#waistcoats are so cool. it makes me really happy to wear one

[achairwithapandaonit]

dug through the clothes that i didn't take with me to uni three years ago and found an old waistcoat i ordered cause it reminded me of the 5th doctor (it's the beige. it's gotta be the beige that did it. also i was hyperfixated on his era for so long) that i'd never been able to construct a nice outfit with. anyway after three years i finally have suitable clothes to make a cool outfit with it, hell yeah

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Blanche (Yandere Oc)

tw: depiction of abuse, stalking, heavy gore, violence, captivity, torture, human excrement, like really gross stuff, lots of words 4.5k

"Oh, why, hello my darling dove." You approached the man with the kindest, deep blue eyes you have ever seen. He sets his notebook and pen down on the table nearby. He stood up from his garden chair and opened his arms wide as he smiled, his sweet, downturned eyes closing into crescents. The corner of his eyes and mouth wrinkled in genuine happiness upon seeing you.

You hugged him, allowing his gorgeous, tight curls to brush against your arms. You wonder how he could maintain such Rapunzel-esque hair that reaches the back of his knees, especially when it's deceptively short. You remember unraveling one of his curls, to find out that it's twice as long than it originally presented itself as. If it was straightened, it would be pooling around his feet like a massive flood.

"How are you, my sweet? Did you have a wonderful day?" He asked, his voice honeyed and at a higher pitch than how he usually talks to others. His long, natural nails gently raked through your hair, while you played with his pitch-black but streaked with the lightest of grey strands.

You told him that you were thirsty, and you asked if he had anything for you to drink.

"Of course, my beloved flower. Come, let me lead you to my kitchen." You removed yourself from him as he wrapped his fingers around your hand. The man picked his cane up that was resting on the side of his chair. He then hummed a happy tune to himself as he leisurely walked away from his resting spot in the garden, bringing you along with him.

You peered up at the tall, loving man. You always thought that he had a peculiar sense of fashion, especially in this modern day. He looks like someone straight out of the romantic era, around the 1800s. The man, who you know as Blanche, would never be seen without his dark brown waistcoat, a tailcoat of a similar color, white frilly cravat, and long beige trousers. Likewise, he brings his antique, wooden cane wherever he goes.

You don't think you have ever seen him wear anything else other than his polished leather shoes and black garden boots. You certainly never seen slippers around his cottage home.

"Here you go, my darling." He handed you a cup of fresh juice. "I just squeezed them this morning. I can only hope to have my oranges as sweet as you, but I believe it should at least taste decent." Blanche caressed the side of your face as you drank, kissing the top of your head.

Once you're done, you grin and thank him earnestly. He simply nuzzled his charming Greek nose against yours. "You're very welcome, my dear dove."

You like how calm he is, it's evident in the way he speaks; he speaks slowly and softly as if there wasn't a single rush in the world, perhaps sometimes it's frustrating that it takes him an eternity to finish a sentence, but living in a reality where the fast and the furious is greatly rewarded, Blanche is a nice escape for you. Especially when you're exhausted and anxious.

His movements too, remind you of a carefree snail. He takes his time doing anything ever. You watched him pour himself some juice for himself in the same cup, you would have done it in half the time he took to do so.

"My light, are you hungry?" He asked before taking a sip of juice. You said yes, you're a bit famished after making that long trek into the forest to find his home, you just came right after your classes too. "That's wonderful. I just made a blueberry pie today." He walked to the kitchen window, where you saw a delicious, golden brown pie slowly cooling. Blanche picked it up and set it down on the chipped, dining table.

"How was school, my dear?" Asked Blanche as he opened his drawers and cupboards agonizingly slowly to find the appropriate cutlery for you and him.

You reminded him that you're studying in university, He seemed to ignore that. So you continued, telling him that it was exhausting and boring, you wished that your lecturers would be a bit more entertaining in teaching the materials.

"That's quite a shame." He cut a slice and placed it on a ceramic saucer with painted floral patterns on it. Blanche gently sets it in front of you, putting a small dessert fork on the same plate.

You then went on to tell him the good news: the creep who has been trying to get into your pants for the past few days must have given up because you didn't see him around anymore.

"That's nice, dear." He smiled, gathering a couple of serviettes from a drawer nearby and setting it on the table.

You dug in as always, the man smiled at you, feeling his heart swell in glee as you enjoyed his baking.

He gave himself a slice too and sat in front of you. Then, you asked him about his day.

"Oh, the usual. Deary and dull before you come along and fill it with such vibrant colors. I'm so happy that you're visiting me today, I was lonely." He replied, cutting the slice into small pieces first.

The way you met Blanche was somewhat bizarre, but you're glad that you met him. he's the comfort that you need in this world. You would always go to him when things get tough, he will tell you that everything is going to be okay; and you would only believe him, no one else.

You met him online, there was this website where people from all walks of life visit to make friends. You initially used it to date or do one-night stands to try and fill the void in your life, but you end up finding sweet, old Blanche. You find it humorous and sad that his own profile described him as a very lonely and eccentric middle-aged man, who is looking for someone to love. He didn't specify what type of love he is seeking, but he expressed his displeasure and sadness towards previous online 'friends' of his taking advantage of his kindness and desperation to have a companion- stealing his money, robbing his house and even beating him up numerous times because he was perceived as this weak, old man.

You felt your heartstrings being tugged at as you read the words, he was really begging whoever was making those numerous fake accounts to stop harassing him. Apparently, some younger folks thought it was funny to cyber bully him, reveal private information online, send him death threats, and send him disgusting, gut-wrenching hate messages just because he wasn't as well versed in the internet as the others.

Luckily, one day, they just stopped. Ceasing all torment towards the kind man. No one knew what happened, but from that day on, no one tried to talk to him anymore. It's all radio silence.

Until you came along and decided to give it a try. It takes him a good amount of time to type a string of text, but it's always meaningful, poetic, and beautiful. He sends paragraphs as if he's writing a letter to be sent through a carrier pigeon.

The first time you met Blanche, you were filled to the brim with anxiety. Shaking and gnawing on your fingers as you take the bus to the cafe you and him were supposed to meet. This isn't someone who's the same age as you, he is much older and you feel... Weird. There isn't anything wrong with seeking friendships with him because you're an adult, you know what you're doing.

But it's so... Different. You don't know what to expect.

You definitely didn't expect the instant warmth that brought your panic and anxiousness to an all time low. Something about his vibes, his looks and the way he carried himself was so soothing. He didn't have to say anything, all he did was look your way and gave you such a genial wave along with a toothy smile.

The afternoon went swimmingly, it wasn't awkward at all; it was as if you were talking with a close, guardian-like family member. You were comfortable, maybe a bit too comfortable because you realized you overshared after you went back home. You really didn't have to tell him about your stomach problems you're suffering at the moment in such detail.

The next time you met up with Blanche, he gave you a wooden box filled with teabags of his homegrown herbs. He claimed it will help cure your condition as long as you drink it.

You didn't really believe him, thinking he's just some old fart who practices pseudoscience and most likely doesn't agree with the use of vaccines. But you decided to brew some of his tea anyways, since he seems so excited to share you a part of his world.

To your surprise and embarrassment, it got rid of the symptoms. You're no longer bloated on most days and you feel great.

Now, you would just describe to him whatever is plaguing you; it could be insomnia, a common cold, or even your crippling mental health crises. Blanche would always have something growing on his land that would cure it.

That is where you learned that he lives in a cottage, in the middle of a forest. His garden is extensive, planting all sorts of trees, shrubs, shoots and flowers. He has the greenest thumb you have ever seen. You once gave him a pot of succulents which you thought were dead, due to your failure to water it at all. Blanche looked positively horrified at the condition of the poor plant in the beginning, but he assured you that it's okay, he can help it.

You were confused, you gave it to him because you thought he would use the clay pot. But instead, he returned it to you with its planty resident healthy and plump. You knew it was the same one because it looked exactly like how you first bought it.

Blanche gave you a handwritten card of instructions on how to take care of your new, leafy friend. You tried your best to follow it, but ultimately, you gave it back to him. It now rests on the windowsill beside his bed.

Your friendship with him grew as months went by. He would have you in his cottage, you would have him in your shared dorm. To which, he prefers not to step foot into the biohazardous student kitchen. That's why, you're usually visiting him, instead the other way round.

Blanche is lovely to have in your life. Whenever you visit him, you will always leave with a week's worth of groceries; mostly vegetables and fruits that happily grew on his plot of soil. But also, there would be containers upon containers of ready-to-eat meals he cooked prior to your visit.

You became healthier and your grades went up, thanks to the convenience of his delicious cooking. Although they're mostly vegetarian since he's almost solely using produce from his back yard, it's still so tasty even the average carnivore would scarf it down without hesitance.

You're also convinced whatever he adds into his meals are making you smarter. You get to focus on your classes better and you could retain much more information than before. He would excitedly tell you all about the strange and whimsical spices he added into your dish, describing what chemical compounds might be the culprit in helping you form more brain cells.

Aside from planting, he would crochet, knit or sew. And he would churn out items fast. It was so jarring to see his hands move like the insides of a racecar motor when you could fit five eye blinks in one of his own. He was the person who crocheted your laptop bag, your favourite winter and summer top, knitted your beanie, your comfiest pair of socks and your snow gloves.

Whenever there is a rip or tear in your clothes, even if the shoulder straps of your bag fell off, you could simply bring it over to his cottage and he would return it good as new. Being friends with Blanche allowed you to save up a substantial amount of money, you would then use it to buy him a new smartphone. It may not be the most luxurious, but it's definitely worlds away from the yellowed brick phone with a numerical pad he owns.

You think it is time for him to transition into the modern world, and you care for him enough to bust a hole in your already very empty university student wallet to help him. The next thing on your agenda was to buy him a new computer or laptop because he is using one that is ridiculously thick and cuboid; with a terrible screen resolution. It took him half an hour just to access the internet.

He was over the moon upon gifting it to him. To the point of tears, he was indescribably happy. You were worried as to why he was on his knees, hugging you close to him as he sobbed loudly on your shoulder. Initially, you thought you triggered something traumatic or did something to offend him, but Blanche assured you that wasn't the case.

Only after he calmed himself down, prepared a teapot of his homemade tea blend for the two of you, did he explain:

You are his one true friend, who consistently showed up for Blanche, cared for him, showed interest in his character, never hit him, and did not try to swindle money off him. It was surprising and melancholic, to say the least, that this was the only gift he ever received out of love and kindness; without the other party wanting anything in return. It was so nice for once to have someone around who isn't only after his wealth or free labor.

You didn't get how the world could be so cruel to such a kind spirit. It made you angry how he was badly mistreated in the past, but he simply smiled and told you that everyone must move on. Blanche has you, and that is all that matters to him.

You still weren't satisfied. You asked if he had gone to the police, told their parents, told their workplace- anything! They can't just get away without any repercussions, it makes your blood boil and heartache for your friend.

Blanche merely smiled, albeit ominously. He told you not to fret over them, as they eventually "Got what they deserved." He didn't elaborate on that further, you simply assumed that he said what he said due to his overly forgiving nature and not wanting you to worry about his torment.

It wasn't easy teaching him how to use the smartphone, though. Every little thing, he would call you using his rotary phone on how to use it; "Hello, darling. This is Blanche speaking, Could you please come over sometime this afternoon to guide me through the steps on how to surf the interweb on this lovely gadget you gifted me? I seem to have forgotten how to do so."

You think he's just using that as an excuse to hang out with you. Because there is no way he would forget how to tap on a couple of things after the 16th time.

You did ask him about his family. Blanche would tilt his head to the side and give you a saddened smile. Before telling you about how his parents weren't good people, he ran away from home and didn't know the fate of his other siblings. Because of his background and peculiar personality, he found it hard to create lasting bonds as they would always wound up abandoning him or abusing him. He said that he must be excreting some sort of pheromone that attracts people like these.

But he held no ill will towards them, as they "got what they deserved". You brushed that off again as Blanche being too nice to the cruel world.

You're concerned, though. It really seems like you're his only ally. He is definitely clingier now that the friendship has deepened. You're worried that you're going to have to say "no" to some of his requests to have your presence here as he grows more and more unbearable, it's definitely going to break his heart.

"My rose?"

You were snapped out of your thoughts upon feeling Blanche's fingers gently pushing your hair back. You're now back to the present, where you and he are comfortable with light skin-ship, you also liked how he would call you all these pet names. It made you feel so fluttery inside.

"Are you alright, dear? You seem to be distracted with something." He cupped your cheeks and inspected your face further. His eyebrows were knitted in concern.

You said that you were fine, just thinking about your daily obligations and how you should get going soon.

He frowned. "Must you go?" He whispered. "I'm so lonely out here. Please stay for a while longer."

You can't because you have a work shift starting soon. Plus, you have to complete that assignment that you're putting off because you were too busy accompanying Blanche in his isolated Cottage with the world's worst internet connection.

He sighed, looking miserable. "Please wait for a few minutes, I have something for you." Blanche stood up and made his way upstairs.

You watch him ascend the stairs with one hand on the handrails, and the other on his cane. You think that this might be an extremely dangerous lifestyle for a man like him to live, what if he trips and falls? He wouldn't be able to call for help, especially when phone reception out here is atrocious.

You continued eating your slice of blueberry pie, even taking another slice from the dish for yourself. You knew Blanche wouldn't mind, and you knew that he was going to make you bring the entire thing home anyway.

He came back down a few minutes later, holding a brown envelope. Immediately, you went on to reject it. You already knew what was in there and you didn't feel comfortable accepting it.

"Please, I insist, my love." He tried slipping it into your bag, but you wrestled it away from your belongings. You said that you have no use for it, you can make your own money.

For the past few weeks, he has been giving you regular allowances. It isn't anything to scoff at either, it's always one grand per envelope. Now you can see why there were so many people who tried to siphon as much funds out of Blanche as possible.

"I have no doubt in my heart that you are capable, but I... I'd like to buy your time, please." He clasped his hands around yours, bringing your fingers to his soft lips. "I want to spend more time with you, I want you to stay longer. Will you do that for me, my love?"

You paused, it was hard to say no to those big, pleading eyes of his. But you have to, even if you don't necessarily have to work with Blanche's financial help, you still need to put in effort in your studies to not fail.

So with a heavy chest, you said no. You promised that you would visit him again very soon, you just need to get your assignments out of the way and you will be golden.

His shoulders sagged in defeat as he softly whimpered under his breath.

"Alright." He muttered, before reviving the loving smile on his lips.

He opened his arms, to which you gladly threw yourself in. He laughed, picking you up and pressing kisses against your cheek. Blanche tenderly twirled you around, letting your legs dangle in the air as you too giggled. You rubbed your face against his frilly cravat, also enjoying the feeling of his lips on the crown of your head.

__

Blanche is now alone in his garden. His lips were pressed in a thin straight line. You left a few minutes ago with his personal cart filled with his fresh produce for the week. And also the remaining blueberry pie that is stashed away in a container for convenience. He hopes that the eggs he gave you are enough to last until your next visit, his chickens are producing a bit less than usual.

He picked up his pen and notebook he left on the garden table earlier. Blanche then tucked the cane under his arm before marching away without wasting any time. Without you witnessing, Blanche actually moves scarily quick, his graceful agility allows him to traverse the span of his garden speedily without damaging any of his crops.

Blanche walked deeper and deeper into the foilage until the sunlight could barely be seen through the dense vegetation.

Eventually, he reached a dilapidated wooden shed. Blanche stood right in front of the door with a heavy lock and took out his golden stopwatch from his breast pocket. The male noted the time before writing it down in his notebook.

He kept them away, Blanche then fished out a key, along with a hairband from another pocket in his trousers. His lower eyelid twitched as he tied his voluptuous hair into a large, very messy bun. But at least it's not going to interfere too much with what he's about to do.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open using his shoulder, it was hard to move it as the hinges had rusted to a considerable degree. Blanche dusted his sleeve off before taking out his notebook again, noting that he had to replace its parts soon.

Finally, he kept everything back in his pockets. Blanche tightened his fists in anger as pathetic muffled screaming and wailing reached his ears.

"Oh, be quiet, will you?" He snarked, a complete 180° from the Blanche that you're used to. Luckily, you're not here to see it.

He turned around to see your harasser. Completely naked and covered in bloody, infected lacerations. His face and body were blue from bruises and other injuries. He was gagged using his own clothes that were cut up by Blanche. His victim couldn't escape if he wanted to, as he was tightly bound by metal chains that were cutting circulation around his wrists and ankles.

There was rot, maggots, blood, and excretory products all around him as the bodies of Blanche's ex-friends decomposed around the creep. He was squirming in his own puddle of urine and vomit, as Blanche has kept him there since yesterday, right after you went home from your last class.

He is used to the smell of death. He worked with natural fertilizers, after all.

Blanche took long strides towards his trembling form, which only shook even more the closer he got.

He lets out a shout when Blanche strikes him using the end of his cane, the force is so strong that it instantly breaks the skin on his head, making him bleed profusely.

Blanche's eyelids twitched even more, he suddenly discarded his cane before pulling out two brass knuckles from his left pant pocket. He hastily puts them on before throwing powerful punches against his current, human punching bag.

Cracks, screams, and crunches resonated throughout the small space as Blanche let out all his frustrations on him. All his hatred towards the world, his anguish, and misery of not being around you, all of it- your harasser has to bear. Just because he chose the wrong person to mess with.

Blood, spit, and other fluids splattered on his once pristine clothing, dying his cravat red.

"Fucking disgrace." He mumbled as he managed to beat the man to a pulp, striking him hard and long enough to expose the broken bones to the stagnant air. Blanche continued scraping the flesh off his bone using the brass, there is an easier way to extract his bones, but he would very much rather use this method to relieve him of his rage. And, this delivers the maximum amount of pain and fear into your offender, a justified punishment for him, for disturbing Blanche's precious flower's peace.

Sweat beads down Blanche's forehead as he went on whaling on the unconscious, deformed mass that was starting to lose heat. Ichor pooled around his shoes, mixing with the other foul fluids around him.

Once he has managed to liquefy his flesh from his repeated, rapid pummeling, Blanche dug his bare fingers into the gory heap to extract the bones, gathering them in his arms and not caring that he has dirtied himself greatly.

He grunted as he ripped the bones from its weakened ligaments, spraying scarlet all over the already viscera-covered walls.

Blanche panted as he stood up straight, one arm holding his yield, the other hand taking out his once clean pocketwatch, now he's soiling it with bloodied fingerprints.

Five hours. Five whole hours of brutalization to pacify Blanche from his sorrow of watching you cut your visit short, due to some silly little assignments. He shook his head, he could have used all that time doing something else, but he needed to take care of this bastard anyway.

Now that he's not as upset, he took his time documenting whatever he did in his notebook which is equally covered in biohazardous grime.

He then turned around, and picked up his cane, not bothering to face the mutilated, unrecognizable mass of meat behind him one last time. Blanche was already thinking about what to do next as he locked the shed up, the previous bloodied fingerprints on the pad were washed away by the rain a few days prior.

He lets his mind wander to you, thinking about what you're doing right now. Blanche knows there is zero chance of you calling or contacting him through the phone because he knows that you're now at this stupid house party instead of working on your assignment like you told him.

Blanche isn't as tech-illiterate as you think. He is also not that gullible, he knows more than you believe or could ever imagine.

He wishes that you would be a bit more truthful towards him. But as of now, he's content with the amount and quality of bones he managed to harvest.

He made the long walk back to his cottage in the dark, his eyes already adapted to the darkness from decades of 'gardening' at night.

Blanche was mentally calculating the amount of time and heat needed to dehydrate the bones, to make them into bonemeal for his chickens. He suspected that they weren't producing as many eggs as usual because their calcium count was low, so the shell wouldn't be developing properly.

But thoughts of you kept interrupting his head. Blanche would smile, looking forward to your next visit. He would definitely have enough eggs for you by then.

[rosellacwrites]

Sharp Dressed Man — Part 1

summary: every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man. Especially when he’s a superhero.

pairings: Steven Grant x AFAB!Reader (otherwise undescribed), implied Marc Spector x AFAB!Reader, implied Jake Lockley x AFAB!Reader

rating: M for this part (reader’s horny). Subsequent parts will be E like whoa.

warnings: suit kink, mention of violence (Moon Knight against the bad guys), did I mention suit kink because that’s really all this is, folks

word count: 794

author’s note: This was not written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events, and is not an official entry, but subsequent parts will be, so I’m reposting this now. (I’d have reblogged the original but I can’t fucking find it, thanks, Tumblr.) Happy reading!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

You know everything about your boys, by now. Or at least you thought you did. 

Mostly, these days, Jake’s the one handling the work for Khonshu, which is why you see him the least of the three. He’ll come home once in a while, wrecked and needing shelter, and you do your best to patch him up, heal his hurts and fill him with love and care before you have to send him back out into the gods’ world.

But sometimes, Khonshu’s business requires your other partners too. They do their best to keep their life with you strictly separate; you’ve never met Khonshu, and you’re content to have it stay that way. Marc and Steven won’t talk about their secret superhero lives much, not wanting you to worry about them, but you’ve occasionally caught a glimpse of Moon Knight on the news, doing his vigilante thing. 

His superhero suit is interesting, you think. The long cape seems impractical, but you can’t deny it’s got style, and the gleaming crescent blades he wields are alluringly forbidding. The one thing you don’t like is the mask; you’d like to be able to know for sure which one of your boys is on duty on a given evening. It never occurs to you that there might be a much simpler way to tell. 

You’re home alone one night when you learn the truth. The door to your flat creaks, and you hear the noise of the key in the lock; Marc, Steven, and Jake are all sticklers for making sure your door is locked at all times. They know what can happen, if it’s not. 

But the suit that strides through the door is not a suit you know. Head-to-toe in dazzling white, this suit is a — suit. Three pieces, all so perfectly fitted you think whoever’s supplying the supes these days must have trained on Savile Row: knife-creased trousers flowing like water over his long legs, shawl-collared waistcoat showcasing his broad shoulders and trim waist, and jacket in a rich textured brocade that invites your fingertips. You want, suddenly, to take your shirt off and find out what it feels like against your nipples. You want to learn it with your tongue. 

Even masked, you know your man, his brow adorned with a crescent moon. “Fuck me running,” you breathe, flattening your palms against his chest. “This is — incredible. What an upgrade.” You can’t stop touching him; every part of the suit has its own subtle texture, rich and opulent. He just stands, patient, letting you stroke him all over, and it’s not long before you’re pressing harder, feeling for the muscle underneath. 

And you still don’t know who’s wearing the suit, but given the fact that he hasn’t moved or spoken since you first put your hands on him, you’d put your money on Steven. He’s by far the most patient of your three. But then he waves a hand and his mask vanishes, and you’re proven right; Steven smiles at you. “Hello to you too, sweetheart. Rather dashing, innit?” 

Your eyes go wide, and you grab him by the tie and haul him in for a filthy, desperate kiss. His blood must be up from the fight still; he’s just as fierce as you, giving no quarter, devouring you as though starved for love. A messy night, then. Heavy wet heat has been gathering between your legs since you first touched him, and your cunt clenches when the cool leather of his glove meets your skin. 

“Bloody hell,” he pants, leaning his forehead against yours to catch his breath. “That’s quite the welcome home.” 

“Fuck, Steven,” you sigh. “Who let you out in public looking like that? Did the powers that be decide to improve stats by making everyone too horny to do crimes?” 

“I’ve always had this suit. Didn’t realize you’d only ever seen Marc’s monstrosity.” He laughs, flushing a little. “If I’d known you’d like it this much, I’d have worn it home ages ago.” 

“I never even knew you had two different suits.”

“Different fighting styles, love.” He displays a couple of strikes and parries, showing off for you, and the smooth, lethal grace of his body weakens your knees. He knows exactly what he’s doing right now, and he knows you know it too. 

“The mask part. Does it…” 

He seems to know what you’re asking, a wave of his hand restoring the mask and vanishing it again just as quickly. “You’re wondering if the rest comes off like that too, yeah?” At your glassy-eyed nod, he chuckles again. “Don’t think so. You’ll just have to take it off me the old-fashioned way.” 

You shake your head, and it’s his turn to look at you wide-eyed. 

“Leave it on.” 

to be continued…

[strawberry-cowmilk]

outfits the brothers would pick for mc

-> mc lets them choose their outfit

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

a/n: time doesn't exist for me now and it was in my drafts for an eternity so here

content warnings: none I think

-----

Lucifer

you'd have to ask him really nicely to dress you (but this man is soft for you of course he takes the time to make you happy)

something close to his style, so a freshly ironed button down with a waistcoat and dress pants or a tight midi skirt depending on which one you'd prefer

for shoes he chooses loafers from the same brand he wears

the colors are generally darker, he'll involve stuff like black maroon and navy in the outfit

Mammon

he's immediately on board when you ask him

you are getting put in cargo pants and a tank top first of all, if you wear cropped things, the tank top will be cropped, or a long sleeve turtleneck if tank tops aren't your thing

mammon will let you pick whether you want a pilot or a racing jacket with the look, and chunky sneakers as shoes, also you'll get rings and sunglasses just like him

every item is from a designer brand, and the colors are black paired with neon tones

Leviathan

he'll say yes, but there's a good chance he'll put you in anime and tsl merch

of course he chooses the ruri chan hoodie both of you got at a con, he has no idea what bottoms and shoes to choose though so he might leave that up to you, but if you insist on having him choose he'd go for jeans and sneakers

levi just wanted you to wear the hoodie, and since he has the same one you two can match

Satan

I mean it's not like he's busy so sure

he will either dress you up like a detective in a novel or add some cat themed clothes there's no in between

for the detective option he'll add a trench coat and a tie to the outfit (he'll probably be recreating one of his own detective outfits on you)

he'll probably give you cat socks to wear regardless of anything, they'll be covered by the shoes anyways

Asmodeus

really? he can do anything he wants?

if you don't want to walk around in something like metallic pants you'll have to tell him now or he grabs them (if you prefer a skirt he'll get a metallic skirt)

the color of your shirt will depend on the color of the metallic bottoms, like if they're more purple your top will be purple or another cool toned color

if you're okay with it he'll do your makeup too to match the outfit

Beelzebub

he doesn't consider himself to be very fashionable so he's surprised you asked him

he'll just look at whatever he's wearing at the moment and grab the same pieces for you

one thing is for sure he will not put you in heels because he's scared you might get hurt (even if you're experienced walking in them)

if he happens to be wearing his workout clothes he'll ask you if you want to do some exercises with him

Belphegor

he'll do it but there's a good chance he'll just grab the first stuff he sees in your closet

if you own any cardigans he'll pick one though

when belphie shops for clothes he's looking for comfortable stuff, so that's exactly what he's going to choose for you

in his eyes some sleepwear counts as clothes you could wear outside, especially some pants

and he'll be lowkey proud of the outfit he chose for you

[cornishkat]

Midnight Kiss

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

Warnings: None just pure fluff

Summary:  A fancy dress New Years Eve party and a red dress might just get you a midnight kiss with Hangman.

Notes:  Juts a quick fluffy little New Year one shot.

The Hard Deck looked great, shining and sparkling with decorations for New Years Eve.  You were looking forward to seeing in 2023 with the other Daggers and also seeing the back of 2022, it had be a hard year, but the past few months back at Top Gun with the Dagger Squad had made it better.  You were looking forward to all of you being able to cut loose after the last mission and just enjoy yourselves knowing that you had at least the next few days off.

Payback and Fanboy had called fancy dress and you didn’t even mind that, it had been fun going to find your costumes with Phoenix.  You were also looking forward to seeing what everyone else was going to turn up wearing, though you couldn’t even begin to imagine what Mav would turn up as.

Phoenix had gone with a Great Gatsby flapper dress, and she looked stunning, you had thought about doing the same but then you had seen a copy of Marilyn Monroe’s red dress from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.  The red sequins glittered and shimmered and you had stared at it so long that Phoenix had made you go and try it on.

“Oh, my good you look amazing, you have to wear it”

Turning around in the mirror you looked at yourself from all angles, it was so beautiful, but it was also slit all the way up to the to the middle of your thighs and neckline plunged down to almost your waist.

“I really don’t think I can pull this off”

“Believe me you can more than pull it off and I can’t wait to see Hangman’s face when he sees you in this dress”

“I have told you before, Hangman is not interested in me.  He flirts with everyone, I’m nothing special”

“He may flirt with everyone, but he doesn’t look at anyone else the way he looks at you”

“Quit it Phoenix, I am sure he will find himself a stunning woman to kiss at midnight”

“I am willing to bet money on the fact it will be you he is kissing at midnight”

“You can make that bet, and I will be more than happy to take your money”

“$100 says I’m right”

“I’ll feel bad about taking your money, but you’re on”

Now as you stood in the bar you were starting to regret your choice of attire, you felt like a million dollars, but you also felt nervous as the rest of the crew had never seen you in anything other than a flying suit or sports kit.  And no matter how much you had protested to Phoenix earlier you were wondering how Hangman would react.  You couldn’t deny your attraction to him, but you were also well aware he could have his pick of women and there was no way you could measure up.

Before you could consider further if you had chance to go home and change into something less conspicuous before anyone else arrived you heard a low whistle from behind you.

“Phoenix, Merlin looking hot”

Turning you saw Rooster walking across the bar in a full Elvis jumpsuit with Payback and Fanboy behind him rocking very cool pirate costumes.

“So, I take it the fancy dress call was just so you two could live out your pirate fantasy?”

“Hell yes, but Merlin it was also worth it so see you in that dress, you are looking damn fine, who knew you could scrub up so well”

“I’ll take that as a compliment I think”

“Ok make away the drinks are on the King”

“Why do I think that costume is going to be an excuse for you to start singing later Rooster”

“It’s Now or Never”

Groaning you all moved to let Rooster to the bar, that was not going to be the last Elvis song used in a cheesy line tonight by him.

“Anyone seen Coyote or Hangman?”

“Properly still doing their hair and waiting to make big entrance”

“Well, it isn’t easy to look this good all of the time”

Peeking out from behind Rooster you saw Hangman and Coyote sauntering over to the bar.  They had both gone full cowboy, plaid shirts, jeans, finished off with waistcoats, cowboy boots and hats and gun holsters slung on their hips.  

“Looking good Hangman”

“Feeling good Rooster, you getting the drinks in?”

“On it”

As Rooster stepped to the bar, he cleared the path between you and Hangman.

“Holy Shit Merlin, that is one hell of a dress”

“Well allegedly gentlemen prefer blondes”

“Yes, we do”

“Hangman are you classing yourself as a gentleman?”

“Sweetheart for you always”

Despite your initial nerves as the drinks flowed and the music played you were really enjoying yourself. Everyone hit the dancefloor and Rooster had jumped onto the piano and given his best Elvis rendition.    As you leant again the piano you looked out at the rest of the squad enjoying themselves and your heart swelled.  Smiling as you saw Penny and Mav at the bar dressed as a Pink Lady and a T-Bird.

Hangman couldn’t take his eyes off you, that dress was positively sinful, and you had gotten every detail perfect from the red satin shoes to the way your blond curls formed a shining halo around your face.  He needed to be kissing you at midnight, come hell or high water his lips needed to be on yours.  His stomach flipped as he watched you leaning up against the piano, you were radiant.  He knew his feelings for you had been developing over the last few months but his usual confidence with women seemed to desert him when it came to you.  And he didn’t want to just turn on the charm and get you into bed for one night, he, Jake Seresin actually wanted the whole world with you, all of it.  Tonight, was going to be the night, fortune favours the brave and with you looking like that he couldn’t afford to wait around for some other guy to sweep you off your feet.

As Rooster finished singing and the music was put back on you felt someone come over and stand by your side.

“So, Marylin, do you have a dance for a cowboy”

Looking across Hangman was stood next to you in a mock bow holding his hand out to you.

Smiling you placed your hand in his and let him lead you to the dancefloor, as he swung you into his arms you caught sight of Phoenix dancing behind him, smiling she winked at you, and you rolled your eyes back at her.  As the song ended and a slow song began neither of you moved, he pulled you closer and swayed you gently against him.  As you felt his body against yours and rested your cheek on his you felt like you had come home, and you never wanted the dance to end.  But eventually the song ended, and he released you.

Hangman glanced at his watch, there was five minutes until midnight, and he needed to make sure he was with you.  When he had danced with your earlier and held you in her arms he knew his fate was sealed.  Scanning the bar he searched for you, he could see Phoenix and Bob over by the bar, but he couldn’t find you.  He could feel his heart sink as he scanned back around the room,

“You ok man?”

“Coyote, have you seen Merlin?”

“Ahh, getting ready to make your move at midnight?”

“Not if I can’t find her”

“Last I saw her she was over at the bar with Mav”

Hangman swung around again and there you were, laughing with Mav.  As he started to move his way across to the bar, he heard the countdown begin.  He strode across the bar; his only thought was to get to you before the clock struck midnight.  

As you took the glass of champagne offered by Phoenix you couldn’t help but look around for Hangman, the thought of your dance echoing through your mind and as the countdown began you realised, he was the only one you wanted to be kissing as the new year began.  You saw him making a beeline for you across the bar as the countdown continued and you could feel the smile spreading on your face as he grew closer.  Your eyes met with his and the look of determination on his face made you smile even more.  He didn’t seem to even notice the women trying to get his attention as he moved through crowd and you realised, he only had eyes for you, and it made your heart soar.  He came to a stop in front of you as the countdown finished, five, four, three, two , one…

Cupping your face with his hands he pressed his lips to yours, gently at first but has he felt you respond he deepen the kiss.  There might as well not have been anyone else in the room in that moment, just you and him.  As you eventually broke apart to catch your breath,

“Happy New Year Merlin”

“Happy New Year Hangman”

The rest of the squad surrounded both of you,

“About time”

“Thank god, I thought they were never going to get there”

“Merlin, you can keep the $100, it was only an incentive to give you a little nudge”

Hangman looked at you with a quizzical look,

“$100?”

“She bet me $100 that we would kiss at midnight, as she seemed to think you wanted to kiss me” “Well she had that right, sweetheart I have been wanting to do that for months”

“I never thought you saw me in that way”

“Are you kidding me I was in love with you even before you wore that dress”

“Well cowboy best you take me home tonight or lose me forever”

“Yes Ma’am”

[ink-and-dagger]

Tagged by @silcoitus and @juniper-sunny

🦆About me🦆

Nickname: Inky

Sign: Virgo

Height: 5ft 6"

Last google search: "Queen Elizabeth thumbs up" (I needed an image to troll @euaveri)

Song stuck in your head: right now it's Happy Together by The Turtles so that's kinda nice

Followers: Yeah I have some of those

Sleep: Yeah I'd like some of that

Dream job: I'd love to be a traditionally published author because I love writing obvs, but more so because I love the idea of doing talks and panels about writing and storytelling at cons and lit-fests etc. I'd also love to be one of those people who clean old oil paintings with a toothbrush because that looks hella satisfying.

Wearing: Turtle neck jumper, mum jeans, red courd jacket, and lace-up boots.

Favourite song: Bat out of Hell - Meatloaf

Favourite instrument: Honestly, the human voice. But I also think oboes are really cool and underrated. I'm a big woodwind stan 🎺🎷

Aesthetic: Tough one to describe. I'd say androgynous academia with an 80s and 90s twist. I wear a lot of tailored waistcoats and trousers, turtle necks, waist-tied shirts, and high-waist jeans. And boots. Always boots, even in summer. (Hi-top converse if it's hot). Normally a cute lil 3-inch heel lace-up or gogo style boot.

Favourite author: Can't name just one I have so many, and I enjoy them all for different reasons. Sarah J Maas, Ursula Le Guin, Patrick Ness, V E Schwab, Jonathan Stroud, Laini Taylor, Kristin Cashore, Katherine Arden, Angela Carter, Madeline Miller, Derek Landy, Elle McNicoll someone make me stop

Favourite animals sounds: I'm a sucker for anything feline. But I particularly love when house cats scream bloody-murder for attention like feral little goblins.

Last song: Apple Music won't tell me but I 100% guarantee it was a Ghost song

Last series: Currently re-watching Breaking Bad 🧪

No pressure tags: @chickenparm @lemonemlyn @sherwood-forests @skywarpie @a-gal-with-taste @designfailure56

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[legendofzoodles]

LU Character Design Analysis 3

In case you haven’t seen the previous two posts yet, I’m doing this thing where I’m analysing and subsequently ranking all the designs of the chain in LU. I was going to do it 2 at a time, but I’ve got so much to say that I’m doing it one a time. 

All the designs are really good, it was hard to come up with a decent ranking system that I was happy with and even harder to apply it. The numbers I scored them are subjective and any one of them can be debated. 

With that said, onto the next person on the list...

7th place: Wind

His design is simple and that’s the beauty of it, but it’s also why he’s only number 7. Truth be told on its own it’s near perfect for me; I just so happen to like the designs further up the list more than this one and these clothes aren’t appropriate outside his era.

Pros: His clothes are lightweight allowing him to take full advantage of his small size and superior agility in combat- it’s difficult to hit a moving target after all. The four long coat tails are genius as they really help push the pirate aesthetic without weighing him down with a bulky coat (an exaggerated collar and cuffs would ruin his simple silhouette), plus they add a lot of style when he’s drawn in action. 

I’m so happy he’s wearing a modified version of the lobster shirt (JoJo even kept the v-line!), I like to think his Grandma made it for his 13th birthday. The white patterns look spectacular and give the design some interesting visual flare without making it look too busy.

The orange 3/4 trousers and ankle boots are adorable, they look comfortable and breathable, which is perfect for travelling the vast sunny seas. I also like the tiny amount of baby pink in his necklace, it works well with the light blue and oranges in his clothes.

The colours are bright and happy, not only for reflecting the sun’s rays but also reflecting the lighthearted mood of Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass as well as Wind’s adorable personality. He’s definitely the moodmaker of the chain, able to lift the spirits of the others with even just a smile. His wide eyes, animated facial expressions and sun bleached hair make him look friendly and outgoing. 

Btw, I’m fine with him not wearing his pointed hat because it’s not very good for sun protection. And anyway Tetra definitely would’ve made fun of it. 

Cons: I don’t really get why he’s so pale. Back in his era he’s out in the sun 24/7 doing all kinds or heroic shenanigans and cool pirate stuff, and I don’t think he’d always heed his Grandmother’s advice to stay in the shade or wear a hat to avoid sunburn. I’m not saying he should be tanned bright orange because it’ll blend in too much with his trousers, but realistically his complexion could be darker.

I know I said it’s great that his clothes are lightweight, and it is for running around on a ship or dipping into quick battle encounters, but not long drawn out fights. There’s a another reason the chain always have a watchful eye on him and it’s because the boy’s clothes aren’t very protective. Even brushing up against a thorn bush looks like it would tear him apart; his clothing looks too thin and flimsy.

Can Legend please lend this child some magical items? Just for this adventure. My heart can’t handle the thought of anything happening to him.

Wishlist: I’m conflicted again. To be honest I really don’t have anything here. I like his design for what it is and I like that it’s kept simple, but at the same time there could be more pirate elements added in. Like a little compass on his belt, or a bandana scarf or maybe a white bandana headband to protect his face from the sun or a trinket given to him by his sister. 

I’d also like to sea some green on him- maybe a light green. I’m not too sure where to put it on this design, but I’ve always liked the idea of him wearing a little waistcoat or maybe he could have some seaweed inspired details on his belt?

Ooh would it be a good idea for him to have an aspect of his design inspired by Linebeck? Like having a waistcoat as part of his civilian clothing or something like that. I’ve not played Phantom Hourglass, but that guy was like Link’s father figure or uncle figure right?

Score:

Aesthetic and visual score (/10): 7 Character representation score (/5): 4 Practicality score (/5): 2 Total (/20): 13

I placed him higher than the other two because I like his design more, it’s cohesive and every bit of it makes sense.

~~~

Thanks for reading! What modifications would you make to their designs? And do you agree with me or not? I’d love to know :)

Masterlist

9th place in the character design ranking

8th place

6th place

4th place

3rd place

Character analysis posts:

Hero of the Sky, Hero of Time, Hero of Twilight, Hero of the Wild, Hero of Warriors

[sailtoafarawayland]

A Quick and Bracing Reprieve

(A missing moment)

Summary: Just what does a ravenous pirate get up to when he’s denied the very tempting breakfast Emma was about to serve up, and all thanks to the ‘oh-so-helpful’ Snow White? 

Rating: E  

Tags: Light Dom/Sub, Light Bondage

AO3 - FF

A Quick and Bracing Reprieve

Killian could feel the soft firmness of her hip beneath his fingers, the fabric of her robe bunching as he squeezed and breathed in the scent of her, his lips brushing the back of her neck where her hair was swept to the side.

“Something smells good,” he murmured, feeling her shift against him, leaning into where his mouth grazed her skin.

“It's just from a box,” she teased, though he could tell by the way she caught her lip between her teeth that she knew he wasn't referring to the pancakes she'd been flipping on the stove.

“I'm not talking about the pancakes,” he whispered, still able to taste the sheen of sweat on her skin from that morning when she'd buried her head between his legs before the sun rose, taking his cock in her mouth and letting him guide her toward his release, his fingers knotted in her hair.

A plate clattered to the counter and suddenly Emma was spinning in his arms, grabbing the back of his waistcoat and pulling him closer as she claimed his mouth. He melted eagerly into her, savoring the taste of her lips, but she paused and he pulled back, enjoying the way that she ran her hands along his shoulders to his chest while she watched him, lips pulling into a soft smile.

“What?” he asked, seeing the emotion lingering behind desire.

“I'm just...happy. It still surprises me sometimes.”

“Aye, love...me too.”

They didn't need to say anything more – the pain they'd both endured to get to this place an unspoken guest in their home – but as quickly as the moment came over them, it was washed away in a fresh wave of need as Emma threw herself back into his embrace. Her nails dug into him as she held him as closely as she could, her murmured words – to hell with the pancakes – a promise against his lips as she pushed him against the table's edge, nearly climbing onto his lap in her eagerness.

His cock hardened between them as she pushed her leg between his, grinding against his trapped length as her tongue curled around his own, drawing a harsh breath from him – and then the unexpected sound of the door swinging open pulled them apart as if they'd been burned.

“Oh, great, you're up!” Snow called out, barely paying attention to them as she ducked inside, her arms full and too busy trying not to drop what she held to notice what was going on around her.

“Mom,” Emma stammered, watching Killian with chagrin as his jaw clenched in frustration – her boyfriend unable to even look at her mother who'd just barged into the house. “I – ”

“Your mother has a key,” he muttered darkly between the two of them, the unforgiving press of his trousers against his straining member adding an edge to his words that made Emma even more regretful their morning had been derailed. “Good to know.”

“I know I'm a little early, but I woke up this morning and it just hit me...” Snow blathered on, finally turning with her armload of what appeared to be paperwork to look at them both. “Am I...interrupting something?”

“No – ” Emma insisted, though the flush on her cheeks and the way she was still half perched over Killian's knee said otherwise, not that Snow would have needed to read that deeply between the lines – Killian's own succinct reply of 'yes' doing more than enough to apprise her of the situation.

“We were, uh, we were just making some pancakes,” Emma finished, slowly pulling herself back from Killian and moving to the stove where the pancakes were cooling, forgotten.

Killian pushed himself free of the table, rolling his shoulders and turning away so that his rather obvious state was somewhat hidden from Snow.

“Pancakes, uh, right...maybe I should come back after you've had...pancakes,” Snow offered, her eyes angled toward the safety of the ceiling.

“Don't worry,” he interjected, his voice tight – among other things – “I've lost my appetite.”

Emma's hand slid around his back, her fingers stroking his waist softly and settling some of the tension in his body, but not all of it.

“I have to go and have a quick and bracing shower,” he whispered against her ear, catching the apologetic smile she threw his way before he strode quickly toward the stairs. Unable to hide his predicament completely from Emma's mother, he only hoped she would have at least the common courtesy to look elsewhere...though it seemed she had no qualms about barging into their home unannounced.

Honestly, he'd had deckhands with better manners.

He tried not to climb the stairs with anymore urgency than normal, but the denim pants that Emma liked so much were making his cock throb painfully, and he could still taste her mouth on his, feel her fingers combing through his hair – and he remembered how it felt to do the same to her hours earlier, except with her lips wrapped around his hardness and sucking him down.

His annoyance was soothed just a little as he heard the echo of Emma's words trailing up the stairwell – as much as I love our unexpected visits – the notes of frustration carrying heavily through them.

He discarded his waist coat upon entering their bedroom, his shirt quickly following as he headed into the bathroom with a sigh, tugging at his pants before pausing to adjust the shower. The water leapt out, splattering against the tile and spraying his hot skin with icy droplets – and as he slipped the waist of his jeans over his pleading length, he realized that a quick and bracing shower was the last thing he wanted.

What he wanted was a moment of peace with the woman he loves – as many as possible, really, but he'd settle for one morning where they aren't interrupted or rushed by some new disaster or plan gone awry, one morning where they could enjoy a lie in followed by a good fucking over the breakfast table.

The frustration rose in his chest again, and he turned the water back off with more force than necessary, heading back into the bedroom. He shoved his trousers down and left them in a pile on the floor, grasping his cock in hand and soothing the edge of his need with a firm run up and down its length.

His eyes drifted to the bed still unmade from earlier, his gaze landing on the familiar scalloped edge of the tank top Emma had worn to sleep, and peeking from beneath its sheer fabric, the crimson lace of the panties she'd been wearing.

His grip tightened around his cock as he remembered how they'd hugged her ass as she wiggled it in the air, her green eyes glimmering with mischief before she'd licked a strip along the underside of his cock and sucked him into her mouth, never breaking eye contact between them until his palm had found the back of her head and he'd forced her deeper – like he knew she craved – thrusting into her wet heat until she'd begged and pleaded to be filled.

He turned and leaned against the wall, his hook thudding heavily against it as he jutted his hips forward into his hand, pleasure pooling in his gut as his hand found the right rhythm, skin sliding as he squeezed over the swollen head of his member, imagining that instead it was Emma's hot folds he was burying himself in.

She'd been a sight, her lips red and swollen from his cock stretching them, her skin flushed pink and movements clumsy as she tossed blankets and pillows that were in her way before nudging those red panties to the side and sinking herself – slick and dripping without ever being touched – onto his generous length, moaning and swaying over him like a goddess.

His head thunked against the wall as he jerked himself harder, his balls tight and heavy as he pictured how she'd grabbed his hand and wrist, begging him without words to take her to where only he could, and so he had, thrusting wildly into her as he forced her harder onto himself – they'd both have bruises, but she liked it that way. Her walls seized tightly around him as she came, begging him to fill her as his cock swelled and jerked inside of her, sending streams of his seed into her pleading heat, her thighs shaking as she fell across his chest, panting.

He could feel his orgasm climbing, his entire lower body tense with it as flashes of Emma played behind his eyelids, his balls tingling as his fist worked up and down his shaft – and then the sound of the door creaking open snapped him from his daydream, a growl rumbling from his throat as his head whipped around and he glared toward the door, hand still grasping his cock.

“I thought you were gonna take a quick and bracing shower,” Emma teased, though from the way his eyes darkened seeing her – still clad only in her loose robe – she could tell her words were not taken as the jest they were meant to be.

'Quick and bracing, indeed,” he rasped, unhanding his cock so she could see it red and straining and desperate, his eyebrow arched knowingly as she caught her bottom lip and took a step forward.

She was insatiable, his Swan.

“There's a thing,” she started uncertainly, taking another step forward as she watched his cock bob with lust-filled eyes, her fingers moving to the sash that held her robe closed, “but it can wait. We've got time for a quick – ”

“Aye, right you are love,” he hissed, striding forward and nimbly untangling the rope from her waist, her garment slipped from her shoulders to join his clothing on the floor, “but after this morning, it will be anything but quick or bracing for you...”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, curiosity warring with anticipation as her eyes slipped regretfully away from his straining cock and back to his face.

“Well, I can only assume it was you, Emma, who so thoughtfully provided your mother with a key to our home – your mother, who has...fairly few boundaries, shall we say?”

Emma huffed, sidling closer and pressing her heated skin against his bare body, her fingers dragging through the plentiful hair on his chest as she tilted her mouth toward his.

“Yeah, but I didn't know she was going to just...you know, swing by.”

“Be that as it may, love, I think some repercussions for your thoughtlessness are in order.”

“Thoughtlessness?” Emma echoed.

“Aye, if it weren't for your mother, I'd have had you spread across that table, feasting on you like a man starved at sea before filling you up with my cock,” he growled, brushing his lips against hers as she panted softly, “now tell me you don't deserve to be punished for such lack of foresight.”

“Maybe you're right,” she whispered, her fingers finding his and dragging them to the curve of her ass, forcing him to palm her roughly, “maybe I've been a bad girl, and the Captain needs to remind me how to behave properly.”

“Indeed, you have, but don't think you'll be getting what you want from this, love – not when my morning plans were so rudely interrupted.”

“I'm not sure I like the sound of that,” she pouted, feeling how damp she already was from just the sight of him, her body craving the feel of him stretching her completely.

“Perhaps not, but I'm rather looking forward to it,” he shrugged, all lean muscle and intent – and before she could protest further, he'd backed her up, his hand and brace demanding against her shoulders until she found herself kneeling at his feet.

“I don't know, Captain,” she teased, her fingers dragging up his legs as she eyed where his cock bobbed heavy and wanting in front of her, tongue wetting her lips in anticipation, “if this is what being thoughtless gets me...”

“Oh, you're not getting that,” he smirked, his hand knotting in her hair and preventing her from enveloping the head of his cock in her hungry mouth. “No, your punishment is that you're going to watch, Swan, but you're not going to be able to touch. You see, I want you to spend the rest of the day empty and aching, knowing you could have had me filling you up with my cock, craving the way you stretch around me and the feel of my seed dripping down your thighs...”

“That's...just cruel,” she moaned, tugging against his grip and looking pleadingly up at him as he hooked each of her wrists, bringing them slowly together in front of her chest, palms meeting.

“No, no, no, Swan – no complaints, or I'll make sure you've no relief until tomorrow.”

With a vicious smirk curving his lips, he leaned back toward the bed and snatched the red panties from the blankets. Holding them up to his face, the soft lace brushing against his stubble, he inhaled the scent of their lovemaking from the earlier hours of the morning, humming in appreciation. Panties still held firmly in his grip, he lowered himself to Emma's level, smiling wickedly. Watching the way her lips fell open, he stretched the red lace damp with her own arousal and his release between the tip of his hook and his fingers.  

“And it would be a shame to put off such pleasure until tomorrow, so be a good girl for your Captain.”

Emma groaned, her hips moving instinctively as he twisted the panties tightly around her wrists, the fabric biting into her skin as he looped them over her hands, making certain they were secure. Only when he was positive that she wouldn't be using them for any relief did he stand, tucking his hook gently beneath her chin and making it clear he wanted her eyes on him.

A small whimper fell from her lips as she watched him move to the edge of the bed, muscles flexing as he leaned back on one forearm and spread his legs over the edge, his powerful thighs framing his cock as he wrapped his fingers around himself and gently stroked, his eyes locked on hers.

“You're a bit far for my liking, Swan,” he ruminated, head tilted to the side as his large hand ran smoothly along his shaft, skin rolling wetly over the glistening head of his cock, “bring that pretty face closer.”

Emma breathed heavily through her nose and shuffled forward on her knees, her fingers itching to reach out and touch him as she settled herself nearly against the bed and between the heat of his spread legs, his thick cock looming above her as he stroked it.

“Now that's much better,” he rasped, eyes fluttering shut momentarily as the sight of her bound and kneeling at his feet sent a surge of pleasure through his body, but he forced them back open, wanting to watch the raw desire and need on her face at what she couldn't have.

Emma licked her lips, her eyes darting between the hard steel of Killian's gaze and his cock as he jerked it over her, his balls heavy and pulling as his hand fisted and stroked upwards like he enjoyed, twisting just before rolling over his crown and drawing a throaty growl from his lips.

“The things I wanted to do to you, Emma,” he purred, his body shifting further off the edge of the bed as he strove to get as close as possible without touching her, his pace picking up. “Tell me, love, what would you be doing with those greedy fingers right now if you weren't tied up? Would you be shoving them deep inside that tight quim of yours, looking for release? Or would you perhaps be using them to fill your mouth full of my cock?”  

“That,” Emma gasped, leaning forward as much as she was able, the heat of her mouth ghosting across the puckered skin of his balls as he worked himself over. “I want you in my mouth – all of you. These...”

“No touching, Swan,” he chastised, “or you won't be getting anything until tomorrow.”

She drew back sharply, unwilling to risk the good fucking she knew she'd be getting later tonight if she listened. He loved her like this, begging and needy at his feet – she did too. Even if it meant putting off her own release until later, it was always worth it.

“And I want to feel you sliding into my mouth – so fucking big and thick, pushing against my throat...”

“You're so talented with your mouth...perhaps that's what I'll do later. Would you like that, love, to be laid out on our bed, your sweet cunny filled with one of those toys you love while I fuck your throat like it's simply another hole to use?”

Emma whimpered, leaning back to get a better view as Killian's fist moved furiously over his cock above her, his skin slick and red, the crown of him swollen and dark, clear arousal slipping from his slit and shining against his fingers and shaft.

“Yes,” she gasped, squirming as her body fought against the rules he'd laid down – no touching.

She wanted to touch him, to grab him and suck him down, to touch herself, to bury her fingers in her cunt that was slick and hot with strings of her own arousal.

“But don't think I'll be done once I fill your mouth with my seed, love, not by any means – I want to taste how desperate being taken like that makes you, burying my tongue between your legs and feeling you shake around me, and then I'll fill you there as well.”

“Please...please...Killian,” she groaned, jerking her hands down and wishing she could use them, her clit throbbing mercilessly to be touched. “I need...”

“What do you need, Swan?” he rasped, so close his balls were drawing tight against his body, full and heavy.

“Cum,” she cried, “I need you to come.”

“Aye, love, you've been a good girl – keep that lovely mouth open for me, darling.”

The feel of his legs brushing against her body as he leaned forward was almost too much on top of her desperation, and she moaned as he pushed forward, angling his cock down and fisting it hard, the head of it bobbing directly over where she waited for him, her mouth obediently open and eyes staring directly into his.

With a grunt that drew out into a rasping, panting moan, he finally came, his strokes shortening and tightening around the head of his cock as he held it over her, sighing with relief as rope after rope of his seed marked her, crossing her cheeks and landing beautifully on her pale skin.

She stuck her tongue out with the smallest of desperate noises, stretching on her legs to get closer as he took pity and pointed himself directly into her mouth, the sensitive skin of his head just barely within reach of her lips as he let the rest of himself empty into her, her tongue cupped and carefully holding a pool of his pearly essence.

“Bloody hell,” he hissed, watching as she lifted the corner of her mouth in a coy smile, extending her tongue just enough that he could see what a good girl she was being before she swallowed the last of him down and licked her lips.

He shuddered as the last pangs of his orgasm rolled through him.

“That's a good girl, love,” he crooned, tapping her gently on the cheek with his cock before throwing his leg over her body and striding into the bathroom to clean up. “I think you may have earned yourself some leniency later – if you can behave for the rest of the day.”

Emma let out a whimper, feeling his seed cool on her cheeks and slowly start to thin and drip, caught by the red lace of the panties still tied around her hands.

“Yes, Captain,” she murmured, nearly jumping as he returned and his cool hand ran down her back, his hook matching his movements as he gently tugged the fabric from her wrists, freeing them.

His lips were soft as he placed kisses against her reddened skin and lifted her to sit on the edge of the bed. Knowing how sensitive she would be, he carefully urged her legs open, taking in her folds that were flushed red and sopping wet, viscous arousal clinging to her. He forced down the urge to taste her.

“Don't move,” he rasped, and crossed to the other side of their bedroom, sliding open her bureau and removing a pair of black panties from the drawer.

Emma shivered as he knelt at her feet and carefully slid them up her legs, his silent guidance letting her know it was okay to lift herself as he pulled them up around her hips and urged her to sit back down, his hand pressing once – just firmly enough that could feel her wetness seeping into the fabric – against her hot core.

“Now then, Swan – I hear we've some emergency or another to deal with, so we should get dressed. If all goes well, I'll be taking those off later and tasting just how wet you've been for me all day.”

“Yes,” she hissed, wriggling against the bed, only stilling when his hand and hook fell assertively against her bare thighs.

“But if you're not well behaved,” he warned, “you'll have them in your mouth instead of around your wrists, and it won't be that desperate cunt of yours I'll be filling. Do you understand, Swan?”

She swallowed heavily, wondering how she was going to get through the day ahead when there was only one thing she'd be thinking of.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

He grinned, knowing exactly what was going through her mind – he may be the Captain, but their night could go in two directions, and their heading was entirely up to her.    

END

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[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #12

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Suit Story

If you went through Ginza’s Main Street from 7-chome to 1-chome, the change in the city’s atmosphere would shock you. Bulgari, Cartier, Louis Vuitton, Chanel. Felt like you could play shiritori with these high-class brand names. It was a fun neighborhood to stroll around during Christmas season, as all the stores would come up with elaborate plans for the decorative lights, but it was currently autumn. The store most closely related to me in these vicinities was the long-established stationery store where I went to buy stationery. It was, however...

“Please raise your arms a little more.”

“All right.”

“Pull your chin back a bit. Yeah, that’s great.”

“Haah. Is this really right?”

“Of course. Might be hard, but please do relax.”

For whatever reason, I was across the street from the stationery store, practically in front of it, on the second floor of a branded men’s fashion store originally from England. On the walls of this mysterious-gentleman-themed space, which housed a bar counter and even a huge aquarium, there were clusters of business suits, pants and waistcoats with basting threads attached to them in conspicuous spots.

It was a place for taking measurements for custom-made stuff.

I couldn’t get over the feeling that this was some kind of mistake. Wasn’t this the stationery store? The place where you could buy vanilla-colored envelopes for 30 yen each? Or illustrated writing paper with seasonal vibes, or pens.

“Seigi, you are too nervous.”

“Nakata-san is such an imp, but so are you.”

Leaning against the bar counter, Richard shrugged his shoulders, indicating possibility.

Today was Thursday. Having been called by Richard, who said he wanted to ask me to do some odd job, I went over to the front of Etranger, and then we came to this store in the green jaguar. Just when I thought he was gonna make me hang with him for shopping, the man on the driver seat hastily took out his phone, showing me a video letter from my dad, Nakata-san.

“Seigi, congrats on your graduation. I wanted to go suit shopping with you, but I’m in Jakarta, so I’ll be borrowing Richard-san’s assistance for that. Seems like people are getting them custom-made lately. Make sure to buy a good one. Well, see ya.”

Richard had watched over me in the passenger seat as my eyes got wet, but the tears drew back in when we stepped into the store.

While talking lightheartedly about the difference between English and Italian suits, the young clerk, who wasn’t all too apart from me in age, smoothly took my body measurements with a measuring tape and showed me countless textures.

“You can also choose the lining. What should we do about the pockets?”

When I started getting dizzy, said man, who was like a page of suits, began giving me suggestions from behind. I had nowhere to run. I was really going to have my suit made here. As I picked a charcoal-gray suit with blue lining, Richard quickly told me that tanzanite cuffs would look very nice in it. Of course, I was thinking the exact same thing.

By the moment that the Onii-san finished the measuring and disappeared into the back of the store to take notes, I heaved a deep sigh. “This kinda stuff’s been happening a lot lately. All I ever do is receive.”

When I said that, Richard laughed, giggles ringing up his throat.

Richard had two types of smiles, and whenever he raised his voice while laughing, if I refused to back down, he’d often give me a word of advice of some sort. When it was a silent smile, I’d feel like he was telling me in some way to “reflect about myself”, which would make me a bit anxious, but I liked both.

Walking up next to me as I stood in front of the mirror, Richard grinned. “It is no longer guaranteed that your body will grow out of your clothes. Isn’t it fun to sometimes purchase slightly larger clothes and try to wait for your body’s growth?”

“Feeling like this talk doesn’t have the ‘sleep well and drink milk’ kinda nuance to it.”

The reply was a smile. How strange. Richard’s face was right at my left side, but the smile in the mirror was looking directly at me. Clad in a double-button slender silhouette suit, his figure was perfect no matter from what angle I looked at it, like an extraordinarily fine jewel, so my own figure as I tensed up beside him appeared even weirder.

“Hey, Richard, I kinda have the feeling that suits are like the base metals of jewelry.”

“Are you referring to the foundation parts of rings, earrings and such?”

I nodded. The base metal was the metal part that formed the foundation for attaching gemstones to jewelry. In stores, people would often memorize the materials and call them by their names, such as gold base metal or platinum base metal.

It was a part that never played the leading role in Etranger, which handled accessories with gemstones on them. But it’d be hard to wear jewelry on the body without it, and it was also a part that allowed people to express their particularities regarding the materials, durability and design. Whether they would be prominent or not depended on the basis. Erm, this was probably what a jeweler from Kyoto that I was acquainted with would say. The contrary was also possible.

“Gotta psyche myself up. If I don’t become someone that won’t lose to this suit, I’d feel bad.”

“This is my personal opinion, but there is nothing more tiring to look at than a jewelry in which the gem and base metal are at rivalry with one another. What you should emphasize is the harmony. Just because you use the finest high-grade eggs and milk as ingredients, it does not mean you will create the best pudding – is that not the same thing?”

“Ah...”

When I replied that, indeed, high-end ingredients were often strongly in demand, the beautiful man nodded with an “exactly as you say”. By the looks of it, those were the sweets that he was into lately. I hadn’t been able to take time some for it at all due to being busy, but I decided to make pudding again one of these days and offer to him. Despite having a wallet that enabled him to eat as many high-grade desserts as he wanted, Richard would always be delighted anew no matter how many of them I made, which made me believe that, as one would expect, he had a talent for pleasing people. I was grateful for his existence.

“Both suits and jewelry are goods that exist for the sake of their owners. The initiative is clear from the start. You must handling it skillful and comfortably, not fight against it. That is why it is custom-made.”

“So you’re also ‘skillfully handling’ the clothes you’re wearing right now?”

“Evidently. Enough that I do not know anymore at what point it ends and I begin.” With that said, Richard sleekly patted his suit. I wanted to try saying that too someday.

We exchanged glances not through the mirror but directly.

When the clerk Onii-san came back, the measuring recommenced. I got kind of embarrassed as he praised me, saying I was well-relaxed.

   “Seigi-kun, good work! Wow, that suit looks really great on you.”

“Thanks, Tanimoto-san. Uh, this print on your furisode, could it be—”

“I was told it’s a modern type of print, but yep, it’s kinda like...”

“It looks like a bismuth crystal!”

With a face that said, “I know, right”, a dandy crease formed under her eyes, which were just a bit more on-the-mark than usual. Her bob-cut hair was the same as always, her cream-colored hakama paired with a yellow-green and dark blue furisode, which bore a mysterious geometric pattern print. On top of being cute, it was unique. She said it was rented, but I got emotional upon finding out there was a furisode that was so much like her.

As for me, I was wearing a double-button English suit that fit my body extremely well. It was a little embarrassing, but the creatures called college boys were more or less the same kind of individuals as myself, so they weren’t too mindful of their male friends’ clothes. Only one of them, who had found employment in the apparel industry, said that “the suit Nakata’s wearing is so nice”.

It was the graduation ceremony of Kasaba University. We gathered in the excessively large auditorium for all but an instant, and once we had our diplomas in hand, it was the beginning of a rapid shooting party, where we took pictures with our preferred friends in spaces near the auditorium. Tanimoto-san came running over to the spot near the central library, where we had decided to meet up.

“Seigi-kun, really, congrats. Things might get hard from now on, but if it’s you, everything will definitely be okay.”

“Thank you. I’ll do my best. I don’t think I’m that big of a deal, though...”

“That’s not true. I know very well how awesome you are.”

I played around a little and bowed my head, also congratulating Tanimoto-san for her graduation, she laughed with a “huhuhu”, looking happy.

She had passed in teaching and she would officially be a middle school science teacher starting this April. She fulfilled the dream that she had told me about when we were in our second year of undergrad. So cool. She had laughed when I said I wanted to take her classes if it were ever possible, but now I knew her video communication address, so it might be that I could actually get to attend her lectures at least once. Even if I were no longer living in Japan.

“Tanimoto-san, the school you’re assigned to is...”

“In Okayama Prefecture. It’s famous for the Katsuta Group of vicarya fossils. Compared to you, it’s next-door.”

In a few days, my address would change from Japan to Sri Lanka. I was going to be a jeweler apprentice. I had been told that I would often have to move around in rough dress, so sure enough, I was going to dedicate myself to wearing formal stuff for the time being. It was a bit of a waste, but Nakata-san and Richard had probably given me a chance to wear this kind of thing because they knew about that.

I could hear a voice in the distance calling, “Shouko~”. It was apparently a friend of Tanimoto-san’s. She waved at them in response.

“Seigi-kun, y’know... I think I was very lucky to meet you in this university. Literally thank you. Thanks to you, university was always fun.”

“Those are all my lines. But Tanimoto-san, I only ever gave you trouble.”

“If you’re gonna say that, same goes for me. I feel like you’ve granted me many opportunities. Seriously, thank you.”

When she smiled, saying she was going to do her best, she looked really cute. Neither of us had any familiarity with Okayama, but surely, she would actively pave the way with her own strength no matter where she was. And on her days off, she would go out to the Katsuta Group to dig up fossils.

“From now on too, if there’s anything I can help you with, I want you to tell me. I’ll do anything. If you run into any weirdo, I’ll get on a plane and come give them a beating.”

“Me too; if anyone ever messes up with you, Seigi-kun, I’ll take my crack hammer and go finish them off. Look forward to it. Ah, Aki told me that a sniper rifle suits me better, apparently?”

“I-I wonder.”

After that, we talked for a while, seated on an inconspicuous bench, and when it was finally time, she told me to at least take care of my body, offering me her hand. I nodded and squeezed it back. Her hand was small but very strong.

“Take care of your body, at the very least. May the blessings of the stones fall upon you.”

“Thank you. You too.”

We bowed deeply, taking pictures with each other while we were at it, and once we were done with the commemorative photoshoot, in which the two of us kept a moderate distance from one another, we parted ways. Students here and there were hugging intensely and wailing, but neither she nor I were that type, and I didn’t think this would be farewell for a lifetime. We would definitely get to see each other from now on too.

However, this was our last time seeing each other while we were students. After the handshake, my angel waved her hand with a “see you”, even more brightly than an actual angel.

Later on, having finished looking around for the friends that I could call friends and going on a tour to tell them “thank you for everything until now”, lastly, I sent a brief text. Not to Richard. To Nakata-san and Hiromi.

“I was able to graduate from university without problems. Thank you very much, truly. I will be in your care from now on too.”

Rather than a greeting, it turned into a notice to announce my renewed determination. The stylish suit indeed gave off an extraordinary feeling of fittingness, but I couldn’t think I was fully used to it. Obviously. It finished being made just a while ago. It would start from here. If it would take on my shape the more I wore it, then I would make sure to wear it steadily to my own liking.

What mattered was the harmony, he had said.

While smoothly stroking the suit, which I still couldn’t deem as anything other than formal wear, as if I were stroking my favorite gemstone, I seared the contrast of cherry blossom petals against the blue sky into my eyes.

[taehyungs-perm]

midnight love - ch.2

midnight love collab w @jimins-filter

jimin x reader; superhero au; childhood best friends to lovers au; ceo, billionaire philanthropist, playboy!jimin

genre: angst; lowkey funny; eventual smut 

summary: playboy park jimin comes back to seoul city after disappearing for six years; too much has changed, especially you. living out your nights as nyx, seoul city’s dark knight, is a secret you’ve kept for as long as jimin’s disappeared. but what happens when a new hero named eros comes into town just as park jimin shows up at your front door...

teaser 

chapter 1

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 2 Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, Jimin counted in his mind, pulling himself up to the bar. His muscles tightened with every pull and he let out a groan as he finally finished his last rep. He wiped the sweat off his brow, panting as he dropped from the pull up bar. Grabbing the towel hanging from the hook, he wiped the dripping sweat off of his body as he made his way to the bench to retrieve his water bottle. Distantly he heard the doors of the gym open with an unmistakable creak, but he paid no mind as he chugged the water, appreciating the cool liquid against his throat.

“Long time no see,” he heard a familiar deep voice echo through the room.

Jimin quickly whirred around to see who entered the gym. It was Kim Taehyung, his childhood best friend and most trusted advisor (and on most occasions, his drinking buddy). Jimin immediately broke into a smile, his eyes squinting, at the familiar sight of Tae’s curls and his expensive fashion taste. He ran to his friend, ready to engulf him in a koala hug.

“Taehyung!” Jimin embraced his friend, feeling the most happy he’s been in the while.

“Jimin, this is Gucci! Take a shower first,” Tae said, attempting to push Jimin away, laughing all at the same time. He ruffled Jimin’s soft black hair affectionately. “I see you’ve grown a little.” 

“Shut up. I could still beat up your ass.” Jimin jokes, batting Tae’s hand away.

“No doubt,” Tae said, inspecting Jimin’s abs with a raised eyebrow. “Wherever you’ve disappeared to in the last six years has prepared you for an apocalypse.”

“On a serious note, thank you Taehyung. For taking care of Park Enterprises while I was away.”

“Of course man. Park Enterprises is everything to me, to you, to your family. I would do everything in my power to keep it going.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

“But I suspect you didn’t call me here just to say thanks.” Taehyung said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his brown trousers.

“Well I was hoping to see you at my party a few days before, but…” Jimin trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not all of us can be playboys, Park. Some of us got jobs. Some of us have to do your job.” Taehyung smirked.

“I’m turning over a new leaf, Taehyung.”

“Good one,” Taehyung laughed.

“I’m being serious. I need your help.” Jimin said solemnly.

“What sort of help?”

“You still design suits?”

“Of course. The other day I designed a 3 piece velvet suit complete with a waistcoat—”

Jimin chuckled nervously, “I’m not talking about that kind of suit.”

Taehyung wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion, “Jimin, what exactly are you planning?”

“Seoul needs my help.”

“Your help? As Park Jimin, CEO of Park Enterprises?”

“No, Seoul needs my help as someone else.”

Taehyung sat down on the workout bench slowly, trying to piece together the full meaning of what Jimin wanted, “You’re not a vigilante.”

“I could be. And I don’t want to think of myself as some lawless criminal.”

“But that’s exactly what you would be Jimin! You’re not seriously thinking about putting on some jumpsuit and beating up random people!”

“I’m not going to be beating up random people. I’m taking care of the people of Seoul. That’s what Nyx is doing and the city loves her!”

“One vigilante is enough. Seoul doesn’t need someone else running against the law.”

Jimn paused, “I just...think this city needs some help.”

“What? You don’t think Nyx is doing enough?”

“I think Nyx is one person against an entire corrupt city. She needs help.”

“What if she doesn’t want it?”

“It doesn't matter what she wants. It’s about what the city needs.” 

“From whom does she need help from exactly?”

“Eros.”

“Eros? As in the god of love?” Taehyung questioned, cracking a smile.

“Shut up man. The dude’s a beast with his arrows and shit.”

“I assume this is what you’re training for? What you have been training for?”

Jimin crossed his arms and nodded, “It wasn’t my intention at first I guess. But once I left Seoul I realized what a mess it was, how it was infested to the brim with criminals and dangers. I want to save Seoul. I want to be a hero but I don’t want anyone I love to get hurt so I have to keep my identity a secret.”

Taehyung went silent for a few minutes before breaking the silence, “Told ______ about your little plan?”

“Fuck no. She would lose her mind. I just got on her good side, I’m not about to mess it all up.”

“How did you manage to get on her good side already? Last time I talked to her she was pissed as hell at you.”

Jimin smirked, “Guess it was that classic Park charm.”

“You do know she has a boyfriend?” Taehyung looked at Jimin with apprehension.

“I know.” was all Jimin said. He didn’t want to add the tiny, embarrassing detail that she told him when he was about to kiss her. 

“That’s rough buddy.” 

“Have you met the guy?” Jimin asked with a jealous tone.

Taehyung nodded, “He’s really cool. And he’s really good for ______.”

“Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me to fuck off?”

“I’m just saying man, you’ve been gone a long time. People change. ______’s changed. You had your chance back in college, but you were too busy caring about your fuckboy reputation. Just be her friend, it’s what she really needs and it's what you really need.”

“I hate when you're right.”

Taehyung stood up and patted Jimin’s arm comfortingly, “So, tell me a little about what kind of suit you’re looking for.”

Jimin smiled then led Taehyung over to his workshop desk with various blueprints, “I need something functional yet fast. I need to be protected but be able to move quickly. Something made out of carbon fiber?”

Taehyung scanned the blueprints, different designs of suits that were in shades of black and red. Taehyung rubbed his chin in thought, “When do you need this by?”

“This weekend?” Jimin asked hopefully.

“I can make that work, but you gotta do something for me in return.”

“What is it? I'll do anything.”

“You gotta show up at your fucking job.” Taehyung said smiling as he rolled up the blueprint, tucking them at his side.

“Taehyung, thank you. I mean it.” Jimin said, earnestly.

Taehyung winked at him as he opened the gym doors and left. 

True to his word, Jimin showed up to work bright and early. As he walked into Park Enterprises, he swore he saw a few of the employees fall out of their chair at the sight of him alive and well. That, and the fact that he showed up to work for once. He opened the door to his office and saw that it remained relatively untouched. One wall was taken up with floor-to-ceiling windows while another was decorated with an array of sleek black cabinets.Jimin made his way to the big, glass desk in the middle of the room and logged onto his computer (he couldn't believe his account hadn’t been deleted after all these years). It had been far too long. He didn’t even know where to start but he decided maybe going through his overflowing inbox was a beginning. After staring at his computer screen for what felt like hours, Jimin’s attention was caught by the sound of his office door opening. He was completely shocked at the figure in his doorway. 

“Yoongi-ssi?” Jimin quickly bowed, remembering his formalities and the respect he had for his mentor. He was after all the one who had taken Jimin under his wing and trained him, taught him what real fear was.  Jimin was taken aback at Yoongi’s appearance; he had only seen Yoongi wearing the traditional hanbok yet here he was in a full beige three piece suit, handkerchief and all. 

Yoongi walked over cooly with his hands in his pocket, a clear demeanor of confidence, “Nice office you got here Jimin. I see why you left.”

A spark of nervousness flew through Jimin’s body, “I wasn’t aware you were stopping by or that you were even in the city,” he replied levelly.

Yoongi slowly sat in Jimin’s chair, crossing his legs, “I just came to see the city you’ve talked so much about. I wanted to see how you are doing. Adjusting well, I presume?” His voice had a tone of sarcasm layered underneath it, but that was typical of Yoongi.

Jimin decided to play along with his game, his steely gaze locked on to Yoongi,  “Yes, I’ve missed my city and my home. It’s good to be back.”

“I hope you haven’t returned to old habits.” Yoongi looked at Jimin with a glint in his eyes, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

Under normal circumstances, Jimin would’ve buckled under Yoongi’s intense stare. But he’d spent the better part of the last six years under Yoongi’s guidance, and he was well trained from not shying away from his old mentor.“Of course not Yoongi-ssi.” Jimin replied coolly.

“Lying is not tolerable in our mantra, if you recall.” Yoongi said sternly.

Jimin’s face flared in embarrassment, “I’m sorry, Yoongi-ssi. I wouldn’t count it as old habits to be honest. One night of fun is hardly an indicator of me going back to the old days.”

“I guess. So, with the knowledge and training you’ve been given, what exactly is your plan?”

Jimin’s entire body went stiff. As much as he respected his mentor, there was something off about his behavior: the way that he just suddenly appeared in Seoul, in Jimin’s office. Yoongi had always been a bit standoffish but never cold towards his mentees; something strange was going on. Jimin needed to figure out why Yoongi was really in Seoul

.Ignoring Yoongi’s question, Jimin cleared his throat, “Yoongi-ssi, what are you really doing here in Seoul?”

Yoongi smirked at his pupil’s clear avoidance of his own question, “Nothing really, some sightseeing, some investing. There is some great property here in Seoul.”

Jimin egged him on further, “Are you thinking about purchasing an apartment or..”

“Perhaps. Maybe some buildings as well. I’ll have to do some more research.”

Jimin narrowed his eyebrows, confused. Yoongi had never expressed any interest in buying property in Seoul before, not once in the six years Jimin knew him. 

“Why?” Jimin asked lightly, trying not to tip Yoongi off of his suspicions.

Yoongi picked up a pen laying on Jimin’s desk. He twirled it around in his fingers and spoke nonchalantly, “Just diversifying my income.”

Suddenly Yoongi’s phone started to ring. Yoongi pulled his phone out of his inside coat pocket and stood up, “I have to take this. But it was nice seeing you Jimin. I hope we can sit down and have a proper chat later.” 

Jimin bowed again at his mentor as Yoongi left his office. The moment the door closed, Jimin sat down and exhaled a deep breath. What was Yoongi-ssi doing here? Why is he investing property in Seoul?

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

When Jimin returned to his empty apartment that night, the last thing he wanted to do was be alone. For a moment, he thought about calling ______. But after his last encounter with you, he thought it best to give you space. Instead, he dialed Namjoon to tell him to come over (and to bring food as well).

When the elevator doors clicked open, Jimin saw Namjoon stride over to him, holding a bag full of Korean takeout. Namjoon was wearing his regular attire: an oversized jacket with a cap nestled on his soft brown hair. He smiled as he saw Jimin, a deep dimple forming on both cheeks.

“How was the first day of work?” Namjoon said, plopping down on the couch across from Jimin.

“Sucked ass. I have literally no idea what I’m doing. How the fuck have you and Taehyung been doing this for six years?” Jimin said, laying his head back on the couch. 

“I ask myself that question everyday,” Namjoon laughed as he began taking out plastic containers of food.

Namjoon handed a pair of chopsticks to Jimin and pushed a container towards him, “Eat. You’ve had a long day.”

Jimin smiled at his friend and began to eat the bowl of japchae in front of him, “Have you talked to Taehyung?”

Namjoon nodded, “I think he’s honestly trying to wrap his head around it still but he’s working on your suit and it’s coming along pretty well.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Just the rough model of it but it looks great so far.”

“I can’t believe that he agreed to it.” Jimin said, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“I can’t believe you convinced me.” Namjoon added, taking a bite of rice.

“Honestly I thought you were going to be way harder to get on my side.”

“I mean as much as I hate the idea of you going out and doing vigilante shit, you’re right. This city needs all the help it can get and Nyx can’t do it alone.”

“Speaking of Nyx, who is she?”

“No one knows.”

“You’re telling me no one knows anything about her? She’s been active almost six years and no one has found out anything about her?”

“She keeps a low profile. The only thing I could tell you, which really isn’t a secret, is that she works with SCPD.”

Jimin leaned forward, interested, “Who does she work with specifically? She can’t be coordinating with the entire police force.” 

“I believe she works with Detective Jin. But I’m not 100% sure. I can do some research on it and let you know.”

“Thanks man. Another weird thing happened today, Yoongi-ssi came by my office.”

“Your mentor from that weird ninja group?” Namjoon’s voice had a tone of clear sarcasm.

Jimin corrected him, “The League of Shadows, but yes.”

“Why?”

“That’s my question too. He said some bullshit about buying property or something, but I don’t believe him. Hey, could you do me a favor and look into which properties he’s bought or is going to purchase?”

Namjoon nodded, “You think he’s up to something?”

“I’m not sure yet but something weird is definitely going on.”

“I'll look into it and the Nyx stuff. You got the computers set up in the basement, right?”

Jimin nodded, “I’ll text you the passcode but it's on B4 in Park Enterprises.”

“I don’t trust him,” Namjoon said, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Yoongi-ssi?” Jimin asked, confused. 

Namjoon nodded, “That entire League of Shadows business is just so….suspicious.”

“I mean, it is called the League of Shadows for a reason. We work in the shadows.” Jimin chuckled.

“I don’t ask you too many questions about your time away Jimin, but you’ve changed. A lot”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I haven’t decided yet. But I just know the old Jimin wouldn’t have turned his back on his friends for six years.”

“I told you Namjoon, I couldn’t call anyone.”

“But why? You’ve never told me why. ‘Couldn’t’ implies it was out of your control. So doesn’t it make you question why you couldn’t call anyone?”

“It’s for protection.”

“Who’s? Yours? Mine? The League’s?” Namjoon said, a bit annoyed.

Jimin went silent. He hadn’t really questioned who’s protection his silence was for. Yoongi-ssi made it clear from the moment Jimin stepped into the dojo that there were two rules: obey the mantra and swear to secrecy. But why? Did the League have something to hide? Did Yoongi have something to hide?

Namjoon flipped on the news as Jimin simmered in his thoughts. The headlines blared ‘JUST IN: BANK ROBBERY AT SEOUL UNITED’. Jimin and Namjoon exchanged weary glances, worry sinking into their stomachs.

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

You pushed through the revolving doors of her parents’ building. You hated going here, you could almost taste the despair in the air. Too many memories of missing out on hangouts with friends, missing recitals and performances all because your parents were too busy to take you. Good thing you weren’t here to see them. You saw them exclusively on Sundays; you couldn’t handle anymore than that. You tried to get past the front desk but of course you heard the familiar shriek, “Ms. ______, welcome!”

You gripped your leather messenger bag tightly, trying to control your anger, “Hello”

“Are you here to see your parents? I’m afraid they are both in meetings curr-”

You cut off the secretary, “I’m not here to see them. Just here to meet a friend.”

“Oh, alright. Have a nice day then.”

“Thank you. Also, please don’t tell my parents that I was here. I wouldn’t want to bother them with this.”

The secretary nodded and you quickly walked to the elevators, hitting the down arrow a couple of times impatiently. The elevator doors opened with a ding and you hopped in, pressing the B8 button. After a few seconds and a feeling of weightlessness, the doors re-opened and you stepped out, heading down the same path you had been going down for the past six years.

You walked up to the familiar cubicle and saw a figure with unmistakable tousled black hair focused on the computer screen in front of him, his tattooed hands flying across the keyboard . When you peered a little closer to see what he was working on, it became evident he was fully immersed in a PVP video game. You sneaked up behind him, getting as close as you could without alerting him.

“Hey Jungkook,” you whispered, giving him a little push.

Jungkook immediately jolted in his seat, clutching his shirt where his heart would be. “Never do that again, you scared me!”

He swiveled around to face you, while you were silently laughing at his reaction. He clearly didn’t expect your presence.

“You’re here! I didn’t know you were coming,” Jungkook pushed up his glasses that had been knocked awry by his jump and adjusted his tie nervously. You couldn't help but smile at his shy behavior.

“What’d you expect?” you chuckled, you would be lying if you said you didn’t have a soft spot for Jungkook. “I texted you this morning that I would swing by lunch to see if the tr-”

Jungkook nodded excitedly, “Yes, yes of course. I have it ready.” He pulled open his desk drawer and handed you a handheld remote. 

He pointed to the disc, “This is the tracker. First thing,  just pick up one stack of bills, scan it using this remote and a digital marker will be recorded. Once you are trying to actually track the bills, just click the button on the remote. It will connect to the maps on your phone via bluetooth and allow you to track where the money is physically going.”

You turned over the small remote in your hand, analyzing the careful craftsmanship, “This is amazing Jungkook. You’re a genius.”

A light blush bloomed over Jungkook’s cheeks, “Oh, really it’s nothing. I just was messing around with some stuff and it ended up coming together well.”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled, ruffling his already messy hair.

Jungkook nodded, “Just be careful out there.”

You winked at him, “Nyx always is.”

With that, you raced to your car, driving to your apartment as fast as possible. You needed to get the tracker on the bills before anything else happened. After a quick change into your Nyx outfit and grabbing your motorbike, you were on your way to Seoul United.You found Detective Jin’s team surrounding the bank. After speaking with the officer in charge, you were able to get access to the vault and place the necessary tracker. You zoomed back to your apartment, trying to get out of there as quick as possible. Nyx worked in the nighttime; daytime excursions were a risk to your identity. In the evening, you tried to focus on the case files pulled up on your laptop, but an unmistakable feeling of anxiety was creeping up your neck, like something horrible was just about to happen. Then, as if right on cue, your phone pinged with a text from Detective Kim. 

DK: Seoul United has just been robbed. 

You: What? When?

DK: 5 mins ago

You: I’ll be right over

You threw on your Nyx outfit and raced on your bike over to Seoul United Bank. Already there were police cars and news vans surrounding the area. It was hard to see anything past the blue and red sirens and the constant flashes of the journalists’ cameras. You managed to make your way into the bank, finding Detective Kim standing in the entryway. He was talking with someone on his team, his hands on his hips, clearly exasperated. You cleared your throat and Detective Kim turned around.

“Nyx,” he said, seeing your arrival. You simply gave him a two-fingered salute, before following him into the empty bank vault. It was a big, metallic thing with a complicated lock pad on the front. Although the inside of the vault was void of the thousands stacks of cash, there were stray dollar bills littering the floor.

You looked up at Detective Kim, annoyed, “I thought you had your team here.”

He signed, rubbing his forehead, “I did. They were here all night.”

“Then, how did this happen?” you asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know.” He paused then spoke slowly, “I wasn’t here. It was just my team.”

You pursed your lips, thinking about the situation. You stood up, scanning the empty vault, before looking directly at Detective Kim’s eye “Whoever robbed this bank was tipped off. You have a mole in your team.”

“Excuse me?” Detective Kim’s jaw dropped.

“This wasn’t a coincidence Detective. Whoever robbed this bank knew about our plan. There is no way this should have happened if your team was actually prepared. Either your team is incompetent or there’s a mole.” 

“There has to be another explanation.”

“I suggest you thoroughly re-evaluate your team.” you looked at him levelly.

Jin hesitated for a moment, “Fine.”

“There’s only two major banks left in Seoul.” you said, walking around the vault to see if there were any clues left behind.

“Seoul Credit Union and Republic of Korea Trust Corporation.” Jin said, flipping through his notepad.

You said nothing in response, but kept walking back to the end of the vault where a glint of red caught your eye. You moved closer and found a card stuck between one of the tables and the wall. You pulled it and recognized it immediately; it was the card you found in the folder Detective Kim gave you a few nights ago. The blood-red smile stared back at you in mockery.

You turned to show Detective Kim the card, “Same card,”

Detective Kim nodded in agreement, taking the card from your gloved hand and studying it. “It appears so. I guess this means the robberies are done by the same team.”

“Any leads with the ink?” you asked, remembering the conversation you had with Detective Kim that one night regarding the ink of the smiley face on the card. 

“Nothing of interest came up,” Detective Kim said, shrugging, not exactly meeting your eye.“

What’s your plan?”

“Same thing I guess. But with a smaller team.”

You nodded, picking up one of the stray dollar bills scattered on the floor.

Jin looked at you, “What’s your plan?”

“Unlike you, I was prepared.” Pulling out the tracker Jungkook made for you out of your pocket, you scanned the dollar bill with the tracker. After a few seconds, your phone began to beep. Immediately, a maps app pulled up with the word “TRACKING” flashing. After a moment, the location popped up: 14-5, Donam 1-dong, Seongbuk-gu, Seoul.

“I put a tracker on the bills earlier today.” you showed your phone to Jin, “This is where the money is currently.”

“Nyx…”

“I’m not going to do anything. Just a reconnaissance mission. Observe and I’ll tell you what I find.”

Jin sighed a breath of relief, “I’ll keep you posted on my side as well.”

You nodded, and quickly left the bank, heading to the location on your phone. 

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

Jimin walked into the basement of Park Enterprises, his steps echoing through the concrete room. He felt a sense of nostalgia walking through these halls. Back when Namjoon, Y/N, and Jimin were younger they would run around here, playing hide-and-seek and tag, while his father would work diligently upstairs. Now, Jimin walked down these halls with a different purpose, while his father laid six feet under, never to breathe again.

Jimin slowed his pace when he came near a metallic door and entered the passcode in the keypad to the side. The door opened with a defined clang and he saw Namjoon clicking away on a keyboard in front of several computer screens. The screens were filled with an array of statistics, new articles, and property reports.

“What’s up?” Jimin asked, leaning on the headrest of Namjoon’s chair. 

“So I was doing some research into what we spoke about the other day,” Namjoon started, clicking away from an article.

“Did you find anything about Nyx?” Jimin asked excitedly.

Namjoon slowly turned his head, looking at Jimin above his shoulder, “Um, no. I was thinking the Yoongi stuff was more important.”

“Right,” Jimin said, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Anyways, I got ahold of some of the listings Yoongi is looking into, but he’s actually only bought one apartment building so far.”

“Where?”

“It’s actually not too far from here.”

“I can go check it out tonight. See if there’s anything weird about the building, or inside of it.”

“Did Taehyung finish your suit?” Jimin nodded, walking to the end of the room where a black panel lay embedded in the wall. Jimin pressed his hand against the scanner to unlock the panel. It moved to the side, revealing a sleek, black suit with red accents made of carbon fiber. Next to the suit, was a titanium black bow and arrow encased in a clear case.

Jimin stripped of his clothes and stepped into the suit. It fit seamlessly, providing him with protection as well as the ability to move around stealthily. He pushed the eye mask against his face and threw his hood over, casting a dark shadow over his face.

“Address?” Jimin called out as he put on the quiver and adjusted the strap so that it lay comfortably on his body.

“14-5, Donam 1-dong, Seongbuk-gu, Seoul,” Namjoon said reading off the computer screen.

Jimin nodded, punching the address into his phone. He bid Namjoon a goodbye before exiting the building and heading to the garage. He summoned his car to him by pressing a button on his keys. The car came to him in a flash, a sleek black car with the state-of-the-art weapons attached to it and a computer interface at his disposal. Not to mention, the seat heaters feel amazing. Jimin hopped in the car, determined to solve this mystery and figure out what Yoongi was up to.

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

After 15 minutes of driving, you finally arrived at your location. It was a tall, red brick building that was supposedly an apartment complex, according to Google. You stashed your bike a block away from the building, hiding it in an alleyway. There was a fire escape leading to the roof of the apartment building, perfect for preliminary surveillance. You made your way to the roof of the building and perched on a ledge, scanning the terrain. You could hear drunken shouts and laughter from below, but you didn’t see anyone entering or exiting the building.

On the roof itself, there were a few camp chairs with old glass bottles and plastic cups littering the floor. There was also a door which you presumed led inside of the building as well as a water tower a few feet from you. You were a bit frustrated by the lack of places to hide on the roof, but you’ve dealt with worse.

You studied the layout of the building. It would be useless to walk through each floor in hopes of accidentally stumbling upon a room full of bank vault cash. You racked your brain for a better solution before deciding you should call your team to help you locate the most probable floor that the cash could be on.

“Hey,” you said, pressing the button on your earpiece to talk.

Jungkook excitedly answered, “______! I mean, Nyx!”

“What’s up?” Sana asked, much more calmly.

“I’m at the address. Pretty sure it’s an apartment building, judging by the layout, but I have no idea where the money could be. Maybe there’s some sort of hidden room or basement where all this money could be stored. Can you guys pull up the specs of the building?”

“You got it,” Sana said, clicking away on her keyboard.

You waited patiently for a moment before you heard something, a light clank sound. You immediately ducked behind the water tower, highly alert. You could feel your heart beating very fast. Could it be the person behind the blood-red smiley face card?

“Someone’s here,” you whispered softly into your earpiece.

“Who?” Jungkook and Sana asked.

“Not sure.”

“Be careful,” Sana cautioned.

You turned off your earpiece so you could hear what the intruder was doing. You heard soft footsteps crunching on the gravel. You tried to peer around the water tower to see but it was pitch black, too difficult to make out clear movement. You saw a figure moving, you squinted trying to see better. You almost felt scared for a second. You shook yourself out of it. C'mon you’re Nyx. You’ve faced off the mob for crying out loud. Whoever it is, whatever it is, you can handle it

You gripped your pronged knife, unsheathing it, getting in battle stance. You peered once more to see any movement, trying to get the upper hand on whoever this mysterious person was. Part of you thought it might be a random civilian, just wandering off but your instincts told you otherwise. Based on the movements of this mystery person, the soft footsteps and indiscernible breathing, this was clearly someone who knew what they were doing.  You looked over, trying to see any motion in the darkness but when you squinted, you couldn't see anything. You sighed turning your head back around to find an arrow pointed right at your forehead. 

Your eyes immediately went to the beholder of the arrow. A man, you guessed, his face was covered by a large hood but you could make out that he was wearing an eye mask. Another vigilante? Another villain? Was he the one behind the bank robberies?

He was good, good enough to sneak up on you. You forced yourself to calm down, and you gripped your knives tighter trying to formulate a plan. Fighting him straight up wasn’t the smartest move, not yet. You needed some answers first. Keep him busy while he’s talking then attack. Distraction was always the best mode of offense.  

“Who are you?” you asked, not taking your eyes off of the man and the arrow pointed at you.

 “So curious,” he murmured, titling his head to the side. His grip on the bow never wavered.

If anything his answer made you more furious rather than the fact that he was holding a literal arrow to your face. Stay calm Nyx. 

“New in town?” you said, mind racing.

“Not really.” His voice was soft and melodic, almost like he was teasing you. “I’ve never seen you before.” you strengthened your stance, preparing to attack.

“Maybe you have. Maybe you’re just not observant enough.” He said with a chuckle. Then for a moment, his bow wavered. Bingo. You immediately launched a kick at his arm, momentarily surprising him, causing him to drop both his bow and arrow. You twisted his arm so that it was no longer directed towards you, switching places and forcing him against the water tower as you pushed one of your knives against his throat. The man’s adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped at the prospect of getting his throat slashed at any moment.

It was now your turn to torment him.

“Relax cupid I won’t hurt you. Yet.” Your eyes narrowed. “Now tell me, who are you?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” He smirked. With his free hand, the man turned away your knife holding hand and swiftly kicked your feet out from under you. But you’ve had years of experience and saw this coming. At the last minute, you rolled over so that he was now trapped under you. You had your knees planted on either side of his narrow waist with one arm pinning down his hands. Your knife had clattered away during this, so you decided to press your forearm against his throat.

The man chuckled, sending shivers up your spine, “Usually the girl knows my name before she’s on top of me,”

You pressed your forearm down even harder, “You’re quite obnoxious, you know that?”

“I think you mean charming,” he choked out, struggling to breathe.

“Let me clear something up for you. I have Detective Kim Seokjin on speed dial. It would be so easy for me to simply tie you up and hand you to the Seoul City Police. But perhaps, if you cooperated and gave me some information, we could work something out.” You had no intentions of making a deal with this possible criminal but this was a tactic that always worked in the past. 

“Eros,” he gasped out. “My name’s Eros.”

Intrigued at this outburst, you lessened the pressure against his throat. Funny. A name of a greek god. Like yours. 

“Eros,” you repeated. “The Greek god of love. What an odd name for a villain.”

“Vigilante,” he corrected. You could see his eyes more clearly now, a dangerous obsidian color. 

“Vigilante, is that right?” you mused,  “Sounds like some bullshit a lowlife criminal would say.”

“I’m being serious. But of course that would mean you would have to trust me.” His voice became low and sultry. There was something familiar about him, about his voice, his mannerisms but you couldn't place it. 

“Fine. Be honest. Why are you here?” 

“I’m following a lead.”

“From who? About what?”

“C’mon darling. Do you really think I would give up all my information to someone I don’t even know?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” you said repeating his own words back to him.

“Maybe we can start by you getting off of me. Don’t get me wrong darling, I would love for this to continue, just under different circumstances maybe.” He whispered, sending shivers up your spine.

Immediately your face flushed. You quickly got up and offered a hand to Eros. He stood up and grabbed his bow and arrow that had clattered away during your fight, walking to the ledge.

“I’m here because I have suspicions about someone I don’t trust. He owns this building, recently purchased and I want to know why. But I’m guessing since you're here too, you have a lead you're following.” He turns to face you, “which makes me think , maybe we are on the same side.”

“Maybe, but I still have no idea who you are. I can’t blindly trust you.” 

“Nyx, if I wanted to take you down, I would have already. Now why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here.”

He had a point, you thought. He was strong, you had felt his rock hard abs and strong muscles when you were on top of him (you were only noting it just in case you had to take him head on, no other reason of course). Eros could definitely put up a good fight; he could possibly take you down. Right now, your instincts were to trust him, see what information he had, and possibly work together. 

You sighed, “I’m here because of a lead Detective Kim gave me.”

You saw his lips turn into a smirk, “Close with Detective Kim?” 

You continued on, rolling your eyes at his unprofessional banter,“Anyways, I’m following a lead from the robberies.”

“The bank robberies?”

You nodded, “There was a connection between all of the recent bank robberies. I found this card at two of the robberies” 

You handed him the card that had the smiley face drawn on it with the blood-like ink. The very one that had plagued your dreams and brought upon many sleepless nights. Whoever was behind the bank robberies were obviously very confident that they would get away with it, especially since they left behind a mark of theirs. Now you just had to find out who.

You studied Eros’s expression carefully when you handed him the card and you saw his eyes widen at the sight of the card, a flash of recognition. “I’ve seen this symbol before, I just can’t remember where,”

You eyed him uneasily. Was he just lying to you or was he being serious? Regardless, Eros knew something about the bank robberies, which was suspicious on some level. 

Eros caught your gaze and spoke in an easy tone, “I promise I’ll look into this and remember where I saw this.”You nodded, feeling a wave of security and gratefulness rush over you. The nagging voice in the back of your head was getting harder to ignore though: Why were you already so trusting of this man you have never met before? 

Eros chuckled softly, “Guess I’m gonna need your phone number.”

You paused for a moment, once again ignoring his overly flirty comments before remembering. You pulled out a burner phone lodged in one of your pant pockets. You had used it in a prior mission and forgot to give it back to Jungkook. You tossed the phone to Eros who caught it with ease. 

“You call me. No need to exchange numbers.”

“You’re killing me, darling.” Eros said, safely storing the phone away. 

You ignored him and continued with what you knew about the bank robberies, “I placed a tracker on the bills and I tracked it to this apartment.”

 “The money is here?”

“Who owns this building?”

“My mentor...” Eros said hesitantly.

“Your mentor?” 

“Yeah. But why would the money come here? Unless he knows about it?”

“Do you think he could be behind the robberies?”

Eros shook his head, “I highly doubt it. He was always preaching about not getting attached to the material world.”

“Here’s the plan, granted you don’t try to surprise attack me in the middle of it. I’ll pull up the specs of the building and we can see what’s here and what’s not.”

Eros nodded, “We should split up, cover more ground.”

“No way. I don’t trust you. What if you find the money and take it all?”

“I mean I wouldn’t, but if you really just wanted to spend some more time with me, then all you had to do was ask, darling.” Eros said, smirking at you. 

“Just keep your eyes peeled,” You said, shaking your head and scoffing. 

You pulled up your phone and found a message from Jungkook, an attachment for the blueprints of the building. You clicked on the attachment and glanced through the drawings. 

“Okay, so it looks like there are apartments on every floor except the basement and the 8th floor.” You announced. “Although I’m not sure why the 8th floor doesn’t have any apartments.”

“Let’s head there first then.” Eros said hurriedly. 

You swiftly picked the lock on the door on the roof and headed down the dimly lit metal staircase. The chipping paint on the wall stated “18th Floor.” It was going to be a bit of a walk; the elevators were too much of a risk for civilians to encounter you. Eros tried to make conversation asking about your past endeavors but you were in no mood to be friendly with someone you didn’t know. Once you reached the 8th floor and opened the door, you found yourself in a completely empty room. You unsheathed your knife while Eros steadied his bow as you both scanned the room, looking for potential threats. 

“Nothing,” Eros said with a tone of disappointment. 

“Why would this room be empty?” you said, utterly confused. 

“Well, my mentor just bought this building so maybe he has plans for this room. I dunno, this is all very weird. We should hurry up to the basement though. We don’t wanna get caught.”

You nodded in agreement and went back into the stairwell with Eros following behind. It didn’t take long to reach the basement but once you both were battle ready, you slowly opened the door to the basement. Your eyes widened in shock. The basement had been transformed into some underground factory, machinery everywhere, metal tables, and boxes piled high. 

“What the fuck?” Eros muttered under his breath as he gripped his bow tighter. 

You walked around analyzing what was laid out in front of you. You headed to the pile of boxes stacked on the furthest wall. You sliced open the box that was about your eye level using your pronged knife. Purple powder started to spill out of the box and you could see some clear plastic peeking through. Confused and curious, you cut through the tape of the box to properly examine its contents.

“Holy shit.” you whispered, your voice echoing through the room. 

Eros jogged over to where you were, “What? What happened?”

He peered over your shoulder and inhaled sharply. Laid right in front of you was a box with packets of packaged purple powder. You looked around the room again, seeing the machinery and tools in a new light. This building was holding an illegal drug factory. 

author’s note: the long awaited ch 2!! it took awhile bc of school, exams, and also thinking through the plot. anyways hope you all enjoy and lmk if u would like to be added to the tag list :)

[astrovian]

the official ranking of Claude Becker outfits

the official ranking of Daniel Miller outfits here

the official ranking of Adam Price outfits here

all Claude Becker outfits & rankings under the cut

we all know RA looks good in a suit, blah, blah, blah

after two of these rankings, this outfit is the physical embodiment of a yawn

I do appreciate the patterned tie to change things up a tad even if I’m not into the pattern itself. the intent is there, just not the execution

I will give props to the team for giving Claude a patterned dress shirt here (you have to squint a bit on the second image - more on patterned dress shirts later), but they really should have upped the game a little - change the tie & be less subtle with the shirt pattern

and I ask you, does Claude Becker not strike you as a man who would insist on at least a pocket square with his suits?? dream bigger stylists

3/10

@whoever stores old movie props if these weren’t disposed of immediately after filming i will pay you for a copy of one of these

putting aside the hilarious social commentary and fucking literal writing on this magazine cover done by some poor prop designer at 2am (”How to starve artists and other capitalist things”, as well as ”Claude Becker rolls up his shirtsleeves and unties his tie and puts on a vest and casually hangs his hands from his pockets” etc.), this is a nice change-up that made me question why we don’t have RA in just a waistcoat and dress shirt more often

also that tie pattern? fab. I love it. that is how to do a patterned tie. I hope we all know RA looks good in a suit, blah, blah, blah is paying attention

that being said, minimal points because we don’t actually see Claude wearing it in real life

4/10

where, oh where is my polo shirt? oh look, it’s right there

is there any RA character who is not afflicted with a polo shirt? not recently, apparently

I genuinely thought that it was a dress shirt for a moment which had me disappointed at the banality but then that turned into utter devastation as I realised we actually are looking at a long sleeve zip up polo shirt

the draping of the coat? phenomenal and what really brings this entire thing together

the long/three-quarter sleeves? the zip-up rather than buttons? better than one can normally expect from a polo shirt... and then they went and added stripes to the collar and sleeves?? regret

could be a lot worse but could ultimately also not be a polo shirt as well 4.5/10

could have tried harder during lessons but was a pleasure to have in class

I’m sure you all know my long-sleeve shirt obsession with RA but I made a promise to be honest with myself on these lists. the only feeling this outfit evokes is a ‘eh’

the equivalent of a middle slider 5/10

the Claude you’d actually have a fun day with

there’s something about RA in a hoody that just bangs. good lord I also have a weakness for those forearms

I also thought for a good moment these were dark jeans, but they disappointingly turn out to be sweatpants? however, it has made me think that we need to see RA in some darker denim shades more often 

this Claude is could have tried harder during lessons but was a pleasure to have in class but with just a little more fun and class to boost it *just* outside of the ‘eh’ zone

5.2/10

now this is how we do a long-sleeved shirt

I think it’s been fairly well-established by now that loose, long-sleeved RA is my ultimate weakness, so it’s nice to see that Ocean’s 8 is also making a concerted effort to murder me

also Claude’s obsession with sweatpants is giving me life

this is the Claude you make pasta with. and that pasta would be damn tasty, too

5.9/10

come hither

just-woken-up Claude is made 100x better by the bed head hair and the sleepy gaze

this man needs to get back into bed for a snuggle (preferably with me)

I can’t decide if I’m into the loose boxers or missing the tighter Adam Price undies. either way, it’s definitely not a bad aesthetic. and it reminds me, like dad chic Adam Price, that we don’t get enough of RA in shorts

I feel bad assigning numbers to a a shirtless one BUT Claude does transform into being fully-clothed in this scene so I’m going with it 6.4/10

you can kiss my hand anytime

the blessing of this film is not only the visual assault of attractive actors from all sides and genders, but it also instigates in me the thought that RA is wearing printed dress shirts and I can’t remember the last time I saw this?? I never even realised how much I need to see a lot more of this kind of look on RA until we were blessed with this vision

look at those lil’ elephants!! adorable. I hope Claude has a closet full of these with different animals on them

this outfit was so good, RA even wore it in his behind-the-scenes interview

7/10 for a printed, suited dream

the Claude you take home to mom & dad

god, it’s even better without the suit jacket

this is my honest appeal to the powers that may or may not be to put RA in more printed dress shirts

7.6/10

sometimes I think I should be more ashamed of myself

I feel like I need to preface this one thusly: okay, but like hear me out for real this time

I know this is ultimate hipster white-dude look and RA plays into that character so fantastically with Claude here. I mean just look at his expression. something about this whole look makes me want to simultaneously punch this man in the face and also take him home with me

this is a man who you know is a mistake before you make it, but choose to follow through anyway. he’s that last shot of tequila or the 5th glass of wine. you know you would go for him too. don’t even try to deny it

is the high ranking because of the novelty factor? is it because I’ve never seen RA wear a beanie like that and honestly the infamous running Daniel Miller could take notes? is it because I can’t take anyone who wears a beanie like that seriously?

all we do know is that I also can’t believe this is so high on the list

7.8/10

the moment we all learned Claude is 100% a bottom

one of the most iconic Claude moments in the film. RA plays the ‘dumb horny idiot’ character so well in this scene

not so into the pinstriped suit jacket but the hoodie peeking out from underneath combined with the thin scarf makes it for me

8/10

question: how may teeny-weeny scarves does Claude own, exactly?

who could forget the iconic moment when Sandra Bullock nearly shivs RA?

we have another printed dress shirt and I am HERE for it. it even has birds this time!! nice to see that Claude is not just a land mammal sort of man

I will concede that this is the sort of pattern that few men can pull off but RA is making it work and I am living

8.7/10

I’m not sure I can make a comment on this one that is even remotely appropriate except for “I told you Claude is a bottom”

safety first, buy some proper restraints for the bedroom please Claude/10

 modern royalty au Thorin

this is the moment that every single Hobbit fan went “hell yeah, now I have the perfect new aesthetic for my modern royalty Hobbit AU” (as an avid lotr/hobbit fan, I am not joking here)

RA looks like royalty here because he should be. please sign my petition to have RA usurp the British Queen

for real though, that baby blue sash is the 1000% perfect added touch to this suit and we love RA in a baby blue. a decent (and clearly successful) effort to match the faux Met Gala theme: European royalty. however, it is also pretty accurate re: the imaginative effort that most men have with altering their Met Gala outfits to fit that year’s theme

we need more RA in ‘modern royal’ roles for the #aesthetic and also so that he can dress like this more often

9.3/10 for a princely (or dare I say kingly?) figure

James Corden looks so gleeful running after Claude that it makes me happy. I get it, James. I get it

there’s really nothing spectacular about the general outfit here - except for the swagger RA is giving this

pants? shirt? boring, meh

check scarf? a brilliant switch up from Claude’s normal thin scarves. 

the popped coat? now we’re cooking

the sunglasses and wind-ruffled hair that screams “I’m hungover but I still look effortlessly handsome”? delectable

the dogs?? the best set dressing one could ask for

the attitude and ‘I’m too cool for you’ swagger? priceless and what makes this the second-best outfit of the whole film

9.6/10 this man could punch me and I would be grateful

hot diggity dog, someone get me Claude’s handcuffs

from the front view, it could be argued that this outfit (well, technically it may not really be a separate outfit as it’s the undone version of modern royalty au Thorin), while fairly exceptional, does not first place make

however, someone had the idea to shoot RA from a side angle in this and for that I am eternally in their debt

it’s all about the tease with this one. the glimpse of the suspenders (and holy shit, RA in suspenders was not a look I had thought about before). the way the waist coat hangs off Claude’s chest like that, just enough to make its presence obvious. the cufflinks. the delicate pocket watch chain.

if previous outfits on this list have been all sex and swagger, this is the foreplay. the subtle strip tease.

10/10 

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Important Dates

Summary: In the Dark Castle, Belle and Rumpelstiltskin celebrate the anniversary of Belle’s arrival in Rumpel’s life.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling February smut prompt: “Lie back and close your eyes.”

Rated: E

Important Dates

Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t go so far as to say that he’d had a bad day, but he was very far from calling it a good one. The deal he had been hoping to make with the sultan of Agrabah had not turned out in the way that he had been hoping and expecting it to, and somehow he had ended up with five hundred pounds of dates as payment for his services. Rumpelstiltskin was indeed partial to dates, but that was an excessive amount even for him.

To make matters worse, when he arrived back at the Dark Castle, still wondering what to do with the dates, there was no sign of Belle, nor was there any sign of his afternoon tea. He stomped through the castle, calling her name as he looked into every nook and cranny for her. He thought that she’d probably got caught up in a book again, and he was a little perturbed when he did not find her in her library.

It was only once he was nearing his own bedchamber that he heard Belle’s voice from within it.

“I’m in here, Rumpel.”

He flung the door open, ready with a speech about turning her into a toad if there was no tea on the table in the next five seconds, but all words flew from his head when he actually entered the room and saw Belle. All thoughts flew from his head as well, and the five hundred pounds of dates were completely forgotten.

Belle was lying on his bed wearing a sultry smile and nothing else, and she ran her tongue over her lips as he gaped at her.

“I thought that, considering the date, you might like a nice surprise when you got home.”

“The dates?” Rumpelstiltskin thought of the crates of fruit piled up in the Dark Castle’s entrance hall.

“Today’s date. It’s officially one year since you first brought me here, and I thought we ought to celebrate.”

Rumpelstiltskin was eager to agree, or at least, he would have been had his brains not been dribbling out of his ears with lust. The blood rushing south wasn’t doing all that much for his cognitive capabilities. Belle was right though. The day he had brought her to the Dark Castle really ought to be celebrated. After all, if he had never brought her here then their relationship would never have grown to the stage where he had a very naked Belle lying on his bed, beckoning to him through parted thighs and looking like nothing short of Venus.

He managed to make it over to her without tripping over his own feet, and she pounced, pulling him down on top of her into a deep, ferocious kiss.

“Now, she purred when she finally released him. “From the way you’ve been marching all over the castle yelling, I can tell you’ve not had a good day, so why don’t I try and turn that around?”

“You already have,” Rumpelstiltskin tried to protest, but he was cut off by Belle’s lips finding his again. She rolled them over with a strength that belied her tiny frame and sat up, beginning to unfasten his waistcoat.

“You just lie back and close your eyes,” she said. “Leave everything to me. I promise that you’ll enjoy it.”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t doubt that in the slightest. Ever since they had started sleeping together, Belle had proved herself to be a diligent student of the art of love, hungrily devouring every book on the subject that her now extensive library held.

He used a little judicious magic to facilitate the removal of his clothes, and Belle laughed above him.

“Eager? All in good time, my love. Now, close your eyes.”

Reluctantly, Rumpelstiltskin obeyed. He liked to see what Belle was doing; he always enjoyed drinking in her exquisite beauty even if she wasn’t doing anything at all. He felt her soft lips against his neck, and he couldn’t help a moan escaping him as she began to kiss her way down his body, over his collar and chest. It felt like she was leaving no inch of him untouched. Belle was always thorough like that.

He gasped as she flicked her tongue over his nipples and continued on downwards; by the time her cool breath was ghosting over the tip of his cock, all coherent thought had gone and all he could do was focus on just how good her mouth felt against his skin. He had no idea what kind of noise he made as she closed her lips around him and lapped up the precum already beading at his tip.

They had not been pursuing an intimate relationship for very long before Rumpelstiltskin became convinced that Belle did in fact have magic in her tongue and fingers. The way she touched him was unlike anything he had experienced before, either alone or in his limited previous relationships.

Now, she alternated quick flicks of the very tip of her tongue with long, slow licks, her hands stroking languidly up and down his length. Rumpelstiltskin felt his hips shiver with the effort of not thrusting up into the back of her mouth, and he cried out as a small hand cupped his balls and gave a gentle squeeze. That was all it took to send him over the edge, and he came hard, feeling Belle swallow him down as her hand continued to pump his cock. Spent, he cracked his eyes open a fraction and watched as Belle let him slip from her mouth, peppering his belly and inner thighs with soft butterfly kisses as he came back to himself.

She was wearing the world’s biggest smile as she crawled back up his body to capture his mouth in another hungry kiss. Rumpelstiltskin could taste himself on her lips, and the thought made him groan.

“Happy?” she asked once she let him up for air.

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “Very much so.” Movement and coherence returning to his boneless, sated limbs, he rolled her over onto her back, taking her hands and gently pinning them down to the pillows as he kissed her deeply, moving over her jaw and down her neck. “In fact, I’m so grateful, I think that the only fitting way of showing my thanks would be to return the favour.”

Belle wrapped her thighs around his back, pressing her hips up into his and arching her back.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

[e-king-court]

It’s that time of year again...

...and by that I mean it's my birthday.

 I don't generally celebrate my birthday. It became A Thing after my parents divorce, and since then, it is definitely a cursed day (last year I got a whole pandemic, so...)

This year, however, I decided I wanted to write me a story. Some months back, while scrolling through Facebook (I know, I know) I came across a post of a post that was a plot bunny. It was a tweet from user @JohannesEvans that read:

Hot goth in the woods that keeps answering the door and sighing and going "no, I'm not the witch, he lives over there" and points across the street to a dazzling pretty boy wearing a gold waistcoat who's waving excitedly at them

I immediately wanted to write it. So I did.

 Now, to no one's surprise, I didn't start this story until roughly a week ago, so... well, it's almost done. So, for now, just to say I've properly celebrated my birthday, please allow me to share with you the first half or so of this silly story. It's rough, really rough, and doesn't have a title. I'm not thrilled with it, but... guilty pleasures, etc. Enjoy!

Quiet. That’s what the little alternative community in the woods had offered. Peace, acceptance, solitude. Quiet.

So Locke bit back a curse when someone knocked on his door for the hundredth time that day. Poppy seeds scattered across his work bench when he jumped because of course he hadn’t used a measuring spoon. Why would he use a measuring spoon for the smallest ingredient? Obviously, pouring straight from the bottle is the best way to measure poppy seeds.

The knocking persisted. Locke sighed and set the bottle down with a thud and rattle of chains. He stomped his way up front and tugged the door open, startling the pair of young women standing on his doorstep. Their eyes widened and the three of them stared at each other for longer than Locke thought was polite.

“Can I help you?” He didn’t growl. This was good communication skills.

The two seemed to shake themselves. “Are you Mr. Devereux?”

Locke sighed. “Which Mr. Devereux?”

They blinked and exchanged a confused glance. “We, um… we’re looking for a spell.”

“Then you want the witch.” He pointed a long arm over their heads toward the obnoxious display across the street. “That Mr. Devereux.” As one, they turned and Locke followed their gaze.

Sebastian was lounging in a pool chair, a cheap thing with neon yellow piping and no pool in sight. He was surrounded by colorful plants, flowers, and enough suncatchers to make any light fairy jealous. Locke was dismayed to see that he was sunning. Long legs, waxed and bronzed, stretched up to the hem of a pair of nautical striped boyshorts. A too small gold waistcoat revealed a pierced belly button and parted with sequined lapels and a collection of charms and pendants against his chest and the hollow of his throat. Golden blond hair was classically cut, cropped close to the sides and left almost strategically messy on top. Locke was not surprised to see the flash of glitter, either put there intentionally, or polluted from the obnoxious, glittery, sun-shaped sunglasses taking over most of his heart-shaped face.

His smile was almost blinding as he waved. “Hey, gorgeous!”

Locke frowned as his face went hot and wished for the hundredth time since moving in that he was the kind of goth that wore full face makeup. “That’s the witch.”

The women gawked at Sebastian, turned and gawked at Locke glowering in the doorway, and then looked at each other.

“Umm… sorry,” the apparent speaker of the duo said, and they turned and fled across the street, whispering to each other as they went. Sebastian stood and stretched, that waistcoat riding higher and those boyshorts hugging… well, everything. Locke sighed and shut the door with a snap.

Newlight Falls was advertised as a quiet town with a village-like atmosphere, tucked away in the old growth forest and home to those who didn’t fit in elsewhere. It was home to all sorts of paranormals, which included an uncommon amount of witches, plenty of fairies, and the obligatory pack of werewolves. Being that it was only an hour away from three major cities, it had become a bit of a tourist attraction, replete with warm-weather festivals that the fairies almost exclusively coordinated. Locke wasn’t a fan, but they were good for the town and good for business.

Even with all that, Locke fell in love with the place almost as soon as he saw it. He’d found the listing on Will’o, trying to find something close to the doctors he needed, but not directly in the city. Not only was his dark little cabin perfectly suited to him, but being back in the woods meant plenty of shade and long trails that he could disappear into if the festivities got to be too much.

It was also supposed to be haunted, which, perfect, but so far he hadn’t experienced much more than a few things being moved and a book or two knocked to the floor. No great shakes, really.

With the image of Sebastian’s sparkling navel piercing embedded in his mind, Locke sulked back to his work room to clean up the poppy seeds and see if the tea could be saved.

“Locke!” Benji’s happy voice boomed, big arms open and face nearly split by his smile.

Locke returned his smile but stayed sequestered on the front stoop out of the sunlight. Benji came to him without question, wrapping him up in the kind of bear hug only large goblins could give. He grunted and gave Benji’s back a pat as the air was squeezed out of him. “Hey, Benj.”

“Good to see you, you look good. This place looks great,” he said, stepping back to appraise the front of the house. To most, it needed some work, but Locke was partial to the busted exterior shutters and chipping grey paint.

“Thanks, the web is real, orb weaver, real beauty,” he said, motioning to the port window overhead.

Benji’s smile went tight and strained. “Love it,” he grunted like it hurt. He cautiously turned his attention away from the spider. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“Of course! Make my favorite sibling miss Fairy Fest after listening to him whine about it for ten years? Fat chance. C’mon, I’ll show you your room,” he said, motioning Benji in.

Benji grabbed his suitcase and thundered up the steps. “This place has a guest bedroom?”

“Eh….” Locke whined and didn’t answer further. It did, but the guest bedroom was where he’d put his workroom and it would have been too small for his hulking brother anyway. Instead, Locke had cleaned up his own bedroom and got a cot for his workroom. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable, but he could deal with it for the week that Benji was visiting. It wasn’t often they got to spend time together one on one.

They wandered in. Locke waved over the small living room, through the doorway to the small kitchen and dining nook, the water closet under the stairs, and then brought him up to the attic that made his bedroom and the full bathroom for his use during his stay. Benji caught on quick, but didn’t say anything, no doubt having considered how small the house was.

“We’ll have to share the shower, but otherwise, this room is yours for the week. I, uh… can’t say I’d be real thrilled if you picked someone up at the Fest, but, I’ll be the best wingman I can be,” Locke said, drawing the curtains back from the port window to let some light into the room.

Benji chuckled. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Thanks, man, this place is great. Mostly,” he said, eyeing the spider visible through the window.

Locke smirked. “Ghost isn’t too rowdy, either.”

“Ahha, of course you’d have a ghost,” Benji said with a self-deprecating laugh. Locke’s grin went cocky and he thumped his way back down the stairs.

“I gotta make a product run when dusk rolls around if you want to see the town proper tonight. There’s not a lot except some kitschy shops, but you might like one of the little restaurants for dinner,” he said, wandering into the kitchen.

Benji hummed and sniffed the air, eyes landing unerringly on the box that took up most of the little dining table. It was full of Locke’s teas, creative little blends in labeled linen baggies waiting to be delivered to the shops in town he was contracted with. “Sure, I’d love to see the place.”

“Cool, you can carry the box,” Locke said, wandering back to his workshop. Benji’s laugh made the windows rattle.

A few hours later, with the sun set enough that it didn’t irritate Locke’s eyes and skin overly much, he was leading an easily distracted Benji through town. The whole town was decked out for Fairy Fest, covered in lights and flowers and full to bursting with fairies. They flitted about in showers of sparkling color, some already celebrating by tossing petals or handful of pixie dust over the myriad of tourists also steadily filling the streets. Locke would have felt out of place in all his black and chains, but there were plenty of darker fae around, too. If anyone stood out, it was his rather large foster brother, his impressive figure causing people to practically dive out of the way, even as poor Benji apologized.

“Stop apologizing, Benj, you’re only walking,” Locke said with a smirk.

Benji was all tight frowns. “I feel bad, though.”

“Don’t, you’re fine. This is us, though,” he said, veering for a shop door. Benji followed, uttering a few more unnecessary apologies as they went.

The dark little mystic shop was one of Locke’s favorites. It was an evening shop and sold pretty much the same stuff that the rest of the kitschy shops sold, but it was themed dark. Spangled black and purple curtains and tapestries kept most of the natural light out, the shelves all made of cast iron and mahogany. The goods skewed toward occultish, but nothing available to the general public could cause any trouble. Even the obsidian athames were blunter than a letter opener. There were more exotic wares in the back, but the owner, Ms. Gloushire, was highly selective when it came to those sales. Even Locke, who was a resident, didn’t have her convinced, but he was getting there. Not that there was anything fancy he needed for his teas.

Benji, of course, veered right for the collection of polished stones and crystals. Locke grinned and teasingly hissed for him not to touch all of them. Benji glared at him but didn’t put down the peacock ore he’d already snatched from the display.

“Ms. Gloushire?” he called when he saw the front end empty.

“Is that you, Locke!?” a muffled shout echoed from the back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, sliding his sunglasses onto the top of his head.

A moment later Ms. Gloushire was whacking her beaded curtain out of the way and she smiled warmly at Locke before her eyes settled on Benji. “Oh, you have a friend today.”

“Yep. My brother, Benji,” he said. “I have the tea for you for the Fest. The Starry Night, Full Moon, and Crossroads.” He set his box down on her counter beside the register and pulled back the flaps.

Her face lit up and she rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, excellent. Everything work out all right with your last check?”

“Yes, ma’am, not problems at all,” he said, smiling softly.

“Good. All this newfangled equipment. I know it’s more convenient for the Norms, but electronics and magic don’t always mix well. But if everything’s fine, then it’s fine,” she said, casting her new POS system a distrustful glare as she dug into the box of teas. Locke just chuckled and waited patiently for her to finish her counting and inventorying. Satisfied, she marked it all down and set the box aside.

“All right, dear, everything looks to be in order. If I need anything else, I’ll call you,” she said.

“Yep, you know where to find me. I gotta stop at Coriander’s. You have a good night,” he said, flicking down his sunglasses.

“You too, Locke. Pleasure to meet you, Benji,” she said with a suspiciously sharp smile. Benji tittered nervously, thanked her, and they were off.

The stop at Coriander’s was brief and uneventful. Locke handed over the second box of teas, things packaged in lighter bags with more spritely names, while Benji was one again glued to the shiniest objects the shop had to offer. Even with Coriander chatting at top speed about a new topic every few seconds, they were done relatively quickly. He said his farewells to the bubbly sprite, flicked his sunglasses down, and turned toward the door, only to be blinded anyway.

Sebastian was in the doorway, pushing his outrageous sunglasses onto the top of his head as he meandered into the shop. As soon as he saw Locke he smiled and Locke frowned at the butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey beautiful,” Sebastian said, smooth and a little high. His eyes instantly flicked to Benji and his expression went briefly blank, before he smiled again and got a little swagger. “Well, well, who is this delightful new face?”

Locke glanced over his shoulder and wasn’t surprised to see Benji’s face dark with blush. His greenish skin and purplish blood made him look a little brown, but it was definitely a blush. Locke didn’t blame him.

“Sebastian,” he said. “My brother, Benji. Here for the Fest.” He cleared his throat before his voice broke and ignored the look Benji gave him.

Another expression briefly flickered across Sebastian’s face, this time more surprised than blank, and quickly settled into a coy grin. “Brother? Well, welcome to Newlight Falls, Mr. Benji. I’m Sebastian Devereux, Locke’s neighbor,” he said, sauntering forward and offering his hand. He was a head shorter than Locke, which had Benji nearly towering, but as usual Sebastian’s confidence was unwavering. Locke figured it would have to be with a neon pink sequin sarong over those...shorts.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Devereux,” Benji said. “Which neighbor would you be?”

“The one across the street, handsome. Incase you ever need to borrow a cup of sugar,” he said with a wink. Benji grinned stupidly and Locke nervously fussed with his lip ring. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have some tea to stock up on.” He winked at Locke, who barely resisted watching as Sebastian sauntered past. He huffed, tugging his hood closer to his face, and hurried out of the shop, leaving Benji to scurry after him. Maybe the hood and sunglasses disguised his blush enough? He certainly hoped so.

--

“So how are the infusions going?”

Locke looked up from pushing around his caprese. “Hmm? Oh, they’re fine. They’re infusions.” He cut a bite of cheese and tomato. “I had one last week and I think I’m scheduled for the week after next. Mostly vitamin D right now.”

Benji nodded, obliterating a half-pound cheeseburger and fries. “I remember summers are harder.”

Locke shrugged. “Yeah, but being here has been really great. The woods are so dense that I don’t always get a rash, so I can be outside more during the day.”

Benji’s face lit up. “Oh! That’s really cool! Mom and dad will be happy to hear it. See? I told them this was a good move for you.”

Locke huffed. “What, me telling them how great it is wasn’t enough?”

Benji waved him off. “You know how they are, they always worry about you.”

It wasn’t unwarranted. Locke had been a sick kid with all kinds of health issues and sensitivities, not the least of which was chronic anemia. At the time, being in and out of foster homes like he was, it had been difficult to narrow down his symptoms. Until Dan and Lori snagged him, the pale, scrawny, constantly exhausted thing that he was, and gave him a solid foster home to grow up in. Within the first year they’d discovered he had vampire heritage, which explained the majority of his weird symptoms. It wasn’t enough that he had to have transfusions, but it still meant he was anemic and allergic to too much direct sunlight. After that, with the support of his new foster family, Locke improved enough that he was able to finish school, and even got a degree.

Now, with a healthy lifestyle, he could live pretty normally, even if he still needed to be monitored monthly. Newlight, on top of being paranormally inclusive, also happened to be an hour away from the office that handled his case, which was still better than the two and a half hours he’d been traveling while still living near Dan and Lori. They might not have adopted him, but they still considered themselves his parents, and made quite the fuss when he moved so far away from them.

“Well, I really am doing great. You can tell them that I'm happy and healthy and even the ghost doesn’t bother me too much,” he said.

Benji snorted. “Lori would flip her lid if she knew you had a ghost.”

Locke grinned and didn’t think Lori would honestly be too surprised.

Other than the caprese salad, the choice of restaurant had been deliberate. It sat across from a stretch of woods with a marked path, and that path just so happened to let out a few yards from Locke’s house. The dark fae of Newlight loved to fill it with all sorts of mischief, some of which was quite pretty depending on the mood. With it being tourist season, and the endless woodland trails a huge attraction, Newlight had strict ordinances for what was and wasn’t allowed on the public paths. Benji was hesitant to take the woods home, but Locke assured him it was quite safe so long as they stayed on the path.

True to form, the woods were full of eerie giggles and mysterious lights, shrubs shaking and twigs snapping in the shadows along the lit path. The usual lamps that ran along the ground had been replaced with overhead string lights, zigzagging back and forth  like a trail of will-o-the-wisps. Since the sun had finally set, Locke was able to shuck his hoodie and take off his sunglasses. Extreme temperatures had never really bothered him, but the summers could be pretty oppressive. It was nice to feel cool night air on his skin.

Half way home, a fairy appeared, a curvy woman in a diaphanous lavender dress and long, curling black hair. She hovered her way across the path, watching them with a wicked grin and shining black eyes.

“Evening, Iris,” Locke said casually. Benji made some choking noises behind him and Locke suppressed a grin, imagining his brother was blushing so hard he was almost purple.

“Hello, Locke. Who’s your friend?” she asked, moving a little closer.

“This is my brother, Ben.”

Her grin got even more mischievous. “Nice to meet you, Ben,” and she was off again, disappearing into the trees on the opposite side of the path. A symphony of chittering laughs hit them and Locke snorted.

“Wow,” Benji huffed as they kept moving, eyes nearly glued to the spot.

“She works in Mrs. Gloushire’s sometimes,” Locke said with a shrug.

“Oh yeah?” Benji mumbled absently, still searching through the darkness. Locke wanted to tease him, but it was his turn to blush when another fairy appeared.

“Hello, Galena,” he nearly deadpanned, glad it was so dark.

Galena was tall and willowy, built lean like a swimmer and burnished like bronze. He was dressed in what Locke could only call a poison green loincloth with a braided rope of poison ivy draped across him like a sash and pinning back half of his long, curling brown hair.

“Hello, Locke.” He did a little spin, purple wings beating wildly. “What do you think of my Absinthe costume?”

Locke blinked. “Isn’t that the same costume from last year?”

Galena scoffed. “You’re no fun!” he snarked, but blew Locke a kiss anyway and darted off again. Locke sighed and picked up the pace.

“Are the woods always like this here?” Benji nearly whispered to a chorus of laughter.

Locke shrugged. “No, they’re just excited for the Fest. It’s pretty quiet outside of tourist season.” Benji just hummed softly and got a little closer when something shrieked nearby.

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

I Didn’t Mistake Your Finger for the Moon, I Just Chose to Look at You Instead

Tim Drake x Reader Oneshot

The title comes from zen buddhism (maybe chinese? i’m sorry I don’t know), the idea is I am pointing my finger at the moon to show you the moon don’t look at my pointed finger, look where I’m pointing.

Heavily inspired by the play Frankie and Johnnie in the Claire de Lune

***

You can’t believe it’s only 8:30pm, just two hours into the night and you’re already bored out of your skull. Around you, the huge ballroom swirls with sparkling socialites keeping themselves busy by incessantly talking shit and guzzling Bruce Wayne’s alcohol. Everybody has their lips to someone’s ear and a glass in their hand, except for you, which is quite stupid on your part. But that’s why you’re at the bar. 

Behind you, the positively charming laughs of the Wayne Gala’s guests dot the conversations that spill out through the room in concentric circles, rippling over each other in waves that ebb and flow right up until they reach you. Then they stop short, leaving you alone and trying to order a drink from a bartender who seems to be too busy to chat you up out of pity.

Not that you’d do anything with her, obviously. But still. Some attention would be nice.

Christ, you were so shit at knowing what to do with yourself at these parties. You’d think you’d have them figured out by now, but no such luck. Your funeral.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?”

You turn to face the speaker and your eyes fall on Dick Grayson, dressed gorgeous in a sharp suit complete with a dark blue bow tie. He looks incredible, but then again, he usually does. And miracle of miracles, the folks around you are now eyeing you up, trying to figure out if it’s worth skydiving into your conversation to get in a word with Bruce Wayne’s heir. Dick does that to people, has the sort of happy, positive demeanor that makes folks want desperately to talk to him, to be part of his group. You’ll probably never get used to it. Or to how beautiful he is.

“Yeah.” Yeah, you know where Tim is. You resist the urge to point across the ballroom, motioning with your chin instead. “He’s over there, schmoozing with some LexCorp folks.”

“Schmoozing? With LexCorp?” Dick’s face takes on a slightly disgusted hue in the light of the chandeliers.

You shrug. “Schmoozing, making thinly veiled threats, planting the seeds for some light corporate espionage, but not the sort anyone can prove. You know Tim.”

Dick chuckles at that. “I guess I do.” He takes a step away from you, then doubles back. “Are you all right, over here? You look a bit...”

“You can say lonely, Dick, it’s okay,” you say with a bit of bite, too many teeth in your voice, but he’s not wrong. “I’m fine, you don’t need to babysit me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Jeez, y/n, I didn’t mean--”

You cut him off. “No, it’s fine Dick, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” You press a hand to the bridge of your nose and try to take deep breaths. Starting a fight with your boyfriend’s oldest brother is not exactly on your to-do list for the evening. “I am a bit lonely, but it’s cool, I get Tim back in...” you check your watch, a cheap analogue that clashes something awful with your cheesed-up attire. “Eight in a half minutes. Then he’s mine for at least an hour.”

Dick quirks his lips in a half-smile. “You guys time how long he spends doing W.E. business at these galas? That’s--”

“Adorable? Or just anal?” Try as you might, you can’t keep the cynicism from spreading thick over your tone.

“I was actually going to say very Tim,” he says back warmly. You grin at him, bad mood abandoning you for the moment. “It was his idea. Wouldn’t be much of a date if we didn’t spend any time together.”

Dick laughs again. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Across the room, Tim turns away from the circle of business harpies and shoots you an apologetic smile. Dick must’ve clocked it as well. “Maybe Tim’ll turn knight-in-shining-armor and rescue you,” he suggests.

You wrinkle your nose. “I doubt it. As much as I don’t like it, the business stuff needs to get done.”

Dick eyes Tim’s back. “Yeah, something tells me you’d be the one doing the rescuing.” He clears his throat. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I gotta skip out on you.” Dick’s down-to-earth manner of speaking always surprises you, especially because he manages to get away with it at these swanky events. When you do it everyone seems to look at you sideways. “Need to go find Damian,” Dick explains further. “If he’s not antagonizing your boyfriend, he may be up to something worse.”

You nod in agreement. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

He sighs. “Yeah, wish me luck.” And then Dick makes his exit, leaving you with seven and a half minutes to wallow before Tim comes back.

You chide yourself a bit, picking up the Gin and Tonic that the bartender had just placed in front of you. Were you seriously going to wallow in self pity at a gala half of Gotham would kill to attend? With Tim Drake as your date? Hundreds of girls and quite a few boys probably daydream about being in your place, especially after he made the Forbes Thirty under Thirty list last month. Still, his spot on the list doesn’t change the fact that exactly no one at this party, striking Dick and the bartender, has said a single word to you.

You stifle a sigh. It isn’t your fault Gotham’s socialites always prove to be uninterested in Timothy Drake’s thoroughly middle-class girlfriend. They had found you just fascinating when the relationship was new and Tim’s move of dating so far below his class had actually made headlines. But, six months later, your novelty had worn clean off. God, you wished you had someone to talk to. You were feeling so small.

Swallowing a sip of G&T, you think back to your first gala at the Manor. The glitter and glamour of the evening had left you breathless, whereas now it’s making you sick. Some parts of the evening never seem to go stale, though. You still love playing dress up in gorgeous clothes and parading around with your boyfriend, who was also dressed up in gorgeous clothes. Tim usually bought your dresses for these events, since there was no way on the planet you could afford them. You’d gotten used to Tim being stupid rich early in your relationship, and it doesn’t bother you that you can never match him in the money department. 

Occasionally, Tim likes to spoil you, although neither of you are too keen on outrageous gifts that are ultimately useless. He tends to avoid getting you things that are overpriced and unnecessary. (Cheap and unnecessary is where you operate. The two of you are currently having a competition over who could get the other the smallest, most useless gift for under two dollars. Your last gift to him had been a yellow plastic shovel that fits in the palm of your hand)

Tim doesn’t like buying expensive, frivolous things on principle, and you don’t like receiving them, also on principle. But if you’re going to attend these galas, you need an expensive dress point-blank, otherwise you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And you want to attend, you want to be Tim’s girlfriend, public appearances and all. So Tim just has to buy you the dresses, which you secretly love because they’re gorgeous, and you have to accept them, because you can’t attend the gala without them. It’s a neat way for Tim to give you something expensive and make sure you’ll have a need for it. Plus, you know he loves seeing you wear the clothes he’s bought you.

Tonight, however, you’re not wearing one of Tim’s Vera Wang’s or Alexander McQueen’s. You’ve opted instead on something you’d bought yourself, a bridesmaid’s dress you’d worn to a friend’s wedding earlier this year. It just about fits in with everyone else’s attire, and besides, the dress was expensive. You wanted to wear it at least twice. A great plan, except it isn’t as beautiful as some of the other dresses in the room tonight. You’ve recognized more than one from a runway fashion account you follow on Instagram. Nice as your dress may be, it can’t compare with any of those, and every time you see an exceptionally beautiful gown you wonder what you were thinking, wearing a dress like this.

The negative buzzing in your ears dissipates as you catch Tim’s eye again. He’s got the same stupid look on his face he’d worn when he picked you up this evening. Like he’d been punched but he didn’t exactly mind.

“Are you sure you’re my date for tonight?” he’d whispered, after doing a cartoonish double-take at the door of your apartment, because he really is a good boyfriend. “I’m not sure other people will believe it.”

“Of course they will,” you’d scoffed, cheeks glowing at the compliment. “We look good together. You’re pretty stunning yourself.”

He’d look down at his own clothes with a worried expression. “Really?” Following your advice and urging, Tim had stepped out of his comfort zone tonight and was sporting a patterned tux. It’s a dark blue checked with thin black stripes, waistcoat and bow-tie to match. “I think I look like Al Capone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you look very dapper.” You had taken his hand, then, smiling up at him and leading him out of your apartment. “Charming, even.”

“If Jason’s there he’ll make fun of me. Damian definitely will.”

“They were going to do that anyway. And besides, who cares? I think you look great.”

“I guess you’re the only one that matters.”

“Damn straight.”

He really does look incredible tonight, you think to yourself as you check him out from your position at the bar. Nothing short of beautiful, with the long lines of the tux sitting pretty on his sinuous, willowy limbs and gorgeous frame. His shoulders are holding strong under the fine material of his jacket, and presiding over everything are his sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes. Which, you note in satisfaction, are now fixed on you as Tim extricates himself from the suits and makes his way to the bar.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, plopping down next to you and casually hooking a foot around your ankle.

“Nope,” you smile happily, thrilled to be spending time with him again. “I was saving it for you, and as you can see, I had to really fight to keep it free.” You motion around yourself to the people ignoring you. 

Tim winces. “I’m sorry, y/n, if I could do anything--”

“Stop, stop,” you wave him silent. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now, it’s okay,” you reassure him.

“I don’t like that you end up spending so much time alone at these things,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “If you even think I’m going to let you come to this thing by yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “Some of the other ones, maybe, but if I don’t make an appearance at The Wayne Gala, capital T, W, and G, the public will think I’m out of the picture.”

“Defending your territory, huh?” Tim grins sidelong at you. “Keeping the society pages off my back, more like.” You shift in your seat, sensing an opportunity. “But maybe I am defending my territory, hmm?” You give him an obvious once over, let lust show in your gaze. “Maybe you’re too pretty to let out of my sight.”

He flushes, color overrunning his cheeks and spilling down his neck and making him look even more edible. You let out a breath. “God, Tim, I could just...” you lean over, easily catching his lips with yours. Holding him there for a just a second, you run your tongue quick over his bottom lip and then pull back, spending a few moments just looking at him, with him looking back. 

You wait for some of the sparkling energy to fade before you speak again. “It’s important to me that you know I’m here to support you as acting CEO.”

He laughs at that, spell broken. “I know sweetheart.” He turns from you to order a drink. “I’m very proud of you,” you say to his back. He rolls his eyes at you over his shoulder.

The bartender makes the drink inside of twenty seconds, because Tim Drake asked for it, and then your boyfriend spends a few more moments staring at you, taking the glass in his hand and eyeing you over the rim.

You meet his gaze. “What are you thinking?” He presses a finger to his ear. “Going off comms,” he murmurs, then surreptitiously fishes the device out of his ear and stows it in his pocket. If you hadn’t known what to look for you would swear he was just running his fingers through his hair and then brushing some lint off of his suit.

“If I’m honest, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes fantasizing about eating you out.”

...what?

It takes a moment for his words to connect to your brain. Then--

“Tim!” you squawk, eyes darting around to make sure no one had overheard you. “You can’t just say that to me in public!”

His eyes meet yours, he looks unimpressed. Tim never has any patience for your prudishness whenever he brings up sex with other people around. “What can I say? The LexCorp people were boring,” and now he’s the one looking you over, eyes slowly working up and down your form. You shiver under his attention. “That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing, y/n, I think it would look great bunched up around your hips.”

God, confidence is such an irresistible look on him. Despite your better judgment, you decide to play along. Leaning closer, you let one hand ghost over his crotch, cupping him for half a moment as you say “and how do you think the dress will look on your bedroom floor?”

He gasps when you touch him, then smiles brilliantly, eyes shining. You really, really shouldn’t be encouraging him, but you can’t help it. You love him like this, you love the unrelenting force of his desire. You love how much he wants you. 

With Tim, you’ve found that once the idea of sex gets into his head and he sees that you’re game, he’s like a dog with a bone, gnawing and gnawing at you. There’s no stopping him in pursuit to get you into his bed, or car, or the nearest supply closet. And you always find yourself indulging him, because the sex is usually good, but the man himself is even better. You delight in seeing Tim aroused, because as soon as that switch is flipped, the self-control that Tim rigidly keeps in place disappears, and he becomes hypnotically impulsive with his emotions. It took some time for him to get the barriers down, for him to let loose around you, but now he allows himself to be everything all at once. An aroused Tim is playful, awkward, confident, shy, ridiculous, and enthusiastic. You never know what you’re going to get with him, and sometimes he flits from one affect to the other between moments, leaving you breathless.

And you’re more than happy to provide an arena for Tim to let loose, because the only time your boyfriend allows himself to be anything less than perfect is when he’s in your arms. Control rules Tim’s life in the form of some probably unhealthy idolatrous god. As he’s explained to you several times, yes, he actually does need to be this tightly wound, because if he makes a mistake he’ll lose clout at WE. Or he’ll be too slow at night. People will die (he will die.) Insert answer here. 

Which is all true, but it doesn’t mean Tim can’t take a fucking break once in a while. And that’s where you come in. Your boyfriend spends his whole life striving for perfection and punishing himself when he doesn’t reach it, but when he’s with you, he can be anything he wants. 

And one of the wonderful things about sleeping with Tim is so often you get to see everything he wants. Once he’s finally lost control, once you’ve convinced him to put the walls down, he’s like a kid in a candy store. He can do anything, and so he usually does everything.

“Christ,” he breathes in your ear, head still in your fleeting touch, one arm coming to rest on your back. “I think you’ve given me a semi.”

“That,” you say in a sing-song voice, absolutely delighted, “sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” You turn and pretend to walk away, but Tim catches hold of your arm, reeling you back towards him. “You can’t leave now, y/n,” he pleads, eyes dancing. “People are going to look at my crotch and see I’ve got a hard-on, and I can’t endure Cass making fun of me again. C’mon, y/n,” he pouts at you. “I’m your damsel in distress. Save me from the bullies. Dance with me so no one will see.”

You roll your eyes, but come to stand in front of him nonetheless, letting him lead you to the center for the room with his hands on your waist. This isn’t the first time a gala has bored Tim to sexual frustration. “People will still be able to see your crotch,” you argue. “We’ll just dance really, really close together.” As if to prove his point, he suddenly jerks your hips to his, and you all but fall against him. “The song is too fast for this kind of slow-dancing,” you say into his neck, false protests muffled by his suit.

He leans back to make eye contact with you as the two of you start swaying. “That doesn’t matter. We’re young lovers, y/n,” he reminds you seriously. “They’ll forgive us.”

“Young lovers, hmm?” You’re struck again by his confidence tonight, how alluring it is. It’s rare that he’s this sure of himself, but he wears it so well when he is.

“That’s right.” The two of you are silent for a moment, and you contemplate leaning your head against his chest. “You really do look beautiful in that dress, y/n,” Tim says quietly, all joking gone from his tone.

Your cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you.” And then, because you’re immature, too, and because Tim isn’t the only one who can flash his sex drive in public, you impulsively say “I bet you can’t guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

This is probably a mistake, but what the hell. You want your boyfriend just as much as he wants you, maybe more.

Tim doesn’t even wait two full seconds before responding. “See, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I bet I can.” You weren’t expecting him to be so quick on the uptake, your mistake for thinking his boredom hadn’t already driven him to tackle this particular problem.

“It’s warm enough out that you’re not wearing any tights or pantyhose, so the suspender sets are out.”

“The suspender sets are out,” you repeat solemnly, already excited by this new game you’re playing. “Well, hang on, maybe I just wore a set without the suspenders.”

Tim is quick to shake his head. “No, you hate doing that, you’d rather just wear separate set altogether. It’s a set without the suspenders.”

You let out a low whistle. “Got me pegged there, detective.” You see an opportunity, and waggle your eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll have you pegged, later.”

He falters in the slow waltz he’s leading you through. “Really not helping with the semi here, y/n” he complains, and he’s right, you can feel it pressing lightly against you. You roll your eyes. “Fine, let’s go back to you guessing what lingerie I’m wearing.”

He nods, only half joking. Tim loves a puzzle. “Thank you. So none of the suspenders.”

“So none of the suspenders,” you repeat again, and offer him a winning smile when he glares at you over it.

Explanatory monologue in full swing, he says “You normally like to match your dress, but this one’s black, which isn’t very helpful.” All of a sudden his attention shifts and comes to rest on your face. “Are you going to tell me if I get it right, or will I just have to wait and see?”

“What would make it better for you, baby?” you ask, voice sultry as you slide your hips against his.

“I have absolutely no idea. Is it the red one?” 

“Nope!”

“Damn. I love the red one.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

He pouts at you, but quickly perks up again. “Here, hang on, I’m going to risk exposing my erection so I can get a better view of your back,” and suddenly you’re spinning, once, twice, three times, before Tim pulls you back to his chest and dips you as the song ends. You’re panting a bit in surprise, and from your position suspended in his strong arms, you can feel one of his hands pawing around at your hip, smoothing over the fabric of your dress.

He pulls you upright as another song begins, a grimace on his handsome face. You reach up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. “That was inconclusive,” he mutters.

You glance over his shoulder. “I think Bruce definitely got a good look at what’s going on down south.” Your boyfriend’s father is looking rather pointedly at the ground, a pained look on his face.

“I could barely see the lines of the set through your dress,” Tim complains, and then adds “Bruce’ll get over it. Or he won’t. Whatever,” he says dismissively. “Last week I walked in on Selina blowing him under his desk, so now we’re even. What’s way more important is that I couldn’t see anything, why couldn’t I see anything?”

“Aww, poor baby,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, before brightening a bit. “I mean, it wasn’t a total loss. I did get a great view of your ass. It still looks fantastic, by the way.”

“Thanks for the update.”

He keeps going. “I didn’t see the lines, but I did get a good feel of your underwear at your hip.” He plants his tongue between his teeth, eyes closed in concentration as you sway delicately to the new song. “I didn’t feel a strap, so I can rule out some of the thongs.” You hum in agreement, arms coming up to wrap securely around his torso in an extended embrace. “It isn’t either of the black ones, or the nice blue one, is it?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

“Hn.” He shifts his arms, and you feel his slight hand flitting about at your hip again. He soon gives up, discouraged. “The material of your dress is too thick, I can’t feel anything through it.”

You decide to throw him a bone. “I’ll give you a hint: I’m actually wearing another color besides black, and the set matches it.”

Tim frowns, stepping back from you for a moment to look down at your feet. “Your shoes are black too, what are you talking about?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to ruin it for you?”

“No, let me think,” Tim says, and goes silent, eyes shut. You study him as the actual detective comes out to play. His eyes snap open again, and you clock his gaze going for your throat and ears. No necklace, but you are wearing gold earrings. Tim ignores them and takes your hand in his, examining your rings. He knows you too well to ask whether the set is gold or silver, that isn’t your style. He’s getting much closer with the rings though, and then his sharp exhale is ghosting through your fingers and his eyes are meeting yours again. You give him a proud smile.

“Good solve, Timmy.” He kisses the pad of your index finger. “Nail polish, y/n?”

“Nail polish,” you confirm.

“Why?”

You pretend to think it over, letting your eyes go wide. “Well, I just thought it would look nice, you know? My hand right over the panties, maybe even inside them, if you wanted me to do any of the work on my own.”

His eyes just about bug out of his head at that, and then he shakes his smile back and forth, impressed. Your answering grin is knife sharp. “You’ve got me right where you want me, don’t you, y/n? What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” you whisper, winding your arms around his neck. “That’s sort of the point. We can get out of here right now.”

“You know I would love, love, to do that,” Tim says, running his hands down your back, “but there’s supposedly a deal going down at 9:30 that I kind of need to be there for.”

“Well, then,” you murmur, “you’ll just have to suffer for another twenty minutes.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says drily. The two of you sway in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. “Hold on, y/n, something just occurred to me.”

“Yes, Tim?”

“Your nail polish is purple, but you don’t own any sets that color. What gives?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He looks at you for a few moments before his face smooths out again. “You really have it in for me tonight, don’t you? It’s a new set?”

“It’s a new set,” you confirm.

“And I bet you look just stellar in purple,” he says to himself, a desperate edge to his voice. 

“You know very well I look good in everything.” You glance downwards. “How are you doing there, Timmy?”

“Fuck off,” he says happily. “Is it lace?”

“Tim, sweetheart, of course it’s lace.”

Your boyfriend groans, then freezes in place. You look at him questioningly. “I’m running a cost/benefit analysis on me skipping out on this deal.”

“Give it to Tam,” you suggest.

“Give it to Tam,” he agrees. “Yeah, alright, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You let out a delighted laugh, following him in the direction of his old bedroom in the manor. Behind you, you dimly hear the orchestra finish their song. There are a few moments of silence while you make your way to the exit, and then you hear a few forlorn notes on the piano that have you turning around and calling out “Tim!”

“Whoa, y/n, where are you--”

“Tim! Tim it’s Claire de Lune, they’re playing Claire de Lune, we have to stay!” You drag him back to the dance floor.

“But,” he tries to argue, “but y/n, we were going to--”

“Tim.” You stand your ground. “It’s Claire de Lune. Please?”

He mumbles under his breath but takes you back into his arms regardless, like the good boyfriend that he is. You adore the Claire de Lune, and he’s probably reasoned to himself that no amount of arguing or pleading could tear you from the melody spinning lazily through the room.

He’s still going to complain about it, though. “Claire de Lune, huh? I can’t believe I lived to see Twilight cock-blocking me again.”

You poke him in the side. “Some of us first heard Debussy at the Gotham Philharmonic and some of us read about him in Stephanie Meyers’ blockbuster paranormal romance and googled Claire de Lune on the family computer in their Dad’s office, okay? The important thing is we’re both here, and we can both appreciate it, so shut up.”

Tim shuts up. You smile at him, and let your eyes fall closed. The slow melody envelops you like mist and settles on your skin, resting easy in your inner ear. A small part of you anticipates the notes before the pianist actually plays them, and you find yourself nodding when they finally escape from her fingers. Her performance is perfect, she isn’t messing around trying to improve Debussy’s masterwork, just picking her way through it, measure by measure. You take deep, even breaths as a sense of calm permeates your system. Eyes still closed, you let the music relax you, content to wade dreamily in its cool comfort. 

After about a minute, Tim clears his throat. “Y/n,” he says gently, “look.” You open your eyes and follow Tim’s pointed finger to one of the floor-length windows, gasping out loud when you see the stunning full moon. It sits in an overcast sky, fog and smog and clouds pressing against it like an embrace. The thin ropey clouds that drift across its slouched figure are reflecting its yellow light and giving it a warm, pearly corona, a halo. You stare at it openly for a few seconds, admiring the bone moon in its sky armchair.

Your attention drifts back to Tim’s finger, arm still hanging loosely in front of you, and then to the man himself. The ballroom lights are low enough that you can imagine the moonlight reflecting off of Tim, too, that he too is catching some of its cotton shine on his face. You’re awfully lucky to be with someone who takes the time to point out a particular moon among of a string of nights with particular moons, and you tell him so. Tim’s smile is quiet, but he presses his forehead to yours, where it stays for the rest of the song.

When it ends Tim leans back to smile at you again. You smile back, feeling filled up with the moon and the music and him. Catching his hand in your own, you start in the direction of the grand staircase that leads up to his old bedroom. Tim stops you by pulling on your arm lightly, before turning and walking towards the doors that will take you outside.

You look at him quizzically. “Can we go to your apartment?” he murmurs. “We’ve been in my world this whole night, now I want to be in yours.”

You smile softly before leaning up to kiss him, quick and light. He squeezes your hand as he leads you through the room, and then suddenly you’re outside, breathing cool, almost autumn air while you wait for Tim to get a car sorted out. You turn your eyes upward to meet the moon again, the ghost of Claire de Lune still drifting through your head.

Tim breaks your reverie by calling your name, and you follow him into the back of a car. After directing the driver to your apartment, Tim hands you an earbud. You put it in your left ear while Tim puts the other in his right, and together you listen to Claire de Lune again as the car makes it’s way through a Gotham that’s soft and shiny with moonlight. Three repetitions of Debussy later you’re standing in front of your apartment, Tim wrapping his arms around you as you fiddle with your keys, unlock your door, and lead him to your bedroom.

Later, after you’re spent twice over and Tim has made good on his fantasy of opening you up with his mouth, Tim shifts in the bed and slides himself around you, lips at your ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You sigh happily. “Mmm.”

“I asked the orchestra to play Clair de Lune.”

You raise yourself up on your elbows at that, leaning over him with a meaningful look into his starry eyes. You’re sure there are stars in yours, too. 

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You lie back down. “Thank you.”

His hand comes up to stroke your hair. “Mmm.”

[alistonjdrake]

Adapting Historical Fashion for the Fantasy Eye

I’m back. Why? Because we’ve seen a resurgence of people talking about corsets and whether they were the death traps some would like you to believe (they weren’t and we’re not here to discuss that but I beg you to do some research), people not knowing that there is a vibrant and active historical fashion community who either engage in history bounding (dressing up in period accurate clothing) or add elements of it to their daily lives, and just as always people not knowing the difference between stays and corsets. 

But, June, you say. You’re a fantasy writer. What does historically accurate clothing have to do with anything? Historical accuracy is for losers. And to that I say, you are correct. But if you’re using something that has a heavy historical context (like clothing, technology, etc) you might as well know a thing or two about the subject before looking a fool. If only because readers like me notice the small things and cry OR because the aesthetics are cool but knowing where they come from and how they can be changed to fit your world is even cooler. 

Fashion defines a society. Fashion defines a culture. What garments are important? What garments are the same among the upper and lower class? Do their roles as garments change depending on class? (ex: stays were often wore “out” for working class women while upper class women would see them strictly as undergarments) How do fashion trends define the eras? It’s not hard to notice that throughout history nearly every decade as a definite silhouette. It’s not hard to tell the difference from a regency era gown from an early Victorian gown to a late Victorian one. They all look vastly different. 

I’m not asking anyone to know the ins and out of historical clothing but it doesn’t hurt to read up on it or look at some existing examples. To know the anatomy and construction of what would make a complete outfit (or to read about what people might wear for a given situation if no artwork or garment exists). It all feeds into how your characters hold themselves, how they might be able to move. It’s not so much that people were just “Shaped Differently” back then. Their clothes were constructed with a certain poise or look in mind. And y’know. I just want to stop seeing modern underwear in fantasy underneath historical clothing while we all pretend the undergarments don’t contribute greatly to the finished overall look. 

But again, you’re right. We’re not writing historical fiction here. We don’t need to have every mention of clothing in our fantasy novels be completely in line with the point in time we might be basing our setting off of. This is about adaptation. 

Adapting Historical Fashion for Non-Historical Purposes. 

I’ve said it a bunch by now I’m sure. My books take place in a world based off the late 18th century. Why? I dig it. As such, when I first started putting together the aesthetics of the world that period was also my go to. I know I already did a whole thing on culture and society but really this is more or less just about how fashion can amplify those two things. I mentioned setting and what fabrics might be commonly used or found. And what might make sense to use (lighter, breathy fabrics for hot climates vs thicker fabrics and furs for cold ones) vs ones considered high class and enviable or with trends that might be coming from other countries that have stronger influence. 

When I take real life fashion and shove it into my world (give or take a few changes) I usually ask myself a few things first. 

1. Who controls the fashion trends?

The younger generation, the monarchs, a group of travelers who just look super stellar? Who is the rest of the community following when it comes to the newest look and what elements of it are they trying to steal/adapt? What element is the thing that really catches on? 

Anyone who knows me knows I’m a huge fan of waistcoats and breeches and stockings, tailed coats with flaps (although anyone who reads my book will also know I axed powdered wigs. Because I could.) But to just copy wouldn’t say much about the opulent and flamboyant Escana. To increase the idea of the vanity and the peacock attitude of the younger, partying courtiers I have young men who usually dye their stockings to match their waistcoats (because colored socks > white or black socks) and forgo the coat to show off sleeve details as well as lose some of that “seriousness”. It says a lot about them while still remaining in a circle that gives readers a clue as to where my inspiration came from. 

2. Who disagrees with the fashion trends?

And how does their disagreement influence the perception of certain garments or the people who wear them? Just read one thing about how evil corsets are and how crinolines are literally cages for women and how many of us go around thinking Victorian ladies fainted every time they opened a window and understand these perceptions can be long-lasting and completely change an outsider’s opinion on how people lived. Granted for world-building or story purposes hopefully these will be happening currently instead of being a huge misunderstanding of history.

Over and over again I say things like cultures not being monoliths but neither are generations and there’s nothing that makes a world feel more lived in and full than people who don’t all wear a uniform based vaguely on what the author thinks a medieval gown looked like. It’s just also sometimes nice to get tidbits like a character wearing a scandalous or pricey color just to look good even if they can’t afford it. Is it usually super vital to the plot and story? No. If used sparingly can it be fun background information to how the society your character lives in works or views things? Sure. 

3. Colors and fabrics and spares, oh my

Okay. That’s not a question. But it’s an umbrella for me to put my thoughts under. Because I live in the 21st century I don’t often think about things like dyes or luxury fabrics but this would be front of mind for most of my characters. Not everyone can afford to wear certain colors, or certain colors come with a context that means they shouldn’t be worn for certain situations or for certain people and the same could be said for fabric. We live with these fashion rules now (although I’m not so strict in my memory of them because my current life doesn’t depend on it, but I do write about princes and courts so it’s more important for a courtier to not wear a happy color to a funeral than for me. Or things like no white after labor day).

Hand-me-downs. I grew up wearing them. They were common in history and should be more common in fantasy. If a family was not wealthy they could only afford so much fabric or to follow fashion trends for their eldest. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a family to still be wearing clothes considered “outdated” and it’s not like we all just throw our clothes out when they get old. While a trend might have moved onto a new silhouette or something, someone with less means might still be wearing decades-old clothing that have held up well (these clothes were built to last. Fast fashion could never) or could have chosen not to jump on the trend at all. In my book, the opulent courtiers and royals of Graza Palace dress completely different than some traditionalists who wear garments more native to Escan before it was an empire that are completely different from the suits and 18th century gowns I’ve borrowed. They’re timeless and probably see a lot more turnover from one family member to the next than a gown that could be out of style in a year. 

4. And lastly, making sure I’m not turning it into a costume

This becomes important when taking garments that have a cultural context in the real world and using something similar to it or basing another garment off of it. I would start with this for the purposes of using culture clues to ease someone into what actual culture the fantasy one is taking inspiration from to give them a taste of what certain things might look like without going into full detail but it’s key to then know what makes these garments...these garments so you’re not bastardizing them. Why do people wear them? (especially if a form is still worn in modern times) What are they usually made out of? What are the occasions they are worn for? A respectful nod to something will just add to your world building, a costume rendition with 0 understanding of how certain garments will work will just make it seem like all your characters are in cosplay. 

So in conclusion: No, I’m not advocating you be historically accurate for your already not historically accurate but it pays to look into why your basing clothing off a certain period and what goes into making that piece of clothing...that piece of clothing. Why it looks that way, how someone wearing it would look/hold themselves, and what it means in the context of your setting as well as things you might change and take extra liberties with for the purpose of storytelling. Clothing can add character and it could be just as useful a tool in world building (in my biased opinion) as language given that fashion can have such a huge impact on people but it can also fall flat. 

[astxlphe-fics]

Akutagawa’s (somewhat conflicted) feelings about Mori dressing him up // Moriaku 

Word count: ~1700

Content Warnings : boss/subordinate relationship, large age gap (20 years), unbalanced relationship, controlling behaviour 

“So—” Mori holds both dress shirts in from of him, pensive. “Red? Or blue?” 

“Black,” Akutagawa answers evenly, making the man pout. 

“Black is too classic,” he protests, soon cut off by the small girl by his side. 

“It’s boring.” Elise scowls, crossing her arms, blue eyes flashing Akutagawa a glare. “You’re both boring . And you—” She points an accusing finger at him. “Just choose already, he’ll be happy and we’ll get cake.” 

Akutagawa rolls his eyes at the frustrated girl, before focusing back on Mori. “Do I really need this? I already have clothes.” 

“Work clothes maybe,” Mori easily counters. He holds the marine blue shirt in front of Akutagawa’s chest and hums. “Too dark,” he decides, putting it away. 

“I still think this is ridiculous.” 

Reflexively, he almost apologies for his snippy tone when Mori turns back to him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief, but before he does, he catches himself. A year into a relationship that mainly happens behind locked doors at the office and he’s still not quite used how little...etiquette the man requires outside of work. 

At headquarters, there is no way to forget Mori is still his boss, but outside of it, in the man’s own home, there is almost nothing to remind him of this fact.  

“Don’t be like that, dearest, a little variety can’t hurt. You simply must let me take care of it. We are going to try those on—” Mori puts a new dress shirt of a much lighter blue, along with the red one, under his nose, “— and this outfit after.” 

Akutagawa glances at the outfit in question, then the pile of clothes he’s already tried on, and he wonders just how much clothes has the man bought — they’ve been at it for about two hours now.  

Mori, ever since the beginning of their relationship, loves dressing him up. He thought, at first, that it was only Elise — his ability, an extension of himself that he dresses up to suit his tastes. He was, of course, wrong, and Mori takes some special kind of joy in helping him dress. 

Looking down at the two shirts, identical save for the color, he winces at the cheerful blue of the first. “Not this one,” he decides, and Mori sighs, closes his eyes, and whines:  

“You and Elise are always so difficult ,” and really, Akutagawa doesn’t want to be difficult with Mori, he knows he’s lucky the man even looks at him, but still. Light blue.  

“Fine,” he relents, and Mori beams and waves his hand in Akutagawa’s direction. 

“Wonderful! Now, off with this.” 

Resigned, Akutagawa opens the shirt he’s currently wearing and slips out of it — there is no changing room, and besides he’s learned a while ago that there is no point in being any degree of self-conscious about his body around Mori. 

The scars are reminder of his much he’s survived and of all the way he still has to go to be better. It’s something private, something he doesn't particularly like anyone seeing. But it seems to Akutagawa that Mori enjoys looking at them, which is kind of weird and puts him under a scrutiny he would, with anyone else, avoid. More generally, he spends a lot of time watching him undress, and Akutagawa can’t genuinely say he dislikes it. 

Those eyes on him register every detail, remember every flaw with the same calm they take in everything else, and yet at no point does he say anything about it, about the scars and the bones clearly visible under his skinny frame. 

No one ever looked at him the way Mori Ougai does. It became, if he dares say it, nice.

The man extends one of the sleeves for Akutagawa to slide his arm in, then the other, and moves back to his front to close the buttons. The fabric is crisp and cool on his skin, sign that it’s either new or just out of the dry cleaner service he uses. 

“Good!” His boss looks through the dressing cabinet and comes out with a waistcoat. “For this one, I think black will do nicely.” He laughs lightly, to himself. “See? There is still black.” 

Mori hums appreciatively when he buttons the waistcoat up as well, and turns Akutagawa to the mirror so he can get a look — the blue pops out nicely, it’s true, but he can’t help but grimace again because, well. He doesn't think it’s really his color, and he doesn’t think he likes it, but then again Mori always knows better about those things. 

Being moved around like this makes Akutagawa somehow more aware of his own body than ever before.  

“You don’t like it.” Mori crosses his arm, frowning, dejected. “But you look so handsome— ” Akutagawa’s cheeks flush at the compliment, but he still shakes his head. 

“I think red might work better,” he tells him, attempting to not disappoint too much. Some time ago, he disliked the color red, but Mori loves it, so he made an effort and found it not so bad. 

(Just a bit more time and he might find himself fond of blue, too.) 

At those words, Mori perks up while Elise groans obnoxiously. She sends him a tired look, which he interprets as “hurry up ”, so he quickly undresses again and swaps the blue dress shirt for the red one, Mori still hovering around. When it’s done and Akutagawa turns to face him, he smiles kindly, smoothing out the lapel and tugging at the bottom of it to make sure it falls right. 

Then, he tilts Akutagawa’s chin up with the tip of his finger and raises the dress shirt’s collar, looping a white tie around his neck and tucking it into his waistcoat. 

“Red always suits you well.” He takes a step back, looking him up and down. “You should wear this tonight.” 

It sounds like a suggestion. Akutagawa knows it’s not — even if he says no, the man will badger him until he agrees.  

All of this — Mori’s hands on his wrist or his hips or his shoulders, covering him with another heap of fabric and deciding what he wears and how he styles his hair and what scent of shampoo or perfume he uses — used to be... overwhelming, but not anymore, he has gotten used to it.

Now, it distantly reminds him of the way Gin used to play with the doll he bought her for her twelfth birthday. The first new toy she ever had. Carefully dressed and cared for, proudly displayed, forgotten when it became worn and used and she grew too busy and too old to play with it. 

A small, rational part of him whispers he shouldn’t be so comfortable with it, with being someone's doll, that he should put a stop to it before every aspect of his life is subject to the man’s whims. 

Akutagawa doesn’t care. Shushes it. Gives in and lets himself be what makes Mori the happiest. He does have to be careful though, or he’ll soon see the day Mori discards him like Gin’s old doll.  

Besides, the clothes look better than anything Akutagawa could have come up with himself; he's not very good at choosing them. Better trust the man's tastes, Akutagawa’s own obviously being somewhat lacking.  

So, he nods. “I will.” 

Tonight is a formal affair, and if their little fitting session was originally to find Akutagawa new clothes he liked, as the day wore on it became more of a way to find him something to wear. Tonight, Mori speaks business with a foreign organization; and whether Akutagawa is supposed to be the arm candy or the bodyguard, he isn’t sure.  

Perhaps it’s both. It’s usually both. 

“Now, you’re just missing one little thing—” 

While he disappears again, Elise raises her head from where she’s slumped on the couch and gets to her feet, watching Mori’s chosen outfit. She blinks up at him and narrows her eyes, contemplating in silence for a few seconds. “Not half bad,” she decides, before she turns away, looking for her dress, which probably means Mori is satisfied with his choice. 

Not minding his presence, she pulls her own dress over her head. Akutagawa turns away to let her change into the new one on, until she tugs on his arm to show him. 

“Not half bad,” he says back to her, making her grin. 

It’s brand-new dress, red and black, matching with Akutagawa’s outfit, which he is sure is done on purpose, somehow. Mori gets a particular joy out of making them match, for reasons that escape him.

Walking around the room, he checks that the pants aren’t too tight and that the movements of his arms aren’t too limited. 

By the time he reaches the conclusion that everything is as comfortable as it should be, Mori comes back. Without missing a beat, he grabs his wrist, holding it up, deft fingers fixing glinting cufflinks to the end of his right sleeve, then his left.  

“There,” Mori tells him softly. “Perfect.” 

Before letting go, he presses a kiss on his knuckles and spins him around, and Akutagawa’s heart does a little jump, blood rushing to his face, his ears burning. 

He glances to the mirror again. “I look…fine,” he says quietly, and Mori offers a sharp, closed eyed, knowing smile and sneaks another a kiss under his ear, at the junction of his jaw.  

“Of course, you do.” 

With the way his eyes linger here and there, Akutagawa knows he’ll have wandering hands for the rest of the night. He doesn’t really mind it anymore— it feels strangely good to have someone willing to touch him this way, to kiss him, whispering praises and flattering words in his ear like he deserves them. 

 “Thank you.” Then: “Should I expect a fight?” Those clothes don’t offer much material to fight with, though he can still hide a weapon somewhere (a small gun at his ankle, hidden in the folds of his pants, or a knife strapped to his forearm, or whatever Mori decides.) 

“No,” he finally answers. “No, I don’t believe so.” And he adds, because he is, as always, aware of what Akutagawa truly is asking: “Besides, the weather is way too nice for you to wear a coat.”