#his gang all wears black leather jackets with red wings on the back

[comphy-and-cozy]

The After Party II

Pairing: Brady Skjei x Reader (f) x Andrei Svechnikov

Summary: A year after your illicit tryst with your current fling and your ex-fling, you meet again. Part two to The After Party.

Word Count: 6.3K

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Light alcohol use/mention, swearing. Threesome (MFM - no MxM), fingering (vaginal + anal - f receiving), oral sex (m + f receiving (vaginal)), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, anal sex (f receiving), double penetration, mild cumplay. **Please do your research before engaging in any sexual activity but especially anal sex. This is fiction and by no means any indication of how one should prepare. :)

Author's Note: happy belated birthday, @smileysvech! I hope your bday gang bang 2.0 makes this year's celebration one to remember. thank you for being my biggest cheerleader and for all of your unwavering support. 😘🖤

nhl masterlist | moodboard

The party is unlike one you’ve ever been to. Like a themed sorority bid night, but with a much higher budget; the decor is elaborate, a sea of blacks and reds and glitter. Candles illuminate the room, making the atmosphere feel dark. Ornate. Indulgent.

Your boyfriend dons a black leather jacket and black jeans that accentuate his thick thighs. His jacket is completely unzipped, revealing more than a tantalizing sliver of his toned, golden muscles; they’re all but bare, the deep cut lines of his abdomen, an opportunity to show off his impressive body. The silver cross branded on his bare sternum is a stark contrast to the crown of thorns perched on his head. Judas.

Your dress contrasts his outfit entirely; lace and ivory wrapped around your body, the corset bodice hugging your figure. It’s demure, but the gold necklace—a 37 sitting prettily on your exposed chest—draws the eye down to your cleavage, a sexy twist to the otherwise sweet, shy, virtuous look. Thick, feathery wings glitter on your back, enhancing the angelic look, complete with a pretty, glittering rhinestone crown—symbolic of a halo. 

A light to his dark, day to his night, heaven to his hell. Andrei’s angel. 

His brand on you runs far deeper than his name etched onto your back at his games, and though your claim on him is invisible, he wears it proudly on his chest, seizing every opportunity to show you off as his girl. It’s been there since before he made you his girlfriend, officially, but it’s only grown since then in the last year that you’ve been together.

Tonight is no exception. Andrei’s hand lingers on your side, a silent message to anyone who would dare to question who you belong to. You’re not typically one for the whole possession thing, but you can’t deny him—not when he looks at you like that.

You mingle, sipping on your cocktail, enjoying the night of frivolity—one of the last before the final push of the season and preparation for playoffs begins. Nykki and Martin make their way to you two, and eventually, the two boys depart in favor of who knows what shenanigans. 

Across the room, talking to two pretty leather-clad demons, is the handsome brunette from your past. His handsome, warm smile is plastered across his face, no doubt letting some pretty words doused in honey drip from his mouth. You ignore the pang of—something—that bubbles in your chest at the sight, not even wanting to spend the time identifying what it is.

As if he can sense it, his eyes glance up and lock with yours for the briefest of moments. A smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he lifts his beer to his mouth, winking so quickly you’re not sure if you imagined it. The next moment, he’s back to his flirtatious antics, laughing jovially at the taller of the two girls flanking either side of him.

You return to your conversation with Nykki, though you feel his gaze flitting back to you, burning a hole in your side, tempting you to look his way. Glittering disco balls hang from the ceiling, illuminating the walls with the light from the candles’ flames, and you ignore the urge to glance over at him again.

“Your outfit is so cute,” Nykki’s saying, fingers caressing the feathers on your wings. “And I love your wings!”

With a smile, you thank her. “I was going for a bit of a sexy angel vibe, you know?”

“I’m sure Andrei appreciates that very much,” she replies with a knowing smirk and a gentle nudge of your elbow. You chance a look back to the corner of the room, but the handsome brunette you’ve been making eyes at is gone; you don’t dare to turn your head to look for him, not standing next to Nykki. 

Soon enough, she gets called away, and you’re left alone, uncomfortably vulnerable at a party where you still don’t quite feel like you belong, despite having attended several events as Andrei’s other half. Swirling the ice in your cocktail glass, you’re about to down the rest of your drink so that you can head back to the bar before you search for your boyfriend. As the rim of the glass touches your lips, you feel a looming presence approach your left side.

“Should’ve known you’d copy me,” says a voice that you know all too well. Out of instinct, your head turns and you’re blessed with the sight of Brady, up close and personal. His dark hair, peppered with gray, is messy, styled that way, a strand falling lazily in his face—he looks more like James Dean than an angel, with the suave and confident demeanor. 

“I think I look way more angelic than you,” you say, eyeing the loosely buttoned linen top and expanse of his chest. He looks so effortlessly cool, the high-waisted, wide-legged ivory slacks hanging loosely as he’s leaned against the wall with an air of nonchalant swagger.

He watches you, a smug smile tugging at his lips. The beer bottle rests loosely between two fingers and his thumb. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Your face grows hot at the callout and your eyes dart away, embarrassed. You’re sure he’s smirking now, feeling the burn from his gaze.

“You do look beautiful, though.”

Brady’s voice is lower as he says it, almost like he’s dropped the confident, playboy facade. You thank him shyly, and in the blink of an eye, the curtain’s back up, the smirk plastered back on his face.

“Where’s your man?” he asks casually. He might as well have been glancing at his nails, but you have the feeling his question is far from innocent.

“Think he’s out playing Spikeball on the patio,” you reply, head craning to try and spot him through the window. He’s exactly where you thought, grinning after slamming the ball into the net, fist bumping Marty in celebration. You smile.

“And he left you alone? Looking like that?”

You shoot Brady a glance, the bold flirtation alerting you to his potential motives. It is his birthday, after all, and you certainly gave him a birthday to remember last year. 

Your eyebrow raises. “What’s it to you?” 

“Well,” he says, slipping a hand into his pocket, “I know if you were my girl, I’d be fucking you over the counter in the bathroom right now, dressed like that.”

Heat floods your body, white hot and scorching straight through your bloodstream at his blunt words. You sip at your drink, desperate for something to alleviate the dryness in your throat. “That’s not very angelic of you to say, Saint Skjei.” 

“Aww, but baby, we both know you’re far from angelic. Don’t we?”

This time, in addition to the warmth on your cheeks, you also feel a deep throb between your legs. His words beckon a flashback of strong hands—4 of them—caressing your body, driving you to the height of pleasure; of the feeling of being so delightfully full. 

“Baby, come outside and—oh, shit, hey, Skjeisy,” Andrei’s deep voice echoes, veering from his path to you to give his teammate a clap on his back. “Birthday brother.”

Brady offers your boyfriend a wide grin and a clink of his bottle against Andrei’s glass. Your cheeks burn as they flank you, tall and looming and so large compared to you. The memory of last year’s celebration lingers, flooding your mind with a foggy heat that suddenly makes it a little bit hard to breathe.

“What’re you up to?” he asks, looking at you with a smile, like he can see the mist clouding your brain. “What’d I miss?”

“Just telling your beautiful girlfriend how fuckable she looks,” Brady says, unabashed. If you weren’t used to his antics by now, you’d be surprised at his boldness.

Andrei pauses for the briefest of moments, registering the implication behind his friend’s words before he’s turning to look at you, a mischievous expression on his face. “She does, doesn’t she?”

By now, your pulse is racing, practically sweating under the heated gaze of both men standing before you. You watch both of their eyes roving over your figure, undoubtedly envisioning filthy things; you wonder if either of them notice the way your pulse beats in your throat.

“Malyshka, tell him what I told you earlier tonight.” Andrei’s command is gentle, light-hearted, but there’s a longing behind them. 

Surging heat goes straight to your cheeks, burning at having to repeat Andrei’s words. You glance at him, and he nods encouragingly. So you swallow, murmuring, “Y-you said you were gonna fuck me how I deserved to be fucked tonight.”

Amusement flickers in Brady’s eyes, along with a blue flame that matches the one glowing inside you. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“Like the only girl lucky enough to fuck me on my birthday,” Andrei finishes for you. A statement of pride; pride in the ownership you have over him, too. 

The fire in Brady’s irises grows, burning bright. You watch an entire cinema of filthy thoughts run through his mind; you’re sure all three of you are thinking the same thing—it’s Brady’s birthday, too. And you are a lucky, lucky girl.

Tension is thick in your little triangle, almost like you’re sizing each other up. Andrei’s eyes dance to yours, and he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, whispering in your ear, “You want him to come home with us, dorogoy?”

Your gaze locks with Brady’s, who couldn’t have heard your boyfriend’s question, but looks like he’s waiting for your answer all the same. Keeping your eyes on his melted chocolate ones, your only reply is a subtle nod, and you feel Andrei’s smile against your cheek.

Twenty minutes later, you step into Andrei’s apartment after the world’s most excruciating Uber ride with the heat of Brady’s leg pressed against yours, his hand drawing slow, teasing circles on the inside of your thigh. Andrei had sat in the passenger seat, making idle conversation with the driver, Brady chiming in regularly, as if he wasn’t driving you into a slow descent into insanity. It was almost enough to make you mad, had you not been spending all of your effort trying not to make a mess on the Uber’s leather seats. 

You watch the way Brady’s eyes flare with heat when he follows the two of you into the kitchen, eyeing the quartz countertop. His eyebrow arches with a glance at Andrei, a silent message sent in the quiet of his apartment. The brunette slinks up beside you, a warm hand caressing your waist, and all at once you remember.

“I’d be fucking you over the counter in the bathroom right now, dressed like that.”

He catches your eye, a wink at you as if he knows you’re remembering his words. “So pretty.”

“So are you,” you whisper shyly. His lips curl into a grin, making him look even more handsome. 

Brady stalks closer to you, all too similar to a predator stalking its prey; the only thing missing is David Attenborough’s dulcet tones, narrating his actions like a wildlife documentary. Despite the itch in the tips of your fingers to touch his skin, to drag your hands through his hair, you back away from him until you’re caught between the kitchen island and his large, looming body. Andrei seems content to watch the scene in front of him play out, standing behind you on the opposite side of the island. 

“Wanna kiss you,” Brady says, voice barely above a whisper as his eyes move to your lips. Your throat bobs in anticipation as you feel the edge of the countertop pressed into your lower back, trapped between Brady’s body and the island. “Can I?”

You nod, but you see Brady’s eyes flick behind you, silently seeking approval from your boyfriend. Andrei must have given it, for the next moment, Brady’s smiling, hand moving to thread through the curls you’d styled earlier that day. His lips brush against yours, feather light, teasing, waiting.

The pause is agonizing, time momentarily standing still as your heart thuds against your chest before Brady finally, finally presses forward to kiss you fully. It’s sweet, far sweeter than the mischievous glint in his eye or the seductive lines he’d traced on your leg in the Uber; for a moment, he really is the angel he’s dressed as instead of the carefully hidden sinner’s persona.

It doesn’t take long for Brady to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as his hands move from your waist to knead at the globes of your ass. His lips curl upward as he swallows your moan, lifting you easily to set you on the countertop. Warm hands slide up the front of your bare thighs, pushing the skirt of your dress up to reveal bare, sensitive skin.

The shift in position allows you to press your body into him, knees settling on either side of his hips as he steps between your legs. Your makeout gradually shifts from sweet and timid to passionate and scorching, whimpers slipping out of your throat as his hands slide the straps of your wings off your shoulders. 

Brady’s lips trail over your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine when his lips find the spot on your neck that makes your toes curl. Your head falls back, allowing him easier access to suck a mark into the tender skin. He places a hand behind your head, supporting your neck, guiding you slowly down onto your back.

The countertop is cool against your bare shoulders, your large, feathery wings no longer digging into your skin. You shiver, not from the temperature of the quartz, but the heat from Brady’s gaze as he tears his lips away from you, standing slowly. His hands blaze fire down your legs, trailing a fingertip lightly down your calf before grasping an ankle in each hand, making a slow show of spreading your legs. 

“Forgot you like to wear these little tiny things you call underwear,” he muses, running a thumb along the sodden lace covering your modesty. 

Andrei, no longer interested in sitting on the sidelines, lets his palm coast over your chest, over your breast, over the bunched up fabric from your skirt, feeling for himself what Brady describes. “You’re soaked already, malyshka.”

Already, just the touch of their hands on your body lights it on fire, and you sigh as Brady’s thumbs rub gentle circles into your calves. Your pulse quickens, nipples instantly hardening when Andrei pushes the top of your corset top down your torso, freeing your breasts. His hand offers a small reprieve from the cool air when it massages one of your breasts, humming approvingly at the way your spine arches into his touch.

“He’s good with his hands, isn’t he?” Brady coos.

You nod, and Andrei smirks at you. Lord knows how many times he’d brought you to a euphoric release with just his hands alone, skilled and strong and wicked in their promise. As if to prove the point, he pinches your peaked nipple between two fingers, earning a yelp from your mouth. But then his hand trails farther, two large fingers digging into the damp lace and tugging it to the side; you gasp quietly at the cool air that hits your most intimate area, the sound melding into more of a moan when you see the heat in Brady’s eyes as he gazes at your folds.

The dynamic is clear: Andrei, revealing you to his friend, presenting you on a platter—or, in this case, his kitchen counter.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time,” Brady comments, his voice low and husky. “Not really.”

Your core clenches at his words, anticipation buzzing through you. Brady smiles, licking his lips. Above you, Andrei nods once, and the brunette needs no more encouragement to sink lower until he’s eye-level with your cunt. He draws a finger through your center, collecting some of the dripping nectar with a click of his tongue.

“This for him,” he asks, jerking his head toward Andrei, who has resumed the gentle knead and massage of your breasts, “or me?”

Another pinch of your nipple has you whimpering. “Wh-who says it can’t be both?”

A low chuckle sounds from Brady’s throat, a smug smile curling up on his handsome face. “Knew you liked being shared, pretty girl, just didn’t know how much.”

He delves into your core like a man starved, long laves of his tongue ending with a flick against your sensitive clit. By instinct, your back arches and your hips raise to meet his mouth, seeking out more of the pleasure that blooms through your body as he presses his face against you. “So sweet, baby.”

Brady is good with his mouth, and he knows it. Expertly, he alters between flat licks of his tongue and sucking gently on your clit, with a precision only someone with experience can manage. It doesn’t take him long to remember what makes you tick, how you gush around his tongue when he slides it inside of you and fucks you with it. 

Just as the energy starts to build deep within you, you’re crying out when he abruptly tears himself away from you. “Brady—”

“Hmm?” he asks, sharing an amused look with Andrei. “What’s wrong?”

“Need—need your mouth.” You can’t help the whine that accompanies your words, the desperation that crawls under your skin.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” 

You lick your lips, guiltily glancing back to catch Andrei, an eyebrow raised and an amused smirk painted on his face. 

“He has a nice mouth,” you say, as if to justify your unrestrained desire for the man who isn’t your boyfriend. 

Andrei hums. “So do you, kisa. Can you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Lay your head back for me.”

You do as told, and Andrei tugs you toward him a few inches so your head is leaning off of the countertop. “Open your mouth for me, baby.”

Andrei leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, and you sigh into him, the familiarity of his mouth helping to alleviate some of your nerves; the pulse between your legs is all but forgotten under his attention. As he pulls away, he purses his lips, dropping a long, thick wad of saliva into your open mouth. You feel the slow drip of it against your tongue, slipping down your throat as you swallow obediently. 

“Khoroshaya deovochka,” he murmurs as he stands to his full height. Good girl.

The praise makes your nipples tighten as you shiver. You can feel Brady’s hot breath on your inner thigh, can feel the heat from his gaze as he takes in the sight of your open, wet, waiting core. His lips against your skin makes you jolt slightly, a sigh breathed out against Andrei’s tip pressed against your lips.

“God, I missed eating this pretty pussy,” Brady says, his tongue flitting against your entrance, teasing you. You can feel the way your pussy throbs under his attention, like she knows she’s mere moments away from relief.

Andrei chuckles lowly, his eyes no doubt stuck on the brunette working his way between your thighs. Your own throat bobs in anticipation, waiting for Andrei to push his tip past your lips and into your open mouth.

Then, as if following a countdown that only they could hear, Brady’s fingers broach your eager entrance, simultaneous with the gentle push of Andrei’s length to meet your tongue. Swiftly, steadily, they fill you up with a practiced precision that makes your toes curl, the sensation so complete and fulfilling—pun intended. 

Your Russian is patient, feeling the gasp as Brady works another finger into you before his hand slips into your hair, holding your neck steady while he presses his hips forward. He tests his own restraint, inching in and out while your mouth and throat accommodate and adjust to his size, your tongue flatting against the top of him.

Brady’s mouth joins his fingers, sure to catch the slick pooling around your entrance; he probes and teases with the tip of his tongue, taking his time to re-learn what makes your spine arch and the breath catch in your throat. He groans, exhaling lowly against your center, eyes fluttering closed as he savors the taste of you.

“So fucking sweet. Svech, do me a favor and fuck her face a little harder so I can feel her gush on my tongue.”

“Aye aye,” Andrei says with a smirk, a mock salute before his other hand is placed on the other side of your neck, stabilizing your face before he gently picks up the pace of his thrusts. Your eyes water at the intrusion, at the different angle of his cock in your throat, breathing steadily through your nose.

Soon enough, your boyfriend has a consistent rhythm, and any whine you want to let out is blocked by his length lodged in your airway. He hums, smugness dripping from his voice, “Love watching the outline of my cock in your throat, kisa. You take me so well.”

The praise alone makes heat surge to your core, right into Brady’s eager mouth, and he moans, choking out, “That’s it, baby.”

His pace picks up, directly correlating to the flutter in your belly, to Brady’s tongue and fingers working in tandem to drive you closer and closer to the edge. Your hips roll against his face, seeking out that delicious friction that will have you hurtling into euphoria. His head is too far to reach with your arms, so you occupy your hands by taking to your breasts, massaging and tweaking at your nipples while Andrei continues his rough thrusts. Streaks of saliva marr your face, frothy and wet, leaving filthy evidence on his usually pristine kitchen floor.

For a fleeting second, you wonder what this must look like; you, spread wide and waiting on your boyfriend’s counter, getting stuffed at both ends by two handsome, talented men, both eager to drive you to your peak. It’s the image of your body between them that has your release barreling through you, a choked groan sounding out despite the intrusion in your throat. Brady groans, mingled curses and praises slipping out while he works you through the waves of your climax.

Andrei doesn’t let up, not until Brady’s pulling away from the apex of your thighs, the scar on his chin coated with your orgasm. He helps you up, admiring the swell of your lips and the tear tracks on your face before he smiles and presses a wet, musky kiss against your lips. “So pretty. Even prettier when your face is a mess like this.”

“You wanna take her cunt this time? My treat.” Andrei asks with a grin wide enough to reveal his missing tooth.

“I’d be honored,” Brady says with a mock nod of his head, his eyes flicking to yours with a mischievous grin.

“C’mon, malyshka,” Andrei murmurs, lifting you easily in his arms to take you into the bedroom. He deposits you on the bed, positioning you to leave room for Brady to follow and kneel before you. Your eyes draw to the bulge in his pants, the thin fabric doing little to hide his modesty as Andrei helps you to remove what’s left of your costume.

“You want it?” he asks in a teasing tone. 

“You got to taste me,” you say, blinking up at him. “It’s only fair I get to return the favor.”

Andrei sniggers at your quick remark. “So eager, my pretty little slut.”

The name sends heat coursing through your body, radiating particularly between your legs. Brady moves to remove his expensive trousers, and soon, you’re presented with a mouth-watering view of his very impressive, very erect length. Your tongue slips out to lick your lips, eager to feel the weight of him in your mouth.

Of course, Brady can’t resist teasing you, gripping himself loosely as he taps his tip against your cheek. Your mouth opens, impatient, but he doesn’t give you what you want; not yet. Instead, he drags the head across your lips, slow, teasing, agonizing. 

“What a good girl,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself, but then he winks at you. “So obedient.”

Brady’s instruction is simple, just a soft, “tongue out,” before he’s running his tip over it, pressing himself firmly against your tongue. You sigh out at the taste of him, precum already dripping onto your waiting taste buds, earnestly wrapping your lips around his tip as you take him into your mouth.

Beside you, Andrei draws the slightest attention back to himself by divesting himself of his clothes, dropping unceremoniously to the floor. You feel a warm, large hand running along the curve of your ass, giving the flesh a squeeze before his fingers probe lightly at your entrance, testing the slickness he finds there. 

As you work at Brady’s length, jaw opening wider to fit more of him into your mouth, Andrei’s hand slides up just a few inches higher, and all at once the agreement from earlier sinks in.

If Brady was going to fuck your pussy, then that means…

Almost like he’s reading your mind, Andrei chuckles behind you when you gasp with realization. Not long after, the pad of his finger presses gently against the tight bud, teasing and prodding. For a brief moment, you tear yourself away from Brady to crane your head, just in time to see Andrei spitting onto his fingers, coating them with his saliva before bringing his hand back down to your backside. He smirks at you, then winks at Brady as his first finger teases you, your mouth falling open at the feeling—not enough.

But Brady clears his throat, not pleased with the lack of attention, and his hand gently turns your head back to face him. “Back to work, sweet girl.”

Ever eager to serve, you do as you’re told, only this time, you moan around Brady’s length as Andrei presses the tip of his finger past the puckered ring. Slowly, he eases it in, carefully testing the depth with slow, gentle pulses as your body relaxes to the foreign sensation. Your tongue lolls against Brady, whimpering as you do your best to stay focused on him.

Whether it’s to help you or just to show some dominance, you aren’t sure, but soon Brady’s hand is threading through your hair, gripping it into a ponytail at the base of your skull. Slowly, he pushes your head forward, watching the way his length slides between your lips. The beautiful brown of his eyes lock with yours, monitoring your reaction as he gradually increases the pace. His hold is firm, the tug on your hair just hard enough to have you shivering.

Soon enough, he’s fucking your throat, and Andrei’s eased two fingers into you, priming you for what’s to come. Spit, drool, and tears track your face, a frothy mixture pooling at your lips when Brady finally pulls out. He smiles, admiring his handiwork. “Love that throat of yours.”

Andrei hums behind you, his thumb brushing against your clit and nearly making you jump. “Baby, you’re dripping. You like when Brady fucks that pretty mouth?”

You nod, licking your lips with a smile. Brady winks at you. “Love fucking all of your holes, darlin’.”

A fresh wave of heat gushes between your legs, accompanied by a slap to your ass and a Russian curse. His fingers flex inside of you gently working you open. “Get to it, then,” you challenge him.

“Aw, baby, I’m flattered,” he says with another smug smile. “But I think I want to watch that pretty boyfriend of yours fuck your pretty little ass first.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you turn to look at Andrei as he’s retrieving his bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer. The liquid is cold on your skin, warmed quickly by his hand, finger pressing into you. He eases you open, adding another finger, and then another, until he deems you ready for his more than considerable length. 

“Ready, malyshka?”

You cast a glance at Brady, who smirks at you with darkened eyes, like the sight of you on your hands and knees and three fingers in your ass is nearly sending him over the edge. “Fuck me, Drei.”

When Andrei presses into you, you wince at the stretch as you adjust to the sensation. He sucks in a breath, murmuring a low curse in Russian. Gripping your sides, his hands squeeze tightly as he waits patiently for your approval to keep going.

Brady hums as he greedily drinks in the sight of you. He murmurs low, filthy promises to you, watching intently as Andrei patiently pushes deeper; your mouth falls open as your body adjusts to the stretch, his more-than-adequate width nearly enough to make your eyes cross. 

“Doin’ so good for me,” is Andrei’s gentle purr, groaning as he starts low, shallow thrusts. Your fingers grip into the bedsheets, gasping out. By the time he’s thrusting at a steady pace, tears are already pricking at your eyes from how blissfully sinful it feels, his tip directly nudging into the spot that makes you see stars. 

Andrei fucks you thoroughly, until you’re a mumbling, shaking mess. Your body arches as his large hand traces its way down your spine, coming to rest at the base of your neck; he presses you down into the mattress, just slightly, just enough to make your breathing a bit more labored. He leans forward, too, and you cry out when the action shifts his cock even deeper inside of you. Lips dot gentle kisses against your shoulder blades, accompanied by slow, shallow thrusts as your body trembles beneath him.

“Come,” is all he says; a command and a plea all at once. He doesn’t have to say anything else, only keep his movements steady until you cry out loudly as your release radiates through every bone in your body.

Your Russian is patient, coaxing out the final waves of your orgasm as your thighs tremble from the force of it. Brain foggy, you register the feeling of fingers carding through your hair, soothing you as your vision begins to come back to you. Soon enough, you float back into reality and Andrei smiles, warm enough to feel your heart start to melt at the sight.

“C’mere,” he says, wrapping his arms solidly around you and falling onto his back, bringing you with him. Brady’s figure steps between your legs, large and looming, his eyes glued to where Andrei’s cock is still stuffed deep inside your hole. All at once, the warmth in your heart quickly turns back into desire, and your core flutters.

“You gonna fuck me, too?” Your voice is laced with challenge, a teasing lilt in your tone. 

“You want me to fuck you?” Brady quips, a dark eyebrow raised in amusement. “Want me to fuck this tight little cunt?”

“S’your birthday gift,” you say, and Andrei chest shakes with a chuckle beneath your back. Brady smiles, his eyes dragging to the place in question, spread open and waiting for him.

“Lucky me,” is his hummed response, moving his hand forward to rub a slow circle over your clit with his thumb. You whine, and Andrei pinches your sides in a silent command, holding you steady. He presses a kiss against your shoulder, his weight solid and strong beneath you—holding your body up without any effort, it seems. One of the many, many benefits of having a boyfriend who is a Big Boy.

Brady snaps your attention back to him when he steps closer to the apex of your thighs, fisting his erection as he lines himself up. His eyes, brown and molten, are transfixed on the way the tip of his cock slips into your eager and waiting entrance; he lets out a grunt at the feeling of your tight heat wrapped around him.

You, on the other hand, are completely speechless—you’ve forgotten how to speak entirely, only nonsensical babbling slipping from your mouth. The feeling has you unable to focus on any one thing, consumed by how fucking good it feels to have both of them buried deep.

The two men work in sync, wordless, the same silent telepathy that they used earlier. In. Out. In. Out. Pleasure blossoms between your legs, tingly and warm as it spreads through your core, up your limbs, to the tips of your fingers and toes; you aren’t sure where you end and they begin.

“Kisa,” Andrei’s deep voice rumbles beneath you, murmuring lowly in your ear. “Feel good?”

You open your mouth to reply—yes, God, yes—but all that comes out is a jumbled moan, lilted higher when Brady presses in just that little bit deeper. He laughs, thumbs gripping your thighs tightly as he holds you open. “You kidding, Svech? Your girl loves being stuffed full of dick. These slutty little holes are drooling all over us.”

Brady’s words earn a low flutter—whether in your belly or in another area, you aren’t quite sure—but based on the growl that slips from Andrei, you’re inclined to believe the latter. His hand slinks up your side to massage at your breast, the other branding fingertip-shaped marks into your hip. “That true, dorogoy?”

Because your brain is in the process of being fucked into mush, it’s all you can do to nod, a weak, “Yes” tumbling out of your mouth. His breath is hot against your shoulder, murmurs of Russian curses low in your ear. “How lucky am I, huh? My gorgeous girl, treating me and my friend so good on our birthday.”

The deep purr of praise is like a catalyst to the heat in your veins, setting it ablaze through every cell in your body. Your back arches off of Andrei’s warm torso, and this time you’re sure that you clench tightly around both of them.

“Drei,” you sigh, “please.”

“Please, what?”

“C-come… make me… c-come—”

Brady smiles while his thumb resumes the same steady, circular motion on your clit, like he can’t decide if he’s amused or turned on at your desperate plea. For Andrei, though, it’s no laughing matter; suddenly, his thrusts become even steadier, more sure. He’s determined, hips setting a metronome that contrasts Brady’s pace, speeding up ever so slightly.

When your climax hits, it’s like time stands still: your breath, frozen in your lungs, mouth open in a silent scream, a snapshot taken just as the fire ignites at the place where Andrei and Brady meet inside of you. Your body tenses, spine rigid as your legs begin to shake in Brady’s strong hands, doing little to absorb the ripple effect of your orgasm. 

“Shiiiiit,” the brunette groans, amid the mish mash of Russian and English pouring from Andrei’s mouth as his hips slow to a halt, content to feel the way your body writhes and reacts to him. 

“Think we need to do this more often,” Andrei says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice; you can see it reflected in Brady’s eyes, predatory, devouring the sight of you below him. He doesn’t need to voice his agreement out loud; it’s clear in the way he can barely resist pulling out of you to help you onto shaky feet, then to your knees on the floor.

With a blink, your gaze floats up between Andrei and Brady, standing over you, each fisting their lengths, glistening with you. Your hands dance their way up your body, brushing your hair out of the way before returning to cup your breasts. “Happy birthday, boys.”

Brady’s eyes darken and Andrei allows a low growl at the sight of you, your breasts pressed together like the sexiest canvas they’ll ever see. Both of them work their hand over their dicks, varying in speed but sharing the same intensity—the same kind of unrestrained desperation, stretching themselves for the final sprint to the finish line.

Andrei’s deep groan comes first, ropes of his release splattering across your decolletage, dripping down into the cleavage you offer. A sharp curse from Brady’s mouth precedes his own peak, cum landing on your chin before sliding down and dripping onto your chest. Your boyfriend’s eyes glitter, watching the drips meld together into a mixture of one.

Without a word, Andrei steps toward you, crouching slightly to run his hands across your chest, gathering some of the cum onto his fingers. His eyes lock with yours and, in silent reply to his silent question, your mouth opens obediently, allowing him to press his first and middle past your lips, pressing onto your tongue.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” Brady says, voice a combination of a chuckle and a groan. You suck on his digits, swallowing the salty mixture of them with a flourish.

“Angel,” Andrei muses, making sure you lap every last bit of cum off of his fingers. “She’s an angel.”

———

Bonus mini scene inspired by this video:

That weekend, you’re scrolling on social media when the Canes pregame video pops up. It autoplays, and your eye immediately catches the salt and pepper hair, your heart fluttering a little bit at the sight. Then Andrei’s on the screen, and you’re smiling at seeing him feeling so confident and in his element—he’s where he belongs. 

But then you hear Brady say, “What a night!” followed by a loud laugh from Andrei, and your heart stops. They wouldn’t…

It takes another few replays to hear that Brady also says, “It’s a pleasure.”

When Andrei gets home later that night, high from a shutout win and clinching an official playoff spot, his wide smile fades slightly at the sight of you on the bed with your arms folded over your chest. 

“Wh–?”

“Tell me what you whispered to Brady before the game,” you say, a glint in your eye. 

Your boyfriend pauses, reflecting, then smirks when the memory comes back to him. His eyes flick to yours and his eyebrow raises. “You really wanna know?”

A pointed look is your only reply. 

“I told him you still can’t walk today.”

SIMILAR CONTENT:

Sundress Season* Glittery* A Night in Paris*

[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 1 - Dream a Little Dream of Me

Y/N has nightmares of a winged man haunting her dreams. When her dreams become reality, her world changes completely.

(1.3k)

The sound of wings rustling, knife slashing, and faded screams echo all around. The stink of metallic blood and rotting corpses burning my nose. I’m choking on the thick air, and it feels like my chest is caving in as my breathing gets shallower by the second. There's blood everywhere. My eyes widen as my gaze falls on the mangled corpses upon the forest floor, each one twisted and bent in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Rays of moonlight pours through the trees, dancing across their mangled remains like some twisted classical painting.

I sink to the damp forest floor. There’s no escape.

In the blink of an eye, a large ominous figure towers over my shaking form. His short dirty blonde hair and strong hands are covered in fresh blood splatter and pieces of sliced flesh. His striking eyes glow a dark red, reflecting the color of blood painting every surface. But what I truly could not take my eyes off of is his large white wings that block out the view of everything around it. His intimidating wingspan wraps around us like a dark feathery blanket, reminiscent of a night sky with no stars.

        “I promise I will never let anyone hurt you, never let anyone come between us,” he says in a surprisingly soft voice. He flashes me a smile that’s intended to be comforting, but it comes out sick and twisted. He pulls me close and wraps his muscular arms around me, a low buzzing feeling humming between the two of us.

I can hear his heart beating in his chest, slow and steady, far too calm for a man that just slaughtered a dozen people with ease.

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

        I bolt up out of bed, nearly falling off completely, but I catch myself at the last second. A cold sweat clings to my skin and the worn-out sheets, my breath coming in heavy and ragged. It’s not the first time I’ve dreamed of the winged man, in fact it seems to be the only consistent thing in my hectic life as of lately, but waking from the dreams never seems to get easier, always a struggle to shake the sinking feeling.

It takes a few moments to remember where I am, the crappy motel room I rented for the night, not so different from the countless other run-down motels I’ve stayed in across the Midwest, all with the same stingy smell.

Obnoxious yellow floral wallpaper lines the wall, caked with dirt and God knows what else that’s been accumulating for years. Ceilings spotted with black mold and blotchy water stains. An outdated box television plays the local infomercial about some miracle cleaning product, but it all sounds muffled and far away. The digital alarm clock on the bed stand reads 2:00 AM flashing in big red bulky numbers.

        Just a dream, I remind myself with a relieved sigh. I swing my feet out of bed, throwing on some jeans and my signature leather jacket, scuffed and torn in various places. I need some air. Just need to get out of here.

I recall the rundown bar I drove by just down the street. It’s a good way to kill some time. Plus, I could really use a drink right now. The bitter taste of alcohol is the only relief I get from these nightmares that torment me at night and haunt me during the day.

The cold air bites at my skin, but it’s surprisingly pleasant, grounding me back into reality and away from the painful dreams. It's the twelfth dream I’ve had this month and they only seem to be getting more intense, more real. They always end with the same winged figure. The same demonic, yet charming smile. No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to shake that haunting face.

        Entering the bar, it’s nearly empty with a few patrons here and there. Most of them are older men wearing bulky leather jackets, a bit rough around the edges, perhaps a local biker gang. Some of them playing pool, others chatting about their glory days over a bottle of beer. The sound of the jukebox in the corner playing the best of eighties rock drowns out their conversations. It's apparent there’s not much of a buzz going on, unlike most bars at this hour.

The voices and music around me fades to background noise, it feels as if the rest of the world has disappeared, that I'm the only one left on this miserable planet.

I slide into a worn bar stool that’s certainly seen better days, taking off my worn leather jacket and placing it on the sticky wooden bar. I sigh and halfheartedly raise my hand to get the bartender's attention.

“What can I get you, hun?” A nice older lady asks, shining a glass behind the bar.

“Just a whiskey please. Jack Daniels if you got it,” I give her a weak smile, trying to blink the tiredness out of my eyes.

She nods and pours me a generous amount of light amber whiskey in a fancy glass, sliding it over to me.

I take a swig, the warm liquid slides down my throat with a pleasant burn, already giving me a sense of calm. These days, whiskey has been my best friend and I’m okay with that. People just disappoint you.

“Make it two.” A large figure takes the seat next to me.

My body stiffens. I recognize that voice from somewhere. I slowly turn to face him and see him staring back at me with those intense red eyes and intimidating wings that I’ve come to know all too well. My stomach drops. It's the man from my dreams. I freeze, my body going into fight or flight mode. In a matter of seconds, I decided to take my chances running. I leave my drink and jacket behind, making a beeline to the door, slamming it closed behind me, giving me any sort of advantage to get away.

He doesn’t follow, but that doesn’t stop me. I run and run and run until I physically can't anymore.

The streetlamps and apartment buildings around me turn into a blur and my head starts to feel dizzy. The world spins around me, clouding my vision. The cold air feels like it's burning my lungs as I struggle to gather oxygen. My legs feel like jello, ready to give out any second. I’ve lost track of how long I've been running, maybe minutes? Maybe hours? Everything in me is begging myself to keep running but I physically can’t force myself go on any further.

I tuck myself into an alley, leaning against the ragged brick wall that painfully digs into my back, yet it barely registers in my brain. My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath.

God, please let this be another bad dream.

“I was going to pay for your drink, and you just ditch me like that? Rude.” The man scoffs.

My eyes shoot open to see the man from my dreams less than a foot away, arms crossed, looking nonchalant as ever. My blood turns cold.

How is that possible? He couldn't possibly have run that fast!

A knot twists in my stomach. Deep down I know. This man is not human, and he certainly does not have good intentions.

“L-leave me alone!” I try to sound brave, but my words come out a sloppy stutter. I hold my arm out in front of me, as if that will deter him in any way. Stupid. This intimidation tactic is clearly not working.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic Y/N.” He rolls his eyes, then presses a gentle finger to my forehead.

The world goes black.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

[bbq-hawks-wings]

Hawks heart is so good that I have trouble seeing him become a villain. However I think it could have happened in a world where he was never saved and somehow slipped through the cracks. But I also see him as the type of ambitious poor kid determined to get away and make something of himself. The only thing to hold him back would be his weird loyalty to his mom and maybe his dad.

I also find it very hard to see Hawks in any timeline go full evil villain. His empathy would have to be so completely squashed and him taken advantage of so many times to make that happen. If anything, the only villain AU I could see him in is as a villain in name only or someone who operates outside the law but his worst is really only questionable if not justified.

A favorite flavor of that for me is him growing up to be a gang leader, but instead of getting into turf wars, illegal business ventures, etc. he's just more like his neighborhood's guardian whose nasty reputation is really just to keep his section of his city safe, and he only ever gets rough to give his threats teeth for those who feel like challenging him.

[frostmarris]

Ablaze

Yandere!Shisui/Yakuza!Sakura

notes: ok apparently i cant keep things simple. another drabble request that got out of hand.

this is for @lunarlegend11 who requested a yandere or yakuza shisui/sakura but i misread things, realized there was an OR, then went ahead and did both anyways

enjoy!

: :

Shisui wasn't in the habit of getting into strange cars without knowing where he was headed, but when a yakuza thug is the one to step out of a shiny black S-class Mercedes with windows tinted too dark to be legal and orders him to get in, he's not about to argue.

There's another well-dressed man inside and Shisui is forced to slide in next to him, sandwiched between the two stony-faced men when the first joins them inside. He hesitates to ask what's going on or where they're taking him, so he sits quietly and cautiously takes in as much visual information as he can.

The car races down the street and he attempts to keep track of the route without too noticeably looking out the windows, but one of the men shifts, crossing his arms across his chest, and Shisui glances down to see the tattoos peeking out from under his sleeve. His eye is drawn to the thick white outline of a simple circle nestled amongst the rolling waves and twisting tree branches and Shisui sits back, realizing who's car he's in. He's silent the rest of the drive and, before long, the vehicle stops and the door is opened by yet another yakuza. A sharp nudge from the man to his left urges Shisui to exit and he slides out, glancing around as he realizes he's in an underground parking garage.

He's led to an elevator and is taken up to the top floor, all without any sort of explanation. The elevator doors slide open to reveal a lobby of sorts, where a few other men and women are lounging. Some watch him pass by as he's led to the singular door at the end of a short hallway while others pay him little mind, obviously uninterested. 

Shisui stands a little straighter as he realizes he's likely being taken to the boss, his head held high with just enough confidence to not come off as offensive.

The man walking in front of him at the lead opens the door and pushes it in, taking up a spot just to the right as Shisui is ushered in. It's an office, he realizes as he spots the desk at the center back. The lights are rather dim in the room and the chair behind the desk is empty, but he hears the sound of a page turning and looks to his left to see a woman sitting in a comfortable armchair. The lamp situated just behind her is giving off the most light and she sits with one leg crossed over the other, a file folder propped up on her knee. There's a small side table to her right with a short stack of documents situated next to a steaming mug, which she takes a delicate sip from as the door is shut behind Shisui and the two guards bar his exit.

But he can't tear his gaze away from the woman, silent as he takes in her appearance.

She's wearing a sleek black suit - obviously custom made as it fits her perfectly - with ruby cufflinks and a simple white circle outline pinned to the left lapel. The jacket is open and the top four buttons of the crisp white shirt underneath are undone, the fabric parted just enough to let a few of the tattoos around her collarbone peek out. Her hair - a darker, almost orange-ish pink under the yellow light of the lamp - is pulled up in a topknot with bangs, center-parted, framing her face. There's a simple purple diamond tattooed on the center of her forehead and her ears are pierced, simple diamond studs on each lobe.

Her eyeliner is winged, her lips painted red, and she doesn't look up from the document she's reading as she addresses him.

"Uchiha Shisui, yes?"

Her voice is softer than he'd been expecting and Shisui hesitates for too long, still staring wide-eyed at the woman.

"Answer Haruno-sama," One of the guards behind him grunts as he pushes him forward to stop just a few feet in front of her, obviously irritated with his lack of a response. The gruff voice and the confirmation of what family he was speaking to pulls Shisui from his stupor and he stands just a little straighter before he bows politely, trying to keep his tone even.

"Yes, that's me."

She nods, the light catching off the cherry blossom charm dangling from the ornamental pin in her hair, and flips the page over, grabbing a fountain pen from the side table. Her hand moves with a quick flick as she scratches a line through something on the paper and the room is silent besides the soft jazz music playing from an antique record player in the corner.

Shisui nearly jumps when she speaks again.

"You're the owner and executive chef of Restaurant Moeruki," She says, pausing for just a moment before her eyes finally cut up to him, looking at him for the first time since he'd arrived. He's rather startled by the intense green of her eyes but he catches himself before he can grow too distracted when she continues. "Correct?"

"Yes," He answers, almost unsurely. He has no clue what interests the yakuza have in his restaurant, but it definitely couldn't be good.

"Excellent!" She says, turning slightly to actually face him and her lips lifting with a slight smile.

(Shisui doesn't understand why seeing her so pleased makes his heart pound.)

She maintains that even smile as she speaks, propping one elbow on the armrest and the other on her thigh as she laces her fingers together.

"On March 28th, two weeks from now, you will close your dining room to the general public and host a banquet for myself and my family."

It's neither a request nor a demand - its a proclamation. One that leaves Shisui feeling shell-shocked.

"W-what?" He asks before he can stop himself, instantly regretting it when her smile falls slightly.

One of the guards behind him seems to take offense to him questioning his boss and the back of one of Shisui's knees is kicked in - not enough to injure him but enough to drop him to the floor with a surprised grunt.

The pink-haired woman clicks her tongue and sends the guard a disapproving look over Shisui's shoulder. The man bows his head and offers her an apology before taking up his spot next to the door again. She sits back, both of her arms laying on the armrests, and moves her crossed leg to catch the toe of her leather, stiletto-heeled boot under his chin. Shisui's head is tilted up and he's left in his kneeling position in front of her, that smile appearing on her face again.

Her boot lowers and she uncrosses her legs to stand, gesturing for Shisui to do so as well before she moves towards her desk. He stands, unable to tear his gaze away, and turns to watch her as she leans against a corner of the mahogany desk and crosses her arms over her chest, practically sitting on the tabletop.

"As I was saying," She continues, her gaze still on him. "March 28th. I've heard a fair deal of good things about Moeruki and wish to celebrate my birthday in your restaurant."

Shisui resists the urge to glance back at the man who had kicked him and bows, recovering much quicker than earlier with his response.

"I would be honored, Haruno-sama."

Her smile widens and she nods to one of the guards who then slips out of the room. As the door closes, she pushes off of the corner of the desk and moves around it to take her seat in a plush office chair, pulling a document towards her.

"As it will be a private event, your establishment will need to be closed to its regular patrons," She looks down - he immediately misses her gaze on him - and grabs a pen, writing something down as she continues. "But don't fret, Uchiha-kun. It will still be a full house and you will be paid handsomely for your hospitality."

She pauses to search through a drawer to her left and soon straightens with a small black business card in hand, a phone number printed in silver on one side and the Haruno family insignia on the other.

"My… event coordinator will be in contact with you to assist in booking entertainment and to pick out the courses for the dinner." She doesn't look up from the paper she's still writing on, the card caught between her fore and middle finger as she holds it out to him. "Your menu is one of the highlights of your restaurant so I wish to sample from it - with just a few additions."

Shisui reaches out to take the card, his knuckle just barely brushing her fingertip, and nods, inwardly trying not to imagine what sort of 'events' a mafia gang would need a coordinator for.

The door opens behind him and the guard returns, holding a thick envelope and a mobile phone. Her pen pauses and she looks up at Shisui as he's handed both, realizing the cellphone is likely a burner phone for contacting her coordinator.

He's suddenly aware of how her looking at him fills his chest with a pleased, warm feeling.

"Half of your payment now, half on the 29th," She nods to the heavy envelope, the weight of the cash inside the final piece of proof that this was really happening, and leans back in her chair, crossing her legs again as she maintains that easy smile and intense gaze. "Should my birthday celebration be a success, you will see a surge in business - this I can assure you, Uchiha-kun."

Shisui clutches the envelope, phone, and business card in a tight grip and bows once more, torn between apprehension and excitement.

"I look forward to serving you, Haruno-sama. Thank you for this opportunity."

: : 

Haruno Sakura.

Haruno Sakura.

Haruno Sakura.

Haruno Sakura.

The name repeats over and over in Shisui's mind over the next two weeks.

He can't get her out of his head - that smile, the sound of her voice, those eyes - even despite the fact that one wrong move would likely lead to his death. 

His staff are understandably distressed when he announces the banquet they'll be hosting in her honor, but they work diligently to make sure everything is prepared for the night to go off without a hitch. With all of the food and supplies ordered and the musicians booked, Restaurant Moeruki closes a day early to decorate the dining room according to the 'event coordinator's' direction. One of the private party rooms is spruced up even more so for the guest of honor and her entourage and Shisui elects to prepare their dishes himself. He's meticulous with the menu, looks over every detail of the decor personally, gives the pep talk of the century to his kitchen and waitstaff, and, by the day of Haruno Sakura's birthday, he's feeling confident that the evening will be a success.

The entire restaurant staff is waiting in the lobby to welcome their guests, with Shisui standing at the head of the lineup, his heart in his throat as she walks in.

Her pink hair is pulled up in an intricate bun, a flowering hairpin with dangling gems and charms tucked in on the left side, and, when she turns her head to speak to the woman at her arm, Shisui can see the detailed mandala design etched into her undercut at her nape. Her makeup is rather delicate but her lips are still blood red, parting as she laughs as she passes him by and enters the restaurant. 

She's dressed in a spring yukata, the base fabric a simple organic design of pale greens and blues with falling cherry blossoms, the same shade as her hair, scattered over the bottom half and sleeves. The obi is a darker shade of pink and doesn't reach as high up her abdomen as traditionally. The charms hanging from the mint green cord tied around the middle of the obi jingle and dance with every step and Shisui nearly forgets himself as he watches her walk through the doors leading inside.

With a hushed voice he quickly reminds his staff to be careful yet polite and moves to escort Sakura and her entourage to their private dining room, doing his utmost to get her to look at and acknowledge him.

Once they're situated and drinks are quickly brought in, the music from the band easily reaching the room through the closed rice-paper door, Shisui excuses himself to head to the kitchen.

He returns, some minutes later, with the first course to personally send off the start of her meal, but is soon trapped in the kitchen as he oversees the rest of the meal. His only knowledge of what's happening in the restaurant and, specifically, the private room, is through reports from the waitstaff, who aren't sure whether to be relieved or more nervous the more the yakuza members drink.

Finally, as the banquet approaches its end, Shisui returns to present dessert and see her again for the first time in hours. 

Her gaze passes right over him but lights up at the sight of the cake he'd hired a professional pastry chef to create and Shisui stays to play host, making sure that all of Sakura's needs are met.

Later in the evening, when the cake is gone and most of the lower subordinates are either drunkenly dozing or too engrossed in their own conversations to remember they're not at their headquarters, Shisui feels the oddest feeling begin to burn in his chest.

He's stood at attention with his other head host just next to the sliding door, at the ready for any of the special guests to make any manner of request. He tries to keep his gaze down respectfully, idly listening to the entourage's drunken conversation, but can't pull his attention away from her.

Sakura's face is flushed from the alcohol (he's lost track of how many bottles of sake and liquor they'd gone through) and she's pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her yukata, the fabric laying loosely around her waist, to combat the warmth of the room. The flush to her skin extends down her bare chest, her breasts uncovered and the tattoos over her shoulders and ribs exposed, but she is entirely unbothered by her partial nudity. She exudes an air of confidence that permeates the room, as comfortable in her bare skin as she would be with a shirt and jacket.

Her arms are strong and lean and the muscles of her shoulders and back are well-defined with her every move, though he only sees them when she turns or twists around. Shisui finds his gaze traveling from the head of the dragon curved over her right shoulder all the way down to where the tail appears across her left ribs. The remaining body of the dragon is tattooed across her back and, while her skin isn't as decorated as older bosses, he's sure that in a few years she'd have a multitude of new tattoos covering her arms and torso, with that traditional strip of unmarked skin running down the center of her body.

Shisui continues to watch her, taking in every detail as their conversation seems to fade out and all of the voices muddle together-

Until suddenly Sakura is laughing and his heart both clenches and soars.

It soars because her laugh is one of the most lovely things he's ever heard, almost bringing a reflexive smile to his own face.

But it clenches as she turns to the red-haired woman at her side, Sakura's arm around her waist as the unknown woman sits on her thigh, practically in her lap. The redhead, dressed in an expensive-looking velvet dress, says something that makes her laugh again but the words don't register in Shisui's mind - he's too focused, too lost, as Sakura catches the woman's chin between her thumb and forefinger, pulls her closer by the arm around her waist, and leans in, that intense green gaze centered entirely on her and not on him, not on him, why won't she look at him-

Sakura kisses the red-haired woman deeply and Shisui doesn't realize his hands have curled into tight fists at his side until the other host nudges his arm, his gaze full of confusion and concern. 

Shisui is snapped out of his daze and glances to his employee, trying not to flinch when he quickly unclenches his hands and feels how close he'd come to making his fingernails cut into his palm. He puts on a reassuring smile that's dripping with lies and relaxes his stance, inwardly relieved that her lieutenant and the four other yakuza ranked directly under her right hand man hadn't noticed how intensely he'd been watching Sakura. 

(His chest is aching, burning and tight and full of an anger he doesn't understand, fire caught in his throat and smoke in his lungs and the image of her kissing someone else - someone who wasn't him, why did he wish he was in her place why did his chest burn burn burn - replaying over and over in his mind.)

The laughter and drunken conversation continues for a while, with staff members coming and going with requests from the main party, until, finally, everything seems to wind down and it's apparent that the Haruno yakuza are ready to head home.

"Uchiha-kun."

Shisui looks up at the sound of her voice, in the middle of speaking quietly with one of his head waiters but quickly dropping the conversation to focus on Sakura. She beckons him with a curled finger, one arm in a yukata sleeve and the other still bare, and her gaze heavy from the alcohol and merrymaking.

"Come, sit with me for a moment," She commands, nodding to the empty cushion to her left. She's sitting with one leg crossed and the other propped up, her clothed arm resting on her raised knee while the red-haired woman lays next to her, her head on her thigh and her hair spilling into Sakura's lap. The yakuza boss wears the redhead's discarded glasses, perched on top of her head like a pair of shades, and sends Shisui a friendly smile as he kneels on the cushion.

"My compliments to you and your staff for this evening," Sakura says, her attention finally, finally focused entirely on Shisui (even though she's idly combing her fingers through her sleeping companion's red tresses) and he sends her an easy-going smile that completely belies the fire still burning in his chest and the crescent indents in his palms.

"I'm glad you've enjoyed yourself, Haruno-sama," Shisui replies smoothly, his head bowing so that he could force his gaze away from those red lips. "It's been an honor to serve you - and a bigger honor still to host your birthday celebration."

She laughs and he has to stop himself from looking up at her too suddenly, the ache in his chest waning at the sound of her joy and the sight of her eyes only on him.

"You're welcome back to the Restaurant Moeruki anytime, Haruno-sama."

(He so desperately wants to say her name, wants to say it aloud and taste it on his tongue and feel the breath he would use for the single word as it leaves his lungs, leaving behind a sacred emptiness because nothing could possibly fill the space.)

Her smile widens and his heart soars - only to crash yet again as she gathers the sleeping redhead in her arms and moves to stand, lifting and carrying the woman with ease. Shisui quickly stands as well, stepping aside as she heads towards the door of the private room, her subordinates filing out with tired yawns and a few drunken laughs.

"We will certainly be returning," Sakura says, turning to look at Shisui once more, "That, you can be assured of, Uchiha-kun."

She refocuses her attention on the woman in her arms and that ache returns as Shisui is forced to watch her softly mutter something in the redhead's ear, those red lips curved in a gentle smile when the woman shifts, rests her head in the crook of Sakura's neck, and drapes an arm over her clothed shoulder. 

Sakura presses a kiss against the corner of her jaw as she turns away and Shisui feels something warm and wet drip down his fingers, belatedly realizing he'd clenched his hands into fists again.

He hides his bloody palms as he escorts the woman whose smile he desires more than anything ever before out through his restaurant, the flames growing in his chest contained behind a friendly facade with his lips sealed and a silent voice screaming in his lungs.

: :

Just as Sakura had promised, the restaurant sees a huge increase in business over the following month as they become one of the most popular establishments in the city. It's both a blessing and a curse - the surge in traffic brings in more money and opportunities while the looming presence of the yakuza leaves everyone on edge.

She returns thrice more that first month, reservations for herself and the higher ranking members always called in in advance and a few instructions given beforehand on whether they'd be making any special requests - such as off-menu dishes or what sort of music they wanted booked for the evening.

Shisui fortunately never has to close the entire restaurant again like he had for Sakura's birthday, but one of the private dining rooms quickly becomes reserved specifically for her party. The staff knows better than to ever take other guests into it - even when the restaurant is fully booked - just on the off chance that the Haruno family drops by unexpectedly for an impromptu dinner.

He always greets her at the door when she arrives with her entourage, always insists on preparing her meals himself, always checks in after the last dish is served, and always is the one to escort her out at the end of the evening. 

He rarely has her undivided attention during her visits, no matter how desperately he craves it, until, at the end of her fourth meal at Moeruki, Sakura calls for him personally.

She's seated at the head of the table, like always, but the cushions at her right and left are vacant as the redhead and her first lieutenant are in the midst of a karaoke battle at the other side of the room. Most of the other men and women of the party are focused on cheering along but a few remain at the table, chatting with each other.

Sakura sits with her legs tucked neatly under her, dressed in a beautiful black kimono with a design of spider lily flowers cascading down from one of her shoulders, starting out white but becoming blood red by the time they reach the bottom hem. Her silver obi has an intricate geometric pattern and the other layers of her outfit provide red and white accents, matching the sparkling headpiece pinned into her pink hair, which is pulled up high on her head.

In front of her is a sake bottle and a single cup and she gestures for him to sit to her left when he enters, the other yakuza paying him little mind.

Her lips are a darker shade of red than usual and Shisui nearly misses her words when she speaks after he's taken his place beside her, too focused on how desperately he wishes he could feel them against his own and taste her laugh.

"-ve greatly enjoyed my meals here, Uchiha-kun," Sakura says, her gaze not on him as she carefully pours sake into the single cup. "And i would like to make my dining in Restaurant Moeruki a regular occurrence."

Her eyes cut up to him suddenly, intense and heavy as she looks at Shisui from under her lashes. His heart leaps to his throat and that now ever-present ache is lessened, the roaring fire calmed by her attention.

"If you find that agreeable," Sakura continues, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a delicate sip.

"Of course," Shisui answers, without hesitation. The music is still playing but he doesn't hear anyone singing, but he can't - doesn't want to - tear his gaze away from her own for even a moment. "It is a privilege to serve you, Haruno-sama-"

(Sakura, Sakura, Sakura -)

"-and we would be honored to continue doing so."

Her lips curl into that smile that he covets and the hand holding the sake cup moves towards him, offering it to Shisui. He takes the small glass, his fingers brushing her own, and can see where her lips had met the rim, a red mark left behind from her lipstick.

Had she not been scrutinizing him so closely, he likely would have turned the cup to press his lips where hers had been, an indirect kiss that would leave his lips tingling from the ghost of her presence.

But he doesn't turn the cup and simply brings it to his mouth as-is, suddenly realizing what was happening.

An informal sakazuki-goto - a pledge of loyalty.

Shisui drinks slowly, hoping it doesn't come off as hesitation, and sets the cup down, belatedly realizing that the other occupants of the room had laid witness to him pledging himself to the Haruno family.

Sakura smiles, chuckles, and reaches out to catch his chin between her forefinger and thumb once the entourage have returned their attention to the karaoke match. He's caught by surprise as she pulls him closer, his heartbeat drowning out his thoughts when she leans forward and closes her eyes.

Her lips press against just the corner of his mouth in a teasing kiss and Shisui is both ecstatic and distraught, so close to tasting her but finally receiving even the barest of skin contact from this beautiful, disastrous woman.

The fire in his chest bursts and crackles and the smoke in his lungs coil and smothers his breaths and he wants more than anything to turn his head to steal a proper kiss- to reach out an arm and curl it around her waist- to pull her flush to his chest and thread his fingers through her pink hair and kiss her as deeply as he does in his dreams and feel her body against his own and whisper in her ear just how desperately he craves her and and and-

But he controls himself, knowing such an action would likely lead to his death right here, right now, and pulls away only when she releases him, the corner of his mouth tingling.

His heart yearns and his chest aches and his blood boils when she turns away and he's dismissed, horrified to find that her kiss had been too light to even leave the slightest red mark behind.

: :

Shisui stands there next to the door to the walk-in, half hidden behind a tall rack of supplies and the table linens, to see one of the head waiters at the back exit just down the hall, the door propped open enough for him to see the younger man pass a key to a stranger in black.

It's late, late in the evening, the restaurant already closed and the guests and most of the staff all headed home and Shisui stares for a good long while, taking in the man's sunglasses and the sleeve of tattoos peeking out from under his jacket. They're speaking, but Shisui can't hear the words being exchanged, and the waiter turns to head back inside when the man pockets the key and leaves, looking nervous but pleased with with himself as he closes the back door.

His expression falls, however, when he sees Shisui standing there, his face paling slightly as his eyes go wide.

"U-uchiha-san! How… how long have you been there?"

Shisui steps closer, a heavy pit in his stomach as he approaches his staff member.

"What just happened?" Shisui asks, his voice soft and his tone calm even though he can feel something beginning to bubble inside him. "Who was that man? What was that key you gave him?"

The waiter looks more and more nervous with each question and he forces a shaky laugh, trying to play it all off, but then his eyes meet Shisui's intense gaze and he cracks, wringing his hands as he makes himself small.

"I-I'm just trying to help the restaurant! Trying to help you, sir!"

Shisui tilts his head and smiles his easy-going smile, resting his hands on his hips as he blocks the waiter' path.

"Trying to help me how?"

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder before refocusing on his face, sweat starting to bead on the man's forehead.

"E-ever since the yakuza- ever since they showed up, everything's been different," He insists, unsettled by Shisui's friendly expression. "Th-the staff- they act like things are okay now, b-but I know they're still nervous- still scared that one wrong move means they'll be shot or butchered."

"Haruno-sama and her affiliates' patronage to Restaurant Moeruki has brought us nothing but success and good business," Shisui responds evenly, his fingers twitching slightly.

The waiter's distress visibly increases and he shakes his head, starting to grow angry.

"N-no! It's their fault- her fault!" He steps forward, his expression somewhere between hopeful and frustrated. "You don't have to act like that, Uchiha-san! They're not here to see - I know you feel the same! We're trapped like rats, too afraid to even breathe, and it's all because of that damn woman."

The corner of Shisui's lip twitches and the friendly look on his face falls, his voice taking a warning tone.

"You shouldn't speak ill of our guests."

"She's not a guest!" The waiter says, reaching up to clutch his head as he turns around in anger, pacing as much as he can at the end of the hall. "Don't you see?! She's a viper that's going to have us all killed if she doesn't get her way! She's a monster with a pretty face! That's why-"

Each insult to Sakura makes Shisui's blood boil hotter and hotter, lava in his veins and smoldering ash in his lungs as he takes another step forward, pausing when the waiter cuts himself off.

"That's why, what? " Shisui asks gently, filled with anger on behalf of the dazzling, otherworldly woman he thinks about night and day.

It's been just over three months since her birthday and her visits come regularly, just as she said they would. She dines at Moeruki at least every two weeks, always in her private room with her party of high ranking subordinates and a few close companions. Over time, Shisui began to become a familiar sight amongst them, always joining them after their meal and growing closer and closer to Sakura.

He still coveted her gaze and her smile but each time he was the cause of her laugh or kept her attention centered on him as he told an amusing story, his heart filled with a joy that was almost painful. So close yet still so far from her, he would be patient and do all he could to earn her favor, to have her look only at him- smile only at him- love only him-

"-ith her gone, things will go back to normal!"

Shisui's attention snapped back to the waiter, a dark look on his eyes.

The man boldly continues, hoping to help his employer see reason.

"That's why I gave them the key. They'll come in through the back, quietly take her and those disgusting thugs out, and then everything will be fine again!" He reaches out to grip the front of Shisui's jacket, his knuckle white as he clenches the fabric in his fists. "We won't have to be afraid anymore!"

Shisui takes a slow, deep breath, his expression calm despite the rage behind his gaze.

"When that horrible woman is dead, everything will go back to normal and everything will be fine and-"

Shisui doesn't notice when his hand drops to the belt around his waist to remove one of his well-used knives from its holster - he's barely even aware when he plunges the blade into the waiters chest, his other hand raising to cover his mouth as he forces him backwards against the locked door.

All he feels is fire and anger and he stares down at the man as his face grows pale and he slides down, weakly grasping the front of Shisui's shirt as blood as red as her lips drips past his hand and down the waiter's chin. 

Shisui smoothly removes his knife and stabs it into his abdomen again and again, his sleeves stained red and something wet splattering on his face and his hands moving on their own because this fool had dared to wish her dead.

There were many mistakes Shisui could look past, but threatening her - with her beautiful eyes and beautiful smile and beautiful laugh and all the power to make Shisui drop to his knees and pledge his life to her, if just for the privilege to feel her lips against his own for a fleeting moment - was not something he could forgive.

When he finally stood, Shisui looked down at the bloody body collapsed on the ground with neither panic nor guilt. There was no rush of adrenaline coursing through him or fear of what he'd just done - only a receding anger that gave way to a calm, his gaze calculating as he looks at the bloody knife in his hand.

Killing had been easy - easier than he ever imagined - and it was likely due to how dearly the fool had deserved it.

Shisui's eyebrows furrow and he cleans his knife off on his ruined jacket, his thoughts wonderfully calm. He lets out a breath, all the rage and fire and smoke inside him finally escaping for the first time ever without the aid of Sakura's smile and Sakura’s laugh and Sakura’s attention and Sakura’s-

Sakura.

He turns and there she is, leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest and her surprised gaze on the crumpled body behind Shisui. He stands there, frozen in place, and stares at her, mentally urging her to move her gaze to him and away from the trash that doesn't deserve even a second of her attention.

She looks up at Shisui finally, finally, and smiles a calm smile that maybe doesn't fully understand what just happened.

"I'm glad to see that you're taking your place in the family seriously, Shisui-kun."

And she doesn't. She doesn't understand that he couldn't care less about the 'family'- doesn't understand how he would go to the ends of the earth for her, would fulfill her every wish and command, would kill and slaughter and destroy anything and everything all for her-

And that's okay. It's okay that she doesn't understand yet.

Because hearing her say his name, hearing her reserve a breath just for him, hearing her speak his given name for the first time since their very first meeting fills him with such an intense wave of cooling, refreshing joy - putting out those flames and clearing the smoke and tenderly kissing away the ache in his chest until his heart is soaring too high for anything to bring it crashing down.

Shisui slips his knife back into its holster and rubs the back of his head, ruffling his messy curls as he lets out a sheepish laugh and approaches her.

"I apologize for my employee's rash actions, Haruno-sama," Shisui says, smiling that friendly smile as he gazes at her with a love she doesn't understand yet. "It won't happen again."

She smiles up at him and they walk through the empty kitchen, him just a step behind her at her side. 

"I'm sure it won't." Comes her voice, directed at him even though she's facing away. "I'll have the mess taken care of."

She pauses and glances back at him and his heart pounds like a schoolboy faced with his childhood crush.

"You can call me Sakura, Shisui-kun."

And his heart bursts in his chest, exploding as it overfills with more love and joy than the cosmos can hold - hidden behind his calm smile and his friendly eyes as he bows his head politely, wiping a drop of blood off of his cheek with his thumb.

"Thank you, Sakura-sama."

[fallout-fallen-knight]

Meet My OCs masterpost!

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these and I’ve gotten a lot of new followers and several new OCs in that time. Enough now that I should probably put them under a read more. OCs are divided up by main setting that they fall under - even though all my Fallout content takes place in its own ‘verse (distinct from the canon Fallout verse in that there are horses, among other differences), the various coasts tend to be pretty separate. Without further ado:

Fallen Knight

Fallen Knight is a longform fic that is currently and irregularly updating. It takes place in the Commonwealth in 2287-2289, featuring a mix of canon characters (often modified to my own convenience) and OCs. It can be found here. 

Christopher Farris, aka the Fallen Knight (Lone Wanderer)

[image ID: a drawing of Christopher Farris by @scarecrow-forest​. He is a white, blond man wearing a baseball cap, a green shirt, and a long tan vest. He is holding a baseball bat and has a pip-boy on his arm. End ID]

Christopher is my lone wanderer that I ported to Fallout 4. He is (currently) a Brotherhood of Steel Knight alongside Paladin Danse. He is the main character of Fallout: Fallen Knight. He has a strong moral compass and idolizes the knightly ideas of protecting the weak and confronting the strong. Content for him on my blog can be found at #fallen knight. 

Kristine Finch, Minuteman General

[image ID: a screenshot from Fallout 4 of Kristine Finch. She is a light-skinned woman in a blue shirt and tan jacket, with a cowboy-like hat. She is standing in front of a ramshackle wooden building with a neon sign that says “Minuteman HQ”. End ID]

Kristine is my Minuteman OC and the General of the Minutemen. Under her leadership, they have worked to make the commonwealth safer by uniting various settlements to exchange resources and provide mutual defense. She has also published the Minuteman Guide To Commonwealth Travel, also known as the Blue Book, a handy pamphlet for settlers and traders making their way across the Commonwealth. Content for her can be found at #one if by land.

Thomas “The Trigger” Calvani

[image ID: a screenshot from Fallout 4 of Thomas Calvani. He is a white, brown-haired man in road leathers with various leather armor layered over it. He wears a pair of reflective aviator sunglasses and a green bandana covering his face. He is standing in front of power armor with flames painted on it. End ID]

Thomas Calvani is a ne’er-do-well from the Atom Cats who has somehow managed to continuously fall upwards, somehow culminating with him as the Overboss of the Nuka World raiders after trying to go to Nuka World with MacCready and Cait. Content for him can be found at #tales from the commonwealth.

Greetings from Appalachia

Hector Sanchez (Reclaimer)

[image ID: a Vault Tec ID card from Fallout 76. It belongs to Hector Sanchez, a latine man with brown hair, a Vault 76 jumpsuit, and a van dyke beard. He is smiling and giving a thumbs up to the camera. End ID]

Hector Sanchez is an amateur cryptid hunter from Vault 76. Raised in the vault on his mother’s stories of cryptids before the war, he left the vault with his best friend Hazel in search of cryptids to find. Content for him can be found at #greetings from appalachia.

Fallout: Brave New World

Brave New World is a collection of various OCs who end up in the Mojave wasteland at the same time, in around 2289 or so. While no unifying narrative yet exists, I am planning some ficlets/short form fic around these OCs. 

Ace (Courier 6)

[image ID: a screenshot from Fallout: New Vegas of Ace. He is a latine man with an eyepatch, a black cowboy hat, and a black leather coat over blue jeans, with several belts and bandoliers. He is standing in front of Dinky the Dinosaur and pointing a gun off screen. End ID]

Ace is my courier, and a member of the Great Khans. Still a teenager when Bitter Springs happened, he was separated from the rest of the Khans and spent his remaining teenage years doing odd jobs around the Mojave and avoiding the encroaching NCR, culminating in a fateful job for the Mojave Express. He now finds himself down one eye, hunting the Mojave for Benny and the platinum chip. Content for him can be found at #ace in the hole.

Sophia Mobius

[image ID: a screenshot of Fallout: New Vegas of Sophia Mobius. She is a white woman with white hair and round, cat-eye glasses. She is wearing a red labcoat and has the holorifle strapped to her back. End ID]

Sophia is a Followers medic turned disciple of Doctor Mobius after a chance encounter with a crashed satellite sent her to the Big MT. She later traveled to the Sierra Madre casino with Arcade and Veronica to hunt down and stop Father Elijah. She is now working with the Veronica and Christine to convince Brotherhood members to leave, smuggling out technology if possible, to assist the Followers of the Apocalypse. Content for her can be found at #followers of mobius

Martin Goldberg aka the Silver Canary (Reclaimer)

[image ID: a drawing of Martin Goldberg and Emmerane Black, aka the Silver Canary and Coal Black, by @rotarydials​. Martin is a dark skinned man with silver hair and a beard. He is dressed in the Silver Shroud’s outfit - a black and gray trenchcoat and fedora with a silver scarf. He carries a submachine gun, which he is pointing off camera. Emmerane is a white woman with short black hair. She has black goggles and a black cloak over a white shirt and red vest. She is doing air-guitar motions. They both have pip-boys. End ID]

Martin Goldberg, known better as the Silver Canary, was a pre-war vigilante and the inspiration for the Silver Shroud. As a staunch anti-fascist and anti-capitalist, he had several encounters with the movers and shakers of American industry, notably Robert House, whose suite Martin broke into while he was visiting a West Virginia plant. Upon learning about Vault-Tec’s plans for Vault 76, he broke into Vault Tec University, changing the list of vault residents to a list of random West Virginia citizens, as well as himself. 

While in the Vault, Emmerane Black, a moody young woman born in the vault, declared herself his nemesis. When they left the vault in 2102, he learned of this, and instead decided to take her under his wing, forcibly adopting the young supervillain. Though they clashed often at first, they quickly found they had more in common than they realized, and soon teamed up to take on certain targets - most notably the Brotherhood of Steel. 

At some point in the following years, both Martin and Emmerane ghoulified, and in the late 2200s, Martin traveled west, to find his old nemesis, Robert House. He now haunts the areas around Vegas, a mysterious spectre doling out justice to the wicked. Content for Martin and Emmerane can be found at #the silver canary and coal black. Emmerane belongs to @corsairesix

Caroline Keene, Ranger of the Wastes

[image ID: a screenshot from HeroForge of a black ghoul woman with short braids. She is wearing a cowboy hat, long duster, cowboy boots, and a shirt and pants that are all brown with tan accents. She has a revolver and a knife strapped to her hip and a repeater on her back. She is offering a hammered tin cup to the “camera”. End ID]

Caroline Keene was a park ranger in a firewatch tower in Monongahela National Forest when the bombs fell. After a few days of quiet introspection, her and some of her fellow rangers agreed to make their way to the nearest town to find survivors, slowly making their way to Flatwoods and then Morgantown to join the Responders. 

After helping the Responders stabilize Appalachia in the wake of the Great War and faction infighting that followed, Caroline traveled west, continuing to help out those in need as he crossed the country that had once been America. During this time, she began to ghoulify; though initially and understandably distraught, a community of ghouls in what was once Texas helped her to accept her condition. Upon arriving in the Mojave, she found that her reputation as the “Ranger of the Wastes” preceded her, and she was recruited by the desert rangers, though she left again when they were incorporated with the NCR. Now, she has settled in the Mojave, starting a brahmin and bighorner ranch with her partners, and helping shelter, teach, and raise lost and disaffected youth in the Mojave. Content for her can be found at #ranger of the wastes

The King of the Road (Chosen One)

[image ID: a screenshot of Heroforge of a dark skinned ghoul in a black suit. He has a red tie and a red cape, and is wearing round glasses and an opulent crown. He carries a spear and has a holstered revolver on his hip. Near his feet is a pile of coins and a gray cat, ready to pounce. End ID]

The King of the Road was once the Chosen One of Arroyo, but became disatisfied with the duties of ruling and the pressures of being the tribe’s chosen one. In 2244, he left Arroyo, wandering New California as a drifter. He abanoned his name and title, choosing instead to take the name of the King of the Road as his renown as a drifter grew. He ghoulified due to his exposure to radiation over the years, but took to the change rather well. He continued to travel the roads of New California, eventually finding his way to the Mojave wasteland as the NCR did. Content for him can be found at #king of the road (when I make it).

Angelia King

[image ID: a Heroforge mini of a white woman seated on a white horse. She is wearing a tan jacket over a brown chest piece, chaps, and tan cowboy boots. She has a red bandana around her neck and several belts around her waist, one of which holds a holstered pistol. Her left eye is covered by an eyepatch and there is dark makeup around both of her eyes. She has short dyed blonde and red hair that is shaved on one side. She is brandishing a rifle towards the camera and there is a sawed-off shotgun on her back. End ID]

Angelina King, the leader of the Nightstalkers, a gang in the Mojave in 2289. When Ace drives the NCR out of the Mojave, she at first believes that she will be allowed to operate with relative impunity; however, when the NCR supply trains stop coming from the west (no longer needing to fight a war that has been lost), she starts hitting caravans first and then larger settlements, carving her way across the Mojave towards New Vegas. Content for her can be found at #the nightstalkers strike again.

Other OCs

Hannah Alton

[image ID: a screenshot from Heroforge of a white woman wearing a forest green cloak. She has a brown cloth wrapped around her chest and blue jeans on. She has a quiver of crossbow bolts on her hip and is holding a crossbow. She has red hair and several piercings. End ID]

Hannah Alton is my PC for our Fallout: New Orleans campaign run by and using the PBTA hack Powered by the Nuclear Apocalypse made by @corsairesix. Hannah is a “raider” from a gang called the Robbin’ Hoods, a gang dedicated to stealing from New Orleans’ ghoul aristocrats and redistributing their wealth to the town they’re based in. Content for her can e found on #fallout New Orleans and #powered by the nuclear apocalypse

[johobi]

The Devil In His Details

Word count: 9.2k

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, drug mentions, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), assplay, prostate milking, edging

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686617

A/N: So this was supposed to be 1k words long for an anon that requested bad boy!Jimin in a drabble prompt game. Clearly that didn’t happen. I hope you enjoy it more than I did editing lkfjwalkjf.

Evil comes in many forms. In this instance, it’s a 5′8″ pretty-boy with an even prettier dick. And you’re the form you want him to come in.

Park Jimin.

A slender, regal nose. Two sly eyes that mellow with laughter. A white smile with just the one, imperfect tooth. Cheeks you'd find on a cherub's face, but a jawline hewn with the devil's input.

Everything about his face is an infuriating dichotomy of soft and sharp. And, God, his lips. Full, unfairly alluring, and begging to be kissed. But this is not a man who does much of that. Begging, that is. Kissing? Oh, he does a lot of that. It doesn't extend to you, though, no matter how much you wish it did.

Jimin is the object of your latest fixation. Well. You may say latest, but in reality you've been harbouring something hot and nasty for this guy for most of the academic year. To the faces of your friends, you blame the heartbreak inflicted by your ex-boyfriend. The thing is, you've been over him for months. Without that as a plausible explanation for your misguided crush, though, you have little to offer in substitution. Jimin isn't the type of guy any sensible, law-abiding girl should be cranking her Rabbit up for. Sure, he's so beautiful that his face can cleanse troubled minds. But he’s flying so many red flags it's like swimming in shark-infested waters.

He manspreads across from you in the campus square, leather jacket and black jeans lacquering his body and a cigarette dwindling limply between his lips. A smile occupies his mouth and eyes, the latter until they're mere, charming slits. You find yourself smiling, too. Oh, God. Get yourself together, ____. Fucking infatuated idiot.

You should know better. Jimin is aposematic with his lurid, magenta hair. He's a beacon of rebellion amidst the drab of campus conformation. And, yeah, maybe he looks cool because of that.

But he’s nothing but trouble.

A criminal.

You don't know the extent of his many and varied illegal activities, but you do know that you'd be an idiot to ever involve yourself with him. The lesser of his crimes begin with him not even being enrolled at the very university he utilises as his base of operations. And nor is he shooed away for his overt disregard for campus rules - and, generally, the law - because security lives snugly in his weed-stuffed back pocket. Yep, he's a dealer. Street racer. Brawler. You don't know how many times you've been torn from sleep by his gang's maniacal laughter as they rough up a rival, less attractive one.

He's also a heartbreaker.

And as ridiculous as it is, that's the thing that gives you most reason for pause. Not the drug-peddling, not the violence, but because you're in so deep you want to be sharkbitten. Consumed, bone for bone.

But he never looks your way. Ever. You're not so much a Plain Jane, you don't think, but desperately shy. Especially where your heart's involved. It forgets its function when confronted with someone you like. You take care of your appearance. You've had a few, long-term boyfriends. But whenever you're dumped back at Square One: Single, you're as hopeless in romance as you are in cooking. And all the cuisine you can conjure involves a microwave.

Scenarios of seduction circulate your mind as you ogle him from afar, your thoroughly bitten lip again between your teeth. If only you possessed the confidence your best friend insisted lay latent within you. It would be nothing to strut up to him now and toss your phone into his lap, arms crossed and an expectant smirk curling your mouth. "Gonna give me your number, or what?" you'd sigh - exasperated for the sake of drama - his beautiful face wiped clean of its cocksure facade.

Yeah, that'd be real cool.

But you're still sitting here, legs bobbing out of habit. Jimin is still there, smug and sexy, imparting something hilarious enough, apparently, to wind the comparably attractive guys with him. It's then that your phone purrs between your hands, clutched and previously forgotten.

It's Jisoo, said best friend.

[13:56] slut #1: heyyyy

[13:56] slut #1: guess what

It'll be one of two things. Either she needs your notes because she slept-in in lieu of doing the set reading, or—

[13:56] slut# 1: our floor's having a party tonight

Party.

[13:56] slut #1: come or ill break your legs 

The severity of her threat comes down to your repeatedly declining her invitations. It's not that you don't enjoy parties, because you do. In fact, there’s rarely a time you feel more alive than getting smashed and exorcising your anxiety for those few hours. It's more the fact that it takes a month's worth of mental energy to prevent you flaking out in the lead-up.

Today, though, you're game. Your introversion has been well and truly catered to these last, barren weeks. You're at full charge.

[13:58] yeah, why not

Dots dance across the screen.

[13:58] slut #1: serious???? holy shit that was easy for once

[13:58] slut #1: come to my room at 9

[13:59] the party's in your room?

[13:59] slut #1: no dumbass it's like the whole floor, idek whose party it is but u gotta meet me somewhere right

[14:00] kk. see you then

However unlikely, a feeble hope tugs at your fragile, besotted heart. Maybe he'll go? The organ stutters in your chest when you raise your eyes to where Jimin sits. But he's gone. Suddenly, it all seems like a terrible idea. It's just not meant to be. The universe is communicating it to you as gently as it can.

I need a firm slap. Irked by your nonsensical infatuation, you shoot to your feet and make off in a storm, bag not so much slung but catapulted onto your back. I need to get the fuck over this.

The campus square is a sizeable, open space with the central fountain being its only obstacle. However, by how solid the object is that you suddenly collide with, it seems to have sprouted another.

"Shit!" you gasp, nose flattened sharply, painfully, against something immovable. As you rub it, brows sharp in offense, you peer up into eyes of the thing you've blindly marched into.

Fuck.

Jungkook.

One of Jimin's lackeys.

Before you can locate his magenta-headed leader, however, Jungkook fills the entirety of your field of view. His narrow lips draw tighter; eyes, too. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“U-Uh—”

“Uh?” the musclehead mimics, stooping into your personal space. By instinct, you shrink. At odds with his adorably prominent front teeth, the sneer he wears is nasty. “Anything else?”

An errant glance over Jungkook’s shoulder finds you Jimin. He hangs back, hands in pockets, nonplussed by the confrontation. It’s likely pretty tame in comparison to their usual run-ins. But it frustrates you, nonetheless, that the boy won’t look at you, even now, when the spotlight is searing you.

Jungkook snaps his fingers at the end of your nose and you’re back in the room. “Well?”

“I’m sorry. It was an accident. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You hack for breath when he exhales a plume of cigarette smoke directly into your face. “I-It won’t happen again.”

The other one with them - Seokjin, the half-ass in your business studies class - claps a hand on Jungkook’s seam-straining shoulder. “‘Roid rage. Sorry, sweetheart. You’re a finance major too, right?”

Before you can even process the unexpected civility of his question, Jungkook rounds on him in ire. “The fuck? You know I don’t take steroids.” His cigarette flares at the corner of his mouth. Like a showboating pidgeon, he puffs out his muscular chest. “This is all hard work.”

Seokjin is clearly unmoved. He blinks an unnecessary amount of times, like it’s a tic of his. His glasses ride up as he crinkles his nose. Then: “Okay. Didn’t know you were too stupid to get a joke though. ‘Roids must be shrinking your brain as well as your dick.”

“What—”

An Off-White jacket streaks across your vision.

“—the fuck—”

A white t-shirt follows it soon after.

“—did you just say?”

Jungkook ripples, shirtless, with such unabated fury he distorts the air surrounding. Or maybe it’s the heatwave.

It’s then, beholding this sudden, aggressive display, that your fear finally surfaces. “Oh my God, what the fuck is happening?” you whisper exclusively to yourself, because to attract attention is to court an ass-beating.

And it’s then, of course, that Jimin finally takes heed of your existence. With a quirk of his head, he stares you down. Well, not so much stare. What he does expresses far less effort. His eyes meander the length of you in their own, good time, before landing on your blanching face. The laziest of smirks possess his lips.

Your heart sprouts wings.

His smirk widens.

Fuck, your heart’s airborne. It’s gonna launch itself out your mouth.

Seokjin dispels Jimin’s sorcery with another, unwisely provocative comment. “Your dick’s shrivelled? Or your brain? I don’t know which one offended you.”

Jungkook pounds his chest once, like an oversexed silverback. “Why you always gotta do me like this, bro? Is it ‘cause I fucked your mom that one time? I thought you were over tha—”

“Fuck you!”

Just when you’d established Seokjin as the pacifist of the group, he begins throttling Jungkook double-handed. The pair slip into an awkward grapple while Jimin looks on.

Looks at you.

Doesn’t even spare a glance for the groups of hurried, whispering students migrating across campus.

Guttural grunts float up from the ground as Jungkook and Seokjin’s scuffle escalates, but their leader pays them no mind in that moment. It’s your opportunity to say something more, but you don’t. Your vocal chords never pull together.

Moment missed.

Jimin sweeps a lock of magenta from his eyes, finally animate. A testy sigh siphons from him. “Get up. You’re making me look bad. Put your fucking shirt on, Jungkook.” His voice, usually soft, strikes like a serpent. Venom coats his tongue. “You represent me, dickheads. Plus, you’re scaring this girl.”

The absurdity of the situation, the apprehension you feel, is muffled for a moment. All you can hear is the rush of blood and Jimin’s vocal acknowledgement of your existence ricocheting in your mind. Girl. You.

It’s stupid. Demeaning, even, snapping up these scraps like a slobbering mongrel.

But exciting.

Having captured Jimin’s attention, you bow to him the gratitude you can’t vocalise. The plan, as you rise, is to hit him with a seductive smile, but you're certain your mouth only stretches awkwardly. Nevertheless, his pretty lips purse for a moment before pulling up, too. “I’m going.” He addresses them, but his eyes are on you.

Jimin takes his leave without further ado. As he passes you his gaze lingers too long, demanding he turn his face. His body ghosts past without contact, but a chilly thrill descends upon you like he's drifting right through your bones. And then he struts away like he owns the place, because he does.

And, God, he owns you, too.

His in-fighting entourage scrabble to catch up with him. Jungkook's hastily gathered clothes scrape the floor as he runs, their expense forgotten. “‘Min-hyung! Wait! We’re sorry!”

"Bye then," you comment, quiet, to their retreating backs. It wasn't quite the first encounter you'd prophesied, but considering Jimin's reputation, it should've been.

Anyway.

Your eyes fall to your phone and this evening's plans.

Party.

---

Jisoo's generously highlighted features bob before you in the muted light. Parts of her face are so illuminescent it looks like scaffolding. "Anyway, I'll be back soon. Get some drinks, loosen up. I need to find Namjoon."

"Okay, but are you actually gonna come back?" Your first beaker of jungle juice is already souring your lips. "'Cause if you're gonna find Namjoon, I don't think you're gonna come back."

Her eyes are everywhere but on you, glossy mouth twisting. “I'll really try! But I also really wanna see him, now I know he's here." Suddenly, your free hand is in her meticulously manicured clutches. "I'm not saying I will disappear, but I might. Please understand! I need dick so bad. Please." And now her eyes are on yours, black as night and just as dangerous. Jisoo is never more serious than when cock is at stake.

You shake yourself free of her flimsy grasp and flimsier promises. "Do what you want, but I don't know anyone in your dorm. If you don't come back in an hour, I'm gonna go."

That was an hour ago.

Within that hour, you consumed three cups of awful booze, lingered awkwardly by the party lights, and recovered zero Jisoos. The only noteworthy happening was some plastered guy insisting you were his boyfriend. So insistent, in fact, that you doubted your own identity by the last of the 15 minutes he spent calling you Yoongi. He lamented endlessly about how difficult it would be to survive the evening without getting in your tight little ass. The only thing that convinced him of the truth to your identity was said, tight-assed man appearing and dragging the lightweight away. Yoongi did have a nice ass, you observed, as they fell back into the throng.

Oh.

And Jimin was here.

Skulking the fuchsia shadows like a perfect predator. Thing is, he's already top of the food chain. No hunting required. Very much evidenced by the girls that swarmed him all night like a shoal of pilotfish. The music was too loud and the light too dim, but for every instance he opened his mouth, his accompanying partygoers exploded into laughter. This seems a skill of his. He has dominion over men and women both.

And you're no exception.

Whenever he was in sight, he drew your eyes. When he was dancing, he drew them lower. And there they remained, never straying from his swivelling hips and straining thighs. The girls danced in circles around him like they were worshipping a pagan idol. Understandable. You coveted him, too, from afar.

But now he's gone. Your cup is empty. Jisoo is getting Namjoon'd.

It's been an hour. You're going home.

There’s enough trash at your feet and liquor loosening your morals that you feel no guilt in dropping your beaker onto the pile. Polished, black shoes with pointed toes enter view and crumple that which you’ve littered. You look up.

“Juh—”

Jimin. It’s Jimin. Neither your mouth nor brain can co-ordinate sufficiently enough to identify him verbally, though. Instead, you gawp, inches from his breathtaking face, bathed in romantic light. “Littering, huh? Kinda rude, don’t you think?” He taunts, tongue between teeth. When you don’t rebut him, he slides an arm up the wall behind you. Sinks closer, until your eyes meet on an intimate level. “What are you doing here, campus girl? Didn’t think this was your kind of thing.”

Righteous indignation roils in you. As for why, it’s unclear. As are most things when relatively tipsy. “How would you know what my kind of thing is? You don’t know me. Also, don’t call me campus girl.” At this proximity, you’re acutely aware of the alcohol on your breath. You dial it down a bit. Turn your head and snort. “That’s rude.”

The alcohol, apparently, has also robbed you of your self-preservation skills. Because never in the light of a sober day would you be slighting a delinquent like this. And not the one you’re besotted with, either. That, then, dawns on you. As does his closeness, and the sweet smell of his own poison of choice.

“Well, I don’t know your name, do I?” Charm inhabits his tone, his smile. God, it’s flustering. Jimin toys with you, thwarting your attempts to evade his eyes. His face follows yours, until it’s all you can do but stop and stare. Fall fully and deeply into him. “‘Cause you’re shy, aren’t you?” He wets his lips then, unfairly. They’re dewy and full and even rosier in this light.

“Let me suck your dick,” you blurt, hypothesizing it being just as juicy. Just as tasty. Your inhibitions are low, but not enough that this is a mistake. Jisoo is right. There’s confidence in you, somewhere. You tap it when you tap a keg.

Jimin looks scandalised. His eyebrows vanish into his hairline. Giddy laughter streams from him. “Pardon?”

“I said, let me suck your dick.” Power floods your bloodstream. Liquid courage mingles with. “I’m pretty good at it, and I really want to. Like, so bad. I think about it a lot.”

If he says no, you no longer have to wonder.

If he says no, you never have to look at him again.

If he says no, you can chase someone wholesome and virtuous.

If he says yes, you get to suck his dick.

“Yeah?” Interest kindles in Jimin’s keen, black eyes. He’s close enough, now, that his body heat feels akin to weight against you. His voice drops below the bass of the music. “What did you think about?”

Are you gonna dirty talk in public?

A quick glance around and they aren’t so much the public anymore as parading monkeys, high on lust and low on decency. Just over from you, there’s a girl getting the least discreet fingerbanging of her life.

So, yeah. You lose a little of your rigidity and tip back your head. Lick your lips with a deliberate tongue. “How pretty your cock probably is. How it’d feel on my tongue, in my throat.” Unconscious or not, Jimin’s pressing to your hip. The subject of your conversation starts soft in his pants, but stiffens with your salacious description. Fuck, you’re tingling, too. “How you’d taste, coming down my throat—”

“Are you for real, campus girl?” Jimin interrupts, breathy. Disbelieving. He almost sounds distressed. Like a donkey that doesn’t wanna walk miles for a dangling carrot. Jimin doesn’t seem to get it, though. He’s the carrot, and dear God you wanna chomp down.

“I told you not to call me that. Guess you’re not interested,” you bluff, because not only are you provocative on booze, you’re also an absolute fucking idiot. There’s a significant chance he’ll tire of your tsundere bullshit and find another open mouth. However, as you turn to leave, fate smiles on you. As does he, when he sandwiches you to the wall, his chest to your back and his mouth a ghost on the nape of your neck.

Chills.

Chills spread where his breath is hot and wet. But still, his lips don’t touch. You can, however, hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell me your name.”

The stutter sabotages you somewhat. You’re breathless. “I-It’s ____.”

"____," Jimin repeats with a flick of his tongue, wetting your nape with the slightest of saliva. "Are you for real, ____? Or are you drunk?"

His fingers spread like wildfire across the tops of your thighs, testing the give of your flesh. You exhale as if he's squeezing the soul from you. "I'm for real. I'm not drunk, I've just had enough to realise that if I don't say this now, I never will. How often do you talk to me, after all?"

Jimin's throat rumbles as he contemplates. His lips part by your ear, vocal fry caressing each, careful syllable. "How often do you talk to me?" he poses. The steady, rigid throbbing against your ass suggests that this could've happened sooner.

Reluctant as you are to disturb your clinch, you’re not here to stare at the plastering. It would be a crime to deny yourself the chance to ogle his beauty close-up. With this in mind, you twist against his body, bringing your fronts flush together. God, he throbs all the more potently like this, pressed to the crotch of your dress. Jimin's still smiling, of course, all illegal charm and zero reserve.

A nervous lick of lips. "You're terrifying. Especially when you're surrounded by those guys all the time. That's why I don't talk to you." It’s a half-truth. The other half is your incompetence in flirting.

"And here I was, thinking you were shy," is Jimin’s riposte. "But, clearly, I'm wrong." Those plush, pink lips descend on you before you can blink away the unreality of it. They're softer than any piss-poor imitation of a man's mouth that's come before them. Softer than silk, even. And when they open, syrupy. A mire of heat and wet tongue, caressing away all your prior fears, even if they're legit. It really doesn't matter. Not when you're tasting this sublime man. Not when he suckles at your mouth so sensually, so gently. He can't be that horrific a person when he's holding you with such careful attention. It's too soon when he unties your tongues. "You don't need to be afraid of me," Jimin murmurs thickly to your lips. The lop-sided smile he wears says otherwise. It's a little too close to a sneer. "Well, ____—" he steps back. Lures you with him. "Wanna make this a reality?"

You're giddy as fuck. So much so your legs feel like a Newton's cradle. "Y-Yeah. Take me somewhere—" to speak his name is to make it real— "Jimin."

People blur, merge shapelessly around you as he weaves through their mass, leading you by one, dainty hand. It's not the drink. You're dizzy - high, even - with anticipation so intense it renders all outside his svelte figure indistinct. All there is is him, and what you're about to do. It doesn't even feel like you're tripping up the stairs when you do. You're floating, actually, because he's pulling you up and smirking so salaciously that you're weightless. The only weight is the one nestled deep in your abdomen, punching at your cunt like it knows well what that smug mouth could do.

The two of you stagger into an unoccupied bathroom. It's as grim and grotty as you'd expect of student lodgings, but that matters very little right now. Even though you're painfully germaphobic. The priority is realising you're about to suck off Park fucking Jimin. It hits you so powerfully that, for a very long second, you want to reconsider. After all, he likely has expectations. Confidence flees from you.

"Okay, then. On your knees, ____."

And then it floods back. As does desire.

Jimin perches atop the toilet with poise, its seat flat beneath him. You briefly speculate its cleanliness, but he’s already slinking the denim down his legs and over his knees. They cling in a pool at his ankles, likely impossible to get any further. His visibly wilting cock lounges against the crotch of his CKs, waiting for your intervention. It'll have to wait a little longer, though, because there's nothing on God's awful earth that will hinder your leering at this visual feast. His muscle-strapped thighs are somehow all the thicker hugging the bowl of the toilet. And the tiny, toned waist they taper to is all the confirmation you require to understand that this man is way out of your league. Like, forget international league. You're 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. "Fuck."

The curse is all he needs to understand. Whether it's for the sake of wanking his ego or to titillate you further, Jimin tenses his quads until they're as hard and smooth as varnished oak. All you want is to ride them like a fucking rocking horse. "You making me wait?"

Hell no. Before he can even finish his taunt you're at his feet and kneading his thighs like dense dough. Jimin feels fit. He isn't pliable like lovers gone. He's zero body fat, all thew, all sex. He's everything.

And you're nothing to him.

Tonight, though, you’ll become something.

Your fingers continue upward. And as they do, inward. Where he's slightly fleshier, and by the twitch of his covered dick, more sensitive. "How do you like it?"

"I'm as predictable as any other guy," Jimin half-shrugs, reclining against the cistern. His fingers curl into your hair, though not in any pushy, possessive way. It's almost as though he's simply appreciating its texture. The curve of your scalp. Tingles spring from his touch and arrest your body. "Deep as possible. Don't neglect the shaft. Play with my balls a little," he reels off his litany shamelessly. "If you can take it, lemme fuck your face?"

Each of his suggestions make both your mouth and cunt salivate. You want all of those things and more. That other thing. "We'll see," you say as much to yourself as you do to him. "Let's see what we're working with." You lunge for his waistband with both hands, eager to steal them from his body. Jimin halts you once you peek pubes.

"I'm not sitting my bare ass on this toilet." The grunt he makes is indignant. Adamant.

But you have plans. And so you whip a towel from its rail and coax it beneath him, the makeshift mat feeling dubiously damp. "If you want me to do it good, let me have you without your underwear."

Jimin complies, shifting his weight. Then, with danger perverting his tone: "Then you better do it good, ____."

You perform well under pressure. The pressure that comes with academic deadlines and 10th grade theatre, at least. However, it doesn't extend to sucking the cock of, arguably, the most intimidating, most captivating man you've gawped at from afar. Your previous lovers were diffident and easy to please. It's only through your own, bored invention that you delved deeper into the art of oral with them. You hope it serves you well tonight. "I'll try my best," you challenge, brow cocked, Jimin's boxers successfully purloined. The front of them are tacky to the touch, and this alone incites you. God, you can taste his salt already.

To your dismay, he doesn't resume his careful caressing of your scalp. No, once his bottom half is nude, he splays his thighs obscenely and leans back, fingers curling around the towel-covered toilet seat. From here he peers down his nose at you, a smirk all the while. His torso is one rigid, smooth slope, and you wish selfishy to see it exposed. Asking for that, too, though, might be too much.

And now that your gaze plummets, it doesn't matter. His cock is enough. You'd think it impossible for such an awkward looking appendage to ever earn the term pretty. But, uniform with the rest of him, his is. What he lacks in length he makes up for generously in girth. His cock is chubby and blushing, and, yes, pretty. God, so pretty.

Yes, you'll let him face-fuck you.

The tinkle of Jimin's earrings disrupt your awed silence. He projects impatience: Chewed lips, raised eyebrows, a slight, inquisitive tilt to his head. "This your first time or something?" Magenta falls across his eyes as his focus slips down his own body. He cages his cock inside a delicate fist, nurturing it to its full, thickened capacity. As it grows, so does his filthy smile. "You don't need to lie to me. I can go easy on you."

"This isn't my first time." Your resentment is palpable. Apparently, he enjoys it. As he pumps himself harder, his tongue probes disrespectfully at the corner of his upturned mouth. That only inflames you. "Is it your first time? Are all the rumours false?" Your comeback is risky, but the mood suggests banter is welcome. Perhaps all this big, bad wolf wants is a little, red-faced riding hood to provoke him.

The dare pays off. With one last, long stroke, he lets loose his erection, the concrete appendage slapping his stomach with an admirable thud. Resting back on one hand, he gestures to his waiting cock with the other. "Totally. I'm a good boy, ____. Now stop talking and fucking spit on it."

Your clit jumps. As do you, right into action. With your palms canvassing his inner thighs, you take one last, unenlightened breath before you dive face-first into his musk, pulling aside his cock to nuzzle at its base. To fully savour his scent and warmth. Jimin fills your hand to the extent you're unable to form anything close to a closed fist. Your thoughts are possessed only by your imagination and how wide he could stretch you. How full he could make you. A fucking stampede thuds through your pussy.  "Mm, you have such a nice cock," you murmur around the root of him. It's not so much meant as a compliment, but a statement of pure fact that must be expressed. You're sure he's heard such professions many times.

Yep. "I know, sweetheart." The timbre of his voice is a little heavier. Breathier. As your tongue flicks lazily under the round of his balls, it quivers, too. Nevertheless, he maintains his stoicism. "Why you teasing me down there? You know what I want."

When you pull one of his testicles into your mouth, however, he emits a quiet noise. One that sounds a little like it's something he wants. "Yes, daddy," you mouth around him, full irony. Jimin reacts to it, though. Pushes into your slack grip, looking for friction you're not about to give. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes. Still, you don't know where the limit to his patience lies. And so you relent and pull your mouth upwards, dragging his sac with your reluctant lips. Jimin tenses when finally you free him, wet, sticky, and back to hanging. And then you're ascending his fat, veiny shaft, lathering the underside with your tongue. Ekeing from him the most delicious gasps of air. His hands go back into your hair, though with far less care this time, grasping at your roots as though to earth him.

"Yeah, that's it, ____. Keep going." Jimin's encouragement is sweeter to the ears than any lauded music. And so is the stifled whine that streams from him when you glaze the tip of his cock with saliva, enough to dribble down its entire length. Once he’s sufficiently spat on, you follow with your mouth. Fuck, it’s a strain to accommodate him. A feat not to scrape him with your teeth. He's so thick you must look vulgar stuffing him between your lips like this. A wayward glance tells you he's enjoying the lewd visual, though. His mouth is parted and breath puffs quickly from him. His eyes, normally sharp with wit, are dull. Fully blown. Jimin devours the sight of your struggle, as you do his uncomfortably chubby dick. His nails imprint crescents of self-restraint into the skin of your scalp. "F-Fuck. Yeah. Suck me."

You do. More fervently than you have any mouth-watering candy. Your lips work the head of his cock with measured pressure, back-and-forth, to the tune of his increasingly whiny vocalisations. Instinct takes him, sometimes, and he jerks without thought into you. Your teeth graze him, then, but it seems like an ineffective deterrence. No, sometimes he moans when you catch him, and for that you reward him with tongue on his frenulum.

That gets him the most.

His thighs ripple, his back bends. His head of magenta hair falls back.

"You—mmmmh—like that?" is your an attempt at a taunt, dulled by the cock wedged in your cheek.

"You suck dick like a fucking slut." Jimin is panting now, a sheen of perspiration oiling his face. Fuck, he looks dewy and downright dirty. The crotch of your panties is saturated with want for him. "You pretend you're all innocent and shit, but, Jesus, you're a dirty bitch."

With an enthusiastic flex of his thighs, he struggles free from the jeans binding him and props up a foot, knee bent and accentuating just how shapely his calves are. Spread like this, he's sordid. Wanton. He's getting desperate, and, against all expectations, unafraid to show it. Men with his level of machismo are typically reserved. It turns you on, dials you into overdrive, just how unabashed his enjoyment is. "Deeper. Can you take it deeper, ____? P-Please," Jimin whimpers on cue, resolve thready.

Briefly, you alight from his cock. He whimpers about that, too. This man is the terror of your college campus. And now he’s a needy, sex-swollen mess. "Depends. Can I edge you?" You're actually decently sober at this point, but bravado still brews in you nevertheless.

Jimin, no longer basking, purses his lips. Glares with the fury of a thousand blue-balled men. "Don't you fucking dare. Try it and I'll take over. I’ll come all over your smug little face."

The threat, in actuality, is more a solemn hope of yours. "Okay, okay. I won't edge you." Your hands keep busy while your overtaxed mouth relishes its moment of emptiness. You funnel your energy, instead, into keeping his cock stiff, five fingers twisting along its lubed-up length. With the other hand, you return to your earlier fixation and palm tenderly at his distended balls. A delicate quivering radiates from his core muscles. "But I really wouldn't mind you coming all over my face."

Everything about him tenses, then releases. His eyelids, low, bear the weight of arousal. "For real?"

"Might as well, my knees are already gross. You can get me dirtier if you like, Jimin." And then you're pulling down the straps of your dress until your breasts spill out, already pebbled and desperate for a fondling they won't get tonight. "Or here. Or everywhere. Just go to town."

Jimin gulps down stuffy, humid air. Concentrates a little too hard on your uncovered tits. Rocks a little too enthusiastically into your undulating grip. "God, yeah. I wanna come all over you. Spit in your fucking mouth." Suddenly it's not just your sole fist grasping him. He's clutching you, clutching him. Squeezing your knuckles until they're white and his cock is very, very red. "I'll bend you over the bathtub and fuck you 'til I break your hips. 'Til your pussy's dripping cum."

“Jesus—”

You’re so luststruck by his vulgar fantasies that it’s almost too late when you come to your senses. Jimin fucks your hands so ferociously it’s clear that the beast has taken him. You snatch away your hands before he wastes himself all over them. His come away, too, hovering in the air and demanding answers.

"Okay, well you just edged yourself." A giggle slips out while you watch him heave breath like he's nearing death. In a way, it's cute. Jimin's cheeks are full and flushed, eyes rounder than moons. He himself seems taken aback by his lapse into unadultered lust. "Don't take away the only reason I came here."

Despite Jimin's earlier, emphatic disapproval of being edged, he sure seems appreciative now. He basks in the near-rush, mellower than before. Gently - perhaps affectionately? - he cradles the back of your head and draws you in, a thumb pressing caresses to your cheek. This sudden sweetness, it's abnormal. Harmful. You don't want it. You don't want to see his good side, nor fall for it.

But here he comes, eyes searching, lips begging.

"Then deepthroat me like I asked."

Nevermind.

The pompous smirk is back. He reclines, his one leg up like an ode to Michaelangelo, dick tall and looking just as self-important. You're decided. It's time to make him squeal. "Okay. No edging. But let me make it feel even better?"

Jimin drips scepticism. "How?"

Fully anticipating rejection, you're direct. "Lemme stick a finger up your ass."

Again, he surprises you. Insomuch that revulsion doesn’t immediately sour him. "The fuck?" A husky chuckle rattles in his chest, instead. "Is that your secret technique?"

"Kinda." Your shoulders draw inward as self-consciousness consumes you. "I totally get it if you don't want to. But the other guys I've been with enjoyed it."

"Then do it, whatever. Don't let me go soft, though, ____," Jimin warns with pouty lips. His cock leans demonstratively forward, threatening flaccidity. "I'm feeling neglected."

"Tragic," you coo, feigning empathy. Looking as petulant as he, you suckle softly around the head of his dick, enkindling his passion before it fades. Your tongue does work around its bulbous ridge, teasing where it makes him squirm most. Then, with his demands in mind, your mouth descends over his modest stretch of shaft, worshipping each, precious inch as you go.

“Yes, baby. That’s it, that’s it.”

You dip and rise, tug and suck in a tantalising advance toward his base, wringing the precum from him. It's salty and sticky and you love it on your tongue, love smearing him with his own mess. Want to smear him with your mess.

“Fuck, yeah. K-Keep—unh!—going!”

The more of him you gobble, the more erratic his body behaves. Beneath your hands, his sweat-tacked thighs are tremulous, tensing without rhyme or reason. Jimin has little control over  any of his extremities. His hands are uncomfortable fists in the back of your hair, like he's reining in a wilful mare. And then there's his beautiful, unstopped moaning, so sinful your clit thumps like a bass drum between your legs. You moan, too, slurping the end of his leaking cock to the back of your throat so he can better feel it. The reverberations must reach him, because Jimin bucks, then, wildly enough to trigger a gag. "Ugh, y-yes, fuck!"

You can't so much as master Savasana in yoga, but what you are adept at is gag control. And though you cough a little, slaver a little, nothing but sudden death will stop you now. Nose-deep in Jimin’s considerately trimmed pubic hair, you trap him momentarily there, the whole of his cock nestled deep in your throat's constraints.

Jimin looks half-way gone. His hands hover above your shoulders, fingers curling and twitching peculiarly, like he’s about to astral project. Indeed, all you can see through the sliver in his lightly-closed lids is the white of his eyes. Every so often Jimin rolls his pelvis towards you, but you stymy his attempts to face-fuck you until you're ready to see him over the finish line. Grasping his hips, your thumbs take the liberty of feeling the lines of his obliques, and, God, you've never hated an item of clothing more than the t-shirt he's wearing.

"More," he splutters, then, swivelling against your hold like he's compelled. "More, give me more. I'm so close, I—I wanna fucking drown you in cum—" an ungodly groan bursts forth as he whips himself into a frenzy of his own making— "Fuck, you suck cock so good—so good, baby."

Of all things, baby is what heats your cheeks. The endearment feels like long-coveted validation. "Bear with me," is what you try to communicate, but considering the weight of his cock is pinning your tongue, it comes out garbled. Jimin doesn't even notice, so rapt is he in your mouth's luxury. Occasionally, he rewards your efforts with globs of pre-ejaculate that slide smooth down your throat.

Not wanting to interrupt his well-earned crawl to orgasm, you bob on his cock hands-free, employing them instead to locate one of the condoms populating your purse. Keeping pace is difficult enough that it's not long before Jimin, unsteady on his perch, growls in caution.

"Don't you dare fucking stop," he grunts through gritted teeth, scrutinising your every, unrelated move. When he sees what it was you sought, the growl becomes a snarl. The disdain his eyes convey is almost comical. "Don't make me come in that. I'm not coming in that," he snorts, placated momentarily by your refocused efforts on his plump little dick. As you tear open the wrapper, you tongue his cock hole like a striking snake. "Oh, sh-shit!—H-Hey, if you don't want me to come on you I won't, but—"

Slobber splatters the towel in your haste to cut him off. "It's not for you."

Rather than court more questions, you demonstrate. Hastily, you unroll the condom over your longest finger. Then, with his unerring attention, you squat back on your heels and hike up your dress, allowing him a view onto your panty-wrapped cunt. Jimin doesn't even notice that your mouth is gone from him while he’s leching. It’s just long enough an opportunity to dip your rubber-sheathed digit deep into the wetness of your pussy. He makes noises as you do, quiet ones, ones that stress how much he wants to be inside it. When you withdraw, your lips lock back onto him, kissing his cock where it's most swollen and sensitive. "Try and relax, okay? It'll feel good quicker if you do," you offer in advice, your cunt-slick finger bypassing his balls and slithering along his perineum. Already he's reacting, even from this slight, external stimulation.

"I'm relaxed as fuck," Jimin puffs defiantly, despite his initial recoil. "Show me what you're all about, ____."

"Alright then." Ever so carefully, you wheedle the tip of your finger past his asshole, stopping when his body tells you to. "Jimin, if you can’t handle it—"

They're unextraordinary words, but, apparently, the magic ones. Immediately he loosens around you. "I can. Shut up."

You do. By engulfing his erection without warning. Drawing on it like you would a drinking straw, enough to fluster him into distraction. The result is an easy, sailing entry into his ass, right up to your knuckle. It's not difficult to locate his prostate from there, as deliciously swollen as it is. With a cursory couple of taps, Jimin's body responds in new, mesmerizing ways.

"W-What the fuck—ah!" he cries through his confusion, the unfamiliar feeling prying his eyes wide. Jimin can only watch, overwhelmed, as you manipulate him from within, his back arching clean from the cistern. He's suspended by sensation, a wobbling tension keeping him upright. As you slurp mercilessly at his cock, you fix him with a look. Jimin's not there to receive it, though. His expression says his brain short-circuited the moment you started stroking him internally. And then, with a choked gasp, he returns to the corporeal, yanking at your hair like a man possessed. Only, he's pulling you away. "Stop, oh fuck, I'm gonna piss in your mouth." Distress and arousal fight for his features. The latter is winning, if the stutter of his hips is anything to go by. He's caught between two worlds of pleasure; bookended by penetration and your softly nursing mouth. All he can do is thrust from one to the other.

You come away with his hands, just briefly. Kitten-lick his purpling cockhead. "It's okay. You won't pee, it's meant to feel like that. Just go with it, unless you don't like it."

The blush dusting his cheeks deepens. You can't imagine it's because he's embarrassed, but for a moment he looks vulnerable. Human. Beautiful. Your heart trips. "Whatever," he attempts nonchalance, but his needy fragility is fooling no-one. "I like it, so don't stop. As long as you're sure i won't piss in your mouth. I mean, I don't care if I do, but you might—ungh!"

Swallowing a man's cock is as good as gagging them. Jimin falls quieter than night when you welcome him back into your warmth, working his shaft as well as your aching jaw will allow. Your tongue, too, is tiring, and yet you only twist around him all the more ravenously. It's not just his body that’s contorting when you pound at his prostate, now. His mouth hangs open unchecked, all thought for appearances gone. Within, his tongue writhes, articulating nothing but bodiless sounds.

You rub harder. Suck harder. More insistent. Jimin's eyebrows knit so tightly his nose crinkles. And when he does, a flood of runny, salty liquid squirts into your mouth, catching you off guard and in-between breaths. It's a wonder you don't drown when it keeps coming, this thin, bountiful expulsion. "F-Fuck, God—what is that—" he whines between milkings. As it seeps from your stuffed mouth, Jimin is enraptured. With his focus on you, you regurgitate it noisily over his cock, dousing him in his own fluids. "Fuck, i-it feels so good. I want more." His hands are either side of your face, fingers at your temples, palms pressuring your cheeks. "More." With a grunt, he hoists his previously dangling leg onto the toilet seat with the other. He squats, open and obscene, the picture of aroused anguish. "More. Harder," he jerks, marionette-like, to fuck himself on your finger, to propel his cock further down your throat. You're prepared for this onslaught now, mouth wide and tongue laying dormant as he rams his tip to your tonsils. Each thrust pushes more of his leakage from your mouth until you're drooling like a starving dog. And he's transfixed by it, teeth grinding, gripped by a terrifying hunger. "Fuck. Take it, take me, oh, shit—t-ta—"  

Nothing much else comes from Jimin but discharge, his face contorting as his body does, locked and straining. The motion of his hips slows until it ceases. There, he floats, with unseeing eyes, his orgasm approaching in an unavoidable swell. The throbbing that radiates from his buried cock is the final tell you chance before you cough him from your mouth, kneeling tall before him, breasts and face a blank canvas. You don't push him that last step so much as hammer him, battering his prostate until his mouth twists in devastation. Jimin's eyes are so wide it's like you're fucking the fear of God into him. He rises from his squat, millimetre by millimetre, as you slap your palm to his taint; his bloated balls. "C-Coming, I'm coming—" is all he can rasp as his soul departs and streaks your face once, twice—your eyelids fall closed as thick, viscous white weights down your lashes. Robbed of your sight, his groans hit louder, deeper. They resonate with agony, almost. And still he paints you, your throat, your neglected tits. "Oh my God, I—"

“That’s it, Jimin. Empty yourself on me.”

As the deluge dies away, you wipe your eyes free of cum and slide yourself from his spasming asshole. You expect to see him sat there, clutching his softening cock, but instead he’s sat back, hands-free and seeing constellations on the ceiling. "You came without touching your dick? Damn. That's restraint," you chuckle, your mouth feeling oddly loose. Too big. Too empty. When Jimin doesn't respond: "You okay?"

He stirs briefly from catatonia, though he continues to stare spaceward. "I'm good. I'm good. I think." A laugh comes out, but it's like he's forgotten what they should sound like. "Well, that was fucking awesome." A few, dumbstruck seconds later, Jimin returns to earth with a shaky sigh and that damn smirk. Finally, he looks at you. "Whoa. I got you messy as fuck."

A deadpan blink is all you can spare him when most of your body is protesting some type of pain. Your jaw, particularly, feels unhinged. "Yeah. You didn't notice that before?" You slip the latex from your finger and lob it at the trashcan. You miss.

"I did, but I was, like, coming my brains out. I didn't know what the fuck I was seeing, other than it was good." With an unsteady hand, he flattens back his soaked bangs and stares at you, eyelids heavy. His cheeks are stained pink with exertion. "You look so hot like that. Fuck." And though his body must be leaden after satiation, he pulls you up to your knees, until your torsos nearly touch. Stops just short of smearing himself with his own ejaculate. Instead, he cups one of your soiled breasts with a small, soft hand, thumbing his cum across the nipple. Being touched here, now, after such deprivation, it's like a kiss of life to your cunt. It roars back to life with a bitter vengeance. But Jimin remains modest in his touches. Doesn't stray much from your one, sticky breast. No, he's more focused on you. Your face. Studying all there is to know about its shapes. And he's inscrutable as he does it. It makes you nervous. "Well." It's scarcely more than a whisper. "Thank you," he mumbles, soft and awkward, like he's never before expressed appreciation for anything. And then he kisses you again, though it feels like it's for the first time. It's slow, intimate, with lazy tongue and spent breaths in between. It makes your heart race for several, terrifying reasons. You break apart, then. "Can I do anything for you?"

"N-No, that's okay." The proposition is unexpected. And with the way you're feeling, dangerous. "I got what I came for. I had fun. Thank you, too." You rise to standing, weathering the crack of your joints as you go. "I'll just clean up quickly."

Jimin is already towelling down his own, comparatively unscathed body. He stands, too, though with far more grace. As he feeds himself back into his too-tight jeans, he extends the towel to you. "If you're sure." A tinge of something colours his tone. Disappointment? "Maybe next time."

Next time?

Jimin's semen begins to crust on your chin. The towel twists in your hands. "What?"

There's an indifference to his body language that doesn’t quite ring true. He shrugs on his jacket. "Yeah. Next time, right?"

For several seconds you both stand there, locked in an unsaid exchange. The air is pregnant with meaning.

The door flies open.

"There you are!" In Jungkook strolls, bleary-eyed and with no clear bearing on his surroundings. "Someone said they saw you come in here." His gaze is hazy as it lands on you and your poorly shielded tits. And then it’s on your face again, where Jimin's spunk is heaviest. "Holy shit."

What feels like a century of shame passes, but it's no more than a microsecond before Jimin is slamming the point of his boot into Jungkook's abdomen. "Get the fuck out!" He bellows, octaves deeper than all this past half hour. Masculinity oozes from his squared shoulders and jutted jaw. The hardness is in his eyes, too. They're like steel as they cut Jungkook down, unchanging even as the younger man claws at his gut and stumbles back. "Don't fucking barge in on me again. This ain’t for you to see."

"I-I'm sorry, 'min-hyung." Jungkook slurs his words past comprehension. "C-Call me wh-when yuh wha-wanna split."

Jimin folds his arms. Tucks balled fists inside. "Yeah, now go."

Unfortunately for Jungkook, the gang-leader catches that last, errant look at your naked breasts. And for that he is rewarded with another swift kick; to his retreating backside, this time. Though you can't see him behind the door, you hear the impact of his fall to all-fours and grimace. Jimin's line of sight tracks low. Jungkook must be crawling away. "Go and sober up, you stupid piece of shit. We're going soon."

The door slots back into its frame. Jimin lingers there a little longer than necessary, his head bowed to the panelling. "Uh." Again, he's different. Transformed. Someone more timid stands in Jimin's place. Ruffles the back of his well-tousled hair. "Sorry. He's a dipshit."

"It's okay," you laugh. You have to, because the entire scenario is astounding. "You didn't have to kick him, though. Twice."

Arms criss-crossing his chest, Jimin watches as you wipe away his residue. For some reason, you’re more self-conscious now than when he put it there. "He deserved it. He's an idiot. Idiots don't learn unless you kick them in the ass. I didn't kick him in the balls, at least. And for that, he should be thanking me."

Clearly, your views on appropriate punishment diverge. Jimin inhabits a different world to yours. It's unnerving. And a little exciting, even though it shouldn’t be. "I'll defer to your judgment in his case." Your straps come up and over your shoulders. On inspection, suspicious white stains dot your dress despite your attempts to prevent that. Hopefully everyone is so smashed by this point that they can’t distinguish it from any of their other surroundings. "Okay, I'm gonna go. My dorm's just across from this one."

"I'll walk you. It's not safe." There's a certainty to Jimin's words that speaks of his experience. Ironically, it's probably safer out there while he's tied up in here. "Lots of scumbags out there that will target girls who are alone."

Fully covered, now, you clutch your purse in front of the worst of the splattering. You want to say something, so you do. You feel like you've earned it. "Not you?"

So self-assured, Jimin is. For a moment, though, he isn't. His smile flickers. "Never. I'm not about that. And I'll thrash anyone who is."

The answer pleases you. Diminishes his other activities somewhat. Somewhat. Just enough that you can go home and fuck yourself into a guiltless coma. "Okay. Well, it was fun. Don't worry about walking me. It's literally just across from here and there are still people around. I gotta find my friend first, anyway.”

Another shrug. Then, with the same nonchalance, he offers up his phone to you. "'Kay."

Eyes on him rather than the device, you take it from him. "What's this?" The screen displays a newly created contact. The phone number is blank. The contact name, though?

Litterbug.

It's hard to scoff at it when you love it so much. "What the hell? That's me?"

"Yeah. Gimme your number?" Jimin grins, brazen-faced. The temptation to kiss him is almost insurmountable. "I wanna see you again, litterbug."

You smile, too. Until you don't. "I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea. I didn't plan on anything past this."

If Jimin's shaken by the snub, he hides it masterfully. His smile isn't quite so burnished, though. "Neither did I, but then this happened, and I want it to happen again, ____. Let me show you just what I can do for you."

God, it's tempting. A bite of that apple is worth being cast from Eden. But your heart is weak and liable to entwine far too easily. And he's not the type of man that should occupy space outside of your depraved fantasies. "How many girls with cute pseudonyms do you have on there?" you deflect, knowing well the answer. Hearing it might temper your hopes somewhat.

"I don't give out my actual number to anyone." Jimin doesn't miss a beat of breath. "Only those that matter to me. Or might do," he adds, quieter, losing his bullishness altogether. "But, do what you want." His palm lays flat in expectation of receiving his phone back empty, but you hesitate. Look down at the vacant space. You could fill that.

You want to.

"Okay, there I am." With a flourish of thumbs and a final tap, your name is input and the contract sealed.

The Devil smiles. "Cool." His fingers linger on yours when you return the device. They're soft like charmeuse, and just as expensive. Because this will cost you everything, you're sure. "Can I see you tomorrow? So you can explain to me exactly what it is you just did to my ass?"

Tomorrow? Jimin’s keen. And you’re smiling again. “Sure. I’ll give you a practical demonstration.”

[jashasedai]

The Taking- Character Notes

I worked up some character descriptions to use as reference for the characters that appear in the Taking.  Pictures of creatures are references for bodyshape/conformation, not for exact appearance.   The guys all have their own face, hair, eyes, except where noted.

Character Descriptions so far:

Linnea- Vampire.  White skin, short pink hair cut into the shapes of magpies, white cableknit tunic, black velvet looking pants, leather overcoat, battle axe

Saskia- Human specially trained to hunt otherbeings  Blonde hair, blue eyes, blue silk patterned shirt under a wool peacoat, black leather pants, over the knee leather riding boots

Alain- Dryad *winks at IA*

Valentino- Satyr.  Montechristo goat legs, black hoodie sweatshirt over a tank top with the VR46 logo, sneakers designed to fit hooves.

Colin- Naga.  Rattle Snake from the waist down, blue leather motorcycle jacket, grey concert tshirt No Shoes, just a sexy tan coloured rattle the size of your fist and forearm. 6 Rattles, and one small one forming(one for every seven years.)

Credit: https://www.redbubble.com/i/art-print/The-Naga-by-Bammelsan/35613939.1G4ZT

Aron- golem, jasper green skin with kintsugi instead of all his tattoos.  

Wears a black cocktail dress and sneakers with his socks pulled up.

Skin is this type of green, tattoos are gold instead of black

Pippit- Mage who works with the Gatekeepers.  Short woman, young faced but with a grandmotherly attitude.

George- Paperwight, looks like he’s made of newspaper origami, with strips of paper for hair and big, glowing, tennis ball sized yellow eyes.  His newspaper skin reports on what he is doing.

Not Pictured

Robert- Emperor Eagle Harpy

This shape (but Robert has a noble eagle beak, and his own hair)

This bird

Credit: https://twitter.com/vvisti/status/1084682754095308800

Jorge Lorenzo- Sphinx, Anthro human face, dark furred wings, dark furred mane, goatee, red stripe in hair and red x on chest.

Credit: Pathfinder Games

Andre- A gargoyle.  During the day he is stone and sits on the roof of the Gatekeepers’ station, as the sun sets he becomes a flesh creature with clawed hands and feet and wings.

Buemi- The Gatekeepers’ weaponsmith/gunsmith.  Has a workshop in the basement of the station where he designs and manufactures weapons for the various creatures who guard the gates to the Hedge.  The same type of gargoyle as Andre.

Jev- A handsome human ghost, appears normal except for having been decapitated.  His body functions under the control of his head and often carries his head under its arm.  If set down his head leaks ectoplasmic blood.

Zephyr- The spirit of the mechanical age.  A huge green steam locomotive.  Currently sealed in stasis by a powerful spell.  Founder of the Gatekeepers.

Sebastian- Vampire, human passing.  Redbull beanie and a racing jacket.

Kimi- Ice Giant.  Has a size spell that fits him into human spaces.  Really 15 feet tall with white hair and eyes and glacier blue skin.  Wears biker boots, jeans, and a parka to keep the cold in.

Alex Albon- Stoneskin changeling, carved soapstone statue appearance, angular features.

Jenson- Tall, beautiful pale vampire.  Since he’s been taken by the Fae his eyes have turned from totally red to totally black.

Teddy Bear- Appears in Arcadia to be a knee high stuffed bear with round black eyes and lots of seams and stitches where his limbs have been sewn back on.

Dani Pedrosa- Dani shaped when human, scars and seams over his joints.

Shaped like this when bear

Credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/gweeb/35329294

Marc and Alex Marquez- Harvestman.  Appears in traditional grey robes with scythe or, in his more modern iteration, as a human man in a black on black three piece suit with his face covered in black greasepaint except a white painted skull

Credit: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/nQY5G6

Rinsy- Muskox-taur.  Rams horns on his head, his own long brown curly hair, and the same wooly kind of hair on his muskox lower body.  Wears a vest spun and knit from his own quivet(muskox wool).

Lando: Appears perfectly human, but with a malign air about him.  In his illusions he appears as a small boy with bright curly hair.  Without illusions, he appears as himself, though younger.

Joe Roberts: Appears human until his emotions are up, or he’s done his trick of stepping through one painted door and out another somewhere else, then he appears to be human, but leaves streaks of paint on anything he touches.  In his shed he has a painting that looks something like this, but the scene is of a farm family.

Credit: https://www.sothebys.com/en/auctions/ecatalogue/2017/old-masters-evening-l17036/lot.48.html

Guanyu: Guanyu is a twelve year old faun.  He has water deer hind legs, a little darker and redder than they will be when he grows up, and spotted with white fawn spots.  When he grows up, instead of antlers, he will grow a handsome set of fangs.

Pedro: Pedro looks like any other fourteen year old human except, because he is a curupira, his feet face the opposite direction.

Andrea Iannone: A tall, broad shouldered vampire.

Antonio Giovinazzi: Formed similarly to a harpy, Antonio has bird wings instead of arms, bird legs that end in hunting talons, and a lustrous, flowing tail.  His feathers are scarlet and form a red mane and crest around his human face, but when he is ready to fly, his full bird form makes it’s appearance.

Checo: Another of the harpy style people, a Huitzilopochtli, with hummingbird feathers.  He travels with Esteban Gutierrez, who is his Xiuhcoatl, or Fire Serpent.  A feathered serpent, he has an elongated torso, though he does have legs, unlike a naga, and arms, which have flight feathers along them.

Esteban Ocon: 8 Feet tall in human spaces, though a great deal of that is his sinewy neck.  He walks upright on his hind legs and is smooth scaled, bottle green.  He doesn’t have this horn/whiskery arrangement, but it was hard to find a picture of a dragon where it doesn’t look like they’re half cheese grater.

Lance: The Trickster Raven, he can choose which parts of his body to manifest as a bird, but his most common is the traditional-

Credit: White Wolf, World of Darkness

Max Verstappen:  Max was always a frogman, but since he got back from Arcadia, he seems to have an extra tick in his step.  When he works at the multicultural center he wears a double breasted uniform jacket that reminds Saskia of the toy nutcrackers from the Nutcracker Suite.  

Helmut Marko: Most cyclops are giants, but this one is small, wizened, and runs a museum for people of all species to learn about one another’s cultures.

The Fauns:

In addition to Rinsey, the leader, there is another member of the gang who is not technically a faun.  Andrea Migno is a hind- similar to a centaur, but instead of a horse body, he has the delicate legs and hooves of a mountain chamois, a deerlike creature from his native Italy.  Unlike the rest of the Fauns, he wears his hair short, and the fur on his legs is short as well, and his legs are dyed with gold and blue stripes that make him look like he’s wearing socks.

Marco Bezzecchi, Enea Bastianini, Lorenzo Baldassarri, Pecco Bagnaia, and Matia Pasini are also members of the gang.  They are all true fauns, with wooly goat legs and long wooly hair to match.

If I was a better artist, you’d all have a better idea what everyone looks like.  Sorry.

[razzmataz-z]

Danger Days - Killjoy OC Template

i actually found this one on deviantart and thought why not lol so all credit goes to the creator(s) for this. if you want, add your oc below!!

--

BASICS

Real Name: Unknown (they've never told anyone, and they'd like to forget their past)

Killjoy Name: Razzmatazz

Nickname(s): Razz, Razzy

Age: They say that they stopped counting at 11 (which was years ago) but they look fairly young (so 19 y/oish)

Birthday: Unknown (once again, they'd like to forget it all)

Gender: They believe that gender is a scam created by BLI

Nationality: They're from Bat City but they have a hint of a southern accent in their voice

--

APPEARANCE

Hair Color: Bright, dyed red

Hair Length/Style: Medium length and wavy

Eye Color: Golden brown

Skin Tone: White, but a little bit more tan than most people

Height: 5'5"

Weight: Around 120lbs

Outfits: Typically fishnets, red leather shorts, red leather cropped jacket, black accessories, black armbands, black combat boots with red laces

Special Possessions: A hidden locket that only they know about (with a pic of Razz with the Fab Four and the Girl on one side and a pic of Razz’s old killjoy crew on the other). Also patches of her old crew's jackets from when they died, Killer King's rings, a pair of roller skates Show Pony gave away, patches from the Fab Four's outfits (jackets and pants) and a matching bracelet with the Girl.

Dominant Hand: Left (but they're ambidextrous)

Scar(s): They have a lot of scars on their shoulder blades for unknown reasons and some scars on their legs from falling/getting shot

Tattoo(s): A semicolon on their middle finger (left side) and a set of simple angel wings with a halo on their right/front hip

Piercing(s): All across both ears, both sides of their nose (but they only wear a ring on one side at a time), right side eyebrow, belly button

--

PERSONALITY

Basic Personality: Since the Fab Four died, they have distanced themself from other Killjoys. They're very reserved and tend to work alone. Before though, they were basically a live version of what light would be.

Likes: Getting into fights, the Girl, Making BLI mad, helping helpless animals

Dislikes: Val Velocity, BLI, Korse

Strengths: They tend to use their guns the most (they always carry at least two), but keep a knife on their thigh and are trained fairly well in self defense with fists

Weaknesses: Their past

Fears: Losing the Girl (because they promised Poison that they'd protect her with their life just hours before Poison died), butterflies, water, and looking weak/having a weakness (though they'd never admit any of those except maybe the firs

What Side Are They On?: The Killjoys (and very occasionally neutral, but really only neutral when Val is fighting so they can be an ass to him)

BACKSTORY

Background: Childhood and early teen years is mostly unknown (they've done almost everything they can to forget about it). Most of their past is forgotten, almost forgotten, or in the process of trying to be forgotten. Nobody exept for Razz and the Fab Four know about Razz’s history. The Girl will get occasional glimpses, but she still doesn't know as much as she'd like to.

Best Memory: Sitting in the Diner with the Fab Four, laughing about something stupid that Ghoul said (or walking past Poison's room, singing the Girl to sleep after she had a nightmare only for them to fall asleep right after).

Worst Memory: When news spread that the Fab Four died, and Razz knew they could have done more to help (they still blame themself for it).

--

FAMILY

Parents: All they remember is a woman with blonde hair. Even then, she's very fuzzy.

Sibling(s): Two brothers - the younger one returned to Bat City and the older one died helping Razz escape

Grandparents: Deceased, as far as Razz knows

Relative(s): Razz only slightly remembers hearing things about their cousins, but they don't know when and what cousins are.

Pet(s): They remember having a golden retriever, and will foster animals until they are nursed back to health. Other than that, they have a black cat that will visit them frequently, but Razz says they are just friends.

--

FRIENDS AND ENEMIES

Friends: The Girl, Mad Gear and Missile Kid

Best Friend(s): Previously the Fab Four, but now only Show Pony

Acquaintances: Vamos and Vaya, Dr. D, Tommy Chow Mein

Rivals: Val Velocity (staggers between rival and enemy), most droids

Enemies: Korse, Dracs, The Director

--

LOVER AND LOVER INFO

Sexual Orientation: They believe that like gender, sexuality is a BLI scam and does not exist

Crush/Lover: Previously crushing on Party Poison, and even before that on Killer King (a part of Red's old crew who has died)

Why Do They Like This Person?:

Poison - Red likes Poison's leadership skills and selflessness. Although Poison can be a bit of an ass at times, Razz has always strived to be like them, and will always protect their memory/reputation.

King - King was a mystery to Razz and everyone who knew the two. Red didn't know what they saw in him. Maybe it was the recklessness and humor. Or the idiocy. (Neon would always tell Razz that "opposites attract" as a reason to explain it)

How Did They Meet?: They met though Dr. D, when Razz was one of the new DJs (Red had also been helping take care of the Girl for a while, so that helped bring everyone closer).

How Serious is the Relationship?:

Poison - Not serious at all. For all Razz knows, Party thought of them as an adoptive sibling and nothing more.

King - More serious than Poison (though Razz never admitted it). They'd have romantic night walks, stargazing 'dates', Drac hunting 'dates' and fiery makeout sessions

--

EXTRAS

Other Information: Razz calls people "darlin'" because of (their southern accent mixed with) Freddie Mercury, their biggest role model. They also swear a lot and have a trust issues (along with anxiety, depression, extremely mild schizophrenia, PTSD and ADD). Razz also loves the idea of the Greek God, Hades, for reasons unknown.

Quotes: "Fuck you", "Move", "Make me", *whispering* "Bitch", *shouting* "Bitch!", "Bastard", "Jackass", "Don't repeat that outloud" (always directed at the girl when they swear), "Fuuuucckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk", "I'd rather die", "Ain't this the dream?", "See ya in Hell", "HOLY SHIT!!"

--

RELATIONSHIPS WITH ORIGINAL KILLJOYS

Party Poison -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Razz had a major crush on Poison, but they'd never tell. They always wanted something more, but the closest they got to that was Poison kissing them on a cheek before going to rescue the Girl.

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: See 'lover and lover info'

Do They See Each Other Often?: Very. When Razz wasn't living in their abandoned "home", they'd stay at the Diner

-

Fun Ghoul -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Friends

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Poison brought Razz and the Girl to the Diner because Razz wouldn't leave the Girl's side.

Do They See Each Other Often?: See notes on Party Poison (but Razz wouldn't see Ghoul as much as Poison)

-

Kobra Kid -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Best friends

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Kobra went with Poison to Dr. D's to get the Girl

Do They See Each Other Often?: Very. A tiny bit more than Razz would see Poison.

-

Jet Star -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Friends

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Same as Ghoul

Do They See Each Other Often?: Same as Ghoul

-

Dr. Death Defying -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Acquaintances (but Dr. D insists that they're friends)

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Show Pony stormed into Dr. D's office and spilled the news about the Girl, and the killjoy that shot everyone who tried to take the Girl while screaming death threats and profanities. Dr. D took an interest immediately.

Do They See Each Other Often?: Not very, but Razz will always come to check in on stuff. Show Pony will also bring them around if they've been away for too long (while ignoring Red's protests and threats)

-

Show Pony -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Best friends. Ever since the Fab Four died, Show Pony and Razz are inseparable. They help each other out.

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Show Pony was there when Razz was threatening the killjoys, and thought it was oddly attractive (though they've always stayed as just friends). Pony was basically the only one Razz would talk to (other than the Fab Four).

Do They See Each Other Often?: Kind of. Razz keeps to themself most of the time, but Show Pony will drop in frequently to say hi or steal something (or to take Razz into town/a concert)

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Motorbaby (The Girl) -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Close friends. Razz is like an adoptive parent figure to the Girl

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Razz found the girl alone and afraid. Then, Razz didn't have much (other than their killjoy gang)

Do They See Each Other Often?: Yeah. Razz checks up on the Girl way too often. They're very overprotective and constantly worrying about the Girl's health and wellbeing

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Korse (And Others From BL/Ind) -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Enemies without a doubt

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Razz used to make a tradition of causing trouble in the City, and Korse has met them on many occasions

Do They See Each Other Often?: Not anymore. Korse had a huge bounty over Razz's head but nobody dares to double cross them. Korse remembers Razz very clearly, and Razz is out for revenge for their friends.

--

ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS

Val Velocity-

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Basically enemies. If Val wasn't a killjoy, Razz promises that they would have ghosted him by now

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Razz found Val talking shit about Party Poison so they decided to give him a piece of their mind (besides Show Pony's attempted warnings)

Do They See Each Other Often?: Not totally. But when they do, it doesn't end well.

-

Killer King (OC) -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Friends with benefits, you could say?

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: King knew his way around the Zones when Razz didn't, so naturally he decided to help them

Do They See Each Other Often?: Very. They used to live together

-

Radio Riot (OC) -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Friends. Riot was the newest addition to the crew but they taught Razz so many new things.

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Razz was walking out of a bar with the rest of their crew when Riot almost hit them with a motorcycle

Do They See Each Other Often?: Yes. Riot moved in with the Crew and helped teach them basic self defense

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Neon Grace (OC) -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Best of friends.

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Neon finally tracked down King (a relative, the two claimed) and Razz was by his side durning that time

Do They See Each Other Often?: Yes. Neon lived with the crew as well.

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Candy Corn (OC) -

Are They Friends, Enemies, or Something Different?: Friends

How Did They Meet/Have They Met?: Candy was Neon Grace's love at first sight

Do They See Each Other Often?: Yes. Candy taught Razz how to shoot a gun

[stanskzseungmin]

Operation Miroh | Stray Kids Mafia! AU ~ Chapter 2

Warnings: None

It was dark when you woke up. The only light source was from the many screens illuminating the room.

The pain you felt from the night before had faded. In fact, you felt no pain at all, not even a crick in the neck or a sore back from laying down in your uncomfortable cot. You lifted your arm into your view rotating it and looking at it front and back, up and down. You were no longer bandaged. Your arm looked as supple and smooth as the day you were born. No scars. No blemishes. No evidence of any injuries from the incident.

Your gaze fell on the figure that was leaning against your cot.

Hwang Hyunjin, the gang’s main medic and engineer.

You smiled at the sight. He kept his promise. You stared at his side profile. His figure was illuminated by the many screens. He looked angelic. His honey brown hair was styled nicely albeit the messy strands from running his fingers through his hair. He wears a brilliant white outfit. It is skin tight with black accents. A masterful design by Hwang Hyunjin himself. Specifically engineered to improve aerodynamics. At the center of his back on either side of his spine resting snuggly under his shoulder blades are two carefully engineered mechanical wings that allows Hyunjin to glide and cover more distance quickly. Hyunjin can retract and extend them at will. It is connected directly into his nervous system via very fine needles. Because of this, Hyunjin still had full control of his wings as such as his arms or legs.

You remember the day he first put them on vividly. The sounds of his pained screams echoing through your base, his face contorted by pain, the tears forcing through his clenched eyes as the needles pierce his skin directly penetrating his nerves.

He was in so much pain. The pain mirrored the first every time he removes them and puts them back on, so he leaves them on as a permanent extension of his body. (Seungmin does the repairs directly on his body whenever needed.)

You can’t really see his face clearly, but you can already envision it from seeing it many times. His eyes were glued to his many screens. His eyes would squint and his nose would occasionally crinkle from concentration. A pair of glasses rested neatly on the bridge of his nose- glasses meticulously crafted with specialized lens to prevent and limit eye strain from staring at his many screens for hours at a time.

Hyunjin has 11 screens, one main larger screen in the center with 5 smaller ones on either side. The 10 other screens each depicted the heart rate, breathing rate, blood pressure, etc of each of the Stray Kids members. One for each starting from the eldest to the youngest, then you at the bottom right screen.

Hyunjin’s left hand was tightly gripping the side of your cot. You rested your hand over his intertwining your fingers with his. He squeezed your much smaller fingers with his larger ones in acknowledgement without turning to look at you. He let out a soft huff. You understood what he wanted from you. You detach your hand from his as he walks towards the collection of screens. You let sleep take over your form.

Some time later, you stirred in your sleep. Hyunjin was still stood stiff in front of his screens.

You felt arms securely wrapped around you and a leg draping over yours. You turned carefully to face the figure.

Lee Felix, the gang’s hitman. It’s mind blowing how effective he is. He is extremely masterful in close quarter fighting and his ability to use a gun is unmatched (with the exception of Changbin.)

He was sound asleep. His blond hair was messy and freckles littered his face like stars in the night sky. Felix was still fully geared. Looks like he just returned from a mission as evident by the dark circles under his eyes. No rest for the wicked. Memories of last night flooded your mind. Felix’s pained screams as he was caught aflamed and him crashing through the window. Hyunjin did a spectacular job tending to his wounds. Felix was apparently well enough to embark on another mission practically hours after being set ablaze.

You carefully got out of his grasp letting the Aussie sleep. You walked towards Hyunjin patting his shoulder signifying you were leaving. You didn’t dare speak to him. You knew better than to interrupt. He has 10 lives on his hands 25/8.

You quietly closed the door behind you as you entered the long hallway littered by closed doors. You began heading down the hallway to report back to your leader.

Along the way, you see Changbin heading your direction.

Seo Changbin, the gang’s weapons dealer. He was donning a black skin tight short sleeved shirt that perfectly showcases his muscles and toned chest. He wore black fingerless leather gloves and loose black pants with black combat boots to finish it off. He had several straps and harnesses attached to his body holding all his gun holsters. Gun magazines decorated his torso. An AK was slung over a shoulder held up with a sling and a sniper rifle secured to his back. He smiled at you fondly relief washing over his stern face. You smiled back remembering the scare you gave him last night. He ruffles your hair gently, his fingers ghosted down the side of your face, your cheek, your jaw before caressing your chin gently wiping his thumb over the soft skin. He walked past you continuing down his path.

You smiled widely as you continued down the hallway giving each door you pass a singular knock. Each room’s occupants briskly opened the door and sticking their heads out, each relieved to see you alive and well.

The first, Han Jisung, the group’s main hustler for money and info. The squirrel like little shit however, didn’t open the door in response to your knock. Instead, he responded with a loud kick on the other side that shook the door slightly.

The second, Yang Jeongin, the group’s youngest and unbelievable sniper. He has never missed a shot. He doubles as a secondary weapons dealer, often accompanying Changbin and even going by himself if Changbin is preoccupied. His head stuck out his door; his red hair was messy with bed head. His eyes were little slits tired from sleep. His eyes open slightly seeing you alive and well. He smiled brightly. You gently pecked his cheek; a slight blush dusted his cheeks. He retreated back into his room returning to sleep. 

The third, Kim Seungmin, the group’s demolitionist. Explosives were his specialty. He does have the knowledge of an engineer and mechanic to lighten Hyunjin’s load. (Although Hyunjin will kill Seungmin if he touches or interferes with any of Hyunjin’s engineering experiments).

Like Jeongin, he only stuck his head out. However, unlike Jeongin, he had a scowl on his face from being rudely interrupted. The scowl didn’t leave his face upon seeing you though. His clenched teeth eased into firmly pressed straight lips. His nose scrunches up slightly prior to giving you a split second peck to your cheek and proceeding to slams the door in your face.

You laughed lightly to yourself shaking your head lightly. You turn to continue but you see Lee Know stumbling out of his room, a gas mask present on his face and a fog of smoke coming out of his open door. Lee Minho, or Lee Know, is the group’s decoy and toxin expert. Smokes and poison gas are his thing. He hand makes every single concoction.

Minho glances at you noticing your presence. He quickly waved at you and smiled. You couldn’t see his face other than his eyes, but from how his eyes crinkled, you knew he smiled at you. Minho then walked through the smoke into his room and left his door open. You peered into his room, but the smoke was so thick and dense you can not even see through it, just a solid color of ashy gray.

You turned the corner still facing the smoke. Minho flooding his room with smoke was not a rare occurrence. You laughed at the thought.

Without realizing, your back collided with a very firm chest. You whipped around to see Woojin.

Kim Woojin, the gang’s main bargainer. Like Jisung, Woojin’s job is to get money and info. Unlike Jisung who practically blackmails the other party, Woojin can sweet talk and let the money speak for him. (Even though Jisung uses violence to get what he wants, the little shit can’t fight to save his life unlike Woojin who can take down 5 guys single handedly.)

Woojin was dressed in a black long sleeved turtleneck and a white faux leather jacket over it. He has several accessories, mainly chains, decorating his body. His lower body was less visually loud. He has simple tight black jeans and black high tops. 

He smiles at you, giving you one of his signature bear hugs and kissing the top of your head. He pulled away from you and stood to the side with an arm outstretched allowing you to pass.

You made your way to Chan’s room. Technically it’s his office, but he holes up there 25/8 it’s practically his room.

Bang Chan, the gang’s leader and hacker. His IQ is through the roof making genius Woojin appearing to have a pea sized brain. 

Bang Chan’s office (room) was dark. The lights were almost always off. The only light was coming from his large monitor. He was slouched over his laptop, the sounds of his fingers dancing over his keyboard can be heard throughout the room.

He notices your presence and spins around on his chair. He showcases his famous dimple smile.

“How are you feeling, mate?” Chan asked, voice thick with an Australian accent.

You smiled and nodded slightly to him.

Chan knew you should rest, but he also knows that his knee will get capped again if he’s forcing you to sit around. You hate sitting around doing nothing when you could go out and be useful.

“So,” he started. “When do you want to start?”

~

Mission Briefing

Location: Civilized Countryside

Weather: Clear Time of Day: Late Day/Evening

Objective: Gather info

Date: 20XX

Partner: ???

~

Authors note: Since this is the first round of voting, I am providing you with the condensed mission briefing. I will not be stating this explicitly in later chapters. Every mission briefing will follow this same format. It will be your job to gather that info yourself. The full briefing will be posted before every chapter so you can check if you gathered all the correct info.

Here I have given you a mission briefing and you, the readers, will vote for which member you want to bring with you. 

Remember your decisions will have consequences. 

So refer back to their character profiles and stats when casting your vote.

Happy voting!

(Please refer to the Voting Rules before casting your vote.)

Crosses fingers that I get more than 3 votes and it’s not a tie.

Voting ends Tuesday, September 17 12PM PST or Friday, September 13 12PM PST if I get a good amount of votes.

I absolutely hate asking for reblogs, but please reblog if you enjoy the fanfiction, I really don’t want it to flop especially on the first voting stage T^T

Author Note 2 (I’m sorry)

So I will most likely write member scenarios prior to voting stages beginning so I have some back long, but that means for the members that don’t make it scenarios will be tossed. So... how do y’allsters feel if I do like a little contest thing during the votes? Like first few people who can accurately pinpoint the best possible member with a brief explanation why can have a choice to read one of these extra scenarios? (Note: Best possible member does not necessarily mean the member that wins the votes.) PLEASE give me feedback on this. 

~Masterlist~

[izzyfandoms]

The Robot and The Snake

Chapter One

General Taglist: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game

Taglist: @todefine-istolimit

Warnings: Mild violence, zombies, sympathetic Deceit

Ships: Lociet, Moxiety, Remy x Roman (QPR) and background Emile x Toby

Masterpost

Being a superhero wasn’t anything like Logan Abbott had thought it would be and, for that, he was very grateful. He was never really one for theatrics.

Thankfully, the rest of his team were dramatic enough for the job – no matter how adamantly Virgil liked to deny it.

“Zombie!” Roman – aka the Siren – shouted, gloved hands on hips as he yelled at the lab coat-wearing man stood at the other end of the room. “Come over here and fight us yourself, you… mad scientist wannabe coward!”

The Zombie was their sworn nemesis – a tall, silent man clad in neat black trousers, a plain shirt, and a hooded white lab coat, with a gruesome zombie mask that covered his whole face, revealing only his cold brown eyes. He crossed his arms as he looked over the four superheroes currently fighting for their lives against the horde of living corpses that the villain had just summoned.

Roman ducked as three more zombies leapt at him, swearing under his breath in Spanish and unsheathing his shimmering sword, slicing off one of their heads and grimacing slightly as a splash of corpse goop got onto his sea-themed super-suit. A drop even landed in his dark brown hair, staining his locks, though, luckily, he hadn’t yet noticed, or he would have thrown a fit.

“Aww, come on!” He pouted, flicking his wrist and causing a nearby pipe to burst, controlling the water and letting it flow out and wash away about a third of the zombies. “It takes ages to wash this thing!”

Roman would feel guilty for making a mess of the bank, but they were attempting to save it from robbers, so he figured that made up for it.

“Priorities, Siren.” Logan, aka the Robot, said monotonously, teleporting away from a zombie’s bite and reappearing right beside Roman, running his fingers through his dark blond hair, green eyes narrowing. Luckily, the creatures’ bites weren’t infectious, like in the movies, just painful. “We need to get to his sidekick; he’s probably breaking into the vaults as we speak.”

Roman immediately spun around, frantically eyeing the rest of the room, his brow creasing when he realised that the Zombie’s sidekick – more commonly known as the Snake – had disappeared whilst they’d all been distracted. He then turned to where Patton and Virgil (the Butterfly and the Ant, respectively) were battling against the rest of the horde. The Ant was using his super strength to toss dozens of zombies to the ground and stomp on their skulls with his big black boots, and his fiancé, the Butterfly, levitated above them all, using his powers to control groups of various insects to distract and attack the zombies so he could shoot them with his crossbow.

“Hey, little brother!” Roman shouted, getting Virgil’s attention. “Get to the vaults; I think Snake’s there. We can handle the zombies.”

Virgil glanced back at Patton, who gave him a small smile and a reassuring nod, before turning back to his bugs. Virgil then yanked out a knife from his boot and impaled the skull of another nearby zombie; killing one of them was basically the same as killing a human, though the Zombie could resurrect the corpses again whenever he wanted to. The Ant then wasted no time and shrunk down to the size of… well, an ant. They all lost sight of him immediately after that, but he presumably ran off in the direction of the vaults, to stop the Snake.

The Robot then teleported over to the Zombie, though he made sure he stayed far enough away that the villain couldn’t lay a hand on him – a single touch would leave Logan powerless for another 24 hours at least. That left Patton and Roman to take care of the rest of the walking dead alone, though they could handle themselves. Those were the Zombie’s two powers (raising the dead and removing superpowers), making him a rather formidable enemy. They all had two superpowers, though none of them knew why, or where they came from.

“Why are you here?” Logan questioned cautiously. “You’ve never robbed a bank before; do you really need the money?”

The Zombie remained silent – he never spoke, and his mask covered his entire face, the hood of his lab coat covering his hair. There was no way to tell who he really was, not unless they ever got close enough to unmask him.

After another moment or two, the villain’s head snapped to the side, Logan immediately following his gaze, and they watched as a small yellow snake slithered into the room, dodging fallen corpses and zombies’ legs, stopping at the Zombie’s feet. It then shifted into a tall familiar man in ripped jeans, a yellow hoodie, and a leather jacket, with a snake-like mask and a large, very full bag tossed over his shoulder.

“Let’s go.” The Snake hissed, eyeing Roman, Patton and Logan, and the Zombie nodded, taking the bag from his sidekick and then flicking his wrist, causing all of the fallen zombies to rise once again, overwhelming the three heroes.

“Oh, fuck you.” Roman growled as he ducked and slashed at the continued onslaught of living corpses. “Is this really necessary?”

The Snake responded by unsheathing a dagger and hurling it at the Siren, narrowly missing the hero’s skull as it embedded itself into the wall.

“Hey, don’t hurt him!” Patton exclaimed, and the Snake rolled his eyes at that, turning back to the Zombie, who gestured towards the exit.

In response, the Butterfly flicked his wrist and sent a horde of angry wasps towards the duo. The Zombie ducked away, lifting one gloved hand – the one not clutching the giant sack of money – to half-heartedly swat at the insects, but not a single inch of his skin was exposed, so he didn’t actually seem too bothered by that. The heroes weren’t even entirely sure that the Zombie was male, but he’d never corrected them when they referred to him as such, so they assumed they were right.

The villain then grabbed his sidekick’s wrist and dragged him out of the bank, leaving the gang of heroes to deal with the remaining zombies – though they’d luckily evacuated all remaining civilians early on in the fight. Fortunately, the dead would fall again when the Zombie was far enough away, but that gave the villains just enough time to escape, so it wasn’t really that much help after all.

Roman sighed, pausing for a moment to drag his hand down his face in irritation. He looked over the dozens of drooling zombies. “It’s a shame I can’t seduce a corpse.”

***

About an hour after the fight had ended, the four heroes had trudged back to Patton and Virgil’s apartment – having had to spend almost half an hour dealing with the police – and they were now tending to their wounds, complaining (and Roman practically sulking) about their most recent failure.

“I can’t believe we lost… again!” Roman whined, leaning back in his chair, his scaly blue and green mask tossed to the side as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The rest of his armoured super-suit matched his mask, and he also wore a stylish bright white jacket and white boots. “There’s four of us and two of them, how do they always win? We manage to defeat practically every other supervillain we come across, no problem! It’s been almost a year and we’ve never even gotten close.”

“Because we can’t get close to Zombie.” Logan said dryly, crossing his arms. His own armoured super-suit and mask were silver, matching the alias ‘Robot’ that Roman had given him, since Logan had basically refused to come up with one himself. The name didn’t really match either of his powers, but it was too late now to change it. “If he touches us, our powers malfunction, so we can’t exactly get close to him. Your seduction powers only work if you’re close enough to make contact with the target.”

Roman groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face in irritation. He then winced as that just irritated his injured shoulder.

“One of his stupid zombies bit me, too.” He complained. “I think that dead guy was an accountant, or something, he had no right being as strong as he was. It hurts.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “And I suppose you want me to heal that.”

Roman grinned, holding his hand out to Logan, who was sat on the sofa beside the chair. “Please do.”

Logan reluctantly took the hand in response, pressing a kiss to his friend’s knuckles, before dropping it and scowling slightly. “Honestly, what an irritatingly inconvenient way to heal others, any other method would be much more appropriate. I don’t appreciate having to kiss the foreheads of every civilian that gets injured in our battles.”

Just as Roman was about to respond, possibly with slight jealousy, Patton and Virgil walked back into the room, holding four large mugs of coffee, one for each of them. They both also still wore the outfits they’d fought in, though they’d removed their masks. Virgil’s armoured super-suit was unsurprisingly purple and black, his signature colours, with a matching hoodie that he always wore on top of it. Patton’s suit was pastel blue and pink, with two small metal wings secured flat against his back (for purely aesthetic reasons, he didn’t need them to fly). He was the tallest of all of them, with dark skin, black hair and large round glasses that seemed to take up most of his face, though both he and Logan wore contact lenses in battle, for convenience.

“Who wants coffee?” Patton smiled widely, and Roman sat up straight, eyes lighting up as he reached out to grab a bright red Disney-themed mug,

“Oh, god, yes!” Roman exclaimed, taking it gratefully. “If my little brother hadn’t snatched you up years ago, I’d be marrying you myself. Platonically – of course. Seduction may be my superpower, but romance isn’t really my thing.”

Patton giggled, sitting on the arm of the chair and taking a sip of his own drink. His own mug was decorated with multi-coloured butterfly stickers, and he also wore tiny earrings that matched. “It’s just coffee, Roman.”

Roman took a large gulp of his coffee, before sighing loudly and grinning even wider. “Patton you are a god in the body of a man. A beautiful, beautiful man.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, handing Logan one of his own two mugs and sitting down beside his best friend. “Stop flirting with my fiancé, Roman.”

“I’m not flirting!” Roman exclaimed defensively, hand over heart in mock offense. “I’m simply appreciating my future brother-in-law.”

“Yes, well, as truly fascinating as this conversation may be,” Logan said dryly, taking a small sip from his plain blue mug, before placing it back on the coffee table in front of him. “We need to find out where the Zombie plans on attacking next, and who he is, or we’ll likely never defeat him.”

Virgil leant back, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, okay, but how are we supposed to find him? We all wear masks. We don’t know their identities; they don’t know ours – that’s kinda the point.”

“Yeah, well, we should work out a plan to ambush and rip off his mask, then!” Roman exclaimed, gesturing dramatically with his hands, barely avoiding spilling his drink. “And, maybe, if we… I don’t know… kidnap the Snake, or something, we can use him as leverage to get to the Zombie.”

“Roman,” Patton scolded. “We’re the good guys, remember? We can’t just kidnap him, no matter how evil our nemeses may be.”

Roman sighed irritably. “Patton, the Snake alone has attacked us more times than I can count-”

“Not than you can count that high.” Virgil mumbled into his mug, ignoring the glare his older brother shot back at him.

“Anyway, as I was saying, the Snake’s just as bad as the Zombie in my eyes. In fact, he’s stabbed me more times in the past month than the Zombie ever has! We need to stop him just as much as, if not more than, we need to stop the Zombie!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “The Zombie’s the main villain here, he tells the Snake what to do, so our focus should be on him, not on his sidekick.”

“But the Snake’s much more dangerous!” Roman protested loudly. “As far as we know, the Zombie’s never hurt anyone.”

“That’s because he gets his zombies and his sidekick to do his dirty work for him.” Virgil corrected smoothly after another sip of coffee. After a short glare from his brother, he continued. “Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, Ro. The Snake is definitely dangerous, he needs to be stopped, but he does what the Zombie tells him to, so we need to take out the boss to actually win this fight.”

Roman sighed, giving in reluctantly, before absent-mindedly glancing up at the clock, his eyes suddenly widening when he noticed the time.

“Oh, shit!” He hurriedly chugged the rest of his coffee, slamming the mug back down onto the coffee table and jumping up. “I’m gonna be late for work. Virge, come on, we’ve gotta go.”

His younger brother groaned, putting his own cup down and standing up, stretching. “But you own the place, Ro, it’s your café, can’t we wait a little longer? We had to wake up at 4am and those zombies bit me, like, four times. I’m exhausted, man.”

Logan’s eyes widened slightly as he put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Virgil! Why didn’t you tell me you were injured? Here, just… just let me-” He leant over and pressed a lingering kiss to Virgil’s cheek, just to make sure it healed him fully, and his friend gave him a small relieved smile in response.

“Thanks.”

“Come on, Virge, we’ve gotta get to The Palace Café, unless you wanna deal with one very pissed off Remy – he’s not gonna be happy if we don’t provide his three morning coffees.”

Virgil sighed, stepping over to Patton and pressing a quick kiss to his fiancé’s lips. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

***

Logan had left for his own place of work not too long after Roman and Virgil had: the flower shop he owned – creatively named Abbott’s Flowers.

He was currently stood behind the front desk, alone – his other employees were all working in the back room. He’d been arranging a large bouquet for a regular client of his, an elderly woman who’d come to pick it up any minute now, when the door suddenly opened, and a familiar man with a short dyed white ponytail, tattoos covering his arms, and vitiligo on the left side of his face stepped inside.

“Janus, what are you doing here?” Logan blinked a few times in surprise, pushing the bouquet to one side as he stood up straighter.

“I’m between customers and I wanted to see you.” Janus explained, shrugging as he walked up to Logan, leaning over the counter and pressing a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine – emotionally neutral, though slightly tired and perhaps a little nauseated. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Janus snorted. “I wish you’d told me that before I kissed you.” His thumb lightly caressed Logan’s cheek. “But, seriously, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, really.” Logan said, taking Janus’s hand off of his face and squeezing it lightly, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. “I just didn’t get that much sleep, that’s all.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?” Janus raised one eyebrow.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know, you bring it up in every conversation we have. How are you, my dear?”

Janus shrugged. “I’m fine now that I’m with you. I had a bit of a rough morning.”

Logan hummed lightly in response. “Tough client?”

“Something like that.” Janus shrugged. “I mean, I just had a lady who wouldn’t stop talking about politics while I tattooed a rose on her thigh, but she was mostly just an annoyance.”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, well, that is a shame, but you should probably get back to work. Nate and Remy may accidentally burn the place down without you, so I suggest you get back.” Janus pouted slightly at that, and Logan continued. “Besides, I have a customer coming any minute now-”

He was interrupted by the front door opening yet again, the little bell above it ringing loudly as an elderly woman stepped inside.

“Oh, Mr Abbott, I see you’ve got my bouquet!” She cooed, beaming toothily as she strolled up to the counter and looked over her many vibrant flowers. “Oh, they’re so beautiful, I’m sure my daughter-in-law will adore them.”

Logan smiled softly. “You can call me Logan, Edith, and I’m sure she will, you chose well.”

“Only with your help.” Edith reached over and patted him on the shoulder, before only then noticing Janus leaning against the front desk, watching them with a slight smile. “Oh, hello! Who might you be?”

“Janus Belrose,” He held out his hand for her to shake, which she did enthusiastically. “I’m Logan’s boyfriend.”

Edith’s eyes lit up when she heard that, looking between them, her smile widening. “Oh, that’s just wonderful! Your name sounds French, is it French? How long have you two been together? Do you work here, too?”

“Yes, it’s French.” Janus said, giving Logan a short, rather amused look. “We’ve been together for almost three years now and, no, I don’t work here. I own the tattoo parlour next door.”

Edith hummed quietly in thought. “Yes, I do suppose the name ‘Janus’s tattoos’ should have given that away.”

Janus snorted. “Yeah, probably.” He turned back to Logan. “I should probably get going now – work awaits. Love you, babe.” He then pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s lips.

“I suppose I’m quite fond of you, too.” Logan responded smoothly, and Janus rolled his eyes in response, giving Edith a small smile and a nod before leaving.

Logan turned his attention back to Edith. “Now, where were we?”

***

“Hey, you’re late!” Roman pouted irritably, hands on hips as he glared up at Logan and Janus (Roman was the shortest of them all). “Everyone else’s been here for ages!”

Logan sighed. “Okay, I apologise, but one of my employees had to leave early, so it took longer than usual to close up.”

Roman still didn’t look too please, his eyes narrowed slightly, but that was probably just because he didn’t like admitting Logan wasn’t in the wrong.

Logan rolled his eyes, holding up a large bag of sweet and salty popcorn. “I brought snacks.”

Roman paused for another few moments, before snatching the bag from him, looking it over appreciatively. “You are forgiven.” He then turned on his heel and marched off in the direction of the kitchen.

The trio were currently at The Palace Café, having been invited by Roman for their monthly movie marathon, along with the rest of their friends: Virgil, Patton, Emile, Toby, Nate and Remy (Roman’s qpp). Last month’s theme had been Disney movies, unsurprisingly chosen by Roman himself, and this month’s them had been chosen Toby, horror movies.

“Ugh, zombie movies, really?” Virgil complained as he rifled through the DVDs that Toby had brought with him, half of them including zombies. “I hate those things.”

“Aww, come on, man, those are my favourites!” Toby laughed, snatching them back and continuing to work with the projector. “Zombies are great.”

“That’s coming from someone who’s never come face-to-face with the Zombie’s zombies before. I mean, seriously, they’re a little fucked up.” Janus piped up, flopping down onto one of the many beanbags that Roman had scattered across the floor.

“I don’t know…” Emile hummed. “I still think zombies are pretty cool.” He exchanged a small smile with his boyfriend, Toby, but everyone else gave him slightly confused looks. “What?” He asked innocently. “Toby’s been making me binge watch horror movies with him in exchange for the dozens of cartoons I’ve shown him.”

“I thought it was only fair.” Toby laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek. “Trust me, he’s shown me a lot of cartoons.”

Just as he finished saying that, Roman kicked the kitchen door open, balancing multiple bowls of various snacks in his arms.

“A little help, please?”

Patton immediately jumped up, taking two of the bowls and bringing them back over to the large purple beanbag Virgil had settled himself onto, sitting down next to his fiancé and curling up at his side.

“Have you never heard of sharing?” Nate rolled his eyes, snatching one of the bowls – the one filled with popcorn – from Patton’s arms and stuffing a huge handful into his mouth.

“Are we gonna get this movie marathon started, or what?” Remy complained, running his fingers through his bright pink hair before putting his arm around Roman when the shorter man settled down beside him. “’Cos, gurl, I am getting bored, and if this takes too long then I’m just gonna go home.”

“Oh, calm down, Rem.” Toby rolled his eyes. “It may take some time to set up, but it’s worth it.”

Remy huffed loudly, adjusting his sunglasses, “Are you sure about that? Horror movies are kinda dumb.”

Toby gasped overdramatically, hand over heart. “How dare you! Horror movies are by far the greatest genre of film in existence, and you can fight me on that.”

Janus and Logan watched as a debate soon broke out between Remy and Toby  (with the occasional added comment from their other friends) over the quality of horror movies and whether or not they were worth the time it took to set up the movie night – Remy got  bored very easily – and they rolled their eyes in amusement at their friends’ antics.

“They’re basically children, aren’t they?” Janus mused, shifting so he was practically curled up at Logan’s side.

“Very much so.”

***

Many hours later, when the movie night had long since ended and the clock had passed midnight, the Robot was patrolling the city, teleporting from rooftop to rooftop to make sure that everything was okay. The four heroes alternated patrols every night, and tonight was Logan’s turn.

It was a relatively quiet night, and the silver-clad superhero had decided to take a short break, pausing to sit on the roof of an apartment building, legs dangling over the edge as he admired the stars up above. He absent-mindedly mumbled the names of every constellation he spotted out loud, lost in though as he admired the night’s sky.

“You talking to yourself again?” A voice suddenly spoke up from right behind him.

Logan’s eyes widened as he jumped up immediately, spinning around, his hand instantly perched on the sheathed knife on his belt. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and relaxed when he realised who had just snuck up on him.

“Snake.” Logan breathed, removing his hand from his belt and crossing his arms. “What are you doing here? We can’t be seen together, it’ll seem suspicious.”

The Snake smirked slightly, reaching out and lightly touching the Robot’s chest. “No one can see us from up here. You’ll have to think of a better excuse than that.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Okay, but we still need to be careful. If anyone finds out about this, it’ll ruin the whole plan.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I wanted to see you!” The Snake protested. “And don’t you wanna know if I’ve discovered anything new?”

“Have you?”

The Snake’s smile turned sheepish. “Well, no… but-”

“But nothing.” Logan scolded, crossing his arms. “We can’t risk meeting up like this, we have other ways to catch up, you know.”

“Aww…” The other man cooed. “But you look so good in that suit! Can’t I just be here to appreciate how hot you look in an outfit as tight as that one?”

The Robot tried not to blush, but by the growing smirk on the Snake’s face, he’d clearly failed at that.

“We… we saw each other earlier, remember?” Logan protested. “You know, when you guys robbed that bank.”

The Snake snorted at that. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but I didn’t get a proper look at you!” He very obviously looked Logan up and down, before making eye contact with him again and grinning appreciatively.

The Robot stumbled over his words for almost another minute – the Snake knew exactly how to make him flustered – before finally managing to speak up again.

“Snake, this is serious, we really can’t be seen together!” Logan scolded, swiftly changing the subject back to one that wouldn’t leave him so embarrassed. “If our allies find out what’s really going on, it’ll ruin the whole plan, we’ll never find out who the Zombie is. We can’t risk that… and- and…”

“And?” The Snake prompted, one eyebrow raised.

Logan hesitated for a moment, before sighing. “And he could hurt you.”

The Snake’s face softened, and he reached out and lightly caressed Logan’s cheek. “I can take care of myself, Babe.”

“I know you can.” Logan reassured softly. “But I can’t risk losing you, we really need to be more careful.”

He and the Robot’s faces crept close and close together until their lips were only lips apart.

“Go home, Janus.” Logan mumbled against his boyfriend’s lips. “I’ll see you after patrol.”

[zackattack2995]

School Reunion: a Hogwarts Mystery story

Word Count: 4,268 words

Zack and his band, The Motionless Witch, had just finished playing their last show of the tour they were on with Weird Sisters- who had personally invited Zack’s band when they found out it was the same kid they played a gig with at Hogwarts. “I knew Rock and Roll was in yer blood- kid!” Myron, the lead singer exclaimed to Zack while the two bands were hanging out in between shows. “Yea, I got kinda burnt out from Curse Breaking when I was in Hogwarts, and I needed an outlet.” Zack confessed. “I remembered playing with you guys at Hogwarts and I realized I wanted to start a band of my own.” “Hell, I’d say you’re close to surpassing us-mate!” Kirley, the lead guitarist told Zack. “Ah, you’re too kind.” Zack replied. “We’re just having fun, and we wanna do this until we can’t anymore.” Zack was exhausted after the show, and after saying goodbye to his bandmates: Matt on lead guitar, Tyler on drums, Ricky on rhythm guitar, and Kyle, the new bass guitarist, Zack picked up his black suitcase with skulls painted on it that held his spare clothes during the tour and apparated home.

           Zack was wearing a black Weird Sisters shirt with a long sleeve fishnet top underneath, black shiny skinny jeans that had some holes in them, combat boots, and a black beanie he had thrown on. Zack’s hair was considerably longer than he had it during his time in Hogwarts and it was parted to the left side of his face, completely covering it. Zack had the right side of his hair tucked behind his ear. He had both his ears pierced with an earring that had a spiderweb design, and he had a black nose ring on the right side of his nose. He kept his trademark black eye make-up that enhanced his green eyes, and black lipstick that he started doing in his Sixth Year of Hogwarts. Zack could finally relax at home with the people he missed so incredibly much. Zack entered the house and saw his beautiful wife, Carmilla writing a manuscript for her new horror novel in the living room. “Hey DeathDoll, I’m home.” Carmilla put down her manuscript to focus her attention on the man she loved more than life itself. “Hi, babe! Welcome home!” Carmilla had decided after five years of touring as the bass player of Zack’s band, The Motionless Witch, that she wanted to become a horror novelist instead. Carmilla now had her blue hair tied in a ponytail by a black barbed wire hairband while still keeping the bangs that covered one of her silver eyes. She was wearing her black square thick rimmed glasses that she wore so that she could feel like an actual author when she writes. Carmilla got up from the coach and rushed over to Zack, she gave him a big hug and started kissing her Goth Prince. Zack embraced his vampire wife and kissed her back. “Daddy is that you?” a small voice asked. Zack looked and saw his daughter, Lilith, walking down the stairs. Lilith had black hair, like her father with blue streaks that appeared at the age of five, which her mother found to be adorable. She had heterochromia, with one eye that was green and one eye that was silver. Lilith was ten years old and would attend Hogwarts soon. “There’s my little demon!” Zack exclaimed as he picked up Lilith and did one quick spin before putting her back down. “I know you just got back, hon, but we both got a letter from Hogwarts today.” Carmilla said. “Oh? Really?” Zack asked surprised. “Yea I haven’t opened them yet, I wanted to wait for you to get home.” “Well I’m here now, let’s open them.” Zack and Carmilla both dug their black painted fingers into the wax stamped Hogwarts crest that sealed their letters and silently read its contents. “A school reunion, huh.” Zack remarked after reading his letter. “I guess that could be fun. It would be a way to check up on the gang and see what they’ve been up to for the last ten years.” “We should bring Lilith that way she can check out her school.” Carmilla said. “That’s a great idea, you’re so smart!” Zack told his wife. “Let’s go to bed, we have a big day tomorrow.” Carmilla instructed. “Alright, head to bed Lilith. Daddy and Mommy are gonna show you your school tomorrow and you’ll be able to meet our friends.” “Ok, Dad.” Lilith said, heading upstairs. “I know you’re tired from the show…” Carmilla whispered in Zack’s ear. “But how about a little encore with your biggest fan? I haven’t seen you in two weeks and I’ve been getting hot and bothered without you here.” “I think I can do three or five encores, just for you.” Zack said coyly. Carmilla purred and playfully bit Zack’s ear, Zack chased after his wife who started giggling as she ran upstairs into the bedroom. Zack furiously kissed Carmilla while she started playfully biting his neck, and Zack closed the door, locking it so that they couldn’t be disturbed.

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

It was morning, and Zack’s black cat Jinx, was waking up the sleeping couple. It took a few nudges, but Jinx finally accomplished his job. “Morning to you too, buddy.” Zack murmured, Jinx gave a quick meow and hopped down off the bed. Zack rolled next to his sleeping wife and gave Carmilla a quick kiss. “I’ll be up in a minute, babe.” Carmilla whispered. Zack put on his Nightmare Before Christmas pajama bottoms and threw on a black hoodie and headed downstairs to make something to eat. Lilith was already at the table eating cereal. “Morning, dad.” Lilith said softly. “Morning, sweetie. Did you get enough rest?” “Yea.” “Ok, then.” Zack made himself buffalo wings to eat with ranch dipping sauce. Zack normally skipped breakfast, but he didn’t know when they would eat at the reunion- so he wanted to at least eat something before they left. “Alright guys, we gotta get changed soon.” Carmilla yawned, exposing her pointy incisor teeth, after coming downstairs. “Yea, yea, I know.” Zack replied. After he finished eating, Zack went upstairs to grab his outfit for the reunion. Zack grabbed one of his band shirts from his suitcase and threw it on. He put on a different pair of leather pants that weren’t quiet as distressed as the pair he wears on stage. Finally, Zack threw on a pair of black combat boots and a black leather jacket with spikes on it. Carmilla came into the room and started putting her outfit together. Carmilla put on a black leather corset with a long sleeve fishnet top. She had a black gothic Lolita skirt with white skulls on it. Carmilla put on a pair of black and white stripped leggings, and finished it off with black platformers. Finally, Carmilla put on her black spiky bracelets and put on her signature black choker with a silver bat attached. Zack and Carmilla head to the bathroom so that they can do their nails, makeup and hair together. Zack has both sides of his dark hair tucked behind his ears and has his black eyeliner added. Carmilla has her hair tied in her usual twintails with bangs that cover her left eye. Finally, she has her red eyeliner applied. “Alright, we’re ready to go.” Zack tells Lilith as he and Carmilla descend the stairs. Lilith is wearing a black long sleeve top with a white upside-down cross on it, a black skirt, and black combat boots. “You look so adorable!” Carmilla gushed. “You’re gonna make so many friends.” “You sure?” Lilith asked quietly. “Of course, you will.” Zack said enthusiastically. “I remember meeting my best friend, Rowan, before I even got to Hogwarts.” Zack recalled. “But don’t feel too pressured.” Carmilla explained. “I didn’t meet my best friend, Chiara, until my Fifth Year at Hogwarts. And I didn’t meet your dad until my Sixth Year.” “Yea, just go at your own pace.” Zack finished. And with that, the Ropers were off to Hogwarts.

           The Ropers finally arrived at Hogwarts, and it seemed more crowded than usual. Carmilla was shaking like a leaf as she tried to navigate the different people crowding the West Lower Floor. Zack wrapped his arm around Carmilla and kissed her on the neck to calm her down. “I didn’t think there was gonna be this much people here.” Carmilla whispered. “Yea, I don’t remember this much people here when we attended.” Everyone gathered at the Great Hall and sat at the tables. “Oh my god! Zack is that you?!” a girl’s voice shrieked excitedly. Zack turned around and saw one of his oldest friends, Penny, race over to him. Penny was wearing a one-piece suit, had on a pair of red circled rimmed glasses, with her golden hair in a ponytail and has her usual braided parts of her hair tucked behind her ears. Zack stood up and hugged Penny. “Hey, how have you been?” Zack asked. “Oh, I’ve been great!” Penny retorted. “I’m the head journalist of Romours!” “Sounds very important.” “Nah it’s no big deal. I heard you’re in a rock band though… that’s pretty cool!” “Yea, The Motionless Witch. We just finished our tour with Weird Sisters.” Zack stopped his train of thought. “Oh, I almost forgot- Penny, this is my wife, Carmilla.” “Nice to meet you.” Penny said, shaking Carmilla’s pale hand. “pleasure’s all mine.” “And who’s this little one?” “That’s our daughter, Lilith.” Zack answered. “Hi, Lilith. I’m Penny… I was a friend of your Dad’s here.” Penny explained to Lilith. Penny turned around. “Oh, hey sweet pea!” Penny exclaimed. Rowan, who appeared to have not changed at all and seen carrying a little girl that matched his appearance, approached Penny and gave her a quick kiss. “Sorry, I’m late. Dumbledore wanted to talk with me about a couple things this year, and this little one started getting aggravated.” Rowan turned around to face his best friend. “How are you doing, man?” “I’m great. It’s good to see you again.” “Same to you.” “Oh, Rowan- this is my wife, Carmilla and my daughter, Lilith.” “It’s nice to meet you guys.” Rowan said as he smiled. “This one is Kisa, she’s very outgoing- much like her mother.” Rowan put Kisa down and she approached Lilith, who was hiding behind Carmilla, staring intently at Kisa. “I’m Kisa, it’s very nice to meet you!” Kisa stuck out her hand. Lilith looked up at her mother and father. “It’s ok, you can introduce yourself.” Zack told Lilith. Zack looked at Kisa. “Sorry, she’s very shy- much like her mother.” “I’m… Lilith.” Lilith said softly. Lilith slowly crept in front of her mother and shook Kisa’s hand. “Looks like you guys are already friends.” Rowan exclaimed. “Reminds me of when I first met you before we attended Hogwarts, Zack.” “Yea, I was just telling Lilith about that before we left the house.” “Well, we should probably sit down, Dumbledore is about to give his opening ceremony speech.” With that… Zack, Carmilla, Lilith, Penny, Rowan, and Kisa sat next to each other as Dumbledore approached the podium of The Great Hall.

“It’s great to see so many new and familiar faces today, as we celebrate a time of remembrance and strengthen the bonds we first developed while walking these halls.” Dumbledore exclaimed; his booming voice reverberated the room as he spoke. “I know some were unable to attend, but those of you who were able to, I’m happy to see once again. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so with that being said… for one last time, let the feast begin!” Dumbledore raised his arms in the air, and suddenly food appeared in front of everyone at the table. The sound of eating echoed the room and Zack started eating the country fried steak that appeared in front of him. In front of Carmilla was a steak done bloody. Zack, Carmilla, Penny, and Rowan talked amongst each other while they ate, and Zack noticed Lilith was starting to talk to Kisa more… although Kisa had to start the conversation. “There you guys are!” a voice boomed behind Zack. It was another one of his friends from Hogwarts. It was an imposing figure, but Zack knew this person had a softer side. It was Barnaby Lee, a fellow Slytherin classmate of his. Barnaby hadn’t changed one bit- except now his hair was slightly longer and was messy looking. Barnaby was carrying his plates full of food while his wife trailed behind with a bored expression on her face. “Oh my god, how are you doing Barnaby!” Penny asked excitedly. “I’m doing great.” Barnaby said with a smile on his face. “Hey, be careful babe. You’re gonna drop your food.” Barnaby’s wife, Ismelda warned. Ismelda wore a black dress with cobwebs on it, she had blood red lipstick, and her black hair was longer than when she was in Hogwarts, but kept it parted to the left side of her face. “Oh, right- sorry babe.” Barnaby apologized to his wife. “I swear babe, you can be such a handful.” Ismelda muttered. “But that’s what I love about you.” Ismelda pinched Barnaby’s cheek, and he grinned from ear to ear. “Hey, isn’t that Chiara and Jae?” Rowan asked. Sure enough, Chiara and Jae were approaching the group hand in hand. “Oh, my goodness, Carmi! You look absolutely gorgeous!” Chiara complemented Carmilla. “Oh, thanks Chi!” Carmilla beamed. “Do you know where the others are?” Zack asked Jae, who wore a dirty suit and robe, and a gold scarf. “I know Tonks is here somewhere. Bill and Charlie couldn’t make it. Not sure about Merula. Diego- Mr. Bachelor is throwing a party at his place, and I believe Ben and Badeea said they’d be unable to attend. Something about presenting art pieces to muggles.” “That does sound like them.” Barnaby responded with food in his mouth. “Wotcher! How’s the gang doing?!” Tonks asked, pushing someone aside to their annoyance, to sit next to Zack. Tonk’s pink hair was longer and down to her shoulders. But her wicked smile was unmistakable. Tonks was joined by Tulip who had her red hair cut shorter with small bangs parted to the right. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the big rock star in our group of misfits.” Tonks said, greeting Zack. “C’mon, I’m not that big of a deal.” “Modest as ever.” Tulip remarked, shaking her head. “Don’t mind her- she’s become all Miss Serious Assistant Manager.” Tonks told Zack. “I’ll have you know, I’m Assistant Manager of Zonkos! So, I can still have some fun.” Tulip argued. “Let’s go around and tell each other what we’ve been up to for the past ten years.” Rowan instructed the group. Zack explained that he was the lead singer of his band, The Motionless Witch. Carmilla explained that she wrote horror novels now. Tonks explained that she got the job as an Auror. Barnaby excitedly explained that he became a magizoologist. Ismelda told the group she became an executioner. Chiara explained that she was a healer who specializes in werewolf needs. Finally, Jae explained that he works as salesman that sells contraband items in Knockturn Alley. “What about you?” Zack asked Rowan. “Oh, I took up the position of teaching History of Magic here.” Rowan explained. “No way!” Barnaby exclaimed. “Wasn’t it your dream to be a Professor here?” Tonks inquired. “Yea, Dumbledore said that Professor Binns wasn’t quite garnering the student’s attention, so he wanted me to teach during Summer Break as a test run, and he liked the results.” “I couldn’t be prouder of him.” Penny retorted. “That means you’ll be teaching Lilith this year.” Carmilla noted. “Yea, you’ll be the best teacher ever- I know you will!” Barnaby shouted excitedly. “What about you, Penny? Didn’t you say you were a Head Journalist, or something?” Zack asked. “Well, it’s kinda complicated.” Penny started, before she could give an answer, an ominous dark shape appeared before her… it was Severus Snape. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Haywood.” Snape remarked. “Actually, it’s Miss Khana now, Professor.” Penny corrected. “Please, as one of my best students- you don’t need to call me Professor anymore, Miss Khana.” Snape retorted. “I wondered… why is it that you didn’t pursue the field of Potions further, outside of your time in Hogwarts?” Snape asked Penny. Penny blushed, this is what she was about to tell the group, but now she’d have to explain it to her favorite Professor. “Well, you see… I was originally going to work in the Potions field, but there wasn’t any room in that field to grow- so I worked at Rumours! instead. I became a head journalist, but I still craft some potions on the side.” “Ahh, I see.” Snape murmured. Snape glanced at Zack and frowned. “Is that a picture of me on your shirt, Mr. Roper?” Snape asked Zack. Zack looked down at the shirt from his suitcase he threw on and looked back at his former Professor. “Why yes, it is, Professor. It’s one of my band’s merch and the kids have been loving it. You like it?” “Mr. Roper, I’ve always had a mixed relationship with you. There’s been times where I could see your full potential, and other times where I couldn’t think any lower of you. You’ve always wondered why I’ve been so tough on you… wonder no more. You never cease to astound me.” With that, Snape left the group to join the other Professors at the front of the Great Hall. “Well, that went well.” Tulip joked. Tonks started giggling, and the whole group followed.

           After finishing their food, the group decided they wanted to explore the castle one last time. “Wait, honey- perhaps we should have someone watch after the kids.” Carmilla told Zack, referring to Lilith and Kisa. “Don’t worry, I got this.” Rowan explained. “Excuse me, Professor!” Rowan caught the attention of the Charms Professor and Frog Choir Instructor, Professor Flitwick- who looked as jolly as ever. “Yes, Mr. Khana?” “We were thinking about exploring the castle one last time, and was wondering if you could watch over Kisa and Lilith?” “As one of my fellow colleagues, and former star pupils, I’d love to!” “Thanks, Professor!” “Please, call me Filius.” With that, the group were off. The group chuckled and laughed as they raced across the halls, memories of their former exploits circled back as if it had only happened yesterday. Finally, Zack and Carmilla would give the group a look into a world only they knew: The Astronomy Tower’s observation deck. “This is where it happened.” Zack explained to the group. “This is where my life changed forever. This was right after I hung out with Tonks, Tulip, and Penny after Merula dumped me for Jacob- and I met the love of my life.” “I still replay that moment in my head.” Carmilla added. “along with other memories we shared here.” “Oh really? Like what?” Penny asked curiously. “Well…” Zack began. “This was the spot where I finally asked Carmilla out, because I knew she was the one for me. We danced here and had our first kiss.” “That’s so sweet!” Chiara cooed. “Jeez, well if it’s that romantic of a spot, then I guess this is where y’all had sex for the first time too- ain’t it?” Tonks asked jokingly. However, both Zack and Carmilla immediately blushed and looked away from the group. “We... didn’t…” Carmilla whispered. “We totally did not.” Zack stammered. “They totally did.” Ismelda whispered to Barnaby. “Blimey! That must’ve been really uncomfortable, Zack!” Barnaby exclaimed. “Would you guys just shut up?!” Zack scolded the group as they laughed at him. “Ok guys, I think we picked on them enough.” Tulip said. “We should probably head back to The Great Hall.” Rowan added. With that, the group navigated the spiraling stairs of the Astronomy Tower back to the Castle Grounds. “I can’t wait for our kids to start attending classes together.” Penny exclaimed. Before Zack could answer, a dark cloud shot down from the sky and struck Zack, pinning him against the brick wall of the castle. “Babe!” Carmilla shouted. The dark cloud cleared to reveal a woman clad in a black cloak. She had long messy brown hair with a blonde streak in the front of her hair. Her violet eyes filled with hate as she glared at Zack. “Nice, to see you- Merula. It’s been a while.” “I wish I could say the same about you, Roper.” Merula pulled out her wand and pointed it to Zack’s throat. The group all pulled out their wands and pointed it at Merula. “This doesn’t involve any of you!” Merula snarled at the group. “Just him!” “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Merula. How is it following in your parent’s footstep, and becoming a Death Eater?” “Well, well, well, Mr. Rock Star- I’m flattered you kept tabs on me.”  “kinda hard not to, you’re pretty sloppy compared to your folks.” “Well, none of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t made that choice.” Merula fired back. Zack became pale. Zack knew what she was referring to, but he couldn’t believe that it had that kind of domino effect. “You think I would’ve forgotten, but I didn’t.” Merula hissed. “And I’ll never forgive you. You took the one thing I had going in my life away from me!” “Merula enough!” Zack and Merula turned to see an unusual sight: Ismelda was in front of the group standing up to Merula. Ismelda had a serious look on her face and her fists were clenched. Ismelda’s whole time she was in Hogwarts, she let Merula push her around- but they weren’t in Hogwarts anymore, and Ismelda had enough of Merula. Merula cackled at the sight of her old friend defying her. “Look at you! Ever since you got attatched to Puffskein Brains, you’ve gotten soft.” “No, I just got tired of your bullshit.” “Whatever, not like you weren’t the first friend of mine to stab me in the back. Right, Lee? Karasu?” Merula looked back at Zack. “This isn’t over… next time we meet, you’re dead.” Merula warned Zack. With that, Merula turned into a black cloud and shot back up to the sky. Carmilla ran up to Zack. “Oh my god, honey are you ok?!” “Yea, I’m fine.” Zack told his wife. “I love it when you get all feisty, Izzy!” Barnaby exclaimed, hugging his wife. “I told you not to call me that in front of anyone!” Ismelda scolded Barnaby as she blushed. “Guys, I have to tell you something.” Zack told the group. He knew it wouldn’t be right to keep his friends in the dark, they’d be wondering what Merula was talking about and he wanted to be the one to tell them. “In the last Cursed Vault… R held you guys and Jacob hostage.” Zack explained. “I was forced to make a choice. I had to choose who got to leave the Vault, you guys or my brother.” Zack was getting choked up. This was the first time he had told anyone since he told his wife after Hogwarts. The group looked at him intently. “My brother looked me in the eyes and apologized because he knew. He told me the one regret he had was the fact that he couldn’t be the brother I needed him to be. I killed him by choosing to spare you guys!” Zack burst into tears. The pain of reliving this moment was killing him. Carmilla hung onto Zack and comforted him by resting her head against his chest. “I’m so sorry guys! I should’ve told you! I wanted to act like everything was fine- but it’s not… it’s been Hell! All the songs I’ve written have been about him in some compacity!” Penny walked over to her weeping best friend. “We don’t blame you, Zack. You were presented with an impossible choice, and you chose the best one you could.” The group followed and gave Zack a group hug. “Hang in there, Zack. Merula is just trying to play mind games with you.” Ismelda advised Zack. Zack wiped the tears from his face and smiled at his friends. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys!” The group returned to The Great Hall and all said their goodbyes. “Let me know when your next book is out, Carmi! I’d love to buy it!” Chiara told her vampire friend. “You’ll be the first to know.” Carmilla smiled back at her werewolf friend. Zack and Carmilla grabbed Lilith and waved goodbye to Rowan, Penny, and Kisa. “So, you excited to start taking classes with your new friend?” Carmilla asked her daughter. “Yea, she’s nice.” Lilith answered softly. “We’re both so proud of you, Lilith.” Zack told his daughter. “At least we don’t have to worry about Merula having a kid- Lilith definitely wouldn’t have gotten along with them.” Carmilla told her husband. “I wouldn’t quiet rule that out yet. I had my own share of enemies at Hogwarts. But if Lilith surrounds herself with great, positive friends- she won’t have to worry too much about that.” Zack mused.  For the first time, Zack and Carmilla were looking straight to the future- not for themselves, but for their daughter. And the future was as bright as the stars they saw when they stargazed together for the fist time.

END

[fanfics4all]

The Northside Serpent: Part 7

Request: Yes / no

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night (Request are closed)

Sweet Pea x Keller!Reader

Word count: 3205

Warnings:  Nothing  

Y/N: Your Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

Summary: You’re Kevin Keller’s little sister when you’re mom left to go to war and your dad started cheating (I’m making it so he’s been cheating since season 1) You started rebelling; dying your hair, getting a nose piercing, tattoo, and hanging out on the southside.

A/N: It’s here! Finally, sorry it took so long! I just keep getting sick :(

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you!

Masterlist

Christmas had past and the Black Hood had been caught and everything seemed to be great! My dad wasn’t working too late anymore so he was spending his free time with Kevin and I but also with Mrs. McCoy. I wasn’t saying anything to him, just silently judging him for being so stupid. Break was over and it was time to go back to school I texted Sweet Pea a good morning like I always did now and began getting dressed. I put on an off the shoulder skull sweater, ripped skinny jeans, converse, and a beanie. I straightened my hair and then put on some makeup; I did a black smokey eye with some lashes and a dark red lip just to give my outfit some color.

I walked downstairs and saw Kevin sitting at the table eating some eggs and toast and my dad was at the counter cooking. I sat down since it was still early and smiled at Kevin.

“Morning!” I said and my dad turned around.

“Morning, you seem to be in a good mood today.” He said turning back to cooking.

“Well, it was a great break.” I said with a shrug. Dad placed a plate in front of me and I dug in.

“Any reason in particular it was a good break?” He asked sitting down with his own plate.

“Just spending time with friends.” I said with a smile.

“Your Southside friends?” He said with a raise of his brow. I sighed and nodded.

“Can we please not do this?” I asked.

“Fine, we’ll talk about it later.” He said sipping his coffee. I got up and placed my plate in the sink and so did Kevin.

“Have a nice day at school!” Our dad called out as we left.

We were at school and Kev and I were talking to Betty when Archie and Veronica walked in making out pretty much. We smiled at them as they joined us.

“Students of Riverdale High, this is your principal speaking. E-mails have been sent to your parents, but effective immediately, Southside High School is shut down.” Principal Weatherbee said and everyone in the room gasped.

“And its students will be transferred to other schools in the district, including this one.” He said and everyone started talking.

“Okay, guys, let's not overreact.” Veronica said loudly and I looked at her suspiciously. Since when does Veronica care about the Southside? Weatherbee continued but I stopped listening. Some Southsiders are coming here! My friends could be coming here!

“Wait, what does that What does that mean?”

“It means Jughead’s coming back…” Betty said.

“Betty are you ready for that?” Kevin asked.

“Of course… We’re fine…” She said sounding slightly unsure. Kevin gave her a knowing look.

“But why is this happening now?” Archie asked.

“Who knows. It's probably some bizarre, Byzantine town ordinance we couldn't possibly understand. And in the meantime, let's receive these exiles as if they were our own flesh and blood. Who's in? Hmm?” Veronica said happily. I looked at her and everyone confused.

“Y/N’s friends with the Southside, maybe she could help.” Betty suggested with a smiled.  

“Yeah Y/N/N! You’d be a big help!” Veronica said with a smile.

“Uh, yeah, sure…” I said with as much of a smile as I could. Something wasn’t right…

After school, Kevin and I went home and our dad wasn’t home yet so we did our homework and got dinner ready. Just as we were finishing our dad walked in.

“Well, something smells good!” He said with a smile on his face.

“Y/N wanted to make dinner.”

“Ah, trying to butter me up so I won’t tell you to stay away from the Serpents that’ll be going to your school?” He asked as he sat down. I placed the plates of food down and simply smiled.

“Dad I’ll look out for her.”

“I know you will son.”

“I can take care of myself ya know.” I said rolling my eyes and sat down.

“Your judgment is clouded, so no you can’t.” Dad said.

“They’re not bad people!” I said annoyed.

“They’re school was closed down because of drugs and gang activity…” He pointed out.

“Whatever, I’m not getting into this.” I said and popped some mashed potatoes in my mouth. Kevin changed the subject and we had a relatively pleasant dinner. Kev and I placed the dishes in the skin and went up to bed.

The next day I woke up extra early to get dressed since I was going to be seeing my Southside friends today and show them around. I wanted to dress a bit sexier since Sweet Pea was gonna be there. I put on a lace bralette, a plaid skirt, a pair of black heels with spikes on the back and my leather jacket. For makeup, I did a gray and silver eyeshadow with winged liner and a sexy red lip. I cured my hair just a small bit so it was a little wavy and smiled at myself in the mirror.

I walked downstairs and Kevin was the only one down there (Thank God). He looked at me when he heard me enter the kitchen and his eyes popped out of his head.

“What are you wearing!?” He shrieked.

“Shut up! Keep your voice down, I don’t need dad waking up to see me like this!” I whisper-yelled at him. I walked to the counter and made my tea.

“You can not go to school like that!” I rolled my eyes and faced him.

“Kev, I’m not changing so either you can drive me to school or I can walk.” I said making my way to the door. He grabbed his bag and then me and dragged me to the car. We got in and the ride was silent until we got there. I got out and before I could walk into school my brother stopped me.

“Why are you dressed like this?” He asked.

“Because Kev, my boyfriend is coming here today and I want to make a good impression.” I answered with a smile.

“Your boyfriend!?” He asked, eye wide. I forgot I haven’t told him yet…

“Surprise?” I said with a shrug.

“You’re dating Sweet Pea now!? Since when?” He asked slightly freaking out.

“Since Christmas eve…” I answered looking at the ground.

“Are you crazy!? If dad finds out your dead!” He said and I rolled my eyes.

“Which is why he won’t find out and you won’t tell him.” I said looking him in the eyes.

“Please Kevin?” I begged, giving him my best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine…” He sighed giving in and I smiled.

“You’re the best big brother in the world you know that?” I said kissing his cheek. We walked into school and saw Veronica and Archie standing behind a table with papers on it.

“You owe me…” Kevin said just before we reached them.

“Hey guys, the new students should be here any minute so just relax.” V said with a smile. The two of us stood behind the table and we all talked until they arrived.

A couple moments later and a bunch of Serpents walked in lead by Jughead, Toni, Fangs, and Sweet Pea. I smiled at them and they smiled back but their faces quickly changed once Veronica started talking.

“Friends.” She said with a smile.

“On behalf of the students and faculty here at Riverdale High, welcome to your new school!” Toni gave me a look that seemed to ask if this girl was for real.

“To ease this transition, I've set up a registration desk where you can get your locker assignments, class schedules, and a list of sports and extracurriculars. We encourage each and every one of you to drink deeply from the cup that is fair Riverdale.” She said and I had to hold back a laugh.

“Stand down, Eva Peron!” Cheryl’s voice boomed through the halls.

“Here we go…” I said and rolled my eyes. Cheryl and Reggie were walking down the stairs towards us followed by some Vixens and Bulldogs.

“There's the school spirit I so fondly remember.” Jughead said sarcastically and crossed his arms.

“Cheryl. No one invited Fascist Barbie to the party.” Veronica said annoyed.

“Wrong, Veronica, no one invited Southside scum to our school.” Cheryl said standing in front of us with her arms crossed. I balled my fist annoyed that she still thinks that of them.

“Listen up, Ragamuffins. I will not allow Riverdale High's above average GPA to suffer because of classrooms that are overcrowded with underachievers. So please, do us all a favor, and find some other school to debase with your hardscrabble ways.” Josie whispered something to Kevin and I was about to say something when Toni Stepped up to Cheryl.

“Why don't you come over here and say that to my face?” Toni growled and Cheryl stepped close.

“Happily, Queen of the Buskers.” Cheryl growled back.

“Okay Guys, everyone, can we just put our Northside-Southside differences apart and start over? A new slate?” Archie asked stepping in the middle.

“You don't speak for the Bulldogs, Andrews. And need I remind you, these greaser-snakes showed up at your place trying to kick your ass.” Reggie said stopping Archie.

“Happy to finish what was started.” Sweet Pea said with a smirk and I stepped in between them.

“He’s not worth it Pea.” I said pushing him back slightly. Sweets looked down at me and smirked when he saw what I was wearing.

“Careful Y/N/N, those snakes might bite you.” Reggie said and I turned to face him.

“And what if I like that?” I asked with a smirk of my own.

“Well if you just want someone to bite you, I could happily help you with that.” Reggie smirked walking closer to me, Sweet Pea growled and Fangs and Jughead held him back. I was liking this side of Sweets.

“You couldn’t handle me.” I said smirking and gently touched Reggie's jawline. Sweets grabbed my waist and pulled me to him and glared at Reggie.

“Let her go Snake!” He growled but before anything could happen Principal Weatherbee walked out.

“That's enough pomp and circumstance. Everyone, let's get to class. Now.” He said with a bit of anger.

Jughead walked off with Sweets, Fangs, and Toni. I went to go with them but Reggie stopped me.

“Traitor. Better reconsider who you stand with.” He whispered to me and I just rolled my eyes and shoved him off me.

“If you really think I’ll pick you over them you’re as stupid as you look.” I said and walked off to the student lounge. When I walked in Fangs, Toni and Jug were sitting in chairs around the coffee table while Sweet Pea sat on the couch next to my brother. I sat in between them and Sweets put his arm around me.

“Looks like we’ll be seeing each other a lot more.” He said smirking and I smiled back.

“I guess we will.” Kevin elbowed me and I glared at him. Before I could say anything to him Josie and Veronica walked in.

“I don't think we've properly met, Veronica Lodge.” She said holding out her hand to Toni.

“Of the Park Avenue Lodges.” Jughead said holding his pinky out and I stifled a giggle.

“Toni. Topaz.” T said shaking her hand.

“Oh, like the purple-colored gemstone. Love it.” Veronica said with a smile.

“And I'm Josie McCoy. Formerly of the Pussycats, now just Josie. And this is Kevin.” Josie said pointing at my brother.

“And I guess you all know Y/N.” She added pointing to me.

“What's your name?” Kev asked.

“Fogarty. Or you can call me Fangs.” Fangs said smiling.

“Your last name's Keller, right?” Fangs asked.

“How did you know that?” Kevin asked and looked at me.

“Joaquin and I used to hang out. He talked about you all the time.” Fangs answered and Kevin got a bit uncomfortable.

“And you’re Quinny’s brother.” He added and they all looked at me.

“Quinny?” Kevin asked confused. Before anyone could answer an angry Weatherbee walked in.

“You guys! Yes, you, come with me.” He said and we all looked confused.

“Now!” He shouted and we got up to follow him. We walked into the hall where he stood next to Reggie and on the ground was a snake painted over the Riverdale High seal.

“Which of you defaced our school seal with this graffiti?”

“This is what they do, Principal Weatherbee. They tag their turf.” Reggie said sounding a little too happy.

“My God, Reggie, could you be any more transparent?” Veronica asked annoyed.

“Effective immediately, no gang behavior of any kind will be tolerated at my school. As of this moment, no more Serpent jackets.” Weatherbee said.

“What?” Jug said.

“Are you kidding me?” Sweet Pea asked annoyed.

“No more Serpent jackets! All tattoos are gonna be covered. Possession of any gang paraphernalia whatsoever will lead to immediate suspension. Are we clear? That's all.” We all walked away annoyed and Reggie had a smug smirk on his face.

Once school was over I went back to the Wyrm with them and sat on a stool next to Toni while Sweets place an arcade game.

“I can't believe you guys don't even see it.” Jughead said and Toni looked at him shocked.

“Weatherbee is profiling us. Tellin' us what to wear. What's next? Brain implants controlling what we think?” Toni and Sweet Pea scoffed and I laughed a bit.

“Jughead, you sound like a crazy conspiracy nut.” I said taking a sip of my drink.

“A school closed down.” Toni said.

“A crappy one.” Sweets added.

“Yeah, and now we're at a better one. The computer lab and textbooks-”

“And toilets that flush.” Sweets butted in again.

“Getting transferred to Riverdale High is the best thing that could have happened.”

“Maybe ever.”

“So, if I have to take off my jacket, 8:30 to 3:00, Monday through Friday Hey, I'm down with that.” Toni finished taking a sip of her drink and Jughead looked at them shocked.

“It is the best thing that could have happened, I mean I get to see you guys and my boyfriend more than just weekend and after school!” I said moving to sit next to Sweets.

“Yeah and If I have to take off my jacket to see my girl more than you bet your ass I’m doing it.” He said and kissed my head.

The next day at school the Serpents had no jackets and I had to cover Sweets tattoo with makeup. We were hanging out in the student lounge when Jughead walked in wearing his Serpent jacket. We looked at him shocked.

“Oh, hey, guys, what's up?” Jug said going to the vending machine.

“Take it off.” Reggie said annoyed and when Jughead ignored him he got up. The four of us got up as well.

“Take. Off. The. Jacket. Rat boy.” Reggie said more annoyed.

“Oh, Reggie. I don't think you know what this jacket means. Because you have no sense of honor. Or history, - or loyalty.” Jughead said.

“‘That’s it!” Reggie growled and tried to rip the jacket off him, Sweet Pea and Fangs sprang into action and Toni held me back from helping them. They started fighting one another and Toni and I shouted trying to stop it. Principal Weatherbee came in broke up the fight then called us all into his office.

“You all have a week's detention for fighting. But I made myself clear to you, Mr. Jones.” He said making a step closer to Jug.

“Take off that jacket, right now, or you're suspended.” He said.

“Please, Jughead, just -”

“Then I guess I'm suspended.” Jug said cutting Veronica off and walked out the office.

“All of you, to class.” Weatherbee said with a sigh.

“Miss. Keller, you don’t have detention. From what I saw you weren’t fighting.”

“Neither was Toni!” I said confused.

“Not from what I saw.”

“But she-”

“Y/N, just stop.” Toni said with a sigh.

“Yes, Mr. Weatherbee.” I said overly sweet. We all walked out of the office and I grit my teeth.

“Unbelievable…” I said annoyed.

“Babe relax, it’s what we’re use to…” Sweets said pulling me into him.

“It’s so stupid.” I said crossing my arms.

“Trust me, we know.” Toni said with a small smirk and rolling her eyes. The rest of the school day went fairly normal and so did the night. Our dad was working late so Kevin and I did our homework, ate, then went to bed.

The next day the Serpents were all dressed in Riverdale High uniforms and honestly, Sweets looked kind of hot in his. Sweet Pea, Toni and I were talking when Jughead walked in not wearing his Serpent jacket.

“What the hell? Guys?” He asked sounding so done with everything.

“Guys Weatherbee gave them to us. Said he understood that not every Southside student had the means to purchase Riverdale High acceptable clothes. He thinks this will help us fit in.” Toni explained with a sigh and an eye roll.

“Where's Fogarty?” Jug asked.

“He wouldn't wear the uniform, so they got rid of him, suspended him.” Sweets said also sounding defeated.

“So our choices are conform or be cast out.” Jughead said and the two Serpents nodded.

“I’m sure this will blow over in a few days, just let everything settle down.” I said trying to comfort Sweet Pea. He looked down at me and smiled a little.

“Besides, I think you look kinda hot.” I said winking at him and walking off.

The next few days were a little rocky but Jughead managed to get everything under control. He started a club for the Serpents to have their own place in school and I was allowed to be a part of it since they thought of me like family.

“Welcome to the inaugural meeting of the Swords and Serpents Club.” Jughead said while peeling an orange.

“Which is what, exactly?” Toni asked with a scoff.

“Like I told Fogarty to lure him back to dear ol' Riverdale, we are a gaming group. Sanctioned by Mr. Weatherbee, himself. Where like-minded students can meet and concoct world-building, role-playing scenarios, inhabiting fantastical heroes and dispatching mythological creatures.” Jughead said and I laughed.

“No, but really?” Toni asked with a slight laugh.

“It’s a club, for you guys.” I said while standing in between Sweet’s legs.

“A safe haven where we can be Serpents, during school hours and under everyone's noses. We're not shedding our skins. We're lying low, in the tall grass.” Jughead explained further. Everyone looked at each other and smiled.

“Y/N will be helping us laying low.” Jug added.

“At your service!” I said taking a bow. Sweets chuckled and shook his head.

“Alright Quinny!” Fangs fist pumped. I laughed and Sweet Pea pulled me closer to him and nuzzled his head in my neck.

“I wouldn’t want my friends to leave me!” I said with a smiled.

“Yeah right, you just don’t want Pea to leave.” Fangs said wiggling his eyebrows. I smacked his shoulder and everyone laughed.

Tag list: @54fangirl @southsidehufflepuff @xrosesareredx @cvvlxx @skeletalwolfcat @demigodofthesun @depressed-octopods-art @nalayrene @yourfavouritefuckup @staygoldsquatchling02 @sataninsatin @im-socialy-awkward-no-joke @dark-night-sky-99 @aframeofbones @fly-slytherin-queen @jojokoko0717 @nixdunbarhale @wanderlust-and-poetry @theyouthfulmoon @seasiren96 @nixdunbarhale2

[madd-devil]

“Most of the time, people would look down to me because I was just average…” The teenage girl started as she stared in a boring way a globe and playing with it. “Or they would just tell me what I had to do, all the fucking damn time!” She cursed as she destroyed the precious thing.

Michael looked at her, understanding what she meant by that.

“What do you want me to do then?” He asked, unsure of why she brought him back to the land of the living.

“I need a smart and a excellent scientist for a… project.” She announced as she turned around to face him with a smirk.

“You in?” Michael sensed that the girl had a cruel project and somehow it appealed him. She, after all, told him she will release him in his dimension when all will be over and that she would help him to reign on the galaxy. She promised it and he trusted her so of course, he said that he wanted to work with her.

Was she evil? Yes. But were her actions justified? Yes. She had gone in a crazy and insane state after this argument with her family, went for a walk in the forest and decided to explore the deep woods. There, she had found those strange stones, which gave her powers! She was basically a goddess now and she loved it. She could travel to different worlds, realms or dimensions, she saved people, some worshipped her! Also, she brought people back to the living because she knew they would obey her. She entered the bedroom, a pleased smile on her face. She was dressed in her leather jacket that she loved the moment she saw, a black shirt, black jean and her dear red doctor Martens boots… She had a new collar with teethes and spikes in it. Her short brown wavy hair that she had angrily cut one night, earning by the way a scold from her divorced parents, her eyes were darker but she loved them now. She still had her acne scars but… she found herself more beautiful, once she went to the dark side… She snickered crazily as she went on the balcony, observing the people who worked for her below. She smirked when she heard the door opening and she immediately guessed who it was. She waited for him to approach and Luke put his hands behind his back, dressed in his finest suit. He formerly worked for the Joker in Suicid Squad but how he worked for her.

“Michael says that there were a lot of damages on the Flying Death, boss.” The man said. “But he can manage to make it fly again.” She nodded, hearing those good news.

“Perfect.” She pronounced. “You can return to the Center now. And please, I would like to be alone for now but if the gang has to make a round somewhere, I would like to go so please, notify me if they do so. I want to show those people who their leader are…” “Of course boss.” Luke exited the room as Naomie went back and closed the doors of the balcony. She laughed insanely as she approached a golden globe of the Earth and she started to play with it as she sang. “How it all began, if truth be told? Had a master plan; now I rule the world…” She let go of the globe for the giant map on the table and she circled it with a content smile. “Took them by surprise, worked my way uphill. They looked into my eyes; I became invincible…” She sang as she started to smirk. She stopped abruptly, clenching her fists with a insane smile on her face.

“No one can stop, for I am in control! If you want me you'd better contact my people! In my crown I am king, I love their endless worshiping. I am raw, a dinosaur, but I will never be extinct! So don't mess with me; I'll shoot you down… Don't mess with me…”

As she was walking in the dark and miserable main street where the peasants and some noble people were, she smirked evilly as she passed a beaten up angel who was begging mercy… that she didn’t give. Everyone gasped when they saw the head of the man rolling on the ground. Then, a young and handsome man was staring at them, completely revolted by what just happened. With her charming voice, Naomie came over him, swinging her hips a little.

“Show me sex appeal, get on your hands and knees, forget about the meal, it's best to keep me pleased…” She caressed the cheek of the man who was trying to resist but could not. “Imagine if you will, our meet on the block, I've got time to kill, so how about a quick fuck?” She whispered in his ear as the boy face grew red but he quickly gave in. Some times after, the gang was waiting for her and she patted the boy cheek with a gloomy smile.

“I've come, it's been fun but won't you please disappear? Something tells me that you can't further my career…” After she told him that, she went back to the gang and they headed back to the castle they established themselves in. She spun around in her room, happy to be back and to had make out with some random boy. She knew that the old, kind and gentle Naomie would never do this, because she didn’t like having sex, hooking up with a stranger but thanks to having those powers, now it changed her mind. It was weird but she did not cared.

“In my crown I am king, I love their endless worshiping! I am raw, a dinosaur, but I will never be extinct! So don't mess with me! I'll shoot you down! Don't mess with me!” She sang angrily as she bursted out on the balcony, using her powers to open the doors. “'Cause all your heads are gonna roll, I've made your misery my goal!” She started to ascend and to climb in order to go on the highest tower of the castle, to test herself and to make sure everyone could hear her. “So if you want survival, kneel on my arrival. This is how I rule the world!” She sang as she finally was where she wanted to be, opening her black feathered wings and shadows of humanoid creatures with red eyes and long teethes appearing beside her. She breathed in and out slowly and deeply, after her moment of insanity and clenched her fists again.

“No one can stop me, for only I am in control. And if you want me you'd better contact my people” She murmured, as if she wanted to convince herself. “See my crown? I am king. I love the endless worshiping. I am raw, a dinosaur, but I will never be extinct… So don't mess with me; I'll shoot you down. Don't mess with me; I'll knock you down. Don't mess with me; I'll shoot you down… Don't mess with me!” She sang as she flew down on the city.

The morning after, she was woken up by Luke and Michael, who seemed worried. She muttered some curses in French and rolled to her side to face them.

“What?”

“Good morning boss. We have some problems.” Luke said as he glanced at Michael.

“It seems like people here isn’t taking well that you conquered this world. They are gathered a army and they are coming in our way.” Michael resumed the situation simply. “The question is: what do we do?”

“Fight them, teach them who we are, like we always do.”

The two men looked at each other, and it seemed that apparently, they were not telling her everything. With a sight, she sat up.

“What is it?”

“Your… soul sister are with them.” Luke finally said.

“I’m sorry what?!” Naomie yelled as she got up suddenly. “This little annoying bitch of an angel! What the heck is she doing here?!” “Defending people, if we understood her letter correctly.” Michael answered in a calm voice as Luke handed her the letter.

The teenage girl took it and read it quickly. She gripped the paper tightly in her hands, angry with what was written before setting the paper on fire. She turned to look at the two men.

“Where is Ethan?” She questioned.

“In the original dimension, I believe.” Luke recalled.

“Call him back. I want him to do something for me.”

“Of course, boss, as you wish.” The man wearing a black suit said as he left.

“What about your sister and the angry peasants?” Michael asked with a hum, watching her every move carefully.

“We fight, this is what we are going to do. Oh and Michael, you can return to the ship. Do you think it will fly soon?”

“I don’t know but I will try my best.” The hybrid nodded.

Naomie opened the balcony’s doors and advanced on it. She closed her eyes and could sense the divine presence of her soul sister, the beautiful and perfect little angel. Since Naomie got her powers, this woman won’t stop harassing her to come to the good side but she didn’t want to! She loved being evil, enslaving people, conquering worlds! She felt powerful!

“So she wants war… then I will give her a war…” She said darkly.

The fight was quickly ended and Angela tried once again to coax her into the good side, to which Naomie sent the biggest fuck you she could: throwing mud and so mudding the perfectly white wings of the angel. Of course, the latter huffed like a spoiled little girl and decided to go back to Heaven. Naomie was back at the castle, drinking some wine they had found in the cellar. Luke was there, doing some paper works while Michael was still working on the ship with the Night team. Ethan was back and had used his powers in the battle, with Alonzo and Georges. The two young men were playing with knives when suddenly Naomie put her glass on the table and looked at the group.

“I need you to travel with me.” She said, out of blue.

“I can’t. Work.” Luke told her.

Alonzo agreed because he loved traveling and discovering new places. In fact, he was an adventurer, back in his world but his sister staged his death so that she could get his money. What a bitch. Ethan was faithful to her and he would always agree with what she had decided so there was no problem for him. Georges nodded and asked where they would be headed.

“In your former realm: Once Upon A Time!” She declared as she stood up.

“Really? I mean… I don’t want to see my father you know…” Georges mumbled as he looked away, to not show his weakness.

“I mean, your father will be inside the town but we are just going to the forest, near the wish’s well.” She explained as she opened the portal and jumped in it, followed by the other boys.

“Who are you gonna bring back to life this time?” Alonzo asked with a shout.

She blushed lightly when she mentioned him. The man smirked, knowing why she was in a such state. Of course she would only come there for him, without a doubt.

It was night time there and it was perfect. Her powers were more powerful in night time. She approached the well, feeling excitement as she thought what she was going to do. Ethan helped her drawing the pentagram with rocks, Georges handed her a beating heart that he took from someone in town while Alonzo was watching the ritual. Naomie took the heart and plunged her dagger into it, to give it some magic, she started to chant strange incantations as two horns appeared on her forehead, as well as a tail and her wings. Soon, a body was lifted from within earth and put on the floor at her foot. It was the body of a tall, blond haired teenager with a scar on his face. The teenage girl put the heart in the chest of the boy and the pentagram disappeared, as well as the devil attributes who had appeared for a short period of time on Naomie. Alonzo, Georges and Ethan approached their leader, who kneeled down next to the boy, who was now breathing. He woke up with a gasp and looked around him. He stared at them, his mouth open, because he was surely not believing what he was seeing.

“Who… Who are you?” He asked with a small voice.

“Oh my friend, we are all the same.” Naomie said with a smile.

“What do you mean? How I am alive?” The teenager started to question, earning a laugh from the girl.

“I brought you back to life.” “Why?” “Because.” She crouched next to him and whispered to his ear: “I know what is like to be a social reject, Felix. Pan is dead, he used you. But with me? I won’t use you, friend. I just need you to be loyal for what? Six or seven months then you will be free.”

“What do you want from me?” Felix asked as he shot up to his feet.

“I already told you. I want you to stay with me for six months, then, if you enjoy to be with us and to be apart from the biggest gang of all the dimensions and to stick up with the winners, you are very welcomed. If you don’t, I will find a nice place for you to live. How does that sound?” Naomie offered with the most genuine and charming smile. Felix seemed to think about it for four minutes then he looked down to this teenager.

“I’m in.”

The lyrics of the song is Don’t Mess With Me by Temporshark and so it doesn’t belong to me! Also, just for the credits, Felix belongs to Once Upon A Time and so to ABC, Michael doesn’t belong to me, he belongs to its rightful owners. Thanks for reading!

[bbq-hawks-wings]

Hawks AU HC’s

I’ve had these silly ideas swimming in my head for a bit and am finally writing them down really quick. Enjoy!

Villain AU HC’s: Everything in the world is the same except the heroes are villains and villains are heroes.

Villain Name: Buzzard

One of the most terrifying and ruthless villains in the country, if not the world. Got into his position through ingratiating himself with higher powers and usurping them in dramatic, gruesome ways.

Known for being unpredictable in the moment and calculating long term.

Major ego and short temper. He can keep calm for the long game without an issue but it doesn’t take much to land on his shit list.

Excellent leadership skills, despite the amount of fear he commands, he also has the deep-seated respect of his underlings.

Greedy and a notorious womanizer, into drugs and other substances. He likes living the good life, flaunts his wealth, and considers his power his most valuable asset under his intelligence. Never expect something as trivial as “love” to tie him down.

Peculiarly amicable with innocent parties. Enemies and rivals he meets with terrible brutality, but to the everyday person who might bump into him he’s charming and cordial. He’s noted especially for taking care of his less-fortunate minions and their families no matter how far down the chain they are.

Master tactician, manipulator, and businessman. He knows exactly how to set the dominoes up and when to knock them down for maximum efficiency and personal gain. Never to truly be trusted as he could always be looking to play into your good graces if only to mock you when he acts on his schemes.

Particularly petty and touchy about appearances. Despises being looked down upon or called a “kid.” He’s always to be referred to as “Mr.” “Sir” or “Boss” unless given express permission. “Master” is a title he reserves for use by only the lowest of scum under his shoe.

Completely unafraid to get his hands dirty. He fights hand to hand with a practiced skill and ferocity that is downright animal but speaks with the grace of an educated gentleman. Groveling won’t help if he’s decided to make you suffer - in fact it may make it worse.

“Did you know that vultures are key parts to keeping the ecosystem clean and preventing disease? They leave the small carcasses for the worms and the maggots, though. They’re only content with large prey, unfortunately for you.”

Vigilante AU HC’s: Quirks developed as they did in the series except governments never approved “hero” as a job title and are thus outlawed. That doesn’t stop some, though, and local factions work to keep their neighborhoods safe.

Code Name: Roc

The young, charismatic leader of a local inner city gang.

Wears a characteristic black leather jacket and often wears a hood or dust mask when “patrolling.” Everyone in his gang wears matching jackets with large, red wings on the back.

Well-loved in his neighborhood. Even the cops take lengths to protect him despite his technically illegal activities because his presence literally makes the area safer. 

His gang largely consists of young adults and teenagers tired of seeing their families pushed around and plagued by thugs.

His weapon of choice is an aluminum bat, but his speed and off-the-wall hand to hand fighting style is something to never be on the other side of.

Very hands-off leadership style. Prefers to work solo and keep tabs on his mates instead of leading hits.

Never lashes out or sends his people on a job unless provoked or he has reason to believe they’re up to no good. Readily reprimands members who abuse the status of being in his gang.

Major role model for the local youth. While older folks don’t always approve of his methods, his philosophy of only acting to keep his neighborhood safe is hard to argue with after years of terror.

Finished high school but never pursued higher education. Very street smart and intelligent, but impulsive and occasionally reckless.

Isn’t sure we’re he’s going in life. While he vaguely wants more he can’t imagine much outside of this place he’s called home all these years.

Thick, inner city accent and heavily uses local slang and cultural references to the point someone might think he’s speaking a different language.

[angclicals-blog]

⟨  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  / /    MARINO, LEONARDO.   ⟩

hello, friends ! admin fox here with her third trash boy, leonardo. he’s been in torn forever and he is .... how do you say ... way too fucking old for this bullshit. all of his info is under the cut and if you’d like to plot pretty please like this post or message me !

⋆ ◦ ° ☾ jeffrey dean morgan + cis male + he/him — have you seen leonardo ‘leo’ marino around? this fifty-one year old known as the connard has been hanging out at prophecy ink tattoo & piercing a lot recently. they are a civilian that works as a restaurateur, and they feel worn out about the gangs. a bisexual leo, they are charming + adaptable, as well as unforgiving + domineering. knuckle tattoos. salt & pepper beard. an old bottle of red wine.

⟨  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  / /    early life.   ⟩

leo was born in valdez, to a military father and a housewife mother; his father was at the base away from valdez most of the time, so leo spent his days with his mother & his brother, gio. when his father was in town, however, it was the worst time of his life; his dad was very strict, wanting things done in his way and he wasn’t afraid to get physical if things went wrong. 

ever since a child, leo had a problem with authority; he’d clash with his father, his teachers, the local police. his family couldn’t even bring a nanny into the house without leonardo running her off at some point; he’s a very opinionated man, and he isn’t afraid to say exactly what’s on his mind--- he’s very similar to his father in that way, though leo would die before he admits to being anything alike the man. 

leo has always had a big interest in politics; it’ the kind of power and decision making that really gets his motor running, so he went to law school at eighteen, and worked hard to make the right connections, working as a lawyer and then as a congressman. 

by the age of forty-five, leonardo was elected mayor of valdez, a job he did for the past five years. it seemed like a dream job, but it turned out to be a nightmare--- with so many politicians in the pocket of the cobras, leo was nothing but a pawn in the hands of the gang he swore to himself he’d never join. so, after years of fighting to make valdez a gang-free city, leonardo finally gave up, resigning himself from the position about a year ago. 

ever since he retired from politics, leo decided to pursue another passion of his--- cooking. it is a skill he learned from his mother as a young boy, and something he’s been working on getting better and better at every chance he gets; about nine months ago leo opened a small bistro downtown, and although now that he doesn’t receive the bribing from the cobras his bank account is considerably smaller, leo has never been happier with his choices. 

despite not staying married for long, leonardo had two children, a boy and a girl that have since grown into fully fledged adult--- his youngest, isabella, still lives in valdez. his oldest kid from a previous relationship, salvatore, died two years ago on a car crash and left behind a son, now three year old blaise, that is currently being cared for by leo. 

⟨  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  / /    personality.   ⟩

he’s ... a though dude. leo is very domineering and needs everything done his way--- he doesn’t get physically violent like his father did, but you might hear some screaming in the kitchen of his restaurant if you walk in on a bad day. 

leo’s a tired old man, but at the same time he has never felt more alive. politics were a big passion of his, but it wasn’t a great lifestyle. nowadays, with his little restaurant and not a single responsibility in the world, leonardo is free to do whatever the fuck he wants. which can make him quite irresponsible at times. nothing too crazy, though; he drinks heavily, and he fucks around, but he finds himself way too old to pull any of the crazy stunts most people in town do. 

he feels like he isn’t prepared to raise a child ( he never did, both of his children lived with their mothers ), but little blaise has made him a lot softer than he once was, to the point where some people can’t even believe it.

leo was a politician for a good part of his life, so he’s pretty damn good at lying, and can use his silver-tongue to charm people into doing anything he wants--- a skill he hardly ever uses anymore, being a blunt and sometimes harsh man instead. 

⟨  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  / /    appearances.   ⟩

leonardo is 6′2, with deep black hair ( which he usually wears slicked back ) and a thick salt n’ pepper beard that he hardly ever shaves off. 

he had several tattoos across his arms and chest, though the most visible ones are the ones covering his knuckles & back of his hands; a lot of those are recent, but him being a hip politician with tattoos and a “cool style” was a big selling point during his campaign. 

leo dresses with pretty simple clothing, usually sticking to dark jeans and cotton shirts, the occasional leather jacket or hoodie depending on how cold the weather is. he spent most of his youth inside suits, so nowadays he refuses to wear them even on formal settings. 

⟨  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  / /    plots.   ⟩

a best friend --- yanno.... the one person that has been around him for years, probably was the one that gave him the push to finally switch careers. 

the childhood best friend --- maybe they didn’t meet necessarily as kids, but they grew up together. their families were neighbors back in the day, and this person was one of the few people that leo kept around him back then. they could’ve drifted apart, or maybe they have one of those friendships that has sustained the test of time.

friends of all kinds --- leo can come off as seriously intimidating, but as it turns out he can be quite friendly, so he probably gets along with this person pretty well.

the bad influence --- i’m picturing this as someone at least 10 to 20 years younger than him, and preferably a gang member. it’s someone with whom leo’s first instinct is to be “well, what the hell” and he’ll do things he normally wouldn’t, be that go to a rave late at night, smoke some weed or just eat that greasy bacon cheeseburger that might give him a heart attack. 

the high school sweetheart — they were each other’s first real relationship, and although it’s been years since then, they still have a special place on each other’s heart. 

the ex wife --- they were married briefly about twenty-something years ago, and such marriage gave them isabella. the two weren’t together for more than a year, and although they don’t hold much resentment against each other anymore, it ended pretty badly for the both of them. 

the crush --- this character has a thing for leo. i think it would be fun if they were considerably younger than him, and he’s completely oblivious to how they feel; in fact, he sees them as his own kid, and is probably very affectionate, which in turn only makes the feelings that much harder to get over.

the enemy --- this character has to be a gang member; leonardo has made many enemies over the years, and this person is one of them. either it be because of him cracking down on the gangs back when he was mayor or something else, they make it very clear his presence is never welcome.

the friend with benefits --- leo hasn’t done exclusive relationships in years, but he’s great in the sex department; this character would know that well, since he is constantly hitting them up for some fun with no strings attached.

a hate-sex type of fling — they hate each other for some reason, can never be in the same room without screaming at each other. that is, until they’ve had a couple of drinks and end up sleeping together as often as they fight.

the protegé --- leonardo doesn’t have a lot of parental instincts, but when he takes someone under his wing, he’ll go to hell and back for them; this person reminds him of sal, his dead son, and he would literally take a bullet to keep them safe.

[identybeautynet]

Black In Fashion 2021

Black In Fashion Only black is the new black: a cultural history of fashion’s favorite shade When the group Time’s Up encouraged all actresses and actors who would walk the Golden Globes red carpet to dress in a show of solidarity against sexual harassment of women in Hollywood and other workplaces, the color it asked them to wear was black. On Jan. 30, a group of women in the US congress followed their lead, donning black for the first state of the union address by president Trump, who has himself been accused by numerous women of sexual misconduct. There is nothing about black that inherently signifies protest, but really no other shade would have sent so clear a message. There’s a reason country legend Johnny Cash also chose to wear black as a reminder to Americans of the everyday injustices in their midst. Black clothing has an undeniable power. Unlike red or green, which represent specific wavelengths of light, black isn’t exactly a color; it’s what we see when an object absorbs all visible wavelengths, putting it in a category by itself. Its singular darkness has a unique visual potency, and its adaptability has long made it open to interpretation by the numerous groups that have adopted it. Black connotes seriousness and diligence, as in the black worn by religious orders. It can be sinister or rebellious, like the black cloaks of witches or the black leather jackets worn by biker gangs. In many cultures, it’s the color of mourning. But it can simultaneously be the epitome of chic and sophistication, yet charged with eroticism. All these qualities have given black a distinctive position in fashion enjoyed by no other color. The Little Purple Dress is not famous. “Yellow tie” is not a recognized dress code. Only black will ever be the new black. Black is in Among the endless variety of colors and combinations that fashion retailers stock, black is a perennially popular choice. In a recent analysis of more than 183,000 dresses retailing online in the US, retail technology firm Edited found that about 38.5% were some shade of black, making it by far the most common color available. Only about 10.7% of dresses came in the second-most popular shade, white. EDITED Edited’s representation of the dress colors currently retailing online in the US. At the moment, black’s popularity also appears to be surging. According to Edited’s data, black dresses sold out in far greater numbers in the first few weeks of January 2018 than during the same period last year. Edited did point to Time’s Up having an effect, though it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what’s fueling the trend, since an increase in the availability of black clothing online predates the movement. From the third quarter of 2014 to the same time in 2017, Edited found that black clothing for women grew substantially at a number of fast-fashion brands—by 269% at Boohoo, 145% at Zara, 114% at H&M, and 89% at Forever 21. Katie Smith, the firm’s retail analysis & insights director, attributed it to the brands “using black to try and establish longevity of their ranges, and appeal to a wider customer base.” The numbers speak to the breadth and endurance of black’s appeal. It works with every skin tone, every body type, and is generally a safe choice for a purchase—because even if demand for it ebbs, it never goes out of style. AP PHOTO/FRANCOIS MORI Naomi Campbell in classic black on the Louis Vuitton fall-winter 2018 runway. A cultural history There’s no official start to the modern popularity of black in European and American women’s fashion. Historically it’s been a signifier of grief, dating back to at least the ancient Greeks. But it has also been widely coveted for its appearance. In his book The Story of Black, critic John Harvey notes that, though the Romans principally dyed clothing black for mourning, there are indications they prized it for its stylishness. In the 16th century, there was a vogue for black clothing—then notoriously expensive (pdf)—among Europe’s wealthy, from Spanish nobility in the south to Dutch merchants in the north. But a convenient turning point in black’s more recent reign arrived around the early 20th century. That, Harvey writes, is when black “came to centre stage.” The spotlight fell squarely on it in 1926, with the introduction of Chanel’s famed little black dress. THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART/MARTIN SECK An array of Little Black Dresses from the Museum of Modern Art’s “Items: Is Fashion Modern?” exhibit. Just prior to that period, black was the standard uniform color for domestic servants and the “shopgirls” who staffed retail shop floors. Social norms, however, were losing their trappings of formality. Sportswear was beginning its rise, and hemlines already climbing higher, as young society women moved away from eras of lavish, restrictive gowns. Shelley Puhak describes in The Atlantic how the upper classes co-opted the easy, modern shopgirl style for themselves. “By the early 1900s, socialites who wanted to appear especially youthful and edgy donned little black dresses,” she writes. When Vogue put a sketch of Chanel’s simple, practical black dress on its cover in 1926, calling it “The Ford” of a woman’s wardrobe, it seemed to make official a new era in women’s clothing. It also promoted black as smart, elegant, attractive. AFP/GETTY IMAGES Coco Chanel lounging in black in 1944. In addition to fashion, black had another powerful force helping it to stand out: film. “The other great promoter of the Little Black Dress was the camera, especially the movie camera,” art and costume historian Anne Hollander wrote in her excellent 1984 essay (pdf). A novel world of entertainment, romance, and movie stars was opening up to an eager public—all in black-and-white. The brilliance of black Black’s effect on the eye gives it an irresistible visual appeal. “A black dress seems to make the body neater and smaller and to unify the parts,” Hollander declares. “Since many bodies are not slim and lack either perfect harmony or absolute coordination, a black dress can help give them that delicious resemblance to a stretch limousine that seems so desirable in the present fashion climate.” Yet black has a remarkable tendency to be distinctive without overshadowing the wearer, in a sense amplifying the person. Hollander points to a scene in Anna Karenina, where Anna attends a ball. Tolstoy describes another woman, Kitty, remarking on her black gown. She realizes that Anna could not have worn lilac, that she was most alluring when she stood out from her clothing. “And the black dress with luxurious lace was not seen on her;” Tolstoy writes, “it was just a frame, and only was she seen.” While it’s not exactly analogous, a recent study of male birds-of-paradise reveals an intriguingly similar power in their black plumage. The birds are well-known for their bobbing courtship dance, but according to the researchers, it’s actually their coloring that determines their success in mating. The mostly black birds raise their wings to form a light-absorbing field, causing their other colors to appear all the more brilliant. “The juxtaposition of darkest black and colors create to bird and human eyes what is essentially an evolved optical illusion,” explained Harvard University evolutionary biologist Dakota McCoy. “This study shows us that black makes us glow.” On male humans, black is often seen as dignified and levelheaded. In his Book of the Courtier, a sort of guide to life in the aristocratic courts of Renaissance Italy, Count Baldassare Castiglione states that black is the preferred color for a man, or at least something dark. Harvey points out in The Story of Black that black has been the standard for men’s evening wear since the 1810s, in large part thanks to the advocacy of Beau Brummell. The name may be familiar to some men. He’s widely considered the inventor of the modern men’s suit and a sort of founding father of contemporary menswear. AP PHOTO Sean Connery on the set of the James Bond movie “You Only Live Twice” in 1966. Black’s hold on high-fashion AP PHOTO A black chiffon cocktail dress from Balenciaga shown in 1957. In the decades since Chanel’s compact black number graced Vogue‘s cover, numerous designers have adopted and elevated black for their own purposes. Cristóbal Balenciaga used it for his elegant, architectural silhouettes, and Yves Saint Laurent for his androgynous “le smoking” women’s tuxedo. In the latter half of the 20th century, it became closely linked to fringe groups and rebellion. Bikers and beatniks donned black. Then, the Japanese design wave of Issey Miyake, Yohji Yamamoto, and Rei Kawakubo of Comme des Garçons made a new art form of the black look. Fashion journalist Suzy Menkes asked Yamamoto what was behind his well-known predilection for black in a 2000 interview for the International Herald Tribune. Yamamoto’s response has evidently summed up the feelings of black’s devotees so well that it has circulated for some time on social networks such as Tumblr and Instagram. ”Black is modest and arrogant at the same time,” he said. “Black is lazy and easy — but mysterious….Black can swallow light, or make things look sharp. But above all black says this: ‘I don’t bother you — don’t bother me!'” Given black’s adaptability and allure, it’s little wonder it remains a popular choice for all sorts of styles today. Black-obsessed artisanal menswear designers deploy it for their exquisite leather jackets. Designers such as Ann Demeulemeester have gravitated toward its romanticism, others like Balmain’s Olivier Rousteing to its sleekness. Black colors fancy cocktail parties, and goth kids match their clothes to their black eyeliner as readily as socialites thrown on black for a night out. By all indications, its attraction isn’t diminishing. We’ll be flying the black flag for years to come. Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion Read the full article