#the first one is based off those paintings of the very small black cat with a big poofy collar :]

[funkbun]

-Drops SO HARD onto my knees- Please....please more bby grumpuses for the poor....plz...

not just one, but TWO baby grumpy babies for the price of one (ask). ur welcome

[marlequinncos]

Cosplay Build Guide: Marko's Jacket from The Lost Boys (1987)

I am a lover of the horror genre; horror movies, books, games, you name it! And one of my favorite horror movies is the 1987 classic “The Lost Boys”, which focuses on a gang of motorcycle-riding vampires in the fictional California town of Santa Carla. I'm also a big fan of thrifting and modifying items for cosplay. I decided to combine those two things and make a garment that has lived rent-free in my head since I first saw the film: the colorful patchwork jacket worn by the vampire Marko.

I'm going to walk you through how I made Marko's jacket, breaking down the different parts that comprise the garment.

Marko’s outfit is made up of several components: a white cropped tank top, light wash denim jeans, leather chaps, custom painted leather moto boots, fingerless motorcycle gloves, a black skull earring, and of course, that iconic and extremely loud jacket. 

All four titular vampires have a signature jacket they wear in the movie, and Marko’s is by far the most elaborate and distinctive. It consists of three main parts: the base jacket, the Italian tapestries, and the patches. Because of the nature of this build, I had to do a ton of intensive research to determine the individual and highly specific parts of the jacket. My main references were photos from movie memorabilia auction sites whenever one of the original jackets went up for sale, since they photograph the jacket from all angles.

Part 1: The Base Jacket

Marko’s base jacket is, according to my research, a men’s black Levi’s denim jacket in a size 40, which I believe translates to a medium. Now, I’m a petite woman (5’3”, athletic but slim), so I knew that the exact jacket would be too big for my frame. Instead, I found a men’s black denim jacket in an extra small; it's very similar in style to the original, but a little better proportioned for me. It's still very much oversized though. The first things I did were remove the buttons and pockets, and I cut off the hem of the jacket and the sleeve cuffs. Then I tossed the jacket in the washing machine to fray the edges. 

Part 2: The Tapestries

The hardest part of the jacket by far was finding the tapestries, for two reasons. The first is that the tapestries were all from the 1960’s and 1970’s, meaning I had to scour vintage stores and websites to find the right ones. The second is the variation. Six jackets were made for each Lost Boy in the movie; this is standard for a film, since some jackets would be used for closeups (the”hero” jackets) while others were used for stunts, and a few even have intentional holes in them for harness rigging. Because of that and the thrifted nature of the jacket, the Marko jackets for the film all differ slightly in the placement of the tapestries and patches.

There are five tapestries in total. Three are velvet: the matador, the peacock, and the leopard with the messed up face. These are impossible to dupe via Spoonflower or Contrado (custom fabric printing websites) due to the fact that these three are essentially small rugs. The other two, chariot lady and cat lady, are dupable via Spoonflower or Contrado printing since they aren’t the same fabric as the others.

The two pin-up tapestries are nearly impossible to find, more so than the velvet ones. In my months of searching, I never found either pin-up tapestry, so I had them printed by Contrado, along with the collar trim.

If you go searching for the velvet tapestries, you'll notice that there are several different versions of each one, with slight changes in color and placement of things in the art. How accurate you want to be is up to you. My peacock and matador are accurate to the tapestries on one of the stunt jackets, whereas my leopard is the correct color but wrong direction. That's doesn't bother me much, personally, especially since the leopard is the hardest of the velvet tapestries to find by far.

Once the tapestries were acquired, I measured different sections based on the dimensions of the jacket, mapped it out using washi tape on the tapestries, and then cut them all out. There was a decent amount of math involved here, specifically regarding scaling the sections of tapestry down by a few inches since my jacket is smaller than the original. I then arranged them all onto the denim jacket and pinned them in place before hand sewing them (yes, you read that right; I hand sewed this whole thing) on in the correct overlap. I also added the rhinestones to the cat lady.

I recommend using embroidery needles and upholstery thread to attach the tapestries to the jacket, due to the thickness and the weight. I also sewed along the designs in the tapestries themselves to better hide the stitching within the image.

Part 3: The Patches

Marko’s jacket has a total of 26 different patches on it, most of which are motorcycle or punk themed. For these, I found a seller on Etsy who makes 24 of them, and I used Contrado to print the remaining two (the anarchy symbol and the large skull) on canvas and added the stitching. You could thrift and find the patches as well, but here's the thing: while some of these patches are pretty easy to find, others seem to be nonexistent, to the point that I wonder if some were made exclusively for the movie. That's why I went and purchased my patches instead of hunting them down. My personal favorite is the “Screw U” one. One fun fact about the patches is that the large winged skull on the back is a leftover from the movie “The Warriors”.

I once again hand sewed these all on as per the references from the movie. You might think that ironing the patches on is an easier method, but there's a few reasons why that won't work: 1) the patches in the movie are sewn on; if you zoom in, you can see the stitching 2) I'm not sure the patches would even adhere to the velvet and velour of the tapestries and 3) if you decide you don't like the placement of a patch that you sewed on, you can just seam rip the stitching and adjust it, which you can't really do as cleanly with an ironed-on patch.

Part 4: The Tassels

The tassels on the jacket’s shoulder are not tassels at all; they’re squid skirts (a type of fishing lure), which is something I never knew existed until I started researching for this build. For these, I found a fishing tackle website that had the closest match to the colors I needed, a blue-grey/orange and a yellow/green. Both squids also have glitter and little eyes painted on.

Part 5: Weathering and Finishing Touches

Lastly, I weathered the jacket to give it that lived-in look. For the dirt/dust on the patches, I used powder eyeshadow. I also picked at the edges of the tapestries to fray them a bit. And to make the patches less stiff, I just broke the jacket in by wearing it around my house. The great thing about this jacket is that the more I wear it and the more it weathers, the better it'll look.

FAQ

How heavy and warm is the jacket?

The jacket is made of denim and rugs, so its pretty warm and heavy. It honestly feels like wearing a weighted blanket, which is a nice bonus if you're anxiety made flesh like I am. It makes a lot of sense for the jacket to be on the heavier side, because if you’ve been to Northern California, you know how cold it can get on the coast, especially at night (not sure if vampires can feel cold, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

How long did it take you to make the jacket?

I don’t time my cosplay builds, but I can guess based on the amount of TV/movies/podcasts/playlists consumed as I was working on it. I'm also pretty fast when it comes to hand sewing. By my estimation, the jacket took me about 45-50 hours of work, and that’s not counting the time I spent searching for the tapestries.

Can you make me one?

Sorry friend, I don't take commissions. Even if I did, there's no guarantee I could find the exact tapestries again. I appreciate the interest though!

One of the most useful resources for making this jacket is the Replica Prop Forum! There's a ton of information there, as well as discussions and troubleshooting about the construction of the jacket.

I hope you enjoyed this walkthrough of Marko's jacket! This was a fun build and I'm really proud of the finished product. I'm going to make the rest of Marko's outfit + wig to complete the cosplay, so stay tuned for that!

If you have any other questions, feel free to plop them in my inbox! In addition to tumblr, you can also find my cosplay work on instagram and bluesky @/marlequinncos

[cxyotl]

HI OK SO

first up we have . ok you need the context first. I go by Adam frequently yeah. but I’m also REALLY bad at finding names I like for ocs. so. None of these are self inserts but they’re all. theyre all called Adam. (But like /gen bc self inserts are cool)

Oc #1:

parrot hybrid. you know the dark blue with yellow parrot? imagine that. they have the taloned hands and feet that avian hybrids usually have, but they aren’t really scaled. it’s more like bone/nail structure and heavier calluses. theyre around 5’3 but 5’7-ish when tiptoeing (biological for reaching/take-off/intimidation) and a wingspan of 12-13 feet. darker hair and eyes to blend in with vegetation and dark plumage.

humans also have these really cool bioluminescent stripes along our bodies and I though, hey what if adam-1 had that but a little brighter? so imagine like really really faint scars that work in an camouflage way. for a lot of mobs (which I headcanon to be able to see infrared and other wavelengths depending on the mob) they can pick up on those things to find players/food, and so they would have slightly brighter ones that help them to blend in with colorful surroundings.

very picky eater, and sensitive to lots of sugars and wheats (parrots + cookies = hell no). mainly a carnivore when it comes to diet.

I’d say their personality is closer to omnivert. they’re very loud when everyone else and quiet with people they trust/care for. a prankster ofc. creeper noises do numbers among the crowds (evryone funkingf hates it /lh). they don’t settle down. they like a small base and exploring.

they have a prosthetic leg from the knee down that’s netherite (bc having a prosthetic break is SHIT). It makes cool clank clink noises when they walk on hard surfaces if they don’t have leather bindings for talons n such on.

not too many scars. they usually avoid conflict but they have one along their arm from a badly healed break.

that’s all I really have for 1 unless you want me to go into bone structure and anatomy n such ^^

Oc #2:

I got a little obsessed with sculk when it came out so their colour palette + looks reflect that. imagine like the “pillars” on the sculk shrieker but a little smaller and put it on their skull. like a crown almost. very dark hair. BLIND gotta make em blind. then imagine taking pitch black paint and dipping it to your elbows. their arms look like that. then the veins a bit up the arms fade from black to a sculk-blue (all vv muted though bc veins are under the skin ofc). I like the idea that the pillars would be someone else on the body too but I’m not sure where.

short! they live underground ofc they’re gonna be short. they also navigate through sound like the sculk but it’s closer to echolocation than getting your senses triggered by a sound.

low empathy, very matter-of-fact and literal. herbivore too I’d like to think they eat glow lichen and roots from the lush caves. might eat a fish or two if they can get access to one. xp doesn’t do much for them bc they’re a sculk shrieker hybrid and not a sculk one.

lots of scars!! mob run-ins, falling of ledges, etc. there’s one all along their back that looks like poorly healed roadrash from accidentally tumbling off a cliff edge.

ok I have three more hybrid ocs (another avian, a ravager, and a phantom) but I’m getting tired of typing mmy fingers hurt ^-^ feel free to tell me about yours!!

I LOVE YOURS WAILS AND CRIES

ok i got like four. first is an aardwolf hybrid. they’re a cowboy named rigby and i lov them. standard aardwolf coloring w bright yellow eyes and a red bandana. they have a touch of the tism and try to stay kinda low when they can. no big or visible scars bc they run the second they sense danger. mostly a thief and collector.

second is a cat hybrid. she’s actually a mix of two of my very first minecraft ocs! her name is gapple, shes a bobcat, and shes got one yellow eye and a purple prosthetic eye bc she was hit by a torch as a kid and that burned her eye badly. gapple is more of the fighter and shes got way more scars than rigby. notable her face where the torch burned her and her shoulders from wrestling mobs.

third one is edmund. hes my actual oldest oc had him since i was like 8 years old or smthn. hes an average enderman but he has no enderpearl so he cant teleport. taller than most endermen and incredibly nerdy. i miss him.

lastly there’s marco. hes a creeper hybrid and edmunds boyfriend. marco can’t blow up like other creepers can, not bc hes a hybrid but bc hes missing the key components to be able to do so. hes shy and a bit jumpy.

[clovrfrost]

My opinion on the new mini figures:

Hawkfrost and Mothwing-

Mothwing is so close to being perfect! Though this take on her color is interesting, she is a golden tabby. Right now she’s looks like Brightflower. Just make her more yellow. She also isn’t very dappled even though that’s like her thing. For some reason she doesn’t have back stripes but that’s okay, I guess. As for Hawkfrost, I am a lot less happy with him. His ears are too small and far apart, his head is too round, his nose is also too round, and worst of all, he doesn’t have a chin! Hawkfrost is sharp and elegant. He just looks dopey in the mini. If they gave him a head more like his sister, he would be golden! Heck, if you just gave him a defined chin, I would be happy. The chin is just throwing me off. Though I do like how they both have ear tufts.

Mapleshade and Crookedstar-

I like Mapleshade. I like how angry she looks. I like the placements of her markings and her ripped up ears. You can’t see it but the other side of her has a lot of ginger compared with only a few spots on black. It’s just not balanced and that’s why I don’t like it, but that’s my only real complaint. If it were me, I would make the ginger tabby part of her lightly darker. Crookedstar is weird looking. He’s ginger instead of a light brown tabby. I know that light brown and orange are close, but I think another thing that’s messing with me is that his stripes are not much darker than his base color. It’s like only one shade darker. There’s no contrast! Crookedstar’s head is funny shape too. It tapers at the bottom which is alright, but the fact that all the details are concentrated on the lower part of his face just make him look weird. I think making his eyes closer together and higher up on the face would fix this issues. The route they chose to go with his muzzle looks a bit awkward to me. And I know that having a crooked jaw is gonna look awkward, but there’s something about it. I don’t know. Also, I don’t know if this is a manufacturing error, but if you look closely you can see snowflakes in his eyes? Probably just a problem with the paint job since no one else has it, but it certainly is an intriguing feature, huh?

Darkstripe and Bluestar-

It’s an odd choice to pair these two together when they rarely interacted in canon. Maybe because Darkstripe was allied with Tigerstar who hated her? Anyway, that doesn’t matter. The dramatic eye shadow Darkstripe’s got on is throwing me for a loop. Why is it so jagged and big? Makes him look fancy which so isn’t Darkstripe. I thought he was Brokenstar at first because his fur looks more brown than dark grey, but that may just be the lighting? His stripes are not that much darker than his fur which is pretty egregious when you have a character literally named Darkstripe. I like his jagged ears. Gives him character. The scars on his nose bridge are a bit cluttered. As for the other cat, I just realized this, but Bluestar has eyebrows for some reason? No one else has eyebrows. And when I say eyebrows, I mean like lines above the eyes. It’s a shame that she will be in a permanent state of surprise her entire life. Her eye shadow looks cloud-like which is a weird thing for Bluestar. Her markings should be sleek and streamlined. It’s even weirder being paired with more sharp markings on her jaw line which fuse with her mouth making her look like the damn joker! And the little moustache she has on her muzzle make her even weirder looking. Bluestar has more of those cloud markings coming onto her legs from her belly which again, just look weird. This mini is very clashing. Also her ears are a weird shape and her nose shape just does not work.

Overall, I do not like them too much? But I will get them because I already have the other minis, why would I disrupt the flow? I need them all. My favorite cat out of these would be Mothwing and my least favorite would either be Bluestar or Hawkfrost. Bluestar just has weird markings and I just can’t get over how Hawkfrost doesn’t have a chin.

[dexabite]

because i'm bored: here's what i think about the characters of ride the cyclone!

ocean o'connell rosenberg:

definitely was a huge snob. in my language, we call those kind of people "maldita" HAHAHAH

she sounds so much like a high school bully that it's hilarious... but also, i feel like she was bullied in elem and was consequently also mean in highschool? idk she gives me that energy

DEFINITELY the kind of person to love legally blonde and mean girls and just projected it onto her persona LMAOO

though she's probably really very much a big softie once she developed at the end of the musical, but still hides it behind her bitchy and rude exterior

she looks like she would take someone's phone and squint whenever someone shows her a meme, like the way a mother would

noel gruber:

mean gay. that's it.

it's canon that whenever he's nervous or uncomfortable, he picks on his nail polish! and i love that! he's just like me fr!

i think the thing he really wanted was just a life outside of his simple one when he was alive... and i think monique gibeau was his drag persona

that said: NOEL DRAG QUEEN AAHHHH

feels like he would be more reserved because he's trying to look normal because of his mom yk, so he probably didn't have many friends outside of the choir (who weren't very close to begin with, judging from the way they talk in the beginning of the musical)

but besides that, he wants to be FLAMBOYANT and FEMININE and i love him

mischa bachinski:

iconic. stole boxes of communion wine for his eight year old cousin because of birthday. im in love with him.

sorry to noel, but he's the REAL most romantic boy in town. nothing compares to the way he sings about talia as if he couldn't live without her. get yourself a man like mischa.

probably loves ridiculous memes. would laugh at them for so long and show everyone in the choir

i think he doesn't actually watch horror movies but watches analysis videos on youtube about them like i do.

when he actually watches horror movies, he squirms around and does all of these weird movements and noises to cope with the fear 😭 not outright scream though, he's too emasculated /j

ricky potts:

he is an oc writer just like me. i love him for that.

was most likely into warrior cats as a kid, obviously marvel comics and star trek too. no way he wasn't.

he mooost likely didn't want to be in the choir in the first place but ocean forced him in it, based off his reaction to ocean trying to get people to like her again after singing about social darwinism 😭

that said, he's just like me fr... using escapism as a coping mechanism for his lonelines... i love you ricky and and your sexy cat ladies from zolar

and actually, i think he's one of the most underrated characters apart from constance which is such a SHAME...

he's so nerdy and JUST LIKE ME FR!!!

i think that before his hands degenerated, he was an artist. not a good one, but enough for people to recognize it!

jane doe:

CREEPYPASTA ENJOYER I CAN SMELL IT OFF OF HER.

creepy... i love her...

and i think that she's really good at crocheting, to add onto the whole doll aesthetic. makes tiny sweaters for ricky's cats, probably made a phone case for constance made out of wool... no matter how inconvenient it was

i think that noel would've painted her nails black too because she deserves it!!!

anyway, her and ricky are the "the bad bitch i got thanks to my autism" meme definitely. going both ways

anyway her actor's voice always sounds like an opera singers it's so impressive! that's why i believe that she can actually sing opera if they ask her to

definitely knows obscure facts about medieval torture and lions... just because!

FOORNICATION UNDER CONSENT OF THE KING!!!!

constance blackwood:

HER SONGS MAKE ME FEEL SO MANY THINGS IT'S CRAZY

the unique lesson of "there's no shame in loving my small town" ...my god you never hear that in musicals EVER

it's always "GET ME OUT OF HERE PLEASE!!!!" not the lesson that's in sugar cloud

that said, god... the fact that she doesn't like being called nice because it means that no one truly got close enough to her to know her for her goofiness... her weird thoughts, and her silly mannerisms and she had no one to vent to </3

hell, even her so called BEST FRIEND is mean to her!!!

but i feel like they'd still be close, despite that yk? best friends always stick together and as ocean develops more i think that they'd get closer until they're literally the only two who knows the other better than themselves

OH and i think that constance would've loved writing fanfic... she just has that kinda energy yk? she and noel would bond over writing and they'd talk about what they write and constance would hesitate because she doesn't want to admit that she writes gay fanfiction on ao3 😭🙏

[thiswasinevitableid]

Strange Enchantment (Sternclay)

Prompt for the 19th was: making an elaborate Halloween costume. Kudos to @bellafarallones2 and @modistress for the conversation about what would cause a bigfoot to react like a cat does to cat nip.

A great thing about his permanent placement watching the old gate is that Joseph can set his own schedule. Which means that if he wants to spend all day bent over a sewing machine with Halloween oldies singing in the background, he can. 

Barclay is taking him to a Sylph Halloween party on Sylvain. The Sylph holiday of the Longest Night has remarkable overlap with Halloween, and exiled Sylphs had long ago meshed the two celebrations into one. Now that the planet is restored, those who returned took that tradition with them. 

(Although, Barclay mentioned that Vincent wasn’t the only Sylph with an interest in Earth media. And the Pine Guard was not above DVD-based bribery. So maybe Halloween had been popular even before the exiled returned).

He’s been to Sylvain several times, but this visit is special. First off, he’s never been to a real party there, just small gatherings of friends. And he’ll be meeting members of Barclay’s extended family. Which means his costume has to be perfect.

When his fingers get tired of sewing, he switches gears and opens the box of VFX make-up he ordered, fiddling with several paints and glues, testing and re-testing combinations until his arm is covered in strange smears and splatters. 

He’s busy scrubbing them off when Barclay comes in from his lunch shift. His boyfriend looks around the room as he strips down to his undershirt. 

“Damn, babe, you weren’t kidding when you said this would be a project. Is that a cane?”

“A trick cane. I still have to get it to look authentically blood spattered.”  He dries his hands, kisses Barclay’s cheek as he returns to the rows of make-up jars. Then he quickly doubles back and clears enough space on the bed for Barclay to lay down.

The cook stretches out his legs with a groan and slips off his bracelet. As he smooths down his fur he murmurs, “Do I get to know what it is ahead of time?”

Joseph begins mixing up a test batch of fake blood, “I wanted to go with something classic, and make sure I steer clear of any monsters. And I know, I know; you said it’s not insulting to go as a werewolf or mothman but I still feel weird about it. So I’m taking inspiration from one of my favorite books and going as Jekyll and Hyde.”

“Are you gonna do the two-face thing?” Barclay scratches the air above the left side of his face. 

“I’m doing one better. In normal light, the costume will be Jekyll. But as soon as it’s low-light or, even better, dark, I’ll become Hyde. I think I can make a glow in the dark blood mixture from all these, as well as some features on my face that appear or disappear with changes in the light.” He holds up a small mason jar of black face-paint, “Indrid very nicely put an enchantment on this to help me out.”

“You know, if you asked he might make you a charm you could take on and off.”

“I could, but…well, I used to make really elaborate Halloween costumes as a kid. I wanted to do it once I was an adult and had cool parties to go to. Work kind of hamstrung that. Besides,” he glances over at his boyfriend, “you know I love a challenge.”

“Uh huh. One of my favorite things about you.” Brown eyes flutter closed. Joseph stands, lowering the music and kissing Barclay’s head before returning to his work. 

“Work” turns out to be an understatement. Three days later, with T-minus eighteen hours to the party, he’s exhausted and in the home stretch. The one mercy is that everything that needs to be sewn is finished, so he won’t accidentally attach his sleeve to his costume. 

It’s the cane that’s the problem; it’s too long to hide in his coat pocket, which means he needs to either cut it (which could mess up the structural integrity or the extension mechanism) or modify the pocket (which he may not have the materials to do, he hasn’t updated his supply list).

As he’s eyeing up the cane for where to cut, Barclay comes in from dinner. He always smells faintly of the kitchen when he comes in for bed, which will then give way to soap after he rinses off. Joseph ignores the stray flour on his shirt in favor of slumping against his stomach.

“Why do I get the feeling you hit a roadblock?”

Joseph mutters out the issue. Barclay carefully lifts the coat, holding it open while looking at the cane. 

“Any reason you can’t use the inside pocket?”

“Inside-” Joseph grabs the cane, tucking it into where Barclay is pointing, “fuck, I completely forgot about that. You’re a genius, big guy!”

“Nah, I just know that when you get deep into a project sometimes you miss stuff. Ask Dani about the cocoa powder incident. Uh, actually, maybe don’t. Babe?”

Joseph makes a small noise of assent, then goes back to the important business of falling asleep against his boyfriend. 

—----------------------------------------------

Sylph festivals are generally outdoor affairs. Joseph suspects this stems from all the years they were forced behind high walls and solid doors to keep the Quell at bay. Vincent all but confirmed this, though he did mention that Sylphs are more at ease with the natural world than humans are. 

He wonders how much of this has to do with the distinct lack of mosquitos, flies, and other outdoor annoyances. Except poison ivy, whose Sylph counterpart has bright yellow leaves that Stern got a little too close to on his second visit. The itch was soothed by Barclay dumping a curative soak into the bath and fussing over him while he sat in it.

There are so many lights strung around the town square that it can be seen from the next planet over. Purple and green string lights intermingle with floating orbs that separate and reform as they pass through the crowd. Unfamiliar, black squash take the place of pumpkins, and the candles within them cast red flames, not white. 

A werewolf in a plastic fireman’s hat squeezes past them, carrying a cup of foaming, butterscotch liquid. There’s no name for the drink in English, but it tastes like carbonated peach sweet tea with a shot of whiskey. It’s one of Joseph’s favorites. Barclay smiles indulgently and takes his hand, guiding them towards a food cart with black wings on either side. 

On their way they pass a sea of examples of the most charming element of Sylph Halloweens; the costumes. Sylphs use the holiday to dress up as the most mundane, human things they can think of; delivery drivers, waiters, middle managers, etc. This year, Barclay embraced that tradition and is dressed as a P.E teacher. 

Joseph is pretty sure he chose the costume just to show off how good his thighs look in tiny athletic shorts. 

When they reach the winged booth, two mothpeople are fluttering about within it. One, gold and black, takes orders, while one with deep blue feathers pulls taps and cleans glasses with his four arms. 

Barclay orders and sets the money on the counter. The golden mothperson chirrs and shakes his head, pushing back half the coins, “My favorite human eats free. Nice to see you again, Joseph.”

“Oh, thank you very much! And it’s great to see you too. Tonight must be busy for you all.”

“Tremendously. We did get our shipment of pumpkin syrup in time, thank goodness. Too bitter for my taste, but I was told humans enjoy it. Chupacabras as well, it seems. Here you are.” He passes them their glasses and they move quickly out of line. 

Barclay links their arms and they move around the square, checking out the booths and waving to the other Lodge residents as they’re carried past in the throng. They’re stopped repeatedly by younger Sylphs who want to know what Joseph’s costume is, and he tells them he’s a mad scientist. This satisfies all but one werewolf pup who demands further details so he can be one next year. His somewhat embarrassed mother collects him and ushers him off while Barclay stifles a laugh. 

As they turn onto one of the adjoining streets, Joseph asks, “Are you feeling okay? You haven’t stopped to order any food.”

Barclay cranes his neck, distracted, “I’m saving my appetite for something special.”

“Where-”

A chorus of voices and hoots drifts from a nearby house and suddenly Barclay is jogging, pulling Joseph with him. The building is draped in metallic orange garlands, with paper bats flapping back and forth by the windows. There’s a swirl of purple and green lights in a glyph that means “party is for anyone, come on in.”

Barclay opens the door and they step into a dim room. Joseph looks down and grins; his costume worked perfectly. His coat turns into a cape with a single tug, the make-up renders him blood spattered, and the cane slips from the inside pocket to his hand.  Barclay notices and lights up with pride.

Then his boyfriend is pulled away from him into a throng of overjoyed Bigfoots. 

In spite of his excitement, Joseph stays back. Barclay reunited with some of his family right after the gate was rebuilt. But he was away for decades, and his kind are particularly close knit. His visits will be cause for celebration for a while, and there’s no need for Joseph to take that deserved attention away from him. 

When Barclay’s free enough for the flurry of hugs, he waves Joseph over and drapes an arm around him.

“Everyone, this is Joseph. My boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah, the bigfoot hunter.” A sylph with orange-blonde fur nudges one with black, who nods.

“Um, well, it’s more complicated than that. I’m a special agent with the department of unexplained phenomenon. I got assigned to all sorts of cases.” He smiles, “but Bigfoot did have a special place in my heart.”

“Surprised it took him so long to find one”  a Sylph with fur the same color as Barclay’s smiles at his boyfriend, “voice like that should’ve attracted any of us from miles around.”

“He speaks Sylph, Gabe.” Barclay dips his head in the way that indicates his blushing. 

Gabe turns their attention to Joseph, “Really?”

“Yes. Barclay has taught me some. I’m still learning.”

“What are you two supposed to be?” A shorter, white-furred Sylph pokes Barclay in the arm. 

“Joseph’s a mad scientist from a book. And I’m a gym teacher.”

“It’s a good choice; plenty of humans are scared of those.” A Sylph with black and white fur offers Joseph his hand, “Alan. I was in Florida for a while?”

“What years? I’ve always had a theory–well, nevermind, it’s probably rude to talk about work when everyone is here to have fun. Oh, thank you.” He takes the glass of something warm and purple that someone hands him. He glances at Barclay, who gives a thumbs up. Good, they won’t have a repeat of the aphrodisiac berry pie incident. 

“Honestly, a lot of us are pretty fucking fascinated by what you do. You mind if I show your boyfriend around Barclay?”

“Nope, got plenty of catching up to do. I’ll meet you by the buffet, babe.”

—---------------------------------------------------------

“I swear, if you start crying over Aunt Lucille’s pasta salad I’m never letting you live it down.” Gabe helps themself to another bowl of Goldenroot soup. 

“It was one of those dishes I could never recreate. I tried using Miracle Whip to make the dressing and it was a fucking disaster. Jake still shudders when he sees a hard boiled egg.”

“That’s the selkie kid right? How’s he doing?”

“Good. He’s back with the Hornets. Uh, they’re a motorcycle gang in town. We get along with them better than we used to. One of them is still scared of Indrid.”

“Indrid as in Indrid Cold?”

“Yep.” Barclay sets his dish in a tub with the other dirty tableware, “He’s a good friend of mine.”

“Well look at you mister big-shot, hanging around with a court seer. If my old man was still around he’d never shut up about it.”

“Yeah.” He looks down at his shoes. It weighs on him sometimes, how if the Pine Guard had only been quicker in solving things maybe more Sylphs would have survived.

“Uh uh, none of that. Tonight is about having fun. And I got just the thing to do that and honor his memory.” Gabe slides one of several midnight blue tins over to them and pulls off the top. Inside are fruits roughly the shape and size of jet-black strawberries, halved and glazed with burnt sugar.

“Fuck, never thought I’d have these again. I can kinda get a buzz from strawberries but it’s never the same.”

Gabe passes him one, takes two for himself and downs them in one gulp. The tin stays between them as they move to a tall, round table near the wall. From here he can see Joseph, seated by the indoor bonfire, it’s magenta flames making his costume flicker between good and evil. There’s a plate in his lap and a half dozen of Barclay’s kind gathered around him. One passes him a fresh plate nearly collapsing with food and Barclay lets out a low, huffing growl. Then he looks around, praying no one heard him.

“Easy, man, you know no one is gonna move in on your mate. She’s just being polite.”

“I know. It just kinda came out.” He grabs another berry, leaving out the part where he can tell by their posture and the soft, low hoots that occasionally reach him that several of them are interested in his boyfriend “And it’s not like I blame them. Joseph’s fucking captivating when he’s not trying to be covert.”

“Were you ever scared of him?” Gabe finishes their drink and snaps twice. One of the paper bats flaps over with a fresh one.

“Fucking terrified. Bigfoot was his entire mission. He was tracking these disappearances and he was the first person I met who I ever thought could figure out what was going on.” He can feel the world slowing, the warmth spreading in his fingers and chest, “heh, he’s gonna flip his shit if he learns Janine was the one fucking up his data.”

“Come again?”

“There was a chunk of disappearances that never made sense to him. Because it wasn’t me changing my disguises those times.”

Joseph’s voice cuts the air, “Holy shit! Really?”

Barclay chuckles as Janine’s laugh bounces around the room, “That’ll make him happy. He hates an unsolved puzzle.”

He reaches for another berry and finds Gabe looking at him. The expression reminds him of his uncle. Of his dad.

“He makes you really happy, doesn’t he?”

“More than I ever thought I could be. I mean, fuck man, he” the words stick on his tongue a moment, “he’s like, like…I was wandering around for years. Even at Amnesty some part of me was still, like, out there” he gestures to the air, “wandering around looking for something. The first time he kissed me, I knew I’d fucking found it.”

“Wow. You guys were looking for each other. That’s so fucking profound.”

Barclay giggles; he forgot how his cousin gets when he’s had a few. 

“Hey, don’t laugh, I mean it. It’s some soul mate shit. Plus it’s really fucking romantic that he was kind of in love with you before he met you.”

“Never thought about it that way before.” The pleasant buzz building in his brain turns to T.V static for a moment. 

Then blue eyes meet his from across the room and Joseph is calling his name, patting the seat beside him, telling the others that Barclay can explain something far better than he can. So he tucks the box under his arm and heads for where he belongs.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Barclay once told him that it was considered good manners in Sylph culture to make sure your guests never left hungry. By that metric, the party they just left was the height of politeness. He’s certain he won’t need to eat for another week. His boyfriend, however, is still pausing on their way back to the gate to buy food from the few stalls that are still open. As he’s eating a pack of rose-colored, oval gummies, he shivers. Then he looks and Joseph and bumps all seven feet of himself up against him. 

“I’m coooold.”

Joseph takes off his coat, pulls the mechanism that turns it back into a cape before draping it over Barclay’s shoulders, “Come on, big guy, let’s get you home. We can get nice and warm under the covers.”

“Sounds good. You have the chili crisps right?” 

Joseph holds up the basket of leftovers, “In here.”

“Fucking love those things. Takis can, can suck it.”

He laughs, holding Barclay steady as the cross over. Since they drank the same things, he’s guessing his intoxicated state is due to something he ate. Whatever it was has made him talkative, easily amused, and very, very affectionate. 

When they finally make it to the Lodge, the only lights on are the Jack’O Lanterns. Ned’s running an all night Saturday Night Dead, so Joseph clicks it on once they’re in the room. Barclay is transfixed by the screen, pupils huge, as Joseph undoes the buttons, straps, and zippers that make up his costume. Getting the make-up off is hassle until he sets the remover he bought aside in favor of coconut oil. 

Vaguely tropical scented, he returns to the bedroom to find Barclay rolling and rubbing back and forth on the covers, still staring at the giant Gila Monster rampaging across the screen

“Here, hand me your costume and I can throw it in the hamper.”

Barclay tries to remove the shirt and only gets it halfway up before pouting, “It’s stuck.”

Joseph smiles, shakes his head, and crawls onto the bed. After several tries he manages to wrench a white t-shirt and tight shorts of a wiggling bigfoot. As he moves to climb off, Barclay grabs his hands with a sad growl. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Do…do you think you still would have loved me if I wasn’t bigfoot?”

Joseph gathers their hands against his chest, “Without a doubt. I mean, I was already falling for you when you showed me the truth. Besides, bigfoot was a fascination for me, a mystery to solve, a truth to prove. You, Barclay, are the man I love. That’s what you are for me. You being bigfoot was just a bonus.”

Barclay’s smile returns and he guides Joseph down for a kiss. 

“I love you so much, babe. Your, your costume fucking ruled.”

“I love you too, big guy. And thank you.” He slips free and Barclay whimpers.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some aspirin and water to put on the nightstand.”

“What for?”

Joseph flicks off the light, watches Barclay’s eyes widen in excitement as he stares at the flickering pumpkins through the window. 

“Call it a hunch.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

little birdie, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: The cat has asked the little birdie to make an appearance. You have been turning down private dances, preferring to focus on the art and glamour of the burlesque shows themselves. Besides, old money was entitled, twice your age, and, worst of all, ugly, inside and out. But Min Yoongi doubled his original offer and, well, he is new money.

these events occurred prior to twelve hours, m | jjk

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is a burlesque dancer, caged bird performance based on Dita Von Teese; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, tiny bit of striptease, red lipstick kisses on nether regions (oop), m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU - cocky, rich!Yoongi x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader; a little drabble based on this ask

--

He cocked an eyebrow at you, holding the handle of the leather crop in between his perfect white teeth.

You cocked one back, covered in diamonds, rubies, and red feathers.

The room was silent except for breathing.

These walls were soundproof.

You leaned forward, lids lowered, staring at those dark brown, cat-like eyes through your lashes, your tongue extending, the warmth of his skin and his breath against your lips. You licked the handle. His pink tongue flickered out, brushing against yours.

Instant electricity.

You retreated sharply, eyes narrowing.

“You were instructed not to touch, Min Yoongi.”

The man in the expensive designer clothes tilted his head at your cold tone, not responding. He surveyed you calmly, hint of a smirk around the leather crop, his hands behind his back. Primly tailored black vest with black satin piping with matching slacks. Silk handkerchief, cobalt blue, matching his silk shirt with the subtle checkered pattern and designer logo stitched into the squares, tone on tone. Despairingly expensive, but not gaudy or over the top. Didn’t need to be. The sheen in his black hair indicated it was pampered and well taken care of. The shine of his black oxfords indicated real leather. The strength and potency of his spiced cologne made him smell like the pure sex he was from presence alone.

Behind you, your two bodyguards stood side by side, sunglasses on, unmoving.

You agreed to this private dance when Yoongi said he was willing to pay double the initial amount he offered.

New money really spent it on the dumbest shit.

You leaned forward again, watching him carefully. You were wearing long opera-style gloves made of a lush red sparkling fabric, embellished with intricate stitching.

Lifted your hand, turning it around, palm up.

“Drop.”

He only moved his lower jaw, the leather handle falling from his lips and right into your palm.

You flicked your wrist and ran the crop up the inside of his thigh, forcefully spreading his knees with one of yours, narrowing your eyes, nicking the flared end against his crotch.

Lesser man would have jumped away.

Min Yoongi was not a lesser man.

He confidently spread his legs and tipped his head back, black hair falling over one eye, smirk on those shapely pink lips. He didn’t speak or make a sound. It was disconcerting but somehow intriguing in its own way.

As if he didn’t need to speak to indicate confidence in his position.

He was a caged bird in this private room, willingly trapped by you.

You smiled.

Fitting, for the theme of your burlesque show tonight had been a large steel birdcage at the center of the stage and you inside it, dancing within the visible enclosure, skillful hands holding onto the metal bars, lush hips swaying to ruffle the feathers attached to create a half-skirt that mimicked tailfeathers of an exotic bird. You were still wearing some of the pieces now, the lingerie, the tailfeathers, and the heavy necklace of diamonds and rubies splayed out on your collarbones and chest.

You slid onto Yoongi’s lap, closing his legs with yours, entering the alluring aura that seemed to surround him, trapping the leather crop between your crotch and his. Slow exhale, mixing with his as he lowered his chin to look you in the eye, unafraid.

“Hello, little birdie.”

You did not typically touch the men you danced for. They were usually old, crass, and undeserving of your touch. You treated it as business because that was what it was. A simple service for money. Nowadays, you cut back on the private dancing and upped your price. It just wasn’t worth it, being so close to such filth.

But.

Every once in a while.

Sometimes, you got young money like Min Yoongi.

You dragged the crop up his abdomen, up his chest, shifting your arm in a graceful swoop, turning it so it grazed his cheek, outlining that high cheekbone and elegant jaw. You stared into his eyes and he stared back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips, not backing down.

Sometimes, you got someone fuckable like Min Yoongi.

“Do you think you’re in charge here, Yoongi?” you murmured dangerously.

He ticked his head.

“I’m usually in charge everywhere I go,” he chuckled. Deep, husky voice edged with amusement. “It’s very tiring being the king and the boss all the time.”

Slow blink, piercing gaze on you with a wry smile.

“I would like to have a break from that.”

You sucked in a breath.

Min Yoongi was more than fuckable.

He was going to get fucked, tonight, by you.

You closed the distance, swiping the flared end of the crop against his lips, pressing inward, taking in his smooth fair skin, his even breath, his calm demeanor, and suddenly you wanted to mess it up, you wanted to tear down this placid façade and find what was underneath, find the passion and desire you could see shimmering in those dark brown orbs, challenging you to draw it out.

“Do you understand the position you’re in, Min Yoongi?”

He chuckled, voice low and smooth.

“Little birdie and her two shadows, I understand very well and I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Damn.

He was good.

You tossed the leather crop to the floor and captured his lips, inhaling his cologne and his scent.

Yoongi did not move his arms, devouring your lips, hungry and intense, deft tongue flickering, testing the boundaries, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth, winding with his, hot and fluid and lustful, your hands sliding up his chest and reaching his shoulders, fingers one by one falling into place, sliding your lower body up to his, sucking in his breath, heat to hardness, your body heavier from all the jewels, but Yoongi seemed unbothered, deepening the kiss and sucking on your tongue, humming contentedly.

Even though he said he wanted a break, old habits were even harder to break.

You broke the kiss forcefully, the immaculate waves of your hair tumbling down your shoulder, seeing the red lipstick smeared on those shapely, smirking lips, his eyes drifting to yours.

You lowered your arms, slowly curving your hand, pulling back your arms in one smooth arc, fingers splayed, shoulders back. Measured, slow breath, always on form, every movement a performance. He watched closely as you reached back, unhooking and unlacing the tailfeather skirt with expert precision, keeping eye contact. You didn’t need to look to undo it.

You didn’t need to look when you released it, knowing one of your bodyguards had already stepped forward to catch it, retreating to place it aside.

Yoongi smiled, dark eyes gleaming.

“An agile little birdie, I see.”

He did not need to verbalize your beauty or attractiveness.

You could see it in the way he looked at you.

Startling how lucky you were to have met such fuckable young money tonight.

You placed a gloved hand on his chest and slid one leg back, then the other, red soles clicking, tracing down his torso, kneeling now, dancing fingertips up and down his thighs, admiring them and letting him know with your gaze. Black hair over one eye again, small smile on his lips, and yet you noticed the pink tinge on his ears.

Interesting.

You retreated your hand.

Brought it to your lips.

One by one, tugging at the tips of each finger with your teeth, loosening the glove.

Dark brown orbs watched you, entranced and fascinated.

Gripping the middle finger with your other hand, tugging on the opera glove, sliding it off with one swift arc of your arm, bringing your hand behind your head as it came off, tossing the glove aside carelessly. Yoongi couldn’t see, but your hand was poised behind your head, always aware of even the unseen details, bringing the other glove to your lips and doing the same, one by one, loosening the tightness before your hand flourished out from behind your head and your arm mirrored the previous arc, into the air and behind your head, throwing the discarded glove in the opposite direction of the first. Yoongi watched with patient, precise interest, like a cat observing a bird.

He smiled appreciatively, enjoying the show.

It seemed precious, Yoongi’s smile.

A strange thought.

Painted red nails gliding up his thighs, following the shape, tracing the waistband, parted lips smeared with lipstick, the tremble of his body finally evident and, with a tight inhale, you realized you too were breathing shallowly, matching him, looking up to see his pupils dilating, his hands still behind his back.

Your index finger traced the fastening of his slacks.

Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow, questioning.

You undid it while staring at his face.

Lowered the zipper, having to lift it because of his straining erection, seeing Yoongi clench his jaw, legs tensing, shoulders shaking, watching your face, hands, the diamonds laden on your collarbones and cleavage, equally embellished bra and panties covering everything else, but it was impossible to deny, incapable to resist, inescapable sensuality between you and Yoongi, a stranger until tonight, a shadow in the crowd until this moment, now well defined by light and lust, raising his hips so you could lower his pants and boxer briefs to his knees, sitting in a heavy ornate chair in a private room with your bodyguards right behind you as you lowered your head and your lipstick-covered lips to his thigh.

Red kisses imprinted on that fair skin, shudders under your breath.

Travelling up to his hard length, tongue slipping out, tracing a fat stripe over hot, taut skin, your satisfied sigh melding with his soft hiss at the contact of your wet muscle to his hard, twitching cock.

You drifted your gaze back up to his, lazy and purposeful.

Yoongi looked down at the red lipstick kisses and his cock quivering against your warm breath, leisurely lapping at the underside of his length. His voice was a low octave, almost raspy.

“Little birdie…”

The first time he said it, it had been borderline mocking, but now there was a fondness to it. Admiration. Appreciation. Adoration.

It made your core burn and heat spread all over your lower belly, dripping between your legs.

Black hair over his eyes, breathing hard, maintaining eye contact.

“Please.”

Simple.

Effective.

Sexy.

You closed your mouth around the head of his cock, tongue lapping the underside, his scent invading your nose and your lipstick coating his skin, your fingers lacing over his hips, sliding that thick length down your tongue and into your throat, his soft moan drifting from his. He was losing control of his hands, slamming them down onto the seat of the chair and clutching the sides, manicured fingers tense, knuckles white. You tilted your head and ran the head against the curve of your teeth, heartbeat racing as you witnessed Yoongi gasping at the sensation, his broad shoulders flexing, his hips trembling in your grip, struggling to stay still.

Losing control.

Maybe he didn’t spend his money poorly after all.

You ticked an eyebrow and adjusted your head again, tongue extending past your lips, suffocating your throat with the swollen tip and cutting off your air, curling your tongue around his balls, scooping them up and pressing them to your lips, dripping saliva onto the seat, eyes on his the entire time, choking yourself on his cock and licking his balls with a blazing, intense stare. No need to say who was in charge because you knew it and he knew it, growling deep in his chest, shivering in his designer clothes from primal desire that required no such things.

You were the same, diamonds or not.

Lust feeding off lust, money or not, you probably would have fucked Yoongi regardless and you could see it in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

You pulled back and began your pace, swallowing his length hungrily, tongue all over the base of the head, stimulating the thin skin and his sensitive nerves, his breathing turning into involuntarily gasps.

Faster.

Rougher.

Tighter.

Finding that sweet spot, that moment where his expression changed and his irises were overtaken by black, mouth open and panting, locking his shoulders and his hips, feeling him throb in your constricting mouth, just a little tighter to prolong his orgasm, making it a little more difficult so he had to chase it, his handsome face wincing, black strands fallen over his eyes, his body humming with energy and arousal, so close, you could see it, smell it, hear it, his suppressed hisses and darting eyes, taking in the whole image, your back, the curve of your ass, your hands on his thighs, fingers splayed out, your mouth on him, taking him there, there, earning his wanton moans and fluttering lashes, twitching hardness and then he threw his head back, neck straining against his buttoned collar, a perfect image, his hips bucking up, lost control, spilling into your throat with a sinful gasp, his chest prominent against the silk shirt and vest, begging to be freed from its confines.

You swallowed it all, savoring his strong taste, delicious as his body.

He lowered his head slowly, panting, his previously neatly combed hair messy now, cheekbones glowing with a faint sheen of sweat.

You licked him off just as slowly, finding his dark brown, cat-like eyes once more.

Yoongi smiled at you, cocking an eyebrow.

Your bodyguards would probably prefer you to stop here, but you had other plans.

You popped your mouth off, a drip of saliva snapping against your chin, rising, poised on red soles and leaning down, capturing that waiting smirk, one of your hands lifting to toy with the buttons on his vest. First undoing one. Then one more.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

Yoongi’s hands flew up and gripped your waist, promising all night.

Tonight was going to fun.

--

masterpost

[maeve-writes]

Heroes

Pairing: Stripper!Bucky Barnes x Reader x Stripper!Steve Rogers

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI 

Warnings: Adult situations, alcohol consumption, allusion to mild cheating(??). More to be added later.

Summary: It’s your friend’s birthday and you’re dragged to the Heroes club. You’re not one for that kind of place, but you quickly change your mind after you get to play the damsel in distress for a pair of Brooklyn babes. 

a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. This is the second story I’ve written in a while. Forgive me?

You normally don’t go to these sorts of places but it was your friend’s 30th birthday and it was on her bucket list. Luckily, you weren’t talked into planning any of it, just had to toss in some cash for the fee to get in and the never ending flow of drinks, plus the very special Birthday Girl Dance package.

It took you three years after the second Magic Mike movie came out to watch the first one. The idea of male strippers seemed odd. But, when you really thought about it, so did female strippers. 

Nevertheless, the night ultimately wasn’t about you, it was about your friend and her birthday. You were happy to be there with your friends, enjoying the celebration and drinks, seeing hot guys take off their clothes was a weird added bonus.

Heroes was the club to go if you wanted to see buff dudes bare it all. Tara, the birthday girl, had been raving about it for months. She found videos of it online and shared them in your group chat. That, of course, had your other friends looking for more videos and all of them started to have their favorites.

“Girl, some of them even give private shows,” Sonya, the oldest and who was supposed to be the responsible one of your group, mock-whispered excitedly.

You tried not to roll your eyes as your gang was escorted to the front table near the stage. It was a semicircular booth where small round tables came up from the floor, big enough for drinks, but small and spaced out enough to allow for bodies to move around and in between.

Your host was a slender built guy on the younger side, barely old enough to be allowed in. He had a baby face and a boyish smile, but his muscles were well defined as the club forced him to be shirtless save for the small bow tie around his neck with a spider in the middle, and the tiny pair of shorts that cupped his rear which stayed there by what you guessed was his will or magic. Maybe both.

“Here you are, ladies,” he guided, instructing Tara to take her seat near the middle. “The name’s Peter- uh Spider-Man. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

That set off a fit of giggles from your friends which caused a full body flush from your waiter. His embarrassment tugged at your heartstrings. “New at this, Mr. Spider,” you asked.

His flush darkened and he rubbed absently at the back at his neck after he passed out the menus. “It’s Spider-Man,” he corrected you, “but is it that obvious?” You tilted your head and scrunched up your nose, parting your pointer and thumb a small ways apart. He laughed in return, his shoulders relaxing a little. You gave him a wink and a smile before the rest of your friends attacked the poor kid with their drink and food orders.

You felt sorry for the guy, but he seemed to have loosened up a bit since your small, playful banter and your friends ate up his boyish charm. 

While you waited for your turn to order, you looked around the club to find its sleek design, not something you thought a strip club would offer. The walls were painted black, accented by silver framed posters of the dancers. Above each were white neon lights that spelt out their Hero name.

The rest of the booths were like your own, made of soft black cushions, black metal bases which were illuminated underneath by white light. The tables that sprang from the ground were polished silver necks with textured tempered glass tops to keep drink slipping and spilling to a minimum.

Of course, all of the booths surrounded the stage, which was mostly closed off by a thick black curtain, save for the large catwalk that split half of the sitting area in two. It was wide enough to fit three large men comfortably across it, shoulder to shoulder, and from some of the videos your group shared, they had done so before.

When Peter- there was no way you were going to refer to him by his Hero name- got to your order last, you could hear other rowdy groups start to file in. A couple of bachelorette parties, a girl’s 21st birthday, and a Happy Divorce Finalization Day were all joining you. Your friends quickly became friends with everyone in the room, so even if the show sucked, at least all of you could get drunk and have fun.

“Excuse me, ladies,” a voice rang out above you. Cheers burst from the crowd and every light in the room popped out and stayed out until the room fell silent. “Now that I have your attention…” A tall, dark man walked out from the split of the curtains. He wore a wireless microphone over his ear, an eyepatch over his eye which rested just above a self assured smile. Dressed in a fitted pair of leather pants and combat boots, he strode to the center crossroads of the stage and catwalk, “My name is Director Fury. I will be introducing you to your Heroes tonight.” He paused for another round of catcalls. “And hopefully we can save you from the Villains, too.” That drew out louder screams from the crowd.

“Now, what do we do to the bad girls like you,” he paused, looking pointedly to the crowd, “we contain,” he pulled a piece of rope from the back of his pants and tossed it into a group nearby, “detain,” he pulled out cuffs and twirled them around a finger before he threw those out as well, “and entertain.” With that, the bass dropped and the curtain flew open, behind Director Fury were the Heroes (and Villains) in all of their sweat slicked glory. 

Once the Director stepped aside, the seven dancers on stage began their opening routine. Dressed in black vests and tear-away leather pants, the men paraded around the stage and catwalk to the thump of the music, pulling off pieces of their clothing as they went. The women around you went wild, snatching at whatever was tossed their way, fighting playfully for it. While it seemed incredibly silly, Tara was having the time of her life and you absently sipped at your Tequila Sunrise while you scrolled on your phone. 

The dance number finished not two minutes later with a screaming cheer and standing ovation from the rest of the already slightly tipsy crowd. Director Fury came out while the dancers disappeared into the back to get ready, he worked the crowd, mentioning the brides-to-be and promised them a very special wedding gift before the night was over. “But I heard there were a couple of birthdays here,” Fury said, looking between your group and the one behind you. “Now, I’m going to get the young gun back there in a moment, but… a little bird told me that you,” he pointed to your friend, “are a very big fan of our first Hero of the night.” 

Tara squealed and stood up, “Fuck yes, I am. God bless Captain America! ...and dat ass!”

It was obvious that Director Fury was trying to keep his composure, but the corners of his lips twitched like he wanted to join in on the laughter from the crowd. “Well, he is certainly blessed,” he replied, “and ladies, you will be, too, when you see him at full salute.” He winked and started to walk off stage, “Captain? Duty calls…”

Some sort of abomination of the Star Spangled Banner started to play, remixed with drum and bass. You looked up to see what kind of horror show would come from something treasonous as what bled from the speakers around you, you were met with over six feet of muscle covered in a fitted blue suit, fingerless leather gloves on his hands, and a round metal shield on his back painted red, white, and blue. 

The Captain’s background was what looked like a large war ship with painted ski-masked bad guys spread throughout the levels. His stage allowed him ramps and poles to move up and down, which he used freely. He used a mixture of acrobatics and dance to move across the stage, tossing the shield around, “fighting off the bad guys” and losing his clothes in the process. By the end of the song he was left in just the leather gloves and a very tight pair of shorts, much like the ones Peter wore, except the Captains had the same pattern of his shield printed across the backside. 

Tara’s screams knocked you out of your daze and you realized you hadn’t stared down at your phone at all during the Captain’s dance. You watched all five minutes of it and couldn’t tear your eyes away. Heroes wasn’t about getting drunk women horny, they wanted to put on a show, too. You clapped lightly, though it was drowned out by the cheering around you, but unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t unnoticed. 

Fury was out once again and he brought up the first bachelorette of the night. He put her in a chair on the catwalk and gave her a candy-garterbelt. Then he asked her waiter, a guy named “Ant Man”, to remove it with only his tongue, which he happily obliged. 

Peter cut off your view with another drink, one you didn’t order. “On the house,” he said with a lopsided grin and placed the red, white, and blue layered drink next to your nearly empty Sunrise. Before you could ask him who ordered it, the candy garterbelt was being tugged between the bachelorette and her waiter. It ended in a tongue-y kiss and the ladies went wild. 

“Let’s hope her future husband doesn’t mind,” you muttered and turned your attention to your phone once again. Director Fury, thankfully, broke up the awkward scene on stage and began to introduce the next dancers. It was a pair, brothers, apparently, and they worked on the good versus bad troupe. Thor and Loki were opposites in every sense of the word. Thor was a large blond with a commanding presence. He had a bright smile and sun kissed skin that looked great in his red and gold trimmed briefs. But his brother was slender, graceful - almost cat-like, with dark hair and a mischievous grin all wrapped in flawless alabaster skin. They didn’t look like brothers, but they moved around each other like they had been together all of their lives, and knew each other’s moves. 

You only caught half of their story, as you were already halfway done with, what you found out was called the American Glory drink, and half wondered if that was what Captain America tasted like. Fury was up again and had the young lady celebrating her 21st birthday take two shots and lick the salt from Thor and Loki’s still sweaty chests. 

Peter found his way in front of you again and said that someone needed to talk to you about your card being declined. You frowned and excused yourself from your friends to find out what was going on. There shouldn’t have been a problem, you got paid the day before, there was plenty of money in your account.

You were taken to a hall that connected what seemed like offices, the dressing room, and the route to the backstage. “Sorry,” Peter said sheepishly, “they said this was the only way to get you back here. Gotta go.” He waved and jogged back out to the lobby.

Confused, you were about to shout out after him when you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned, you faced that wall of American muscle beaming down at you. “Hey there,” he greeted, a smile almost blinding you from its perfection. “Don’t be too mad at the kid, I asked him to get you back here.”

“What,” was all you could get out. He was thankfully dressed, but his muscles were straining against the white tshirt and the gym shorts did not hide the package he carried. Even with all of that, what mesmerized you most was his eyes, sparkling blue and bright with amusement. 

“This next bit requires audience participation and he had someone in mind,” the Captain replied like he explained everything.

“We had someone in mind,” a voice corrected behind the door you two stood near. You tore your eyes away from the blond and eyed the wood barrier suspiciously. 

“Don’t worry,” Captain America laughed, capturing your attention once again, “it’s nothing too dangerous or embarrassing. You just have to sit there, pretend to be tied up, and me and Buck will dance around you.” He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head in thought, “Well, actually, you really will be tied up, but we promise we’ll let you go once we’re done.”

“Or not, if you don’t want us to,” came the voice again, which made the Captain laugh.

You blinked up at him and frowned, “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” he shook his head. “We might dance on you a little, if you don’t mind, the crowd likes it. But if not, we can work around that.” The thought of Captain America in those tiny shorts grinding on you was a very nice thought.

“‘Sfine,” you shrugged.

He beamed and reached out to squeeze you on the shoulder, his touch lingering and his thumb running along your collarbone. “I’ll let the stage team know.” Reluctantly, he dropped his hand and knocked on the door next to you both, “Five minutes.” When he heard a ‘yeah, got it’, the Captain motioned you to follow him. 

The stage crew took over and the Captain disappeared to get ready. You were told about the chair you’d be sitting in, the rope that would be tied around your chest and if you would be okay with it. There was some hesitation on your part, but ultimately you agreed. They brought you on stage, a winter wonderland of sorts and placed you on a log-like chair. The rope wasn’t tight, but it was obvious you were the damsel in distress. 

“One of you was taken,” Director Fury said from the other side of the curtain in front of you, “by The Winter Soldat. Will she survive? Will she be saved?” All of the lights turn off once again and an industrial heavy beat thrummed through the speakers, rattling your bones. Red stage lights shone down on you when the curtain pulled open and your friends lost their minds.

To your right you saw a figure stalk out of the dark, red light bouncing off a silver metal arm. A mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were trained on you like you were prey. His black muscle shirt clung tightly to his chest, one sleeve missing to show off his arm, and his black tactical pants stretched against his thick thighs. You could feel the shaking of the stage from the stomps of his booted feet.

Eyes wide, you stared at him until he stopped short of your chair on cue with the music. His nostrils flared lightly before he moved again, the music flowing with him. He slung one leg over the side over your chair, straddling you. The metal arm clamped the wooden back rest of the chair and he narrowed his gaze. Lights flash around you, strobing from red to white and back again until they settle on the house lights. 

Soldat began to roll his body with the tempo, blue eyes locked with yours. You could hear the screams behind him as he dancing, but neither of you were paying attention. 

His hips circled until he’s seated on your lap, you’re practically nose to nose. He brought his flesh hand to the side of your face and you could feel it trembling against your skin. With him that close you could hear him mutter in some other language that isn’t English, you’re guessing Russian, but you’re not sure. Either way, you felt crushed by his weight and you liked it. You didn't want him to go. 

But the music changed and the lights started to flash again, red, white, and now blue mixed in. Captain America joined the two of you on stage and Soldat slipped from your lap. Just as Thor and Loki had before, these two moved around each other like they were made from the same mold. 

During the fight, pieces of clothing were tossed aside and at one point you were freed from your bonds. Soldat pulled you up from your chair and up against his chest, your backside pressed so tightly against him you could almost feel his heartbeat. He moved you with him as he continued to fight the Captain.

Until seconds before the song ended and the music swelled, the Captain landed one good blow to Soldat and sandwiched you between them. The Winter Soldier recalibrated and recognized his old friend and you. He pulled the Captain into a big bear hug and then picked you up bridal style, taking you off stage with cheers from the crowd.

Once you’re all off stage, he sat you down with a hearty laugh. “You did a fantastic job, sweetheart,” the Soldier praised, running his metal hand through his chin length brown hair. “Couldn’t have asked for a better dance partner.” Flushed from embarrassment and arousal, you continued to stare at him until you were joined by the Captain. “I told you she’d be great, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, Buck, you know how to pick ‘em,” the blond agreed with a smile.

“Thanks,” you replied breathlessly, finally coming out of your stupor. “That was… fun. I’m just going to go back to my seat now, I guess.”

“Wait,” the one named “Buck” jumped to stop you, “we were wondering if you wanted a private show?” You heard about those from Tara. You knew that they were exclusive and very expensive… and sometimes had happy endings. They seemed to sense your hesitation because they both added in unison as they eyed you up like you were a four course meal, “For free.”

“I never turn down free anything,” you shrugged. The pair turned to look at each other and their smiles turned to wicked grins. You aren’t sure what you got yourself into, but you’re pretty sure you were going to enjoy it.

a/n: Part Two coming soon... with smut!

[ladyelainehilfur]

Weaktober Day 2: Super

Gerard smiled awkwardly as an old woman thanked him over and over again for helping move her cart across the street. She took his hands and filled them with squished caramels wrapped in gold paper. “You’re such a kind young man,” she repeated. “Shame you hide that face of yours. I’m sure you’re very handsome.”

Gerard grinned from behind his green neck garter and the woman shelled out another handful of candy before hobbling up the steps of her crumbly brownstone apartment. Gerard watched until he saw her enter and lock the door behind her. 

“Those probably expired ten years ago.”

“He’ll die eventually.”

“Fools, don’t you know? Moss Man never dies.”

Gerard stuffed the candy into his pockets and looked up for the voices from across the street. In contrast to the dilapidated quarters he was standing near, sleek contemporary buildings on the other side stood tall, newly built by people looking to push the old folks away from their family homes. Each level had a balcony and on the very top of the five-story complex were two figures. Three, if Gerard felt generous.

Wordlessly, he made a running start at the short walls surrounding the new apartments, leaping on top of the white plaster bricks and launching himself towards the ledge of the first balcony. He dead-hung for a second before gathering his bearings and pulling himself up the bars of the gated porch. He looked up and saw the dangling legs of the people who had called him. He sniffed, slightly annoyed, before casting himself off to the next balcony. 

Thirty seconds later, he balanced on the edge of the building roof, crouching next to the two individuals. 

“Slow patrol?”

Gerard cocked his head. “What’d I say about calling me Moss Man, Venom?”

The sentient black sludge writhed around Alex’s face. “I don’t remember you saying anything.”

Spider-man pulled up the base of his mask so only the bottom half of his face and a few long tufts of blonde hair were visible. He chinked a coke open and took a small swig, wiping his mouth. “You should just pick a vigilante title already. I'm tired of calling you ‘that green guy’.”

“When the right time comes, I’ll pick a name,” Gerard promised, settling down next to the superheroes and taking in the view of the city from the top. 

There was one nice thing about the new buildings springing up all over: for the time being, they offered him a stunning perspective of the place he worked so hard to protect. From up there, he could see everything. The warm yellow light from inside various homes, the dark alleys criminals favored, the statues and landmarks that were prime targets for amateur (and illegal) spray paint projects. He heard people taking late calls, yelling at their kids to go to bed, dogs barking before they’d calm down for the night. The occasional gunshot, but from Alex’s and Spidey’s lack of reaction, the police had it covered. It really was a slow patrol day. But...it was nice, loosening up with heroes Gerard would cautiously call his friends.  

“What are you guys doing when you get home?” Spidey asked. Gerard had no idea who was actually behind the red and blue mask, but it was definitely a kid their age, also new-ish to the whole vigilante thing. It hadn’t been too long since the news reported a mutant with spider-like powers accidentally webbing up electricity lines and causing power outages. Not a great debut, but everyone loved him now, ever since he saved the mayor’s daughter from kidnappers. Gerard liked the guy, but he always smelled like cat food. 

“I’m going to watch The Thing’s wrestling match,” Alex said. The symbiote hovering on his shoulder materialized teeth but Alex muttered a sharp “we’re not buying popcorn” before it could start. 

Alex was a strange case. He wasn’t the only one with the alien parasite, but he was the only person who seemed (somewhat) mentally stable in comparison to the schizophrenic victims occupying the city’s increasingly cramped psych hospitals. It was hard to keep a big, black, talking alien on your back a secret, so the fact Alex was Venom was common knowledge. In fact, Alex went to the same school as Gerard, but Gerard kept that a secret.

“I was going to patrol until the sun came up,” Gerard admitted. That’s what he’d been doing the last few nights. He had insomnia and when he managed to sleep, he always had nightmares about getting shot by the King Pin while trying to rescue civilians. He didn’t wear anything bullet-proof under his suit because it would minimize his mobility, but he was starting to think he should walk into one of those big corporate super-suit companies and ask if they’d accept...he checked his pockets...two pennies, a balled up takeout receipt, and thirteen ancient grammie candies. A steal, in his opinion.

Anyways, he didn’t start doing hero work for the money. The mob had taken his best friend, Hyeonjin. Gerard was still looking for him, but it seemed he had to crack open a couple of heads first. Welp. At least his casual parkour lessons were finally coming in handy. He had to work overtime to improve his combat and endurance abilities, but nothing would stop him from finding where the King Pin was hiding that jerk. 

The other heroes didn’t know that, however. They just assumed he was some deluded highschool kid who wanted to become a cool vigilante like his favorite 7 o’clock news supers. Maybe snag a few endorsements, similar to the sneaker deal Spidey had. (“Money was tight.”) Gerard wasn’t interested. His all-green, home-made, cadmium suit revealed nothing but the color of his eyes. It did not inspire agents to look into his credentials. 

“You guys are boring,” Spidey said, leaning back and whipping small shots of webbing at street lights with pinpoint accuracy. “We should go to an arcade or something.”

Gerard’s eyebrows shot up. “Like...regular people?”

Alex frowned. “What do you mean, regular people?”

“You’re just doing this hero stuff for fun because your brain is square,” Spidey added, sounding extra bitter.

Gerard let out an involuntary laugh. His brain was what? Alex and Spidey peered at him expectantly, waiting for his answer. He chuckled again under the guise of adjusting his mask and stood up. “Yeah, whatever. I’m going to destroy you both.”

Alex snorted and Venom laughed alongside him. “Not at DDR, you’re not.”

“You can’t use your powers!” Gerard complained. He looked to Spidey, who gave a smug look that made Gerard grimace. “You can’t either!”

“Hey. Sorry we can’t all be regular,” Spidey grinned. He pulled his mask back down and backflipped off the building, effortlessly slinging webbing in the direction of the arcade. Alex winked at Gerard before Venom’s slime covered his face and they were also off, swinging into the streets. 

Gerard sighed and hurried down the flight of steps on the side of the building.

[dawl-and-dapple]

rating: general word count: 1443

Essek and Jester being sweet, based on the non-sexual intimacy prompt 'escorting the other to a doctor/ therapist appointment' given by @mllekurtz

***

Can you drive me to the dentist next week pretty please?

It’s been almost a year since Essek had first been asked to give one of his friends a lift. The requests had slowed somewhat since Caleb finally got himself his own car two months ago, but he is not yet necessarily free from this particular duty. Now he receives a text asking to be driven out of town most often when Caleb is occupied with work, sick, or inebriated.

These texts used to make him wince. After some time they made him smile. These days, they tend to catch him a little off-guard.

Is Caleb not available? he responds.

No, Jester texts back, he’s got an appointment too. Are you gonna be busy?

No, I will be available. I’ll drive you.

Thank you!! I’ll meet you outside the school like usual!! Love you so much!!!!

Essek puts away his phone. He remembers where Jester’s dentist is from the last time she had him drive there. There’s a nice café two blocks away where he could wait out her appointment, reading and enjoying a cup of tea, before driving her home again. He puts his mind to picking out which book to bring.

Five days later, when Essek arrives in the small car park across from the art college, he’s twenty minutes early. He occupies himself by methodically checking his emails, texts, then social media.

Caleb has sent him a photo of Frumpkin playing with his television’s cables. Essek asks if he’s forgotten about his therapy appointment. Caleb responds with a photo taken through a windscreen of a city road, blocked with traffic as far as the eye can see, and a text reading, I wish I had.

Someone knocks on Essek’s window.

“Hey!” Jester’s nose presses up against the glass. “You got here early,” she says, muffled. “You should have let me know.”

“I am not going to encourage you to leave class early, Jester.” He opens the passenger door.

“Boo.” Jester flops into the seat and begins buckling herself in as Essek starts the engine. “We could have hung out a little! We’ve all been so busy since the summer and I miss you, you know. I wanna know how you’ve been! Do you wanna talk about work? Probably not. How about, um, how’s the new flat? I heard Caduceus helped you settle in.”

“I have been well,” Essek says as he pulls out of the car park. “You remember that miniature flower bed you helped me build on my windowsill? I have been growing a little basil plant there.”

“Oh! Have you used the leaves to make anything?”

Essek winces. Of the scant few recipes he could reliably prepare, most are from his home. He’d failed to find a Xhorhasian supermarket in the area after moving and had taken it as a strong sign to try working with what he’d been given. But his lack of experience cooking anything at all made adapting that much harder.

“The cooking part...I am working on that. I will be asking for Caduceus’ guidance again.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it,” Jester says airily while digging through the small collection of audiobooks and music discs in the door compartment. “How long have you had these? Caleb’s car doesn't even have a CD player. Oh, I bet Caleb could help!” She grins at his reflection in the internal mirror. “He can make some very tasty Zemnian meals, you know.”

“I do know. I believe I’ve eaten one or two prepared by him at a dinner party with the others.”

“You should ask him to teach you the recipes.”

“I might. What did you get up to today? Painting? Sculpting?”

Jester smirks. She answers him, goes on to talk about her current project (a ten-foot-tall collage of hundreds of vintage pinup photographs, though Essek cannot parse the meaning of it). Essek gets the distinct impression that she’s barely holding herself back from needling him more.

As they reach the edge of the city, the traffic slows. A heavy sense of doom overcomes Essek, while Jester flips through the radio channels.

Someone behind Essek honks. He grits his teeth.

“Oh, the traffic here is pretty bad, huh.”

Essek flexes his hands around the steering wheel. “Yes, it seems so.”

Jester turns the radio off. “Do you have to be anywhere after this?”

“No,” he replies. The car comes to a dead halt. “I do not.”

Jester bounces in her seat as if she might be able to peer over the roofs of the dozens of gridlocked cars ahead of them. “Oh man,” she says. “I’d get there faster if I walked.” She goes quiet. After a heartbeat she smiles and turns towards Essek. “Hey Essek? Do you have any sexy audiobooks?”

“What?”

“Like, do you have a CD in here of someone reading a porn book out loud.”

“No, why would I have–?”

“That’s okay, I can plug my phone into the dashboard.”

“Please, Jester.”

“Okay!” She laughs, tucking her phone back into her jacket pocket. “What CDs do you have? All the titles are in Undercommon...”

“Most are audio documentaries. There are two about special relativity, one about magnetism, and one on the life of a particular astrophysicist. There’s also a rock album in there somewhere; my brother gave it to me as a joke.”

Jester snorts.

“I am very boring, aren't I?”

“No!” Jester suddenly grabs his shoulder and shoves him around in his seat, which would have worried him were they moving at any velocity at all. “You’re not! Essek, you’re very fun and interesting.”

Essek smiles as he’s shaken from side to side, keeping his eyes on the traffic jam ahead. “I am very fun and interesting,” he repeats.

She finally stops shoving at his shoulder. “I should get you some new fun CDs for your car. I don’t even know where to buy CDs these days, but I'll get you some.”

“Can you promise there will be no more than one pornographic item in this collection?” he asks, raising his brow at Jester in the mirror.

“Oh, sure.”

“Then, as they say, go wild.”

“Neat. Hey! I know we’ve all been super busy lately but I bet we can do, like, a dinner party or something. Just one evening. Yasha got back into town this week and Veth says Luc has been spending most weekends at his friends’ houses so she can come over. Maybe a Saturday night?” She’s pulled out her phone already. “We can just hang out in my and Fjord’s flat for a while. Or yours!”

“I do not think I have enough space for nine.”

“But would you be free?”

He thinks. “Next weekend, yes.”

Jester pumps her fist in the air. “Awesome! I’ll text the others.”

The traffic moves ever so slightly. Essek watches the cars ahead of him like a cat watching a bird.

“Beau might be the busiest but I bet she’ll want to come. Oh, Caleb can cook something with Caduceus! One of those meals you liked.”

“Uh, maybe.”

“Maybe you can show him a recipe you know too. Try that sometime.”

“Hm.” The car in front finally budges. Essek inches forward.

“I bet he’d love that, Essek.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know you don't think you’re a good cook, but I remember that rice meal you made when I came over last spring and it was good!”

Now they’re driving again, if at no more than five mph. Essek grips the wheel.

“Make that meal, put on a good movie, wear something cute — that black top with the long sleeves I think — and it’ll be smooth sailing. Trust me, Fjord was no match for the tried and true Lavorre Technique.”

“Hm.”

“And then maybe you can finally talk to him about your big fat crush on Cay-leb.”

The car directly ahead halts. Essek swears and steps on the brake. He stares at Jester. “Pardon?”

She just grins at him.

“I was not listening. Sorry.”

“Oh that’s okay,” she croons, “But guess what…”

Essek is familiar with this tone. It doesn't scare him as much as it used to; he’s developed somewhat of a pavlovian response to her mischief in spite of his initial displeasure. As her grin widens, Essek feels a mirrored anticipatory smile spread across his face.

“You’re stuck in here with me,” she sings, waving her index fingers side-to-side with each word, “and we’re stuck in here together, and I wanna know the truth. So…” She leans forward. “Don’t you like him?”

Essek, face hot, but still smiling, reaches for the radio fast enough to fumble the air conditioning.

[boytouya]

𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

words: 1.3k

warning: blood (but it’s dabi crying), mention of child neglect (not towards you or your children)

requested: yeah lol

a/n: once again, i don’t proofread. i felt kinda faint writing this but i don’t think it reflects much🗿

It’s not much, but it’s Dabi. Dabi, who holds your hand and traces the lines in your palm as he slips a ring onto your finger. It’s cold against the overwhelming heat radiating from his hands. You’ve been through many arguments, times where both of you were wrong, quirk scares, financial issues, problems within your family...but it didn’t matter. He was with you through it all. He’d remain by your side, even if there was a door slammed between your faces.

An outdoor wedding, with only twelve guests in total, sits on a grassy green hill just above the park. Your kids picked out the place, the younger of the two explaining how it’d be much more fun. Neither of you could complain, as your hearts revolve around the two twins.

“Let’s get this over with.” Dabi jokes, a dimple forming on his cheek. His suit, the darkest shade of black the tailors could find, had blue accents on its sleeves to match his tie. A reference to his everburning fire quirk. It was a stark contrast to his hair, pure white with darker ends. You didn’t see his natural hair often, but the first time you had it was noticeably softer. Perhaps he wanted the wedding photos to actually show him, and not a watered down version of himself he’d created to hide his identity. Most of your shared income went into making sure everything looked nice, though the wedding was small. You had a few guests, Dabi (begrudgingly) went out of his way to invite the League. He even made Tomura and Twice his groomsmen.

Dabi’s eyes, blue as ever, shimmer from the sunlight beaming down on the two of you. His eyelashes, darkened from a thin layer of mascara bat against his cheek as he eyes the sparkling ring. To be honest, he was terrified of marriage. He was afraid of commitment, afraid your relationship would meet impending doom if he put a label on it. He was afraid he wouldn’t be good enough for you. He didn’t want to be the father he grew up with, that was his biggest fear. You could very easily remember the inner turmoil that leaked from trickling red beneath his scars the first time you had argued.

Those days, you felt as though you were walking on wire. Not because you were afraid of Dabi, just afraid he’d up and leave. A few nights before the ceremony he explained that he never would, because he knew what it was like to be ignored; neglected. But you knew that already. You cradled him through the night, when the wind pushed against your glass windows and he clung into the fabric of your shirt like your children had many times before.

There was a part of Touya that he’d lost many years ago, that of which only returned late at night through memories. Others looking into your relationship often called him childish, but he wasn’t. He was making up for lost time, replacing the festering rot from his childhood with something sweeter. The weight crushing his ribs and piercing his fragile heart had lifted, mended into something built from solid gold and diamond, something he stamped with the name ‘adoration.’ Something more gentle, loving. Something that came from you.

“To be honest, I didn’t write anything,” Dabi scratches the back of his neck, looking behind his shoulder then back at you. You can hear Twice shout behind him, then apologize not even a second later. If it were someone else, someone who wasn’t Dabi, you probably would’ve felt awkward. “I mean, seriously, I didn’t think I was the right person for this.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Choked up already, you’re not sure how to tell him it’s okay to continue when you yourself are looking for a bit of guidance. This man, who you met under unusual circumstances was now standing in front of you, making up his vows. And you loved him for it. He held the key that unlocked the box around your heart, swallowed it for safekeeping, and protected it himself. He knocked down all of your barriers, held you up when you were running on empty, and caught you when you fell completely enamoured for him. He softened up your hardest places, peppered kisses on your birthmarks.

“Anyone else could take my place,” Touya’s eyes flicker down to your hand, his fingers twitching as he hesitates to clasp his over your own. He’s struggling to get what he wants out. In his mind he’s screaming how much he loves you from the top of the highest mountain. In his head, he’s twirling your kids around while they giggle and call him Dad. In his head, he kisses you while fireworks go off and the whole world knows of your proclaimed love. Fuck. Is he prioritizing his thoughts over feelings? Fuck. Instead, he opens his mouth just to close it again. “I’m glad I got to you first, big guy. Not even writing my vows...drowning in my own genius, wouldn’t you say?”

“Dabi...Touya….D,” You nod to your kids, who are practically vibrating in their seats as they watch with stars in their eyes. You make a mental note to let them have extra big slices of cake tonight. “When we met, my- our kids were so scared of you. Which is kinda funny, considering they steal paint to look like you now...Anyway, I’m glad we all grew together. I hope you don’t regret this. You were there when no one else was. Sometimes you felt unseen, but you were there. And I saw you, I heard you. Sometimes we took each other for granted, but looking back on it, we were all the other had.”

Dabi swipes his thumb- his chipped black nail polish makes you smile- under his cheek, smearing a bit of blood across his cheekbones. Something you’d wipe away later, just like you always did.

“I love you, and I love how we can agree to disagree,” You wanted to add more, about how arguing with him felt like a game you couldn’t win, how sometimes it felt like he was ten steps ahead of you just when you’d managed to take one forward, how even from those ten steps he’d stretch himself thin and weary to pull you forward with him. “You’re an amazing father. You never believed me whenever I told you, but you are.”

You mimic his actions from earlier, slipping a wedding ring on his finger with a satisfied smile. There’s something dancing in his eyes, swimming laps in the pools of blue. He can't wait anymore, and takes your brief silence as his queue to kiss you. You went from sharing ownership of a couch, adopting a cat together, and sharing cologne to exchanging wedding rings.

One hand cups your cheek, the other on the base of your neck as he pulls you forward and spills the space between your parted lips. He steals the air from your lungs, plunges you into the deep waters of his obsession for you. He doesn’t want to pull away, holds your face closer to get as much contact as he can while his lips move with your own. You have to tap his cheek to get him to pull away, and he does, but only for a split second as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. There’s a series of “Ew!”s erupting from the children in front of you, along with a ring of clapping and whistles. You didn’t need anyone to tell you that you were his husband, it was apparent.

“Guess you’re stuck with me then?” Touya whispers. His lips, swollen and covered in a thin blanket of saliva, curl into a shark-like grin.

taglist:

@lustclubs @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @kissesdenji @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @princejasno @mel-bigia04 @mhasimp666 @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shootingstars-and-burningsuns @sleepyslvt @rintarosaku

[imthepunchlord]

Do you have any thoughts on how the guardian role is handled lore wise? Would you change much about being the guardian?

Oh yes I do and there's so much that I would change up.

The more we see of the Guardians, the dumber they are and the more pointless they are. To a point it's a wonder if they were worth the inclusion as they don't amount to much and are just useless. I'm putting this undercut as I just go off.

- Lore wise, they set it up that adults are naturally more powerful, so why did Fu pick two kids to fight his battles for him? Why not adults? Why did he leave them on their own instead of offering them some means to have an edge over HM?

- Of the Ladybug and Cat, we have yet to see anything unique that the Cat brings to these fights that the other 15 miraculi that Fu has with him couldn't do. You need a distraction that's going to mess up the akuma? Monkey and Fox. You need a protector/aggressor? Bee, Turtle, or Dragon. Ladybug is a must as its the only cleanser so far and has ML to boot, but Cat doesn't need to be out there, and as soon as HM had quite publicly stated that he wants LB and Cat, Fu should've reclaimed the Cat immediately to secure its safety and that HM won't get both. Another or two could go out to replace it.

- Why was picking Adrien a good idea? If Fu had just arrived in Paris, ok, but Backwarder reveals he's been living in Paris for a while. And with that, he's seen Adrien's face everywhere.s Adrien is potentially the most well known kid in Pari. Technically, for Fu's want of secrecy, why pick the most iconic face in Paris to get a miraculous? That sets up one of your heroes to always have attention on him. Fu picking Adrien doesn't make any logical sense.

- Why is Fu ok with endangering one kid but not the other? Why does Marinette get a test set up that risks her life and Fu's if it hadn't gone well and Adrien just helps an old man up, a common decency that most would do. It's like two extreme differences that don't work well in comparison as Marinette gets the risky test and Adrien it looks like he got his miraculous on a silver platter as he got the far easier one that takes the least effort to be a decent human being.

- Fu being a terrible mentor and hero picker in general and the whole shebang with Syren. If Adrien is not meeting his standards or if he doesn't trust Adrien at all, why is Adrien being allowed to continue as a hero? Or if he really wants Adrien to stay, why isn't he doing anything about Adrien? Why isn't he telling Plagg to encourage Adrien to step up and get serious? If he can take on the role of being Adrien's Chinese teacher, why not do that to try and guide Adrien to improvement so he can also be trusted with Guardian secrets too and truly help Marinette out. He's got two options when he doesn't trust Adrien or finds that he's meeting his standards: he takes the miraculous back or he addresses this issue himself.

- I also call big BS about him not doing anything at all when he comes upon Adrien detransformed on the roof with Plagg. Cause he's risking himself going out to find Chat Noir only to find him detransformed. That realistically should raise some brows and concern him. Adrien at least should've gotten a lecture or warning.

- Also the reveal that kwamis aren't allowed to know about their own power. that to me is off putting. It really stresses that kwamis are beneath them, these very ancient and powerful beings that have probably seen a lot. And canon validates it by making them children (which to me is the writers being lazy so they don't have to do complex characters).

- The whole thing with Fu's backstory. Dumbest backstory I've ever heard and it just paints Guardians in a really bad light, and by extension, real life monks. Monks didn't go to people's homes to take children. If they did take kids with them, those kids had nowhere else to go and offered them a place to stay until old enough to be on their own. And that test, omg, wtf. Ok, I can get the idea of a test of temptation, but there are other ways to perform it without starving a kid. Especially leaving said kid alone unsupervised with 19 powerful miraculi two of which have wish granting abilities. How would the Guardians even know if Fu used a miraculous as they left him alone with mriaculi. If Fu wanted to, he could've made a wish to never be picked.

- Fu didn't even do shit when he finally had a chance to face off against HM. He just sat in his damb ball and allowed himself to get knocked around. At least try and roll over him! Be a ping-pong ball! DO SOMETHING. Like, why did you even pick Turtle??? Turtle wasn't able to do anything against Butterfly! I thought it could as Fu had been ready to go in Origins, plus the 5 are based off Wu Xing, by set up, Fox and Turtle should have some sort of an edge over the Butterfly. But I guess that means there could be other options aside form LB and we can't have that, Marinette's miraculous needs to be the only thing to take on the Butterfly to really stress on the fact that it comes down to only her.

- The memory wipe thing that's an apparently must when you retire from being the Guardian. Honestly I think that should've been saved as a last resort if you're ever captured and could be forced to leak info, not when you retire. Doing so removes a valid source of advisement that a new Guardian can rely on. History is there to learn from it and this tradition removes a source of history to learn from, either from having guidance or seeing what the old did and how you want to change things. This also makes me concerned as I see Adrien taking advantage of an amnesiac Marinette.

- I went off about the NY Special revealing there's more Orders here.

- And lastly, Su-Han, the other Guardian to see aside from Fu. And with him, it solidifies how stupid they all are. When the Butterfly is being misused in Paris, why is someone aggressive and judgmental coming to Paris? Why is this guy even working with kids when he doesn't like kids? And the reveal that Guardians don't use miraculi at all. That just makes that test all the dumber with testers being unsupervised. And for Guardians not meant to use miraculi, how come Marinette gets a nice perk as LB that she can pull a miraculous out of her yo-yo? They're probably playing that she's "the first" to do so but realistically, I'm pressing x to doubt. In the long history of miraculi and when Guardians were around, you expect me to believe that Guardians never used miraculi themselves? What if there was no one to turn to, do they just the disaster happen? ...Well, based on how terrible canon is setting them up, I wouldn't be surprised.

SO.

There is a lot I would change up about the Guardians and for this, I'll adjust canon.

- Adrien gets the ring another way, maybe a gift from his mom or aunt or grandparents. Realistically, there's no logical reason for Fu to pick Adrien. He just has too much attention on him and Chat being an unexpected miraculous user can make him wary, adding to him only trusting Marinette.

- I'd have Fu be more present in Marinette's life, a customer who comes in a lot. This way he can offer advise when needed but not take away from Tikki. And this has him more closely keeping an eye on things.

- I'd change up Fu's backstory. He got separated from his family in a flood, the previous Turtle saved him, tried to help him find his family and with no luck, took him to the Temple, but only the section where other orphans are where they work to help take care of it, oblivious to the miraculous near them. After a year, Fu is one of the few selected to be entrusted with miraculous knowledge. He's surprised but not all that for it as he'd rather go find his family still. Idk how Temple falls but its not that. That was just dumb and avoidable.

- I wouldn't have Adrien meet Fu at all. In truth, it actually could've been cut out entirely as Adrien meeting Fu didn't amount to anything. He doesn't help with Guardian duties, doesn't help pick heroes, hasn't stepped up at all in his role as a partner. And he's not as torn up about Fu's loss as Marinette is. Adrien meeting Fu was pointless in the grand scheme of things. Nothing was progressed or changed from Adrien meeting Fu.

- I'd have HM ONLY getting an edge on Fu because Mayura was there to help him, catching Fu off guard. I want to see the Turtle truly in action, to see what else it can do cause sitting there to be smacked around was just unimpressive. And if Asstruck even did as much research as he could, he'd know that in Chinese mythology, the Turtle is a boss. It's the keeper of history and symbol of immortality, and it's up there with Tiger as an animal that can go toe to toe with the Dragon. And of the Four Symbols (associated with 4 seasons), the Black Turtle is also known as the Black Warrior. There should've been a lot more to Turtle than just sitting in your shell and allowing yourself to be knocked around.

- Su-Han I'd drastically change up. I'd keep in him being critical and stern, but he approaches things smartly and patiently. Before he dives into aggression and accusations, he wants to know what's going on. Why does this 14 yo have the Miracle Box? How was the Butterfly obtained and misused? And what the hell is going on??? How are these people so small and how did they get into this thin glass box?? Computer? What's a computer??? Essentially, have fun with the fact that Su-Han is essentially a time traveler and one great bonding experience to have with Marinette while also offering some good comedy is him learning about the modern time and her acting as his guide. Su-Han can give her guidance that Fu hadn't been able to give, and Marinette can offer her own in a way that Su-Han will need. Which by extension could remove Marinette having a near mental breaking point and revealing herself to Alya, and could avoid some of that drama of what's coming.

- Speaking of which, Adrien. I'd use Su-Han to finally address the issues with Adrien as a hero and partner. Su-Han prioritized Marinette as she has the Miracle Box, but Adrien is someone he'd take the miraculous away from. Adrien would get a very clear warning and call out for his actions and role.

[beware-of-you-98]

BAU as College Professors AU

*cracks knuckles*

Penelope

penelope is a graphic design professor

she loves teaching kids about the wonders of photoshop!!

hates illustrator and indesign with a burning passion

(the illustrator pen tool can fucking choke for all she cares)

(AND HOW THE FUCK DO YOU PUT THE FRONT AND COVER TOGETHER IN INDESIGN!?!?)

(she really hates both applications sm 😭)

is always reluctant to teach them but does it begrudgingly

(she’s just glad there’s other professors in the department that teach editorial and graphic illustration)

teaches photography!!

encourages the students to be as expressive as they want to be with their pictures!!!

she’ll be just as enthusiastic to see a close up of a sneaker as she is to see a sunset landscape shot

teaches the graphic design studio classes too!!

she always has music playing!!

half the time, her students come into the class and her glasses are all skewed, her hands are covered in paint or glue and some abstract art piece is sitting on her desk

when the students ask her what it is, she just gives the projects human names

“hey professor... what did you make there?” “oh, this?? her name is... pam.... yeah, pam”

she doesn’t offer up any further explination than that

and the students just accept it

her office light is always off

but she has multiple fairy lights in various colors hung up

her office is v inviting!!!

students come to her to vent or to talk about their problems bc the campus therapist doesn’t help all lmao

she always has on the most unique outfits but she pulls them off so well

a ray of sunshine tbh!!

Spencer

teaches major science and math courses

he teaches chemistry but only chem for majors in chemistry

it’s not that he can’t teach chem for non majors

but he sometimes gets too ahead of himself and forgets he’s teaching a course for non majors

it’s easier for him to teach for majors because the students can follow his ramblings better

he teaches upper level math courses and usually only has like three students in those classes

he’ll sit up on his desk and debate with the students for the entire hour about the riemann hypothesis

he gets excited because the students are just as enthusiastic as he is

he is two extremes

he either shows up to his classroom like a half hour early and writes out all his notes on the board so that when the students come in, he can go right into lecture

or he’ll show up two minutes before class starts with his hair disheveled, his tie undone and his expression glazed over and just be like “listen up i woke up late and just downed an entire pot of coffee i brewed with several cans of monster energy—i don’t exist on this dimension anymore”

on those days, he lets his students work on other projects for other classes because he knows it’s not fair to ask his students to focus if he’s not

he helps them with their homework

penelope brings him lunch sometimes to make sure he’s eating

he appreciates it a lot because between lesson plans and grading, he sometimes forgets to eat

he’s absolutely the youngest prof on campus

sometimes even his students are older than he is

but everyone addresses him correctly and respects him bc he’s really chill

his office is a disorganized mess

there’s files and papers all over his desk

and a sculpture penelope made for him (she named that one “roger”)

JJ

psychology professor

she really has a passion for teaching and learning about human psychology

(she may have started to become interested in psychology bc her sister was in the psch honors course before she died)

she comes across as a little hostile and unapproachable tbh

but she’s young

and she’s attractive

and she’s not conveniently what people think a professor looks like

she’ll respect her students if they respect her

she didn’t graduate the top of her class and work her ass off for the degree to not be respected

if there’s any inappropriate comments aimmed towards her or anyone in the class, she kicks the aggressor out immediately

she stands at the front of the room and lectures for the beginning part of the semester

once she’s built a good rapport with her students (and vise versa), she becomes more chill

she’ll sit on the edge of her desk and encourage discussion rather than following a book or a set plan

(she finds it’s more interesting that way anyway)

sometimes her students will show up ten minutes before class starts just to talk with her once they’re comfortable with her

she always answers her emails students send her (queen shit tbh 👑)

some kids in the psych major course playfully call her “mom” because she always asks them how they’re doing and about their week

(she hasn’t decided how she feels about it, but she also lets it slide)

always wears pants suits but cuffs the sleeves to the jackets

her office always smells like eucalyptus because she has a small mist diffuser plugged in

she also has a small fish tank with a beta fish inside (its the appropriate size too!!)

(she let a student name the fish—it’s name is sir bubbles of argon)

she also has a sculpture from penelope (“her name is maxine”)

her desk is very organized and clean!!

there’s a small couch in her office and her door is always open

sometimes, students will come in if they’re having a hard time and need someone to talk to

they know jj is there to listen and she always seems to understand (she doesn’t judge them either)

Emily

teaches three languages, both for majors and non majors

spanish, french and russian

(she’s also quite fluent in arabic and italian and can hold her own if she’s speaking in german or mandarin, but the students don’t need to know that)

she’s actually very intimidating lmao

students are so scared of her 😭

she’s serious af

(she smiles in class sometimes though!!)

(besides, she’s only serious inside the classroom)

(outside the classroom, she might even be as approachable as penelope)

always dressed in expensive black suits, polished heeled shoes with very dark makeup and a “don’t fuck with me” steely attitude to match

she also wears expensive watches

she always stands at the front of the class and slowly paces the entire hour

one time someone decided to fuck off in her spanish 101 class

she didn’t even yell at him, she glared

rumor has it the kid was never spotted on campus again after that

(BOY SHE SCARED HIM SO BAD HE DROPPED TF OUT)

despite that, her classes are some of the easiest to take

one because emily has a way of teaching that helps all students understand

and two because her voice is naturally very easy to listen to

students taking her french 101 are going to leave the class speaking fluent conversational french

she also doesn’t tolerate people being racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, etc in her class

if she catches a bigoted comment someone makes in her class, she kicks them immediately

she brings in her cat sometimes

he’s all black and his name is sergio

(he’s her esa that she brings in when she’s feeling really stressed out)

he’s clipped on a harness and sits on her shoulder or on her desk

if he meows, she accepts it as an answer

it’s the only time the students ever see professor emily prentiss as soft

well

other than the days she has the class watch foreign films because the students can tell emily has a fondness for them

her office is pretty organized like jj’s

instead of it being light and inviting, emily decorated her office on a more dark side

she has a few animal skulls, crystals and other gothic memorabilia on her desk or bookshelf

she has a small cat bed on the corner of her desk that sergio sleeps in

on the other corner is a sculpture penelope made her

(it kinda looks like a crow and emily named it kurt)

really, the only colors in her office are dark, deep purples and the small lesbian pride flag sticker on the back of her laptop

Derek

teaches history classes

but like modern history

from like 1940s to present

he refuses to follow most western history books bc they’re not accurate like at all

in his first year of teaching, the dean of his department made him use a book and he hated every second of it

how accurate could the information be if they portray king tut as a white guy???

he graduated under one of the best historians in the country

he also traveled a lot after he graduated and met a lot of people that had first hand experience with major historical events

that’s really what he bases his teachings off of—first hand experiences and encounters

every two weeks or so, he’ll invite in guest speakers to his classes to talk about what they went through (depending on his lesson plans)

that’s how he likes to teach and learn (bc he always loves to learn new things!!)

this is random, but also he is the type of professor to randomly box jump up onto a desk

he also sits in chairs backwards and has a more laid back style to teaching

his exams are based on what the students can learn from history rather than the information itself

he’s always dressed super casual!!

solid color, short sleeve button ups are a favorite!! (no tie)

he gets along with all the students

he’ll talk to the athletes about their games but sound just as enthusiastic and genuine talking with students who are majors in fine arts about their projects

he’s just a v down to earth professor tbh!!

he brings in clooney so much

like... every friday

it’s just another bonus of taking his history classes!!

he and penelope are dating

his office is full of sculptures she makes for him 🥺

he drops by her graphic design studio class with clooney to help out or even to just watch

he’s supportive and encouraging of penelope and her art!!

other than the sculptures penelope makes him, his office is a bit more disorganized than jj’s or emily’s, but cleaner than spencer’s

he has a few papers scattered on his desk but mostly he’s a little more put together

his office door has a small basketball hoop attached that he plays around with if he’s bored (and if penelope is busy)

both he and penelope have a dog bed in their office and water bowls for clooney when he comes in

Hotch

law professor

is the most intimidating professor on campus

like

seriously

if students think professor prentiss is intimidating, they haven’t met professor hotchner

he stands in the front of the room and goes over his lecture without pausing or asking questions

his voice is naturally low and intimidating and he actually never smiles

his attire and appearance is always so professional

suits

ties that are tied so tight, they look like they’re choking him

shoes so polished, he can see his reflection in them

hair always styled neatly

pants and jacket are always wrinkle free

his classes are difficult

not just because of the subject matter, but because he has a very organized, straight forward method to his teaching

students wouldn’t dare act up in his class—they’d be absolute idiots to

he’s quiet and reserved outside the classroom

if the others hear anyone talking shit about hotch behind his back, they’re always quick to come to his defense

they actually know hotch

they know he puts on a hardass exterior, but really he’s just a softie

he always lets them hang in his office with him

he listens to spencer’s ramblings and is extremely patient with him

he has lunch with emily every other day

even if she’s a pain in his ass 99% of the time, he likes that she sticks around and that he can trust her

he shows up to all of penelope’s art shows

and sometimes sits in on derek’s lectures when he has guest speakers

jj brings him pastries from the coffee shop on campus sometimes

he knows that he can come to her if he ever has anything he needs to talk about

(he never opens up to her but he really appreciates the sentiment nonetheless)

penelope has definitely made hotch a few sculptures

(he keeps them at home, but he does have one of her paintings hanging in his office)

speaking of his office it’s hands down the most organized out of all of them

his desk is so clean besides the picture of his son he proudly displays at the corner

he always has his lights off and his door shut

he seems so unapproachable, especially in class

but sometimes his lecture notes have crayon scribbles all over the page

or a small sock will fall out of his briefcase

and maybe, even for a moment, his serious demeanor falls when he spots them

and it almost reassures the students that he is human

Rossi

actually he’s the only one besides maybe reid i can see being a criminology professor

is a retired fbi agent

and successful author

so like that hasn’t changed from canon

but because he doesn’t work for the fbi anymore, he has absolutely no chill and tells all secrets

he’ll be like

talking to his class about a case he worked on in ‘83

and be halfway talking about details of cases that were supposed to be confidential

he’ll pause and go “oops” but keep talking lmaooo

penelope actually never made him a sculpture

instead she made him a coffee mug she made on the wheel and glazed herself!! (she even made her own glaze bc she’s extra like that)

carved on the side is “world’s best italian dad”

(this is because when emily introduced rossi to the group she was like “yeah he’s kinda like my dad” and now everyone calls him “dad”)

(he loves it so much though and proudly accepts his title)

he loves his mug so much and uses it every single day!!!

he’s the only professor besides penelope that let his students refer to him without the title of “professor”

he gives off kind old grandpa vibes

and that he’s only teaching because he really doesn’t have anything better to do during his retirement

but he’s chill and his class is interesting to take

(plus he really does love to teach)

he’ll ramble on and on about his “golden years” as an agent

he will especially talk a student’s ear off if they come up to him and tell him that they read one [or all] of his books

he writes a different quote on his board every single day

his attire is always business casual

he sits on the edge of the desk or on a swivel chair because it’s comfy

he was doing a lecture on jack the ripper and just pushed himself around on the swivel chair, slowly spinning around the front of the room

his voice kept changing in volume every few words because of him facing the wall and then a few moments later facing the classroom

his students refer to him as a “living breathing meme”

he has no idea what the fuck that means

but he take it as a compliment

his office is empty because he goes home after he’s done with classes lmao

he doesn’t do paperwork

or fuck with technology (he never fucking responds to emails smh)

so he has no need for an office

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Valentines Day for Nerds (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s favourite holiday is often taken up mostly by work, but this year his enjoyment doesn’t seem to be as disruptive in the BAU bullpen. The team soon realise why.

AN: It’s a bit late- who am I kidding? IT’S ALWAYS HALLOWEEN IN OUR HEARTS! This was a part of @imagining-in-the-margins fic swap, for the brilliant @agntprentiss <3 

For my smut fic from the swap, check out A Little Indulgence (18+ only!)

Reader uses she/her pronouns!

Word count: 1.7k words

Gif credit to @imagining-in-the-margins​ <3

Your name: submit What is this?

The first breach of boredom was Penelope practically skipping into the bullpen, her arms cradling a bouquet of flowers as if it were an infant. The bold orange roses contrasted with the dyed black petals of its counterparts as they were planted upon Spencer’s desk.

“Delivery for Doctor Reid!” trilled Penelope, clapping her hands now that they were free of said delivery. Dropping his pen onto his unfinished paperwork, Spencer pivoted the base of the bouquet before he found a small black envelope.

It held a little card with two pumpkins, happy faces carved into them both. Inside were the following words:

 Black is for new beginnings,

Orange is for enthusiasm,

Spooky times are afoot tonight,

Watch out for ectoplasm!

I spent ten minutes trying to think of a rhyme for that. Happy Halloween, Cara Mia!

Y/N xxx

Spencer beamed as he placed the bouquet at the edge of his desk, next to the fake severed hand that now held the card in its stiff fingers. He scratched his bristly cheek. Less than a day until he could shave this off. It’d be worth it though.

“Is it from Y/N?”

He looked up to see Penelope had lingered like a lost spirit, waiting to see if her trials of passing on the bouquet had been worthy enough for her to move onto the next world – her Batcave. She was poised with a hopeful expression.

“Yes,” Spencer said, watching Penelope lean up on her tiptoes as she tried to rein in her delight.

She clapped her hands, her purple painted nails clicking as they tapped together, “Are my two favourite ghost hunters up to much this Hallow’s Eve?”

“We’re going to see the Phantasmagoria re-enactment after we go trick-or-treating with Henry tonight.”

It was hard to ignore the absolute glee with which Spencer spoke. Even if one completely ignored the way his voice carried a light excitement, the way his eyes lit up and his broad smile almost fell off his face was enough to connote that he was very excited for tonight. It was also hard to ignore the mild bemusement on the faces of everyone who heard.

Glad to be back and bearing witness to his elated behaviour regardless, Emily cracked a smile, “Maybe she’ll cling to you when she gets scared.”

A heat crawled up Spencer’s neck and he tried to return to work now in hopes that his gift’s display would be cut off. He’d rather sit in the glow of receiving the flowers without mockery.

To the team’s credit, no one ribbed him for it.

The flowers were not the last gift though.

Soon Penelope reappeared, “Your Cupid has returned with another gift for you!”

As he tore at the paper and revealed an Edgar Allen Poe pin – the titular Raven he instantly attached it to his satchel strap – in pride of place, just like the bouquet.

Derek was the one to notice how Spencer’s sandwiches had been cut into little pumpkins. Some digging and Spencer revealed that he had gotten Y/N to order a cutter online. He held his lunch in one hand, his collection of classic Halloween short stories in the other, with a childish glee that no one wanted to squander.

When Spencer climbed the steps to drop off a file to Hotch around mid-afternoon, Rossi walking behind him noted the brand-new socks. A classic odd pairing, and obviously they were Halloween themed. This kid left no opportunity untaken when it came to celebrating Halloween – more than his own birthday.

But Rossi was not closed enough to get a good look at them, and no one else was as close. So, he recruited Emily and Derek to discover what the pattern was. It was Emily and Derek who upped the stakes by wanting to get a glimpse without arousing suspicion. Now that outright asking Spencer was not an option, the game began as they dropped several pens as an excuse to bend over and strain for a flash of those socks.

Derek eventually resorted to a pantomime attempt at tripping in front of Spencer’s desk and gave the jig up straight away by shouting to a stressed Emily (whilst also catching the attention of Hotch through his office’s blinds): “IT’S IT!”

A few language barriers hurdled later, and hindsight brought them both clarity. The red splodge on Spencer’s ankle was officially defined as a balloon.

“So tell us! What’s the other one?” Emily said, her voice strained with how much she was invested in this single sock.

Spencer hiked up his trouser leg to display the skeletal zombie sewn into the sock. “It’s Curtis Danko from When Good Ghouls Go Bad. Y/N had it commissioned for me!”

JJ was watching nearby, unaffected by the tensions of the sock bet. She knew the film because Y/N had wanted to show it to Henry the other week when she babysat him. But upon further inspection, the R.L. Stine film – while intended for kids – might be a little intimidating for Henry to watch without his profiler mother and godfather, police officer father, and favourite auntie there to protect him from the cursed statue.

No one else in the bullpen knew the film.

The team soon discovered that Spencer was not the only one to be on the receiving end of such gifts. Six o’clock rolled around and Y/N entered the bullpen. She was wearing a fuzzy black scarf, some sparkles shining within the wool. At the tail of it, a lucky black cat patch was sewn onto the end. It caught Rossi’s eye and he hid behind a folder as he smiled. The three times that Spencer had forgone a card game with him (in favour of knitting the scarf on the flights back from cases) had been riddled with playful teasing. It was good to see that it was worth it.

Especially when Spencer saw Y/N wearing it and his back snapped straight up. His chair flew backwards, spinning around with the effort that Spencer had launched himself from it, and he and Y/N embraced each other with casual affection.

“How was work today?”

“Not as boring as I thought. But, I have to say: I’m meant to call you Cara Mia.” Spencer’s eyes darted to the card Y/N had sent that morning.

Y/N caught onto his meaning, “Should I stop?”

“Never.”

She rubbed her nose against his and Spencer went pink again, giggling like a teenager. True, he was as smitten with Y/N as Gomez was with Morticia. Then he remembered he was in the workplace as Y/N went to greet the rest of the team, and Spencer’s pink became a scarlet.

“Aww, Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned at him from his desk chair, “You’re so cute!”

“It’s like Sergio!” Emily said, admiring the scarf with her thumb rubbing over the stitches around the cat patch.

“Make sure he’s safe tonight,” Y/N squeezed her hands for a second.

Then JJ appeared from her office, coat and bag over her arm, and she, Y/N, and Spencer wished the bullpen a Happy Halloween before they left.

They had three hours before the Phantasmagoria started. Plenty of time to get ready.

Henry was right behind the front door of his home. The second it opened, he bounced at Spencer’s feet, his tiny hand clutching onto two of his fingers to drag him inside. He was babbling away at such speed that Y/N could barely keep up. She gave Will a wave across the ironing board where he was diligently ironing Will’s cape.

“Well don’t you look handsome!” Y/N beamed at Henry while JJ combed his hair back, slick with gel. It was something he agreed to but only if Spencer was doing the same. Which he was, occupying the downstairs bathroom as he prepared his own costume.

The moment Spencer had finished shaving everything bar the moustache, he was plonked in front of the television. Henry smoothed out his cloak and put in his plastic fangs in to watch the rest of his new favourite Halloween film, The Little Vampire. He mumbled along with Rudolph’s lines and sat enraptured as he pointed out to Spencer the flying scenes. Luckily for him, Will and JJ were getting dressed as Frederick and Freda Sackville-Bagg upstairs to join in the Halloween spirit – last year’s Halloween date night disaster long forgotten.

Henry put in his plastic fangs and hissed at Y/N who emerged in her long sleek black dress. As she stepped across the room as elegantly as Morticia, Spence spied that she was wearing the black spiderweb tights he had bought her today.

“Hello, Gomez,” She smiled radiantly at Spencer, smoothing out his suit jacket as he stood before her. He presented her with a red rose that matched her lipstick to a tee.

As she breathed in the flower’s scent, he kissed her cheek, enjoying her giggle at the bristle of his ‘stache, “You’re stunning.”

“Thank you, and you’re handsome as ever.” She swung their linked hands between them in the opposite way she poised on her tiptoes. “Maybe we should have taken a tango class.”

And she laughed loudly at Spencer’s wincing at such a thought.

“It’s ok, Cara Mia. I’ll settle for a kiss instead.”

Oh, that was something he could do forever. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles then the inside of each wrist.

Unfortunately, Henry interrupted the stream of kisses that were headed in Y/N’s way. “Ready to go!” He skipped his way between the happy couple.

It was hard to be mad at Henry, especially with how adorable he looked beside his parents and with his bright orange pumpkin bag ready to collect candy. He felt safe with his four favourite adults guarding him.

“Tonight,” Y/N whispered into his ear and he could hear the smirk in her words, “After the Phantasmagoria.”

Spencer beamed, his dimples delightfully framing that smile. One day maybe, they would have their own Wednesday, Pugsley, and Pubert to join them. And maybe then Derek would dress up as Uncle Fester.

[sopxhiea]

Lush

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Alfie finds out that the wild little lady has more tricks up her sleeve than he’d initially thought but it all makes him want her even more and this time, she has no contradiction to the fact.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“You’re so wild that I want to be the one to tame you.”

“I’d be whatever you want me to be.”

Dumfounded.

A deer in headlights, a young kid caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing or the face of someone after a bomb went off. It depended on the person or the situation.

But you concluded that Alfie looked like all of those things combined as he stared at you.

It had been an uneventful day for him, he had taken you out and learned a thing or two about the infamous wild girl the cockneys were banging on about. It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought, this little game he played with you. He doubted that you knew any better but it was a good filtration system to see who’d last and he’d play all the games you’d want if it meant that he’d have you to himself at the end.

A painted smile graces your lips, the lips Alfie had dreamed about for too many times. He looked at you from head to toe and felt his throat dry. He didn’t even blink twice when staring at the barrel of a gun yet here he was, feeling himself go weak at the sight of something half his size. 

You raised your eyebrows, your way of telling him to speak up but he needed a moment to regain his voice so he just stepped to the side instead, urging you to come in.

You looked like a sin walking around in your kitten heels, a sin he was dedicated to committing. 

He recognised the fur coat from earlier that day and wondered if you were wearing underneath the thick material and his questions were soon answered when you threw the expensive clothing on one of the sofas. The sheer dress earned a gulp from him, a deep one at that before he cleared his throat and spoke. It took him a solid minute and you’d been eyeing him the whole time.

You’d kiss him, you’d made a mental note of doing so.

“I’d have you picked up, yeah, if I knew ya were comin’.” he said, eyes roaming all around your body before they landed on your eyes and he found himself a bit too restless.

He wanted to mark you, claim your soft skin as his but the game was still on. He didn’t know when it’d be the end, where you’d open your arms and offer him all that you were but he’d been working the ground for that to happen and he prayed to his gods that it were soon or else, he’d need to deal with the tightness in his pants a bit sooner than he’d want to.

“I prefer walking.” you said while sitting on the sofa you’d sat on the first time you had come around and he felt his blood rise to his cheeks when you crossed your legs and offered him a look at your upper legs.

While he was busy ogling you, you looked around for a sign of anyone around. You knew he didn’t have many close friends, none that came over anyway as he’d told you the first time you’d met the broad man. Your eyes met his blue ones then, a bit hesitant since this part of the game was always a bit nerve wrecking.

The dancing and the enticing was all fine. You’d smile, use your wit and words to interest them further. Men were easy to deal with when they only used the tool between their legs and not their mind. You’d been dealing with Alfie the same way at the beginning.

But soon found out that it was a mistake.

He was easy to rile up and his anger swam at the surface but he was insanely calm. He was calculating, even when it came to a small lady like yourself. He knew you wouldn’t hurt him but that only a fact when it came to physical terms. He knew all along that you could easily wreck him, split his soul into two with a smile so he was careful.

He dealt with liars and manipulators on the daily and he also came to find out that you weren’t the usual deceiver. You had your ways, just as dangerous and thrilling that would get him into endless trouble if he let you do what you wanted. His guard was mostly down, letting you land any hits you’d have but he was strong, too. Body and mind.

“Couldn’t get enough of old me, eh?” he teased as he faced you, sitting on the couch right in front with feet apart. The adventure in the morning had been tasteful to say the least and he had passed the little test.

“Something along the lines of that.” you spoke, voice soft around the air as he watched. His eyelids moved slowly as he inspected you.

It was clear that you were there to get something.

He would give it to you. Hell, he’d give you anything if only you’d ask. But you never would and he figured that was the chase. He watched your lips move as you offered him a smile, genuine this time and he hated the way his chest vibrated with a single act that came from you.

Such danger in a little thing, he thought.

For a while, the both of you just stared at each other. Slowly blinking, you assessed the man before you. He was handsome, calculating and a handful to say the least but those were all things you’d dealt with before, just not all at once. 

You wanted to be wanted, and he was very beautiful under the fire lit room.

Your eyes wandered off to the fireplace but his remained on you. You spoke then, knowing he would stare at you until the moon was decorating the black sky and even when the sun would come up. “You weren’t expecting me.” you said, as a matter of fact.

“Nah. A pleasant fuckin’ surprise, it ‘s.” he said, not missing a beat after your words. Almost like he had been waiting to tell you that.

“Yeah?” you spoke, words enticing as your breathy voice filled the air. You got up in the process, walking towards his sitting form. 

He was almost as tall as you while sitting, his broad form was welcoming. His arms opened to the sides, waiting for you to sit on him. You got the hint and a shy smile formed on your lips. There was a flash of surprise in his eyes as he looked into yours, he had never seen you like this before. Like a cat under the sun, calm and content.

You obliged, for the first time in his time of knowing you.

Your legs lifted and you put them on top of his, slowly. He watched you as your hands reached for his open arms, gripping onto them gently to place yourself securely on his lap. A minute later, you were on top of the man, chest to chest as he looked at you. His hands were on your waist and lower back as his eyes rested on your features.

You were a sight for sore eyes.

He was surprised at your gentleness as he looked at you, speaking in a lower voice than usual. “You’re so wild that I want to be the one to tame you.”

It brought a smile to your lips.

You were known to be the one to run away. Commitment, gentleness or mercy were not things you were known for. You were good at dancing in a sinful way and whispering sweet nothings to strangers’ ears to get what you wanted. You were the one to run away, to sneak out and break all the rules imaginable. 

But there you were, sitting calmly on your handsome stranger’s lap with a smile on your lips. You were calm as a bird as you smiled at his words, eyes looking at your hands as your cheeks slowly flushed. This was a different side of you, just as deathly as the one Alfie knew but it was slightly softer.

“Let me know if that works out.” you whispered against his face, the more you spoke the more closer he got to your face.

He nodded, ready to come up with a snarky remark to match yours as he usually did. It was natural, this banter between the two of you and he doubted it would change. He didn’t want it to. But he watched your eyes change under the fireplace’s light, something shifted and you leaned forward, inch by inch.

You’d kiss him tonight, you’d promised yourself.

There was no hesitation when his lips met yours, the plump pillows you’d dreamed about melted against yours. It felt like the sound of a click, like the key had been put into its rightful position but you ignored the feeling when his large hand grasped the base of your skull in a gentle manner. You smiled against his lips as his tongue met yours. Small mews came out of your mouth as he kissed you.

He was a good kisser, you hadn’t doubted it but this just proved the point further. Your hands remained on his chest while his other hand explored your back. You were so breathy when you kissed that he was losing his mind. The air in your lungs slowly disappeared and you broke the kiss, lips swollen and red from his breathless kiss.

The sight felt like a bullet wound in his chest as he looked at you.

You licked your lips and he felt himself reaching for them but stopped. You had been the one initiating it but he still wanted you to be comfortable with his kisses. Once he knew you were, he’d never leave you alone. You sensed the hesitation and pulled his face against yours using the collar of his shirt.

You’d always had the upper hand until now, you still did but now you were the one seeking him out as opposed to the usual dynamic. He concluded that he liked it better this way, when you were the one to initiate things. You licked your lips and reached for him.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His lips felt like velvet against yours, he was drinking every moan and mewl that came from you as you gave him the upper hand for the first time, letting him take over the kiss. It soon proved to be the best choice, you thought while he kissed you like you were a breath of fresh air while you ran out of the very same air, dizzy with swollen lips.

After you gently broke the kiss, you saw it in his eyes. The thing you’d been chasing, not in every man but in this particular one. It was usually lust you’d see after a kiss, a hungry pair of eyes that belonged to the gent kissing you but this time, it was mixed with something else. Something quite foreign.

Adoration.

Licking your lips once more, you got up from his lap and like nothing had happened, sat on the couch you were sitting on when you first arrived in the room. He looked a bit disheveled, chest rising rapidly as he looked at you with hands on his legs. You offered him a gentle smile and he thought for the countless time, he’d give you anything.

“Where’s Cyril?” you spoke, voice breathy and he thought it was a joke at first but soon realised that it was dead serious.

He saw the game you were playing.

All along, he had wanted a taste of you. You’d kept him on his toes, dancing and prancing around with fancy words and smart remarks until he could no longer stand the teasing. Now, you had given him what he wanted, a taste but he saw it all now. It was an extremely smart move from your part.

He wasn’t satisfied with just one kiss, you knew he wouldn’t be. He thought you tasted like a spring day when the flowers blossom and the grim weather is replaced with the smiling rays of the sun. He wanted more, much more, and he was weaker than before, now that he knew how sweet your kisses were.

You had him on the hook.

The big scary shark was in your hands now, tied to the strings you’d wrapped around his broad body without him realising. You wouldn’t hurt him, no. You’d play with him a little, push all the red buttons and see how far he goes when it comes to certain things. And you’d tease him to no end, now that he was completely addicted.

You gave him another smile as he spoke, his lips were swollen too. “Out.”

A chuckle escaped your lips at the short answer. Was he mad now? It didn’t matter, as long as you had him under the spell and from the way he was looking at you, he was in the right space. “Out where?”

“With a fuckin’ friend.” he spoke, eyes glaring at you as you licked your lips. Cyril was with Ollie for the time being, needed a change of setting and Alfie trusted Ollie enough, more than he trusted you.

“Hm.” you nodded while humming. 

He wasn’t livid but you knew by now that Alfie’s anger swam at the surface.

And he was angry.

Angry that he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. The forbidden fruit. You had been that fruit for the longest time, only because you were playing a game and he was willing to play it with you but he didn’t know. He didn’t know how sweet your lips tasted or the way your small body seemed to fit his when you sat on his lap. 

But he knew he’d miss the warmth of your body and the soft skin of your face against his. He was screwed, he soon realised. Now that he had a taste, you were all he’d ever ask for. He saw the victory in your eyes, a pat in the back was well deserved for you in the little game you were playing with his old heart.

“Alfie..” you said, breathy voice gaining his attention in the matter of a second. He was still mad but his need and want to kiss you would overshadow that.

He looked at you, as if to say ‘speak up’. So you did.

“All you need to do...is ask.” you said, legs uncrossing and crossing again. 

He knew that.

He knew that if he’d ask for a kiss or a fuck or a dance, he’d lose. That was the game. He had been the one to seek you out all the other times but it was never a question, it was more of a ‘I’m here now and you’ll come with me’ sort of thing. It fit the game.

But if he were to ask, that would mean that he was the loser and you could do anything. He knew you’d wreck him, like you’d been doing for the past months of knowing him. He didn’t want to lose, he just wanted you to himself but he also wanted you to be impressed and liked this push and pull dilemma so he’d keep the game on, play as well as he could.

He wouldn’t ask. No matter how desperate he was to do so.

“Hm.” he grunted while tugging at his beard. His eyes roamed all over your body, a gulp present on his throat as you looked him in the eye.

Alfie was a joy to play with.

“If only you’d ask...” you spoke, getting up and swaying your hips while walking towards him. He was in a trance, too dazed to get out to a point where even a bullet wouldn’t help. “I’d be whatever you want me to be.”

That was the last straw.

You had skilfully knocked him out, no air in his lungs as he stared at your small form standing right on front of his seated one. He didn’t get it, just how dangerous a small thing like you could be.

He blamed himself.

He’d been told these things before but thought that the blokes were just drunk at the time, the liquor giving them illusions regarding what had happened. They’d told him about the danger in your eyes, the one residing in your smile that could surely bring down any man but he thought, foolishly, that he wasn’t just any man.

And he wasn’t, but that didn’t change any of the facts.

You saw him gulp first. He was staring at your eyes as you stood in front of him, helpless and tender. You knew he’d do anything you’d ask for but you needed him to be the one to ask. That way you had the upper hand. He looked at your body from head to toe and his eyes landed on yours again. 

He was fucked. Simply and utterly fucked.

“Cat got your tongue?” you spoke, a giggle at the end of the sentence and he swore he was ready to have right then and there.

Men were scared of him, many mighty gangsters of different lands have said less and had their brains scattered on the pavement. You were far past the line of pushing it and Alfie saw it in your eyes that, as a matter of fact, you didn’t give a single fuck.

“I’ve fuckin’ killed for less.” he spoke, more to himself than you but you heard the gruff in his voice. He was coming around.

“Well, If you killed for less maybe you’ll fuck for more?” you spoke in a heartbeat and it took him a solid minute. There you were in a sheer dress, asking him if he wanted to fuck you and he knew you wouldn’t let him at the end.

“Lass...”he said, a warning in his tone as he eyed you.

You got the clue.

“Alright, old man.” you said, walking away to sit on the sofa again. “You look all hot and bothered.” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words but it was true.

It wasn’t right to fuck you now, Alfie knew the rules. There was still much needed foreplay and all that, he knew that for a fact. He also knew that you weren’t done playing and it would still take some time for you to let him close to you, let alone have you. 

He’d wait, he’d made that decision the first night he’d met you.

“You’re playin’ with the wrong fuckin’ person, Y/N.” he spoke, saying your name in a way that made tingles appear on your back. You smiled at the words before crossing your legs again.

"It’s quite fun.” you spoke, leg bouncing up and down as he kept his eyes on you.

What a curious thing you were.

You were dangerous, far more than the gangsters he made business with everyday and he’d give you that. You had bigger balls than a dozen proper lads he knew but there was also something in your eyes he couldn’t quite place. It was not sadness or agony, you wouldn’t show him that.

 It was the need to be adored.

Your looks and moves contributed to the whole charade, he knew, but you liked to be adored, loved almost. He didn’t know if it was love yet, only that you had him wrapped around your dainty finger. He’d gladly do anything you’d ask and you knew that but that was no fun. Fun came to be when he was the one demanding things, it was more thrilling that way.

He wondered if you’d let him have you that night. You had come all the way to his house and were the one seeking him out, it was usually the other way around. He didn’t ponder on it for too long, he’d just get disappointed if he did. He looked at the smile on your lips and then sighed, he was in deep.

“Can I see your library?” you asked, almost like a little kid this time. 

There was a switch, he thought.

He’d seen you act like a bold lady with a million dollar smile, a kind lady in a boarding school who was well behaved and a little kid who just wanted some attention. He saw the look in your eyes change every now and then and wondered this time, whether there were more sides to you.

Women were complex creatures, you were the proof of that.

“What kind o’ fuckin’ prize do I get out of it?” he spoke, voice gruff as he looked at you. He picked up the game really quickly and you were slightly surprised at the question but carried on nevertheless. 

“I won’t tell Annabelle I stayed over.” you spoke in a low voice.

He unpacked the words, slowly.

Alfie was not a fearful man, everyone around knew the fact. He had killed men with bare hands before and had even crushed one of their windpipes with his left hand. But he was slightly annoyed by Annabelle, the head teacher in the boarding school was nothing but useless talk.

He didn’t even think you’d be staying over and it meant nothing but trouble, he’d welcome it with open arms. He looked at your eyes first and then your body. He’d promised himself to behave, that he’d be proper tonight and keep his hands to himself.

But only if you wanted him to.

“Right.” he spoke and got up, walking towards the library and you followed him like a small kid. He felt a smile tugging at his lips as he opened the large doors and concluded that he was getting too soft for his liking.

The doors were large and tall, almost extended all the way to the ceiling as your eyes scanned through them. Alfie pushed the door slightly after removing the lock underneath the floor. You didn’t realise he was waiting for you to get inside until he put his hand on the small of your back and realised you were too busy staring at the tall doors.

You shot him a smile, no threat underneath your lips and walked inside. The library space turned out to be his study, countless shelves decorating the space and his desk on the other end of the spacious room. The detailing was all in wood, something you thought suited him as you sat down on the large chair in front of the desk.

His chair, to be exact.

He smiled through the thick beard, finding a flood of emotions in his heart. It was all fun and that, he agreed but he was a man of taste and got what he wanted, always. He soon realised that maybe that thing wasn’t the deal he was making behind the Russians or doing shit behind the Shelby’s back but you, just a small girl who was too lethal for her own good.

“Show me your favourite book, Mr. Solomons..” you whispered as you stood close to him near one of the shelves. He was aware of your close proximity but tried to pay no attention to it. You looked at his face first and then his hands as they reached across the shelf and picked out an old, torn out cover.

He handed it to you but that was no good. You grabbed his hand, pulled him across the room to where the large sofa was and made him sit down. He didn’t protest, didn’t say anything but just looked at you. You got comfortable on the sofa, and handed the book back to him.

“Read it to me...” you said in a hushed voice, almost like this was not a part of the deal. You were being quiet as a lamb now, not like the dangerous woman he knew but he decided both sides were equally fascinating to him. You gulped and heard the voice of Annabelle on your head, shouting at you for not using proper greetings and spoke up again with the softest gaze. “..please.”

How could he say no?

So he started reading but you weren’t looking at the book. Shifting closer to his large body, you leaned against his arm after putting your head against it. He was a dream to snuggle with and you realised what kind of a man he was while he read to you in his glasses. 

He was a rare one.

Most men, who were proper enough to be able to see you after the first date, would try to fuck you or have a kiss at least. None of them would wait after hearing the word going around, about how had it was to tame you. Alfie had waited for over a month, didn’t even try anything funny until you were the one sitting on his lap, in his home with your lips against his.

You decided you’d keep playing the game, but for a bit longer than the usual.

You didn’t let him stop reading as you stared at his face, he was very aware of your ogling and the fact that it wasn’t sexual, not in any shape or form. You were measuring something, whether he’d be worth keeping.

All men did was disappoint and you’d given yourself countless pep talks about how worthless it was to think any of them would have the capacity to love you, after the years of wild dancing and making a name for yourself. A tinge in your heart told you that maybe this man would but it was hard to trust the tinge.

So you decided you’d test him, more than once.

You put all the ideas of love and the possibility of having something with this man into a box as you watched his lips move while he read to you. You’d pull all of those ideas out once you were sure he was worth keeping, that he wouldn’t hurt you and you put on your game face. You’d tease him instead of asking him to love you, this wasn’t the time to ask for tenderness but to see what he was playing at.

He was a gangster who had fucked people over before, after all.

“Alfie.” you spoke, only the second time you were referring to him by his name.

He looked up from the book almost immediately and grunted, as if to say ‘speak’. You noticed the things swimming in his blue orbs but ignored them.  “Ask me.”

He promised himself he wouldn’t.

If he asked, he lost. If he asked, he was in trouble, even more so than he was in now, with you in his house for the night.

“I won’t tell.” you whispered against his face, closer to his handsome features now.

He wasn’t going to ask, that wasn’t the plan he had made with himself.

He didn’t know what you’d do with him, if he were to ask you. You could ruin him with one word like you had almost done earlier and he wouldn’t regret it but the game was still on. The desperation in his tone would take over, he knew that much and if he were to ask you, he’d never have the upper hand again, not if  you were kissing him like you had been earlier.

But he forgot all of that as you stared at him with soft eyes, wanting only one word to come out of his mouth.

He was the one to come visit you, take you places unannounced and get you from dinner parties you should’ve been attending. He had asked you if you’d fuck him that day in his office and the one to put a gun in your hand. If someone asked, he was fucked. In the accordance of things, you seemed like a poor girl he kept dragging around.

It could turn around, very easily. And he didn’t want that.

But the way you looked at him made him forget almost everything and his lips were moving before he could register the thought. “Kiss me, lass.”

And you did.

His lips were soft, heavenly even as you leaned forward and kissed him once more. You wouldn’t tell anyone that he had lost this round, as well as all the last rounds you’d played with the gangster. His hand moved to your waist as your upper body was on top of his, head no longer resting against his arm but in level with his as you moved your lips against his plump ones.

You had kissed guys before, enough of them to know that Alfie was a damn good kisser. A small moan left your lips and he swallowed the sound, too eager to kiss you as much as he could so that he could convince himself that this wasn’t a dream after all.

Breaking the kiss almost hesitantly, you licked your lips to savour the taste of his kiss. He looked down at your flushed cheeks, your hands still resting on his chest while his remained on your waist. You didn’t look up to meet his eyes this time, too afraid that it would reveal something about you to him. Transparency was not something you wanted him to see, especially not the storms he was stirring inside you with his velvet kisses.

“You can..uh....” you spoke, caught off guard since the first time he’d met you.

And you were beautiful like this.

Cheeks flushed and lips swollen, struggling to get the words out even though you had many for him a minute ago. Your hair was messy than before, heart beating loudly against his chest while you avoided his blue orbs.

And he thought, for a split second, that he might have a chance with you after all.

“..continue reading the book.” you spoke while lifting yourself off of his chest. You were still trying to catch your breath, a look of slight panic on your face every now and then but it was too brief for Alfie to comment on it.

“That what you want, pet?” he spoke, in the softest voice he could muster and you felt your emotions stir.

He was the one playing the game now.

You had not used any of your cards til now, he’d been the one to do all the hard work during the push and pull but you had to use one of them now or you’d lose the upper hand, that meant check mate and you’d never lost a round. You had not even come close to it during all your time spent playing this game.

“I could ask you the same question.” you spoke, the devious smile back in a split second and he no longer saw the softer part as you covered it up with your bold moves and pretty smile.

“Right..” he spoke, putting the glasses back on his nose to their rightful place and he ignored his need to kiss you senseless as you sat on the same sofa, just not as close as before. “Back to the fuckin’ book it ‘s..”

He kept on reading, words becoming tangled in your mind as he groaned every now and then about the events taking place on the yellow pages in front of him but you were too busy thinking to listen.

If you weren’t careful enough, this man would win.

Not because you didn’t know the game or didn’t play it well, It was the opposite. You played it so well that he was learning from you. The little winks sent your way, the small touches and the open end questions, not to mention his kisses that made you feel all dizzy. 

You weren’t going into the panic mode but plan strategy instead. You looked at him, his golden beard and plump lips and the words that kept coming out of his mouth. He was smart but you knew the patterns too well, you had played this game longer than he had.

You’d keep him around but he needed to be put in his place, to be shown that you would always have the upper hand in any situation when it was the two of you alone. You wouldn’t lose any rounds, he’d lost almost all of them until now and there was still a smile on his lips due to the events that just took place.

But the night was long and he had many buttons you hadn’t pushed.

------

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum @fuseburner​ @r-rose08​ @innerpaperexpertcloud @caffinated-tree @cathartichaoss  a/n: I hope january is treating everyone well! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as it has a bit more spice :) Let me know what you thought and/or if you’d like to be tagged!! <3

The next chapter may be delayed since i’m having a busy month in school but it’s in the works :)

[mellointheory]

inhaling smoke, i just awoke

Red wakes up because he’s cold.

It’s winter in Hypixel City, and even the amount of toxins the city puts into the air doesn’t keep the weather from getting cold. Red used to live near a factory that, despite its other drawbacks, kept the air around it warm. He moved away from the factory after he lost his job at the pharmacy. Of course, at that point there wasn’t much of a factory to move away from.

He fights the urge to stay in bed, even though his blankets are thin. It’s only when a glance at his alarm clock tells him it’s 10:46 AM that he gains the motivation to get up. His hands are numb and he blows on them periodically as he gets dressed. There are stains on his palms and fingertips; skin spotted in dark purple and blue. He was working on something new before he went to bed: a recipe of his own that should give the user enhanced eyesight. He tried it last night and all it did was give everything he looked at an edge of bright orange or cyan. He still has the residual headache from it behind his eyes.

Red and white hoodie. Headphones. Bag full of enhancements--the kind that people will actually buy. A baseball bat painted with candy-cane stripes, just in case. Then it’s time for him to go to work.

He ended up in the dockyards of the city after the pharmacy incident, partially because no one would come looking for him here and partially because it was full of exactly the type of degenerates he could sell to. This was where the unwanted of the city ended up; hybrids and cyborgs who’d gone to the wrong place for their surgeries, stray creatures trying to scrape through living in alleyways. One of them ducks into a gutter as he passes; a kind of modified creature with fur and wings. It’s probably been commissioned by some rich person in the upper quarter of the city, then tossed out as soon as they got bored with their living artwork.

Red turns up the music in his headphones and shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets, trying to keep them warm. It’s snowing out here; flakes of grey slush raining down. He could almost mistake it for ash if it didn’t melt when it touched his skin.

A neon sign, its glow still noticeable despite the late morning due to the dark clouds hanging in the sky, catches his attention.

Munchy, it reads in cursive yellow text. Below it are the glass doors of what appears to be a small bar. It’s a little early for one to be open, and there’s far more patrons than he would guess from a place like this. They must serve breakfast or something. He’s not dumb enough to sell in someone else’s establishment without talking to the owner first; but this has more potential customers than anywhere else he’s passed and he’s loathe to let the chance go.

Red pushes one of the doors open with his forearm and walks inside, exhaling as warm air swirls around him. He walks up to the counter and sits down, resting his elbows on it and sliding his headphones down around his neck.

“Can I get you anything?” A blonde man in an apron turns towards him, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter to someone sitting a few seats down.

“Um, yes.” Red straightens his back, smacking his palms down on the counter. “Could I talk to the owner?”

The man squints at him through green eyes, vaguely suspiciously, then shrugs. “Sure. He’s through those doors,” a finger points at a pair of double doors at the other end of the bar.

Red spins his bar stool in the direction the blonde man directed and gets up, walking over the strip of linoleum floor between squeaky-clean booths. He pushes the indicated doors open and find what appears to be a small casino. His gaze passes over the poker and pool tables and catches on a figure behind a desk all the way at the other end of the room. He takes a step forward.

“Excuse me,” a voice at his elbow says, and he turns to see a cat.

A catboy.

The man is standing behind a counter to Red’s right, soft fur and pointed ears and huge eyes. He’s patterned like toast, is Red’s first thought. Soft, cream colored fur that shades to tan on his face and almost black on the backs of his ears. His hands that rest on the counter are delicate and covered in short fur as well, except for soft pads on his palms and fingertips. Red wonders if he has claws. His blue eyes are mostly pupil at the moment, dilated in the low lights of the empty casino.

“You need to leave your weapon here.” The cat hybrid says apologetically. He has little fangs that glint against the pink inside of his mouth when he speaks.

Red reaches up and pulls his basketball bat from where it’s strapped to his back, extending his arm full length to hand it to the other man. The cat hybrid leans forward to grab it as close to the handle as possible and Red glimpses his tail curling up behind the counter to help him keep his balance.

Coming here was a very good idea.

The thought stays even when he walks up to the desk at the other end of the casino and sees a demon sitting there.

The demon’s name is Bad and despite his initial disappointment that Red was not in fact a traveling muffin salesman, he gives Red permission to sell his enhancements in that area. Red may have glossed over all of the benefits of the various concoctions he creates, but he receives the go-ahead that he needs.

If anyone bothers you, feel free to let me or Antfrost know! The demon said cheerily as Red was on his way out. The catboy nodded in agreement, eyes staying downcast when he handed Red back his baseball bat.

Red half hopes that someone will mess with him. He waves a goodbye to the blonde man working behind the bar and hooks his headphones up over his ears again as he strides out into the cold of the street.

He sells half of the supply he packed, and only one person tries to rob him. That’s a downright phenomenal day of business, honestly. He starts to head home when he gets hungry in the late afternoon. The sun is low in the sky at this point, and that combined with the heavy cloud cover of winter has it dark enough for the street lights to be on. Its not night, but there’s a grey gloom over everything that’s only faintly dispelled by the blue-white street lamps every once in a while.

Red hums along to the music in his headphones as he walks. It’s finally stopped snowing. There’s about an inch of snow on the ground, trampled to grey slush on the street and sidewalk, and in the gutter stained various colors by whatever toxic muck runs through there. He spies a patch of untouched snow near the base of a building and squats down, pressing his forefinger into it.

The snow stains red, chemicals bleeding off of Red’s skin into the pristine whiteness. A trail of crimson trails after his finger as he drags it through the snow.

He draws a penis.

“Excuse me?” A voice asks hesitantly, and Red looks up. The catboy from earlier today is standing above him, huddled in a dark green coat. Like an angel from above, back in Red’s life already. Antfrost, the demon had said his name was.

“Hi, Antfrost.” Red beams, standing up and shoving his headphones down around his neck so he can hear the man properly.

“Hi, I—didn’t catch your name.” Antfrost glances down at the penis Red drew in the snow.

“I’m Velvet, but most people call me Red.” Red sticks out a hand.

“I can see why.” Antfrost stares at the red stains on his skin, hesitates, then reaches out and clasps Red’s hand. He shakes it once, then pulls his back. His fur is like soft silk and the pads on his palms are warm enough to leave the faint ghost of his touch on Red’s skin.

“Do you sell sedatives?” Antfrost asks abruptly, shoving both his hands into his coat’s pockets. Red notices that his tail is nowhere in sight, which means it’s probably tucked away into his pants to stay warm. The thought is unbearably endearing to him.

“What kind of sedatives do you want?” Red asks, swinging his shoulder bag around in front of him and unzipping it to look through it.

“A mist or something?” Antfrost tries to peer inside the bag, although odds are that he doesn’t know what any of the potions’ colors and appearance actually mean.

“How wide of a range do you need?” Red zips his bag shut again and folds his arms.

“Big.” Antfrost’s pupils tighten to little slits, and he frowns. And now he looks dangerous, a fanged man with narrowed eyes and some goal not yet revealed to Red. It’s fascinating.

“I don’t have anything like that with me,” Red starts, and before Antfrost can open his mouth he continues, “but I can make some for you within an hour. When do you need it?”

“Tonight.” Antfrost says resolutely. “How much will it cost?”

“For you? Free.” Red turns and starts down the street again. Antfrost follows a few feet behind.

“Are you sure?” The cat hybrid asks.

“Of course I am. Your boss did me a favor, so I’ll pay it forward.” Red glances back at him. “I can make that in half an hour, if you don’t mind waiting at my place till it’s done.”

“That’s not a problem.” Ant puts his hood up. His ears make little points in the top of the fabric.

Red’s apartment is only a few minutes away, but it’s long enough for his hands to get numb. His headphones double as earmuffs, so he puts them back on as they walk to keep his ears from getting cold. He’s thankful for when they finally make it up the stairs to the small, three room apartment that he calls home.

Damn, not even the first date and Antfrost has already come home with him.

Red fumbles with his keys and unlocks the door with cold fingers, kicking it open and nodding at Antfrost to go inside. He pries the keys out of the lock and closes the door behind them, exhaling. He doesn’t have heating, but the walls and insulation make it at least a little bit warmer than outside, and as soon as he starts cooking what Antfrost has asked for, it’ll heat up in here.

The front door opens directly to the small tiled kitchen that Red uses almost exclusively for manufacturing. The counters are occupied by synthesis stands and bunsen burners, and the open cupboards are full of jars of multicolored chemicals. Red sets his bag on the ground and rolls up his hoodie sleeves, nudging his chin at Antfrost. “Can you pull the pots out of that and put them in the fridge?”

Antfrost nods, turning around from where he was ogling the liquid-filled glass on Red’s shelves. Red slips past him and reaches up, pulling down four different bottles and putting them on the counter. This is a simple recipe, it shouldn’t take him long. He starts the blue flame of the burner and holds his hands over it, letting his numbed fingers warm up.

“How large of a radius do you need this to cover?” Red swirls a vial of zolazepam hydrochloride, then checks the temperature of the flame and turns it down slightly.

“I don’t know, big?” Antfrost rests his elbows on the counter, staring at the swirls of bubbles in the depths of the liquid. “Like, small stadium sized.”

Red whistles, sloshing tiletamine into one of the vials in the synthesis stand. Some of it splashes on his fingers, adding to the stains on his skin. He doesn’t mind. Antfrost is definitely planning something very, very interesting tonight. Hopefully no one can trace the origins of the sedative back to Red. He adds a few more chemicals to another vial, caps them both, and presses a button to start the process. He puts a few pumps of nitrous oxide into the mixing chamber.

“It’s like a cock-fighting ring,” Antfrost bursts out.

“You mean a strip club?” Red raises an eyebrow.

“Wh--no.” Antfrost blinks. Pauses. Gathers his words again. He’s cute when he’s flustered. “It’s like a pit where they get genetically modded animals to fight and bet on it. They have a bunch of chimeras trapped in there.”

“So you want to get them out, huh?” Red turns a valve and watches as the two vials mix, emerald green and golden liquid swirling together.

Antfrost nods.

“Why tonight?”

“They keep them all locked up except for the fights.” Antfrost explains. His ears flatten back against his head as he speaks. “But they’ll all be out in their cages tonight. So if I can knock the entire place unconscious…”

“You can get them out.” Red finishes. “What are you gonna do with them after? Keep them in your basement?”

“Drive them to the edge of the city and let them out.” Ant’s tail has slipped free from wherever he was hiding it, and Red is so distracted by its back-and-forth swishing that he almost forgets to turn down the flame exactly when the mixture is boiling at 211° Fahrenheit.

Antfrost wants to be a hero.

Red grew up in the bowels of Hypixel City, pinching pennies like his parents taught him to. He only stayed off the streets due to an unusually high tolerance for chemicals that landed him a job at a pharmacy, mixing drugs for addicts trying to get their fix through the guise of medicine. He’s experienced with cynicism, with people busy deciding something wasn’t their problem simply because they didn’t have the strength to care. And here was this hybrid man, planning an optimistic rescue mission just because he knew animals were being hurt and it made him sad.

Kindness. Red wonders when it became something unfamiliar to him.

The liquid he’s mixed evaporates into a faint yellow mist that he splits into three different vials. He caps them and lines them up on the counter. Antfrost reaches for the one still under Red’s hand and, impulsively, he slides it farther away from the hybrid’s grasp.

“I’m coming.” Red declares. Antfrost looks up, pupils dilating and expanding to make his blue eyes suddenly seem three times bigger. Fuck, that’s cute.

“Are you sure?” He asks, screwing up his face.

“Absolutely.” Red nods.

“Can you fight at all?” Antfrost steps back and gives Red a once-over.

“I don’t carry a baseball bat around just because it makes me look sexy.” Red reminds him.

“Okay, sure,” Antfrost says doubtfully.

“When do we leave?”

Antfrost looks around for a clock on the walls, turning in a slow circle and finding none. Red shakes his sleeve back from his wrist and holds his arm out to let the hybrid read the time. It’s 5:43 in the afternoon.

“I have to get back to Bad’s bar and work.” Antfrost yanks his hood back up over his head. “But I’ll come get you around midnight, if you’re still up for it.”

Red leans against the wall to let him pass. “I will be.”

Antfrost casts a glance over his shoulder, eyes glowing faint blue from the inside of his hood. “Are you sure? You really, actually want to help?”

“Don’t have a reason not to.” Red shrugs.

There’s a long silence, then Antfrost finally says a soft thank you and leaves.