Alrighty my freaks of the week /aff, I got some food for y'all. I swapped back and forth between first and third person for this and ultimately settled on first so it didn't sound too oc-y (even though it really isn't, nor is it written to be. This is an x reader through and through, though reader is developed slightly for lore reasons). This takes place after the events of Maximum/98 whichever one you prefer.
So friends I give you:
Under My Skin (Knives x Uncanny!Reader)
CW: uncanny valley, discussion of injuries, readers a bit of a freak ngl.(Not sexual just strange), F!Reader
Part 2: Snuff
When Knives came back to consciousness after the fight it wasnt loud or boisterous; rather it was quiet, deafeningly so. He scrunched his nose and squinted his eyes as the overbearing light of the mid afternoon suns filtered into the room. This place was unfamiliar and smelt of dust.
He blinked and let his eyes adjust to the brightness of the room. The room he was in was covered in tacky yellow striped wallpaper that was accented by white drapes. The furniture and shelves were brown and seemed to replicate the old wood furniture of earth, though some pieces did it better than others. Every surface was packed full of random trinkets and seemingly misplaced items. Nothing matched, there was no rhythm to the room despite all the items trying desperately to convince him otherwise. Two truths were laid out before him: no one owned this room and someone worked hard to make it seem like someone did. It made the little hairs at the base of his neck stand up, the very idea that even this room was trying to deceive him.
Knives attempted to sit up but it was truly no more than a half assed attempt. He should be trying to leave but what was the point? Where would he go?
He let his body flop back against the soft pillows and sheets earning a pained groan from him. Everything hurt and the familiar thrum of power that used to radiate along his spine seemed to illude him. Did he win? No. No, this must be loss. Perhaps this is death. No, that couldn't be either, death wouldn't be this... off-putting. His thoughts were cut short before they could spiral any further as the quiet clinking of ceramic caught his ears.
With a huff he turned his head towards the door. There stood you. If the room was uncanny you were 10 times more so. Something about you made goose bumps erupt across his flesh and he felt the urge to bare his teeth and growl. You looked human, smelt human, but something was fundamentally wrong, he just couldn't quite put his finger on what. You stood there for a long minute, the bowl in your hands gently shaking but all you did was blink and stare. Eventually, you moved closer with confident long confident strides, placed the bowl on his nightstand and shuffled back out the door.
He laid frozen for a bit before finally committing to sit up. God he had never hurt this much before. The soft yellow blankets pooled at his waist, drawing attention to his bare and bandaged body. Knives was at least given boxers for modesty but the thought of that human- no- thing, pawing at him sent shivers down his spine. He was a god amongst filth now reduced to this degraded form.
Once again his mellow drama was cut short, this time by the rapid clumsy thumping of footsteps thundering down the hall. Moments later the owner of the racket popped their head into the room. He let out an audible scoff as he looked at the face of his foolish brother. If Knives was being blunt, his twin looked like shit. Black locks and exhausted eyes stared in disbelief at him but then that annoying smile of his overtook his features and all fleeting moments of pity Knives had felt vanished.
Vash practically flung himself onto the side of Knives bed and pulled him into a deep embrace as if the elder twin hadn't tortured him for nearly 150 years, "You're awake!"
Knives was startled by the sudden affection but the pain erupting across his fragile body snapped his tone back into malice, "Must you state the obvious so loudly?"
Vash frowned and pulled away, awkwardly fiddling with his cybernetic hand, "Knives... Cmon man-"
"Don't bother, I don't want to hear whatever monologue you have prepared for me. You won and with your victory you chose to damn me to shame instead of letting me die. You cannot be foolish enough to honestly believe that this will magically make me see what you see, think what you think. You should've let me go, but instead you chose to be selfish. Well don't be so deluded as to think that I will be anything else but what I am," his voice was seething in anger, how dare Vash, how dare he.
Vash just looked... Dejected... He eventually turned his face away.
The two sat in hostile silence for what felt like ages before Vash spoke again, "I have business outside December, I'll be gone for a while. In the meantime you're staying here. Don't even think about using your powers, we went through too damn much to save you. Be nice to her too- er- at least don't give her too much grief. I'll be back as soon as I can but... Yea..."
He stood and the silence wasn't any lighter. Knives scoffed, "If I must be babysat by a lesser being I'd at least prefer them to actually be human not whatever that thing was."
He could see the irritation flair on Vash's features at his cocky words.
"Fix your attitude Knives," was all Vash said before heading to the door, once he was halfway out he turned and muttered, "Glad you pulled through, Nai."
Truth be told, Knives didn't really listen to what his brother was saying, nor did he care. His spirit was broken and now his hatred had nothing to do but pour out and rot everything around him.
You kept herself scarce except for changing his bandages and delivering him his necessities. You kept quiet, never speaking a word to him. He never heard you make more noise than the quiet rattle of ceramic and metal or the distant sounds of household chores. The house was bathed in unbearable silence. Sometimes he would try to fill it with insults or jabs towards you but it never hit its mark. No, you would just quietly leave. He had never felt so helpless and out of control, didn't you know who he was? What he was? You're lucky you've gotten to be this long in his presence, the least you could do was humor him.
And so it went, hours stretched into days and days into weeks. He kept forcing his body to move much too early in his recovery. You would sometimes stand and watch as he did so. Watching him pull apart his stitches and reopen wounds, it ignited a sort of joy in you that not even the indifferent act of yours could hide. You would watch stone faced as he suffered from his own hubris but never intervened, never told him to stop. Then, when his agonized writhing grew boring again, you'd fix him up.
You danced this loop with him day in and day out till he finally learned to wait for his wounds to heal. With enough patience he was able to get up and wander about so he took to exploring the rest of your strange and off-putting home. Your house was small but so peculiar, like it was an imitation of what one should be like. Different rooms had different colors of the same ugly wall paper and the house was riddled with trinkets and shelves of items that just seemed out of place. Each room was an echo of the one he had been trapped in. The repetition made his skin crawl. At least you were easier to look at now that he had grown so used to you. Your unsettling nature no longer triggered a fight or flight response from the animal part of his brain.
He continued to ponder his life as he waddled into the dining room. You sat at the large table, a mug in your hands but the liquid inside had long gone cold. You were zoned out, staring through the window that looked directly at the distant town.
Knives hovered for a bit before deciding to be an ass.
"So what do you get all of this? Vash paying you well?" He sneered taking a seat at the table as well.
"No" you replied, your voice soft and scratchy from disuse.
His head whipped around to look at you, all these months without a word and now she talks?
"Then why are you?"
Your lilt was staggered, pausing after every word in a way that made his skin crawl.
"The Stampede asked me to."
"Why should it matter what he wants?"
"I owe him my life."
"I'm sure whatever happened, your debt isn't that big.
He looked over and met your eyes, those cold lifeless eyes held something new now, pure hatred.
"You are not the only one to try and make monsters, Executioner."
He paused then an amused smile found his face. A nerve for him to prod at? How amusing.
"Executioner? How cute. For your information though I wasn't making monsters, just funding that scientists delusions of unity, of making humans better."
"A worm is still a worm no matter how big it gets or it's place in the hierarchy." With that you stood and left.
Curse knives to oblivion though, his interest has finally been piqued. If he couldn't eradicate humans, perhaps this creature could be of some amusement.
Not the clean, empty quiet Batman brings when he drops into a room and fear evacuates the air, but something softer, wrong—alleys that stop dripping, rats that freeze mid-scuttle, thugs who hesitate because they swear they just heard something move behind them where nothing should be.
Then the Batfamily sees you.
You are unassuming in the way people who survive impossible things often are too calm, shoulders never quite slumped no matter how heavy your bag looks, fingers always doing something small and specific as if you’re counting beats no one else can hear.
And trailing behind you, spaced out with deliberate care, are the dolls.
Porcelain skin kissed with fine cracks like spiderwebs. Glass eyes in shades of blue and brown and one unsettling gray that seems to change under light. Carefully stitched clothing—outfits too practical to be decorative, reinforced at the seams, sewn for motion rather than play.
Dick laughs at first, because Dick laughs when tension spikes, and says something about haunted doll movies right before Damian stiffens like a drawn blade.
Because the dolls are holding formation.
Not wobbling. Not swaying. Balanced perfectly on uneven Gotham concrete, their shadows slightly out of sync with the streetlight behind them.
You lift your head, eyes flicking over the Batfamily with a glance that is neither wary nor impressed, and say, very simply,
“They help me see what you can’t.”
Your fingers twitch.
Every single doll turns its head at once.
Bruce doesn’t move, but something settles unpleasantly in his chest not fear, exactly, but recognition. The same instinct that tells him when a weapon has decided what it is for.
୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧
They follow you into patrols after that, reluctantly at first, Tim’s objections stacked neatly against Steph’s curiosity and Jason’s amused indifference.
The first night test run is meant to be controlled.
It isn’t.
A weapons deal spills into an alley, thugs fanning out too quickly, numbers miscounted, and Bruce opens his mouth to adjust the plan when you lift two fingers instead.
The dolls scatter.
Not running—placing themselves. One climbs with smooth, unnatural precision, perching upside-down on a fire escape rail. One drags itself into view in the open, shoes scraping just loud enough to draw attention. Another disappears entirely.
You don’t bark orders. You don’t gesture wildly.
You conduct.
A flex of the wrist and a thug trips, screaming as his ankle buckles under invisible pressure. A snap of two fingers and a gun skitters out of reach, kicked away by a porcelain shoe that shouldn’t have the leverage to do that.
Jason stares, mid-reload, watching a doll vault off a wall and land cleanly behind a man twice its height.
“…that’s messed up,” he mutters, awed.
Then, quieter, “I like it.”
The fight ends without fatalities, bruises blooming where pressure points were struck with perfect anatomical knowledge, and the dolls return to you, reforming their circle without instruction.
Dick exhales shakily.
“They—uh. They always do that?”
You nod once.
“They don’t like loose ends.”
୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧
Tim tries to understand them.
Thermal scans show nothing. No motors. No consistent heat signature. Audio picks up faint sounds—ceramic clicking that doesn’t match observed movement, something like breath that never resolves into a waveform.
He reaches out once, absentminded, toward a doll seated on a worktable.
The head snaps toward him with a sharp click.
The doll’s smile widens... not much. Just enough.
Your voice cuts through the air, calm but immovable.
“Please don’t touch them.”
Damian bristles at the implied command until Alfred gently clears his throat and points out that the doll’s hand is hovering inches from a cluster of pressure points that would drop Damian in under three seconds flat.
No one touches the dolls again.
Bruce asks the question later, in the Cave, beneath lights bright enough to feel invasive.
“How do you control them?”
You pause, fingers resting lightly against porcelain hair you’re brushing smooth.
“I don’t,” you say. “I listen.”
That answer bothers him more than any other could have.
୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧
Off the streets, you are meticulous.
You sit cross-legged on the Cave floor, surrounded by tools laid out with ritualistic precision fine brushes, thread, sealants mixed in exact ratios, gloves you change between dolls like a surgeon changing patients.
You whisper while you work.
Not commands.
Reassurances.
Steph notices first, how gentle you are with them, how you cradle cracked porcelain like it’s skin, how your hands steady when you’re repairing them even if they shook hours earlier while you bled.
“You love them,” she says softly.
“They’re my team,” you reply, like the thought has never occurred to you that love would be a better word.
Alfred brings tea.
Dusts the dolls when you aren’t looking.
No one comments on it.
୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧
The night you get hurt is the night everything changes.
An ambush goes wrong bad intel, worse timing and you take a hit meant for Dick. You stumble, blood slick between your fingers, vision blurring at the edges as your control frays.
Your hand falls limp.
The dolls move anyway.
They close ranks around you, faster than before, sharper, movements no longer elegant but angry. Jason doesn’t remember giving cover fire orders, only remembers firing because the air felt wrong, dense with the sense of something old and protective waking up.
One of the dolls lets out a sound.
Dick later insists it was a growl.
Tim never confirms it, but he never denies the audio spike either.
They don’t chase. They don’t overextend. They protect.
They wait.
When you come back to yourself, blinking against Cave lights, you find them sitting perfectly still beside you, arranged as they always are not frantic, not damaged, just present.
Your fingers twitch weakly.
Only then do they relax.
Bruce looks at them differently after that.
Not tools.
Not weapons.
Guardians.
୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧
Acceptance creeps in quietly.
Jason nods at the dolls before patrol like they’re fellow soldiers.
Steph leaves tiny scarves and buttons “lying around” for your next maintenance session.
Damian begins, grudgingly, referring to them as assets rather than objects.
Bruce eventually says, “Gotham needs many kinds of protectors.”
You smile. The dolls mirror it—not as wide, not as sharp.
Sometimes you fall asleep in the Cave, exhaustion claiming you where you sit, and one doll positions itself at your side, head tilted as if counting your breaths.
Dick throws a blanket over you.
Tim dims the monitors.
No one tells the doll to move.
Because the Batfamily understands something now.
You didn’t create monsters.
You gave abandoned things a reason to stand guard.
And in Gotham
that might be the kindest magic of all.
Blood Magic and Radio Static (Eustass Kid x Witch!Reader)
Synopsis: You're determined to slip Eustass Kid a love potion at Sabaody. And with blood magic as powerful as yours, how could you lose?
Word Count: 4.1k
Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, HawkinsPiratesCommander! Witch! HawkinsYoungerSibling! Reader, Blood Magic, Blood Ingestion, Canon-Typical Human Trafficking, Suggestive
Notes: Supermassive Automatic by Kick the Robot
The first time you laid eyes on him at Sabaody, Hawkins had immediately drawled a stern, “No,” without so much as looking up from his cards. You stood just over his shoulder, cloak drawn in a nice bow over your collarbones, and your hood pooled across the back of your shoulders. You watched, fascinated, as the Kid pirates passed by in the distance.
“I want him,” you practically sang, raking over his red hair and fur-lined coat. You fiddled with the ring wrapped around your index finger, toying with the sharp little hook that could flick out from the band. You hummed gleefully to yourself, your tune interrupting Hawkins’ steady concentration as you had a word with one of your most loyal attendants.
“Your flavor of pet has always astounded,” he muttered, moving a few more cards around with a glance toward the man you sent off into town. Hawkins was on higher alert here in Sabaody. With so many crews converging all at once and the proximity to Navy headquarters, Hawkins insisted that the crew be vigilant. “But I must beseech you to bypass this one. Toy with another crew if you must, but I assert that a confrontation with Eustass should be saved for the New World, that being if we simply must.”
“Not a confrontation, Captain,” you leaned over Hawkins’ shoulder, placing one hand neatly over the other as you let yourself lean. You watched as he shuffled the cards in his hands, like he’d done millions of times before. “He’d make a great star for my collection.”
“Your odds are abysmal, as you can see,” Hawkins muttered, drawing your first card. “The Devil,” he began, revealing the dark, grinning figure on the card. He glanced toward you scrutinously out of the corner of his eyes, almost as if to emphasize his apparent disappointment. “Temptation and obsession. Dangerous desire that binds you.”
He drew a second card. “Seven of Swords,” he continued, his voice much like a sighed lecture, as if presenting evidence so indisputable should’ve been beyond words. “Deception and trickery that may backfire…”
And by the time Hawkins drew the third card, he pretended not to notice that you’d already slunk away. You had always been an ornery one, and when it came to consequences, you always seemed to have to see them yourself before you listened to anyone else. You often ventured off like a feral cat, and Hawkins was sure to collect you when a big, scary dog barked you back home. That was, of course, the responsibility of an older sibling.
“The Tower,” he continued, to no one in particular. “Destruction and consequences you cannot foresee,” Hawkins droned, breathing another sigh, “Didn’t necessarily need a card to tell you that one, not that you’d listen anyway.”
And he was right. You weren’t listening. In fact, you were halfway across the archipelago, briskly following one of your other toys, the same one you’d sent to follow the Kid Pirates as soon as you’d seen them.
You had quite the collection of specimens who’d had the misfortune of falling into your web. Each of them was sealed to you through powerful blood magic, blessed with living out the rest of their days in loving devotion to you. Although despite your menagerie, you often found yourself growing bored once the ritual was through. And so, ever one to pursue a novel danger, you sleuthed out Eustass Kid, following him all the way to some seedy bar in a faraway grove.
The bar was loud and dim. You entered, leaving your cloak with your scout, who stood dutifully at the door. You were dressed to kill, sauntering with purpose as you purposefully ignored the pointed stares and whistles tossed your way. Men—people in general—always looked at you like that when you wanted them to, but you had your eyes set on one gaze.
The atmosphere in the building felt warm and smelled of cheap beer and ale, and at the center of it all was him. Broad-shouldered, loud, and half-shouting over the music, Kid sat with his crew occupying a whole section of the establishment. He sat like a goddamn king, an oversized stein of ale resting on his knee as he shouted some obscene joke across the room.
You glided between tables, eyes never leaving Kid for a second. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t ask. You sauntered right up to him, draping an arm over the back of his shoulders as you slid into his lap like it’s always been yours. You didn’t sit—you claimed as you draped your legs over his.
The crew erupted with catcalls and whistles, but you didn’t spare a glance away. A vial glinted between your fingers as you popped the cap. You took it between your index and middle fingers like a cigarette, never looking away from Kid’s captivated, amused expression. You took the vial between your lips, tipping it back, and before Kid’s grin could twist into a crude remark, you were on him—lips against his, branding him with a kiss.
“Holy shit, where’d you come from, baby?”
“Don’t mind us, brother!”
You brewed the draught yourself. You ensured its potency could easily incapacitate a man more than three times Kid’s size, and with a little extra, he’d be entirely yours because you got to point at the biggest, loudest man in the room and make him yours.
Kid felt solid beneath you, radiating intense heat through his skin. You leaned farther into him, pressing the side of your chest against his as your hand immediately tangled within the roots of his hair. You tugged on his red strands, trailing your hand to the area behind his ear where your ring would bite.
The sharp hook bit into his pale skin with a flick of your wrist, and when you pulled back, you licked from the base of his neck all the way up to the shiny red drop of blood you’d just prickled from him. He’d jerked, like he’d felt a mosquito bite, but you only held him closer, waiting for the moment the spell took hold. You could feel the energy thick in the air, swirling around the dense atmosphere of the bar.
But… nothing happened.
There was hardly an ember of anything, like trying to start a fire that won’t light. Kid didn’t soften under you. His eyes didn’t glaze over with enchantment. And then… a spark pierced through you like a shot. The dizzying electricity of conquorors' haki backfired against you.
But Kid didn’t seem to notice. You weren’t even sure if he fired off the spark in the first place or if it was his body’s natural defense to your magic. He grabbed you roughly, kissing you back harder, brash and unyielding. He leaned you back, almost as if dipping you over his lap, and any power you thought you had over the situation soon fizzled.
Your spell had failed for the first time in a long line of powerful people. His sheer willpower was overwhelming. You had never encountered such resistance.
And when Kid finally drew away, his lips were slick with saliva, and yours were bruised. He held you, slightly bent over you as you were nearly lying across his lap, feet off the ground, his grin unwavering.
“Well, damn,” he gruffed, heaving you back up like you were nothing as he sat somewhat straight once again. Your arm still draped over the back of his shoulder, this time clutching the fur lining as you unconsciously grounded yourself. “What corner of hell did you crawl out of?” he teased.
The group roared with approval as you burned within. This had never happened before. Your potions were flawless, and sealed with blood; he should have been yours to command the moment his blood touched your tongue. But no, he’d retained control, taking a swig of his ale as he laughed boisterously at something one of his crewmates said. His opposite hand wrapped tightly around your waist like you were some sort of local arm candy.
And then, his eyes flickered upward, doing a double take as he noticed a pair of eyes staring his way. Kid lifted his cup to his lips again.
“Who’s the bastard with the stupid face?” he asked, no longer paying any attention to you.
“That’s the Sea Roar, isn’t it?” someone from the crew confirmed.
Before you knew it, Kid was standing, practically dumping you from his lap as he charged forward, exploding the front of the establishment in a flash. Dust and debris filled the air as the Kid Pirates began to pack up around you. No one said a word to you, gathering themselves to disappear into the smoke after their captain.
You could hear the confrontation outside.
“Could you really not wait for the other side of the Red Line to fight me?” the other voice yelled over the chaos. “Just curious, but do you have any idea who I am?”
“All I know is you wouldn’t stop staring at me.” Kid passed through the smoke, a hand on the hilt of the knife strapped to his chest. “You are one creepy lookin’ bastard. Why don’t you just let me put you out of your misery?”
You’d scrambled to your feet, slipping out of the building before the integrity crumbled. You watched from a distance, brooding and licking your proverbial wounds like a cat. The toy who’d accompanied you to the bar draped your cloak back over your shoulders. The clash between Kid and Apoo caused another explosion to shake the ground, but you couldn’t have been less impressed.
Really? He’d tossed you aside like a half-finished drink because some idiot looked at him wrong? This brute of a man just had a beautiful, powerful witch on his lap, but no, he wanted to take things outside to laugh and throw punches with some half-rate pirate.
You had half the nerve to step in and hex him right there. You wanted to curse and mark him and drag him back to you with such a show of strength he’d forget all about some stupid bar brawl.
And yet, something about watching him fight with Apoo made your heart pound. He was like a wild animal. He was arrogant, untamed, impossible. It equally annoyed and thrilled you, a far too eager part of you already imagining what it’d be like to have such a magnetic force of a man under your thumb.
You retreated for now, undeterred.
When you reunited with Hawkins, he’d already made his way across the grove. He posted up at a fountain in the middle of a square, sifting through cards as usual. He didn’t look up when you approached. You often came and went.
“I assume the attempt at… persuasion didn’t go as planned,” he said plainly. His typical neutral frown adorned his lips.
You scowled. “It’s not like that,” you defended. “He weilds strong conqueror’s haki. That’s all.”
Hawkins’ gaze lifted to eye you, calculating and unamused. “We’re about to cross the Red Line. Not accounting for such a factor is reckless, even for you. Did the cards not warn you thoroughly enough?”
You crossed your arms, turning away. “I don’t need a lecture from you.”
Hawkins sighed, tearing his eyes off his cards for a moment as he addressed you. “If you insist on a souvenir, perhaps you might have more luck with X Drake.”
You scrunched your nose at the name. “I don’t like his chin,” you grumbled. “And his bounty is too low.”
“His bounty is higher than yours,” Hawkins reminded you, causing you to bristle.
One of your pets approached you, holding up a hand to whisper in your ear. Hawkins’ eyes returned to his cards.
“I need you not to make a scene,” Hawkins said flatly. “Our objective is to pass through to the New World. Do you understand?”
You weren’t listening, already turned away as you put your fingers to your lips like you were about to blow up a balloon. You took the hook from your ring into your mouth, the faint copper taste still lingering on the metal. You focused on the taste, holding the memory of your first attempt vividly in your mind.
The droplet of remembered essence formed on your tongue, growing larger until it passed through your lips as if delicately blowing a bubble from gum. The bubble popped from your mouth, bouncing delicately to your open palms. You could still see the memory in the glint of the ball, alive and distilled from Kid’s blood.
“I probably have time to brew another batch,” you mused, looking into the bubble. “Is that out of the way enough for you? Or does that bring you concern?”
“Dare I say everything you do brings me concern.”
You’d begun to slink away again, waving over your shoulder the moment Hawkins glanced your way with a sigh. “Brewing it is!”
***
Your many eyes and ears followed the Kid Pirates around Sabaody for the rest of the day, reporting that they’d ended up at the auction house by the time you were fully prepped and ready for a second attempt. Grove 1 was a distance away, and you didn’t arrive before the auction started. By the time you walked in the door, a portion of the event had already gone by, but the Kid Pirates remained posted up at the back all the same. The pet you’d sent to track them took your coat once more, standing obediently to the side.
You weren’t interested in what was for sale tonight. Instead, you found auctions like these cheating. You’d rather hand-select your specimens and hunt them organically. Call it ethical collection.
Kid appeared entirely at home among the greedy, shady figures that gathered among the rows. He leaned against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, his hulking figure hunched slightly as he made passing comments about the beings on stage.
You wore a new talisman around your neck, threats of his essence woven into the jewel at its center. The air seemed to shift the moment you walked in, Kid’s eyes immediately finding you the moment you were in sight. The talisman tugged him, beckoning him. He grinned wickedly, meeting you partway as you approached him.
“Well, look who wandered in,” he mused. His eyes raked over you. You’d cast an enhanced glamour charm before you came in, intensified with the blood sample you’d obtained earlier. You wouldn’t be surprised if, in his eyes, you were glowing. “Come here to place a bid, darlin’?”
You shook your head. “Buying up your collection takes away the thrill of the hunt,” you hummed, cheekily moving past him. Kid followed.
“Careful now,” he warned, now circling you, “Keep talking like that in a place like this and someone might add you to a collection.”
You laughed, stopping to face him with your hands behind your back. “Do you enjoy a good hunt, Captain Kid? I must say, I give a hell of a chase.”
You offered him a sly, sultry smirk. Kid leaned against the adjacent wall. The very lack of space between you was a subtle victory in and of itself. He couldn’t tear his attention away from the jewel around your neck, your chest, your eyes, your lips.
“Something tells me you’re envisioning yourself as the chaser in this scenario, which is cute, but dangerously misguided.” He leaned in a little closer. You didn’t realize how big he was standing up. Perhaps you’d miscalculated the dosage after all. You cocked your head to the side, taking another inch of space.
“Look at you using the big words.”
You’d applied an alluring musk in combination with your glamour charm. The closer he got, the harder it would be to pull away. Things were going perfectly.
“You know, I’m sure you get this a lot—” Kid bent forward, one forearm steadying himself against the wall as he leaned toward your ear. You focused on where his mouth was. One more kiss and he’d be yours for sure. He opened his lips, speaking directly in your ear. —“But you and Hawkins look nothin’ alike.”
Your eyes glistened with a feverish curiosity, your lips twitching upward. You reached up, dragging your hand down the fur lining that peaked out from the inside of his coat, the side of your thumb just barely brushing his bare chest before you stopped at his abs.
“We’re very different, Hawkins and I.” You flipped the hem of his coat in your hand, smoothing the inner fur with your finger. The material had been through hell, but it was surprisingly still quite soft despite the matting. “He forecasts the storms, I make men drown in them.”
You pulled on Kid’s coat, but he didn’t budge. Rather, he pulled back to take in your face, a grin stretched across his lips.
“So the witch is playing pirate, huh? Don’t you think you and Hawkins oughta start a side show and leave conquering the seas to the rest of us?” he teased, the red glow of your jewel cast over his pale skin. You could see the glint of it shining in his eyes.
“You should be flattered,” you purred, “I have extremely high standards for my personal collection, I’ll have you know.”
You took a step back and Kid unconsciously followed as you led him a few paces away from the wall. The room thinned out around you, the bustle of the auction becoming nothing but background noise. Kid watched you closely as you circled him one, scanning him up and down before coming to stand decisively in front of him. You stood gutsily close.
“Skull; I approve of the shape overall. Clean lines, pronounced cheekbones, sharp chin. Nose—distinctive, angular.” And to his own surprise, Kid let you approach, leaning to take the side of his face in your hand. Your thumb tugged at his cheek, pulling down his bottom eyelid as you did so. “Eyes: bright, alert. Dare I say your irises are a blood orange in pigment? Quite unique.” Your touch trailed to his lips, brushing over his bottom lip. “Muzzle: a strong pigmentation is a good indicator of a good constitution.”
“This some sort of livestock auction, judge?” Kid grimaced. “If I wanted someone to sell me, I’d be on that stage like some fucked up masochist.” He scowled, but appeared still somewhat amused overall.
“Call it a formal appraisal. I wouldn’t even charge,” you hummed with a nod. Your hand trailed over his neck. “Might I say, the neckset is excellent. Shoulders are broad, although it appears you hold the left a bit higher than the other. Don’t worry, this is normal. Most people have one shoulder that’s a bit higher. Wrists and hands appear surprisingly dextrous. And, of course, this all isn’t to write off your chosen decor. We all love a good accoutrement. Big fan of the footwear. I love a man in heavy boots.”
“Shit, no wonder you go for the sloppy smooch of the bat,” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “Ya get far too technical with these things if you get a chance to talk.”
“The nail polish signifies an attention to detail. The gold bangles are classic pirate attire: showy, and you don’t care too much about being cliché. Temperament is as important as physicality in my humble opinion. You’re brash. Courageous if not arrogantly gutsy. Handleability? Low. Prey-drive? Likely extreme. Trainability? I’d grade you moderate if I’m right about you being reward motivated. Danger and novelty would be the places I’d start with you.”
“Do I look like some kinda dog to you, witch?” he spat, barking out a boisterous laugh.
“Overall,” you continued, “I know a high-quality specimen when I see one. One of a kind. Perfect for a collection like mine. And believe me, Captain Kid, I do intend on collecting you.”
Kid cocked a brow, his grin never faltering for a second. “Is that the verdict? Buy? Rescue like some sort of goddamn stray?”
“Reserve.” You let the word roll of your tongue. Your hand reached his chest once more, sliding your index finger to his sternum. You dragged your finger across his skin, tracing invisible markings. “Held back for special acquisition.”
“Careful,” he warned, taking your wrist in his hand. “The way you’re talkin’ is starting to sound like an invitation.”
“Maybe,” you sighed, still playing coy. You were relaxed, even under his grip, like you were still in charge. “Maybe it’s fun if you chase me back a little.”
Kid barked out another unapologetic laugh, his eyes narrowing at you with amusement. “I think you’ve been coddled on that little ship of yours if you think everyone’s got the patience to play your little games. Especially someone like me. Now, look.” He gestured around you at the room. “We’re standing in a room full of killers, criminals, and traffickers. But you, little thing, think you’re bold enough to touch me, cast your bullshit voo-doo on me, grade me like an animal, and walk out?”
“That’s exactly what I’m planning,” you smiled.
Kid shook his head, clicking his tongue. And when he set his crimson gaze on you again, he cocked his head, leaning forward. “If you’re gonna play with me, witch, you better be ready to bleed,” he said, his voice low and deliberate.
You brought your wrist forward, and his hand with it. You slipped his middle finger into your mouth, never releasing eye contact for a second. You sucked the tip before letting the pad of his finger rest on one of your sharp canines. Gravity did the rest, pricking him on your tooth as the slightest droplet seeped into your mouth.
“Then maybe I should start with a taste.” You lapped it up, letting his now acutely punctured finger slip from your lip.
His grin sharpened. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
And then, a commotion erupted from behind you. A gunshot sounded, causing you to instinctively turn around. There was Strawhat Luffy marching up the stairs, arm cocked and headed straight for Saint Charlos.
Every ounce of challenge and reparte that had build up between you vanished, your attention quickly overtaken by pure astonishment as Luffy’s fist collided with a Celestial Dragon’s face. The fallout was immediate as the entire auction house erupted around you.
You glanced toward Kid as the first burst of gunfire crackled through the air. He rolled his shoulders back like he was about to dive into the middle of the chaos at any moment.
“Finally,” he gruffed, “I had a feeling Strawhat was gonna do something crazy, and I wasn’t disappointed.”
You backed up, watching the isolated fights unfold as nobles and buyers ran for the exit. You could take on your fair share of foes, but battle royales like this were not preferred to you. Meanwhile, Kid stepped forward in stark contrast to you, ready to brawl.
“You’re going to wait around for an admiral?” you scoffed.
Kid glanced at you over his shoulder. “Of course not,” he sneered, “But fightin’ through the grunts that are probably gathering outside right now… Now that’s the fun part.”
You huffed, turning away from him. “I don’t know how I feel about my merchandise potentially being damaged…”
Kid laughed incredulously. “Merchandise? Darlin’, you don’t got your claws in me yet—you just got the privilege of watchin’ me work.”
“I’m not about to stick around and get shot.”
An auction house guard attempted to ambush you from behind. Your pendant glowed, and with it, the sword in the guard’s hand began to crackle and shake with a familiar spark. Kid’s eyes narrowed as the sword flew back, slashing its owner in the throat before flying straight into the far wall.
The noise outside grew louder.
Kid met your eye, pointing a finger at you. “We’re gonna have a conversation about that,” he said lowly, his gaze flickering toward your pendant. “But go ahead and run. Slither out of here witch. Use your tricks and come back to collect me or whatever another day… If you’re bold enough.”
His gaze pierced yours, his cocky smirk ever present, and did it ever make you want him more.
“Go play with your grunts, just don’t get yourself broken.” You turned toward the shadows, your cloak flowing behind you. “I would hate to lose such a promising specimen before I’ve had a chance to finish the appraisal.”
Kid laughed again, wild, delighted, and loud as ever. “Don’t worry yourself, witch. I’ll be around for you to chase across the New World.”
You walked opposite directions. You disappeared into the shadows as Kid went out to face the force of Marines. A promise to meet again on the other side of the Red Line hung in the air.
Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.
(seriously. she is microchipped. he WILL find you)
Jason Todd x Vet! Reader
synopsis: crime alley is overrun with stray dogs. wayne enterprises sponsors a community dog rehabilitation program but need a face locals trust. or, jason todd adopts a dog and gotham gets their smallest, laziest, vigilante; while also flirting with the vet
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series masterlist
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chapter 1 : when a developer wants to destroy crime alley for profits, wayne enterprises steps up to fix the issue. the problem? the only person crime alley locals trust is the red hood. he did not think that saving people involved so many photo ops, or such an annoying vet
chapter 2: when the approval process takes too long, you take matters into your own hands. jason makes a friend
chapter 3 : the bark knight hood rises. and also has separation anxiety. and also naps. and also wants belly rubs. and also has bows on her booties
chapter 4: the red hood shows up again. dog todd is your favourite patient. you deserve a raise but, unfortunately, own the clinic and can't afford your own rates.
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coming soon:
chapter 5 : gotham's littlest hero saves the day. don't tell anyone she only did it for snacks
I have a new creation that i must share with you all... Introducing SNAIL TAPE
This is originally based on a 90s magazine pattern I found, which I just had to try.
However, the pattern wasn't quite right; it turns out that scotch tape dispensers used to be quite a bit slimmer! So i tested a few changes, and below is an up to date pattern. With added antenna of course!
(This fits standard scotch tape dispensers fairly snuggly, so if you want a bit more room add some width to C.)
If you make one please attach a picture, so we can see the snail army grow...
A Book of Creatures by @a-book-of-creatures doesn't update these days but is another thing along these lines, really huge, fully illustrated all by the author and cites all sources
blakekathryn
gummygunk
romaincrisis
jimmyeatworldofficial
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
