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surielstea · 5 months ago

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Undercover Affection

Based on a request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: While on a mission with Azriel, you must pretend to be a couple. During which it’s revealed that Azriel and you are mated.

Warnings: none (that I know of)

A.Note: After a month of ghosting you guys I’m finally back!! And with a fic I’m very proud of so I hope you guys enjoy!!

7.9k word count.

The instructions had been simple enough: "Blend in, gather information, and avoid getting caught." But for some reason, Rhysand had thought it necessary to throw in an extra condition—one Azriel seemed to want to claw his way out of.

"I work alone." The shadow singer gritted through his teeth, shadows billowing over his impressively sized wings.

"Not for this mission, you won't." The High Lord immediately dismisses him, not batting an eye at the male who perhaps every other fae in Prythian was terrified of.

"She's not ready, she'll be a distraction." Azriel counters. A foreign part of you panged with disappointment at that. Did he really find you so incompetent?

Rhys argues back immediately, his anger beginning to ramp up to meet Azriel's and you quickly decide you didn't want to be anywhere near when they collided. "You told me yourself just last week she's the best spy you've ever trained."

Your eyebrows lift a fraction at what Rhys had unconsciously confessed, the barest reaction but enough for the shadow singer to pick up on. His hazel eyes flicked to your own gaze, then back to Rhysand's.

They seemed to be having a conversation, one you couldn't hear. You doubted you'd ever get used to that, the way Rhys could slip into someone's mind—even someone as guarded as Azriel. A shiver went down your spine as you thought about the power of the High Lord of Night.

"You have to be out of your mind if you think I'll ever put her in that kind of danger." Azriel seethed to his brother through the mental connection, unable to even fathom the idea of you having a target on your back.

"She may be your mate but she is also your disciple, did you seriously think she'd never go out into the field?" Rhys could sense his anger, feel it ebbing against a shield that was thinning.

"I only taught her spy work so she'd know how to protect herself—never to put her in harm's way," Azriel says, his frustration making his voice sound almost pleading.

"Then you know she can protect herself. You will be beside her every step of the way, what she wants to do is entirely her decision." Rhys remarks.

"And what if the bond snaps? It could jeopardize the mission—much more, her safety." Azriel poses, the scenario would make all hell break loose in all situations.

"Are you implying you can't keep her safe?" Rhys taunts, the words finding their mark in the Spy Masters head.

You watch their expressions closely, attempting to pick up on what they were saying but the only reaction you could spot was the way Azriel's jaw feathered as he pushed off Rhysand's desk and turned to me.

"Do you think you're ready for this?" There was a certain softness in his eyes you only got rare glimpses of, the sight making you swallow hard.

Your throat felt tight, but you straightened your shoulders and lifted your chin. "I am." Your voice didn't waver, though the intensity of his hazel eyes made it a near thing.

Rhys sighed, leaning back in his chair as he surveyed you both with a calculating air. The quiet smile tugging at his lips felt almost dangerous like he already knew the outcome of a game you hadn't even realized you were playing.

"The ball," he began, voice smooth, "is being hosted by High Fae whose loyalty to Prythian is questionable at best. Whispers suggest they're courting alliances with forces hostile to Velaris. If true, this could be the first move toward rebellion."

He slid a detailed sketch across the desk. The male's sharp features and cold, calculating eyes etched into the paper made your stomach tighten. Rhys's voice remained steady as he continued. "Kaieel is the orchestrator. We need names, allies, plans—anything we can use to dismantle his efforts before they gain traction. The masks and secrecy of the event work in our favor. You'll attend, blend in with the crowd, and leave no trace of your presence."

"And our cover?" you asked, though you weren't sure you wanted the answer.

Rhys's lips twitched. "Newlyweds."

The single word hit you like a jolt of lightning. Your heart stumbled, catching somewhere between shock and disbelief. "A couple?" you uttered, trying to keep your voice even.

"A young pair enamored with each other and blissfully distracted. The perfect cover." Rhys's eyes sparkled with mirth, though his tone was all business. "An unattached male draws suspicion. A pair in love does not."

Azriel didn't react outwardly, but his silence spoke volumes. You risked a glance at him, finding his gaze fixed somewhere distant. Was the idea truly so unbearable to him?

"The priority," Rhys continued, "is information. If your cover is compromised, you extract yourselves immediately. But until then, you'll need to act the part—dancing, whispering... perhaps even a kiss or two, if the situation calls for it."

"Rhys," Azriel growled, low and lethal.

Rhys only smirked, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort. "Relax, Az. You might even have fun. Any questions?"

You shook your head, pulse hammering. The mission was simple in theory, but with Azriel by your side—close enough to feel his warmth, to brush against the bond neither of you had spoken of—it felt like you were stepping into something far more dangerous than a ballroom full of enemies.

"Good," Rhys said, dismissing you both with a wave. "You leave at dusk."

Azriel turned abruptly, the tension in his wings a visible reminder of the storm brewing within him. As he stalked toward the door, you followed, already bracing yourself for the days to come.

Whatever lay ahead, one thing was clear: the mission wouldn't just test your skills as a spy—it would test every fragile boundary you and Azriel had built between the two of you.

—

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your gown, the soft, luxurious material clinging perfectly to your frame before pooling at your feet. It was a deep shade of midnight grey, almost black, designed to shimmer as if it were the color of the moon itself, glimmering silver in the right lighting. The neckline dipped just enough to be daring without crossing into scandalous, and the fitted bodice accentuated every curve. The gown was a far cry from the shadowy leathers you had grown accustomed to during training.

Your fingers brushed over the mask lying on the vanity before you. It was delicate, intricate silver filigree adorned with tiny crystals that caught the light to match my dress. The sight of it alone made your stomach twist with nerves, though you refused to let the feeling take hold. You were a spy, not some jittery debutante.

Focus.

Your gaze shifted to the mirror as you adjusted the gown again, letting out a slow breath. The transformation was undeniable; the person staring back at you looked like they belonged at this kind of event. For a moment, you barely recognized yourself, and that unfamiliarity was almost reassuring. If you didn't recognize yourself, maybe no one else would either.

The soft knock at the door startled you. You turned, calling out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Azriel stepped inside, closing it behind him with deliberate care.

Your breath was stolen from your lungs at the sight of the Shadow Singer.

He wore an all-black suit that looked as though it had been tailored specifically for him—and knowing the resources of the Night Court, it probably had. The sharp lines of the jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and the subtle sheen of the fabric only added to the air of elegance that clung to him. His wings were glamoured away, leaving no trace of their presence—which was upsetting, but it was his eyes that made up for it—those piercing hazel eyes, framed by long lashes that truly captured your attention. They swept over you in a single, assessing glance, and you swore you caught the faintest flicker of surprise before his features smoothed into their usual calm.

"You look..." His voice trailed off, and for once, he seemed at a loss for words.

"Like I'm about to infiltrate a ball filled with potential traitors to Velaris?" you offered lightly, trying to break the tension that had settled in the room.

"I was going to say beautiful, but that works too," he said simply, his voice low and even. The words sent a strange warmth curling through your chest, though you quickly buried it.

Azriel crossed the room, the measured grace of his movements a reminder of the lethal precision he carried with him always. He stopped just in front of you, holding out his hand. "Your mask."

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing it to him. His gloved fingers brushed against yours as he took it, and you were acutely aware of how close he was as he moved behind you.

The brush of his knuckles against your temple sent a shiver down your spine as he adjusted the mask, tying the soft ribbons at the back of your head with deft fingers. His scent—night-chilled mist and cedar—wrapped around you, a quiet distraction that made it hard to focus.

"There," he murmured, adjusting your hair around the ribbon before stepping back just enough for you to turn and face him. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and you wondered if he could sense the way your pulse quickened.

"You clean up well," you said, tilting your head slightly. "Almost didn't recognize you without all the shadows."

He raised a brow, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. "You'll have to forgive me for not returning the compliment."

Your lips twitched. "And why's that?"

"Because if I did, we'd be here all night," he replied smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rare, fleeting smile.

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected flirtation. Azriel's humor was subtle, almost elusive, but when it surfaced, it always left you reeling.

Before you could find a response, you remembered the last detail. "Oh, wait." You turned back to the vanity, retrieving the small box you'd nearly forgotten. Inside were two rings—simple, elegant bands meant to complete your cover as a married couple.

You slipped one onto your finger, the cool metal fitting perfectly, the sapphire stone placed atop it glimmering in the sunsetting light. You hold out the other to him. "Rhys gave them to me, for authenticity," you said, keeping your tone light despite the awkwardness that had crept into the air.

Azriel's gaze dropped to the ring in your hand, his expression unreadable as he took it. For a moment, you thought he might protest, but instead, he slid it onto his finger with careful precision.

He slipped it onto his finger without breaking eye contact, the deliberate slowness of the action making your heart race. "There," he said, holding his hand up to examine the ring. "How do I look as your doting husband?"

You took a step back, pretending to assess him with a critical eye. "Hmm, you'll pass—just barely. Try smiling a little more. You're supposed to be madly in love with me, remember?"

Azriel leaned in slightly, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement. "If I smile too much, they'll think I've lost my mind."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Fair enough."

He reached out then, his hand brushing yours as he straightened an imaginary crease in the sleeve of your gown. The touch was fleeting but enough to send warmth creeping up your neck. When he pulled back, the air between you was thick with unspoken tension.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice soft but steady.

You nodded, grabbing the silver clutch from the vanity and looping it over your wrist. "As I'll ever be."

Azriel extended his arm, a rare gesture that made your lips twitch in surprise. "Shall we, gorgeous?" he teased, his tone low and smooth.

You slid your hand through the crook of his arm, matching his smirk with one of your own. "Lead the way, handsome." Whatever this mission had in store, it was clear the most dangerous thing you'd face tonight wasn't Kaieel or his allies. It was Azriel—and the way he made you feel.

—

The ballroom glittered like a scene from a dream, opulent and indulgent in every detail. Chandeliers sparkled with a thousand lights overhead, their glow casting a soft radiance across the sea of masked figures swirling on the marble floor. The air buzzed with muted conversations, laughter, and the soft strains of a symphony playing in the background.

Your arm was looped through Azriel's, his warmth bleeding into you even through the layers of your gown and his tailored suit. He guided you into the crowd with an ease that belied his tension, his hazel eyes scanning every face, every shadow, every corner.

"Stay close," he murmured, the words just for you, his breath brushing against your temple. His voice, low and commanding, sent a shiver down your spine, though you quickly disguised it as a nod of agreement.

"Hard to get closer than this," you quipped softly, unable to resist. You felt him stiffen slightly under your hand, his wings—glamoured away but somehow still present in your mind—practically bristling with restrained energy.

He didn't respond, but the faintest curve of his lips betrayed him. If it weren't for the mask obscuring part of his face, you might have caught the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Instead, his focus shifted, scanning the room until it landed on your target.

Kaieel stood near the far edge of the room, his tall frame commanding attention even in this crowd of nobles. His mask, dark and menacing, covered much of his face, but his icy blue eyes gleamed through the filigree, sharp and calculating. A small circle of sycophants surrounded him, laughing too loudly at his every word. He raised a crystal flute to his lips, sipping lazily as though the fate of Prythian wasn't potentially hanging on his next move.

"Eyes on Kaieel," Azriel murmured, tilting his head just enough for his words to reach you. "But keep it subtle. The last thing we want is him noticing our interest too early."

"Subtlety is my specialty," you whispered back, earning a flick of his gaze, though he said nothing. His grip on your hand tightened as he steered you toward the dance floor.

Before you could question him, Azriel pivoted smoothly, releasing your arm only to catch your hand and pull you into a waltz. The sudden movement startled you, your other hand landing instinctively on his shoulder as he spun you into the rhythm of the music.

"A dance?" you asked, arching a brow as you tried to ignore the way his hand settled on your waist, firm but not overbearing.

"Blending in," he replied simply, though the set of his jaw betrayed the faintest hint of awkwardness. "Everyone else is dancing. And from here, we have a better view of Kaieel."

You followed his lead, your feet moving in time with his despite the distraction of his proximity. The bond hummed faintly at the back of your mind, an awareness you fought to suppress as you focused on the task at hand. His scent—cedar and chilled mist—wrapped around you, grounding and maddening all at once.

"So," you ventured, your voice low, "do we just stare at him all night, or do we actually have a plan?"

Azriel's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. "Patience. Kaieel will make his move eventually. Until then, we observe."

"Observation is all well and good," you said, your tone light despite the weight of the moment, "but what if he decides to slip away before we get what we need?"

"He won't," Azriel replied, his confidence a quiet anchor in the storm of your nerves. "He's too arrogant to think anyone here is a threat to him."

You were about to respond when Kaieel's laugh cut through the music, sharp and derisive. Your gaze flicked toward him in time to see him gesture grandly to his circle, drawing their attention—and yours. The words he spoke were lost in the distance, but the smug tilt of his head and the pointed glance he cast toward a cloaked figure in the corner sent a chill down your spine.

"Did you see that?" you murmured, tilting your head subtly toward Kaieel.

Azriel's grip on your waist tightened imperceptibly. "I saw. He's signaling someone."

Your next step faltered, and Azriel steadied you instantly, his hand at your back pressing you closer. "Careful," he murmured, his voice low enough to send a shiver through you. "If you trip, they'll notice."

"Noted," you said, your cheeks warming despite yourself. You tilted your head again, pretending to focus on him as you spoke. "The cloaked figure in the corner. Could be a contact."

"Could be," Azriel agreed, his hazel eyes flicking toward the figure in question. "But we won't know for sure until we get closer."

"And how do you propose we do that without drawing attention?" you asked, trying to ignore the way his hand seemed to linger on your back, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your gown in a way that felt almost deliberate.

Azriel's lips curved into a smirk, subtle but unmistakable. "Leave that to me."

Before you could question him further, the song ended, and he stepped back, bowing slightly as he offered you his arm again. You accepted it, allowing him to guide you off the dance floor and toward the far side of the room. Kaieel's attention was still focused on his circle, oblivious to your approach.

Azriel leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "We'll circle the room, make small talk, and get close enough to overhear. Follow my lead."

"Always," you replied softly, the word slipping out before you could stop it. Azriel's gaze snapped to yours, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing as he led you deeper into the crowd.

The mission demanded your focus, but with Azriel at your side, his presence steady and unyielding, you couldn't help but wonder if the real danger tonight wasn't the secrets hidden in this ballroom—but the ones you carried in your heart.

You move through the ballroom like smoke, seamlessly blending with the opulent crowd. Strangers smile at you—glittering masks of civility over a sea of intentions. They don't need to know who you are; your presence, the confident tilt of your chin, and the luxury of your attire tell them enough. Wealth recognizes power, even in passing.

When you wave at a woman standing beside Kaieel, she returns the gesture, though her eyes narrow ever so slightly, a flicker of confusion betraying her effort to place you. Still, she beckons you closer with the smooth grace of someone accustomed to command.

"Lady Reven," Azriel murmurs in your ear, his voice as soft and deliberate as the shadows that cling to him. "Ex-wife of Kaieel. The hostess of tonight's spectacle."

"She invited her ex-husband?" you ask under your breath, your smile unwavering despite the furrow of your brows.

"He's funding it," Azriel replies, his golden eyes scanning the room. "This way, he and his associates can conspire without his name attached. If the plot unravels—"

"She takes the fall," you finish, your mind catching up to the threads he's weaving.

"Precisely," he says with a wry twist of his lips. Then, with a pointed glance at Lady Reven, he adds, "And she, my love, is your key to him."

Your heart stumbles at his phrasing. Your key? You open your mouth to protest, but he silences you with a slight tilt of his head. "I won't be far," he assures you, his voice a soft promise. And then, as if sensing your doubt, the cool, silken pressure of shadows winds beneath your dress, curling around your thigh like an unspoken vow. The sensation is enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

"What do I even say to her?" you whisper, frowning.

Azriel chuckles, low and teasing. "Have you forgotten all your training already?" The confidence in his tone steadies you. "You'll do just fine. I'll fetch us drinks and join you shortly," he adds, leaning down to press a brief, warm kiss to your temple before vanishing into the crowd like mist.

You force a breath into your lungs and set your shoulders, willing confidence into your stride as you cross the ballroom. The shadows move with you, unseen but ever-present, their cool touch synchronizing with the rhythm of your steps.

As you approach a table laden with crystalline champagne flutes and decadent sweets, your ears tune in to the sharp edges of Lady Reven's voice, drifting from where she speaks to a maid.

"And make sure he leaves alone tonight," she hisses. "He's humiliated me enough in public without dragging some—other female into it."

The maid nods, scurrying off, and you let your gaze fall to the intricately carved edge of the table. The urge to fidget nearly overcomes you before Lady Reven's voice pulls you from the habit.

"I wouldn't bother with the chocolates," she says coolly, stepping closer.

You glance at her, feigning an easy smile. "Good to know." You nod. "I've never been one for sweets anyway, Lady Reven."

Her ruby-red lips curl upward in a knowing smirk. "Have we met?" she asks, her sharp eyes studying you with thinly veiled suspicion.

"Only on paper," you reply smoothly. "My husband works for Kaieel."

Recognition softens her features. "Ah, a friend of Kaieel is a friend of mine," she purrs. "Call me Valenia."

"Of course. Valenia," you echo with a nod, subtly testing the name.

"And where is your husband tonight?" she asks, gesturing vaguely to the glittering crowd.

You tilt your head with a small laugh. "Fetching me something stronger than this champagne," you quip, gesturing towards the burbling fountain of sparkling wine in the center. The honesty surprises her into a laugh of her own.

"Well, I'll have to apologize for the watered-down drinks," she says lightly, her tone dripping with feigned humility.

"No need. This is a stunning event," you counter, gesturing to the ballroom.

A flicker of satisfaction crosses her face. "I think we're alike, you and I," she muses, before looping her arm through yours. "Come. I'll introduce you to Kaieel."

Your pulse quickens as she steers you across the room. You catch Azriel's golden gaze from where he's threading through the crowd, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding.

"I really should wait for my husband," you try, a nervous laugh slipping out. "We've been recently married, couldn't keep him away if I tried." You attempt to excuse.

"Then it'll be easy for him to find us, hm?" Valenia dismisses with a wink, tugging you forward until you're standing before Kaieel himself.

Kaieel was sprawled on a chaise lounge, maids bringing him drinks, butlers feeding him by hand like he was some kind of king. Even Rhys wasn't this ostentatious. His turquoise eyes fell on you as Lady Raven guided you towards him, dragging his gaze across every inch of your figure. You did your best to ignore it, giving him a bashful smile.

"What have I done to deserve the company of two such radiant creatures?" Kaieel drawls, his grin wide and smug as he leans back in his seat.

"Kai," Valenia greets, her tone deceptively warm, intimacy still flowing between them. "This is—oh, dear, I fear I never got your name."

Before you can answer, an arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you into the familiar scent of cedar and night mist, the warmth of his hold makes your tense shoulders relax.

"Mrs. Lawmore," Azriel announces smoothly, answering for you as he gives Kaieel a grin, his smile disarming as he shields you beneath his presence.

"Lawmore?" Kaieel's eyes narrow with interest. "Lysan Lawmore, is that you under that mask?"

Azriel bows his head slightly, keeping his eyes down in fear of being caught. "It's been some time, apology for my absence but my beautiful wife here needed to be spoiled after our wedding night." You didn't want to know what happened to the real Lysan, neither did you want to know what Azriel did to him to get this information out of him.

"And how exactly did you win over such a lovely companion?" Kaieel continues, taking your hand with practiced charm, his lips brushing lightly over the sapphire on your ring finger.

You smile, tilting your head bashfully. "I believe I was the one winning him over," you say, cutting in before Azriel can.

Azriel's fingers trail from your shoulder down your arm, taking your hand from Kaieel's grasp and threading his fingers with yours. His touch is possessive but gentle, a silent claim.

"How sweet," Kaieel remarks, raising his glass in mock toast. "Remember when we were like that, darling?"

Valenia's eyes flash, her smirk tightening as she looks away. "They're newlyweds, Kai. Still in the honeymoon phase."

"Newlyweds, you say? Well, then," Kaieel says with a devilish grin. "We must celebrate. Let's toast!" He stood, raising his glass. He didn't have to so much as say a word for the entire ballroom to halt and turn to him.

"So kind of all of you to join us on this fine evening, not only are we celebrating this beautiful gathering the lovely Valenia put together," He pauses for a moment to gesture towards the woman who gave a practiced smile and an elegant wave of her hand. "But we are also celebrating the recently pronounced Mr. And Mrs. Lawmore!" He raises his glass, and even if none of these people so much as knew your name, they cheered anyway. Like puppets on a string, controlled by Kaieel himself.

"Go on," Kaieel presses, leaning forward with a wicked glint in his eye. "Kiss the bride."

The demand sends a shiver down your spine. Even the shadows twining around your legs seem to still, waiting.

Azriel was already staring at you, his eyes searching yours. His lips quirk into a soft, almost shy smile, and the question in his gaze is unmistakable.

You nod, barely perceptibly.

"Come here, love," he murmurs, his voice coaxing, tender.

Your lips met, fitting together with startling, unspoken precision—like the final piece of a puzzle you never realized was incomplete until it clicked into place. The kiss lasted only a heartbeat, but in that fleeting moment, everything shifted. The air between the two of you thickened, buzzing with a quiet intensity, as if the universe itself had paused to watch.

Something deep inside you stirred, a part of yourself you'd long buried or perhaps never even known. It unfurled like a blossom in the first light of dawn, warm and aching, a golden thread spinning itself between you. It twined tighter with every second, binding not just your bodies but something deeper, something elemental.

For that brief, infinite instant, there was no ballroom, no crowd, no mission. Just the two of you—two souls suspended in the gravity of a pull you couldn't name but could feel down to your very bones.

And then, like the breathless silence before a storm, realization hit you with shattering clarity. This wasn't just a kiss. It was him. Azriel.

Your mate.

The kiss ended as gently as it began, your eyes wide and searching but he remained calm and steady, you whisper, "You've known?"

Azriel's gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if he was going to kiss you again, and again, and again until the gods themselves had to rip him from you. But before he can answer, the room erupts into applause, Kaieel's voice booming with praise.

Even as the crowd cheers and music resumes, you hear nothing but the pounding of your heart, feel nothing but the truth that thrums in your blood.

Mate.

And he knew.

You don't have time to process the truth searing through your veins. Mate. The word echoes in your mind like a thunderclap, threatening to drown out everything else. But Azriel's hand tightens around yours, steady and grounding. His golden eyes flicker with something unreadable—a mix of reassurance and warning—and you understand: you can't falter. Not here. Not now.

Kaieel's voice cuts through the applause, smug and commanding. "Come now, don't let the celebration stop the night's festivities. Dance, drink, enjoy yourselves!" His hand sweeps over the crowd, his charisma intoxicating, pulling their attention away from you. For now.

"You're too kind, Kaieel," Azriel says. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to spend some time with my wife."

Azriel tugs gently on your hand, guiding you away from the center of the ballroom. You follow, trying to shake the weight of the bond snapping into place. But even as he leads you, the golden thread between you hums with a new, undeniable awareness, the shadows brushing against you like a silent promise.

He doesn't speak until you've reached the edge of the room, tucked into the shadowy recess of a grand marble column. His lips are close to your ear, his voice low and smooth. "Are you with me?"

You nod, the words caught in your throat.

"Good," he murmurs. "We need to move fast. Valenia is the key to his plans. Now that you become acquainted we can use her."

You blink, willing yourself to focus. "How?"

"She's vulnerable," Azriel says, his tone edged with calculation. "Kaieel still holds power over her, and it's clear she despises him for it. We can exploit that. Learn who his allies are, how he's funding this rebellion. If we play her right, she'll give us everything."

You glance toward the center of the room, where Valenia stands at Kaieel's side, her posture poised but her eyes cold as she watches him bask in the attention of the crowd. Her mask of indifference is expertly crafted, but you can see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tighten around her champagne flute.

"She definitely hates him," you say quietly. "But will she betray him?"

Azriel's shadows curl against your skin, cold and steady. "She already has. Hosting this event on his behalf, exposing him to scrutiny. She's more desperate than she lets on." He tilts his head toward you, his voice softer now. "We just need to give her the final push."

You swallow hard, nodding. "And if she doesn't break?"

Azriel's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Then we'll find another way. We always do."

Before you can reply, a servant approaches with a silver tray bearing two glasses of dark red wine. Azriel accepts both, handing one to you with an easy smile that belies the sharpness of his focus.

"Drink," he murmurs. "And dance with me. They're watching."

"Again?" You ask, your heart stuttering, but you take the glass, letting him guide you back toward the dance floor.

"This is a ball, love." The music swells as he pulls you into his arms, his movements are fluid and natural as though you've danced together a hundred times. "You didn't think I'd be satiated with one dance, did you?"

The bond thrums again, golden and electric, and you can't ignore it any longer. "You knew, Az," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the violins.

Azriel's gaze flicks to yours, soft but unyielding. "Not here," he murmurs.

"But—"

"Later," he insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, grounding you. "Focus."

This is why he didn't want you coming, you realize. You force yourself to breathe, to move with him, to match the rhythm of the music. Around you, the crowd swirls, their laughter and chatter a muted backdrop. Kaieel and Valenia are watching from the edge of the room, their expressions unreadable.

"Valenia's looking for an ally," Azriel murmurs as he twirls you gracefully. "She doesn't trust him to win against Rhys. We offer her a way out, and she'll talk."

"How do we approach her without raising suspicion?"

Azriel's lips curve into a faint smirk. "Snead your way into her inner circle. Let her think it was her idea. I'll shadow you, gather what I can from Kaieel's other guests."

"And if something goes wrong?"

His hand slides up to your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your collarbone—a fleeting, deliberate touch. "It won't."

The music slows, and he pulls you closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And even if it did, I'd slaughter everyone in this room to get you out."

You shiver, both from fear and something you didn't have time to familiarize yourself with.

The song ends, and Azriel steps back, his mask of calm once again firmly in place. He presses a light kiss to your hand, his lips brushing your knuckles as his golden eyes lock onto yours.

"I'll be watching," he murmurs. Then he's gone, slipping into the crowd as if he were never there.

You take a steadying breath, turning your gaze toward Valenia. She's speaking with a pair of aristocrats now, her laughter light and airy, but her eyes remain calculating. You approach slowly, your steps measured and deliberate.

"Lady Valenia," you say with a soft smile as you reach her side. "I must thank you again for this incredible event."

She turns to you, her lips curling into a practiced smile. "Ah, Mrs. Lawmore. Enjoying yourself, I hope?"

"Very much," you reply smoothly. "Though I must admit, I'd hoped for a chance to speak with you more privately. Your reputation precedes you."

Her brows lift slightly, intrigue flickering in her eyes. "Does it now? And what exactly have you heard?"

You lean in slightly, lowering your voice just enough to draw her closer. "That you're the true power behind Kaieel's successes. A woman of vision and cunning."

She laughs softly, but there's a sharpness to it. "And what would you want with a woman like that, my dear?"

You smile, your gaze steady. "To learn from you, of course. I imagine there's much you could teach me."

Her eyes narrow slightly, studying you. Then, with a sly smile, she links her arm with yours. "Come, let's talk. Away from prying eyes."

As she leads you toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, you catch a glimpse of Azriel in the crowd. He's watching, his expression unreadable but his presence a constant reassurance.

The game has begun.

———

The ball had stretched into the long hours of the night. Most guests had already taken their leave, yet a few lingered—drunkards, their fingers greedily grasping for what remained of the free wine. You had spent the evening carefully cultivating a list of names, all while trying not to let the thought of your mate—a word that still felt foreign in your mind—distract you.

Valenia, meanwhile, had rattled on endlessly, weaving a tapestry of grand schemes to dismantle Kaieel's empire and seize it for herself. Such a fool. The way she outlined every step was invaluable, her unwitting admissions offering a clear view of both her vulnerabilities and Kaieel's. For someone who fancied herself clever, she didn't understand the dangers of oversharing. Perhaps conspiring alone for so long had driven her to some invisible line of insanity, one she'd now crossed with aplomb.

She was smarter than Kaieel, no doubt, but she wasn't as sharp as she thought herself to be. The rich rarely were. They plotted in circles, their plans frayed with assumptions that gold could patch any hole. A society built on corruption and greed was a society destined to crumble.

A knock on the door shattered the air between you, halting Valenia mid-sentence. Both of you froze as the door creaked open, revealing familiar black hair and molten golden eyes.

"Lysan," you said smoothly, forcing an easy smile.

Valenia hiccuped, swaying slightly as she glanced between you. The liquor had loosened her tongue and dulled her senses—a poor, unsuspecting thing. You'd kept her glass full all night, though yours had remained barely touched.

"You two are lucky," she murmured, her words slurred but still carrying a bite of jealousy.

Azriel tilted his head, stepping closer with his hand outstretched. You met him halfway, your fingers intertwining as if it were second nature.

"So in love," Valenia sighed wistfully. She swirled the deep red liquid in her glass. "Kaieel never looked at me the way he looks at you."

Azriel didn't miss a beat. "I am lucky, aren't I?" His voice was low as he leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear. The touch sent a tremor down your spine, though you leaned into him all the same, your composure unwavering.

"You two lovebirds get out of here," Valenia hummed, waving you off with a glass in hand. "I'll see you soon, Mrs. Lawmore."

You smiled at the title she so easily handed over, bowing your head alongside Azriel as you both slipped out of the room. Moments later, you left the ballroom entirely, leaving behind the clinking of glasses and murmurs of deceit.

———

Once you winnowed into The Cabin, the air was thick with unresolved tension, a thread drawn too tight and ready to snap. You released Azriel's arm but remained close, your breath steady, your gaze piercing.

He shifted, glancing at you with that careful, measured expression of his, but you saw through it. His wings flared slightly before tucking back, as if the space were already too confined for what lay between you.

"We need to debrief with Rhys—" he began, but the words barely escaped before you cut him off, your voice sharp.

"No." You held up a hand, stepping back. "We're not ignoring this."

Azriel sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his dark hair. He reached up, removing the mask with a deliberate slowness that felt like deflection. "Can I at least get comfortable first?"

"Seriously?" you snapped, your arms crossing over your chest.

But he ignored your tone, unbuttoning his shirt with maddening ease. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing smooth, tan skin and the faint lines of tattoos curling down his forearms. Then came his wings—massive, stretching wide as the glamour faded, their dark beauty filling the room like a storm rolling in.

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to look away as he folded them neatly behind him.

“Go on," he said, leaning back against the couch, his tattooed arms crossing over his chest, the sight terribly distracting. "I'm listening."

You glared at him, your voice tight. "You knew," you state.

He nodded slightly, but he said nothing, his golden eyes fixed on you with unnerving calm.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts. "The bond—it's not something you just don't mention. Did you think I couldn't handle it?"

He exhaled slowly, his gaze steady. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it?" you shot back, your frustration spilling over. "You knew this whole time. Azriel, do you have any idea what it feels like to find out this way? To realize you've been keeping something this—this huge from me?"

His jaw tightened, but his expression softened just enough to betray a flicker of vulnerability. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to force it on you."

You barked out a bitter laugh. "Force it on me? What does that even mean? Did you think I'd reject it?"

Azriel stiffened, his wings flexing behind him as if to shield himself. "It's not that simple."

"Then make it simple," you snapped. "Because right now, it feels like you didn't tell me because you were planning to reject the bond. That you didn't want me—"

His voice cut through yours, low and rough like gravel. "Don't."

The single word silenced you, but only for a moment.

"Then tell me the truth, Azriel," you demanded, your tone breaking under the weight of the words. "Tell me why you didn't say anything. Was it because you didn't want me, or because you thought I didn't want you?"

That hit its mark. His jaw clenched, and he looked away, his wings shifting behind him as though he could fly away from the conversation. But he didn't. Instead, he took a step closer, the heat of his body suffocating.

"Love, please," he said, his voice tight with something raw and unspoken. "Do you know what it's like to see your mate and think, this is it—this is everything I've ever wanted—and to know they don't feel the same? To be terrified that if you tell them, they'll look at you like you're nothing?"

Your breath caught, the weight of his words crashing into you.

"Az."

"I didn't tell you," he continued, his voice quieter now, "because I didn't want to lose you before I even had you. I thought if I told you, it would scare you off. You'd think it was some obligation instead of a choice. And I couldn't risk that. I couldn't risk, us."

You blinked, the truth settling over you like a heavy blanket. He hadn't been withholding it because he didn't want you—he'd been scared. Scared of rejection. Scared of you walking away.

"Do you have any idea how hard it's been?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly. "To see you every day, to stand beside you, and know I couldn't tell you? That I had to act like you were just someone I trained?"

Your heart twisted at the vulnerability in his words, but the anger lingered, sharp and cutting.

"You still should've told me," you said, your voice soft but firm. "You should've given me the choice. You didn't get to decide that for me."

"I know." He looked at you then, and the regret in his eyes made your chest ache. "I know I should've told you. And I'll regret that for the rest of my life. But don't think, not even for a second, that I didn't want you."

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. He took a step closer, his golden eyes searching yours.

"You can hate me for not telling you," he said, his voice low and rough. "You can hate me for being a coward. But don't ever think I didn't want this. Don't think I didn't want you. Please."

You stood there, his words reverberating in your chest, threatening to undo the last thread of your composure. His golden eyes never left yours, the air between you charged with too much to name. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your breathing even as emotions warred within you.

Finally, you broke the silence. "You should've told me," you said softly, the edge in your voice dulling. "Because for all your talk of not forcing it, you didn't even consider that I might have wanted it too."

His eyes widened slightly, and you took a half-step closer, the tension between you pulling tight.

"I've felt, something," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper now. "For a while. I just figured it was a stupid crush, that I was imagining the lingering glances and the all too long touches." You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "But now I know."

His breath hitched, and for the first time, Azriel looked truly shaken. Vulnerable. Like he didn't know what to do with your words.

So you took the choice away and kissed him.

It was tentative at first, your lips brushing his with a softness that belied the storm building inside you. He froze for a heartbeat, and you thought maybe you'd miscalculated—but then his hands were on your waist, pulling you closer.

When you pulled back, your lips tingling, you raised a brow at the stunned expression on his face. "Kiss me like that again and I might just have to accept the bond," you teased, your tone light but laced with meaning.

"Oh, I'll do more than that." He replied with an easy smirk on his face and before you could muster a flustered reply he connected your lips again, harder this time, more desperate. His hands slid up your back, his wings stretching slightly as though the emotions were too much for him to contain. You gasped into him, his shadows curling around your legs as his lips claimed you fully, unapologetically.

The kiss stretched, time losing meaning as you melted into him. His tongue brushed against yours, his grip on you firm yet reverent, as if he couldn't decide whether to pull you closer or keep himself in check.

He kisses you like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to the world like you're the air he needs to breathe. His lips press against yours with fervent urgency, soft yet commanding, leaving no space for hesitation.

The warmth of his mouth sends a shiver racing down your spine, your senses overwhelmed by the feel of him—silken and deliberate, coaxing, drawing you in until everything else fades. His hands tighten at your waist, his fingers digging into your dress that rivaled the intensity of his kiss.

The world tilts, time seems to stall, and all you can feel is him—the taste of him, the way his body leans into yours as though he can't bear to be apart. Every brush of his lips, every slight tilt of his head, feels like an unspoken confession as if through this kiss alone, he's telling you everything he can't put into words.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. His lips were slightly swollen, his golden eyes darkened with something almost primal.

"What does this mean?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

You tilted your head, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "It means," you said, brushing a finger against his chest, "you're going to sit right there." You push him slightly, and he falls back onto the couch as if you struck him with an unrecoverable blow.

He blinked, clearly thrown off by the abrupt shift in your tone. "What?"

"Sit right there," you repeated, gesturing toward the couch. Then, turning on your heel, you made your way toward the kitchen without a backward glance.

He stared after you, confused as to where you were going during a moment like this.

The sound of pans clinking and spices mingling in the air brought him back to reality, though he still couldn't fully grasp what was happening. He'd faced centuries of war, unflinching in the face of death, yet now he sat there—utterly flustered.

An agonizing twenty minutes later, you returned with a tray, setting it down on the small table in front of him. The aroma was rich and comforting, a simple yet meaningful meal that made his chest tighten.

You placed the tray in front of him, your expression softer now, though the playful glint in your eye hadn't dimmed. "Eat, Azriel," you said, settling beside him. "You've earned it after all these years."

He stared at the plate for a moment, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Then he looked at you, his voice unsteady. "This... this is real, isn't it?"

You smiled, leaning down, pressing a kiss onto the corner of his lips just because you couch. "What do you think?"

Azriel didn't answer, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips as he picked up the fork. You watched as he took the first bite, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

The bond hummed between you, a quiet, unspoken promise. And as Azriel sat there, eating the food you'd prepared with shadows still swirling around your feet, you realized that this—this quiet moment—was the most eventful part of the night.

And for once, Azriel looked at ease. Flustered, yes. But undeniably yours. And soon, the frenzy would set in, and he'd show you exactly how much of him was yours, body and soul, mates.

Continued drabble here!

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weepingcoquette · 20 days ago

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Take It || Jungkook x reader

Summary: Why are you being so difficult?

Warnings: lowkey!toxic!jungkook, dub con, smut

Word Count: .7k

|*|

She whimpered, her face slamming against the pillows. She had the sheets gripped in her hands, while he pounded her out from behind relentlessly.

His thrusts were fast and deep, causing her to moan against her wishes. Jungkook watched her back muscles ripple as she attempted to get up from her positions and he was quick to slam her face back into the pillows.

“Nah, baby,” he sniffed. “You ‘gon take this dick and you ‘gon take it good.”

She squirmed and struggled, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation of his dick pounding against her most sensitive spots. But he was relentless, his animalistic hunger for her growing stronger with every thrust.

Her arms flailed trying to find the tatted man’s body, but she wasn’t going to, and she soon gave up.

“Yeah, you know who you belong to.”

He raised one knee and gripped her hips harshly, feeling his rings dig into the fat of her waist.

Her pussy clenched around him, her body betraying her resistance. He felt her muscles tighten, her juices flow, as she began to surrender to the ecstasy he was inflicting upon her. Jungkook rode her harder, his breath heavy and ragged, knowing that this was only the beginning.

“Always trying to fight me and shit. Well look where you are now baby,” he mocked sweetly, slapping her ass to see it jiggle.

Sweat dripped from his chin onto her body as he continued to prove just how much he needed her.

The sheets became tangled between them, a testament to the intensity of their union. He felt the familiar tightening of his own stomach, the anticipation of release building, and he knew that it wouldn't be long before he reached his end.

“All you have to do is stop fighting me, jagi,” he grunted out. “Let me show you how good I’ll treat you.”

As he continued to conquer her, he couldn't help but marvel at her body, the way it moved under him, the way it responded to him even if she didn’t want it to. The way her body was made for him. She truly was his. He just had to show her.

Jungkook leaned over her, his torso coming into contact with her back. His lips found her neck and he laid gentle pecks on it, laying one harsh one to the tattoo in the center of it. A symbol of their connection.

Her inhibitions began to lower; her sense of smell filled with his cologne and the scent of weed. She could feel the delicate scratches from his lip ring against her skin as he continued to kiss her.

Jungkook could feel her muscles begin to relax against him and he began to smirk into her skin, “You know you want this, baby. You know you need me. Let go. Let me take care of you, girl.”

His hands swept under her and torso and brought her body closer to his as he sat up. As she sat on the singer’s lap and as he continued to kiss her heated skin, she finally let herself succumb to the pleasure that he was giving her.

She began to ride him, hips moving at a soft, steady rhythm as she succumbed to the raw dominance he was bestowing upon her.

Jungkook smirked as he felt her surrender, his hand coming up to grip her neck, squeezing gently. She would never admit it, but in that moment, with Jungkook’s rings digging into her throat and his cock buried in her, she knew that she would never find anyone like him ever again. There was no one that could drive her crazy like he would, no one that would make her feel this good.

“Kook,” she whispered as if it hurt to even make a sound.

“There you go,” he cooed. “See how nice it is when you give in?”

His hips began to buck up into her, his grip loosening on her neck just a little. He loved getting her like this so needy and perfect, he just hated how much he had to do to get her there.

“Now, turn over and lay down,” he instructed firmly, sealing it with a kiss to her jawline. “Let me do what I do best: take care of you.”

|*|

A/n: feedback is welcomed!

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut

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zweetpea · 7 months ago

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Yandere batfam one shot/imagine thing

I'll probably make a part 2

You met Bruce while you were working as a waitress for a gala. It was a second job to pay rent. Maybe he brought Selina or some other girl or maybe he came alone.

Either way you two end up in a room together and end up sleeping together. Just as you’re pulling on your clothes he asks to see you again. He even offers you a check (let’s say it’s for 500k). You take the money promising to see him again but you don’t for about a year.

After a year of him searching every corner of Gotham he finally finds you. And surprise surprise you have a three month old baby girl.

He goes up to you and begs you to let him be in the baby’s life. After a few weeks of bribes (and him secretly stalking you) you finally make a deal with him. If he works from home he can take care of the baby during the day.

So you brought your baby to the Wayne Manor. You expected maybe a servant or maybe Bruce to answer the door. You were not expecting a young man to open the door. He had short shaggy black hair with an undercut and a K-pop hair style. He stared at you with his piercing blue eyes-

“Tim drake! That’s who you are! I used to love watching your let’s plays! I love your sense of humor!” Tim was surprised. Being the middle child (especially the middle boy) he often feels left behind by his siblings, so having someone notice his accomplishments for once felt nice.

“Drake. What are you looking-” a short boy came up behind the gamer. He had a darker complexion and slicked back black hair with piercing green eyes. You smiled at him and he straight up slammed the door in your and your baby’s face. Your eyes grew wide and your face fell into a scowl.

You heard shuffling from behind the door and when if opened you saw Tim holding the kid by the scruff of his collar as one would do with a misbehaving animal. “Sorry about that Miss.” Tim smiled at you. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I’m going to be late for work. Here give her to Bruce. Her name is Echo.” You give the baby to Tim. “Oh there you go. Support her head now.” You threw the bag in the small rude kids face. “Everything she needs is in there. I’ve left instructions inside for how to take care of her. If she doesn’t eat that much try tickling her tummy. I’ve labeled the extra bottles of her food so if she’s really hungry give her some and if it’s not enough call me I’ll get here as soon as I can. I don’t want her drinking any of that store bought crap. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Tim smiled.

“Good.” You ruffled his hair. Then you turned to the younger boy. “Be good to my baby ya hear? Or else I’ll milk papa Bruce for every penny I can.” You ruffled his hair too. You then kissed your baby and went back to your car.

Tim shut the door and immediately Echo started crying. Bruce and Alfred came running at the noise.

“No… I missed her.” Bruce said. He looked at his three youngest kids. “Hey sweetheart.” Bruce tried to grab Echo. But Tim held her close. Everyone looked at him surprised.

“Father why did that rude lady drop off a baby.” Damian scowled.

“She’s not rude. She’s your future Step Mother.” Bruce smiled at the thought of your and his wedding. “Now Tim, give my baby here. She’s crying.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no?” Bruce seemed flabbergasted.

“She trusted me to hold her child. This is my baby sister.”

“Drake! Give father the baby. She’s being loud.” Damian covered his ears. Echo looked over at him and made a grabby hand gesture at him.

“It looks like she wants Master Damian’s attention.” Alfred pointed out.

“but-” Tim was cut off as Damian took the baby.

Echo’s cries grew quiet as her youngest older sibling held her. While Tim’s obsession with You and Echo became apparent almost immediately, giving him the praise his own family and the Media refused to, Damian’s was slow. It started with someone (echo) actually liking him. After all he went from being showered in attention under Talia’s thumb to being practically ignored at Wayne Manor.

Dick was by far the kindest to Damian, being a mentor to the young boy. But he could still bite back at Damian’s snark. Barbara and Stephanie took none of his crap, to the point where they barely spoke to him. Cass and Duke held no qualms about fighting with a kid. Jason was like a cool big brother and while he wasn’t at the manor often he always made most of his time there focused on the kid. Tim and Damian had a very strained relationship. And while Bruce loves Damian there’s always a bit of strain, and guilt on Bruce’s part. If he’d stayed with Talia maybe Damian wouldn’t have to grow up in a cesspool of Violence and mental agony.

“Back to your old ways of not wearing protection father?” Damian smirked.

“Damian… give me my Daughter.” Bruce said gently but firmly.

“Its nice to know you fought for her more than you fought for me. Though to be fair to you Ummi did shove us together.” He snarked as he held the baby who’d fallen asleep. Bruce went to grab her but Damian stepped back. “Ah ta ta. You wouldn’t want to disturb her right?” Damian smirked.

Over the next few hours Damian was mainly the one taking care of Echo if only to stop her from crying.

And at the end of the day when you finally got off work to pick up your sweet baby you were surprised to see Bruce, Damian, and Tim all playing with her in the living room. (What was more surprising was that her attention was mainly focused on the brat from this morning Damian.) She cooed as she saw you and you rushed to pick her up and gather her things into her bag.

Damian glared at you as you took Echo from his borderline iron clad grip. Who were you to take his sister, his blood sister mind you, away form him? (Her mother but we're not going to get into that right now.)

"Sweetness how about you just slow down. I'll have Alfred prepare you a drink. Which kind of tea do you like more Earl Gray or Jasmine." Bruce smiled and twiddled a piece of your hair in his hand.

You smacked his hand away. "No thank you. My baby and I need to get home." You said and quickly hurried out of there.

"Father you can't let her leave!" Damian said.

"Yeah! Don't you want that nice lady to be your wife?" Tim agreed.

"I was talking about Echo." Damian deadpanned.

Bruce ruffled both their heads. "Patience boys. Have a little faith in your old man." He smiled as you walked away. Before the month was out he'd have you and echo safely tucked away in his arms in the deepest recesses of Wayne Manor.

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rainydayathogwarts · 14 days ago

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It's a date - harry potter

concussions and interruptions au summary: when harry and his parents see you in diagon alley, they are surprised to see the sudden change in behaviour you have at your parents' presence. but that won't stop harry from getting his kiss. wc: 1.4k+

Harry leaned his head on his hand, laughing softly as his mother told him a story, much to his father’s embarrassment. “She’s getting it completely wrong!” Argued James as Harry lifted up his butterbeer to his lips, eyes trailing to the side to watch people walk up and down the square, the wide streets of Diagon Alley giving him opportunity to people watch.

He was sat with his parents on a table on the side of the road, enjoying a drink from their favourite café, the summer sun shining down brightly on them. Harry closed his eyes softly as the rays of sun targeted him, and James immediate took the hat off his head to offer it to his son. Harry shook his head, thanking his father and urging Lily to continue her story.

But he suddenly wasn’t able to focus, because walking out of Ceridwen’s Cauldrons was the love of his life. Harry straightened up, a wide grin forming on his face as he saw you, but before he could call out your name, a tall woman walked out of the shop behind you, a stern look on her face as she walked side by side with you.

Harry slumped back, holding his tongue. The woman was unmistakably your mother. What you were wearing made sense now. Like every pureblood woman, you looked oddly comfortable in your elegant black dress that stopped below your knee and heels that were undeniably a challenge to walk in on the uneven stone. Lily and James followed their son’s eye line, frowning at the neutral look on your face; emotionless, matching that of just about every single pureblood.

They suddenly remembered when they’d stopped by the hospital wing after Harry had gotten himself injured in another quidditch game. You had a fond smile on your face, looking at the boy with mesmerised eyes, the love on your features indisputable. The girlfriend they were seeing now was not the same one they’d met at hogwarts, who stuttered when seeing them, a look of embarrassment on your face when your boyfriend had pulled you into a kiss in front of his parents.

Now, with a stoic expression on your face, you were unrecognisable. Your eyes flitted upwards at the feeling that you were being watched. You almost smiled when you saw Harry, feeling the corners of your lips tug upwards, but in practiced habit, you trained your lips to stay still. Neither Harry or his parents missed the way your eyes lit up with youthful excitement, but your head quickly snapped to the side to look at your mother who had been expecting a response from you.

Nodding, you watched as she took a left into the nearest shop, and instead of following her instructions to ‘wait here’, you hurried your steps down the lane, letting a beautiful smile blossom on your face.

Control yourself, you repeated in your mind, coming to a halt in front of the table. “Hi.” You spoke softly, greeting your boyfriend and his parents. “Am I allowed to give you a hug, or..?” You smiled apologetically at your boy, shaking your head slowly. “I’m sorry Harry, my family is everywhere.” Harry nodded, trying to suppress the sadness from appearing on his face, but you still saw the way it fleeted across his eyes.

“Mr. and Mrs. Potter.” You greeted, bowing your head down to them. James grinned at you, chuckling softly as he said hello. He was thrilled to find out you weren’t still humiliated from the kiss Harry had placed upon your lips in front of them. After all, it had been several months since they had met you for the first time.

You did an apprehensive look around, ensuring none of your family was around. Alas, a strong had was placed on your shoulder and you gasped, straightening your back impossibly further than it already was. “Why are you standing around in the middle of the street?” You father questioned with a strict, judgemental tone.

Lily frowned as the smile immediately dropped from your face, replaced by a look of fear. “I, um, I’m waiting for mother.” Your father scanned the area nearby, tilting his head in question when he didn’t spot his wife. “She’s in Shyverwretch's Venoms and Poisons.” You explained.

Your father hummed at your response, and you realised his gaze was occupied. You turned around, following his line of sight. He was staring directly at James Potter. “Potter.” Your father spat, receiving a scowl from your boyfriend’s father.

He yanked you away from the table and you stumbled towards him. Though he lowered his volume, Harry still heard him say “I have business in Knockturn Alley. Meet me with your mother by Esmerelda’s Bakery.”

You nodded obediently at your father, and he added “Don’t forget to tell her. I don’t need you making silly mistakes again.”

“Yes, father. I apologise for my mistakes.”

“Have you gone to your mother’s designer to discuss a dress for the Parkinsons’ ball?” You shook your head wordlessly. “I expect you to be done when I return.”

“How long-” But your father was already spinning on the balls of his feet and disappearing into the alleyway.

You cleared your throat, beginning to walk away when you felt a tug on your hand. You pulled your hand away from Harry’s hold, looking around to make sure no one had seen the small movement. “It’s fine.” You mumbled, giving him a small smile. “It was nice to see you.” You directed those words to Harry’s parents before you were on your way to find your mother again. Lily Potter tightened her grip around her husband's arm, a frown forming on her face. She glanced at Harry, reaching out to place a hand over one of his, his gaze stuck on where you disappeared into the shop.

Your mother was still busy in the shop, discussing something in a hushed tone with the worker. “Mother, should I go to the tailor? Get my measurements before she discusses the designs with us?” She dismissed you with a “Yes, go along dear.” And you were immediately rushing out of the shop, trying to shake off the embarrassment of Harry and his parents witnessing the exchange with your father.

You made a sharp turn into an empty alleyway, only stopping at the sharp call of your name. Harry was running towards you, panting softly. You took the opportunity to scan his outfit — something you hadn't had time for before. A light-washed pair of jeans and a plain green t-shirt. Smiling at him softly, you said in an ‘I told you so’ voice “I told you green suits you better.” “Yeah, that’s why mum got me this shirt. Said who do you want to impress other than your girlfriend.”

You chuckled lifting your hands up to Harry’s chest. He pushed you back against the wall of the alley and you gasped as he pressed his lips to yours, his nose nudging the side of yours. “I just really wanted to get that hug.” Harry explained, his arms snaking around your waist. You wrapped your arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

Pecking Harry’s lips softly, you mumbled “I’m sorry you had to see that with my father.” Harry’s hand came up to hold the side of your face. “No, I’m sorry sweetheart. That you have to deal with jerks like him.”

“Yeah, me too.” You glanced up at Harry, feeling yourself shrink under his watchful gaze. “Uh, can I get a last kiss before we let go?” Harry laughed as he leaned in, kissing you passionately for a few seconds before parting from you completely, arms falling to his sides. You sighed as he took a couple of steps back.

“So the Parkinsons’ ball. Do you have a date?” Questioned Harry, trying not to sound jealous. “Yeah,” You started, and Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had been joking. “I mean, Daphne asked me but so did Astoria.” Harry laughed whole-heartedly, putting a hand on his chest in relief. “It makes it kind of awkward too since they’re sisters. I don’t like playing people like that.”

You glanced down at your feet, twiddling with your fingers. “Um, how about the night of the ball, I ask my parents if I can sleep over at Daphne’s, but instead I come find you somewhere?”

“They’ll cover for you?”

You nodded at his question, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

“In that case, come over. You can change into something more comfortable at mine, and mum and dad would love to have you.”

“It’ll be late though.”

“It’s fine, they’ll probably be up with my uncles anyway.”

You nodded, a smile blossoming on your face. Your heart began racing at the rebellious plan.

“It’s a date then.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @hisparentsgallerryy, @liviessun, @rory-cakes, @heebiemcjeebies, @fl0weryannie, @muffinemmaa, @anne061989, @regsg18, @graciereads, @adharaoaklyn

#rainydayathogwarts #harry potter #hogwarts #marauders era #the marauders #jily microfic #jily #harry potter fluff #harry potter headcanon #harry potter x reader #harrypotter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter angst #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry x reader #harry x you #slytherin!reader

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onmyyan · 8 months ago

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Ain't no sunshine

Chapter 4

A/n: love this series, fem reader, yandere themes, platonic yandere Batfamily

Taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @starsdotalk @ghostdoodlen @nickey-diano @76lonelyspoons @m3vl0vesu @uknowimdumb

"What's this about Gordon?" Damian asks after arriving in the dining room, he was perplexed by her message, what on earth would they need to speak about you of all people?

"(Y/n) moved out." Barbara says biting the bullet.

There was a moment of silence as her words registered before chaos broke out.

"What do you mean moved out?" Dick asks putting down the bagel he was eating his eyes held disbelief, "I mean I just checked her room and she's gone." Barbara says making his stomach lurch.

"We missed her birthday." Tim speaks suddenly realizing, his mind working a mile a minute. Jason curses under his breath at the revelation, how could he be such an idiot?

"You're wrong she wouldn't leave like that." Dick shook his head, the thought of you simply disappearing sent a wave of deep-seated unease through the family, and something else, something much darker had been born in that moment within each of them.

"Alfred confirmed it." Barbara says softly trying not to upset Dick further than he was.

Cass stood still before signing, "How could we not have noticed?"

Damian having enough of the conversation pulled out his phone calling your number, only to be met with the same answer Barbara got when she tried, his brows furrowed as the automated voice told him the number was disconnected. "Her phone's off." He speaks a pit forming in his stomach,

The Manor was quieter than usual.

That's the first thing Bruce notices when he wakes up that morning, an almost empty quiet filled the halls as he went from his bedroom to the study, he couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly and this bothered him to no end.

Alfred stood diligently by the marble counter top waiting for Bruce's instructions, "Good morning Alfred."

"Master Bruce." Alfred greeted him simply, rather curt for the old man, and Bruce notices this immediately, his mind racing on what he could have done to upset the man. "Is something wrong Alfred?"

"To be the world's greatest detective you can be incredibly dense." Alfred served him his coffee without another word and made Bruce feel like a child being scolded for something.

It wasn't until he walked by your room did his senses go off, it was much too quiet in there, knocking softly he found the door opening from the slightest touch. Alarm bells immediately start going off at just how empty it is, how void of life. He rushed downstairs, searching for Alfred to question him, when he saw his whole family gathered in the dining room.

They stare at him, all with that deer in a headlight look, "What?" He asks knowing something was up.

"(Y/n)'s gone." Dick speaks up, biting at his thumb, "And we missed her birthday." Jason adds on his guilt making his shoulders slump inward.

Bruce looks over to Alfred as if to confirm what he was told, the older man simply nods.

Meanwhile on the other side of Gotham, you're completely unaware of the chaos your absence is causing. Too busy enjoying your new life.

Bruce went to the cave immediately, checking the cameras for your form, he searched through a week of footage before he saw your graceful exit from the manor. A week. A fucking week you'd been gone and your own father hadn't noticed.

Bruce had felt like a true failure only a handful of times in his life, losing Jason, and now, you.

Only this time there was no Joker to blame, it was him. His fault his daughter felt the need to disappear without so much as a goodbye. The years of ignoring your presence simply because you were his 'easy child' the one he never had to worry about, the one who never made waves, come crashing down upon him, he rests his head on his hands, eyes never leaving the screen. "What have I done?" He speaks lowly, mind reeling from the shame of his inaction.

His blue eyes hardened at the sight of you on the screen, he could fix this, couldn't he? He just needed a second chance, he'd show you the love you deserved, the nurturing you needed, he didn't care that you were a legal adult now, (he winces at the thought of forgetting such an important birthday, he'd throw you the party of all parties once he got you home, he swore it.) you were his daughter, his youngest daughter, and you needed him no matter what you thought.

Dick Grayson prided himself on many things, one of which being his bond with his family, so to be faced with the reality that he wasn't the best big brother around, kind of shatters him. He refused to accept the fact that his, along with everyone else's actions, lead to your choice to abandon them, instead he reasoned, you were feeling rebellious, youthful energy and all that, he was sure once you got this out of your system you'd be right back where you belonged. Where he could keep an eye on you, a proper eye this time.

Jason fumes silent, pacing the kitchen, he feels like a cat is clawing at his skin from the inside, unable to do anything with his pent up frustration he grips the counter top hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. He hated himself right now, hated how garbage he felt, you were only eighteen, all on your lonesome in a city like Gotham? It was enough to set the hairs on his neck on edge.

Tim was busy on his tablet, he was already searching the city's CCTV cameras for any trace of you, his fingers working so fast they cramped, sweat drips down his brow as he searched, unable to tear himself away from his task. He felt maybe just maybe if he found you, he could begin to make up for how shitty he'd treated you, begin to open up to you in the way you'd always wanted. He needed to find you, and based on the usually composed family's obvious panic, it needed to be fast.

Barbara busied herself with rummaging through your empty room for anything she could use to find you, if she just had the chance to explain herself, she's sure you'd understand, sure you'd look at her with that expression you had when you were younger, like she was your personal hero.

Cassandra finds herself staring out at the distant view of Gotham, her hands twitching at her sides as she struggles not to take action, sure she didn't have a bond with you like she did with the others but she still cared for you, from a distance, she felt it was safer as you were the only civilian in the family. A choice she thinks now was a mistake. Maybe if she'd let her walls down a little more, you'd have confided in her instead of leaving.

Damian, in his rage, wasted no time heading to the cave to suit up, there he found his Father, still leaning over the computer table. "What are you doing?" Bruce asks barley looking away from the screen. "What do you think? Going to find that idiot before she gets herself killed." He seethes yanking on his tactical gloves.

"Damian -"

"How dare she leave us- we are a family." He spits the word out like it's a curse, "You don't leave your family." He reiterates slamming his hands into the table holding various gadgets. "I'm going to find that fool and drag her back here." He promised.

"Just hold on for a moment." Bruce stands walking over to his son to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "We have no idea where she is, let us do some recon. Tim will find her address in no time, if she's still in Gotham we'll find her within the week."

Damian hesitantly agreed to his father's reasoning.

It takes them a week to find you, you were very good at hiding your tracks, using only cash, staying in shady areas because they weren't monitored, it's only when you post a selfie with some new friends do they lock your location down.

Tim took five minutes to himself to stare at the photo before alerting the family, he found it after all, he felt entitled to it, to the joy on your face, the other people in the picture made it easier to find you, first he found their names, then their addresses and used that along with the small bits of background he could see to triangulate your new address.

He'd never seen that look on your face, it was a casual cocky sort of grin, one that said you were genuinely enjoying yourself. He couldn't fathom how you were so happy without them, it sort of hurt his feelings, but at the same time he needed to see more of that smile, see what other expressions you made, he'd only ever seen that sad dejected look on your face, he huffs to himself, saving the picture for himself before sending the info to the group chat.

Bruce decided to let one of his kids do the interacting with you, feeling too ashamed to face you yet, he sends Dick, knowing you once looked up to him.

You're three hours into a horror movie marathon, courtesy of the box TV you stole off the back of a moving truck, when someone knocks at your door.

You don't pause the movie, using it as cover to tip toe towards the door, sure it was still early in the night, but everything was dangerous in Gotham.

You don't say a word, sneakily looking through the grimey peephole all you can make out is a tall dark haired man.

He knocks again causing you to flinch. Swiping knife out the drawer, you hide it behind your back before swinging open the door expecting the people you'd stolen the TV from or maybe one of the thugs you'd beaten black and blue, not Dick Grayson.

"Hey little bird." He greets like an old time friend, not the man who'd ignored you your entire relationship.

"How the fuck- what are you doing here?" You sigh revealing the knife as you rest your hand on your hip, exasperated by his mere presence. He eyes the knife before laughing, "I like the energy, good call living in this neighborhood." He invites himself inside, scrutinizing your apartment, a deep sigh leaving his lips, "You shouldn't be living like this-"

"Hold the fuck on." You point the knife at him accusingly, "You didn't know I existed a week ago, now you barge into my home," you emphasize with another point, "shit all over it and start lecturing me about how I should live?" You stare at him like he's grown another head before laughing, he friend stepping closer, "I'm ...I'm sorry, I know I forgot your birthday - we forgot, but you didn't need to run away-"

"I didn't run from shit." Crossing your arms, "I'm an adult, I moved out." You say pointedly.

"Be that as it may- you should have said something, do you have any idea how worried we've been?" He pleads, brows furrowed, "I know you're mad, you've every right to be, but this isn't safe." He gestures to your apartment. "I walked past a drug deal on the way up here ya know." He chides like he's scolding s child.

"Come back to the manor." He says softly, stepping closer once more, until he could touch your shoulder, "no need to leave the nest so soon." You stare at his hand, then him, before pointing the knife at him, your hand steady,

"Get the fuck outta my house."

Dick leaves reluctantly, he was determined to bring you home, thought you'd jump in his arms for a hug once he showed up, but you didn't, you looked at him with disgust, anger, and a hint of fear, he hated it. He wanted you to look up at him like the big brother he was, not like your enemy.

You're panting after the encounter, knife clattering to the ground, you follow shortly after, collapsing as your mind tried to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

It was a storm, so you latched on to the one feeling that would anchor you, rage.

You don't sleep that night. And it's a good thing because Damian is breaking through your window lock like it was the easiest thing, he enters your home, face deadset in a glare. "You left the manor for this shit hole?" He almost laughs, his hand on his sword makes you incredibly nervous. "What's it matter to you? Thought you'd be thrilled." You roll your eyes, too exhausted to deal with another one of them in such a short time period.

"You've disrupted the natural flow in the manor with this little stunt." He seethes, "I'm going to restore it." He states as if speaking a fact. "How prey tell do you intend on doing that, you massive twat?" He simply smirks before looking behind you, you turn around and see Jason leaning against the wall, his red hood mask on, obstructing his facial expression, making him all the more unnerving.

"You're a long way from home." Jason says kicking off the wall, moving to hover behind you, "Why are you here?! Okay I'm officially over this reunion, out." You point to the window they entered from.

"Oh we're leaving, just not without you." Jason chimes up his hand hovering over his guns, fingers twitching.

To your defense, you did try and run, but it was no use, they were on you faster than you could process, a sweet smelling cloth is pressed to your mouth, and as much as you fight it, eventually you need to breathe, it takes one good inhale for the chloroform to kick in, you slump in someone's hold you're unsure of which one and your world fades to black.

#yandere dc imagine #yandere dc #yandere #various yandere x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #aint no sunshine

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chiisanajimi · 2 months ago

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woe, sonic fankid be upon ye 💥

introducing starlight the hedgehog!

they're a son/silv/shad fankid essentially LOL

text from the image says:

- being of chaos produced from residual energy left by sonic, shadow, and silver when they use chaos powers - like when u fry something in oil and some bits come off... or like when u boil pasta and the water gets starchy... - the bits eventually merged their shared qualities to form this artificial hedgehog and dropped it in front of silver while he was mid-transition between timelines/dimensions

tl;dr made from Energy Soup created by extensive use of chaos emeralds. a cheerful thing with lots to learn :)

pronouns are probs gonna change but for now it's she/he/they (or basically, generally feminine but prefers masc/neutral terms)

sexuality hcs for dads // parenting habits // dad interactions // living situation // domestic stuff // baby go to school // aged up // gardening with silver // silver sense

fun facts:

the quills sticking up is not consistent cuz it depends on how much he gives a shit about looking clean-cut on any given day

silver only really used the emeralds in '06 and that one time in the metal virus arc of IDW (if he's used them more than that don't spoil me on it LOL im still getting through the comics) so his influence is not as strong as the other 2. it comes through mostly in personality (generally pleasant, socially inept)

starlight exists in strict juxtaposition against the other hedgehogs because unlike all 3 of them they literally were created for no purpose other than to exist. hence she has a weaker sense of self than silver or shadow and especially sonic. it's fun to think of them raising a kid and having to manually instruct them how to enjoy living

hypothetically has access to chaos powers like her "dads" but since chaos energy is also literally her molecular makeup she basically falls apart if she uses it too much, hence the inhibitors

also i say "dads" but the only one of the 3 who really acts parental towards them is shadow (more on that later)

#me.png #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #silver the hedgehog #sonic fankid #sonic oc #oc stuff #uhhh #idk what else i should tag #well who's gonna see this anyway LOL #more coming soon bc i'm very extremely normal #starlight the hedgehog #also to the other “starlight the hedgehog” that almost certainly exists already: hi! hope you're well!#embarrassing but fuck i do be drawing her most of the time these days #you can ask me more about them to help me flesh them out if you want. if you're. amenable to such an arrangement. if you're cool like that #if you're hip with it #starlight au

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cressidagrey · 5 days ago

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Building Blocks

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: How to parent a genius: A guide by Oscar Piastri.

Notes: Because I felt like it was very mean to just give you "half" a new piece of writing, with an edited version, here you have some fluff!

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar had long since accepted that he was raising a genius.

It wasn’t the kind of genius that screamed for attention or rattled off multiplication tables at age two (though she could, and did, if she was annoyed enough). No, Bee’s genius was different—patient, precise, methodical in a way that sometimes made Oscar forget she was still learning how to tie her shoes consistently.

At the moment, she was halfway through assembling the LEGO® Technic Ferrari Daytona SP3—3,778 pieces, ages 18+, and she was building it upside down just for fun.

Oscar had found it complicated enough to need a YouTube tutorial and was now trying to attach one very specific connector piece. It was not going well.

“Papa,” Bee said gently, not even looking up from her own section, “that axle doesn’t go there. It’s a two-length, and you’re using a three. That’s why the gearbox won’t sit flat.”

Oscar blinked. “How do you see that?”

She shrugged. “I counted the ridges.”

Of course she had.

He changed the piece, and—miraculously—it clicked into place.

They were seated on the living room rug, surrounded by plastic trays of sorted bricks and half-finished subassemblies.

Oscar had tried giving her a kid’s set once this year. Something with animals. She’d built it in seven minutes, asked him if it was a prank, and requested the Lamborghini Sián FKP 37 next.

He looked at her now—curled over her build instructions, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration, tiny fingers moving with frightening efficiency—and wondered, not for the first time:

How do you race a kid like this?

Not race in the literal sense.

Race in the life sense.

How do you raise someone who could probably code her way into a Mars rover before she loses her first tooth?

How do you parent brilliance?

Oscar loved her completely. That part was easy.

But raising her… it sometimes felt like trying to build IKEA furniture with the instructions written in Latin while she translated them into quantum theory beside you.

When Bee was two, he’d brought home a simple Lego castle. The 5+ kind. Pink turrets. Smiling bricks. It had taken her twenty-four minutes. No instructions. One correction.

They moved to the 10+ sets after that. Then 12+. 16+.

Now they didn’t bother with age labels. If it didn’t come with multiple gear assemblies and at least two bags of axles, she got bored.

He leaned back, stretching out his legs as she sorted bricks with the focus of someone solving a global crisis. Her curls were pulled back in a lopsided ponytail, and she was humming to herself—some hybrid of Beethoven and the Paw Patrol theme. A mix of classical and chaos. Just like her.

And Oscar found himself smiling.

“Do you think you’ll want to build real cars one day?”

Bee paused. Thought. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll restore cars like Mama does. I like knowing why something works. Why people make the choices they do.” She looked up at him. “I like your choices.”

Oscar’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“You do?”

She nodded. “You always come home. Even when you go far.”

He swallowed.

Bee smiled, then reached for another piece, her tiny hands precise. “Mama said you have to go race soon.”

“Yeah. In Japan.”

She nodded. “Don’t forget my shirt.”

Oscar smiled, eyes crinkling. “Never.”

They worked in silence for a while. The only sounds were the click of Lego pieces and the distant hum of the dishwasher.

Oscar watched her move—steady, focused, brilliant. She didn’t fidget. Didn’t question herself. She just knew what she wanted to build and made it happen.

He was raising a genius.

And not just the kind with facts in her head—though there were plenty. She had empathy. Precision. Curiosity.

And she scared the hell out of him.

In the best way.

The thing was, Bee wasn’t just smart. Lots of kids were smart. Bee was something else entirely. Curious in a way that never stopped. Observant in ways that made you feel like she could see under your skin if she tilted her head right.

She didn’t just memorize—she understood.

She asked how DRS worked when she was two and followed up with, “But doesn’t that affect battery deployment?”

She once looked at telemetry on Oscar’s laptop and said, “Why are you lifting before Turn 9 now?” and then told him why when he didn’t answer fast enough.

And somehow, she still wanted him to sit beside her while she built things. Still curled up under his arm during movie night. Still called him Papa like it was magic.

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, watching her snap together a section of bricks like she'd been born doing it.

“How’d you get so smart?” he asked softly.

Bee didn’t even pause. “Because you and Mama never make me feel weird for asking questions.”

Oscar blinked. His throat tightened.

“You don’t get mad when I want to read the building manual instead of the storybook,” she continued, turning the model gently to check the incline. “And Mama says it’s okay to love logic and glitter.”

Oscar nodded slowly, words caught somewhere between pride and awe.

He watched her now, slotting in a gear mechanism with tiny fingers and utter focus, her brow furrowed like a seasoned engineer.

How do you raise a kid who’s already looking three steps ahead?

Who watches a race and times pit stops with a stopwatch app she downloaded herself?

Who reads two books a week and corrects the science in children's cartoons?

You don’t try to match her, Oscar thought.

You just show up.

You sit on the floor and sort the bricks. You listen when she talks about dolphins and binary code in the same breath. You answer every question, no matter how bizarre. You fold the shirts. You build the drawer. You take her seriously, because she always takes you seriously.

“Papa?”

Oscar looked up. “Yeah?”

Bee held up a completed axle assembly, expression bright. “Do you want to click this piece into place?”

He smiled. “Will you judge me if I get it wrong again?”

“Only a little.”

“Deal.”

He snapped the piece in. She double-checked it, nodded solemnly, and handed him the next one.

Oscar didn’t know how to raise a genius.

But he was learning how to build with one.

Moment by moment.

Brick by brick.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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gigiwritess · 21 days ago

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LIKE THE STAR? BRIGHTER.

dr. jack abbott x f!resident!reader "vega" aka "wildcard"

wc: 2,205 synopsis: just another normal day at the pitt—except it's not. for the first time in a long time, jack might have found an equal in every sense. tl;dr: dr. abbott meets a new resident for the first time.

contents: 20-year age gap (vega is 26, jack is 46), usual pitt dynamics. probably lots of medical inaccuracies that im not gonna apologize for. very quick mentions of mental health issues. this is totally self-inserted and vega is totally based in lots of aspects of myself. gonna probably update this list when i have more creativity.

gigi's note: this man and the pitt have been consuming my every waking thought so of course it culminated in the fastest fic i've ever written. i have a whole little series planned for these two, but im gonna try to write at least some of them in a manner where you dont necessarily need to read the others. read the end notes for more info!!! enjoy!!!!

PLAYLIST | NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST

It had already become a habit—more often than not, Jack’s days off ended up being spent at the Pitt. Not that he minded; the Pitt’s chaos was better than the chaos inside his head that ran free when he was alone at home. At home, the silence was suffocating—he had too much time to think. Here, every beep and shout gave him a reason not to listen to the thoughts clawing at the inside of his skull. Here, he knew exactly what he was doing. And he was damn good at it.

To Vega, being in the Pitt made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt. She didn’t mind the chaos—she thrived in it. Being surrounded by it sharpened her focus, made everything else—the endless voice in her head, the black monster inside her chest threatening day by day to swallow her whole—fade into nothing but background static.

Today was no different. The Pitt was, like usual, a chaotic hellscape; machines humming, monitors beeping, medical staff shouting orders, the scent of antiseptic filling everyone’s nostrils. The kind of place that felt both alive and dead at the same time. Jack had just arrived after a few hours of sleep after his night shift, clutching a cup of coffee in his hand, when he first spotted her across the ER in trauma two—a woman who didn’t seem to belong here, but did. Jack had barely any time to take a proper look at her before she was on the move again.

She moved fast, braid whipping against her back as she called for suction, adjusting doses, her hands slick with blood. The Pitt demanded everything and she gladly gave it. Without hesitation, without pause. It was what she lived for.

“Push another 20 of epi. I need suction—no, hold it, go with 50 cc,” she called out, her voice cutting through the chaos as she worked. Controlled. Sharp. The team moved, almost grateful for the authority in her voice. She didn’t miss the way Santos’ hands trembled, or how Whitaker clung to her words like a lifeline.

Jack hadn’t seen her before—not that he was keeping track; new faces came and went. But something about this one made him look twice. He caught sight of her again—tall, dark hair, sharp, moving fast between patients. She was a calm center, a fixed point in the storm. She worked with precision, her hands a blur as she gave orders, her focus unwavering as she moved around and directed the team with an ease that made it look effortless, a mixture of experienced residents and interns following her every instruction without hesitation. She moved around the room like she owned it. She was focused.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked, voice neutral.

“That is my star resident,” Robby said with a hint of amusement in his voice, noticing his curious gaze. “Wildcard.”

Then, still working on the patient, she felt it. His stare. She was used to people’s eyes on her all the time in this place—curious glances, usually directed at her tattoos whenever they poked out; interns sizing her up, sometimes with grudging respect, sometimes openly doubting her abilities to handle the weight of the Pitt. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t the usual ER gawkers or old surgeons with smug superiority. This was different. Something else.

Jack raised an eyebrow. He had seen his fair share of capable residents, but something about the way she moved—almost like she was born for this—caught his attention. She was completely in her element, cutting through the chaos with a level of focus that suggested she’d been there before. Not that Jack expected anything less, but there was something about her that piqued his interest.

She felt the weight of his gaze, analyzing, unapologetic. She recognized that old, instinctive prickle at the back of her neck—the kind of awareness she only felt around people who could do damage. Not the loud, blustering types, no. The quiet ones. The wolves pretending to be men.

But she was no sheep.

Vega didn’t look up, focused solely on the person in front of her. She let him look. Let him think he was unnoticed, but she felt the scrape of it against her nerves.

“Wildcard?” Jack asked, nodding toward the scene, his tone cool but intrigued.

Robby grinned, stepping back slightly to give Jack a better view. “Yeah. Earned it on her first shift. Handled a mass casualty like it was nothing. Nerves of steel.”

Jack didn’t reply. Instead, he just watched her as she worked. There was a quiet intensity to the way she moved. She wasn’t loud or flashy, didn’t seek attention; instead, she commanded the room with a quiet authority, in a way that spoke volumes about her ability to take charge when things went south. It was a quality Jack respected, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it out loud. She wasn’t just surviving in the chaos—she was thriving in it. Something he did, too.

When the patient was finally stable, able to wait for the OR, Robby called her name. She peeled the paper gown off and turned towards them, tugging off the gloves with a sharp pull, and met Jack’s gaze head-on.

“Wildcard,” Robby said, “this is Dr. Jack Abbott. Jack, this is Dr. Vega, also known as Wildcard.”

She barely heard his voice—she already knew who he was.

Dr. Jack Abbott. The ER’s storm cloud, a man with a reputation for being as sharp as he was reckless. She’d heard plenty—everyone had. Stories traded in break rooms, warnings half-uttered with a mixture of respect and almost fear. A doctor built out of sharp things and bad habits, all jagged edges and rough temper. A man people either followed or avoided. And now here he was, giving her that look like he was trying to decide if she was worth his time.

Their gazes locked—not an awkward glance. She didn’t look away as most people did when meeting him for the first time, usually too nervous to look him in the eye. No. There was a beat of silence, a brief exchange of recognition, as if both of them could feel something shift in the air between them. Subtle, but undeniable. She sized him up in a fraction of a second, eyes sharp and unreadable, but he knew what that look was. For the first time in months, Jack felt something in his chest unclench, some flicker of recognition that made the blood in his veins hum with something dangerously close to life.

None of the stories she’d heard did him justice. He wasn’t the washed-up, better-than-everyone asshole she expected. For a second, the ER didn’t exist; the screaming monitors, the sharp tang of blood and bleach—gone. It was just him. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, slight tilt of his head, the heavy kind of presence you could feel in your teeth. The way he looked at her—not polite, not exactly curious. He looked at her like a man who was curious to see what would happen if he pushed. Good. She was tired of polite. She was tired of fake pleasantries.

She looked younger than he expected. But there was something else in her eyes that made her feel older than she probably was. Experienced.

Her lips twitched—barely a smile, but the kind that dared him to make the first move.

“Dr. Vega.” His voice was low, neutral, but her stomach did a dangerous twist.

There was a familiarity in the way he looked at her—not exactly recognition, but that kind of animal instinct of like recognizes like. The people who knew what it was to thrive in the places others avoided. The people who thrived in the chaos.

She couldn’t help the slight curve of her mouth, barely there, but enough to be noticed by him.

“Heard things about you, Dr. Abbott,” she said, her voice even, threading a fine line between professional and personal. “Thought you’d be scarier.”

Her words were like a soft challenge, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and it was Jack’s time to quirk an eyebrow, his eyes darkening, a flicker of something dangerous and amused sliding into place. Was she mocking him? Or was she just testing the waters? He couldn’t quite decide.

Jack tilted his head slightly, a slow, crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She met his eyes head-on, unblinking. No one held her gaze for long—too sharp, too cold—but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze dropped, assessing. Not leering. Calculating. Like a predator working out if she was worth the risk.

“Stick around, Doc,” he replied. “You’ll get there.”

Oh, she fucking liked that.

Robby snorted, glancing between them with an amused look in his eyes. Jack wasn’t the type to be rattled easily, but there was a palpable tension now between the two of them, something that felt familiar yet almost… uncomfortable. Different. Jack didn’t show it, of course, but Robby knew him better than everyone.

Vega had had a lot of first meetings since walking into this ER not more than four weeks ago. Most were forgettable, most faded by the next shift. But there was weight to this one. The air around them felt tight, stretched thin in a way she recognized from old fights and late-night emergencies. The kind of moment where you either stepped up or stepped aside, where you either fought the wave headfirst or let it wash over you, carry you with it.

“How’s day shift treating you?” Abbott asked, and Robby’s eyebrow went up, already seeing where Jack’s head was going.

Vega realized—these two men knew each other better than everyone else.

“The coffee could be better,” she replied, finishing what she was typing on the computer.

Jack’s lips quirked, a flicker of dry amusement in his otherwise unreadable expression. “Night shift coffee’s better,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup, the steam rising from it like he was making a point of something, just for her.

Robby’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched the interaction with newfound interest, like a new TV show that was starting to catch his attention. He shook his head. “Don’t you even think about stealing her from me, Abbott.”

Jack’s eyes found hers again, and neither looked away. “Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But the way he said it—quiet, edged—suggested otherwise.

Robby drifted off to take care of another matter, and she half-expected him to do the same, say something smug or look away. He didn’t. Neither did she. She raised her eyebrows and smirked at him, almost as if she was daring him to do something about it.

“You’re welcome to try, Dr. Abbott,” Vega said, her voice smooth, low, carrying a spark of challenge that showed itself in the way his jaw tightened slightly.

It was brief, but it was there. The smallest tell that he was just a little thrown by her, caught off guard. She liked that. She liked that a lot. Probably more than she should’ve.

He wasn’t used to being challenged quite like that. There was something about her—something too familiar in the way she carried herself that made him pause, that made him stop in his tracks.

“Noted,” he replied, five simple letters carrying more weight than normal. It felt like a promise. Or a threat—she couldn’t tell.

Both excited her, both made her heart skip a beat and made her skin prickle with something she couldn’t decipher yet. The air between them tightened, thickened. That kind of electric stillness you only get before a bad decision—the kind you’d make twice just to feel something. The kind she was built for.

He held her gaze, and she held his, never once faltering, up until she turned her back to see another patient. Jack was rattled—it’d been a while since someone managed to do that. She pulled a chart off the rack and moved on to the next patient with effortless grace. As he stared at her back, he felt an inexplicable pull, one he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel. For the first time in a long time, something in Jack’s chest pulled tight. Not enough to show, but enough for him to feel it.

Even as she walked away, she still felt it—a tug in her chest, his gaze burning between her shoulder blades, the awareness of his eyes on her as she crossed the room.

Jack didn’t move. Not yet. As she was about to disappear behind a curtain, his voice called after her.

“Vega,” he said.

Not Wildcard. Not yet. He said her name like a question. Or a challenge—she couldn’t decide. She paused. A beat. Half a heartbeat. Let the silence hang there, heavy and thick and hungry. Then she turned her head, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Like the star?” he asked, voice low, rough, unreadable, his eyes full of things she couldn’t decipher.

For the first time since clocking in that morning, a real smile spread across her face.

“Brighter,” she said softly and went back on her way.

She didn’t need to look back to know he was still watching her.

Good.

gigi's note: PLEASE tell me your opinions on this and what you think of the series!!!! the future pieces are gonna dive deep into vega's mental issues (which are my own). not gonna be exactly a slow burn because i hate slow burns, i just prefer the burning head-on lol comments and reblogs are most welcome!!!

my inbox is always open and i would loooooooove to yap about this man. xoxo <3

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inseobts · 2 months ago

Note

heyyy! so i loved the monster trio reacting to pregnancy so would you be able to make one with reader going into labor? thank you!!

🫵 into Labor

after the pregnancy let's see their reaction to you going into labor?

a/n: sorry if it's not accurate, I never gave birth to anything and pregnancy actually scares me lmao

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji

words count: around 1.0k - 1.4k each

next part: 🫵 made him a dad

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The sun hangs high over the Thousand Sunny, casting shimmering reflections on the vast expanse of the sea. The crew bustles about, each member attending to their duties, laughter and chatter filling the air.

You stand by the railing, one hand resting gently on your swollen belly, the other gripping the wooden edge for support. A sudden, sharp pain courses through your abdomen, forcing you to gasp and double over. Sweat beads on your forehead as you try to steady your breathing.

The time has come. Your baby is ready to enter the world.

“Luffy!” you call out, your voice strained.

Luffy, perched atop the figurehead munching on a piece of meat, immediately perks up. His eyes widen when he notices your condition.

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

In an instant, he stretches his arm, grabs onto the mast, and propels himself to your side “Are you okay?”

You manage a weak smile, clutching his hand tightly “I think… the baby’s coming.”

Panic flashes across Luffy’s face... a rare sight. He turns toward the rest of the crew, his voice louder than necessary.

“Chopper! Robin! We need help!”

Chopper, who has been sorting his medical supplies, immediately drops everything and dashes toward you, shifting into his larger form for better support. Robin follows closely, her usual calm demeanor bringing a sense of reassurance to the growing chaos.

“We need to get her to the infirmary—now!” Chopper orders, already assessing you with a critical eye “Luffy, carry her gently.”

Luffy doesn’t hesitate. He scoops you into his arms as if you weigh nothing, holding you with the utmost care. His grip is firm but gentle, his face tense with concentration, so unlike his usual carefree self.

The crew watches in silent worry as Luffy carries you inside. Nami follows closely, her lips pressed into a thin line, while Sanji and Usopp exchange nervous glances. Even Zoro, usually indifferent to most things, watches with unspoken concern.

Inside the infirmary, Chopper rushes to prepare the necessary equipment, while Robin helps set up a comfortable space for you. Luffy kneels beside you, still holding your hand, his thumb gently rubbing circles against your skin.

“You’re strong,” he murmurs, his voice softer than usual “We’ve been through way worse. You got this.”

A sharp contraction cuts through your body, making you squeeze his hand with all your strength. Luffy winces but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in closer.

“Okay, okay! Breathe!” he urges, panicking slightly before mimicking exaggerated breaths “Like this! Hooo—haaa! Hooo—haaa!”

Despite the pain, you let out a breathless laugh “Luffy, I know how to breathe.”

Chopper, now fully in doctor mode, glances up “It’s progressing fast. We don’t have much time.” He turns to Luffy “You have to stay calm. She’s going to need you.”

Luffy swallows hard and nods. His grip on your hand tightens as he plants a determined kiss on your knuckles “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hours pass in a blur of pain and determination. The contractions come faster, each one hitting like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for air. Chopper stays focused, giving you instructions and encouragement, while Robin remains steady by your side, helping when needed.

Luffy never lets go of your hand. Every time a contraction rips through you, he flinches like he feels it too, his brows furrowed in deep concentration. Sweat clings to his forehead, but he doesn’t wipe it away. His entire world is you and the baby.

“You’re doing great,” he reassures you, voice softer than usual “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Another contraction hits, and you cry out, squeezing his hand hard enough that even his rubbery skin stretches unnaturally. He winces but only grins through the pain.

“Damn, you’re strong,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood “Are you sure our kid’s not gonna come out with haki already?”

You let out a weak laugh between ragged breaths “If they do… it’s your fault.”

Chopper suddenly straightens, ears twitching with excitement “It’s almost time! Just a little more—one big push!”

Luffy tenses beside you, practically vibrating with anticipation. His grip on your hand tightens “You got this! Just one more!”

With every ounce of strength left in your body, you give one final push and then, suddenly, the room is filled with the sharp, piercing cry of a newborn.

Everything else fades. The pain, the exhaustion, the tension in the room all melts away as you hear your baby’s first cry.

Chopper gently catches the tiny, wriggling life in his hands, his face lighting up with joy “It’s a healthy baby girl!”

Luffy’s jaw drops. His eyes are wide, glistening with unspoken emotion “Wait… that’s our kid?” His voice is barely above a whisper, filled with awe.

Chopper carefully wraps the baby in a soft blanket before placing them in your arms. Your heart clenches as you look down at the tiny, perfect face, so small, so fragile, and yet so full of life.

Tears well in your eyes “Luffy… we did it.”

Luffy leans in, staring at the baby like they hold the entire universe in their little hands. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reaches out and gently pokes their tiny cheek with his rubbery finger.

“She's so small…” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

The baby lets out a tiny noise, squirming slightly, and Luffy grins, his eyes shimmering “Hey there, little one. Welcome to the crew.”

The door bursts open as the rest of the crew piles in. Nami wipes at her eyes, pretending not to be crying, while Sanji immediately offers to cook a feast in celebration. Franky wipes an exaggerated tear, calling the moment “SUPER emotional”. Even Zoro, who normally avoids sentimental moments, gives an approving nod.

“What’s her name?” Usopp asks eagerly.

Luffy looks at you, a grin spreading across his face “How about… Dawn? ‘Cause they’re the start of something new.” (Sorry for the random name, I didn’t know how to put it)

You smile, looking down at your baby, your child, your future “Dawn,” you whisper “I love it.”

The crew erupts in cheers, the room filling with laughter and celebration. And in that moment, surrounded by your family, you know, no matter what the seas bring, as long as you have Luffy and the crew, everything will be okay.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The sun is just beginning to set over the ocean, casting a golden glow over the Thousand Sunny. The waves rock the ship gently, the rhythmic motion usually comforting, but not today.

You grip the infirmary bed tightly, a sharp pain tearing through your body. A cry escapes your lips, sweat dripping down your temple. The baby is coming.

Zoro stands by your side, his jaw clenched, hands balled into fists. He’s faced enemies stronger than mountains, but nothing has ever made him this nervous.

“Breathe,” he mutters, voice gruff but laced with concern. His calloused hand finds yours, gripping it tightly “You’re strong. You got this.”

Another contraction crashes over you like a tidal wave, and you squeeze his hand hard enough that a lesser man would break. Zoro barely flinches. Instead, he moves closer, letting you use him as an anchor.

Chopper scrambles around the room, gathering supplies “It’s happening fast! We have to be ready!”

Robin, ever calm, wipes your forehead with a damp cloth “Just focus on your breathing” she soothes.

Zoro stays silent, but his grip on you never wavers. His usual stoic expression is gone, replaced with something intense, determination, worry, and something else, something deeper.

“Almost there,” Chopper encourages “Just a little longer.”

Zoro exhales sharply, shifting closer “You’re not doing this alone,” he says firmly, his voice steady even as his heart pounds “I’m right here.”

Time feels like it’s stretching and collapsing all at once. The pain is relentless, each contraction stronger than the last, leaving you gasping for air. Your grip on Zoro’s hand is crushing, but he doesn’t complain. If anything, he shifts even closer, his other hand resting on your back, steadying you.

“You’re almost there,” Chopper reassures, his voice both urgent and gentle “The baby’s coming any moment now.”

Zoro swallows hard. He’s fought through hell, survived battles that should have killed him, but this—watching you struggle, watching you in pain is the hardest thing he’s ever endured. He can’t fight this for you. All he can do is stay by your side.

Robin wipes your forehead again, her presence steady and reassuring “Just a little more,” she murmurs “You’re doing incredibly well.”

Your body tenses as another contraction rips through you. A cry of pain escapes your lips, and Zoro’s grip tightens.

“Come on,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. His voice is low, but the urgency is there “You can do this.”

You let out a sharp breath, forcing yourself to focus. The pain is unbearable, but you’re not alone. You have him.

And then Chopper’s ears perk up “One more push!” he exclaims.

Zoro’s hand moves to cradle the back of your head, his forehead nearly touching yours “You’ve got this,” he murmurs “One last push.”

Summoning every last ounce of strength, you bear down, pushing through the pain, through the exhaustion...

And then, suddenly, the sound of a newborn’s cry fills the room.

The world stills. The pain, the exhaustion, the fear, it all fades into the background as relief crashes over you.

Chopper carefully lifts the tiny, wriggling baby, his face breaking into a wide smile “It’s a healthy baby! It's a cute little girl!!”

For the first time since this all started, Zoro breathes. His shoulders sag, his grip on you loosens just slightly, like the weight of the entire world has just been lifted from him.

Chopper swaddles the baby before carefully placing her in your arms. You look down at the tiny, perfect face, tears welling in your eyes.

Zoro doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, he just stares. His hands, hands that have held swords for as long as he can remember, hands that have fought and bled and killed, now tremble as he reaches forward.

He brushes the back of one finger gently against the baby’s cheek “Tch,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words, only wonder “So small…”

The baby lets out a tiny noise, her little fist clenching and unclenching. Zoro’s breath catches as one of those tiny fingers latches onto his. His throat bobs as he swallows, and for the briefest moment, his expression is completely open, raw, unguarded.

“…You did good” he murmurs, looking at you now, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

Tears slip down your cheeks as you smile at him “We did good.”

The door bursts open, and the rest of the crew floods in. Nami gasps, Usopp cheers, and Franky dramatically wipes away tears. Sanji doesn’t even tease Zoro, too caught up in the moment. Even Luffy, normally chaotic, is quiet for once, just grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s the name?” Brook asks, leaning in with a bright smile.

Zoro glances at you. You already know what he’s thinking.

“We decided it's Kazuki,” you say softly “Like the wind, right? Strong, steady, always moving forward.”

Zoro’s lips quirk into a small, rare smile “Kazuki,” he repeats, like he’s testing it out. Then, looking down at the baby in your arms, he nods “Yeah. We got a good name.”

The crew erupts into cheers, celebrating the newest member of the Strawhat family.

Zoro stays close, his hand still wrapped around your own. He may not say much, but his presence, the way he looks at you, at Kazuki... it says everything.

He would protect you both with his life.

As the crew celebrates, their cheers and laughter filling the room, you take a moment just to look at Zoro. Really look at him.

He’s still gripping your hand, his other resting protectively near Kazuki. His usual scowl is gone, replaced with something softer, something you’ve rarely, if ever, seen from him.

Zoro has always been a pillar of strength, a warrior who faces death without flinching, who speaks through actions rather than words. He’s never been the type to show vulnerability, never been one for soft gestures or whispered reassurances.

But tonight, he hasn’t left your side. He hasn’t barked about training or brushed things off with a grunt. Instead, he’s held your hand through the worst pain of your life, wiped the sweat from your brow with surprising gentleness, and looked at your child like they’re the most precious thing in the world.

It’s so unlike him, so wildly out of character for the swordsman you’ve always known. And yet, it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels right. Natural, even.

Seeing him like this, seeing this new side of him, makes your heart ache in a way you never expected.

“Zoro” you whisper, drawing his attention.

His gaze snaps to yours, and for once, he doesn’t look away. He just watches you, something unreadable in his expression.

“You’re different,” you murmur, your voice quiet enough that only he can hear over the noise of the crew “Not in a bad way. Just… different.”

Zoro exhales through his nose, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your hand. He glances at Kazuki, still sleeping peacefully in your arms, then back at you.

“Yeah,” he finally admits, voice barely above a whisper “Guess I am.”

You smile, squeezing his hand “I like it.”

A soft grunt leaves him, almost like he doesn’t know how to respond. Then, after a moment, he looks at you again and murmurs, “Don’t get used to it.”

But you can tell, it’s just for show. Because the way he stays close, the way his fingers never stop brushing against Kazuki’s tiny hand, the way he watches over you both like you’re his whole world…

You already know. He’s changed. And deep down, you think he knows it too.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

You sit at the dining table, hands resting on your swollen belly, feeling the familiar discomfort of late pregnancy but… nothing more. The baby is due any day now, but despite the occasional cramp and pressure, there’s no real sign of labor starting.

Sanji notices, of course. He always does.

Standing by the stove, he watches you carefully, concern flickering in his sharp blue eyes as he kneads dough absentmindedly “You’re quiet today, ma chérie.”

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably in your seat “The baby’s taking their sweet time. I feel like I’m going to be pregnant forever.”

Sanji chuckles, setting the dough aside before walking over to you. He kneels beside your chair, his warm hands smoothing over your belly “Tch. Who would’ve thought our little one would be as much of a tease as their mother?” He presses a kiss to your hand, but you can tell he’s thinking.

Then, suddenly, his eyes light up with an idea.

“Wait here, mon amour.” He shoots up and moves to the stove with renewed energy, rummaging through his ingredients.

You frown, watching as he pulls out chili peppers, cayenne, and a few other spices “Sanji… what are you doing?”

He flashes you a grin, already chopping away “I once read in a culinary book that spicy food can help jumpstart labor. It’s worth a shot, no?”

You raise a skeptical brow “You really think food is going to make the baby come?”

Sanji winks “You doubt my cooking? I’m offended... truly.”

Within minutes, he places a beautifully plated dish in front of you, noodles tossed in a rich, red sauce, garnished with fresh herbs. The aroma alone is enough to make your mouth water, though you can practically see the heat radiating off it.

You hesitate “That looks like it might kill me before labor even starts.”

Sanji smirks, twirling a forkful of noodles before holding it up to your lips “Trust me, amore mio. If nothing else, you’ll have the most flavorful pre-labor meal in history.”

With a sigh, you take the bite.

Instantly, your mouth ignites with heat. It’s delicious, complex, bursting with flavor... but dear god, it’s spicy. Your eyes widen as you grab Sanji’s wrist “Water. Now.”

He laughs but hands you a glass of milk instead, watching in amusement as you gulp it down “Spicy enough?”

“I think that instead of the baby it's my soul that left my body” you gasp.

Sanji leans down, brushing a kiss against your temple “Then let’s hope it wakes the baby up too, hm?”

You roll your eyes, but just as you’re about to tease him, a sharp pain suddenly shoots through your abdomen. You stiffen, gripping the edge of the table.

Sanji immediately notices the change in your expression. His amusement vanishes, replaced with instant concern “What is it? Did it work?”

Another pain follows, stronger than the last. Your breath catches “Oh my god.”

Sanji blinks “Oh my god?”

Your grip tightens on his sleeve as a wave of pressure builds “Sanji... I think it actually worked.”

For a moment, Sanji is completely still. Then, realization dawns on his face.

His eyes widen “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” He whips off his suit jacket in panic “Are you serious?”

You groan, clutching your belly “Do I look like I’m joking?!”

Sanji curses under his breath before springing into action “Chopper! Robin! Someone get the infirmary ready!”

His usual grace is replaced with frantic movements as he scoops you into his arms, muttering a mixture of apologies, reassurances, and panicked swears “Okay, okay, deep breaths, mon amour. I didn’t think it’d work that fast.”

As he rushes you to the infirmary, you can’t help but huff out a laugh between contractions “Remind me never to doubt your cooking again.”

Sanji presses a firm kiss to your forehead “Damn right. Now let’s go meet our little firecracker.”

Sanji carries you through the ship with a speed and urgency you’ve never seen before. His usual graceful movements are hurried, his grip on you firm yet gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll break but also desperate to get you to safety.

“Hold on, mon amour,” he mutters, his voice tight with emotion “We’re almost there.”

Your breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps as another contraction crashes over you. You bury your face in his shoulder, gripping onto his shirt as the pain intensifies “Sanji—ahh—if I survive this, I’m making you eat that damn spicy food.”

Despite the situation, he lets out a choked laugh “Fair deal, sweetheart. You can cook me the deadliest meal you want after this.”

The moment he reaches the infirmary, Chopper is already there, scrambling to prepare. Robin stands beside him, her usual composed expression unshaken as she moves to assist.

Sanji carefully lowers you onto the infirmary bed, but even after you’re settled, he doesn’t let go of your hand. His fingers lace through yours, his thumb brushing gentle circles over your skin.

Chopper glances between you both “It’s happening fast. The baby’s ready to come.”

Sanji tenses beside you. He’s used to being in control, handling any situation with confidence, but this... watching you in pain, knowing there’s nothing he can do but be here, is pure agony for him. If it was for him he would take all the pain and give birth to your baby instead.

You squeeze his hand, grounding him “Stay with me?”

His eyes soften instantly. He kneels beside the bed, bringing your hand to his lips “Always, ma belle. I’m not going anywhere.”

The contractions grow stronger, each one sending a wave of pain through your body. Chopper gives you instructions, Robin assists where she can, but your world has narrowed down to one thing, bringing this baby into the world.

Sanji is right there through it all. When the pain becomes unbearable, he whispers sweet reassurances in your ear. When you cry out, he winces like he feels it too, but he never falters. He wipes the sweat from your forehead, murmuring praises between gentle kisses on your knuckles.

“You’re incredible” he whispers, voice thick with emotion “The strongest person I know”.

Tears sting your eyes as you push through another contraction “Sanji—”

“I know, mon amour.” His grip on your hand tightens “You can do this. Just a little more.”

Then a sharp, piercing cry fills the room.

Your whole body sags in relief as the sound washes over you.

Chopper beams, carefully lifting the tiny, wriggling baby “It’s a girl!” (yes they're all girls because I see all of them being so good and cute as baby girls)

Sanji lets out a shaky breath. His free hand moves to cover his mouth, his eyes wide—stunned, overwhelmed “Mon dieu…”

The moment Chopper places the baby in your arms, your heart clenches. She's so small, so warm, her little fingers curling and uncurling as she squirms against your chest.

Tears slip down your cheeks as you gaze at your child “Sanji…”

Sanji is frozen, his usual charm and composure completely gone. Slowly, hesitantly, he reaches out and brushes a gentle hand over the baby’s soft cheek. His fingers tremble.

Sanji stares at her, completely transfixed. He leans down slowly, his voice thick with emotion “She’s perfect.”

The baby shifts, making a tiny noise, and Sanji inhales sharply, like the moment is too much for him to handle. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple “You did it, ma belle. You brought her into the world.”

“She’s so tiny,” he murmurs, his voice soft and uncharacteristically fragile “Our little girl.”

The baby’s little hand reaches up, grasping his finger with surprising strength. Sanji’s breath catches.

The door bursts open, and the crew floods in, Luffy cheering, Nami wiping away tears, Usopp practically shaking with excitement. Even Zoro looks mildly impressed.

“What’s her name?” Franky asks, grinning.

Sanji looks at you, his expression unguarded, raw with love. You already know what he wants to say.

“Isabelle,” you whisper, your heart swelling as you look down at your daughter “It means ‘God’s promise’, because she’s our promise, Sanji.”

Sanji exhales a soft laugh, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s tiny face “Isabelle…” he repeats, his voice full of wonder.

You smile at him, your heart overflowing. This moment, with Sanji by your side, with Isabelle in your arms... it feels like everything in the world has finally fallen into place.

Sanji leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead “You did it, ma belle. Our little girl is here...”

Tears well in your eyes as you gaze at your family, knowing with certainty that this is just the beginning of your beautiful, messy, and love-filled journey together.

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