#perhaps he's hiding more beneath the surface

[akairawrites]

Unmasked | Bruce Wayne x reader mini series

Updates everyday!

When sharp, unrelenting reporter Y/n L/n is sent to Gotham to shadow billionaire Bruce Wayne for a profile piece, she expects a few days of stiff interviews and polished soundbites. What she doesn’t expect is to be invited into his world—his manor, his orbit, and something far more complicated than charm. Bruce Wayne is no stranger to hiding the truth, but Y/n sees through more than he’s used to. As the two grow closer, tension simmers between their professional boundaries and undeniable chemistry. But when Bruce disappears in the middle of a high-profile gala and a front-page photo threatens to turn everything public, Y/n is left with more questions than answers. He’s hiding something. She’s determined to uncover it. But the deeper she digs, the more tangled their connection becomes.

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The elevator softly hummed before coming to a stop with a ding. As the doors slid open a pair of black pumps stepped out.

Y/n L/n adjusted the strap of her leather bag stepped into the heart of Wayne Tower’s top floor. Sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows bouncing off the polished surfaces and illuminating the room that screamed wealth.

She didn’t pause to admire the view.

A young assistant—clipboard in hand, nerves barely contained—approached her with practiced politeness. ��Ms. L/n? Mr. Wayne is expecting you.”

‘Of course he is,’ she thought.

Y/n offered a curt nod as the assistant just led her down a sleek hallway, murmured something into a discreet earpiece, and opened the door to the corner office.

There he stood at the far end of the room, facing the skyline with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosely tied, as if intentionally displaying his physique. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded a sense of ownership over the cityscape. Perhaps it did belong to him.

“Mr. Wayne,” the assistant said. “Ms. L/n from the Daily Planet.”

Bruce turned and flicked on that billion dollar smile. “Y/n L/n.” he said, stepping forward with an easy confidence. “The Daily Planet’s investigative ace. I’ve read your exposé on LexCorp’s offshore holdings—three times.” He extended his hand with controlled confidence.

She accepted the handshake, firm and brief. “Hopefully, this one won’t require a federal audit.”

“That depends on how far you dig,” he replied, gesturing toward the seating area. “You’ve got three days. I’ll give you what I can—meetings, foundations, press obligations, the usual façade. But if you want a clearer picture of who I am beneath all that…”

He paused, then continued with measured intent.

“A car will meet you at your hotel tonight. It’ll take you to Wayne Manor. You’ll stay there for the duration of your visit.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Is that part of the press kit?”

Bruce’s smile didn’t falter. “No. It’s an invitation. You said you wanted access. That’s where it begins.”

There was a beat of silence as she considered it. The proposition was unconventional, but not illogical—not for someone attempting to control the narrative through transparency, curated though it might be.

“I don’t do puff pieces,” she said plainly.

“Good,” Bruce replied. “I don’t do performances.”

The black town car rolled up the long, winding driveway just as dusk settled over the hills. The Manor loomed ahead like a relic carved from shadow—grand, timeless, and somehow more alive in the half-light. Y/n stepped out, coat over one arm, leather bag slung across her shoulder.

She paused, taking in the architecture. It didn’t feel like wealth—it felt like history.

The door opened before she could knock.

“Ms. L/n,” said the man in the doorway, crisply British and effortlessly composed. “Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

“Please just call me Y/n.”

She smiled. “You must be Alfred.”

“Indeed. Come in before the gargoyles get jealous.”

He stepped aside and she entered, immediately enveloped in the rich scent of old wood, leather, and something like fireplace smoke. The foyer alone was larger than most apartments. Her heels echoed faintly against the stone floor.

“No luggage?” Alfred asked, closing the door behind her.

“Just this,” she said, patting the bag on her shoulder. “Didn’t know how long I’d last.”

“You might surprise yourself,” he replied with a subtle smirk. “I’ll show you to your room.” He spoke leading her up the grand staircase.

Alfred moved through the hallways with the silent precision of a man who’d done so for decades. Y/n followed, heels muffled against the ornate runner carpeting. The Manor was quieter than she expected—grand but not ostentatious, more like a private cathedral than a billionaire’s estate.

“I have to admit,” she said, glancing at the dark oil paintings lining the walls, “this place is… not what I expected.”

“I hear that often,” Alfred replied without looking back. “Usually just before someone gets lost between the east and west wings.”

She gave a small smile. “Are there a lot of guests who get lost?”

“Not many guests at all,” he said, pausing at a carved oak door. He opened it with the kind of reverence that suggested this was still someone else’s house, even after all these years.

The room was warm, high-ceilinged, and surprisingly lived-in—like someone cared enough to keep it dusted but hadn’t changed the curtains since the nineties. A wide bed, a fireplace, books stacked neatly along the windowsill.

“If there’s anything you need, press the call button,” Alfred said, gesturing subtly to a small brass switch near the doorframe. “There are clothes in the drawers if needed and dinner shall be ready in a hour, Master Bruce should be home by then.”

Y/n set her bag down and turned to face him. “Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred gave her the faintest smile—polite, dry, and impenetrable before closing the door on his way out.

Y/n took a deep breath, taking in her new surroundings. In the far corner stood a grand king-sized canopy bed, commanding attention with its elegant presence. Flanking the bed were matching bedside tables, each topped with a stylish lamp. Beneath the bed, a large, plush carpet stretched across the cool marble floor, adding warmth to the room. To the left, a door led into a spacious en-suite bathroom, its soft lighting spilling faintly into the bedroom. On the opposite side, tall glass doors opened out onto a private balcony, where sheer curtains swayed gently with the breeze.

She settled onto the bed and traced the sheets with her hands. They were undoubtedly freshly washed. She reclined on the bed and surrendered to the comforting warmth of the comforter. Her exasperated sighs gave it away. She drifted off to sleep for a brief moment before being jolted back to reality.

Y/n sat up, glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, and realized she had about thirty minutes before she had to meet Bruce downstairs for dinner. She rummaged through the drawers before heading to the bathroom.

The grand staircase creaked just once beneath her steps as Y/n descended, damp hair twisted into a loose knot, dressed simply—clean black slacks, a soft navy sweater. No makeup, no press badge, no armor. Just her, freshly showered and still letting the Manor sink into her skin like steam.

She followed the scent of roasted vegetables, garlic, and something that smelled suspiciously like real butter through the main hall until she found the dining room—lit low, more candlelight than chandelier.

Bruce was already seated at the head of the long mahogany table, sleeves rolled again, a wine glass in hand. He looked up, eyes catching her in that almost-too-long way he’d done earlier.

“Ms. L/n,” he said with a slight nod. “You clean up well.”

“I’m sure the same could be said about your image,” she replied, sliding into the chair a few seats down from him. “Though I imagine yours takes a bit more polish.”

Bruce grinned, genuinely this time. “Touché.”

Alfred appeared—quiet as breath—with two plates, setting one before each of them. Roasted salmon, lemon risotto, grilled broccolini. Y/n glanced up.

“You cooked this?”

“I did,” Alfred said evenly. “Don’t look so surprised. I was many things before I was a butler.”

“I’m learning,” she said, giving him a respectful smile.

“I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” he added, and then—just like that—he was gone.

For a moment, it was just the soft clink of silverware, the crackle of the fire in the nearby hearth, and the muted hum of Gotham wind pressing against ancient windows.

“So,” Bruce said, after a sip of wine, “how’s the Manor treating you so far? Haunted yet?”

“I’ll let you know if I hear chains dragging down the hall,” she said, cutting into the salmon. “But no. So far it’s… calm. A little too calm, a little too calm for my liking.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Is that a reporter’s suspicion talking, or are you just uncomfortable when people aren’t trying to lie to you?”

“I think it’s more that you’re still trying to figure out if I’m here to expose you or exonerate you,” she said, eyes meeting his over the rim of her glass. “And the jury’s still out on which one you want.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her for a long beat, then offered a small, unreadable smile.

“Maybe I want both.”

She remained silent in return, finishing up her food.

The plates were cleared. The wine decanted. They’d moved into the study, where a second fire was already burning low and soft jazz murmured through invisible speakers. Bruce leaned casually against the couch arm, holding a glass in his hand. His legs were relaxed, but she tried not to be fooled. His tie was somewhere in the room, and the first few buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing a bit of his chest and rolled-up sleeves to his elbows.

Y/n sat across from him, one knee tucked under her. A notepad rested on her thigh, untouched. She hadn’t needed it yet.

“You know,” she said, swirling her wine, “you give the impression of someone who has everything, but talks like someone who’s lost more than he lets on.”

Bruce’s brow lifted slightly. “Is that going in the article?”

“It might,” she said. “Depends on what you say next.”

He took a breath through his nose and looked into the fire for a moment. The warmth played against the hard lines of his face, softening them—but not enough to make him look safe.

“My parents died when I was eight. Shot in front of me,” he said, quietly. Flatly. Like he’d told the story too many times to feel it anymore. “That usually makes it into the articles. Right after the net worth and just before the charity highlights.”

Y/n didn’t flinch. She’d heard a thousand versions of grief. But this one carried that unique, echoing hollowness only a child’s loss could leave behind.

“They say trauma either hardens you or hollows you out,” she said carefully. “Which one are you?”

Bruce looked at her then—really looked. Not with the charm or the polished billionaire gaze, but with something raw behind his eyes, something edged in shadow.

“I think I tried both,” he said. “Didn’t like either answer.”

“So what keeps you going?” she asked, her voice softer now. “What’s the fuel, Bruce? Why keep pretending to be part of a world that doesn’t feel like it fits anymore?”

A beat. Then:

“Because someone has to,” he said, and this time the answer came fast—too fast. Rehearsed, maybe. Or instinctive.

She tilted her head. “That sounds noble. Or dangerous. Or both.”

He didn’t reply, and the silence between them grew a little heavier.

“Let me guess,” she added, breaking it gently. “That’s the part I’m not supposed to write down.”

Bruce’s smile came slowly, but without humor. “Write whatever you want. Just don’t expect anyone to believe it.”

The fire had died down to embers. Y/n set her wine glass aside and leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on him. Whatever warmth lingered between them from dinner had cooled into something more electric.

“You’re not like other billionaires,” she said plainly. “Most of them talk too much. You say just enough to sound mysterious.”

Bruce didn’t move. “And that bothers you?”

“No. It fascinates me.” She studied him carefully. “You’re guarded. Strategic. Like you’re always calculating the next step—whether it’s in a boardroom, or a conversation, or… whatever else you do when no one’s watching.”

A pause. She let the silence stretch, then went in for the cut.

“Tell me, Bruce. Who are you when no one’s looking?”

His jaw twitched—subtle, but there. A shift.

“I’m exactly who you see,” he said. Calm, but too smooth.

“See, that’s the part I don’t believe,” she replied. “You have the guilt of someone who’s trying to atone for something. And not just your parents’ deaths. That’s too easy. That’s the story everyone already knows.”

His expression didn’t change, but the air in the room did. Still, he didn’t stop her.

“You give away millions,” she continued. “You fund orphanages, trauma clinics, scholarships for kids who grew up just like you. But you don’t spend time with people. You don’t build relationships. You vanish when the cameras are gone. Like the job you’re really doing is somewhere else entirely.”

Bruce leaned back slowly, but his gaze never left hers. “Careful, Y/n. You’re starting to sound like someone who believes in ghosts.”

She tilted her head. “Should I be?”

That earned her a flicker of something—almost a smile, but darker. Wary.

“Everyone believes in something,” he said. “You chose journalism. I chose legacy.”

“No,” she said, standing slowly, her voice low. “You chose a mask. I just don’t know which one’s real yet.”

And then she left him there, in the fading light of the fire, staring into the dark like it might answer before he did.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the room felt suddenly colder—like she’d taken the last of the warmth with her.

Bruce didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared into the dying fire, his glass untouched in his hand, the wine long forgotten.

She was close.

Closer than he expected her to get in one evening. Her questions weren’t just clever—they were surgical. Clean, precise cuts designed to find the soft tissue beneath the armor.

He hated how easily she’d gotten under his skin.

He could still hear her voice—calm, certain, almost gentle as she disassembled the mythology he’d spent a lifetime perfecting. “You chose a mask.”

She wasn’t wrong. He had.

But she didn’t know that the man she’d had dinner with tonight wasn’t the mask. This—the stillness, the silence, the half-lit room and the ache in his chest—this was the mask. Bruce Wayne was a myth he kept alive because Gotham needed it.

And Batman was the part of him that hadn’t died in that alley.

He tilted his head back against the leather of the chair, staring up at the ceiling where the Manor’s bones creaked softly in the wind. Somewhere, deeper beneath the floors, the Cave was waiting. The suit. The city.

But tonight, for the first time in a long time, the danger wasn’t out there.

It was upstairs.

Wearing black slacks and a navy sweater. Asking questions like they were weapons.

He didn’t know yet if Y/n L/n was going to uncover something… or become something he had to protect.

And that, more than anything, unsettled him.

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[thebigolbee]

Been thinking about an old ghoul who works as a volunteer teacher in the NCR. He'd teach the only class available on ghoul physiology and be disappointed it's not mandatory for all recruits. He'd also serve as a supportive figure for the young greenhorns who have no one else to turn to.

[specsthesecond]

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You live alone in the woods, really close to the border between Human territory and Orc territory.

You live a life of solitude. Though the loneliness can get to you, overall, you enjoy the quietness. Mostly.

This winter has been brutal, possibly the coldest you've ever endured. Hunting has been particularly hard. Perhaps that's why you thought the ice would hold as you cut a fishing hole in the middle of the frozen over lake.

They say love makes you do stupid things but hunger is the real mind melter. Before you get a chance to scream, the ice cracks and you plunge right into the deathly cold water hiding beneath the ice.

You manage to frantically pull yourself out of the water and onto thicker ice but you can't do anything other than hyperventilate and tremble violently on the frigid surface. You can't will your limbs to move, a stinging numbness renders you immobile. Is this really how you die? Trembling in a fetal position as your enzymes slowly collapse.

In your panicked haze, you can see a blurry figure slowly coming towards you from the Orcish territory. This only makes your fight or flight go into overdrive and currently neither option is viable. The only warmth you feel are the tears seeping out of your eyes and freezing on your wet cheeks. You close your eyes, trying desperately to calm your breaths so you at least die with dignity.

And then you feel warmth. Warmth engulfs your shaking hands and you open your glassy eyes. You have to squint but you can make out the manly features on the stranger's green face. The fear that spikes in you at the sight of an orc so close and the comforting warmth of his hands covering yours create a very confusing contradiction.

You can do nothing as the giant beast lifts you into his warm arms, You can do nothing but convulse and heave as he starts running into the woods, further into Orcish territory and further away from your home.

You try and see where you're going but the whole thing is a blur, before you even realise it you're looking around what you assume is the orc's home. Cobblestone walls, small living area, couch, carpet, fire.

Fire.

Your shaking fingers try to grip the orc's fluffy coat, you would crawl across miles of broken glass just to get closer to that fire. Luckily, you don't need to do that because the stranger brings you closer to the fire and starts undressing you, struggling to pry the heavy drenched layers from your soaked body. You barely have it in you to be bashful or scared, you just need the fire. You need to crawl into the hearth and lay there forever.

He strips you of everything but your underpants, what a gentleman, and takes his top layers off as well, leaving him in only a tunic and pants. He grabs a thick wool blanket from the couch and throws it over your still trembling body. He then bundles you up in his massive arms and scooches as close to the fire as safely possible.

You try and stretch your feet out to the fire, desperately needing to gain feeling in your toes again. If you can't walk, how will you hunt or forage or live. You would have burnt both your feet in the flames if it wasn't for the orc grabbing your ankles and tucking your feet into the blanket with a huff.

The orc hugs you to his chest and rubs your back as you shiver, warm hand softening the goose flesh and lulling your frightened body into a more calm state. It takes a while before your breathing evens out enough to drift off in the warm embrace of this stranger.

You resolve that whatever problems are waiting for you when you wake will be better dealt with after proper rest and recovery.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.

Next ->

[beloveds-embrace]

Please accept this brain worm for the fae!au. You brilliant queen you! What if one of the fae courtiers decided to begin giving gifts to their queen? Maybe it's jewelry, maybe it's exotic mounts for far away. Invitations to private garden parties or evening rides by the beach. I WANT THOSE BOYS JEALOUS!

I love jealous men ough 😩😩 || masterlist

It began subtly, at first.

A bracelet, left on your writing desk, its chain woven from moon-silver and set with a single, gleaming gemstone that pulsed like a captured star. There was a simple note; for the loveliest of queens, and no indication of its sender, but when you had worn it the next evening, a ripple of murmurs spread through the court like wildfire, for it did not bear the insignia of royalty nor of your husbands, and thus it could not be from them.

John’s gaze had flicked to your wrist, his expression dark. Johnny had stared for a long moment before forcing a bright grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Kyle merely hummed as he sipped his wine, though you did not miss the way his fingers tapped idly against the table’s surface. Simon said nothing- but later that night, you had felt his gaze lingering on the bracelet, his fingers curling slightly as if resisting the urge to remove it himself.

Then came the invitations.

A Lord, a high-ranking noble known for his wealth and charm, was the first to act openly. An invitation to his private garden soiree arrived, wrapped in deep indigo silk and sealed with golden wax. The Queen Mother, who had joined you for an afternoon tea, had raised a brow when you presented it to her, but she did not object.

“Go,” she had murmured, lips curling in faint amusement. “Let them see what you inspire. Do not disappoint me."

And so you had gone. The garden had been a marvel- twisting vines that shimmered under the moonlight, flowers that sang when touched, fountains bubbling with water that reflected glimpses of possible futures and the twinkling stars themselves. The Lord had guided you through it all with easy conversation, his eyes sharp, assessing, and it was not that hard for you to assume who had gifted you that bracelet from before.

Your husbands had not been pleased.

Johnny had arrived at your chambers that night, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, warmth tempered by something cooler, something sharper. “Nice party?” he asked, voice light- too light. Claws dug into his clothes, almost ripping the fabrics.

You had only smiled, inclining your head; even now, you did not understand them. It felt like they could not stand you with others, yet did nothing to truly push them away. Did nothing to truly have you as theirs wife. “It was pleasant.”

He had frowned at that, grumbling. “Aye, I’m sure it was.”

Kyle was less subtle. Days later, when a noblewoman presented you with an obsidian-winged mare from the distant eastern courts- a beast rare and revered- he had appeared at the stables before you even had the chance to take your first ride.

“You think you’ll be safe, riding something like that?” he had asked, watching the creature with wary eyes.

You had smoothed a hand down the mare’s neck, feeling the power coiled beneath her gleaming hide. “... Would you like to accompany me?”

Something in Kyle’s jaw had tightened.

“I think,” he said, stepping closer, voice a low rumble, eyes dark as a storm. “that it’s a dangerous thing when courtiers start getting ideas.”

Still, the gifts kept coming. More jewelry, rare perfumes that smelled of starlit forests and distant seas, invitations for private evening rides along the beach under the silver glow of the twin moons. You accepted them all with the grace expected of a queen, but you did not miss the way John’s fingers tightened around his goblet during court dinners, nor the way Johnny’s laughter came a beat too late when you spoke of these offerings.

Simon was perhaps the most unnerving, in your opinion. He said nothing when you donned the sapphire choker gifted by a particularly bold noble, but you could feel the tension radiating from him as he stood behind you at court, the ever-present shadow at your back. One night, as you prepared for bed, you had caught the faintest touch against your throat- the whisper of his fingers against the gemstone before he withdrew, his eyes unreadable as he turned and left without a word. Too late did you realize that the choker was no longer around your neck.

John, however, was the one who finally snapped.

The court had been gathered for an evening of music and storytelling when the first Lord- whose gifts, unbeknownst to you, were no longer reaching you though they kept coming- approached, offering his arm as he invited you for a dance. You had hesitated- briefly- but before you could answer, a presence loomed behind you, warm and unwavering.

“My queen,” John murmured, his voice smooth yet sharp, his hand settling on your waist. “If you wish to dance, it should be with your husband.”

His hand extended toward you, palm open, waiting. The Lord had smiled- polite, knowing, unhappy- and stepped back with a murmured farewell.

As you placed your hand in John’s, the court watched. And your husbands?

Well.

They would make sure the rest of the court remembered exactly who you belonged to.

(Come tomorrow, you'd return to your room and realize all the gifts have been tucked away in black boxes set aside, and all of it replaced with gifts from your husbands).

[lilliezzzzz-fics]

Dear Noisy Neighbour, !

pairing: streamer!lando norris x insomniac!reader author's note: so, i'm sorry for my abscence, this fic caused me problems and also i've been busy with art stuff!! sorry for being gone for... a month. but!! i hope you enjoy this fic!! gn!reader, no use of y/n warnings: one liiittle (🤏) sex joke, sleeping problems, neighbours-to-something, one flirty remark, that's about it i think word count: 1.8k

You’ve had many sleepless nights, far too many to count. Though none of them were quite as loud as this one. What sounded like banging coming from the wall right beside you, with uncontrollable laughter following suit. Some muffled words that you were too tired to make sense of, more laughter, and clicking on a keyboard.

You turn in your bed, groaning into your pillow. You assumed that the… Friendly ruckus was caused by your newly moved-in neighbor, who you only knew of because of the endless amount of moving boxes placed in the building's corridor. The mess was no problem, you knew moving would always be a messy process, so you thought nothing of it. On the contrary, you somewhat looked forward to meeting the mystery neighbor.

But now you couldn’t say those positive feelings remained. Not when he was yelling at the top of his lungs at 2 in the morning. You couldn’t even fathom why he was even up now. Quite frankly, you don’t want to either. With his yelling and groaning, only two things were coming to mind, either he was getting killed, or he was… Well, honestly you’d rather not think about it.

The darkness in your room is a familiar comfort, although you always swear there’s movement hiding beneath it somehow. Groggily, you sit up, swinging your legs off of your bed. Your feet search the floor underneath them, trying to find the warm slippers usually placed there. Once you find them, you messily slide your feet into them, almost putting them on the wrong way.

Your steps are slow, almost dragging your feet across your bedroom floor to find the lamp sitting on your desk. Your hand feels the cold surface, finding the button to turn it on. Soon the room is slightly illuminated by its warm glow, a yellowish light brushing the walls. Though it wasn’t peaceful, still, with your neighbour yelling clear enough that you could hear it. He’s yelling at some guy, Max, about some… Enemy?

Perhaps you should give him a knock. Like a friendly not-so-friendly reminder that he doesn’t live alone in this building. Or maybe that’s too rude.

You find yourself grumbling in the chair, unsure of what to do. You couldn’t go to bed just yet, since he was still awake, but you didn’t want to just sit around. Also, you really wanted to do something about the noise. You don’t think you’d live another day if this continued for days on end. However, you had no clue how to tell him off. You could of course just confront him, but you didn’t have the energy to potentially get into an argument at this time of night, so that was out of the question. Maybe you could get your landlord to tell him off? No, actually. That’s probably a bit too harsh. 

A sigh escapes you. You had zero clue on what to do. You slide open a drawer, rummaging through it for something to keep you entertained for the night. It’s unorganized, with different junk and scrap scattered amongst the material stored there.

In the drawer, your eyes land on a bright yellow notepad, which gives you an idea of how to tell your new neighbour off without being too rude.

You take out the notepad, as well as a pen you found lying inside the drawer. The pen gives off a soft click as you pop the cap off. It takes you a while to figure out what to write, and multiple attempts or ideas are quickly scrapped and thrown into the bin placed beside your desk. Eventually, you land on a note that goes as follows:

Dear Noisy Neighbour, 

I hope you find your new place to your liking! It’s nice to have someone new in the building, but you’re causing quite a ruckus. There are a lot of  people who are trying to or are currently sleeping,  so please tone it down! - your new neighbour :) 

You grab the note, shuffling out of your chair and out of your bedroom. You had to squint as you made your way towards your front door, making sure not to trip over anything, or yourself for that matter. You unlock the door, reaching for the handle and creaking the door open. The corridor was dark, almost tranquil, as you stepped out into it. Although it’s kind of cold.

Though, loud laughter interrupts the short peace you had, reminding you why you were out here in the first place. You turn to his door, stepping around the boxes placed at your feet like you’re finding your way through a maze. You stop in front of his door, the noise even louder now that you’re up close. His British accent is far clearer, and you can somewhat distinguish what he’s talking about.

For a moment, you just stand there as if you’re unsure of what to do. Honestly, you feel kind of silly standing here in the dark and telling someone off via stationary. The pitch-black of the corridor envelops you in a brief silence—until your neighbour's yelp makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

You steel yourself as you press the bright yellow note onto his wooden door, the bottom curling upward slightly. You press down on the note, flattening it with your palm. His boisterous laughter once again rings through the silent night and you physically flinch, stepping back from the door to calm your beating heart. Your eyes narrow, and your nose crinkles at his unashamed volume.

You take a step back, eyes scanning over the bright yellow patch now present on his front door. It stands out even in the dark of the night, and you’re honestly a little afraid. You couldn’t imagine how he would reply to it. Maybe he’d be pissed. Well, you’re already here; better not to regret anything.

Lando wasn’t sure what to make of the passive-aggressive note stuck to his front door. The letters were smudged and it was slightly crinkled in the corners, with a smiley face in the corner trying its best to show some friendliness. It usually would amuse him, but this time for some odd reason, it didn’t. If he were honest, he only felt bad. Clearly, he hadn’t made a good first impression on whoever made it.

Gently, he peeled the note off of the door and put it in his pocket. He’ll have to put it up somewhere so he remembers to keep quiet during streams. His steps back into the apartment are sluggish; his mind drifting off. The blue light from his computer screen makes his eyes hurt as he retreats to his bedroom. He winces, stepping towards his screen and pulling out the note—pressing it to the top left corner of his middle monitor.

He doesn’t think of it at the moment, but his hand rests lingering—fingertips brushing against the slightly crumpled paper. His raised arm falls to his side as he crumbles into his chair like a man defeated. 

Staying up too late like this isn’t good for him; his mind won’t stop running. He shouldn’t let a small note affect him like this, especially not when it’s something as easy to fix as this. Hell—he’s a streamer—he’s used to things like this. People who he didn’t know commenting on how obnoxious he was. He shouldn’t care. But he does. 

It’s stupid, really. But as he sits in his chair he can’t help but run scenarios in his head, playing out different ways to apologise. Maybe he could get his neighbour a gift? Maybe he should put all the boxes that’d been left in the hallway into his apartment (which he should’ve done the moment he got here, it’d slipped his mind—he swears). Maybe he could even bake them something—or well, not with his baking skills—he has to do something.

The clock ticking in his room turns into background noise as time slips through him; no longer aware of the passage of the time. Minutes turn into hours as guilt continues to reside in his body like a leech, sucking away all his other thoughts. He only realises how long he’s been awake when the birds chirping outside his window brings him back.

He sighs—not of relief—but of an overwhelm he can’t seem to describe. The slight creak of his chair when he leans back seems louder than ever—his curls that tickle the back of his neck feeling like it’s giving him a rash, despite them being so soft.

His hands reach into the drawer he’d left open for some reason, hands brushing over the notebook that he intended to use as a journal; however that intention didn’t last. But now he thought of something else he could use it for. Shuffling it out of the already filled drawer, he slips it in front of the keyboard. He slips out a pencil and hovers it over the open notebook. He thought of something to write, but then—it doesn’t fit. Writing, scrapping, then re-writing. Over and over til he finds something that fits. And eventually, he does.

A script that he thinks that he could rehearse to the person complaining, a formal apology. He rises a little too quickly out of his chair, stumbling when he stands. Shuffling through his bedroom, in the same pajamas he put on when he thought to sleep, he exits into his main living area; rehearsing the scripted apology in unintelligible mumbles. 

With his eyes still on the paper—and his handwriting that looks closer to incoherent scribbles—he steps into his slippers and opens his door. 

The loud creak that the door emits when he exits usually would put him off, but he doesn’t pay attention, his mumbles sounding like the ramblings of a madman. His steps are deliberate as he walks through the maze of boxes and he’s just a few steps away from his next-door neighbours apartment when he hears the cough of a person a bit too close for comfort.

His eyes drift up to find yours.

The man in front of you looks messy. Not the clean type of messy that you’d expect, no, but a messy that only a rugged, distressed man could be. He looks only a breath away from breaking down. His pupils are dilated and theres a flustered expression on his face as his eyes meet yours, and he mutters an: “oh fuck”. 

A curl springs in front of his face as he stumbles to start speaking, “I, uh- shit. Uhm, I’m sorry for being noisy, I didn’t realise that- uhm, I didn’t realise my impact on the others in the building-”

You can’t help but laugh—his expression is a little pitiful as his lips tremble with something you could only call guilt.

“You don’t need to be so formal,” you smile, hand brushing the back of your neck, “I only wanted you to be a bit quieter.”

God, he was incredibly cute. 

“Ah.” His cheeks reddened as he breathed out. Long and heavy, “Well, I’m sorry.”

His mouth opens to probably say something else—maybe another dumbfounded apology—or maybe something else, but he closes it once again with a small smile on his face, and red brushing his cheeks.

“Well, just keep the note in mind, for future nights, okay?” you flash him a grin, “I’ll see you around, cutie.” 

©lilliezzzzz-fics: please don't copy or distribute my work on any platform

credits: @/cafekitsune for the dividers <3

[greatestexpectationss]

Poison Ivy

Luke Castellan x Fem!Daughter of Persephone Reader

Description: You've been best friends with Luke Castellan since you were 14 years old. Now you teeter on the edge of something more, but your jealousy causes you to question everything.

You’re a child of Persephone, one of the far and few in between. Your mother had claimed you an entire year after you’d arrived at camp. Chiron had claimed it was to protect you from Hades' wrath,  but you’d had a sickly feeling it was more than that. Children of Persephone are all springtime and warmth, and perhaps you are in the light of day but in the cover of the night, there is something else that claws at you. You are more winter than spring.

Your dad says its normal to feel disconnected from your mother at this age, but you don’t just feel disconnected you feel abandonded.

You’d never met your mother but you're so so angry with her.

Being the daughter of the goddess of spring came with expectations. You are loyal and kind, with a bit of a wild side. Your powers had manifested as chlorokinesis, you're particularly fond of plants, much like the children of Demeter, but you've got a hardness they don't have, a certain darkness only a child of the underworld could understand. You’d learned that on your quest, where you’d even able to speak and command hellhounds.

There was more to you than meets the eye.

For instance, your infamous knack for growing poison ivy around those who piss you of. It had earned you a loving nickname from Luke…

“Poison” he’d called you after a particularly nasty sprouting during a game of capture the flag when you were just 14 years old. It had been Luke’s first game at camp, some Ares boys were terrorizing him up in the trees, when you’d seen it you felt bad for him. Everyone knew the story of how Luke and Annabeth had arrived at camp with Grover and what had been sacraficed to get there or rather who. You’d come to his rescue, sprouting poison Ivy from nothing wrapping it around their legs and taking them out of the game in one fail swoop with your daggers.

They glared at you for weeks.

It had started a long-lasting friendship between you and Luke. You two were close, and you helped him out in the Hermes cabin a lot. You trained together, ate together, really you did everything together. Luke understands the burning anger that sits beneath the surface of your skin. He knows the warmth and brightness you radiate during the days, but he also knows the bitter darkness that hides within you.

Luke sees you under your mask and still he stays.

Maybe that's why you’d fallen so hard for him.

It was hard not to fall for Luke. He’s all tall, dark and handsome. He’s the best swordsman this camp has seen in 300 years, he radiates confidence and commands respect. But even without all of that everyone loves Luke. It's hard not to, really. He’s kind and brave. It’s no wonder the Aphrodite girls are so enamored with him, really most girls are.

Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you with this funny soft look in his eyes. His touch would linger longer than necessary when helping you during archery practice, and he’d laugh a little too loudly at your jokes, and give you that rare goofy grin when he finds you in a room full of people.

It’s in those moment you’d wonder if he feels the same way. When his words are just for you, when he drags you by your hand to the dock and lays down beside you to look at the starts. When he kisses you cheek before the both of you return to the cabin, when he peeks over the side of your bunk and whispers the sweetest goodnight.

But then there are times you think you're delusional.

Like tonight for instance.

You're sitting at the post capture the flag bonfire with a few of your friends. Selina from Aphrodite, Clarisse from Ares, Katie, from the Demeter cabin, and Juliette from Athena. The Apollo kids are singing and you're in a particularly good mood from winning. But then you look across the fire and Luke has a pretty Aphrodite girl dotting on him, Haley, you think her name is. She’s whispering in his ear, perfectly painted nails wrapped around his forearm.

She's the type of girl Luke deserves.

Juliette's finger snaps in front of your face drawing you away from your pity party. You sit on the bottom step of the bleachers with a leg on either side. Facing you is Juliette, up a step to your right sits Selina, Katie, and Clarisse.

“Hello earth to Y/N, anyone in there??” Clarisse asks, your eyes snap to her and bounce between the others, they all look ammused.

“Sorry,” you mumble cheeks heating in embarsement.

They all look over your head where you’d been staring, There's a knowing look that is shared between them before they looking back at you with a mix of exasperation, ammusment, and pity.

You don't know which one is worse.

“C’mon you don't think Luke’s really into that chick do you?” Katie asks you.

“That chicks name is Haley,” Silena reminds, before reaching out and squeezing you hand, “and Katie’s right everyone knows Luke’s crazy for you, I don't know why she's even bothering.”

Clarisse scoffs and cracks her knuckles, “I can kick both their asses if you want.”

This draws a laugh from you.

“Hey, there she is!” Juliette exclaims, pinching your cheek, you swat her hands away and roll your eyes, the pity is leaving your body but you're still left with the bitter taste of jealousy.

“We’re just friends,” is what you settle with, earning an eye roll from all four of your friends.

“We are!” you insist, running a hand through your hair, “He can flirt with whoever he wants.”

“Y/N, do you think we’re dumb?” Clarisse asks.

“What? No of course I don’t—”

“Well then you know you can’t lie to us,” Katie says, she's much kinder than Clarisse who stares at you expectantly. A classic daughter of Demeter, she reaches for your hand and squeezes. You close your eyes for a second and sigh before looking back over at Luke. The Aphrodite girl is sitting closer to him now, he's nodding along to something she's said. You look away quickly.

“Katie’s right, and as a daughter of Aphrodite I can tell you without a doubt Castellan is just as crazy for you as you are him,” Silena’s so sure of herself, you wish you could feel that confident, you wish you knew how he felt.

“Yeah well it sure doesn't seem that way,” you gesture towards where they’re sitting. Across from you Juliette hums.

“Maybe he’s confused,” she says

“Or maybe Haley just doesn't know how to take a hint” Clarisse grumbles. You sigh and swing your leg over the bleachers before standing up.

“Where are you going?” Katie asks, brow furrowed.

“I just need some air,” you say.

“Y/N we’re literally outside,” Clarisse quips, you glare at her.

“Figurative air,” you say, gesturing wildly around you, away from all of this.”

You're much too aware of how pathetic this all is, you pining in a corner with your friends and Luke across the way with a pretty girl who deserves him. You're not some scorned lover, you're just a sad teenage girl.

“Do you want me to come?” Juliette asks you. She's such a good friend, fiercely loyal, they all are really, and you're incredibly thankful for them.

You wave her off anyway, “I’ll be fine, I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Your friends say their goodbyes, not before reminding you for the thousandth time about the small party in the Aphrodite cabin later that evening.

If you'd been paying attention you'd have noticed Luke’s boredom, you’d have noticed his eye that always seemed to follow you.

It’s darker as you get further away from the bonfire, you don't mind, the few lanterns lighting the path to the lake give you enough light that you can at least see where you're going. When you arrive at the lake, you're thankful no one else has had the same idea. You can't even count the number of times you've snuck away with Luke only to find numerous couples making out.

Tonight there's no one, maybe because it had been a particularly rough game of capture the flag, or maybe because the usual suspects (aka Chris and Clarisse) are still at the bonfire.

You make your way toward the end of the dock before sitting down, feet dangling off the edge you lean back on your hands and lift your head back to look at the stars. Around you the only sound is nature, and very far off in the distance, you can hear the faintest sound of the Apollo kids singing. Their voices echo and combine with the sounds of the trees.

It would be peaceful if you weren't so miserable.

“There you are.”

You open your eyes and turn your head over the shoulder. Luke’s approaching you with that goofy grin on his face and a sweatshirt in his hands. He pops down next to you on the dock and hands you the sweater.

“I figured you’d get cold, you didn't have a jacket at the bonfire,” he explains when you give him a confused smile.

“Oh,” you say meekly, pulling it over your head, it's much too big for you and it smells like Luke and kind of makes you want to cry. Still, you tell him thank you. His smile drops a little when you don't say anything else.

“You wanna tell me what's wrong Poison?” he asked gently, nudging your shoulder with his. You pick at the sleeves of his sweater, eyebrows furrowed, but hearing the concern in his voice you manage a small smile.

“Nothing’s wrong, I'm just tired,” you excuse. You meet his eyes and you can tell he doesn't believe you.

“Y/N—”

“Seriously, I'm good, thank you for checking on me, and thank you for your jacket but you should go back I'm sure Haley is wondering where you are and I'm really okay,” you promise. He’s got the goofy grin on his face again and he lets out a breathy laugh.

“Are you laughing at me?” you asked annoyed. He’s still smiling like he knows something you don't, he's enjoying this.

“What?”

“You're jealous,” you go wide-eyed eyes at his declaration, but you recover quickly with a scoff.

"I am not jealous," you deny, your voice gives you away when it quivers on the last syllable of your sentence. Luke’s grin only grows.

"Yeah okay Poison," he throws an arm over your shoulder, "whatever you say."

I’m going to push him into the lake, you think to yourself. 

You don’t, instead, you settle for pushing his arm off of your shoulder.

"Whatever, I’m outta here," you say before promptly standing up and storming up the dock. You've got tears in your eyes you're thankful he didn't see. You can hear him laughing and calling for you but you don't turn around. You know he's not doing it to be mean, Luke's got a thing for teasing you, and you know he thinks that's what this is.

It doesn't make the sting of it any less.

Luke's got long legs, and you can hear him scrambling after you calling your name. You ignore him up the dock and the sand before he stops you stepping in your path.

"C'mon Poison I know I'm hard to resi–" he stops when he sees the tears in your eyes and you turn your face away from him. His brows furrow in concern when he realizes you don’t think it's funny. He reaches for you again but you take a step back and cross your arms over your chest. 

"Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong"

"You're crying"

"So?"

He looks at you like you've sprouted 8 heads.

 "What do you mean so??" You pinch the bridge of your nose, you've seriously had enough of him playing dumb. "Can you just drop it please?" you beg, shifting on your feet and wiping furiously at your eyes before any tears can actually fall from your waterline. 

But he's Luke and your Y/N and you should know by now he's not gonna drop it.

"Wait," he hums taking a step closer to you and prying your crossed arms away from the safety of your body, he holds both of your hands with his own and presses them to his chest, you've got nowhere to hide. Finally, he asks, "Were you actually jealous?"

His tone is softer this time, it holds no teasing just a gentleness you can't quite describe. You don't know if it’s pity or fondness, you're not sure which answer scares you more. You still can’t look him in the eyes.

"No–"

"Y/N, c'mon don't lie to me."

You huff in response. He steps even closer to you. 

"Last week Lee Fletcher was helping you at archery practice," he says finally, you look at him now, his grin is gone but the soft smile he’s giving you, makes you feel like he’s going to let you down easy. He’s going to use Lee as a buffer, say it's clear there's something there when it's nothing. You feel for Lee the kind of platonic love you wish you felt for Luke. 

What you feel for Luke is world-changing and gut-wrenching.

"Okay,” is all you can say, you try to step away again but Luke just grips your hands a little tighter.

“Just let me finish,” he pleads, you nod your head and avoid direct eye contact with him, instead you focus on his dark hair, the dark curls that shine under the moonlight. If he notices you aren’t looking him in the eye, he’s at least nice enough not to say anything about it. 

"He said something to you, I wasn't close enough to hear what it was but it had you cracking up and laughing in the best way," Luke takes his thumb and stokes the corner of your mouth, "you get a little dimple right here when you laugh did you know that?"

You didn't, you also didn't even know he had been there that day. You don't even remember what Lee said that had made you laugh, something about your aim.

"What's your point?" you mumble, his touch on your face is searing and his other hand has moved to your waist, you can feel the burn of his skin through your (his) jacket. You finally cave and meet his eyes, he’s looking at you with such softness you think you might melt on the spit. You're not stupid either, you know what this is. But you need to hear him say it, or you might actually die.

"I was jealous," he shrugs, like it's no big deal, thumb tracing up your check to tuck a stray hair behind your ear before dragging it down to cup your face. "I didn't have any reason to be but I was.” 

Then with that goofy grin he says, “Kinda sounds like someone else I know."

You’re smiling at him now, you both know this is teetering far too close to the edge to come back from now. In fact, even without him saying it, without kissing him, you don’t think you could ever come back from this.

"Why?" you ask him, hands coming to rest at the nape of his neck, you play with the strings of his camp necklace to distract yourself from the lessening distance between the two of you. He’s dipping his head closer to you, so close that if he speaks your lips will touch. You want him to kiss you in a way you’ve never wanted anything before.

"You know why." And then he's kissing you. His arm around your waist tightens instinctively, and he presses his lips to yours hungrily, like a starved man who's just arrived at a feast. Your hands drop his necklace and weave through the shorter hair at the nape of his neck, something akin to a sigh of relief floods through both of you. His hand is in your hair now, and he tasted of marshmallows and spearmint, something so distinctly Luke. It’s incredibly intoxicating you don’t want to pull away. And you don’t until you absolutely have to in order to catch your breath, Luke chases after your lips with his own. Kissing them softly once, and then twice, before pulling back and looking at you with a smile on his face. This time you return it, a little laugh escapes your lips before it grows louder.

“Alright now who’s laughing at who?” he grumbles, still smiling despite his tone, his thumb strokes your dimple, and it allows you to compose youself. 

“I’m sorry,” you say reaching up to kiss him softly again. He’s smiling still, so you know you haven’t really offended him. “I just kinda feel like an idiot now,” you admit. 

“Well you are one,” he tells you cheekily, squezzing your sides with both hands in the way he knows you both adore and detest, you squeal and stumble into him, gripping onto his biceps in attempts to get him to stop. “You’re absolutely the dumbest person alive if you think there’s any world that I would wanna do this with anyone else.”

“Really?” you ask.

“Really,” he confirms. You reach up and kiss him again, a little more searing than sweet. Both of Luke’s hands are back in your hair and he’s kissing you back just as fervently, you feel his tongue slip in your mouth, and you swear you’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s Luke who pulls away this time, gasping for air. 

“I think I might be in love with you,” he admits.

“Yeah, I think I might be in love with you too.”

Suddenly you both hear footsteps approaching quick and heavy, Clarisse stops in front of you both and takes in your dishelved appearance, before rolling her eyes and yelling.

“Guys I found them! You all owe me $20!” she calls out to what you assume to be your group of friends.

“Clarisse what the hell?” you mutter stepping away from Luke reluctantly. Chris comes barelling out of the forest, tripping over shrubbery. Luke pouts at the loss of contact

“They were making out?” he pouts to Clarisse who gestures towards you both as if to say well just look at them! then Chris turns to you and Luke, “You guys couldn’t have waited like one more day?”

You laugh as Luke whacks him upside the head. The four of you begin making your way towards the rest of your friends and the Aphrodite cabin where the party (which is so not a party) is. Your girlfriends squeal and Luke’s friends cringe. Luke throws his arm around your shoulder, "All good Poison?" he ask.

"I'm good, how are you?" he laughs and kisses your head.

"Never better."

You look up at him fondly and kiss the bottom of his scar as the two of you enter the cabin with the rest of your friends.

Across the room, Haley pouts with her siblings, but you don’t notice. You’re too enamored with Luke, the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember. The boy who loves you back.

[draconic-desire]

THE NAIVE DARLINGGGG

I can imagine darling crying into Sunday.. at first refusing going to home, expressing her insecurities. So when Sunday drags her back, she just pleads with Sunday. All darling wants to to serve at least some purpose to Sundays life. She begs Sunday to let her cook for him .. or in her sobbing fit shr muttered how even having Sundays baby would serve some usefullness.. Darling didnt want to seem like a burden to Sunday..

At the mention of babies, Sunday gets the idea of how sweet little children will tie darling to him forever

The baby will come out a lil skrunkly , in a cite way of course <3 a fat plump baby who looks like a dumpling with chicken wings attached to the back of its ear :"(

sunday would 1000% babytrap his darling at some point, you cannot convince me otherwise. but if YOU came to HIM about it? girl bye you’re done for

Yan!Sunday x Fem!Reader

warning: nsfw thoughts from sunday, mentions of pregnancy

After Sunday leads you back home, it doesn’t take long for your thoughts to spiral again.

Walking through the halls of the spacious pavilion, eying the grandeur that is Sunday’s home, pondering his status as the head of the Family…you start to wonder what you bring to the table.

He claims he loves you, that you are unique and irreplaceable, but what does that really mean? You have no money, wealth, or fame, no notable skills that could contribute to the Oak Family lineage.

Well, except…

Your hand falls to your abdomen. It’s something Sunday has mentioned in passing, the need for an heir, the desire to expand his family, but you never thought he meant doing so with you. But perhaps…?

Your head shakes violently, and you turn to wipe away a stray tear. How foolish of you. Sunday doesn’t keep you around for that sort of thing. His hier will be delivered from a queen, befitting of the same status as him, and not some nobody like you.

Like always, Sunday is more attentive than you give him credit for.

He thinks it’s cute, how naive and oblivious you are sometimes. Except when he notices that this time, you are attempting to hide your crying behind the palm on your hand.

“(Y/n), my love, what troubles you?” He gently pulls your hand away from your face and instead turns you to face him.

Seeing him like this, his tender gaze trained on your form alone, suddenly makes you burst into tears.

“S-S-Sunday,” you sob, “please let me help! I’ll do anything!”

He blinks, confusion written across his features. “Help? With what? (Y/n), it’s been a long day, let me take you to bed—”

You clasp his hands in your own, looking up at him with (e/c) eyes brimming with tears. “Please, don’t throw me aside for someone else. I-I promise I’m not a burden. You need an heir, right? So please, let me carry that responsibility.”

He inhales sharply, his amethyst pupils dilating.

…Did he hear you correctly?

You want to have his child?

Sunday momentarily forgets how to breathe.

Oh, how he has fantasized about this very scenario; it has taken all of his willpower to hold back, to fool you into believing his charming, domestic mannerisms, when he truly wishes to claim every part of you, to brand himself upon every inch of your flesh. Lovely, beautiful, naive little you would never expect the dark desires hidden beneath the surface.

In reality, the thought of you begging for his seed permeates his waking and sleeping dreams. He’s lost track of the amount of nights spent with his hand around his cock, picturing your tight cunt wrapped around it instead.

Never would he have imagined you in this position willingly, practically on your knees for him, desperate for his cum, for his child growing in your belly. The idea arouses him more than you can ever know, and he has to shift to hide his growing erection.

Instead, he scoops you into his arms and nuzzles his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent. Oh, how lovely you’re going to smell when you’re glowing and round with his heir! He imagines how adorable his Halovian child will be, and how he wishes to pin a pair of wings behind your ears as well—a matching set for father, mother, and child.

The wings are, of course, the very ones ripped from your own back—you’re just too entranced by Sunday to notice it was he who plucked them from you to begin with.

And now, Sunday is through with holding back. You’re going to be fully and irrevocably his, tied to him forever. Like a fly landing on a venus trap, your own actions seal your fate. You don’t have a moment to react before the jaws of the predator swallow you whole.

“How could I deny you, my angel?” he coos, pacing towards the bedroom as he begins to pry at the buttons of your top. “And what better time to begin than the present, hm?”

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU

Warnings; Several yanderes, platonic yanderes, romantic yanderes, yandere behavior, monster au, fem reader, no one starts off knowing reader is fem so they/them pronouns used, deranged behavior, spiders, driders, centaurs, unicorns, Nemean lions, werewolves, selkies, minotaurs, genies, nagas, magic, threats, panic,

~~~~~~~~

Nothing made sense anymore.

None of what you saw could have possibly been real, and even if it was, where did that leave you? The area was not familiar and you had gone through one of those mirrors to get where you were. Hopefully those... things... wouldn't think to look for you where you decided to hide out until you got a plan together. This was all provided you could think of a plan despite everything going on around you.

When you had woken up inside a coffin, the panic had set in so quickly. Since the very second that coffin spilled you out on the marble floors to the odd creatures that greeted you with unhindered curiosity, you were afraid and lost. Even now as impossible things had taken place, a thought echoed in your head from what one of the creatures had said.

I thought Humans were extinct?

Certainly a few of those you saw around you looked human, but most were some kind of creature or abominable hybrid. None of it made sense because creatures like this couldn't possibly exist, right? If that was true, you were suffering some kind of psychotic break. But if it wasn't true, if you could actually trust your eyes to tell you the truth, then you had something completely new to deal with.

Exhaustion hit you hard enough that you couldn't help but cuddle close to your stone companion and shelter, seeking comfort in the cold statue.

~•§•~

Eyes slowly flickered open in the dark, searching with sleep-hazed confusion at the oddly cramped surroundings. Attempting to lift your hands only made more confusion race through your mind as some kind of lid stopped you from completing the motion. The fog of sleep that had hung so heavy in your mind was now replaced with sharp awareness and clarity, throwing you into a state of panic as you realized you were trapped.

The dark container you found yourself in had you thrashing and desperate for freedom from your newfound confines. Your kicking and thrashing- painful against the lid of your container- managed to actually knock the top loose and slightly ajar. That bit of light from outside was the only encouragement your knowledge deprived brain needed to know it was doing the right thing by struggling. What you didn't expect was the feeling of this human-sized container pitching forward to spill you out unceremoniously on the ground.

The cold surface beneath you felt even colder on your soft face, wondering just where you were and why all of your memories leading up to that moment were just a blur. You didn't have long to spend on your musings before an unusual voice reached your ears, closer to a baritone than a tenor but still a masculine sounding tone.

"Oh my, I thought we had all of the students accounted for. Could it be I miscounted?"

You pushed yourself up with your hands to try and face whoever was speaking, seeing an oddly feathered man with dark black hair walking towards you. He wore a mask- or perhaps he truly had a beak- that made him look like a rather large corvid walking towards you. Despite his humanoid features, something in the back of your mind told you that this man was not what he appeared at first glance. Even his bright yellow eyes that shined from beneath the black mask seemed inhuman as they studied you intently.

"You certainly don't seem like one of the sudents I selected. I'm fairly sure I would remember someone odd... like you..?"

The man stopped in his tracks, regarding you strangely as if he were actually looking at you now. He certainly wasn't recognizeable to you and you had no sense of familiarity upon seeing him. Something about you must have caught the man's attention as he cocked his head to the side, crouching next to you and observing you keenly. Something about the way he moved was so bird-like you wondered if he was pretending to be some character or if there were actually something inhuman about him.

"I don't often need to ask this question, and I am very curious now what your answer will be, but what are you?"

That was certainly an odd question. You thought the answer would have been obvious, but something about the whole situation made you feel like what you were going through wasn't normal.

"Human..? Isn't everyone?"

There was a long moment of silence and it was in this silence you decided to look around now that your poor face stopped hurting from your abrupt meeting with the ground. You were in the center of a large room where what seemed to be dozens of coffins with various sizes and shapes floated around you. The container you came from was also a coffin and you could see where you had actually damaged the smooth wood with your desperate attempt at freedom.

Beyond the floating coffins- as surreal as they were- you noticed that you were not the only two present. Many others were standing around you, all in the same black, purple, and gold robes. All looking at you with unguarded curiosity. It was as you looked at these unusually robed people that you began to realize none of them looked particularly human. The more you searched, the clearer it became that none of those standing around you seemed to be fully human.

One of those standing there was a heartbreakingly beautiful bird-man with smooth complexion and flawless makeup darkening his lovely purple eyes. His fair blond hair woven with long feathers. Behind him was a long train of peacock feathers in iridescent colors that seemed all the more colorful beneath the flicking candlelight. As he noticed you glance at him, he seemed to almost puff out his chest in pride and the feather train behind him ruffled ever so slightly.

There was what you could only describe as a some kind of horned horse-man standing not too far from the bird-man. He had fiery red hair that complimented his smokey blue eyes, a prominent golden horn sat in the middle of his forehead with two long strands of hair framing the protrusion. His horse-half had pure white fur, the tail of the horse sporting the same flaming hair the human-half had. The hooves on the horse half were that same sparkling golden that made the hybrid almost seem regal in a way.

Even beyond the two oddities you saw more and more inhuman features on the beings standing around you. There was a light murmur of conversation humming through the air and that was when you caught something unusual.

"I thought Humans were extinct?"

You were brought back to attention by the man in front of you clapping his hands as he stood back to full height. He had an unsettling smile playing on his lips and he regarded you the same way one would regard a lost puppy sitting, shivering from fear and cold at their door.

"You actually are a Human, aren't you? How amazing! To think, a Human just appeared at my college after centuries of one not even being sighted! How thrilling. This certainly is an unusual situation, and it is my duty as Headmage to safeguard such an endangered creature. Worry not, little Human, you are safe here. Aren't I just the kindest?"

You felt like you had been dropped in some wretched nightmare that made no sense despite how desperately you searched for it. There was no such thing as horned horse men, or crow men, or peacock men! None of this was possibly happening because these things just didn't exist where you were from. Maybe as a child you had believed such lies, but as an adult you couldn't comprehend these creatures possibly existing. It was just madness.

It was as you were pulling yourself to your feet that another voice spoke up, this one a touch deeper than that of the Crow man.

"Merveilleux~ to see such a mythical being up close like this... Their beauty is absolutely stunning in such a captivating and exotic way, très bien!"

You saw the man speaking and felt a little confused when he was taller than many of those standing around him. As others moved to look at him you saw just what it was that gave him such height above the rest. It looked as if someone had taken the top half of a man and attached it to the body of a spider about where the face would be. The spider body itself was compact with black markings along the abdomen and long, spindly legs that seemed more than double the length of the body. Two prominent fangs sat curled at the front of the man, slightly obscured by his robes hanging over them, but you could see the faint sheen of venom on the pointed surface of the far too-large mandibles.

Something about seeing the handsome face and shining green eyes of the blond man paired with the monstrous spider-body that he was attached to made the world seem to spin and pitch beneath you. Though you had just managed to get to your feet you certainly didn't feel steady on them, but as the crow man reached out to steady you, you did the only thing you could think of and bolted. Your sudden flight from the situation made several others startle, and in the confusion you darted for what looked like an exit or portal out.

It had not been what you hoped it to be as you found yourself standing before a dark castle that seemed all the more intimidating compared to the monster filled room you just fled. Still, you could try to find somewhere in the castle to lay low, maybe even out on one of the balconies next to the many Gargoyles that overlooked the dour building. There had to be somewhere out of place enough for you to hide- or so you hoped- from the hybrid monsters that so happily decided to keep you despite not knowing a thing about you.

The slow wandering of halls with no opposition put you on edge, wondering if you just got lucky or if you hadn't seen anyone for a reason. Even as your footsteps quietly echoed in the dark halls, you remained vigilant in your quest to find somewhere out of the way.

Eventually that quest for somewhere safe led you to one of the many rooftops of the building. Your salvation came in the form of a recessed alcove that went further back than it appeared, facing away from the front of the castle. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep you sheltered from the rather cold wind and make you feel concealed even among the rooftop.

With Gargoyles as your company and adrenaline quickly fading, you found yourself exhausted and in need of a rest. Despite how fast you seemed to have stumbled upon your hiding place, you could see it had actually been quite a distance you must have run. The portal far away on the other side of the enormous drawbridge that let you into the castle. Your energy was sapped and you were more than confused, but you couldn't fight the insistent pull of sleep on your frazzled mind forever.

~•§•~

The old crow Fae was still reeling from the absolute shock he had just gone through, but most would likely be feeling the same were they in his shoes. It simply was next to impossible, but an actual Human was roaming the halls of Night Raven College. He himself had last seen a Human more than half a millennia ago and they had since been declared extinct for several centuries. Seeing such a mythical being in the Hall of Mirrors was certainly unexpected and curious.

At first he believed they were a Selkie who had lost their fur, but the absolute lack of magic from them told him all he needed to know. Humans were the only non-magic species that had reached sentience in Twisted Wonderland, but this left them at a disadvantage as all other sentient species had magic and quickly out competed them. Some of the Naga and other beastman tribes even took to eating humans as a delicacy before they were declared extinct. Now Crowley had what was very possibly the first recorded Human in centuries somewhere lost in his college.

The grants he could get to care for the Human alone justified finding them and keeping them at Night Raven despite the fact they were not actually a student or member of the college. Even beyond just the money to keep such a rare specimen safe, he was going to get to see their magicless qualities first hand. It was always assumed that Humans had some kind of innate abilities to make up for the fact that they didn't have magic. Their affable nature made them great at keeping the peace between strong personalities and powerful magic users. Though Humans were technically at the bottom of the food chain as far as sentient species were concerned, Crowley could keep this one creature safe at Night Raven College.

All he needed to do now was find the wayward Human and get them to settle down. Of course, there was still the question for where the Human could possibly stay that would ensure their safety.

~•§•~

The dark haired prince walked through the somber halls of Diasomnia. Emerald eyes taking note of the ever familiar surroundings that made up his temporary home. The dour prince was looking to visit his beloved Gargoyles and figured now was as good a time as any. He had not been invited to the ceremony after all and he was not so rude as to show up without invitation and no good reason. Besides, it had been a while since he last visited his beloved statues.

As he made his usual rounds based on the age of the statue, the horned royal paused when greeted with an unfamiliar sight. Beneath one of the Gargoyles was someone soft and delicate looking. They were clearly not made of the same stone as the statues, but by all appearances the Gargoyles had borne a child of flesh and not stone. Perhaps Lilia would know where this odd little creature came from.

The prince was gentle removing the soft (s/c) being from beneath the statue, taking care to not wake the warm creature. His obsidian wings flared with contentment as he managed to extract the oddly delicate humanoid. Outwardly appearing, they almost seemed to be a selkie without fur, but their scent said otherwise. They were much softer than a siren or banshee which often had very taut skin. With renewed purpose, the thorn prince carried his new discovery to his own room, tucking the little being into his blankets. He would find somewhere else for the odd creature to stay after he conversed with Lilia. For now, he could leave the fragile being in the safety of his nest until he figured out what they were.

Perhaps he would crash the ceremony after all. Even if he wasn't invited, this was a good reason.

[ohproserpine]

vii. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, death, hunting, graphic descriptions of injuries, vox being painfully obvious, vox malfunctions (lmao L), allusion to death, valentino warning, alastor's demon form

Rocks and twigs dug into your knees as you crawled forward, the jagged edges cutting your skin as you reached Alastor's side. With trembling hands, you cradled his face against your lap.

"Alastor," you called for him, desperately clutching onto his body, trying to pull him back down to Earth and hold him there "Al, Al, please."

"What did I do? What can I do?" More tears dribbled down your cheeks as you looked down at your husband, leaning in to press tender kisses to the apples of his cheeks. You held him as tightly as you could, careful not to cause him any more pain.

"I can figure out a way to help you, I can. I know I can, baby," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. Your gaze remained locked with your husband's lifeless eyes, the world spinning around you as panic tightened its grip on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

"Al. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

˚୨୧₊♱

You woke with a startle.

Gasping for breath, your chest heaved with each inhale, the rapid beat of your pulse slamming against your ribcage, the sound hammering in your head. Blinking repeatedly, your vision slowly adjusted to the unfamiliar sight of a ceiling painted with outrageously colorful prints. Faint traces of neon lights filtered through the thin curtains, casting erratic patterns across the room, accompanied by the distant thump of music.

A gentle knocking at the door broke through the haze, accompanied by the muted tones of a familiar voice seeping through the metal barrier.

"Dollface? Are you up?" Vox's voice, though muffled, was unmistakable as it filtered through the door.

Shakily, you pushed yourself up and sat for a while, gathering your composure. The room spun around you, the vibrant colors of the walls and lights blurring into a dizzying kaleidoscope. Eventually, with a deep breath, you pushed yourself into action, moving to open the door.

As you swung it open, Vox stood on the other side, his signature smirk etched onto his features. His mechanical eyes gleamed as they scanned you for any signs of distress or fatigue. And despite your disorientation, you straightened your posture, trying to maintain your usual demeanor in front of him.

"Good morning," Vox greeted smoothly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

Of course, he wasn't interrupting anything. It was clear to both of you that you had just rolled out of bed. Your hair tousled in disarray, your sleepwear crumpled and creased, and your bed behind you a mess of twisted sheets and pillows.

Still, you forced a polite smile and shook your head.

"No, not at all," you replied.

"Excellent," Vox grinned, stepping a foot past your doorway. "May I come in?"

Despite the internal alarm bells ringing in your mind, you nodded, moving aside to let him in. As he passed by, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized, like prey under the gaze of a predator before the pounce.

Closing the door, you leaned against it, feeling the cool surface against your back, and turned to face Vox, attempting to hide the unease simmering within.

"What can I help you with?" you asked, keeping your tone steady.

Vox's gaze pierced yours, his mechanical eyes glinting with a hunger that unsettled you.

"I thought of how we could discuss the details of our partnership," he hummed, running his fingers along your dresser. "Over dinner, perhaps?"

The proposal hung in the air, heavy with implications you weren't sure you wanted to explore. Despite your best efforts to hide it, a seething sense of unease bubbled beneath the surface, twisting your features into a grimace.

"Dinner?" The word felt like acid on your tongue as you struggled to maintain your façade, your gaze sharpening into a glare aimed directly at the overlord. "I'm sorry, but… I'm not interested."

Vox's laughter cut through the tense atmosphere, but it sounded forced and hollow.

"I meant a professional meeting, love," he covered up with a wave of his hand, the charm in his voice slightly strained. "Let's go over your contract."

Relieved, you nodded, though beneath, a whirlwind of thoughts swirled.

This could be a chance for you to really have a gauge on your situation. Everything had happened so fast, and you found yourself stumbling in the dark. You knew the Vees were a powerhouse in the entertainment district, their influence stretching far and wide, extending into every corner of hell. They were notorious for their employment methods, for their ability to shape destinies and manipulate lives with the stroke of a pen.

Who knows what was even in your contract?

"Wonderful!" Vox's cheerful interruption jolted you from your thoughts as he extended his arm. "Well then, let's not waste any more time. Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" you spoke slowly, your tone guarded.

"Shall we get to your duties, my dear?" Vox clarified smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his words laden with expectation. "Velvette is waiting."

"Oh—" you jolted. Quickly, you gathered yourself, smoothing down the wrinkles of your robe and adjusting your disheveled hair with clumsy fingers.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you reached out and linked your arm with Vox's. The overlord smirked as he led you out of the room and through the corridors, already launching into conversation about his latest product line.

A part of you found it amusing how similar he was to your husband—both of them chatterboxes who couldn't keep their mouths shut if they tried.

Nodding along to Vox's conversation, you fell into step beside him. As you two walked, it was impossible not to notice the subtle shift in demeanor among the demons and imps, who hastily cleared a path for Vox, some even bowing respectfully as you passed by.

"And here we are!"

Arriving at Velvette's office, you entered cautiously, the tension thick in the air. Models lounged around in various states of undress, their statuesque figures draped in luxurious fabrics. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to suspicion as they observed your every move. Some whispered amongst themselves in hushed tones, casting wary glances in your direction, while others maintained an aloof demeanor, their gazes piercing yet blank.

Velvette stood at the front, her figure partially obscured by the tall curtains behind her. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over you with open scorn.

"Finally! Took ya long enough," Velvette scowled. "Edna, will you please go get her dressed?!"

Edna, a tall and slender imp with delicate horns curved against her head, nodded obediently before gliding over to you. With a gentle tug on your arm, she beckoned you to follow her backstage. You stumbled nervously, clutching your robe as you obeyed.

As you stepped away, Vox chuckled, waving you off with a flourish. You offered a cautious wave back before being enveloped by the heavy fabric of the curtains.

"I know what you're trying," Velvette scoffed as she tapped away on her phone, her perfectly manicured nails, painted in a glossy shade of neon pink, clacking against the screen. Vox turned to her, his expression one of exaggerated innocence.

"Whatever do you mean?" he retorted, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"Oh, please don't act as if you weren't sending marionnette over there heart eyes," Velvette accused, her crimson lips forming a thin line of disapproval. "Listen, I don't care what you do with your little girl toy. Just make sure you don't get in the way of my show."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Vox hummed, taking a seat on one of the plush couches.

Velvette turned to him, surprised, her curls bouncing from the abruptness of her movement. "You're staying?"

"Of course. I'm eager to see your dazzling ideas, my dear," Vox replied smoothly, spreading his long legs across the expanse of the couch. "After all, your show is going to be featured on my channels. It's all anyone has been raving about on Voxtagram lately."

"Cut the crap. You just want an excuse to ogle at her," Velvette scoffed.

Vox leaned back against the cushions, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Can you blame me? She's quite the sight to behold."

Before Velvette could snap back, Edna returned, leading you out from behind the curtains. You emerged, feeling somewhat exposed under the scrutinizing gazes of the two overlords.

No surprise, as the main act, you were dressed in one of Velvette's main designs. Black netted stockings hugged your legs as they met the bright red stilettos that adorned your feet. A red corset cinched your waist and emphasized the curve of your hips, accentuating your figure. Below the corset, you wore a dark miniskirt with cream ruffles and lace, its fabric swaying with every step.

You felt abash as you stood in the outfit. In the past, you had been considered a flapper girl with your bold demeanor and penchant for daring fashion choices, but even you couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise at the lack of modesty of the skirt in this particular outfit. It barely grazed past your crotch, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

"Let's see…" Velvette hummed, completely absorbed in her task as she approached you, Vox long forgotten. With a couple of snaps of her fingers, the clothing and accessories you wore began to shift and change, transforming before your eyes.

Velvette's fingers danced through the air, conjuring delicate lace and cascading ruffles that stuck onto the corset. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a cream fur coat, draping it over your shoulders with a flourish. The colors morphed, the fabrics transformed, until finally, with a satisfied clap of her hands, she took a step back to admire your new look.

"Makeup!"

Suddenly, you yelped as a chair was dragged over, pushing against the back of your knees and causing you to fall right into it. A bunch of imps swarmed around you and they wasted no time in getting to work, dabbing various products onto your face and expertly brushing powder along your cheeks.

Once they were finished, they handed you a mirror, allowing you to inspect their handiwork. Unlike the outfit, the makeup look wasn't as unsettling. Your face was adorned with makeup reminiscent of classic clown makeup, featuring exaggerated lashes, a layer of white face paint, and a bold red lip.

"That's it! That's the one," Velvette grinned, delighted with the makeover. Her grin turned into a smirk as she turned to Vox. "Well, what do you think—Satan!"

Vox's screen began to glitch and buffer, emitting sparks of electricity that charred the couch beneath him. The sudden noise startled some of the models, their eyes widening in alarm as they scrambled to move away from the malfunctioning android.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Velvette shouted.

Vox tried to respond, but all that came out was static.

Concerned, you approached him, the clicking of your heels against the floor echoing.

As you settled beside Vox, there was a momentary pause in the static, and he stared at you with wide eyes, the malfunction seemingly halted by your presence.

Part of you screamed at yourself to leave, to let him handle his problems alone. But another part of you remained, despite everything. Somehow, you still felt a sliver of sympathy for the overlord.

Leaning in closer, you furrowed your brow, the red gloss on your lips catching the studio lights. The corset pushed your chest up, and Vox found his eyes shamelessly drifting.

"Are you okay?" you whispered, your voice laced with genuine worry.

But before Vox could respond, he short-circuited, a burst of sparks and smoke emitting from his malfunctioning screen. You recoiled instinctively, your hand reaching out to shield yourself from any potential danger. With a final surge of electricity, he powered down completely, leaving behind a smoldering heap of metal and wires.

"Is he… okay?"

Velvette waved a dismissive hand. "He's always doing this. Probably overloaded his circuits again."

"Now, can someone please get this thing out of here?!" she commanded, snapping her fingers and tapping her foot impatiently.

As the models and attendants hurried to comply, you were pulled back up to your feet by the overlord. "He'll reboot eventually. Now, let's get back to work."

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from Vox, you followed after Velvette as she led the way to a photo studio within the boutique.

The scene before you was akin to a circus, with vibrant hues of bright reds and pinks resembling a Valentine's Day massacre. A carousel in the background spun slowly, its eerie music echoing through the studio. Beating hearts hung suspended from the ceiling, their rhythmic pulses visible as they dripped with blood.

"Alright! Let's get the rehearsal started!" Velvette shouted out as she began to direct the crew. Cameras were adjusted, lights were fine-tuned, and the set was re-arranged to her satisfaction.

Turning to you with a tablet in hand, Velvette tossed it into your hands. You caught the device and quickly read through the document on the screen, realizing it was lyrics to a song. Your eyes rushed to memorize the words, the familiarity of the process washing over you.

Decades in the show industry had honed your skills to perfection, making this routine feel like second nature. A small pang of nostalgia tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you of simpler times before everything went amiss.

“Alright.”

Barely giving you ten minutes to prepare, Velvette deftly plucked the tablet from your hands as she stepped back and settled into a director's chair. The chair creaked softly under her weight as she made herself comfortable, slipping on heart-shaped glasses that glinted in the studio lights.

"Let's see what you've got.”

Lifting the scepter to your lips, you pressed it against your mouth, leaving a trace of red lipstick staining the surface, a stark contrast against the sleek metal. As the lights dimmed, signaling the start of your performance, you took a deep breath and began to recite the lyrics.

I write poems to burn by firelight Drink champagne and guzzle gin Good girls call me "the town bicycle" Don't knock it 'til you've tried my life of sin

With a flick of your hand, you pushed back the curls of your hair, the strands catching the studio lights as you kept your gaze glued to the camera lens. From her chair, Velvette smirked and captured the moment with her phone, the flash briefly blinding the dimly lit set.

Oh, my pimp, knows never mess with me Last prick did that faded quick to black I have no idea where to find him, officers But if you do, please mention that I'd Like to have returned the pretty knife That I stuck ten times in his back—

Before you could even finish, the door burst open with a deafening bang, causing everyone in the room to jump in surprise. Valentino stormed into the boutique, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. Without uttering a single word, he launched into a violent rampage, his movements wild and unpredictable.

The air was filled with the sound of crashing props and the desperate, panicked screams of assistants as they scrambled to evade Valentino's wrath. You jerked back instinctively as an arm was thrown in your direction, narrowly avoiding the chaotic fray unfolding around you.

"Damn it, Valentino! What are you doing?!" Velvette shouted over the commotion, her voice strained with anger and disbelief as she dug her fingers into her hair, her perfectly styled locks now in disarray.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" the moth demon screamed back, his voice seething with rage as he held poor Edna by her throat, his grip like a vice around her delicate neck.

"I'm airing out my frustrations!" he spat, his eyes wild with fury.

A sickening tearing sound filled the room as Valentino viciously tore Edna apart, blood splattering across the floor and staining the nearby racks of clothing.

"Fuck!" Velvette cursed under her breath. Fumbling, she retrieved her phone, her fingers tapping against the screen in agitation as she dialed Vox's number.

"My dear," the businessman's smooth voice echoed through the speakers, a calming presence amidst the storm. "What can I do for you?"

"Cut the shit. Are you functioning now?" Velvette's words were clipped, forceful, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Functioning?" The overlord's response was hesitant, his movements jerky as he twisted his head, the wires on his neck audibly cracking with a spark. "I… suppose so."

"Good, because I need you up here now!" Velvette's voice crackled with urgency. "Mothboy is wrecking my department! And I'm waiting for a certain flat-faced prince to come and help!"

Without another word, Vox nodded with a weary groan, the weight of responsibility settling heavily upon him like an oppressive cloak.

"Just another fuckin' day with Val," he scoffed bitterly, his tone tinged with resignation as he pushed himself to his feet with a mechanical whir. "Fuck my life."

In an instant, he transformed into a crackling spark of electricity, zipping up into the CCTV camera before seamlessly teleporting into another one located in Velvette's studio.

"What's going on?" Vox sighed wearily as he materialized, his voice tinged with exhaustion, hands folding behind his back as he surveyed the chaotic scene before him.

"Valentino's lost it again. And he's tearing everything apart," Velvette hissed as her hand shot up, grabbing Vox by the collar of his metallic frame.

Her nails dug into the surface, leaving faint marks as she pulled him down to her eye level. "You need to stop him before he causes any more damage!"

"Consider it done," Vox muttered, rolling his eyes before moving toward Valentino. With a firm grip, he halted the demon mid-carnage, spinning Valentino around to face him. An unsettling grin stretched across Vox's metallic features as he locked eyes with the enraged demon.

"Val! What's got you out of sorts today?"

“That piece of shit! Can you believe what he did?” Valentino snarled, his voice dripping with venom as he flung a small imp across the room, the helpless girl crashing into a clothing rack. “The ungrateful whore!”

"Uh huh, which whore are we talking about now?” Vox spoke nonchalantly as he pulled his phone out and idly scrolled through it. Before he could react, Valentino lunged forward, his claws snatching the device from Vox's grasp.

"Who else would I be talking about?!" Valentino spat, his grip tightening around the phone until it crushed in his hands. With a primal scream, he hurled the remains of the tech against a nearby wall, the impact causing the column to crack under the force of the blow.

You watched with a frown as Vox attempted to calm Valentino, but his efforts fell short against the demon's relentless anger. Despite Vox's attempts, Valentino continued to rage, his voice echoing through the room as he screamed about hotels, phone calls, and among other things you didn't bother picking up.

“Fuck. Alright, he's not calming down anytime soon,” Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. She turned to you and motioned for you to follow as she began storming out. “Come on."

Quickly, you nodded, falling into step behind Velvette as she navigated through the gory scene. Blood stained the bottom of your heels as you stepped past limbs and puddles of blood, bones cracked underfoot, and muscles squished beneath your weight. The overpowering scent of iron filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of fear.

The overlord guided you out of the room and towards the other side of the building, where a door adorned with your name on a golden plaque awaited.

"This is your dressing room. We'll have another shoot in a few hours, so get yourself prepped in here while I go take care of the piss baby," Velvette scowled, already busying herself with her phone again.

"Will do," you sighed, running a hand through your hair, grateful for the moment of rest.

"Good. I'll see you then," Velvette declared with dramatic flair, her vibrant curls swirling around her face as she turned on her heels and walked away, leaving a trail of her perfume lingering in the air.

As you were about to step into your dressing room, the door beside you suddenly swung open with a creak, revealing a slice of the pink-filled bedroom beyond. To your surprise, you were met with the familiar sight of a fluff of white hair. An accented voice filled the air, screaming into a phone, the sound echoing down the corridor.

"I told ya, I didn't mean to—," The demon turned to you and froze, his eyes widening as he dropped his cigar in shock. The carpet beneath your feet caught fire from the dropped cigar, but neither of you seemed to care.

He stared at you, wide-eyed.

Hands flying up to your mouth, you stared back.

For a minute, all you could hear was the muted sounds of Valentino's screaming from the phone speaker and the building's hustle and bustle

"Dollface?" Angel Dust finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper as he blinked dumbfounded. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Your heart dropped like a heavy stone, sinking into the depths of your chest. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stood there.

Everything was becoming too much to even process. Your body betrayed you as you lost your balance, collapsing and hitting the floor. A high-pitched ringing pierced your ears, drowning out all other sounds, as warmth seeped from them.

"Aw, shit," Angel Dust hissed in panic. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled you into his arms, dragging you into his room, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Ending the call, he tossed his phone away and guided you to a plush couch, the fabric soft and inviting beneath your touch as you sank into its embrace. Angel Dust settled beside you, his presence comforting like a warm blanket on a cold night. He offered you a sympathetic smile, though slightly awkward, his eyes filled with understanding.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured soothingly, his words a gentle caress to your troubled soul.

Opening his arms wide, Angel offered you a hug, and you leaned into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his arms as he enveloped you in a comforting hug. Slowly, your senses came together as you nestled against him, the gentle rhythm of his breathing calming the storm of emotions raging within you.

"It's gonna be alright," he whispered softly, his voice a comforting murmur. Moving closer, he wiped away the warm liquid seeping from your ears. You could faintly see his hands moving away, stained with red. "You alright? What happened, mama?"

"A lot," you sighed, raising a hand to massage your temple as you recounted the events of the past 24 hours, from Mimzy's lounge getting busted down to your soul exchange with Vox.

Angel listened intently as you recounted the events, his expression shifting from concern to disbelief as he processed the gravity of what you had experienced.

"Damn, you've been through hell twice. You're one tough cookie, mama," Angel said with a warm smile as he reached for a brush on his vanity and gently ran it through your messed-up hair.

Despite the heaviness of the situation, a hint of laughter escaped you.

"You could say that," you sniffed, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you let out a long-held sigh. "It's been a while since I've been able to let it all out like this. Most demons aren't exactly the nicest."

Angel Dust chuckled with a shrug, his hands gentle as he worked through the knots in your hair. "Yeah, I've… ah, been tryn'a to stay 'good' for a while now. Charlie's been real pushy with the redemption thing, and I thought, what the hell, why not?"

Suddenly, he paused his brushing and gawked at you, his eyes widening in realization. "Charlie! The hotel!"

Your heart skipped a beat as Angel Dust's words sank in. "The hotel," you echoed, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place in your mind.

"Shit!" Angel laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, there ya go! I get off shift tonight, and I sure as hell can get my ass over there. Hell, I can leave right this instant if you want!"

"Won't Valentino be pissed?" you asked, a flicker of concern crossing your features. "You'll be—" Your gaze darted over to his discarded phone on the floor, which was buzzing with calls. "Well, already are in deep shit."

Angel Dust frowned, his expression hardening with resolve. He grabbed your coat and swiftly removed it, tossing it aside to cover the buzzing phone. "Fuck 'im. He can bark all he wants in the studio, but outside of it, he's got no power over me."

The spider leaned in, his touch as gentle as a soft breeze against your skin, his fingers delicate as they brushed a stray hair from your face. "I'll help you. So don't get your pretty little tits in a twist anymore, alright?"

With a heavy heart, you whispered your gratitude, bowing your head as tears continued to stream down your cheeks. Today had been bleak, but a glimmer of hope lingered for a brighter tomorrow.

"But I don't want to get you in trouble, Angel," you said softly, wiping away your tears, exhaustion washing over you. "I can wait until tonight."

Angel Dust's expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Nah, babe, ain't no trouble for me. Besides, waiting ain't my style, and I ain't about to let you deal with this mess alone."

"Plus," Angel grinned devilishly, his eyes sparkling with mischief, the corners of his lips curling up. "I know your man is going to tear shit down. And I want front row seats to all that drama."

˚୨୧₊♱

"NO!"

Charlie shrieked, her voice piercing the air as she lunged forward, her fingers grasping desperately at Alastor's piece on the gameboard. "Al! You can't just do whatever you want! You have to follow the rules!"

Alastor leaned back in his chair, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he regarded Charlie with amusement. "But my dear, where's the entertainment in that?" he purred as he tilted his head in mock innocence. "Rules are made to be broken, after all. So, I had a little fun with it."

"A little fun?" Vaggie scoffed from her spot on the floor, her brows furrowed in frustration as she idly shuffled the cards.

"Yeah, thanks a lot, dickhead," she muttered, her voice laced with irritation. "That's what you've been doing these past 2 hours. If you don't start playing properly, might as well not play. I mean—why did you even bother?"

"For the entertainment!" Alastor cheered, his grin widening as he rolled the dice once the turn landed on him again. With a flourish of his claws, he moved his piece three spaces, landing on an unclaimed building which he quickly purchased. "I came here because I love seeing you wayward souls struggle to accomplish something great, and fail spectacularly!"

Vaggie scoffed and rolled the dice, her hand deftly moving the piece along the board with a flick of her wrist. However, her expression soured noticeably when the piece landed on the Jail panel. She seethed and sank back, silently cursing her streak of horrible luck.

"Ah, like you are doing now!" Alastor smirked down at her like the asshole he was, punctuating his words with a clap of his hand. "Good job!"

Vaggie clenched her jaw tightly, her knuckles whitening as she lifted the board, readying herself to strike Alastor. However, before she could make her move, the door burst open, and Angel Dust rushed in with a gasp. He looked every bit disheveled, as if he had just run through all nine circles of hell.

Charlie's eyes lit up at the sight of him, and she lifted her hand, waving him over excitedly.

"Angel! Perfect timing. We need one more player for Monopurgatory," she exclaimed, gesturing excitedly towards the game board. With a gleeful expression, she plucked a piece from the board and held up a small metal figurine with a wide smile. "You can be the cupcake~!"

"Sorry, princess, I've got business," Angel huffed, brushing his hair back as he turned to Alastor. "Alright, freaks. We need to talk."

Alastor hummed, studying Angel with mild amusement. "My, my, such urgency," he remarked, his smile widening into a grin. "What's got you in such a hurry?"

"It's about Vox," Angel replied, pressing his hands flat against each other. "I need to speak with you in private."

Alastor's grin faded slightly, and he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing at Angel. Well, this was certainly getting very entertaining.

After a moment of contemplation, Alastor shook his head, snapping himself out of whatever daze he had briefly fallen into.

"Vox, you say?" Alastor mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. With a nonchalant shrug, he pushed himself up, twirling his cane in the air. "Oh, well, in that case, let's chat."

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor moved forward and gestured towards the door, indicating for Angel to follow him. Charlie and Vaggie exchanged puzzled glances, but they remained silent, watching as both men left the room.

"You know, I'd usually never even think of entertaining you, and I'd rather let you deal with your own issues. But you seem to be in a great deal of suffering!” Alastor laughed heartily as he shut the door.

"So, pray tell, what happened? Did you get yourself entangled in another deal from a whim decision? My! I certainly hope you don't bring any of this into the hotel. What will the papers say?"

Angel rolled his eyes and cut Alastor's rambling short, jabbing a gloved finger into the Radio Demon's chest. "It ain't about me. And you're gonna want to listen because it's your missus that's in deep shit right now."

Alastor's eye twitched at the mention of you, a brief flicker of static and symbols dancing in the air. His crimson eyes bore into Angel Dust, his expression unreadable, save for the wide curl of his lips.

Inwardly, Angel smirked. If he didn't have Alastor's attention before, he sure as fuck had it now.

"What does my wife have to do with this?" Alastor quipped sharply, his claws delicately removing Angel Dust's finger from his chest. "I fail to see the connection. Do enlighten me."

"Wanna be enlightened?" Angel waved him over, "Then follow me."

Without waiting for a response, Angel turned on his heels and strode out of the hotel. Alastor followed closely behind, his red-clad figure cutting through the streets of hell like fire against the night.

A few streets later, they approached the border edge of the entertainment district, and Alastor halted abruptly, his gaze narrowing in suspicion.

"I don't particularly fancy this area, and I'd rather not enter," he scoffed, adjusting his coat and brushing away dust from his sleeves with a disdainful flick. "It's rather unsavory."

"Just look," Angel rolled his eyes, gesturing upwards towards the towering Vee tower, where a new advertisement had just been erected.

Alastor's gaze shifted upward, and he froze as he beheld your face plastered across the billboard, larger than life, dominating the skyline of the entertainment district. The vibrant colors of the advertisement clashed with the dark hues of the surrounding buildings, drawing attention like a beacon in the night. Beneath the image, in bold letters, was a sign that read: "Sponsored by VoxTek," stark against the backdrop of your image.

There was silence for a minute, then another, before a sharp crack split the air.

"Angel?" Alastor's chipper voice rang out as he stared up at the billboard with a manic grin. Crackling began to be heard as his limbs lengthened, each movement accompanied by the sound of bones shifting and sinewy muscles stretching beneath his ashen flesh.

"Would you be so kind as to…" His antlers began to grow in size, curling and twisting like the branches of a gnarled tree.

"—explain…" His eyes darkened, the whites turning to a deep, swirling black, while the pupils glowed with a golden light, resembling the flickering dials of an old radio.

"—what exactly am I looking at right now?" His hands elongated into grotesque claws, the fingers stretching and sharpening into razor-sharp blades capable of ripping flesh—or in this case, wires—with ease. As his claws extended, they stretched his glove to its limit until it tore right off, revealing the glint of his wedding ring.

"Vox got her soul," Angel replied immediately, his voice steady despite the horrifying sight in front of him. "Screens has her wrapped around his finger, and he's not planning to let go anytime soon."

Alastor's head snapped to the side with a sickening crack accompanying the movement.

"Show me," he snarled, his voice taking on an inhuman quality, heavily filtered by radio waves.

Without hesitation, Angel gestured towards the billboard, his expression blank.

"Get in there, and see for ya'self."

˚୨୧₊♱

[girlkisser13]

labyrinth

"uh-oh, i'm falling in love" "oh no, i'm falling in love again" "oh, i'm falling in love"

pairings: klaus mikaelson x vampire fem!reader

warnings/tags: none. purely fluff.

summary: a certain original hybrid fancies you.

mystic falls was as serene as ever, the quiet streets lined with quaint houses and lush greenery. the town held a charm that masked the supernatural undercurrent simmering beneath its surface. klaus found himself drawn to this place once again, a mix of nostalgia and unfinished business pulling him back. he hadn’t planned on staying long— until he met you.

at the mystic grill, the familiar clinking of glasses and murmurs of conversation filled the air. klaus settled into a corner booth, his gaze sweeping over the patrons until it landed on you.

you were sitting alone at the bar, your hair framing your face, your expression distant. there was a sadness about you that intrigued him, a pain he recognized all too well.

you felt his gaze on you before you saw him. you turned, and your eyes locked. for a moment, the world fell away. klaus mikaelson, the infamous hybrid, was looking at you with an intensity that made your heart clench. you turned back to your drink, willing yourself to remain unaffected.

klaus approached you with a confident stride, taking the seat next to you. "i couldn't help but notice you from across the room," he said, his voice a smooth blend of charm and danger.

you arched an eyebrow, your guard up. "and now you've come to make your move?" you asked, your tone icy.

klaus chuckled softly. "i assure you, love, my intentions are not what you think. i merely wanted to introduce myself. my name is klaus."

"i know who you are," you replied. "and i'm not interested."

"fair enough," he said, unperturbed. "but perhaps you'd allow me to buy you another drink?"

you hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "one drink," you agreed. "and then you leave me alone."

as the evening wore on, klaus found himself more and more intrigued by you. you were a mystery wrapped in pain, and he was determined to uncover your secrets.

you found yourself reluctantly drawn to klaus. there was a sincerity in his eyes that you hadn't expected, a depth that spoke of centuries of experiences.

days turned into weeks, and klaus' persistence never wavered. he showed up at the mystic grill every evening, always with a new story about his siblings or a small gesture that chipped away at your defenses. he took you on walks through the town, shared the secrets of his past, and listened when you spoke of your own heartbreak.

you had been hurt before, abandoned by a lover who had promised you eternity but left when the weight of forever became too much. you had sworn never to open your heart again, but klaus was different. he saw you for who you were, broken pieces and all, and he didn't flinch.

one evening, as the two of you walked through the deserted streets of mystic falls, klaus turned to you. "y/n, i know that you are afraid. but i am not him. i'm not going anywhere."

you stopped, looking at him with tears shimmering in your eyes. "how can i believe you, klaus? how do i know you won't leave?"

he took your hands in his, his grip firm and reassuring. "because i've lived a thousand years searching for something real. and now that i've found you, i'm not letting go. i promise you, y/n, my intentions are pure. i will spend the rest of eternity proving it to you if i must."

your heart ached at the weight of his words. you wanted to believe him, more than anything. "you're saying you fancy me?" you asked in a teasing manner, your tone hiding the vulnerability in your heart.

klaus's eyes softened. "more than fancy, love. i care for you deeply. and i think, despite everything, you feel the same."

you hesitated, your walls wavering. "i do," you admitted, your voice trembling. "but i'm scared."

klaus leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss. "we'll face that fear together," he vowed. "you have my word."

in that moment, you let yourself believe. for the first time in a long time, you felt hope. and as you both stood together under the moonlit sky of mystic falls, you knew that maybe, just maybe, you had found your forever in klaus mikaelson.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - In Your Arms

Summary - Haunted by relentless nightmares, the only peace she finds is in her husband's arms. As darkness consumes her dreams, his love becomes her sanctuary—a shield against the terror.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Nightmares?

Word count - 2362

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

For many, sleep was a sanctuary—an escape from the harshness of the waking world, a refuge where troubles faded into the shadows and dreams offered a fleeting taste of peace.

For me, sleep was none of these things. It was a battleground. My dreams were not a haven, but a nightmare that tormented me with vivid horrors, a relentless parade of fears that stalked me through the dark of the night.

These nightmares had been my constant companions for as long as I could remember, ever since I was a little girl. 

Each night, without fail, I would wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing, my chest tight as if the terrors of my dreams were somehow real, and I feared they might slip into the waking world.

My mother, ever the pragmatist, worried about my restless nights—not for my sake, but for the sake of what might happen when I was married. 

She feared that my nocturnal disruptions would become a nuisance to my husband, a burden she couldn't bear to imagine. 

In her mind, I was not a frightened child, but a potential source of embarrassment, someone who might disturb the peaceful union she so desperately hoped for me.

And so, I learned to hide it. 

Every night, I would lie next to my husband, Aemond, pretending to be at peace while the turmoil raged inside me. 

I would clutch my chest, struggling to steady my breath, my body trembling, my eyes blinking away tears as I stared at the ceiling, hoping to mask the tremors beneath the surface. 

Silent tears would trace my cheeks as I fought to quell the terror inside.

When my marriage to Aemond, the one-eyed prince, was first announced, my mother immediately began her campaign to rid me of my affliction. 

She meticulously instructed me in the art of self-soothing, teaching me how to wake from the depths of a nightmare and calm myself at the slightest provocation. 

It was as though she believed that with the right technique, I could simply will the darkness away.

But it wasn't that simple. 

And as I lay in the dark beside my husband, I knew I would never be able to fully hide it. 

The weight of my mother's expectations, the unspoken pressure to be the perfect wife, crushed me more than the nightmares ever could.

As morning finally arrived, breaking through the darkness of my sleepless night, I heard Aemond stir beside me. I felt him shift, then turn toward me, his voice still thick with sleep, a smile that was only for me tugging at his lips.

"You're awake," he said softly, his tone heavy with drowsiness. His gaze softened when he saw my face, but I quickly masked my exhaustion with a smile.

"Only for a few minutes," I lied, forcing myself to sit up and turn my back to him, slipping out of bed before he could notice the fatigue that clung to me like a second skin. 

I was already starting my daily routine, the one where I pretended I was not utterly drained, pretending to be the woman he deserved.

"Why so hasty?" he asked, his voice still laced with sleep as he propped himself up on his elbow, watching me with curiosity.

"No reason," I replied, not looking back at him, not meeting his gaze, as I made my way toward the changing screen. I could feel the weight of his eyes on me, but I didn't dare let him see. 

He couldn't understand, not yet. And perhaps, I feared, he would never truly understand.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

It was another sleepless night, the kind where the weight of the darkness presses heavily against my chest, suffocating me as my mind drifts toward the familiar terrors that awaited me beyond the veil of sleep. 

I closed my eyes, hoping for relief, but it was only a fleeting moment before the nightmares began, sharp and vicious, chasing me through twisted landscapes of my own making.

This one was particularly vivid: a cacophony of shouts, the cold steel of weapons flashing in the dim light, the sounds of betrayal echoing in my ears. 

I could feel the hands reaching for me, the screams ringing in my skull, and the terror clawing its way up my throat, threatening to choke me.

I thrashed in my bed, my breath ragged, my body tense and trembling. In the dream, I was alone, abandoned, and no matter how much I cried out, no one could hear me. 

My heart raced, the panic mounting, until finally, I cried out, my voice cracking as the nightmare reached its peak.

Aemond stirred next to me. 

I didn't know if it was the sharpness of my scream or the way I had moved so violently in my sleep, but I felt his warm hand on my arm, pulling me gently from the dark abyss of the nightmare and into the dim, familiar comfort of our room. 

His voice, low and soothing, reached me through the fog of panic.

"Darling," he murmured, his hand brushing my hair from my face. "Wake up, love."

I gasped, sucking in air as I came back to myself, my chest heaving with the remnants of fear. The reality of the room around me slowly settled, but the terror still clung to me like a shadow. 

I could feel tears spilling down my cheeks, and before I could stop them, a sob escaped my throat, raw and desperate.

"Hey, hey," Aemond's voice was a steady anchor in the storm, his fingers tracing gentle circles on my back as if trying to ground me. "You're safe. It's just a dream, you're fine."

I couldn't stop crying. The floodgates had opened, and all I could do was shake, clutching at his chest as he pulled me close. 

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, too ashamed to look at him, too overwhelmed by the storm inside me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered through my sobs, barely able to form the words. "I'm sorry I woke you... I shouldn't have disturbed you."

Aemond's arms tightened around me, his touch gentle but firm as if he was holding me together, making sure I wouldn't slip away. 

He didn't speak at first, and I wondered, briefly, if he was annoyed or frustrated with me if I had bothered him too much. But then, his voice—soft, yet tinged with hurt—whispered in my ear.

"Don't apologise," he said, his voice barely audible, the words laced with a tenderness that made my heart ache.

I pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, my tear-streaked face a poor reflection of the turmoil inside me. I had never told him, never allowed him to see the full extent of the darkness that followed me. 

I had always tried to protect him from it, from me.

"I didn't want to burden you," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper, my words spilling out before I could stop them. 

"I didn't want you to think I was weak. I... I've had these nightmares for as long as I can remember. And every time, I wake up scared, and I don't want to disturb you... I don't want to be a... a problem."

Aemond's expression softened, a look of pain flashing in his eyes as if my words had hurt him in ways I hadn't understood. He cupped my face gently in his hands, lifting my gaze to meet his.

"You're never a burden to me," he said, his voice low and unwavering. "You're never a problem. You're my wife. I'm supposed to protect you, to help you. You don't have to go through this alone."

My breath caught in my throat. I had never realized how much I needed to hear those words, how desperately I had longed for him to understand. 

The walls I had built around myself for so long began to crumble, piece by piece, as I saw the sincerity in his eyes, the depth of his care.

"I don't want you to feel like you're in this alone," Aemond continued, his thumb wiping away the last of my tears. "I'm here for you, always. You can wake me up, anytime, if the nightmares come back. I'll always be here to hold you. You don't have to hide from me."

The rawness of his words left me breathless, and for a moment, I could only stare at him, overwhelmed by the love and understanding he offered so freely. 

It was as though the very thing I had feared—his disappointment, his frustration—had never crossed his mind. Instead, he was offering me comfort, warmth, and a promise.

"Promise?" I whispered, my voice breaking.

"I promise," he whispered back, his lips pressing softly against my forehead, a kiss that felt like a seal, a vow that he would never let me face the darkness alone again.

He pulled me back into his arms, cradling me close as if trying to shield me from the world. The nightmare, the fear, the sorrow—they didn't vanish, but in his embrace, I felt safe. 

For the first time in a long while, I could breathe without the weight of shame or the fear of burdening him.

"I'm here," he whispered again, his voice a lullaby that soothed the storm inside me. "I'll always be here, my love. Sleep now. I've got you."

And, as his steady heartbeat echoed in my ear, I finally allowed myself to let go, to rest in the warmth of his arms, the shadows of the night receding just a little, as I drifted into the peace I had longed for.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. 

I stirred, groggily lifting my head from where it had been nestled against Aemond's chest. 

His arms were still wrapped tightly around me, holding me as though he'd never let me go, his presence a constant, unwavering source of comfort.

I blinked away the remnants of sleep, trying to clear my foggy mind. The remnants of last night still clung to me—how I had woken, trembling and sobbing, how he had pulled me from the nightmare and held me through the storm. 

The tears had stopped, but the weight of it all lingered in my chest.

When I shifted slightly, trying not to disturb him, I caught sight of his gaze. He was still awake, his one eye fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. 

He was watching me, his face a quiet mix of concern and devotion. The softness in his expression was almost too much for me to bear, and I felt the heat of guilt stir in my chest. 

He had stayed awake with me all night, and I hadn't even noticed when the nightmares had subsided—his presence, his unwavering comfort, had pulled me through them.

His hand gently stroked my hair, his thumb brushing the damp strands from my face as he noticed me looking at him. 

"Good morrow, my love," he said, his voice still thick with sleep, but warm, like a balm to my heart.

I frowned, concern knitting my brow as I met his gaze. "Aemond," I whispered softly, lifting a hand to gently touch his cheek. "Did you sleep at all? I don't want you to be tired because of me." 

The thought of him losing rest because of my nightmares made my heart ache. I had already burdened him too much.

Aemond smiled a quiet, affectionate smile that made my chest feel full. "Don't worry about that," he replied, his voice low and soothing. "I had to make sure my wife slept."

His words settled into my soul, the truth of them echoing in my mind: His wife. 

He had stayed awake, not because he had to, but because he had chosen to because he cared for me in ways I had never truly allowed myself to accept before. 

I felt a lump rise in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn't find the words.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

He kissed the top of my head gently, his arms tightening around me. "I told you before," he murmured, his voice hushed and tender, "you don't have to go through this alone anymore. I'm always here."

His words were a quiet promise, a vow that somehow erased the loneliness I had carried for so long.

As the days passed, I began to realize that the nightmares that had once plagued me every night were no longer a constant in my life. 

They still lingered in the corners of my mind, but they lost their power. 

Every night, I slept wrapped in Aemond's arms, my body held close to his, his warmth and presence a shield against the darkness that used to overwhelm me. 

It was as if his promise to hold me through anything had been a balm that soothed my fears, a constant reminder that I was no longer alone in the dark.

The nights became a comfort rather than a fear, and I began to sleep soundly, the peace that came with his presence pushing away the shadows. 

I no longer woke in terror, gasping for breath, or clutching at the sheets. There was no more rushing to silence the tremors of my body, no more crying in the dark. 

Instead, there was just the steady rhythm of Aemond's breath beside me, his steady heartbeat a lullaby, a reminder that I was safe, that I was loved.

And with every passing night, the nightmares faded more and more, as though they too knew they were no match for the love and comfort that surrounded me. 

They were no longer a part of my world. The fears that had once felt inescapable slipped away, like shadows before the dawn, leaving only peace in their wake.

Aemond had kept his vow to hold me through everything—and with each night, I learned to trust that he would always be there, a constant presence in my life, no matter how dark the world became. 

The nightmares, once so powerful, were powerless against the warmth of his embrace, and I began to realize that with him by my side, I could face anything. 

Even the deepest of fears.

A/n - Had a dream I was in a zombie apocalypse last night and I got bit on the ear :(

Aemond tag list - @darylandbethfanforever9 @lessdepressy @veesuguru @targaryendestiel

[spr1ngbunnypvrin]

Reluctant Comfort?... - oneshot | part 2 (for the "Late-Night Hypothesis")

ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕖𝕪 𝕊𝕒𝕨𝕪𝕖𝕣/𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣 (ℙ𝕣𝕖 -“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣” 𝕍ℍ𝕊 𝕋𝕒𝕡𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘) 𝕩 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕘𝕦𝕖!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

(Harley in his middle 30s and reader/you in late 20s)

🇨​🇴​🇳​🇹​🇪​🇳​🇹​ 🇼​🇦​🇷​🇳​��​🇳​🇬​: None ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ – After you fall asleep at your desk, Harley lingers longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on your face. As he turns away, several of his coworkers—Eddie Ritterman, Leith Pierre, and Stella Greyber—make suggestive comments (about how he seems to care more about you than he should). But Harley evades, hiding behind cold answers and aloof demeanors. The conversation turns to recent experiments—the orphans who disappeared in secret, the brutal results they dare not discuss openly…

The laboratory was silent, save for the soft hum of overhead lights overhead. Harley Sawyer stood still, eyes lingering on the figure slumped over the desk—head resting atop a disordered pile of notes, breaths slow and even.

A sigh slipped from his lips as he reached for his lab coat, draping it over your shoulders with the practiced indifference of a man who had long since abandoned sentimentality.

Practicality, he told himself. Fatigue hinders productivity.

That was all.

And yet, when your stirred beneath the fabric, murmuring something half-conscious, he hesitated.

He was not one for displays of affection, nor did he see value in pointless tenderness, but the weight in his chest was a sensation he refused to name. He turned away before he could dwell on it any further.

Footsteps broke his trance. He recognized the gait before he even looked up.

"Still here, Sawyer?"

Eddie M. N. Ritterman’s voice carried an edge of amusement, but there was something measured beneath it. The older man leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze flicking from Harley to the sleeping figure. One brow lifted. "Didn’t take you for the sentimental type."

Harley exhaled slowly, irritation threading through his carefully maintained composure. "If you came here to comment on my habits, you’re wasting both our time."

Eddie smirked, pushing off the frame. "Relax. Just an observation." His expression darkened slightly, something more calculating surfacing. "But I have to wonder—do you think sentimentality will be tolerated?"

Harley bristled at the insinuation. He had clawed his way up through the ranks of Playtime Co. through sheer intellect and ruthless ambition, but no matter how far he ascended, men like Eddie always looked at him as though he were a tool, a means to an end. It should not have bothered him. And yet—

He glanced back at the sleeping form on the desk. The sight stirred something unfamiliar. He remembered the first meeting, how your sharp tongue and unwavering gaze had irritated and intrigued him in equal measure.

You were clever—too clever, perhaps, for your own good. And yet, you had stayed, challenging him in ways he had not anticipated. He should have found it infuriating. Instead, he had found himself watching you, too often and for too long.

His fingers twitched at his side, recalling the warmth of your skin when he had brushed against them earlier, entirely by accident. He told himself it was insignificant. He had bigger concerns—more important matters to attend to.

Like the project. Like the children.

His stomach twisted at the thought. The orphans—test subjects, they were called, as if reducing them to a category could erase the reality of what had been done.

He had seen their faces, heard their voices—before they had been molded into something unrecognizable. It was necessary. It had to be. And yet, in the darkest corners of his mind, doubt whispered.

A voice he had long buried—one that sounded suspiciously like his younger self, before Ludwig had dismissed him, before his genius had been deemed too reckless, too cruel—resurfaced.

Would the man he had been recognize the man he had become?

"Sawyer," Eddie’s voice cut through the haze, drawing him back. "Are you even listening?"

Harley inhaled sharply, shoulders straightening. "I have work to do. Unless you have something of value to contribute, I suggest you leave."

Eddie studied him for a long moment before chuckling. "Suit yourself." He turned to go but paused at the threshold. "Just remember—attachment makes men weak. And weakness has no place here."

Harley did not respond. He merely watched as the older man disappeared down the dimly lit corridor before his gaze drifted, once more, to the slumbering figure before him.

He had never believed in kindness. But as he stood there, his coat still draped over you, he found himself lingering just a moment too long.

───── ⋆⋅✝⋅⋆ ─────

The lab was silent now.

Not the usual kind of silence that came with the late hours, where machines hummed and the distant clatter of some unseen worker echoed through the walls...

No, this was the silence that settled in after everything had been said. After words exchanged between weary scientists, after tension coiled and uncoiled like a serpent winding through the air. Harley stood in the middle of it, staring at nothing, his hands curled loosely at his sides.

The dancing of light in the lab cast elongated shadows across his face, carving out the sharpness of his cheekbones, the set of his jaw.

He was still as he always was after conversations like these—conversations where Eddie’s carefully veiled reprimands, Leith’s sardonic remarks, and Stella’s unreadable expressions piled atop one another, pressing in against his ribs.

Words about ethics, about progress, about lines crossed and lines yet to be drawn. As if they mattered. As if, at this point, there was anything left to salvage... for sake.

And then there was you.

Asleep at your desk, oblivious to the weight of the night pressing down on him. A pile of scattered notes lay beneath your head, the ink smudged faintly where your cheek had rested against the pages. His coat, still draped over your shoulders from earlier, had slipped slightly, exposing the curve of your nape to the cold air.

He should leave. He knew that. He should turn on his heel and return to his own office, lose himself in calculations and blueprints until exhaustion forced his body to surrender.

That was what he always did. That was what he was supposed to do.

And yet, he lingered.

Harley wasn’t sure when he had sat down, nor when he had leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, watching the slow rise and fall of your breath.

He told himself it was practicality—an assessment. He had done the same with countless test subjects before, monitoring their vitals, the slightest twitch of their fingers. But this wasn’t that.

This was something else.

Your face was relaxed, softened in sleep in a way he rarely saw when you were awake. No guarded amusement, no sharp retorts laced with exasperation.

Just the quiet rise and fall of your chest, the small murmur that barely passed your lips as you shifted slightly beneath his coat. Something settled in him, something he refused to name. He had spent years categorizing every feeling, every instinct into neat, clinical labels.

It made things easier. It made him efficient.

But he had no label for this.

Harley sat there for longer than he should have, his gaze lingering in the spaces between your breaths.

He traced the contours of his own thoughts, the echoes of old memories clawing at the edges of his mind. He remembered standing in a different room, a different silence, where the weight of a wedding ring felt foreign on his hand, where the air still carried the scent of something warm—of someone who was gone.

He remembered the moment he stopped believing in anything outside of his work, the moment the pursuit of progress became the only thing that mattered.

And now, here you were. Here he was. And he had been looking at you for too long.

A quiet breath escaped him, barely more than a whisper in the stillness.

He reached forward, the movement automatic, the ghost of a touch just barely skimming the fabric near your shoulder before he stopped himself. His fingers curled into a fist, retracting as he stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor in the process.

You stirred, just barely, a soft sigh leaving your lips before you settled again.

Harley exhaled through his nose, forcing the stiffness from his shoulders.

Whatever this was, whatever momentary lapse had made him hesitate—he would not entertain it any further. There was work to be done. There was always work to be done.

Without another glance, he turned, his coat slipping slightly further down your frame as he left the room.

[maeveandark]

Gojo Satoru is at his wits end.

Out of all the things in this world vying for his attention; curses, women, men, his adorable students, more women, and the sorcerer world's bureaucracy slowly grinding up what's left of his grey-matter—you are what keeps him up at night.

YOU drive him crazy.

Precisely because, you never give him the time of day.

⚠️ Dark content ahead - 18+, MDNI pairing: toxic/unhinged!gojo satoru x guarded f!reader cw: manipulation, toxic relationships, dacryphilia, blood, forced kissing & grinding, biting, scratching, implied noncon at the end (not explicit though)

Now, it’s not that you’re some young, dumb, inexperienced little thing that can’t tell when a man is interested in you. Far from it in fact.

You are frighteningly perceptive when it comes to people and curses alike; which is perhaps why you've given him the cold shoulder from day one. You have always been able to see right through any false visage--the tight, fake smiles that most people adorn--including his own.

Gojo supposes he deserves this to some extent—“you reap what you sow” and all that nonsense that shouldn’t apply to him. It’s not like he intended to make you self-conscious when the two of you were teenagers, teasing you each and every time someone of the opposite sex paid you even the slightest bit of attention.

"Don't be stupid, he's not seriously asking you out. Who'd want to date some serious, stick in the mud like you?"

And it’s not like he orchestrated those bad relationships you'd fumbled in your early adulthood. It was just coincidence that the men he'd introduced you to left you for a prettier set of legs the moment they'd gotten you into bed. As far as Gojo is concerned, he's just the…unintended benefactor of those sad situations, and in the end, they had been good lessons for you.

It's just you and him against the world, and that is how it will always be. He is the one who truly gets you--the only one who has ever managed to crack your stony exterior wide open and see all the soft and tender bits you hide away inside. And sure, he might have a little bite to him--might make you cry once in a while--but he is always there for you.

To bind your wounds, to kiss them better, and help you pick up all those jagged, little pieces. Always unflinching, even as you claw, hit and spit venom at him.

"You're horrible," You half-snarl, half-hiccup through a river of tears, your nails biting into the flesh of his bicep as you try to push him away. "Forcing me into a corner and making me look at you...you get off on seeing me cry, you sick bastard."

Gojo can stop you if he wants to of course--activate infinity and watch your pathetic attempts to mark up his skin. But, he never does. Gojo loves this feeling, the euphoria of witnessing those ugly parts of you rise to the surface. He's seen all your worst parts, dissected every vulnerability you hide beneath that iron mask, and yet he's still here.

There's no stronger bond then the sick, twisted one the two of you have forged together, and Gojo happily carries the burden of proof, in every scratch and every bite you punish him with. Each time he looks at those scars, he can't help but fall even deeper into that loving obsession. He needs to test just how deep he can burrow himself into your head.

Into your heart.

Gojo traps your wrists in his hands and pins them to the tile of the bathroom wall behind you. He stares down at you for a moment, soaking in just how beautiful you look all ruined like this, before leaning down and sealing your lips with a passionate kiss.

You bite him of course, and Gojo half-growls and half-groans as he releases your wrists and swoops you into his hold, pinning you against the bathroom wall with his sheer size alone. Your surprised gasp is his release.

"Go ahead," Gojo taunts as he grinds his stiffening cock against your cunt. "Bite me again."

He kisses you forcefully this time, giving you a sample of the blood you had drawn. You squeeze your lips shut, ever defiant, but that doesn't dissuade him.

There are plenty of other soft parts for him to corrupt.

[aventurineswife]

❤ The language of flowers | 001

❤ | Your options shall be: Sunday, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Veritas Ratio, Boothill, Jing Yuan, Blade or Moze. Whoever you think suits this prompt.

❤ | Flower & it's definition : Yellow Acacia | Secret love; It can also represent optimism, enlightenment, and happiness.

The Language of Flowers

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Romance, Slow Burn, Character Development, Emotional Vulnerability, Symbolism, Angst, Fluff.

Warnings: Mild Angst, Mentions of Emotional Struggles, Subtle Manipulation (Aventurine’s part), Complex Relationships.

[Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5] | [Part 6] | [Part 7] | [Part 8] | [Part 8.5] | [Part 9] | [Part 10] | [Part 11] | [Part 12] | [Part 13] | [Part 14] | [Part 15] | [Part 16] | [Part 17] | [Part 18] | [Part 19] | [Part 20] [Part 21]

It was a quiet evening at the Oak Family estate, the last traces of the setting sun casting soft golden light across the lush gardens. Sunday stood amidst the swaying flowers, his eyes fixated on the delicate petals of a single Yellow Acacia resting in his gloved hand. He had chosen it with purpose—a secret love, one that had been carefully buried beneath his calm demeanor for as long as he could remember.

You approached, the evening breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers, and paused when you saw him standing there, the weight of something unspoken between you two. His usual composed expression softened just enough to betray his inner turmoil.

“Have you ever noticed how fleeting beauty can be?” he asked, turning to you, his eyes shining with the weight of years and wisdom. “This flower,” he held out the Yellow Acacia, “represents a secret love... a love hidden away, like the one that resides in my heart.”

You took the flower from him, the petals so soft, almost fragile. "Why hide it, then?" you asked gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunday’s smile was faint, a subtle reflection of both sorrow and peace. “Because sometimes the most precious things are the ones that can never be fully realized.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his presence calm yet heavy with the unsaid. “But for now, let this flower symbolize our shared optimism and happiness.”

The evening drifted on, the two of you standing together in silence, each savoring the moment that held a quiet promise, unspoken yet deeply felt.

Aventurine’s laugh echoed through the luxurious suite, a sound that, on the surface, seemed carefree, almost careless. But his eyes—those eyes—told a different story. You had witnessed the calm before the storm, the moments when his charismatic grin faltered, and the weight of his past caught up with him.

He slid a small flower across the table to you, a Yellow Acacia. Its soft petals were a contrast to the whirlwind of emotions in his heart. “You know, they say this represents secret love,” he remarked, his voice dripping with the playful confidence that defined him. “But to me, it’s more than that. It’s the optimism that life can sometimes be played... and won.”

You took the flower, its symbolism not lost on you. “A secret love? What are you trying to tell me, Aventurine?”

His smirk lingered, but there was something vulnerable in the way his eyes danced with shadows. “Sometimes,” he said, his voice quieting, “the things we hide are the only things worth keeping. But I suppose,” he leaned closer, “perhaps I can let you in, just this once.”

His words were a dare, a challenge, but you could feel the flicker of something real, something that existed behind the games he played with everyone around him. Aventurine's charm and confidence hid the truth that his heart yearned for something more than the risks he was always willing to take.

With the Yellow Acacia in your hand, you sensed his struggle, his willingness to risk everything for something, or perhaps someone, he couldn't control. The flower was not just a symbol of secret love, but the optimism that maybe, just maybe, this gamble could be worth it.

Ratio stood by the vast library windows, the last light of the day casting a golden hue over his study, yet his mind seemed elsewhere. He was always so intensely focused on knowledge, on wisdom, that you sometimes wondered what truths he kept hidden from those who looked up to him.

This time, he held something different—a Yellow Acacia. It seemed to stand in stark contrast to his usual cerebral nature, with its gentle petals and quiet symbol of secret love.

"You know," he began, not turning to you immediately, "this flower... it carries a meaning that intrigues me." He turned to you then, his violet eyes piercing yet thoughtful. "A secret love," he murmured, a trace of uncertainty in his otherwise steadfast voice.

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “And what does that mean to someone like you, Dr. Ratio?”

He allowed himself a brief pause, considering the weight of your question. “Optimism, perhaps. A desire to believe in something that transcends the confines of intellect,” he said, stepping closer and offering you the flower. “Even I, despite my… dedication to logic, find myself occasionally captivated by the allure of the impossible.”

You took the flower from him, your fingers brushing his, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. A rare emotion, one not often displayed by the brilliant, self-assured man who seemed to pride himself on his unshakable intellect.

“You believe in love?” you asked, the question hanging in the air.

Ratio’s lips curled slightly into a half-smile, his voice carrying a weight of reflection. “I believe in the pursuit of knowledge, but love…” He trailed off, as if the concept were both a mystery and a challenge. “Perhaps, in the right moment, even a mind like mine could understand its importance.”

You held the Yellow Acacia carefully, feeling its soft weight in your hand—a delicate reminder of the complexity behind Ratio’s brilliant, calculating exterior. Secret love, optimism, and enlightenment… all tied together in a single flower.

"Maybe," he added, his tone almost playful now, "it’s time to learn something beyond the pages of a book."

[alwayssassydreamer]

Between Two Beasts

inspired by this art

A/N: because of my weird brain that seems to be crushing on these handsome bastards, and the amazing @lxshoxk drawing i got inspired to write this strange combination, sorry this got kinda long if i hadn't stopped myself this would've been even longer Word count over 5k

Plot: you are one of Crocodiles most trusted and loyal agents and been in a relationship with him for some time and when the cross guild meets the red hair pirates you catch sight of shanks' handsome first mate and tease crocodile about how you would love to seduce Beckman and Crocodile giving you the go though not without warning you and soon you find yourself between two dominant beasts

Warnings: kinda "mean" Beckman, teasing, edging, oral (give and receive), voyeurism, p in v, threesome, age gap (or at least that'swhat i had in mind while writing), everything consensual, not proofread, ⚠️ MDNI ⚠️

Characters: Beckman x F!Reader x Sir Crocodile

The Cross Guild’s arrival at the Red Hair Pirates’ territory was nothing short of a spectacle. Buggy and Shanks had already fallen into their usual chaotic banter, their voices carrying across the deck like the echoes of an old married couple. Shanks even managed to drag Mihawk into it all, though the latter tried to pretend he wasn’t involved in any of this.

But you weren’t paying any attention to them.

Your gaze had settled on Benn Beckman, the Red Hair Pirates’ first mate, lounging a short distance away with a cigarette perched between his fingers. He was watching the chaos with lazy amusement, broad shoulders relaxed, an air of quiet confidence wrapped around him like an old, well-worn coat.

Something about him caught your interest maybe it was the way his sharp eyes held intelligence, or the roughness to his features that made him look like he’d seen more than his fair share of life’s ugliness. He was older, rugged, his gray hair slicked-back only making him look more refined.

You took a slow sip of your drink and smirked. “Damn,” you mused just loud enough for Crocodile to hear, tilting your head as you admired Beckman shamelessly. "He's almost as attractive as you"

A scoff beside you. “Hn.”

Crocodile barely looked at you, his cigar resting between his fingers, eyes flicking toward Beckman before settling back on the horizon. Unimpressed.

Your smirk widened. “What? You jealous?”

His gaze slid to you now, sharp and unreadable. “Hardly. You just seem to have a loud mouth.”

"And you love that mouth" you teased.

He took a drag from his cigar, exhaling the smoke in a slow, measured breath though he couldn't hide the small smirk. “Go ahead. See if you can charm him.”

It was a challenge, laced with amusement and something darker beneath the surface.

Your lips curled as you leaned against the railing. “Oh? You think I can’t?”

Crocodile chuckled low, shaking his head. “I think he’d fuck you, sure.” His voice dipped into something dangerous, something possessive. “But you wouldn’t last a day with him AND me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re blind to what’s beneath that quiet charm.” He tapped ash from his cigar, eyes glinting. “Beckman isn’t what he seems, little flower. You know how bad I can be and that man is just as much a predator - he’s just better at hiding it.”

You blinked, glancing back at Beckman. To you, he looked relaxed, calm perhaps a little amused by Shanks’ antics, but otherwise indifferent. Gentle, even.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, right. Seems more like you're a little jealous and afraid that I might try something and now you wanna scare me off” you said sheepishly as you turned towards him your finger tracing over his shirt.

Crocodile chuckled again, but this time there was something knowing in it, something that made your skin prickle. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he put his hook under your chin and made you look up to him.

“You think he’s all soft words and charming smirks,” he murmured, “but put him in the right situation, and you’ll see what he’s really like.” He tilted his head, exhaling another slow cloud of smoke. “And trust me, little flower he wouldn’t say no to you.”

The way he said it sent a strange thrill through you. You had never really thought of Beckman that way. Sure, he was attractive, but you hadn’t considered that underneath his laid-back demeanor was something more, something just as dark, just as consuming as what you had with Crocodile.

You turned back toward Beckman, your eyes narrowing slightly in thought.

And then Beckman looked at you.

It wasn’t a fleeting glance. It wasn’t dismissive.

His eyes met yours, steady and unreadable, and for a brief moment, something flickered in them, something that made your pulse quicken, as he gave you an almost knowing smirk.

Crocodile dragged his cigar to his lips as if he could already see the wheels turning in your head.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “See for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t last a day with him and me.”

You had laughed, brushing it off. Beckman was attractive, sure, but he wasn’t Crocodile. He didn’t carry that same raw, overwhelming presence, that coiled danger thrumming beneath his skin like an unspoken promise. Beckman was smooth, relaxed, casual in a way that had fooled you into thinking he was just another man who knew how to charm a lady.

So when you made your move with flirty smiles, teasing words, just enough touch to test the waters, you thought you were in control.

Oh but how wrong you were.

You realized it the moment Beckman’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in with effortless strength, his cigarette-stained breath warm against your ear.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” His voice was slow, deep, amused. But there was something else there, something Crocodile had warned you about.

You felt the shift in the air before you fully processed it. The moment the game you thought you were playing flipped on its head.

Beckman wasn’t chasing.

He was hunting.

Before you could say anything, he had you pinned against the nearest surface, the full weight of his body pressing into yours, not crushing, but holding you exactly where he wanted you. His knee nudged between your thighs spreading them, his hands warm and firm as they pinned yours to the surface behind you.

His grip on your wrists was unyielding, pinning them above your head as he held you in place. Every move you made only reminded you of how much control he had over you. You couldn’t escape his grasp - not even a little.

You gasped, and that damn smirk of his deepened.

“You come looking for trouble, and you find it.”

You shivered, a thrill of something familiar crawling up your spine. This wasn’t the playful seduction you had in mind. Beckman was slow, methodical - patient in a way that made your skin prickle with anticipation. He didn’t rush, didn’t let you pull away, but he also didn’t let you fully catch your breath.

And then, when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, you heard Crocodile’s low, dark chuckle. He sat there like a king his cigar between his lips and a glass of whiskey in his hand as he watched with unconcealed amusement.

“What happened to all that confidence, little flower?” His voice was thick with enjoyment.

Your breath hitched, your face burning as you turned your head, glaring at him. “You—”

Crocodile exhaled a long, slow cloud of smoke, watching the way Beckman’s hands skimmed over your body with practiced ease. “You ignored my warning,” he murmured, voice like silk and sand. “Now look at you.”

Beckman hummed in agreement, his grip tightening slightly as his lips brushed just below your ear.

“I gotta say,” Beckman mused, “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

The words sent a rush of heat straight to your core, and the smug bastard knew it.

You wanted to reclaim even a sliver of control, but Beckman wasn’t letting you. And Crocodile? He was enjoying this. Shamelessly. He made no move to intervene - not yet. He just sat there, watching, letting Beckman have you for now.

Beckman’s grip on your wrists shifted until only one of his hands held both of yours. His fingers trailed down over your lips and throat, his voice dipping lower. “Still think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

You had walked into this thinking you could seduce him but instead, you had become the prey. And god how much you loved it.

And Crocodile knew it.

The way he sat there, legs spread lazily, cigar smoldering between his fingers, drink in hand was infuriating. Amusing himself at your expense, watching you squirm under Beckman’s hands, under the weight of your own miscalculation.

You wanted this, don’t pretend otherwise, his eyes told you.

And Beckman was taking his time.

“I don’t think she realizes what she’s gotten herself into.” Beckman’s voice was a slow drawl, filled with something dark, something knowing.

Crocodile, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Oh, she does.” His gaze burned through you, drinking in the way your breath hitched as Beckman pressed you tighter against the wall. “She craves this.”

You wanted to deny it to throw something sharp and biting at Crocodile, to wipe that smug smirk off his face. But Beckman’s hands - large, calloused, patient - were making it impossible to think.

“You’ve been playing with fire, sweetheart.” Beckman’s lips brushed your jaw, deceptively gentle. His fingers skimmed over your sides, gripping your hips, holding you there as his knee nudged up higher between your thighs. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you what happens to girls who tease too much?”

Your pulse thundered. You swallowed, but no words came.

Crocodile hummed, tipping his cigar between his fingers. “They get put in their place.”

The heat in your gut twisted violently. Crocodile had done this to you before, had made you crumble under the weight of his control, had torn you apart just to put you back together again. But this—this was different. This was both of them.

“You could’ve stopped me,” you managed to say, voice weaker than you wanted.

Crocodile grinned, slow and cruel. “Could’ve.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on his knee, watching you fall apart in real time. “Didn’t want to otherwise I'd have missed this show.”

Beckman’s fingers traced up your spine, curling at the base of your neck. “I can see why he keeps you,” he murmured, lips just barely grazing your skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering. Every nerve in your body was screaming, caught between the ruthless attention of them both.

Crocodile took a sip from his drink like a king surveying his entertainment. “Go on, then,” he purred, voice thick with amusement. “Let’s see if you can handle him.”

Your stomach flipped, heat rushing through you because from the way Beckman’s grip tightened, from the way his breath fanned against your throat, from the raw, hungry look in his eyes -

You weren’t sure you could but hell you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted.

And Crocodile was going to enjoy every second watching you.

Beckman’s hands let go of yours and they roamed with slow, predatory ease, mapping out every inch of you, his body pressing firm against yours, caging you in. His scent - smoke, salt, and something deep and masculine - was intoxicating, dizzying even.

Your own trembling hands reached for his shirt skittering over the muscules beneath it.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured teasingly against your skin, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Beckman was relentless. Every touch, every word, every slow, teasing drag of his fingers was deliberate testing you, stretching you to your limits. And Crocodile, the bastard, just sat there, watching, reveling in your unraveling.

“You wanted this,” Beckman reminded you, voice slow, low, dark. His eyes flicked past you, toward Crocodile, before returning to yours with something sharper, something dangerous. “Didn’t you?”

He took his time, dragging his fingertips down your ribs, forcing a shudder from you. Then, his lips brushed your ear again, his voice silky and deliberate. “You wanted to play, sweetheart. But you’re not in charge here.”

Crocodile watching from the sidelines, with eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. A slow, deliberate puff of smoke curled from his cigar, and he leaned back casually.

You gasped as Beckman’s thumb ran over the curve of your waist, a soft, gentle pressure that made your breath hitch and your back arch. You needed more. But he wasn't giving you more not yet and your body trembled with frustration.

And then, just as your frustration reached its peak, his fingers traced the edge of your collarbone. You gasped, biting your lip to stop from moaning.

“You like this, don’t you?” Beckman whispered, as though reading your mind. “Like being pinned down, unable to do anything but take it.”

His hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, thumb tracing lazy circles against your pulse and your breath hitched and your knees buckled when his teeth bit down on your collarbone

Crocodile laughed, deep and rich, the sound sending a sharp spike of heat through your core. “Look at you,” he mused, eyes glinting with pleasure. “Fucking ruined already.”

"Am not" you breathed though you didn't sound very convincing.

Beckman’s hand moved from your throat down to the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath it making you shiver visibly as it at first gently caressed your belly before moving higher but stopping before he got where you wanted him making you whine.

You could feel the heat radiating from Beckman’s body as his hands moved to your sides, fingers brushing your skin lightly. It was almost cruel how gentle he was, his touch so calculated it sent waves of tension rippling through your entire body.

"You’re so sensitive," Beckman murmured, his voice rough and low in your ear. His thumb traced the curve of your hip, barely grazing it, but the sensation made your heart race. He felt your breath hitch, and a smirk curved on his lips. "Can’t even stand a simple touch, can you?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. For a moment, his hands moved lower, tracing the waistband of your pants, and the tension in your body spiked.

“Does it feel good to be this helpless?” Beckman teased, his voice a hushed growl that made you shiver. His hands roamed, slow and possessive, pushing you towards the brink of madness.

Crocodile watched intently, his eyes flashing as he leaned forward slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "Let him have his fun, but don’t forget who you belong to." His words settled over you like a weight, reminding you that your submission to Beckman didn't mean you were his, no you belonged to Crocodile.

As you arched your back Beckman’s hand slid up your spine, feeling the tremble of your body under his touch. He pulled you closer to press his lips against yours in a rough, possessive almost punishing kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth as his hand gripped your hair, tilting your head to give him better access.

You gasped, overwhelmed by the heat of his kiss and the need that built inside you. Crocodile chuckled softly, and it sent a shiver through you.

Beckman’s fingers curled against your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “I think she’s close,” he murmured, amusement laced in every word.

“You love it don't you sweetheart. Being put in your place.” He leaned forward slightly, watching your lips part, your eyes flutter. “Look at you. A mess already.”

Your nails dug into Beckman’s arm, searching for something to ground you, but all you found was the steady, unrelenting strength of a man who wasn’t letting go.

Your breath hitched again as Beckman’s hand trailed lower, fingers rough and teasing your inner thigh and his lips attacked your neck with soft kisses and blissfully painful bites.

Beckman smirked against your skin, his voice a low, husky murmur. “Still think you’re the one in control, sweetheart?”

And then you moaned. Not too loud but you still did .

"Looks like someone is a little needy" Crocodile taunted, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Go on, beg for it."

A small whimper escaped your lips "please"

Crocodile smirked. “Louder.”

"Fuck I need you." you gasped.

Beckman’s lips curled into a smirk. His fingers slipped into your pants tracing over your cunt before teasing your entrance. His movements were slow, controlled—each one calculated to make you ache for more, to make you crave the release he was so deliberately withholding. He let the palm of his other hand rest against your ribs, pressing firmly enough that you couldn’t move, couldn’t squirm, just forced to feel the control he had over you.

“So wet already. Tell me you want it,” Beckman said softly, but his words were an order as he teasingly let one finger slip inside you. “Tell me you need me to touch you properly.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse was racing. You were panting. Begging for the release that was just out of reach.

“You heard him,” Crocodile’s voice was like a whip, sharp and demanding. “Say it, tell him how much you want it. You know you want to.”

Beckman withdrew his fingers and pulled his hand out of your pants only to have his thumb trace circles on your inner thigh inching closer to where you wanted him again, his touch like fire, but never where you needed it most. “Say it,” he repeated, his voice quiet but unwavering.

The pressure of his body against yours was unbearable, his form completely blocking your escape. Every part of you ached with need, yet you were still held in place and denied. Your mind was starting to spiral, but you couldn’t help it. You could feel how much you needed to surrender, how you were breaking under their combined presence. As Beckman coaxed moan after moan and whimper after whimper out of you.

Until your voice cracked, the words spilling out of you like a whispered confession.

“Please... touch me... properly.” you moaned.

Beckman chuckled softly, and Crocodile’s dark chuckle joined in, like a predator savoring a kill.

“Good girl,” Beckman murmured his fingers ghosting over the waistline of your pants, before pulling them down letting them fall to the floor leaving you in your underwear.

His fingers moved closer to your center teasing you through the fabric and just when you thought he might finally give you what you needed he pulled back. Making you whimper in frustration.

And Crocodile was watching it all unfold, enjoying your torment. “You should’ve known better,” he sneered. “You’re not in charge here. Not anymore.”

Beckman’s grip on you was firm, unyielding, holding you in place with the same effortless control he used to steady his rifle. His touch was rough where it needed to be, teasing where it could drive you mad. He was patient - too patient - drawing every reaction from you like he had all the time in the world to play. Enjoying the way you squirmed underneath him.

Meanwhile Crocodile's eyes never left you, and though he remained in his seat, his entire body betrayed him - the way his fingers gripped the armrest, how his jaw tightened at every moan you let slip, every way your back arched, the growing tension in his posture. You knew exactly what he was thinking - he was dying to join in his possessiveness taking over.

At one point, as Beckman’s fingers slipped inside your underwear again teasing you making you moan and grip Beckman's shirt tightly Crocodile leaned forward, eyes gleaming, and his voice barely more than a dangerous whisper. “I don’t know how much longer I can watch you enjoy this, hear you make all these sweet sounds, little flower.” His words were slow, deliberate, like a promise, but the tension in his voice made it clear that he couldn't hold back much longer.

The heat in the air was palpable, thick with unsaid things. Crocodile’s smirk was devilish as he rose and stepped behind you hand teasingly tracing over your back. The tension in the air thickening.

Beckman’s fingers continued to graze your skin, slow and deliberate, teasing just enough to leave you breathless. The heat of his touch was relentless, each passing second made you ache for more, yet he refused to give you what you craved. His voice, low and dark, came in a whisper near your ear.

“You’ve been so patient,” he said, his words dripping with mockery and lust. His finger traced down to the hem of your shirt and with a swift motion pulled it over your head revealing that you were bare beneath it.

"Naughty girl" you heared Crocodile whisper in your ear from behind and sending a shiver down your spine. Beckman was now tracing a finger from your collarbone down between your breasts to the waistband of your underwear, just barely grazing your skin, sending a jolt through your body making you shiver, the sensation maddening as Crocodile held you in place.

The heat between your legs was unbearable. Every breath felt heavy, each word from them adding weight to your chest, making it harder to breathe. You were trembling, unable to escape the pull of their dominance.

As Beckman’s hand slipped lower, tracing the curve of your waist, Crocodile let his hook trace over your neck down to your breast while his hand gripped your hair tilting your head back.

“You thought you could take control, didn’t you?” His voice dangerously calm. “You’ve got so much fire in you - so much confidence. But now, you’ll see what happens when you’re caught in the middle of us."

You wanted to answer but all you got out was a loud moan as you felt Beckman’s lips trail a path from your chest down to your underwear. He knelt down before tugging your underwear down ripping the fabric in the process. He looked at your naked form, held in place by Crocodile before he gripped your thighs to spread your legs a little wider and placed a warm kiss on your center making you moan loudly.

Meanwhile Crocodile shifted his attention to your breasts teasing one nipple with his fingers the other carefully with the tip of his hook.

Your head was spinning. Your body felt like it was on fire, stretched thin between the two of them.

"Oh fuck" you moaned as you felt Beck's tongue between your folds and his thumb circling your clit while Crocodile kept teasing your nipples mercilessly.

"That's it love, let me hear you, tell him how much you love this" Crocodile murmured into your neck his lips sucking on the sensitive skin.

"Fuck Beck, I.....I love it. I'm gonna......gonna cum" you gasped your back arching his mouth driving you crazy and Crocodile's teasing touches making you tremble. You threw your head back but without warning, Crocodile’s hand withdrew from your nipple and closed around your chin, forcing your head to look down to Beckman who had his eyes fixed on yours from between your legs his lips and tongue bullying your center relentlessly.

"Look at him, little flower. How he devours you, makes you feel so good" Crocodile grumbled in your ear his breath brushing against the side of your neck. As you had no choice but to look down.

“You wanted to tease us, didn’t you?” Crocodile’s voice was calm, but with a dangerous edge. He held your chin tightly, forcing your mouth to part slightly, tracing the line of your jaw before he slipped one finger inside your mouth for you to suck on it making him grunt lowly in your ear. “Now, look at him. Look at what you’ve caused.” His grip on your chin tightened, pulling your gaze back toward Beckman.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” You answered him with a moan against his finger. You were trembling, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. The way Beckman looked at you and Crocodile's verbal teases and grunts sent you over the edge and you came hard.

Crocodile pulled his finger out of your mouth as you gasped for breath, heart racing. When Beckman got up he kissed you to let you taste yourself and wrapping his arm around your waist to steady you while Crocodile made his way to the bed.

You felt Beckmans warmth pressing against you. His lips grazing your ear as he saw you look at Crocodile. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice low and almost playful, but laced with a dangerous edge, “you’ll get exactly what you deserve.” His hand slid around your waist, pulling you into him with an iron grip.

And in the next moment, you were utterly lost, your body betraying you as Beckman moved with precise, calculating intent, forcing you to your knees.

“That's it,” Crocodile purred from the bed, his voice low “Crawl to me. You like it, don’t you? How it feels when someone takes control.”

You looked up at him still exhausted from your orgasm yet you put your middle finger up. "Still so feisty" Crocodile mused. Yet you did crawl over to him, pushing him back down onto the bed straddling him and kissing him hungrily, ripping his shirt open. Crocodiles hand tangled into your hair pulling you closer his hook gracing your side, while your hands roamed his chest.

You gasped and flinched as Beckman’s hands teased the soles of your feet not outright tickling you but the touch still maddening, reminding you that he's still there and then moved up to the back of your thighs and the curve of your butt before he smacked it making you squeak into the kiss with Crocodile. His hands moved teasingly up and traced along your spine firm and possessive making you shudder. His fingertips making your skin burn and then another smack on your ass that made you squeal all while you continued your heated and passionate kiss with Crocodile his tongue sliding inside your mouth.

When you broke the kiss teeth pulling at his lower lip Crocodile smirked. "You didn't think I'd watch you without getting my own fair share did you?" He growled and you smirked.

"Of course not, you're still my number one" you purred into his ear giving his earlobe a bite before moving down to unbuckle his pants pulling them down. He was already hard.

“You sure you can handle both of us, sweetheart?” Beckman, still behind you, murmured lowly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You looked over your shoulder and smirked smugly at him.

Before giving Crocodile's shaft teasing kitten licks moving on to focusing on his tip. Smirking up at him as he growled almost animalistic. How you loved that sound.

Meanwhile Beckman grapped your hips and adjusted you for him making sure your ass was up. You were so focused on Crocodile's cock that you didn't even hear when Beckman unzipped his pants until you felt him aligning himself with your cunt.

Beckman’s tip was teasing your entrance while you slowly put Crocodile's cock in your mouth getting used to the stretch, making him grunt the moment he felt your warm lips around him, instinctively grabbing your hair and guiding you.

And as you began bobbing your head Beckman pushed inside you making you moan against Crocodile the vibration against his cock sending a shiver through him.

Soon the room was filled with low grunts, muffled moans and the creaking of the bed.

"Fuck love you're doing so good, I'm close and you better swallow it all" Crocodile grunted as his grip on your hair tightened the tip of his hook gracing your back.

You were moaning against him one hand playing with his balls while Beckman pushed into you from behind making your heart race, your body tremble and your eyes water from the pleasure. And then you felt the warmth in your mouth, Crocodile’s grip on your hair loosen.

"I'm cumming" he growled and you swallowed it all before slowly pulling away only to let out a loud moan as you felt Beckman’s hand reach for your clit rubbing it. His grip on your hip tightening surely leaving a bruise.

"Taking me so well sweetheart" he grunted increasing the pace, while Crocodile, still panting, moved his hand to fondle your breasts and tease your nipples.

It didn't take long for Beck and you to reach your own orgasm and when you did you screamed out in pleasure and collpased on your back on the bed.

You were spent. Every inch of your body felt like it was floating in a haze, limbs heavy and tingling with aftershocks. The heat still radiating through your skin. Your clothes were scattered across the room in a chaotic trail, discarded in the frenzy of passion and control that had washed over you.

Your body felt like lead, every muscle overworked and trembling because of what just happened. You barely registered the sheets against your skin, your mind too fogged with exhaustion and pleasure to focus on anything but the deep ache left behind.

Crocodile was the first to move, his broad frame resting beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, only watching you with that slow, satisfied smirk he always had when he pushed you to the edge. His hand, still warm from everything before, was gentle as he cupped your face, wiping away the sweat from your brow with the back of his hand before he let it drift down and over your stomach, an absentminded touch, possessive even.

Beckman, still catching his breath, stood at the edge of the bed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the remnants of indulgence. His sharp eyes flickered down to you, amusement dancing in them as he took in your completely spent form. He chuckled, reaching for his cigarettes, the rasp of a match breaking the silence.

“Well, sweetheart,” he murmured, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, “I’ll give you credit, you aimed high. But you really thought you could handle me?” His smirk deepened as he leaned down, his fingers barely ghosting over your inner thigh, teasing, but without any real intent behind it anymore.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice still deep, a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch. He placed a kiss on your thigh, slow and lingering, like a promise. You let out a soft, shaky breath, the sensation of his lips against your skin making your entire body shiver, even in your exhaustion. You were overwhelmed, your senses still spinning.

Crocodile’s grip on your waist tightened slightly - not possessive in an aggressive way, but just enough to remind Beckman, and you, of where you belong. “You thought you could play with both of us,” Crocodile mused, his voice rich with amusement. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice laced with something softer now. “Completely wrecked...” He tilted your chin up with his hook, forcing you to meet his gaze, even in your dazed state. “..completely used up.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, and you couldn’t help but lean into it, exhausted but still needing him.

Beckman hummed in agreement. “And she thought she could seduce me.” He grinned around his cigarette, eyes locked on you, knowing damn well that he had been the one in control the entire time. “Cute.”

You were too drained to even argue, your limbs too heavy to move, your mind still swimming in the haze of everything that just happened.

Crocodile watched you for a long moment before exhaling. He shifted, letting you rest against him, fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair. “Hope you learned your lesson,” he muttered, amused and satisfied. His touch was still possessive, but there was an undeniable love to it - a deep affection that made your heart race even as your body ached.

Beckman chuckled again and stepped back, rolling his shoulders as he grabbed his coat. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” he said, though there was still that teasing undertone in his voice. “Next time, sweetheart, just remember I don’t say no to a beautiful woman, though i doubt he will let us have a next time.” he added looking from you to Crocodile.

With that, he turned to leave and as the door closed behind him Crocodile gave you a knowing smirk. “You're lucky I gave in to your desire and let him play with you.”

His fingers brushed over your shoulder, his voice low and smug as he murmured, “Next time you get a stupid idea like that… I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to without letting anyone else have a taste. You belong to me, only me.”

You couldn’t help the weak, breathless smile that tugged at your lips, even though your body felt like it could barely function. You still felt that same fiery rush of desire, despite the exhaustion. Your mind was still a bit foggy, your limbs like jelly, but you were content—more content than you’d ever been.

His words sent a final shiver through your exhausted body. You knew, without a doubt, that this wasn’t just a lesson—it was a warning. And next time, Crocodile won’t be so generous.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

[honeydjarin]

MOUSE IN THE KITCHEN

OPLA SANJI X SHORT!READER

Luffy isn’t the only one with a penchant for sneaking into the kitchen.

request: Hiii, if you want to I'd like to request a Sanji x short reader, where they try and help him out in the kitchen but can't reach anything. No pressure, just wondering

genre: fluff

word count: 2,000

a/n: normally I avoid any sort of specific physical features in my fics in order to make them as inclusive as possible, but as someone who must climb the shelves at the grocery store in order to reach anything, this request spoke to me. This one is a little silly and nothing but fluff. I hope you enjoy!

It’s late. The sun sank below the horizon long ago, leaving no trace of the adventures and games that took place during the daylight hours. Everyone else on the Going Merry is asleep. You really should be sleeping too, and you had been, not too long ago. 

You don’t know what it is that stirred you from your slumber. Perhaps some noise as the ship rocks on lazy waves, or a crew mate talking just a bit too loud in their sleep. It doesn’t matter, really. What does matter is the thoughts that worm their way into your mind the longer you lie awake. Thoughts of something light, something sweet, something to satiate a craving, your body convinced it’s time for breakfast despite your mind knowing dawn is hours away. It doesn’t take long for the hollow ache in your stomach to drive you from the comfort of your hammock and up towards the galley.

You know the kitchen on the ship well. You know which floorboards creak and which are safe to step on, where the chef hides traps for Luffy and how to circumvent them, where all of the ingredients to satiate your sweet tooth are hiding. 

Just thinking about the reason for your intimate knowledge of the ship’s kitchen is enough to send heat racing up your neck and settling beneath your cheeks. You press your fingers to the skin where your burning blood pools beneath the surface, taking a moment to relish in the sugar sweet feeling of a simple crush—a single name swirling through your brain is all it takes to leave you giggling quietly in the night.

Sanji, the newest member of the Straw Hat Crew. Sanji, the one who will never let another go hungry, not even a stranger. Sanji, the man with sun soaked hair and a honey dipped tongue. 

Sanji.

Sanji.

When the chef first joined the crew, you admired him. He was caring and steady, he knew what he believed in. With his handsome looks, quick wit, and open flirtations, it didn’t take long for that admiration to slip into something that felt sweetly like affection. You couldn’t help but want to spend more time with the cook, hoping to join him in the activities that bring him the most joy so that you might better understand him. It didn’t take long for you to become nearly as familiar with the galley as he is. 

You step into the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind you. You leave the lights off, not wanting to risk anyone else catching you in the galley (or getting the idea to grab a snack themselves). Instead, you stand in the dark, waiting for your eyes to adjust. Moonlight spills through the windows of the room, bright enough to see by, if you’re patient. 

It isn’t long before you’re able to move again, walking along a familiar path towards where Sanji stores all things sugary. 

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that you’re doing something you shouldn’t. Like if you have to sneak around then you’re in a place you don’t belong. This is Sanji’s space, cataloged and organized to best suit his needs and ensure the crew has enough supplies to last between islands. It feels strange to be in the kitchen without the sound of his laughter or the smell of something delicious cooking on the stove top. 

Sanji’s presence is the piece that makes this space feel so comfortable. Without him, it feels too large, hollow. The galley has no life without its chef. You never really thought about how the kitchen would feel without him in it, and can’t help but hope it isn’t a feeling you become used to.   

You know if you wake up the cook he will make something for you. He would rub the sleep from his eyes, only half succeeding, before asking what he could make to help satiate your craving with a smile. You would feel guilty the whole time. 

It’s better to sneak through the galley for something you can find on your own than to disturb Sanji’s sleep. 

The first thing you search for is chocolate. You crawl onto the countertop, balancing on your knees as your feet dangle over the edge, before opening the cabinet in front of you. You eye the chocolate chips, the miniature sweets sitting at a level seemingly so easy for the rest of the crew to grab. You doubt any of the others would have to climb to reach them. 

Unfortunately, the only chocolate on the shelf is unsweetened. The lack of added sugar may be perfect for baking, but they won’t be sweet enough for your taste on their own. 

You begin to drop down from the countertop, fully intending to continue your search for the perfect treat. Your feet drop to the ground quietly, and you land in an almost crouch. Perfect, the ship is silent, as it should be. You straighten up, intending to continue your search, but your knees, still tight from your recent slumber, crack as you stand. The sound rings out in the otherwise silent kitchen like a gunshot. 

Maybe your creaking joints wouldn’t be a problem in a normal kitchen, but Sanji, who has ears attuned to any slight sound coming from the Galley (thanks to Luffy’s many attempts to raid the space at odd hours for food), surely heard the pop in his sleep. You may as well have knocked down all of the pots and shattered all of the dishes. 

It isn’t long before the sound of hurried footsteps and frustrated grumbling reaches your ears. The door to the galley slams open, lights flickering on just a moment after, leaving you squinting as your eyes adjust to the room once more. 

“Luffy, I swear if you touched any of the food I’ll—oh.” Sanji’s voice carries through the kitchen, his accent thicker than normal, sleep still clinging to his words. Your name rolls off his tongue, and you think it sounds sweeter in his sleep-addled voice than any chocolate could taste. 

“Sorry, Sanji. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just a little hungry,” you confess. 

“You could have woken me up,” he says, just like you knew he would. “I’d have been happy to cook something for you.” 

“I didn’t want to bother you. You deserve to rest. Especially when you already wake up so early each morning to make breakfast.” 

Sanji hums, stepping farther into the kitchen. He looks more awake now than he did when he first arrived. His eyes don’t stray from your own as he speaks, no longer concerned about the state of the galley. 

“For you, love, it’s never a bother.” The smile he offers you sends your heart fluttering in your chest. “Anyway, I’m awake now. What would you like to eat?” 

He’s too good to you, too gentle. How could your heart ever stand a chance?

“I was just planning on eating a little chocolate, but it seems like there's only the unsweetened kind right now.” 

“Ah, of course. Only something sweet would be fitting for my sweetheart.” 

Your breath catches in your throat. His. He called you his. 

You bring your hand up to your mouth, trying to hide the growing grin that spreads on your lips as you nearly melt from his words. The warmth blossoming in your chest will surely turn you into a puddle on the floor, and then Sanji will know just how much his words affect you (if he doesn’t know already).

“Can we make something with chocolate in it?” you ask.

“We?” Sanji repeats, as if he didn’t expect you to help him in this task. His gaze softens, eyes gleaming with something like affection, before adding. “Of course we can. How do strawberry and chocolate hand pies sound? I picked up some fresh jam at the last port.”  

“It sounds perfect,” you say. It’s far more than you hoped to find during your late night search. When you got out of bed, you never would have guessed what kind of sweet you would find in the kitchen. You definitely didn’t expect to spend time baking with Sanji.

The two of you work comfortably together, only speaking when Sanji provides specific instructions or when you need clarification. The hazy fog of sleep still hovers over the both of you, even if you’re both awake enough now to function.

“Could you grab the chocolate chips for me?” Sanji asks. 

It’s a simple request, one you can easily complete. You know where he keeps the chocolate chips, the unsweetened treat seeming much more appealing now that they’re going to be baked into something.

You make your way back over to the counter, situating yourself below the cabinet where the chocolate is stored. Then, you place your hands on the cool surface, preparing to make the climb. You’re certain Sanji knew this was the path necessary for you to take to reach the ingredient too. There’s no way for you to reach the chocolate chips without being higher up. 

As you jump, using the force of your arms to help pull yourself up towards the counter just like you’ve done in other kitchens many times before, an unexpected force settles on your shoulders, pushing your feet back towards the ground.

“None of that, sweetheart. There will be no climbing on the countertops in my kitchen,” Sanji reprimands. He’s gentle in his scolding, the uptick of his lips and gleam in his eye letting you know he’s not really mad. “Sorry, I thought they were a bit lower.”

He doesn’t seem sorry. 

You open your mouth to protest against what could only be meant as a jab about your height, but only a squeak comes out. Sanji’s warmth seeps into your back as he presses close, the shape of his hand burning into your hip as it settles there. You can feel the way his body stretches as he reaches up, leaning further into you, before easily grabbing the bag that seemed so far out of your reach. Any words you might have had to tell off the man for doing something for you when you could easily do the task yourself (as long as you could climb on the counter) fizzle out. 

Sanji doesn’t look at you as he reaches for the chocolate, but the easy smile on his lips morphs into a lazy smirk. His thumb rubs slow, intentional circles where his hand remains steady on your hip, as if he was soothing a startled animal, coaxing you to stay close instead of running away, something you just might have done if he wasn’t purposefully grounding you while your thoughts soared. 

Oh no, you think. He knows.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Sanji was already aware of your feelings for him—you’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve—but you had tried not to make your feelings for the chef too obvious. 

Sanji pulls the chocolate chips down, but he doesn’t step away. He still holds you close as he bends, his face lowering until it’s right beside yours. Then, without warning, his lips are pressed to the curve of your cheek. 

The kiss is quick, feather-light, but you’re certain he can feel the way your blood burns just beneath the surface of your skin, his quiet mumble of so warm the only confirmation you need, even if you weren’t meant to hear. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I just couldn’t help myself.” Before you can react, Sanji steps away from you, taking you in for only a moment longer before turning back to the task at hand. With how smoothly he acted, there’s no way he hadn’t planned that little stunt he pulled.  

He definitely knows.  

Sanji is already placing the hand pies in the oven by the time you’re finally able to move again, and you can’t help but feel almost frustrated that the chef didn’t give you a chance to return his affection. 

You’re left waiting impatiently as he sets the timer, the miniature pies now the last thing on your mind. Sanji doesn’t seem to understand—you’re craving something sweet, and as far as you’re concerned, the sweetest thing on this ship is him. 

a/n: thank you for reading〜♡