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shy-writer-999 · 1 day ago

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1-800-LONELYCHEF (ii)

Summary: It's date night with Sanji. He meticulously prepared this for weeks and he's so nervous that he feels like he's going to faint. Afterwards, he's planning on asking you to come over. What will happen if you say yes? WC: 7.5k CW: NSFW! Afab reader w/gendered pronouns (she/her/hers). Modern-ish AU; pwp; intercourse; oral (f. receiving); ejaculation inside. Minors do not interact!

It’s a Friday night. Months ago, you would have been gearing up for a long night at your job, being a phone sex operator. But you quit a while ago and your weekends look different now.

Like many Friday nights over the last year, you’re spending it with Sanji. But this time he’s actually there—materially present, in the flesh, smiling at you a couple feet away.

It’s a special night tonight. You’ve been seeing Sanji for around a month and a half, and tonight you’re at his restaurant, finally. You’ve fantasized about this for ages.

The darling chef across the table from you planned this carefully. He adjusted his schedule—instead of working tonight, he’s added an extra shift in next week, making up for the deficit.

He’s gone to great lengths to ensure that the crew in the kitchen is the best of the best, including that sous chef, who he strongly dislikes—but personal feelings aside, in Sanji’s kitchen there are only the most talented of chefs. He’s made sure of it.

He watched the ordering forms and produce vendors like hawks in the week leading up to this. You will only be eating the best quality ingredients, the freshest food, and nothing less.

Sanji is tense and he’s so nervous that he’s starting to feel sick. He’s running the logistics over in his head, trying to calculate if there’s anything he forgot, anything he missed, anything that could fall flat.

You can tell he’s overthinking, and it’s endearing. When his eyes aren’t darting around the restaurant, peeking into the semi-open kitchen and factoring all sorts of minuscule variables in your dining experience, he’s looking at you.

His gaze is warm, and when he’s around you, he’s sunshine personified. You can’t deny that he looks at you with such reverent adoration that it’s almost off-putting. But nothing he could do could actually put you off. You’re far too in love with him for that.

The restaurant is dark and the lights are warm. Slow jazz music plays at a low volume and the whole establishment smells exquisite.

There are tea lights on each table, with tiny flames that reflect in the gorgeous dark mahogany accents and mirrors on the walls. Next to each candle is a small vase filled with a couple flower stems—tonight, Sanji specifically asked the front of house staff to use your favorite flowers.

Across from you, the blonde man is dressed in what you now know is his signature outfit—black slacks with a button up; the sleeves are rolled up and a few buttons are undone. He looks effortlessly handsome and stylish. Your heart beats a bit faster when he catches your eyes.

How many dates has it been?

You’ve lost track at this point. Maybe you should be taking things slower with him, but you can’t hold yourself back when it comes to spending time with him.

One thing that you’ve been very intentional about, however, is intimacy (which is interesting, given your relationship history). After all, Sanji used to be one of your clients. You’ve had plenty of phone sex, but you haven’t gotten to the real thing yet.

You’re saving that for the right moment. Sure, you’ve made out with him a few times and you can’t deny that you both certainly get excited, but you’ve exercised self-restraint so far. You take this man very seriously. That seriousness entails caution.

The caution is only natural—not only do you feel like this man may be the love of your life, but he also wounded you deeply before. Building your trust, becoming accustomed to his affection and attention, and mending your heart has taken a little while. It’s an active process. But you’re comfortable now.

Soundlessly, Sanji breaks your train of thought. He reaches his hand across the circular table and places it palm-up in front of you.

You slide your hand onto his and he twists his wrist slightly—your fingers are entwined now. His thumb tickles as it draws a soft circle across your skin.

The flame from the tea light on the table reflects in his irises.

“My love?” He asks, rousing you from your stupor of thought. “What do you think?”

He gestures to the scenery around and you take a second to respond, soaking in the ambiance before giving him your verdict. He’s dying to know whether or not you’re impressed.

You haven’t told him yet, but you’ve been here before. Just once. A date took you here long ago, years before you started your old job, years before Sanji took up the position as head chef. The ambiance hasn’t changed much but it feels different now. For one, the man sitting across from you is simply radiating love. He’s devilishly handsome and chivalrous. He squeezes your hand gently.

“I like it,” you reply. “It’s just like you described. Very classy.”

He smiles. “I can’t wait for you to try the food.”

You’ve had Sanji’s cooking before, and it’s (simply put) the best food you’ve ever been served. Any time you go to his apartment, he cooks for you. But tonight, Sanji isn’t in the kitchen. This is a show of his skill in managing the kitchen, purveying ingredients, instructing his subordinates, and running the show, more than anything else.

“Tell me about the menu tonight,” you prompt him. You know he’s put an exorbitant amount of thought and energy into creating and testing what will be served tonight.

This restaurant is French. Sanji describes the prix fixe menu—he tends to link the dishes and flavors he constructs to very specific memories, emotions, or envisioned scenes. It’s impressive, and he shares each nugget of inspiration with you as the courses are served, per a promise he made weeks ago.

This experience is necessarily intimate—this is his passion, his art, the thing that he’s dedicated his life to.

It doesn’t escape him that you’re listening intently, appreciating the nuances of what he’s saying, and looking breathtaking while doing it.

The courses are small and painstakingly procured and presented. It’s interesting, looking at each dish and hearing the waitstaff explain what’s going on with each one, especially when the man in question—the artist and chef himself—is sitting in front of you. You can tell that the waiter is a bit nervous to serve him, but Sanji is kind and affable, putting them at ease immediately.

The first dish is a rocket salad with pears, pea blossoms, and a light vinaigrette.

“This recipe was actually passed down from my dad,” Sanji begins. “The story is kind of funny. Years ago, he was exploring some island and came across a tavern. They served something similar to this. He tried to get the recipe but ended up getting in a fist fight with the owner, so he just had to recreate it himself. He always complains that this salad isn’t as good as it should be, since it’s missing that ‘je ne sais quois’, but over the years he’s tweaked it. I stole it, obviously, and made some of my own adjustments.”

The dish is tangy, refreshing, and bright. It’s ridiculously good. Obviously.

You compliment him and, even though the room is dark, you can make out a pink flush across his cheeks. He lives for your praise.

Next, there’s a soup. Sanji explains how it came about.

“When I was growing up, Zeff had a bunch of leftovers that he was going to use for something else and I swiped them when he wasn’t looking. I threw them into a pot and… this is kind of the outcome. He was making some dish with leeks, so the scraps I stole were mostly leek trimmings. He was pissed when he realized I snagged them. The soup turned out awful the first few tries, like it was literally inedible, but I got it down to a science at some point. The trick is adding in some sage and the tiniest amount of white wine—it changes the balance of flavors completely.”

“How old were you?” You ask between flavorful spoonfuls.

You swear no one has given him any attention or love before, from the way he responds to your questions and praise. He looks genuinely shocked that you’ve asked him a such a thoughtful question. He’s never gotten used to the very sincere attention you treat him with, hasn’t reckoned with the fact that someone like you would be genuinely interested in him. You’ve known him (and treated him like this) since your first conversation, but it still takes him aback.

Sanji explains that he must have been 13 or 14 at the time, and he goes on to describe how upset his dad got with him over the whole fiasco. When Zeff finally tried the one of the more perfected, streamlined iterations of the leek soup, he said dropped the subject entirely. “That means that he liked it,” Sanji explains.

You’ve tried to piece together the man in front of you as long as you’ve known him—evidently, he wasn’t showered with praise as a child. The stories he’s told you, and his reaction to your compliments, make that clear. But he still has so much kindness in his heart, it’s absurd.

While Sanji tells you about the anecdotes and memories that prompted certain recipes, you notice that he’s figeting with the edge of his napkin with one hand. He’s nervous. It melts your heart a bit.

You lose track of the courses. Each is more scrumptious than the last, which shouldn’t be possible, but he’s a culinary genius so he’s pulled it off somehow. Afterwards, there’s a cheese course, a platter of dips, a carpaccio of some sort, a savory galette, another salad… the plates are small and never ending.

The last dish is, of course, dessert. It’s a tiramisu, scooped out of a huge serving dish, table-side.

The layers are defined, and it smells like cocoa. Sanji hesitates with this explanation. You wonder why.

“Tiramisu? How’d you come up with this one?” You smile at him, sensing his pause, and his heart flutters.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I heard my mom say that she liked it one day, offhand… So, I made it. I’ve been making it ever since.”

This is the first time he’s mentioned her in all your long months of talking. “Your mom?”

“Y-yeah, she uhh… She passed a long time ago when I was a little kid. She got really sick. She never got to try the tiramisu. But, ah, fuck, this sounds a bit cheesy, but whenever I make it, I make it for her.”

“Oh,” you respond, softly. “That’s very sweet, Sanji.”

He averts his eyes for a split-second, and you see that blush is taking over his whole face. Your heart is twisting at his story—how is this man real? He makes it for her? Fucking hell, he’s perfect.

Each story he’s told tonight has given you a look into his character, his childhood, memories, and impressions of the world. The tiramisu is perfect—it’s not too sweet and the flavors are balanced. The perfect way to end the perfect meal.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you say, furrowing your brows in an expression of incredulity. “It’s delicious. Like, one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I made this batch myself.”

You can taste the love that it’s made with, really. This whole meal has been ridiculously good. You didn’t know food could be this good. It tastes even better because the handsome man across from you is showering you in compliments and the bill is completely taken care of.

“So, what did you think?” Sanji asks when the meal is over, reaching for your hand again. He’s smiling and a bit shy.

“It was amazing.” You respond simply, and he sees your lips curl up into that smile he so covets. “Thank you, Sanji. Seriously. For sharing everything with me. This was lovely.”

“It didn’t disappoint?” His eyes are brightening. You can see he’s starting to positively beam at your praise.

“It didn’t disappoint in the slightest. You’re so talented, it’s just, wow.”

When you leave the restaurant, you walk into the parking lot holding hands. You reflect in the third person for a second—how wild is this, to be with this man here, right now, hand in hand, with bashful smiles. Those familiar butterflies stir when he looks at you.

Like clockwork, Sanji invites you back to his place. You usually decline his invitation (which he presents without fail) because you don’t want to get too attached too fast, but… you’ve decided that sentiment is futile. You’re already attached. Very attached. There’s no point in deluding yourself any longer, really. You’re madly in love with each other and it’s no secret.

“Would you like to come back to mine for a drink, gorgeous?”

You take a second to study him. He does look fantastic, so put together and well-kept, and he’s been so sweet with you. You like him too much to decline.

“I’d love to.”

The ride back home is quiet—you’re comfortable enough with Sanji to sit in silence for periods of time. It’s peaceful, and it feels like you’ve known each other for years. He reaches a hand over and sets it on your thigh, giving you a soft squeeze.

Before you know it, you’re in Sanji’s apartment again. You’ve been here a handful of times. He’s made you dinners and lunches, you’ve watched shows together and cuddled on the couch. But tonight, you feel something in the air. Maybe tonight is the night that you go all the way with him, finally.

When you’re settled on the couch, he offers you a glass of wine or a cocktail. He caters to you like you’re royalty. An interesting irony.

“Would you like a pair of sweats and a hoodie, darling?” He asks after he’s fixed you your drink. You smile at him and respond in the affirmative—the stuffy, cute outfit you’ve been wearing is getting on your nerves, and it’s going to feel so much better to wear his clothes. It always does.

When you change into his clothes and return to the living room, Sanji’s face goes crimson again. He’s only seen you in his clothes a handful of times before and it makes him feel things. His heart and stomach are doing flips and his eyes are practically turning into hearts. He’s adorable.

“Would you like to watch something together, gorgeous? Maybe that show you were telling me about?” He asks as you both get comfy on the couch. Your bodies are pressed side-by-side.

“How about we just snuggle for a bit?” You propose, and he readily agrees.

“I could be persuaded to snuggle.” Sanji puts an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “I can’t believe you spend time with me. I’m the luckiest man on earth.” He’s smiling and peppering your face with kisses.

“Sanjiiii,” you say, giggling. “Cut it out. It tickles.”

“I—don’t—ever—want—to—stop,” he kisses you somewhere between each word. Your cheeks, your neck, your hand, your forehead. Anywhere he can reach. “You’re stunning.”

His hand reaches for your chin and guides your lips to his. He’s preposterously suave. It’s like something out of a romance movie.

When he breaks the kiss, he says, “How did I land you? You’re just too beautifu—”

You cut him off by pressing your lips on his mid-word. You can tell he’s nervous and high-strung from dinner. But now that he’s impressed you like he wanted, he can calm down. He relaxes into your embrace after a second.

The kisses start soft, but they quickly increase in desperation. He wants you so bad that you can feel his yearning with each kiss. Ever the gentleman, he keeps his hands to his self, only placing one on your cheek and the other softly on your hip.

Maybe tonight is the night.

As you lock lips, you move his hand from where it rests on your hip downwards, so he’s touching your ass now through the sweatpants he lent you. Sanji timidly grabs a handful. He’s being gentle and shy, but you suspect that he’s in agony with desire.

This is a moment he’s dreamed about for around a year at this point. This night is about to be filled with moments that he’s been dreaming of.

You move his other hand from your cheek to your chest—his hands do as they please, petting and kneading you through the fabric of his clothes. After a few moments of Sanji’s hands getting their fill, they trail to your waist and he maneuvers you backwards, guiding you to lay on the couch while he perches over you.

You’re on your back now and he’s braced over you, with one hand next to your head and the other placed on your waist. He slides a knee between your legs, pressing it up between your legs, leaving it to rest there. Who knew this chef had it in him.

As you continue to lock lips, the pleasure from his knee grazing your core starts to make heat bloom between your legs.

You start to grind onto his knee slightly, and when your quiet sounds of pleasure seep out of your lips and into Sanji’s mouth, your hand finds his hard bulge. You caress him gently and pulls your lips from his.

“I want you, Sanji,” you murmur, and he pauses his wandering hands. He wants to ravage you totally, to have his way with you and make you reel in ecstasy, but he needs to check on you first.

“Wait, wait, my love, are you sure?” He whispers, softly placing a hand over yours, keeping it still. “Are you absolutely sure you want to go farther?”

“Mmmhmm,” you look at him with pleading eyes and he almost melts on the spot. “I’m sure, Sanji.”

“Then let’s get more comfortable,” he says. “Want to go to my room?”

You agree, and within moments you’re in Sanji’s bed under the covers. The bed is big and plushy, the sheets are soft, and the lighting is low and warm. He wastes no time pulling off his shirt and pants as he slides under the sheets.

You do the same, pulling off the clothes he so nicely lent you. You’re in your underwear now, and he’s in his, and he’s looking at you like you’re a piece of art. He’s wondering if he should pinch himself—is this a dream?

Not only does he get to spend time with you, the person he loves, but he also gets to see you and touch you? He’s thanking his lucky stars. If he knew many months ago that this would be his future, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Sanji pulls you to him and your chests are pressing together. He brings his lips to your neck and kisses a trail down to your collarbone.

“What did I ever do to get so lucky?” He asks again before he presses his lips on yours. His skin is warm, and his hands are rough. But the rest of him is soft—especially his hair, which your fingers weave their way through.

You throw a thigh over his hip and draw him closer. You realize that he’s hard, pressing on your core through the fabric of your underwear. While he kisses you he starts to slowly, barely rock his hips into you.

Sanji’s strong hands wander to grab rough handfuls of your ass. He uses his grip on your skin to press your body closer to his, and at the same time, he grinds harder into you. Heat is starting to build at the base of his spine—he can feel his lust slipping out. He’s about to lose his composure.

You suspected that Sanji would have some skills but he’s sinfully good in bed so far and you’re not even naked yet. Just the way he rolls his hips is mesmerizing. His kissing technique leaves nothing to be desired.

You have a feeling that he could do this for hours. But he’s not going to make any first moves here, no matter how crazed and desirous he feels. You’ve already talked about what this moment would look like, after all. Sanji told you a while ago that if and when you had sex for the first time, he wanted you to take the lead. He hates the idea of doing anything to you that makes you even the least bit uncomfortable or pressured.

Knowing this, you extricate yourself from him and remove your bra. He helps you shimmy out of your panties. Then you place your hands on him and drag your fingers downwards, conjuring a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your fingertips pass over his broad chest, his toned and hard abs, and his dark happy trail. They reach the waistband of his boxers and slide underneath.

When your fingers touch his bare skin and wrap around his erection, his breath hitches and he goes completely still. All of his senses are focused on how soft your hand feels on his aching length and how leisurely you start to stroke him.

“Ah,” he lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a whine and a groan. “That f-feels so good, gorgeous.”

You hum in response and bring your other hand to the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down so his erection springs all the way out. Bringing both hands to his shaft now, you stroke him, slowly twisting your wrists.

His shaft is thick and long—the perfect size. You can tell it’s going to feel like a nice good stretch when he finally nestles himself inside you. If he’s not careful it might be a bit painful. He’s quite well endowed.

Minutes pass like seconds and precum starts to weep from his head, trickling down your fingers. He’s squirming slightly. Every twist of your wrists around his throbbing length elicits a delightful, lewd noise from him.

“Fuucck,” he whines softly, “if you keep it up I’m gonna—gonna cum.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that yet, would we?” You offer him a coy smile and stop moving.

Sanji kisses you in short, passionate bursts. After a second, he makes a proposition.

“How about I go down on you?”

“Mmmm. I’ll allow it. I heard you’re quite talented.” You smile, referencing a conversation the pair of you had many months ago. Sanji cracks a grin, and you giggle.

“Let’s hope I wasn’t overselling myself, huh?”

You lay back on the pillows. Sanji gets on top of you, situating himself between your wide-spread legs—he starts to leave a trail of kisses from the hollow of your throat over your sternum and across your belly button. His lips keep moving lower—when he reaches the space where your thighs meet, he pulls one of your thighs up slightly. He holds it up effortlessly, kissing from behind your knee inwards and upwards towards your core. His lips stop right before they get to the place you crave them the most.

Sanji does the same with your other thigh, lifting it up and kissing the inside until he’s painfully close to your sensitive spots.

After teasing your thighs with kisses, Sanji finally touches you where you’ve been waiting for. He brings his fingers to your already sticky core. When his flesh meets yours, you gasp. He spreads you apart just barely, giving himself full access to your clit.

He wets his lips and places a soft, delicate kiss right on top of your sensitive bud of nerves. It’s a slow kiss, one that’s so gentle that it leaves you wanting more. When he goes in for a second kiss he uses a bit of tongue this time, just barely swirling the tip of his tongue in a circle. It sends a zap of pleasure through your body—your toes curl and you inhale sharply.

Sanji spends a few minutes doing this. He kisses your clit, alternating between using tongue and no tongue, and when your thighs spread wider and you begin to shake just the tiniest amount, he places a long lick from below your folds all the way upwards, ending with your clit. He dips his tongue in slightly, tasting you and relishing your scent, noises, and movements.

Your hands wander into his hair and he holds back a smile. He needs to focus on making you feel good. He knows he’s doing that right now, but he wants to make you feel even better. He’d love to hear you begging for more.

“S-sanji,” you murmur, your tone bathed in lust and oozing with need. You don’t say anything other than his name, but he knows what you mean.

His tongue and lips move lower—he presses his tongue into you slowly and it feels otherworldly. He brings it out and back in again, going as deep as he can. One of his hands rests on your thigh, pushing it down so he can have better access.

He relishes the weight of your fingers in his hair and your shallow, rapid breaths. This is heaven. He wishes he could freeze this moment and live in it forever.

As more arousal seeps out of you, Sanji pushes his ring finger into you slowly. He hooks it, delicately pressing you in all the right spots. While his finger explores, he keeps placing kisses on your clit. After a few moments, when you’ve adjusted to his finger, he presses another one into you.

Sanji’s cock is weeping against the covers as he eats you out and fingers you. His hips press into the sheets, humping against the fabric slightly. He can’t hold himself back.

His eyes snap upwards and meet yours. You’re staring down at him, gazing at where his pretty lips meet your flesh. When he looks up at you, he sees how glossy and half-lidded your eyes are. His heart patters and threatens to stop. He takes a mental screenshot.

Sanji’s fingers search for a certain spot inside of you—a spongy, gooey one. When he thinks he’s found it, he presses it slightly. Your thighs shake, your back arches off the sheets, and your toes curl again.

“Mmmppphhhh, Sanji, fuck,” you moan and he hums in response.

The slurping noises that he’s making are paired with muted squelching noises from where his tongue works on your heat and his fingers caress you inside. You’re almost at your limit.

He pulls his lips away and his fingers stop moving. “Do you want to cum, princess? Or do you want to wait?”

He’s so polite even when he’s feral. It’s heart melting.

Your brain is short circuiting. You do want to cum. You feel too good to ignore that crazy desire. But you also know that waiting and edging yourself a little bit would result in a better orgasm overall. But who’s to say that you can’t cum multiple times?

Sanji can see you check out mentally while you have this inner conversation with himself. A couple seconds pass. It’s hard to think straight while his fingers are inside of you, while his lips are poised so closely…

While you attempt to think it over, Sanji presses a kiss on your clit to get your attention. You whimper and respond, “I can’t make up my mind.” Your face looks tortured and it’s making his heart do flips.

“Just let me make you feel good,” he says, voice warm and comforting. You nod, closing your eyes, and he reaches under you to pull you even closer to his face.

Sanji draws his fingers out of you slowly and then presses his lips back to your entrance, probing his tongue against your hot arousal. Your hips buck inadvertently, and the movement presses his tongue deeper into you. Lost in pleasure already, you pull on his hair so hard that it hurts him (in the best way).

Sanji’s technique is mind blowing. You lose track of where his tongue and lips and fingers end and where your skin begins. All you know is that the space between your legs feels good, and hot, and sloppy, and buzzing, and throbbing, and Sanji’s there.

He can tell you’re close after a little while, can feel you writhing against his eager tongue as depraved sounds trickle out of you.

After fucking you with his tongue and playing with your clit, Sanji slides a finger into you to caress and pet your g-spot as he lavishes your clit with the rest of his attention. It’s mind-numbingly good and brings you to orgasm in seconds.

“S-s-sanji, I—fuck, fuck,” you whine at him and moan his name through your orgasm. The greedy slurping sounds that ring in the room are filthy and loud. While you cum you pull him (by his hair) as close as he can get to your core. Sanji licks you clean, savoring every last drop of the pleasure he coaxed out of you.

You’re in a daze, riding out the ripples of ecstasy from your orgasm as he moves upwards, climbing over you, to pull you into a tender kiss.

He’s prepared to leave it there—he doesn’t want to push anything further. He made you cum and that’s his dream come true. But even though you just came, you feel a burning, carnal desire for more. More of Sanji’s skin on yours, more of his hips moving, more of his soft hair in your hands, more everything.

“Sanji,” you mutter and his ears perk up. “Wanna do more.” It’s both a statement and a question.

“Are you sure, gorgeous?” He looks worried for a second. He doesn’t want to push you too far. But when he sees how strongly you nod your head yes, how blown out your pupils and lidded your eyes are in lust, he lets go of all apprehension.

“How about you sit up, pretty?” He asks, and you do as he says. Sanji sits up too, and he maneuvers you so you’re straddling him, chests pressed together. Your arms are thrown over his shoulders, you wrap your legs around him, and your lips come to meet his neck—he smells manly, musky, and faintly of cologne. His heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your chest.

Your head is still floating from your orgasm moments ago, but you have enough sense to lift up slightly, positioning yourself over his erection.

“Please, darling,” he whispers, feeling your hot breath on his neck.

While you place kisses on his neck, you sink down onto his length, slowly and cautiously. It’s a delicious feeling of being spread open—your body conforms to his girth and accommodates his (many) inches. The stretch feels amazing somehow, not painful like you were worried about.

When he’s fully inside of you the wiry ring of hair at the base of his shaft meets with your skin and he lets out a quiet groan.

“F-fuuhhhckkk.”

You sit like this for a second—his arms come to wrap around your waist and your walls throb around him. He’s trying to be patient, trying to fully appreciate this moment and etch each sensation in his mind. But his body is going into overdrive. His patience wears thin and disappears.

Sanji presses his hips upwards slightly, eliciting a gasp from you that makes his heart flutter. He does it again and the leaking tip of his shaft brushes that spongey spot inside of you just right.

“Ah, Sanji, fuck that feels good,” you whimper, speaking into the crook of his neck.

He does it again, harder this time. Each thrust of his hips conjures what feel like fireworks of pleasure. While your eyes are squeezed shut and your mouth hangs open in absent concentration, each press of his hips makes pretty colors erupt behind your eyes. Every burst of pleasure is red, white, purple, dazzlingly distracting.

His hands creep from your waist to your ass, then lower, to cup your thighs underneath and you’re reminded that this is a very real moment. He begins to slowly pull you up his length and press you back down, manipulating your movements on his shaft in a way that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your moans increase in desperation.

“Fuck, you’re—you’re perfect,” Sanji forces the words out between ragged breaths and grunts. “Perfect for me.”

Sanji is getting dangerously close to orgasm. He doesn’t know what to do—should he go slower now? Edge himself? Would you prefer he pulled out and took care of his own business?

As Sanji’s mind races for a second, you mutter something into his neck that makes him feel like his heart is going to stop.

“Inside.”

He pauses.

“What?”

“I said—ah—I said inside.”

Sanji gets the message. And while you’ve been explicit, he has to check. He’s just a gentleman through and through.

“Are you absolutely sure, beautiful?”

You nod again and lick a soft stripe up his neck. Sanji stifles a groan. His voice is hoarse, and his groans are punctuated by raspy breaths that go straight to your ear (and right between your legs).

When he starts to move again, Sanji finds a measured pace that shifts up a notch every few thrusts. The speed grows and he’s using all strength and concentration to make you feel as good as possible.

Your moans are so guttural that they almost sound like sobs. Each one goads on Sanji’s pace—and all the while, he’s actively conscious of the fact that he’s having sex with you, the person he loves, the person he’s loved for many months, the person he’s fantasized about being close with in every way.

If you could focus enough to get a good look at him you’d see that his cheeks are ruddy and his hair is plastered around the temples with sweat. He looks like a mess, and damn, it suits him.

In your daze, you’re approaching orgasm. You want him to cum, too, of course. You have an idea of something that might push him over the edge.

Your lips trail from his neck upwards, finding his earlobe. When you suck on it softly, Sanji pauses almost imperceptibly. He’s holding on for dear life. He’s close to orgasm, resisting it as much as he can so he can relish this moment for as long as physically possible.

But when you bite down on his earlobe, just enough to cause pain, Sanji crumbles. His thrusts turn haphazard and frantic. He loses himself in pleasure. Each gravelly moan that tumbles out of his mouth is followed by a whimper.

He cums when you bite down again. And while he cums, you whisper his name into his ear in the filthiest tone you can manage. It’s a tone that’s far more erotic than any you employed with him on the past. It’s a sincere one, one from the heart (and elsewhere), totally anchored in the reciprocal and yearning desire of the present moment.

Sanji comes apart and splits at the seams. As his arms encircle and pull you tighter, he rocks up one last time then, per your request, he orgasms inside of you. He moans your name through his orgasm, much like you did for him, and you know that he’s done this many times before. Your name is familiar and comfortable in his mouth.

The difference now is that (among other things) his words are met with a pair of ears other than his own. His moans are caused by your real warmth, flesh, and pleasure, too. It’s more intense than he could have imagined. He’s seeing stars. He buries his face in the crook of your neck while he orgasms, shuddering breaths while he embraces you so tight that it’s almost painful.

After many moments of labored, recovering breaths and soft nuzzles into each other’s skin, Sanji gingerly pulls out of you. He lifts you and sets you on your back on the bed. You’re coming back to reality slowly but surely. He props himself next to you and brings a hand to pet your hair.

“That was spectacular. You’re perfect, my love.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” you roll your eyes jokingly.

“Mmmm. Agree to disagree, gorgeous. C’mere.” Sanji kisses you softly once, cupping your face with both hands. When he pulls away, he seems to stiffen a bit. He offers a smile—did that look a little reserved, or are you overthinking things?—puts on his boxers, and goes to the bathroom to get you a towel.

The thought that just flitted through Sanji’s mind making him stiffen up isn’t a kind one. Frequently these sorts of thoughts weasel their way into his mind. This one just reminded him to not be 'too much'. Don’t be too overbearing. Don’t scare her away. Don’t suffocate her with your affection. What if she doesn’t want it? What if it’s too much for her?

Sanji reflects as he walks to grab you a towel. He’s been holding back his love for you for months. Ever since you first talked on the phone, he knew that he loved you. It has been many long months since then. And through all these long months, he’s tried to keep the visceral strength of his emotions at bay.

Now that Sanji knows you in real life, now that he’s started seeing you, now that the feelings are (supposedly) mutual, the love inside of him has only grown. But it hasn’t grown proportionately to what he allows to escape. In other words, as much as his love for you grows, he tries to reign it in for fear of being too much for you.

Sanji has been counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you’re comfortable enough with him for him to be fully himself. Because of his fear of scaring you away, he’s been trying to practice restraint. He’s been trying to present a version of himself that doesn’t seem too eager, too lovey-dovey and too obsessed. But every time he sees you, he feels like he’s going to burst at the seams.

As he walks through his apartment to grab you a towel, thoughts of self-doubt and caution assail his mind.

Could someone like you really love someone like him, a lonely, desperate loser who only works and smokes? It doesn't make any sense.

Will you get sick of him if he lets loose the strong feelings inside? If you get sick of him, he doesn't know how he'd cope with the heartbreak.

If he’s open with you, if he pets your hair like he wants to, holds your hand, stares longingly into your eyes and pulls you closer—if he does all of that and more, would it be too much for you? Will too much put you off, chase you away, or scare you?

Concern is written on his face plain as day, as much as he tries to hide it. You’ve noticed it a couple of times. On a few of the dates you’ve been on you've seen it peek through. And you saw it just now, when he stiffened up a bit.

You ponder for a moment on how to ease the tension you feel from him. How best can you offer this man some solace, in a sincere way that doesn’t have a trace of the artificial sugar through which you used to have to filter your words?

A couple seconds pass and you can hear Sanji padding softly back into his bedroom with a plush, white towel.

You take a second to admire his frame as he approaches the bed. He’s slender and toned. His hair is ruffled up and his cheeks are still rosy from the effort moments ago.

Your eyes sweep from his feet to his legs and thighs—they’re thick and hairy. Upwards more and you admire his pretty happy trail that snakes up his abdomen and thins out before it reaches his belly button.

Your eyes wander farther and you see his pecs—trimmed and defined—the same goes for his biceps, shoulders…

Sanji can tell you’re giving him a good look and he flushes crimson. The blush is enough to avert the negative thoughts mulling in his head.

As your eyes flick up to meet his, he smiles, but you can still make out some restraint—this faint tension from Sanji is a tension you can only surmise comes from his insecurity. You know him too well.

“Here you go, beautiful,” he says, rounding the bed to your side. He gets ready to kiss you again and help you get a bit tidier.

“Sanji,” your tone is different when you speak. It’s soft and firm at the same time. He pauses, heart stopping for a second.

Are you about to tell him you don’t want him? His mind races to the worst-case scenario.

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget that I’m head over heels for you, okay?” You reach out a hand to him. “You don’t have to hold anything back with me.”

He exhales and sits down on the bed next to you, sliding his fingers through yours.

“Fuck. Am I being that obvious?” He furrows his brow and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Mmmm, only a little bit. Are you doing okay?”

He brings a hand to your cheek again. “I’m doing wonderfully. I’m just… I’m trying not to drown you in affection. I like you so much and I feel so strongly about you that I get a little worried about scaring you away.”

“Sanji.” You frown. It hurts to hear him say something like that. Maybe you haven’t been vocal enough with him about how you feel. “You’re not going to drown me in affection. I told you I’m head over heels for you. I mean it. I’m here for good and I love you.”

“You promise?” He squeezes your hand, and a smile takes over his lips.

“I promise. You're not going to scare me away. So no more holding back, okay?”

Sanji nods, relieved, and leans in for another kiss. He goes in with the intention of giving you a good one. But it turns into multiple.

His kisses feel different this time. Maybe they feel more honest. Softer. Sweeter. Something has changed.

When he pulls away from you, he keeps his face close. He’s so pretty up close like this—his eyes are stunning. His irises are a complicated color that you can’t quite place, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is pushed back. His smile is charming and makes your stomach do flips.

“Now that I’m not holding back anymore,” he begins, “do you know how precious you are to me? How much I cherish you?”

“A lot?” You venture a guess, and your grin makes Sanji’s heart trip.

“A lot is an understatement. I can’t put it into words. I just want to shower you in affection, cook for you all day, and treat you like you deserve. I think about you a, uh, probably a concerning amount. I’m enamored.”

You thread you fingers through his hair again, pushing it back to expose his forehead some more, admiring those pretty cheekbones, and those swirly eyebrows.

“Well, I feel the same, Sanji. I’m glad you finally worked up the nerve to ask me out. You say that I’m perfect, but I think that’s you. Do you know how much I cherish you, Sanji?” You bring your entwined hands to your lips, kissing Sanji’s softly. "A lot. So don't ever hold back with me."

“Hearing that makes me happier than I can put into words, gorgeous.”

After exchanging more kisses and sickeningly sweet words, you put Sanji’s comfy clothes back on. You move to the living room again and he fixes you anything you please. You show him that show you love a lot, and he watches intently, laser-focused because he believes your taste in media (and other things) reflects some part of your character. As he watches, he wonders, what does she like best about this? What speaks to her about this?

His ardent admiration for you seeps out of him in a steady stream now. You soothed his heart and applied a salve of words and kisses. He’s happy to his core, with every fiber of his being, a pure sort of joy that he hasn’t felt in many, many years. He savors you as much as he possibly can and never stops counting his lucky stars, per say.

Maybe his lovesickness and insecurity will sneak up again on him. Most likely. He knows that next time that crushing wave comes for him—the wave of self-doubt and disgust—you’ll reassure him wholeheartedly. He won’t scare you away, he can’t, and he will never be too much for you.

< previous part | masterlist >

a/n: yay for more writing to laufey! i hope you liked this :) i feel very intense things about this man! :0 also this really is a labor of love it took me so long omfg.

#happy birthday sanji!#sanji smut #op sanji smut #op smut #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you

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l0s3rd0wnt0wn · 2 days ago

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"TASTE SWEET AND LAST SO LONG~"

SYNOPSIS: it’s been a while since you and Kon had some alone time. His missions seem to be happening every day, and he's gone for two to three business days. But at least you finally have him alone for now.

Young Justice has been holding her boyfriend captive for far too long; this weekend, he's going to spend time with you and you alone. They already have a bunch of heroes at your disposal no need for him to go off to Nicaragua to do who knows what. Finally, you're both alone on his bed, his hands on your waist, pulling you closer even though you are already pressed flush against his body. You're giggling like a schoolgirl against his lips, noticing the small pink blush on his face that reaches up to his ears. God, you're in love.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" You say, giggling, as you gaze into his ocean-blue eyes, which seem to glow brighter the more you look at him. He laughs softly against your lips. "Can't I look at you?"

"No, you can't," you respond, with the smallest snicker in the back of your throat."Supposed to be enamored with me,"

"But I am," he answered cheekily, causing you both to start giggling. God, this is so cheesy and cringey, but when you're doing this, Conner, it feels romantic, even if you're in your messy room. as vulgar music plays in the background. You can barely hear the song that was playing; heartbeats and chuckles drown out the music. You both press small kisses against each other's lips. Conner pulls you himless into nipping and sucking on your bottom lip.

"You're such a perv!" You try to act disgusted, but there's a big grin on your face, and you have the cutest dark blush on your cheeks.

"I'm not a perv!" He protest, pulling back from him.

"If anyone's a perv, you're the one who’s the perv here, little freak," he smirked, going in for another kiss.

"Really? So I'm the freak ? I don't think you deserve another kiss," you teased, pulling yourself to the edge of his bed, making him get closer.

"Oh, come on, babe, that's not fair," he whined, pouting.

"It's fair to me," you reply, sticking your tongue out at him.

"No way, that's not fair!" He moved closer.

"Yes, way!" You pulled back even further.

"Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh."

Connor huffed. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and his hand went right back to your hips, where they belonged.

"You're mean," Connor's pout grows as he presses his forehead against yours.

"I'm not mean," you say, as your hand drops to his back, stroking his spine.

"You're so mean, pulling away and teasing me. Can I at least have a kiss? That's borderline torture."

That makes you laugh? "You're telling me a superhero clown can't handle a little teasing?"

"You're getting too soft," you said with a snarky grin.

"Yeah, so what?" he answered. "It's only for you; it's all for you."

"Yeah?" you asked.

"Yeah," he answered.

"I'm just like that." He was on top of you, lips pressed against yours in a heated kiss.

"Konnie, what are you doing?" You immediately jumped away from Conner, your eyes widening; your whole body was shocked and surprised as he fell onto his bed. Just then, you saw Jon standing right in front of you both with a Wii remote in his hand; he looked absolutely confused. Thank God.

He's looking down at Connor with a raised eyebrow, seeing his older brother upside down on the floor. He looks up to see you and frowns. "You had a [Name] here, and you didn't even tell me!" he says, with the biggest pout on his lips. "That's not fair; you're hogging them all to yourself!"

You know your boyfriend is still in shock, breathing hard. You don't know if it's from anger or if he was just scared to death by John. He gets onto Connor's bed, wrapping his arms around you.

"It's not fair! This is the second time [Name] comes over, and you don't even tell me!" He's upset, and you're completely embarrassed, covering your face with your locs.

Connor said, "Get out!" Now you can see the rage in his eyes. "What are you doing in here? The door was locked," he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Jon just stuck his tongue out. "Ma said there's no such thing as locked doors," he answered snarkily.

John snuggles into your chest, and Connor's rage intensifies. His face is red, whether from embarrassment or anger. "Jon, get out!" he shouts.

"No way!"

Now you have two superhumans over who gets to spend the Saturday with you! At least you got a kiss out of it!

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lemonlover1110 · 2 days ago

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For a request could you do like a "What if?" situation, what could've happened if Toji won against Gojo and Geto, coming back to Megumi and a girl he met and wanting to be better for them and be happy, with fluff? I hope I explained myself 🥹

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader Warnings: Fluff

Toji would have never imagined that he’d find himself in this spot. Falling in love again was not in his cards. He lost his damn mind, and for a moment all was bleak.

Life was the same. Job after job. Another life taken, a stupid amount of money wasted in a matter of days, leeching off women until another job was available— But after a damn near death experience with the stupid Gojo brat, Toji decided to change something… Yeah, that’s what he tells you.

Toji had no plans on changing anything until he met you.

He doesn’t know what it was. He saw you and couldn’t tear his eyes off you, until he got his ass off his chair and walked over to you. He took you out, laughed for the first time in what felt like eons, paid the bill and got your number. All to be repeated once again. And again. And again.

A moment of clarity hit, and his life took a turning point. He picked up his act, along with his kid. Though he might regret it now.

“Seriously? This stupid movie again?” Toji complains, watching as Megumi picks the same movie. A film that the poor man has had to watch five times over the past week. Five-year-old Megumi just fixates on something and won’t let it go for months.

“It’s a good movie! You can’t blame Megumi for choosing it.” You quickly defend the child, not wanting Megumi to listen to the criticism from his father. Toji’s a big whiner— He’s just bored because nobody is getting shot in the film.

“Yeah, whatever.” Toji rolls his eyes as he plops down on the couch, right beside you. The bucket of popcorn that he holds is quickly taken, seized by you. Toji throws his arm over your shoulder, bringing you closer to him before placing a chaste kiss on your temple.

You smile at him, a look that somehow conquered the man’s heart. He doesn’t know what it was… What it is. But you’ve managed to make him fall head over heels for you.

The purest thoughts run through his head, but your dirty dirty mind decides to speak. Your lips go to his ear, whispering, “Let’s save the X-Rated movie for later.”

He smirks, loving the idea. He’ll just have to find a way to knock Megumi out, but he can do that, no doubt.

“Okay, it’s ready!” Megumi exclaims as he runs to the couch to take a seat between the two of you. It’s what makes Toji regret ever picking up the brat. Megumi can’t give you two an ounce of space, he’s always plopped right in between.

“You managed to set up the movie all on your own? Good job, Megumi.” Toji ends up praising the boy, ruffling the child’s hair. He ends up smiling at his blessing, the slight annoyance quickly fading away.

“He’s smart, Toji. He can set it up faster than you.” You joke, your finger reaching over to poke the man’s cheek. Toji ends up scoffing.

“Yeah, yeah.” The man responds. He’s falling asleep at the opening music, already finding himself bored. He can’t believe it. He got himself a shit job that pays little to no money to support you two. All to not be able to pick the movie he wants to watch, for the popcorn to be taken from him, and for a stinky child to be in the middle of him and his girlfriend.

Toji shakes his head disappointedly, reaching over and taking the bowl of popcorn from your lap. All for you to whine, which makes him give it back.

It might not be ideal, but Toji wouldn’t have it any other way. His life has color once again, and he has no one else to thank but you.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #daddy toji #jjk toji #toji zenin #toji x reader #toji jjk #toji jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji imagine

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marlynnofmany · 2 days ago

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When I am given my bag and the promised bonus, I assume that the day’s excitement is over. No such luck. The professionals who have whisked away the hex eaters and fussed over the broken portal filter have another request for me.

Would I mind coming along with them in investigating the source of the infestation? They’ve just gotten a message from their home office about a problem on the other side of that portal. And, well, they’re desperately understaffed, and I’ve been so very helpful already…

Sure, why not. I don’t have any plans for the rest of the day.

I say my goodbyes to the adults who are ready to return to the birthday party (I already hear children yelling happily about cake), and we part ways.

They head back to the garden while I stay at the riverside where the two pest-control experts are quietly swearing.

The portal, as I’ve mentioned, is partly broken. These two wizards don’t ask permission before breaking it further, widening it so we can walk through and see where the river comes from firsthand. One of them throws out a row of translucent steps to keep our feet out of the mud. Very considerate.

I make sure not to bump my bag against the edge of the portal as I walk through. Not only could that glittering seam between realities damage the fabric, but I don’t want to think about what might happen if the null stones affect the portal while I’m partway through it.

But I make it past with no untimely deaths or other disasters, and I take in the sights. This is a rich neighborhood in the hills outside town; that is the river funneling into the portal; and that is a lovely rainbow-wood wall with a large hole in it.

I follow the two humans toward the front gate, where a new one waits, dressed in the clothes and the impatience of wealth.

Luckily for me, I am left out of the conversation that follows. I simply trail along behind the others while they enter the grounds and inspect the hole in the side of the house, which matches the one in the wall. In both cases, all the subtle enchantments around them have been drained away. Any sort of intruder could enter unobserved, and by the sounds of the audible chewing, several have.

I see why the two pest-control humans were eager for help. The stained-glass enchantment on a window above the hole fades as I watch. The homeowner points and yells. One professional makes an urgent call back to base while the other pleads for patience. They have baits and small traps, you see, materials for a single creature running wild in a garden, not an entrenched swarm with no motivation to leave. And everyone else is busy.

Everyone but me.

I interrupt a sentence about slow-acting poisons to float a suggestion of my own.

Then, with their permission (and their gratitude/relief/impatience), I call in some friends who are uniquely qualified for this sort of thing.

I’ve told them before that they could find well-paying, valuable work in this field. Maybe after today they’ll believe me.

They arrive together from a square-sided portal that crackles with electricity instead of aura energy. They are slim and silver, like me, with their own preferences in color accents and limb type.

They are ready to hunt bugs like we did at the wand factory.

After conferring briefly with the wide-eyed humans, we take our positions — the human professionals with their small trap in place outside the hole, the human homeowner keeping a safe distance, and the four of us waiting for the trap to seal against the building.

It’s ready.

My good friend Crimson sings a musical scale that swiftly dips below human hearing, down to the range that tells animals that an earthquake is happening. Plants vibrate. Gnawing sounds stop. Insect feet scuttle.

Hex eaters burst out of the hole, straight into the trap, but they also burst out of the wall around it, to the audible dismay of the human wizards.

But my other friends Frostberry and Cloud Shadow are waiting, with their welding lasers active and aimed.

They are excellent shots. Dull carapaces drop onto the tiles that were probably brightly colored once. Other hex eaters emerge to the same fate until the hole is empty.

Crimson stops singing. The plants fairly droop with relief. I put away the null stones that I didn’t need to throw, and I congratulate my friends.

A tiny voice whoops with joy. I see that the homeowner’s family have arrived, including a child slightly older than those at the party. While the adults are expressing their pleasure in more measured tones, this young human is not so restrained.

The pest control humans get the cleanup underway. Crimson chats with the homeowners, complimenting the shape of the archways or something else architectural, while Frostberry and Cloud Shadow do deep scans with their heat vision to check for holdouts.

I stroll over to the tiny human, who has many questions for me.

“That was amazing! My friends are going to be so jealous. It was so fast, and you got ‘em all! What’s your name?”

“Ginkgo,” I say. “Like the tree. And it was our pleasure.”

The child seems surprised. “Why are you named after a tree?”

I shrug easily. “The creche elders thought my generation should all be given tree names. My friends over there come from different creches, with color and weather themes.”

This appears to be mindblowing for some reason. “You get named in groups?”

“Sure,” I say. “It’s a much simpler system than a lot of human families I know. No duplicate names this way. We keep records.”

The child makes a face and admits, “I do have a cousin and a great-uncle with the same name. Wait, what’s your last name? Do you have a last name?”

“I do,” I say, taking a seat on an ornamental boulder so we’re closer to the same height. “Rockhound.”

“Is that because you throw rocks?”

“No, it’s just a name. We’re all named after our creches, and since mine is the only one in my hometown, it’s named after the town. Which was named after some people who went searching for gems and such there ages ago.” I look over at my friends. “Theirs are much simpler.”

“Wow.” The child stares, clearly trying to think up more questions.

I smile and pull a trick. “What’s this behind your ear?”

“Where did that come from?” the child demands as I hold up a plastic flower.

I hand it over for inspection. “Seems like it came from behind your ear.”

“How did you do that? There wasn’t any magic!”

“Sure there was,” I say with a mechanical smile. “My kind of magic.”

When normal people throw a birthday party for their child, they call in a magician. When magicians throw a birthday party for their child, they call you.

#yaaaaay this was fun #last one for now I think #but I'd definitely like to write more at some point #The Magician's Birthday Party #I like this character #and the robot friends #and all the stuff I just came up with about robot naming and childrearing #I look forward to discovering more about this place later #robots #wizards #my writing #February Fiction Fight #happy final day!#this took much longer to write than I planned #but I love how it turned out #enjoy

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urstruly-ghst · 2 days ago

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the challenge - rook hunt !

in which the challenge you set out for is now in full swing (inspired by epic: the musical with the song, the challenge).

authors note: epic the musical my beloved. i love love love this request submitted by @padf-0-ot ! thank you for waiting; im sorry it took a while, im managing tho

requested ask !

cw: may not understand if you don't know the context of epic/the odyssey

rook hunt

wearing the crown was a heavy responsibility, it had been placed on you since you were born. it was what came to be with the blood you hone beneath your skin. however, that duty carried was always alleviated with rook by your side. he was the one who made your crown a secod thought, contrary to what you grew up with.

but, it soon occured to you it would be heavy on your head once more; rook hunt was lost in a mission, it was supposed to end quickly, but he didn't return. neither did his comrades. there was no word, no letter, not even a sign from any other kingdom. that worried you, that worried the kingdom. each one of your subjects looked at the empty throne beside you, sharing that worry and fear (or perhaps, they all share the glory of seeing you reign alone.)

each men rally up, their thoughts of ascending to the social ranks clouded their empathy. the suitors know how grievous it must be to be alone, holding onto the hope that rook was not dead, but they also seem not to care. there was no king, no one to share your burdens, surely you'd want company?

no matter their attempts to take the throne, you'd stall. it was an array of stalling, you used up every excuse you can try. first it was grief, second was the state was in a crisis, and now.... they've grown impatient. it has been years, yet the throne gets colder as the king fails to return or send a sign. will he ever return?

"i refuse!" you yell as the council all stare. it was you who had the power, why was the council allowing such arrangements to happen?they sat in front of you, the crown, and begged for you to marry a suitor.

how dare they ask that from you? after all your work to keep the crisis at bay, they repay you with a torturous task?

"your majesty, this is what would further benefit our kingdom. you have stalled long enough." the eldest council proclaimed as they showcased data and news from the kingdom. morale is low. especially after the storm that struck your shores.

you glare as you saw the undeniable problem and the solution was clear as day. you couldn't hold onto the thrown nor the crisis forever, but...

you had hope. rook hunt was out there, you could feel it in your bones. there was no way he'd be dead. the council looks at you, waiting on your next word, your plan.

"i have one more challenge. this is the last one. bring me to the armory." you say as you surrendered. but even if you surrendered, you wouldn't allow them, not even for a second, to think they had their wishes granted.

---

you glare as you held your husband's bow as the guards open the gates to your throne room. the suitors chattered amongst themselves but soon silenced as they saw you enter.

"this here is my husband's bow." you say as you raised the bow, it was sturdy, comically large, and a symbol of his prowess. "it has long snapped, but none can restring it. my challenge is this,"

you unveil the axes that were lined up, "whoever strings this bow, and shoot through these axes cleanly..." you hesitate, "will became the new king, my new husband"

"that's what those were for" one suitor said, "it doesn't make sense!" the other proclaimed

the mumurs were loud, each suitor boasting or complaining over the challenge, you glare at them as you see them scramble to get to the bow.

among the crowds was your husband, rook, who stood silent by the pillars. rook laughed at how gullible these men were to believe that they can even string the bow. it takes a wit of the hunt's to know how to string it, it was a family heirloom. it curved weirdly, deceiving those who do not know to string it properly.

but he watched, in amusement. it was all their efforts that made it a comedy. rook watched each suitor try and try as they struggled to even get the string on the end of the bow. rook watched as each suitor soon gave up on even the bow, feeling the dismay build up. in his ragged clothes, rook hid in the shadows noting every weakness and strengths of each man.

“such a shame, these men seem to lack the knowledge to know a deception” rook muttered in sadness as he circled around them. the last suitor dropped the bow and screamed in the room,

“screw this competition. don’t you see we’re being played?!” it was an outraged yell as they point at the throne room, as if they’re trying to yell at you for this competition. and by virtue, they were being played, rook can appreciate this from the man. At the very least, one man knew his queen’s wit.

as the suitors gather around feeling they’re now understanding the consequences of their foolish parade around the bow, rook swiftly takes the bow and strings it with ease. unknown to him, rook was being watched by the sidelines. you were there, seeing him in silence, not recognizing him and had your heart beat in anticipation as the bow was being strung.

thwack!

the arrow flew gracefully to the end, hitting the target on the wall. the chatter died down, as the riot that was bubbling over ended. the arrow stabbed firmly on the end of the target, it made the suitors shut up. rook revealed his identity by letting his hood and shadow go, revealing a disheveled man who’s eyes were tired but victorious.

“mon dieu! it was painful to watch this challenge be failed by my country’s men, it is a simple test of wit.” rook smiled as he waved the strung bow, and the men were confused, it looked so normal in the king’s hand.

“how?!” one yelled, the others were scrambling trying to see if this was a trick, did he hide the other bow? who was he? how dare he win the challenge!

“rook?” you whisper as you open the throne room, the light shining brightly.

“mon amour.” rook replied with a smile.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #twst rook

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samsblades · 1 day ago

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✶ natural — sam winchester

cw : gn!afab!reader, fluff & smut, sorta sunshine!reader, post-hunting!au, passing mentions of monsters hunting and guns, nightmares, illness/fever (reader gets sick), consensual somnophilia, oral (r!recieving), swearing, praise, aftercare, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, love), mostly unedited, 5.3K words. requested ! MDNI !!! 18+ ONLY

summary : five times that you and sam are woken in the middle of the night, and one time you get to sleep in.

when you moved into this apartment with sam, you were both worried about having neighbors. you have the middle complex, so there's people upstairs and downstairs. overall, it's actually been pleasant. it feels nice and normal, and you're pretty sure that no one suspects that you and sam were previously monster hunters. mostly because none of your neighbors know that they exist. maybe it's a bit strange that you're a little older now, and just starting your lives, but you've just told everyone that you and sam didn't like what you were doing before, and have decided to start over.

the downstairs neighbors are delightful. lina and isa are just a bit younger than you and sam, brought you homemade bean and rice as a welcome, and told you about the fantastic panadería just a few blocks away. your only complaint might be that their music gets a little loud, and their luckily infrequent yelling matches in furious spanish are even louder.

it's the upstairs neighbors who bother you more. riya is nice, but you think they're too hot and too cool for their boyfriend nate. of course, that's not the problem, nor is it any of your business. for the record, though, sam agrees. it's more so about the middle of the night sex and the poor quality of whatever bed frame they made the awful choice of purchasing.

the first time they woke you up, it had been less than a week since you'd moved in, and none of the paranoia from your previous life had even begun to wear off for you or sam.

your heart is thundering at the first loud bump that wakes you. sam's hand finds yours just as yours looks for his. your other hand is searching blindly for a gun on your beside table that isn't there. it's in the drawer, still nearby, but hidden now and less accessible than you used to have it. you and sam sit up, eyes quickly adjusting to the dark and ears tuned for any other noises that might be out of place.

another thump nearly makes you open that drawer, but your now sharpened senses register that it's coming from the apartment above you. the next realization is that the sounds are rhythmic, and you just barely catch the sound of a muffled moan.

with that, you collapse back onto your pillow with a light laugh, eyes still bleary with sleep.

"goodness," you say through a breathy laugh, the headboard of their bed banging against the wall with complete insistence. it sounds unstable, honestly. "i think they're actually going to break the bed."

sam laughs with you, laying back down as well and turning on his side. his arm wraps around your waist and he buries his face into the side of your neck, nuzzling your warm skin with the tip of his perfect nose. this is followed with a soft kiss, as usual. you grin. sam can't see or feel it, but he knows it's there. that smile of yours and another soft laugh when the wall receives a particularly harsh bang.

"think this'll happen often?" you lament. "will we have to tell them to get a new bed frame? or have quieter sex?" it's sam's turn to laugh, a sleepy sound that suits him much better than anything loud or bloody.

"might," he murmurs into your skin, all soft and tired now that he knows there's no threat. for a few awful seconds, he thought some monster or hunter or whatever possible enemy had come to ruin your attempt at normalcy together before you'd even finished setting up all the furniture. he's happy that it's just the neighbors with a wobbly bed frame.

almost abruptly, the noise stops. you wait in quiet for a few moments to be sure that you're really being granted silence.

"they're done already?" you tease with a whispery laugh. it's not that sam doesn't have the skill to get you off quickly, or you him, but you tend to last much longer together. quickies aren't your go-to, even if they're required sometimes. now that you have your own place and are starting to settle down, you don't imagine things starting and ending that fast. as for last night, it felt like forever, in the best of ways.

you and sam are courteous enough to have a sturdy, quiet bed, though.

꩜｡⋆

you sleep light when you're feeling poorly. little things like the soreness of your throat or the movements of your upstairs neighbors wake you easily. so a sharp gasp from sam and the tensing of his muscles certainly pulls you out of your sleep. your eyelids seem to stick shut for a moment before fluttering open, and you shift in his arms. his slightly labored breathing goes silence as if he's holding his breath, likely worried that he's woken you and hoping that if he's quiet enough now you'll fall right back asleep.

"nightmare?" you whisper, voice course and barely audible. you resist curling your arm around his middle in case it's one of those dreams that makes touch difficult for him.

"sorry," he murmurs, answering your question with the tone of his voice rather than his words. he sounds tense and tired, and you know definitively now that his dreams have been unkind to him. you wish he'd never apologize for accidentally waking you. it's not as if you don't do the same sometimes.

"don't be sorry," you insist, as usual. his arms tighten around you, and you take it as a sign that you can do the same if you like. instead of slipping around his waist, your hand reaches up to settle into the soft hairs at the base of his neck. you pull his head close, pressing a kiss to his forehead, lingering long. he's still all tense and closed off. "you don't have to talk about it if you don't want. but talking about it won't… it won't make everything come back. talking about it won't change what we have now, you know that. we're allowed to talk about it. any of it."

"i know," he says, sounding like he doesn't really know it. you give a soft sigh, but don't push it. maybe you'll talk about it later, when he's ready. it's hard to focus on learning to live again when you're still haunted by the past. sometimes it's easier to just let the past be, to know that there are monsters in the closet, but keep the doors shut anyway. the understanding you have of each other has to be enough, and you've found so far that it is.

"you okay?" you decide to ask instead, voice as soft as it can be while your throat hurts like this.

he nods, then tilts his head up. "i'm okay." his lips find your chin as a reassurance, a promise. "it wasn't… as bad as it could've been." he's calming slowly, melting into your hold, so you suppose he's not lying. it's true that you've seen him worse.

"doesn't mean it wasn't bad at all," you murmur in protest, but not with any force. you follow it with another kiss to his hairline. "think you'll be able to fall back asleep?"

he hums in confirmation. "i'll be fine. but what about you? your throat still bothering you? do you need some tea?"

you give him a hum of your own, but it's not really an answer, just a little noise in response to how sweet he is, always more concerned for you than anyone else. your voice comes out as a grumble, "i think it's getting worse," you admit, "some tea might be a good idea, since i'm awake. i'll get it myself though, you go back to sleep. i'll be quiet."

a huff of air leaves his nose, tickling your neck. "you're funny," is all he says, like it's preposterous to suggest that he go to bed while you make yourself tea. he's too much of a gentleman to let you do that, but you also feel his hold on you tighten, just a bit. he doesn't want to be alone, even just for a few minutes. there is no comfort in being alone in the dark.

you retort with a gentle, "you're right, i'm hilarious. c'mon. since i'm letting you make me tea, it had better be good." he sits up with you, one of his hands still on your waist. his fingers slide to your lower back as you untangle yourself from him and the sheets, and he follows suit right after. he pads through the hallway behind you, overtaking you in the doorway into the kitchen with his hand brushing over the small of your back again before opening the cupboards for a mug.

he doesn't need to flip on a light because the blinds are open and the moon is bright tonight. so you watch him move through the shadowy room, preparing the tea that he knows you'll like the most right now. he makes a cup for himself too, liking the feeling on your eyes on him, never leaving.

the tea does a fine job of soothing your throat for the time being, and calms sweet sam's frayed nerves. he's had awful nightmares for as long as he can remember, but sometimes they're even more haunting now that his days are full of nice things. last week, you took a free ceramics class at the community center together. there's a few plant pots with herbs on the tiny fire escape balcony, and when you're not busy working to get better jobs, you sit and read novels that have nothing to do with hunting monsters.

your pinkies are linked across the little dining room table as steam rises from your mismatched mugs. the table is only outfitted for two, because you could only afford two chairs. that's alright, though, because you don't have anyone to invite over besides maybe the downstairs neighbors. but sam's starting to make friends with someone he volunteers at the library with, and unbeknownst to you, your bright friendliness is making your coworker want to hang out with you after your shared shifts. maybe you'll get a set of plastic chairs to use when there's guests.

꩜｡⋆

sometimes, loads of tea and vitamin supplements aren't enough to keep a nasty cold at bay. despite how nicely sam makes you several cups of tea a day, you're truly and fully ill now.

you're woken in a fit of fever, head fuzzy and cream-colored sheets sticking to you with sweat. for once, your body heat permeates more thickly than sam's, who always runs warm. an achy sigh leaves your parted lips, and your clumsy hands fight to push the plush comforter off your tired limbs.

your restless stirring wakes sam after a few moments, who props himself up on one elbow and runs a hand through his hair, immediately searching for the reason you're awake. his eyes adjust to the dark quickly to catch sight of the light, involuntary pout on your lips. before that even, his hand brushes over your upper arm and he feels the heightened heat of your skin.

"oh, baby," he whispers, reaching over to drape his palm carefully over your forehead. he doesn't have to say anything cliche, like 'you're burning up.' it's quite obvious on its own. he just pulls the thicker blanket from your body, but settles the sheet over you to prevent any chills. his thumb lightly brushes over your cheek. "that any better? i'm gonna get you some tylenol."

you only give a noncommittal hum, but he takes it as permission to leave you for just a moment. if you weren't so uncomfortable, you'd fall back asleep before he even got back. instead, you lay there, senselessly missing him and too exhausted to move.

he returns with tylenol as promised, along with a glass of water and a cool, damp rag. he sets the pills and glass down and carefully settles the rag over your forehead, earning a soft sigh of satisfaction from you. underneath the fabric, the furrow between your brows lessens just a bit. with all the gentleness in the world, he slips his hands under your head to tilt it up and brings the lip of the glass to your mouth. you drink as wordlessly instructed. he sets the water down for a moment and replaces it with one of the two pills. your lips part when he brings it to your mouth, then the cool glass is touching your skin again. both pills go down just fine, and he's settling your head back onto the pillows.

you fail to notice that he's brought the thermometer with him too until he asks you to open your mouth again. "just gonna take your temperature, honey," he murmurs softly. you give him no hassle, letting him tuck it underneath your tongue. when he pulls it out, he gives a little sigh. "definitely a fever, but it's not so bad," he tells you, taking your hand in his before pulling it up to his lips for a kiss to your knuckles.

"come back to bed," you grumble, giving him a weak tug.

"i think you'll get too warm," he protests kindly, "i'll just sit with you."

"there's no chair," you tell him, as if he doesn't know, "and i want you in bed with me. please?" you manage a little smile to try and convince him, looking sweet and tired and a little pitiful too, in the way that's so endearing it makes his heart hurt.

"i'm sorry, but i don't want to make your fever worse," he insists, voice still as gentle as it ever gets. "i'll bring a chair from the kitchen, okay?"

"but it's the middle of the night," you sigh, your smile slipping. it's too much effort to keep it there. "sleep with me."

"honey. it's already five in the morning. you know that's not too early for me," he says. it's true. in the past, sleeping until five would be a luxury for him. but you don't really care, and it's not the past anymore.

"you're crazy," you tell him, a little furrow settling between your brows.

"i know," he murmurs sympathetically, unfazed by your feverish accusation.

"it's too early for me," you complain. "won't you come back to bed with me? please?" of course, sam has known this entire time that he'd never beat you. it's just a matter of how many times he can deny you before he inevitably caves to your pretty eyes and hoarse voice. your soft 'please' has him ready to wave the white flag for peace; you're going to tear out his heart at this rate. but then your voice quiets even further, like you don't quite want to be heard despite the fact that you need to be understood. "i want you to hold me."

in the blink of an eye, he's kissing your cheek with a soft sort of determination. he doesn't even move a full inch away before he's whispering, "okay. alright, it's alright. i'll hold you. don't worry." then, his long limbs are slipping back under the covers and curling around you until you're settled on his chest, one hand still holding the cool rag over your forehead and your head carefully tilted so you can breathe easier.

he soaks up your heat, and the bottom sheet grows practically damp with your combined sweat. but he doesn't mind one bit, because you fall back asleep, looking far more comfortable and contented than before, for a while.

eventually, he does have to untangle himself from you because a frown settles on your lips and you turn restless in his arms again. he refreshes the cool compress to dab away your sweat and press to your hot skin. after a moment, he decides to prepare a second one for the back of your neck, and maneuvers everything so gently that you never wake until your body decides it must have water.

you wake with a little moan that he'd find sweet were it not an indication of your discomfort. he gets you more water, then lulls you back to sleep with his touch until it's time for another dose of tylenol.

꩜｡⋆

this moan is sweet, still hoarse and quiet, but only from sleep rather than sickness. your sounds start as little huffs of breath, a sigh here or there as his hands trace down your body and tug at your underwear, soft and quiet as to not wake you right away. he wants you to wake to the feeling on his lips on your hot, wet skin.

you most certainly do wake to that, a soft moan escaping your lips as your body gains awareness and your mind catches up to it. sam hums into your sensitive pussy as he feels you rouse, his hands gently holding your legs apart. he gives your thighs a sweet squeeze, then wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, softly at first to pull another noise from your lips.

he's easily successful, a quiet grunt leaving your lips as your tired arms reach down for some sort of contact with him. aside from his face buried in your cunt, of course. one hand finds purchase in his hair and the other curls around three of his fingers, holding his hand there against your thigh. your hips squirm as his tongue laves over you, your movements sluggish with sleep.

"sam," you sigh, out extra sensitive after just waking up and too tired to have complete control of your body. you're not loud, but you're noisy, letting out sweet and unfiltered sounds almost every time you breathe out. he gets more insistent the longer you're awake, letting his hunger and desperation show. his grip on you tightens, and his nose bumps relentlessly against your clit as he eats you out like he'd swallow you whole if he could.

the pleasure is overwhelming, overpowering, and you can't seem to keep a steady grip on him. your hands are still weak with sleep, so you continuously tangle and untangle your fingers in his hair, torn between pushing him away so you can breathe and pulling him closer so that the feeling will never stop.

"jesus," you groan, "please!"

"i got you," he mumbles, quickly so he doesn't have to stray from his task for long at all. "so good. so good for me, you taste so good."

"y-you couldn't.. hahh, help yourself, could you?" you pant out, eyes squeezed shut.

"never," he agrees before giving your clit a suck that tugs your back from the bed and pulls an extra pretty whine out of you.

"fuck," you sigh, "mmm, feels so good. please, sammy." really, you're not begging for anything other than for him to keep going exactly as he is, and and you know he has no plans to do anything but that. he loves this just as much as you do, possibly more. he's a damn addict, so much so that it wakes him up in the middle of the night.

the way he sweetly strokes the inside of your thigh with his fingertips is an easy contrast to the way his mouth moves against you, shameless and ravishing. your hips buck up into his face and your feet scramble for purchase on his hips to try and stay grounded. your thighs tremble with the effort, and sam moans right into you, beyond obsessed with the way you sound when you're sleepy and desperate and overwhelmed like this. it's no wonder he can't help but wake you like this sometimes, you sound like heaven, look like heaven as his eyes adjust to the dark and a sliver of moonlight finds its way into the room.

he gives you everything you need and takes everything he wants all at once, sending you over the edge with a sweet hum and relentless tongue. you clutch him close for a moment of hot ecstasy that may have lasted forever, then sag like a rag doll into the sheets. like always, he can't resist breathing you in, deep and long, and giving one last swipe of his tongue that sends a shudder up your spine.

your eyes flutter open and closed, exhausted by the pleasure and an already tired body. you swear you're still half-asleep, but in the way that you feel like you're floating, mind and body all fuzzy, soft, and satisfied. he stays tucked between your legs, sleepy too, despite being the one who was so ravenous in the first place. his head rests on your thigh, one hand still holding yours, and the other drawing stars over your hip bone.

he presses a kiss to your sweaty skin, his soft as ever and wet with your slick. "i love you," he whispers, "sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night." it's not the first time he's woken you like this, and you certainly hope it's not the last.

"i love you too," you murmur back, voice still raspy. "it's okay. love it when you wake me up like that. feels so good, every time. you're so pretty." you say that last part for no reason at all, other than it being true.

sam feels like blushing. "you're so pretty," he retorts quietly.

"thanks," you smile softly. to him, you shine like the sun, even in the dead of night. you're such a wonderful accompaniment to the moon, he thinks.

꩜｡⋆

neither the moon nor the sun show themselves much during the winter months. it tends to be quite cloudy here. the cold, on the other hand, is pervasive. and you and sam have discovered the horrors of having a landlord who's doing everything he can to avoid paying to fix your unreliable heating system. since it's not completely dysfunctional, he is most definitely stalling.

until it is completely dysfunctional, an issue that is made known to you at about 3:47 in the morning. the first thing you think is that sam must've accidentally stolen all of the blankets like he does sometimes. they'll get wrapped around his long legs, he'll roll over, and the whole plush comforter will go with him, leaving you exposed to the night air. but when you blindly reach for the blanket, you find that it's still snugly laid over you. that's when you begrudgingly open your eyes in confusion. your fingers are cold. the tip of your nose is honest-to-god freezing. and your feet. your poor, poor feet that have slipped out from the blankets and been left for dead in the cold air.

you're not the type to get grumpy. but you are now. you tuck your feet in and curl up against sam's back, seeking out his warmth. but it's too cold to ignore, so you shake sam's shoulder.

"sam, wake up," you groan, cursing his inconsistent sleeping style. sometimes he's the lightest, worst sleeper out there. other nights, he's impossible to wake. as he grows more accustomed to living a safer life, he gets more of those nights where he sleeps like a fallen log. you shake him again and he wakes with a grumble.

"what is it?" he asks as soon as he's awake enough to speak, voice gravelly. "god, it's freezing." he sits up groggily and immediately regrets it. you regret it too, because it leaves more of you exposed too. you chase after him, tucking yourself under his arm and against his chest.

"i think the heating gave out, like really gave out," you complain, trying to steal his body heat. he wraps his arms around you without any qualm, rubbing up and down your arms in attempts to warm you. he knows you get colder than he does most of the time.

"no kidding," he mumbles, pressing an absentminded kiss to the top of your head. "i'll get the space heater and hopefully that'll be enough until the morning." the light annoyance in his voice is indicative of what he plans to do in the morning. that is, call the landlord and demand he gets the heating fixed right away. it's not like the two of you have anywhere else to go without traveling farther than you'd like to. it pains you to let sam untangle himself from you, but the promise of more warmth is enough for you suffer without him for just a few minutes.

he returns with the space heater that you keep in the living room. the bedroom is usually warmer when you keep the door shut, but tonight, that makes no difference. he plugs the heater in, as close to the bed as he can at a safe distance, then wraps the blanket from the couch around your shoulders before climbing back onto the mattress.

despite the cold, you smile at him sweetly and contentedly as he gives you the extra blanket. he's so easy to be in love with.

he anticipates the way that you tuck yourself into him the moment he's laying down with you. and it's not as if he doesn't want you in his arms as much as you do, so he most certainly welcomes it. he settles one hand on the back of your head and pulls you close until your nose brushes against the soft skin of his neck. one of your legs sneaks between his, and he hooks his ankle with yours.

"i guess this is what it's like to have normal people problems, huh?" you whisper, your breath fanning over his neck. he'd love to kiss you senseless right now, but he's too tired and he's pretty sure you are too.

"yeah," he sighs, sounding relieved. "yeah. beats… beats the other stuff."

"even though it's really, really cold," you agree, smiling. he can hear the smile in your voice.

"even though it's really, really cold," he echoes. "it'll warm up."

he's right. this sort of thing passes. it gets better. the space heater serves its purpose, eventually warming the little bedroom enough that you can fall back asleep. the tile floor of the kitchen is hell in the morning, of course, and you spend the rest of the day in the library together after convincing the landlord to have everything fixed.

the weather warms too, and the relentless cloudiness fades into bright blue spring mornings. the blinds are always left closed on friday nights so that the rising sun won't wake you early on saturday mornings. it's been a blessing. sam still wakes up early sometimes, but sometimes he sleeps in late with you.

no alarms go off this morning; you and sam were up late last night watching a movie you found at the library. he really prefers vhs movies, but he'll settle pretty easily for cds. vhs is too hard to find these days, which is a shame. after the movie, you stayed up much later than intended, sprawled in bed while discussing the movie in depth. it was the sort of movie that was easy to watch, entertaining and pretty, but thought-provoking all the same. maybe it's because the mundane is something so special to you and sam that you could talk about it forever.

the blinds don't block out all the light, especially when it's so sunny like it is now. but it makes waking gentler and kinder while still letting you love the light of the morning.

gentle really is the right way to describe how you wake this morning. there's nothing particularly special about it, but that's what's so lovely. it's just a breath in, then a breath out and the fluttering of eyelids. it's a moment of peace, but the moment never ends. there's no threat of monsters or a hunt or the end of the world.

there's just sam and his heavy arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you, keeping you near him. there's sunlight on the white wall and a green plant in the corner of the room. pillows and blankets you call your own, a stuffed armchair, and a closet of clothes. sam wears sweaters and tshirts and sometimes even slacks rather than jeans these days. you can't stop telling him how handsome he looks when he's comfortable.

you don't move for a little while, and you let your eyes fall closed again. maybe you fall back asleep, maybe not. it doesn't really matter. nothing really matters, nothing but this. even if there's things like rent and jobs and a leaky sink. they don't have to matter until later.

then, because you're hopelessly in love, you open your eyes when they start to feel less heavy with sleep and turn to look at sam. there's no slight frown on his lips, no furrow to his pretty brows. he's content, he's safe, he's not so afraid anymore. if you were to count your blessings, his happiness would be the first thing to come to mind.

his body lets him rest without worry. staying up to talk about movies for fun is allowed now. it has no consequence, outside of a yawn or two while washing the dishes. but he gets to sleep in for as long as he'd like today.

maybe it's your staring that finally wakes him. the weight of your gaze, heavy with affection. the first thing he does when roused back into consciousness is smile. soft and sleepy and delighted to see you. then he kisses you. it would be without warning if he weren't moving so slowly. but you're ready for him, happy to have him.

this morning, he is insistent on having you close, so the moment his lips are no longer on yours, his arms are wrapping around your middle and holding you tight. he pulls you into him with a quiet grunt.

"good morning, sweetheart," he rumbles softly, lips brushing over the skin of your temple.

"good morning, love," you murmur back, voice just as sweet as his.

"i love you so much," he tells you, hand rubbing up and down the expanse of your back.

of course, you answer, "i love you, too. so much." his hand slips under your shirt, like you'll never be close enough, and touching your skin will make it better. you huff in protest and arch against him just a bit. his fingers are cold, but only for a moment. then you're melting into him and sighing in contentment.

"the weather's supposed to be nice. like yesterday. we could walk to the park," you whisper.

"later," he answers simply, ducking his head to press his nose to yours, then kiss the skin under your eye. "let's just lay here a while.

you can't help but grin. "okay. later." you kiss his cheek and he smiles back, then closes his eyes again. the smile stays on his face and you think that maybe he's never looked more beautiful than he does now.

"i love you," you say again, because you just have to.

he hums softly and his other hand slips under your shirt, his fingertips pushing gently into the plush of your lower back. "i love you," he echoes.

nothing aches, not right now. there's growing pains and old scars and sores that will never really go away. but in this moment, nothing aches save for the kind of ache that love gives. and it's a lovely sort of ache. the kind that could make your eyes all misty in the happy way. like you're so grateful to be where you are that it almost hurts.

magic is real. so are monsters and gods and demons and angels. but this moment is a miracle in a way that it has nothing to do with that sort of thing. it's simple and normal and maybe you've romanticized it because of the way you lived before. but you don't think that's such a bad thing. living like this with sam… it's natural.

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wbbpls · 3 days ago

Text

My Girl

Hi! I’m totally new to this, so I’m sorry if this is all over the place. lmk if you guys like it!

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After a tough win, the team gathered in Paige’s room since she is hosting the party. Paige is talking to Ice and KK in the kitchen when Azzi walked in. Azzi is her best friend, who might also be the love of her life. Not that Azzi needs to know that. Of course she’s stunning, even in a crop top and jean shorts. The past few months they’ve been crossing the appropriate lines for friendship with lingering touches and flirty banter.

Across the room, some guy was standing way too close to Azzi. Her Azzi. Paige knows Azzi isn’t hers, but it kills her to think of Azzi with anyone else. That guy keeps leaningt in closer and closer to Azzi. Paige tried to look anywhere else, but her eyes had a mind of their own, and Azzi felt those piercing blue eyes burning into her. When Azzi looked over at Paige, she saw something in her eyes she’d never seen before.

When he put his arm on her waist, Azzi stepped backward uncomfortably. Something took over Paige’s body, and suddenly, she was next to Azzi. Her long arms slid around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in and away from that guy. “Hey Az, sorry I took so long. Here’s your drink.”

Azzi leaned into Paige’s soft yet possessive touch. “That’s okay, I was just talking to, uh, Jake, right?”

Barely acknowledging Paige, he responds, “Yeah, so how about that dance?” Is this Jake guy serious? Paige literally has her arm wrapped around Azzi and she wasn’t even sure of his name. Azzi’s whole body stiffened as she leaned further into Paige. “I’m just gonna hang out with my team, but thanks.” He didn’t seem to care. “Aw c’mon Azzi, I’ll show you a good time.”

“She’s good.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to talk to security first. If you didn’t notice, I was talking to Azzi.”

Paige stepped in front of Azzi, making sure he couldn’t touch her. “If you didn’t notice, Azzi said no. So back the fuck off my girl and get out of my apartment.” It just slipped out, but god, Paige wishes she could call Azzi her girl every day.

“Her girl? You for real, Azzi?”

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend, so maybe give it up and leave us alone.” Speechless, Jake left quickly to avoid further embarrassment.

“Your girl, huh?” Azzi says as her hands rub up Paige’s biceps.

Paige wrapped her arms entirely around Azzi’s waist as if she’d done it every day of her life. Thankfully, the lights are low, hopefully blocking her blush. “Well, hopefully not his girl.”

“Yeah, definitely not looking to be his girl.”

“You lookin to be someone’s girl?” Paige’s eyes drifted down to Azzi’s lips, moving her hand to rest on her lower back. Azzi bites her lip, “Hm, no longer looking, just waiting for her to get it together.” Paige suddenly couldn’t breathe. Does that mean what she thinks it means? They always avoid these conversations, but the liquid courage is pushing boundaries. Paige can’t say that she’s in love with her. She can’t ruin their friendship and everything they’ve built, but she can’t stop touching Azzi either. “Uh, do you want to go dance?”

“Yeah, P, let’s go dance.” Azzi drops her hands down to Paige’s, and Paige starts to think maybe Azzi doesn’t want to stop touching either. The music feels like an excuse to be way closer than friends should, but it all happens so naturally. When Azzi starts to move her hips into Paige slowly, her breath hitches, and she grabs Azzi even tighter. Paige knows there’s no way they can use being best friends as an excuse anymore. She knows their teammates will tease her about this tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter because she has Azzi in her arms. As the beat speeds up, so do their hips as they grind into each other. A soft whimper leaves Azzi's mouth and Paige can’t help herself, “Fuck Az you’re so hot”

They are now face to face, their lips just an inch apart, and Azzi’s hands are in blonde strands. With a mischievous smirk, Azzi says “Yeah? You think so?”

“You have no idea.”

“Then show me.” Paige has never moved so fast in her life. She drags Azzi through the crowd and to her room. Slamming the door shut, Paige shoves Azzi against the wall with one hand on her waist and the other leaning above her head. “Say it again.”

Looking up at Paige with hooded eyes, Azzi practically whispers to Paige, “Show me.”

Paige leans in, their lips brushing, but not fully touching. “You sure, Az?” There’s no going back after this and Paige is praying they never have to.

“Paige, please. I want to be yours.” Something broke inside Paige, and she kissed her like her life depended on it. She’s dreamed of kissing her a million times over, but this kiss is better than she could have ever imagined. Azzi slightly opened her lips, inviting Paige’s tongue. Their kiss progressively got more passionate. Paige began to kiss down Azzi’s cheek to her neck, sucking and biting just to get Azzi to whimper.

“You wanna be mine, huh?” Paige chuckles and says possesivley as she leaves marks down her neck. Letting out a moan at the words, Azzi grips at the hair on the back of Paige’s neck, “Yes, fuck, P, you feel so good.” Paige slips one of her legs between Azzi’s and moves her hand just under Azzi’s breast. “Tell me what you want.”

Pulling Paige’s head back up to her face, Azzi breathes heavily, “I want to be yours, Paige.” Staring into her eyes, Paige finally says it. “You’re mine, Azzi.” Paige pulls at the back of Azzi’s legs, hinting for her to jump into Paige’s arms. Paige picks Azzi up and shoves her hard against the wall, kissing her even harder. Azzi leans her head back, “Mmh, I want you so bad.” Paige takes this as an opportunity to suck at her neck and grind into her hard. The moan that they both release is borderline embarrassing. Their lips reconnect, and Paige walks them over to her bed. “Fuck Az, you look so good,” she says as she straddles Azzi.

They both start pulling off each other’s clothes and grinding into each other. Paige’s hands are hovering dangerously above Azzi’s jean shorts. “Can I?” Azzi nods her head and pushes Paige’s hand down further. Paige fumbles with the button to her jeans as she kisses down her chest. She slips a finger down to rub at her clit. “Fuck, baby please.”

Paige isn’t sure if it’s the term of endearment or the begging, but she knows she’ll do anything Azzi wants. “Tell me who you belong to.” Paige slips two fingers deep into Azzi.

Azzi is a whimpering mess, with her eyes shut, gripping onto the sheets. Paige loves that she can’t speak, but she needs to hear Azzi say it. “Tell me, mama. Who do you belong to?”

“Yours, I’m yours, Paige, fuck!” Azzi yells out as Paige thrusts deeper into her.

“You’re so fuckin sexy, ma. You’re all mine.” Paige can feel Azzi getting tighter. “Your pussy that wet for me, baby?”

Azzi’s eyes are rolling into the back of her head as she grips onto Paige’s shoulder like her life depends on it. “I’m so close, don’t stop.”

Paige laughs at the idea, like she’d ever stop. “C’mon Az, when have I ever done you like that.“

“Paige I love you but shut up and fuck me” Azzi says breathlessly. Did she mean that or was it just in the moment of a fucked out haze? Paige slowed for a moment but knew she couldn’t stop now. She started to rub Azzi’s clit until her legs were shaking. Azzi came screaming her name as Paige continued to finger her guiding her off her high. Out of breathe, Azzi pushed Paige’s fingers away and pulled her up. Paige is trying to act normal about all of this, but Azzi just said she loved her.

Azzi must have noticed Paige’s hesitation, “What’s wrong, P?”

“You love me?” Even to Paige’s ears she could hear the insecurity. Azzi’s face softened as she rubbed across Paige’s jaw. “Of course I love you. I always have. I just have been too scared to push things and risk losing you.”

Paige starts laughing leaving Azzi confused. “Uh, what’s so funny about that?”

“Baby, I’m so fuckin in love with you and we are so dumb.” Azzi smiles, showing those beautiful dimples. “I guess we deserve each other, hm? Maybe now I can return the favor and show you how much I love you.”

Paige can’t believe this is real. Azzi is her girl.

#paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics

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stargazerlion · 2 days ago

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Not a Nazi and orange flag imo, esp depending on age/exposure to other cultures and therfore their abilities to understand how propaganda works and can spread across cultures. Ive been in a similar place in younger years and like. Music taste doesnt define a person, ever. But it can still have influence, and a particular love of Germany can give them a predisposition to fall down that pipeline. BUT at this stage they are at the top of the pipeline. It can end up working out fine, maybe theyll end up writing a paper on the history of music as propaganda and how that can be a tool used to this day by those in power, or be able to better aproach learning about nazism in depth with a better appreciation for how political ideology can infiltrate every aspect of day to day life, but that can only happen of theyre kept out of the pipeline. If theyre condemned as a nazi or future Nazi or totally shunned Im worried they wouldnt be able to get ahold of the resources they need to get out of the pipe before its too late. At this point, they still get the important bits: Nazis are bad, and no amount of banger music will change that, and if you are public about it people will perceive you as a nazi, and they dont want that. Theyre not very deep in yet. Id want to have a conversation with them about the subtleties of propaganda and how it can infect you without you realizing, giving them the tools they need to avoid falling down the pipeline, and so when they see the comment saying "this is a great example of the passion the German Nationalist Socialist party for preserving and enhancing their culture!" Theyll be able to see that and go "yeah i like this song, but this is not an example of that, since the Nazis bastardized and made up their culture and history to serve their agenda, this person, intentionally or not, is spreading propaganda, so I should ignore it" instead of "yeah i like this song, it does really feel German! I wonder what other elements of German culture the Nazis were trying to protect, it sounds like such a noble cause!" It can make all the difference in that stage

Trigger warning: mention of Nazi

*Person A is NOT German

*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

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diushek · 14 hours ago

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Shen Qingqiu may know a lot about PIDW, monsters, the plot and papapa plot devices, but, traditional ancient music? Are they seriously going to ask him to learn all those old songs in addition to trying to save his ass from a horrible death?

So, in guqin classes with his students, Shen Qingqiu decides that it is not bad to teach them adaptations of modern music. Nothing crazy. Popular stuff, something classic Queen like exaggerations. He doesn't sing in English, but the music has this magnetic thing that can make a few of his disciples hum along, and it feels like they know the lyrics. Shen Qingqiu enjoys it very much.

Luo Binghe is the only one who actually hears him sing it. With English lyrics included. Of course, Luo Binghe has no idea what it means, but that doesn't mean he can't imitate it! So he's singing softly while washing some robes, enjoying Shizun's musical gift to him, when he hears someone stumble.

That someone turns out to be Shang Qinghua, the An Ding Peak Lord, who stands up from the ground with wide eyes. Luo Binghe interrupts his song, looking at him in confusion, when Shang-shishu... run at him?!

"Bro" Shang-shishu says, in a casual and unpleasant manner, with an expression on his face that Luo Binghe had never seen before, "What the fuck. What the fuck. Queen? Somebody to love? Are you kidding me? How did you get the Protagonist!?"

... and Shang Qinghua begins to speak.

Luo Binghe is sixteen years old, and at this point in his life, he is intelligent, manipulative, and able to handle the situations around him with cunning. So, he manages to keep a conversation going with Shang Qinghua by repeating strange words that he doesn't understand the meaning of, letting the man talk and say things like, Transmigrator? System? Username? How many years has he been there? How did he get the "Scum Villain" to treat him well? Is he preparing for the "Endless Abyss"? Since apparently, that thing, System, had told him that it was an "inescapable plot"...

Luo Binghe is evasive. He says he's been there since he was a baby, which turns out to be an appropriate answer. Bit by bit, he says he doesn't have many memories, which Shang Qinghua seems to understand? He says that some memories settle when he reaches adulthood? That this happened to him. He was twenty when he was really able to manage "both lives" in one coherent thing.

Luo Binghe listens, humming in all the right places, being elusive and evasive but Shang Qinghua doesn't even seem to suspect anything. He insists that he should prepare for the Endless Abyss and promises to get him some weapons and talismans that he can hide. He tells him that he hopes "His King" won't make such a fuss without so many monsters.

Finally, the evening falls, Shang Qinghua begs him to please keep seeing each other to talk, he is tired of being alone.

Luo Binghe looks at the wet clothes. He finishes washing and leaves with many things on his mind.

Shang Qinghua recognized him as a "Transmigrator", whatever that was, from the song. The song his Shizun had taught him. He had asked him how long he had been here. At first, the question hadn't made much sense, but looking back, recalling Shizun's complete change in temperament and personality... Luo Binghe can get an idea of how long Shizun has been there.

Besides, what was all that about "Protagonist"? Luo Binghe is not an epic hero blessed by the gods, and he doesn't have the abilities to be classified as one. Or does he?

That night, he makes an impeccable dinner. He makes sure to present all of Shizun's favorite foods, favorite tea, and favorite scented candles. A treat for the senses. When he sees his Shizun start eating, he just smiles sweetly before:

"Shizun, this humble disciple has a question about the future."

"Mnh, this Master listens."

"Why must this disciple fall into the Endless Abyss as an inevitable plot? Is there no way the System will allow this disciple to stay with his Shizun, or is this an unavoidable fate because this humble one is the Protagonist?"

The chopsticks fall from Shizun's hand. The expression on his face is one of the deepest horror.

"Binghe, what...?"

And his Shizun looks in all directions. He seems to be searching for something that isn't there. The "System", perhaps? Whatever that is, Binghe has never seen or felt it. And, at that moment, his Shizun doesn't seem to see it either. Or, he sees it, but what he sees seems not to be a response of cosmic horror. What he sees makes his Shizun's countenance turn peaceful. After terror and tension, his shoulders relax.

"First, Binghe has to tell me where he got all that... information" begins his Shizun. Binghe nods quickly; he won't have any problems with exposing Shang-shishu if necessary. He has no loyalty to him, not like he does to his Shizun. "Very good. Binghe, sit next to me and pour us some more tea. This is going to be a long conversation."

And it definitely was.

#svsss #svsss au #svsss ideas #mxtx svsss #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #shang qinghua #bingqiu #identity revealed #accidentally #shang qinghua brokes all the system protocols #and the system is just: fuck off im not playing anymore #basically gave them free rein to do whatever they wanted #as long as they respect certain inevitable points of the plot #there is no abyss skip #or yes?

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heartsriki · 2 days ago

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LOVE SOUNDTRACK⌇음악

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇NI-KI | Prev

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader | word count: 2k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ friends to lovers, lots of beating around the bush, no other warnings I think.

synopsis — Riki creates a playlist for you, each song reflecting your shared moments. As you listen, you uncover his hidden feelings and the confession tucked within the final track, leading to a sweet, music-filled moment where your love story plays out in perfect harmony.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊the ot7 series is done :( BUT NOW I CAN WORK ON LONGER AND DETAILED PROJECTS HURRAYYYY, hopefully yall like those when they come out!

The playlist shows up on your phone one evening without warning.

You’re sprawled across your bed, textbooks pushed to the side, a half-empty coffee cup perched precariously on your nightstand. The dorm is quiet except for the distant murmur of voices in the hallway. You’re mid-scroll through your music library when you notice it—For Y/N.

Your thumb hovers over the screen.

Weird. You don’t remember making this.

Curious, you tap on it, and the first song begins to play.

A soft melody hums through your earbuds, and immediately, something tugs at your memory. You know this song. It’s the one that you played in your dorm last winter, the night you and Riki sat by the window watching the first snowfall of the year.

You close your eyes, and the memory comes back in vivid detail.

“You think it’ll stick?” you had asked, blowing on your hot chocolate. The glass pane beside you was fogged up from the warmth inside, but beyond it, the snowflakes swirled under the streetlights.

“Doubt it,” Riki had said, drawing random doodles on the glass window like a kid. He had been watching the snow too, his expression calm. Then, he smirked. “But hey, if it does, I’ll let you abuse me with snowballs as a reward.”

You had laughed, rolling your eyes. “Like I need your permission for that.”

Now, lying in bed, you wondered about the playlist and its meaning.

Wait how did it even get on your phone?

The next day drags by in a haze of half-heard lectures and restless thoughts.

You barely remember getting dressed, barely remember grabbing your bag, and now you’re here—seated across from Riki at your usual table in the campus café, fingers curled around a cup of coffee that’s gone lukewarm.

And he says nothing.

Not a single word about the playlist.

You watch him, searching for any sign that he’s waiting for you to bring it up. But Riki is as casual as ever, scrolling through his phone between bites of his croissant, occasionally glancing up to make some offhand comment about a ridiculous campus rumor or the professor who showed up to class with the worst fashion sense ever.

Meanwhile, your thoughts are a tangled mess.

The playlist. The songs. What do they mean?

Your heart slams against your ribs just thinking about it.

Does he know you listened? Does he want you to say something?

You grip your coffee cup a little tighter, clearing your throat. “So… did you do anything interesting last night?”

It’s a test. A chance for him to bring it up naturally.

Riki hums, still staring at his phone. “Not really. Just played some games with Jake, went to bed late. You?”

You blink. Your fingers tighten around the cup.

Seriously?

He’s going to act like nothing happened?

Your eyes narrow, and you wait—wait for the moment he cracks, for the smirk, for the teasing remark, for anything that shows he knows exactly what he did.

But nothing comes.

“Just slept,” you mutter, forcing yourself to take a sip of coffee, even though it tastes bitter now.

The silence stretches between you.

It’s unbearable.

Your mind races through possibilities. Maybe he sent it by accident. Maybe it wasn’t meant for you at all. Maybe—

Riki stretches lazily in his seat, his hoodie slipping off his shoulder. “Oh, by the way,” he says, and for a second, your breath catches. Finally.

But then—

“Wanna grab ramen after class?”

You stare at him, your stomach flipping.

That’s it? That’s all?

Your grip tightens on your cup as you force a nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

Riki grins, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

And as he goes back to his phone, casually sipping his drink, you realize—

If he won’t bring it up, you might just have to.

but of course Riki doesn’t bring up the playlist over ramen either.

You sit across from him in the crowded little shop just off campus, the air thick with the scent of broth and spices. The steam from your bowl curls between you, but it does nothing to chase away the tension sitting heavy in your chest.

You’ve been waiting—waiting—for him to say something, to acknowledge what he sent you. But instead, he slurps his noodles like it’s just another night, like he didn’t put together an entire playlist filled with memories.

And it’s driving you insane.

“You’re quiet today,” Riki remarks, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl as he watches you. His tone is light, but there’s something in his gaze—curious, a little teasing. Like he knows something is up.

You set your spoon down a little too forcefully. “Am I?”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk. “Yeah. So weird too. You usually don’t shut up.”

Your jaw tightens. Unbelievable.

If anyone else had made that comment, you’d have thrown a napkin at their face. But right now, you can barely focus on coming up with a comeback.

Your stomach flips just remembering it.

The worst part? Riki looks normal. Like none of this is affecting him at all.

Fine. If he wants to play it cool, two can play that game.

You lean back in your seat, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

Riki quirks a brow, tilting his head slightly. “That’s new.”

Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks. Say something. Bring it up. Ask him.

But just as you open your mouth, he reaches over, stealing a piece of your fish cake right off your plate.

You slap his hand, scowling. “Excuse me?”

He just grins, chewing obnoxiously. “What? You looked distracted. Figured you wouldn’t notice.”

You do throw a napkin at him this time.

And just like that, the moment passes. The conversation shifts to something else—an upcoming test, some campus drama, a new game he’s been obsessed with.

But underneath it all, the tension lingers.

Because you know the truth.

Riki put together that playlist for you.

And no matter how hard he tries to pretend it’s nothing, you know.

The only question is—when are you going to make him admit it?

That night, you give in.

You’re lying in bed again, phone resting on your chest, screen glowing softly in the dark. Your thumb hovers over For Y/N, heart hammering like it’s some kind of forbidden secret.

Riki still hasn’t said a word about it.

But you can’t let it go.

With a quiet breath, you press play.

The next song starts slow, familiar guitar chords filling your ears. The moment it plays, you recognize it—it’s from that weekend trip to the beach last summer.

Your lips part slightly as the memory washes over you.

The sun had just started to set, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. You and Riki had been sitting in the sand, sneakers discarded, the distant sound of waves blending into the music playing from his speaker.

“If I had to pick a favorite sunset, this would be it.” You had stretched your arms behind you, leaning back, letting the breeze tangle in your hair.

“You say that every time.” Riki had scoffed, but his voice was softer than usual.

“Because it always feels true in the moment.”

He hadn’t responded right away. You remember that part clearly. He had just looked at you for a second, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, instead of saying anything, he had reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before quickly looking away, pretending like he hadn’t just done it.

You had pretended, too.

Now, lying in the dark, you exhale shakily.

You’re not imagining this. You can’t be.

These songs—they’re not just random picks. They’re moments, his moments, things that must have meant something to him.

And the more you listen, the clearer it becomes.

You need to talk to him.

The next day, it happens by surprise.

Because of you.

You’re sitting outside the café on campus, staring at your untouched drink, mind replaying the song over and over, when Riki slides into the seat across from you with a lazy grin.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teases, stealing one of your fries without asking.

You don’t respond. Just stare at him, long enough that the grin fades slightly from his lips.

“What?” he asks, chewing.

“Why won’t you admit that you made it?.”

His chewing slows. “Made what?”

You inhale sharply. “The playlist.”

Silence.

Riki freezes for half a second—so quick you almost miss it—before he forces a shrug, looking off to the side. “Yeah, so what? I made it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the casual admittance. “So what? You weren’t ever going to bring it up?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t know I had to.” Then, before you can say anything else, he pushes his phone across the table toward you, screen lighting up with his music app. “Just—listen to the last song.”

Your stomach twists. “Riki—”

“Just listen.”

And the way he says it—quiet, firm, almost nervous—makes you reach for his phone without another word.

You hesitate for only a second before pressing play.

The song starts slow, just like the last one—soft piano notes trickling in, delicate and familiar. It takes only a few seconds before you recognize it.

Your breath catches.

This song—it’s from that night.

The night it rained.

You remember it so clearly now, like the memory has just been waiting to resurface.

You and Riki had been caught in the sudden downpour, running through the empty streets, your shoes slapping against the wet pavement. You had been laughing, breathless, soaked to the bone, and Riki had grabbed your wrist, pulling you under the awning of a closed bookstore.

“We suck at checking the weather.” You had panted, pushing your dripping hair out of your face.

“No, you suck at checking the weather,” Riki had corrected, shaking out his arms like a wet dog.

You had rolled your eyes, shivering slightly. Without a word, Riki had tugged off his soaked hat, shaking off the rain before draping it over your head.

“Riki—”

“Just wear it,” he had muttered, avoiding your eyes. “Protects you from the rain a bit.”

The moment had stretched between you, heavy despite the laughter that had just filled the air. You remember how his fingers had brushed against yours when he adjusted the hat, how close he had been, how the rain had clung to his lashes when he finally looked at you.

And now—this song.

It had been playing from the small speaker outside the bookstore, blending into the sound of raindrops and your pounding heart.

Back in the present, sitting across from Riki in the café, you slowly set his phone down.

He’s not looking at you, gaze fixed on the table, fingers tapping against his cup.

Your chest feels impossibly tight.

“This song,” you whisper. “I remember it.”

Riki lets out a quiet breath, barely a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? thought you wouldn’t with your short term memory.”

Your heart stutters. “Why—” You swallow. “Why put this one last?”

Finally, he looks at you. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite place—something cautious, something vulnerable.

“Because that’s when I knew.”

Your stomach flips. “Knew what?”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s frustrated with himself. Then, he meets your gaze, eyes steady.

“That I liked you.”

The words hang between you, weighty and real.

“Me too” you responded.

Series Taglist — prev

@saphiranishimurashan @elairah @baribaaari @m1kkso @letwiiparkjay @jellyluv4eva @manuosorioh @moontyun @mbsnow @taesanoreohair @tiny-shiny @glimmerinaaa @e-r-i-15 @starbyeol1512 @seyoungiesleeps @vrusha01 @enhaprettystars @luv-rizzimura

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #fanfic #fluff fic #enhypen niki #ni ki enhypen #ni ki x reader #ni ki fluff #nishimura riki #niki x reader #ni ki

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wortsandall · 3 days ago

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YES THE SEX THING !!! it bothers me so much but i see it less so i didn't mention it. but like jazz is friendly and charismatic and his whole thing is music, so i feel like people have this idea in their head that those traits automatically = a nymphomaniac or something.

which would be fine on its own as a standalone context but in context for jazz-it does become an issue because of the connotations of a black coded character being written that way.

especially since jazz has not been depicted like that in any media that has him in it (as far as im aware) so it's an authors personal choice to add this in there for essentially the reason of...? why?

its NOT a jazz character trait. as far as i've seen anyway as i haven't seen every jazz character ever written but i also feel like if he was intended to be seen like that, they'd have no problem doing that. other characters have been written to be like that-there's jokes about certain characters flirting with earth cars and stuff. i mean knock out's entire vibe is tf prime is something like that with his voice, he canonized interface as a cybertronian word for sex, borderline flirting with starscream, etc...

where the nuance comes in here is that there's nothing wrong with a headcanon. and people can headcanon jazz to be like that. and theres nothing inherently wrong with being a flirt and liking sex, whatever.

it just becomes odd that this trait ive only ever seen be added to jazz and never anyone else. and the way its written 50% of the time is completely the 'black guy with a big dick he loves to swing around' stereotype that makes me click off.

(i read one where because jazz is a spy its mentioned he's had to rape people for interrogation purposes before and i immediately clicked off because what the hell are you talking about ???? it felt completely out of place. i guess you could write a story in which that happens-i've got zero issues with dark fic.

but using jazz of all people? i didn't like that. i know jazz is a spy and he's done bad shit before but i just couldn't believe in that.

its the whole 'he wouldn't fucking say that' thing. because people can do whatever they want (all i'm asking is to be a little more socially aware of stereotyping) but ultimately when you're writing fic and you want it to be in character you have to write a set of circumstances that would make a character actually say that. throwing it into a fic that is ultimately the same universe with the same circumstances just slightly tweaked is not enough of a circumstance to make me believe that he would do that to interrogate people. its bad out of character writing. but this is a tangent)

this is getting long (sorry!) but basically yes the "jazz is a beast in the sheets and needs sex 24/7 and we'll talk about every type of past relationship he's ever had and also did you know he's had sex with EVERYONE on the ark" is something that i find so distasteful. because its not jazz.

when i read the idw comics and saw jazz i did not see what these writers were seeing. and it feels like a purposeful choice to see him like that versus the guy he actually is. im not an expert but he's just a charming musician who's pretty laid back and uses that as an advantage for a spy stuff sometimes.

i don't think it's really an act that he's a generally nice dude who just also has the whole "i got to do what needs to be done thing prowl has" but he actually does feel guilt (which is why i don't think he would ever take an interrogation far enough to rape somebody jesus christ) and he does let emotion get in the way like when he killed that guy on earth.

its feels off putting to turn the guy i described above into the type of guy that would:

- continue to flirt with prowl after being rejected over and over again (comes up a lot in jazzprowl)

-disrespect boundaries/be sexually aggressive in general

-talk about sex all the time even when inappropriate

-run off to jerk off or have inappropriately timed sex

all things ive seen across various different fics. and if you want to write jazz that way you better create a set of circumstances that makes me believe it. because throwing it into tf animated of all continuities (as an example) just make me immediately side eye your priorities

tldr; the jazz sex fiend trend does bother me. i don't think writing him that way or enjoying him written that way automatically makes you racist. but i do encourage people to explore any subconscious bias they may have because that trait doesn't make sense for jazz. especially if you want to write in character jazz fics.

in the spirit of honesty...the way some of yall write jazz in transformers fanfic is honestly appalling. it screams ive never met a black person in my life. it screams i watched michael bays 2007 transformers and took notes, as if the bayverse hasnt been criticized for its terrible stereotyping.

yes, he has an accent. yes, he uses slang. but jesus christ. his usage is not as egregious as yall write it. yall write him like hes stupid and uneducated. the ultimate caricature of a black man. its super insulting.

and i get that he's not actually black due to not being human but he is black coded and the treatment is abysmal at times.

my advice? JUST WRITE DIALOGUE. our brains do the rest. i know what he sounds like, i can fill it in myself.

stop writing "ay, ya sure ya got shit handled, fam'? bro, i 'aint no fool, i gots that dog n' me."

ESPECIALLY BC JAZZ HAS NEVER. SPOKEN LIKE THAT ANYWAY.

sincerely, a (very) frustrated black person.

#also i will be looking at those recs thank you very much #this got SO LONG im sorry #jazz #tf jazz #transformers #maccadam

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squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame · 2 days ago

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To cool to cry

character: Nam-Gyu X fem!reader

Summary: Nam-Gyu swears he’s “too cool” for cheesy romance movies, but his girlfriend catches him tearing up during a particularly emotional scene. 🦑🦑

Warnings: none

Nam-Gyu had spent the past thirty minutes acting like he wasn’t paying attention to the movie.

He sat with his arms crossed, legs sprawled across the couch, making occasional comments like,

“This is so predictable,”

and “No way would that ever happen in real life.”

His girlfriend wasn’t fooled. She had picked this movie for a reason—some over-the-top romantic drama with grand declarations of love and a tragic, tearjerking ending. Nam-Gyu had sworn up and down that he was immune to such things.

“Too cool,” he had said, “too manly,” he had added, which had made her roll her eyes. Now, as the climax of the movie played out—rain-soaked lovers clinging to each other, dramatic music swelling—she stole a glance at him. He was still trying to play it cool, but his jaw was tense, and his blinking was suspiciously frequent.

His fingers curled slightly like he was physically resisting an emotional reaction. Then it happened.

A single, unmistakable tear slid down his cheek. Her eyes widened in delight. *

Gotcha. Nam-Gyu must have realized it too because he immediately sniffed, wiped his face aggressively, and tried to pass it off with a yawn.

“Ugh, I think there’s dust in here,”

he muttered. “Uh-huh,” she said, biting back a grin. “Super dusty.” Unfortunately for him, his betrayal of his “manly” image wasn’t just witnessed by her. His friends, who had been in the next room playing video games, had overheard everything.

“Wait a second,” one of them called out.

“Did Nam-Gyu just cry over a romance movie?” Nam-Gyu stiffened.

“What? No. I just—” Another friend popped his head in, grinning.

“I knew it! You act all tough, but you’ve got a soft little marshmallow heart, don’t you?”

His girlfriend nodded eagerly. “I knew he’d crack.”

The teasing began immediately. “Next movie night, we’re watching the sappiest thing we can find.”

“Bro, we’re getting you a box of tissues for your birthday.”

“Hey, it’s okay, man. Real men cry.” Nam-Gyu groaned, dramatically collapsing onto the couch.

“I hate all of you.”

His girlfriend leaned over, kissing his cheek. “No, you don’t. You just hate that I was right.” Nam-Gyu sighed in defeat. “Maybe.” Then, after a pause:

“...But seriously, why did she have to die in the end? That was so unnecessary.” His friends howled with laughter, and Nam-Gyu buried his face in a pillow, regretting everything.

🦑🦑🦑

#namgyu x you #nam gyu #namgyu headcanon #namgyu headcanons #namgyu x reader #namgyu squid game #squid game headcanons #player 124 #Player 124 #squid game x y/n #squid game #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #squid game netflix

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musingsofmajesty · 2 days ago

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𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 | 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐥. 𝐕

pairing shy eddie x flirty reader | summary Eddie was expecting a chill Sunday, but between answering the door shirtless, an unexpected "I love you," and overthinking it while making mac and cheese, it’s fair to say his day takes a turn | fluff | wc 900

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[best enjoyed in order, but not required! ♡]

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．

When three knocks sound on Eddie’s front door, he’s almost certain he's imagining them. But there’s no doubt someone’s outside when more arise. Maybe if he turned down his stereo, he’d be able to hear for once.

His fingers fumble to tie the drawstring of his sweatpants as he heads for the door.

He doesn’t bother looking out the window or peephole to see who it is first. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and Ms. Daphne was probably swinging by to let him know she fed Mila, the stray calico who made the Munson residence her home base after strolling around the trailer park.

But no—it’s you standing there with a smile on your lips and that same ever-present sparkle in your eyes.

You have every intention to utter a dignified greeting, but he’s shirtless. Yes, shirtless. His milky torso displays dark, fantastical tattoos. A thin line of hair runs downwards from his belly button. A handful of freckles dot his skin as well.

“Well, hello.” A pinch of playfulness dances around the edges of your words.

Only then does Eddie consider he might be giving the wrong impression by answering the door half-dressed.

“Hey. Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly and attempts to cross a modest arm across himself. “Just took a shower.” His damp hair attests to the fact.

You trail him inside, but after he closes the door behind you, he makes a beeline to his bedroom to turn down his music and wrestle on a shirt.

“Wait up, Teddy,” you chuckle lightly.

An Iron Maiden t-shirt is already in his grasp by the time you stop in his bedroom doorway.

“You didn’t even let me get a good look at you.” The lilt of your tone makes warmth rush to his face, ears, and neck. One of these days, he would get used to your unabashed flirting.

“Sweetheart…” With a shake of his head, he briefly casts his flustered gaze elsewhere.

“You look good.” Your tone is lovely and sincere. “I like your tattoos.”

He meets your gaze again and decides to throw you a bone. “Yeah?”

You hum in confirmation, crossing the distance to stand before him. The fresh scent of pine soap lingers on his skin. He watches you run a gentle finger over the spider beneath his collarbone. Then, the floating demon head just beneath it.

“Even though they’re kinda scary.”

“Thanks,” he says through a smile.

After putting on his shirt, he studies you with quiet fondness. All he can think to do is steal a brief kiss from your lips.

A light, airy feeling flutters through your chest when he gently taps the tip of your nose. “Gonna find your off button one of these days,” he murmurs.

“Good luck trying.”

Later, you find yourselves cruising around Hawkins. Your aimless drives have become some of your favorite things. Eddie looks good behind the wheel but thinks you look prettier sitting shotgun, playing with his rings as his hand rests in your lap.

“Shit,” he mutters as you come to a stoplight.

You snort, but not unkindly. “What happened?”

“We’ve got that quiz in Mrs. O’Donnell’s tomorrow,” he says. “I haven’t even done the reading.”

“It’s a short chapter,” you tell him. “You should have enough time tonight.”

“Thank God,” he sighs as the light turns green. “Thought I was gonna have to ditch.”

You can’t help but tip your head back and laugh sweetly. “Please don’t. I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll miss me even more if I flunk out and you graduate without me.”

Another laugh bubbles up your throat, and you gently swat his arm. All things considered, Eddie’s been doing really well this quarter. He has a B+ in Mrs. O’Donnell’s, so failing the quiz wouldn’t completely destroy his grade.

You’re proud of him. Maybe even a little more than you let on. You’ve seen how hard he’s been working to ensure he graduates, so he’s earned the right to make a failure joke or two, especially now that those days are behind him.

“Gosh, I love you,” you sigh as your amusement settles.

I love you. I love you. I love you. Even though there’s no weight behind your delivery, Eddie still can’t help how his grip on the wheel tightens. The way his gaze flicks to you. In return, you smile, unaware you’ve just shaken his world. A part of him waits for you to circle back and double down, but you don’t.

For now, your smile is enough.

Your “I love you” remains beneath his skin after you’re back in his trailer. You can’t help but notice he’s gone particularly quiet and pensive as he stands at the stovetop, stirring macaroni for the two of you. It isn’t long before you pad over and snake your arms around his slender waist.

“You okay?” you murmur into his shirt.

He hums, almost distantly.

“You’re quiet,” you press.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

Eddie sets the fork down and turns around in your arms. “You.”

A frown forms on your face. “Did I say something? I’m sorry if I did. I know I’m a lot.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides lightly. “You’re not.”

His sincerity makes you tilt your head. “What am I then?”

“One of the best things about this town,” he says without hesitation. It feels as though he’s just laid his heart bare.

“I…” he lets his sentence trail off even though it longs to continue.

Behind him, the macaroni continues to bubble on the stove.

You smile in encouragement. “You what?”

I love you.

Thank you so much for reading. All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all! ♡

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DAY BY DAY MASTERLIST

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn #stranger things fic

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rainydayathogwarts · 2 days ago

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majestic march m.list

✯ mar 1 ✯ never ending song - sirius black

rockstar!reader - when your parents divorce, you decide to move to london to finish your last year of school, and take your music career there with you. what happens when you meet another pureblood rebel named sirius black

✯ mar 3 ✯ that look on your face - draco malfoy

draco malfoy's usually neutral face has a tendency to make people think he hates them, but his face always fails to betray his adoration over you.

✯ mar 5 ✯ what boyfriend? - harry potter -> 3k celebration

when you are bed ridden due to your period, Madame Pomfrey comes to check in on you and play match-maker.

✯ mar 7 ✯ the princess and her knight - sirius black

when your boyfriend dumps you, sirius does everything in his power to get you to smile again. and maybe make you understand how much he likes you

✯ mar 9 ✯ when the war is over - poly!marauders -> 3k celebration

with the war escalating, everyone is rethinking their values, and it seems like yours don't match with one of the people closest to your heart.

✯ mar 11 ✯ Phantom of the Opera: Prologue - "Sing, my angel of music" - Remus Lupin

You had always been grateful that your parents put all their money into making you the best at something you loved - musical theatre. The opening night of your new show is opening doors for you beyond your career.

✯ mar 13 ✯ perfect pureblooded daughter - malfoy!reader

being a metamorphmagus isn't easy, especially when your parents want you to be a perfect, pureblooded daughter, stoic and emotionless.

✯ mar 15 ✯ summer lovin' - harry potter

you decide to visit harry over the summer, playing the classic 'girl next door' so harry's uncle lets you in.

✯ mar 17 ✯ mind blowing kisser - platonic marauders

your friend group finds out something shocking about you, Hogwarts's biggest heartthrob

✯ mar 29 ✯ only woman - james potter -> 3k celebration

the first time you and james have a friendly conversation after your breakup leads to something more...

✯ mar 21 ✯ Phantom of the Opera: Chapter 1 - "Think of me fondly" - Remus Lupin

Sirius has to bring moral support with to come watch your debut as Christine in the Phantom of the Opera. Despite the judgemental pureblooded families around the pair, they are both serenaded by your enchanting singing.

✯ mar 23 ✯ before you go - fred weasley

after years of chasing after you, fred weasley finally convinces you to go on a date with him, and he makes sure to prove all the times you've rejected him wrong

✯ mar 25 ✯ after curfew - harry potter

you and harry seem to forget his godfather is doing rounds when you sneak out after curfew

✯ mar 27 ✯ Mrs. Malfoy Riddle - mattheo riddle

mattheo doesn't care that you're betrothed to his best friend, especially not when you're so in love. so he guarantees one last night before you're officially his.

✯ mar 29 ✯ a job for a godparent - harry potter

harry knows you're the love of his life, but he just needs to know that you want kids as much as he does. a day at his house over the summer confirms it.

✯ mar 31 ✯ familiar faces - ron weasley -> request

when ron unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams through a one night stand, he realises it may affect his relationship with his best friend, who he discovers is her step-father.

#rainydayathogwarts masterlists #rainydayathogwarts #harry potter #fred weasley #ron wealsey #james potter #marauders x reader #draco malfoy #sirius black

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dfstolenart · 7 hours ago

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Oh baby | Criminal Minds

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x F!Reader .・゜✭・.

Summary: you and Spencer unexpectedly become parents despite not being together officially

A/N: This is probs my fav fic I’ve written, so far. Hope you guys love it<3 lmk your thots:D also not proof-read I just wanted to get something posted.

BYR(b4 u Reid): Kind of a situationship?, nervous and scared Reid | kissing lol <- [warnings]

You woke up feeling absolutely miserable, maybe even worse than a hangover. A wave of nausea hit you hard, sending you rushing to your bathroom.

Dropping to your knees in front of your toilet, you barely had a second to catch your breath before you started throwing up, your stomach twisting with each heave “gross” you muttered

Flushing the toilet, and brushing your teeth you run to your alarm reading the time 7:30 am

Thirty minutes before you had to be at your desk

You throw on something work-appropriate but comfortable, not having energy to put much effort into your appearance after the rough start to your morning

As you walk towards the door, your eyes flicker to your calendar. Something makes you pause, and you decide to check it

A sinking feeling settles into your stomach when you see it’s around the time you’re supposed to start your cycle, but you quickly brush it off not wanting to stress yourself out even more

Cycles change all the time you convinced yourself it was just happening to you

As soon as the elevator doors opened, you hurried out, making a beeline for your desk.

“Just in time.” Spencer noted as you arrived

“I was worried I was going to be late.”

“You had exactly one minute to spare.” He held up a cup of coffee “I picked it up on the way.”

You took the cup but eyed him skeptically before grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards a quieter corner, his brows furrowed in confusion

“It’s a nice gesture, really,” you said as you lifted up the cup “But this looks a little suspicious.”

“Getting you coffee is suspicious?” He questioned

You sighed “I just don’t want the team in our business. They’re already catching on, and I’d rather keep this between us.”

He considered that for a moment before nodding “If it helps, I’ll buy Derek coffee tomorrow to throw them off.” He suggested

You couldn’t help but smile “you’re annoying.”

Spencer chuckled, then, to your surprise, laced his fingers with yours “you know.” He said matter of factly “If anything looks suspicious, it’s you pulling me somewhere private for a conversation.”

You nodded agreeing with him “You’re right.” and with that you let go of his hand “I’ll talk to you later.” you say as you walk away from the tall gorgeous man

You’d be lying if you said you didn't miss the way your fingers felt together or the sounds that leave his mouth when he laughs

It was like music to your ears

You know you shouldn't feel that way since what you guys have isn’t official, and you didn’t want to get hurt.

A few days have passed and it was like each day was worser than the last, now it was headaches, fatigue, nausea all creeping in at the worst moments

But you're convinced its just a bug, between the stress of the last case you and your team did and the lack of sleep it makes sense that your body is shutting down

Except, your girl friends at the BAU don't believe that one bit

“Geez, you look pale.” JJ says as she leans against your desk, arms crossed “And she’s been running to the bathroom a lot.” Emily joins in

You wave them off “I'm just coming down with something”

“Yeah that's what you said yesterday, and the day before.” Penelope recalls “What is this an intervention?” you question

“Nope, just your friends worried about you.” JJ says as she shared a knowing look with Emily and Pen

“It’s nothing.” you assured them

“Hey, I brought you some tea.” Spencer says as he joins the group, setting a cup down in front of you. His eyes scan your face with concern “you look sick.”

Your stomach twists at his comment “Do I really look that bad?” you ask feeling a bit insecure

Spencer's eyes widen slightly, he stumbles on his words “No-no, not bad. I just meant… you seem unwell. That's all.”

Emily smirks, shaking her head “Way to go, Dr. Reid.” she grabs her files and walks off

JJ gives you a sympathetic look as she stands “And that's our cue to leave. Come on, Penelope.” Garcia leans in as she follows JJ “Feel better sunshine.” she says before disappearing down the hall

Spencer shifts on his feet “I’m sorry. I shouldn't of had said it like that.”

You sigh, feeling guilty for your reaction “It’s okay. I’m just feeling extra sensitive today. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

He studies you for a moment, then lowers his voice “Have you thought about seeing a doctor? You've been sick for awhile now.”

You shake your head quickly “It’s not that serious.” but Spencer doesn't look convinced “Well…If you need anything, I'm right here.

You offer him a smile “Thanks, Spence.”

As he walks away, you stare at the tea he left behind. The more you think about it, the more unease settles in your chest. What if this isn’t just a stomach bug? What if it’s something worse.

And worse than that, what if you’re right?

As soon as lunch rolled around, you grabbed JJ, Emily, and Penelope by the arms “Come with me. Now.”

“Where are we going?” Garcia asked, eyeing you curiously “A store.” You hesitated, lowering your voice “I need a test.”

All three of them stopped in their tracks, wide eyed “Like a test test?” JJ asked, eyebrows raised, you nodded the fear in your eyes answering for you

“Okay.” Emily said already walking “Let’s go.”

“Wouldn’t you want to do this with…you know, whoever might’ve done this?”

“Uh, no. He’s busy.” You said quickly, leading them toward the exit, but just as you reached the door, Morgan and Spencer appeared

“Hey, where are you guys headed?” Morgan asked “Yeah, I thought we were all getting lunch at Caesars.” Spencer added, Rossi standing beside him

JJ reacted fast “We’re getting medicine for y/n” Spencer frowned “Oh I can come. I know which one will work best.”

“No, no, no, we got it.” Garcia said quickly waving him off Spencer narrowed his eyes, clearly sensing something was off, but eventually nodded “Alright. See you later.”

The four of you bolted out the door.

Inside the store, you stood frozen in front of all the pregnancy test selections, overwhelmed.

“Why are there so many?” You groaned, scanning the shelves “These are easy to read.” JJ said, grabbing a Clear Blue and handing it to you

You grimaced “Do I have to put it on the register?”

Emily snorted “You literally profile murderers for a living, but you’re scared to purchase a pregnancy test?”

“No wonder you might be pregnant” Garcia teased “Were you too scared to buy condoms too?”

You shot them a glare “Hilarious.”

JJ rolled her eyes and grabbed the test from your hand “I’ll put it down.” you sighed in relief “Thank you.”

At the register, you all smiled stiffly at the cashier as he rang it up. He barely acknowledged you guys, but that didn't stop you from feeling widely judged.

Back at the BAU, the four of you rushed to the restroom.

“Pee on the stick, wait five minutes, and we’ll either celebrate or cry.” JJ instructed “Your call.”

You exhaled, feeling like you were preparing for battle “Alright.” Stepping into the stall, you did what you had to do, then set the rest down on the counter, turning it away from you

“Timer is set.” Garcia announced, your heart pounded, you knew what the results was going to be, and that terrified you more than anything

The four of you sat in silence on the restroom floor, gross, but none of you cared right now. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air

“Time’s up.” Garcia finally said glancing at you with concern, you swallowed hard “I can't look.”

“Want us to?” Emily offered you nodded “Please”

JJ picked it up first. The three of them leaned in, their expressions unreadable. Then, without a word JJ handed it to you

Your hands trembled as you looked down

Pregnant

Your heart dropped, and a lump formed in your throat, but you refused to break. Not here, not now. Instead, you slowly nodded, forcing out a breath “okay”

“So…is this good or bad?” Garcia asked, studying your face, you opened your mouth, then closed it “I don't know.” you admit

“Are you going to tell him?” JJ asked gently, you nodded “eventually.”

Emily places a reassuring hand on your shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze “We’ll give you time to process, when you're ready, we’re here.”

Each of them gives you a small, comforting smile before slipping out of the restroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling

“Why? Why? Why?” you whispered to yourself

This wasn't just about you.

This was about Spencer.

Your coworker.

A man you weren't even in a relationship with.

How the hell were you going to tell him?

You stepped out the restroom, exhausted and ready to be anywhere but here. Your body felt heavy, your mind even more so. All you wanted was to crawl into bed and shut the world out.

“Hey! We’re still on for tonight?”

The familiar voice made you stop in your tracks. Of course it was Spencer.

“Tonight?” You frowned, genuinely confused

He gave you a puzzled look “Movie night? At my place? Like it has been every Friday for the past six months?”

“Oh…right.” You let out an awkward laugh, and rubbed the back of your neck “Sorry, I’m just- are you sure you want me there? I don’t want to get you sick.” You say even though you knew what you had wasn’t contagious

“I’ll be fine.” He said with a small smile “I can disinfect everything.”

You hesitated before nodding “then, I’ll be there.” “Great.”

Silence settled between you two, he looked at you like he knew something was off, and part of you wanted to just say it right then and there.

“Well, I should get back to my files.” You said quickly making an excuse to leave.

Before you could slip away, he gently grabbed your hand “Are you sure you’re alright?” His voice was quieter now, more concerned.

“Yes, Spencer, I’m fine.” You forced a reassuring smile, but his eyes searched yours unconvinced

“Did I…do something?”

“What? No!” Your stomach knotted at the thought of him blaming himself “why would you think that?”

He hesitated “Just how you’ve been acting recently, I want to know if it’s because of me.”

You sighed, squeezing his hand before pulling away “It’s not you, I promise.”

He nodded but the uncertainty was still there “Okay.”

With that, you turned and walked back to your desk, diving into your files, forcing yourself to focus. For a couple hours, it worked. You got lost in the work, grateful for the temporary escape— until a voice whispered right into your ear

“So… who’s the father?”

You jumped, nearly knocking over your coffee “Jesus Garcia.” She grinned unapologetically “Sorry, did I scare the baby?”

You glared at her “No, you scared me.” She leaned in closer “Can I take a guess?”

You gave her a warning look “You don’t know him.”

Garcia scoffed “Sweetie, I know this guy. Anyone with a pair of eyes can tell just by the way you two interact. You guys are getting it on.”

Your face burned “Penelope.”

She wiggled her eyebrows “So, it is who I think it is.” You sighed, lowering your voice “You have to keep this a secret. Please.”

She immediately sobered, nodding “Of course, but you are telling him, right?”

You swallowed hard, glancing over at Spencer who was talking to Hotch across the room “Yeah.”

“I’m happy for you guys, no matter what you choose to do.” Garcia said warmly you gave her a small grateful smile

“Thank you. I just- I don’t know what to do. I know my options, obviously, but I don’t think I can go through with that. But at the same time, I don’t want to do this if Spencer isn’t ready. I don’t want to hold him back.”

Garcia shook her head “Look, he loves you. It’s so obvious the little things he does for you, the way he talks about you when you aren’t around. He is going to be ready.”

You let out a deep sigh, looking down at your hands “we’re not even together.” The admission felt embarrassing, like it somehow made everything worse

“Honey, you know Spencer. It takes him awhile, but he’ll come around to making it official. He’s just scared.” You exhaled leaning back into your chair

“Yeah…maybe.”

“not maybe— definitely” she corrected “Just give him time.”

The work day ended, and you had finally returned home, you threw yourself on your bed still in your work clothes but too lazy to change

You laid there deep in your thoughts until you drifted off to sleep

You weren’t sure how long you had been out but there was knocking at your door that woke you

You looked through the hole and seen it was Spencer, he looked worried “Spencer?” You question as you open the door allowing him to enter

“I was calling, you never answered. I got worried.” He tells you as he looks at you scanning to make sure you were alright “I fell asleep, I’m so sorry.” You apologize “no it’s okay. I’m just happy you’re safe.”

“Today was exhausting.” You admitted. He gave you a look of understanding “Can I do anything to help?”

Your cheeks warmed at the sincerity in his voice. He was always quick to offer whatever he could “No, it’s alright.”

“Are you sure? I give great massages.” He teased, a small smirk playing on his lips, you let out a small laugh “I’m sure, Spencer. How about we just watch a movie?”

He nodded, clearly liking the idea “what are you in the mood for?”

You thought for a moment. After everything today, you just wanted something comforting, something that reminded you of simpler times

“The Fox and the Hound.”

Spencer’s face lit up with a soft smile “That’s a good one.”

“Can you set it up while I change?” You asked “of course.” Spencer replied without hesitation

You stepped into your room, closing the door behind you. As you emptied your pockets your fingers brushed against the pregnancy test. You sighed, staring at it for a moment before tucking it away in your nightstand drawer

Once you had changed into something more comfortable, you walked back out, expecting to see Spencer in the living room but he wasn’t there. You glanced around and spotted him in the kitchen.

“I decided we needed popcorn.” He casually said as he poured some into a bowl “That’s a good idea.” You smiled

Settling on the couch, you grabbed the remote as Spencer joined you, sitting down beside you with the bowl in hand.

You pressed play and it didn’t take long for you to immersive yourself in the familiar comfort of the movie

The movie held your full attention, so much so that you barely noticed every time your hand brushed against Spencer's in the popcorn bowl.

It had always been your favorite movie as a kid, but now watching it while being pregnant, it felt different.

Then came the scene, the scene that always broke your heart as a child and even now as an adult

The little old lady drives off in her car, away from the Fox leaving him in the woods to be free. It felt like it hit you harder then ever before, and suddenly you couldn’t hold back the tears

Spencer turned his head, noticing the way your shoulders shook “Are you crying?” He asked softly “no.” You lied even as you wiped at your cheeks

You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, trying to play it off. Spencer shook his head, shifting to face you. Without a word, he reached out, gently brushing away a stray tear “Hey, it’s alright. It’s a sad scene.” he agreed

Your eyes met his “I think I could use that massage now.” a small smile played on his lips “I think you could too.”

You turned around, away from his gaze, and pulled your hair to the side giving him full access to your back. His hands found your shoulders, pressing in firmly. The tension in your muscles melted under his touch.

“You’re tense.” He murmured. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut “that feels good.”

“So, what’s been on your mind?” He asked your eyes snapped open “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been really stressed lately, today especially. You told me it’s not me, so… what is it?”

You hesitated, knowing this was the moment. You couldn’t keep avoiding it.

“Spencer.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper, his hands stilled “yeah?”

You turned to face him, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. His stomach dropped, he didn’t know what you were about to say.

“Hold on.” You murmured, quickly getting up. You rushed to your room, grabbing the test from your nightstand. When you returned, Spencer was watching you carefully, his brows furrowed in concern

You sat down, heart pounding “I have something to show you.” You say as you hold out the test to him, Spencer took it hesitantly, his eyes scanning the results

His lips parted slightly “oh.”

That single word terrified you

You weren’t sure what he was thinking.

Spencer on the other hand, his mind was racing so fast he couldn’t form a single coherent thought. His fingers tightened around the plastic stick.

“Say something.” You say as you watch him intently, his head snapped up, eyes wide, searching yours as if trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces “You’re…pregnant.” He said

You nodded “yeah.”

Spencer swallowed hard, looking back down at the test, then back to you “it’s mines..right?” He questioned hopeful that you wouldn’t have been with anyone else “of course it’s yours.” You said quickly, feeling a strange mix of emotions, offense, anxiety, fear.

“Right. No, I-i didn’t mean it like that, I just-” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he tried to process “This is…a lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Spencer went quiet again, his mind clearly catching up to reality.

And then, finally, he looked at you “How are you feeling?” He softly asked “I don’t know. Scared, overwhelmed.” You admitted

Spencer nodded and reached for your hand, taking it in his, it felt warm and grounding.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before taking his hand away and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. He held it up between you.

“I’ve been carrying this around for a while.” He admitted “It’s a list… of all the reasons I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Your breath caught “Spence-”

“I’m not finished.” He said quickly, his eyes pleading with you to let him get it all out “I’ve been planning to tell you for so long. Too long. I should’ve said something the moment I realized it was you.”

You just stared at him, heart pounding, and he cleared his throat “I even calculated the probability of a successful relationship based on compatibility factors and shared interests.” He let out a small, nervous laugh

That made you smile. Without thinking, you reached for his hand, giving it a soft squeeze

“I want to be with you.” He said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable “But don’t say yes because of the baby. Say yes because you want me the way I want you.”

His eyes searched yours “say something?” He whispered, you swallowed hard, then nodded towards the paper “Can I read it?”

Relief washed over his face as he handed it to you without hesitation “You just carry it around?”

He nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips “It reminds me of you. So even when you’re not with me, it still feels like you are.”

Your chest ached, and you smiled at him with tears in your eyes “I want to be with you.” You say

Spencer had never felt anything like this before, it was overwhelming in the best way, pure happiness, the kind he never thought he’d get to have.

Despite the fear of the unknown, he knew one thing for certain, he was happy it was you he was going to experience this with.

He pulled you into him, the embrace feeling both familiar and new. This time, there was no more unspoken words, no more uncertainty. Just the two of you, together, exactly as you were meant to be

“So…do the girls know?” He asked, remembering how strangely they all had been acting at lunch, you nodded “They were with me when I found out.”

Spencer exhaled, his eyes softening “I wish I had been there.”

“I know.” You murmured guilt tugging at your chest “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head “I just, I don’t want to miss anything. Not with you, not with this baby. Every doctors visit, every sick day, every moment, I want to be there.”

His sincerity made your heart ache in the best way “I want you to be there too.”

His fingers gently tilted your chin before he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. It was soft, and lingering.

When his tongue traced along your bottom lip, asking for more, you gave in without hesitation.

After he pulled away, he smiled, his eyes full of wonder “I can’t wait to see you grow.” You brushed a hand over his cheek, returning his smile “I can’t wait to see you become the best dad.”

Should I make this into a mini series ? Where the next part can be them telling the team? 🤭

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