#anti-Black Siren

[icanseethefuture333]

I've realized I've grown when I realized how corny these whole high value, femme fatale, and hyper femininity blogs/influencers be sounding

[itachi86]

i really hate this dinah vs black siren storyline

[scottishcommune]

Saturday 6th of April, a great clamour echoes down Princes Street. A mixture of music and furious chants and sirens interrupts the usual hum of tourists and traffic. By the gardens, a quiet metal pen is surrounded on both sides...

On one side, a large, noisy, dance party rages.  Queers, straight folk, trade unionists and allies mostly blotting out the hate speeches. Occasionally, an off-tempo chant booms out of the sound system, but mostly it’s playing queer classics.  Powerful women from the STUC black workers, disabled & LGBT committees gather and speak about real feminism, muffled somewhat by the noise. A message of support from Belfast rings out over the PA. On the other side of the transphobic bloc, antifascists and unaffiliated queer activists rage against the barrier. Chants of ‘No borders, no nations, trans liberation’ and ‘trans rights, women’s rights, one struggle, one fight’ blast out of megaphones...

A good reportback on the counterprotest against Posie Parker and her hate mob in Edinburgh last Saturday

[luvvictoria]

Favourite game

( ♡ ) pairing : Gen Narumi x fem!reader

( ♡ ) warning : f!reader, NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, sex , explicit content , p in v, idk bro

( ♡ ) a/n ✏️ : I feel very creative those days 😭

"You're really going to play that now?" You rolled your eyes, but the playful smirk on your lips gave away your amusement.

"What?" Gen didn't look up from his console, his thumbs dancing over the controls. "You know I can't miss the new update."

The room was a mess of discarded action figures and half-eaten ramen bowls, a stark contrast to the gleaming cityscape outside the office window. It was a rare moment of peace before the chaos that often accompanied your lives as members of the Defense Forces.

You shifted in his lap, the friction sending a shiver down your spine. You leaned over, your hair brushing against his cheek. "You're going to miss the best part."

"And what's that?" He finally glanced up, one eyebrow arched in curiosity.

"This." With a swift move, you pulled his head towards you, capturing his lips in a fiery kiss that left you both breathless. The game controller slipped from his grasp, forgotten amidst the growing heat between them.

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent symphony of desire that had been building for weeks. Gen's hand slid down your back, cupping your ass as he pulled you closer. The sound of your heavy breathing mingled with the distant sirens, a stark reminder of the world outside your bubble.

With a playful nip at his bottom lip, your stood up, strutting towards the desk. You leaned over, your breasts pressing against the cool surface. "Are you going to keep playing, or are you going to show me what Japan's Strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant is really made of?"

Gen's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you. He set the game aside, the battle on the screen fading to black. "Alright," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Let's see if you can handle it."

The door to the office slammed shut, the echo muffled by the thick carpet. He stalked towards you, his movements predatory and graceful. The respirator mask hung around his neck, a stark reminder of the battles he faced outside these four walls.

You felt a thrill run through you as he stepped behind you, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. He took off your combat gear, sliding it down your legs and he unzipped his. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Ready?"

Your heart pounded in anticipation. "Always."

The first touch of his dick against your wetness made you gasp. He didn't wait, pushing into you with a force that made your knees buckle. You braced yourself against the desk, your nails digging into the wood.

Your rhythm grew frantic, the sound of your skin slapping together a sharp counterpoint to the sirens wailing outside. Gen's grip tightened, his hips pumping harder, faster, as if trying to outrun the inevitable call to duty.

You moaned, your eyes squeezed shut, the sensations overwhelming you. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, making you forget the tension of their daily lives. You could feel his muscles flexing against you, his strength a stark contrast to his usual laid-back demeanor.

The desk creaked under your weight, papers fluttering to the floor in your wake. Gen's breath was ragged in your ear, his voice a low growl as he whispered dirty encouragements that made your core clench around him.

Your movements grew erratic, the room spinning as your climax approached. You reached back, your hand finding the back of his neck, your nails scraping against his skin. "Harder," you panted, pushing yourself back against him.

He obliged, driving into you with an intensity that left you gasping for air. You could feel him swell inside you, his breathing matching the erratic beat of your own heart.

Suddenly, the desk phone blared to life, the shrill ring piercing the air. Gen cursed, his body tensing. For a moment, you thought he would ignore it, that he would let the world burn for the sake of your passion. But duty called, and with a final, powerful thrust, he groaned, filling you completely.

Your bodies stilled, panting, as the phone continued to ring. With a sigh, Gen pulled out, his cock glistening with your arousal. He reached for the phone, lifting it to his ear. "What is it?" he barked, his voice still thick with desire.

The voice on the other end spoke urgently, the words a blur to your lust-filled brain. But you could feel the change in Gen's body, the tension coiling back into his muscles like a spring winding tighter and tighter.

"Fuck." He slammed the phone down, his expression shifting from passion to grim determination. "We've got a breach. Code Red."

You straightened, your own arousal fading as reality crashed back in. You reached down, adjusting your clothing as Gen turned away to grab his combat gear. "Let's go," you said, your voice steady. "We've got a city to save."

The room was a flurry of activity as you both dressed, strapping on your weapons and gear. The playful banter of moments ago was replaced with the seriousness of the situation at hand. But even as you prepared to face the monstrous threat beyond the office walls, the heat of your encounter lingered, a reminder of the connection that made you more than just colleagues.

When you were both ready, Gen turned to you, his red eyes intense. "Stay safe," he said, his voice gruff.

You nodded, your own eyes gleaming with a fierce resolve. "Always."

And with that, you sprinted out of the office, leaving your passion-filled sanctuary behind, ready to face whatever the world threw at you.

[kojitheopossum]

Bunch of biology related questions!!

1. Are their fin patterns always the same (basically, are they based off fishes that live in the environment the siren is in)? Are there regional subspecies?

2. Do they come from eggs, like sharks?

3. Roughly how big are the pups?

4. How long is the average lifespan of a siren?

5. Would they live in all parts of the ocean, and maybe evolve traits to help them live there? (For this one I’m imagining a siren in the midnight zone, for example. I think they’d evolve to not have their oxygen intake organ, and maybe bioluminescence. I also think they’d be smaller, because the lack of food down there.)

Sorry for the buttload of questions this AU has been living rent-free in my brain :D

ohhh ho ho rubbing my hands together I'm so excited to answers thesee

1) Siren are a highly diverse species but the only two subspecies are the open ocean siren and the smaller sea based siren that populate places like the mediterranean. Siren tend to be very isolated due to aggression, so regions don’t really develop. They don’t tend to resemble any particular fish, but their body shape, color patterns, and “human” features can vary, for example this siren that appears while gems describing them looks very different from etho .

2) Yes! eggs are laid by a female in warm, shallower waters, usually reefs, siren grow up by themselves so the reefs allow them to learn how to hunt the abundant smaller fish. Also, the first born siren will then proceed to eat all the other eggs 💔

3) Pups reach a few feet before hatching, once they hatch they experience rapid growth for the next few years.

4) Technically they don’t die of old age, however the average life span tends to be around 100 years from a combination of interspecies fighting and human hunting (most boats are required to be armed with anti-siren measures). This average is a bit misleading however, most siren either die young (<50) or live much longer than 100.

5) They do in fact live in all parts of the ocean!! The example you give is actually very close to etho, with his small bioluminescent flecks, pale sickly redish coloring, and weak oxygen organ (though it’s still there). However with the size, he’s much larger due to deep sea gigantism. Siren closer to the poles tend to have much more fat storage to keep warm and are mostly black and white while siren in warmer waters tend to be smaller and more nimble to weave between coral. The only body of water they don’t populate is freshwater lakes or rivers, though some have gotten used to the brackish waters of coasts and gulfs.

Don’t apologize, answering questions is one of my favorite parts of the au!!!

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him. 

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense. 

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again. 

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. 

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks. 

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act. 

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers. 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital. 

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips. 

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him. 

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on. 

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought. 

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say. 

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why? 

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.  

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet. 

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says. 

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind. 

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real. 

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says. 

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further. 

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go. 

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort. 

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about. 

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot. 

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself. 

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise. 

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?” 

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.  

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing. 

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier. 

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor. 

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin. 

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry. 

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier. 

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do. 

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie. 

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for. 

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers. 

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.” 

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye. 

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says. 

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running. 

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

[pissworm39]

INTRODUCTION!!!

Hello! I'm pissworm39, you can call me Noah though!

I'm 13 a year old boy and I love MCR, Green Day, and FOB!!

Some of my hobbies include gaming, making art, coding with html, and listening to music.

FUN FACTS ABOUT ME

My birthday is 10/27/10

I'm an atheist and an anarcho-communist!

I can sew and am currently working on some patch pants

My favorite color is green! Specifically #007800 and #B2FF00

I love cartoons!

I use tumblr a LOT

Sometimes I make kandi!

I'm forever bandom obsessed (it started at age 11)

I have a tooth rotated 90 degrees clockwise

DNI LIST

Transphobes, Homophobes, Racists, Zionists, Anti-Semites, Pedophiles, etc. THIS IS NOT A SAFE SPACE FOR YOU!

ANYONE who thinks it's okay to shame people for the way they dress.

MSI or BOTDF supporters (What the fuck is wrong with you??)

Furry haters

Conservatives

Fast Fashion Buyers (SHEIN, Temu, Aliexpress, etc.)

Danger Days Haters

Kink/Sexual blogs

ED/thinspo blogs

Mfs who ship REAL people

yeah i think thats it

PLEASE INTERACT!!

My Chem, Green Day, and FOB fans!

Alternative People!!

Invader Zim / Danny Phantom fans (I'm desperate)

OTHER INFO!!

Some artists/bands I like include : My Chemical Romance, Green Day, Blink-182, Silverstein, Good Charlotte, Yellowcard, Simple Plan, Sum 41, Pierce The Veil, Evanescence, Linkin Park, Bowling For Soup, Avril Lavigne, Paramore, A Skylit Drive, Fall Out Boy, Forever The Sickest Kids, The Offspring, Panic! At The Disco, Snow White's Poison Bite, Sleeping With Sirens, Scary Kids Scaring Kids, New Found Glory, Ice Nine Kills, Taking Back Sunday, The Used, Saves The Day, NOFX, Descendents, Black Flag, Busted, Son Of Dork, Big If, Craig's Brother, MxPx, etc.

Favorite Games : Kirby: Planet Robobot, Nintendogs, Animal Crossing : New Leaf, Minecraft, South Park: The Fractured But Whole, Mario Kart 7, Flipnote Studio, and Tomodachi Life!

Favorite Shows : Invader Zim, Danny Phantom, The Fairly OddParents, The Amazing World Of Gumball, Phineas & Ferb, Gravity Falls, Futurama, South Park, The Grim Adventures Of Billy & Mandy, and Jimmy Neutron.

Here's me btw!!

[fortheloveofwonderland]

But it’s Better if You Do | SR x Fem! Reader

Summary - the Blue Siren strip club is the last place Spencer Reid wants to spend his birthday. And the absolute last thing he needs is to fall for you, the magnetic exotic dancer who Morgan and Luke pay to give him a birthday dance.

A/N - as a rule, I am not technically writing Spencer x Reader right now but this is for @imagining-in-the-margins damsel in distress challenge although it’s a very vague fit. Kind of anti damsel in distress? I don’t know, let’s just roll with it. Candy Shop by 50 Cent is the song used in Magic Mike XXL when Adam Rodriguez does his lil sexy dance so the song choice was an homage to that. Loosely based around the Panic at the Disco song “But it’s Better if You Do.”

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Exotic Dancer Fem! Reader

Category - fluff I suppose? Maybe mild angst. Happy ending.

CW - exotic dancer reader, Morgan and Luke are bad wingmen, hints at lesbian Emily, strip clubs, snarky Spencer, drinking, swearing, Spencer and his inappropriate erection, brief mentions of masturbation, making out.

WC - 8.2k

Oh, isn't this exactly where you'd like me?

I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know.

Praying for love and a lap dance,

And paying in naivety.

The last place Spencer Reid ever expected to find himself on his fortieth birthday was at the Blue Siren Club just off of Dupont Circle. For starters, Spencer wasn’t a big drinker so going to a bar didn’t appeal to him on any other given night, let alone his birthday, but there was much more to the Blue Siren than just being your run of the mill club.

The Blue Siren was well known as being one of the most reputable strip clubs in the district. According to the extensive research Spencer had done when he found out he was to be coming here, it was one of the more exclusive clubs, and if Morgan was to be believed it was popular among law enforcement and other government officials due to its clandestine nature.

From the outside, the Blue Siren looked just like a normal club. If you were to pass it by you may not even glance up at the exposed brick facade and black front door. In the lone window in the front sat a small blue neon sign boosting the club's name and that was all. You wouldn’t be alone in walking right past the establishment without batting an eyelid. 

When Luke had suggested the idea to spend his birthday here, Spencer’s immediate reaction had been laughter, because it had to be a joke, right? Strip clubs and Spencer Reid were not a combination anyone who knew him would put together, surely? 

“Why are you laughing?” Luke frowned at him, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Because you’re making a joke?” 

“No, I’m not.” 

“You’re not?” Spencer’s laughter came to a sudden halt and he stared at Luke in disbelief. “You…you seriously think that’s how I want to spend my birthday?” 

“I was talking to Morgan and-“

“No sentence in the history of the English language that starts with “I was talking to Morgan” has ever had a happy ending.” Spencer scoffed. 

“It’s the happy ending part we’re trying to achieve.” Luke smirked at him, a playful hint in his eye that caused Spencer to swallow thickly at the implication. 

“Y-you…I…” 

“When was the last time you got laid, Reid?” 

Spencer felt the moment his cheeks burnt with an intense embarrassment. In all the years he’d known Luke they had never once discussed their sex lives. In fact, Spencer made it a rule to never discuss his sex life with anyone. 

“That’s a deeply personal question.” He shrunk in on himself. 

“Which is Spencer Reid for, it’s been a while.” Luke smiled knowingly. 

“I…I don’t have to answer that.” 

“You kinda just did.” 

“Regardless,” Spencer shook his head, trying to steer the conversation off of his sex life, or lack thereof. “Strip clubs aren’t brothels. The women don’t sleep with their customers.”

“Morgan and I decided it was slightly more appropriate than buying you a hooker.” 

If Spencer thought he was embarrassed before, he was now absolutely mortified. 

“I don’t need help getting “laid”, as you so eloquently put it.” Spencer shook his head, turning back to his desk and sorting through some papers to distract himself.

“Don’t you?” An amused voice came from behind him and Spencer groaned, running his hands through his hair. He turned slowly in his chair to see Emily standing over him, an almost delighted look in her eyes. “What are we talking about?”

“Morgan and I want to take Reid to Blue Siren for his birthday next week.” Luke filled her in.

“Oh that place is great!” She beamed. “Can I come?”

“Where are we going?” Rossi seemingly appeared as if from nowhere with his coffee and newspaper. 

Spencer grumbled, face palming his hand as the group around him gathered.

“We’re taking Spence to Blue Siren for his birthday.” Emily happily told him.

“Blue Siren? Huh,” Rossi nodded his head. “I haven’t been there for years, count me in. I’ll even see if Hotch wants to join.”

“For the love of god.” Spencer muttered against his hand. No one seemed to hear him and if they did, they ignored him.

“Join what? What did I miss?” Garcia came tottering in on her too high heels, laptop balanced precariously in the crook of her arm.

“Apparently the kid wants to go to a strip club for his birthday.” Rossi informed her.

“No, No.” Spencer shook his head, looking up at them. “The kid does not want to go to a strip club for his birthday.”

“Oh isn’t it the big four-oh?” Garcia bounced up and down in excitement. “You have to do something special for it!”

“I highly doubt a strip club can be deemed as special.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Strip club?” Matt strolled into the conversation now and Spencer wanted to just vanish into thin air.

“Yeah we’re taking Reid for his birthday. Want in?” Luke asked him.

“As long as no one ever tells Kristy.” Matt chuckled. 

“What aren’t we telling Kristy?” Tara popped her head up from her desk, Spencer didn’t even know she was there. 

“That we’re going to a strip club for Reid’s birthday.” Matt offered her a sly smile.

“Oh sweet! Count me in.” She grinned. 

“How about you guys go, since you’re all so excited about it and just tell me how it was? I’ll stay home with a book or something.” Spencer sighed but no one acknowledged him. 

The door opened again and JJ meandered in, all eyes turning to look at her. 

“Uh, hi?” She laughed awkwardly as she walked across the bullpen.

“Have you ever been to a strip club, Jayje?”

Spencer groaned loudly, crumbling in on himself and smacking his head against the hardwood of his desk. Sometimes it was just easier to go along with these things than try to fight them.

And so, only slightly against his will, Spencer let them talk him into spending his birthday in the last place he ever expected to find himself, least of all on his birthday. The whole team was in attendance, plus Morgan and Hotch, he could only assume to have a front row seat to his complete mortification. They met outside the club, waiting for JJ who was late due to the fact she couldn't get Michael to go to sleep. Luke had gone so far as to pick Spencer up from his apartment, which was in the opposite direction, just so the birthday boy wouldn’t have an excuse for ditching them at the last minute.

“Is that really what you’re wearing to go to a strip club, pretty boy?” Morgan nudged Spencer in the arm.

Spencer glanced down at his attire, what he would call a sensible outfit but was clearly not what he was supposed to be wearing given Morgan’s judgemental gaze. It wasn’t a far cry from what he wore everyday, it wasn’t as though Morgan had never seen him dress like this before. He’d donned a perfectly pressed pair of black slacks, pairing them with his old faithful converse, a crisp blue button down and his black Comme Des Garçons cardigan Rossi had gifted him for his birthday a few years ago. He’d decided against a tie, because that seemed too formal for the occasion even for him. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He frowned, pouting a little. 

He quickly eyed up the other men who were all wearing jeans and t-shirts, Rossi and Hotch included. He couldn’t even get started on how strange it was to see Hotch in jeans. 

“You look like a TA.” Matt shrugged. 

“I always look like a TA. Do you guys think I suddenly dress differently outside of work?” He folded his arms.

“I kind of hoped you did.” Luke smirked. 

“Isn’t it supposed to be my birthday?” Spencer grumbled. “I’m already at the last place I want to celebrate so please can we just leave my outfit choices alone?” 

“I think you look dapper.” Tara patted his shoulder like he was her annoying kid brother or something. 

“Thanks?” He pulled a face. 

“And speaking of birthdays!” Garcia was rummaging in her oversized purse before pulling something out. “Voila!”

Spencer frowned at the large, slightly garish, blue and yellow badge proclaiming “Forty Today” in obnoxious bubble font. It was bigger than Garcia’s hand, she surely didn’t expect him to wear that.

“Uh, no offence but there is no way in hell you are getting me to wear that.” He took it from her anyway, slotting it in the front of his satchel. 

“Spoil sport.” Emily chided him. “Anyone would think you don’t like your birthday!”

“I don’t very much like this particular birthday.” He muttered under his breath. “Where is Jennifer? I’d really like to just get this over with.” 

As if on cue, he heard heels on the concrete ground and seconds later the blonde appeared, dragging someone behind her. She smiled as she came round the corner, tugging Will into view under the streetlamp. 

Oh good, more people to witness my humiliation. 

“Hey guys, sorry we’re late!” She gave them apologetic glances. 

“Will, I didn’t know you’d be joining us.” Penelope hugged JJ and then Will.

“You think I was going to sit at home while my wife goes to a strip club?” He chuckled. “I may never get the opportunity to have permission to do this again in my life. Thanks Spence.” 

“You’re so very welcome.” Spencer replied sarcastically. “Can we just get on with this now?” 

“That’s the spirit.” Luke chuckled, draping his arm around Spencer’s shoulders and leading him through the non-descript door.

Inside a long, narrow corridor stretched out before them, the distant thrums of bass heavy music, causing the floor to feel like it was vibrating beneath him. A burly doorman awaited them, so broad he almost encompassed the entire corridor. 

“Hey man, I have a reservation under Alvez. It's this guy's big four-oh.” Luke gripped Spencer tightly, shaking him a little. 

The doorman glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand, scanning over it for a second before looking back up at the motley crew, clearly trying to discern if he needed to card anyone but it was immediately clear he didn’t. 

“Follow me,” He motioned for them to come with him.

Luke took the lead, dragging Spencer by his hold on his shoulders. The music got louder the further down the black corridor they got. It was dark and Spencer had to squint to see the man only a few feet in front of him, the corridor only lit by a single red light bulb swinging from the low ceiling that Spencer almost had to duck to walk under. 

At the end of the corridor was another door and the music had reached fever pitch at this point. Spencer felt as though he could taste the beat, he could certainly feel it palpitating in his chest. The doorman shoved open the door and Spencer blinked against the sudden wave of lights that smacked against his retinas. 

Luke finally let go of his shoulders, the doorway too narrow for the two of them to pass through together and motioned Spencer in front of him. Spencer stepped into the room, surprised by the sudden change in flooring, casting his eyes down to see a plush burgundy carpet now under foot. He tried not to contemplate how many germs were living in that carpet, how many drinks had been spilled and soaked into it over the years, how many other fluids it might have absorbed on top of it. He was sure this place would light up like a christmas tree under a black light. 

He grimaced, looking back up and following in the doormans footsteps across the room. He tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, desperate not to look around and take in his surroundings but his morbid curiosity got the better of him. 

Admittedly if he’d imagined what the inside of a strip club would look like this would have been plucked straight from his imagination. The main lighting was low, shielding most of the seating area in an almost ominous glow. The booths were made up of plush, gold velvet sofas, large dark oak tables in the centre of them. There was a long bar on one side, made of the same oak only its surface seemed to glitter when the light hit it. Over the back were two large velveteen curtains, concealing what Spencer could only assume was the private dance areas. There were four raised platforms each with their own golden, floor to ceiling pole in the centre, blue spotlights pointed at each one. Each podium had a scantily clad young girl dancing in upon it and Spencer quickly averted his gaze again, not wanting to be seen to objectify them. 

“You know the whole reason they are there is to be looked at right?” Morgan was suddenly at his side, nudging him in the arm. 

“It feels very…voyeuristic.” Spencer swallowed.

“Have you seriously never been to a strip club, Reid?” Matt was now at his other side. 

“Why is that so hard to believe? Do I really strike you as the kind of guy who goes to strip clubs?” They arrived at the table and Morgan motioned for Spencer to take a seat while the others sat around him. 

“It’s usually the quiet ones.” Morgan smirked at him. 

“I cannot believe Savannah is ok with you being here.”

“She was fine with it when I told her it was for your birthday.” Morgan winked at him.

“Do I need to tell you what I told Luke? This is not a brothel, I am not getting laid here.” Spencer sighed in exasperation. 

“It's not too late to take you to a brothel, kid.” Rossi smirked, before excusing himself to the bar. 

“This is the lesser of the two evils, trust me.” Spencer sat back against the plush seat and tried to keep his eyes to himself. It was a difficult feat when just in front of them was another podium with a blonde woman dancing in the skimpiest pair of underwear Spencer had ever seen. 

“No deflowering of boy wonder tonight, please.” Garcia giggled.

“Deflower…you are aware I am not a virgin, right?” Spencer pulled a face, was that how people saw him? 

“I was joking, Spence, calm down.” Garcia rolled her eyes, still tittering to herself. 

“It's that kind of defensive attitude that makes people think you are.” Luke, who was sitting on his left, nudged him. 

“I’m fairly certain if I said the same to you, you would be just as defensive.” Spencer shook his head. 

Just then, Rossi returned carrying a tray of champagne flutes and setting them on the table in the centre. He was closely followed by another young woman carrying an ice bucket in each hand, each with a bottle of the club's most expensive champagne chilling inside. 

Spencer didn’t want to look, really didn’t want to be seen to objectify, but the scent of lavender perfume seemed to flood his senses, his brain, and he could no longer think straight all of a sudden. His eyes which had been attached to the floor glanced over to the pair of deep purple, satin peep toe heels which were standing right in front of him. Slowly his eyes trailed upwards, over a set of long, smooth legs, until meeting a silk pair of dangerously tiny panties, matching the shoes in colour, which he quickly scanned over. His eyes worked up the torso until they came to the chest and the purple silk bra that really left very little to the imagination. Swallowing thickly, his eyes continued their ascent to the face and that’s when time seemed to slow to a halt.

Spencer quivered, actually trembled as he took in your soft features and dazzling eyes. The smile on your lips as you looked at him seemed genuine, and not at all like it was a pain for you to be here. You set down the ice buckets and went about opening one of the bottles, pouring everyone a glass. When you poured Spencer’s glass, bending a little as you did so, his eyes couldn’t help the way they dipped to your cleavage spilling out over the top of your bra.

He quickly snapped his gaze away and thanked you with a shaky smile. He crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to hide an arising problem in his pants.

“I’m Y/N, I’ll be your host for the evening.” You had to speak loudly to be heard by everyone over the pulsing music in the club. “Which one of you is the birthday boy?”

Your eyes flicked between the men in the group, well all of them except the all guy who had paid for the drinks. You’d been informed it was a fortieth birthday, there was no way it was him. 

“This guy right here,” Morgan grinned, gripping Spencer by the shoulders. 

You looked back at the slightly shy, uptight man in his shirt and cardigan, who was holding onto his champagne flute for dear life. He was not your usual clientele, if you didn’t know any better you would think he didn’t want to be here at all. 

“Well, I guess it’s my lucky night.” You couldn’t help but wink at him and even in the low light you saw the way his cheeks instantly flushed pink. 

Usually in your line of work, exotic dancing, not stripping, thank you very much, the men you were paid to dance for were older, usually kind of creepy. Admittedly none of the younger men at the table were bad on the eyes, but this one was especially handsome, even if he was absolutely pertrided. 

“What’s your name, stud?” You placed one hand on your hip and the other you held out for him to shake. 

You saw him swallow, taking a sip of his drink as if to lubricate his mouth so he could speak. 

“S-Spencer.” He took your hand and shook it. It was warm and so much larger than your own, even if it was a little sweaty. 

“Nice to meet you, S-Spencer.” You teased, hoping to ease some tension but it seemed to have the opposite effect. 

He shrunk in on himself, grimacing a little and looking as though he would quite literally rather be anywhere else in the world. 

“You too.” His voice jumped several octaves. 

Most of the rest of the team watched in amusement at Spencer’s discomfort, all of them aside from Emily who had wandered off to watch a redhead dance, tossing dollar bills at her and Luke who although was still seated, clearly had his eyes on the blonde on the podium in front of them. 

“So, shall we get to the good stuff?” You asked him now and he almost choked on his drink. 

“G-good stuff?” His eyes widened in terror.

“Your friends here paid for you to have a private birthday dance. They didn’t tell you?” 

Spencer clenched his jaw and turned to his friends, anger leaching from his eyes.

“I would like to go on record and say I did not invest any money in this particular endeavour.” Hotch was quick to speak up.

“This is just from me and Alvez. Happy birthday, stud.” Morgan winked at him.

If Spencer was a violent man, he would have wrung Morgan’s neck, maybe bashed his and Luke’s heads together until they lost consciousness. He was fairly certain after all his years on the job he could murder them both and get away with it. 

Maybe if you hadn’t been there, standing over him and looking so goddamn delicious in his favourite colour as well, he might have given the two men an ear full. But it wasn’t the time or place and so he swallowed his anger, keeping it bottled up until later and turning back to you. 

“Let’s just…get this over with.” Spencer stood up, grabbing his glass and the full bottle of champagne, god knows he was going to need it, and following you towards one of the curtained off areas. 

You held the curtain back for him to enter first and he did so without letting himself think about what was going to happen when the two of you were alone. The private room was much the same as the main room, only smaller with no bar. There was another plush golden couch in the centre, a smaller raised platform with a pole on the far wall. The wallpaper was a deep, cherry red, swirled with black and a gold chandelier hung from the ceiling offering, once again, very little light. 

Spencer could only assume he was supposed to sit, so slightly reluctantly he dragged his pathetic ass to the couch and sat in the centre of it. He downed the remains of his champagne before swiftly uncorking the bottle. You couldn’t help the way your body reacted to his large, veiny hand expertly pulling the cork from the bottle, like it was the easiest thing in the world. You shuddered a little at the thought of what else his hands might be capable of. 

He discarded the glass on the floor and opted instead to drink straight from the bottle, not something Spencer would ever usually do, but this whole night was so out of the ordinary for him, he decided to just lean into it. You came and stood in front of him, hands on your hips as you looked down on him.

“Not big into sharing?” You smirked at him.

“You…I assumed because you were working…”

You chuckled, reaching out and taking the bottle from his hands and taking a hefty sip. You felt the bubbles tickle the back of your throat and branch out towards your brain.

“I can indulge a little, as long as I don’t get off my face. Besides, the alcohol helps when the customer is particularly…” you searched for the right word. “Old. Ugly. Generally gross.” 

Spencer frowned at you, processing your words. 

“I guess Alvez and Morgan didn’t spring for the package where you pretend to be nice to me.” He tried to not sound as pathetic as he felt but failed miserably.

To his surprise you giggled in response, handing him back the champagne.

“Trust me, stud, you’re one customer I don’t need to drink to have fun with.” You winked at him and heard a little whimper leave his lips. He tried to cover it up by drinking more.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against the bottle top. “Let’s just…I don’t suppose we can just sit here and pretend you gave me a lap dance?” 

“Not a chance.” You smiled, sauntering on your heels over to the stereo setup in the corner. You hit play and music pulsed into the room through the speakers situated in each corner. Spencer woefully recognised the song as 50 Cent’s Candy Shop, he’d heard Morgan listen to it on more than a few occasions over the years.

You strutted back over to him, wiggling your hips to the music as you went. Spencer tried to keep his eyes trained on the bottle as he drank, refusing to let himself look at you. You made it back over to him and once again took the bottle from his hands. You sipped from it delicately, bending over to place it on the floor, ensuring to give Spencer a show of your ass as you did so. 

A low hiss left his lips, probably at the realisation you were wearing a thong. God you were going to enjoy this. 

You stood back up and started swaying to the music, stepping between his open legs. He looked up at you through frightened doe eyes, the most beautiful shade of brown you’d ever seen. His long, messy curls fell in his face and his pouty bottom lip was too kissable for words. You shook that thought off as fast as you could.

You turned you away from him, thinking it easier if you didn’t look at his gorgeous face. You knew his eyes went straight to your bare ass, you could practically feel his gaze on you. 

“You can touch me, Spencer, just nowhere inappropriate please.” Really you wanted those hands to touch you everywhere inappropriate but that kind of behaviour was frowned upon within the walls of the club. 

“I’m…I’m good.” He croaked.

You smiled to yourself as you slowly lowered yourself into his lap, perching at first on his knees before wiggling backwards. 

Spencer gasped loudly as your ass settled into his crotch and without even looking at him you knew he would be one hundred shades of red. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time a man had gotten hard when you’d given them a lap dance and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. It may well be the first time you’d enjoyed it though. 

“Jesus Christ.” He whimpered, your back now flush with his chest, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “I am so, so sorry. This is humiliating.” 

“Don’t be embarrassed.” You grinded against him in time to the music. “I know I am attractive and I am also half naked. Honestly, I’d be a little offended if you weren’t excited by that.” 

“Right. Right.” Spencer nodded, wishing he could reach the champagne bottle. “So uh…how does one get into this line of work? Stripping.” 

He needed to try and take his mind off of how unfathomably good you felt rolling your ass against his dick. 

“I’m not a stripper.” You chided him, pinching his knee with your long acrylic nails as punishment. “I’m an exotic dancer. I don’t take my clothes off. Well, no more so than this.” 

He grumbled at the pain you inflicted on his leg but the pleasure more than outweighed it. 

“Apologies, I hope I wasn’t out of line.” 

“It’s ok, it’s a common misconception. And I started working here to help pay my student loans. I stayed because I love what I do.” You grinded particularly hard against him and he whimpered against your neck. 

“You went to college?” He sounded surprised. 

“Yes, I’m not some bimbo, stud.” You rolled your eyes, another common misconception.

“Sorry.” He clenched his jaw, his cock twitching dangerously in his pants. “What uh, what did you study?” 

“Psychology.”

“No kidding?” He sounded genuinely impressed. “You have a degree in psychology and you work here?” 

You suddenly turned around, kneeling over Spencer, one leg hooked over each of his thighs. His eyes were wide as he stared at you, swallowing thickly. 

“Look, you’re cute but don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of moron and try to make me feel like working here makes me less of a person.” You reached and gripped his jaw, digging your fake nails into his stubbly cheeks.

“I…I didn’t mean it like that, I-“

“I choose to work here.” You cut him off, lowering yourself so you were seated in his lap, straddling him. “I enjoy working here. It gives me a sense of power, I’m choosing to show off my body, to turn men like you into pathetic messes.” 

Spencer moaned, didn’t even try to disguise it. You let go of his face and went to stand up but Spencer surprised you when his hands flew to your hips, gripping you firmly and keeping you in place. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He spoke, for the first time sounding close to confident. “You’re stunning and clearly good at your job.” He nodded down to his crotch and how he was straining against his slacks. “I didn’t mean to sound patronising or anything like that. I was merely trying to make conversation and I’m sorry if I upset you. But quite frankly, Y/N, if I don’t keeping talking I’m going to do something really fucking stupid.” 

You narrowed your eyes on him, stilling your movements as the music came to end. He kept his grip on your hips and you found yourself a little dizzy by the firmness in which he held you. 

“Stupid like what?” Your chest heaved with heavy breaths and Spencer’s eyes briefly flicked down and he hissed again at the sight. 

“Something that could probably get you fired, and neither of us wants that.” He grinded up against you this time and a soft moan left your lips. 

“Jesus,” you whined, the tables well and truly turned. “Can you just…I don’t know…give me a clue?” 

Spencer chuckled a little, moving one hand from your hip to the back of your neck and tugging you closer to him. His lips were close to your ear, ghosting over the skin. It was like a switch had been flipped, the shy and awkward guy who hadn’t even wanted a lap dance was gone, replaced by this confident and self-assured man now beneath you. 

His breath fanned across the side of your face and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Let’s just say it would involve both of us wearing a lot less clothes and you screaming my name.” 

You whimpered like a dog that had just been kicked and attempted to clamp your legs together but his were in the way. Suddenly he dropped both of his hands to his sides and looked at you darkly. 

“Get up.” He commanded you and you were dumb to do anything by comply. 

“I need to go.” He stood up, snatching up the bottle of champagne. “Thanks for that.” 

You watched him scurry away, seemingly reverting back to the shy creature he’d been initially. He fled back through the curtain, leaving you with an intense heat between your legs. 

Goddamnit, you swallowed, trying to compose yourself. I might have just found my kryptonite. 

***

Two weeks passed and Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every time he closed his eyes he saw you sitting in his lap, that goddamn purple lingerie glowing against your skin. It never failed to make him painfully hard in a matter of seconds and he’d spent more time than he could count masturbating over thoughts of you the last two weeks.

Eventually he couldn’t keep himself away if he tried. Emily had given them the weekend off and sitting alone in his apartment on Saturday night, his limbs had moved without the forethought to do so. And of course he’d ended up outside Blue Siren. 

He paid the cover charge and saw himself inside, ambling over to the bar and ordering himself a scotch. He watched the room, in a way he was trained to do, watching and waiting for a glimpse of you. 

He’d gotten down three drinks before finally he saw you across the room. His cock twitched almost instantly. Today you wore a crimson red lace teddy with shoes to match. He preferred the purple, liked it when you had more skin on display, but you still looked like a fallen fucking angel. An incredibly sexy fallen angel. 

He finished the remains of his drink and set the glass down on the bar before heading your way. 

As soon as you saw him, you couldn’t help the way your whole face lit up. He looked much the same as he had last time in his smart shirt and slacks but today he’d bypassed the cardigan and had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

“Stud, you came back.” You smirked at him, placing one hand on your hip. 

“Can we talk?” 

“I’m on the clock.” You shrugged. “My time has to be paid for.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and fished his wallet out of his pocket, flashing a large wad of bills. He pulled one out and stuffed it in your hand.

“How much will a hundred get me?” 

You looked down at the bill wide eyed, seeing it was actually a hundred dollars. You looked back at him with a smile.

“At least a few dances.” You turned on your heels and motioned for him to follow you towards the private room you’d occupied a few weeks ago. 

Once inside you watched him get comfortable on the couch.

“You sure you just want to talk? I can dance and talk at the same time, I’m just that good.” You winked at him.

“N-no.” He shook his head. “No dancing, please?”

“Fine.” You chuckled, coming over and sitting next to him on the couch. “What’s up? Must be important if you’re willing to drop a C-Note on me.” 

“I uh, I wanted to apologise for my conduct the other week. It was very unlike me and I wanted you to know I’m sorry.” His cheeks flushed.

“Hmm.” You mused. “See, I don’t think it was unlike you. I think you allowed yourself to be completely authentic in that moment, letting out a side of yourself you don’t normally let people see.” 

“That psych degree is paying off, I see.” His lip twitched into a small smirk.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” 

“People see me a certain way.” He sighed a little as he spoke. “I’m the smart one, the bookish, awkward one. I’ve been seen that way for as long as I can remember. I guess I grew out of it but no one around me sees that. So maybe I play up the persona a little because it's what’s expected of me.” He confessed, not sure why he was doing so but you oddly put him at ease.

“Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it's easier to play into the expected, to fall into the roles people assign us rather than forge our own identity. You know, I only got my degree to prove I could. I wanted to prove, even if only to myself, that there was more to me than people expected of me. One day I might do something with it but for now, I really do love my job. But now I know I could do something else if I chose to.” You were equally surprised by your honesty. 

“My friends brought me here because they think I’m some kind of pathetic sad sack that can’t get laid.” He chuckled wistfully. 

“Oh but I bet you have no problem in that department, from what I could tell.” Maybe you leant closer to him, you certainly didn’t mean to, but you were sure he was closer now.

“I do alright.” The glint in his eyes told you he did better than alright and why did that cause a rumble of jealousy in your chest? 

This time it was him that leaned closer to you, his large hand finding your thigh. You felt your chest tighten at the way it felt.

“I’m not going to sleep with you.” You spoke but you didn’t particularly believe your own voice. 

“Not here, certainly not.” He inched his hand higher and you didn’t stop him.

“Not here, not anywhere.” 

“Tell yourself that all you want, princess.” He growled the last word, eliciting a whimper from your lips. 

“I don’t sleep with customers. Full stop.” 

“You sleep with me, I promise I will never come back here.” He dared edge his hand higher, now right at the top of your thigh.

“You should leave.” You said, but you didn’t move or push him away. 

“I just paid you a hundred dollars, I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezed your thigh, his fingers digging into your flesh. 

“Maybe I did prefer it when you were shy.”

“No you didn’t.” He smiled in a knowing way. And he was right. “Let me take you out, show you what I’m really like.” 

You swallowed, god how you would love that. But no. You couldn’t succumb. 

“Not gonna happen.” You took hold of his hand and forcibly removed it from your thigh. You removed the bill he’d given you from where you’d tucked it in the side of your panties and tossed it at him. “Keep your money. Leave before I call security.” 

Spencer chuckled to himself, shaking his head and placing the note on the couch, leaving it there as he stood up. 

“I’m not a threat, you don’t need to call security.” He held his hands up in defeat. “I think you know as well as I do that there's something between us, I just don’t know why you won’t admit to it. But whatever, I’ll go.” 

He went to move past you but as he did, his fingers circled your wrist. He turned your hand over and forcibly put his business card in your open hand. 

“In case you change your mind, princess.” With that he was gone, leaving your legs shaking in his wake. 

You looked down at the card in your hand and frowned to yourself as you read the words adorned on it. 

Doctor Spencer Reid. FBI. 

Huh. That was an interesting turn of events. 

***

Spencer didn’t return to the club again, respecting your boundaries and just holding onto a small glimmer of hope that you would call. But weeks passed and you never did. 

In all honesty, he wasn’t that surprised. He expected you’d tossed the card the minute he’d walked through that curtain and never given him a second thought. 

He didn’t often allow himself to get close to people for this very reason. When Spencer fell for someone it happened fast and hard and now you were the only thing he could think of and it was tearing him in two. 

It was Morgan and Luke’s fault. Them and their dumb idea to take him to a strip club for his birthday. He decided his next birthday was cancelled, the one after that too. Screw it, all his birthdays were cancelled indefinitely. 

Thankfully due to the BAU’s heavy caseload and him teaching classes at Marlborough University, he didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell on you, which was for the best. 

He’d just have to resign himself to being alone again. Just like always. 

***

For weeks that card felt like it was burning a hole in your pocket. You didn’t intend on calling Spencer, but you just couldn’t get rid of it. There was something different about him, something that begged you to get to know him. But you had to resist temptation, it would only end badly like it always did. 

Still, you couldn’t help but picture his face when you gave an old, sad man a lap dance, wishing it were him instead. It never failed to send chills down your spine when you thought of the way his persona had flipped from shy and slightly nerdy, to suddenly so self assured. 

But you had to stop thinking about him. Thinking about him was fruitless. But of course you couldn’t, because like it or not, you were going to see him again. 

You’d almost considered pulling out of the class, as soon as you’d seen his name on the business card you knew it would be a bad idea to go through with it. But you’d been excited about this for months and you really didn’t want to wait another semester to take it. You just had to hope you could get through it without incident, however unlikely that seemed. 

“Ok, let's take a moment now to discuss the difference between a trigger and a stressor. A trigger is a sensory event experienced by an offender that precipitates subsequent behaviour whereas a stressor is a longer term pattern of behaviour or circumstances which push a person into behaving differently than they normally would. You might want to write this down. I probably shouldn’t be telling you guys this but I’m definitely putting this on the final.”

You watched the brunette a few rows in front of you coyly tell Professor Reid she was simply auditing the class. You couldn’t help but smirk when an array of other beautiful girls raised their hands when he asked who else was auditing. He was the youngest, best looking professor on campus, it was no surprise his class had drawn in a crowd of young girls to fawn over him. 

“Uh…ok.” He shook his head, checking his watch. “Unfortunately that is all the time we have for today. Thank you guys.”

You stayed seated while the rest of the class filtered out, watching him collect a stack of papers and put them in his worn satchel before turning to erase the writing on the whiteboard. You stuffed your laptop away and crept down the stairs towards the front of the class, fingers toying with the small white piece of card.

“What was your stressor, Professor? Or should I say, Doctor?” 

You saw his back go rigid and for a moment or two he didn't move a muscle. He set the whiteboard eraser down and slowly turned around as you waved his business card at him. He couldn’t help the way his eyes raked up and down your body, clad in jeans and a t-shirt, more than he was used to seeing on you. He still thought you looked like a goddamn angel.

“Uh, I’m sorry, what?” He frowned, clearly at a loss for words. 

“You said a stressor is a longer term pattern of behaviour or circumstances which push a person into behaving differently than they normally would. When I first met you, you behaved differently than you normally would, am I right? Pretending to be this shy, awkward little thing.” You quipped your eyebrow at him.

“For the record I wasn’t pretending. It wasn’t some kind of ruse or something. I am generally shy and awkward. But I have learnt to assert myself when I need to, for instance, when I see something I want. I got carried away that night at the club and I’m sorry for that, that was out of character for me.” He leant back against the edge of the desk and perched on it. “Why are you in my class, Y/N?”

“I signed up for this class before I met you. I didn’t even know you were the professor until you gave me your card.” You shrugged a little nervously. 

You were more uncomfortable in normal social settings. At the Blue Siren, where you commanded the room, the confidence oozed for you. But in the real world you were much uncomfortable in your own skin. 

“You want to be a profiler?” He scrutinised you with his gaze.

“Maybe someday. I told you, I don’t necessarily want to work at the club forever, I want options.”

“But you love your job.” He repeated what you’d told him.

“I do.” You nodded. “If this is going to be weird I can drop out. I can go to Georgetown next semester, although their professor is not a legit FBI agent with the BAU.” You chuckled a little.

“Why would it be weird?” 

“Because,” you shrugged. “Since the second you turned around and saw me standing here, you’ve been undressing me with your eyes.” 

Spencer smiled, a hint of a blush gracing his cheeks.

“I have, it's true.” He agreed. “I can’t help it if I’ve already seen so much of it.” 

“I don’t think you should want to sleep with your students.” 

“There’s no rule against it.” He chuckled, pushing himself back to his feet. “My students are all over the legal age, if I was to sleep with one of them, it would be completely consensual and no rules would be broken.”

“You’re talking from experience.” You stated and his eyes playfully glistened.

“Maybe.” He shrugged but his face said it all. “I told you, I do alright.” 

“Well, I can tell you for a fact I won’t be one of them.” 

“And that’s your loss.” He turned his back on you now and started gathering up his things, slinging his satchel over his head. “Excuse me, I have papers to grade.” 

You watched him saunter away, leaving you standing there in confusion and a little turned on if you were honest. He shoved open the door and exited the classroom and before you could think it through you were following hot on his heels. You caught up to him in the corridor as he was unlocking his office door. He spotted you in his peripheral vision.

“My office hours are on Wednesday.” He pushed open the door. “If you need something you can come…”

He trailed off when you pushed past him, entering his office ahead of him. He frowned and followed you inside, closing and locking the door behind him. 

“What?” He sighed, taking off his bag and dropping it in the chair next to the door. “You asked me to leave the club that night and I did. I gave you my number, I left the ball in your court and you didn’t call and that’s fine. I walked away! So why are you pursuing me?” 

“I won’t give it up.” You blurted out, causing a heavy frown to form on Spencer’s face.

“Give up what?” Had he missed a part of the conversation?

“The club, I love my job.”

“I know you do.” His frown deepened. “Why would you have to give it up?”

“Do you know how many men I meet that think I’m some kind of damsel in distress that needs saving? They swoop in, on their fucking white horse and think they can rescue the poor, broken stripper.”

“Exotic dancer.” Spencer corrected you with a smirk. You huffed somewhat childishly. 

“Whatever. They think they can change me. Men always think I’m some kind of fucking damsel in distress that needs saving from the big bad world of strip…exotic dancing. That’s why I don’t date customers, not because it's not allowed. I’ve made the mistake before and it always ends the same. So stop looking at me like you want to fuck me, because its never going to happen!” 

Spencer simply looked at you curiously while you ranted, voice getting louder with each syllable. Confusingly he was smiling when you finished.

“Can I speak now?” He had a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“If you have to.” You rolled your eyes. 

Spencer took a few steps away from the door and you felt yourself growing weaker the closer he got to you. He was magnetic, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but I’m certain I never once said that I have any kind of issue with your profession and I certainly never asked you to quit. Am I right?” 

“Y-yes.” You swallowed, catching the scent of his cologne. 

“If you’ve found something you love I would never dream of keeping you from that. Honestly, I admire you. It takes a lot of bravery and a lot of confidence to do what you do and god…you do it so well. Why would I ever want to take that from you?” He was so close now and you were begging him to touch you even though it was a bad idea.

“I…I don’t know.” 

“Yes, princess, you do.” He smirked. “You made an assumption about me, the same way I admittedly did when I first met you. But I was wrong and I acknowledged that. It’s only fair for you to do the same.” 

He raised his hand and your legs shook before he even touched you, at the sheer anticipation of it. It came up to cup your jaw, firmly enough that you could feel his fingers squeezing your jawbone. 

“Y-you don’t want to change me?” You whimpered.

“Why mess with perfection?” He bowed his head, his lips so close to yours you could feel the heat radiating off of them. “I’m no knight in shining armour, Y/N, I’m not rushing in to try and save you. And you are most certainly not a damsel in distress. You are a strong, independent woman and I would be lucky to merely exist in your orbit.” 

You mewled, trying to move closer to him, to crash your lips against his but he held you firmly in place, chuckling at your eagerness. For the first time in a long time you felt all your bravado melt away, all the confidence you had on stage at the Blue Siren was washed away, leaving you a trembling mess in front of this man. And normally that kind of vulnerability would cause you to run for the hills. But being vulnerable with Spencer didn’t seem all that bad.

“Can you,” you swallowed, eyes glued on those pouty lips of his. “Please…just kiss me already, stud.” 

Spencer laughed and for a moment you thought he might not comply. But then he closed the small space between you and you finally got to feel those pillowy lips pressing against yours. He gripped the back of your neck firmly, keeping you in place, as if you would go anywhere. 

Maybe one day Spencer would thank Morgan and Luke for the birthday present, this was one he’d surely cherish, as long as you would let him. 

Oh, isn't this exactly where you'd like me?

I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know.

Praying for love and a lap dance,

Taglist -

All

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @dirtytissuebox @ssa-uglywhore27 @smurphyse @reidselle @reidsbookclub

SR x reader

@dreatine @dr-spencerr-reidd @spenxerslut @drayshadow @rainsong01 @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @spencer-reid-wonderland @im-totally-not-dezi @hotchandspencearedilfs

[pray4saint]

I didn’t see anything about you not writing for plus sized! reader, so could i request something?

If you do write for it could i request a plus size!reader that wears glasses with either James or Sirius? Basically like reader is their tutor and they have crushes on each other and then it kinda escalates into smut then like confessions?

If you don’t feel comfortable writing for that, i could totally request something else!^^

i love your work!^^

-🦥

sirius falling for & fucking his tutor

masterlist & descrip. rated r. 16+. 2.5k words. fem!reader. plus sized!reader. tutor!reader. p in v sex. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it). semi-public sex. creampie. porn with small plot.

a/n. oh absolutely, everyone should be included if they can be and im here to help!!

time was ticking by. sirius was supposed to meet you in the library ten minutes ago. maybe he was just ignoring the professor's instruction because he wanted to. just then, speak of the devil, sirius black made an entrance, pushing the doors of the library open and making noise while doing it. the librarian shushed him and he rolled his eyes, his walk full of sarcasm and confidence as he strode his way to the table you were sitting at.

tearing yourself out of the trance of watching the beautiful man staring down at you, you spat out the first words to come to mind. ”i was beginning to think you wouldn't show up.”

it came out snarkier than intended, but it made his lips twitch up into a smirk. ”awh c'mon, do you really have so little faith in me?” he gave his retort, pulling out the chair across from you and dragging it right up next to you. he sat himself down with the anti-studying attitude he was known for and manspread, pressing his leg right up against your opposite.

when you'd accepted the task from your professor, you didn't expect the close quarters to bother you so much. hunched over the table, you could hear his heart beating close to you, his hot breath on your neck and along your jaw, his leg nudging yours every now and then. but of course, there were breaks, where he'd make jokes and stress you out, joking about the answer to an equation even though it was wrong and then not listen to your explanation.

”gods sirius you are insufferable!” you weren't quite screaming, more so whisper-yelling. ”this work is insufferable..” he'd mutter and it was difficult to hear. you were just trying to help him and he was doing everything in his power to not to accept it. some strange sense of confidence washed over you, perhaps fueled by your frustration with him and the frustration growing between your legs his closeness. reaching over to him, you took his jaw in your hand and turned his gaze. sirius' eyes conveyed shock to your action, and without a stutter you told him, ”d'ya wanna try that again?”

he looked almost scared, staring into your eyes while you searched his. ”uh- i don't know?” you kind of threw his jaw away from you, mumbling an almost incoherent, ”unbelievable.” you moved your pencil around on the paper absent-mindedly.

sirius took a minute to collect himself. he wasn't used to being talked down to. it made his tummy flip and blood to rush to his dick. for awhile, he tried to push it all away, but the feeling in his pants was making it hard for him to focus.

”so then, the answer is..?” you turned your face to his, pushing your glasses up your nose in just the slightest. sirius' face was covered by his hair and it was obvious his gaze was downward. ”sirius, c'mon, can't you listen for one second?” still nothing. your hand moved to the top of his head and wrapped in his curls, you turned his head.

and gods was it a sight. his eyes were low, dark, like a siren's, and his cheeks flushed, lips parted just slightly.

”sirius, are you okay?” your concern for him made him feel a little bad about how far his mind had wandered. ”yeah, m'good.” despite his response and dopey smile, you didn't believe him. with a roll of your eyes, you closed the books in front of you both. ”you're a bad liar.” you clicked your tongue, ”i can't believe you lie like that to the teachers and get away with it.”

sirius' leg pulled away from yours quickly, but it was because his entire body moved, looking around the library which had long since emptied of students and faculty.

turned back to face you, sirius' body language had changed. he was fully turned to engage with you, his knees at either end of your upper leg, one at your knee and the other at your glute. ”y/n i'm sorry i haven't been listening but i kind of have a problem.”

”sirius i am not getting you out of some other trouble-” he cut you off. ”not that kind of problem.” he didn't say anything else, simply glanced down at his crotch. your eyes followed his gaze and you gasped, looking at the tent in his pants and then around the library to see if anyone was around. nobody was.

”uhm, sirius this is highly inappropriate–” you try to compose yourself, although the situation warms the previous frustration between your legs and you begin to rub your thighs together. ”i- y/n i know i really don't need the pep talk. i just need a minute to go wank off.” sirius begins to rise from his seat and you turn your head, trying not to stare directly at his hard-on.

still, you grab at his hand. ”sirius no! by the time you're done the library will be closed and we'll have to come back to this tomorrow!” your voice isn't even that high, but you still wince at the expected yell of a librarian that never comes. ”then what am i supposed to do? i can't focus.”

the words come out without thought and too fast to stop them, ”fuck me.” oops. ”what..?”

”you heard me sirius.” you couldn't stop talking, the words wouldn't stay in. the boy who stood looking down at you thought it over in his head, and all the while his eyes never left yours. ”to bloody hell with it c'mere.” and all of the sudden you were plucked from your chair as if it was nothing and you had to push your glasses up again.

now stood upright with sirius' arms around your middle and his lips dangerously close to yours, you were suddenly coming to terms with what you'd told him to do. ”are you sure about this, sweetheart?” one of his hands made its way to your cheek, and you fought the need to melt into his touch. with a single nod, sirius had permission for his lips to connect with yours.

he pulled your body impossibly close to his with just the one hand. his lips moved along yours, rhythm well-kept. sirius was the first to pull away, his lips moving from yours to your cheek and trailing down to your jaw and neck. you were sure from the pressure on your neck from sirius' mouth that there'd be dark spots sooner or later.

you gasped out a couple of times while sirius' hands travelled south, from your middle, down past and over your posterior, just to the plush backsides of your thighs to him lifting you up and onto the table. you never realised just how strong he really was under all those layers, which he was losing, piece by piece. ”well don't just sit there, take it off.” it was clear he was talking about your top and with fidgety hands, you pulled your vest off, followed by your house tie and collared shirt.

”wow, you're beautiful darling.��� he wanted to say more, about how absolutely gorgeous you were and how often he’d dreamed of this but he couldn’t seem to get himself to voice what he wanted to tell you. sirius’ hands wandered without a thought, running over your tummy and between your breasts, resting on your shoulders. ”sirius if you don't hurry up we're gonna get caught for being in here after hours.”

something in the way you said that, to hurry up, made sirius wild. quickly getting both his and your pants off, he pulled you to the edge of the table. ”fuck, dove i don't have a condom.” you sigh out loud, there isn't much that can be done anymore and you've already gotten this far. ”it's fine c'mon we're gonna run out of time.” in response, sirius pulls his boxers down to let his dick spring up.

holding his cock in hand, he tapped the head against your clit and you whined. you didn't quite toss, but you set your glasses aside, afraid of where they'd go if they fell off. ”siri c'mon,” you were going to continue your sentence but the feeling of sirius rubbing his cock against your folds stopped you, and him pushing himself into your pussy made you gasp. he was just so gentle with it. it wasn't slow, but he made sure you were okay with every inch he pushed inside until he'd bottomed out.

sirius starts slow, dragging his strokes almost painfully slow. ”siri?” you ask, putting your hands on his shoulders. ”hm?”

”faster please.” you didn't need to tell him twice, his hips landed against against your ass with a faster pace. sirius loved the way you tried to hide your moans in his neck while his hands pulled and rubbed at every curve and roll on your body. ”feels so- feels so good doll.” he raked his eyes up and down your body, god you looked so pretty wrapped around his cock.

the longer sirius kept his strokes in a steady rhythm, the less time it took for you to slowly lose concentration on the clock. you knew you didn’t have much time left in the library, but you didn’t think this would happen either, since it seemed to be something that only ever happened when you closed your eyes to sleep at night.

sirius couldn't seem to stop his hands from roaming your body, almost as if he was memorising it, committing it to memory. all while you let your hands wander his back, and his neck, and his hair, oh, his hair. he loved how you tugged and pulled his hair, drawing out whines to match the moans he pulled from you.

”y'feel so good around my cock sweetheart.” his voice in tandem with the feeling of your walls being stretched was beginning to get the feeling in your tummy to be wound up. you couldn't get much out between whines and whimpers, but you did your best, ”sirius,” you breathed heavily over sirius' shoulder, ”y'shouldn't say things– y'shouldn't– fuck! say things like that..” sirius snaps his hips against your own, over and over again to punctuate his words. ”but it's only. the fuck– fuckin' truth love.” the nickname only drove you further to climax.

”m'close, m'so close.” you weren't sure if sirius heard you, but you needed to say it, you weren't sure how much you'd be able to say in the next few minutes. he whispered close to your ear, ”i've got ya'dove. i'm right behind'ya,” his breath fanned heavily and heavenly against your skin, ”go on and cum. cum on my cock for me.” perhaps it was his voice, or the lewdness of the words, or a mix, but it got you, forcing you over the edge, ripping a rather pornographic moan out of you. despite how much your legs began to tremble, sirius kept his hips moving, although they were beginning to stutter, and you had only one thing on your mind, getting sirius to finish. just as he did only a minute or so earlier, you leaned in clsoe to his ear, hands tangled in his hair and whispered. ”siri.. cum inside.” the boy pulled back to look at you blissfully fucked out before him. he cocks his head just slightly to the side and you smile, all dopey. ”godric, you're gonna be the death of me..” he grips harder at your hips, the skin like puddy in his hands while the movement in his hips becomes even more unsteady and he's pressing harder against you until he just stops, and you begin to feel his warm seed pile against your walls.

slowly, the boy in front of you, pulls out, panting like a dog, just as much as you're sure you are yourself.

the two of you spend the next five minutes regathering yourselves; returning clothes to your bodies, fixing each other's hair, sirius returning your glasses to your face with a smile. ”suppose i looked a bit blurry for a bit, didn't i?” you laugh, ”didn't really matter, i wasn't too focused on seeing anything.” sirius laughs in response, although the way the tips of his ears turn pink betray his fluster.

”sirius, what time is it?” you're pushing his tie back up to straighten it. that would look strange to his roommates, his tie is never in perfect condition. he glances up at the clock behind you, ”past time for any students to still be here. guess we were lucky to not have been caught, huh?” he smirks, and now it's your turn to blush red. ”shut up.” you shove sirius' bag into his arms and he grunts while you begin to walk towards the exit of the library.

he's quick to catch up with you. ”y/n, can i ask you a question?” your eyes remain ahead of you, mind mostly focused on not getting caught out of your dorm this late, although there doesn't seem to be any faculty or students in sight throughout the halls. ”go ahead.”

”why?” the question rang through your head, it was a good question. why? why did you tell him to fuck you instead of just letting him go wank off in the bathrooms. ”why did you go with it?” sirius was left a little shocked, and he sputtered with the words himself. ”uh- uhm. well, y/n, that would be because..” he puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you and turns you to face him, placing his other hand on your other shoulder. your breath hitches at the situation, more tension being created than the fiasco in the library, ”because?..” you trailed off, almost breathlessly. sirius' eyes bore into yours, and everything around you seemed to fizz out, like the moment between you and him was the only thing happening the world, like time had stopped. ”i fancy you.” he let the words out, his eyes never left yours, but now they appeared almost frantic, as if searching in your gaze for a response. he didn't even notice how your lips seem to have lifted into a smile. ”say something, please.”

”i fancy you more.” sirius began to smile at your words, allowing himself to break eye contact, resuming time by simply glancing down at his shoes for a second.

suddenly, a loud, assertive voice spoek up. ”sirius black? y/n y/l/n? get back to your dormitories before i deduct points!” your head snapped up first. ”right away professor.” you say, sirius' response delayed. ”yes professor.” once the teacher had turned around, you gave sirius a quick kiss on his cheek. with an idiot grin, you slipped from his grasp and began to back up, ”goodnight siri, talk to you tomorrow.” you turned and walked back to your dorm.

”g'night y/n.” he wished he had more time but for now, he was satisfied.

pray4saint© do not copy, translate or repost my work without my express permission.

[girlactionfigure]

🇮🇱 THURSDAY morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

🔹UK ISSUES LEBANON AIR WARNING.. Notice to Airmen (NOTAM), from Aug. 7 (yesterday), risk of military activity.

🔹FRENCH PRESIDENT SCHEDULED TO COME TO LEBANON.. suddenly cancelled.  

🔹CLARIFICATION.. Canada evacuates diplomatic families from Israel, not their diplomats.  And UNIFIL evacuated families of deployed personnel, not the UNFIL operators.

🔹OFFSHORE INTELLIGENCE PLANES.. US, UK, and now French have been cruising along Israel - Lebanon - Syria.

🔹A diplomatic source to the Saudi newspaper Al-Sharq al-Awast: "International contacts have not yet succeeded in reducing the escalation between Israel and Iran and Hezbollah. Difficult and fateful days are expected

▪️SIREN TESTS.. today in Tiberius at 14:05.  Steady sound - it’s a test.  Rising falling sound, it’s real.  If sirens go off or a red alert app goes off and no siren, call Home Front Command 104 to let them know there is a siren issue.

▪️US CONGRESSWOMAN RASHIDA TLAIB.. shared a screenshot of this survey from News 12 and claimed that it was Israeli support for committing acts of rape against Palestinians. What she lied about - is was from two-years ago, from the previous government, and a completely different issue.

▪️US PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE OPEN TO ARMS EMBARGO ON ISRAEL?  New York Times: Kamala Harris expressed willingness to discuss imposing an arms embargo on Israel. 

♦️IDF ELIMINATES.. another freed terrorist from the Gilad Shalit deal who became a Hamas terror commander.  Terrorist Nail Sachel, who served as a senior member of Hamas was involved in directing terrorist activity, financing and supplying IMD to terrorist squads.

♦️GAZA FORCED EVAC.. “Urgent: we call for the evacuation of the Beit Hanun area, Manashia and Sheikh Zayed neighborhoods and shelters” as the IDF has moved to attacking any area from which rockets are fired.

♦️AMBUSH DISCOVERED - BEKAOT, JORDAN VALLEY.. Monday terrorists fired at Bekaot. It emerged that the terrorists tried to draw our forces to a side axis from which they fled. Enemy shooters were found positioned, and a later scan found 4 targeted bombs.  IDF forces eliminated the terrorists, discovered the bomb, cleared the area.

♦️Reports of a particularly powerful attack by the Air Force in the city of Nabatia, South Lebanon.

♦️US in the RED SEA.. destroyed 3 anti-ship missiles, 2 suicide drones, and a ground control stations of the Houthis.

🔸DEAL NEWS.. The Qatari newspaper "Al-Arabi Al-Jadid" reported that officials in the West are trying to convince officials in the Middle East to accept a new proposal for a comprehensive settlement in the war.

In the last four days the proposal was distributed among Western and Arab parties and it includes "an integrated agreement for a ceasefire, Israeli withdrawal from the Strip, achieving stable peace, ending the hostage deal, expanding humanitarian aid to Gaza and developing an overall picture of the restoration of the Strip."

.. An opposing report:  The Lebanese Al-Akhbar newspaper: senior officials in Egypt, the US, Qatar and Israel discussed the possibility of reaching a six-week truce, which would NOT include the release of hostages.  (( WHAT? ))

( DOTS: 🔹blue - Iran war news.  ♦️⭕red - Gaza & Hezbollah active war news.  ▪️black - general Israel news. 🔸yellow - hostage deal news )

[carterstarlight25]

Hi everyone! So I been thinking hard on a rather unique 3way crossover that I been considering about writing. Please feel free to give me your input.

The 3 way crossover consist of DC x DP x Halo Infinite. With the ships being Jason and Danny (Obviously). Master Chief and Bruce as the second ship to be included. And Tim Simping for Katrina. (Cortana 2.0 from Infinite)

I see these possible dynamics being cute as Chief will learn how to be human, and how to love. Him and Team Phantom Finding Family. Also I don't mean the bull Chief pulled in the god awful Halo TV Show!

Bruce will learn that killing isn't an act of God. It isn't you kill once, and become a mindless murderer. That there is a difference, between a Soldier doing his duty to protect humanity and his loved ones. And a mindless killer, enjoying the horror of its victims as the bleed out with please for mercy. Effectively stealing their innocent lives... Oh also learn to not be as emotionally constipated after Katrina effectively out smarts him into a therapy session with Jazz Nightingale. (Last name changed after she saved Danny from the their parents lab…)

Danny will learn what it means to be apart of a family. And how screwed the GIW are.~

Jason, finds out he’s ghost pregnant and a heavy underdeveloped Halfa. All while the Pit becomes a full ghost that he ends up birthing. Which is gonna be a Dinosaur that will be Jason’s “Nightmare.” To his Fright Knight. (I am really wanting to go for Altispinax, or Spinax Vivosaur from Fossil Fighters series. But idk, might just use the Giga from Jurassic World Dominion. Just to change it up from what I seen people have the Pits become.

How Chief comes into the story however, would be introduced via Clockwork leaving a very obviously placed Halo Infinite Xbox Game case with a unmarked disc inside it. In an Alley Danny was taking refuge in. With a sticky note of course. And a few chapters in, when he was alone in Wayne Manor decided to play the game. And by Play. I mean go ghost and jump into the game. But of course. With his Fabulous Phantom Luck (trademark pending.) A new power began to make itself known as the code latched on him on his way out. Bringing Master Chief and Katrina to life in the real world, with all his memories and Katrina with the entire UNSC Database.)

While that’s how I plan to bring in Chief and Co. the main gist of this will be an all out battle, to destroy the GIW. Outlaws, Sirens, Chief and the entire Batfam Team up.

Despite the JL repealing the Anti Ecto Acts. A few Private donors continue to find them to get their hands on Ectoplasm. The League of Assassin’s, Lex Luthor. And of Course Vlad Masters will be the main villains connected to the GIW.

I can see Jason and Chief getting along like wildfire. And when Bruce finds out Jason is one leading the squad his kids, trying to get them to go on a date with Master Chief. It leads to some funny moments I would think. And of course can’t forget Chief reluctantly surprise appearance in Civies at one of Bruce’s Gala’s. (I kinda wanna make him wear Olive Green suit and dress pants. Black Bow Tie with a white under suit. Black belt. And an Olive Green Military Cap to hide his Neural Implant. Maybe having all his Medals from the service pinned to his chest. At least the ones that match ones in this universe. So not all of them obviously.

And Jason would absolutely catch his father freeze up when he sees the handsome Spartan.

For looks regarding Chief’s face since we don’t know what he looks like. I was thinking Caucasian Male, short brown hair that could be the right height to spike it up at least. Not a complete buzz cut. Rather bright blue eyes. That do not glow like Danny’s. But at least around that color. Of course he will have some scars on his left Temple, his lip and across his right eye. Freckles too. His muscle mass would of course be a bit more built then Jason. Which says something. But, you know. Super Soldier and all. (Update: I did in-fact Draw it ^^. If you want to see. Let me know if you wanna see Master Chief in a suit at the Gala ^^)

The Ages I was gonna go for was as follows.

Alfred: Immortal (Thanks Clockwork!)

John (Master Chief): 46yrs (I know it’s not his cannon Age. But it’s what I want for the story.)

Bruce: 45yrs

Barbara: 29yrs

Dick: 26yrs

Jazz: 21yrs

Jason: 21yrs

Cass: 20yrs

Sam: 20yrs

Danny: 19yrs

Duke: 19yrs

Steph: 19yrs

Tucker: 19yrs

Val: 19yrs

Tim: 18yrs

Ellie: 14yrs

Damien: 12yrs

Katrina: 6 months old

And that’s the little Fanfic I been thinking about. Of course it’s just an idea. but I think it would be fun to write.

[punkeropercyjackson]

Percy's interests i'm finally posting like i've been meaning to since i asked @keladeinos for a moodboard of them for our matching Pjo brainrot giggles

Blue.Just in general,in things and as a concept

Video games.He uses an emulator and buys all her consoles and games secondhand on anti-capitalist principal and his favorites are Animal Crossing,Night In The Woods,the Slenderman franchise and Fortnite

Cats.He's transfem(bigender + she/he/a bunch of neos)so she's a catgirl and her design makes her look like a tuxedo cat

Kidcore,legos included.Autistic swagger and coping mechanism combo

Alt music.Punk rock is her fave obviously(glamrock Percy?No?Just me?Alr)but her favorite band is Mcr and she's a massive The True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys fan(Mike Milligram just like him fr)but she also loves rap and Megan Thee Stallion is one of her biggest idol's

The sea but this ain't about Poseidon,it's all Sally and he actually ruined it for him for a hot sec until he learned to reclaim it for himself and his egg cracking gave her a lot of room to make her gender thanks to how much femininity the sea offers(mermaids and sirens,pearl and seashell jewelry,the moon controlling the tides,ships being called 'she',the term 'Beach Bunny',etc).Her favorite are sharks obviously and she has a secondhand bought Aquapet

Energy drinks.She drinks only the blue flavors and her faves are Cotton Candy Bang and Gfuel

Child care.It's canon he's a Team Parent because how he treats younger demigods(Tyson-Not technically a demigod but ykwim,Bianca,Nico,Hazel)and he loves kids in general as seen with Estelle so he becomes the Camp Director during summer and would have it as a college major if he went

The Superfam.The only time she's ever mentioned a superhero is Clark Kent by saying Jason looks like Superman so i mean?????

And for Marvel she only cares about Spiderverse(including Spidey and His Amazing Friends),comics X-Men and Gwenpool.Gwen Stacy and Hobie Brown are her favorite Spiderpeople based off relatability and adoptability

Anarchy.It's unironically one of her special interest's and i say this only mostly as a joke(she also has a battle jacket obviously and knows how to diy things that don't exist,she's solarpunk in addition to crustpunk)

And not a hobby technically but his type is princess-y black women.The first time he ever described a female character his age as attractive it was saying Annabeth has princess hair and she's played by Leah Jeffries now,Rachel is a girlypop and widely headcanoned as nigerian yoruba and Andromeda was the princess of Ethiopia so the shoe certainly hits

[silverfoxstole]

CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER

DOCTOR WHO MAGAZINE 337 10TH DECEMBER 2003

BY BENJAMIN COOK

“He’s imbued with this slice of evil,” explains Paul McGann, when I ask him to tell me about the Eighth Doctor’s current predicament… “I won’t go into the whole detail of it, because I’ve only just recorded it. I’ll still be trying to figure it out tonight! But yeah, the Doctor’s a bit of a bastard in this one. And that’s great. What’s fun, what’s nice to play, is a dark side…”

“You have more fun being a baddie,” confirms Peter Davison, who’s wearing exactly the same T-shirt that he wore for the recording of The Sirens of Time half-a-decade earlier (his own way of commemorating the anniversary, perhaps?). “There are more things to do with a bastard.”

“There’s more space, there’s more latitude, there’s more elbowroom with a baddie,” agrees Paul. “The good guys have to be patently good, if you know what I mean. They have to look noble.” Is there nothing that Doctor Who can’t do? “I don’t think so. That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?”

“Maybe there are some things,” Colin Baker chips in, “but if we say what they are you can bet that somebody will come up with a script that includes precisely those things – and it’ll work. You can say that the Doctor could never massacre a thousand innocent children, but if someone came up with a script that gave a very good reason why he should…well, then I’d do it.”

“You could have said that Doctor Who can’t sing,” smiles Sylvester McCoy, pointing accusingly at Colin Baker.

“He sang? When?” Paul grins. “Why didn’t they ask me to sing?”

“Actually, when I heard,” says Colin, “that they were doing a Gilbert and Sullivan [see Doctor Who and the Pirates], I thought, ‘This is taking it too far.’ But I read the script and it gave entirely credible reasons why the Doctor would sing. It’s one of the most moving scripts I’ve read in terms of the context in which the Doctor decides to do what he does.”

“A barbershop quartet!” exclaims Peter Davison, quite suddenly. “Wouldn’t it be perfect? It’d be perfect, wouldn’t it?” The Four Doctors, he means. “Yeah, we’d go down a storm.” At conventions, I suggest. “I’m thinking bigger than that. We could be huge…”

“Worldwide domination,” whispers Sylvester McCoy, menacingly.

…..

“The hero has to be unmistakable,” suggests Colin Baker, “but that bad person can be anyone.” His voice drops to a whisper. “They might not reveal themselves. You know what I mean?”

“There’s just more room there,” says Paul McGann, “with a baddie, you know?” Does it ever get a bit dull, then, playing a do-gooder like the Doctor? “I don’t know if he is a do-gooder – in considering, for example, how he was exiled from his homeland. He has a bit of a record. He’s a bit erratic and – what’s the word?”

“Eccentric!” offers Peter Davison. “He could be your uncle, who’s the black sheep of the family, who all the children love and the parents disapprove of.”

“I was going to say ‘fractious’. I mean, sure,” Paul says, “he’s a force for good, and he understands that, and doesn’t mind admitting it, but they never call if good. No one ever talks about ‘good’ and ‘bad’, or ‘good’ and ‘evil’, do they? I mean, there’s never quite that, sort of, quasi-religious thing going on. No, it’s just power corrupting and fights around the universe.”

Peter says: “He’s definitely anti-authority in many ways.”

“That’s why I’m attracted to him,” joins in Sylvester, “and I think why other people are as well.”

….

“Is Paul being regenerated?” frowns Sylvester McCoy, leafing through his script. “Is this the end?”

“Yeah. We decided that’s it.” Gary Russell grins. “We don’t want to do Doctor Who any more. That’s it, it’s finished now.”

“Richard E Grant,” persists Sylvester. “Is he not taking over?”

“Richard Who?” Gary laughs. “No, doesn’t mean anything to me!”

“Yes, well, when people have said to me, ‘Who do you think would make a good Doctor?’, I’ve often said Richard E Grant,” insists Sylvester. “He may be a touch young, but he’s definitely the right kind of eccentric, quirky character. Knowing that people want a younger Doctor, he’ll fit the bill really well, won’t he?”

“And he’s quite well-known in his own right,” says Peter Davison, “so I don’t think he’ll get lost in it – unless he becomes the television Doctor. In that case, it won’t swamp everything he’s doing, but it’ll change his life quite dramatically, I should think. He knows what it’s like to have a fanbase thing, because of what Withnail and I brought him…”

What advice would they give the new TV Doctor? “I wouldn’t presume to give anybody any advice,” declares Colin Baker.

“Why should we help him?” grins Paul McGann. “To hell with him!”

In studio, Gary Russell and Lalla Ward are debating whether Romana would use the word ‘poppycock’. “You’re right, Lalla. It should, of course, be ‘affirmative’. But you did enjoy ‘poppycock’, didn’t you?”

“I loved poppycock!”

“Let’s keep it, then. Maybe you could just - ”

“A bit more ‘poppy’ and a bit less ‘cock’?”

Gary Russell sighs. “It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t even ravished the universe yet,” bemoans Paul McGann.

“I’ve got two hearts,” Lalla boasts. “I don’t need to ravish anything!”

…..

“There’s a jokey rivalry. Yeah, of course there is,” says Peter Davison, when asked about working with the other three Doctors. “It’s like any actor with another actor, really. When we meet up, it’s not for real. And we do put it on a bit.”

Colin Baker says: “And there’s probably an underlying rivalry that we don’t acknowledge – you know, he has that script and I don’t…”

“A shorthand between any group of people that work together is to be rude,” continues Peter.

“It’s a very British phenomenon, that. You insult your workmates,” says Colin, “and that means you like them! The people you don’t insult and have a go at are the ones that you actually don’t like, so you don’t want to get involved in anything with them. Of course we have a go at each other and take the mick. We’re all terribly disrespectful!”

…..

“Actually,” says Nicola Bryant, scanning through her next scene, “this makes a lot more sense than the last scene I was doing…”

“It isn’t supposed to make sense,” cries Gary Russell, poking his head out of the studio door. “The only bits that make sense are the bits that Alan Barnes wrote. All of my bits make no sense at all!”

Colin Baker says this: “I mean, Zagreus – it’s so labyrinthine and so clever, and, even though there are bits that I don’t understand, I know that I will understand them when I listen to it. It deals with huge issues about the nature of the Time Lords and their history and their future – entirely appropriate for a 40th anniversary.”

“It’s very weird,” says Paul. “That’s nice. It’s good when it’s weird.”

“It’s quite a milestone,” says Peter Davison, “I see no reason why it shouldn’t go on and on. I think it’s rather nice. I can’t think of many shows that have reached that milestone. And like anyone else, I want to know what happens next…or before…or alternatively…or as well. It fills in a lot of gaps.”

……

“I like the Doctor,” concludes Paul. “He wears his background, and he wears his solitude sometimes. He’s a little bit, for some people, hard to get to know, and definitely, for others, hard to get to like. There are the complexities there that we come across daily. But there is, of course, the hero aspect of him – from time to time. He’s the white knight. It goes in and out – he can be very, very good and very, very bad. I’d hate it if he were always the sword of truth and justice – a cleansing agent. It’d be boring. It’d just be boring. It’d be Borax, in fact, folks!

“It’ll be interesting to see what happens next…”

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello! I read through the Wicked Ones rpg and really enjoyed it. Do you have any recommendations for games where you play as the bad guys? Preferably larger books.

THEME: Bad Guys

Hello friend! From monsters to villains to just plain ol’ bad dudes, let’s see what we got. I tried to stay away from one-page RPGs, but I can’t guarantee how long some of these books will be.

SLA Industries, 2nd Edition, by Nightfall Games.

In the World of Progress, the corporation SLA Industries rules all. Employing Operatives to enforce, extend and maintain their power base, SLA controls a multitude of worlds - industrial, franchise and resource - with planet Mort at its core. As Operatives execute the company’s will, new threats emerge through the cracks of the city walls, turning Downtown into a battleground.

You, the SLA Operative, are fighting for fame and fortune against a backdrop of a crumbling reality. Operatives feed the always-on televisions with a gaudy media of wall-to-wall death and dismemberment. Operative life is all about climbing the corporate ladder and earning sponsorship deals and notoriety along the way.

In SLA Industries, you’re not exactly villains, but you’re not good people either. You work for an evil corporation, in a world of evil corporations, and you’re extending their reach for a chance to climb the corporate ladder. SLA Industries is reminiscent of trad games in terms of its complexity; character creation consists of spending points to improve abilities, and you can improve some of your character abilities by introducing flaws in other areas. Because of the roots in its game design, I’d expect a longer book to read through here.

If you want to learn more about this game, you can check out the game review for it on Cannibal Halfling Games!

Seven Deadly Sirens, by Litza Bronwyn.

In this game, you play one of seven types of mermaids and roll with seven deadly sins to power your basic and special moves in order to summon ships, lure men to you, devour their hearts, and collect their treasures. Fun, flirty, indulgent, and a little chaotic, this game is perfect for a night of raucous debauchery or an afternoon of silly adventuring.

This game is definitely on the shorter side, but I really really like the idea of using seven deadly sins as your source of power. This game is Powered by the Apocalypse, so expect something interesting to happen even with every dice roll. Unlike common PbtA games, you pick from a communal list of moves to define your character, rather than picking a playbook. The core loop of this game will involve luring men off of boats, killing them and raiding the boats for treasure.

Here, there be Monsters! By Wendi Yu.

here, there, be monsters! is a rules-lite response to monster-hunting media from the monsters' point of view. It's both a love letter and a middle finger to stuff like Hellboy (and the BPRD), the SCP Foundation, the Men in Black, the World of Darkness games and the Urban Fantasy genre in general. It is an explicitly queer, antifascist and anti-capitalist game about the monstrous and the weird, in any flavor you want, not as something to be feared, but to be cherished and protected.

Play as a diverse crew of monstrous, anomalous or just generally odd beings, fighting against those who would use, abuse or even annihilate you. Create and populate your own supernatural underworld, abnormal gang and extra-dimensional haven. Hunt monster hunters! Punch nazi occultists! Eat the rich! Protect each other! Fight back! Here, there, be monsters!

This is 164 pages of monstrous fun, in which your characters are likely treated like bad guys by the society around them, even if they’re not really villainous themselves. It gives you a chance to revel in your monstrosity, with 100 pre-made character backgrounds for you to peruse. One content warning: there is quite a bit of art revolving about bodies, in various forms (this is a monster game, after all). This isn’t meant to detract from the work - in fact, it perfectly communicates the tone of the game - but it is something you should be aware of before you buy.

Blood and Sacrilege, by Tom Clark.

In a Dark Fantasy setting based on the Early Middle Ages of England (The Dark Ages), you play as a brood of vampires bent on toppling the humans’ reign over Brackenstow. Here you'll find a country ruled by mortals, with vampires lurking in the shadows of society. It wasn’t always this way though; vampires founded Brackenstow and after a hard fought war, lost it to the mortals they once enslaved. 

Nearly a century after the vampires were defeated, legal rights to the kingdom are still squabbled over by the country's self-proclaimed leaders while bishops and ministers fight for their own influential positions. The vampire threat looms on the horizon… But the power vacuum left by a leaderless kingdom has taken it's toll on the stability of the land, leading to civil unrest and the more immediate danger of war. 

Now, with humans on the brink of societal collapse, the vampires peer out from the dark, and the broods that have laid in wait for so many decades start to execute their long-laid plans.

This looks like a game still in the works, but it sure looks promising. As long-defeated creatures of the night, you see a chance to take back a kingdom you once owned. Forged in the Dark games are all about projects that the group has to work consistently at in order to succeed, so expect plenty to read, especially if it’s inside such an established setting.

Villainous Fucks, by Keganexe (@keganexe)

Villainous Fucks is a tabletop roleplaying game designed for 2-6 players, about doing petty crimes as The League of Villainous Fucks, and ruining the day of Superheroes and Cops alike (and truly what's the difference). Villainous Fucks runs on Spencer Campbells incredible LUMEN System, and is inspired by the best Villains across media. LUMEN is designed for quick, tactical combat, and Villainous Fucks dials it up to 11 for the best in zany comic book style action.

If you are interested in ruining the day of do-gooders in over-the-top comic book action, and if you like your combat to be satisfying and punchy, you want Villainous Fucks. Instead of skills, LUMEN uses approaches: how your character does something is more important than what exactly they do. Is your villain Brutal, Cunning or Quick? My favourite little tidbit from Villainous Fucks is the characters’ stance on Cops. Villains believe that All Cops are Bastards, and All Superheroes are Cops. If you like revelling in doing crimes, then this is absolutely worth checking out.

Games I’ve Recommended Before

Monsterhearts 2, by Avery Alder. (Teenagers with great monstrous potential)

Spire: The City Must Fall, by Rowan Rook & Decard. (You’re sympathetic terrorists, but you’re still terrorists.)

This former request that asked about playing mind flayers and similar monsters.

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 1 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings | Mature content | 18+ only [WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 3.8k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Library

Note | There will be some darker, heavier themes in this story as it’s set in occupied territory during WWII, so please, keep that in mind before reading. It also takes some artistic liberties with some historical facts, so again, please: proceed at your own discretion.

Chapter 1 - A Land Possessed By Darkness

The rumble overhead wakes you up. As it rapidly closes in, it shakes the cabin on its wooden foundation. You press your hands over your ears as you curl up in your bed, hiding under the thick feather comforter and closing your eyes, praying that it’s not the sky falling down on you.

The sound becomes deafening—it’s like a freight train running through the bedroom. You’re not sure if the tremors moving through the wooden structure are coming from the sky or if your body is uncontrollably shaking. 

As rapidly as the sound comes, it moves away. It’s going east. You open your eyes just in time to see a short, intense flicker of flames, on what must be the mountain face across the valley. Whatever it was, it is gone. And you’re still here. You press your lips together, clenching your jaw, trying to steady your panicked breaths.

Terrified to move from your spot in bed, you watch the distant flames through the small bedroom window, the only light source in the pitch-black night. 

It’s a moonless night during mandatory blackout—prime time for Allied night raids. Nazi night fighters patrol the sky for Allied sorties of bombers and fighters that rain fire and devastation on factories and infrastructure in the Reich and the lands it occupies. Sometimes you hear the guns and screaming plane engines echo through the valley. Dog fights, they call it.

In the capital, you rarely hear the planes. The air raid sirens and anti-aircraft artillery fire drown everything out. Someone once told you that bombs whistle as they fall. A warning before impact. A warning before almost certain death. 

You’ve never heard it, and in your heart of hearts, you hope you never will.

But here out in the mountains, far to the north of the capital, Allied sorties run the gauntlet at low altitude through the valley to reach the weapon factories and mines nestled in the foothills.

It must have been a plane crashing. You idly wonder if it was Luftwaffe or Allied. 

Whichever it is, thank god it didn’t crash near you. The last thing you need is the police or gendarmes coming to poke around here. Let alone the Gestapo. 

All you need to do is sit tight for a few days until the others arrive, take the package, and go. You don’t need any trouble. You have enough of that already.

So you turn in your bed, wrapping the thick comforter around you tightly. It’s bitingly cold in the cabin, but you can’t light a fire for fear of attracting unwanted attention. 

Just a few more days.

Curling up, you fall back into a fitful sleep. It’s mere hours later when the break of dawn wakes you. As you sit up in the bed, something in the air feels different. Like things have suddenly shifted out of order. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

Something has changed.

And you don’t like it.

Quietly, you shrug your knee-length, thinning wool winter coat over your cotton nightgown. There is no sound in the cabin, not even the scurrying of mice. The cold from the floor rises through your lumpy knitted socks as you reach for the handgun on the nightstand. The metal is freezing cold against the palm of your hand. Undoing the safety, you tighten your grip on the gun.

Some might call you paranoid. Hell, if someone told you five years ago that one day you’d be creeping through a remote cabin in the dead of winter with a loaded handgun, you would have laughed at them and turned back to your books.

War changes people. 

You’ve seen an army goose step through your street, you’ve seen them force the universities to close, you’ve seen your unarmed classmates get shot in the back in broad daylight, your neighbors lifted out of their beds and spirited away in the dead of night by men in black uniforms, all the symbols of your homeland torn down and covered in blood-red Hakenkreuz flags. 

So yeah, maybe you’re paranoid. But if anything, you’ve learned to trust your gut. You’re still here. And if you’re about to die, you’re going down fighting. And you’ll take as many Nazis and traitors with you as you can, you think bravely, as you let out a shuddering breath.

Tiptoeing to the bedroom door, you nudge it open, peeking into the main room of the cabin. The windows are frosted over, refracting what little sunlight is coming in. 

It’s empty. As it should be.

But it doesn’t calm you. Cautiously you walk around the small room. The large wood stove is cold and unused, the heavy wooden chairs at the table stand exactly as you left them. 

Nothing out of the ordinary. But if anything, you are even more convinced now that something is wrong. Your heart is beating in your throat. Crouching down near the window next to the front door, you try to peer out. Fresh snow fell last night, and there is no trace of life.

Less than fifty paces from the cabin is a small barn that once housed chickens and a cow. Like the owners of the cabin, those are long gone. 

No. Going outside and leaving tracks in the snow is an awful idea. That’s how you get discovered.

You don’t need any trouble.

Moving closer to the window, you blow against the pane, wiping away the frost with your fingers. It’s a dreary day, the sun fighting to get over the heavy clouds rolling by. The wind is picking up, blowing flurries of snow past the cabin.

If you go now, your tracks will disappear within an hour, tops.

And surely nobody is stupid enough to come up the mountain in this weather?

Hurriedly, you pull your leather boots on, button up your coat, and wrap a thick scarf around your neck and shoulders. You leave the handgun on the table, opting for the bolt action rifle that is leaning against the wall next to the fireplace. If there’s an animal, Nazi or otherwise, prowling around outside, the handgun will do you little good.

Unbolting the front door, the cold wind hits you in the face immediately. You pull your scarf up a little bit higher, clicking the door closed behind you. Trudging through the snow, your feet sinking into the fresh layer with every step, your palms start to sweat despite the biting cold against them.

Maybe you should have barricaded yourself in the bedroom with what little provisions you have and wait. Wait in terror. Like a coward. But you are not a coward, you chide yourself.

The barn door is hanging crooked off its hinges. Hands tightening on the rifle, you crouch down to look through the crack at the bottom. It’s too dark to see in. Shit.

You try to remember what Emil told you. Always go in barrel first. Pushing the heavy barn door open with your shoulder, the wood scrapes against the stone floor obnoxiously. You hold the rifle at the ready, slowly turning to scan the inside, prepared to be attacked from the darkness.

It smells like hay and mold inside. The coops along the wall sit empty. Gingerly you step inside, trying to level your heavy breathing. Sweat is prickling down your neck, your stomach twisting painfully. Whatever is wrong, it’s here. Someone is here.

The only source of light is coming from the door opening behind you, the weak sunlight reflecting off the snow. It bathes the barn in an almost ghostly light. You falter before taking another step, hoping your eyes will adjust to the dimness. Swallowing heavily, you take a step. The sound of the heel of your boot against the stone floor is like a bullet ricocheting. 

You stop, turning on your heel slowly, taking in your surroundings, rifle fire-ready. 

Nothing.

Not even a whine from the wind outside.

The only sound in the barn is your rapid breathing. You need to calm down. Remember what Emil taught you: breathing like this, the barrel moving wildly with every rise and fall of your chest, you won’t hit a hog in the broadside from two paces. 

Steady. 

You take another step. 

Still nothing. 

Carefully, threading lightly, you make your way to the back of the barn. With every step, you can make out new shapes. Nothing out of the ordinary for an abandoned barn. A rusted trough that has buckled on one side, a horseshoe hanging from a nail, a pair of large leather boots, and a pile of old hay.

Blinking slowly, you turn back to the brown leather boots on the floor. 

There are legs in those leather boots sticking out from behind the big coop in the corner. 

Holding your breath, you approach. 

Shit. 

There is a whole man attached to those legs that are wearing those boots.

You yelp, almost falling backward as your boots, slippery from the snow stuck to them, slip on the floor in your frenzy. Your back hits the wall with a thud, and you scramble to take aim. 

You hold your breath for so long you think your lungs might burst.

The man doesn’t stir.

Lowering the rifle just a fraction, you try to take a better look, adrenaline screaming through your veins.

The man’s face is bloody, covered in cuts. He’s wearing a thick dark brown leather jacket and matching gloves. His back is leaning against the wall, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, head lolled to the side at an awkward angle.

He has dark messy curls and a neatly kept mustache, while his hands are rest on his legs like he just sat down to admire the scenery. But the shine of his boots and the light khaki of his pants scream military. However, you’ve never seen a uniform like this before—the thick leather jacket and helmet and goggles discarded at his side make you think he’s probably a pilot, but there is no visible flag or insignia. 

Was he in that crash last night?

Is he… dead?

At this moment, you have a hard time comprehending what could be worse: a uniformed stranger suddenly showing up at your remote cabin, or a fucking corpse in military gear suddenly materializing in your abandoned barn.

Either way, it’s a huge problem.

Like a “you will be executed for treason” kind of problem. If not having a dead Nazi on your hands, then for harboring a fugitive.

You curse under your breath, leaning back again the wall, almost wishing you could vanish through it. What the fuck are you supposed to do now? 

Think. 

Every problem has a solution you just haven’t found yet.

Okay. You need to check if he’s dead or alive. But how?

Slowly tiptoeing closer, rifle aimed at the stranger’s chest, you try your hardest to discern if he’s breathing. In the dim light and through the thick jacket, you cannot see any movement.

You hold your breath again as you try to nudge the jacket open with the end of the barrel, but the zipper is too sturdy. Exhaling quietly, you let go of the rifle with one hand as you crouch down.  

Biting your lip, you reach out. You feel as if might as well be extending your hand into a lion’s den. Swallowing another breath, your fingers brush against the ice-cold metal of the zipper. You lean a little bit more forward, grasping it lightly between your fingertips. You tug lightly, but it won’t budge. 

Nervousness is setting in now. You are suddenly all too aware of the passing of time, and the longer you sit here, the more dangerous it gets. What will you even do when you find out the stranger is dead? The ground is frozen solid, so burying is out of the question. What will you do if he’s alive? Kill him? That brings you back to problem A.

Still crouched down, you awkwardly shuffle forward again, your boots scraping against the stone. Precariously balancing your weight on your toes, you extend your palm up. You try not to think about that if you can reach the stranger, he can reach you too.

Your hand hovers mere centimeters from his mouth now. You sit frozen in place, other hand clenching the rifle so tightly, it’s turning your knuckles white. For an unnaturally long time, you sit in surreal silence, unmoving.

Until you feel it: the smallest brush of warm breath ghosting over your clammy palm.

You let out a small sigh, neither in relief nor dejection, because you have no idea how to feel about this. The stranger is alive.  

Your feet are starting to hurt, the harsh knitted pattern of your socks pressing tightly against the pad of your toes. Quietly trying to shuffle backwards again, pins and needles surge through the arch of your left foot the moment you take your weight off it. Swaying lightly forward, you press your foot back down forcefully despite the pain, to stop your momentum.

If you can reach him, he can reach you.

Get. Out.

Moving a little bit too quickly in your rising panic, a little bit too uncoordinated in your sudden rush, in a fleeting moment, your fingers brush against the stranger’s cheek. His skin is warm. A day-old stubble tickles against the tops of your digits.

Retracting your hand like you’ve been burned, your heart is beating so loudly it makes your breath shake. Terrified, you look up, only to see a pair of brown eyes looking back at you.

A high-pitched, strangled sound escapes you as you nearly fall on your ass in the mad scramble to get back. You don’t think you’ve ever moved so quickly in your life back to a safe distance, ignoring the screaming pain in your foot as blood rushes back to it, getting into firing position. 

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, an eerie calm besets you. 

Focus.

The stranger seems dazed, blinking rapidly as he tries to get his bearings. Finally, his eyes land on you. You grip the rifle a little tighter and adjust your aim. It takes him a good ten seconds to process what is happening, before he lets out a surprised yell, eyes wide, struggling to get up on his feet, back flush against the wall.

You keep yourself from flinching, merely jerking the barrel up shortly.

The stranger raises his hands in surrender, eyes dancing around the room cautiously before resting on you.

Bradley has vague memories at best of how he ended up on a freezing floor in a barn, face stinging from fresh wounds and rifle aimed at his head.

The night hunter he had been pursuing gave him the turn-around, hailing incendiary bullets down on his aircraft from the pitch black darkness. Ejecting was the only possible escape. The howling westerly wind carried his parachute in disorientating patterns on the moonless night. 

After that, he remembers only bits and pieces. A thick pine forest. Deep snow. Biting cold. Pain. Blood.

It was pure luck he found shelter. He didn’t even want to consider the irony of finding a coop in whichever middle of nowhere he landed.

Unfortunately, it’s not as abandoned as he hoped.

There’s nothing in his vicinity that could be of any help. If he tries to reach of his side arm—does even still have that? — you are bound to outgun him. His vision is going in and out of focus, head pounding. No, the odds are definitely against him right now.

Blinking a few more times, he focuses on your face. You have an air of youthfulness around you—from the slight blush on the apples of your cheeks, to the wisps of hair freely flying around your face. It’s all in stark contrast to the hardened look in your eye.

“Luftwaffe?” Your tone is clipped, mouth set in a hard line. Bradley swallows. He has no idea where he is. Flying between the borderlands, there is two out of three chance he’s not in Germany. However, from your cold tone and demeanor, he can’t tell if being Luftwaffe would be a bad thing or not. It’s not like he speaks German, so he can’t exactly talk himself out of this predicament.

“No, American.” He utters carefully, aware that those might be his last words on this godforsaken earth. Your eyebrows rise, but you don’t shoot him. Good. His luck might actually be turning a little bit. He waits for another reaction from you. 

But you’re staring at him with narrowed eyes, rifle not moving an inch. Bradley weighs his options. Maybe you don’t speak English. 

It hasn’t escaped his notice you haven’t called for help, either. Are you alone here? You must be. A scrap of a girl like you surely wouldn’t hold a man like him at gun point by yourself if you had back up. However, you still have not shot him either. 

“I’m lieutenant -,” He stops himself. He shouldn’t tell you his whole name, just on the off chance you are going to hand him over to authorities. Because even on the off chance that he didn’t crash in Germany itself, the surrounding countries are under Nazi occupation. There are few friends to be had in these regions.

“Rooster.” He points at himself with one hand, keeping the other up, conjuring a charming smile on his face to the best of his ability while staring down the barrel of a loaded rifle. 

“What a stupid name.” You bite out incredulously, unable to help yourself. 

Is he concussed, or actually American? 

Or is he a Nazi pretending to be American to throw you off? What kind of name is Rooster?

You take a step forward, pointing the rifle at the man’s chest. You cannot afford to miss if he’s lying.

Bradley would laugh if you weren’t holding him at gunpoint. But you speak English. That’s a point to his advantage. His grin grows a bit.

“Good, so you speak English?” He nods at you.

“I’m not stupid.”

Bradley takes another moment to study you. Clearly, you know your way around a rifle. Your stance is steady. Confident event. But the minute tremor in your hand, ever so lightly shaking the barrel, gives you away. If it wasn’t mere inches from his face, Bradley probably wouldn’t have noticed, but it’s your tell. 

You’ve never shot a man. 

Your clipped tone, careful pronunciation, and the little crease between your eyebrows as you stare him down are suddenly more endearing than intimidating. Sure, you still have a loaded rifle in your hands aimed at his chest, but Bradley likes his odds more by the second.

Slowly, he starts lowering his arms, keeping his eyes trained on you for any movement. His chest and shoulders are killing him.

“What are you doing?” You bite out angrily. What the fuck? Does he have a death wish? You shift on your feet.

Bradley shrugs, not stopping his motion. 

“Don’t do anything rash now, doll face.” He starts, voice warm and friendly, easy smile on his face. There’s a whiff of arrogance around him. “I’m just getting a cigarette.”

God, Bradley does certainly hope you don’t suddenly panic and squeeze the trigger. He needs to get you to put that rifle down.

“What did you just call me?” Your voice is harsh. Bradley just holds up his hand in apology before dipping inside his jacket, not taking his eyes off you. Your nostrils flare, whether from anger or panic, Bradley doesn’t know. But he probably needs to dial it back a little bit.

He pulls out a somewhat crushed pack of Lucky Strike’s out. He shows them to you, smiling. Your expression remains unchanged. 

Pulling off the thick leather glove from his right hand, Bradley flexes his fingers before also pulling off the silk under glove too. With a firm tap against the bottom of the carton, he pulls the cigarette sticking out with his lips. He taps it again, before extending his arm to you.

“Do you want one, doll face?” He grins. “They’re real American.”

“Don’t call me that.” Your eyes narrow, quickly flashing toward the cigarettes before settling back on the stranger that calls himself lieutenant Rooster. Ridiculous. 

You don’t know how, but the situation is slipping away from you. Short of shooting the man, you have no idea how to regain the upper hand. How is it that you’re the one with the rifle, and he’s running circles around you? Are you that transparent?

“So what do I call you then?” Bradley fishes out a box of matches. “I just want to talk.” He adds lightly, like he’s just sat down at your table at a café rather than having a one-sided standoff. 

You hesitate for a moment too long. His eyes flash up to yours. You’re starting to feel cornered.  

“Anna.” 

“Your English is very good, Anna.” He says not unkindly, as he lights the cigarette with practiced ease. “Where did you learn that?”

“What are you doing here?” You cut him off, not liking how there is panic creeping into your voice. You readjust your stance. Calm. 

“Well, Anna, I don’t actually know where here is.” Bradley exhales deeply, a billow of smoke filling the air between you. You don’t like how he keeps repeating your name, it’s raising the hairs on the back of your neck. It’s such a small thing, but it’s unsettling. 

You’ve heard that’s what they do in interrogations. To build trust. To make you weak. 

Your mouth twists.

“Are you really American?” You ask rather than answering his question. You’re not going to let him interrogate you.

“As apple pie.” He replies easily, demeanor relaxed.

“Air force?”

“Navy.” 

“You are a long way away from the sea, lieutenant Rooster.” You retort sarcastically. Nothing about what he says makes sense. It’s so strange that it’s either a bizarre truth, the worst lie ever told, or he’s trying to purposefully to lead you astray. Or he’s completely lost the plot. “Are you concussed?”

“Probably.” He shrugs, cigarette precariously hanging from his lips. “So are you going to let me in on how far away from the sea I am, Anna?” 

You falter a little bit under his sharp gaze. “You’re in Bohemia.” 

“Fuck.” Bradley shuts his eyes in defeat, leaning his head back against the cold wall.

You don’t begrudge him for his reaction. The Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia is possibly the worst place for an Allied pilot to get stranded besides Germany itself. Being completely annexed into the Reich means everyone is a subject of the Nazi regime in Berlin.

It also means this situation is about as dangerous for you, if not more. Being considered a citizen of the Reich—very much against your will—means that you will be tried for treason in Berlin if you get caught aiding and abetting an enemy combatant.

Treason trials against resistance members from Bohemia and Moravia end in one way: execution. Only for you if you’re lucky. Your whole family can be summarily shot in extra-judicial retaliation. 

Entire family trees have been wiped out like that in the past four years.

“I think I’ll have that cigarette now.” You admit wearily, the reality of the situation setting down on you.

***

Note | Yep, this is the start of the story that kept me up half the night earlier this week. Let's hope it's going to be as good as it was in my head, haha! Also, because it bears repeating: this is not a history lesson, it's a love story. Enjoy it for what it is~

My tag list is open~ If you're already on my tag list, and this is just totally not your jam, send me a message and I'll ofc take you off it for this story.

taglist | @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse  | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32 | @avis15 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut | @notroosterbradshaw | @eli2447

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Iceberg Siren pt 7

**here we go! Final chapter! I hope y'all enjoy!**

Jason stumbled, trying his hardest to get to the middle of the fight. The newest Teen Titans member, Phantom, was gallantly holding a glowing green shield to cover Batman while Darkseid attacked them all, and he desperately needed to get to Bruce and pull him away.

When he got home to Danny, he would ask the man to marry him immediately. They had only been dating a year, but Jason was sure of his feelings for the other man.

If he was being honest, he didn’t expect to get home, not if he truly wanted a home to return to.

Robin ran forwards, wielding his katana, and both Jason and Phantom watched in terror as he was swatted away by the ruler of Apokolips like a gnat.

Phantom’s shield dropped and she dove to catch Robin, cushioning his fall. Robin had told him about her- how she latched on to the entire team with both hands, protected them with everything she had. It was sweet to see it, even with the heartbreaking reality that her efforts might be in vain this last time.

With dawning horror, Jason noted that his little brother was struggling to breathe after the hit.

And then Phantom screamed.

“Ď̸͔̮̯͖̞̎͝A̵̩̱͙͓̳͉̲͓͗̍͗̆̉̆̓̒̋͝N̷̡͍̣̜͇̼̬͆̆͘͘N̶̦̦͆͐͗Ỵ̸̞̤͙͙͓̈́̍̎̕”

Her scream created a shockwave, and Jason threw up his arm to shield his face from the force of it, his helmet long destroyed in the fight. A bright flash of light appeared above Phantom, and suddenly there was a tall man in black with floating white hair hovering above her.

The man looked around, taking in the situation, and then lit up green when his eyes landed on Darkseid.

The wannabe god was staring at the man, in shock or rage Jason couldn’t tell.

“Prince Uxas of Apokolips.”

The strange man’s whisper carried across the battlefield, and it sent shivers down Jason’s spine. The voice was altogether familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, and he hated it.

The man floated down to stand in front of Phantom and Robin, coincidentally in front of Batman as well. Jason couldn’t see his face anymore.

“Do you know what you’ve done?”

Darkseid slammed the end of his weapon into the ground, obviously intent on fighting the newcomer.

“I’m here as is my right, interloper! What horrors have I not committed in the search for Anti-life? What authority have you to stop me?”

“You. Made. My. Daughter. Cry.”

The ice and danger in the man’s voice made Jason cast a prayer to a god he didn’t believe in that he would at least die quickly. Darkseid was powerful, but the newcomer clearly wasn’t afraid. Something told Jason that this man could end everyone on the battlefield with a flick of his finger and not worry about any life except Phantom’s.

Without warning, the man in black grew, humanoid form warping and shifting until he had too many limbs and too many eyes, an avenging angel of biblical proportion in the midst of the ruins of Metropolis. A crown of green flames appeared on the creature’s head, casting dancing shadows that reached out and snatched the invading force one by one, dragging them into the darkness.

“My authority is that of the King of the Infinite Realms, and I am Justice. You have been deemed unworthy based on your actions in this world and those beyond. I sentence you, Uxas of Apokolips, self-styled as Darkseid, to eternal suffering in the stockades of the dead.”

A great flaming sword appeared and the creature wielded it, swinging down on Darkseid. As soon as it connected with the alien, he and all of his remaining army vanished into nothingness.

The creature turned, folding in on itself as it made it’s way to Phantom. Jason forced his legs to move, to get to the three heroes closest to the stranger. They were down, he had to protect them, he had to-

“He’ll be alright, Phantom.”

“But- he- he got hit and he can’t breathe and-”

The being placed a gentle hand on Phantom’s dark hair, kneeling down to her level.

“It isn’t his time, Phantom. You’re holding him too tight. Let yourself rest, and everyone will recover.”

“I- I couldn’t stop him.”

Shaking it’s head, the being cupped her cheek.

“No one expected you to.”

As Jason got closer, the strange tingle of familiarity sparked more and more. The being’s unruly hair, calm voice, and constellations of freckles were achingly familiar.

Then they looked up at him as he stumbled over a rock, and he fell to his knees at the eyes that met his.

“Danny?”

Danny Nightingale smiled sheepishly at him, all teeth and inverted colors.

“Hey, Red. I’ll explain- later. We’ve got cleanup to do.”

~~~

Once the cleanup was done- all the heroes in cots in the Watchtower medbay, Danny left the room to detransform, leaving Dani and Jason to watch over their injured teammates. Once he was human again, he noticed his hands were shaking.

What would Jason do now? Now that he knew Danny was more powerful than he’d let on? Would he end their relationship? Would he be mad at Danny for lying?

He hadn’t intended on ever letting his boyfriend know- he’d hidden his extended powers fairly well, but when he heard Dani scream for him he had to go to her, consequences be damned. She was his daughter, the only person he really had left from home.

When he returned to the medbay, he made a beeline to Dani, sitting slumped over by Robin’s bedside. She had pulled all of the Teen Titans’ beds close, and was keeping an eye on all of them. Jason was there too, sitting beside Batman, but Danny had to check his clone over first.

“Phantom. Injuries?”

“Negative, Phantom. Just tired.”

He ran a hand through her hair, let down from its usual ponytail.

“You’ve done well today- get some rest, okay?”

She mumbled her assent and then crawled into the cot next to Robin. Cute.

Danny turned to Jason next, who was watching Batman’s chest rise and fall.

“I’m sorry.”

Jason’s head shot up.

“For what? You saved all our asses out there, Cricket.”

The pet name soothed some of Danny’s worries.

“Lying? I mean…” he gestured down at himself and Dani. “This whole thing is a pretty big lie of omission.”

His boyfriend chuckled wryly, holding out a hand. Danny took it without thinking.

“You- I have to ask about the daughter thing later, but- you know I understand keeping secrets, right? I’m a not-dead vigilante.”

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Danny took the chair Dani had vacated, scooting it close enough to Jason to rest his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, fingers intertwining.

“How did you know? To come help, that is.”

Danny frowned a little, glad Jason couldn’t see his face.

“Phantom. She- she called for me. I didn’t even know she was here, but I heard her. I would have ripped a hole in the fabric of reality to save her.”

Jason shifted a little under him.

“She’s that important to you?”

“Phantom is the last person I have left from home.”

“Oh.”

Danny let the silence wash over him and tried to keep his nerves under wraps.

Dani could be the breaking point between him and Jason, and he didn’t know if he could handle that.

“Hey Danny?”

“Hm?”

“I thought about this during the battle, but that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it sincerely and truly. I thought if I made it out alive, I’d ask you- will you marry me?”

Danny sat up again, eyes wide as he took in Jason’s face. It was his sincere face, the one he only made when he meant something sappy.

“There’s a ring in a secret compartment at my apartment- I don’t exactly carry it with me to high-stakes missions, but- I want this.”

Feeling tears well up in his eyes, Danny brought the hand that wasn’t holding Jason’s up to wipe a bit of soot off his fiance’s face.

“Me too. I want it too.”

They shared a chaste kiss, surrounded by the unconscious forms of the Justice League, as Dani’s snoring filled the medbay.

~~~

“Oh crap.”

Jason looked up from the report he was writing for an unamused Bruce to where his fiance was doing the same.

“Something wrong?”

Danny looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I forgot to feed Yinsen’s cat before I left!”