#I wonder what costumes the other chose?

[bet-on-me-13]

Fight Knight is the Spirit of Halloween.

So! A new Spirit Halloween location has opened up in Gotham, and the Batfam has decided to go shopping so they can prepare for Halloween.

Just because it's one of their busiest nights of the year doesn't mean they can't enjoy themselves while patrolling.

So the family walks in about a week before Halloween and spreads out to look for decorations or costumes to wear.

Its a fun trip, they buy their costumes, have a pleasant conversation with the manager about the holiday season, and go back home.

Then they actually put on their costumes and find out that they were either Cursed or Enchanted, because once put them on they are transformed them into the Costumes themselves.

Damien has become a Dog, after putting on a cheap dog costume at the insistence of his brothers. He's not unhappy at least.

Jason has been turned into a Zombie, though he has managed to restrain himself from eating his brother's Brains so far. He claims they look unappetizing.

Tim has been turned into Super Mario. He can't stop speaking in a bad Italian accent and has a huge mustache.

Dick has been turned into a Fairy Tale Princess after putting on the costume as a Joke. He has to admit though, he looks great as a Girl.

Even Bruce wasn't spared, and was turned into a Vampire after putting in some Plastic Teeth.

Taking off the costumes hadn't turned them back, leaving them stuck in their new forms.

Now they are all racing back to that Spirit Halloween to get answers as to what the hell just happened to them.

They hope Mr. Frank Knight has some answers for them.

[krawdad]

I get that they probably are trying to make the gigantic robot lizard as unscary as possible but who's idea was it to give the alligator fuzzy fleece skin

There isn't a closeup where it's still enough to be sure but that sure looks like puppet/mascot suit fleece to me.

Also since I'm here it looks cool without its skin

Imagineer for scale

[luveline]

bEGGING for something with the marauders with drunk reader at a halloween party!!! make it literally anything you want follow ur heart ily and ur writing is AMAZING!!!!

thank you, ily ♡ modern au, fem

The rugby uniform felt like a funny idea at the time, but now you're cold and wondering how James manages to stay warm when he plays. You must ask him. 

He sits on the couch with Remus and another friend, Frank. You like Frank but he's not one of your boys, leaving you no options —you have to slide yourself between Remus and James, emphasis on have to. Remus touches your waist unthinkingly as you do, like he might catch you if you fell. 

James is ecstatic to see you as always. "Where have you been? I was about to send out the search party." 

He's been very, very pleased with you upon the reveal of your costume. Like, pleased enough to take a handful of your thigh and squeeze at the soft inner part greedily. You lean back into Remus, enjoying the feeling and wanting his comfort. He's used to it, and  he adapts by pressing his face indulgently to the side of your head. 

You giggle. This is usually a nice feeling, but drunk? You're euphoric. 

"You can't stray too far, lovely, I need my victim," Remus says. 

"Where have your fangs gone?" you ask, pointing at your neck. "I made the bite mark so perfect. Everyone will think I have rabies if you don't commit." 

James laughs like you're hilarious. Later, you'll find out that you didn't quite say every word that you thought you said, and that you'd been slurring your words into one another to create Frankenstein's sentences. 

"Everybody already thinks you have rabies," James says. He's wearing a chef's costume from a show he likes, a white shirt that's sleeves strain against his biceps and a blue apron. Sirius spent an hour drawing tattoos into his brown skin with a sharpie. "That's why we've decided to put you down." 

"I'll have one last night of passion with her first, if you don't mind," Sirius says, announcing his presence. 

You like the sound of that, lifting yourself away from the other two boys and their touches to take Sirius' fine hands. He's in a button up and tie, the sticker on his chest proudly proclaiming, Hello, my name is: Dave.

"You're here to kiss me, right?" you ask.

Sirius grins and presses a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. "My little alcoholic, you smell like lambrini. What did we say about lambrini?" 

"Uh, that it makes me sloppy drunk." 

"Exactly!" He kisses your cheek, working an arm around your shoulder as though showing you off with pride to the other boys. "My darling, you're so smart." 

"Not that smart, she still drank the lambrini." 

"Remus, don't start," Sirius admonishes. "You just hate that she chooses me when she's drunk." 

"You're her enabler," James says, "of course she does. But before she was drunk she chose to dress as me for Halloween, so if anyone is the favourite–" 

"Oh, please don't start," Remus says. 

The boys start, arguing over who your favourite is. It's a silly pass time with no real merit but no malice, either, and you're just drunk enough to goad them on. "Maybe Remus should be my favourite. After all, he's my vampire. Our love is, like, eternal." 

The furrowed brow he gets whenever the other two boys debate slips. "It's so eternal," he says, nodding confidently. "Quite right, dove." 

"Eternal doesn't mean better." 

"Then what does it mean, Sirius?" 

You decide that James' lap looks comfortable and that you might be here for a long time, so you push his legs down flat and sit carefully (not very carefully in reality, but in your heart) on his thighs, socked feet pulled up onto the couch, sideways and skewiff in his company. 

"Well, obvious winner," James says, encompassing your back with a big arm, pulling you into him. Under his hand your shoulders feel like a more delicate system; you aren't necessarily small, but his touch feels so everywhere, a pervasive feeling of safety and comfort in the palm of his hand where it grasps you. 

"You have the more comfortable seat," Sirius says nonchalantly. "It means nothing." 

Remus pulls one of your socks up where it's slipping down your calf and Sirius interrupts the arguing to ask if you need a glass of water. You don't have favourites. They're each incredibly lovely in their own way. 

[bakugoushotwife]

in my opinion, gojo’s storyline has been handled so so poorly i can’t help but think it’s intentional. it is not bad writing to kill a character—even a beloved character. i know most people will dismiss my criticisms because gojo is so beloved to me and so many others. i’ve said before that i don’t mind if he died. does it hurt? of course, and i would still cry and be sad about it. but there is a beautiful way to do it. with respect and honor for his legacy—for what he has done for your manga, the characters in it, and audiences worldwide. but no…gege chose the path of horror and disrespect. at certain points i’d say to myself, well. this is a dark manga. but essentially gojo is the only character that receives this treatment. since the beginning—since suguru left him, he’s been wondering if he mattered because he was a person, or if he only mattered because he was powerful and useable. we certainly fucking answered that question. he is a weapon and nobody ever cared about him at all!!!

and we knew he was being used—he knew he was being used, but he is selfless. so he did it for his kids. for megumi and yuuji and yuuta—he wanted them to be safe. in these flashbacks it’s exceedingly clear that he knew he would die. again—that’s not my issue. gojo dying to sukuna makes plenty of sense and it would hurt to leave it there. but to give us an afterlife scene where he’s presented a choice—north and south—that concept lead nowhere, that’s truly fucked up. to leave all the subtle clues and hints for no reason but to keep people reading and theorizing his return is fucked up. to continue to use his imagery to promote your manga when you know he’s not even honored in your manga is fucked up. we don’t get a funeral or a grave for him. no one’s spoken about him in chapters despite him fighting for hours against sukuna and damaging him so much that yuuji could win, nothing. yuuta wearing him like a costume and no one is horrified about it. i thought his students WERE different. they weren’t jujutsu society yet. that’s why gojo was their teacher—shaping them into better human beings. how am i supposed to trust in their future when it seems they’re just as cold and heartless as everyone before them? no one has honored gojo in any way since the moment he died. and they’ve forgotten about him. he spent his entire life fighting and no one can even say thank you. gege intentionally used gojo to promote the end of his manga because he knows that gojo fans make up at least half of his fanbase so had we stopped reading when he died, he would have lost a lot of traction. he baited us intentionally, cruelly, and something that transcends storytelling. i’ve truly never seen a mangaka have this sort of vitriol for one of their characters and the people that love him.

we spent the entire last chapter talking about some random fucking mission when we have several unanswered questions and concerns. i thought gege said he wanted this ending to be shocking and something you didn’t see in shonen? tying everything up neatly where no one has any trauma or grief for what they’ve experienced, everyone comes back to life except the one character you hate specifically and choso, defying your own power structures and having everyone laughing into the sunset is exactly how shonen ends so what in the fuck is he talking about??

let me disclaim, this is not megumi hate at all. i love him very much and i am so happy he’s back with the group but like. he shouldn’t be able to even walk. he tanked unlimited void for over 6 minutes whenever that length caused irreversible damage to sukuna himself. not to mention the countless black flashes. so what the fuck? he doesn’t mention gojo at all?? the first time he laughs in this manga is after he reads a note written by his dead fucking caretaker about his dead fucking father? like i don’t believe. random open ended kenjaku/suguru mention just to piss me off, an absolutely no mention of gojos sacrifice or how they’ll miss him. i’m sick to my stomach. gege defiled his memory both in the story and outside of it. wow.

P.S. SUKUNA CARED MORE ABOUT GOJO THAN ANYONE ELSE (SUGURU IS NOT INCLUDED IN THIS I MEAN HIS STUDENTS AND SOCIETY)

[thatfandomslut]

Hands Off

Regina George x Reader

Trigger Warnings: insecurity, underage drinking, jealousy, threatening language

Word Count: 1.8k

Request:

I saw the movie a day after it came out and I have been desperate for jealous Regina x reader. Like Cady tried at the party and BOOM Regina like smothers reader with kisses. Btw thoughts on the movie?

My thoughts on Mean Girls: Initially, going into it, I was nervous due to being such a big fan of the musical and move. I loved the movie, and I think the cast is amazing. I have seen it two times in theaters, and I will be going for two more times, at least.

(Y/n) adjusted herself in the mirror, determining whether she felt confident enough for the outfit she had chosen. However, Regina's words rang through her mind: "Honestly, babe, this costume would look so hot on you." Regina didn't know that she had chosen to go as a devil, decked in red with a horn placed on her head. She went all out, even adding a touch of red, glittery eye shadow. The outfit hugged her curves in ways that she wasn't sure about yet. (Y/n) sighed before checking the time. She couldn't back out of it now. It was officially too late, and after looking at Regina's current location, she saw that the girl was three minutes from her house.

Grabbing the purse and pitchfork she bought to accompany her outfit, she made her way downstairs in order to meet Regina at the door. It also gave her an extra minute to adjust herself in a different lighting. Hearing a honk from outside, she walked outside, spotting Regina's orange jeep, the chill in the air making her wish that Regina chose a vehicle with doors. She shot a quick 'goodbye' to her parents as she made her way over to Regina's Jeep.

"Hey, baby," Regina greeted, pulling her into the passenger seat with a smirk. (Y/n) grinned as Regina kissed her deeply, and (Y/n) got so drunk on the kiss that she almost forgot about Karen and Gretchen in the back. "You took my advice on the costume. You look hot, (Y/n)."

Due to the way that Regina's eyes raked over her body as she got situated beside her girlfriend, (Y/n) began to feel hot, too. Pushing her hair behind her shoulders as the wind whipped it around, she smirked. "Thank you, angel. You look very hot yourself. I'm glad I took your advice. It seems to match your costume very well, huh?" (Y/n) traced her eyes over Regina's angel costume. There was no question when determining how amazing Regina looked. She was the hottest girl in school, and (Y/n) often wondered what she saw in her. To others, Regina might come off as abrasive or angry, but she was never that way with (Y/n). She was soft and flirty, and she was whipped. (Y/n) was, too, though. Not only was she whipped, but she was absolutely in love with Regina.

As they got to the party, the bass could already be heard from the outside, and a girl in a corn outfit had just puked off the side of the porch. The action made (Y/n) curl her nose before following Regina in, hands latched together. They tended to stick together at events like these. Not just because they were in a relationship, but because of the boys around them. "I'm going to go find Jason," Gretchen called out, separating as Karen followed her as she often did. (Y/n) didn't mind them going off together, leaving her and Regina alone as they made their way to the kitchen.

Regina began pouring drinks for her and (Y/n), passing the red solo cup to her girlfriend. "You really do look hot, baby. You should wear red more often." Regina complimented as she set her drink beside them, keeping an eye on it. Her hands fell onto (Y/n)'s hips and she leaned in to kiss her. (Y/n) wasn't one to object to a kiss from her girlfriend, allowing Regina's lips to dance on hers with ease. The base kept them at a pace as they kissed, not caring about the people around them. They were almost secluded in the little kitchen area they were in. The two would've continued to make out if it wasn't for the screams that caused them to jump apart, some of (Y/n)'s drink splashing onto the floor.

(Y/n) quickly went to clean it as Regina narrowed her eyes to see what everyone was screaming at. "Oh my God, Cady looks horrendous," Regina commented, her eyes widening as (Y/n) stood up to see what was going on. She was someone who often defended Cady due to being so new to everything in America. After all, it was evident that she was very sheltered growing up. Regina texted Gretchen, who said Aaron had invited her to the party. "Interesting… Did you know that Cady likes Aaron?" Regina personally felt that Cady was out of her league, but it was whatever Cady wanted, not her obviously.

"Really." (Y/n) said, drinking the contents in her cup before getting a refill. "I wouldn't really have expected it. I think Cady might be too pretty for Aaron of all people. I kind of thought she might like Janis since I've seen them talking a bit. Or, maybe she and Gretchen?"

Regina and (Y/n) tended to try to pair people up with each other for fun. Cady wasn't the exception to that. "Speaking of Gretchen, she's going to be upset if she sees Jason making out with that girl over there. I'm going to go break it up, but I'll be right back," Regina kissed (Y/n) before going to tell off Jason before Gretchen noticed. (Y/n) smiled at her as she walked off, grabbing her drink to keep it safe as she approached Gretchen and Cady.

"Hey, ladies," she greeted with a soft smile. Gretchen was about to respond until she watched Karen from a distance do something she wasn't supposed to. Quickly excusing herself, she ran over to the other girl leaving just Cady and (Y/n). "So, Cady, how are you enjoying North Shore so far? Find anyone you might be interested in yet?" (Y/n) just knew that there was no way that Cady had a crush on Aaron. He wasn't unattractive, Cady just was more attractive. Leaning in slightly, (Y/n) smiled widely. "You can tell me, I promise not to tell anyone. I am like a vault, you know?"

Cady blushed at her question, thankful for the abundance of makeup her mother helped her apply. However, even if (Y/n) couldn't see the blush, she saw the shy fidget. "Yes, actually, but Gretchen and Karen told me not to do anything about it. But… She is pretty cool." Cady answered, taking a small step forward. (Y/n) almost jumped up excitedly at the fact that Cady just confirmed her crush wasn't on Aaron. Now, she was thinking she was right. Cady had to like Janis if not Aaron or Gretchen. She only took Gretchen out of the equation because Cady confirmed she had told her who it was. Cady might be a brainiac when it came to math, but (Y/n) was the best matchmaker on campus.

Too bad she didn't realize that Cady was insinuating her. Sipping the alcohol in her cup, she leaned back a bit to examine Cady, trying to figure out who it was. "Oh, come on, Cady. You can't always listen to Gretchen and Karen, no matter how amazing they are. I say if you like them, you should go for it. Is this person here at the party? Do I know them?" (Y/n) glanced around, seeing Regina return from pairing Jason back up with Gretchen. This was a task she hated doing, but she knew Gretchen was head over heels for Jason for some reason.

"Yeah, she is actually, and you know her very well," Cady answered, placing a hand on (Y/n)'s wrist since her hand was full. (Y/n) was now suddenly very aware of who she was hinting at. Unfortunately for Cady, Regina was now right next to (Y/n) and kissing her deeply before sending a death glare to the girl in a black wig. (Y/n) shook off Cady's hand gently, taking a step closer to Regina who wrapped a hand around (Y/n)'s waist. Cady looked shocked, dejected, and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… I should go."

Regina provided a sickly sweet smile at this. "Yeah, Cady, there's no hard feeling or whatever, either. Just next time, hands off my girlfriend. I hope your night gets better." Regina said, taking one of the drinks from (Y/n), waiting for Cady to make her way away from them or out of the house. As Cady practically rushed out the door, Regina felt herself crushing the red solo cup before releasing it and replacing it.

(Y/n) didn't feel bad in the sense of Cady's feelings towards her, but seeing Cady sad made her feel bad. But it was awkward now that she had practically admitted that she had feelings for her without saying it. "Regina, I'm sorry. I didn't realize until she took my wrist that she was coming on to me." (Y/n) apologized, hoping Regina wasn't mad at her. She had never made Regina mad before, and she didn't want to.

"It's not your fault that Cady can't keep her hands to herself. What were you two talking about anyways?" Regina questioned, drinking a sip of the alcohol in her hands. She knew her mother would come to pick them up and have someone grab her vehicle in the morning, so she wasn't worried about drinking. Plus, now she needed the drink having witnessed the girl she was trying to help fit in touch with her girlfriend. She was jealous, and she didn't want anyone touching (Y/n) that way ever. "It must've been pretty good seeing as Cady felt the need to grab your wrist. It looked like she was about to kiss you."

(Y/n) finished her second drink as she ran a hand through her hair. "We were talking about how she had a crush on someone, and I was trying to get it out of her. I didn't know it was me so I said go for it, and then when she grabbed my wrist, I was like 'oh, shit.'" (Y/n) explained, hoping Regina believed her. She was telling the truth after all, and Regina was really good at reading the truth about people. Especially (Y/n), not that (Y/n) really ever lied. It was more so little white lies like 'Oh yeah, I totally didn't just take a three-hour nap, I lost my phone.'

"Okay, baby, I believe you. But if Cady ever tries that again, she won't get another chance to be a part of our group, and she will be a social outcast. I will not let her think that she can touch my girlfriend and get away with it." Regina glared at the exit as if Cady might re-enter. Regina then took (Y/n)'s hand. "But let's forget about that and her. Let's just go to my house. We can watch Halloween movies and make out if you want?"

(Y/n) smirked at the offer, nodding slightly. "You know what, you got a deal, angel. Let's do it."

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost is forced to dress up as Santa for the day and talk to kids.

You’re ordered to tag along as his Elf and do some damage control if necessary.

———————————————————————

You lean against his armchair, watching the chaos in front of you. Children are crying, tugging at their parents’ clothes, shouting both in excitement and fear, all while looking at you. A young boy keeps waving at your lieutenant, desperate to get his attention, but Ghost is too preoccupied with coming to terms with his new reality to notice.

You return his wave with a smile.

“Try to stay still, Santa,” you remind Ghost as you nod towards the boy. “Kids are watching.”

He snaps back into focus and redirects his attention to the queue. He stretches one last time, pushing on the armrests, before settling into the chair.

“Try not to tell me what to do,” he murmurs and waves back at the child.

You straighten up and tweak your green hat, triggering the bell at its tip to jiggle in your ear. You feel for him; you really do. He’s not supposed to be here; he’s not built for this. Unfortunately—for him or the kids, you haven’t decided yet—the “real” Santa broke his hip at the last minute, and your military base stepped in to provide a new Santa for the local community.

And what better replacement than Ghost, you may ask? Well, literally anybody else.

Dressed in a red costume with white faux fur trim, the lieutenant looks nothing like the man you experienced on the battlefield. His shoulders threaten to rip through the rented outfit, and the seams at the back hold onto each other for dear life. Since his belly wasn’t big enough to simulate Santa’s, you asked him to stuff a pillow under his uniform. Surprisingly, Ghost complied almost instantly, leaving you to wonder if he was using the pillow as Kevlar, a barrier between him and the kids or if he was secretly enjoying this.

You also convinced him to ditch the balaclava for the time being since he would now have plenty of props to conceal his face—a wig, a long beard, glasses, and a red hat with a white pom-pom, to be exact. Additionally, you attempted to trick him into applying some blush on his cheeks, but he side-eyed you and told you to ‘be careful now’—ironic for a man who paints his face daily.

You rub your temples, trying to keep calm amid the chaos of the mall as you prepare for what’s about to happen during the next few hours. You have no idea why Price chose him to be Santa, but you didn’t question it either. Ghost seems to be the least qualified for the job out of everyone in the base. It feels like a last resort, so to speak—a ‘that’s all we have left in the store’ solution.

On the other hand, you know precisely why the captain chose you to accompany him. “To monitor the situation,” he said—“To make sure we don’t get sued,” you heard. And, under normal circumstances, you’d be happy to tag along with Ghost—be it on patrol, on missions, or even transporting confidential documents. But in this situation? Acting as a troubleshooter rather than a teammate? You’d rather be anywhere else than here, with anybody else than him.

You take another look at him while he sits on the chair. He’s tugging at the uniform, scratching his head, and instinctively pulling the beard to his nose.

“Stop doing that,” you whisper. “It’s a beard, not a balaclava.”

“Price would have been perfect for the job, for fucks sake,” he spits. “He has the fucking moustache for starters.”

“Stop with the ‘fucks’ and the ‘fucking’ Ghost; you’re about to talk to kids! And, as for the captain, he said he couldn’t do it.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, lifting his hands from the armrests. “And what makes him think that I can?”

“I wish I knew, to be honest, but we don’t have time to go through this again,” you murmur, looking at your watch one last time. You approach the barrier, unclip the rope from the stanchion, and turn over your shoulder.

“Operation ‘Santa’ begins now,” you declare. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” He replies, shrugging, and gestures for you to proceed.

And so it begins. Your first ‘customer’ arrives, and many more follow. You guide one family at a time into the enclosure and escort them to Ghost, who handles the rest. Some children are hesitant, peeking out from behind their parents’ legs, while others are much more direct with their intentions as they scream in horror at the sight of him.

On the other hand, Ghost is neither your typical jolly Santa nor the irritated lieutenant you’d expect. He appears to be... understanding. He reassures parents that it’s okay and there’s no need to force their children onto his lap if they feel uncomfortable. He initiates conversations with the kids from a respectful distance. He smiles with his eyes and hunches his shoulders to appear less imposing. Sometimes, he lures the shy ones into a handshake, a fist pump, or a high five by lowering his gloved hand to their level.

And then there are those other types of kids: the curious ones, the social butterflies. The ones who look forward to sitting on Ghost’s lap, diving into full-blown conversations with him. That’s when you stiffen up and switch into damage-control mode to ensure he won’t lash out at them. You begin hovering above them, listening, jumping into their conversations and sometimes interrupting Ghost and replying to the kids instead of him.

You would have thought he’d be grateful to have you managing the situation. Ghost, however, seems more irritated by you than by the little girl who’s currently playing with the pom-pom on his hat.

“Oi, Elf!” he says calmly, yet visibly annoyed. “Emma and I are chatting about how she spilt tomato juice on her Elsa costume and wants a new one for Christmas. Could you please falala off and go wrap some presents?”

“B-but I need to know because I’ll be sewing it for her,” you reply, smiling at the little girl. “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

And, although Emma nods her head, more out of necessity than agreement, you get his point. He’s doing surprisingly well with those kids, even without you. Actually, he’s doing remarkably well, especially without you.

More kids come and go, and Ghost slowly adapts to his new persona. He starts making bets with you, predicting which kids in the queue might ask for a PlayStation or an iPad and even speculating who might wipe snot on his costume. You, in response, adopt a more laid-back approach and let him do his thing. After each child’s visit, Ghost turns towards you, whispering in your ear about their Christmas wishes, as if he’s indeed Santa, and keeps logs.

“My man wants a full-sized car wheel,” Ghost murmurs as the young boy leaps off his lap, “can you believe him?”

“What did you say to him?” You ask, stifling a laugh.

“I told him I’ll get it for him,” he shrugs. “What else should I do?”

“Alright, but what did you really want to tell him?”

“That his dad already has four of them screwed in his car.”

As the day winds down, and the final announcement for the day echoes through the speakers, parents and children walk past you and towards the exit. They wave at Ghost and occasionally at you. The parking lot empties, the stores shut their doors until tomorrow, and the holiday lights that decorate the inside of the mall switch off one by one.

You stretch your back and tap on his shoulder, signalling that both of you should pack up and return to the base.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, grasping your wrist with one hand and tapping his thigh with the other. “You didn’t tell me what you want for Christmas.”

You’re exhausted but still manage to smile as you comply with his request. You sit on his lap, and he leans back to take a better look at you.

“Let’s think about it another way,” you say. “What would you, as Santa, give me for Christmas?”

“Coal,” he replies. “And a muzzle, so you don’t interrupt me while I’m talking. What was that all about?”

“Was afraid you’d say something bad,” you explain. “But you were pretty good with those kids.”

He shakes his head and plays with the fur trim on his sleeve. “Nah,” he murmurs. “I’d never say something bad to a kid.”

“Speaking of bad and coal,” you say, combing his fake beard, “you never asked the typical ‘have you been a good kid’ to any of them.”

“There’s no bad kid in the world, love,” he whispers. “All kids are good, even the naughty ones.”

You smile at him, but he doesn’t look back at you. He’s examining his uniform as if trying to find something else to discuss. He finds some crumbs a kid left on his suit and brushes them off.

“Ready to head back to the base, Lieutenant?” You ask, tapping his thigh before standing up. You extend your hand to him, and he gladly accepts it, helping him rise from the chair he’s been sitting in all day. You begin walking towards the exit, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. You reciprocate by hugging his waist.

You walk up to the parked military vehicle that brought you here earlier, still discussing the day. He opens the door but pauses and turns to look at you.

“Resilience,” he declares. “That’s what I would gift you for Christmas.”

“Why?” You ask, turning to look at him. “You think I need it?”

“We all do,” he replies softly, just like when he used to talk to those kids. “Since I can’t protect you from every obstacle life throws your way, I might as well give you the ability to recover from them.”

“That would make me very happy, Lieutenant.” You say, smiling.

He smiles back at you and reaches for your hat to fix it better on your head. His hand moves to your forehead, and he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“It’s Santa to you.” He replies.

———————————————————————

A/N: Bruh, I was so tempted to make the reader pull off a Mariah Carey and say, “All I want for Christmas is you,” when Ghost asked what they wanted, but my gag reflexes kicked in every time, and I was cringing galore.

So, there you go: resilience. That’s what I would like to gift you as well. I wish I could shield you from whatever has troubled you in the past or is currently doing so. To protect you from future worries and make everything ‘falala off’. Unfortunately, I can’t do that, neither for you nor for myself.

But this is why comfort characters and stories exist—so we can imagine, when no one is there for us, that someone actually is.

Just like Santa. Just like Ghost.

[steddiealltheway]

Happy Halloween everyone!! Here is some type of no upside down AU fic :)

Eddie drums his hands on the cafeteria table and looks around at his friends. "Alright gentlemen, what are we doing for Halloween?"

He instantly gets a sense that something is off when Jeff and Gareth exchange a guilty look. Eddie leans forward and props his chin up on his hand. "Want to share with the class?"

Gareth sighs and looks at the table for a moment before bursting out, "Well, my sister and Jeff's brother really wanted to go out trick-or-treating this year, and you know how they've gotten close. And the deal was that either Jeff and I would stay at our houses manning the candy bowl, or we would go out with the kids."

Eddie huffs out, "And let me guess, you chose free candy, torturous walking, and a cutesy group costume."

Jeff smiles guiltily. "You're looking at Shaggy and Scooby-Doo."

"Adorable," Eddie says with a big fake smile before turning to Frank. "You're not leaving me high and dry though, isn't that right, Frank?"

Only, Frank seems to be just as guilty-looking as the others.

"Frank... Don't do this to me, man," Eddie pleads.

Frank sighs, "I told my mom I would do a Halloween horror movie night with her. Sorry, Eddie."

Eddie looks between all his friends, wondering if they're pulling a prank on him and fulfilling the trick part of trick-or-treat. But he slowly realizes that they're not. "Shit," he whispers, "I guess I needed to book you guys early," Eddie jokes, trying not to feel too let down.

Jeff pats his hand and says, "Hey, you can come with us. We need a bad guy in a mask."

Eddie scrunches up his nose. "Willingly walking miles and dealing with kids on an endless sugar high? No thanks. But... I appreciate the thought." He sits back and picks up a few of his pretzels before dropping them back in the bag. What is he going to do? He has always loved Halloween, his friends know this. But what's the point in celebrating if he's alone?

"You could go to Harrington's infamous ball," Frank suggests. Gareth and Jeff immediately start laughing loudly. Eddie just glares at Frank, but he doesn't seem to be joking as he defends himself, "I'm not kidding! Come on, free beer and witnessing a bunch of shit drama."

Eddie snorts. "Yeah, because I would be so welcomed there."

"It's not like people will really notice. I hear his place is jam-packed with random people every year. Plus, you could wear your bat masquerade mask," Jeff interjects.

Eddie sighs and puts his head in his hands. "You're not seriously trying to convince me to go, right?"

"I mean... we're not not trying to convince you," Gareth supplies unhelpfully. There's an oof sound that Eddie's sure is the result of Jeff elbowing him in the side. "But seriously, you can wear the mask so no one will recognize you and your slutty vampire outfit-"

"It's not slutty."

"It has a tight leather lace-up vest, it's a little slutty," Jeff stage whispers to Eddie.

Eddie groans and dramatically thuds his head down on the table before quickly looking up. "Let me get this right. You want me to go to Steve Harrington's Halloween party in a mask as a Cinderella-type vampire because you guys are ditching me?"

"Precisely. Except the part where we ditched you because we clearly invited you-"

"Okay! Okay!" Eddie cuts Jeff off waving his hands.

"And hey, we all know that you would love to get some one-on-one time with Harrington, and what's a better time to do this than undercover?" Jeff asks.

Eddie dramatically shushes him and whispers, "I told you guys that secret while entirely way too high, you cannot hold that information against me right now."

"He's right," Frank says, "You can finally find out if Harrington truly isn't an asshole."

"And see if he has the hots for you while you're wearing your-"

"I swear, Gareth, if you call the costume slutty again..."

"Okay, but are you wearing it with your leather pants?" Jeff asks, eyebrows raised.

Eddie sighs and looks down at his lunchbox. "Maybe," he begrudgingly admits.

"Slutty!" Frank loudly says, and Gareth and Jeff immediately burst out laughing.

Eddie covers his face in his hands before joining in on their laughter. "Maybe it's a little slutty," he admits.

As the boys celebrate their win, Eddie feels someone staring over at him. He glances toward Harrington's table where he's sitting next to his ex and her new boyfriend and finds him staring directly at him. Eddie's heart beats a little harder when Steve slightly smiles at him before redirecting his attention to Jonathan.

"Jesus Christ, he looked at me again," Eddie mutters.

"Dude, you always say this, but we never see him do it," Frank groans.

"Yeah, because you don't obsessively check out his table," Gareth says with a laugh before he suddenly frowns and turns to Eddie. "No offense."

"None taken," Eddie replies as he chews on his bottom lip, thinking deeply. If he goes to the party, he can finally confront his crush on the guy he's never truly interacted with unless you count all the times they catch each other's eye then... they would be interacting somewhat often.

He can also finally figure out if it's all in his head or not.

"Okay. I'm going to the Harrington party," Eddie announces.

"Seriously?" Jeff asks incredulously.

"You guys are just so convincing," Eddie says with his hands over his heart.

"Bullshit," Frank says, "You're just going for a chance to maybe say two words to him."

Eddie crosses his arms and asks, "And what would those two words be?"

"'Slutty vampire' in response to 'What are you dressed as?'" Jeff quickly jokes, earning a shriek of laughter from Gareth and Frank.

Eddie thanks whatever entity is responsible for making the bell ring to announce lunch is over. "I need new friends," Eddie lies as he gathers his stuff up.

As Gareth and Frank rush off, Jeff lays a hand on Eddie's arm and says, "Hey, we can do a Halloween slasher night if you want to this weekend. Also, don't hesitate to call if you need help getting ready or need a second pair of eyes to make sure Harrington will approve."

Eddie gives him a genuine small smile and squeezes his shoulder, "Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it," Jeff says as he walks off with a bright smile.

As Eddie watches him walk away, he catches Harrington staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but as soon as he glances over, he looks away looking... angry? Eddie just sighs and shakes his head. He needs to stop thinking that Harrington in any way has thoughts dedicated to him.

Maybe this party will be good for Eddie.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Eddie stares at his reflection in the mirror and twists and turns. Maybe the leather is slutty, but he thinks the plain black cape does well to soften the look a bit. He stares at his hair and all the glossy individually finger-curled strands making his hair look a little more tame than usual. But hell, his arms and fingers ache. He just hopes it's all worth it.

He puts on the bat mask and frowns before taking it off and digging around for his eyeliner pencil he knows he has somewhere in the bathroom. He quickly finds it in a random basket and applies it before smudging it a bit. He puts the mask back on and smiles. He likes the way it has an elegant almost lace-looking quality to the plastic that offsets the leather of his costume.

He wishes he could call Jeff for a final look, but he doesn't want to take any precious time away from him and his brother although they're probably done trick-or-treating by now. Plus, he knows that Jeff would tell him that he looks great and not to overthink it. So, that's exactly what he's going to do.

He grabs the bright orange flyer he found on the floor at school for the Harrington Halloween House Party and cringes at the alliteration. He's pretty sure it's been the same thing for the past three years though, so it's not like Harrington has an option of changing it.

Gosh, he needs to stop stalling and finally leave for the party. He glances at his watch and sees that it's almost eleven, so people should be finally arriving an hour fashionably late. Better to be a part of that crowd to not draw much attention.

He drives over quickly, parking a little down the road when he starts seeing other cars, not wanting to get stuck if he wants to leave early. He takes a deep breath before glancing in the mirror again. He's not recognizable... right? Right.

He gets out of his van and quickly starts walking toward the intimidatingly large house. He's glad to find a group of people rushing inside and even more people outside on the front lawn who aren't sparing him a second glance. Usually, he would come to one of these things with his infamous lunchbox and upsell his stash, but he knew it would give him away tonight. Plus, it's nice to not be on edge the whole time, wondering who is approaching him for drugs and who is approaching him with a slur.

As he makes his way inside, he grimaces at the loud pop music people are wildly dancing to and the smell of alcohol that permeates the house. It's only a few minutes before someone is shoving a cup of mysteriously bright red liquid in Eddie's hand. He takes a tentative sip and shrugs. It's not horrible especially since Eddie likes terribly sweet things, but he definitely isn't going to waste time getting a second cup.

He's on a mission. And his mission is to find Steve and hope that he's not somewhere with his tongue down some random girl's throat. Eddie tries to shove away the thoughts telling him that he shouldn't expect Steve Harrington to not be doing exactly that at his party. Plus, why would he spare time to talk to Eddie of all people?

Eddie takes another sip of his drink and makes his way through the crowd, not finding a single glimpse of that Harrington mane that's usually easy to spot. He goes outside the backdoor and frowns at all the people making out in the pool before heading back inside.

He glances around a few more times before settling back in a corner, downing the rest of his drink before giving up on his search and settling on people watching. But god it’s boring.

These people are boring.

It’s just the same situation over and over again. A couple getting uncomfortably handsy with each other, or a guy and girl eyeing each other up across the room as their friends hype them up in a way that’s either grotesque or filled with squeals.

And the room is hot. So unbearably hot that his leather pants are starting to cling to Eddie in an uncomfortable way that makes him want to rip them off.

Instead, he settles on climbing the stairs and going to find whatever bathroom he can to splash some cold water in his face and hopefully get a moment to himself.

He looks at all the closed doors, pressing his ear against them before quickly backing away whenever he hears something gross. But then his ear settles on one door and there’s the distinct sound of nothing on the other side that puts him at ease.

He twists the knob and walks into the room, freezing when he realizes that, one, this is not a bathroom, and, two, someone with Steve Harrington's distinctive hair swoop is sitting in the room.

The man turns and makes eye contact with Eddie who instantly dies a little inside as he realizes it is Steve. "Sorry. I didn't mean to barge in."

Steve gives him a small smile and says, "I don't mind."

Eddie doesn't know what to do other than hover in the doorway of the dark room. Steve continues to stare at him and eventually asks, "Want to join me?"

Yes. Hell yes, he does. But also, Eddie has the distinct feeling that this either has to be a dream or a prank. But he still nods.

"Do you mind locking the door behind you? I just... don't want anyone trying to use this room as a place to hook up or something."

Now this definitely sets off a few alarms in Eddie's head, but there's a weird air of sadness surrounding Steve that makes it seem... genuine. So Eddie closes the door and locks it behind him, slowly making his way over to Steve. As he gets closer, some of the light trailing in through his blinds catches on the glittering crown that he's holding in his hands.

Eddie gestures toward it. "King Steve?"

Steve smiles sadly and looks down at the crown. "Something like that."

Eddie carefully sits next to Steve, trying to keep a respectable distance between them on the bed. His eyes trace over Steve's costume, a clearly expensive, gorgeous prince or king costume. "So, what are you supposed to be?"

"Prince Charming," Steve answers easily. He glances over at Eddie and shrugs. "Nancy thought that it would be funny because of my 'Harrington charm' mixed with King Steve, but I don't know. I kind of hate that nickname." He shakes his head and changes the subject. "What are you supposed to be?"

"Slutty vampire," Eddie says almost automatically, startling a laugh out of Steve as Eddie curses under his breath and puts his hands over his face. As his fingers press into the mask on his face, he's startled by the realization that Steve doesn't know who he is. "Sorry, my friends kept saying that, and I insisted it wasn't what I was going for. But they won that argument in the end I guess." God, he can't believe he actually said that.

"You look maybe a little slutty but in a good way," Steve rushes to say the last part. He runs a hand through his hair, getting a bit flustered. "I mean you look nice."

"So do you," Eddie admits honestly.

Steve holds his hand out to him. "Steve."

Eddie takes his hand and says, "Cinderella."

Steve laughs again. "Really?"

"I got the mask and everything," Eddie explains, not yet wanting to ruin things when Steve finds out who he really is.

"Cinderella then," Steve says with a smile that makes Eddie feel a little weak in the knees. Thank god he's sitting down.

"So, what are you doing in here in the dark all by yourself, Prince Charming?"

"I'm not by myself, I'm with you," Steve easily deflects.

Eddie raises his eyebrows although he's pretty sure the mask partially covers them.

Steve looks down at the crown again and raises it up. "I just wanted to not be this for a little bit tonight. Plus, the music was giving me a headache - too many concussions." He pauses before turning to Eddie. "And what were you doing escaping from things?"

"Looking for some quiet," Eddie says and looks down at his unnaturally bare hands. He wishes he would've kept on his rings so he could fidget with them. "I was thinking about leaving, but I wanted to stay in case I found you."

Steve shifts a little on the bed, moving to face him. "And now that you've found me?"

Eddie glances up at him and considers it for a moment. "I hadn't really thought that far."

Steve runs a hand through his hair. "Well, I hope I'm not too disappointing."

"Not at all," Eddie insists, "Actually I thought you'd be-"

"An asshole?" Steve interjects quickly, his expression becoming oddly stoic.

Eddie shakes his head. "Preoccupied with someone else. Anyone other than me really."

Steve face softens and he leans in closer, eyes tracing over Eddie's face as if trying to figure out what's under the mask covering most of the upper half of his face. "You know you can tell me your real name, right?"

Eddie swallows and shakes his head. "Maybe I'll just leave a clue behind or something. Not my shoe though. I always hated that plot line."

Steve smiles brightly. "If it fit perfectly then why did it fall off?"

"Exactly!" Eddie says clapping his hands together excitedly. "Plus, with all that dancing, I just know that shoe did not smell good."

Steve throws his head back and laughs, and Eddie just watches him, filled with pride at being able to pull that reaction out of him. As his laughter dies down, Steve glances back down at the crown.

"You should put it on," Eddie blurts out. Steve looks up at him with his eyebrows raised. "I want to see the whole costume."

Steve reluctantly places the crown on his head and glances toward Eddie. It's strange, how it fits him so perfectly at first glance, but he can see how it personally affects Steve, as if it adds a weight to his entire demeanor.

"You look good, but I think I prefer you without," Eddie admits.

Steve quickly takes it off his head and places it behind him. "Yeah, that's because it messes up my best feature."

"That's strange, I didn't see it mess with your eyes, or your smile, or your nose, or your-"

Eddie's suddenly cut off when Steve leans in and kisses him. He just as quickly pulls away and says, "Sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've asked before I just-"

"Steve," Eddie says, laying a hand over Steve's.

Steve looks up at him nervously.

"Please do that again," Eddie says.

Steve sighs in relief and instantly closes the distance between them again, but Eddie is able to prepare for it, properly cupping his face and kissing him back. He feels like he's in a dream again as Steve deepens the kiss and runs his hands through the curls Eddie took so long to perfect. But he doesn't care at all.

There's a sudden loud ringing of a grandfather clock that pierces through the house causing the two of them to jump apart. "Jesus, I forgot that I told them they could play that creepy recording at midnight," Steve says and freezes. "Wait, it's midnight."

"And?"

"You're Cinderella."

Eddie tries to swallow down the pain of once again realizing that to Steve, he's just some random guy that he doesn't know. But Eddie smiles and says, "Well, lucky for you, the magic doesn't run out until one or two in the morning."

Steve smiles back and says, "Lucky me." But instead of kissing Eddie, he surprises him by asking, "Tell me something about yourself."

Eddie shrugs, trying to think of something that won't give him away. "I play the guitar."

"Oh, is that why you wear the..." Steve trails off, eyes flickering down to his neck before looking away. "Forget I said that. I thought I saw something."

Eddie's brows furrow, but he doesn't press him on it. "What about you? Tell me something most people don't know."

Steve thinks for a moment before smiling. "I almost didn't show up to this tonight. I was going to go trick-or-treating with some of the kids I sort of babysit. But Dustin told me they didn't need a babysitter tonight, so I ended up here."

The story twists at Eddie's heart a bit. Even with his disillusioned crush on Steve, he would've never guessed there was a group of kids he cared for so much.

Eddie reaches out and intertwines his fingers with Steve's. "I'm sure they miss you."

"I don't know. They were going in custom-made costumes for these characters they play as in D and D or something. They seemed really excited about it, so they've probably forgotten about me by now."

Eddie swallows down the entire spiel he wants to make about Hellfire Club and asking who the kids are so he might be able to recruit them and instead says, "Well, you're pretty unforgettable."

Steve smiles and opens his mouth to respond when there's a sudden loud knock on the door. Steve frowns and loudly says, "Occupied!"

A voice on the other side of the door loudly says, "I think your neighbors down the way ratted us out! Someone said the police are on their way."

"Shit," Steve mutters and runs his hands over his face. "I'll be right there! Just get rid of all the alcohol you can find and turn off the music. Party is over." He stands up and turns to Eddie offering his hand which Eddie takes.

They both stand up and Eddie realizes he's never stood directly next to him and is surprised that they seem to be the same height. God, it's so nice to be at eye level with him.

"I guess this is goodbye, Cinderella," Steve says sadly and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. "Will you leave me with at least a kiss?"

"You're too charming to say no to," Eddie jokes before he leans in and kisses Steve again, lingering in the kiss for as long as he can before they both pull away as there's another loud knock on the door.

Steve squeezes Eddie's shoulder one last time and says, "I promise to find you." He rushes out the door quickly after and Eddie is left standing in Steve's room alone. He takes a deep breath before he leaves slowly, distancing the time they were seen with each other.

Luckily, things are in a bit of a frenzy as he leaves so he doubts anyone noticed him slipping out of the same room as Steve. But on his drive home, Eddie realizes he gave Steve absolutely nothing to identify him with. He curses and debates turning back until he sees Hopper's police car pass him.

Steve's never going to find him.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The entire weekend, Eddie's friends have the pleasure of hearing him share the story over and over again while simultaneously complaining about not leaving something equivalent to a shoe behind.

"Well, it sounds like you at least left him with a lot of your saliva," Gareth says one time, and Eddie has to get Jeff to hold him back.

Monday morning is the worst when he realizes he has to see Steve and pretend like nothing happened. Because there's no way he's going to tell Steve that he's Cinderella and expect him to not punch him in the face.

Okay, Steve doesn't seem the type to do that, but there's no way he would be excited to hear that Eddie's the guy he swapped spit with - god, he really needs to get Gareth's words out of his head. But Eddie thinks he'll be able to deal with Steve never knowing than Steve rejecting him.

He sees Steve here and there in the hall but is luckily able to divert his path so Steve never directly sees him. Unfortunately, Eddie knows Steve will be at the same table as always at lunch which is right in his line of sight.

When he sits down, his friends are already nudging him and cracking jokes about Prince Charming and whatnot that pisses Eddie off. It makes things worse when he sees Steve sitting with his back to him, which he's never done before. At one point, Eddie just snaps, gets up, and leaves the cafeteria saying he needs a minute. He rushes off to his locker, digging around for his spare pack of cigarettes when he hears a pair of footsteps to his left.

He sighs and closes the locker door, expecting to see a teacher who has followed him, expecting him to do something suspicious. Instead, he gets the shock of his life when he sees Steve walking right up to him.

As Steve approaches, Eddie dumbly says, "Are you looking to buy something?"

Steve runs a hand through his hair before shaking his head. "No, I'm not, Cinderella."

Eddie's eyes widen. There's no way...

"Did you really think I didn't know who you were?" Steve asks, and Eddie can't get a read on him, but he seems... upset.

"I'm sorry?"

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair again. “Eddie, I know it was you, and I want to know why you've been avoiding me all day. Like did it really mean nothing to you? Is that why you didn't tell me your name?"

Eddie's head spins a little too fast at the revelation, so he clarifies, "Wait, you knew it was me the whole time?"

"Yes. I thought you were just really pretending to be in character or something, but today you were icing me out. And I know we haven't really talked before Friday night, but I thought I was clear about wanting to change that."

"Then why did you face with your back toward me in the cafeteria?" Eddie blurts out without thinking.

"There was something on my chair," Steve answers easily.

"Oh." Okay, maybe Eddie is an idiot but, "Wait, you really knew who I was and still, "he lowers his voice and leans in, "...kissed me?"

A look of realization crosses over Steve's face before he smiles. "Eddie, I've been staring at you for weeks now, and I just hadn't gotten the courage to talk to you yet. You're pretty intimidating."

"Me? I'm intimidating? You're literally called 'King Steve.'" Steve frowns at the title, but Eddie continues, "I never thought I had a shot with you without the mask on - or even with the mask on. I was avoiding you today because I didn't want you to realize it was me and reject me."

"I thought you called yourself Cinderella because I was dressed as Prince Charming," Steve laughs.

"I didn't even realize that was Cinderella's prince!" Eddie nearly shrieks, laughing loudly along with Steve. "We're a disaster," he says through his laughter.

Steve takes a deep breath, trying to kill his laughter a little to say, "I think we should start over a little and go on a date. This time without fake names and the police showing up."

"No promises about the second one," Eddie says with a big smile.

Steve smiles and looks at him as if waiting for something.

"What?" Eddie asks.

Steve laughs anxiously. "Is that a yes to the date?"

"Oh! Christ. Yes! Yes, it is. Sorry," Eddie sighs and runs a hand over his face, noting the way his hands don't catch on a mask this time. Steve Harrington is fine with him being Cinderella - more than fine with it really. He narrows his eyes at Steve. "And this isn't a trick?"

"I thought it would be more of a treat," Steve jokes.

Eddie rolls his eyes and simultaneously laughs at the horrible pun. "Did you know that you're really charming?"

Another laugh is startled out of Steve who quickly tries to hide it. He looks down at the ground and says, "I'm having a hard time thinking of a joke about a slutty vampire."

Eddie groans, "Don't remind me."

"I wouldn't mind if you reminded me," Steve flirts.

"Christ," Eddie says, feeling a blush quickly rise on his cheeks.

The bell for lunch rings again, and this time Eddie wants to curse the entity responsible for it.

"I'll slip you my number later so you can call me later, Cinderella" Steve announces, walking back to the cafeteria where he left his stuff.

"I'm charmed," Eddie replies with a wink that has Steve getting slightly flustered.

As he rounds the corner and gets out of sight, Eddie can't help but think about how Steve really kept his promise about finding him. He also can't wait to have proof that all his friends were wrong, except maybe he was a little bit of a slutty vampire... But it definitely paid off.

And it definitely was a very happy Halloween.

[exhaslo]

Hello! This is something kind of niche but I was wondering if you could write a Pornstar!Miguel x Pornstar!Fem!Reader, where he is a new pornstar and meets with her the day before their shoot. He’s like super sweet to her and they have an informal hangout/date to like be comfortable around each other. Reader tries their best to ease his worry him cuz he seems kinda shy, but the day of their shoot he’s a total freak in the sheets and it totally catches her off guard? Dirty talk, dom and all.

I love your writing so much and I know you’ll do a great job writing whatever your heart desires for this one! Thx in advance <333

No lie this sounds cute as fuck! Here we go!

Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, rough sex, dirty talk

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was another beautiful day. You were ready to receive your next paycheck, but first, you had to help the new guy. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you walked into a popular coffee shop. You were actually excited for this secret meetup. Normally, it was informal to meet your coworkers before a shoot, but this new guy? Oh, he was your type!

You were a pornstar. It is a long story on how you got into the business, but you were good at acting. A little too good. As you waited in line, you let out a soft sigh. While the paychecks were nice, you were really ready for something new. Cue, your manager making you a teacher and setting you up with newbies.

"Two extra shots of espresso." You muttered, trying to avoid groaning at the thought.

Despite the struggle of your job, you were eager for tomorrow. The new porn star, Miguel, was going to be your next partner. You saw his file and the man was huge and good looking. He was the one who actually asked to meet you in person. It was cute how shy he sounded over the phone.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel waves slowly, sitting in a corner table. You approached him with your drink,

"Hi, Miguel!" You said with a chirp, "My god, you're so tall."

"Sorry," Miguel went to shake your hand before immediately sitting down towards your comment.

You sat across from him, admiring his features. The man chose to become a porn star than a model? He was going to be an instant lady killer! Hopefully his acting was decent.

"Thanks again for meeting me. As you can tell, I'm a little nervous with this being my first shoot and all." Miguel said. You smiled,

"It's no biggie. It's kind of fun breaking the rules like this. Why don't we just chat about ourselves, get more comfortable with each other? I'm sure it will help you out a lot." You offered.

Miguel took the suggestion and the two of you spoke for hours. There was a chemistry there and you sensed it. You were disappointed when you had to leave for the night. Miguel parted ways with and kiss to your hand. He was such a gentleman! You were already imagining the slow and soft sex he was going to give you tomorrow.

It would be different for sure, but you were looking forward to it. Hopefully, Miguel won't disappoint you like all of your other coworkers. It was frustrating to work in the porn industry, but could never cum in your own videos. You always had to fake an orgasm and pleasure yourself later.

"Let's not think of the negative! Just...look forward for tomorrow," You told yourself.

-----------

"Alright, you know the rules. First shoot, newbie gets to pick the theme. We will go from there afterwards," Your manager called out to the crew.

You glanced at Miguel, seeing him nervously look around, "Hey, it's going to be okay. I promise I won't bite, unless you want me too."

"Haha," Miguel smiled towards you, "Is it okay if we do something simple?"

"You get to pick. Why not something that will get you in the mood?" You suggested and showed him the costume room, "Is there something you want to see me wear?"

Miguel looked around, his eyes sparkling at some of the outfits. He glanced back at you,

"I know what I want to do."

---------

"Mhm~ I don't have any money for this massage~ Is there any other way I can pay you?"

You laid against a soft bed, spreading your naked legs apart. Your gaze towards Miguel as you slowly rubbed your own clit. Miguel had chosen a massage sex scene. Something where he could feel your body to get you prepped. How kind and generous of him. You hummed sweetly, faking a moan as you dove your fingers towards your hole.

"No money? That's fine, I'll just have to massage one more place before you can leave."

You're eyes widen as Miguel removed his pants. He hovered over you, stealing your lips in a forceful kiss before his hands roamed your body. You pressed yourself against him, your hand heading towards his cock. Miguel grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head before growling lowly,

"I'm giving the massage. Not you, chica (girl)"

For once, you felt a shiver run down your spine. What happened to the shy man from yesterday? You're eyes widen as Miguel's fingers started to enter your pussy. He started with one, stretching you out more than some of your coworker's dicks. You raised your hips slightly, wanting to help him get more access, but once again he pinned you down.

"Tsk, tsk, do you come onto all your massage therapists?" Miguel spat lowly, "Being such a slut?"

You shivered once more to his cruel tone. He sucked against your breasts while another finger entered your pussy. Miguel's fingers were wandering around your gummy walls, searching for that sweet spot. This was different. You're eyes widen once he curled his fingers, making you moan for real.

"That's right. Pay your bill in full." Miguel whispered.

You gasped lowly as Miguel pumped his fingers against that spot. He removed himself from your breasts, keeping you held down. His thumb pressed against your clit, causing you to squirm under him. Miguel just kept making eye contact with you. It was as if he wanted to watch you break because of him.

"What a slutty face. You like this kind of massage right?"

"Y-Yes." You whimpered, feeling your body burn with pleasure.

This was actually happening. You felt a tight knot growing in your lower abdomen. Miguel's fingers only went faster. It wasn't long until he entered a third finger that really made you break. You arched your back, moaning and whining as he wrecked your pussy with just his fingers alone. With one more curl, you finally felt that tight tension burst.

"You're getting my work area dirty, that's going to cost extra."

You were panting softly from your intense orgasm. Miguel withdrew his fingers, causing you to shiver slightly. You were feeling the need, the want. Your pussy was throbbing and begging to be filled. Miguel was the first person who actually made you cum. You gasped, forcing a smile as you saw him position his dick right against your folds.

He was fucking big! You spread your legs, teasing your entrance for him. This was just part of the job. Miguel grunted as he grabbed your legs, placing them over his shoulders. He bit against your inner thigh before pushing his dick inside you. You whimpered, arching your back as you pretended to be fine.

Miguel's dick was stretching you out. This was a first. His dick felt hot and strong. Once he was fully inside you, Miguel pinched your clit, causing you to moan and whine. He smirked, pounding the life out of your pussy, breaking you down even more.

"So fucking tight. You don't get much exercise here, do you?" He mocked.

You moaned in response, focusing a little too much on how good this felt. His dick beating against your pussy with each rough and wet slap of his hips. His tip kissing your cervix each time, threatening to remind you that this was his moment. You were his fuck toy. You whined, your eyes nearly rolling back as Miguel rubbed your clit again.

"You're going to have to come back. I'm going to have to remind this pussy that it owes me payment." Miguel grunted as he went faster.

You felt your growing orgasm once more. Miguel held your body down against the bed, pressing his dick further inside you. Your mouth formed an 'o' as you started to see stars. Whimpers and moans were all you were able to say as you cam hard against his dick. Even after a second orgasm, you still could not believe that this was happening.

"That's a good fucking sign. My little slut is finally relaxing," Miguel spat as he griped your hips tightly, cumming inside you.

Your body trembled as you felt his hot, sticky load fill you. With a pop, Miguel pulled out, leaving your pussy a mess. A mixture of your juices and his cum pouring out of your abused hole.

"Cut! Good job (Y/N), Miguel! I think that's going to be a killer!" You managed yelled out.

"Are you okay?" Miguel asked as he helped you up. You panted softly, regaining your composure,

"Y-Yeah,"

"I didn't go overboard, did I? You're not hurt?" He kept asking, giving you a towel to wrap yourself with.

"You did amazing. I'm the opposite of hurt," You told him as the two of you walked towards the showers, "In fact, you did something none of my other coworkers could do."

"I did?"

"Yes, and I would love to be your partner for ongoing shoots. If not, then...maybe we can meet outside of work?" You whispered the last part to him, feeling slightly embarrassed. Miguel just smiled,

"I would love that."

You watched Miguel enter the shower first, wondering to which part he agreed to. Unsure, you followed him into the shower, still daydreaming about his dick.

You found out afterwards that Miguel agreed to both.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you liked it!!! Not really sure how porn videos actually work, haha

[foxy-eva]

Full of Wonders

Summary: Dressing up as Catwoman for Halloween gives you the confidence to switch things up in the bedroom

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) nicknames, power dynamics, heavy kissing, nipple play, oral, use of strap-on (Emily receiving)

Word count: 2.6k

Author’s note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Autumn Air Writing Challenge!

Masterlist

“Damn Emily, I think you’re in trouble,” Luke teased when he saw you walking through the door to join the Halloween party Penelope was hosting. 

Emily’s eyes found you in the crowd and she couldn’t believe what she saw. You had dared to dress up as Catwoman – certainly a reference to Emily confessing how sexy she thought the actress was when you watched the movie a few weeks ago. 

Your outfit was flawless – a skin-tight black bodysuit, a full face of make-up with perfectly done eyeliner and a hairband with cat ears. It took Emily a second to realize you even brought a black leather whip as an accessory. 

“Wonder Woman,” you giggled once you saw Emily in her costume. “Nice seeing you here.” 

“I wonder who’s gonna win that fight tonight,” Tara quipped while scanning the both of you. 

Spencer chimed into the conversation, “Considering that Wonder Woman has superhuman powers, including extraordinary strength and speed and the ability to fly, I don’t think that Catwoman would stand a chance. Did you know that–”

Luke placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder to interrupt him from starting infodumping. “Reid, trust me when I say that’s not what she meant.”

You watched as an oblivious Spencer walked away with Luke to get some snacks before you turned to your girlfriend. 

“You look great,” Emily cooed before placing a brief kiss on your lips. “I knew that dressing up as superheroes was a good idea.”

“Are you surprised I chose Catwoman?” You teased as you swung your arm around her waist. 

“A little, yeah. It’s not like you to wear something so daring,” Emily confessed. 

“You’re right but seeing your face was worth it. Hulk would have been my second choice, by the way,” You joked. 

Emily took your hand to walk a few steps away from the crowd. When she was sure that nobody else was close enough to hear her, she leaned closer to your ear and whispered, “So, will you be a good kitten for me tonight?”

A smirk spread over your face. “You wish.”

“Huh,” Emily breathed. “I feel like this will be a very interesting night.” 

After leaving a featherlight kiss on Emily’s lips, you joined the rest of your friends to enjoy the party. Your girlfriend seemed especially affectionate tonight, holding you by your waist and kissing you whenever the others were busy talking to each other. 

It was unlike Emily to show so much physical affection in public. There was something in the way she looked at you, her eyes dark and filled with desire. It became obvious that your girlfriend wanted you and had a hard time keeping her composure. 

You wondered if it had something to do with seeing you in such a daring outfit. After Emily placed her lips on yours for the umpteenth time that night, you decided that you couldn’t wait any longer to find out. 

Even though the night was still young, you whispered into her ear, “I think it’s time to go home.”

The grin that spread over her face could only be described as mischievous. She nodded and grabbed your hand, wasting no time to lead you away from the party and towards her car. Before you could get inside, she shoved you against the side of the car to capture your lips with hers. 

This kiss was different from the ones before. There was no more holding back, no more need to act all demure in front of your friends. She didn’t waste any time to deepen the kiss, her tongue finding yours in an instant. Emily kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs. 

You felt like you could get drunk just from tasting her lips. The urgency in her actions made your heart jump. She held you against the car, hindering you from moving away as she got lost in this kiss. When she let out a muffled moan there was no more denying how much Emily needed you. 

She pressed her hips against yours and you could feel the heat radiating from her body. A similar warmth had already begun spreading over your own skin, too. In that moment you wished that you weren’t in public. Your fingers twitched against her waist, becoming curious what a mess they would find if they dared dipping beneath her skirt. 

“Let’s go home,” you mumbled against her lips. “I want to be alone with you.” 

There was no more time to be wasted to get to your destination. You felt like your entire body was on fire as you waited patiently on the passenger seat to finally be alone with your girlfriend. The tension between the two of you only grew the longer the drive took. 

Once you finally stepped inside her apartment, it was as if something inside you snapped. Usually it was Emily taking the lead in your encounters but you decided you wanted to switch things up this time. When she kissed you, it was as if you two began fighting a battle of who had the upper hand. 

Emily smirked against your lips when she realized what you were doing. She moved with you as you attempted to push her against a wall, breathing out a quiet laugh when you began kissing her neck. 

“You’re cute when you think you’re in charge,” she chuckled. 

Instead of responding, you bit down on her pulse point and Emily hissed a curse. 

“Careful,” she warned you, a playful tone laced over her voice. 

You found her eyes once more and almost got lost in their darkness. “You’re the needy one tonight,” you teased her as you pressed your thigh between her legs. “There’s no denying that.” 

“I can’t help it when you look so sinful,” she groaned.

Your tone was soft and loving when you breathed, “Let me take care of you, Emily.”

And just like that she gave in. With a nod she signaled her approval to follow your lead. A rosy shade had spread over her cheeks, making it obvious how turned on she already was. Seeing Emily like that almost drove you insane. 

She always looked incredibly beautiful when you were with her. But the way she almost seemed desperate tonight was something entirely new to you. She would have never admitted it but you were certain that she wanted you to take the lead all along. And you were eager to give her what she desired. 

You led her into the bedroom and slowly began ridding her of her costume. Each piece of clothing fell to the floor, revealing her skin to you. When she stood completely bare in front of you, you took a moment to take in her beauty. 

Your eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts, noticing how her nipples had already hardened. Reaching out your hand, you gently brushed your fingertips over her chest, paying close attention to the way her skin broke out in goosebumps. 

Emily reached out her hand to take off your hair band, letting the cat ears fall to the floor. You had long abandoned your whip and heels at the door but your tight bodysuit was still in place. Her hands began brushing over the smooth fabric until they found a zipper to pull down. You moved with her until you were only left in your black lace underwear. 

“God, you’re so sexy,” Emily groaned before she found your lips in a hasty kiss. 

With a firm push against her shoulders, you had her lying on the bed in an instant. A playful smirk was written over her face when you crawled on top of her. “Good kitten,” she cooed right before kissing you again. 

You remembered that you were the one in charge tonight. So you quickly grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head, a gasp falling from her lips. She could have easily overpowered you but had no desire to do that. Emily seemed curious about what exactly you had in mind for her. 

Your lips brushed over her cheeks before leaving kisses along her neck, gently biting down on her sensitive skin. Moving further down, you took one nipple into your mouth while your hand found the other one, taking it between your fingers and playing with it until moans began falling from her lips.

Emily began rocking her hips against yours, desperate to find some friction. Descending further down, you kissed along her stomach, her sides, her hips before settling between her legs. You had seen her many times before but each time she opened her thighs for you, you were mesmerized by her beauty. 

It was as if you watched the prettiest flower go in full bloom, each pedal layered perfectly over the other. She was glistening, as if morning dew had kissed her folds, leaving her honeyed wetness for you to enjoy. You took your time as you tasted her folds, relishing her heady scent and imprinting her uniqueness onto your tongue. 

What you were doing was more teasing than actually pleasuring her and you were both aware of that. It only aroused her more. When she began squirming underneath you, you stopped what you were doing and sat up between her legs. Emily whined in protest, a confused look on her face when she found your eyes. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” you purred as you leaned over her. 

She only sighed in response and it became obvious that she was starting to get impatient with you. You had no intention of teasing her any further, there was just something specific you had in mind. Something you had only done with reversed roles before. 

When you found her ear, you whispered, “I want to fuck you.” 

Emily’s eyes widened at your words. She understood what you meant but needed a second to process. Then, without a second thought, she groaned, “Do it.” 

Her words took you by surprise. A part of you thought that she would decline your offer and instead flip you over to take back control. You had not expected for her to submit to you to the fullest. 

Emily watched as you sat up to reach for the nightstand, opening the drawer to take out the strap. Your fingers shook with excitement as you slipped into the harness, adjusting the straps until it sat securely over your underwear. It was then that you noticed how wet you were, the soaked lace of your panties sticking onto your skin. 

Your girlfriend reached for the bottle of lube and squeezed a fair amount of it into her palm. She grabbed your strap to coat it with the liquid. The sight of her hand caressing this new extension of your body was captivating. For a second you thought about asking her to take it into her mouth but decided against it. That would have been a sight your poor heart probably couldn’t handle. Your heart was already beating uncomfortably fast inside your chest. 

It was as if Emily sensed your nervousness when she looked at you with a reassuring expression. 

“You look amazing,” she praised you. “I can’t wait to feel your cock inside me.” 

“Then lay back and relax,” you whispered as you positioned yourself between her legs. 

Before she did as you told her, she reached for the clasp of your bra to undo it. “Better,” she snickered as she tossed the piece of clothing aside and leaned back against the pillows. “Now I can enjoy the show.” 

Holding the strap at the base, you slowly let it glide through her slick folds. When you brushed over her bundle of nerves, she bucked her hips against you. You repeated the motion a few more times before positioning the tip at her entrance. Before you began pushing into her, you looked at her one more time for reassurance. 

When she nodded at you, you leaned over her and began pressing your hips against hers, carefully sliding into her body. You watched as the strap disappeared inside her one inch at a time, slowly stretching her open. Moans escaped Emily’s throat at the intrusion and she hooked her legs around your hip to bring you even closer. 

Your lips found hers in a desperate kiss once you were fully inside her. With your bodies connected like that and your tongues meeting one another, it became impossible to tell where your body ended and hers began. Then, you started tentatively rocking your hips to thrust into her but you found some resistance from her body. 

“Everything okay?” You wanted to make sure. 

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Feels good. Just take it slow.” 

You paid close attention to her reaction as you moved, so much so that it took you several moments to realize how sensitive your own cunt felt with all the pressure of the strap against it. As you rocked your hips against her, the friction you created almost became addictive.

You hadn’t expected to find it so physically pleasurable to fuck your girlfriend like that. She had been in that position many times before and you had never noticed it having such an intense effect on her. 

But you could not deny the fact that the longer you thrusted into her, the close you got to your own breaking point. Emily noticed that, too. When you moaned against her lips, you felt her smiling into the kiss. 

She reached out her hands to find your breasts, gently kneading them before focussing on your nipples. The added stimulation only brought you further to your downfall. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. You really tried to focus on her pleasure, really wanted her to fall apart this way but you hadn’t expected how good it would make you feel. 

Your motions became erratic when your body started quivering. “Fuck, Emily… I–,” you whimpered as you felt your orgasm approaching. 

“Do it,” she sighed as she pinched your nipples. “Come for me, kitten.” 

That was what pushed you over the edge. You ground your hips against hers, your strap buried deep inside her as you came undone. When you collapsed inside her arms, you realized that no matter how hard you tried, Emily would always be the one in charge. And you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. 

As you caught your breath, your girlfriend kissed your cheek. “My poor baby,” she purred. “So sensitive you can’t even fuck me without getting yourself off, hm?” 

“I can’t help it,” you admitted. “You make me feel so good.” 

Emily pushed on your shoulders until you were hovering over her again. Then, before you even realized what she was doing, she turned the two of you over with one swift motion. It took you a moment to realize you were the one lying on your back now. 

“You make me feel good, too,” she moaned as she ground her hips against you. 

The sight of her straddling your strap made you dizzy. Your hands flew to her hips, moving with her as she rocked back and forth on top of you. The sounds of her pleasure filled the room as she brought herself to closer to euphoria. One of your hands moved to where your bodies were joined to let your thumb draw circles around her most sensitive spot. 

The sudden stimulation made her motions falter and it took her a moment to get back her rhythm. Your name fell from her lips when she finally entered the sensation of pure bliss, her walls clenching around the strap as she rode out her high on top of you. When she collapsed into your embrace, you were ready to catch her and hold her tightly against your body. 

“That was fun,” she chuckled before kissing your cheek. “But I won.”

And she was right. 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @grumpyy-bearr @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @sapphicprentiss @lovelyy-moonlight @storiesofsvu @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @lover-of-books-and-tea

[lucyllawless]

Okay so I was re-watching (for the 100th time) and noticed a few details that could point to Rio being connected to Nicholas in some way. I'm gonna put on my clown nose for minute, so follow me for a second

First we have this shot of Rio.

Followed immediately by the shot of this clock. The mama bear and cub represent Agatha and Nicholas. But then we have the baby bear holding a flower.

And we all know who is connected to flowers/plants.

There's even the little flower/plant motif details on their 70's costumes. And the specific placement on Agatha’s oufit 🧐

And then there's this quick shot of a blanket with a flower print next to the Ouiji board which is spelling out Nicholas' name.

Quick last thing. I googled the meaning of Vidal and this is what came up. It can’t be a coincidence that they chose that name.

We're all 99.9% certain that Rio is death. But wonder if she can also affect life somehow? Life and death do go hand-in-hand as we know. And flowers are synonymous with spring/new life.

This might be a reach, but the writer's/show runners are masters of layered storytelling and don't do things on accident. I mean Rio being Nicholas's other parent isn't that crazy considering Wanda literally had her kids using her magic and sheer will.

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: The Mistake

Pairing: Scarecrow/Reader (6.1k words)

Summary: Sharing a basement with Jonathan Crane proves to be every inch the nightmare it could be as an error on his part results in him being left victim to his own fear toxin while you are left to pick up the pieces of his mistake.

Fic Masterlist /// Link to AO3

Whole Day Off Masterlist

“And what about Harley Quinn? She seems nice. I mean- outside of all the obvious crime stuff.”

“Harleen has the potential to do great things but allows herself to be misled as she rapidly falls into co-dependency with her romantic interests. She would do well to develop her own skills and attempt to forge her own path but it seems unlikely.”

“Well, yeah, but is she nice?”

Visibly rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Crane nods. His knees are tucked smoothly under his desk, spine curled into its usual shrimp-like positioning as he hunches over the chemicals which are slowly being mixed by his expert hand.

“Yes, I suppose she has a certain charm to her when she’s not running her mouth.”

Delighted by the confirmation, you roll onto your side as you sink further into the semi-comfortable fabric of his couch. As naked as a babe, the chill of the room feels wonderful against your skin and you shift your thighs as you disturb the pleasant ache there.

You couldn’t quite recall who had been responsible for initiating but it didn’t really matter as you had quickly found yourself wrapped around his cock as you perched your ass off the edge of his workstation. He hadn’t even bothered to undress, simply releasing his cock from his slacks as he gripped at your hips with thin, insistent fingers. It had been messy and sloppy and ridiculously fucking hot as your hand brushed various papers aside in their fight to gain some purchase against the wood.

Crane had been just as enthusiastic, finishing surprisingly quickly and taking a moment to use his fingers to bring about your own release while he enjoyed his own comedown. Minus your usual toys and games, your body feel relatively peaceful after you had both finished – with the only exception being a deliciously aching, red mark which Crane had sucked into the heft of your left breast, just above the nipple.

A quick shower had washed away the mess left between your legs, your combined release swirling down the drain as you grimaced at some of the mould which you could see developing in the corners of the barely maintained bathroom. A mental note to maybe pick up some bleach before your next visit was neatly filed away for future consideration and leaving the bathroom had resulted in your naked frame dropping to the couch as you allowed your body to finish drying naturally.

To his credit, Crane has taken your willing nakedness with little more than a raised eyebrow as he glanced back at you from his workstation – the papers neatly rearranged as he fell back into his work routine with a casualness that suggested he hadn’t just fucked someone in that same space not ten minutes earlier. He had already taken a moment to explain that he was developing a new and experimental strain of toxin and that his attention would be mostly pulled towards that for the remainder of the evening.

But that couldn’t stop you from asking questions.

When his attention was split in such a manner, you had long since found it easier to get certain types of information from Crane as his mind chose to focus on his actions rather than his speech. Mostly you liked to ask about trivial matters, such as his opinion on various topics and his thoughts on his fellow costumed villains.

“Is Harley the nicest one? Like, if you had to choose.”

“Probably.” Crane confirmed, adding a few clear droplets of liquid to the beaker in his left hand. “Her danger lies in how loose her lips are when it comes to sharing information with others, mostly her clownish paramour.”

Sensing a slight tension in his tone, you follow up with a curiosity that makes your head tilt further towards him. A shark smelling the blood of fresh gossip.

“Are you and the Joker friendly?”

At that, Crane fully pauses his work and spins in his chair to face you fully.

“Joker is friends with no one as the concept is beyond him. He acts as more of a useful tool or a roadblock depending on his ever-changing mood. I do not enjoy spending time in his presence as his unpredictability is contemptuous.”

Falling into a comfortable silence, you know what you want to ask but uncertainty over how to do so respectfully makes you hesitate for a moment.

“Not to mention that he once almost beat me to death with a wooden chair.”

You ignore that, having learned that follow-up questions rarely led to any further information.

“The Joker, does he, like, can you- the toxin?”

You wince at how disjointed the question sounds but Crane doesn’t seem to mind as much as he shakes his head and spins back to his desk.

“If my toxin afflicts him then he shows no outward sign as such.”

Interesting.

“Then who’s the worst? Of all the costumed villains, which one is the most dangerous because the news stations and papers can never seem to agree. Lots of them say Joker but, y’know, you know them better than they do.”

Swirling two identical beakers between his fingers, Crane appears to consider the question for a moment as he pushes his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

“Lazlo Valentin is a particularly disturbed individual. Most of my colleagues – Nygma, Dent, Ivy, etc – do not have a tendency to play with their food for long, mostly preferring to kill and move on with their plans. However, what Valentin does with his victims is cruel. Full body modifications with a complete removal of all mental individuality, a living puppet with no will and no purpose. A walking corpse with no joy, anger, or fear.”

Crane sniffed distastefully before continuing.

“A fate worse than death. Even those enthralled by Ivy quickly succumb to her toxins or are saved from them, but those dolls of Valentin’s are unsalvageable.”

You shudder at the thought, flexing your fingers against your hips. Professor Pyg always looked quite frightening in the arrest photos which littered the tabloids as his crazed eyes - always dilated and wild - shone from that horrible pig mask he donned as his blood-soaked heft was bundled into a police van.

“A couple of the girls I used to work with always thought the Riddler was handsome.” Forcing a slight tease into your tone, you slip your arm under your neck to prop your head up. “They liked his suits, I think. And they said he was cute.”

The derisive snort was all the response you needed as Crane refuted the very idea.

“I believe your friends would benefit from severe psychological interventions.” He offered dryly.

Laughing at that, you shift enough to stretch; raising your hands overhead until a satisfying pop sounds somewhere in your shoulders.

Glancing over, you just manage to catch Crane watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Easily distracted, Dr. Crane?” You ask, rolling back into your original position.

He chooses to disregard the tease – his attention focusing back on his toxin as his shoulders drop into a more relaxed position. The quiet is comfortable and you take the opportunity to plan out the remainer of your week, from work goals to nightly dinners. Your apartment had been left in some state. The constant fluctuation between your time there, at work, and your ongoing meetings with Crane had left little time for some much-needed deep cleaning and if you were going to be picking up bleach for this nasty basement then it seemed outrageous to not get your own shit in order.

A crash of something which sounds like smashing glass brings your attention back to Crane and your whole body flinches in place as it is immediately followed by a sharp bellowing noise as Crane throws himself back from his chair to stand with an almost inhumane speed.

“Hey! What’s wron-”

In lieu of an answer, Crane dashes towards you and the sudden movement causes a full-bodied recoil as you push yourself further into the couch. Your obvious fear makes no difference to him and you gasp as his hands wrap around your shoulders and pull you harshly to your feet. Something wet touches at your shoulder and you glance down to see a streak of red painting your skin.

Fresh blood.

His blood.

The wound on his wrist, sharp and clean and an obvious result of the glass which had smashed, doesn’t look too deep and your attention snaps back to his face as you go to ask if he needs help fixing it up.

However, your words die in your throat once more as you take in his expression and the genuine anger and urgency which lies within it.

“I’ve made a mistake. The toxin in that smashed beaker has laced the fresh cut. You have only a few minutes to leave before I succumb to its influence.” Grunting as he rolls his shoulders, Crane’s hands slip to your jaw and tense to hold your head in place roughly. “The dose is nowhere near fatal but the experimental elements will increase aggression until the fear takes full root. I would rather you weren’t the subject of my violence. Leave. Now.”

Listening to his explanation with a thudding heart, the coppery scent of his blood makes you feel almost nauseous as you panic in kind.

“I can’t leave- not like,” you gesture to your naked frame with wide eyes, “I can’t make it out like this. My stuff. My keys.”

“This strain blurs the line of fight and flight. If you do not leave my sight then there is a very real chance that you will be severely hurt, little mouse. A fact neither one of us will be particularly enthused about. You are not built to endure the violence this toxin will force upon you.”

Growling the words, Crane’s head darts around the basement as he rapidly seeks a solution – his hands growing tighter on your face until you have to whimper and pull away due to the discomfort.

“My chair.” He hisses out from between clenched teeth as he visibly forces himself to walk towards the dental chair. “Restrain me in my own chair and we will both be kept safe from harm. I have no idea if this strain with cause violence towards the self so this will work well.” The last sentence is spoken with more of an inward inflection as his brilliant mind works in quick overdrive.

You follow him with shaking limbs, adrenaline thrashing through your veins as you watch him drop into the dental chair – his shirt, slacks, and lab coat making his positioning uncomfortable. He takes a moment to strap his own legs in, his teeth biting at his lower lip as he powers through whatever the hell the toxin was beginning to wreak on his trembling frame. Unable to do much more than agree to his demands, you wait until he’s lying back to pull the thick strap over his chest and secure it before doing the same with the wrist restraints.

“If,” Crane grunts, struggling to speak coherently, “if it looks like my vitals are dropping too low then there is a syringe with adrenaline within the drawers. It may help.”

“Jonathan” your body moving on auto-pilot due to the panic and stress which is thumping within your head, “what do I do? You need to tell me what to do. What if-”

“I value you for more than just your body, witty girl. React to the situation as appropriate and do what seems right. But I would like you to leave me, I’d rather not be subject to your observations.”

The strain of his voice and body is palpable, every word taking an obvious effort as he tested his strength against the restraints which held him in place. His hair, the various strands already mussed from your earlier fuck, is pushed back from his face and you take a moment to press your fingers to his jaw in unspoken support as you take his advice to heart and beat a hasty retreat.

Still nude, you do as instructed and let instinct guide you.

Having left him to his heavy breathing, you immediately dart to the stairs and take them two at a time as you twist and lock the latches to the basement door – ensuring that no fresh company can make itself known. In doing so, you are also wilfully locking yourself down here too and that fact doesn’t slip by your thoughts while you dip your hand into your handbag and pull free the bottle of water that you had stashed in there before leaving your apartment.

Taking a gulp of the water, the warmth of the liquid is vaguely repulsive and you swallow it down with a grimace as you quickly throw on your abandoned panties and shirt - not bothering to button the fabric up properly as you attempted to give yourself at least some decency given the turn of events.

Peeking around the corner of the room as a sudden howl of anger makes you jerk in place; you take in Crane’s appearance with a soft inhale.

It's hard to see him like this.

His composure, so typically set in stone and utterly unshakeable, has been stripped away by his own mistake and the sheer scale of the emotion on display makes you feel as though you were bearing witness to something profane.

Something wrong.

Snarling like a wounded animal, Crane pulls at the thick restraints which hold him in place without care. The dental chair creaking dangerously, it does seem capable of holding him back but the knowledge does nothing to bring you any peace as you circle behind him silently.

"I'll kill you!" Crane snarls, his voice high and strained as he screams at nothing. "I'll kill- I'll rip you apart - you fucking bitch!"

Taken aback by the sheer hatred in his voice, your chest shudders as you clutch at your shirt.

"I did it once and I'll do it again…dig you even deeper…show you how little Johnny died well before you did."

It was impossible to not listen, to not steal the little titbits of information which his heightened state was allowing to slip free, and you stow his words away for later consideration.

I did it once and I’ll do it again.

Someone he had killed in the past? Maybe his first kill? Given the amount of hatred in his voice, it must have been a woman who seriously wronged him. Hell, maybe even his mother. Or a sister.

It’s new information but information which leaves you with more questions than it answers and you continue to stare at him as his rage-filled expression refuses to leave the ceiling – whatever demons existed in that space tormenting him more than your quiet presence ever could.

Eventually, after the seconds had long grown into minutes, the fight seems to leave him and his body goes limp against the chair. Panic swelling in your chest, you slowly approach him to check his vitals.

His chest is moving rapidly, heavy breaths making you relax slightly as you hope that exhaustion will make his experience a little easier. He had said something about aggression being the altered factor in the compound but it was still his fear toxin so a sinking feeling told you that the worst was still to come.

Crimson drips from the restraint which circles his right wrist and the sight of it makes you wince as you recall his earlier injury and how it has still not been treated. Given his relaxed stance, you touch around the skin gently, unable to see the extent of the damage hidden below.

Glancing uncertainly at his lined face, your fingers work quickly to loosen the restraint, unlatching it enough to free his hand as you turn his palm up to see the damage.

As though hit by an unseen electric force, life springs back into him in an instant and you scream in fright - not expecting his sudden movements to spark up again. In a flash, his hand flips the script to wrap around your own and his fingers wrench your pinky back with so much force that you feel the bone creak like an old floorboard before it slips out of place with a jerk. Roaring in pain as a white-hot agony spreads from your damaged finger, you lean down in a frantic effort to use your good hand to pull him off.

Again, it proves to be a mistake as his animalistic growling grows somehow more feral as he drops your hand and instead lashes out with his clawed fingers. He's lightning quick and you feel his sharpened nails digging into the sensitive skin of your throat before you can even register just how much you had messed up. The toxin having stripped him of his sensibilities, his face twisted into something awful and he bares his teeth like a beast as he claws into your neck.

"Jonathan, stop!" You choke out, scratching at his hand with your own fingers as you attempt to pull yourself free. It makes no difference to him, the words not registering in his mind, and the tears in your eyes are quick to blur your vision as you choke and panic. "Dr. Crane!"

Digging your thumb as harshly into his wrist wound as possible, he hisses as he releases you and you can't even take a moment to gather your breath as you throw your entire weight into forcing his hand back into the restraint you had foolishly allowed him free of. It takes a moment, despite his best efforts, and his anger only seems to increase as he finds himself trapped again - his unseeing eyes focusing back on the ceiling and whatever demons are tormenting him.

You run from him, leaving the dentist’s chair to instead get closer to his workstation. Hands shaking so terribly that you can barely open the drawers of his desk, you bring your thumb to your eyes as you wipe away the pained tears that refuse to stop flowing. Your pinky is sitting at an odd angle, the digit throbbing with pain with every slight movement, and your neck feels savaged and wet as small droplets of blood sit on the skin where his nails have dug deeply enough.

Pulling free some alcohol wipes, you tear them open with your teeth and rub them across your neck to clean the small wounds. It stings like hell and a sobbing inhale is all you can manage as you fix yourself up as best you can. The finger will require a doctor but you suspect that it is only dislocated and not truly broken.

Again, he had hurt you.

And again, you were staying to see the events through.

A small voice, one born of fairness given the circumstances, whispers that he wasn’t in his right mind and that he didn’t mean to hurt you in that moment. But with it came a voice of equal measure, one which echoes past events that were better left unspoken.

He didn’t mean it.

He never did and yet…

Shaking your head to knock the thoughts free, you refocus on the task at hand as you gently touch at your pinky with a soft wince.

“Do you want to hit me, Dr. Crane?”

“Right now? Yes.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I don’t know. If it were anyone else-”

You had seen it then, the desire to hurt, to lash out and make himself feel better but he had stayed his hand despite your own attempts to push him into violence.

“I’m sorry.”

Startling at the sudden cry, you almost drop the alcohol wipe which is still clenched between your fingers. Where anger had laced his tones, the voice which now carried across the basement couldn’t have been more different as it contains an anxious desperation. Something entirely foreign to what you know of him. It does make you curious though and your feet move softly against the floor as you creep back around the other side of the basement and glance around the thin curtain which separates that area from the rest of the space.

His eyes are closed, the wire-rimmed glasses haven fallen from his face to lay across his chest, but you can see his eyes moving rapidly beneath the shut lids as they dart around, unseeing. The lines of his face are more pronounced than ever as his features twist with every whimpered word – forehead creasing and lips wrapping around the soft words which spill free.

"I'm sorry, great granny. Don't-don't send me to the church. Not the birds! Please."

A memory rose, unbidden in your mind, as you recall your hands rolling across the expansive skin of his back and the scarring which lay there. Some of the marks were white with age, small and scattered across his shoulders and upper back, and his words gave them a history that made your chest ache.

Despite the many documentaries and conspiracies which cropped up about many of Gotham's finest criminals, their choices and crimes making them a prime piece of media fodder, the details of many rogues were shaky at best when it came to their histories prior to their criminality.

Exceptions like Dent, whose rise and fall had been documented in the public eye for all to see, were rare and a lot of the mystery surrounding the various costumed villains who terrorised Gotham made them almost like folklore curiosities.

I did it once and I’ll do it again.

Had Jonathan killed his great granny?

He howls and your neck jerks, igniting discomfort in the fresh claw marks, as you approach him slowly. His eyes are still snapped shut, mouth twisted in distress as his head thrashes from side to side – each movement making his shock of hair grow steadily more unkempt and messy. A thick sheen of sweat coats his skin and you pull the cuff of your shift over your fingers as you attempt to wipe away the worst of it.

At the soft touch, Crane startles as though burned and his eyes are wild as they meet your own – the absence of clarity sending a thrill of anxiety through your chest. His lips move but no words can escape, only a stilted whimper which slips free as his head flinches away from your touch.

“Shh, Jonathan.” Shushing him with the softest possible voice you can muster, you allow your shirt to pull back to your wrist as you card your fingers through his damp hair. The restraints are holding as strong as ever and since his aggression has passed, you feel safe in trying to offer him even a little comfort. “There’s no one here but me and you.”

The worst of the toxin seeming to have passed, you grow bolder in your movements as you slip your free hand across his cheek – feeling the bones there pressing into your skin as you soothe him.

Something heavy curls in your stomach, not quite pity, but a sympathy which lies alongside the anxiety and discomfort that pounds within your head.

“Go to sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Surprisingly, the gentle words appear to work as whatever strength is keeping him alert seeps from him in a long exhale and his eyes stutter closed. His breathing still erratic as hell, you continue to stroke along his hair until you are convinced that he has passed out.

Once certain, you pull away and retire back to the couch; body slamming against the fabric with an exhausted sigh as you settle in to wait for him to wake up.

x-x-x-x-x

Two hours pass in a blink and the first sign of life from Crane is a hoarse coughing fit which makes your fingers flinch as they thumb through one of the many psychiatric journals which litter the basement. Now empty, the plastic bottle of water which you had been slowly sipping from lies by your side and you accidentally knock it to the floor as you jump from the couch as though electrocuted.

Padding your feet across the basement floor, you can see he is awake as you come closer but you pause at his side to allow him to make the first move. Tension sits heavy in the air, awkwardness and stress hanging between you like a weight.

Crane is a mess.

He looks awful and you can’t help the grimace which stretches your lips as you approach him with all the caution of a handler approaching a wounded lion.

“Are you okay?”

A basic ask and one that is met with emptiness as Crane flexes his hands.

“Let me out.”

Nodding quickly and ignoring the sharpness of his tone as it pierces your chest, your fingers move swiftly as they work through the various restraints which hold him in place. Starting with the ankle restraints, they all remove easily enough until you reach the strap which holds his injured wrist in place. The leather is stained with his blood, the wound having stopped bleeding at some point, and you shudder as you gently pull his wrist free – not wishing to do any more damage than what is already there.

No longer held in place, Crane’s body moves shakily as he pushes himself free of the chair. His expression is queasy and it doesn’t surprise you too much when his first port of call is to make a stilted dash for the nearby bathroom, his long legs visibly trembling with the effort of carrying his struggling body. After a moment, you hear the sound of retching and grimace at how viscerally it echoes across the virtually silent basement.

Uncertainty roils in your heart, a desire to follow and make sure he was okay battling it out with a vague understanding that any attempt to help him at this fragile moment would result in backlash. As such, you remain in place, carefully keeping your dislocated pinky free of the arm of the chair to limit the damage.

Eventually Crane reappears and you can see that he has take the time to make himself presentable. His clothing is neatly fixed into their familiar positions, shirt and pants smoothed out as the lab coat circles his thin frame like a blanket. The wire-rimmed glasses are perched back on his nose, pushed as close to his eyes as possible, and you can tell from the slight sheen of his skin that he has splashed water on his face.

But it does little to hide how obviously worn out he is.

“It would be better if you left. Now.” Crane states, the words coming out as plainly as though he were commenting on the outside weather.

“What?” Not quite sure you had heard him correctly; you give him the chance to repeat.

Despite the casualness of his words, you can see the irritation spark as his instructions go unheeded and he’s forced to make his point once more.

“Your services are not required. So, leave me.”

Stepping away from the dental chair with a swift motion, you don’t bother to hide the genuine confusion you feel as you watch him approach you with a tactical hesitation. “After all- after all that? That’s it? Just leave?”

You can see his struggle, the forced nonchalance barely holding in place as his fingers shake and his lips set into a harsh line as he stops before you – deliberately straightening to his full height to ensure that he towers over your shorter frame. He was angry for sure, but below the anger you could see the shame which really guided his words; the loss of control which always makes him dangerously volatile.

“Whatever you saw, whatever you heard, is meaningless. So, leave me to my work and I will decide when I want to see you next.”

Fire igniting in your soul at the thought of being dismissed like a child, you stand your ground as your partially opened shirt flutters around your thighs.

“No. Absolutely not! Not after all the shit I just had to go through for you.” Tilting your chin up at him with open defiance, you are too annoyed to really take in the anger which sits on his features. “I didn’t wait all this time to be kicked out lik-”

“I said, LEAVE!” Crane hollers, his voice raising heavily on the final word as he lashes out with a careless hand to push you away from him. Unfortunately, since you weren’t expecting the physical touch, his hand catches you off-guard and you trip over your own feet, falling backwards on your ass as your hands splay out to prevent your body from falling any further.

A bolt of pain, sharp and intense, lances across your injured hand as your pinky connects with the floor and you can’t hold back the howl of pain which rips free of your lips as you quickly pull your wrists forward to cradle your hands to your chest. Facing both the stress of the last few hours and the agony of your hand, there’s no fighting the tears which immediately begin to fall from your eyes and your sobs quickly grow stuttered and messy as you sit there like a pathetic beast, content to wallow in adrenaline-fuelled misery.

Not expecting you to fall, nor the intense reaction which followed, Crane pauses long enough to look down at you – truly look down at you – and even through the hail of tears you can see the genuine regret which passes across his pinched face.

“What happened to your hand?” Crane asks, his hands dropping to loop around your shoulders as he pulls you to your feet once more with a surprising gentleness. His voice is tight, resigned to the answer which he knows is coming.

“You.” Rubbing at your eyes with your good wrist, you can’t hold the truth from him. “When you were on the chair. It lo-looked like you were passing out and I wanted to check the bleeding in your- in your wrist.”

“Let me see.”

His voice softer than it has been in quite some time, you can’t help the flinch of your arm as he takes your other wrist in his hand – examining the damaged pinky with an unreadable expression.

“Hmm, no break. Possible fracture but most likely dislocated.” He mutters to himself, diagnosing the injury with a clinical precision before speaking more clearly as he held your watery eyes with his own. “I will need to reset the bone.”

Nodding even as your lips stutter out a thinly held sob, you know it’s going to hurt like hell and you try to brace for the discomfort as much as possible.

“This won’t be pleasant and I apologise for it. I would never intend to-” Crane cut himself off, perhaps sensing that his words were meaningless in the moment. “But I will fix it and give you some painkillers to manage the discomfort. Follow me.”

He guides you to his work bench and you move on autopilot, allowing him to open a bottle of unknown pills and drop two into your good hand; an offering which you take without hesitation as you swallow the pills dry, ignoring the horribly acrid taste they leave where they press against your tongue. As you do, Crane takes the opportunity to spread your injured hand out on the edge of the wooden table – ignoring the spilled mess which still litters the floor.

“I will need to relocate the bone. Might I suggest that you bite down on your shirt because it won’t be a particularly enjoyable experience.”

Following his advice, you bite down on the cuff of your shirt from your free hand. The fabric tastes of nothing and you choose to focus on the texture as you refuse to look at your injured hand while Crane gently locks his hand around the dislocated pinky, ready to fix his errant mistake.

Without warning or additional comforts, he wrenches the pinky forward before setting it back into place in one swift motion.

The hot pain which explodes from the area has you stamping your feet against the floor as you bite down harshly on the shirt in your mouth. But Crane is as efficient as ever and the intensity of the pain dies as quickly as it started and the dull, aching throb which follows is much more manageable as your bleary eyes attempt to flex the digit – a choice which sparks fresh pain but also a smidge of relief as the pinky twitches at your command.

Giving you a moment to compose yourself as the painkillers still need time to truly kick in, Crane’s attention is snatched up by your throat as you roll your head with a loud exhale to centre your thoughts.

“The marks on your neck?”

A nod.

His jaw flexes and you can feel the disappointment rolling from him in waves as his thin fingers extend in an unspoken question as they hover in the space before your neck. You accept his touch with a slight incline, allowing him to ghost his fingers over the fresh scratches which are no longer bleeding as your throat constricts beneath his digits.

He doesn’t need to ask, already knowing the answer, so he instead takes a step back from you – allowing you some space from him in a vague show of apology. Taking in his appearance, from the tightly pinched expression which has lost all of the earlier irritation which his shame had sparked, to the miniscule tremble which sits in his limbs as he forces himself to still as much as possible, you can feel how tired he is.

How tired you both are.

“You’re exhausted.”

“I-” He begins his retort but it dies in his throat, unable to deny the accusation. His gaze is dull, lacking its usual intensity, and something within it melts the anger which is swirling within your own thoughts.

Reaching out with your good hand, you grasp his hand within your own as you silently lead him over to the couch. Surprisingly, he allows it and you use that to your advantage as you gently push him down to sit on the old fabric.

“I’ll leave when I see you lying down.” You mutter, willing to meet him halfway. “You can’t work like this and it’s only going to result in another accident.”

“You’re right.”

Twisting on the couch, his long frame fills the space in an instant as his legs shift to hang over the arm. His agreement was unexpected and it brings a soft smile to the edge of your lips as you turn and your hands drop to close around your handbag, quickly rifling through it to check that you had everything you needed. Happy to uphold your end of the bargain and leave, you only pause when his voice catches you unawares – the weariness in his tone undeniable.

“You can stay.”

Not willing to pass on the opportunity, you nod at the offer.

You turn back to stand before the couch, looking down at him with a calm expectancy and he grunts as he pulls his upper body up, giving you enough space to slide into the space he had just vacated. Taking the offered seat, you recline comfortably and allow him to lie back once more – his head dropping into your lap with a muffled thud.

“I know you don’t want to talk,” you begin quietly, “and I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t see or hear anything.” At the words he stiffens against your thighs, but you press on regardless. “But I’m not going to ask and I’m okay with staying here until you’ve slept.”

Tracing nonsensical shapes along his hairline with your right hand as you attempt to soothe out the deep lines of his forehead, you inhale softly as his hand loops around your left wrist. Two firm fingers press against your pulse point, feeling the steady beat which thurms there, and the sensation seems to bring some peace to him as he relaxes further into your touch – exhaustion having robbed him of much of his typical stoicism and defensiveness.

“Would you like me to sing something?” You offer, thinking of the small beat-up old radio which sits at the furthest end of his work desk, a testament to his subtle enjoyment of music.

“Please,” he mutters in response, the words barely slipping free of his tight lips as his eyes drift closed, “my day has already been ruined and I think that tone deafness you indulge in may push me over the edge, witty girl.”

Not expecting the teasing insult, it nets him a soft chuckle as you pull at the hair which sits atop the crown of his head with a gentle tug and respond in kind with a similar mutter.

“Bastard.”

[starkwlkr]

love potion no. 9 | sebastian vettel

teenage!sebastian vettel

summerween series

Sebastian Vettel was a flop with the chicks. Every girl he talked to would ignore him and walk away. What was wrong with him? Did he have something stuck in his teeth or was it his braces?

He didn’t let it get to his head until he met Y/n L/n. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Everything about her was perfect. A girl like Y/n could never be seen with a nerd like me, thought Sebastian. She was the prom queen, everyone liked her, she had the best grades and she was most likely going to Yale or Harvard.

And what did Sebastian have? The reputation of being the school’s biggest nerd. How could he ever be with the most popular girl in school?

It all started when a Halloween dance was announced at school. Everyone was excited for it especially since they could wear costumes. Most couples were already thinking about their couples costumes. Sebastian had nothing in mind. He could go as Beetlejuice or maybe Peter Parker (not Spider-Man, everyone dressed up as Spider-Man). His thoughts were interrupted when his dream girl sat across from him at the table. It was study hall and he spent it in the library along with several other students.

“Hi.” Y/n L/n said to him. “Sorry I didn’t ask, but is it okay if I study here? I can move if you want me to.”

“No!” Sebastian said rather loudly. “Um . . I mean you can stay. No one is sitting there.”

Y/n smiled at him then proceeded to sit across from him. She took out her books and notebook and began to study. Sebastian didn’t get much studying done. He kept glancing at her, wondering if maybe he could start a conversation with her. By the time he actually built up the courage to say something, the bell had rung signaling the end of study hall. Y/n was already gone.

“Stupid.” Sebastian whispered to himself.

The days leading up to Halloween dance were pure hell for Sebastian. He heard many rumors that Jason, the most popular boy in school, was going to ask Y/n to the dance. That couldn’t happen, no! Sebastian needed to take you to the dance. Since it was a costume required dance, he needed the best costume to impress you so he looked through his old yearbooks and pulled up the class pictures from grade school. He found her name and read over her likes and dislikes, hobbies, and what she wished to be when she grew up. Every kid had a page like that, some kids changed, no longer liking Barbie or toy cars, but Sebastian never did. He still liked comics, cars, old movies.

You never changed either.

Likes: Star Wars, the color pink, almond M&M’s

That’s it! Star Wars was his answer. It was pretty obvious that Y/n would chose to go as Princess Leia so Sebastian bought pieces of clothing to resemble Han Solo. He hoped that she would be impressed.

The day of the dance finally came and Sebastian was nervous. All around him people were dressed as witches, pirates, devils and angels and what was he dressed as? The captain of the millennium falcon.

He stood around hoping to spot Y/n, but there was no sign of her. Maybe she stayed home . . . This was a stupid idea anyway. Sebastian was defeated so he walked to the gym door and was about to leave when he bumped into Y/n in her costume.

“Holy shit! Han Solo!” She gasped when she saw Sebastian in costume.

“Princess Leia . . .” He cracked a smile. Y/n was dressed in Leila’s outfit from The Empire Strikes Back. “Hi.” He shyly said.

“Hi, Seb! I didn’t know you liked Star Wars? I love it! My brothers don’t so I really have no one to talk to about it, but maybe you and I could—”

“Y/n!” A friend of hers ran up to Sebastian and Y/n. “What are you wearing? We agreed to be cats!” She gestured to the fake drawn on whiskers and cat ear headband. “You look . . ”

“Pretty. She looks pretty.” Sebastian cut in. He really didn’t know where he got the confidence to speak up, but he was glad he did.

“Sure,” her friend rolled her eyes. “I don’t think Jason would like a prude for a girlfriend.”

“Well I’m not here with Jason.” Y/n stated. She then grabbed Sebastian’s hand and pulled him away from her friend. “You can have him!” She and Sebastian ran down the hall to god knows where. Sebastian didn’t really care in the moment. He could believe he was holding hands with her, especially dressed as Han Solo and Princess Leia.

Y/n and Sebastian ended up in the art room where they were laying on the rug staring at the painted ceiling.

“And don’t even get me started on all my ‘friends’! One of them called my dad hot! It was so uncomfortable so I stopped inviting them to my house.” Y/n revealed. She laughed it off knowing she was never going back to her friends.

“Oh god.” Sebastian chuckled. “I didn’t realize you knew my name.” He changed the topic.

“I’ve always known. We’ve been in each other’s classes since grade school!” Y/n pointed out. “You’re a really cool person, Seb, and I really like being with you.”

“You’re the only person who calls me Seb, you know. I like it.”

Y/n giggled. “Did you drink some of the punch?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Amber Marsh spiked the punch.”

So that’s where the confidence came from. Thank you Amber Marsh I guess, thought Sebastian. He couldn’t remember how many times he had gotten punch.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” The boy and girl continued looking at the painted stars on the ceiling.

“I like you.” He admitted.

“I know.”

That was the closest they got to their Han and Leia moment until a year later when Sebastian finally said ‘I love you’ to Y/n. She replied with the classic ‘I know’ line that made Sebastian’s nerdy teenage heart melt.

TAGLIST

@yannew @annieoncrack @stinkyjax

[marlequinncos]

This past weekend, I was showing my friend my Marko jacket and explaining the different components. I was wondering aloud why these specific tapestries were picked for it and she goes “what if each one represents one of the other members of the Lost Boys?” It got me thinking, and it turns out that theory actually works.

The jacket is made up of five tapestries: two are the pinups, and the other three are velvet rugs, all from the same Italian company. The three velvet ones depict a peacock, a matador and a bull, and a leopard. 

Paul - The Peacock: The most obvious of the three. Like a peacock, Paul is loud, showy, and in-your-face. He spends most of his screen time in the movie strutting around, “peacocking” for everyone watching.

Dwayne - The Leopard: Dwayne's outfit has several leopard motifs in it, from the one painted on his jacket to his earring and necklace made of animal teeth and claws. He’s also the most physically intimidating of the boys, being the tallest and buffest. 

David - The Matador:  Matadors rule the ring, controlling the crowd, their assistants, and the animal they’re fighting. They’re a ringleader, like David. The way David lures Michael in is both strategic and theatrical, like a matador waving the red flag to encourage the bull to follow and charge when he desires. And in the end, how does David die? Impaled on horns, having miscalculated and gotten too close to a raging bull (Michael in this metaphor). 

Is this a stretch? Maybe. But costumes are an excellent way to silently convey character and tell stories. I think this set of headcanons is a really fun train of thought, and would explain why Marko chose those specific tapestries for his jacket.

[daydream-cement]

Seven Minutes in Heaven (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x Reader

Larissa joins you for seven minutes in heaven.

Author’s Note: THIS IS SO LATE! BUT THIS IS MY FINAL CONTRIBUTION TO SPOOKY SEASON with @alexusonfire (even tho spooky season is over). This weeks prompt is Halloween Party and I kinda followed that HAHAHAH.

Your class reunion wasn’t something you had anticipated enjoying. Between fielding questions about the current state of your life and if you remembered trivial details from your high school experience, you weren’t keen on repeating the same answers over and over.

But then again, it wasn’t often you had the opportunity of seeing your high school friends, especially at a huge Nevermore Halloween party. 

You hadn’t wanted to shop for a costume, so you threw together some things from your closet to be Dr. Ellie Sattler from 'Jurassic Park' - a costume you figured you would have to explain frequently, but it was better than buying something. 

As you walked into the old high school gym, you began recognizing classmates. Some you kept in close contact while others you had gone 30 years without speaking to. You saw one of those latter individuals immediately - Larissa Weems.

At least you thought it was her. 

She had grown a couple more inches and her body had filled out, but the pinup girl aesthetic remained. You couldn’t tell what her costume was supposed to be as she had maintained her business professional dress. 

You knew you were staring, but you were having trouble comprehending your newfound attraction to your old classmate. And Larissa must have noticed when she approached you with a wide grin, “It’s been too long!”

“It certainly has, and look at you now! The Headmistress of Nevermore?” You grinned and teased her a bit.

“It wasn’t my intention when I first began teaching here, but I must say I love it.” 

The next flirtatious words left your mouth before you had too much time to think about it, “The job looks good on you.” 

There was a brief silence and you then chose to fill it with a compliment, “Everything looks really great, Larissa.”

“I’m grateful for all the help I had… Speaking of…” The shapeshifter checked her watch and glanced back at you. She reached a hand out and squeezed your shoulder, her smile holding a sense of mischief, “I should get this party started. It was really nice seeing you. I hope we can catch up more later.”

Larissa took her position at the front podium and addressed the group, “I am so glad all of you could be present for our 30th class reunion. I am particularly excited this event lands on Halloween! It is so nostalgic seeing your 90s costumes you have put together.”

The platinum blonde gave a short speech about Nevermore and its ability to bring outcasts together. She finished her speech with a great big smile, “There are games and activities for you all throughout the building for you all. Have a wonderful evening!”

You wandered the halls with your old friends, shifting from game to game. All of the activities seemed to be reminiscent of your high school days. 

As the evening progressed, new (and probably not approved) games seemed to pop up throughout the school. Spin the bottle popped up in the english classroom, strip poker was beginning in the employee break room, and seven minutes in heaven was starting in the janitor’s closet. 

You paused near the group gathered outside the janitor’s closet, listening to Larissa politely scolding the group for playing such a childish game. You considered supporting her, but your friends had suddenly volunteered you for the next round. 

For a few cocky seconds, you agreed to the game, glancing at Larissa as you agreed to be shoved in the closet to await your partner. Her eyes were wide, almost shocked that you would be willing to play such a game.

As the door shut in your face, you couldn’t believe you were doing this. Anxiety and shame coursed through your body as you awaited the group to pick your seven minutes in heaven partner. You hadn’t wanted to get your hopes up, but you were hoping Larissa would get picked to join you. At least then you would be able to shoot your shot with her. 

Moments later, the closet door opened and the outline of Larissa Weems towered over you. Your dreams had come true, but now you were paralyzed at the notion of kissing her. 

Larissa squeezed her way in the closet, chest pressed to yours as she beamed down at you, “Hi, Y/n.”

Before you could respond, the door was closed behind her - your time had begun.

One minute.

“Hi, Larissa.” You mumble, grateful for the darkness of the closet. She would have been able to see your blush otherwise. 

The shapeshifter leaned in close, her fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as her lips lingered near your ear, “We should probably make wise use of our time together.”

Your tongue instinctively darts from your lips, wetting them as your hands timidly reach for her hips. 

The first kiss from Larissa was to the corner of your mouth followed by another to your cheek followed by another just below your ear. 

Your building nerves had you about to explode. To deal with this, your brain decided it was a good idea to have you start chattering anxiously, “I think you’re really pretty… Like… really pretty.”

“Mm… thank you, darling.” Larissa hummed. Her hand came to rest on the back of your neck, gripping it softly as she held you close. 

Two minutes.

“I was actually thinking of talking to-” You began, swiftly being cut off by Larissa.

“Maybe we should stop talking, hm?” She whispered as she took a step forward, pressing her body to yours. The increased proximity allowed you to feel the way she trembled lightly - she must have been just as nervous as you.

You nod slowly, gripping the sides of her dress in your fists to keep her close. Finally, you begin to return her affections - pressing a kiss to her jawline before timidly working your way towards her lips. 

Her other hand had wound around your middle - the pads of her fingers stroking the skin of your side as they pushed your shirt up the slightest bit. With every move of her fingers and lips, you found yourself losing your ability to control yourself.

When Larissa felt you drawing closer to her lips, she paused her own kisses to your skin, choosing to turn towards you instead, connecting your lips.

The first kiss was soft and quick, but once you both realized the potential of your chemistry you both dove in for another kiss.

Then another.

And another.

All growing in duration and intensity.

Three minutes.

You felt dizzy from desire. Absolutely drunk off Larissa’s lips. 

Only if you could have seen the lipstick smeared around both of your mouths. 

Larissa’s fingers squeezed your sides with a ferocity that made your eyes wind shut. In an act of desperation, one of your hands flies to the back of her neck to prevent any opportunity for her to pull away. 

You wished this moment would never end. 

All of those years of crushing on Larissa in school were finally coming to fruition. 

Her teeth tugged and sucked at your bottom lip - a preamble of her growing passion.

Four minutes.

It came as a shock when her hands clamped down on your cheeks and she pressed her lips to yours with an intensity that made your brain short circuit. 

Her tongue slipped past her lips, swiping it up across your lips before nipping at your bottom lip. 

The kisses became searing pecks as Larissa began interjecting her desires between them.

“Aren’t you just darling?”

“I bet our time is running out…”

“Perhaps we should meet back in my office when this little game is over.”

“We could have our own extended version of seven minutes in heaven…”

Five minutes.

Larissa was overcome by her desires for you. In a flash, she had you with your back against the wall. Her kisses were soon open mouthed and sloppy - evidence of her growing arousal.

Her passion made you brazen. Your hands fell to her backside, cupping and groping her ass rough enough to make the shapeshifter moan in your mouth. Larissa’s hips bucked against your pelvis, continually searching for more proximity that was no longer physically possible.

With enough grabbing of her plush ass, her shirt began to ride up and you took total advantage of the situation. Your fingers gripped the edge of her skirt and peeled it upwards enough to expose Larissa’s underwear to your wandering hands. 

The shapeshifter smiled against your lips at her newfound exposure. She then pushed a thigh between your legs - not to pleasure you, however. Larissa was too focused on her own neediness as she began grinding herself on your upper thigh.

Six minutes.

“It’s been so long, darling…” Larissa moaned in your ear, bucking and grinding herself against you with reckless abandon. Your hands positioned on her ass allowed you to play a role in guiding her hips to roll against you.

“Whatever you want… I’ll do whatever. Just tell me what you want.” You whimper before pushing your hips upward against Larissa’s needy pelvis.

“I want you… I just want you.” 

It was clear the shapeshifter had had enough talking when her lips crashed back onto yours and her tongue plunged back into your mouth. 

You gave yourself over entirely.

Only wanting to be of use to her.

Seven minutes.

Banging on the door caused the shapeshifter to pull away with a groan. Her eyes scanned your face through the darkness of the room before she dipped back down, grazing your lips with hers once, then twice - teasing you. 

“Times up.” She whispered, readjusting her skirt before wiping at her smeared lipstick with the back of her hand. “See you later, darling?”

“Yeah.. yeah.. I-I’ll see you- uhm- later…” You sputter out as she leaves you alone in the closet - disheveled and out of breath, leaning against a wall with lipstick stains covering your face and neck. 

As soon as you collected yourself, you knew you would be sprinting to her office.

PART 2

Taglist: @charymobile , @bri-sonat , @weemswife @smutuniversesblog , @opheliauniverse , @teashock , @enchantressb , @alex-nyx , @renravens , @whenyouhaveanobsession , @scream-queenlover , @shyladyfan , @lilfartbox1 , @rubberduckiesbathing , @mcufanisme , @peanutbutterprincess , @larissaoftarthweems , @sicklygrlsicklygrl , @lvinhs , @myzzjolanda , @principal-weems09 , @emilynissangtr , @xuukoo , @brienneswife , @dumbasslesbi , @oculusalien , @sweetderacine , @giogwensversion , @milciak , @gela123 , @thevillagegay , @katiemcgrathsbitch1 , @naomi-m3ndez , @mysaviorfalsegod , @h-doodles , @salems-spaghettios , @imgayforwoman69 @bychrissi , @alexusonfire , @weemssapphic , @kimiinou @hiiamkatana , @mountain-bikingwitch , @willowshadenox , @aemilia19 , @mommyslittlebaby , @agathaandgwenslesbian , @gay-frogs08

[timetravellibrarian]

Sanji x reader

Some thoughts on Sanji.

Sanji x femreader

_________________________________________

What happens when a simp meets another simp.

Sanji's advances toward women were never really taken seriously or even paid attention to.

He mostly cooked and waited tables at the Baratie, occasionally kicking ass if needed to. One thing he wasn't expecting was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen – you– enter through the doors along with a green-haired man and another gorgeous orange-haired woman.

"Hello ladies, what would you like to order?"When he had smoothly delivered a pickup line to both you and Nami– much to Zoro's annoyance at not getting proper service– he expected the usual his advance ignored.

"Well, I'd order you but you aren't on the menu." You threw back. It wasn't intentional. You weren't that much of a flirt, only used to doing or saying something to challenge or fluster others occasionally.

When the waiter in front of you seemed to have frozen on the spot and then smirked you were left with two words on your mind 'oh shit'.

Fast forward to the same man being in your crew, serving you guys the most delectable meals and kicking ass you were ready to give up on having a peaceful life.

Though he sent all his simpery to Robin and Nami he left you out of the loop. At first you didn't mind but overtime you questioned his actions. Wondering if he didn't try to flirt with you because of the first time you met or maybe he didn't think you were beautiful. Then you looked in the mirror and realised it must have been some other reason cause you knew you were drop dead gorgeous.

You weren't being vain, you knew you were pretty because you were told so by Apis when the crew helped her with Grandpa Ryu. Kids never lie about such matters.

Unbeknownst to you, Sanji didn't treat you the same because he knew that he wouldn't be able to save himself from loving you and confessing.

Your eyes, your voice, the grace in which you would do things. Even when you were being a menace to society. All of those he loved. You'd think he couldn't simp enough till he saw you not look glamorous and just chose to where baggy clothes. Not gonna lie he'd think you were gorgeous in a chicken costume, you never know with this man

As much as he was too shy to approach you he wasn't afraid yelling at Zoro to stop being so close to you.

You were close friends with Zoro. It couldn't be helped if you were the weapons expert, always checking if cannons were clear, swords were sharp and helping with new inventions with Franky.

So instead of noodle dancing around you he did the little things. Checking everything that he cooks didn't have anything you were allergic to. Always making sure you had a little lunch bag whenever everyone left to explore the island. Giving you extra cupcakes or other baked goods of you ever want more.

If you're a picky eater, he'd make sure to make your food according to your taste. Leaving multiple options on the dinner table for your palate.

He also made sure not to be away from your side too long. Wherever you turn you'd find a swirly-browed cook casually wrapping an arm round you to stave off any threats.

When you get sick he'd be calling in Chopper for any problem you would even slightly complain about. He'd be beside you 24/7 like you were dying or something. Which is kinda sweet but he was needed in the kitchen.

Overtime it just became normal for all this to happen. You got used to it. In fact I think y'all would be the kinda couple that just happened but then later confessed your undying love for each other.

To top it off, you were his number one supporter. Everytime you caught a glimpse of him fighting you'd cheer like you saw a celebrity. Some would swear that his behaviour rubbed off on you because you were also cheering and doing a noodle dance whenever he wore a different suit or set of clothes.

"YOU'RE DOING GREAT, SANJI-DARLING!" – 😍

But sometimes there were some downs in the relationship, for example his smoking.

You'd worry over him whenever he pulled out a cigarette one after the other in a day. Which led to you talking to him about it.

"If you don't atleast limit your smoking, you might as well be Black-lung Sanji."

He was a bit flabbergasted with the statement but he got what you meant.

Or if you had terrible coughs in reaction to his smoking he would try to smoke at a distance so he wouldn't and I quote, "Damage your gorgeous lungs"

As we all know Sanji, he didn't like women fighting too much or getting hurt but you immediately shut him down on that one, saying that as much as some of his morals were so gentlemanly and some old fashioned he had to accept that you wanted to fight. You wanted to help Luffy become king of the pirates. You wanted to be able reach your dream. So that needed you to be strong. That needed you to fight.

Since then he just aimed to be able to support you in any event that you needed help but he wouldn't be overbearing.

Would allow only you near the kitchen if you wanted to cook or bake something and you would allow only him near your forge/ workspace if he wanted to be near you.

Unfortunately for him you had connections wherever you went so you found out about his life in Peachy Island and never let him rest about it for a while.

And before anyone says anything about Fishman Island Sanji. Let's just say you were besties with Zoro there. Much to the cook's dismay.

"Stop being around that mosshead, Love."

"Stop losing blood around mermaids, Sweetheart."

Long story short, y'all were a confusing couple around that time. In fact, once he saw you were hanging out with the swordsman he would butt heads with the man. Leading you to pull him away before anything crazy happened.

Most times you told him to sit down and let you cook for the crew, especially if he was injured. He wouldn't allow it on account of Luffy's stomach being a literal black hole but you'd convince him otherwise.

When y'all fought together it was sure to leave the enemy in broken bones, hopes and dreams.

With Sanji kicking them away with his special moves and you pulling out a large cannon from the bag you carry around ( which was comically small but it was your magical inventory), nothing could stop you two. Sometime you'd trade opponents if he found himself fighting a woman.

Sometimes you helped him clean up after meals. Making sure that he didn't get all the work.

Most times he'd sit with you beneath the blanket of stars, his head on you chest/belly and you'd both share secrets about yourselves.

All in all, Sanji would love you to infinity and you'd love him just as much.

[jolapeno]

the book of love

frankie morales x f!reader (bookshop!au)

summary: wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, he looks at you. “I need a book.” “You… you need a book?” 

wordcount: 4k warnings: soft!frankie, meet cute, bookshop meet cute. romance. sweetness. kissing in a closed bookshop vibes.

Wednesday's don't usually bring strangers.

It brings boringness and drawn-out hours until you can lock the door and hope for a better day.

It's why he caught your eye the moment he walked in. 

Tall, handsome—cap pulled down—and his hands tucked into his pockets like he’s not sure what he’s doing. He’s broad, shoulders raised to his ears, and his spine so impossibly straight you wonder if he’s purposefully trying to make himself more on edge. 

Chewing the top of your pen, you observe him shuffle his cap again, trying to tuck himself away between tall shelving. Slowly suspecting it's not to hide his face, but rather to blend in. 

Escape.

He’d have been able to if he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. 

Everyone (local and just in the perimeter) knows this place. It’s the privilege of being around for decades. Having once belonged to your Aunt, and now to you. A place that had felt magical when you’d run around in pirate costumes and capes, words being read to you. Now, it was magical for other reasons. 

The shop was as much part of the town as the town was a part of you. A place you had once frequented in the holidays, before weekends when you could drive. Now, it was your everything. Your workplace, your business—your home. 

It’s why the shop practically screams to you when someone new enters its door.   

An anomaly in the usual.

Sometimes, there were a few. Inconsequential travellers, those who needed a book for their kid as they went from A to B, and sometimes a soul who needed a map to keep them from being lost. There have even been a handful of those looking to entertain themselves while they passed the time. 

There was a book for everyone.

A sentiment that has been instilled in you from the moment your aunt first let you stock shelves and earn pocket money. It’s why you give him several minutes alone, letting him wander, all aimless and without reason—worn leather boots sounding in the silence usually smothered by the radio (if the speakers hadn’t conked out this morning). 

It would be easier to focus on ordering, scanning down the new releases and ticking off the repeats.

Naturally, you chose the more difficult option—staring off, eyes landing on him, taking in how his features are prominent yet soft. His lips twist in confusion as he scans random shelves—a finger sliding over the spine before his eyes drop back to the tired wooden floor, moving to a new section. 

You tap your pen once, twice, thrice before you abandon it—casting it somewhere close to the register as you move from around the counter. Your hands clutching, tugging at the ends of your tee, pulling it down appropriately as you round a bookshelf and find yourself in front of him. 

And god, is he pretty. 

“Y’need a hand… sir?” 

It drops from your lips effortlessly. All well-practised from the dozen or so times you say it. But, it comes out squeakier than usual, higher pitched, all thrown off by the way his eyes swallow you whole, and his lips rise at the last addition to the sentence. 

“That obvious?” 

You smile—politely. Stemming back anything more, smothering the soft thudding of your heart against your ribs. “Well. You’re not from around here.” 

His lips tug further up on one side, the threat of a dimple set to show—a small laugh threatening to spill and spread across his features. It’s the fact he stares that allows you to continue doing so, to keep watching the way his eyes drink you in—both of you standing awkwardly in the non-fiction section of the tranquil and empty store. 

Whatever he wants to say, he chews on it. 

His hand pushes the bill of his worn hat up, scratching at his hairline, glimpses of curls gracing the top of his forehead before they’re hidden away once again. 

“How’d you know?” 

Shrugging, you adjust your stance. “Only bookshop in this town for decades, and you don’t know the layout.” 

“Maybe I like wandering around aimlessly.” 

It’s your turn to laugh. Louder than his—braver. “No. No, you don’t, but that’s cute. What’re you after?” 

“Something to keep my hands busy.” 

You blink back the comment on your tongue—the insinuation—trying not to glance down at the hand hanging at his side. The one so large, all thick-fingered and just dormant. 

Swallowing, you nod, absently pretending to think up a solution as you bite the inside of your cheek. “You thinking DIY, vehicle fixing or home renos?” 

“Not vehicles,” he says quickly—almost too quickly. 

“Alright, let’s see if DIY has something for you.”

It does. 

Your hands slide over spines as you read the titles until one hand envelopes yours—cocooning around yours on the edge of a book. 

That one. 

He said it much lower, eyes laser-locked on yours. 

When he’s paid, he lingers at the counter. Your mind still reeling from the warmth of his hand, the spark it sent up your wrist, to your shoulder and down your spine. 

It isn’t until he whispers a shy thanks, heading to the door before cautiously closing it behind him does your brain think of anything but his hands. Then it’s his smile—soft, almost lazily sent through the glass.  

A part of you, which is only bold when the moment has passed, wishes you’d said something more. Got his name, flirted. Hell, even made him linger for another ten minutes to see if you could get him to laugh like he did at the shelves. 

Unfortunately, you have to swallow it. 

Because it’s rare to see a stranger return, even if they say they’re happy with the service. Most of the time, the town is a stop for them—a way to rest before continuing on their way. 

Unlike with those before him, you rarely remember their faces—just a rough account of the book they bought. 

Him, you remember. If you could draw, you’d be able to sketch how his veins stood out on the back of his hand when he took the book from you. The shape of his eyes and the swirls of gold mixed with the shades of brown when he’d adjusted his cap. 

You linger in it, the memory of how your skin felt under his gaze, allowing yourself secret seconds of wishful thinking when he walks in. 

So much so, you blink. 

Fingers pinching the skin at your wrist—unsure if it’s a mirage or real. Bearing down in the skin, until it begins to more than hurt.

He’s here—the mysterious hat-wearing DIYer. 

It takes you by such surprise, you almost drop the gum from your tongue. Your mind emptying of all the practised moments in your heads—the ones where you’d only had the chance to see him again in a make-believe world. 

This isn’t make-believe. It’s real. 

Words, so usually able to sprout, vanish. Crumble. Turning into ash in the depths of your mind—new ones struggling to form as heat rises in your cheeks. 

It’s quick to dawn on you how out of practice you are, how irregular it is. Good-looking men (you’d almost flirted with) don’t tend to return to the shop. They don’t hover in the space between the shelves and your register. 

But he is. 

Standing. All nearly six-foot of him, staring at you like you’re the only thing that could quench a drought. 

“Twice in one month?” 

“What can I say?” he says, scratching the back of his neck, knocking his hat ever so slightly—allowing peppered-brown curls to show. “You sell good books.” 

“I sell the same books as other shops, but thank you….”

“Francisco—Frankie. I’m Frankie.” 

It flutters out: a smile. Letting it hang on your face, blissfully breathing, the two of you lost in the centre of acoustic music crackling through your somewhat fixed speaker. 

“So, Francisco, what you looking for today? Still wanting to keep your hands busy?”

The look he sends you makes your ears and cheek burn. Worsening more so as he doesn’t tear his eyes away from you, a reply sitting on the edge of his tongue—likely trapped behind his teeth. 

You’re holding your breath. For what, you’re not sure. A response. Something. 

Almost filling the silence with a throat clear, a rap of your knuckles, a tap of your nails, but the bell for the door chimes instead, your eyes ripping from him to the familiar face of Miss Fell from the coffee shop. 

He promises to come back in the future, but promises are so easy to break, that you don’t hold on to them. 

It’s why it’s harder to control when you see him in the doorway, your lips already curling, eyes studying every inch of him as he strolls over—cap positioned as usual, faded yellow-ish jacket, a similar overtly-washed tee and denim jeans. 

Eyes lock with his through the space in the romance section—ironic, if you say so yourself—your arms full of hardbacks, shoulders burning, near screaming. 

You only focus on the tension, how it thickens, breathes. It crawls out from the walls and thrums to the beat of whatever is playing on the local station. You need it for restocking—the more uptempo beats aiding your mission of ferrying books from one side to the other.  

Frankie’s eyes travel to them, the boxes half-open behind the counter and the trolley you’ve abandoned—the one which had been squealing in protest across the floor, working against you rather than with you. 

“Hi.”

“Hey, hermosa.” 

It drips from his tongue as though he’s called you it before. Instead of trying it for the first time.

He's used your name, the one given freely; he's also used the nickname you'd handed him after a few more visits, the one friends and family call you.

Today, it seems he'd rather call you something which kisses the air with intention and makes your stomach flutter.

“You visit the town a lot for saying you don’t live here.” 

“I live in the next town over—so, just a short drive.” 

He says it casually, and you almost believe him if not for the fact you know the distance. 

“Well, something keeps making you repeatedly visit—lemme guess, it’s my book recommendation, isn’t it?”

It’s bold, maybe too much so. 

The words form and leave your tongue before you can even reconsider them. So sweet, far too rich—more daring than you’d usually let escape when working. 

It’s out there now, billowing in the space between you as he comes around the shelving, your hand pausing on the hardback's spine as you look up to find his stare. 

He’s smiling. 

Leaning his shoulder against the shelf, arms folded across his chest as his eyes burrow. 

“Partly.” 

You place the books, adjusting the shelving. “Only partly? Guess I need to step up my bookselling game if other things are getting you to come back.” 

He keeps his eyes on you, but there’s something there. It ripples, going against the beat of the tension—standing out like an ink stain on a plain white tee. 

“I’m… I’m going to meetings held out the town hall.” He mumbles, smile fading with each word, the confession gracing the air with so much softness it’s as though he’s hoping to cast it to you gently. “Got into some shit, but I’m getting clean now—was stupid… bad. Just wanted to… get a handle on it without everyone gossipin’ about it.” 

You nod, trying to find the balance between not staring and meeting his gaze. A careful balance is needed for such a confession that you’re not entirely sure you’re capable of achieving. 

“That’s… that’s really good, Francisco, that you’re wanting to, y’know put the work in.”

“Frankie,” he interrupts. 

As he has done every time you call him that. 

“Please call me Frankie, Hermosa.” 

It’s hard to hide that he makes your throat tighten, especially when he lets his new name for you fall so delicately from his tongue. 

A bouquet of warmth blooms in your chest, a sea of it crashing down and soaking you from head to toe.

“I just mean,” you murmur, watching him tilt his head to look at you, doing so with kind eyes and a warm smile. “I—I don’t judge you… we all make mistakes.” 

He smiles a little wider. “Thanks, Hermosa. I… I appreciate you saying that” 

“If you keep calling me beautiful, I’m gonna keep calling you Francisco.” 

“Well, what else can I call you when you look as pretty as you do?” 

Burn. You burn. 

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re sure he must feel it. Purposefully casting your eyes to the side, turning to pick up more books from the floor. 

But his remain. Fixated. Intentional. Busy consuming and swallowing all the things around the two of you, until it's just the two of you that remain.

Not that you mind, care. You only see him.

The world around you both a little dimmer, the music a little quieter, as if everything is tuned into him. The man in the cap with the beautifully, stunning eyes.

“You keep flirting with me, and I’ll drop all my books.”

He wipes his hands on his jeans, gesturing to you to hand him some of the load. “Just so I can keep flirting.” 

“You don’t have to…”

He gestures again, more purposefully. 

Pursing your lips, you surrender. Seeing how much he wants to, allowing his fingers to brush down your forearms as he takes them and trying not to shiver under the intensity of it. 

It’s harder to ignore the spark, the one lit, running through you to light fireworks in your stomach that’ll explode in your bones, in your nerves—all over your goddamn body. 

“Francisco…”

“Hermosa.” 

If tension were a gas, there’d be no air to breathe.

All poison. No oxygen. You think you’d swallow it all the same, gallop it back to keep your eyes locked on his—feeling your ears burn similarly to your cheeks and chest. 

“They go in that space down there,” you say. “You might have to bend over, y’know, to get them to sit nicely.” 

He grins, wicked—daring. It’s accompanied by a lot of teeth and a wide smile. Pretty—handsome. 

“Should have let you do these ones, huh?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your brain run away with itself. Unsure if you can let yourself believe that something akin to a rom-com could currently happen to you. 

“Don’t think the sight would be as good as the one I have.”

His eyes cast up at you, a mischievous glint to them he immediately banishes. “Now, who’s flirting.” 

In time, you come to expect him. Only on a Wednesday, never another time. 

So much so, you don’t glance at the door longingly when the bell chimes. You don’t brace for the smile that blossoms when you spot him (irrespective of whether he’s brought you a coffee or a baked good). 

Today, unfortunately, isn’t a Wednesday. 

Just a regular, non-Francisco day that you wish would bleed into another. Having spent many times between his visits planning, plotting—full-blown award-winning speeches re-enacted for the next time you see him.  

There have been ones where you ask him to go for a coffee, ask whether he’d visit you on a day that isn’t a Wednesday. Getting tired of just waving him off, watching him shoot you a final smile as he headed to his truck. 

It’s stuck with you, that feeling. 

Knots inside, mangled together with other moments you replay and wish you could change when you should be sleeping. So many missed moments, shoulda-woulda-coulda, you don’t want him to be added to the pile. 

Today, more so. It always is after a heavier, slow and tiresome day—one which stifles all your usual happiness and excitement of being in a place you love. 

Dragging your feet, fingers flicking the lights off, you watch as the window spotlights extinguish the displays you’d worked on to keep busy. Moving to the door, fingers reaching to turn the sign, twist the lock—

He’s here.

All flushed cheeks, mouth open. 

Francisco’s hand clutches the handle, bending at the hip as he swallows mouthfuls of air—holding a finger up. 

One minute. 

He’s rushed—actually rushed to get here. 

Pulling on the handle, slowly letting the town air seep in as he slowly stands. 

“Hey?” 

“You… you shutting?” 

“I was about to.” 

Wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, he looks at you. “I need a book.”

“You… you need a book?” 

He nods, hands falling to his lower back, stretching. 

“Come on in then.” 

You have to give it to him. He pretends to glance at the shelves for several minutes before he pulls something from a stand without staring. His performance does allow you to close off your computer and tidy up around your desk before he places a book on your desk. 

“Woodworking?” 

He shrugs, adjusting the front of his cap, palm smoothing over his forehead as fingers tuck away his curls. “Considering it is all.” 

You nod, scanning it as it pops up on the till—your hand reaching for a bag as you feel his eyes sitting on you. They’re heavy—weighty. 

It makes you warm, standing under his stare. Something close to the sun, making you turn into it as a smile falls passively across your lips. 

“You know, one day, you’re gonna have to show me what you’ve been building with the number of books you’ve bought.” 

It’s an off-hand comment, a playful one.

It lands, but not in the way you’d hoped. 

His eyes searing, as though urging you to hear words he isn’t saying as you take the money from his extended hand. Words you would hear if he even whispered them due to the quietness—shop all closed and locked except for the two of you. 

You’d expected him to be playful, like last time—more jokes, having found more comfort. But, if anything, it was like the first time he’d walked in, hands stuffed in his pocket, shoulders close to his ears. 

He pauses, the brown bag lying on the counter and not in his fist, like usual. Your hand remains over the till, one note still in hand as you glance at him. 

“That everything?” 

“No.” 

It’s soft. 

More whispered than exclaimed. Yet, it makes your throat tighten—eyes fixate on him a little more intensely. Taking him in differently than you usually do. 

Usually, you linger over the way his nose slopes, how his eyes always have a twinkle in them—that a few wisps of hair poking out underneath the bill of his cap. That he wears earthy shades and smells of sea salt mixed with cedar, a mysterious scent that lingers even when he’s gone. 

Now, you focus on how his eyes are a little wider, soaking you in rich brown, wearing hesitancy across his broad shoulders and tight-lipped face. 

You say nothing, both not able to nor wanting to.  

“I… I want to kiss you.” 

It’s hard to ignore the way heat blooms across your cheeks, focussing on stuffing the note haphazardly in the drawer before you close it. Fingers resting, lingering on the metal seal as you swallow. “Didn’t realise my knowledge of books could be so endearing?” 

He smiles, but it’s full of nerves. 

Plastered to bring you some ease—you suppose—his hand lifting his cap a little higher. “Well, I’m not buying all these books because I’m still trying to keep my hands busy, Hermosa.”

“No?” 

“No,” he whispers. 

You don’t think. Your feet just begin moving, forcing you from behind the counter to the place beside him. You’re so close; you can see the way the last few spotlights over the counter are reflecting in his pupils—see the shadow of yourself in his darkening eyes. 

It’s your turn to be nervous, for trembling fingers to tease the edge of his open shirt, bristling under his gaze as you slowly lift your chin to—

You feel them, his lips. 

Chapped, but yet still soft, warm. Feeling them slide against yours in well-versed movements as though this isn’t the first time the two of you have done this. Something mushrooms in your chest expands out as you slide your tongue to taste it, lick it all away—all the nerves, the built-up anxiety. The two of you settle, falling into a steady rhythm that dances close to pent-up frustration. 

At some point, his cap falls to the floor, your fingers woven in his peppered curls as your back presses into the wooden counter. He’s precise, cautious—not pressing you too intently, allowing you room to leave, but not enough to get the idea he doesn’t want this. 

Doesn’t want you. 

He does. 

He shows it with his fingers, etching them across your hip. Hands, large and littered with callouses, wrap and pinch you over your clothes, telling stories you’re not listening to currently. 

Briefly, between soft, muted moans, do you think about how they’d feel on your bare skin. How his fingers would feel curled inside you, those eyes searing into you as he whispers that you’re doing so well—just like he did when he first heard about you running the place yourself. 

“Frankie…” 

It escapes, the nickname. 

The one he’s told you to use each time you call him Francisco. The one you think of when you’re alone, simmering and blistering on the tip of your tongue when your thin bed sheet covers your bare thighs. 

Then, Frankie pulls back—something flooding you that isn’t relief, but rather disappointment.

“Oh,” you mumble. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean.…”

It trails off. Not sure what to apologise for, least of all when you don’t mean it. Swiping your tongue across your lower lip, tasting the mint of his gum and the coffee he’s tried to hide with it, loosening your fingers from his curls, dropping your arm until it hangs pointlessly beside you. 

But he doesn’t let go. 

Doesn’t step back. Thankfully. 

He just stares in utter bewilderment like he’s in a dream rather than reality. 

“I should have taken you for dinner.”

“What?” 

He swallows, blinking—coming back to. 

It happens more suddenly, him stepping back, scooping his cap from the ground and replacing it back like a crown upon his head.

He’s shy again—nervous. It radiates from him, flushing his cheeks more than the minute-ago make-out session the two of you just endured. 

“I was—fuck, I was supposed to ask you to go out for dinner before….”

“Before?” 

Tilting his head, his lips slope up into a cheek. “Before I groped you like some horny teen. You deserve better—more. You deserve more. A nice meal, a fucking conversation and….”

“I like pizza.” 

He pauses, blinking. “Y-yeah?”

Nodding, you smile. Rolling your lips until you’re biting down, unsure—suddenly shifting on the spot. “I can… I know a place—they deliver. We can, can just hang here or go upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” 

It grows into a grin, the smile you’d been trying to hold back. “Yeah, I live above the shop, Frankie.” 

And he’s in front of you again, resuming the minimal space the two of you had before. Both of his hands cup your cheeks, thumb brushing the skin—eyes burning into yours, no longer bubbling with nervousness. 

“Say it again.”

“Wha—“

“My name. Please, Hermosa.” 

Tilting your face ever so slightly, you lick your lips—his eyes watching how the tip of it does so. “Frankie.”

He groans, low—guttural, almost swallowed back but somehow escaping—before, in one swift movement, his lips are married back to yours. It’s different, more confident—dizzyingly so.

Your legs wobbling a little as the counter managed to support you, every other sense tuning into him and just him. Almost demanded so, by him. 

His teeth nip, pressing against you as you feel how hard he is against you, as one of his hands drops to your waist. Almost tempted to slide your hand over the zipper, to squeeze—to tease him even further—

“Ah, man, it’s closed.” 

The two of you pause, freezing. 

Eyes both glancing through one of the shelves at the door, the person hovering, waiting—as though expecting the shop to suddenly open as they arrived. You will them to leave, eyes clenching, until you slowly open one, then the other. 

Frankie doesn’t turn back at first, not until it’s truly silent—the two of you alone again. But, you remain cupping his cheek, the other on his arm—fingers barely fitting around his bicep that flexes as he turns his head. 

You can hear it, your heart pounding—worsening when his eyes lock with yours, dancing from one to the other. 

“I—“

“Do you want me to show you upstairs?” 

His hand slides from your waist, scratching the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t….”

“Oh. Yeah, okay, I get it—“

“I don’t want to just… fuck you, Hermosa.” 

Your lips clamp shut, throat tightening as you take a struggled breath. 

“You hear me? I want—“

“You want pizza, a tour and then….” you whisper, so soft it barely greets the air, watching him fill in the dots, the blanks. 

His cheeks flush, eyes narrowing before widening, making you smile wickedly. 

an: this was my first ever time writing for him, so pls be nice and lovely and kind. k thanks.