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shootingmorningstar · 1 month

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Was inspired by bambygourl’s fanart and a TikTok I saw. Dressing up as Roger and Jessica Rabbit for a costume party with Lucifer. I think he’d be all pouty and grumpy about dressing up as such a silly character and not a suave charming character. Especially since he’d take a look at the white button up, red trousers with suspenders, and blue bow tie with yellow polka-dots and see it as a fashion nightmare XD. And don’t get him started on the bunny ears and tail. Tho his mood is sufficiently uplifted when he sees the reader dressed up as Jessica Rabbit. Low cut red dress with a slit and all. Just imagine pulling on his suspenders or bow tie for a kiss, getting lipstick on his mouth and face, and cooing over how adorable and handsome her honey-bunny is.

I've been meaning to get to this request ever since I saw it because it is just so good. I'm definitely biased for anything Lucifer related but god this is just so cute. Anon, your brain is outstanding. I love pouty Lucifer. If you still have that tiktok on hand or ever come across it again, do you think you could send it my way .ᐣ

You didn't include what kind of request you wanted though, and my default is HCs -- but I couldn't help but throw in a little drabble based on them, too. Or, at least I intended it to be a drabble .ᐣ It got away from me, haha.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀Lucifer and Female Reader Dressing

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Up As Roger and Jessica Rabbit ~

Lucifer is initially thrilled when you bring up wanting to attend a famous yearly costume party in Pride with him. A chance to show you off sounds amazing, and he's great with costumes. Just the thought of you two matching is enough to get him excited.

You seemed just as excited as he was -- in fact, he was even more excited when you told him you'd already had something in mind .ᐟ He's pestering you to tell him just what the costumes were as soon as the plan leaves your lips, but much to his displeasure, you refuse, saying you want to keep it a surprise.

You'd even managed to resist the very strongest puppy-dog eyes and pout. Impressive. He usually succeeds in getting his way with that one -- who could ever say no to that face .ᐣ Having exhausted his options, he sighs his defeat.

Well, nearly exhausted his options. He was entirely too ready to pretend that you'd won and snoop through your closet the second you walked away. Apparently his quick glance at said closet had given him away though, and with a quick deadpan stare alongside a scary sounding ❛ don't you dare. ❜ has his feet rooted to the floor.

Did his poker face really suck so bad .ᐣ He's definitely practicing it in the mirror later.

Ultimately, though, he trusts you completely and your choice in matching outfits is no exception, so he allows it to drop for now. There's still a few more days until the party, but that time could be spent much more productively by your side rather than whining about clothing.

That is, until the day of the party comes around and you bring out his outfit. You'd never seen Lucifer's jaw drop quite like that before and it takes iron will to stop yourself from giggling at his present state.

He doesn't understand the reference. Lucifer regrets his past decision to give humanity free will. It's obvious, even if he never seems to say it outright. He had given out such a precious gift and so much of humanity chose to abuse it, to be nothing but cruel. Looking at sinners and by extension humanity is just a terrible reminder of what he'd done, so he prefers to avoid it whenever possible. This quite often includes the media of the living realm -- he's never even heard about the movie, forget seeing it.

So without the full context, all he knows is that you've just handed him an absolutely atrocious outfit -- and to make it worse, you expect him to go out in it .ᐣ Seriously, he whinges, red overalls with a blue bow .ᐣ Rabbit ears .ᐣ And to make it worse, you won't even show him your outfit until he gets dressed .ᐟ He can't believe you're laughing.

He sounds completely and totally ridiculous, in your defense. Seriously, has he seen his regular outfit .ᐣ He looks absolutely stunning, sure -- but he also looks like he walked right out of a circus.

It says a lot, though, that despite the complete and total pity party he's currently throwing himself, he's beginning to shuffle into the costume anyway. He's grumbling the whole way, but the fact that he just doesn't have it in him to say no to you warms your heart.

You had been so, so eager about this party, and the way your eyes had shined like stars when you told him had long since burned itself into his heart.

wc ; 1.2k

His seemingly endless complaints had tapered off ever so slightly when you shimmied his grasp off of the ruby red suspenders sagging unbuttoned over his chest. By the time you take the fabric into your own hands his protests faded to little more than a mumble under his breath, and with the very first snap of a button in place under your gentle touch he'd quieted completely. Where a look of exasperation had reflected off his face seconds prior, in its place now is that of silent awe, his gaze trained on your every action. The gesture of intimacy is enough to leave Lucifer somewhat choked up, his heart still not used to receiving such acts of adoration and kindness. You tie the cornflower blue fabric adorned with tiny yellow spots into a bow to accentuate the costume and cover his hands briefly with your own as you slip the gloves onto his fingers.

Not twenty minutes had passed, and he finds his attitude regarding the ensemble shifting with every second you take to assist him into it. Each and every part of it looks ridiculous at best, but the thought of you picking it out solely for him has him warming up to the idea.

Declaring your work complete, you raise your grasp ever so slightly, palms holding each of his cheeks close, your thumbs rubbing soft little circles below his eyes. Your affections are sufficient only when finished with a kiss placed on his forehead. ❛ I'm going to go get dressed, okay .ᐣ No peeking. I promise I'll be right back. ❜

The way his wrists on instinct dart out to catch yours to bring you close to him again as you pull back nearly got you. He's extended his lips in a pout once more. You hate to leave him quite so sad looking but you know he'll appreciate what you have planned enough for it to be worth it.

Bathroom door shutting closed behind you, there's the smallest bit of lingering regret that he can't help you to get dressed like you had for him. The outfit itself takes you barely a few moments to slip into -- it's the makeup that requires precision, time and effort. His pacing around the bedroom is audible, impatient steps sounding into stomps, the sounds causing you to choke on a laugh. You need a steady hand for your eyeshadow and that's hard to maintain during an act quite as cute as this.

Nonetheless, your look is finished within half an hour and therefore Lucifer is put out of his misery. It's not a second after the door clicks open that his attention is caught, snapped to the light peaking out of the doorway. Stepping into the small hallway, your eyes are met with his own -- and the way his pupils widen as soon as he gets a glance of your dress makes both your efforts and his complaining worthwhile. His gaze takes you in from top to bottom, each detail enchanting him further. The dress so perfectly hugging your curves is crimson to match him and absolutely breathtaking -- and are you walking towards him .ᐣ Your strut does well to accentuate the slit stitched into the leg, your thigh tantalizing in its display.

Finally reclaiming your place beside him, one of your fingers reaches out, finding purchase under his chin -- and when you tilt his head up you swear you saw his eyes flash red. ❛ Hello, my darling husband, ❜ you coo, sending his already overloaded brain into a frenzy. Husband . . .ᐣ You wanted . . .ᐣ With him, really . . .ᐣ And although he's beginning to put the pieces together and clue in that such a term of endearment was part of your match, you seemed so happy to say it. He snaps his focus back onto just how stunning you look tonight, but the idea has firmly implanted itself into the depths of his mind.

Back into the present time, his hands have begun to roam -- he wants to commit every detail of you to memory, and that includes the feeling of your dresses fabric under his fingertips. His grasp is met with your own, for it's not long before you're pulling the straps of his suspenders, tugging him forward into a kiss. By the time he's recovered from his surprise enough to reciprocate, though, you're already beginning to pull away. He chases your lips with a whine but you've already moved on, pressing a kiss first to his cheek and then to his forehead. It's only when you offer him a small compact mirror does he understand -- each of your kisses has left behind a little bit of the lipstick you oh so painstakingly applied. Your marks on his face have left him entranced, desperately craving more.

A gasp rips itself from those same cherry red lips in surprise -- you weren't expecting him to summon forth his tail, much less wrap it around your midsection and use it to bring you closer. ❛ Kiss me again, ❜ He pleads, desperate and breathy. ❛ Anything for my honey bunny, ❜ you chime, matching the mark on his left cheek with one on the right. ❛ You just look so cute, ❜ between each kiss is another offering of praise and compliments, the blush left in your wake matching excellently. ❛ Who's my handsome bunny .ᐣ ❜

Your multitude of kisses has left Lucifer stunned and looking nothing short of angelic -- even more so than usual. You're fully intending on giving him several more, leaning in to do just that when the wall mounted clock besides you chimes a new hours arrival, alerting you to the time. ❛ Oh, dear. I'm very sorry, Mr. Rabbit, but I'm afraid we simply must be going. We don't want to be late, do we .ᐣ ❜

Fixing your lipstick takes all of a few seconds, leaving you free to grab a makeup wipe off the pouch resting atop your vanity and wipe all of the stains you'd adorned his face with away. A snap of his wrist catches yours just inches from his face, however, halting your plans in their tracks. Confused, you look to him for an explanation, a soft ❛ leave them. please .ᐣ ❜ being all he offers you. ❛ You're going to go to the party like this, love .ᐣ ❜ to which he nods sagely. He can't bear to part with them -- not when the lipstick marks are yours, not when they declare proudly that he is yours.

❛ If you say so, honey. ❜ You can't deny that the prospect leaves your heart fluttering. A grand, golden portal appears with a simple snap of his fingers and he takes your arm, now linked with his own in an attempt to usher you forward. He can't wait to show you off, to watch as other demons eyes glow green as they stare his way. You stay still, though, prompting him to look back at you with an air of confusion. It's then that you lean close, whispering ❛ be a good bunny and there will be more where that came from. too bad we'll have to wait until we come home, hmm .ᐣ ❜

Suddenly Lucifer can't wait for this party to be over.

I still can't believe I'd originally intended this to be 100 words and it ended up over a thousand. I can't help it, I'm so weak for anything Lucifer related. I'm half tempted to write an absolutely filthy post party part 2. If there's enough demand for it .ᐣ I just might.

As always, let me know what you think .ᐣ Hearing back from you guys keeps me motivated ~

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transgenderboobs · 2 years

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may i have some jonmartin w/ 14. ( Singing and dancing to their favorite song ) in these trying times,,,

14. Singing and dancing to their favorite song.

oaugh my uwus.....

- - -

The first 24 hours are clumsy and awkward.

Fleeing the country is definitely not as cool as it looks in the movies, Jon thinks. Mostly it involves a lot of stumbling and fear and confusion and buying train tickets in cash, at full price, because even though Martin has a railcard, using it would be too close to leaving a paper trail.

The keys stick in the front door, and the hinges squeak from disuse, but finally, after a day of nonstop travel, they’re standing on the threshold of Daisy’s safehouse an hour outside of Inverness.

At his side, Martin sneezes.

Jon looks up at him, raises his eyebrows.

Martin smiles sheepishly, twists his hands around the strap of his duffel bag. “Dusty.”

Jon hums, trails a hand over the wall as they go, trying not to marvel too obviously at every word Martin says to him. “It does smell a bit like the Archives my first day on the job.”

Martin huffs, dry and quiet, but still the closest thing Jon's heard to an actual laugh from him in so long. "You mean the day I let that dog in?"

Jon's heart does something complicated. He remembers feeling so nervous that day he thought he might throw up, but now looking back on it he feels a pang of something almost like nostalgia. Things were easier, back then, when the worst thing he had to worry about was a dog making a mess on the carpet, even if the memory is marred by how abhorrently he'd treated Martin.

"Yes." He nods fondly. "The day you let the dog in."

Martin does another of those little huffs, this one with a bit more life in it. He shrugs his duffel off his shoulder, lets it fall to the hall floor at his feet. "Well. Better than... blood and rotting meat, or something, so. I'll take it."

"Fair point," Jon gives him. He slips his own bag off his back, clutches it momentarily in front of his chest, before setting it cautiously on the floor beside Martin's. "I suppose we should... take inventory?" He suggests. "Give it a, a look-over?"

Martin hums, nodding. "Yeah, we could do that."

"Right. Yes. Um..." Jon scuffs his toe on the floor, eyes flitting away from Martin before invariably being drawn right back to him. "Where would you like to start?"

"Uh, I-I can take the back half? You check out the front?"

"Ah." Jon bites his bottom lip, tells himself there's no reason for his heart to skip uncomfortably. "S-should we split up?"

"We're hardly splitting up." Martin shrugs. "I think this place might be smaller than my flat back in London."

Jon swallows. He taps his fingers against his thigh. "Still..."

Martin peers curiously at him over the rims of his glasses. "Would you rather we stick together?"

"W-well, I— I, i-it just seems like t-the best, er, that is—" Jon stops himself, purses his lips, sighs. "Yes. I would rather not be apart from you yet."

"Oh," Martin breathes out softly. His cheeks go pink, a barely-there dusting of blush that still manages to knock Jon sideways. "Okay. Sure. Let's, er, have a look at the kitchen then?"

Jon exhales in relief. "Yes. Let's. That sounds good."

They start with the kitchen, Jon leading Martin in with a hand on his wrist, because— well. Because he likes being able to touch Martin, now. Will find any excuse for it.

Martin finds a meager supply of canned goods and nonperishables in the cabinets (no peaches, he's pleased to announce), and Jon finds cookware in the drawers by the oven. It's not an impressive collection, but it'll do. Maybe he'll even get to cook something nice for the two of them. To do something nice for Martin.

Kneeling down, Jon opens the cupboard under the sink. He finds a handful of cleaning products, an old hatchet, a rusty-looking toolbox, and—

"Hm." Pushing a bottle of window cleaner aside, Jon grabs the dusty gray box in the back, turning it over in his hands. He's a little wary of old-timey audio equipment these days, but they're going to have limited entertainment up here on the lam, so anything that's not a tape recorder can stay, he supposes.

He feels more than hears Martin coming up beside him on almost eerily silent footsteps. "What've you got there?"

Jon stands with the ancient bit of tech, setting it on the counter. He pulls his sleeve (Martin's sleeve; it's Martin's cardigan he's got on, after all) over his hands and makes a clumsy swipe to clear away the dust. "Old radio."

Jon sees the way Martin perks up. He sidles cautiously closer, hands stuffed in his pockets. So this he's afraid to touch, but boxes of C4 are fair game. Jon is hopelessly endeared. "Does it work?"

Jon gives him a look, raising his eyebrow, trying to hold back the rush of fondness threatening to make itself known as a dopey grin. "Only one way to find out."

He finds an outlet by the sink to plug the thing in, pulls out the creaky antenna, and fiddles with the buttons until static crackles to life, making them both jump. Twitchy, the both of them, but fleeing the country does tend to set a man's nerves on edge.

Jon twists at the dials, crawling through different tones of static one after the other, until, finally, crackly notes of actual music break through.

"Oh!" Martin's hand lands on Jon's arm, stilling his hand before he can switch to the next station. "Stop, stop there!"

Jon is helpless to do anything but oblige, fingers falling away, head tilting so he can watch Martin, sidelong, as his eyes go wide and his face lights up. Jon wants to frame that expression and hang it on the wall; would do anything to be able to make Martin look that delighted any time he wants.

Jon's a little proud that his voice only wavers a little when he finds it again. "Like this song?"

The corners of Martin's lips tick hesitantly upward, the beginnings of a smile that catches Jon's breath in his throat. "I do, actually."

"I suppose that makes sense. Suits your... retro sensibilities."

Martin snorts. "Okay, it's not that old."

Jon can't fight his grin any longer. He's sure Martin can hear all the syrupy-happiness of it dripping into his voice. "It came out in nineteen-seventy-six, Martin."

Martin politely ignores that Jon Knew that particular bit of trivia about a song he's heard maybe once or twice in his life, crosses his arms over his chest. "That's— Okay, well, it was on when I was a kid!"

"Whatever you say, old man."

Martin stabs a finger at him. "Oh, shut it. You are six months younger than me, grandpa."

Jon loves the splotchy indignation, the put-out blush, the stubborn set to his brows, because this is so much more than he ever thought he'd get again. After months of avoidance and vague disdain, after how painfully empty Martin had looked in the Lonely, Jon feels like he's finally come up for air after a long time spent underwater.

He feels, if he's honest, a little bit giddy.

Chasing that feeling, he carefully holds his hand out. "Alright. Come on, then."

Martin looks down at his proffered hand, head tilting. "Are you... Jon, are you asking me to dance?"

"I'm trying to, but there's only a minute-and-forty-eight seconds left of this song, so we'll need to hurry."

Martin raises his eyebrows. Jon frowns, but wiggles his fingers. Martin's face softens, and he slowly slips his hands into Jon's. "I don't know how to dance."

"That's fine," Jon tells him, smiling. "Neither do I."

And then Martin laughs for real, a small, soft thing that still sends every cell in Jon's body chiming like a bell as he pulls Martin into motion.

They really are horribly awkward: the song doesn't allow for slow dancing, too fast, too energetic, but it's still delightful to hold onto Martin's hands and move together.

"I warned you," Martin huffs immediately after he narrowly avoids stepping on Jon's toes.

"You're doing fine," Jon tells him, knocking his bony knee into Martin's thigh for good measure.

Martin giggles (actually giggles!), a flush rising high on his lovely cheeks. Shedding his self-consciousness as the seconds tick by, Jon watches his movements become freer and more confident as they unfreeze from fog-chilled shores and hours of travel.

He even, delightfully, picks up the song and quietly starts humming along. After a few seconds of holding his breath to be sure he heard right, Jon even picks up the odd word or two here and there.

Then, he starts hearing entire lyrics, soft and shaky and a little awkward in a voice that's unused to having presence enough to speak, let alone sing along to seventies rock songs.

Jon doesn't realize he's gone reverently motionless until Martin stops moving, too, looks at him with something that borders too close to nerves. "What?"

Jon wants to say something to preserve the mood, get Martin back out of his head. Maybe quip out decided to serenade me now, have you? or something.

Instead, he says, "You're lovely," in that awed, earnest voice Martin always seems to drag out of him.

Martin goes completely still, now, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes round and mouth half-open. "Oh."

"Er." Jon swallows. "What I mean, is, um." What he means is Martin is absolutely fucking lovely, all of the time, but seeing him like this is a revelation, should be categorized as the eighth world wonder, probably. But he hadn't meant to say it yet; had meant to give Martin more time to feel like a person again. He can't take it back now, though. "Well, actually, no. T-that's what I meant."

"Oh," Martin says again, small and soft and a little dazed.

Jon looks down. Martin is still holding his hand, even though the dancing's stopped and the last notes of music are fading out to make way for the next song, faint pinpricks of static filtering through the airwaves in the growing quiet. "Th-that okay?"

"Yeah, Jon. That..." Martin smiles, small but bright as dawn light, his fingers squeezing where they're still wrapped in Jon's. "That's definitely okay."

Jon's heart, fragile as it feels, bursts with a sun-hot affection. "Good. Because you are."

Martin looks about as fragile as Jon feels, and just as lovestruck. It's good, Jon thinks, that he's able to hear things like this and not shrink away.

"Okay." Martin gives Jon's hand another squeeze before he slides it free. He turns the volume down on the radio, but not all the way off, so the next song filters quietly into the room. "We should, um. G-get back to it, right?"

"Probably," Jon agrees regretfully. He already misses Martin's hand in his.

And together, they set to it, the hopeful start to a long undertaking.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #tma fic #magpod #magnuspod #jonmartin #jmart #otp: i need him to be okay #loverboy writings #hiiiii #yes i'm still out here finishing prompts i got in early 2021. what of it #if anyone is curious.#i'm imagining the song to be good old fashioned loverboy by queen #because i am first and foremost a self-indulgent man #so if i wanna make martin a queen fan in my fics i will

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