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omgfangirlland · 22 days ago

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The Shadows That Nurture 10

Added dividers because I felt like the time skip/scene change would become confusing without any indication of it.

I really need an answer on how y'all feel about Immortal x Dupli-kate cuz depending on the popular opinion stuff will change 🤐 I'm willing to split a lot of people up for the drama and/or miscommunication nonsense

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 10 >>next

Some place where the supernatural meets the normal, a little place called The Oblivion Bar, John Constantine simply sat shocked at the words he managed to hear and process through his mushed brain. Bobo closes his hung jaw, drinks his whiskey, and pats his friend’s shoulder as the man mumbles a sobering spell, cringing at the effects. “I should go. Good luck, John.” And so, the chimpanzee quickly makes his exit, leaving the Laughing Magician and Death of the Endless to their business.

“I need you to walk me through this again, luv- wasn’t quite paying attention.” Constantine shook his head as he fully turned to face the smiling entity. “You and who did what?!” He hissed, voice barely above a whisper as he tried not to bring attention to what they were saying. This was bad. Really bad.

“Lady Gotham and I took a liking to Batman’s youngest daughter and-“ John quickly interrupted her. “And gave her magical powers beyond my comprehension and immortality- yes, I heard that, did you?!” The man rubbed his face, the thought was making him want to get drunk until he dropped. ”Have you gone mad? Giving a mortal immortality is more of Dream’s style you should know better-“

Death only smiled at him, amusement filling her eyes as she gently laid a hand on his shoulder making him tense up. “She was lonely, she deserves every happiness those powers and eternity are bound to give her. You’ll understand once you see her.” And boy, did John laugh his gut out at that as he shook his finger. “No- no, no, no- there’s no way I insert myself into that mess- Bat’s family is already a mess and reeks of you without magic- No- There’s no way- that’s bonkers-“

Death gets up with a bright smile. “Thank you, John.” Her words make him stutter almost choking on his breath at the audacity. “Don’t thank me ya loon! I’m not going to help her, I’m not even going to see the moppet!” He can only yell and cuss as she leaves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Alright, Cecil-“ The old man immediately interrupted you, the little communication device in your ear buzzing with life as he told you to not use names. “… Dude… I’m miles in the air, first of all! Second, that was like a really common name once. it’ll take a while to find you specifically, and I doubt anyone could anyway- you seem like the type that would erase himself from the gov’s documents.”

“Anyway-“ You didn’t give him time to say anything else. “What house am I supposed to go to again? And why?”

The old man sighs at your antics, rubbing the side of his forehead as he feels the headache coming while he gives the address once more. “Your brother’s teacher, Mr. Hiles, has been the mall bomber. It took us a while, he was smart about it, kept his search into biological bomb-making off the internet but he wasn’t that thorough about his paper trail.”

“Be prepared for anything and a confrontation.” The older man cleared his throat. You always made him nervous; you were an unexpected equation in everything, something he couldn’t control without risking Earth. Donald and everyone else just took his weariness and suspicion as him being overly cautious, but Cecil could tell something was clinging to you that just gave him nightmares.

“And thank you- usually I would have sent someone from the Teen Team but…uh-“ His eyes followed the action on another screen. “They’re busy. Your brother and father are helping them.”

“You’re nervous. Yapping again. Chill, I’ll take care of it. Just because I don’t want to be your little puppet doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep people safe.” You found the man irritating, but for now, he was being sane, actually doing his job, so you couldn’t complain. “Getting closer to the target. Going dark.” Was the only warning the man got before the com was powered off.

Finally ready to land you politely greeted the man, walking through the training both Cecil and Nolan provided at the start of your vigilantism. “I didn’t expect to get caught quite this early, and I certainly expected… more conventional authorities when the time did come.” Professor Hiles just sighs and welcomes you in by your birth name. “How did you-“

“Are you kidding me? Mark is unable to shut up about you. And you forget to wear your hood more times than you do wear it.” The man said as he took off his sweater. “Follow me, I’ll show you to the fourth missing student. I assure you, I have no intention of resisting.” Well… This was easier than expected.

As he started to confess about how he started doing this, he led you to his basement. “Mr. Hiles, while I understand the loss of a child to suicide, a divorce, and the loss of a job ruined you until you hit rock bottom, avenging your son like this-“

“I’m not avenging the death of my son. That would be far too cliché.” Your eyes landed on the teen strapped to the table once he turned on the light, breath hitching as you saw the skin of his arms merging sloppily with the metallic torso the professor modified. “It’s the destruction of my life that has me seeking revenge.”

“The domino effect of pain and sorrow that these monsters create. Children who spend too much time at the mall, attend parties, consume alcohol, and play sports when they should be studying and doing homework.”

“I understand your ire, I’m not one for parties or drunks, but not all kids who do that stuff go to extremes, that’s a flawed logic- it does not give you the right to play god and do-“ You tried to placate him, keeping your tone soft and even, to try and make him see reason. “What I did to all of them, turning them into living bombs, an instrument with which to exact my revenge… my crusade to end the pain and sorrow by these- ‘popular’ kids… I feel no guilt for.”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate end to my crusade-” Mr. Hiles ripped open the shirt he was wearing, revealing the same mechanism the unconscious teen had. “-than the death of a superhero!” You quickly acted, not letting him talk more beyond that as the timer set to 50 seconds started trickling down while you grabbed him, breaking through his ceilings and roof and flying high in the air.

“Is this really how you want to die? Suicide bomb? You still can make this right- you don’t have to die like this just tell me how to deactivate it!“ Your eyes remained on the clock. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen. The man just chuckled a dry, humorless laugh. “Do it. There is nothing for me anymore.” Five, four, three.

You couldn’t tell if what you felt was sorrow or shame, but you knew you were defeated. The man was going to get one final death, but it won’t be yours. As your flight came to a stop well above the clouds, you threw the man higher in front of you as the clock struck one second, and as it hit zero, the bomb detonated, the range and heat of the explosion destroying any remains while pushing you back a bit.

Your eyes remained on the cloud of smoke it created. If the cops found him before you did, the bomb would have wiped out the neighbors, too. That’s what hero life was, what it is. Sacrifices left and right that only made you feel more at odds with this job than before.

As you went back to the house, you activated the com, putting it back into your ear. Cecil immediately informs you that the police are en route as well as his clean-up team. “Get an explosive ordnance disposal technician, too. There is a teen in the basement, the bomb doesn’t seem active yet, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll send a report of what happened soon.” You stayed until Cecil’s people showed up, just to be sure the boy was still breathing and that the bomb wouldn’t activate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Helping Brit and the other heroes clean up the rubble from the alien attack helped keep your mind off things. The Brit enjoyed talking about his kid and wife, yapping until he needed to take a breath and then starting again keeping a smile on your face.

You enjoyed helping clean up, especially when there were no casualties, today wasn't that type of day. But it had become the easy, relaxing part of the job, pick big rubble up, place it into the waste trucks, pick another piece up, make sure to not hit the man in the trench coat, put it in the waste- wait…

Your head snaps back to the man, squinting as your eyes meet. You each take a second to take each other in before your eyes widen in surprise. “Hello, luv. I’m-“ You couldn’t help your excitement as recognition finally settled into your brain. “I know you-“ Your words made John cringe and tense up. When others said that it never ended well for him. “You’re Johnny Con-Job, the lead singer for Mucous Membrane, dude, your band got me into the punk culture.”

That… wasn’t what he expected. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of that or fight back the mental breakdown that was creeping up his spine. “You’re a bit young for that slop, no?” You just shrug. “Your songs got me to finally put myself first, to get the courage to sneak out, see other stuff beyond the walls of my first house, help others, and leave my neglectful family before they could seriously hurt me.” Her words worried him. John never took Bruce as the “lock his kids up” type, but the man was as paranoid as they came, he wouldn’t put that above him.

“It may be slop and shitty vocals, but it’s what I needed to hear.” You teased him while putting the rubble in the waste collector. He watched as you approached him with a soft smile and sparkling eyes. He could see what Death meant. “I need to talk to you. I’m not quite sure about what luv, but I think it’s about Batman-“ He didn’t get to finish, as soon as the name left his mouth, he was grabbed by the throat and lifted well above the clouds, way too close to the ozone layer. “Did he send you?” you hissed, giving his neck a warning squeeze.

Yup. He definitely saw what Death meant as your eyes glowed a Lazarus green. “Nno-“ He choked out. “Did Bruce Wayne send you?” her question was met with the same answer. Your grip softened, grabbing him by his coat instead of his neck as you brought him closer. “Then why are you here?”

“We need to talk in private…” He whispered as he realized the situation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

This was a whole mess that John Constantine knew he should have stayed out of- he knew! From Bruce to the whole family basically ignoring the kid, not even telling her about the vigilantism, to the rogues taking her in and doing a better job of raising her to her running away and getting adopted by another hero- a hero that John knew wanted to conquer the world, the whole fucking race wanted to, the fucking demons had a problem with that and wouldn’t stop complaining to him like he can fix it- he takes a deep breath in. “Why are you telling me all of this?” He whined, rubbing his face as he sat on the edge of some skyscraper with you.

“I’m not hiding my past, I’ll happily snitch and tell a reporter that Bruce Wayne is a shit father, they all just assume I’m Nolan’s actual kid that was in the hospital for a deadly something or whatever.” You shrug. “Please don’t- not because I care about the bellend- I just don’t want to deal with… Huh. Now that I’m thinking about it, that may be great blackmail.” His words only made you snicker.

He didn’t know where to begin. Did she know about the Viltrumite? Was she in cahoots with him? Should he tell her any of that? Would she even believe his ass? Maybe he should get the JL involved...

The scruffy man shook his head. “Not why I’m here. You said your hero name is Sorceress? Great, so you know you have magic powers, that makes it easy-“ John took in your shocked expression. Of course, it wasn’t that easy, it never could be. “If this was another world, I’d call you crazy.” You told him simply. “But Midnight City is cursed, and I guess that makes sense… Is that why I can hear the shadows speak?”

John nodded before doing a double take, asking you to elaborate on the shadows speaking part. “They just speak, whisper, giggle the whole thing. They can also emit what they feel. They’ve always been present, they’re not as strong here, but I think that’s because they’re more tied to Gotham and Midnight City… or just- where there is more darkness.”

“Well, you’re not far off there, love.” The man nodded in agreement as his eyes drifted to the dark dome around the cursed city. He knew where to start. “This is going to be a long explanation, you better strap in, hen, and let me finish before you ask questions.”

“You remember the painting and murals you made of gods and other entities, demons, angels, the whole sort, in Gotham and here? Yeah, they brought the attention to you from the entities you drew. Some of the moppets took them as a higher form of offering than others, a few of them decided to stick around you.”

“Those have also decided to- ‘bless’ you with a few gifts, I’m not sure of all of them, but I know specifically that Lady Gotham offered the shadows as a companion and protector, and I know that Death of the Endless has blessed you with… well, immortality.” There was no way of walking around that fact. “I don’t remember if any of these two also gave you your powers, I was quite sloshed, but someone did.” John looked at the kit, taking in her shocked expression before he nudged you a bit. “Come on, kid, say something. You got me all worried here.”

“It’s all just- a bit much.” You mumble. “Yeah, I get it. A lot for you to shoulder, but I’m sure you’ll power through- oh, thanks love… Wha- How-“ John’s eyes moved from the beer in his hands to the energy can you were looking at. You just shrug. "I wanted to know if I could, thought…” You narrow your eyes at the can in your hands. “I’m not sure if this is made out of thin air or just- teleported or something.”

Constantine just slowly looks back at his beer mug… She was taking this better than most. He hoped it was because the shock hadn’t worn off yet. Well, he’s had worse things in his mouth, he's sure, so with a shrug, he takes a sip, humming with delight at the taste, muttering something about this being real beer. “You’re here to help me, right? Like- with my powers… I- I think I need help with this whole worshipping gods and demons- entities- thing, too.”

He knew the easy way out would be to say no, to just leave, she had done just fine without him�� But that isn’t what came out of his mouth. “Sure, poppet. Just keep on giving me this fine beer.” Given his track record with people and magic, he shouldn’t feel this accomplished at your happiness, but he was always quite selfish, so he returned your hug, even if he was a bit stiff.

“Now- usually the normal thing is to go from small stuff to big, teach the basics, but I’m not one for rules. Have you ever wanted to teleport via portals?” The big mischievous smile you gave him was all the answer he needed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You came home at the same time as Nolan and Mark, everyone’s first stop after greeting Debbie was their bedrooms to refresh themselves before going back to the dining area. “I’m going to be honest, Nolan, the longer hair and full beard fit you better than the silly mustache. Right, mom?” You couldn’t help the teasing as the whole family ate. Debbie looked at Nolan with a scrutinizing eye, before sighing and giving an amused smile. “I’ll definitely miss the beard.”

Mark snorted at the teasing as Nolan pouted, brows furrowing. “It’s not silly- it’s a rite of passage into manhood by the Viltrumite culture-“ you couldn’t help but interrupt. “It’s still a silly-looking mustache. What does the Viltrumite rite of passage for women look like?”

Nolan’s momentary displeasure at the mustache comment was overlooked as the inquiry about the Viltrumite women was brought forth. “Huh… I’m not sure, I never really paid attention to that. I think some cut their hair.” A puff of air escaped you in amusement before deciding to tease him some more. “Well, you clearly weren’t planning for a daughter that’s sure.”

Debbie just took in the chatter. She enjoyed the easy atmosphere, the laughter of her kids. “So, how was everyone’s day?” She asks once the chatter stops. “Oh, I met the Teen Team and helped them with the Flaxan attack, dad got kidnapped by them while I was trying to gather up survivors, made friends with Atom Eve, and met an alien called Allen who apparently got the wrong planet.” Mark shrugged.

“I spent the last eight months enslaved by an army from an alternative dimension, although it seems much less time has passed here. About a week ago, I led a revolt against my captors and regained control of my powers. Today, a team of scientists from the rebellion found a way to get me home.” Nolan lied as easily as he breathed.

“One of Mark’s teachers was turning his classmates into organic bombs in order to take revenge on kids he felt were like the ones who led his son to commit suicide. He turned himself into a bomb also and tried to take me out with him but clearly, it didn’t work in his favor. Helped clean up after the Flaxan mess, and met the lead singer of Mucous Membrane who apparently is a mage. He was here on behalf of Death herself to help me and tell me that my powers aren’t because I’m a meta, they’re magic. Oh, and also, I’m allegedly immortal.” You took a sip of water. “Lex also wants to know if anyone would be interested in attending one of his rich folk parties.”

At the quietness of the room, you lifted your eyes from your plate to look at everyone’s shocked glance. “What?” you ask with a mouth full of food.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That night, the teens wanted to sleep with their parents, both needing reassurance. Debbie and Mark were already gone, sleeping deep and peacefully. “Dad… You awake?” your question was whispered as your head lay on Deborah's shoulder. He answered with a warm hand squeezing your shoulder and a quiet hum. “...How do you move past people you can’t save or the people we have to sacrifice?”

Nolan wasn’t sure how to answer that, he’d never felt anything for the people he couldn’t save. He knew that if he had to save earth’s people or his kids and wife… Well… Earth can be populated again. “You look at the people who you did save. We can’t always save everyone, that’s the sad reality. It’s… painful. But it’s a truth all heroes have to come to terms with. Even I can’t save everyone.” Nolan wrapped his arms around his girls and son tighter, pulling everyone closer. “If all you could save was a person, you still did everything you could. If you couldn’t save anyone, you just have to keep your head high and try again.”

You snuggled closer into your mom, feeling her arm instinctively wrap around you as you draped yours over her and Nolan’s stomach, your fingers laying on Mark’s wrist. The sad reality of being a hero...

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou

I'M REALLY SORRY IF I FORGOT SOMEBODY- MY DOC SOMETIMES FORGETS TO SAVE AND I HAD TO READD PPL

#dc x invincible #dc crossover #invincible crossover #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #neglected reader #yandere batfamily #fem!reader #female!reader #platonic yandere #yandere batfam x reader #yandere!debbie grayson #yandere!nolan grayson #yandere!mark grayson

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mactavishsgfandwife · 1 year ago

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Possessive/Dominant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley Headcanons 🎀

i don’t know if possessive/dom is the right word but idk 😋 he’s just big and scary and loves his favourite girl sexual references so mdni!

ghost who secretly loves those cute little girly dresses you wear - him in the black polo shirt that hugs around his thick biceps and you in that mini skirt. he loves how sweet you look, seeming so innocent and vulnerable as if you just need a man like him to protect you and save you from those bad men who wouldn’t treat you right. it doesn’t matter that he’s a bad man as well, that doesn’t count. and he thinks you look so pretty with that skirt around you ankles, too. ;)

ghost who will always have a hand on you in public - he needs people to know that you belong to him, that you’re his sweet favourite girl and he’s your guy

ghost who, on a similar note, bought you both matching rings - so that even though you’re not married, and he is away on a mission, you’re still together. he’ll send you photos of him wearing his ring while he’s at work, in the same style photo as this

ghost who idk but this is so him

ghost who is so protective over his little girl… a man comes up to you in a bar and starts flirting, not making much effort to hide his long glances at your body. just as he tries to grope at you, a sleazy smile on his face, a dark shadow swoops over him - a man, more like a giant, with a firm, muscular hand gripping tightly around your waist. military boots, long black cargo pants that can’t quite hide his meaty things (and that bulge between them) with a black bomber jacket draped over one of his broad shoulders. dog tags dangling from around his neck and a full sleeve of tattoos, including numerous black-eyes skulls that started out from his rough skin. this guy was terrifying. safe to say, that creepy guy left you alone.

ghost who has a dedicated album of photos of you on his phone - mostly, he just uses them to look at when he misses you or when he’s bragging to the others about his pretty little bird, but sometimes he likes to use them for other purposes. god, seeing your sweet little face, happy and smiling at the camera… you’re such a good girl for him…

ghost who’s definitely the kind of guy to fantasise about protecting you from danger

just a quick silly one, thanks for reading! xx (I think my love of big protective sexy scary older men shows through way too much here this is very self-indulgent lmao)

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bybobbysbeard · 22 days ago

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Arrivals

Day 8 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: surprise read on ao3 read other days here

Buck smells like an airport. He couldn’t accurately describe what that smell entails, but he knows he stinks of it. He’s exhausted, his feet hurt, and his bad leg is swollen from the pressure changes. He wants to take his sneakers off, drink a massive glass of icy-cold water, and fall into bed; in that order.

But no matter how crappy he feels, he won’t let a single word of complaint pass his lips. Any discomfort he’s experiencing has to be dwarfed by what Maddie’s going through. She just did the same amount of traveling as him, and she's six months pregnant. Thank God they were only in Pennsylvania for the weekend. His Mom’s retirement party went well, Buck didn’t make a fool of himself, and Maddie was glowing. But being with his parents was as exhausting as ever.

And that’s not including the fact that they still have no idea how to deal with Buck dating a man.

They have never cared about anyone he’s dated before, as long as he wasn’t embarrassing them or getting a girl pregnant. And then they saw him with Tommy at Maddie’s wedding. They didn’t say anything, but Buck could feel his Mom’s eyes on him the whole time. Even as he escorted a half-asleep Tommy to his Jeep, they only waved half-heartedly. He assumed they had decided it was a phase, and didn’t need to introduce themselves.

When he told them on Friday that Tommy was on special deployment, or he would have brought him along, his mom stuttered over three different sentence starts. She finally ended up with, “I didn’t realize you were still with him.”

Before Buck could think better of it, he said, “Technically, I’m with him again.” That had kicked off a barebones explanation of their break-up and reconciliation, which his parents had not reacted well to.

The rest of the weekend continued in the same tone.

The pointed, leading questions, which he pretended to misunderstand. The insinuations that he didn’t know his own mind, which he ignored. The blatant aspersions against Tommy, blaming him for confusing Evan and leading him on. Those he addressed immediately, and at one point, it would have devolved into a shouting match, if not for Maddie.

Suffice to say, he’s happy to be back in Los Angeles, even if he still has an hour long Uber ride ahead of him. Normally, he knows his family would be tripping over themselves to pick them up from the airport, but Chimney is home with a still-sick-but-recovering Jee, and the rest of the 118 is on shift. Most disappointingly, Tommy’s still fighting the wildfires up north, piloting water bombers for another week and a half.

Buck will be going home to an empty loft.

The baggage carousel comes into view, so Buck parks Maddie by a nearby column and goes to wait for their bags. She’s digging her cell out as he turns away. He checks his own phone, finds ‘welcome home’ messages from the group chat, but nothing from Tommy. He’s probably in the air. Or sleeping. Eventually, a familiar navy bag and maroon suitcase come into view. His duffle gets slung over a shoulder and he leads Maddie’s wheeling suitcase over. They head towards Arrivals without any words exchanged. Maddie’s walking slowly, obviously tired, breath puffing out of her mouth as she rests one hand low on her belly. Buck wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans into him.

“I wish Chimney and Jee could have come with us. He’s so good with Mom and Dad, and Jee is so distracting.” She sighs. “I’m sorry again. About what they were saying. I wish they would just be happy for you.”

“It’s alright Mads, I wasn’t about to let you fly to Hershey all alone. I can deal with them for a weekend.”

She lapses into silence again. They turn another corner and step onto an escalator, finally descending to ground level. The Arrivals area is a wider section of the terminal, an open space, right by the main exit. Floor to ceiling windows let in the setting sun. There’s people all around, reunions between travelers and their families happening in a hundred different languages, a hundred different cultures. Buck steers them through the crowd, hearing the laughter and tears in the voices surrounding them. There’s a line of people by the doors, holding signs. Sunbeams edge everyone in gold.

One of the signs says “Buckley.”

Wait, what? His eyes jerk from the sign to the man holding it.

Holy shit. It’s Tommy. How?!

Buck stops dead. Their eyes meet. He knows his mouth is hanging open. Tommy’s smiling widely, almost laughing at the dumbfounded expression that Buck knows he’s sporting. His face crinkles adorably with the force of his joy. His eyes are sparkling.

The arm Buck has around Maddie’s shoulder jerks her to a stop too. People continue to stream around them. She darts a look at his face, bursting into laughter and following his gaze to Tommy. She waves, still giggling. Tommy’s already striding over, eating up the distance between them until he's close enough to touch.

Two big hands settle on his cheeks, pinkies applying the smallest pressure to his jaw. His teeth clack together when he finally remembers to shut his mouth. A chaste, gentle kiss is pressed to his lips.

“Hi baby. Welcome home.”

Stupidly, all Buck can think to say is, “you’re supposed to be in Oregon.”

Tommy chuckles. “I was, but the Canadians showed up early, so they sent us home.” His hands drop down to wrap around Buck’s. Their fingers intertwine without Buck’s input. “Surprised?”

Buck nods. He recognizes he’s staring, like Tommy is a hallucination that might disappear at any second, but it's been nearly three weeks since he’s seen his boyfriend. He’s just had a shitty weekend in his hometown, playing the part of a dutiful son to strangers, while worrying about his sister and his unborn nibling, and dealing with the casual disregard he’s come to expect from his parents. Only this time, there was a nice heaping tablespoon of biphobia sprinkled on top. He needs a minute.

Maddie lays a hand on both of their elbows. “Good timing Tommy, I was worried we were going to beat you to the exit.”

Buck whips his head around to stare at her. “You knew!”

She giggles again. He spins back to Tommy. He’s flushed from laughter, radiant in the early evening light. Buck’s gaze darts over his face. His blue eyes, his crow’s feet, his perfect teeth. The cleft. He’s beautiful, and he’s here for Buck.

It feels like his brain finally comes back online. Tommy’s here. For Buck.

Buck lunges forward, driving a little oomph out of Tommy and wrapping his arms around him tightly. He squeezes and lifts, hoisting Tommy a few inches into the air, making him flail and squeak out an undignified noise. Maddie snorts, bending at the waist, helpless with mirth. Tommy’s hands land on his shoulders, fingertips digging into the muscle, little spots of warm pressure.

“Evan! Put me down, oh my God. I missed you too!”

#bucktommyfluffebruary #bucktommy #tevan #my fic #911 abc #still ✨two days behind✨

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zvdvdlvr · 10 months ago

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— Morning Smoke

💜 — Synopsis. You knew you had a thing for the one person who had a clear distaste towards you. But maybe having a wet dream about him- while sleeping in the same room as him- was probably a good thing.

💜 — Warnings. Rushed writing. Unedited. Dry humping. Clothed grinding. Reader and Spencer smoke cigarettes.

One year, eleven months, and six days. Thats how long you’d been working for the BAU catching serial killers, bombers, and rapists by observing every detail if their crime. You’re a valuable asset to the team, your brain working on the same page as the rest of the team with just a different design.

During your time at the BAU, you recieved many titles. Caffeine fiend(Aaron), best friend(Penny), mama (Derek), and idiot- affectionately- (Emily). The only person that hadn’t called you anything other than your first or last name, or agent was Spencer Reid.

There was a barrier between the two of you- unspoken, of course, but there was just some kind of wall seperating you from him. You didn’t blame Spencer for keeping you at at arm’s length: you were just some new agent who would eventually transfer. Admittedly, it hurt when Spencer politely uninvited himself from the activities you went along with. And it felt like a gut punch when Spencer chose the farthest seat from you on the jet and chose to move away from you while giving profiles to the police. But you figured he had his reasons.

“Y/n,” Emily murmured, nudging your arm. You looked up, bleary eyes focussing on the dark haired woman in front of you. You blinked.

“What’s- hey!” You cried out indignantly as Emily snatched the cold cup if coffee you had started to reach for. “Emily.”

“It’s time to go back to the hotel. Hotch’s orders,” the dark haired woman said, nodding to the team behind you.

You nodded. “Okay.” You stood up and hastily tucked papers into the manilla folder you were working on. “I’m ready.”

“Put those files down, y/n,” Hotch commanded, raising a tired eyebrow in your direction. “If I’m tired, you have to be a dead woman walking.”

You put the file down and pulled your coat on without protest. You’d only actually seen Hotch exhausted a handful of times. And Hotch was right: you did feel like you were about to fall over. Maybe having an iron deficiency and drinking coffee off an empty stomach wasn’t a very pleasant experience…

The ride to the hotel was over in a blink of an eye- a really ling blink apparently. You hadn’t even known you had reached the hotel until the inevitable and only boy genius Spencer Reid shook your shoulder gently to wake you up. Truly, you thought you were dreaming when you opened your eyes and Spencer’s face surrounded by a mat of curly hair greated you. His furrowd eyebrows relaxed when you looked around.

“Let’s go, l/n. You’re rooming with me,” Spencer told you after locking the car.

If you were in the right state of mind, you probably would have bent over giggling from the way Spencer put his arm around you as he led you into the building. But you weren’t so you just rested your head in the juncture if his shoulder and neck. He smelled good for someone who’d been awake for God knows how long. If you concentrated you thought you could feel the heat of his palm around you, moving in teeny tiny circles.

By the time you reached the bedroom you were practically unconscious in Spencer’s arms, yours and his go-bag around Spencer’s other arm. Spencer gently set you down on the bed closest to the door and put your go-bag in the bed beside you. “You should probably get changed, but I know how tired you are. I’ll shower tonight so you can shower tomorrow,” he explained, brushing a baby hair out of your line of sight. “Goodnight.”

“G’night, Spence,” you mumbled, eyes caught in the way Spencer’s lips moved and twitched. He was an expressive man when he was tired, and you caught the rare smile that graced his lips.

You hoped you would remember the blush on his cheekbones that matched the color of his lips when you woke up the next morning.

Birds chirped. The bright sun shone through the blinds of your home, patterning your room with strips of orangey-yellow. You turned over and saw him.

“Hey, you,” Spencer greeted. His hand came to rest gently on your cheek and pull you up to his pink lips. Your leg fluidly moved to straddle Spencer’s right leg.

Breathlessly you muttered a “good morning�� before your hand tangled in Spencer’s curly hair, tugging his head down to meet your desperate kisses.

Spencer moved his thigh up to rub harshly on your core. You gasped sharply and ground down to meet Spencer’s thigh. “Oh fuck,” you whispered, watching Spencer’s back arch as you palmed the massive tent in his pants.

A strangled cry left your lips when Spencer’s massive hands fell onto your hips and controlled your movements. “That’s my girl,” Spencer growled, your hands feeling up Spencer’s chest and tracing the curves and lines of his neck. As your orgasm approached, your hands grasped Spencer’s face and harshly pulled him into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

“Y/n,” Spencer murmured, voice low.

“Fuck,” you cursed. “Jus’ like that,” you slurred.

“Y/n,” Spencer repeated, one hand sliding up to your shoulder.

Your jaw clenched and your hips jerked violently.

“Y/n.”

You shot up in bed, sweat soaking your forhead and hair. You looked around wildly, chest heaving.

In front of you sat Spencer Walter Reid, eyes beady with sleep. “Are you okay? You sounded like you were having a nightmare-?”

“Fuck, fuck,” you whispered, running a hand through your hair. “I’m- yeah I’m alright. I just-“ you exhaled. “Go back to bed, Reid, I’m alright.”

“A-Are you sure?”

You wanted to groan. The ruins of a spoiled orgasm simmered away in your blood. “Yes. I just- Yeah it was a nightmare. I’m gonna- go get ready.”

“L/n, it is 4 o’clock in the morning.”

You thanked the dark lighting for concealing the dark patch of your pants due to your arousal. “It’s- Please go back to bed.”

“Talk to me,” Spencer pleaded, grabbing your hand.

“It’s nothing, Reid. There’s nothing to talk about. Go to bed.”

“It’s a proven fact that people who discuss their nightmares with someone increase their happiness and healing process by more than 50%,” Spencer rushed.

“Reid it’s embarrassing. I can’t-“ you shook your head. “I’ll- please, Reid.”

The moonlight glinted in his eyes as he searched you for answers he knew you wouldn’t give him. “Are you- y/n. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Your jaw tightened and you looked away. Your thighs burned- you must have been humping the blanket between your thighs. “Reid, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

You threw your hands up. “I know you don’t like me, Reid. It’s kind of obvious, so I’m just saying that you don’t need to have a therapy session because we’re rooming together.”

Spencer genuinely looked offended. “I don’t hate you,” he murmured. “I never have.”

You scoffed and stood up, dream completely forgotten. “Could have fooled me, Reid. Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You left Spencer on your bed, bringing your go-bag to the tiny bathroom.

— 💜

After scrubbing you skin raw you finally exited the shower and pulled your hair into a braided updo before pulling on some clean clothes.

The sky was still dark when you exited the hotel, cigarette box in hand.

You sat in the ground, smart enough to know not to willingly wander too far outside of the vicinity of the rest of the team while at an unfamiliar location. “Goddamnit,” you murmured, lighting up a cigarette and watching the sun start to stain the concrete.

Visions of dead bodies filled your mind. Empty coffee cups getting tossed into a trash can, bloodstained hands as you ushered a victim away from the unsub, the ringing in your ears after an SUV blew up near you. When you joined the BAU you hadn’t known that every day you looked into the eyes of those possessed by evil, you would lose a part of your soul trying to save each and every person you saw.

But the team had it’s pros. A group of people you mostly called family, good pay, paid sick leave, mostly free flights, a badass title, and introduction to some very fine specimens (read: Spencer Walter Reid).

Speaking of Spencer, you were thinking of the conversation you both had. ‘I don’t hate you. I never have’. You snorted and lit another cigarette, holding the smoke in your lungs until familiar white spots danced in your vision.

“Y/n.”

You looked up. Spencer stood near you, hands fidgeting. You could see his eyes avoiding yours and suddenly you felt like laughing. After all of this time thinking one of the hottest people you’d ever met hated you, he was standing- nervous- in front of you. “Yeah?”

Spencer sat beside you. “Didn’t know you smoked,” he tried, looking towards the rising sun.

“You refused to make comversation with me for about a month when I started,” you said lowly. When Spencer sighed beside you, you added “I don’t normally. Just when… things happen.”

Spencer nodded. “Oh.”

Silence fell over the two of you as you exhaled. You offered the cigarette to Spencer, raising an eyebrow when he accepted.

“I want to talk to you,” Soencer said finally, snuffing out the cigarette.

You lit another one. “So talk.”

“Well, I… I’m sorry.”

When Spencer didn’t say anything for another few seconds, you turned to him. “Is that all?”

Spencer dropped his head into his hands. “Look, I knew I was keeping you at arm’s length. I thought… I thought keeping you away would make sure that I didn’t…” Spencer sighed.

“Reid, I need tou to really spell it out for me. I can’t keep dancing around your riddles,” you said, facing the sun.

“I love you, y/n. I thought that if I didn’t talk to you, let these feelings grow… Maybe I could harbor my attraction to you.”

You felt your heart skip in your chest. “You didn’t consider telling me this? What if I felt the same?”

Spencer looked at you, a confused look in his eyes. “You didn’t like me like that and I couldn’t force you to love me too. You’re way too good for me anyway.”

“I do,” you reply, nodding. “And I’m not too good for you, Spencer. If anything, you should find better than me.”

Prolonged eye contact and silence fell over the both of you.

“Ask me now, Spencer. Make up for lost time.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Spencer lips at your request. “Do you like me like I like you, y/n?”

You nodded, mirroring Spencer’s smile. “I do like you the way you like me, Spencer.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?” Spencer asked immediately, eyes dropping to your lips.

You closed the distance between the two of you, hand sliding up the nape of Spencer’s neck to tangle in his curls. Spencer’s lips were skilled, leaving you wanting more as he pulled away.

“So, about that dream I had earlier,” you started.

A sly smirk replaced the smile on Spencer’s face. “I knew what you were dreaming about, I just couldn’t stand listen to you knowing how weird it would be for me to face you at work the next morning.”

You felt your face warm up at Spencer’s words. “Oh. Well. Sorry for waking you up, then.”

Spencer just shrugged. “I’m not- you sound very nice. I guess I will admit the fact that I told you about talking about your dreams was completely false. I just wanted to pry.”

You shook your head with laughter, the sun peeking up even further in the sky.

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inbabylontheywept · 2 years ago

Text

The Condom Bomber

The crux of the story is Brother Dean. Brother Dean was…is…a hate preacher. Red or blue, everyone agreed on that. His origins and his motivations, those were a little more mysterious. Different groups had their own legends. I had a class with a guy that was part of the campus pro-life movement, and the tale he gave me is the one that I give the most credence to. According to him, Brother Dean had started out as a “normal” pro-life preacher. He’d gone around campus, led parades, given speeches… And then he’d gotten punched in the face.

This led to a lawsuit against the school. Something about failing to provide adequate protection? The main result was that he got something like half a mil. Half a mil is an incredible amount if you’re still working, but he’d tried to use the money to fund a sort of pro-life career, and it had just… trickled down. Ten years later he was running dead low on funds, and had taken to the particularly dumb strategy of trying to get punched in the face again. You know. For economic reasons. It had become kind of a vicious cycle: He’d started off saying some objectionable shit to try and goad someone into taking the punch. The worse the shit he said was, the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, and the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, the less he had to lose by saying really objectionable shit. Throw in two years of living on ramen, and he was so desperate to get punched that he was quoting the Westboro Baptists. If you know, you know. The pro-life group, to their credit, hated him the most out of anyone. They viewed him as the ultimate sellout, someone who was actively making their positions and beliefs look worse by the day, solely for his own enrichment. The other conservative groups held him in the same regard. The rest of the campus hated him for simpler reasons. It would be difficult to find anyone more detested anywhere else on site. Brother Dean’s antithesis was the Trojan Warrior. TW was a normal student by day, but maybe once a month or so he’d don his hoplite armor and roam around, handing out free condoms. Trojan condoms. It was kind of his shtick. Between the costume, and the whole character that he had going on, most people didn’t really recognize his alter ego. I myself am pretty good with faces, so one day I noticed he was behind me in the foodcourt and decided to thank him by paying for his smoothie. Small tangent, but if you’re looking to get good stories, buying lunches for interesting people works like magic. TW decided that he was going to thank me for thanking him by giving me something like 10 feet of condom roll. I was mortified, aggressively single, and on SSRI’s. He was not sure how many of those were permanent. I wasn’t either. He wound up giving me just a handful, and said that if nothing else, they could probably be used as water balloons. I accepted. Who doesn’t like water balloons?

I finished my lunch with the warrior and left, considering targets for the "balloons". I passed by Brother Dean near the main commons and had my lightbulb moment. I spent a few minutes watching him from a distance, trying to find the optimal angle to get him without getting caught on camera (he always had someone filing in the background, it was a necessary thing for his hopeful future lawsuit). The time delay was useful for helping me realize that it really wasn't worth it. The sun had been bearing down so hard that the glue in my shoes had melted, and getting him wet would be a favor that day.

So, mildly disappointed, I shelved my dream and left.

A week later the monsoons hit. I left one class and ran to a campus computer commons to try and get some shelter and study between classes. Just before I got through the door, I saw Brother Dean, umbrella in hand, setting up his speaker and mic. He wasn't technically allowed this far into campus (the commons were owned by the city) but he'd gone to where his audience was and security was probably holed up somewhere cozy. I could hardly blame them.

I made it up to the second floor and started studying when the mic picked up. All glass buildings are not very soundproof. He was loud, and he was annoying, and he was outside a library, under a balcony, and-

And I had condoms. Water balloon condoms.

And he was under a balcony.

I put my laptop away, pulled out my condom roll, and went to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how big a condom could actually stretch, so I just kept filling it until it was about the size of basketball. Maybe a smaller watermelon? And thus armed, I waddled my way out into the halls. I cannot emphasize enough just how unsubtle this was. I was cradling this big, overfilled condom like some sort of phallic ghost baby, and it was so heavy that I sort of had to squat as I went. People saw me. Lots of people saw me. I passed by one room full of computer science students, all learning C++, and three of them waved at me. And I waved back in that my-arms-are-full-but-I’m-excited-to-see-you-too way, where you jut your wrist up a little bit and flap your hand around excitedly. I did, eventually, make it to the balcony. The building’s high ceilings made the second-floor thing kind of a misnomer: I was easily forty feet up. I scooched my way to the edge, and the view I had… it was perfect. Brother Dean was directly underneath, thank God. If he’d been even seven or eight feet out, I’m not sure if I could’ve shotput the condom-bomb far enough to hit him directly. Better yet his cameraman was only a few feet away from him, far too close to catch any action going up 40 feet above. I managed to wrestle the payload onto the balcony, and with a gentle push, I sent it and Dean to destiny. I realized that I’d made a mistake almost as soon as the condom began to fall. You know that sound that bombs make in cartoons, that long drawn out whistle? The condom made that sound. I had a second education in the seriousness of my mistake when the condom hit Dean’s umbrella. It did not pop. Of course it didn’t pop. I had no experience with condoms, I swear to you, I promise, I did not know how much they could stretch. You can fit your whole leg into them. You can fit them over whole park benches. A gallon and a half of water was nothing compared to that. It broke Dean’s umbrella. It hit the top, and it snapped the stem like a twig, and then-

Violence. Unspeakable violence. It clipped Dean’s shoulder and stretched down to his knees before recoiling back to its original shoulder height. It did not bounce. It floated in space, no wasted energy in the collision. One hundred percent of the kinetic energy, all 3300 Joules of it, were discharged into this sad wretch of a man. He did not collapse. There was no time for that. He rotated on his axis. It was as if the hand of God had reached down and grabbed him about his waist, only to twist. In a fraction of a second, his head filled the space where his ass had been and his ass filled the space where his head had been, and then his cheek, carried by the shuriken motion of his body, slammed into the pavement with a noise like Shaq slam dunking a porkchop. Maybe wetter.

He did not move.

I panicked.

I want to make it clear: I did not mean to assault this man. I meant to get him wet and embarrassed. But I also have to confess that this was a beating. Mike Tyson himself can only put about 1600 Joules into one of his punches, and if he hit me I would bounce off five walls before I fell. I would not wish 3300 Joules upon anyone.

I walked into the building and sat myself in the back of the C++ class. The people next to, to my immense and eternal gratitude, did not question why I was wet.

A minute later, Brother Dean stormed into the building with his microphone.

He yelled. He screamed. He hollered. He informed the entire world that he had been assaulted, with a condom, by someone on the second floor. I was ecstatic that he was alive.

Every person in that class knew who had brought this hell upon them. Every single one of them knew it was me. And if I’d done this to someone else, some Steven Crowder, some Ben Shapiro, someone would’ve thrown me to the wolves. It would have only taken one person in that room of sixty. But Brother Dean was hated by everyone, literally everyone, and so the entire class sat in silence.

Some of that silence was gleeful, and some of it was bored, and some of it, a very small amount, was directly disapproving, but even the disapproving silence carried an understanding. A note of, “Yes, yes, that was very irresponsible, and you should not do that again, but who could blame you? Something needed to happen. Not that something, but…something.”

Security could be given grace to ignore the man when it was raining, and he was just outside the building, but they were not given such grace when he was inside with a microphone. Just a few short minutes later, a golfcart pulled up, and he was summarily marched out. There was maybe a minute of silence after that before the professor announced that his class was not open to visitors.

I left. He’d made his point.

It was a few weeks before I saw Brother Dean again, and his black eye still hadn’t healed all the way when I did. He was, however, still preaching the same old things as always. Percussive maintenance works better on vacuum tubes than human brains. I will say that he definitely made a point to stay away from balconies after that. And the next time it rained, I actually went out to watch him put his speaker and his mic into the back of a wagon and wheel it off the campus.

It appeared that he’d developed some opinions about the kind of weather he was willing to preach hate in.

#writing #writblr #creative fiction #the last tag is for legal reasons #college stories #biography #memoir #hijinks #Babylon-Lore #Babylon-TopPick

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yawujin · 3 months ago

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uggh i genuinely can't remember if you've done this already (ignore if so!) buuuut could i req with allies and axis seeing their s/o wear their clothes? i absolutely love these type of scenarios i could never get tired of em lol

heyy !! i really love these scenarios too! i think they're adorable, so thanks for the request 🤍

{ request } allies & axis | wearing their clothes ♥︎

type • established relationship , romantic relationship , cute , light hearted , scenarios , imagines , china is RICHH , england is a little intimidated(?)

❥ allies

america/alfred f. jones

he takes one look at them and smiles. who knew that his bomber jacket could look so cute─and stylish ─on his love?

a thought pops into his mind; he should get them a matching jacket! now wouldn't that look nice?

"stay right there!" he exclaims, going on to grab his phone to take a quick photo. "...and pose!" he jokes. he needed to capture how darling they looked in his clothing <3

england/arthur kirkland

they call his name, to which he just replies with a "yes?"

barely looking up from an article in the papers that has caught his attention, england sees his love wearing his very own forest green uniform blazer. he takes a double take and just stares.

he wants to say they look fantastic, elegant, stunning, distinguished. all those wonderful discriptors of how great they look in this moment.

he blinks, looking away. england is clearing his throat and swallows hard before speaking: "you look nice," he kicks himself for not speaking up. "come sit." which is subtle wording for 'oh god, come sit next to me so i can be in your presense for a little while longer'

france/francis bonnefoy

france is not one to hide his feelings. he lets them manifest however he sees fit, which usually is on his face.

his eyes go wide when he sees that his love is wearing his clothes, rushing towards them to get a better look.

france give them compliment after compliment , admiring how it looks while they're wearing it, to commenting how the colors bring out their eyes.

"you already look good in whatever you wear, so it's only natural you look good in my clothes."

canada/matthieu williams

when they joke around with the idea of them "stealing" his clothes, canada welcomes them to dig through his closet anytime to find more clothes that they think will fit and/or look good on themselves

he didn't know what he was expecting them to find, but he didn't expect them to look this adorable while wearing them

"maybe you should wear sweatshirts more often, eh?"

russia/ivan braginski

he's confused on why they would want to wear his clothes since they are so big they'll just end up not fitting them.

"if you need to be warmer, just come to me for hugs, yes?"

he's not going to admit how much he adores seeing them wear clothes that big in size 🫢 nope

china/yao wang

he takes one look at them and figures 'no, this won't do' and takes them shopping immediately

they want to tell him that they weren't implying that they wanted a new wardrobe 😭 but all the beautiful expensive clothing inside the store was so captivating

"there, see? now you don't have to wear mine"

they kind of just wanted to see if china would think they were cute or not, but new clothes works good too ദ്ദി´▽`)

❥ axis

n. italy/feliciano vargas

"ve...since when do you look so stylish?" italy flirts with them

he thinks they look really cute in his clothes, although they are only slightly bigger on them

nevertheless, he invites them to borrow any of his clothes from his closet anytime <3

germany/ludwig beilschmidt

he's kind of just staring in awe. he hadn't realized that his clothes could look that big on somebody else.

in typical germany fashion, he asks for them to fold his clothing neatly after they are done wearing them

he steps away for a while with the image of them in his clothes stuck in his head. he can feel his own heartbeat speed up. verdammt. he thinks to himself. that was so cute. they're so cute...

japan/kiku honda

similar to china, japan sees this act as a subtle hint that his love wants to buy clothing just like his

"if you wanted to match shirts with me , you could have just asked..."

he thinks about it a second more and a visible flush of pale red appears on his face. japan begins to blush at the thought of you two wearing matching clothes/pyjamas 🫣

prussia/gilbert beilschmidt

doesn't think much of it other than the fact that of course they would want to wear his clothes...they're awesome, he's awesome

"are they comfy?"

he asks half jokingly. when they say yes, his smile widens and he tells them that they're welcome to wear his clothes all they want. maybe his awesomeness will rub off on them too

s. italy/lovino vargas

he wants to tell them that they look funny, dorky, and just outright ridiculous while wearing his clothes

oh, but he can't...he thinks that them wearing his own clothes is actually pretty adorable

"yeah, you're cute. now give them back." he huffs

that image of them will now replay in his head for the rest of the week day

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monzamash · 3 months ago

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★ bargain bin — lando norris

coming clean part II lando norris x you —no warnings, just angst (the spice will be back next time, i promise) read part I here requested by anon; "sex while there is the background noise of a rainstorm outside"

“you can only come in if you promise we’re not going to fight.”

lando nodded, eyes soft. he looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. you didn't know that he had only flown home from a triple header yesterday, you swore once the break up happened that you wouldn't worry about him anymore. but of course you did, secretly checking the race results, betrayed by your curiosity.

“the last thing i want is to fight with you,” he replied, barely above a whisper as you took a step to the side and allowed him into your apartment.

he was dripping wet from the storm outside, immediately ditching the bomber jacket hanging from his shoulders and kicking off the boots covered in your freshly cut lawn. he was apologetic about bringing the rain into your quaint apartment — he felt safer here than in his own place in monaco. he hated it there now, without you, swearing up and down that nothing but resentment and pain lived in those hallowed walls.

seeing him in the flesh felt different to what you expected. your heart clenched as he leaned against your couch, hands stuffed into his hoodie and dishevelled curls sweeping across his furrowed forehead. being in the same room for the first time in months changed everything, all the fears you’d built up in your mind melted away and the deep regret of letting go of someone so kind and generous churned in your stomach.

“you look tired, lan.”

the nickname caught his attention, eyes locking in on your expression to see how genuine you were — hoping to god you were giving him the same look you gave when you were together.

“i don’t even know how i managed to drive over here to be honest — just can’t sleep anymore,” lando grumbled, feet shuffling on your carpet.

“then we should go to bed…”

his eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion, “wha- are you… are you sure?”

you nodded and reached out for his hand, “come on.”

lando followed closely behind, heart thumping in his chest as you closed the bedroom door and walked to your closet, “i still have some of your clothes here,” you whispered, handing him a baggy shirt and a pair of shorts.

“thank you…” he managed to squeak out, tears slightly forming in his eyes, “you always look after me better than anyone else.”

“i know you’d do the same for me if i was struggling,” you stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world as you exited the bathroom in your pyjamas.

lando sighed and held his tongue. all he wanted to do was tell you how beautiful you looked and how much he appreciated your caring nature. instead, he crawled into bed beside you and rested his weary head on the pillow. the sound of the thundering storm outside your window would have been enough to lull him to sleep, especially with the warmth of your body so close to his. but he didn’t want to sleep, not with so many thoughts swirling around his busy mind.

“how have you been?” he asked, causing you to look over at him with a chuckle.

“i thought you were tired…”

lando shrugged and attempted to disguise his small smile, “i was but like i said in my text — i miss you a lot. miss talking to you and hearing your voice…”

“sounds like you’re down bad.”

“so bad.” he quipped back, shuffling closer to you like a magnet.

you shook your head and turned onto your side to face him completely, “i miss you too.”

“yeah?” he almost sounded shocked, playfully so but there was a hint of genuine scepticism in his cracking voice.

“yeah. miss a lot of things about you…”

“like what?” he taunted.

“just shut up and kiss me, you dork.”

lando didn’t need to be told twice as he closed the small space between you, scooping your waist into his arms and holding you tight. your noses bumped before your lips made contact, making your both giggle as he kissed you into the mountain of pillows.

a loud crack of lightning outside your window made you jump, instinctively pulling him even closer than humanely possible as his lips travelled down your neck — the rumbling of thunder murmured in sync with your heart beat. it felt like the first time you’d met all those years ago, so young and stupidly in love.

“i love being with you during storms like this… makes me feel safe.”

“i’ve got you and i’m not going anywhere.” he reassured sweetly in a whisper. you sighed in relief, relaxing into his touch while bringing his face up to yours with shaky hands. there was a nervous surge of energy when you looked into his sparkling green eyes, slightly darkened by the dimly lit room— you believed every word he had said that night and sealed it with a kiss, slowly melting into the covers as he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.

a/n — very rarely does this happen but the spice would not come to me for this one. i feel like the vibe just felt different and honestly, i don't know how to feel about it hahaha i realised a long time ago that writing angst doesn't come naturally even though i'm a moody bitch - maybe it's because writing is my escapism lol #end of (f1) season sale!! —see what other customers are buying ✨

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 writing #formula 1 imagine #end of (f1) season sale!!#monzamashwriting #monzamusings ✨

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suugarbabe · 1 year ago

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the 'anything but' party | m.r x reader

prompt: it’s a gryffindor (maybe) party but it’s acc a theme party. the theme is dressing up as another house and reader (not a slytherin) borrows some of the boys’ quidditch clothes (like a bomber jacket or a jersey) and theo/mattheo get super jealous even though reader and him aren’t together. but it’s like he’s been after her for the whole year but she likes to play hard bc he normally doesn’t have to make any effort to have whoever girl he wants at his feet, and she doesn’t want to be just another girl, if you get what i mean? so she just shows up wearing another guys’ name and he goes feral.

word count: 2.2k

warning: angst, smut, heavy smut, 18+ MDNI!!

You were okay with parties. You weren’t ever overly obsessed with them, but the party tonight you were particularly excited about. It was a theme party. The theme being any house but your house. Very typical of the Gryffindors to throw something that will likely cause absolute chaos, but you were here for it.

You threw on the jersey you had borrowed from Enzo Berkshire. You had a few classes with him and was even partnered with him in potions last year. When you heard about the theme he was the first person you went to. You asked if you could borrow his jersey for the party and he was more than willing to loan it out to you.

As you threw it on it fell to about mid thigh. You thanked Merlin for Enzo’s height because now you could just wear his jersey as a dress. You turned to Luna, who had borrowed a bomber jacket from Blaise, “How do I look Lunes?”

She tilted her head, smiling and clasping her hand together, “You look marvelous! I think it would’ve suited us well to be sorted in to Slytherin.”

You laughed a little, “Yeah, I do quite like how I look in green.” Your thoughts drifted to another Slytherin that would be able to accommodate your new favorite color.

“Thinking about Mattheo?” Luna’s voice cut into your internal monologue and your cheeks instantly flamed.

You did your best not to stutter over your words, “I don’t, erm, I mean why do you ask?”

In very Luna fashion, she made no comment about you being flustered, her voice fluttering out like a feather with simple observation, “I only ask because it’s obvious that he likes you very much. It’s quite sweet, really. Are you going to finally tell him that you like him as well?”

You couldn’t help but stare at her dumbfounded. You figured your constant rejections to Mattheo’s advances made it appear to everyone that you did not reciprocate his feelings. That wasn’t actually the case, but you wanted to make him work for it.

Girls came far too easy for Mattheo, basically throwing themselves at him. It was vomit inducing to you at times, how blatantly obvious they would be and how he essentially cherry-picked whatever girl he was feeling that particular moment.

You weren’t going to be one of those girls, you absolutely refused it. So when you first noticed Mattheo staring at you at the beginning of the year, you just rolled your eyes anytime they connected to his.

The first time you did this, his eyebrows shot to the ceiling, not used to this type of response from a woman. When he tried to stop you after class, you quickly shot your hand up before he could even get a word out, “Not interested, Riddle.”

He was met with a chorus of “ohhhh’s” from his friends, which likely died down quickly due to a glare or threat from the scorned man. He tried again after that…and just about every other day from that first moment you rejected him until this morning.

You weren’t blind, you knew Mattheo was attractive. Hell, you’ve known since the bloody sorting ceremony in first year. But the way that all of the girls swooned over him, and how he so obviously ate it up, you vowed to never be that girl.

So for the last six years, you never really paid him any mind. You knew he was there, you knew his reputation, but he never really consumed your thoughts. So when he started staring at you, then starting actually pursuing you, you couldn’t quite understand why your heart would beat faster, or get butterflies in your stomach.

You had boyfriends throughout your school career, even dating the quidditch captain of your house, but something about Mattheo focusing solely on you like he has made your stomach flutter like no other guy you’d been with. You weren’t even with Mattheo, but him pursuing you essentially deterred any other guy from coming up to you.

Finishing your hair and makeup, you and Luna joined a few other Ravenclaw’s and headed to the Gryffindor common room. Walking through the portrait hole you would think there was nothing going on, but as soon as you passed through the entryway you broke the silencing charm barrier and was assaulted with the sound of bass and smell of weed.

You looked over at Luna, who took a deep inhale, “Don’t you just love that earthy smell?” You couldn’t help but laugh at her care-free spirit. “I’m gonna go get a drink, do you want one?” Luna nodded, telling you she was going to find Blaise and to look for her in the usual spot.

Heading to the drink table you spotted Enzo who was adorning a Ravenclaw cardigan. You had a little skip in your step, sidling up next to him and grabbing cups for you and Luna, “Well hey there, looking dashing in blue and bronze.”

He smirked at you, leaning against the table while you got yourself a drink, “Looks like you were sorted into the wrong house. Green definitely suits you.” You turned to him, a drink in each hand, “Thank you, Enzo.”

He held an arm out, “Shall we? I’m assuming you're not doublefisting tonight and one of those is for Miss Lovegood?” You let out a laugh, nodding and following him to the back corner where his gang of miscreants resided. You both were simply walking next to each other. Your hands were full with both drinks and while he only had one his other hand was flailing around in the air as he recounted aspects of the last Slytherin quidditch game.

So when you reached the group, you were surprised that Mattheo’s face was set in a scowl. You quirked an eyebrow when he finally met your eyes, which took a moment as his were apparently taking their sweet time scanning your body, his eyes rolled, scoffing slightly and leaning back on the couch.

You decided to be bold tonight, Luna’s voice from earlier in the back of your head. You greeted the others, then went and sat down next to Mattheo. As soon as your ass hit the chair, Mattheo scooted a few inches away from you. You told yourself not to be hurt by this, but he had essentially been trying to be all over you for the last month and a half.

“What’s wrong with you?” you turned to face him, one leg now on the couch, causing the jersey you had on the ride higher on your leg. Mattheo’s eyes cast down briefly, seeing more of your skin exposed before meeting your eyes again.

“What are you wearing?” His eye contact was intense, making you squirm a little. “It’s a theme party, I’m wearing Slytherin clothes.” He let out a huff of air through his nose. You narrowed your eyes at him now, asking him again, “What’s your problem?”

He pinched the number that laid just above your left breast, your breath getting caught in your throat with how close his hands were, “You’re wearing Enzo’s jersey.” You couldn’t quite place his tone but it sounded almost like…jealousy? This made you smirk a little and now the wheels in your mind were turning.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I thought it looked cute.” Your hands caressing the side of your body to the hem of the jersey. You saw his eyes follow your hands as you roamed your body, now focused on where your hands played with the hem, “And it’s so long on me I didn’t even have to wear any panties.”

You saw the clench in his jaw, and you’d be lying if you said the action didn’t send a searing heat through your body. You started to pull the jersey higher up your legs, just to tease him a little. His hand shot to your wrist, “Stop.” You smirked at him, “What’s wrong, Matty?”

The nickname was something new you were toying with and it seemed to have the effect you were looking for as the grip he had on your wrist tightened. He placed his other hand on your thigh, using it as leverage to lean closer to you.

His lips ghosted the shell of your ear, goosebumps rising along your skin, “It’s gonna be really hard for me to fuck you with Berkshire’s jersey on.” Your cheeks immediately turned red. You turned your head, staring into his eyes, faces so close your noses are nearly brushing against one another. Your heart was beating out of your chest, you feared he could hear it over the bass of the music.

Your facade was failing, quickly. The desperation you were feeling was more extreme than you could control. “Kiss me,” you requested, eyes not leaving the brown ones you were gazing at. He laughs softly, smirk adorning his face as his eyes flicker down to your lips.

Normally that type of cockiness from him would have you leaving Mattheo there hot and bothered but tonight you found yourself leaning towards him with just as much anticipation. His mouth slotted against yours, he tasted like cigarettes and firewhiskey. You latch onto him, fisting a handful of the hufflepuff cardigan he chose for the party.

When you finally pull away, lungs burning for air you can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face. Mattheo’s lips were red and swollen. You look at him with big eyes, silently telling him you wanted more than was possible in the open common room.

Mattheo glanced around, searching for a solution. He stood up quickly, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the stairs to the dorms. He led you down a hall, opening the first door he could find and pulling you in behind him.

Before you could even glance around the room Mattheo had you pressed against the door. His arm circled your waist, sliding down the small of your back before grabbing a handful of your ass, his mouth attaching itself to your neck, sucking at biting at the soft skin there. The action had the most obscene noise leaving your throat.

His grip on your ass tightens, holding you flush against his body as he tucks a knee between your legs. You whine at the contact, the fabric of his trousers grazing against your bare clit. He braces himself with his free hand on the door, resting his forehead to yours, “Merlin, I’ve been wanting to make those noises leave that pretty mouth of yours all year.”

You open your mouth to respond, fully prepped to give a witty retort when he pressed his leg against you again. A whimper leaves your throat this time and Mattheo looks cockier than you’ve ever seen him.

You gripped his forearm, “Matty…please.” You looked up at him through your lashes as his hand dipped under the jersey, fingertips feather light on your skin. “So needy, love. Had to wear someone else’s jersey just to get me riled up, hmm?” His head dips down, lips grazing the sensitive skin where your neck and collarbone meet.

He bites you lightly, nipping and sucking at the skin there, surely leaving his mark in a place where it’d be hard for you to hide, claiming you as his. You’re basically grinding yourself on his leg now and Mattheo thinks he can cum from the sight of you using him for your own pleasure.

“So wet, love, can feel you through my trousers,” Mattheo grabs your hips, stilling you against his leg emitting another whine from you. “You gonna be good f’me, love?” he was teasing you now, but that didn’t stop you from nodding pathetically.

He dragged the material of the jersey over your hips, a gasp releasing itself from your lips as the air hits your bare center. Your teeth are sinking into your bottom lip and Mattheo drops to his knees. He puts one of your legs over his shoulder, your hand shooting to his shoulder to brace yourself as his tongue licks a stripe up your dripping cunt.

A mewl spills from your mouth and you swear you can feel him smirk against you. Without warning he plunges two fingers deep inside you, your back arching off the door and into his touch. His free hand grabs your hip, stabilizing you against the door.

He flattens his tongue, dragging it from his fingers inside you back to your sensitive nub. Your other hand flies to his curls, fingers laced and pulling harshly. This only spurs him further, curling his fingers inside you. They rut against your g-spot, pressure building in your lower belly.

You thank Merlin for the loudness of the party because the sounds Mattheo was getting you to make were sinful. His lips are attached to your clit, mercilessly sucking and licking and humming against the bud.

Your legs are trembling and Mattheo’s grip on your hip tightens, your vision begins to blank, mouth hanging open in a silent scream, you can’t even cry out, your mind dizzy with anything but the bliss that Mattheo is giving you between your legs as your tumbling over the edge.

He continues to eat you through your orgasm, overstimulating your clit as he slowly removes his fingers. “Fuck, Matty,” you breathe, trying to catch your breath as he lowers your leg from his shoulder.

Mattheo stands, mouth attaching to yours immediately. You moan into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He trails kisses along your jaw, down your neck then up to your ear, “Now let’s get you out of this fucking jersey.”

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fic #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #golden era #harry potter

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chocsra · 3 months ago

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imagining your first meeting with young! toji, where he just had escaped the zenin clan and was searching for means of a job. leaving home to others could be sad or relieving—as it is a sign of independence. a sign of toji's independence left scars down his back, arms and unique one that ran down the side of his lip. conscious of the way his own blood treated him, toji wore masks to conceal the lower half of his face during work.

that's when you, a young university student, were walking through crowded streets. way too occupied on securing your morning coffee, especially since you received a gift card from a friend recently, bumped into a tall, masked man, carrying at least eight pizza boxes.

"oh— i'm sorry!—" you stammer, head cocking back to peer up at the taller man, before registering that at least five of those pizza boxes were falling straight into the asphalt—like right now.

like some sort of strange freak accident, you attempt to catch a few, but only make contact with one of the boxes as it flings off your head. heaving in a ragged breath, you finally meet the man's gaze as he looks at you in pure disbelief.

and in the haze off the moment, he must've taken his mask off, because from the look he's giving you and the scar right on the side of his lip, you thought he was definitely going to fuck you up.

ivory skin, short strands of raven hair and untamed bangs poking his nose bridge filled your vision. along with a strong scent of musk and unwiped ass. "okay.." a raspy mutter leaves his throat, expressing the first words ever from this foresaken stranger you just met. "one.. two.."

you shuffled on the ground to pick up the fallen boxes and a few pizzas spilling out in slight fear of your life. why was he counting? were you going to be blacklisted for life?

"okay, let's just think about how much money this all is for compensation."

and from the awkward glances from strangers on the street and a few children you could swear yelling, —"mommy, look! an idiot!" you finally felt a sense of slight reassurance and comfort as he bends over to pick up the rest of the pizza boxes on the ground.

"zenin toji," the ravenhead mutters, brown eyes gazing to yours every chance you were looking away. "just call me toji, though." in the heat of the moment, your eyes ran from his beaten up sneakers, to even more roughed up jeans, to his black bomber jacket, matching the messy locks of his hair. intaking that the scary potential gangster guy you just harrassed was kind of cute, though definitely needing to take better care of himself. and in the awkward heat of the moment, your hands brushed with his bigger ones whilst picking up a stray pizza.

and instead of enjoying some free coffee, you spent the rest of your morning deciding the amount of money the two of you should split on the compensation of this stupid disaster. the good thing? you got his number, but thats just a silly thought lingering in the back of your head. toji was way too stingy for someone confident enough to carry twelve pizza boxes in a crowded city.

"you were the one who bumped into me.. so you should pay at least 70% of it. seriously? m'not doing this shit today, let's meet up again tomorrow and decide, same place."

✧ chocsra™

inspired by this post. @fushitoru

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heck-theo · 9 months ago

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Okokokokok- ignore how rough and messy some of these redraws/sketches are - but it's apparently also dinosaur month?? (WHY did no one ever tell me it's Jurassic June? I love dinosaurs) And like. What if Rise but dinosaurs?!

I don't often post such loose sketches but I wanted to show these off cause I really like some of this.

Design choices and dino species + the reasons I picked them bellow (looking for potential Donnie dino suggestions):

Clothes: Without the shell they really need clothes. They'd all have pretty much the same pants to keep some unity, except maybe Mikey (I decided they should all have the same pants after I finished the Mikey sketches, not sure if I'll keep the shorts or change to pants). Accessories are a mix of pre and post finale.

Raph - I think would keep it simple and practical but would also wear nice jackets and stuff when in casual situations. I need to work on giving him an alternative outfit and tweak his accessories a bit.

Donnie - An oversized pull-over hoodie cause we already know he loves that shit. We see him wearing it all the time. Easy enough. He wears a comfortable singlet underneath so the straps of his battle sail don't rub. Nice soft fabric, tight fit so it doesn't move around, tucks it into his pants, etc. When he wears the battle sail he won't overheat so he can wear hoodies basically all year round.

Leo - He's in one of those shirts with obnoxiously large arm holes and make it cropped cause 1. I think he would 2. I want it to be different from Raph and Donnie's singlets. He usually wears the shoulder strap off his shoulder but pulls it up when he needs to. He has some of the black bandages over his mid drift atm but I might just make his pants super high waisted in the final version. He'd probably wear a bomber jacket (also cropped?) over the top for cool weather, but doesn't like to hide his feathers.

Mikey - I think he'd mostly wear hand me downs when he's younger. He definitely goes through a stage of rebelling and wanting to pick his own and would find a middle ground of appreciating sharing some of his brother's clothes and modifying them, as long as he has the choice of his own available. Not sure if that would be before or after this design. At the moment he's got Raph's old shorts (from a loooong time ago), Leo's old shirt, and Donnie's old zip up hoodie. He does have his own accessories though, including pins instead of stickers.

Dinosaurs: I kept them all as non-avian dinosaurs, AKA not including animals that are colloquially considered dinos but aren't (like pterosaurs). I wanted to keep an even split of herbivore vs carnivore just so one wasn't the odd one out. I wanted to keep most of their body structure, colours and distinguishing features the same as canon. Obviously I added tails cause, yeah, of course haha. I did want them to be recognisable as different species of dino using distinct characteristics that their species is known for. I did ignore a lot of differences though, like size and bipedal vs quadruped (although the quadrupeds might be more likely to go to all fours, especially when fighting or afraid). Leo and Donnie are carnivores so have sharper teeth and claws.

Raph - Some kind of Ceratopsian (likely Triceratops or something very similar) and he was the first idea I had for this and I'm really happy with it. I think it just suits him. Trike Raph just came to me in an unprecedented moment of genius. His spikey frill replicates his spikey shell. His sturdiness, protectiveness and willingness to kick ass when needed, all scream trike to me.

Donnie - Spinosaurus but looking for other species recommendations. More details below: So I wanted to figure out a way for him to have tech with a similar function to his battle shell (in the sense that it's something that helped him in day to day life) and so I went with spino cause one possible theory about a function of spinosaurus' sail is temperature regulation. So his battle sail has heating/cooling systems as well as other tech. A spino's sail was probably not fragile but the battle sail would also help protect it from being targeted during fights or crushed during extreme impacts. It was also thought to be used for display, and what's more of a display than a battle sail? The only problem I have with this is that it's lacking part of what makes Donnie's battle shell so great, which is that it is essentially a prosthetic. Not quite the same as how prosthetics are used in people of course, just in the sense that it is replicating the functionality of a body part that he doesn't have (I can't think of a better word). Well he does have a shell but it doesn't function in the same way that his brothers shells do, which leaves him with less defense than they have, hence a big reason for the battle shell (I hope I explained this well, it was hard to try and word properly). I can't think of a good way to do this with dinos. I was thinking of a carno or something with tiny arms, then Donnie could have tech enhanced arms but I'm pretty much ignoring body structure in the others so it would be weird to have just Donnie be affected by a difference in limb structure/functionality. I was thinking prosthetic tail but every non avian dinosaur had a pretty substantial tail. Except therizinosaurus but even they hade pretty obvious tails. I'm open to suggestions for this one if anyone has ideas. It does have to be an extinct non-avian dinosaur (anything not in Avialae), preferably carnivore but if someone suggests a really good herbivore or omnivore then I can try and swap Mikey for a carnivore. I want there to be an even split. I also wanted to give him something different on his face, like his brothers, and that could only be a little spino crest and it crowds the top of his head but I can't put it anywhere else...

Leo - A type of Dromaeosaur. I was tossing up between this and a dilophosaur where his red stripes were part of the dilo's crest, cause I wasn't sure about giving him feathers. But dilo Leo was so plain compared to the rest and the crests were hard to get looking right so I went back to raptor Leo. I can definitely imagine him literally and metaphorically preening his feathers too. You can't really see it but he does also have that big raptor claw. Raptors were smart, tactical and worked in packs so I think that suits him. I wasn't specifically referencing how some artists draw Leo's stripes coming off his face (I was just trying to replicate his stripes somehow, even though it doesn't make a huge amount of sense) but I realised afterwards that it kinda looks like that and might have been subconsciously inspired by it.

Mikey - Is an Ankylosaur. I'm pretty happy with the species but I need to work out the design of his armour plating so that it looks interesting, cool and protective but isn't too chunky, too pointy or super lumpy looking. I went with an anky cause Mikey is often hiding in his shell and he can't do the same here but he could curl up in a defensive ball. Plus I could imagine him using his tail club in his razzmatazz fighting style. A little like his kusari-fundo or nunchacku/nunchucks (not sure on proper wording).

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citrinae · 4 months ago

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forgive me, for i love being bad for you.

sanji x reader (ft. platonic!zoro)

summary; everyone agrees that you and roronoa zoro are like two peas in a pod: cool, unbothered, hitting pubs on the regular. everyone, except your boyfriend sanji—who’d try anything to distract you from your visibly chaotic lifestyle. even visiting a potion shop. or: sanji needs to get out of his head in four acts.

contents; angsty vibes, lowkey love triangle, miscommunication™, abandonment issues, drinking, sex pollen, a little dubcon tbh, piv, oral sex (both receiving), facesitting, multiple orgasms, creampie, college/modern!AU, witch!sanji, jealous!sanji, afab!reader, wc: 7.3k (wheezes), mdni. spooky carnival is still in town, go catch it if you’re in for a bad time.

masterlist.

Zoro sets his glass back on the table with a forceful clink. There’s liquor rolling to the corner of his lips.

“I still don’t get it,” annoyance hangs from his voice as he speaks. “How the fuck you put up with him?”

Your reflection looks back at you from the amber in your glass.

“He’s sweet and he cooks for me,” you mean it. Despite Zoro’s lack of trust in your newfound romance, slightly taking to repulse, Sanji has been nothing but a dream to you. Resting his cheek on yours as you were watching some movie you borrowed for the night, swinging hands as he took you grocery shopping. Everything about him buzzes with the type of comfortable affection one meets in magazines, or in Christmas commercials, and you’re sure to fall harder for him by the day. “Have you taken the time to cook for someone you dated?”

“Yeah?” Zoro washes the accusation away with another sip. “You into cooks?”

“Apparently.”

“‘s he a good cook?”

A smile, prideful. “Nothing but a wizard in the kitchen.”

“Christ, you’re even starting to sound like him,” he teases further. “Putting random words together and expecting to make sense.”

“He’s a good cook, Zoro,” you tell him again.

There’s a pause.

“No kidding.”

At a loss of what to say, you clumsily try to fill the silence.

“Yeah.”

“As long as you like him or whatever,” defeated, waving his hand. “Just keep him outta my sight, will you?”

“Deal,” you say, downing your drink as you do. Bitterness lingers on the roof of your mouth, throat burned and numbed out. Suddenly your mind wanders somewhere else. “Care for another round?”

Zoro’s smirk is sly, devilish. “Now that’s more like my language.”

So you get yourselves a second refill that turns into a third, and a forth, until there’s no more use to bother about keeping count. Your surroundings seem to start whirling for a second. You close your eyes, then open them. And everything gets back into place.

On the day you met him, somewhere around campus, basking in the sun like a stray cat on trim lawn, you and Zoro hit off immediately. Scruffy hair, bomber jackets, eyes looking like he’s about to fall asleep any minute, Zoro is the type to never dwell on things for longer they’re worth. Always a guy of instinct, speaking truths others might opt to stay away from. On the other hand you have a knack for chaos he easily complements, so for over a year now he’s been a good and loyal friend to you, your time together something neither of you would regret or give up on.

He’s the one who introduced you to Sanji. Now it’s clearer to you that Sanji had most probably asked him to. Neither of them expected it when you agreed to go out with him, “It’s just a fucking date, chill out. Free meal you know?”; and to your own surprise, your heart skipped a good beat when you saw him that night.

Sanji. Annoying, perverted, absolutely fucking delusional Sanji, lighting up a cigarette in front of his car. Light fell nicely on his rings as he kept a hand around a flower bouquet—the pretentious kind, with a wrapper and ribbon and all. Red button-up, black jeans, coat. Heart-warming smile.

Everything about the scene felt like something taken from those really sugary rom-coms you and Zoro make fun of when drunk. Yet somehow you admired Sanji for putting in the effort. His hand quivered on the door handle, “You look sensational, my dear.” Adjusting your seat belt, you told him that he didn’t look so bad himself, and by the pink crossing his face as you did, you deduced he might not be used to having flattery thrown his way.

At dinner he told you he was raised in a small restaurant down east, and that they sold soy wax candles and herbs right next door. Wiping up your mouth with a handkerchief, you tried to come up with a quip around it, “And you stocked healing crystals and runes as well, right?” But then he just propped his hand in a palm, a wide smile blooming on his face that made you unsure whether he was playing along with the narrative or simply felt happy to talk about his past. “Sometimes we did, yeah. But we were more into the culinary side of things.”

When, a couple days later, you told Zoro that you and Sanji had spent the night together, he didn’t hesitate to let you know that he thought it a bad idea. He warned that Sanji was weird—not in the sense that he had a wandering eye or spent a rent-worth on cigarettes. He was simply weird. Fingers drumming on wood, “Caught him mustering some nonsense crap to a jar once. Like he was enchanting it or something.” Soon you were reliving the conversation you had on your first date. “You mean he’s, like, Sabrina the Teenage Witch?” Zoro didn’t catch it. “Who?” he said, and you waved him off. “Nevermind.”

The sneer he wore back then was similar to the one he makes now, seeing the blue light of your phone fill the room with a notification.

“It’s him,” you say, fingers instinctively hovering to your lock screen. Neither can you help looking at the hour displayed in blinding white: 01:51 A.M.

Zoro keeps himself from rolling his eyes. “Tell him I’m bringing you to your dorm.”

You text; the reply comes in a beat.

“He asks if you even know where my dorm is.”

“Of course I—” Zoro clicks his tongue. Then he snatches the phone from your hands and presses ‘record’. “Of course I know where to go you jackass,” he snarls, throat pulsing.

Taking your phone back, you check the message popping in not long after. “He says he’s coming over.”

“Fine then. Whatever.” It’s low. He sounds irritated. “Let’s pay and we’ll wait for your princess outside.”

And that’s exactly what you do; take care of the bill, grab your jackets and throw yourselves out. Feeling the crisp air on your cheeks, you realise you’re so much drunker than you’ve felt inside. You’re light, feathery, persistently on the verge of being blown out. Concrete flounders around you and you have to put in some additional effort to maintain your balance. Time becomes harder for you to register or something Zoro has just said made you cackle for too long because here is Sanji, your sweet boyfriend Sanji, parking his car not too far away from your forms. You can tell he put on himself the first things he saw in the wardrobe. His hair is slightly disordered, his step heavy as he rushes to your direction.

“Evening Angel,” Sanji chirps, pulling you into a hug, and you cannot help but dig your nose into the soft fabric of his hoodie, closing your eyes, glad to finally have something to lean your weight onto. His tone drops when he looks at Zoro. “Mosshead.”

Zoro’s hands are sunk into his pockets. “Told you I got everything under control.”

“Pardon me if I didn’t believe you.” Sanji is sardonic. “Looking at the state of this slump, seems like I was right not to.”

“Not my idea to come here, bitch,” Zoro drones. His breath fogs the air as he speaks. “Next time get your head outta your ass and listen to people before running your mouth.”

Some of Sanji’s cologne still hangs from the soft fabric. “This was the only place that allowed us to play cards,” you say against his chest.

“Aha,” he flattens his hand across your back. “At least tell me you played for money and bled this loser dry. Tomorrow will get yourself something pretty with stupid mosshead pocket change.”

“You done talking?” Zoro says through gritted teeth.

“Yeah,” Sanji’s lips press into a thin line. He’s slowly urging you towards the car. “We’ll be off in a beat.”

“We didn’t play for money,” you tilt your head to look at him, trying to match his steps as you distance yourselves from the pub.

“What a pity.” Between wry and affectionate.

You raise a loose fist in the air. “Till the next one, Zoro!”

“See ya daredevil,” Zoro shifts his weight from one leg to another. “Tuck your princess in and give him a sweet goodnight’s kiss, yeah?”

“Fuck you,” Sanji heaves, closes the door behind you.

On the way to your dorm, he doesn’t ask about how many you had or lecture about being alone—with Zoro—late at night. Why would he? He’s aware this is a part of you, and he’d lie if he said he doesn’t melt watching the glimmer in your eye and your lips curling into a wicked smirk each time you tell him how much fun you had. Though he does worry about you, sometimes, when you willingly throw yourself in all kinds of dangerous shenanigans. Seeing your head slipping down the backrest, silently Sanji casts a spell on your eyelids to make sure you sleep unbothered until tomorrow morning. Tucks some strands of hair behind your ear, yet his eyes are still fixed on the road, and his hands are both rested on the steering wheel.

Normally, he wouldn’t have been so exhibited with his magic had you been awake. But for now he takes the liberty to carry himself as if he were alone or in the company of the shitty bunch at the Baratie that taught him the craft to begin with. Foliage and plains and cottages move remotely in his wingspan while he continues to think of you. Your smile, your laughter, the nonchalant way you coil your arms around his own to show you around the places that you have so many stories to tell about. To him you are a bundle of new experiences and joy, something pleasant and airy he wishes to emanate himself someday. Always honest, always so easy to approach. Dandelion seeds whirling loosely in the wind.

But the one thing he cannot seem to take his mind from is that having a bent for partying also means having a bent for Zoro.

Lazy, shabby, perpetually absent-minded Zoro.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

Sanji has never really liked the guy, for reasons he doesn’t have the time or energy to list. Tolerance is perhaps too much to describe the compromise he’s willing to take; but he attempts it, for your sake. Because no matter how he tries looking at things Zoro adds something to this life of yours he certainly doesn’t have, or doesn’t know how to make up for. No matter how well you fit in his arms, early in the morning with sleep still heavy on your lashes, throaty voice narrating a dream so bizarre it plucks a laughter from his lips, the nights will always be reserved to someone he wouldn’t even bother to understand. Because he doesn’t want to.

Window rolls down; he lights up a cigarette.

Moments pass. His car stops by a pair of victorian-esque gates he doesn’t take long to recognise. He carries you on his back all the way to your dorm room, putting to sleep everyone he stumbles upon as he does; he isn’t supposed to be here, and certainly you aren’t supposed to return this late at night. He’s thankful you chose to sleep in the bottom bed. With this thought in mind he arranges your pillow and places you under the covers, slowly, gently almost like you were made of glass. From his tote bag he picks out a flask and a piece of paper he scribbles on: “for your hangover—sanji <3”

ii.

The sun bleeds through stained glass in dazzling shades of pink and blue and yellow. Wind chimes, cluttered shelves. Dusted books. The air is thick with the smell of wood and incense. Sanji picks at the fingers that he keeps tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He isn’t allowed to smoke in here, but fuck does he need a drag. Light catches across the variety of bottles and jars lined up in front of him, all displayed in eye-catching colours and labelled in alphabetical order.

Would I? He tries his best not to pick up the light blue piece lingering a little too at hand not to be a work of fate. Should I? Sanji kisses his teeth; he takes the thing into his palm.

There’s a piece of paper attached by lace ribbon. Writing is dainty, yet small and hardly intelligible.

Truth shows itself in wicked colours;

betrayal, freedom, promise.

For they who shall drink this wicked brew

take a night in their beloved’s embrace.

Is their bond seen pure and true,

the Garden sees no place for others.

Like the first lovers on Earth—

runaways from Eden, they shall be.

Sanji takes a deep breath. Flips the flask on all sides, reading and rereading, biting his inner cheek. It’s not like he doesn’t trust you. He does, with all his heart. And yet he cannot help but shamelessly wonder: if Zoro hadn’t introduced you, would you and him have ended up together? Does he stand in the way of something which is meant to be? “I’m pathetic, fuck.”

He tastes blood.

Talking to you about this is out of the question, since that would mean admitting Zoro is a better match for you. Plus, honesty is one of the things he admires about you. He’s sure you wouldn’t cheat. To bring this up would only lead to conflict and the sort of disappointment he’d rather choke to death than see reflected in your eyes.

“This shit is ridiculous.”

The flask makes a frail sound as Sanji throws it in his basket. Stomping the floor with his foot, a cold sweat bobbing at his nape, at checkout he’s greeted by a gorgeous woman dressed in a velvet dress and speaking with a faint voice he doesn’t care enough to pay attention to. There’s a black cat sleeping on a shelf behind her.

“Is this everything you needed?” she asks, carefully placing the goods in a paper pag.

Sanji drops some cash on the counter and leaves without saying a thing to her.

iii.

“What do you think, my dear?” Sanji asks you on the other side of the table. The potion he bought a week ago forms a bump inside the pocket of his dress pants.

You want to be sure of your answer, so you take another forkful of your food, still steaming hot and methodically arranged on the plate. It’s good. No, it’s tremendously good, better than you imagined it to be.

“Sanji, this is incredible,” you say, not allowing yourself the time to fully swallow. “And I’m not only saying this because I like complimenting you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” His face brightens, a mix of pride and the unpretentious joy he takes from cooking to other people. However he still looks to be preoccupied by something else you never find the right timing to ask about.

Embarrassment hitching up your throat, you drag your fork across ceramic. Sanji stays silent for a moment; his plate is barely touched. In hopes to escape the tension, your eyes wander to look at his curtains, his shelves, an enframed picture with a gruff old man and a much younger Sanji cheerily holding out a slice of lemon cheesecake. The apartment is small, but tasteful, with decent flooring and a rent anyone your age can afford. White walls, light blue cushioning. A closed balcony where he grows basil and rosemary.

You are going to sleep over tonight. It’s not that you've never done this before; have dinner together before deciding on a movie you’ll never get to watch because his hand grips on your thigh a little too tightly and your knee presses itself somewhere too bold to go unnoticed. But something feels different now, you cannot quite tell why. He feels different. With his avoidant eyes and stuttering words and index finger that frequently climbs to scratch an eyebrow.

“If you wanted to break up with me you could’ve chosen a café, you know?” you hear yourself saying, arms folded.

“What?” His chair scrapes the floor; he tries not to cringe from the sound. “No, no.” It's ferm. It's rushed. “Why would you think that?” goes unsaid.

Fingertips digging into the table, Sanji doesn't know how he ended up on his feet. He takes the opportunity to take the seat next to yours, plate and cutlery clanking along as he does. “No one's breaking up with anyone, sweetheart,” words fight their way through the knot in Sanji's throat.

Sanji shoves his fork in his food which now looks less parmigiana and more like something a primary school kid would make for their art class assignment. Fuck, adding wasted food to his trainwreck fog of thoughts is the last thing he wants for tonight. After he swallows it down, his tone finally relaxes.

“I was actually thinking of proposing something, now that we’re soon to move up to dessert. Something I'd like us to try,” he says.

It registers quickly. “Like in bed?”

“It might sound a little weird, though.” Sanji avoids meeting your eyes. His chest rises and falls in a disjointed rhythm as he tries his best to empty his plate.

“I like weird,” you say, propping your head on a fist, curiosity pushing your mouth a little higher.

He cannot help but mimic your smile. “Well I bought us something.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, I did.” Not wasting any more time, he pulls the flask out of his pocket, displays it on the dinner table—clear liquid bottled in cerulean crystal, ribbon unfastened and label removed. Your eyes widen. “I was doing some grocery shopping, and stumbled upon this,” Sanji explains.

You take it in your hands, blinking, carefully not to damage the contents. “Is this an aphrodisiac?”

“You can call it that,” he says. “It stimulates the senses, so everything should feel a little more intense than usual. I know I haven’t been necessarily adventurous with you, dear,” looking into his plate, then at you. Inevitably he starts thinking of Zoro. “Thought maybe I can start from somewhere.”

Your hand reaches his. “You don’t have to go out of your way for me. You’re perfect for me, yeah? And I have fun with you. Lots of it, actually.”

“I know—” heat rising in throat, he reaches to loosen his shirt collar. “I mean, you’re perfect for me, too, hell I cherish each and every moment we spend together. Kind of felt intrigued to experience this with you, is all. However it’s definitely ok and understandable if you don’t feel comfortable doing it.”

Inspecting the flask in your hands, you give it a second of thought. You know the kind of shops Sanji frequents: equipped with dust and smoke and mysteries. The between-buildings types you have asked about before, and received a response either too vague or too straightforward to be taken seriously. Even still, trust has never been an obstacle. You trust Sanji; he has trustworthy eyes and a soothing voice that feels like a kiss on one’s eyelids. He’s good to you, always has been, when he cradles your face in his palms and calls you his sun and moon and stars, stardust dripping from his eyes as he assures you’re the best he’s had.

“Does this have any side effect or some sort?” you look up to search for his gaze, and like pulled by a magnet Sanji returns it.

“No,” he says. “Wears off in the morning. Like nothing happened.”

If you don’t end up running to Zoro, that is. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach as the thought snipes through his mind. He’s not sure how to feel about lying to you, either. But maybe it’s for the best; if it turns out he isn’t your meant-to-be after all.

Decisive, “Fuck it. Let’s do it, then.”

Sanji’s smirk fades out the anxiety. “In this case our next course will consist of one more secret ingredient.”

Feet swinging, tapping against the floor. Walls drifting apart and closing in. Moments have passed through you like sequences from a dream, and you fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater as Sanji sets the dessert on the table—two delicate things, like they were long intended to play the highlight of your night, light pink and beautifully decorated with dried rose petals and pomegranate seeds. For a minute you marvel at Sanji’s attention to detail, the love he puts into any dish as he turns them into something special and palatable.

“Baby,” your laugh is a casual play at fragrancy Sanji takes in with a one-sided smile. “There’s no way I can run my teaspoon into this.”

He takes the seat to your right. “The real deal happens when you taste it, sweetheart,” he says, reaching for a teaspoon of his own, strands of blonde hair brushing one cheek as he does.

And when you eventually do it, run tableware through moulded cream, you relish the sweetness that melts on the roof of your mouth. Sanji asks if you can tell the other thing apart from the dish. You say no, I don’t, do you? I think it’s the pomegranate, he acts like he’s uncertain even though you’re sure it shouldn’t take more than a few seconds. I only used some as decor. But here it’s rather pungent, not that I’m complaining. Child’s play. Halfway through your tasting, a second question comes.

Do you feel anything?

I don’t.

Do you?

No.

Sanji’s heart clutches in his chest. He’s impatient, laughable even, he knows he is, since spells like this should take longer to surface. Three times he mouthed the chant and the potion gracefully vanished into steam as it poured down the servings, no drops left. By the look of that, Sanji might at least expect something to happen. Either bad or reassuring.

Yet you stay your familiar comfortable selves even after you’ve eaten the whole thing, carrying on as such when you help him—at least attempting to, he never lets you lift a finger—clean the table and watch him washing the dishes from one of his counters. Sleeves pushed to elbows, fingers sunk into the sponge, hair pushed into concentrated, concentrating eyes. Water rolls off his wrists—drip, drop. He tells you something, but you cannot hear him. It hovers towards the ceiling and in the back of your head, a muffled sound engulfing you not less like the numbing feeling of being underwater. Shamelessly you ask him to repeat.

Okay, maybe you do start feeling some way.

Sanji turns off the tap. A crushing silence.

“I was wondering if you thought of something to watch tonight,” he turns to look at you, and stops.

He cannot tell if it’s your eyes, suddenly looking bigger, or your collarbones, stretching in and out in anticipation, wet lips looking wetter, slightly parted as you breathe, but he feels helplessly drawn to you, like you’ve been tied up by some invisible rope that keeps rolling up, more and more, thinning the space between your bodies. Air catches in his lungs as he lets himself be torn apart by his awe and not knowing what to do with it.

Just as indiscreetly you wrap your eyes around his shoulders, his chest, his biceps, looking so much more strained under his shirt. Watching him make a step towards you, it seems like his eyes have gotten brighter, cheeks catching a faint tinge of pink, and you have to fight the impulse to dip a hand under your sweater and see how those long fingers of his would feel on you.

Your fingertips bite into the front edges of the counter. “Not yet, no,” you say, a little disconnected from yourself. Sanji’s scent is an intoxicating mix of rosemary and sandalwood. “Guess we’ll have to browse and see what comes our way.”

“Sure. We’ll look.” Stepping forward, Sanji is the most relaxed he’s felt in days, his limbs and shoulders so much lighter as he moves, comfortably numb in the absence of a thought which has weighted on his back like a fiend draining him of his life force. He knows he has been waiting for something tonight, an answer, you calling a name he cannot bring himself to remember, and yet his mind is blank with nothing but the image of his lips crashing on yours.

His presence radiates need, and it sends an electric shiver down your spine as he comes closer to you, fingers running over your knuckles. When your eyes align with his, you find it impossible to look anywhere else. So you sink into the blue and drown. Sanji leans further in, and his breath is sultry against your earshell as he speaks.

“Fuck knows what’s happening to me, dear,” he says, a hoarse sound that makes your thighs squeeze together. “But please tell me you’ll ride my face before anything else.”

But he sure knows what’s going on. He put a spell on you; or something along these lines.

Your body moves by its own as you push forward, biting your bottom lip, pressing your chest against his. “Want me to fuck your mouth, pretty?” your tone echoes the urgency of his request.

His lips trail down your ear and across your neck. Suddenly your legs are wrapped around his torso. “Oh, and even more,” he tells you. “I want you to cream on my mouth so much that you’ll never find any other to please you just as good.”

“Then why am I not in your bed yet?” It comes out more desperate than it should. Without realising your fingers have unfastened at least two of his shirt buttons, and now they seem to cling onto his collar for dear life.

Something flares in him; powerful, primal, which he hasn’t been aware he’s had before, sliding a hand under your hips and picking you up before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss is deep, all tongue. You return it with closed eyes and a breathy moan that pulls Sanji in a frenzied daze. Hands curled at his nape, you lose yourself in the taste of nicotine and pomegranates as you let him carry you past dim lit walls and into the bedroom. He doesn’t bother to turn on the lights. When he hurls you in bed, it’s with a deliberate movement, careful not to bruise you in any way but not the less forceful altogether.

Then you take care of the rest of his buttons and belt, and he moves his focus to your pants, tugging them off while your mouths can’t gather the resolve to leave each other. Your fingers rake themselves through his hair. Smoothing the skin under your sweater, his hands stop to flatten around your breast. As Sanji presses his weight on you, it becomes impossible not to notice how fucking hard he is, greedy and throbbing against your soaked panties. He’s at his most unbridled tonight, and yet he touches you with the ritualistic devotion of a priest, mouthing syrup into your ear like lighting candles on an altar. The full moon spills in her light through the window, blue and delicate, and for a moment there you are sure Sanji’s contours have caught a prismatic glow, colourful flashes whirling in your vision, wavering around him like some sort of aura.

After he breaks away, you are still tied together by a thin thread of saliva. He pushes your panties aside, and your back arches when he slides a digit, and then a second one, into your slit. There’s lust in his eyes, the kind you’ve never seen on him before, drinking in the sweet faces you make while his fingers press in and out of you in circling motions, rubbing your clit just so sweetly as he does.

“Look how wet you are, dearest,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Always such a lovely mess for me.”

“I want you, Sanji,” you say, aware that you cannot hide the way he makes you feel by looking at him alone.

It’s you, Sanji.

Your voice echoes in his heart like water dripping in a cave, let it melt inside him with something close to relief. He wants to thank you; and yet he cannot tell exactly what for. What he does instead is pull you into another kiss, less vicious and more affectionate, keeping you close with a hand flattened on your nape.

The more you kiss him the brighter the room looks. Spectral rainbow fading behind his form.

“Could you shift your hips for me?” Sanji eventually suggests. “Let me taste you, honey.”

It doesn’t take long to figure out what he means by that. Like a thing of habit, you let Sanji take your spot on the bed, then climb your way onto his face. You take yourself a moment before starting to move, but all wariness disappears the moment he drags a flat tongue across your slit. His voice vibrates into your core as your taste has him mumbling seared praises against your folds. Further you drop yourself on his mouth, and more he laps at your pussy, wet and desperate, coaxing you those sounds that fill the room and blend in with the moonlight.

Sanji’s tongue has always managed to make you shiver. But this time is different, because you can feel everything; nose and beard and lips, drenched in your slick, white-hot as they rub themselves against your favourite spots. You can feel it when his eyes close and open, taking his time to savour the moment, and when he lets out a pleasured sigh to let you know how grateful he is to be allowed the luxury of tasting you, there is a delirious sensation rushing from your heat and climbing to your back like an electrical shock. It makes you thrust your hips harder against his mouth, call out his name with the urgent solemnity you didn’t know your voice could be able to reproduce.

Looking at the way Sanji’s lower body tries to helplessly grind against nothing, cock straining in the confines of his boxers, bulging and stained with precum, you come to realise he must be feeling the same as you do. Oh, but Sanji revels in seeing how sweet you can be for him, and how good he can make you feel when he eats you out. He doesn’t mind the pain as long as he gets to lick you off his chin after he’s done. Never someone to dismiss your pleasure over his own. And yet.

As his mouth diligently works on the heat that is now building in your stomach, and your movements pick up in pace to reach the high, you cannot help not to stare at his cock, thrusting the air to catch up with your rhythm. Hands running a touch across his stomach, you lick your lips. Sanji moans into you when you lean down to tug at his boxers.

“Angel, what—” you hear him saying.

Not allowing him the time to protest, you press yourself onto his face. “I’m so close, please,” you inform him, in a voice you don’t recognise. “Please don’t stop.”

So he doesn’t, running his tongue around your clit, not letting a single drop go to waste. You’re almost there.

“Good goddess, fuck,” he huffs, feeling your hands on his balls, and shortly after your mouth kissing him at the tip.

He comes that instant; let heat shoot in your mouth and down your throat as you wrap your lips around him, swallowing and licking off everything you can. There is something wrecked in his voice as he’s taken through his crescendo, something like a prayer sent to an all-mighty, and even then he continues to kiss your folds and drag his tongue across you until you come to climb a peak of your own. With Sanji’s taste lingering on the roof of your mouth, tears begin to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you call for him, over and over again, enveloped in pleasures you never thought that existed.

Only when you’re brought back, a panting mess, you realise Sanji remained just as hard as you left him—something only that weird sex drink could’ve made it happen. You take the opportunity to lift your hips from his mouth and better adjust yourself at his crotch; he starts shifting awkwardly the moment you do.

“There’s no need to, really.” Sanji is hesitant as he looks down at you, lips red and goatee still soaked with your slick.

“But I want my meal,” you say, already licking at the tip. “It’s only fair you let me have one too.”

He’s having a hard time saying no to you; but how can he, when you talk with that voice, and when you look at him with those pleading eyes that reflect the gates to Heaven and more? Your mouth takes a little more of him, hot tongue trailing up and down his cock, and his eyes roll back into his head in visible defeat.

Sanji runs his fingers through your hair. His tone takes to yearning, “So my precious darling is hungry, huh? Cute and silly for my cock?”

“Mhm,” bottom lip rolling up, wetly.

Half smug, half dazed. “Then it’d be cruel of me not to keep you fed.”

Deeper you push your mouth around him, until he’s twitching in your throat and you start to gag. Sanji’s thumb finds your cheek—please don’t do anything you don’t want to. But you wouldn’t stop. You cannot stop. Not when you get to hear the whimpers he makes as your lips press around the skin ever so slightly, when you look up at his heaving chest, his parted lips, pushing out a broken exhale, the eyes that now flood with wavering reflections of the moonlight and tears threatening to wet his lashes.

“Oh, my angel.” It’s coarse, struggling for air. His eyes shut close. “My sun, my everything. Yeah, like that. So fucking good.”

Hands coated in spit, you reach to give his balls a gentle squeeze, continue to fill your throat. Once praises have started to spill from Sanji’s mouth, they don’t stop, and they touch a point at which the words feel like no more than babbling, trashed and incoherent, with his hair blown in both of his eyes. His hand sometimes runs to his forehead, other times he uses it to caress your face and pet your hair, but no matter what Sanji stays loud in letting you know how good whatever you’re doing to him feels.

The moment he sets both of his hands on your head, you know it’s because he’s getting close. With a fearful thrust of his cock into your mouth a growl leaves him, and soon after his second release spills down your throat, warm, somehow sweet. You swallow; his chest expands and contracts in attempt to catch his breath.

Specks of light dash off Sanji’s lips. Pulling you at his level, he clashes them against yours into yet another kiss, sloppy and greedy as he runs his hand down your curves, sinks his fingers into your skin. The touch sears everywhere it reaches; and you cannot do anything but melt in his arms, let yourself be moulded by this growing need that somehow can never quite satiate you.

“Hope you don’t think you won’t be rewarded for that,” Sanji breathes into your mouth.

Your lips rolling to his jaw, you say, “Hope you don’t think I’ve had enough of you.”

“I’m here for you to take,” with a quivering hand Sanji squeezes your pussy. “Will always be.”

His fingers send a delightful shock throughout your body. Something close to a moan tears from your throat. “You're such a whore for me, Sanji.”

“Can you blame me?” Sanji rubs his tip against your inner thigh. “Darling, please look at yourself.”

“For the love of god—” wet and breathless against his ear. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Your impatience endears him, has his heart beating so much faster than it already does. Still he starts slowly, pushing you onto the pillows, taking his time to relish your expression as he lifts your legs and lovingly sets them atop his shoulders. Sanji almost laughs at himself, because even under the influence of this potion that brings out anything wild and viscerally troublesome he has in him, nothing delights him more than getting to unravel you with the same care one deseeds a pomegranate in the kitchen.

Placing a kiss on your calf, he croons, “Say, sweetheart, what about you? Who do you crave for just so?”

Not wasting a beat, “You, Sanji.” It’s you.

He could get off by these words alone.

“And what do you want from me?” he starts to coat himself in your slick, pressing the tip on your clit every now and then. “Do you want me to fuck you, maybe? Fill you up and call you beautiful?”

You can only nod, legs coiling around his neck in anticipation. “Yeah, yeah. Please fuck me.”

Then you can feel him burying himself into you, and it rips a sound from your mouth as soon as he does. Your hips lift to increase the friction. You accommodate him easily, trembling under him and through the persistent knot in your stomach that has you wanting for more.

When he bottoms out, his voice is low, hypnotic. “Like this?”

“Like this,” you echo, drowning yourself in the wild glimmer flaring in his eyes.

Fingers dug into your legs, his temples sweaty, Sanji pulls out, then drops himself back in, each motion steadier than the other. Wet sounds fill the sheets as your bodies coil and flatten together like nothing matters in this world but you and this moment and the moon capturing your contours in ethereal glow. Nothing, no one. Sanji speeds his hips, chest flushed and sweltering. Usually you’re not as permissive with your sounds as he is, but tonight they seem to just pour themselves out of your mouth, every sigh and moan and whimper, sugar waterfalls thickening the air as Sanji moves you into each thrust.

“Ah,” you hear him say, a man aflame. “Refresh my memory, would you, angel? Who did you want to fuck again?”

Through an exhale, “You—” a pause. “Only you.”

“You feel so good,” he whines, collapses with a slapping sound. “So sweet, so perfect for me.”

Blue and pink and yellow; just as vivid when you close your eyes. He goes in deep, deeper, and your thighs are shivering against his torso.

“Yeah? You like that?” legs tightening their grip around him. “Like it when I take you good and confess?”

“More than that,” Sanji is breathless. “Makes me insane. You’re making me go insane.”

You wouldn’t admit it, but you know how it feels. To have your sanity run scarce by a voice telling you how faultless you are, that no matter how you see yourself you will always be a cosmos in someone else’s eyes. If anything, you should know this better than anyone else, the maddening feeling of being fed honey and sugar glaze as your thoughts are pressed against body heat. Lost in his trance Sanji picks up the pace, and there’s a wet, debauched mewl that overrides even the careless crash of your skins.

Lip caught under your teeth, “Want to, mh—wanna hear another confession, baby?”

“What’s on your mind, my sweet?” Sanji’s lips ghost over your calf.

“Think I—” with a thrust your eyes are hurled to the ceiling. “Fuck, I think I love you.”

Vulnerable.

Suddenly his chest drops against yours, a chance for your legs to flatten across his back, pulling him the closest you can. His fingers interlace with yours as he sinks into the crook of your neck.

Reckless.

The pace doesn’t slow down, but you can very well tell it’s become sloppier than before. A lost rhythm. When you look at him again, you are quick to notice the dampness pushing at the corners of his eyes.

“I love you too,” glad to finally word it this way. “I love you so much.”

Then he continues to rut into you, shaky voice fogging your neck the moment your nails pierce into his back. Your hips thrust themselves up, desperate for tandem. Heat erupts inside you. Another peak you’re yearning to chase.

“‘m gonna come, ‘m gonna come,” you tell him, cheek brushing over his hair.

“Let go, my dear,” in a frail tone. “Let me hear you.”

With a squeeze of your hand Sanji fucks you the way you need him to—viciously.

He could try. He could at least try to make you fall so hard for him that you will keep your words even after the spell wears off.

You pull at his hair, mean and senseless as a sudden burst of pleasure tears through you. Your lips move without being able to hear the words. There must’ve been something you said, though, you’re sure there was, because Sanji’s soon chasing after, hung on a mournful vowel, flooding you through his end.

The moon soaks into your bodies.

iv.

Sanji wakes up with tinnitus. He blinks, once, twice, waiting for the specks of colour before his eyes to rearrange into furniture. The next thing he recognises is your breathing, small and lukewarm on his chest. Instinctively his arms wrap themselves around you, and there’s a long exhale when they do. You’re naked, both of you. His head becomes heavy with flashes of last night, lips pressed together, bending sternum, and soon they are replaced with the sound of a name he thought he couldn’t remember. Sentiments he thought he discarded.

He thought he would lose you.

But you are still here.

Before knowing it, his arms are shaking, and like he’s done many times when he finds it impossible to contain himself, he covers his eyes with an elbow.

He starts crying.

Muffled, subtle, more worried about waking you up than about having to figure out an excuse for his tears. Droplets roll off his cheeks and onto his collarbone. His chest jerks up and down in a pathetic staccato. He wishes he were someone with more control over his emotions, sometimes, during moments like this. But he isn’t, and he cannot change, just like he cannot be many other things.

A soft rustle beneath the sheets. Arms squeezing his torso.

“Sanji, hey.” The words come out rasp, still filled with sleep. When he doesn’t answer, there’s a thumb wiping across his cheek. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I’m sorry,” is all he can manage.

Warmly, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups again. “I’m so sorry.”

Because he doubted you. Because he cannot fucking stop doubting himself. Heaven knows he’d tell you all these things, were he a braver man. Instead there’s only one thing that seems to be coming out of him, a broken record.

“I’m sorry.”

You wouldn’t want to pressure him. Without saying anything else you keep Sanji in your arms, squeeze him tighter as his tears blend with your hair and your fingers move to soothe his frantic shoulders. Salt pours on his bottom lip. Sanji accepts the comfort despite his better judgement, burying his face into your neck, trying to focus on the sound of your breathing. You stay like this for a while.

There are so many things he’d want to tell you; the kind of things that eat through his guts and tear him apart. Silly images of him taking you to the Baratie, teaching you the way around potions, topping your hand as you sign your name in blood and knowledge, are you to feel rebellious enough.

And he will, one day; talk to you about everything he’s ever seen and touched. Now, however, he closes his eyes and hopes you will somehow catch a flicker of all the love he has in him; everything that makes him foolish.

by far the longest thing i've written in years & it's a boring au. now excuse me but i need to go lie down for a while.

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #one piece smut #sanji smut #mdni #spooktober 2024

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