#im in the thick of it lads

[house-on-sand]

stumbled upon a ship where they only interact like once in canon but the first fic i read for it was really good and now im pages deep im ao3 tag for it reading fics from 2020 lmao

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

I JUST WANT TO FUCKING DRAW HIM WHY IS IT SUCH A GODDAMN ORDEAL EVERY TIME FOR FUCKS SAKE

[endursent]

My Partner Turned Into A Cat And I Don't Know How To Fix It (4)

【 content; established relationship , fluff , humour , slight shenanigans , gn!reader 】

【 characters; alhaitham , arataki itto , baizhu , cyno , dainsleif , diluc , kaedehara kazuha , kaeya , kamisato ayato , kaveh , neuvillette , tartaglia , thoma , venti , wanderer , wriothesley , xiao , zhongli 】

【 premise; " You have been struck with a curse of some sort which has turned you into a cat, your partner has no idea how to fix it nor how long it might take. Yet he also cannot help but be rather amused by the situation despite the uncertainty…" 】

【 note; im sorry. this is so long... lol. 】

【 word count; 11.150 | read on ao3 | hsr reader ver | gi his ver | hsr his ver 】

Alhaitham;

He usually wouldn’t allow pets in the house… not because he dislikes them—Alhaitham simply wouldn’t want to have to clean up the hairs that fall off you after moving between every spot you lie down in. 

  Nevertheless… here he is, with a brush in hand as he tries to get it out of the sheets. You sit next to him apologetically (getting more hairs into the same sheet where you’re currently sitting, of course) and watch as he scoops it into a small bag. Alhaitham sets the bag aside and picks you up easily with one hand, his large palm lifting under your tummy and plopping you back down on his lap as he turns back to brushing your hairs away. 

  Feeling eyes on himself, Alhaitham looks down to see your large, round cat-eyes looking up at him, tail swaying. 

  He put you in his lap—doesn’t that mean it’s petting time?

 Where’s your damn attention?

  Slightly exasperated, Alhaitham tries to multitask and pet you while he's scooping your hair—but more keeps tossing around with every upstroke of your thick fur… why did you have to turn into a hairball? Couldn’t you have been a hairless cat? He’s almost tempted to just put you in the bag. 

  He’s a respectable “pet owner”, but does lack in one aspect that’s quite important to you, at least… perhaps not all cats

  No kisses?? 

  You’d at least like some on your head—he doesn’t have to kiss your nose or anything. Though you shouldn’t be surprised, Alhaitham isn’t very forthcoming with his affections and most of your casual kisses are by your initiation and his response to it.

  So now you have to effectively smush your furry little head into his face to communicate that you want kisses. 

  It takes him a few tries to understand what you need, but thankfully he got it rather easily, smart lad. 

  Kaveh sometimes catnaps (kidnaps) you for… cat naps. He says it’s nicer than hugging his own pillow—and you don’t particularly mind, but Alhaitham does. Once he can’t find you after a general sweep of the house he figures Kaveh took you again and like a seasoned thief, swaps you out with a pillow while the architect is asleep. 

  “Hmph… he should get his own cat,” Alhaitham says to himself after shutting the door quietly, holding you like a baby in his arms, your paws in the air. He looks down, grey hair tilting over his eyes as he smiles only slightly. “What? You are my cat. Perhaps I should call you kitty from now on, even after you’ve changed back.”

  You tried to climb onto the back of the chain in the study when Alhaitham was doing some studies once, but quicker than you could react—even with these new cat reflexes—he grabs you by the scruff of your neck and hoists you off. “You’re scratching the furniture,” he moves you from the back of the chair and plops you down on his lap. “Do refrain from doing that.”

  Hmph. You wanted to bite his hair a bit… it smells nice. But fine. Lap it is, you can settle for that.

  It takes you about two and a half minutes not to be satisfied with that, and lounge over his book instead, hoping he’ll stop and pay attention to you instead. You have a feeling he would do the same if he were in your position. 

  Alhaitham seems annoyed for a few seconds, but he only needs to stare into your big, cute cat-eyes for a few seconds to fold. What can he do? It doesn’t take much for you already to rope him into whatever shenanigans the day brings, and especially not like this.

Arataki Itto;

You just wanted a nice, cool nap. 

  It’s hot as balls in Inazuma, and you found an excellent spot under a slanted roof. You got comfortable and were half asleep already when you’re suddenly dragged off the crate and raised in the air like a divine heir. 

  Flailing in protest, your screaming of; “PUT ME DOWN YOU OAF” isn’t translated very well into frantic meows and hisses. 

  And of course, Itto has no idea what you’re trying to communicate—in fact, he thinks you’re just a bit surprised yet happy to see him. He sets you on his shoulder and you hold on for dear life. He’s broad, but broad muscles are also rather round and his outfit isn’t easy to grab onto—you just thank feline evolution that you have good balance and can hold yourself somewhat steady. 

  He sometimes just parades you around on his head like a strange hat, he doesn’t even seem to mind the death grip you have on his scalp. 

  Best naps, laying out in the grass on a warm summer’s day as the bright rays of the sun shine down on you. It’s comfortably warm, your fur keeps you cool enough that you don’t get lightheaded—despite popular belief, Itto is not a snorer, but he is a hugger. 

  You’re caged against his broad chest and there’s little escape or ways to wake him without scratching, biting or wailing like you’re trapped under a boulder. 

  Itto is a seasoned pet owner, he has multiple beetles that he takes good care of and thus he’s surprisingly adept at handling you. He doesn’t toss you around (except to put you on his shoulders or head) and doesn’t lock you out of the house or forget to feed you. In fact, you’d say he’s a top-notch owner, though you might be slightly biased. 

  The summer days are warm in Inazuma, and sometimes one just needs to do something to keep their mind off of the heat. Even with your coat protecting you from most of it, even you are starting to get dazed by the sharp, overbearing heat of the sun. And Itto is also very good at filling empty time. 

  He takes you out to the beach, though it wasn’t the best idea—he thought it was genius, the ocean is cool enough, there are not many around on the eastern beaches because of the awkward positioning and further distance from the city… but he didn’t take it into account that you absolutely refuse to get in the water, and there’s no shade. So that idea gets abandoned quickly. 

  For some reason he loves to touch your nose; poke it, kiss it, rub it… anything. And every time he does, you have to wet it again—it almost becomes a funny game to him to touch your nose and watch as your tongue darts out to wet it again. 

  Being unable to communicate with you isn’t a problem, he’s a yapper and can talk enough for the two of you. You try to meow along in response to show that you’re listening, but even if there was no brain behind your eyes, he’d still talk your ears off. 

  He creates a makeshift cat-bed for you out of some blankets and cushions, Itto was rather proud of himself for the craft that went into making it as soft as it is…

  It still always ends up with you on his chest or legs at the end of the night. Without exception.

Baizhu;

He really scratches his head over this situation, how did this happen to you? You had gone out to deliver some medicine to those who aren’t well enough or mobile to come fetch it themselves, and had stayed out far longer than usual—Baizhu had started to worry and nearly had gone to look for you… when a cat with your eyes and mannerisms stumbles into the pharmacy meowing up a storm trying to explain itself. 

  Distressed, confused and much smaller than you’re used to being, Baizhu quickly scoops you up into his arms to calm you down. “Do not worry, I recognise you,” he assures—he feels a little silly saying this to a cat, and has a twinge in the back of his mind that he might be wrong. But the way you’re waving your paw is strangely… human, though muddled by the restrictions of your cat-joints. 

  Changsheng however, finds this HILARIOUS. She unwinds a bit from Baizhu’s shoulders and nearly bumps snouts with you as she wonders whether you were even fully aware of yourself, and after some arguing—in the form of loud yowling and meowing—they concluded that yes, your mind is well. 

  Baizhu tries everything he can think of, but he’s never really encountered a situation like this before and he has to use a lot of his attention to theory-crafting and tests. 

  The only thing that made a difference, was that one concoction he crafted made your ears twice larger… but it didn’t change you back. So now you just have unnaturally large ears for a cat. 

  He smiles sheepishly as he examines you to make sure nothing else is affected. “Ah… apologies, my dear. I don’t mean to laugh… but the ears,” he tries his best not to smile too widely, or give a soft laugh. But it’s difficult, you look so disproportionate it’s just adorable.

  Despite your grievance over your proportions, Baizhu can’t help but rub your ears and scratch behind them. He gives you some good treats as an apology. You reluctantly accept. 

  Unfortunately, Baizhu has a job to do and can’t just close the pharmacy off from his assistance to tend to you. He multitasks as much as he can, but there are scheduled appointments to be present for.

  But he has a good idea of how to utilise you, after all, you’re the usual deliverer—customers likely won’t mind if you’re cat-sized.

  Thus, he gets some help from contacts and a day later you have a fancy harness with a delivery box on your back. Baizhu sets some medicine in it and fastens it properly so it won’t slip off and you don’t feel too constrained… and sets you on your way. 

  You were getting bored lounging around in the pharmacy anyway, so you revel in getting to stretch your legs a bit. You make the deliveries in record time, able to get through tiny crevices you weren’t able to before and hope through shortcuts you didn’t even know about.

  As you return to the pharmacy after the final run, Baizhu smiles and kneels down in front of you, removing the harness and scratching where the lines of it had pressed against your fur. The nice feeling of being pet brings a rumbling purr from your chest and your tail sways happily as he gives you some water to drink and attention. 

  “Good work today,” he strokes between your large ears and rubs his thumb on your cheek. “It’s almost time to close up, let’s go upstairs and continue trying to figure out how to turn you back.”

  The soft ambient light of the room and the sound of Baizhu’s brush stroking against the paper of a scroll makes you much more tired than you expected. You lay curled up on the desk against the wall where he sits and writes formulas and theories, Changsheng slithers up next to you and bundles herself on your back—it’s not particularly comfortable, but you’re too lazy to move, and it’s kind of cute. 

  Baizhu hums to himself and looks at you, his gaze lingers for only a short time before returning to the scroll in front of him.

Cyno;

He stares at the cat in Tighnari’s hands, his eyes look up to the man holding you and then back down. “What.”

  The ranger deadpans and plops you into his arms. “I’ve been scouring the library for days while you were in the desert, I don’t know what happened, but it’s just how they are right now.”

  Cyno lifts you up by holding your torso under your front legs, he peers at your face as you dangle like an idiot but have no way to really wriggle away. “Blink twice if it’s really you.”

  You blink twice.

  “Huh,” he just makes a sound of affirmation, then tucks you under his arm. “Thank you, I’ll take it from here.”

  Tighnari stares at him, unimpressed by his lack of reaction to the fact that his partner is currently a small, furry cat. “You're not going to ask where I found them, how I know it’s them or how my progress is going when it comes to turning them back?”

  Cyno is silent for a beat before he speaks again. “I know it’s them, I know their eyes.”

  Somehow, the duty of getting you back to normal remained on Tighnari’s back, and Cyno sets you down on the dining table in your shared home. He folds his arms over his chest and analyses you, it’s a little awkward—you’re not sure why he’s staring so intensely at you. 

  “This is… quite the cat-astrophe—”

  Oh no. 

  You have no way to stop him, and though you usually let him get it out of his system once he feels the need… you could also stop him once it gets out of hand. In this form, you’re effectively defenceless and unable to protest in any meaningful ways. 

  Thankfully, he does stop after you dive under your bed and hide for ten minutes in hopes he won’t drag you back and perform stand-up for you for the rest of the night. 

  Once Cyno is assured this strange transformation isn’t dangerous nor necessarily permanent, he’s rather laid back about it. He finds it quite funny (evidently) and there’s no way around it, you’re cute like this. Not that he didn’t consider you cute before, but it’s especially unavoidable now. 

  There’s no real way to stop him from making jokes or puns about this situation, it’s in his soul—and though you wouldn’t trade his soul for the world, you get moments of temptation when his brain hyperfocuses on one thing to centre his jokes around. 

  They get a bit tired.

  You follow him around everywhere, it’s not like you’ve got better places to be. He thinks it’s rather adorable to see you trotting around at his heels as he walks through the city, though he tells you to remain home when he has work to do—it can turn dangerous sometimes, depending on the day, and he recognises that your body is smaller and more fragile than it used to be. 

  He does always come back right away, he wraps up any follow-ups and paperwork as quickly as he can—if only for the moments of arrival. Of opening the front door and being greeted by you sitting at the entrance of your home, staring up at him with a swaying tail. Waiting excitedly. 

 Dainsleif;

You’ve never seen this expression on his face, in the moments after you touched a strange-looking artefact, there’s a poof—and your body shifts to that of a small cat. It wasn’t painful, nor do you feel as if you were cursed in any way. 

  “... meow?” 

  Dainsleif stares at you, lips parted slightly, he’s positioned with one foot forward as he had been in the process of rushing towards you to hopefully stop you from touching what you shouldn’t… but he was a tad late. 

  He straightens and takes a breath. Okay… from one mystery to another. 

  He approaches you and picks you up—a bit awkwardly, as if he doesn’t know how to hold a cat—and you’re too confused and disoriented as to what just happened to process you being turned back towards the round artefact. Dainsleif takes your front right paw and makes you touch the artefact again.

  Nothing. No glow, no poofing. 

  There goes his only idea. 

  The following days were confusing and mildly frustrating. It’s been a while since Dainsleif traveled alone, and though he isn’t technically alone—you’re still there, it doesn’t feel the same. He’s quite struck with the confrontation that he’s become very accustomed to your presence and how much he’s come to rely on it. 

  He’s a bit quiet and distant from you for a few days, while it makes you sad—if anything, you should be the one who needs comforting—you do try to slowly approach, you know that he can run the danger of isolation. 

  After starting a flame one evening in the alcove of a cave beneath a bright starry sky, Dainsleif sits down to rest for the night. You walk over with slow steps, careful and quiet, before sitting down next to him. 

  Far enough that you’re not touching, not even your tail… but close enough to be present. 

  His eyes slide towards you, and his head follows. “... what is it?”

  “Meow.”

  His eyelids squint, unsure what to make of your reply. Your answers always make sense to him… but what can he decipher from your feline face? The only familiar part of you is your eyes, shining under the light from the flames. “I see.”

  You doubt he deciphered any meaning from your meows, but he’s engaging with you now. Progress. 

  Trying your luck, you move closer. He stays as he is, watching you closely.

  You move closer yet, your tail touches his coat. 

  Dainsleif sighs. 

  You stop. 

  He can’t particularly feel your presence, not yours—but there is a presence next to him. It is yours, despite the fact he can’t sense it… and perhaps one day, were he to outlive you as if likely, he will have to find your presence in something you’re not. 

  And though you are this weird-looking cat, somewhere between a sentient human being and a feline animal, you’re still you. 

  The same, those same eyes, the very same gaze and mind. 

  He reaches out and sets his palm onto your furry head. Dainsleif pets your head slowly, and you nuzzle into his hand. You sit in silence before the swaying flames.

Diluc;

He can’t help but think that you might’ve done this on purpose. 

  Diluc has been very busy the last weeks he’s been coming back home to the winery late, leaving early—getting up in the middle of the night and waking you up when he goes out for his Darknight hero duties—and though you rescheduled it for next week, missed a dinner in the city that had been booked in advance. 

  He does feel bad, Diluc wants to spend all the time he can with you, all his free time and more—but with the winter months drifting by, business in the winery booms as people stock up on wine for the holidays. Businesses buy in bulk for holiday menu changes, and such. 

  And now, after hurrying back home when he was contacted that “something had happened” to you… he’s standing in front of a cat. 

  He thought you might’ve been hurt, or sick—he had run so fast his hair was loosening from his usual tail. 

  And while you’re not hurt or sick, you are… different. Something definitely happened. 

  He sits down and you climb onto his lap, sitting down and pawing at his chest, small meows leaving your small mouth. Diluc strokes your back and ruffles your fur with both hands. “How did this happen?” he knows you can’t answer him, but he can’t help but ask anyway. 

  You rise up on your hind legs, front paws on his chest as you lick and wet his cheeks. Diluc’s eyes close and his face scrunches up. “H-hey, stop that,” he puts his hands around your torso and holds you away from his face, your little tongue bleping down out of your mouth. 

  A smile tugs on his lips at the cute expression. 

  He still has to attend to his job, but while he usually handles most things himself, Diluc does accept help from his staff now that you’re… like this. So now he has more time for you, which isn’t exactly how he intended to spend that free time—searching for ways to turn you back, and having you loafing on his lap and being unable to stand up and fetch his coffee. 

  He’s not going to move while you’re so comfortable… he wouldn’t do that even if you weren’t a cat. 

  Not the biggest fan of the hair you leave around you, he needs to wipe his clothes thoroughly after you’ve so much as looked in his direction.

  You get so much attention around the winery it’s not even funny, every employee pets you, gives you treats and treat you like you’re more of a royal cat than just a normal person turned into one. 

  Diluc came home one evening to see you loafing on the sofa, a shiny bow tied around your neck and a bowl of treats next to you… in reach for whenever you wanted it. 

  He had a conversation with the staff about making sure you don’t eat so much that your stomach will hurt… and that maybe not make you get too comfortable like this, he wants to turn you back to normal after all. 

Kaedehara Kazhua; 

He thinks it’s adorable, Kazuha is a rather laid-back person overall, and he’s certain you’ll be okay—so why not have fun while you’re like this? 

  It started all fun and games when on land, Inazuma is filled to the brim with foods that cats would love, every shop has some form of fish or vegetables that Kazuha can share with you…

  But as soon as you go out on the open ocean, it’s over. 

  Kazuha has never seen you so violently unhappy on the ship, every rock of it makes you yowl and dig your claws into whatever you’re standing on, be it a crate, table, bed or Kazuha’s clothes (you ruined two pants, but he doesn’t particularly mind). 

  You have an irrational (or very rational) fear that you might be tossed off the ship and into the ocean at the slightest dip of the deck. Kazuha does his best to calm you and comfort you, he even offers to make a harness and leash for you so that he can yoink you back if you happen to fall overboard. 

  You don’t find his idea as funny as Beidou does.

  Thankfully, you don’t get tossed overboard you don’t spontaneously die or have any other terrible event happen to you—and you’re so thankful to touch land that you hop off the side of the ship and to the harbour the ship docked by before it can even properly be tied down by the dockworkers. 

  Kazuha leans over the railing of the ship and calls your name, a bit worried—he hopes you don’t get lost before he can catch up to you. 

  It takes a while for the ship to dock and open up for people to leave, Kazuha convinces another person on the ship to take his duties for a while as he rushes out to find you. He’s not worried you might get yourself in trouble—you’re rather good at keeping out of it, but he doesn’t want you to get lost or have to spend all day looking for you.

  Even though that’s kind of what he’s starting to do right now…

  Kazuha shoulders past the crowd in the busy markets of Port Ormos, it’s early noon and it’s starting to fill up. The Crux has stocked up here often before and thus the both of you are quite familiar with it, but the winding streets and large crowds filling the markets can make it disorienting for even seasoned visitors. 

  After looking around for longer than he cared for, Kazuha finally spots your tail disappearing behind a corner.

  Kazuha picks up his pace and somehow manages to catch up to you, perhaps the soft breeze is on his side, as he swoops up next to you and scoops you up into his arms.

  He smiles, ducking out of the crowds and into a small alley where some crates are stored for the market stalls. “No need to run away, you’re safe on land now,” he holds you like a baby, your paws in the air as his arm holds your back steadily. “Though you are also very safe on the ship, I won’t let you fall overboard.”

  You meow gently, Kazuha isn’t sure if you’re thanking him or expressing concerns… but the way you look up at him in this position is pretty cute. “Let’s find some good food, hm?”

Kaeya;

Funniest shit he’s seen all year. 

  Kaeya tries not to look like he’s very happy this happened—so long as he knows it’s not dangerous or permanent—or that watching you lick yourself to clean your fur isn’t very amusing. 

  He brings you everywhere, lets you follow him around and even holds you and lets passersby pet you…

  Kaeya is just straight-up treating you like a real cat.

  At this realisation, that he was acting like you were a pet, and not his very real (though cat-like for now) partner and previous human… you got angry! you wriggled in his grasp, surprising him and causing Kaeya to almost drop you—he righted his hold and blinked at you with a confused expression. “What is it? Did I hold you wrong?”

  A series of angry meows and swats of your paw later, Kaeya was none the wiser. 

  He tried to bait you to “forgive” him with some nicely cut fish… and it kind of worked, that was some good fish. 

  Kaeya sits by the table you’re on as you gobble down the fish he bought you, he leans on his fist with a smile and watches as you lick your muzzle after getting fishy-oil on it and shake yourself when you accidentally dip your whiskers into the water next to the plate. 

  The sun almost makes it seem like your fur shines and sparkles under it and as you sit down, belly full and satisfied, Kaeya reaches out and scratches behind your ears. “Did you take behavioural classes before this? To behave like a real cat? You’re really nailing it.”

  You make a huffed sound, but reach your head further into his hand. 

  He tries to get you to play with toys, he buys a stick with a bundle of feathers on the end in hopes that you’ll chase it when he dangles it in front of you… but when he sat down with you on the floor of your shared home and dangled it in front of you…

  You stared at him as if he had just grown three additional heads.

  Kaeya pouts, he wriggles it a bit—and though you follow it around with your head, you still sit where you are and don’t move.

  Not until he lowered the toy and the feathered end touched the floor.

  You pounced onto it.

  Kaeya pauses, blinking at you in surprise. You look up like you got caught with your hand in a cookie jar. 

  And then he just laughs, he wriggles the toy again and you swat at it in frustration for making you leap at it like that, you’re not a real cat!!

Kamisato Ayato;

He doesn’t leave you alone. 

  You’re trotting along the engawa of the estate on your way to find a nice spot to nap—and suddenly, you’re swooped up into his arms. Ayato smiles and strokes your head. “There you are, my dear. I was searching for you,” he hums and turns around to walk into the estate. 

  Ayato spends about half the day—and sometimes more—in his study tending to paperwork of many kinds. Unusually, you would lend a hand and help with the neverending piles on his desk, but you’re little help like this… still, he demands that you “lend your paw” and sit on his lap the entire time. 

  It was nice at first, he’s got a nice lap to lay or loaf on, and he would scratch you in spots you couldn’t reach yourself, or just stroke your back… but after five hours, you really want to stretch your legs.      So, you squeeze out from under his arm and stretch next to him, letting out a big yawn—only to find a finger poking your tongue?!

  The bastard actually stuck his finger in your mouth when you yawned. Ayato smiled, all smug and somehow innocent at the same time. You meowed in disapproval, but it went straight over his head, as if he had any idea as to what you had just said to him, insult or not. 

  He also keeps pinching your toe beans, sometimes making your claws stretch out and then back in—even in the middle of the night, he rubbed your paws and stuck his finger between the beans. What is wrong with this guy. 

  Other than messing with you and pulling your leg, he does provide the best food and treats—as usual, you have the privilege of accessing the clan kitchens and being made food by them on a daily basis and it never fails to make you nearly cry with how good it is.       And even now, as you sit next to his desk and his dinner is brought to him (even though you’ve tried to ask the staff to not bring it to him, and that he has to eat outside of his study or else his ass will get stuck to the floor) you are given your own tray of dishes as well. 

  Gobbling down the freshly made meals tailored to you even in this form, Ayato is happy that you seem to have a good appetite. He had been concerned that this… situation might stress you out and you wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep. 

  Despite his endless workload, Ayato somehow finds the time to pamper and take care of you between his busy schedule. He sits down with you in the gardens and brushes your fur, rubs your cheeks and kisses your nose (and you need to wet it again every time). As if you were a little fur baby for him to take care of. 

  He still talks to you as if you were as you always are, though Ayaka uses a baby-voice like one would use with a cat (she tries not to, but fails), Ayato speaks to you normally. He plucks the seeds out of a small cube of watermelon before feeding it to you as he recounts his day, humming in affirmation as you meow back about your own… he doesn’t understand it, but you need to get it out as well. 

  Your snout is practically pink by the end of the watermelon bowl, and Ayato gives you that smile… oh no. 

  “It’s been a few days now, and you ran around the garden yesterday… and now you’re covered in melon juice. Why don’t I ask Thoma to warm a bath to wash your fur?” he asks innocently, and watches in amusement as you shoot out of his lap and flee into the estate. Not a chance. 

Kaveh;

Kaveh gapes at you. You stare up at him. He blinks. You blink.

  “H-hah???!” he scoops you up—accidentally upside down, but you just flop in his arms, still blinking at him from your angle, you know he won’t drop you. Kaveh rights you and brings you nearly nose-to-nose as he stares into your eyes. “How did this happen? You were just—I was… this…”

  He holds you a few centimetres away so neither of you go cross-eyed. “... Do you understand me?”

  You nod and raise your paw, pressing it onto his cheek.

  Kaveh doesn’t move his face away and lets your paw just press against his skin. “Okay, you’re… uh, aware… how do I fix this?”

  “Meow.”

  “...” right. Maybe this was a stupid question. 

  Kaveh goes a bit overboard, he researches the best ways to take care of a cat, the best foods, beds, toys—everything. And suddenly, he comes home after a short day at work (he has more important things to tend to!) with… so much stuff. 

  You stare, dumbfounded, as Kaveh carves out a cat-space in his and Alhaitham’s house… did he get Alhaitham’s permission to do this? You somehow doubt it. 

  After everything is set up, he stands and sets his hands on his hips with a wide smile. “What do you think?” Kaveh asks, looking down at you sitting by his feet with a swaying tail. “I think it fits very well, the colours compliment our living room—and I tried to arrange it in a way that mostly hugs the wall and doesn’t intercept with the flow of the room—”

  He’s rambling again. You don’t mind when he gets going and his interior design skills ARE good, despite it not being his expertise, it goes hand in hand with architecture. 

  But… did he consult the other half of this house before doing this? 

  You found out quickly, you had just settled in the high cat-bed that hung on the wall, giving you a good view over the living room as well as a height advantage to him (now you get why cats enjoy the high ground)... when the front door opens and a very familiar Scribe enters. 

  Alhaitham wasn’t even aware that you had turned into a cat, to him… he just came home to see a random cat in the living room—and that it was arranged completely differently to give you space. 

  Thankfully Alhaitham has a good few brain cells to rub together between his fingers, and isn’t quick to rise, so he looked to Kaveh and tilted his head towards the kitchen… where they had a lengthy discussion, where Kaveh explained everything to him and asked him if it was okay…

  Which is a tad late when he’s already rearranged the entire living room and gotten you comfortable there… but fine. So long as he takes it all down and makes everything as it should be once you’re back to normal. When asked, Alhaitham said he was too busy to help turn you back and told him to consult the library. 

  Kaveh is a hugger in his sleep, and you’re a victim (you love his hugs). He practically wraps himself around you and holds you to himself the entire night—and don’t you dare try to leave, he’ll wake up and whine about it. He does sometimes squeeze a bit too much—you’re not as durable as you usually are, you’re just a little kitty…

  He gets cuteness aggression when you do anything mildly affectionate. Rub against his legs while he’s at his desk, loaf on his lap and slow blink up at him, lick his hand when he strokes your head… Kaveh tries his best not to squeeze you or shake you like a keychain, he bit into his own hand once to refrain from biting your full cheek of food once. 

  He drew a full sketchbook of you over the span of two weeks, he can’t help it—you’re too adorable and he wants to keep the image of you forever. 

Neuvillette;

Not chill about this, Neuvillette was immediately concerned with how to turn you back and if this curse-spell could have any permanent effects on you. He doesn’t really have many tomes to consult, nor are there many people he could ask for advice as to… how to fix this. 

  After some time, and you rubbing your furry cheek on his arm and leg to try and calm down his nerves, Neuvillette does slow down. He’s usually very calm in the face of the unknown or danger—but he’s never had to deal with direct danger (or not, he hasn’t figured out if it’s dangerous or not yet) when it comes to you. 

  Thankfully, you’re still there with him, just… a bit smaller, and furrier… and you smell a bit weird—still like you, but also with a tinge of something else. Perhaps that part of your scent has always been your humanity. 

  And now you’re a cat. 

  He’s never owned a pet before—and you’re hardly a typical pet, and thus consults the only person he can think of. Furina (though he’s unsure she’s ever owned a pet either?).

  And she loves you, she already likes you well enough—but like this? You’re getting picked up, petted, smooched, pampered and loved. Neuvillette just stands a bit awkwardly as Furina gets it out of her system and you get dangerously close to being fed up with her hugging and smooching… you’re not an actual cat! You just look like one!!

  After being freed from her clutches, Neuvillette holds you with more dignity for a while until you feel safe enough to walk around the ex-Archon’s home (and won’t get swooped up again). When the initial chaos is over, he sits down with Furina and they put their heads together to try and find a solution to this. They write down how it happened, what exactly changed—your mind is the same, your scent as well as your eyes. Though your fur has turned a shimmering white regardless of your head and body hair colour before. 

  You look like a big snowball. 

  There’s no real conclusion to the first session of brainstorming, but they manage to narrow down that though neither was there to see what exactly happened, it was likely a spell, or perhaps an artefact you touched (where would that even happen inside Fontaine?) or something along those lines. 

  Thus, Neuvillette takes you back home for the night. He’s a bit stiff around you, he doesn’t interact much with animals and though he won’t avoid them if a cat approaches him on the street (he’d mostly greet and nod at them) he hasn’t exactly had to care for one before. 

  He has to rely on asking you yes or no questions that you can nod or shake your head to, and makes it through the first few days like that. And while you’re… cute? (He’s not entirely sure how to describe you) Nauvillette does much more prefer you in your normal state, where he can communicate with you, hold your hand and touch your cheek without getting sniffed at by a wet nose.

  Not that Neuvillette doesn’t enjoy petting your fur and scratching under your chin, it’s just not the same. 

  It is very amusing to watch your head move left and right as you sit on the kitchen counter and watch Neuvillette prepare dinner—mostly for himself as you don’t eat typical foods now. He offers a small piece of a carrot and watches as you crunch on it for a good thirty seconds until it’s mushed enough to swallow. 

Tartaglia;

Another situation of; the funniest shit he’s ever seen. 

  He brings you everywhere—Childe has no concept of ‘pet-free zone’ because you’re not his pet? You’re his partner? His beloved? Why is he being shooed out, you’re on a leash and everything (half chewed apart because you refuse to wear it with dignity and do all in your power to get free, how dare he put you on a LEASH).

 Of course, initially, he was confused and rather concerned. He thought you might have been attacked, or targeted and thus had been made into this… cat, maliciously. 

  But you honestly seem pretty undisturbed, so he is as well. Calm cat, calm Childe. 

  He dresses you up before taking you outside—not necessarily for fun, but rather because it’s insanely cold in Snezhnaya in these months, and he doesn’t want you to be a block of ice after a few minutes. So he goes and buys some puffy coats, socks and a warm blanket for your return. You feel like you look like an idiot (you already look like a cat…) in all these clothes, but his cooing and smooching make it less annoying—mostly because now your annoyances are focused on him. 

  His siblings don’t really understand that it’s you, not at the younger range—and Childe just tells them that you’re a cat he and you decided to take care of for a while and that you’re busy elsewhere. Tonia doesn’t seem as convinced when Childe keeps smooching your nose and rubbing his cheek against yours. 

  Embarrassing enough as it is, Childe starts to call you nicknames now—it isn’t entirely unusual, but they’ve always been normal… now he’s calling you “Combat kitten” and “Fuzzy comrade”... worst of all was “General toebeans”

  You wish you could tell him to stop, but all you have are meows and hisses. 

  Snezhnayan homes are made to withstand cold and harsh winds, and thus have excellent central heating systems… also known as a fireplace—and a furnace elsewhere. And curling up on some soft blankets or a plush chair by the furnace as snow gathers on the windowsill and winds brush against the exterior of the house… there are few places more comfortable to take a nap.

  Unfortunately, Childe’s humming and singing from the kitchen disturbs your perfect peace, but you’re just glad he’s having fun. You’ll live. 

  And he brings you some treats, places a small kiss on top of your furry head and sits down in the other chair, dragging the one you’re on to be next to his so that he can stroke your back and belly when you eventually flop on your back for more attention. 

  He’s pulled every string and contact in the Fatui to try and figure how to turn you back (except a select few who will either be last measures or just straight avoidances despite advice they might give) but hasn’t had much luck so far. Thankfully you've only been stuck like this for a week or so, and thus it hasn’t been so long to be concerning. 

  Perhaps it’s just a matter of waiting it out, and Childe is surprisingly patient. 

Thoma;

The Housekeeper stands in surprise as a cat is suddenly plopped into his arms. “Ah… is this… a new house pet…?” the Kamisato estate doesn’t exactly have pets, there are some cats that come around and nap in the gardens every now and then and leave after a while, but this cat is staring at him as if they’ve known him their entire life.

  Ayato only hums as he’s already turned to another task, rushing from one thing to another as the busy days of summer come along. He doesn’t have much time to explain—nor is there much to explain. He had borrowed you for a few minutes to help him with something, he turns around for a moment, and the next you’re a cat.

  Thoma stares at him, silent for a time. He’s not entirely sure if Ayato is messing with him or not—it’s entirely possible, and par for the course for his lord—but as Ayato shakes his head and waves his hand in dismissal, he speaks again. “I already have someone looking into it, take care of them in the meantime. I’ll have someone fetch you if there is news.”

  You’re actually a cat. 

  After leaving Ayato’s study and sitting down outside where the afternoon sun has begun sinking towards the oceans beyond the cliff the estate sits on, Thoma stares at you as if he’s not entirely sure what to do with you. 

  Despite the initial confusion (and the followed concern, but it’s quickly dampened somewhat, Ayato has someone on the case and he trusts him to find a solution) Thoma is a very responsible person. He makes sure you’re not uncomfortable at all despite some estate staff vehemently refusing to let you in specific places… such as the kitchen. Fair enough. But there are also certain rooms and areas that have to be kept very clean and they don’t want cat hairs to get all over the place. 

  Thoma brings you around, he’s got many places to be, and he’s sure you’d like to stretch your legs anyway—it’s always nice to leave the estate for a few hours and run some errands. He had to head down to a nearby village and see whether trade agreements were coming along smoothly, they produce a lot of high quality rice and are often stuck in trade deals with large towns and clans for their rice—and for a well enough reason. Recently, Ayato had struck a deal with them and everything was signed and well along its way, Thoma just had to go and make sure they had everything they needed for transport. 

  It was a good walk, but you kept up easily… somehow having four legs rather than two makes you less tired after walking for some hours…? Or perhaps it’s because your body is so light now, you don’t know much about cat anatomy. 

  The meeting went well and you didn’t linger for long.

  Unfortunately, a heavy downpour began to fall on the two of you as you headed back. Thoma quickly scooped you up and tucked you into his jacket—it’s not much of a jacket, it barely reaches below his ribs, but it was just big enough for him to cover you (and lean a bit to cover you better) and pick up his pace to run back to the Kamisato estate. 

  After making it back inside, the rain was as if a waterfall had opened in the heavens to drop down on the roof. Thoma’s hair is wet and sticks to his cheeks as he sets you down. “Ah, that was close,” he laughs softly. “Are you dry?”

  You shake yourself after being pressed against his chest for so long and sniff around your fur, then give him a nod. 

  “Hah, that’s good, I’ve heard cats don’t like water much,” he smiles. “I need a change of clothes, come with me?”

  You let out a happy meow and follow him along further inside. 

Venti;

Cooes at you and talks to you with a baby-voice, he puts both thumbs on either side of your cheeks and rubs your face like it’s dough… even though it makes his nose red and his eyes puffy—despite the cursed allergy that torments his everyday life (there’s so many cats in Mondstadt) he doesn’t let it stop him from being around you. Pestering some healers for a medicine that could help, he feels… less bad, but it doesn’t really dampen the itch in his eyes and throat well enough.

  He doesn’t take this situation seriously at all, at least not nearly as much as you do—you should probably trust his reactions and instincts, as he’s far more knowledgeable than you (even though he doesn’t act like it at all) and if you were in any danger, he wouldn’t be smooching your cheeks and nuzzling you like HE’S the cat. 

  Thus, you try to calm down, to focus on just getting through the days and not feel embarrassed when you have to clean yourself or relieve yourself as a cat. 

  But Venti also doesn’t make it easy for you, he builds a “throne” for you out of books and pillows for you to have the high ground (he doesn’t want to put holes in the wall for a hanging bed) and gives you “Mondstadt’s finest tuna” that tasted very much like a normal piece of tuna, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

  Sometimes you really wonder if he was the one who cursed you just so he could mess with you and cuddle you without you being able to fend him off. Not that you would be particularly opposed to cuddles in the first place? He could just ask?? Besides, why would he choose the form of a cat out of every other pet considering his consistent sneezing up a storm around them.

It doesn’t add up, you discard your theory.

  You can’t sleep in the same bed anymore, both because Venti moves a lot in his sleep and being a cat does not make it safe, he could crush you! (as if he’s heavy enough to do that) and because he might well and truly pass away if he had to be so close to your furry-ass for such a pronged amount of time… and thus, Venti makes a nice bed for you out of blankets and pillows next to your usual one where you can rest.

  There was a time where these new cat instincts took a bit too much over, and when you were chasing a crystalfly on a walk along the roads outside the city, you had hopped onto a big rock—and after missing your chance to catch the crystalfly, you hopped onto Venti and tried to eat his braids. 

  He yelped in surprise, but laughed once he realised what you were doing. “My hair isn’t for eating, it’s no good for your digestion either!”

  You felt embarrassed about this little incident, and he kept making fun of you for it—though not necessarily maliciously, Venti just thought it was funny that you didn’t go for his hat, but his hair instead.

  Climbing to the top of the Mondstadt cathedral or the statue of himself isn’t your favourite pastime, but it’s surprisingly much easier in this form—and thus when Venti suggests you go to the top to play some songs, you had been hesitant at first.

  Making it to the top, Venti sits down comfortably as if he’s done it a thousand times (you sometimes suspect he climbs it to make you feel better, because you know he can just float up with a gust of wind) and pats his lap for you to sit down. 

  You plop yourself onto his thighs and settle comfortably as the sun sinks below the horizon, Venti takes out his usual lyre and tests a few tunes to ensure it’s properly set. “Let me play you something nice, it’ll help you sleep.”

  And it is nice, your ears flick as his fingers dance along the harp’s strings, he hums along with it but doesn’t sing full words—the vibration of the song calms you and you rest your head on your paws. 

Wanderer;

“You are the ugliest cat I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  He’s being dramatic, you’re not that ugly… but…

  Why did you have to turn into a hairless cat? 

  You feel strange, and perhaps you would also feel the same way if you had a lot of hair, but every single breeze makes you feel you are especially naked—because you are!

  Wanderer isn’t exactly happy to have to take care of you—he will do it, of course, but he will also complain about it. You were perfectly independent and functional as a person before you just had to go and sniff some plant in the wild that poofed you into a cat before his very eyes. 

  He refuses to seek help to find out how to turn you back, not because he doesn’t want anyone to know that you’re a cat, but rather because he’s certain he can handle it himself. 

  You whack at his arm with your paw, meowing up a storm after a few hours of not being fed the day after—he had completely forgotten that he needs to prepare something digestible for you… he’s never had to take care of a creature like you before—what can you even eat?? He clicks his tongue. “Don’t swat at me like that. You’re human, act like it…”

  You’re not human right now!! Give me food!!

  Eventually, he does begin to take proper care of you, even though he keeps telling you that you look like a peeled potato… you don’t have many ways of retaliation except whacking him with your paw or hissing when he lightly pinches a big patch of your skin. 

  Surprisingly, during one strangely cold night when you were curled on the bed and trying to stay warm—even the slightest drop in temperature was very cold to your hairless body… you feel something soft drape over you.     Half-asleep and cold, you squint up and scrunch your nose as your whiskers squish against the blanket, you see Wanderer turn back around after setting it over you. Hah… he’s soft under that hard shell as always, even if he tries to act aloof. 

  After several days of no luck in trying to turn you back, Wanderer does begin to cave to asking for some… advice. Not help. Advice.

  With you in his arms, head reaching towards the market stalls of Sumeru city (literally everything smells good and extremely edible) as he passes by, Wanderer takes you to meet with Nahida who is rather enthusiastic about this mystery. She pets you and smiles, humming as he recounts what happened and describes the particular flower you smelled. 

  “Hm, I have an idea, but it’ll take a while to execute… do you think it’ll be okay for them to remain like this for a few more days?” the archon taps her chin in thought, mind swirling with ideas and possible solutions. 

  Wanderer huffs, not exactly a scoff, and clapped his hand onto your head. “It’s fine.”

  But as soon as you returned back home and he set you down on the living room table, Wanderer points at you. “You better turn back to normal soon…” he folds his arms over his chest, his expression isn’t as tight as it was before. “I don’t want to deal with this forever. Just get back soon.”

  You inch closer to him on the table, reaching your paw out to tug his sleeve closer—only to rub your head into his palm. He clicks his tongue. “Whatever… don’t think this counts as an apology. You’ll have to make up for it properly when you’re you again.”

Wriothesley;

You are, quite possibly, the smallest cat he has ever seen. 

  He holds you in the palm of his hand, it’s adorable. Wriothesley cracks a grin and lifts you to eye-level. “Hm, you’re not nearly as scary like this, no one in this prison will listen to you like this.”

  You want to whack him on his nose, but politely refrain—if only because you don’t want to get dropped. You meow at him, ferocious and upset at this situation, you have a job to tend to! Things to do!

  But Wriothesley has other ideas, he sets you down on his desk and sits down. “Now, how did this happen? I assume this wasn’t intentional?” is he teasing you? Most likely. He knows you can’t just answer his questions, and you assumed he would be slightly more concerned when a guard brought you to his office…

  But no, he instantly recognised you and dismissed the guard. Had it been the eyes? The fur? Is he somehow responsible for this??

  All unanswered questions, and though he sends out word to some people he thinks might be able to help decipher this mystery, he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get you back to normal. He sets you in the pocket of his vest (it’s embarrassing that you actually fit) and goes on with his days as normal. 

  Siegwinne was initially very concerned, she seemed much more sensible in her worries that leaving you in this form for too long might be dangerous and that the Fortress isn’t exactly a good place for pets. There are a lot of crevices to get stuck in and things to get hurt on.

  Though you still retain your mind, so you should be alright in that sense… so long as you don’t get overly curious. 

  He is undeniably very warm, and cuddling up to him at night is very comfortable—especially now that you can just lay on his chest and snooze there and not worry about being dragged back into his embrace if you move too much in your sleep. You barely move at all in this form.

  Come morning, Wriothesley was already awake by the time you open your eyes, he strokes your fur and scratches behind your ears. Having a day pass by does make the initially amusing situation a bit more… real. He doesn’t want you to be struck with a permanent curse, or some kind of spell that might harm you in the long run. 

  “Don’t you worry,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “I’ll make sure you’re back to normal soon, just stick close by.”

  And you do, mostly because you couldn’t have been blessed (cursed?) with a normal-sized cat body, but possibly the smallest there could be. You can’t even jump up onto his desk by yourself and have to yowl at him to let you up. 

  He does so happily, surprisingly eager to carry you around and help you with the smallest things. 

  Wriothesley doesn’t even change in mood from amusement when you chase the pen in his hands as it glides across paperwork he signs, you leap onto his arm and try to whack at the pet in either some strange instinctual haze, or an attempt to play—and though you whacking the pen makes it seem like he has the handwriting of a toddler, it’s just rather funny.

  The Fortress doesn’t exactly have a large variety of foods, not in the sense that it can be adjusted for the diet of a cat that isn’t accounted for during inventory fills, and thus Wriothesley sends for specific ingredients that won’t be heavy on your tiny little stomach. 

  And he also… got some cat-related things delivered, like a bed, some string toys and treats. You never used the bed, either preferring his lap to nap on, or just slept in the strangest places he never even imagined you could reach with those stubby legs. 

  But he’s a very responsible caretaker, at least, that’s what he claims as he holds you down to brush your teeth and you wriggle and flail like an eel. 

Xiao; 

Very worried, he didn’t even realise the cat sitting in the clearing of the forest was you at first and searched for you for several minutes before seeming to realise that you had just… shrunk. Into a cat. 

  He stares at you for a good minute, lips parted and eyes large… before your name tentatively leaves his mouth.

  You meow in affirmation, standing and shaking yourself as you try to understand the situation yourself—still a bit disoriented. 

  Xiao approaches you quickly and kneels down in front of you, he lifts you up to your hind legs, puts you down and inspects your ears, your tail and under your paws. You meow in curiosity as to what he is doing, and surprisingly he seems to understand your question. 

  “There might be traces of whatever did this on your body, it will make it easier to track or reverse,” he says and even checks inside your mouth, which you weren’t really happy with. 

  Unfortunately, he doesn’t find any answers, and kneels there rather awkwardly with you in front of him… what now? This situation has stumped him a bit—he’s supposed to be able to keep you safe from all manners of danger and curses like this (perhaps not exactly like this, he never prepared for this exact scenario) and now that he’s not got many leads to fix it, his mind is a bit aimless in where to search for information. 

  He has no idea how to care for you, and while he has vague ideas of the behaviours of animals…they mostly stem from wild animals and their reactions to foreign presences in their territories, or similar scenarios. 

  What does a meow mean? Is there something wrong? What does it mean when you paw at the door? Do you want to go outside? But it’s two in the morning?

  He severely overestimates the portions of food you eat, giving you a full plate of something the Wangshu Inn kitchens prepared on his request (they figured out what happened and have been trying to help him, but Xiao is still trying to be subtle and secretive about the situation) and being confused when you only ate a fourth of it. 

  Are you sick? Was it the wrong kind of food?

  He brings you along with him on his hunts, while he could leave you at the inn… how can he be sure that you won’t get into trouble? The window is high above the ground, what if you tumble out of it? What if you try to climb up on the dresser in the room and get stuck? Or fall down and hurt yourself?

  No, you’re safest with him, even if he has to wield his spear with one hand and hold you with the other. 

  He’s surprisingly good at it too. 

  Desperate after a week of unsuccessful herbs and potions he tried to make, Xiao caves and contacts Liyue Harbour and the adepti that reside there for help.

  It seems his message had gotten into Cloud Retainer’s hands, and instead of any actually helpful advice on how to turn you back… she had sent an entire booklet of cat behaviours, diets and how to take care of them.

  Helpful, sure… but not exactly what he was asking for. 

  One evening as he was out on the usual hunts, he noticed that you were walking slowly by his side, yawning and rather cold so high in the mountains. He didn’t even have to think about what might be wrong or what to do, as he had already scooped you up into his arms and teleported back to the inn, where he sat down with you on the bed. 

  “You should tell me when you’re tired…” he grumbles and tugs one of the covers on the bed to his lap where he wraps it around you as if bundling a baby up. Xiao reaches up and scratches behind your ears as your eyes blink closed in the comfort of being back in the warm room.

  He had only been petting you for s few seconds when he felt you… tremble? There was a strange rumbling sound coming from you, are you uncomfortable? He doesn’t quite understand it… but you continue to rumble as he scratches your head and ears. 

  Ah, was this the ‘purring’ he read about in one of the booklets Ganyu sent him? How… cute.

Zhongli;

“Ah…” Zhongli stares at you, this isn’t quite what he had imagined would happen… he had been crafting a potion in hopes it would help Ganyu sleep better, she had been overworking herself (again) more than usual and was so tired that she couldn’t sleep. It can happen. 

  The combination of herbs and materials required for the potion he had put together wasn’t very suitable for humans, and of course he made sure to let you know so that you wouldn’t drink it… but he hadn’t expected that only being touched by a single drop onto the back of your hand would lead to a poof, and your size being reduced and body turned to that of a cat. 

  You had only wanted to help by handing him ingredients so that he didn’t have to turn around so often… you didn’t anticipate this either!

  He makes sure the potion won’t burn and sets a lid on the pot before turning towards you. “I… had not foreseen that this could have been a danger to you, my apologies,” he kneels down on one knee and holds his hand out for you to sniff. You do so, snout twitching towards his finger before you bump your head into his palm. 

  “Have you retained some sense of consciousness?” he wonders, gloved hand moving to stroke over your small head, your ears flattening under his palm. “I’m sure I can find a way to reverse this.”

  He was sure, at least. But after some research and testing… he wasn’t making any progress—at least, he wasn’t making progress in finding ways to turn you to your normal self without some potential risks or aftereffects. 

  What he did find, was that the herb that you had been touching, and the potion he had halfway crafted was similar to another concoction that he had made before—and the effects of that had only been temporary. 

  It seems you will simply have to wait until the effect wears off. 

  Zhongli had instinctively prepared a delightful meal in the way he knows you would enjoy while you sit in the kitchen counter and watch with interest, your tail swaying happily as you watch him chop some vegetables and set them into the pot… but halfway through the process as he’s setting spices and herbs into the pot, Zhongli realises that more than half of the ingredients in the pot are unsuitable for cats to eat. 

  He finishes the meal and sets it aside, before fetching some fish you had purchased just yesterday that he was going to use for lunch tomorrow and cut it into nicely bite-sized pieces. You tilt your head slightly as you watch—the meal he had just been putting together doesn’t have any fish in it?? What’s it for?

  And honestly, when he plated your food (in a very professional and presentable way) and set it down on the dining table, then set his own on the other side for himself… you felt a bit offended. Raw fish, some rice and a hard boiled egg… next to his delicious smelling beef stew… 

  If you could’ve cried, you would have. And Zhongli felt pretty bad for the rest of the day, he tried to offer you some “safe” treats or make it up to you with some pets and scritches, but you still sulked.

  You had looked forward to this dinner all day…

  Thankfully you got over it rather quickly and Zhongli is glad that he didn’t offend you too badly… it seems having been turned into a cat had made you quite dramatic as well, he doesn’t recall you ever having sulked like this over a meal before.

  Knowing that it was simply a waiting game, Zhongli isn’t very concerned about your state, but he does ensure that you’re comfortable and not afraid—he understands that perceiving the world differently like this can be strange and even scary, but he’s glad when it seems that you’re relatively calm. 

  Your nightly routines are slightly out of whack now—something that Zhongli isn’t very fond of, he quite likes it that after cleaning up after dinner, the two of you settle in the living room for a while. He tends to read and it varies what you get up to, but it’s always a shared time where you sit in silence or chat about your days.

  He does talk about his day to you, sitting on the comfortable seat in the living room with you on his lap, Zhongli recounts his day to you and expresses that he hopes you weren’t too bored alone in the home today, and that perhaps he can convince the director to allow him to bring you for a day. He strokes your back and smiles as a rumbling purr leaves you, he scratches under your chin and touches his forehead to yours as you seem to have fallen asleep on his lap. He reaches for his book and decides to read for a while before taking you to bed. 

  Despite the mishap, he’s glad you’re safe—he will endeavour to be more careful in the future and ensure you won’t be hurt or disturbed by his work. 

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Blue Magic

How I imagine the lads men (pre-relationship) react to you verbally enjoying them gently greasing your scalp. A/N: This one is specifically for my black girls and anyone with thick hair who understands what it's like to have to grease your scalp. Also for those who understand what it was like growing up with your momma and aunties brushing your neck, ears, forehead, and inner most thoughts. Getting popped with the comb for moving too much and the dread of knowing they’re about to pull out that hot comb. [Requested by: Anon]

Summary: He was always curious when you would turn down plans because you needed to wash your hair. He never understood why you had Wash Days instead of just a quick wash while you're showering. Since you had a crush on him you took the time to explain how your hair is different from his and how there's no such thing as a quick wash while showering for you. You decided to let him see what all goes into your Wash Days. Now here you were sitting crisscross on the floor in front of your full length mirror surrounded by all your hair tools. You just finished blow drying your hair in four sections and it was a relief to drop your arms and relax them for a while. You hung your head knowing that you had one last step to do before you could lay down.

“Do you need some help?”

Zayne

Zayne would be so meticulous with his hands as if he were actually doing surgery on your hair. He would be so gentle gliding the rat tail comb through your roots and gently spreading the grease on your scalp and slightly massaging as he went. “I’ve never had someone be this gentle with my scalp” You couldn’t help, but sigh however your sighs seemed to come out as soft whimpers. “Right there, scratch right there” he did exactly as you said and felt his ears getting hot in the process. Hearing you moan and whimper out soft “That feels so good” and “wait wait massage right there” followed by the most sultry sound he’s ever heard come out of you.

Nearly halfway through he's standing at attention. His nerves are on edge and he doesn't want you to see him like this. "I’m sorry, but I have to head home I have an early out-patient to attend to in the morning" You turn suddenly making him jump. "We're only half done" Your words came out more whiney than you intended.

You’re a little confused at his sudden need to leave, but you nod and stand to walk him to the door. "I'll make it up to you. Good Night." You don’t miss the very obvious bulge in his pants as he quickly grabs his coat and slips out your front door.

Rafayel

Rafayel is unintentionally rough as hell when he starts parting your hair. “Ow! why are you tugging so hard?!” You smack his hands away opting to do it yourself, but he begs to try again and you give in to those big puppy dog eyes he has. “Be gentle!”

Second time around he’s so gentle it almost feels like a lovers touch as he massages the section of your hair before going through with the rat tail comb like you showed him. You can’t help the noises that escape out of you as he smears just the right amount of grease on your scalp. “Are you always this vocal during this process?” He asks in almost a whisper. You try to turn to look at him, but he quickly snaps your head back towards the mirror, hiding his face behind your head. “It feels good when someone else does it” Another sigh leaves you as he keeps going “Please don’t stop” Once he reaches the last section you end up leaning slightly back into him and thats when you feel something poking your lower back.

Y/N: Raf are you…..are you turned on? Rafayel: You’re the one moaning my name while im doing this! Y/N: So it’s my fault? Rafayel: YES Y/N: pokes it Rafayel: do that again and im calling the authorities

He quickly excused himself out of the room while you cleaned up your mess of hair products.

Xavier

Xavier is hanging on by a single worn thread while he’s greasing your scalp. He can barely make it through the first section before he’s already nearly panting listening to you moan “Thank you Xavier” Hearing his name on your lips like that had him near feral. “You’re welcome” He whispered in a raspy tone. You feel him constantly adjusting his position and clearing his throat while he slowly works his way through the next section of hair. “Right there rub right there” You whimper and he inhales deeply as he does as you say. “Right here?” His voice is low and gravelly it actually sends tingles through your body.

Xavier literally can’t take it. His composure was slipping the minute you sighed his name. He managed you finish the job only to turn and tilt your head back to look in your eyes. The tension was always thick between you two. His gaze bounced from your eyes to your lips and you melted when he whispered “Can I kiss you?”

Sylus

Sylus is outing you right then and there he don’t care. The minute you whimper from his fingers gliding across your scalp he’s smirking. He’s so gentle while he does it you almost forget this is a Mafia Don that you have greasing your scalp in the middle of the night. “People would get the wrong idea if they could hear you now” He teased in that sultry voice of his. You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you that quickly dissipated the second he started massaging your scalp again. “It just feels so good” You whimper again while he slowly works his way through your hair. “I can tell”

He would be able to hold his composure throughout the entire process and by the time he’s done you can finally think clearly. You quickly slip your bonnet on and turn to face him thats when you notice his red cheeks and ears. “You’re never going to do this for me again will you?” You see the corner of his mouth quirk upwards.

He’s enjoying this.

“I don’t mind making you moan again” You shove his shoulder and he just chuckles as you pound your fist into his chest. “You owe me a scalp massage now sweetie”

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Found | 141 & Reader

Summary: When you’re introduced to your new foster parents, a bear hybrid, harpy, werewolf and wraith, four big scary men, you’re not sure about how things are going to turn out. Your first day with them turns out more okay than you expected.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Warnings: lotta anxiety, reader is very quiet (sorta non-verbal?), descriptions of sharp teeth, scars, sharp claws, flashbacks (trauma), boundaries being put down (gently), BIG FAT SPIDER

A/N: so this happened…hope you enjoy this word vomit i spewed onto my google doc, and plsss keep the lovely requests coming, I love them<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

The front door shut, and the social worker left, leaving you alone with all these tall, strong men who now just stared at you. You stood near the door, backpack over your shoulder, tense as if ready to bolt at the slightest thing.

The men seemed to notice this, the bear hybrid and the harpy exchanging glances, before the former slowly approached you, taking note of how you kept your feet angled to the door, a sure sign you were ready to run. He didn’t blame you. The past children they had fostered had been the same at first, timid, shy, spooking easily. You just seemed to have a worse case of it.

He stopped about a foot in front of you, slowly getting on one of his knees to be almost at eye level with you. The air felt suffocatingly thick. You returned his level gaze with a wary, untrusting one, like a wild animal’s.

“I’m John,”

He spoke. His voice felt like a Sunday night bonfire, the whiskers of a cat, and warm ashes still flickering red. It was a bit comforting, and you wondered why until you saw the way his chest was shaking just a little bit.

He was purring.

You hadn’t even known bear hybrids could purr, but as soon as you realized that, you were back on edge. He knew that even if you were fully human, your body would still relax in response to most forms of purring. He was essentially using your body’s natural responses against you.

“And you are?”

He then asked, bright blue eyes watching you. Observing. All of them were, you could feel it. Especially the maybe-wraith, you could practically feel his eyes digging holes into you.

“Y/N.”

You replied. Your voice shook despite your best efforts to keep it level and calm despite the storm of emotions you were experiencing.

You watched as the werewolf almost lunged forward, stopped only by the wraith, who placed one hand on his shoulder, shaking his head, and the wolf let out a low sound that looked like a whine, ears flattening, but the wraith didn’t budge. Strange.

John nodded, getting back up off of his one knee, gesturing to each other members of the pack one by one, the harpy was first.

“This here is Kyle,”

Kyle gave a gentle smile, eyes full of what seemed like empathy for how uncomfortable he must know you are. They probably knew every single thing you were feeling, considering a hybrid’s insanely good sense of smell. His feathery wings puffed up, then resettled in a matter of seconds.

“Here’s Johnny, but we call ‘im Soap.”

The werewolf. You didn’t know why he was nicknamed ‘Soap’, and you didn’t want to know, either. He gave a sheepish smile, pearly whites gleaming.

“And we’ve got Simon, our Ghost.”

The wraith. He gave a small nod, which looking back, was more like a jerk of his head. His eyes were a dark chocolate brown.

You quickly decided that Kyle was your favorite, for now. John was a close second, and Johnny and Simon were on an equal level.

“Kyle, take ‘er to the room while me and the lads have a chat.”

John said, gesturing you over to Kyle, who waved you over, leading you out of the main living room area, and down a hallway to the right. You dragged your feet, curious to hear what John was having a ‘chat’ with the other boys about.

“…need to quit chompin’ at the bit, Soap, making the girl nervous.”

“Cannae help it, she’s so small—“

“You’d better help it, ‘fore I do for you, Johnny.”

The conversation continued, Kyle glancing back, noticing you lingering back, raising a brow with a little knowing smirk.

“C’mon, nosy. We spent a good few hours putting this room together for you.”

Cheeks heating slightly at being called out, you picked up the pace, beat-up sneakers padding against the wooden floor as you followed the large harpy, observing his feathers, most of them being long, a shade of honey brown fading into a warm blonde, shining under the light, shifting into different shades when you changed the angle you were looking at them from. The shorter feathers looked fluffier like they were just growing in.

You saw a pin feather on his right wing, sandwiched between other feathers.

Unable to resist the temptation, you reached for it, fingers gently enclosing on the crackly, thin casing around the feather, pulling, only for his wings to twitch as he whirled, startling both of you, as you held what had been of the pin feather in your hand.

Both of you stood still for a moment before he must’ve realized what happened, letting out a huff of laughter with an amused sigh. His hand reached out, giving you a little pat on the head.

“Thanks, kid. Just ask next time, yeah? My wings are sensitive.”

He said, and you nodded, shock wearing off right as a voice came from down the hallway.

“Everything alright?”

Sounded like John.

“Yup, just having a grooming session.”

Kyle called back, chuckling to himself as he led the way to a doorway, opening the door to reveal a decent-sized room with a bed, a dresser, and a little desk across from the bed. The walls were a light purple. The floor was wood, with a small circular fuzzy carpet in the room.

It looked comfortable.

Kyle stepped out of the way, gesturing for you to enter your room, and you hesitantly stepped in, eyes scanning every square inch. There was a window to the right of your bed, locked, probably.

After it passed whatever mental test you’d conjured up, you walked over to the bed, nose wrinkling in mild distaste at how the bed was set. The blankets were tucked tightly into the mattress, so you yanked them out, before taking the pillow, putting it on the floor, and kicking the absolute life out of it for a few minutes until it was placed back onto the bed.

You then proceeded to plop into the mess of blankets and sheets, pulling the blanket up over you. It was soft and fluffy but not fuzzy.

“She’s nesting-!”

You heard a voice squeak from the entryway, only to see Johnny grinning like a maniac, pushing Kyle out of the way to see into the room. John was behind him, giving an unimpressed flat stare to the excited Scottish man, and Simon was looming behind Kyle, tall enough to see over his wings.

“Humans don’t nest, Soap.”

Kyle said flatly, and Johnny threw him a glare.

“Well, she’s doing whatever the human equivalent to nesting is.”

He retorted, and Simon gave him a look that said he thought he was brain-dead.

“Making the bed?”

He said, and Johnny huffed, getting into it with Simon while you watched from your bed, listening to them argue, until you got sick of it and pulled the blanket over your head, hiding under it.

“How ain’t that nesting—?”

“I make my bed every mornin’. Don’t mean I’m nesting.”

“Can it, both of you.”

They both shut up after the verbal admonishment, John sighing, and a moment later a man approached the bed slowly, making sure you could hear the wood creaking beneath his feet. He didn’t want to surprise you. You made your mental bets between which one it was.

Johnny’s head popped up from under the blanket a few moments later.

“John says I’m not being very hospitable,”

He said, as if he was whining to you, giving a loud, dramatic sigh that you heard John, who seemed to be walking down the hallway now, grumble at. It almost made you laugh, and he must’ve seen the smile pulling at your lips because he grinned big and wide. Only his head remained under the blanket, the rest of his body kneeling beside the bed.

“How about we play a game, hm? Help ya learn the house a lil while Price and Gaz make dinner.”

You paused, before nodding. The house didn’t have too complicated of a layout, you thought. You’d seen what looked like a second floor, maybe there was a basement.

A hand slid under the blanket, calloused and rough, and you promptly ignored it, simply sliding the blanket off. You weren’t there yet, not with any of them. It would take a good while before you started willingly touching.

“How about…tag?”

You shook your head almost immediately at that one, and once he really thought about it, it made sense. No child would want to be chased around by a big hybrid in a place they don’t know.

“Hide n’ seek?”

You didn’t say anything at first, until nodding.

“You wanna hide or seek first?”

“Hide.”

Hiding was essentially the only part you were good at. You didn’t have the nose to sniff out hiders, but you did have plenty of practice hiding, for various reasons. Being a human wasn’t the easiest. You were prey, essentially, easy to be picked off when alone or vulnerable.

Johnny’s big hand tugged the blankets off, getting up off of his knees, gesturing to the doorway where Simon loomed, sharp eyes watching the werewolf, a slight narrowing of them when they both exchanged gazes, silently communicating.

Johnny turned to face the wall once you both got out into the hallway, the door clicking quietly shut while Simon watched.

“I’m gonna start counting, I’ll give ye a good…20, how’s that?”

He asked with a grin, and you nodded. You didn’t know this house other than the hallway, your room, and the main living room in the front, but you were determined to find a good hiding spot. It might’ve been years since you last played hide and seek with someone his age, but you were competitive.

“20, 19….”

You bolted.

Down the hallway, taking a right, seeing a staircase. You decided to go up.

“18, 17…”

A mini-hallway up the stairs. You took your hoodie off as quickly as possible, opening a door and randomly throwing it inside. The scent would probably throw him off.

“16, 15…”

You slid down the stairs, running down the same hallway, taking another turn, moving past the kitchen where John was stirring a pot and Kyle was cutting vegetables. They raised a brow but didn’t comment as you pulled one shoe off, tossing it around a corner.

“14, 13, 12…”

He was speeding up, the cheat.

You took the other shoe off, finding another door to open, this time being a closet, before throwing it in and shutting the door behind you.

“11, 10, 9…”

With three different things to throw the freakishly good nose most werewolves had off, you figured it was time to find a hiding spot. He was in the single digits now.

“8, 7, 6….”

You rounded a corner, finding a door with a different style handle than the others. It was golden and round, older, while the others were silver and slim. You opened it and were met with darkness and a staircase.

You hesitantly descended, the light switch not working.

“5, 4…”

You needed to find a spot. Now.

The scent of laundry detergents hit your nose when you finally reached the bottom, daylight from a small basement window providing the bare minimum of light to let you see. To the right of the stairs, there was a thin little room that was a laundry room.

All the scents would surely mask yours well, too.

“3, 2, 1…”

You heard his muffled voice grow more excited when he was finally close to being able to start his hunt.

You found a shelf next to the wall with a little crawl space underneath the different cleaners it was holding. Flattening your body to the floor, you squirmed under, struggling to breathe for the first few moments until you adjusted.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

He called out, and you heard the creaking of the floorboards under his feet as he stomped around the house, John calling something out you couldn’t hear from down here.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you suddenly noticed a giant spider and her web only a foot from you. Your skin was suddenly crawling, your imagination running wild, and you heard doors opening and closing upstairs.

The first one.

The second.

The third, he must be getting close.

He’d gone through all your distractions. You heard his heavy panting from here, heard the footsteps coming down the rickety old stairs.

He didn’t even try to flick on the switch.

He wouldn’t have to, not with his built-in night vision. The huffing grew louder as you heard his mutt-like sniffing, deep and full. Your skin began to crawl for a different reason, limbs tensing unconsciously.

He was a predator. He had teeth that could shred you within seconds, claws that could rip you open. And then you weren’t under the shelf anymore.

The scent of wet hay and animals surrounded you as the itchy sawdust rubbed at your skin, leaving it red and irritated.

You heard him before your eyes adjusted enough to see him. The furry form, at least three times bigger than your small body, claws dragging against the walls of the wood, teeth gleaming in the full moonlight.

He wasn’t just finding you, he was enjoying this.

Enjoying being able to sniff out your terror, the scent of it soaking through your clothes without you even knowing.

He paused.

The hay crunched beneath his feet as he shifted, taking a deep whiff of the air, a sound coming out of him resembling a crow’s raspy caw, except it sounded like an imitation of laughter coming from his maw.

The hay crunched again. Closer.

You held your breath, silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

A tail swept by, as if he’d somehow not seen you, but then—

“Rah!”

The familiar Scottish lilt to his voice felt all too comforting compared to what you’d just remembered moments earlier. You think you screamed. Your mouth had opened, you just hadn’t heard the noise coming out.

You tried to make sense of it.

Key word, tried.

He must’ve seen how you sniffled, body shaking slightly and breathing unsteady. He noticed. His hand swiped the large spider, which had been crawling ever close while you hadn’t even noticed, away, his other hand going to lift the shelf for you to get out.

“Jus’ a spider, nothin’ to worry about.”

He mumbled with a small chuckle, watching as you scrambled out from under the old shelf, walking over to the stairs without even needing him to lead you around. It seemed you were eager to get out of the dark.

He didn’t blame you.

The stairs creaked behind you as he headed up, swiping some dust that clung to your hair and clothes still. When you opened the basement door after fumbling for the handle for a moment, you were greeted with your shoes and jacket right near the entrance.

“Clever trick ye pulled, never had such a wee little bairn pull ‘at on me.”

He said with a warm chuckle. At least you’d tricked him a little bit. Even if he’d still found you depressingly fast.

You stepped into your shoes, shifting around until your feet were in properly, picking your jacket up and carrying it with you as you stepped to the side, meaning to let Johnny through, only for your back to hit a warm body as you let out a noise of surprise, whipping your body around as you flinched and jumped nearly a foot back.

It was Simon, who didn’t react much, other than a subtle tilt of his head. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over, looking as if he knew something was off.

Johnny raised a brow at the silent staring contest between you and the wraith, shutting the basement door behind him as Gaz’s voice called for them.

“Dinner!”

Simon gave you one last glance, before turning and walking to the table. Johnny flashed you a sympathetic grin.

“Don’ be scared of the brute, he’s really a sweetie underneath it all, just gotta get used to ye is all.”

He said, a bit quieter as if not wanting Simon to overhear. You watched him walk away, having a feeling he heard every word, and that he heard a lot more than he let on.

Johnny tried to place a hand on your back which you jerked away from, murmuring an apology as you followed him to the kitchen. The game of hide and seek helped you learn the layout of the house, but it would still take a while to fully memorize.

The smell of something delicious, namely potatoes and some form of meat and barbecue, reached your nose as Kyle pulled a chair out for you, setting his hat on the seat to your right to claim it, Johnny sitting across from you. Simon’s seat was on one end of the table, and you assumed Price’s seat was on the other end.

It was some form of pot roast, you quickly learned, bowls being passed around the table with napkins and silverware. A glass full of water was put near your plate. The rest of them settled for tea except Johnny. Kyle put a spoonful of sugar and a small container of cream in his tea, mixing it neatly in. Simon drank the tea black. John put half a container of cream in, mixing it in and taking a long drink.

Johnny settled for a can of orange soda the others called ‘pop’.

John put his hands together, bowing his head and closing his eyes in a gesture of prayer. Simon didn’t. Johnny poorly mimicked John, clearly more interested in his food. Kyle mumbled something under his breath on his own, digging into his food right after.

You’d been in houses with religion before. It wasn’t as surprising as it had been at first, with the different concepts of prayer and gods and everything that came with it. You just didn’t know exactly what to do.

You looked around the table, John praying, Kyle eating quickly but nearly, and Johnny quickly mumbling under his breath. Simon was the only one eating slowly, taking his time. Probably because of the scar that ran over his lips, leaving a bit of his canine exposed.

He didn’t get the chance to eat fast.

You accidentally locked eyes with him, unsure of what to do. It felt rude to stare, but you couldn’t just back down from the silent challenge in his brown eyes, seeming to dare you to keep looking, assuming you wouldn’t.

He’d watched your eyes dart around, a look he’d seen too many times before. You didn’t know what to do.

He paused, still not breaking eye contact as he slowly blinked, scarred fingers closing around his glass as he raised it to meet halfway between you two. It took you a few seconds to realize what he was doing, brows furrowed in confusion before releasing with realization as you picked your glass up, lifting it to clink against his.

The sound brought both Johns out of their prayers, John chuckling as he raised his glass, Johnny and Kyle soon to follow.

“To our new little bugger.”

Simon muttered, brown eyes glittering with mirth as he glanced down at you, lips twitching almost up.

And as the rest of them filled the space with chatter and words, you thought that maybe, even if it wasn’t always easy or comfortable at first, you could be happy here.

Maybe.

Next —>

Tags:

@thriving-n-jiving

@simonrileysown

@theartgremlin2 

@theartgremlin

[strwbrychffoncake]

"ive got my love to keep me warm,, 1.7k words synopsis: cozy mornings with xavier contains: afab!reader (cleavage is mentioned once ,he squeezes ur boob lol) ,fluffy to slight nsfw?? (veeery suggestive but nothing explicit) ,teasing ,kissing ,playful xav ,sleepy xavier (when isnt he) ,he calls you 'miss hunter' teasingly ,playful banter at the end ,reader is wearing a cami + panties (im projecting) ,i think thats it *gulps* note: this is my first lads fic (yay?) here's my peace offering while i try to unravel all of my other ideas into comprehensible stories.. i hope i did him justice for the xavier kissers here :x

-

peaceful.

thats how you would describe these mornings in a single word.

when the sun has yet to fully ascend beyond the horizon, its warm light slowly reaching down to the ground below, slowly enveloping every building— a gentle wake up call— its effort is futile to chase away the thick blanket of snow that's encased every inch of the city.

the world was silent, peaceful, taking its time to slowly wake from its slumber before the usual bustle of the day would settle in.

but today was different for you.

today was your day off.

something you were ever so grateful for as you cracked your eyes open, quickly being reminded that you didn't need to roll out of the warm confines of your bed, reach for your uniform in a haste, and decide what the quickest breakfast option would be this time while brushing your teeth—

but instead, you close your eyes once more, basking in the quiet calm of the morning, sinking further into the comfort of your soft mattress and warm comforter.

"..."

a shifting movement causes you to peek an eye open again.

you look down, met with the face of none other than xavier, still sound asleep, arms wound around your waist and head pressed against your chest.

you grin, bringing your hands up from under the covers, brushing up his back before trailing over the nape of his neck before landing on the top of his head, fingers tangling in his soft locks.

at your ministrations, he nuzzles deeper into your chest (his favorite pillow), a look of satisfaction spreading across his lips in his sleep.

you can only smile at the sight, admiring him.

xavier was beautiful; this was a well-known fact and something that you couldn't help but to think the first time you laid eyes on him back then.

even in his sleep, his beauty only multiplied. his breathing calm and even, cheeks soft (right one cutely squished from being pressed into your chest), his pretty long lashes stemming from his unmoving eyelids, his slightly-chapped pink lips....

you move your right hand from his hair down to his face, tracing the outline of his eyelids, his cheekbones, the curve of his nose—

he scrunches it at your touch, causing you to pause, but he still doesn't wake.

you cant help but to admire his serene expression. even if he always appeared calm and put together, there were moments where his worry, anxiety, or irritation bled through (namely on more difficult missions together— though, whether you realize it or not, in these moments he's always concerned over your safety and being able to help you out, should you need it) so seeing him like this was an especially pleasant sight to you.

you trail your index finger down, tracing his upper lip back and forth. when you go to trace vertically from his cupids bow to his inner bottom lip, your finger is met with a kiss, making you freeze.

"is my face that strange, miss hunter?"

he peeks at you with one eye from his spot as you snatch your finger back, startled by his cute, sleepy (yet equally attractive) mumble, not realizing he had woken up, having been too lost in your thoughts.

he only laughs softly at this, both eyes open yet half-lidded as he reaches a hand out from under the covers to grab your hand and drag it back towards his lips, planting a kiss onto your knuckles.

"is this a new mandatory inspection?" he grins sleepily at you as he drags your hand closer, placing his left cheek into your palm. "please, take as long as you need," he says, nuzzling into your warmth.

beginning to feel the edges of guilt creep up on you, you try to explain yourself.

"i didn't mean to wake you—"

"hmm?" he hums, closing his eyes.

you stare for a moment before letting out a laugh.

does he not mind after all?

"go back to sleep, xavier," you urge, still rubbing his head with your free hand.

"what 'bout you?"

he releases your hand, eyes still shut as he lowers his right cheek back down, curling his left arm back around your waist, head plush against your chest once more.

"im still a little sleepy myself," you yawn.

"didn't seem that way to me," he mumbles.

you huff out a breath. xavier giggles.

a comfortable silence envelops you both until you decide to speak up again.

"your face isn't strange."

"hm?" he was still awake.

"your question. your face isn't strange.. its the opposite, actually. seeing such a peaceful expression on your face is always... a relief," you admit sheepishly.

xavier cracks an eye open at that.

feeling his stare, you push a hand towards his face to cover his eye and turn your head away, bashful under his gaze.

"stop that.."

he responds by grabbing your hand, easily moving it down from his eyes, and kissing the inside of your palm down to your wrist, making eye contact with you all the while.

"xavier..."

something about the way you show your care for him, your embarrassed expression as you try to hide from his gaze (along with the way a strap of your cami slides down your arm, revealing more of your pretty skin) seems to wake him up and make something snap within him all at once.

"on second thought..."

you don't have time to process his next move.

one second, he was nestled comfortably against you, and the next, he was hovering over you, the hand he was kissing now pinned down above your head on the mattress below.

"i'm not sure i feel so tired anymore..."

your breath hitches, surprised eyes locked with his as he stares down at you.

your pretty, surprised eyes stare up at him, your breathing picking up at the growing tension as his eyes drag over you, from your messy bedhead, your silk cami— wrinkled and showing just enough of your cleavage now— riding up at the bottom to reveal your soft belly peeking out from beneath it, your pretty panties, lace embellishing the edges, hugging your hips so nicely, the beginning of your plush thighs pressed together...

he thinks you look so pretty like this.

"xa—"

"beautiful."

you don't get to respond as he swallows up any words you had within the next second.

the kiss is needy, his tongue quickly overtaking yours and slipping between your lips, breathing you in, taking everything you're willing to give him.

he loves how willing you are to give yourself to him.

always.

when you separate, you're both gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting your now spit-shined lips together.

he frowns down at you suddenly, still catching his breath.

"xavier?" you whisper, puzzled at his sudden change in expression.

you reach out for him with your left hand but before you can reach him, he catches it with his free one, pinning it down over your right hand, adjusting his grip so both your wrists are restrained with his left hand, leaving you helpless while his right begins to trail down your body.

"you woke me up..."

his eyes are darker as his fingers drag slowly down your neck, your collarbones, your shoulder.

did i upset him?

"i said i didn't- oh"

your breath catches in your throat as he squeezes your breast suddenly.

"its only fair you take responsibility,"

he trails lower, touch light over the skin of your stomach before trailing over your panties stretched across your hips (oh, how he loved that you didn't sleep in any pants, even when the weather was as cold as it was), fingers dancing around between your inner thighs.

"right, miss hunter?"

. . .

winter mornings with xavier were something you started to anticipate ever since getting your first taste of one.

at night, you never had to fear going to sleep shivering under layers of blankets, and oftentimes you'd wake up so warm and cozy (thanks to your human-cat like blanket) that you never wanted to get up.

other times, even when a chill permeated through the room, xavier would always take matters into his own hands and warm you up using his own methods, conventional or not.

winter mornings with xavier were peaceful, cozy, warm, and always something to look forward to.

and as small, pretty snowflakes began to float down and meet with the city below, all the world was none the wiser to the sounds of your lovemaking.

more snowflakes began their descent, a light frost enveloping the windows, the blanket of snow concealing the messy kisses, sinful moans, gasping breaths, the way he bent your body to his will, the slapping of skin and the confessions of love amongst everything else.

and by the time most were out and about, running errands or on their way to their respective jobs, you were already spent and shaking, cuddling up to xavier, still nude and stealing each others body heat, marks running along your necks and chests as you slipped into the comfortable embrace of slumber once more.

-

"are you cold?"

you look up at him.

"why do you ask?"

"you're shaking"

you stare at him, unimpressed.

"well, maybe if someone wasn't so needy, my body wouldn't be reacting like this."

he laughs in response, pulling you closer before planting a kiss on your head.

"sorry," he muses, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "you just look too good in the morning, can you really blame me?"

you sigh, cuddling closer to him.

"i don't think i'll be able to walk for the rest of the day."

"it's a good thing i didn't feel like going out anyway," he lets out a contented sigh as he hugs you close.

yes, winter mornings with xavier were definitely something to look forward to.

. . .

extra:

"so... you're not cold?"

you don't answer.

"because i can always warm you up—"

you can't fight the urge and hit him with a pillow. he laughs.

"actually, i think i have something to do," you tease, rolling away from him, almost reaching the edge of the bed before he latches onto your waist.

you yelp as he pulls you back against his chest.

"hey!"

"you may not be cold, but i am. stay here and warm me up for now." he shuts his eyes, getting comfortable with you.

you sigh, nuzzling into him.

"i'll have to get up to cook later, and you're going to have to move me."

"we can order takeout."

"xavier that's..."

"sleep," he murmurs, holding you close.

you can only surrender, sinking into the warmth from your beloved.

-

authors note: yes i wrote xavier as a freak in the morning i think it suits him.. was so tempted to turn this into an actual smut but my only experience is reading 'x reader' smut w fictional characters sigh. maybe ill try writing christmas sex or something but hopefully this will do for now.... dunno if its noted but the title is inspired by laufey's winter ep + other inspos w the other lads li's are on the way ,please look forward to it :x > editing one last time after drinking if there's any typos idk what ill do....

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Met the Devil 2

lucifer x human!reader

sorry this took forever it’s been hectic i guess im in my fanfic writer era of madness happening and mentioning it in the a/n (im joking… unless) anyways lads hopefully this is okay womp womp

Part [1]

Based on devilish folklore and wives tales so lucifer may be ooc!

Warnings: BODYHORROR; DESCRIPTIONS OF TEETH FALLING OUT. Mentions of blood, reader dies a goofy ahh death, lucifer being an unsure wreck, and he’s got no game, reader is perpetually confused, inaccurate descriptions of religion, swearing, not proof read and i don’t entirely know where i’m going with this teehee lmk whatcha think xxx

word count: 3.1K

Three months, it had been three exhausting months since the incident with Lucifer. As if there was some devine intervention, everything seemed to fall at your feet working out for you, while also simultaneously sucking. Career wise, you were doing much better, after working for Marie and watching her house keeping it exactly how she wished, excluding the devil you had intercourse with, she put in a word for you at her and her husbands church, which you ended up getting.

Although not a very important role, it paid well. You were mostly in charge of cleanliness, cleaning the areas in the front where children played, keeping the holy fountain fresh, sweeping the pews and repairing any unbinded bibles. However the staff weren’t particularly fond of you, the nuns avoided you like the plague, and the priest gave you glares. Thankfully you rarely interacted with them if at all.

However, while your career was better than before, your physical health wasn’t. Things tanked once you slept with the devil. It started slow, noticing hues appear in your skin that you hadn’t before. Despite the various skin, and blood tests, and the general run down of different illnesses that cause changing pigmentation, there was no evidence to prove anything was truly wrong, just random hues of pinks, purples and blues showing up like you were some corpse.

The second minuet thing to change was your nails, at first you foolishly wondered if your calcium intake increased causing the thickness in your nails to double, but you quickly scrapped that al when your nails grew more rapidly. You really hadn’t changed much diet wise for that to be true, odd as it was it wasn’t something you hated.

The worst of it was teeth. One night you woke to a horrific splitting headache, it wasn’t just one part of your head either. The pain seared through your jaw, down your neck, up your face through your cheeks and in the back of your eyes all the way to the tip top of your head. You walked half asleep half dazed from pain to the bathroom, once the light blinded you and you got woken up a bit was when your brain registered the feeling.

Your mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood as you tuned into the sound of tapping in your mouth as the loose teeth collided. When you threw yourself over your sink spitting continuously, you immediately began to cry feeling your empty gums with your tongue, and the worst part was it seemed you had swallowed some too as the amount in the sink didn’t amount to how much was missing.

That night you must’ve passed out because you were woken up by your angry family member shouting at you to hurry. The strangest thing was, however you awoke with teeth, sharp as razors, and the porcelain sink that was never cleared of blood or teeth was now cleaned.

Since your teeth, you managed to not lose nor gain any other strange things, and the only people who didn’t seem to look past these oddities were the people who attended the church or worked at it. It was like they could tell you slept with Lucifer, something in their eyes always felt so intense and aware even if they’d never spoken to you before. The strangeness didn’t end with your appearance or career.

You had weird dreams you couldn’t explain, it felt so real but once awake you could only remember how you felt about the dream. You had close interactions with certain animals, like ducks, goats, crows, and insects as well. It was like they sought you out no matter where you were, people would give you looks when you started greeting the goat like an old friend.

So,now three months after Lucifer, you changed a lot. You know it’s because of him, you just can’t figure out why, but soon you’ll know. Walking into your work place on your day off, everybody’s least favourite thing to do, but it had to be done. You saw the father reading a bible off to the side of the room, and so you approached. He gave you a stern look, and you could tell by his stiff and shifty body language he wasn’t too happy with your presence, antsy to see what it is you wanted.

“Good afternoon father, how’re you?” You start, standing in a way you perfected prior to attempt to seem unthreatening. The priest hummed closing his bible to pay attention to you. “Good child, good. How’re you, is there something i could aid you in?” Straight to the point, mentally you cheered happy you didn’t have to waltz around small talk for fifteen minutes.

“Well i’m alright father, thank you. I was actually wondering about, um, the devil?” The priest's head lulls back slightly eyebrows raised as his mouth opens with a silent o. “Is there temptation in your life?” You shifted on your feet at the question. You hadn’t really thought of it before but you suppose you felt more inclined to act without thinking,and indulge especially after Lucifer claimed you.

“Well yes, but i was more so wondering on what the devil is capable of? Like making deals, and stuff…” You trail eyes casted away to the large sculpture of jesus on the wall. “Nothing, the devil isn’t as strong as gods love. And never in the bible does it state the devil makes deals, that is but a wives tale.” The priest spoke sternly, punctuating his words to get his point across.

This was news to you however, you always thought the devil was more of a a character in the bible. “Father one more question?” You say head snapping back to look at him. “If the devil were to have intercourse with a person, what’s said to be the outcome? Will god punish?” The poor priest looked like he’d seen a ghost, yet you couldn’t comprehend why. Although slightly morbid you didn’t think the question was that out there, perhaps it was the monotonous way you’d said it.

“I’m afraid i don’t have the answer to that,” And with that the priest stood, excusing himself from your conversation walking off down the isle. “I heard the devil picks somebody to carry the antichrist.” Turning to the voice, there sat a woman, old looking wearing a light blue dress. “The anti christ?” You repeat mostly to yourself, but the elderly woman hummed. “Yep. Woo’s the target, sleeps with them, and they give birth to the antichrist. Bad things happen once the child’s born.” The woman explained turning to look back at you.

“And, what if there’s no anti christ, what if the devil just like…” The old lady cackled looking at your puzzled face. She tsked and ushered you near. When in front of her she met your eyes, again with that weirdly all knowing look on them everyone in the church seemed to give you. Holding out her hand to you, you opened yours holding it out to her.

She placed something in your hand but you weren’t able to know what it was before you dropped it shrieking. It was like gripping a hot coal, you gripped your wrist keeled over trying to breath out the pain. Your eyes briefly glanced over to the floor where the object dropped and sitting there was a gold rosary covered in what was more than likely your blood. Peaking up from your bent over position the old woman had took several steps back from you, hand up to her mouth.

Not knowing what to do, you perked up, thanked her for her input, and sped out to the street. Just like the night you met him, the sky darkened and clashed with lightning, then came the rain. The devil himself must’ve worked through water with the way it was a constant anytime something happened.

Walking down the street at leisure, you inspected the wound the rosary left as rain pelted you like no tomorrow. You sighed brushing your thumb over the large cross shaped gash. Suddenly a crack of lightning came down brightly, it was harsh and so very bright. Then another crack, this time however you felt the harshest pain describable. It was like being lit on fire inside your body, or like your blood was suddenly filled with glass shards and you could feel them coursing through.

You couldn’t scream too in pain, you simply slumped to the floor, the searing pain engulfing your body. As your eyes closed, it felt like the floor was sucking you down, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even will your eyes to open as you felt the concrete below you begin to engulf you fully. Your lungs burnt as you couldn’t breathe, but like any other regular circumstance where you’d gasp for breath, you were physically unable to. Like you’re body didn’t know how to breath, so you sat there chest feeling tight, burning and your stomach feeling like it was forcing itself inward but nothing changed.

As torturous as it was, it was short lived and finally you felt freed. The concrete beneath you morphed into something softer cozier, the breathlessness left finally you were able to fill your lungs with air almost as refreshing as a glass of water would’ve been, and when you opened your eyes you were greeted by the sight of a bedroom. It was decorated with whites, reds and golds, around you could see engraved apples and ducks in not only the door frames and baseboards but some of the furniture as well.

You couldn’t will yourself to sit up, you still felt the fire on the inside of your body albeit gentler than before. “Hey cookie.” Cooed a smooth voice, you didn’t have to look to know who it was, but thankfully he stepped in front of you, kneeling down to your laying figure. “How you feeling?” You stared at his face, scanning it over and over, his eyes were hauntingly beautiful. The red irises danced around nervously, you watched intently as his forked tongue brushed against the dryness of his lips.

“You’re beautiful.” You mutter half muffled by the fact you sunk comfortably into the mattress that you lay on. Chuckling quietly the king of hell turned and sat on the side of the bed, petting your head very gently like you were made of glass. “Where am i?” His hand stuttered on your head, and finally you rolled over onto you back to gain the view of him. His hat discarded, his suit jacket gone, he sat only in a vest, dress shirt, and his white suit pants.

“Hell, sweetheart.” It was interesting how warmly he had said that to you, looking down at you with almost a pitying expression. “I’m dead?” You jerked up, immediately regretting it as the pain shot through your body from the top of your head down. Sucking in air through your teeth, clenching your eyes shut Lucifer cooed at you reprimanding you for being too quick. “God must’ve struck you down.” His voice lifted as he let out his attempt at a joke, but you weren’t really in the mood to laugh.

“What happened, with me when i was alive.” You ask looking over to him, the expression he had looked slightly guilty, his eyes casted downward, a frown that tried to be a poker face- but failed. “I, well y’see, heh,” Lucifer fumbled picking at his nails and looking around the room. He bounced himself against the mattress almost like he was amping himself up. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay! So y’know you got some human repellant, claws, sharp teeth, that dead look. Sent some little guardians after you! Too bad you couldn’t meet the snake.” Lucifer tisked mournfully shaking his head.

You smiled at him, oddly enough, it was quite endearing that he set out to do these things to keep you safe. “Oh!” He sprung up meeting your eyes properly. “I also made Marie get you that job, and I forced a good pay, always here to help y’know.” The king briefly pinched your cheek before retracting and standing. He looked frazzled, uncertain, he pulled at his clothes like he was trying to fix them. “Sorry it’s been awhile. Y’know i gave up going to earth in like 1850.” The devil laughed out, scratching the back of his neck.

You scooted yourself to the edge of the bed, Lucifer watching intently. “So, what, well I mean, why…?” You were confused head bobbing as you tried to make sense of everything. Things didn’t entirely add up this you were certain of, and you could tell the king was keeping something hidden from you. “As you know hell is well, it’s hell, and you were so…” He trailed off hands circling eachother as he gazed off into space, attempting to find the right words.

Deflating his body slumped over, in one foul swoop it looked as though he’d lost all the will to keep up his charade. “Look I didn’t think you were gonna shake my hand, but in the moment I was hooked on you. The night you took the apple reminded me of days of my life i can’t go back to. So i may have indulged, but i didn’t expect you to be soooo,”

Your eyebrows pinched together as you watched him with judgement, giving him a look that egged him on, yet warned him. “Captivating?” You ‘hmphed’ at his term, as weak and guilty grin overtaking his face. “Okay okay. I enjoyed our night, you gave me advice and helpful conversation I haven’t gotten in, pfft,” He was now pacing, eyes wide as his arms wrapped around himself as a way to secure him.

“Ever, you were a breath of fresh air! I didn’t expect the deal to go through! I didn’t expect you to grab my hand, so when you sold your soul you started to gain those devilish features. I wanted to make sure you were still safe so I manipulated Marie, got you the job, but nothing else was planned!” He exclaimed hands coming up in defence, although it wasn’t like you were angry, you sat there patiently watching him and waiting for him to finish his explanation at his own pace. Understanding this was probably just as stressful for him, if what he says is true.

Blowing out air the king pulled gently at his hair. “I don’t know what to do from here, I sent animals to protect you, I knew something would happen, damnit!” The short man raged eyes blowing up red, that snapped you up, gently you grabbed his shoulders. “I believe you, I have no idea what’s going on either so it’s okay! I’m terrified, but you don’t look any better. Maybe we can figure it out together?” You suggest attempting to be a voice of reason, watching his eyes hue from bright red to the yellow and red irises you’re more familiar with.

He sighed and nodded looking slightly embarrassed. “Do you think we could set some ground rules?” You quirked a brow at that, watching as he once again began to pace. “My daughter, Charlie, we spoke about her, she can’t know I made a deal with you! And for now, she can’t know i did anything sexual. Oh no no no. NO!” Lucifer panicked, switching between gripping his hair and swinging his arms around. It felt like a stab in the gut, it wasn’t your first time being a secret, but you wish you could’ve kept the promise you made to yourself about getting into another situation where you were just a secret fling.

“I’m not gonna pretend that doesn’t get under my skin slightly, I’d prefer not to be the devil's dirty secret, but I understand what Charlie means to you so I’ll do whatcha need.” Lucifer looked at you sheepishly, it seemed like he slightly regretted the choice of delivery as you crossed your arms across your chest, looking at him with a tinge of disgust in your eye. “Okay next, uh let's see, okay you’ll pose as my assistant and you’ll spend the days with me so I can keep an eye on ya….”

You quirk your head, pondering if you should say what you want to say. Which was questioning him and the motive here, it’s normal to say things you don’t always mean in such an intense moment of sex fueled emotion, but now there’s a big consequence and you’re not sure if he really knows what he wants to do. “Hey,” You say quietly grabbing him from his frantic mumbling that he was doing to himself. He hummed at you, his attention refocused on you as he did. “Do you at all regret the deal.”

Lucifers eyes blew wide, his lips puckering as his fingers fiddled with each other. “Regret is a very loaded work y’know- uh, I think- eh, maybe if- okay so,” He fumbled his wings popping out feathers flying around as they did, they puffed out with stress making you gawk. “Uhm, I wouldn't do it again if I had the choice! But still I would've wanted the sex!” Finally he pumped his chest proudly, meanwhile you rolled your eyes. “That’s what most men would do, yeah.” Your tone was bitter, catching him off guard a bit, to be fair he didn’t know what you wanted from him. Normally deals were two sided, but this one you benefited nothing from, except trauma and an early grave.

“I didn’t mean that,” Damn he really lost his way after Lilith huh, every flirtation came out so naturally but now it seemed it was so unsure, no king of a whole mini word of demons should be unsure, he mentally scolded himself for being so unfit.

“Listen can we figure this out later, I still feel the pain from when I died, so I would love to sleep that off.” You say plopping yourself back on the comfy mattress. “Yes, yes of course go ahead! We’ll figure this out together hm, shedevil? Won’t leave you in the dark!” This time his exclamation sounded certain as he jumped into the bed with you, snapping his fingers so the lights blinked out. You hummed too lazy to respond and crawled underneath the covers, it was nice, warm and smelt like him, underneath the covers you felt him slip in with you, his body heat emitting off of him in waves.

You hoped your mind was less clouded tomorrow, hopefully you could have a better conversation with the king about this deal, get things sorted out.

[4imhry]

toji & plush thighs <3

thighjobs are so fucking hotttttt!!

your thighs. your plush thighs are turning him on. so bad. you can be wearing shorts, trousers, pyjama pants or hardly anything and he will still get turned on by them. but right now, you were wearing a tight, thin yoga shorts. it wasn’t helping his hormones at all. you were sleeping with your back facing him, ass pressing so close to his raging hard on. his pre cum were literally oozing from his boxers.

“ugh..look what you do to me princess.” he said as he softly squish your ass.

toji can’t help but kept thinking of how pathetic he was from his cock erected by seeing your plushy thighs alone. he grunted softly as he palm himself through his grey pants. fuck. he needed you. wanted that sweet tight cunt of yours sucking his whole big cock as he kept kissing your cervix with his fat tip, wanted to wake you up with his cum gushing out of your pussy. (but he actually doesn’t want to)

he moaned as he immediately took off his pants, instantly rutting between your ass like an animal in heat. his huge hands found it’s place on your waist as he rut himself between your ass, the tip rubbing your clit as well. his speed was painfully slow for him because he didn’t want to wake you up from your deep slumber. his long cock was enough to reach the front of your cunt.

the tip of his cock often making contact with your drenching folds—mixed with his pre cum was torture for a lad named, toji. frequent chants of your name as he keep going, and going as his pre cum dripping from his thick veiny cock smeared all over the front of your tight yoga pants.

“so.fucking.hot.” he said as keep rolling his body against yours.

his movements slightly halted when you shifted in your sleep, clenching your thighs together unconsciously which applies more pressure to his cock. your murmured something incoherent but he shrugged it off, his two big palms slightly tighten its grip on your hips as he kept sliding, and rubbing his cock against your drenched cunt. “mmh haaah–fuck.”

he kept humping, humping and humping desperately to reach his orgasm. the thought of using you while you’re sleeping and the feeling of his swollen tip often rubbing against your soaking clit–the tip occasionally got inside your cunt slightly made him want to cum so bad. “o-ohh..y-yes haaaah.”

“want to c-cum.” he heaved as he keep rutting against you like a rabbit in heat. the sound of his groans and small whines filled the room while he sinfully rut his cock between your thighs.

“toji..” you lowly moaned when his movement accelerated, waking you up in process.

“baby, i-im sorry—haaah..ngh.” his thrusts becomes sloppy, the veins aligning his cock became even more prominent and his pinkish tip was on the edge of exploding anytime soon. he pulled you even closer to his body, your back pressed flush against his chest as he kept humping you. toji was intoxicated. too intoxicated with you to not have any sexual intercourse every time he saw those damn plushy thighs that drove him insane.

loud moans of his name erupted from your lips, increasing his ego knowing he made you feel good.

“does that feels good, baby?” his voice were hoarse and husky, adding even more fuel to the aching feeling in your cunt. his other hand sneaked to your breasts, squishing and fondle with your nipples while the other hand kept a tight grip on your hip, his hips now sensually humping your thighs in a godly speed which caused your to roll your eye due to the immense pleasure he gave you.

“t-toji! mmph...” his swollen cockhead was rubbing against your cunt–your arousal seeping out from your yoga pants. he went ballistic on you as soon as he realised you’re completely awake. he ended up cumming a few minutes after, thick rope of cums smearing the bedsheet. though he got hard again when you sensually grind yourself on him, feeling extremely horny because your man just can’t take his eyes–hands off of you.

oh boy, you were in for a longggggggg ride.

[pfhwrittes]

have a chunk of tradie!141 for your reading pleasure.

it's fuckin' pourin' down, has been for the last 3 days and the forecast ain't getting any better. thick, claggy muck sucks at the soles of simon's boots, threatening to pull 'em straight off his feet as he crosses the quagmire to slip into the portakabin-cum-office where he knows his skipper'll be.

price is fumin' under his hard hat, his ancient brick of a phone glued to his ear as he barks out demands to whichever poor sod is gettin' an earful off the boss today (probably nik, who straight up refused to drive onto site, stating bold as brass that the wagon would get bogged down, fuck the delay, captain. i'm not hurting my girl for your timetable).

with a disgusted snort price throws the offending phone onto the cluttered desk sending a sheaf of papers careening onto the floor.

"fucks sake, riley. what d'ya want?" price growls out in his direction and simon just lifts a battered eyebrow at the tone. no point gettin' his knickers in a twist over weather but price has always thought himself better than acts of nature and god himself.

"told the lads to put the tools down and go 'ome."

if looks could kill, simon would be buried in a shallow grave under the portaloo. price's face is as stormy as the sky rumbling ominously outside.

"well tell 'em to pick them back up, for fucks sake! we've got a fucking job to do here, simon." price snaps, his patience well and truly gone and it isn't even dinner time by simon's watch.

simon's hi-vis jacket creaks forebodingly as he straightens up.

"no."

there's a beat as simon squares off against his skipper, the unstoppable force of john price smashing against simon's immovable iron will. simon's known john a long fuckin' time and he'll play dirty to keep the crew safe if he has to. john's seen him walk off jobs for less.

price sighs noisily, ruffling the ends of his moustache.

"right then. who're we losing?"

"gaz can't work with the humidity, ale and rudy can't paint if gaz ain't finished the plaster, don't trust soap not to fry 'isself, and flash is sat in the van dryin' out." simon counts off on his fingers.

price's eyebrows hike up to his hairline at the mention of the plumber's apprentice.

"'s matter with flash?"

simon chuckles at the memory of flash covered head to toe in mud after an unfortunate tumble.

"debuted 'is mud-wrestlin' career f'r us."

price snorts out an amused sound and shakes his head. poor sod'll be miserable for the rest of the day without any spare kit to change into.

"right, go on then. tell 'em they can fuck off for the day." price reaches for his abandoned phone, probably to tell the client, some jumped up property developer-slash-social media wanker, that the job's been delayed by the shit weather. (simon doesn't envy him in the slightest, last time he met her she looked him up and down like he was scum and he was tempted to "accidentally" score the side of her flash car with the end of a length of 22mm copper pipe.)

simon offers price a nod and turns towards the door of the 'kabin, hooking the flimsy hood of his jacket over his head.

"oi, riley. you better not have stuck flash in my van."

"nah, stuck 'im in with soap and gaz. i ain't gettin' that shit on our seats."

price's barking laugh follows simon out the door into the pissing rain.

[autumnheartsprice]

MDNI, NSFW

|spanking, degradation, Price x reader, Poly!141, humiliation, fem reader, crying|

Price who has been nothing but nice to you all day, putting up with that bratty attitude you decided to have today. Even despite the warning spanks upon your ass & how he'd scruff the back of your neck whenever that familiar pout comes across your lips again, nothing seemed to be stopping you.

After dinner with the team, Price's patience was completely demolished. Your often pouting and whining whenever someone said something you didn't like, or when a certain piece of meat tasted off - Price knew damn well he wouldn't have such a brat acting like that at the dinner table.

He at least lets you finish your plate, barely touching his own before he's up and grabbing you by the forearm.

Price who calls in the rest of the team into your shared room not even 30 minutes after he dragged you off.

The team stares at the sight in front of them - you lie on Price's thick & hairy chest, face smooshed into his skin out of embarrassment as your fat tears dampen the hairs. Your ass is beet-red, large handprints marked onto the plump flesh, and your clit swollen and puffy as if you've been edged for hours by now. "Look at 'er. Was such a brat earlier, what happened to that, hm?" He speaks, as he pushes your hole open to expose to the team - letting a finger or two rim the entrance just to hear your whines.

"Answer me. The 'ell happened, huh? Thought you knew what happened when you act like a spoiled brat?" He husks out, grabbing the back of your neck to force you to look at him. You can only answer in broken apologies, mumbled in between pathetic sobs.

"Tsk. You see this, lads? The brat only needed to be bent over her Captain's lap like a damn slut - can't even apologize to me right." He forces your head to turn to look at them, "Look at 'em, girl. If you want to act like a bitch all day, you're gonna get treated like one." He mutters, leaving another harsh slap onto your ass.

You look at your fellow teammates through blurry & teary vision, not missing the obvious tents in their pants and Ghost's own hand in Soap's pants.

"Should 'ave Simon come over 'ere and lick up these pathetic tears. Show you what a real punishment is."

AHHHH I LOVE MEAN, DOM PRICE!! (or maybe im just ovulating!)

kinda thinking of a part 2 where it's Ghost's punishment or where the rest of the team is involved?? idk, thoughts?

[jammiesjars]

NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE | MDNI

Warnings: Medium amount of plot?, horribly written medieval times smut, loss of innocence, virginity loss, female anatomy and terminology (??), unrealistic sex, slight coercion, breeding (only a little)

Seems to be the warrior’s picked you.

You were a shy thing. Didn’t get yourself involved in any social gatherings unless necessary, didn’t leave the safe confines of your modest hut unless dragged, and certainly didn’t talk to anyone unless by force.

You were polite, no doubt about it. And though as much as you hate it, people seemed to be drawn to you.

So when the cherished and highly praised warrior that John McTavish is decides he wants you, he will have just that.

It’s not even a question wether or not you want him. You wouldn’t deny the man his right to a pretty little bird like yourself, would you?

No matter, he’ll sneak around; arrange something with your parents so you won’t find out until its too late to stop your matrimony. But God, seeing you smile up at him so naively without a clue in the world that everynight he tugs at his thick cock to the mere thought of you in his arms makes him wish it’d happen sooner.

It was only a matter of time until you found out, anyway. Your parents were off planning some ‘suprise’, your mother teaching you about a wife’s duties all of a sudden and the whispers from the folk in the village only got louder.

“I can’t believe she’s marrying Johnny-“ the girl whispers to her friend, pointing at you.

Your blood runs hot, the same aching need you get when Johnny talks to you in a sultry tone shooting to your core at the mere mention of the rumor; at the idea of being his betrothed. And so you storm off to find him, barging into his office on the compound, blabblering about what you’ve overheard whilst he looks at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Have ye’ got an issue with that, M’eudail?” He’d drawl, his eyes glimmering with the same mischief you’ve come to know. “Don’t tell me yer suprised.”

“Johnny, you can’t be serious.” You’d breathe, the corset taught around your waist suddenly feels ten times tighter, and the furs settled on your shoulders 10 pounds heavier.

“Am always serious about ye, Lass.” He’d coo, leaning back in his chair. He beckons you closer with his hand. “Why? Don’t tell me ye fancy another lad, birdie.” He’d grunt, his calloused hands from years of battle pawing at your hips.

His touch brings out that familiar ache; a coiling need. One you never understood, never knew how to satisfy. “No..“ You’d breathe, responding to his call and stepping into his reach. “But I deserved to know, you cant keep tha-“

You’re silence by a low groan from Johnny. “Och. Quit worrying so much and let yer husband do the thinkin’. Be a good girl and let me take care of ye.”

Playful blue eyes meet yours.

“Keep bein’ at my beck and call, jus’ like ye are now. I’ll do the rest.”

Christ, you’re sure you’ll melt into the floor here and now. It’s not like you can deny anyway, you found out too late. Just as planned. That aching feeling is amplified tenfold and you know Johnny can tell.

He offers a lopsided grin. “Yer all worked up, aren’t ye?” It’s almost a growl. “Don’t worry, lass. I’ll take ye on the altar if you’d ask. I’ll make sure ye never have to go without once yer mine.”

He’d pull you close, so tender despite the vulgarity he whispers in your ear. And above all, you have no clue what he’s talking about.

Even unluckier for you, the scot picks up on that. “Oh, Mo Gràidh..” he’d purr, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Bet ye ache, don’t ye? You’re poor cunt..” He’d tut, shaking his head.

“Do ye know what that feelin’ is, lass?” His eyes hold a dangerous gleam, to which you shake your head and he looks like he could salivate. “C’mere. Let me take a look at ye.”

He flips you around to press your hands to his desk, whilst he’s holding your hips. He flips up your skirts. “Johnny-“

“Quit yer whining, im doing ye a favour.” He coos, hiking up your petticoat and layers underneath to reveal your glistening cunt. “Ain’t that a sight for yer sore eyes..” He almost chokes on his words.

The man had plans, intentions, to wait until your wedding night. To take it nice and slow with deep languid thrusts that had you seeing stars. All of that was thrown out the window as he took in the sight of your untouched opening.

“Ye trust me, lassie?” Johnny grunts.

“Johnny, I-“

He grips your thigh.

“Tryna be nice here, pretty. But it’s damn hard.” He growls. “Do ye trust me?”

You swallow your pride, nodding.

“Oh,” he groans at the confirmation. “Good girl..” Large hands grip your thighs so his tongue can lick a fat stripe up your cunt. The taste of you is so right to him, so… perfect. You were built for him only and he knows it; fated to be his pretty little wife he can come home to after battle.

You’re moaning, biting on your hand to muffle the sound. By god, you’ve never felt anything like this.

Then suddenly, it’s gone.

“Shouldn’t do this to ye, lass. Not one bit. Not proper of me at all, aye?” He pants, leaning back. You almost choke on nothing at the loss of his tongue.

He pulls your skirts down, flipping you back around. “Promise ye. I’ll never let ye go needy once I get that ring on ye finger. Just a couple for days, mo gràidh..”

He’s pressing his face against your stomach, arms keeping you standing between his legs.

“Right…” You pant softly, the loudest sound in the room.

So did you go through with the wedding without a single complaint? Yes. Could you even say you enjoyed it? Sure.

But what came after? That was the entire focus of the evening, apparently.

“Oh, I remember my wedding night..” Older folks would gush.

“Tell us all about it!” Married friends would tease and prod.

You were fed up. What was to come? (You, many times) You couldn’t seem to figure it out, not even as Johnny sat you on the bed with darkened eyes and a firm tone. “

Strip, lovie. Don’t make me do it for ye.”

“J-johnny-“ You mewl, sweat clinging to your body. Your wedding dress is long forgotten on the floor with John’s kilt.

“I got ye, M’eudail. Let go f’me.” John murmurs against your clit that he was just sucking on, whilst his fingers are pressing up into that sweet spongey spot inside of you.

You grip his hair, the feeling making you want to tug him off. “Wait-“ you whimper, hips bucking to chase the feeling that so desperately confuses you.

Johnny doubles his efforts, the smug bastard. “Oh, sweet girl..” There’s that shit eating grin again as he watches you from between your legs as your back arches off the bed. “Troublin’, hm? Don’t know what to do with yerself.” He tuts. “Let go, lass. Let me think for ye.”

His words have you cumming quicker than you’d care to admit.

“Don’t even know what yer feelin’, do ye?” He murmurs, his scottish brogue heavy with lust. “Mm.. ma sweet wifey.” He rides you through your orgasm with lanquid strokes of his thick fingers before climbing up the bed so his forearms rest either side of your head.

“Look at ye…” He grins down at you whilst you catch your breath; utterly ruined. He pushes your hair behind your ear, pressing a sweet kiss to your swollen lips. How awfully tender, considering he just gave you your first orgasm.

“Johnny..” you mewl, hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. You can feel the thick cords of muscle roll beneath your palms

“Aye, sweetheart. Right ‘ere.” He grunts, reaching a hand down to pump his stupidly thick cock a few times. “Deep breath, lassie. Dinnae go stupid on me.” He coos. He presses at your poor, weeping cunt; his tip slick with precum.

He begins to press in, earning a broken whimper from you.

“Johnny-“ you gasp. “I can’t- I can’t take it-“

“Nae. Don’t say that, Mo Gràidh. Little more. Jus’ for me.” He groans, hissing lowly at how perfect you squeeze him; you were made for him.

You cling to anything for purchase, your jaw slack and eyelids fluttering shut. “No, no no-“

“Ye can take it, good girl… relax for me, lass. Let me in.” He grunts, his words an attempt so soothe your panicked confusion.

“Feels good, yeah? Too much to handle, aye?” He soothes, his gaze piercing as he looks down at you. “I’ve got ye. You’re doing so damn well, shh sh shh…”

You softly gasp, your grip tight as he bottoms out. It doesn’t let up, especially as Johnny decides you can handle even more, and starts pulling out slowly before pressing in again until your hips click together.

“Aren’t ye just fuckin perfect? Aye- look at me. In my eyes, pretty girl. Ye, tell ye husband how good he makes ye feel. Tell me lass.” He coos, a hand lacing into your hair.

“S-so good-“ you whine, hips bucking. “Johnny-“ you choke, his slow, sensual movements becoming more primal.

“That’s right,” He groans, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder. Johnny’s pants are much more obvious as you feel his breath against his shoulder. “Makin’ ye feel so good. Pussy clampin’ around me like a fuckin’ vice.” He groans, his cock pummeling your poor cunt again and again, his pace never slowing.

“Gonna fill ye up nicely. Make you a mam to me heirs..” He growls, his hips stuttering as you cum.

Its a burning hot pleasure that rips through your body, making you feel weak in the legs.

“Ooh,” Johnny intertwines his hand with yours. “There we go… lettin’ go for me like a good girl would. Gonna fuck ye stupid one day, love. Make ye forget ye name.” He growls, his hips slamming against yours as his seed spurts inside you.

“Such a good wifey..”

[cupidssorbet]

COD CHARACTER DICK ANALYSIS.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ COD Characters x Reader.

Characters Included: John Price, Ghost “Simon” Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, and John “Soap” Mactavish.

Summary: Title says it all!

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Note: This is part 1 of not sure how many but I saw these kinds of things for other characters so I’m doing it for these guys! just know more prompts will be coming as well as other things! :)

Content/Includes: In the title! PS remember that this is just what I think and everyone has different opinions!

NOT PROOFED, MAJOR MAJOR INSPO TO @arachine because their dick series is my biggest inspo for this cod one so PLEASE PLEASE go check out their blog!!

PS IM FINALLY BACK AFTER BEING BUSY FOR SO LONG AND I DO PLAN ON BETTING TO ASKS AND OTHER PROMPTS!!

Enjoy! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ ✧

Price:

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Length: 8 inches flaccid and 9 erect, NOW HERE ME OUT, he’s 6’0 from what I learned on Google and I mean, do you see and HEAR this man? He’s a captain, he’s got those mutton chops, he’s absolutely got something that slaps his thigh when he walks.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Width: He’s not skinny, and he’s not split you open girthy, it’s that good median some where between that gives you that good stretch but isn’t painful.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Color: Price isn’t PALE pale so down south he’s got a little tan to it, his tip is just a bit darker compared to his dick, like if I have to give a hexcode AND I WILL, it’s #D29A7C.

+

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Grooming/Styling: Do you see those mutton chops?? He is neat and tidy, his carpet matches the drapes in a sense of being not messy or anything just neat and all put together.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Are they curved? Any veins?: VEINS, UGH, you can’t look me in the eyes and tell me he doesn’t got a few veins along the bottom and on the side. A few thick ones that rub just right when riding him, he’s also got not majorly noticeable curve but a slight curve to it.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Favorite way to use it: He’s a giver, I saw someone say this I wholeheartedly agree, he’s a giver, he likes you riding him and taking it as you please his hands on your hips as you set your pace.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Prompt:

“There ya go, slow— Oohh— Steady there love.” He breathed out with a slight chuckle, hands finding purchase right on your hips occasionally rubbing down your thighs. “Fuck— Doesn’t matter how many times I ride you I still can’t get over the stretch.” you laughed out as you slowly sank down with his help as he breathed all kinds of praises with that smile on his face.

Eventually you were buried to the hilt deep within him, your velvet heat clutching him, “God knew you could do it— Never fail to impress darling.” Price chuckled before you redirected his hand from your hips to your stomach the slight bulge in your lower catching him off guard, the groan that emitted from his throat was down right dirty. “God damn you know just how to rile me up, I suggest you hold on huh?” He chuckled deeply.

Ghost:

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Length: 7 flaccid, 8.5 hard, he is big but he’s not BIG, you feel me? He’s got that good even, and you best believe he knows how to use it. I mean hello?? Look at him? Anyways I stand by it, 7 flaccid, 8.5 hard.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Width: He’s a buff lad because we’re taking mw2/3 ghost with those man tits and big ass arms, he’s definitely thick, split you open thick in a sense.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Color: With his mask and such I would like to say he’s pale so his dick might be slightly pale as well his tip color though would be slightly darker like, #FAC3B3 & #D69786.

+

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Grooming/Styling: See I like to believe his hair is shorttt beneath his mask so he would also keep it kinda clipped and short not exactly long or like out there, he’d had it pretty maintained like a little scruff maybe.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Are they curved? Any veins?: Two words, God yes. Curved up just slightly with veins on the underside and one on the front side.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Favorite way to use it: He seems like the rough types and if he’s busy but needs you so and he’ll face fuck you while your head under his desk.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Prompt:

His grip was tight on your hair as you allowed him to move your head back and fourth as you braced your hands on his thighs. The obscenely wet sounds of your spit & precum shined lips gliding and wrapped around his cock.

“Look at you— *fuck* — such a mess around my cock huh? Little fuckin’ cocksleeve practically.” Ghost chuckled deeply in his chest as he lowered your mouth fully down onto his length causing a little gag from you as you gripped his thighs and he relished in this groaning at the sight and sound of you gagging around him as more drool spilled from your lips.

Gaz:

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Length: 6 flaccid but 7.5 erect, he’s got that good even ground not split you open or good lord how is it gonna fit big but enough that he makes you feel that full feeling you can’t get enough of.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Width: I don’t have a specific like width length in terms of measurements but I’d like to say he’s a good neutral, gives you that good feeling when fucking you.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Color: #C98767 & #AB6F4F , it’s got a little fade to the mushroom tip, the tip just being a bit darker towards the end.

+

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Grooming/Styling: He’s groomed, his hair is short like short so I’d think he’d keep it pretty much tamed with a little curl to it.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Are they curved? Any veins?: OOOO, yeah he got veins, more like one up from the bottoms and one on the top that goes into a fork. He’s just a litttleee curved.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Favorite way to use it: I feel like he likes to take you from the back, he’s a bit of an ass man, maybe some tummy and thighs honestly.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Prompt:

“God..” Gaz huffed out as his grip on your hips tightened, his gaze trailing down to your ass and the way it bounced everywhere time he thrusted in and out of your velvet heat. He couldn’t help but land a smack to it earning a, ‘Oh!’ From you and a groan from him. “You like that huh? Go on and tell me.” Gaz managed out punctuating the words with thrusts.

Soap:

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Length: 7 flaccid, maybe 7.5 ish not too big not too small, just the right ish amount for most. Because let’s be honest Soap isn’t big or small, right smack dab in the middle.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Width: I wanna say, he’s a bit girthy though, not twig thin but maybe the same width of a banana which is usually 1.5 to 2 inches, so take that how you will.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Color: I feel he’s pale around the base and a little darker to the tip, I don’t have exact set colors for soap because I can’t pin point exactly what colors but think pale to tanner.

+

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Grooming/Styling: I feel like, just by looking at his Mohawk and facial hair look it’s like messy but it’s not overly dramatic or grown out but it isn’t quite buzzed either so like a tamed bush in a sense.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Are they curved? Any veins?: CURVED AND VEINS, he’s got a vein on the under side curved to the tip and over to the top side slightly, as for curved it curves to the left just slightly and up a teeny bit.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Favorite way to use it: He’s a thigh & tit guy in my opinion, so, I feel he looovess thigh fucking.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Prompt:

You HAD been finishing up cleaning the dishes in your favorite PJ’s right before bed until your boyfriend came meandering out…then you found yourself on the bed, on your back, panting softly as you looked at where his cock tip poked out from between your thighs that just couldn’t keep his hands off.

“So..Fucking…Good.” Soap punctuated his words with deep thrusts, pearls of precums catching on your thighs as he thrusted.

[st4rymoon]

hello!! im so sorry about the request i did, i didn’t know about that!!

i was thinking about the same request but could the character be steven grant from moonknight?

thanks!

No worries! Ty for respecting my rules <3 here’s the Steven Grant version for you 🙀

𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 • Steven Grant x Plus size Reader

- 18+, smut, thigh obsessed Steven <3, pussy! drunk Steven, needy Steven, readers insecurity’s about cellulite and body imagine mentioned, soft Steven, thigh kissing, possessive Steven

Steven’s always been a sucker for your thick glowy thighs. He never understood why cellulite was so stigmatized in society, he despised the videos on your feed always making you insecure about your perfect figure.

Self-restriction was something Steven always struggled with whenever you walked around his flat in nothing but one of his baggy tees. He was always an expert at calming that voice in your head that spout insecurities and anxious thoughts.

The moments where he would bury himself between your legs, soft plump lips kissing up your inner thigh as he kneaded your upper thighs was one of Steven’s favorite pastimes.

He kissed every curve of your body whenever he had the chance. Steven always imagined you as his own piece of art, instead of being stored in a museum, you were tucked away in his silk sheets. His to worship, his to love.

After his long shift at the museum, Steven needed your comfort. You were lying on the couch with a book in your hands as he shuffled inside his flat.

“Stevenn!” You cooed, the sound of your voice sounding like heaven to his ears. “Oh how I missed you darling” Steven sighed as he made his way toward you.

You giggled as he settled himself between your thighs. His touch starved hands greeting you with deprived affection “how’s my girl been?” Steven smiled as he nuzzled himself into your inner thighs.

You moaned in satisfaction as his hand snaked under your shirt that happened to once be his “I’ve been good, just reading” you purred as you wiggled your hips.

Steven’s eyes watched the way your panties hugged your pretty cunt with each wiggle of your hips. He was salivating at the sight, tongue dragging across his lower lip as he craved a taste.

“You have been good” he nodded, his mouth lowering onto your cunt as he puckered his lips and softly pressed a kiss onto your clothed mound.

Two of his fingers clung to the side of your panties, your breath hitching as he revealed your exposed pussy. And Without a second thought, Steven buried himself into your slick cunt.

Steven felt as if all the cravings he’d been having were now satisfied as he lapped and sucked onto your swollen bud.

Your hands softly tugged at his brown fluffy locks, a prolonged moan rumbling from his throat as he bobbed and licked between your folds.

You watched as he massaged the sides of your thighs, his hips seeming to instinctually grind onto the cushion below him while he focused on his one and only goal.

He lost himself to the tangy sweet taste of your slick. He ate you out like he was cleaning out pudding from a cup, not letting anything go to waste as he relished in your delicious warmth.

You mewled and hiccuped as his tongue worked at a punishing pace, his raspy voice almost gushing love “I know darling, aren’t I a lucky lad for having such a looker? I love the jealous looks I get when they see a pretty thing like you by my side” it came out in a moan as he glared up at you with a blushed complexion.

Your spine curled as his soft tongue worked an orgasm out of you for the first time tonight. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he lapped at your messy cunt and with one last lick he moaned into you.

You watched as his eyes gawked up at you with an overly confident smile “I’m not done with you yet”

[eatmyassssssssz]

Bestie

Bestie

Bestie

How do you think the 141 boys + könig dicks look like? And how big and thick they are. Please please please

Asking for a friend

No I'm not I'm asking for me cause I'm a hoe

lilsy poopoo face. of course i will do this for you. SO.

onto the lads.

okay, so, warning for all you anons out there that keep on telling me i should die for writing smut.

warnings: peni (plural for penis'), detail, a lot of it.

SIMON. 'ghost'. RILEY.

🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷

🍁 show-er or grower?

i believe good ol si is a grower. every single inch is used to it full potential though, don't you worry...

🍂cut or uncut?

uncut but would prefer to be cut but obviously is too late for that.

🌺 girth

the normal amount. i mean, the average is about 4.6cm in the uk, i think si has about 5.2cm. a little over but not by a stupid amount.

🌷 width

i honestly don't think hes packing as much as a horse as people say! i mean, it just don't make sense for this guy to be shclingin round a 12 incher like yall are sayin. i think its more 6.3 inches. the average is 5.7 (ish) so hes still packin more than average! thats when hes fully hard, his flaccid is about 4.7 inches.

🏷 extras:

i feel like hes had a piercing down there at least at one time. up to you if you want him still to have it, but i think he had, at one time, a jacobs ladder.

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH

🧼🧼🧼🧼🧼🧼🧼🧼🧼🧼🧼🧼

🍁 show-er or grower?

show-er. i just..hes definitely a show-er, no one can change my mind.

🍂 cut or uncut?

cut. no doubt about it.

🌺 girth

normal girth, I'd say. about 4.6 inches. nothing special doesn't mean hes not special in bed.

🌷 width

now..i widly disagree with yall saying that soap's average. i think he's packing quite a bit. 7.3 inches.

🧼 extras:

he cums a LOT. like, a weird amount.

JOHN PRICE

🚬🎀🚬🎀🚬🎀🚬🎀🚬🎀🚬🎀

🍁 shower or grower?

grower. most. fucking. definitely.

🍂 uncut or cut?

people may disagree with me on this, but i think uncut. he vastly prefers it that way as well.

🌺 girth

HOLY FUCK HES A PUSSY STRETCHER. like, worryingly thick dick disorder. 5.9 inches.

🌷 width

nothing outside the norm, particularly. i mean, its just unfair to be very thick AND long...anyways, i dont care, price is shlingin it. 5.9 at least. 4.5 flaccid.

💰 extras: his cum is STICKY. very sticky.

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK

🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁

im sorry i had to use the helicopters..

🍁 show-er or grower?

middle area. right inbetween.

🍂 uncut or cut?

cut. doesnt really like it though. much would prefer to be uncut but oh well, he works with it.

🌺 girth

not overtly girthy. 4.3. he makes up for it with his technique, ect.

🌷 width

hmmm a straight sixer. 6.0 inches. the perfect amount.

🚁 extras:

he had a happy trail but shaved it when he got with you. hes slowly growing it back as you begged and begged.

KÖNIG

👕👕👕👕👕👕👕👕👕👕👕👕

his eyes are so pretty.

🍁 grow-er or shower?

hes just generally big.

🍂 cut or uncut?

i think uncut.

🌺 girth

hes a big lad, everythings a bit bigger. 5.7.

🌷 width

again, because he's 6'10, everythings a bit sized up. 6.8 inches!!

tags:

@lillianastuff @lucyisdoingfine @madamemelancholysstuff @mionacaped @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @ashiscool10 @vangoghcoffeeco @southernbluebellereader

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: pony club (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, angst no comfort, previous abuse, domestic violence, curses and hexes, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, possession, mediums, ghosts, hauntings, horror, smoking, brothels, pubs, gambling, alcohol, cults, death/violence/torture, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, police brutality, vaguely british setting??, sexism, classism, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 10.1k!!! oh my god someone help

A/N: god this has been on the go for awhile. it got so long but i have a worm in my brain that told me this had to happen before i can get onto the juicy stuff. next part will be a lot more bucky heavy im so sorry this didn't have much of him, needed to build up that loreeee. anyway i actually hate my writing in this, if i have to reread this one more time im gonna go crazy so i'm just gonna post it and go to bed lol!! sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara

main masterlist | series masterlist

To be lulled into the false security that you would never see Bucky Barnes again was a foolish thought. 

Two months passed rather uneventfully. The handsome payment Bucky left you after your favour to him was far beyond your normal rates. A mixture of the gangster having deep pockets and, you suspected, an indication that all that had unfolded was to be kept quiet. 

So you had done just that. Your mouth had been sown shut, an invisible thread keeping your lips bound. There were so few people left in your life anyway that you didn’t feel like spilling details of a sex-based ritual with the limited relatives you had left. You weren’t particularly fond of them regardless; most you had not seen in years. 

You embraced the winter months as they settled across the city of Blackstone. The fog would roll in thick and dense, the clouds lingering over the port as Sootstone was cast into days of hoarfrosts. Icicles as long as your forearm hung from buildings and lamp-posts and was salt scattered across the wooden docks, where slippage was the worst. The homeless gathered in crowds around the Smokestack district, leeching off the warmth the factories produced. The ice and frosts were never white, unlike the country estates or wealthy garden districts. Smoke and ash continued to pour into the skies, tainting everything with a layer of black grit. 

You would see the Smog Boys in the streets often. Teams of the lower-ranking, younger lads would roam in packs, dipping in and out of the alleys. Even dressed in black, you could not make them out through the fog when they intended to disappear. Maybe it had been your brush with Bucky, but you began to notice them everywhere. Lurking in the markets, smoking by the docks, or sauntering by the smokestack factories. A small, stiff, knowing nod would be bestowed upon you if your gaze locked with theirs or if you lingered too long. As if they knew who you were. As if they had been instructed to keep an eye out for you. 

You could never leave the Smog Boys once you were inside. Whether you liked it or not, your fates were inextricably linked. You never knew when you might be needed. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to find one in your home. It is what you ought to have expected by now. It was only a matter of time before they came calling. 

You could only find one word to describe the woman in your kitchen. Beautiful. Beautiful in a hauntingly, terrifying way. She was stylish, with a blouse tucked into tailored, high-waisted suit pants. A lavish fur coat was draped over her shoulders, and her red hair was in a fashionable, blunt bob. Her lips, painted a deep red, were curved into a disgusted sneer as she assessed your residence. 

She had to be with Bucky because only a Smog Boy could illicit such an aura. 

“You should invest in better locks.” The redhead comments with a sniff. You haven’t even had a chance to process her presence; instead, you are standing with your lips parted in shock. “It wouldn’t be hard to rob you… or worse.”

You’re unsure if that was a thinly veiled threat or genuine advice. 

“Most don’t make habit of breakin’ into witches' homes.” You mutter, regaining your composure. You whip your headscarf off, abandoning it on your dining table. “They’re scared of being cursed.”

Your fingers unknot the woollen scarf around your neck now, tugging it free with a flutter of ash. The woman arches a well-manicured brow at you, looking you up and down. She doesn’t try to hide her judgement. She didn’t seem the type of woman to shy away from stating her opinion. Your clothing was noticeably different from hers, which was made of luxurious fabrics. The Smog Boys were well known for their finer suits—just because they lived and worked in the slums didn’t mean they dressed for it. Bucky seemed to like to keep certain appearances and had the funds to do so. You, however, were dressed for practicality. Heavy, cheap textiles that kept in the warmth. 

“Cursed.” The woman states, tone sharp. “You don’t seem the type to throw curses. You’re too… sweet.”

You don’t miss the condescending nature of how her sharp lips curve into a smile. You shoulder the insult. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Natasha. Romanoff.” The name was vaguely familiar to you. She was definitely one of Bucky’s inner circle. Possibly she worked closer to the shadows—a brain rather than brawn like Steve and Sam. “Barne is in need of your particular set of skills again.”

You pause, your fingers frozen over the pin in your mantle. Again? You knew to expect this, but still, you felt your heart uptick a beat. So soon? The question of which skills hung heavy in the air. Your abnormal skill to summon and banish spirits? To break curses and sense the otherworldly? Or to get your brains fucked out by Sootstone’s most notorious gangster? 

From the way Natasha was eyeing you, it seemed she knew all about your little sex ritual. 

“What if I’m unavailable?” You test hesitantly. 

The redhead isn’t amused. “It wasn’t a request.”

You nod slowly, hands falling to your sides. One should know when not to test Bucky Barnes or his men; it always ended rather unfavourably. Plus, you didn’t want to wake up tomorrow to find your kitchen filled with any more gangsters. 

Maybe Natasha was right about the locks.

—

Bucky and a pack of his dogs congregated in the streets outside the pub known as The Anchor. The establishment sat across from the docks, with tinted, lattice windows facing the port. On a clear day, one who sat in the window booths might be able to see the ocean. Though, throughout your life, you could recall about as many clear days as the fingers on your right hand. The Anchor had been in the Barnes family for years, originally bought by Bucky’s father when the Smog Boys first rose to infamy. 

The building was well cared for, a luxury not many of the surrounding establishments were familiar with. The building was decorated in a nautical style, with netting and flags adorning the walls and rafters. Fish and ships were painted onto the siding, with gold and blue accenting the furniture inside. Even the sign out front was a small, steel anchor engraved with the pub's name. 

The Anchor was mainly stocked with whiskey, which the Smog Boys ran an underground distillery for. They offered other spirits, wines, and ales, but the main vice of The Warrens was whiskey. Bucky had several underground or even legal businesses dotted throughout Sootstone, including gambling dens and brothels. You knew he made his office in a gambling den not too far from The Anchor—the dock-side streets were prime spots for high traffic from the sailors and dockworkers coming and going like the tide. 

As you and Natasha approached, the pack of adolescent gangsters surrounding Bucky scattered, disappearing into the thick fog and alleyways like wraiths. 

“Your witch, as requested,” Natasha announces with a sigh, her brows arched. Bucky glances at you, acknowledging you with little more than a grunt. He takes the last drag from his cigarette before crunching it beneath his shoe. 

“Thank you, Nat.” Bucky replies, smoke escaping his lips as he speaks. “Sam’s lookin’ for you inside.” 

Natasha doesn’t offer you a farewell as she pulls her coat tighter around her lean body and ducks inside the pub with a tsk. You and Bucky are left in an odd silence, with only the faint call of seagulls and the lapping of waves joining you. You had never seen the dockside street so quiet, but you could confidently assume his presence was responsible. 

“I trust Nat didn’t scare you too bad.” The gangster breaks the silence. His dark eyes wander across your frame, seemingly disappointed that you were thoroughly covered to prevent the cold from seeping in. “Would’ve come to get you myself, but I had some business to attend to.”

In retrospect, the thought of encountering Natasha in your kitchen again seemed more daunting than Bucky. You weren’t too sure how to interpret her malice and cool charm. She did give off the impression that she would kill you if you even breathed in her direction. As for Bucky, maybe he would kill you, but given his reputation, he was far more likely to fuck you up against the nearest available surface. 

“She said you've a job for me?” You ask, watching as the gangster tucks his large, bruised hands into his pockets. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Walk with me.”

You obey wordlessly.

Bucky navigates the streets with ease, ducking through alleys and blindly striding into the fog with unquestionable confidence. The few people you encounter in the winding streets dart out of the way, mumbling apologies and casting their gazes down as they stumble over their own feet. Your breath comes in clouds as you exhale, salt and ice crunching beneath your feet as you keep pace with him. 

“There’s an establishment I own, it’s been losin’ business these past months. The girls reckon it’s cursed. Or haunted.” He elaborates, and you frown. 

“You think a spirit’s attached?” You ask, and the gangster huffs out a short, bitter laugh. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know. I don’t have a sense for that stuff.” His lips are set in a line as he casts his sight down at you. “That’s your job, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t help but gulp and hope that his issue was indeed a spirit. One did not want to disappoint the gangster out of fear of the consequences. Your mind drifted back to months ago, to when he sat in your kitchen with that cursed necklace. He hadn’t noticed that curse—not until his sister apparently spelt it out for him. You couldn’t imagine carrying that thing around when it had reeked so badly that you tasted rot. 

“What about your sister?” You suddenly interrupt.

Bucky gives you an incredulous look. “Becca? What about her?” 

“You said she has a sense—”

“You think I’m lettin’ my sister near a brothel?” He snaps over you. His body turns to face you as you are both left motionless in the empty, ashy street. 

“Oh— I didn’t realise it was… You just said— I just assumed—” Your cheeks grow pink—this time not from the cold—as you stumble over your words. Flakes of ash slowly amble down from the sky, twirling in your mingled breath as the gangster looms over you. Several emotions flicker over his face—insult, disbelief—before finally settling on an eerie amusement. 

“Shy ‘bout a brothel? You’re not far off bein’ a whore yourself, doll. You certainly let me fuck you like one.” He leans closer to you, the scent of tobacco fanning across your skin. You clamp your jaw shut, your cheeks growing hotter by the second. The gangster smirks at you with a wickedness that rivals the devil. 

—

The Pony Club was not creatively named, like most things in Sootstone. You were sure there was an innuendo about riding or mounting buried in its origin. The brothel was buried deep in the busy streets of the Smokestack District. The crowd of workers parted with hushed whispers as you, Bucky, and Steve approached the establishment. You had bumped into the other gangster during your walk, and he had thankfully filled the tense silence hanging between you and Bucky. 

The Pony Club was neatly tucked between two stores. Ice covered the tiled roof, and grey-stained icicles dripped melted water from the front balcony. The ash falling from the sky was thick in these parts. Street sweepers patrolled the roads like small armies, brooms in tow, ensuring the roads were clear for carriages, waggons, and those on foot. 

The three of you paused before the building. Your eyes swept over the painted sign, an illustration of a pony alongside the cursive lettering. The building looks well up-kept like many of the Smog Boy establishments; it put its neighbours to shame. You couldn’t help but notice how, despite its busy location, the building was eerily empty. It was as if its walls stood outside of time, cursed to live an existence outside of perceivable reality. 

There was a twinge in your gut, a knowing. 

Steve grimaces beside you, the gangster scowling as he tucks his hands deep into his pockets. At first, you think he is simply cold from the frigid fog sitting over the city, but only as he speaks do you realise he senses something more. “I hate this place.” He utters.

Bucky hasn’t reacted. He truly didn’t seem to have a sense for anything otherworldly. 

“How does it make you feel?” You pry. Steve blinks at you in surprise, as if he hadn’t realised he spoke aloud. It would be useful for you to know how a non-magical person might feel; it could also give you insight as to what haunted the halls of the brothel. 

“Doesn’t encourage me to put my cock in some bird, that’s for sure. Bad for business, ‘cause that’s the whole point.” Steve grumbles, and you swear Bucky rolls his eyes. “How does it make you feel?”

The two men look at you with curiosity as you consider your words. Terrible? Awful? Yes, you felt unnerved, but you were accustomed to spirits and hauntings. Most places in this city had ghosts, whether they were malevolent or just lost. You had become unnervingly comfortable with the creeping sensation that you were not alone. It was an entirely different feeling to curses—no, curses, they twisted your gut in wicked ways—hauntings you were at ease with. There was an odd familiarity to them, it sparked a warmth in your soul. 

“Best I not say.” You land on. It would be better not to mess with the egos of gangsters, especially if they were afraid of a little ghost. 

The two men follow you as you step into the building. The inside is lavish, with a large, grand set of stairs that lead up to the mezzanine. Draperies hung from the balcony railings, and plush furniture, and decorations were artfully placed around the foyer. Despite its luxuriant appearance, there was an isolation that clung to the bones of the building. It was as if dust hung in the air, floating undisturbed. Not a breeze could get through the thick walls, nor could a breath of life. A place that was supposed to be rowdy, a den of sin and pleasure… silenced. As if it were a mausoleum. 

The building and those inside were lost in time, caught between a past that did not exist and a future that had not yet come. 

The peace is interrupted by a thundering noise, then shrieking. “Mr. Barnes! Oh, Mr. Barnes! So nice of you to come visit us!”

A few curious observers watch from over the bannisters. Beautiful women with tired eyes, hair swept up and curled into coiffures, and revealing dresses that clung to their curves. You suddenly felt rather overdressed in your winter clothes. 

An older woman descended the stairs in a frenzy, grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes were lined heavily with kohl, a bright pink blush across her cheeks, and lipstick to match. Her blonde curls bounced around her smooth face, a few longer strands following the dip of her dress. The madame of the brothel. 

Your lips purse together, and Bucky lets out a quiet sigh. “Madame Voss.”

“I trust you are here about the ghost?” The madame asks. She is rather excitable, like a puppy or a young child. Even Steve has grown uncharacteristically quiet, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and dread. “I told my girls you would be back to help! I said you were a busy man, but not to worry. We’ve lost a few since you were last here, Rose, Amorie, and Vivinne… but that is nothin’ to worry about. They were traitorous at heart—”

“Yes, I quite understand.” Bucky snaps over Madame Voss. Steve tries to hide a snort, and the madame is left momentarily speechless. “I’ve brought a witch.”

You feel the madame’s gaze rip from Bucky to you. She looks you up and down in one exaggerated sweep, then offers you a somewhat forced smile. She looks as if she is gritting her teeth as she drinks you in. You were left wondering if the madame had some type of unrequited infatuation with Bucky. Many of the women of Sootstone seemed to share such an attitude, especially if they did not have the wit to sense the danger attached to the handsome gangster. 

“She’s a bit too pretty for this business, don’t you think? I suppose all those witch women are a bit pretty. It’s usually glamours though, isn’t it?” There is an underlying spite to her tone as she assesses you, arms coming to fold over her chest. Her bosom is exaggerated, and her waistline is pulled pencil-thin by her corset. You are surprised the woman can breathe. “Well, are you wearin’ a glamour, girl?”

You hadn’t realised the madame was questioning you; actually, you found yourself rather overwhelmed by the whole display. Your lips part as you struggle to find your tongue and eventually stagger out a confused reply. “What?”

Madame Voss murmurs in annoyance, her arms uncrossed and hands coming to move in spirited gestures as she speaks. Bucky is staring at the ceiling as if bored out of his mind. “A glamour? You can’t tell me you normally look like that, all wide-fuckme-eyed?”

Steve makes a choking noise somewhere beside you while you gape at the madame. “No?”

“Huh.” 

“I work with spirits, not—” You cut yourself off, clearing your throat, and decide it was not worth the argument. “I’ll need some time to walk around ‘n get a feel for things. Maybe talk to some of the girls, if that is alright?”

“Fine by me.” Madame Voss waves you off, attention hastily pulled away as she turns to Bucky. “In the meantime, Mr Barnes, can I get you anythin’? Tea, biscuits… something else? You know my girls will always give you a discount—”

“Somethin’ to drink, perhaps. Somethin’ strong.” Bucky cuts off the Madame and claps Steve on the back. “What do you say, Steve?”

You got the impression that neither Bucky nor Steve liked this Voss woman. 

—

It did not take you long to explore the brothel in its entirety.

The establishment was compact and efficient. Downstairs was made up of the main foyer room, which was extended into a room similar to a drawing room. Tables made up the majority of the space, with playing cards and strong Smog Boys branded liquor decorated around the room. Comfortable furniture and suggestive art lined the walls. Out of view was a kitchen, a washroom, and madame’s office space, which Bucky would occasionally take residence in if dealing with business for the Pony Club. 

Upstairs was dedicated to private spaces, where the girls lived and worked. They were hesitant to speak with you, guarded and quiet. You did not get the sense that they were being abused or held against their will, but rather haunted by whatever spirit clung to the brothel. 

As the Pony Club slowly spiralled due to the haunting, many girls left. Business had grown to a standstill. The girls were plagued with nightmares and anxieties. The few that spoke to you recalled dreams of a dark figure who prowled through the halls, standing at the edges of their vision. At night, they would see the figure in the corners of their room, sitting on the edge of their bed. One girl even claimed the spirit sat upon her chest, that the mass had no face but two sets of shining white teeth that grinned down at her as she struggled to breathe. 

When the girls were not targeted by this mysterious figure, they were afflicted with memories of their past. Dark images would replay before them every time they closed their eyes until they awoke sweating and screaming. 

You bid farewell to an exhausted working girl by the name of Hanna. She sat on the bed, a woven blanket pulled over her shoulders. There was a distant look in her eyes as you quietly pulled the door shut, forcing yourself to inhale a deep breath as you stood on the empty mezzanine. There was an oppressive energy to the building, one that weighed down your chest as if someone were purposely crushing your ribcage. You knew your feelings were exaggerated due to your knowing, but there was certainly something potent enough here that even those with little to no sense could feel it. 

You slowly rotated around the mezzanine in thought, unsure where to begin. Most spirits had an anchor—an item, person, or space—that they bound themselves to. They used it to draw energy, recuperate, and recharge. In rare cases, a spirit might bind to an entire house, causing lesions and pus to drip from the walls. But in your experience, those houses had sat abandoned for years, decades, or even more. The house itself would become sentient, dripping with malice and blinded by rage for those who created it, only to leave it abandoned. That was a festering type of haunting, one of anguish and loneliness, but this… this brothel was active. There had once been clients, and multiple women still lived within its walls. So, where was the anchor? Nothing had screamed out to you; nothing had made bile churn in your stomach or your hair stand up on end—

You froze.

You were a few paces away from the staircase, your mind swimming in thought, and—

A dark mass stood on the top step. 

It watched you.

You couldn't make out the eyes or the shape of any humanoid body part. It just stood there, a black cloud over the staircase. But still, you could feel it watching.

And then it smiled. 

It smiled wide, yet it did not seem to have a jaw. There was no skull, nothing solid within its mass. Several pearly white teeth smiled at you, spiralling into a gaping hole. The pungent smell of decaying meat filled the air as the mist contorted and pulsated in a sickening rhythm while observing you.

Before you could even consider speaking or moving, the mass had swept down the staircase, disappearing from your view. You raced to the bannisters, leaning over as far as you could without launching yourself over the edge. Loose strands of hair danced around your face as you darted your head. You could still not make out the spirit. 

By the time you gathered your skirts and descended the staircase, you found the foyer empty. You could hear the distant trill of Madame Voss's voice deeper within the building, near the kitchen.

There was still that lingering oppression, an uneasiness that squeezed your chest. Regardless of how many times you whirled around, blindly scanning the foyer, you were unable to find a trail where the sensation intensified. 

Clenching your teeth together, you let out a sharp sigh and balled your hands into fists. You paused in one of the corners of the foyer, allowing the blood pumping in your ears to calm and your muscles to relax. You blocked out the distant voices, instead focusing on the hum of the environment. You were frustrated, yes, and maybe a little scared. Not of the spirit, but rather how Bucky might react if you told him that you couldn’t banish this ghost. Not because you were too weak or unaware of how to handle it—you were very much prepared in both areas—but because you couldn’t find it?

You were skilled at finding hidden anchors, but it was difficult to focus when you felt immense pressure on your shoulders alone. You closed your eyes and listened intently. You could feel each speck of dust swirling through the air and hear every small sound the walls and floors made as the wood settled. You could hear each fibre of the rug rustle as you gently tip-toed across the room, following an invisible line.

The string was knotted in a complex pattern, similar to a spiderweb. You could feel it brushing over your skin as you moved, growing taut as it tangled around your body. You pushed through the sensation as if wading into a pool of water, stepping deeper and deeper into its strands as they layered over your skin and clothes.

Then, a tug.

A slight tremor, a warbling as a single line was set alight in your mind. The spider—your ghost—was circling you like prey.

You grasped the string, following its current blindly through the foyer. You stumbled around furniture, tripping over the edge of a rug and—

The floorboard creaked beneath you.

It wasn’t a typical creak—not one of an old building or a settling house. No. The creak resonated through your mind, deafening you. Your hands rose to your ears, the shrieking growing louder and louder as you fell to your knees, wincing. The fibres of the rug bit into your skin, sending a rush of electricity coursing through your veins. Under the rug, the floorboard made a hollow thud, loud enough that your ears were ringing from the volume. 

You gasped in a breath, violently ripping yourself from your secondary state until you crashed back to reality. Panting, you found yourself crouched over the rug, fingernails dug into the fabric as you wheezed and panted. A cold sweat covered your body, your head aching as you tried to roll the discomfort from your shoulders. 

“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with your witch, Mr Barnes.” Madame Voss spoke in a sing-song fashion as she entered the foyer, a condescending look in her eyes as she stared down at you. You wiped the sweat from your brow, forcing your wobbling legs to rise. 

“It’s underneath,” was all you were able to reply, your voice raspy as you stalked to the corner of the rug.

"Ominous," the madame retorted, her brows arched. Her gaze cast back to the two gangsters who watched from the entrance to the room. There was a curiosity in their stare, hands tucked in their pockets as you worked. You gripped the corner of the rug, peeling it away from the floor. Underneath, everything looked perfectly in order, with well-polished hardwood panels lined up in unison. Carefully, you walked the length, tapping your shoe on each floorboard.

“Well, you do know what they say… with magic comes madness!” Voss announced with a sly grin, her hands moving to flourish her words. Bucky cocked his head to the side, emitting a sharp exhale through his flared nostrils. 

"Let her work," he spoke up, and the tension in the room mounted. The madame's disapproving scowl only added to the oppressive atmosphere. The room fell into an almost palpable silence, broken only by the sound of your tapping as you methodically sought out the hollow board once more. You could sense the growing impatience of the group as you painstakingly worked, with each floorboard sounding as solid as the next. 

Just as Bucky appeared poised to call off your efforts, the floorboard beneath you emitted a hollow thud that reverberated through the space below. You tapped again, feeling the same hollow thudding from the adjacent boards. Looking up at Bucky, you gestured toward the floor, affirming, “It’s underneath.” 

Madame Voss gaped in astonishment at you and then turned her incredulous gaze towards the two gangsters. “Underneath? Underneath! This must be some kind of magical trick—in all my years working in this establishment, I have never heard of a basement or cellar!”

As Bucky waved at the woman, he made a disdainful noise in dismissal. The madame fluffed up, muttering under her breath in flustered embarrassment, and then stalked away a few paces. Bucky and Steve soon joined you, watching intently as you blindly felt around the edges of the wooden panels. As you investigated, your fingertips discovered finely carved grooves hidden within the wood—imperceptible to the casual observer but discernible to those who sought them out. The edges of the indents provided a perfect grip for you to dig your nails into the wood, allowing you to pry the board from the floor with little effort.

The three of you peered into the space below through the thin gap. It was pitch black, but you could make out some rickety stairs descending into the inky dark. A thick layer of dust sat upon the steps, a musty smell hitting your nose. 

You sat back on your haunches, peering closely at the board you had just managed to pry up. The wood was marred with deep gouges as if some kind of wild animal had relentlessly scratched and clawed at the panel. As you tentatively ran your finger across the rough and battered surface, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach, sending a sickly shudder up your spine.

“Did you know this was here?” Steve mutters to Bucky from somewhere above you. 

You continued peeling up each of the loose boards, using the indents to grip the wood with your nails. The disgusting, nauseating feeling intensified as it became apparent that every panel had identical deep gouges carved into the wood.

“No,” Bucky replies, his voice hushed. 

When the hole is completely visible, you sink onto your knees. Now that light was flowing in, you could see more clearly. The dusty, ancient stairs descend to a stone floor. The stone appeared dry but extremely dusty. What appeared to be large, old wooden barrels and the beginnings of shelving against the walls were visible in the beam of light. You peer up at Bucky and Steve, who tower over you, and resist the urge to squirm as Bucky meets your gaze. 

“This is the anchor.” You explain, and Steve’s face twists, perplexed. 

“The pub—?”

“No. Spirits they… they bind themselves to something. An object, a person, a room. This is where the haunting originates.” You clarify and gradually rise to your feet, taking care not to collide with either of the men. 

You take a hesitant step down, the stair beneath groaning under your weight. You swallow hard, then spin in place to look back up at the gangsters who watch you expectantly. “I might need a candle.”

Without glancing back, Bucky clicks his finger at Madame Voss, who is attempting to peer into the mysterious room from her perch. “Voss. Candle.”

The madam, clearly exasperated, lets out a loud huff before turning on her heel and disappearing into one of the adjacent rooms. There is still a distinct taste of tension in the air.

“Looks like your old man's been a naughty boy.” Steve teases, a boyish smile emerging. Bucky remains silent, choosing not to dignify the gangster's comment with a reply. Their dynamic left you contemplating the depth of their relationship, especially since you had heard that Barnes was not particularly kind to those who mentioned his father. While Bucky's gaze remained blank and unmoving, you couldn't help but notice a subtle twitch in his jaw, betraying a suppressed reaction.

The Smog Boys were infamous for their cruelty towards their enemies, anyone who crossed them, and those who betrayed their trust. Bucky, in particular, was known for his ruthless approach to dealing with anyone who stood in his way. He carried out his actions silently and brutally, and by the next morning, everyone in The Warrens knew that Barnes had spilt blood. Despite the fear he instilled in others, Bucky remained calm and collected. He was a strategic thinker and planner, and he took pleasure in the sadistic ways his plans unfolded. Despite his fearsome reputation, he was still not as notorious as his father. 

His father exhibited a striking lack of cunning, care, or thoughtfulness in his approach. The Warrens endured a dreadful existence as George Barnes succumbed to alcohol-induced rampages. He embodied sheer strength, a fierce warrior whose white-hot rage could melt the most hardened of hoarfrosts. He instilled fear without cause, displaying psychopathic tendencies and craving notoriety through any means necessary. He bolstered the Smog Boys fostering terror through street attacks, gang wars, or burning entire buildings down as a message. Upon Bucky's ascension, the business adopted a quieter and more devious approach. Bucky was all about making money in a quick, quiet, and dirty way. His enemies didn't fear him because they knew what he was capable of, but rather because they never knew, and Bucky knew how to up the ante each time.

Around seven years ago, George had been arrested. He had been too loud and confident in his approach, and the coppers had snagged him. Bucky ran the business for his father, and the Smog Boys boomed with success. His father was set to go on trial, and it wasn’t an unknown fact that the judge had paid off. George Barnes was set to walk free and take over the business again. 

Two days before the trial, he was discovered dead in his cell, his body bearing the marks of a brutal, mysterious beating. There was no trace of evidence to scrutinise, and the guards remained silent, neither admitting guilt nor pointing fingers. The law turned a blind eye to the demise of a notorious criminal under their watch, and the incident was quickly swept under the rug, forgotten within hours. Bucky vehemently denied any involvement. He put on a public display of mourning, cursing the authorities and vowing vengeance, though his threats never materialized. It's also worth noting that Bucky shared a particularly close bond with his mother, Winnifred, who herself was not spared from the brutality of her husband. It was common knowledge that, behind closed doors, Winnifred, Bucky, and his younger sister Becca endured all manner of cruelty at the fists of George Barnes.

Years had passed since those fateful events, and Bucky's ascension to power remained unquestioned. No one dared challenge his authority, fearing both the brutal consequences and because The Warrens had silently celebrated in the wake of Senior Barnes' untimely demise.

The sound of Madame Voss' heels clicking against the hardwood floor signalled her return. You took the candle gratefully, eager to escape the awkward tension, and descended into the gloom.

The old wood stairs protest with every step, emitting squeaks and groans under your weight. Your sweeping skirts brush a fine layer of dust into the air, shimmering in the weak candlelight that struggles to pierce the shadows of the small, dimly lit room. You could only describe the space as a cellar, with its stone walls and floors exuding an eerie, uncomfortable atmosphere. Thick metal bolts secure wooden shelves laden with countless large glass bottles, while large barrels, shrouded in heavy blankets of dust, crowd the square room. In the dim corners, dense cobwebs collect. A place long forgotten.

Bucky and Steve carefully made their way down the creaky stairs as you delicately balanced the flickering candle on the edge of one of the dusty barrels. As you wipe away the accumulated grime, you uncover a label imprinted on the lid:  Property of SMOG BOYS—George Barnes. You squinted at the words in the low light, moving to the next as you tried to understand what was in these barrels. 

Behind you, Steve had grabbed hold of one of the large glass bottles and uncorked it with a sharp pop! He raised it to his nose, took a sniff, and then emitted a loud holler. "Shit, Buck. This is moonshine."

Bucky let out a grumbling noise of recognition, inspecting one of the barrels. “It must’ve been a storage space from the distillery. These barrels look like whiskey.” 

The two gangsters gathered near the barrels, muttering between themselves. 

“You sure he never mentioned this to you?”

“I’m sure. Don’t know why he was so determined to hide a bit of liquor. We have plenty of warehouses for this—”

You rounded the barrels, venturing deeper into the room. A row of shelves faced the centre of the room, with a narrow space between them that you could slip through. The candlelight barely reached the other side, obscured by the layers of barrels and bottles. You blindly stumbled into the empty space, feeling a familiar, thrumming sensation.

Invisible strings tangled at your ankles as you pushed deeper into the darkness, the warm flicker of candlelight barely illuminating what lay within. There, in the centre of the room, stood a solitary chair—a simple wooden chair. The thrumming grew louder, your heart pulsating as you gaped down at it. Thick sailor ropes coiled tightly around each arm and leg, faded remnants of blood splattered across the cold stone floor beneath. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in around you, the air heavy with a sense of foreboding—

You jumped out of your skin as a hand rested on your shoulder. Bucky had followed you through the shelves. His eyes mirrored the unease that churned in your stomach, his face etched with a deep, troubled frown. You felt urged to speak up and console the man but you knew better than to fall into that trap. His presence was disturbingly comforting as if the dangerous gangster were not the apex predator in the room. All you could do was gape, tearing your vision away from the chair as you stumbled back a few paces. 

As quickly as you had found solace in the man, it was torn away. He stalked toward you, finger pointed as he jabbed it into your sternum. His eyes had glazed over, a thunderous rage taking shape. You sensed it was a defence mechanism, a way to intimidate you because you had seen something you weren’t supposed to—something that shocked even him.

“Not a word. You understand?” he hissed, his large, sculpted frame towering over you. You shrank back, your spine meeting the shelving, causing the moonshine bottles to clink together.

You knew what this place was. A hidden place. A forgotten place. A place where torture and death had been carried out. An echo from the past. A whisper on the wind that spoke the name George Barnes.

This was the kind of business Bucky kept meticulously hidden—a necessary evil shrouded in secrecy. Bodies were found only if he wanted to send a message. You were certain there were countless other hidden, unmarked graves. Bucky was too clever to be undone by a rogue body or misplaced trust. Every action he took was calculated to ensure it could never be traced back to the Smog Boys. Of course, everyone knew it was them, but legally proving their involvement was another matter. Despite the gang's reputation for being untouchable, the coppers constantly searched for any loophole to bring them down. Bucky's entire operation could unravel if the wrong person discovered incriminating evidence.

For all your understanding, The Pony Club was one of the few legitimate businesses under the Barnes name. If an enemy of the Smog Boys discovered a way to link this grim scene to the underground crime network Bucky managed? It could spell disaster. 

“Do you understand?” Bucky repeated, his voice dripping with venom. This was a side of him you had heard rumours of but had never witnessed yourself. This was the leader of the Smog Boys. This was the Bucky that made Sootstone cower.

You swallowed hard, nodding as you huddled against the shelves.

The gangster ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You could sense the conflict in his eyes as they darted between you and the chair. After rubbing his chin and jaw, he finally settled on resting a hand on your shoulder again, an oddly tender touch. His head dipped, and he muttered in your ear, “I need this ghost gone. Now, doll. I think it's best no one else sees my father’s handiwork.”

“I can—I can do that,” you stammered. The gangster gave you a slow nod, exhaled sharply, and then turned on his heels.

In the sudden emptiness, the thrumming in your ears became deafening, a relentless pulse that drowned out all other sounds. Your ears rang with a piercing intensity, and your breath quickened, coming in short, ragged gasps. The room seemed to close in around you, now suffocatingly tight. The walls pressed inward, and the air grew thick and heavy as if it were pushing against your chest. You felt an overwhelming sense of dread creeping into your bones, a cold, insidious fear that wrapped itself around your heart. Somewhere in the background of it all, Steve yelped. 

At first, you could not hear his distress, not over the noise in your head. It was only as Bucky paused by the narrow opening between the shelves, his eyes snapping to yours, that you heard Steve again—frantic shouts piercing through the deafening roar of a fire, overwhelming even the clamour in your head.

You move quicker than Bucky, darting through the shelves back into the candlelight.

Except it wasn’t the candlelight that lit the room in a blinding glow, but instead a figure engulfed in flame. You could make out bludged eyes and an agape mouth through the tendrils, which licked up the figure in a violent blaze. Steve was pinned with his back against one of the barrels as the figure, screaming and writhing, hurtled towards him.  

You hurry forward, positioning yourself between Steve and the burning figure. Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you closer as he shouted, "What the fuck?!"

The fiery figure hesitates, its swollen, bloodshot eyes flitting between Steve and you in confusion. Bucky had pulled what appeared to be a knife from his pocket and was circling the scene. Your brows furrow as you give him a puzzled look and free yourself from Steve's grip. 

“Put it away!” You bark over the roar. Bucky cocks his head to one side, both of you mutually surprised that you had found your voice. As you approach the figure, it retreats, the flames quickly extinguishing. Your ears ring as silence falls. The spirit has transformed into a black mass again, its shape twisting and jittering as it swings its gaze between the three of you. 

“It can read your memories. It feeds off fear and pain.” You explain to the two gangsters, hesitantly stepping forward once more. The spirit centres its eyes solely on you. “It shows you your darkest memories, the ones you've buried. It’s tryna scare you.” 

You do not dwell on whatever memory Steve was plagued by.

The spirit shifted once more, the dark mass disappearing into the shadows. You shallow your breath, quickly scanning the room before turning to Barnes. “The chair is the anchor. The spirit needs to be unbound.”

“And how do you do that?” He asks in reply, nostrils flaring. You step into the centre of the room, peering through the shelves into the dark space. Dread curled in your stomach as your eyes roamed the chair.

“I could destroy it or cleanse it—”

“Where's your mother, girl?” A familiar, slurred voice reverberated through the dimly lit room, sending shivers down your spine. Your entire body tensed, and your heart seemed to clench in your chest as a surge of fear momentarily halted you in your tracks. The acrid scent of alcohol mixed with the pungent odour of sweat hung heavy in the air. The heavy, unsteady footsteps of a large man reverberated over the stone floors.

“She’s sick.” A child's voice replied. Your voice. 

In front of you appeared a vivid scene. Your father, in a state of intoxication, stood before you. His body was angled in such a way that only the profile of his face was visible. His clothing was tattered, and the floors bore marks of mud and filth from his worn boots. His hair was dishevelled and sprinkled with ash, and his flushed face glistened with sweat. Facing him was a much younger version of yourself. You estimated her to be around eight years old, judging by the length of her hair and the ragged dress clinging to her emaciated frame. The child cowered against a door, her limbs trembling in fear.

“Sick? That damn woman is always sick. Get out of the way, girl, I need to speak with my wife.” Your father slurs, lurching forward. The child held steady, her back pressed defiantly against the door. 

“You can’t, she’s sleeping—”

A resounding crack echoed through the room as your father’s palm connected forcefully with her cheek. The impact sent her sprawling to the floor, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she fell. Tears shimmered in her wide, frightened eyes, reflecting the harsh light as they welled up and spilt over her cheeks. The room seems to hold its breath in the aftermath, the sharp sound of the slap lingering. 

“What’s this? Who’s that?” Steve spoke up from beside you. You had almost entirely forgotten that the two men were still in the cellar with you. Bucky watches on with morbid curiosity, but you do notice how the muscles in his jaw tighten. 

“A memory.” You mutter back. You urge your feet to move, but you feel as though you are wading through waist-deep water. 

“Some gall you have to be telling me what I can and can’t do in my own home, girl!” Your father charges through the door, his eyes wild and unseeing as he drunkenly stumbles over your younger self's frail body. Ignoring your cries, he leaves her sprawled on the floor, the door slamming shut with a jarring finality before she can react. Muffled shouting and screaming rise from beyond, chaos that drowns out her sobs. The child curls into a ball on the cold floor, trembling and sobbing as the shrieking grows louder. The walls thud and shake with the force of his rage, each violent sound echoing through the small room, amplifying the terror that grips her small frame.

“You’re not welcome here, spirit,” your voice cuts through the unfolding nightmare with unwavering authority. You can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, but you tilt your head defiantly. Momentarily sucked into the horror of it all, but now you stand unshaken. The scene pauses, and the child freezes in place as the shouting and banging abruptly stop. The spirit seems to contemplate your words, its image flickering before dissolving into a dark fog that settles in a dense layer across the stone floors. 

“I think destroying it would be easiest.” You mumble to the gangsters. Bucky’s lips were set in a fine line, his jaw still clenched, while Steve eyed you warily. “Burning it would be the best way.”

As if in response to your comment, the room burst to life once more. The two men stand on either side of you as if their curiosity is too much to dismiss as they realise it is another of your memories. 

This time, the version of you was older. A teenager. She perched on the edge of the docks, her legs dangling into the waters below. Next to her sits a boy roughly the same age. The two of them laugh and indulge in a shared bag of colourful, sugary treats.

“My dad keeps askin’ after you.” The boy says. Michael. Your gut twists. You knew what was to come. 

“I’m not joinin’ your dad’s weird cult.” She giggles, popping a boiled sweet into her mouth with a lopsided grin. Her hair was loose, uncaring as the breeze tangled it and ash fell from the skies. 

“He keeps goin’ on about how you’re some saviour—”

“Ew.” She replies, nose scrunching. The teen leans back on her palms with a sigh, looking across the docks. “You know me and my mum aren’t interested in that stuff. I’m not desperate like those other witches he tricks into joining. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve held on this long, you’re what? Seventeen? Why don’t you just get a job in one of the factories and get the hell out of there?”

Michael appears displeased by her response. You had never previously noticed, despite replaying the memory in your mind numerous times. In the past, you believed you were being helpful, perhaps even clever. You could see the wrinkle of discomfort in the boy’s face now. You knew all too well that breaking free from his father's control was never as easy as moving out. You had been naive to believe that. Michael had not called you a fool, which was probably a small act of kindness on his part.  

“How’s your mum?” He asks, gaze cast to the side to look at the teen’s profile. She shrugs, sucking on the sweet in thought. 

“Still sick. We saw that healer in the Smokestacks, said he might be able to do somethin’ about it.”

“You know my family could help—”

The teen gives him an irritated look. “You know my mum doesn’t want your help. She doesn’t even want me hangin’ out with you.”

The tranquillity of the scene had captivated you to the point where you lost awareness of your surroundings. It was only the looming sense of dread for what was about to unfold, the feeling of Bucky's sleeve brushing against your arm, and the audible, sharp intake of breath from Steve that jolted you back to reality.

“Oi! Lookie here! It’s—” The shout of a copper was warbled as you strode forward, the memory rippling like a pool of water. 

You had to prevent what was about to happen. You couldn't let Bucky see how everything truly unfolded. You knew you should have stopped it before it went this far. You shouldn't have allowed yourself to get pulled into this memory. Yet, there was a bittersweet comfort in seeing him again, remembering him as he was before everything went so wrong.

“Probably shouldn’t burn it down here. Those barrels catch and this place will explode.” You mutter under your breath, trying to ignore the sickness churning in your stomach as you approach the chair. As you draw closer, your eyes catch the gruesome details etched into the wood. Dark, crusted blood is splattered across the seat, each fleck and smear a silent testament. Streaks of crimson have seeped into the grain, staining the wood in a macabre pattern. The iron tang of old blood hangs in the air, mixing with the musty dampness of the room. Your hair stands on end and your nerves tingle as a shiver runs down your spine. The closer you stand, the more uneasy energy pulses through you. Summoning your courage, you grip one of the chair's arms and yank with all your strength—only to find it bolted firmly to the floor. 

Your stomach drops. 

You needed to get the two men out of this cellar and defeat this spirit yourself. You couldn’t stand their gazes upon you, waiting expectantly. You roll your shoulders, twisting your neck as a tight, itching sensation settles over your skin. You weren’t afraid of the memories, but rather the reaction to them. You didn’t want sympathy. Most of all, you didn’t want to be feared—to be viewed as a weapon. 

You knew that was what the Smog Boys truly desired—a tool to complete their dirty work. 

The memory came to life around you once more, stronger and more vivid. Michael was sprawled on the floor, beaten and bloodied, his face a mess of bruises and cuts. The coppers, young and full of arrogance, stood above him, their laughter echoing in the confined space. They were eager to prove themselves, and they relished every moment of his suffering, laying blow after blow into his broken body. Their cackles filled the room, mingling with the sickening thuds of their fists and boots against his flesh. 

“Let me go!” Your head swivels as you look to the other side of the room. There, the teenage version of you is held back by two men with bruising grips, their hands digging painfully into her arms. Tears streamed down her face, carving glistening tracks through the grime and dust. Her eyes are wide with terror and helpless rage as she struggles and screams, her voice raw and desperate. The men restraining her exchange smirks, their expressions cold and indifferent to her anguish. The room seems to close in around you now, the walls reverberating with the echoes of her cries and the relentless thudding of blows landing on Michael. You were powerless, trapped in a living nightmare.

You needed to stop this—

There was a loud crunch, the agonising sound of bone snapping and shattering under a steel-toe boot. Michael has grown still, his body is no longer convulsing with pain. His face was unrecognisable—a grotesque mask of bruises and blood, the features obliterated by the relentless assault. His skull is misshapen, cracked open against the stone curb, a dark pool of blood is spreading beneath him.

Somewhere in the distance, the past version of you wails, a heart-wrenching sound that seems to come from the depths of her soul.

She was scrambling on her knees over the filthy streets, her body shaking with sobs as she gripped Michael’s lifeless form. Her fingers, trembling and desperate, searched for any sign of life, but you knew now that it was pointless. Michael was dead. He had died the moment they cracked his skull open. Blood smears her hands and clothes as she clings to him, her tears mixing with the grime on the ground.

She shakes his body, begging him to wake up. The coppers continue to snicker amongst themselves. They are unphased by the blood and flesh painted across their boots, their faces twisted in smug satisfaction. 

“That’s enough now.” You spoke up in the present, tone low and warning. The spirit hesitates, and the teen pauses, her body relaxing as the sobbing stops. Her head twists around, her eyes a milky white as she looks directly through you. 

“I know what you are.” The spirit spoke through the memory of you. Her gaze shifted to look at the coppers. Their figures are silent, but their shoulders shake with laughter, an amused indifference as they watch the suffering before them. “Spirit-raiser…diviner…light-bringer.”

Her eyes start to glow, a bright white that blinds the room. You know what is to come. You know what happens next. The shelves and barrels begin to rattle around you, and dust is stirred up into clouds. You could hear Steve swearing somewhere behind. Her sights move to the coppers, a knowing smirk fading into a cruel frown. Her hand raises into the air, fingers moving to snap—

Your hand has subconsciously raised. The ground trembles beneath you. It isn’t from the past; it is present. It was you at this exact moment, touching your fingers together. The ceiling above you groans, bottles of moonshine shattering across the floors as they fall. Behind you, Bucky and Steve yell over the commotion, calling to you. You can feel the crackle of electricity in the air and map every particle that flutters in the air. The chaos rises in your chest as you summon it forward. The crackle of energy grows higher and higher until the tingling sensation meets your fingertips. 

You snap your fingers, and a deafening crack echoes through the cellar. For a moment, everything grows still. Your body begins to glow, emitting a bright white light that fills the room, even stronger than the spirit's light. The intensity of it is blinding, obliterating every detail with a searing brilliance.

The room explodes around you. 

Bits of wood splinter, torn from their fixtures and launched through the air. Barrels explode with a thunderous roar, whiskey gushing out in torrents that splash and pool around your ankles, the potent scent of alcohol overwhelming your senses. The entire room shudders and rocks from the impact, the walls groaning under the strain. You were momentarily assaulted by the barrage of debris—sharp shards of shelving and glass raining down around you. Until Bucky grips you. Amid the chaos, he seizes your waist, pulling you into the shelter of his chest to shield you from the storm. 

Steve has vanished up the stairs, the floorboards above rattling with each of his hurried steps as the earth finally settles. The room falls into an eerie silence, the only sound being the gentle sloshing of liquor around your feet.

There is a large crack in the stone floor where the chair used to be. 

You pull yourself from Bucky’s grip rather unceremoniously, frowning as you pull shredded wood from your hair. The gangster eyes you cautiously, clearing his throat as he retreats backwards. “Are you gonna explain what that was?”

You were unsure what he was specifically referring to—whether it was the haunting memories or the raw power you had just unleashed. Regardless, you didn’t feel up to explaining either. A deep weariness had settled into your bones, your muscles aching from the exertion of channelling such immense energy. A thin trail of blood had begun to leak from your nose, the metallic taste of copper lingering as you absentmindedly licked your bottom lip in thought. 

You should not have done that. But they would have found out either way. 

Your fingers instinctively came up to rub your temple as you let out a sharp sigh of annoyance. With magic weariness came a tinge of irritation and snarkiness—it was a familiar companion after such displays of power. At that moment, you couldn't summon the will to care about how dangerous Bucky was or how he could ruin your life. All you craved was the simple comfort of lying down and perhaps indulging in a strong drink or two to ease the embarrassment of the situation.

Above, Madame Voss's shrill shrieks pierce through the ceiling, amplifying the headache pounding behind your skull. You knew the entire row of buildings would have felt the surge of energy you had just unleashed. One could only hope that the coppers wouldn’t investigate too closely into the disturbance.

Ignoring his previous question, you speak up. “You should invest in gettin’ your buildings properly cleansed.” 

Maybe that would make him and his men shut up about your faulty locks.

You go to walk away, but Bucky's firm grip on your forearm halts your movement, holding you back. His head cocks as he looks you up and down, his eyes sharp and calculating. “I don’t know much about magic, but I know witches don’t just summon shit like that out of thin air.”

If you were one of his dogs, your hackles would have raised, teeth bared. You look him down defiantly with a scowl. “Respectfully, Barnes, you don’t know shit about magic. I keep your secrets; you keep mine. That’s the deal, isn’t it?”

His lips curl into an astonished smirk, pleased as equally as he was stunned by your tone. His head dips down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low murmur. “You know, doll, if you weren’t growing on me, I would have you killed for speaking to me like that.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath tickling against your skin, his proximity stirring a mix of emotions within you—wariness, curiosity, and a hint of something deeper that you couldn't quite define. You knew better than to let the boundaries between you blur. You give him a mocking pout, wrenching your arm from his grip. “I know you won’t kill me, if you wanted to kill me, I would be dead already. You’ve decided I’m valuable, haven’t you? Who would break your curses and scare away the skeletons in your closet? You must know that I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I don’t want to help you, we’re not friends.” 

His jaw tenses slightly as he processes your words, and his voice is flat as he speaks. “The most valuable thing a woman like you can offer is what’s between your legs. And you gave that up pretty easily.” 

His lips curl into a sneer. “I suppose the magic is a bonus. But I know you’re little more than a whore beneath it all.”

Several emotions flicker through your chest. Pain, frustration, disillusionment. You should have known better. You knew better. You don’t dignify the gangster with a response, instead turning on your heel to march out of the cellar. 

“I’ll have someone come fetch you when you’re next needed, spirit-raiser,” he calls after you, his tone mocking. 

You ascend the stairs without looking back.

PART THREE

[b0g-b0y]

A Moth to a Flame

Ghost x M reader Requested @imcoughing

( Im sorry yall but I really didn't feel like writing the mission, I could do something like in DMZ but idk)

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Y/n and Ghost never really knew each other, besides the rare time they passed each other in the halls on base. They never did say a word to each other.

But like a moth to a flame, Y/n and Ghost ended up on the same mission. Ghost didn't think anything about it, why would he? And for Y/n he heard much about Ghost some good some bad, but at the end of the day, Ghost was just another guy to him.

—————-

The window is open crickets are like music to his ears, it's something Ghost could almost fall asleep to. Ghost lies down in his bed. He stares at the ceiling thinking about what happened today. About what happened during the mission, he nearly got shot but Y/n saved him from it. Ghost couldn't get Y/n's eyes out of his mind the look of general concern and worry that he saw in Y/ns eyes, made him feel a type of why. The way Y/n scanned the room before Y/n moved towards Ghost and checked to see if he was wounded, Y/ns touch was so gentle and caring. It almost reminded him of his mom. “ Bloody hell,” Ghost said to himself, before turning on his side to try and get some sleep.

Ghost craved more of that feeling, he wanted Y/n.

Ghost tried to talk to y/n whenever he saw the other man, but that never got far. Y/n made small conversation with Ghost to be polite, but Ghost could tell something was different it wasn't like before it was more distant. A feeling that Ghost knew too well.

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Y/n stood outside early in the morning watching the sunrise. A friendly slap to his back got Y/n to look at who would do that, to no surprise it was Soap. “ Scared the shit out of Soap,” Y/n said. Soap let out a small chuckle.” Didn't think I would scare ye, lad. After all, you've been hanging around the Ghost a lot recently’ Soap said. Y/n couldn't help but let out a sigh.” Not really, don't know why he's been talking to me, it might be a stupid joke I don't know” Both Soap and Y/n looked at each other for a moment. It was silent.

“ I mean Soap he only really likes you and Price, he tolerates Gaz. He calls you Johnny which only Ghost can get away with. The both of you are almost like glue, so how could this not be a cruel joke? Do me a favor and tell Ghost to knock it off.” Y/n said. And at that moment soap looked at Y/n like he said the stupidest shit in the world. “ You're a fuckin idiot,” Soap said before giving a small slap to the back of Y/N's head. “ What the hell Soap?” Y/n said clearly annoyed at Soap's actions.

“ You think Ghost would talk to ye if he didn't like you mate? If Ghost didn't like you he would let you know. Ever cross your mind that Ghost might like you, lad? He almost looks like a puppy when he looks at you for Christ's sake!” Soap said the volume of his voice getting louder as he talked.” Ghost is pursuing you, mate! He Has a silly little crush on you. Ye know how long I had to sit there and listen to Ghost talk about you and how caring you are and you make him feel loved or some shite. Don't get me started on how long the man talked about how pretty yer eyes are, his driving me mad. And you think he doesn't like you? You’ve been dropped on the head as a child Y/n” Soap said his accent was somewhat thick as he talked. Y/n had a small blush on his face as he thought of what Soap said to him. “ Should I ask him out then or…” Y/n said shyly. Soap just gave Y/n a glare and Y/n got the message.

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The next time Y/n saw Ghost he stopped him. Y/n looked into Ghost's beautiful brown eyes.”Ghost you ummm, do you like me or. I don't know anymore you're hard to read.” Y/n said softly. Ghosts eyes searched Y/N's eyes for a moment. “ Like you a lot,” Ghost said with his gruff voice. “ How much is a lot Ghost,” Y/n said well gently holding Ghost's face in his hands making the brit look at him. “ Bloody hell… I like you so much that I go back to being Simon Reily for a moment don't feel like the Ghost I swore I am now.” Ghost said almost in a whisper. His hand now touching Y/ns hand that was holding his face so gently.

Y/n gave Ghost the warmest smile that matched the soft and loving look in Y/n eyes. “ Might have to stick by your side more often, I seem to like Simon Reily quite a lot,” Y/n said as he watched Ghost's dark brown eyes light up at his words. “Don't think people will believe that a Ghost can love,” Ghost said with a small chuckle. “ Well I'm not loving a ghost, I'm loving a man,” Y/n said softly.