#thanks brooke for the dividers

[hisfavegirl]

Obsession's Edge - Maegor Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : He was a man of war, a conqueror forged in battle and bloodshed. But tonight, as he stood before you, his eyes held something else—something more dangerous than rage. Expectation. You knew what he meant. Your fate had been decided long before this moment. You were to be the last. The final wife. The one who would give him what he desired most. A son. A legacy.

Word Count : 8k

Maegor Targaryen Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The scene unfolds in the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, where tension clings to the air like a heavy shroud. You stand at the edge of the grand chamber, your hands clasped tightly in front of you as your eyes rest on the imposing figure of your brother, Maegor. His towering frame radiates power, and the infamous Blackfyre sword in his hand glints ominously in the flickering torchlight.

Once again, Maegor’s guards carry the lifeless body of his latest wife, his fifth attempt at securing a son and heir. The sight is as grim as it is familiar. The bloodstains on her pale dress speak of another failed birth, another sacrifice in Maegor’s unrelenting quest for a legacy.

Your stomach churns as you glance at your mother, Visenya, who stands by the hearth. She holds Maegor’s infant daughter—another girl—in her arms. Her face is a mask of cold indifference, her piercing gaze fixed on her son. The child wails softly, but Visenya pays her no mind, cradling the babe as if she were holding a mere object, not flesh and blood.

You take a hesitant step forward. “Brother,” you begin, your voice steady but cautious. “How much longer will this… madness continue? The gods—”

“The gods have cursed me!” Maegor growls, his voice echoing through the chamber. His knuckles whiten as he grips Blackfyre tighter. “They deny me a son, but I will not be denied. I am the blood of the dragon. I will have an heir.”

“And how many more must die for you to prove that?” you ask softly, though your words are like daggers. Your heart aches at the scene before you, but you know better than to openly defy him. Maegor’s wrath is as legendary as his strength.

His dark eyes meet yours, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something— frustration, desperation. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar coldness. “You speak of things you do not understand,” he snaps, his tone brooking no argument.

Visenya finally breaks her silence. “Enough,” she says, her voice calm but commanding. “This is not the time to quarrel. There is work to be done.”

You glance at your mother, noting the faint lines of weariness on her face. Even Visenya Targaryen, the indomitable matriarch, cannot entirely mask the strain of watching her son spiral further into darkness.

Maegor steps closer to you, his imposing presence casting a long shadow over your smaller frame. “Do not speak to me of curses or consequences,” he hisses. “You do not bear the weight of a throne, sister. You do not understand the price of power.”

Your throat tightens, but you hold your ground. “And you do not understand the price of the lives you destroy,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, silence stretches between you. The tension is palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. Then, without another word, Maegor turns on his heel and storms out of the chamber, the echo of his boots fading into the distance.

Visenya approaches you, the infant still cradled in her arms. Her expression softens slightly as she looks at you. “Do not provoke him,” she says quietly. “It will do no good.”

“And neither will enabling him,” you counter, though your tone lacks the fire of before.

She sighs, a rare sign of weariness. “We are Targaryens. We endure. We survive. That is what matters.”

As she walks away, the child’s cries growing fainter, you’re left alone in the chamber. The weight of your family’s legacy presses down on you, and you can’t help but wonder: How many more will suffer before the madness ends?

The corridors of the Red Keep were eerily silent as you made your way back to your chambers. The events of the night weighed heavily on your mind. You tried to banish the thoughts of your mother and Maegor, of the infant girl whose cries still echoed faintly in your ears. You didn’t want to think about what would become of the child—or what decisions your family might make under the cover of darkness.

Entering your chamber, you let out a soft sigh and closed the heavy wooden door behind you, shutting out the world beyond. The flickering light of the fireplace cast long shadows across the room, offering a small semblance of warmth in the cold, unforgiving keep.

You approached the dressing table and began to undo the clasps of your gown. Your hands moved mechanically, your mind still racing with questions you dared not voice. Was it truly the gods who cursed your brother, or was this all a punishment of his own making?

The silk of your gown slipped from your shoulders and pooled around your feet. You exchanged it for a simpler nightgown, one that offered comfort over extravagance. The soft fabric brushed against your skin as you pulled it over your head, and for a moment, you felt a sense of relief, however fleeting.

But before you could settle in, a quiet sound behind you made you freeze—a faint shuffling, as if someone was in the room. Your heart quickened, and you turned sharply, eyes scanning the dimly lit space. Then, you saw it: the hidden door in the far corner of your chamber, one you hadn’t even known existed until recently, creaked open.

From the shadows emerged Maegor, his imposing figure casting a long shadow on the stone floor. He stepped into the room with a purposeful stride, his expression unreadable, though his eyes were intense. He had shed his armor, but Blackfyre was still strapped to his side, a constant reminder of who he was.

“Brother,” you said cautiously, your voice low. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he closed the hidden door behind him, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. His gaze swept over you, taking in your disheveled appearance and the soft fabric of your nightgown.

“You shouldn’t leave yourself so unguarded,” he said finally, his tone matter-of-fact but carrying an edge.

You frowned. “I am in my own chambers. Do you expect an assassin to crawl out of the shadows?”

“In this keep?” he said with a dry chuckle. “You’d be a fool to think yourself safe, even here.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you tried not to show it. “Why are you here, Maegor? Did you come to discuss safety, or is there something else on your mind?”

He moved closer, his heavy boots barely making a sound against the stone floor. “Do you think me a monster?” he asked abruptly, his voice low but sharp.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, searching for the right words. “I think…” you began slowly, “that you’ve done monstrous things. But I also think the weight of the crown has hardened you more than it should.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked away, as if considering your words. Then he turned back to you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“I do what must be done,” he said firmly, though there was a flicker of something—doubt, perhaps—in his voice. “Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I take pleasure in burying wife after wife, child after child?”

“I don’t know what you feel,” you admitted softly. “You don’t let anyone see that part of you.”

He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating. “And what would it change if they did? Would it bring me a son? Would it silence the whispers of weakness?”

“No,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “But it might remind people that you’re still human. That you still bleed like the rest of us.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he studied you for a long moment. Then, without warning, he reached out and cupped your face in his hand. The gesture was almost tender, a stark contrast to the coldness you had come to associate with him.

“You’re different,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You see me, not just the crown. Not just the king.”

“Because I’m your sister,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “And because I know there’s still something good in you, no matter how deeply you’ve buried it.”

For a moment, it looked as though he might say something more. But instead, he released you and stepped back, the moment of vulnerability passing as quickly as it had come.

“Get some rest,” he said, his tone colder now, though there was a hint of softness beneath it. “Tomorrow will bring more battles, as it always does.”

You took a deep breath and turned toward Maegor before he could step back into the hidden passage.

“Stay,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence.

He turned to look at you, his sharp features shadowed in the dim candlelight. “It’s late,” he replied curtly, his tone clipped. “You should rest. So should I.”

“I’m asking you to stay with me,” you said, stepping closer. Your voice was steady, though your heart was racing. “You’re my brother, Maegor. I don’t mind your company, and you need the rest just as much as I do.”

He hesitated, his piercing eyes narrowing slightly. “I am not in the habit of seeking comfort,” he said gruffly, though the way his hand lingered on the hilt of Blackfyre betrayed some inner conflict.

“You don’t have to seek it,” you replied gently, moving closer until you stood directly in front of him. “I’m offering it to you.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. The air between you was tense, and you could see the walls he kept around himself, the ones he refused to let anyone breach. But then, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded.

“Fine,” he muttered, as though he was doing you a favor. “But don’t think this will become a habit.”

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Of course not.”

As he stood there, unmoving, you reached for the heavy belt that secured Blackfyre at his hip. Your fingers brushed against his as you began to unfasten it, and for a moment, his hand lingered before he let you take over. Carefully, you slid the belt free and placed it on the small table near your bed.

“You don’t always have to carry it, you know,” you said, glancing back at him as you gestured to Blackfyre.

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “I do,” he replied simply. “It’s who I am.”

“You’re more than that sword, Maegor,” you said, your tone soft but firm. “Even if you don’t believe it.”

You paused, your breath hitching as Maegor’s words hung in the air.

“Perhaps the reason my wives have failed me,” he said, his voice low and almost thoughtful, “is because they are not of the blood of the dragon. But you…”

He let the statement linger, and you turned your head to look at him. His piercing gaze met yours, unflinching, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Maegor,” you said quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “You can’t mean that.”

“Why not?” he replied, his tone unwavering. He leaned closer, his hand sliding to your arm and pulling you gently into his embrace. “You are of the blood of Old Valyria, born to the same fire and blood that flows through my veins. If anyone could give me a son—a true heir—it would be you.”

Your mind raced, his words sinking in. You had always known that your mother, had plans for you—plans tied to your brother’s throne. She had often spoken of uniting the bloodlines to strengthen House Targaryen. But hearing Maegor speak of it so plainly, so deliberately, made your chest tighten.

“That’s why Mother promised me to you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his hand moving to gently cradle the side of your face. “She sees what I see,” he said, his voice softer now. “The strength in you. The fire.”

You tried to look away, but he held you there, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Do you think I want this, Maegor?” you asked, your tone laced with a mixture of uncertainty and defiance.

“I think,” he began, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke, “that it is not about what we want, but what we must do—for the house, for the throne, and for the bloodline.”

You shivered as his words sank in, and though you wanted to push him away, his warmth was oddly comforting. He tightened his hold on you, his strength both intimidating and reassuring.

“You could give me what no one else has,” he whispered against your ear, his voice sending a chill down your spine. “A son. An heir. You could ensure the strength of our house for generations to come.”

“Maegor…” you started, but your words faltered as his hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer.

“Think about it,” he said, his tone still calm but laced with something darker, something possessive. “It is your destiny. You were meant for me.”

You felt your resolve waver, torn between the weight of his words and the emotions swirling within you. You had grown up knowing your place in the family, knowing what was expected of you. But this… this was more than you had ever anticipated.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly.

“You can,” he said firmly, his lips brushing against your forehead. “And you will. Together, we will be unstoppable.”

For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace, your mind a storm of doubt and confusion. Whether it was fate or folly, you couldn’t yet say. But in that moment, as his arms tightened around you and his whispers filled the silence, it felt as though you had no choice at all.

You stood frozen as Maegor’s words hung in the air, the mention of your mother, making your chest tighten. You did respect her—more than anyone. She was the guiding force of your life, her word as close to law as the Seven themselves. Refusing her was unthinkable. Maegor knew this, and the faint smirk on his face revealed he was fully aware of how deeply her influence bound you.

Maegor stepped closer, his fingers tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You will not refuse me,” he murmured, though there was no real question in his voice. “You would not dare defy mother’s wishes.” he murmured, his voice low and confident.

You glanced at him, lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. He was right. You could already hear your mother’s voice in your head, her arguments laid out plainly, reminding you of duty and legacy.

Maegor stepped closer, his imposing frame towering over you. “You’ve always followed her commands,” he continued, his voice softening but losing none of its authority. “You’ve never failed her before. And this? This is what she wants.”

Your silence made him chuckle—a rare, low sound that startled you. He was so often stoic, cold even, but now there was something different in him. Something almost… warm.

He raised a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You think too much,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Just let it happen.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours. It was not the demanding kiss you might have expected from him—it was slow, careful, and deliberate, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. His hands cupped your face, holding you gently but firmly, ensuring you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

You froze, unsure of what to do. But as the kiss deepened, you felt yourself melting into it despite the swirl of thoughts in your mind. The warmth of his lips, the way his touch seemed to steady your trembling form—it was disarming.

When he finally pulled back, his violet eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of rejection. But you remained silent, your breath uneven, your cheeks flushed.

“You see,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your jawline. “It feels… right. Doesn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, unable to deny the strange pull you felt toward him. He had always been a part of your life, a figure of strength and dominance. And now, as he stood before you, so certain and unyielding, it was as if the world itself had conspired to place you in his arms.

“What if I’m not enough?” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “What if I fail you, too?”

His expression softened, his hands moving to your shoulders. “You won’t,” he said firmly. “You are of the blood of the dragon. My equal. My match. Together, we’ll do what no one else has.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his words sank in. There was no escaping this—no denying what your mother had already decided for you, what Maegor had clearly longed for.

As he leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours in a way that made your knees weak, you realized that this was no longer just about duty or tradition. This was about Maegor’s unwavering belief in you, his determination to claim you as his own. And for the first time, you wondered if perhaps you didn’t mind being claimed.

Maegor’s hands gripped your waist as he effortlessly lifted you, settling you onto his lap as if you weighed nothing. The strength in his touch was undeniable, and yet there was something careful about the way he held you, as though you were the most precious thing he’d ever claimed.

Your hands instinctively wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in the thick, silver strands of his hair. He pulled you closer, his lips pressing firmly against yours, deepening the kiss with an intensity that left you breathless. His confidence was overwhelming, but it was also intoxicating, pulling you further into his orbit.

You hesitated for only a moment before giving in, letting yourself lean into the kiss. When your lips finally began to move against his, Maegor let out a low hum of approval. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, his voice low and laced with amusement. “There she is,” he murmured, his smirk unmistakable. “I knew you wouldn’t resist me for long.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the weight of them sinking into your chest. He leaned in again, his lips ghosting over your jawline, trailing down to the curve of your neck. You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, his tongue quickly soothing the spot he’d bitten.

“Maegor…” you whispered, unsure whether it was meant as a plea or a protest.

He chuckled against your neck, his hands roaming over the curve of your hips. “Say my name again,” he commanded softly, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

You hesitated, but when he nipped at your skin again, a quiet, breathless “Maegor” escaped your lips. He growled in approval, his grip on you tightening as he kissed his way back to your lips.

“You’re mine,” he said against your mouth, his tone firm and unyielding. “Do you understand that?”

You nodded, your mind spinning as his words and actions consumed you. His hands moved back to your waist, holding you steady as he pressed you closer to him.

“You’re the only one who can give me what I want,” he continued, his lips brushing against yours with every word. “A son. A true heir. And I’ll make sure of it.”

His words should have frightened you, but instead, they filled you with a strange sense of purpose—a feeling that you belonged here, with him. When his lips met yours again, you found yourself kissing him back with a fervor that matched his own, your hands tightening in his hair as the room around you seemed to fade away.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’ll see. This is where you were always meant to be—by my side, as my queen.”

And for the first time, you didn’t feel the urge to argue. Instead, you leaned into him, letting his words wash over you as you surrendered to the fire that burned between you.

Maegor’s hands were rough as they slid up your back, pulling your nightgown up and over your head in one swift motion. The cool air of the room brushed against your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his touch. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, his lips curling into a smirk before he leaned in to claim your lips once more.

This time, his kiss was hungrier, more demanding, as if he was staking his claim all over again. You responded with equal fervor, your fingers threading through his hair and pulling lightly, earning a low growl from deep in his chest.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured against your lips, his voice laced with warning and amusement.

You smirked in return, rolling your hips slightly against his lap. The way his body reacted to you—his sharp intake of breath, the way his grip on your hips tightened—only emboldened you further. “Maybe I like the flames,” you whispered, your tone teasing as you brushed your lips against his again.

His laughter was low and dangerous, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Careful,” he said, his voice a soft growl. “You keep pushing me, and I won’t be able to hold back.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” you replied, your tone filled with challenge.

That was all the permission he needed. With a swift motion, he shifted, pinning you beneath him on the bed. His hands framed your face as he kissed you deeply, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he said as he pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “But don’t think I’ll stop once I start. You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

You gasped as his lips found your neck, trailing heated kisses along your skin. His hands explored your body with a mixture of gentleness and possession, leaving no doubt in your mind that he meant every word he said.

“Maegor…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you arched beneath him.

Hearing his name from your lips only seemed to spur him on. His lips curled into a smirk against your skin as he moved lower, his hands sliding to grip your hips. “Say it again,” he commanded softly, his voice filled with raw desire.

“Maegor,” you repeated, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He growled in satisfaction, his grip tightening as he began to guide your movements against him. The fire in his eyes was unmistakable as he watched your every reaction, his own control slipping with every passing moment.

“You wanted this,” he said, his tone low and dangerous as he leaned closer. “And now you’re going to take everything I give you.”

And as his words sank in, you realized there was no going back—not that you wanted to. You surrendered to him completely, letting him pull you deeper into the flames as the night stretched on.

Maegor’s eyes burned with intensity as he discarded his trousers, his movements deliberate and unhurried. You couldn’t help but smirk, shifting your hips slightly to tease him. The way his jaw tightened and his nostrils flared only encouraged you further, knowing you were testing the limits of his control.

“You think this is a game?” he asked, his voice low and rough as he stepped closer.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Why, brother, I have no idea what you mean.”

He growled, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’ll regret that,” he said, his tone a dangerous promise.

Before you could respond, his hands were on your hips, pulling you toward him with a force that made you gasp. In one swift, decisive motion, he buried himself within you, tearing a cry from your lips as pain and pleasure collided.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you struggled to adjust. “Maegor!” you cried out, your voice trembling.

He laughed softly, the sound dark and laced with satisfaction. “Does it hurt, little dragon?” he murmured, brushing his lips against your ear. “Good. You’ll remember this moment every time you think you can defy me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as your body stretched to accommodate him, the sensation overwhelming and unfamiliar. “You’re… you’re too much,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grab your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll take all of me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You were made for this—for me.”

You whimpered as he began to move, each thrust sending a new wave of sensation through your body. The initial pain began to fade, replaced by a heat that spread through your veins like wildfire.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice filled with both admiration and possession. “So beautiful, even when you’re trembling beneath me.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but you couldn’t deny the way they made your heart race. Despite his roughness, there was a strange sense of care in the way he touched you, as though he was staking his claim but also ensuring you wouldn’t break beneath him.

As the rhythm of his movements increased, your cries turned into soft moans, your body slowly surrendering to the intensity of the moment. “Maegor…” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with need.

He smirked, leaning down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss. “That’s it,” he murmured against your mouth. “Say my name again.”

“Maegor,” you repeated, your voice louder this time, filled with both pain and pleasure.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he thrust deeper. “You’ll learn to love this,” he said, his tone both commanding and soothing. “And soon, you’ll crave it as much as I do.”

You could only nod, your body and mind completely consumed by him. In that moment, there was nothing else—just the two of you, bound together in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

Maegor’s heavy, calloused hands pinned your wrists above your head, his grip firm but not painful. His towering form loomed over you, his silver hair falling into his face as he gazed down at you with a mixture of triumph and hunger. You had always been the one to tease, the one to provoke—but now, under him, you were at his mercy.

“You’ve always been so bold,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “Always looking for my attention, always testing me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words turned into a gasp as his hips moved, a sharp thrust that left you breathless. Your body arched instinctively, pressing closer to him as he continued his relentless pace.

“Look at you now,” he said, his tone laced with dark amusement. “So quiet. Has the little dragon finally met her match?”

Your cheeks burned at his teasing, but you couldn’t form a coherent reply. Every movement, every thrust, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making it impossible to think clearly.

“Maegor…” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

He smirked, leaning down until his face was just inches from yours. “Say it louder,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

“Maegor,” you repeated, your voice cracking as he drove deeper, his movements precise and unyielding.

“That’s better,” he said, his smirk widening. “You look beautiful like this, you know. Completely mine.”

You tried to squirm beneath him, your body desperate for some sort of release, but his strength kept you firmly in place. His hands tightened around your wrists as he held them above your head, his grip a reminder of just how powerless you were in his grasp.

“You’ve always thought you were in control,” he continued, his voice low and dangerous. “But here, like this, you belong to me.”

His words sent a thrill through you, even as you tried to deny the effect they had on you. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

Maegor chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “And yet, you can’t get enough of me.”

Before you could respond, he shifted his weight slightly, angling his hips in a way that had you crying out his name again. The sound only seemed to spur him on, his movements becoming rougher, more deliberate.

“You drive me mad,” he admitted, his voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths. “But I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

His free hand trailed down your side, his fingers brushing over your skin in a way that made you shiver. “Every inch of you,” he said, his voice filled with a dark promise. “Every sound you make, every breath you take—it’s all mine.”

You couldn’t argue with him, not when your body was betraying you so completely. Instead, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, letting Maegor claim you in every way he desired. And as his laughter echoed in your ears, you knew there would be no going back.

Maegor’s relentless pace left your mind spinning, every sharp thrust erasing any coherent thought from your head. The world around you blurred, and all that remained was the man above you—his weight, his heat, and the overwhelming power of his movements.

“Maegor…” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you clung to him, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.

“Say it louder,” he demanded, his tone a deep growl as his piercing gaze locked onto yours. His face was a mix of smug satisfaction and raw intensity, his silver hair damp with sweat as it clung to his forehead.

You cried out his name again, louder this time, unable to stop yourself as he buried himself deeper, the force of his thrusts stealing the breath from your lungs. Maegor grinned, his lips curling into a dark smirk as he watched you unravel beneath him.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice thick with pride and something darker. “Completely at my mercy. Does it drive you mad, little dragon? Knowing that no one else could ever ruin you like this?”

Your only response was a strangled moan as your body arched into his, seeking more of him despite the overwhelming intensity. Maegor leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “You’re mine, now and always. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and surrender.

“That’s right,” he purred, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. His hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you in place as he drove into you with even more force, drawing another scream from your lips.

“You feel so perfect,” he said, his tone softening just slightly, though the fire in his eyes never dimmed. “Like you were made for me. Tell me, little dragon—do you feel it too? That you were meant to be mine?”

You nodded frantically, unable to find the words as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you trembling in his arms. Maegor chuckled darkly at your helplessness, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. “Lost in me, lost to me.”

As you cried out again, your body clinging to his in desperation, Maegor groaned, the sound low and primal as he felt your walls tighten around him. His pace faltered for just a moment before he drove into you one last time, his head falling to your shoulder as he growled your name.

The room was filled with the sounds of your labored breathing as the two of you came down from the heights of your passion. Maegor didn’t pull away immediately, instead leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, his touch surprisingly tender after the intensity of his movements.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, his voice soft but firm, as if sealing a promise. Maegor smirked, his confidence returning as he gazed down at you. “I’ve made my claim on you, little dragon. Don’t ever forget that.”

As you lay in his arms, your body still trembling from his touch, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of inevitability. You were his now, completely and utterly, and there was no going back.

Maegor’s strong hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you in place as he lifted you with ease and settled you on his lap. You gasped, your hands bracing against his broad shoulders for support, but before you could utter a word, his deep, commanding voice interrupted.

“If I am to have a son, little dragon,” he growled, his violet eyes dark and blazing with determination, “then I will not stop now.”

Your lips parted to protest, but the words never left your mouth. In one swift motion, Maegor thrust himself upward, pulling your hips down to meet him. The intensity of the movement made your head fall back as a loud cry escaped your lips. The sensation of him so deep, so overwhelming, was too much for your trembling body to process.

“Maegor!” you screamed, clutching onto his shoulders for dear life as he began to move, his pace relentless and unyielding.

“You can take it,” he said, his tone almost mocking, though there was an edge of possessiveness in his voice that sent shivers through you. “You were made for this—made for me.”

Your breathing came in short, desperate gasps as he guided your movements, his hands firmly holding your waist as he controlled the rhythm. The combination of his strength and the sheer intensity of his movements left you unable to do anything but follow his lead.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. When you didn’t respond, too lost in the sensation, he reached up and tilted your chin toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I said, look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his piercing violet stare. The raw hunger in his expression made your heart race even faster.

“There you are,” he murmured, his tone softening ever so slightly. “I want to see that pretty face of yours when I give you what we both know you want.”

You whimpered in response, your hands gripping his shoulders even tighter as he pulled you down onto him again, deeper than before. The new angle sent shockwaves through your body, and you couldn’t stop the loud moan that escaped your lips.

“To much?” he asked, his smirk returning as he studied your reaction. “Or is it exactly what you need?”

“Maegor…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you struggled to catch your breath.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear. “Say my name, little dragon. Say it so the gods themselves hear you.”

You obeyed, crying out his name over and over as he continued to guide your movements, his strength and determination leaving you completely at his mercy. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve as if claiming you all over again.

“You’re perfect,” he growled, his lips trailing down your neck. “Perfect for me. Perfect to bear my sons.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t hold back the way your body responded to him. Maegor chuckled darkly, clearly pleased by the effect he had on you.

As he quickened his pace, his movements became even more demanding, pushing you closer to the edge. Your cries grew louder, filling the room as he drove you higher and higher.

“Give it to me,” he commanded, his voice thick with need. “Give me everything.”

And with one final, powerful thrust, you shattered in his arms, your body trembling uncontrollably as waves of pleasure washed over you. Maegor followed shortly after, his grip on your waist tightening as he buried himself as deep as he could, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips.

As the two of you came down from the intensity of the moment, Maegor’s hold on you remained firm, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath.

“You’ll give me a son,” he murmured, his tone resolute. It wasn’t a question—it was a statement, one he believed with every fiber of his being.

You nodded weakly, still trembling in his arms as you leaned against his chest, too overwhelmed to respond with words. Maegor smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple as he tightened his embrace.

“This is only the beginning,” he promised, his voice filled with dark determination.

Maegor didn’t give you a moment to recover. His strength was overwhelming as he lifted you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs firmly, and carried you to the sturdy table in the center of the room. Before you could fully register what was happening, he placed you down with precision, positioning you exactly how he wanted.

“Did you think I was done with you, little dragon?” he asked, his voice a low, teasing growl.

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a sharp gasp as he buried himself inside you again in one swift, forceful motion. Your hands instinctively reached out, grasping the edges of the table for support as he set a punishing pace, his movements quick and unrelenting.

“Maegor!” you cried out, your voice echoing in the chamber, but your pleas only seemed to spur him on.

“Louder,” he demanded, his tone thick with authority. “Let everyone in the Keep know who you belong to.”

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he leaned over you, his large frame completely dominating yours. The table creaked beneath the force of his movements, but you didn’t care. Your body burned, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

Suddenly, Maegor’s hands gripped your waist, lifting you slightly before pushing you to lie flat against the table. Your gaze shifted, and that’s when you saw it—the large mirror across the room, perfectly angled to reflect the two of you.

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson as you took in the sight. Your disheveled hair, your trembling body, and Maegor’s powerful figure towering over you, his muscles flexing with every movement. His face was a mixture of focus and satisfaction, his violet eyes locking with yours in the mirror.

“Look at us,” he said, his voice rough yet filled with pride. “See what we are.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed by the rawness of the moment. Your arms reached out, wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer, hiding your face in his shoulder to escape the intensity of your own reflection.

“Oh no, little dragon,” he murmured, chuckling darkly as he lifted your chin with one hand, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. “Don’t look away. Watch how perfectly you take me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the way your body reacted, arching into him as he continued his relentless pace. His free hand traveled to your hip, gripping it tightly as he adjusted the angle, drawing out even louder cries from you.

“Maegor, please…” you whispered, though you weren’t sure what you were begging for.

“Please what?” he asked, his tone mocking yet filled with hunger. “Tell me what you want.”

“I-I can’t,” you stammered, your voice trembling as he pushed you further and further toward your limit.

“You can,” he countered, his lips brushing against your ear. “You will.”

Your body trembled beneath him, your mind clouded with nothing but him—his touch, his voice, his presence. The sight of the two of you in the mirror only added to the overwhelming sensation, and you felt yourself nearing the edge once again.

“Say it,” Maegor demanded, his voice a low growl as he drove you closer and closer to the brink.

“I’m yours,” you finally gasped, your voice breaking as the words spilled from your lips. “I’m yours, Maegor.”

A triumphant smirk spread across his face as he slammed into you one final time, sending you spiraling over the edge. Your cries filled the room, your body shaking uncontrollably as you clung to him, your nails digging into his skin.

Maegor followed moments later, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself as deep as possible, a guttural groan escaping his lips. His forehead pressed against yours as he caught his breath, his hands gently stroking your sides as you lay sprawled on the table beneath him.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “Always.”

You nodded weakly, your body too exhausted to respond with words. Maegor smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“And I’m not done with you yet,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eye as he lifted you once more, carrying you back toward the bed.

Maegor showed no mercy as he pressed your trembling body into the mattress, his large hands gripping your hips tightly while his movements remained unrelenting. You were sprawled out beneath him, barely able to catch your breath as he continued his punishing pace.

"Maegor… please…" you whispered weakly, your voice muffled by the soft fabric of the bedding.

"Please, what?" he asked with a mocking laugh, his tone dark and teasing as he leaned over you. His weight pressed you further into the bed, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

You knew he didn’t expect a reply—he already knew the answer. The smirk on his face widened as he felt you unconsciously arch your back, your body betraying you as it sought more of him despite the overwhelming sensations.

"That's what I thought," he growled, one hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer, making his thrusts even deeper. "You’re mine, little dragon. You’ll take everything I give you."

You could only whimper in response, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your mind spiraled into a haze of pleasure and exhaustion. Every inch of your body felt consumed by him—by his strength, his dominance, and the sheer heat of his touch.

When you tried to lift your head, Maegor’s hand came to rest on the back of it, guiding you to stay down. "No, stay just like this," he ordered, his voice softer now but still firm. "You look perfect beneath me."

"Maegor…" you whispered again, your voice breaking as you tried to form coherent words.

"Say it," he demanded, his tone sharp yet filled with desire. "Say you're mine."

"I’m yours," you gasped, the words tumbling out without hesitation.

His deep chuckle rumbled through the room, and he rewarded your surrender with a sharp thrust that made you cry out his name. "That’s right," he murmured, his voice filled with pride. "You’ll never belong to anyone else."

Despite your exhaustion, you couldn’t help but shiver at the possessiveness in his tone. He leaned down further, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as his pace quickened once again.

"Look at you," Maegor muttered, his voice filled with admiration as his hands slid over your trembling form. "So beautiful. So perfect. You were made for me, weren’t you?"

You couldn’t respond—your voice was lost to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. All you could do was grip the sheets tighter, your body giving in completely to his relentless claim.

When he finally reached his peak, his grip on your hips tightened, and he buried himself as deeply as possible to make sure that he's seed go deep in you, a guttural groan escaping his lips. The sheer intensity of the moment left you breathless, your body trembling as he collapsed beside you, his arm draped possessively over your waist.

"You’ll never escape me, little dragon," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with a promise. "Not now. Not ever."

You closed your eyes, your heart racing as you felt the warmth of his presence beside you. Despite everything, you couldn’t deny the way your body craved his touch, the way his words seemed to root themselves deep within your soul.

Maegor shifted his weight, rolling your trembling body to face him. His piercing gaze roamed over you—your flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, and quivering form. A smirk spread across his lips, a dark chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.

"Look at you," he said, his voice filled with both amusement and satisfaction. "Utterly spent, yet still so beautiful."

You tried to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you met his gaze. "Maegor…" you whispered, your voice barely audible, a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours with surprising tenderness. "You’re perfect like this," he murmured, his hand trailing down your side, sending shivers through your already sensitive body. "Made for me. And only me."

Just as you thought he would let you rest, he pulled back slightly, his smirk fading as his sharp eyes traveled lower. His expression darkened when he saw the evidence of his release dripping from your swollen cunt. A low growl escaped his throat, filled with frustration and possessiveness.

"No," he muttered, almost to himself. "I won’t have that."

Before you could process his words, he pressed you down firmly against the bed, his hands gripping your thighs to spread you open. You gasped, weakly reaching for him, but he didn’t give you a moment to protest.

"Maegor, wait—"

He didn’t. With a deliberate, forceful motion, he pushed his fingers inside you, his touch firm yet calculated. You cried out softly, your body jerking at the sudden intrusion.

"Be still," he ordered, his voice low but commanding. "I won’t have what’s mine dripping away so easily."

Your head fell back against the pillows, your body arching instinctively as he worked with a steady rhythm, pushing his release back into you. The sensation was overwhelming, sending a mix of pleasure and overstimulation coursing through your nerves.

"Maegor, I can’t…" you whimpered, your voice trailing off into a broken sob.

He leaned closer, his face hovering just above yours as his free hand cupped your cheek. "You can," he whispered, his tone surprisingly gentle despite the fire burning in his eyes. "And you will. You’ll take all of me, no matter how many times it takes."

Your breath hitched as his movements became slower, more deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. "You’ll give me a son," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "I’ll make sure of it."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Maegor leaned in to kiss it away, his lips lingering on your skin. "Don’t cry, little dragon," he said softly, his voice almost tender. "This is what you were meant for. To carry my blood. To give me what no other could."

His words, though harsh, carried an undeniable weight. You felt the heat of his possessiveness searing into your very being, leaving you no room to escape his claim.

When he finally pulled back, satisfied, he gathered your trembling form into his arms, holding you close. His hand rested protectively over your stomach, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"You’ll see," he said quietly, his voice carrying an edge of certainty. "You’ll give me the legacy I deserve. And you’ll be the queen by my side when I do."

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you could only nod weakly, the gravity of his words settling deep within you as sleep began to overtake your tired body.

Tag List : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry

[drewsbraziliangf]

don’t try this at home | Drew Starkey x black!reader

summary: no one never tells you how much a broken heart hurts. how you feel like you could die from how much pain it causes you and dealing with it mostly alone serves as a constant reminder of what life could've been.

a/n: Here’s part 2 of nothing to say when heaven falls, heavily inspired by ‘in the kitchen’ by Renee Rapp. I want to thank you all sooooo much for the love on the first part I’m still taking it all in💖

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

It had been seven months since the both of you broke up - more like you decided to call it all off and he just watched.

A part of you felt broken beyond repair. It felt like everywhere you looked you could see his stupid blue eyes and damned smile. As if your brain couldn't cope with his absence anymore and began to force you to picture him everywhere you went. Wether it was in someone holding the door for you, a stranger complimenting your hair, a song on the radio that you knew he’d sing along as he drove. It felt like you were dancing with his ghost. Like life happened around you but you were stuck in the kitchen where you last saw him. It was just you and the bittersweet memories.

You never knew how his family took the news of your break up, Brooke was the one who reached out to you and said that she was sorry things had happened that way. But after that everything was radio silent and you preferred it that way. It hurt less when the living reminders of him weren’t too keen on keeping up with your life anymore. They had no reason to do that anyway.

But nothing hurt more than when you began to call everything off with the contractors. The venue, the buffet, the band that would be playing, the decoration crew, photographers and wedding planners. That broke you because you could feel their pity through each and every single call. Like every time you dialed a number, the knife was piercing the open wound again.

It didn’t take long for you to move back into the apartment you rented before you had moved in with him. Slowly life was stable again. Wake up, walk in the park, work, diner, sleep. Repeat.

You also deleted most of your social media profiles and created brand new ones. You didn't want to think of how long until people realized that you were cutting online ties to any one connected to him and they started asking questions. You wanted to remain invisible at last.

Still that wasn't enough. Every other day when your best friend, Frankie, posted a picture or a video where you were in she would immediately tell you that he had liked it. Every time for the last month and a half. You didn't know if you liked to be informed of that or not, if you were honest.

Sometimes you hated yourself for leaving like you did, but in most days you asked yourself how you managed to stay that long? Of course you loved him and was one hundred percent ready to be with him in the long run, but the sudden dismiss of your relationship as soon as Odessa was in the picture was a real deal breaker. Even if you had tried to ignore and move past it, both of them seem to keep on pushing your buttons more and more.

Moving back to this apartment was a blessing and a curse. You were glad that the lender was a nice lady and accepted your application again. You loved the neighborhood and the neighbors, so you were relieved that this part you were able to recover.

Unlike the place you shared with Drew, this one barely had memories of him. So it was easy to ignore his absence in your home. The thought of your shared apartment brought a strange kind of pain to your heart. So many plans, memories and dreams that you for your future now sat alone. All of them waiting for a different kind of closure - one you weren’t sure they’d ever get.

There were pieces of furniture that used to decorate that address that you had brought with you. And on them you could feel him linger, like he was a ghost lurking by the corners waiting for you to acknowledge him again. You never did.

Weeks came and went as the breeze that passed by. None of them too significant. One failed date here and there, bar trips with Frankie, catching up with family members. Routine wasn’t hard to follow when you didn’t have anything else to focus on, it gave you a sense of normalcy. That’s how you found yourself sighing at your friends words on the speaker phone.

“Come on, it will be fun!” She points out, “And you might even find someone you’ll like.”

Frankie had been trying to convince you on the past few days to go to this party in a private club that she was invited and could take a plus one. You did enjoy going to some bars but clubs were never your scene, but you knew that with her insistence you’d end up caving in soon or late.

“Frankie, you know that I don’t enjoy this kind of things too much,” you argue as you serve yourself some pasta. “Besides, I have that presentation at work that I need to focus on.”

“That’s not coming up for another two weeks, I’m sure you can take one day to live. You’re young and gorgeous, you shouldn’t be locked up on a Friday night.”

You giggle at that. Ever since you told her what had happened with your previous relationship, she made it her mission to get you to meet as many guys as possible. Half of the times you managed to back out and the ones you did you’d find yourself under someone you were sure that you’d only see once.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You ask with a small sigh as you shake your head.

“Be ready by nine, hun.” She says, and you can clearly hear the excitement in her voice, and then she hangs up.

This was everything you didn’t know you needed. The sweaty bodies dancing on the main floor, loud chatter all around and the strong smell of alcohol surrounded you.

Everyone seemed pretty in sync with each other here and, as Frankie held your hand, the both of you headed to the bar. When you arrived, you realized that the both of you had a very different perception of what small was. This place had at least one hundred and twenty people in, all with different styles and ages.

Frankie was taller than you, with legs and a waist to die for. She drew attention anywhere she passed by with her long blonde hair, at work people called her a bombshell, since she did look like a modern version of Gisele Bündchen. You became friends not long after you moved to Connecticut. As it was closer to New York and your then fiancé, had many meetings and events in the city. Both of you working in a corporate position at one of the many offices that were spread downtown. As the two of you were closer in age, it didn’t take much for a friendship to blossom between you both.

“I’ll have two caipirinhas,” she said to the bartender with the cutest little accent.

At the name of the specific drink from your native country, you looked around and realized that the party was somewhat tropical themed, so having a drink that was heavy on lime and sugar made sense.

You were glad that your outfit wasn’t standing out too much. The skirt barely covered your behind, but somehow the soft fabric made you feel comfortable as it wasn’t clinging to your skin as a the leather option you tried earlier would. Summer was insanely hot this year and the less the better.

Once your drinks arrived, she handed you one and the both of you walked towards one of the empty seats a little far away from the bar.

Conversation between the two of you flew lightly and it was always good to talk with Frankie. She understood you in ways no one ever had, there was never judgment coming from her. Even when you broke down in front of her when your relationship ended. She was your family away from home.

She also felt confident in sharing with you her fears and struggles as a single mother. Her boyfriend had passed away a year and a half ago in an accident and left her with a little boy to raise. Hayden her pride and joy and you knew how hard she worked to provide him with the best there was. You were more than glad to help her whenever she needed, you loved the both of them endlessly.

As the hours passed by the party became more packed than it was when you arrived, now you could barely walk between the damp bodies. So that made your trip to the bar for new drinks twice as long.

The bartender acted on automatic as he took your order once more, and for a moment you felt bad for coming here again. So many voices and sounds around you that you questioned yourself how he was able to understand each order correctly.

You tapped your colored nails against the glass countered as you waited, trying not to focus too much on what was happening around you. And that was how you felt it before you’ve seen it.

The strong smell of a very specific cologne. You didn’t dare to turn your head as the smell flooded your senses, hopefully it would be just a coincidence, right? I mean, what are the chances?

But it seemed like you have zero support from the universe tonight because the voice ordering a Sazerac besides you was very familiar. Familiar as you had heard it groaning in your ear as your legs were wrapped around someone’s waist.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Was it too late for you to make an escape? Thankfully, the spot you and Frankie were sharing was to your left so you looked back in that directly only to see her wide eyes staring right back at you.

Fuck.

Where the hell was this bartender?

You looked ahead again and allowed your eyes to briefly look down to your right. That goddamned gold signet ring.

Fuck.

Suddenly you didn’t want to drink anymore. Not when you felt a very familiar gaze burning into you.

No escape.

💖taglist💖: @emmaafinchh @rafecamerons-national-anthem @blveeeeeee @a-j-stuffs @maybankslover @lovelylove268 @cooper8224 @esquivelbianca @dreamybabbyy @lulubabii @idiotussupremus @drewsphswife @ietss

tumblrs a hoe and it wasn’t letting me tag some of y’all 🫠

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 2

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.  Chapter Summary: Try as he might, Joel just can’t shake the memory of you. Try as you might, you can’t stop thinking of the woman tied to his desk. CW: The slow burn is burning. Mentions of death and underage drinking. Topless in public, this is a love story about BDSM after all. Reader does have some physical descriptions, so maybe more of an OFC, or just pretend you have pouty lips and a slightly upturned nose. Double POV (reader and Joel). AN: Thank you SO FUCKING MUCH for all the love on chapter one of this story. I literally cannot believe it surpasses 1000 notes in just a month, you're all insane and I love you. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Biiiig shout outs to the bb's who have been so supportive of me spiralling and panicking this last month over the next chapter. I'd be in a deep dark cave without you @mermaidgirl30 @littlevenicebitch69 @lotusbxtch @evolnoomym @joelmillerisapunk and @milla-frenchy . Thank you! I feel like I'm giving some sort of Oscars speech and if you're still reading this, you're the real MVP. XO Word Count: 8.5k

~ Joel - 27 Years Ago ~

Joel’s stands in the garage of someone he barely knows, surrounded by drunk and rowdy classmates from his high school. He’s a senior, graduating in just a few weeks and moments like this are one of the perks of being the star designated hitter and first baseman, everyone wants you at their party. Someone hands him a warm, flat beer that was pumped poorly from a keg as they pat his back roughly in congratulations. Joel’s not sure how a bunch of seventeen year olds managed to get a keg, most likely an older brother, but he drinks the shitty beer all the same. Speaking of brothers, he hasn’t seen Tommy in a while. He’s only fifteen and he promised their mom he’d keep an eye on him. The younger Miller shouldn’t be at a seniors party, but that's where those perks come in again, because if Joel was good, Tommy was better. In fact, he was so much better that he’s played up a whole age group his entire life, always right beside Joel. Tommy was the back catcher, and tonight he got the eleventh inning game winning out at home for them to win the state championship. 

He finds Tommy chatting with a group of girls, all of whom are incredibly beautiful. They’re going to be very disappointed when they find out how much younger he is than them. Joel smiles into his red solo cup as he takes a sip of stale beer. He tucks his free hand into the pocket of his light blue wranglers and walks over to the wall of the garage. He leans back and crosses one cowboy booted foot over the other. The brim of his cowboy hat grazes the unpainted drywall behind him. Texas, and the country, in the late nineties was where everyone wanted to be, and Joel Miller could have been the poster boys for teenage country boys in 1997.

Brooks & Dunn plays on someone's CD player in the corner, laughter and people talking overlaps until it’s just noise to Joel. He stands back, watching his younger brother effortlessly charm the five pretty girls around him. All of them in tight blue jeans, lacy white tops, denim vests and cowboy boots. He grabs one by the hand and Joel overhears, “I’ll teach ya how to two step, shame to not know in a place like this.” Then the motherfucker winks at her like he’s some sort of cowboy Casanova. Joel lets out a silent laugh through his nose and sips the beer again shaking his head. 

Just as Tommy pulls the pretty little blonde over towards the unmarked and unofficial dance floor in the corner of the garage the song changes. Slow guitar, followed by the unmistakable twang of Tim Magraw’s voice. Joel didn’t know it then, but that song would change the course of his life and intertwine itself in the very fabric of his being.

‘Dancin’ in the dark, Middle of the night’

That’s when he sees her, tall and slender, deep olive toned skin and pale green eyes. Her dark curly hair cascades over one of her shoulders. She’s laughing with another classmate, and even though he can’t hear the sound of it over the noise of the party, he can tell it’s a light and melodic sound, and he wants to spend the rest of his life drawing that out of her. 

‘Takin’ your heart, An holdin’ it tight’

He puts his warm beer on the work bench beside him and takes off his black felt Stetson, placing it over his broad chest, hoping the comfort of his favourite hat would slow the rate at which his heart is beating. 

‘Emotional touch, Touchin’ my skin, And askin’ you to do, What you’ve been doin’ all over again’

She looks over at him, smiling shyly, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s walking over to her. His legs move on their own accord, knees shaking as he approaches the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

‘Oh, it’s a beautiful thing, Don’t think I can keep it all in, I just gotta let you know, What is that won’t let me go’

Everything in the room fades as she fully comes into view. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the girl in front of him. She radiates a warmth that he’s only ever known his mother to radiate. It’s the first time he’s ever seen this girl, but she feels like home. This is it, that one thing that everyone says you’re supposed to feel. The thing his grandpa told him when he was younger, “Son, you’ll just know. It sounds ridiculous, but when I saw your grandma it was like a pull behind my belly button. I just knew, and I’ve known everyday since then.”

“Howdy, ma’am,” Joel says, tipping his hat to her before placing it back on his head. 

She giggles, confirming his earlier thoughts. It really is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard. “Hi.”

He holds out a hand to her and she takes it, her skin is so warm and smooth. In that moment he knows that hers will be the last hand he ever holds. Fire flushes through his veins as he continues, “I’m Joel, what’s your name?”

“Oh, I know who you are Joel Miller,” she flirts, not letting go of his hand. “I’m Tiffany.”

“Tiffany,” he repeats, his voice going deeper as he says it. It’s egotistical but he loves the way girls shiver just a little when he lowers his register. “And how is it that you know who I am?”

She slides her hand from his and reaches up to grab his cowboy hat, plopping it onto her head. “Star first baseman and designated hitter, everyone knows Joel Miller. Look around, look at all these girls lookin’ at you, cowboy.”

For the first time in his life Joel finds himself blushing, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Tiffany. 

“I only see one girl.” She rolls her eyes and swats at his bicep at the cheesy line, but that was it for both of them. From that point they were inseparable. 

They both turned eighteen a few months later, and just ten months, and a thirty two hour labour after Tiff turned eighteen, a tiny little Sarah came into the world all pink and screaming. Joel hears that song again as he watches Tiffany hold that little bundle of blankets, ‘Better than I was, More than I am, And all of this happened, By taking your hand.’

They get married when Sarah is just a few months old. Both his beautiful curly haired girls in white dresses, Tiffany grabbing that same black Stetson off his head during their first dance. He holds them both, swaying from side to side, a hot tear rolling down his cheek at how goddamn happy he is. ‘And who I am now, Is who I wanted to be, And now that we’re together, I’m stronger than ever, I’m happy and free’.

Things for their little family of three are perfect. They buy the house with the white picket fence and the wrap around porch. Joel gets a job working construction and enjoys a nightcap with his beautiful young wife on their front porch every night. They make love often, slow and sweaty, Joel worshiping her soft copper toned skin inch by glorious inch. Tiffany wraps every minute of her day around Sarah and being a sweet, devoted housewife. Nothing seems to stand in their way. Until the diagnosis shortly before Sarah starts Kindergarten. 

Tiffany is too young, they’re all too young. This isn’t something that happens to people their age, they haven’t had enough time. Joel spends the next few months in a haze, it has to be a bad dream. The appointments, the treatments, the call to 911 when the illness starts to win. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. 

He holds Tiffany until the very end. Sponging a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering his goodbyes as they shut off the machines keeping her here. “You’ve been so strong, my love. You fought so hard. I know you’re scared to go, I’m scared too, but we’ll do it like we do everything else. Together. I’ll be ok, Sarah will be ok. Just rest now. I love you.” 

As she takes her last shaky and shallow breath, a sound will live with him until he takes a breath that matches hers, that song echoes through his hollow chest. ‘It’s your love, It does something to me, It sends a shock right through me, I can’t get enough’.

You - Present Day

You roll to a stop outside Mister Miller’s house for your second day of cleaning. As you look towards the impressive house your pussy flutters at the memories of yesterday - the almost pornographic noises that were made in that office, his soft and kind eyes as he apologized profusely in the kitchen. You were supposed to go to a study group last night, but instead you got lost in a rabbit hole of porn where women are tied up and fingered. You got yourself off four times thinking about a man you’re not even supposed to know, wishing it was his thick fingers hitting that spot inside of you that you can’t reach on your own. You felt guilty about it last night and now being back in his home you have that same sinking feeling again. 

Stupid. Sacrificing my future for a fantasy. Never again. 

You let yourself in the house and look at the list in your cleaning app. You pop in your AirPods and start listening to your favourite true crime podcast; thankful for the new episode, a gruesome distraction as you scrub baseboards and lightswitches. The episode ends and in an attempt to not let your mind wander to the gorgeous man that lives here, and the depraved new things you’ve discovered about yourself, you start an educational audiobook about civil rights law. You might want Joel Miller to strap you down and whisper filth in your ears, but you are a good person, and your aspiration in life is to help people who face discrimination on a daily basis. 

You breeze around his home, checking off each task and before you know it it’s almost one in the afternoon. You have almost your whole list complete, his soft sheets are in the dryer (and yes, you are incredibly proud of yourself for only putting the luxurious white fabric to your face twice on the way to the washer). You only have the patio furniture to spray down and the kitchen counters to wipe. That’s when your stomach growls, almost as if to remind you that it’s the perfect time to take a break while the dryer finishes. You haul all your stuff out to your car and lock up, sitting in your front seat as you take out your lunch container.

An engine revs in the distance and your heart skips in your chest. Before you even have time to wonder if it’s Joel’s car, one of the black garage doors slides open and Joel’s obsidian coloured Aston Martin rolls by you, stopping with precision on the shiny cement floor of the garage. You avert your eyes, focused on your container of chicken noodle soup. The left side of your face feels the warmth of his gaze fixed on you. Without looking over you can tell he is studying you and it takes everything you have to keep your eyes on your measly lunch. 

The afternoon sun is blocked as Joel raps his knuckles on your window. You glance over at him, looking up through your lashes. He’s looking at you intensely but you can’t quite place his expression. As always, his deep brown eyes are locked on yours, he could either be happy to see you or incredibly disappointed in you. But one thing is for sure, he’s calculating your every need with those warm and inviting eyes. He knocks again so you crank the handle to roll your window down a crack.

He raises one eyebrow at you, both hands rest on the roof of your SUV as he leans forward to speak to you through the small opening in the window. “Seriously?” His voice is laced with sarcasm. 

“What?” You say, “Can’t be too safe.”

He blinks at you before continuing, “What'd ya doin’ out here?”

You lift your tupperware container a little, willing the tingles between your thighs to stop, “Eating my lunch.”

He rolls his eyes, running his hand along his greying scruff. “You’re eatin’ lukewarm soup in your car in the middle of February.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, but his voice is warm and curious, and you start to realize that the look on his face isn’t happiness or disappointment, but concern. 

You nod, “Yes.” His eyes dance around your face and you swear your heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Fluttering so fast that it’s traveling up your throat and you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. 

“Get out of the car. Come warm that up and eat inside.” His voice is thick with concern, entire face soft as he looks at you. 

You swallow your heart back down to where it belongs, “I’m not allowed to do that, Mister Miller.”

His cheeks redden a little and some of the softness in him disappears, “Don’t call me that, it’s jus’ Joel to you.”

“I’m not even supposed to know your name, Mister Miller. I can’t call you by your first name.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and points a thick finger at you through your window, “Don’t. Either you call me Joel or nothin’ at all. Come inside,” he drops his pointer finger to the door handle. He pulls on it to find it locked. “Seriously?”

“I told you, I can’t be too safe!” You can help but think how cute he looks all flustered - shaking his head at you for being cautious in a neighborhood where you could probably scream your credit card number and no one would use it. If anything, the wealthy homeowners on this street might transfer you money when they see the state of your vehicle. 

“You’re eatin’ inside.” He says flatly. 

“I told you, I can’t. We aren’t allowed to do that. You’re a client, Mist - I mean. Sorry, I just can’t. We aren’t allowed.” You glance towards the clock on your dash. At this rate your break is going to be over before you finish eating. 

He jiggles the door handle again, as if he can convince the metal to bend and unlatch itself with just his sexiness alone. “You like rules, don’t ya?”

He’s got you there, you do enjoy following the rules. You nod and hum a noise in agreement. 

“Unlock the door, please,” his voice has changed, he’s being more commanding now. A deeper, huskier sound leaving his lips. The sound seems to latch onto something deep in your mind, strong fingers wrapping around the control center of your brain, guiding you to do his bidding. You blink the feeling away. 

“Mister-,” his eyes flash with darkness, “Sorry. I can’t. It wouldn’t be right to eat in your house, plus my break is almost over.”

Joel releases your door handle, raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and lets out a breath, as he drops his hand back to the top of your vehicle an amused smirk flashes across his face. “Do you consider yourself to work in customer service?”

“Yes,” you say nervously.

“And isn’t the main rule of customer service that the customer is always right?” His lips form a tight line and a deep dimple carves into one of his tanned cheeks. Your brain flashes back to one of the videos you watched last night, a man sucking on a woman's nipples as he rubbed her clit, her arms and legs strapped to a padded table. He had a dimple, but he had nothing on Joel. 

“Yes,” you croak and then clear your throat gently, shifting in your seat at the fire building behind that bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

“Then unlock the door, darlin’ and eat inside.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, turning and walking towards the house. He stops on the front step, opening the large glass front door. You follow, flip flops slapping on the concrete, carrying your powdered chicken noodle soup and plastic spoon up towards his fancy home. When you reach the threshold, he holds out his large hand palm up and you place the old, stained tupperware with your half eaten soup into it. He looks down at it and then back at you, eyes trailing along your body and it feels like he’s running a torch over you. “Is this all you have to eat?”

You nod, giving him a tight lipped smile. 

He cocks his head towards the kitchen and one pushed back curl that’s laced with a few greys falls into his eyes with the movement. In order to stop from pushing his loose curl back you squeeze your fists gently and head towards the stool you sat on yesterday. As your flip flop hits the tile you stop and look back towards your car nervously. “I, umm, I forgot my shoes.”

His large, warm palm comes to your lower back and he pushes you gently towards the kitchen. You sit as he transfers your soup into a matte black bowl and places it in the microwave. He opens a cupboard and pulls out a loaf of fresh bread, as you go to protest he flicks his eyes up to yours and something about the expression on his face tells you not to argue with him. He pops the two carefully cut pieces into the toaster. He breezes effortlessly around the kitchen for someone so broad and masculine. You didn’t realize someone making toast could be so sexy. The microwave beeps and he grabs a gold spoon from a drawer before wandering around the island, placing them both in front of you. His arm brushes yours as he pulls away and your heart flutters at his touch. He walks back around the kitchen island and grabs a glass. 

“Still or sparkling?” He says as if that’s just a normal question to ask when you get someone a glass of water. Just another thing that proves you don’t belong here. The toaster pops and you jump a little. He chuckles as he grabs the toast, slathering it with butter. “Still or sparkling, darlin’?” 

You breath hitches, he’s called you darlin’ twice now. Is that just that southern charm you hear about so often, or is it more? You shake the thought from your head, there’s no way someone like him is interested in someone like you. “Still is fine, you don’t have to trouble yourself.” 

You take a spoonful of soup, blowing on it gently before putting the spoon in your mouth. Joel is watching you in the same way he was yesterday. Assessing. Observing. Calculating. It feels like he’s looking into your very soul. He slides the plate of toast and then a glass of sparkling water over to you from across the island.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “You didn’t -”

He holds his hand up, stopping you in the same way he did yesterday. “I wanted to.”

You feel your cheeks redden and you have to look away as you take a bite of toast. He’s too handsome standing in the kitchen with the afternoon sun highlighting his features. He’s wearing a black dress shirt today, the top few buttons undone, accentuating the perfectly groomed salt and pepper hair on his chest. You swallow your bite of warm, salty, buttery toast, allowing your eyes to flutter closed at the delectable flavour, holding back a moan. 

Joel clears his throat and crosses his arms across his broad chest, “So how did ya get into cleanin’ houses?”

You look up at him through your lashes. Why is he being so nice to you and taking care of you? He apologized yesterday. And after you told him it was fine he left you a massive tip. He said he wants to do this, but why? He’s rich and handsome and you can probably safely assume that that icy blonde from yesterday was his girlfriend. Unless…could she possibly be a mistress? You decide that that must be it. She’s his mistress. He has a wife. He’s just like every other rich man, cheating on his beautiful and age appropriate wife with someone much much younger than him. He’s probably terrified that you might find out who his wife is and tell her. That tip was hush money.

“I’m saving money,” you say and then shake your head, willing the thoughts in your mind to calm down. “For law school.”

“That right?” He says, raising an eyebrow at you as you take another spoonful of soup.

“Yes, I want to be a lawyer. I graduated a semester early and needed some money before going back to university. Assuming I even get accepted. This job meant I could work part time so I could study to take the LSAT again and also make good money.” You take another bite of the toast, mainly to make yourself shut up. 

He watches you the entire time, nodding along, his eyes constantly assessing. “Take the LSAT again?” he asks.

“I passed it already and applied to schools but I haven’t heard back yet. Law school is pretty competitive, so I’m going to take it again and hopefully have a better mark for the next round of college applications.” You’re talking too much, you need to shut up and just eat, but Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. No one has ever listened to you like that, not even your parents.

“Next round?” He asks curiously. 

You feel your cheeks redden. You don’t want to admit to this obviously successful man in front of you that you probably won’t get accepted to any of the eight universities you applied to. “Yes. It’s competitive, and I probably won’t get in. So I’m preparing to be better the second time.”

“Where did you apply? If that’s not too forward of a question.”

“No, not too forward. Umm, a few places. Strength in numbers, I guess. Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Berkeley, Duke, University of Toronto, but I don’t think I’d survive a Canadian winter. I also applied at Notre Dame and University of Texas here in Austin.”

Joel laughs at you mentioning the Canadian winter and once you’re quiet, he looks down at his expensive dress shoes, “I, umm, I know some higher ups at UT Austin if you need me to put in a good word.”

You smile at him when he looks back up at you, “I don’t think that’s quite how it works, Joel. But thank you.”

The two of you are silent for a moment while you finish your first piece of toast. You glance up at him and he’s looking at you with that same hint of pride he had yesterday while you drank your water. He’s making you feel like eating toast is something to be proud of. You can’t explain it but his facial expression wraps around like a corset. Pulling its metaphoric laces and making you sit up taller, holding your head up higher. With just the shimmer in his deep brown eyes you feel like you could take on the world. You need to break the silence so you say, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says, leaning back to rest on the countertop behind him. His arms uncross, his strong hands wrapping around the countertop on each side of his body. 

“What do you do for a living? To have all this?” You gesture around the house as you sip your sparkling water.

“A few things. I used to own a construction company, sold it a few years ago to retire but I got bored pretty quickly. Now I own a few properties, I rent them out.” You nod as you listen to him, eating your lunch. One hand rubs at his patchy, salt and pepper beard nervously before saying, “I also own a club.”

You let out a little giggle into your water glass, immediately praying that he doesn’t think that was you being rude. Of all the professions that could have come out of his mouth, owning a nightclub was the last thing you expected. Joel smiles at the sweet melodic sound leaving your lips and relief washes over you. “Why’s that so funny?” His voice is light at his inquiry. 

“It’s not,” you say after swallowing your water. He furrows his brows at you. “You just - I mean, I guess I don’t know you, but don’t seem like the nightclub type.”

“You’re right, you don’t know me. But you’re also right that I am not a nightclub type,” he states. Something about the way he says it makes you sense that that’s as far as you’re going to get with it, but you also realize that the club is probably how this man meets young women to bring home.

You put your spoon down and place your hands in your lap. “Can I umm, ask you something else?”

“Of course,” he repeats. 

“What’s with that little dinosaur toy on your coffee maker?”

He smiles and reaches over to grab it, rubbing his thumb along the faded and scuffed brown paint of the little toy. He looks down at it and a hint of sadness seems to fill his coffee and amber eyes as he looks at you. “My daughter, she umm, she got it for me from the prize box in Kindergarten after her mom -” he stops mid sentence, sadness lining his features. Joel’s not married, you roll your eyes at yourself internally for thinking the worst of him. And truthfully, you of all people know he’s not married. You clean his house, you’ve been in his bedroom, and there are no women's clothes. You’ve also been in all the spare bedrooms and there’s no chance another person lives here with him. He continues, choosing his words almost carefully, “Well, just after she was gone.”

“I’m sorry, Mister,” his eyes flash onyx for just a second, he looks lethally sexy and you swallow your words before starting again. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

“It was a long time ago,” he says, placing the dinosaur back. He runs his fingers through his salt and pepper curls, letting out a little sigh. There’s a shift in him, like suddenly the world is heavier. He tries not to let it show, and maybe most people wouldn’t notice, but you see it. The slight fall in his face, a little slump in the shoulders, a breath held for just a second too long. He clears his throat gently and says, “I’ll be in my office. Eat your lunch for me, please.”

Joel

Joel closes the door of his office and rests his forehead against the smooth wooden surface. He can’t remember how much he spent on these doors when he built the house, but he would set any door that separated him from you on fire if he had to. 

Get it together, Joel.

He closes his eyes and only sees you. The way your glossy, pink lips formed a little O as you blew on your soup. The way the gold plated metal spoon slid softly along your tongue. His cock twitches in his pants and he feels the urge to throw all the spoons in his house away. 

Great, you’re jealous of a spoon. 

He shouldn’t be home. He signed a contract, and more importantly, you signed a contract. In order to protect him and you there is to be no contact between the cleaner and the client. That’s what you consented to when you took your job at Maid Discreetly, and now he’s caused you to break that contract not once, but twice. But he cannot seem to get you out of his mind, and as he sat in a meeting at his club he couldn’t focus. You were here, cleaning his home in that form fitting white polo shirt and those black pants that hugged at your hips in all the right places, and he just had to know if you were as beautiful as he remembered. Just a quick peek, he convinced himself as he made up some bullshit excuse to leave. 

When he saw you sitting in your rusty SUV you looked so innocent and pure, you were more than beautiful. The afternoon sun lighting up your high cheekbones and slender, slightly upturned nose, it gave you an almost angelic glow that temporarily took his breath away. If he had to describe you in two words he would say that you were simply ravishing. For the first time in almost thirty years he wished he still had the calming comfort of that black felt cowboy hat. But that soft Stetson went with her because she loved it so much. 

As he caught his breath and looked at you from his garage, he was overcome with an urge to bruise and corrupt you. He’s a bad man for the thoughts he's been having about you. He can’t help himself, but even in his most twisted of fantasies, he’d never do anything you didn’t want him to. But, fuck, he’s sure he could mold you into exactly what he wants in a submissive. 

Joel isn’t new to the world of kink; he’s had many subs, all of whom have referred to him as Mister Miller. However, his name has never sounded so fucking sweet as it did coming off your lips. Those two little words leaving your pouty, pink lips feel like that first sip of whiskey after a long day, and it might kill him if he doesn’t make you his. 

He sighs into the white wood of the door before standing and walking to sit behind his desk. He drops into the soft leather chair and lets his head fall back onto the headrest and closes his eyes. What is it about you? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? You’re way too young. Way too sweet. Way too…sinless. And even though he can’t explain it, and he knows you don’t know it, you’re way too “exactly-what-is-going-to-ruin-his-entire-life”. 

You’re not someone he can just play with. No, he’s good at reading people, and you’re the kind of person that deserves being invested into. You’re also not someone who is going to stick around. You have dreams and well laid out plans on how you’re going to achieve them. He can’t cage you in, he’ll have to let you spread your wings and fly no matter how much he sees himself as the man he used to be reflected back in your eyes.  

He opens his eyes and pictures you kneeling in the corner, perfectly manicured hands that he pays for you to have done weekly folded on your lap as he works. He imagines calling you over with a curl of his fingers, you crawling across the plush carpet and resting your head on his lap as he responds to emails, takes calls, or plans events. He could reach down and run his fingers through your soft, silky hair as you nuzzled deeper into his lap with your cheek. “My perfect, sweet girl,” he’d hum.  

His body falls forward, forehead hitting the sturdy wooden desk with a thump. Jesus Christ, Joel. 

It was one thing when he only found you beautiful - he could live with being attracted to you, he could find a way around it or stuff that attraction down, maybe he’d find a new sub to distract himself with. That would be easy for him, but then you had to open your mouth, you had to speak so passionately about your future. Why couldn’t you just be pretty like all the other women he plays with? You might be one of the most driven people he knows: the way you push yourself, already planning for the next “no”. And that kills him, ruins him really that you are programmed to think there will automatically be a “no” and that you’ll have to endure another round of LSAT’s and college applications. You’re smart, and he wants to kill whoever made you feel like you need to push yourself this hard. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket; annoyance courses through his body until he sees his brother's name across the pristine screen of his newest iPhone Max. 

“Ya?” He says harshly. 

“Everything ok with the alarm?” 

Joel’s mind goes blank, “What?” 

Tommy is silent for a second before he responds slowly, “The alarm? You left in the middle of a meeting because of an alarm.” 

Joel shakes his head. Right, the alarm. The bullshit excuse he made up so he could leave to see you. “Ya, right. Ya, it’s fine. Got it all, umm, all fixed up. Should be back soon.”

“You ok, brother?” Tommy asks suspiciously. “You seemed, I dunno, distracted today.” 

“I’m fine,” Joel snaps. 

“Alright. Well, come back soon, pretty big night here and we need ya.” 

Joel hangs up without saying goodbye. He’s the owner, he knows it’s a big night, but he’s sort of busy having an existential crisis over possibly being in love with his house cleaner. Whoa, in love? Pump the fucking brakes. Joel’s heart stops beating for a second at the thought of it. He can’t possibly be in love; he doesn’t fall in love. No, he decides, it’s just because she’s new, and exactly my type, and it’s been a long time since I found someone that’s my type.

Just as he stands from his desk, he hears the hose outside turn on. You must be at the pool furniture part of your list. He takes this moment to sneak out of his own house, because he’s a weak man when it comes to you, apparently. He slips into the Italian leather front seat and lets the new car smell waft over him; he loves the smells of a new sports car and has never owned one long enough for it to stop smelling that way. It’s a matter of status to him. He takes a good hard look at himself in the rear view mirror. That’s enough now. For both of your sakes. Leave her alone. 

You 

After spraying down the pool furniture you rush inside to warm up. Seriously, who needs their pool stuff cleaned in the fucking winter? As you jog up the stairs to grab Joel’s freshly laundered sheets, you blow into your cupped palms. The warmth spreads from your frozen fingertips to your palms. Joel’s office is empty; he must have left while you were outside. Your brain swirls with unanswered questions as you pull the fitted sheet back onto his king size bed. Why would he come home? First of all, he knows you’re here this time and second of all, he knows he’s not supposed to be here. So why? And then there’s his calculating stare, always watching and usually with a flash of pride in his features. Did he come back here just to talk to you? Maybe even to get to know you? 

It’s safe to say that you’re more confused than ever, and you make a mental schedule of studying and reading to keep you busy later tonight so you won’t spend hours trying to google him again.

It takes way too much effort, and a silent promise to yourself to get back to the gym, but you manage to wrestle the oversized duvet back into its cover just as three o’clock rolls around. You jog down the wide, open staircase and your phone bings in your back pocket. Jamie’s name is splayed across your cracked screen, the sunset from your last trip to California shining back at you. 

What are you doing tonight? Want to make a bunch of money serving drinks topless?

You laugh to yourself. Truthfully, nothing Jamie asks you seems to surprise you, and some sort of odd job where you’re topless or in a sexy outfit is practically a guarantee as a condition of your friendship. As you reach for the black envelope on the kitchen island you text back. 

What?

You barely have the thick parchment of the envelope open when she responds, like she already had the text locked and loaded and was just waiting for you to try to fight her on it.  

Remember Laren? My cousin? She has a topless catering company and needs help tonight. It’s at some exclusive VIP poker game downtown. 4 hours, $300 + tips.

You respond as a thousand dollars falls out of the tip envelope. 

I’m in.

Jamie picks you up a few hours later and parks her blacked out Range Rover in the alleyway behind a shiny black building in the heart of downtown. You’re once again surrounded by wealth and success thanks to Jamie. The dress code tonight is a black pencil skirt, black heels, your tits, and a bow tie that Laren will give you. Speaking of whom, Laren is holding open a staff door for you and Jamie with her hip, waving the two of you into the warmth of the building. She pulls you both into a big hug, “Thank fuck! You two saved my ass tonight. Gotta love having friends and family with great tits!”

“You’re so weird,” Jamie says, brushing past her and into the building. You follow her in before Laren ushers you towards a service elevator. 

“They’ve already started, you’re part of the second shift. I think the first set of girls made about four hundred each in tips, helps if you serve the guys that are winning though. The first round of games is almost over, winners move on soon.”

“How were their tits though? As great as ours?” You joke. Underneath the calm and collected mask you’re wearing you are definitely nervous. All these strange men are going to see you half naked, you know nothing about poker or serving drinks. Your two friends laugh as the elevator opens to a small changing room. Girls from the first shift are putting their tops back on, handing the bow ties back to Laren who gives them to you and Jamie. 

She cocks her head towards a swinging door, “Just through there when you’re done. Go to the bartender for a tray and table assignment. Two girls per table and only six seats so it should be pretty easy. Make sure you smile!”

“Yes, ma’am,” you and Jamie say teasingly as you strip off your tops and bras. She flips you the middle finger as she heads back out to the poker game to supervise. The cool air of the room stiffens your nipples, nerves fluttering behind your navel as you put the bow tie on.

You overhear the girls that are leaving talking about the men, “Did you see the one with the curly hair at the table by the bar?”, one says. 

The other responds, “He was so fucking hot. Total daddy, I think he owns this place.” 

A third pipes up with, “Fuck, I should have flirted more. I could use a sugar daddy.” 

As they walk towards the elevator the first girl says, “Did you know that this is a sex club? Too bad we can’t go explore the rest.” They giggle as they leave and you take a steadying breath. You’re going to be topless, in a sex club. 

“Ready?” Jamie asks, adjusting her bowtie around her slender neck. 

“Did you know this is a sex club?”

She laughs, “Ya, it’s like an exclusive kink club apparently. Laren said it’s owned by two brothers who are insanely hot. Maybe I should see if they need a maid.” She winks at you as you both walk towards the swinging door. 

You step into the dimly lit room and find the bar directly across from you. After rolling your shoulders back and down, you cross the dark hardwood floor to the bar. Everything in the room is black or deep forest green. Black paint covers the walls, your heels click against the sturdy black wooden floors, even the poker tables and chairs are black. A pop of deep green velvet only along the seats and table tops. It looks soft, like one of those fuzzy blankets you have on your couch and you fight the urge to run your hand across one of the empty tables as you pass. 

The bartender hands Jamie a tray first and then quietly tells her to go to the table in the far right corner. She sways her hips like the sultry goddess she is as she walks to the table. Relief floods through you when you notice that none of the men have raised their eyes, they’re focused intently on the card game. This isn’t some sleazy club like you initially thought when you heard ‘sex club’ leave the lips of the other servers. You relax a little at being able to just be yourself tonight, maybe a bit more naked than you’d usually be but yourself nonetheless. 

You take the black marble serving tray as the bartender points to the table closest to the bar. The curly hair man that the women were talking about in the change room faces away from you. Your heart leaps in your chest. Joel. As you approach the other server standing behind the table, he starts to turn his head. Time stops, your heart speeds up, and it starts to feel simultaneously too hot and too cold in the room all at the same time. It’s almost as if he’s turning his head in slow motion. As you catch his side profile he has the same hooked nose, in the dim light of the room you can’t see any greys along his temples and he doesn’t appear to have a beard. After what feels like an hour, his eyes finally meet yours and you let out a breath, although you aren’t sure if it’s disappointment or relief leaving your lungs. It’s not Joel Miller.

“Mind bringin’ me another Macallan neat, sweetheart?” His eyes stay locked on yours as he smiles at you sweetly. He holds the crystal glass out for you and you take it with a soft ‘yes, sir.’

Something about those eyes, and the way they flash darkly at being called sir, feels all too familiar. In the time it takes for you to take the six or seven steps to the bar you convince yourself that it’s just your brain seeing him everywhere. You tell yourself that when you bring this drink back he’ll look nothing like the man you caught knuckles deep in a woman as she cried out, nothing like the man who was so gentle and sweet, yet slightly bossy and commanding with you this afternoon. 

That’s definitely it, you say to yourself with finality. You’re just cock drunk over a cock you’ll never have. 

The bartender pops the whiskey open and the hair on the back of your neck stands up, you can feel someone looking at you. Almost feel their stare heating the right side of your body. It feels as if all of your exposed skin is being covered by the gaze of whomever is looking at you, shielding you protectively from the view of the other men. The bartender's eyes flick to the corner of the room and then back to you while he hands you the drink. The shift of his gaze confirms that you weren’t imagining it, there is someone looking at you. You place the whiskey on your tray and spin cautiously to the right, stopping dead in your tracks when you lock eyes with Joel Miller. He looks dangerous, sitting at a low table along the wall, his face just barely illuminated by a single candle on the dark wooden table top. His fingers are laced together, forearms of his black dress shirt resting on the knees of his black dress pants. His lips are pressed in a thin, disapproving line. 

He stalks over to you and you wish your tray was empty so you could shield your tits from him. The way he moves is almost menacing, like a jaguar stalking his prey, his eyes are almost black in the low light of the room. Your nipples stiffen under his intense gaze, your mouth fills with saliva and you gulp loudly. You stand frozen, the whiskey for that man you had convinced yourself isn’t related to Joel forgotten about on your tray. He plucks the drink off the marble slab, the glass looking like one of those disposable paper cups you have in your bathroom in his hand. He takes two long strides and drops the glass beside the man. 

“Thanks,” he starts to coo, a ten dollar bill clasped between two fingers. After realizing it’s not you, he adds a confused, “Brother?” 

He tries to pull the money back, but Joel is quicker. Snatching it from his brother's grasp and tucking it into the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Joel turns back to you and steps in closely, your lower back hitting the cold marble bartop and you gasp, arching your back and naked breasts towards Joel. His jaw flexes as he fights to keep his eyes level with yours. 

“What are you doin’ here?” he says in a harsh whisper. 

“I’m working,” it comes out a lot more bratty and defiant than you intend it to. 

“Not here you ain’t.”

You take a small step forward, your hard nipples lightly grazing the soft fabric of his black dress shirt. “I’m not leaving.” 

His hand circles your bicep and you twist out of his grasp. “You’re makin’ a scene, darlin’.” 

“You are, Joel. I’m just trying to make money.” He grabs you more firmly this time, not tight enough to hurt you but enough for you to know he means business. 

What’s his problem anyway? He doesn’t own you. What you do outside his home is none of his business. He can boss you around via an app every other week, but that’s it. That’s where it ends. You glance desperately over at Jamie to find her back to you as she speaks softly with a man who’s waiting for the next round of poker. Her hand grazes his bicep flirtatiously, she makes it look too easy to get what she wants from men. Joel guides you towards the staff changing room, keeping your body in the dark edges of the room. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, like an angry dragon and you’re honestly surprised smoke isn’t billowing out of his nostrils. 

In the bright lights of the changing room you feel more exposed than ever. You want to lift your tray, but in order to prove to him that you don’t care what he or anyone thinks you don’t. In fact, you stand up taller, holding your head high and pushing your chest out. It’s infinitesimal but he looks down just for a nano second. You smirk when his eyes come back to you. 

“Put a shirt on.” 

“If none of the other girls have to put a shirt on then neither do I.” You pop your hip out and pull your arm free from his large calloused hand and rest it on your hip. 

“Don’t fight me on this.” 

“I’m not fighting. You are. So all those other girls are fine, but I’m not? Why? My tits aren’t big enough for you?” 

“That’s not,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath with his eyes closed. When he reopens them his eyes land softly on yours. “I just need you not to be here. Please.” 

Bright red anger sparks along the sides of your eyes. Seriously, who does he think he is? “You aren’t the boss here, Mister Miller.” 

“Do NOT call me that.” His neck flushes the same colour as your vision. You stand your ground, eyes narrowing into glaring slits. What is his aversion to being called Mister Miller, and why does it turn you on a little bit to rile him up when you use it?

“You aren’t my boss or my dad, Joel. You can’t make me leave or tell me what jobs I can or can’t take.” You’ve figuratively dug your heels in, you aren’t leaving. He can’t make you. Only Laren or whoever owns this sex club can ask that of you. “You can’t kick me out like you own the place.” 

“Actually,” he says darkly, “I can.” 

“What?” You say through a nervous breath, eyes widening. 

“I own the place. So I can kick you out, and I am kicking you out. Get your shirt.” 

Your shoulders fall slightly. You feel about two feet tall with the realization that he doesn’t want you here. This afternoon you thought that maybe he cared, he seemed like he cared, and now you’re half naked and he wants you to leave. He watches as you unclasp your bow tie and slide on your bra and shirt. 

You look over at Jamie’s clothes and it dawns on you that you didn’t drive here. Your face falls as you blink around the room and then towards Joel. 

“What’s wrong?” he says through thick concern.

“Nothing. I just…” 

He steps towards you, he’s so broad, his presence so large that you start to feel almost claustrophobic when he’s this close, but you never want him to step away. You’d happily let him smother you with his innate Joel-ness. “You just what?”

“I didn’t drive here,” you say quietly, looking down at your hands. Your left thumb nail immediately finds purchase along the cuticle of your right thumb. 

His strong palm cups your chin, lifting until he’s looking at you again. You’re becoming more and more used to the amount of eye contact Joel seems to make. He seems constantly dialed in on you when you’re in the same room.

Yes, I would be very happy to let him smother me. 

The harsh lines of his face soften, “I can get you a car. They’ll meet you at the staff door.” 

You nod into his hand and find it exceedingly hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you that way. He drops your chin and turns his large, broad body back towards the swinging door. He looks over his shoulder and says, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” His voice is soft and sad, almost as if he’s full of remorse and just hoping you won’t hate him before heading back into the poker game. Any bit of anger is flushed from your system, replaced with the disappointment of having to leave wherever Joel is.  

You drag your feet to the elevator and then towards the staff exit. You let the heavy door close behind you with a loud bang as a blacked out SUV pulls up. The driver says your first and last name as he opens the back door for you. You look towards the black building one last time. 

“I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” 

JMKink is written in shiny metallic black on the door and all the information of the evening hits you at once. JMK. Joel Miller Kink. Joel Miller, insanely handsome millionaire, owns a sex club.

Next Chapter

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[mothandpidgeon]

keystrokes (dave york x hacker!f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

rating: E (18+!)

summary: You hacked into Dave Yorks computer and found more secrets than you bargained for.

contents: Non con/dub con, mean!Dave, voyeurism, sex toys, masturbation, mutual masturbation, porn, breaking and entering, violence?, gun, gunplay, choking, morally grey reader, reader is Girl with the Dragon Tattoo coded but not physically described

wc: 3.4k

a/n: So I've been having some ✨writers block ✨ (hence the lack of updates last month) but for some reason, Dave York did a little breaking and entering in my brain and shook it loose. I've been writing a lot of heartfelt romance recently and I think I just needed a little depravity I guess.

Thank you @moonlitbirdie and @whocaresstillthelouvre for giving this a look and for anyone I shouted at about this idea (looking at you @schnarfer and @toomanytookas but I know there have been others). Dividers by @ saradika-graphics.

You squint in the light of the refrigerator. It’s empty save for some cartons of half-eaten Chinese food and cans of energy drinks. Check the time— half past one. Too late to order in. Guess cold lomein it is. 

The apartment falls back into darkness once you swing the fridge door shut. You’re used to it, the soft glow of your computer monitors illuminating your little space. It’s easy to forget to turn the lights on when you’re focused on your work. Forget to eat. Forget to meet people that aren’t on the other side of a screen. 

You sit down at your desk, legs crossed in your seat, and shovel some food into your mouth. Most nights are like this, lost in your work. It’s never felt like a job, not really. More like a way to do the shit you’ve always done except now you get paid to do it. You’re a subcontractor of a subcontractor, someone far enough away from the government that they can get information while still maintaining plausible deniability. You don’t know who you’re working for and most of the time your assignments are vague. All you have to do is gather intelligence and put it into a neat little report without mentioning the methods you used to get it. 

You’ve always enjoyed uncovering people’s secrets, reading notes over your classmates shoulders, looking through the search history on friends’ computers. That insatiable curiosity is what led you to start hacking. The targets these days aren’t always exciting but at least tonight’s is. 

David York. 

Early 40s, divorced. Ex military. DIA. There’s much more to him than that, though. A little program hidden on his computer lets you track each keystroke he makes. 

You’ve learned all about him. Dave he prefers. There’s a lot that won’t make it into your report— where he shops online (Brooks Brothers), the take out he orders (one large pepperoni from Frankie’s Pizzeria),  the porn he watches (girl on girl). But there’s one thing your bosses will be interested in: Dave York is a contract killer. 

You could’ve ended this project by now. You’ve got plenty in your notes to make your customers happy yet you’re still logging onto his computer. It fascinates you that a man so normal, almost on the borderline of boring, could be so dangerous. 

You shovel some food into your mouth and go drag your mouse over your desk. You’ve been reviewing footage you recorded through his webcam today. A few lines of code and you were able to turn his laptop’s camera on without activating the tally light. He was smart enough to use unique, complicated passwords, two-factor authentication, and encrypted emails but he didn’t take the time to put a sticker over his webcam. 

You’ve found some interesting information this way— listened in on conversations, heard the things he only says into his burner phone. Tonight most of it is just Dave at the keyboard, his tie loosening over time. 

You scrub through the footage, Dave drinking coffee and typing in fast forward punctuated by stretches of his empty home office. Nothing exciting until—

You pause the video when you see it. Lomein hangs from your open mouth. He’s half naked, head thrown back, hand buried in his lap. His dick is engulfed in a big fist, a bead of precum frozen before it rolls over his fingers. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen a mark in a compromising position. In this line of work, you’ve seen all the dark corners of people’s hard drives.  There’s worse than nudes and home made porn out there. Normally— if it’s not illegal, at least— you just scroll by. But Dave, it’s different when it comes to him. For some reason, seeing him in a compromising position has your blood rushing in your ears. He’s a killer. How many people have had the opportunity to see him in such a vulnerable state? 

He’s bare to the waist, his chest so smooth you wonder if he shaves it or if he’s naturally like that. His broad shoulders look perfect to grab onto if you were on top of him. Riding him. 

Of course you notice all of this after taking a good, long look at his cock. A clutch of dark curls trail down his soft belly to where it stands, drooling in his fist. You realize you’re salivating. 

Guilt pokes at you as you move the playhead back. It’s a violation. Then again, you’ve all but eviscerated Dave's privacy. You know exactly how much money is in his bank account, that his daughter Molly has a sleepover this weekend, that he’ll kill innocents.

He’s not a good person. You’re not either. 

You roll back the tape, finding the start of this, and hit play. Dave’s palm traces his bulge through his pajama pants. He’s watching porn, you can hear the over-exaggerated moans through the computer’s tinny speakers. 

It’s not the first time you’ve noticed that Dave is hot. After all, you have access to all of the pictures on his laptop. Including the selfies he takes after his runs, muscles glistening with sweat. He’s a bit clean cut for your tastes but right now, he’s something else altogether– the lust in his brown eyes, the control as he teases himself. You swallow hard. 

It’s a while before he actually takes his dick out of his pajama pants. You remind yourself repeatedly that you can stop, just click away and let him keep this moment to himself but you’re on the edge of your seat, already throbbing. He finally pulls down his waistband and you’re looking at his upright cock again. It’s thick, a flushed vein running up the underside. He squirts lube into his hand from a bottle that’s just out of frame and when he finally lets his fist move down his length, his eyes sink closed, savoring the sensation. 

He touches  himself with a practiced motion, gripping the shaft and pulling upwards, a twist of the wrist so that his palm caresses the tip before squeezing back down the length again. His strokes are agonizingly slow. He’s so methodical, patient, like in everything else you’ve discovered. 

You’re holding your breath, the suspense aching in your core. There’s plenty of time to study him— those full lips parted, muscles in his arm flexing. Every once in a while he grunts and loosens his grip, keeping himself from going over the edge. 

By now, your hand has found its way between your legs. Your fingers trace absentmindedly over the seam in your sleep shorts, already sticky and soaked through. You match Dave’s lazy pace, giving yourself the same pleasure he’s experiencing. 

Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you lean over to the set of drawers beside your desk and pull out your favorite vibrator. You shimmy out of your shorts and panties and drag the toy over your needy clit. 

You moan with him, watching Dave’s toned arm flex up and down. His bottom lip looks so thick, you want to rake your teeth across it. It’s almost grotesque the way his nostrils flare, the rhythmic grunts that leave him as his hand works faster. The muscles in his neck strain and you can tell he’s close. 

You are, too. You swivel your hips against the vibrator, speeding up the thrusts and strengthening its power. Fuck. What would it feel like to have Dave’s mouth on you? His cock in you? 

He can’t hold back any longer. Dave’s eyes squeeze shut and his jaw clenches and he makes a noise more animal than man. The eruption of cum is the last thing you see before you’re sent reeling, moaning out your own desperate cry as you pulse around your vibrator. 

You take deep breaths as you return to earth, hitting the spacebar to pause the video and blinking back to reality. Your heart rate slows and you wipe your hand across your face. That’s enough work for one night. That might be enough Dave for good. Tomorrow you’ll finalize your report and put him out of your mind. 

The vibrator is tossed carelessly onto the desk. You put your panties on but leave your shorts discarded on the floor amongst the rest of your laundry and then you put your computer to sleep. Without the light of the monitors, the room is cloaked in darkness and you drag yourself from your chair a few short paces to the bed. 

It’s still dark when you wake, an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You strain your ears for noise, any sign of what woke you but there’s nothing. Then a creak. Your heart leaps into your throat. Someone’s here, in your apartment. 

You fumble for your backpack in the dim. Somewhere in the bottom there’s a can of pepper spray that you bought for a situation just like this but your hands are trembling and you can’t see a fucking thing. 

A figure appears behind the French door that separates your room from the kitchen and any drowsiness that was lingering evaporates immediately. It’s a man— broad body clothed entirely in black— and in his hand you make out the silhouette of a gun. The room’s too fucking tiny for there to be anywhere decent to hide. There’s no time to think. Your only choice is to brandish your bag as a weapon. He barges in and you swing for his face. 

“Fuck,” he grunts but it merely slows him for a moment, knocking hm off balance and his beanie off of his head. 

You scramble towards the front door but you’re tackled to the ground, wind knocked out of your lungs. As you gasp for air, you’re flipped onto your back and you find yourself face to face with your assailant. Even in the darkness, through your terror and disorientation, you recognize him. 

Dave York glares down at you, his angular face cast in shadows, a menacing snarl on his lips. The muzzle of his silencer is far too close to your face but there’s no shrinking from it with your head against the floor and Dave’s heavy hand on your middle. 

“You and I have a problem,” he growls. “You know why I’m here?”

You shake your head frantically, still barely able to fill your lungs. 

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. I know you’re not stupid,” he says. 

He pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing and hauls you towards your room. You’re thrown into your desk chair, head still spinning. Dave stands over you and clamps your wrist to the arm rest. 

“You know why you’re spying on me?” he asks, a cold threat in his words. 

You nod. 

“Then you know you don’t want me as your enemy.” You say nothing but a shiver runs down your spine. His eyes are nearly black, reflecting the dull light of the sleeping computer monitors. 

“I want your hard drives. Back ups, too. Everything you’ve got on me,” he demands. 

“Okay,” you manage. “Would you just get that gun out of my face?” 

“Get to it,” he says, and spins your chair so you’re facing the keyboard. 

The monitors come to life and, suddenly, you’re in deeper shit. You try to hit a shortcut on the keys to close the window that’s open but your fingers are trembling so hard, you miss. Dave sees it all. 

Something changes in him— a tightening in his jaw, a flaring of his nostrils— as he sees the evidence of your surveillance. His spent form, blissed out and covered in his own release hovers on screen. Right where you left him. 

Dave’s eyes narrow at the video then slide down to the toy sitting within arms reach and there’s no denying what he can see so plainly. 

He rounds on you with a wild look, flinging the chair back so its wheels hit your bed. 

“You get off on that?” he demands.

Your heart might have actually stopped for a minute.

“Answer me,” he demands.

“I– No,” you lie.

He appraises you with a deep scowl until a wicked grin spreads on his lips. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, huh?” he muses.

He drags the gun across your breast, your nipple hardening beneath the muzzle’s brush. You let out a whimper— out of fear or arousal, you’re not sure. You swear he growls under his breath. 

“You’re trouble though,” he says.

You swallow thickly, your entire body quivering. 

”Show me,” he says, depositing the gun on the desk and thrusting the toy towards you.

”What?” You ask.

”Show me how you touched yourself,” he tells you.

That’s what you thought he was saying. You stare at him dumbly, too shocked to even protest.

“You watched me. Only seems fair,” he says as if this is some bargain you’re cutting with the man holding the gun.  ”Do I have to make you?” 

He leans over you, his hand braced on the back of your chair, and presses the vibrator into the gusset of your panties. Rough and clicked onto the highest setting, you squirm and cry out. You’re already so overstimulated, it’s torture and bliss all at once. Your hips buck against the toy but Dave holds your thigh open.

”Okay! Stop! Fuck!” you whine, wrenching at his wrist until he lets up.

You try to catch your breath.

“Take these off,” he instructs, snapping the elastic of your panties against your waist with a thick finger.

You hiss and glare at him but you have no choice but to obey, sliding them down your legs. Dave watches, his eyes darkening once you’re revealed to him. He swears under his breath.

”Look at that mess,” he says.

Your whole body burns but the hunger in his gaze makes your fear take a back seat. Defiantly, you put your hand out for the vibrator. You open your legs wider so he can get a good look at you. There’s a tick in his jaw that gives you some satisfaction.

The vibrator purrs dully in your palm and you take your time bringing it to your clit. A low, long moan leaves you. You’re swollen but slick and even gentle strokes feel electric in your veins. 

There’s a tent already forming in Dave’s pants. He’s a killer, sure, but right now he’s horny.

Your head falls back as you continue. His gaze devours each part of you— where the toy glistens against you, your nipples rising and falling below your shirt, the crease in your brow as you keen. 

“You’re a filthy girl, huh?” he asks. 

You nod and a smile actually pulls at the corner of your lips. It shouldn’t turn you on so much to jerk off in front of a man that has seemingly no hesitations when it comes to killing you but somehow that fact has arousal mounting faster. Your eyes drift closed as you focus on the heady sensation of the friction on your overworked nerves. 

The sound of a metallic clink and soft zip distracts you from your reverie. When you look at Dave, you find his hand down the front of his pants, knuckles straining against the fabric of his black boxer briefs as he tugs at himself.

“Keep going,” he breathes and you realize you’re staring slack-jawed, desire flooding out any remnants of fear left within you. 

After a few blinks, you press the vibrator against your clit again. Your back arches and you give a luxurious sigh for his benefit. His fist tightens, muscles in his neck straining and, fuck, you have to grip the seat of your chair to keep yourself from falling out of it. 

With a grunt, Dave’s pushing his jeans out of the way, freeing his cock so he can work himself in the angles he likes, the same ones you watched through his webcam. The sound of his shallow breaths and slick strokes mix with the rumble of your toy and the creak of your chair as you writhe. It’s absolutely maddening. And then he starts babbling. Saying things like, “You like this, huh?” and “Say my name sweetheart.” You do it, panting out the word to a hum of approval. 

He crowds you and for a moment you prepare yourself for the chance he’s about to shove his dick down your throat. Instead he’s yanking up your shirt, exposing your tits to the cold air in the room. Dave fondles one and then the other, squeezing the tender flesh with a groan. His hand is much softer than you’d expect for a contract killer, his touch almost gentle as he teases your nipples with the pad of his thumb.

Dave’s expression nearly looks pained, a delicious frown over his plump bottom lip. It makes you mewl and your hips jump. 

“You close?” he asks. His voice is ragged. 

A breathless nod is all you can manage. 

“Good girl,” he rasps.

His words are enough to send you over the edge, with a wanton moan. It crashes over you with so much more intensity than the one that came before it. Your spine locks up, thighs shake as you clench around nothing. Your heart hammers in your chest and between your legs and it’s as if the room is spinning. You twitch in aftershocks, completely spent. 

The fog of pleasure has barely lifted when you glance up at Dave, fist still diligently pumping. There’s a fire in his eyes, that untamed excitement. 

“Give me one more,” he commands. 

“Can’t,” you plead. Need still bubbles at your core but your body is so exhausted from adrenaline and exertion, lust and release.

“You better,” he says. 

Dave grinds the vibrator mercilessly against you and you swear aloud. He lets up only for his hand to close around your throat. It’s an unbearable mixture of pleasure and dull ache— the bruising pressure on your clit, the muscles in your thighs taught and burning— underlined by that euphoria. He squeezes around your jaw just hard enough to see stars again. 

“That’s right,” he breathes against your cheek, his nose pressed into your temple.

Another orgasm comes almost immediately, pulsing at your core and squeezing through every fiber of your being. This time, you’re quiet, just a high pitched whine like a hurt animal though you’re anything but. 

Dave groans. You can hear his teeth gritted though your eyes are shut. He swears and his hot release paints your bare chest, thick and sticky. 

Everything stills as you both come down, all loosening muscles and shaky breaths. Dave remains close to you, stroking your cheek. His lips brush your hairline and you notice the smell of his cologne for the first time, something clean and masculine. 

Dread should come now. He’s had his fun, now he can do away with you — yet it doesn’t surface. 

Slowly Dave stands and tucks himself back into his pants. He almost looks ashamed of himself. You pull your shirt down, covering your stained breasts, and watch Dave smooth his hair. 

“So are we good?” you ask. 

“If you do what I said,” he answers. “You’re going to get rid of anything you have against me and you’re going to tell your bosses that all you found was a regular guy.”

“Alright, Dave,” you say. 

He scowls at you like he doesn’t like your tone. “When I say delete everything, I mean everything,” he says, eyes flitting towards the monitor. 

You steal a glance in that direction as well. Dave half naked, still frozen there looking absolutely ruined. 

“Understand?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m going to know if you don’t because I’ll be watching you. And if you cross me, I’m going to come back here and I won’t be so nice to you next time,” Dave says. 

You wish that threat didn’t make your body light up like a Christmas tree. It’s absolutely reckless. There’s no chance in hell you’re letting go of that piece of treasure and if the consequence is Dave knocking on your door– or letting himself in– that’s a risk you’re willing to take.

It’s as if he knows. Dave scoffs to himself, then fishes his hat off of the floor along with your panties. 

“These are mine now,” he says.

And you’re almost sad to see him go.

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Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

[concretejunglefm]

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒… 01

Summary: When you were convinced to visit a male strip club, you didn’t anticipate that the guy you locked eyes with on stage and who subsequently pulled you up for a routine, would turn out to be the same guy whose roommate advert you’d be responding to less than 24 hours later.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader.

CW: nothing really other than some mentions of suggestive dance moves at a strip club.

WC: 3.2k.

AN: Alright, so I’m not sure how many parts this will have. All I know is that this is for fun I hope you enjoy Noah being a lovable himbo.

Dividers: silent-stories.

Fic Masterlist

ROOMMATE WANTED

Are you struggling with parental issues, a questionable job, broken hopes and dreams, or perhaps hiding your pain behind a morbid sense of humor? If so, you might just be the perfect roommate for me!

Conditions:

No crazy people, but you must be willing to help deter a few crazy exes.

My dog must like you.

Food policy: what’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine.

Perks:

You’ll have a private bedroom and bathroom.

There's an outdoor pool and an inflatable pool for when the main pool is being cleaned.

An outdoor bar that is fully stocked. 

A grumpy neighbor next door who’s always ready to offer unsolicited advice and openly judge your life choices.

When you answered the Craigslist ad for a roommate, you must have been on the verge of insanity because no rational person would have responded to that ad, would they?

It doesn’t alleviate your concerns at all when you receive a response from the poster, not even twenty minutes later. First, they thank you for your interest, and then they send you a time and date for a potential meetup and viewing.

Well, at least if they’re a serial killer, they work swiftly, ensuring you don’t have to struggle to find a new place before your eviction notice expires.

With a huff, you slump back into your desk chair and your eyes fall upon the pile of papers, the eviction notice sitting atop them all.

Your original landlord had been a kind and understanding old man, though he may have been a bit too lenient with the rent at times. However, everything changed when he passed everything on to his son. Suddenly, you were facing stricter rent deadlines, increased prices, and cuts to the services included. You were barely able to keep up with the demands until you were presented with the eviction notice.

Craigslist became your last resort, and a desperate one at that. You either had the good fortune to catch Moby Dick in the initial hours of browsing the ad’s, or you were about to be pulled in and devoured by sharks.

Reaching for the notice, you push it aside to reveal a flyer for a live male strip show. Four shirtless guys with various tattoos across their hands, arms, chest, and even necks pose in the picture. Their latest show is tonight, and you quickly snap a picture of the flyer before sending it to the group chat.

You: I need a night out. Anyone else? Troy: Hot, sweaty, tattooed covered men grinding on me? Count me in! Brooke: I’ll bring the baby oil. Troy: Why do you need baby oil? Brooke: In case they run out, duh. You: I’m already having regrets.

By 9pm, you find yourself entering a club that’s already half full. You hadn’t anticipated the ambiance; you always assumed such places to be seedy and tucked behind alleyways. However, this one was high-end and well-decorated, though dimly lit to enhance the atmosphere.

Partially distracted by the music and the bustling crowd, you miss your name being called. However, from the corner of your eye, you catch Troy ushering you to join him over at the bar.

“What on earth are you drinking?” you ask, watching him sip on a colorful fruit cocktail.

“A Big Dipper,” he flashes a cheeky grin and gestures his head down towards the bartender, a man with long hair and wearing a ball cap, sporting a Lord of the Rings shirt. “I wouldn’t mind trying his, if you know what I mean.”

Troy winks, and you laugh, shaking your head as you gaze back at the crowd of people settling into their seats at the various tables scattered throughout the club which surround the main stage area in the center. “Where’s Brooke?”

“She went to ‘freshen up’, which I believe is a euphemism for removing her panties in anticipation of throwing them at her next victim.”

“Come on, be nice,” you nudge, a slight laugh escaping your lips. Even though it might sound a bit harsh, it was an accurate observation. Despite being your closest friends, Troy and Brooke had always shared a unique love-hate dynamic.

After ordering a drink for yourself, Brooke runs across the room, nearly squealing as she grabs both your arms. “Hurry! I’ve found the best seat in the house tonight!”

She bounces excitedly on her way to the table, and your eyes widen in realization as you notice how close to the stage you all are.

“Oh no, no,” you exclaim, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“Oh, yes! You’re going to sit here and watch hot men undress and dance for your pleasure, and you’re going to enjoy it.” Brooke places her hands on your shoulders, gently pushing you down onto the seat.

You groan in response, rolling your eyes slightly with a huff. “Alright, but if we’re chosen, I’m not going up there.”

You’ve heard the stories from their previous performances about how they select audience members to receive lap dances, sometimes even lifting them onto their waist and carrying them through a full routine. The idea makes your face flush, not only because of the hot stranger gyrating on you, but also because of the thought of being on stage in front of an audience. That’s the part that worries you the most. It’s ironic for someone who dedicates their life to being watched by an unseen audience on Twitch, making it their career.

As the house lights dim and the stage lights brighten, Brooke starts stomping her feet excitedly beside you, grabbing and shaking your arm as the introductory music begins.

The first performer to step out is a man dressed entirely in black, including a long black jacket and sunglasses, appearing as though he’s stepped straight out of The Matrix movies. As heavy industrial techno music plays in the background, he begins to strip off layer by layer, revealing a pair of tight black pants and a strappy black tank top. A quick glance down at his pants confirms the reason for his choice of the stage name, ‘Thicky’.

It’s such an obvious name choice that it leads to Troy choking on his straw, causing both you and Brooke to burst into laughter.

The second performer, the drummer, descends from the ceiling, playing his drums with an animalistic energy that lives up to his stage name ‘Animal’. He’s already shirtless and headbanging to the rhythm, his bare, tattooed chest glistening with sweat, which is noticeable even from your seat in the audience. 

Next, ‘Mr. International’ steps out, another who’s clad entirely in black, similar to his stage partner, except for his hair is longer and his black pants are leather. He exudes a dominant aura as he struts around the stage, captivating the women in the crowd with his presence. Many of them increase their screams and even throw extra cash towards him as he approaches the edge of the stage.

When the final introduction for ‘Viper’ commences, you must resist the urge to burst into laughter as a towering, dark-haired man adorned in tattoos saunters onto the stage, exuding an aura reminiscent of an iconic character from Top Gun. However, the moment he begins shedding the layers of his ‘uniform,’ your jaw drops in awe, and your eyes widen with genuine admiration as he reveals his body, draped in a sleek black skin-tight tank, tattoos adorning almost every inch of his visible skin.

“I think we’ve discovered her kryptonite,” Troy remarks across the table to Brooke, but you barely notice it, completely captivated by the man and his commanding stage presence in front of you.

You can’t take your eyes off him during the show. He stands tall and handsome, exuding an aura of charisma that draws you in, even as the other men on stage begin their dance routine. For a fleeting moment, you swear his gaze locks onto yours as he scans the audience, and your heart races with excitement at the thought. Suddenly, an overwhelming desire surges through you to be chosen when the time comes for an audience member to join them on stage.

To your surprise, his eyes do meet yours when that moment arrives, and it feels almost like a scene from a movie as he approaches, raising a hand and beckoning you with his finger.

Each performer had already conducted their own routine with an audience member. ‘Animal’ had one sitting on his lap while he performed a drum solo and was suspended in the air once again. ‘Thicky’ performed a whole chair routine, giving them a lap dance. Lastly, ‘Mr International’ rode the signature Pony suspended from the ceiling with an audience member, grinding against them from behind.

Now, it’s the final routine with ‘Viper’. As you stand to take his hand, he guides you up to the stage, instantly pulling you against him.

Lifting you from the floor, he holds you up, then brings you to sit on his waist. From this close-up, you notice the faint shade of eyeliner around his eyes and how his body shimmers with body glitter, including subtle highlights on his face and along his cheekbones. Some of the glitter is already transferring onto you. 

Before you can become too mesmerized by the sight of him, he starts dancing along to the music, bouncing you slightly on his waist. It takes all your willpower not to burst into a fit of giggles, especially as his intense gaze locks onto yours.

When he lowers you to the floor, he continues to grind, wrapping your legs around his waist before rolling you both over. He keeps you seated on his waist, arching his back and rolling his hips upward in a smooth, rhythmic motion that vibrates between your thighs.

Suddenly, the urge to giggle is replaced by overwhelming embarrassment at how much you’re enjoying this, completely unaware of the room full of eyes watching you both, most of which are likely filled with envy as you both mimic riding him like he is your own personal pony, perfectly matching up to the lyrics of the song playing. 

By the time you regain your composure and the song reaches its end, you’re flustered as you return to your seat, fanning yourself with your hand as you walk back on slightly unsteady feet, unable to suppress the grin that stretches across your face.

“It seems like you enjoyed it more than you anticipated.” Troy leans in closer to you, speaking in a sing-song voice that elicits a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, hush,” you playfully swat at him. 

As the guys gather to perform their final routine of the night and take their bows, you swear you catch his eye once more, with ‘Viper’ shooting a cheeky wink down at you, sending a rush of heat through you.

You can sense, somehow, that this won’t be your final encounter with him. 

Craigslist guy: It’s just off Limes Drive. The house you’re looking for is the one on the corner.

You’ve read the message over and over again, for about the fifth time now, and you’re staring directly at something that’s definitely not a house on the corner of Limes Drive. In fact, it’s just an open piece of land. Suddenly, you start to wonder if you’re being Punk’d or if this person is actually a serial killer.

Pocketful of Sunshine begins to play as your phone rings. The caller ID displays Craigslist dude and panic starts to set in. Is he calling to reveal his sinister plan to kidnap and kill you?

It then hits you that watching those true crime shows before bed might not be such a good idea after all.

Clearing your throat, you answer, holding your phone up before speaking tentatively. “Hello?”

“Hey! Have you seen the house yet?”

“What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?”

“The house!”

Is this guy serious? “There’s no house here.” You look back at the patch of land and huff. “Listen, if you’re calling to waste my time—” He cuts you off abruptly.

“Woah, woah. I’m not wasting anyone’s time. I’m standing outside right now.”

You search around because either he’s lying or you’re blind. There’s no one in front of you, and just as you turn around completely, you catch a guy waving from his driveway. “Is that you? The tall guy who’s waving?”

“Yes! See, I told you it was here.”

“You mentioned the corner of Limes Drive!” You growl through bared teeth.

“No, I said it was just off Limes. But you’re here now, so come over and take a look around!”

He sounds so unbothered by the fact that he was wrong, amused even, and somehow that irritates you slightly.

Pocketing your phone, you quickly glancing both ways before crossing the street, and running up to the drive, stopping before the guy waiting for you. Recognition washes over you as you come face-to-face with the same guy you were not only watching strip last night, but had even performed on stage with him.

He looks different when he’s not under those stage lights, without the faint eye makeup or covered in glitter. The same body glitter you still have stuck to you this morning, even after showering.

“You’re Viper, aren’t you?” Your gaze narrows, and you notice his lips curling into a grin.

“You’ve heard of me? Wait…” His gaze locks onto yours, and you feel a slight warmth spread through your body as recognition dawns on him. “You’re the girl from last night, aren’t you?”

Your hand instinctively reaches up and rubs against the side of your neck at his recollection of you. “That’s me. Or, you know...” You offer him your name, extending your hand for a proper introduction.

“Well, you can call me Noah then.” Somehow, you hadn’t quite anticipated what his real name would be, but it being ‘Noah’ didn’t even cross your mind.

As he guides you up the driveway and into the house, he starts rambling about the house’s features, almost repeating most of the information mentioned in the Craigslist ad.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Noah asks, momentarily glancing down at you.

You nearly miss his question, too preoccupied with admiring the intricate tattoos adorning his arms and neck.

“Hmm? Oh! I’m a Twitch streamer,” you respond, dismissing it and following him through the house as you take in the rooms.

“Wait, seriously? Do you have a complete setup and everything?” You catch the way his eyes gleam and start to quietly laugh. It’s genuinely endearing, both his interest and the enthusiasm in his tone.

“Yeah, it’s not perfect, but I’m gradually making progress.”

“So, you have the dream job, right? You play games for a living.”

You take a moment to ponder the idea because while it’s your dream job, it comes with its challenges. However, seeing his excited expression makes it difficult to shatter his heart with the harsh reality of being a Twitch streamer, especially in the current climate.

“I suppose so, yeah.”

“Perhaps I could join a stream sometime. If you need a skilled dancer to keep the audience entertained, I’ll be your man.” He raises his hands and points his thumbs at himself, the gesture eliciting a laugh from you.

For a fleeting moment, your mind wanders to alternative ways he could be useful on stream. Many streamers collaborate with others, but you can’t help but find yourself drifting into more explicit thoughts.

Your eyes fixate on his mouth, watching the way it moves as he speaks, and the brief licks of his lips between words. The sensation it ignites in you is even more intense than the night before when you were on stage with him, but you swiftly shake your head, dismissing the thought.

If you intend to accept his roommate offer and move in with him, you need to stop having any and all inappropriate thoughts about him.

“And the pool is just out there,” you finally regain your focus as he guides you through the kitchen, gesturing towards the back door. Your eyes then fall upon the boarded-up doggy door. 

“Why did you board up your doggy door?”

“To stop my ex from coming back.”

Great, so he's a misogynist, you think, completely taken back by such a comment.

“I wasn’t kidding about the crazy ex mentioned in the roommate ad. My previous one somehow managed to squeeze through the doggy door.”

“Oh…,” realization dawns on you. As you glance over at the doggy door once more, you can’t help but wonder what man could make you act so crazy that you’d crawl through a doggy door to get back with him.

“We managed to last another two months after that, so it wasn’t a terrible idea on her part. I thought boarding it up after our last breakup would prevent her from literally crawling back into my life and my home... again.”

For a moment, you find yourself staring at him, completely unsure of what to say. Were you sorry about the breakup or his ex’s sudden reappearance in his life? Either way, it felt like an insensitive thing to say.

“Let me show you where your room will be!” he says, leading you upstairs and pointing out his other roommates' rooms: Jolly, the guy nicknamed ‘Mr. International,’ and Davis, another friend who works at the club.

“The dog is actually Davis’,” he informs you.

“Oh, so you lied on your Ad. That’s very naughty,” you tease, but he just laughs and gives you a soft ‘yeah,’ as if he were a child being scolded for something minor. He’s innocent either way.

Reaching the room and the en-suite that will be yours, you step inside and begin exploring. You size up the space and assess the room’s condition.

Turning back, you see Noah standing in the doorway. “My room is just next door,” he says. “I promise you’ll have your privacy. There’s even a lock on your door if you need it, see?” He gestures to the door handle.

You feel a sense of ease knowing you’ll have your own space and a potential safety measure already installed.

“I really like it,” you whisper under your breath, nodding as you take in the room once more. Compared to your current apartment, it’s more spacious, and the rent is almost half the price.

“It’s yours if you want it!”

“Uh…” Did you want it? It was the perfect size, and there would even be space to set up your streaming equipment. You’d have your own bathroom, a pool, and a dog. 

There are perks, but you can’t help but feel a slight twinge of embarrassment when you look back at Noah and remember the night before, when he had you bouncing on his waist, simulating outrageous sexual positions in the form of dance moves.

“Sure. That would be great.” You move towards him, stopping at the doorway, where you meet him still standing there. It amuses you how close to the door frame his head reaches and makes you realize that you’d misjudged his height when he was on stage.

“I promise I don’t usually make a habit of moving in with a guy the day after he grinds on me,” you add, trying to keep the mood light and softly laughing.

“Okay,” he says.

Maybe he doesn’t catch your joke, or maybe he just thinks it’s an odd thing to say. Either way, Noah’s reply makes you wish you hadn’t said anything at all, and for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

You can only hope you won’t regret agreeing to move in with him.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @halfalgorithmhafdeity @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @sitkowski @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @bluehairpunklol

[gatitties]

Hey hope you having a good day, I was requesting for one piece one shot. So can we do that child reader doesn't act like their age instead they act like a grownup and are VERY mature. Causing them to be like an entire grownup and having worries and feels the need to fix a promblems on their own like a groen up. If its alright can we do the (SH) , (WP), (HP) that try to help child reader feel more like a chuld so reader dosent overthink over things that are not for their age. Thank you. Love your books ♡

─Strawhats, Whitebeard Pirates & Heart Pirates x child!reader (Platonic)

─Summary: The crew takes you on a surprise trip with the intention that you enjoy and behave like someone appropriate to your age.

─Warnings: none

Everyone noticed your strange behavior from the beginning, at least, strange for a child of your age, when normally children were carefree, naive or whiny, you never stopped worrying about things that you definitely shouldn't worry about.

Expenses, proper nutrition, daily exercise to keep fit, you had a notebook where you had a rigorous table for each month, an organization that prevented the anxiety of not knowing what to do or how to act from bothering you, you didn't need 'unnecessary' or 'wasted' time in your life.

What completely confused Luffy was why didn't you want to play with him and Ussop? Normally children are a bunch of inexhaustible and elastic energy, but you prefer to do some problems to train your mind, which is fine in a way, but you didn't even like stuffing yourself with candy with Chopper, you were a child for god's sake! Your arms and legs were small, you still struggled with psychomotor and coordination problems in some situations, but you behaved like someone divorced and with debts piling up non-stop.

Of course, Robin and Sanji noticed that all that maturity disappeared from time to time, in your most vulnerable moments, when mental fatigue takes its toll on the deepest part of you, that's when you let out your true behavior, the one you should have at such a young age.

"Aren't we deviating from the established route?"

"Don't worry about it, we just took a detour, we need to buy somethings before the island we were originally going to."

Nami frowned at the exaggeration in your voice, always so exasperated at the slightest change, thinking it would cause some trouble, of course you were worried because you hadn't noticed that the supplies were running out, but luckily Zoro was able to keep you distracted enough for you to notice that they didn't really need to go shopping.

Your expression was completely indecipherable when Franky put you on his shoulder, pointing at the strange city that was on that island, something similar to the roller coasters and attractions of Sabaody, but on a smaller scale, that they came across this island was luck, Brook read about it in the newspaper and they all agreed that a break wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Are you sure we can take a break? The log pose will get deconfigured if we take too long."

Jinbe patted your head, pointing at one of the milder attractions, silently asking if they should go there or to other intensities.

"We have everything under control, where do you want to ride first?"

"I don't know, I've never been in an amusement park"

You rested your chin against Franky's head, a little embarrassed at not knowing what to do, the fish man smiled softly at you and decided to guide you all to the more childish area, everyone divided and joined together depending on each one's tastes, although at first you felt insecure, you began to enjoy and appreciate the time off, letting your mind go unconcerned about things that were beyond your reach, bringing out your most capricious and childish side, you allowed yourself to be a child during the day. The crew still had to fight your worries, but they were relieved to see that your childish mind was still there.

They're worried, very worried, Marco was the first to notice how you seemed to lose hair for every little problem that happened on the Moby Dick, was there a shortage of food? You were making a shopping list, did the cannons have a malfunction? You'll read books about them so that the defenses don't go down, was there a mess after a party? You got up early to leave everything spotless.

You didn't even bother to run around the deck with Ace, he adored you and used to drag you around to play little pranks on the crew, but you always left him hanging, excusing yourself by saying that they were absurd things and that there were problems to deal with. So everyone has a meeting to talk about why you act like a grumpy old person and not a carefree child, Izo really thinks he'll see wrinkles on your face when you reach adolescence.

"We have to keep the child from thinking about that kind of thing, the other day asked me if I had done the inventory of the medicines."

"My god… the other day the kiddo asked me if could start shooting."

"Mmmh, the child asked me if could start hand-to-hand defense training too."

"Kiddo was worried because the portions didn't have enough vitamins that an adult needs to ingest."

Whitebeard listened in silence, his face darkened as he continued to listen to the others' conversation, he needed to end this, you're not at the age to occupy your mind with that kind of worries, you should worry about getting enough sleep, having fun, getting into mischief, being a little fussy or whiny… it caused him deep pain to see you like that.

"The discussion is over, let's make the child behave like a child."

Everyone listened to their captain's strict orders, his absolute word spreading throughout all of his subordinates immediately, leaving you confused when you were prevented from doing anything the next day, unable to enter the kitchen, Marco's office, or the small armory, you had no time to get angry at the fact that they were delaying your work because Ace dragged you into mischief. It wasn't what you had planned to do today, but since you had no other options, you preferred to keep your mind occupied than to think about why your captain wouldn't let you do what you usually did.

With your thoughts much less occupied, the simplicity of spending a good time with the people who love you made you show a facet much more in line with your age, you laughed carefree at how Marco tripped over a bucket that Ace left lying around, you escaped from Thatch after throwing flour on his face, Izou caught you trying to steal his makeup… your mischievous attitude gave years of joy to the crew, your laughter sounded throughout the ship like a melody, something you usually didn't do.

"This is much better, I hope you can take things more calmly, you will have time to grow up."

Whitebeard directed his words towards you, although you were completely asleep on his lap, he smiled tenderly, caressing your head, he didn't want you to worry about adult things again, you don't need to grow up so fast, you have to give him time to cry when you are a full-grown adult, but you need to enjoy your childhood first.

Law appreciates you, he really does, he loves that you understand that everything has to be clean, disinfected, organized... it's okay that you want to have a healthy routine and he doesn't prohibit you from taking care of yourself, but my god, you have the behavior of an impulsive parent who has twenty children and doesn't have time to take care of them all.

Ikkaku takes care of the food, Bepo takes care of the navigation, Law is a doctor, Shachi and Penguin… well, they are there, but you don't need to occupy all those positions when you think something is going to cause problems. Law understands that you may be a little ─too much sometimes─ more mature than most children your age, he himself had to face childhood in a hard way, but you didn't have to go through that, everyone was there to take care of you, pamper you, you can have a totally normal childhood without worries, however you decide to make all the problems yours.

"You have to stop, I've already told you that you don't need to worry about those things, I'm the captain."

"But-"

It only took one look from your captain to stop you from ranting, he confronted you directly because he knew you would understand what he meant, but you got to the point of worrying about things that he didn't even care about, you need to relax or your heart would stop. No one has died from a little disorganization, some junk food or not washing their hands after eating with nothing but a napkin. But it was too hard to put all those thoughts aside, the crew made sure not to let you think about it too much, but with each passing day it seemed like you were blowing more and more smoke out of your ears like a locomotive at full speed, you could stop doing things but not overthinking them.

He had to pull you out of the Polar Tang, the idea was from the idiot duo, but it was what he needed right now, a stupid and fun idea, ─although Law didn't find it too funny─ he stopped at the first snowy island he found and let the chaos begin on its own.

"This is war, eat snow!"

It only took one of Penguin's snowballs to hit you to activate a switch in you, you don't know if it was out of frustration or because you were having a good time, but you started throwing snow left and right, Ikkaku, Bepo, Law, Jean Bart… they were all fired without discrimination, you didn't stop to think about how the snow got under your clothes or that you'll catch a cold after this, you enjoyed the moment without your mind plagued by unnecessary problems.

"That's our child! ack-"

The crew smiled upon hearing your malicious grin at having hit Shachi, who was celebrating that you had hit his friend, unleashing your most childish and hyperactive side, however he also suffered the consequences of your change of mentality, they still had a long way to go before you stopped behaving like a complete adult, but you let those more childish hues that you hid from yourself show.

[604to647]

What Was I Made For?

3.1K / Frankenstein AU Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Left on his own, Tim learns a new way to live.

Warnings: None! Age gap cause Tim’s like hundreds of years old 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 Semi-sentient woodland creatures that meddle, I guess 🤭

A/N: Inspired by @almostfoxglove’s beautiful AU moodboard below - if you haven't already, check out that post and the tags, along with all her other AU moodboards! Thank you so much for sharing them with us 🥹🥰

Title by Billie Eilish / Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 🥰

For a very long time, Tim did not go outside during the daytime.

Father said not to.

And even though Father has been gone for many years, Tim still heeded his words.  His being the only voice Tim had ever heard.

He still doesn’t know why Father left.  He’s even less sure of why he never returned.

Merge Mansion remains dark, even during the day.  Its halls empty, its candelabras unlit.  If anyone was to pass through the ivy choked iron gates and listen at its door, and no one ever did, they would hear only the skittering of mice and the occasional heavy footstep, so slow and deliberate it could be mistaken for the heartbeat of a slowly dying house.

Only ever at night, Tim goes out to the woods behind the now dusty and crumbling mansion.  Those same woods where Father would have him lift, throw, break - repeatedly.  And Father would write furiously in his notebooks.  Tim thinks maybe that’s what he was made for.

For more years than can be counted, enough so that he passes into legend, Tim continues to do what he knows.  He uproots trees and plants and heaves them over knolls and into streams.  He rolls boulders and smashes rocks.  He haunts the forest alone until the dawn threatens to pierce through the thick overhang of the old growth trees; hiding within the moss-covered stone walls of the only home he’s ever known until night brings cover once again.

Until one night after so many nights, he just… doesn’t.  Instead of his nightly exertion to prove something to the darkness, Tim just sits and bathes in the pureness of the moonlight.  He breathes in the earthy musk of the forest’s damp soil and the sweet scent of pine mixed with bark sap.  Instead of his own laboured breathing, Tim finally hears the babbling of the brooks, the hooting of the owls, and soft breeze whistling between the low berry bushes and the high tree tops.  Tim doesn’t know if he was made to be at peace, but he finds that he can do it all the same.

He teaches himself to read.  At first using words Father would say and the signs he would point to in the room Tim lived in: Lock.  Unlock.  Hot.  Cold.  On.  Off.  Danger.  Stop.

Then from books about nature that he finds in the library, remembering words that Father would use to describe their surroundings when in the woods that Tim now knows so well.

Tree.  Rock.  Hill.  Hole.

It takes a very, very long time.  But Tim has nothing but time.

He’s not even sure if he’s doing it right - he has no one to ask.  Not that he could even if there was.  He says the words in his head the way he thinks they sound, but with no voice, never out loud.  He wasn’t made for that.

It’s no matter.  Even if he isn’t sure he’s sounding them out properly, Tim thinks he’s assigned the words to the pictures in the books of animals and landscapes correctly.  There are other books, as well.  Ones with illustrations that are foreign to him and where the words denote meaning that he doesn’t think he will ever understand, but he learns them anyways:  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  Love.

In his woods, Tim no longer destroys: he clears, builds, tends.  Tim carves out paths that feel softer on the bottoms of his lumbering feet.  He removes dead branches from healthy trunks and uses them to sweep the forest floor.  He rolls away dead trees, some fell by age or disease, others by his own hand in the olden days when he thought that was what he was made for.

He still only does these things under the cover of night.  Father had said to be afraid of the village at the bottom of the looming hill upon which Merge Mansion perched.  He warned Tim that if he was discovered, the villagers would come and hurt them both.  Tim wishes that he had known the words or had the voice to tell Father that he would have protected him.  That perhaps it was the villagers who should have been afraid of him. Father’s notebooks say that he was built to be fierce. 

The bunnies in the woods do not seem to think so.  Nor the foxes, or the badgers, or the mice.  The deer do not find Tim to be fearsome, and the birds readily to flock to him.

He supposes it’s because he starts to help them build their nests; his long legs easily carry him to the farthest corners of the woods where the best nesting materials can be gathered.  He volunteers his big, pawlike hands to dig their burrows and holes.  His strength he uses to drag logs and branches to where whole furry families reside, breaking the thick wood into smaller pieces to help them expand and fortify their homes for their growing broods and the incoming weather.  He’s tall enough to lift baby birds back into their nests when they fall out before they’re ready to fly.  He forages and shares all his bounty, himself having no need for sustenance. 

Tim would not mind if this is what he was made for.

The years continue to pass.  The village at the bottom of the hill gets less busy, smaller, and is eventually gone.  Tim only knows because he witnesses the number of tiny square windows illuminated by bright candles during the night, dwindle until there is only darkness.

From the now dilapidated walls of Merge Mansion, Tim watches as what remains of the village rots and is reclaimed by the Earth.  It looks less frightening to him the way it stands now, wild and lush - much more like his beloved forest where he’s only ever known friendly creatures.

It’s the bunnies who convince him to come out in the daytime. 

It had been an especially abundant year for the rabbits, with baby bunnies almost overrunning the forest floor.  The mamas plead with Tim using their big brown eyes to help round up their little ones and keep them safe, making sure none of them strayed too far from the safety of the woods.

Little bunnies are hard to see in the dark.

The first time Tim steps outside during the day, he’s so blinded by the sky’s brightness that he thinks perhaps his eyes were not made for sunlight.  His forest is so green in the daytime.  A richness of browns with the occasional pop of red, blue, even lavender.  In the winters, the snow is so white during the day it appears almost clear.  Once the snow has melted, the streams splash with fish that jump during the day – something that never happens at night.  The sun’s beams warm Tim’s rough skin in a way the moon’s cold, comfortable ambiance never has.  The sounds of the forest are so much louder, cheerier in the day than they are at night – it strikes Tim as odd given it’s the same forest but he supposes he feels more alive during the day as well.

The deer are the ones that lead him out of the forest and to the front of the house.  The overgrown grass on the Merge Mansion hill begs to be grazed on, and with the village gone, Tim and the deer while away many days unseen and unbothered amongst the soft green blades – looking out to a splendid view of rolling plains and sprawling forests stretching all the way to the horizon.  He never strays far from the house - still heeding Father’s words of caution even though the dangers he warned against look to be long gone.

Tim doesn’t even know that another village has sprung up somewhere on the other side of a low mountain that he considers to be more than a fair distance away until you.  The first time he sees you, you’re but a little girl and you come with your own father to the cemetery that rests at the bottom of his hill, where it once bordered the old village.  The same cemetery from which Father gathered the parts that make up Tim as he is, if Father’s notebooks are to be believed.  The deer scamper away before you or your father see them, but Tim stays and hides, watches.

He hears your father tell you that these graves belong to your ancestors who once lived in the old village that’s now gone and that even though you live on the other side of the mountain, you should still pay your respects.  Tim listens to your cheery chatter and the hum of your father’s merry tunes as the two of you clean the gravestones, pull the weeds, plant fresh gardens.

You and your father come every week and Tim begins to look forward to it.  He watches you grow into a beautiful woman and your father into an old man.  He listens to the musical lilt of your voice and the gentle teasing of your father as the two of you care for and nurture the plot of land at the base of the Merge Mansion Hill so that it grows vibrant and fragrant with flowers that he’s only ever seen in Father’s books.  He hears your father tell you stories he heard as a child about the house that Tim lives in – the legend of a mad scientist and a terrible monster.  Tim doesn’t know why, but he feels relief when you laugh at these stories and call them ridiculous.

When your father stops coming with you, Tim watches over you in his stead.  You continue to do your duty in the cemetery joyfully and your sweetness is like an invitation.  The bunnies and the foxes and the mice and the deer all come down to join you.  You laugh and share your food with them and they enjoy your company as much as you do theirs.  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  He thinks he finally understands.  When his furry friends turn their soulful eyes up to the house, Tim knows they’re looking to him to come down but he shakes his head no.  He’s not made for this.

He doesn’t know that you see him anyways.

You’ve known he was there since the days you would come to this cemetery with your father as a little girl.  Most times as just a shadow on the Merge Mansion grounds, but once or twice you had seen Tim’s handsome, haunted face in one of the cracked windows.

You don’t know who he is or what he is, but some how you know that you have to pretend that you’re unaware of his presence.  As if for some laughable reason, he finds you to be frightening.

So, you try to make yourself to be as nonintimidating as possible.  You wear soft flowing fabrics that lie prettily over your equally soft skin in pleasing colours that compliment the hue of your hair and the brightness of your eyes.  You keep your voice gentle and the sound of your notes harmonious when you sing or hum your favourite songs of love and fantasy.  When your father tells you the old stories of the Merge Mansion Monster, you make sure to loudly decry this characterization.  Your unseen friend is not a monster, and you want to make sure that he knows you know that.

Your woodland friends who proclaim to know him best seem to say, give him time.  So you do, waiting patiently for a sign.  For what?  You don’t know.  Just a sign for more.

It comes one summer day, many, many years after your weekly trips to the cemetery became solo trips.  For two weeks, you’ve been in a state of mild panic, unable to find the delicate gold chain necklace that your father gave you - his last gift to you before he passed.  A part of you fears that it may have come unclasped and dropped onto the path some time during your weekly trip to the Merge Mansion cemetery; your heart clenches – if that was the case, your treasured necklace is surely lost.

Your surprise when you find your necklace waiting for you on top of a gravestone next to a small tied bundle of lavender is palpable.  Your eyes threaten to overflow with tears as you look up the hill to the house and mouth, thank you.

You don’t know that you had actually lost your necklace next to this very gravestone and that one of your bluebird friends had carried it up to Tim in its beak.  Tim spends two weeks practicing making the small bouquet of lavender – his large and clumsy hands unused to the precise and delicate movements required.  He refers to the instructions in the book he found so many times he can see the diagrams in his sleep.  But he keeps trying until he gets it right – wanting to offer you something more than just your returned necklace as a token of his appreciation for all the work you do.  Holding the delicate chain in his oversized hand, he can’t stop looking at it glittering in the moonlight and admiring its intricate craftsmanship.  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Well, second.

The next week, Tim discovers a large and fragrant bouquet of the cemetery’s best and biggest blooms laid outside of his iron gates.

Three weeks later, on the same gravestone, you find those flowers dried and pressed, then laced together in a pretty flower crown.

You weave your own from new fresh flowers and leave it in place of the dried one you take home.  The following week, the crown you made is gone, and in its place, a large pile of fresh wild berries that must come from the forest behind the mansion.

The squirrels had objected, but Tim promised that the reduction of berries from their weekly hoard would be for a good cause.  You helped prove him right the following week when he returned from the hill with a jar of wild berry jam which he happily shared.

This continues for months.  Each week a small, thoughtful trinket exchanged - neither you or Tim having much to offer except your consideration and time.  The giddy anticipation and resulting awe a gift in itself.

The day you bring a blanket that took you six weeks to knit, you’re imbued with a bravery (the source of which is unknown even to you) that brings you all the way to Tim’s doorstep.  The heavy door opens when you push against it, but no one answers when you call out.

While Tim is in the woods assisting with the birth of a newborn deer, you’re wandering the dark, musty halls of Merge Mansion.  You find where you think Tim must sleep: in a room that looks like a lab - electrical wire equipment, gurneys, restraints and medical utensils long since pushed against the walls of the room and abandoned.

You read the notebooks left behind by the scientist and seethe on Tim’s behalf.  To call him a Creature!  To experiment on him and put him through trials of endurance and strength as if he was merely an instrument for violence!  You’re grateful that Tim’s creator must be long dead by now, else he might not be able to escape the vitriol you feel rising in your chest at the mistreatment Tim endured at his hand.

You leave the blanket and the mansion in a hurry.

When Tim comes back into the house, he knows immediately that you were there.  He smells you.  The sweet floral perfume from your garden and the sticky scent of fruit from your jams hangs in the air.  Nothing in this house or the forest smells quite so lovely.  You were here. 

With growing distress, he finds your thoughtful gift in the room where he sleeps and knows that you’ve read Father’s notebooks.  You know the truth of what he is now.  He’ll never see you again.

But you come back.

You leave him a letter and for three weeks, he reads it every day. 

It’s a letter that tells him about yourself and your family, and how you came to be his weekly visitor.  You tell him how you’ve always known he’s been there but you were afraid to scare him away so you never let on that you saw him.  You tell him that now that you’ve calmed down a bit, you’re not quite so angry at Father but you do think that he didn’t understand Tim’s true nature, or perhaps, you concede, he simply wasn’t gifted enough time to understand. 

You tell him what you think of his nature.  In your experience, men who are strong are rarely gentle and those who harness power are hardly ever giving.  But Tim is.  His hands, arms and muscles may be sewn together from much lesser men, but he, Tim, wields his strength to protect and look after others.  His heart may not be able to pull down trees or break rock, but it’s tender and pure – and where his true power lies.

You write that even though you’ve never met him face to face, you only ever feel safe and cared for knowing he’s around.  And you hope that even if he never forgives you for trespassing in his home and going through his personal belongings without his permission, he will take your words to heart.

Every week you come back to the doors of Merge Mansion bearing a small gift and a big apology, but Tim is nowhere to be found.  You’re starting to fear that you’ve crossed an unforgiveable boundary and ruined your indescribable but cherished connection, when the most wonderous sight awaits you as you near the top of the hill nearly a month after you left your letter.

Tim. 

Impossibly large and broad, a hulk of a man is sitting on the front steps waiting for you.  His face is hard, lined from time and worry, but his eyes are soft and vulnerable.  You see some trace of old scars along his forehead and neck, and down the worn skin that stretches over the corded muscles of his forearms.  His clothes are outdated and entirely the wrong size, but somehow it works on him.  He looks formidable.  Wild, yet tame.  Handsome.

You run to him, beaming.  Tim stands when you come to a stop in front of him, towering over you as he holds out a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the forest lands behind his home that he tends to so carefully.

When you reach out to accept, your small fingers brush his larger calloused ones, and the jolt of electricity that passes between the two of you feels like pure joy.  And although Tim can only offer a quiet grunt, unable to say the words that he wishes he could sing with his whole chest, you understand him perfectly.  Your incandescent smile and hopeful expression reassure him that you too, recognize the simple, unspoken truth: Tim was made for you.

🎶Obligatory Billie Eilish, What Was I Made For lyrics🎶:

'Cause I, 'cause I I don't know how to feel But I wanna try I don't know how to feel But someday I might Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be Something I wait for Something I'm made for Something I'm made for

[alexa-yukiyu]

Ghostly mischief (Sanji x male!ghost!child!reader)

A/N I'm also kinda meh on this one, this is part of the three part request of @spiderman-er our beloved < 3 I hope this is to your liking!

Reader here is re-placed by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“Sanji-nii, what are you making this time?” the small boy asked, floating next to said chef

“Some cake.”

“Can I help?”

“Hm, all right. Just do what I say.”

“I got my eyes wide open, ready to learn! Even though I don’t really have eyes!”

“…I think you spend too much time with Brook”

“I spend just the right amount with Uncle Brook Thank you very much.”

“I beg to differ…; just get me the flour; it should be up there.”

“Okay,” he smiled, floating his way up to the drawers looking through the different shelves

“This one?”

“Yeah! Grab it for me.”

“Can I have a piece of the cake when we’re done?” he said, handing Sanji the pot

“Last time you had one, you were bouncing off the walls.”

“Come on! I promise I will just have one this time, pleaseee?”

“Alright, fine. But only one.”

“Yahoo!”

“Alright, you little scamp, now go get the flour.”

“Hehe, of course!” he said, floating towards the ingredients and taking a hold of the flour, though rather than handing it to Sanji, he simply dropped the flour on Sanji

Sanji stood there for a second, blowing out flour from his mouth and wiping the one in his eyes

“…”

“Dokucha?”

“Yeah, Sanji-nii?” he said with a grin on his face, flying upside down and watching his brother try to pull himself together

“I'm giving you a chance here. Was that an accident?”

“Nope”

“Come here.”

“I'm good over here.”

“You don't get off the hook that easily, you little scamp,” he said, pulling his sleeves up and grabbing a handful of flour

“So remember, you were the one who started this.”

Listen with the way you made the request I had to put a Brook Joke myself, I just had to, was mandatory

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[mcuamerica]

Legacy | Eris x Reader

For Eris Week 2024 - Day 2: Childhood | Legacy @erisweekofficial

Summary: Eris and his mate have two girls, but Eris starts to doubt his ability as a father as you’re about to have a boy. 

Warnings: parental abuse (Beron), child near-drowning (let me know if I missed anything!)

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears for Eris Week.

Calida and Rhea ran around the Forest House garden. Callie stuck to the areas near the bushes while Rhea played by the brook, always so much closer to water than Callie. It was a trait that you nor Eris had a clue where it came from but Rhea loved the water. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was a daughter of Summer and not Night and Autumn. Nonetheless, you were both proud to call her your daughter. Callie too. 

Eris frowned as he watched Rhea stumble into the small brook, sitting up in his chair to prepare to help her. 

He paused, a memory of when he was a child flashing through his mind. 

Lucien was showing Eris how he caught fish. A mere boy of 10. He had no business being in the river. Certainly not when a dam suddenly broke and rushed the water towards him. Eris was too late, watching as his youngest brother was devoured by the waves. As we went to help, his father’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Do not help him,” he said sternly. 

Eris looked up, frowning. “What do you mean? He will drown.” A slap for the talk back fell upon his cheek. He was used to it, should’ve known better. 

“If he does, then he is no son of mine.” He said and frowned as he watched the red haired boy fight against the raging water. Eris looked towards the broken dam, frowning at the singed bark around the edges. His father. Beron had broken the dam. Knowing Lucien would drown. 

Eris turned towards his father. “Mother will be-“

“Your mother will not say anything.” Beron said, his hand coming up to Eris’s throat. “Shall I throw you into the water as well? See how well you survive, Eris?” He growled. 

Eris shook his head, taking a deep breath as his father released his throat. “Let him die… or save him and face the consequences of ensuring the weakness of your brother. Of my legacy.” He growled. 

Eris watched as Lucien struggled. He could swim. Not well… but he could. He was struggling to stay afloat… and being pulled further down the river. To the waterfall. Damn the consequences, he wasn’t going to let his brother die because his father was a bastard. 

He ran towards the river, leaping in after Lucien. He helped Lucien to the shore, his arm wrapping against his waist. Lucien coughed out water as they reached the shore. Just as he was about to say thank you to his brother, Eris was snatched out of the water by Beron. 

“Find your way home.” Beron growled to Lucien then winnowed away from him, Eris’s dripping body going with him. 

Eris received the beating of his life that night. And two days afterwards. Lucien was fine, but was forbidden to see Eris for weeks. What did it say about Eris that his daughters never experienced such things? It was good, they never met their grandfather. Never knew the abuse he endured. But did that make him weak? For keeping it to himself? 

Just as he had the thought, Callie ran over to her, helping her up. 

“You okay?” Her small voice asked, ever the protective older sister. 

Rhea frowned at a rock beneath her foot. “It tripped me.” She said, crossing her arms. 

Eris let out a small chuckle, leaning back as he watched his girls talk. They ran off together, two of his (their) hounds running after them. He looked over his shoulder as you slept on the bed, perched up by a few pillows so your pregnant stomach would be supported. He still wasn’t sure how you two had managed to get pregnant so close in years, but he wasn’t complaining. 

He loved you so much it hurt. And he loved your two girls even more, if it was possible. Though, you know your were having a boy this time around. And a boy was different. 

Raising the girls was new. There was nothing for him to compare to… his father raised all boys, if you call what he did raising… The girls were different. They were bright and soft and strong and full of life. And he knew his little boy would be too. But… his father raised so many boys. And all but two were truly decent. If Eris counted himself decent. 

Would he be different towards his boy? Treat him harder? Worse than his girls? Would be expect more from him just because he was a male? 

The inner turmoil raced through his head, so much that it was communicated down the bond to you. 

You stirred from your afternoon nap, seeing Eris chewing on his lip. It was a quirk he didn’t show often but when he did you knew something was wrong. 

You slowly got out of the bed. You were 8 months pregnant, very much ready to be done with the pregnancy and have your little boy in your arms. But something was bothering Eris. And that was something you needed to fix. If only because you wanted to go back to sleep. 

“Eris.” You whispered, a hand resting on his shoulder. 

Eris barely moved, his eyes glancing up to you. “Are you well, my love?” He asked you. 

A small smile danced on your lips. “I should be asking you that. You’re a nervous wreck. Are the girls okay?” You asked. 

“They’re perfect… that’s the problem.” He said. 

A confused frowned made its way to your face with a slight tilt of your head. 

“It’s just… What if the girls are this way because… I’m meant to raise girls. Because my father-“ Eris took a shaky breath. “My father raised terrible sons. What if I do the same?” He asked. 

“Eris… are you the only one raising them?” You asked, walking to stand in front of him. His only answer was a shake of the head. “Are you planning to raise our boy differently?” Another shake of the head. “And will you love him just as much as you love our girls?” Another one.. “Then why would you raise a terrible son?” 

His eyes finally met yours, amber burning into violet. “Because I don’t know how to raise a son.”

“You didn’t know how to raise a daughter until 10 years ago,” you said, cupping his cheek. “And now you have two. Maybe not perfect, but damn good daughters. Who love you more than anything.” You said. “And I would not decide to have a child with you, male or female, if I thought you would make a bad father.” 

Tears lined his eyes. “But my father-“

“Was a terrible man… and you, Eris Vanserra, are not your father. Not by a long shot.” You said and leaned down, pressing your lips to his. “Don’t you forget that.” You whispered before turning away from him. “Let’s go get the girls, I’m hungry and we should make some apple crisp.” You said. 

Eris followed after you, soon seeing the girls wrap themselves around your legs. And when he looked at the three of you, and soon to be fourth growing in your belly, he knew this would be his legacy. The strong, loving family you built together. And he was proud to have it.

A/N: I love the thought of Eris being a girl dad (and being amazing at it) but being insecure when a boy rolls around... ugh I love him.

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 1134 - Initial Thoughts

And we return once again likely to close out the year for One Piece

Which is usually the stage for something big With last chapter already having its own big moment it bears wondering what else Oda can throw at us

Let's find out

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release too!

Colorspread for this chapter, the crew is flying on a Franky Mecha with water guns (except Robin and Chopper, Robin's is holstered but she's just sitting looking beautiful in what looks very similar to her Enies Lobby look, with leather garter...this winter's getting hotter)

Also on the Franky Mech there's a message 'WE ARE ETERNAL' on the right shoulder

We start the chapter with Luffy thanking Saul for taking care of Robin, speaking like a Yakuza

Someone of the crew asks him who taught him that routine, Luffy says nobody, but to me it reminds me of Jinbe's introduction in Wano

Robin introduces Saul to Luffy, but he already knows and notes how Robin did indeed find the friends he alluded to back on Ohara

The crew sans Luffy, Zoro and Jinbe once again cry XD

Saul apologizes for the scare, seems the other giants were in on it, his assistant Ange in particular

He praises Luffy for making Emperor, having been an ex marine he knows what kind of station that is, and asks Luffy to keep protecting Robin

Lilith floats up to say hello, but Saul doesn't recognize her since he only met Vegapunk Stella

Jinbe passes her a big box, something brought from Egghead

Oh? 'It's one of me!'

It's a perfect copy of Vegapunk Stella, he used it before to go to Elbaf given that he couldn't leave the lab without the WG noticing

So it seems Vegapunk didn't really die at all, I mean he did but he just kinda isn't also, could help in clearing Luffy's name y'know?

Lilith needs some stuff to fully extract the clone, so begins to set up a new lab

Bonney also asks if this'll help with Kuma too, which Lilith confirms

Think this mainly confirms my suspicions that Lilith, Bonney and Kuma are gonna stick in Elbaf for the rest of the adventure

Saul welcomes Vegapunk but asks why they're a woman, before Lilith can explain though some children ask if they can play

Ange introduces herself, revealing also that they had to convince the children that play by the springs to hide to keep Saul's performance authentic

Ange offers the crew a tour around the school, but Luffy and Usopp are already on the move

This is the Walrus Folk School, Saul opened it at the king's request

Saul however wishes to take Robin to the library, so the crew is gonna split again

Chopper intends to go to the library, Sanji intends to go wherever Nami's going, Brook says that a school is nostalgic (at least meaning he went to a school) but Jinbe and Franky are more curious about Treasure Tree Adam

Luffy, Usopp and Zoro meanhwhile are being chased by kids, hoping to play 'prisoners'

Usopp though has to remind Zoro that they're kids so we cannot cut them XD

The kids however are instantly deterred by some other kids, seems to be a similar boy/girl divide like Punk Hazard wherein the boys what to play with the humans but the girls want to admire them as cute

The trio seem surprised by the next generation of Elbaf warriors being so thin-skinned, but the kids don't want to be fighters, sparking even Usopp to be surprised

The kids also don't take kindly to their dialect

Someone tells them that their use of 'brat' and 'bastard' are old-fashioned, which Zoro notices came from an adult

The kids warn the trio they should probably move, because they're standing on Miss Ripley, the biology teacher

And hellooooo Miss Ripley...lots of teenage giants are gonna be really interested in biology

Of course Luffy has been standing on her tits XD Sanji would murder him if he weren't the captain

Usopp apologises for standing on her, but she doesn't mind

It appears that the legends of Elbaf warriors is outdated by 100 years, relics of a bygone era

Ripley officially greets the Straw Hats, hearing of them from Saul, and using the same old fashioned dialect apologises for the kids, she gets called out by the kids but simply reminds them to do as she says not how she does

It turns out that Elbaf's newfound ideas of peace come from their former king Harold, his last claim was to Seek Trade with other nations

There seems to be a faction called Graybeards though that oppose this view, Harold clashed with them a lot

Ange notes how he was a visionary killed by his kin - not mentioning Loki by name - but since his claim is still recognized, Elbaf has no sovereign

Luffy meanwhile looks a little disappointed

Ripley concludes the 'history lesson' and asks the kids to show the trio around the school, but then asks Luffy why he looks different to his bounty poster

Luffy responds as he did before, it's when he's most free, and Ripley notes that it resembled a legendary warrior from Elbaf's fables

She wanted to see it, having been from the last generation of Elbaf's warriors

Over to the Library, Saul is told how they already know his story with the books from learning it in Egghead, but still reiterates how overcome he was to find books still there

He does warn Robin however about the library, noting to pay attention to the book she's carrying

To her and Chopper's surprise, the book on archaeology grows in size!

Before them (and Bonney and Lilith who have come along) is the massive owl library, any book brought here is gigantified

Makes you think, maybe other things can get gigantified, maybe Big Mom was looking to replicate this effect

That big owl is kinda unnerving me though, getting Wan Shi Tong vibes

Robin however is taken aback by the library, tears welling up as she remembers the first time she saw Ohara's library

Back to the Realm of the Dead though and Loki is chatting

Whoever he is talking to, they are being driven by a 'moment of true fear' - whether it's to avoid or enact it is unclear

The speaker is talking via a giant Snow Den Den Mushi, designed to resist the cold

Given the image, it's likely one of these Greybeard folks, but they've been allied with Loki for a while despite never having met

Whatever situation this guy is in, Loki insists he would've just slaughtered everyone, which the guy says he doesn't want

Loki calls this person naive, they're called Mosa and the translator's note says that the suffix implies high status like a noble or a duke, saying he shouldn't leave survivors because they'll just try to get payback

Mosa thanks Loki for his counsel, suggesting that there's a layer a kindness to his all-murder notion, which Loki quickly lashes out at

In the village, the giants are starting a pre-drink but a big black lightning bolt strikes the main castle

Two hooded figures emerge in a ruined throne room, surrounded by the Gorosei summoning circle

And one of the hooded figures' faces looks like Shanks....

Well that, that is what Oda can throw at us.

I've never liked the idea of Villain Shanks, the internet is gonna go wild with the Rat stuff again. So I'm very much hoping that there's an explanation for this. The second person has a bandaged face but given the eyelashes they are likely a woman. Being able to go to Elbaf is already strange enough but since we know that Garling is now a Gorosei then maybe our secondary enemy force for this arc is the Figarland family? I'm still not sold on the idea that Shanks has a twin but there aren't many explanations which prevent Shanks from being in league with the WG at the moment.

It's definitely a headfuck, especially with it being revealed that Elbaf is actually very peaceful now, and perhaps Loki and the Greybeards intend to restore it to a warmongering country once more. This could mean bad things for the library and Saul, I do very much have a worry that the Owl Library may burn down like Ohara's one did. I do wonder how this affects Usopp's character here, since he looked up to Elbaf for its bravery as warriors, plus Franky's interest in Treasure Tree Adam can't be neglected. The Vegapunk stuff does feel a bit like the stakes of the arc were undermined, but I suppose someone who did see their death coming would make a bunch of contingencies. At the very least I am content with the idea that she, Bonney and Kuma will linger in Elbaf rather than continuously having to be on the run.

Still, Hello Miss Ripley~ we know that Colon is visiting her so he probably is going to school, wonder what the direct connection is with her and that family, we haven't seen the father he also has lunch for yet. So it still seems more characters are gonna come out of the woodwork.

Things growing giant in the library is interesting though, we've seen the cat change into something larger so maybe there's some sort of magic or effect in Elbaf that can alter people and objects? Maybe the longer you stay the more likely humans are to be affected, thus the warning. Not a time dilation, but if you linger you may turn into a giant yourself?

Mysteries and Histories and Confusions all around, definitely an Oda calling card, 2025 One Piece is gonna be mind-bending.

[louiseolivier]

Saturday Snippet

I finally felt like writing again. This is the first chunk for Pride pt 4. Really hoping to keep the momentum up. famous last words.

Buck was on his back, head in Tommy’s lap with Tommy’s fingers carding through his hair. It had been a full week since they’d seen each other. Tommy filled in for a sick coworker on Thursday, and Buck switched shifts on Friday, so he could be off today. He didn’t know about absence making the heart grow fonder, but it did make him more desperate for all things Tommy. He leaned into Tommy’s touch and almost purred as Tommy scratched blunt nails in the short hair behind his ear. 

Their day could be divided into three parts: sex, sandwiches, and cinema. Although, calling D.E.B.S cinema was probably a stretch. They were sprawled out on a blanket at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, waiting for the movie to start. Buck had packed a bunch of snacks, and Tommy dug out a pair of stadium chairs for them. 

It was a nice evening. A persistent breeze kept the temperature bearable while the sun was out, but Buck was glad they remembered to grab their hoodies out of Tommy’s truck. They were going to need them later. Right then, though, Buck was perfectly comfortable leaching heat off of Tommy. 

A text notification chimed. “Is that yours or mine?” Buck asked. 

“Yours.”

Buck reached out and randomly patted the ground for his phone. Tommy snorted but took pity and placed it in Buck’s hand. “Thanks,” Buck said and smiled up at his boyfriend’s adoring face. He unlocked his phone, and his smile dipped. 

Brooke sorry, i’m booked. i have a few openings next sat and one sun. let me know. it’s good to hear from you buck!

The tips of Tommy’s fingers made it under Buck’s t-shirt and gave his stomach a scratch. “What’s wrong?”

Buck abandoned his comfy position on Tommy’s lap and sat up. “So, I was going to let it be a surprise. Although, now that I think about it, there’s no real ‘surprise’ for you. Like, you're not getting anything out of this, but it’s meaningful for me, and I want you there, but now it looks like it’s not going to happen? Are you working both Saturday and Sunday next week?”

“Evan,” Tommy said in that way that denoted Buck needed to get it together and stop rambling.  

Buck gave the text a second look before locking his phone. “Right. Do you remember Rose from the parade?” Tommy nodded, and Buck pushed forward. “So she has this really cool tattoo, and it kickstarted this urge for me to get a new one. Normally, my tattoos don’t mean anything, just something I thought was cool in the moment, but this year has been, like, transformative. I met you, I became aware of my bisexuality, our relationship - I want to commemorate that. And I was kinda hoping to do it when we were off next week, but she’s booked. She has openings next weekend, but I’m pretty sure you’re working.”

There was a wariness in Tommy’s expression, “And you want me there because…” 

Buck’s head tilted in confusion. “Because I want you to be part of the experience. Does that make sense?”

“I think so.”

Buck smoothed his thumb over the furrow between Tommy’s eyebrows. “You seem weirded out”

“Not weird so much as, I guess, I'm just processing. You’re not going to get my name tramp stamped on you or anything like that, right?”

Buck’s eye bulged and he burst out with an ungainly cackle. “Oh my god, no!” Tommy watched him, cheeks flushed from embarrassment but also charmed by Buck’s reaction. Buck swooped in and kissed him because he looked so cute. He then pulled their hoodies from a bag and tossed Tommy his before pulling his over his head. 

It was fully dark, and the screen in front of them burst to life. Buck gathered a couple boxes of candy and two beers from the cooler. Instead of sitting in the stadium chair next to Tommy, he settled between Tommy’s thighs and rested his back against Tommy.

Tommy wrapped an arm around Buck and lightly kneaded his ribs. “I’ll take Sunday off.”

“Really?! You don’t have to, you know, if it’s going to be a hassle,” Buck told him. He twisted off the cap of one of the beers and handed it to Tommy.

“You want me there, I want to be there. No hassle. I’m swimming in PTO time. If you actually want to do that Redwoods thing, we could spend a month there with the amount of PTO I’ve accrued.” 

Buck craned his neck to get a look at Tommy’s face. “Probably not a month, but I do want to go.”

“Really?” Tommy said, surprised.

Buck’s forehead furrowed, surprised at Tommy’s surprise. “Yeah, really. I was actually thinking this fall.”

“Oh. That’s good. We should make plans.” Tommy kissed the top half of Buck’s birthmark, and Buck closed his eyes, knowing a second kiss to the lower half was next. Tommy tightened his hold around Buck as the Destination Films logo appeared on the screen.

Buck cradled his beer between his knees and pulled out his phone. He texted Brooke that Sunday was a go, and then settled back to focus on the movie in front of him, and the heat of the man behind him.

Pride

[andreal831]

So, I'm just gonna come out and say it: Despite probably only being planned in S4 - the idea of the Hollow and it's very elusive presence being the mastermind behind the Originals and it's history is actually engenious!

(Keep in mind, I'm talking as if I'm inside the universe - not as a viewer looking in. Also, fair warning, I alternate between "The Hollow" and Inadu since they are the same person.)

Let's start with the fact that thanks to Inadu, we know werewolves are just cursed witches cut off from their magic with interesting loopholes (such as the Unification Ceremony) - everyone from TVD should've called it because it's ALWAYS a witch creating a new supernatural species! The even bigger factors come from: why killing triggers the werewolf curse (Inadu was murdered - by her mother), the history that combined werewolf abilities were once divided and needed a witch-like ceremony to come together, the story of how Inadu's bones were kept/used until she got her body back, and the very idea that - unlike vampires - werewolves are a bloodline curse allowed to reproduce. If I'm not being clear, the story of the Hollow correlates a lot with werewolf lore. My only headcanons are that werewolf venom became a thing as a result of vampires being created - a natural defense with a supernatural twist - and wolfsbane is a weakness because she died in a field of wolfsbane. With the fact that werewolves existed 500 years prior, that's half a millennia of history that's got lost, destroyed, or spread out in time (since you don't watch Legacies: Long story short, a Shunka Warakin - a creature Ioway Native American mythos that hunts werewolves - made an appearance. Liberties aside, that essentially says werewolves had a rival predator/there were so many werewolves that a creature like this came into existence), and that's not forgetting how much that loss was furthered by Klaus & Elijah engineering The Sune & Moon Curse to lift his own - imagine how many werewolves died listening to following that crap. So, thanks to The Hollow, we have an entire lost-to-be-rediscovered lore for werewolves. Who knows, maybe the Fated Mates in typical werewolf novels might have some truth in them as well😁.

Next, New Orleans. The very idea that The Hollow is a corrupted, evil soul capable of dark and impossible feats says so much. For starters, her very presence and influence can turn good people into evil-doing followers. If I had to go back, let's start with Xavier Dumas (Jackson's grandfather and the guy who murdered Elias and Brooke Labonair - my HC names for Hayley's parents if you don't mind). It was bad enough he was already upset with Elias for trying to make peace with Marcel, once the Hollow sunk her hooks into him, she used him to get access to one of her remaining remains and when he was of no use, he was left to accept his crimes as a disgraced wolf. Next, we see Vincent and his then not-evil-wife Eva dealing with Marcel's hold on the witches. When Vincent started practicing its magic with Eva - who took it a step further, Inadu started to influence them and their bodies. But for whatever reason, Vincent stopped practicing but Eva was already in her grasp. Now fast forward. I'm sorry, but did no one ask why a twenty-something witch was able to overcome an Original's possession over her body? Not even Alaric and Tyler were able to do it when Klaus possessed them. Like, that's badass as hell, but now that we know about Inadu and her thing for sacrificing witch children, it's very likely now we witnessed the first acolyte of the Hollow's cult through Eva and we just didn't know it - and considering she'd already had killed witches for her, the juice she got for empowering Inadu came into play in the form of gaining her body back from Rebekah. (I also have a theory Finn was corrupted by Inadu's leftover essence on Vincent - explaining his different behavior as Finncent vs in his own body, but nobody's ready for that talk😝). Now, let's move to the last group, the Ancestors. The very fact she was impressed by them and how it connects to the Harvest is interesting if you wanted to say the Harvest was created to give power to the Ancestral Well and keep The Hollow imprisoned. The killing of young witches, the passing on power to super-witch that Davina went through in S1, coming back not quite right but more to the Ancestors' cause? The very fact of all that the Ancestors knew about Inadu's origin story says they knew what she was and was capable of since the beginning and when the connection was destroyed in S3, in all good intentions, Vincent let a very bad cat out of the bag for Davina.

Lastly were Inadu's abilities. Compared to many others in the TVD Universe, not only was she a master at possession, she was able to practice magic in a vampire's body - which no one has done before, bring somebody back to life after having their heart ripped out, alter her blood to be toxic to a vampire, telepathic moral corruption, create corporal illusions capable of physical attacks, crushing hearts from the inside... honestly, The Hollow was a full package of feats that shouldn't go underutilized. I even say she didn't even need to feel scared when she had her original physical body back because she already had a plan and Hope - being her blood and easily located, helped by the fact she fears her - only says she knew things would work out. My only regret is that if done right, Inadu would have followed Hope into Legacies because she'd be the Boogeyman only she can face.

Most people hate Inadu for writing reasons and some hate her for being the reason the Mikaelsons were divided. But in the case of the latter, isnt that what made her a successful villain? A villain's job is to stop the heroes or antiheroes (the Mikaelsons) from getting what they want. The Hollow was a villain so powerful, so menacing, manipulating from the background while the living were clueless in their own troubles that inadvertently added in bringing her to power so she could be an active threat. TO was all about being a family and sticking together and she gave them no choice but to separate if they didn't want Hope possessed again. So technically, in life and in death, the Hollow is a successful villain as she kept the Mikaelsons apart and got to Hope in the end. Essentially an inevitable that did what no one else could do.

I am obsessed with how thorough this is.

I'll be honest that I don't spend a lot of time thinking about Inadu/The Hollow, simply because Season 4 and 5 are not my favorite seasons. But, not because I didn't like her story or the lore, simply because the writing starts to go off the rails and becomes very rushed.

But I agree, Inadu was one of the best villains in TO. And it's completely because, as you pointed out, she did what every other villain was attempting to do. She felt not remorse for it either. Don't get me wrong, I love most of the villains in TO, but the show, for the most part, would always back pedal at the end and make them "redeemable" villains. Which is why I liked Lucien, even in his last breath he did not try to be a better person. He was a villain through and through. Inadu took it even further because they don't offer any justification for her behavior. Yes, her family killed her, but because she was power hungry and murderous. She was essentially the Kai Parker of TO. And you're exactly right, people only don't like her because she was successful. They only like the villains when the villains are bad at it. Inadu had the entire city, including the Mikaelsons, running scared.

I loved that we finally got lore into the werewolves, they were such an underutilized species throughout TVDU. I'll have to actually watch Legacies if it goes into it more. I love your headcannons of how the werewolves evolved and played out. I would also add that Inadu likely added the "werewolf rage" to make them just like her. She was punished for her murderous mentality, so she wanted her family to feel how she felt, to behave as she had.

I only wish that we could have had a full season with Inadu. There was still so much to explore and a lot unanswered. She was incredibly powerful and I love that they never really defeat her. I agree, she should have gone on to Legacies. I hated at the end, Elijah and Klaus die to "kill" Inadu, but they had tried that before. I'm forgetting who it was, but Inadu was possessing someone and they killed that person and Inadu just went back to the ancestry plane and then possessed someone else. You may remember more and maybe I'm forgetting exactly why it worked, but to me, it was too easy.

I would have also loved to see the werewolves more invovled in the Inadu plot line, since it was their ancestor. But we only ever see Hayley. The werewolves completely disappeared after season 3.

I love this breakdown so much and I'm definitely holding onto it for future stories!

[distorted-creations]

thanks for letting us know! may we ask for a doorway two runa yomozuki from kakegurui pack? preferably with open culture names!

thank you in advance!

~🪦🩸

Your Doorway to The Student Council

[Image Description: A divider of purple and blue crystals in a wavy pattern. End ID]

🌀 Name(s): Runa Yomozuki; Brooke, Piper, Kimberly

🌀 Pronouns: she/her, ve/vir, candy/candys, pop/pops, sweet/sweets, sour/sours, gore/gores, card/cards

🌀 Age: 16 years old

🌀 Species: Human

🌀 Gender(s): strawberry milkshake xenogirl

🌀 Xeno(s): games, candy, violence

🌀 Sexuality: pansexual greyromantic

🌀 Role(s): Paichmate, Manipulator

🌀 Faceclaim:

🌀 Sign Offs: 🍭🃏

🌀 Likes:

gambling

sour candy

horror movies

🌀 Dislikes:

cheaters

reading

spicy food

🌀 Aesthetics: candycore, casino, scene

🌀 Fear Entity: The Slaughter

🌀 Extras:

Packs can be edited as needed; and alters might not turn out exactly as described.

[writingquestionsanswered]

If I'm outlining a plot and unsure of what should go between one plot point and the next (eg: between leaving hometown and making friends on a train), what should I do? thanks!

Unsure What Goes Between Plot Points

If there are no important plot points in-between... or in other words, if nothing important happens in-between two plot points, you would do a scene transition to get from one plot point to the next. If there's a only a minor change in time/setting, you might do a soft scene break (two line break). If there's a bigger change in time/setting, but the two events flow cohesively from one to another (usually when they're parts of a collective event), you might do a hard scene break (asterisks or custom scene divider.) If there's a really big change in time and setting and the next plot point begins a new event or series of events, you would probably want to do a chapter break/begin a new chapter.

If you feel like there should be plot points in-between... like if--using your example--you know something needs to happen between the character leaving home and getting on the train, but you're not sure what, you may want to look at some different story structure templates like Save the Cat Writes a Novel! or Larry Brooks Story Structure to get some ideas about different plot points and see if any can help you brainstorm ideas. Here are some previous posts that might help:

Guide: How to Turn Ideas into a Story Guide: Starting a New (Long Fiction) StoryGuide: Filling in the Story Between Known Events Creating a Detailed Story Outline

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

WIP File Game

I was tagged by @pookieh and @thelettersfromnoone Thanks for the tags, friends ❤️

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it. Tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I’m going to add some rules here because I plan on tagging a few artists as well. For artists, instead of a snippet, post a screenshot or pic of one part of your work I progress OR tell us a little bit about it. Maybe this won’t work so well since I’m operating on the assumption that artists, like writers, have multiple pieces that they might be working on at once… 😬

Sooooo… I had to pick and choose how I was gonna do this because the number of files after ten+ years of fanfic writing is slightly insane. And because I can, I’ve taken notes from @thelettersfromnoone and divide them into categories.

“In progress” means currently posting to ao3 but not complete. The last few on this list haven’t seen updates in close to a decade but they’re not abandoned yet (crazed laughter in the background).

Spellbound

Outside Chance*

Outside Expectations*

Outside the Lines*

Where the Stars Crumble to Life

Holiday Havoc Ensues

No Reason

Fickle Games

Ampersand

Everything You Are

One Last Hope

“In progress” actually means in the planning, outlining, and/or drafting stages. Pieces of these may or may not have already been posted to tumblr or other places but I am actively working on all of these, depending on my mood, and hoping to start posting the actual fics to ao3 within the next year…. Hahahahaha. 😒 There are a few notable exceptions that I’ll talk about if someone asks. This list is in no particular order.

Spiral & Collision / Ellipses and Ignition

Caught in the Net of the World

To Know Not to Be Known

Babbling Brookes*

Grief Catches Us All

You + Me

In the Eyes of My Love

The Turning of the Seasons

Hand porn

The Touch of Time

The Courtship of Lambs

Septimus

In the Waiting Dark (The Red Moon Rises)

Crush My Bones with Bittersweet

The Cold Side of the Bed

Nude Dude Food

Yeah, I’m not tagging that many people. And that’s the trimmed down version. 🤦🏻‍♀️ but I will tag a few!

If you so choose to play: @frick6101719 , @browneyeddevil , @deinde-prandium, @mrspeetamellark , @charlunday @am2c @gremlinddrawss @little-lynx

[alexa-yukiyu]

Ohh if you going to write Platonic reader

how about a male reader who's part of the straw hats and his devil fruit power is that he can talk and use dead people to fight (like Klaus from The Umbrella Academy)

he has a best friend who died but he talks to him all the time so he's never alone (like Klaus and Ben from The Umbrella Academy)

Gone but still there (Strawhats x male!reader)

A/N: I had to change it a little bit since im bot comfortable with the whole controlling dead people to fight nor I think the strawhats would be too happy about that but I made this instead, hopefully it is somewhat appealing to what you envisioned! It is not very good, I would say this one is a flop :(

Dividers by @/saradika

“Okay, are we ready?” Reader exclaims, staring at his crewmates around him. Robin and Nami sat at a table nearby, with Sanji bringing them both snacks and compliments. Zoro sat down in his favorite corner, eyes closed, with Chopper standing close to him; Luffy sat at the head of the Sunny as usual, with Franky and Ussop sitting together, tinkering with some gadgets they had. Jinbe sat at the boat's wheel, keeping watch of the course ahead, Brook standing nearby with his violin.

He looked up at the reader, smiling and waving his bony hand in excitement

“Yes! Im excited to hear what Doctor Hiriluk has to say this time.”

“Yohohoho, and im excited to hear what new songs my old crew-mates have learned since the last time we spoke.”

He smiles

“I promise I’ll go around with everyone!”

He sweatdrops staring at the small girl next to him

“Umm Zoro, I think Kuina really wants to say some things to you…”

His eyes open, and he walks over

"What did you want, Kuina?" he said with a bit of annoyance

He laughs nervously

“she said your form was off in your last fight, that only an idiot would make such a mistake.”

He sighed and shook his head a bit

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," he said sarcastically and started moving back to his corner

He sighs

“This is going to be a long one…Ah, Nami, Bellemere says you shouldn’t be hitting your crewmates.”

She gives a small sigh

"Well, when they don't listen, it's what happens. Thanks for the message." She said while fixing her bangs gently as she took a bite from her apple

"Robin You're mom says you should look up the Old Signs? Uh she says that the second part gives some interesting views on cryptography?"

"Hmm I will look into it, thank you for the suggestion"

“What about my Mom?” Ussop questions, glancing at Reader

“She says you should be more careful with your experiments; she hates to see you get hurt when one of them goes wrong.”

He chuckles softly at that

“I’m not a little kid anymore, though…”He said before he fell quiet and went about working with his tools

He cackles at what the crew can only guess is something one of the ghosts has said

“Ussop~ Your mom says you will always be her little baby.”

“That’s what she said?!” His hand froze on the tool in front of him as the other slowly wiped away his sweat, his eyes wide in shock and even some embarrassment at his mother’s words

He can’t help but laugh even harder at Ussop's embarrassment; he glances to the side as his laughs die down, now just chuckles escaping him as he smiles gently at his crew and all the one-sided conversations they were having with their loved ones, every once in a while he would step in to deliver a message to them. Still, even if it was one-sided, none of them cared, happily chatting with their loved ones, knowing they were there, listening to them.

Okay I was honestly debating if to put this one on a timer and then delete it but I think I smoothed it out at the end, but still debating that one.