#i only did the first day i'm so embarrassed........

[stellamarielu]

sweetheart part 2

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: after finding yourself in a rather compromising position with your boss, you're determined to confront him about his feelings which ultimately leads to the two of you in yet another compromising position.

content: nsfw, 18+, cursing, smut, like a lot of smut, low-key praise kink, choking (if you squint), dirty talk because duh, multiple orgasms, a little bit fluffy here and there

author's note: i'm sorry this took so long!! i got a little carried away with this one, oops. also realized while writing this that declan o'hara would for sure manhandle you while simultaneously whispering sweet nothings into your ear

read part 1 here

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For the fourth week, you took Declan up on his offer to work late together. Except this time, you weren’t sitting in a stiff office chair, you were sat in a cozy armchair in Declan’s study in his home.

The last seven days at work had been filled with near silence. Neither you nor Declan daring to speak of what happened in his office on Thursday night. One week of awkward eye contact and minimal conversation. 7 days of you both knowing what took place between you but pretending to be oblivious.

You weren’t exactly sure what you expected to happen after the two of you were interrupted that night. Shortly after the phone call that took him away from your compromising position, Declan had abruptly ended the evening. Thanking you for working overtime and telling you to go home and get some rest. Your boss gave you little to no time to process what had just happened, let alone ask for clarification. 

The next morning Declan met you with his usual harmless smile, but his eyes were somewhat apologetic, and from that point on he had kept himself busy and away from you as much as possible. It began to feel like he was blatantly ignoring you and you were growing more annoyed by the day. If he was embarrassed by the whole situation and wanted to put it behind him, fine. But for him to make you feel stupid like this? Leaving you out of important meetings and causing you to miss out on work projects just because of some silly conversation about a smutty romance novel was absurd. Afterall he was the one who brought up the book in the first place. He was the one looking at you in such an inappropriate way. The dirty words spoken were from his lips not yours. So why on earth did it feel like you were the one being punished. 

But just as you had enough and built up the courage to march into his office demanding an explanation, you were met with an invitation. 

The same invitation that Declan extended to you week after week- to stay late and work with him.

Only this week he asked if you wouldn’t mind joining him at the Priory, his house.

He had apparently left some important work at home that morning and couldn’t continue without it. Your anxieties and annoyance around last week’s situation instantly faded.

There is no way Declan would be inviting you to his house after work hours if his true intention was to ignore you. He could have easily told you goodbye for the day and gone home to continue working without having you tag along. It begged the question- what were his true intentions then?

So of course, you accepted his invitation, packing up your things and following him out to the countryside. He led you straight to his study upon arriving and left you to your own devices for a few short minutes to fetch you both a drink.

You began searching the room with your eyes. It was strangely intimate being in Declan’s home. At work you had always taken note at how mundane Declan’s office was. There was almost no semblance of his personality, just blank walls and generic furniture.

What surrounded you now was so different.

His study was overflowing with character. Books piled high in numerous places within the room, each one dog eared and worn. Framed artwork adorned the walls. There were vintage trinkets laid out on the mantle of the fireplace. A record player sat in the corner of the room with a handful of vinyl lying underneath it. Two lamps lit the space, creating a much more relaxing ambiance than the florescent lights at coronium. Unlike the bulky desk that sat in his work office, the one in his study was much less intimidating. Still sturdy, it was made of a beautiful dark oak that was faded and rough from years of use. 

You preferred this workspace, it felt so much more like Declan. The room even smelt like him. 

You stood from your chair making your way to a small mountain of books on his desk. Grabbing a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein from the top you thumbed it noticing annotations throughout. You smiled to yourself imagining Declan at some point in his life reading the gothic novel and marking it for enjoyment. That’s what you liked about Declan, he was eccentric and scholarly. Deep and brooding but also witty and kind. There was so much to learn, and you truly loved getting to know him, he was unlike any man you had ever met. You were so hidden in thought about his many great qualities that you didn’t hear Declan's footsteps approaching behind you. 

“Whiskey?” His voice broke your train of thought.

“Oh- um yeah, thank you.” You spoke putting the book back on his desk and taking the glass from his extended hand. 

You looked down at the whiskey. When he had asked if you wanted something to drink you had assumed he would come back with something more tame like tea or water.

Nonetheless you took a swig of the alcohol, knowing you would need the liquid courage if you wanted to talk to him about his recent behavior.

“I see you’ve taken the liberty to go through my things.” The rhythm of his words were smooth, a chuckle hiding behind them.

He looked amused as he took a sip of his drink. The silent treatment he had been giving you lately made you realize you missed the sound of his voice.  

“Actually I think it was you who went through my things first, remember?” You playfully chide back at him.

“If my memory serves me correctly, I believe you were the one who set your dirty book down on my desk.” He held his glass to his lips as he spoke.

You let out a shaky breath. This was it. The first time either of you had even acknowledged your exchange from the previous week and you were ready to confront Declan for the way he had been acting ever since. 

“What’s going on Declan? You and I have always gotten along great, I thought we were working really well together. Does one silly conversation seriously ruin all of that? I mean I get it if you regret what happened that night, but you’re my boss and it’s really hard for me to do my job when you just ignore me. You’ve barely said a word to me this week and I’m starting to get freaked out that I’m going to get fired or something.” You ramble on- probably a bit too much. 

A worried look immediately takes over his face, eyes softening. He sets his glass down on the corner of his desk and takes a few steps closer to you. 

“Oh God no you’re not going to get fired. Jesus, I’m sorry I made you feel that badly.” He brings his palm up to rest on your cheek, holding your face gently in his hand causing your timid gaze to meet his. The feeling of his hand on you sending heat to your cheeks.

“I’m sorry for giving you the cold shoulder this week I just-“ he paused mid-sentence looking toward the ground and letting his eyes wander for a few seconds as he collected his thoughts. 

“I don’t regret it” 

You raise an eyebrow quizzically, silently asking him to go on. 

“I left that night, and I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Every thought in my mind for the last seven days has been you; the sound of your laugh, the little blush on your cheeks when you’re embarrassed,” his eyes are glued to yours and you feel his thumb begin to rub back and forth softly on your face. 

“the warmth of your skin, the way you looked sitting underneath me. You’ve consumed me. And that’s not right, is it?” his question is clearly rhetorical, but you want to yell out in protest to keep his eyes and touch on you.

Nothing about the fluttering in your chest for the man standing in front of you feels wrong. 

Thankfully he keeps your face in his tender embrace as he continues,

“I’m your boss, I shouldn’t be thinkin’ about you like that. And I definitely shouldn’t have said the things I did last week.”

You couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or disappointment that washed over you at his words, but it caused your gaze to fall from Declan’s eyes and onto the floor. You were now aware that he didn’t want you the same way you wanted him, and you couldn’t bear to look at him as he rejected you. You suddenly felt silly for thinking your feelings for him would have been reciprocated. 

His hand slid down to your jaw lifting your eyes to meet his again, gently forcing you to look at him as he spoke. 

“But I did say them, and I meant every word. And then like an arsehole, I tried to pretend like nothing happened because I thought maybe we could move on from it. I just don’t want to make this hard for you. I don’t want whatever happens between us to get in the way of your career. People talk, and I won’t be able to live with myself if you’re in some kind of Sunday morning gossip column for bein’ Declan O’Hara’s controversially young mistress.” 

Now it was his turn to ramble, but you were hanging onto every word. You had been waiting for some sort of explanation- for some sort of confession. You understood his worries and a part of you was even thankful for his concern for you and your career. But in this moment- the warmth of his fingertips melting into your skin and the intense, compassionate stare of his big brown eyes pushed any practical reasoning out of your mind. 

“Well maybe I want to be Declan O’Hara’s controversially young mistress.” Your smile was playful yet genuine as you spoke. 

Declan couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips shaking his head at your words. 

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’m a grown woman Declan. I understand that my actions have consequences. But I also can’t bring myself to care what anyone else thinks about what I’m doing or who I’m doing it with.” 

Before you know it Declan is grabbing the long forgotten whiskey glass from your hand and setting it aside on the desk. He takes another step forward closing the remaining gap between you. One hand still lazily resting on your jaw as he brings the other to snake around your waist. 

“I don’t think you realize how badly I wanted to hear you say that.” He sighs in relief. 

You can’t tell who initiates it but within seconds you’re pulling each other in, lips meeting and bodies touching. The kiss quickly grows heated with all the built-up tension and desire that’s been forced down for so long. His hands begin their descent on your body, roaming the sides of your torso holding and grasping as much of you as humanly possible. 

“How badly I’ve wanted to hear you tell me you want me.” His words are spoken against your lips, he can barely pull away from you.

“How badly I’ve wanted you bent over my desk.” His voice drops an octave, and he uses the hands that have been exploring your body to spin you around, so you’re pressed against his desk. You can feel him behind you, his body flush against yours, the arousal in his pants unmistakable against your backside. 

“I thought about it that night when I went home. Thought about how much I wished I would’ve ignored that phone call and taken you on my desk instead.” His voice was a low whisper in your ear, and you could feel his breath on your neck. 

His palms were flat against your abdomen holding you against his body.

You felt his right-hand slide from its position on your stomach only to find a new home gripping your backside. You could nearly hear Declan groan as he held a handful of your ass in his palm. You wanted him to keep touching you like this, clutching your body in his rough hands. You never realized your deep desire to be manhandled by him until Declan held you like this. 

“Sweetheart, I could never regret the things I said to you last week.”

His grip on your ass was gone, and you let out an unsteady breath at the loss of contact. The breath turned into a whine when you felt Declan’s hand slide underneath your dress. Still pressed against the desk you involuntarily leaned your upper body forward over the furniture pushing your bottom half further into his touch. You were so desperate to have him between your legs you didn’t care how pathetic your actions were. 

“My God darlin, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He hums and you can feel his touch tracing over you’re embarrassingly soaked underwear.

He hooks a single finger underneath the material pulling it to the side and a rush of cool air meets your damp core causing you to clench around nothing. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Declan’s voice is so quiet behind you, you’re convinced he didn’t want you to hear his offer. 

“Don’t. please don’t stop.” You manage to sound somewhat composed even though you’re falling apart under Declan’s touch that hasn’t even found you yet. 

“Never in a million years did I think I’d have you like this, bent over and beggin’ for me.” You can’t see him, but you know for a fact there’s a smirk on his face.

Just as your about to plead with him again you feel two of his fingers gather the wetness pooling at your center and slowly push into you. You almost roll your eyes in pleasure, but not because of the gratification of Declan’s thick fingers stretching you open. No- it’s the noise he makes from behind you as he lets his hand work between your legs that has you melting into him. An eager groan escapes his lips when he’s finally able to feel you, a sound that assures you that he’s enjoying this just as much as you. It’s enough to make you squeeze tighter around him. 

The movement of his right hand between your legs is gentle and methodical, on a mission to get you to your release. His left hand, however, is greedily pulling at your waist dragging your body further into him. 

Your gasps of pleasure are very clearly encouraging Declan, causing his fingers to quicken and curl into you. His change in rhythm brings a whimper to your lips.   

Declan’s free hand leaves your waist and begins roughly wandering your upper body stopping when he reaches your neck. Gently grabbing your throat, he brings you back so that your body is flat against him. His fingers softly wrap around your neck, and you only want him to squeeze harder. You can feel him all over: his hand holding onto your throat, his heavy breath on your neck, his fingers curling in your heat, and his length pressing against your backside. It was almost too much, feeling him like this- having him like this.

With his hand still on your throat he places open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.

“You don’t have to be so quiet darlin’, I want to hear you.” he murmurs into you, the hum of his voice on your skin giving you goosebumps. 

At his request you allow the pleasure building in you to bubble out in a primal moan, finally allowing yourself to fully lose control under Declan’s touch. You could feel him smile into your neck at your sweet sounds filling his ears. 

The feeling of your release was becoming increasingly hard to ignore as Declan’s fingers continued to move within you. In a haze of desire for the man holding you, his name tumbles out of your mouth in a pathetic whine. 

As soon as Declan hears his name, he removes his fingers and abruptly turns you back around to face him. Within seconds he has you sitting on his desk, his body positioned between your open legs. His hand immediately finds its place back at your center, fingers fucking into you at the same pace as before. 

"Fuck- say my name like that again."

You oblige, moaning his name and grabbing onto his forearm, your fingernails digging into his skin.

“I want to watch your face when you cum sweetheart.” His voice is groggy, and his eyes are dark, clouded with hunger as you gaze into them. 

Declan adored your sweet eyes and innocent smile, but seeing the way you looked at him right now was something he never wanted to forget. Your eyes were glazed over with desire barely able to focus, and your mouth fell open in pleasure. It was something he had only ever thought about late at night with his hand wrapped around his cock. 

Adding fuel to the fire already burning within your body, Declan brought his free hand down to rub your clit causing your head to fall back. 

The feeling of his fingers on and in you had your walls shuddering around him. The threat of your peak was so close, and Declan knew it. 

“I’ve got you. Come on. Cum for me angel.” 

The sweet words leave Declan’s lips in a kind whisper and it’s enough to push you right off the edge. Your body tenses and jolts and you find Declan’s name on your tongue repeatedly as you completely let go under his touch. 

Both of your breaths are labored as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you a few more times, milking your pleasure.

You barely give yourself enough time to recover from your climax before you’re reaching for Declan, pulling him closer by his belt. You let your hands wander lower palming his length through his pants. His forehead falls against yours and his eyes close in indulgence, a quivering breath evading him. 

“Feel how badly I want to be inside you?” his accent is think and heavy as he speaks.

Those words have your hands fumbling with his belt. You need it gone. You need to have Declan in your hands, in your mouth, in you. You didn’t care you just needed his pants off. 

It’s like he can read your mind because his large hands are instantly assisting you. Watching him undo his belt you shuffle your now soaked and useless panties down your legs. 

With his belt and pants finally off you took him in your hand and Declan immediately grabbed onto your waist, his fingertips threatening to leave a mark in their wake.

He couldn’t handle how sweet and soft your hold on his cock was. He was throbbing in your hand, his patience was almost nonexistent as he guided the both of you so his length was lined up at your entrance.   

You were both staring at each other now. Not a single word shared between you, just heaving breaths and warm touches.

His eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as he pushed into you inch by inch. Your hands trailed their way into his hair, burying your fingertips in his curls at the feeling of him filling you. 

He’s pressed into you to the hilt and stays there for a moment waiting to feel your walls relax around him before he moves. 

“Feel okay darlin?” He’s checking on you in a gruff tone, unable to hold back the starvation for you in his voice. 

“Mhmm” You answer in a hum, giving a small nod of your head causing your foreheads to bump into each other. 

Declan’s gaze falls from your eyes and looks down to where your two bodies meet, looking down to watch the way you’re greedily sucking him in. He watches himself slowly pull out just to plunge right back in. His thrusts are passionate and deep, every inch of him feeling every inch of you. 

He knows he won’t last long- not when this is all he’s thought about for months. Playing all of the different scenarios that end with you screaming his name like a movie in his head. Dreaming of what you would feel like wrapped around him like this.

Watching you take him so easily while you sat in his home on his desk had his cock twitching inside you. 

When his eyes meet yours again, he can’t help but notice your jaw falling slack. You’re fucked out and losing your composure and it fills Declan with a satisfied arrogance.

“You look so pretty takin’ me like that sweetheart.” Given your indecent position his voice shouldn’t be so sincere. 

“So pretty when you cum too.” The words drip from his lips like honey. 

“Think you can give me another one?”

You’re drowning in the syrupiness of his sweet nothings. His words have you squeezing and pulling him deeper into your walls. His hand falls between you, playing with your clit. The already swollen and sensitive bundle of nerves practically vibrating under his fingertips. 

His thrusts are deep and precise; finding the perfect spongey spot that has you gripping his hair tighter and moaning profanities.  

“I wanna feel you sweet girl.”

You let your forehead fall to the nape of his neck as Declan bottoms out in you repeatedly. His fingers are moving in delicate circles over your clit and you can feel your legs start to tremble.

“C’mon let me feel you cum around me. Let me feel it.” 

He’s grunting and pleading and moaning, and you can’t help but give him what he wants. You instinctively bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

Feeling your walls tighten around him has Declan roughly grabbing at your hips, holding you still as he drives into you taking what he wants. 

“Oh darlin’ yes- Fuck you feel so good squeezin’ me like that.” 

You have Declan in a trance: the sweet sting of your mouth on his shoulder, the soft flesh he’s grasping in his hands, the tight little cunt around him all nice and warm, the precious little whimpers leaving your lips. He swears this is heaven and he’s determined to have you in every way possible.

Screw what the tabloids want to say about it. 

You pull your head back to meet his eyes and he can’t take it anymore. The pressure building inside finally sets off and Declan comes undone with a string of moans and sighs finally giving into his release and filling you with heat. 

Both of you are silent for a moment, out of breath and struggling to find the words to speak. Your eyes are still locked on one another when you feel Declans hands reach for your arms trailing his fingertips lightly on your skin. 

“That needs to happen again.” Declan breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

He’s wearing a dopey lovesick smile that unleashes butterflies in your stomach.

“And again-” He places a kiss on your forehead.

“And again-” He kisses you once on the cheek.

“And then a few more times for good measure.” His lips meet yours in a gentle embrace.

“Well, I guess cheers to being Declan O’Hara’s controversially young mistress!” You joke causing Declan to chuckle darkly hiding his face in the crook of your neck.  

my masterlist

[zorosangell]

zoro x mihawk daughter! reader 👁️👁️

⛥ﾟ��。 nurse

synopsis: a mysterious man crash lands on your gloomy island, and you patch him up... unaware of his odd relationship with your father.

cw: part 1/3, fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is a lovable idiot, reader's a bit soft spoken, reader is FIONE, i imagine she dresses like morticia addams but its not explicitly described, mihawk clocks zoro's tea a lil bit

a/n: what i would give to bandage this man up myself

"Never thought I'd see the day..." you sighed, grabbing a vase of water off the end table.

The sound of clanking and pouring echoed throughout the room, slowly waking the swordsman up.

"A man on this island..."

Zoro fluttered his eyes open, the golden rays of morning light ushering him back to the land of the living.

'I'm... alive? ...But where am I?'

"Morning," you greeted, softly, a warm smile on your face as you approached the bed. "You scared me for a moment. With the rough shape you landed in, I thought you were dead for sure."

Suddenly, his eyes shot wide, memories from Sabaody all rushing back.

Pacifistas.

Sentomaru.

Kizaru.

The crew.

Now fully awake, he greeted the world with a deafening yell, you letting out an equally loud shriek of surprise.

And, in your fear, you dropped the entire vase and fell backward, too occupied with trying to back away from the screaming man.

Hearing the commotion, Zoro shut up, weakly turning to see its source.

You had managed to retreat into the shadows, hiding yourself from the intruder.

"Who are you?" he asked, sharply, eyes zeroed in on your silhouette. "Where am I? And why are you here?"

"I could ask you he same..." you replied, warily. "And don't scream like that again. You're not dying, I made sure of that."

Painfully, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, letting out a few winces and curses as he attempted to stand up.

He was missing a familiar weight on his hip.

"What did you do with my swords?!" he barked.

"I'm keeping them hidden until I can ensure you're not a threat."

Brows furrowed deeply, Zoro grit his teeth, thoroughly pissed.

"I'm warning you..." he stood on shaky legs, attempting to step forward, only to fall on his knees.

Guilty, you let out a sigh, suddenly feeling sorry for his poor shape.

"Sir, please, get back in bed. You'll re-open your wounds," you sighed, imploringly, moving forward to help him up.

Annoyed, Zoro scanned the area, eyes landing on your figure as you emerged from the shadows, widening at the sight as your hips swayed side to side.

Long, (h/c) hair...

Plump lips...

Heavenly curves, made evident by your long, black dress...

Smooth brown skin...

Alluring, (e/c) eyes....

Goddamn.

'Curlybrow'd lose his mind...'

You were dripping in beauty and mystery.

Zoro, so mesmerized, didn't even realize that you'd already cruised your way over, and were now standing directly in front of him, helping him up.

"I found you laying in a crater in the woods, unconscious," you explained, pulling him back to the bed. "You looked two steps from death's door... so I brought you back here, and tried to fix you up the best I could."

It was almost funny.

You had little to no medical knowledge at all, so majority of the first few days was spent teaching yourself how to do it all.

With a smile, you sat him down, "I'm glad to see you're alright."

But Zoro didn't register a single word.

He couldn't help but allow his mind to drift to the way your lips moved, enunciating each syllable so smoothly.

Though, when he realized you'd stopped speaking, his eyes found yours, an embarrassed glow rising to his cheeks.

"I... uh... can you repeat that?" he replied, bluntly.

This was the first time he was talking to you, and he wasn't even paying attention.

It was easy to say you were a little irked.

"I'll get you your swords," you sighed, flatly, giving up on any hope of conversation as you turned around to exit the room.

Without giving him a chance to speak, you walked away, hair swishing across your back as you moved.

Zoro, on the other hand, still sat there, more flustered than he'd been in a long time.

He thought back to how close your body was to his, your breast slightly rubbing against his back as you helped him up.

Watching you strut out the room, his gaze drifted to your backside, internally cursing himself for being so pervy.

Something about you flipped a switch in him—be it your mystery or your unspoken grace—and he had never found himself so entranced and intrigued in all his life.

And all you did was talk to him.

'The hell's wrong with me?'

This was the type of behavior one expected from Sanji or Brook.

Not him.

Not the cool-headed swordsman.

Not the Roronoa Zoro.

Hand rising to his face, he roughly shook his head, snapping himself out of it.

"I gotta get the hell out of here..."

"Father, please, I—"

"Not only did you bring an unknown man into our home while I was away..." Mihawk started, tone sharp as he cut you off.

You flinched, instantly piping down as you took a step back, hanging your head.

He hadn't taken such a tone with you since your teen years.

"But you nursed him back to health... and returned him his weapons before confirming that he was of no threat."

Hearing it laid out like that, you sounded stupid.

But in the moment, you swore that Zoro meant you no harm, your observation haki not sensing any malice or ill-intent even when he was yelling at you.

"He's not unknown to you, Father, you've met him before," you attempted to plead your case, albeit quietly. "And from what you've said about him, he's perfectly honorable. He wouldn't have hurt me."

"You didn't know that," he corrected, brows furrowed. "For all you knew, he could've slit your throat the moment you lost sight of him."

"That's a little extreme..."

"That's the world."

After returning Zoro's swords, you left to go make him something to eat, but returned to find that he had escaped.

Frantic, you searched the castle for hours, combing through every nook and cranny in an attempt to find the swordsman.

But, of course, it would be your luck that your father would find him upon arrival—somehow he had found his way through the woods and to the ruins where he attempted to fight off some of your monkey friends.

Safe to say, when your father finally arrived home, he was less than pleased.

Even still, you patched up the swordsman once again, unable to leave him in such a precarious state.

"Father, please try to understand. I was only trying to—"

You stopped in your tracks, both you and the warlord sensing a new presence.

And, like clockwork, the man of the hour weakly pushed open the door, heaving, as he seemed to be struggling to keep himself upright.

Worried, your brows furrowed, concerned for his health.

"What are you doing out of bed?" you asked, softly, "You're hurt... bad."

But Zoro pressed forward, using the sheaths of his swords as walking sticks as he approached your father.

"You shouldn't be walking in this condition... you can barely stan—"

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, bowing his head before his arch rival, much to your surprise.

"Will you... train me as a swordsman?" Zoro asked, fervently, pressing his forehead into the stone floor.

He'd managed to take a look at the News Coo you left on the end table, discovering Luffy's message to reunite in two years.

Which meant that the whole crew would have to get significantly stronger if they wanted any hope of surviving in the New World.

Him included.

"You disappoint me," Mihawk stated, brows furrowed. "Stand up."

He turned away from the sight, annoyance dripping from his tone.

"I can't believe you would ask your enemy for instruction... Have you no shame?"

He rolled his eyes, swirling around his wine glass.

"Get out of here. This is pathetic," he scoffed. "A pity, perhaps, but I overestimated your worth."

'Father...'

You felt bad about his harsh words, not wanting him to kick a man while he was down.

But the swordsman didn't budge, remaining in his exact position without fault.

"I said stand up... you're making a fool of yourself."

"Please help me!" Zoro tried once again, not moving an inch.

"First of all, the baboons beat you... and even after that, you couldn't make it to sea," Mihawk shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. "I can't help you. It's hopeless."

"They didn't beat me."

The two of you froze for a moment, shocked.

'No way... did he really?'

"You're the only one left to take down... but, I'm just not good enough to win against you the way I am now. Anybody can see that."

"I don't follow," Mihawk stated. "Clearly, you still consider me your enemy, yet here you are bowing down, begging for my help."

Zoro lifted his head, his expression one only attributed to a man on a mission.

"What do you mean to do?"

The swordsman's glare sharpened, not a doubt in his mind.

"Kill you, of course."

With that, your father let out an amused laugh, a rare smile cracking on his lips.

"You admit you want to kill me, and you expect me to assist you in that?" he asked, knowingly. "You're strange. What a ridiculous request. Aren't you the least bit embarrassed?"

Though he was quick to reel it in, a new question popping into his mind.

"Perhaps... your priorities are different now, Roronoa?"

Zoro's breath hitched at the insinuation, slightly surprised by his perceptiveness.

"(y/n)..." you father turned to you by his side. "Tend to his injuries."

(y/n).

'So, that's her name...'

It was oddly fitting.

With a quiet nod, you stepped forward, silently heading toward the door.

"We start your training once you've recovered."

At that, Zoro's face lit up, gratefully.

It was finally time to get stronger.

Throughout the entire two years, he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into his training, working diligently to become the reliable swordsman Luffy knew him to be.

But, little did he know, those two years would bring him ever closer to you, as well, as you acted as his personal nurse and cheerleader on the sidelines.

You two would become inseparable, spending your days together as you watched him train, cooked him dinner, did his laundry.

Your presence and company became as constant as he air he breathed.

So, when the day finally came for him to depart, it was safe to say that both sides had a particularly hard time letting go...

To be continued.

[verycoolusername1]

Somebody Who Will

Summary: In which you get the best present of all this holiday season... even if it can't fit under the tree

Track 2 of fruitcake - buy me presents

A/N: missed writing for my babyyy

I never done secret Santa before so idrk how it's done- so I'm apologizing beforehand.

Working for the devils was amazing as it always is well if you exclude the absolute chaos that happens when you're hanging out with the team.

Seeing Cap every day was definitely a plus. Did you have a crush on your co-worker who you definitely shouldn't have a crush on? Yes.

Did you tell one of his best friends about said crush on your fellow co-worker? Also yes.

Jack nudged your side, getting your attention.

"Did you hear Nico? We're doing secret Santa today." Jack told you. "I just hope I don't get Luke again."

You laughed beside him. "What a nightmare that was."

"Haha very funny." Jack rolled his eyes.

You put your hand in the bowl and picked up a piece of paper, Jack did the same as well.

Your eyes widened when you saw the name on yours, Nico.

"Shit," You cursed. "Hey Jack can we switch?" You whispered.

Jack only chucked. "Hm sorry dude, mine is actually a good one. Who did you get? Was it Nico?"

Jack laughed louder when you didn't reply. "Oh my god is it actually?"

You huffed. "Don't get too happy, only gonna make my feelings for him worse than it already is."

"Well we have two weeks till the Christmas party, I'm sure you'll find a gift and a way to tell him." He reassured you.

You shrugged. "Yeah yeah, whatever you say hughes."

"I mean I can help you... but only if you get good photos of me on the ice today." Jack looked at you, seriously.

You rolled your eyes. "So more girls can swoon over you? No way."

"Fine help me with mine, and I'll maybe set you up with Nico, I got Dawson." Jack confessed.

"See now we're getting somewhere, this can work." You grinned. "And hm I'll throw in the photos for free."

Jack hugged you tight. "You're the best!"

"I know, you never tell me enough."

The next two weeks have been a blur, suddenly you were about to go to the Christmas party in a couple of minutes, gift in hand.

When you first walked into the party you were heavily greeted by some of the wags and of course, Jack.

"Have you talked to Nico yet? Did you confess your undying love for him?" Jack immediately laughed.

You swatted your hand at him in embarrassment as the wags gave knowing looks, some smirking.

"He's... he's joking guys." You tried to tell them.

One of them chuckled. "Don't think I ever seen Jack joke about this." The wags began agreeing.

You groaned internally, it was one thing when Jack was saying it but the wags as well? You were doomed.

"Oh hey is that Nico over there? On the balcony." Jack pointed out.

You snapped your head immediately, ignoring the chuckles and saw that Jack was in fact right.

"I-I'll be right back." You begin to walk off, the wags and Jack(who is somehow the loudest) cheering you on.

You opened the door, signaling your arrival. Nico's shoulder relaxed when he saw it was you.

"Hey." He smiled softly.

You moved closer to him. "Hey. I got you a little something."

You gave him the gift which he immediately accepted. You awaited his reaction as he unwrapped the gift. A photo of the two of you in a photoframe(that you definitely didn't steal from Jack).

"Wow..." Nico was at a lost of words.

It was a silly photo really, Jack took it one night. You smiled big at the camera while Nico was too busy looking at you, trapped in a love sick gaze.

"This is amazing." Nico looked at you. "Thank you."

"Oh it's not a big deal, kinda had to get you something." You shrugged it off to ignore your racing heart.

Nico chuckled softly at your reaction, clearly amused.

"So what's with the bow?" You chuckled, gesturing to his hair where it was stuck... oddly.

"Jack made me do it." Nico mutters. "Said I would make a good present for you? I did get an actual present for you though, it's kinda big."

You are grinning, biting back a smile. "Well you still look cute if that means anything."

Nico pulled you closer in his embrace. "Oh yeah?"

You nodded. "Definitely."

You take the bow off his head. "I like you better without it though."

You looked back to see Nico with a slight flush appearing on his face.

"You truly think that?" Nico asked, vulnerability evident in his tone.

You nod slowly, smiling. "Of course, I would be a fool if I didn't."

"I love you Y/n." Nico's hand traces your hip lightly. "Just wanted you to know."

You sighed. "I love you too Nico, no need to worry about it."

You leaned into his touch, the two of you staying like that for a while as the night whisked you two away in your own little world.

[millieisawriter]

okay guys <33 requests keep coming in (just got one for arthur/dutch x brothel worker reader,) and i love that but for some reason (i'm still a lil sick, woke up with a terrible headache) writing has been going slow :( so! not wanting to leave y'all dry i've prepared something like this :)

headcannons: RDR2 men as dads

including: arthur, javier, charles, sean, lenny

Arthur Morgan

considering his past experiences, he'd feel so grateful to have another chance at having family

this time he would leave the outlaw life for his family, now he knows being two things at once, a criminal and a good father, doesn't work

tries to watch his language around the kid, and succeeds most of the time

the most protective dad ever, like he'd fr team up with the kid against you even if you're trying to scold the kid for something she/he did

when i say protective i mean it – if the kid coughs he's rushing her/him to the nearest doctor

he sucks at fishing, but he would take the kid fishing if she/he likes it

if the kid wants a dog, arthur is getting a dog for her/him immediately

would let the kid doodle in his journal

bedtime stories for the kid that are literally about the gang's past, excluding the darker parts of the story

Javier Escuella

writes his own lullabies for the kid

encourages any form of creativity like playing an instrument, singing, dancing

his kid would be the best dressed kid around, he's always getting the prettiest clothes for her/him and teaching about the importance of a clean appearance

but the kid would think it's extremely funny to run from him whenever he's trying to get them to wear a new shiny pair of boots, they just love to rebel against him

tries to watch his language around the kid, nearly failing often like "mierrrr–coles"

the kid would think spanish is harder than english, so whenever javier tried to learn her/him his language, the kid would get frustrated at some point and just scream gibberish

then javier would pick random days where he speaks only spanish to the kid. she/he might be reluctant to answer in spanish, but she/he understands the language well. however, javier will NOT reply until the kid speaks spanish

Charles Smith

teaching the kid about how important it is to respect the nature and the land

would make any toy the kid asks for by hand

i think that's obvious, but he would take the kid hunting when they're old enough

teaching the kid to take care of injured animals, that's how a rabbit ended up living in the house ("temporarily" at first)

would be so happy to let the kid braid his hair or put flowers in it, or if the kid made a flowercrown for him

most calm dad ever, he never gets angry at his kid. he doesn't even need to yell, one look is enough for the kid to stop whatever nonsense they're doing

doesn't panic as long as the kid isn't in a lot of pain. like maybe the kid will fall or get a scrape or a little cut, and charles would be just like "you're fine, walk it off" but he'd say it gently

good at playing hide and seek, many times the kid would just give up searching for him or throw a tantrum because charles found her/him so quick

Sean MacGuire

terrible influence, you couldn't have picked a worse father for your kids

doesn't bother to watch his language around the kid at all, so even if the kid doesn't pick up his accent, they would swear in sean's irish accent

allows his kid to stay up late, eat sweets instead of a normal meal, encourages mischevious behavior

would teach the kid to gamble

his kid is literally his partner in crime, sean would teach her/him how to silently steal from people's pockets or how to pick a lock

getting a mannequin, putting a jacket with many pockets on it, wrapping it in things that make noise like little bells on a string, and telling the kid to pickpocket it without making any noise

the kind of dad that will purposely do something to embarrass his kid in public, but would also brag about his kid

would offer a sip of beer to his kid a few times because "that's not even real alcohol!" but you quickly smack the idea out of his head

neither sean nor his kid are allowed around matches after a small incident that involved matches and hay

Lenny Summers

would make sure his kid is well-spoken and understands the importance of education

takes the kid for trips to a nearby bookstore

at first the kid didn't like reading much, feeling like lenny pressures them too much into it, but eventually they started enjoying books

would raise the kindest, gentlest, most obedient kid ever, the kind of kid that never talks back to the parents

yet still he'd also teach the kid to stand up for themselves when someone would try to push them around

IF the kid did something wrong, lenny would pull up with "I'm not mad, I'm disappointed"

would never fall into the loop of "why" questions, because his answers would be so long and detailed the kid would just give up

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

★ synopsis: unrequited love manifests itself as a beautiful disease

★ character: zayne

★ cw: first-person pov, university au, hanahaki disease, ANGST

★ word count: 2k

★ a/n: zayne my angsty king. who needs happy endings am i right??? (i'm so sorry)

Google Search: Why am I throwing up flowers??????

Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies. The flowers can now be surgically removed, but all feelings towards the beloved will dissipate.

I already knew what it was. Everyone does. From the first tulip petal I coughed out while working on my essay, to the bouquet that came up from my lungs, covered in blood, just days later.

It was progressing rapidly as the days went on, and everytime I took a breath my lungs would constrict; the vines curling around them, crushing my breathing ability, and my heart.

At first, I tried to ignore it. I’d go out with friends and attempt to go to class, but I felt embarrassed. Ashamed, even. I could feel their eyes on me, watching as I tried to smother my chokes in the middle of a lecture, only to have to dismiss myself to throw up a rose in the hallway.

It’s not like I could go through campus and see him, the one who gave me this. I ignored his calls, ignored his texts. Not that they came often anyways.

‘Are you okay?’

No, Zayne, do I look like I’m okay? I’m sitting in a pile of flower petals and my own blood on my bathroom floor.

Zayne. He was my childhood best friend, and growing up it always felt like I had to fight for an ounce of his attention. He was top of the class in highschool, popular with all the girls for being smart, stoic, and undeniably sexy. Not once did he entertain any of them, and it made them want him so much more. I was excited for college, thinking I could finally have him to myself, without feeling like I was sharing him with the whole school and his extra curriculars. I knew realistically he’d still lack the time for me, studying biology to go to med school, become a doctor, follow his dreams; and I would never be one to step in the way of that. I knew my place. I was just his best friend. I was aware there were boundaries I shouldn’t cross.

At least, until now.

I remember the moment it hit me.

After days, weeks of begging him, I had finally convinced the introverted, brooding nerd to go to a stupid frat party. For the laughs, I had said, follow the college stereotypes. ‘You only live once, Zayne!’ He humored me, I’ll be grateful for that. Giving it barely an hour (and a few free drinks), he quickly got sick of everything, inviting me outside. We sat outside on the driveway, the cool air a breath of freshness compared to the stuffy, sweat smell from inside.

A dumb rap song played inside, and Zayne looked over to me.

“Slow dance with me.”

I smiled and rolled my eyes, knowing it was the alcohol talking and not him. He’d regret this in the morning, and I’d get a stern talking to.

He stood, reaching his hand out, narrowing his eyes. I took his hand, figuring the least I could do was indulge in this moment. For once, his attention was fully on me.

I laughed as we swayed together, a muffled remix of a shitty rap song as our only background music. Looking up at him, I questioned when he had grown up so much. His once round, soft face with chubby baby cheeks had matured into a sharp jawline and high cheekbones I thought about grazing my hand over. Behind his eyes wasn’t a childish glint anymore, and I wondered how long ago that disappeared.

Pressing my face into his chest, I only felt us. One of his arms around my waist, the other holding my hand that was pressed against his shoulder. My free hand clutched his black jacket, like he would disappear into thin air, and my grasp was the only thing keeping him here.

To a passerby, it would’ve looked like a movie; two college kids dancing together outside of a frat party, holding onto each other like it’s the end of a world. In the movie, the two best friends would confess to each other the next day. The boy would rush to the girl's door, with a bouquet of flowers, gasping for air, saying “I love you, I love you, I love you, I never realized that I did.”

But only I realized. Only I realized I loved him.

Zayne never showed up on my doorstep the day after he walked me home that night. The only flowers I got were the ones that filled my lungs.

I refused to speak to him. I wasn’t mad at him, why would I be? It was my fault for forgetting my boundaries. For forgetting the rules. For thinking I had a chance since all the little highschool girls no longer followed him around like lost dogs. For once thinking that I was no longer his side character, for thinking maybe I could be his love interest in his story.

What would I say to him if we did speak? I couldn’t hide what was growing inside my chest. I couldn't hide my split lips from the thorns, or my scratchy voice. The dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, too busy catching up on work from missed classes and not getting a break from coughing or vomiting. Tell him I was sick? He’d scold me for not taking care of myself, that I need to rest and eat properly. I didn’t want to hear it, scolding me for something he caused. His concern would only grow when I would accidentally cough up a flower in front of him.

Would he ask who I loved? Or would he just look right through me and tell me I needed to get the surgery to fix all of this. ‘Nobody is worth that kind of illness’ He’d say bluntly.

I knew I couldn’t face him. Not knowing if he even cares, yet knowing that the way I look at his face is different from the way he looks at mine. How he sees his future with someone who isn’t me.

“What are you going to do?” I was hanging out with a friend from one of my classes, Tara. She was the only person I felt like I could confide in about all of this.

We were hanging out at one of the campus coffee shops when I told her. It was a good day for my lungs, after almost overdosing on decongestants and ibuprofen.

“I’m not sure.” Twirling my spoon in my cup, I avoided her eyes. “It’s not like I can get the surgery. I can’t afford it.”

She looked me up and down, and I felt as if she could see into my soul. She did, Tara was like that.

“Can your pockets not afford it, or can you not afford it?”

Tara was right. I could afford the surgery, my university healthcare covered the surgery since students caught the disease so often;

But my heart couldn’t afford it.

It had gotten so used to loving Zayne, it would feel empty without the compassion for him. I feared I may act differently, lacking all love for him. Would he even notice?

I quickly made up my mind, looking out the window - seeing the person I dreaded the most.

Zayne sat outside in a car on the other side of the street, and I could only tell it was him if I stared hard enough. He was holding the hands of a girl I had seen around campus. Zayne had briefly mentioned her a few times, talking about the assignments they’d work on together, and I never thought too much of it.

He brought their hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand, and each of her knuckles. His face was gentle, a look I had never seen on him before. She giggled, and I wondered what it would be like to be her. To have him stare at me with all the love in the world, to be able to feel his soft pink lips I had stared at so many times, wishing to just touch, to just feel. To be on the receiving side of his care, his compassion, no more blunt harsh responses and stern looks.

“Hey-”

I turned back to Tara, and coughed up a flower on the table, and I choked back a sob. Tears threatened to poor, but I couldn’t embarrass myself more than I had with the bloody peony in front of me. She came around the table and hugged me, and I mumbled through quivering lips, “Can you take me home please?”

That night the girl had made it official that she and Zayne were dating. All the pictures on social media, the hearts that their friends commented on each other's posts. A disgruntled feeling made my chest spasm, any time I’d post a picture of Zayne he’d make me take it down immediately.

The morning of my surgery, I got up and put on my favorite sweater Zayne had gotten me for my sixteenth birthday.

“I got it for you last month when you stared at it in the shop’s window.” He smiled when he saw my excitement, one of the rare moments I could see his lips turn upward.

On my walk to the bus stop, I saw him sitting there. Once he looked up and saw me, he stood.

“Where have you been?” Zayne looked at me and frowned. I suppressed the immediate urge to roll my eyes.

“I never see you around campus. You’re never in your usual spots, and I texted you. I was supposed to help you study. Are you still attending your classes?” Even after not seeing each other for weeks, he still found a way to shame me. His eyes hard, lips pressed together into a tight line, I wasn’t even sure he was happy to see me.

The bus pulled up.

“Are you going to take the bus?” I asked him, avoiding his gaze.

He shook his head, “No, I’m waiting for-”

“Yeah, okay. I have to go.”

“Wait,” I turned around to him. It had begun to snow, so the small flakes sparkled on his head in the early morning light like glitter. He always loved winter, the snow.

He stared at me for a few seconds before shaking his head, changing his mind.

I nodded. “I’ll see you, Zayne.” Saying his name felt like acid on my tongue.

Turning around without taking another look at him, I boarded the bus.

Two days later, when I finally came home from my surgery, the only difference I could tell at first was that my chest didn’t hurt anymore. I could finally breathe again without feeling like I was choking on air. The doctors gave me a bag of all the flowers that they collected out of me, and at first I refused to look at them.

Yet as soon as I got home, I felt compelled to sit on my floor and sort through them.

I made piles of each flower, twirling them in my fingers before placing them in their designated places. Some had long vines that I used to tie them together into a crown.

After I finished, I spotted a jacket under my bed. I pulled it out to see it was the black jacket he wore the night we danced together outside that stupid party.

I took a deep breath of it, wishing I would feel the same way I did that night;

But I felt nothing.

It was now just a jacket. He was now just Zayne.

I put it on, wrapping it tightly around my body. I nestled the flowers along my head like a crown of thorns.

Looking at the girl in the mirror, staring at her with her blood stained flower crown, I broke down.

(divider by cafekitsune)

[sensgrave]

"How the hell did cupid get bullets?"

I really appreciate the love I got on the prologue, and decided to add in some extra stuff to it rather than a timeskip. As I said, this is going to be a really slow burn.

Prologue 1 here.

Prologue part 2? - 1.3k, SFW - plans for reader x graves (though I may write side drabbles if desired), I'm hoping to try and ramp up the quality. MDNI, zero tolerance for minors being around - nothing particularly triggering, swearing I guess? I've indented dialogue to make it easier to read, since I figured colours would be a bit too distracting. Don't feed my work to AI, yadda yadda. Also I figured I'd start chucking a different gofundme per chapter in this section, just as a little fun positive thing. I've picked this one today.

You walk along the aisle, taking a seat that’s facing towards the closed cockpit. Buckling yourself in, you feel the vibrations of the cabin door slamming shut, the small ding of the seatbelt sign, and the rumble of the engine coming to life. Looking out below, you see the area you once called home become smaller and smaller. Trees turned to twigs as the plane slowly began to ascend into the sky.

You walk along the aisle, taking a seat that’s facing towards the closed cockpit. Buckling yourself in, you feel the vibrations of the cabin door slamming shut, the small ding of the seatbelt sign, and the rumble of the engine coming to life. Looking out below, you see the area you once called home become smaller and smaller. Trees turned to twigs as the plane slowly began to ascend into the sky. A short while later, you’re able to take off your seatbelt. Walking towards you was the only other passenger besides the pilot. The driver walks up to you, boasting a folder with a simple iconography, featuring a rook inside a spade. Really? Putting the pieces together, someone thought they were being clever and symbolic – but it came off kinda smug and pretentious. Despite that, it still felt slightly clever enough to briefly humour you.

“This is just some preparation that’s been organised for you. I’d suggest looking through it, it’s pretty much your itinerary for the next few days. Has a bit of extra paperwork too, if you chose to continue beyond the interview. Also, a rough layout of what areas are strictly relevant to you. Venturing into other places without the proper clearance is generally cause for alarm, and you’ll likely get your ass handed to you. If you’re lucky, it’ll be verbal – so I’d also suggest keeping that on you.”

What the fuck does he mean by THAT? Maybe it’s governmental work?

“Doesn’t it seem a bit silly to give me a map if it’s such a top secret layout?”

“You’re not a threat at this point in time.”

Ouch.

It was a feeling that could only be described as ‘ominous embarrassment’. This is the most you’ve spoken to the driver from earlier, and finally take in his appearance. Average height, with a lean build. There’s some medium length locks framing his face, parted down the middle. He looks down at you, with an expression so lacking you’d think he’d never experienced an emotion. Brown eyes, but he’s wearing clear contacts. You wonder how he’d look with glasses. As he speaks, you notice a slight stubble – and a pair of very neatly manicured brows furrowing in your direction.

“Well?”

Fuck. Wasn’t listening.

“Oh I agree completely.”

There we go, saved it.

“So, you agree you might have questions?”

Goddammit.

He lets out a small chuckle, eyes slightly crinkling at the corners with a faint hint of a smile. Thank god, he’s amused. Making a terrible first impression on the people around this company is not the way to go. Considering the perks so far, you find yourself increasingly nervous for the interview – the desire to actually be able to do your placement here grows, adding to the pressure. He’s in a basic black suit, with a slightly stuffy black tactical vest over the top. A small, embroidered strip of grey fabric sits across the left of his chest, reading ‘Smithstone 1-4’ just above his breast pocket. He takes a seat in the chair across from you. Finally coming back to earth again, you ponder on anything you might potentially want to know.

“So… what kind of deal is this? You guys working for the government?” – the most obvious question. He shifts slightly in his seat, answering with a simple “Something like that.”

Alright, not great in terms of detail – but it’s at least something. You press further.

“Why the big plane?”

“Boss uses it for a few things already, mostly meetings and other stuff. He figured it was simpler putting you in it, rather than dealing with anything commercial.” He answers, very matter-of-factly. “We’re not typically a first choice, so we don’t get many applicants. Most students have us as a backup, not as the main option. So forgive us, this is a little new for everyone involved.”

Huh.  job’s turned from creepy, back to intriguing.

“D’you like working here?” You wonder, figuring if he’s been put in charge of you, he’s probably a safe bet on getting a feel for this place.

“It’s good. Can’t complain. We’ve got great benefits, a decent salary, and a pretty good work-life balance. The only catch is the life part. You do get space to do stuff on your own time, but we’re all kind of restricted in how much movement we can make. You’ve typically gotta stay in the nearby area, and there’s not much around in most places we go. The work certainly tests you though.” It seems promising, the words sounding genuine. “Any more questions?”

This is another question I absolutely should’ve asked earlier. I hope it doesn’t sound rude.

“What’s your name?”

“Oh. Probably should’ve introduced myself. I’m Jessie, but we usually just go by last names. It’s not mandatory though, just how the vibe is.”

Jessie Smithstone, huh?

“Well, it’s been nice to meet you, Jessie.”

“Nice to meet you too.” He responds, running a hand through his hair. He figures it’s time to leave you to read through the folder on your own, accepting the hint to move to a different chair without you even noticing. Seems like the employees have pretty good instincts.

The documentation is some standard non-disclosure agreements, just not to talk about where you’re going, where you’re interviewing, what you’re interviewing for, not to discuss anything heard (or overhead) while you are present, and the potential ramifications for doing so. There is a footnote with these at least, ‘If you require assistance in understanding these, we do have legal advice available to help you go over this contract.’ – that’s nice at least. Care certainly has been put into fully understanding what you’re getting yourself into, but you’ve yet to be enlightened on what the fuck is this kind of company?

The rest of the documents is as Jessie said – a map labelled with any landmarks you may need to find your way across the large… building? It couldn’t really be called that. It’s almost like a compound. There are quite a few sections shaded off, with a key in the corner explaining that these sections are restricted. Each relevant point of interest is labelled with a star, and several paths are outlined between these sections – providing you a set of routes for wherever you needed to go and where you absolutely shouldn’t. An itinerary explains where you’ll be staying, in a small set of quarters, at the west wing of one of the buildings. You’ll be touching down, unpacking, and being given a tour before dinner. After that, you’ve got a few hours to do what you wish around the place – or choose to go to bed. The next day will be your interview, starting at midday – and deliberation will occur in the afternoon. You’ll be given the outcome on whether there’s a contract to potentially accept, or having to go home. You’ve still got the option of declining the contract, but that’s been put off the table. This could be the opportunity of a lifetime, and ‘No.’ isn’t an option for you. Not out of lack of choice, but out of want. The seatbelt fastening sign dings to life, as the pilot explains you’ll be landing shortly.

[d33pwithinmys0ul]

for the one shot request: give us sexy basketball jean (i actually hate basketball but i love jean so...idk what came over me)

EB, thank you for the prompt!! :D I'm not too into basketball either, but I gave it my best shot anyway. I did write this stoned. I hope this satisfies your basketball Jean itch :)

this song fueled my inspo and is the namesake, and here’s the ao3 link :p

NSFW, 18+ ONLY

Jean Kirstein x Female Reader wc: 3.1k, Ch. 1/1

"Grins"

Dating team captain Jean Kirstein meant occasional bouts of loneliness during late night practices. He always planned to come straight to yours after though, as you were both shamelessly clingy.

Being around Jean made you feel like a giddy schoolgirl, or a crazy fan meeting her idol. He was admirable in every way, and he carried himself like a fuckin’ jerk. He was tall and grew his hair longer at the nape of his neck. His shoulders were wide and his hands were big—he’d grab the ball with one hand to show off when he knew you were looking. 

You met when you accompanied your roommate Hitch to a weekly pilates session at the campus gym and rec center. 

In her seemingly expert planning, Hitch timed your walk to the class with the end of the men’s basketball team practice. 

“There’s the blond that’s gonna marry me one day,” she quipped in a low voice, and you nearly choked with laughter.

The sweaty, shirtless players would share the short stretch of hallway with the two of you before diverging away to the showers. It was hard not to ogle.

Hitch had given you the rundown about who was who and who was hot in between reps at pilates. You never gave much thought to the sports at EU, but it turned out the varsity basketball team had a reputation. 

Over time, you understood her fascination, and had picked out your own pretty boy from the lot, just for laughs. Jean was eye candy and you had an embarrassing sweet tooth. 

You didn’t think much of the sightings, just enjoying the times you’d walk past each other at the gym and occasionally on campus, and wonder hopelessly if he had really locked eyes with you, or if you’d made it up. 

Sometimes you happened to arrive early enough to watch some of their practice—seeing the boys banter and puff up their chests, dunking on each other and arguing.

By some miracle or twist of fate, one day Jean began to lag behind his friends, catching your stride, with a cocky smile that made your stomach drop. 

“You know, you’ve got pretty eyes,” he said politely, hushed low and so restrained, yet something about his tone made you nervous. His headphones dangled from his neck and his shirt had a dark ring of sweat at the collar. He was looking at you like he’d decided on something. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, me or her?” You jerked a thumb at Hitch. She was a catch, and more likely to be approached between the two of you—but your friend stifled a laugh and said nothing. 

Jean shook his head. 

“You.” As if it were obvious. 

Jean rotated his shoulders lightly as you chatted with him—he asked about your major and where you were from, and you wondered if he was flexing on purpose.

From then on, Jean seemed to be everywhere. He’d catch you in the student parking lot, walking you to your car and leaning a hand on the door just to watch you squirm. He’d be across the study room at the library, and you’d catch each other’s unsubtle stares until you eventually asked him to join you.

After weeks of torturous flirting and late night phone calls, he convinced—practically begged— you to come to one of his games. 

Hitch was thrilled to get such good seats and cheer Reiner on from the stands, and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Jean point right at you and wink.

You weren’t really into basketball, but god, you were into him. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off him as the game went on, and he couldn’t stop flirting your way in between plays. He was still carrying out his duties as a captain though, and his determination and set jaw entertained you just as much.

After that first game, Jean offered to take you home. He didn’t tell you until later that he skipped out on a team dinner to spend time with you instead. 

He had let you wear his Eldia University sweater as you settled into his passenger seat, and later when you arrived at your apartment, he let you wear his jersey as you settled into his lap.

You both had some beers–some peach flavored shit that was forgotten in the fridge. You had no idea how Hitch hadn’t finished it all. You had knocked so many back that you were unabashedly straddling his hips and rubbing his biceps in a drunken haze.

“So, Y/n’s first game with the Devils,” Jean takes a swig. He was shirtless after giving you his jersey, lounging in his boxers on your comforter. “What did you think? Feeling the school pride?”

“A little,” you laughed. Watching him play was a delight. “What happened towards the end there, though?”

“Lack of discipline.” Jean rolled his eyes. He’d lost his temper just a bit when Eren had fouled out . “Otherwise—did you have fun? Because y’know, that three in the last quarter was for you.” 

“Oh thank you!” You laughed. “I’m honored. You’re so intimidating on the court.”

“Yeah, really?” He asked, his voice level and nonchalant. “I didn’t know I intimidated you. I’d hate for that to cause a problem.” He pulled you a bit closer. 

Your faces are only inches apart all too suddenly and you blush hard. Asshole. He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted.

“I didn’t say that,” you averted your eyes and gave him a little shove, creating a few more inches of distance. You adored the curve of his chin, and the soft color in his lips.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

Jean was a sight to have in your bedroom, so handsome and ripped like he’d walked off a movie set. You almost couldn’t handle it. You never dated “popular” guys. The sentiment was a little high school, but it was a fact. Jean was charismatic. He was sure of himself. You don’t know if you could ever admit to him that you were still completely starstruck.

“I can’t imagine how you do it,” you said with a small smile. 

“What?” Jean said softly.  You could smell the alcohol on his breath. He moves a strand of hair gently away from your face and watches you with his intense gaze, pupils blown. 

You chug the rest of your beer for a bit of bravery and toss it off the bed.

“Being EU’s golden boy,” you say dryly. “Being under those bright lights, all those people counting on you. You’re so damn good at it.” You moved your hands to his shoulders, inevitably sliding down to his biceps again. You can tell that he’s staring at your lips now too. 

 It was hard to focus in the dim light, against the warmth of Jean’s bare chest. You were all too aware of how he circled his thumb gently against one spot of your leg, torturing you. He smells so good. 

“Well, I like being good at things,” he said simply, running his palms against your thighs. He watched your face as he rubbed your legs slowly, inching higher up a little bit every time. “And I like coming home after a game and feeling exhausted. The full body burning from working so hard. The muscles aches are proof I’m living to my fullest potential, and I think that’s what my life on the court is all about.”

You were trying not to shake from his touch. Jean was practically massaging you, full contact with both his palms, warm and rough as they ran right above your knees and every inch up to the smallest part of your waist. He’d trace lines and shapes, squeezing your flesh. Your breathing was uneven and light. 

“Um,” you swallow quietly. “That sounds.. Interesting.” 

Jean slipped his hands under the jersey, pawing at your tits before lowering his head and kissing your neck, trailing up to your jaw. Your breath catches at the sudden sensation.

“That’s right.” He said, reassuring and stern.

You were shaking now. One of his hands supported you while the other kept rubbing your thighs. He was manhandling you as you were limp in his grip, dazed and drunk, simmering in pleasure. His breath was tingly and hot against your neck. Longing grew in your core and you ached for him. 

“Jean, kiss me..” You whine and grab at his face with desperation. 

He laughed softly, amused at your neediness. Your heart was pounding when your lips met, and he sighed softly at the contact. 

Jean tasted so good. He pushed against you, probing your lips gently, the friction was perfect and you couldn’t stop yourself from going back for more. He ran his tongue over your bottom lip and you shuddered. You loved how warm he felt against you, how comfortable he seemed. Thrill and lust surged in your veins, humming inside you. 

“Please..” You murmured against his lips. 

You fold so easily for him. You were thrilled to have the honor of folding for him, becoming undone by Jean was heaven.

“You’re too cute.” He said breathlessly. He unhooked your bra and tossed it aside, and returned to rubbing your thighs and groping you. 

God, fuck him. 

He was glistening in sweat, breathing deep and heavy. Your thighs rub together in his lap and he cradles your ass with one hand. He kissed you deeper, biting your lips and sucking on them. 

“Oh my god..” You’re grinding against him, kissing him like you were deprived. “Fuck off..”

Jean rolls his eyes at your faux defiance and curls a hand around your throat. He kisses you harshly, urgently, his hands rough against your stomach, your thighs. Your neck is in his one hand, and he grazed your skin with his teeth. 

Fuck him for looking at you like this, like he was starving. Fuck him for how big and hard his cock feels through these boxers. He preoccupied you with one kiss after another and you drowned in the burning pleasure that was growing in between your legs.

Jean pulled away for a brief moment and jerked his head to the opposite wall. 

“Is that a mirror?” He said, a crooked smile forming with delight.

Your cheap mirror was small and thin, glinting in the dark, leaning against your closet door.

You nod and blush, realizing his idea.

“Come here,” he pulls you onto his lap again, your back against his chest. 

You swallow nervously and try to look away, but he holds your chin.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just..annoying, how impressive you are,” you mumbled. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jean breathed. He had the perfect view of your shaking legs as he took the waistband of your panties, pulling them off. “You’re easy, you know that? You get groped by big, strong hands and now you’re fucking soaked.”

His boner was pressed up against your ass, and he hooked his hands under your knees and spread your legs apart.

You’re flushed and dazed, and let out a soft sigh as he cups your cunt, tapping it gently. You were so wet.

“I’m.. not..” You grip his wrist, not to stop him, but for support. 

“Yeah?” Jean challenged. He dipped the pad of his middle finger against your pussy and spread the wetness around the folds, barely brushing your clit. “What’s this?” He said, his voice dark and rough. “You love this, don’t you?”

Jean takes his time playing with you. He rubs your puffy clit with care, achingly slow. Your sighs fueled his dexterous movements, rubbing circles and making lines. He traced the folds of your pussy, spreading your wetness all over and making you twitch with pleasure.

“Yeah, good girl…” He said softly, and your hips buck at his filthy encouragement.

“Fuck…” Your breathing grows heavy. You whimper as he pets you in the dim light of your bedroom. You were both watching him violate your cunt. “Jean, please.. Fuck me..”

“My pace, sweetheart.” He used your slick to slide his middle and ring fingers inside you. He guides them in and out, soft and slow. 

The room is filled with your pathetic moans and the soft squishing of your cunt gripping his fingers.

Jean can’t stop sucking at your neck, biting you, leaving marks all over your skin. You buck your hips against him, fighting the overstimulation and losing poorly as you lose track of how many times you cum. 

Your clit is throbbing. It’s soft to his touch, and he adores the flush on your cheeks, and how pretty you look lost in pleasure. He gropes your tits, squeezing them, and running his thumbs over your nipples. You buck your hips again, it was too much. 

“You ready?” Jean’s voice is strained. It was hard to hold back now, he wanted his turn with you.

“Yes please,” you whispered. 

He pulls his cock out, precum oozing from the tip. It was flushed pink, and veiny, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss it. 

Jean grabbed your hips. He positioned his cock at your opening, tapping it against your clit and relishing the sight. 

“Look at me, pretty girl,” he whispered roughly. 

You were so hypnotized by the sight of your reflection—legs in the air, your hole perfectly aligned with his member. He teases you with the tip, pumping his shaft with his hands and rubbing it against your cunt. You met Jean’s eyes in the mirror, the desperation and lust in his expression made you quiver. 

After the agonizing wait, he finally thrusts into you. 

Jean sighs at how your cunt flexes around him, hungry for more friction. He holds your waist with both hands and bounces you. You feel him go deeper and gasp. It was so big, and he was so strong—you loved how he gripped you, how he fucked you. 

You were so lost in pleasure that you were completely unaware of soaking his sheets. He pumped you up and down on his cock, and you bounced eagerly on top of him, moaning obscenely.

“Come on baby. Drain this fucking dick, come on.” He growled, watching cream dribble down your pussy. 

You were squeezing him tight, so wet and messy. “M-more, Jean... please..”

“Here,” Jean gently disconnects himself and drags you by the ankles to the edge of the bed. 

You giggle at his strength, and he shoves you lightly and you fall onto the mattress with your ass in the air. 

“Perfect fucking view.” He smacks your ass with a moderate sting.

“Yeah?” You say coyly, grabbing a pillow to stuff your face into. 

“Of course. You look good in my jersey,” Jean smiles wistfully as he winds your hair around his knuckles. He puts a hand on your back and you barely have time to take a breath before he sheathes himself inside you again. 

“Oh, shit,” you whine as Jean drills you from behind. He fucks you mercilessly, spanking your ass with resounding smacks. The pain was wonderful and fleeting, and you prayed he wouldn’t stop. 

You felt your cum paint your inner thighs, your clit was throbbing and you tried to rub yourself while he moved behind you. It felt so good to surrender to Jean, to let him split you open. You whine into the pillow and buck your hips. You adore the sound of his ragged breaths as he fucks you. 

Jean’s moans are so tender, his pleasure is so real. He loves watching you coat his cock in your juices, the cute little flourish of your lips around him. 

“Spread it,” he pants. “Spread it for me, baby.” 

Your shaky fingers reach for your cunt, and you try your best to spread yourself open while he fucks you. Jean groaned at the display, he wanted to remember the way you look bent over forever.

He fit perfectly inside you, and you felt every vein and every inch of him in your walls. You were dizzy and seeing spots as you drifted in pleasure. You were a little tired, but you didn’t want him to stop. It was heaven, the way he thrusted into you, cradling your body and using it. 

Your eyelids flutter as you fight the weight of them.

Jean pulls out slowly and gently rolls you onto your back. You almost tip over until he supports you again, petting your hair. 

“You okay?” He’s breathing heavily, covered in sweat. His hair is drenched, and he holds your jaw in one hand.

All you could give was a nod as you caught your breath too. 

“You’re so cute,” he mumbled, and slipped his thumb into your mouth. You close your eyes and swirl your tongue around it, tasting yourself. “You wanna keep going?” 

You nod again.

“Can I eat your pussy?” He pants desperately, taking his thumb away. 

“Oh,” the surprise escaped you quicker than you could stop it. “If you want to.”

“Y/n,” Jean laughed. “It’ll make my fucking night.”

You shed his jersey and he guided you onto your back again. 

Jean wedged a pillow under your neck and kissed you on the forehead, on both cheeks, on your nose. He kissed down your neck and in between your tits, down your stomach, until his face was positioned in between your legs. 

You reached down to spread yourself out for him, teasing yourself. The sight drove Jean crazy. He was stroking his cock desperately while you showed him how wet you were, and he leaned forward, resting his nose at the soft valley above your clit.

Jean moaned softly at the perfect taste.

He made out with your pussy like his life depended on it. Jean adored the way the flat of his tongue would make you shudder, how flicking it against your bud would make you cry out.

You pulled at his hair, knuckles white as you rocked back and forth. You tried to keep from crushing him, but Jean practically encouraged it as he darted his tongue in and out of your cunt. The motion made your hips buck and he had to pin you down to keep you from writhing away. 

Jean bent your knees back till your ass was on full display, round and still red from earlier. He smacked your pussy as he left kisses over his handprints. 

Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, the heat was overwhelming as your head pounded, and you gave in. Your body spasms as you cum all over Jean’s mouth. He worshiped your sensitive folds, licking you clean, and wouldn’t stop until you came again. 

[enmstorytime]

The Vulnerable Writer: Chapter 6

To my knowledge, I am the only professor in the history of humankind to have willingly subjected himself to being stripped naked and forced to come at the hands of his students. As I sat naked in my office, my students having claimed today's clothing, and my heart pounding as I snuck peeks out of my office window to observe the parking lot slowly empty, I had a lot of time to think.

Most of my thoughts were geared toward thinking about how I would ever live this down. How could I go back to my students tomorrow, strip completely naked and teach them with any hope that they would respect me after they had shredded my clothing today and jerked me off (and if I'm being honest, they hadn't really jerked me off, I got so caught up in the sensation of them looking at me that I didn't even last a full minute from my cock flopping out of my underwear to my seed spilling across the classroom floor). If I kept going back to class and stripping completely naked, how long would it be before a student snuck a picture and posted me online, or before a more pious student decided to report me to my department head, or before I was caught in any of the other million ways that I could be caught.

But if I went back on my word? I knew I was more likely to be reported if I broke my promise than I would be if I kept showing up to class, stripping down to my birthday suit, and trying to carry on like my cock wasn't flopping around in front of my students and my ass wasn't jiggling unsupported with every nervous step I took.

And what if seeing my entire naked body stopped being motivational for my students? What more would they or could they ask from me?

And if this is successful? A quiet voice whispered in the back of my head.

Our faculty has spent the nearly five years since the COVID pandemic trying to find a way to motivate students to care about their studies. Every academic journal I read had a new study about creative techniques on how to motivate burned out students. To my amazement, once my class had calmed down after my little show, that very first day I spent fully naked in front of them, they all sat up in their seats and paid attention to me for the remainder of class. Sure, most of them weren't looking me in the eye, but instead they were watching my cock swing back and forth, but they had participated like no class I've taught even before the lockdowns. They asked questions, they volunteered to read aloud sections from the essays I'd assigned them. Whenever I asked questions, at least five students raised their hands to answer. I'd never taught a better class in my entire career.

Despite the fact that my face was certainly bright red for the entirety of our class period, or maybe because I was so embarrassed and so vulnerable with my students, we had entered into some kind of reciprocal relationship, where my students were graciously giving me support. The small quiet voice in my brain wanted to do more studies, to write an article about my experience, to see if other professors would be willing to do similar experiments with their students.

Of course, that was out of the question. My administration did not know that I had decided to use these methods. They could not know. Without having those conversations with my administrators, I would never be able to to move forward with any actual research. And I wasn't sure I really wanted to, since it would mean even more time naked in front of students, course after course to collect data.

I cracked the window blinds again, leaning back in my chair so my abs stretched and my armpit hair would have been on full display if anyone walked into the door at that moment. I watched my department head cross the parking lot, climb into his Lexus and drive away. I couldn't deny the thrill of pleasure I felt sitting in my work office, stark naked, watching my boss leave work.

For the next couple of months. I'd walk to my class in my new teaching suit. Wait for class to start, and begin the class by removing all of my clothing, folding it, and draping it over the side of the chair. Then, I would teach my lessons. Class after class, week after week, month after month, I would teach the best lessons of my life, with the most engaged students I could imagine. Whenever anyone started to act up, Cody or Seth would tell them to be quiet, and just like that, classroom tension would be resolved. And I'd walk back and forth across the classroom, my bare feet slapping on the floor, my cock at eye level with all my students.

It was near the end of the semester when my students let me know what they had done. They had all submitted their first vulnerable essays, the ones that had gotten me naked and spilling cum in front of them, to the school's literary magazine, and every last one of them had been published. I beamed with pride, and then the panic set in.

The first email came from my department head. I received it thirty minutes after the class period when my students told me they'd all been accepted for publication. He congratulated me on my accomplishments as a professor and let me know that he would be joining my class the following afternoon to learn more about my methods. Four more emails came in throughout the afternoon from other professors in the department, all of them scheduling opportunities to come observe my class.

With each email, my stomach plummeted. I would have five colleagues sitting in my class tomorrow. I imagined trying to start the day without stripping down and imagined the absolute uproar that would ensue from my students.

The next day, as I walked into class, I made eye contact first with Cody, who smirked at me. He was seated in front of my department head. Along the back wall stood four professors, all of them older, all of them men who had been on my tenure board, all of them men I admired.

I had spent the whole night agonizing about whether to inform them of what they could expect and debating whether or not I could ask them to choose not to attend. In the end I had just left their emails on read, and mentally prepared myself for the fact that five more men would be added to the list of people who would see me teach in the buff.

"Class, you'll notice we have some visitors today," I said as class began, taking off my suit jacket and folding it over the back of my chair at the front of the room.

All eyes went back to the department head, and then they settled back on me. They were waiting, curious to see if I was a man of my word.

"Since you've all performed so well in this department, some of my colleagues have asked to see my teaching methods," I continued.

Cody whooped. My department head cocked an eye brow but remained silent.

I unbuttoned the sleeves of my shirts at the wrists and started to roll them up, my forearms exposed. Then I reached up and loosened my tie and unbuttoned my top button.

"I didn't warn them how relaxed we get in this class," I said.

"Damn straight," Seth said, "We get really fucking relaxed in this class."

And too my amazement, Seth stood up, and started to undress. All eyes were on him as his skin came more and more into view, and within fifteen seconds he had stripped completely naked, his toes wiggling on the floor, his penis swaying. He winked at the head of the department and sat back down.

"Really relaxed," Cody said.

He also stood up and undressed completely. His cock inches away from my department head's face, and I watched my department head's eyes tracking the arc of Cody's dick.

Within a minute, every student had stood up and stripped completely naked. I'd never seen so much male flesh in one room.

"In this class, clothes don't get in the way of our learning," Seth said.

"That's right," I said, feeling grateful to my students. "None of us do."

My department head sat behind Cody watching me as I stripped off my own clothing. Within seconds I stood completely naked in front of my boss, in front of my colleagues, in front of all my naked students. I met my department head's eye.

He sat, one of the only clothed men in the room, and I could see that he was enjoying it. At the thought of my boss being pleased to see me in all my naked glory, I stiffened, my penis pointing directly at the department head.

"Let's get this class started," I said, turning to the chalk board and giving my department head the view of every last inch of my skin.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 4

Summary: after spending some days apart, you and Negan finally find a way to sort out your differences, and it involves a whooooooooole lot of balls

Tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, friendly competitive games, sexual innuendos

Word Count: 7.3k (I'm sorry, idk how tf this is getting so long)

Michonne likes her job. It’s cushy, which isn’t what most people would assume. But being principal of Alexandria High is something she fought for and something she earned. In many ways, it’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

Not only that, but she gets to be closer to her kids. For the first time, Michonne can embrace the role of the classic mom—carpooling with her children, loudly saying “I love you” and reminding them not to forget their lunch as they all walk into the same building.

Carl doesn’t mind it much. At this point, he sees it more as an inside joke between himself and his stepmom.

Judith, on the other hand, still squirms every time she gets out of the car with Principle Grimes, her eyes darting around to see if anyone is taking notice. 

Michonne doesn’t take offense though, she knows it’s because Judith is still adjusting to “big school”, eager to make a good impression during her first year.

She had to deal with a blunder last week between Gregory, Rosita and Sasha. Once again, it was up to her to clean up Gregory’s incompetence while he played victim. 

If Michonne had her way, firing him would have been her first decree as principal. And he wouldn’t have been the last to be fired either. Michonne can think of a few she would’ve picked off straight away if it wasn’t for unfair dismissal laws. 

Saying goodbye to both of her kids, she makes her way down the corridor, pretending not to hear the students going wild in some of the classrooms as they let out their energy before classes start. They’re more hyper than usual for a Monday but since this is the last week of classes, she understands the excitement.

Strolling into her office, she comes face to face with another ‘if only I could fire them without lawful reasoning’ candidate.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, no way Ricky Dicky got you this weird ass piñata for Christmas,” Negan giggles when she walks in, holding up a gift she got for her birthday.

“Carl, actually,” she corrects him, watching carefully to make sure he doesn’t drop the statue “and it’s a unicorn he and Judith painted, not a piñata”.

With raised eyebrows, Negan gently places it back down on the desk. “Well, shit, ain’t they… creative” he treads carefully, not wanting to piss her off.

“Is there a reason you’re lurking in my office?” Michonne gets straight to business, making her away around the desk and to her chair. 

Negan sits opposite her, making himself comfortable “Well, it’s about the Christmas party”.

Michonne debates hiding her smirk but she can’t help it. Negan’s a man that always chooses to be cocky, so why shouldn’t she when she knows something he doesn’t?

Reading her smirk, Negan can’t help but scoff at himself. He’d been expecting a reaction like this. 

“Yeah, I know it sounds stupid,” he mutters.

Michonne twirls a finger in the air, gesturing to her grin. “Oh, this?” she says, her smirk widening “It’s not because you think this whole thing is stupid. It’s because I know exactly what you’re about to say”.

Negan shifts in his seat, caught between feeling a little embarrassed and strangely intrigued. He crosses one leg over the other.

“Is that so?” he says, his tone casual but curious.

“I had a certain English teacher in here on Friday,” Michonne keeps her information vague “she may have mentioned the staff Christmas party as well”.

“Did she mention how she can’t keep her damn mouth shut? Or that she’s the control freak?” he interjects “actually, no I want to hear what she’s said about me and how she’s spinning this whole thing”.

Michonne huffs “Funnily enough I could say the same thing to describe you”.

He rolls his eyes, trying not to mumble anything under his breath in case she hears.

“Actually, she explained everything, from the text message to you deserting her. In fact I think she told me too much, usually when you bunk off your job, you don’t tell your boss” Michonne says, her tone level.

Negan nods knowingly “She has a tendency to keep running her mouth, even when she shouldn’t”.

“And she also asked if the staff party could be held somewhere other than the sports hall, since she tells me it’s essentially your hall,” Michonne continues  “Which is odd, because I’ve never seen your name above the door”.

“It is my hall,” he snaps, his chest puffing out “everyone knows it is. My office is right next door —which has my name on the door— and out of all the coaches, I’ve been here the longest. So, yeah, my hall”.

Michonne just watches him, silently grateful she doesn’t have to deal with Negan more often. “Well, the party will still be held there, and when it comes to the two of you constantly clashing, I’ll say to you the exact same thing I told her”.

Michonne pauses, making sure Negan is actually paying attention.

“Whether you help plan the party while she doesn’t, or she plans it while you don’t, or both of you just plan the damn thing,” she says, speaking slowly, hoping it’ll sink in “I. Don’t. Care.”

Negan clamps his mouth shut, holding back a curse. “That’s your big advice?” he questions, incredulity in his voice. “Seriously?”

He’s met with a flat look “Negan, it’s a Christmas party. Let’s not overcomplicate things ”.

Leaning back in her chair, she glances over the paperwork she should be working on “I’m not going to force you two to work together. If you’re not that interested in helping, then don’t and let another coach help when it comes to setting things up in the hall. Simple as that.

Michonne picks up a pen and begins writing on one of the pages in front of her, giving him the sign that they’re done here.

This is easier than Negan expected. Where’s the whole “you need to work together for the sake of Christmas party magic” speech? The guilt trip about teamwork and holiday cheer?

He expected more pushback, more of Michonne’s insistence that they both need to cooperate and sing kumbaya. 

But instead, it’s just… simple. She doesn’t care.

And, sure, they both irritated the hell out of each other, but now that they’re not being forced into the same space, he finds himself missing it a little. He had started getting into a rhythm—annoying her, sparring with her and slowly picking up on her banter. 

It had become a game of sorts, and he’d almost gotten good at it.

But then again, he did walk away from her. And she never came crawling back with an apology, so maybe this is for the best. Neither of them had the patience to stick it out.

After a few seconds, when Negan doesn’t move, Michonne stills her movements. “I can hear you breathing,” she comments, keeping her head down and reading through the sheets on her desk.

“So?”.

“So, I’m busy? Go get ready for class— oh, actually, while I have you here,” Michonne looks over at him and Negan can see the shift from bored principal to fiery mama bear. 

He stands, getting ready to leave. 

Pointing her pen at him, she keeps her voice calm and steady “You make fun of Carl’s eye again and I’m giving the Coach Smith that actually does his job, your office”.

Negan knows better than to test her, or to even let a word alip about how Coach Mark Smith is off tanning in Jamaica, something he definitely doesn’t consider “doing his job”. 

Straightening up, he gives a quick nod and mutters a simple, “Yes, Ma’am,” before hightailing it out the door.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

What’re you on now? Plan C? Or D?

Plan A went out the window with your pettiness, when you decided to plan the Christmas party just to spite Negan.

Plan B, trying to work with Negan, crumbled and left you stranded at Target. You owe Carol big time for driving out and collecting you. Although you hope the amount of cookies you baked with her afterwards means that you’re both even.

Plan C… well, that hasn’t technically failed, nor has it gotten you off the hook, thanks to Michonne being indifferent either way. 

And now that's brought you on to plan D, which so far has been giving constant reassurance to a fully grown man.

“I don’t think I should be doing this,” Joey’s bottom lip wobbles and for a moment, you genuinely believe you’re about to see a tear roll down his stubbled cheek.

“Joey, you’re just helping me measure” you reply, holding onto the other end of the measuring tape as the wary man makes his way down to the other end of the hall. 

You came to work today with a plan. After avoiding Negan for the remainder of last week and having the weekend to get your shit together, you’ve decided that you’re going to continue planning this party. 

The major difference now?

You’re doing it from your own free will, not letting accidental texts or pettiness be the driving force… although in saying that, you also didn’t want to deal with Gregory’s passive aggressiveness.

So after a quick stop at Negan’s office before he arrived, you side-stepped into the sports hall next, and found your new helper, Joey.

“Yeah but…” he hesitates to even say his name “Negan doesn’t know you’re here, and if he finds out I’ve let you in here…”.

In a sense, you feel bad for Joey. It’s his first year at Alexandria High too but he’s already been indoctrinated into the Negan cult, which consists of Negan, Joey and whoever Negan’s trying to swoon for the week.

“Classes start in twenty minutes, he isn’t even here yet,” you attempt to comfort him for the fourth time this morning “besides, you’re just helping me get measurements, this isn’t the end of the world”.

“Yeah, but I don’t want Negan to think I’m betraying him by doing this, or that I’m choosing your side over his,” Joey babbles and you try not to take offense “I asked him last Friday how the planning was going for the party and he— jeez, if you saw the look on his face when I mentioned you!”.

Gulping, you shift slightly and try to change topics “Are you at the end of the hall?”.

“Oh!” Joey stoops down and presses the end of the tape to the wall “Ok, ready!”.

You write down the measurements in your notebook before calling Joey back. 

Unfortunately, he continues to ramble. “I mean, it was like his whole face changed when I mentioned your name! I was just asking about it cause I was wondering if he got into your pants yet but damn, you must’ve turned him down bad!”. 

You wonder if this is how irritating you sound when you ramble.

As Negan walks down the hallway to his office, he lets out a long breath. No more Christmas party for him. It’s someone else’s problem, whether or not that be his favourite love-to-hate and hate-to-love English teacher. 

He tunes out the chatter coming from the sports hall, not in the mood to deal with teens who’ve sneaked in before class for a quick game of basketball.

He enters his office and takes a moment to drop his bag onto the chair, releasing a long sigh. Like shit he would ever leave Michonne give Mark his office. At this point, Negan’s sure he has squatters rights. 

He removes his winter coat and casually tosses it over the old coat rack. Despite the cluttered state of his desk, it's organized in a way only he seems to understand. Negan knows exactly where everything is but something’s… off.

Something’s different.

His gaze shifts to the small pumpkin statue from Target, its green stalk hidden beneath a tiny Christmas hat. Negan frowns, frustration creeping in. Dammit. 

This guilt-tripping crap shouldn’t work on him. And it won’t. You can buy him the pumpkin but it doesn’t change how you have a bad habit of blurting out the wrong thing at the worst possible time.

Still, he can’t remember the last time someone bought him an actual present. His colleagues never get him anything, unless you count glares. His students skedaddle out of his class the second they have the chance, his only gift there being the peace and quiet they leave behind. 

It must’ve been Lucille who last got him a gift, years ago. His leather jacket to be exact. He rarely wears it to work, not wanting some kid’s dirty paws to taint it. 

That’s just for him. 

After he walked out on you at Target, you’ve both kept your distance, neither one willing to make the first move. But now, it's a new week, with the staff party only a few days away. 

And here sits a little pumpkin on his desk, it's Christmas hat perched jauntily on top. With a low hum, Negan flicks the hat of the pumpkin as he heads out of his office, his sixth sense tingling. 

Letting the other end of your measuring tape zip back into place, Joey strolls the width of the hall back to you.

“So, you not a fan of the lanky type?” he asks, shrugging with as much nonchalance as he can muster “Since you rejected Negan and all”.

It's a real talent suppressing your cringe that fast. You force a tight-lipped smile, trying to set the record straight. 

“I never rejected— I mean, I would have if he—look, Joey, I don’t judge people or decide whether I’m attracted to them based on their—"

“Prefer them with some meat on their bones?" he cuts in, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth when you can't come up with a satisfactory answer.

You’re about to let out a defeated sigh but then you wonder if you can use this to your advantage. 

"You know what really gets me going?" you ask, the words alone making Joey’s face go bright red. "A guy who isn’t afraid of what others think, who’ll help people without worrying if it pisses off... oh, let’s say a meaner, older man”.

Before Joey can even respond, a suspiciously cheerful voice cuts in from the doorway.

"There ain't no way I've just walked in on some dirty talk," Negan grins, leaning against the frame with that trademark smirk of his "And to make it even better, you're describing me, sweetheart! Damn, I didn’t realise I turned you on so much”.

Your jaw clenches but you try to keep things cordial. “Negan,” you give a small nod in greeting “I was just leaving”.

He glances over at the numbers written on your open notebook. “Oh, very busy, I see,” he remarks, before deciding that’s enough small talk “how about we have a chat?”.

“About what?” Joey asks, still standing there.

You glance at Joey, but it’s Negan’s pointed look that makes him realize he’s intruding. 

“I’ve got a class in here in about…” Negan checks his watch “ten minutes. How about you head to the storage room, grab whatever balls are in there, and line them up for me? I’ll let the kids blow off some of that pent up Monday morning energy with a game of dodgeball”.

Before Joey can protest, Negan tosses him the keys. Joey fumbles, barely catching them as he hurries off.

“You got it, si— bos— I mean, Negan!” he takes off down to the dusty storage room on the far side of the gym.

“Jesus Christ,” Negan lets out a low chuckle “I’m surprised he hasn’t asked to call me Daddy yet”.

A disgusted scoff leaves your throat and you grip your notebook a little tighter, ready to leave. And yet you want to stay, just to hear what Negan has to say.

Negan crosses his arm, eyes locked somewhere in the middle distance as Joey unlocks the storage room and disappears inside. You stay in your spot a few paces away from Negan, feeling the weight of the silence pressing on you, unspoken words hanging in the air.

After a long pause, he speaks in a much more serious tone “You know, you’re really good at pushing buttons”. 

Putting a hand up to stop him, you quickly clarify “The pumpkin is just a peace offering. I’m not expecting us to get along but I don’t want us to be at each other’s throats for the rest of the school year either”.

Joey hurries out of the with some basketballs and places them in a line along the centre of the hall before going to get more. 

“I get it, I’m not your favorite person—hell, I’m not anyone’s favorite person,” Negan continues once Joey’s gone “but at Target… damn, you don’t have to go there. Not like that”.

Sighing, you avoid eye contact. The words still feel fresh on your tongue but you know you have to face them. 

“I didn’t mean to go there,” you reply “I just… I imploded and I don’t want to excuse it by saying you pushed me to it… I could’ve been more careful with what I said”.

Your stomach drops when you hear him laugh bitterly. There’s no real humor behind it and your defenses go up in an instant. The warning lights are starting to light up in your head. 

“You’ve got a hell of a way of showing that,” he pauses, biting back something sharper “It’s… it’s not that simple for me and I get it, I’m an asshole. But to bring her up when I take it too far? Or piss you off just a little too much?”.

Some footsteps echo behind you as Joey drops more balls down in the middle of the room, heading back into the storage room and not noticing a battered handball roll over to join your conversation with Negan.

You watch as it rolls closer.

Shifting from foot to foot, Negan folds his arms. “I mean, shit, I know I shouldn’t have driven off without you but what do you expect me to do after you said that?” he asks.

A flicker of that well known frustration bubble before you sigh. “Maybe I expected you to—I don’t know—talk to me instead of running away every time things get tough? I don’t say these things to be a jackass to you, Negan, I say it because… well, yeah I’m pissed off but also because no one else has the balls to say it to you”.

The handball nudges your shoe.

“No pun intended” you add, a thought springing into your head.

You can see your walls going up, and the same with Negan. It’s a toxic cycle of annoying each other and then escalating it whenever you try to hear the other person out. You can tell he’s getting annoyed again just by rehashing it.

Time for Plan E… which you may or may not have just made up now impulsively. 

Getting restless, Negan switches to putting his hands on his hips “I do talk, damn it, but you just—”.

WHAM!

Before Negan can finish, a handball comes flying from your direction, slamming right into his chest with a loud thud. He stumbles back, eyes wide in surprise.

Negan doesn’t have to feign any shock. Not when that’s just happened. But he’s not angry about it. If anything, the random ball attack has made him break his serious streak. 

“Goddamn, woman! What the hell was that for?!” he looks at you, bewildered.

You let your notebook fall to the floor and take a few steps back, edging towards the centre of the hall. 

“Ever since you deserted me, you’ve been dodging me so I figured you’d be good at dodging that too” you shrug.

Placing a hand dramatically over his chest, Negan glares at you, though the playful anger in his eyes betrays any real frustration. “Really? A damn handball?” he tuts “The one time I’m tryin’ to be serious, and this is what I get?”.

You stop when you feel a soccer ball nudge the back of your shoe, letting you know you’ve successfully made it to the halfway mark of the hall.

“You piss me off,” you state the obvious “I piss you off. We piss each other off so fucking much and I am sick of it! Talking it out is just making us both angry again and that’ll lead to one of us saying something stupid – again”.

To show you mean business, you pick up the soccer ball. Joey, confused as ever, just continues with the job Negan gave him. 

“We both fucked up, I get that and I am sorry, Negan,” you say solemnly before huffing “but fuck! You just annoy me so much! And ’cause of that, I think we should just get this out of our systems… so, you game?”.

The hint of a smile creeps up on his face, playful offence melting into amusement.

“Y’know when two people need to get something out of their system, this ain’t the kinda balls that’re involved, sweetheart,” with a grunt he bends over and picks up the handball. 

You don’t move, fingers strumming against the soccer ball. Joey inadvertently fills up your supply of ammo by bringing out a few more balls out. 

“Are you seriously gonna make me play dodgeball to work this out?” Negan calls your bluff, narrowing his eyes at you as he rolls his shoulders.

“Unless you’re too scared”.

Damn you. Negan smirks, knowing full well you know he’s not about to turn this down. His eyes gleam with mischief  “Scared? Hell no, I just—”. 

Hoping you wouldn’t be expecting a ball hurled at you mid-sentence, Negan throws the handball, narrowly missing your head. It smacks off the ground and you gulp, releasing he’s not about to take it easy on you.

“…I just needed to warm up. Let’s do this,” Negan swings his arms to the side, stretching “Joey! Throw a few down this direction”.

As if signaling the start of a war, three balls roll past you and come to a stop at Negan’s feet, their new commander in chief. The second he bends down to grab one, you seize your chance. 

Without hesitation, you send the soccer ball hurtling through the air.

What follows is pure chaos— dodgeball in its most frantic form. Balls fly in every direction, slamming into walls, ricocheting off bleachers, and nearly knocking over everything in sight.

You dive to the side, narrowly dodging one of Negan’s throws, which sails through the air and wallops against the wall.

Neither of you is holding back now. Negan cackles, the sound of his laughter filling the hall as he effortlessly dodges another ball. 

Joey, meanwhile, has wisely retreated to the safety of the storage room, peeking out from behind the door.

He cowers, half-hidden, making sure the door doesn’t slam shut and trap him in there, caught between wanting to stay out of the chaos and not wanting to be accidentally locked inside.

Negan laughs in between throws, his enthusiasm spurring you on. “Goddamn! This is one cruel and usual punishment, doll” he pants, a wide smile gracing his face.

It’s odd to see him so happy. Not smirking or smiling just to get under your skin. He’s like a dog that’s finally been let out to run wild, truly in his element.

Trying a new tactic, you throw a ball low to the ground, hoping to get his legs but Negan effortlessly leaps over it. 

“Well, if you didn’t cut our argument short then you wouldn’t be getting a face full of balls” you throw another, aiming for his head. He dodges it, bouncing his own ball off the ground as he readies his aim.

Negan grins before tossing the ball straight at your chest. You barely catch it, smiling back at him triumphantly.

“I get it, alright? I was being an ass leaving you stranded… and for trying to wind you up so much beforehand,” Negan shockingly gives a genuine apology “But you can’t just throw stuff at me and call it a ‘game’!”

Bouncing on your heels, you think carefully of your next move. Sure, you’re a little out of breath but this is the most fun you’ve had all month.

“I can if it makes you listen,” you quip back before issuing another apology of your own “look… I didn’t mean for what I said to be so harsh, okay? I was just mad. I don’t want to be that person, but sometimes you’re so damn stubborn… it gets under my skin”.

Negan slows his movements, watching you carefully for a second. The playful energy fades just enough to let sincerity peek through.

“I’m sorry, you’re sorry, can we go back to planning this awful party now?” he asks, surprising even himself by still wanting to help with this damned thing.

Throwing the last ball at him, you manage to catch Negan off guard and hit him square in the shoulder. “One condition, you actually put in some effort” you reveal your single demand.

“No promises but I’ll try. Alright?”.

With a half-hearted laugh, you step away from the ball and approach your opponent.

“Alright” you stick out your hand. Negan looks down at your hand, back up at you and finally, he shakes it.

There’s a moment of quiet, both of you catching your breath as the ridiculousness of the game breaks the tension between you. “I gotta say,” you pant slightly “you’ve got one hell of a throw”.

He laughs, nudging one of the balls to roll back toward the center of the room. “What can I say, I’m good with my hand” that familiar smirk is back, but surprisingly, it doesn’t irk you as much as it did before.

Still, you can’t resist sending a playful glare in his direction. Just to keep him on his toes.

Joey hesitantly steps out from the storage room, glancing around nervously. You watch as he clings to the door, ready to duck and dive at the slightest threat.

“Is it over? Who won?” he asks, his voice cautious.

Negan looks over at him, a grin still on his face. “The school did,” he calls out “considering it’s still got us two fucks planning this party”.

You glance back at Negan, finding his eyes still locked on you, studying you with an intensity that makes something stir in your chest. 

His voice lowers, smooth and almost too casual, as he asks, “If I call you later, will you pick up? To talk about the Christmas party, of course.”

You let a slow smile spread across your face, leaning into the moment. “I might reject your call, just out of instinct,” you tease, feeling the playful tension in the air.

Joey, clearly happy the dodgeball war has finally ended, at least for now, yells over with a grin, “You should definitely pick up!”.

You raise an eyebrow at the advice but there’s a warmth in your smile. “Like you said,” you nudge Negan lightly, the hint of something more lingering in your voice “no promises, but I’ll try”.

And with that, the mood between you both lightens, the game being an unexpected but fitting resolution to all the unspoken things between you.

From the doorway, Negan’s class of teens wait, unsure whether this is something that should be interrupted. 

A mixture of horror and amusement is plastered across their faces. “You owe me ten bucks,” Ron leans over to Carl and whispers “I told you they’re definitely banging”.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Alexandria High’s Teachers Midlife Crisis Support Line keeps you entertained after school. You had a few last minute presents to pick up and get ready for shipping, hoping an influx in gifts back to your parents will ease the blow of you not being home this Christmas. 

It’s a topic you try not to think about, let alone mention it to any friends you have here. And by ‘friends’ you do mean work colleagues , considering you haven’t exactly done a lot of socializing since you moved here. 

Reading the steady flow of messages helped ease the guilt of not travelling home though. And, you were actually given a reason to interact and send in some of your own messages! 

Most of it was you letting the others know more details about the party; what time to be there, dress code, are plus ones allowed.

Bustling up to the door of your apartment, you quickly send a text saying the party will start at 6 as you make your way inside. 

You don’t even have time to shut the door behind you when your phone pings with a private message.

Negan: isn’t 6 too early?

You: I thought it was a little late actually 

Negan: sounds like you’ve been to many parties

Negan: lol

Asshole. Ever since group chat started buzzing with life, Negan has been sharing his running commentary with you.

He still hasn’t sent a text into the group chat but seems to have no problem reading what’s being said and sending his thoughts to you in private messages. 

Kicking off your shoes and turning on the lights to your place, you decide to leave him wait for a response. Right now, your main priority is getting a well nourished dinner… which means microwaved popcorn and watching whatever Christmas movie you can find on Netflix. 

Poking the time into the microwave, you wander from room to room; going into the bedroom and quickly changing into some pyjamas, going to the bathroom to snag a few wipes for your make-up, before heading back to the kitchen, just in time to stop the microwave. 

You: wow I didn’t realize you were aching for another round of balls being thrown at you 

With your Christmas lights on, snacks at the ready and big glass of soda, you settle in for the night when… ping!

Negan: for that, you’re not getting your Christmas present until after the break

You debate throwing your phone onto the other side of the couch and simply ignoring him but he is unfortunately entertaining.

You: your the literal grinch, I know you didn’t get me anything 

It may have taken a while but you can finally feel yourself relaxing when it comes to Negan. Maybe all you both needed was the game of dodgeball to get past all that previous turbulence. 

You’re understanding his sense of humor, how he’ll flirt just for the hell of it and how he’s all bark and no bite. If you don’t fall for his charms and throw yourself at him after his first few attempts, Negan just flirts for fun.

Holding your phone in one hand, you use your remote to navigate through the tv channels with the other, stopping when you get to the Netflix app. With a ping, your attention is back to your other hand.

Negan: are you asking me to roleplay? ;)

First off, ew. Secondly, what the fuck, why does he have to make it weird? Well, maybe that’s the winky face’s fault but either way, you sneer at the message. You keep your response short, sweet and to the point.

You: perv

He responds immediately.

Negan: That’s not a no. I’ll even bring my santa hat

You: you’re right it’s not a no, it’s an absolutely NOT

You: and a Santa hat isn’t grinchy enough 

Getting flooded with notifications, your attention is briefly brought back to the teachers group chat.

Glancing at the top of your screen, you catch fragments of the ongoing conversation. Eugene and Aaron seem to be deep in a back-and-forth, trying to settle what the true definition of "casual attire" really is.

Negan: yes it is, he wore one in the movie

Negan’s private message grabs your attention and you try to ignore what’s happening in the group chat, for now.

You: still not grinchy enough 

You stare at your phone for a few moments but there’s no reply. Oh well. Directing your attention back to the tv, you open Netflix and begin browsing for some stereotypical Christmas romance. 

Across town, Negan picks up his controller again, his eyes locked onto his tv screen as a new team deathmatch begins.

His fingers work swiftly, selecting his loadout with practiced ease. Negan’s character moves forward, entering a tornado of bullets and death. 

He takes down two players in quick succession but before he can reload, some idiot with a rocket launcher blows him to pieces in a fiery explosion. Frustration bubbles up as he watches his character's remains scatter across the screen.

“Fuckin’ ass” Negan mumbles, checking his phone as he respawns. 

Normally, Negan would have his headset on, letting the pent-up frustration of the day spill out as he argues with whatever tween is shrieking down their mic. But tonight he’s opted to go for a quiet evening. 

Instead of unleashing his usual barrage of insults, he mutters them to himself under his breath.

As he fumbles to quickly type a message back to you, a smirk creeps across his face. He knows your reaction will be priceless. The way your eyes narrow and that subtle flush creeps up your cheeks whenever his teasing or flirting goes just a little too far.

You glance down at the message, and for a brief moment, your heart stops. You quickly look away, eyes darting to the search bar on your TV, trying to focus on anything else to steady your racing thoughts.

But after a deep breath, you force your gaze back to the screen, almost afraid to read it again. 

The words are unchanged, still sitting there, but your mind can't seem to process them. It's the same message, and yet, you find yourself unable to believe it.

Negan: What if I bring my green fursuit? Is that good enough?

Weird message, sure, but that’s not the shocking part. Swiping open the message, it doesn’t bring you to your private conversation with Negan.

No, instead you’re taken to Alexandria High’s Teachers Midlife Crisis Support Line, where Negan’s message is there as clear as day. 

Oh my god.

You can’t control your reaction, immediately going out of the group chat and to your contact info on Negan. Without a second thought, you hit call.

It rings once, twice and on the third ring, he answers. It’s like you have no autonomy anymore, simply letting your body work without any consultation with your brain. 

Negan is in the midst of trying to figure out of to delete a messages when your call comes through. When he answers, your name alongside his note of (good ass, weird at flirting) which he will have to change later to (good ass, great throw) lights up as you laugh down the phone to him.

“Oh my fucking god!” you basically squeal “how the fuck did you do that? Oh my g-”.

You can’t finish your sentence before your own laughter cuts you off again.

He stays uncharacteristically quiet but that doesn’t hinder you. With your other hand, you have to drop the tv remote to clutch your stomach, a pain beginning to linger from the laughter. 

“Now that, that has made my Christmas” you try to quieten your laughter and on the other end, you finally hear a chuckle.

“I mean, a green fursuit? Where the fuck did you come up with that?” you have to wipe a tear away.

“That’s the shit Jim Carrey had to wear,” his voice seems a little tight but he’s still chuckling “fuck’s sake, that’s it, I’m switching schools”.

Your laughter simmers down to a giggle “Quick, just delete the message before anyone else sees it!”.

“But how the fuck do I do that?” he blusters, a strange mix of self-assertiveness and panic coating his voice. 

You know you should stop laughing by now but everytime you can feel yourself gain some control over your laughter, you think of the situation at hand and lose it again.

“Just… just hold down on the message and… and wait until the different tabs pop up a-and then… you just have to tap delete” you struggle to get the words out, holding your nose in one hand to stop yourself from snorting.

Now that’s something you know Negan would pick up on, immediately directing all attention to that instead of his hilarious blunder.

“Fine, I’ll try that” he says gruffly before hanging up. You continue to laugh the second he’s gone, flopping onto your side and burying your head into the couch cushions. 

You drop your phone beside you, but only so you can stuff some popcorn into your mouth. Going for the phone again, you swiftly go back to the group chat to find the message has disappeared, and in its place a simple yet ambiguous message from the service provider.

*This user has deleted their message*

Before you can even tap out of the group, the phone starts to ring in your hand. You doesn’t waste any time answering, especially now that your giggles have subsided. 

“It’s gone,” you tell Negan, trying your best to sound serious “now all it says is that you deleted a message”.

“But does it say the fuckin’ message?” he asks, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“I literally just said it doesn’t,” you reiterate “do you listen at all?”.

Negan huffs loudly, muttering something under his breath. “And what was that?” you ask pointedly, wondering why you even answered the phone again. 

His huff turns into something of a chuckle “My ears must be fuckin’ deceiving me cause it just sounded like you used your teacher voice on me”.

“And what if I did?” you challenge.

He chuckles again, before letting out a teasing scoff “How the hell am I the one getting scolded? Shouldn’t you be tryin’ to comfort me for that shit? I mean, I’m fuckin’ traumatised over here”.

“You’re not the only one traumatised, did it say who saw the message?” You pop some more popcorn into your mouth.

“How the fuck would I know that?” Negan asks, leaving the lobby he’s in and going back to the game’s home screen.

“Damn, your age is really showing now,” you mumble but make sure to say it loud enough for him to hear “you swipe the message and it shows you who’s read it and who hasn’t yet… but you can’t do it now since you deleted it”. 

You may or may not have gone up an octave when you said that last part just to tease him.

“Well, that’s dumb. What’s the point in knowing how to do that when I can’t do it now?”.

“Because I thought you’d have the initiative to check before you deleted it,” you goad “jeez, how old are you? You really know fuck all about technology”. 

Negan retorts an equally goading reply, causing you both to quickly fall into their routine of bickering back and forth. “How old am I? I think that only matters if you have a thing for older men” he quips back.

“Only for older men in green fursuits” you tease.

“That can be arranged”.

Staring at the search bar, your perfect romantic Christmas movie so close yet so far away, your attention drifts away from the TV as you prop your feet up comfortably.

The next half hour slips by effortlessly. The conversation flows easily, a mix of casual banter and more personal exchanges, the kind of talk that somehow feels natural between you two. Time seems to slow as you get lost in the rhythm of the conversation, the world outside fading away for just a little while.

Negan raises an eyebrow, balancing his phone between his shoulder and neck.

“And should I even bring up the staff party?” he asks with a grin. Another round of gunshots echo in the background but this time, you don’t question it. Negan’s already had to fill you in on his unconventional form of therapy; video games.

“Ugh,” you sigh “I think the decorations are mostly done. I grabbed a few more things while I was out earlier… but honestly, the worst part is going to be setting it all up on the day. Other than that…”.

You think of the list in your notebook. “We still have food and drink to figure out” you recall “we gotta sort out music too but I was hoping we could just use the speakers in the sports hall? Just plug in a phone and turn on someone’s Christmas playlist“.

You hold your breath, bracing for the inevitable disagreement. You can already imagine the gruffness in his voice, the hard veto against it as Negan huffs and puffs “My speakers in my hall?! Never! I ain’t letting their dirty hands anywhere near my sound system!”.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Negan replies, to your surprise.

“Really?” You pause, wondering if this qualifies as a Christmas miracle.

“Uh-huh,” he continues, another round of gunfire crackling through the phone. “The other Coach Smith owns the speakers, so we get full reign of them. Besides, it’s the least he can do while he’s off spending the holidays in Jamaica”.

That makes more sense. 

“So that just leaves food and drink” you smile, feeling a little more hopeful about the party.

Negan lets out a long sigh as the match ends. Getting up, he holds his phone properly as he wanders to the kitchen for a beer.

“Buying the booze will be fine,” he dismisses “we just gotta go clear the shelves of a liquor store, pick up a bit of everything”.

You nod along. “Yeah, the booze will be the easier of the two… but the food, on the other hand…” You trail off, sucking in air through your teeth.

“Can’t we get the home ec teachers to do it?” he suggests casually “Carol’s fine. She’ll be a hardass about it, but she’ll probably do it”.

“I think I’ve run out of favors with Carol,” you admit “she was the one who picked me up from Target after you pulled that whole disappearing act”.

Negan pulls a face despite you not being able to see. “So just cold finger food snacks, then?” he suggests.

“Yeah, that works,” you agree reluctantly, then suddenly remember “Actually! Speaking of food… did you hear about Gregory eating a student’s pancakes?”.

Negan lets out an amused chuckle, taking another sip of his beer. “Jesus Christ, you really are a gossip” he shakes his head, the action more affectionate than he’d like to admit.

You laugh “Oh, shush, you love it”.

By the time you’ve filled Negan in on the school gossip and finally hang up, you’ve finished your popcorn, something Negan quickly caught onto, feigning offense that you were snacking during the call. 

After exchanging a dozen “goodbyes”, you finally hang up, letting out a long breath. 

You glance at the search bar on your TV, offering it a sympathetic look before you turn the screen off, resigning yourself to the fact that it’s time for bed.

Negan finishes his beer, the empty bottle clinking against the counter as his gaming system automatically switches to standby mode. He stretches, then heads towards his bedroom. 

As he pushes open his bedroom door, he chuckles to himself, imagining how chaotic things would’ve been if you were actually here with him and not just a voice down the phone— discussing party plans, laughing over gossip, probably snacking in the middle of it all. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and for a brief second, there’s something deeper in his eyes. But it’s something he doesn’t let himself dwell on. 

The thought of you here, next to him, fills him with a longing he can’t shake and yet he yearns to bury deep deep down. He sighs softly, the quiet of the room settling around him as he pushes the thought away and drifts off to sleep.

[canvyy]

gay stuff..........

[gu6chan]

man........ i start thinking about my black butler days and a new rp blog of this one comes calling back to me like the devil

[94erz]

Taehyun's new web show is really cute. It definitely has the intention of appealing to their younger fanbase, but it's got elements for adults if you just like learning about stuff, just with the flare of a pretty k-pop boy.

1st episode was only 15 minutes and I'm just going to assume that'll be the same across future episodes. We also have no idea how many episodes were filmed, but I hope for at least the same amount as other shows featuring idols, so about 9-10.

Best/funniest part was when the girls were telling him their ult group was Seventeen but that they liked TXT but all of their bias was Soobin, like damn, really took him down on his own show LOL

[verycoolusername1]

But I'm So Blue

Summary: In which you see Jamie with a woman and you get the wrong idea...

Track 4 of fruitcake - cindy lou who

A/N: Cindy Lou Who breaks my heart every time I listen to it but fear not this has a happy ending!

And my first jamie imagine, so happy he made a full recovery :)

There's another upload for fruitcake later today and for those that have sent in requests, I haven't forgotten about them I swear!!!

You've only been talking to Jamie for a couple of weeks. The two of you never had a chance to meet up due to his conflicting schedule and for you to not live in the US.

Jamie was on holiday break now, so he was able to come to Canada to see his family and finally go out with you.

Your heart raced as you saw his name pop up on your phone, a short text.

Jamie: Just landed :))

You smiled at the text and turned your phone off. Who knew waiting in line at a coffee shop could be so time consuming.

You decided to let Jamie settle in and hang out with his family for the day before you two go out. Being on a plane for hours is bound to make someone extra tired.

You got your coffee and went on to do your errands for the rest of the day, spending your day off not doing the one time you wanted to do: rest.

You laid in bed as the night light up the sky, feeling bored you decided to text Jamie.

You: how has your day been?

Jamie immediately texted you back, you chuckled at the fact before reading the message.

Jamie: it's been good! Always nice to see the fam :)

You smiled softly at Jamie's text, he began to type leaving you wonder what he's gonna say next.

Jamie: wanna go out for coffee tomorrow? I'd love to see you in person.

Your breath hitched at the text, your heart racing as you struggled to come up with a response.

You: I would love to! How does 9am sound?

Jamie: Sounds good!

You smiled softly as you turned your phone off before drifting to sleep, excited for what to come.

You woke up several hours with a huge grin on your face, today was the day and you couldn't help feeling like you won a golden ticket.

You got dressed and was out the door in seconds.

You reached the coffee restaurant and you felt your heart shatter in two, you saw Jamie with someone... a woman. You couldn't see her face as Jamie laughed to whatever she was saying.

Jamie saw you and his eyes light up which definitely did not match the fire burning in yours.

You began to walk off before Jamie ran out of the restaurant after you.

"Wait Y/n, where are you going?" Jamie asked.

"Oh really you don't know what I saw in there?" You turned around and laughed sarcastically.

Jamie looked at you in confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You could have told me you were seeing someone else! I mean really jamie!" You exaggerated.

"Y/N let me explain, it's not what you think." Jamie tried to reassure you.

"Oh really tell me then Jamie, go ahead!" You were fuming.

"That woman... that you saw me with. She's my mom." Jamie explained.

Jamie opens his phone and showed you a photo of the two of them, you immediately relaxed and you grew embarrassed.

"Oh... I-I'm sorry-" "No you don't have to apologize, just a little misunderstanding. You had every right to get mad at me. I'm sorry for not telling you about my mom."

You nodded slowly. "Right."

Jamie smiled softly as he held your arms. "So we're good?"

You smiled. "Yeah, yeah, we're good."

Jamie pulled you in a hug. "God, you look even better in person."

You laugh softly in his embrace. "Can we go on that date now?"

Jamie grins. "Yeah, yeah, we can."

[squishymamasboy]

Yeah honestly I only love it bc of the closure I got for my post trespasser-trauma. certain characters or scenes/plots were well written to me but they delivered none of what they promised (only the combat system was always fun to me and it's not a hill for me to die on).

Aside from all the white washed lore 🫡 it's just fine

Looking back at the interviews and articles leading up to release, the devs talking about how "plenty of players might not even remember Inquisition’s story", how this is the "first Dragon Age game where the combat's actually fun", how the companions this time around "feel fleshed out", "they’re complicated, they have complicated problems, and that’s what’s interesting" - all that was a red flag to me rather than sth to make me excited

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPxDC prompt: Danny is Chronos' first child.

Well, not his first child biologically, to be completely honest.

It just so happened that the Phantom very often helped/helps/will help Clockwork at different times and his presence next to the titan required an explanation.

And the opportunity to call Zeus a little brother is worth a lot, right? So when the Ancient came up with this idea Phantom did not resist just to have such a pleasant bonus from their cooperation.

However, in the time of the gods and heroes, such a solution was not a problem. But in modern times, when Phantom tries to attract as little attention as possible in order to graduate from university, such relatives are more likely to cause a lot of problems.

~~~~~

Wonder Woman: Uncle Danny?

Superman, who wanted to chase away a teenager serenely strolling through still smoking battlefield, turns to Wonder Woman, who is waving affably at excactly this guy.

Well, Fenton honestly happened to be in Fawcett City by accident, and it just so happened that by chance it was on this sunny and cloudless day that the villains decided to cause riots worthy of the attention of the founders of the Justice League.

Danny: Diana! My dear, it seems like we really haven't seen each other not for a long time! In what century was it? Ah, I honestly, I barely remember it... The speed at which children grow up defies the laws of time. I mean, look at you! Your mother must be so proud. How's Dad? Still not paying child support, arrogant bastard?

Wonder Woman: Oh, uncle, please. I'm all grown up now, don't worry about me.

Danny: Hm, well, let's get back to this question later. I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your friends. Anyway, would you like to introduce them, little princess?

Wonder Woman: Of course, meet Kal El, Batman, and Shazam. The rest of the guys have already returned to our base. Would you like to...

Danny: Ooh, you're talking about, um... What do you young people call it? The Justice League, right? During my youth, the heroes rarely united and mostly performed all the feats alone. It's good that you help each other, kids.

Danny flies up a little to pat Superman and Batman on the head.

Under the Diana's gaze full of hope that they will get along with her uncle, the men do not move.

In the background:

Red Hood and Robin who used to hang out with Danny near the Lazarus pits: *sounds of seagulls dying of laughter*

~~~~~

Flash: So you're Diana's uncle?

Danny: Yes, call me Danny.

Flash: Cool, cool...

Danny: What does the temperature have to do with it? Do you need ice? Let me make some for you.

Flash: No, it's like,um, I didn't know that Zeus has a younger brother with that name. So, it's good to know?

Danny: Hmm, thanks. Many people tell me that I look quite young, hah. But actually I'm his older brother, so...

Flash: Older? Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to disrespect.

Danny: No, it's all right. It's "cool". I rarely appear on the pages of your human myths and legends, I know it. After all this business about Chronos devours his own children, my father punished me for a long time. So, yeah...It's a funny story.

Flash: Punished for what? How?

Danny: Uh, sitting in a room at a time when there is no Internet or electricity is not fun at all. You see, I just didn't want a younger brother or sister because I was afraid that my parents would pay less attention to me. So, I made up this stupid prophecy and persuaded Gaea to tell it in order to remain the only child in the family. My father would never have thought that I would decide to kill him, that's why...Phah, it's just a bad family story. In 10 thousand years, we'll all laugh about it.

Flash: Yeah, that's... funny.

~~~~

Danny *is woken up by an emergency call from the League at three in the morning, although he fell asleep at two o'clock* (he gave his contact so as not to upset his niece): I knew this would happen! I knew it!

~~~~

Billy Batson *stands in his human form in front of the Justice League and doesn't know what to say*,*sweating nervous*.

Danny *enters the hall*: What's up, mortals, Diana and...Batman? My father said that there is something that I have to be here for. Oh! Well, at least someone in this family is also a shapeshifter. Have you decided to make a younger form so that your uncle doesn't feel lonely? What a good boy! Usually everyone is so afraid to seem like children, once they turn a couple of centuries old. Ah, youth~

Billy: Yeah, I decided to..experiment? and it seems I got stuck by accident.

Danny: It's okay, Uncle Danny will help you. Come on, let's go...

~~~~

Danny *teleports them to the Fawcett City*.

Billy: ....

Danny:

Billy: Hey, I'm still stuck!

A new portal opens and a man in a purple cape hands Billy a note. "Go to Constantine. P.S., my son always completes all assignments only by half, sorry." written on it.

Billy: Oh... OoOhHh!!!

~~~~

Meanwhile, Constantine, who is forced to do additional work: Son of a bi... beloved and respected Master of Time.

Danny: Yeap, that's me.

Constantine: Damn it. Couldn't you just let Batman adopt him like in other timelines?

Danny: And where's the fun in that?

[lalunanymph]

PAYBACK

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ when it comes to putting you back in your place, no one does it better than sylus

⋆｡°✩ tags: sylus x fem!reader, established relationship, d/ry humping, t/easing, s/ucking him off through his sweats, m/istress kink, whiny!sylus, r/estraints, b/dsm, o/rgasm control, t/ease and denial, dom!reader (for like, a little while) -> sub!reader, p/leasure dom!sylus, noncon (reader ties sylus up first), o/ral sex, petnames (baby, kitten, little dove), s/ir kink, b/egging, r/uined orgasm

⋆｡°✩ dawn says: SYLUS DAY TOMORROW !! may all the sylus wanters be sylus havers 🙏🏼 also tags were glitching on me so i had to change up the warnings format SORRY :')

"Hmm... what's this?"

Sylus blinks the sleep from his eyes to find you straddling his thighs, a smirk in place.

It's not like the Onychinus leader to ever let his guard down, but give the man a break—he's exhausted after trying to escape a raid last night.

And instead of letting him sleep, what does his precious little lover do?

That's right—she's got him all tied up to their bed.

His brows furrow, and he tugs on the knot, frustration growing alongside his respect. The knots were a solid 10/10; he could barely move if given a chance.

"Little one, what is this?" He tries to sound understanding, concerned, even.

You snicker. "What does it look like, Sy?" The pretty manicure you got on his card makes him pause. He barely blinks, taking in the sight of your hands sliding down his bare chest. He thinks the red and black combination suits you very, very well indeed.

Blood-red eyes narrow and his jaw ticks. "I would say you're playing with fire, kitten. Let me go—now."

It's an order—one you don't listen to.

"Say, Sy," you casually drape yourself all over him, enjoying his squirming. "Your neck is very sensitive, isn't it?"

Your finger trails from his jaw right to his jugular, hovering over the strip of skin.

"Shit, no," he cusses, flinching back from your touch. "Don't even think about it—"

Your lips replace your finger, trailing hot kisses down his neck. Sylus swallows down an embarrassing gasp, hands turning to fists above his head.

"Kitten, I'm warning you."

But, you don't listen to him—you never do.

Your mouth moves from his neck down to his chest, circling over his well-built chest. Your hair tickles him, trailing after your mouth that moves from chest to stomach down to his pelvis. So dangerously close to where he can feel you the most.

"Kitten, I'm serious here." His voice is a low growl, shooting a dirty thrill up your spine. "Stop teasing me and let me go."

You hum, moving your teasing little mouth to band of his sweatpants. Sylus' abs constrict the second he sees your naughty tongue lick a strip across his happy trail and he swears Devil horns appear on your head.

You grin, running your hand down the seam of his inner thigh.

"Sy," your tone is innocent, though a lustful demon is controlling you. "You're naked underneath those sweats, right?"

The 28-year-old underground leader is no idiot. He can tell when a kitten is itching to stretch her claws.

"Don't even think about it," he warns. Except, you're already doing it.

You touch the impressive bulge, proof that he was not immune to your teasing.

Oh, if only the Hunters Association could see you now. Sylus aches all over thinking about how he's gone off the deep end and ruined you—Linkon's shiniest Hunter—all for the sake of satisfying his dirty games.

The old you would never have found the guts to tie him up to his own bed and suck on him through his sweatpants. She would never have the nerve to be such a little slut.

But, he's changed you. For better or for worst, he can't decide.

Especially not right now when you straighten and he finally notices you in his black silk shirt, buttons sloppily done like a child did them, the too big collar slipping down to expose your shoulders.

Shit. An unwilling groan slips past his clenched teeth when you straddle his lap again and he sees you have no panties on. Fucking hell... she's out for my blood.

"Y/N," he growls your real name now, dead serious. "No more games. Untie me right this instant—fuck."

You grind down on his still clothed bulge, blinking your eyes innocently.

He growls, shaking his head. "I'm the one who ties you up. Or, have you forgotten, kitten?"

A tinkling laugh reaches his hot ears. "You sound like you're not enjoying yourself when this—" you reach for his dick and squeeze it, ignoring his hiss of pleasure. "—is proof that you are."

Oh. He narrows his eyes, licks his lips. You're going to get it this time.

But, your hand on him feels too good, and Sylus can't deny that a sick, twisted part of him is loving this.

His arms tense, tugging on the rope, his expression a cross between ecstasy and pain.

"If you beg me, I'll suck you off," you promise.

A hollow laugh. "Beg you? Beg. You? Shit, a-ah—no way. I'm not giving in. Not gonna give into you. I'm not—" He chokes on a moan. You're fondling his tip through the scratchy material. "Fuck. Fuck. Okay. Okay. Please?"

His voice goes quiet at the end, and you hum.

"Please, what?"

Sylus bares his teeth. No fucking way were you being dead serious.

You grin, twisting your wrist. "Say it, Sy. Please, Mistress."

His jaw ticks, glare deepening. You think he's going to give in—his surrender right at the tip of your tongue.

Suddenly, he starts to laugh. "Oh, Y/N. Sweet, sweet little kitten. You forgot something. Wanna see it?"

You stare at him in confusion, not sure what he's hinting at.

Sylus' smirk deepens, and he exhales another diabolical chuckle.

"You forgot to loop the tie, you foolish little Hunter."

Before your fast reflexes can kick in, his super fast ones have you pinned to the bed, beating you at your own game. The ropes you restrain him with are now around your wrist and you're tethered in the same spot you once had him in.

Pink dusts his cheeks, and Sylus is breathing hard like he's run a marathon. His frosty locks are a mess, but nothing is as terrifying as the sneer on his face.

It burns through you, leaving you breathless when he presses his face closer; you can physically smell the triumph radiating off him.

"What was it you said just a few minutes ago? Ah." His voice drops to a hush whisper; deep baritone caressing the shell of your ear as his hitched breathing teases you, drawing you deeper into the pit of your mistake.

Rubbing in your face how wrong you are for trying to play the master manipulator himself.

"Call you 'Mistress'? Make me beg? Oh, my little dove." He yanks the knots tighter and you yelp at the bite of pain. Sylus leaves enough room for you to wiggle around and make sure the blood still flows, though there's no other give.

Once again, you're trapped under him.

"I can smell your fear," he mocks, raising a brow. "It's so... addictive."

Returning the favor, Sylus nudges your chin up. "Lift your face up, baby. Lift it."

His mouth touches the nape of your neck, dragging towards your pulse point, your jaw, and back to your collarbones, leaving hot and wet kisses everywhere he can reach. Your sweet sounds are addictive, driving him crazy.

"You kissed me all over my body," he drawls in that seductive accent.

Another wet kiss on your shoulder. Sylus takes his time to unbutton the shirt you stole from him, humming under his breath. You flinch once your chest is exposed, and his smirk deepens.

"No way to escape for you now, kitten."

"Sylus, I'm sorry," you blurt out, but it's too late. He's already decided on your punishment.

"Tch." Clicking his tongue, he stands, looking ravishing in just his low slung, gray sweatpants. "I'll be back, little dove. Wait for me."

You can't see where he's disappeared to, only hearing him come back with more loops of rope.

"What's that?" you squeak.

"Nothing for you to worry," he hums, grabbing your ankle and fastening it with a round of rope, attaching it to the bed post. He does the same with your other ankle, and you're truly spread out for him with no way to escape.

Caught in his web you spun of your own stubbornness and greed.

"Sy—"

He shushes you, bringing a dark material right to your face and you tremble when you realize what it is.

"I told you that you have nothing to worry about, little dove," he murmurs, fingers working deftly to secure the blindfold around your eyes.

Darkness encases you, and you're tied to his bed, spread-eagle and helpless.

The bed dips beside you, and you feel the heat of his body hovering over yours.

"Now, what did you do to me a few moments ago, little dove? Oh, right." He grabs your face, tilting your head back. "You kissed me all over my neck."

His mouth resumes its carnal path across your sensitive skin, your hips bucking whenever a bite of pain from his teeth grazes you.

"My chest."

Sylus mouths at your collarbones, smearing hot kisses down your clavicles, over your breasts, stopping to suck and tease your nipples until you cry out in pleasure.

"Oh, I forgot how sensitive your sweet buds are," he murmurs huskily, pinching your nipples until they swell and throb. "What else did you do, hmm? Oh, yes..."

The marks of heat move down your body, right to your tummy; his kisses loud and lewd.

"Mhm, you kissed me right over my stomach..."

"Sy." Your whimpers draw another evil smirk on his handsome face. He can tell you're crumbling in real time. "Please."

You have no idea what you're begging for. But, Sylus hears you loud and clear.

"Don't worry, little dove. I won't tease you like how you teased me." His voice is magnetic, drawing you deeper into his web with his husky baritone and deep whispers. "Not... like... this..."

As he speaks, he caresses your stomach, loving how it flexes and twitches when he moves his touch right to your inner thighs.

"Do you want me to eat you out, kitten?" Sylus hums, and you fight back a shiver at the possessive undercurrent in his question.

"Yes," you admit, unable to help yourself. Your hips quiver, a moan falling past your mouth when he presses a languid kiss onto your inner thigh. "Yes, please."

"Please, what?" he taunts, drawing circles on your hips with his thumb. "Ask me nicely and I might oblige, little dove."

This is Sylus in his element—on top, domineering and controlling all the ropes. You have no choice but to give into him if you want to feel the barest hint of pleasure that he's holding back from you.

"Sir," you gasp, flinching at the bite of his fingernails digging into your plush thigh. "Please, Sir."

The second the word leaves your mouth, he's all over your drooling cunt.

Sylus eats you out in broad, languid strokes, focusing on your clit; using his tongue to play with it, bathing it with tender mouthfuls of praises and degradation all in one.

You wanna come, baby? Wanna mess up my face?

In another breath, he pushes a finger past your quivering pussy, curving it upward to hook on your softest spot. Your hips drive forward, a yelp perforating the heavy air.

No, kitten. You can't come. You can't—oh, fuck.

Sylus drinks in your taste, spreading your shaking thighs further apart. His broad palms trickle up your chest, cupping your heaving breasts and playing with your stiff nipples. He pinches them just as his tongue slips inside your tender heat, nose rubbing against your clit.

Tears stain the blindfold, your mouth hanging wide open in ecstasy. Sylus wishes he could paint a picture of you looking this wanton and needy.

You can't come, baby, he murmurs in between your folds. I won't let you. You've been such a bad girl. I'm gonna edge you until you can't think. Ah-ah. No cumming. No, no. He grounds you back down onto the mattress with those large palms, stopping you from grinding on his face.

I'm gonna ruin every orgasm you have—don't think I don't know when you're coming, baby. I know you. I can taste you. I know when you're close.

Your body is taut as a bow, teeth gritted and nails digging crescent indents into your palms.

Every time you climb towards the point of no return, Sylus drags you back down; backing away from your pussy, leaving you squirming and desperately writhing on the bed for minutes on end until your orgasm fades away—only to restart the entire process again from square one.

"Now you feel my pain, little dove?" He wipes your tears away, humming lowly. "It's not nice to tease people, isn't it?"

Point taken. You mumble his name, and twist your head as if trying to search for him. "Sylus, please. I wanna come."

Oh? This delights him. You're finally breaking down. You want to come, little one? Then, beg.

Your hips clip all needy against his, and your mouth puckers into a frown.

"Sy—"

He grabs your chin, holding you fast as his lips barely touch yours. Beg me.

Please. You lick your lips, tasting nothing but him. Please, Sy. Please, please. Make me cum.

He's back between your thighs, a fiend for your pussy. Sucking, licking, moaning and breathing deeply—it's erotic and obscene, salacious sounds bouncing across the walls. Your head is spinning, the entire room tunneling into one singular sensation of his tongue deep in your cunt.

Those slender, calloused fingers are back on your nipples, bringing you to the brink of insanity. You've bitten your lips hard enough to draw blood; your hips buck, and you're begging for him to give you a reprieve without a second thought.

Please, Sir. Please. Please make me come. I can't—I need it. I need you.

Yeah? A ghost of his chuckle caresses through your folds and you think he's going to relent.

Going to give you what you want, so you try again.

"Please?" You're so close it almost hurts. Your thighs are cramping, arms straining, back about to break with how tautly you're struggling in his restraints. "Please? Please, Sy. Please."

"Mhm," he murmurs, and you think he's going to give in. Finally going to let you climax after stringing you along for what feels like hours.

"No."

He kisses your clit as tears of frustration trickle down your face.

Sylus was never going to give you what you wanted—not when he already has you in the palm of his hand.

— scenario inspired by one of my fave y2f audios <3 feedback and reblogs are appreciated <333

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, or translate across other sites. do not copy my sentence structures, plot or characterization.