#the au worms have got me boys

[skimmeh]

You know how I mentioned we accidentally made five other alternate timelines of the Starteater story for fun! ...here's them visualised haha

[almostempty]

Look at this photograph

(joel miller x f!reader)

The half sequel (Chapter 1.5) to Never made it as a wise man

WC: 3.5k | Part 1 | Other fics | Rating: 18+ 

Summary: you open Joel’s dick pic and (after examination) decide to give him a call

Note: it’s me ya boi (gn), back with more divorceddadrockdilf!joel bc you guys get me. i know y’all want them to fuck, and I want them to fuck too. unfortunately, this flowed through me first, and I am merely a vessel for the spirit of buttrock joel. 

so, until they get their freak nasty on, please enjoy this as a chapter 1.5, with gratuitous dick pic art critique and crankin’ it over the phone <3 don’t worry, he’s still a lil pathetic. mistakes and bad jokes are all on me. 

Tags: au no outbreak modern joel, divorced dad rock dilf joel x f!reader, picks up right where ch.1 ended, dick pic descriptions, alternating pov, dirty talk, phone sex, masturbation, it’s all just phone sex, but edge yourself through it with fond memories of ch. 1, still crackish, but i am still dead serious about it being hot so idc

inspo playlist i found on spotify: Divorced Dad Rock: BANGERZ

thanks: to @hellishjoel for hosting the #hotdilfsummerchallenge and to everyone who enjoyed part 1 

@gothcsz i promise fuckboy!joel is cookin, he’s just in the crockpot rn. he’s gotta tenderize like a white lady’s pinterest recipe for pulled pork. 

* i tried to tag everyone who wanted more, but if you don’t wanna be here i’ll remove it <3 or if i missed you and you want to be tagged next time pls let me know

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you blurt out after opening the message from Joel. The vulgar dick pick sends a prickly worm of arousal slithering down your spine. 

Without thinking, you tilt the phone down toward your chest, and your eyes shoot up like you’ve got to make sure nobody saw your naughty message. Warmth blooms on your cheeks as the flash of embarrassment starts to dissolve. You don’t need to hide. 

You’re in your bed, in your apartment, wearing Joel’s grubby Creed t-shirt. The one that smells like Degree Sport and a Jiffy Lube break room. You're free to look at all the dick pics your heart desires. And that’s what you’re going to do. 

The wiggle of bashful energy turns into a squirm as you shift your hips, seeking a comfy position in bed. The t-shirt bunches up under your back and you wonder if the unique Joel scent of it will linger on your pillow beneath your shoulders. You knew pilfering the shirt on the way out the door was a good move, and now you get to enjoy your trophy. It makes it feel like the broad-as-a-barn-door DILF himself was still close enough to touch you. 

It gives you another bright shudder when you think about the noises he made when he came in your hand earlier. The disappointed grunts of “fuck, wait” and how he tried to choke down the throaty groan that came from deep in his chest. Fuck. The perverted gremlins that have a permanent residence in your mind have been roused by the digital dick, and now they chitter and squawk at you. More! More! More!  

You reopen the message, and seeing it gives you another rush. You save the picture to your phone storage. For your personal collection. Mine now, big boy. Your chin starts to dip towards your chest. It’s like you’re giving your phone the Kubrick stare with the ghost of a smirk. You’re free to take your time with this one. And you can be as much of a creep as you want. That makes you sigh softly and sink deeper against your pillows. 

Before this afternoon, it was titillating when Joel would pop up in your mind's eye with his slutty slo-mo scenes. The one where he was bent over your car's engine like Megan Fox in that Transformers movie. Or, that damn happy trail tease with the t-shirt-sweat-rag move. You had just enough imagery to let your dirty thoughts take the wheel. 

And, god, you had a good production team in your mind for projects starring Joel. Adding this will give the team a whole lot more to work with. You can hear them crashing around your conscious like the Animaniacs on the Warner Brothers lot. Horny chaos goblin mode activated. 

Now that you have time to study the image, from the luxury of your microfiber sheets and lamplit bedroom, you let it get pervy. It’s your first real, lingering look–earlier today, you were so busy trying to rile him up in his jeans that you didn’t even pull it out.

It had somehow been even more delicious that way. Having him all needy and unable to stop himself from making a mess in your hand. And not just the noises, but the erratic thrusts into your tight fist? The heat of his pulsing length as he forgot himself? Yeah, you’re gonna remember that one. 

But now? Now you need the visual. If the devil is in the details, you have a new neighbor with horns and a tail. 

You zoom in on everything. Holding your phone closer to your face than necessary, like how do we enhance this bitch? 

And holy shit. 

Drool pools in your mouth and between your legs. You have the knee-jerk reaction to lick your phone. 

You can hear Joel’s voice from earlier today. All husky and grumbly, arguing that you really were a slut for him, like, “You are, aren’t you, though? You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt just to see me?”  He might be touch-starved enough to cream his jeans, but you just know he’s got a nasty mouth in bed, and you’ve got to find out firsthand. Soon. There’s no reason not to, right? 

You pause when a flicker of reasoning tickles the back of your neck. 

You’re back to looking in your review mirror in Joel’s driveway. The last-ditch attempt at checking your ego before you marched to his front door like a Halloween hoe bag version of Betty Crocker. 

You had told yourself you weren’t trying to fuck your (almost) friend’s (sort of) dad. Told yourself there was nothing to pursue, and even if there was, you wouldn’t bite. 

You like Ellie. She’s been (mostly) welcoming to you. You told yourself not to fuck anything up with the only person that’s got a single one of your jokes at your new job. 

You were just bringing some food as a friendly gesture. The fresh visuals to add to your spank bank reel were supposed to be a harmless bonus. Okay, maybe it was a stretch to say you had rolled up to Joel’s driveway with pure intentions. 

And it was an even bigger stretch–when he added that third finger while he finger fucked you on the kitchen counter—wait, no. It was an even bigger stretch when you had told yourself you probably weren’t his type anyway. 

Like, that guy? With the fridge full of Coors Banquet? With those ugly Oakley sunglasses that you know are featured in his only picture on social media that isn’t a car or truck? The guy with all the words to Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” and Puddle of Mudd’s “She Hates Me” memorized? 

Nah, deep down, you knew. You knew there was no way that middle-aged bachelor would turn down any action. But you hadn’t planned on actually making a move, especially not a handjob in the middle of the kitchen. 

That’s on Joel for leaving the door open while trying to rub one out to some bimbo on Brazzers. And for barking at you in that sexy, angry voice. And for teasing you with the bulge in his oil-stained jeans. What were you supposed to do? 

Something must be really rotting in the logic department of your brain. 

Hey! The gremlin voice in your head is still shouting at you. Hey!! Why are we not tasting that dick yet?!! You’re back from your daydream and the excuses you crafted for your behavior, back to laying in your bed with Joel’s dick pic emitting a bright glow in your hand. 

You still do want to lick the screen. 

Fortunately for your immune system, you control your tongue. The critical part of you expels a sigh when you zoom out and take in the picture. 

It’s undoubtedly a nice cock, but the image as a whole? Yikes. 

Why do men have to be so fucking thick? And blunt? Wait, now you’re just describing the slightly blurry boner lighting up your face. Thick as in dense. How can men be so dense? 

No imagination or creativity. No patience. 

You shake your head slightly, scoffing. No wonder you caught him hunched over his cracked phone screen. It was probably the first video loaded on the only site he had saved. 

No sweet, sweet, buildup, setting the mood, or getting cozy. Just whippin’ it out midday or snapping a photo in some ratty sweats. 

Like you’ve never been that touch-starved or down bad?

You ignore that voice to continue your art critique. 

The photo you sent is… sexy. 

Sultry. A flirty tease. It says, “Look who has your shirt? Am I wearing it in bed? Do you think I'm wearing anything else?” 

It’s all implied in the look in your eye and the picture's composition. The tease of the soft curves on the underside of your breasts, asking if he remembers what they felt like. Your hand bunching up the shirt, asking if he remembers the slide of that fist around his cock. If he remembers those fingers, the ones you sucked his sticky spend off of. 

Such delicately crafted imagery. Personalized erotic fine art.  

But men are so crude about it. He sees your tasteful, sexy pic, and immediately, the best his caveman brain can come up with is: send her ur dick! STAT!! Hard cock! Now!!

And, of course, he did. Taken in the dark with the flash on, making ominous shadows in the background. His old charcoal gray sweats are pulled down just enough to expose everything he’s offering. 

The color is slightly blown out from the flash, and it’s a touch blurry where his phone didn’t autofocus quickly enough. His hand looks like it’s straight up, just choking the base of his cock. It’s jarring. 

But that’s really the “man” of it all, right? Nothing subtle or demure about a rock-hard erection jutting towards you, reaching like it could get to you on its own if it just could get a little bit harder. No, there’s nothing coy about the raw thoughts of a man with no blood left in his brain who’s just aching to get inside you, either. 

And fuck if that doesn’t start to override your critical analysis. 

The glare from the flash reflects in the beads of precome rolling down his rosy tip. Mouth wateringly delicious. Your blood rushes to your pussy, filling your tender sex with heat and a deep, needy itch. It makes you dopey and silly. Not cock drunk, but like, dick pic buzzed. 

You know it felt sizeable in your hand earlier, but you aren’t an expert at estimating size from a through-the-pants handjob. You try to recreate your own grip around nothing to estimate the size. 

You giggle to yourself when you realize you're just a woman in her bed staring at her hand, jerking an invisible cock. The horny goblins aren’t amused, though. They’re sick of the daydreaming and distractions. They’re picking fights with the rest of your mind. Throwing rocks and sticks, shrieking and hissing. 

The part of your brain that was griping about how men used to write love letters and respect the art of romance is getting quieter and further from your faculty for caring. You can hear its muffled shouts, and you assure that voice that you won’t give it all up this easily. Then, you completely tune it out. 

The last brain cell with a complaint has you rolling your eyes. You have to be ovulating or something because it’s wholly debased the way this guy is doing it for you. 

He’s just shameless with it. 

You sent him tasteful underboob, and he gives you jumpscare dick-in-the-dark! How is this supposed to escalate? He gave it all up immediately! You send another picture, and he sends you his money shot? What’s he gonna do to give you more? Send you an asshole shot? That one makes you snort. You bet he would do it, too, if you asked. 

Oh, that gives you a better idea. He’s not getting another picture from you at all. You tap on his name and tap the call icon. Of course, this horny motherfucker answers immediately. You aren’t sure it even rang before you’re connected to his porny bedroom voice. 

“What are you wearing, dollface?” 

“I already showed you. Call me dollface again, and I’m hanging up.” 

You can hear his breathing like he’s got the mic on his phone in his mouth. That would typically drive you fucking nuts, but right now, you wanna hear his heavy breath against your ear and feel it hot against your skin.

“All right,” he speaks slowly, distracted. You know why. “You wanna be my slut, instead?” 

Fuck. That has you throbbing between your legs, but he doesn’t get to know that yet. 

“I already told you,” you keep your voice low and soft, “you don’t get to call me a slut for you, not with your behavior.” You strain, trying to hear any other noises, but his mic is probably clogged with dust from his shop or lint from the pocket of his sweats. You can just hear his fucking breathing. 

“What behavior, baby?” he rasps.

“You always jump straight to sending a picture of your cock?” 

You hear the soft snort through the phone. Followed by a deeper, throatier noise. A noise that makes you go cross-eyed and has you running a hand down to your naked lower half to tease yourself. 

“You always steal a man’s clothes after you come on his fingers?” 

You don’t really care what he asked. His voice makes your tongue go numb. Your mind goes blank. You start slowly, coating your own fingers in your slick arousal and drawing circles with a light touch. 

You hum a noncommittal response into the phone. 

“You look good in my shirt, baby, fuck,” he trails off breathlessly. The idea of you in his clothes gets him too close. 

You don’t answer, and he’s too far gone to wait and tease. 

He’s been wound up since you took off this afternoon, and it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that you sent him that pic when he had just gotten into bed.

It had taken ages to get his brother out of the shop this afternoon, and then Joel completely fucked up when he mentioned you and the lasagna. He had to begrudgingly host Tommy for dinner when he couldn’t come up with a better excuse than saying, “I’m gonna need you to fuck off so I can deal with the aching balls I’ve got from your surprise visit scaring away the woman I had my fingers knuckle deep inside.”

But when he was finally alone, it was like fate; your text came through right after he flopped onto his bed. His semi-stiff cock had sprung to full mast at the sight of you. The shirt he knew he didn’t fuckin’ lose, your soft curves, and the expression on your face. Like a vixen. Your PG-13 tease would do more for him than any X-rated video. 

Knowing you were thinking about him and that you wanted him to know? That had him throbbing. He already knew from the desire in your eyes earlier today that you wanted more.

He could swear his fingers still hold the lingering flavor of your wet cunt. The visceral memory of you has him on edge. When he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, he has to pause, holding firmly in place. His body screams and aches for release, but he’s determined to keep it in check. He doesn’t want to blow his load until he gets a response from you. 

He fights his urges, trying not to fuck his own fist in a frantic race to come. 

But, fuck, it’s difficult when he can imagine the sounds you’d make as you sank onto his cock for the first time. The face you’d make. Your tight, wet walls hugging him just right. Like, he’s where he’s meant to be. 

And the way you would look, bouncing on top of him. Your tits, your blissed-out face, the way your soft lips would part when you called out his name and cried for more. 

Those lips. 

The way he’d love to see them swollen and slobbering around the base of his cock. Fuck. His hips buck reflexively, and he hisses out a breath through his clenched teeth. When his phone lights up with your name, he answers before it can make a sound. You’re so bold. He likes that. It plasters a saucy grin on his face. 

And now, with your breathy voice crackling through his janky phone speaker, he’s not gonna last long. You've got him losing his composure for the second time in one day. His whole body is rigid. His toes flex and snap unconsciously, and his jaw tenses. He hears your soft moan, and his thoughts are overflowing. He has no filter left. 

“Yeah, baby? You moaning for me?” His hips punch up into his fist, and he gives in, allowing himself firm, severe strokes. “You’ve got me so hard. You moaning for my cock?” 

You are so not gonna answer that one. If the next words out his mouth are, “Yeah, you like that?” you’re gonna block him for that. But it is undeniably hot to hear him already so worked up. You just know he’s gonna be coming all over himself again for you, and that really does make you moan just for him.

Your noises earn you another growly groan from Joel that you’d kill to hear again. The more uninhibited his noises are, the louder you get in response.

“You using your fingers, or you have a toy?” his question is punctuated with a grunt. 

“Mm, just fingers,” you purr, finally granting him an actual response as you roll your hips. Having Joel on the line gives you a heady sense of satisfaction. Wondering what’s going to come out of his filthy mouth next gives you a shiver of anticipation. 

“I know that sweet pussy is just achin’ to be filled again.” Correct. 

“Yes.” 

“S’right, baby, I know.” 

Joel whimpering on the phone for you is absolutely going to get you off. Your hips chase your own fingers. You switch your phone audio to speakerphone and drop it on your pillow so you can use both hands. Pinching at your own nipples as if it were Joel’s big hand under your smuggled shirt. 

“Tell me,” he pants, “who do you need to fill it for you?” 

“You, Joel.” 

“Fuck,” he chokes out, “you wanna ride this cock, huh baby?” 

“Mhmm.” Bingo. Right again. You wish you could feel the pressure of him inside of you, massaging and soothing away the agony. The weight of his body atop of yours, so solid and secure. You can just about feel the pressure of his pelvis grinding into you. The friction from the coarse curls at the base of his cock getting you closer and closer. 

“Know you’d do so good,” he cuts himself off with a low noise, “so damn sexy.” 

“What else would you do with me?” You wanna hear it. For your own fantasy and to know what he’s into.  

“I’d have you taking me down your throat til you’re crying on it for me, fuck,” a primal noise erupts from him.

Face fucking. Of course. You can’t deny that when he says it, your body responds instantaneously. Your pussy floods eagerly at the idea, and your cheeks burn hot from the visual he gives you. You swallow down your moans, and you can imagine the weight of him on your tongue and the strain of trying to swallow around his cock. 

“You wanna come down my throat?” As if that isn’t a fucking siren song that would make him steer a fleet of ships into a cliff? Your salacious words are too much. 

“Shit. Yeah, baby, wanna watch you swallow for me.” You let all your moans and gasps flow freely for him to hear. “I’m so fuckin’ close,” he can’t stop the words from spilling out his mouth, “let me hear it, baby,” he can’t stop his pending bliss either. “Please, baby, I can’t, oh f-fuck,” he cuts himself off with another primitive grunt, and that’s precisely what your cavewoman cunt wanted to hear. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The horny goblins chant out loud this time. You can envision sweaty, pleading Joel lurching toward a reckless, full-body climax. 

You’re far from grace when the crude sounds he lets out turn you into an uncivilized beast. You hear him gasping, growling, and whining for you. It plunges you into a staggering orgasm. Rolling waves of ecstasy leave you panting and sweating.  

You lie in bed, chest rising and falling beneath the Creed logo. You’re left stunned at the intensity. A dreamy smile spreads across your face, and warm contentment, like honey, pours slowly over your muscles. Relaxing you as your tension softens and you turn to pick your phone back up.

Why was it so wholly consuming just to listen to him? Imagining the mess he made again,

because of you. 

Maybe you’re just made for each other. 

You and Joel. 

Oh, god. You should start listening to Alanis Morissette and Evanescence and trade your car for a 1990s-era Toyota 4runner and a pack of Marlboro Smooths. Really lean into matching his freak and the divorced alt-rock vibes.

You laugh softly into your phone before a deep sigh possesses you, and you nearly fall asleep. You stretch and smile, letting your heavy eyelids rest. 

He’s muttering something at you, catching his breath from the stress of being that fucking horned up for you all evening. And the overexertion of lasting long enough to hear your sweet cries of release. 

“You’re unreal,” his smoky voice rings with awe. “Got me shooting loads like a fucking teenager.”

You snort at the juxtaposition of his tender voice and crude comment before ending the call with a whispered, “Goodnight.” 

It shouldn’t make you smile. 

But he’s somehow such an enticing disaster. A cliche lonely bachelor, a cocksure idiot who knows he’s got a big dick and a generous guy who was willing to fix a stranger's car. 

You shouldn’t be trying to justify it, but you know he had you figured out earlier. 

You may be sated tonight, but you won’t be able to rest.

Not until you get your hands on that DILF – or rather, your pussy on that dick. 

divider by @cyberangel-graphics

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[flowerfreya]

The Office AU

This is part 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Just getting some more backstory for the reader and the boys as well. I’m trying to make it interesting but if it feels like to much filler let me know pleaseee

Poly!141 x reader

Content: reader backstory , and they have a girlfriend???!!!

He sees you before you see him and that is because you're taking a nap at your desk, your head down with sunglasses on, at least that's what he thinks. All the lights are off because they are motion sensored and when Simon comes in because of course he is the first one here the lights turn on. You shoot straight up sunglasses askew.

“Morning”

“Good morning Simon” You smile nervously. “ I got here at 6 am so I just took a quick cat nap before everyone came in and I had an alarm set for 7:30 before everyone came in but it looks like we have an early worm”. You’ve changed from the sunglasses to your regularly prescribed glasses, standing up with your makeup bag.

“Why did you get here at 6 am?”

“Oh, my boyfriend gets here at 6am and you know only one car”, you shrug like it's a normal occurrence. He just lets out a hum and just sits at his desk and you walk to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

By the time everyone comes in, you're ready for the day. You greet everyone with a smile and wave.

Simon stands up, which you don’t normally see, “Need to talk to you”, as he walk to John. Simon shuts the door after entering and you're a bit nervous that he's going to tell you about sleeping and you're trying not to stare but you can’t help it, you really need this job. Soap comes up to your desk and peaks over, “Did you get anything from TJ Maxx, Hen?”.

“You know about that?”

“Aye”

“Ha, well I never got a chance to go, but maybe this weekend”, you don’t say because when you got home you had to do all the chores that didn’t happen when you were at work and then you were so tired, you did your skincare and knocked out. He questions why you didn’t go and respond with a basic one liner, you know life. You look up at him and smile , he opens his mouth and looks like he’s about to say something and John’s door opens back up , only Simon leaving and John's voice carrying out in the office building calling your name, “Let me see you in here” . You move quickly half thinking your going to get fired and take a seat and instead of word vomiting like you did before you just sit there and wait.

John sighs and shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to ask,“Love, why are here so early” .

Your so embarrassed about your car situation and how it’s already affecting your new job, “Me and boyfriend, only have one car so I have to ride with him and his shift starts at 6am so that’s why”

“One of the guys are me can pick you up on the way to work, if you want”

“Oh no , I don’t mind getting up early unless you mind me being here early…..” you trail off , hoping that this won’t be such a big deal.

“It’s fine, bird. Just don’t want you to go sleep on us waking up that early and working is hard”

“Oh no, I’m good. I just take a nap before everyone gets here, if that's okay, I don’t charge it on my time card”.

“That's not what I'm worried about”. You look away , not sure what to say and your eyes fall to his desk. He has around 20 challenge coins that look like from his time in the military. You see pictures with all the boys , some in uniform , some in just civvies, but they all look happy and so close it makes your heart hurt. You decide to change the subject.

“How long have you known the boys?”, you ask, gesturing toward the pictures.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled,”I feel like I’ve known them forever”. He sounds so fond of them and you can see the connection between them from the few days you’ve worked there. You're about to ask another follow up question but then you are interrupted by a knock and then the door opening.

“John”, a woman exclaims loudly and hops around the desk and gives him a kiss. It's a giant kiss. Somehow also…wet. Unprofessional. You know your mouth is open and you are staring but like what else are you supposed to do.

“Kelly, the door was shut, that means I was in a meeting. You know that.” ,he says in a low voice.

“Honey, I didn’t see her the-” , you cut her off ,” Oh,no I was just leaving“. You stand up and attempt to push in the chair but it doesn’t fit under the desk, so now everyone is looking at you attempt to push in a chair that you actually can’t. “Okay, I’m just going to go, do you want it open or shut?”, you ask.

They both say the opposite answers at the same time. You look between the both of them. “Uhhh”, you don’t even know who this woman is and what she is to tell and how much pull she has in the office.

“Open.”, John states matter of factly.

~

You’ve been sitting at your desk for around 20 minutes. You haven’t done that much work because the door is shut , the blinds are closed and you wonder what they are doing in there and its distracting you. You message Soap.

>>come here.

Soap looks up at you with eyebrows raised. You motion your head in a come here motion. He leans against your desk, “Aye, hen” , you try to make sure your tone doesn’t sound like a crazy lady, “who is Kelly”, and maybe you shouldn’t have ask because he stiffens up and avoids eye contact with you and hmmms.

“Oh, nevermind you don’t have to answer”, you add a chuckle to end as to not be awkward and look down at your keyboard.

Speak of the devil and she will appear , Kelly steps out of the office and see’s Soap and gives him an intimate hug, she knows his body she’s done this before. “I’m going to go to the annex and say hi to Gaz”, Kelly mentions as she moves toward the back of the office.

You see it for what it is, they share. Which is fine you do not judge on relationships but you don’t know what you thought was going happen between Soap or Johnny or even Simon like you have a boyfriend for christ sake.

Your boyfriend comes in, hes in a good mood. He wants to go out for dinner , he of course picks the place. Your just happy you don’t have to cook. Your shutting down your computer, putting on your jacket and getting you lunch box. You wish them a goodnight. John comes out of his office, “Everything, okay”, you nod your head and smile. It doesn’t matter anyway. Your happy. Your so fucking happy so it doesn’t matter anyway.

~

They “break up” with Kelly that night. They do it at a nice restaurant and do it immediately so she won’t get any other ideas. Simon doesn’t say anything, he knows Kelly only put up for him because they are a package deal. She of course ask why and John take points and lets her down gently but firmly. Then they get up and brainstorm how to get their Hen.

[sutorus]

BUY ONE GET ONE FREE

DESCRIPTION: gojo satoru and geto suguru are the jewels of your university. glued at the hip, you have your eyes set on one of the best friends, but you should already know to expect double the trouble with this packaged deal.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader

WC: 3.8k

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, some derogatory terms like s!ut :c), university!au, frat!au, characters are in their 20s, oral (fem receiving), gojo is a douche (sorry!) with a soft spot for you, gojo and geto are both taller than reader, gojo wants you sooo bad you don’t even know, dubcon if you squint, annoyances to… something else!, implied 3sum but that’s for part 2 ig bc i got tired. enjoy!

A/N: first fic here yayyyy pls support (kiss kiss

they were those boys in your campus. every university had them, or so you’re told. the ones to be proud of, but also weary of. the ones who could show you a good time you’d probably regret the next morning. the ones you’d tell stories about and never really forget.

at your school, that was geto suguru and gojo satoru. you heard they knew each other since high school, best friends back then and best friends now. they were part of the most infamous party house, the most awarded college teams, the most scandalous groupchats, the most torrid bathroom stalls conversations. everybody knew them, every guy wanted to be them, every girl wanted to be with them. you know the drill.

and although this was only your second year, you’d had enough run-ins with them to know exactly what they wanted — and what you wanted, too.

the two were truly inseparable despite not being all that similar, just like brothers. considering the stories you’ve heard, that proximity would be almost weird if they weren’t so hot. but that’s a can of worms you don’t want to open and, most importantly, don’t need to open in order to sit on geto suguru’s dick.

because of course it’s geto. 

sure, gojo is hot — in a really fucking annoying way. in a way that makes you want to slap that stupid grin off his face every time he ogles you and your friends at a party. you’d go for it, really, if you didn’t have to live to see the next day. you knew gojo would never let you act like it never happened, and not in a romantic way, but in a disgusting braggy way. 

gojo satoru is hot as fuck but you’re not built to handle him, if you’re being honest. not innocent enough, not devoted enough, not googly-eyed and pink-glossy-lips-drooly enough. gojo satoru was complicated like that. he came with a warning label as big as a cvs receipt in which big bold red letters warned DO NOT TRUST. and you knew better, anyway. 

but geto? geto was pretty much perfect. his looks were sweet, dark and kind of edgy, like a black kitty with really sharp teeth. he had really cute fuck me eyes and really big veiny hands and a really cool manbun and you wanted to sit your ass on his fat sick. it was simple math. 

the only thing that preoccupied you, though, was his reputation. and not his manwhore reputation or his party animal reputation or his fucks-hard-and-doesn’t-cuddle-after reputation — no, who cares about that. what worried you was his reputation with his best friend gojo satoru. 

ever since you enrolled at your university you’ve been hearing rumors. apparently, the two of them were so close that they shared everything. everything. 

would never let a brother go hungry and all. 

so yes, there was the slight possibility (only corroborated by, i don’t know, the hundreds of girls you’ve heard the same story from) that geto would want a threeway. 

you, having sex with gojo satoru? you can’t say you’ve never thought about it. you did have that one class together, your freshman year. in retrospect, the fact that he was your senior and taking the same elective as you should’ve been enough of a red flag. 

by the end of the first lesson he came up to you and told you to text him if you ever needed any materials for the class, almost sounding sincere before shrugging and saying, “i’m just on top of things. by the way, would you like to be one of them?”

and scene. 

that was your first impression of gojo satoru. 

if you two fucked a year after that initial offer of his, would it be comical or tragic? he’d never look at you the same way — that is, he’d stop looking at you like he can see your tits through your shirt with x-ray vision and start looking at you like he has seen your tits because he will have. and that sounds annoying. 

but whatever. you’ve heard the stories of how gojo fucks, after all. it’s not like it would be a bad time. 

and tonight seems like the perfect night to make a stupid decision like that because geto looks so fucking delicious in a hawaiian shirt (how is that even possible?) leaning against his yucky frat’s wall and sipping a beer. 

god, you want to bite him. is that weird?

“is that weird?” you turn to shoko, who so kindly accompanied you to another house party with the promise of free, gojo-sponsored liquor. “i want to bite geto.”

shoko looks disgusted, all too acquainted with your ramblings about the guy. her eyes scan around the room before settling towards the kitchen. “i’ll leave you to it, then, and go get a drink. do not abandon me until i’m drunk enough to be by myself in this shithole.”

you nod to her before she’s off to get her fix. and you’re gearing up to get yours, adjusting your skirt and correcting your posture until a too familiar, grating voice yells out from behind you:

“yo!” 

you sigh, rolling your eyes before turning around. 

“gojo.”

he throws one of his long arms over your shoulders, pressing your sides together. your fingers absentmindedly go back to your skirt, pulling it down. 

gojo has to lean down to talk to you, his face hovering over yours. you can feel how hot his torso is against you, his white shirt already completely unbuttoned. it sends a shiver down your spine. 

“long time no see, cutie,” gojo’s breath is warm against your ear, his voice high to be heard over the music. he gestures with his solo cup, “how are you finding the facility?”

you look up and give him a tight smile. “gross as always! is there something you want, or…”

he laughs heartily, and you feel his whole body rattle against yours. you huff in annoyance, antsy to get a word in with geto before he’s occupied. 

“so mean to me!” he looks down at you and if it weren’t for his sunglasses, that he wears indoors at nighttime like a dick, you’d be able to see his eyes looking right down your cleavage. “just when i was coming here to do you a favor.”

you can’t help but laugh at that. 

“what in the world could you possibly do for me?” he lifts an eyebrow and your finger flies up in between your faces. “don’t answer that, actually.”

“i came here to tell you a very interesting secret,” he sing songs right into the shell of your ear, earning another shiver from you. you take the cup from his hand and sip, too distracted to know what it tastes like. nibbling on the plastic rim, you gesture for him to go on. 

gojo’s smile grows that much darker, that much more sinister, a dimple appearing on the side of his cheek. 

“a little birdie told me suguru’s dying to screw you tonight.”

your demeanor must visibly brighten at that information because gojo lets out another lurching laugh. your eyes instinctively zero in on geto, across from you, who’s either doing a really good job of pretending he doesn’t hear the two you talking in the doorway or is genuinely clueless as to what his best friend is saying about him. 

you force yourself to regain your composure, shoving gojo’s solo cup into his bare chest and wiggling out of his hold. “and you care because?”

but you suspect you already know the answer to that. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, and god, your height difference is kind of reeling. 

“like i said, ‘s just a favor,” you eye him suspiciously. he continues, “he wants to fuck you, you want to fuck him. i’m just being a nice guy.”

right. nice guy. 

“and who says i want to fuck him?” you try to play it cool, even though you probably know as much as satoru knows as much as suguru knows that you’d crawl on your knees towards geto right now if that meant you could put his cock in your mouth. 

and who could blame you? 

“playing dumb?” gojo pokes your cheek. his voice grows thicker, “cute. look at you,” and he does, hungrily, eyes scanning your entire form and making you feel oddly self conscious. 

he snakes a hand around your waist and leans in close again, whispering into your ear, “all dolled up just for him. in class with me you show up in other dudes’ hoodies but for darling suguru you dress slutty. everyone knows.”

you inhale sharply. what is he playing at? is he trying to get into your head or what? people dress up at parties, people want to fuck people, it’s a thing. god, gojo is so unbearable. 

you scowl up at him. 

“first of all,” you rip his hand from your waist and he lets it fall limply by his side. “second of all, again, how is that any of your business? salty you can’t get laid without the hotter best friend’s help?”

gojo just smirks, huffing out a chuckle through his nostrils. “you don’t have to worry about me, sweetheart. although i have to say, i do worry about you…”

“what? why?” you can’t help sounding sincere at his words. he twirls a piece of your hair with his index finger. 

“‘m just saying, what kind of best friend would i be if i handed you off to suguru without taking you for a test drive first?” gojo’s disgusting, he’s audacious and cocky and it’s doing something to you. you find yourself uncharacteristically quiet as he continues, “i mean, for all i know, you just might break once he gets inside.” 

“you’re ridiculous,” you manage to utter, feeling too small and too warm. geto is no longer in your line of sight and neither is shoko and you rapidly start to feel like you’ve fallen into the lion’s den without realizing. 

“you know i’m right,” and you don’t, really, you don’t think he’s right at all but why do you want to prove him wrong so badly? “c’mon, baby, lemme break ya in a little.”

that seems to snap you out of it. “ew. you’re disgusting, where is—“

“ugh, i love it when you degrade me,” he groans sardonically, hand leaving your waist and grabbing your hand instead. “come on. i’ll take you to him.”

whatever that feeling was just then, you shake it off and relunctantly let gojo guide you through the sea of bodies in his living room, the two of you earning some whistles from his friends. eyes too busy scanning for geto, you’re surprised when you suddenly end up in front of the bathroom. 

“quick pit stop!” gojo tries. you roll your eyes. 

“you won’t even try to take me to your bed? like, you live here,” you say. 

gojo is grinning. “nah, nah. room’s for the main attraction,” he winks and turns the doorknob, letting you go inside first. what a gentleman. “this shouldn’t take long.”

the bathroom door muffles the loud music outside, leaving your ears ringing in the silence. gojo looks like a douchebag, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, shirt unbuttoned and wet with some sort of liquor, and your eyes do not dare scan any lower than that. 

you suppose he is a douchebag.

but he sounds so painfully sincere when he whines low in his throat, “wanna kiss you so bad.” 

you laugh at his face, pushing yourself up to sit on the counter. 

“i’m serious,” he says, taking a step forward. you instinctively open your legs a little to make more room. 

“you want to what, ‘break me in’, you said?”

gojo laughs and that doesn’t sound sincere at all. he takes another step towards you, slotting his hips in between your thighs. 

“suguru’ll like it sloppy,” and that’s all the explanation he gives you before he’s closing the distance between you two, crashing your lips together. 

you should be feeling ill at his words. you should be pushing him away. if you had any self respect, you would. 

but his hands on you feel so good, he’s kissing you like, yeah, he wanted to so bad. his grip on your hips is almost bruising, pulling your body closer to his so he can grind against you. 

you moan into his mouth and he’s quick to return it, tongue pushing up against yours hungrily. you feel like you’re being devoured, the kiss all encompassing, but it’s not bad, it feels so so good and gojo is so good and—

he breaks your kiss to command, “wrap your legs around me,” and you do so immediately. 

his hands push your skirt up, grabbing your ass and pulling you that much closer to him. you tug on his hair, grinding down hard against him, and he lets out the sweetest, most pitiful moan that sends your head reeling. 

“gojo…” you say his name but you don’t know what for, don’t know what you want or what to ask or what to say, all you know is yes and good and more. “satoru—“

gojo whines and presses his lips to yours desperately, grinding his hard on against your clothed pussy. he’s big, you can feel him all over your cunt, and you suddenly need all these layers between you gone. 

“fuck, let me see,” he swallows hard, pushing your shirt up fully. “lemme see those tits baby, that’s it—”

you puff your chest out when gojo pulls your bra down. you expect him to go for your boobs but instead he goes back in for a kiss, panting into your mouth. 

god, it’s too much. for how collected he acts one hundred percent of the time, seeing gojo satoru disheveled is a power trip. 

“touch me,” you mumble against his lips. 

he gives you a few pecks, nibbling your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” gojo says, one hand grabbing your tit and another pulling your panties to the side. the cool air on your dripping core makes you shudder, and you feel yourself gush at the slightest brush of his fingers against you. 

he bends down to pop a nipple into his mouth and you arch your back, gripping his hair hard, ‘cause apparently he likes that. you both let out a unison moan as he sucks, saliva audibly swishing inside his mouth. 

you know it’s gonna leave a mark, he’s gonna leave a lot of bruises as he bites and sucks and keeps you distracted while he slips a finger into your wet core. 

you suddenly regain conscience and remember the man working your body with nothing more than his hands and mouth probably has a pretty painful big hard cock inside his pants, so you reach out to help him. 

“wait,” he says, mouth popping against your breast, “wait, you can suck it, i just wanna—i gotta do this first, lemme—“

that’s all he says before giving you another kiss and dropping to his knees. 

you’re obviously not going to complain, you can neglect his dick just fine, nevermind the fact that you want it inside you immediately. but in the meantime, gojo’s got two fingers pumping in and out of you and he’s about to put his face between your legs. 

it’s beautiful, it’s a lot, you want it so fucking bad and it shows. 

“so fucking wet, all f’me” he lays his tongue flat against your clit and licks a fat stripe up your pussy, making you groan in anticipation for what’s to come. “been thinking of this pretty pussy for so long.”

“yeah?,” you whine, brushing some hair away from his face before coaxing his head closer to where you want it. gojo moans in response and starts working his tongue in tight circles over your clit. 

fuck, is gojo satoru in a frat bathroom the best head you’ve ever had? he might be, with the way he expertly rubs his fingers against your walls, instantly finding that spongy patch that makes you jut your hips out. 

“fuck, right there,” you grind against his face, delighting yourself in the debauched moans he makes against your cunt. not only does it feel good, it looks so fucking hot and you can’t tear your eyes away. “stay right there, you’re so good.”

the way he eats it like he needs to, like it’ll save your life, like this alone is enough to make the both of you cum, you can’t help the too-honest praise tumbling from your lips. 

“yeah? tastes so fucking good” he mumbles, rubbing a thumb over your clit. you nod, bottom lip held tightly between your teeth. “play with your tits, baby, those juicy fucking tits, do it for me.”

you obey, head hanging back in pleasure. you keep one hand anchored firmly in his hair, your fingers gripping so hard they start to tingle. 

you shove his face closer, earning a deep groan from him. he noses at your pussy, replacing his fingers in your entrance with his tongue, fucking in and out of you. your breathing has lost all rhythm, your chest feels tight and on fire and a bead of sweat rolls down your back. 

you can faintly make out gojo asking do you like this? just like this baby? and all you can say in response is a string of “yeahs” and breathy little moans. they almost sound surprised, and they might be, because every twist of his tongue and every brush of his fingers knocks the breath right out your lungs. 

it’s so much pleasure that it doesn’t make sense. you think, suddenly, this is why people do drugs, this is why people develop addictions because you have no fucking clue how you’re supposed to live without gojo satoru between your legs from now on. 

“satoru. i wanna cum,” you whine, mind to mouth filter completely obliterated because all you want to do is fucking cum for gojo satoru. message relayed. 

“fuck yeah, baby, you wanna cum? i’m gonna make you cum?” he’d sound pathetic if you didn’t know how much of a whore he was. his fingers go back inside you and speed up ever so slightly, his lips wrapping around your clit. gojo’s tongue works you over and over and over and all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and the sound of gojo swallowing every few seconds. 

he doesn’t stop, mumbles his dirty talk right into your pussy, like fucking cum for me baby cum all over my face yeah do it i’m gonna make you cum so hard god you look so fucking sexy wanna fuck you so bad, and you don’t want to know why but it makes you all the more intent in coming the hardest you ever have. 

you grip gojo’s hair and grind into his face mercilessly, revelling in the gurgling sounds coming from between your legs. 

“ohhh fuck, fuck, satoru i’m so close, just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“ gojo groans, using his free hand to play with your nipple. 

it’s too much, it’s too good, the coil in your belly that’s been building up since you started entertaining the idea of maybe getting laid tonight finally snapping. 

you’re sure you’ve never been this loud as you cum, hard, you can feel it gushing out of you and right into gojo’s awaiting mouth. with ringing ears and trembling legs, you find purchase in his hair as you keep cumming for him. 

the muscles on your thighs seize up as you ride out your orgasm against gojo’s face, your feet trying to find any sort of balance or solid ground. but you wiggle desperately in his hold, the man below you fulfilling his promise of drinking every last drop of you until the two of you are satisfied. 

you’re catching your breath when gojo finally pulls away from you, his face and neck flushed as you’re sure yours are. your back falls against the foggy bathroom mirror, chest rising and falling dramatically as you catch your breath. 

he finally stands up, sneaking a very obvious hand down his pants to readjust his erection. once he catches your gaze, he smirks at you. 

you try to roll your eyes, you really do, but what comes out is a slow, languid blink. you’re completely fucked out and he loves it, leans in to kiss you so fucking deep you taste yourself all over his mouth.  

before you can do anything else, anything more or less than kiss him back, you hear three knocks on the door. 

they’re gentle, nothing like the sound of a pissed off college student, murderous because you’re hogging the bathroom. 

gojo pushes himself away from you, grinning. “right on time.”

he grabs both your tits in his hands and plants a wet kiss on one, then the other, before pulling your shirt back down. 

you’re still dumbfounded, your overworked body slumped against the bathroom counter. 

before you have time to react, gojo’s opening the door to let geto suguru in. 

your body jolts, legs closing shut in what’s almost abject horror. you nearly forgot he’s what you came to this party for. 

it feels like you got caught red handed, and it must show on your face because geto shakes his head and laughs that pretty, sexy laugh, waving a hand around to tell you it’s okay. 

“please, don’t stop on my account,” are his first words to you tonight. 

you would say something if you weren’t sure your voice would fail you. but like usual, gojo satoru can’t stay quiet for too long.

“all done. she’s too easy” he announces cheerily, but the funny thing is, he doesn’t leave. instead, geto lets the bathroom door close behind him as he crowds in. 

you realize this space is far too small for two very tall men, most definitely far too small for whatever is about to go down between the three of you, and your calming heart starts to race again. 

“hey, pretty,” geto reaches out and wipes the side of your lip. “having fun?”

you can only nod, looking at gojo satoru of all people for answers.

he looks at you like he hasn’t just eaten your pussy with the intensity of a starving man, like he wants to do it again, right now. 

geto is sporting a similar look of hunger, looking between you and gojo and quickly assessing the situation that just happened here. 

this is weird. this is so fucking weird and so stupidly hot. 

“wanna take her for a ride next?” gojo asks geto like he’s not talking about a person, like you don’t have a say in it, like you belong to the both of them to play with, and it turns your brain to mush. 

geto smiles, handsome and dangerous. 

“what do you say, honey?” this time he addresses you. you swallow hard, looking between the two men in front of you. gojo grabs the outline of his hard cock through his pants, a reminder that whatever this is, it isn’t over just yet. “down to have double the fun?”

[emchant3d]

little blurb based off my son of the mafia Steve au - posted this on twt this morning and I want it over here too 🥰 I literally only have this and one other little bit written idk what this will turn out to be but have it anyway!!

Steve’s a morning person. Eddie is decidedly not. And yeah, Steve loves staying in bed with him, but the curtains in Eddie’s room are thin and the sun is cutting right across his eyes in a way that he can’t ignore, so he carefully extracts himself from the bed. It’s a delicate process, gently taking Eddie by the wrist to move his arm from around Steve’s waist, moving slowly to not jostle the mattress and startle his love awake.

Steve's making breakfast when he hears a shuffle of feet behind him. He turns, giving Wayne a little smile. "Morning, Mr. Munson," he says, nodding towards the coffee pot and looking back to the stove. "Coffee's made."

Wayne gives a thankful little hum, and moves in silence, the only sound the soft splash of black coffee hitting a ceramic mug and a slow sip.

He can feel Wayne's eyes on his back. He flips the bacon, poking it gently with the spatula, and he waits.

"I like you, Steve," Wayne eventually says. His voice is gruff and slow, and Steve smiles at him over his shoulder, knowing what's coming next. "But," and there it is. 

Steve straightens, turning to face him and rolling his shoulders back. "I don't know how good you are for Eddie. He's been through a lot, son. And you...well. We're not gonna stand here and act like you and your family don't come with a whole world of baggage." Steve hums his agreement.

"You're right," he says, nodding. "But which side of my family is the problem?" Wayne's jaw twitches.

"Ed's got enough experience with breakin' the law for a lifetime," he bites out, and that's an answer in and of itself. Steve smiles again, formal, small.

"I'm not involved in my grandfather's family business," he says, rote and regular, the same line he's been taught to use since he was a child.

"Don't give me that shit, boy." He points at him, mouth set in an angry frown. "You think I don't know your mama? You think I didn't see you runnin' round with your cousins when they'd visit?"

The eggs need to be flipped. He turns back to the stove, grabbing the spatula and keeping his eyes on the food as he takes a moment to think.

"I understand your concern," he says evenly, and Wayne scoffs behind him. "But I promise you, Mr. Munson," he picks up a plate, sliding two fried eggs onto it and adding a healthy serving of fried potatoes, "I won't let anything happen to him." He turns, meeting Wayne's gaze and handing him the plate.  

Wayne stares him down, silent. His eyes pinch, and he swallows hard. "How can you promise that?" he asks, and Steve's smile goes sharp.

"In my experience, it's best to not ask questions you don't want an answer to."

His eyes flick up when he catches a bit of movement, and he smiles as Eddie shuffles into the kitchen. "Morning, baby," he says, and Eddie grumbles at him, side-steps Wayne to worm his way into Steve's arms. Steve laughs and gives him a gentle squeeze, kissing his bedhead.

"Sit at the table," he murmurs into his hair, "I'll make you a plate." 

"Coffee," Eddie demands, and Steve's smile widens.

"Coming right up."

"Kiss," he demands next, and Steve beams at him, gently lifting Eddie's chin to press a soft kiss to his mouth. He lingers for just a moment, giving a gentle bite to Eddie's lower lip and feeling Eddie smile into it. 

He pulls away then, sleep-rumpled and gorgeous, and Steve flicks his eyes to Wayne, gauging his expression.

He doesn't look happy. Eddie's too tired to notice, though, and soon the two of them are talking quietly at the table while Steve fixes Eddie's coffee the way he likes and fries two sunny side up eggs.

Wayne doesn't like Steve, and that's fine. He doesn't blame him, not a bit. He understands.

He sets the plate in front of Eddie, brings the coffee pot to top off Wayne's mug, and knows regardless of how Wayne feels, he isn't going anywhere. Not unless Eddie asks.

And he's going to make damn sure that Eddie never asks.

[harianaswhore]

⟡ ₒₜₕₑᵣ dᵣᵢᵥₑᵣₛ ⟡

NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME

ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ ᶠ¹ ʳᵉᶜˢ

— ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳⁱᵈ ⟡

thirsty thoughts (VERY suggestive) - @lorarri

missing piece (angsty) - @katebishopsbow

grid kids (series, sebastian vettel and grid) - @pucksandpower

vettel reincarnate (series) - @disneyprincemuke

positions (by ari) fics (this is everything to me btw) - @turcott3

birthday wishes (smau) - @mclqren

drunk bf texts (text message format) - @csainzoperator

written in the stars (soulmate!au, different drivers) - @oofthwoods

points have been made (lestappen x reader) - @sinofwriting

birthday wishes (charles is the bf but focused on everyone) (smau) - @astonmartinii

stolen - @coco-loco-nut

— ˢᶜᵉⁿᵃʳⁱᵒˢ/ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ ⟡

makeup shopping with the boys (f) - @verstappen-cult

getting caught making out with the boys (sexual references) (^)

boys reacting to being called pretty (mostly f) - @ln444

a privilege called love (f) - @inblurtub

dating f1 drivers (mostly f) - @hauntedrain

moment f1 boys realized you were the one (f) - @itsvelyria

"where they would like to kiss you" (^)

f1 drivers favorite spot to kiss you - @mirohlayo

f1 drivers and when they get jealous (^)

names the f1 drivers would call their partner - @lightsoutletsgo

ass or tits (s) - @youaresimplylovely

so this is my husband (f) - @uglyducklingofthe2000s

friends to lovers (f) - @vinvantae

how the f1 drivers would propose (f) - @checopereez

"what did you just call me" (f) - @23victoria

he takes care of you on your period (f) - @fastandcarlos

when f1 drivers dirty text you (and you pretend your dad answers) (s) - @maxtermind

f1 boys as the type to - @pandagas

— ˡᵉʷⁱˢ ʰᵃᵐⁱˡᵗᵒⁿ ⟡

king of my heart (smau) - @cieloclercs

keys to the benz (smau, sexual innuendo) - @imnameimswrld

fashionable couple (smau) - @formulaa-1

hi barbie ! hi ken ! two (smau) - @redbullgirly

him being a simp for you (headcannon) - @itaipava

thick and thin (f,a)- @agendabymooner

around the world (f)- @lewisvinga

i miss you, i'm sorry (smau) (^)

him mentioning you (f) - @pickingupmymercedes

lawyer up (smau) - @monzabee

war is over (tw: brocedes mention) - @pucksandpower

— ᵐⁱᶜᵏ ˢᶜʰᵘᵐᵃᶜʰᵉʳ ⟡

jealous!mick (f) - @folkloresthings

i see the light (f) - @writingshushf1

santa doesn't know you like i do (f) - @f1version

interrupted (mentions of smut) - @russellsppttemplates

leclerc!reader (smau) - @pucksandpower

maahi ve (smau) - @love-belle

vlog (smau) - @absolutelynotmate-archive

count me in (smau) - @verstarppen

lovers rock not allowed christmas kids (f) - @luckylzclerc

a vettel and a schumacher walk into a bar (f) knock knock (smau) - @monzabee

sweet dream was over my hand was the one you reached for (a) - @v5ttelfilms

— ᵈᵃⁿⁱᵉˡ ʳⁱᶜᶜᵃʳᵈᵒ ⟡

ultimate wing man (smau) - @astonmartinii

keep it private (smau) - @marlenesluv

forever kind of love (smau) - @chrisevansonly

my book worm - @lewisvinga

— ᵃʳᵗʰᵘʳ ˡᵉᶜˡᵉʳᶜ ⟡

kissing in the rain (f) - @thebearchives

forgiveness (f) - @starlost97

fan behavior (smau) - @lxclerc

black cat gf (smau) (^)

it's you and me (smau) - @lecsainz

party girl two (smau) - @natailiatulls07

amour (smau) - @marlenesluv

— ˢᵉᵇᵃˢᵗⁱᵃⁿ ᵛᵉᵗᵗᵉˡ ⟡

jealousy jealousy (s) - @uluvjay

just you wait sunshine (a) - @unsolvedjarin

helmet kisses (headcannons) - @forteafy

drink water, not alchol (f) - @sebscore

me and my husband (smau) - @starkwlkr

i wait for you two three (smau) (^)

cherry flavoured (rbr!seb my love) (f) (^)

she's the boss (f) (^)

miss honey (f) (^)

always an angel, never a god (!!!! EASTING DISORDER !!!) (a) (^)

come back to me (CRASH) (a)- @lucyrose191

a shared history two three (f) (^)

teenage dirtbag (smau) - @bth3cowboi

it's never over (smau) - @thewispsings

— ᵍᵉᵒʳᵍᵉ ʳᵘˢˢᵉˡˡ ⟡

he got the girl (smau)- @thewispsings

million dollar baby (smau) - @everythingne

[zhaobear]

28 (teaser)

It takes you 28 weeks to leave Kim Gyuvin, but only 28 days to run right back.

PAIRING : kim gyuvin x fem reader

GENRES : fluff, crack, eventual angst, with a happy ending, enemies to lovers au, strangers to lovers au, rich girl au, bakery au, falling in love in france!!

WORD COUNT : 1209 (teaser), estimated to be 20k

SUMMARY : when you pack your bags and move to france on a whim, you don’t expect just how many challenges you’ll meet — whether it’s your difficulty in adjusting to the new country, the harsh truths of the fashion industry, or most infuriatingly, pastry chef kim gyuvin, whose immense talent doesn’t stop you from deeming him the bane of your existence. despite yourself, his shop soon becomes more of a home than you’d like to admit, as gyuvin’s delicious creations and honest words slowly worm their way into your heart and show you that affection is more than just a monetary transaction.

WARNINGS : profanity, might be suggestive, red hair gyuvin x blue hair mc, mc wants to go to fashion school and gyuvin owns a pâtisserie (both are 20), mc is a bad bitch but sometimes superficial/spoiled but!! has char development, gyuvin shows love by being a little shit, i apologize for the banner graphic design is not my passion

AUTHOR'S NOTE : happy gyuvin day!! i wanted to finish this whole fic for his bday but i'm not quite there yet so take this teaser <3 if anyone wants to be tagged for this lmk and i'll start a taglist! i'm super excited to finish this fic even though gyuvin already got rid of his red hair......i will pretend it's still there

"NOT TO BE RUDE OR ANYTHING, BUT COULD YOU MOVE THE CRYING SOMEWHERE ELSE? YOU'RE AFFECTING BUSINESS." 

Your mouth falls open. Out of all of the words you expected to hear from the employee with the red hair, these weren't at all what you imagined.

The sheer nerve of a stranger — you can’t help but fume. Your status has led you to experience all sorts of men,  most commonly the kind that fall to your feet at first sight, begging you for a mere minute of your time. You’ve unfortunately experienced their rotten sides too, particularly the petty insults and misogyny that come with your industry. You’ve also experienced the raging anger when they realize you take too much pride in yourself to become their dolls. 

But to be insulted so brazenly on the first meeting, given your name, your reputation — men do not dare. 

“Well, excuse me for choosing your store to have a mental breakdown under. I couldn’t exactly—”

“Excused.”

“What?” You seethe, your face growing hotter by the second. 

“You’re excused,” the boy repeats simply, before turning back to the door. “If you want to sit inside, you’re welcome. Please just don’t cry outside of my shop,” he calls over his shoulder. 

The door closes behind him before you can even say anything back. You’re frozen in place, shocked by the pure shamelessness of the boy. Surely no manager would let their employee act this way? You’ve never been much of a Karen, but you’re tempted to find out. 

Finally, you look inside the store, peering through the glass door. Despite yourself, you’re pleasantly surprised upon the realization that you’ve stopped under a pâtisserie. Although none of the French bakeries have made any lasting impact on you, the decent crowd inside the shop has to amount to something. 

A variety of pastries are neatly lined on the glass shelves, clearly crafted with great care and intricacy. Almost all of them are unfamiliar, but your mouth waters anyway. You didn’t even know it was possible to crave something you’ve never had. 

You observe a flash of red hair saunter behind a door at the back, and all your cravings disappear. That bitch. You’d rather die than sit inside the shop and let him win, but you cajole yourself with the thought of making a complaint as soon as you find the right person. 

You push the door open, greeted by the bell that chimes overhead. 

Warmth. 

That’s your first impression of the store, and it’s not just the significant temperature difference. Something about the aura of the shop itself, the quiet but contented chatter of customers and the soft music spilling through the overhead speakers — you hate to admit it but it gives you a sense of comfort you were missing in the past three days. 

You shake your head. Pull yourself together. 

You storm past the line of customers, immediately met with their indignant shouts and protests, and stop in front of the young boy manning the register. His eyes widen, flitting back and forth between you and the customer he was helping. 

“Miss, I—I’m sorry but you can’t just cut in line like that…” he trails off nervously. His expression makes you think of a nervous rabbit, cornered by prey twice his size with nowhere to go. Twitchy nose and all. It’s kind of cute, and a part of you feels bad. You know he didn’t do anything wrong, but maybe the intimidation will get him to help you faster. 

“I need to speak to your manager.”

The boy balks, clearly unsure how to respond. He covers his confusion with a small smile. 

“I’m sure whatever it is, I can assist you. Can I ask what the problem is?”

“Look, I appreciate you trying to help, but the best thing you can do for me is just get me the manager,” you huff. “Please,” you tack on awkwardly, feeling worse at the small flash of hurt in his eyes. The boy nods and leaves, disappearing behind the door at the back of the store. 

You tap your foot impatiently, ignoring the string of curses the customers in line direct at you. Already irritated with the amount of time they’re taking, you consider leaving, about to turn around until the door finally swings open. 

However, you’re not prepared for the man who emerges from the back. You gape at the sight of the red-haired boy, who raises an eyebrow at the sight of you, giving you an infuriating once-over. 

“Is something the matter?” He asks coolly, like he didn’t insult you mere minutes ago. Like you’re just a regular disruption and not — not you. The heir to one of the most widespread fashion companies in the world. The girl with everything. 

“I asked for the manager,” you hiss. But the boy’s face only brightens at the word, a casual grin spreading across his face. 

“Looks like you’ve found who you’re looking for,” he replies, raising his hands. “Manager by day, chef by night. What can I do for you?” 

Your hand clenches into a fist against your will, the need to punch the cheeky smirk off his face overpowering you. You hold yourself back, instead matching his attitude with a sickly sweet smile of your own. 

“I thought most managers were aware of basic customer service. But I suppose I expected too much from a hole-in-the-wall place like this,” you simper, watching his face turn the same shade as his hair.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” the man splutters. “I—I have five star reviews on Google!”

You try not to snicker at how quickly you’ve caught him off guard, schooling your expression into something that you hope is cool and unconcerned. “Well then, I’m sure Google would love to hear my thoughts instead. No use being here if I can just put a few dents in those five stars, right?” You shrug noncommittally and turn around. 

“Hold on,” the boy says, a hint of desperation in his voice. You face him, trying to smother the smug smile threatening to overtake your features. “Would a free pastry help?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “I don’t know. None of the pastries in Paris have been particularly outstanding to me yet.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be a problem here,” he answers, smiling. The smile looks genuine enough, but you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. His gaze is stuck on you — calculating, wary, like he’s still trying to make sense of you. “Yujin-ah!” He calls out without taking his eyes off you. The boy from earlier emerges behind him, refusing to look at you.

“Yeah?” He glances at the redhead with a lingering hint of that bunny-like anxiousness. 

“Get her a kouign amann on the house for me, please.” He finally breaks eye contact with you to look at the smaller boy with a gentle smile that you can tell is reserved for him. Yujin nods, hurrying to grab the pastry. 

“If it’s not to your liking, you can mention me personally in the review. The name’s Kim Gyuvin,” the redhead says, giving you a maddening wink before walking away. You splutter at him indignantly, but to deaf ears as he vanishes behind the back door.

[nonbinarylocalcryptid]

*rubbing my hands with mischief* guess who found an incorrect quotes generator

So here is a compilation of incorrect quotes from the Astyanax lives/daddy Odysseus AU

Odysseus: Once Astyanax thanked me and I couldn’t decide between “No problem!” and “No worries!” so I yelled “No worms!” to them as they walked away.

--

Astyanax, smol, facing a threat: I am in charge of this disaster!

Odysseus: I have a name, you know.

Astyanax, smol, a little shit: Polyphemus knows

Odysseus: ...

The threat: HAHAHAHAHA

--

Astyanax: Hey Odysseus, can I get some ice-cream?

Odysseus: Only a spoonful!

Astyanax: *Proceeds to pull out a comically large spoon.*

Odysseus: ...

Odysseus, tearing up: that's my boy

--

Astyanax, looking at Odysseus: Okay, so I need to become a therapist faster.

Odysseus: I hEaR tHaT

--

Astyanax when he's told about the whole horse thing, looking at Odysseus: What doesn't kill me better start running, because now I'm fucking pissed.

--

Astyanax, at Odysseus: Of course you have blood all over you, and pronouns.

Odysseus: I use he/him pronouns...?

Astyanax: FOR THE LAST TIME, EVERYONE HAS PRONOUNS...

--

Astyanax: But when all hope seemed lost, I had an epiphany!

Astyanax, earlier while Odysseus was messing up (again): I'm going to throw myself into the sea.

--

Astyanax "I was raised by Odysseus what did you expect" of Troy: I don’t know the first thing about clothes. Pretty much all I can do is look at something and tell you if it’s clothes or not. This chair? Not clothes. That barrel? Not clothes. That middle-aged man who invaded Troy? Not clothes.

--

Astyanax: Wow, great work on the Halloween decorations. Where did you get the fake skeletons?

Odysseus: Fake?

Astyanax: ...

--

Odysseus: We'll talk about this later.

Astyanax: Fine, I won’t be listening.

--

Odysseus: I will beat all of you in Rock, Paper, Scissors. You go first.

Astyanax: Rock.

Odysseus: Paper.

Astyanax: ...

Odysseus: First rule, never trust anybody

--

Astyanax: I am going to need you to swear-

Odysseus: Fuck.

Astyanax:

Astyanax: ...swear as in promise.

--

Astyanax: Don't have a bookmark? Try ketchup instead!!

Odysseus: What makes you think I read?

Astyanax: ...right, my mistake, that explains a lot of things.

Odysseus: now I'm offended

Astyanax: like the time I was offended by a wooden horse?

Odysseus: ...

--

Odysseus: So, I've been thinking Astyanax-

Astyanax, young but tired of this bs: That's dangerous.

--

Odysseus: Damn, the power went out.

Astyanax: Don’t worry, I got this.

Astyanax: *stomps foot*

Odysseus: What-?

Astyanax: *Sketchers light up*

--

Odysseus: Hoodie pockets are so great. I can fit like three sandwiches and a grenade in there and my hands are still warm.

Astyanax, looking at the sea: I wish Poseidon would take me now

--

Odysseus: The joy of hanging out with Astyanax. You look away for 5 seconds to make sure something is set up correctly, and he bites the tip of a marker off.

--

Odysseus: I should have left you on that street corner where you were standing

Astyanax: bUt YoU dIdN't

--

Astyanax: Odysseus, when’s your birthday?

Odysseus "I'm still thinking about the infant from that night" of Ithaca: Why? So you can look up my natal chart? So you can figure out my weaknesses? So you can destroy me?

Astyanax: …So I know when to wish you a happy birthday.

Have some Odysseus and Hermes, as a treat:

Odysseus: Hi, I'm Hermes's emergency contact.

Counter Woman: You're here to pick him up?

Odysseus: I'm here to remove myself as his emergency contact.

[fanaticsnail]

Grand Line Playgroup

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,200+

Synopsis: Adoptive parents have all taken the initiative to join together with their children to form: Grand Line Playgroup. This is the way it usually goes at playgroup: filled with shenanigans, support, and most importantly love for their children. 

Themes: the adoptive parents of one piece, all children are all relatively aged 3 to 7, but Robin is 10, au they all live, modern au, platonic, not an “x reader” fic, parenting drabble, fluff, nonsense. 

Parents: Mihawk, Rosinante (Corazon), Bellemere, Dadan, Zeff, Uncle Beckman, Shanks, Garp, and Smoker.

Children: Perona, Zoro, Law(rence), Nojiko, Nami, Uta, Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Sanji, Uta, Koby, Helmeppo, Robin, and Tashigi.

Notes: A small drabble about what it would be like if the one-piece characters were adoptive parents to an assortment of their toddler counterparts. This silly brain-worm was brought to you by several conversations with @feral-artistry & @writingmysanity, and the bestest aunties @since-im-already-here & @sordidmusings. This worm got to me and I needed to get it out. Links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff, @gingernut1314, @vespidphoenix, @i-am-vita

Dracule Mihawk arrives at Grand Line Playgroup ten minutes early every single Tuesday. He has a personalized gothic embroidered bag for both of his children filled with snacks, changes of clothes, water bottles, first aid kits, and a book for him to read while his two children play.

He wears matching nail polish with his daughter, Perona: today, she chose pink with black accents. He has parenting down to a fine art, everything always perfectly planned for any circumstances. Zoro takes out a collection of sporting equipment and begins kicking around a soccer ball as he waits for his friends to join him. 

The next to arrive is Donquixote Rosinante. He always attempts to get there early: set up his variety of bags to ensure his son, Lawrence, has everything he needs to enjoy his time at playgroup. His hair is a blonde, fluffy mess of mopped curls, his clothes disheveled and askew, but his smile is always cheerful despite his constant exhausted exasperated state. 

Law is a quiet child, not really engaging with Perona as she sets up a mock tea-party, nor Zoro as he kicks the ball against the wall. He, instead, opts to sit quietly alone and read a picture book in comfortable silence. 

Mihawk offers Rosinante a moist towelette, gesturing wordlessly to his lips, cheeks and right eye where Law graffitied art with permanent marker on his face as he slept. Rosinante gives him a gratuitous smile, huffing his laughter as he scrubs at his face with the towelette. 

The next to arrive is Rosinante’s old work colleague, Bellemere, with her two daughters in tow. Nami and Nojiko were walking arm in arm before rushing off to join Perona in her tea party. Bellemere gives Rosinante a clap on his shoulder, nodding her acknowledgement to Mihawk before taking her elected seat. 

As the clock ticks over to 10am: a small bundle of nervous, chaotic energy bounces inside the door and over the walls. This flash of black hair was followed immediately by a small blonde child that stares, unblinkingly, at Law. Dadan is exasperated as she carries an older and asleep Ace in her arms, attempting to catch up with Luffy to rein him in and set up. 

Rosinante springs into action, offering to ferry Luffy towards his regular playmate, Zoro. As Luffy nearly joins Zoro, he is instead drawn to the sticker book Law is holding containing bugs, beetles and arachnids. Luffy becomes entranced by the stickers: and he and Law begin cataloging them by shape, size and type over pages of lined paper. 

Dadan sighs, already exhausted although her day has barely begun. Rosinante smiles and fawns over the two dark-haired boys before resuming his seat beside Bellemere, talking about the latest gossip at his old workplace and the shenanigans his colleagues' love lives.

As if on queue, Ace wakes up and immediately springs out of Dadan’s arms, hurrying over to Zoro and joining him by kicking the ball against the wall. Sabo backs into the corner of the room and glares with his pale, blue eyes at Perona’s tea-party with intrigue. 

After Dadan, in comes Benn Beckman with his niece, Uta. Uta bounces on her heels as she runs over to Sabo, doing all in her power to make the small blonde smile instead of glare. She has a cheery disposition, guaranteed to always get a smile out of the quiet boy the longer she sings and pulls faces at him.

Zeff is the next, his young son, Sanji, sprinting towards the soccer ball and easily stealing it away from Zoro. They immediately get into a heated fistfight: legs and limbs flying as they butt heads as to who's turn it is to kick the ball next. Mihawk sighs, immediately rising to his feet to play referee to the match as Beckman places Uta's bag beside Perona's. 

Arriving late, and with his two adoptive sons Koby and Helmeppo, strolls Garp. Dadan glares at him, up turning her lip in a snarl as Garp shepherds his boys into the room. The tension is thick between these two due to Garp's history of dropping off children at Dadan's and not returning to raise them himself. She refuses to help with the latest two additions to his family, although she cares for them greatly. Sabo nods at Koby, Helmeppo scoffs at Uta. 

Another late arrival is a larger gentleman with his quiet and older daughter, Robin. Sir Crocodile is dripping in luxury brands, gold rings and smells of expensive colognes. Robin immediately humors Perona, Nami and Nojiko by playing mother in their tea party adventure. 

“Mihawk,” the larger man gruffy nods in acknowledgement. 

“Crocodile,” Mihawk mirrors his tone, gesturing with his chin to take a seat beside him. Sir Crocodile takes his seat before unrolling the newspaper tucked beneath his arm and beginning to read. 

As the children interact together, the more talkative parents swap parenting advice amongst one another. 

Rosinante asks for support with Law's current food aversion. How does he get this child to eat grained carbohydrates without him gagging about the fact it's bread? Dadan is a seasoned expert in parenting at this stage, still ignoring Garp as Garp speaks to Mihawk about his blonde son’s latest interest in kendo. 

Bellemere joins in the conversation, Mihawk leaving as the topic changes to work and joining beside Beckman who is silently brooding on the chair beside Crocodile. 

“No Shanks today?” Mihawk quips at the larger man. 

“No Shanks today,” Beckman parrotted in return with a disgruntled and gruff growl. 

As if the mere mention of his name summoned his presence, in comes the red-haired Shanks in a lazy and cheerful stupor. His socks are raised to his knees, tucked into some comfortable sandals on his feet. His cargo shorts are tied loosely on his hips by a brown belt, and his patterned shirt is open to expose his bare chest. 

Glasses are lying lazily on his head as he extends an enthusiastic smile at the children before acknowledging the adults. An enthusiastic chorus of “Uncle Shanks!” echoes throughout the playspace, a flash of small bodies immediately moving to tackle and engulf the redhead in a warm embrace. 

Shanks falls on his ass, holding high his coffee cup as he laughs at Luffy, Uta, Ace and Sabo as they enthusiastically clutch at him with grabby hands. Their faces all shine with the utmost adoration at the redhead, who shoots Beckman and Dadan a wink while mouthing: “I'm still the favorite.”

Beckman sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Dadan rolls her eyes at him. 

The adults are finally all gathered for their children’s weekly playgroup, the kids settle into playing amongst themselves once again. Shanks offers Beckman a smile before offering him the half-drunk coffee cup. The taller man takes a sip, choking on the liquid as the surprising burn of warmed alcohol scorches his throat so early in the morning. 

As their meeting draws to a soft close, a knock at the door interrupts their close knit conversation. 

“I heard there was a playgroup in here?” a gruff voice rumbled at the door. White hair and the scent of tobacco immediately sprung through the hallway. In arrived a large gentleman, another common associate of Garp, Bellemere and Rosinante who immediately sprung up to greet him. 

Smoker presented ushered a quiet child into the room, her uncertainty was one the children knew well. Immediately, Luffy sprang up from his arachnid archiving with Law and went to introduce himself to the girl. Smoker smiled at the interaction, nodding to Tashigi as an indicator for her to go ahead and play, before joining Bellemere and Rosinante. 

“Finally decided to foster, Smoker?” Bellemere smiled, embracing him into her warm and welcoming arms. Smoker returns her gesture, tapping her on the shoulder and releasing her from the embrace. 

“Foster? Not a chance,” he smirked, pulling away and smiling at the purple-haired woman, “Adopting.”

[yuri-is-online]

Ok but what if yutu finds a box full of letters and poems in yuus closet?

Their partner was out, so it was a perfect opportunity. In a week their 1 year marriage anniversary will happen, so they needed to act quick and be sneaky. They go to the closet and unbury a box full of all the letters and poems their partner has wrote throughout their years together, some even have no name onto them as they were intended to be from a secret admirer, but yuu noticed the similar handwriting.

They were going to take the box and turn into into a book, like an album of memories.

They hear the front door open. Oh no their partner is back way sooner than they expected. They hide the box into their clothes, as they're too far from the closet.

A man they've never seen before walks in. Before they can get a word out, they're blasted with two spells back to back.

One muddles their mind, the other opening a portal behind them. The shock from the blast, and them being not far off of their due date causes them to lose balance and tumble into the portal.

When their spouse returns home all they find is a rummaged closet and messy bedroom. Although they want to deny it, the evidence suggests that yuu took any funds they(yuu) were hiding and ran away.

Yes I'm also the grim overblot anon 😁 my brain is full of angsty worms and your au is just too perfect for me not to take them out on 💕

This could be read as something for any of the boys but I feel that it fits rook the most😶‍🌫️

Hello newest friend o/ I'm surprised at how many brainworms I've managed to give people, but it is very nice chatting with all of you about this. I really like this ayuu c:

I like this concept and agree that it fits Rook the best out of all of them. So much so I think I am going to steal it for his Yutu hc post. In general though I think that if Yutu found something like that it would add to the mystery of who his father is for him. Lilia! Yutu sees it as further confirmation that he was the product of an affair, Malleus! Yutu takes it as further proof that magic is real. Jade, Deuce, and Riddle's Yutus would probably be even more confused; if his dad loved Yuu this much then why isn't he here with them? While Cater, Ace, and Yutres of the the Trey Triplets would just find the letters very romantic and not think too much on it beyond that. I can't really see Leona writing letters, Idia I could see writing a digital diary of sorts but no physical letters. It's a really cute idea ;-; the correct mix of angst for this ayuu I think.

Now as for Rook thinking that Yuu left him...

The evidence suggests that yuu took any funds they were hiding and ran away. That's what whoever created this scene wants him to think. But there's no way Yuu would have been able to leave the house without him knowing unless they had a very specific sort of help. The Hunt estate has some of the highest level of security clearances in Twisted Wonderland, whoever took his spouse is someone with connections indeed. But not to worry, he got Vil back from the Isle of Woe did he not? He'll find Yuu and their child soon enough. Rook writes a detailed diary about his search, about the beauty he observes that he missed telling Yuu about.

But he doesn't find them. He doesn't find them and the real world begins to crumble around him alongside his personal one.

[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

[babydollmarauders]

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (23-24 SZN PART 18)

au masterlist

notes: this is short but i needed it out and i’ve been much too busy to write lately and i’m running on very little sleep and can barely keep my eyes open

y/ndevils00

liked by jackhughes, ehaula, and 428,715 others

y/ndevils00 we’re not back

we are SO not back.

but you know who IS back?! MY SEXY ASS, 22 POINT HAVING, COMEBACK GOAL SCORING, SNACK STEALING BOYFRIEND!!

despite the unfortunate 5-3 loss against the dish rags, we did get a few good goals tonight, starting with one from everyone’s favorite previously injured man, JACK ROWDEN HUGHES!!!

babygirl also assisted on Uncle Haula-hoop’s goal (the third and final Devils goal)! and in between those goals, Pally pocket got a goal!!

however, towards the end of first, we were down by one, and despite my strongly worded advisory, coach bark pulled my main man Vitek and let the rags score an empty netter….

anyways! bestie number 1 was wrongfully accused and jailed in the second— his crime? his flow was too nice. not very jail worthy, but the bald bitch from the other team had it out for him.

goodnight and please enjoy the last couple photos i took of my sassy boy toy during his post-game interview where he couldn’t keep his eyes off me— can’t say i blame him 🤭

tagged jackhughes, pally_18, ehaula, and dawson1417

Load more comments

user93 the red m&m in the 3rd pic is sending me 😭

y/ndevils00 give him some respect! he assisted on that goal!

jackhughes i didn’t realize you were saving the cheez-its!

y/ndevils00 they were my work snack! i need food in order to keep my energy to run around the arena!

jackhughes i give you $30 before every game for you to buy snacks??

y/ndevils00 i prefer to use that money for drinky drinks

lhughes_06 that explains so much

dawson1417 he can’t have my hair!

y/ndevils00 baldy should’ve thought about his flow before he shaved his head! i’ll protect your hair!

john.marino97 and how will you do that?

y/ndevils00 @/john.marino97 the same way i get rid of all the men in my dm’s— beat ‘em off with a stick!

jackhughes MEN IN YOUR DM’S????

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes oh don’t act so surprised! i’m a catch and everyone knows it!

trevorzegras @/jackhughes damn dude, better get a move on with ‘plan alpha-alpha’ before someone snatches up your girl

user66 i love the jack-centric posts! y/n feeds us 🙏

ehaula did you know there’s other players on the team besides your boyfriend?

y/ndevils00 did you know i don’t care about anyone else?

ehaula trust me, i can tell

y/ndevils00 then why are you asking stupid questions you already know the answer to?

ehaula i’m disowning you

y/ndevils00 you can’t do that!

ehaula pretty sure i can!

y/ndevils00 nuh-uh! tell him @/kristen.haula

kristen.haula you can’t disown our niece, Erik!

y/ndevils00 TOLD YOU! NA-NA-NA BOO BOO!

ehaula i can’t believe you’ve wormed your way into my family and won’t leave

dawson1417 yeah, that’s what happens

john.marino97 my mom calls her the daughter she never had

john.marino97 excuse me, where am i?!

y/ndevils00 idk, your couch?

john.marino97 IN THE POST! where am i IN THE POST!

y/ndevils00 oh, you got no points. do better and maybe you’ll be featured

john.marino97 i tried!

y/ndevils00 so try harder?? idk what to tell you

john.marino97 why am i friends with you

y/ndevils00 because i’m hot and funny and smart?

john.marino97 no, that’s not it

user20 poor dawson in the box 😭

_quinnhughes i’ve missed your chaotic energy! can’t wait to see you soon, Dove!!

y/ndevils00 aww! so excited to see you soon huggy! 🥹🤍

jackhughes not once have you said you can’t wait to see me?

lhughes_06 you’ll see your brothers too??

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @/lhughes_06 okay?

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes @/lhughes_06 i’m lost on what that has to do with me?

lhughes_06 NOTHING! it has NOTHING to do with you!

y/ndevils00 @/lhughes_06 yeah, so it’s irrelevant

nicohischier i hate not playing, but i won’t lie, i love not being on these posts

y/ndevils00 it’s only a matter of time, captain slut!

[dragonshoardofworks]

DannyMerMay 2024

Day 1: Insect/Anchor

The return of Little Baby Moth! (From last year DannyMay)

Something happened since last time the two of them met, so LBMo is reasonably surprised to see Little Baby Man Mer's new form... or is this just an alternative dimension iteration of LBM (by @tourettesdog)? 🤔

(Keep reading to find the answer!)

@pikakaistudios Little Baby Mer inspired me in doing my own, so Kudos and credits where are due!

More fanarts and lore under the cut because it was getting long...

(^～^;)ゞ

Prompt for DannyMay by @dannymayevent and MerMay by @vladdyissues.

〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

Since I'm a serial procrastinator and I wanted to be sure the art pieces were at least decent/accurate, I was almost late (but thank CW that I did, because some of them had the wrong orca-pattern and I would have brought disgrace upon myself if I published anything not done right since orcas are one of my favorite animals).

That being said, let's continue the DannyMerMay journey!

Day 12: Time Travel/Seafood

My poor Mer-boy got yoinked temporalily into the past when he was still Danny (so even before the "normal" LBM-fication) and he's feeling reeeaaally distressed at the act of practically cannibalism that his past-self is committing...

(≧∇≦)

Day 2+4+29: Wish/Starfish + Wander/Night + Fireworks/Bioluminescence

Wandering in the night, some interesting encounters are bound to happen...

I wonder what would happen if you wish upon a(n alien) star(fish)...

(≧∇≦)

Day 19+20: Iron/Pearl + Pitch AU/Abyss

LBMer found a his rightful Crown (of Fire) sunk into the depths of the ocean!

But since it was rusty and forgotten, what better way to restore it than ghostly mother pearl?

(Works like ghostly ice, but it's an exclusive power of LBMer.)

(The Crown got bigger than canon, but he smol!)

Day 26: Shoes/Camouflage

They say that imitation is one of the best form of flattery, but when you don't want to get caught by a certain dimensional hopper (and be mistaken for one of his foes), it's the best way to blend in!

(Octopi can camouflage in ways that make you think that magic is real...)

ฅ^≧ﻌ≦^ฅ

(Little Baby Terror unfortunately got caught in the same "accident" that LBM did, so they generally prefer to stick together-ish in case they need help.)

Day 16+22: Glowing Veins/Courtship + Song Lyrics/Songs

I couldn't help myself and sneaked in some Everlasting Trio for the soul.

After all, LBM (and therefore LBMer) is still Danny, even if he has new form(s) and instincts.

They do incarnate the "Would you still love me if I was a worm?", don't they?

(◡̀_◡́)

Song: A Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay

(It feels such a Danny song to use, plus I checked how orcas court and while there's some posturing, they also sing! It felt only natural from there... >:3c)

Day 11: Mutation/Shell(s)

And finally: the answer!

LBM found this weird shell on the beach while they were on vacation, but when he checked it (read: nibbed it), it reacted and tooted a magical cloud that mutated our Little Baby Man into a Mer!

(The same fate happened to Dani/Little Baby Menace and Dan/Little Baby Terror, changing them into a Seahorse Mer and Octopus Mer respectively.

I've got a lineart done of them for another prompt, but I didn't manage in time to clean and color it yet, along with a couple of others... ( ≧Д≦) )

This has two versions because I couldn't decide which was better. @teacupsandstarlight suggested the first because of the transforming smoke around our boi, but since I saved both, I told myself: why not upload both?

For now, that's all! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

I still have some linearts to finish/digitalize/color, but at least I contributed to these two fantastic events, hope y'all enjoyed them and my works!

Hope to type ya soon! ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Let me tell you I got SO EXCITED when I saw you have an official playlist for the SK AU :)

I saved it immediately

Yeeee!

My playlists are more for establishing what the worlds of each AU are like, rather than characters individually. Like the vibe. Some tracks I have because I imagine very specific story moments when listening to them.

But some songs and music in each one are in reference to one or more of them! For example:

In the Fairy AU playlist, I like to imagine Sun’s theme is “Madelgarde’s Flight”. Moon’s is “Glow Worms.”

In the SK AU, most of the songs are about the boys doing their murderous deeds, but a couple of them are meant to be centered around Sun. Can’t go into details without spoiling things tho X3

[staytinyville]

Stay Alive (6)

BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None

NOT BETA READ (I did try the best to my ability. If you would like to be my beta reader feel free to DM me :)

Walking into work in the morning with a tired sigh, you were feeling a bit drained from the night before. You had a massive headache from not finding sleep due to another massive headache. It seemed like there was something trying to push at your mind, wanting to worm its way into your brain. It left you restless.

“(Y/N).” Suho called you the moment you walked into the office space. You looked up, trying to give a friendly smile. “Doctor Hanseol would like to see you.”

That seemed to take care of your headache right away. Your eyes went wide as you nodded your head, making haste to get to the office on time. You had dropped off your things at your desk before making your way to the elevators to take you up.

Once you reached his door, you sighed and tried to get a grip on your tired nerves. You knocked on the door, hearing a call before entering.

“Hello, sir.” You bowed your head, waiting for him to tell you to sit. When he gestured with his hand, you moved to take a seat in front of him.

“Hello, (Y/N).” Your boss greeted. “How is everything going with Jungkook? Is he behaving?” He smiled, laughing a little.

You played with your fingers in your lap, chuckling quietly to make it seem like you found his joke funny. “I couldn't imagine him misbehaving. He's a really great patient to look after. I find it hard to believe he's even here. He is quite healthy.” You explained absentmindedly.

Hanseol hummed, nodding his head. “Yes, well, you will find most patients in the facility are healthy. It's just certain mental problems or life long issues we are looking to heal.”

“I understand.” You spoke up. 

The man left you unsettled. You didn’t know if it was because of the presence he had around him or if it had to do with the fact that he was your boss. You knew your past employers sometimes made you feel worried about your work ethic but Hanseol made you feel insignificant. Like just your breathing was bothering him. 

It was only your second time meeting with him and both times you noticed how he carried himself. He was arrogant–a man who looked like he was only helping the less fortunate because it gave him money. But you couldn’t say anything, he was the one to give you the job. And if it wasn’t for that you wouldn’t have met the boys. 

“It seems you've built quite the reputation at the facility.” Hanseol continued on.

“I'd hope in a good way.” You laughed stiffly.

“Certainly for you.” He smiled, moving to look at a file on his desk. “It seems we had another problem with a patient of ours.” He dragged the paper over to you. “He seems to want no one else but you. He's posing a problem to us because he won't do what we ask. So I have decided to accept and put you to be his personal nurse.”

You looked up from the file, frowning as you tilted your head in confusion. “What about Jungkook? Or my job up here at the clinic?” You asked. 

“You won't have to work here in the clinic.” Hanseol shook his head. “As you have probably gathered by now, we have a large number of patients in the lower levels. I only have 15 nurses stationed there for the 50 patients. Each one is often given at least two—sometimes three to take care of. You will still be Jungkook's nurse as well. Because of this I have decided to make you a full time nurse for the In-Patient care facility.” He explained to you.

You looked over the man’s file, the large 001 next to his name caught your attention. You had studied to become a nurse and help others who needed it. Filing papers wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do, so you felt you got lucky with getting Jungkook’s file by accident. You also owed it to the boy for throwing a tantrum to get you as his nurse. Getting another patient would add on to your experience and your position would be changed officially. 

“It would be an honor.” You smiled at Hanseol, bowing your head in thanks.

“I knew you would accept.” The smile the man gave you made you almost falter. “I expect you to take very good care of this patient. He was our very first client when I first started this company. He means a lot to me.” 

While his voice was normal, there was an underlying tone that made you shiver. Maybe it hadn’t been directed towards you, but the way he spoke about the patient made it seem like the man was troubled with them. 

“Of course, sir. I'll do my best.” You bowed your head one last time before moving out the door, file tucked closely to your chest. 

You sighed deeply as you moved to the elevators. Instead of going directly to your desk, you began to make your way towards the lower levels. You figure it would be best to get acquainted with your new patient. 

Going down into the facility, you were quick to come up on the door you knew belonged to the person you would be in charge of. You sighed to yourself, a smile on your face as you knocked. “Come in.” A voice called roughly from the other side. 

“Hello, Mr. Kim.” You greeted, walking in. “I'm (Y/N). I'll be your new nurse!”

Your new patient was sitting comfortably on the couch, book in his lap. He looked up from the pages when he heard your voice call to him. He calmly took his feet off the couch and placed his book down. As he stood up, you smiled bashfully as you took in how tall he actually was. It made you a bit intimidated by his height. 

You remember Jin was probably the same height however Namjoon seemed to have a harsher stare and a passive look on his face. “I know. I asked for you.” He told you, walking closer. 

You nodded your head, feeling stupid for introducing yourself that way. “Right.” You said. “Do you mind if I ask why?” You asked.

“Jungkook told me about you.” He had reached you, looking at you as though he was sizing you up. 

You rolled your shoulders back to calm the anxious nerves racing through your body. “I'm sure that boy has told everyone about me.” You smiled at the thought of the younger boy. “He's really sweet.”

“He is.” Namjoon’s lips curled up slightly as he thought about the boy. “Very kind.”

You had to stop yourself from giggling at the dimple that appeared on his cheek. It was absolutely the cutest thing you had ever seen. And it was only a partial dimple. 

“Would it be alright if I go over your vitals?” You shook your head, looking down at the file given to you. “I have to do a check up.”

“As they normally do.” The man waved you off, moving to sit at the bed like Jungkook had that first day. “Get on with it.”

You sighed deeply at how the man’s attitude was passive. He didn’t sound like he had any emotions to give to you. You figured he was still trying to come up with his own analysis of you. “Yes.” You nodded, moving to put the file on the table before getting all you needed to check his vitals.

When you gathered all you needed, you moved up to him. “Is it okay?” You asked, gesturing to his arm. He held it out for you, waiting for you to put the band around his arm. As you moved to touch him, you noticed how warm he was. However it wasn’t something you would find to be worrisome. What you did stop to frown at were the skin lesions on his arm. 

The skin looked like the epidermis had been peeled back in small patches the size of pimples. It didn’t seem like he was bleeding, however the skin was red. It reminded of you of a blister wound that had been peeled back.  It looked painful and it made you shiver at thinking about having an open wound like that on your skin. 

“Did they put anything on these wounds?” You openly scoffed and momentarily put down the heart rate padding. You had a frown on your face and Namjoon watched as you huffed and turned around to rummage through his cabinets. 

“They should put something.” You angrily mumbled to yourself.

“What are you looking for?” He asked, watching you huff and puff at not finding whatever it was you were looking for. 

“An ointment.” You told him. “Something to fix the breaking skin.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows raised, glancing down to the picked at skin on his arm. His hands smothered down his legs, feeling the fabric of his clothing rub at the raw skin on his thighs. “I'll be fine.” He sighed.

“I read in your files that you're here for a skin condition.” A grin overtook your face when you had found the first aid kit. Namjoon looked at you from the bed as you pulled a box out and dropped it onto the floor to look through it. 

“You're a patient and I'm the nurse.” You explained, jumping up as you came into a stand. He flinched back at your sudden movements, but kept his eyes on your grin. “I have to heal your wounds.” You walked closer holding up a bottle of some medicine and some gauze. 

As you moved to reach out, you froze before looking up at him. “Is this okay?” You asked, waiting for his response. He slowly nodded his head, his lungs seizing up for some reason as he took in your scent. While he could clearly smell your perfume, there was something else that seemed to catch him by surprise. 

As your hands were softly touching him, his eyes closed as he allowed your kindness rush to through his nerve endings and into his chest. His empathetic nature seemed to intertwine with your aura. 

“I'll come by tomorrow to check up on them.” Your voice brought him out of his stupor, the man looking down at you with hooded eyes. “If you feel itchy you can take them off yourself but I wouldn't recommend it, the ointment needs to soak up.” Your smile made him dizzy. 

“Everything should be good now.” You told him after you wrote down all his vitals. You looked towards him, a smile on your face as you tilted your head at his dazed expression. 

“You smell nice.” He blurted. 

Your face turned beet red, choking on air. “Thank you?” You giggled.

“Sorry.” He shook his head when he heard you laugh. “I've never met someone like you. It made my senses fog up.”

“I'm flattered.” You continued to laugh, your cheeks hurting from your smile. “Is there anything I can do for you?” You asked before you left. 

“No.” Namjoon stood from the bed, seemingly back to normal as he walked you to the door. “I should be okay.” He finally gave you a smile which showcased his dimple. 

Your eyes crinkled as you swooned over it. “Then I'll be on my way. I have Jungkook to tend to.”

“Yes, you should go before he comes to find you.” Namjoon playfully rolled his eyes.

“I hope you have a good day, Mr. Kim. Goodbye.” The smile you gave him made him swallow.

He knew that all of them had started to become desensitized in this place that only seemed to take from them. They had given up all hope for a better future. A future where they were able to return home. It seemed so long ago that they were brought in as children and tested on until they could no longer feel anything. He knew there would come a day when Hanseol would no longer need them, everyone ran out of magic at one point. Who knew what would happen to them then. 

But hearing you say such kind words–touch him with such kind hands–he knew he wanted to get out. He had suffered so much and meeting you made him remember what it was like in the first place. He was going to find a way to get out. He was going to find a way to save everyone. And he knew you were the one person who would help him do that. 

“Of course.”

Series Masterlist

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Where Are We Going? (And Where Have We Been??)

@littlemissartemisia @tmntaucompetition

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Dee-Dee -- er, Donatello took Misa to a small side desk in the far corner of the room while April and Karai took the three boys into the bathroom to wash their faces and brush their teeth.

Misa was so confused and nervous. She wasn't sure why she felt so anxious about this whole situation. It was only Donnie... It was just "DvD". Huh. She'd forgotten that nickname...

"Alright then, Misa, sit down," he instructed. His voice was stern, commanding, but not at all scary like she'd figured he would be. He seemed pretty steamed when he'd first seen her.

Misa sat down at the corner of a bed, while DvD got the chair out from the desk and turned it around, sitting the wrong way down on it so that he could rest his arms on the back, his legs dangling out from the edges.

"So," he said, pure exhaustion in his voice, "How. Did. This. Happen."

"I don't know," she responded. "Last thing I remember, I was with my dads --"

"Wait, what? What do you mean, 'last I remember'? You were here with us the whole time."

Misa stared at him.

"...No, I wasn't. I was home with Hypno and Warren, we were getting ice cream, when suddenly a pink cloud exploded around me and then I was here!"

Donnie's eyes went wide. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to understand.

"Okay, so either you just somehow... got pulled through time, or the magic that turned you into an adult transformed your memories to fit accordingly. Which means you're either a time-traveler, or a precognitive clairvoyant. Both are equally terrifying and incredible."

Misa swallowed, her fingers twiddling as she looked around the room.

"Where... where are we?" she finally asked.

"The TMNT AU Competition. More specifically, the apartments they give to the contestants. Do you... remember that?"

Misa thought hard.

"I... kind of remember the competition. It was this big arena, right? Lots of stalls and stands selling all kinds of stuff, and people giving out gifts, and the med ward where I met --" she froze, suddenly remembering it all. "Mikey. I met Mikey in the med ward. I gave him..."

Her hand went down to the friendship bracelet on her wrist. It was old and frayed, the colours were slowly fading, but she wore it every day. Even after she'd forgotten who she'd given the other bracelet to. She made so many and gave away so many as a kid, she couldn't keep track after a few years. But each one had signature colours, and this one was a mix between bright orange and cotton candy pink.

"...I gave him a friendship bracelet and 'adopted' him. I forgot that, I can't believe I forgot that." She smiled before her eyes started to sting with tears. She looked up at DvD. "Why did you leave me?"

"What are you referring to?" he asked, obviously confused. "Misa, you've been with us the entire time!"

"I... what? No, I told you, I--"

"Based on what you've told me, from your perspective you left the competition and went back to your own home dimension?"

"Well, yes!" she exclaimed. "Most of my early childhood is kind of a blur... hopping from one dimension to the other... but I did go back to my own world, where I was taken in by Warren Stone and Hypno Potomus! They raised me, pretty much."

"You mean... that mutant hippo and the worm guy? I think I remember them from my universe..."

"Yeah, Hypno took me in to help me learn how to control my powers."

"What powers?" Donnie asked, eyes wide as he stood up suddenly. "You never said you had any powers!"

"You didn't know?"

"No! Of course not! Obviously not!" DvD calmed himself down, smoothed out his shirt, and sat back down. "You were four years old... possibly you didn't know that you had abilities, or more likely you just didn't think to tell us. Perhaps you purposefully didn't tell us..."

"Has it really been nine years?" Misa wondered out loud. Wow. So much could change and be forgotten in only nine years...

"So you're thirteen now?" DvD asked.

"Yup."

"You're the same age as Mikey is-- was."

Misa looked up in fear.

"Was?? What happened to Mikey?"

"Didn't you see the kids go into the bathroom?"

"THAT was MIKEY?!" she yelled, standing up and looking back to the door, behind which three toddlers were getting ready for bed. "He's... he's teensy! What happened to him?!"

"The exact opposite of what happened to you," Donatello said with irritation, as he slapped his face and slid his hand down his face.

"That doesn't explain much..."

"I suppose not. Basically, there's been a weird epidemic of people being turned into different ages. So far, it turned Leon, 'Phael, and Mikey into 7, 6, and 4-ish years of age. Apparently, it turned you into a 13 year old."

"That's weird."

"No weirder than a talking mushroom with a musical fetish."

"OH MY GOSH, I FORGOT ABOUT THAT!" she laughed. "I thought I dreamt that up!!"

DvD smiled softly as she cackled at the crazy memories.

She could just barely catch the dark circles under his eyes, the weak hold he had on that fragile smile. When she was a kid, she remembered seeing him and thinking he was kind of scary or grumpy all the time... Lee-Lee Leo had called him 'Grumples' once, didn't he? But she remembered seeing him sometimes with a wide grin and strange smile. He would say funny things about arson and world domination. While she hadn't understood it at that age, it made her giggle. She smiled at the memory...

"So your brothers are basically toddlers now?"

"OUR brothers, yes."

Misa smiled.

Well, at least one thing never changed. Once a family, always a family.

She had assumed that because they'd never visited her world, that meant maybe they hadn't cared after all, or they'd forgotten her. But that didn't seem to be the case after all... if anything, it might have been the other way around.

"So... we should probably catch each other up to speed, hmm?" Donnie suggested.

"I guess so..."

"Alright then, you start."

Misa began giving him the gist of her life, her abilities, her friends and family and the many adventures she'd been on during her 'absence'. Donnie filled in some details about their situation afterwards, how the pink mist had transformed their little brothers into little-er brothers, and even helped fill in the blanks from some other memories, such as Karai's arrival, the fear fungus, the other competitors that met her, and so on. After a few minutes, Karai and April took the boys out of the washroom.

Misa couldn't help but stare at the boys. Mikey was all smiles, and had to be held back to keep him from running up to her and slamming into her knees for a hug. Raph looked at her with curiosity, but held onto April's leg with desperation. Leon just simply glared at her, half-hiding behind April and Karai.

"Hi, guys!" she said with a smile, kneeling down on the floor to get closer to their height.

Mikey wriggled himself free and pounced on her, giggling like a madman as he wrapped himself around her like a monkey.

"Meezie!"

She laughed at that nickname. The vaguest of memories came back, of a tiny toddler in rags calling her that...

"Is it really Misa?" Karai asked. She hadn't apparently witnessed the transformation, having been in the kitchenette making some tea.

"Yep. It's her," Dee said with a nod.

Leon grumbled angrily.

"Traitor..."

"Leo, be nice," April rebuked.

Raph slowly meandered out from behind the teenage girls and crept towards her.

"Misa? How'd ya get so big?"

"Magic, apparently," she said, rubbing the back of Mikey's shell. He was still clinging onto her.

"Stupid, bad magic," Leon grumbled again.

"Aw, c'mon Lee-Lee, I'm the same as before! Just... taller."

"You're a stinky grownup now," he said, crossing his arms and pouting. "You're a traitor."

"You'll have to grow up one day too, ya know."

He pouted again, hot tears in his eyes. Tears? Oh, he wasn't mad that she 'betrayed' him and grew up. What was he mad about?

"I don't wanna be a stinky grownup. They're mean."

Misa slowly recalled his adverse reaction to Raphael when he'd first been turned into a tot. He hadn't even trusted Mikey when he saw him! He'd said something about... what was it, a mean place? The orphanage! He'd grown in an orphanage. With mean adults... and now Misa was an 'adult'. So to him, did it correlated that since she was now a grownup, she was automatically going to be mean to him, just like all the others. He thought she was a 'traitor'...

Misa tried to smile at him, to reassure him that she wasn't going to betray him or hurt him. Leo refused to meet her eyes.

"Hey, I promise that I'm not a stinky grownup," she said, scooting closer to him. "You're still my big brother, okay?"

Misa held out her pinky to him. He eyeballed it with concern, trying to decide whether or not to trust her... Well, if he could trust Miss Karai and Miss April... he could trust Misa again, right?

He wrapped his pinky around hers.

"Okay, big sister."