#﹐multi chaps .

[peachdues]

when dating a delinquent means getting cockblocked by his delinquent job —

MDNI.

He stoops down, hands wrapped under your thighs and he hauls you up, blanket and all. He walks you back to your bed, never breaking your kiss until he lets you fall back against your blankets with a surprised oomph! he’s quick to reconnect your lips, however, as he covers your body with his, his hands working the hem of his shirt you’d borrowed up.

You moan when his fingers graze the underside of your bare breasts, his shirt now pushed up your chest. You know what he means to do; you can feel it digging into your thigh where his body rests against yours.

God, it just felt so fucking good.

Idly, you wonder whether the revolving door to his bed had been kept running because he simply couldn’t find anyone to temper this need of his. He’s insatiable but so are you; so you’re more than ready to meet him, stroke for stroke.

“Sanemi,” you murmur sweetly into his kiss and he moans. “Sanemi, oh, Sanemi —“

If you don’t stop saying his name like that, he doesn’t stand a chance in hell at leaving (he wants — no, needs — you to keep going).

His hand latches around your wrist and he unwinds your arm from its place around his neck. He lays it back against your bed, over your head, his fingers lacing tightly with yours.

The kisses turn heated, your leg hooking around his hips to help him rock into you, and all his better judgment flies right out your window.

Fuck it, fuck work, he can spare another hour or two. Besides, he’s got positions he’s been dreaming of trying with you, ones that he’d believed, until last night, would only ever be fantasies he fucked into his fist. Certainly, he’s desperate to get you on your stomach so he can see what kind of noises you’ll make when he’s taking you from behind —

His phone’s ringtone is a bullhorn that blares through your shared moans and pants, and Sanemi peels away from you with a groaned Fuck!

none of this is from next chapter lmao I won’t spoil y’all that much

[okwonyo]

STAN TWITTER ﹒LEE HEESEUNG.

✸ SYNOPSIS ！idols flirting with their fans during fan-signs is not something new, especially on stantwt. but you never thought it would happen to you.

or in which heeseung experienced love at first sight with you, made you gain a lot of followers AND haters and is now stalking your account on a daily basis.

PARING ⌇ lee heesung x fem!reader

𐙚 GENRE idol au, stranger to lovers (?), fluff, humorous, angst, smau + maybe some written chapters, twitter language.

FEATURING ୭ৎ enha! all

📁 enha 🆙 ﹒being normal ✖️ being on stantwt ✔️

MASTERLIST

001 forget enhypen i want you 🫵

002 sitting under a three k i s s i n g

003 is this a safe space

004 IM JUST A GIRL IN THE WORLD

005 it MIGHT be me ig

006 hello

007 IM NOT A COP ??

008 DREAM BLUNT ROTATION

009 U FUCKING TRAITOR

010 when you know, you know ( written ! )

STAN TWITTER II

REVAMPED VERSION.

(chapters names may change)

TAGLIST : @j1nniee @mimi1xx @hangecanweholdhands @flwrshee @xyadix @gyuszie @wooonkies @manooffline @bbangricz @ghostiiess @dearflwrz @rodygr @lol6sposts @haechansbbg @ilovewonyo @flmtunes @ikeulvr @spilled-coffee-cup @ashy1um @woncine @ughpixa @jaeyunology @jungwoneez @doublasting @lol6sposts @kimiczi @stariqwon @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @iea-tsand @anyavaramyr @hoeinthehouse @lovvette @makiswrld @yenqa @ibsysbsfsunsbs @yeokii @jiawji @ririlovesrenjun dm or send a ask to be added.

NETWORK @kflixnet

[spaghettixdemon]

J Stands for more words than one PT.1

“While introducing his new girlfriend to the team, JJ is automatically confronted with her feelings for Spencer when they begin to get in the way of things"

DISCLAIMER You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Minors do not interact. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read it.

Warnings: Drinking/Drunkenness, P in V, getting freaky in a car, fighting, slight mentions of death, Jealousy??

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

This was originally in my Google Doc but I seem to have lost access to it :( SO I am re-writing it! (I will definitely add more chapters bc omg this is long)

—————————————————————————————————

"Alright anndd finally done!" Emily turned to JJ, clapping her hands together and beaming. Today was a paperwork day, and everyone had been working until the late hours. "These reports are killing me...I've been on the same one the majority of the day..." JJ spoke to Emily with a sigh and a slight smirk playing on her lips. Yes, JJ had been stuck on the same case most of the day, but it wasn't just the amount of work, no. That wasn't the only reason her day was moving so slowly.

Right across from her desk, in perfect view, was Spencer Reid- their little resident genius. His legs were crossed in his office chair, his curly hair fell in front of his eyes, and his long, slender fingers traced down the written report, scanning every word and spreading it within seconds effortlessly. JJ had always been close with Spencer- because of their tight-knit team, their ages, and of course, the butterflies she would get around him. They were the two closets in age at the BAU, so maybe that was part of the reasoning behind her crush, but honestly, she just thought he was very attractive.

So earlier today, when Spencer was talking on his phone nonstop, JJ was confused. Spencer was not a fan of technology, thinking back on how it took Spencer literal years to finally sign up for an email address. So, whatever was keeping Spencer on speed dial on the other line clearly didn't bother him too much. JJ would sneak glances towards her coworker hourly, taking in his body language and how he seemed to be head over heels. He would fidget and spin in his office chair as someone talked to him, he had a faint blush on his cheeks, and a smile plastered on his face. In all actuality, she'd never seen Spencer look so dopey- maybe he truly was just happy right now, but the emotions on his face surprised her.

"Hey lover-boy, what's going on over here?" JJ shot her head down, burying her face in her work. It was Derek who popped the question already on JJ's mind. Derek crossed his arms and leaned against Spencer's desk as Spencer looked up at Derek. Rolling his eyes and hanging up the phone, Spencer set the phone down on his desk. "Was that a girl on the other end of the line? I don't think I've ever seen you so happy to pick up a call at work." Both men laughed as Spencer grew a little quiet, sheepishly shrugging. "I mean- yeah, actually, you're right for once." Spencer laughed as an expression of excitement and shock plastered onto Derek's. "Wow really?" He laughed, a little in disbelief "Congrats man! That's awesome!"

JJ watched as the two guys hugged and discussed Spencer's new girlfriend. Weirdly, JJ felt a pang in her chest of embarrassment...or more like frustration. Why? She wasn't sure. JJ could read anyone within minutes, but she could never read her own emotions that well.

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

Days had passed, and work was pretty much back to normal. Normal meaning JJ wasn't constantly hearing about Spencer's new girlfriend, who he adored so much. It was cute, yeah, and she did feel happy for the man and his newfound love, but it would get pretty repetitive after a while. Derek and Penelope, in particular, would not let up on the subject. It was cute when Penelope giggled and twirled her hair when asking about this girl, but the way Spencer would drop information on her so easily was frustrating.

Penelope beamed, ecstatic over all this new news. Then, looking at Derek, she gasped and clapped her hands together. "You should bring her here! We could all meet her it would be so nice..!" Spencer looked a little uneasy. The few times his relationship did start getting this serious, work would interfere and often kill the relationship. Though, Derek backed up Penelope and agreed it would be fun.

"I don't know guys...That might be a little intense..." JJ heard this and thought over the idea in her head. Meeting the girl Spencer was so enamored by might be interesting...to say the least. She looked up and smiled at the three talking. "No Spence you should totally bring her in! I want to meet this girl!" Spencer gave JJ a hesitant look, visibly thinking over the interaction in his head. He slowly smiled and rolled his eyes, looking at the three before him. "Ok Ok..I'll bring up the idea and if she's cool with it, I'll bring her here next Friday"

Penelope and Derek cheered while JJ sat there, smiling quietly. She clapped her hands together and sighed "Amazing! I can't wait".

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

The week that followed that conversation wasn't a pleasant one. The team had traveled out of state to work on a pretty gruesome case- Spencer, in particular, had a rough time during the case. He should be used to the horrible feelings that came with the job, but it was never really easy dealing with death so often.

The team had thankfully made it back to base Friday, and everyone was exhausted. They spent the day quietly filling out paperwork and trying to unwind as they worked into the early hours of the night. Around 7pm, Spencer got a call. JJ noticed this in particular because of how eager he was to answer the phone. A small smile appeared on his face, and the faint blush was back. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, hanging up the call with a simple goodbye.

Spencer looked around at his friends as the smile on his face grew. "My Girlfriend is apparently downstairs in the lobby! ...I was thinking of bringing her up is everyone ok with that?" The office was suddenly filled with energy again, and everyone seemed to wake up. JJ in particular, shot her head up and looked at Spencer, a little shocked. She had completely forgotten this would be happening...She made eye contact with Spencer and looked a little hesitant as she spoke up. "um...yeah that would be great..!"

"Yes, PLEASE bring her up! I need some fun to distract me from all this work." Penelope popped her head out of her office as she spoke to Spencer. Spencer looked a little confused by what JJ had said but smiled and nodded anyway. He slowly made his way towards the elevator, a bit of pep in his step.

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

Everyone in the office had quickly wrapped up what they had been working on and made their way to the office cubicles to meet this girl Spencer was so into. Penelope pulled up a chair next to JJ and beamed. "Are you excited to meet her?" JJ...still felt very conflicted. Just earlier that week, when they had been solving the case, She was staying in the hotel room next to Spencer's. She thought about how she ran into him shirtless and wearing sweatpants. He apologized and made his way inside his room, but she felt so conflicted.

She wasn't upset that he was shirtless...definitely not...but something about getting caught off guard like that made her blush. She remembered the feeble nerd she used to work with. He was in his mid-twenties and looked so new to the BAU world. Now, the man she saw earlier that week and today was a bit different. He had toughened up more and was a bit more muscular- not to a Derek level, but he definitely wasn't feeble anymore.

"Something like that" JJ mumbled to Penelope, a faint blush on her face. Penelope was about to question JJ, just as an elevator 'dinging' noise saved her. Everyone's attention was on the elevator and who was inside.

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

[hynzsn]

★ STRAWBERRY KISSES ★

☆ choi soobin x male reader

-> sunshine baker!soobin x grumpy (secretly soft) farmer!reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff, multi chapter fic, ongoing

contents: loosely inspired by strawberry shortcake (tv show), alternate universe - modern setting, m/m, romance, slow burn, happy ending, confessions, mutual pining, opposites attract, small town setting, baking, food porn, strawberries, summer festival, jealousy, first kiss, feel-good story, sweet moments, shared kitchen shenanigans

a/n: chapter one is out!!

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER ONE: BERRY BEST BEGINNING ꒱ ˚₊

meet soobin, the sunshine baker known for his award-winning pastries and infectious laugh. his bakery, "crumbs & co.," is the heart of your small town, especially during the annual summer berry festival. but disaster strikes – he's out of strawberries, his star ingredient! enter you, the gruff but handsome owner of "sun-kissed berries," known for your organic, mouthwatering produce. soobin, desperate and flustered, begs you for help. you, initially hesitant due to the last-minute request and your own demanding schedule, is charmed by soobin’s passion and agrees to help, setting the stage for a week of unexpected collaboration.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER TWO: FIELDS OF STRAWBERRY DREAMS ꒱ ˚₊

soobin is a fish out of water as you show him the ropes of berry farming. you navigate rows of vibrant strawberry plants, your banter a mix of teasing and genuine curiosity. soobin is captivated by your quiet confidence and connection to the land, while you find yourself drawn to soobin’s infectious enthusiasm and city-boy wonder. a playful competition erupts – who knows more about their respective crafts? the day ends with a shared picnic basket amidst the strawberry fields, a moment of quiet intimacy under the setting sun.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER THREE: SPRINKLES OF AFFECTION & MIDNIGHT SUGAR ꒱ ˚₊

back in the cozy chaos of soobin’s bakery, the real magic begins. you experiment with new recipes, flour dusting their aprons and laughter filling the air. you discover a hidden talent for pastry-making, your hands surprisingly adept at delicate tasks. soobin is mesmerized by your focused intensity, your arms brushing as they work side-by-side. as midnight approaches, a moment of charged silence hangs between you, broken only by the soft whir of the oven and the unspoken longing in their eyes. a near kiss, a stolen touch of fingertips, leaves you both breathless and wanting more.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FOUR: BERRY FESTIVAL JITTERS & A PINCH OF SOUR GRAPES ꒱ ˚₊

the day of the summer berry festival dawns bright and bustling. soobin is a whirlwind of nervous energy, putting the finishing touches on his berry creations. you, despite your usual composure, finds yourself inexplicably drawn to soobin’s side, wanting to ease his anxiety and bask in his radiant energy. but your budding connection is threatened by the arrival of beomgyu, a charming, flirtatious artist who sets his sights on you, much to soobin’s dismay. as the festival begins, soobin grapples with a confusing mix of jealousy and self-doubt, unsure if his feelings for you are reciprocated.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FIVE: STRAWBERRY KISSES & A BERRY SWEET FOREVER ꒱ ˚₊

the festival is in full swing, a kaleidoscope of color, music, and the intoxicating aroma of baked goods. soobin’s strawberry creations are a hit, but his heart feels heavy with uncertainty. you, sensing soobin’s turmoil, finds a quiet moment amidst the crowd to confess your feelings. you gently take soobin’s hand, your fingers intertwining, and with a look that speaks volumes, leans in for a soft, sweet kiss that tastes of strawberries and promises. the chapter (and the story) ends with a final scene at the festival, the ferris wheel twinkling above you, your laughter mingling with the sounds of summer night, your love story as bright and hopeful as the stars overhead.

[perceptivehands]

|| Miss Scarlet and The Duke » 4.04 "The Diamond Feather" ||

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XL. “priorities”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce’s priorities shift, unwittingly meeting you right where you are.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, sexual content/yearning, mention of deaths in the family, mention of illness, mention of unstable sense of reality, subtle mention of past suicide attempt

words: 5.7k

a/n: all i’m saying is you all are gonna like this one 😇 !! the subtle mention is very subtle, basically Bruce mentions NOT wanting to die, and a single line of discomfort about not remembering it.

“Oh, Y/N. I would’ve made more if I knew you were coming.”

Though everything looked the same, it felt different. The constant thrum of your clamoring heart made the shadows brighter and the rooms suffocatingly small. Whatever dish boiled in a gleaming silver pot on Alfred’s stovetop smelled stunning, but you didn’t have time to catch up with him before Bruce motioned for you to follow. As embarrassing as it was to your pride, the image of his head gesturing up a grand staircase, loosely toward his bedroom, was the wind the butterflies in your stomach sailed upon. Gripping the railing far too tightly, your unsteady legs followed. 

Your energy channeled between his shoulderblades, praising each step climbed, celebrating the ripples in his back with each shift of his weight. His feet pulled you enough out of the stupor to be lucid when they surprised you with a right turn. The blood rushed from the tips of your fingers. Between this and the backseat, these insinuations seemed a blatant mockery.  “Gonna change. If you go up two more levels, it���s the first door on the left.” 

You knew it was unseemly to think like this, with the guilt pulsing in the background of every breath, but you were powerless to the whims of your mind. Rather than follow his instruction, you paused to stare at his shut bedroom door. Thoughts of him pulling off his shirt and slipping off his pants made your mouth pool with saliva. Though you’d never, standing here in this sinful haze left you wondering what might transpire if you walked in and laid across his sheets. 

Forgetting he had an alter ego that prized himself on being an unofficial emergency responder, you startled when he stepped out not thirty seconds later. You pretended to retie your shoe, and let him lead again. He never strayed from that same outfit: a tattered black tee and loose black pants. You found yourself fixated on his lack of footwear, drinking up any and all of his visible skin, holding the railing with increasing fervor. The skin on his neck looked especially inviting, as it was arguably the most well-protected space on him. It was so hard to smell him with the fragrance of Alfred’s dinner cutting through the air, and the desire to had you eating your words when he stopped and you bumped into his back. He was so dense, and his detergent, body wash, shampoo, sweat… whatever it was stole your oxygen. Wordlessly, you sped past him through the open door and planted on the far end of the couch like a new pet trying to make itself invisible. 

Bruce walked to the counter, and at such an angle that he could see if you stared at him. You forced your gaze to travel the room and admire the enormous flatscreen across the way—its vast, blank screen reflected the image of you and him totally and completely alone in the empty room. A plush rug gave a good bounce to your impatient, nervous feet. You hoped he had more sense than you tonight; if he gave a single cue of reciprocation, you’d fold. As impossible as the thought was. 

“Want anything?”

A few bags of candies sat on the counter above a softly whirring mini fridge. You grinned at his thoughtfulness, and more at the image of him perusing a candy aisle. He stared at you like he’d hear you speak a single decibel. It was so cute. And you were down a dire amount to be thinking that way. “Do you have any caffeine?” 

His ensuing laugh was buried under his breath, but it jostled around in your gut with a sharp, bright merriness. Of course he had caffeine. “Yeah. I’ll grab some.” 

It was awfully fun to watch him leave. The ability to stare at him without risking him seeing you was thrilling. The realization had hit and left you like a live-wire; attuned to every syllable of his words, every step that he took, even the smell of him and the scent of the new couch you were sitting on. The room looked sterile, like an Ikea showroom. He hadn’t put it together just for you, had he? Why would he do that? 

You already heard footsteps in the hallway. So swift. The sound rushed adrenaline to your already frenzied brain as if it were an emergency. How close would he sit? Could you look at him without blushing? He’s gonna hand me the drink… yes! You considered lingering, but how long would be too long? Could you pull off putting your hand over his and pretending you misjudged hand placement? Would you have the guts to do that? How would he react? 

He appeared in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the right side of the frame. His already tall body looked even larger against it. He crossed his legs with the pose, which straightened his hips toward you. You could’ve fainted, and your body grew warmer.

“Think of a movie?” He tossed you a Red Bull, and you pulled together a grin to even out the frown that threatened to dominate. Dammit. He grabbed a remote from the top of the TV and wandered over to the couch, where you floundered a response through held breath. 

“I thought you could pick it.” 

He sat closer than before, but not a distance that soothed your mounting desire. Enough to be thrown and calculating how loud your breathing was, but not enough to feel the warmth off his skin, or truly bathe in the smell of him. Why were you so obsessed with memorizing his scent? You wanted to lean in and indulge in the selfish enjoyment of getting to see him so close, but he wasn’t saying anything, which left you scrambling, and your anxiety took the wheel. 

Bruce struggled not to make it obvious that he was fiddling with the remote to buy time. It felt ridiculous telling you he couldn’t think of any movies; that he’d essentially stopped watching them entirely once his parents died, because it was the one activity they did together, regularly, as a family. Without words to fill the space, he tried to make it look like he was deciding which service to log onto. 

He pulled up an on-demand video site, and before you gave the obligatory hey, those cost money for a single view, let’s choose something on streaming, you remembered he was a billionaire. With such low stakes you wanted to joke around, be silly, tell him to close his eyes and randomly stop on something, but your throat was tight.

“Anything stand out?”

Something did: the remote had a circular scroll tool, his thumb moving in tight circles as he flipped through movies. Slowing down, speeding up, switching directions… your thighs pressed together instinctively. 

“What about this one?”

Left in a trance from the subtle movement in his wrist, and the nearly imperceptible movement up the inside of his forearm as he massaged it, meant you didn’t internalize his question enough to give an answer. His hands were so warm fresh out of gloves, but you imagined they might be cooler now, a salve to the burning heat that gathered in your core. Would he talk to you while he touched you? Would he be silent, forcing your moans to be the only sound between you? 

Hearing him say your name made you clamp down on your tongue, wanting to sprint out of the room before you screamed. You muttered something about ‘yeah, sounds good’, desperate for him to stop scrolling so you could reign it in before you did something reckless.

And so it was for the next half hour. Trying not to squirm, trying to control your breathing, and desperately fighting lewd thoughts that wanted to break the fourth wall. It was exactly the childlike feeling of avoiding-but-not-avoiding a crush. The sneaking glances, overanalyzing their body language or if they looked at you, if they didn’t, how close their hands were, if you were coming off ‘weird’. So peculiarly placing you back to feeling like an awkward, shy kid.

Bruce broke the bubble of the latest headline in your thoughts—how woody and delicious he smelled, and if the scent would linger after a particularly intense uh, session—and turned toward you. He paused the movie, your thundering heartbeat surely filling the room with its bass-boosted echoes. “You’re not interested.”

You couldn’t look up at him. You’d melt more than you already were. His voice was too concerned, with that constant edge of being matter-of-fact that made your gut twirl. “It’s fine. I’m just. Distracted.” By the thought of your hands on me. 

Goddammit, you felt his eyes studying you. It didn’t help your fragile, racing heart, and the timing couldn’t have been worse with the activation of the caffeine throttling it anyway. You chose to instead focus on the accomplishment of your words coming out stronger than a squeak. You felt caged by the goosebumps that painted your skin at the mere sight of his hands.

 “Let’s talk.”

Jesus, fuck. A piece of hair fell in your face and you wanted to move it away, but lifting your hands from their forceful clamp atop your legs revealed their tremble. Against all better judgment, you jumped off the cliff. “Sure.” 

You twisted toward him and your mouth went dry. So pathetic, I’m so fucking pathetic… your eyes trailed from his jaw to his mouth, from his cheeks to his eyes. Your shoulders pulled inward when you wondered how disheveled you must look from the flight, and the stuffy city hall foyer lacing sweat to your skin. Your eyes dropped to his lap as soon as they’d landed on his unwavering eye contact. Suddenly the brazen behavior of the women at city hall seemed a lot more admirable. They’re so much braver than I am. 

“How’s your head? Your leg?” 

Were you ovulating? Was he testing some new pheromone to use on the people he fought? You felt impossibly agreeable right now, a cloud drifting closer to the light of the moon. You blushed. “Better.” You were too nervous being under his attention to say any more. Sitting with a broken pencil but too nervous to stand in line behind your crush at the sharpener. 

In the corner of your vision, his eyes narrowed; only slightly, but enough. Enough to imagine what moves you could pull on him to recreate it. You would’ve never, ever thought you’d feel this way. He’d never reciprocate, no, and you didn’t really want him to. Then you’d have to answer the guilt, and interrogate how fleeting this enchantment was before falling into his bed. For all you knew your brain was keeling over itself from sleep deprivation. 

Yeah… you felt your hands steady and moved your eyes down to take another sip. Endless nightmares cruelly stealing your rest had left you unstable and reeling. 

“Still having nightmares?” It wasn’t uncommon for him to ask about injuries before he left a scene; it felt routine and distant, no matter how gruesome their response might be. But with you he was invested—he needed to know you were alright, and how he could help if not. You jumped when he asked, and he didn’t know why.

You scraped at your cuticles. Open up. I’ve wanted him to. “Yeah. Freaked out my parents over the weekend.” Your mouth shook by the last word, cementing that your responses needed to be shorter than ten words until you could get your bearings. The room was starting to spin. You wanted Bruce to catch you.

“What helps?” He was asking too many questions. Unsettling you. You seemed uncomfortable, and he didn’t want this to feel interrogative… did he know how to talk to someone in a way that wasn’t interrogative? He endured another white-hot moment of feeling subhuman before you spoke.

“It was nice having someone there.” You rubbed your arm, pulling it close to your chest. 

“I’m usually up if you need someone.” He watched your blush deepen, your fingers moving from rubbing your arm to clenching. He felt terrible. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to resist the urge to rescue you, and felt like a broken record. “You’re not forcing me.”

“There’s no way to untie them. Me knowing, all this. I mean, c’mon.”

“C’mon what?” Another question. Stop that.

You sighed, oblivious to Bruce’s harassment toward himself, too busy directing it inward. “Every time I’ve been here you’ve hated it. And I don't blame you. But you keep doing it.”

“I don't hate it.” But what more could he say when you’d overheard him with Alfred? Could his words be a bandage when his actions were so cutting? God, it felt strange to have personal history with someone.

“Don't like it.” You hated when he tried to play nice. Acting like your presence wasn’t menacing and disruptive. You knew he’d rather be out as Batman right now, but he was compelled to humor you in a room he hadn’t done more than pass by in years.

Your face had the slightest pout to it. It… hurt. He forced his shoulders to relax, sensing you might feed off his tension. “I'm coming around.”

You sighed, and his ears perked to its timbre. “What about you? How have you been?” 

“Fine.” His shoulders tensed again. 

“I’m starting to think that means ‘bad’.”

He side-eyed you, a flicker of something sweeping his eyes. “What's my favorite color?” 

“… Black?”

“Orange. Was starting to think you could read minds.”

He leaned back into the couch and put his hands in his lap. When you managed the courage to look back at him, he grinned. It didn’t reach his eyes, and it ached to see him force it. You swallowed a grimace, with no concept of how effectively you’d masked it. “Trying to make me comfortable?”

He paused. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I don't see you making anyone else comfortable. Alfred seemed shocked to see me.”

If only you knew you were the only guest he’d ever had over. You’d probably think he was a freak, if you weren’t already thinking it. “He’d be shocked to see anyone. More shocked if it wasn’t you.”

“Not a lot of people come over?” Your eyes glinted with amusement, the first genuine sass he’d heard from you in days. 

“Constantly.”

“Mmm.”

Silence hung thickly between you. Seconds passing like minutes, minutes passing like hours. “… I don't do this. Like I said.”

“Keep to your own, I get it.”

Bruce’s face twitched like he was about to speak, and his lashes fluttered when he didn’t. It relieved you to know he still got a rise out of you, and you clung to that rope of indignance for dear life. “Say it.”

“What do you think I’m gonna say?” His brows were set to a loose glare, more confused than angry. 

“Something about how I shouldn't feel bad.”

His glare tightened, though his tone was gentle. “Why won’t you believe it?” 

“Guess it’s my own guilt.”

“What if I forgive you?”

You drew a sharp breath that stung the lining of your lungs. Forgiveness for the least of your crimes was the opposite of relieving. “Still there.”

“What if we kept talking anyway?”

“Is that what you want? Not what you feel like you have to do?” As far as tearfulness was concerned, it was easier to speak than let his sentence linger. Where did the grumpy, rude stranger go? 

“Could say the same to you.”

You folded your trembly hands together in your lap, still avoiding looking at him directly. “I asked first.”

His eyes followed your hands that were clenched far too tightly. He ached to reach out and touch them. To feel you soften. “I like knowing you’re safe.”

He watched your shoulders shrug. “I like knowing you’re safe.”

Silence visited again. He knew he’d have to be the one to break it, given your jittery leg and white-knuckled grip. Good exposure. “How do we move past that?” 

This wasn’t fleeting. This wasn’t your mind creating stories off of sleep deprivation. Your ears clung to every millimeter of insinuation, spinning his words in the naughtiest ways possible. Hearing him refer to you like you were a team was thrilling. And it was impossible to ignore the empathy and care that bubbled somewhere underneath it all. This clarity, however, didn’t fix the issue: both of you were caught in a standstill of chasing the other’s tail around Gotham. 

When you tried to think of ways to shift the conversation away from hypervigilance, you came up empty-handed—and you hit a bullseye. “Maybe the problem is we only know each other’s problems.” 

He shifted where he sat, and it was close enough to rustle the cushion beneath you. You ignored the whirl in your chest and the tingling of your fingers, and the tingling elsewhere when he blessed the room with his voice, and a question, that made your thoughts roam wild. “What do you want to know about me?”

Many things, but the most persistent of them: what was that already spoken for about at graduation? But you couldn’t say that. The only other non-explicit thoughts were the most bland and benign questions you’d been asked relentlessly over the summer by recruiters. “God, I keep thinking of interview questions.”

“Didn’t know you wanted me for another column.”

“Job interview.”

“Hit me.”

Where do you see yourself in five years? What are your weaknesses? “‘What are three words you’d use to describe yourself’?”

He started to count on his fingers. “Social,”

“Oh my god.” Without thought, you shoved his knee as you both chuckled. The contact left a singe on your palm.

“What do you think?”

You stilled. “About you?” 

He nodded, and you chanced a look at his face to see if there was anything hidden there. His face was neutral, but engaged. Surprisingly, the first words to crop up weren’t lustful whatsoever. At least, not until you said them aloud and overthought how he might receive them. “Discerning. Analytical. Intimidating.”

“What about me intimidates you?” He said, as he inched closer in a thoroughly non-intimidating fashion that definitely didn’t make your pupils dilate.

You shoved out a quick explanation while your heart skipped beats. If he ever did make a move, you were suspicious that you wouldn’t realize what was happening before you blacked out. “The first two.” 

Your pulse hammered in your throat as you pitched it back at him. “What about me?” You crossed imaginary fingers that he would say something obviously suggestive and break the dam. Maybe he’d say: My. Bedroom. Now. Oh, you needed to STOP!

“Perceptive. Investigative. Daunting.”

You hid your disappointment with a tease. “Those are just synonyms.” Does he not care to actually think about me? To tell me what he really sees? 

“I answered.” 

His tone was light, but the letdown consumed you. It was enough fuel to get you to clarify, always with an overlay of sarcastic, fun teasing, though you wanted to sink into the floor. “What about me is daunting?” You couldn’t be the first one to make a move, not with the lie, not with the meddling; yet another way of imposing yourself. 

“First two.” 

You couldn’t interpret his actions the way you wished; his tone was playful, but he was just parroting you. Giving you nothing outside of what you’d already given. Low-effort, low-interest. No longer shaking, you rested your hands flat to your thighs and met his eyes. Your heart glittered and twirled into the clear blue ice of his irises, but you swallowed the fireworks. His eyes made quick flight across the plane of your face, and you swallowed harder. You weren’t that girl. 

“Your turn, since you wanna be so creative.”

There was sadness in your eyes. You leaned back into the couch and he wanted to follow. He did his best to gulp it back, not wanting to get into the weeds of following an unplaceable shift. He knew the general answer to this, but with how miserable you were, and officially graduated, and interviewed, and finally, hopefully, at least slightly more comfortable with him, he wanted to dive deeper. “Why’d you come to Gotham?”

He nearly gasped when you broke the mutual gaze, like he’d been physically dropped. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about our problems.”

Back to picking your nails. “I’m curious. If it’s not too much.”

“My mom’s cancer. Got sick soon after I graduated. They had to use everything for the medical bills.”

His chest pinched at the slump that took over your body. His shimmered with anxiety; a prickly tension that shallowed his breathing and manipulated gravity to push him closer. “You wanted the scholarship here?”

“Yeah. But my family didn’t want me to come here. It started a huge fight, I… I’ve never seen my family like that.” He followed your absent eyes to where they drifted in the corner. An image of you crying while they screamed at you made his thoughts go white. “Happened at Thanksgiving, actually. Argued all night, all the way home, all weekend. Decided to take another gap year. Hoping maybe things would relax.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

You came back to your body with the tightening of your shoulders. “I don’t know, this stuff doesn’t even matter.”

“Please.” He leaned halfway through the space between you, withholding the extent of his plea. He cared a lot. An inordinate amount. After some hesitation, you talked about how your grandfather died at the end of that year, and you didn’t want to leave your grandmother. He envisioned you sat in some house in Washington while an old lady knit as you described spending the next two years with her. How gutted you were when she died. How grateful you were to be able to say goodbye, something you hadn’t experienced with your grandfather. How excruciating it was to sit in a grieving, sick household, and how you found refuge in community college classrooms soon after. 

Though most of his energy was spent feeling like a throbbing, aching heart bleeding in your lap, parts of him were refreshed to have someone talk with him about death that wasn’t his own. Since that day, everyone avoided talking about it like he’d split in two if someone reminded him that people die. But he remembered it alone, every single day. 

He ensured he didn’t look at you with pity, an effort that was initially intentional becoming second nature as he settled into your story. A soft rage lurked in the pit of his stomach at how easy it was not to isolate someone who was grieving. How simple it was not to squint your eyes and pout your lips like they were a sick puppy. How instinctive it was to sit and listen, instead of giving a gruff pat on the back or a dismissive shoulder tap before rushing away. It would’ve been so easy not to have that countenance engraved behind his eyes. It was easy for him not to do that to you. 

“I’m sorry about your grandparents. And the fighting.” He was sorry for the fighting he’d done with you, too. It was hard to say the apologies he so hated to hear, praying it was different coming from him. He hoped you knew he understood. That he could take it. You thanked him and after a tender silence, he nodded for you to continue. He didn’t know if you’d oblige for a few seconds, and a lump rose to the back of his throat. 

You carried him through another few minutes of delicate conversation; speaking of the flooding two years prior, and how people were leaving Gotham in droves. Talking about how you couldn’t believe the extra stuff they threw in; in addition to the free tuition, they began to offer free housing to eligible transfer students, desperate for any boost to the local economy. By that time you said your conflict avoidance was less painful than sitting in the tension, so you left. Wanted to see something outside of your town, and he mirrored your grin when you spoke of your grandfather as the only one who supported you going to Gotham. Your smile faltered when you said he’d always known you were ‘itching’ to get out of your small town. 

“You don’t agree?”

Your sigh could’ve moved mountains, instead it moved him. “Makes me sad to think so. I didn’t want them thinking I wanted to be rid of them. Just wanted to see something else too.”

He was certain your grandparents knew that, but didn’t know how to articulate it. “Now you’re here.”

The tension in your body deflated with the force of your scoff. “And how welcoming everyone’s been.”

“I’m sorry for my part in that.” He yearned to be someone you felt seen by. Someone you knew understood.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even, yeah.” You shifted away and sniffled. 

He didn’t know how to tell you he wanted to hear everything. That it was courageous how candidly you spoke of your pain, and there was nothing wrong with it. So he kept it cloaked and subtle, instead asking another question to let you know it was okay. “How’s your mom now?”

Your sniffles became tears that fell in straight lines down your flushed cheeks; yet another reminder of how uncomplicated it was to let someone cry. He couldn’t imagine telling you to ‘buck up’. Telling you to ‘get over it’, or ask ‘hasn’t it been years?’ It was so fucking easy. If anything, he was considering asking to hold you again, guiding your hands around his back to take it out on his shirt. He moved to say as much when your watery eyes met his. 

“You’re the only person who’s asked me about these things.” 

He’d never felt so tender. No one else? He didn’t know what else to do but apologize on the world’s behalf, and it fell out of him like getting kicked in the stomach. “I’m sorry.” It was hard to think as he felt his body shift into new territory, feeling the door lock behind him. 

You shook away his apology and continued, blinking incessantly from what he imagined to be stinging, tired eyes. They were red and bleary. “Still sick. Don’t know how bad. In a wheelchair now, but it helps her. Good to have. I don’t know.”

“You can keep talking.”

You choked out a scoff that was cradled in tears.

“I want to listen.”

He felt like he had levitated from his body when you quite literally spilled out before him. He heard the drop of your defenses with the cracked edges of your voice. “You know what helps?” You were breathing fast, and he’d unconsciously matched it. He wondered if you would say he did. He edged closer. 

“Your interview. The writing.” Him. He set his hand flat on the couch, right in the empty space between your hips and his. “Talking about how anxious you get in crowds. Feeling like you died with your parents. You’re actually naming the things everyone wants to hide.” His hands began to quiver. “Those thoughts swirl and circle inside me,” you were lost in your words. He was getting a portal to closely kept thoughts. Wow. “And I’ve felt insane my whole life… it makes me feel like you can hold it.” His breath caught. Yes, yes, you were seeing him. He could. He could hold it. He could hold you. “My dad can’t even say the word ‘cancer’. No one wants to talk about how sad they are. When I cry in front of others, they just…”

“Leave.”

You blinked at him. “Exactly. It feels horrible.”

“It does.” All those days with his face down in the pillow where he could hide his tears. All the nights where he wanted the world to swallow him up so he didn’t have to wake up with the pain, with no one to listen but Alfred, who always turned it into a lesson or a look to the bright side. Sometimes there wasn’t one.

“But you just let me be sad.” 

His lashes fluttered. He was overcome with weakness in mind, body, and spirit, like a snapped tourniquet. “I’m glad it helps. Glad I can…” he trailed off as he stared at your tear-studded lips, feeling a shiver at the base of his spine. His pulse pounded in his wrists and throat. You’d lit him on fire. 

“Tell me.” 

Your forgiving, sweet voice could unravel him, but right now it was pulling his grief to the surface. He stammered through damp eyes. “I’m not fine. It’s terrifying not to trust my senses.” 

Your hand cupped his elbow and the first tear fell. You followed it the same way he did yours. “It’s a big adjustment.” You squeezed his arm and his chin fell to his chest. “You rely on them so much with Batman, too.” 

“Completely. To make sense of cases and clues…” You shifted toward him, shoving your knee up to look at him more fully. He felt like he should shy away, but he didn’t want to. “How do I do that now? How do I trust myself ever again? When I see things that aren’t there, and misremember such crucial, dangerous…” you didn’t frighten when he ranted, his tone almost murderous. “I couldn’t remember the shooter that night. I still try, all the time, decades… that can’t happen again. It can’t.” 

Your smooth hands grabbed his, and he jumped. Your thumb ran over his knuckles, separating his mind from his body. The heat of vulnerability had him meet your eyes in a panic. He sprung forward and threw his arms around you, shoving his shaking body into the crook of your neck. His hands pressed hard into your back until he heard the tiniest whimper emanate from your chest. His eyes snapped open and he yanked back, flustered, panting, and painted with sweat. “Sorry, I didn’t ask–”

In a blink, he was in your arms again. Your body wrapped around his this time, squeezing his back harder than he had yours. He folded into you and let his body relax, his arms finding their place against your back once more. As you held him, he mourned how he’d ever find this again when you left. He spoke into your shoulder, muffling him. “I can’t believe I actually tried to. I don’t remember it. At all.” 

He felt you press firmer. He felt like your ribs might fuse. Your voice was right in his ear, closer than it had ever been. “Do you worry you’ll do it again and not know?”

His body all but went limp, and you fell together the few inches between your shoulders and the back of the sofa. “Which is strange.” With the snapping of the tourniquet, he no longer felt a weight tugging back attempts at honesty. The words formed on his lips, just as they did in his journals. 

“Why is it strange?” Your fingers rubbed his back with reassuring scrapes. His eyes drifted shut, and when he pulled you closer, he felt your heartbeat against his. 

“I’m not afraid to die. But I don’t want to do it to myself.” He felt tears rise again, and he gulped. For a few seconds, he felt the beats sync. It was surreal. Floating in a bubble of nirvana. “I want to know what’s happening to me. I don’t want to lose myself.” 

A sympathetic sound rumbled from your chest. “You haven’t seen any owls since starting treatment. Now you know what to look out for, you know? You can call me, or Alfred, or your doctor.”

His body tensed like he was on the edge of a cliff, but he’d never been more at ease. Your next speech was honeyed, tying a velvet ribbon around his heart. 

“You’re still discerning, and intuitive; that didn’t go away. You won’t ever stop being you. They can coexist.” You leaned your head against him, and he felt your mellow grin against his ear. “And I don’t pity you.” 

He took a deep breath. Your chest caved in to make space. He could kiss you. 

… He could kiss you.

“Bruce,”

Oh my god. 

“Your heart’s racing.” 

He loosened his grip on your back and pulled back his head to be side-to-side with yours. Electricity pulsed in the single inch between his lips and your neck. He gripped the fabric of your shirt into a loose fist, his blood rushing between his ears. All of his nerves and all of his courage gathered at the very back of his throat, narrowing it. Make a move. He needed to know you wanted this too.

He couldn’t bear to impose. You were just being kind… 

Kiss me. All earlier hesitation fell away. Please, please, please. 

He pulled back a little more, the tip of his nose brushing your ear. The world narrowed to his mouth and yours, but he couldn’t close the distance, or face you. Not when he was so lightheaded—but fuck, that was only getting worse. You were so sweet, so attentive, headstrong. How you looked when you argued with him, how that heat rushed to your ears, how indomitable you were, how sharp and soft you could be… your fingers curled into his back, and he accidentally sighed into your ear. Ask. 

“Master Bruce?”

He spun his head toward the door but you looked toward him, the opposing angles skimming your lips. Before either of you had time to react, Alfred appeared in the doorway. “Lieutenant needs you.”

His cheeks scorched as he hesitantly looked toward the old man, keeping his eyes low. Batman could wait a few minutes… maybe he’d don the armor on the drive. If he got up from this couch, he knew he’d never have the guts again. He’d rationalize away the breathless longing of sinking into your kiss, selfishly keep his touches to himself�� “Can it wait?” 

“He’s here.”

[the-random-phan]

Sides of a Coin

[nostarfights]

Made Your Mark – Fic Masterlist:

Pairing: sugardaddy!rockstar!Eddie Munson X fem!reader

Summary: You and Eddie meet on a sugar daddy site recommended to you by a friend, the results take you both through a whirlwind romance.

Things To Know: This is a modern AU, there is a bit of an age gap (Eddie is 36 and the reader is 23), the upside down does not exist and there will be warnings specific to each chapter before that part of the story actually begins but if warnings aren't needed for that chapter then the chapter will start without them. At this point in his life, Eddie is a rockstar and Corroded Coffin is still very successful and popular. I got the inspo for this from a fic I wrote a few years ago that was also a modern + sugar daddy AU, except it featured Kylo Ren instead of Eddie. I ended up hating that fic lol so think of this as the new and improved version.

Chapters:

Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four || Chapter Five || Chapter Six

[deputyrook]

Everyone whining about Lucanis’ romance as if Illario isn’t right there. The lusty, angsty, flirty crow is in the room and they’re blind.

(Yes I am salty abt the fact that there’s only 16 Illario/Rook fanfics on ao3)

You are 100-million-percent correct, although I can't blame people who only played DAV and didn't read Tevinter Nights from not getting it 🥲 he comes off as so much more charming/likeable in Wigmaker Job than in game, and though I can understand he's had a hellish last year, I do mourn the Illario we could have seen even a glimpse of in DAV.

He's such an interesting character though, and I think there's a lot of potential for Illario/Rook. the more I think about all of the shit he went through and the way he's been treated by Catarina/the Crows the more I'm a fan tbh

Here's my AU: Rook goes to recruit Lucanis, finds out he's 'dead', and recruits Illario instead. He joins the team kind of pissed off, because even dead, Lucanis is still the assassin the heroes want. And then Rook can start a romance with him (he's so charming and flirtatious, with a bit of a dangerous undercurrent), only to find out later he worked with the Venatori to betray Lucanis (who has escaped and is now trying to track him down.) Think about the drama. A brother he's wronged trying to find him........ an evil blood mage-ex-girlfriend who wants you both dead......... rook torn about whether to trust Illario when he says he regrets what he did.................

[sleepingelvhen]

Sleeping Spider Lily Pt.1

Blade/Reader NSFW Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- [🌹Part 4🌹] Minors DO NOT interact MASTERLIST Once, you were in love with a man called Yingxing. That man died during his involvement with Dan Feng’s betrayal. At least, so you thought. Jing Yuan helped you through your turmoil, comforted you in your pain, and eventually you were able to move on and live your life. Little did you know your lover was simply lying in wait. After years of suffering and pain, Blade arrives on the Luofu with a mission at hand, everything planned for him. That is until he sees you…and all the memories come flooding back.

Days stretched on as if they were years upon years. Every moment nearly torture since you lost the love of your life. You knew Jing Yuan could see it on your face, the numbness in your voice, the distant look in your eyes, the way your body moved robotically during your work in the commission. It was probably a depressing sight, but all sense of self disappeared when Yingxing was gone, and it was impossible to bring yourself back.

You blamed yourself first, lectured yourself on how you could have supported him better, understood him better to stop what he was planning. Then you started blaming the Imbibitor Lunae, focused your attention on your hatred towards the Vidhyadharan high elder for leading Yingxing to his betrayal and death.

Then, when there was no one to blame, when you had to face the reality of his death, you fell into a depression that made it impossible for Jing Yuan to sit aside and watch anymore. He stepped in and pulled you up and suddenly you were on different kinds of missions. 

Instead of working on papers and writing reports to the commission, you were going out on patrols with the cloud knights or even with Jing Yuan himself. He talked your ear off, took you out to tea or dinner, he made sure you had company and that you were never alone with your thoughts. Jing Yuan helped you stand and helped you move on. He knew what you needed, and he became your best friend over the many, many years.

Your life filled with new passions and new friends, Jing Yuan shared in your pain and together you kept living. You became a sword in the dark for him, you hunted in the night and fought for Jing Yuan when he couldn’t step away. Together you were a force the Luofu trusted to keep them safe. Finally, you were healing from the pain that seemed to last centuries. Finally you were happy.

The Aeons seemed dissatisfied with your suffering, however. Or maybe your luck had completely run dry. Whatever it was, your mind reeled from what you saw before you.

He walked down the hallway of the Shackling Prison, two guards at his sides, his arms tied in front of him, head low. You watched as his long silky hair swayed with each step, a familiar gait once prideful with long strides was now slow and meticulous. 

The blackish-blue hair was familiar, a reminder of when he was young, when you first met him. It was strange at first, having once gotten used to the white color he sported as he aged. But, you found yourself thrown right back to the past. The way he would stare at you, the way his hair felt in your fingers.

The past is gone now. Eyes that once looked upon you with affection now glowed red with anger and bloodlust, a smirk glowering on his face as he looked up at Jing Yuan who had Yanqing at his side, sword at the ready.

"Do you remember me?" Jing Yuan asked, shocking you to your core. He had known...of course he had.

“I do...Of five people, three must pay a price,” he spoke, his voice gravely and deep, daunting in the dark. It echoed in the silent, near empty room, a voice that sounded all too familiar. A voice that made tears spring into your eyes. “You…are not one of them, Jing Yuan.”

You simply watched the scene before you, eyes wide, your body hidden in the shadows of the prison. Your lip trembled along with your fingers, as if your whole body was cold, except you were on the verge of a complete breakdown.

None of the words Jing Yuan said after that registered in your mind, like your ears were completely muffled. Everything around you spun, your eyes only able to see Yingxing, or rather what he had become after years of whatever had happened to him. 

This wasn’t the Yingxing you knew…the way he looked at Jingyuan, the way he stood, it was all in anticipation of violence. But he looked like him and you wanted it to be him, your eyes roamed his entire body in desperation for anything that looked like the man he used to be.

You watched him cock his head to the side, his now red eyes quickly glancing to the sides of the room, as if noting the amount of guards in the room, or looking for something. Then his eyes shot to the side, towards where you hid in the far back of the room.

The shadows should have cloaked you, no one ever saw you when you stood here. But his eyes stopped right where you stood, his eyes widening for just a moment. You swore you saw the curve of his mouth fall. It lasted all but a second before his eyes were back on Jing Yuan, the facade of pride back upon his face, like it never happened. Like he never saw you.

“He’s alive!?” You punched your bathroom mirror, tears streaming down your face as you stared at your broken reflection. Jing Yuan stood behind you, leaning against the doorway, his eyes downcast. For once his face was solemn, regretful.

You gripped the sides of the sink, gritting your teeth, trying to stop yourself from sobbing. Years of stitched up pain, of wounds you thought had healed, they all came flooding back. Like blood, the memories spilled out, swallowing all thoughts, forcing you to relive everything all over again.

“He’s alive…” Jing Yuan finally spoke, trying not to cause you more pain. “I’m sorry.”

Deep breaths did nothing to dwindle the anxiety as you turned to face him.

“How long…how long have you known?”

Jing Yuan looked up at you, mouth open, before he stopped himself. His mouth shut as he sighed and looked down at the floor. Of course he had known. All these years, your closest friend had known the love of your life was alive and kept it a secret. Your voice shook as your shoulders slumped, turning away from Jing Yuan.

“Just…just leave…please.”

He said nothing, leaving you alone in your pain. The night was filled with tears and loud sobbing, your face stained and red, eyes sore and burning. 

Sleep eluded you, every time you shut your eyes, images of him filled your mind. Yingxing, your lover, now someone you barely recognized. It was impossible, a terrifying prospect, and the worst thing to happen to you now. All the healing, the years of pain…was all of it for nothing? Questions racked your mind until you were too tired to think but also too tired to sleep. And before you knew it, light filtered into your room as morning came and alongside morning, came Jing Yuan and even more bad news.

“What do you mean he escaped!?” You couldn’t help your voice rising, the exhaustion evident in your tone. Jing Yuan simply watched you struggle with the information, his eyes saddened by the pain you dealt with.

“I mean, sometime last night, he broke out of his holding cell, and we suspect he is still somewhere on the Luofu.” Jing Yuan sighed, rubbing his temples. Obviously this situation was affecting him just as badly. He was already notorious for barely getting sleep, it would be a wonder if he had even a moment of rest last night.

“Fuck…fuck…” You pulled back your hair. Everything was quickly going to shit. Jing Yuan had not only caught you up on the new status of Yingxing, who apparently now went by Blade, but also on the fact that there was probably a Stellaron on board the Luofu and that the Stellaron Hunters were involved with both incidents.

“Look, I know this isn’t an ideal situation but,” Jing Yuan sighed again before looking at you. “I’m telling you this because I don’t want you getting involved.”

“What? Why? This is literally my job!”

“Because,” Jing Yuan put his hand on your shoulder, his touch able to calm down your shivers a little bit. “Your past relationship with Ying–Blade–I don’t want you getting hurt even more…”

Your shoulders slumped and you nodded slowly. It made sense, Jing Yuan knew that everything was only causing you pain. He had your best interest in mind but…your eyebrows strewn together and your breath caught in your throat.

“Fine.” Ying Yuan was satisfied and that made the guilt a little worse. Because you knew you were lying. The nighttime was your hunting ground. And Yingxing or rather, Blade, would not run away. Not again, not without the answers you so craved.

[ziv-helpless]

When war divides part I

pairing: uncle!Aemond x niece!Reader

Summary: Reader is the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, second born. In another adventures night in the brothel she gets pulled aside by Aemond ending in a questionable conversation.

warnings: incest, mentions of past trauma, hate for bastards (duh, it's Aemond), questionable morals?

words: 2564

a/n: First fan fiction that will be multi chapter. If you want to get tagged for the next chapter just comment. I hope that everything is understandable since Englisch isn't my first language. I let a few friends read over some parts, but over all it is not prove read.If I forgot to put any warnings or if you can find some mistakes feel free to tell me.

anyway, enjoy! ✨🖤

It is an evening like the others. Aemond has been seeking the comfort of the brothel more often than usually, the war has been getting to his nerves, the death of Luce gnawing at his guilt. Moans and the sound of skin slapping against each other filled the air as he made his way across the room to where Sylvi was waiting for him, punctual as always.

He tried to ignore the people who were fucking around him by keeping the gaze of his good eye focused on the floor until he reached the curtains of his whore’s room. Aemond never understood how the smallfolk could have sex like animals all in the same house with barely any privacy.

Or maybe he was just weird for seeking a mothers touch in a whore. It was not his fault his brother Aegon brought him here when Aemond was only thirteen, what else could a young boy have done? Apparently that never changed and so for the sixth time in not even a moon was he here again, naked, vulnerable and in the arms of Sylvi. Only when the hours of the wolf was reached did he get ready to leave again, this time with more confidence, the strong walls around his heart built up again, laying over his face like a mask.

Aemond held his head high as he strode out of the brothel, a heavy hood concealing his identity when something in the corner of his vision caught his attention.

Some knight of the kings guard slamming into a silver haired woman with a face of beauty. A beauty he knew. It was you. His niece getting fucked right next to him by a knight of the kings guard. To say that guy was going easy on you was an understatement.

Sweat glistened on your skin, illuminated by the candles spread across the room, surrounded by other men and women enjoying the show. Not only was Aemond’s eye wide opened once he recognized you, but you seemed to push the guard away, stumbling around to grab your clothes and disappearing into a different hallway to get away from your uncle as quick as possible.

Aemond how he is followed after you and once you were in reach he grabbed your arm harshly, pulling you into a secluded corner.

“What do you think you are doing here?”

He practically spat at you, anger and confusion seething through his veins.

“You are supposed to be in Dragonstone.”

Shame rose in you as you stood bare before Aemond, his grip harsh.

“What even are you doing in a brothel getting fucked by a knight of the kings guard?”

He continued, almost berating you as you awkwardly try to move with your back against the wall.

“The same reason you are here for, Uncle.”

It was a hidden threat as if you knew he was not here for pleasure. Your words did not face him as he kept his guard up.

“Do not worry your head around it. I will be out of your sight before you realize that the hour of the nightingale has struck. No need to end me like you ended Lucerys.”

Your words plunged a dagger into his heart, Aemond’s jaw clenching tightly. The sight of you so vulnerable not only in front of him, but in front of the smallfolk did little to quench his anger, on the contrary.

“I know where to go for moon tea if that is your issue.”

The seething tone on your voice was an indicator that this conversation should be done soon and it was.

Without another word Aemond let go of you, exiting the brothel in haste. By the looks of it he will not tell you, not with how his eyes lingered on your exposed form a little too long.

You returned to the knight to say farewell and to apologize for being interrupted before leaving yourself. Aemond’s words plagued your mind as you absent mindedly wandered through the streets, unsure whether to go back to Dragonstone or to stay here.

Should someone recognize you and report you the king would imprison you in an instant without a second doubt. Aegon was never one to be on the side of the blacks due to Rhaenyra’s bastard sons. Even despite your hair he still hated you to his guts just because you were the daughter of the usurper queen.

With guilt gnawing at your inner soul your feet carry you through the cobbled alleys, the noise of wet puddles echoing off the walls as you trudged closer to the red keep a flood of thoughts overwhelming your every being.

Your shoulder suddenly bumped into something, finally pulling you out of your racing brain. You were met with the eye of Aemond, staring at you with furrowed brows. In the rush of your thoughts you must have been fast enough to catch up with him and ended up ramming your shoulder into his.

Both of your faces were mostly concealed by hoods as you just stood there speechless, your eyes scanning his every feature.

“Why are you following me? Did you not risk yourself enough by being in Kings Landing?” Despite the obvious annoyance in his tone there was some hint of worry. Was he worried you might get killed? It was probably just the regret that spoke from him.

“I…” Rather confused you looked around, only now noticing where your feet had dragged you to. “I wasn’t paying attention.” You cleared your throat, trying to appear in control of yourself.

“Mh.” A hum was all you got, it was what most got. Aemond was never talkative, keeping things to himself most of the time. He always appeared to be lost in thought.

“I apologize, my prince.” With a few blinks you try to ease your raging mind, yet the confusion on your features did not go unnoticed to your uncle.

“I offer to hide you in the keep until it is safe for you to fly back to Dragonstone. I am sure your mother is worried for your absence.” Not a single emotion could be traced through his words. They were dull, calculated and cold. “In exchange for information.”

Of course he would only help if there was something in return for him. Without knowing any better you agree, nodding your head ever so slightly, following him back to the Keep.

“What you saw is a secret between us now, right?” Insecurity laced your voice as your cloak absorbed the soft raindrops from the night sky, the sound of wet footsteps in puddles filling the else silent alley.

“I suppose so.” His eye met yours for a second before focusing on the dimly lit path.

Aemond led you through a hidden entrance into the castle as the two of you snuck passed guards and private chambers until you reached his and he let the door fall shut behind him. Heavy breaths left your lungs after practically sprinting to his room. Never in your life have you been in your uncle’s chamber, but it was not as bad as someone might think. Books and candles littered his desk and at every place were it was possible candle wax dripped down. The room seemed cozy and warm, a stark contrast to the front Aemond put on in front of others.

Maybe he was not too bad after all. Maybe all it took was getting close to him, something you two definitely were not.

“I do not know much. Only that Daemon is currently in Harrenhal, trying to expand my mother’s army.” Your voice pulled Aemond out of his thoughts as he leaned over his desk, his hands gripping the edges tightly as he seemed to be studying maps of Westeros.

“What about your brother?” It seemed as if he did not believe your words, he did not trust you. You could not blame him. The last time you saw each other was at the family supper, before your grandsire, his father, passed.

“He is in Dragonstone. Mother does not allow him to leave. She is… distant, I suppose.” Your hurt and sadness were reflected in your soft voice as you swallowed down the lump forming in your throat.

“Stop staring at me.” Aemond caught you red handed as your eyes trailed over his hands the whole time he fiercely gripped the wood. Immediately you averted your gaze to the candles next to his bed. You could feel the heat pool at your cheeks as a red hint rose over them.

“Do you hate my family?” After what seemed like an eternity your words broke the heavy silence, only for one twice as heavy to return. You did not understand the war, not the reason the family is split in half, not the reason why it even was the way it was.

“I apologize. I should not have asked.”

“No.”

“Then wh-”

“I do not hate.” Aemond made it clear he didn’t like being questioned, not by anyone and especially not by you.

With a quick nod you apologized, staying silent. Despite everything your eyes stayed on him. You knew he could feel your gaze, but you did not know how else to keep your mind busy.

Aemond turned his head a little, gazing behind his shoulder to were you were still standing by the door. He nods towards a chair in front of the fire place for you to sit down in and you do as told. Carefully you take of your wet cloak and hang it in front of the fire for it to dry.

“I forgive, but I do not forget.” He was obviously referring to the loss of his eye. You had been there to witness it all, the fight between Aemond and your brothers, Alicent attacking Rheanyra, all of it.

It pained you to see the anger inside of Aemond still burning after all those years. Who could blame him though? No one apologized to him, everyone stamped it off as a little fight between boys yet they fought like men with daggers.

“I am sorry, Aemond. For what happened. My brothers have a fragile ego, but that’s easy for me to say considering my hair.”

A short silence filled the room, the only sound being the fire crackling as the flames ate at the wood.

“Do you think I’m a bastard, Aemond? The timing fits, doesn’t it? But maybe I just got lucky or they had the misfortune of nature taking it’s course despite the blood of the dragons.” Aemond’s fist hit the table, all different kind of metal objects clattering at the impact. The sudden sound made you flinch as you had been staring absently into the warm light.

“Do not play with me and shut your mouth.” He hissed at you like you struck a nerve. Never had he shown his anger or frustration in such a way. Of course he was violent, but not violent against you.

“Please. I just want to understand.” You were almost begging as you tried to keep your voice from quivering. Shouting scared you, shouting at you to be specific. It released that primal urge in you to hide from the world, but you could not run so your fingers clawed at the chair, trying to supress the fear.

“Nyke gaomagon daor gīmigon skoros naejot pendagon!” Your uncle’s voice went from anger to something that resembled frustration. The guilt in his tone and body language was evident.

No matter your fear you quietly get up from the chair, walking over to where he stood, placing a gentle hand on the back of his tunic. Aemond seemed to flinch away a little form your touch, not used to one of gentle form. (I do not know what to think)

“Nyke gaomagon daor jaelagon bisa vīlībāzma. Nyke gaomagon daor jaelagon īlva lentor naejot sagon ezīmagon kesrio syt hen pirtra.” You tried to comfort Aemond with the ways your mother comforted you as a child. It always appeared to you as if Alicent never held her children. You pitied them, but to what use? In your youth you tried your best to give Aemond the comfort of a mother although you were just a child yourself. (I do not want this war. I do not want our family to be split because of falsehoods.)

“I want to leave the past behind. At least for the two of us, hold a grudge against my brother if you want to.” Your breath tickled his neck, a shiver running down his spine as goosebumps formed on his skin. Slowly your hands fall away from his shoulders, fingertips gracing his back before your arms fell next to you.

“Do it again.” Aemond demands.

“What?” You were utterly baffled as he grabs you hand and presses it back on his shoulder. He was deliberately seeking physical connection, you. A huff of air leaves your nose in contentment as you press yourself against his back again. Everything stayed silent after this, actions speaking louder than words.

Aemond turned his head to the side his lips impossibly near as you looked up to him from his shoulder. Unexpectedly he cupped your right cheek and his lips meeting yours in a soring kiss. After a mere seconds you broke apart and you hid your face in the crook of his neck in shame.

He clears his throat, looking back down at the map on his desk, standing there like earlier. “I apologize.” Soft words for such a harsh man. It was the first time you have ever heard him apologizing.

“It’s… it’s alright.” You words were muted by the lack of distance between your bodies. The air was heavy with unspoken feelings neither of you addressed at the moment, too caught up with the war about to break out any day.

A soft sigh left you lips, making it’s way across Aemond’s skin. Your lips gently press against his neck, a sweet-tempered gesture to calm both of your racing hearts. His head fell back a little, giving you more access as your nose pressed against his artery while nuzzling into the crook of your uncle’s neck.

“Careful, your treading on thin ice, princess.” His words were nothing more than a hum as he enjoyed every single second of the moment, wishing it would never stop.

The both of you knew the inappropriate gestures like the palm of your hands, having spend countless hours in the street of silk and in various brothels.

“I did for my whole life. What is the difference now?” The exhaustion did not go unnoticed to Aemond and neither did the hint of sarcasm. But your words were the truth, something your uncle probably has not heard in a while.

“You should rest.” If you would not know any better, you might have said he sounded like he cared, when in reality it was probably more of him wanting to get rid of you. It was moments like these when you wished for the power to look into others minds or have the powers of Helaena to see the future through dreams.

“And where do you suggest?” You yawn softly into his shoulder, a way to intimate gesture to be between you and Aemond, when you were on opposite sides of the war.

“My bed. I have enough space in the library.”

Divider from @targaryen-dynasty

[greenandsorrow]

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Author's note; I used to have strange dreams as a kid. This story is heavily inspired by a series of dreams I had during my tween years.

Did you ever dream not of a scenario recurring, but continuing?

!!!!! The reader is a teenager. The relationships described in the fic are strictly platonic. My poor attempt at writing a threatening and scary environment is the only warning. And Pennywise is a warning himself I guess. This is a very weird, inner child, comfort thing for me... I apologise.

Dividers; @saradika-graphics, @cafekitsune, @strangergraphics

"Derry is a strange place. The fog settles low in the mornings, making the town look ghostly, almost unreal. The playgrounds are empty and quiet, swings moving slowly without any breeze. On foggy days, the whole town feels like a memory, faded and worn at the edges."

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4 (SOON)

If you managed to enjoy this shit, you made me very happy! Do you want to make me even happier? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

my masterlist

Taglist; @satubby @sketchist-art @urdeftonesgrrrl @vampirecrow38

[okwonyo]

SUPER SHY ⊹ S.JY

✸ SYNOPSIS ！ : in which there is lot of embarrassing moments in life, when you trip in front of the whole school or when your mom calls you out during a family gathering. but you know what is more embarrassing? not being able to talk to the prettiest girl on campus ─ especially when you are known for having a lot of rizz.

or in which jake has a big fat crush on you, is very pathetic and extremely delusional about it, embarrasses himself every time he tries to ask you out and his friends are no help.

PARING ⌇sim jaeyun ⨯ fem!reader

𐙚 GENRE student au, classmates to lovers, fluff, humorous, tiny bit of angst, smau + maybe some written chapters, reader is kinda oblivious at the start..

FEATURING ୭ৎ enhypen! all, lesserafim! yujin + chaewon, aespa! ningning, zerobaseone! gunwook + gyuvin

📁 riki's (un)safe space﹒ eumppappa fighting ! ﹒privs

MASTERLIST

001 i will find you (gothic font)

002 i b in situations

003 I DROVE????

004 oh okay

005 oh my ba

006 and that's when i froze

007 meanwhile

008 if you insist !

009 im trying my best

010 bald..?

...more tba

(chapters names are subjected to change)

TAGLIST : @i020904 @stories-inbetween-the-stars @txtlyn @xyadix @yunicide @suminsfav @ghostiiess @bluxjun @beomgyusonlywife @j1nniee @hyhees @mixtape-racha @astrae4 @articxari @delulu4-life @manooffline @jeongintwt @riskiriki @planethyuka @fakeuwus @haechansbbg @222brainrot @ikeuvleyz @teddywons want to be added ? go here.

© WONUSBEAR 2023 ⨳ please do not steal or copy my work. i will find you !!

[cryptidghostgirl]

Ritornello (Alastor x Cursed!Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: I don't think there are any but please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 3,565

Previous Part: Rhapsody

Next Part: Rapture

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N Okay I know that canonically Charlie is like 200 but we're gonna make her 25.

After everything with Alastor, Y/n tried to continued their life as it had been before he'd stepped into. It was challenging, they faltered and misstepped. They had been good at being on their own once but now that they had a taste of the alternative, it was difficult to fall back into their old ways. Eventually, they managed to fall into a new pattern of being.

They were a bit more careful now, they didn't dash out unannounced from behind corners or secret hiding places. Seeing Alastor was the last thing they wanted to do. Now, they had someone to avoid.

For seventeen years, they continued on like this. They struggled through their battles on their own, against the overlords and against their own personal situation. They searched high and low for a cure but the only things they ever seemed able to come up with were false promises and temporary fixes. Every day, the curse the overlords had placed on them to limit their powers was growing stronger. Every time they used their magic, played their music, it became more and more corrupted and so, they learned to fight with their hands. This was until they got the call from Lucifer, of course.

The pair were old friends of a sort. Y/n had met him by chance within their first few days in Hell when he'd pulled them out of a tight spot. They didn't spend time together ever or really see one another at all but, Y/n had a vague sort of trust for the man, a strong sense of a debt needing to be repaid. Y/n didn't like owing people things, not even back when they were alive. They didn't like depending on people in that way. When he asked them if they could keep an eye on his daughter, they couldn't refuse.

Charlie was a lot. At twelve years old, she was bright and over the top and constantly bursting out into song. At first, Y/n had been rather uncertain about the whole arrangement, even when she'd gone through her emo phase at fifteen.

Y/n tried to steer clear of them for the most part. Picking her up from school, dropping her off. Babysitting when her parents needed a night to themselves, the normal stuff. When the issues started between Lilith and Lucifer, Charlie was suddenly thrust into Y/n's life a lot more. She had no idea the real reason, both her parents wanting to keep the trouble from her due to their own care and protective natures, and Y/n tried their best to keep it that way. It didn't help that by sixteen, Charlie had practically moved in with the demon but they managed.

Charlie had always pushed for a connection, something more than Y/n making her dinner and getting her where she needed to go. Y/n resisted at all costs. They'd been hurt before by trust, by care. The idea of going through it all again was terrifying. That all changed the day Charlie found out about the curse.

Y/n hadn't meant for her to find out. One of their situation's many many downsides was that while the curse ate away at their magic, it also ate away at their physical form. If they weren't careful, if they didn't temper their emotions and make sure they were eating enough raw meat, the beast would take over.

The beast was a horrific thing in their eyes, blood hungry and devastating. It was sub-human, sub-demon even, writhing and scornful. A mass of twisting shells of prey, a mass of claws and sharp teeth.

Of course, Y/n couldn't keep it from Charlie forever and on one fateful evening, Y/n had transformed. They'd been overworked, stressed about the fact that the Vees were gaining more territory and power, that soon they would be practically untouchable. They had forgotten to take care of themselves in the rush of it all, prioritizing Charlie and their plans.

When they had come back to their senses, come back to themself, it had been to the sight of Charlie. With a damp rag held to their forehead by the demoness and a whole lot of bones from victims of their situation on the floor around them, they had opened their eyes. Y/n had expected Charlie to flinch, to run in fear, to tell Lucifer who knew nothing about the curse. Instead, she had smiled brightly and told Y/n she was glad they were okay. From that day forward, they were absolutely inseparable, completely attached at the hip.

With Charlie's help and cheerful influence, Y/n was beginning to learn how to exist. They loved the girl like she was their own and Charlie knew if she ever had an issue of any sort, she could go to Y/n about it. Even when Y/n had relayed the story of how they'd been cursed and why, there had been no issues, no qualms, nothing. Charlie promised her watcher that she would help them break the curse, no matter what it took.

It was watching Charlie come into herself as a young adult, watching her meet and fall in love with Vaggie that made the real difference. The princess of Hell was unapologetically herself and Vaggie took everything she had to offer with open arms. Slowly but surely, the search for a cure took a back seat as did Y/n's goal of taking down the overlords of Hell. Their life was different, but they were happy. They found themself wishing for the past, the one they had shared with Alastor, less and less, channeling their energy into the world around them. They didn't even notice when the reports started to come in that the Radio Demon of the overlords had seemingly vanished.

Things hadn't been without their challenges. Charlie's relationship with her dad was strained to say the least and when her mom had disappeared? She'd been absolutely inconsolable but with one another's help, they figured things out, made it through.

When Charlie pitched the idea of the Happy Hotel, Y/n had been doubtful. They knew a lot about Hell, the way it functioned, the way the demons within were. It came from decades running around back streets and surviving in the underworld of the underworld. It was Charlie's hope that did it, her earnest gaze. Y/n had caved and after months of hard work, the Hotel had finally opened.

Things were going well, too well even. Then there had been the interview with Katie Killjoy, the other shoe dropping. Y/n had watched it from the sidelines with Vaggie. As soon as Charlie had come down off the set, they had enveloped her in their arms and held them close. With Vaggie's help, they managed to get Charlie back to the hotel.

Once she had calmed down a little bit, Charlie stood from where she had been seated in the sitting room beside Y/n, Vaggie, and the hotel's one resident: Angel Dust. She mentioned something about calling her mom before disappearing into the lobby.

Y/n and Vaggie exchanged a look. They both knew the situation Charlie was in with regards to her mother and how she tended to get after one of her failed attempts to contact the woman. Neither thought this was the time or the place to step in however, and remained seated, chatting idly with Angel as they waited for Charlie's return.

When she finally did, it was with a nervous attitude and a strained expression.

"Hey Vaggie?"

"What?" Vaggie asked as she and Y/n twisted to look at Charlie who stood in the door way behind the couch.

"Can you come help me please?"

Vaggie got to her feet and exited the sitting room with her girlfriend. Y/n turned to Angel to continue their conversation but had barley gotten a word to the spider demon out when Vaggie stepped back in the room.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?" Y/n replied calmly.

"Charlie actually needs our help with this one, I think."

"Alright then." Y/n got to their feet, shooting a glance back at Angel, "A true hotelier's work is never done." they lightly joked and Angel rolled his eyes.

"What's this about?" Y/n asked Vaggie as they followed her down the hall towards the hotel's main entrance.

"Just..." Vaggie sighed, "you'll see."

Noting the girl's odd behavior and stressed demeanor, Y/n steeled themselves. Not much put Vaggie on edge. She was strong, toughened, as far as Y/n knew, by a brutal upbringing in the streets of Hell. While each use of their powers made the curse grow stronger, they would not hesitate to protect Charlie or her dreams should the need arise. Besides, they'd become quite good at other means of self preservation over the years.

As they rounded the corner into the lobby space, Y/n was greeted by a flash of red as someone pushed past Charlie into the space from the street and a familiar voice.

"Excuse my sudden visit, but I saw your fiasco on the picture show and I just couldn't resist. What a performance! Why I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929. So many orphans."

Y/n let out a low growl, summoning their lute into their hands and Vaggie pointed her spear at the Radio Demon. It was pure instinct. If they knew anyone, they knew Alastor and redemption was not the Radio Demon's cup of tea. As Charlie shut the door, he turned to face them. Y/n walked a few steps forward, planting their feet a little ways away from Alastor and poising their fingers to play.

"Get out of here." They said through gritted teeth.

Alastor's eyes widened with recognition for the smallest moment. As quick as he had lost it, he regained his composure.

"My what a protective force this Hazbin Hotel has." Alastor mused.

"It's called the Happy Hotel actually?" Charlie hesitantly corrected and he laughed.

"Not anymore its not. I did you the favor of fixing your sign."

A little threat couldn't hurt, a little reminder of who he was dealing with. Alastor had no idea Y/n was any less capable than when he'd first met them. One little note couldn't hurt, wouldn't show any of the damage done. Y/n plucked a single string on their instrument and the room around them began to glow. Everyone's hair lifted around their faces, the loose edges of their clothes beginning to flutter.

"Get out of here now. I wont ask you again."

"Now, is that anyway to treat an old friend?" Alastor replied, smirking.

Everything suddenly clicked into place. There was something different about him. Y/n couldn't put their finger on exactly what it was, but they could tell he hadn't been lying. He'd been at the Hotel for at least five minutes by now, maybe more with all Charlie and Vaggie's running back and forth since his arrival. If he had had any truly negative intentions, they would have revealed themselves, especially to Y/n. Alastor was a good liar, but no one was that good, good enough to trick someone who had watched them become the person they are.

"Old friend?" Vaggie repeated, turning to Y/n in confusion.

Their grimace faltered, before falling completely. They released their instrument, letting it hang loosely in their hand by their side.

"Alastor! You're embarrassing me in front of my kid."

"Your kid?" Alastor asked after a moment.

This time the shocked expression that crept its way onto his face stayed there.

"You know him?" Charlie asked at the same moment as Alastor spoke.

Y/n let their instrument dissolve into the air and gestured to Charlie.

"My kid. And yes, Charlie. I know Alastor."

Alastor turned, looking Charlie up and down.

"You got with Lucifer?" Alastor asked in confusion as he looked back at Y/n.

They laughed lightly at the notion, unable to stop themselves. They shook their head.

"No. Oh my gosh, I would never. Seriously just... great guy and all but no thank you. I just take care of his kid for him. Well, used to. We sorta got attached."

Charlie walked up to Y/n as they spoke, pulling them into a side hug.

"Y/n practically raised me. They were kinda the only one who was always there for me."

Y/n looked down at Charlie with a fond smile. They ruffled her hair and Charlie quickly batted their hand away.

It was clear to Alastor that Y/n had changed. They were no longer the trouble making demon he had known, that he had loved. Still, there was that same spark in their eyes, that fervent desire, that want. From just the small interaction playing out before him, he could tell that Y/n had learned how to trust and protect rather than just fight. They had learned to live hand in hand with that creeping need woven so tightly around their bones, rather than despite it.

It made him happy to see, it made him happy for her. At the same time, it caused his heart to ache terribly. They had finally been able to let someone in, and it hadn't been him.

In the years since their separation, Alastor had never stopped thinking about Y/n. Their memory was tender to the touch, shot sparks of joy or anguish down him depending on the day. It was like an old wound that had never quite healed right. Seeing them now was unexpected. The wound reopened. He sheltered himself.

Y/n saw the way Vaggie still had her spear pointed at Alastor, aimed straight at his neck. Gently, they placed a hand on it, pushing it down. Vaggie looked at them, her eyebrows raised.

"If he wanted to hurt anyone here, he would have done so already."

Vaggie stared at Y/n for a moment. Seeing how serious the demon that had become a mentor to her was in this moment, she lowered her blade. Y/n's hand fell back to their side.

"Now," Y/n turned to look at Alastor once again, "why are you here?"

----

It was late. Vaggie had told Y/n that Charlie wanted to speak to them about something in their office and so, Y/n found themselves outside the familiar door. They knocked once on the dark red wood.

"Yeah?"

They opened the door and Charlie smiled.

"What'd you wanna talk to me about, Sunshine?" Y/n asked as they entered the room, taking a seat in the chair across the desk from their young charge.

"Just about Alastor."

They should have known. Not only was the hotel at a potential risk thanks to the decision to allow him to work with them but Charlie had always had a sharp sense of curiosity. Y/n sighed.

"Fire away, kiddo."

"Well, how do you two know one another? Can we trust him? Do you think he means what he says he does? I thought you hated overlords? I.. I..."

Y/n smiled softly, the change in their face easing Charlie's nervous temper.

"We will handle these one at a time, no prying. Deal?"

"Y/n, you realize how suspicious that makes you sound, right?"

"Fine. A little prying. Deal?"

"Deal."

Y/n leaned back in their chair, letting out a sigh of nostalgia. Their hands rested on their stomach as they kicked their feet up onto Charlie's desk.

"I... I met Alastor practically right after he arrived. We both thought the overlord system was dumb and so, we decided to team up."

There was a moment of silence, broken by Charlie. The young demoness had always loved Y/n's stories, begged to hear them. They had never once heard this one before.

"Is that all?"

Y/n shook their head.

"We dated."

"You dated!" Charlie exclaimed in shock, nearly jumping out of her seat, "You dated the Radio Demon. Were you in love?"

Of course she'd go on and ask that next. Not 'how'd that happen?' not 'when was this?' No, Charlie had to go for the hardest question first, like she always did.

"Yes." Y/n hesitantly replied, "I did."

"I... oh my god. This is actually crazy. You dated? You actually dated. Like for real, in love, dated."

"Alright." Y/n clapped their hands, taking their feet off the desk and righting themselves in their chair, "Next question."

"Bu-"

"I said some prying."

"Fine." Charlie sighed, crossing her arms, "But I am gonna get that story out of you eventually."

"I'm sure you will, sunshine." Y/n chuckled lightly, "Now. Can we trust him? I... I'm not sure."

All the excitement vanished from Charlie as she looked seriously over at Y/n.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Because, he's up to something but not with us. Or, if it is with us, it's not to hurt us. I... something happened to him, something is different. I am not sure what I just... he's not here to hurt us... I think..."

"You think?" Charlie repeated indignantly, "Can you be a little more sure of that maybe? Why only think?"

"It's been a long time since I've seen him, Charls. Maybe being an overlord is what changed him. I have no way of knowing but my gut tells me he's okay, at least for now."

"You knew him before he became an overlord?"

"You really think I would team up with one of those bitches? Come on. You know I hate them."

"I-"

"Next question." Y/n quickly interrupted, not wanting to think on the past anymore than was necessary, "I think he does mean what he says, as was implied in whether or not I trusted him but the same caveats that applied there apply here too. And I do hate overlords, I just..."

"You just love him." Charlie teased.

Y/n's cheeks grew hot. They looked away.

"I do not. I loved him. There is a difference."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Why did you guys break up?"

Y/n turned back to Charlie. They couldn't say no to those eyes.

"Well, he became an overlord. Also I maybe... never told him. About the curse. He could tell something was up and..." Y/n took a breath, "couldn't take it after a while I guess."

"So you guys still loved each other when you broke up."

"What are you scheming over there."

"Nothing! Nothing!" Charlie quickly replied as she not so discreetly scribbled something on a piece of paper, "How long were you together?"

Y/n placed their hands on the arms of the chair, pulling themselves to their feet.

"Alright, trouble maker, I think thats enough lore outta me tonight."

"But Y/n!"

"I'm gonna go to bed. Vaggie already headed upstairs for the night I think. Sweet dreams, princess."

"Good night Y/n." Charlie dejectedly replied as she realized she really wasn't going to be getting anything else out of her mentor that night.

"Good night."

Y/n was about half way through the Hotel back to their room when they felt a hand on their shoulder. Reacting purely out of instinct, they ducked out from under the person's grip, spinning around with their fists raised. Alastor smiled down at Y/n and they sighed.

"What is it?" they asked, straightening up.

He had expected Y/n to be angry, to have that familiar sharp edge behind their voice. Instead, they looked up at him. As if everything was normal, as if it hadn't been thirty years since they'd last seen one another, as if they had just been together yesterday, their eyes met his.

"I... it's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." they replied after a moment's thought, "What are you doing up this late?"

"You know me, sleep is not my preferred way to pass time."

"I meant what are you doing in the hall, but sure. Yeah, I know you."

"That darling Charlie asked to see me."

Y/n scoffed, shaking their head with a tired smile.

"Of course she'd... yeah."

They stood in the hall facing one another. Just a few feet apart. The silence was thick.

"You seem happy."

"I am." Y/n nodded, "Charlie is a great kid. I was pissed when Lucifer first asked me to look after her, I'll admit it but, she has grown on me."

"I didn't know you were acquainted with the big man. I thought you despised all authority figures."

Y/n looked critically at Alastor, over his whole being. He felt they were looking into his very soul, the heart of all his intentions and desires. He felt absolutely naked in the worst way under their gaze.

"No, just overlords. Especially ones who make deals for the souls of others. It's a stupid and outdated system. Even the best of them like Rosie abuse their power to get what they want."

It was a well sharpened arrow, the remark. Perfectly aimed. Alastor had, after all, introduced the small group inhabiting the hotel to Husk and Nifty just that afternoon. Y/n turned their back to Alastor.

"She has big dreams and the passion to see them through. I believe in her. Don't... don't fuck this up for her, Alastor."

----

Next Part -> Rapture

@moonmark98 @luzzbuzz @snowlotr @randomuser-89 @fakeguysarehot @xdolls-crownx

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Wary Sailor Pt. 3 | Matthew Joy x fem!reader

summary: A storm is coming to threaten the Essex and her crew, and not even second-mate Matthew Joy is ready for the toil that it will cause. When he's thrown overboard, his sweet Siren saves him, but she begins to understand the danger of their relationship.

warnings: Thalassophobia, drowning, and bodily harm.

word count: 2210k

I'll Believe in Anything- Wolf Parade 🎶

Asleep- The Smiths 🎵

shout out to @everandforeveryours for helping me with ideas! More to come 🖤

That night the sea was rough and the captain called for all hands on deck. Matthew did not sleep that night or much of the day. His thoughts of the girl were incessant and his body still held the memory of her, making it even more difficult to focus on the important tasks of the day. Through the turbulent waves, the Essex sailed with the help of her crew. Their calls and shouts could barely be heard over the roar of the sea around them. Matthew wondered if Y/N was watching from the sea, the waves a place of safety even in the worst storm. 

As rain pounded the deck, Matthew stood at the railing and looked out at the storm, his hands gripping the edge. They’d lowered the sails and were preparing the ship for storms. 

“Joy,” Owen’s voice pulled Matthew from his thoughts and he looked over his shoulder at the Essex’s first-mate. Owen stood beside him at the railing and looked out at the sea. 

“You alright, mate?” He asked quietly, not meeting Matthew’s eyes. Matthew furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his friend’s face. “You’ve been… off since the morning we spotted the pod of whales, and you were down in the boat alone for a long time last night. You and I both know how we can get after years at sea…” Owen cleared his throat and waited for Matthew to speak. 

“Do you believe in Sirens?” Matthew asked him instead and Owen scoffed, taken back by the random question. 

“What?” Owen shook his head, “no, I don’t believe they’re real. Why? Do you think you saw one?” Owen shrugged light-heartedly and scratched his mustache.

When Matthew didn’t respond, Owen lowered his hand and sighed slowly. 

“Be careful, Joy. Don’t let the sea play with your mind, at least for our sake,” Owen patted Matthew on the back and stepped away. “I’m going to help secure the sails for the night. Captain wants us to continue straight, he thinks we’ll clear the storm before it gets bad but I don’t know, Joy. No whale is worth testing the sea and her temper.” 

“Oh, Joy,” Owen turned back, remembering something, “do you remember what they say about seeing a Siren? Seeing one likely means the ship will sink,” Owen set his brow, his voice dark like a warning. 

Matthew glanced back at his friend and nodded, “I’ll make sure my men are ready if anything happens tonight.” 

“Good.” 

Owen walked off to help the younger sailors fasten the sails in place and chain the barrels of fresh water below deck. Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose and silently cursed the Captain. Joy had been on the water long enough to know that the storm clouds in the distance were not a good sign for a ship. The sea was already riled up, so heading beneath the dark gray and greenish sky seemed the worst decision to make. 

Could she see him now? He wondered. 

…

Matthew managed to get a few hours of sleep before the ship entered the storm. Matthew was not alone in his frustration. Every sailor groveled over the Captain’s poor direction, knowing this trip would cause more harm than good. Matthew climbed to the top deck and began scaling the rigging system of ropes. A mast had been knocked from its place by the wind. Matthew directed the men, calling for help in fixing the massive piece of wood. The Captain watched from below, his nice uniform ruined from salt water and the rain. 

“Joy! Come down from there and help secure the mast’s rigging!” The Captain yelled up at him and Matthew cursed below his breath. The wind whistled in his ears as he climbed down the rope system, slick and slimy. Landing hard on the deck of the ship, Matthew helped a few other men lift the bundle of cord used to hold the mast in place in case of emergency. The ship plunged between massive waves and one of the ship’s Booms swung around, knocking Matthew over the railing. There was no time to hold onto anything or try to save himself as he was forced over the edge and fell down, down into the sea. 

…

His body sunk below the surface of the angry sea. Waves engulfed him, forcing him down whenever he almost swam to the top. The sea was dark green and blue, so much so that he couldn’t see anything around him. His coat and boats weighed him down but he couldn’t take them off in his determination to swim to the surface. The air had been knocked out of him when he landed, his back was surely already bruising. Without any breath in his lungs, Matthew’s lungs began to spam, trying desperately to pull in air. Soon, he could feel himself sinking further, no longer making progress to the surface. He could feel his muscles loosening as he began to lose consciousness. Matthew was a good swimmer, and yet, he was no match to the severity of the sea during a storm. 

Y/N, he thought as swallowed some of the water around him in his instinct to breathe. His arms were stretched out in the water, reaching for the Essex and safety. 

You shouldn’t be here.

Matthew tried to open his eyes when he heard the familiar voice in his head. Between his eyelashes, he saw a ray of soft light. As his eyes opened more, he realized the ray of light was the Siren, the woman he’d begun to love. 

You can’t be here, Matthew. I need to get you back to the surface. 

He didn’t remember closing his eyes but could feel Y/N’s arms wrap around his shoulders, dragging him with her. The action was swift. Her tail was pure muscle that propelled them as fast as she wanted it to. In what felt like seconds, Matthew’s head cleared the surface of the water. 

Breath, Matthew. 

Matthew heard her in his head and tried to breath but he already felt dead. 

“I think that’s him, sir!” A sailor yelled from the deck. Men gathered at the railing to assist, piecing together a rope ladder for their lost second-mate. It was raining so hard that the men on the deck could barely see Matthew nor the woman-like creature beside him.  

The sound of his crewmates awakened something else inside Matthew: duty. 

They need you Matthew. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t breathe right now.

Matthew’s eyes snapped open and he began to cough, clearing the water from his lungs. His arms began to instinctively tread the water to keep himself afloat. She appeared beside him at the surface, keeping her head low. It took a few moments for Matthew to clear his head and catch his breath. 

“Y/N,” he croaked and gave her a crooked smile, pain in his eyes, “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, sailor.” She released a sigh of relief and glanced up at the rope ladder the men were trying to detangle. “Your men are lowering a rope. You’re going to be fine.” 

Matthew looked between the rope and the woman who had just saved his life.

“Come with me.” Matthew’s blue eyes flashed as he spoke, “I’ll look after you. We can be together after they know what you did to save my life.” 

She shook her head and bit her lip. “I can’t, Matthew. That’s your world, not mine. And besides,” she glanced up at the rope ladder starting to fall, “I can’t survive up there… for short periods of time, sure, but not forever.”   

“I don’t think I can be away from you,” Matthew admitted and coughed again. 

“You must.” 

The ship tossed and turned in the rough water. The men threw down the rope and it landed in the water yards away. He’d have to swim to it, fighting the massive waves. 

“This is getting dangerous. I should have never come aboard your boat. This is all my fault…” the Siren closed her eyes. 

“What do you mean, love?” Matthew tried to reach for her face in the water. 

“It’s bad luck for a woman to board a sailor’s boat. I knew it was unlucky and I still did it because I needed to meet you. I’m so sorry, Matthew.” 

“Don’t say things like that,” Matthew furrowed his brow, ignoring the calls of his crewmates, “you saved my life.” 

“We’re tempting fate.” 

“Fuck that! I love you. I’m- damn it- I’m in love with you, Y/N. Come with me, please.” 

The Siren smiled painfully and closed the distance between them. She kissed Matthew deeply, their lips sliding into place against each other as they were meant to do. Her nose was crushed against his as he kissed her back. He sucked desperately at her bottom lip, pulling her mouth closer to his. His hands held her face painfully tight, boring into the flesh on her cheeks, somehow still staying afloat as he did so. Finally, she pulled away but kept her face close so that she could speak quietly to him. 

“I don’t trust your Captain Pollard, sailor, and neither should you. Be wary.” With a sad expression on her beautiful face, she slipped below the waves. Her silver tail flipped up into the air, sending a wave that carried Matthew the few feet closer he needed to swim to the base of the ladder. 

“Y/N!!” Matthew screamed into the wind, spitting salt water from his mouth. 

“Joy! Climb the god-damned rope right now!” Owen ordered from the deck. After a moment Matthew forced himself to swim to the rope ladder. He released an angry yell and slammed his fist against the side of the boat, his hair sticking to the side of his face as he looked back at the sea. 

“Joy!” Owen’s voice was louder now that he was closer. Having no other choice, Matthew found one of the rungs and dejectedly began to climb. 

…

He choked on the water still in his lungs when he fell back onto the deck. Hands grabbed at his clothes and dragged him away from the railing. Owen crouched beside him and slapped his face with both hands, stimulating blood flow. 

“You alright, second-mate?” Owen tried to joke. Matthew coughed up more water before wiping his mouth and nodding. 

“I’m alive.”

“Barely. Take him below!” Owen ordered a smaller boy to help Matthew to his feet and escorted him below deck. There was a small sick-bay between the sailors’ berth and the Captain’s quarters. No doctor worked there, but it could be used for quarantine when necessary. At that moment, Matthew was placed there more for comfort than anything. After he was helped onto the shallow bunk and the boy left him alone, Matthew began to remove his wet clothes. Dropping them on the ground, he looked for injuries, Y/N’s words still echoing in his head. 

Yes was leaving him, probably forever. And they had parted with one last warning: don’t trust Captain Pollard. Matthew didn’t trust him very much to begin with and now he disliked him even more. The man had no tangible experience with commercial sailing, especially not whaling boats. Owen should have been Captain and Matthew should have been first-mate. Things would have gotten done, they would have never entered a storm like this. 

He was changing into dry bloomers when someone knocked. For a moment, Matthew watched the door, expecting to see the girl on the other side but when the visitor entered, it was not her. 

“Everything is secured. There are men still keeping watch but I’ve ordered everyone else below deck until we clear this storm.” Owen stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Pollard?” Matthew cleared his throat and slowly sat back down on the bed. 

“He’s… doing some calculations, navigation.” Owen waved his hands about and sighed. After a moment of silence, his eyes returned to watch Matthew and he drew in a strained breath. 

“Joy,” Owen started ominously and Matthew looked up, his icy blue eyes drowned out by the darkness, “I saw… well how do I say this… I saw who saved you, Joy.” 

Matthew looked to the side and nodded absently. 

“So you were right then, they’re real. She… saved you?” Owen grimaced as he tried to confirm what he saw. 

“Yes, she did,” Matthew laughed tiredly, his smile falling short. 

“Why?” Owen asked hesitantly. 

Matthew turned his head back slowly to look at his best-friend. His pale skin looked yellow in the light of the whale oil lamp. His hair was still damp but it had begun to dry where it had fallen in waves around his head. 

“She loved me,” Matthew answered with what he believed whole-heartedly to be the truth and wrapped a blanket around his shoulder, hissing as his back muscles clenched in pain. Owen looked Matthew up and down and nodded, understanding that he was supposed to leave.

Once alone again, Matthew sat with his knees drawn up to his chest and looked up at the ceiling. Rainwater managed to sneak through the cracks between floorboards above his head. He watched it drip around him and sat in silence. 

…

End of Pt. 3!

[the-real-treasure]

Treasure Treasure! Masterlist

[One Piece Live Action] Sanji x Reader

COMPLETED

**FULLY EDITED 20/09/24**

Summary:

"I'm not a mind reader Monkey D. Luffy."

"No! You're a dream reader! And that's even better!"

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

As a child you were told eating the Treasure Treasure fruit was the stupidest decision you could have ever made. It was pointless, offering no additional skills to assist or support the Supreme Commander's family or scientific endeavours. As useless as the overly emotional boy you were assigned to follow and serve, branded with the number 3 with a line scored through it.

But, as you lay in a courtyard, surrounded by marines vying for your capture and execution, and stared up at the grinning boy in a scruffy straw hat, you realised no.

There were much much stupider decisions to be made.

Read on AO3: Here

Read on Quotev: Here

Total Word Count: 58,800 words

Chapter One: Shipwrecks and Hopeless Dreams

Chapter Two: Straw Hats and Treasure Maps

Chapter Three: Whispered Wishes and Demanded Dishes

Chapter Four: Big Big Top Trouble and the Risks of Show Business

Chapter Five: Sweet Syrupy Lies

Chapter Six: Let Sleeping Cats Die

Chapter Seven: Returning Tides of Home

Chapter Eight: Mon Cœur Est Un Petit Âne

Chapter Nine: Treasure Troves in Orange Groves

Chapter Ten: Poisson d'Arlong