#sorry i neglected this ask for so long lmao

[neon-glowing-rainbow]

How to make glow cakes

Ugh glowing cakes are SO COOL LOOKING.

I'm no baker myself, but I think the best way to make a glowing cake is to get a black light and find some naturally fluorescent edible toppings Here's a little shop I found that makes just such a product:

Lumo Glo Paint

[love-bitesx]

I loveeeedd the last story Tysm ❤️❤️❤️ Keep up the amazing work 🌈

I have another request

Hobie x fem spider reader

Reader has a weird stalker ex-bf, and the reader tries to keep it a secret from Hobie but he finds out and deals with the ex.

: ̗̀➛ STALKER. hobie brown x fem!reader

any criminal minds fans out there … i hope u see the parallels of my baby spencer also i'm so sorry, i didn't see until after i wrote this entire thing that you said 'fem spider reader' so it's a fem normal reader, so sorry! i hope it's still okay, tho!! thank u sm for ur support angel !! summary: hobie & y/n have been doing long distance for months, but she never told him exactly why. words: 2.8k (the words just kept coming, sorry its so long lmao) warnings: fem!reader, pronouns not really used but "my girl", "lady", etc. are, read at your own risk! weird stalker bf, creepy fella, hobie n y/n are long distance, very very soft hobie

“when can i call you next, darlin’?” hobie’s voice was laced with longing, bass distorted by static at the other end of the phone.

“if you’re quick, we can call tomorrow after 5,” you smiled, and if you were in an 80’s romcom, you’d be twisting the phone cord between your fingers.

“5pm it is, don’t be late,” you can hear his smirk, and a bolt of guilt strikes your chest.

“look, i need to ask something, and i think i already know the answer,” hobie speaks, and you bite your lip in anticipation, “the band and i are playing at a new venue tomorrow, it’s the biggest we’ve played, we’re all dead excited, and…”

a sigh.

“well, it won’t feel the same without you there, pretty.”

if the first bolt wasn’t enough, then the second one lived up to it, striking you into the dead center of your heart. it had been well over 6 months since you met hobie. well, “met”. you’d accidentally called the wrong number one day, meaning to contact a friend of a friend, but typing the last number wrong. picking up at the other end was a deep, almost mesmerising voice, telling you; “no bother, darlin’. it happens, just make sure not to lose this number, wanna hear more from ya.”

“hobie, you know i can’t,” your voice is brimming with remorse and you look to the ground.

“i know, shit with your parents, i get it," he tried hard to hide the disappointment, but his heart twanged with neglect and it creeped through into his words.

parents. strict, all-demanding 'parents'. that's what you told hobie when you first started dating, that the reason you aren't able to see him was because your mother was overbearing and extremely protective – it was a lie. a lie that was eating you up from the inside out. the truth was slightly more grim, however.

years ago, you got involved with a guy at work. a couple brief conversations turned into dates, and dates turned into anniversaries, anniversaries turned into toxic, violent arguments and after a long time of dating, you broke up with him. to say he took it badly, was a criminal understatement. threatening phone calls, showing up at your work, sending you gifts and menacing letters – his signature move was scaring off, and even once harming, any man or potential love interest that you interacted with. it was exhausting, and terrifying.

and hobie was different. he was sweet and kind, but rough around the edges, and his voice dripped in passion no matter the topic of conversation. his promises were never empty, and most importantly – he loved you. and you loved him. the last thing you wanted, was your ex to pop up and scare him off, so you kept it from him. limiting your relationship to phone calls at arranged times incase your ex was keeping tabs.

“i’m sorry, hobie,” is all you could muster, not even scratching the tip of the catastrophic iceberg that wedged the back of your throat.

“it’s okay, darlin’, don’t worry that pretty little head over it,” and just like every phone call, you melted into his words, “i love you, yeah? i’ll call you tomorrow at 5.”

“i’ll be waiting,” you smiled, cheeks flushed at his gentle affirmations, “i love you.”

with a ruckus of movement, and what sounded like a kiss, the call ended, and you stared at the screen silently for a moment. not much longer could you avoid it, and the malten bubble of dread spilled into your gut.

sending him a quick text:

‘good luck tomorrow, handsome. what’s the venue called again? you’ll do amazing x’

you turned off your phone, discarding it on the bed as you climbed into the hole of guilt you’d dug yourself.

“oi, you ready, blud?” hobie’s band mate yelled above the bustle and cheers from the crowd before them. large, bejewelled hands poised onto his guitar strings, he smirked.

“always.”

with a nod to the roadie, the lights went up, illuminating the stage and instruments, hobie's glowing with a harsh red tint. immediately, his sepia eyes digested the crowd. seeing the flushed, excitable faces staring back at him sent a shot of confidence to his bones, and they moved, strumming the guitar with such vigor that the stage floor shook beneath his feet. cheers erupted, and yet felt oddly empty. it was missing something, and he knew what it was immediately.

he'd truly give his all to have you there, front stage in his eyeline, screaming his songs like gospel. not that he'd ever seen you properly, only seeing teasing selfies you'd sent him over the months you'd been together. he didn't care, inherently, he'd fallen head over heels for your personality; a pretty face was only just a bonus.

however, he did yearn for your touch. to feel his hands in your hair, to kiss your cheek, your nose, your neck. he longed to have you with him, even just doing stupid little tasks, having you by his side through the domestic side of life.

his gall spurred him on, his passion surging through his fingertips, spilling out into the sound waves. the audience were lapping it up, screams and chants only barely audible under the booming power of their set. song, after song, after song his talented blood seeped out onto the strings, and his feet were almost numb from the vibration of the bass.

the final song arrived, and his chest was burning, vision blurry, heart pounding against his chest – and he loved it. it was their biggest crowd, their most excitable achievement so far, and his blood pumped with adrenaline as he finished off the set, falling to his knees as he strum his guitar with one final chord. lights falling, his chest was heaving and his eyes scanned the audience one final time – you weren’t there. he had to accept that.

“that was fuckin’ sick, blud!” his bassist yelled as they exited the stage, palm slapping hobie’s shoulder blade and elicited a wide, ecstatic grin.

“you smashed it, mate,” hobie shouted back over the booming stereo that took their place.

“nah, man, you stole the show,” his bassist shook his head, patting him again in appreciation, “good that your lady’s here to see it, too, she must be proud.”

“i wish, mate,” he sighed.

“did you not see her?” his ears perked up, and at his confused expression, his bandmate continued, “over at the back, by the bar, i didn’t know what she looked like, but she was asking after you. ‘er story adds up.”

"shit," he mutters, feet solid on the ground. his heart pounds, skeptical of your presence, but chest bursting with hope that it just might be you, "look, bro, i need to–"

"go! go, man, go see her," his bandmate pushes him in the direction of the bar, and he almost stumbles over his own feet to push the stage door open, met with the chaos of the crowded bar.

dark eyes scanning the aimless faces, he searched for anyone who could look like you; his stature brought him above everyone else, only by a little, but gave him an advantage to seek you out.

"sorry, i need to get past," he repeated, over and over to unassuming bodies, setting through the chaos to find his peace. pushing out at the back, a wave of light met him, shining through empty pint glasses and illuminating the bar.

there you were.

standing quietly, head nodding along to the blasting instrumentals, drink in hand; you were heart-stopping. and he was pretty sure his did. even if he’d never seen you face-to-face, he’d memorised the soft plump of your lips, alluring light in your eyes, even the way your hair fell against your skin from the photos he'd seen. there was no doubt it was you, and my god, you were beautiful. he couldn’t even stop his legs if he tried, as they carried him over to you.

"y/n?" his voice barely travelled through the sound waves, but it hit your ear like a familiar embrace.

turning to him, eyes wide and bright in the twinkling of the bar lights. you drunk him in, warm eyes swallowing every part of him. you'd seen pictures, again, but it could never compare to him. dark brown skin, soft to its complexion, hugged his bones in every perfect way; folding at the creases of his handsome face. he was tall, very tall, and the detail of the curves and indents of his muscles, altered by the shadows of the dim bar light, made your head fuzzy. god, he was beautiful – nothing that a digital screen could ever portray with justice.

"hobie," your voice was crisper than he was used to, and he would bottle it if he could, "hey, handsome, you got a–"

"come 'ere," he interrupted, essentially scooping you into his tense embrace, melting into your scent, the feel of you in his arms. his heart was pounding against his chest. you wrapped yourself around him, running your hands along his leather jacket, ghosting the skin below it.

"you interrupted my introduction," you pouted against his shoulder, "had a whole little joke planned and everything, you know."

"go on, hit me, love," he pulled back a tiny bit, his arms still glued around your waist, looking down through his lashes. you faltered under his intense gaze, giddy smile bursting onto your face and you buried your head in his chest.

"nuh uh, not anymore," you shook your head against him, "you ruined it."

his hand came up to touch your face whilst you spoke, following the edge of your hairline and tucking your hair around your shoulder. he was in awe, having you here, having you with him. tightening his embrace, he didn't want to let you go – ever.

"mhmm," his voice vibrated his chest, and you pulled away, "i'm sure it was hilarious, love."

"it really was," you chuckled, giddy in his presence.

the air grew thicker, your laughter dying out and left with just his strong gaze, his dark brown eyes following yours. you could barely comprehend him being here, in front of you, around you, and he was so much more than you had imagined. feeling his calloused hand caress your cheek, you leaned into his touch, inviting him into your world. cupping your face, hobie bought himself to you, leaning down until his pierced lips were ghosting your own. months he'd dreamed of this, imagined how it would feel to kiss his girl, to taste your lips and feel your love. he could feel your breath, and you were about to give in, until you pulled away.

"wait, i–" you swallowed thickly, pulling your touch from him.

"what's up, darlin'?" his eyes scanned your face for any sign of reason, "did i do somethin'?"

"no! no, you," you sighed, "you're perfect, it's not you."

he'd be lying through his teeth if he denied the pit of anxiety building deep in his stomach, bubbling up his throat.

"what is it?"

"i–" you stuttered again, and fought to get your words out of your brain and into the thick air of the bar, "i haven't been telling you the truth."

silence. just for a second. hobie's brain working over time.

"look, if you've got another fella, or somethin', just get it over with–"

"no! no, hobie, i'm yours, i promise," your words settled him for a second.

"my parents don't care about us, they aren't strict, in fact, they were happy when i told them about you," you begun, opening the dam.

"they know about me?" his voice was smaller than you were used to, and if your brain had a spare synapse to process it, you'd probably have melted.

"yes, and i'm sorry i haven't told you," you avoided his eyes, "it's my ex."

"oh, fuckin' 'ell," he sighed, dropping his arms to his side, and he's about to speak, until you interrupt.

"we broke up years ago, but he's never left me alone," you ring your wrists with your hands nervously, and hobie notices – you looked terrified, "i've tried everything; i've tried the police, i've moved countless times, i've changed jobs, made new friends, met new people – he won't leave me be."

tears welled up now, and his heart reached for you, but his arms stayed stuck by his side.

"every guy that i meet, he's, i don't know, calling them telling them i'm someone i'm not, or following them home and slashing tires, or roughing them up outside pubs," paranoia enveloped you, and your eyes darting around the crowd, "i was so scared, because you're the best i've ever had, and probably will ever have, and i don't want him to scare you off."

"y/n–"

"and i understand if this has done exactly what i'm scared of, because i get that keeping it from you was awful, but i was only trying to protect you and–"

his lips cut you off, warm against your own, capturing your words and pushing them back down your throat. hands on your cheeks, body flush against your own, you melted into him completely. it felt like heaven, like months of tension and longing unravelling like ribbon into the wind. it was safe, gentle, like a promise – a promise that it didn't scare him, and that he was yours.

"is he here?" his voice was low, lips hovering yours.

"i-i don't know," you were flustered, your brain trying to make sense of it all, but his hand on the small of your back stopped any cognitive thoughts, "i haven't seen him."

watching him, hobie's dark eyes floated around the crowd, before falling back onto you. smirk on his lips, he placed a quick peck onto your cheek.

"hmm, i hope he enjoyed the show," he chuckled lowly, and you couldn't help but mimic it, relief flooding off your shoulders, "how about we go somewhere a bit safer?"

"like where?" you questioned, intrigued by the coaxing tone of his voice.

"well, i only live around the corner," he shrugged, before offering his hand. blushing, you slipped your hand into his, the soft skin of his fingers pulling you towards him, until he threw his arm around your shoulder.

"nothing could scare me off, you know," he whispered, placing a kiss to your hair, "i'm 'ard as nails."

"oh yeah?" you giggled.

"mhmm."

clothed eyes glued to the suspicious figure, hobie stood on a rooftop, footsteps silent as he follows the man below. tailing him through the cobbled back lanes of london, hobie's back tingled with apprehension – he'd been following him for at least a mile, waiting for a perfect opportunity.

and he'd finally found it.

pausing his heavy stroll, the man dug into his pockets and pulled out a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes, fumbling further for a lighter. a small orange glow lit up the air around him as he puffed away, smoke fluttering to meet hobie's nose.

silently, hobie swung to a platform below, pulling his guitar tighter against his back and dropped to the hard ground. the sound of his leather boots colliding with the cobble made the man turn in his direction, eyes wide at the sight.

"spiderman?" the man breathed between puffs, voice hoarse, "can i help you?"

"you know what, i think you can," hobie strutted, hands stuffed into his leather jacket, lanky stance towering him, "are you y/n's ex fella?"

"who's asking?" he questioned stupidly, and hobie let out a laugh.

"bruv, who's– are you stupid or somethin'?" hobie punched him lightly in the shoulder, "do you not see the whole get up?"

"the fuck have you got to do with y/n?" he spat, defensive stance taking over his body.

"none of your business," hobie knew that would sting, "but you're gonna leave her alone, fella."

"you don't know what you're talking about."

"i'm not askin', mate," hobie stepped closer, "and i'm not givin' you a choice."

before he could even utter a response, hobie had swung his spike-studded arm in his direction, knuckles colliding against the pathetic man's jaw, knocking him to the ground below.

"tha's my girl you're messin' with now."

[kakujis]

do you love me?; 4

synopsis: they wake you up and ask if you love them. 1 2 3

ft + wc: mistuya, draken, chifuyu. 3k.

warnings: gn!reader, swearing, miscommunication, workaholic bfs, tipsy chifuyu, slightly spicy in drakens! not proofread! thats it LMAO

a/n: hi. it's been a while! i took a writing break and i'm not sure if this means my writer's block is over, but here's the fourth and probably final part of this series (this is a lie im probs gonna write more when s3 comes out LMFAO) anyways, similar themes for mitsuya and draken, while chifuyu's is extra fluffy. the extra fluff was added in for @fuyuluvr btw.

mitsuya takashi has been busy. more so than ever, you’ll find him buried in his work til the early morning hours. this happens every time he’s hit with inspiration for a new runway collection and you often wind up feeling neglected. but mitsuya will always find a way to sneak time with you in, even if it means playing model for a little bit. 

his love comes out through his finger tips, when he’s laying the garment over you, light touches over your skin. it comes out in the way he silently works, looking you over every so often, smiling when he notices the way you furiously blush when he lingers for just too long. 

but this time is a little different. his fatigue clear on him when he crashes into the bed, mumbling a sleepy “good night” to your “good morning.” it’s jarring, how separate the two of you feel in the shared space of your home. 

mitsuya realizes something is wrong the first night you tell him you don’t want to model for him. “it was a long day… i’m just tired.” you had told him, hesitating before you placed a kiss on his forehead. you left shortly afterwards, leaving mitsuya in his office. 

the second night you barely touched your dinner, pushing your food around on the plate absentmindedly. when he asked if something was wrong, you told him that you weren’t hungry with a strained smile on your face. “don’t worry about me.” 

the final piece locks into place the night you push him away from you when he tries to sneak a kiss. “not now,” you said, unable to look at him, “my breath smells.” you both know it’s a pitiful attempt at a joke, but when he tries to pry, you ignore him. lavender eyes trail after your form, noting the way you bend into yourself as you walk, closed off. 

mitsuya’s always allowed you your space and this time is no different. except for the fact that he can’t focus at all, too distracted by the guilt gnawing on his bones. he has a deadline to meet, yet he can’t seem to care when his partner is upset with him. 

he removes his glasses before running his hands over his face. he mulls over the apology in his head, before he’s up and heading toward your bedroom. when he arrives, he kneels at your side of the bed, one hand caressing your cheek to rouse you from sleep. when you blink almost awake you’re met with his pretty face, guilt etched into his features. 

“taka..?” your voice barely louder than a whisper, you fight against the heaviness of your eyelids, the inherent need to see him reigning over the lull of sleep. you love him after all. 

“morning angel,” he starts, dragging his thumb over the curve of your cheek. “i’m sorry.” 

you open your mouth to speak, but mitsuya presses a finger against your lips, shaking his head. his silver locks move in tandem, his eyes peeking underneath them as he focuses on the hardwood floor. it’s hard for him to remember what he wanted to say, being in front of you much different than the scenario rehearsed in his head. at the end of the day though, mitsuya is a man of his word, whether it’s to you or himself, he’ll see it through. 

he steels himself, looking you straight-on as you blink at him, one hand placed over his. “i’m really sorry.” he reiterates, “for neglecting you. i’m also sorry for not noticing sooner. i shouldn’t have asked you to model for me when i’ve barely spent any time with you… i’m just.. sorry.” 

“can i speak now?” you ask, squeezing his hand and he nods. you push yourself up onto your elbows, before placing your hands on his shoulders. “i’m sorry for being selfish.” 

he shakes his head, “you’re not selfish, don’t say that. i mean, i could say the same thing right?” 

your expression is somber as you respond, “takashi… it’s your job, hon. it’s always been like this, it’s not like this is your first collection either.” 

but mitsuya can read you like a book, remembering that with each disagreement, you’ll hide your feelings in favor of his. he knows when you break eye contact, looking away, that you’re not saying what’s really on your mind. 

“do you love me?” he asks, before running his finger under the curve of your jawline. when you nod, he tilts your face back upward, forcing you to look at him, “then be honest with me.” 

“o-okay…” you sigh, “i hate your job.” 

he grins, “that was brutal.” but he still nods, urging you to continue. 

“i hate your stupid deadlines and i hate when you’re super busy, because i want to spend time with you. and also, i miss you all the time and by the way, that stupid runway coordinator called your cell and when i answered they hung up immediately! that’s so unprofessional! like, you should be grateful i even answered the damn phone! right?” you huff once you finish your tirade, your feet kicking up and down in annoyance. 

mitsuya can’t help but laugh once you’re done, it’s the most animated he’s seen you these past few days. he likes it. 

“don’t laugh!” you pout, puffing your cheeks out and your boyfriend has to bite back another laugh. 

“no, no, you’re right, how could they hang up on my partner?” he agrees and your face softens. “but damn, i didn’t think you hated my job that much.” 

you gasp, freezing for a moment, “ahh, well it’s not like i hate it-“ 

“you just despise it?” he quips, one eyebrow raised, interrupting you. 

“no!” you exclaim, continuing to pout. but you feel lighter, like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders. 

“you feel better?” he asks, taking your hands into his and pressing a kiss to them. 

maybe the two of you didn’t exactly solve the problem, but that’s fine, you can never stay upset with him for long. 

“a little bit.” you say, before tugging him upwards. “you know what would really make me feel better?” 

“hm?” he tilts his head, eyes soft. 

“if you cuddled with me.” you respond, tugging at him just a bit harder. 

he smiles as he climbs into bed, “as you command, my dear.” 

draken: 

sometimes, you think ryuguji ken would be better off moving into his bike shop. you don’t mean to be bratty, really, but you can’t help it. the countless nights of him coming home late have been taking a toll on you. it’s been worse since inui’s taken some time off which means draken and shinichiro need to take over, which means less time with your boyfriend. 

you check your phone one more time for the daily goodnight text, but when you see none, you quietly turn your phone off and close your eyes to try to get some sleep. 

but it hurts, like the prick of a thorn or the sting from a wasp, but you know when draken’s busy, it’s best not to bother him. still, you can’t help the tears that bubble up, spilling over like the flood of a dam as you hug yourself, burying your face into your pillow. when you finally settle, you hope he won’t notice puffiness of your eyes when he comes home. maybe he’ll keep the light off, you hope, as you drift into a deep sleep. 

when he finally gets home, smelling distinctly of motor oil, he tries his best to stay quiet, borderline tiptoeing his way to your shared bedroom. as he changes out of his dirty clothes, his eyes naturally trail to your sleeping form. there’s something off. 

if there’s one thing about draken, he can pick up on every subtle shift of your mood. after all, draken knows you best. 

he knows he should probably shower as you hate the smell of the oil and grease, but his body moves towards you anyway. he turns the bedroom light on before he climbs onto the bed, grabbing you and shaking gently. 

“baby?” he calls, watching as your face scrunches up.

“hm? what is it?” you murmur, a little irritated, but you let him turn you over anyway. 

“were you crying?” he asks and you force your sleepy eyes open. concern paints his face as he cups your cheek, “what happened?” 

“nothin’,” you lie, staring at his chest rather than his face. “i’m just tired.” 

“and your eyes are swollen just because?” he cocks a brow, already onto your little lie. 

“yep.” you quip, before pushing his hand away and sinking into your pillow. “it doesn’t matter, kenny.” 

“except it does,” he replies, moving down with you, “what happened?” he asks again and part of you feels like maybe it’s time to answer. until you remember the big race mikey has coming up, which makes you decide to keep your mouth shut. 

draken sighs, “alright, i won’t pry.” he stays there in his dirty clothes, yawning as he stretches and lays back, eyes closed.  

you scrunch your nose. “kenny… aren’t you gonna shower?” 

“yep.” he says, in the same tone you gave him earlier. 

“… and when are you gonna do that?” you press, silently thinking about the laundry you’re going to have to do later. 

“when you tell me what’s wrong.” he answers, head leaning back against the headboard. he peeks an eye down at you, smirking at the incredulous look on your face. “what? i said i wouldn’t pry, not that i wouldn’t wait. take your time.” 

“and if I decide I won't tell you anything all night?” you ask, slightly sitting up.

“like i said, take your time.” he shrugs. 

“you’re …insane.” you scoff, laying back down. you pull the blanket over you, back to him.  

“nah, just patient.” he corrects and the  two of you fall into another uncomfortable silence. 

for the next few minutes, it’s completely quiet and you think draken may have actually fallen asleep sitting up. but when you turn around, you meet his eyes, soft yet concerned. you know that he cares, it’s the essence of your relationship. so maybe, just this once, you could let him know. 

hesitantly, you open your mouth to speak. “if i asked you to spend less time at the shop and more time with me… would that be okay?” your voice is low, quiet, and unsure. 

instead of answering, he asks,“do you love me?” and you find yourself confused. 

“huh? that doesn’t-”

“just answer the question.” he interrupts. 

“yes, of course i do.” 

“then why wouldn’t it be okay?” he asks, pulling you into his embrace. “i didn’t have to pick up the extra shifts if you didn’t want me to.”

“and leave shin to die from overworking?” you joke, but in actuality, it is a ton of maintenance work. 

“why not?” he smirks and you laugh. “ah! there it is, your pretty smile.” 

“you stink.” you grumble, pushing away from him. “i’m mad at you.” but your heart betrays you and the pout you try to display is futile as the corners of your mouth curve into a small smile. 

“huh? you talkin’ about me or my personality?” draken quips, but he holds onto you tighter as you continue to try to push off. “don’t go anywhere, angel. you’re comin’ with me.” 

“what? where are we- ah!” you squeal as he gets up, taking you with him. you quickly wrap your arms around him, clinging tightly. 

he smiles, basically beaming and you realize that made you fall in the first place. draken is kind, selfless, even if he may not seem like it at first. he’s always good at making you feel better, even if you don’t tell him. 

“to shower,” he answers, starting the trek to the bathroom, “you keep saying i smell.” 

“i already showered.” you protest, but you rest your head on his shoulder. “but i guess i do smell like car grease now.” 

he stops in his tracks, his mouth pressed into a line. “shit. our bed does too.” 

“should we sleep on the couch?” you suggest and he starts moving again. 

“or we could crash takemichi’s place.” he says, pushing the bathroom door open with his shoulder. 

“and interrupt his precious time with hina?” you muse as he sets you on the counter. 

“isn’t that the point?” he asks, turning the water on before coming to slide between your legs, looming over you.

“what about mikey’s?” you ask, your hands naturally coming to help him take off his work jacket. 

“fuck no,” he groans, letting you turn him around so you can finish taking it off. “he’s gonna try to cuddle with you again.” 

“with us.” you correct and draken rolls his eyes before he shifts out his shirt. he dips down to press a firm kiss to your lips and you smile. “shower time?” 

“shower time.” 

chifuyu:

chifuyu matsuno curses under his breath as he races up the stairs to your apartment. he’d lost track of time, evening drinking turning into early morning. he hopes you won’t be too upset, hey, maybe he can blame it on baji. 

when he gets home, making sure to walk a little quieter, he peeks his head into the bedroom. the light is left on but you’re asleep. his heart thumps a bit more and a blush creeps onto his face when he notices you’ve fallen asleep in his shirt. 

his steps are light, springy even, as he makes his way over, plopping into bed beside you. you stir in your sleep as chifuyu watches you, his head leaning into his palm like a schoolboy in love.

“fuyu?” you mumble, as you stretch before turning over to face him. sleepy eyes meet pretty green and chifuyu thinks he’s in a dream... or maybe it’s the alcohol that’s still left in his system. 

“hey lover,” he smiles as he scoots closer before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “good morning.”  

“what time is it?” you ask, squinting, before adding, “hi to you too.” 

“like 3am.” he answers and you hum. 

“hm, tonight was that fun?” you yawn, trying your best to fight the drowsiness that's currently over taking your body. 

“yeah,” he replies as another peck flits over your cheek. “wish you went with me.” he thinks about how much fun it would have been if you went with him earlier. how he’d love to walk home with you, hand in hand, sneaking kisses under the moonlight. 

“‘m sorry, fuyu,” you mumble as your heavy lids close, losing the battle. “i’ll try to go next time..” you trail off as your body lulls you back to sleep.

the blond frowns, as cute as you are asleep, he wants your attention now. “oi, y/n. wake up.” he huffs, using his index finger to poke at your cheek. 

when you only make a slight noise, he pokes harder. “wake. up.” 

your eyelids flutter under his touch, but they don’t open and chifuyu sighs. “do you love me?” he whines, loudly. 

you force your eyelids open at the question, he’s cute when he’s whiny so you indulge him. “yes, chifuyu, i love you a lot.” you mumble, before tipping your lips up into his, giving him a soft kiss. 

you realize where the unusual clinginess comes from tonight as he tastes faintly of alcohol. normally, chifuyu would quietly get ready to bed before slipping under the covers to hold you as you slept. he wants you to get your rest and he’s fine with waiting til morning. although, there are some exceptions which almost always include a tipsy, pining boyfriend. 

you giggle when he whines as you pull away.

“stay here.” he grumbles, before he’s cupping your cheeks and kissing you again. 

“fuyu, i have work in a couple of hours,” you mumble between kisses.

“‘m sobering up,” he responds, “if i don’t do this, i’ll get a hangover.” 

“that’s not how it works at all,” you sigh happily, “but okay.” 

and so you let him. you let him kiss not only your lips but your cheeks, forehead, and even your neck. you giggle when he ghosts over a particularly ticklish area, but chifuyu is lost in you. lost in your scent, your voice, your everything. until suddenly, he’s not. 

“fuyu?” you whisper, your arms laced around him. 

there’s no response but the soft snores escaping him as his head is buried in your neck. you can tell he’s asleep by the way his body’s gone limp, the full weight on him bearing down on you. but it’s comfortable like this and you feel sleep beckoning you over. 

when morning and inevitably, the time for work comes, you try your best to move out from underneath him without waking up. the soft daylight pours in through the blinds, casting rays on your boyfriend’s sleeping face. 

you’re close, almost fully out from underneath him when an arm slings itself across your waist and pulls you back in. 

“stay.” he mumbles, voice deep and slightly hoarse from his half asleep state. 

“i have work,” you say, gently. “i’ll be back in a few.” 

“just call off,” he says, tightening his grip on you. 

“chifuyu-“ 

“please?” he pleads, one eye peeking up at you. the blush on his face this time isn’t from the alcohol. 

it tugs at your heartstrings and you give in. “fine. but if i get in trouble you owe me.” 

“you know, the pet shop is always hiring if you get fired.” he wiggles his eyebrows, throwing you a cheesy smile. 

“ha. ha. very funny.” you retort, rolling your eyes.

but the smile on chifuyu’s face doesn’t disappear, he simply tilts his head to press it against yours. 

“i’d take care of you forever, you know.” he says, completely serious and you feel your heart skip a beat. 

“i know.” you mumble back, closing your eyes. 

“i love you, y/n.” he says and you feel the tip of his nose brush against yours. 

“i love you too, chifuyu.” you giggle and he realizes he wants to listen to it for the rest of his life. but he has no ring, he’ll need to remember to get your ring size. 

“forever and ever?” he asks, his own heart fluttering to the timbre of your voice. 

“forever and ever.” 

[atlabeth]

bad luck - nikolai lantsov

summary: you have little hope after being captured by slavers in the depths of ravka. but then your ship is commandeered, and you get a little more than you bargained for with your privateer savior.

a/n: sorry that it has been a while since ive posted anything on here and sorry about my neglect for my other series but i am a nikolai lover first a writer second and a person third!!! apparently i cannot write a normal length one shot with this man but i hope you enjoy

wc: 5.3k

warning(s): fem!reader, sturmhond!nikolai, reader is captured by slavers but there is no detail, mentions of fighting and killing, mentions of arranged marriages, reader is highkey annoyed by sturmhond lmao, but a fluffy (and lowkey steamy) ending

At first, you’d thought you were hallucinating. 

You couldn’t remember the last time your captors had given you, given anyone in the brig, water, and the beginning of a spiral into insanity wouldn’t have exactly surprised you. 

Explosions, gunshots, the screams of dying men. You’d imagined the entire crew dropping dead many times so it wasn’t a shock that this was where your madness would begin. You just closed your eyes, tried to pretend you weren’t in chains, and reveled in the sound. 

And then the door to the brig was broken down, and your eyes shot open. You moved to the front of your cell, gripping the cold bars as you looked to see what sort of new danger had been brought upon you. 

Instead, you were met with a cocky-looking man—though he hardly appeared old enough to be called a man—a pistol in his relaxed grip and another hanging by his side. His bright teal frock coat didn’t belong in a dingy place such as this. 

“Hello, all,” he said pleasantly. “I am happy to say this ship has been commandeered.”

Your grip slackened. “What?”

Your question was drowned out by immediate rioting by all the other prisoners, and the man glanced at the woman by his side. She took one of her two axes from its place at her hip and walked over to your cell. Her golden eyes gleamed, and her axe moved in a barely visible flash. She’d chopped the lock clean off, and the cell door creaked open. The whole brig had fallen silent. 

You took another step back, eyes still wide. The man walked up next to her, peering inside your cell at all the prisoners bunched in together, but when his eyes met yours, they widened. His entire body went rigid for a moment, so imperceptible that you thought you’d imagined it when he looked away. 

“I have no desire to keep you all here against your will,” he said. “Call me your liberator, call me your savior, call me a captain who just hates slavers—it doesn’t matter to me right now. The only thing that matters to me right now is that this is my ship.”

“Are we free?” you asked.

Again, the captain’s expression changed ever so slightly when he looked at you—this time, you knew you hadn’t imagined it. 

“Yes,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. “You’re free.”

You couldn’t help but smile yourself, and the chains around your wrists felt lighter knowing they would be off soon.

The captain cleared his throat as he turned away, looking at the rest of the prisoners. “Now, do any of you know where they keep the keys on this ship? If we can’t find them, Tamar here will use those handy axes on your shackles.”

Someone spoke up and the captain sent one of his men off to retrieve them, then he looked at the golden-eyed woman. Shu, no doubt. “Tamar, get the rest of these cells open then bring them above deck. I’d like to make a speech.”

She nodded and got to work. Soon enough, you were breathing in salty air and reveling in the wind on your face. You’d been below deck for far too long, and the feeling of sunlight on your skin was glorious. You allowed yourself a moment to close your eyes and just enjoy it. Your mind blocked out the spilled blood and dead bodies of the crew that you had to walk through. You wouldn’t shed any tears for them, but you weren’t accustomed to the brutality that your parents sheltered you from. 

“I’d like to introduce myself to you all.” You opened your eyes and the captain was speaking, standing in front of the orderly line you’d all formed. The Shu woman from before—Tamar, he called her—stood at his left, and a similarly golden-eyed man had just joined them. Between his size and her axes, you were quite thankful they were—at least for now—on your side. 

“You can call me Sturmhond,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me, perhaps you haven’t. I don’t particularly care. As you likely saw, each and every man and woman previously aboard this ship is dead, in case you doubted my promises to your freedom. That is what I care about.” 

The thought would have normally made bile rise in your throat. You may not have been accustomed, but you liked to believe you weren’t wholly naive. 

“But I want to be clear,” the captain said, “this is not a rescue. This is an opportunity.” 

Sturmhond gestured with his head and a woman stepped forward, lithe with wispy hair divided into two braids. She moved her hands apart and concentrated, and with a few concise movements, the cuffs around your wrists broke apart and fell to the ground. Your eyes widened, and the exacerbated clatter made you glance down the line, same as some of the others—she removed everyone’s shackles at once. 

Sturmhond kept company with Grisha. You knew the captain was Ravkan from his accent, but any connection to the Grand Palace and the King sent unease trickling down your spine. The chances were small, what with how much time Grisha spent in the Little Palace—Saints, the Fabrikator might not even be Ravkan—but there was still a chance. The last thing you needed was to be recognized. 

“We didn’t really need the keys,” Sturmhond said with a boyish smile. Again, you were struck by how out of place he looked—he should have been in university, not heading operations like this. “I just wanted to make you all squirm a little. Tamar’s axes are quite terrifying.” 

“Who says we want any part of your opportunities?” asked a man from down the line. 

“Because I’m allowing you the choice,” the captain said. “Those of you who wish to be free of the sea and her constraints, we are by the Zemeni border. You will be dropped at the nearest harbor, and your fate will be back in your control.”

There were grumblings throughout your fellow prisoners and you glanced at them. It was a better offer than any of you would have gotten, a chance for freedom that you thought was long past you. Novyi Zem had no grief with Ravka, so you would be safe enough there. You could get a job working the fields or in a factory, and once you had enough you could book passage back to Ravka. You could find your family again. 

Your throat tightened. You ran from them—that was why you were here in the first place. Maybe it would be better to try and start a new life all together, nameless in Novyi Zem. No one would ask questions, you were sure of it. You would be in control of your fate again. 

And then the captain got a glint in his eye. Your spine straightened almost on instinct. 

“As for those of you who want revenge,” he tilted his head, “you can earn a place in my crew.” 

“Why would we work for you?” a woman from across the brig shouted. “We’ve got our freedom!” 

“Because there is little more satisfying than causing the destruction of those who tried to destroy you,” Sturmhond said. “And because the sea is rather lovely when you’re not a captive.” 

“That is my opportunity to you all.” He clasped his hands together, the wind ruffling his red hair. “A chance to help those like you, and put slavers at the bottom of the ocean where they belong.” 

“Why would we want to work with pirates?” you spoke up. “We have lives to get back to. And half of us aren’t fighters.” 

You didn’t know what it was about you that made Sturmhond’s expression shift just so each time he looked at you, but it was beginning to irk you. 

“Privateer, actually,” he corrected. His voice was annoyingly smooth, and his unyielding confidence even more irritating. “As I said, it’s your choice. And it will take us three days to reach Novyi Zem, so you will have time to decide.” 

You huffed a laugh, but decided to stay silent. You’d dealt with too many men like him, but it wasn’t a bother—in three days, you would be back in the same position you were in before your bad luck struck. 

“Now,” the captain said with an equally smooth smile, folding his hands behind his back, “any questions?”

Nobody spoke up. Whether it was out of fear or simple ambivalence you didn’t know, but you didn’t feel like getting on the captain’s bad side. You planned to keep your head down for three days and figure it all out in Novyi Zem. 

“Wonderful. We’ll divide our forces between this ship and the Volkvolny,” he said. “Any of you who wish to transfer ships will be allowed.” His lip curled as he looked around the dingy conditions of the slaver ship. “I doubt you want to spend much more time on board this wreck.”

“Some of my crew will get you situated as we prepare to set sail,” Sturmhond continued. “If you find you have any burning questions later, save them or direct them to Tolya here.” He gestured to the Shu man as tall as a tree standing by him, and he only looked slightly irritated to be given up like that. 

“I suppose the only thing left to do is officially welcome you aboard.” Sturmhond swept an arm through the air. “I hope you’ve all earned your sea legs.”

He walked off, Tolya and Tamar following him. They must’ve been his first mates—you were immensely glad they weren’t against you, what with his size and her axes.  

But as he did, you couldn’t help but stare. The strangest feeling had come over you during his speech, one that was exacerbated every time he passed the slightest glance at you, every time his expression changed. He was just… unnatural. Unsettling.

You allowed yourself a deep breath and shook your head, trying to focus on the crewmember that was speaking to you all. You didn’t care if he was unnatural or unsettling—you would be gone in three days. 

All you had to do was keep your head down. 

-

Sleep wasn’t easy after the day you’d had, but your tired limbs won out after an hour or so of staring at the ceiling. The cot you’d been assigned wasn’t much for comfort, but it might as well have been the plushest mattress you’d ever felt after what you’d been sleeping on before.

You slowly opened your eyes, your grogginess fighting against you at every step, because you had the dimmest feeling that something was wrong. When you saw golden eyes above you, you nearly screamed.

You thankfully held it in, but you could feel your heart hammering in your chest. 

“What are you doing here?” you whispered.

“Sturmhond wishes to speak to you,” Tamar said, wholly unfazed as if she did this all the time. She probably did. 

“Why?” 

“My job isn’t to ask questions,” Tamar said. She left it at that, and you sighed as you pulled yourself out of the hammock. You followed her, squinting in an attempt not to bump into anything in the darkness. The Volkvolny wasn’t familiar to you yet, but it was easier once you were above deck. You rubbed the grogginess out of your eyes when she opened the door to the captain’s quarters for you. 

She didn’t follow you in, and you didn’t know whether it was a relief or not. 

“Ah. You’re here.” Sturmhond turned around from a cabinet, holding a bottle of kvas, a slight smile on his lips. “Drink?” 

“You didn’t just invite me here for a nightcap,” you said placidly, “did you?” 

“Of course not,” he said. “I thought it would remind you of home.” 

You frowned. “You’re Ravkan. Who’s to say I am too?” 

“How did you know I was Ravkan?” 

“Your accent.” 

“Then how do you think I knew you were Ravkan?” 

“Maybe I will need a drink,” you said bitterly. “It’s the only way I think I can keep dealing with you.” 

Sturmhond sighed as he poured a fair amount into two cups. “Such harsh words for a noble girl. Quite a stroke of bad luck for the daughter of a duke to end up on a slaver’s ship.” 

“Who’s to say I’m the daughter of a duke?” you asked. 

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want to keep playing this game?” 

You crossed your arms in response, and he shook his head with a chuckle. 

“An accent gives quite a bit away,” Sturmhond said. “It’s also obvious to anyone that looks at you—and I assume you have quite a few admirers. You speak Ravkan like a princess, like you were taught in schools rather than the streets. You have a gleam in your eye that says you still have hope. And,” he looked you up and down, “you carry yourself with confidence despite your position. Not the attitude of a girl on the other side of the ditch.” 

Your lip curled. “How astute of you.” 

“Thank you,” he said with a smile. 

“Born and raised in Os Alta,” you acquiesced. You offered a thin smile of your own back. “And I suppose you’re correct. Bad luck seems to follow me as of late.”

“You wound me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you claiming that my rescuing you is a continuation of your bad luck?”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a rescue, captain.”

“Sturmhond,” he said.

Your lips twitched in a momentary smile. “I thought you said this wasn’t a rescue, Sturmhond.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed, taking a sip of kvas, “it’s an opportunity. I’m just curious of what drove your choice.” 

You crossed your arms. “Strange of a pirate to be so curious about a prisoner.” 

“Privateer,” Sturmhond corrected, “and you’re no longer a prisoner.”

“My point still stands,” you said wryly. 

“Is it wrong of me to be curious?” he asked. 

“It’s pointless,” you said. “And if you’re done with your little interrogation, I’d like to get back to sleep.” 

“I’m not here to be your enemy.” He sat up, taking another sip of his drink. “Surely you understand that.”

“I understand it perfectly well,” you said. “I just don’t see why you care.”

“Fine,” he amended, “I’ll let you be. Just one more question.” Sturmhond sat up in his chair, leaning forward as he looked you straight in the eye. His were the strangest shade of green. “Why did you run?” 

You actually recoiled at his question, your reflex winning over any desire to hold back your emotions. “Excuse me?” 

He didn’t waver. “I thought my question was quite clear.”  

You picked up the cup he’d poured for you and threw it back. The kvas burned your throat—your tolerance never was all that—but it didn’t make much difference with the scowl already on your face. 

“You don’t get to ask me questions, pirate.” 

“Privateer,” you heard him correct, and it only made you slam the door harder on your way out. 

-

Three days of keeping your head down should have been easy. Sturmhond, however, appeared to have a different agenda. 

He ignored you for the entire next day, but that night, Tamar was waiting for you before you could even get to the barracks. 

“Seriously?” you asked. “Did he not get my message clearly enough last night?”

She shrugged. “He just asked to see you again. I don’t know why.”

You sighed and made an offhanded gesture. “Fine. Let’s go.”

You opened the door yourself this time when she got you there, not even bothering to shut it as you stared at Sturmhond.

“What are you playing at?” you demanded. 

“Good evening to you as well,” he said. “How did you sleep?”

“What are you playing at,” you repeated flatly. 

“I’m not playing at anything,” he said. “Is it a crime to enjoy your company?” 

Your jaw ticked, and your hands clenched into fists. “If you’re after what I—”

“I’m not after anything,” he assured with a frown, “and certainly not what you’re thinking.”

His interruption peeved you, but you found that you actually believed him. The tension eased from your shoulders ever so slightly.

“…Good,” you said after a moment. “But I still don’t understand the need for these meetings. I plan to be gone by tomorrow.”

“Because I know you,” he said. “You may not know me, but I consider myself generally knowledgeable of Ravka and its upper class.”

“What,” you said wryly, “do you want my advice on how best to rob them?”

“Of course not,” Sturmhond said. “I wouldn’t need your advice for that.”

You huffed a laugh. “So what do you want?”

“I’ve been at sea for quite some time,” he said, “and you’ve only just left Ravka. I’d very much appreciate it if you could share some of your insider knowledge on the Lantsovs.”

“You assume I have any.”

“I assume that the woman who used to be Nikolai Lantsov’s betrothed would have some,” Sturmhond replied smoothly.

Your heart stuttered for a beat at the mention of Nikolai. Any doubt Sturmhond might have had over his claim had to have dissolved with your expression. 

He arched an eyebrow. “Well?”

You allowed yourself a deep breath before you finally took the seat across from him.

“Fine,” you said. “You’ve got me. I’m the daughter of a Ravkan duke and I used to be engaged to a Lantsov prince. Did you just want to prove your knowledge?”

“Not at all.” Sturmhond wisely poured an additional glass—brandy rather than kvas, thankfully. You needed something stronger if you were to deal with this. “I want your knowledge.” 

“My being betrothed to Nikolai is why I don’t know as much as you think,” you said. You downed half the glass at once and your chest burned less than the memory. “Nikolai and I were to be wed when we were of age, yes, but he disappeared before I got the chance.”

“Disappeared?”

You nodded. “He was meant to come back after his service so we could prepare for the wedding. Instead,” your lips curled in a disdainful smile, “he up and left. The king broke off our engagement and I haven’t heard a word from Nikolai since.”

Sturmhond frowned. “My deepest apologies.”

You shrugged. “He made his choice. Apparently he’s in Ketterdam studying, but I very much doubt that. He was never good at sitting still. But wherever he is, I hope he’s still alive.” You huffed a laugh. “I cannot imagine Vasily taking the throne.”

“I’m sure he is still alive,” Sturmhond said. “And I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten you.”

“How kind of you,” you said dryly.

He was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. “You say you plan to be gone by tomorrow. Does your plan include returning to Ravka?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I ran from my family and my fate, and that’s why I ended up here. I don’t think I can go back just yet.”

“And what fate did you run from?” Sturmhond asked.

“A marriage I didn’t want,” you said plainly.

“As opposed to the marriage you did want.”

“Are we done here?” you asked. “Because I don’t think you need to know more of my personal life.”

Sturmhond smiled after a moment and nodded. “Yes. But I’d like to see you one more time tomorrow, before we officially part ways.”

“You’re not going to change my mind,” you said.

“And I don’t intend to. There’s just one last thing I wish to share with you.”

“And you can’t do that now?” you asked wryly.

“Patience is a virtue, darling.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He held up his hands. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You’re very strange for a pirate,” you said.

“I’m quite normal for a privateer,” Sturmhond said.

You huffed a laugh and shook your head as you stood. “Enjoy the rest of your night, privateer.”

You felt his eyes on you as you left, and now more than ever you couldn’t shake that feeling. You looked at Tamar as you shut the door. 

“How long have you been part of his crew?”

“A few years,” she said.

“Do you ever get used to him?”

Her lips quirked into a smile. “No.”

You sighed as the two of you started to walk. “What a surprise.”

-

You were at Sturmhond’s door the next afternoon, Tamar by your side. She hadn’t come to deliver you, but on your way there she told you she would be joining you. You certainly weren’t going to refuse her.

As usual, you didn’t bother to knock. As usual, Sturmhond was sitting at his desk. Tamar followed you in and shut the door, not as usual. Your brows knit together slightly. 

“You actually came,” he said.

“Consider me intrigued,” you said. “I couldn’t just walk off and never know what you wanted to ‘share with me’.” 

The corner of his mouth curled up into an achingly familiar smile. “You’re just as fiery as I remember.”

“We just met,” you said dryly.

“On the contrary.” Sturmhond sat up, and he removed his jacket. A metal pin glinted on his vest, a crowned double eagle. The Lantsov coat of arms. Your frown deepened. “You spent the other day describing our lost time together.”

“I’m…” you blinked and shook your head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m Nikolai Lantsov,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make me say all my titles, though.” 

For a moment, you just stared at him. And then you laughed in complete disbelief. 

“Is that what this is? You consider me a fool?”

“On the contrary,” he repeated. “It is because of your intelligence that I deigned to reveal myself.” He offered a wry smile. “And because you don’t hate me the way you should.”

“You cannot just say something so absurd and expect to believe it,” you said. “Anyone can rummage up a coat of arms. I have not heard and or received a single word from Nikolai, and now I am supposed to believe that he is right in front of me?”

“It sounds absurd when you put it like that,” Sturmhond said with a frown. 

“Because it is absurd,” you enunciated. “I actually thank you for this, because now I know I’m making the correct choice. You may be a good captain, but you are a complete blackguard.” 

You turned and offered a tight smile to Tamar. “Please move. I’d like to leave.” 

“He speaks the truth,” Tamar said. “I promise you. He’s Nikolai Lantsov. My brother tailored him into Sturmhond at the beginning of all this, when we joined his crew. ” 

You paused and looked back at the pirate claiming to be the man you loved. “What?” 

“Nikolai Lantsov is much more valuable as a hostage on the seas,” he said. “No one spares a second glance at Sturmhond.” 

“Then change him back,” you said, looking back at Tamar. “Get your brother and make him change him back if you want even the slightest chance of me believing these lies.” 

“They are not lies,” she insisted. “And I’m not the best tailor.” 

“You’re both Grisha,” you said flatly. 

“Heartrenders,” Sturmhond (Nikolai?) supplied. “My most trusted crew. Come on, Tamar— I believe in you. Work your magic.” 

She rolled her eyes as she walked over to him, and though your immediate instinct was to take the exit you’d been given, you crossed your arms and waited as she did her work. It didn’t take long for his muddy green eyes to change to hazel, his red hair to blonde. A slightly less broken nose. 

He… he looked like the Nikolai you knew. It was staggering to just be standing across from him—or at least a mirror image of him—after so long apart. Older, more weathered, but with the same glint in his eye. The same glint that you looked forward to with each day, the glint that you remembered when you didn’t have him anymore. 

“That doesn’t mean much,” you finally said, glancing away. “If you can tailor him into Sturmhond, surely you can tailor him into a Lantsov.” 

“You overestimate my tailoring abilities,” Tamar said dryly. 

“I still don’t trust it,” you said, and you started again for the door. 

“When we were seven, I convinced you to sneak out of our etiquette lessons and go down to the river,” he suddenly said. Your hand froze on the door. “You scraped yourself on a particularly sharp rock while we were traversing the waters—you still have the scar on your ankle.”

You turned around. “How do you know that?” 

“My father held a party and your family attended,” he continued. “We were ten and it was the most boring night possible. We evaded our parents’ attention and snuck off to the kitchens.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so many pastries in my life.” 

A smile of your own, almost subconscious, began to form on your lips. You hadn’t thought of that party in years. 

“And when I was fifteen, the year before I enlisted, I did the worst thing I could have done to your father.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I took one of his prized swords and did all sorts of moves trying to impress you—I only managed to dent it and get banned from your home for months.” 

“I can’t believe you remember that,” you murmured. 

“And…” he sighed and opened his drawer, rummaging around for a moment. He held a ring between his fingers when he emerged, and your heart stopped beating for a second. “I still have this.” 

Your hand was shaking when you reached beneath your collar and took hold of the string around your neck. You pulled it into view, and the ring hanging on the bottom glinted in the light. 

Your engagement rings still matched perfectly. 

Nikolai’s smile was bright as you remembered as the realization hit. “And you still have yours.” 

“Of course I do,” you said. “It was a lot of work to keep it in my possession.” 

“I’m glad you went through it, then.”

“It really is you,” you whispered, letting your makeshift necklace fall back against your skin. “I— I just don’t understand. Why are you here? Why are you playing pretend as a pirate?” 

“Privateer,” he corrected. He glanced over at Tamar, still holding her post. “Could you give us a moment alone?” 

She nodded and left, shutting the door behind her. The room felt smaller with just you and Nikolai in it, with the man you were meant to marry who left you in the past. 

“I do this because I can do much more to help Ravka from the seas as Sturmhond than gallivanting around court as a second son—a bastard son at that. My parents appreciate Sturmhond much more than they would Prince Nikolai.” 

“I appreciated Prince Nikolai,” you said. “I appreciated just Nikolai. You could have at least sent a letter.” 

“I know,” Nikolai said. To his credit, he did look mournful. “If there is one thing I regret about all of this, it is how I left you. I said what I said the other day because it’s true—I have not forgotten you. I never did.” 

“Then why go through all of this with me?” you asked. “Why annoy me into spending time with you?” 

“Because I’ve always been quite good at annoying you,” Nikolai said wryly, then his expression sobered. “And because… I didn’t know how you would feel about me after all this time. Everything you said yesterday was true—I did leave you, and I haven’t said a word to you since. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hated me, and if you did, I didn’t want to force myself back into your life.” He managed another small smile. “Fortunately for me, you did not hate me.” 

“I could never hate you, Nikolai,” you murmured. “I— I loved you. For a long time, and I think I still might.” 

“Even more fortunate for me,” he said softly. 

“So why didn’t you come back?” you asked. 

“I…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Still cut in a military style. “You talked about how you despised your parents for forcing you into a marriage at such a young age. I didn’t want to force you into a life with me. If I had known you—” he chuckled, a boyish smile on his lips— “if I had known you loved me, I don’t know if Sturmhond would have ever come into fruition.” 

“You are the reason I was here,” you said. “My parents thought they struck gold when the king agreed to a marriage between us. I thought I had struck gold as well, in you—a marriage my parents wanted couldn’t have been all bad if you were meant to be my husband. But you left that in the dust, and they still wanted a husband for me.” 

“A marriage you didn’t want,” he echoed, his eyes soft. 

You nodded. “They did all the work behind the scenes—I was going to meet him on our wedding day, some Kerch banker’s son. And I just… couldn’t face a life like that. So I ran. And with all the luck in the world—” you gestured lazily— “I ended up here.”

“Then I suppose it’s only fair that I ended up rescuing you,” Nikolai said. 

“I thought this wasn’t a rescue,” you said wryly. 

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. It’s still an opportunity— one I think you’ll like much more.” 

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“I plan to go back and take the throne someday,” Nikolai said, moving around his desk to be closer to you. “But I don’t want to miss another moment with you, not now. So until then,” he took your hand, encasing it between his own, and the warmth it provided was something you’d sorely missed, “will you do me the honor of sailing by my side?” 

“I’m not a sailor,” you said with a breathy laugh. 

“I can teach you,” he said eagerly. “I can teach you everything I know until you’re a better privateer than me. And you can teach me everything I’ve missed while being at sea—all the noble things I ought to know for when I return home.” 

Your lips quirked in a smile, hardly able to contain the giddiness bursting in your chest. Your life went from destruction at the hands of slavers to renewal with Nikolai Lantsov by your side once more. 

“How can I refuse?” 

Nikolai grinned, and he tugged on your intertwined hands to pull you into a kiss. It wasn’t the first one you’d shared, but it was surely the best. It felt like a promise of something new—the promise that he wouldn’t let you go like he did before. 

You were breathless when you pulled away, and the sight of Nikolai, blonde hair slightly ruffled because of you, his lips slightly red because of you, made you kiss him even harder the second time. 

Your back hit the side of his desk and Nikolai was practically on top of you, seven years of lost love pouring through him all at once. 

“And if it wasn’t clear,” Nikolai murmured between kisses, “I never stopped loving you for one moment.” 

You groaned and pulled him even closer, your hands clenched tight around the fabric of his jacket. “You wear too many clothes.” 

“Then fix it.” His voice was sultry in your ear and you didn’t know how you went seven years without him. 

You were very thankful that he asked Tamar to leave. 

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: Yangyang x fem!Reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Unprotected vaginal sex. Creampie. CNC themes. "Forced" breeding. Breeding kink. Mentions of exhibitionism. YY curses in German. Pet names-- YY calls reader "his bunny" (that'll be a recurring theme if i ever write about him again) and reader calls him "little sheep".

| wc: 2.5k

| aurora's note: …I’m on a cnc kick. Sorry. Blame Twitter. I was about .0002 seconds away from adding mommy kink to this too, ok. Everyone say "thank you, aurora" for sparing you all lmao

You’ve been teasing Yangyang for so long that he’s beginning to wonder if he did something wrong— He dyed his hair pink for you since he knows how much you like it! And he did the laundry, all the dishes, he cleaned the house, made you dinner on your anniversary… Where did he go wrong? But it’s not that he upset you. Quite the opposite, actually, because ever since he dyed his hair for you, all you’ve wanted to do is fuck him 24/7. You wanted to keep him home from work all day, every day just for the sake of milking him dry… and you didn’t care if he’d sleep or not… You just- Fuck- You needed him so badly, but you knew that you couldn’t have what you wanted, so you withdrew slightly, trying your best to keep your hands to yourself because if you slipped up for even a moment then you’d have to go all in.

“Can you pass me the gochujang?” Yangyang asked as he stirred the pan on the stovetop. You agreed with a nod, opening the cupboard above your head to grab it from the first shelf, only… it wasn’t there like normal. No, it was higher up on the third shelf, a tad out of your reach. “You got it?”

“Yeah, one sec.” You stretched up high to grab the container, but your finger tips only grazed it, sending it shuffling an inch backwards. You huffed. “Who the Hell put it where it doesn’t belong?” Still, you tried your best, even putting a knee up on the counter to give you something to push up on to get more height.

“Don’t hurt yourself—“ Yangyang immediately abandoned the stove to step behind you, hands firmly grasping your hips to hold you steady while you finally got the gochujang and landed back on the floor safely.

You hesitated. Standing pressed against the counter, Yangyang’s hands on your hips, his breath hot on the back of your neck… You were slipping into dangerous territory which you’d tried so hard to avoid for so damn long. So you attempted to avoid the inevitable and shrug off his touch by accusing him of not putting the gochujang where it belonged! He apologized quietly. But his hands didn’t waver like you wanted, instead they tightened on your hips, and he pressed further against you. Inadvertently, your gaze flicked to the clock on the stove. 7PM. Dinner was supposed to be ready by 7:30PM so that he could go work out with Kun and Hendery at 8PM, then he would be home and in bed with you by 10PM— And you would pretend to be asleep like usual in order to avoid having him think he could finally fuck you.

“The food’s gonna burn,” you warned quietly.

Yangyang reached over to turn off the stove. The sizzling in the pan slowly died out, and the kitchen went quiet,

“You’re gonna be late to the gym.”

“I’ll cancel,” he whispered in your ear.

“You have work tomorrow.”

“I’ll call in sick.”

“You can’t fall behind in rehearsals before tour.”

“Not much anyone can do about it if I’m sick…”

And then Yangyang’s lips were pressed against your neck, leaving soft, gentle, teasing kisses, as if he were waiting for you to elbow him and kick him out of the apartment because all you’d done for weeks is look the other way when he showed any interest in fucking you. The erection pressed against your ass proved just how torturous those long weeks without your attention had been. How could you neglect him? He did so much for you. All he wanted was you…

Suddenly you spun around, letting Yangyang readjust his grasp onto the opposite hips now that you were facing him, and you immediately began kissing him passionately. He seemed a bit caught off guard. For the first few moments, he didn’t kiss you back, but once you tangled your fingers in his long pink hair, he was a goner, kissing you with so much passion that you tilted back into the counter, your head brushing the cupboard you’d fought with minutes prior. His hands wandered down until he found the soft spot right under your ass where he could grab you and lift you onto the counter, the perfect height for him to fuck you. 

It was completely unceremonial the way Yangyang pulled your pants down to your ankles and you simultaneously tore his shirt off his body all at the speed of light— Like the two of you were a pair of starved dogs who couldn’t hold back from feasting on their next meal. Your shirt went next, then his pants and underwear. Yangyang fiddled with your bra for a moment before unclasping it with a victorious moan vibrating against your nipple that he took into his mouth. The hold you hand on his pink hair tightened, urging him to move things along faster, having him stand up straight so that he could palm his erection with one hand while the other fell down to your pussy, his thumb finding your clit while two fingers teased your entrance to get you wet at quicker pace. You moaned, pulling him in for another deep kiss.

What happened to holding back? You promised yourself that you wouldn’t give in— Especially now when he was feeding your delusions about lying to his friends, coworkers, and bosses about his wellbeing just so he could stay home with you all day to fuck you dumb… or vice versa, if you ever had it your way. Honestly, you were distracted by the surprise that his hair was still so soft after all the dye and products he had to use to keep it such a bright pink color, and even then it was already fading, so he would have to decide sooner than later if he wanted to freshen it up or dye it a different color. Knowing hair dye, you knew that the pink wouldn’t come out or be covered up easily, so the unfortunate reality was that he would have to go a dark color… You hated that. The best thing in the entire world was whenever he would come home with some kind of new bright hair, like his famous pink or your favorite platinum or gray colors.

“Why’ve you been ignoring me?” he asked prior to a quiet grunt as he slid his fingers into your wet hole.

“Because—”

He hit your g-spot once he was inside and curling his fingers upwards.

“Because—”

And then he scissored his fingers open to stretch you wide enough for his waiting cock.

“Because I didn’t want to fuck you!”

He hesitated. “What?”

That wasn’t what you meant… It sounded wrong when you said it like that, but he was being a nuisance with his fingers, and it was the only way you could think to spew out your thoughts quickly before another pathetic moan could escape you.

“I mean… You’ve been so busy… Rehearsing, recording, working out, having meetings… I didn’t want to distract you…”

Slowly, his fingers thrusted into you again, but it was so slow that all it did was remind you that he was inside you rather than him trying to push you towards an orgasm.

“I didn’t think we’d have any time, Xiao Yang…”

He moaned at the nickname, his eyes rolling while his eyelids shut. “You’re so silly sometimes,” he whispered, curling his fingers again to make you arch your back and moan out his nickname for him. “I always have time for you.” He leaned in close to kiss your cheek. “Why do you think I keep dying my hair pink?”

That did it for the both of you— Within an instant, you were reaching out for his cock to stroke it while he stepped closer to the counter and you spread your legs wider to accommodate him. He took one last moment to appreciate that warmth of your tight walls wrapped around his fingers, then he pulled them out, only to replace them with the tip of his cock both of you were working together to line up at your entrance.

“You just wanted me that badly, hmm? Had to keep yourself away?” He grinned smugly.

With a roll of your eyes, you wrapped your legs around his waist and put one of your hands on the small of his back while the other remained in his hair. Yangyang let you take the lead by having you contract your legs and push on his back so that he slowly started pressing into you, filling you up inch by inch until he was completely inside, his length twitching with excitement.

“Go on, then, pretty boy, show me how much you missed me,” you told him.

“Ah, sheise,” he moaned in response, rushing to fuck you as a rough pace that made it hard to keep your legs wrapped around him. You didn’t want him going anywhere though. It’d been so long, both of you were so pent up, there was no reality in which you would ever let the two of you go on without fucking each other for so long in the future.

Yangyang’s thighs slapped against the cupboards underneath the counter you sat on every time he thrusted all the way inside of you. In and out. Tip to base. The sound of the two of you panting and moaning echoed throughout the apartment, the constant pace of his thrusts surely letting the neighbors know what you were up to. What if you guys took too long… What if Kun and Hendery came by to see what was wrong, why Yangyang missed their scheduled gym time for the first time in years— Honestly, you wouldn’t have cared, you would’ve kept going even with his friends watching, but you wondered if Yangyang would’ve stopped due to his embarrassment of being caught with his pants down and ball deep in his girlfriend.

“Harder, Xiao Yang,” you pleaded with him.

He pressed one hand against the cupboard over your head to support himself while fucking you even faster and leaning in to kiss you as a distraction from the way he was getting noticeably closer to his orgasm even though it hadn’t been that long. At least he was cute after denying him for so long… His desperation left him incapable of speaking or keeping his eyes open, and there was no way for him to fight against the tight hold your legs had around his waist.

“Fuck— Mein hase—“ He toppled a bit. “Need you to cum first…” He trailed his hand from your waist to your clit to rub fast circles around the sensitive bud, hoping to race you towards your orgasm faster than his own was approaching. “So fucking pretty when you take my cock, hase.”

You tugged on his hair, and Yangyang faltered slightly with a blissful moan. “So fucking pretty when you fuck me, Xiao Yang.” You won that battle. He immediately submitted to your Dominance with just a rough pull on his pink hair. “Make me cum, baby. Just like that!” Your hips bucked against his, the counter creaking under you.

The faster his fingers worked, the slower his hips went, but that was okay because you were finally teetering on the edge, your orgasm creeping up on you sooner than you thought possible… Maybe it really was a bad idea to stay away from him for so long. Not only was he desperate for you, but you were obviously just as eager to feel him in you again, his thin but long cock pistoning inside of you while his fingers expertly played with your clit the way you taught him. He really was the best listener. Your best boy.

“Yangyang!” you moaned.

Suddenly, you were cumming before you could warn him. Your walls tightened violently around him, causing him to hiss while flicking your clit even faster to make sure you properly rode out your high.

“I’m cumming— Sheise—“ He jerked his hips back like he was trying to pull out of you and instead elect to cum on your stomach, but what he hadn’t prepared himself for was the hold your legs had on him tightening, forcing him to stay buried inside of you. “Wait, wait, baby, I’m cumming—“ He struggled again. You held true.

“Cum inside of me, pretty boy.”

His legs shook under him as Yangyang couldn’t fight off his orgasm any longer. With a defeated moan, he came inside of you, panting in your ear, a cry of disbelief overtaking him. The two of you hardly ever fucked without a condom, so the idea of taking birth control consistently was… Well, not really important to either of you. With your hips tilted up, and him being held inside of you with nowhere to go, the thought of getting you pregnant scared him slightly, but even worse was that it made his orgasm hit him even harder. He could be the one to knock you up, to claim you. Everyone’d know you were his. His damn friends who took up so much of his time, preventing him from getting home to you, they would know you were his.

“I’m cumming again—“

Now you were the surprised one. Never before had Yangyang cum twice in a single round of fucking… And he didn’t even take time to fuck you again, building up to the orgasm. No, it just hit him like a ton of bricks. He remained in you, riding out his second strong orgasm that took his breath away, his hand wrapping around the cupboard handle tightly. When he tried to pull out of you again, you didn’t let up as either of you expected— No, you stared at his red cheeks, his heavy lidded eyes, and his jaw hanging agape, admiring the way he looked so fucked-out all because of you.

“Please,” he begged quietly.

You shook your head. “Gotta make sure it sticks.”

He moaned again, biting his lip and looking down at where your bodies met, the creaminess of his two loads already seeping out around his cock, standing his pelvis and the inside of your thighs.

“You’re so pretty when you can’t think straight, baby…” You smiled at him, brushing his sweaty pink hair out of his face. He blushed in response. “You’ll have to call in sick… I don’t think you’ll be able to leave bed tonight or tomorrow.” He gulped at the thought. “Pretty boy.”

Yangyang leaned back in to kiss you one more time. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And then there was a knock at the door. “Liu Yangyang! Where the fuck are you?!” Shit, Kun sounded pissed…

Yangyang tried to pull out of you again, as if he hadn’t learned his lesson yet, you weren’t letting him go, not even for his friends. He accepted his fate willingly. With a quiet sigh, he said that he’d text them that he was sick… and that he couldn’t make it to work the following day… You smiled at him, content with that conclusion, patting his pink hair to show your appreciation.

[slowd1ving]

Hiiiii can u write Kim Dokja x Goth!Male!reader this sponsor constellation is Apollo and The reader is a simp for Dokja ( I love this man )

LOVE LIKE BLOOD ・゜゜KIM DOKJA

“The life is short, and I’m running faster all the time, Strength and beauty destined to decay, So cut the rose in full bloom.” By chance you meet him, by chance you become his friend, by chance you stay by his side; until it cannot be called fickle, capricious chance any longer, but an example of the inevitable law of universal attraction between two starving masses. art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! also thank you anon this ask was so big brained I yapped on for like 5k words (very sorry if you wanted headcanon/drabble form I got the most profound inspiration for this at like 3am :3) also damn you have no idea how many song titles I was perusing trying to find a suitable one for this... pairing: kim dokja + male goth reader warnings: pretty graphic metaphors, child abandonment/implied parental death, child neglect + abuse, alcohol, smoking, depression + bullying, hurt/comfort, injury, violence (as it's orv), does 10+ year long pining and oddly tense homoeroticism need a warning, anon I hope you ENJOY reading because I enjoyed writing wc: 5.6k (YAP because i love this silly man, I've never written so much for a request before lmao)

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Fundamentally, you and him are the same. 

There’s a sense of loss that’s too heavy for either of your bodies to comprehend. Rather than a heart, there’s a black hole right where the organ lies; so greedy, so hungry for acknowledgement. Born blue into this world—deprived of oxygen yet wailing, screaming for your voice to be heard—it’s little wonder you’ve always been avaricious for the love your parents could never give. The hands cradling the babe were never loving; they were clinical, they were covered in sterile blue gloves and they smelled only of caustic antiseptic. There was no kiss on your slimy, puckered forehead. There was only the sting of alcoholic sanitiser. 

Kim Dokja is similar, yet his parents wouldn’t (rather than couldn’t, for in your embittered mind the two concepts were so different as to be alien) spare him scraps of care. Rather than press a kiss to their son’s awaiting cheek, only bruises blossomed where the love should’ve been. No flowers were given for Children’s Day—only oily blood spilling and macerating against his chubby hands as a last, vibrant gift for their son. 

These two black holes sputtered on their axes while they spun round each other: gluttonous, esurient for care that didn’t come with bruises and wailing grief. 

Seoul had been unusually cold; blue afternoons spanned across the school rooftops. They were frigid and foggy—perfect for avoiding detection. Thus, the boy without kisses (only contused skin) encountered another like him on the rooftop that day. Against the haze, your own cigarette smoke had dulled the edges of what he saw—a boy canted against the railing with rippling earphones and a head tilted so far back he could taste the polluted mist. 

A merger had occurred. 

And though neither of you said it, there was an unspoken recognition of each other’s greed in that moment. Your eyes, ghosting over his injuries while the heavy bass played and the prussic wisps trailed around him: deep reverberations sounding a bit too like his careening heartbeat—as he made sure no one had followed him up here, that he was safe. And his umbrous eyes—honed in on the cigarette wedged between your lips, now stained black from the gloss decorating your humourless smile.

Maybe it was just that inherent feeling of kinship that came with avariciousness: a snarling sort of camaraderie that snagged at your skin with its claws. The wounds left behind were tender, but tender was precisely the adjective you were looking for—as was he. 

And so, Kim Dokja found himself coming to this particular rooftop the next day. When his breathing came ragged and his vision began to swim, he instinctively sought the numbness the frigid azurine firmament would bring. Like a wounded animal, he sought safety. Flight over fight—a lesson he’d learnt too late. Bruised fists would never save him. 

There you sat—eyes closed and lips still glossed in modest black. There were silver rings on your hands; rings he’d seen flashing before his eyes before he was hit, that those people no longer sported. Quietly, he matched up the scrapes on your own knuckles to the ones decorating their faces: to their unusual sullenness today. They’d furtively sequestered themselves in a club room all break, touching their swollen lips and eyes with bruised fists. Bruised fists. Like trophies, the achromatic metal glinted against the cobalt haze, and for once, his heart didn’t skip any beats at the sight of the gleaming metal. Neither did you acknowledge his presence nor their sins, but still, he sat on the same bench you were sprawled upon: hugging his bag to his chest while he scrolled the hallowed pixels of Ways of Survival. 

There was no grand exchange of words, no heartfelt conversations between Kim Dokja and the boy with a messed-up uniform. 

This was how tentative company was kept for a fragile week. 

Tuesday was the day that fragility finally shattered. He still remembers every detail about it—down to the particular cigarette brand you’d purchased that morning, down to the chips in your dark nail polish, down to just how many rings you’d worn on your left hand (three—it was three rings). Tears had spilled down his cheeks that afternoon; they warped and distorted the words that had saved him thus far, evoked from the pain in his purple ribs and his empty stomach. Somehow, the salt he’d kept tightly bound had been coaxed by your cold presence—perhaps, knowing your indifference made it easier to cry pathetically in front of you. 

You still didn’t speak, but you did hand him a tissue. You still didn’t speak, but you did press your shoulder to his own trembling one: smelling of caustic smoke, and something rich and sweet lingering beneath the plumes. You still didn’t speak, but your rings clinked on your left hand as you unhooked the earbud in your pierced ear and offered it to him: fingers brushed against his palm as he was forcibly shocked out of crying any further, like a blubbering child faced with such a conundrum that their little brains focused entirely on that rather than the reason for their tears. 

Melancholy had streamed out of the device. Doleful chords twined against threnetic voices—which he could not translate nor understand but could feel in pulsing waves. 

In that short whorl in the great machine of time, in the chill of the blue hour, he could not help but feel warm.

And thus, that Tuesday changed the trajectory of this merger somewhat. A deafening hum had finally blossomed from the gargantuan event; your presence could no longer be described as distant. 

When he went to class the next day, you were in the seat next to him: a mirage brought on by his lack of food, no doubt. He limped to his desk, but there your corporeal form remained: this time with silver chains lining the base of your throat and a dry, sharp grin decorating your face. Sure, he knew there was a student that never showed up in his class, but he wasn’t expecting it to be you: your name now a permanent fixture in his mind. 

There was a new name for this phenomenon: friendship. 

The boy, with the pensive music and trophies stolen from Dokja’s tormentors, smiled up at the reader staring at him. It was an inviting gesture: the proverbial hand reaching out, the hand which he took.

You weren’t a particularly talkative friend at first: preferring to simply share your music rather than speak much. That was fine with him—it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to reading alone. Then, you started bringing boxes of food alongside your cigarettes: containers that lacked the refinement of store bought meals. One for you, and one sheepishly thrust out to him with a smile bright as burst yolk and as messy as it too. Consequently, he returned a wobbly, unsure smile back at you—not mentioning that the vegetables were slightly burnt, slightly too salty. But that was fine. The more lunches you brought, the more skilled your hands became—until he never felt truly full unless he was eating what you gave him. 

In return, he cracked open his soul: pried its rusted walls with bleeding fingernails in a gesture never before seen, not since his childhood when he still knew what hope meant. Dokja for once didn’t blubber apologies and pleas for mercy—but became a teenager rather than a groveller. He complained about teachers, he discussed Ways of Survival at length (noting how you listened even when you showed no particular interest in reading it), he finally developed his own, modest aspirations for his own life. Lying in his bed in his lonely apartament, it suddenly didn’t feel so claustrophobic (yet somehow far too big for one) when you were there with your shoulder just brushing his own. 

You were not as cold as you seemed: though this was always obvious from that fateful Tuesday. You made fun of and empathised with the eternal regressor; you diligently stood at his half-broken stove frying meat and vegetables; and you talked at length about whatever band you were currently into—“I’ll take you to one of their concerts when we’re older,” leaving your lips, for your dense black-hole hearts did not conceptualise a future where the other was not present. He saw your loneliness—heard the rumours of you bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the streets and working nights rather than return to that boreal home. 

So, more nights than not, he woke up from his nightmares to see you sleeping on the small couch in his home—legs just about peeking over the armrest, for your avarice didn’t only cover the abstract but the heaps of food you swiped from the canteen (and over the past two years he’d known you, you got your growth spurt far more obviously than he had). It partly contributed to almost skittish aversion his tormentors had of him—one you never did acknowledge, and so he learnt quickly to not mention it either. In this way, he too never mentioned why he invited you to sleep over more nights than not. And so, neither of your selfish hearts ever spoke a word of pity, but rather conveyed an unspoken understanding that bound the two of you in this merger. 

This routine continued.

He enlisted after graduating from the local university, and so did you—suffering the eighteen months of hazing with the smoke lingering on your skin and that same, humourless smile he first saw on your face. Frigid mornings turned his own lips as blue as the sky, yet he found it was harder to feel the chill when he saw you. Just like back then, you wore the same smile that brimmed with such colour it was practically incandescent with its heat. 

Two outcasts. It was hilariously terrible. Two outcasts, still sharing a pair of earbuds that had seen better days—blaring out the dolorous music that had grown on him, that described this situation perfectly. Stars were strewn in the fabric enveloped around you: memories that would continue to shine even after the world slowly marched towards its apocalypse. 

In that cramped bunkroom, it had been just like school—blue nights with the moon just barely peeking through the window, with your leg still hanging off the side of the bunk and within his field of vision. And he still found the steady rise and fall of your breathing far more comforting than any white noise: like a guard dog, almost, you still shielded him by his proximity to you throughout the brutal eighteen months of mandated service. 

Adulthood had crept up unbidden. In his single-room apartment, he sat on his couch with your legs sprawled just as lazy as they had been eight years prior. Though, your appearance certainly had changed—beneath the loose material of your tank top, he could see the ink seeping and decorating your skin. He’d gone with you to the underground artists right after the discharge: worriedly biting his lip while you simply grinned at him as if there wasn’t a needle pressing into you. And despite his initial concern, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away—sneaking glances even as he browsed through job sites since the winding patterns under the fabric and silver jewellery was oddly entrancing to the eye. 

In the end, he applied to the same company you had done on a whim: Minosoft, where you carefully wiped off the black residue on your lips and the smudged pencil round your eyes. You still shared your earbud with him on the subway (though you’d sent him your playlist aeons ago), you still smoked the same brand you did eight years ago, you still occasionally put on those rings you’d kept as prized trophies, you still made two sets of lunches for work. You still listened over drinks while hammered Dokja updated you on the latest update of Ways of Survival. You still angled your body just so, so that you would bear the brunt of Han Myungoh’s scolding rather than him. 

You hadn’t changed. 

But in some ways, he could no longer see the same boyish guy who’d awkwardly offered him his earbuds nine years ago. The look in your eyes was far more intense, the messy smiles splitting your cheeks were sharper, more overwhelming, and there was no longer any clumsiness in your movements from your sudden growth spurt from years prior. Even the very hand that occasionally clasped his shoulder, even the legs that you still casually flung over his on his beaten old couch, were far more scorching than he remembered. 

You had changed. 

And in the end, it was him who was left behind. 

Eternal loser, Kim Dokja. 

Though, he could never find fault with you for that. Not when you leaned over the tangle of limbs on his couch, not when he caught the thread of oud lingering beneath the smoke on your throat, and not when you thrust your phone screen at his face with that stupidly boyish grin that only peeked out when you brimmed with excitement—with a “look, I finally got us tickets for this festival!”. And he knew at that moment that you weren’t leaving him behind: stretching out your rough palm just like you had more than a decade ago. 

He let you tousle his hair to give it more spikes. He let you dress him up in your clothes—they sat too large on his frame, but he found himself unconsciously burying his body in the fabric that smelled like your laundry. He let you slip your rings onto his fingers: slender digits jolting at the sensation of the cool metal and the action itself. 

Finally, he let you rub your dark pencil on his lashline—lids fluttering up at yours while he did his best to not avert his stare. His gaze traced the bold lines of your brows and eyes, and finally onto the dark stain on your lips as you bit them in concentration. “There,” you’d murmured, gently grasping his chin. “That looks pretty.” 

And just like the loser he was, he felt his chest tighten at the casual compliment, for seemingly no reason. 

Over the din of the hall, he could barely hear the ebb and flow of music. Goth chords jostled him, weaving past the throes of post-punk and metal as band after band took the stage. In this crush of people, he was more focused on how your index finger threaded through his left-most belt loop; linking the two of you just enough that he wouldn’t get thrown into the mosh pit. No doubt the buzz of cheap liquor contributed to his distracted train of thoughts—he never was the best at handling alcohol. His hazy gaze distorted his view of your side profile; in the dim lights, obviously the wide smile (yolk-like, as was your grin years back) couldn’t possibly be that bright. 

It was at this moment that sentimentality got to him. He was thankful that his friend had stuck by his side for so long: gazing so softly at your happy expression he was unaware of his look himself. 

This was the night before the apocalypse began. 

When the crowds trickled out, when the reverb of bass still played through the club, you hugged him tight for coming with you. Outcast with the outcast, you’d thought introspectively. There were cheap spirits clouding your mind that night—a hangover would surely strike you come morning—which was why you weren’t as reserved as you usually were. As you leaned down to press the man into your arms, your lips had brushed past his cheek accidentally, and you could feel the black hole in the centre of your chest constrict. 

Profanities had whirled through your mind when the dark smudge remained on his cheek, and especially so as he made no move to wipe the umbrous gloss off on the subway back. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed—not with the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. There was a terrible, discordant crescendo to your pulse as you gazed at him. The gloss, from where it smeared slightly past the boundaries of your lips, burned your skin. But you made no moves to wipe the corners either—for this night only, there was something linking Kim Dokja to you. 

Thus, for the first time since he was a mere babe cradled in his mother’s arms, there was a kiss planted on his cheek that wasn’t from a fist. An accidental one, but one that could not be considered devoid of affection. And though neither of you remembered it after the hazy stupor faded, it did not change the fact that it happened nonetheless. 

A small snippet of joy in the bleak landscape. A caesura found within the long, winding elegy of this world. A reprieve before tragedy. 

It was a fitting conclusion for the night before the end. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

[The free service has now been terminated.]

Back in the carriage, wedged between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja, the two of you had shared a glance confirming the unspoken truth. Minds intrinsically linked together—he did not need to speak for you to understand his thoughts immediately. And Yoo Sangah had recognised this—as did she remember the devoted gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke to or of the man seated adjacent to you. Yet ultimately, her lips would remain closed. 

When the scenarios began, it was Kim Dokja’s turn to repay you. He would be your shield moving forward—protecting your messy smile even as the world burned away. He vowed this to himself, and though the promise was heard only by him, it did not change the fact that the constellations watching him and his companions could see the oath brimming from him as he put you first. 

[Almighty Sun has sponsored you.]

Even when Apollo chose you as his incarnation, even when you were just as capable as you had been before the cataclysm occurred—he could not help but feel his fists clench as you put yourself in danger. 

“Hold on,” you’d murmured, rings flashing as you’d caught his wrist in your firm grasp. Even with his coins improving his stats, he still felt so much weaker than you—still the boy who ran to the rooftops while your fists bruised against the faces of those who tormented him. 

Had your touch always been so scalding?

Privately, he thought Apollo had chosen the right person—smile bright as the sun, skilled fingers deft enough to play the electric guitar you’d bought on a whim, presence practically a healing balm for his soul. 

“You’re injured, Dokja-ya.” And the words had made him shiver as the syllables ghosted over his flesh—your face was too close to his chest where he’d been slashed by a monster, while the affectionate tone added to his name made this situation far worse than it was. Secluded like this, in an abandoned corner of the station, it was easy to misread the situation; this was the only reason his face flushed red. His friend was far too close. When those aforementioned fingertips brushed over the wound—just grazing the wounded flesh—he jolted. From the pain, of course. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire has sponsored 200 coins.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire would like to see more action.]

“Steady.” You eased him against a pillar while ignoring the message—ignoring how your pulse was now leaden in your mouth, how the golden gleam stitching flesh back together seemed far more shaky than usual. Though, you couldn’t ignore the pain you felt as you saw the rise and fall of his torso grow shallow; you were useless when it counted—arrows meeting their target far too late. 

“Dokja-ya,” you breathed, sweeping the hair that plastered to his clammy forehead. He didn’t meet your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest grew more burdensome. He was supposed to tell you what was wrong; as his best friend, you duly heard his complaints and dealt with them where you could. More often than not, you could intuitively tell what bothered him; much like you had from the very first day you saw him all those years ago. And as time passed, the object of your adoration only grew easier to read. 

But he was never avoidant like this. 

What happened? As you watched him leave with heavy steps and not a glance spared back, you could feel the crushing weight of the sky drop back down on your shoulders. Fuck. Burying your face in your hands, you barely registered the message that popped up. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire expresses her sympathy.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire says she knows how the two of you can make up.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire sponsors 69 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun tells the Demon-like Judge of Fire to not be stingy.]

[The Almighty Sun sponsors 6969 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun empathises with a lover’s quarrel.]

“Shut up,” you seethed, and the bad mood carried on late into the night. It was obvious to anyone with eyes; the conjured lamps lining the perimeter of camp had seethed with you. Gold had been interspersed with bleeding red—crackling like true fire, though it was anything but. Even the tattoos that lined your skin had begun eroding into ember-like patterns, as though lava was breaking through the dermis of your skin. 

Unsurprisingly, it was Yoo Sangah that had approached first: past the harsh glow of your lamps, gracefully weaving through the brightness with the light steps that belied her nebula. She’d taken a glance at the incandescent splintering of your body, your hands furiously working away at the guitar plugged into your practically-bulletproof earphones, and finally the imposing frame of Yoo Joonghyuk only a few metres away as he stood guard tonight. 

But when you paused, when you hastily yanked the buds from your ears, she could also see the wobble in your lip. The furrow in your brows wasn’t angry, it was anguished, while the fearsome glare in your eyes contained only pain. If she was being honest, it was hard to approach you at work and even nowadays—with ease, you picked off enemies from a distance and your longbow conveniently morphed into two curved daggers when it came down to it. You were a maelstrom with the capacity to take lives—stained with blood as you bared your proverbial teeth at any threats to Dokja. But it was precisely that that allowed her to see your stupidly blind adoration of this man. 

(“Your devotion will only hurt you,” she says, as if that will dissuade you. You’ll take whatever feeling he gives you: greedily swallowing each and every morsel of emotion. Tender is your heart, but tender is good. It means you aren’t going mad over the situation you’re in.

“Yoo Sangah, I appreciate the advice,” you reply politely—you do respect her, after all. “But I do not mind that.”)

Yoo Joonghyuk had bemusedly watched as she left: staring the the dim red tattoos strewn across your body as if they could possibly help him decipher the fool in front of him. His Sage’s Eye flashed as golden as your lamps for a brief moment—detecting that your statement had, in fact, been true. 

Fool, he’d said as your hands flew over the fretboard once more. Fool, as you disappeared up the stairs to the rooftop. Fool, when your lips had pressed together tightly against one another. 

You did mind, even when you thought it was the unequivocal truth that you didn’t. 

Maybe it was futile to even think it, but he thought that idiot didn’t deserve the long-standing care in your hands, and the veneration in the timbres of your voice. It was pointless to get attached to someone like that—especially when the end of the world was upon you. 

But you wouldn’t know that, since you could not read his mind. But you wouldn’t know that, since he would never explicitly say it. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’d long-since accepted your self-torture as perfectly and utterly a part of what came with knowing Kim Dokja for as long as you did. 

The rooftop was like all other rooftops. Similar. The same. Azurine fog was at your fingertips: just like that day all those years ago. Except this time, Kim Dokja was not in your sights, and you were left alone with wisps of smoke trailing from your lips and no other company save the glowing stick in your fingers. Just like it had been; before you met the boy with a heart as greedy and all-consuming as yours. Before the merger between two black holes occurred. Before he ran up to the rooftops with bruises on his face and placed new stars in the endless vacuum of your universe. 

There was no charge in your phone, but the song that played that day still rested heavy in your neurons as you sprawled out on the bench. Mindlessly, you summoned the lyre-turned-guitar: doleful chords germinated, flourished and withered away once more under distressed fingertips. It was a night between scenarios; another caesura in this ceaseless tragedy. Though those days were filled with an empty stomach and an endless struggle, they were your halcyon days. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, it was a blue Monday once more. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, you didn’t hear the heavy run of footsteps through the heavy burr of music. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, Kim Dokja’s black hole heart pulsed with each discordant twang of chords—though this time the link was acutely clear to him. 

The boy who once tasted the mist and tilted his body into oblivion was no longer there: replaced by a man who’d faithfully stayed by him for more than a decade. Though you hadn’t changed, not at all; not when he could still see the rings you took off his bullies, gracing your fingers just as they had back then. A trophy, dedicated to his protection. When his plans involved his sacrifice, you were the first to reach him. Your face was the first he saw, tears brimming from your lash line. For despite how you’d grown into your looks, you wore your emotions clear on your face. Your heart had been taken from the cavity in your chest and replaced with a dense core that greedily always wanted; yet it had been sewn messily onto your sleeve rather than discarded. 

Kim Dokja suddenly remembered another interlude. A club, where the amorphous ebb and flow of bodies could not sweep him away from your side—since you kept him there, treasured his presence enough that you hooked your finger firmly into his belt loop and rooted him there. An anchor: you’ve always been the rock beneath his shaky feet, after all. He remembered that, and not the endless churn of music that made your face glow with happiness. 

(A black smear of gloss left on his cheek. His hands, carefully wiping eye pencil away yet not touching the remnants of your lips—not until it smudged away on its own, forgotten for all of time but this day.)

A sun of his own. The reader trod his slow orbit around you long before he could conceptualise the gravity that drew two masses towards each other. Newton’s theory of universal gravitation be damned; you were the only centre of the universe, the only body that ever existed to draw others towards your brilliant light. 

His eyes flickered over the smoke in your lips: the dim embers of a glow from the lines in your skin made it seem as though you were alight yourself. Instinctively, physically, he was compelled towards the patterns just like he had been all those years ago: your music, your stupid piercings and your stupid discussions about bands and the stupid way you listened attentively to his yapping about Ways of Survival. Stupid, because why did you do that? Why did you convince him to make a shrine for you in his heart? Stupid, because why is it only now that he can see what exactly lays atop the stone altar?

“Kim Dokja,” you spoke through your plumes, formal in the way he knew you spoke when you were upset and trying to keep it together. He swallowed, and he could feel the same pitter-patter of his pulse as he did all those years ago—heartbeat colliding loudly in his ear drums while he steps towards you, unsure. You didn’t let up with the strum of strings: electric in the drizzle of rain and wind and cold Seoul air. 

For once, he was the one looking down at your impassive face. He was the one brushing his fingers through your hair, he was the one whose hands made themselves comfortable on shoulders—for it’s always been you wrapped around him, you whose legs wedge on top of his domestically on his shitty couch in his shitty studio flat. 

“It’s Dokja-ya,” he corrected: tongue thick and leaden. It constricted his larynx and made his cadence oh so small at this moment. Tentative. Because he was your close friend and you his. He was the one who knows all your expressions—even the ones you deliberately tried to hide from everyone. He was the one who’s been with you the longest: always staring up at the muscle of your back while you act as his shield. He was the one who’s been blind. 

Your fingers halted against the strings and the instrument dissolved into the wind; the concert for two had reached its conclusion, just like it had all those months ago. For despite being packed full of people, the club only ever had two people in it for him. 

Lazily, those same hands that have bruised for him—but somehow had a touch that was far more painful than any torment that was physically inflicted on him—wrapped round his own that rested neatly on your shoulders. 

“Dokja-ya,” you answered, and the axis the world tilted on is finally righted. This man, Dokja thought—and his umbrous eyes traced down the warm lines of your face, stopping on your lips. Bittersweet. 

“Don’t leave me,” he all but begged—voice only a whisper. Don’t die on me, the black hole wanted to say instead; selfishly wishing for you to always be by his side so he doesn’t see you depart this world first. That would end him more than anything else. 

“I can’t leave you,” you murmured, and oh, the hand brushing his tear-stained cheek suddenly made more sense. “Dokja-ya, I should be telling you that.”

He pressed his face into your warm palm—scorching even with the boreal damp settling over his skin. There was something twisted within him that revels in your admission: that you, too, feared him abandoning you just as he feared you leaving him behind. 

“Idiot.” And he twined his fingers in yours, seeing the surprise on your face bloom—for he’s already established that you’re ever so easy to read. Idiot, because it’s ludicrous to even think that he’d ever willingly walk away from you like that. 

“You’re the idiot,” you whispered as your phantasmal hand ghosted from his cheek to his collar, yanking him so he fell onto the firm sprawl of your legs—in a way he’s never felt. So warm, he thought through the haze as he straddled your languid body—fit so right against you that there was none of the tension nor the anticipation that he might’ve felt. His hands splayed out onto your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart, tracing the glowing lines he adored on your body. 

So warm, he thought as your hands gently cupped his face—for you’ve never been anything but soft with this stupid man perched on your lap. 

So warm, as your lips met his and he melted into your body. He could taste the acrid smoke on your tongue, but he could also taste the food you’d prepared earlier for him, and the traces of whiskey you’d scavenged. All traces of you; his insatiable heart could not help but want to merge into you. 

So warm, as your tongue melded against his and he could feel the seam of his mouth against yours grow ever more ragged and messy. His hands desperately curled into your shirt, and he could feel your palms pressing harshly against his waist and canting his torso into yours more—something which his avaricious heart eagerly swallowed. 

On a blue Monday just like this one, two boys met for the first time once more on a rooftop just like this one. 

Again. Like and like created a merger for the second time, or perhaps it was already the third. Or fourth. Or the thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-third time this has happened—over and over and over and over. 

Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, or maybe it’s just the intrinsic law of gravitation that binds two black holes in a binary system. 

Blue Monday. What a silly notion, when the man beneath Kim Dokja is as warm as the brilliant sun. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

Fellas is it gay to pine after your best friend for over ten years and have oddly homoerotic moments with them

✦ . 　⁺ 

EXTRAS

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire returns from her work and asks what she missed.]

[The Almighty Sun keeps his lips shut.]

[The Abyssal Flame Black Dragon stays silent.]

[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband, perhaps not fearing his imminent hair loss, opens his mouth.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire promptly goes catatonic and explodes.]

[princessbrunette]

https://www.tumblr.com/princessbrunette/740865957984141312/innocent-reader-whos-never-had-a-high-sex-drive?source=share

omg kinda imagining this with john b.. like him needing to go fishing or just hanging out with the pogues and one wrong move then you're all needy, hands all over him trying to him to go somewhere private so that you can at least save yourself from embarrassment infront of his friends who you think already don't like you 😓 or if he's just from fishing, you're all over him looking like a hungry puppy, and then he just smells like dead fish 😭😭😭😭 LMAO

.° ༘🍬⋆🤍₊˚ෆ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

john b was their leader, everything that happened to the pogues — or moreso everything the pogues involved themselves in happened to be surrounded around your boyfriend. why? you wasn’t so sure, outside of the stuff with his dad and the royal merchant — you considered him pretty laid back, always down to go with the flow. with this being the dynamic, it was no surprise that you felt some hostility towards you from his friends when you started hanging around more, taking him away to spend private and intimate hours together.

so you stopped.

being apart of john b’s world mattered to you, and you knew his friends were like his family. in order to fit in, and for everything else to fall into place you needed them to like you. maybe you were a people pleaser, its true — but you were dead set on allowing them to spend as much time around jb as they needed until they respected you enough to let you have him.

it had been roughly ten days, and you were dying. it’s not that you hadn’t been around him, no — you had been together the whole time. but you’d been around the group non stop, no time to talk privately even, no time to make eachother feel good. you were needy by nature, always wanting to keep a hand on him at all times despite the eye rolls from kie, teasing from jj or awkward coughs from pope. but this wasn’t always enough, and after spending all day with the gang fishing — watching your calm and dominant by nature boyfriend command a small group so easily, you needed him.

the pogues seemed distracted out on the lawn once you returned, setting up a fire for the night and you took that time to pounce. “hey, um— can you help me with something inside?” you ask politely, and it felt like it had been so long since he’d touched you that your voice was trembling. his brow instantly creases, guiding you inside the chateau by the lower back in concern.

“everything okay?” he asks, and you take a deep breath to respond — expression all furrowed and pouty, and before you get to speak he explodes quickly into dialogue. “i know, i know okay i haven’t been able to spend much time with just you lately — i don’t… know what’s gotten into them okay it just seems they— they need me around right now and they’re my family, you know? they’ll get used to us soon and then we can—”

“john b.” you whisper, eyes glassy. he stops, lips parted and eyes wide.

“yeah?” he breathes.

“we’re alone right now. and i don’t know how long that’s gonna last but… i need you.” you whisper gets whinier towards the end, softly grasping his tanned, strong hand and pushing it beneath your dress, letting him cup your soaked panties.

“oh my god. i have really neglected you, huh?” he melts a little, guilty but equally aroused, his shorts tightening around him.

“its— it’s okay… been trying to give you space, get them to like me… but right now i don’t care, i’m sorry. just need you inside me, daddy.” you touch his chest, tempting him with those doe eyes he knows too well and he’s on you in an instant— dragging you into his room and shutting the door for extra security, laying you down.

“i’m sorry, shit— i’m sorry. you’re my girl… should be looking after you.” he rants quietly as he presses kisses all over your neck down to your tits, hands pushing your dress up.

“s’okay john b i’m— i’m just aching, make it better please.”

“would be my pleasure sweatheart.” he cooes as he pulls the soaked fabric of your panties down your legs. “and i’m sorry i stink of dead fish that’s uh— that’s not ideal.”

.° ༘🍬⋆🤍₊˚ෆ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

[roronoagem]

I keep thinking about Law and breeding kink but he doesn't want to risk it with pills. So anal it is-

-🦊 (I'm going insane for Christmas)

characters: trafalgar d. water law

content warning: +18 nsfw, anal sex, oral sex, afab!reader, dirty talk (i tried), law being a sweetheart btw + not proofread bc i’m scared of my smutty fics alright.

a/n: OH MY GOD I’M SO FREAKING SORRY, I THOUGHT I ALREADY POSTED IT LIKE A WEEK AGO ??? fuck. i’m even more sorry because i don’t think it turned out that good . . bc i realised that i haven’t written a breeding kink fic in a long time, i’m a bit scared about this piece LMAO.

now that i think about it, law would actually avoid pills and such because he knows of its negative effects, so he would never risk it. but he also feels this burning desire to fill you up, in a way or another.

when the solution came to you at the same time, law took the matter seriously as he decided to focus on preparing you and make sure it would be pleasurable for the both of you.

he basically spent days preparing you before actually try anal. when the day finally arrives, law would try his best to go as slow as possible as not to hurt you, he would always check on you, ask if it’s okay, if it hurts, etc.

trust me when i tell you that the second he sinks in bare he whines, low sounds escape his lips as he keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the moment fully. he grabs your hips and thrusts slowly into you. the soft mewls slipping out of your mouth spurs him on, as he starts moving a little faster.

“ah, you’re so tight… fuck–“ he groans, pulling you closer to him, getting your ass up from the mattress. he sneaks one of his hands between your thighs and searches for your clit, keeping in mind that you have to feel good too and he would never neglect your pleasure.

“law…” you moan softly into the pillow, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room accompanied by your moans and his grunts, as he momentarily gets lost in the pleasure.

“gonna fill you up…” he growls before sinking forward, thrusting into you a bit harshly. you can feel him twitch inside your tight hole, sinking your face further into the pillow as you desperately grip the sheets as two of his fingers play with your clit.

“look at how well you take me.”

law groans while hiding his face into your nape, squeezing his eyes shut as he reaches his climax, warm spurts of cum start filling you up. his thrusting slow down a bit, before halting completely as he breathes fast.

“you did so good, law,” you praise him, biting your lips. his fingers stop working on you, even though you aren’t done. “hmm,” he lazily pulls out, his gaze goes down and he watches as drops of cum slowly leak out of you.

he suddenly flipped you over, making you gasp in surprise. law swiftly finds himself face to face with your cunt and uses his hands to push your legs further open.

“sorry darling,” he murmured lowly before wrapping his lips around your throbbing clit, you moan and arch your back, hands flying to grab his hair as he finishes you off, holding you in place even after you just came right into his mouth.

“thank you,” law cups your face and kisses your lips gently. “did so good, so fucking good,” he praises you lowly, causing your already warm cheeks to heat up even more.

[sebastianstanisahotmf]

Too many missions

Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

A/N Firstly, this fic idea is from a request from @nicoline1998enilocin to reverse the roles of my fic office sex e.g. reader visits Bucky at work. Secondly, comments, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated and all mistakes are my own so feel free to comment below if you notice any. Also, this fic is gonna have a second part which is just aftercare.

18+ MINORS DNI, FUCK OFF YOU'RE NOT OLD ENOUGH (I WARNED YOU)

Summary Bucky is supposed to be doing his mission reports but ends up doing you instead (lmao that's so fucking cheesy)

DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APPS/SITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.

Warnings Fluff , blowjob, unprotected sex (use protection you are not fictional)

Bucky was missing you to say the least. He had been jumping from mission to mission for the past month and hadn’t been able to properly spend time with you. However, he only had to wait one more hour and then he could give you all the attention you could ever need. 

He was filling in the last of the paperwork regarding his latest mission when he heard a knock on his office door. 

“Come in,” he shouted, not lifting his head and continuing to write more notes on the paper. Bucky still hadn’t grasped typing on a computer and still preferred to hand-write things.

You opened the door and slid in trying not to distract Bucky while he was working.

“Hey baby, I just wanted to ask you if you’re ok.” you sat down on the couch that Bucky had in his office.

Bucky turned his head quickly as soon as he heard your voice. His scowl turned into a smile at the sight of you. 

“Hey doll, I missed you.” he said while finishing a sentence before turning on his chair to face you.

You lifted the bag that was in your hand, “I brought some food for you since you’ve been working really hard lately.”

“You’re amazing, doll,” he said, taking the bag out of your hand. “I’m sorry for not being home much S.H.I.E.L.D really needed me recently.” He added with a sad look on his face. 

“It's ok baby, I know it’s not your fault. Anyways you tell me not to worry when the same thing happens to me so you shouldn’t be worrying either.” 

“I know doll, but I just feel bad for neglecting you for so long and I've missed you so much lately.” He took out the food you made him and dug in like a man starved. 

“It’s ok baby. Really. I know that you’re not intentionally going on missions. Also, I kindly spoke to Fury and he said he’s willing to give us both the next 2 months off.” 

“You know doll, I think you’re the only person I know that can intimidate THE Nick fury.” Bucky says smiling.

Bucky finished his food and you took the rubbish off him and threw it in the bin for him. Then, you got up from your seat and walked over to Bucky who was grinning like an idiot. 

“Come here doll, I need to hug you,” he said while holding his arms out to you.

You sat on his lap, facing him. Bucky wrapped one arm around your waist and placed the other at the back of your head, pressing you further into the crook of his neck. You took a deep breath and could smell the familiar scent of Bucky’s cologne. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist and he hummed in content. 

After a few minutes, you started to get restless. You were getting aroused from being so close to Bucky especially since you hadn’t had sex with him in what felt like years. And masterbating wasn’t an option since Bucky’s skills had made you unable to cum unless it was him. 

You squirmed around a bit before stopping when you felt Bucky’s hardness beneath you. You looked up to see Bucky’s eyes almost black with lust. He let out a loud groan when you made eye contact with him.

“Doll, I-I-I need to finish the mission report and t-then we can do anything you want.”

“But daddy. I want you nowww,” you whined. 

“Stop whining like a whore,” Bucky said “I’ll fuck you after I finish the mission reports.” He pushed you off his lap and started to unbuckle his belt and open his jeans. “While i'm doing that, you can put that dirty fuckin’ mouth to use.” he pulled his cock out and started to lazily rub it up and down.

You dropped to your knees and crawled under the desk. Bucky rolled his chair under the desk, right in front of you. 

“All right doll, you know what to do.”

You shuffled closer and replaced Bucky’s hand with yours. You leaned closer and licked a stripe up the underside of his dick, repeating the action again before taking the rounded head into your mouth. This made Bucky let out a loud moan which made you suck harder. Then, you took his member deeper into your mouth until it hit the back of your throat which made you gag. 

“That’s it baby. Such a good girl,” Bucky groaned, stroking your head softly. 

Then, you hear a knock at the door. Bucky looks down at you with a grin on his face and then tells whoever it is to come in. He allows you to take one last deep breath before pushing you down.

 

Steve walked into the room and was oblivious to you with a mouthful of his best friend's cock. 

“Hey Buck, how much longer are you going to be because you need to hand in your mission reports today and it's already 10pm.” 

“I’ve got a f-few more notes to add and then I’m done, punk.” Bucky replied, clenching his fist. 

“Jerk,” Steve responded, as he exited the room. 

Bucky let out a groan as you took him all the way down now that you didn’t have an audience. 

“Doll, I need to be inside you right now,” Bucky said.

He grabbed your hair and pulled you off him before moving back on his chair so that he could pick you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He placed you on his desk and started to take his clothes off as you did the same.

 

When you were both naked, Bucky leaned forward to meet your lips in a kiss. It was all teeth and tongue since you haven't been able to be intimate with each other for way too long. You brought a hand up to Bucky’s face and cupped his cheek, a strangely sweet gesture for such a filthy kiss. 

“Daddy, please. I need you inside me. Please,” you begged.

“One second doll,”

Bucky grabbed your hips and pulled you to the edge of the desk. He grabbed his cock and rubbed it up and down your folds. 

“Please daddy! Fuck me!” you whined. 

Bucky just smirked before leaning forwards and pushing his dick inside you with one smooth thrust. He didn’t give you a chance to adjust before violently thrusting into you. All sense of self control had instantly dissipated the second he entered you. 

“Doll, you feel so good. So fuckin’ good” Bucky groaned. 

He put both your legs on his shoulders and leaned forwards. From this position he could reach the deepest parts of you. He reached his hand down and started to rub your swollen clit. 

“Gonna cum, m’ gonna cum,” you shouted, your legs starting to shake. 

“Cum for me doll, come on. Show daddy how good his fat cock is making you feel.” Bucky said.

Your legs had started to shake and Bucky’s thrusts were starting to become sloppy. Your vision had started to blur and you could feel your orgasm crash into you. You let out a pornographic moan and was trying to writhe away from Bucky’s hand which continued to rub your clit and extend your high. 

“Gonna cum in you baby, gonna pump you full of my cum,” Bucky let out a loud moan before stilling and filling you with his seed. 

Bucky leaned back to let your legs fall from his shoulders. He leaned forwards and rested his forehead against your breasts as you ran your fingers through his hair. A few minutes passed and then Bucky pulled away. You whined at the loss of contact. Bucky grabbed the hoodie he was wearing and helped you put it on…..

Taglist: @buckys-wintersoldier @nicoline1998enilocin

Also if you want to see posts I reblog just follow @sebastianstanisahotmf-reblogs

[blissfulip]

Dopamine

on AO3

Viktor x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut, masturbation

Cw: Allusion to sexual themes, just general bickering on this one

Words: 1.8k

[A/N: I know this one took forever, sorry about that lmao, tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly(ish). (also, let me know if you want to be tagged in fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Previous Next

Chapter 5: Rise to the occasion

“Wait,Viktor—” You said, trying to catch up to him since he stormed out of the Hextech lab, “We can’t just walk back in there together as if nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I’m talking about us doing something well-nigh against academy rules; they will ask questions.”

“Oh, eh—you go in first."

The opportunity to counter was stolen from you and substituted by the cold touch of Viktor’s hands upon your back, jostling your body effortlessly through the library door. He came in behind you shortly after, and you thought the interval in between both of you walking in was not long enough to make a dent in the opinion of everyone watching.

“The interval in between both of us walking in was not long enough to make a dent in the opinion of everyone watching.”

“No one gives a hoot about where we might have gone; stop concerning yourself with their opinion."

It was virtually an ambuscade. When you sat back right where your book had been left and Viktor was on the chair opposite you, a friend and a foe together in liue of curiosity came without a warning and joined you. Asher seemed increasingly more annoyed than Lara, whom you suspected was simply thirsty for some quality gossip.

“So… you snuck out together, where to?” She asked with a shit-eating grin creeping up across her face.

“The dorms.” You astonishingly managed to answer in unison.

“Whose?” Asher shot at you immediately after, not leaving any time for thinking.

“Listen you—” Viktor started, and you were sure his intentions were going to take him somewhere he’d regret, so you interjected.

“We just needed to get some of our work instruments; it's not a big deal,” you said awkwardly.

“I thought your dorm was on the west wing; why did you go together?” Lara questioned you (and correctly, alas).

“You know what they say: ‘you shouldn’t count your birds before you hit them with a stone’.” You said, in the most deadpan way you could find in you.

“She needed help choosing which one of the books would be better for the presentation she is planning, and I needed help carrying some of the heavier volumes. We…killed two birds with one stone.” He said, entirely unconvinced but long resigned.

“Right, and you accepted his help with your work?” Said Asher with a cynical eyebrow raise.

“Well, the arrogance, fear of public speaking, long-term sickly obsession with work, and his careless neglect of social cues make up for an almost tolerable knowledge of many useful subjects.”

Viktor looked at you with knitted brows, his mouth agape, as if he at some point had the intention of saying something but gave up on it as the hint of faint praise in your statement made him befuddled enough to not know what to say.

“Uh, fine, just let us know you’ll be out next time; we have to make the week one report for Heimerdinger, and you two were nowhere to be found for like an hour."

“We could’ve been here earlier, but as you are both aware, she is chronologically challenged.”

"Wha—we were running against the clock because someone had to stop by the restroom on our way back.” You said, the pitch of your voice was getting higher as the irritation grew.

“I wonder why.”

“I know why, and I don’t particularly understand why you are saying it like it was my fault.”

By that point, both Asher and Lara, after sharing a look of reproach with each other, had quietly stood up and gone back to their respective work tables, leaving the two of you to quarrel in private.

“I’m sure in hindsight you can see clearly that dragging me into a small closet was regrettably ill-advised; you have such a talent for slip-ups that one could almost think you do it on purpose.”

“You think I wanted you to rise to the occasion, on purpose?” You said in a slightly mocking tone.

“You are certainly taking the opportunity to rag on me because of it.”

“If I wanted to make fun of you for that, I would've done it on the way here, Viktor, and just so you know, if I wanted to be the cause of your late-afternoon wood, a cleaning closet wouldn’t be my choice of scenery.”

“Stop calling it those names; it’s horrid—in fact, just quit talking about it; it’s giving me a tension headache."

"Oh, I apologize. Am I being too silly about the thing that you just reminded me about? I’ll make sure to talk about you b-o-n-e-r more solemnly in the future."

“I’m sorry if I thought you’d be able to take things seriously; that wasn’t my intention.”

“I am. I can take things so seriously that I will go back to my work over there, where I don’t have to hear you sniffle every two seconds, the heel of your shoe clanking on the floor, and your pen clicking repeatedly.” You said with a sour expression as you removed his journals from your bag and walked over to the other side of the library.

“Choice of scenery; who does she think she is?" Viktor mumbled quietly to himself before noticing the unintentional clicking of his pen and quietly putting it down on the table with an almost imperceptible pout.

----------------------------------------------

Both the second and third meetings, as well as the halfway report with Heimerdinger, went sufficiently well, with your own presentation already in the final stages. It had been a particularly lazy morning; your eyes had nearly not opened, pushed closed by the heavy lids of a sleepless night, and the burgeoning symptoms of what you suspected could turn into the flu, when you decided to skip the last meeting and give your speech the finishing touches in the comfort of your own bed.

Since everything had been finished and you figured everyone would assume you were sick or had other commitments, you didn't tell anybody, hoping your absence would be disregarded. You soon learned that was a misjudgment on your part when you heard someone knock on the door to your dorm room well into the afternoon.

 “I can’t believe you got sick too!” Lara said as soon as you cracked the door open.

“Too?”

“Cirian is terribly sick as well; there must be some sort of epidemic!”

“I’m sorry… who?” 

“Cirian, from Biology.” She said, absentmindedly, as she scrambled in the kitchen for something, “Where do you keep your mugs? I’ll brew you some tea.”

"Ah, yes, top left.” So that’s his name. “I’m quite alright, though; I just needed some rest.”

“That’s good to hear because Heimerdinger said you and Viktor would have to fill in for him.”

“You have to be kidding me.” You said throwing your body back on your bed dramatically.

“I thought you’d be ecstatic,” she said as she came back with two mugs and a puzzled expression, to which you responded with one to match. "Well, you’d have an excuse to spend more time with him.”

“And why on Heimerdinger’s fluffy mustache would I want that?”

"Well, you two are dating, no?”

"No, we’re fucking not. Where did you get that idea?”

“You’re pulling my leg now, come on." She said with a small chuckle, and when you did not laugh but looked at her with concern, she continued. “Well… He seemed to be quite into you that day you were at my place, and you were very flirty.”

“I was drunk!” You said trying to defend yourself and trying to ignore what she had said about him being into you; it wasn’t a thought you wanted to consider at that moment.

“Fair, but then, I thought all that banter you two have was just playful bickering.”

“It’s most certainly not; I despise him, and he hates me with a passion.”

“With a passion, alright.” She said with a cheeky smirk that she tried to hide by taking a sip of the tea.

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“I know something that neither of you do, apparently. But I  digress." She said, gulping the last bit of tea and leaving the mug on the sink before turning back to you. “I’d go talk to Heimerdinger before he leaves for the day, if I were you."

She left shortly after, leaving you to ruminate about more than one of the things that were said.  She couldn’t possibly be making any sense, could she? Perhaps you should have asked what she meant by Viktor being ‘into you’ that night, but then again, you had noticed a slight change in his physiognomy.

You weren’t as drunk as you claimed to be, and it was this small change—the blush all over his face when he saw you—that made you look at him through your eyelashes so suggestively. It was the small gasp hitched on his throat that made you swing your hips when you walked slowly to where he stood. It was his white knuckles and his fingers clasped together in a tight fist around his vest that made you lower your voice into a purr when you said his name. You wanted to provoke him; his reaction was so akin to one of fury that you relished the possibility of making him hate you more.

There was no reason to bend over the table to write, not in the way you did, at least. You just wanted to, although you still tried to convince yourself that it had the same motivations as everything else you had done that night.

If you didn't know of further proof that backed up Lara's theory (which she herself was unaware of), it would have been reasonable to conclude that she had made an unfortunate misinterpretation of the situation. You caught yourself grinning at the memory of it—how you had been enjoying the scent of Viktor’s perfume and the feeling of his chest pressing against you—even before you noticed what the proximity of your bodies was doing to him.

Raise to the occasion was such a good one; he really can’t appreciate a good joke.

”B-o-n-e-r” You spelled it out loud to yourself with a hearty chuckle.

And even after you did notice it, a smug little voice in your head was telling you to lean closer, to see how far you could take it before he either said something unspeakably rude to you or took it the opposite way, but you had to be circumspect. You were the picture of practicality, yet he still had the gall to get angry at you. 

My fault…ha. If I had been doing it on purpose, that closet would’ve become too small for what he’d want to do with—

You had to physically shake that thought away and remind yourself that regardless of how fun it was to mess with him, Viktor was still incredibly insufferable to work in the same vicinity as, let alone with, so it’d be better to talk to Heimerdinger and get this whole debacle sorted out.

You did, however, spend the entirety of the way there thinking about the scent of saffron and leather.

[sanjisblackasswife]

Sanji Becomes More Dominant (Part 3) (VERY NSFW!!! + FLUFF)

Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 3.4k

Black Fem! Reader in mind

sorry this took so long lmao THIS is the final part btw

CW: Dom! Sanji, Sub! Reader, Praise, “Good Girl” Used, Slight Hand Kink(?), Sanji is wearing rings because jeeeeeezzzzz yes, Biting, Vibrating Toy/Tongue Ring Use, Spitting in mouth and vagina, slight Ab Riding, Titty Fucking, Oral sex, Vaginal sex, Boobjob, Sir Kink, Hair pulling, Choking, Sensual Massaging, Begging, Teasing, Reader Ejaculates Multiple Times, Orgasm Denial, Aftercare

“You like this don’t you, sweetheart?”

His slender fingers curled inside your cunt enhancing the wet noises coming out of you, if it didn’t feel so good you’d be crying from how sensitive you’re becoming.

Sanji couldn’t get over how much your pussy was drenched. The mixture of the oil and your arousal blended in with the scent of the vanilla candle making him nearly pussy drunk from the smell alone. With each thrust of his finger came a wetter sound than the last, his cold rings grazed your clit so deliciously making you clench a little, you wanted to feel embarrassed but the only thing you could feel was the knot forming under your belly to cum, Sanji’s one hand playing with your pussy and his other resting gently on your ass kneeding it a little, your toes were curling in anticipation, but—-

Sanji pulls out.

“Sanji!” You cried looking back, his eyes were dark as he sucked off his fingers moaning a little from your addictive taste.

“You didn’t say you wanted to cum, Y/N. You just wanted my fingers.”

“But—“

“Lay on Your back.” Was all he commanded as he threw off his shirt and pulled down his bottoms to free his cock he’s been neglecting this whole time.

You have him puppy dog eyes feeling your high die down quickly, but you turn on your back anyways with a slight pout. Sanji found it so cute, he climbed over your body, his skinny fingers rubbed against your breast, and dragged down to your tummy, but back up to your throat threatening to enclose his hand around it but he kissed you first.

“Can I fuck those pretty tits of yours, baby?” Not giving him an answer on time earned you a firm grasp of his fingers around your throat. You let out a pathetic gasp at the pressure around you, the cold silver rings adding a tightness to his hold. “Speak up, please.”

“Yes! Yes, Sir!”

He motioned you to hold up your breast, biting his lip at the lewd sight, he slid his Dick in between the fat part of them hissing, you seen how his pink tip emerged right in front of your mouth making you gasp.

“Spit on it.”

Being so obedient you dribbled some spit out on the tip. Sanji licked his lips seeing your plump lips so close around his cock like that, he used your saliva as lube to thrust in and out of your breast making you both moan.

You’ve never done this, you didn’t even think Sanji was into this because he has never asked but you were more than willing to let him, seeing his face contort with pleasure huffing out try to not whine too much was so attractive. What’s gotten into him?

“Open—ah! Your mouth!” You immediately did as told, he pulled out to aim right on your tongue. He hastened his pace to slap his cock on it a few times before letting it rest heavily on your little muscle. You never really had many times to have his dick in your mouth because he likes going down on you more but you took this opportunity to suck it weakly. “Fuck!… wait baby—!”

You heard him, but you didn’t really care to listen your thighs began to rub for some form of friction feeling it in your mouth, tasting him was something you’ve enjoyed doing. You couldn’t seem to get yourself to stop as you were slowly sucking him for all he’s worth, the noises of your slurping and popping of the lips made Sanji bend over and grip the headboard moaning out. He completely forgot how greedy and dangerous you were when you sucked his cock.

“Y-y/n! Fuck—!” You wanted more of him in your mouth so you pushed him a little. He slowly began to lay on his back holding up his elbows to watch your slutty little mouth try to fit him in entirely while laying beside him, you interchanged from stroking with your hands , to sucking and twirling your tongue. Sanji couldn’t help but to cry out and cum, feeling you swallow everything he had. You felt some of his semen ooze out of the corner of your mouth and he noticed.

“Nope..” He reached for the remnant and shoved it in your mouth, “don’t want you wasting all of that…there you go…”

You were back on your back sucking his fingers, Looking into his eyes made your spine arch slowly as if you were presenting your breast to him, he sucked his bottom lip, cock twitching at the lustful sight, his eyes moved at your untouched nipples, with his finger still in your mouth and hovered over teasingly rotating the tip of his tounge on the sensitive buttons earning a hum and a harsh suck on his digits.

Sanji closed his eyes moaning softly suckling your breast, you look down feeling your mouth now empty with both of his hands groping your chest and moving from one nipple to the other licking and kissing them so sweetly, his nose bled just a little. It was actually kind of hot to see him lose in composure .

“Fuck this—sit on my face.”

You nearly choked on air hearing his request. You were not a fan of sitting on his face, not because he was bad it was because you felt like that position was so embarrassing, Sanji noticed the contort on your face and caressed your cheek. Once again that feel of his cold silver rings made you feel so weak.

“Wont you…? Take a seat on your throne, darling?”

He laid beside you and grabbed you to straddle him, you were so soaked you felt your pussy damped his abs. You bit your lip trying to avoid his dark gaze, but all the while you’re doing something too naughty for Sanji to even comprehend,

“Woah, y/n!” He held your waist to stop your grinding, “You’ll ride my stomach but you won’t ride my face? Common let me taste you…”

“I um Sir….I don’t wanna—“

He swatted your left cheek making your shriek and look at him with widened eyes. He doesn’t spank you often but the sharp pain felt way too good, and Sanji knew from the slight feel of you clenching down on nothing,

“Sit on my face.”

You may have been on top of him, he may have dried blood under his nose, and his eyes shaped like small hearts, but you somehow felt so small. His body was hot and you felt a darken presence around him, you scoot your way up to grab ahold the headboard, mind going a mile a minute feeling Sanji’s mouth right under your soaked cunt.

“San—!”

“Sh sh sh shhh.” He parted your lips exposing the way your insides kept clenching for him, looking at the lewd sight of you made him spread you open further to stick his tongue inside.

The slither of it dragging in and out of your walls made your body sink further down, your thighs squeeze Sanji’s face, but he of course didn’t mind.

His hands were locked around them holding you down from escaping which scared you so much to the point you began to ignore the pleasure he was sending you, but your wonderful Mr. Prince knows your body like how he knows fish so he creeped his fingers to your untouched clit and swirled around inhaling more of your scent as you began to jerk and grind again.

You were moving the bed back and fourth on the wall trying to push yourself back to the orgasm that was stolen from you, your left thigh twitched on Sanji’s sweaty cheek signaling him that you were close.

And that’s when he pulled you off.

“SANJI!” Your Voice practically broke crying his name in frustration now laying on your back with him hovering over you, arms over your head as your semi pussy drunk boyfriend looked down at your panting wet slippery body.

“Sanji please let me cum on your tongue it’s not f—-!”

Your pouts were cut with your tounge being sucked and kissed on. Sanji kissed you with urgency and your returned the favor with neediness moaning about how much you wanted to cum, your eyes were still shut not noticing Sanji reaching above your head to grab the rectangle box he got just for you and pulled out the gift.

With a quick flick of his thumb you heard loud buzzing which stopped your kisses and turned into a lustful whine feeling this new contraption on your soft pulsating clit.

“FUCK!” You huffed letting your legs spread wider. Your eyes went back to your head biting your lower lip making Sanji press the toy down harder and stroke himself while watching. Your hands flew to his arm rolling the toy in hard wide circles with your hips moving with the direction of it.

Your orgasm was coming so close and even harder than it has all night you felt tears prickle down your cheeks huffing out, head shaking back and fourth.

You were a damn mess and Sanji couldn’t get enough of this sight.

“Cum for me, Princess.” His voice was ragged, barely holding himself together between your legs reaching the orgasm with you switching the vibrator from your clit to the top of his tip.

Your leg twitched again.

Right as your orgasm was at its peak Sanji couldn’t take it anymore and slid himself inside you with the toy still pressed on your clit. You hollered so loudly it nearly made your voice crack.

“SANJI!”

His pace wasn’t letting up even after cumming, his right hand above your head holding your hand and his left holding up one thigh making sure you both feel the vibrator on both of you. This wasn’t like any orgasm before you both were drooling, too pussy/Dick drunk and overstimulated to the point that all you could hear was the bed creaking, skin slapping, and rhythmic moaning from you both.

“ Y/N, FUCK—!”

Sanji couldn’t believe how addicting it was to fuck you like this, to have you crying like this, cumming like this, to have you begging for more like this.

This is all he wanted to do to you and more.

Slowing down his pace, and pulling away from your breast he moves your twitching limp body over on your stomach with care kissing your body all over in the process but not allowing the vibrator to shift from it’s rightful position on your clit. He put it on the highest setting out of pure selfishness and excitement making your whines much louder and body ache much faster. Yeah, cumming felt painful now, but the pain of it all felt even more amazing.

Sanji’s hips stuttered, both hands pressed on your hips, lower spine arched, and his cock dragged in and out of your worked cunt, his pelvis bouncing off your soft ass giving it a few smacks of appreciation now feeling the bottom of his stomach twist for another release inside you. He looked up at your pretty hair now getting messy from moving all over the bed. He was already on cloud 9, why not add on to the pleasure?

He moved his right hand to grab your scalp and do a gentle tug. He felt you clench down harder and hum,

“Fuck—-you like that baby?”

“Mmhmmm!” You Sing Holding in your lips hoping he pulls harder and he does, giving your back a beautiful arch further upwards than it was already.

You were pretty much fucked dumb at this point, from his cock and the vibrator you had no other thought in your mind except to finish on him one more time.

“Fais le maintenant, princess” (do it right now, Princess)

Sanji growls in your ear, he knows you wants to cum, he can feel your cunt squeeze him so tightly He couldnt help but to keep fucking himself into the back of you, on hand gripping your ass now and the other pulling your hair.

Your slutty noises bounced off the stuffy walls, the bed’s creaking coming to a slow stop, now nothing but panting and the muffled noise of the vibrator being heard between you both.

You couldn’t explain how your body felt, still feeling the toy pressed on your worn slit now that Sanji is against you to kiss your sweaty wet back again. You moan, his warm seed mixed with the oil and sweat, pooling out of your pussy, your pervy man couldnt help but to move back up and spread a cheek to see the damage.

“You’re so fucking Beautiful, my love.”

He pulled out but he wasn’t done. He didn’t want to be.

“Here.” He spoke rolling you over to your back again, your entire body jiggled, your chest rising and shaking as you exhale, you felt Sanji finally release Your continuous stimulation of the toy to place on the night stand. For a split second you hoped he didn’t toss it after all this.

Sanji hovered over you, caging you in his strong muscular arms. He looked so big and nearly intimidating to you, his eyes were a different hue of blue tonight, no longer was it the typical blue/grey he had, but it was darker and the moon light of the window bounced off of his heart shaped iris’ So Beautifully.

“You’re so pretty, Sanji…” you managed to whisper to him reaching for his face, you took him out of the daze he was falling in love all over again looking at you. You were in such a vulnerable state. Just for him.

All for him.

And only him.

Kissing your wrist he peppered all the way down to your lips, when you were met with his you felt as if he was going to leave you if he let go. He lowered himself moaning softly into your mouth as you held the back of his neck with one hand and locked hands with his other.

“That was probably the realest kiss you ever gave me..” He smiled, you nearly felt yourself getting warmer in the face, noticing your embarrassed pout he chuckled. “You okay?”

You nod, you still wasn’t sure what was up with Sanji tonight, but this was what you wanted, what you needed, so once again who were you to question it?

Sanji wanted to. He wanted to not push your limit too much tonight, but he was still a pervert at heart and wanted to try one more thing before he cleaned you up.

“Baby…..” His hands trailed down the sides of your body. You finally started to come down from your high, breathes now a bit regulated as you didnt look away from his face admiring your nude shape. “…I love you…”

You instinctively sucked your bottom lip trying not to break into a smile, but it failed. He smiled with you, but it was weakened, “I love you more, Sanji. Always will.”

Your sweet response made his cock twitch and his cheeks a bright pink, he cleared his throat and hopped off the bed. Your smile turned into a crooked one trying to follow where he was going.

“What are-—“

“Just play with yourself for me.”

You, being so obedient now shut your eyes slowly to play with your slit, it was unbearably soaked. You were still so sensitive you held your thighs together mewling softly for your man to come back to you already.

You felt a dip in the bed, opening your eyes to see Sanji fiddling with his tongue with one hand,

“Baby.” He smiles at you sweetly noticing your confused staring, your eyes widen to see the pretty jewelry in his tongue as he stuck it out at you making him chuckle.

“You never told me you had a tongue ring!” You laid back down as sanji hovered back over you.

Sanji looked so attractive with that piercing.

“It’s fake, but…if you want I can get a real one.” He pecked his lips on yours before trailing his attention down back to your cunt. “Just let me clean you up.”

“But why the t—-ohhhhh shit!”

To your surprise the pretty piece of jewlery was a small toy as well. The cold small metal vibrated against your cunt as the tip of his tongue ghosted around your hole. Sanji pressed his entire mouth onto your slit as he pushed your hips down into him.

It was sensory overload, the sucking, the licking the vibration it was all too much for your mind to wrap around.

Strips of drool slid down your cheek, vision once again blurred from tears, the overstimulation of it all had your back arched off the bed, nails clawing into his sheets.

“SSSSSSHIT SANJI!”

“Mmmhm.” Was all he hummed inside you, eyes shut, he felt so at ease tasting his and your cum mixing in his mouth to swallow. He moved his right hand to press down at your lower tummy as you came. The pressure caused your eyes to roll back nearly crying out, his name bouncing off the walls again in addition with his as he began to stroke his cock to cum with you.

Sanji took one last suckle to your clit to ride out your orgasm, pulling off of it with a satisfied popping sound. He sat up on his knees between your legs delicately.

“I know baby.” He pulled out the tongue ring to place on the nightstand as well. “I know.." You felt his sweaty palms massage your slippery thighs. You looked breath taking to him your hands covering your face, chest moving up and down trying to steady the pace of your breathing

"How...about we take a bath....hm? One more for the night?"

All you can do was hum, throwing your arms down Sanji takes the opportunity to plant feathered kisses over your neck and face. It almost felt like a palate cleanser. Your body was relaxed under his touch, coming down your your high again. Body still trembling subtly and to your boyfriend's shame he bites his lip at the effect he had on you.

"You okay? Was....I too ro--MMPH!"

You pulled Sanji down by his neck again for another kiss. Words couldn't describe how turned on you were of this "new side" of Sanji. The kiss got so messy his arms began to shake trying to hold himself up eventually letting go and having the last bit of strength you had to roll over on top of him, hand on his cheek to chin, moaning into his mouth as he did the same to you.

"F-fuck." Sanji huffed admiring the small glint of saliva still connecting you and him together. "I guess I wasn't rough huh?"

"You were perfect, Ji...Thank you."

You bury your face in his neck to hug his sweaty body, soaking in his scent, ugh you couldn't get enough of this man and he couldn't get enough of you.

"I love you, Ji."

He paused for a moment, he won't ever get used to your beautiful voice telling him such words. Seems unbelievable sometimes, but he held you close, peppering your shoulder. He could bask in this moment forever with you.

"How bout we take that bath huh."

"Yes, sir." You meant no sexual intent behind it but your felt his hands squeeze your bottom so roughly your jerked up from his neck to giggle.

He placed a blanket over your worn body and threw on some sweats to head back to the bathroom. Your mind was frazzled.

He set up the bathroom even prettier than his room, you both relaxed with soft music going in the back as you played with your man's rings in the tub.

"You hungry?"

"A little." You giggle already expecting Sanji to get out the tub to prep you a meal.

"Well when we finish I can make you whatever you like, my love."

"Thank you." You kissed his knuckles and he returned the favor with a kiss on your neck earning him a small whimper out of you.

This was exactly what you craved . What he desired. Sanji was a new man in your eyes---even better actually. There really was never a time you questioned his masculinity you always knew about his dominant side, but to see it here in bed was... amazing.

Sanji on the other hand fell more in love with you. The words you said was the push he needed.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i stole my aunt's cats? (TW for animal neglect)

ok, so basically for a few years now it's been kind of an open secret in my family that my aunt's household Strongly Prefers their dog over their two cats. i didn't think much of it since i don't really see them too often (which is on purpose), but that changed when my mom and i house sat for them for a week. During the week i noticed many things that have indicated to me that this house isn't healthy for these cats:

1. the house is fucking disgusting. my aunt had 4 kids who are all out of college, so she has a Large mcmansion to clean by herself (they're conservative christians so my uncle doesn't contribute). so i get that its a struggle, but most of this house is straight up unsanitary. like i dont think those floors have seen anything near a cleaning supply in years. also, the amount of Stuff lying around made it really difficult to get around the house a lot of the time.

2. their dog has significant behavioral issues. it's a small dog (the crusty white breed but brown) but if you're not giving it attention, either you or whatever you're paying attention to is getting attacked. the problem arises when the thing you're giving attention to is one of the cats. despite the dog's size, it's bigger and stronger than both cats. and while the cats are faster, i feel like it's only a matter of time until one of them gets injured. also, i'm aware that the dog's issues are most definetly also a result of mistreatment. afaik, it's had no training other than knowing not to piss in the house, and is basically treated as a perfect creature that can do no wrong. it literally doesn't know how to go for walks because my aunt and uncle just go out into the yard until it does it's business and then take it back inside.

3. these cats have jack shit. they have a litterbox and food bowls on this crusty ass folding table (so the dog doesn't steal their food) and that's it. no toys, no cat furniture, nothing. everything that's bought is bought for the dog. this basically means that the cats get no enrichment, which is just generally bad. one of them is allowed outside, but that's not a better alternative obviously.

also, i'd ask my aunt if i could just take the cats given that she doesn't even like them, but my realtives are the kind of people who get extremely offended by any implication of failure, so that would just start drama and would encourage them to go after the cats after i take them anyway.

my cousins could take them, but they've all been out of college for a while now and are already well off, so if any of them were going to take them, they would have by now. imo, they've lost their chance.

if i do end up doing this, it's not going to be for a while because i have to settle personal matters. not to mention how i'm going to sort through things like taking stolen cats to the vet.

didnt expect this to get this long lmao. sorry 💀

What are these acronyms?

[liriostigre]

I think the reason why people think The catcher in the rye is not a good book and it's quite over hyped is because the main character is actually a privileged white, rich boy and therefore an unrelatable character, I have to say I agree with this lmao

of course what you meantioned might be important to some people (not to me lol) but it's definitely not a determining factor of whether a work is good or bad.

besides, the main themes of the novel are grief, trauma, neglect, loneliness, identity, searching for connection, growing up and wanting to protect and preserve the innocence of childhood... how can someone read this book and not relate to any of that?

but following your logic, would you say Frankenstein isn't good because you're not a creature or a scientist? though you can definitely relate to the characters' emotions and you're also able to understand or interpret a deeper meaning to the story, you understand the symbolism, you're able to identify literary devices, a unique writing style, structure and voice,,, but fuck all that cause you're not a scientist touched in the head lol. or a white boy, in our case.

honestly, i think your point is silly. like, you have to consider more elements when analyzing literature. not trying to change your mind though ✌🏼🤓 but, idk, i feel like you're just regurgitating something someone else said and you thought it was smart and reasonable and you just went with it without giving much thought to it. you should think about it a little more 🌷

sorry it took me so long to reply! i'm pretty sure this ask is a response to this:

[yeehawbvby]

hi uhm i saw you’re takin requests s o;;; arven w a reader who’s super burnt out? maybe with research assignments or champion work? like they’re not sleeping just to get everything done and stuff. i’m getting run ragged at my day job and just wanna be consoled and cuddled lmao

I’m sorry you’ve been feeling burnt out! Please try to get as much rest as you’re able, and make sure you’re eating and drinking enough too <3

I hope this brings you the comfort you’re looking for :’) 

TLC | Arven x GN!Reader

Rating: G | WC: 1,112

Ever since you became a Champion, Geeta has been taking advantage of your work ethic. You’ve been traveling all over Paldea, completing Tera raids with Nemona and whichever other Champions from other regions are summoned with you. This is on top of challenging those who want to complete the gym challenge – as per Geeta’s orders – in order to see if they’re “worthy” of it, and making sure your team stays in top shape. Those are just your “typical” Champion duties, though.

On top of those tasks, Geeta’s been assigning you her own dirty work. At least once a month, you’re now expected to travel to every gym (including Team Star’s new and improved bases), battle the leaders, and then write up a report for each one. You’re in charge of rating their attitudes, their performances, and most stressfully, whether or not you feel they deserve to keep their position as a gym leader. Not only is it hard work, but it’s led to a lot of unwanted tension forming between you and the gym leaders of Paldea.

There’s no way you’ve been sleeping enough, nor have you been eating enough. The eye bags that adorn your face make you look sickly and frail, and your hair and skin are a mess from how often you’ve been neglecting your hygiene in order to get one task or another done.

You’re exhausted, you’re constantly grumpy, and you want a break so, so badly – but you keep telling yourself to suck it up and take one for the team. The harder you work, the closer you’ll be to being done with this work, so there’s nothing wrong with that… right?

This has been going on for months. In the meantime, Arven has been devastated. He misses his little buddy so much. Your beautiful smile, your adorable laugh, your warm hugs and your perfect kisses are all things of the past now. Sure, you two see each other when you’re able to come home to your shared apartment in Mesagoza, but you barely have the time to look at him anymore, let alone share a conversation.

Having had enough of it, Arven decided that the next time he sees you, he won’t give you a choice but to relax. He wants to spend time with you, of course, but he’s concerned about your wellbeing and can’t stand seeing you run so ragged. 

So, the next time you come home, rather than asking about your day and receiving your routine, robotic, “Doin’ good,” Arven wraps you into a bear hug. 

Dazed from the realization of how long you’ve gone without contact with him, you can’t even bring yourself to hug your partner back. As you stand there in his embrace, Arven whispers how much he loves you, and how much he misses you, and how worried he is about you. He pecks soft kisses on top of your head and hugs you tighter as quiet sobs begin escaping you, while you realize how worn out you really are. How much life you’re missing out on. How much love you’re missing out on.

“I’m so sorry,” you whimper, finally wrapping your arms around Arven’s torso.

He shakes his head. “Don’t be,” he murmurs. He continues telling you that it’ll be okay. That all he wants is for you to be okay.

Once your cries dwindle down to occasional tears and soft sniffles, he takes your face in his hands and places a sweet kiss on your forehead. “I’m gonna run you a bath while I finish making dinner, okay?” 

You nod solemnly, slipping off your trainers and letting him take your bag and jacket off your shoulders. When you’re ready, Arven takes your hand and walks you to the bathroom, where he’s already set up some fancy new salts and soaps for you to use. You notice your favorite pajamas neatly folded next to your robe while he turns the water on, as well as the assortment of sheet masks he left near the tub in case you want to use one while you soak.

When the water’s to your liking and you’re all settled in, Arven leaves you to your devices; and feeling more comfortable than you have in ages, you almost instantly fall asleep. When Arven comes back to wake you and retrieve you for dinner, you recognize the scent of your favorite meal wafting in through the door. 

He helps you dry off and get dressed as you slink out of the bath, and rather than eating in the kitchen, the two of you cozy up on the couch with your plates. Now that he has your attention and you’ve done a little bit of unwinding, Arven’s able to ask how you’ve actually been, and you’re able to hold a conversation with him for more than a few short minutes.

If you don’t feel comfortable talking about your work or your wellbeing, he fills you in on how he’s been doing instead. He started a new job recently running a small café down the road, and is getting plenty of experience learning how to cook and bake so many new things. Arven loves it, and based on what he’s described, it sounds perfect for him. Saguaro makes it a point to at the very least stop in for a coffee and a pastry every day, and apparently he asks Arven about you often, which warms your heart. You regret not having come to visit yet, but your partner reassures you that there’s plenty of time for that. 

After a bit of catching up, the two of you decide to call it a day. Arven insists you stay on the couch while he cleans your plates, then scoops you up and carries you to the bed when he’s done. You giggle and protest from his arms, but wrap yours around his neck and snuggle into his chest anyway. You missed being in Arven’s strong arms so much. 

After tucking you into your side of the bed, Arven gets changed and crawls in behind you. Before you can even ask if he wants to cuddle, he’s wrapping you into a spoon, engulfing you in his warmth. While his top arm drapes over you, his opposite hand strokes your hair. As you drift into a peaceful, restful sleep, Arven continues to whisper against your neck how proud of you he is. How much you deserve to rest and rejuvenate after working so hard, and for so long. How much your team, his team, and your friends love you. And most importantly, Arven reminds you as many times as you need how much he loves you.

[bizabumblebee]

tell us about yunobo

why's he ur funky lil guy

id love to hear why

This is a very good ask I don’t think I’ve ever actually told anyone why I like Yunobo so much

Preemptive spoiler alert for both Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom by the way

(Also this turned into a bit of a character analysis on Yunobo I’m so sorry it’s so ridiculously long lmao)

Personally my favorite Zelda “race” or whatever has always been gorons, huge fellas who mine rocks and eat rocks and are rocks, just big ol walking boulders with kind souls, I think they’re very silly and cute. But I really like Yunobo because he’s not really like any of the other gorons (He’s not like other girls!!), because he’s so much more… emotional? I guess? In each of the Goron race’s appearances throughout the Zelda games they’re portrayed pretty much the same way, either tough and brave and heroic (Like Darunia, Daruk and Darmani), or chill and generally nonchalant (Like… pretty much every other goron). Though they are kind and playful, they’re also tough and unmoving as stone. Yunobo (on a surface level), is neither of these things. When you first meet him in BotW he runs and yelps in fear, and a great portion of the fan base calls him a coward because of this. He’s very unsure of himself, and unsure of a lot of things in general. In the artbook “Creating a Champion”, his description is as follows:

“Yunobo is the grandchild of the Champion Daruk. He has an adult body but still has some growing up to do. He is easily frightened by monsters and isn't exactly what one might call brave, but, driven by thoughts of protecting his people, he gathers enough courage to aid Link in quelling the Divine Beast Vah Rudania. He is earnest and naive, readily believing nearly anything anyone tells him.”

So yeah. He’s a scaredy-cat. He’s a pushover. He’s incredibly naive and a bit childish.

AND YET.

He helped save his people, and the entirety of Hyrule… TWICE. Because he is brave. Bravery is not an immediate heroic desire to face any danger for the sake of the greater good.

It is action in spite of fear.

He is afraid. He’s unsure, and he’s flighty, and he’s defensive. But he swallows these fears and chooses to act in spite of them, helping link to take back control of Vah Rudania, and saving his people. For me, seeing the journey Yunobo takes to find his courage is a lot more satisfying than if he were just already a brave go-getter from the moment you meet him.

And then things get even more interesting in the second game (again, spoilers for TotK ahead).

After he helps Link take back Vah Rudania and Calamity Ganon is defeated, Yunobo goes right to helping his people recover from the the post-calamity craziness. He’s incredibly devoted to them. He’s a helper through and through, willing to do anything it takes for the sake of others. His loyalty knows absolutely no bounds. But unfortunately, this can get the better of him.

Like when his good friend “Zelda” shows up and gives him some weird mask and tells him to put it on.

Honestly, when I saw Yunobo for the first time in TotK, I was one of the many people who was terrified that Nintendo might have made him an asshole for no reason. I mean, they gave Sidon a wife so people would stop shipping him with Link, I wouldn’t put it past them (totally backfired though lol, now they’re just a polycule).

But instead they had actually put him into one of my favorite character tropes: self-conscious but good-natured character easily susceptible to corruption (See: Luigi [SPM], Bolin [TLoK], Locksley [AS:TNC] -they’re all also green for some reason? Crazy). I really like this particular trope because it shows the very real (and frankly scary) way that those with the best intentions can most easily be led astray. As someone who’s kinda struggled with having a people-pleaser personality (incredibly susceptible to peer-pressure, neglecting my own needs over the needs of others, not able to set boundaries, etc), this trope is a relatable cautionary tale for me. Those who just want to help more often than not end up helping those with bad intentions without realizing.

Buuuuut I won’t go too far into all that (it’ll get sad fast eugh)

My main point is that Yunobo is brave, kind, and loyal (even to a fault), and for me that’s a wonderful formula for a character as nervous and dopey as him. Yeah he’s got rocks for brains, but he’s got a heart as big as a lynel’s. I don’t throw this term around liberally but I would say he could definitely count as a himbo.

Ugggghhh this is getting too long ffs. I’ll just list a couple more reasons why he’s important to me specifically.

He is… very large. Ahem. I like big fellas. You know how it is. ANYWAY

He’s a bit dopey but he’s definitely not incompetent. He’s the president of a highly successful mining company and he’s helped save Goron City (and the entirety of Hyrule) TWICE. That’s pretty cool. I’ve seen a lot of people shit on him in the first game for “always getting spotted by the drones” but like. Dude that’s your fault. He told you he would come when called and stop when told to, it’s on you if he walks into a searchlight.

He’s got very intriguing lore (to me at least), that leaves a lot of room for speculation. Like, he’s the “grandson” of Daruk, but how does that work?? Gorons are born from the mountain itself, they don’t give birth. There’s a pair of Gorons in TotK that call themselves “brothers” (still a bit confusing since most gorons throughout the series call each other brother anyway), but they explain it was because they were born in the same cave at the same time, so they’re like family. Does this mean Yunobo was just born in the same cave Daruk was, and therefore inherited his “genes” and his magical abilities? Maybe! Maybe it’s a really cool special cave, right at the summit or something, where his whole lineage was born all the way back to the first sage of fire. Cool stuff to think about!

He’s not the leader of his people, in either game. That job belongs to Bludo. In the second game he’s definitely got a lot more influence and does occupy a position of leadership, but he’s not the chief. He’s just some Goron. The role of aiding link in both games is thrust onto him entirely because of his lineage. But he takes responsibility for it. He understands the power he holds, both as a champion’s descendant and as the Sage of Fire, and he steps up to the role. He feels a responsibility to his people and his city, even despite not being its official leader like the other champion’s descendants. That’s pretty cool.

He’s very sweet! I’ve talked about how kind and caring he is already but there’s a difference between doing it with a stoic sense of heroism or duty, and doing it with a big dopey grin and a genuine care for those he cares about. He’s often unsure and self-conscious, and yet he’s surprisingly optimistic about most things a lot of the time. He has a big smile (most gorons do), but he has an absolutely heart-melting laugh. I often tear up during the cutscene in which he sees the spirit of Daruk reclaiming Vah Rudania, him laughing and waving with such genuine joy and excitement, aghhhh it’s too much. Joe Hernandez certainly did a great job putting authenticity into Yunobo’s (and Daruk’s) emotions, this cutscene especially.

He has the best secret stone ability (gameplay wise). You cannot change my mind. Tulin is great for mobility and the other two are fine for tactical combat stuff, but none of them even come close to the versatility and power of Yunobo. Don’t have any good rock-breaking weapons and don’t want to use up bombs or zonai devices? Yunobo! Using a control stick-operated machine and can’t pull out your bow to snipe that pesky aerocuda? Yunobo! Wanna separate a big group of enemies from each other without wasting bombs? Yunobo! And don’t even get me started on the fact that when he’s on a vehicle, he’s got zero cooldown. You can hop on a hoverboard and decimate a molduga just by dribbling Yunobo on its head like a basketball.

All this being said I certainly think Yunobo is too often overlooked by fans for “being a coward”, or just… being a Goron? Gorons in general have often been a bit neglected in favor of the other more serious, conventionally attractive and *cough* slimmer *cough* Zelda races. It’s a bit disheartening seeing the amount of fan artists who don’t even have a clue how to approach drawing Yunobo or Daruk, simply because they don’t know how to draw bulky, fat or muscled characters. But I won’t preach too much on the subject, haha.

Long story short, I love Yunobo a whole lot and I’d love to give him a big hug and a smooch. That’s about it :))))

Also here’s a little sketch I made of him as a bonus for reading all that haha

[rarityroo]

Hello there I was just curious, would there be anyway where we could get a angsty Pomni x reader scenario? Perhaps the reader could be Pomni’s partner and maybe they get into a argument over something? ( maybe the readers well-bring because they are constantly emotionally drained from taking care of everyone else) Pomni brings it to their attention and the reader argues back that they are completely fine, but then perhaps maybe Pomni says something  she doesn’t mean and then maybe later they can make up and have a lot of cuddles and forehead kisses?

When love is enough

Pomni x Gn! Reader

Hi! I’m sorry if this is too short but I wanted to get this out for you, this has a pet name used (love) I hope that isn’t an issue. Also not as angsty as I wanted lmao but still please enjoy!

"God Pomni it's not that serious!" You shouted tiredly, how did any of this even start, you don't want to argue with her. Pomni was your girlfriend, and you loved her your mind was clouded with exhaustion and anger. Not at Pomni but at the stress you felt, you always worked so hard and took care of everyone else but never considered taking care of yourself causing this entire argument.

"Please, I don't want this to be a fight I just want you to listen..." Pomni confessed sadly, "I'm worried about you, you look burned out, and you're not acting like yourself." She looks at you with a heartbreaking stare full of concern. "I know you like to take care of others, that is one of the things I love about you but this has gone too far. You're neglecting your health Love, please just..just stop, i know you care about others but you have to rest"

As Pomni's words sank in, you felt a pang of guilt. She was right; you had been neglecting yourself in the pursuit of taking care of everyone else. The stress and exhaustion had clouded your judgment, leading to this stupid argument. Taking a deep breath, you softened your tone. "I'm sorry, Pomni. I’m so so sorry" You start to break down, a flurry of emotion hits you as your eyes fill with tears, guilt beating down on you, "You're right, I've been so focused on everyone else that I forgot to take care of myself. I didn't mean to snap at you."

Pomni's expression softened, and she reached out to gently touch your arm. "It's okay, Love. I just want what's best for you."

You sighed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you realized how lucky you were to have someone who cared for you so deeply, your darling Pomni. "Thank you for being patient with me. I promise to start prioritizing my health and well-being." A small smile tugged at Pomni's lips as she leaned in to give you a tender kiss. "That's all I ask for. We're in this together, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude fill your heart. "Okay. Together." And with that simple word, you knew that everything would be alright as long as you had Pomni with you.