jon's hand, occasionally strokes his face and hair and kisses his cheek while they're quietly talking and it's all very sweet and so incredibly uncharacteristic from what they're used to seeing from. well. maniacs.

As Jon really starts to get more lucid it's clear he's not comfortable being strapped down at all, he's constantly testing the straps and squirming and Jerome starts to unstrap him but Jim is quick to protest, saying he has to stay in bed and they can't risk him trying to escape while injured and Jerome snaps "he's not going to escape! he's going to stay and cooperate. He just doesn't like the straps. They did that to him in Arkham." Jim lets Jerome finish unstrapping him. they talk quietly some more for a bit before Harvey interrupts like "hey we really got to uh. talk and shit." and they both agree so the four of them sit there and after a moment of silence Jerome goes

"I'll agree to go to Arkham and stay if Jonathan can be pardoned. Blame it on temporary insanity-- something. Anything to keep him from going back there. He can function in society-- he can." Jonathan reluctantly nods and agrees

"Arkham tried giving me a medication. it quieted the Scarecrow. made it easier to ignore his suggestions and the urges he would give me. I refused to take them... But I'll take them now. If I can visit Jerome in Arkham."

Jim and Harvey of course initially protest but Rome and Jon make a really good argument. It's clear the arrangement was something they'd talked about before, but was still painful to enact. They clung to each other's hands, shaking. They didn't like the idea of being seperated. Being together kept them sane but Jerome refused to have Jonathan go back to Arkham. it had been a long argument and a lot of convincing before Jonathan agreed to the plan of Jerome going to Arkham alone.

So.... it happens. There's an actual trial this time (bc Negotiations) Jonathan is still too hurt to attend in person so lawyer in his stead and such. Jonathan watches the news with tears in his eyes in his hospital room as they get everything they planned. As Jerome gets carted off past a jeering crowd into an Arkham inmate transfer van.

I don't have much past this point. I imagine part of the deal has Jonathan being some sort of city/state ward for awhile? he's technically an adult but he'd been in basically prison since 15, so he has help getting set back up. I imagine a filler chapter of a Very Mundane Day of Jonathan's life.

Wakes up in his shitty little apartment. takes his morning meds. has a shitty poptart breakfast (he never really liked them until Jerome introduced him to the cookies and cream flavor) Goes to some classes (he's learning psychology...) where he pretends to be a normal person. Works after school (he's a library assistant.) Gets home and ponders if he needs glasses (glasses jonathan supremacy.) Has a shitty dinner while he emails his court ordered therapist that yes he is doing perfectly fine (that's a lie) no he doesn't need to see him this week, that panicked email in the middle of the night was absolutely nothing. Takes his night meds. Does homework or studies until he passes out. Rinse and Repeat until Saturday.

Saturday is his one good day. That's his Jerome day. His therapist notes an immediate uptick in his mood on Saturdays for approximately 4 days until it rapidly drops to concerning levels. Seeing Jerome sort of... Resets him. Cant quite say happy, how can you be happy when you can only see the love of your life your boyfriend for two hours once a week? For a long time they weren't allowed to touch, Jerome was handcuffed to the table. Now they hold hands his entire visit and sit close enough to whisper to each other softly, and they try to sneak kisses when the guard looks away for a moment.

Jerome's therapist notes his mood stabilizes on Fridays and lasts until Tuesday, in which he returns to the expected maniacal behavior.

....

okay I have more I want to write about this but I have to start getting ready for work so :( please enjoy this <3

[fleetingpieces]

Everything we were CH 4

I was kinda waiting to post the chapters I already have for this fic, but work is keeping me hostage and I couldn’t finish MOIAM and I miss writing, so here ya go

Enjoy some marauders❤️

Special thanks to @knittingdreams for being such an amazing friend and beta❤️

Please check the tags for CW!

Masterlist ¦ Ao3

Chapter 4

“GRYFFINDOR!”

When the Hat announced that to the whole school, Sirius felt the blood leave his face. His thoughts were all jumbled. He had always felt a bit different than the rest of his family, and in the last few years he’d started drifting further and further away from them. But the Blacks had always been in Slytherin. Yes, he had thought about the possibility of this happening, and some part of him actually felt relieved, but it was still a shock to hear. His first reaction was to look up to the Slytherin table, smiling slightly at his cousin. When he saw Narcissa’s fuming glare however, his smile fell and he looked down. It had only been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity before the gryffindors erupted in a wild applause and cheer.

He quickly took the Hat off and walked to the table, feeling dumbstruck, until his eyes found James’ and the boy gave him a thumbs up with a happy grin. Sirius relaxed a fair amount after that, kind of enjoying the bemused faces smiling up at him as he took a place on the bench.

The red haired girl from the train, Evans, was the second student to be placed in Gryffindor. Sirius tried to make some space for her, given that they were now housemates, but as soon as the girl recognized him, she threw a pointed look his way and promptly ignored him. Sirius rolled his eyes. What a stuck up.

Then a boy named Remus Lupin got called to the front and sat down with the Hat, shifting nervously. After only one second, Sirius saw the boy’s body go completely still, his face turning awfully pale. He wondered what the Hat could be telling him. But then the boy got sorted into Gryffindor as well; he came to sit down next to Sirius in a dazed state similar to the one he himself had been in.

Two more girls were consecutively placed in their house. The gryffindors were almost howling at this point, but Lupin was looking down, not noticing anything around them, stuck in his own thoughts. So Sirius decided to take the initiative. They were going to spend basically 7 years together after all.

“Hello.”

He was faced with bright amber eyes, and it was only then that Sirius realized it was the lad from the station. The boy gave him an apprehensive once over, before his eyes stopped at the sleeves of his robes and stayed there. Sirius tilted his head as the silence dragged by. Then Lupin’s head snapped up and he replied shyly.

“Um, hi.”

Sirius smiled, somehow reminded of Regulus. He thought about something to say, but before he could come up with anything interesting, the students around him started cheering again, and a pudgy blond boy sat in front of them. Sirius suddenly thought of James and tried to locate him between the remaining students, finding him just as he was called over by Professor McGonagall.

When James put the Hat on his head, a sudden fear took hold of Sirius. What if James was sorted into another house? They had bonded so quickly the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. They wouldn’t be able to spend much time together if they were in different houses, and what if Sirius couldn’t make other friends?

His thoughts were put at ease fairly quickly though, as James was sorted into Gryffindor as soon as his bum had touched the stool.

The rest of the evening was a breeze of happiness for Sirius, with just a little prick of doubt. He knew his family was a bit obsessed with the snake house and purebloods, but surely they wouldn’t hate him for this. He could still achieve great results at school even if he was a Gryffindor, and he’d never really liked Narcissa anyway, so she could just bugger off. His parents wouldn’t care, right? 

However, he forgot all about that uneasiness when they were guided through the castle to the common room, and he and James struck an animated conversation with Nearly Headless Nick. All in all, it was a great start of his school life.

 ***

 There was a draft coming from one of the windows of the big Charms classroom, making Remus shiver. He pulled at the sleeves of his jumper to cover his hands completely, the movement reminding him how uncomfortable he felt in his new uniform. He wasn’t used to clothes like this, most of his wardrobe at home was muggle. Jeans and sweatshirts were so much better than shirts, trousers and Merlin, that damned tie. How the hell was anyone able to make that thing look good and not a rumpled knot was beyond him. The only redeeming fact about the piece of clothing was whatever charm came with it. Remus had been surprised that morning before breakfast, when he’d gone through his trunk and found that his tie and the lines at the cuffs and neck of his jumper had changed from black to bright red and gold. He was faintly aware that he shouldn’t have been so surprised by it, but he just couldn’t help but try to figure out which spell was used on the school uniforms.

A loud thump beside him made him look up.

“Man, how did you find the classroom so fast? I’ve been wandering around for ages with those bloody staircases and whatnot. Had to ask a prefect to help me!” Pettigrew ranted, noticing with a weary glance that he was the last one in, but he seemed relieved that the class hadn’t started yet.

Remus gave him a noncommittal hum. He had been avoiding the other boys as much as he could since the feast last night, which wasn’t easy given that apparently all four of them would be sharing a dorm together. It made things so much more complicated. Remus had to take special care to get changed in their private bathroom, he didn’t want any of them seeing his body.

Pettigrew opened his mouth to say something more, but then Professor Flitwick appeared behind the desk, standing on top of a pile of books that didn’t look too steady, if you asked Remus.

“Alright students, please take out your wands,” he said with a squeaky voice. “Today we are going to learn about the Levitation Charm. This charm is an excellent test of your magical skills, wand control, and above all, patience!”

Remus felt the excitement filling him up. Finally, he would be able to try his new wand! He hadn’t dared use it at his house, to risk giving the Ministry an excuse to visit them and find out about him. No, Remus had been very careful and had pushed down on his anxiety.

But now he could finally try his hand at some spells!

Looking up at the Professor with bright eyes, he listened carefully to the explanation, taking in every detail of the demonstration. He actually knew most of the theory already, as he had read about it while at home.

“Now, try it yourselves. Don’t forget to do the right wand movement!”

Remus looked at the big white feather in front of him. To keep the nervousness from showing, he gripped his wand tightly, feeling a warm sensation spreading to his fingers. The students around him were chanting the spell out loud, the swish of wands drifting through the air, whoops of joy when someone got it right.

It’s ok, calm down already, Remus thought to himself.

He squared his shoulders, flicked his wand once…and nothing happened. His eyebrows drew together as he tried again. Nothing. He could clearly hear other students had succeeded already, but his feather was as unmoving as it had been when he’d set it on top of the desk. Maybe he was doing something wrong? After a few more tries with the same result, Remus started panicking. Was he not good enough? Did he have zero magical skill?  Would the Headmaster realize he’d made a mistake and send him back home?

Then a darker, scarier thought crossed Remus’ mind. What if it had to do with him being a creature? Was he too much of a monster already that he couldn’t use magic anymore? His condition had taken so much from him already, that he wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Remus was scared to look up, but if his lack of magic was a characteristic of his kind, he had to make sure that no other student had noticed. No one could know. Glancing around, he saw Pettigrew waving his wand frantically, sweat forming on his forehead, the white plume in front of him lying lazily on the table. With a tiny bit of hope, he noticed that quite a few students were still having problems, even if most of them seemed to have gotten at least some reaction from their feathers. Except from him and Pettigrew, that is. Apparently, they were the only ones not accomplishing anything.

Remus exhaled a relieved breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He wasn’t a complete monster yet.

The teacher had said they would need patience, so he kept trying and trying, purposefully avoiding to look at Potter and Black, who were making their own quills clash around in the air while laughing. The theory was all in his head, the words and wand movement fresh in his memory, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around the way magic was supposed to work. The practical part of it was completely new, he had no reference as to what it should be like, as he hadn’t had any way to practice this at home.

Just as the bell rang, Remus felt something clicking in his head. The feather made a turn in the air, making his heart skip a beat, and he smiled happily as it hovered shakily in front of his eyes.

“Merlin, at least you were able to do it in the end,” said Pettigrew with a bitter scowl.

The pudgy boy had only managed to make his quill toss and turn on the table top. Remus gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I think yours was taking off that last time.”

Pettigrew's face lit up a bit, and Remus wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Was that comment too friendly?

“Good on you, Lupin!” said a voice from behind them. Remus turned around to face Potter, who had Black sitting right next to him. “A lot of people don’t get it on the first lesson. At least that’s what my Dad said.”

Remus didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell if they were making fun of him or not. All the other students were leaving already, the sound of shuffling feet on the hallways filling the air. So he gave Potter a small nod and hurried out as well, leaving the boys slightly stunned. He knew he was being rude, but he didn’t know how else to interact with them. It would be better if he didn’t have to do that at all.

The first year gryffindors had some free time before lunch and, thinking about ways to keep himself busy, Remus decided to explore the castle a bit. It really was a pain to get around without getting lost, Remus had only found the classroom by following other students discreetly. He wanted to get acquainted with every hall and passage, and he really wanted to figure out the pattern of those bloody moving staircases. He’d nearly fallen five floors that morning when one of them started moving just as he was getting on.

Remus reached the hallway on the third floor, thinking about how nobody seemed to mention anything about the multiple dangerous things the school housed. Maybe that was why he’d been allowed to attend.

He was so distracted that he didn’t notice there was something in his way until he bumped face first into it. Rubbing his nose and cursing under his breath, he looked up to find Avery, the bulky first year from Slytherin, looking down his nose at him.

“Watch where you’re going, you dirty scum.”

The boy was barely a few inches taller than him, but he was wide; his arms were probably three times the size of Remus’. His short dark hair was cut in a way that made his jaw look sharper and his brown eyes harder. Avery had his arms crossed over his chest, studying Remus like he was a piece of meat. Remus raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. 

The situation reminded him an awful lot of some experiences he’d had with some neighbourhood kids when he and his family had lived in East Sussex. Avery seemed like the kind of mindless bully that would love to pick on Remus just because of his small and scrawny complexion. Those other kids had certainly enjoyed making him their preferred target. But it was precisely because of that, that Remus knew to keep an eye on his surroundings and scurry when necessary. So he went around Avery, muttering a half-hearted apology and trying to move along, but was soon stopped by another figure that came from behind the slytherin.

“What’s the problem here?” a tall boy with platinum hair drawled. Remus contained a whine and looked up, he’d almost gotten away. There was contempt in the bloke’s voice as he looked at Remus. “Who are you?”

Remus silently studied the blonde for a second. The way he held himself, like he was royalty, was similar to Black’s, but different at the same time. His robes were equally expensive, he had a green and silver tie, and a badge pinned to his chest. Of course he was a prefect. Remus had that kind of luck. There was something in the older boy’s pale blue eyes that was making Remus’ hairs stand on end; he looked like he could be trouble, the kind Remus was aiming to avoid as much as possible.

“I’m Remus Lupin.”

“Lupin?” the prefect sneered. “I’ve heard about your father’s preferences. You are a half-blood.”

It wasn’t a question, so Remus didn’t deign to give him a reply. The way he’d said the last word though, as if it was rotten garbage in his mouth, had Remus frowning. What did that even mean? The bloke was making him nervous, and Remus tried not to shift in place. He didn’t want anyone looking at him that closely, let alone a prefect. No one could know.

“Um, who are you?” his voice sounded smaller than he would have liked, and Avery smirked as the prefect narrowed his eyes at Remus.

“Watch your mouth, boy. It’s Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. You’d do well to remember my name.”

As Malfoy took a step forward, a large group of students appeared around the corner, almost bumping into them when they filled the whole corridor. Remus decided to use that chance to get away before things could get worse, and as the students walked past he blended in with them and disappeared into another hallway. He’d learn to recognize when someone was best to avoid, and Malfoy was definitely someone he didn’t want to cross paths with more than necessary.

Remus walked fast, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, and went in the first room he could find. Closing the door behind him, he leaned into it and closed his eyes. It was his first day of school, and he’d already had to escape from some possible bullies. He wasn’t kidding himself, the kids from his old neighbourhood had no idea why Remus was so weird, but he knew the students at Hogwarts would be able to tell if he showed enough signs, if they saw his scars. He hoped running away hadn’t made things worse.

Sighing, Remus opened his eyes again and was stunned to see where he’d ended up in his haste.

Books.

Thousands of books, right in front of him, neatly organized on shelves. He glanced around with his mouth slightly open. Rows and rows of bookcases, going from one wall to the other, filled the room. There were only a handful of windows that filtered the morning light, giving the space a calm atmosphere. A few students were sitting on the tables scattered all over the big room, but everything was so very quiet; the only sounds were those of quills going over parchment and pages turning.

Remus walked ahead, his eyes glued to all those old volumes, until he reached the front desk and a woman with a deep scowl appeared in his line of sight.

“Are you lost?” she barked.

She was looking at him as if he didn’t belong there. Remus felt himself shrink under that look, but the temptation was too much to just let it slide.

“No, um…are we allowed to borrow any of these books?” He knew that his eyes were wide, probably making him look a bit insane, but he couldn’t erase the expression from his face. To his surprise, the woman’s glare dimmed a little bit. Not enough to make her look less scary though.

“You can borrow any book, except for those on the Restricted Section.” She pointed to the back of the library, where a rope separated some books from the rest. “You’ll need a signed note from a teacher to have one of those checked out. The other books you can read here or take out of the library, if you get my permission first. But I warn you, if you tear, fold, smear or damage these books in any way, the consequences will be quite severe.”

She fixed him with a stern look, and Remus smiled shyly.

“I will be very careful, I promise.”

The librarian looked mildly surprised, but Remus wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. He was staring in awe at all the knowledge sitting in the room, waiting for him to dig into it. The charm they’d learned that morning had been harder than he’d expected, but he was pretty sure he had figured it out now. Maybe he could find a corner of the library to tuck himself away and practice some more. He could even find out which spells they would be learning, and try to learn them ahead of time to avoid himself more embarrassment. Remus hoped that if he practiced enough, he would be able to understand magic better and struggle less. Smiling to himself, he set off to explore the tall shelves.