#if i draw that big slimy guy i will never draw anything else. mr big boy slime

[hurglewurm]

don't want to go to bed bc i've unfortunately fallen into some kind of drawing tom hardy era

[theheartchoice]

 Providence 

dean/cas  |  teen  |  2k  |  canonverse s6  |  ao3 

for @profoundnet's bi-weekly Bot Stat challenge. prompt issued: July 9th 2019 

dedicated to @saltnhalo ~ crack-free! 😘

Dean is cleaning his gun. Cas is the pizzaman. Sam is on the demon blood again.

Dean doesn't miss the apple-pie life, not really. He's a Hunter and this is what they do, this is the life for him. Doesn't mean he can't do with some small comforts, now and then. Or some hope - even if it's just a clue to find a way to stop the stuff of nightmares from wreaking havoc on the world. Pizza helps, too.

So, she broke things off.

..Unclip the mag.. 

So what?

..Clear the chamber.. 

Not like Dean really expected it to last, right?

..This cloth probably needs to be thrown.. 

Guess it was nice while it lasted.

..Where's the pipe cleaner?.. 

Maybe it would've been nice to last a while longer.

..Need more oil.. 

Had a whole year, though. And it was a pretty good year, as Hunter standards go.

..Should grab some rock salt, too. Runnin' low.. 

Sure as hell wasn't perfect. Dean was no model boyfriend or parental figure. Not with all his baggage, his demons.

..Need to make a list. Probably need a bunch of stuff. Wonder if Soulless Sammy's hacked any more cards yet.. 

That life isn't the thing to miss, though. That's not the life for him. He misses them. Her smile, her strength, her warmth. Little Ben growing up so fast, Dean pained he'll miss the rest. But he's not that guy - Mr. Family Man. They deserve better.

..They can hit the store before they leave town. Baby needs fuel. Grab some Johnny to replace the backup. Get outta dodge before the rains come. Sam can find 'em a case once they hit the interstate. They need snacks for the road, too. With any luck they'll find some monster to gank by nightfall.. 

Dean's only halfway through with their arsenal when his stomach reminds him he's past due for supper. Dinner had been a bust; Soulless Sam needs a lesson in acceptable menu classics, asap. Forget beheading a vamp with a baseball bat he could've sworn wasn't on the pitch a moment earlier - Dean'll be lucky not to get salmonella poisoning from that so-called food!

The mini fridge is bare, the cooler barer - unless you count half a dozen syringes of Dead-Man's blood. Dean doesn't. But considering Sam's choice for dinner, maybe he does? Never again. Sam is off food-duty until further notice.

What Dean could really go for, right now, is some pizza. Extra Large and all to himself. There's gotta be takeout menus around here somewhere.

He's barely scuffed one boot over the worn carpet when there's a rap at the door. At midnight. Sam wouldn't knock. Soulless Sam even less likely. 

Grabbing one from the newly-cleaned stash, Dean silently draws up into the crook of wall between door and curtained window, gun cocked. Swift to pull it open and hard to throw himself against it, on the other side of that door is the last person Dean expected to see. "Cas?" Standing in a fuzzy halo of sickly yellow halogen, holding a goddamned miracle in his arms. "Is that pizza?"

"I thought you might be hungry."

"For me?" Cas nods. Dean yanks him - and the pizza - inside. "I'm starved, actually. That's some good timin'."

And so much for the brief trip into Bizarro World where a certain Angel actually respects personal space; Cas' hands are on Dean - shoulder and forehead as he tries to lean over the table, flipping the lid to inspect the toppings. Meatlovers and extra BBQ sauce. Awesome. But those hands are turning him away from pizza, now. "What's up with you?"

"You're not in any stage of starvation, Dean. You're in perfect health.. Aside from you-.. your wrist." He takes Dean's arm from bicep to sprain without hesitation. "What happened?"

It's kinda hard to shrug outta the grip of a guy who could literally throw you as far as the eye can see. "Vamp nest. But we got 'em, no biggy." No more deaths once they arrived in town, too, which was a nice change. "Can we eat? Sam bought, like, raw fish for dinner, man - I think it's still swimmin' around in there." Dean eyes the garbage where he tossed his takeout container, forcing back bile at the memory: one hasty bite before he'd realised his mistake. It had been.. slimy. 

One of Cas' hands slips from his bicep to palm over Dean's stomach. The other leaves his wrist, at least, so Dean seizes the moment and steals the nearest slice from the box; chase away a bad memory with something good. OH, yeah - screw clouds - this is heaven. 

"Nihon unagi." 

"Huh―?" Dean tries not to let the precious pizza tumble from his mouth. 

"Freshwater eel, and they're not swimming. Not consciously, anyway."

Dean's jaw stills. He stares at Cas. 

"Digestive enzymes."

Oh, of course. 

Cas' eyes refocus on Dean's pizza. No - his hand. His injury. "May I..?" 

Mid-chew, Dean figures it can't hurt. He switches his pizza from right to left and holds out the sprain he'd forgot he had. 

Cas' hand closes careful around it, a slip of warmed ice flowing quick through Dean's veins - and then his minor injury is minor no more.

"Thanks," Dean murmurs, and follows it with another mouthful of beef and pepperoni.

Cas leaves him to his second slice to survey the room. "Where is Sam?"

"Li'b'ary.." This is food. This is what every meal should taste like. All the meat, rich with smokey goodness. "R'se'rch."

"I thought you said the case was over?" Cas regains some proximity to the little round table where Dean stands with hips hugging the large pizza box. He takes a few moments to chew, swallow - rushing the savour-part, but Angels don't really understand the pleasure of a good pizza-pie, now do they?

"Not that. Purgatory." With slice #3 in hand, he realises he's got nothing to wash it down with. Slightly annoyed, he leads Cas past the bed laden with guns to the one neatly made with a duffel bag open on top. He pulls out a book, hands it over. "Officially, it's a work of fiction, and we still don't really know what we're dealin' with exactly, but.." He takes another bite. "..There may be a way to counteract the spell Crowley plans on usin'. Last line of defense, sorta thing."

Cas goes pensive and Dean goes back to his pizza, leading Cas over to their Wall of Crazy. They're still trying to track Crowley's whereabouts; It's ongoing. Vamps get beheaded on slow progress days.

"It's almost midnight."

So..? 

"The library would be closed."

Dean gawks. "You know what time libraries close in small-town America?" Cas nods, clearly not seeing the issue. Whatever. "Not a library, a church. Secret archive in the foundations. The pastor, Father Roberto, let him in, a favour for takin' care of the vamps." The fact that one of them had been a colleague of his must've hit close enough to home to warrant unlocking the storm shelter: a small basement room stocked with hunter-esque reads. The guy had only been in their once - twice, including when he caught his former colleague breaking the rules with B&E (and reading). 

They may not find anything ther, but since Sam doesn't need sleep nowadays he agreed to pull the all-nighter and check for certain before they skip town. 

Gaze flitting from Dean and his pizza, to the leatherback book in his hands and up to the Crazy Wall, Cas keeps his thoughts to himself. He looks concerned, wary almost.

"You okay?"

Cas turns the book over, gently. "Where did you get this?" he says to the back cover.

"St. Bruno's. Got quite the collection of lore stashed away in the basement, but Roberto confiscated that one from one of the vamps, before.." Dean trails off, leaving out the details of his bloody foul ball at the local park. "Demonic possession's a big feature, no surprises there. Some monster stuff and gods stuff scattered through - most of it we know already from Bobby's. Also a bunch of balony text. But there was a couple dozen copies of that," he points at Cas' hands with his pizza tip, "so we figured we should see what else was down there that might be useful."

He joins Cas by the map printouts, newspaper clippings, highlighted notes and online article stubs. He watches as Cas traces delicate fingers over the black leather and gold-embossed spine. There's something about the way he handles it - with such care, and hesitation. It's a little odd, but then again he did kinda the same thing with Chuck's books, too. Only this time he hasn't even opened it. 

"It's a graphic novel," Dean explains, "Words and images in a badass, super freaky, pretty damn cool comic strip setup." He'd been more impressed by it than Sam. Apparently his brother's passion for all things Geek was another thing that'd been left behind. It's one thing Dean never thought he'd miss.

Cas is still regarding the ripples in the leather when Dean's pocket vibrates. "You find somethin'?" The last thing he expects to hear are the words Demon and Blood, but measured against the bar of strangeness and crappy circumstance that is their lives, Dean's not as freaked out as he probably should be.

Soulless Sam, Heaven at war with itself, Purgatory existing, Angelic pizza-men.. Anything's possible these days. 

"What about Demon Blood?" Cas must feel Dean's eyes on him because he looks up to pay attention. Dean nods along, shakes his head, wishes he had that spare Johnny to wash down the news. "Yeah, okay. Grab what you can. Forget finding a new case, we'll head to Bobby's in the morning." Hanging up, Dean can feel Cas' eyes on him. "Apparently, St. Bruno's has a book on demons we haven't seen before. Says somethin' about Demon blood relating to Purgatory, but he can't read much of it. Says it's in 'some kind of code'," and Dean shakes his head away from the shadowy thought of just how much of 'Sam' is really left. 

Code-breaking? He used to do that shit for fun, at breakfast, before Dean had even poured his first cup of coffee. Now he.. can't? Or he's just not interested? Dean's not sure which is worse. 

Cas' face steals back to Angelness, all signs of wariness painted over with a blank canvas. He glances at the clock, oddly, and places the book gently down on the nightstand. "I have to go." 

And it's not like Dean expected him to stay, but it would've been nice. Least he brought pizza. "Yeah, okay. We'll keep in touch, let you know what we find." 

Cas nods, and Dean can tell he's about to I Dream of Jeannie it outta there, so he quickly adds, "―You too, you hear me? Don't be a stranger." They lock eyes for a moment, and it feels like old times. "Thanks for the pizza." 

With a tilted trace of a smile, Cas nods again, softer. "Be careful, Dean." 

The fridge kicks on as invisible wings take flight. An owl hoots somewhere outside, waiting for an answer. It's suddenly quiet and the room feels empty in a way it hadn't before. Lonely. 

He flicks on the old box set, turns some late night movie low, and snags the pizza box along with the little black book to settle down in the neatly made bed, tossing his duffel aside.

HP Lovecraft may have some relevance to what they're dealing with, but for now he just reads for the hell of it. To get lost in it; someplace else, somehow familiar. It's a clue, a step in the right direction, hopefully. And though it's not exactly a comfort, there's something grounding in knowing the answers are out there, somewhere. They just gotta keep looking. 

There's fiction and there's reality, and sometimes the impossible is what's real. Sometimes it's a nightmare instead of a dream. That's the Hunter life. Figuring out what's dark fantasy and what's really lurking in the shadows. 

No Lisa, no Ben. No Sam, even if he walked through that door right now. Bobby three states away. Cas off at war. 

He's got pizza and Lovecraft's Cosmicism and Mitchum on the grainy tube. It's not everything, but it's enough. With any luck he'll dream of something better, something more. Probably the best he can hope for, really: if he can't have a better life, dreams might be the closest he ever gets. 

But as long as he gets his four hours, he'll manage, dreams (or nightmares) or no. 

The telltale pitter-patter of rain starts in, grows steadily heavier as the pages turn, the black-and-white noir futzing and pizza filling him, making him sleepy. He drifts off to the flicker of blue neon through the tear in the curtain by his bed, distantly wishing he'd removed his boots or at least his belt; it's digging into him, but he knows on the plus side he'll be ready to jump up and fight if something goes bump in the night.

Just another night in the Hunter's life.

[pinkpoundcake]

YOUR FAVORITE

All Might/ Reader as Female OC

4K+  Words

I don’t have an Ao3, so this’ll have to go here. I don’t believe FF.net accepts first person, so woommpp. I haven’t written in a long time, so if I missed some things I apologize, ahaha. I’ve read so much good fanfiction, I wanted to contribute. Nothing tooooo explicit, but it’s certainly mature. So, enjoy lol. 

EDIT: 

I changed the category of this fic. I’m warning the reader that you’re an OC! Kinda like you’re a preset character in a dating sim? If that makes any sense. Those be my only terms of free service.

Your Job, your job, your job…

How did you feel about your job? Indifferent most late nights. It was just something you did to pay the bills. You wouldn't call it a passion or a thrill. It wasn't something you were going to hold on to forever, even if the pay and the environment were accommodating.

The clientele was... diverse to say the least. There was the average patron; the everyday man. Bored or thirsty blue collared hound dogs crawl out after their wives sleep. Crawling was an appropriate word. You can tell when they skirt by the vigilant bouncer that they don't want anyone knowing who they are. They tip moderately, which is fine. They don't cause a scene, don't draw attention, just want to be entertained or fantasize for a little while.

Then there were the deep pocket business men. While older, or sleazy, they bring the real rain, and the rent you need. They're bold enough to ask for several private dances, VIP tables, shots on shots on shots, expensive bottles of in house liquor. Bold enough to invite their other business associates. Sometimes it's hard to tell them apart from villains. You've seen yakuza in suits just as tacky or expensive. Maybe they all wash money together?

Thick, real silver or gold wrist watches. Thick wads of cash in thick rubber bands. On the rude side, generally. They always wanna touch. Wanna use their quirks to do things against the rules. They lean closer to the stage than you usually like. They say things over the rumble of music you're inclined to flirtatiously banter with. That's fine, too, because while they're close and kind of annoying. A Mr Mr with a Rolex is always holding out a generous tip for you. He wants to stick it in your Swarovski Crystal panties. You guessed it, that's fine, too.

"Baambie, baby, you're my favorite." The smoky stage lights seep into the crinkled corners of an older man's eyes as he greedily laps up the sight of your body bent down to him. A lot of people say that. Dirty cheating dogs, rich guys dry cleaning on the side, temperamental villains, even heros...

Baambie you're my favorite.

You're tall to say the least, a woman who has to duck under doorways. It doesn't stop you from wearing the platform heels you bargained from one of the other performers, though. It makes those already long legs look dramatic. The poles go alllll the way up so you can really climb, so there's no problem with height. And it doesn't stop you from being the 'soft sweetheart' of the club, either. That's your character. Your soft, soft body, with generous top and bottom assets, covered in dark, velvety hide. The spots on your wide hips and shoulders aided in acquiring your stage name. You have a sweet, (though false) baby- like voice with that jingly, sheepy vibrato. You comb out all the conditioned wool that composes the hair on your head before every shift to look like a halo of heavenly clouds. Your horns, that have been getting sort of long as of late, that spiral out from your forehead are covered in golden glitter. A big eyed American dream, so to speak, dancing in Japan.

"Baambie, you're my favorite…" you hear. You languidly drag your heeled feet along the stage floor. Sauntering over to the man whose voice cut through one of the songs for the improvised part of your usual routine. It was always interesting to see a familiar face, even if it was a strange one. All things considered, strange faces were a usual portion of the job.

"Hi, again, sweetheart," you only feel comfortable enough to genuinely flutter your long eyelashes at this fellow. He's another repeat patron; a welcomed face, actually. Whoever he is, he always slips a very generous amount of cash on to the stage for you. You wonder where he aligns…

He couldn't possibly be a hero or villain. He's scrawny, to rudely describe. Pretty plain looking if he weren't so willowy. He visits by himself. Doesn't ask to touch, doesn't touch on the sly. Doesn't take pictures on his phone. Doesn't boast with shiny adornment and popped bottles. Maybe he isn't a wealthy businessman? He's either unmarried, or smart enough to remove his wedding ring. He wears a poorly fitting black or blue suit, or just a shirt and tie most sporadic visits.

He always comes to you, though, or waits for your turn. He orders a non-alcoholic drink, maybe two, sits near the stage you perform on, always accepts to pay for a dance, and watches carefully. You're a little fond of him, so you give him some eye contact to hint that the favoritism is mutual. His presence is a...kind one. Unfitting for the situation, but it's hard to pin down what he made you think of. He had a shy, humble body language from what you could gather. Like every time was his first time in a strip club. He's never given you any problems.

Blondie swallows, the lights moving in just enough time to catch the bob of his prominent adams apple and the sweat from the heat of the lights beading on his forehead.

Your hands slide up your thighs, to your hips, to your breasts, tracing sensual, snaking patterns in your fur. Your clawed fingers catch the edge of your fluttery, glittery, white costume to show him your panties. They were white as well, and made out of the same thin material. From his angle, he would have been tantalized by the plump outlines at your crotch. If this fellow had an imagination, you fed it. Every man in radious was watching now, hoping you'd take something off. But while they were watching you, no one knew you were watching him.

The lights shifted again, the room smoking from hidden stage foggers as the section grew dimmer for the highlight of your performance. Your claws hooked around the spire to heaven. You swept your leg around, spinning up and swinging around like the most beautifully carved pony on a carousel. Every man close enough, let you know they wanted to hop on and ride. A villain you recognized lost partial control of his beastly quirk and pounded the stage with slimy, webbed fits, howling like some sort of American cartoon character. You would have rolled your eyes if they weren't focused on your favorite.

Smiling, revealing dimples kissed with glitter and the most endearing, white, herbivorous front teeth, you bent your knees like a pin up girl, and leered at the mystery fellow over your dappled shoulder. You spun, partially from the easily rotated poll, and the will of your own strength.

You hoped he was flustered as you ascended higher, unclamping your legs, you unbent them, and pushed them out in the air in a split. Your hooven toes were pointed east and west in a show of acrobatics. The muscles of your thighs beautifully tensed. Cash fluttered down to the stage like the feathery, ruffled trail of your costume's train. Your favorite, was even more generous so. You could see blue eyes trembling with excitement and tell tale yearning as he slapped more money at your feet. His heavily hooded eyes were so sincerely filled with desire for you, that it made you wonder. You let him know his reaction pleased you. Your thick thighs were hugging the pole again, sliding and ruffling fur as you sank back down to finesse on solid platform. Slyly, you were finally taking something off.

The music slowed to a soft croon. As the thin strips of your panties were stretched and pressed down by your graceful fingers, you painstakingly drew them down your thighs. It was hushed, lusting men holding their breath. What more did you have to show them? Something plump, sweet, tasty?

As the big crescendo of the song finally dropped. You snatched your panties off by the hook, and threw them in the instantly ignited crowd. Whether your favorite caught what you were trying to give him, you weren't sure, but that was the end of your turn.

++++

He told himself a long time ago that he had to stop going to see you. But in some areas he had to admit he was terribly weak of will. Toshinori could only be described as shuffling, or awkwardly waddling out of the doors of the night club. Every other step was to adjust the dead weight that formed somewhere in his pants, and to ease the bruise he'd probably gotten from being elbowed for those panties after the frenzy. Sighing, he lifted and opened up the cover of his umbrella, though it was only misting.

Face now hidden, he began his long journey out of the district. He cursed himself as he clutched your panties buried deep in his pocket. He didn't have any plans for them, honest, but he was ashamed that he had mentally settled on keeping them. Or, er, maybe returning them next time he saw you, even though he was telling himself he was not going to watch you perform again.

He had the same battle every time he was met with what to do with his precious evening leisure, which was rare. Toshinori argued with himself. This was a totally normal lone bachelor activity, right? ( Maybe for a young one…) He wasn't cheating on anyone. Wasn't currently neglecting a current matter. A slow, peaceful night was so rare, and it's not like he was watching without paying. The rebuttal was that he was All Might of all people. He shouldn't be slinking around these sorts of establishments where the crooks hang, wasting a minuscule portion of his hero paycheck pining after some dreamy dancer.

You were so beautiful, though… It was your job to be beautiful, of course, of course. But, if Toshinori wanted anything else, it would be to see you every night for the rest of his life. Okay...He was aware he was being dramatic, that maybe that wasn't true. It was the twin trapped in his underwear talking. That's it. Just like it was telling him to stick your underwear in a plastic bag in his drawer at home, and to withdraw some cash for next time, even though there certainly wasn't going to be a next time.

Street lights passed in blurry, wet puddles, and disappeared in rivets beneathing the looming shadows of buildings. The mist turned to a light rain as Toshinori finally made it to the proper door of his private apartment. He put the nights prize away, the drawer like he discussed. He had a swift shower, a swifter meal, and then reset the alarm on his phone for daily hero vigilance and prattling about Might Tower tomorrow.

He sank into bed, still ignoring the lingering ache between his legs. For any other reason, he would have taken care of it, but he surmised that actually stroking himself off this time might shift his feelings and thoughts of you in an… weird, unsure direction. He didn't know what allowing things to become physical, even though minute, would do.

He checked the time. He had to be up in four hours. His weary blue eyes fell to the sky out of a nearby window. Even the moon had taken off her make-up and gone to bed before him; slumbering behind storm clouds. Another sigh. Instead of counting sheep, he was counting every time you smiled at him.

++++

You didn't see your favorite again the next night. That was a little disappointing. You almost thought about waltzing over while you were off of the stage and flirting with him. Eh...on the job, but no one would know the difference between trying to pick up, or butter up a patron. You didn't have a type, fat guys, skinny guys, whatever. It was nice to see a bean pole taller than you. Men seldom were if they weren't influenced in size by a quirk. But again, he wasn't in tonight. Maybe you'd see the fella in the next month or so, whatever he was doing.

"Bye Baambie! Get home safe!" You and all the other dancers used your stage names instinctively, even in saying goodbye. You issued out a loud 'I will!' and a wave as you gathered your bags. Your shift was over, so it was time to go home and get off your feet. The glitter in your fur was starting to become itchy and you were eager for a liberating bath.

One of the meat-heads-for-hire your boss had stationed about the club escorted you out after finishing the last bouts of 'employee protocol'. You thanked him like you usually do, and then minded your business toward the train station. Rain boots were a different look from stripper heels. So were sweatshirts and jeans, and a makeup-less face. You kept your pace swift, not wanting to miss your only ride home for a while. Not wanting anyone in the club vicinity to recognize you, either. You checked the time on your phone. You had to peel back the chunky, animal character shaped case to properly open it. You needed to be in bed in two hours if you wanted enough sleep for that morning class you had tomorrow.

The train at this time was mostly empty. There was a couple: two fellows at the right end, and then one sitting by himself on the left near the other car door. You might not have recognized the fellow on the left without the strobing strip club lights, but you did. His wild blonde mane and stature were unmistakable.

He recognized you too, and your eyes met for a fraction of a second. It wasn't... awkward per say…just unexpected. Seeing him here, in real ordinary life and not in a realm of debauchery. Grubby public transit. You kept your eyes on your phone, eyes trying to find something new in the leaping cow background of your home screen. He didn't move, thinking to do the same, distract himself. Toshinori pretended he didn't see you, pretended he wasn't here because he semi-successfully stopped himself from going back again tonight.

While you were turned away, he effectively failed at pretending. You were just as cute in jeans and a sweatshirt as you were in a robe and thong. He tore his attention away, to prevent himself from being creepy, and to discreetly eye up the other gentlemen on the train that were now moving toward you.

One smelled of liquor, and was obviously tipsy. The other fellow appeared irritated by the state his friend was in. They must have just left the club in Kamino, too.

"Heeeeyyyyy youuu'reee Baaaambieeee~!" The slurring fellow smiled, managing to recognize you. "You...you going to your house-home? To…to your home?"

"Something like...that." You offered a smile, though it was obvious you were cringing and uncomfortable. You knew he was a villain, more like a grunt level thug, but you didn't know his name. Mr. Drunk Guy was swaying closer.

"Dude, shut up. C'mon." Hushed tone, his friend was just as much of a punk ass, because he wasn't actively coming to get him.

"Can I come, too? I'm not... I'm not doing nothing right now. I was uh, watching you in the thing before…the thing...the club. You're a pr-o-o-oo. Like a heroooo~"

"Hmmmmm," you squinted and kept your voice low as well. You didn't want to talk here. It was rude. "I don't. I don't think so...Thanks?"

It was a relief when the train finally came to your stop. You snagged your bags and made a speedy exit. You ignored the two 'gentlemen' and swept by. Blondie, who was a wound up coil in his seat up until this point, caught your eye again as you exited. You didn't say anything, but gave him a formal acknowledgment; a look that said 'Good luck with those guys…'

You thought the night was returning to normalcy. The wind whipped through your hair, chilling the sweat that collected on your scalp. The rain picked up ever so slightly, but you didn't mind. You focused on the sound it made as it made contact with the pavement. You were comfortable with walking alone, with your apartment, your bed, a few blocks away.

But truthfully, you still had a problem. At least Mr. Drunk was still your problem. He slithered out after you, leaving Mr. Gutless far, far behind in the train. You didn't even realize he was trailing you until he tripped over the grate of a drainage feed. He barely caught himself as he kicked up plenty of draining water, setting his shifting body upright. The moon poked her head out for just a moment to illuminate the side of Mr. Drunk's face. It was covered in dusky green scales, like some sort of slimy snake, and his eyes were a half-lidden yellow.

You kept walking, your hand clutching your phone. You turned a corner, leading him away from the direction your apartment was in.

"H-Hey! You said I could come over, riiight?" The more and more Mr. Drunk pleaded, the more he slurred. He became unintelligible. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and you thought it would end at his lips, but it just kept going and going and going until it slipped against the pavement. Much to your horror, it spun out like a whip and cracked out toward you.

"Oh, hell no!" You yanked your other bag under your arm and prepared to drag out the (very illegal) knife you kept hidden behind the ripped inner seam, but in a gust of wind, you couldn't see your potential assailant anymore. He was blown away in an instant, tumbling like a weed several blocks back. He smacked headfirst into a heap of pallets in a far alley. You whipped around the massive figure blocking your view; absolutely confused and bewildered.

"HA HA HA! Never fear! For I am here, miss!" All Might bellowed out, hands on his hips, and head still thrown back from his victorious laugh.

The night had completely bypassed normality.

"A-All Might?!" You stammered, still trying to get a full grasp on what had just happened. "All Might?!" You snatched your hand from your purse, hoping he didn't catch the glint of the knife you had almost flung out.

"Good god...thanks?!" You were unsure of what else to say. You'd never met the guy in person. Never ever thought you would meet the guy in person in your life! He was all the news, and talk shows, and internet went on about. You weren't too in the loop when it came to what heros were doing what, but you'd be crazy to not know who this big brute was.

You got a good look at him while he was up close, just about looming over you like the cityscape did. You'd never get the opportunity to again, you were very sure. Way taller than you thought he'd be. And the camera didn't lie. The button up and slacks he was wearing were stretched taut, stitch popping, over his form. He had muscles on display you didn't even know existed.

"Thanks so much. I promise I'm not with that guy. He was trying to follow me home." From where, was obviously not the number one hero's business. You took a deep breath to settle the adrenaline that was still coursing through your system. You just registered your heart thumping. Your horns had unwound and stood upright on your head like the sharp points of a raging bull's rack. You didn't have the energy to use your quirk to shift them back into something much less threatening.

"No worries!" All Might assured you. "Please, be safe out late by yourself, ma'am. I'll take care of this snake." He winked, and you couldn't help but snort. All Might was really...that cheesy in person, too. With another sexy wink, and his final quip, he was ready to take off, but you had to stop him.

"Wait!" You stuffed your hand in your purse ( Not for the very illegal knife this time.) "Please accept this as a token of my gratitude." It really wasn't a business card or a real gift, but you handed it off with a slightly lowered head, and two hands anyway.

"Oh?" All Might's eyes were shadowed, so you couldn't quite tell if he was genuinely interested or just entertaining you. He was a big busy guy, but you know...maybe he'd like to visit and unwind on their more...uh, hero friendly nights. You won't find a villain around when the heroes with a license are allowed to enter and drink for free. Villains have never stopped clients like Captain Celebrity from visiting though, have they?

You had your own 'frequent flyer' card of sorts for regulars. It was for promotional purposes of course, to make patrons feel more special so they'd tip a little more. It was a white card with the club's info, but on the other side was a decorative symbol, a glittery gold ram, with your stripper name in a suggestive, cursive font beneath it. In the corner was a number, eight, that you had written there personally in a glitter pen to keep track of the ammount you were handing out.

"Baambie…?" All Might pretended to pronounce your name for the first time. His heart was hammering just a little with excitement. It was a token, or voucher for a private, back room dance.

"Yes, um...I get it if it's not your thing. I was going to give it to someone else tonight, but I think you should have it if you ever want to relax. The least I can do. I'd love to dance for you." You gathered the gall to bat your eyelashes at All Might and use your high pitched character voice to punctuate your appreciation.

"Uh…." He seemed confused or flustered, you thought. Flustered was right, but he certainly wasn't confused. "I will, ah...Consider!" All Might seemed to regain some sense of composure. "I really must be off! Be safe miss!" And just as quickly as he came, he was gone before a crowd could gather.

++++

Another month passed since the whole slimy guy incident. You haven't seen your favorite for a long while, either. Maybe seeing him on the train scared him off. It made you a little sad. Not just because of the money, but because you genuinely liked seeing him come in. You thought he was cute. It was whatever, though. That's how you usually addressed things. Took whatever as it comes.

You never told anyone about seeing All Might that night. You didn't think anyone would believe you. What plagued you most was the fact that you actually gave him your card. You're not a very blushy girl, but you blush every time you think about it. You're glad it can't be seen through your fur. God, he must have looked up what the card was and took a hard pass. All Might probably wouldn't want that kind of patronage on his track record. Really, you totally understood.

So the day you were told someone was asking to have a private dance with you, on the premise of one of your cards, you were thrown for a loop. You haven't handed one out in a while, aside from the one you gave All Might? Maybe it was some hot shot back in country, wanting to show off in the back room.

But your job, your job, your job. You had work to do, so you excused yourself to make your appearance in the private room. It was cooler than the main portion of the building, not as many people. It was decorated differently to make it look more special. You didn't mind being there by yourself. There was surveillance, and a guard of sorts on the other side of the door. You were almost hoping that All Might would have indulged in your offer, but you were positive that was pure fantasy. Besides, if he were here, all the loud, rowdy thugs in tonight would have scattered like rats.

Anyway, show time. You entered to greet whoever it was that was going to be receiving a lap dance from you. Taking a deep breath, you began with a slow, dramatic saunter. Your hips held the extra sway of your strut. As you shifted out of the shadow and into the light, your private patron also came into view. Bright blue eyes that were vivid in the shadows of his brow. Wild blonde mane, and cut cheeks.

Your deep brown eyes met his, your favorite. He perked up, almost up and out of his seat. Toshinori could instantly see the surprise in your eyes. He stammered, thinking he really owed you an explanation as you held your hand out to receive the card from him. The number eight in pink glitter pen ink was scribbled in a corner. Certainly your handwriting. The one you vividly remember handing to All Might. You couldn't say you didn't wonder how he got it.

"I uh...I'm actually All Might's assistant, you see!" He awkwardly laughed, clumsily tugging a roll of cash out his breast pocket. While he was flustered, you scribbled something down on the card with a pen that had been tucked away in your wooly hair. "He couldn't make good use of it, for reasons I'm sure you'll understand, so he passed it on to me. I hope you don't mind?"

Huh...small world.

"Of course not," You slunk like a cat onto his lap and pressed a clawed finger to his lips. He shut the hell up right then and there.

"You know, my boss might get a little mad at me, but if you ask nicely, I'll let you touch. Don't tell anyone, okay?" You gave him a real smile and guided his big, bony hands to your big bottom. You felt his fingers instinctively grip and hold on for dear life beneath the anchor of your tail. 

"You know you're my favorite, too, after all." You whispered in his ear while slipping the card, with your cell phone number on it, back in his breast pocket.

[andtheniwrotemarvel]

Salamander (Part 6)

Newt Era HP!Steve/Bucky/Peggy x Reader

Assumed female reader

Word Count: 2349

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

With Peggy dressed up in red and you in silver, you apparated to the entrance of The Blind Pig. It was concealed by a large poster of a woman looking at her reflection in a mirror. As soon as you appeared, the woman's eyes moved to focus on you. You stepped forward, knocked on the wall four times, and as soon as you did, the eyes whipped back to reveal the eyes of a suspicious guard.

"Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes, but I always carry an umbrella," you responded.

"Come on in," the guard allowed.

The door swung open, revealing a raucous speakeasy filled with all sorts of beings. A glamorous goblin created smoky images with her wand and sang a jazzy tune that you thought you might have heard the last time you were here. It wasn't hard to find Queenie and Jacob flirting over by the bar, and you quickly spotted Newt's blue coat in the crowd.

You sat down next to Newt and Tina, who were sitting next to each other at a table, greeting them with a bright smile.

"Tina, this is Peggy Carter. Peggy, this is Tina Goldstein, and I'm sure you remember Newt," you introduced.

"It's a pleasure, Miss Goldstein," Peggy nodded.

"Likewise, Miss Carter."

"And you, Mr. Scamander? How has life treated you these last years?" Peggy asked.

"Better than I expected," he said with a little glance at you. "I'm living out of a suitcase, but it's a rather impressive suitcase if I do say so myself."

"It's more like he lives in a suitcase," you corrected. "The very small area that I've seen of it was rather impressive."

From across the room, Queenie signaled to Tina. From the depths of the speakeasy emerged a smartly-dressed goblin smoking a cigar. He eyed you, Peggy, and Newt warily before sitting at the head of the table. A house-elf hastily brought him a drink.

"So you're the guy with the case full of monsters, eh?" Gnarlak asked, paying no attention to you and Peggy.

"News travels fast," Newt commented. "I was hoping you'd be able to tell me if there have been any sightings. Tracks. That sort of thing."

The goblin downed his drink, and another house-elf brought him a paper to sign. "You've got a big price on your head, Mr. Scamander. Why should I help you instead of turnin' you in?" he asked threateningly. The house-elf scampered away with the signed document.

"I take it I'll have to make it worth your while," Newt said.

"Let's consider it a cover charge," Gnarlak confirmed smugly.

Newt naively pulled a couple of galleons from his pocket and slid them across the table.

Barely looking up, Gnarlak sniffed, "MACUSA's offerin' more'n that."

Newt thought for a moment, then pulled a beautiful metal instrument from another pocket.

The goblin almost seemed interested as he said, "Lunascope?" but then let everyone down, saying, "I got five."

Newt rummaged in another pocket and pulled out a frozen, glowing red egg. "Frozen ashwinder egg!" he exclaimed.

"You see, now we're--" Gnarlak stopped, suddenly spotting Pickett, who was poking his head out of Newt's pocket. "Wait a minute, that's a bowtruckle, right?"

"No," Newt lied, placing his hand over the pocket protectively.

"Ah, come on, that's a bowtruckle--they pick locks, am I right?"

"You're not having him."

"Here, you can have my fist in your face. Does that appeal to you?" you snarled, your eyes narrowing. Beside you, Peggy snickered. She hadn't seen this side of you, her favorite side of you, since Hogwarts.

"(Y/N), this would normally be very attractive, but now is not the time," Newt warned you.

"Miss (L/N), if you so much as raised your fist to try and hit me, I've got guys all around us that'll make sure you're dead before you follow through," Gnarlak smirked snidely. "Well, good luck gettin' back alive, Mr. Scamander, what with the whole of MACUSA on your back." The infuriating goblin stood up and started to walk away.

In agony, Newt stopped him, "All right." He extracted Pickett from his pocket and offered him to the goblin, the bowtruckle clinging to his hands and crying. "Pickett," he whispered softly. Newt couldn't even look at the little green creature after Gnarlak had him in his disgustingly bent fingers.

"Ah yeah," he smiled wickedly. "Somethin' invisible's been wreakin' havoc around Fifth Avenue. You may wanna check out Macy's department store. Might help with what you're looking for."

"Dougal," Newt whispered. "Right, one last thing. There's a Mr. Graves who works at MACUSA. I was wondering what you knew of his background."

Gnarlak stared knowingly at Newt, but didn't reveal anything. "You ask too many questions, Mr. Scamander. That can get you killed."

A house-elf carrying a crate of bottles rushed into the speakeasy. "MACUSA are coming!" he alerted, shouting loudly, then disapparated. Others in the bar hurriedly did the same.

"You tipped them off!" Tina accused Gnarlak angrily, getting to her feet.

"You slimy, stinking--"

"Not right now, (Y/N)," Peggy advised.

The many wanted posters hanging on the wall updated to show Tina's, Newt's, and your faces as aurors began to apparated into the speakeasy.

Seemingly innocently, Jacob sauntered up to Gnarlak. "Sorry, Mr. Gnarlak," he apologized, then punched the goblin's face. "Reminds me of my foreman!" he shrugged to Queenie.

"Oh, so Jacob can hit him, but I can't?" you protested.

"Take a stab at it while you can," Peggy encouraged you. "Not a literal stab, though. Actually, you do whatever you feel you need to do."

Drawing your fist back, a still-dazed Gnarlak dropped Pickett to shield his face. It was to no avail, however, as you nailed his nose with a loud crack.

Newt crawled around the floor, looking for where Pickett might have scurried off to. He finally found him clutching a table leg. Only just in time, the group congregated in the center of the bar. Jacob knocked down a shot of Gigglewater, letting out a high-pitched laugh before everyone disapparated.

The six of you reappeared in front of Macy's Department Store. You had passed by it once or twice before on your little adventures around the city, but you had never actually thought about going in. As you looked through the windows, you spotted a handbag sliding down a mannequin's arm. The sudden movement caught everyone else's eye, as well, and you all rushed to the window to watch as the bag floated deeper into the store. All four of the women in your group sensed that Now was not the time for dresses, so you used magic to change your clothes into something more practical. Then, quietly, the group tiptoed into the store, hiding behind the Christmas displays so as not to startle the creature carrying the bag.

"So Demiguises are fundamentally peaceful," Newt whispered, "but they can give a bit of a nasty nip if provoked."

"Let's do our best not to provoke it, then," you said.

The Demiguise then appeared. Covered in long, silver fur, it was a fairly short creature, perhaps the size of a small child. It reached up to a counter to snatch a box of sweets.

"You three," Newt said to Tina, Queenie, and Jacob, pointing to the other side of the Demiguise, "head that way." They began to move away quietly. "And try very hard not to be predictable."

They exchanged confused glances, and Tina looked to you for a possible explanation. You shrugged, not knowing any more than they did.

From above you came a muffled roar that you knew wasn't coming from the Demiguise. The little hairy creature looked up toward the ceiling upon hearing the sound, then resumed shoving sweets into the handbag.

"Was that the Demiguise?" Tina mouthed to Newt.

"No, I think it might be the reason the Demiguise is here," he whispered back. He motioned to you and Peggy to follow him closely, and you began creeping quickly down an aisle toward the Demiguise.

It turned around, realizing that it had been discovered. After looking at Newt quizzically, it moved up a set of side stairs. Newt gave a small smile and followed it. Everyone else followed. At the top of the stairs was a huge attic, walls lined from top to bottom with shelves with boxes full of china kitchenware.

The Demiguise shuffled through the attic in a patch of moonlight, and after taking a quick look around, it turned out its bag of sweets onto the floor.

"Its sight operates on probability, so it can see the most likely immediate future," Newt explained softly.

"That's why you told us to try not to be predictable," you realized. "How interesting!" Newt nodded, a broad grin on his face. He began creeping up to the Demiguise, the grin being replaced by worry.

"So what's it doing now?" Tina asked.

"It's babysitting," the wizard answered as the Demiguise held up one of its sweets, offering it to something unseen.

"What did you just say?" Tina questioned.

"This is my fault," Newt started defeatedly. "I thought I had them all, but I must have miscounted."

"Miscounted what now?" Peggy pressed.

"An Occamy."

"Merlin help us," you groaned.

"Why? What's an Occamy?" Tina worried.

As Jacob and Queenie stepped forward to look around more of the attic, the moonlight shifted to reflect off of the blue scales of a giant snake-like bird hiding in the rafters.

"It's babysitting that?" the brown-haired American witch queried in awe and fear. The Occamy snaked slowly down toward your group and the Demiguise, which again offered up a sweet.

Newt remained unmoving. "Occamies are choranaptyxic, so they grow to fill available space," he stated slowly and calmly, trying not to spook the huge creature. It turned its head to the sound of its caretaker's voice, and he held up a hand gently, cooing, "Mummy's here."

You couldn't help but smile at that; Newt considered himself the mother of his creatures, not just a caretaker.

Queenie took a few steps forward, accidentally kicking a Christmas ornament, which made a small jingling noise.

The Occamy, startled by the sudden sound, reared up with a loud screech. Newt's attempt to calm it was fruitless, and the creature scooped him onto its back as it swooped.

Queenie and Jacob staggered back to find cover from the violently thrashing Occamy, and you pushed Peggy and Tina back and out of the way, shielding them with yourself.

"Right, we need an insect, any kind of insect," Newt shouted, sounding logical even in the midst of the danger. "And a teapot! Find a teapot."

Tina dropped to the floor, army-crawling and trying to find either of the two items.

The Occamy's wings crashed down to the floor, barely missing Jacob as he scrambled for safety, which was difficult with the creature now clinging to his back. As it grew more and more distressed, its wings thrashed upward, destroying the building's roof.

"Are we witches or not?!" Peggy shouted.

"Right!" Tina called back.

"Accio insect!" you yelled, a disgusting little bug then zooming into your hand. The Occamy, still scared and thrashing about, slammed you into a wall with its tail, the bug escaping your grip as you were buried in shelves.

Performing a bit of nonverbal magic, Tina summoned a teapot. "Teapot!" she cried out once it was safely in her grasp.

At her shout, the Occamy reared its head, pinning Jacob and the Demiguise against one of the rafters. Jacob had acquired a bug, a cockroach, as well, but as he and Tina were on opposite sides of the attic, they had no way to get the roach into the teapot.

Suddenly, everything went still. The Demiguise looked shiftily upward, then disappeared. Jacob followed where the little creature's gaze had been, and found the Occamy's face very close to his own as it stared intently at the cockroach in his hand.

Newt, trapped just on the other side of the Occamy's head, whispered, "Roach in teapot..."

Jacob gulped, knowing what he had to do. In a last-ditch attempt to soothe the Occamy before he acted, he shushed it shakily. He cast a meaningful glance at Tina, warning her of what he was about to do.

He threw the roach.

It soared through the air, and the Occamy followed it. Newt managed to jump off of its back and land safely on the floor, while Queenie took cover, using a colander as a helmet. Just as you cleared the shelving from your head, the Occamy's tail knocked more down, again covering you.

Teapot outstretched, Tina ran across the attic, hurdling over the creature's coils as she went. She fell to her knees and slid to the center of the room, the cockroach landing perfectly inside the teapot. The Occamy reared once more, and began to shrink rapidly as it dove into the teapot.

Newt leapt forward and jammed a lid on top of it, trapping the Occamy inside. Everyone sighed heavily in relief.

"Choranaptyxic," Newt said. "They also shrink to fit the available space. He took the top off of the teapot to see the now very tiny Occamy thoroughly enjoying its cockroach.

Peggy and Jacob helped clear all of the broken shelving from off of you, Jacob helping you to your feet after they got enough off so you could stand.

"That's a nasty cut you've got there," he commented, looking at a slice on your forehead.

"I've been through worse, believe me," you smiled at the muggle--or no-maj, whatever they called them here. You and Peggy walked over to where Newt and Tina were looking at the Occamy in the teapot while Jacob went to check on Queenie.

"Tell me the truth," Tina said. "Was that everything that came out of the case?"

"That's everything, and that's the truth," Newt confirmed.

"What about the Billywig I saw while we were on recess?" you asked. "I'm assuming it came from your case."

"Billywig?" Tina questioned.

Newt's face flushed red. "He's fine. He's not noticeable enough to cause a ruckus."

Tags: @shamvictoria11 @cookies186 @sweeneytoddler