#do not speak to her of true crime podcasts

[entnoot]

August POV: you’re actively being murdered and a dude with some raccoons saves you (turns you into a vampire)

[sthavoc]

enzo with a girl who loves to read <3 she loves books like crime and punishment, dorian gray, on earth we're briefly gorgeous, etc... she's just such a bookworm and he loves it and is always seen with a book now because of her and he talks about her sometimes to like she recommended a book to him etc...

༼ ；📚 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

·˚ ༘ pairing: enzo x fem!bookworm!reader

·˚ ༘ summary: headcanons of how you got enzo into reading and him talking about your love for books.

·˚ ༘ warnings: fluff and admiration

·˚ ༘ note: I’m not rlly a big reader but I tried my best. I hope you enjoy! this one is a small blurb

☆ You have always had a love for books, mostly novels, no one could ever catch you without a book in your hands. That’s how Enzo met you. A book in hands and with the same admiration of the words that captured your attention.

“¿Quien es la nena que está con el libro?”

☆ Even the first gift Enzo ever got you was a book, a classic, The Pictures of Dorian Gray. You had already read the book, but you never got the chance to buy your own copy, and of course, after you mentioned it to Enzo he picked up on it and made sure to gift it to you.

“Te brillan los ojitos al leer, entonces te lo compré.”

It was also that the man knew how much you wanted it.

☆ And after months of dating you he even began to get curious as to why, why did you like reading so much? And so he once came up to you in bed while you had a few candles on and was reading a new book that you had just started, titled The Black Tulip. His question made you go on a rant for hours and after he had gotten his answer he began to simply nod along so you could continue talking, and only because he loved the sound of your voice.

After you finished you let him borrow two of your favorites, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous and Crime and Punishment. You were always very careful with your books and would never let anyone borrow them since you feared they would wrinkle the pages or spill something on them, but it was Enzo. You knew he was temperate with his things so he wouldn’t do anything to yours.

☆ After he read the books he understood why you loved them so much. The intrigued of not knowing what could happen next, the way the writer inked their pages, the prompt. The way the words made your heart sink, stop, have you at the edge of your seat. It was amazing.

He even started to read too, during his free time.

☆ When pictures of him would appear on the media, he would carry a book or would be reading one. He seemed at piece just like you would be.

“Look at Enzo reading a book just like his girlfriend. what a bookworm he is now.”

It was true, he had begun to buy books of his own, sometimes your recommendations, one of them being In a Shallow Grave by James Purdy.

☆ In one of the podcasts they brought up the question of, what does he do during his free time? And his answer was the obvious—

“Bueno ya llevo rato que me gusta leer. A mi novia le fascinan los libros entonces me prestó unos y los empecé a leer. Ahora llevo uno conmigo a todos lados.”

☆ Also when he speaks about you he does it in a way of admiration. He is so dedicated when somebody brings you up or mentions you. It’s like his favorite question, anything that involves you he loves.

“Se me hace tierno que le fascinen tanto los libros. Ya hasta me los recomienda, se pone muy contenta con el tema.“

☆ You were like his book, the way you would get excited to talk about them, he would get excited to talk about you. You were his reason for excitement. You were his ink on paper.

[dellalyra]

𝙔𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙇𝙖𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 - 𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴

ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

A/N: submission request from my dearest darling @soraya-daydreams, coming in clutch with the cute ideas.

CW: like one suggestive sentence, almost crack, hints that pixie loves her fashion

“Y/N!” A scream (clearly Nobara) echoed down the corridor of the school as you organised some books in the Jujutsu High library.

“Y/N!” Yuuji, this time.

“Mom!” Unless Akio had miraculously learned how to speak at 6 months old then that was Megumi.

Three figures skidded around the corner, through the library door and landed in a heap of limbs and black, brown and pink hair. You just raised your eyebrows.

“I’ve heard walking slowly causes less injuries, but hey, what do I know?” You smirk, as the kids untangle themselves.

Nobara is clutching a bundle of fabric in her hands, creamy white and brown - clearly something stained.

“Y/N, this is a DEFCON level one emergency - we screwed up like, majorly.” Nobara uttered, hand on her hip.

“You screwed up majorly, Itadori and I were just sitting there.” Megumi pointed out.

“But ‘Gumi! We were witnesses, that makes us like - accessories to murder!” Yuuji scrambles.

Your heart skipped hearing Yuuji call your son ‘Gumi’, something he only let you and Satoru and Tsumiki call him beforehand, you also don’t miss the blush on his pale cheeks - reinforcing your idea that the feelings these two had for each other were not simply platonic.

Wait -

Did Yuuji say murder?!

“Okay, who’s dead? Where’s the body? Have any of you touched anything at the scene? Megumi I need you to -” you immediately went into practical mode and all of those true crime documentaries and podcasts come flooding back.

“Jesus, mom, no - not actual murder. Yuuji is just exaggerating.” Megumi says, eyes rolling.

“I really fuck with the ‘act now, questions later’ vibe though, Y/N. Queen behaviour.” Nobara says, throwing a peace sign with the unoccupied hand.

“We were just having coffee! Well, Megumi and Nobara were having coffee - I was having orange juice.” Yuuji adds.

“Guys. What’s broken or who’s injured?” You say, mom voice appearing.

“Um… so! I was drinking my coffee, and Ijichi left something on the table, because he’s dumb!” Nobara starts frantically explaining.

“No - ah ah, we love Ijichi, this school wouldn’t function without Ijichi. Don’t listen to your Sensei.” You butt in because there will be no Ijichi slander in your presence.

“Sorry, Y/N. Anyway! I was drinking my coffee! The coffee got knocked over and spilled! It spilled onto this!” She says, holding up the ruined white fabric in her arms, as both boys grimaced.

You gasp.

“Oh, fuck.” You whisper.

“That’s what I said!” Yuuji interjects.

“Shit.” You say again, examining the fabric in your hands

“That’s what I said.” Megumi groans.

“Motherfucker.” You toss your head back.

“That’s what I said!” Nobara nods.

“Okay. Let’s fix this. Eh… Megumi! Go to see Ijichi - ask him for washing detergent - he lives in the staff accommodation, so he can get us some. Nobara, I need you to boil the kettle and get some boiling water and cloths, okay? Yuuji, do you have vinegar in the kitchen? Because we need that.” You list off, desperately trying to remember what gets rid of coffee stains.

Megumi nods and leaves, Nobara rushes from the room and Yuuji salutes and darts to the kitchen.

This has to work.

Because the coffee flavoured thing in your hands is your husbands tailored white silk Yves Saint Laurent dress shirt, which he adores.

Which he also bought for ¥250,000.

After a moment the three kids come back with the required equipment and you combine all three and dunk the shirt into the mixture to soak for 15 minutes.

As the timer beeped on your phone, you took out the shirt and quickly realised it was absolutely no better.

You looked at the kids.

Then it all went to shit.

“Princess! Are you being a dork and organising books for fun again? Yaknow if you’re bored you can always come into my office and get on your kn-” The boisterous voice of your love echoes as the man himself rounds the corner and finds the kids and you tussling by the table. In a flash, you all turn to him - wide smiles.

He quirks his eyebrows.

“Princess, I saw you an hour ago and I’m pretty sure that a baby bump doesn’t grow that fast in an hour, and thanks to modern contraception and a 6 month old son I’m guessing you’re not pregnant.” He smirks, knowing you’re hiding something, probably covering for the kids.

Before you can react he’s swooped you over his shoulder as the kids all grab your ankles and you become a tug of war between two warring factions.

Satoru eventually wins by teleporting you both to the other side of the desk and sticking his tongue out at the teenagers and shoving his hands under your sweater and taking out the offending lump.

He studies the fabric for a minute, as four people hold their breath.

That’s when he burst out in hysterical laughter.

“Baby, were you covering for these delinquents?” He asks, hand on your cheek.

“Covering?! No! They were helping me! I spilled the coffee!” You say, stuttering.

“No you didn’t princess, you drink mochas, and this is just coffee.” He says, still laughing and you curse how well he knows you.

“I don’t drink coffee!” Itadori adds.

“You don’t need the fucking caffeine.” Megumi nods.

“Well don’t leave your silk designer shirts on the table -” Nobara starts and they’re all speaking at once.

Satoru just smiles and opens his phone, tapping it a few times and then he spins the phone around, showing it to the kids.

“I just bought 5 more of the same shirt. I don’t give a damn about the shirt, seeing you three running around trying to fix it was a years worth of entertainment for me. Truly - high quality comedy.” He laughs, tossing the shirt into the trash near him.

It’s moments like these the ‘Gojo heir’ in him shines through.

“Say sorry to your mom for worrying her.” He says, winking at them all.

“Sorry, mom.” Megumi shrugs.

“I’m sorry, mom!” Yuuji adds.

“Yeah, sorry mom.” Nobara sulks.

“I DON’T REMEMBER GIVING BIRTH TO ANY OF YOU!”

[celestialprincesse]

More Soap and his unhinged GF🎀

Girly pop does not sleep. ever. She most definitely has the sweetest tooth, especially for all sorts of sugary caffeine concoctions. She's a three drinks at all times type, one for taste, one for energy and one for hydration.

This perpetually leads to Johnny finding her in a moment where she's super focussed on work or a book or something and just shoving the straw of his water bottle into her mouth with a stern "Drink."

He also tries to swap out her coffee for Decaf (like Lorelai and Luke 💖) which she notices straight away and has a complete hissy fit about him 'ignoring her needs' or some other overdramatic point.

It comes to midnight or later some nights and he's completely worn out and she's still wired from having a caramel double shot latte at like 7PM, he's completely over it and just sort of hauls her over his shoulder and flings her down on the bed before wrestling her against his side knowing that eventually she'll tire herself out.

He perpetually walks in on her doing her makeup in the bathroom listening to the most gory, violent true crime podcasts, not even batting an eye as she applies her lipgloss.

She can sit and watch horror movies that would make grown men cry but flat out refuses to watch movies where animals die. He made her watch Marley and Me and she wouldn't speak to him for days.

[babydollmarauders]

COMFORT — LUKE HUGHES

summary: in which Luke’s girlfriend, y/n (dolly), finds out her comfort person and close friend, Ryan Graves, is going to Pittsburgh

luke’s gf au!

my bottom lip quivers, tears immediately welling in my eyes as the realization sets in.

“w-what?” my voice trembles, the phone shaking in my grip, the unshed tears making the facetime appear blurry.

“i’m sorry, y/n, i really am.” Ryan tells me solemnly, “but this is what’s right for me and my career right now. you understand that, right?”

“mhm.” i hum, blinking past the tears and nodding my head, “no— yeah, i understand. i get it.”

Ryan heaves out a sigh, his eyes soft as he begins speaking again.

“i really enjoyed spending time with you and i’m still so honored that you warmed up to me the way that you did. and this doesn’t mean our friendship is over! you’re still more than welcome to call me when you need someone to talk to, and we’ll see each other when the Penguins and Devils play each other!”

i nod again at his words, trying my hardest to let them relieve my sadness and bring joy to me, but it all still hurts a bit too much for me to see the bright side just yet.

“i just wanted you to hear it directly from me first, Dolly.” he explains, “i don’t want you finding out when the rest of the public finds out. you deserved to be be told beforehand.”

“i’m gonna miss you.” my words are choked, spoken between sniffles, and i quickly rub at my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie.

“i’m gonna miss you too.” he frowns, “and you better tell Bahl that he needs to step up and become your club bodyguard now! i’d say Dougie but…”

i let out a huff of laughter before i finish the sentence with him, “he looks too nice.”

Ryan grins at my slight smile.

“exactly.” he beams. “look, i gotta go. i gotta go in and sign the contract now. but, i’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“okay.” i nod, bidding him a goodbye before he hangs up.

left in the silence, my heart aches.

i didn’t really think of the possibility of Ryan leaving the Devils.

i guess in my head, i always thought of him as a Devil. i never thought about the chance of him becoming anything else.

i crawl up on Luke and i’s bed, burrowing myself in a mountain of blankets and pillows; curling up on my side and just staring ahead at the wall.

Ryan was, dare i say, the person on the team that i was closest to beside my boyfriend and his brother.

ever since we met, early in the season when i had visited Jack, and i had felt the comforting energy that he gave off, he looked out for me. he stuck by my side when the team went out to bars and clubs; warding off any highly unwanted male attention, glowering at any sketchy guys that dared to come near me.

it was never unusual to find him in Luke, Jack, and i’s living room, allowing me to paint his fingernails black as i talked his ear off about how my classes were dragging me down or telling him about the new true crime case i had heard of on my podcasts.

he was my platonic person. and now he’s gonna be gone. signing with the Pittsburgh Penguins at this very moment.

i was lost within my own head. the room eerily quiet, making it hard to miss the creak of the bedroom door.

i turn over in the bed, finding my boyfriend in the doorway, staring back at me with pity filled eyes.

“Ryan texted me.” it was in that moment that my reserve vanished. my walls broke down and my tears came pouring out, unable to be kept in any longer.

“Dolly, i’m sorry.” Luke crawls into the bed, pulling me into his chest. his hand holds the back of my head, the other rubbing circles on my back. “let it out, baby. i’m here for you. i’m right here.”

my tears soak into his black t-shirt, making it damp, but he doesn’t seem to care, only pulling me tighter to him.

i lose track of how long we lay there, Luke allowing me to cry into his chest until i’ve run out of tears.

“do you wanna talk about it, baby?” i shake my head against him, not quite ready to discuss my friend leaving. “okay. that’s okay, you don’t have to talk until your ready.”

i let out a whine, burying my head further up and into his neck.

the door creaks open once more, and i peek an eye open, retreating from my boyfriend just slightly to see his middle brothers head pop into the room. at the sight before him, Jack winces, his gaze softening.

“i just saw the news. i wanted to check on Dolly.” he whispers, his words aimed at his younger brother, as i’ve already moved back into my position in the crook of Luke’s neck.

“she’s not taking it very well.” Luke whisper’s back, “which is completely valid and i wouldn’t expect this to be any easier.”

those words are spoken into my hair, directed at me; reassuring me that my emotions are not dramatic, but rather understood and logical.

the door shuts, footsteps getting closer before i feel my side of the bed dip, a hand coming up to rub back while Luke’s hand stops to hold my hip.

“i’m really sorry, Dolly.” Jack’s voice comes from behind me. “you still have me, and Luke, and Dawson, John, Nico, Dougie, Bratter, i can keep going.

“we’re here and we’re not going anywhere. Ryan had to take a different path, and i’m really sorry about that, but i know he’s still there for you to call if you need him, right?”

i nod my head, my nose brushing against Luke’s neck.

“exactly. he’s not gone completely. just, not in Jersey anymore. and that’s what’s best for him and his career.”

i let Jack’s words sink in. pulling away from my boyfriend, i press a kiss to his cheek, him giving me a soft smile in return, before i turn and hug Jack; thanking him for his comfort.

i have my other best friends. it’s gonna be okay.

[preciouslandmermaid]

from below, gotham rots (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and is a spiritual successor/sequel to the first fic "from high above" which you can find in this series. (Part 1 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt included "drunk/stoned/under the influence." I used some creative liberty with this one and the Reader becomes affected by a drug that heightens her senses/physical senses (think like ecstasy, I guess?) but also it makes u horny lmao. HOWEVER. Reader is also 100% into Batman so it's not like she's manipulated or anything into sleeping with him.

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. cursing/explicit language. enthusiastic consent during sexual content. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: size kink, dirty talk, drunk/stoned/under the influence | pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Crane looks up from his notepad. His blue eyes are sharp and inquisitive behind his square frameless glasses. His light brown hair frames his face in soft moussed waves.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much use to you. I’ve started working at Arkham only recently.”

You press your tongue to the ridged roof of your mouth. That explains why Dr. Crane was willing to speak to you. He likely hadn’t heard of your prior snooping around. No one warned him. Either he was disliked or not remarkable enough to warrant a heads-up from his colleagues. You decide to play polite and dumb. He thinks you’re a true-crime fanatic with a podcast. Besides, you need him if you’re going to reestablish your story and expose Arkham’s corruption.

“And they treat you well?” You ask with a tilt of your head. Your pen is poised above your notebook and your expression is open and earnest.

Dr. Crane smiles. It disarms you—this sudden charm that radiates from the thin, sharp-eyed doctor.

“They do.” He replies.

Your next question lies heavy on your tongue. He’ll either get defensive, you think, or he’ll play stupid. Dr. Crane is handsome and intelligent, but you’ve spent enough time around shady people to know when someone is hiding something. Dr. Crane doesn’t fidget, cover his mouth when speaking, or avoid your eye-contact. But he does keep glancing at the file cabinet in the left corner. Oh, he is careful about it. You’ll give him that credit. But you’ve caught him enough times to be suspicious.

And being suspicious is healthy in this line of work.

“And the patients?” you finally ask after a weighted pause.

“If you’re concerned,” he begins and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “I can give you a tour.”

Avoidance. An interesting tactic. It’s your turn to smile placidly and shake your head. You close your notebook. The universal sign of ‘we are done’.

“I’m sorry I have other appointments today,” you say.

“Another time then.” He says and now you are both lying. The way he looks at you suggests he knows it too. You zip your coat and tuck your notebook and phone away into your over-the-shoulder bag.

“I really do appreciate that you took the time to meet with me today, Dr. Crane.” You say as he walks you to the door. He opens it for you. It feels as if you haven’t learned the steps to this dance while Crane memorized the whole choreography.

“Here,” he offers you a thin, stocky business card from his wallet, “in case you think of anything else.” The text on the card is simple. The font is black and thin. It’s his name, his role, his work email address, and his telephone number. You already have all this. You take the card and slide it into your back pocket.

“Have a good afternoon, Dr. Crane.”

He says your name and farewell and shuts the office door once you step from the threshold. Your shoulders relax and you sigh. Your meeting with Crane - it’s not exactly an open door into Arkham, but it’s a cracked window. It’s a start. It’s something. You fish your keys out of your bag and walk toward the exit.

Thankfully, these hallways are brightly lit and warm-paneled with wood. It's decorated with cushioned chairs, coffee tables with magazines, and thin dark-green carpets. These offices are for families and caregivers. And – in this instance – a nosy ex-journalist with an important story to write.

You text Bruce: did you still want to get dinner tonight?

He’s been in a weird mood ever since you left a few days ago (once you had clearance from the doctors). He sulked when you told him. He kept giving you sorrowful, pleading looks shadowed by sleep deprivation. However, you’re on his payroll and can’t justify living with him on top of his generous paychecks. Besides, you want to pursue a relationship with Bruce and it’s too soon to move in together. You have to take it slow. You want to take it slow.

His response arrives when you’re getting into your car. A simple and reserved: yes.

A fluttery and giddy feeling enters your chest.

*************

Bruce stares at the screen containing the analysis of your blood samples. Whatever was inside you—it’s not on the market. There are traces of hallucinogenic compounds. There are traces of medication that’s used to treat patients with Alzheimer’s and dementia. And stimulants, too. It’s a jigsaw puzzle of enzymes and chemicals.

He rubs at his bloodshot eyes with his forefinger and thumb.

“You ought to eat something, sir,” Alfred says while setting down a tray of tea and toast.

Bruce replies with a brusque tone, “I’m fine.” He realizes his mistake and corrects himself, “I’m having dinner later with a friend.”

Alfred releases a thoughtful hum. Bruce already knows what he’s thinking. His list of friends is woefully short. And there’s only one person he could go out with.

Alfred asks, “shall I iron your suit? Select some cufflinks?”

Bruce snorts, “It’s not that kind of dinner, Alfred.”

“Then a gift for the lady then?” He begins pouring tea. “You shouldn’t arrive at a date empty-handed. It’s impolite and shows a lack of forethought. Does she like flowers? I could have a bouquet arrangement made of – ah – let’s see.” Alfred mutters various flowers to himself. Bruce catches some of them. Gladiolus, red camellia, tulips. He half-listens and munches on a corner of toast while scrolling through pages upon pages of analysis.

************* 

The little Mediterranean restaurant has an ordering counter, a drink cooler, and three plastic tables. The white and blue bordered walls are plastered with framed photos of beaches in Greece. Your feet stick to the tiles when you stand in front of the drink cooler and grab a beverage.

You flip through your notepad. Dr. Mercer is dead-end. Literally. Despite being only forty-one, he died of a heart attack about two weeks after you were fired. You don’t believe in coincidences anymore. Everything in Gotham is connected. You just have to find the right thread to pull. You start at the beginning.

Dr. Mercer: Gotham University graduate. He wrote his thesis on the behavioral side effects of long-term alcohol addiction. You remember he was a soft-spoken man who genuinely believed in rehabilitation.

Dr. Mercer was your lynchpin. He was the first to express distaste about how Arkham was being run. He confessed that he was providing a substantial amount of pain medication for several of Gotham’s police without a prescription. He suspected they were selling it on the streets, but he couldn’t cut them off.

The police didn’t threaten Dr. Mercer outright, but they did sit outside his house, or remind him that his son was only 12. When Dr. Mercer went to Arkham’s administration, they told him to keep his mouth shut and provide for ‘the brave folks who protect the city’. You recall your last conversation with him and your mouth twists into a frown.

“The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said to you, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

They must have killed him. Whether it was Falcone, someone higher in the pyramid, or someone at the PD—you didn’t know for sure—but you knew Mercer’s death wasn’t accidental. Maybe Dr. Mercer was offered hush money and he couldn’t take the guilt anymore…and rather than protect himself, protect his family, he tried to do the right thing. Maybe he said no. Maybe he said he’d go and talk to the press himself. But before the whistle could blow someone took care of him. A gentle burn prickles at the back of your throat.

“Do you want to order?” The server cuts through your reverie and you blink.

“Oh – um…” You check the time. Bruce is nearly fifteen minutes late. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Please.” You figure he won’t mind if you order before him. As you wait for your food, you return to your notebook and your theories.

*************

Batman drew his fist back and his knuckles connected to the thug’s jaw with a sickening, sharp crack.

“Who does Falcone work with?” He growls. “I need a name.” “I don’t know!” The thug pleads. His voice is thick and congested due to his broken nose. “I swear!”

Annoyed, frustrated, and tired of stonewalling into dead-ends, Batman tosses the injured thug onto the wet concrete. His palms slap against the stone, and he scrambles away from Vengeance toward the mouth of the alley. Batman lets him go. His stomach coiled tight like a loaded spring. He stalks back to the Batmobile like a towering shadow.

There is a text illuminated on his phone. His stomach drops.

It reads: Ouch. I waited over an hour for you, but the restaurant is about to kick me out. I’m heading home. I have work to do and then I’m getting up early to meet a contact. Talk later.

He leans his forehead against the steering wheel. He should’ve suspected this would happen. His duties as Vengeance would overlap his desires to be with you and when it came down to it—he’d choose Gotham. He had to choose Gotham. He is the only person capable of keeping the city safe. He’s the only person who can find the root of corruption and dig it out.

You deserve better than being stood up and ignored. He should’ve texted you. He should’ve sent flowers like Alfred suggested. How is that he can be a good partner to you as Batman but can’t manage it as Bruce Wayne? He slams his foot on the accelerator with more force than necessary. His thoughts whirl inside his mind in a maelstrom. His jaw clenches tight. His fingers flex on the steering wheel.

If only you had stayed at his penthouse then he wouldn’t need to worry about date nights. He wouldn’t need to worry about your safety. You would have been right down the hall. Close, safe, bringing light to the shadows of his home.

The tires screech as he takes a corner too hard, too fast. His eyes reflectively look up to the windows of the building. The colorful lights on your balcony illuminate the glass. You have news for him, a lead, and some tension loosens inside him.

(line break)

When you get home, there is a package at your front door, and it finally felt like something was going right.

It took 3 phone calls. One involved copious begging. It took all the money if your saving account. And a shady alleyway meeting with a Gotham University college drop-out. You have everything you need to tinker with your drugged-up blood samples.

You glance at the stack of manila folders on your coffee table. Your life is a proverbial juggling act. You balance coffee and energy drinks, personal interviews and internet sleuthing, and frequent trips to the library archives. You haven’t seen Vengeance in a week. This isn’t unusual, but how your abdomen clenches, whenever you think of him, is.

It feels treacherous to have a physiological reaction when you’re trying to pursue a relationship with Bruce. Although. You bite the inside of your cheek. Bruce doesn’t seem to be giving your relationship as much care and attention as you’d like. It was one date and he bailed. You’d rather have an awkward phone call with Alfred explaining his lateness than empty silence from your potential boyfriend.

In your distracted state, you misjudge the liquid component meant to react with your white blood cells and pour too much into the glass beaker.

You cough, stumbling backward as the fumes assault your nostrils, and your eyes smart with pain and fill with tears. Once the sensation of vertigo passes, you’re overwhelmed by the texture of the clothes on your skin. It’s too tight. It’s going to block your airway. You tug your shirt over your head and wrestle your bra off. You stand in your kitchen, topless, chest heaving, your skin pebbling with goosebumps from the cold. You wish your shitty fucking landlord would fix the heat.

But it’s your fault for playing Chemistry 101 in your abysmally small kitchen. You flick the switch that turns the fan on over the oven to clear away the thin, serpentine wisps of smoke.

“Ah, fuck.” You scrub both hands over your face. Your skin fizzes. It’s not a hot sensation or a cold one, but it’s as if every hair follicle on your body is alert and vibrating. You press your spine into the cool and softly textured wall. Should you call 911? And how would you explain yourself? You’re certain some of these materials are illegal. Questions would be asked. The PD might search your apartment. They could find your notes. You can’t risk it. You try closing your eyes and breathing steadily through your nostrils.

Your balcony door opens. A cool gust of air trails into the hazy kitchen before it shuts off. There’s only one person who can reach your balcony. Your body tenses with anticipation. Of course, he’d come now. Fuck Vengeance and his shitty timing. “What happened?” Batman’s voice enters through your ears and your thighs instinctively clench. A low, pulsing thrum of pure need vibrates down your spine. Oh, fuck. You’re so fucked. You’re so outrageously screwed.

“The drug.” You press one arm over your exposed breasts to cover them, though it hardly matters. He’s been inside you. You stifle a moan in the back of your throat. Nope. Do not think about it. “I was trying to neutralize it. I did something else.”

Batman’s cool, assertive gaze crawls across your throat and chest. “You’re sweating.” He observes.

“No shit.” You deadpan.

“Talk to me.” Batman steps closer and you recoil, not out of fear, but out of sheer desire mixed with embarrassment. Every neuron in your brain is firing and demanding that you crawl onto him, feel the cold, hard press of his armor against your hot skin, feel his gloved fingers in your mouth or in between your legs.

He glances at the equipment on your counter. “I didn’t realize you had experience in biochemistry.”

You laugh a high and wavering laugh, but the giddiness dissipates. You aren’t experienced in biochemistry at all. However, You have the notes of a biochemist and the tenacity of a warrior.

“I’m not hallucinating.” You manage thickly, “but I don’t think you should be here.”

His jaw clenches. “Why not?”

“Because I might do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

Like a thousand things, you want to say. Your mind flashes with about a dozen images of Batman fucking you. You stare at the plush shape of his lips.

The truth tumbles out of your mouth, “like kiss you.”

He cups your jaw firmly and your mouth opens, breath wheezing from your lungs, as you imagine him sliding his warm tongue between your teeth.

“Your pupils are dilated.”

You grab his wrist for the sake of touching him, “so are yours.”

“What do you need?” Batman’s gravelly voice is a demand. “Tell me so I can help.”

Your semi-rational thoughts of doctor’s offices or pharmacies fade like smoke. Every muscle in your body aches. Your nipples are tight and hard. Your inner walls keep gripping at thin air and your abdomen clenches at the lack of physical sensory input. You want to touch yourself. You want him to touch you.

“T-touch me. I need you to touch me.” You gasp out as if the words themselves are being ripped from your throat.

Batman releases your jaw and slides both hands down your arms. The rough texture of his gloves is sharp and deliciously grating across your sensitive skin.

“Like this?” He asks.

You shake your head.

“N-no, more.” It’s hard to string sentences together. The word is jagged and blurry. At your guidance, he drags both palms to your chest, and you stumble back into the wall when his hands squeeze your breasts. Your nipples prickle beneath his gloves, and you whimper—your eyes fluttering closed. He squeezes and pushes your breasts together with your hands laid on top his, urging and guiding, every single motion eliciting a sweet, whimpered cry from you.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, but you press his hands harder down against your breasts. He regards you seriously behind his dark, smudged makeup and cowl.

“No. Don’t stop. I think I might die if you stop.”

His lips twitch into a smirk.

“I’ve never heard that before.” He sounds earnest and you chuckle weakly. Batman’s thumb and forefingers encircle your hard nipples and lightly pinch. You hiss and throw your head back into the wall. The slight pain barely registers. His warm lips touch the angled tilt of your jaw. You cry out and tremble against him. Every sensation is magnified by a thousand. Batman’s lips suckle along your neck. He hums to himself when you moan out loud.

“Whatever you did to the sample,” he says while pulling away, “affects your sensitivity to physical stimulation.”

“Yeah, yeah, no shit.” You say, squeezing your fingers between his, and pushing his hand toward the waistband of your pajama shorts.

“Are you sure?” He asks and you manage a short nod. He cups your pussy with a large, gloved hand. Your eyes roll back into your skull. You need his fingers inside you. You need to clench and cum around his hand. Nothing else matters but the desire you have for him. Nothing.

“Fuck,” he hisses and elongates the word, “you’re already so fucking wet for me. So goddamn soaked.” He begins rubbing the outside of your pussy in concentric motions. He presses his body into yours. The sensation of his cold, hard planes of armor draws another breathy moan from your lips.

His kiss is pure, vibrant desire. He suckles your lower lip into his mouth and groans when you whine. His tongue strokes along yours and you writhe and something inside you starts to coil. You shouldn’t be this close so soon, but you are.

You gasp, “fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.”

“Already?” His hand in your shorts moves quicker, “what a good girl you are…cumming for me so soon, so quickly, getting your pussy nice and wet and ready for me.”

You come so hard that your teeth clack together. You’re riding the throbbing aftershocks of your orgasm when Vengeance pushes your underwear aside and sinks his index finger into your cunt.

“Oh, god, please yes—please.” You babble and desperately rock your hips into his hand. His glove creates a ridged sensation that sends sparks of pleasure down to your toes. You clutch to his armor and hike your leg up and hook it around his waist. Batman touches you with a determined purpose. You messily kiss along his jaw. Even the texture of his stubble against your smooth lips is pleasurable. You wonder if you’ll have the courage to ask him to eat you out. You want to feel his stubble on your thighs.

“You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?” Your eyes are closed but you can hear his smirk. “If you’re a good girl and cum for me again, I’ll give you my cock. Would you like that?”

“Y-yes.”

It takes only a few thrusts before he’s stoking that white, pulsing fire in your lower stomach. You latch your mouth onto his and kiss him with every ounce of strength you have. He responds with equal fervor. A single lucid thought crosses your mind—if you hadn’t experimented with the samples would Vengeance still kiss you like this? Desire you? The lucidity is short-lived. You cry out into Batman’s open, wet mouth.

He praises, “Good, you’re so good for me.”

You sway on unsteady feet and lean against Batman’s strong frame. He carefully tugs away your shorts and underwear. He places a tender kiss on your bare shoulder. His blue eyes cut to yours—inquisitive and darkened by lust.

“I want to hear you say it.” He says, “Tell me you want me if that’s what you really want.”

“I do.” You reach forward and palm the hard bulge straining against his gear. You hold eye contact with him. You catch your reflection in his dark pupils. Your chin and lips shine with salvia and your skin glistens with sweat.

You repeat yourself since Batman hasn’t moved yet, “I do. I mean it. I want you. I want you to fuck me.” Your heart threatens to escape your ribs. Batman doesn’t move or break eye contact with you as you find his zipper and release his cock. He hisses through clenched teeth when you touch him. You smile to yourself. There’s something heady and intoxicating that you can make Batman’s breath hitch. Your fingers slicken with his pre-cum.

He sharply pulls your hand away, “That’s enough.”

“No fair.” You pout, “You touched me.”

“Next time, Quicksilver. I’ll let you touch all you want.” He grabs you by the waist and lowers you to the floor. You open your mouth to object that your bedroom isn’t that far (small apartment after all), but Batman looks at you—dark and desperate—and his chest heaves.

He rubs the head of his cock against your folds, “I need to be inside you.”

You can’t argue with that. “Okay.” He plunges into you in one swift, slick stroke. Your pussy envelopes him. The world goes blurry-white and your muscles tremble with the delicious sensation of Batman’s cock filling you.

“You take me so well,” He rasps, “I love feeling your cunt stretch and squeeze around me.” He draws his cock out of you and the thigh-guards on his armor glisten with your arousal. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull. The linoleum tile is blessedly cool against your feverish skin. Batman holds your hips, lifting you, and sheathes himself once more.

“Fuck.” His pretty eyelashes flutter.

You whine.

“I wish you could see yourself right now.” His thrusts are deep and steady, hitting some apex part of you that makes your toes curl, and your moans hiccup in your chest. “Split open, begging for me, squeezing me,” His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh, “you’re so…fucking…unbelievable.”

He lifts your legs, pressing your knees into your chest, and your hips jerk upward with a gasp. “F-fuck!”

“Is that good?” He rocks in and out of you, teetering on the edge of losing his composure, you can see it in the hard lines of his jaw and the way he squeezes your hips.

“Y-yes.” You choke out, nodding, “don’t stop. Go faster.”

“Yeah?” He nods, panting, “I want to make you cum.” And it says it like a promise. He plants his hands against the tile. You’re nearly folded in-half, surrounded by him, encased by him, his imposing and large armor almost uncomfortable as it presses into your skin. His cock drags along the ridges of your inner walls and then he’s moving into you with confidence and purpose. Your ass smacks wetly against his armor. He grunts, bearing his teeth, pumping into you with feverish desire.

You awkwardly wiggle a hand between your legs. The first touch of your fingertip to your swollen, slick clit is electrifying. Your spine arches off the floor.

“Good girl.” He growls, punctuating his words with a hard and jolting thrust that makes you gasp and tears spring to the corners of your vision. You quickly drag your fingertips across your clit. A flush of goosebumps run down your arms. Your moans echo through your tiny kitchen and reverberate through your eardrums.

“I love—” He gasps, burying himself, “the noises you make for me.”

It feels so unbelievably good that you want to scream or start crying (or both). The combination of Batman towering over you, saying all these sweet words, and the jerky movement of your fingers on your clit is dizzying.

He continues, “Take it. Take all of it. I know you can, pretty girl.” The position makes it difficult to crane your neck upward to kiss him. You settle for gripping his forearms. “Does anyone else fuck you as I do?”

“N-no.” You admit. A wave of guilt threatens to overcast your blissed-out experience, but then Batman grunts and mutters, “good. You deserve this. You’re my perfect girl.”

Your guilt vanishes and you blossom under his praise. You and Bruce haven’t discussed sexual exclusivity. Maybe it’ll be a conversation for the future once Bruce apologizes for missing your date.

“There’s that smile,” he murmurs, “such a sweet and perfect smile. I can feel you getting closer, baby. I want you to cum all over my cock.” His eyes squeeze shut. He exhales your name over and over again. Batman is desperate and panting over you.

“Cum for me, please.” He arches his head back and you seek a peek of his flushed neck, “Please cum for me.”

You scream as you clench and rhythmically pulse beneath him. Your orgasm isn’t a firework. It’s a fucking freight train. Batman fucks you through it, relentless and pounding, his pace steady and controlled. Your pussy gushes and squeezes around him. Batman buries himself and raggedly cries out your name. Your limbs go limp and useless. You release the grip you had on his forearms and your arms flop onto the tile. It takes a full minute for you to come back to earth.

“Fuck,” Batman breathes. You hardly hear him.

*************

He gently moves your legs out from underneath him. Your knees and shins are irritated from where his armor dug in. Your eyelids flutter closed and panic clenches his heart. He presses his two fingers beneath your jaw and checks your pulse. It’s steady and strong. He bows his head with a relieved sigh. He hopes that whatever reaction caused by playing Walter White will wear off when you wake up.

He scoops you into his arms and carefully carries you into your bathroom. The bathwater runs weakly tepid, and Bruce mentally chastises your choice to leave his penthouse. He fills the bathtub enough to reach your waist. He removes his gloves and forearm guards. You barely stir and your head rests against the edge of the tub. He gently washes the cum from your inner thighs and the sweat from your skin.

His heart squeezes painfully. Bruce sighs a pitiful and low sound. He wants you so badly, wants to be with you, but how can he do that when he’s Vengeance? He is the only one able to keep Gotham safe. He can’t keep missing date nights or ignoring your calls. He can’t tell you who he is. He should’ve been smarter about this.

But…it’s you.

You were his first friend growing up. You are carved into him deeper than a tattoo. You’re like a transplanted organ that he needs to survive. He managed – before – without you during those cold, lonely years. He doesn’t want to do it again. He knows it’s selfish. He knows his first (and only) priority should be Gotham. Yet, a world emptied of you would be a world he couldn’t live in.

Bruce reaches over toward the towel hanging on the bar. He frowns at their plushness and strange familiarity. They look nicer than the others. Then he notices the embroidered “W” in gold at the edge of the towel.

Bruce chuckles to himself, “Thief.” He says affectionately.

He wraps you in the towel to carry you to bed. His swollen, aching heart swells with fondness. You stole a towel from Wayne Manor. He wonders if you took anything else—what other pieces of him, his home, that you brought into yours.

In the pitch dark of your bedroom, Bruce lays you on the bed and removes his cowl. His skin itches with vulnerability and fear. Bruce kneels beside your bed and cradles your hand against his face. He lightly kisses your palm and checks your pulse at the inside of your wrist.

“Sleep well, Quicksilver,” he murmurs.

*************

You awoke the next day feeling groggy and sore, but otherwise fine. You would’ve stayed asleep longer if not for the incessant knocking at your front door.

“Good morning!” greeted the delivery person holding flowers under one arm, “I need your signature for this package.”

Confused, yet curious you scribble your signature onto the digital pad held by the delivery person. They pass the bouquet of flowers and a decent-sized cardboard box to you. It takes a few minutes to find something suitable to put the flowers in. But the colorful arrangement definitely brightens your small apartment.

The cardboard box contains a swanky, expensive black laptop with a note taped to the keyboard.

‘For the sake of security – please use a different password.’ – BW

You spend the rest of your morning transferring your notes from your old laptop to your new one. You do pick a new password. It’s the date you and Bruce reunited. The hours blur by in a black-and-white swarm of scanned newspaper clippings and transcribing your interview notes with Dr. Crane.

A text comes through from Bruce a little before 12:00 PM. It reads: can we get coffee? Or lunch?

A petty, vindictive part of your brain wants to leave him on read. Let him stew in your silence and suffer your indifference. But then you remember the scrappy, scrawny boy of your youth. You remember a pair of soulful, sad blue eyes. His fingers tenderly caring for your wounds after Falcone. His soft smile when you agreed to date him. It won’t solve anything to stay quiet and ignore your hurt feelings.

You text him back: as long as you’re buying. Pick the place and I’ll meet you.

*************

Your stomach winds with anxiety as you walk into the little café. Bruce is already here. He’s at a corner table, back to the wall, his eyes on the entrance. You can tell he’s showered and cleaned up. Maybe even shaved. Although his dark sweater is wrinkled and his eyes are shadowed with sleep deprivation, Bruce somehow manages to look handsome. You try to not let your attraction to him fog your thoughts. You need to have a serious conversation. You square your shoulders and approach.

“Hey,” he greets with an uncomfortable shift in his chair. You know he doesn’t like leaving the penthouse. You have to give him some credit that he came out to meet you rather than asking you to come and meet him at home.

“I want to start with my apology before we get coffee,” he begins as you sit down, “I’m sorry. I got caught up in something. I know it’s not - it’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not.” You cross your arms.

He ducks into his shoulders, looking chastised, “Did you get your gift?”

“I did.” You glance around the café. There’s only one other patron inside and they’re busy wearing headphones and typing on their laptop. The employees are chatting amongst each other—barely audible over the café playlist. The journalist part of your brain wants you to dig deeper. You want to know what he was doing. You want to know why he was so ‘caught up’ that he couldn’t call or text you to reschedule. Your instincts buzz. A story is here. You can feel it. You can smell it as keenly as you smell the roasted coffee beans in the air. But you tamper down on those instincts. This is Bruce. He’s your childhood friend.

“Listen, Bruce. What you did was shitty, and it hurt my feelings and I deserve better than that.”

“You do,” he agrees.

“I understand if you don’t have time for a relationship.” You shrug, “maybe we jumped into this too quickly.”

“No.” Bruce leans forward in his seat. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called. You deserve better and I want to…I want to show you that I can be better than that.”

The awkward silence lays between you. You pick at a piece of lint on your pants. You avoid his imploring blue eyes. Your skin prickles. Batman was in your apartment last night. More than that—Batman was inside you. You’re raking Bruce over the coals for not calling when you were busy gushing over Batman’s knuckles. You rub your hands over your face.

“There’s something you should know if you want us to continue this relationship.”

“Okay.”

“I slept with someone last night.”

Your gaze flicks upward to catch Bruce’s expression. He doesn’t look as hurt as you expected. He nods. A small smirk tugs at his plush lips.

He says, “I wasn’t expecting sexual monogamy this early on.” Your shoulders relax. This is the best-case scenario: Bruce isn’t mad or hurt that you fucked someone else. Granted, you hadn’t slept with Vengeance because you were mad at him. It happened purely by accident. It was because of that drug. The back of your neck tingles with warmth. OK. Maybe that’s not entirely true. If Batman had shown interest…then…even without the drug…you might’ve still slept with him.

He asks, “Anyone I know?”

A laugh bubbled up inside your throat.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, “and will you tell me?”

You shake your head, “absolutely not. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Fair enough.”

Bruce orders a black coffee with two sugars. You split a fruit-filled pastry with him. In between bites, you tell him about your meeting with Dr. Crane and pass over your notes on Arkham and Dr. Mercer’s untimely death.

“I’m not sure how Dr. Mercer ties into Falcone, or if he does, but I’m sure Falcone has the network to murder someone.”

Bruce nods thoughtfully.

“I’ll see what Alfred and I can find.”

“We’re close, Bruce.” You admit. A tinge of excitement laces your tone and brightens it. “I can feel it. I think I can use Dr. Crane to re-interview some of Mercer’s patients. I could have my story complete within the next few weeks.”

His brow furrows, “You said you don’t trust Crane. You said he had something to hide.

“He does—but for all we know—he could have hidden dirty magazines in his filing cabinet.”

Bruce’s smile triggers an irregular heartbeat pattern in your chest.

*************

You lift the bouquet of flowers from the vase to change the water. A slim, lacquered white notecard slips out from between the stems.

In beautiful calligraphy, it reads: to my perfect girl.

**************************

Part Three >

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Chapter 4 of Came up from that lake of fire is up, featuring Crystal and Edwin taking a trip to London, bonding, vandalism, and finally some action in the case part of this so-called case fic.

Excerpt:

“What is a hand job?” Crystal has never minded flying, not even when she’s flying coach, her legs crowded by the reclined seat of the person in front of her and a baby crying somewhere behind her. With her sleep mask, her true crime podcast, and her bag full of snacks, she sees the flight from Seattle to London as some much-needed me-time that she’s been missing for the last couple of months. Or it would be, if she wasn’t stuck sitting next to someone who asks questions like that for nearly ten hours. She lifts up her sleep mask, pops out one of her earbuds, and turns to Edwin. “Excuse me?” Edwin has his nose buried in one of Niko’s mangas, his brow furrowed. “They were just referenced in this book of Niko’s. There seems to be a lot of fuss over them. No one ever told me what they were.” Crystal is going to send Niko a strongly worded text when they land. She didn’t sign up to having to explain the birds and the bees to this bundle of Edwardian repression somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, not when there’s not even a convenient giant anglerfish she can throw herself in. “It’s like… a massage.” “A hand massage?” “I think you should talk to Charles about this. Or Jenny. Jenny would love to have this conversation with you. Trust me.” “I don’t trust you when you speak in that tone of voice.” He regards her skeptically out of the corner of his eye. “And this young lady seems to be making an awful lot of fuss over the boy she fancies getting a hand massage from another girl.” “Says the boy from a time where they used to faint at the sight of bare ankles.” “I do not know a single person who ever fainted at the sight of an ankle, Crystal. That would be absurd.”

[esperastra]

It’s been three weeks and I still have not sorted my feelings about Legends Con. So have this random, unorganized list of things that happened that I still remember (more under the cut):

Nick tried to flash (stood on a chair and pulled up his shirt) Tala and Maisie during their panel but no one noticed him in the back

On the other hand when Arthur showed up during Caity and Jes’ panel they immediately saw him and greeted him

Caity was asked what Sara’s safe word is at the Meet&Greet and her answer was “Chiquita Banana”

When asked who they would eat first on a deserted island, pretty much everyone immediately said “Dom”

Caity and Jes kept talking about doing a podcast and asking people for stuff to talk about. Jes suggested they should just do Stabcast but Caity said she doesn’t like True Crime (which fair, I don’t either lol)

Adam said Avalance’s kid is named Rose and that Gary would be a great babysitter but he definitely would lose her at some point

At the opening ceremony Caity was like “I think the last time I said I was getting married. And I did it. *shows her ring* And Jes had our baby!”

When talking about the hardest goodbyes, Caity being Caity forgot Dom left and wasn’t even in the final season. Her answer was Franz btw.

A kid asked Amy, Caity and Jes if they would rather jump in lava or drown in water if they had to die and Jes was like “How old are you? Where is your mother?!” lmao

Jes recited the condolence card from Meet The Legends to the best of her recollection and kept laughing

Arthur kept mentioning how weird it is that all these fans and the cast are in his hometown

I could listen to Maisie talk for hours, just wanted to throw that in here

Jes was talking about how beautiful the gold dress from 502 was and Caity replied with “Anything you wear is beautiful 🥰” before Amy chimed in that she is still looking for the video of Liv and Jes laughing at Matt falling off his chair that was mentioned earlier lol

When asked about a crack ship (Rishop = Rip/Bishop) Arthur went on to talk about how he loves fanfiction lol

When asked if Nick or Matt is the better kisser Tala said “Maisie”

Adam started singing I Will Always Love You (forgot why) and Maisie left him hanging by not joining in and just smiling/laughing

Poor Matt didn’t know about the Human Centipede but now he does

Jes came up with the pick up line “I can be your legend until tomorrow” and then was like “someone try this tonight at the bar!”

On the second day Adam brought a water pistol to the panel and used it on everyone who got up to ask a question

Adam was THE hype man all weekend. He kept starting “When I say DC you say Legends of Tomorrow” chants

The fandom organized a group gift to give each cast member a trophy of the Waverider. We were allowed to present it to them at the closing ceremony.

Nick was called “Brad Pitt” during the trophy ceremony and Adam being Adam stood up instead

Amy sang Future Favorite with one of the kids at the closing ceremony

Adam said something about how he doesn’t like being emotional in front of people and everyone started chanting “SHOW EMOTIONS”

By the end of the closing ceremony everyone was super emotional. Caity was too emotional to speak when it was her turn and started crying and Jes hugged her. She said “I miss you guys” to the cast and went back for another hug. Jes was like “stop the emotions. stop the emotions” in reference to the earlier chant

A small list of some of the things that happened to me personally. I won’t share it all in detail here though, for reasons:

When I got my solo photo op with Caity, she saw my Real Housewives Sara shirt and was like “That’s funny. Can I take a picture?” and then she posted it on her IG Story

Amy spoke German to me out of nowhere when she noticed my accent. She also called me back during our photo op to ask me how I was and if I slept alright.

Jes gave me this 🥺 look when I talked to her at the autograph table

Nick held my hand for like a minute which was super overwhelming especially cause I struggle with eye contact lol. He also kept lovingly teasing me the whole weekend.

Me and a bunch of people did the 709 costumes as cosplay and won ‘Best Group’. It was a lot of fun.

[copperbadge]

hi sam! do you have any recommendations for good sources of info for someone who'd like to learn more about cons and con artists? Any format is fine, books, podcasts, youtube, whatever, i'm just having a hard time finding a good source that really digs into and examines the actual techniques and 'mechanics' so to speak.

It is a little bit tough because of course most scammers are also self-embroidering liars :D And my education was very patchwork. For specifically cons and con artists (outside of art crime, which generally doesn't touch the con world directly) I'd advise starting with "Titanic Thompson: The Man Who Bet On Everything" by Kevin Cook, which is a biography of one of the early 20th century's most preeminent con men; it's a good tale but it also demonstrates the general life trajectory of con men, which can be pretty grim. Most cons end up in prison, and even those that don't or that get out tend to die poor and alone, because they can't stop scamming.

The Mark Inside by Amy Reading is one that I don't remember vividly but I did write a review of here, and I think it's another good starting place. (All the links following are to reviews I did.) If you've ever watched The Sting, which is a movie about con artists and also kind of a good primer, it's based on The Professional Thief by Edwin Sutherland, which is an anthropology of professional crime in the early 20th century. While technically it was written less by him than by an anonymous contact of his in the criminal underworld, that doesn't mean it's accurate per se; we only have that writer's word that any of it is true, so again, read skeptically.

I'd have to look up which piece it was because there's been a lot about her, but if you give Doris Payne a google she's another great example of a fascinating person who is just a giant liar. She paints a very vivid picture of her own career, but if you read about her later years you do realize that she's still conning everyone (she attempts to swindle at least one journalist working with her) and has nothing to show for her career, which may be a pack of lies to begin with. A lot of her stories have been fact checked and found wanting. I'd read up on the life of Victor Lustig as well; he's most famously known as the man who fraudulently sold the Eiffel Tower (twice) but I don't have a good biography offhand.

In your reading you will probably run across Han Van Meegeren, who forged Vermeers and ripped off the art world with them, then was tried for colluding with Nazis because he sold Nazis many "Vermeers" -- he had to paint a Vermeer while in prison to prove he'd forged the ones he sold the Nazis. This is a charming story but until very recently it was not widely noted that Van Meegeren was ABSOLUTELY A BIG NAZI HIMSELF. I was suckered by the story for years and I know most people were, so if you encounter media about him that does not include this fact, and you're interested in his story, look for newer scholarship.

There's a tangentially related book, "Where The Money Was" by Willie Sutton and Edward Linn, that is the semi-autobiography of a bank robber and it's very fun and funny, so despite not being directly about crime, I'd recommend that one.

The Napoleon Of Crime by Ben MacIntyre is a biography of the man who Moriarty was purportedly based on; it's sort of related rather than direct, but I recall enjoying it and there's a fascinating example of the VERY rare times when art heists are for a specific piece rather than for a specific goal.

There's a podcast called Scam Goddess that I found...enjoyable and informative, but also not very well-researched. In particular some of the earlier episodes are really poorly fact-checked. That said, she reads out letters from people writing in to discuss their scams and she talks about a lot of famous scam stories, so as long as you listen with the knowledge that she's neither a researcher nor an expert you should be okay.

Provenance by Laney Salisbury and Aly Sujo is what I'll close with, because it's about the interplay between art crime and con artistry, but it's also a strong argument for not valorizing cons; it's a documentation of how a couple of criminals out for nothing more than a quick buck really fucked up the entire system by which we authenticate art, and did insane levels of damage to genuine art scholarship. This isn't a little guy punching up against millionaire art collectors or fat cat museums, the way the narrative is often framed; art crime like this, involving forged or altered provenances, really harms art historians and the study of art.

I think the study of confidence crime and art crime is absolutely fascinating. There's a lot to learn about social engineering and society itself. But I think if I can impart to you one piece of wisdom, it's that con men are never, ever out for anyone but themselves and have no qualms or hesitations about hurting you to get what they want. The romance of con artistry often fools journalists and sophisticated researchers as well, so it's very easy to get swept up in it, but you should approach the entire genre with the attitude that everything you read has a 75% chance of being a charming work of total fiction.

On that note -- you may enjoy the short stories of O. Henry, some of which are about confidence men; I can't recommend specific titles but his fiction is very enjoyable generally, at least in my opinion.

[vintageaustin]

lotta true crime

pairing: serialkiller!austin x reader

summary: serial killer Austin kidnaps reader who has a podcast about true crime with her friends cus she saw something she shouldn't

trigger warnings: mentions of murder and well death kidnapping Stockholm syndrome.. mentions of various serial killers talk of blood and knifes psychotic thinking... and smut in the next chapters last but not least my shitty writing

authors note: AAAH HALLOWEEN KICK OF HERE WE GOOOO it's spooky month so here is serial killer Austin on the way to make you all swoon. hehe hehe please i swear i'm sane and honestly if you cant handle this subject please leave it and don't pay anymind to it

special tag: @asshlyyyyy

Part 2 here

It was currently 3 am in down town LA and Austin was out looking for another victim. He couldn’t help it he never understood what was wrong with him and after a while he stopped caring he liked who he was. Even if that meant he hurt people it made him feel some type of way….

 He knew it was bad and that he shouldn’t feel that way but he does and that damn podcast wasn’t helping one singular bit. He didn’t care about her friends he would’ve killed all of them in an instant if they were ever to cross pads but her…. 

It was all about her. He put on the latest episode of your podcast. It usually started with your friends bitching about men like bundy….. or Ramirez…. But you… you seemed to understand him. He sighed as he heard your friend speak up again

 “I mean I hope this doesn’t seem to impolite but Ted Bundy was just never that fucking bright he was just sorta charismatic and white and he was so fucking sure he had the right but he’s ugly and I’m glad he’s dead because there was no fucking candle in his pumpkin he wasn’t special for winning his game with women who never even played they could’ve have killed him.” Her annoying voice ran trough his air pods… 

and then you spoke up “well I mean I’m sure it went deeper than that I’m sure there is a more psychological reason your missing here… he had a pattern and I-“. You were cut off again by your other friend. 

“There’s a new killer in town…” she said as Austin looked up from his phone a bit surprise… could it be “they call him the butler killer or something he prints out anything bad his victims do.. and then he sighs it “butler” that’s all that’s it…* she said and Austin smirked ever so lightly to himself..  they were talking about him he waited for your response kinda nervous as if your opinion really meant something to him.

“Hm… butler killer” you hummed and he smirked to himself. He never met you but he just felt connected as if you knew what he was thinking the whole time and then he heard you speak up again. 

“Hm so he kills people who like kill or hurt others… there’s gotta be some good childhood trauma for that..but he isn’t big enough to talk about in the media … yet interesting “ you said and Austin smiled proudly to himself. He was proud of you, you were his clever girl even tho you don’t know that yet. 

If you were thinking in theorie which he knew you did you’d probably be on your phone googling what ever you could find about him. Your friend her annoying voice ran through his headphones again as he let out a low groan. 

She just needed to run her mouth again as always if she wasn’t careful enough she might get herself killed one of these days…. “So what does this guy do? Does he kill butlers” she laughed that annoying laugh. 

He heard You sigh  softly and speak up again “no amber this article says that the killer leaves business cards at the crime scene with the name butler on it and the sin of his victims on the back of the card, police hasn’t found any other evidence at the crime scene whatsoever” you read to them ever so effortlessly from your phone. 

As Austin smiles proudly to him self of-course his little bunny wouldn’t disappoint.. and of course he wouldn’t be stupid enough to be leaving evidence behind you see. That’s one thing he didn’t have in-common with  other serial killers whatsoever his work didn’t get sloppy. He always made sure to wear gloves and hide his face. 

The sound of your voice died out for a bit as your friends went on and on.. until you spoke up again “he uses a knife.. “

 you said “there have been no signs of gun powder and no one ever heard a bang so my theory is  that he uses a knife to avoid brains flying around… or any organs seeing that’d leave a bigger mess than a knife he likes to prevent the mess from happening he’s a clean killer..  also his name… maybe it’s not about who he kills he kills people who sinned here cheating wife… fraud ect ect  I don’t think he’s a butler tho maybe maybe it had something to do with his name” you said. 

He smirked at him self that was his clever girl he agreed with your theorie about the knife seeing ge never used a gun because of how loud it would get and it’s more traceable Austin liked working clean. He wasn’t like others he had feelings he knew how to feel hurt and sad and angry. 

But what about Happy….. in full honesty he hadn’t been happy in a while… it had been a long long while since he had been happy. 

And the theorie about his name was even more brilliant. You did your research he’d give you that much.  He leaned back in his car seat putting his feed upon the dash board. As he listened to your voice once again.

“It almost seems like… like he’s following the 10 commandments honor your father and mother his first victims were two teens who set up their parents for their money and then his second victim was a neighbor who gave a false testimony against another neighbor…. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor and here… cheating wife found dead while lover was still inside her … thy shall not commit adultery… and the most resent one was a man who stole billions from the company he worked for… thou shalt not steal” you said as your friends spoke again. 

He was kinda dumbstruck honestly it was like you knew all of his moves all his thoughts that’s why you were his bunny you understood him…  if he wouldn’t know better you’d be a killer yourself. 

But he knew nothing more than your name and that you went too the same college.. he spoke in your criminology class a view times your professor mentioned your podcast. That’s how he found his bunny but you wouldn’t remember him for the life of you. And he knew that

At around 4:00 o’clock the podcast ended and that’s when Austin spot his next victim a boy about 19 years old who killed a little girl in a hit and run… thy shall not murder so it was Austin his time to make him pay. Little did he know you were walking home. 

You walked through the alley way he was in just about to finish it he took his mask of. As you approach them your blood ran cold.

Austin looked up quickly and cursed to himself before you could let out a scream he grabbed your waist and pulled you. Around the corner his hand covering your moth and the tip of  his knife. Pointing into your stomach with a bit of pressure 

“Wouldn’t scream if I were you little bunny.” He whispered in your ear. And the last thing you felt was a hit to the head and then everything turned black 

But little did he know that one night would change his whole life… 

this is halloween everybody make a scene

part one out of 5 of lotta true crime let me know what you guys think

love j xxx

[hazbinhotelactorsau]

alastor

« why'd i do tha'? well, cher, it was funny, i'm an asshole, and i don' like ya! »

Name: Alastor Theodore LeBlanc

Nicknames: Al (by Charlie and Naomi), Dollface (by Antonio), Bambi (by everyone)

Height: 172cm (5'8)

Age: 33

Birthday: November 10 19XX

From: New Orleans, Louisiana

Nationality: Louisiana Arcadian (Cajun)

Languages: English, Cajun French which he pretends he's better at than he actually is (mostly knows pet names and threats/insults) (speaks with a heavy Yat accent)

Gender: Male (Intersex, Classic CAH)

Pronouns: Refers to himself with He/Him but does not care what others call him (he finds it amusing when people misgender him)

Sexuality: Cupioaroace

Partner: Antonio (Queerplatonic)

Famous For: True Crime Podcaster, Blogger and Interviewer for VOXfeed Unsolved

Plays: Alastor 'the Radio Demon'

Trivia:

originally, his character was named Andrew 'the Radio Demon' but he kept forgetting that he was supposed to answer to that name, and Blitzø thought 'Alastor' sounded more edgy anyway so they changed it to make it easier for him

his natural accent was considered too strong and 'too friendly sounding' so he learnt himself a transatlantic accent for the role. he tried to learn a queen's english accent and got absolutely obliterated for his horrible attempt by the brits in the cast

he loves fucking around with gender stereotypes and gender expression. he sometimes dabbles in drag which started purely as him being drawn to the showmanship of it but he found he actually enjoyed fucking around with his gender

he once dressed up in drag for an after party celebration and convinced a drunk oxley he was a new cast member for next season until he messed up and accidentally revealed himself. oxley didn't talk to him for a week after that

his hair is dyed red and naturally curly (a mix of 3A, 3B and some strands of 3C) which he gets from his mother. seeing his curls reminds him of her which makes him sad, so he straightens his hair most of the time to avoid getting upset. he still avoids looking in the mirror regardless though

has a soft spot for younger women (sees them as the little sister he always wanted) and thus is happy to cosplay with naomi and let victoria give him a makeover every now and then (and lecture him for his lack of hair care routine because "seriously, alastor, what the fuck do you mean you've been straightening your hair for two decades without any sort of care or routine?")

he is autistic and has adhd. he was prescribed adderall for his adhd but he never remembers to take it. he also has c-ptsd.

he was attacked by a neighbour's dog when he was 19 that left him with permanent nerve damage and a limp in his left leg. he sometimes uses a cane to help which is where his character got his microphone stand from. he's terrified of oxley's service dog because of what happened but he doesn't tell oxley because he doesn't want him to feel bad for needing an aid (the same way he uses a cane for aid)

he has freckles that he hides with makeup after lucas said he 'looks like a baby deer' which resulted in everyone giving him the nickname 'bambi' (which he pretends to hate but actually quite enjoys)

everyone finds him a bit creepy. one of his special interests is animal bones and taxidermy and he makes no effort to hide it from the others. he often gifts them little taxidermies or fossils or bones and often jokes that "y'all shouldn't be askin' wha' that is! y'all should be askin' who it is!"

fans think he's 'method acting' to play the role but the other cast members point out that "he's not method acting, that's just how he is. he's just. like that."

he isn't a serial killer or a cannibal but he loves to make jokes and leave hints that he is. he makes little snide comments that come across like he very much is a serial killer. the others can't tell if he's serious or not about it which he finds hilarious

he will do just about anything if he finds it funny enough. he thrives on fun and entertainment for himself. people are wary of him because he's known to be a prankster

despite his character, he doesn't smile that much off set. he's self-conscious of his smile and tends to reserve it only for antonio's eyes. he often complains about being cast as a character who smiles all the time (well, he complains about everything. he's a major complainer and everyone finds it hilarious and he would rather drop dead than admit to being whiny)

he's a huge fan of astrology because of antonio. he also got into tarot reading because a distant relative gifted him a tarot deck that definitely wasn't a regift one year. he enjoys doing readings for the others even if it's hard to resist messing with them (it's one of the few things he takes seriously)

[saltygilmores]

DANCE MARATHON EPISODE-PART 4

Before we begin, I have some fun news. today I learned that my Tumblr nonsense will be discussed on a podcast. My DALA (Dean and Lorelai Affair) theory will be discussed! How rad is that?! Please give my friends at Gilmored! a follow and tune in. It will air next Thursday, March 7th.

Speaking of DALA tomfoolery, of which there is thankfully not too much of in this episode...this is where we left off...

Hey! Why hasn't that T Rex devoured Dean and Lorelai in her mighty jaws yet?

Lorelai does not stop Puppy-Eye'ing him throughout this entire exchange. She breaks eye contact only for a moment to glance at Rory. In fact, I don't think she blinks.

Maybe we'll all get lucky and there will be a catastophic bleacher collapse. Look at the way this tiny boy in a thrift store castoff bin green coat parted that dance floor like Moses parting the red sea. He carved that crowd of people up like a Thanksgiving turkey, which he won't eat because he's a vegetarian or like he will soon be carving out Shane's internal organs. The dancers are trembling in awe and fear. Taylor Doose desperately calls for security, but no one arrives to save them.

Dean Forrester besat his own goofy very much non dancing keester upon the same bleachers above Jess, causing Lorelai to remark seconds earlier that "Spectator Ken" (Dean) was "sweet" for just showing his goofy face at the thing at all and paying them a mediocre compliment. This was also after she heard an explanation from Rory earlier in the week that he had no intentions of dancing, hence Rory and Lorelai becoming dance partners in the first place, and she reserved all judgement for Dean. Rory "Salty" Gilmore concurs that Jess' sitting abilities pale in comparison to Dean's to please her mommy. Also, I had to look up another stuffy old timey reference for "Martha Graham."

Poor Shane. So blissfully unaware.

You think Dean ever just confidently grabs Rory by the back of the neck and pulls her in for a kiss like that? Hell no. At least Shane will die happy with the taste of Jess in her mouth, maybe in more ways than one, the night is still young, hey hey.

Rory throwing J&S this look is the origin of the name SaltyGilmores (Back in my Twitter days).

Just noting the time for any true crime podcasters who might need that information to try and solve a Swan Murder.

The puke jacket has been shed. The night is fully underway. And Shane will be fully underwater. Since it was a one of a kind donation bin find, he wouldn't want to get any blood spatter on it. It would be hard to find a replacement. I understand. The black shirt will also be helpful in hiding the blood stains.

What are you looking at, number 34? You putz. I can't believe I may actually semi-defend you later, you goofy ass. Taylor announces a barbaric ritual in which the remaining dancers must run laps around the gymnasium and the 5 slowest couples will be eliminated, taken out behind the school, and processed into hamburger patties to be served at the diner. Although the Gilmores survive the Running of the Lamewads, Lorelai soon faces the wrath of Jackson for meddling in his and Sookie's marriage (which she didn't really do, for once).

Line up in an orderly fashion behind Shane at the back of the school and you can both be axed to death if that's what you really want. The size of the crowd on the bleachers appears to have ballooned in the last minute, and I was hoping to see Jess and Dean and Shane react to the Running of The Goof Troop, but I could not seem to find them. Well, I can only guess why Shane and Jess disappeared. Boooiiinggg. We'll catch up with them in just a moment.

Just a sea of dead bodies. Nothing to see here, True Crime Podcasters.

Has Luke been standing there for 14 hours?

[twinktor-frankenstein]

Alright, here's a few!

• Ness sings/hums a lot, especially when doing tasks. Mostly random tunes or made up lyrics that relate to the task he's doing, but he will also get popular songs stuck in his brain from the Diner.

• Aside from the Diner job, he also has a true crime podcast where he will talk about his own theories.

• He also sometimes Babysits Abby. They're friendship bracelet buddies, they rope in Mike (and eventually Vanessa, when she wakes up)

• Speaking of Vanessa, I like to think she was somewhat of a regular at Sparky's. So Her & Ness are somewhat friendly or at least acquaintances. She'd try to make him stop being so curious about Freddy's, but it'd backfire into him being even more interested.

• He's a clothes Thief, even if mike's clothes fit a bit awkwardly.

• Ness is also the big spoon, and is just touchy-feely in general.

• He has random bits and pieces of old Freddy's merch, including some rare collectables.

• I think when/if he & Mike were to get married, he'd a wear a suit like Shane madej's, embroidered n decorated all pretty n colorful instead of a plain suit (reference: https://www.tumblr.com/ostensiblynone/735786663030210560/rosecutclothing-caf%C3%A9-brauer-floral-suit-for)

• Like his real Life counterpart and also Me because I love projecting™, He has arachnophobia :)

• He's a weird Food & Food combos enjoyer. Hawaiian Pizza, Fries & Ice cream, Peanut Butter and Bacon, that sorta stuff.

That's all I'm sharing for now, I wanna know your thoughts :)

- 🦋🥀

SORRY I HAVEN'T REPLIED, I've been meaning too things have just been a little hectic for me lately😭

I absolutely love the true crime podcast and him babysitting Abbie, it's cute to me that these have basically become fanon lol.

Also the thing about Vanessa trying to shut it down is so funny to me. She'd try to get him off the trail and he'd call her "Afton" so she knows its already far to late for that/hj

Him being the big spoon is so real too, I feel like he'd just initiate things a lot more than Mike does in general. He was definitely the first to ask about dating, I think I've said somewhere before that I feel like he'd say "I love you" a lot more than Mike does. I hc Mike would be more inclined to giving gifts/trinkets then going out of his way to complement Ness or cuddle him. He's the "I saw this cool looking scrap of metal on the side walk and thought of you" type, if Ness borrowed his clothes a lot I think regardless of how often he himself wore it he'd let Ness keep it.

Also im definitely of the believe that most of the things Ness eats are weird combos. He'll regularly encourage Mike and Abbie to eat full healthy meals and even cook for them, but when it comes to feeding himself he's running on one and a half lukewarm redbulls he found in his car and like a hand full of pretzels also found in his car. He's too busy pretending to be Fox Mulder to feed himself/hj

I'm strongly of the belief that Ness is feral lol

[river-demon-slayer]

Blog Introduction

Name: Kira (but you can call me 'Kavi' or 'River').

Age: 21 years.

Country: India (specifically from Mumbai).

Pronouns: she/her.

Background in Studies: BA English Literature.

Current Course: MA English Language and Literature (I am currently studying in London).

Languages I speak: English, Hindi, Marathi, Sinhala.

Interests, Likes, and Hobbies: Love reading - from poetry and classic literature to manga and comics and everything in between, Kpop, Anime, Mystery-thrillers, Psychological-thrillers, True Crime Documentaries or Podcasts, Learning Languages, Sleeping, Travelling, Academic Validation.

Goals: 1) Do better in my course

2) Work on my Research Proposal and Dissertation

3) Consistently practice and become fluent in Target languages (Sinhala - learn to read and write it, Korean, Japanese, German, Kannada, Malayalam, Latin).

4) Do workouts and stretches regularly.

5) Improve mental health and gain confidence in my skills and abilities

What you can expect from this blog: I won't be posting regularly, just whenever I feel like I have something worth sharing. For the most part, it will be a studyblog but I will also post anything that comes to my mind and you can't do anything about it. I am always open to being mutuals so feel free to follow or message me❤️❤️❤️.

[sophieinwonderland]

New to your blog and I saw in one of your posts you mentioned the demonization of DID within media and horror especially. I'm used to knowing this as things like the movies split etc but you mentioned werewolves aswell. As an avid dnd player I never really connected the dots but it makes a lot of sense how things like werewolves could be an allegory for people with DID and perhaps other horror related media and stuff also do that (perhaps jekyll and hyde).

I'm not well versed on the topic and was wondering if there's other creatures through mythology or stuff like that that are possibly rooted an abilism and stuff like that that you could point out for me? Sorry if any of that came across as offensive or anything

-Ben (only asking in anon because my main blog is a fan blog)

Hi there!

And there's a ton of it.

Before going further, it's important to note that pluralphobia can be broken into roughly two categories. The first is the fear of BEING plural. Of sharing your own body with someone else.

The second is a fear of someone else being plural, or otherwise not being the same person they used to be.

Stories of demon and spirit possession will touch upon both forms of pluralphobia and I've talked about them a lot.

But something that's not brought up often that contributed to this is body snatchers.

Many mythological creatures throughout history have fallen into this category. Despite not technically being plural, these stories stigmatize and demonize people for acting differently than they did in the past. For being different people.

Take, for instance, a story of a girl who goes into the woods collecting mushrooms and goes missing. She's found days later by her father who is overjoyed to have her returned.

Afterwards, strange things start happening around the farm. Animals start dying. And the girls' brothers are sent to watch the lifestock at night. One by one, the brothers tell the father what they saw, and he doesn't believe them.

One of the brothers is banished by his father while the others don't speak of it further. He goes to live at a temple for a year when one of his brothers comes to get him, telling him he needed to return.

The brothers return home to find their estate in disrepair, and their livestock and the rest of their family dead. Only the sister is alive, when she's revealed to be a Kumiho: A 9-tailed fox demon who replaced their real sister.

(Note: I'm summarizing the version from the Myth & Legends podcast we heard well over a year ago from memory, so some of the details may not be totally accurate. Also, that's a really great episode and you should check it out even if I did spoil the ending.)

This story isn't intentionally pluralphobic. It's intentionally sexist, with the moral being to believe your sons over your daughters. But the pluralphobia isn't intentional.

However, stories like this and many others created environments where systems couldn't exist.

These stories weren't JUST stories. They were superstitions that shaped cultures.

I don't know if people believed this specific story as an accurate historical account of something that really happened. But they believed in the Kumiho and creatures like them. Just like people believed in similar creatures that could replace your loved ones.

Luckily, I don't know of anyone killed because their relatives believed them a Kumiho. (But we likely wouldn't know. These were peasant beliefs most popular in times when lower classes were illiterate and much of this history wouldn't be recorded. Let alone survive to be translated into English.)

But when it comes to superstitions of Fae body snatchers, Bridget Cleary wasn't nearly so lucky.

Murdered by her husband with several others who accused her of being a Fae.

For other ableism, some have also linked changelings to Autism and other mental illnesses, being used to justify child abuse and torture.

What would it have been like to be plural before the modern era?

With this in mind, I think it's important to consider why we don't hear much of psychological plurality until recently. The body snatching trope may not be a direct allegory for plurality in the same way as demon possession. But it contributed to an environment of superstition and fear.

Today, being out as plural, headmates wanting to go by our chosen names instead of the body's, means that we may be disowned by family, abandoned by friends, harassed on the internet or lose our jobs.

But historically, it's likely that plurals who came out would have feared treatment like that of Bridget Cleary unless they lived in a society with culturally accepted plurality, where spiritual possession might be welcomed.

[barbiewritesstuff]

A Thing

-- This is just porn, so beware. Also Y/n is pervy

Edit: I reread it and somehow I managed to forget a whole paragraoh when I pasted it all onto here. That's fixed now though --

Y/n was on her laptop playing a game, headphones covering her ears and her hand buried deep into a bowl of salted butter popcorn. The noise in her ears stopped as the true crime podcast she was listening to ended. On second thoughts, it had not been the best thing to listen to in an empty dorm in a building full of strangers. She was on edge, and even her farming game wasn't calming her down. 

Deciding to calm her nerves by going for a walk, Y/n left her room and walked down the corridor. Strange noises came from one of the rooms to her right, Hangman's room to be precise. She knew it probably wasn't anything good, but her curiosity got the better of her. She decided to investigate.

His bedroom door was slightly open due to one of his shoes blocking the doorway. She approached gingerly, and suddenly with a mix of horror and trepidation she realised what the noises were right as he let out a groan. 

As if she no longer controlled her feet, they kept moving forwards and to his door where she could just about see him through the crack. He was laying on his bed, his trousers around his ankles and his member in his hands. He was big, the perfect mix of long and girthy. 

She imagined how nicely it would fill her and how it would feel rubbing her clit. He groaned again as he stroked his cock. His hand motions sped up and soon enough his hips began thrusting up and down too and then, he stopped all movement and waited for a minute till the adrenaline died down. He had lubed up his hand generously and with a raspy whisper he said " Oh baby, I like it when you're sloppy with me. Your mouth feels so good around my cock. It takes me so deep, baby, I can feel your throat" He kept speaking. She was hypnotised. Her fingers sneaked underneath the band of her trousers and between her folds, to find her clit. She was slick with wetness. He kept dirty talking to himself, sprawled out and looking like a god. His torso lean and muscled, his handsome face with his eyes closed and his gorgeous thick cock shiny with lube. She came as silently as she could. He did not, he let out the dirtiest moan she had ever heard as his dick splattered his body with hot sticky cum that she wished he had shot deep inside of her. 

Guilt and shame washed over her as she realised what she had done. The rational part of her brain telling her to leave now and go for a jog, or do anything at all to avoid making this A Thing. Turning this into something that would stop her from being able to act normal towards him.

But the jog helped very little. Every time she blinked she got a brand new image of Jake Hangman Seresin, possibly her team leader, doing unspeakable things to himself. 

She abandoned her jog minutes into starting it. Maybe taking care of herself for now would do, as the wetness between her thighs would soon soak through her leggings. 

When she made her way back, the light underneath Hangman's now closed door was out. 

It had become A Thing. 

Whenever he called her Darlin' or Princess or Baby, like he did with any other girl, she could see him cumming thick ropes of cum. 

Whenever he would bark orders she would feel herself becoming wetter.

And even if he chatted normally, she would blush and fumble with her words.

Yup, it had definitely become A Thing, and if she didn't get a grip on herself, he would end up noticing.

Fuck Maverick.

Fuck his training

And fuck dogfight football.

Cocky, arrogant show-off, she thought. He had been prancing around like a peacock all afternoon, shirt off and swim trunks on. It was warm so she'd excuse the shirtlessness but dear Lord, why did he have to wear speedos. 

She'd done her best not to stare, and when that failed, she'd done her best not to be caught staring. 

Honestly, how could he be the only man to be able to wear a speedo and it be flattering. She had been able to see the outline of his member and had been on the receiving end of the accompanying thoughts, it had awoken a familiar ache between her legs.

To help herself after a hard day's training and staring, she decided to take care of things herself. Every orgasm dissapointed and her fingers could never succeed in doing what Hangman only could do to her.

She fell asleep soon after.

Y/n felt disgusting and miserable the morning after. Fucking herself had only made it worse. 

And worst of all, Hangman had noticed. He'd commented on her flushed cheeks, her day dreaming and staring at him. 

Jesus Christ he was hot. 

Training seemed never ending but when she thought she could go no longer, they were dismissed.

"Can I see you for a minute?" Hangman had asked her as they were about to exist the hangar. She had nodded, incapable of making a word.

"What's the matter with you? I miss your snarky replies" He pouted, bottom lip sticking out. She wanted to jump him then and there, kiss him and nibble on that lip.

"Oh I know that look" He smirked "You want to fuck me don't you? Can't resist me?"

Fuck him.

In every sense of the sentence.

"So, when did you fall?"

"Fall?! I didn't fall for you Seresin" She said. Y/n had tried to sound poisonous.

He laughed "No? So all it took was for me to leave my door open, huh? You a perv, Lieutenant?"

"I'll be nice Y/n, I'll fuck you if you want. But I can't promise you'll ever get enough of me."

He pinned her to the wall with his hand holding both of hers above her head. Hangman kissed her neck.

She wrestled her hands free and practically ripped the flight suit off of him. He matched her intensity and soon they were both undressed in the open corridor. He lifted her up against the wall and wasted no time to remove his rock hard cock from hisunderpants. He fisted it a few times before slamning it inside of her. Hangman was not a gentle lover but he was good, he managed to touch her sensitive spot with each stroke. She came quickly, loudly and hard. Hangman covered her mouth with his hand as he fucked her through her orgasm until his thrusts grew shaky and he emptied himself inside of her. 

"I should have asked before but you're on the pill, right." 

Too fucked out to speak, Y/n nodded her head.

"How did you know I was watching?" She managed to say after a minute or two

"There's a mirror in my room, I could see you" He laughed "Anyway, next time, just tell me. I'll gladly fuck you again" 

Hangman winked at her and left.