#but he was good about it. we both get what's up and also we both bonded over crying for several hours

[dollfacefantasy]

caleb x fem!reader

you and caleb used to play fight a lot, but things are different now that you're older

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fauxcest, dry humping

a/n: um hehe just a small drabble cause i've been thinking... also i like the pipsqueak thing idgaf kiss me about it. imagine this takes place when she’s staying with him.

"isn't this around the time you'd usually cry mercy, pipsqueak?" he breathes, his smooth voice warming the air next to your ear.

a small grunt escapes you as you try to lift your arm to shove him off. your effort is pointless though. his grip tightens around your wrist, and he brings your limb back down to the floor without much effort.

“caleb, quit it!” you whine.

he just laughs at you. his body doesn’t move away an inch. he stays right where he his, hovering over your smaller frame.

the two of you used to play fight all the time as kids. you’d squabble over the remote or your toys. whiny arguments would morph into a small scuffle, a test of wills. so it felt natural today to lunge at him when he held the book you wanted to read just out of reach. getting physical made sense. you’d been so agitated with him keeping you here, you needed to blow off some steam. it just didn’t feel so good when reality set in as he wrestled you down to the floor like always.

“it’s not funny,” you say and try to jam your knee up into his abs.

he dodges the move and continues to smirk at you. “maybe not to you. but it’s pretty funny from up here. pretty cute too,” he teases.

you scowl, squirming some more. in your younger years, you’d always been able to fight back a little. you’d lose in the end, sure, but victory had been in reach a few times. now, caleb is stronger. he’s bigger, and he doesn’t fight like a scrappy high school kid but rather someone with training. you’re starting to realize you have no chance now, and part of you wonders if you ever did. or maybe he’d been going easy on you.

as if to taunt you, he slides your arms up above your head and grabs both your wrists with one hand. even with his other one free, he keeps you pinned with the same amount of force. it’s fucking humiliating. you feel your cheeks starting to heat up as he drags the back of his fingers along your jaw, cooing at you.

“you always used to get so angry like this too. so frustrated. you’d think you would’ve learned not to start fights you can’t win,” he mocks.

his thumb comes to sweep along your cheekbone, back in forth in slow strokes. he stares into your eyes while he does, almost studying you. it gets you heated for a whole other reason you don’t even want to acknowledge.

“get off of me,” you squeak, your voice much less aggressive now.

“maybe i will if you beg enough,” he taunts, “if you use your manners and say please like a good girl, i’ll consider it.”

“shut up!” you say. you kick a few more times and buck your hips to try and get loose.

in response, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams it back to the ground. you let out a little growl, assuming you’ll have to restrategize. but then he pushes his pelvis down on top of yours.

you gasp. all the fight leaves you in a harsh blow because now, unlike any of the other times you play fought with him, you feel a solid bulge pressing between your legs.

your eyes widen, and you sputter. you’re sure you look totally stupid right now. but you don’t know what else to do. there’s no question about it. he’s got a boner, and he’s rubbing it right up against you.

“i told you. you’re not gonna win. might as well surrender,” he says. he speaks in a completely even tone, as if nothing is different.

“c-caleb. what are you doing?” you start, “don’t be weird.”

“i’m not being weird,” he defends with feigned innocence, “we always used to mess around like this. what’s got you all shy now?”

you know why he’s asking. because he knows you won’t say it. the answer is so easy, yet you can’t bring the words to leave your lips.

“you know what,” you whine softly.

he chuckles and leans in even closer to your face. “maybe i do. but i don’t think that it’s weird. we’re not kids anymore. you can’t whine and wriggle around like that and expect me not to react,” he murmurs.

your heart beats harder in your chest. you can feel every thump. before you can say anything in return, he grinds his hips again, rolling his hardened length right up against you. and this time, it feels good.

“i- caleb- we can’t,” you whimper, biting your lip.

“we can’t? we can’t what? we’re not doing anything,” he says before grinning at you, “it doesn’t count if it’s over the clothes.”

you want to smack him, but both your arms are still immobile.

“it’s still weird. we’ve never- i don’t see you like this,” you insist, though the last statement is a complete lie.

he tsks and shakes his head before pushing his erection between your legs for another time. this one draws a whine out of you. his hips jump forward at the sound, but he doesn’t let his face show that burst of desire.

“what do you see me like then?” he whispers.

silence fills the air between the two of you as you fail to answer. you know what you see him as. you know your crush on him goes back years. you know what fantasies fill your head at night when you’re alone.

but you also know how you want to see him. what you’re supposed to see him as. what you’ve tried to limit his role to for so long.

“it’s ok,” he finally says, “i won’t make you say it if it’s that hard. but i know you like this. i know you, remember?”

he grinds against you again, but this time it’s not only once. now he sets himself into a rhythm, consistent swings of his hips against your center.

“i know when you’re happy, when you’re sad, when you’re ashamed,” he says, “i know when you want something, but you’re too scared to ask.”

ducking in, he kisses your neck. you moan in response, putting no effort into suppressing the noise now.

“that’s right, princess. your big brother knows you better than anyone, doesn’t he?” he coos mockingly.

“caleb!” you whine. you internally cringe at both titles, but outwardly, your face still contorts with pleasure.

“what?” he laughs, “that’s what you were gonna say before, wasn’t it?”

“but i didn’t,” you whimper.

“but you thought it, and it’s all the same to me,” he teases.

he refocuses his mouth on your neck again. his lips move over the column of your throat while his cock continues pressing right on your pussy. it feels better by the second. maybe it’s because he’s kissing your neck too, you’re not really sure. all you know is the hot, sparkling feeling in your stomach is building.

nipping at your pulse point, he then sucks on the skin like he wants to leave a mark. his tongue laves at it for a few moments before he pulls off.

“i’m gonna let go of your arms. you’re gonna behave, ok?” he mumbles against your skin.

“mhm,” you whimper and nod. the overt submission feels pathetic, but losing the feeling of him would be even worse.

“good girl,” he praises.

he keeps his word and releases his hold on your wrists. the air feels cool on your skin that’s all warmed up from his hands. now with his other arm in use, he can snake one around your ass and boost your hips. the new angle allows him to thrust against you harder.

“fuck, baby,” he grunts. you feel his lashes brush your neck as his eyes flutter.

your arms loop over his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. more little mewls spill from your lips. you can feel his stiff length sliding right up against your folds through your clothes. every swipe brings a blissful burst of friction to your poor throbbing clit.

“there you go. i got you. big brother’s got you,” he mumbles mindlessly. he chokes out a moan into your shoulder as his hips move like they have a mind of their own.

your body starts to squirm more. that hot feeling inside is reaching a boiling point. you clutch at his shirt, your nails digging in so hard they threaten to tear the fabric. the constant push and pull of his lower half is nearly hypnotic. it seems like you’ll be under him forever while also on the brink of letting go.

after a few moments more, he pulls back to look at you. his eyelids hang low, heavy with his desire for you.

“god, you’re so pretty. so fuckin’ beautiful now,” he says and presses his forehead to yours. his eyes shut while your breaths mingle. “i knew you wanted this too. just look at you. almost falling apart, and i haven’t even really touched you. i knew no one else could do this better.”

all you can do is whimper softly and cling to him harder. you pull on him as if trying to pull him into your body, to meld your two beings into one. the pressure down below feels dull and muted, but it’s blooming nonetheless.

“yeah… you’re gonna cum all over your pretty panties,” he mutters, “get ‘em all nice and wet so i can have some fun with ‘em later.”

“caleb…” you whine, useful words falling out of your grasp in this moment. one of your hands flies up and laces in his hair. your fingers clench into a fist, giving the strands a sharp tug.

he groans and bucks his hips extra hard. “c’mon. cum for me, baby. let me make my sweet little angel cum,” he murmurs.

it really doesn’t take much to get you there. the friction burn he’s rutting you both into works, and you feel yourself hit the high. euphoria rushes through you. a little breathy whine erupts from your lips. your back arches off the floor, but he keeps you cradled against him securely.

the whole time you’re cumming, he’s still humping you like his life depends on it. it’s when you start to come down, that he finally explodes. he buries his face in your neck, letting out the loudest moan you’ve heard so far. his arms tighten up around your frame as his fingers dig into your malleable flesh.

his hips jolt forward in random twitches now, chasing the last remnants of release while he spills inside his pants.

when he’s done, his breaths are harsh and labored. he nuzzles the crook of your neck before kissing your cheek and receding off your body. his palm runs over his face lazily.

“fuck, i gotta change now,” he says, not bothering to look down at the dark patch at the front of his pants.

without even really thinking about it, you reach forward for the waistline. you’re already craving more of him. but before your hand can get there, he takes your wrist.

“not so fast, pipsqueak. i think you should actually beat me before i let you have the real thing,” he smirks.

[muqingslover]

[ I've seen how Caleb is often described to be a sex god without any experience at every first time (and I eat it up) but I also think we should discuss the other side of it. Kinda of an addition to my previous post ]

Let's discuss virgin Caleb that since he hit puberty has been struggling with his own desires and when he finally received the green light from you it's like a dam was unleashed.

This man is BEYOND sensitive. And so damn needy too, to the point that greedy would be a much more suitable word for him.

He started having wet dreams about you after the first kiss and the walk of shame to the bathroom every morning to wash his boxers is very real.

He's got a leaking and painful boner every time you kiss him for a little too long and he can't get enough of the taste of your tongue on his.

Having you on his lap is both bliss and torture. He'd try to hide the fact he's hard the first few times, not wanting to scare or pressure you, but each time your hips pressed down against his boner he'd be rolling his eyes back into his head and forcing down a groan.

I'm a dry-humping truther and I firmly believe the first time he came with you was by rubbing himself against your leg like the dog he is while you two were making out.

Caleb is mortified about his first experience with a blow job and he wishes you'd forget such an embarrassing moment of him.

But in all honesty, it wasn't his fault. You offered out of nowhere, which left him no time to mentally prepare, and just by having you kneeling down in front of him with your hand wrapped around his cock had him gripping the edge of the desk behind him, to the point the wood creaked at the sheer pressure.

And when you licked along the precum that was dripping down his length and pushed your tongue against his swollen tip he came and he came hard. His cum coating your face, getting onto some parts of your hair and in your mouth.

It goes without saying that he spent the rest of the day apologizing, but the sight of you swallowing his cum that had gotten onto your lips made him dizzy and hard again.

I'm sure he'll be fantastic in bed eventually, but your first time is a mess. Literally. Caleb is so eager to explore the body he's desired for so long and to please you as much as you do to him.

Everywhere he can reach is littered with dark and very obvious hickeys.

He'd have your hands pinned next or above your head so you couldn't touch him otherwise he knows he won't last at all.

Though, all his efforts bear no fruit because the second this man bottoms out inside of your warm and tight insides he is cumming again.

His body would tremble as he held his entire weight on his forearms to not crush you and he bit down on his lips.

After switching condoms, you'd have to get on top while his shaky legs recover from his orgasm and oh gods he's really trying his fucking best right now.

He's panting against your neck when you roll your hips and cause a loud moan to escape his lips, followed by his strong arms wrapping around your middle like a bear hug as if to keep himself grounded. It's rather cute, really.

He'd come with you this time, if not a little before from you clenching around his cock and the sweet whimpers because he's oh so very sensitive.

His hands would feel up your thighs then shamelessly grab your ass while he looked up at you, loving the view of you on top of him and he's got the cockiest grin you've ever seen on his face.

Now we're talking about someone with YEARS of suppressed sexual desires so you better brace yourself because he's far from done.

Caleb would use the entire night to learn everything he possibly can about your body, besides what he already knew. Each sweet spot that make you cry so good for him and just how deep he can hit inside of you to have you gasping for more.

He's sloppy, he's desperate, he's pathetic and it's messy. He'd ask between shaky breaths and his tone is almost whiny "Does that good? I need you to talk to me sweetheart, c'mon."

"Tell me what you want and I'll do it. Teach me how to make you feel good."

"Can I go deeper? Fuck- Please? Please? you feel so good-"

"I can't stop— Just one more, I'll make it good for you too, please, gods please, I need more of you or I'll go insane."

Caleb is the type of pathetic loser that would get a nosebleed while he pounded into you for the nth time.

He'd kiss you when you showed concern, spit trickling down your chin as the taste of iron would spread on your tongue before he pulled away to admire the sight of you completely disheveled for him. Because of him.

He licks the few drops on your chest, the crimson smearing with the sweat glistening on your skin and leaving a trail that only added to the perverted satisfaction that you're his.

Almost every position is crossed off the list in a single night and he's willing to do anything you ask of him. You want to ride him again? He's sat. You want him to hit it from the back? He's got you on your hands and knees already. You want him to eat you out? Please, by all means take a seat on his face. You have complete control over everything that happens most of the time.

It's morning by the time you two pass out, or run out of condoms in the box honestly, but you can fully expect him to try something when he gets into the shower with you the next day. Hey, he's just helping you clean up like a good boyfriend should ;) .

[science-fiction-is-real]

another thing i will point out.

A lot of the magic we see in LOTR is perhaps not so much literal magic as what people in a pre-industrial society perceive as magic. The natural world itself, the passage of time, the turning of history, the puzzling behavior of human beings, all of these things are both natural and supernatural in lord of the rings.

In "fellowship" the gang makes the comically stupid decision to climb a mountain in the middle of December and inevitably they are trapped in a massive blizzard. (This is how we know the book was written by an Englishman). They speculate that perhaps Saruman might be cursing the weather (taken literally by the Jackson films), but Gimli is convinced that the Mountain itself is trying to kill them.

Is the mountain actually trying to kill them? Who the hell knows. It's December and it tends to blizzard on mountains in December. But Gimli KNOWS that mountain, it's a culturally important landmark for his people. He grew up hearing songs and stories about it, probably many stories of similarly stupid travelers who decided to climb the mountain when they should not have. It is a natural normal mountain, but it is also a magical mountain that kills people who tries to climb it, and both of those things are true at the same time in Middle Earth.

Later as they make it out of the mines and approach Lothlorian, Legolas is extremely excited because because now they get to visit an important landmark from his culture, and its his turn to tell stories and sing songs. It should be noted that Legolas has never in his life visited Lothlorian. He's never met anyone from there, hasn't ready any books about it, and there aren't regular messages or correspondence between his wood-elf kingdom and Lothlorian. All he has are song and stories and oral tradition. And that is good enough for Legolas.

On the borders of Lothlorian is a river that Legolas is convinced is magic. Apparently if you put your feet in the water, it will wash away all of your wariness and aching and heal your muscles. He has an entire unprompted musical number about the river, and no one tells him to shut up because they literally have no other way of passing the time besides talking and singing while they are out on the road.

Frodo sticks his feet in the river, and lo and behold, his feet feel much much better, and he suddenly feels a lot less tired than he did before. This is how one would expect to feel if they stuck their tired feet in very cold running water. So is the river actually magical, or is it just a normal river that makes your feet feel better in a naturalistic way? It is both. They are one in the same in Middle Earth.

To people who grow up in a pre-industrial, pre-scientific world, the line between magic and nature is not exactly clear cut. And the natural world can seem magical because there are no scientific explanations for what people observe. Tolkien, who was a professor of medieval literature, may have been keenly aware of this way of viewing the world.

One of the funny things about LotR is that almost every people in it professes to disbelieve in the supernatural, but because they live in a fantasy world their baseline for "natural" is so jacked up. The Rohirrim are like, yeah, there's a wizard in this tower and ancient tradition that we have no reason to doubt says this mountain is full of ghosts, but walking trees? Short people? I don't think so. Galadriel is like, "Listen I heard you describe what I do as magic and look I just gotta clear some things up, okay." Gondorians are like, yeah, of course the Enemy has spectres of men who lived long ago and never died and can now fly above us and incapacitate us with just their voices. This is just a fact of life, okay? But shut up about this magic weed that makes comatose people better. That's an old wives' tale. Royalty? Press X to doubt.

The people group in Tolkien's work who seem most receptive to magic and least restricted by their own notions of what it can do actually seem to be the hobbits. And they use it to avoid meeting people they don't want to talk to

[thehighladywrites]

— “Bless me.”

☀︎ — pairing: nerd azriel x bimbo reader

☀︎ — summary: this is a little flashforward of what life looks like for you and azriel at different milestones!

☀︎ — warnings: sexual themes, fluff, pregnancy, smut

☀︎ — amara’s note: guys this is it💔 it’s been so fucking fun snd i’ve loved writing for them!!

series masterlist

The proposal

After four grueling years of college, you were about to walk the stage, hand in hand with Azriel. Both of you were dressed in matching black gowns and caps. You’d begged for a pink gown, but had to settle for pink heels, nails, and gorgeous Alaïa dress.

Azriel looked sinful in the suit you picked out while you were out shopping together. It was honestly dangerous to shop for him, that changing room was practically begging you to drag Azriel in it.

He also thought about ditching his glasses and that made you kinda sad because you loved seeing him in his glasses, he was so painfully cute in them.

“Not the glasses, baby. Please—you gotta leave ‘em on.” Honestly, you would beg if you had to. But Azriel didn’t let you beg he just nodded and kept them on.

He didn’t have time to think too much of it.

Because he was busy sweating bullets, not just from the ceremony’s heat but because of the diamond ring hidden in his pocket. The ring he had been saving 2 years for. It was for sure the most expensive thing he had ever purchased but the exclusive internship had paid well and you were going to get a good fucking ring.

As you waited to walk across the stage, Professor Lawder, looking fabulous in her academically decorated scholar gown, approached you and Azriel with a warm smile. “So, what are your plans after college?”

Azriel shyly smiled before letting her know what he’d been up to. “I’ve been offered a position at a company, Professor.”

Professor Lawder’s eyes widened with admiration. “That’s fantastic, Azriel! I always knew you’d achieve great things.”

You’re heart was overflowing with pride and joy for him as you chimed in with your signature bubbly enthusiasm, “He’s being super modest! He’s going to Synergy Tech! Dunno what they do there, but Azriel loves it there and they’re lucky to have him.”

Professor Lawder’s jaw dropped in amazement, clearly impressed. Synergy Tech was one of the worlds most leading companies in technological innovation and getting offered a job was no easy task. Azriel’s cheeks flushed a cute shade of red as he shifted nervously, his hand discreetly brushing against the hidden ring box. You gave him a reassuring squeeze, your happiness bubbling over.

“That’s very, very impressive and I wish you nothing but luck! And what about you, Ms. L/N?” Professor Lawder asked with a gentle smile.

You shrugged and gave a dazzling, slightly clueless grin. “Oh, um, well, I haven’t really thought that far ahead. College was, like, super tough, and I’m just ready to, you know, have fun and see what happens! Maybe travel with my man a bit, find some cute hobby or, like, just live in the moment. Who knows?”

Professor Lawder’s smile grew more amused and approving. “Well, it sounds like you’re ready to enjoy whatever comes your way.” Professer Lawder hugged you both before wishing you good luck one last time before you walked the stage. It was a wonderful feeling and you were so glad it was finally over. You cheered loud as fuck when Azriel was awarded with several honors diplomas and got a medal for his stellar grades.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you come with me for a moment?” Azriel asked after taking pictures with your friends and family.

“Okay! Where are we going, baby?” asked with a bright smile, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you held your diploma in one hand.

Azriel’s smile grew more tender as he led you away from the crowd and into the quiet math building, the very first place you two met. The empty hallway seemed much smaller and more insignificant than it used to be.

He gently took your hand in his, guiding you to the old seats where you first bonded. As you both settled into the familiar space, Azriel took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart.

Okay, this was it. He was totally going to do it.

Azriel looked at you with an intense, tender gaze. “I’m insanely in love with you,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion.

You put a hand on his chest, your sparkly eyes lighting up with joy. “Awww, I love you too,” you smiled, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

Azriel took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes twinkling with a mix of nerves and adoration.

“You’ve completely changed my life,” he began, his voice wavering with emotion. “From the moment we met, I knew you were someone extraordinary. You’ve brought so much joy, love and laughter into my world, more than I ever thought possible for someone like me.”

He smiled at you, his cheeks flushed with a mix of boyish excitement and nervousness. “I want to make you as happy, forever. You deserve every bit of happiness, love and devotion in the world, and I want to be the one to give it to you.”

Azriel took a deep breath, his eyes full of tender love as he knelt down on one knee as best as he could while being stuck in the back of the classroom. With a trembling hand, he opened a black velvet box to reveal a stunning ring that sparkled with every color of his affection for you.

“Please, bless me by becoming my wife,” he asked softly, his voice filled with heartfelt sincerity. “I want to spend the rest of my life loving you and making you as happy as you’ve made me. I want to be your husband and the father of our kids, your rock, your trusted. Please, allow me be yours. Marry me, my love.”

You gasped, your hand flying to your mouth as your eyes filled with tears. In no time you started sobbing. You didn’t glance at the ring, just Azriel’s eyes that were so filled with love.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes! I’ll marry you!” you squealed, your voice high-pitched with excitement. Tears streamed down your face as you flung yourself into Azriel’s arms, knocking him back. He held firm, never letting you go.

You buried your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Az,” you hiccupped between breaths, “I love you so much. Like, I can’t even—oh my god!”

Azriel’s chest vibrated with a quiet laugh, his dimples deepening as he pressed his cheek against your hair. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, his voice steady despite the overwhelming emotion tightening his throat. “I love you too.”

You sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your mascara smudged and your eyes sparkling. “We’re gonna be, like, the cutest married couple. We’ll have an amazing life and there’s so much we’ll do! We’re so perfect and hot and we can literally do whatever because we’re married.”

His lips curved into that rare, quiet smile reserved only for you. “Whatever you want,” he assured softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m all in.”

You beamed through your tears, your voice bright despite the emotion clinging to it. “Duh, you kinda have to be now. I’m gonna be your wife. And I’m just gonna let you know now—I’m very high maintenance.”

Azriel’s heart flipped at the way you so confidently called yourself his wife already, and then he laughed, low and warm, because of course you were high maintenance. “So, no big changes there, huh?”

“Nope!” you said proudly, popping the p. “But I know you’ll take such good care of me and it means the world to me.” Your hand lifted, thumb gently brushing across his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. “God, Azzie, I couldn’t love someone more than I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. ”You’re totally the love of my life.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as he gently took your hand. Slowly, he lifted the stunning light pink diamond ring from its velvet box and, with steady hands, slid it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, sparkling as though it had been made just for you.

You leaned in, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, your eyes drifted down to the ring resting perfectly on your finger. It sparkled brilliantly—a huge pink diamond that practically glowed in the light. Your eyes widened in awe, lips parting in delight.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, voice trembling with excitement. “It’s so perfect. I’m gonna cry, Azzie.” You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Are ya sure you want me as your wife? Like, forever?” you added softly, the last part coming out almost shy.

Azriel’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion. The mere thought of not wanting you made his chest ache. He would’ve married you right after your first tutoring session if you’d let him.

“Of course I do. Do you have any doubts, my love?” the thought made his stomach hurt. “Do you not want to do it?”

You shook your head vehemently. “No! I mean, yes, I wanna do it. But—what if you get bored of me?” You bit your lip nervously. “I mean, I can’t exactly have intellectual conversations with you or whatever. Ya know I’m not that smart, right?”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he fought back a smile. This was all coming from the girl who had trouble pronouncing colonel.

“You’re very smart, first of all. And I’m not marrying you for debates, sweetheart,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m marrying you because you’re my love and I don’t need anything else. Just you.”

Your heart melted as you softly kisses your future husband. “Okay, then. I wanna be your wife.”

————————————————————————

The wedding

Did anyone think your wedding would be small? Absolutely not. You hadn’t shut up about wanting a huge, fat Plaza wedding where everyone you knew would be invited, and you’d party all night with your insanely handsome husband while wearing a stunning Ellie Saab gown and sky-high Jimmy Choos. It had been your dream since you were a little girl.

You had all these plans, all these meticulously crafted visions for your perfect day, the flowers, the venue, the glitz, and glam but nothing, nothing, could have ever compared to the reality.

Nothing could have compared to Azriel.

Not the faceless groom who had always existed in your girlish dreams. Not the exclusivity of the prestigious venue or the shimmering of the evening.

Because it was him.

His steady hand holding yours as if he never intended to let go. The way his eyes never left you, not when you walked down the aisle, not when you exchanged vows, and certainly not as you danced in his arms under the soft glow of chandeliers.

Azriel made your dream wedding look trivial in comparison. He was the only part of the fantasy you’d never dared to dream up, and yet, he was better than anything you could’ve imagined.

At one point, you had actually wanted to elope. You literally couldn’t wait to marry him, pestering and prodding him every chance you got.

“Ya sure we shouldn’t just run away and get married? Wouldn’t it be sooo much fun, Azzie?” you’d asked, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

And yeah, Azriel totally wanted to marry you as soon as possible. The idea of waking up next to you as his wife was all he ever wanted. But he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about the wedding, how you dreamed of wearing a baby pink dress that wouldn’t be done justice in a courthouse was the only thing stopping him from saying yes.

“I would love to, sweetheart,” he had said, brushing his thumb gently over your knuckles. “But I know you want a beautiful wedding, and that’s exactly what we’ll have.”

And he’d made good on that promise. Because here you were, twirling on the dance floor in a stunning soft pink Ellie Saab gown that shimmered under the chandeliers, the air filled with laughter and love, all while Azriel’s gaze never left you, utterly captivated by the woman he was lucky enough to call his wife.

It was a small wedding, just your closest friends and family gathered intimately but it was still at the Plaza, still the fairytale wedding you had always dreamed of.

You beamed up at him, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can you believe we’re actually married? Like, you’re my husband. I can call you my husband now. That’s so hot, like, ‘Oh yeah, let me get my husband,’ or ‘My husband knows what to do.’”

Azriel’s lips quirked into that quiet smile reserved just for you. “I think you’ve said ‘husband’ more times in the past minute than most people do in a week.”

“And it’s only the beginning,” you giggled, leaning closer. “I’m never getting over this, husband.”

His hand found the small of your back, grounding you in that gentle, steady way only he could. “Good. Because neither am I, wife.”

Then he gave you the softest, most loving kiss ever. It was a kiss filled with the promise of your future, the one you’d spend together.

—

Sand. Palms. Warm weathers and the ocean.

You had been surrounded by your favorite things with your favorite person. It had been a few days since your wedding and you were now on your honeymoon.

The private island your father had gifted you as a married couple was absolutely perfect. It was completely magical and completely hidden away.

A single sprawling villa stood at the heart of it, with panoramic views of the turquoise ocean. Vibrant flowers bloomed in every imaginable color, their fragrance mingling with the salty breeze. Fruit trees, heavy with sweet, ripe fruit, dotted the landscape. And you were sharing it all with your husband.

That’s right, Azriel was officially your husband now, and you were his freaking wife. Sometimes it didn’t feel real, and other times it felt very real.

Like those times when Azriel made you ride him, begging you to call him nothing but husband. And he called you nothing but wife. His sweet wife, his beautiful wife, his sexy wife.

Azriel was unbelievably romantic, spoiling you left and right with thoughtful little gifts. Yesterday it was a jaw-dropping pair of diamond earrings; the day before that, a golden anklet etched with your initials intertwined. Every step you took made that anklet jingle softly, a reminder of how deeply he loved you.

It was also a cute reminder when he folded you in half, ankles in the air as the jewelry jingled. You had fucked just about everywhere. Outside, inside, on tables, in the hammock, on the beach chairs, and even right on the beach itself. That was the privilege of being utterly alone. You could do whatever the hell you wanted, scream and moan as loud as you pleased, without a single soul hearing or seeing Azriel slut you out.

That’s why you’d packed the sluttiest outfits imaginable — stringy bikinis, barely-there skirts, and see-through dresses. All scraps of fabric that Azriel would be tearing off anyway.

Your favorite ensemble was the white silk nightgown from Agent Provocateur that you’d worn on the first night. It was bridal, beautiful, and the match that lit this trip. The second Azriel saw it, he’d lost control and sanity. You’d ended up in so many positions that you couldn't walk without help the next day. He’d truly worn you out.

You still remembered the way his eyes had darkened when you stepped out of the bathroom and spun for him, showing off that sinful gown.

That was probably why you were now slipping into a baby pink lace bra and panties set — delicate and stunning. You tied it all together with a silk robe that wasn’t hiding anything, only highlighting everything. An open invitation, really.

“How’s dinner going, husband?” you asked, your freshly manicured hand grazing down his shirtless back.

“It’s coming along nicely, actually. Are you hungry, sweetheart?” he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose and scrunching it adorably as he stirred the sauce.

You smiled at the little quirk you loved so much. His glasses made your heart race every time. “Uh-huh, sure. I’m hungry. Actually, I’m reeeeally hungry.”

“Yeah? It’ll be done soon, and—”

His words faltered when he glanced down at you.

There was so much love and lust swirling in your gaze, your pupils dilated and locked on him. His throat went dry, forcing him to swallow once—then again.

“Everything okay, husband?” you asked innocently, voice soft and sweet, knowing damn well you were driving him crazy. There was nothing innocent or sweet about the way your hand dragged down his chest, all the way to his built abs and v-like that disappeared down his pants.

Azriel’s voice came out rough. “Oh, you’re not being fair, sweetheart.”

A slow, playful smile curled your lips. “Azzie, c’mon let’s fuck. Right here, right now.” you grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the kitchen island. There you looked up at him with those doe eyes, all innocent and sweet before you carefully let your robe drop.

“So, you gonna make me beg? i’ll totally do it,” you suggest with a little smile.

“Alright then, beg.”

—

“Wait—don’t hide your pretty face from me—fuck,” azriel reaches over and grabs both your hands in one of his.

God, you were being slutted out, whimpering mindlessly as you bounced in his lap. his ridiculously big dick was fittin’ just right, so snugly deep in your cunt.

“I want to see my wife’s face, so fucking pretty, might just cum from looking at it,” azriel was also a mumbling mess, groans and noises of pleasure escaping him whenever you lifted yourself and sat back down, your cunt sucking him in greedily.

The house was filled with so sinful noises, the noises were just sloppy, nasty, each ‘plop!’ and ‘pap!’ that echoed from both bodies was sending a wave of chills down azriel’s spine. The loud sounds echoing through the room only spurred him on more, making him fuck you harder, deeper, wanting to hear you cry louder.

“mm- az, there baby. righttttt there, fuck me good,” you’d weep out in a sweet whimper. he was in so fucking deep. A ring of cum had started to form around the base of his dick and dripped down his balls from how wet you were. you felt every delicious stroke, felt the way his tip kissed your cervix. fuck- you rolled your hips in circles, making his already fuzzy brain go more empty.

the combo of your sinful hips and the way your wet cunt was vacuuming each and every inch was just pushing him closer to the edge, turning him into a fucking mess. “o- oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum. keep ridin’ me, ride me good—shit, I-I think i’m gonna cum.” Azriel’s brows furrow in pleasure as he pushes the hair that fallen over his eyes back.

“ ‘s okay, azzie. you can c- cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly against the crook of his neck. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as your hips rut into him quicker.

“god- ‘m cummin’ fuck- ‘m cumming,” he moans, and his entire body erupts. his hand snakes down between your perspiring bodies just as he rubs tight circles on your clit, the small move pushing you over the edge as your walls spasm around his leaking tip, still spurting out rope after rope as your fell against his chest.

Your eyes are glossed over in pleasure and you felt like bawling your eyes out. There was nothing more beautiful than post sex with Azriel. It was all so emotional and sweet and you didn’t miss the way he held you closer.

Your pulled away from him, just enough to see his face. Azriel was already staring at you with no less lust or love than before. You pouted a bit before kissing his swollen lips. He’s so pretty, god.

Azriel’s inside were swirling around and it didn’t help that you were looking up at him, freshly fucked with so much love and submission in your eyes. It was like your eyes were saying the words you couldn’t. Azriel’s hand carefully stroked your bottom lip from your between your teeth.

“These eyes, man. You keep looking at me like that and I might get you pregnant, sweetheart.”

Azriel as a dad? A DILF? Fuck yeah.

“Do it then, knock me up, Azzie.”

————————————————————————

The pregnancy

You stood in front of the mirror, frowning as you tried to zip up your cute, frilly mini skirt. It wasn’t fitting quite like it used to. “Hm, there must be something wrong with this skirt. It’s not fitting me anymore,” you muttered, tugging at it a little. You huffed in frustration but quickly brightened. “Oh well, I guess that means it’s time to go shopping!”

You slipped on your favorite pair of black Manolos, but as you tried to squeeze your feet into them, they didn’t quite cooperate. You wiggled your toes and huffed again, forcing them in. “No way are my Manolos not fitting. They have to. These are my favorite!” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you took a few shaky steps, struggling to balance.

Azriel walked in, his brow furrowing in concern when he saw you wobbling. “Everything okay, love?” His gaze drifted down to your feet, then to your stomach. He couldn’t help but notice how your clothes didn’t seem to fit as they usually did.

You stumbled a little, catching yourself on the vanity. “I don’t get it, Azzie. This skirt and my shoes… why aren’t they fitting? I haven’t changed that much have I ?!” Your confusion was evident as you looked at him, a little panicked.

Honestly, it had been three years since you graduated college and two since getting married. Did you just put on some weight?

You turned your head to Azriel, hands clamped infront of you in all seriousness. God you were totally gonna die if he said yes. “Azzie, am i getting fat?”

“No, no, sweetheart,” Azriel said quickly, his hands gently brushing over your arms, his touch soothing as if to reassure you that everything was okay. “You look healthy. I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “But… Azzie,” you gestured at your shoes, “these are my Manolos, they should always fit!”

Azriel chuckled softly, his smile warm and affectionate. “Do you want to get new ones?” he asked, his voice light as he gently helped you out of your clothes, clearly more focused on making you comfortable than anything else.

You let out a sigh, the panic easing just a bit. “That sounds nice, Azzie. Thanks,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude, feeling the love in every small thing he did for you.

Not just the small things—but the big things too. Azriel’s job was stupidly well-paying, and he was loaded. It was a reward for all his hard work in school, and it made you so proud. He was the main provider and never expected a penny from you, spoiling you rotten and taking the promise of taking care of you very seriously.

He knew you’d lived a life of glamour and glitz, and lord knows he wasn’t about to mess that up. Azriel had even told your father that he’d step up and take care of you the second he landed his job as a very important something at a tech company…thingy. You never really knew what he did, but he was so hardworking and cool that it didn’t really matter.

—

Azriel noticed the changes in you immediately. You were moodier than usual, avoiding your favorite foods—especially your beloved strawberry sweets—and, to top it all off, you’d missed your period. He knew your cycle well and tracked it enough to know that a missed period was a rare occurrence. And you? Avoiding your favorite sour strawberry candy? That was unheard of.

Azriel couldn’t help but also notice how extra clingy you’d become, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. He loved you dearly, after all. You wrestled normally very clingy but not like this. For the past two weeks, you had been practically glued to his side.

You napped on top of him like you couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. You wrapped yourself around him as if you were a koala bear, holding on tight while he read or worked. And when he left the house—even for just a few minutes, you’d become teary-eyed, giving him a sad pout as if he were leaving for an eternity.

It was both endearing and a bit concerning for him. Azriel couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the sudden shift in your behavior made him wonder. Was something off? Was this just a phase? Or, as he suspected, was it something more?

Either way, he couldn’t deny that he secretly loved the extra closeness. He’d never seen you so needy, and God you were needy at times, but it made him feel needed in a way that was deeply comforting. He would brush your hair from your face and kiss your forehead, trying his best to reassure you when you would cry about the most random things—like when he’d gone to grab groceries for ten minutes, or when he had to step out to take a call.

“You okay, love?” he asked softly, brushing a few stray hairs behind your ear as you curled up next to him once again.

“I just missed you, Azzie,” you replied, your voice small but full of affection as you nuzzled into his side before you sobbed again.

Azriel chuckled lightly, his fingers tracing comforting patterns on your back. “I’m right here, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

It was a little intense, but it also made his heart swell to know just how much you needed him.

He had a strong hunch that you might be pregnant, but he couldn’t say for sure yet. So, being the overprepared and cautious person he was, he did what any sane person would do: he bought eight different pregnancy tests.

“Juuuust to be sure,” he muttered to himself as he set the tests down on the bathroom counter, glancing over at you. You were sitting on the bed, still unaware of his little purchase.

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he was seeing the changes in you. And it really didn’t help that you were fucking like bunnies everywhere, everyday for so long without any protection.

Azriel cleared his throat, looking far too calm for someone who had just bought eight pregnancy tests. “So, sweetheart, I think I know what’s going on with you. You might be pregnant. And I’ve bought you the market’s top-rated tests.” He said it with a certain air of professionalism, like he was pitching an idea, and it left you utterly confused.

You stared at him, blinking. “Huh? Eight tests? Ain’t that kind of… a bit much?”

Azriel, however, was completely unfazed. “You see, my love, you can never be too careful. And I also suggest we visit a doctor’s office.” He handed you a massive glass of water, like it was a peace offering. “Just to help smooth things over,” he added, his eyes darting away, a faint blush creeping across his face when you arched an eyebrow at the absurdly large glass of water.

You stared at the massive glass of water, then back at Azriel. “Azzie, this is, like, a lotta water. You trying to drown me or something?” you giggled, swirling the glass dramatically before gulping it down with determination.

Azriel’s lips twitched into a smile, but he stayed close, clearly taking this whole situation very seriously. His gentle instincts wouldn’t allow for anything less.

With all eight pregnancy tests clutched in your hands, you made your way to the bathroom. “You’re staying right outside, right?” you asked, pointing a manicured finger at him. “I need you with me, Azzie baby.”

Azriel nodded, leaning against the wall like the dutiful husband he was. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll be just outside.”

After a few tense minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom, wide-eyed, holding up the tests like some dramatic reveal on a reality show.

Each one displayed a positive result—two lines, a digital readout, even one that estimated how far along you were in weeks. No doubt about it. You were pregnant.

You blinked down at the assortment of tests, then back at Azriel, your voice trembling. “Azzie,” you whispered, tears welling up. “We’re having a baby.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, wonder filling his expression as he stepped closer, gently cupping your face. “My love,” he said, voice low and filled with awe. “We’re having a baby.”

You sniffled, overwhelmed, then suddenly let out a laugh through your tears. “Oh my god, I’m actually going to freak out! I already love her so much—I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Azriel’s lips curved into a soft laugh, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “Her? You think it’s a girl?”

You nodded lovingly. “Totally. I just know it, Azzie. You’re so a girl dad. And she’s gonna be adorable and for sure super smart, just like you.”

Azriel’s laugh deepened, warm and genuine. “Then she’ll be perfect, just like her mom,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

—

Pregnancy was unique, and Azriel found it endlessly charming. The way you waddled around in your third trimester never failed to make his heart swell. You didn’t think it was cute, but to Azriel, it was nothing short of endearing. And he made sure to let you know it every chance he got.

It hadn’t started out easy, though. Morning sickness had you in its grasp for weeks, and you couldn’t help but blame Azriel for it every time it hit. One day, after a particularly rough attempt at cooking chicken, you were hunched over the toilet, and when Azriel walked by, you just couldn’t help yourself.

“You did this to me!” you yelled, your voice a mix of frustration and nausea. “I’m sick, and it’s all your fault, Azriel. God, I can’t even eat chicken anymore and—”

But your rant was cut short when the reminder of the chicken hit you again, and you immediately had to empty your guts once more.

Azriel stood there, helpless but always ready to support you. He nodded in agreement, his face a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “It’s all my fault,” he agreed quickly, his voice full of mock guilt. “I’m so sorry for getting you pregnant. How irresponsable of me.”

You shot him a look, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, it’s totally your fault,” you said dramatically, sinking down onto the cool bathroom floor and leaning your head on his shoulder as he crouched next to you.

Azriel didn’t mind; he just wrapped an arm around you, offering comfort. Even as you faced the discomforts of pregnancy, you refused to wear anything you didn’t like. You weren’t about to settle for ugly maternity clothes, not when you could still squeeze into your regular outfits. And so what if your t-shirt was riding up your stomach? it was still cute and you’d wear just that. It was just you plus a bump.

Even with you sick and throwing up left and right, Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen you so beautiful. You were glowing and had this ethereal beauty surrounding you at all times. It made no sense at times that someone as beautiful as you existed.

—

In these final weeks, the fear of giving birth and the reality of taking care of the baby were your biggest worries. Azriel, always attentive, made sure to check on you daily, asking if you had any pain, discomfort, or thoughts you needed to share.

You sighed deeply, looking over at him. “Well, I’m kinda scared, baby.”

Azriel scooted closer, rubbing your feet, and the second his hands made contact, it felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders. His touch was like magic, calming your racing thoughts.

“Yeah? Wanna talk about it?”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “I’m scared of giving birth, ya know? I watched some videos, and honestly, I’d rather not do it at all. Like, babies should be born painlessly, right? I know it’s gonna hurt like a bitch, and I’m just… terrified.”

Azriel leaned in, his hand still caressing your foot gently. “I won’t lie to you, honey, it’s gonna be scary,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. “But listen to me: you’re not going to be alone. I’m going to be right there with you, every step of the way. I’ll hold your hand, I’ll be the one to remind you how strong you are. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back into him, feeling his warmth and the sincerity of his words. The fear didn’t disappear entirely, but with him beside you, it seemed just a little more manageable. “I jus’ don’t wanna mess it up. I want to be a good mom, ya know?”

“You’ll be an amazing mom. The best,” Azriel said without hesitation, his voice full of certainty. “You’ve already proven that. And we’ll be doing this together, so you’ll never be alone.”

You smiled, feeling a little braver. “Thanks, Azzie. I really needed to hear that.”

“Always, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand still holding yours with a tenderness that made you feel like you could take on anything. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “So, does this officially make you a dilf?”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah, and just like that, you’re a milf,” he teased, his smile growing as he gave your belly a gentle rub.

You liked the sound of that, you and Azriel officially being hot parents.

—

“Okay, I need this baby to get the fuck out.”

Yes, that’s right. You were still very pregnant, and it was starting to drive you mad. Hot one second, cold the next, hungry then nauseous. Everything felt off, and you were so uncomfortable. You were too damn pregnant.

“Oh my god, just get out, get out, get outtttt!”

Azriel stood next to you, trying to be supportive as usual. He was breathing way too loud, and standing just a little too close. “Seriously, breathe louder, Az. That’s just great,” you snapped, throwing your hands up in frustration. Your pink diamond ring caught the light, and your eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Sorry, I’ll just stop,” he said casually, clearly not bothered by your outburst.

Great. Now you felt fucking awful. He wasn’t the one who’d been throwing up for the past few months but he’d been the one holding your hair back, rubbing your feet, and making sure you were comfortable 24/7. You definitely didn’t want to stop breathing because that would cause him to die and you just couldn’t have that.

“‘m sorry,” you said, your voice shaky as you reached for him, burying your face in his shoulder. “Didn’t mean to snap. I don’t want you to stop breathing. You’re not annoying, I’m just—” you sniffled, feeling like a mess. “I love you so much, but gods, I’m so over being pregnant. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Please don’t hate me.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as you broke down into his shoulder, his hand instinctively moving to soothe you. He wrapped you in his arms, pulling you closer as he gently rubbed your back, his presence steady and grounding.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “I know you’re done. You’ve been so strong this whole time, and I’m proud of you. But we’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

You sniffled, your face buried in his shirt, feeling the warmth of his embrace despite the chaos swirling in your mind. “I just feel like I’m going to lose it. I’m too hot, then cold. I can’t eat without feeling sick, and everything aches. I just want her here already. I love her so much, but I can’t do this anymore.”

Azriel chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment as he whispered, “How about we get her out by going for a walk and eating something spicy? Heard that works wonders. And if that doesn’t, uh… I heard sex helps.”

The blush creeping up his neck was unmistakable, and your heart squeezed at how he still managed to get shy around you.

You grinned through your tears. “How about we skip all that and head straight to the part where you fuck me real good?”

Azriel’s lips curved into a slow smile, though his face was still red. “Y-Yeah—hell yeah. Let’s do that.”

And he did. One very good fuck fest and 7 hours of labor brought your beautiful baby girl into the world. She was perfect—so tiny, so sweet, and when she opened her eyes, they were unmistakably Azriel’s.

“You did it, sweetheart,” Azriel whispered as he held her close, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s here. Our babygirl is finally here. Thank you, my love. For blessing us. For your hard work. I’m so proud of you.”

Azriel kissed you deeply and as you looked at your baby girl and the love of your life, you knew every ache and tear had been worth it.

—————————————————————————

Life

You kissed the top of her head, her soft black hair looking just like her father’s. You sat on the couch with your 6-month-old baby girl nestled in your arms. When she was born, she looked just like you, but as she grew older, her sneaky little features started looking more and more like Azriel’s.

You loved her so freaking much, and sometimes you’d just start crying out of nowhere. She was a tiny part of you, someone you made with love. It was honestly wild.

“Oh, my sweetest baby angel. You’re all mine, and I love you sooo much, yes I do! Yes I do!” you cooed, nuzzling your nose against her tiny button one, making her giggle wildly. She was seriously a masterpiece. Like, such a cutie.

After feeding and rocking her, her soft snores filled the room, and you found yourself counting each adorable little breath. Pregnancy had been… a lot. You weren’t exactly the sharpest crayon in the box, and sometimes you worried about whether you’d be a good mom. But Azzie had always been there.

Carefully, you stood up and tiptoed to her bedroom, which was right next to yours and Azriel’s so you could get to her super quickly if she fussed. You gently laid her down and pulled out all the baby monitors you had stocked up on. No way were you taking chances with your baby girl.

And sure, maybe three monitors and an Owlet sock was a tiny bit much, but whatever. And Azriel totally agreed.

You found him standing next to the door, still clad in his handsome dress shirt and slacks. Your walked over to him as you slumped your body against his, melting against his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. "Every day I thank the gods we didn't end up with a fussy baby. she goes to sleep so easy." he smiled, placing his chin on the top of your head. 

Here’s a cleaned-up and polished version while keeping her adorable, slightly flustered tone intact:

“Right? She’s totally in sync with me, and I’m so happy she’s so calm.”

“I really missed you today. A lot.”

Your heart started beating faster. Azriel was so casual about stuff like that, and it made you blush every time. He used to be shy and reserved about sharing his feelings, but now he’d just say it right to your face without hesitation.

And, of course, it turned you into a blushing mess over a few simple words.

“Y-you did? I missed you too.”

His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. His voice dropped to that low, heart-melting tone he knew drove you wild.

“I missed you very much. Very, very much. And I’m going to show you exactly how much.” You giggle and blush like crazy when be grabs your waist and carefully chucks you over his shoulder, giving your ass a loud smack.

God, you love your life.

🏷��:

[kashverse]

𝒴our first encounter with the 呪術廻戦 men 

⪩⪨ ✶ implied f!reader but can be read otherwise (use of "pretty" in choso's version), strangers to lovers, fluff, featuring ♡ canon! gojo, canon! geto, single dad! toji, modern au! choso, canon! sukuna in a modern au, corporate! nanami ✿ ⪩⪨ tried a new formatting style..! ib my dear @norikuna (∩˃o˂∩)♡

gojo doesn’t see you coming. not because he’s oblivious—though, sure, that’s part of it—but because he’s too busy making himself miserable, listening to some poor bastard on the phone cry about their ex. it’s barely noon, the sun’s out, people are living their lives, and this guy’s talking about how he let “the one” slip through his fingers. “bro, just get another one,” gojo had said, dead-eyed, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. the response was more crying. he sighed, hanging up.

and then he smacked straight into you.

not a polite bump, not even a nudge—full-on body collision, your forehead meeting his chin with a sharp crack. the impact was enough to send you both stumbling, but while gojo’s built like a brick wall, you had all the misfortune of being knocked back a few steps. “ow—what the fuck?!” your voice came first, and then, through the dizzying pain, you saw him. tall, white-haired, stupidly good-looking in an insufferable way, dressed like he was on some model’s off-day. sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and even through the slight daze, you could see the sharp glint of his blue eyes peering down at you.

“ah, my bad—”

“your bad?” your voice rose, disbelieving. the pain hadn’t even settled yet, but your temper had. “you nearly took my head off!”

gojo blinked. “well, technically, if i took your head off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he pointed out. “unless you’re a talking head, which would be—"

“are you serious?” you cut him off, hands flying up in exasperation. “you’re just standing in the middle of the damn sidewalk—”

“crosswalk,” he corrected.

“—like a fucking lamppost,” you barreled on, ignoring him. “and then you hit me. no, actually, you collided with me like a fucking train, and now you’re just standing there?”

you looked ready to kill him. gojo thought you looked radiant. people don’t really yell at him. they get nervous, flustered, awkward. maybe they complain a little, but they don’t yell. not like this—not with this kind of raw, unfiltered rage that was directed solely at him.

and he was loving it.

“ohhh, you’re mad mad,” he said, grinning.

“no shit?” you spat, rubbing your forehead. “you’re huge! why do you walk like you don’t know how to control your own size?”

“i’m huge? that’s a compliment,” he mused. “also, you ran into me.”

“i did not—"

“you did, but it’s okay,” he waved off. “i forgive you.”

your mouth dropped open. your jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it click. “i don’t need your forgiveness,” you snapped. “i need you to watch where the hell you’re going!” gojo just smiled. “i can do that,” he said. “but only if you tell me your name first.”

you squinted at him. “why?”

“so i know what to say in my apology,” he said smoothly. “y’know, something heartfelt, real personal. ‘i’m so sorry, dear stranger, for running into you with my big, strong, muscular body—’”

your scowl deepened. “forget it,” you turned to leave, shaking your head.

gojo grabbed your wrist. lightly, like he was afraid you’d shake him off (which you probably would). “wait,” he said, less teasing this time, more curious.

you stopped, staring at him warily. “what?”

he grinned. “you’re fun.”

you yanked your arm out of his grip. “you’re annoying.”

but you weren’t yelling anymore. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

toji doesn't believe in love—at least, not in the way people like to romanticize it. to him, love has always been transactional. people want things: security, pleasure, a warm body to cling to at night. he provides, they take. simple.

commitment? fuck no. he’s been there, done that, and all it got him was a headache and a kid who looks at him like he’s a walking disappointment. not that he blames megumi—he knows exactly the kind of man he is. relationships, from what he's seen, are just another job. another obligation. more shit to deal with when he's already stretched thin making sure megumi doesn't starve or turn into a little menace. and he's already got enough on his plate. 

raising megumi is work. the kid is sharp, stubborn, and way too perceptive for his own good. keeping up with him is exhausting. fulfilling someone else’s expectations on top of that? hell no.

people ask if he’s lonely. he laughs. lonely? he’s got freedom. no nagging, no obligations, no answering to anyone but himself and, on the worst days, a grumpy eight-year-old who somehow thinks he’s smarter than him. love, in his experience, is just a distraction. and toji fushiguro doesn’t do distractions.

and toji swears he only looked away for a second.

he was just checking the damn price tag on some overpriced brand of instant noodles, and when he looked back, megumi was gone. poof. like a magic trick, except it wasn’t a trick, and the rising panic in his chest was very, very real. “shit,” he muttered, scanning the aisles. nothing. just a bunch of old ladies and college kids looking for cheap meals. no messy black hair, no tiny scowl. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep calm. he didn’t want to make a scene. people lost their kids all the time, right? it wasn’t a big deal. he just had to—

and then he saw him.

megumi was at the end of the next aisle, small hands clenched at his sides, his mouth pressed in a thin, stubborn line, like he wasn’t scared, even though he definitely was. and right next to him, crouched down to his level, was you. “you’re really good at this,” you said. megumi blinked up at you. “huh?”

“the whole ‘not panicking’ thing,” you smiled at him. “most kids freak out when they lose their parents. you’re staying calm. that’s cool.” megumi looked away, like he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or not. “i don’t wanna cause trouble,” he muttered.

“aw, but that’s what parents are for,” you teased. “causing them trouble.” megumi almost smiled. almost. toji, still frozen in place, narrowed his eyes. who the hell were you?

“c’mon, let’s go find your dad,” you said, standing up and holding out a hand. megumi didn’t take it, but he followed you anyway, his short legs working hard to keep up with your pace. and toji? well. he wasn’t sure why, but instead of stepping forward, he let you find him.

he let you do the whole thing, watching as you walked with megumi, asking him questions—where he last saw his dad, what his name was, what he looked like.

“he’s really tall,” megumi said. you hummed. “tall, huh? that helps.”

“and he’s got a scar on his mouth,” he added.

“even better. anyone who looks scary is easier to spot.”

megumi frowned a little. “he’s not scary.” you smiled, ruffling his hair. “i bet he isn’t.”

toji snorted under his breath.

by the time you turned the corner and finally spotted him, megumi exhaled in relief. toji pretended not to notice how fast he ran up to him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt like he wasn’t just saying how calm he was. you, on the other hand, stopped a few steps away, hands on your hips. “you must be the scary, not-scary dad,” you said.

toji raised an eyebrow. “and you’re just a random saint, huh?” you shrugged. “not a saint. just someone who doesn’t like seeing kids upset.”

he looked at you, really looked at you. you didn’t seem put out by any of this, like helping some stranger’s kid wasn’t an inconvenience, but just another part of your day. like it was normal. toji let out a breath, then tilted his head down at megumi. “you good, kid?”

megumi nodded, though he still wasn’t letting go of toji’s shirt. toji sighed, glancing back at you. “guess i owe you, huh?”

you waved him off. “don’t worry about it. just keep an eye on him next time.”

toji huffed a laugh. “easier said than done.”

you grinned, giving megumi one last look before turning to leave. and toji? well. maybe being responsible for two people wouldn’t be so bad after all.

nanami never thought much about being single. it wasn’t a matter of pride or principle—just reality. his job was time-consuming, his patience was thin, and the thought of entertaining someone else’s needs after a long workday felt exhausting. he wasn’t lonely, just… fine. indifferent.

until he got sick of his office food.

“this is inedible,” he said flatly, staring at the sad excuse of a meal on his plate. his colleague, barely looking up from his own tray, mumbled, “it’s fine.”

nanami’s eye twitched. it was not fine. rubbery chicken, dry rice, and a soup that tasted more like dishwater than anything edible. this was not a meal—it was a punishment.

so, he made a change.

he found a small business that delivered homemade meals, something personal but convenient. it promised variety, quality ingredients, and, most importantly, flavor.

what he didn’t expect were the notes.

the first one came tucked under the neatly packed meal.

“hope today isn’t too exhausting! eat well!”

nanami stared at it for longer than he should have. then, at the food—real food. properly cooked, properly seasoned, steaming with warmth that no canteen meal could ever replicate. he didn’t think about it much. a kind gesture, that was all. but the notes kept coming.

“long meetings? i packed extra today.”

“rainy day! hope this brings some warmth.”

“rough week? your food will always be good at least.”

and then—

“your order is always so precise. you must be someone who likes routine.”

nanami paused mid-bite. he did like routine. he thrived on it. and yet, this—this unexpected kindness, these little messages—was beginning to throw him off in a way he couldn’t explain. weeks passed, meals came, and nanami found himself looking forward to them—not just for the food, but for the words that came with it. one afternoon, after another insufferable meeting, he opened his meal to find:

“do you ever take breaks? hope you’re not working too hard.”

he let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. he was working too hard. but how did you—someone he’d never met—seem to know that better than the people around him? finally, curiosity got the better of him. he grabbed a pen and, for the first time, wrote back.

“who are you?”

the next day, his meal came with a note, just like always.

“just someone who wants you to eat well. but i wouldn’t mind knowing who you are too.”

and for the first time in a long time, nanami thought—maybe being single wasn’t so fine after all.

geto doesn’t believe in love. not in the way people romanticize it, anyway. he’s known desire—used it, wielded it like a tool, a means to an end. a well-timed smile, a hand grazing a wrist, a whispered promise—all of it was just another step in expanding his cause. people were easy to sway when you made them feel special. and being single? it wasn’t something he mourned. it was efficient. no attachments, no complications, no wasted energy. everything he did, every conversation, every encounter—it all served a purpose.

until you.

“you’ve been talking for a while,” you said, tilting your head at him. geto smiled. “am i boring you?”

“not at all. just wondering if you’re going to get to the point.”

he chuckled, swirling his drink. clever. impatient. interesting.

“what do you think my point is?”

you leaned back, thoughtful. “well, you’re charming, you have that practiced ease of someone who’s very used to getting what they want, and yet…” you narrowed your eyes. “you haven’t tried to get anything from me yet.”

his smile twitched. perceptive too. “maybe i’m just enjoying the conversation.”

“hmm.” you didn’t look convinced. “i doubt you talk to people without a reason.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you wound me. am i not allowed to simply appreciate good company?”

you smirked. “do you?”

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? he did.

he was supposed to be recruiting you. that was why he approached you in the first place—he had assessed, observed, picked you out for your potential. another piece in his grander vision. but now? now, he was talking to you about books, about philosophy, about things that had nothing to do with his cause.

he liked your sharp tongue, your quick comebacks, the way you saw through people but humored them anyway. and he was enjoying this. more than he should.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you noted.

“am i?”

“yeah. for someone who flirts so easily, you seem oddly distracted.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. you had no idea. for the first time in a long time, geto suguru had forgotten his purpose. and strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

choso doesn’t really get love. it’s not that he doesn’t feel it—he does, deeply, messily, all-consuming in the way only someone who has lived too long without it can. it’s just that he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to work. his friends talk about relationships like they’re puzzles, like you’re supposed to fit into someone else’s life piece by piece, no gaps, no edges sticking out. but choso? he keeps forcing the wrong pieces together. he’s had his heart broken by so many situationships, and he doesn’t even know what that word means. all he knows is that people like him enough to stay for a while, but not enough to stay forever. and when someone ghosts him? it’s over.

“why would they do that?” he asks yuuji, completely distraught. “i thought we were getting along.” yuuji winces. “yeah, but… sometimes people just disappear, man. it’s not your fault.”

“but why not just say they don’t like me?”

“because people suck.”

choso frowns. love is confusing. people are confusing. nothing makes sense.

until he meets you.

more specifically, until you send a pug flying in his direction. one second, he’s minding his own business, sipping a coffee, staring blankly at nothing. the next—

“watch out!”

and then—THUD.

a very round, very squishy pug collides with his chest, knocking the air out of him. he blinks. looks down. the pug is fine. choso, however, is shaken.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” you pant, running up to him, looking horrified. “he’s got the speed of a missile and the weight distribution of a sack of potatoes. are you okay?”

choso is still holding the pug. he has not processed a single thing except that you’re talking to him, and you’re really pretty. you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“hello? earth to guy who just got body slammed by my dog?”

he swallows. “i—i’m okay.”

you sigh in relief. “good. i don’t think my insurance covers ‘pug-related assaults.’”

he stares. then—

he laughs.

it’s an awkward, slightly delayed laugh, but it’s real. it bubbles out of him, because suddenly, everything is just… simple. you’re still talking, apologizing, trying to pry your dog from his grip, and he realizes—love doesn’t have to be this big, complicated thing. it can be a stranger, a runaway pug, and a stupidly perfect moment where he thinks, 'oh. this is it.'

sukuna has never cared for love. love is mortal, fleeting, an indulgence for the weak. he has lived for centuries without it, conquered, destroyed, thrived—all on his own. why bother with attachment? why waste time on something that promises nothing but vulnerability? he’s always been perfectly fine like this.

until the night he meets you at the bar.

he doesn’t even mean to notice you at first—just another human in a crowded room, laughing, talking, lighting up the space with an ease he’s never possessed. 

and then he hears you speak. your voice is smooth, effortless, like you’re meant to be heard. every sentence flows into the next, words never fumbling, never uncertain. you make people laugh, pull them in, keep them hanging on to every syllable. sukuna watches, listens, enthralled, before someone leans in and calls you by name—your full name. followed by—

“aren’t you that talk show host?”

and it clicks. you are. he’s seen your face before, flickering on a television screen, a passing glimpse at a life so far removed from his own.

and now he’s irritated. because you talk so easily with everyone but him. and that won’t do.

so he tries. for the first time in centuries, he tries to talk to someone—like a normal person, like it’s something he’s done before, like it’s as easy as you make it look.

but it’s not. it’s a disaster.

he waits until the crowd around you has thinned, takes the seat next to you, and—

“so.” he clears his throat. “you talk to people for a living.”

you turn, blinking, mildly amused. “i do.”

he nods, confident. good start. then nothing. his mind goes blank. shit.

you raise a brow, waiting. sukuna glares at his drink like it’s betrayed him. “how do you do it?”

you tilt your head. “do what?” he gestures vaguely. “talk. keep people engaged.”

you blink. “are you asking me how to hold a conversation?”

his jaw tenses. “no.”

you laugh. he scowls.

he tries again. “what makes a good interview?”

“oh, that’s easy,” you hum. “you have to be genuinely interested in the other person.”

he deadpans.

you smirk. “which means you have to actually listen to what they’re saying.”

“i listen,” he grumbles.

“really?” you lean in. “then what were we just talking about?”

silence. your smirk widens. “you weren’t listening.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is hell.

but he keeps trying. keeps failing, keeps making an idiot of himself, keeps suffering through every one of your knowing smiles—because for the first time in his miserable, ancient existence, he actually wants to learn.

he wants to talk to you.

and maybe, just maybe, he wants you to talk to him, too.

[magical-reid]

The Bucky Barnes Cake Conspiracy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (implied) Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 800

Summary: When Wanda convinces you and Natasha to do the “Hear Me Out” cake trend, you think it’s just harmless fun. That is, until every single one of your picks is a different version of Bucky Barnes, the entire Tower gets involved, and Bucky himself finds out in the most humiliating way possible—via Wanda’s viral video.

It started as a joke.

A harmless, ridiculous joke.

And then it spiraled into something much, much worse.

“I’m just saying,” Wanda said, shoving her phone in your face as the three of you wandered through the grocery store, “we should do it.”

Natasha glanced at the screen. “Oh, the ‘Hear Me Out’ cake trend? That’s dumb.”

“Exactly!” Wanda grinned. “Which makes it perfect for us.”

You furrowed your brows, watching the TikTok she’d pulled up. The trend was simple: buy a plain cake, decorate it with pictures of celebrities or characters you found attractive, and then justify your crush by sticking ‘Hear Me Out’ in the middle.

It was stupid. But also hilarious.

“I’m in,” you said.

Natasha groaned. “Fine. But I’m not helping if this turns into another Tower-wide disaster.”

Wanda hummed, already making a beeline for the bakery aisle. “Oh, it definitely will.”

Back at the Tower, you sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter as Wanda set up her phone. The cake—a plain white-frosted one you’d grabbed from the store—sat in the center of the table, looking all innocent. It had no idea it was about to be used for nonsense.

“Okay,” Wanda said, grinning. “Time to put down our picks.”

Natasha went first. She taped a photo of Keanu Reeves onto a skewer and stuck it into the cake. Classic. No one would question it.

Then Wanda went. Pedro Pascal. Another solid choice.

And then you—

“Y/N,” Natasha deadpanned. “Are you serious?”

You hesitated, mid-skewer placement. “…What?”

Wanda started cackling.

Because instead of picking three different people like a normal person, you had, without realizing it, picked three different versions of Bucky Barnes.

One was a picture of him in his tactical gear, scowling like he was about to murder someone (hot). Another was of him in a hoodie and jeans, looking all soft and domestic (also hot). And the third? The one that really sealed your fate?

It was a close-up of his metal arm.

You winced. “Okay. I see how this looks—”

“This looks like a confession,” Wanda said gleefully, already zooming in on your picks.

“Oh my God,” Natasha muttered, running a hand down her face.

“I panicked!” you hissed. “I wasn’t thinking—I just grabbed the first ones that looked good!”

Wanda was shaking with laughter. “Oh, babe. This isn’t panic. This is obsession.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the counter. “I hate you both.”

The video went up on Wanda’s account that night.

By the next morning, it had one million views.

And the Tower was in absolute chaos.

Clint greeted you at breakfast with a slow, knowing grin. “So,” he said, spreading cream cheese onto his bagel, “should we start calling you Mrs. Barnes, or—?”

You threw a banana at his head.

Sam nearly fell off the couch laughing when he saw the video. “You put the metal arm?” he wheezed. “Oh, you’re down bad.”

Steve, who had clearly been dragged into this nonsense against his will, just gave you a long, unimpressed look over his coffee. “You could’ve just told him, you know.”

Tony, of course, had the most Tony reaction possible. “This is the most effort I’ve ever seen someone put into a crush. If I had known Bucky was your type, I would’ve set up an HR department just to make this more scandalous.”

You wanted the Earth to swallow you whole.

But the worst part?

Bucky.

Because by some miracle, he hadn’t seen the video yet.

Which meant you were living on borrowed time.

It happened later that night.

You were curled up on the couch, pretending to read a book but mostly trying to avoid eye contact with the entire human population, when Bucky strolled into the common room.

“Hey, doll.”

Your stomach flipped. “Hey.”

He sat next to you, arms stretched out over the back of the couch, his face unreadable. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought—maybe he doesn’t know.

And then—

“So,” he said, far too casually. “You like my arm that much, huh?”

Your entire body locked up.

Your soul left your body.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—what—who—?”

Bucky chuckled. “I saw the video.”

You shut your eyes. “Kill me.”

He hummed, like he was thinking about it. “Nah. ‘Cause then who’s gonna take me on that date you clearly want?”

You choked. “What—”

Bucky turned to face you fully, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “If you wanted me so bad, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked.”

Your entire brain short-circuited. “I—That’s—You—”

Bucky leaned in, voice low. “Next time, maybe write my number on the cake instead.”

You exhaled sharply, heart hammering. “Are you—Are you flirting with me?”

His grin widened. “You tell me.”

You stared at him. Then at the door. Then back at him.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “Fine. But if we go on a date, I’m making Wanda pay for it.”

Bucky laughed, eyes warm. “Deal.”

[gf2bellamy]

hi athena!! i love your writing so so much! could i request smth where reader and derek match on a dating app but when they go on a date, they decide they’re not really compatible and derek sets her up with spencer instead? no worries if you’re not interested tho!

thanks!!! 🩵🩵

mismatch — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think , just awkward spencer a/n: hii anon !! thanks for your request - hope this is what you asked for <33 also i decided to go with glasses spencer ! hope that's okay <3

It had been 30 minutes, and this date was not going the way you’d hoped. You sat across from Derek Morgan, your fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table as you tried to keep up with his enthusiastic monologue about hockey.

He was charming, sure, and undeniably good-looking, but the conversation felt like it was going in circles. You nodded along, offering the occasional smile or comment.

Derek, being the profiler he was, had obviously picked up on the fact that things weren’t clicking. He paused mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. “You’re not really into hockey, are you?” he asked, his tone more amused than accusatory. 

You blinked, caught off guard, and let out a small, awkward laugh. “Uh, no, not really,” you admitted, shrugging slightly. “I mean, it’s not that I dislike it or anything. I just… don’t know much about it.” 

Derek leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, I kinda figured. You’ve got that look.” 

“What look?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“The ‘I’m trying to be polite but I’m mentally counting down the minutes until I can leave’ look,” he said, his tone teasing but not unkind. 

You winced, feeling a little guilty. “Sorry,” you said, offering him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just… this isn’t really my thing.” 

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “No need to apologize. I get it. Dating apps are hit or miss, and honestly, I’m not feeling the vibe either.” 

You let out a relieved sigh, grateful for his honesty. “Yeah, it’s… not really working, is it?” 

“Nope,” Derek agreed, popping the ‘p’ as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But hey, no hard feelings. You seem cool, we…just doesn't seem to be a match.” 

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” 

Returning your smile , he said. “If you ever need a wingman or just someone to grab a drink with, hit me up. I’m always down for making new friends.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, genuinely meaning it. Derek was easy to talk to, even if the romantic connection wasn’t there. 

As you both stood up to leave, Derek glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, you might actually get along with one of my coworkers,” he said casually. “He’s into all that nerdy stuff you were talking about earlier—books, puzzles, random facts. You two would probably hit it off.” 

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What’s his name?” 

“Spencer Reid,” Derek said, his grin widening. “He’s a genius, like, legitimately. But don’t let that intimidate you. He’s a good guy. A little awkward, but in a charming way.” 

”You wouldn’t mind if I gave him your number?” Derek asked, his tone casual but his grin still firmly in place. 

You hesitated for a moment, then shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Sure, why not?” you said.

Derek’s description of Spencer had piqued your curiosity. A genius who was into books, puzzles, and random facts? That sounded like someone you could actually hold a conversation with.

Besides, after the awkwardness of the date, you figured you had nothing to lose. 

As you both walked out of the restaurant, you turned to him and gave him a quick hug. “Take care, Derek.” 

“You too,” he said, returning the hug with a friendly pat on your back. “Good luck with Reid. I have a feeling you two might actually hit it off.” 

You chuckled, shaking your head as you pulled away. “We’ll see.” 

Two days later, you were curled up on your couch with a book in hand, a cup of tea steaming on the coffee table beside you. The quiet evening was interrupted by the buzz of your phone. You glanced at the screen, noticing a message from an unknown number.

Hi, this is Spencer Reid. Derek gave me your number—I hope that’s alright. He mentioned you might appreciate a conversation that doesn’t revolve around hockey. I was wondering if you’d like to meet for coffee sometime?

You couldn’t help but smile as you read the message.

The next day, you walked toward the café, which was, thankfully, only a short distance from your apartment. The crisp autumn air nipped at your cheeks, and you tugged your jacket a little tighter around yourself as you approached the small, cozy-looking spot. As soon as you got closer, you noticed him immediately. 

Spencer Reid was standing outside the café, his tall, lanky frame hard to miss. He had his glasses on, and his hands were tightly gripping the handle of a worn leather satchel bag slung over his shoulder.

He looked… nervous.

His eyes darted around, scanning the area, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly unsure of what to do with himself. 

You couldn’t help but notice how pretty he was.

“Spencer?” you called out softly, not wanting to startle him. 

He turned quickly, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he saw you. “Oh, hi!” he said, his voice a little higher than usual, betraying his nerves. He didn’t extend his hand, which you remembered Derek mentioning—something about germs and unnecessary physical contact.

Instead, he gave you a small, awkward wave. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Obviously. You already knew that. Sorry.” 

You smiled, trying to put him at ease. “Nice to meet you too. And don’t worry, I’m not a handshake person either. Too many germs, right?” 

His face lit up, clearly relieved that you understood. “Yes, exactly! Did you know that the average handshake transfers approximately 124 million bacteria? It’s one of the most unhygienic social customs we still practice. I mean, why not just nod or bow? It’s much more—” He stopped himself mid-sentence, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I do that sometimes.” 

“It’s okay,” you said, laughing softly. “I don’t mind. It’s kind of refreshing, actually.” 

He smiled, a little shyly, and adjusted his glasses. “Well, uh, should we go inside? They have a great oat milk latte here, if you’re into that. Or, you know, regular coffee. Or tea. They have tea too. Lots of options.” 

“Oat milk latte sounds perfect,” you said, nodding. 

As he held the door open for you, you couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders relaxed slightly, as if he was starting to feel more comfortable. You followed him inside.The smell of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air, and the soft hum of conversation created a cozy atmosphere. 

Spencer led you to a small table near the window. He set his satchel down carefully, then glanced at you.

“So,” he said, sitting down across from you, smiling softly, “Derek mentioned you like books. What kind do you usually read?”

[no-144444]

the grid: valentine's day!

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featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, George Russell, Kimi Antonelli, Alex Albon, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Max Verstappen, Charles LeClerc, Lewis Hamilton, Ollie Bearman, Jack Doohan, Franco Colapinto, & Paul Aron

this is 18+ so mdni please! smut and suggestiveness in some of them!

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Oscar Piastri: Simple, lowkey, sweet 

He’d decided instead of trying to make it a huge deal, both of you would much rather have a slow evening. 

“What should I wear?” you asked as you sat at your vanity in just a bra and underwear. 

“That,” he whispered under his breath, his eyes taking you in. You heard him (obviously) and rolled your eyes. 

“Be serious, what are we doing?” you chuckled. 

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Wear whatever you want, no climbing or long walks tonight,” he told you. 

You gave him a sceptical look. “I hate when you plan things,” you sighed, getting up and going to your closet. 

“Is it because you’re slightly a control freak?” he teased and you scoffed at his words. 

“I’m not that bad!” you scoffed, pushing him out of your room. “Now you don’t get to enjoy the view!” 

He rolled his eyes from the other side of the door, but he couldn’t help the smile on his face. He’d planned tonight exactly how you’d want it. Your favourite romcom in a private screen with just the two of you, then dinner at your favourite restaurant, then home. He’d already gotten you flowers earlier in the day (as you had him, which made him feel quite special), and you’d been working, so he’d been busy with training. He had a beautiful necklace (one he’d let you pick out months ago that he was sure you’d forgotten) for you, and he knew what you’d gotten him already. He knew he was a nuisance to buy for, but somehow, you always got it right. He’d accidentally opened the package when it came to the door, to find vintage Australian cricket jerseys of his three favourite players. You knew him so well. 

You came out in his favourite dress of yours, looking stunning. He wrapped his arms around your waist and smiled into a kiss. 

“I have lipgloss on,” you chuckled, rubbing it off his lips. 

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged, kissing you again as you chuckled. You kissed him back, all too happy to oblige him. 

“Shall we?” you asked, pulling away and wiping his mouth of your lip gloss. 

“We shall,” he smiled, taking your hand and leading you out of your shared Monaco apartment. 

It was going to be a good night. 

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Lando Norris: airport blunder 

He’d decided he wanted to whisk you away for Valentine’s day, but the reality of you having a regular job and him having testing to do meant you at least had to wait until extremely late to get to the airport, and you were both in shitty moods, too tired to be flying to Greece at 11pm, with another hour of your delay to sit through. 

“Was this a bad idea?” he asked, his voice small and dejected. 

You turned to him and took his hand. “It was a sweet idea Lan, I love it, but right now we’re both exhausted and not in the best mood, but think about tomorrow. When we get to wake up in Greece at 2pm and have the most amazing sex, we’ll be in better moods,” you chuckled, making him smile. “Right?”

“We could also just go have sex in the bathroom?” he offered, pushing his luck and leaning in, his face against your neck. 

You laughed and pushed him back. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“I’m in love!” he argued, leaning in again and pressing soft kisses to your neck. “And you’re in a white tank with no bra,” he groaned. “You’re so hot.”

You laughed, embarrassed by his antics in a public airport. “Behave.” 

“So… bathroom?” He tried his luck again. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your resolve was failing, mostly because of the way he was kissing your neck. “If it’s clean.” 

He grinned like an idiot. “You’re perfect.” 

You chuckled. “Idiot.” 

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George Russell: double date

You had no idea that ‘bowling’ meant going out for dinner with Toto and Susie, and then going bowling with them too. At first, you were slightly put off by the idea, you had kind of been hoping that tonight would be about just you two, since you two hadn’t really had a date alone in a while. It grew on you though, watching how like Toto George was. It was weird, like father and son, and you enjoyed talking with Susie for half the night. 

As the double date came to a close, he held your hand, your head leaning on him. “I thought I wasn’t going to enjoy tonight,” you admitted. “I had a bunch of fun though.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad. So did I.”

“You’re so shit at bowling,” you teased. “How do you miss every single one of them, three times in a row?”

He scoffed, shocked at your rudeness. “I wasn’t that bad!”

“You were,” you laughed, and he wrapped his hand around your waist instead, tickling you, picking you up and putting you over his shoulder as you squealed. “George! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he smiled. “I have my plans with you,” he smirked, opening the door to your Monaco house. 

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Kimi Antonelli: nervous nelly

Since it was your first Valentine’s, Kimi was shitting bricks. He had this whole dinner planned, pulling out all the stops for the big day, but at dinner, he was more worried about how it all was than actually celebrating your relationship and each other. 

You chuckled as you looked up from your meal, only to see him staring at you, again. “Are you ever going to actually eat?” you asked. His eyes snapped down to his own meal, his face getting red as he realised you noticed him looking. 

“I-Yes,” he smiled awkwardly, finally grabbing his fork and digging in. 

“Kimi, it’s alright, you don’t have to be nervous. Tonight has been perfect,” you smiled, taking his other hand. A sigh of relief left his lips. 

“I just, I wanted this to be perfect,” he admitted, squeezing your hand. 

“It is,” you smiled reassuringly. “Once you’re also having fun?”

“Of course I am,” he smiled, finally looking you in the eye again. “I’m here with you.”

“Well I’m glad I make such good company,” you smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled before leaning over the table and planting a soft kiss on your lips. 

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Alex Albon: busy but present 

You were busy with work and so was he, but regardless he made you feel special. He sent flowers right to your room with a beautiful note, had your gift delivered (a jellycat heart and bag that you liked), and sent you photos, videos, and texts about his day, throughout the day. Small messages about his engineers, or what he was having for lunch, a picture of the flowers and the gifts you’d sent him, and even a video of him, George, and Lando going for a run together. You sent him messages throughout the day too. Tid-bits about what you were working on, photos of you with your co-workers, and a video of you dressed up for your ‘galentine’s’ dinner. As much as you both missed each other, you still made each other feel special, even thousands of miles away. 

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Carlos Sainz: freaky wit it 

“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” he groaned as you pulled on his hair. To be honest, both of you had been waiting all night for this. Quickly, he started unzipping your dress, the long navy fabric had been driving him insane all night, you had been driving him insane all night. The way you smiled at him, the way you walked, talked, ate, and drank, he wanted you so badly, and he had to wait a whole two hours to have you. Next your heels were discarded on the floor and he lifted you up and threw you on the bed, making you laugh. Now, in front of him, you were lying on the bed with a navy two-piece, and something new on your skin. Just above your hip bone, shown off beautifully by the lingerie, there was a small ‘55’ tattooed on you. “Mi Amor,” he choked out, winded by the sight of you. “Is it real?” 

“Felt you might’ve needed a reminder that someone is always in your corner,” you whispered seductively, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear. “Williams blue and a 55. Like it?”

“I love it,” he smirked back, pulling your underwear down harshly. “Love you,” he gritted out, kneeling in front of you. “Can I have my dessert now, tesoro?” he looked up through hooded eyes and you knew you were soaked.

“Fuck yes,” you sighed out in content, before a long, long night began. 

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Daniel Riccardo: sweet morning

Daniel had been lying in bed staring at you for a good 40 minutes. He was just so… captivated by you. He loved to just watch you do anything (including sleep, apparently). He thought about all the tough moments you’d had together, and how you’d been strong enough to carry him during his darkest times. He thought about how you made him smile every single day, and how he never wanted it to stop. He thought about the fetus you had growing inside of you, the one that would be your kid. He was so excited, so happy, so ready for the future. Even though he was in F1, he felt complete with you beside him. 

You woke up smiling, ready for the day ahead. Both you and Daniel had taken the day off to have a nice long weekend and spend some time together. 

“Morning beautiful,” he smiled, pressing his lips to yours. 

“Morning,” you yawned. “Alright?”

He smiled. “Alright. Just love you.” 

You smiled at him. “I love you too,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting his roll over onto his back, you on top of him. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day,” he nodded before kissing you again. 

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Liam Lawson: helping hand

“Ready?!” you called out to him, checking your watch again. 

“I just want to make sure my hair is good-” he started but you cut him off with a groan. 

“Liam, your hair always looks good, come here and I’ll fix it if you want,” you offered and he came running. In front of you, your boyfriend was standing wearing a pair of shorts and a shirt, perfect for your picnic date that he’d planned. He knelt down in front of you, giving you full access to his head as he wrapped his arms around your midriff, pressing gentle kisses there over your clothes. Gently, you eased the pomade into his hair, spiking it up how he liked it. “Good?” you asked, showing him by using your phone as a mirror. 

“Perfect,” he smiled, getting up and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Even better because you’re not wearing panties,” he muttered into your ear as you both walked out of the house. 

You just smirked back at him. 

You would be the death of him one day, he was sure of it. 

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Max Verstappen: not big but that’s how you both like it 

Max walked into the hotel room with a bouquet in his hand and a bakery bag in the other. In all honesty, you would’ve been fine if he hadn’t done anything. Yes, you’d gotten him some flowers and chocolates, but neither of you were very big ‘celebration’ people, and a date was just a date, which wasn’t feasible with testing going on anyways. He fell into bed beside you, a tired look in his eyes. 

“For you,” he smiled, holding out the flowers. You took them and kissed his cheek. 

“Thanks baby,” you grinned. “What’s in the bag?”

“Brownies,” he smiled mischievously. “I got two.” 

“Not willing to share with your wife?” you faked offence as he laughed at you. 

“Nope, just smart enough to know you wouldn’t want to share,” he chuckled and kissed you on the cheek again. “I love you,” he pressed a kiss to your lips, then your growing belly. “I love you too,” he whispered. 

“She’s going to enjoy this,” you smiled, holding up your brownie to cheers with his, then you both took a bite. The moan you let out could only be described as pornographic, but he just chuckled, more than happy to supply you with all the brownies you two needed. He just needed you. 

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Charles LeClerc: proposal

Charles was sweating buckets. He felt practically faint as you walked onto the beach, enjoying the dark night sky and the soft waves under your feet. It had been the most romantic night, dinner on his yacht far out with the most magnificent views, then coming back in for a walk on the beach after you got ice cream from a local ice cream shop. You were ranting about something at work, but he couldn’t focus, his mind weighed down by the small red box in his pocket. It was now or never. 

“Char?” you asked, turning to him when you saw the row of candles further down the beach. He smiled nervously at you and took your hand. Holy shit. He was proposing. 

“I have something I want to ask you,” he whispered, leading you towards the beautiful proposal sight. It was a path of candles to a beautiful circle, where you would be getting engaged. Of course that’s why he wanted you to wear your white dress, why he’d insisted on you getting your nails done this week, why he’d been so secretive. He led you into the center of the circle, his eyes already clouding with tears, and got down on one knee. “My love,” he started, taking your hand in his. “You have been with me for everything. I never thought I would be lucky enough to find someone as caring and kind as you. I love you, more than anything. You’re my biggest supporter, best friend, and favourite person, and I cannot go another day without you knowing how I truly feel about you. I want a life with you, I want a family, I want it all. The best part of my day is waking up next to you, seeing your texts and calls, seeing you at the barricade, or just getting a simple kiss from you. I want you for life, if you’ll have me,” he smiled, squeezing your hand before letting go to get the ring out of his pocket. He opened it, a beautiful cartier engagement ring, simple with a beautiful diamond in the middle, exactly what you wanted. You hadn’t even realised you were crying until you felt it fall onto your hand. You quickly brushed the tears away and smiled. “Will you marry me?” he asked, tears in his eyes but that same goofy, beautiful, Charles smile that you’d fallen in love with. 

“Yes Char, of course I will,” you smiled, pulling his face to yours to seal it with a kiss. 

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Lewis Hamilton: away from the kid for the first time

Both of you were pretending to enjoy the dinner, but both of you were feeling the guilt of leaving your 3 month old, Ellie, for the first time. Under the table you had her baby monitor up, and he had been texting the babysitters (aka Charles and Alexandria) every few minutes for updates. The meal was lovely, and yes, it was nice to spend some time with Lewis, but you could’ve done it at home. 

“I feel so guilty,” you finally rushed out as you perused over the dessert menu. 

Lewis let out a breath of relief. “Me too,” he chuckled, taking your hand. “I’ve been texting them every few minutes,” he admitted.

“I have her monitor up on my phone,” you laughed, putting your phone on the table to show him. You both laughed for a few minutes, watching your perfect bundle of light play with Charles and Alex. 

“Home?” he offered, turning to you. 

“Home,” you nodded. You quickly got out of there, Lewis paying, and then probably driving over the speed limit on the way home, but neither of you cared. You were too excited to see Ellie. 

Charles and Alex were pretty amused by the situation, and left soon after you two came home, leaving you two to put her to bed. You both held her for a few moments, soothing her to sleep as she yawned, making all those perfect little baby noises. 

“I missed her,” you admitted. “We were gone for 2 hours.” 

“Me too,” he chuckled. “It’s hard being away from her,” he sighed, bouncing her in his arms as she fell to sleep. You watched him for a moment, enjoying the sight of him with your perfect little baby. “Want another?” he suddenly said, smirking. 

You looked at him, deadpan. “Shut the fuck up.” 

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Ollie Bearman: cutie 

He’d set up an elaborate valentine’s dinner in your apartment since the past few years you’d been apart for Valentine’s, having to just facetime or text. He set up heart balloons, roses all over the place, candles, the whole shabang. Small problem, he cannot cook to save his life, so he ended up burning the food, then just ordering from your favourite place instead. You walked in after work, exhausted (and not expecting to see Ollie since he was supposed to be doing testing), and there he was. 

You ran up to him, dropping your bag at the door with a thump as you ran into his arms. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” you squealed, hugging him tight. 

“Happy Valentine’s day,” he smiled, hugging you just as tight. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” you pulled back, only to replace the hug with a hungry kiss. “Fucking hell it’s so good to see you,” you cursed, pulling him as close as you could. 

Quickly the kiss turned a bit more passionate than intended, and you ended up in your bedroom… 

It was probably his favourite Valentine’s Day ever.  

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Jack Doohan: cooking disaster

Was a cooking class as a Valentine’s date probably a bad idea in hindsight? Yes. Jack was not a chef. He could cook scrambled eggs, and he was pretty prolific with a pancake or two, but sushi? Who did he think he was? You, on the other hand, were doing amazing. Every single one of your pieces looked exactly like the head chefs’, and he felt a sense of pride blossom in his chest when he watched you get complimented by the chef. That sense of pride was quickly overshadowed by the way she would look at his sushi (basically a pile of the ingredients, he was too busy staring at you to pay attention to method).

“Want help?” you offered as you finished off your last roll. Jack hadn’t even started, too busy watching you concentrate. 

“Huh- Yeah! Yes please,” he snapped back to reality and let you take over his station, standing just behind you with his hands around your waist, his gloves long discarded. “You’re great at this,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against the shell of your ear. 

You beamed at his compliment. “Thanks baby.”

“You look sexy in an apron,” he whispered and you laughed out loud. 

“I seriously doubt that,” you laughed, looking down at your ‘bright pink with red hearts’ apron. He shrugged. 

“It’s working on me,” he chuckled, pushing you back into him. 

“You’re disgusting,” you giggled. “We’re in public.”

“Bathrooms exist for a reason,” he smirked. 

“Yeah, pissing and shitting,” you reminded him. “I’ll be all yours once we get home,” you smirked, seductive as you led one of his hands to your thigh. “Maybe in the car too.” 

He groaned. “So perfect,” he nipped at the back of your neck. “So fucking perfect.”

“Love you too,” you teased. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice gentler than usual. “So fucking much baby.”

“I feel it,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “All the time.” 

He felt quite accomplished at that. 

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Franco Colapinto: charmer 

Franco was busy with Alpine duties which meant you’d be apart for Valentine’s, and while you’d accepted it, it still sucked to not wake up beside your boyfriend. You had a slow morning before going to work, sluggishly getting ready for work, until the doorbell rang. It was the postman. He handed you a letter, and you immediately recognised the writing, quickly thanked him and ran back inside. 

My love, 

I know we’re missing this day together, but I still wanted you to know I care. I adore you. You are and will always be the best thing that has ever happened to me. You continue to surprise and excite me even after these years together, even when I think I know everything about you. I love you. Every freckle. Every spot. Every hair on your head, everytime you smile at me, every laugh, every giggle, every word. Everything. You’re my everything, and as much as I wish I was there with you, I’m only a phone call away. I can’t wait to continue loving you until we’re both old and wrinkly, but before then, I love you now, then, and always. 

My beautiful girl, my life, my love. 

Happy Valentine’s Day

- Your Franco

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Paul Aron: reuniting 

He waited at the arrivals terminal, refreshing the web page that had all the information about your flight every three seconds. Other than that, his eyes were glued to the door, prepared to run the second you walked through those doors. 

A few minutes of waiting elapsed, and there you were, clear as day, probably tired after your long day of travel, but you were there. He ran up to you, picking you up to allow you to wrap yourself around him, grabbing your suitcase with the other hand. “Hey baby,” he smiled, letting you back down again. 

“Missed you,” you said before grabbing his face and kissing him. You were anything but gentle, but he didn’t mind. He was just glad you were there. All his for a whole two weeks. 

“Missed you more,” he whispered between kisses. “So fucking much.”

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[cavegirlpoems]

ok so. This is going to be long and pedantic. I've added a read-more link to spare everybody the tedium of my pedantry.

1: you will notice that nic did not actually list 'AD&D 2e' as one of those 'older editions' he was talking about. there are good reasons for this, because it does those things much less than the editions that came before it. AD&D 2e is generally regarded as the point where the game shifted to be more tactical and combat focussed, alongside the rise of Dragonlance-style adventure design which shifted the adventure structure from locations to linear plots.

If AD&D 2e is included in discussions about 'older dnd' - which it often isn't! - it's the outlier, and represents one extreme of what those editions did. In many ways, it's like a missing link between older editions and the direction wotc took the game.

1.1: baldurs gate is not early editions of dnd. It's a modification of 2e. Planescape torment is also not an early edition of dnd. It's also a modification of 2e. Also, crucially, both of these are video games rather than ttrpgs, and working by an entirely different set of constraints. Using them as a point of comparison isn't very useful.

2: here's a b/x character sheet off google images:

there are 16 mechanical details listen on it (class/level, xp, AC, HP, initiative bonus, to-hit bonuses, scores to hit, strength, stats, saves, exploration actions, save bonus vs magic, worn armour, class abilities, gear, weapons & damage, and cash). Of these, only 5 (AC, bonuses to hit, initiative, to-hit scores, weapons) are exclusively combat abilities. HP and saves aren't exclusively combat, they're for danger in general, which combat is only a part of. And this is the most generous way of counting possible; if we count each duplicate seperately (ie each save, to-hit bonus, and activities) it goes from 5 out of 16 to 6 out of 27. So, taking this metric, certainly 1e expects you to engage in combat, but its not taking up anywhere near to the amount of space you claim.

Yes, b/x dnd has more combat than world of darkness, a wildly different game about being a melodramatic goth with angst (wraith even literally gives you an Angst stat to manage). If we compare it to games in the same medieval fantasy adventure milieu - things like runequest or savage worlds - then the amount of combat crunch is entirely average, possibly on the lower side.

3: the actual amount of tactical granularity in early dnd is really quite low. In many, different weapons don't even do different amounts of damage: a dagger deals d6 damage just like a crossbow or claymore. A class like the Fighter doesn't get more tactical combat options in b/x, they just have flat better AC, to-hit and HP. The other big perks of being a fighter are 1) access to a wide range of magic items, including magic swords, which mostly either give you Bigger Numbers or grant you non-combat utility benefits, or 2) the ability to lead soldiers and build a castle at high levels. Combat is streamlined, and most of the granularity is front-loaded into the pre-combat procedures around surprise and so on.

3.1 also, in b/x? every basic-ass goblin is doing d6 damage. Unless you're a fighter or dwarf, you've got a d6 HD at best. You just flat die at 0. Maybe you rolled poorly for your first level. maybe you have 2 HP. A lot of fights are essentially a coin-flip to see if you die, unless you tilt things in your favour before the fight begins.

4: you are correct that 'dungeons' and 'dragons' are both in the name. Let's examine these in more depth:

4.1: The word 'dungeon' comes first, and is where you will spend most of your time in early dnd. The dungeon is not a combat encounter, it's a location to map and explore. Early D&D has extensive rules for mapping, logistics, light, opening doors, dealing with traps, managing hired followers, tracking time, and that sort of thing. If you look at what the game devotes the bulk of its mechanics to for what its about, then early dnd is a game about exploration; the actual mechanics for combat are far more bare-bones. Even when you get to an encounter, between surprise, reaction checks and morale, an encounter is far less likely to be violent than in later editions. Heck, early D&D even has more systems for running away (albeit bare-bones) than later editions.

4.2: Now, lets move onto the other word; 'dragons'. Did you know that every dragon has a listed probability that it's asleep when you find it? This suggests that you're not intended to just fight it; there's a chance you can sneak past it to steal its treasure without fighting it. there's also a chance for each dragon that it talks, which again gives you a chance that a dragon encounter turns into a bilbo-style conversation rather than just a fight. If you do fight it, unless you're very high level, it probably squashes you quite easily. But if it doesn't, there are rules for taming dragons for you to ride, so they're not just there to be killed.

You can certainly expect to encounter a dragon at some point, but that's not actually the same as expecting to have to fight it.

5: yes, dnd is derived from wargames, however it's worth pointing out that the wargames it's derived from are very different from what we see today with things like warhammer. It's reasonable to call them tabletop milsims: they cared about things like logistics, fog-of-war, and so on, and relied heavily on a GM for this; they weren't just combat. This influence is clear in early D&D, which also cares about logistics etc.

5.1 early editions definitely did care if your adventurer died, even if it happened a lot; this is largely what diferentiated them from the wargames that came before. In fact, the use of HP and the od&d 'alternative combat rules' that went on to be adopted - rather than the more brutal chainmail combat system - was specifically to allow PCs to die less.

5.3: early dnd is really not as murder-hobo-ey as the game would later become, because PCs that did that would die quickly, and you wanted to be alive to level up. Combat was less of a focus, had more ways to avoid it, and would kill you more easily, compared to later editions. So, people got into less fights.

Now, I can't claim to know what happened at every table back in the 80s, and neither can anybody else; not even people who were there at the time. But I've read a good chunk of DND adventures from the time, both from TSR and third-party ones in White Dwarf. They featured combat, certainly, but less than in later editions. The focus was on - say it with me now! - dungeon exploration.

ok pedantry over.

One of the funnier manifestations of gleeblor is Pathfinder players: I'll make a post about how D&D will color people's expectations of what RPGs can be like and create a very narrow set of expectations about the medium, and inevitably some Pathfinder player will be like "haha yeah those D&D players should really broaden their horizons, Pathfinder fixes all of their issues," and my friend. I'm sorry to say this but you are not immune to gleeblor and in many regards where it comes to expectations of playstyle created by the game, your favorite game is in fact just another company copying D&D's homework and slightly altering the wording.

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p5

masterpost please no crit or editing, I know there are mistakes. this migraine is on day 7 and killing me <3

Danny swiped his finger over one of the hanging crystals in the waiting room window of Marvelous Mina’s Spiritual Nexus: or, in other words, the old, tiny, craftsman building that was crammed between two mid rises that Wilhelmina Aleshire had inherited from her grandmother several years ago.

There wasn’t any sort of spiritual nexus in the place. Mina was actually completely inept at conversing with the dead (Danny excluded). What Mina was unusually skilled at lay in the realm of psychic readings, specifically those involving divination such as tarot and oracle cards. She was also quite good at reading living people.

(Danny might have been a little jealous of that.)

Danny had first stumbled upon Mina and her ‘nexus’ when they were both dealing with the same ghost: him from the spirit itself and her from the bereaved widower of the man. Working together had wrapped things up quite quickly. It had also actually been enjoyable.

Mina was weird, energetic, and curious. It was an overwhelming combination at times, but other times it was just perfect. It was especially welcome when Danny got into a slump of some sort, usually between jobs or partners or when he wanted to kill and then end an annoying new roommate.

Not that he would ever do that.

(But Brad came damn close.)

A crying woman came dashing out through the curtain that separated the foyer waiting room from the sitting room that Mina used for her readings. She wiped dramatically at her eyes as she got to the door, heaved a massive sigh, tossed her hair back, and headed back out into the world.

“Wow. What did you tell her?” Danny asked, not even turning to look at Mina yet, though he knew she would be standing at the open curtain on the edge between the two spaces where old, cracked black and white tiles met darkly stained hardwood painted with hena style flowers.

“Oh, you know, the usual thing people hate to hear; it won’t work out between her and her current boyfriend,” Mina said. She dropped into the seat next to Danny, and he finally turned to look at her. Her mass of dark blond hair was piled up on top of her head in a sort of gibson girl bun that looked effortlessly, messily stylish. Mina was good at that—being effortlessly stylish in a disheveled sort of way. She brushed back her bangs and continued. “He’s actually already being set to be engaged by his family to ‘someone proper’, which he’ll give into for the inheritance—which is all she was after anyways. She’ll get over it.”

“Something something fish in the sea,” Danny said. He reached out and plucked a petal from Mina’s hair. It was from a bright orange zinnia. Mina’s favorite.

Mina hummed. “And how is your fishing going, Mr. Fenton?”

“Currently in an absolute drought, no where to fish around here.”

“Danny, you live in San Francisco. A bi man such as yourself is not allowed to say there is no fish around.”

Danny scowled, “No fish that don’t want to eat me and spit me out.”

“I mean…”

“Not like that!” Danny explained, a quick blush rising on in his cheeks. “I meant like, viciously.”

“I mean…” Mina repeated with a lascivious smirk.

“I regret coming to you for help.”

“No,” Mina whined, drawing out the word. “What help? Do you have a new ghost problem? What sort of help do you need? Danny, let me help!”

Danny managed to glare at her, but only for a few moments before he relented with an over wrought sigh. “Fine, you can help. Can we go talk now or do you have another appointment?”

“Not until four,” she said. She took Danny’s hand and practically dragged him through the door to the right and into the private section of the once stately home. “Which tea do you want?”

“Dealer's choice. Whatever tea you think is best for a weird talk about a weird ghost,” Danny said. He had his favorites of Mina's diverse tea selection, sure, but she had a way of always choosing the best blend foe the day if he left the choice to her.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied Danny in a way that always made the back of his neck itch. He put up with it dutifully, but relaxed noticeably when she nodded and continued them on to the kitchen.

The room was painted a warm, coral orange. The color should have clashed with the the pale blue cabinets and pale butcher top counters, but instead it just worked. It was very Mina.

Danny sat at the table and idly scratched Hubris on the head.

Hubris was Mina’s ancient grey cat. He had one single golden eye left and used it to glare pitifully at whoever was near until the pet him. He also purred like a wood chipper.

“So give me the deets,” Mina demanded once she had set down the two cups of tea.

Danny sighed and took a sip of his tea. “They’re different. It’s not like they’re made of smoke or mist, it’s like they’re full of static. And they don’t look dead either. I actually—I finally got a got a good look at them this last episode.”

“I don’t like the way you say ‘episode’,” Mina said. Her eyes narrowed over the top of her tea cup.

“You shouldn't,” Danny said with a frown as pulled out the sketch and unfolded it. “They’re seizures, I think? Not like I’ve gone to a doctor about them. I don’t think ‘the ghost person touches me and the world goes technicolor kaleidoscope’ would go over well with a medical professional.”

Hubris opened his one eye with a snort as Mina’s cup clanged down onto her saucer.

“Seizures?! Danny! What the f! You can’t just mess around with seizures.”

“You can say fuck, Mina, we’re both adults,” Danny said dryly.

She leaned forward. “I will throw my tea at you, Danny, unless you explain.”

“But I can’t exactly. They’re not a regular ghost, and I’ve never had anything like this happen before. Mina, look. They look alive.” He turned the drawing around to face her and slid it her way. “I drew this after the episode yesterday. I saw them so clearly. Their eyes had a spark, their skin was healthy skin with a flush and everything, and I even think they breathed. I don’t… Mina, I’m worried that they’re not a ghost.”

Mina picked up the sketch carefully. Her brows were furrowed. “But if they’re not a ghost, why are they contacting you?”

Danny shook his head. “No, if they’re not a ghost, how are they contacting me. And why am I their only option?”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty much. But that’s why I’m here. I want to try things a different way. I want you to try and read for them, Mina.”

[sunsetmaidenwrites]

An Essay on SamBucky

Just got back from seeing Captain America: Brave New World and am full of thoughts. The following contains Sambucky-centric thoughts, head canons, and spoilers based on the movie. (I have a separate post that includes my overall thoughts on the movie but this one is solely Sambucky.)

Sambucky nation--we rise! No divorce era for us! (Though it did provide for some awesome, angsty fics). I hope the trend continues with Thunderbolts*. Bucky is obviously looking rougher there than he did in this movie, so we're not out of the woods yet, but I'm feeling pretty good about our chances.

There's so much to say here. Multiple Bucky mentions (Sam alluding to Bucky when he talks about having a friend who was controlled by trigger words.), a picture of SamBucky prominently displayed at Sam's headquarters, Bucky showing up as emotional support when Sam needs him most, the hug, the "Buck" and the "I love you, Buddy." All of these have already been mentioned a lot, though, so for this post (who am I kidding this is an essay!), I would like to highlight a few points pertaining to the movie. I haven't really seen discussed in the Sambucky tag yet.

First, Sam says the following to Bucky at the hospital:

"Joaquin’s in here. Isaiah’s in prison. And Sterns…I had him. I had Sterns right in my hands but he got away." Bucky is given no additional backstory here, which means he already knows who Sterns is and what Sam is dealing with. This indicates Sam and Bucky are in regular contact with Sam keeping Bucky filled in on what's happening. This isn't just a case of Bucky seeing news footage and immediately going to Sam. Bucky is an active part of Sam's life and support system.

Then we have Bucky's line:

"Steve gave people something to believe in, but you give them something to aspire to." Bucky's admiration and devotion to Sam here is quite evident. I fully believe Bucky Barnes is all in for Sam Wilson and has been probably for longer than even he realizes.

Then toward the end of the scene where we get our iconic "Thanks Buck" and "I love you, Buddy" moment:

We have a wealth of unspoken communication here. Sam and Bucky seem to have a whole conversation with both their eyes and body language before they speak these words. Sam looks at Bucky. Looks down at (presumably) Bucky's outstretched hand. Then his eyes cut back up to Bucky. Then they cut back down as he shakes Bucky's hand, then he looks back up at Bucky. For Bucky's part, his eyes never leave Sam's face during the entirety of this. It's only right before he says "I love you, Buddy" that his gaze cuts down from Sam's face. After saying the words, Bucky proceeds to back away and Sam watches him go. The way this scene plays out, and the choices Mackie and Stan make leave a lot of room for subtext and interpretation, imo.

Right after this scene, we also get the female agent coming in with questions/comments about Bucky to Sam, alluding to a possible interest which Sam shuts down with "He's 110 years old." Look, it might make sense for Sam to try to nip a Bucky/Sarah potential connection in the bud like he did in TFATWS and it not mean anything (that's another essay for another day. I wasn't on Tumblr back then to share my thoughts on that.); after all, that's his sister and Bucky was riding on his last nerve through all the previous episodes at that point. It does not, however, make sense for Sam to insert himself into the narrative at this point and try to dissuade a random CIA agent from showing interest in Bucky if Bucky is just his friend and/or Sam's interest in him is purely platonic. It just doesn't. I cannot come up with a logical explanation for this besides the obvious 'that man is mine, step off' conclusion.

And for my last point:

During Sam's final showdown with the red hulk, with the outcome uncertain, and defeat (and therefore death) potentially eminent, Sam proceeds to bitch about Bucky under his breath. "Bucky is full of so much shit..." I know this is supposed to be funny and snarky, but it's also quite telling. We know that the signature of SamBucky's relationship--whether it's platonic or romantic--is the bickering. Not only is Sam spending his potential last moments ranting about Bucky (again, the staple of their relationship), he's also spending them thinking about Bucky. He's going out there facing odds that seem insurmountable and it's Bucky that's on his mind.

So, in conclusion, they're in love.

[amynchan]

"Another one."

The file is slapped on my desk, courtesy of Jack's hand. I do my best not to sigh, but some endeavors are honestly just doomed to fail.

"New recruit or job transfer?" I know I'll see the answer in the file, but if Jack's gonna be like that, then I can be like this. I don't even open the file.

"New recruit, asshole." Wow. Someone's in a bad mood. Wonder what crawled up his ass. Okay, fine, I open up the file this time.

Oh.

Oh...

You know, years and years ago, this might have been considered a conflict of interest. When there were enough people around, working jobs, that the work could be moved from an involved or easily affected party to an uninvolved one.

Maybe there was a reason for that.

"Hey, if you need to take a lunch break—"

"Don't. Just— just don't."

Well... what else can I do? I swallow up my words, nod, and look at the beaming face of Jack's niece again. Seventeen. Sweet girl. Her grades, like everyone else's, meet standards that might have been actually necessary so many years ago. Technology's moved forward. Life has moved forward. Humanity, as a whole, has evolved out of needing so many jobs that most of today's problems are manufactured. Enough to make people think about them but not enough to cause lasting damage to... well, anything if they aren't taken care of. And the people who skim the jobs we've given them? Nothing really happens. We make the fake problems go away one way or another, and nobody and nothing gets hurt in the process. No real loss.

It's busywork is all I'm saying. People like Sarah get to do busywork. The really exceptional people get hired here. Doing this. Keeping the world running on one side and keeping the population controlled on the other.

"All she wants to do is make a difference in the world." Jack doesn't have anyone else who can do this job for him. I don't think he'd want to, either. Once you know about how the world works, there's not really a way to unknow.

Well...

No need to tempt fate with thoughts like those. I go through Sarah's file.

"There's gotta be something else she likes." And there's lots in here. She's got friends. A robust social life. There are a few ambitions, but we can make some scenarios to fit and satisfy those.

But that's not the problem, and Jack knows it. I know it.

"How am I supposed to face her?" he asks. "She's going to come to family dinners, all smiles, talking about how much better the world is because of her and her coworkers and her friends. How much good she's doing for the world. How she's going to make it better for the rest of us, just wait and see. She's going to barrel headfirst into making humanity a utopia again!"

I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut. Jack and I both know what utopia can do to people.

When Jack yells, I'm not surprised. His brother was never like Sarah. His sister in law was never like Sarah. As far as I know, nobody in his family has been like Sarah. Sweet. Determined. Good-hearted.

All determination and heart. None of the skill sets or natural talents we need in order to make her fantasy come true.

It would make a lot of sense to make Sarah a politician. Protected. Safe. Somewhere her ambitions can at least feel fed and her dreams feel real, at least.

Enough to make her feel proud. Worthy. Dignified. In this world where corruption is nipped in the bud and no one ever gets shot or goes hungry, a politician's job is easy, and the problems they deal with are minor.

But I know it would also be also enough to drive Jack insane. Meeting with his niece throughout the years, watching her be so proud of achievements that are real to her and hollow to everyone who knows. Hollow to him. It's a special kind of hell we live in.

One hell of a utopia.

In the end, Sarah will become a small business owner. We'll lay down the trail for her to run something that runs along the lines of 20th century ethical practices. She'll have her pick of products, and she'll run the operation in the best way she knows how. We can lay down breadcrumbs of opportunities and support the infrastructure and the product line from where we sit. She'll live a perfectly respectable life in her ethical and lovely shop for as long as she wants until she wants a transfer.

Maybe she'll be a politician then. Who the hell knows.

Not me, and not Jack, by the look of it. I look at him, and he glares back.

Yeah. Okay.

Jack slaps another file on my desk. This time, I just take it. There are some days where turnabout just isn't fair play.

In the near future, 85% of all jobs have been automated, and everyone's basic needs are met for free. You work for a secret organization that creates fake busywork jobs for the majority who aren't qualified for the few real jobs left, but need perceived meaningful labor to stay sane.

[rootedinrevisions]

Worth the Effort

Summary: On their first Valentine’s Day together, Glen goes above and beyond to show his love in a way that proves just how much the reader means to him.

Warnings: None! Just pure fluff and good vibes.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author’s Note: Thank you to the Anon who sent in this request! This one was fun to write with the holiday coming up! Also put a little bit of myself in this one as I've never really had a partner put effort into Valentine's Day. So it was fun to brainstorm what someone would do to make Valentine’s Day special!

A Few Days Before Valentine's Day

The phone rings just as you’re settling onto the couch for the evening, the glow of the lamp next to you casting soft shadows against the walls of the living room. You glance at the screen, and the second you see Glen’s name your heart gives an involuntary flutter.

“Hey, babe,” you say, leaning back against the cushions. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? Isn’t it like…two in the morning over there?”

There’s a chuckle on the other end, warm and familiar. “Nah, we wrapped late, and I couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice first.”

Your stomach tightens. He always knows what to say.

“Well, I’m honored,” you murmur, smiling despite yourself. “How’s London treating you?”

Glen sighs, and you can almost picture him. He’s probably stretched out in some ridiculously nice hotel room, one arm behind his head, hair tousled from a long day on set.

“It’s good. Cold as hell, though.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You poor thing.”

“I know, right?” he says, voice dripping with mock suffering. “I need to get back to Texas.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, drama queen.”

There’s a pause just long enough for you to hear the subtle shift in his tone when he speaks again. “Speaking of me coming back,” Glen starts, “don’t make any plans for Friday.”

Your brows pull together in confusion. “Friday?” You blink, glancing at the calendar on your nightstand. “What’s Friday?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You’re messing with me,” Glen says flatly.

You tilt your head. “I’m… not?”

“Babe.” His voice dips, both amused and exasperated. “Friday is Valentine’s Day.”

Your stomach clenches. Your fingers tighten slightly around the phone, but you force a casual laugh.

“Right,” you say quickly. “Well, you don’t have to worry about coming home for just that. It’s just a stupid holiday.”

You’re met with silence. Not a long one, just a couple of seconds that are barely noticeable, but you hear it. And knowing Glen, he’s probably hearing everything you’re not saying.

He exhales softly. “C’mon, don’t be like that.”

You shrug, even though he can’t see you. “I’m serious. You don’t have to come all the way back just for some commercialized excuse to buy me chocolates and overpriced roses.”

His voice is softer now.  “You really think I’d let our first Valentine’s Day together be just another day?”

You don’t know how to explain what’s going through your head, at least not without sounding pathetic. But the truth is, the only other serious relationship you’ve ever had was with someone who hated Valentine’s Day. He called it pointless. Overrated. He never bought you flowers. Never made plans. Never did anything. And eventually, you just learned to stop expecting it.

Glen, though? Glen isn’t like that.

Still you shake your head, keeping your voice light. “I don’t know. I think you’re underestimating my ability to spend the night in pajamas bingeing bad reality TV.”

There’s a chuckle, but it’s quieter this time. Then, his voice turns gravelly, lower than before. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I already have something planned.”

Your breath catches. “You—”

“I’ll be home Friday,” he promises. “And once I get home I’m all yours.”

* * * * *

Valentine’s Day - Morning

Soft morning light spills through your curtains painting yours and Glen’s bedroom in soft golden hues. You shift under the covers stretching lazily, the quiet hum of the world outside lulling you back into a light doze. For once you don’t have to rush. No work. No emails. No meetings. You took the whole day off not for Valentine’s Day, of course. Just…because. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The faint sound of the front door unlocking downstairs barely registers in your half asleep state. Your mind lingers somewhere between dreamland and consciousness until a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“Babe?”

Your eyes flutter open. There’s a brief second where your brain doesn’t quite catch up. Because Glen is in London. He’s supposed to be thousands of miles away.

But then a slow grin spreads across your face as you remember his promise. Pushing the covers off, you scramble out of bed and  run toward the living room. 

The second you turn the corner, there he is. Glen. Standing in your doorway, looking completely and devastatingly like home. His hair is tousled from travel, and his jacket is slung casually over one arm. But it’s the expression on his face that makes your breath hitch. That stupid heart melting smile.

“Hey beautiful,” he says, voice rich with amusement.

You don’t even think. You just launch yourself into his arms. Glen catches you easily, like he’s been waiting for it. One of his arms wraps around you, strong and warm, holding you just tight enough to make your heart squeeze.

“You’re here,” you mumble against his shoulder.

His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Told you I would be.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding to cup his face. He’s slightly scruffy, his jaw rough with the shadow of a beard like he hadn’t bothered to shave before hopping on a plane.

Your fingers brush over the stubble, and Glen just smirks.

“You checking if I’m real?” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “I’m debating if I should kill you for not telling me when your flight was landing. I would’ve picked you up.”

He chuckles, but before you can say anything else he pulls something from behind his back. A bouquet of roses. Deep red, vibrant, freshly wrapped with ribbon.

Your lips part, but for a second, nothing comes out.

Because this has never happened to you before. No one has ever shown up with flowers. No one has ever gone out of their way to make you feel like you’re worth the effort.

Glen watches you carefully, his gaze softer now. “You okay?”

You swallow, nodding as you take the bouquet from him. The petals are velvety under your fingertips, the scent delicate and sweet.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head. “I know.” Then leaning in he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “But I wanted to.”

Your chest tightens. Because for the first time ever Valentine’s Day doesn’t feel like some stupid, commercialized holiday.

It just feels like him.

Glen leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching as you tuck the roses into a vase. “So,” he says casually, “what time do you have to be at the office?”

You hesitate for half a second before replying, “I actually took the day off.”

Glen raises a brow, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Did you now?”

You shoot him a look already knowing where this is going. “Don’t.”

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna.” He steps closer, tilting his head. “Did you take today off to avoid your office turning into a Valentine’s Day war zone?”

You sigh dramatically. “It’s not a war zone. It’s just…” You gesture vaguely. “Okay maybe it is kind of like a war zone.”

Glen chuckles. “So you’re telling me that right now, at this very moment, the entire office is split into two camps. One group gushing over their gifts, the other dramatically swearing off love forever.”

You snort. “Pretty much.”

He grins. “And you just…opted out?”

“I didn’t opt out,” you argue, crossing your arms. “I just thought, you know, a personal day sounded nice.”

Glen hums, unconvinced. “Mhm. Just a total coincidence that you took off work on Valentine’s Day?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, actually.”

“Uh-huh.” He steps forward, hands slipping around your waist as he leans in. His voice drops, warm and teasing against your ear. “Admit it. You were worried I wouldn’t come back.”

Your stomach flips, but you try to keep your expression neutral. “You are so full of yourself. Not everything is about you, you know?”

He laughs, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your neck before pulling back. “Maybe.”

Moving effortlessly around your kitchen, Glen grabs a frying pan and starts pulling things from the fridge.

You frown. “Are you…cooking?”

He raises a brow. “What, you think just because I’m a pretty face I can’t make breakfast?”

You smirk, hopping up onto the counter. “I think I’ve seen you burn toast before.”

He points a spatula at you. “That was one time. And I was distracted.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “By what?”

Glen grins. “You, probably.”

Your cheeks warm, but you shake your head laughing as Glen effortlessly takes over the kitchen.

The rest of the morning is easy. Pancakes, fresh fruit, coffee. You sit cross legged on the couch while Glen flips through the channels, landing on an old movie you’ve both seen a dozen times.

The world outside drifts by, but here in this little pocket of time, everything feels calm.

Because it’s not about the holiday. It’s just about being with him.

Later That Afternoon

You’re curled up on the couch, half asleep, when Glen nudges your foot.

“Hey,” he says, stretching. “We should probably get ready soon.”

You frown, peeking one eye open. “For what?”

He smirks. “C’mon. I’ve got plans for us.”

You hesitate, eyeing him suspiciously. “What kind of plans?”

His lips twitch. “The kind where you should wear something nice.”

Your stomach flips. Because Glen Powell does not do basic.

Which means whatever he’s got planned…it’s something big.

You stand in the middle of the walk-in closet, hands on your hips, staring at the rows of clothes as if they might magically assemble themselves into the perfect outfit.

Something nice. That’s what Glen had said. But what does that even mean? Does he mean nice boots and jeans? Like Texas casual nice? Or does he mean nice dinner nice?

You sigh pulling out a dress, then immediately putting it back. You check your phone like maybe Glen has sent some kind of clarification, but no. Just a winking emoji in response to your earlier “Where are we going?” text.

So helpful.

Just as you’re debating whether you should just put on leggings and hope for the best, you hear footsteps behind you.

“You’re overthinking.”

You turn to see Glen leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, grinning like he’s caught you doing something embarrassing.

“I am not overthinking,” you say even though, okay, maybe you are.

Glen pushes off the doorframe and steps inside, his gaze flicking from the half-unzipped dress in your hand to the growing pile of discarded outfits on the bench. “You’re standing in the middle of the closet looking like you’re solving a murder,” he teases.

You huff. “That’s because you were vague.” You gesture toward him. “What does something nice even mean? You’re wearing jeans!”

He glances down at his outfit—jeans and a crisp button up, the sleeves rolled up in a way that does unfair things to his forearms. “Yeah. Because I know where we’re going.”

“That’s not helpful.”

He laughs, stepping closer. “Here.” He slides past you, reaching into your side of the closet like he’s done it a hundred times before. He pulls out a sundress. It’s one of your favorites. Light, comfortable, effortless. The kind of thing that works for a casual dinner or something a little special.

He holds it up. “This one.”

You take it, raising an eyebrow. “You picked that fast.”

He shrugs. “I like this one on you.”

Something about the way he says it is so easy and certain. It sends warmth curling through your chest. You glance at him, suddenly aware of the way he’s watching you, like he already knows you’re going to listen to him.

“Alright,” you say, fighting a smile. “But if I’m overdressed, I’m blaming you.”

Glen grins. “That’s fair.” He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

You smooth your hands over the dress as you step out of the bedroom, your heels clicking lightly against the hardwood as you make your way down the stairs. There’s a hint of nerves buzzing in your chest. Not because you’re unsure about the date, but because Glen has a way of making everything feel like it means more.

As you reach the last step, you spot him near the front door, messing with his watch. He must hear you approaching because he glances up. And freezes.

His fingers pause, his whole body going still as he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You recognize that look. It’s the one he gave you the first time you ever dressed up for an event together. The one he gets when you’re wearing something that knocks the breath out of him.

His lips part slightly, his brows lifting just enough to be noticeable. His eyes take a slow appreciative once over, lingering on the soft fabric of your dress, the way it falls just right, the way it hugs your curves without even trying.

“See something you like?” you tease, one eyebrow quirking as you reach the bottom step.

Glen blinks like you just snapped him out of a trance. Then that easy, borderline cocky grin of his slides into place. “I always do,” he says smoothly, stepping toward you. “But damn, sweetheart.” His voice dips lower warm and teasing. “You really outdid yourself tonight.”

You roll your eyes fighting back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stunning.” He closes the space between you, reaching for your hand. His fingers slide against yours, warm and steady. “If I didn’t already have a whole plan for tonight, I’d be seriously reconsidering leaving this house.”

Your face warms at his words, but you shake your head with a laugh. “Well, now I definitely need to know what this plan is.”

He smirks, giving your hand a quick squeeze before leading you toward the door. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart.” He opens the door, gesturing for you to step outside. “You’re gonna love it.”

As you step outside the cool evening air wraps around you, carrying the scent of fresh grass and the lingering warmth of the Texas sun. Glen’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you toward the garage where his truck and SUV sit side by side. Your car is parked in the third spot.

You glance between his truck  and the SUV, expecting him to open the door to one of the vehicles. Maybe he’s planned a nice dinner in town or some kind of fancy event. But instead of going for the truck Glen veers to the side…toward the Gator ATV.

You stop short. “Uh… did you forget we’re dressed nicely?” You gesture between the two of you, your dress swaying slightly with the motion. “Because I don’t think this outfit is exactly ATV appropriate.”

Glen just grins, already pulling open the driver’s side. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Should I?”

He leans against the roll cage, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I did put in all this effort to plan something special for you.” He tilts his head toward the passenger seat. “So, what do you say? You gonna climb in and find out, or are you gonna stand there and keep looking pretty?”

You bite your lip, giving the Gator a once over. It’s not what you expected, but with Glen the unexpected is usually the best part. With a small sigh you step forward, gathering your dress slightly as you climb into the seat.

Glen smirks as he watches. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“I swear, if you send me flying—”

“Sweetheart.” He places a hand over his heart. “I would never let anything happen to you.” Then with a wink he turns the key, and the engine rumbles to life beneath you.

As he pulls out of the garage, the headlights cut through the dusky sky, and the excitement in your chest starts to build. You still don’t know where he’s taking you, but you can already tell whatever it is, it’s going to be unforgettable.

The ride is short, but the anticipation builds with every bump and turn down the dirt path. The air is crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of wild grass and the faintest hint of cedar. The last bit of golden sunlight lingers on the horizon, casting everything in a warm glow.

As Glen slows the ATV to a stop, you finally see it—a clearing in the middle of his land, wide and open, with a sky that seems to stretch forever. And right in the center of it all, a blanket is spread out, a carefully packed picnic basket resting on top, along with a small lantern glowing softly in the evening light.

“You did all this?” you ask softly, turning to Glen as he kills the engine.

He grins, already stepping out of the ATV and moving to your side. “Told you I had something special planned.” He reaches for your hand, helping you down with that effortless, gentlemanly ease that always makes your heart race.

As soon as your feet touch the ground, you kick off your shoes, the cool grass tickling your bare skin. Glen watches with amusement. “Getting comfortable already?”

“You expect me to sit on a picnic blanket in heels?” you tease.

He chuckles, slipping his arm around your waist as he guides you toward the setup. “Fair enough.”

Once you reach the blanket Glen lets go of you just long enough to sit down first. Then with that easy, confident charm, he reaches out offering his hand to you.

You place your hand in his letting him help you down, and as soon as you’re settled, he stays close. One arm propped behind you for support, his body warm and solid beside yours.

“This…” You take another glance around, your heart swelling at the effort he’s put into all of this. “This is amazing, Glen.”

His gaze softens, a small smile playing on his lips. “You deserve it.”

And just like that the tension in your chest, the years of past Valentine’s Days that were ignored or dismissed fades into something warm and weightless.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the way your emotions threaten to creep up, but Glen must notice because he reaches up, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “none of that. No sad thoughts tonight.”

You exhale a small laugh. “I’m not sad,” you admit. “I just…I think this is the first time Valentine’s Day has actually felt like something special.”

His fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face toward his. His voice is soft, steady. “That’s because you’re special.”

And before you can argue, before you can brush it off, he leans in, pressing a soft lingering kiss to your lips, sealing the moment in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

Glen reaches into the picnic basket, a playful smirk on his face as he starts unpacking the meal he’s carefully put together. There’s fresh fruit, a variety of cheeses, slices of warm bread wrapped in a cloth, and a thermos that smells suspiciously like homemade soup.

You raise a brow. “You went all out for this.”

He grins as he pops open a container, revealing chocolate-covered strawberries. “Told you I had a plan.”

As you both start eating, the atmosphere settles into something warm and intimate. The sky deepens into a soft indigo, stars beginning to peek through, and the lantern beside you casts a cozy glow over the blanket.

At one point, Glen picks up a piece of cheese, holding it out toward you with an exaggerated look of expectation. “Open up, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes but lean in anyway, taking the bite from his fingers. His smirk widens. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

You swallow, shaking your head at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.”

You snort. “That’s still up for debate.”

Glen gasps dramatically, clutching his chest as if wounded. “Damn. And here I thought I was winning you over.”

“You’re gonna have to work a little harder than feeding me cheese,” you tease.

He leans in, voice dropping just a little. “Noted.”

Your stomach flutters, but before you can react, Glen reaches back into the basket, pulling something out and setting it in front of you with a little flourish.

“Speaking of working harder,” he says, “here’s your real Valentine’s Day present.”

You blink, looking down at the small, wrapped box in front of you. Your heart stutters. “Glen…”

“No arguing,” he warns, nudging it toward you. “Just open it.”

Your fingers hesitate for a moment before you carefully peel back the wrapping. Inside, nestled in a velvet box, is a delicate bracelet—simple but elegant, with a small charm that catches the lantern light.

You recognize it instantly.

The charm is in the shape of Texas, and etched into it, so small you almost miss it, are the coordinates of Glen’s ranch.

Your breath catches.

“So you always have a piece of home with you,” he murmurs, watching your reaction closely.

A lump rises in your throat as you run your fingers over the charm, heart swelling at the thought behind it.

You glance up at Glen, eyes shining. “I—”

But the words don’t come.

Instead, you reach for him, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss that’s soft and slow, filled with everything you’re feeling but can’t quite put into words.

You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper, “I love you.”

Glen smiles, pressing a kiss to your nose before pulling you into his arms. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

The sky is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, the last remnants of daylight sinking beyond the horizon. The warmth of the setting sun lingers on your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth radiating from Glen as you lean back against his chest. His arms are wrapped loosely around your waist, fingers idly tracing patterns along your forearm.

You sigh contentedly, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. “This was perfect.”

Glen hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

For a while neither of you speak. You just sit there tangled up in each other watching the sun disappear. There’s a peacefulness in the quiet moments between you, in the way Glen’s breath moves steadily against your back, in the way his fingers never stop their gentle absentminded movements against your skin.

And then, as the last bit of daylight fades, Glen shifts behind you. “C’mon,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head before gently pulling away and standing up.

You blink, watching as he makes his way over to the Gator. “Where are you going?”

Glen doesn’t answer. At least not right away. Instead he reaches into the vehicle, flicks on the headlights, and suddenly the entire field is bathed in a warm golden glow. Then from the glove compartment he pulls out a small Bluetooth speaker.

Your heart stutters as he powers it on and scrolls through his phone for a moment before a familiar melody starts playing.

You recognize it instantly. It’s the first song you and Glen ever slow danced to on the first date.

Your breath catches as he turns back to you, the softest smile tugging at his lips. He makes his way over, holding his hand out. “Dance with me?”

You don’t hesitate. Slipping your hand into his, you let him pull you up and guide you into the middle of the makeshift dance floor. The headlights cast a dreamy glow, the stars begin to dot the inky sky above, and the music wraps around you like a warm embrace.

Glen’s hands find your waist, drawing you in close as he sways you to the music. You rest your arms around his neck, your fingers playing idly with the hair at the nape of his neck.

For a moment, you just move together, slow and easy, as if the rest of the world has faded away.

“You remember this?” Glen murmurs, his lips close to your ear.

You nod against his shoulder. “Of course, I do.”

“I do too.” He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “I remember thinking that night that I’d do anything to get the chance to dance with you again..”

Your breath shudders, emotion tightening in your chest. “Glen—”

But he doesn’t let you finish. Instead he dips his head and kisses you slow and deep, like he’s got all the time in the world. And maybe he does.

The music plays on, the soft melody weaving between the night sounds of crickets and the occasional rustle of the breeze through the grass. Glen holds you close, his warmth wrapped around you like a second skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

Neither of you speak, but words aren’t necessary. Everything you need to say is in the way he holds you, in the way he sways with you, in the way his fingers trace gentle patterns along your spine.

As the song nears its end, Glen presses his lips to your temple, lingering there for a long moment before whispering, “You get it now, don’t you?”

You blink up at him. “Get what?”

He smiles, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “That you deserve this. That you’re worth the effort.” His thumb skims over your cheek. “And that I’d fly across the world a hundred times over just to spend a day loving you.”

The words steal the breath right out of your lungs. Emotion swells in your chest, tightening your throat, burning behind your eyes.

You shake your head, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you whisper, “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Glen chuckles, tucking you against his chest once more. “Then I guess I’m doing something right.”

And so, you stay there—wrapped up in his arms, slow dancing beneath the stars, as the music fades and the world around you stands still.

Just you and him.

Exactly where you’re meant to be.

[grandline-fics]

hello can I request Luffy for true loves kiss for ur valentine's event? ur prompts are super cute btw!! I literally was stressing over which character to pick for this prompt 😭

DESCRIPTION: True Love's Kiss- The moment they realise they're in love

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Luffy

WORDS: 1,046

A/N: This was also requested by @destynelseclipsa. I hope you both like what I came up with for this one and that it's to your liking. Thank you for the request and Happy Valentine's day guys

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

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When the Strawhats docked at the island that morning the crew became confused about being told they wouldn’t be allowed to enter properly just yet. The explanation given was that there was a festival being prepared in the city’s centre for the evening and it would be too difficult to get everything ready in time with outsiders getting in the way. Most of the crew understood and settled in for an afternoon on the ship. Luffy, however became all but impossible to control. Knowing there was a city-wide party just hours away from happening left him a ball of frantic energy just wanting to sneak into the city centre and take a peek at what was to come.

Nami had been yelling at him to behave and just be patient, with Zoro and Sanji holding him firmly in place under the navigator’s instruction but still they struggled. If Luffy wanted to break free he would. You knew it was only a matter of time before he broke, with Nami soon following suit so you decided to get ahead of things to ensure everyone had a good time at the festival. 

Getting up from your seat you approached your Captain and boyfriend. Even with your steps being casual against the Sunny’s deck and muted over the sounds of Sanji, Zoro, and Nami’s yelling, the second you drew near Luffy’s head turned immediately towards you and his dark but bright eyes fixed on you. Anything the others were saying, were completely drowned out by this point as he smiled happily at you.

“You can go peek if you want, Luffy but it’ll just be boring. There won’t be any cooked food ready at this point and maybe a couple stalls built.” You explained with a shrug. “If you want to see that you can just go to Franky and Usopp’s workshops and see what they’re working on right? Or we could stay here and see if Sanji would make something to tide us all over before the festival?”

Sanji jerked when Luffy effortlessly pulled out from his and Zoro’s hold. He glanced at you and quickly grinned, anything to keep Luffy content enough to be patient and even better if he had a hand in it, it would earn him more favour with Nami. “Yeah. How about a pre-festival feast?”

The island they’d found themselves and now got to fully see was bursting with life and colour. Everyone was so cheerful, infectiously so. Luffy grinned broadly as he took in the sights and sounds overwhelming his senses in every direction. Now he was glad he listened to you and stayed on the Sunny until it was time to attend the festival. Keeping one hand firmly linked with yours, he hurried from one stall to the other taking in as many games, food, and possible trinkets to buy. Through it all you grinned at his enthusiasm, soaking up the radiant positivity and excitement that Luffy brought to the already joyous atmosphere. While Luffy was buying another local delicacy to try, Chopper called your name. You told Luffy you’d be right back and hurried over to the doctor to help him pick what to buy from a souvenir stall. Immediately Luffy pouted and watched you across the street. 

“Oh I know that look.” Luffy turned to see the old man in front of the stall he was at. His confusion grew when the man grinned broadly. “That’s the face of a man in love.”

“Love?” Luffy repeated, a hint of hesitation in his tone. Quickly he glanced your direction again. Yes you were both in a relationship but love was a new topic. “What makes you think that?”

“Not think. Know.” The old man clarified with a soft laugh and shake of his head. “That hopeless, lost look you got now even when they’re so close. Besides I’ve been watching you two since you got here. It’s obvious you’re in love with how you look at them. How they’re the only thing that matters above all else.” Luffy blinked at the explanation and looked over at you again, unable and unwilling to stop the smile shaping his lips when you waved him over to join you. At the smallest beckon you gave him Luffy was already moving, needing absolutely to be as close as possible. Now with the old man’s words in his head Luffy began to consider it with more seriousness than he would have without the prompting. He truly couldn’t be without you. But did you matter more than anything else? 

“Luffy! Careful!” You spoke suddenly with widened eyes. You were hurrying towards him to meet him halfway. He blinked in surprise to see you leaning down to pick up his hat from the ground. In his movements and the busy city streets, the tied rope keeping the straw hat around his neck had come undone and it had fallen. He hadn’t even noticed it was loose. He didn’t even realise or felt it had fallen. You had occupied his notice completely and even seeing it had been missing from his person for just a few seconds didn’t bring him nearly as much agitation as you leaving his side had done. 

His hat, his defining image and greatest treasure truly did matter less to him compared to you. Luffy smiled when you settled the hat firmly on his head and secured the rope to make sure it didn’t slip again. Meeting your gaze Luffy was struck with the confirmation that what the old man had pointed out to him was obvious. He knew people called him clueless sometimes but in this moment he fully agreed with him. “I love you!”

“For saving your hat?” You ask with a smile. Your boyfriend was a lovable and affectionate guy so you took his statement with a carefree smile. You only froze when you saw Luffy’s stare on your face was stronger and more serious than anything you’d seen before. His declaration wasn’t one being said thoughtlessly. He meant it with every fibre of his being and it shocked and warmed you instantly. Your lips parted and your took a breath before staring at him with just as much love as he was giving you. “Love you too, Luffy.”

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @rosemary-lungs

[inbabylontheywept]

Kartchner Caverns

The first time I traveled to Tucson I was in a car full of zooted children. I would've preferred being one of those children, but alas, any medication that makes me sleep also makes me sleepwalk. And after an incident where I tried to climb out of the car while it was still going sixty (thank God for seatbelts), I was condemned to a childhood of car trip sobriety: No more poor-man's time travel. No more ambien. One less morally ambiguawesome parenting decision from my crazy-ass dad.

I was talking with him when it happened.

I can't remember exactly what we were talking about - something to do with our final destination in Mexico. But at some point, we woke up my little brother. 

(Nothing good happens from waking the dreamer. Best case scenario, the dream ends. Worst case, it doesn't.)

I remember starting when I felt one of his small cold hands reach up to grab my shoulder. Our dad did the same, and it jerked the car a little bit - startling someone whose hands are on the steering wheel has its risks. Dad and I both turned to look at him, but he wasn't even looking at us. He was leaning over the console, staring into the red and purple sunset ahead, watching the rolling skyline of Tucson like it was drowning in dreams. Like he was drowning in dreams. 

We waited for him to speak. It took a while. Normal social conventions don't apply to people when they're unconscious. The fact that he could talk was just some broken line code in the fabric of the world. 

"Wow," he said at long last. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" my dad replied. And my little brother shook his head like he just heard the silliest thing in the world. 

"It's terrible," he said. "Awful. Is Mexico always like this?" 

"We're still in America," my dad said back. 

My little brother squinted into the sunset, doubt and derision etched into his face. After a few seconds, both emotions softened, and he nodded in wonder. 

"Eagle feathers," he said, chuckling softly. Like he'd just solved some clever little riddle. Then he fell like an angel into something deeper than sleep. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

(There is a word for angels that fall.)

𓆙𓆙𓆙

The second time I went to Tucson, I hid from the sun. 

You'd be surprised how easy it is to do down there. Society accommodates it in ways you just won't find anywhere else. When it's 109 outside with single digit humidity, of course you stay indoors. Of course the outdoor markets open at 6 pm, and of course they don't close until 11. Of course. You make the sun mean enough, and everyone becomes a vampire. 

So I roamed the streets at night, kicking up red gravel, watching coyotes wander in between the sea of strip malls. Strip malls are such an Arizonan atrocity. Nobody bothers to build up because there’s nothing to be gained from density. The city will never be walkable, because the problem isn’t infrastructure. It's the sun. And you can't solve the sun, so you might as well lean into driving. Mash the whole city flat and crawl through the dust like rattlers. 

(I met a man once, by the canals, that said the strip malls were some sort of American curse upon the inheritors of Johnny Appleseed. There's one God in this world, he said, and it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone. So this is our hell.)

Still. It made the days long down there. Lurking at night and hiding all day gives you something like cabin fever. I needed something to do outside. Something that was outside, but also, somehow, inside. What's inside and outside at the same time? What kind of klein-flask ouroboros nonsense fits that bill?

Kartchner caverns. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I wouldn't say the caves were like walking into Dante's hell - more like finishing the journey. At some point in my life, I'd blown past limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, and anger. I'd spent two decades plus change living in the fires of heresy. Every layer past would only get colder. 

And each step into that cave did. 

My tour guide and psychopomp was a friendly old man. Familiar in the way that all old people feel familiar to me. I view the world more as a pile of metaphors. He viewed it primarily as water-soluble minerals. 

It was a good work dynamic. 

"These here," he said, gesturing to a long, slender series of impossibly frail stalactites, "are called soda straws."

They were beautiful. I can wax poetic at the keyboard, but in real life, my exclamation of wonder is primarily Hot Damn.

"Hot damn," I said, and he nodded good naturedly. 

"They're pretty fun aren't they? Took a few eons to make 'em but I think it was worth the wait."

I was charmed by the way he talked. I knew it was just a fluke of tenses, but there was something funny about the way he described them - as if he personally oversaw each of the dainty little spires. We went further, and he pointed out more formations as we came across them. 

"Behold!" he said just a few feet further. "Fried eggs!" 

And I had to admit: There were fried eggs. 

"Behold!" he said further still. "A shield!"

And lo, there was a shield. It didn't look terribly shieldlike, but who knows - maybe he made the shields first and got better as he went along. The eggs were beautiful.

We kept walking, deeper, and deeper into the cave. At the surface, it had been hot enough for my sweat to dry into a stinging white powder. Down there it was cold enough to see my breath. The feeling of descending into hell was replaced with the feeling of being swallowed by some ancient, fossilized snake. 

"We call this serpent-stone," he said, gesturing to an expanse of wall. 

And then all I could see was the snake that was swallowing me. 

Now, I want to bring something up right about now. At this point, you might be tempted to write off the unease that I was feeling as claustrophobia. Which would make sense - caves unsettle a lot of people. But not me. I'm borderline claustrophilic. When I was a child, I didn't feel comfortable reading until I was wedged somewhere. Behind a shelf, or in a cabinet, or even underneath the beanbag my parents had intended for sitting. Those were my happy places. I liked being crammed into tight spaces. 

I did not like that cave. 

The section of serpent-stone narrowed the further we went. The room started off maybe six feet wide, but eventually it narrowed down. First to five, then four, then three. Two. And it didn’t stop at one. 

The old man put me in front at that point. Said that if I got stuck, he could just push me forward. Didn't occur to me until I'd gone another hundred feet forward, sideways, that maybe getting dragged out would be better. But I was strangely reluctant to bring it up. I’d already let myself get cornered. There was nothing to be gained from letting him know my thoughts. 

But the only way to keep them secret was by going forward. So I poured myself through the crack, slick as slip.  

There's a grain to the scales of serpent-stone, both in the shape of the formations and in the texture of the individual pieces. They're metamorphic, but there's enough sediment left to ‘em that they have a grain. They bite when you go one way, and slide when you go the other. It felt like I was ratcheting myself in. Even if I could slip forward more, I didn't think I could go back. Not without wearing myself down into something skinless and screaming. 

Water began to pool up in sections. It was cold enough to avoid the stink that still waters normally carry, but things stranger than algae festered in the waters beneath my feet. The puddles felt thick, almost slimy. A dozen steps later I saw little ropes of the stuff trickling down my feet. 

Eventually, it got so narrow I couldn't turn my head. I could still hear the old man behind me, but only through little things - the occasional sharp inhale, or steps just an eighth of a beat off from my own. But never words. I remember stopping at one point, just to get pushed, just to know he was there. And he refused. All I heard for fifteen minutes was his breathing behind me. 

He'd called my bluff. There was nowhere to go but forward. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I don't know why it took so long to get dark down there. I wasn't carrying a flashlight, and if the old man had been carrying one, I'd have seen it bob with his steps. There was a sort of soft glow to everything but that had faded hour by hour. Eventually it didn't matter that I couldn't turn my head sideways - I wouldn't have been able to see the man if he'd been two inches in front of me. I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and just when I was about to get stuck for real - stuck in a way where I wouldn't be able to step forward, where I'd have to be pushed (or dragged back along the sharpness of the scales) - I popped out of the serpent stone crevasse like a cork from a bottle. 

Plunk. 

I can't tell you the relief that I felt at that moment. It didn't matter that I didn't know where I was, or how I got there. I'd never been claustrophobic in my life, but at that moment, I couldn't stand even the proximity of the crevice. I scrambled forward, stumbling over the rough cave floor, desperate and eager to find the next wall. To get some sense of where I was. 

I never did. Even as I calmed down, even as the relief of being free of that infernal vice sat upon me like a crown, I never found another wall. Anywhere. I walked until fear made me crawl, as low and blind as any worm. I crawled until my pants tore and my knees bled and my spine ached. 

And I found nothing. 

When the vastness of the space truly sank in, when I realized that leaving that first wall had been a mistake, I turned back. But some choices can't be unmade. There were no walls. Not anymore. No matter how far I crawled, how hard I tried, there was no end. There was nothing but perfect darkness, broken stone, and endless snaking trickles of cold cavern water. 

I dipped a finger in one of the rivulets. Just to feel it. Just to ground myself in something. I felt the waters slither past, and I found something like sight in their motion. 

Water always goes down. Whatever else I lacked down here in the stone, in that moment, I knew up and down. And for the first time in hours, I had a choice. A real choice. No instinct or panic or too late realizations: Up or down. 

I went down. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I’d visited a rope factory once. Watched the threads dance and spin and weave into something mighty. I got a blind man’s sense of that from my trickle. I felt it meet more of its kind, braiding into them like thread. I liked pretending it was still my rivulet, but eventually, I had to admit it was lost in the mess. Picking out one thread from a rope would be easy, compared to picking out one trickle from a river. 

Funny how water can drown in itself. 

The first contaminant to the water was iron. I could smell it in the air -  strong as blood. It should have unsettled me, but I’d smelled water like that before. My grandpas well-water stained everything it touched rusty red. His sinks, his showers, his fields. Even his teeth. He was wealthy enough that he could've wiped the stains off decades back, but he told me once that he liked the way it made other people uncomfortable. The way it reminded everyone who saw him smile that by sacrament or soil, they too drank of god. 

The next contaminant was the thick water from before. Apparently, the stagnant pools weren’t as still as I’d thought. Somehow, over strange eons, they too could seep through the stone and make their way into this deep river. It was scentless, but I could feel it catch around my ankles on some steps. It seemed like a memory from a different life. I just didn’t feel like the same person that crawled through the serpent-stone crack. I was just some stranger wearing his shed skin. 

Then at long last came a smell of deep sulphur 🜏. It was an odd contrast with the sharply cold air, and the strangely warm waters. It was the least pleasant of the bunch, but I endured it well. I followed until the tears streaming down my cheeks felt as normal as breathing. Until the rush of the river was replaced by the pounding of waves. 

I’d arrived on a beach. I couldn’t see the ocean in front of me, but I could hear how vast it had to be. There was a terrible stench, worse than the sulphur - the smell of some vast death. Godly carrion. A wound in the world long left to fester. 

I sat there on the beach of that ocean. Afraid to let those dark waters touch me. Thinking and waiting and worrying about what would happen next. 

A voice spoke just twenty feet behind me. I recognized it. I never would’ve recognized it before, but there was a knack to the way this place wore me thin. Like a razor getting sharpened instead of a shirt going ratty. 

“You’re very close,” the old man said, and I remembered him from all those years ago - sitting cross-legged in the moonlight by the bank of the canal. Looking up at me, eyes dark, and calling me over to tell me a secret. 

There's one God in this world, he said then. One God. And it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone. 

So this is our hell.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I turned around. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t have been able to see him. I shouldn’t have been able to see anything. But I could see the outline of where he was on that shoreline. Not as a  bright thing, but as a darker shade of absence. A little hole in the dark. 

I could have run. But that would’ve required taking my eyes off him, and at that moment I couldn’t bear the thought. He was the only thing to see down there. The only reason I had eyes. But somehow, more important than the joy of seeing was the feeling that as long as I kept my eyes on him, he was trapped. Pinned to this world like a butterfly on cork. 

There was a half second pause. The voice was a memory, but seeing through the gaps was new to me. The thing in front of me wasn’t an old man. It wasn’t even good at pretending. I was oddly embarrassed that I’d ever been fooled by it. What I was looking at was something older than this cave. Something trapped down here so long it could not bear the thought of light. The dream of something dead. The sloughed skin of a snake. 

The first apple eater. 

I could see shades of absence. More than the hole in the dark. I could look at the thing and feel the place where its wings should have been. Its first ones, at least. 

It lunged for me. 

I’d forgotten it could do that. 

It slammed into me like the water from the bottom of a dam. The power was nothing compared to the cold. I couldn’t see a thing, but what I could feel made bile climb up my throat. 

It was melting. Running down itself in little streams, like snow melting in the sun. Like the river I followed all the way down here. A hand ran over my face and I could feel it pouring into me, and in my fury I did the only thing I could think of: I reached up, and I wrapped my hands around its neck, and I clenched so hard that I could feel the tendons in my wrist sawing up through my skin, taut as piano wire. 

It was like squeezing wet clay. It deformed under my touch, stretching longer and thinner and smoother even as the muscular length of his impossibly long body wrapped around me. At some point the fists beating on my chest turned into wings. Stolen wings, to replace the ones that were stolen from it, and there was a scream in the cave it was so awful that it wasn’t mine. 

It was a terrible race. We were killing each other the same way. There was no question about someone dying here in front of the empty throne of god. I just didn’t want it to be me. 

Eventually, it could stretch no more, and my hands could crush more than just nightmare and shadow. The wings beat on me weaker, and weaker, until eventually some cartilage in its great neck snapped under the pressure of my thumbs.

It was like cracking a glow stick. There was a flash of light, brief as thunder, and I could see the waves in front of me. An ocean of rotting meat and bones. The outline of some great, dead serpent, fifty feet tall. And a tower of dead bodies, stretching back to ages that I could not recognize. The only corpses I could recognize were those at the top, with their strange helmets and iconic breastplates. 

Conquistadors. 

When the light went out, the body went with it. Most dreams don’t leave anything behind. Even when they’re made by gods. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I don’t know how I left the cave. 

I followed the river up. At some point, it stopped being the river I followed down. The tributaries feeding into it spread out like a fan, and fool that I am, I kept picking left. It shouldn’t have worked. Part of me wonders if I somehow bent the river to my will. Filled in for the dead thing bobbing in the lake, or the echo that I strangled on that starless shore. 

Or maybe I just got lucky. 

I can remember finally breaching the incline and seeing an exit into the desert. Not the one I stepped in through, but good enough. I can remember getting closer and closer, before stepping out into the burning sun. I thought it was finally over.

I thought wrong.  

I can remember looking into the bright blue sky and seeing exactly what my little brother saw on that drive all those years back. 

I don’t know what I killed down in the cave. Some dead thing in the dark, dreaming it was alive. An altar of blood and bone, designed to hold a fragment. 

But the real thing sat there in the sky. Curled up so tight and so smooth, you could mistake it for a ball. Waiting, and watching, and hating. Alive but dreaming death. The mould that stamped out the form of what lay in the cave. 

Quetzalcoatl, I learned later. The feathered serpent. 

I moved the month after that. Went somewhere north, somewhere cold, somewhere that a snake wouldn’t follow. Most days now, I look up, and I just see the sun. A flaming ball of gas. A little, red, star. 

But only most.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙 𓇳

Thanks to @qsatisfaction and @foldingfittedsheets for being my editors on this piece. And thanks to @dr-robert-chase-apologist for providing the prompt.

[juniperdugong]

How silly

Pairing: Salaryman!Nanami x reader Genre: Romance, Fluff, Angst (?) CW: Heavily Suggestive but no real smut !!!MINORS DNI!!! WC: 4,269

A/N: Note, a Nomikai is like an after-work drinking party. Also...I'm back, lemme know if this is absolute shi- or not.

Despite his austere demeanor, Nanami Kento's house was rather cozy. There was enough space for himself and then some - when he's rather cold and calculative on the battlefield or behind a desk, his house remains warm and bright, inviting even.

Although, right now - to you, it was anything but.

You were leaning against the living room wall, your heart stirring with every sound Kento made in the kitchen. There were perfectly good and comfy seats to be taken on the couch but your nerves willed you to stand. You fiddled with your fingers and scanned the room - It wouldn't have been too long ago that you might've felt comfortable in this space, maybe even felt at home. But now it just served as a bitter reminder, one that Kento just had to bring up again.

"Take a seat, it's not like you to not make yourself at home." Nanami came in teasing you, all smiles as he brought in two mugs of tea - just the way you liked it, just the way that he remembered you liked it.

"I feel fine on the wall, Nanami." Your tone conveyed your nerves in a way that Nanami definitely disliked judging by the way you see his eye twitch slightly. You would be the first to talk casually but right now being formal was the one thing keeping that lump in your throat from forming.

"I thought we'd gotten past the formalities, y/n…" Disappointment rides over his face, he should be expecting this after how he acted in the office but it only makes his mood more sour. Sensing your apprehension he lightens up, "Right, sorry-", adjusting himself on the couch, he picks up one of the mugs and starts sipping, "Saw you've got a new assistant." He doesn't elaborate or even meet your eyes as he changes the subject.

"Nana-" He throws you a stare that makes you clear your throat, "Kento… what does me having a new assistant have to do with anyth-"

"Can I not have a good and well-mannered conversation with my co-worker?" He cuts you off, knowing what you're prodding him for but not giving in just yet.

"Not if that co-worker is me and anyways, I think officially speaking I'm your boss. Even more inappropriate." You nip at your fingernails before pulling your skirt down, "But that isn't even why we're really here."

He sets down his mug and gets up, your breath hitches at his movements and his gaze darkens at your trepidation - he approaches you slowly, "Let's not be like this, y/n.", it sounds like he's fed up with your attitude. You couldn't understand why he would be the one fed up in this situation but suddenly you can't control your breathing, chest rising up and down more and more rapidly as he stalks forward, the way the lighting hits him makes his shadow grow from your perspective- You feel like an animal being hunted and you're not sure if you like it. His eyes narrow as his imposing frame towers - caging you in.

"Kento, stop." You're stern as the pit in your stomach grows. And he pauses, shaking his head and chuckling before backing away and composing himself.

"I'm sorry- Sit. Please. I have a feeling we might take a while…" Acting as though he didn't just try to intimidate you he sits back down. Turning on the TV he drags out this moment of tension until you feel coerced to sit or else you'd get nowhere and you'd have come here for nothing.

---

Of course, it wasn't always like this. There was a point in time when his stalking was desired, lusted after, and in turn, he was fond of your seductive fawning & controlling side. Yours and Nanami's relationship was almost like a TV-perfect office romance/forbidden love trope. Both competing to get promotions, bickering in meetings to gain advantage & prestige, nothing more than idle talk about client meetings during work hours, and both equally as cold & uncaring in the eyes of everyone in the office.

After hours…now that was a different story altogether. What started as coincidentally meeting at the convenience store - both of you hammered after a night out to relieve stress - turned into much more. What neither of you would admit to calling an office crush twisted itself into love motel stops & Nomikai's that became routine for you two. Always claiming that "just one more night" would quell your desire for each other. It was almost toxic the way you wanted one another - how the frustration of the office during the day could be taken out on each other during the night.

But that relationship changed once you got promoted. You both had been up for the position for some time - having several meetings & being observed constantly - near continuous stress. Being so fiercely competitive you went at each other's throats, desperate to prove your worth to the company. Your nights out became back-to-back sessions of rough love-making that would end with tired eyes remembering the hostile environment you've both cultivated at the office that you would now have to return to in the morning.

When it was announced that you had gotten the position things began to shift. Of course, there was the relief of securing something earned through hard work & loyalty but looking Nanami in the eye became harder, as if through this your loyalty to him was in question. Over the next month your nomikai's together were less frequent, you were moved to the office one floor up so talking was rare now too - it all fizzled right at the climax. "How boring." Nanami thought.

Months passed and eventually, you lost all contact except for the occasional meeting or report. In a surprising turn of events, you got promoted again when the department head got fired as the new year came. This effectively made you Nanami's boss and once more your paths crossed with increased frequency.

Everything was really good. No longer colleagues and rivals, your relationship got better. You still felt the occasional guilt of climbing the corporate ladder faster than him, but it wasn't anything either of you could or would change at this point. You were able to make light conversation, the spark of the corrupted crush you had so long ago reigniting, but this time, more purely—more right.

You'd blush as you came into your office and saw a note with a coffee or breakfast sandwich next to it. Inside poetic waxing of 1-3 sentences often harping on "having a good day" & "gaining energy" from these lovely efforts. And at the end always signed "Ken."

Even the smallest efforts made your heart swell, as would anyone's given the circumstances and the man. Without needing physical intimacy there was a subtle tension, never negative, instead an electricity in the air that made the office feel more alive… Well, at least that's what you two would experience. Maybe this time you get off on the right foot and build up something real - although still heavily taboo between boss & employee. At least it would be a relationship bound by more than tenuous midnight moans & morning walks of shame.

---

At your height within the company, it would be stupid to take on menial tasks like running to the printer, confirming meeting times, and scheduling on-site appointments. Not too soon after your promotion, a peer advised you to get a full-time secretary or personal assistant. You had more than enough salary to pay someone, so why not? Less on your plate meant more time spent thinking about your personal life, something you couldn't afford to do before.

It didn't take long for young university hopefuls to come crawling out of the woodwork once you posted the job offer. Colleagues began being overly nice during work hours in hopes of buttering you up enough to mention a name of an underclassmen or relative. During this period, noticing the buzz around you Nanami came around less frequently in fear of being a bother but his presence made itself known in the refilled snack drawer by your desk and the organized documents that you had complained to him about over lunch. Eventually, you settled on a very nice young man who had good enough experience to not be a hassle to train but not too experienced to where your seniority felt pointless.

Sure enough, it made things much easier over the next week. Meetings went by more smoothly and you could contain work more strictly to office hours.

In your newfound free time, you often drifted to thinking about Kento and what your relationship was. You started to consider the thought of "liking" someone, of liking Nanami Kento seriously. How nice it would feel to go to dinner with him after work with no expectations of the night, of stealing kisses in the break room, of waking up next to someone and this time not rushing to gather your clothes from off the floor.

So, after a few months of back & forth and more time than ever to attempt something like this, you decided to test your waters by setting up coincidental bump-ins with him but the results were odd. You were friendly with each other sure but in your gut you could feel him pulling away. Every interaction becoming shorter and less filled with niceties & casual talk leaving you confused. You were so sure that this was working, that weeks ago this would've led to a real connection; Maybe you weren't on the same exact page but close enough… you had thought that at least.

Were the signals too mixed? Did he want to return to the casual sex from before? Was that what he was after all along? Was he not on the same page and saw this simply as friendliness between higher-up and lower employee?

But then what did it mean when he'd brought you coffee in the mornings? Or when he'd stop by your office during lunch to ask what you were eating? Or the shy smiles you'd steal from each other when you were sure no one was looking? What does all that mean if not "I like you"?

You couldn't stand it. Waiting for the coy smile of the businessman sitting across the room during a meeting became almost torturous. You're not sure but it feels like a significant change had occurred without you knowing. Like over the past week a frost had entered and frozen over an innocent springtime.

The next 2 weeks were spent analyzing this thing between you and in your analysis you confirmed one thing. That this was not a case of growing apart but rather an avoidance caused by an unknown subject- Unknown to you that is. A confusing loop of getting just close enough to observe the glimmer of want in his eyes when you were around but never close enough to actually talk about it. And that's when you knew that you had to do something or the spark would fizzle just as quickly as it did before.

---

"Nanami, can I talk to you in meeting room 3?" His eyebrow quirked at your sudden question.

"Oh sure, was something wrong with yesterday's reports? Or did the client from Y company say something?" As per usual he kept on the topic of business - He has no precedent to think this was anything but, after all.

"No, I actually just wanted to touch base about something else." His face was inscrutable as your words were taken in.

"I'll be there in 15. Just let me finish up these last couple of emails." Even his tone was monotonous, with no hint of deeper thought or meaning. For all you know, he could be cursing you out in his head.

15 minutes has never felt this long before. Circling the room you went over the conversation you've meticulously planned - All the responses he could make and all the actions he could take. You're not sure if in doing this you only made yourself more nervous or if it at all quelled your worry but you couldn't stop. Not until you heard those heavy footsteps and the door click.

"Nanam-"

"Y/n-" You almost giggled as your voices overlapped but seeing the forlorn look on Kento's face made that moment of joy subside.

"Sorry, you called me here for a reason. Please…" He gestured towards you to continue.

"Ah- I umm I just wanted to talk to you because recently it seems like you've been…avoiding me. I mean it's not like I expe-"

"Stop." He cuts you off abruptly. "Not during work hours, please."

"Then when? I can never find a moment with you alone these days. It's only in an official capacity like this can I even see you right now."

"Y/n-" He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples before continuing, "Look - I'm sorry. I have been avoiding you. But it's for a good reason."

"Good reason? What reason?" You don't mean to sound as mad as you do but you couldn't help it - You were hurt. What reason could he possibly have for distancing himself like this? The look on your face must've conveyed your emotions perfectly because he immediately softens raising a hand to your cheek to comfort you.

"Mrs. L/n are you in- I am so sorry." Your assistant walks just before Kento can reach you. "Mr. Lee is ready to see you in your office. Please excuse me." He leaves just as quickly as he arrives.

You turn your attention back to Kento as you see his gaze linger on the door as it swings closed. Whatever softness he was going to reach you with has hardened, his eyes narrowed with a look of displeasure. "Ken-"

"It looks like you have to go, Mrs. L/n." He straightens up and addresses you formally. You're about to speak up as he leans in close to your ear, "My house tomorrow after work if you have further business to discuss regarding this manner."

Fixing himself he doesn't even spare you a glance. He makes his annoyance far too obvious with the low grumble that echoes throughout the room. Completely frozen from the shock of his whispered proposal you couldn't comment on his attitude, not even as his boss.

You shudder at the thought of being alone with him again after those words. What consequences have you brought upon yourself this time? Going to his house either sounds like the worst hell or the most gracious heaven right now and your mind can't settle on which one sounds more probable. There was only one way to find out.

---

Well now you were certainly in his home but the pressure in the room was enough to make an elephant sweat. Coerced to sit you breathe out heavily, adjusting yourself to as comfortably as you could in your rigidness. Kento reaches for the TV remote and turns the volume down before turning to face you nonchalantly.

"This silence is scaring me a bit, Kento." You break the silence, your words have a joking tone but he takes it seriously even as you pose a fake smile.

"I'm scaring you? I'm…" He swallows his words, straightens out, and takes a breath, "I'm sorry about that y/n. What was it that you wanted to discuss?" It's almost sickening the way he puts on the formality of business with you after nearly pouncing.

"What? No, you're not- Wait. Can we just stop this?" You rush to clear up whatever spiraling thought he had from your few words before focusing your gaze down, embarrassed of bringing up the subject.

"Stop what?" And it sounds like he's genuinely asking. Raising your head back up to meet his eyes you see confusion but also want to resolve whatever this is. Some amount of confidence is restored as you realize that it isn't just you who wants to fix things.

"Well, like I said back in the meeting room, you've been avoiding me Kento. And don't try to deny it."

He pauses trying to collect his words, "I have. But like I said for good reas-"

"Then just tell me the reason Kento." You raise your voice out of frustration.

Nanami retreats, readjusting to calm his nerves. You've never seen him so timid except for when he has to ask if his favorite treats are in stock at the bakery. He can't bring himself to look at you anymore. Whatever confidence he had was blown away by your exclamation. He picks up his mug, takes a sip of his tea, and fiddles with the handle - head downturned.

A murmur comes from him, "What is this?"

"What?" You can barely grasp the words.

"This." And he gestures between the two of you. "What is it? Y/n."

"I'm not understanding, Ken." And you notice the nickname catches his attention as his head whips to look at you - only then do you realize that you haven't addressed him so casually since before your promotions. Not even when you were flirting through office exchanges. For a second you wonder when that hostile relationship became more casual & comfortable than what you had grown accustomed to now.

Nanami bites his bottom lip, "Are we something? Anything other than coworkers? Tell me upfront, please because I don't think I can handle any more of these blurry lines. It's hurting my heart too much." It's a shock to you to see him this way but even more of a shock to himself as he's sure he's never even been this shaken by a curse standing right in front of him but now you've gone and turned things upside down.

You're speechless. Isn't that what you meant to ask him? He was the one putting distance between you. He was the one avoiding you. And now he was asking you this as if you're the one to blame for his actions. For someone so incredibly smart man, oh man was he dumb when it came to emotions. For the first time above the sheets, you're seeing Nanami Kento crumble into your hands. The intimidation tactics from before you now realize were just a front for him to hide all these feelings.

"Do you want to be something other than "coworkers"? Nanami." You scoot closer to him.

"I don't know what to think right now." His eyes are glossy but not yet tear-filled however with the shaky tone you have a feeling that the flood was incoming.

"Just tell me everything that crosses your mind. Anything is better than nothing right now." You're begging him at this point to open up to you. Staying in this relationship purgatory hell for any longer would drive you up a wall.

"Maybe…I don't know." He sighs, " I just- I don't think I'm in my right mind when it comes to you." Placing the mug back down he puts his hands to his face trying to gain clarity.

"What do you mean? Ken." You reach out to him, placing a hand on his knee.

He turns his head to face you again, another heavy sigh escaping him before placing his head back in his hands speaking slightly muffled. "You've made me insane, y/n." He chuckles and you smile, it feels so good to hear him laugh genuinely for just a moment even in his presumed "insanity". "Every time I see you I just want to- I want to hold you. And every time you're near my heart feels at peace but never at ease. I don't know what to make of you."

"I'm afraid I'm still not understanding?" You can sense the inner turmoil he's going through but his word vomit, although pretty, isn't helping you piece it all together clear enough to respond; You're not sure what's holding him back but you know you want to help him through it. Standing up you place yourself in front of him, kneeling slightly to pry his hands away from his face.

He looks up at you as you stand tall before him. Tears now brimming. You never thought a day would come when you would see Nanami of all people on the brink of collapse, as sad as it was it was also extremely cute. But, Was whatever he had to admit something to get this emotional about? Or was it just the fact that it involved you? Even he couldn't be sure of the answer.

"I'm pathetic." He lets his hands flop onto his lap as his shoulders slump and his head hits your stomach in defeat.

You chuckle at the admission brushing the back of his head and letting your hand play with the strands at the nape of his neck. "How are you pathetic? Have I made you feel like that? Is that why…you won't talk to me anymore?"

"What?! No!" He exclaims before calming down once more, this time he places his chin on your navel to look up at you, "I'm pathetic because I get jealous over - what is probably - nothing…" He digs himself back into the softness of your belly, bringing his arms to wrap around your waist - securing you where he can breathe you in.

"Can you let me in on what this "nothing" is? Because I've been nothing but confused these past few weeks, Kento."

Breathing you in, he says something completely muffled that tickles you just enough to lightly chuckle.

"Hmm?" You brush at his gel-hardened hair to coerce him to face you and he follows your movements as if entranced by your touch. His eyes close as he brings his hand to meet yours now leading you to cup his face letting his thumb brush over the skin on your hand. How good it feels to smell you he thinks.

Oh how men fall, more specifically how Nanami Kento falls to your visage as slivers of city lights intertwine with the warm interior and you're illuminated like no goddess he could even imagine. If he could stretch this moment in time forever he would - but he cannot and thus he resigns to just taking you in as your face continues to screw up in confusion.

"Your assistant." and he lets his head hang once more, too embarrassed of his truth to let you meet his eyes.

"My assistant?" You're genuinely confused by the two words for a quick second before it clicks, "Oh…my assistant…He's why you don't want to take me out to lunch anymore?"

"I always want to take you out to lunch, y/n. But how can I- sigh When he's with you 24/7 & gets to be with you all day, how can I not feel so…angry."

"Ken…" You almost have no words, of course, emotions are fickle and he can't control the way he feels but it is kind've silly; While you've been worrying your butt off over him, he's been hiding his possessiveness when you never asked him to. Part of you (a really big part) finds it cute, the other part acknowledges just how stupid that sounds. All this running around each other for nothing - weight lifted but reassurance surely still needed.

"I told you. Nothing." Once again he digs himself so deep into your stomach you're sure he's bound to create some sort of mark.

"No no, not nothing. Well-"

"See!" And you both giggle at the immediate retort.

The entire time you're above him you can't help but think about how odd this position is physically and metaphorically. You're "above" him and he doesn't mind, not the way that you thought he would anyway. And the truth is that Kento would much prefer you above him (in more ways than one) and whatever doubt you had that he would despise you - that he should despise you - after everything that you've taken from him vanishes; you mean so much more to him than official positions and rankings. He loves you, the way his eyes have gained back their sparkle just by being in your presence proves it.

"Should I get rid of him?" You're half joking but in your truest heart of hearts if he asked you would try your best to accommodate his worries.

"Don't do that to the kid…"

"So you're aware that he is just a kid-"

"As I've told you multiple times now, I know it was baseless emotions. Not that I could help it but I know- I should've talked to you sooner."

"Yes. Much sooner." You return to your place beside him on the couch clutching his hand in yours and resting your head on his shoulder.

"Forgive me?"

"Never." He looks at you a bit confused. "Spend every day - starting now - making it up to me Nanami Kento."

A grin so big you couldn't ever imagine it on his face unless it was happening right in front of you - as it was right now - appears. He straightens himself, adjusting pants and all - as if he wasn't already extremely attractive - and faces you. "You've got a deal Mrs. L/n." He holds out a hand and with a firm shake tackles you into the sofa. Suddenly, once more you feel at home in his home. You feel just right where you need to be with Mr. Nanami Kento… or just Ken.

A/N: Holy hell...I'm back babies. Srsly though what did you think of this fic?? Idk how to feel. It's like between a masterpiece and a piece of garbage idk....

Please Reblog and Comment if you enjoyed! (They act as power-ups for me)

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