#he has to back n the 1920s

[prettyliittleviolets]

˗ˏˋ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ♫ ˚. ⋆

⋆ ｡˚ remmick x reader ˚｡ ⋆

INTRODUCTION

NOTES remmick x fem reader. 1920s jazz club au. non canon plotline. reader’s race and features not specified. no use of y/n. possibly ooc remmick. pathetic remmick. slight sub remmick. slight dom reader. slow burn. pining. remmick is a man who yearns. eventual smut. full length fic, multiple parts.

WARNINGS touches of angst maybe?

SEE ALSO moodboards.

1921, new orleans, louisiana.

it had been years since he felt at home somewhere. immortality came with cost, surely, even if he never asked for it. for remmick, it happened to be a suffocating feeling of isolation, no matter where he went, no matter who he surrounded himself with. the place he had once called home so dearly had grown cold and lonely, and he was filled with a sense of loss he didn't know how to comprehend. However, He was sure this feeling was temporary, a circumstance of chance. That if he moved somewhere new, a blank slate, he could recreate the community he once had.

new orleans was nothing like he had ever expected. it was a vibrant, busy city – full of life and mystery, where every street corner seemed to hum with music. he was drawn into its allure, the place buzzing with something that made him feel more alive than he had in ages. but, it was also dangerous. the people were attentive, skeptical, and he had to remain vigilant – careful about when he fed, who he was around, what wandering eyes might see. it was as if the city itself was taunting him, a phantom promise of what he had spent centuries searching out.

quiet, reserved, and rather lonely, remmick had started to frequent a late night jazz club in town – one of the only places where people were too occupied to note his presence. the atmosphere was soothing: the low clamor of conversations and rich, vibrant music – much akin to the folk songs he held so deeply in his heart. the club was grounding for him; it provided a vibrant beam of life in his dreary eternity, and satiated the desperate longing for a community he hadn't had for centuries. despite this, he kept to himself while he was there: careful not to interact with anyone too much, careful not to reveal himself too much, and careful not to get too close to anyone, physically or elsewise.

that was, until recently. he was walking down the quiet town street, his only company the occasional weary traveler or giggling group of tipsy young women, approaching the club he had almost grown comfortable in – but something was different. a shift in the air, maybe; or, if he listened closer, a distinct, sharp new voice accompanying the ever-familiar jazz music. he enters, as he always does, but the change in atmosphere has sent his head reeling, a sensation he just can’t seem to control. he sits closer to the stage than he usually does, abandoning his secluded seat in the corner for something hauntingly more vulnerable. he watches you a little too intently, drawn not only to your honey-sweet voice, but everything that radiates off of you: charisma, warmth, charm, and a scent so enveloping he can't think straight. still too reserved to do much of anything, he returns to the club like it’s a ritual, desperate to catch a glimpse of your presence again, even from afar. obsessive doesn't suit him quite right – intoxicated. he is wine-drink on your being, and far too shy to do anything but watch, utterly enthralled.

that won’t stop you, though. nothing much ever has, and nothing much will – not even the way his eyes glint in a way all too animalistic. not even the fact that when he bites down on his lip, a nervous habit, you've noticed, his too-sharp canines poke out ever so slightly. not even how he shies away from every interaction, every word, every touch; as if he’s scared you’ll see too much. or, maybe he’s scared that you’ll break him into pieces he can’t put back together. maybe you will.

© PRETTYLITTLEVIOLETS

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: a favour for a friend (series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

mob!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 he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, bit of smut, mention of forced pregnancy (not to reader), mention of sa (not to reader), abortion (not to reader), mention of medical procedures, hospitals, ghosts, past wounds, vague mentions of physical violence, angst, threats, some fluff, protective bucky, kissing, becca, bucky barnes had issues, so does becca tbh, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: hey! let me know your thoughts on this chapter! i'm hoping i can get this series wrapped up before i go back to uni. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love @calwitch permanent taglist: @globetrotter28

main masterlist | series masterlist

You were in an uncharacteristically good mood. 

Bucky had stayed the night, in fact, the gangster had stayed the night nearly every day that week. He didn’t seem eager to let you slip through his fingers after the Iron Rat incident. Not many words were exchanged between the two of you, rather a flurry of desperate energy. He would let himself into your small flat as usual, locate you and quickly coax you into bed. 

You’d awoken to the slow drag of his mouth between your thighs this morning, his stubble scratching your skin as he devoured you with a near-religious fervour. Even after you came undone beneath him, he hadn’t been satisfied, murmuring against your flushed skin, coaxing you through another wave of pleasure until you could barely breathe. When he finally kissed his way up your torso, his lips warm and insistent, you had run your hands over his back, fingers tracing the ridges of his scars. A small, twisted part of you found satisfaction in them, in the fact that no matter where he went, you would linger there, haunting him in ways he would never shake.

“Stay,” he had murmured against your skin, voice thick with sleep.

But you had peeled yourself from the bed, dragging yourself away with an exhale of regret. “I’ve got work.”

As much as you had wanted to stay and be claimed yet another time by the gangster, you had agreed to a job. Every few months, Sootstone Infirmary would hire you to walk through the wards, moving on any lost spirits who still clung to your realm. The hospital loomed at the edge of the Warrens, its old brick exterior weathered by time and neglect. High, arched windows with grime clouding the panes, ornate iron railings rusting along the balconies, and stone gargoyles perched atop the roof, their faces softened by decades of soot. Inside, the halls were dim, the air thick with the scents of antiseptic, sweat, and something older—something damp and decaying. Flickering gas lamps lined the corridors, casting long, wavering shadows that danced across peeling wallpaper and worn wooden floors.

Sootstone Infirmary’s ghostly inhabitants were an easy lot to deal with. Most required only the gentlest encouragement to cross beyond the veil, their restless spirits tethered by confusion rather than malice. It was always the same—the elderly, lost in the fog of forgotten memories, unaware they had slipped from the world of the living; the young, their passing so abrupt they had not yet understood it.

You had already coaxed more than a few of them, clearing the lingering echoes from dim-lit rooms and gloomy corridors. But there was still one final place on your list.

The maternity ward.

You descended the old stairwell, the wooden steps groaning beneath your weight, twisting down into the depths of the hospital like a spine curving inward. The maternity wing had been built as an addition to the main structure, its location carefully chosen to keep the screams of labour from disturbing the sick and the dying, those teetering between life and the unknown.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, you stepped inside, breathing deeply through your nose as your gaze swept the ward. The air was thick with something heavier than dust, layered with interwoven ghosts of sorrow and joy. But nothing obvious stood out—not at first.

You lifted a hand, fingers parting the air as you reached for the unseen.

Nothing.

You stretched further, sinking into the veil, allowing its delicate strands to brush against you like spider silk. A web of impressions surrounded you, but none bore the telltale pulse of a lingering spirit—only the faint hum of your presence.

Still, you waded deeper.

Then—

A tug.

Small, almost imperceptible, but there.

Your breath hitched as you latched onto the invisible thread, fingers curling around the sensation. It sent tingles up your spine, a spreading warmth over your scalp. A soul reaching out.

You followed its vibration, weaving through the dim corridors, past closed doors and muted cries of labour. Your boots barely made a sound against the scuffed tile floor as you moved through the labyrinth. Then, rounding a final corner, you halted.

The thread in your grasp wavered—then snapped.

The woman before you was no spirit.

She sat slumped against the wall, shoulders trembling, fingers twisting into the fabric of her skirt as though she could anchor herself to something solid. The dim light caught the sheen of dark hair. She was familiar even before she turned her head.

Not a ghost. Not a restless soul in need of passage.

But very much alive.

You exhaled sharply, the weight of your inner vision dissolving as you let go of the veil. The world around you came back into sharp focus—the cold air, the distant wail of a newborn, the damp streaks of tears on the woman’s pale cheeks.

Your voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "Becca?"

Becca’s head snapped, gaze locking with yours in an instant. Panic crossed her features, but she quickly masked it with something else—rage. She used the back of her sleeve to wipe her tear-streaked face, settling into an eerie composure. 

“What’re you doin’ here? Are you spyin’ on me? Was meddlin’ in my brother’s life not enough for you?” She snarled at you, voice raising. A group of passing nurses glanced at you in horror, scuttling away as they realised who spoke. 

“No, I’m—I’m workin’.” The words came tumbling out in defence of yourself, and Becca lifted a brow in disbelief. “The hospital, they pay me to move on the spirits every few months.”

“You’re tellin’ me you just happen to be ‘ere on today of all days? Unbelievable.” She scoffed, you held your ground despite everything within you screaming for you to leave. 

“Are you…” You hesitated, unsure of how to breech the subject. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look fuckin’ okay?” Becca’s expression twisted, her mask cracking just enough to reveal the raw, festering wound beneath, and you recoiled with a slight flinch. 

You stood in silence a moment, chewing on your lip. Maybe it was best to… leave Becca to whatever this was. Her threats still hung heavy in your mind, her cool and calculating tone: you are nothing to us. That couldn’t be true, could it? Bucky had made it painfully clear how much he wanted you, how much he needed you. The way he reacted to what the Iron Rats had done to you—the possessiveness, the sheer rage—it wasn’t nothing. He had spent the last week between your legs, constant, needy, persistent. Though, one look at Becca, maybe it was best not to notify her of that. 

Then, as you were about to turn, whatever barrier Becca had built up shattered, emotions bubbling through. 

“They say they’ave to cut me open—open! Gods, I won’t survive this, will I? I thought I could just take a potion, a tea, be rid of it! But no they say it’s too far gone, that I either ‘ave to carry it or ‘ave it extracted! I’m gonna die in that theatre, aren’t I? I’m gonna die on that table, and they’ll all spit on my legacy, call me a whore—”

You were crouched down instantly, grasping her shaking hands as a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks. “Woah. Just hold on—”

“—And how fuckin’ poetic that the only person I can tell this is an actual whore who has my brother under some kinda spell. It should be you in there, not me—”

“Hey!” Your sharp retort cut through the air, startling her into silence. A scowl pulled at your lips, frustration crackling through you.“First of all, don’t fuckin’ call me that. Secondly, I don’t know who ya spoke to, but ya don’t need to go under the knife!”

Becca stared at you, stunned into stillness. Then, she snapped her jaw shut, swallowing thickly. 

“And what the hells would you know? You’re a spirit-raiser,” she muttered, but there was something weaker in her voice now.

“How far along are ya?” you asked.

“I dunno.” She sniffed, rubbing her arm. “Few weeks. Missed my bleed this month.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Gods, Becca. Ya don’t need surgery for that. I know a woman. A witch. She can help you without cutting you open.”

Becca’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t blame ya,” you said, releasing her hand. “But if you want help, you’re gonna have to.”

She wiped at her face again, irritation flickering in her expression as she wrestled with the choice. Her tears had stopped now, replaced by that same indifferent sneer she wore the weeks previous—like she wanted to seem unaffected.

“The witch,” you continued, “she’ll give you herbs to drink. You’ll pass the fetus naturally. It’ll hurt a bit, you might feel sick, but you’ll be fine.”

Becca exhaled slowly, considering. “Who’s this witch?”

“Hester Malrow. She lives in the Warrens.”

Becca frowned. “Never heard of her.”

“She tries to keep a low profile,” you said. “What with all the coppers and Smog Boys about.”

Becca inhaled sharply, gripping the fabric of her skirt again as if trying to ground herself. “And we can go today?”

“Yes.” You met her gaze, firm and unwavering. “I can take you right now.”

—

Becca’s flat was nothing like you expected.

From the outside, it was just another shadowed doorway in the Warrens, tucked between crumbling brick and peeling plaster, the kind of place you had to know about to find. The streets below reeked of coal smoke and damp, the air thick with the scent of cheap gin and desperation. But inside—inside was something else entirely.

Warmth enveloped you the moment you stepped through the door, thick and perfumed with clove and orange, the remnants of an oil lamp flickering low on the side table. Heavy velvet curtains smothered the windows, blocking out the sickly glow of the gas lamps beyond. The walls were lined with dark wood panelling, rich and polished, the sheen catching in the golden lamplight. Framed photographs sat upon a mahogany sideboard, their black-and-white faces frozen in time, watching. You recognised Bucky nearly instantly, though a younger version of him. He was always frowning, a noticeable gap between him and his father, who donned a drunken grin, nose crooked from fighting.

A fireplace crackled at the heart of the room, casting restless shadows over a rug sprawled beneath your feet. The furniture was old but elegant—an overstuffed armchair with clawed wooden feet, a settee draped in an embroidered shawl, its fringe grazing the floor. A gramophone perched on a side table, half-covered by a lace doily, a stack of records resting beside it. 

Becca sat hunched on the settee, her elbows on her knees, fingers tangled in her own dark hair. She was pale, her lips pressed thin, her breath measured. The worst was yet to come. The witch had warned her of that—the pain, the cramping, the sickness that would follow—but for now, there was only waiting.

You hovered near the armchair, fingers grazing the brass handle of a cabinet filled with crystal decanters. You weren’t sure what to say.

“She said it would take a few hours,” Becca muttered, barely looking up.

You nodded, glancing toward the mantelpiece. A clock ticked steadily, its polished brass hands sweeping over blackened numerals. Beside it sat a delicate porcelain figurine of a woman holding a lamb—an odd, almost sentimental thing to find.

“I didn’t expect your place to look like this,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could catch them.

Becca let out a dry, humourless chuckle. “What? Expected some rat-infested hole? Thought I slept on a pile of rags?”

You shrugged, meeting her eyes for the first time since you stepped inside. “I don’t know what I expected. Just not… this.”

Becca huffed but didn’t argue. She leaned back, tilting her head against the cushion, exhaling sharply.

"It was Bucky who bought it," Becca muttered, voice quieter now. “We sold the old family house, the one my father owned. Fuckin’ hated that place.”

Her gaze flicked toward the fire, where the flames licked at the soot-blackened bricks. The room had a warmth to it, a kind of fragile sanctuary nestled deep in the rot of the Warrens, but her words carried a coldness that seeped into your bones.

"I don’t blame you," you murmured before you could stop yourself. “I’ve heard your father weren’t the… kindest of men.”

Becca’s eyes snapped up to you, sharp as a blade catching candlelight. “An’ who told ya that?”

You hesitated, fighting against the sudden tightness in your throat. “Bucky.”

A flicker of surprise crossed her face, just for a second. You thought she might press you, demand to know why Bucky had confided such things, but instead, she swallowed whatever remark had been forming. Her jaw tensed as she shifted in her seat, one arm curling around her stomach. 

She exhaled through her nose, tilting her head back against the settee.

“I heard about your little Iron Rat ordeal,” she said, voice laced with something unreadable. “Made a big fuckin’ mess for us.”

“I didn’t ask for anyone to do… any of that,” you shot back, fidgeting where you stood.

“Sure.” Becca scoffed, her eyes dark with something like amusement—mean, biting amusement. “You’re still fuckin’ him, aren’t you? He probably fucked ya over the table in the warehouse after he butchered them Iron Rats. Totally his style.”

You stiffened, a heat rising up the back of your neck that had nothing to do with the fire. Becca grinned, sensing she had struck a nerve, but before you could gather the words to throw back at her, she continued.

“You know, you could’ve gotten away with it. Could’ve just slipped past the Sootline and been long gone. Was just unfortunate you ran into that priestess woman. Fuckin’ creepy, she was.” She let out a dry laugh, but there was something watchful in her expression as she said, “Don’t blame ya for tryin’ to avoid the church after what they did to your mother. But from what I’ve heard, they’ve had eyes on you since you was born.”

“You don’t know anythin’ about my mother,” you said, voice low, tight.

Becca’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened. “I know a lot, actually. You’d be surprised.” 

She let her head loll against the back of the settee, staring at you through half-lidded eyes, as if considering how much she wanted to share. “I know a lot about your ‘father’ as well. He weren’t no saint, that’s for sure.”

Something about the way she said ‘father’ made your breath catch. There was an implication there, something just beneath the surface of her words. Your brows furrowed.

Becca watched you, then let out a scoff. “Tell me, did he fall into drink before or after he took your pregnant mother in out of pity?”

You blinked. “What?”

Every tale you had heard, every answer to your question, had always led to your father helping your mother escape the Church of Light. It was his one saving grace, the one reason why a part of your heart forgave him for all the cruelty he inflicted upon those he supposedly loved. 

Becca exhaled sharply, shifting against the settee, her discomfort momentarily forgotten. “What, you didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That he isn’t your real father.” Becca hesitated as if realising for the first time just how deep your ignorance ran. She tilted her head, observing you. Then, with the casual cruelty of someone who had nothing to lose, she spoke. 

“The church, they forcefully impregnated her. They thought they were fulfillin’ some grand prophecy, bringin’ about a child that could channel and control death itself, the light-bringer or some shit. Their idea of rapture—how do you not know any of this?” She rolled her eyes, then winced slightly as another wave of pain twisted through her. 

The room shrunk around you.

The words rang in your head, hollow and deafening. The fire crackled. The clock ticked. Somewhere outside, a dog barked. Your fingers curled around the wooden arm of the armchair to steady yourself.

Becca smirked at your silence, shaking her head. “Shit, your life’s more fucked up than I thought. More reason for you to keep this mess away from my brother—”

The front door rattled. A heavy, deliberate turn of the handle.

Your breath caught.

Becca’s eyes flicked to the door, her body tensing instinctively despite her pain. The room felt suddenly, unbearably warm.

The door swung open.

Bucky stepped inside, shaking the cold from his shoulders, the scent of the ocean and cigarettes trailing in with him. True to his nature, he had let himself into Becca’s flat without so much as a knock, moving with the easy confidence of someone who had long stopped asking for permission. The heavy door clicked shut behind him, sealing out the muffled noise of the Warrens’ streets.

His gaze swept the room, taking in the dim glow of the fire, the clutter of discarded blankets, the half-drained teacup on the side table. Then, his eyes landed on you, standing at the centre of it all, framed by the flickering light. His brows lifted in surprise, the ghost of an unspoken question forming on his lips. You could see the gears turning in his head, readying to demand an explanation.

But then he spotted Becca.

Slumped into the settee, half-curled over herself, her face ashen and drawn tight with pain. One hand gripped the armrest in a white-knuckled hold, the other resting against her stomach. The dim, golden light of the fire carved out the tension in her features, the sweat beading along her brow.

Bucky stilled. His jaw clenched, the muscles feathering beneath his stubble. His sharp eyes flickered between you and Becca with something unreadable—something that edged dangerously between concern and barely restrained frustration.

“The fuck’s goin’ on here?” His voice was low and rough, with that dangerous steadiness that came before a storm.

You barely had a moment to process before he cut through the space between you, his gaze hard and questioning.

“Since when did you two know each other?”

Becca beat you to answering. “Nat introduced us.” The lie left her lips smoothly, her voice betraying nothing.

Your stomach twisted at the quick cover story, but Bucky wasn’t buying it. His stare darkened, flicking between the two of you like he could sniff out the deception.

“Nat… introduced you?” His disbelief curled through every syllable, slow and measured, like he was waiting for one of you to slip up.

You remained frozen at the centre of the sitting room, torn between wanting to fade into the wallpaper and making a mad dash for the door. Standing here in the warmth of Becca’s flat felt intrusive, bearing witness to something you shouldn’t be a part of. For all the times Bucky had invaded your space, your home, why did it feel so much worse to be invading his?

“Yes,” Becca confirmed, still as unreadable as ever.

Bucky let out a dry, humourless chuckle, shaking his head. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe a single fuckin’ thing coming out of your mouth.”

“Fine, Jamie,” Becca huffed, dropping the pretence with a roll of her eyes. “We met earlier today at the infirmary. She was kind enough to escort me home.”

“Infirmary?” His gaze snapped back to her, his stance shifting slightly, energy tightening. “Why were you at the hospital? Why the fuck did you need escortin’? Did someone do somethin’ to ya—" his voice sharpened, fists clenching, "I swear to the gods, if it’s that Brackett kid—”

Becca cut him off with a scoff, pressing a hand to her stomach. “It’s woman problems, Jamie. I wouldn’t expect ya to understand.”

“Woman problems?” His voice was sceptical, but you could see the moment realisation dawned on him. His sharp blue eyes raked over her, truly looking at her this time—the paleness of her face, the sheen of cold sweat, the way her brows pinched subtly in pain, how her fingers hovered protectively over her stomach—

“That fucker knocked you up, didn’t he?”

His voice was a growl now, his whole body going rigid, ready for a fight.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, instinctively positioning yourself between him and Becca as his voice began to rise. “Leave her be, Barnes.”

His eyes veered to you, a fire burning behind them. “Oh, you’re one to fuckin’ talk. How did you get involved in this?” His voice was heated now, fast, frustrated. “Everywhere I look, everything I do, every fuckin’ thought I have—you’re always there.”

Becca exhaled sharply, an irritated sigh cutting through the tension. “Gods, you two are still fuckin’, ain’t you?”

Bucky’s head snapped toward her. “What’d’ya mean still?”

Becca arched a brow, unimpressed. “I ain’t stupid. I’ve known about this little… affair for a while now. I told her to stay away from you forever ago.” Her gaze darkened slightly. “Don’t need a repeat of the last witch you took a likin’ to, do we?”

Bucky’s expression shifted in an instant, his posture tightening. “I’m sorry? You did what—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, reaching for his coat sleeve before he could start tearing into Becca. “Outside. Let’s go on a walk and leave her be.”

Bucky barely had time to resist before you were ushering him toward the door, your hands pressing against the solid weight of him as you pushed him out into the cold. Becca’s dry laughter followed you, melodic and mocking, her sing-song ‘bye-bye!’ cut off sharply as Bucky slammed the door behind him with enough force to rattle the frame.

The air outside was crisp, biting against your skin, but it did little to cool the heat rolling off him. He was seething, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore you could hear his teeth grind. The tension in his frame coiled like a beast ready to pounce, his breath ragged, his fists flexing at his sides.

“What the fuck did she say to you?” His voice was low, rough with barely restrained fury.

You sighed, unimpressed, tugging him forward into the dimly lit streets, his boots scuffing against the uneven cobblestone as he followed. You had long since grown used to his moods. You might have quivered under his glare in the past, but now? You merely gave him a slow, nonchalant glance, your voice light with forced indifference.

“Vague threats of death,” you mused. “But considerin’ I’m standin’ here now, I didn’t exactly take it to heart.”

That did nothing to ease the tension in his frame. Instead, he moved fast—quicker than you could react—catching your chin between his fingers, forcing you to stop mid-step. His grip wasn’t cruel but firm, demanding your attention. His stormy blue eyes bore down into yours.

“Tell me the truth, doll.” His voice was gravelly and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

You exhaled heavily, gaze flicking away from his momentarily before finally admitting, “It was after… after I healed your back.” Your voice softened, uncertainty creeping in. “She said I ruined you, that I was dangerous. Didn’t want me near you after what happened with the last one.”

His expression twisted, eyes narrowing into something unreadable.

“That’s why you didn’t come to the family meetin’?”

Your gaze dropped, lips pressing into a thin line before you nodded. “Yes. Look, you left without saying a damn thing. How could I not have felt… unwelcome?” A bitter edge crept into your voice before you shook your head. “Then I went over to Grimrow for a change in scenery and—”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, his fingers smoothing over your cheek with an uncharacteristically gentle touch.

“You went over there? Because you were upset with me?” His voice was quieter now, but the sharpness remained.

“I wanted to disappear.” The confession left your lips in a whisper.

His brows pulled together, his grip on your wrist tightening for half a second before, without a word, he yanked you into a shadowed archway near the Sootline. The city noise dulled around you, swallowed by the secluded space. Before you could even catch your breath, his hands were on you as he cupped your face and crashed his lips onto yours.

His kiss was deep, desperate, tasting of cigarettes and something unmistakably him—a mix of salt and smoke, of whiskey lingering faintly on his tongue. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, and he used the moment to deepen the kiss, pressing you back against the wall with the full weight of his body. His lips were warm, hungry. 

You could feel the tension in his frame, the way his fingers flexed against your waist as if trying to memorise the shape of you. His lips turned slower then, less frantic but just as consuming, his mouth tracing over yours with bruising intent, like he was afraid to let go. You sighed against him, hands trailing up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, his forehead pressing against yours for a lingering moment. But then he let out a low, dangerous growl, his fingers tightening possessively at your waist.

“I’m gonna kill my sister. Then that fucker Brackett for knockin’ her up—”

“No,” you cut in, shaking your head. “Don’t. I think… I think we’ve finally reached a hesitant peace.”

Bucky scoffed, unconvinced. “You obviously don’t know my sister.”

“No,” you admitted, tilting your head, “but she owes me now. Them fuckwits at the hospital wanted to cut her open. I just took her to get a potion—the sickness should pass inna few days. Have someone keep an eye on her.”

He grumbled in quiet acceptance, the tension in his frame softening slightly. His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. You hummed against his mouth, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you leaned into him.

“Well,” he murmured after a moment, his breath warm against your skin. “I was gonna drag Becca along with me to see Stark, but since she’s occupied, I’ll take you instead.”

You blinked up at him. “Stark?”

Bucky smirked, tugging you along the narrow streets. “He’s a mad scientist of sorts. His father and mine used to be in business.”

“And you’re visiting him because…?”

“I’m havin’ a party. Invitin’ half of fuckin’ Blackstone—includin’ you.” He sent you a sideways glance. “Thought I’d deliver his invitation myself. He gets all pissed off if I don’t pay him attention every couple of months like he’s some bird on my roster I gotta regularly fuck.”

You snorted. “You have a roster?”

His smirk widened. “Why you askin’? You jealous?”

You rolled your eyes, your voice dripping with sarcasm to hide the defensiveness that wished to worm into your reply. “No. Not like we’re married or some shit. For all you know, I could have a roster.”

In an instant, he had you backed against the brick wall again, his hands pressing firm against your waist. His expression darkened, his gaze dragging over you with slow deliberation.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I will fuck you right up against this wall,” he warned, voice thick with something sinful.

A soft giggle escaped you, but you reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair that had slipped from his slicked-back style, your head tilting as you studied him.

“Why a party?” Your voice was softer now, more inquisitive. “What are you plannin’?”

He pulled back slightly, his smirk twisting into something more unreadable. “Best I not say, doll.”

You searched his face, something gnawing at your gut. “You know you can talk to me, right?” Your voice dipped lower, more serious. “I know I’m just some bird on your roster, but… you know I can help you… and I keep my mouth shut, hm?”

His jaw tightened slightly, something unreadable flashing in his gaze. Then, after a pause, he exhaled, voice dropping into something far darker.

“Let’s just say I’ve got a very fuckin’ public lesson to teach.”

Your stomach twisted, but before you could question him further, he tugged you forward, his grip warm but firm.

“Now, come on,” he muttered. “We’re gonna be late.”

PART NINE

[multi-fandom-imagine]

<The 10th Doctor’s Favorite Moments with You>

A/n: My favorite Doctor.

For all his adventures across time and space, for all the planets he’s visited and the battles he’s fought, the moments he treasures most are the ones with you.

And while he has many, these are just a few that he hold's close to his heart's

1. The Moment He Realized He Loved You

It wasn’t some grand, dramatic event. No, it was quiet. Simple. Perfect.You both were sitting outside the TARDIS, watching a nebula slowly shift colors, its glow reflecting in your eyes. You were laughing at something he said, leaning back against his arm, completely at ease.And it just hit him—like a tidal wave.

'Oh, I love her. I love her, and I don’t know what to do with that.'

He didn’t say it then—not yet. But his entire universe shifted in that moment, and he knew he was yours, completely.

2. The First Kiss (A Mistletoe Incident)

You had decorated the TARDIS for Christmas, humming softly to yourself, completely unaware of how utterly breathtaking you looked.The TARDIS, being the mischievous old girl she was, materialized a sprig of mistletoe above you both.

You looked up, rolled yours eyes, and said, “Oh, really?”

The Doctor tried to brush it off, playing cool. But you smirked. “Well, it’s tradition, isn’t it?”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, playful, until he finally let go and kissed you back like he was drowning, like you were oxygen.

And oh, he was done for.

3. When you Told Him you were Pregnant

He never thought he’d have a family. Never even let himself dream of it.But then one day, you stood in front of him, a quiet smile on your lips, your hands resting over your belly.

"Doctor,” you whispered, “we’re having a baby.”

He froze. His brilliant, endless mind—capable of processing the entire fabric of time—just stopped working.

A baby. His baby....your baby.

He fell to his knees in front of you, pressing his hands to your stomach, laughing and crying all at once.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to where the child grew.It was the first time in his very long life that he felt truly, undeniably whole.

4. The Time you both Got Stuck in 1920s Paris and Had to Dance your Way Out of Trouble.

He swore it was an accident. They were supposed to be undercover, investigating a time anomaly.But somehow, you ended up at a grand masquerade ball, and you were absolutely dazzling in a vintage silk dress.The trouble? The only way out was blending in—which meant dancing.

“Doctor,” you whispered as they twirled across the ballroom floor, “are we on a date right now?”

“Oh, definitely not,” he lied, even though his hearts were pounding. “Just, you know, dancing. Casually. Undercover. Nothing romantic at all.”

You grinned. “Right. Not romantic at all.”

(Spoiler: It was the most romantic night of his entire life.)

5. The Night He Sang to his Newborn Baby

You had finally fallen asleep after hours of labor, exhaustion written across your face.

The baby—so tiny, so impossibly perfect—was wrapped in a soft blue blanket, staring up at him with sleepy eyes.

He held her carefully, as if she was made of stardust, his hearts nearly bursting with love.And without thinking, he started to sing—a quiet, old Gallifreyan lullaby, one he barely remembered from his childhood.

You stirred, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes, your lips curling into a soft smile. “You’re a good dad, Doctor.”

And in that moment, he believed you.

6. The First “Ordinary” Day

No running. No saving planets. Just you, just them. Just his family.

He made pancakes (horribly burned, but you ate them anyway).

You both sat on the floor, playing with the kids, laughing, teasing, just being.

He watched you tuck your Oliver’s hair behind his ear, the same way you always did. He watched you soothe your Millie’s tears after a scraped knee. He watched you throw your head back in laughter as Lucas chased Evie through the TARDIS corridors.

This is what life could be like, he thought. This is what it means to be happy.He had saved galaxies, rewritten history, fought impossible wars.But this—this was his favorite adventure.

7. The Time You Told Him, “No Matter What, I Choose You”

There were moments when he doubted himself. Moments when he feared he’d ruin your life, that you'd deserved better.

But every single time, you picked him.

“Doctor, I know what I’m doing,” you had said once, taking his face in your hands. “I love you. I choose you. Every time.”

Every time.

And he realized then—you weren't going anywhere.

He wasn’t alone. He would never be alone again.

8. The Time you both Sat on the TARDIS Roof, Watching the Stars.

Just the two of you, sitting in comfortable silence, wrapped in a shared blanket.Your head rested against his shoulder, your fingers laced through his.The universe stretched out before you—endless, infinite, waiting.

“Doctor?” You murmured.

“Mm?”

“What if we just… stayed here? Like this? Forever?”

He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Forever sounds good to me.”

9. Every Time You say His Name , Like It’s a Prayer

When you say his name softly, full of love.When you call for him in a moment of danger, trusting he’ll always come.When you whisper it in the quiet, curled up against him, knowing he’s listening even when you don't say another word.Every single time you say "Doctor,” he falls in love with you all over again.

10. Every Single Day He Wakes Up Next to You.

Because every moment is his favorite when it’s with you.

You are is his greatest adventure.And he wouldn’t trade a single second for all the time in the universe.

[lxkeee]

Helloo, I was wondering if it was alright for u to write a lucifer x male reader where the reader is also a powerful demon and goes with lucifer to visit Charlie in the dad beat dad episode, and Charlie is just like OMG i have two dads now, this is awesome

if u don't write for male reader, then feel free to change or ignore this lol

MY GAYDAR IS NEVER WRONG!

—Lucifer Morningstar x m! Reader

warnings: mentions of s*icide.

When Charlie called Lucifer, he was excited that his daughter wanted to invite him to see the hotel. He thought he would be able to handle it.

In fact, he did not.

The poor man had a complete mental breakdown as he over thought what would happen, how would he act around his daughter, what should he say, and etc.

So, he decided to ask for help and he just knows the right person for that.

His beloved boyfriend of one year, [y/n].

Backstory time,

Lucifer has been seeing and secretly dating the man for a year already, it took a while but he got charmed okay? [Y/n] is literally so charming, very handsome, very chivalrous.... And very tall...

And is a pianist.

Lucifer met [y/n] in a famous restaurant, that only elites or the rich can enter. [Y/n] so happens to own that restaurant.

The only reason he was there at that time was because the other seven deadly sins wanted to have a get together.

As the dinner with the other seven deadly sins progressed, Lucifer was enamored the whole night, his eyes staring at the tall and graceful man sitting in the middle of the restaurant as he played the piano for the guests so beautifully.

Asmodeus even teased him, making the king of hell blush.

That's where his frequent visit to the restaurant started.

Lucifer claims that he just wanted to listen to the man play and nothing else.

Of course, [y/n] noticed his frequent visits and decided to approach the smaller man.

Of course, Lucifer was cautious.

Lucifer was suspicious why the man looked more humane than others, aside from his sharp teeth.

Eventually, the two slowly got along and then slowly developed romantic feelings for each other.

They started telling each other their stories too.

Lucifer found out [y/n] was a pianist when he was still alive, he was born in the 1920's and died in 1945.

[Y/n] died as passionless artist, who lost his inspiration and will to live.

But despite all that, [y/n] managed to find his passion for music again in hell and despite the era he was born in, he managed to go with the flow of time.

Yes, he knows gen z slang 😭

He's got serious problems when it comes to saying "lmao" "purr" and "slay"

Anyways, after finding out and realizing why [y/n] is here is because the sin he committed is that he didn't appreciate the life was given to him and decided to take it away by his own hands.

Lucifer's caution around the man was gone and maybe, not all sinners are bad.

[y/n] confessed first and Lucifer reciprocated by giving the taller man a kiss (he had to pull down [y/n]'s tie okay?)

And Lucifer didn't regret it, [y/n] is a passionate lover. A green flag of all green flags.

“Why are you here? You're so nice, you shouldn't be here.”

“If I was up there, then I wouldn't have the pleasure of meeting you and calling you mine.” [y/n] said with a confused tone.

Unaware rizz.

This man, doesn't know how much his words affect Lucifer.

And the fact he can carry Lucifer bridal style and calls him his muse is the cherry on top.

Anyways, back to the scenario. I'm done with the backstory lmao

Lucifer decided to text [y/n] telling him about the situation, wanting emotional support as he's nervous going to an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.

He thought [y/n] wouldn't be able to come as the man got work but he was wrong as not 15 minutes later, [y/n] bursts through the door looking absolutely disheveled.

[y/n] ran like his life depended on it.

“My muse, I am hereeee...” the poor tall man wheezed out, hunched on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Lucifer had to help the man out by using his wings to dry him up.

“Better?”

“Better, thanks my love.”

Lucifer had to explain the situation to him on the way to the hotel and [y/n] giving him peptalk after.

After arriving at the hotel, [y/n] stayed at the side while he watched Lucifer interact with the others.

He swore he heard the pink arachnid say, “Is anyone's gaydar going off right now?”

“It's just you, Angel.” the gray haired girl says with a deadpan.

After Charlie introduced the rest, she noticed the taller male companion who came with her dad. The male was just admiring the interior of the hotel.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

“So... Dad, how about you introduce me to your friend that you brought over?” Charlie asked, making the two males flinch in surprise.

[y/n] giggling as he watched the flustered look on Lucifer's face.

The two males just looked at each other, having a silent conversation.

“Do you want to tell her?” is what [y/n]'s facial expression says based on the raised eyebrow.

“I guess it's time to tell her.” Lucifer says through his facial expression, as a sigh left his lips.

The others just stared in silence as the two males looked at each other in silent conversation.

“Charlie, this is [y/n]... My... Significant other.”

After Lucifer introduced the unknown man, Charlie's jaw dropped.

So did the other's.

The only thing Charlie can think is “Holy shit, I'll have two dads.”

“SEE?! I FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT MY GAYDAR IS POPPING OFF SINCE THEY ARRIVED”

It was a wild night. From the dad off, some loan sharks deciding to cause a mess. (Charlie has three dads now)

Do you guys want this as a series? I'm thinking of actually writing this concept because aihsjans it's so cutee and interesting 😭🤭

Also, I absolutely write for male readers as I myself is a man 🤭 aosjsi maybe I should write more Lucifer x male! Reader?

[jazztato]

Hazbin hotel Boyfriend scenarios~ How you meet Alastor

Hell is a dark place for those who were dammed there for all of eternity for their sins that they did when they were among the living, including myself I did things I’m not proud of but they had to be done and because of those things I ended up in hell, I didn’t expect to die so soon but I suppose it was my fault I got by my friend’s father who just so happens to have been the sheriff he didn’t hesitate to shoot me even if I was his daughters friend, I was a killer and to him killers must be taken down.

Now I'm in hell I was walking down the bloody streets as sinners of all kinds were stabbing each other or setting things on fire as they fought for territory, I kept my movement along the path sometimes i had wished I choose a different path then what I had, hell is nothing but a bloodthirsty hell hole literally, making me regret my life choices seeing how with every step I take I watch where I go trying not to get myself killed…  Again.  As I walked down the path of blood and death I was met with an old 1920’s style bar. It looked like the perfect place to cool down for a bit.

I pushed open the doors and just like the sign everything inside was decorated with old 1920’s decor, just like the old speakeasies they had, I walked through and around the other patron’s there who were chatting amongst themselves till I finally managed to spot an empty stool at the bar, there were tons of sinners drinking about but they all didn’t seem to want to sit in that last stool as I approached it I started to realize why it remained empty, in the neighboring stool was a sinner with deer like features, razor sharp teeth, even though all the sinners basically have razor sharp teeth, and a long red coat, he was a demon that was feared by all no wonder no one wanted to sit in the stool, it’s neighbor was none other than the radio demon.

I didn’t exactly care if he was a scary and very powerful overlord I didn’t feel like standing any longer then I already have I decided to take my chances and sit in the remaining empty stool, as I sat down I saw the sinners surrounding the bar giving me glances as if I had a death wish for sitting beside a demon such as the radio demon I decided to ignore them as I told the bartender what I’ll be having.

“Bartender, I'll have a whiskey.” I spoke clear and loud enough over the crowd the bartender just nodded and was about to make my drink till a static-like voice spoke out.

“Make that two my good sir!”  he had looked over towards me as his smile never left his face.  “You have good taste in liquor my dear!” I watched as he stretched out his hand as if he was looking for a handshake.  “Alastor!  It’s a pleasure to be meeting you my dear!”  I looked at his outstretched hand thinking if I should shake it or not knowing my better judgement to not shake his hand, I decided not to be rude and to accept his outstretched hand.

“Whiskey is the only drink I can handle at these places, the names (Y/N), what brings the oh so famous radio demon out here?  Not for fun I'm assuming?”  I firmly took my hand back as the handshake was starting to feel like a hand hold at this point, I placed my hands in my lap as I fiddled with my thumbs.

Alastor let out a slight laugh as if he thought what I said was amusing. I gave him a small glare as he took a sip of his whiskey once it was set in front of him.  “This place has the best whiskey in town. I come here every week. A friend of mine owns the bar. She always says I could drink for free, but I don’t want to bleed her dry and leave her nothing!”  He let out another laugh. “But watching the sinners run in fear of me is quite entertaining. I've been around for years and yet they still aren't used to me coming in every week.”  I watched as he took yet another sip from his whiskey. I then stared at my own before chugging it down the taste burning down my throat as he stared at my now empty glass.

“Is that so?  Why is it so entertaining to you?  I don’t get why sinners are afraid of you they all did similar things to get into hell and yet here we are sinners of all sorts not even wanting to come close to the stool that i reside in if you're asking me, you don’t seem too bad of a demon especially when it comes to small talk.” I didn’t know why I said what I said but it’s been a while since I’ve last held up a decent conversation with someone without getting into a bar fight or killing someone.

For a few minutes it was nothing but silence I was about to speak up but was cut off with the scrape of his stool he had stood up he was taller than I had expected since he was sitting most of the time, I stared over at him a bit confused he looked over at me his smile looking more strained than before.  “I am a gentleman, but I am also a powerful overlord, sinners all over fear me because of the power I have, they didn’t sit beside me because of that fear but you my friend you are different you don’t think like everyone else here you sat beside me without a care in the world.”  For a second I could’ve sworn I saw his ears pin back but quickly perked up again as if he didn’t want to be seen as weak and powerless.  “With that said, I'll be off!  Places to be errands to run, deals to make~” As the last words left his mouth a light green energy formed around the room but dissipated instantly as he stood up straight.  “Maybe we will see each other again?”  with that said he vanished into the shadows.  I let out a slight gasp as if I had been holding my breath, he was a mysterious man with a mysterious background I was about to pay my tab but the bartender rejected it saying it was covered that was when I realized that son of a bitch payed for my tab without me noticing I can’t believe it He really was a gentleman I let out a soft groans as I stood up from the stool and headed out of the bar back to the bloody streets of hell, the next time I see him I will have to figure out a way to pay him back without him knowing because that sneaky deer thought he could get away with it, it was a nice gesture but now It’s making me feel bad since he spent his money on a sinner such as myself, he said he goes there every week if I’m lucky I’ll see him again and this time I’ll have the upper hand, I fell onto my bed closing my eyes as sleep soon washed over me.

[orphicrose]

Are you still doing requests? Can I request Alastor x Wife reader who were married together alive an reunited in hell and while Alastor hates modern tech the reader grew on it and even started a life hack channel on voxtube of tricks from the 1920s and it becomes really popular and she gets sponsors and fan mail meanwhile Alastor needs Angel's help just to video chat her and one day she gets a 5 million subscriber mileage congratulations gift box (that all creators get bit hes still mad) from Vox himself

Old man and an Iphone

Requests are still open indeed.

I can definitely do my best! I’ve changed the dates around a little to better fit the technology advancements in the universe. This is set in the early 2000s

This is somewhat small, but i hope you like it.

Wattpad : TheOrphicRose :)

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

Years passed like turning pages since your husband had departed from you, in the cruelest ways that anyone could imagine. A fate that wasn’t even inevitable. That singular fragile piece of metal, shot from an unknown hunter, took him away from you.

You knew who he was, you knew what he was. Knowing that you’d end up in the same temple of horror one day that he has. His sins being your sins. That brought you some peace. Knowing you’d be reunited one day. Even if it was in the worst place imaginable. Hell. That day came sooner than you’d like to admit. Leaving behind your clueless grandchildren and your own hellish spawn.

The ground below you hit rather hard, not even knowing you were falling down the rabbit hole till the bottom came right to your face. You let off a grunt in response. Your body feeling light, all of a sudden. As if the age and wrinkles had just vanished, and you were young again. Legs feeling like they could run miles, and skin, well. Your new hellish form wasn’t much of an improvement from leather skin.

Knowing for years you’d end up here, it wasn’t too difficult to take in. Accepting your sins and your fate as a part of your journey. It wasn’t so bad. There was society, and structure down here. Immortality being the only true torture.

The other torture, you had no idea where your dearest Alastor had ended up. It had been almost 70 years since you’d seen him, god knows what he looks like now. Your reunion was sudden, after all, he was a well known overlord. Yet, it was still something out of a textbook romance novel.

Over the next decade or two, you two spent every second together. Refusing to be apart again. You sharing stories about your children, grandchildren. Melting Alastor's heart like he never thought you could. There was so much catching up to do. After time, you became infatuated with the media, creating your own channel. it was called "Hellish crafts", which started with a bunch of silly tips and tricks when it comes to house work. Alastor didn't understand, but it came with a hefty income.

After becoming tenants at the misguided daughters of hells hotel, you soon began helping with advertisements. Which grew the channel even more. From random life hacks, to advertisements, to smaller channels asking you for your help to grow theirs.

"Must you film me, dear?" his hand covers his face as the camera fizzes out of focus.

"Yes! Its for Charlie. Lighten up old man" You teased him, filming the hotel lobby. He smiled at your expression, resting a hand on the small of your back as you did your craft.

"Y/n! Y/n! Another letter for you!" Niffty ran over

Alastors hand dropped, snatching the letter from the little goblin.. Eyebrows furrowed. "This is the third letter in the passed three days, sweetheart"

"What can i say, my channel is a hit" One eye was closed as the other was pressed to the run down camera that Alastor insisted you used. Still walking slowly around the hotel, trying to get a good shot. Alastor stood in his place, reading the letter. "Another delusional fan" He mumbled.

"Don't worry! i wont let the fame go to my head" You swung around with the camera, getting him in frame. The static of his aura interfered with the lens and gave your brow a small electric shock. Jolting you backwards.

"I've warned you about that" He chuckled, hand returning to your waist and pulling you closer. His other hand with the letter, raising, and a fit of flames emitted. Turning the letter into ash on the floor, which nifty didn't wait to clean up.

Life was like this for a while, constant letters. Some weird, some genuine. But you never got to read most of them, as Alastor made it his duty to send them to another realm before you could. was he jealous? maybe, he'd never care to admit it though. That was until a rather glamorous piece of paper fell through the letter box on this particular day. Stamped with Vox's logo. You got to this letter first.

"What the fuck?" Your almost angry tone alerted Alastor, whose body materialized next to yours in seconds. "What's the matter, my dear?" his eyes briefly scanned over the letter before snatching it from you.

"What is a 5 million subscriber?"

"Its the amount of people who support my channel, i honestly didn't even know it was that big." you stared up at him, waiting for some sort of outburst on his face.

"That's... " he thought for a second "Wonderful dear! Absolutely wonderful!" his arms wrapped around you in an embrace, spinning you around. When you first started the channel, with his knowledge, it was more of a way to pass the time. So, for it to be as big as it is now was quite the accomplishment. What kind of husband would he be not to support his perfect wife, he thought. Whether she was practically paying vox or not. His quarrels weren't hers.

"I believe you have some type of reward, y/n" He spoke again, putting you down and giving the letter back. His sharp nail pointed at a fine print at the bottom. 'Visit the Vee headquarters to redeem your reward'.

You both looked at each other, brows raised and a concerned look in your eyes. "I'm sure it's not important. I don't need a reward"

He looked as if he was in deep thought. Contemplating everything for a second. "You should go" "But vox is your-"

"Hush, little woman" His finger covered your lips "This is important to you darling. I trust you"

The smile on your face made his bigger, making you deserving of the little peck he placed on your lips before adjusting his posture. "On the condition that my shadow follows your every move"

"Done"

A few hours had passed since your departure, Charlie offering razzle and dazzle to escort you to the large mansion on the other side of the pentagram. It was quite the journey, considering the traffic. And it wasn't long before Alastor began to miss you, wondering if you were okay.

"Ahem" static gave Angel a brief episode of tinnitus before he swung his body on the lobby sofa, met with the lanky deer.

"Waddya want, pimp?" his attention didn't last long, his phone having far more interesting contents than the demon lurking behind him.

"I need a favor" his smile made the question seem a lot more sadistic than intended. His body swiftly moved around the sofa, standing in front of the spider now.

"If you want my soul, I got bad news for ya."

"Your soul?" He was almost confused for a second "No, i need help with this" he lifted his hand, angels phone disappearing and reappearing in the deer's grip.

"Wh- hey! Give that back" Angel leapt to his feet, reaching up and snatching it back. "Why do you want help with a phone? Aren't you like, from the dark ages?"

It took Alastor a moment to be able to admit to it. "I'd like... to call my wife"

"Awww, is someone clingy" angels teasing didn't last long before radio dials appeared in the demons eyes, radio interference filling the air as quickly as it had disappeared earlier. "Okay, okay" Angels hands flew up in surrender, Alastor returning to normal instantly. "Splended!"

It took a moment for Angel to flick through the thousands of contacts he had, before he finally reached you. Pressing the call button and handing the phone to Al. Who held it like an old grampa looking at a meme. "What do i do now?" he squinted his eyes at the device in his hand. "Just hold it" Angels voice became frustrated as he readjusted the phone in Als hand.

You had picked up the call a minute ago now, on your way back to the hotel. Being greeted to the two boys bickering. "Helloooo?" you sung out, attempting to get their attention.

"Oh. Hello my dear!" Alastor noticed to and bared his teeth in an awkward smile. "I just wanted to see how my love was doing, is all"

"How sweet. I will be back soon." You had many questions to ask when you were back with the comfort of your person.

"Do hurry"

[ageofmurph]

A Woman Has To Live Her Life.

groundskeeper!soap x married!reader // masterlist.

part one: ginger ࿔ you meet the groundskeeper.

set in mid-1920s after WW1, neglected wife, plot is literally centred around infidelity, 2.2k words.

a/n: okay so this is the first series that I'm writing and I'm kind of nervous about it but im also really excited and so far planning it has been really fun. right now its looking like it'll be 9 parts, but that could change. also uni is kicking my butt this semester so updates will be slow. enjoy!!

The seat of the bay window was growing increasingly uncomfortable, and the vibrant greens outside seemed to be calling your name louder and louder. The rain had passed, leaving the paddocks and forest a deep glowing green, shining with the water droplets left behind.

Your husbands voice, nasally and far more shrill than you like in a man, floated up from downstairs where he was in the middle of another card game. Him and his ‘good ol’boy’ friends from school always seemed to be sitting at a table that you weren’t welcome at.

You didn’t grow up wealthy, not by any means, but you didn’t think your situation warranted you being married off to some upper class land-owner.

At first you thought it might be alright, maybe you could grow to love him, maybe you’d enjoy moving from town out to the country. He was funny enough, gave you space, didn’t expect wifely duties of you. But each day after the wedding you saw less of him. These days the only time you spoke was at the dinner table, and even then the conversation was limited.

When you first noticed it you thought he hated you, thought he was disgusted by you- you hadn’t even consummated the marriage. Then you suspected he might be queer, and married you to stave off any suspicions. But that theory was disproved when he got too drunk at a party one evening and spent the night with his hand finding its way onto the rear of various women.

From the other room, a chorus of laughs following a rather crude joke was enough motivation for you to leave the bay window and go outside. You didn’t tell your husband you were going.

The smell of wet grass in the paddock calmed your mind. Being in the country wasn’t always so bad, you guessed. You just got so damn bored sometimes. Being an hours cycle to the nearest town (town was a generous word, it was more of a settlement really) you frequently felt isolated. Maybe getting out of the house more, even if to just spend more time alone, might remedy that.

On that first walk you ventured past the paddocks and rolling hills into the forest. You didn’t get too deep before the rain really picked up again, forcing you to turn back for the house.

When you stepped in the front door you were dripping water and your shoes were so covered in mud you couldn’t even see the colour of them anymore. You chuckled to yourself as you started to take them off when your husband rounded the corner.

“I thought I heard something-“ He cut himself off when he saw the state of you. “Where on earth have you been?”

You looked up while balancing on one leg and untying your laces. “I went for a walk through the paddocks.”

“What for?”

You straightened up, your smile beginning to fade. “To stretch my legs, get a breath of fresh air. I don’t know, just because.”

He gave you an incredulous stare for a few moments longer, “Clean this up before dinner.” He turned and walked away, his steps getting quieter and quieter.

You looked down at the hardwood floor and saw a pretty decently sized puddle surrounding you.

Over the next few weeks, whenever the weather permitted you were out for a walk. Each time you went somewhere new, and each time you felt more like yourself again. You hadn’t even realised you weren’t feeling like yourself, though it made sense with the state of your life.

It was a Tuesday afternoon and you had been kept inside not by the weather, but by your husband.

“I need you to stay here today, I’ve got a parcel arriving that I need you to be here to collect.” He yelled from downstairs.

You walked out of the room that you were in and stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at him where he straightened his clothes in the mirror by the door.

“Where will you be?”

He didn’t look up.

“Appointment.”

A beat. “Alright.” You turned away from him and towards your beloved bay window. Your sketchbook and pencil were still there from the last time you sat and looked out the window.

You decided to draw the view of the paddocks and trees out the window instead of sketching something from memory as you usually did. It was a beautiful day and even though you couldn’t be outside to enjoy it you’d be damned if you ignored it altogether.

It was around midday when you saw a figure walking parallel to the house, down towards the forest.

It was a broad silhouette. You could see a dark jacket and dark work pants. A gun, break action and clearly open and unloaded, lay underneath their arm. Their gait was wide and their shoulders squared. You deduced it was a man.

You watched him from the window, enthralled and confused. Who he was or what on earth he was doing on the property, you had no idea.

You watched him turn as he walked for a few seconds before a dog ran up to his side.

Fumbling to grab your sketchbook you kept your eyes on him, memorising the shape of him. You drew him into the scene you’d spent the past while on, and thought about him the rest of the day.

A burning question was on the tip of your tongue at dinner that night.

“Did the parcel arrive?” Your husband spoke with his mouth full- something you despised in a person.

“Yes, I put it in your study.” He only nodded.

You toyed with food on your plate, pushing it around before just making yourself speak.

“There was a man outside today, he walked past the house and down into the trees. Would you have any idea who he is?”

“Not the postman?” Dismissive as ever.

“I should hope not, he had a gun with him.”

“Ah, MacTavish.” Your grip on your utensils tightened as you learned his name. “The groundskeeper. Strange fellow. Quiet. Scottish.”

“We have a groundskeeper?”

“Of course we do, you think we could manage all of that up-keep ourselves? Please.”

God, you felt small when you talked to him. He continued.

“Besides, it’s blue collar work.” He spoke with a certain venom. “People like you and I needn’t waste our time with such labour.”

Your jaw twitched. “What do you mean by that?” Your voice quiet.

He sighed and put down his knife and fork picking up his wine glass to take a sip. “I mean that there is no reason for us to get our hands dirty when somebody else can do it for us.”

You were quick to respond. “Do you think you’re above manual labour?”

He scoffed. “What do you think?”

Your grip tightened further. “My father is a carpenter. Before the war my brothers were farmers and now they’re carpenters too. They’re the hardest workers I’ve ever known.”

He paused halfway to raising his glass to his lips. “You have brothers?”

The walk you took the next day began at sunrise and ended at dusk. It was the furthest you’d gone. Initially it was frustration that fuelled you, but negative emotions quickly left the forefront of your mind.

In the early afternoon you were elated to come across a creek; a beautiful babbling brook with big stones littered throughout. You took a step closer towards the bank and watched the sun sparkle on the water before you closed your eyes and just listened to the running water. The sudden bark of a dog brought you out of any state of relaxation that you had been in, and you whipped your head in the direction that it came from.

“Ginger!”

You watched the dog run up to you, quickly scanning its body language to see whether or not it was aggressive. You decided it was just excited- the bark hadn’t had much of a bite to it either, it was more of a yap really.

When it got closer you knelt down to pat it. It excitedly jumped all around you, trying to lick your face and hands. You laughed and held up your chin so that it couldn’t get to your mouth.

The voice that had called out drew closer, “Ginger, get down, ye silly girl.” He muttered it to himself more than trying to give her an actual order.

Ginger started to calm down but still stuck by your side. The man came closer still, walking slower now. You looked up at him and quickly scanned him up and down.

The leather of his work boots was soft and worn in. His work pants were pinstriped jeans held up with suspenders, and a blue button up with the sleeves rolled up past his forearms tucked into the waist of the jeans.

“Sorry about her, she’s still young. Ahm still working on training her an’ aw, ye ken.” He slowed to a stop a few metres in front of you.

Scottish. You realised he was the man from the other day- MacTavish, as your husband called him.

You were still smiling though you were suddenly bashful for a reason you weren’t quite sure of. “That’s, um, that’s really alright. She’s sweet.”

After sitting in front of you while you patted her Ginger started to get excited again and went to look for an appropriate fetching stick. She brought it over to you, you stood up and threw it, and she collected it and dropped it right back at your feet, sitting down and waiting for you to throw it again. You laughed and obliged. The cycle repeated.

MacTavish- which you were sure was his surname and would prefer to know his first name- seemed to accept what was happening and leaned against a tree as if to settle in.

You snuck a few glances his way while he watched Ginger chase after the stick. On the outside his posture was relaxed, though there was something underneath that looked to you like carrying the weight of something heavy on your shoulders; the demeanour of someone who remembers far more than they’d like to. A nosy voice inside of you called out to find out what those memories are.

He was also dreadfully handsome, something you cursed yourself for admitting- there was no propriety or dignity in a married woman finding another man attractive.

And while you knew that there was probably some unspoken rule that you weren’t privy to that frowned upon fraternising with ‘the help’ (you hated to hear your husband call them that) there was something about him that you just couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was something spiritual and intangible, maybe it was that the only person you’d spoken to in weeks was your husband. Maybe you were just horny, and maybe he happened to be just your type.

You picked the stick up again and threw it harder than you did the last time. “So are you our groundskeeper then?”

“Aye.”

You stared at him for a few more moments. He didn’t offer up anything else and stayed watching Ginger. She whined at your feet, and you threw the stick.

“Do you enjoy it?” It was bullshit small talk but you were bordering on desperate to talk to someone.

He let out a chortle at a joke you weren’t in on. “Sure I do.”

Suddenly feeling silly you ignored it and tried to move to something else. “How long have you been here for?”

MacTavish adjusted his stance. “Couple a’years. I needed work after the war. Floated around for a while, ended up here.”

“You were a soldier?” Your voice softened.

He paused for a long time somehow making less eye contact with you than before.

“Aye.”

You decided to leave it alone. If this was the heavy burden then your curiosity died completely. Your brothers had fought in the war, and if their stories were anything to go off of then the last thing you wanted to do was make another man relive it.

“How long have the pair a’ youse been married for? Havnae seen much a’ ye.”

You could tell he was only trying to change the subject, but you were glad to keep talking.

“Seven months. I wasn’t really getting out much until recently.”

“Why not?” He sounded like he was gaining interest, but still he didn’t look at you.

You shrugged, not that he could see. You decided to be honest and offer up something vulnerable, hopefully making him feel less exposed after you touched on the war. “I guess I just had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that this is my life now.”

He looked at you then. You were in the process of throwing Ginger’s stick as you spoke, and you watched her run after for a moment before turning to him.

You had piqued his interest. The light furrow of his brow gave it away. “Wha’, don’t ye like this life?”

“I certainly wouldn’t have chosen it for myself.” You spoke through a sigh and turned your attention back to Ginger.

“So ye don’t like it, then?”

You stilled for a moment, suddenly understanding why he’d laughed before when you had asked if he liked it. It would be outrageously inappropriate to tell your groundskeeper that you were unhappy in your marriage. That you and your husband never spoke, never had sex, hardly looked at each other, and barely knew each other at all. So you let out the smile that was pulling at your lips.

“Sure I do. I like it just fine.”

[yesihaveaobsession]

Dress to Impress

Alastor x female!reader

Summary: With only owning one dress and a hotel event coming up, Alastor declares to go shopping. with the reader (you)

A/N- Hope everyone who did celebrate Valentines Day had a great one! Just wanted to say I appreciate each and every single one of you!! Thank y'all so much for all the support! This turned out longer than I was expecting, BUT I love it ha-ha.

You stood in front of your closet, staring at the one and only dress you actually liked and owned. It was modern, sleek, and just perfect for you. That’s what you were planning to wear to the event Charlie had been planning and talking about all week. But according to Alastor, owning just one dress simply wouldn’t do—especially not for the grand event at the hotel.

“My dear, you need more dresses!” he had declared with a dramatic wave of his hands as he strolled into your room, stopping beside you in front of your closet. “A lady of your stature can’t be seen wearing the same thing twice!”

And that was how you found yourself in a fancy little boutique in the heart of Hell, with Alastor. He stood behind you, looming over your shoulder, offering unhelpful commentary.

“Too plain!”

“Not nearly enough flair!”

“Ugh, modern fashion is so dull.”

You just rolled your eyes and held up a sleek black dress with elegant gold detailing. “I like this one,” you said firmly.

Alastor’s nose scrunched in disapproval as he eyed the dress like it had personally offended him in every way possible. “It’s so… boring!” It wasn’t. But to him, it was.

And there he was, grinning from ear to ear at the other end of the store, sifting through dress racks. You regretted coming with him and probably should’ve asked—well, anyone else. Maybe Rosie for help.

But you could tell he was having way too much fun.

“Ah-ha! Now this—” He turned around, holding up a vintage, puff-sleeved, polka-dotted nightmare straight out of the 1920s. “—this has character!”

You wrinkled your nose. “Okay, first, it has way too much fabric. I’d suffocate in that thing. And second, I don’t want to look like I belong in the Haunted Mansion. And third the polka dots-"

“Oh, pish-posh! You modern girls and your lack of appreciation for timeless elegance.” He placed a hand over his heart as if your rejection of his taste had truly wounded him.

You sighed again and held up another dress—something sleeker and more stylish. “This is what I like.”

“My dear, I must say… that lacks a certain flair,” he said with a slight tilt of his head.

“You mean it lacks your flair,” you teased, stepping closer. “Not everything has to be vintage, Al. I like modern fashion.”

Alastor let out a dramatic groan, still grinning, a hand over his heart like you had mortally wounded him. “Oh, the tragedy! My dear, your taste is simply tragic!”

You smirked. “And yet, you adore me anyway.”

Alastor huffed and straightened his tie with a reluctant grin this time. “That I do. Fine, wear your drab little dress—but I’m choosing the accessories. And ONE dress.”

You narrowed your eyes. “One. And no polka dots.”

His grin widened. “Oh-ho, deal~!”

You regretted it again. Because fifteen minutes later, Alastor held up a deep red, dramatic ball gown with layered tulle, embroidery, and enough vintage detail to make it look like you had stepped out of a 1920s film.

“Alastor—”

“Try it on!”

With a groan, you snatched the dress from him and disappeared into the dressing room.

…And you hated that it actually looked stunning.

When you stepped out, Alastor’s grin softened into something more… admiring. His eyes took you in, the usual mischievous glint giving way to something else. Something warm.

“Well?” you prompted.

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Ah, darling, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to impress me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up, Al.”

But as you turned back to the mirror, you couldn’t deny it—you looked amazing. And for all his dramatics, Alastor did have an eye for fashion… even if it was a century out of date.

Once you got changed back, you glanced at the price tags on both dresses.

Oh, sweet Satan.

You winced. That many souls?!

Peeking at the modern dress you had picked, you did some quick mental calculations and nearly choked. Both together cost more than your entire wardrobe combined.

You slowly turned to Alastor, who was grinning at you like a cat that had caught a particularly juicy canary.

“Al… I don’t think I can justify spending this much on two dresses,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “I mean, they’re beautiful, but…”

“Nonsense, my dear!” He waved off your concerns, his smile unwavering. “You deserve to look like the queen you are! Besides—” He took the dresses from you and practically waltzed over to the counter. “—I insist.”

You nodded, wondering if he even had money and how he planned to pay.

You followed him hesitantly, already dreading the total as the cashier rang up the dresses. You nearly had a heart attack when the final price popped up on the register. You had calculated correctly, unfortunately.

Alastor, however, didn’t bat an eye. He simply leaned forward, resting his hands on the counter as his grin widened, his teeth flashing unnaturally sharp. The air shifted.

The poor cashier, a meek little demon with trembling hands, gulped as static crackled faintly in the air. Their fingers hovered over the register, hesitant to even breathe too loudly. You felt kind of bad for them.

“Sooo,” Alastor drawled, his voice dipping just enough to send a chill down your spine. “How about we… reconsider the price?”

The lights flickered.

The radio distortion in his voice deepened, low and spine-chilling. The cashier’s eyes darted around nervously before they let out a shaky laugh. “O-Oh, y-you know what? Haha! I just remembered there’s, um… a promotion going on today! Yes! A very generous one! And you, sir, and your lovely lady here, are in luck because, um…”

Their hand smashed the register’s button, deleting the total.

“…THE DRESSES ARE ON THE HOUSE! FREE OF CHARGE!”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Excellent!” Alastor clapped his hands together, his usual cheerfulness returning as he grabbed the bags. “See, wasn’t that easy?”

The cashier gave you a desperate look that screamed take the dresses and RUN.

You did not argue.

As you both stepped out of the boutique, you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, glancing at Alastor with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“You literally just terrified someone into giving us these for free,” you deadpanned.

He let out a hearty chuckle. “Oh, darling, don’t be so dramatic! It was merely a friendly negotiation!” He turned to you with a grin, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Besides, you look absolutely stunning in both of them. And isn’t that what truly matters?”

You sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you love me for it.” You did.

[diamondkat]

Hmm, you know, a while back Viv liked a tweet that was something along the lines of "alastor has yet to get got by the power of friendship"

I'm just wondering who at the hotel he is going to connect with and break his barriers. Charlie? A safe bet, but she is too naive for Al to trust her with sensitive information at the moment. The crew in general? I don't think Alastor would suddenly give his trust to multiple people at once.

Based off old art, I wonder if the person Al ends up befriending and "getting got by" is Lucifer. The misandrist changes his mind after befriending a man, and the ruler of hell changes his mind after befriending a sinner.

-N

Lucifer would be an interesting choice, considering Alastor and Lucifer are Vivzie's No. 1 and No. 2 favourite characters on the show. It would make sense that Vivzie would want them to get along eventually. However, friendship for them in canon would take a lot more work than if it were someone else at the hotel. Lucifer hates sinners because he believes that their misuse of his gift is what ruined his life. If they had just used the gift perfectly, then all of heaven would have seen that his ideas were right, and he wouldn't have been kicked out of heaven. Alastor, on the other hand, has had enough of dealing with elitist white men who looked down on him when he was a mixed-race human living in the 1920s. Lucifer, with his white skin, blond hair and elitist attitude, likely feels no different from such people to Alastor. I still believe that with character growth, they are going to get to a point where they both get along, because I don't see Vivzie leaving her favourites as enemies forever.

For potential friendship consideration, I would also like to consider Angel Dust. They both have negative experiences with the Vees, who are going to be the main antagonists for Season 2. This might give them something to bond over. Alastor's soul is also owned by someone, which could give him an understanding of Angel Dust's situation. I would like this as it would give some life to the Radiodust fandom, which has not been as strong since the show aired. I would love some more platonic radiodust.

I am not mentioning any of Alastor's current friends, cause I'm not sure they would count for the purpose of this conversation. However, if it is to be one of his current friends, it would definitely be Niffty. She is his number one girl, and they are always together in merch. In the latest one for Pride merch, she is practically his personal ally.

Thank you for the ask. Sorry for the late response.

[dewdr0pz-alt]

goin' back to old yazoo 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹

summary: headcanons about Vox with an old-fashioned reader (like Alastor)

warnings: Vox is a bit of a stalker, mentions of Valentino, one mention of slavery from Valentino (talking about the reader's time), reader is an overlord (not really a warning but just a heads-up), Vox being a little jealous

a/n: hello, readers (i need to think of a name for you guys lol)! i know this wasn't requested, but i played Bad Parenting recently and the intro song has been stuck in my head for days 😭

tags: (as always, just tagging a few people i think would be interested in this, please let me know if you would like to be on or off of the taglist!) @o-kye @zuuriell @strangleetomz@ax-y10 @stars-around-scars-collective@blu3-lemonad3@myheartticks@mochamuff1n@unbeleevable@danvstheworld @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @average-vibe @back-totheoldhouse @prettysinners @lovevxle

(listen to this while reading if you want!)

When Vox first saw you at an overlord meeting, he was pissed. Was there another one like Alastor?

He took a little bit of a liking to you when you retorted back at him when he made a passive-aggressive comment about you.

^^ "How'd you even get here? You probably don't even own a cellphone or a car with your old-timey ass. I bet you don't even know what those are." "First of all, cars were invented in the 1920s, so I know of their existence. Second, just because I'm old-fashioned doesn't mean I'm stupid or incapable. Being a tech-savvy businessman doesn't make you smart; I'd say all that screen usage has fried what's left of your brain, Mr. Vox."

You two eventually became friends and even let him ramble about his technology (even though it took a little explaining)!

I think he'd realize at some point that you weren't as interested about technology as he was and would be fine with letting you talk about things from your era.

If you two started dating, at first he might try to make you dress in a more "modern" way to better suit his brand, but soon enough he'd just let you dress however you wanted (he would love it if you had a blue flapper dress 🤭)

He wouldn't try to explain security cameras to you (he wouldn't want you to know that he watches you whenever you leave the house), which he claims is "just to make sure you're safe"

I think Vox would eventually become a know-it-all about your era

^^ "So like...wasn't there slavery in the 20s, cariño?" "Actually (🤓☝️), Val, slavery was abolished in 1865." "I was asking Y/N, Voxxy." "I don't care. Get educated."

He would for sure dance with you to vinyl records of your favorite songs to give you a feel of nostalgia <3

[myrunawaysweets]

Imagine a life in Louisiana New Orleans, 1920.

Your a nice little lady, dragged to a nightclub by your friend. You didn't want to go initially due to the recent murders, but mimzy just had to go for her "reputation "

The loud music played as mimzy was surrounded by young men, most likely trying to get in her pants, er skirt. Mimzy always loved that kind of attention. You on the other hand, did not.

But of course, being near mimzy meant her little fan club of boys would sometimes drift to you aswell.

"Whats a fine doll like you doin here with a tramp like mim?" A young man spoke up, his cheeks flushed to show how many drinks he had so far.

"Shouldn't you be with the rest of your troop? You know, cheering for mimzy instead of belittling her?" You inquired, not even sparing the man a glance as you swished your whiskey in the glass it was in.

"You're right..." The boy spoke "but would you believe me if I said i fell in love with you from the moment i saw you?"

You knew it... these boys playing grown ups used that same line everytime they were around you.

You rolled your eyes to his response "nice try little boy but I dont play those games, so how bout you run along and try that on the next poor broad you see?" You waved your hand to shoo him away. "Maybe you'll have better luck next time-"

A tight grip was held on your wrist making you look up from your drink.

"So your just going to brush me off like that huh?" The drunkard looked into your eyes, previously clouded with lust was now darkened with anger "do you even know who I am, little lady?"

The man's grip tightened, making you wince.

You opened your mouth to tell him to let go but before you can even get the words out of your mouth, a gentle hand was placed on your waist and another vice grip on the man's wrist.

"My, is that any way to treat a lady, young man?" A cheery voice spoke up "every gentleman knows not to raise his hand to harm a lady, especially a lady they are courting"

The drunk young man let go of your wrist. Looking up at the brunette who has yet to face you.

"I think its time for you to go little boy" the brunette pushed the boy to the ground, watching him run away until he was out of sight.

The brunette turned towards you, revealing a handsome man around your age, a tan complexion accompanied with matching dark eyes and a shiny smile "are you alright my dear?" His voice was ever so cheery, just like his smile.

"Thanks..." you replied, rubbing your wrist.

"The names alastor, pleasure to meet you sweetheart! Quite a pleasure!" He held his hand out in which you shook.

"(Y/n), the pleasure is all mine" you were skeptical of him.

"What brings you here by yourself?" Alastor spoke, his hands now behind his back.

"I'm with a friend, mights heard of her, her names mimzy" you pointed over to your short friend who was giggling away, throwing back glass after glass of whiskey, bought by her little play things.

"Your a friend of mimzy? What a coincidence!" Alastor laughed "she invited me out here but I couldn't find her, shall we go greet her together?" The brunette held his arm out in an attempt to escort you to the little flapper.

You hesitantly took his arm and followed him towards your little pal.

"Mimzy!" Alastor walked towards the blonde.

Mimzy looked up from her crowd and smiled. "alastor! I was wondering where you've been!"

"I was searching for you when I came across one of your friends who had some trouble!" The man gestured towards you "you never told me you had such a pretty gem!"

"Yeah, she's a real looker ain't she?" She winked at you "though I'd love to talk some more, I was just entertaining some of these folks" she gestures towards the crowd of boys.

"Don't let me keep you mimzy" Alastor waved in dismissal and walked back to you "my it is crowded in here"

You nodded "This kind of thing isn't really my style" you waved at the crowded place.

"Me neither, mimzy always insists that I come" alastors smile stays bit his eyes show his distaste for this place before lighting back up "say, I know this nice place down the street, what say we ditch this place and head for a meal?"

Following a man you just met into the night? Couldn't be more of a death wish... but he didn't seem all that bad, plus he and mimzy seemed to be on good terms so whats the worst that could happen?

"Yes please" you sighed, smiling.

"Aha! That's better my darling! I haven't seen you give a proper smile all evening! It sits you!" He bellowed, holding his arm out to escort you once again.

Once you left the building, it didn't take long for you two to fall into conversation.

It turned out that alastor ran a radio channel, broadcasting about this and that, more so about those pesky murders as of late.

Alastor had learned that you don't usually go to these things due to the way men look at you with a lustrous gaze, so openly at that. Instead of following mimzy on these nightly activities, you would stay home and tend to your little restaurant.

"I know it's not really suitable for a lady to be owning a business, but if im going to end up cooking for a man, might as well get paid to do so, am I right?"

Alastor couldn't agree more, letting you in on some secrets his mother had told him about cooking.

"Your not so bad al" you laughed after he had told you a particular dad joke "not bad at all"

Now, alastor was never one to indulge in romance, but the way you smiled, the way you set your dreams to be so big... he couldn't describe the feeling it left... but it was addicting, more addicting than the screams he would entice almost every night from his victims. Yes he originally planned to kill you, but after actually getting to know you, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Thanks..." his voice was quiet "your not bad at all either"

The night went off without a hitch, you even let him walk you to your house which just so happened to be connected to your restaurant.

"Do drop by if you get a chance, I'll try out that jambalaya recipe for you" you smiled, leaning on the open door.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, darling!" He bowed before walking down the empty dark street.

The next time mimzy invited you out, you didn't hesitate to accept. You hadn't heard from alastor since the delightful night you two had.

Mimzy gave you the address and promptly hung up the phone.

You didn't want to be late, so you ended up being early, too early. The sun was only just setting, casting a golden hue onto the city.

You had hoped the doors would be opened but you're luck ran short on that part.

It was a chilly evening. That much was clear as a breeze brushed by, making you shiver.

It wasn't long until mimzy came by and the nightly routine began.

Boys flocked to mimzy, buying her drinks, and a few stragglers found their way to you.

The boy from the previous night came back, looking up and down, lust evident in his eyes once again.

"I'm guessing you came back in regret?" His nice guy act was no doubt gone, revealing his true colors.

You scoffed and continued to listen to the music. Frank Sinatra had such a heavenly voice...

Your thoughts were interrupted by the man yanking your hair "listen here, you harlot, no one ignores me... so here's what we're going to do" you felt something sharp and cold press against the opening of your dress on your back "we're going to walk out of here, got going to be a nice birdie and not make a peep, understood?" His breath fanned into your ear, reaking of alcohol.

Fear ran cold in your veins as you couldn't do anything but gently nod.

You trembled, making the man's eerie smile widen as you felt something poke at your back.

As soon as you got out, the empty street revealed that no one could help you now as he led you to the alley beside the building.

Tears pricked your eyes as he shoved you into the brick wall as he squished his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume, the perfume you wore for alastor.

"Please stop" you managed to sob out.

It echoed out of the alley, and right onto the ears of the man you'd hoped to see.

He was standing outside of the club, debating whether or not he should enter. Would you be waiting for him? Has he been on your mind constantly, just like you have for him? Has he plagued every crevice of your brain just like you have in his? Or did you think little of the evening between you two, and gone back to your life...

His thoughts were interrupted by your sob.

His blood ran hot in his veins... you were here, but instead of having fun, you were in an alley in god knows what condition...

He walked towards the alley, everything seemed to be in slow motion...

There, before his own eyes, you were crying, the sleeve of your dress pulled down as the man behind you shamelessly grinded into you as he pulled your hair, biting into the soft skin on your shoulder.

"I thought I told you to behave..." alastors voice was heard from the opening of the alley "especially with a lady"

The man looked up from you with a glare "stay out of this, you square" he pulled out the knife and pointed it towards alastor making your eyes widen in fear of him being hurt to save you "unless you want me to cut you up"

The sight of you being worried for him made alastors head spin with glee, but this was no time for that.

"Darling Belle, close your eyes for a moment, will you?" Alastors smile was strained yet firm as a murderous aura clouded the alley way.

You did as told, wanting this night to be over with.

Screams were heard. Alastors hands moved quickly as he used his brute strength and adrenaline to break the man's knees backwards and draped his coat over you.

bones cracking and blood spilling filled the alley way along with the sound of alastors giggling.

Before you knew it, it was over and the man had passed it from blood loss and pain.

Alastor placed his hands on your shoulders as you trembled, bruises and bite marks all evident on your body as he guided you out of the alleyway.

"Sorry you had to experience that, darling" alastor apologized like you had seen him shirtless instead of him killing a man.

It took you a while, but you eventually spoke.

"Thank you... alastor" your head leaned against his chest as you felt tears start to form once again.

Alastor was never one for physical touch, but then again, he wasn't one for regular emotions, relationships, or even human connections, yet you bypassed all of his limits.

He sighed, and held you close.

"Its quite alright darling... " this was all new to him, so it didn't conquer to him that it would be the wrong time and mood for his next words "I could never let anything happen to you... i love you..."

You froze, slowly looking up at the man who held you so tenderly in his arms in the middle of the empty street... those words were spoken many times to you... your ex fiance before h ran away with his mistress, your family before he disowned you leaving you to fend for yourself in the harsh city, and your guy friend who supported you after the disownment who had confessed to you as you stayed at his apartment, running the friendship and trust... how could you ever trust anyone who spoke those words?

Alastors hold around you was gentle... it was comforting... you had only known him a few days, a week at most, having only met twice... yet he said he loved you?

"You love me?" You inquired... no longer liking the feeling of his arms around you as they felt fake

"I love you... " alastor smiled, though it seemed nervous as your gaze made him feel like he had something stupid...

Inspired by the song "something stupid" by Frank Sinatra.

[cilleatandserve]

ᴡᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ

Next part

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: After unfortunate events, Liana finds a way to turn back time.

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x (OC) Liana

Word count: 1K+

Warnings: Suicide mention, borderline fantasy, character bad at expressing emotions, series

A/N: Bit short sorry, Influenced by a show I watched + Sades song

In the bustling streets of 1920s Birmingham, a young woman named Liana moved with a grace that seemed to resist the grimy embrace of the industrial city. Her black hair was pinned back, revealing a face that was both sharp and kind, a stark contrast to the harsh lines of the world around her. Her eyes, a piercing brown, searched the bustling crowd as she walked, a sense of purpose in her stride. She had a task to complete, a gift to purchase for someone special, someone who meant the world to her without her quite realizing it.

Liana approached the jewelry store, her heels clicking loudly against the floor, the gleaming windows displaying a myriad of gleaming watches and trinkets. The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside, the warm light enveloping her in a comfort that felt almost illicit amidst the chill of the evening outside. The shopkeeper looked up from his counter, his eyes lingering on her for a moment too long before he gathered himself and offered a curt nod. She knew he recognized her from her many visits with Thomas, her best friend, and the man that had unknowingly loved her since they were kids.

The watch she chose was a sleek, elegant piece with a leather strap that would compliment Thomas's attire. It was a significant investment, but she knew it would mean the world to him. She had saved up for ages at her boring corner shop job. As she handed over her coin, the weight of the moment settled on her shoulders. This birthday was different; something about it felt more critical than the ones that had come before. Perhaps it was because she had noticed the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his smile, the way he held onto his whiskey glass a little too tightly.

Liana wrapped the watch in a soft cloth and tucked it into her purse, her heart fluttering with excitement. She had never given Thomas anything so personal before, and she hoped it would fill the gap between them, even though she had never spoken about it aloud. The days passed quickly as she counted down to the moment she would give him the gift.

This was her city, a place where she felt most alive amidst the chaos. She had known Thomas Shelby since childhood, a bond that grew stronger than any blood tie could offer. As she approached the Garrison pub, the low murmur of conversation grew louder. The air had the scent of tobacco and the faint aroma of ale. The door swung open, and a gust of warmth enveloped her as she stepped inside. The familiar faces of the Peaky Blinders turned towards her, their eyes scanning and assessing before returning to their drinks. Thomas looked up from the bar, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. He raised a glass in silent greeting, his expression unreadable. She couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the sight of him.

The banter between the gang members washed over her as she made her way to Thomas. His eyes never left her, a flicker of something unspoken passing between her. As she reached him, she murmured a sweet “Happy birthday Tommy.” His close proximity sending a shiver down her spine. She brushed off the feeling, attributing it to the cold outside.

Thomas had been more distant lately, and she couldn't put your finger on the reason why. It was subtle, but she felt it in the way he held eye contact a beat too long, the gentle brush of his hand against hers as he handed her her drink, and the way he'd find excuses to be near her without ever crossing that invisible line. Tonight was no different, his attentiveness a constant hum in the background.

As the night progressed, the tension grew. She found yourself drawn to the table, Thomas by her side. His hand resting on hers as his eyes scan the room with a weariness she had come to know all too well. She watched with a tentative smile, the watch a silent promise in her pocket. She took it out and gave it to him, her eyes doe. As he took the small package, his hands calloused from a life of fighting and leading, she watched his face, looking for a sign, any sign, that he understood the message she hoped was conveyed in her simple gesture.

When Thomas saw the watch, his eyes lit up in a way she hadn't seen in months. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the weight of the timepiece, the tick of its heart, a silent metronome echoing the unspoken words between them. He looked up at her, his gaze intense, and she knew she had given him something far more precious than mere jewelry. He hugged her softly as he whispered a thank you, not fully embracing eachother but enough to provide comfort, It was a symbol of the moments they had shared, the moments that could have been, and the moments she would soon wish she could redo. Sooner than she would’ve wanted.

The night unfolded in a blur of laughter and camaraderie, but Liana couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, that the joy was a brittle facade threatening to crack at any moment. As she watched Thomas from across the room, staring down at his drink, she realized that she didn't know him as well as she thought she did. The realization was a knife in her heart, a sharp reminder of the walls he had always built around himself.

After his birthday, Thomas and Liana began to drift apart. Tommy had become Thomas. Liana wasn't overly concerned, as they sometimes took breaks for a month. Until three months later, the news of Thomas's death hit her like a freight train. She heard it from a whisper in the wind, a rumor that grew into a shout that echoed through the streets. She felt a void open up within her, a chasm of regret and unanswered questions. God! How stupid she felt for not noticing something was wrong. And then, in the quiet of her mourning, she received the watch she had given him. The same one she had hoped would be a bridge between them, now a haunting relic of a love that had never been spoken.

She walked to the graveyard near her house, bordering a lake. She sat on the edge and closed her eyes, listening to the waves hitting the rocks, letting tears fall down her cheek. Going to grab a tissue from her pocket, she felt something hard. When she pulls it out she furrows her brow slightly.

As she held the cold metal in her trembling hands, she noticed a button she had never seen before, hidden beneath the leather strap. Her curiosity piqued, she pressed it, feeling the slightest of clicks. In that instant, the world around her blurred, the noises of the present fading into the cacophony of the past. The smells of the city changed, the air thick with coal dust and the faint scent of lilac, the same scent that had always clung to Thomas.

Liana looked around, disoriented, and realized she was standing in the same graveyard. She ran to her house after the weird occurrence, unbothered at the fact of passerby’s. But oddly enough she receives a knock on the door, hearing Ada’s voice. Yelling. “Darl’! Are you ready?”. Confused, she opens the door and questions her, upon getting her answer she shuts her door abruptly. Convinced she’s in a dream, she pinches herself, no luck. She had travelled three months earlier, on the night she had given Tommy the watch. She put on one of her flapper dresses and met Ada to walk to the Garrison. The Garrison was alive with the same laughter and clinking glasses, but this time, Thomas's eyes didn't look so weary. This was her chance to change everything, to save him from the fate that had been written. She took a deep breath. A loud voice shook her, waking her up from her thoughts, from Arthur sitting around a table with everyone else. “Oi Love! Come join us!”

To be continued…

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: a drink with deceit (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

mob!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 he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, physical violence, heavy angst, wound description, threats, catcalling, cults and religion mentioned, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, drinking, smoking, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: hello guess who is back!! this is very angsty, promise there will be more bucky in the next chapter just gotta set up the drama! much love <33 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

Three days after Becca Barnes's visit, the bodies of thirty-six Penance Boys were found in the streets. 

You hadn’t seen the bodies yourself, but the whispers that slithered through The Warrens painted a picture too horrific to ignore. The rumours spoke of a scene ripped straight from a penny dreadful. Maybe even worse than the stories that circulated, but in your heart, you knew the violence to be true. The bodies, each one marred by countless lashes, were barely recognisable. Their flesh was shredded, every inch of skin scarred beyond recognition. They were scattered across the Warrens like grotesque trophies. Some were dumped in the filthy, stagnant waters of the port, their bodies bloated and twisted. Others swung lifelessly from lamp-posts in the streets, their necks bent at unnatural angles. Several were displayed in the Smokestack District, mangled offerings laid out before the factories, and then there were the bodies hidden in the winding alleys, tucked into the shadows like forgotten, discarded trash, left to rot under the ever-thickening smog. It was all rather theatrical, a meticulously planned out act. One of the bodies, clutched tightly in a bloodstained fist, held a crumpled note. Smeared with copper, the words read: "Do you confess?"

You couldn’t help but remember Bucky’s words from that dreaded night.

Massacre.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you had stitched up thirty-six lashes, even though the flesh had been so ravaged, the wounds mashed together until they bled into one, an indistinguishable mess. The thought lingered in your mind, haunting you no matter how much you tried to push it away. Each memory of those nights felt like a needle driven deeper, not just into his skin but into yours as well. You had done what you thought was best, what you had to do to survive, but the consequences and marks were there for both of you to wear.

The letter you found on your doorstep that same day was no surprise. Becca’s warning had loomed over you, leaving little room for doubt. You hadn’t even bothered to open the envelope; instead, you had tossed it into the fireplace without a second thought, the flames licking at the paper until it was reduced to ash. It seemed Becca was fierce when protecting her brother, and you didn’t intend to test that determination. She had been clear—stay away from him, leave him alone. She had outright said it; the bitterness in her voice made the message unmistakable: I know a threat when I see one.

You spent the next three days simmering on her words, turning them over in your mind, weighing them against the memory of your hands working on Bucky’s back. Healing him—an act you never should’ve performed. Magic meant for destruction wasn’t meant to mend wounds, and you had known that. But you had done it anyway, given into his demands. He couldn’t have been entirely in his right mind… not with the wounds, the loss of blood. Is that why he had left? Did clarity finally strike him as he lay beside you in your rickety bed? Your magic wasn’t meant for healing. Those scars would remind him of what you had done, of what you were. It had been a mistake, yet it had also been a choice.

You were bitter in a sick and twisted way. You were furious. Part of you wanted to hold him accountable for his absence—no thank you, no goodbye, just an empty space where his presence had been. You had spent the better part of a week tending to him, feeling something unspoken between the two of you, a quiet understanding that hinted at more. But once the job was done, once he had healed, it was as if he had disappeared into the shadows of the Warrens, leaving you to deal with the mess of your emotions.

Maybe it had just left you to confront your own loneliness. 

In those long, quiet moments in your home, you wondered if that was what he did best—leave. He had walked away without a word, without even a flicker of care. What about Bucky Barnes made you long for something you couldn’t quite name? Something that had you clinging to the fragments of him despite the warning signs you knew to be true?

You were fed up with yourself, with his pull on you, even after all that had happened. You were unsure if it was your heart or your cunt that was the culprit, but either way, your head knew one or both were the traitors keeping you eating from of his hand like the good little witch he had primed you to be. You had let him hurt you, and yet, part of you wanted to run toward him again, to go against Becca’s threats. The way he had looked at you and leaned into your touch—there was something there. Something more than just business. You could feel it. But the other part of you? The brighter part—the one that had always kept you alive in a city like Blackstone—wanted to just wash your hands of it all, to disappear.

And maybe that was the answer: You could leave.

The countryside called to you, with its quiet spaces and the promise of a life that didn’t involve constant vigilance and constant fear. Witches were always in high demand in such isolated places. You could have been a travelling act, banishing curses and hauntings, keeping your head down and movements quick. The law wouldn’t bother someone who was as transient as the wind. The Smog Boys wouldn’t have had the time or resources to track you. You could disappear. It was possible.

But it wasn’t just about Bucky. It was about your mother. Michael. The countless, nameless others. You had stayed because you had a game of your own to play, a plan for revenge that had been set in motion long before the Smog Boys ever darkened your doorstep. If anything, they had complicated the situation. That display in the Pony Club… that raw power within you…you were sure it hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

—

Just beyond the Smokestack District, across the filthy, winding expanse of the Sootline River, lay the Grimrow District. Its streets resembled the Warrens: cramped rows of lower-class housing, grimy industrial factories, decrepit shops, and weathered churches that seemed to sag under the weight of sin and soot. Yet, for all their similarities, the two districts held a defining difference. While the Warrens belonged to the Smog Boys, Grimrow was claimed by the Iron Rats.

Like most rival factions in Blackstone, the Iron Rats and the Smog Boys maintained an uneasy truce—a brittle thread of peace stretched taut between their territories. The fragile truce held as long as each stayed within their respective borders. But to call it harmony would be a misstep. It was more of a begrudging tolerance, simmering hostility kept in check by necessity, not respect.

You would never typically risk crossing the Sootline. But tonight, your frustration had driven you to the brink of recklessness. The boundary, marked by the Sootline River’s churning filth and the crumbling bridge spanning its breadth, seemed less a warning and more an invitation to tempt fate. Maybe it was exhaustion from yourself, the relentless weight of the Warrens, and the invisible chains tethering you to its grime-soaked alleys.

You needed a drink. One poured by someone else’s hand in a place that didn’t reek of your desperation and solitude. The sight of your miserable flat had become unbearable, its four walls closing in tighter with each passing hour. And then there were the Smog Boys, whose ever-watchful eyes you had grown weary of evading. Maybe slipping away into Iron Rats territory would give you some reprieve. Maybe they’d let their guard down if they thought you had vanished entirely—an act of rebellion against the summons you had so pointedly ignored.

But the summons wasn’t something you could forget. Bucky’s call to a family meeting had been the last thing you’d expected, even if Becca had warned you in the days prior. It gnawed at you, questioning why he suddenly considered you significant enough to include. Family. What a strange, hollow word coming from him.

You didn’t trust it. The invitation felt like bait in a carefully laid trap. Why invite you into the fold now, after leaving without a word of thanks or farewell? Why disappear, only to pull you closer the very next day? It reeked of manipulation, and you couldn’t help but think it was somehow connected to the Penance Boys and the gruesome spectacle their deaths had created. The pit in your stomach told you it wasn’t a coincidence. You couldn’t deny your own hand in the sequence of events, no matter how indirect. If you hadn’t healed him, hadn’t used your forbidden magic to save him, would he have bled out on the floor of your home? Would his story have ended there, spilling his blood into the cracks of your rotting floorboards? And, in some twisted, alternate reality, would you now be living in a Bucky Barnes-free world?

The thought clawed at you, leaving a strange ache in its wake. As much as you despised the tangled mess of emotions that tethered you to him, the idea of his absence hollowed something out of you. That pit of dread opened wide, devouring any attempt to convince yourself that you’d be better off without him.

Bucky was a wound you couldn’t help but pick at—a scar you couldn’t stop tracing with trembling fingers.

The air of Grimrow reeked of industry—smoke, oil, and sweat mingling into a nauseating miasma. You passed groups of factory workers slumped on steps, nursing bottles of something too potent to be legal, and street vendors hawking stale bread or pilfered wares.

A bar came into view just as you sensed them: footsteps too close and laughter too loud, their presence evident in the silence they carried with them through the narrow streets. Three men trailed behind you, their voices brash and oily as they jeered.

“Oi, sweetheart! Where’ya off to in such a hurry?”

“Yeah, don’t be shy. Give us a smile, eh?”

You kept walking, your stride steady, your face unreadable. Reacting would only embolden them.

“She’s got an attitude, that one,” another mocked. “Maybe we should teach ‘er some manners.”

You turned a corner, hoping they’d lose interest, but their footsteps quickened. One of them closed the distance, and you felt his fingers graze your sleeve.

“You’ve got a death wish, ‘aven’t ya?” a new voice rang out, sharp and unwavering.

The three men halted as a woman stepped out of the shadows. She was tall and composed, her auburn hair curling at her shoulders, and her eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Her tone wasn’t loud, but it carried weight, each word like a warning.

The man closest to you sneered. “What’s it to you, love?”

“You’re botherin’ my friend.” she said, stepping forward.

Her words made you pause, but you didn’t correct her.

“You’ve got no business ‘ere,” the man growled, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him. 

“And you do?,” she replied coolly. “Say, do’ya ‘ave friends in high places? ‘Cause I do. One word from me, and they’ll hunt you down. They ain’t the type you go lookin’ to make enemies with, that’s for sure, love.”

One of the men muttered something under his breath, probably the same question you had on your mind. Who were these friends in high places? Certainly wasn’t the Smog Boys. You had never heard or seen such a woman slinking around. She had a fierceness to rival Natasha, a sharp-tongue like Becca. The men hesitated, exchanged glances, then slunk away with grumbled curses, their bravado evaporating like steam.

She was with the Iron Rats, perhaps. 

Or something worse.

The woman turned to you, the sharpness in her expression softening into something sly and amused. “You’re welcome.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

A tense pause washed over the two of you, the auburn assessing you with one swoop of her sharp eyes. You wondered if she was searching for a concealed weapon, assessing if you had the strength to take down a grown man with your hands alone. It was a fruitless pursuit, as the chaos inside of you was invisible. 

But you had a sneaking suspicion the woman before you were also more than she let on, maybe something more like yourself, hiding in plain sight.

“You’re far from home.” She commented. There was a drawl to her words, a subtle accent foreign to Sootstone and Grimrow—one higher class, or perhaps from beyond the city walls in the countryside. “Dangerous for a woman of the Smog to be over the river.”

“And how would you know where I keep my home?” You test.

“You reek of it. The Warrens.” Her lips pulled into a honed smile. “I don’t blame ya, lookin’ for a change of scenery.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Let me buy you a drink.” You offer.

The woman grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”

—

The bar was exactly as you’d expected—a dark, smoky hole-in-the-wall with warped wooden tables, a cracked mirror behind the bar, and the faint smell of spilt beer and sweat clinging to the air. It was neither welcoming nor hostile, merely indifferent to the chaos of the outside world. You stepped inside, the noise of murmured conversations and clinking glasses briefly pausing as heads turned to size you up. They saw the woman with you, her confident stride and sharp gaze, and immediately lost interest.

The two of you weaved between tables, stepping over uneven floorboards and discarded peanuts. Wanda—as the auburn-haired woman had introduced herself—walked as though she belonged there, her boots clicking against the wood in a steady rhythm. You tried to match her nonchalance but felt out of place, the weight of the room’s gaze lingering even after it had turned away.

You slid into a corner table, its surface scarred with knife marks and initials dug deep into the wood. Wanda eased into the chair opposite you, draping one arm over the backrest and stretching her legs out beneath the table, completely at ease. She watched the room with a faint, amused smile, as though everything she saw confirmed something she already knew.

The bartender approached, a burly man with greying stubble and a perpetual scowl. Without asking, he set down two glasses of amber liquid and muttered something about payment later. You nodded, and he disappeared as quickly as he’d come.

You eyed the drink warily before lifting it, catching a faint whiff of cheap whiskey. Wanda, meanwhile, raised hers without hesitation, swirling the liquid in her glass with an air of appreciation. “Grimrow’s charm ‘asn’t changed much,” she remarked, her tone light, almost teasing.

“You’ve been here before?” you asked, leaning back against your chair.

“Once or twice,” she admitted, taking a slow sip. “Though it was a little... less grim the last time.” She chuckled, her eyes flicking back to yours. “Still, it has its appeal. Don’t ya think?”

“Depends on what you call appealin’,” you said, glancing around at the dimly lit room. “I guess it’s got character if nothin’ else.”

“Character,” she echoed, raising her glass as though in a toast. “A generous way to put it.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, though your guard stayed firmly in place. Wanda’s ease felt calculated, her words chosen with care. 

“So,” she said, tilting her head slightly as she studied you. “Do ya always bring strangers to such charmin’ establishments, or am I special?”

“Strangers?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like much of a stranger, not with the way you act like you own the place.”

She laughed, a low, melodic sound that drew a few fleeting glances from nearby tables. “I’ve been accused of worse.”

You took a sip of your drink, the burn of the whiskey grounding you. “What’s worse than that?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Wanda said, her smile playful. “But enough about me. You’re the real mystery here. Someone like you, runnin’ around Grimrow? You’ve got to ‘ave a story.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, unsure if the comment was meant as a compliment or a probe. You got the sense the woman was lying, or atleast hiding something. “Maybe I’m just passin’ through,” you said evenly.

“Maybe,” she allowed, though the look in her eyes suggested she didn’t believe you. “Or maybe there’s more to it.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment before she shifted in her seat, leaning forward slightly. “What about you, though?” you asked, deflecting. “What’s a woman like you doin’ in Grimrow?”

The question landed with a faint ripple of tension, but Wanda didn’t flinch. Instead, her smile widened, and she reclined back into her seat, looking at you as though she’d been waiting for you to ask. “A woman like me? Now, what does that mean?”

“You don’t exactly blend in,” you replied, motioning to the sharp lines of her coat, the expensive leather of her boots. “You’re not Iron Rat, and you’re definitely not factory folk. So, what are you?”

Wanda smirked, swirling her drink. “Observant, aren’t ya? Let’s just say I don’t stay in one place too long. Too many people eager to stick their noses where they don’t belong.”

“People like me?” you challenged, leaning forward slightly.

“Maybe,” she said, her tone light but her gaze sharp. “Though you’re not like the others I’ve met. Most witches these days—” She caught herself.

You forced your expression to remain neutral. “Most witches? That’s a strange thing to say.” You continued, feigning nonchalance. “And what about you? You don’t seem entirely ordinary yourself.”

Wanda chuckled, taking a slow sip of her drink. “You could say I have a... talent for recognisin’ my own kind.”

Your suspicion hardened into certainty, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of camaraderie. But something about her tone, her carefully chosen words, kept you wary.

“Let’s just say I’ve been around,” Wanda said, her voice smooth. “Blackstone is full of people. Some are content to lay low, keep their heads down. Others... well, others are harder to ignore.”

You narrowed your eyes at her words, your grip tightening around your glass. “And which category do I fall into, exactly?”

Wanda tilted her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Oh, definitely the latter. You’re not exactly the lay-low type, are you? Not with the kind of power you carry.”

The statement caught you off guard, though you did your best not to show it. Power. She said it like it was obvious, like she could see it written across your skin. You leaned back slightly, studying her. “Is that your skill? Recognisin’ power in others?”

“Somewhat,” Wanda replied, her tone light as if this were a game. She swirled her glass idly, her eyes flicking to yours with a spark of something unreadable. “It’s all about readin’ the chaos, innit? The aura of a person, an object. Every thread leads back to somethin’.”

Your brow furrowed. “So you see power in the chaos? You read it like... energy?”

“Exactly,” she said, flashing a quick smile. “I imagine it’s much like spottin’ a spirit tethered to an anchor—recognisin’ the energy surroundin’ it.”

There it was—a slip. A thread tugged loose. Your breath caught for a split second, your instincts sharpening like a blade. “I never said I was a spirit-raiser,” you pointed out, your voice colder now, every word deliberate.

Her smile faltered, just a fraction, but it was enough to confirm what you already suspected. “I believe ya did,” she countered lightly, though there was a tightness in her tone, a tension she couldn’t quite hide. Her fingers tightened around her glass, the faintest tremor betraying her rising panic.

“No,” you said, leaning forward now, your gaze boring into hers. “I didn’t.”

Her laughter was forced, brittle. “It must’ve been ‘n assumption—”

“Who’re you?” you cut her off, your voice sharp and unyielding, like a blade striking metal. Already, you were shifting back in your seat, the air between you charged with suspicion.

Wanda sighed sharply through her nose, placing her glass on the table more forcefully than necessary. “I’ve already told you,” she said, her voice cool but her expression uneasy. “My name’s Wanda. I read auras. That’s all.”

“This meetin’, it isn’t a coincidence, is it?” Your words came quickly, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “How long ‘ave you been followin’ me?”

The question hit like a hammer, and for the first time, Wanda hesitated. Her gaze dropped to the amber liquid in her glass, the faint clink of ice filling the silence. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost hesitant. “I know more than ya think,” she admitted, swirling her drink in a futile attempt at distraction. “I know you’re... different. Special.”

The room seemed to narrow around you, her words settling over your chest like a weight. Your heart was pounding, though you weren’t sure if it was from anger or fear. “Special,” you repeated flatly, your voice thick with disbelief. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wanda didn’t answer immediately, her eyes still fixed on her glass. When she finally looked up, there was something raw in her gaze, something that made your stomach twist. “You’re not wrong. It isn’t just a coincidence that we ‘ave crossed paths,” she said, her tone almost gentle. 

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, but Wanda reached out, her hand wrapping around your wrist. “Wait,” she said, her voice urgent. “Just listen to me.”

“Why should I?” you snapped, yanking your arm free. 

“The Church of Light is your home.”

The name struck you like a thunderclap, the world tilting briefly, nauseatingly. You stared at her, uncomprehending, the name echoing in your mind. “The Church,” you said, your voice hollow. “You’re with them.”

“Father Leofric—he sees your potential. He won’t harm you. He wants to guide you.” Wanda urged, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Guide me,” you repeated, your voice cutting through the haze of the bar like a blade. Disbelief curled each syllable into a sneer. “Like they guided my mother? Like they tried to use her?”

Wanda’s face tightened, her carefully composed mask slipping. Rage flickered behind her eyes, barely restrained. “Your mother, the traitor. Are ya gonna follow in her footsteps? Run from ya destiny, Light-bringer?”

The name hit you like a blow to the chest. Your breath faltered, and you stumbled back a step, gripping the table's edge for balance. The entity's voice in the Pony Club whispered fresh in your memory, unshakable.

I know what you are.

Spirit-raiser… diviner… light-bringer.

It had felt abstract then, something distant and strange. But now, spoken aloud by Wanda in this grimy bar, it solidified into a terrifying reality.

“Don’t call me that,” you managed to hiss, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Wanda stood now, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. Her composure cracked, and her anger bubbled over like a storm breaking. 

“You don’t understand what you’re carryin’,” she snapped, her voice rising with an edge of desperation. “You don’t know how to control or use it! Do you know how ungrateful you are? Holdin’ onto such power? It’s wasted potential, wasted on you. Do you think the Smog Boys will protect you? Do you think Bucky Barnes will? Pathetic.”

The mention of Bucky’s name stung, the scorn in Wanda’s voice twisting the knife already lodged in your gut. It wasn’t just how she said it, dripping with mockery—it was the storm it unleashed within you. Bucky Barnes was a thorn lodged deep in your side, one you couldn’t seem to dislodge, no matter how hard you tried. You opened your mouth to snap back, but a sudden hush stopped you short.

The bar had gone eerily silent. Every pair of eyes in the room was on you, the tension thick as smoke. Even the bartender had paused mid-motion, his expression slack-jawed. Wanda’s words hung heavy in the air, especially one name: Smog Boys.

Your heart dropped. Of course, this was Iron Rat territory. Of course, the wrong ears would be listening.

Fear clawed at your chest, and you didn’t wait for them to act. You shoved past Wanda, her protests drowned out by your pulse pounding and stormed out into the smog-filled streets. 

Your thoughts spiralled as you made your way down the winding streets. This night was a mistake. This entire saga was a mistake.

You should have disappeared into the countryside when you had the chance. But you had stayed. And why? Because of Bucky Barnes? Because you had let yourself believe, for one stupid, vulnerable moment, that the man behind the brutality might see you as something more than a pawn?

Wanda’s mocking voice echoed in your ears. “Do you think the Smog Boys will protect you? Do you think Bucky Barnes will? Pathetic.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were pathetic for clinging to the small moments of connection you thought you had shared with him. That flicker of warmth you thought you saw in his eyes? It had been a lie, or worse, a cruel trick to keep you in line.

Your thoughts raced, fear and anger warring within you. The Church of Light, your mother, the Smog Boys—your mother's burdens follow you more closely than you first realised. You were tired of running and being a pawn in everyone else’s game. It was a noose tightening around your neck. All this time, you’d thought you were free of it, that her choices wouldn’t define you. But now, it was clear.

They already had.

—

From the moment you’d left the bar, you knew they were following you. You felt it in the weight of their stares, in the scuff of boots behind you, in the way the streets seemed to close in tighter.

The Iron Rats weren’t subtle. They wanted you to know they were there.

You quickened your pace, ducking into side streets and weaving through narrow alleys, but the sound of their pursuit only grew louder. Panic clawed at your throat as you turned corner after corner, the labyrinth of Grimrow offering no sanctuary.

Ahead, the bridge over the Sootline loomed, its iron framework a skeletal silhouette against the hazy glow of gas lamps. Crossing it would bring you into Smog Boys territory, and though the idea of safety under Bucky’s rule left a bitter taste in your mouth, it was better than what awaited you here.

As you bolted across, the bridge groaned under your weight, its boards slick with soot and damp. The stench of the river below was overwhelming, a mix of rotting debris and chemicals that clung to the air. But you didn’t stop. When you reached the other side, you noticed the boundary. It wasn't marked by signs but by a change in the atmosphere—an unspoken rule. Here, the Iron Rats shouldn’t follow. Here, you were supposed to be safe.

But tonight, the rules didn’t seem to matter.

A shout rang out behind you, followed by the thunder of boots on the bridge. They were coming.

You didn’t have time to think, only to run, your breath ragged and your chest aching. The smog was thicker here, wrapping around you like a suffocatingly familiar embrace, but you pushed through, darting into an alley.

You didn’t see the fist until it collided with your jaw.

The impact sent you sprawling, your back slamming into the filthy cobblestones. Stars danced in your vision; before you could recover, they were on you.

Rough hands yanked you upright, shoving you against the alley wall. The cold stone bit into your back, but the pain was nothing compared to the fear twisting in your gut.

“What’d we‘ave ‘ere?” One of them sneered, “Little Smog Whore, all alone.”

“Thought crossin’ the bridge would save’ya?” another mocked, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol. “Not tonight.”

The first punch landed in your stomach, forcing the air from your lungs into a choking gasp. You doubled over, but they didn’t give you a chance to recover. Another blow, this time to your ribs, sent you crumpled to the ground.

The cobblestones were cold and slick beneath you as you curled in on yourself, arms instinctively wrapping around your head. It didn’t matter. They kicked and stomped, their boots a relentless assault. Pain exploded in your side as something cracked—your ribs, maybe more.

You tried to scream, but the sound caught in your throat lost in the chaos of their laughter. One jeered, his voice distant and distorted, like you were underwater. You pressed your face to the filthy ground, the grit cutting into your skin as you tried to will yourself away from this moment. But the pain kept you rooted.

And through it all, your thoughts betrayed you.

Bucky Barnes. The Church of Light. Your mother.

Wanda’s words rang in your ears repeatedly: “Do you think the Smog Boys will protect you? Do you think Bucky Barnes will? Pathetic.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were pathetic for staying, believing you could survive here, and thinking someone like Bucky might care. You should have fled the moment your mother passed. Staying in The Warrens had pushed fate to its limits and now you were suffering the consequences. 

The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by the sound of shouting—new voices, deep and commanding.

“Fuckin’ Smog Boys,” one of the Iron Rats hissed.

Boots scrambled on cobblestones as your attackers scattered, the echoes of their retreating footsteps fading into the smog. You didn’t move. Not when the Smog Boys’ shadows passed over you, chasing the clatter of shoes further down the alley, the Iron Rats racing at break-neck speeds back to the Sootline.

You forced yourself to sit up, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through your body. You dragged yourself upright with much effort, leaning heavily against the wall for support. The smog swallowed you as you stumbled away.

By the time you reached your home, the world was spinning, a disorienting blur of pain and exhaustion. Every step was a struggle, every breath shallow and sharp. Your ribs screamed with every movement, the fractured bones grinding against each other, each step sending a jagged edge of agony slicing through your chest. The dull throb in your face from the Iron Rat’s punch had blossomed into a searing ache, and the taste of blood lingered on your tongue. 

Your trembling hands fumbled with the door latch, and for a moment, you thought you wouldn’t even manage that. When the door finally creaked open, you didn’t feel relief. Just the weight of the smog following you in, curling around your battered body like an unwanted embrace.

The room was dark and cold, the air thick with the musty scent of soot and old wood. You didn’t bother lighting a lamp. Your knees buckled before you made it to the bed. Instead, you collapsed onto the floor in front of the fireplace, your body folding in on itself like a broken marionette. The sharp jolt of the impact stole what little breath you had left, and you stayed there, gasping, too weak to even cry.

A thin blanket was within arm’s reach, and you dragged it over yourself, your fingers clumsy and stiff. It wasn’t warm—barely large enough to cover you—but it was enough to cocoon yourself in, enough to pretend for a fleeting moment that you were safe. The fireplace was nothing but a blackened shell, its faint embers flickering. You stared at them anyway, your vision blurred.

The smog clung to your clothes and skin, thick and choking, settling in your lungs with every laboured breath. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. There was something strangely comforting in its suffocating presence as if it was all left of you now—a swirling, toxic reminder that you belonged to this broken city, and it to you.

Pain radiated through your body in waves. You were too broken to think about the wounds that needed tending, too shattered to consider the risk of infection or what damage had been done to your ribs. 

What a fool you’d been.

The tears finally came then, hot and bitter, spilling silently down your cheeks. You buried your face in the blanket, biting down on the fabric to stifle the sobs that threatened to shake your fragile body apart.

You wanted to move, feed the fire, and bring warmth and light back into the room. But you couldn’t.

Instead, you curled tighter into yourself, surrendering to the darkness. If you closed your eyes, you could almost pretend the smog wasn’t filling your lungs, almost pretend the world hadn’t left you broken and bleeding on the floor.

But no amount of pretending could quiet the truth. You were alone, and the city had won.

—

The morning light filtered through the grimy window, faint and cold. The air still smelled of smoke and smog, clinging to every surface of your home. You hadn't moved from your spot by the dying fire. Your body felt foreign—too heavy, too broken. The ache in your ribs was constant. You hadn't had the strength to tend to yourself, let alone address the mess of bruises and blood that painted your skin.

The floorboards creaked underfoot, and then the door to your tiny flat was pushed open with a sharp squeal. It didn’t take long for the familiar sound of shoes against the creaky set of stairs to echo up the hall.

“Spirit-raiser.” A voice sliced through the stillness, a low growl of irritation. Natasha. “You missed your summons; Barnes has got me playin’ messenger again. Better be a good reason.”

You remained silent, unable to summon the energy to respond. Of course, Bucky would send Natasha to do his dirty work, too proud to face you himself. The blanket was wrapped around you tightly, your face hidden from her view. You could feel her eyes on you, the judgment heavy in the air. Her boots scraped against the floor as she moved further into the room.

“Spirit-raiser.” Natasha's call was sharp, accusatory, “Your wards were down; what were you expectin’? Barnes to turn up and just forgive you for missin’ the meetin’?”

She gave a scornful snort. “That’s not how any of this works, I thought you’d know that by now, witch.”

The silence stretched long, the weight of her disdain unbearable. Finally, after a moment that felt like an eternity, you slowly turned your head. Just enough for her to see the state you were in—your bruised face and the bloodied split in your swollen bottom lip.

Natasha’s gaze flickered over your form, and the contempt was gone for a moment, replaced by something colder, harder. Her jaw tightened as she took in the sight. She didn’t rush to help you, but you could tell by how her eyebrow twitched that she was taken aback.

"Who did this?" she asked, her voice flat but cold.

You looked away, avoiding her gaze. "Why would you care?"

Her lips twisted into a thin line. She took a step closer, her posture rigid. "You know why."

The world felt heavy around you, each breath a struggle. You didn't want to acknowledge that she only cared because of who you were to Bucky, not due to any worry for your well-being. Bucky’s pet fucking witch, injured. How would they banish the skeletons from their closet without their witch, chains, leash and all?

"It doesn't matter," you muttered, a forced shrug, which was then followed by a wince. The words tasted bitter, but they were all you had left to cling to.

"Of course, it matters," Natasha pressed, her voice growing sharper. "Who did it? Who the fuck did this to you? If it’s those Penance Boys again I swear to the gods—"

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You didn’t want to. You couldn’t stand the thought of going back, of being dragged back into the suffocating web of the Smog Boys.

"I don't want anything to do with that family," you finally whispered, your voice hoarse. You clutched the blanket tighter as if that would shield you from her questions, from everything else.

Natasha's lips curled in a sneer, a harsh laugh escaping her throat. She knew exactly what family you were referring to—the Barnes. "It's a little too late for that now, isn't it?" Her eyes were cold, assessing. “You think you can just walk away from this?”

The words stung, cutting deeper than you thought they could. 

"You know I didn’t have a choice." Your voice cracked, and you barely recognised it as your own.

Natasha’s expression softened for a brief moment, a flicker of understanding crossing her face before it hardened again. “I know,” she said flatly, her eyes narrowing as she studied you.

You wanted to scream. In a vulnerable, fucked up way, you wanted to tell her everything—the truth, the pain, the defeat, about Wanda and the Church, about your confliction and entanglement with the Barnes siblings—but all that came out was a shaky breath.

She stood over you for a moment longer. Then, without another word, Natasha turned on her heel and walked toward the door. She didn’t offer help, didn’t offer comfort. She didn’t need to. 

She had said all that she wanted to say.

PART SIX

[iridescentxstars]

-> 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 [PROLOGUE] .ೃ࿐

➳ published: 09.11.24 ➳ banner & divider credit: @wongyuseokie || beta: @pars-ley ➳ circus!au || supernatural!au || genre: horror || dark || smut (future) || angst || rated: m ➳ pairing: various idols x reader (none in this chapter) ➳ summary: during the month of october, a mysterious narrator appears in the bar of a quiet town to tell its patrons about the story of the bang bros travelling circus. who is this person and how do they seem to know so much about a legend that has been around for decades? ➳ word count: 2.5k ➳ warnings: mentions of character death, mentions of mass murder, graphic descriptions of fire and destruction, making a deal with a demon ➳ author's note: all female characters with flower names are actually y/n characters. since the prologue mentions them all at different times, it is easier to distinguish them like this. the individual stories are reader insert. ➳ taglist: @sanjoongie @byunparklimchoi @djeniryuu [if you want to be +/- please let me know]

your thoughts and feedback are always welcomed and are always appreciated. let me know what you think of my work so i can continue to give works and know they are enjoyed.

“Come one, come all, and see the Bang Bros Travelling Circus! In town for one night only, see all the magic and wonders, the freaks and the frights! Don’t miss out on a spectacular evening that’ll leave you on the edge of your seats!”

“Gather around now and let me tell you about The Bang Bros Travelling Circus, established circa 1920, an upcoming circus that many would travel to see. Started by the Bang Brothers, Chan and Chris, they recruited the best of the best to join their growing family and travel around the country – with dreams of the world.” 

“This story, the one I’m about to tell you, is not one of joyous dreams come true but about one man’s need to keep his family together – and how he’ll do absolutely anything to achieve it.”

1924 – The Fateful Day 

The sounds of children laughing rings through the air as Chan wanders through, checking on the progress. It’s their favourite time of year; with leaves shifting into deep reds and burnt orange, the world around them embraces the warm tones and it becomes a picturesque beauty unlike the cold that follows soon after. While winter is never a friendly season – autumn is what suits them the best.

It’s also spooky season, the time of year where they can unleash their inner freaks and give visitors a fun little fright and delight

While the circus has only been on the road for the past few years, the attention they have garnered has allowed their reputation and family to grow. Chan is proud of it, the little family of misfits, all working together and uniting against all odds. While his twin brother, Chris, is part of the Bang Bro name, it’s known to anyone who sees the dynamic of the family that Chan is the one who runs the show. The older twin, the one who shoulders all the responsibility and takes care of those around him like a parent would their child.

Chan and Chris, while sharing the same face, have always been the opposites to each other. Chan, a blonde, was knowledgeable and could have found a respectable job but felt he was always destined for more. Chris, the darker haired brother, enjoyed getting into trouble a little too much and lived more carefree than Chan did. Standing side by side, Chan was a little shorter and Chris was more muscular but it is always clear who was in charge.

Especially those who knew that the circus began to keep Chris out of trouble, while allowing Chan to chase the dream he’d always had.

Putting on his top hat, Chan twirls his cane with one hand as he makes his way over to see Rose stretching, one leg held up in the air in a way that some would consider unnatural. He takes a moment to look over her outfit; the red and black corset she wears fits her body snugly, the skirt short and showing off her legs, and her hair is plaited down her back, tied with a red ribbon. Wow, Rose is beautiful. A woman who comes by once in a blue moon with the purest personality anyone could have. He’s always struck by her beauty, his heart racing as she turns to face him with a bright smile, “Chan!” She waves before running towards him. Dropping his cane to wrap both arms around her waist, he lifts her, twirling her around. “Jongin said that we have sold out the midnight show!”

The Ringmaster; so in love with the contortionist. The diamond ring he carries with him is a constant reminder of the love that he holds for his pretty Rose. A weight close to his chest, in his left breast pocket, waiting for the right moment to propose. Rose and her best friend, Jongin, had joined the Bang Bros Travelling Circus once the twins had gotten established. They became fast favourites due to their friendly nature and magic tricks. Children love them, always surrounding the duo whenever they are wandering the grounds. It helps push their popularity with the public, a family friendly circus with something for everyone.

If he’s honest, Chan had fallen in love with Rose the first time he laid eyes on her, her smile caused the blonde to fumble over his words. Even after all the time they’ve spent together, he’s still at a loss whenever he sees her.

“It was love at first sight, a romance that should have lasted the ages.”

“Apparently the mayor will attend.” The woman’s feet gracefully land on the ground as the couple part. 

“The crowd will be the biggest we’ve ever had.” Chan beams, pride filling his chest as he thinks about how all their hard work is about to pay off. A turnout like this will set their name in stone and allow them to travel further than they have before.

As the couple wander and discuss the upcoming show, arms linked, they come across Jongin arguing with Luna; the circus fortune teller. People scurry past and duck out of Jongin’s way as he waves one of his throwing knives in the air. Luna chews her bottom lip, visibly upset at the words he’s hurling her way. 

“Hey!” Rose detaches from Chan’s side and rushes over to her best friend, easily dodging out of the way of the sharp object in his hand before separating the two. “No fighting amongst family, remember.” She smiles, an attempt to ease the tension, and the taller man runs his fingers through his hair with a frustrated sigh.

“She said I shouldn’t do my fire breathing act tonight.” Jongin’s eyes narrow at Luna, who looks away remorseful. “I’ve been practising for weeks, perfecting it. Tonight is the best night for it.”

“Did she have a premonition?” Rose looks over, watching while Chan settles the other woman down. Luna looks in their direction, nodding her head in acknowledgement which causes a slight shiver to run down Rose’s spine as she looks back at her best friend. “Maybe you coul-”

“I’m doing the act, Rose.” His assertive tone makes it clear there’s no arguing with him. She nods, taking a small step back giving Jongin room to calm down. He’s not always like this, she knows that better than anyone.  He is a fair and kind man, warm and welcoming… but everyone gets nervous before a big night. It’s understandable, right? “This could make the rest of our lives, I’m not going to do anything to ruin this.”

“I know,” she smiles at Jongin and pats him lightly on the shoulder. He wanders over and apologises to Luna. The fortune teller was simply doing her job and while not every premonition happens the way she sees it, she tries her best to aid them all.

That’s what family is for.

“Everyone!” Chan announces to the large crowd, arms spread wide as he welcomes them to tonight’s final show. “Thank you all for coming. Shall we introduce tonight’s acts?” 

There’s a roar of cheers as the performers walk into the ring. Acrobats, magicians, a beast tamer and more, the circus has gained a wonderful collection of talent that Chan is proud of. There’ll be more to come; more who want to be a part of their family but right now, this is perfect. Of course, there are some who don’t usually perform for the masses like Chris and Luna but that doesn’t stop them from being involved in a night like tonight.

They all know how important tonight’s show is, the publicity that they’ll achieve, especially as the mayor and his entourage are in attendance.

As Chan introduces everyone, nobody notices one lone man, a hood keeping his face hidden from sight, sneaking out of the tent, the entertainment causing enough of a cover for him to disappear and create chaos as he intended. Christian Yu, a killer currently wanted for the murder’s of several upperclassmen, had heard about the mayor’s plans for tonight that presented him with a rare opportunity. An opportunity that doesn’t come around very often since the mayor typically refuses to go anywhere like this. His usual place being in his office, surrounded by men sworn to protect him but who could deny a special invitation to a show that’s making headlines?

It seems fortune favours everyone tonight.

While the masses are distracted, captured by the pretty contortionist slotting herself into a small box, and on the edge of their seats when the magician pushes sword after sword into her, Christian makes his way over to one of his hiding spots. An amused smile spreads across his lips when he finds his toys are all there, ready for him to place and set alight. Loud cheers erupt from the big top, the main tent, and he figures he better hurry, not wanting to allow the mayor to leave the tent before the fires have spread.

One. Two. Four. Seven. Twelve… “A couple more for good measure,” Christian says to himself as he places a few of his incendiary devices around the tent itself. “That should be good enough.” 

He lights the final one, the designs meant to allow him time to escape but not every plan prepares for every possible outcome – especially when in a populated place.

While Christian is trying to sneak away before the fires start, a low growl sounds behind him. He stills, feet frozen in place as he tries to figure out the best course of action. He’s not afraid, not entirely, but he’s also not trying to be a tiger’s dinner in the middle of his escape. Christian finds the beast tamer with one of the big cats coming out from the tent, heading towards the cages. 

“What are you doing?” Soyeon exclaims, barely able to keep the tiger from lunging at the intruder. “Wha- Oh my!” She notices the device and Christian’s perfect plan goes up in smoke. As well as the circus.

It happens so fast, the tiger manages to break free, pouncing at the fleeing man and knocking loose one of the ropes securing the tent, as Jongin is midway through his fire-breathing act.

The crowd’s cheers turn to gasps of shock and cries of surprise, as part of the tent sags and catches fire. People start to panic, keen to get out. The roar of a tiger nearby feeds into the hysteria and the crowd begins to push and shove towards the main exit… only to find that it’s been blocked from the outside. Part of the tent begins to collapse and the fire traps the crowd and several of the performers inside, the commotion causes people to fall over, to be trampled on but nobody stops to help. Every single one of them is trying to escape. Trying desperately to survive. 

Nobody wants to die but there’s no way out.

“Rose?” Chan calls out, hearing the screams echoing around him as his lungs fill with smoke, “Rose?!” He coughs, pushing towards the back of the tent where the performers would usually rest and wait their turn.

“Lily?” Hyunjin, one of the acrobats, is in there already, searching for his counterpart. “Chan, have you seen Lily? She was going to grab some water from the carriage before our-” Hyunjin starts coughing, his eyes burning from the smoke and Chan pats him on the back, covering his own mouth.

He can’t find anyone. He doesn’t know if Rose escaped. He should have rushed to Jongin’s side to make sure he was okay. He should have done more than what he did but the crowd’s piercing screams and the sudden chaos overwhelmed his senses and all sound logic vanished like smoke. He can hear the screaming from outside as well as inside, as the tent fills with smoke… something must be happening out there too…The heat, the smoke, the noise, it’s all muddling his mind.

He needs to get out.

He needs to save his family.

Hyunjin collapses next to him, coughing so hard that he’s turning red in the face, or is it the fire? Are the flames playing a trick on him? 

“We need to get out,” Chan looks around as the tent collapses and falls in on itself. There must be something, anything, that he can use to help them escape. They can’t stay here, they can’t. There must be some way out. He’s turning every way to look for something but it’s hard to concentrate when he notices that those trapped inside screaming, their sounds slowly start to fade. Their cries are dying down… or is it because they are? “Hyunjin, we need to go.” Chan tries to lift up his friend, trying to get him to move but he’s met with dead weight. “Hyunjin,” He urges, finding it hard to drag the other man whose body is limp, unmoving.

No, no, no! It can’t be. He can’t be…

“I’ll be back…” Chan lays the man down, brow furrowed as bile burns his insides before swallowing it back down. He knows there’s no use dragging his body through the flames, that on the other side of this burning tent, Hyunjin will still be dead but he can bring him back. There must be a way. His Ringmaster coat is pulled over his head as he rushes for the burning walls muttering a incantation under his breath, not stopping even as the heat sears his skin, the sting becoming unbearable that he grits his teeth in pain but manages to break through the flames.

Don’t look back. As Chan stands up and discards his burning coat, he can feel the heat against his exposed skin, a new cacophony of sounds surrounds him. The circus ablaze and the relentless flames are destroying everything around him. Don’t look back and dwell on the destruction – look forward and find a way to save them all.

The horror around him is terrifying. Chan’s seen a darker side of life, he’s dabbled in it out of curiosity but he’s never fully experienced anything like this. The smell of burning flesh makes its way into the cabin as the Ringmaster’s shaky hands drop the ingredients into the bowl of bubbling liquid. All he can think about is how he should have done more to save them.

“I’ll do anything,” Chan promises to the ominous voice summoned from a spell. One which he has been avoiding ever since he got the book. He knows what it’s capable of, the power it can provide and the cost it’ll take on his soul. But what is there of him, if everything Chan has loved goes up in flames tonight? 

“Save my family, save the circus and I will do anything you want.” 

The sharp blade of his knife slices over his palm,  the cabin grows hotter as the flames surround him.

His world is on fire and now, he has nothing left to lose.

Ding Dong

“Ah, time already? I guess our story will have to continue next time. No, no, don’t fret my little birds. There’s much more than you could possibly know but I can’t tell you everything at once, can I? Otherwise, you’ll never come back~.”

[vizjpmdose]

One Last Kiss Before the Hunt. Hunter!James Patrick March x f!reader. !!: angst, mentions of violence, reader trying to argue with James. a/n: A 1920s type of love. One of the JPM AUs in my draft, I still have more hsjdjakbnca SUMMARY: You're badly upset that James decides to still go to another hunt as if he haven't got mauled by a tiger the last time he came back.

Oh well, today is the day. The morning sun streams through the grand windows of your shared bedroom as you stand in front of your lover, your fingers working on doing his tie for him, a small frown on your lips. The past few days you've been thinking about this day where he has to leave you again all worried for his safety, because the last time he returned, he had massive scratches on his back after being mauled by a tiger.

"You don’t have to go, James," you murmured, tightening the tie just a bit too much as you tug at the knot with some force than necessary. He winced a bit, pulling at the fabric as he spoke in a light tone hoping to untense the situation for you. "Am I to be mauled by your worries before I even face the tiger?" Your lips pressed into a thin line as your hand crumpled the end of his tie in annoyance before you let go and gave him a "this isn't funny" glare.

"My darling, we’ve been over this. I still need to catch that tiger. Who else could take care of such a beast if not me?" He replied to your glare with a confident smile. "Maybe someone else, someone who doesn’t come home with claw marks and stories of barely escaping with his life." You contradicted.

"Darling, what sort of man would I be if I let a tiger best me twice?" He added with a teasing smirk. "A man who values his life and his lover's sanity!" You answered back, as the volume of your voice increased and your breath shaky. His eyes widened a bit. He reached out for you, wanting to calm you down but you resisted.

“I won’t be there when the jeep comes to pick you up,” you spoke while breathing heavily. “If you insist on leaving, you’ll have to go without a proper goodbye.” His eyes widened even more. "Oh? You, of all people, wouldn’t send me off with a kiss? That's far more worse than getting mauled by a tiger." But then you both heard the rumble of the jeep pulling up outside. James turned to gather his things, the sound of the heels of his shoes echoing in the room. He leaned down to kiss your cheek, but you stepped back stubbornly. He chuckled softly.

"Very well my dear, goodbye." With that, he stepped out. Closing the door behind him. You felt like you've been stabbed in the chest as you watched the door close. Wrong move y/n..

The next thing you knew is that you're running after the jeep. "James! James! James, wait!!" You called out as you ran after the jeep. James heard that, a smirk formed on his face as he signaled the driver to slow down.

The soldiers that were watching the jeep leave exchanged a knowing glance and nodded to each other as they saw you. They approached you and helped you climb aboard, lifting you high enough to reach the jeep’s window. "Don’t you dare get yourself killed, James Patrick March." you whispered fiercely, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips while gripping his collar. When you pulled away, his smirk softened into a rare, tender smile. "With a kiss like that, how could I? I'd definitely come back for more."

"I hate you for this," you replied breathlessly, tears threatening to spill as you continued to grip his collar. “But I’ll hate you even more if you don’t come back to me.”

"I'll see you soon, my darling." With that, he gave you a kiss of a promise. The soldiers cheered at the sight. As you both pulled away, the soldiers helped you down again and you just watched the jeep disappear into the jungle.

taglist: @fear-is-truth @laufeyatemysoul @evansroses

likes/reblogs/comments will be very much appreciated!

[lemonmaid]

"I was reincarnated as a baby in a video game that I originally trapped in!"

Finally, the long wait sequel 😭

Warnings: fluff? Malleus is delulu

A/N: I've had to rewrite this four times due to my shit just not saving and I kinda got burned out and gaveup? I'm sorry if the ending looks rush, I will try to make a final at one point

"Sebek!!! Please for the love of the sevens, please quiet down! You're making the baby cry!"

"HOW CAN I? THERE IS A BABY IN THE WOODS! IT CAN BE A DEMON!".

Silver and Sebek bickering, it was almost reminiscing. Well if only they haven't left this place only a couple of hours ago just to re-land back into this place.

'Sliver, Sebek, please! I'm crying because I'm a fucking baby. Come on guys? Don't you recognize me?'

(Name) thought about it, if a couple of hours back in their world was only a few decades for this world- (Name)'s faced paled, 'Oh my God, do I even look the same? Do I have a tail or ears now? Lets just pray I have magic this time'.

"Maybe they're hungry?"

"Let's take them to Master!"

On the way to the castle, the two still bickered, leaving (Name) to remember what it was like before.

(Name) looked around, nothing looked too familiar but Silver and Sebek looked older. Silver had grown out his hair, holding it in a ponytail like Lilia. Sebek had also grown scales on the side of his face, like his grandfather. 'How long has time passed?' (Name) wondered.

Thunder was getting louder as they reach the castle, light spread in the sky. Causing (Name) to involuntary cry, 'Everything is so much louder as a baby' (Name) noted.

"Hey hey, shhhhh, it's okay little one, no more crocodile tears" Silver commented.

"STOP THAT"

"stop what"

"Puns!"

'Yep, just like old times' (Name) sighed.

As they reached the gate (Name) noticed that the Valley of Thorns wasn't so much a valley anymore but a fully flourished town, bustling with those old 1920 wind-up cars.

Sebek turned to Sliver, "stay here while I go fetch us a car, I don't think we could walk anymore with that thing hold us back".

As Sebek left it was just Silver and (Name), Silver had a sad look in his eye while looking at (Name). "You know it's kinda funny... we are kinda of the same".

Thunder roared in the sky. Sliver looked up to the clouds, "it seems like Malleus is upset again, maybe father cooked again" he chuckled.

'Silver has matured...' (Name) wanted to tell Sliver how proud they were, but all that came out was small cooing.

(Name) fell alseep in the car, their small baby mind and body made it exhausting to do anything, even thinking was exhausting.

"Hmm, they seem a bit malnourished". Lilia stared at the sleeping child.

Sebek scoffed, "Well of course, we found them in the labyrinth".

Malleus sat on his high thrown, watching the three bicker around the sleeping babe 'Reminds me of a certain tale'.

Malleus was uninterested, Sebek requesting an audience, rather demanding. Malleus could careless about a baby found in the middle of a labyrinth, he was more concerned about the shining light that came from said labyrinth. He thought about the perfect, he thought that they finally came back after all these years, maybe they had change their mind? Maybe they realized that this world was better than their own magicless, depressing, pathetic-

"Mallllleuus~ you're ruining that family relic we call throne with your nails".

Malleus scoffed, " I don't have time for this. Where is the perfect? Did you two come empty handed?".

Malleus's loud voice awoke (Name), startling them. Malleus aged like wine, his piercing green eye stared into their soul.

Sebek coughed before yanking (Name) out of Silver's arms. "Master! We found them where the light ended...... There was no perfect....".

Green magic engulfed their tiny body bring them close to Malleus.

"Now be careful Malleus~ they are just a babe".

As (Name) floated in the air, Malleus stared into their soul. "You're telling me... that this is all the sevens have blessed us with? How.... generous". Thunder echoed through the throne room, lighting flash. Sometimes (Name) forgot how powerful Malleus was. This was the man who could change the weather based on his mood.

As (Name) floated closer, the more scared they became, not of malleus but how utterly helpless they were, stuck in a baby's body.

"Hmmm, I smell no magic in them, but their eyes..... me of a certain human....from many years ago". (Name) floated into Malleus arms, his breathing hitched. Wrapping their tiny arms around the man, hugging him. Feeling his breathing change and how the storm that roared slowly soothed.

Malleus smiled fondly at (Name) their eyes locked.

"You shall be called "(Name)" in rememance to my dear friend, no, someone who was very dear to me. Now, now do not argue young one That is an honor. I have alot of respect for this name".

'How original Malleus'

"And you shall call me father aswell".

'WHAT' (Name) wailed.

The kingdom of thorns rejoiced when Malleus announced his new "hier", the kingdom could be heard throughout the night celebrating.

Malleus rocked (Name) back and forth as they slept.

Malleus looked at (Name) fondly, “How old do you think they are Lilia?”

Lilia sighed as he watched the celebration down below.

“I do not know, but I do know that the-”.

Malleus growled, “I do not care for what those old bag of”, he breathed, calming himself before he could awake (Name).

Lilia looked at the scene before him, reminding of himself in the past. Scared and alone with a baby, trying to fill a hole on his heart that was empty at the time.

“since the perfect’s birthday soon, that shall be (Name)’s new birthdate, (birthdate), that's soon, right Lilia? We must have a celebration!”.

Lilia sighed looking at the boy he could call a son, “I'll call the Rosehearts-”.

A celebration in deed, it reminding (Name) of that one scene in Shrek 2. No, it was that scene. A large red carpet to the entrance of the castle, the throne room decorated way to elegant for a baby's birthday, clothing to elegant for a mere child's birthday. (Name) watched boredly in Malleus lap, watching many make conversations. Some would occasionally walk up to the two, bow, leave a gift for (name) and walk away.

“Well look what that cat dragged in” Malleus teased.

‘Leona! Ruggie!’ (Name) involuntary cooed. The two obviously aged, while the Fae barely tinted. Leona’s hair gotten darker and Ruggie got taller.

“What poor person had the unfortunate to bed with a lizard?” Leona snickered.

Ruggie sighed, “Leona! Best behavior man-”

“Yes Leona, best behavior we wouldn't want another PR incident”. Malleus smiled.

‘election? I thought the Sunset Savannah was a monarchy? Is Leona trying to turn it to a democracy?’ (Name) was in deep thought, just how much has changed.

Lilia walked up to the three, “Boys couldn't you pick another day to brawl? Leona, hold your comments, aren't you trying to get supporters on your side for an election?”.

As (Name) was in deep thought, they were then host into Leona's arms.

"What's their name?"

"(Name)".

Leoma looked at Malleus with disgust and rage, "you think you can replace them!?".

Malleus glared, "I could never replace (Name) that is (Name)!".

Leona felt rage boil within him, staring down at (Name).

"Your scent... it smells like"

'Come on Leona, you can recognize me!'

"Like shit! Does anyone around here know how to take care of a baby? Their diaper is full!"

'DAMN IT'

"Stop that crying, you have no reason to cry".