#fucked up rabbit gang!!!

[bxnnie-bxwl]

very messy wip hehehe

[dykealloy]

one piece filler ep where they run into another peto-peto villain of the week guy but this time instead the devil fruit power rearranges people's brain chemistry so they have the thoughts behaviours emotional intelligence etc of a dog. zoro gets hit but he's just exactly the same

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I can. And I will.

Here I AM, just an INNOCENT LITTLE MEOW MEOW, just a SOPPING WET PATHETIC LEETOL CREECHUR, an ANGELIC BABY, and then YOU come along and put IDEAS in my head and think you can get away with it!?

[zipper-ghost]

Based on a fic I'm working on where Kim and Harry have to go undercover at a gay club

Read the fic on ao3

(lines in bold are Harry’s skills talking. I haven't specified but you can guess)

A chill wind whips their faces as they step onto the precinct roof. They huddle together, facing each other, Harry’s broad body blocking the wind which would snuff out the lighter flame. Kim lit his cigarette and then lit Harry’s. Harry recently switched from Menthols to Kim’s brand of chestnut-flavored cigarettes. Kim hasn’t asked about it even though he noticed.

As the smoke fills his lungs Kim’s whole body visibly relaxes. A softness falls across his expression, his gaze grows distant. You don’t know if it’s the ritual of smoking at the end of the day or the nicotine. The smoldering end of the cigarette is reflected in Kim’s glasses, as are you. They lean against the railing and watch the sunset over the horizon in silence. Harry waits for Kim to start. 

The jingling of Kim unzipping his jacket makes Harry stand a bit straighter and bite the filter for his cigarette. 

“Shall we start?” Kim says taking out his notebook and flipping it open. 

You nod, trying not to linger on Kim’s now exposed collarbone. 

“How do you think the investigation is going?”

“Bad.”

“Kmn, we seem to have hit a dead end. Even though we’ve made contact with the suspect the name he has been using in the club scene seems to be an alias. And his tattoo doesn’t seem to be related to any known gang or criminal organization. We are still waiting for the lab to get back to us about the particular strain of hallucinogen that was in the victim’s system.” 

“It’s worrying…”

“What is?”

“Well, the drug the victim overdosed on- it’s not something we’ve come across before. There is a chance that there will be more overdoses like this.”

“We can look into who the suspect’s supplier might be.”

“He might not have a supplier here.”

Kim glances at Harry. “Why do you say that?”

“The suspect is Seraise. They said he was bragging about being an aerostatic pilot on leave. Maybe he brought the drugs from the Safre empire, would that be possible to find out?”

“I can look into it.” 

For a moment it is silent except for the sound of Kim’s pen on paper. A motor carriage speeds across the street below. Sodium street lights are switched on as the sky grows darker and stars begin to appear one by one. 

“How long do you think we have until he returns to Safre?”

Kim taps the page with the back of his pen. “It’s hard to tell. He has been here awhile, might be any day now.” 

“He probably won’t come to that club anymore,” Harry adds.

Kim’s eyes crinkle. He is smiling though only you would notice. 

“No,” Kim says, “not after you scared him off.”

“I didn’t scare- I am perfectly capable of flirting.”

“Sure, you are,” Kim replies around his cigarette, his flat words dripping with sarcasm. 

“I am! I was just not his type is all. He must be into twinkles-”

“Twinks,” Kim corrects. “Like our victim.”

“Hm.” Harry exhales a plume of white smoke that dissolves into the night. 

“So Kim, what’s your type? Twinks, bears, otters, cubs, tigers, rabbits?”

Kim’s face remains unreadable but his shoulders tense, the pages of his notebook crinkle under his grip. 

He answers after a brief but notable pause. “I don’t have a type. And you made up the last few at the end.”

“Everyone has a type! Are you saying you have no preferences when it comes to who you find attractive?”

“I’m more interested in personalities.”

“You’re such a fucking liar. Come on Kim.”

“Enough detective. We are still in the middle of our briefing and this is irrelevant to-”

“This is relevant to the case,” Harry insists. 

“Fine,” Kim says begrudgingly. “If I had to describe it, it’s say my taste in men is … questionable.”

“Questionable? What does that mean?”

“It means I’m attracted to men who are bad for me or impossibly out of reach. Now if you are satisfied can we get back to the case?”

Harry smiles. If you are smart about it, you could get more information from Kim. “Well your answer was kind of a cop-out but I’ll let it go for now.”

Kim furrows his brow at Harry, a look that says ‘Don’t you dare.’

You feel your knees buckle under the force of Kim’s glare. You grab the railing with one hand. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my type?”

“I don’t have to. I already know.”

“What? How do you already know?”

Kim turns back to his notebook and pretends to read. “Because it is obvious. You like them young, waifish, and pretty. Someone mysterious and fragile, someone who you can save.”

Someone to be your redemption. 

“That- that's not true- not everyone that-” Harry stutters. Kim’s blatant description of Dora throws you off kilter. Talking about her is taboo. Even though Kim knows about her and what she did to you he had never brought it up. He knows you still have nightmares of her. 

“Well, just in Martinaise there was Klaasje, Lilienne, the smoker on the balcony, and-”

“Wait- the smoker on the balcony?”

Kim raises an eyebrow. “You were smitten. You went on and on about him, ‘he is such a good listener, I felt heard when I talked to him. He smelled so good, how can someone smell so good?” Kim covers his mouth to hide his condescending grin. 

A formless darkness claws inside you. It feels terrible to be judged, to be teased, but you can’t quite put into words what you are feeling, or why

“You sound jealous,” Harry snaps back. 

Kim sighs. “I’m not jealous. I’m a detective and I notice patterns of behaviour.”

“Well you're plain wrong in this case. You’re not like that-”

“I’m not like what?” 

“Like…” Harry’s breath stutters in his chest. Kim isn’t like Dora or Klaasje or Lilienne or the smoker on the balcony. He isn’t like them and still…

You look at Kim’s cigarette and feel a pang of jealousy. You wish to be that cigarette cradled between his lips. You want to burn into ash, you want to be the bitterness on Kim’s tongue. You want to be the smoke filling his lungs, the nicotine flooding his bloodstream. You want to be Kim’s addiction, you want to be part of him, deep and inextricable. 

“I…” A tidal wave of desire crashes through you but you can’t say the words.

Kim snaps his notebook close. “I guess we’ve reached the end of the briefing. Our conversation is no longer productive.” He tosses his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and crushes the lit ember beneath the heel of his boot. 

His face is unreadable as usual but Kim is upset. 

Damn it. You’ve fucked up Harry. 

Harry follows Kim down the stairs from the roof. 

“I’m sorry Kim, I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“I’m not angry Officer. It’s late and we won’t any more progress today, you should go home early.”

He is lying, if he isn’t mad he wouldn’t call you ‘officer’

[cryptidghostgirl]

*Shuffles in* HEWWWOO

I GOT ANOTHER (I'm so sorry) Alastor x Chubby!Reader 😔

(This might seem weird and so so strange but I swear it's not perverted and shouldn't be seen as such)

Magic is in hell, yeah??? SOOO what if Alastor tries to his dark voodoo sprinkle magic but IT BACKFIRES or something while he tries to fix that one wall in the show that keeps getting destroyed or helping charlie with something 🤔 and he turns into A KID BUT A HUMAN KID BACK WHEN HE WAS ALIVE and everyone kinda justs bombards him with questions and comments (not Husk in the background smirking because Alastor is an asshole to him so he's planning all the ways he can get his revenge, Charlie freaking out, Angel cooing at his cuteness, vaggie cursing up a storm, niffty sulking because he's no longer a bad boy) and I would imagine that child Alastor is kinda like '🥹who are all these weird creatures, where am I, where's momma' ...😭 chaos ensues, Alastor just wants his momma so he's crying as loud as he can because 'I'm lost' (HES A MOMMAS BOY AND I FEEL AS A KID HE WAS INNOCENT AND SWEET) the hazbin hotel residents immediately try to calm him down but he only gets louder THEN LIKE AN ACTUAL ANGEL here comes reader back from shopping or waking up and is welcomed to all the commotion, and after making her presence known Alastor just sniffles at her, tears streaming down his face 😢 reader immediately going to tiny Alastor to help and tiny Alastor who thinks reader is a fairy? Angel?? Goddess?? Some warm welcoming figure that he's gonna marry (like playground kids sometimes do??) so he's calming when she goes to help him,' he's been kidnapped' looking back at the hazbin gang, more tears coming, reader immediately going into caretaker mode and cares for him throughout the whole ordeal, while Alastor gushes about his momma or talkinging readers ear off about anything and everything (Charlie figures out it only lasts all day somehow) so Alastor sticks with reader and helps her with her duties at the hotel, never leaving her side, at the end of the day before he goes to bed

Angel teases tiny Alastor about reader being his mommy que reader blushing and sputtering from reader only for Alastor to turn to Angel with disgust and determination on his face to proudly announce to Angel that reader is gonna be HIS WIFE INSTEAD only for husk to scoff in the background and says something about Alastor being a smiley freak or something for Alastor to doubt that reader will marry him, that thats never gonna happen, only for reader to kiss Alastor on the forehead and declare that that doesn't change anything because Alastor has always owned her heart, something sweet???? To reassure kid Alastor then reader takes Alastor to his hotel room to sleep, to later on in the night to sneak into readers bed because 'momma cuddles with me till I fall asleep', sleepy cuddles, soothing humming for child Alastor to ask before he falls asleep if reader really will marry him when he's older and Reader half asleep herself and full of love for the man he'll grow to be says yes, but to take her out first or get her flowers ya know???

When reader wakes the next morning to flowers surrounding her bed and her favorite breakfast presented to her with a bashful adult Alastor saying he's kept his side of the deal now its readers turn, readers faces lights up and smiles big enough to hurt her cheeks and they date and get married ☺️😣

(I'm sorry it's a weird request and soooooo fucking long but .....please..)

A/N I literally love you and your requests. Hi. Also I am making her a rabbit again because I feel like that would be something that a kid would not find scary and would be very excited about as a demon form.

Mishap of Magic (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Nothing except that Alastor is a little kid for most of this fic.

Word Count: 3,463

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask.

It wasn't the first time it had happened to Alastor but, it had certainly been a while since the last time he'd had to deal with such an issue. Magic was a fickle thing, obstinate at the best of times. He had found a certain agreement of sorts with the metaphysical but, it still backfired on occasion.

Alastor had been trying to fix the wall -- the fucking wall. Somehow, every time there was an issue with the hotel, this same exterior wall was involved. It was inconceivable and deeply irritating, especially now that it had been the trigger. Alastor could feel the world shifting, feel himself shrinking and then, nothing.

"Uh, what the fuck?" Vaggie broke the silence, stress seeping into her voice.

"Oh my gosh! Vaggie!" Charlie exclaimed, grabbing onto her girlfriend's arm and shaking it violently, a bright smile lighting up her face, "He looks like a little kid!"

"Damn," Angel laughed lightly, "who woulda guessed the strawberry pimp was actually a cute at one point in time."

Alastor looked around in confusion. A tangle of limbs, wild creatures and bright colors. Husk smirked, trying to hold a derisive laugh at bay as he placed a bottle on the shelf of the bar.

"Charlie," Vaggie sighed, turning to her overexcited partner who at the moment was cooing over how small Alastor had become, "you do realize we have to change him back."

All the joy fell from Charlie's face in an instant.

"Hey, uh, little guy?" Pentious began, awkwardly advancing towards Alastor, "You wouldn't happen to know how we can fix this? I-"

"Stay away!"

His voice was small and shrill, panicked as Alastor backed away from Pentious' advancement. Sir Pentious stopped in his tracks and Charlie let go of Vaggie, coming up beside him.

"It's okay, Alastor." she said in a tone of voice that was trying very hard to be everything except for panicked, which is what it actually was, "He's not going to attack you.''

It became evident almost immediately that that had in fact been the wrong thing for Charlie to say. Alastor's eyes filled with sudden tears.

"Where... stay away from me!" he exclaimed, "My momma told me not to talk to strangers."

Charlie and Vaggie exchanged a glance and Charlie sighed.

"We're not strangers, we're you're friends. I am Charlie, that is Vaggie, Husk is in the bar, this is Angel, and here is Sir Pentious. Remember?"

"I don't know any of you scary things!" Alastor exclaimed, tears beginning to drip from his wide, wet eyes and roll down his cheeks, "I... I want my mommy. Where is my mommy?"

"Oh! No no no!" Charlie exclaimed, trying to reach a comforting hand out to the child but he backed away again.

"Where is my mama!" he yelled, now absolutely sobbing, "I want... I want..."

He sniffled, trying to catch his breath as he looked frantically around the room. Charlie turned to Vaggie, pulling at her hair.

"What do we do!" she asked her girlfriend who shrugged, as much at a loss of how to handle the situation as her partner was.

"Man, if I 'da known he was this cute and... and frail under that whole persona all along." Angel sighed wistfully, crossing his lower set of arms.

This time Husk really couldn't stop the laugh that left him. Before anyone could ask what was so funny, if he knew anything about what was going on, the doors to the hotel opened and Y/n waltzed in. Her arms were laden with bags and she wore a bright, sunny smile.

"Al!" she called out, closing the door gently behind her, "You'll never guess what I found at the market!"

"Um, Y/n?" Sir Pentious tentatively began, taking a step towards her as she turned to the group.

"Fresh strawberries!"

As her eyes fell on the scene before her, the smile fell from her face, replaced with an expression of alarm. The bags fell from her grasp, spilling groceries across the floor as she rushed to the young Alastor's side. His mouth was slightly open, tears still falling openly from his eyes, as she crouched before him. The white skirt of her dress pooled gently on the floor around her feet as she raised a handkerchief to his face, gently patting his cheeks with its edge.

"What on earth is going on?" she asked softly, her voice laced delicately with concern.

"Well, Alastor was fixing the wall and then he just... poofed? I don't know! We don't know what happened and we don't know how to fix it and he keeps asking for his mom and... and... and..." Charlie trailed off, looking around helplessly at her companions.

Y/n's gentle gaze never once left Alastor's. She smiled softly at him.

"I see, are you lost?"

Alastor nodded weakly, sniffing once.

"And there are all these big scary monsters around!" he told her.

"Ah, I see." Y/n sagely replied, "Am I a big scary monster too?"

She didn't mean it in any way except as an attempt to assess the situation further. Alastor's cheeks flushed slightly pink as he shook his head, looking away bashfully. Y/n smiled softly, turning his face gently back to her.

"Would you like to stay with me until we can figure out what is going on?"

The tears had stopped now and Alastor nodded enthusiastically. Y/n dabbed the last remains of saltwater from his cheeks, slipping the handkerchief into her pocket. In a single, swift and practiced motion, Y/n lifted Alastor up, resting him on her hip. His hands immediately went to one of her floppy ears, running his little hands over it in awe.

"Bunny." he stated and Y/n nodded.

"Yeah, I am just like a bunny, okay?"

Alastor met her eyes.

"You're pretty like a bunny too!" he announced proudly and Y/n felt her cheeks grow slightly warm.

"Ah, what a little charmer." she noted, tapping his nose lightly and Alastor giggled.

"How are you so good with him?" Angel asked and Y/n turned towards him as Alastor continued to fiddle with her ear.

"What do you mean?"

"He just kept crying when we were trying to help."

Y/n shrugged slightly.

"I was the oldest growing up. I always had to take care of my baby cousins and stuff like that. Besides, little kids are the sweetest a this age!"

Angel's eyes flicked between Y/n and her enthusiasm and little Alastor who seemed absolutely awestruck in her arms.

"Yeah." he scoffed, "That is all it is."

"Now, Alastor." Y/n hummed, turning to face the boy who immediately met her gaze, his earnest air only endearing her to him further, "I have some work to get done, I cook here at the hotel. Do you want to come help me?"

"Uh-huh." he nodded vigorously and Y/n smiled.

"Well, that's a relief cause, you know, I could really use your help."

"Really?"

Alastor's eyes lit up at the notion, that she needed him, that it wasn't just an empty offer.

"Yeah I could." Y/n confirmed, "How else am I supposed to know if the fruit is ripe or the meal is good if you don't try it for me first?"

Alastor giggled and Y/n turned, glancing at her bags still splayed out on the floor.

"Pen, can you help me with these?"

Immediately, the snake demon agreed, grabbing the fallen produce and placing it back into the bags before hoisting them onto his shoulders. The trio had made it about halfway across the lobby to the service door that lead to the kitchen when Y/n paused, looking back at Charlie over her shoulder.

"Charls, I'd quiz Husk about this if I were you." she advised gently, "He seems far too pleased at the situation to not know exactly what is going on."

The day sped by in a whirl of something akin to unbound joy. It was a peaceful reminder of the person she had been to take care of Alastor like this. They had always been close, he didn't own her soul or anything but Y/n and Alastor had been friends for years. When he had asked her to come help out at the hotel, she had jumped at the opportunity to spend time with him after so many years.

Despite their closeness, neither knew all too much about the other. There was always an unspoken barrier of sorts in the way. For Y/n, it was a mild attraction to the man. He was a moralist at heart with a strict code completely of his own he always stuck to and Y/n admired him for that. She wasn't sure what the disconnect was on Alastor's side but, in the moment, she didn't care. She had learned more about the man through this strange experience than she had ever hoped to, it was a gift.

It was his capacity for love, she realized as she lead him into the lobby to say his goodnights. Y/n had never realized how deeply Alastor cared about the people in his life or the world around him, he hid it so well as an adult. Child Alastor had no pretenses, he was completely and entirely himself with nothing held back. In a weird way, it almost strengthened the feelings she had for him as an adult, being allowed to experience him like this.

All day, he had trailed after her, doing his absolute best to complete every task she assigned him and talking all the while about how much he loved his home and his mom. It was sweet, it was endearing, it was verging on dangerous. Y/n tried not to think about it as she held his small hand.

The pair came to a stop by the bar where the rest of the hotel's residents were sharing a drink. Charlie had found out earlier from Husk that this change in Alastor should only last a day and Y/n found herself nearly morose at the idea. She loved Alastor as a man, respected him, but he lost that openness he had had as a child, she realized. It was a shame that come sunrise, she wouldn't be able to have such open communication with the man again, a shame that the only open communication she would ever have with him was when he was a child incapable of adult though. Y/n squeezed his hand gently.

"Let's say goodnight, okay?"

Alastor looked doubtfully up at Y/n, still put off by the rest of the gang.

"They're your friends, I promise. Would I lie to you?"

Alastor thought it over before shaking his head slightly. He turned to face the group.

"Good night." he announced, his voice trembling just the slightest bit.

"Good job." Y/n hummed and Alastor smiled in pride.

"Damn, is this how you guys always are?" Angel laughed, taking a sip from his drink, evidently already intoxicated, "I mean, I knew you were friends before you came here, but are you always such a mom to him?"

"No!" Y/n indignantly replied, her cheeks flushing slightly pink, "We're just friends."

"Nah," Angel smirked after a moment, "you're totally his mom."

Y/n opened her mouth to reply when Alastor let go of her hand, stepping in front of her with his hands on his hips.

"Y/n is not my mom." he insisted to Angel who raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, then what is she?" the spider demon asked and Y/n glared at him.

"Y/n is the prettiest ever and when I grow up she's gonna be my wife!" Alastor proudly announced, "She is nice and gives the best hugs."

Angel and Husk both broke out into peals of laughter.

"Like you could land a girl like her." Husk scoffed.

"What do you mean?" Alastor asked, his words slurring slightly together from exhaustion.

"Hate to break it to you kid, but when you grow up, your creepy ass could never."

Alastor frowned deeply at this remark. He looked back at Y/n, his eyes bleeding helplessness. She felt her heart crack and crouched down beside him. Tucking his hair behind his ears, Y/n placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Don't listen to Husk." she smiled gently at him, "You have always had a place in my heart."

Alastor's face lit up at this and he turned back to Husk. Taking Y/n's hand back in his, he stuck his tongue out at the cat demon who rolled his eyes in response.

Once up in Alastor's room, Y/n tucked him in to bed and told him a story. Alastor's sleepy eyes struggled to stay open and when she moved to leave, it took some convincing to make him let go of her arm. With promises she would see him first thing in the morning, Y/n let the door close gently behind her and let out a sigh. She had forgotten how much work kids could be, she was exhausted.

She had barley made it back to her room, barley crawled into bed, when there was a soft knock at her door. With a sigh, she threw the covers from her legs and walked to the door, opening it with an irritated expression which softened the moment she saw who stood on the other side.

"What's going on, honey?" she asked, crouching down to Alastor's level and cupping his cheek gently in her soft hand.

"I can't sleep." he bashfully replied, "Momma cuddles me until I fall asleep."

"I see." Y/n hummed, getting to her feet and stepping to the side so he could enter.

Alastor looked up at Y/n in doubt and she gave him a nod of encouragement. It was all he needed to rush into the room and jump up onto her bed, snuggling down into the pile of covers. Y/n watched him for a moment, smiling softly, before closing the door and joining him.

Immediately, Alastor wrapped himself in her arms, snuggling into her chest. Y/n was frozen for a moment in indecision, but tiredness prevailed and in her sleepy state, all that mattered was that it was Alastor. Her oldest friend, the one who had never failed her. She pulled him close, resting her chin on his head.

"You're so comfy." Alastor mumbled through a yawn and Y/n chuckled.

"Its because I know how to enjoy all that life and the afterlife has to offer." she hummed softly in response, her breath tickling the top of his head, "Most men would prefer someone who looks different than me but, luckily I am not existing for men."

The pair fell silent for a moment. Sleep pulled at the edges of Y/n's ears, dragging her eyelids down. She hummed a gentle tune, a lullaby she had long since forgotten the words to but that she could hear her own mother in.

"Well, those men are stupid." Alastor grumpily replied, maneuvering himself around in Y/n's grasp so he faced her, "You look like a fairy."

Y/n cracked her eyes open, ruffling Alastor's hair slightly.

"Why thank you, I do try." she smiled.

"And I meant it."

"Meant what?"

Her eyes were closed again, her voice dreamy.

"When I grow up, I am going to marry you."

"Oh, are you now."

"Yes." Alastor insisted, and in his insistence, through the shrillness of his childlike tone, Y/n could hear him as an adult, as the man she knew, "When I am grown up, I am going to ask you to marry me. Will... you would say yes, right?"

Who would have guessed, the feared and decisive Radio Demon could doubt. Y/n smiled.

"Well, you can't just ask a girl to marry you right off the bat."

"You can't?"

There was a genuine confusion in his voice, Y/n had expected nothing less from a child. Still, she couldn't help but view him through the lens of his adult self in this moment. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the proximity, the dark, how lovely he was when he had nothing to protect himself from, when he did not yet know of the filter he needed in order to conduct himself in the world and not get fucked over by it.

"Nope." Y/n shook her head slightly.

"Why not?"

"Well, you have to court her first."

"Court her?"

"You know, ask her on dates, buy her flowers: woo her."

"Well then I will do that too."

The last thing Y/n remembered before the world gave way to sleep was Alastor asking what her favorite flower was.

"Hyacinths." she had told him, "The purple ones. But don't you dare buy them for me unless you have something to apologize for because they ask for forgiveness. Instead, buy me peonies, they are for new love."

The heat of Hell's false sun was what woke her. Y/n grumbled, rolling over in bed, the course of the day before re-materializing in her head. She smiled softly at the memory, a certain sadness creeping in at the fact that she would probably never be that vulnerable with the man again.

A faint, almost peppery smell reached her nose and Y/n cracked her eyes open. Around her was a world of soft pinks and whites, cascading petals and the most beautiful display of protracted death. She gasped slightly, sitting up in bed. Looking around her small room, she realized it was filled to the brim with peonies in different stages of life. As her eyes traveled to the foot of the bed, she found Alastor standing there, his cheeks flushed and a tray in his hands. On the tray was a stack of pancakes, all cut into the shape of flowers to match. Y/n laughed lightly, smiling up at him from where she sat in bed.

"What's all this?" she asked and his cheeks grew brighter still.

Alastor looked away, clearing his throat.

"I'm keeping my side of the deal."

Y/n searched her mind, looking for any trace of what he could possibly mean.

"The deal... oh!" it suddenly hit her, the sleep riddled conversation they had had the night before.

Her cheeks flushed pink, mirroring his and picking up the colors of the flowers he had surrounded her with. She smiled brightly at Alastor, pulling herself from the bed. The hem of her nightgown rippled gently against her legs as she approached him. With grace, she plucked a strawberry from the plate and popped it in her mouth.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" she grinned coyly up at him.

Alastor rolled his eyes.

"I'm... doing the things so... just..."

"Alastor."

"What?"

His discomfort was palpable, unfamiliar. She reveled in it.

"Do you actually like me?"

"I thought I told you. You know, when-"

"I thought that was just mindless chatter." she interrupted, "Little kids are always saying stuff like that."

"Well, I wasn't."

Y/n laughed and Alastor placed the tray carefully on the edge of the bed, turning back to her.

"Did I misinterpret what you said?"

"Not at all." Y/n said, taking a step closer to him.

"So you will marry me?"

She laughed again, she couldn't help herself. Y/n could tell that if Alastor was able to do anything but smile, he would be scowling at her reaction to his sincere question.

"Ask me out on a date."

"Bu-"

"Ask me out on a date!" she insisted and Alastor sighed.

"Fine. Would you..." he took a deep breath, nerves running wild, "would you like to go out... with me..."

"Oh wow, so confident." Y/n teased.

"Y/n." Alastor warned and her smile widened even further.

"Yes, Al. Yes, Alastor, I would love to go out on a date with you."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes." Y/n nodded, her hands clasped behind her back as she swayed slightly on her feet, "I will."

Before she could register what was happening, Y/n was in Alastor's arms. He lifted her off her feet, spinning her around.

"Wait!" she shrieked, "Alastor, put me down! Aren't I too heavy?"

"Not at all, my dear." he hummed, holding her close now.

"Still, put me down!" she bashfully requested and at last he conceded, her feet finding the cool of the wood once again, "How long have you been... you know."

"That, my dear, is for me to know."

He tapped her nose gently and one of her ears shifted in response. Y/n crossed her arms.

"Not fair." she whined.

"Eat." Alastor commanded, unable to be moved on this point, "Meet me downstairs after. We're going out."

----

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet 

@reader3

[slasherscream]

my girl can wear whatever she wants tiers please for crazy ass boys gang!!!

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + MY GIRL CAN WEAR WHATEVER SHE WANTS TIERS

❥ my girl can wear whatever she want cause I can fight ❥

Billy Loomis - When you look particularly good his arm might as well be glued to your waist. He's both possessive and protective. He hates the way everyone's eyes devour you, but can't help how prideful it makes him either. Yeah, you want her. Of course you want her. Everyone does. But only I have her. God help the idiot that's stupid enough to open their mouth and not just look.

Jordan Li - They love watching you put your outfits together. They make suggestions from your bed, glancing up at you every few minutes. They can't help it. Their eyes are drawn to you permanently. No matter how crowded the room they can find you in a second. Whenever there's a party Jordan loves watching everyone try to sneak quick glances at you. They jump like rabbits when they wind up meeting Jordan's eyes and watch that smile that Jordan only wears around you fall back into the usual scowl. No one wants to be caught staring at Jordan's girl.

Arvin Russell - It's not possible for you to feel fear in public when you're with Arvin. You could be wearing straight lingerie in the most dangerous city in the world at 2 am and be safe. He's not just ready to protect you but hungry for it. Every time he proves he'll fight till his knuckles are bloody and bruised over you he watches you walk a little more confidently. Shine a little brighter. Knowing that he's there to protect you has only made you more yourself every day. And Arvin? He's obsessed with the transformation that the safety net of his fierce protection has ignited within you.

Jason Dean/JD - You wish he'd only fight people over what you're wearing. Unfortunately, this is not the case. JD pulls out a gun. Not every time, granted. Just a large majority of the time. In his defense, how is he supposed to act when someone has the audacity to cat call you? Do you expect him to just watch and not care as you experience that brief shiver of fear that runs up your spine when a man whistles at you before following it up with even more salacious words? If you feel fear, he'll make them feel fear. Simple.

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - If someone is stupid enough to not recognize him before they say anything to you about what you're wearing they will quickly recognize the tentacle wrapped around their throat. "Apologize." He hisses through gritted teeth, increasing the pressure, knowing just how much strength he can use before it would break their neck. How he ever expects anyone to apologize to you with a giant tentacle wrapped around their wind pipe you don't know. This is the second time this month. You're running out of night clubs you're not banned from.

David Mccall - You walk out of the house with the confidence that only someone who's done 12 tours over seas should have. But no, you just have a boyfriend who is incredibly scary. You've watched him almost break a man's hand for brushing it against yours at a crowded bar while he reached for his drink. You don't even think before you throw on an outfit anymore.

❥ my girl can wear whatever she want because she a hoe and I knew that before we started dating ❥

Josh Washington - Could he fuck someone up if needed? Yes, but he feels no need to. As long as you're not in danger or being disrespected Josh loves the way you express yourself through your look. You're hot and beautiful, of course you wear stuff that's short or tight, or both. If he looked like you he'd do the same thing. People don't usually say anything to you anyways, since he's always pressed to you like a second skin. He's not a jealous guy, but he is a chronic clinger.

Stu Macher - Is probably the person wolf whistling you in the first place. Points at you from across the room when you're talking to other people and says, "That's my girl right there. She's smoking, right?" He will always be smug he pulled you and NEVER shut up about it. The more wild you dress the more smug he gets. People can look all they want. But you only want him. What's there not to brag about?

Kevin Khatchadourian - Kevin above anyone else would thoroughly understand your psyche before dating you. He's involved with you because, somehow, you intrigued him against all odds. He already expected and predicted with near perfect accuracy every step of the relationship. Skimpy outfits are not throwing him. Can he fight? Yes. But, frankly, if someone pisses him off by hitting on you swinging on them is not gonna satisfy him. He's more of a "put their fingerprints at a crime scene so their life is ruined" type of get back. If he decides not to kill them.

Sebastian Valmont - Sebastian is the one buying you more hoe clothes. He loves your style and is not insecure. If either of you wanted someone else, you could go get them. But you two were practically made for each other. He wants to show you off. Is never going to be the type to try and dull your shine. He wants to walk into a room with you and have jaws drop from the deadly combination of the way you look together. He thrives off of seeing how much people want you. Knowing how futile it is. How hopeless. He pulls you tight into his side and grins like the devil himself (also, and this knowledge is of utmost importance, he cannot fight for shit.)

❥ my girl can wear whatever she want cus I’m scared of her ❥

Nathan Prescott - Is possessive, jealous and insecure enough to absolutely want you to change what you're wearing. With anyone else he'd even be bold enough to tell them to change. You are not anyone else, though. You are you. Considering every other behavior you tolerate from Nathan on a monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly basis you would snap on him like a twig if he tried to bring one more red flag on board. He knows this. You know this. When you slide on your low rise jeans and the tiniest crop top known to man, you make eye contact with one another in the mirror. He looks away first. You go back to peacefully fixing up your hair. Upside, no one is crazy enough to actually hit on you when you're at parties held on campus together. Which means Nathan won't have the cops called on him. Hooray!

[cheonstapes]

😝 omg I absolutely loved the way u wrote spider barbie!!! Thanks again so much!! 💕✨

If it’s not too much of a bother, I would like to send in another request lol. 😅 (unless there’s a limit on how many requests can be sent, I completely understand 😊)

I would like to request Miguel O’Haraxfem!Jessica rabbit inspired reader. She’s the most beautiful & generous spider woman across the multiverse, which makes sense since she’s also the most desired among the spiders. Maybe one day she’s hanging out w/ her friends (Miles, Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr, & Peter) at the spider society cafeteria when everyone in the group could be discussing their Valentine’s Day plans. Until they decide to ask her if she has a date or any upcoming plans (The spider gang not knowing she’s already married to Miguel 😂) When asked she just zones out and has flashbacks about all the multiple dates her and miguel went on throughout the multiverse, including the spicy times they shared together~ 😉

When asked again, she lets them know tht she’s already in an established relationship w/ Miguel; which makes the spider gang’s jaws drop bcuz even though miguel is a good looking guy they can’t understand how a ray of sunshine like her ended up with someone as serious and angry like Miguel 😂

The spider gang could ask: “What do u see in tht guy?!?!” 😱 Spider-reader: “He makes me laugh..😏”

Thanks again! 😊🙏🏻

miguel o'hara stars in... 'WAIT...YOU'RE ROGER RABBIT?' (°ロ°) !

a/n ~ i absolutely love jessica rabbit, girlboss, she's so hot. TYSM for this request my love!!!! there's never a limit ( ` ω ´ ) send as many as you want bby 💗 i went a little overboard but this was so fun to write!! ALSO ITS MIGUELS BIRTHDAY!!

summary; it's valentine's day at hq, and everyone can't help but wonder why you're still single.

pairing; miguel o'hara x reader

wc; 2.3k+

cw; FLUFF!! SMUT!!, secret relationship, pining, no one can believe you n miguel are together, loss of virginity, m!masturbation, pillow fuckin, fleshlights, miguel fucks an ai you, first time, established relationship, reader is very popular, day dreaming abt miguel (real), they're just in love, nawt proofread - crying over this

valentine’s day at hq was always fun - for you least.

every year since you joined the spider society it seemed like the gifts would multiply - what stared out as some cute cards and a couple boxes of chocolate eventually turned into bouquets of roses, teddies, gifts, and even declaration’s of love. it was all flattering, honestly. to know that so many people admired you was a great feeling, even if you can’t reciprocate - it’s the sentiment that counts. but unfortunately you were already spoken for - by none other than your own boss, your fiancé, miguel. 

having started with such a beloved reputation was one of the main reasons your husband-to-be actually avoided you at first. it was like you had your own personal fan club - spiders’ following you around where you go, people offering to by you lunch, begging miguel to put you on a mission with them, showering you with compliments. you were really irritating to him, another distraction he didn’t have the time to deal with - not that he wanted to anyway. well, that was until he did. 

gradually, he started to notice how your eyes would light up when you’d see something you like, how you’d wear that one perfume thats scent would linger a bit too long in the air, ages after you’ve already sped off down the hallway. he warmed up to you eventually, leading to you two spending a lot more time together. little dates in the different universes, him picking up a little souvenir for you on missions and you doing the same - eventually leading to you two moving in together, and then him proposing. keeping you two’s relationship a secret was a decision that you both had to make, considering how popular you were and that miguel’s your boss. so every valentine’s day, you both celebrate together privately in miguel’s nueva york condo - exchanging gifts and kisses, drinking till you fall asleep in each other’s arms. this year, however, was a little different. 

hiding a relationship isn’t the easiest thing in the word, especially at a time like this - when all you want to do is pounce on your fiancé every time you see him ’n kiss him till you’re both breathless. it was getting tiring. it’s the day of love and you can’t do the one thing the day is about, love someone. you’d both send lingering glances at each other throughout the day, sneaky touches when no one’s looking, maybe even a few quick make out sesh’s in miguel’s office. you both knew you wouldn’t make it through the rest of the day, eventually separating as you sat in the canteen with some of your spider-friends - ones miguel wasn’t very keen on eating lunch with, leading to him retreating back to his office alone. 

the table was buzzing as everyone mentioned their plans for the day - miles taking gwen to his universe on a little day out that he swears isn’t a date, pav and gayatri going to her new movie, peter and mj having someone babysit mayday so they can go on a long-overdue date, and hobie - well, he doesn’t believe in valentine’s, i guess. you so badly wanted to join in, silently chewing on your ’spider-man 2099’ themed burger. your fiancé was basically everywhere, how can you not miss him - even if he’s just a couple minutes walk from you. it was bittersweet, to say the least, to listen to your friends so passionately- 

“hey, y/n, any plans this year? please tell me you’re finally dating someone.” the sudden voice made you jump, eyes widening as you look at the culprit, a sly smile on her face. “uhhh, n-no not really.” that was a lie. the whole table groaned their complaints, all still in disbelief that you’re still not seeing anyone. “you serious? love, look at you - and look at them.” hobie gestures to the crowd forming behind the table, all of them holding some sort of gift for you - some more…extravagant than the rest. “there’s no way that you can’t find someone, babe.” i mean, technically, he was right - you could practically get anyone you wanted. but, you already got what you want, and that’s miguel. 

he’s your everything. despite the turbulent start you both had, it was all worth it in the end. miguel loves like you’re his last - which you are, and his first too - in all aspects. hearing your boss was a virgin was even more shocking then him admitting his feelings for you - cause, like, how? you tried so hard not to laugh, he couldn’t be serious. it turns out he was very, very, very serious. you felt so bad, running up to him and holding him tightly - reassuring him that is was ok, that there was nothing wrong with being a virgin no matter his age. you took it slow for the first few months, nothing more than heated kisses and a bit of groping but it never went further than that. to be honest, you were scared. miguel was nothing short of impatient to feel you, to finally sink his cock into you after centuries of you denying him of that. you knew, of course, how desperate he was - but it was a big deal to you. the thing was, you were a virgin too. it was too sudden to mention so you went with keeping it a secret, but damn was it getting harder to not give in. the thought of him leaving after fucking you was at the forefront of your mind, you obviously knew he wouldn’t - but men are still men, right?

when he did find out, it went a hell of a lot better than you expected it to. both of you deciding to take your time learning each other’s bodies, exploring new likes and dislikes, discovering new kinks, and overall - strengthening the love you both hold for each other. your first time was magical. it was exactly three years ago now, on valentines day, sprawled out on miguel’s plush, king sized bed.

“f-fhhuck, feels so good, baby. are…are you doing ok, sweetheart?”

he was so attentive, making sure you felt as comfortable as possible, constantly asking if you’re feeling alright. it couldn’t have been more perfect. miguel’s large frame engulfed you as you sat in his. lap, his body pressed against the headboard. holding you close, he guided your hips slowly against his slick cock, the stretch momentarily caused a sharp pain to run through your body - miguel soothing you with sweet, wet kisses down the side of your sweaty neck. his large hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, waist, gently kneading your ass. the room felt hot, sweat mixing together as your hips move in tandem with his own - it was a prime example of love making. breathless kisses were shared, lips slotting together sloppily as you rode him eagerly - you were such a sight on top of him, a goddess sent just for him. “mig- baby, you’re so- shit, you’re so perfect.” no, you were perfect. soft skin pressing against his solid body, tits rubbing on his - slick running down his length. your moans were like a chorus of angels singing down to him, his heart almost pounding out of his chest from the love he feels for you. 

sharing a moment like this together was a turning point in your relationship. giving each other your virginities, connecting in a way you will never experience with anyone else - you were made for each other. his hips sped up, slamming into your sore cunt as he wrapped his arms around your waist. digging his feet into the soft sheets and pulling your hot body into his, lips latching onto your jaw. you still couldn’t believe he was a virgin before he met you. the way he moved, the way his tip would hit that one spot deep by your cervix, the way his thick fingers would caress your aching nipples - he had to have had some sort of experience. but the truth was, miguel had little to no sex drive. not feeling compelled at all to even rub one off, he was too busy after all - trying to keep the multiverse in tact. that all changed when he met you. suddenly, in his 30 years of living, did he have his first wet dream - and it was about you. 

he felt like a teenager again, learning things for the first time. watching porn for the first time was something, spending hours looking for a woman who looks somewhat like you - much to the interest and concern of LYLA. this was very serious to him, knowing that he would eventually fuck you - he would spend all his free time learning how to please you properly. tutorials, articles, and just plain amateur porn were his best friends. he would practice with his pillow, even buying a fleshlight to stick between it to just make it a little bit more realistic. at one point, he felt like he completely lost it. spending months learning how to fuck you wasn’t making him feel any better, he didn’t feel like he really knew how to please you. so what did he do? he made a holographic version of you, of course!

programming it to be exactly like you, using your measurements from when he made your suit to get your body as accurate as possible. it wasn’t really you, but it was good enough. he still had to work out the kinks but he was getting there. he ditched the porn completely, using ai you to progress instead. fucking an ai isn’t as easy as you think, but it was enough to help him figure out what positions he wants you in, even what ones you’d like statistically. miguel never did end up telling you about it, keeping ai you locked away in a secret folder. he was no stranger in letting you know how obsessed he was with you, but this was just embarrassing to him - and knowing you, he would never live this down. but don’t worry, LYLA’s always here to remind him time and time again. 

miguel was never the same after he lost his virginity to you - he became insatiable. it was like a switch flipped in his brain and suddenly he was always horny for you, quickies in his office becoming daily occurrences. speaking of quickies, you could feel his cum from earlier pooling in your panties right now- 

“yn? YN! is she- is she ok?” oh…you were at lunch still. everyone at the table was staring at. you with raised brows, silently intimidating you into spilling what you were so engrossed in to the point where you missed the whole conversation. you obviously weren’t about to tell them you were just thinking of their boss fucking you into next week, like come on - think about the kids, guys. “i…i, uh- it was nothing really. sorry about that, just zoned out for a sec.” it was something, someone as a matter of fact. you might as well tell them, what’s the harm in it? you’re only gonna get absolutely bombarded by everyone and anyone in hq but that’s the least of your worries. the table had seemingly moved on, chatting about their plans again before you jumped in - “actually, i do have plans.” that certainly got their attention. all eyes were on you, even the crowd still lingering behind perked up at your comment, leaning closer to hear what you had to say. 

“me ’n miguel were just gonna stay ho-“ 

“MIGUEL?!”

gasps. that’s all you could hear. everyones jaws were dropped, blinking their eyes at you like a bunch of frogs. “what? am i not allowed to spend time with my fiancé-“

“FIANCÈ?!”

it’s like every time you spoke it got worse, the table erupting in shouts of disbelief - it was getting difficult to speak over them, the constant questions being thrown at you were overwhelming to say the least. you weren’t obligated to explain yourself, love is love - even if it’s between someone as lovely and sweet as you, and someone as moody and feral as miguel. you guys made it work and that’s all that matters! someone else had something to say on the matter though, the commotion prompting miguel to emerge out of his cave and head straight to you.

“as i was saying, he’s my fiancé, we always spend valentines together. miguel is a great guy. yeah, he’s an asshole - but you just gotta get to know him.” you’re not wrong, miguel certainly seems to agree. the table went silent, staring up at his figure looming over you. “i don’t appreciate you guys harassing my wife. now, if you have no further questions - we have plans tonight, that don’t involve people prying into our privacy.” you spun around in your seat, looking up at him sheepishly. his eyes seemed to warm up at bit, a large hand reaching out to you - one that you immediately take. he held you close to him, interlocking your fingers tightly as he addressed the table. “and…our wedding is next year. you’re all only invited ‘cause she wanted you guys there. do not disappoint her.” with that, he turns on his heels, dragging you along with him - he didn’t want to deal with them anymore, not when he had the rest of the day to spend loving you instead. 

“baby, y’sure you’re ok with everyone knowing about…us?” that was a stupid question. of course he was, you’re his - and he’s yours. “you’re about to be my wife cariño, todo el mundo necesita saber que estás fuera de los límites - ‘specially that fuckin’ fan club of yours.” he was such a big baby, pouting like that. “oh my god! you’re jealous of a bunch of kids who have a little crush on me, babe. ‘sides, i think it’s quite cute - i got so much chocolate this year-“

“throw them away, i’m getting you all that and more.”

-cariño, todo el mundo necesita saber que estás fuera de los límites - sweetheart, everyone needs to know you're off limits

-the miguel figure on my dresser says hi!

[woaheyeradioboy]

I genuinely don't fucking care what you like in fiction. I don't care how disgusting, heinous, or "illegal" (not actually) it is, as long as you aren't agreeing with it or acting out things you read in a non-roleplay/fiction setting.

TW: Rape, Child Abuse, Pedophilia, Age gaps, Abuse, Bestiality, Grooming, Incest, and similar content

You can read about someone being raped. You can read about a child being raped. You can read about incest. You can read about pedophilic incest. You can read about someone fucking a dog. You can read about someone being raped by an animal. You can read about someone grooming someone else. You can read about horrible power imbalances. You can read about Victim x Abuser. You can read about gang rape. You can read all of that and more, whether the content is "romanticizing" or "sexualizing" it or putting it in a "positive light", because I do believe if you're reading these things you are capable enough to not have your morals and "respect" of laws immediately broken because you didn't get told 100 different times during the story how bad the content was.

You can read WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT, however you want, forever and ever. Don't act out the fiction in real life unless roleplaying with another consent adult (or teenager within your age range if you're not 18+) and it DOESN'T MATTER.

Fiction can affect reality, but usually only if you're allowing it to. Children oftentimes shouldn't be online but even if they are, it is never an authors fault or the people who enjoy the fiction the author writes that the child ends up exposed to bad things. If someone who is mentally unwell and cannot separate fiction and reality due to this is online and is affected by these things, it is not the authors fault or the fault of the people who enjoy the authors fiction.

If something that someone else wrote affects someone else in a bad way, it is not the authors fault.

Censorship of fiction is bad no matter what, and if you want to censor any form of fiction you are automatically already getting closer to people like transphobes and racists and ableists, because being pro-censorship ALWAYS leads down the same exact rabbit hole of puritan beliefs and controlling others.

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: spirit-raiser

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

main masterlist

You did not remember leaving your door unlocked. 

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents. 

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets. 

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense. 

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight. 

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications. 

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would. 

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen. 

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you. 

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice. 

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog. 

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat. 

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal. 

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal. 

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness. 

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash. 

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum. 

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.” 

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves. 

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink. 

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found. 

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his. 

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots. 

“Sit.” He commands. 

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you. 

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth. 

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone. 

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery. 

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men. 

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes. 

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers. 

Rot. 

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.  

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity. 

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace. 

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it. 

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine. 

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words. 

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more. 

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them. 

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood. 

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time. 

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle. 

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences. 

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax. 

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper. 

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots. 

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down. 

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table. 

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling. 

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest. 

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.” 

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed. 

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more. 

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger. 

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks. 

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile. 

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin. 

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off. 

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips. 

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails. 

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck. 

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him. 

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place. 

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding. 

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock. 

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet. 

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb. 

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve. 

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns. 

“Chaos magic?” He questions. 

“Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin. 

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain. 

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon. 

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort. 

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes. 

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct. 

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent. 

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly. 

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy. 

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs. 

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things. 

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him. 

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look. 

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders. 

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive. 

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull. 

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon. 

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol. 

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull. 

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours. 

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest. 

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap. 

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh. 

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants. 

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds. 

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm. 

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. 

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt. 

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him. 

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady. 

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles. 

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted. 

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk. 

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips. 

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully. 

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock. 

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you. 

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you. 

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers. 

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation. 

“Please—” you gasp out. 

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place. 

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit. 

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin. 

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath. 

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy. 

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.  

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased. 

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual. 

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre. 

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp. 

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt. 

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain. 

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

[mothandpidgeon]

The Outlaws (Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - Chapter 2

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: T (eventual E 18+ MDNI)

wc: 1.7k

summary: Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.

tags: old west au, enemies to lovers, grumpy Joel, handcuffed together, period/genre/canon typical violence, alcohol, morally grey characters, reader has backstory, no use of y/n

authors note: Posting this today in honor of act ii. Yeehaw. As always, thank you @ezrasbirdie for the beta and support in this (you really need to tell me to stfu about these two) and in life.

Joel once took Sarah to see PT Barnum’s Greatest Show on Earth. Each ticket cost him two quarters. She pulled him by the hand past the tents with Tom Thumb and the giantess, straight to the exhibition of wild animals. There were all sorts of exotic animals in the menagerie– giraffes, elephants, snakes. You remind him of the tiger. Beautiful and cunning. Fierce. Dangerous unless it’s kept under lock and key. 

Which is why he’s grateful he kept these old shackles in his saddle bag. 

You’re in a friendlier mood once camp is set up and a rabbit is roasted on a spit. He knows it’s a rouse, that you’re still spitting mad and hoping to slit his throat in the night. On that train, you were the demure damsel in need of a rescue. Soon as he put that cuff on your wrist, you turned into a fire breathing dragon. 

You can be as mad as you’d like. You’re no match for his strength or his revolver. 

They sit around the fire, Joel and Ellie propped against their saddles. It’s a cool evening, a steady breeze blows off the river. The stars paint the purple sky and the cave is illuminated with the orange glow of a fire. There’s plenty to celebrate. Though, even when they score a good amount of money, gold pieces, and get away without a scratch, Joel never feels much satisfaction. Despite his personal quandary, it would be a beautiful night, really, if Joel weren’t sitting there waiting for you to do something foolish. 

He can tell you’re meditating on some new escape plan, knows better than to look at you too long. A girl like you, pretty and with that sharp mouth, is the type that knows how to use her womanly wiles. You’re desperate enough to try just about anything and he’s not giving you the chance. 

You must think he’s stupid enough to fall for it too. He reluctantly passes you his flask and, after you drink, you wipe your wet lips with a seductive  finger. 

Ellie’s being a real chatterbox, recounting each moment of the robbery as if she’s writing her own nickel weekly and peppering you with questions. He’s not surprised she’s taken a liking to you. There aren’t too many of the female persuasion out here. Maybe she can see some of Tess in you. He doesn’t. Tess was always calm and controlled. And when she was angry, she never fucking spit at him. In fact, he resents you for making him think about Tess at all. 

“Ten thousand dollar bounty, huh?” Ellie asks you. “What’d you do?”

Joel’s seen more than a few people running from the law but none of them look like you. You’re no Annie Oakley. 

“My sweetheart was fooling around with my sister so I killed em both,” you say. 

“Really?” Ellie asks. 

“No,” you say. 

“What was it really?” she tries again. 

“Leave it,” Joel says. 

He’d be just as cagey about his past. Outlaws don’t live by any code but if they did, questions like that would be frowned upon. 

Ellie grumbles at him. 

“I’ve got ten on me too,” she tells you. 

“Your daddy must be proud,” you say, looking to Joel. 

They respond in unison— “He’s not my Pa,” and a “I ain’t her daddy.” 

You do a lousy job suppressing a smile. 

“So this is the infamous Miller gang? Ain’t much of a gang if you ask me,” you say. 

Joel grinds his molars. 

“We used to be a proper one. Most of ‘em are in prison now. And then we lost Tess to a bout with fever. And Tommy left,” Ellie recounts. 

“Who’s Tommy?” 

“Nobody,” Joel says same time as Ellie tells you, “His brother.”

You look Joel up and down. 

“That’s enough yakking for tonight,” he says. “I’m turning in. C’mon.” He pulls the chain. 

Ellie laughs. “I should warn you. He snores something awful.”

You scoff. “Is this some kind of ploy so you can wake up on top of me?” you protest. 

Joel’s patience is wearing thin. He’s got half a mind to turn you loose and let the wolves deal with you. 

“You can quit the belly aching, missy. I ain’t taking that thing off til you’re with the sheriff in Jackson.”

“You’ll wear him down eventually,” Ellie encourages. 

“Ellie, go to sleep,” Joel orders. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“What if I got to use the privy?” you ask. 

“Hope you like company,” Joel says. 

You huff. 

“You at least going to give me a blanket? Cold out here,” you say. 

Joel’s only got one in his bed roll, a beautiful Pawnee blanket he bought off a trader from Kansas woven with geometric patterns. He knows it would be gentlemanly to let you sleep with it but you’re no lady. 

He sighs as he hands it over. You wrap it around your shoulders with a self-satisfied look on your face. 

“Anything else I can do for you, missy?” he says with mock cordiality. 

“You can stop calling me missy,” you say. 

“G’night, missy,” he says. 

It’s not your best plan. But just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it won’t work. 

First step, you wait for Ellie and Joel to fall asleep. The girl takes a while. She’s got a dime novel with a cowboy on the cover that she flips through as the flames die down. You watch her through your cracked eyelids, pretending to have already drifted off yourself. 

It’s hard to tell if Joel’s out. He uses his saddle as a pillow and you’ve positioned yourself on the other side of it, your arm outstretched so you don’t have to be too close to him. 

He murmurs to himself. You strain to catch what he’s saying. At first, there are words you can understand. The name Sarah passes his lips. But then you hear him make a sound you can only describe as a whimper. 

It gives you pause. You’ve never been a nurturing type but it pulls at your heart strings, almost makes you want to put your arms around him. You imagine a hurt puppy inside that big, snarling dog of a man.

His sharp silhouette is highlighted in the amber glow of the campfire. It’s a shame he’s such a mean son of a bitch because he really is easy on the eyes. Then he rolls over. His unexpected motion nearly twists your connected arm out of its socket and you bite your tongue to keep from swearing. That bastard has you chained up like a dog. You do all you can to control your temper, swearing soundlessly. You can’t afford to wake him. 

You wait a long while, listening to him grunt and snore. Once you’re sure he’s good and asleep, you move. 

It’s a process. You begin by flexing your wrist. An innocent gesture that could be explained by sleepy twitches. He doesn’t stir. 

Eventually you feel bold enough to inch towards him, pulling the chain carefully along the ground. You crawl on your belly until you’re in front of him, then you dare to lift your hands up. 

The chain clinks against the buzz of the night insects and you swear it’s so loud you hear it echo off the mountains. You hold your breath, wide eyed, every muscle in your body taught. 

Joel doesn’t wake. He might be pretending but his chest still rises and falls slowly. Either he’s a hard sleeper or he’s deaf. Might be a little of both. You’re always tired after the rush of a big score. 

Ellie hasn’t woken up. Her eyes are closed, mouth hangs open. Down for the count.

You flex your fingers before you begin the next step, lick your lips and take a steadying breath. 

You’ve picked pockets before. Never tried it on a sleeping man, though. You keep your touch light, delicate, unbuttoning his waistcoat with one hand. It falls open for you and you can’t help but smile. 

The key to the handcuffs is tucked in the inner pocket. You saw him put it there. All you have to do is lift it out, unlock the cuff, and you’re a free woman. What you’re going to do after that, all alone in the middle of god only knows where, you’re not sure. But that’s not of material importance until you have that key. 

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip and you move slower than molasses in January, easing your first two fingers into the little pocket. Your fingertip connects with metal and your heart jumps. Pinching the ringed end, you hold on and pull. It’s awfully heavy. 

Because it’s not the key at all. You’ve fished a pocket watch out of Joel’s vest. Damn it. It’s a dainty little thing— fine gold with intricate scrollwork engraved on the back. The face is all busted up and it doesn’t seem to be ticking. Most importantly, though it’s not a key. You need that goddamn key if you want to get— 

The unmistakable click of a gun being cocked makes you freeze. Joel’s awake, dark eyes shining in anger. You’ve had guns pointed at you on a number of occasions but still it makes your blood run cold. 

“The hell are you doing?” he asks. 

“You’re dreaming,” you tell him. 

He doesn’t think that’s cute. The scowl on his face just deepens. 

“Alright,” you say, raising your hands in surrender.

You put the watch back in place and crawl back to your spot. 

“Gimme the damn blanket,” Joel growls. 

You toss it to him, cowed. But what did you expect? This had never been a very good plan.

Once you hear the hammer of Joel’s gun go back into place, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s quiet for a while as Joel gets under his blanket and you know he’s laying there waiting for you to fall asleep. 

You try to settle down, wrapping your arms around yourself. The night air bites at you now that you’ve lost your blanket privileges.

“Sarah a sweetheart of yours?” you ask him. 

His head snaps your way so fast you think his neck might break. 

“You was talking to her in your sleep,” you explain. 

“Say that name again and I’ll wring your neck,” he says. 

He sounded like he meant it before but you feel like he’s looking forward to putting a bullet in you. You shiver. You’re smart enough not to say another word. 

---

Chapter 3

I'd love to hear from you! Comments and reblogs appreciated. My asks are always open!

[thepaperpanda]

A Morbid Jealousy || Low-honor Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Summary: A successful robbery has led to the gang celebrating at the camp, but Arthur gets very nasty when he sees you dancing with John

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v, low-honor Arthur)

Word count: 1442

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Everyone in the gang just sat together and had fun like one big family during this rare moment. A small bank was robbed successfully. Except for Arthur, everyone returned intact with bags full of money.

You were told by Charles that he had decided to return to camp alone. Arthur probably wandered around the town and got into trouble; that's what he does.

As you listened to Javier's guitar and the gang's happy voices singing a song, you had a still full bottle in your hand.

Your look of unhappiness caught John's attention. He patted your shoulder and said, "Hey." You were offered a hand by him. "Wanna dance? I can't dance, but seeing you sad like that is annoying."

Getting up and drinking your beer, you were glad someone was trying to cheer you up. Your arm wrapped around his neck as you rocked along with the rhythm of the music. You chuckled, "Abigail would be jealous."

John wrapped his arm around your waist. "Don't worry about her. I'll deal with her on my own," he spun you around.  Even though John didn't know how to dance, watching Dutch many times helped. "The only thing I want to do is cheer my friend up." he offered you a bright grin.

Taking a moment to let the rhythm control you, you whispered, "You're sweet." and kissed his cheek briefly. While nuzzling his neck, you giggled, saying, "You're a good dancer."

John shrugged and held you tightly as he laughed, "Me? No, I just watch old Dutch dancing all the time."

It was the worst time you could have chosen to dance with John - Arthur returned to camp just now; he hitched his horse and went to the campfire. The moment he saw you and John so close, he stopped in shock. A loud roar from Arthur brought everyone's attention to the direction he was pointing. "What the fuck?"

As you pushed away from John, you whispered, "Arthur..." Your face flushed with confusion as you noticed your boyfriend's consternation; you knew how jealous he could be.

Both of you were approached by him. 

Arture growled at you loudly and grabbed your arm tightly as he turned to John. "I know you are so desperate for every little touch, rabbit, but you could make some fucking standards." Arthur turned to Johna and added briefly, "Martson, you should be fucking happy you have a child, or I would kill you right here and now for even talking to her,"  Arthur said and dragged you away from everyone.

While Morgan dragged you away from the crew, you whispered, "John," as you wanted to apologize to him for Arthur's behavior. Your arm soon slipped from Arthur's strong grasp. "Arthur, you didn't have to be that mean to John. He did nothing wrong."

"He touched you," Morgan growled. "Undress," Arthur ordered as he closed your tent's flaps.

"Yes, because we were dancing!" You reminded him and cocked your brow at his order. "Why?"

Arthur yelled, "Undress, or I'll rip your clothes off myself! I don't care what you two were doing. You are mine!"

Unbuttoning your dress, you shook your head. You said firmly, "You overreacted, Morgan," as you let the dress fall to the floor. "Happy?"

As he put away the gun belt, he said, "On your knees."

Slowly getting down on your knees, your eyes on his face, you shivered but obeyed. He was clearly pissed off, so you decided not to argue with him anymore.

I'm so surprised you're so quiet. Suddenly, you are not defending John," he smiled. "You are in the right place now, rabbit," Arthur purred and ran his hand down your hand before grabbing it tightly. "You are mine and only mine. Do you understand?"

Liking your lips, you nodded eagerly. "I belong only to you, Mr Morgan," you agreed, closing your eyes for a while.

He quickly opened his pants and purred, "Now this is a good answer. You've got to show me how sorry you are."

As you looked at his face, you reached into his slightly worn jeans and pulled his half-erected cock out; you spat on its tip and pumped your hand over its shaft.

In his low grunt of approval, Arthur watched you like a hawk; he let go of your hair for now and placed his hand on your nape.

Trying to suck his dick at the same time, you bobbed your head back and forth and used your palm to pump over his cock. Your hand squeezed his shaft as you sucked on his balls.

Arthur purred, "That's right, girl. For once, you behave like you should."

You were suddenly picked up by him; he flipped you over to your stomach and put you on the cot. 

"Was touching that bag of bones even worth it, rabbit?" Arthur growled at you.

Apparently he was hot for you; you blinked and blushed as he pushed you onto the bed. Your butt was raised a bit and you shook it for him. "Fuck me," you begged.

He roared, "I asked you something!" You felt Arthur squeeze your throat.

"It wasn't," you whispered.

"Louder! I can't hear you!"

You growled loudly, slipping your hand beneath you so you could slip your finger into your aching pussy. "It wasn't!"

He sighed, getting up from his cot to search for his bag. "You really love to annoy me, woman. How can I even put up with you."

Arthur pulled out his rope and returned to you; he took both of your hands and tied them behind your back. "It might teach you how to behave," Arthur said proudly as he moved his hand along your spine as his free hand tugged his jeans fully off.

When he was doing things like this, you always shivered, but eventually, it turned you on even more; you simply loved to be mercilessly manhandled.

While his tip moved through your pussy lips, Arthur teased, "You got a problem with moving, darlin'?" He hummed and slammed into you, pushing as hard as he could. "Ain't so brave anymore, huh? You are always so smart until I get you into my hands.

You screamed, "Oh, God!" When pleasure hit you hard, you rolled your eyes and begged, "Untie me, Arthur! I need to touch you!" 

His member was immediately squeezed by your walls.

"Nah, I don't think so," he smiled and thrust deep into you.

His thrusts became deep and hard. "You won't play around with fucking Marston," Arthur growled the last part lowly.

Let out a long moan as you stick your bun up to him. You cried out through parted lips, "I love it when you fuck me well."

"Moan, I want everyone to know who you belong to, and I want that bag of bones to know how well I fucked you," Morgan whispered into your ear after leaning forward to you.

"I'll scream your name if you untie me!" You begged. His thrusts made you feel slick and wet, along with your juice pouring down your thighs.

Grabbing your hair, Arthur lifted your head. "Now, you ain't the one to make the conditions, so you better scream without any stupid ideas or I will fill you up with my cum and leave you here, all tied up for everyone to see."

You screamed, "Arthur! Oh, just fuck me, honey! Just like that!" You rolled your hips for him to meet his thrusts. "I belong to Arthur Morgan!"

After those words, he started moving fast and hard, trying to make you cum hard around his thick cock. "Now you're a good girl," Arthur purred, biting your neck. Choosing such a place, he knew you would have difficulty hiding it.

As soon as he bit into your neck, your walls tightened around his member so strongly that he was unable to back away. You dripped juices down your legs when you cum hard around him. "Fuck," you trembled.

"Such a good girl, I'm gonna enjoy watching you walk funny tomorrow, darlin'," Arthur whispered into your ear and filled you with his cum.

As your vision blurred, you moaned and waited for him to untie you.

Arthur let out a happy sigh and got up. Putting on his clothes, he said, "That was fun. What do ya think, darling?"

You smirked at him and asked, "Untie me. And it was fucking brilliant. You were amazing."

"I know I was," he giggled and tucked his gun belt into his waistband. The tent flaps were raised by Artur without a word, and he left to join the still-going party, leaving you tied up on his cot.

[monsters-conquer-the-world]

OOZEPUNK

WHAT IS OOZEPUNK?

Oozepunk is the term I'm coining for the microgenre of urban heroic sci-fi horror-fantasy that first exploded in the mid-80s with movies, shows, and comics like Ghostbusters, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Toxic Avenger, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Hellboy, Street Sharks, and others. Lots of natural crossover with Biopunk and Cyberpunk, aesthetically and philosophically.

Your childhood trauma didn't let you forget Roger Rabbit heavily featured colorful nightmare slime, did it?

A ragtag gang of weirdos (often horribly mutated--more on that soon) band together to save a city that doesn't understand them. Grimy sewers, abandoned buildings and graffiti'd brick walls are lit up by neon lights, streams of mysterious, glowing goo and/or the unearthly lights of futuristic particle weapons--ideally all of the above!

Beyond the "cracked concrete and gutters full of liquid plutonium" aesthetic, Oozepunk prankishly asks "What if catastrophic aberrations of science, particularly DUMPING TOXIC FUCKING WASTE STRAIGHT INTO THE ENVIRONMENT created fucked-up monsters... but they're HEROIC fucked-up monsters!" These catastrophic aberrations of science grant the heroes incredible powers, but COST them their place in human society. (Ghostbusters and Roger Rabbit eschew character mutation in favor of discovering that the undead and olde tymey cartoons are real [and exploitable!], respectively. 'Busters and 'Toon sympathizers alike are treated like insane idiots and/or frauds in their respective universes.)

Oozepunk heroes are challenged not only by strange supernatural beings, but by human society itself. The Ghostbusters battle with local politicians as much as they do the undead. In the recent (and delightful) TMNT: Mutant Mayhem, Splinter warns the Turtles of humans and their obsession with "milking" mutants for their blood--on top of the villainous mutants they're trying to thwart!

Crank up the creep factor in Oozepunk and you get awesome anti-establishment goo-horror like 1988's The Blob, The Stuff, Street Trash, and probably a bunch more. Toxic Avenger is a batshit crazy splatter-comedy (i.e. classic Troma)... and still garnered sequels, a kid's cartoon and toyline!

And there's a Shredder's Revenge-style Crusaders beat-em-up coming out next year??

This looks dope as shit

Ghostbusters and TMNT are the only current, "evergreen" (or radioactive green!) Oozepunk franchises I can think of off the top of my head, but Oozepunk elements are buried in almost all of the stories and settings I love the most. Heroic kaiju like King Kong, Godzilla and Gamera paved the way for our freaky friends, but so did comics characters like Fantastic Four's Ben "The Thing" Grimm, The Hulk and Swamp Thing. Hell, I think I blame SESAME STREET of all things for starting me down the Oozepunk path.

Surprise! I've loved screaming trash monsters with secret hearts of gold since I was a fucking baby, and they've ALWAYS been there for me!

But it's not just Oscar, Sesame Street as a whole is a proto-Oozepunk utopia, years before the big Ooze-splosion of the 80s. Muppets, monsters, talking animals and chill humans all live and work together to scrape by with a little dignity in a gritty-but-wholesome urban world!

Sesame Street, a decades-long reminder that educational childrens' programming can and SHOULD be cool as hell looking and loaded with all kinds of friendly mutant freakuloids.

OOZEPUNK! Whaddya think?

[yuri-is-online]

I imagine Deuce!Yutu is either A. The Ultimate Honor Student with perfect grades and a plsmile that makes old nannies and mothers swoon (Yutu: "Thanks, its because me and my parent are the local "weirdos" I had to overcorrect and become a golden child (':") OR B. just as bad as pre-NRC Deuce was, a gang member who'd jump anyone who'd look at him wrong (but still cried until he was sick when he watched My Girl (1991) behind Yuu's back. They told him not to because they knew it was sad, he didn't listen).

I imagine Yuu's main memory of Deuce to their Yutu was how much Deuce believed in self-improvement and redemption, always trying to be a better man, which either version of Yutu can't help but admire or respect, despite their complicated feelings over their absent father.

Upon meeting him in the "current" timeline as a student, A or B either can't help but give Pop's an A for effort, despite missing the goal sometimes or finds him a little cringe for being such a tryhard.

I had to google the movie you mentioned and got jump scared by it taking place in Pennsylvania. Pretty sure I have driven through the place it's supposed to be set before... and fuck just reading the synopsis made me cry I don't think I could watch it ;-; poor Yutu should have listened to his parent.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here.

I feel like I have read too much Tokyo Revengers because... we can have both: an honor student with a delinquent mean streak sounds like a good set up for Deuce! Yutu. Not that I think he would behave like Kisaki does exactly, but still. Dylla mentions in the White Rabbit event that she wasn't on the best terms with her mother when she was a teen, and we know about how Deuce was in middle school, so the idea of Yutu having a bit of a temper and rebellious streak to him does make a degree of sense. Sadly, I think that extends to his interactions with Yuu... so things are about to be angsty on two fronts today.

Much like Deuce, Yutu was just the cutest baby. He loved all things cute and fluffy. Bunnies, kitties, puppy dogs, he was such a sweet little kid who really loved chasing around butterflies in the great outdoors. He really loved to read, and learned how to do so at a very early age. When Yuu was having a bad day he would pick out one of his favorite books and insist on reading them a bedtime story so they could take a nap without any nightmares. If he was especially worried he would bring his favorite nightlight with him.

Not that anyone would ever dare to suggest it given what Yutu is like now, but he was very afraid of the dark as a child. He still is, there's just something about the void that exists in the darkness that screams danger to him. When he's isekaid to Twisted Wonderland it evolves into an extreme fear of blot and phantoms. I'd like his unique magic to have something to do with light or stars, something inspired by the Second Star to the Right from Peter Pan? I think it would be cute for someone afraid of the dark to be able to provide their own light.

When Yutu reaches middle school there's a noticeable change in his relationship with you. He's still polite, still bringing home good grades and unoffensive comments from his teachers. But he's a bit cold, as if he is purposefully putting emotional distance between you. His friends all treat you respectfully, but you just have a feeling, left over from somewhere, that you know what is likely going on but you can't put your finger on what. He gets angry when you try to ask questions, yelling something about how you just don't understand, maybe even throws in something about this being your fault...

I wrote about Riddle! Yutu having some fights with Yuu, but Deuce! Yutu's fights are so much worse. While Riddle! Yutu typically comes out of his room blubbering big fat tears ready to apologize, Deuce! Yutu feels the need to double down and save face. He does believe his parent has amnesia, he's seen how they act, but what he does not get is why they insist on feeling so fond of his dad and refuse to move on. In his mind their life could be a lot better if Yuu was willing to be honest with themselves about who his dad probably was. Yutu is very hung up on why Deuce felt the need to be redeemed, focusing on self improvement is all fine and good if you are someone worth redeeming but he's not around for Yutu to judge. And Yuu doesn't remember...

He's young, stupid, and angry, and he takes it out on anyone who looks at him wrong. What's worse for authority figures who want to help is that he's veeeery smart about how he does it. When he jumps someone you can bet there won't be cameras around to see it. When the police start troubling Yuu about what he's doing it's mostly just in the hope that they'll be able to talk some sense into their kid rather than to arrest Yutu or anything like that, but it doesn't work. Yutu gets to see the same thing that his dad did all those years ago, his parent crying because of his behavior but there's no grandparent Yuu is asking advice of. Since I am in the mood to be extra cruel, let's say the day that fight takes place, the day Yutu sees Yuu crying is the day he hears a very important name for the first time.

Deuce. His father's name is Deuce and the reason why he wasn't around was because he was from the other world that came to swallow up him and his parent the instant they began to remember. He doesn't get time to cover up the signs of his rebellion, or really a chance to say sorry. He has to look Grandpa Crewel in the face and admit that he made Yuu cry and added to the overly stressed mess their life had become. Everything they said about Deuce was true, and what's worse he was like him.

I feel like Deuce would be the sort of person who wanted to make a lot of home videos. Cater probably would be too, but he'd store most of them on his phone and I think that would be lost to time by the time his Yutu came home. Maybe it's because of the ghost camera, or his desire to be an "honor student" evolving into wanting to be an "honorable husband and father" but Deuce totally bought a video camera to take cheesy videos to show Yutu as he grew up. Instead the kid gets to see fragments of a life he could have had as he listens to his dad tell him about his life and how he met Yuu.

"Honestly I have no idea why they said yes." Deuce is a dork. A complete dork who looks so... young and life like in the video. He knows what features he took from Yuu but watching Deuce talk, he can pick up on the ticks, the way his mouth sets when determined. The look of shock that always made Yuu laugh, it bursts into view when he hears Yuu laugh as they enter the frame to snuggle into Duece's side, to press their face against his cheek with a happily contended sigh. "Y-yuu you're making me look uncool in front of the baby."

"He's not here yet!" You giggle and for the first time in a long time Yutu feels himself choking up as he watches his dad get all silly looking at the thought of his arrival.

"We're really looking forward to meeting you kiddo. I promise, nothing will ever happen to you. I'm not going anywhere."

"Well. Technically kept that last promise didn't you." He tries to play it off like a joke, but Crewel isn't laughing and neither is Yutu.

Gets put in Heartslabyul, but isn't exactly determined to be an honor student like his dad. While Deuce enjoys a good fight or the feeling of the wind in his hair... Yutu mostly got into fights because he was angry and needed someone to take it out on. Because of that temper he struggles with learning and controlling his magic but he still does pretty well with the practical academic side of things. He's proud of his ability to understand these things, and takes a lot of comfort in knowing his dad would be excited at knowing he was good at things like math and science.

Like with the other Heartslabyul boys, he had to fight his father's phantom. He sees putting Deuce to rest as part of his penance for how he treated Yuu in the years leading up to getting isekaid. He refuses to go back in time until he's able to lay this version of his father to rest next to Yuu so he can promise both of them, to their faces, that he'll create a world where they all can be together and live as a family.

Deuce is extremely friendly to Yutu! He wants to learn as much about Yuu's world as he can so he can help them feel as at home in Twisted Wonderland as possible. He makes sure to let Yutu know that extends to him too once Yuu warms up to having him in the friend circle, Uncle Ace is much less enthusiastic but it's clearly from a place of care towards Yuu. He starts to warm up when he sees Yutu trying his hardest to tutor Deuce, though he claims it's because he just thinks it's funny but really it's because Ace wants to see Deuce succeed.

Very correct on his feelings about Pops. His dad is so wildly cringe it's unreal. His effort is inspiring until he starts getting embarrassed for losing his temper and stuttering, or seven forbid you look at his grades. The more he interacts with both of you the more certain he becomes that Deuce would never have abandoned him... and that he is so getting grounded when Deuce learns about how he treated Yuu. And what's worse is that Yutu sort of wants him to.

Surprisingly that's not what happens at all. When Deuce learns who Yutu is, whether by sleuthing or through a violent confrontation with a monster from the future, when the whole story is laid out before him and his son bows to beg for his judgement it doesn't come at all. His Pops yanks him up by the collar and turns him towards Yuu.

"Say all of that again to your parent." Deuce's voice is as stern as it is serious. Yuu looks distraught, not quite to the point they were on the day everything changed but getting there as Yutu immediately breaks down and chokes, crying and begging for your forgiveness and saying he's sorry as Deuce brings all three of you together into a strong embrace. "I'm not the one you need to make things up to, but it's ok. I know exactly how you feel and we'll work through things together."

Deuce doesn't feel like he can be overly angry at Yutu for taking after him. He does feel the need to apologize to Yuu, profusely and in private, for putting them in so much danger and not being there to help Yutu work through his temper. If I was writing this as a story, I'd make Yuu sort of afraid of Yutu's feelings? I could see them blaming themselves and things being a bit awkward within their relationship with Yutu where they had been very good before the reveal. With Deuce being the loving and understanding partner that he is, the bridge is once again mended and the whole family gets to indulge in hobbies that aren't beating the shit out of other people.

Yutu gets back into reading, and starts looking up manuals and histories of blastcycles so he has something to talk to his dad about. He was right about his dad being extremely proud of him for being smart, he's that classic mechanic working class dad who can't stop talking about his kid who went to college and has pictures of him in his garage he makes sure to point out to everyone who comes in. Said person is really just Ace who really wants to make fun of Deuce and Yuu for being cringe together but is too focused on this whole world ending thing and wants everyone to be more focused on that.

Deuce promises that he is, he has a lot of confidence in the ability of your little group to be able to win against stacked odds. You've done it before you can do it again. Yutu couldn't have picked better allies, he's really determined to show him that and be a dad his son can be proud of. He repeats his promise to Yutu that he's never going anywhere, even though the kid never told him anything about the tapes because he really means it. He wants that world little Yutu dreamed of and older Yutu swore to fight for to be a reality, and it's his job as an honorable dad and future husband (he gets so flustered when he says that) to be the one on the front lines of fighting for it,

... just please please please do not tell Yutu about the egg incident. He doesn't think he could handle that embarrassment.

[impishjesters]

Mafia Boss Jax x Reader

warning(s): gun mentioned, stalking mentioned, domestic/soft Jax, marriage mentioned note(s): Honestly couldn't really see much worth tagging, it's all just stuff you'd expect to see mentioned in a mafia/gang headcanon... A/N: So I saw a fanart thingie (and I've had it on the brain anyway) and it made me thirsty for some mafia boss Jax and I just... I might have to write up a one-shot (or series) at some point but this was enough to quench my thirst...temporarily. I can definitely see myself building a universe around this idea though. I'm excited as you can tell because I just kept fuckin' going in writing this out... Also feast upon domestic Jax in the latter half, I got mushy...

Jax is a tricky boss, it’s hard to get a solid read on him, as an enemy or an ally. He’s almost always sporting a grin, making it difficult to gauge unless you can tell those smiles apart. If he’s frowning? Ha.

He’s that fine middle ground of laid-back yet strict. His word is law, get shit done and do it right and he doesn’t particularly care about the rest.

This person needs to be killed, but before that, they need to be tortured for information. How you torture or kill them doesn’t matter, you get that information or else.

Rabbits are his motif design, not originally by choice but it stuck. Purple rabbit head, his signature grin, it’s childish—which is why it’s perfect, only idiots see that childish design and think “Oh this will be easy” and then it’s fuckin not.

Working for him means nobody is an exception to his little pranks and fuckery. Nothin’ too bad—not intentionally anyways. Bunch of wackos with guns, who thought they’d get trigger-happy when startled?

If you work for him, chances are he finds you a fun target for his mischief.

He might seem buddy buddy with you, but remember he’s your boss. Chances are you are acquaintances at best, not friends. At least for now—who knows?

If you’re dating him, well howdy hey aren’t you a pretty little thing on his arm?

Just kidding, regardless of whether you work under him or not you are given standard gun training as protection for yourself and him, but mainly yourself.

He does like it when you are his date for any events, though he’ll never say it. Jax is the type to bring up an event and do the whole shtick of “guess I’ll need to find a date” sorta guy.

Back on the topic of dating him and gun training—on the off chance you are dating and don’t know about his little crew and lifestyle… What the fuck’s wrong with you? Are you that blind? His position isn’t some well-kept secret, well not to anyone who knows anything.

Jax is pretty straightforward about it, except with his track record of joking there’s like a 97% chance you thought he was kidding when he said he’s a mafia boss. Ha, surprise.

Now if the two of you are dating, and you aren’t part of his little world then he does do his best to keep you out of it. This means that there are periods when you won’t see him, whether it’s because he’s busy or for safety reasons.

You aren’t safe from spam texts, calls, and video chats though. Nah, that’s all fair game to him baby.

Oh, you got work in the morning? Tough, he’ll stay on the phone/video with you until you pass out—he might go a step further and stay on the call for hours even if you are unconscious.

He does it for one of three reasons…

One, it gives him fuel to use whatever shit you say or do in your sleep to tease you with later.

Two, your company, albeit silent and unaware that you’re keeping him company, makes him feel less alone. Moments like this are often when he’s not working and at home, alone. Hearing you breathe, babble, and shuffle around on speaker has him feeling less alone in that big home of his.

Three, it gives him some piece of mind that you are okay, he can see and hear you, and no guns or glass are breaking to be heard. You’re safe. Moments like this are usually after stressful events, whether it’s a job gone wrong, someone injured, etc.

Those calls usually last through the night into the morning and you wake up and see the call still on or see him on the screen. He’s never told you about why some calls continue into the morning, or rather why he’s still awake when he should’ve been sleeping. Though it doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s not just him being a stalker, but something more serious—if the oddly sweet tone he uses when telling you good morning and asking how you slept is anything to go by.

That said, Jax is not a morning person—even to you. Though if he’s awake before you or has yet to sleep, he’s oddly tender and domestic when it’s just the two of you.

“How’d ya sleep, angel? Dream of me? Nah, don’t answer that, I know ya did.”

“Hey sleepyhead, got ya coffee and breakfast ready. No, I didn’t put anything suspicious in it. I’m wounded doll, ya think I’d put in all that effort to make you breakfast just to ruin it?”

Okay so he’s still a little shit, but he’s got an unspoken soft spot for you.

Speaking of soft spots, if he’s truly down bad for you then that means you are his weakness. He can’t have those—no he’s not gonna kill ya Christ calm down—that means you’re at risk of getting hurt if word gets out.

So if the two of you aren’t at that level yet and are still living apart, he tries hard to keep his distance to keep the attention off you.

But if you are living together? You’re still at risk but he’s got his security measures, and bodyguards galore—even if you don’t live together he always has someone watching you—sure it’s a little creepy but just don’t think about it alright?

I said don’t think about it.

Jax does yet doesn’t understand the line of stalking. To him he’s keeping you safe, to you it’s likely an invasion of your privacy—but if you are anything like me then as long as there’s no malicious intent he can do his own thing. I dunno bout you but I’d rather him have eyes on me than something bad happen to me.

While living together it doesn’t take a genius to tell you that Jax visibly relaxes in your presence, especially when he comes home and gets into bed with you. He’s such a domestic sucker deep down, but you don’t need words to see that.

Overall, I feel like Jax wouldn’t date you if he didn’t have serious feelings for you. His lifestyle isn’t for everyone and he doesn’t open up to just anyone, it could take years before he finally allows himself to even ask you out on a date before considering more. But once the two of you are together he sees the two of you in for the long run, he’ll probably be upfront about it and say if you aren’t in this for the long run and potential marriage then he can’t do it.

Your Jax’s ride or die, please allow him to be yours too.

[makethatelevenrings]

Broken Heaters // J. Todd x gn!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: none!

Summary: The heater is broken in your apartment two days before Christmas...and a huge blizzard is about to hit Gotham. Your unlikely friendship with Red Hood pays off and your Christmas gift to him sweetens the deal.

Snowflakes drifted past your face as you made your way down the streets of the Bowery. Folks greeted you with small smiles and a wave as you passed, but no one stopped to chat. It was Christmas Eve Eve and everyone was hurrying to get home due to the weather report of an oncoming blizzard on Christmas Eve.

As a nurse at the Bowery clinic with Leslie Thompkins, you were well-known around the area. It was as if some kind of invisible protection ward surrounded you as you walked down the streets. For one thing, you had treated and helped a good portion of the gang members or their families in the area. Another reason was that, after finding him bleeding out in an alley and saving his life one night, the Red Hood ensured that everyone knew you had his protection.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Donahue!” you called as you entered your apartment complex. You were instantly made aware of the lack of warmth seeping from the walls and you cursed under your breath, fishing your keys out of your bag as you climbed up to the third floor. Once you unlocked your door and pushed it open, your suspicions were confirmed.

The heating was broken.

“Fuck,” you muttered. You weren’t worried about yourself, you were worried about the other occupants of your complex. Fuckfuckfuck. Could you get them all a hotel this close to Christmas? You knew your shithead landlord wasn’t going to do anything, so that meant you needed to get working.

“Fucking hell, it’s cold,” a voice said from your bedroom. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms in waiting as the familiar leather jacket and red helmet came into view. A fluffy Santa Hat sat on the already blazing red helmet and you pursed your lips at the sight of Hood’s attempt at holiday spirit.

“Are you hurt?” you asked.

“Pretty sure my balls sucked back into my body the second I walked in here, but no, I’m good.” He looked for any broken windows or another reason as to why it was freezing in here.

“Heater’s broken,” you explained. “Fuck. And that piece of shit fucking landlord won’t do anything to help.”

You turned in a circle, your eyes scanning the room as if the answer would be written on the walls. First, you needed to make sure that the elderly found a warm place to stay. Mrs. Tran was in Bludhaven to see her daughter for the holidays so that left Mrs. Donahue and Miss Macios. But then there was Liz on the fourth floor who had a toddler and a baby. Her husband was away for business and he had already called you asking to check up on his family while he tried to get an earlier flight back before the storm hit.

“Hey.” A steady hand landed on your forearm and you brought your gaze up to meet the familiar red helmet once more. “What can I do to help?”

Relief surged through your chest and your shoulders sagged in relief. Usually, the burden of caring for others rested solely on your shoulders. It was a task you loved and devoted yourself to, but you were exhausted from the constant worrying.

But here he was, standing before you, and offering himself to help. Ever since that night when you found him in the alley and stitched up his bullet wound, Red Hood had been a constant presence in your life. You appreciated his sharp wit, dry sense of humor, and under all of that tough veneer, the softest person alive rested under his armor.

“I don’t think you can help me with this,” you admitted quietly. “I need to find hotel rooms or somewhere warm for sixteen people. Unless you can pull a rabbit out of a hat for this one, I’m screwed.”

Hood pulled away from you and turned, lifting one finger as a way to let you know that he was doing something. You could hear him mutter something low and indecipherable and then he waited a moment before nodding and turning back to you.

“The Wayne Foundation has a warming center nearby that still has beds open. Free of charge. I also can send someone over today to fix your heater.”

“I-” Words failed you. In just a few seconds, he has pulled a rabbit out of the fucking proverbial hat. The man standing before you was highly dangerous and yet so very kind. He had millions of people to look after, but he was standing in your apartment and solving an issue way below his paygrade.

“I don’t know how I can thank you,” you murmured. Hood shrugged and shoved his gloved hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“No thanks necessary,” his modulated voice replied. “Need help telling your neighbors?”

Sure, because the look on Henry’s face who lived two doors over being greeted by the Bowery’s armed protector was enough to send you into hysterical laughter.

Once the two of you knocked on every door and left notes to those who didn’t reply with directions, you found yourself back in your ice cold apartment. You packed a duffle bag of your own to head to the local warming station when he joined you.

“Before I forget,” you said, dashing over to your closet. You reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a wrapped gift. Extending it to the hero, you waited until he grabbed it before focusing on packing once more. The soft sounds of paper tearing met your ears and then a startled gasp.

“Is it bad? I can exchange it at the store for credit. I just saw it and remembered you mentioned growing up and reading them, so I figured…”

In his hands was a boxed set of the Lord of the Rings books. The buttery soft covers seemed fragile in his large hands, but he touched them delicately, as if he would break them if he pressed any harder.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Hood.” You hefted your duffle bag up on your shoulder. “Not to be rude, but I’m heading out so shoo.”

“Where are you going?”

You frowned. “Uh, the warming center, obviously?”

Hood shook his head and extended his free hand, the other cradling the books to his chest. “I have a safe house nearby that has heat. If you…if you want to join me.”

You considered his offer. Red Hood was no stranger to you. You had been handling late night meetings with him for eight months now. He had taken off the helmet a few times, letting you see his dark hair tinged with a shock of white and those full lips that always seemed pulled up in a smirk. The domino mask over his eyes concealed his identity, but you didn’t care much about who he was. Because you knew who he truly was, deep down, and that was a good man.

Someone who served the “lesser” population of the Bowery. Someone who saw the hurting in the world and wanted to fix it. Someone who brought you cookies from a local bakery the one time you were sad and brought you chicken soup when he came by and found you with a cold.

“Okay,” you breathed. You grasped his hand tightly and smiled. Little did you know that after being stuck together for the three days due to the blizzard, you would come to know Jason Todd.

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[the-s1lly-corner]

I got an idea from the child reader request.

Like the same wolf in sheep's clothing concept but like FULL SWEET TO DARK PERSONALITY.

Wanna hear?

So basically child reader is like cute and innocent at first sight but IS A TOTAL DEMON, Having a very dark sense of humor, Sometimes out of nowhere walk up to someone of the gang and threaten to gouge out their eyes while they sleep, they are always with an cute expression but turns out that they like to cause chaos and havoc just like Jax but in a more creepy way.

For example, SOMEHOW reader is caught hanging from the ceilling scaring the fuck out of gangle just because its fun. Or staying in the dark waiting for someone so they can jumpscare them.

Basically child reader uses their cute-kid as an advantage to scare others off.

TADC x child!reader who is a menace! (platonic)

wasnt quite sure what to title this so!! some segments may be shorter than others since im still trying to get a hand of writing/coming up with ideas for certain characters (cough cough gangle) (i love her sm but shes so hard for me to write idk why) hope you enjoy! majority of this post is just me tormenting the cast TToTT

CAINE:

oh my god you kind of remind him of bubble but more... flkmddlvm

makes a time out rule when you keep making threats to the other circus members, that behavior is not family friendly!

he might even consider trying to go into the code and censoring your common phrases as well as some other words, if he has the capabilities for that

still tries to be a dad to you, though, wants to be a good role model and guide you in the right direction for the sake of everyone else

the first time you say something... morbid to him he just

slack jawed, stares at you before shaking himself back to reality and just

bro is astonished he was not ready to hear that today, let alone hear it from a small child

POMNI:

you know how in the other post with a child!reader i mention that pomni is vaguely uncomfortable around kids since she knows they can dish out some real cruelty

take this idea and multiply it by 10x

actually looks like that one sad spongebob meme with the big eyes and tear when shes put in charge of keeping an eye on you during an in house adventure

meek attempt to get you to behave

not much to say here imo, since its like an amped up version of the last post :O

JAX:

makes a joke about how youre already entering your edgy phase, he now has to watch his back lest some of his digital fur be shaved off

fear does not come close to describing how he feels when he discovers that you somehow found keys to some peoples rooms. he hopes you dont have a key to his room

and he thought he was hot shit, but no some random kid makes him fear the consequences of his actions

is this his punishment for his constant bullshit? what did he do in particular to deserve this?

instinctively looks up at the ceiling when he enters a room to make sure youre not about to drop on him

congrats, youve instilled fear into the funny rabbit

RAGATHA:

the 'nightmare kid' thing some babysitters go through at least once in their life, but instead of tantrums and such its just you talking about how you sometimes tear apart the dolls that came with your room. to the doll person

very uncomfortable by a lot of the stuff you casually say, even more so because its coming from a kid. though i think she would be uncomfortably be talk like that in general

SWEARS that one day shes going to blink and youll suddenly be right next to her or within her proximity

like on one hand she wants to try to guide you to be less dark, like caine, but i think she would need someone to back her up because she cannot get the image of the torn up dolls out of her head

KINGER:

poor man

like even if the things you said were empty threats, he would be scared shitless

if he isnt already in his fort, hes retreating to it the second he sees you around

kind of funny since kinger is in his late late 40s and youre a kid and hes terrified of you

anyways

less of a discomfort thing and more so scared that youre going to go through with the things you say

he walked into the common area one day and saw you literally crawling across the walls, he was with gangle when he saw it. you see his irises of his eyes shrink

doesnt even bother going to his fort, which is under where you currently are

he just

slowly

backs away, he can find refuge in his room... unless you have a key to his room

ZOOBLE:

less discomfort more annoyance with zooble, i think that while she would find it funny when a kid swears she finds people talking like that to be cringe; kid or not

the only one who isnt really scared of you. sure you threaten to disassemble them constantly and hide their pieces across the grounds to assure they can never be whole again, but they're just internally cringing while you try to make them turn away

in a weird way you two create an odd dynamic where you just go on and zooble just halfway listens, you kinda just talk at them

like while caine tries to be your dad, and ragatha tries to be.. something.. zooble is like a weird 'friend'

probably has the most potential to become a friend and get you to chill, but thats just based on my experience

like if its an attention/reaction thing, zooble isnt going to give it to you, which kind of. ruins the point of it for you, and you just

stop, or at least tone it down over time

or maybe thats just me seeing zooble having the potential to be an older sibling figure

GANGLE:

the gif is gangle when you get your hands on her

i understand that she cries easily, but like, you have probably made her cry at least once either on accident or on purpose

i think shes one of the few characters out of the cast who would probably start avoiding you for the sake of her emotional state, but she would feel bad about it since at the end of the day you're a kid

refuses to go anywhere near you when her comedy mask is broken, because otherwise shes a glum mess

you know how in poppee the performer, kedamono's mask sometimes just. pops off when he gets scared or surprised (well it happens regardless of expression/mood but yk)

gangle does that when she sees you LITERALLY CRAWLING ON THE WALLS LIKE A BUG

how are you even doing that

she doesnt wanna know, actually

"imma tie you up double knotted style" *high pitched crying*