#this took me so so long but this scene is everything to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

citrinae · 20 hours 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 probably asked him to. Neither of them expected it when you accepted 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 the 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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ppssession · 1 day ago

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ของฝากจากการเดินทาง

Lathan just checked in to a hotel. This is a long holiday trip.

He chose to travel to the countryside of an Asian country. Luckily, there was a hotel nearby and it was close to the places he was going to visit. After checking in, Lathan set off.

He walked around the countryside to explore the beautiful nature. As time passed, he started to feel hungry. He looked for a restaurant and found an old shop.

When he entered the shop, he met an old man who looked harmless. The old man asked in a husky voice, “What would you like to eat, customer?”

Lathan was slightly startled, he politely replied, “Any local food.” After receiving the answer, the old man disappeared into the back of the shop. Lathan sat at the table for a while, the old man came out from the back of the shop with soup in his hand.

When the soup plate was in front of him, Athan took the first bite and put it in his mouth. He found the delicious taste and started to eat the soup with great relish. The whole scene was in the old man's sight, and the old man didn't blink even once.

เมื่ออาธานกินซุปเสร็จ เขากำลังจะจ่ายเงินค่าอาหาร แต่ชายชราเจ้าของร้านก็หยุดเขา

Old Man: No need to pay, I'll pay for you. Lathan thanked him for his kindness and walked away, with the old man smiling at him from behind.

When Lathan returned to the hotel, he immediately fell asleep on the soft bed.

In the middle of the night, Lathan felt a heat all over his body, as if something was burning him.

Lathan's body twitched and his eyes rolled back and forth, but everything slowly calmed down and Lathan fell asleep again.

In the morning, Lethan woke up and picked up his phone to check his face. Oh, it was better than I thought.

This body is mine now. I'm tired of being a boring old man in the countryside. Now the old man has possessed Lathan's body.

With a magical herb that has the power to make those who eat the first tree become possessed by those who eat the second tree.

Ahh, this young man's body is so good. I feel more life energy than an old person.

The old man wanted to leave this crazy place. The old man in Lathan's body packed his things and headed back to Australia. He looked at Lathan's ID card. Mr. Lathan's name is not bad. Here's my name.

Months later, the new Lathan is enjoying life.

“Who should I have fun with today? Thank you for coming to me to give me your body, Lathan,” he said, running his hand over his erect penis in his pants.

Okay, this is the first non-Asian guy I've written lol. Hope you like it. This was a small request from my followers and friends, but I'm sorry, this was supposed to be posted an hour ago but I got caught up in other things. Hope you like it.

#body possession #male body possession #body theft #male transformation #gay possession

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disaster-j · 2 days ago

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What really pisses me off is people insisting the break-up doesn't make sense as its own thing when it's so clearly in-character for both of them

Buck has been in a serious relationship with a man for six months but hasn't said the word bisexual. We only know that's His Label bc Oliver Stark calls him bisexual outside of the show. Buck has had what seemed to be a perfect fairytale relationship with Tommy bc Tommy made him feel so safe and comfortable and taken care of that he just let everything else about his coming out journey kinda simmer on the back burner.

And, hey, there's nothing wrong with taking your time with that. But considering the scene at dispatch where he still couldn't talk about his sexuality in concrete terms, clearly he hasn't processed it much, if at all. Buck is the guy who dives deep into research at the slightest opportunity, him knowing so little about queerness and queer culture six months into a serious same-sex relationship isn't just out of character but a clear sign that he simply hasn't done any work to explore his sexuality for himself outside of his relationship with Tommy. Whether the writers intended for it read like that or not doesn't matter very much, bc that's exactly what I'm seeing here.

And, again, that alone as a reason to break up with someone is extremely shitty but that's also not what happened.

Tommy clearly has a history of isolating. He's been hurt a lot in the past, we don't need to know the details to know he's a deeply wounded man who spent most of his life guarding his own heart from the world. He told Buck and the audience over and over again, "I look confident. I look sure. I am comfortable. But it took hard work. I wasn't like this before. This is new. This is good but this is scary. I'm working on it I'm working on it I'm working."

He can see that Buck views him as something more, something better, than he thinks he is. Buck loves Tommy, Buck was infatuated with Tommy. Tommy was this perfect guy in Buck's eyes. And that scared Tommy. It intimidated him. But he kept going bc it wasn't a big deal and he could always remind Buck that hey he's just a guy, a guy who had done things wrong for a long time. But Buck never fully grasped it either. Likely bc of how good Tommy made him feel, he struggled to fully grasp that things with Tommy couldn't always be so perfect and good and safe.

They don't talk about that but they keep going bc they like each other bc they're falling in love bc until that six month mark they were both still fairly distracted by how good it felt to be together to really, seriously consider the ramifications of ignoring those not-so-little things they didn't want to face right then.

And then suddenly it's been six months and they're clearly both in love and they're both clearly not ready to be acknowledging that at all. It's been six months and they're just trying to match each other's pace but have never talked about what that pace actually is and then suddenly they're talking about how Tommy used to be engaged to the woman who taught Buck what a real relationship meant and they still aren't even ready to acknowledge they're in love but Buck is already asking to move in together and talking about marriage and they haven't even said i love yous and Buck can't even utter the word bisexual out loud but he wants to jump into living together and fusing their lives together.

But he's not ready for that. As far as Tommy can see he's not ready for that. And if he's asking for something so big when he can't even say the word love then maybe, in Tommy's mind, he'll never truly be able to say it. Maybe they'll keep going like this. Living together and being together but Buck can't face his sexuality as its own thing and Tommy can't face how his trauma affects their relationship and eventually it'll be too much and maybe Buck still wouldn't want to say it and Tommy would push him away like he pushes everyone away and then they'll be right back to that moment, weeks or months or years later, with Buck wanting more but not able to say those words and with Tommy wishing he'd left before it hurt so much.

And sure it hurts to leave now but at least now he's early. Now, Buck hasn't wrapped himself around every piece of his life. Just his heart. At least now he'll hurt but he won't have to move just to get rid of the scent of Evan Buckley perpetually lingering in every corner of his home.

Buck loves Tommy so much he can't imagine a future without him. Tommy loves him so much he can't imagine a future where he gets to keep him.

The break-up makes all the sense in the world. It just doesn't make sense that the break-up wouldn't force them to work on their respective issues and bring them back together stronger in the future.

#bucktommy #911 abc #this is an angsty ass will they wont they slow burn endgame in my mind #and if the show fumbles such a perfect romance arc that's on them for being morons #but as far as I'm concerned they're each other's forever #they're just not ready for forever yet

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heylittleriotact · 2 days ago

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🕯️ THE RITUAL HAS BEEN COMPLETED AND I AM SUMMONED BY @emmg 🕯️

WIP ✨WHATEVER✨

I have a lot of Emmrook things in mind that I want to write (I made a list!), but I only have one brain and one dominant hand for writing, so I’m just dawdling away at my leisure.

Currently I’m working on my take on a scene that would take place directly following the end of the game because BioWare hates us and decided we don’t need any closure for our Rooks or their love interest aside from some vague ‘live, laugh, love’ bullshit epilogue slide.

Rook works their fucking ass off the entire game and is basically the emotional sponge for everyone else’s issues, pushing themselves beyond what’s healthy to see their goals through. Emmrich remarks on it on at least two separate occasions, so I think my Rook would probably find herself in a position within hours of everything concluding where her body and her mind just stand on the brakes and say, “Nope! We’re done! We cannot and will not do any more things until you take some time to recuperate!”

And who’s going to make sure that happens in the most romantic, wholesome, and slightly stern but sexy way?

Emmrich, of course 🤍

Also, I’m reverse uno-ing @emmg because I want to know what you’re cooking. LET ME INNNNNN.

I’m also tagging @allofthebarks because she said she has things she wants to write but the writing just isn’t coming, so comfort yourself in my clumsy, unedited WIP and just write A Thing. Dooooo it!!!

Veilguard End Game Spoilers Under The Cut

Cheering and accolades followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, and Amina took the time to ensure that no waiting hand was left unshaken, no hug went unreturned, and no condolence went unoffered. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but as far as she was concerned, it was time well spent.

As the ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony of their victory was muffled, Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach.

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and stroking comforting circles on her back with another.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Her voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give way, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, not caring that it landed right in her sick: everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto to tether her here.

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother—“ Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time. None of them had had time to tell her mother about Harding’s death before Elgar’nan forced their hand.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her… breaking her from the inside.

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: lithe as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him.

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion of life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them.

No. First I need to breathe.

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…”

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her nervous system and providing some relief.

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to—“

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But—“

“All that needs to be attended will be seen to: Lace’s mother will be informed of her sacrifice in an appropriate manner, and the… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return… please let me be the one to help you in your moment of need?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe.

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and disheveled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” He whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers. “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

#wip #wip whenever #dragon age #datv #da:tv #veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard #da:tv spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age the veilgaurd spoilers #datv spoilers #emmrook #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrich romance #v writes

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mediocre-shark-tales · 21 hours ago

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The Debut

Masterlist

The news hit the F1 world like a thunderclap—a 20 year old American driver, a complete unknown, was stepping into the Aston Martin seat mid-season. One of the few rookies to join halfway through the season, she was brought in to cover for Lance Stroll, sidelined potentially indefinitely by a severe injury. Speculation about his replacement had run wild, but no one expected it to be someone with almost no public history, let alone a driver no one had ever seen outside their helmet and racing suit. Yet Aston Martin was now ready to unveil her to the world—a driver who had only been known by her number, 66, and the nickname “Daredevil.”

In the week leading up to her debut, Aston Martin teased fans with cryptic photos and voice-modulated videos. Finally, they dropped a fifteen-minute video titled Welcome to AMRTC Driver 66, capturing her first day with the team. It opened with clips of the team speculating about her skill, personality, and confidence, overlaid with shots of her walking through the building without truly showing more than her shoes. Then, as a black screen lingered, the opening chords of “Real Gone” from Cars filled the silence. The video cut to the mystery driver getting suited up, each layer adding to her mystique, until she finally took to the track in the new car. A montage of high-speed laps displayed her undeniable skill and poise until the song slowly faded, revealing her standing still, helmet off, with curled hair framing her face as she turned toward the camera for the first time. This was quickly followed by a long ‘get to know me’ interview.

From the moment she arrived, the paddock buzzed with whispers. Her face was unfamiliar to the veteran drivers, but rumors hinted at her racing roots from leagues around the world. The fans, media, and even her new teammate waited with bated breath, eager to see if this newcomer could hold her own against the sport’s giants.

Y/n pov

I stepped into the Aston Martin garage with Marcus, my manager, beside me. My headphones were on, the bass of my favorite race weekend hype playlist thumping as I took in the scene. Mechanics and engineers glanced up from their tasks, eyes darting over to me before resuming their work on the cars and equipment, all in preparation for Practice Day 1. I’d skipped the usual media day—Aston Martin had somehow managed to get the FIA’s approval for me to skip it, which suited me just fine.

Marcus guided me through the bustling garage, giving me a quick rundown of everything before leading me to my driver’s room in the Aston Martin hospitality suite. As I took a seat, nerves bubbled up—I still hadn’t met Fernando Alonso. As confident as I felt in the car, the idea of meeting a living legend, someone who’d been racing since before I was even born, was something else entirely.

For as long as I could remember, Fernando Alonso had been my idol. I’d spent years studying his every move on the track, even adopting his aggressive, calculated driving style until I’d eventually developed my own. But knowing that I’d be racing alongside him—that I’d actually get to learn from him first hand—felt surreal, like stepping into a dream I’d chased my entire life.

That all changed the moment I actually met him. As I walked into the garage, fully suited up in my fireproofs with my helmet tucked under my arm, I could feel the weight of the moment settling in. After a quick weigh-in, Marcus led me over to Alonso. For a few awkward seconds, he barely glanced my way, his focus elsewhere until someone pointed me out to him. Around us, everyone was smiling and looking expectant—everyone except him. I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. I hadn’t expected him to be thrilled about my arrival, but his distant, unreadable expression stung in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

As I approached, He looked me up and down with the slightest hint of a frown.

"So, they think you're ready to jump into this mid-season?" he asked, crossing his arms. "I wonder if you actually understand what that means."

I blinked, taken aback by his bluntness. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't," I shot back, trying to keep my tone even.

He raised an eyebrow. "A lot of drivers think they’re ready," he replied, his voice cool. "But being ready means more than just showing up with confidence. Winning is a mindset, an instinct. It’s not just something you decide you have one day."

I felt my hands tighten around my helmet. "Maybe it’s not something you decide—but it is something you prove. I’m here to race, not get your approval, and I’ll show you on track that my style is nothing like what you've seen before."

A spark flashed in his eyes, though his expression remained unchanged. "We’ll see if your style is worth anything," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Just remember that here, being good isn’t enough."

Without another word, I turned on my heel and headed toward my car, trying to shake off the sting of his words. As I disappeared around the corner, Fernando watched me go, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Once my car was ready, I climbed in, settling into the seat as the engineers moved in to strap me down. Glancing up at the screen, I watched past race footage from this track with this very car. They wanted me to see what I’d be up against—what I needed to match and, ideally, surpass.

A moment later, Marcus crouched down into my line of sight, flanked by two guys—one older and serious, the other younger, with a bit of a wide-eyed look.

“Y/N, this is Ben,” Marcus began, gesturing to the older man. “He’ll be running your radio. But he’s also training Landon here,” he nodded toward the younger guy, “to be your personal radio engineer. Since there’s still a good part of the season left, you’ll need someone who gets you on and off the track. Landon’s been watching your last F2 season, studying up to learn your style. Today’s practice sessions will help you both adjust to your new roles together.”

I nodded and gave them a thumbs up—they wouldn’t hear me over the helmet or the noise of the garage anyway, but my excitement was clear.

It was finally time. My doorman stepped out, giving me the signal that I was clear to go. I eased the car forward, carefully navigating my way onto the main pit road. Aston Martin’s garage was positioned right at the front of the entrance, but it also meant the longest stretch before merging onto the track. As I rolled past each team’s garage, I felt eyes following my every move, curious and assessing. They’d all heard the buzz about the new “mystery driver,” and now here I was.

Once I hit the open track, becoming the first car out on the tarmac, my radio crackled to life with Landon’s voice. “Okay, Y/N, this session is all about finding your sweet spot with the car. If anything feels even slightly off, let me know immediately. For now, just get comfortable with the track. We’ll start gathering real data in the next session.”

I pressed the radio button and replied with a quick, “Yes, sir,” a grin hidden behind my helmet as I pushed down on the accelerator, ready to make my mark.

I took a deep breath, the roar of the engine and the blur of the pit wall filling my senses as I pushed down on the accelerator. The Italian GP track spread out before me in a symphony of curves and straightaways, each turn already embedded in my mind. I’d studied this circuit obsessively—every corner, every curb, every shift in gradient. But now, with the Aston Martin beneath me, I could finally feel it for myself, each bump and nuance translating through the car with perfect clarity.

As I took on the first few turns, my instincts kicked in—a mix of smooth control and split-second aggression. Where other drivers might ease off in preparation for a hairpin, I’d mastered the art of late braking, letting the car edge just to the point of losing grip before snapping it back with a calculated shift in weight. I slid through the Variante del Rettifilo, cutting a sharp angle through the chicane, my hands steady as I kept my foot down. Each move, each turn was a test, not just for me, but for the entire team watching my data back in the garage.

The name Franco Colapinto kept flashing in my mind. I knew he’d have an impressive debut mid-season, and I could feel a competitive drive swelling within me as I attacked the track, eager to match and even exceed his potential mark. Exiting the second Lesmo, I made a mental note of how much grip the car could hold, the feeling just right as I powered down the straight toward Ascari. I couldn’t afford a single misstep. If I was going to prove myself, this was my moment to do it—full control at breakneck speed.

“Looking good, Y/N,” Landon’s voice crackled through the radio, but I was already focused on the final corner. The Parabolica curved ahead, inviting me to test my limits, and I didn’t hesitate. I took it wide before tightening on the exit, feeling the car grip to the line as I pushed the throttle to the max, the car launching down the home straight.

“Love you, Landon, but please don’t speak before I’m accelerating out of the corner,” I said quickly over the radio, just as I straightened out and hit the next curve.

There was a pause before his voice crackled back, a bit sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am. My apologies.”

I chuckled, the corners of my mouth lifting behind my helmet. “No worries, I’ll have you perfected in no time.”

With that, I settled back into my rhythm, feeling the weight of the car and every detail of the track imprinting itself in my mind. Soon enough, the first practice session came to an end, and I guided the car back to the pits. As I parked and the engineers moved in, I took a moment to pull off my helmet, still buzzing from the thrill of my first laps. This track, this team, and this car were quickly becoming home.

Time Skip -

Race day had arrived, bringing the tension and thrill of my F1 debut, but the sting of yesterday’s qualifying disaster still lingered. I’d ended up in P18, an unfortunate consequence of a poorly timed red flag that left the five of us at the back with no real shot at setting a solid lap time. I tried to brush it off as I prepared to join the rest of the grid for the drivers' parade.

Dressed in team gear, I wore one extra item that had become a part of my ritual. A few months ago, I lost my mother to cancer, and since then, I’d made sure to honor her at every race. Something on me, whether it was my gear or my helmet, would always bear a symbol of her favorite animal: the sea turtle. She had chosen it after learning the turtle’s symbolism of wisdom, endurance, and trusting one’s path, all qualities that described her so well. On each of my helmets, a small sea turtle was etched into the design. And when I wasn’t wearing the helmet, I kept a sea turtle necklace with me, its pendant filled with a touch of her ashes, as if she were here with me, watching over this pivotal moment.

I slipped on my headphones, tuning into my “reminiscing” playlist, letting myself reflect in the few quiet moments before the chaos. “How Do I Say Goodbye” by Dean Lewis filled my ears, a song that resonated now more than ever. My F2 team had given me the remainder of the season off after my mother’s passing, telling the media I was undergoing intense training for my reserve role. Nobody outside my close circle knew the truth, and it felt like a private thread of grief I carried alone, my mother’s memory grounding me as I faced the reality of my first F1 race without her.

I followed the line of drivers, hanging back, unnoticed by most. No one had approached me—not to chat, nor to dismiss me. They’d fallen naturally into their cliques, small pockets of friendships built over countless races together. The trailer pulled up, and I was the last to step aboard, taking a quiet corner near the back. My gaze drifted over the crowd as I toyed with the sea turtle pendant around my neck, a small comfort. If there was ever a moment I needed my mom, it was now. I imagined her smiling at my awkwardness, maybe even scolding the guys to show a bit of gentlemanly grace. Her humor and warmth were all I had left to keep close in this overwhelming moment.

Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. I pulled off my headphones and turned to see a smiling Franco Colapinto standing there, his easy grin contagious. My smile mirrored his as I placed my headphones around my neck, grateful for the distraction.

“Hola! I’ve been waiting to get a chance to talk to you,” he said, his tone smooth and friendly.

“Hey! I didn’t think anyone would come over,” I replied, surprised but pleased. “It’s nice to finally meet you. How are you feeling about today?”

“Excited and a little nervous, to be honest. It’s not every day you get to race in Formula 1, right? I’m sure you feel the same way.”

I nodded, feeling a wave of camaraderie. “Definitely. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m ready to show what I can do out there.”

Franco's eyes sparkled with encouragement. “You’ve got this! I saw your lap times from practice; you really have a gift. Just stay focused and trust your instincts. We’re in this together after all.”

“Thanks! That means a lot, especially coming from you. I know you’ve been making waves already too,” I said, my confidence growing.

“Just trying to keep up!” he laughed, his energy infectious. “How about we make a pact? Let’s push each other out there and see how far we can go. We might even surprise some people!”

“Deal!” I grinned, feeling the excitement of a budding friendship. “I’d love to have someone to share this experience with. After all, it’s always more fun with friends.”

Franco nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! Let’s catch up after the race too—maybe grab a bite? I think we could both use a little downtime after all this craziness.” He blushed slightly, the nerves from the question filling him.

“Sounds perfect,” I replied, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. As we exchanged a few more words, the nervous weight on my shoulders lifted, replaced by the warmth of a new friendship that made this moment feel just a little less daunting.

Time flew by, and before I knew it, we were dropped back at the paddock. With no distractions, I headed straight for my garage, ready to change and get my head in the game. As I pulled on each piece of my race gear, my heart thudded louder, like it was syncing up with the pulse of the race track. I pressed play on my go-to race day anthem, letting "Real Gone" by Sheryl Crow blast through my headphones on repeat. If this song didn’t put me in the zone, nothing would—it was basically my theme song at this point.

Finally dressed, I took out my helmet. Today, I’d be wearing something special. Up until now, I’d been using my usual helmet, but today was different. This one was for my mom. The design was everything she’d loved: a watercolor sea turtle on each side, painted in her honor. And the top? Like Max’s iconic lion, but this time, it was the face of a sea turtle, wise and serene, watching over me. I could almost hear her laugh as I ran my fingers over the shell details. This one’s for you, Mom.

Leaving the driver’s room, I headed towards the garage, spotting Fernando getting weighed, his usual intense focus evident even with all the last-minute prep happening around us. I gave him a nod, but he was too busy to notice. The team was buzzing, everyone moving with that pre-race electricity.

Before long, I was strapped into the car, staring down the rows of vehicles lined up before me. Silence filled my helmet as I mentally ran through my race strategy. My goal was clear: make it into the points. It wasn’t just about my debut anymore; it was about proving that I belonged here. I’d shut up the critics, the doubters, the ones who said I didn’t have what it took. One pass at a time, I’d show them exactly why I was here.

With just minutes left before the race began, the team pulled the last of the covers from my car and gave it one final check before stepping back off the track. A calm washed over me, the nerves melting into pure focus. It was time.

As the lights went out for the formation lap, I pressed the pedal, feeling the power beneath me roar to life. One by one, the cars in front began moving, and I eased into line, the vibrations of the track buzzing through my hands and up my arms. As I made my way around the circuit, I took in the crowds, fans pressed up against the barricades, flags waving, people cheering, everyone vying for a glimpse of the action before the real race even began. Some held banners and signs with drivers’ names, a few even with my number and the sea turtle logo—my symbol.

I could feel the weight of all those eyes, every fan, every camera trained on the car, and I let it sink in. This was it. For a split second, my mind flashed back to all the hard work, the sleepless nights, and every lap it took to reach this moment. I had something to prove to the fans, to the team, to everyone who’d doubted me. But right now, the only thing on my mind was to trust my path—just like the sea turtle my mom had loved so much.

As the formation lap came to an end, the tension in the air shifted into something electric. The cars lined up on the grid, engines rumbling in anticipation, and I felt a surge of adrenaline course through me. The lights began to sequence, and I focused on the start, visualizing my strategy for the race. This was my moment, and I was ready.

The lights went out, and with a roar, I launched off the line. The initial surge was exhilarating; I was quick on the throttle, feeling the car respond to my commands as I made my way into Turn 1. I immediately positioned myself on the inside line, expertly avoiding the chaos of the cars jostling for position. I could hear the crackle of the radio as Landon encouraged me, reminding me to stay calm and focused.

By the time I reached the first series of corners, I was already gaining ground. I overtook a struggling driver on the outside, timing my move perfectly as I accelerated past him, narrowly avoiding a collision. The thrill of passing my first competitor sent a rush of confidence through me. I could see Franco up ahead, holding steady in P15, and I set my sights on catching him.

As I maneuvered through the tighter sections of the track, I began to find my rhythm. I was in the zone, my mind clear, my instincts sharp. Every corner felt like an opportunity, and I seized each one with determination. The roar of the crowd grew louder with every pass I made, and I could feel the energy fueling my drive.

By the end of the first five laps, I had already climbed up to P15. The rush of adrenaline pushed me further as I entered the sixth lap, where I saw two cars ahead battling for position. I took advantage of their fight, threading my car between them at just the right moment. It felt like a dance, fluid and precise. I could hear Landon’s voice in my ear, excitement evident as I made my way to P12.

With each lap, I continued to push, my confidence growing as I settled into the flow of the race. I navigated through the midfield, expertly carving my way around each driver that stood in my path. Before I knew it, I was in P10, and the battle for the final point was heating up. I had Franco in my sights, and he was locked in a fierce duel with a driver ahead. I took a deep breath, my focus zeroing in on the track ahead.

As we approached the DRS zone, I positioned myself perfectly behind Franco, ready to capitalize on the situation. The moment the DRS activated, I unleashed the power of my car, speeding past him as I made my way into P9. A rush of exhilaration flooded over me—I was in the points! I could hardly believe it. The realization that I had come from P18 to P9 within 2/3s of the race filled me with a sense of accomplishment and the determination to keep pushing forward. With my mother’s spirit guiding me, I 2ould fight for better positions.

The final laps flew by in a blur, each corner, each straight a chance to cement my place in this race. I held P9 fiercely, defending against anyone who dared to challenge me, pushing the car to its limits while staying calm under pressure. As I crossed the finish line, a wave of relief and triumph washed over me, the weight of the entire race lifting in an instant. My radio crackled with life, and suddenly the cheers of the team filled my helmet, their voices a symphony of celebration.

“P9! Absolutely incredible, y/n!” Landon’s voice shouted, brimming with pride. “You did it, you’re in the points on your debut!”

I could hear Marcus chiming in, his excitement nearly drowning out the others, “You’ve made history today. Unbelievable drive—everyone here is beyond proud!”

A smile broke across my face as I took a moment to let it all sink in. The crowd’s cheers blended with the voices in my ear, my heart racing with pure exhilaration. I lifted a hand in a quiet tribute to my mom, feeling her presence there on the track. This was just the beginning—I’d proven I belonged here.

Pulling into parc fermé, I powered down the car, feeling the silence wrap around me as the engine’s roar faded. Just as I started climbing out, I heard someone shout my name over the buzz of the paddock. I turned and saw Franco charging toward me, a huge grin plastered on his face. Before I could react, he reached me, practically tackling me in a bear hug as he lifted me off my feet and spun me around.

“You raced beautifully, hermosa!” he yelled, his excitement infectious. I couldn’t help but laugh, caught up in his energy as he set me back down.

“And you! That defense was insane—I thought I’d never get around you!” I replied, still catching my breath. We grinned at each other, peeling off our helmets and balaclavas, both flushed and exhilarated.

“Seriously,” he said, eyes bright, “for a debut race? You were unstoppable. I knew you’d make waves, but that was something else.”

“Thanks, Franco,” I said, feeling the pride and relief mix with a new rush of excitement. “And I know that won’t be the last time I’m chasing you down.”

“Can’t wait for it,” he replied with a laugh. We shared a nod, silently acknowledging the start of something bigger between us.

As we pulled away, someone called out for us. I turned, and to my surprise, racing legend Lewis Hamilton was walking over, looking exhausted but with a warm, genuine smile. "That was spectacular from both of you," he said, nodding at Franco and me. "I can’t wait to watch the highlights later. You both defended and overtook with skill today—I’m excited to see how you both keep improving."

Franco and I exchanged a quick look of shared amazement and thanked him, both of us a bit starstruck. Just then, Alex appeared, pulling Franco aside, leaving me with Lewis.

“So, y/n,” he began, his tone more serious now, “I actually wanted to have a word with you. I didn’t want to overwhelm you earlier, so I thought now might be the best time—when your spirits are high and you’ve got a bit of space to breathe.” I nodded, curious, as he continued.

“I know it can be tough to find real allies here,” he said gently. “Especially as someone who stands out in a sport that doesn’t have many like you.” His words hit home; I’d felt the isolation creeping in, even with the excitement of today’s race. “I went through a similar thing when I started. I want you to know, if you ever need a friend or someone to talk to, I’m here. Whether it’s for advice, venting, or just someone who gets it—don’t hesitate to find me.”

A wave of gratitude washed over me, and I managed a smile, feeling the pressure I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying start to lift. “Thank you, Lewis. That really means a lot,” I said, trying to convey how much his words reassured me. He gave a small, understanding nod, like he knew exactly what I was feeling.

“Anytime,” he said with a kind smile. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Just keep your head up.” With a reassuring nod, Lewis turned and walked back toward his team, leaving me standing there with a sense of both calm and determination. I took a deep breath, letting his words sink in, feeling a surge of confidence.

Gathering myself, I turned and headed back to my team’s garage, the noise of the paddock buzzing around me, but somehow, I felt more focused than ever. As I walked, a few crew members caught my eye, giving me nods and pats on the back, their own excitement mirroring my own.

I saw Marcus waiting with a grin, surrounded by engineers who all looked just as thrilled. I knew I’d made a mark today—not just on the track but on the people who believed in me. And as I joined them, I couldn’t help but smile.

#x reader #f1 angst #driver!reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #max verstappen #charles leclerc #oscar piastri #lando norris #franco colapinto #lewis hamilton #carlos sainz #george russell #grill the grid #f1 grid x reader

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veronicaphoenix · 1 day ago

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zutto — chapter twelve | wc: 3k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Noah finds an old family album in Grandma's living room. Noah and Lia explore a nearby village that leads to a guarded sanctuary.

Reading time: 12mins aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: established relationship, very slight angst, mostly fluff and happiness, no trigger warnings, just lia and noah being the cutest couple ever. (This chapter is mainly a filler, but do let me know if there's sth that definitely needs to be added here).

‼️ THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF MY OTHER FIC THE UNMAKING OF A WARRIOR ‼️

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

Noah stirred awake with his face nestled in the tousled cascade of Lia’s hair, which lay strewn across their pillows. Still foggy with sleep, he brushed her hair back, freeing himself from the comfortable knot of her arms and legs. Lia’s face, serene in slumber, bore the same gentle innocence she’d had since childhood—soft features and a hint of a smile that made her look so small, almost fragile.

As he shifted to leave, she murmured something in her sleep, and all he caught was the word “cold”. He reached for one of the fluffy blankets Emi had handed him the day before and tucked it around her and over the duvet, leaving only her eyes, nose, and a tuft of hair peeking out. He knelt on the futon and leaned down, pressing a light kiss to her forehead, and was rewarded with the sight of her nestling deeper into the blankets, her contented smile widening slightly. The sight made him chuckle.

A few minutes later, Noah found himself downstairs in the dimly lit living room, where the quiet of early morning was still present. The world outside was barely touched by dawn, and there was a chill lingering in the house. Deciding that coffee could wait, he sank into the couch, raking a hand through his hair as he reflected on the events of the previous night. He and Lia had stayed up late, mulling over his grandmother’s words, everything she’d said and shared with them, all she’d known for years—the connection he and Lia shared and had been skirting around for so long. This morning, waking up beside her, limbs tangled, he couldn’t help but regret the many sunrises they’d missed together.

Sighing, Noah let his gaze drift across the room until it landed on an old chest of drawers, cluttered with various albums and keepsakes. Curiosity getting the better of him as he crouched down and slid open one drawer. He pulled out a couple of albums, their corners worn with time and use. As he lifted them, a gentle voice broke the silence.

“Good morning, dear.”

Startled, Noah nearly lost his balance, clutching the albums as he turned to see Hana standing by the doorway. She was wrapped in a beige shawl, her hand clasping it at her chest as though savoring the warmth.

“Morning,” Noah replied, regaining his composure and standing to his full height.

“You’re up early,” she observed, stepping into the room with her gentle, knowing smile.

“Yeah, my sleeping schedule is still a bit all over the place.”

“Lia?”

“Still asleep.”

Hana’s eyes dropped to the albums in his hands.

“Have you looked at those yet?” she asked, gesturing for him to sit beside her on the couch.

Noah shook his head no.

She took one of the albums from his hands, opening it on her lap. The first photo that met their eyes was a candid of Noah as a toddler, his cheeks chubby and his eyes wide. He didn’t recall ever having that hair, but now he hoped he’d never find himself with that haircut again.

As they turned the pages, Noah glimpsed snapshots of his childhood—him at home, for Christmas, for his birthday, scenes from parks, zoos, even a shrine his grandparents had taken him to in Los Angeles. Then, there was one of his mother, Eve, cradling him as a baby. Hana traced her fingers over Eve’s face, her daughter. Her expression immediately softened with a hint of sadness.

“Your grandfather took this just a few months after you were born,” she murmured. “There aren’t many more of her, I’m afraid.”

Noah stared at the picture in silence, feeling a quiet pang of loss. But he simply shook his head, flipping to the next page.

“It’s okay,” he said, as though reassuring himself.

Then a photo of six-year-old Lia appeared, her small hands clutching a bouquet of flowers picked fresh from Hana’s garden, her bright smile and eyes full of wonder and joy. That day, she’d insisted on helping Hana with the gardening, and Noah’s grandfather had decided to document the occasion. Noah remembered his own enthusiasm, persuading his grandfather to let him try out the film camera, capturing that exact photo of her he was looking at right now. Lia looked so cute, offering the bouquet to him with so much excitement and innocence. Noah made a mental note to have a copy made of the picture to keep it in his wallet.

They continued flipping through memories, watching him grow from a boy to a teenager. The photos became scarcer as they reached his teenage years due to digital storage slowly replacing printed albums. Near the end, something slipped from one of the plastic sleeves, fluttering to the floor. Noah picked up the yellowed paper, examining it. It was a drawing of a family: Two adults and two children standing side by side, flowers drawn in colorful scribbles around the figure of the mother. Noah thought the drawing was pathetic, for the supposed adults looked more like children (only taller), and the choice of colors was quite horrible. He imagined what Lia would say if she saw it; she’d probably be horrified.

Hana, peeking over his shoulder, said, “You did that.”

“I did?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

Hana nodded with a hum of confirmation.

Noah studied the drawing for a moment before a smile tugged at his lips.

“Let me guess. It’s me and Lia, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” she confirmed, her eyes twinkling. “You drew a little family. You, Lia, and two kids.”

He held the drawing, a pang of nostalgia hitting him as he thought about what it might have meant back then, even if he hadn’t understood it. Lia had always meant home, even from the beginning. He glanced at Hana.

“Is this related to some folklore story, too?” He asked, giving the paper a little shake.

“I’m afraid not,” she replied with amusement.

Noah hummed thoughtfully, a soft chuckle escaping him.

“I guess I’ve always been a little obsessed with her, haven’t I? Surprised she didn’t run away from me by now.”

Hana chuckled, patting his shoulder. “Oh, she’s always enjoyed your attention. Still does.”

Noah looked down at the drawing once more, then carefully slipped it back into the album.

“Well, I don’t think we’re ready for this yet,” he said lightly, though the thought of a future with Lia brought a warmth to his chest.

“There’s a time for everything,” Hana countered, her hand resting on his shoulder with quiet reassurance. “I’ll go prepare some coffee and get breakfast ready.” She stood up with a stretch.

She adjusted her shawl as faint footsteps creaked above them, drifting down the staircase like a quiet echo. Pausing, Hana raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Looks like Miss Flowers heard the word coffee,” she teased, her eyes crinkling with joy.

“She’s probably been dreaming about your tamagoyaki.”

“Well then, I’d better get started with the cooking.”

She turned to head for the kitchen, but Noah’s voice stopped her.

“Hey, Grandma?”

“Yes, darling?” She looked back at him, sensing something thoughtful lingering in his voice.

“I was thinking of taking you and Lia out for lunch today. Is that nice restaurant still open? The one owned by that fisherman downtown, by the river?”

“You mean the one by the harbor? Oh, yes! Kaito still runs it with his family. Wonderful man, that one. He’s been there as long as I can remember, serving the freshest catch you’ll find for miles.”

“Perfect. I figured it might be nice… Spare you and Emi from doing the cooking and spoiling us. We’re going to be here for two weeks so…”

“So?” Hana raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue. “Noah, you’re my Grandchild—and so is Lia. I’ve been waiting to have you back so that I could spoil you day and night. Taking us out for lunch sounds wonderful, but having you here, seeing you and Lia so happy… that’s all I need. No need to be so decorous, all right?”

As he nodded, Lia appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing her eyes with a sleepy smile. She was wearing one of Noah’s hoodies and leggings, her hair messy and still carrying that softness from sleep.

“Did someone say coffee and tamagoyaki?”

After lunch at the chosen restaurant by the river’s harbor, the three of them strolled through town. The cobblestone streets bustled with life: shopkeepers arranging their displays, locals chatting by the open-air markets, and the occasional cat winding lazily through the clusters of legs. Noah and Lia lingered here and there, pointing out shop signs and admiring the architecture, their joy and excitement filling the quiet spaces between Hana’s stories about the town.

But after a while, Hana slowed her pace, her steps growing more deliberate. She paused at the corner of a small park, resting her hand on a wrought-iron fence.

“I think my legs are ready for a good sit,” she admitted with a warm smile. “But you two go on—explore a bit.”

Noah stepped closer, concern flickering across his face.

“Maybe we should head back together. Don’t want to tire you out.”

Hana waved a hand dismissively.

“Nonsense. Just walk me home, and you two can go off on your adventure. I’m perfectly fine, dear.” She adjusted her shawl and motioned to the familiar path leading back to the house.

They fell into step beside her, walking in silence until they reached the front gate.

Before heading inside, Hana turned to them.

“If you’re up for a nice walk, you should head over to the neighboring village. There’s a path that winds through a small forest—lovely at this time of day.” She pointed toward a narrow road leading away from the town’s main street. “If you don’t mind the hour’s walk, it’s a cozy place I think you’ll enjoy. And just outside the village, up in the hills, there’s an old sanctuary. It’s guarded, so you won’t be able to go in, but the approach is breathtaking and it’s full of deer roaming around. Lia will enjoy the variety plants and flowers growing here and there. You’ll see the torii arches leading up to it, painted bright vermillion. They stand like quiet guardians on the hillside.”

Lia’s eyes sparkled at the mention of the animals and flowers. She exchanged an excited glance with Noah.

“That sounds beautiful. Let’s go!”

With Hana safely settled at home, they retraced their steps down to the town square, setting off on the road she had pointed out. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, the light over the fields and forested hillsides warm and comforting. As they walked, the noises of the town faded behind them, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas.

Noah and Lia set off down the winding path toward said neighboring village. After ten minutes of chatter, Noah plucked a small flower from the roadside and held it up in front of Lia.

“Alright, Miss Flowers. Let’s make this hour-walk count,” he said, walking backward with a mock-serious expression. “Identify this specimen, and tell me something interesting about it.”

Lia’s eyes sparkled with the thrill of the challenge, her smile growing big.

She barely glanced at the flower before answering, “That’s Hepatica asiatica, commonly called Japanese anemone. It’s known for thriving in early spring, but has a kind of magic because it also flowers in autumn. It symbolizes endurance.”

Noah pursed his lips, pouting slightly as he assessed her answer with approving nods. Then, he placed the flower in her hair and continued the game, snatching up every wildflower he found, confident he could stump her with at least one.

He spotted a cluster of yellow flowers by the edge of the path, their delicate petals stretching toward the sunlight. He plucked one and held it up for Lia to see just like he’d done with all the previous one that now adorned Lia’s hair, making her look like a woodland spirit.

“I bet you don’t know this one. Yellow, cute, uh… squishy-looking. What’s it called?”

Lia glanced at it, raising an amused eyebrow.

“That’s Ranunculus japonicus, the Japanese buttercup. They usually bloom in spring and early summer. They’re actually mildly toxic, but they represent charm and attraction in Japanese flower language.”

Noah’s jaw dropped in exaggerated astonishment.

“Toxic and charming? Sounds like a dude from a dark romance novel,” he commented, letting the flower slip from his fingers. He wasn’t about to place a posinous flower in Lia’s hair. “How on earth do you know all of this?”

She laughed, catching up to him and brushing his shoulder.

“I read a lot about flowers.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s see if I can stump you,” he muttered. Walking backward again, he eyed the path until he spotted a patch of dainty white blossoms, their clusters hanging delicately on thin stems. He picked one. “Okay, smarty-pants. Bet you can’t name this one.”

Lia was enjoying this too much. She licked her lips before answering.

“Galium odoratum, also known as sweet woodruff. They used to use it for tea and perfumes. And it’s supposed to bring good luck.”

Noah threw his head back in defeat, groaning loudly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me! Good luck, she says,” he mumbled, sticking it in her hair. “Alright, now I’m officially impressed… but also determined.”

“Bring it on."

He narrowed his eyes, scanning the path and its surroundings as they walked. He spotted a stem of tiny purple blossoms swaying in the breeze. Plucking one, he raised it high with a triumphant flourish.

“Ha! This one. There’s no way you’ll know it,” he declared, lifting it dramatically like he’d found a rare gem.

Lia giggled, trying not to laugh too hard at his enthusiasm. She squinted at the flower and smirked.

“Veronica persica, or Persian speedwell. Common around here, and often seen as a sign of spring. They’re one of the first flowers to bloom in the year. They symbolize loyalty and friendship.”

Noah gaped, flopping his hand over his heart in mock despair.

“Are you kidding me, Lia? Persian speedwell? Is that even a real flower?”

She only laughed, nodding.

“Completely real, I promise.”

He sighed dramatically, defeated, as he placed the speedwell beside the other flowers in her hair.

“How are you this smart? Who just casually knows Persian speedwell?”

Lia shrugged, feigning innocence. “A dedicated flower nerd, apparently.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Noah groaned, though he couldn’t hide his smile as he adjusted her floral crown. “It’s like your brain is a flower encyclopedia. You could’ve made something up, and I’d have been none the wiser. I’m almost afraid to try again.”

By the time they arrived at the village, her hair was crowned with flowers of every shade, making her smile as radiant as she looked. They strolled through the village, stopping to explore charming little shops that sold everything from handmade pottery to delicate fans painted with mountain scenes. They bought a few trinkets, small souvenirs of their day, and stopped to sample the village’s street food—sweet roasted chestnuts, steaming dumplings, and crispy fish skewers that Noah insisted on trying despite Lia’s comments on how spicy they looked.

As they continued up the main street, the scent of sakura blossoms in full bloom greeted them. The path led to the entrance of the sanctuary that Hana had mentioned, marked by the striking vermillion torii gates rising from the hillside. They paused in awe at the sight, but just off to the side, beneath the wide branches of a sprawling sakura tree, stood a weathered memorial stone, its base framed by clusters of fresh wildflowers left by visitors.

Intrigued, Lia leaned in to read the inscription, tracing the carved characters with her finger. “It’s a collection of stories from the people that’s lived in that sanctuary for years and centuries,” she murmured, her voice quiet with reverence. “Hear this one,” she mentioned, calling to Noah by sending a look to him over her shoulder.” It’s about a Samurai who fell in love with a Princess…”

Noah rested his chin on top of her head, listening as she read aloud, her voice weaving the tale of the samurai who had defied his fate to protect the woman he loved. Once a noble warrior, he’d become a ronin, a masterless samurai, after fleeing with the princess in order to save his life and to protect her. They’d come to the sanctuary for refuge, and in return, they had dedicated themselves to it, helping it flourish. Together, they built a life there, raising three children and even adopting a wolf who guarded their family and the sanctuary with fierce loyalty.

When Lia reached the end, a smile played on Noah’s lips.

“Hmm,” he mused, his chin still resting comfortably atop her head. “Sounds like something I’d do for you.”

Lia tilted her head back to look up at him with a glint of amusement. “Protect my life with a katana, slicing down anyone who dares threaten me?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, attempting a noble tone as he puffed out his chest. “Honor above all else.” He tried to imitate a stoic samurai expression but couldn’t help the grin breaking through.

Lia giggled. “I’d love to see that. Would you wear the armor too?”

Noah placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep consideration. “Only the best armor for you, Princess. And when I finally wield my katana, you’ll see—no force could keep me from keeping you safe.”

Melting at his sweetness, Lia took his hand and pulled him back to her as her eyes went back to the memorial stone.

“The names of their three children were Levi, Sakura, and Jasmine. How cute is that? They named their daughters after flowers!”

“That’s something you would definitely do,” Noah remarked.

She held her breath as Noah’s warm breath brushed her face, a sequence of images running through her mind before she quickly dismissed them.

“Do you think they’d let us bring a katana home through airport customs?” She asked, changing the direction of the conversation.

“Oh, of course,” Noah replied, completely straight-faced. “I’m sure it’s considered a cultural souvenir.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” she replied thoughtfully, “but let’s go check the ones on display in that shop we saw on the way up.”

“I’ll follow your lead, ma’am.”

A tiny sneak peak at chapter 13:

Her words trailed off as she entered the bedroom, only to freeze in place. She stood there in her bra and panties, and Noah, instead of holding her sleeping shirt, had something else entirely in his hands: the pair of kitty ears and the choker she’d impulsively bought in Osaka. One in each hand, he lifted them slowly, inspecting them with raised brows.

“What... is this?” he asked, looking up at her, intrigued.

Lia’s shoulders slumped, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

— prev. chapter | chapter thirteen 🌶️

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@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

@chey-h | @ferduttini | @dominuslunae

#noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah x lia #the inevitability of love at second sight #noah sebastian fic #bad omens #bad omens fic

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momolady · 2 days ago

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Luzas the Orc Lich: Part Two

- Patreon - Ko-Fi - Commissions - Masterlist -

4.7k words - Female Reader x Male Monster -Treasure Hunt - Bold Lead - Pirates - Give me your heart-

“He’s a lich, Captain, I want to know if you understand what that means.” Tog spoke slowly and purposefully, enunciating each word with a crisp, loud clarity

“He’s dead or something.” You waved off one of the crew unloading things from the ship.

Tog stared at you with a bleak, almost distraught expression. “Not just dead, Captain, he is undead. By his own hand. He is so powerful in his magic that he is able to live on without life! He is more powerful than any storm, any force of nature we have ever come across or will ever come across in our entire lives.”

You shrugged, watching the crew haul your things into the courtyard. “Good for him.”

“Not good for him!” Tog shouted. She threw her hand out over the side of the boat. “He transported our entire ship into his moat!”

“He said he'd put it back.” You hopped off the boat and onto the drawbridge. “Now everyone! I know this may seem strange for a while but we are on the threshold of the greatest treasure we’ve ever found! Behave and we all come out of this richer than any Rakshasa royal in the capital!”

Weak cheers rang out, but you knew they’d see the light once they saw what Luzas had promised all of you.

You went back inside the palace, following the way the tiles on the floor moved until you came into Luzas’ study. “Everything is going according to plan, sir. Once everyone is settled in their quarters you can give them all their roles within the household.”

Luzas looked you up and down, moving aside the books floating around him in a circle. “You seem all too excited for this.”

“Let’s just say I saw the light.”

“And by light, you mean the treasure I promised?” Luzas chuckled. “You’re an easy woman to please.”

You shook your head. “Not really. But your offer for the crew was too good to pass up.” You walked past him to the window, looking out to see Tog instructing the crew.

Luzas came up beside you looking out over the scene as well. He turned slightly and his hand reached out, touching your hair. You glanced up at him, touching the same lock he caressed.

“What is it?” You asked.

Luzas took his hand back. “You have it down.”

“Oh right.” You ran your fingers through your hair as best you could. “I usually keep it braided up.” You leaned back out the window as a breeze picked up. Yellow flower blossoms danced upon the breeze.

“It’s been a while since this place had life in it,” Luzas changed his musings.

That reminded you of Tog’s warning. “Aren’t you alive?” You rose back up to face him.

Luzas let out a low chuckle. “Yes and no. I am neither but I am also both at the same time.”

You furrowed your brow at him.

“Confusing, I know.” He sighed and held out his hands, both sinewy and bone at the same glance. “I traded both my life and death for this form.”

“How?” You leaned in from curiosity. “Was it a power trip thing?”

Lowering his head, Luzas averted his eyes from you. “You see-”

There were shouts from the hallway and the sound of something breaking. You scoffed, turning yourself away from the conversation. “I’ll go see what they’re up to,” you grunted.

You didn’t get much of a chance to return to that conversation. As the day went on, the crew was moved into the palace, and later on, they were all given jobs within the palace. Some worked as maids or butlers, others were in charge of the kitchen, others laundry duties.

“I didn’t become a pirate to clean,” a crewmate snarled as you walked by.

“It’s only for a short while,” you hushed them. “Enjoy it, because this means more than you will ever know.”

“But what does that mean, Captain?”

“It’ll take too long for me to explain,” you replied. “I have to go get ready for supper.” You continued walking on. You knew the crew wasn’t going to enjoy this new lot in life very much, but hey, at least it would only be long enough until Luzas performed the spell to take your heart. Surely it wouldn’t be that long. You knew each day they would become more and more settled, probably even to the point they would complain when you all had to leave.

It was a few days into your stay when you had a bit of ease around the place. The crew seemed to be doing just as you expected, settling, and you were going along with Luzas’ requests. Anything to help get yourself closer to that amazing promise of his.

“Okay, so you have been holding out on me,” you told him.

Luzas gave you a look. “How so?”

You smiled, stepping in closer to his side. “Are you really the first orc king?” Leaning in, you were almost flush against his side. “Go ahead, you can tell me.”

Luzas didn’t really move away. “Not exactly,” he replied. “I am not the first orc king, there were many before me. I was simply the first orc king over men.”

“So you are!” You gasped with excitement.

Luzas sighed and moved away. “You’re not getting the distinction, are you?” He walked forward, going towards the door.

“Does it matter?” You followed along beside him.

Outside it was a walled off garden, or it must have once been. It was all earth and stone. But as you and Luzas walked forward, it began to bloom full of yellow flowers, those creeping vines formed around dead tree stumps to grow.

“I was the first orc to rule over men, it feels like a rather large distinction to me.” Luzas murmured quietly as he walked forward. “I fought hard and won the role fairly. Yet people want to make this distinction as if I were not a genuine ruler.”

“Well, what sort of ruler were you?” You walked on ahead, inspecting the flowers to see if they were real.

“That is not something I can answer,” he sighed. “My memory is clouded and rose colored. Much like you to your crew, only they can truly make claims to what sort of leader you are.”

You plucked a flower, noting it felt real in your hand. “Well, that sounds like a proper king thing to say. Bad kings do not think if they are good or not, only that they are the king.” You offered the flower to Luzas.

He smiles at the offer and takes it. “Maybe. But as I said, I see my past in a rose colored light.” He took the flower, adorning his cloak with it. “But that world is long gone. Those people have long since passed into another realm. They fill the beneath.”

Your eyes widened. “The beneath? What’s that?”

Luzas’s eyes widened and he looked at you as though you had grown a second head. “You’ve not heard of the beneath?”

You shook your head.

He scoffed. “So many things have been forgotten since my time.”

You tilted your head side to side. “It is how time works.”

Luzas scoffed and sat down in the garden. “I suppose.”

You sat down beside him, stretching out your legs and letting out a heavy, relaxed sigh. You leaned back, tilting your neck so you could see up into the sky and through the yellow petals of the vines. “My mother liked things that were rare. Jewels. Clothes. Stories. It was her whole thing to have a collection that no one else had. This included these big old books. Lots of which she took from monks and scholars who kept to themselves, kept their libraries safe. That’s how she found stories about you.”

“I see,” he murmured.

“Do you wanna know what they said?” You asked.

He shook his head slowly. “Not particularly.”

“Well, things were good, until they weren’t.” You stood up from your seat and looked back at Luzas. Even sitting, he was taller than you. “I’m going to catch up with Tog. If you should need me-”

“No, go,” Luzas sighed. “Take care of your own.”

You purse your lips. “Well, that includes you now, too.” You turned and walked back inside, wondering if that would mean anything to him at all.

Sometime later, the colors around the island were beginning to change, and night came on much sooner than expected. It didn’t feel like it should be a changing of seasons, but apparently it was. The once lush green around the island was turning golden and red. Everything matched the citrine and yellow pearls that Luzas kept in his home.

“It’ll be getting cold,” Tog yawned over tea.

“Suppose we should start chopping lumber?” You asked, glancing idly over a book.

Tog shrugged. “He probably makes his own fire.” She then glared, turning to you with such a sharp look. “We are going complacent here! When is this going to end?”

You looked at her with surprise. “Oh-” You thought for a moment. “It’s a pretty important spell I think.”

“You spend your days with him! What is he doing?” Tog looked at her tea then pushed it back. “We’re becoming fat and lazy on the comforts here! Do you not realize that?”

You scanned her quickly. “You look adorable as always, Tog.”

The little blue kobold slammed her palms down upon the table. “That’s not what I meant! The crew is growing used to this life! We are becoming domesticated!”

You thought for another long moment. “I’m sure Luzas will be over with this spell soon,” you offered.

“Well, ask him!” Tog snapped. “I didn’t join you because you were good at being patient, Captain. I joined you because you were frightening! You were a powerful woman, and I wanted that! But that is not what I see in this castle.”

You furrowed your brow at her. “Hold your tongue, Tog. You will not speak to me in such a way.”

“Exactly!” Tog bounced. “Talk to him like how you talk to me! Not some simpering lady.”

It was your turn to stand up dramatically. “Simpering?”

Tog returned your harsh stare with equal ferocity. “We all see it, Captain! The way you followed him around, acting like some puppy dog. That is not our captain! Our captain leaves men and women behind her in a lush wreck! She leaves them weak! She-”

You grabbed hold of the edge of the table and shook it to make her stop. “You want me to talk to him! Then I’ll talk to him!” You stood up from the table, pushing it into Tog with your anger. You stormed out of the room, stomping down the hallway to where you knew Luzas would be.

You then hesitated outside his door, your hands slightly shaking. Puppy dog? You? No, you highly doubt it. They don’t know what they are talking about. You pushed open the doors of Luzas’ private chambers and stormed in like the pirate queen you were.

Are!

“Luzas!” You shouted out. Looking around the room you didn’t see him lurking like usual. Instead the lights in his chamber were dim, barely aglow. You licked your lips, wandering further into the room as the doors closed behind you.

The room was unusually warm, and breathing in there was a hint of thick, wild musk in the air. You huffed, turning this way and that to find Luzas. You then saw his bed and the curtains were drawn around it. You frowned, walking towards it.

“Luzas?” Your voice wouldn’t come out louder than a harsh whisper. You pulled back the curtain forcefully, seeing Luzas lying in bed.

Didn’t he once say he didn’t need sleep? He didn’t need food either but he often ate meals with you and drank libations despite the fact it wouldn’t get him drunk. Maybe he partook in sleep the same way he did those things.

His golden form was laid out against the bed, his long hair splayed out across the pillows, his arms, down his chest.

“Luzas I-” You stopped, short of breath and all power within your body. Your eyes had trailed down his side enough to see that the sleeping giant had a giant awoken upon his body. Your jaw dropped slightly.

“By the goddess,” you whispered.

This thick, golden phallus hung in the air, barely suspended by its own stiffness. The head gleamed like polished citrine, shining in the light and reflecting shades of yellow, green and orange.

“No wonder he slouches so much,” you murmured to yourself. You went to pull back, no longer wanting to confront the sleeping beast. But as you pulled back, his hand caught you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was a low, angry growl.

You were stunned, afraid to speak before anger returned. “Unhand me!”

Luzas chuckled. “I caught you spying on me and you think you have the upper hand here? Captain?” he said so mockingly.

“You will unhand me or I swear-”

“What did you come in here yelling about?” He growled again.

So he was awake! He was aware that you had been staring at him, ogling him even. You held your breath, still keeping your wrist held high. “I came to demand an answer,” you snarled back. “I want to know when this deal is sealed.”

Read the rest as a free member over on Patreon!

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nausicaamusiclover20 · 3 days ago

Note

hey I hope you’re having a good day

Can I request a shot about current James x reader, cozy evening and it ends with smut shower?

Hello, thank you, I'm having a good day. I hope you're having a good day too❤ Sorry, I know you requested a smut story, but I wanted to make it more on the intimate side rather than too explicit. I hope you still like it!

----

Warnings: mature themes, intimate scenes, physical intimacy

Under the Shower's Touch

The soft, golden glow of the lamp in the corner of the living room bathed the space in warmth, making everything feel incredibly cozy. The flicker of the fire in the fireplace added a gentle crackling sound to the background, creating a peaceful ambiance that felt perfect for a quiet evening. The scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the comforting smell of the soft blanket draped over the couch. I let out a contented sigh as I nestled closer to James, the fabric of the blanket pulling around us both like a cocoon.

His arm naturally draped over my shoulders, pulling me a little closer, and I couldn’t help but smile as I felt the familiar warmth of his touch. My legs were tangled beneath the blanket with his, and I let my head rest on his chest. It was one of those simple moments, quiet and peaceful, but it made me feel like the world was perfect just as it was.

"Long day?" His voice was low, the kind of voice that always soothed me, but there was something more in his tone tonight—a hint of something deeper. His fingers traced slow circles on my arm, but the touch lingered just a little longer than usual, sending an unexpected heat to the pit of my stomach.

I nodded, feeling the weight of the day’s stress slowly melt away in his presence. "Nothing compared to this," I replied softly, lifting my gaze to meet his. His eyes were warm, but there was something darker in them now—something hungry, something that made my pulse race.

James’ smile turned into something more suggestive, his lips curling at the edges. "Come on," he murmured, his voice a little rougher. "Let’s take a shower. You’ve earned it."

My heart skipped at the way he said it, the promise of his words thick with intention. I stood, almost pulling him toward the bathroom as my hand slipped into his, my fingers tightening around his. The way he held me, the way he pulled me in, told me everything I needed to know. I was his, completely, and he wasn’t letting go.

As we reached the bathroom, James paused, his fingers brushing down the sides of my body. I felt a twinge of excitement as he gently cupped my face, tilting my head up so our eyes locked. His gaze was soft but intense, full of desire that made my heart beat faster. Slowly, he reached for the hem of my shirt, his fingers grazing the fabric as he pulled it upward.

The moment was slow, deliberate—his touch gentle, like he was savoring the sensation of undressing me, as though he wanted to take in every inch of my skin. My breath hitched as his hands slid beneath the fabric, brushing lightly over my ribs. The feeling was electrifying, the way he moved, the way he looked at me, made everything else in the world fade away.

He took his time, slipping my shirt off over my head, his eyes tracing every exposed part of my skin. His fingers then moved to the clasp of my bra, undoing it with practiced ease, as though it was second nature to him. I shivered slightly, the anticipation building between us. Each movement felt slow, drawn out, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me, inch by inch.

When my bra was gone, his eyes lingered on my bare chest for a moment before his hands moved to my pants. He undid the button with a steady, almost reverent touch, pulling the fabric down slowly. My body responded instinctively, lifting slightly so he could slide them off, and I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as his fingers brushed over the smooth skin of my hips.

Once I was completely undressed, James stepped back, his eyes scanning over me, dark and full of admiration. "You’re beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. The way he looked at me, as though I was the only thing in the world that mattered, made my heart race even faster.

He kissed me then, a slow, deep kiss that left me breathless. His hands roamed over my body as if memorizing every curve, every dip, every inch of skin. The kiss deepened as he pulled me closer, pressing his body against mine, and I felt the heat building between us, like a fire that couldn’t be contained.

When the kiss finally broke, I could barely catch my breath. James’ hand slid down my back, and he led me to the shower. The warm water already flowed from the showerhead, filling the space with the gentle sound of water hitting tile. We stepped under the spray together, and I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the heat of the water wash over us both.

But James wasn’t finished yet.

He took his time, his fingers trailing down my sides, as he guided me beneath the spray. The water felt like it was pouring over us, but his touch was what really made me shiver. He kissed my neck, his lips pressing lightly against my skin before moving lower, slowly exploring me, each touch so deliberate, so careful.

I let out a breathy sigh, closing my eyes as I melted into his touch. "James..." I whispered, my voice thick with the emotions swirling inside me.

"Do you want it?" he murmured, his lips brushing over my shoulder. His voice was soft, but there was a quiet intensity in it that made my heart race. "I need to hear you say it."

My pulse quickened, and I nodded, my hands sliding up to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. "I want it," I whispered, my voice breathless and full of longing. "I want you."

The words hung in the air for a moment, charged with the weight of everything between us. His lips found mine again, this kiss more urgent, more intense. His hands moved over me, touching me with such tenderness that it almost hurt, yet every movement felt like it was pulling me closer to the edge.

"Let me take care of you," he whispered against my lips, his voice full of promise. His hands roamed lower, and I responded instinctively, pressing my body closer to his. The connection between us deepened, our movements becoming more synchronized, every inch of our skin touching as if we were made for this moment.

The intimacy between us deepened, the way we moved together, each kiss and touch more urgent than the last. He held me tightly, his hands gently guiding me, making sure we were completely connected, in sync with each other. I could feel the connection between us growing, something raw and powerful.

Finally, when the intensity of the moment softened, James held me close, his hands brushing through my wet hair as he kissed my forehead gently. His arms tightened around me, pulling me against him. "Are you okay?" he asked again, his voice low and filled with quiet affection.

I nodded, my head resting against his chest, the warmth of the water washing over us. "I’m perfect," I whispered, my voice soft but steady.

He sighed, his hand gently tracing along my back, his fingers soothing against my skin. "I want to stay like this forever," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

I closed my eyes, feeling his words sink into me, and whispered back, "Me too."

We stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the warmth of the water surround us, both of us feeling the weight of the moment. No words were needed. The quiet understanding between us said everything. We were content, lost in the calm, knowing this was the one thing we both wanted: just this. Together.

#metallica #metallica oneshot #metallica fanfiction #jameshetfield #metallica fluff #jameshetfieldxreader #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield smut #metallica smut #nausicaamusiclover20 #james hetfield one shot

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alsofoundinpeas · 13 hours ago

Text

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost.

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t.

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted?

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.”

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to.

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile.

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben.

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel.

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest.

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make.

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence.

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person.

Was.

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds.

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist.

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances.

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break.

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life.

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt.

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer.

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength.

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force.

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death.

After a year and one day, he was gone.

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free.

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years.

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers.

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips?

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?”

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself.

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go.

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone.

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went.

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up.

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.”

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often.

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.”

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again.

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.”

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds.

“Et tu, Y/N?”

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny.

“That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.”

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her.

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?”

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind.

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him?

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain.

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire.

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women.

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta.

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one.

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea.

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval.

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers.

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed.

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight.

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her.

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room.

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.”

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband.

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.”

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he?

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it.

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered.

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack.

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.”

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true.

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia.

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly.

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.”

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words.

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life.

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!”

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard.

“I— uh. Um...”

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again.

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.”

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.”

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more.

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here.

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him.

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her.

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth.

She was so tight. So wet. So warm.

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was.

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her.

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own.

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.”

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care.

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes.

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her.

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself.

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence.

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now.

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear.

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well…

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him.

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes.

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs.

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife.

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit?

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her— though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man.

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t.

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s.

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff.

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer had been barely thirty-five when he passed, and she had only been thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped.

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there.

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!”

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening.

“Get out of my fucking house.”

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!”

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses.

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

That’s his girl.

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face.

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.”

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could.

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.”

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch.

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death.

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up.

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?”

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room.

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.”

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf.

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.”

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them.

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her.

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her. Y/N crawls from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

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nick-nellson · 6 months ago

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BRIDGERTON 2.03 A Bee in Your Bonnet

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mobius-m-mobius · 1 year ago

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#insane choices being made 👀

Loki 1x04 // 2x02

#mobius #loki #lokius #mcuedit #lokiedit #marveledit #owen wilson #tom hiddleston #loki spoilers #took me this long to recover from the 'and he knows' scene to gif it bc y'all what even was that 😭😭#how many more times can we get confirmation mobius will ALWAYS be there no matter what god i'm so unwell over them!!#and don't get me started on loki being able to confidently state mobius knows and accepts everything about them...#can you BELIEVE #(btw this doesn't matter but in my mind there's always clapping and cheering when mobius walks around the corner 😅)#loki s2 spoilers #marvel #owenwilsonedit #dianagifs

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fangrurin · 1 year ago

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House of the Dragon + BLUE (in/sp)

#hotdedit #gotedit #hotdgif #hotdcentral #asoiafsnet #house of the dragon #hotd #mine*#hotdcolours*#this took me so long bc i literally hate the colour blue when it comes to gifing #so often i try to do everything in my power to get rid of it :')#and i found that despite how darkly lit so many scenes are in hotd they dont really lend themselves to blue colouring

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hulloitsdani · 1 month ago

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i want to know your anna thoughts so bad hi.

Hullo! Sure I can provide some Anna thoughts! I have so god damn many. Some other characters are also going to work their way in here too, if you don’t mind. And buckle up, this is gonna be a long one. I got a whole short story for y’all here.

Without further ado, I present to you: The Commander Anna Post

Let’s have some fun, shall we?

So in the age discussion of the feh main cast from a while back, I mentioned how I accounted for Anna’s bizarre position in Askr’s military by making her a child soldier. She has been fighting since she was a young teenager and has logged a decade of combat experience at this point.

I want there to be some fun consequences for this. For example, Anna is rocking some very serious injuries that will likely be with her for the rest of her life. Most notable being her left shoulder. Just by looking at her in full commander regalia, it’s not obvious that there’s any kind of issue. But Anna can’t lift her left arm all the way anymore. Her armor does an excellent job covering up the inconsistency, as it doesn’t allow for that level of mobility anyway. But take the armor off and you can see her shoulder is an absolute mess. It is, and I quote, “the worst healing job I’ve ever seen” according to Veronica.

It’s a bizarre sight for the kid. It’s not the type of thing she expected to learn about an enemy commander. Perhaps THE enemy commander. But in this situation that hardly matters, as she is the group healer as they all trek deeper into the realm of the dead. And Veronica is tending to her wounds only to find the pitiful scarred skin, warped and uneven from a hastily rushed healing process. It’s from a long time ago, she explains. From when she was still just a foot solider. But that… doesn’t make sense does it? Was Bruno not her ally? He has the capacity to heal— he was the one who taught Veronica the little she knows. Even his worst attempts were leagues better than the work done here.

Anna can only shrug, a motion made mostly with her right shoulder. He didn’t reveal that he was a mage of any kind while he was with them. So, even if he wanted to, there’s a chance he could not afford to. Veronica doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s this… uncomfortable knowing between the two of them. They know now, in retrospect, that swallowing down the truth like that must have ate Bruno alive. Just another reason for his sorry state that they didn’t catch until it was nearly too late. Add that to the pile of tiny behaviors that now make sense, right? The intensity of his expression as he insisted Veronica learn how to heal despite her protests and the daggers he’d stare into the intricate scaring on Anna’s shoulder. Throw them all in. Every last piece.

Commander Anna looks at the princess and unexpectedly breaks the tension with a laugh. You see, it’s funny, because this is exactly how she started to figure out Zacharias was Bruno. Very few know about her shoulder. She’s not exactly brazen about it, nor do the people she interacts with have the medical knowledge to glean how serious it is. She doubts even Kiran knows, to be honest. The only person who knows without a shadow of a doubt is Zacharias, because he was there when it happened. He’s probably the reason why she survived that day at all. So, you must imagine her surprise, when a masked stranger targeted this weakness and forced her to fight left handed. It was the most bizarre fight of her life! Fighting someone who clearly knew her, but she herself could not place!

Veronica was not there, but she can picture the lunacy of it. Bruno fighting his comrade as the commander attempted to fight a stranger. She hasn’t really seen Anna entirely thrown off before, but knowing that her brother managed it brings her satisfaction. She deserves it after all the times her and the rest of these fools have done it to Veronica. Feels like comeuppance. She chuckles. They both do. Gods she’s having a moment with the enemy commander. What has the world come to?

Fjorm has a far less positive reaction to piecing it together. After the events of book 2, she knows her time is short. She… cannot face the remains of her family in this state. It would be a slow painful death to rot away behind castle walls and wheeze into soft silks. No, she would much rather die on her feet. Put her body to good use while it’s still able.

So she trains. She trains until she feels her bones threaten to snap. She must have been at it for hours before the commander offers to spar her. With how busy Anna normally is, it’s a rather rare opportunity to spar one on one. Fjorm instantly leaps for the chance.

So they fight, and Fjorm can see it. The way her left arm lags and the scarring that curls out from beneath her sleeve. Burns maybe? Possible electricity? Clearly an old injury from a mage. A weakness in her defenses that she can exploit, surely.

Anna makes no such thing possible. Maybe she learned since her fight with Bruno or maybe Fjorm isn’t fast enough to take advantage of it, but Anna easily evades any attempt to use this against her. Focusing her left just seems to earn Fjorm a swift jab in return. From there, the fight might already be over. Anna’s left arm might be lacking but her legs and mobility sure aren’t. She takes the opportunity to effortlessly bully her way into Fjorm’s space and renders her lance useless. It’s infuriating, but Fjorm is learning. She can do this— she has to. Ten losses deep is when Anna calls it. They put good work in and it’s time for lunch!

Fjorm is ready to throw her lance into the sun.

She insists she can keep going, but the commander is not budging. Still, she tries to push her luck. But once a look of annoyance makes a home on her features, Fjorm knows that’s it. Another disappointing loss. Damnit. She turns to find someone else to spar, but is very surprised to find Anna will not allow such a thing. They are both going to take a break, or Fjorm might find herself barred from the training grounds. She states that if Fjorm cannot be trusted to keep her own wellbeing in mind, then she cannot be trusted out here at all.

However, Anna provides her with a singular counter offer. This can all be avoided if Fjorm tells her what’s wrong. Because she isn’t stupid, something is clearly amiss. And Fjorm— at wits end and most definitely exhausted, dehydrated, and starving—flips her lid a bit. Begins to go off. She’s angry at Anna, and her stupid backswing with her axe, and her own inability to deal with it despite her inherent disadvantage with a lance, and how she keeps failing in front of the people here, and how weak she must appear, and how even the commander of an army in Askr is outclassing her as a warrior and leader, and how she can’t even hate her for it because Anna is just doing her job, and how that all means that the problem must lie within herself!!!

That’s, uh, wow. That’s more than Anna bargained for. She briefly internally wishes that Kiran or Sharena was here right now, as they’re far better at this type of thing. Maybe… she should just go for the most obvious one, yeah? Yeah! Anna isn’t a leader. Commanding people and leading them are vastly different skills. Complimentary! But different.

Look, on ledger, the order entirely under her name, but in practice it is run by four people. Alfonse, Sharena, Kiran, and herself. And it very much HAS to be. The order operates at such a large scale now that the division of labor was necessary. Anna is not so egotistical to think she could run this whole operation by herself, either.

This includes the actual leadership position of the order. Anna is very good at telling people what to do and when to do it, but actually rallying people to a cause? That’s wayyy above her pay grade. Hardly has the force of personality to pull that off. But the others do, and so does Fjorm. Hell, Fjorm has that is SPADES. Despite having lost just about everything, she managed to rally her broken beaten homeland against Surtr and Muspel through sheer force of will. That’s kind of insane, and it’s a little bizarre to the commander that the savior of Nifil can’t see that.

Besides, she’s not a better fighter than Fjorm either. She quite physically can’t be! Fjorm is angry that she couldn’t defeat her in less than ideal circumstances, but let’s be real, all she needs is a little practice. And maybe a full eight hours of sleep. And some food. And water. Can you see what she’s putting down here? The only real leg up Anna has on Fjorm is that she’s going to ask for help, despite the heavy hit to her ego. It’s why the order exists as it does, after all.

That conversation leaves Fjorm with a lot to think about. Both as a person and of her view of Anna. She apologizes for behavior and swears to do better. As proof of her determination, she takes her up on the offer of lunch, much to Anna’s amusement.

Much later down the line, Sharena learns— PROPERLY learns, within the realm of dreams. She’s not blind though. Over the years she has noticed the scaring and the favoring of her right hand. Soooo, Sharena makes an effort to cover her! Stick by her left! Her massive shield is more than capable of protecting her too! And that’s the routine they fall seamlessly into as they follow Peony through Freyr’s dream land and Freya’s nightmare.

Anna generally deals with the challenges of that place better than the rest, for the aforementioned reasons. She knows her limits, she asks for help, and she talks her problems through. The vulnerability may be uncomfortable for her at times, but it is not enough to prevent her from doing so in order to progress smoothly. It might hurt her pride a little as commander, but Sharena and Alfonse are her friends, no? She can say that now, after walking through literal hell and back with them. So she doesn’t mind if they are the ones to see the child she grew around to protect.

Rather angry kid, if you can believe it! Stubborn too. Getting split and copied throughout time and space as a result of Askr and Embla’s never ending war had that effect. And Sharena gets to see that little girl, stubbornly clinging to her axe, bleeding from a wound on her leg that she knows one day will scar over.

It’s from one of the first battles she was ever in, Anna explains. As a merchant, her dad saw it fit to train her in order to defend herself from bandits. And she had put those skills to use before— but not like this. Never like this. It was the first true fight for her life. Not very pleasant, as you can imagine! She still gets nightmares sometimes, as you can see. Happened a few times in the realm of the dead actually. But, luckily, it no longer haunts her as much as it once did. It’s just a scar on her leg now!

The sentiment doesn’t comfort Sharena much. This is, frankly, awful! She hates how scared she looks! A-and how large the wound on her leg is! She hates how… unaware of it she personally was! Why didn’t Anna tell her about this sooner? To which Anna can only shrug. Nobody asked, and if she’s being honest, she probably wouldn’t have told. Not the whole truth anyway. She can admit when she needs help but… she’s still human. It’s a lot easier to admit she had a nightmare than admit that she finds the very thought of bleeding out a worse death than drowning. Still gets her the help she needs, without being more vulnerable than necessary. Sharena rests her head on her shoulder.

“Are all of your scars like this?”

Anna… blinks. No. They’re not. Not even the one on her leg is all bad. She was saved by this elderly couple and their son, who saw the fighting and began dragging injured soldiers off the battlefield. They made awful puns the whole time they stitched up her leg and gave her the best tea she ever had. Anna has bought a lot of different teas trying to find it, but to this day, she has no clue what it was. Makes it better, to be honest. Sharena looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.

Ah, story time then? Okay. Well. Uh, this line on the inside of her elbow is from a bandit. Rather nasty encounter, but she returned the favor by shoving an entire container of expensive makeup powder into his eyes. Her dad was so mad but god it was so worth it. And this scar on her thumb is from one of her first times cooking in the road. She was pealing a potato but one of her sisters slammed into her and nearly took off her finger. This nick on her clavicle is from the first battle she ever won. When the enemy finally retreated she screamed so loud that her voice was raw for a week. Then there’s this scar underneath her chin, which has to be the most embarrassing ones she has. Zacharias and her had some leftover money one week and decided to treat themselves to a drink or two or five. In trying to make it back to the barracks, they both fell. Hard. She walked away with this, but Zacharias fully fractured his wrist. Explaining what happened to the healers the next morning was dreadful. And… and then there’s the one on her shoulder. Anna was actually recovering from it when she met Alfonse and Sharena.

The princess sits up for that one. Really? Gods she didn’t show it. And it’s because, on some level, she couldn’t. It was from the last battle before the shaky truce was called between Askr and Embla. The one Veronica will inevitably break. And the truce was called for good reason. The battle was hell on earth. Anna… nearly died there. She should have died there, frankly. A point blank strike from a lightning mage with metal armor in the rain should have been the last mistake she ever made. But by some miracle, it wasn’t.

… In retrospect, she thinks it’s because of Zacharias. Things got hazy after she went down, but knowing what they do now, he must have used his own magic to kill the mage and heal her. She didn’t walk out unscathed, but it was enough.

Haha, gods, she will never stop feeling guilty about him, will she?

Anyway, the injury was pretty bad. Her shoulder never moved the same again. But seeing as they were both recently hired to be Sharena and Alfonse’s retainers, they couldn’t exactly let Gustav know how serious it was. Might cost them the job. So a truly comical level of shenanigans went into ensuring it was kept secret. Including this game she created where every time Zacharias accidentally touched her injured shoulder, he would pay up 10 gold. He was not a very touchy guy, but even Sharena knew that this was something he just did. A tiny reassuring shoulder pat to convey that he was listening. So this was, perhaps, the best money making scheme Anna ever came up with. His apologetic look would shift so quickly into one of so much instant regret. And Sharena, upon reflection, remembers this.

WAIT WAIT WAIT SHE REMEMBERS THIS. THATS WHAT THE NOTE PASSING THING WAS!!!! Alfonse had pointed out in one meeting that the new retainers were passing something between each other and Sharena insisted it must have been notes because of how boringgggg it was. BUT NO IT WAS GOLD. ZACHARIAS TOUCHED HER SHOULDER EARLIER IN THAT MEETING AND SHE WINCED. HE THEN WAITED A WHILE BEFORE PAYING UP TO NOT MAKE IT OBVIOUS. THATS HILARIOUS!!!

Anna starts cackling as Sharena begins to line up all the pieces. The nightmare fully dissipating as she shares in this silly secret. There’s a chance she would have died with it. Hell, we know of a world where she probably did. This is not a story she’d even give to her family of merchants, who despite being direct reflections of her, do not share the scars she’s littered with. Never had to be, and thus don’t quite understand. But, Sharena does. All her friends do. And it feels weird to say that because real friends have always been in short supply. But gods this is too good. How absolutely absurd it is, that they are in the realm of dreams trying to find their missing friend and defeat the goddess who took them, and Commander Anna of the Order of Heroes is about to pop a lung laughing as she tells Princess Sharena of Askr about the fallout from the time she nearly died.

It’s dumb! This is dumb! And it’s possibly the happiest she’s ever been.

#WHOOOOO CREATIVE WRITING TIME LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOO #Wow this was in me and I need to get it OUT. Free fanfic for your reading pleasure god damn.#ah heck wait should I put this in a place to read fanfic? Is that allowed?#Problem for future Dani to solve because right now ITS ANNA TIME BABEYYYYYYYYYYY #So here’s some fun facts. I have some of these scenes already written as dialogue. Mainly the Fjorm bit and time Anna got one hit K.O.ed.#The later being part of a collection of scenes showcasing Bruno and Anna’s friendship before the events of the game #Wanna make a comic out of that real bad. I got pages sketched out and everything.#I will make it…. one day…. BUT UNTIL THEN ANNA SCAR TIME LETS GOOOOOOOOOO #Taking the ‘Anna and Kiran are the characters I have the most fun writing’ Chekhov’s gun off the wall #If you took the time to read all of this: thank you. genuinely.#Art is something I came around to during some time in middle school. Writing is the thing I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember.#And I like that Tumblr lets me to do both. Get to show them off in equal measure.#feh #fire emblem heroes #fire emblem #fe anna #feh anna #fe veronica #feh veronica #fe fjorm #feh fjorm #fe sharena #feh sharena #fe bruno #feh bruno #feh zacharias #fe zacharias #fe alfonse #ask answered #FEH Ted talk

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