#is the burn even large enough???? who knows

[aaagustd]

room for two | jjk: prologue

a series from the "Misfit Parent Collection"

⌞banner and dividers by @itaeewon

title: room for two

pairing: heir/retired boxer!jeon jungkook x single mother!reader

genre/rating: angst, slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, ceo!jungkook, divorced!reader, aged up characters (in their mid thirties), surrogacy/pregnancy au; 18+

summary: As you signed the contract, you thought all your problems were solved—and so did he. However, no one can predict what life will throw your way. 

Despite your prejudices, this journey will reveal that the bond you share goes deeper than your womb.

wc: 1.7k

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions a sh*tty parent, character death, borderline inappropriate workplace relationships but nothing has exactly happened, swearing, mentions boxing & knockouts, people either like jungkook or they hate him, let me know if i missed anything 

release date: april 26th, 2024; 10:50pm est

note: the prologue is here !! i hope you all are ready for this ride. it's been a two year journey for me and i'm so happy you all get to join me. we have a lot to cover and so many people to meet. i hope you're ready !!

series masterlist | main masterlist | inbox | join the taglist? | read on ao3

One year ago.

The doors open to reveal the setting sun on the horizon. Shades of orange and red paint the sky as the faint presence of stars patiently awaits the giant orb's departure. 

Jungkook steps out into the crisp evening air without regard for the gusts that violently displace his perfectly styled bangs. 

His urgent steps have nothing to do with the conditions. After a long and exhausting day, he tends to enjoy a nippy pre-spring breeze. 

When he approaches the exit, his energy is almost completely drained. The first step he takes out of the building is like an instant charge, and the wind hitting his face is like a slap that brings him back to reality.

If that isn't enough to wake up his brain, the sharpness of his security personnel's tone will surely have him alert. 

Two men of large stature guide him to his Porsche. He can only imagine the twinkle in his eyes when they land on his baby—resting idly while she waits for him to claim his rightful seat behind the wheel.

Jungkook nearly bypasses his guards as he takes excited strides toward his vehicle. However, a muscular bicep forms a barricade directly in front of the young CEO, reminding him of the dangers of wandering ahead of them in public. 

Only authorized staff are allowed on the premises. Still, even a company as large as Sport's 5 cannot dictate who stands on a public sidewalk. Fortunately, most of the people who choose to spend their time out here are harmless. However, he still understands the importance of safety.

Some people are so desperate they'd do anything to get a picture with the Big 5—a panel Jungkook used to sit on before being offered an executive position. 

Sport's 5 comprises five individuals who have had exceptional professional sports careers. These are mainly retired sportsmen and women who still love the game.

Jungkook was offered a seat at the table before he could properly hang up his gloves. Everyone wanted to know his story, his input and opinions, and his firsthand account of the KO he delivered right to Joey "The Rhino" Reese.

Although it was the best highlight of his career, he's never publicly spoken on that night out of respect for the legend and his family. It'd be pointless to keep retelling the events when they're online for everyone to see. 

Despite keeping his mouth shut about the fall of an icon, he still receives his share of hate from the boxer's diehard fans.

"Coward!"

He hears a man shouting insults from across the street, but most of his words are inaudible due to the distance. It can't be anything good because a family walking by promptly covers their child's ears every time the man opens his mouth.

Like on any other occasion, Jungkook shrugs off the spew of hate and gets into his car, wishing security a safe night. The engine roars as he pushes start. The sound of purring grasps one of the men's attention, and he turns around with a point, a silent compliment that Jungkook accepts with a nod as he speeds away.

With only headlights in his rearview mirror, Jungkook zooms through the city—wondering where his journey will take him. After the day he's had, home seems like a great option, but he isn't in the mood to spend a weeknight surrounded by silence in a large penthouse.

So, he drives downtown, aiming for any bar without a crowd. That shouldn't be too hard. Most people have work tomorrow, and they aren't in the mood for a party, and neither is he. 

A distraction is all he needs to ease his restless mind.

He reaches the heart of the city and parks near the curb. Heads turn as he exits his vehicle, wondering who he could be. With his shades on and natural hair color, it's hard for people to recognize his identity these days. 

Still, everyone is captivated by the car he steps out of. They could care less about his appearance. The real attention grabbers are the wealth that oozes from his body and his Porsche. Without money, he's just another guy.

Jungkook adjusts his suit as he scopes out the area. He notices the establishment across from him has upbeat music blasting through the speakers. Judging by the people lined up, waiting to get in—it's more of a nightclub than a lounge.

He sighs as he eliminates one place after another, eventually deciding to walk the strip and see what it offers. 

He nearly misses it as he strolls aimlessly, but tucked in the corner—dark and rustic—is just what he's been searching for.

Somewhere laid back and secluded; just somewhere you go for a drink and maybe a few rounds of pool.

He can count the number of occupants in there on one hand, so before anyone can figure out who he is, he steps inside and removes his glasses. He scans the room and acknowledges those who randomly lock eyes with him.

Jungkook can't help but admire the way this place is set up. The outside doesn't do it any justice; he can't even remember the name on the sign. He'll have to check on his way out; tell some of his colleagues to visit so it can gain some more customers.

He'll have to look into that another time, though. He wants to spend only a little time here, so he makes his way to the bar. 

Two women stand on each side; one is at the register printing someone's bill, and the other is already waiting for him to order.

The greeting he receives is warm and sincere. One you will only find in a few places. He offers a smile, the best he can give, at least.

"Hey. Just a Jack & Coke for me," he replies.

With a slight nod, the bartender begins preparing his drink. 

While Jungkook waits, he starts going through his phone, checking texts he missed while he was up to his neck in paperwork.

Most of them are from associates, his trainer, and…

His assistant?

The number isn't saved because he hasn't used it, but he sees the name in a previous message—letting him know he's speaking with the woman he hired four months ago.

6:54 pm (###) ###-####: Hi! I think I dropped my earring in your car when we grabbed lunch today. Can you check?

He doesn't have to.

Jungkook saw when the earring "fell" between the center console and the passenger seat. It happened right after its owner dropped it there. 

He can't help but laugh at the whole thing. Had he remembered, he would have said something immediately, but he has to admit that the low-cut blouse was a great choice. He can't count how many red lights he almost ran, sneaking glances.

Usually, he has no problem keeping things professional, but with all the flirting and teasing over the last few weeks, the temptation is becoming a bit unbearable. 

Maybe he should take a detour on the way home and return the "lost" item.

7:49 pm Him: I'll look in a few

After he sends the message, his drink is placed before him, and he abandons his phone without hesitation.

"Tab or no?"

"No, love. That's it for me.."

He places a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and pushes it toward the woman behind the counter.

"Keep what's left," he insists.

She takes the cash and walks to the register, leaving him alone to sip his liquor and bob his head to some classic rock.

As soon as the glass touches his lip, he takes a large sip, and regret washes over his entire body.

"What the—"

"Don't drink that," the other bartender whispers sharply.

She rushes over and takes the glass from his hand, instantly replacing it with a new one.

"She's trying, but…"

Jungkook understands entirely. She's still learning. Everyone's been there, even him.

"Don't worry about it," he insists. "Let me grab my wallet—"

She declines.

"It's on me, sweetheart."

Before he can argue, she walks away and disappears with the horrible drink her coworker made.

Despite the little hiccup, Jungkook is glad he found this little gem. It seems like a nice place for a good time, but also somewhere to unwind. There's a bar, a dance floor, a billiards table—and whoever is in charge of the music has great taste.

He'll definitely be back, maybe even tomorrow.

The next sip he takes does exactly what it's supposed to do. "Goddamn it."

The liquor makes his mouth and throat tingle as it travels into his body. He can feel his body relaxing already. Now, all he needs is a shower and—

His phone buzzes in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

Once again, the number is unknown. 

Jungkook intends to ignore it, but his thumb accidentally presses accept. He stares at the screen in disbelief as he hears the faint sound of someone's voice on the other end of the call.

Slowly, he brings it to his ear and acknowledges the caller.

"Hello?"

"Hi, son."

Great, this is just what he needs right now. A call from his father, someone who basically disowned him for chasing the same dream that led to his wealth and success. 

"Yeah, I'm kind of busy. Can I call you back?"

He lies so he can end the call. There isn't a drink here that can give him enough strength to put up with this man. He can't deal with this tonight, and he won't.

"Hold on!" he shouts through the phone, making Jungkook release a defeated sigh. 

He's entirely prepared to hang up in his father's face if he has to, but he'll entertain him for a few more seconds.

"Look, I don't know who pumped your balls up so large that you have the audacity to call me, but—"

"It's your grandfather, Jungkook."

There's a pause.

There is a long, dreadful pause. It's as if Jungkook already knows what he's about to say, and unfortunately, his instinct is right.

"He's dead."

thanks for reading !!💕 now that you've read the prologue. check out this poll.

[rayan12sworld]

💙🧡Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down

By:KizuKatana

Summary:

Wei Wuxian would like to think that - if he had known that Lan Wangji would walk out of his life immediately after they hooked up- he wouldn’t have given into his ridiculous attraction for the man. He wished he were better at lying to himself.

Guest-starring Lan Wangji’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters

Chapter:10/10

Words:63,215

Status:completed

“I don’t work with major sects. Especially not the Lan.”

~~

He had to see Wei Ying, to make sure he was okay. He hadn’t been allowed to see Wei Ying six years ago, and the man had nearly died. Would have died if Wen Qing hadn't randomly happened to be interviewing at Gusu hospital that same day. It was unacceptable that a sheer coincidence was the only reason Wei Ying was still alive. The company Lan Wangji’s family owned had put Wei Ying at risk, then abandoned him. Someone in his family’s company had made the decision to fire Wei Ying without notice, which violated company policy. Someone in his family’s company had further made the decision to pull medical support over a policy that was clearly not meant to be used in this way. Lan Wangji was going to find this ‘ someone .’ And when he did… Lan Wangji cut himself off at the shocking violent images that flickered through his normally peaceful mind. There was precedent for such punishments. Though much of his ancestor’s history had been burned, enough survived to make it clear that Lan discipline had always been harsh. In the modern context, he knew such measures would be viewed as archaic… even barbaric. But cultivators were given leeway by the authorities and society at large to handle their own business. Lan Wangji felt a primal sort of anger and thirst for vengeance that - for the first time in his life - made him fiercely glad that there would be no boundaries to stay his hand if he found the one responsible for Wei Ying’s treatment.

~~

“You never told me that you and Hanguang-Jun had been romantically involved.” Wei Wuxian choked on his in-drawn breath, which sent him into a coughing fit that lasted almost a minute. “What?!” He wheezed, when he could finally form words again. “Why would you think… it was only… we weren’t romantically involved. Fuck, who says shit like that?” Wen Qing eyed him skeptically. “If you’re trying to play this off cool, you are failing spectacularly. Though that’s nothing new.”

~~

Lan Xichen shot him a sideways glance, and continued to scroll. “Wangji…,” Lan Xichen said after several more pages of scrolling. “Did you have time to do anything other than follow Wei Wuxian around and document his actions?” Lan Wangji felt his ears heat as report after report with his signature flashed across the screen. He had, perhaps, not realized that there were so many reports he had written about Wei Ying. “I was the Compliance officer,” Lan Wangji replied tersely. “Mn,” Lan Xichen said, an unforgivable smirk appearing on his face. “You wrote him up for wearing too few layers on a night hunt after being covered in Yao viscera and changing into civilian attire?” Lan Wangji clenched his jaw. Wei Ying had been wearing only shorts and a tee-shirt. It had been a professional trip. It had been… distracting. “You know that most people don’t flirt by giving citations of minor rule violations to the person they are interested in, right?” Lan Xichen persisted, openly laughing at him, even if it was only with his eyes. “ Ge ,” Lan Wangji said repressively, which only served to amuse Lan Xichen more.

~~

He also really wanted to run his sword through Su She, metaphorically. And also literally. His hand flexed around the cool, smooth hilt of Bichen. He trusted his brother, but Lan Xichen was kind. Su She did not deserve kindness. “Please trust me, Wangji,” Lan Xichen pleaded, as if reading his brother’s thoughts. “Su She must face discipline. According to the sect rules, not civilian laws,” Lan Wangji stated. He would not bend on this.

[fixtheaxel]

Zuko's Scars

I find it interesting that Zuko gets 2 major scars throughout the show and both largely for the same reason. To me it shows the simplistic urge to protect that Ozai never quite managed to a stamp out of Zuko. I know we as a fandom like to talk about all the change and growth Zuko went through but the thing I feel we don't talk about nearly enough is the things that he kept. He kept his ridiculous determination, his protectiveness and most of all his dumb assery of kindness.

Throughout the show Zuko is never one to hesitate or think through his actions. We see this with his impulsiveness in challenging people to Agni Kais, disregard of Uncle's advice and you know LITERALLY SWIMMING UNDERNEATH THE NORTH POLE?! I mean seriously Zuko.

But this isn't just for his own benefit, he's never hesitated for others either, Zhao, Pikesman, Lee.

Its quite the interesting point that the first and last of Zuko's scars are both from the same reason: an unhesitating act to protect. His first one is where he yells at a general in the war council and he gets half his face burned off for it. He didn't hesitate. Didn't think about himself or what could happen to him, his only thought at that moment was to stand up for someone who can't.

Then. After getting half his face burned off to teach him a lesson. He doesn't learn it. He keeps that part of him, even when everything else outside and inside of him is changing. No, 3 years later, one of Zuko's final acts in the show. The one that essentially makes him firelord is a stupid unthinking act to save someone who can't save themselves. He's changed so much and yet keeps that. The beginning or an arc and the end of an arc, marked by a scar from a family member.

[getvalentined]

An open letter to @staff

I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.

The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.

Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.

This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.

This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.

Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.

You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.

Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.

This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.

You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.

The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.

You can do so much better than this.

Response to the Update

Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.

I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.

Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.

People read it that way because that is what you said.

*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:

136,635 votes breaks down thusly:

An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)

Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)

This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)

[diejager]

Omfg pervy roommate König!!! And his poor little roommate is none the wiser to how he abuses her poor cunt every night. He does such a good job fucking his load into her that she confides in him as a friend that she’s pregnant and is super shocked!! But that’s okay, he’ll always be there for her. Now she’ll never be able to leave him. <3

Cw: forced pregnancy, NON-CON/CUB-CON, DARKFIC, pervy!önig, perverted behaviour, somnophilia, dacryphilia, breeding kink, possessive behaviour, pregnancy, drugging, tell me if I missed any.

You’re blissfully unaware of his advances, or his nightly excursions into, pumping his cum into your already filled womb and putting a baby into you. He liked how disoriented and confused you look the day after, waking up pantieless, your bedsheets crusty and dried cum sticking to your thighs. You always come to him for advice, wanting to know why you came all over yourself, leaving you covered in your own slick and cheeks burning with shame when you told him, oblivious of his gleeful eyes narrowed down at you with a hidden grin.

It goes on for a while, he feeds sleeping pills - the ones from his prescribed-bottle for his insomnia - breaking half a pill down to a fine powder and spike your bedtime drink, waiting for you to doze off, sleeping so deeply that even an earthquake wouldn’t wake you up, and he fucks you. He, sometimes, takes his time, thrusting slowly, enjoying the slow and romantic pace, feeling you wrapped around him. Other times, he goes feral, pounding and bruising you, hands manhandling you into the prettiest position to let him fuck you deeper, the head of his red, angry cock kissing your cervix brutally.

You don’t take pills or any contraceptives, letting your monthly cycle roll over and deal with the cramps with painkillers. So he’s not surprised when you come crying to him about being pregnant after going to see your doctor about your daily nausea and stomach pains. He expected you to be pregnant after so many nights of filling you up, pushing load after load of fertile cum - he takes supplements to make him more virile - into your young womb, what he didn’t put into account was the long time it took to finally knock you up, the months he spent waiting and biting the skin off his thumb until it bled to have you round and plump with his child.

You had the prettiest face when you cried, eyes puffy and lips pouty, it made his cock stir, throbbing in his pants. It drove him wild, seeing you cry and whine about not being ready to be a mother, still so young and oblivious to who the father was —you didn’t even remember the last time you fucked anyone. König spent the day comforting you, wiping your swollen eyes with high-quality cashmere tissues he bought just for you, whispering sweet lullabies to you until your tears stop - much to his chagrin - and cradled you in his lap, fingers thumbing the soft fat of your thighs, running soothing circles with his calloused thumb.

He’ll wait until the baby’s born to tell you he’s the father, he might not be patient enough to sit around and wait, but he is patient enough to know when he should and when he shouldn’t wait. He’ll care of you until you come to term. He has the money to buy you whatever you need, KorTac is the best paying PMC and he was a colonel in the past, racking up a large sum of money before he signed a contract. Your cravings, your needs, your wants and whatever else you ask, your roommate - your soon-to-be-husband - König will take care of everything.

What a nice roommate you have, no?

Taglist: @hiraya1802 @tess0288 @elichisstuff @emodanoriddler @kenz-ee @bunnyclaire @akenosimp167 @havoc973 @death8match @yourliebling @allicsirp00 @cross-axis @hereforhotbitches @delulu4ghost @monster-in-paradise @nordicvsp @madi0987 @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @223princess @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday

[aleatoryw]

i've started looking at weight and health the way i look at class and income and it really puts a lot of things into a new perspective.

let me explain: in america at least, the lower class have significantly worse health outcomes, even when accounting for other factors. just being poor is enough to make your overall health worse. we don't know that being fat makes your health directly worse, like the data just isn't there, but for a moment, pretend it does.

imagine going to the doctor with a health problem and the doctor looking at your chart and saying well, this problem will be less severe if you go up an income bracket. have you thought about becoming rich? it would really help. start by saving a little money every month.

ridiculous, right?? very few people successfully go from working class to rich, it just doesn't happen on a large scale in society. maybe for a time you pick up some overtime hours, spend a little beyond your means, and appear rich. but eventually you burn out, your car needs to be repaired, and you return to being working class.

we do have this data: only some people can successfully lose large amounts of weight, and only a tiny fraction of people who lose that weight actually keep it off for more than a year. telling people to lose weight for their health is just absurd because they almost certainly can't do it any more than they can double their income for their health.

and yet i see it everywhere. a little poster in my work breakroom tells me to improve my blood pressure by losing weight! a psa on the radio says you need to take care of your heart by losing weight! we can't even conclusively prove that weight is the cause rather than just correlated with a lot of these problems but here it is offered anyway: have you tried being rich?

[lucidfairies]

money [a.a]

pairing: ceo!abby x secretary!reader

synopsis: when you finally land the job of your dreams, you had no idea what your boss would be like. and damn, no idea you conjured could've done her justice.

warnings: top!abby, bottom!reader, age gap (reader is in her 20s, abby is in her early 40s), cunnilingus (r/a receiving), strap (r!receiving), praise + degradation, mommy kink, dirty talk, manhandling, pet names (sweetheart, sweet girl, angel, baby, whore, slut)

word count: 3.3k

it wasn't everyday that you landed a job with one of the most well known law firms in washington. for now you were just a secretary, someone to sit outside of an office and take calls, but your hope was to work your way up to one of their lawyers.

you had little prior experience with being a secretary, but it was just enough to get you this gig. the building was large, and the office you were to assist was on one of the highest floors, naturally where the head of the firm was.

you knew her, abby anderson. incredibly talented lawyer who even won over a supreme court case. though you hadn't met her in person, you were exhilarated to meet her. she was who you dreamed to be, especially by her age.

it wasn't until your third day, when abby was finally in the office, when you got a glimpse of what working here would actually look like. abby showed up in a well pressed black suit, armani logo drilling into your eyes like a laser, making you feel all that underdressed.

"do I know you?" she asked when you knocked gently on her office door and went in. she truly didn't mean to be rude - her son had been sick for three days and she was feeling it now - but you didn't know that. you automatically assumed she was an asshole, and that threw you off.

you cleared your throat, meeting her eyes and immediately shifting them again. she was intimidating, almost scary. "I'm y/n. I'm your new assistant." she looked you up and down, gaze still burning your skin, and the corner of her mouth turned up to a smirk.

"great. I take my coffee black, nothing in it. there will be a card on your desk that you can charge it to every morning. get yourself something. I expect you to leave before I do, as I stay late. by any chance, do you babysit?" your eyes found hers as you finally looked up.

"I mean, I can. I used to when-" she cut you off, uninterested in anything except the yes. you noted that for later.

"I might need you to pick up my son from school every couple weeks. not often, and certainly not until I've run a background check on you." she wasn't hardly looking at you now, eyes flipping between her papers and computer. "did I miss anything?"

"no ma'am," you said, standing up and instinctively wiping off your skirt, though there was nothing there. suddenly you were back at your desk, waiting for calls and bookings to come in while trying to make sense of that interaction.

the next day you arrived late, but in your defense, the line at the coffee place was long and traffic was even longer, and now you weren't even sure that the coffee was hot. abby was there when you gently knocked on her door, allowing your entry with a low 'come in.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, there was really bad traffic and the line-"

"it's okay, sweet girl." your stomach flipped. yesterday, when your eyes knew nothing but the floor, you hadn't exactly taken in her appearance, but today. today.

today she was in a black turtleneck, sleeves right around the muscle in her arms that just made her look so, so good. her black slacks were tight at her hips with a belt, and they were hugging her legs so tight that you were sure the seam would rip.

her hair was pulled into a nice bun and she wore no makeup, not that she ever needed to. she had freckles, beautiful eyes. rings. she had rings, that she could put inside of you any day.

"I'll be on time tomorrow, miss." your gaze dropped again as you turned to leave her office. this was surely going to be nothing but torture for the following months.

two weeks later was the first time she asked you to stay late. you originally had plans, but the way your name dripped off of her tongue like honey made you immediately cancel them. she had asked you politely to pick up her son, and you even acquired her number from the ordeal.

dealing with kids was not your specialty, but abby's son was a delight. he talked all about his mom, some about his dad and it made you wonder if abby was single or not. she never wore a ring to your knowledge, not even on a necklace, and from your speculation she almost looked like a lesbian. maybe you were just dreaming about the end.

if you had taken your apartment and multiplied it by ten, it still wouldn't be half the size of abby's house. she truly did have money, if the armani suits and porsche didn't say that already.

an hour into your babysitting, which almost just felt like hanging out with a kid in a mansion, abby got home. she walked in, greeting you with the first real smile you had ever seen on her face. your brain malfunctioned when you gently placed her hand on your arm and pressed an innocent kiss onto your cheek.

you were blushing profusely, pupils blown, almost dizzy, all she did was kiss your cheek, a very normal way of greeting someone and you were fucked. abby didn't fail to see you run your fingers over the spot and look at them before quickly turning back towards the two of them.

abby lived for it. lived for the you drooled over everything she did, lived for the way that she was sure her fingers would look so, so good in your mouth... and she tried not to think about it. how could she, when her son was standing right next to her, trying to tell her about his day, and you. you just looked so innocent.

you were engulfed in her smell, the perfect balance of pine and amber and erotica. she smelled like five hundred dollar cologne right off the shelf of valentino. you wanted to smell like that, wanted to smell like that, wanted to wear her clothes and have everyone think that you were together.

"thanks for coming, sweetheart. I'll see you on monday." you looked at her with your brows knit, knowing you had work the following day, friday. "take the day off. you did something for me, and I'm repaying you. use my card and get something."

the amount of money she had to just throw around was so attractive to you. she was an independent woman who brought in millions every year and was letting some secretary she had known for three weeks let buy anything on a day off.

monday had arrived, and you had purchased nothing with abby's card, naturally. you weren't one to spend someone's money just because they had a lot of it, or because they told you to. she would've had to buy it for you to accept it, at that.

it was nearing eleven when abby called you into her office by your first name, instead of one of the many nicknames she always seems to use. "sit." she demanded as you stepped in, and you did so.

"is something wrong, ms. anderson?" she wasn't mad, but she was irritated. she told you to do something, told you to put yourself first and you didn't.

"I told you to treat yourself on friday," her gaze left her laptop and met your eyes. "why didn't you?" you blanked for a moment.

"I just.. I didn't feel right spending money that wasn't mine." she gave you a disapproving look, before getting up and coming around her desk to stand in front of you. in a matter of moments, one of her large hands was grabbing your jaw and forcing your head up to look at her.

she bent down slightly, lips grazing over yours, and you were sure she could feel how much your face heated up. "next time I tell you to do something, you're going to do it. understand, sweet girl?"

"I don't-" your pupils were blown and you were so desperate for her to press her lips just a bit closer, fill the gap and just let you have it.

"say 'yes abby'."

"y-yes abby." she let go of your face and went back to her desk, pretending to pay you little attention, but she was acutely aware of the way you pushed your thighs together and squirmed.

"you're dismissed. I expect to see a charge by the morning." you got up and hurried out, going straight to the bathroom. your face was burning up, and you could vaguely see an imprint from her hand.

you were meaninglessly circling the mall, trying to decide what to spend this newfound money on. obviously you wouldn't get something big and glamorous, no matter how much she seemingly wanted you to.

every time you walked, you seemed to pass victoria's secret. It seemed like it was calling you to buy something, and after that interaction with abby earlier, you decided that maybe you should treat yourself and went in.

you looked around for a while before finding a cute blue set, with embroidered, lacy flowers. it was nothing special, just transparent and high waisted, but it was speaking to you. suddenly you knew what you were wearing to work the next day.

- - -

you felt completely scandalous wearing a short little skirt over the lingerie in the morning, with a button down, where the first few buttons were unbuttoned. it was different from your usual dress pants and blouse, but it definitely did what you needed it to do.

work was as usual for the majority of the morning, and you were suddenly doubting why you wore what you did. there was no point, you were seriously delusional and seriously needed help. what kind of freak where's lingerie and completely inappropriate work clothes to work after one minor interaction with their boss?

that was until you got a simple email from ms. anderson herself, reading nothing but;

my office. now, please.

you cleared your throat, brushed out your hair slightly and adjusted your shirt before nonchalantly entering her office. you sat, observing the way she remained quiet for a moment before clearing her desk and turning her attention towards you.

“did you think I wouldn't realize?” she asked, cooly, with her eyebrows raised slightly. “I mean, props to you, you did as you were told. but I checked the card. I'm not the only one who can see the transactions on that card either, sweetheart.”

you were immediately red. who else could see them? “I didn't r-really think-”

“no, you didn't. I bet the men in my finances would love to see you dancing around in whatever you bought, wouldn't they, baby?” she was standing before you could think, hands resting on the handles of your chair. “why don't you show me, huh? I know you're wearing it.”

“I'm not- we can't do that here.” you looked around, though you knew no one would ever bother her and her office had no cameras. “we're at work, abigail.” there was a fast switch in her eyes, the way they went from cocky to wide, almost needy.

“fuck,” her head dropped into the crook of your neck before she ran her nose along your jaw. “say it again. please, baby.” her tone, the gentle pleading made any rational thoughts disappear from your mind. your hand wrapped around the collar of her button down and pulled her in gently.

“abigail,” you whispered, “I want this,” with that, her hands were everywhere, all at once. she was pulling you up, wrapping her large hands around your hips as she pulled you in for a harsh kiss. she was forcing you onto her desk, keeping her lips to yours as your bodies molded to each other.

she left your lips, finding a perfect spot on your neck and sucking. you gasped when you felt her hand undoing the buttons of your shirt and pulling it out of your skirt. you were grabbing her by her waist trying to pull her closer as she continued to mark up your neck and grab your tits.

when she finally pulled away from your neck, her eyes became wide looking at your lingerie clad tits. you slid your shirt the rest of the way off and tossed it, looking up at her as you began to unbutton hers. she didn't let you get very far before she was gently pushing you back until your back was against the cool wood of the desk.

she unclipped your bra and pulled it off, tongue immediately meeting your nipple. she bit it and you yelped, grabbing her shoulders. her large hand was messing with your other, tugging gently and kneading. "I love your tits so fucking much, baby.” she mumbled into your skin while she kissed down your stomach.

she left more hickies on your ribs, but you desperately needed her in one place. she was pulling your skirt down in seconds, pressing her tongue against you like it was nothing and watching you arch and moan. she was eating you out through your underwear for a minute, before you grabbed her hair and pulled her head up.

"take them off." she smirked, and her head tilted slightly to the side.

"who said you're in charge, sweet angel?" the nickname was new, but you fucking loved that she always called you sweet. you were something sweet to her, and that made your brain lag every time.

"abby please," you bucked into her, chasing friction. that's when you felt it; the large bulge in her slacks that you hadn't noticed earlier.

"feel that, baby? that's all for you." she pulled down your underwear slowly, tossing it in the pile of clothes. she spread your lips, watching slick connect and drip down your thighs. your face burned and you covered it, embarrassed. "uncover your face or I'll stop." you did as told.

she pulled a ponytail off her wrist and pulled her hair into a bun before pressing her tongue into your clit and licking a fat stripe. your head hit the desk with a thud, reveling at the feeling. she worked your clit, sucking it into her mouth and painting patterns with her tongue while she pressed a finger into entrance.

she used her free hand to hold you down by your stomach, since your squirming was messing her up. you whined when she added a second finger, not used to her thick fingers. "if you can't take my fingers, how am I supposed to fuck you with my strap?" you moaned at her words, loving the dirtiness of it.

she returned to your clit and you got loud when she curled her fingers up into the best spot, whimpering and groaning. she remembered the time when you pressed your fingers to your cheek in her house, and brought her unused hand to your mouth, tapping your chin lightly. "open your mouth and suck," she instructed, noticing your confused look.

you took two of her fingers in your mouth and sucked them, which shut you up. your stomach coiled, a warm feeling rushing between your legs before you could even mumble a word. it felt like you just kept coming, until she finally pulled away from your cunt.

"are you gonna give me another one, angel?" she was unclipped her belt while you caught your breath. "wanna fuck you all day." she pulled her pants and boxers down just barely enough to get her strap out. "flip over, ass up." you turned over, fucked out muscles aching.

she ran the tip of her strap between your folds, letting your wetness lube it up, then lined up with your hole. she pushed just the tip in, groaning at the way you took it so well and swallowed her in. "what if I just fucked you like this, huh?" you whined.

"please.. need more," you pushed your hips back slightly, trying to push her in further. she pulled out, simply pushing the tip back in.

"desperate fucking whore," she thrust in on the last word, bottoming out immediately. you whimpered, the strap stretching you far more than her fingers. "aw, baby, does that hurt?" she pulled out far and fucked into you again.

she started fucking you, deep and hard, until you were moaning and grabbing onto the desk, trying to stabilize yourself. one of her hands left your hips and grabbed your hair, wrapping it around her fist and tugging. "fuck.. abby- abs.. mommy,”

your eyes widened at the name, which came out unintentionally. she stopped momentarily before groaning and picking her pace back up rapidly. "call me that again." the tip of her strap kissed your cervix and bumped against your g-spot every time. her arm wrapped around your waist, flicking your clit.

"mommy.. m'gonna cum." you slurred, cock drunk and fucked out. she kept her pace, hardly changing anything except for the fact that she was louder now, finding the perfect angle to get the harness to hit her clit.

"just wait a second, my love,” you held it for as long as you could, but it became too much, and she was hitting just right. your mind went absolutely blank as your vision went white, a wave crashing over you as you came.

you could hear abby moaning, but you were still going, and unable to think of anything. “fuck baby, you make such a mess.” you relaxed your tense body and look over your shoulder at abby's soaked harness, pants, and desk.

“m’sorry.” she slowly pulled her strap out and unclipped it front her hips, letting you lay for another minute before she grabbed your hips and helped you flip over and sit up. “wanna make you cum, mommy.” you looked at her with doe eyes, watching her eyes darken.

“I already came, sweetheart. don't worry about me.” you brought your hand down to cup her cunt and she took in a sharp breath. you ground your palm against her clit and she groaned, shifting her stance from foot to foot.

you slid off the desk with wobbly legs and kneeled in front of her, pupils blown. “please mommy,” you ran your nails over her abs and under her boxer strap lightly, making her muscles tense.

“such a slut, aren't you? want mommy to fuck your face?” you nodded, pulling her boxers down to her ankles. her blonde bush matched her hair, and you noticed her happy trail that you hadn't earlier. “stick out your tongue, baby, be a good girl.”

you stuck your tongue out flat, not even getting a chance to lick before she was pressing her cunt to your mouth. she fucked herself on your face, gripping your hair tight and grinding fast. you gently pushed her against the desk, lifting one of her legs to your shoulder and leaving the other one down.

she must have loved the new angle, because she was moaning and grunting more than you had ever heard her. her clit was twitching and puffy, wet from your spit and her slick. she let out an involuntary whimper, and it was like music to your ears. “gonna c-cum on your f-fucking face, angel.”

her legs shook as she came, ans you spent the following moments licking all of it up. you pulled away and stood up, still shaky. she pulled her boxers and slacks up, moving towards the pile of clothes and handing you what was yours. “do you wanna get dinner tonight?” she stopped what she was doing to button up your shirt and zip your skirt.

“yeah, that's great.” she smiled, kissing you softly.

“you can go home if you want to clean up. I can take my own calls for a few minutes.” it was your turn to smile, grateful to get out of your uncomfortable, wet clothes.

“I'll see you tonight?” you asked, looking over your shoulder once you got to the door.

“pick you up at seven.”

a/n: part two? 🤭

tag list: @shewantstoknow @baumbii @zombholic

[tinystepsforward]

What do you think the chances are that Mud Pit is gonna be ousted by the people who need Automattic to have good will in the eyes of the community to actually get anything out of this site and wattpad

I know it’s probably low but the fact that he’s acting like a poorer Elon Musk is making my skin crawl and making me hope that a second lawsuit hits the company

ok here's the thing. he is meant to be on sabbatical. automattic gives employees a three-month paid sabbatical every 5 years, so that they can have a break from the product they work on and come back rested and with a new perspective.

matt has never taken one before now. he spent the entire leadup to his sabbatical posting increasingly wild shit in public channels at the company (like the chess thing, or trying to get people to buy a friend's product, or the entire fracas with taking over the wordpress.org twitter account. wordpress.org is an independent non-profit that he is not the ceo of).

i mention this because people were hoping (including me) that he really would actually log off, have a chill time (or, idk, whatever kind of time CEOs who go off the grid bc they got flooded in at burning man like to have), and let the interim CEO get a chance to do a better job. that would help the board make a decision based on data.

he was very clearly spiraling before he even left, and then within the first few days of Company Sanctioned Log Off Time he's pulled multiple Classic Matt things on multiple parts of the company before showing up here. this whole thing is so deeply unfunny but it also is a bit of a tom and jerry or looney tunes bit, where i can only imagine HR or Legal is chasing him around the various accounts/platforms with a comically large inflatable baseball bat and he's just evading them.

he can't do that in person, but he still gets a lot of leeway generally. at the last division meetup (irl meeting for employees, flown from all over the world) he showed up twitchy and exhausted and hyped in a way that was very familiar to me from flatmates who used to steal and snort my adhd medication, then proceeded to drink so much over the course of an evening answering questions from his employees that he had to be firmly babysat off the stage and walked back into the lobby of the hotel to sober up.

i made eye contact with him that night, before he dropped his head back into his hands. two people relatively high up in the company were sitting with him, silently watching him as he struggled to sober up. it wasn't the first drunk shenanigan of his i witnessed at one of these, and this is purely opinion but i have to assume that his current behavior is the result of suddenly having time on his hands to have the world's longest bender and post through it.

back to your question: i do not know if what he's done is enough to get the board to remove him. i wish it didn't have to come to this to hope that they will. but we'll find out.

[kentopedia]

♰ pain reliever — okkotsu yuuta

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 2 - vampire!yuuta

your vampire boyfriend can't resist the taste of you during a certain time of the month

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, smut, period sex, vampire!yuuta, cunnilingus, blood drinking, slight teasing — 2.2k

a steady ache in your abdomen pulls you out of your previously deep sleep, the dull throb increasing with every second. it’s the middle of the night, and your eyes are still heavy with exhaustion, the back of your eyelids burning when you try to squeeze them shut once more. 

though, no matter how many times you flip to the other side, the pain won’t subside, not even a little bit. you’re left curling into a ball, glaring at the emptiness of the dark. 

beside you, the bed is empty, though that wasn’t unusual for the middle of the night. still, it would’ve been nice to curl up into another body, to feel your boyfriend’s large palm rub over your stomach, in the hopes that it would ease the cramps.

you shift onto your stomach and check your phone, already missing yuuta. it’s just a little over three, but there’s no messages from him, no indication as to where he’d gone for the evening. 

you contemplate calling him; but when your finger hovers over his name, you click your phone off and sigh. they’re just cramps—nothing you can’t handle on your own. this time of the month had come and gone a hundred times before. you just need a heating pad and some pain reliever, and that should be enough to lull you back to sleep.

with eyes that are half-shut, you lazily slump towards the door, feeling far too much like a zombie. the floor is cold under your bare feet, and you shiver, picking yuuta’s sweatshirt up off the edge of the bed to throw it on. 

the moment you open the bedroom door, a wave of overwhelming perfume assaults your senses, the mixture one of every fall aroma. it combines into a cloud of smoke and wax, and its too much, far too much. the smells nearly have you choking. 

in the living room, there are thirty different flames lit, spread across the surfaces. they illuminate the room with a haunting glow, showcasing yuuta, who sits in the corner of the sofa, contemplative. 

“yuuta?” you say, calling out his name. he clenches his jaw but keeps his eyes forward. with his acute hearing, he’d probably heard the breath you took when you woke up, and every movement you’d made after that. “the candles are giving me a headache, baby.” your eyes begin to water from the smoke in the air, and one by one, you start to blow them out. 

“no!” yuuta exclaims, and when you turn, his irises are darker, wide as they watch you move around. “leave them.”  

you frown, but blow another one out as yuuta squeezes his palms to his side. his back goes taut, straightening as tension stretches him thin.

“it’ll just make me nauseous.” there’s a sour taste growing in your mouth, a pain in your temple. you reach for the final three candles. they aren’t as strong, but they still fill the air, a culmination of pumpkin, vanilla and coffee. “i started my period.” 

yuuta’s eyes flash as he watches you bend over to blow out one of the candles, your lips puckering, before you move to the last flame. his gaze is careful, considering as your little exhale extinguishes the fire.

“i know,” yuuta says, grabbing your wrist before you can blow out the final flames. his dark locks are loose, falling over his paler skin as he licks his lips. a sharp gaze pins you, tracing from your forehead to your chin. “i could smell you all the way from the bedroom.”

you blink, swallowing at his predatory eyes, the way his pupils darken, sharp white canines curling over his lips. it’s easy to forget, truly, how dangerous he is. he’s sweet and caring—not like the vampires you’ve seen in the movies—but he is, still, a vampire.

yuuta lures you in, inching you closer until you’re beside him on the couch, your breath the only sound between you. “i thought you were…” you trail off, a part of your voice cracking. “didn’t you go hunt?” 

it seems like a strange word to say, but you couldn’t think of a better one. you suppose, at the end of the day, he is more of a creature than a man. his instincts ones of bloodlust, ones that he has to fight against every moment that he’s with you. 

“couldn’t leave,” he says, his voice coming out clipped. “tried to, but i just kept thinking of your sweet blood. tastes so good.” his hand rests on your thigh, fingers rubbing small circles near your hip. “are your cramps getting bad?” 

you look at him from under your lashes as he licks his lips, pushing you backward slowly, until your head hits the arm of the sofa. the palm on your body is cold, but it does little to cool your heated skin. 

“it hurts,” you finally nod, breathing heavily as he smiles, sympathetic to your pain. 

“let me help,” yuuta inches a finger into your waistband, slowly dragging down your shorts. his tongue darts out across his lip, hungrily, like he might have trouble controlling his urge to devour you. 

you swallow. when you still him with a touch to his wrist, he simply cocks his head, curious, his fingers still resting between your shorts. 

“get a towel first,” you say, but the request is ignored. he slides the shorts completely off, lowering his head. “you’ll make a mess.”

yuuta ignores you, salivating as he kisses from the crevice of your knee, up your thigh. he inhales deeply against your hipbone, the strong aroma of your arousal and blood almost too much for him. 

bowing his head, he presses his lips to your cunt, licking you through your panties, lapping at the spot of blood that had already begun to stain there. “i don’t plan on wasting a drop, princess.” 

a stuttering breath leaves you, and your head falls back as yuuta kisses you softly over the cotton. his tongue flicks out, warm and wet, licking a stripe through your folds. the thin piece of cloth sucks into them, blood seeping through. 

“yuuta,” you whine, impatient he takes his time with you, his long fangs catching on the flimsy underwear. 

“don’t want to go too fast.” finally, he glances up, stares at you with hungry, black eyes. yuuta drags your panties off, but he’s far too slow, teasing you. “you know how much i love sucking the blood from your pretty pussy, hm?” his voice comes out in a near growl, and his grip grows tight around your knees, spreading your legs further. “wait for it all month.” 

he runs a tongue over sharp white teeth, hungry at the sight of you spread out, bloody and bare, just for him. 

“even when it hurts?” you ask in a small voice, but yuuta smiles, his thick eyelashes fluttering. his dark lips curl at the corners, more mocking than kind, drinking you in.

“it won’t hurt for long, love.” yuuta kisses the inside of your thighs, licking every inch of skin he can manage to get his tongue on. “besides, you get turned on so easily when you’re bleeding.”

he pushes his tongue against your entrance, curling over your wet arousal. the kisses are with such care, reminiscent of the sweet boy you’re used to loving, the one who stumbles over his words and still flushes hot when you kiss him. though, that familiarity only lasts for a moment. once yuuta gets a taste of you, his hunger doubles. 

he sucks, hard, his lips around your clit, the pressure sending a wave of desire through your body. you reach down and grip his dark locks, in any attempt to guide him within your thighs. though, you’re under yuuta’s control completely, and he licks deep in you, gathering the clots of blood onto his tongue. 

“fuck,” he hums against your cunt, his nose nudging your clit as he curses. the vibrations of his words shake you, and instinctively, your thighs try to squeeze together. but yuuta is stronger than you—much stronger—and he keeps them spread apart, fingers leaving tiny imprints on your skin. “you’re so sweet. so good for me. never tasted anyone like you before.” he praises, but its hard for him to speak as he fucks his tongue into you, lapping at your juices like its the nectar of gods. 

you can’t think of anything to say, and a soft whimper leaves your lips, the sound of his name barely audible with your exhale. yuuta’s fangs are smooth against your hot body, almost soothing as he runs his tongue along your folds. 

“i’ll make the the cramps go away.” he says. yuuta’s been replaced by a much cockier, confident version of the occasionally awkward vampire. his fangs gleam as he looks up at you, and your eyes flutter shut, hardly able to focus on the sight of him sucking at your bloody pussy. “promise, princess. it’s the least i can do when you keep me so well-fed.”

you nod, humming, but the sound is lost as yuuta dives back down, the blood coating his lips, his nose, dark against his chin. he takes both your thighs and throws them over his shoulder, reaching deeper in your hole as you moan, far too sensuously for the silent room. 

“yuuta—” you start, but you don’t remember it feeling this good before, you don’t remember pain ever being taken from you so easily. the words die, and you begin them again. “your tongue—”

he smiles, tightening his grip as he sucks faster, harder. “feels better?” 

“almost,” you say, breathless. “it’s… not enough.” 

yuuta groans, but he pulls back, licking the blood off his lips. “course it’s not,” he says. “so greedy, sometimes.” he presses, small, quick kisses across your thigh, teeth grazing the skin, and slides a finger into you; then another. 

his fingers are long, far longer than his tongue, and he stretches you, your walls sucking them right back in. with a gasp, you squeeze your thighs around his head, but yuuta just sighs. 

“please,” he says, teeth against the soft skin of your thigh. “please, can i?”

he’s close to begging, even though you’re the one who’s desperate, and you nod, needing him to curl farther into you, to reach the spot that’s deep within you. the sounds grow louder, lewd as his fingers sink in and out of you, so thick within your tight cunt.

yuuta bites you, then, sinks his fangs into your thigh, and you nearly scream, arching up into him as you start to tremble. 

his usually white teeth stain a deep scarlet, and he groans against your body, pulling back to watch you. “want you to cum for me, nice and hard, okay baby? we gotta get rid of those cramps.” he drinks from your thigh again, and you’re so close, not even realizing that you’re thrusting your hips up to meet his fingers as he goes inside you. 

“y-yuuta” you say, taking two hard breaths when he abandons the open wound on your thigh, and returns to sucking your clit, rubbing you with just enough force. the ache builds up and up, and you’re right on the ledge, about to fall over, his name leaving your lips once more in a cry. 

“that’s it,” he says, pumping in and out of you, graceful and heavy. “oh you’re so pretty, you know that? i’ve lived for centuries, and in all that time, i’ve never seen anyone look as perfect as you when they cum.” 

you break then, squeezing his fingers as babbled words leave your lips in a moan. your entire body shakes, convulsing as you reach blissful release, and you slump back on the couch, your head hitting the arm rest.

yuuta slides his fingers out of you slowly, and then he sticks them in his own mouth, licking every drop of your blood and juices from his hand. his eyes are blown wide with lust, hazy and dark as he drinks you up. 

“i can’t get enough of you,” he says, his voice so hoarse that the words are almost nothing at all. “my sweet little human girl.” yuuta doesn’t move, but he’s so lost in the taste of you, even as his cock strains hard against his flannel pajama pants. “just right there for the taking. a warm body full of the most delicious blood. mine.”

you pull him close then, needing to kiss him, feeling his hard teeth bump against your own. he tastes metallic; it’s not as good as he makes it out to be. still, if it drives him crazy, turns him into an absolute addict from just the scent of you, you’ll gladly give him every drop he wants. a smile graces your lips as he groans into you, licking your mouth. 

“yuuta?” 

he pulls away for just a moment, blinking lust-blown eyes. “hm?” 

“my cramps are gone.”

tags: @satohruu @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @annoyingpainterprincess

OCTOBER MASTERLIST

btw this was going to be a toji fic and then he lost the poll ... i did not know there were so many yuuta fans following me

[strang3lov3]

Fighting Fair

Joel doesn’t know what or who started this fucking thing, but he’s finishing it. Tonight.

Tags: impish activities, soft dom!joel sorta aggressive joel, forced proximity, cock grinding, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie (always), teasing, dirty talk, almost somnophilia (they’re sleep-teasing each other unconsciously) sexually frustrated morons, good ol' fashioned "we have to get naked and share body heat to stay warm" trope

A/N: I had to drag myself kicking and screaming into writing this fic that put me through the fucking ringer!!! Thank you @theywhowriteandknowthings @merz-8 and @beefrobeefcal for the general fic help and encouragement! And I think also @noxturnalpascal and @tightjeansjavi and ESPECIALLY @notjustjavierpena who talked me through this fic a couple weeks ago and gave me the push I needed to finish it when I was stuck. You guys all rock ❤️

It’s too cold tonight, even indoors and with a fire burning. He moved the large sectional couch as close as he could safely get it by the fireplace, gave you his jacket, and you’re still hoarding the blanket. Joel tries to gently tug on the blanket that you’ve wrapped around your body, see if maybe you can spare to lose a few inches of fabric. You don’t budge. Joel sighs, “Y’can share, ya know.”

“This is sharing.”

“It’s not, actually. I’m the one sharin’ here. I gave you my coat, you can quit hoggin’ all the blanket,” Joel tugs harder on the blanket, it’s old and kind of scratchy, worn out by the years. “C’mon. Let up.” 

“You can have this much,” You mumble, giving Joel a small amount of the fabric. 

“How generous of you,” Joel mutters sarcastically before pulling the blanket entirely off of your shoulders. “Thank you. S’very kind.”

“Hey,” you whine. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says. He covers his body in the blanket, making sure to cover your legs and feet as well. His hands brush over your own and he winces at their ice cold temperature. “Jesus, girl. Gimme these,” he mumbles, taking your hands into his own and holding them tightly. “Hands feel like icicles.”

“This fucking sucks, Joel,” you complain. 

“It does,” he agrees. Joel’s been dreading this point in the year. He’s eased up on his ‘no fires’ rule for the most part, but fire doesn’t help when it’s as cold as it has been. Tonight, he’s grateful you spotted this old house from afar, even more grateful it has a fireplace. But it’s especially cold tonight, maybe even nearing below zero temperatures. Even with a glowing fire and a shelter preventing the chill of the wind piercing you to the bone, he’s not sure that’s enough to keep you both warm. Joel shivers, “This shit’s not workin’.”

You shake your head no. It’s not. 

Joel’s not quite sure how to offer up his idea. It’ll be fine, or at least, it should be fine. What needs to happen is you and Joel need to get cozy and share body heat, the real way, with both of your bodies completely bare and pressed against each other.

Most of the time, you and Joel fall asleep separately. Occasionally, however, Joel will wake up in the early hours of the morning with your body inexplicably tangled in his, your head laying on his chest. The first time it happened, Joel was annoyed. “Get off of me,” he grumbled. “Not your fuckin’ teddy bear,” You whined in response, and when Joel tried to move you from him you clung to his body tighter. “Jesus,” he mumbled to himself. 

After about the fifth or sixth time of waking up with you clinging to his body, he stopped trying to fight it. In fact, he even started to hold you closer, stroke your hair. Sometimes he’d wake up holding you, other times he’d wake up with your arms wrapped around him and your tummy pressed against his back. It was nice, mostly. 

Mostly. You have the most uncanny ability to tease Joel in your sleep. Your hand will mysteriously travel from his side up to his chest, your thumb rubbing over his nipple. Other times, it’s your leg that brushes against his crotch. Or your ass, wiggling against his morning wood. After you wake, he’ll leave you alone for a few moments to quietly take care of himself, stroking his member to the thought of your naked body, your soft curves and smooth skin. Sometimes he’s not able to sneak away in the mornings and he’ll be hard as a rock and miserable the entire day. It’s unbearably frustrating. He’s never brought this tendency of yours up to you and he never will, because you’re not doing anything intentionally, at least he thinks. Though, there was one time after a particularly excruciating night of teasing, he thought he saw you smirk as he left to take care of himself. It was probably nothing. 

That’s what he’s worried about. Your body, naked against his, teasing him. His arousal won’t be so easy to hide without the protection of clothing, not to mention he may not even be able to fall asleep. It’s not gonna be an easy night, but it’s the only option at this point. 

Joel clears his throat, “We’re gonna try somethin’ different tonight,” he starts, “An’ we’re not gonna talk about it. Ever.”

“Okay,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this. 

“You trust me?” he asks. You nod. “Good,” he says, “We’re gonna share our body heat. An’ it works better with skin to skin contact, which means we’re both gonna get naked and close under the blanket, but we’re not gonna talk about it. Not tonight, not ever. Can you do this?”

“I can,” you tell him. You’re not totally surprised by Joel’s idea, but you’re glad he was the one who brought it up. Truthfully, it’s been something you’ve been thinking of doing with him for quite some time now, since the weather’s been getting so cold. You’ve pictured it, rubbing your bare feet against his legs for some warmth. He’ll probably kick you away, complain that he’s cold too. You’ll tell him too bad. 

“Okay,” he mumbles awkwardly, “Okay, s’good. I’m gonna turn around and get to it then, f’ya wanna…” 

“Yeah, got it.”

You and Joel separate, he places the blanket at his end of the couch as he begins to unbutton his flannel. You remove his coat from your body then shimmy off your pants, leaving them crumpled on the floor. You catch a glimpse of Joel’s back, the firelight dancing on his toned and broad muscles, the scars and stretch marks decorating his skin like art. Quickly, you avert your eyes and begin to remove your shirt. You don’t notice Joel stealing a peek at your body, the blush creeping up his cheeks when he sees your bare breasts. 

“Ready?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, but you’re anxious. You’re not sure how it happens, but you’ve been waking up with Joel here and there. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night with his limbs inexplicably wrapped around you, his chin resting on your head. The first time it happened, you were confused. You tried to shrug him off of you, but Joel only held you tighter, sleepily mumbling in an annoyed tone. 

After about the fourth or fifth time of waking up with him holding your body, you stopped trying to fight it. In fact, you’d back yourself into him, even scratch his forearms to relax him. There’d be times you’d wake up being spooned by him, other times you’d wake up spooning him, with your arms wrapped around him and your tummy pressed against his back. It’s nice, mostly. 

Mostly. Joel has this inexplicable habit of teasing you in his sleep. His hand will mysteriously travel from your side up to your breasts, his thumb catching on your nipples and rubbing them softly. Other times, he presses his cock against your ass, nudging you and gently grinding against your ass. When you wake, you find somewhere quiet to touch yourself, rubbing your clit to the thought of his body, his warm eyes, the groaning noises he’ll make when he stretches in the morning. Sometimes in the mornings, you can’t sneak away and you’ll be soaked all day, miserable as your core pulses and aches for him. It’s god awful, unbearably frustrating. But you’ve never brought this tendency of his up to him and you never will, because he’s not doing anything intentionally, at least you think. Though, there was one time after a particularly excruciating night of him teasing your nipples, you felt him touch you a little more intensely, like there could have been conscious thought behind the action. It was probably nothing. 

This is what you’re worried about. His body, naked against yours, teasing you. It’s gonna be a difficult night, but you know it’s the only option.

Joel reaches for the blanket, spreads it out as he inches back towards you on the couch. “You can lay on your side like that, facin’ the fire,” he offers, and you follow his suggestion. Joel slots himself behind you and tucks the blanket around both of your bodies, then pulls you closer to his body. “Yeah, good girl. You got it. M’gonna hold you tight like this,” he tells you. 

Good girl. His words send desire flooding your veins. Sweet talking in your ear, his hands holding you close and tight. God, this is trouble. 

“Just need to scoot a little closer, like–” you back your ass into his crotch, “M’just so cold, Joel.”

Fuck. Joel can feel his growing arousal pressing against your ass. “I know you are, hon, just–don’t move like that on me,” He keeps you as close as he can against your body, pressing the length of his arm against your torso to keep you warm. His hand brushes against your breasts, thumb caressing your nipple. You gasp. 

“Need you closer, though,” you mumble, wiggling against his crotch once more. His length hardens fully, prodding against your ass. His breath hitches, “Ignore it,” he grumbles, now annoyed. How many hints does he have to drop? Or are you doing this shit on purpose?

You’re annoyed too, honestly. He’s not directly groping you, but his fingertips have not left your nipples, lightly grazing over them and setting your skin on fire. Do you need to spell it out for him, what he’s doing to you? Surely it’s intentional on his end. Has to be.  

There’s a moment where you’re quiet and so is Joel, both of you tired and confused and sexually frustrated with the other. Maybe you’re looking for a fight, but something’s gotta give. Fuck it, you’ll be the one to instigate. “Ignore what, Joel?” you ask, voice incredulous and laced with sarcasm. 

“I’m–my–fuck,” Joel stammers. He feels your body move with your stifled giggles. “Knock it off.”

“It’s all for me, isn’t it Joel?”

“Dammit, just–shut up,” Joel stiffens as he feels his face and neck begin to warm. “And mind your business. S’not for you. S’not for anyone,” he lies, cringing internally for his defensiveness, definitely overcompensating. He rolls his eyes, knowing he was right. Five minutes into sharing body heat with you and it is not going well at all. You twist your hips once more. “I said ignore it,” he grumbles, his hand finding your hip and holding it firmly in place. “Not rub your ass on it. Now sit still. You’re testin’ my patience.”

“I can’t help it, Joel. I’m just trying to get comfortable,” you lie. 

“Yeah, whatever. You’re gettin’ me in trouble is what you’re doing. Now for the love of god, quit it.”

Ten minutes go by without an incident, and Joel is focusing on trying to sleep with your naked body pressed against his. He’s certainly beginning to warm up but at what cost? He’s breathing in your scent, feeling your warm skin under his hand, which is hard enough to deal with. And then you fucking do it again, because his fingers are still lightly touching your sensitive nipples. “What did I just say?” Joel flips you on your other side so you’re facing him, then holds your jaw between his fingers. “Look at me,” he tells you. “Knock it off. Quit your squirmin’, quit wigglin’ your ass on my–” You can’t hide the grin that forms on your lips at his accusation. You purse your lips in an attempt to hide the amusement you’ve garnered from your payback, but Joel sees it. “Why’re you fuckin’ with me?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You know exactly what you’re doin’. Why are you fuckin’ with me?” 

You shrug, “You started it.”

“I never fuckin’ know what you’re talkin’ about,” Joel complains through a deep sigh, exasperated.

“The teasing,” you explain, “You snuggle me and end up teasing me, playing with my tits and whatnot. You know what you do,” you accuse, “So I’m getting you back. Fair’s fair.”

“So you get worked up and you retaliate by givin’ me a hard on. Charming,” Joel grumbles, “And you’re one to talk about wanderin’ hands. Do you know how many times I’ve woken up with your hands in places they shouldn’t have been? Shouldn’t even be fuckin’ sleepin’ together.”

“You never complained about it before,” you retort, referring to the accidental snuggles that take place between Joel and yourself. 

Joel wears a confused expression for a moment, then glares at you. He narrows his eyes at you, completely misunderstanding what you meant. In his head, he’s thinking that you’ve just admitted all of that accidental teasing–it has been fucking intentional on your part. He knew it! “Before? You’re tellin’ me this is a hobby of yours?” he spits, “I knew you had ulterior motives with that late night cuddlin’ of yours. You’ve been gettin’ me hot an’ bothered on purpose, haven’t you?”

You sigh, “No, I’m talking about—” and then you realize, if Joel thinks you’ve been intentionally getting him worked up all this time, he’s been doing the same shit to you to retaliate. “Only because you did it to me first,” you accuse. 

Joel scoffs. “I don’t believe this,” he scoffs, “I don’t care who started it, I’m finishin’ it right now.”

Your heart pounds as desire pools in your gut, a warm, sticky feeling. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talkin about,” Joel whispers in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. “I’m gettin’ you out of my system once and for all. You’re fuckin’ ridiculous. We’re done with this.”

Joel shifts his arm, reaching for his cock. You watch as he wraps his palm around his member, thumb swiping over his red and swollen tip. His soft belly bulges against his arm that’s pressed tightly against himself as he strokes his member slowly, patiently. When you reach for his cock to replace his hand with your own, you’re in disbelief as he swats your hand away. “Joel,” you whine, confused.

“Was never really teasin’ ya, by the way. Think you’re a little selective in that way. Seein’ and hearin’ what you want to.” Joel accuses in a gentle tone as he continues to massage himself, “And even if I was, you don’t fight fair.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, sweetheart, all that shit you do to me, I’m gonna do right back to you,” Joel reaches for your leg, grabs the back of your knee and hikes your leg over his hip, pulling you closer and exposing your pussy to him. “Not going to go easy on you sweetheart, you sure you want this?” he asks, giving you an out. But you nod anyway, your tummy fluttering with desire as your mind begins to race, wondering exactly how he’ll retaliate after being pent up like this for so long. “Good,” he says. 

Holding his cock in his hand, he guides the tip to your center, collecting the slick pooling at your entrance and taps the thick head against your clit. He pulls you closer and begins to drag himself through your folds. “Joel,” you gasp, “What are you doing?”

“Tryin’ out your modus operandi,” he breathes. “Isn’t this whatcha were just doin’? Rubbin’ up on me?”

“I wasn’t–mmmm,” you hum as he continues to rub the head of his cock against you, “Wasn’t like this.”

“You’re full of shit,” Joel groans as goes up and down, up and down, notching his tip ever so quickly inside of you to gather your increasing arousal and dragging it through your folds, paying special attention to your clit. You’re pulsing, clenching around nothing as he teases you agonizingly. “You’re makin’ a fuckin’ mess. S’all for me, isn’t it?” he taunts you, using your words from earlier. “God, you don’t take much at all. Soakin’ me, sweetheart.”

He notches his tip inside you to collect your wetness once more and you cry out, “Just fuck me.”

“You’re not gettin’ it,” he breathes, “Told ya, you’re gettin’ your comeuppance.”

You feel like you’re gonna burst. He rubs the head of his cock over your clit in circles, listening to your whines of displeasure when he pulls away from you to focus on his own pleasure. When presses himself against you again, he focuses his tip only at your clit, your slick helping him to slide up and down with ease. When he begins to roll his hips for added pressure, you bite into his shoulder to contain your cries. This is agonizing and so fucking delicious all at the same time. 

You adjust your hips, simultaneously reaching for Joel’s cock to guide him to your entrance. You need him now. “C’mon, now. You mind your manners,” he chides you, “S’not any way to get what ya want.”

“Please, just fuck–need you inside me.” 

“Sure thing,” he says in a honeyed tone. He replaces his cock with his fingers, leisurely dragging them through your slick folds before dipping first one, then two fingers inside you. He finds that delicious spot inside you, but curls his fingers lazily, not yet providing you with what you need. You’re throbbing, aching, hungry for more. 

“Joel, not–”

“Shoulda been more specific, then,” he interrupts. Bastard. When you try to argue, Joel flips you on your back and guides his cock to your entrance, notching his tip in you again, this time not leaving. You whine eagerly, wrapping your legs around him and pressing your feet into his ass, trying to pull him closer. You need him inside you, now.

“Not all at once,” Joel purrs as he enters you at a glacial pace. He pushes inside you gradually, letting you feel every inch of him, stopping momentarily to adjust the blanket over his shoulders to keep both of your bodies enveloped in warmth. Joel bottoms out inside of you and pulls back out, then enters you again, so fucking slowly. You’re not sure how he manages to tease you while fucking you, but he’s doing it. You just need more, need it faster, harder, more. You reach for your clit, but Joel pins both of your hands under one of his own as he fucks into you. Tears of frustration begin to build in your eyes. “You can cry all you want, sweetheart,” he coos, “You made your bed. We’re not done with this yet,” he continues, “But, maybe if ya sweet talk me, apologize for startin’ somethin’ you couldn’t finish…”

“M’sorry, Joel,” you apologize quickly. All your fire, your mischief, Joel’s now extinguished like a flame.

“I knew you’d be sorry,” Joel murmurs. Knowing how badly you need to release, Joel snakes his other hand between your thighs and circles your sensitive clit with his thumb ever so lightly. Torturing you, taunting you with what you could have and never giving you more. 

He’s fucking you at a steady pace now, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. It’s not enough. The wet, gushing sounds of your cunt and the way Joel’s skin feels against yours has you feeling dizzy. Joel’s savoring the way you’re squirming under him, straining your wrists against his locked grip. He knows you’re aching for release, but he’s determined to teach you a lesson, even if that means torturing himself. 

Yes, as pleasurable as this is for Joel to watch you fuck around and find out, it’s misery for him too. Fucking his fist with the tip of his cock kissing your pussy was no easy task, and neither is holding back from how he truly wants to fuck you. Because, truthfully, he wants to fucking ruin you. Show you just what he thinks of these stunts you’ve been pulling. Show you just what he thinks of your wandering hands and your innocent ‘adjustments’.

“Please,” you gasp, “Just make me come, Joel.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. M’not feelin’ particularly generous at the moment.”

“Please,” you whine, “Been needing y–this for so long.” 

“Ahhh,” Joel hums, “And the truth comes out,” he groans as he rolls his hips against you, “S’that what all of this is about? Been needin’ me?” you nod quickly, “Tell me how long you’ve been needing me.”

“Fuck, Joel, I don’t know. Forever,” you cry, “I need to come now, please. Need to come on your cock, fuck.”

“F’ya said somethin’ earlier instead of toyin’ with me like you’ve been doin’, we wouldn’t be in this mess, sweetheart.”

You don’t know how much more you can take. Tears of frustration trail down your cheeks, each of his thrusts hitting deep and massaging your insides, intentionally, powerfully. 

Joel’s right there with you, struggling as well. He wants nothing more than to keep fucking you without allowing you to finish, having never seen anything before so erotic and beautiful as your squirming, writhing body. Your soft body, those sweet noises, that frustrated face of yours. And it’s all at his hands, he’s the one  responsible for turning into this mess. 

“Fuck,” he whispers through a shuddering breath, “Not gonna–”

“Joel,” you cry, the only word you know anymore being his name.

“Let’s be done with this,” he decides, fucking finally. He circles your clit steadily now, finding a pace and a pressure that has you letting out breathy gasps and moans as your orgasm approaches. “Want you to come for me,” he says.

His words are all you need. That warm, sticky feeling in the pit of your stomach builds quickly and releases almost instantaneously, sending pleasure erupting through your veins. You feel it everywhere, the back of your thighs, deep in your gut. Wave after wave of pleasure rocks your body as Joel’s thrusts quicken as he fucks you at a now frenzied, sloppy pace he chases his own release. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, coming with a deep, stuttering moan of your name. His muscles jerk and tremble as his cock pulses inside you, painting your insides with thick ropes of his spend. He pulls out of you groaning, his hot, slick release making your thighs sticky. He places a gentle kiss to your lips and then to your forehead, the action a stark contrast to his previous demeanor. All's right with the world now. Sexual frustration solved.

He takes his place behind you again, pulling you close to his chest for the last time and making sure the blanket is covering you both. You’re certainly warmed up now. A little too warm, even. But you’re not complaining. 

“Still not talkin’ about tonight,” Joel reminds you, “Ever.”

“Nope,” you agree.

Another quiet moment passes. For shits and giggles, you rub your ass against his crotch. “But I take it we’ll be doin’ this again, won’t we?” he says, defeated as you continue to tease him.

“Definitely.”

“Good god,” Joel sighs, “Get back over here, then. You drive me fuckin’ nuts,” he adds, pulling you back for round two. He was right, it’s a long night ahead of him.

[thegnomelord]

Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

[readychilledwine]

Could i request something where az and reader are mates. They have a huge fight and “break up” and reader leaves the court. She finds out that she is pregnant and writes him a letter. He never shows up so she thinks he doesn’t want the baby. Rhys visit the court she is in and sees her with a child maybe a couple months old. He is mad because she didn’t told him and when he ask her why she keeps his nephew away she tells him that she wrote az but he never answered. Rhys is mad and ask az what is up with him to just leave his pregnant mate. Unbeknownst to him that az was searching for her the whole time. Az tells him that he never got a letter and they find out that maybe elain burned it. It takes some time for them but they find their way back and just fluff azriel dad who teaches his son how to fly.

( you could write more angst between reader and az because of elain or you could use a maid or something who wants az)

Here Without You

Summary - Being a single mother was more painful than you'd ever thought it would be, especially when your son's father was just a court away.

Warnings - Angst, Elain showing those claws, single mom status, a child, PPD and the thoughts that come with it, **edited to add** cheating

A/N - I had one of my friends who is a single mom help me with this one while also imagining my life without baby daddy, and um, yeah. We cried a lot, so hopefully, you all do too.

*message from Liz regarding the ending at the end*

💙Peep my Azriel Masterlist Here💙

You had decided whatever you had done to offend the Mother must have been truly unforgettable and unforgivable as you sank against the wall of your family chambers in the Day Court Palace.

Being a new mother was the hardest thing you had ever and will ever do. You had finally gotten Nox down after 3 hours of fussing and tears, and now you waited. He'd sleep 2 hours if you were lucky, wake up crying, and you'd start the process over.

You had wished for your mate more times than you could count, but that bridge was long gone and burned. He had ensured of that by not coming when you wrote him, by not even bothering to write you a response.

The last fight between you and Azriel had been ugly. Glasses had been thrown, a bottle of wine knocked over in rage, cruel words you would both have to live with ringing in your ears like a scream. 350 years. Gone. Thrown away like garbage. All for Elain.

Selfish, plotting, destructive Elain.

You stood, body swaying with sleep deprivation setting in before sitting at the table where your now cold food set. You were too tired to eat, choosing to instead drink the water you had been desperately craving 4 hour ago.

You had wished you could turn it to wine, drink it with no consequences, and still feed Nox when he woke, but that was not the reality of the world. So, instead, you allowed the room temperature flavorless beverage to slide down your throat before moving like a ghost to the couch. There was no point in getting comfortable in your own bed. You would have to be up soon anyway. It wasn’t as if you had help.

You were alone.

And that wasn't even the most painful part of it.

The most painful part was setting in doubt. The growing disbelief that you weren't capable of this, that Nox deserved more, that you should have dropped him at the cabin you had no doubt Elain had moved into, leaving him with her and Azriel to allow you to-

You cut your brain off, refusing to put those words into a full thought. Refusing to believe that your disappearance or death was better for your son than this.

This had to be enough, you had to be enough, because Gods if it wasn't and you weren't, then what truly was the point in living any longer.

Helion entered your chambers the next morning, eyes falling to where you were sat on the floor, shoulders shaking as sobs tore through you. He placed a large warm hand on your shoulder before taking Nox from your arms. "I know I can not offer much of a break due to his feeding cycle, but when is the last time you ate a hot meal, y/n?"

You shook your head. He was 2 weeks old. You supposed it had been before labor. Since then, it had been moments begging for just a second of deep sleep. Moments begging for the Mother to help you, to guide you. Moments where those prayers went unanswered as if they were just thrown into a void. "I don't remember."

Helion could have killed Azriel for you, for Lucien, for Nox. He almost had when you had winnowed yourself here, collapsing in his arms from the exhaustion magic and a growing babe had caused your body.

You hadn't known when you came to the Day Court, begging your oldest friend for a week of safety and healing that you were pregnant, but the High Lord had scented it the second you appeared.

It left him wondering how the hell Azriel hadn't.

"Let me hire a wet nurse for you," he offered again, knowing you would turn it down since your depressive state had you hyper fixated in this belief that all you were good for now was your breasts, and if you gave that duty away, what purpose did you have? "At least for the next few hours. To give you time to rest?"

You still shook your head, messy, tangled hair trying to sway. "I can't. I can't burden someone else."

Helion turned his head away from you, willing himself not to cry at the emptiness of your voice, at the lifelessness you had become.

"The Night Court and Spring are coming today," he started slowly. "I am the magic selected neutral ground for Tamlin and Rhysand to begin setting a peace treaty and trade routes." He waited for your reaction, almost breaking further as you gave him none. "Do you want to see any of them?"

"Lucien and Tamlin."

Helion felt his heart shatter for Cassian, the male who had been asking about you for months now. "The general-"

"Is Azriel's brother. And probably has taken his side. Attempts to see me are probably to give him some sick sort of satisfaction."

He dropped the subject immediately. Nox was asleep, content in the High Lord's arms. "I have time before they arrive, go nap." Helion ordered it, eyes blazing a soft gold and forcing you into submission.

Your bed had never felt so soft.

Helion was walking with Nox around the Palace, smiling and cooing the little male. He was always content when he was being held, and you were so deeply asleep you hadn't even noticed Helion holding the boy to your chest as he nursed. He walked towards where Lucien and Tamlin were.

His son, his pride and joy, looked just radiant in his Day Court attire. The soft, off-white pleaded fabric draping him showed the new healthy build he had gained since Azriel and Elain's transgressions, a golden snake wrapped his bicep, new golden earrings adorned those many piercings.

Lucien paused, a look of concern etching his face when he saw Nox before shaking his head rapidly.

But it was too late, Helion was already in the room where Rhysand also stood with the Inner Circle. The Lord of Night's face fell as he looked at the Illyrian boy, looking so happy up at Helion as he dozed off.

Cassian had frozen, mid sentence with Nesta. He had tried to take a step, wanting to see the babe he immediately knew was his nephew. His eyes met Helion's pleading with permission to approach. Elain's face had paled. A mix of guilt and fear running across it before she schooled it into a faked look of hurt and sadness.

But it was Azriel's face the broke the High Lord. It was a look he knew all too well.

The look of a father who missed the birth of his child.

The look of a father who didn't know he had a child.

The look of a father mourning lost time.

Lucien moved to Helion, taking Nox before leaving the room quickly. The boy did as he always did when his head found Lucien's warm bare shoulder. He released a heavy breath, snuggling into that familiar scent and warmth. "Your mother did not call for me last night," they all heard his soft voice trailing off, speaking to their nephew softly.

"You will tell me everything I do not know," Rhysand demanded as if he was in his own court. "When the fuck was he born. Why were we not informed of her pregnancy?"

Tamlin looked to Helion, digging the shit further. "Is she in the same room as last time?" The Lord of Day nodded. "I will go see her while you all deal with this."

Helion didn't answer, walking to the centered round table and taking the head seat. "To begin, Rhysand, this is my court. You will not make demands of me in my home." They all sat, aside from Azriel. His gaze was locked on the hallway Lucien and Tamlin had gone down.

If he ran, he could catch them. He could see you. He could-

The slam of hands on a table ripped him from his thoughts, and his head snapped to Helion. The High Lord was blazing, glowing like the sun itself, heat radiating from him. "Sit. Down."

An hour later and Rhysand had the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. "You saw her send each letter?"

Helion rolled his eyes, nodding again. "Every month after every check up and once after the birth."

Rhys pointed to Azriel. "But you never got them?"

"My son wouldn't be in another court if I had," Azriel's voice mirrored yours. Broken, empty, mourning. Mourning what was, what he had missed and would never get back. "You're sure she sent them to me?"

Helion could have snapped his neck. "Who else would have fathered her babe? You are the one who stepped out of the bonds of marriage and mateship. Not her."

Azriel paused, a sudden look of anger gracing his face as he looked up at Elain, shadows curling his ears. Nuala appeared, setting envelopes down in front of Rhysand. "In her room. Under her bed in a locked chest. Along with every communication you had tried to send to y/n, my lord."

Feyre gasped, turning her back to Elain and leaning further into Rhysand, holding Nyx tightly between them. She remembered those first few weeks. The sleepless nights, the pain, the emotional down pour. She would not have survived without Rhysand. Without Nesta and Mor. Without Cassian and you and Azriel. Her sister, the one who had held her as darkness swallowed her mind after her son's birth, had allowed you to endure this alone.

Azriel's hands shook, reaching for that stack. He separated out the letters. 10 for him. 2 for Rhysand and Feyre. 2 for Mor. 2 for Amren. 4 for Cassian and Nesta.

Helion stood. "I will let you all process this. Call for me when you are ready to do negotiations. The sooner you all leave, the better for her."

Rhysand's eyes shot up. "You won't let us explain to her-"

"Does it change the fact that he took Elain to their marriage bed? Does it change that he signed the annulment papers." Silence filled the room. "I believe that's why she left. Correct?" Rhys grit his teeth nodding. "Then all this changes is me, someone she trusts and feels safe with right now, informing her of what happened and allowing her to decide if she wants to reach out again from that point." He made a pointed look at Elain. "Which would not matter since I cannot see you removing the parasite from your court."

Helion walked into your room to Lucien and Nox laying skin to skin, a blanket over them as Tamlin held you, long fingers running through your dark hair. "And?" His son said.

"Your mate hid the letters regarding her pregnancy." Lucien whistled. "She's a snake hiding behind beautiful scales."

Azriel had tracked down your room with his shadows easily. The inner circle had been excused for the negotiations and allowed to explore the city. Cassian had flown Elain home, Mor and Amren winnowing Nesta behind them. Cassian wanted Elain out of his house, and Azriel could not have been more grateful to his brother for having his back.

He entered the room slowly and quietly. You were placing the babe in a crib on the balcony. It was shaded from the sun, shielded to remain the perfect temperature, and yet gave him access to fresh air, to the breeze.

You turned, eyes wide the second you saw Azriel. He moved to you so quickly that you could hardly process it. One second, your feet were on the ground, and the next, arms held you tight against him. Azriel was breathing deeply, memorizing your scent all over again.

He set you down, keeping you close to his chest, and sent a prayer to the Mother. "Elain hid all the letters," he began slowly. "She kept them all in her room. I didn't know. Had I known about you, about him, I would have crawled the very depths of hell to bring you back home to me."

You didn't answer. Tears fell as your body relaxed into him. It wasn't fair. The hold he had on you. The need you still felt in your bones when he touched your skin. You ached for Azriel so deeply it echoed into your bones. You longed for his smell. His voice.

Azriel took your silence as permission to continue. "I made a mistake. I will never be able to make up for it. Elain knew the second you left, I wanted to correct this. I was so blinded by her, by the feeling of being needed like that again, that I forgot how precious your independence was. How beautiful it is."

He couldn't stop himself from kissing the top of your head. "You are all I think about. Morning, noon, and night, it is always and will always be you. I am so sorry for what I have done. I am sorry for hurting you, for ruining us, for hurting the family we should be raising together. There are no words for my remorse."

"Why?" Your voice broke as you asked. "Why wasn't I enough?"

Azriel pulled back to look at you, hand raising to hold your chin and force eye contact. "Y/n, you are not at fault for my actions. You did nothing wrong. There is no partial blame, no what ifs. I fucked up. I made a mistake and it cost both of us everything. You are the victim of my actions, not the catalyst."

He saw you process those words and saw as they sunk in. "You were and are more than I will ever deserve. I want to spend my lifetime making up for it. Becoming a male you are proud of. I want to be the father I never got to have. I want to be the husband and mate you deserve. I know it will take time, and I do not expect your forgiveness today, but if you give me a chance, I will go to my grave worshipping the ground you two walk."

"Do you want to meet our son?" He broke at the question, feeling the bond opening back on your end. "This doesn't mean we're back together. It means we need to coparent for him while we work on things." He nodded rapidly, following you to the bassinet.

It felt like the world was coming full circle. You knew it would take time, that you two had many things to discuss first. This was a needed good start, though. Your pain eased slightly as you pulled back the curtains to the crib and whispered, "Azriel, this is Nox, your son."

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

**I have received some pretty nasty anon asks, some unconstructive comments, and a good amount of general negativity regarding this fic. If you are unhappy with the ending and want to know why I made the choices I made as the author, click #discussingherewithoutyou. Unconstructive comments will be receiving the same copy and paste answer from here forward.

My time and content are free. If you do not like them, scroll.

General Taglist:

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[teamatsumu]

do you? i do. (akaashi keiji x reader)

summary: you lose a bet, so now you have to confess to your crush. for my valentine’s day event - theme: confessions.

word count: 1461

tags: @nishayuro @kitas-tapioca @kakashineedstotouchgrass @amisuh @avis-writeshq @samanthaa-leanne @akaashi-todorki @sp1ng @kur0obaby @bleach-your-panties @pinkiipeachiikeen @keiva1000 @msbyomimi @sleepyxxhead @kindnessspreads

event masterlist

Turns out, promising to do ‘anything you want’ wasn’t something Konoha Akinori took lightly. Especially not when you add Bokuto Koutaro to the mix. Konoha was a sly opportunist, while Bokuto wasn’t embarrassed by anything, so it was a deadly combination.

You didn’t know why you let yourself be talked into making a stupid, silly bet with the two boys. Konoha had a talent to goad, and he managed to successfully goad you. So when you lost the bet (really, why did you think having a physical competition with two volleyball players was a good idea), it was like Konoha had his winning prize ready. The request fell from his lips like he had been practicing it for days.

Which he probably had. The menace.

So here you were, hands shaking violently as you put away water bottles and towels, cleaning up the club room and taking all the time in the world to change back into your uniform. The other managers had offered to wait for you so you could walk home together, but you encouraged them to go on, saying you had some stuff to organize before you left so it would take time. You didn’t need them to stick around to see you horrifically embarrass yourself when you confessed your silly crush and got rejected. Already Konoha was making all the boys stay behind to witness the moment. You couldn’t bear to have your closest friends see it too.

You locked the club room behind yourself before slowly and painfully making your way to the gym. You could hear the thuds of volleyballs and squeaks of shoes as the boys noisily cleaned up. They were talking and laughing amongst themselves, and you felt your nerves tighten even more. This was the worst possible place and time to confess. The chances of public humiliation were sky high. But Konoha had made his demands clear. And you weren’t one to go back on your word, no matter how dire the consequences.

You smoothed your skirt when you reached the gym doors, standing in the doorway and watching the scene before you. Despite the net slowly being lowered, Bokuto was still bounding towards it.

“Akaashi, go again!”

The boy in question was already in position, setting the ball high towards Bokuto, who spiked it hard over the half-up net. Washio was yelling at them to stop and it was enough for the day.

You watched Akaashi wipe the sweat off his forehead and kneel to tie his shoe, breathing slightly labored from the exertion. Your feet remained frozen, eyeing him silently and dreading how your relationship with him was about to change forever. While Akaashi wasn’t someone who harbored ill feelings, you weren’t sure how he was going to react to a love confession and subsequent rejection. What guarantee did you have that this wouldn’t affect your friendship going forward?

“Oi, look who’s here!” Konoha’s voice was filled with glee, and all eyes turned to look at you when he pointed at the door. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and deck him across the face. Violence was not the answer.

“Do you have something to say?”

Okay, maybe violence was the answer.

You gave him a large, fake grin, before nodding jerkily. You could feel the edge of your face and your ears turn burning hot, hands already going clammy as you tried to clench and unclench them.

“Akaashi-san, may I talk to you in private?”

Akaashi seemed surprised, blinking twice before nodding and standing up to walk towards you. No one else was caught off guard, of course, grinning faces looking between you two, knowing what was about to happen. You wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole so you wouldn’t have to do this in front of the entire volleyball team. But a bet was a bet. You had brought this upon yourself.

Whenever you had lain in bed and fantasized about confessing to Akaashi, you had pictured just you and him. Either outside the gym, or in the school grounds, nice cool air blowing through your clothes and hair. You had imagined how he would smile and return your feelings, which was a long shot but anything was possible in your imagination.

Akaashi was…. dignified. Organized. He was crazy smart, perceptive to a fault. It was almost impossible to not like him. Two years since you had started managing the Fukurodani team, and your crush on him had only grown. The more you learned about him, the more you liked him. And he was leagues above you in every sense.

That was the reason you had always believed Akaashi couldn’t return your feelings.

He stepped out behind you, following you only a few steps away from the gym doors. Konoha had explicitly said that you had to stay within earshot. A childish, immature request but part of the bet reward, so you couldn’t exactly refuse. You turned back to the boy, unable to meet his eyes and instead staring at your own hands as you fiddled with your fingers. You had rehearsed in your head over and over how you would take Akaashi’s rejection, what you would say, how would you tell him it wasn’t a big deal and you didn’t expect him to return your feelings. That you hoped you could still be friends. But now, standing before him, you realized you hadn’t really thought about the actual confession. You were completely blank.

“Is everything okay?” Akaashi’s voice was laced with concern, and he tilted his head a bit to catch your eye. You stared at him for a good minute before blinking and vigorously nodding.

“Yes! Completely fine. I’m fine.”

Embarrassment was already beginning to crawl up on you. There was a bout of silence. Behind Akaashi, you caught sight of multiple heads peeking through the window. You felt annoyance build up in you.

“Screw this,” you mumbled. “Akaashi-san, I like you. A lot. Not as a friend. And I was never going to tell you, but I lost a bet to Konoha and he thought this would be the perfect way to humiliate me. By making me confess. So….. here I am. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

Akaashi watched you unblinkingly for a few moments. You glanced at Konoha who was scowling, probably because you name dropped him. But that wasn’t one of his conditions, so you didn’t care. You felt a twinge of satisfaction at having bested him even in your current circumstance. Good. He deserved to feel even a fraction of the anxiety and embarrassment you were feeling right now.

“Why would that humiliate you?” Akaashi finally spoke.

Your eyes met his dark ones, and you felt yourself freeze. Of all the questions you thought he would ask, this was not one you were prepared for.

“Uh-” You tried to come up with an answer that didn’t sound equally as embarrassing as the confession. Because you will reject me and they will all witness it?

Akaashi sighed and toed at the ground a bit, mouth pursed in thought. You stared at him wide eyed, waiting for him to speak. To say something. Follow up on his unusual question.

“This isn’t exactly how I imagined this moment to go.” He muttered, and you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t already looking at him. Your breath hitched, eyes so wide you were sure they would pop out of your skull. You tried to process the sentence, tried to think of any reason he would say that without getting your hopes up.

Akaashi peered around, as if searching for something, looking left and right before he finally caught the floating heads behind him. There was a yelp as they disappeared from the window suddenly, followed by thudding and a curse. You bit back your laughter. Akaashi rolled his eyes.

“I would like to talk about this more. Where others can’t see us.” His voice was as calm and quiet as ever. You felt your heart race. Your limbs felt jittery. Did this mean….?

“Akaashi-san, do you-”

A smile that made your heart leap. “I do.”

You felt a smile stretch over your face, feeling giddy at the thought of something you had considered so impossible materializing in front of your very eyes. You could still hear faint bickering from the gym, and you were sure Konoha had not seen this coming. Somehow, he was the least of your concerns now, in the face of Akaashi’s quiet smile and the way he was leaning towards you. You leaned forward too, realizing you had never been this close to him before. You basked in the moment.

In ten million years you could not have wished for a better outcome.

[aidaronan]

The years go by. The retail jobs that Steve thinks are temporary keep piling up, but he has no idea what else to do with his life so he just keeps on keeping on.

Until a large tree falls on the lawn of the little house he managed to buy and he gets the quote on removal and the number literally hurts his soul.

He buys a small chainsaw instead. Over the course of a few weeks, he gets most of the branches cut up. He collects some large rocks from down by the quarry and digs out a fire pit in his backyard. On his days off, his friends come over and they sit out back and have a few beers. The pile of wood dwindles. The giant trunk is another story though. His chainsaw isn't big enough for it. Burning it would take forever, and Steve's terrified he'd disappoint Smoky the Bear. He's at a loss.

Until he sees another giant trunk in someone's yard carved into a bear.

He knows what to do then. Not a bear, but something else. Through trial and error, the trunk becomes the rough shape of a woman, the remnants of the branches like a crown on her head. It's not as amazing as the bear he saw, but it's his. He finds he loves the smell of sawdust and the feeling of creating something.

Just like that, Steve realizes what he wants to do. It takes several months and a lot of yard sales, but he scrounges up the tools he needs to start woodworking. He learns to measure twice and cut once. He makes tables and chairs and carves them with art and designs that get better and better the more he learns. Shockingly, people actually buy his pieces.

Even more shocking comes the realization that he's making enough money to do it full time. He puts in his two weeks notice at Melvald's and hands in his assistant manager badge.

He's not sure he's happy, but he is content. It feels good to work hard and actually have things to show for it. It also feels good to work muscles he hasn't used since high school. He carries on for a few years like that, creating and learning and creating some more. Then Eddie Munson blows back into town. Invited back so Hawkins can have their most famous alumnus sing the national anthem at homecoming. Steve's honestly surprised he shows at all. "Can't believe you didn't tell them kiss your hairy ass," Steve says. Because of course Eddie ends up around his fire pit, sipping on Steve's cheap beer like he doesn't have three Grammy awards on his mantel. The years fall away with each drink, reminding Steve of just how much it had hurt when Eddie left. He'd wanted Eddie so bad back then, more than he'd ever wanted anyone. He can feel the echoes of that deep ache across time.

"Pfft. Don't you know all famous people wax our asses now? All the rage in LA." Eddie cuts a look at him and smirks when Steve rolls his eyes, grateful for the lighthearted moment to snap him out of his maudlin nostalgia. "Really though I thought about it, but then I thought it would be way funnier to donate a metric fuckton of money to Hawkins High with the stipulation that it go to the theater and band programs. Kind of bummed they couldn't honor my other request though."

"Which was?"

"My old Hellfire throne. I miss her, but apparently she's not around anymore. Something about water damage."

"Oh yeah. Water main busted a few years back and flooded the theater. I remember that." "Yeah. Had to settle for the promise they'd make a game lounge and stock it with all the supplies a budding young nerd needs."

"That's really nice, Eds."

Eddie shrugs. "I've been known to be nice on occasion. You'll come to homecoming, right? Moral support?"

Steve hasn't been to homecoming in years because he sees the other people who stayed in town all the time, and he has no interest in seeing the people who didn't. He can only answer the same questions so many times. Oh, I'm doing woodwork now. Yep, I still live right here. Nope, still not married, no kids.

He goes though, and he answers the uncomfortable questions. Because Eddie asked him to. Because no matter how long it's been, Steve can't deny that some part of him still...

He says goodbye after, and Eddie leaves again, and Steve tries not to think about that too much in the following days.

He's halfway into the project before he realizes what he's building. He'd seen Eddie's throne quite a few times back when. What he doesn't have memories of, he makes up. He adds his own touches too, making it a throne fit for a rock star, a nerd, a friend.

He carves ornate patterns, he creates scenes of dragons being beaten back by a man with a guitar, crowds of people that could be knights or concertgoers.

It's his favorite piece he's ever done, and his hands are shaking when he dials Eddie's number. He gets an answering machine and stumbles through a message.

"I made you something. I guess it's kind of silly, but it's here in Hawkins if you want it. Or I'm sure you can afford the shipping if you don't want to come. Just, I made you a chair. It's more of a... Well, you'll see. Unless you don't want to... It's Steve by the way." He hangs up before he can embarrass himself even more.

Eddie doesn't call him back. One day passes and then another. Steve tries not to let it get to him. He works on orders and new projects. He enjoys his little backyard oasis. He rents a few movies and thinks they're okay.

He's debarking some wood in his driveway when the rental car pulls up, Eddie stepping out in ripped jeans and an old Metallica tee. "Hi again, Stevie."

"Oh." Steve clears his throat. "The thing's in the garage. I'll..."

Eddie doesn't say anything for a long time, circling the throne, running his tattooed fingers over each little detail.

"You made this whole thing?"

"I did."

"For me?" Eddie looks at him then, one hand still touching the wood like he doesn't want to let go. Even under the harsh lights of the garage, his eyes are such a warm shade of brown that Steve forgets to breathe.

He nods. "For you."

"Why?"

There are a hundred answers Steve could give, but he spent so long not knowing who he was or who he wanted to be. Too long. "Because you'll always be the one that got away. Because some part of me will always want to make you smile no matter how long it's been."

Eddie falls into the throne like he just got the wind knocked out of him.

"You don't have to respond to that," Steve says. "You can just say thank you and take the chair."

"I can." Eddie blows out a breath. "But that would be incredibly stupid considering half my early ballads are about you."

"What?" Unfair. Steve doesn't have a chair to fall into.

"Oh sure, I changed the hes to shes for a while there because..." Eddie waves his hand. "But they're about you, Steve. God, I should've asked you out. I just thought..."

Hearing those words is a lot like seeing that carved bear all over again, something clicking into place that wasn't quite right before.

"Go out with me now then," Steve says. "Or stay in. I've got a frozen lasagna and I rented Contact."

"Steve Harrington? Asking Eddie 'the Freak' Munson on a date? Did hell freeze over?"

"Pfft." Steve takes a step closer toward what he wants most. "Hell froze over in 1986, Eddie. You were there."

Five months and a lot of long distance phone bills later, Steve opens Harrington Woodworking in Los Angeles. That same day, Eddie takes photos for Rolling Stone posing in an ornate throne in his living room. He tells the reporter exactly who made it and what he means. At concerts, he starts singing those ballads the way he always wanted to. More often than not, Steve stands in the wings singing along.

[honeydjarin]

MOUSE IN THE KITCHEN

OPLA SANJI X SHORT!READER

Luffy isn’t the only one with a penchant for sneaking into the kitchen.

request: Hiii, if you want to I'd like to request a Sanji x short reader, where they try and help him out in the kitchen but can't reach anything. No pressure, just wondering

genre: fluff

word count: 2,000

a/n: normally I avoid any sort of specific physical features in my fics in order to make them as inclusive as possible, but as someone who must climb the shelves at the grocery store in order to reach anything, this request spoke to me. This one is a little silly and nothing but fluff. I hope you enjoy!

It’s late. The sun sank below the horizon long ago, leaving no trace of the adventures and games that took place during the daylight hours. Everyone else on the Going Merry is asleep. You really should be sleeping too, and you had been, not too long ago. 

You don’t know what it is that stirred you from your slumber. Perhaps some noise as the ship rocks on lazy waves, or a crew mate talking just a bit too loud in their sleep. It doesn’t matter, really. What does matter is the thoughts that worm their way into your mind the longer you lie awake. Thoughts of something light, something sweet, something to satiate a craving, your body convinced it’s time for breakfast despite your mind knowing dawn is hours away. It doesn’t take long for the hollow ache in your stomach to drive you from the comfort of your hammock and up towards the galley.

You know the kitchen on the ship well. You know which floorboards creak and which are safe to step on, where the chef hides traps for Luffy and how to circumvent them, where all of the ingredients to satiate your sweet tooth are hiding. 

Just thinking about the reason for your intimate knowledge of the ship’s kitchen is enough to send heat racing up your neck and settling beneath your cheeks. You press your fingers to the skin where your burning blood pools beneath the surface, taking a moment to relish in the sugar sweet feeling of a simple crush—a single name swirling through your brain is all it takes to leave you giggling quietly in the night.

Sanji, the newest member of the Straw Hat Crew. Sanji, the one who will never let another go hungry, not even a stranger. Sanji, the man with sun soaked hair and a honey dipped tongue. 

Sanji.

Sanji.

When the chef first joined the crew, you admired him. He was caring and steady, he knew what he believed in. With his handsome looks, quick wit, and open flirtations, it didn’t take long for that admiration to slip into something that felt sweetly like affection. You couldn’t help but want to spend more time with the cook, hoping to join him in the activities that bring him the most joy so that you might better understand him. It didn’t take long for you to become nearly as familiar with the galley as he is. 

You step into the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind you. You leave the lights off, not wanting to risk anyone else catching you in the galley (or getting the idea to grab a snack themselves). Instead, you stand in the dark, waiting for your eyes to adjust. Moonlight spills through the windows of the room, bright enough to see by, if you’re patient. 

It isn’t long before you’re able to move again, walking along a familiar path towards where Sanji stores all things sugary. 

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that you’re doing something you shouldn’t. Like if you have to sneak around then you’re in a place you don’t belong. This is Sanji’s space, cataloged and organized to best suit his needs and ensure the crew has enough supplies to last between islands. It feels strange to be in the kitchen without the sound of his laughter or the smell of something delicious cooking on the stove top. 

Sanji’s presence is the piece that makes this space feel so comfortable. Without him, it feels too large, hollow. The galley has no life without its chef. You never really thought about how the kitchen would feel without him in it, and can’t help but hope it isn’t a feeling you become used to.   

You know if you wake up the cook he will make something for you. He would rub the sleep from his eyes, only half succeeding, before asking what he could make to help satiate your craving with a smile. You would feel guilty the whole time. 

It’s better to sneak through the galley for something you can find on your own than to disturb Sanji’s sleep. 

The first thing you search for is chocolate. You crawl onto the countertop, balancing on your knees as your feet dangle over the edge, before opening the cabinet in front of you. You eye the chocolate chips, the miniature sweets sitting at a level seemingly so easy for the rest of the crew to grab. You doubt any of the others would have to climb to reach them. 

Unfortunately, the only chocolate on the shelf is unsweetened. The lack of added sugar may be perfect for baking, but they won’t be sweet enough for your taste on their own. 

You begin to drop down from the countertop, fully intending to continue your search for the perfect treat. Your feet drop to the ground quietly, and you land in an almost crouch. Perfect, the ship is silent, as it should be. You straighten up, intending to continue your search, but your knees, still tight from your recent slumber, crack as you stand. The sound rings out in the otherwise silent kitchen like a gunshot. 

Maybe your creaking joints wouldn’t be a problem in a normal kitchen, but Sanji, who has ears attuned to any slight sound coming from the Galley (thanks to Luffy’s many attempts to raid the space at odd hours for food), surely heard the pop in his sleep. You may as well have knocked down all of the pots and shattered all of the dishes. 

It isn’t long before the sound of hurried footsteps and frustrated grumbling reaches your ears. The door to the galley slams open, lights flickering on just a moment after, leaving you squinting as your eyes adjust to the room once more. 

“Luffy, I swear if you touched any of the food I’ll—oh.” Sanji’s voice carries through the kitchen, his accent thicker than normal, sleep still clinging to his words. Your name rolls off his tongue, and you think it sounds sweeter in his sleep-addled voice than any chocolate could taste. 

“Sorry, Sanji. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just a little hungry,” you confess. 

“You could have woken me up,” he says, just like you knew he would. “I’d have been happy to cook something for you.” 

“I didn’t want to bother you. You deserve to rest. Especially when you already wake up so early each morning to make breakfast.” 

Sanji hums, stepping farther into the kitchen. He looks more awake now than he did when he first arrived. His eyes don’t stray from your own as he speaks, no longer concerned about the state of the galley. 

“For you, love, it’s never a bother.” The smile he offers you sends your heart fluttering in your chest. “Anyway, I’m awake now. What would you like to eat?” 

He’s too good to you, too gentle. How could your heart ever stand a chance?

“I was just planning on eating a little chocolate, but it seems like there's only the unsweetened kind right now.” 

“Ah, of course. Only something sweet would be fitting for my sweetheart.” 

Your breath catches in your throat. His. He called you his. 

You bring your hand up to your mouth, trying to hide the growing grin that spreads on your lips as you nearly melt from his words. The warmth blossoming in your chest will surely turn you into a puddle on the floor, and then Sanji will know just how much his words affect you (if he doesn’t know already).

“Can we make something with chocolate in it?” you ask.

“We?” Sanji repeats, as if he didn’t expect you to help him in this task. His gaze softens, eyes gleaming with something like affection, before adding. “Of course we can. How do strawberry and chocolate hand pies sound? I picked up some fresh jam at the last port.”  

“It sounds perfect,” you say. It’s far more than you hoped to find during your late night search. When you got out of bed, you never would have guessed what kind of sweet you would find in the kitchen. You definitely didn’t expect to spend time baking with Sanji.

The two of you work comfortably together, only speaking when Sanji provides specific instructions or when you need clarification. The hazy fog of sleep still hovers over the both of you, even if you’re both awake enough now to function.

“Could you grab the chocolate chips for me?” Sanji asks. 

It’s a simple request, one you can easily complete. You know where he keeps the chocolate chips, the unsweetened treat seeming much more appealing now that they’re going to be baked into something.

You make your way back over to the counter, situating yourself below the cabinet where the chocolate is stored. Then, you place your hands on the cool surface, preparing to make the climb. You’re certain Sanji knew this was the path necessary for you to take to reach the ingredient too. There’s no way for you to reach the chocolate chips without being higher up. 

As you jump, using the force of your arms to help pull yourself up towards the counter just like you’ve done in other kitchens many times before, an unexpected force settles on your shoulders, pushing your feet back towards the ground.

“None of that, sweetheart. There will be no climbing on the countertops in my kitchen,” Sanji reprimands. He’s gentle in his scolding, the uptick of his lips and gleam in his eye letting you know he’s not really mad. “Sorry, I thought they were a bit lower.”

He doesn’t seem sorry. 

You open your mouth to protest against what could only be meant as a jab about your height, but only a squeak comes out. Sanji’s warmth seeps into your back as he presses close, the shape of his hand burning into your hip as it settles there. You can feel the way his body stretches as he reaches up, leaning further into you, before easily grabbing the bag that seemed so far out of your reach. Any words you might have had to tell off the man for doing something for you when you could easily do the task yourself (as long as you could climb on the counter) fizzle out. 

Sanji doesn’t look at you as he reaches for the chocolate, but the easy smile on his lips morphs into a lazy smirk. His thumb rubs slow, intentional circles where his hand remains steady on your hip, as if he was soothing a startled animal, coaxing you to stay close instead of running away, something you just might have done if he wasn’t purposefully grounding you while your thoughts soared. 

Oh no, you think. He knows.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Sanji was already aware of your feelings for him—you’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve—but you had tried not to make your feelings for the chef too obvious. 

Sanji pulls the chocolate chips down, but he doesn’t step away. He still holds you close as he bends, his face lowering until it’s right beside yours. Then, without warning, his lips are pressed to the curve of your cheek. 

The kiss is quick, feather-light, but you’re certain he can feel the way your blood burns just beneath the surface of your skin, his quiet mumble of so warm the only confirmation you need, even if you weren’t meant to hear. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I just couldn’t help myself.” Before you can react, Sanji steps away from you, taking you in for only a moment longer before turning back to the task at hand. With how smoothly he acted, there’s no way he hadn’t planned that little stunt he pulled.  

He definitely knows.  

Sanji is already placing the hand pies in the oven by the time you’re finally able to move again, and you can’t help but feel almost frustrated that the chef didn’t give you a chance to return his affection. 

You’re left waiting impatiently as he sets the timer, the miniature pies now the last thing on your mind. Sanji doesn’t seem to understand—you’re craving something sweet, and as far as you’re concerned, the sweetest thing on this ship is him. 

a/n: thank you for reading〜♡