#*hurls desk across the room*

[averywiseanimatedcat]

Why am I cursed with word count limits.

[kooyabooya]

SUITS, (STOCKINGS), & TIES

m reader x minju // 9k words

For the record, there aren’t any fingerprints seen underwater. Nothing to tie one to a crime. The trial itself is already a rapid current, pulling you and everyone around the bullpen into the endless sea of papers, payment record documents, video recording transcripts, then more fucking papers, and you absolutely hate it.

Files boxed in dating back to even before taking the damn job, the amount of trips to and from the copying machine, getting the materials right. Avoiding any fuck ups; that too, was always the end goal - staring at the blue folder sitting on your desk until–

Your fucking intercom’s ringing again. 

It’s always a trip, that’s how it usually flows around here: a turn to the left, round the front desk of the floor, hook right down the insanely long walkway, glass windows giving you this nice view of the city skyline. Pretty, at around one in the morning of another late night of work stacked upon your desk. 

Easy enough to also: take a moment to admire the view, since it’s the kind of view that you’d never get over no matter how many times you look at it. You sigh at the playback in your head, something that Chaeyeon talked to you about while hiding away from the pressures of work in her own office, bumping coffee mugs and wishing that the building had sliding windows to let the high breeze through. 

They would never allow that. You tell her, keeping the vibe lighthearted with a laugh. I mean seriously, even if we did, it’s all fun and games until someone in one of the conference rooms below us sees a body hurling down towards the ground at a hundred miles per hour. Chaeyeon complains that the air conditioning doesn’t even reach her office sometimes, and tells you that she’s jealous, wanting to switch places with you since the sun hits her back during the work hours. 

Sweeping past her office, since she’s gone for the day, the carpet gets pressed down by your loafers, tilting your head to see that the office at the very end of the walkway has the lights on, and you do notice the gap where the door should be; meaning that it’s open or someone stepped inside. 

This was the end point of this overbearing yet brief journey. The office that was considered to be base camp, the command center, the brains, one would say. One of the firm’s most well known figures with how she leans back into her chair with a leg across the other, showing that she means business, and knows how to look good while doing it. 

Prior, you loop around the pane entering the room- 

“You’re saying that I should sit back and do nothing?” Minju asks, finger tapping the peak of her nose, clearly pressed. 

“I’m not telling you to,” the woman standing across her with a left hand fastened to the hip with a lean to her right side, “We’re backed into a corner and all I’m saying is that we have to draw back and take this at a new angle.” 

“But you said that last time! And look where it’s got us.” Minju shoots back, both feet on the floor now, drawing herself closer to make a point. You’re trying to not make your presence known, seeing where this exchange is headed, fighting the urge to not butt in and make a fool of yourself. “Cutting a deal with the very same person that is trying to come back and rip everything from us was all part of your plan?” 

“Minju, I know you’re angry but–” 

Minju slaps her hand down on the desk, “We’ve got them right where we wanted, pulled all the stops, and now you want to just back off?” 

“I’m not backing off, I’ve managed to buy us more time.” the woman says, pressing on the rim of her glasses, sighing when Minju doesn’t even bother to look back at her in the eye, flipping through a packet with a pen in her hand to check and see if there was anything that was usable to help the situation. You’ve seen the packet on her desk earlier that way, ran that by Hyewon, her secretary, and now she’s finally looking at it. 

“Two days. That’s all I got until we fall back with the judge.” she says to Minju, “Unless you have something for me on my desk later today, I’m officially and unofficially grounding you.” 

“Dahyun-” 

“Zip it.” Dahyun says, mimicking a pulling motion with her right hand to her lip, “You’re already stretched thin as it is, this case is already taking a toll on all of us and this would be the last thing I need on my mind.” 

A tap to the glass on the entryway, “Is this a bad time?” 

The two women look at you in suspicion, both of them not even realizing that the door was open the entire time, listening to the conversation, “How long have you been standing there?” Dahyun asks, pointing at you while you’re leaned against the glass, foot pointed to the floor all relaxed and everything. 

“I’ve been here long enough, but a little over five minutes.” you answer, blue folder in hand. “Didn’t want to interrupt the usual bickering on a casual Thursday evening.” you also add, stepping inside Minju’s office where it opens up.  

The great Kim Minju, one of the firm’s best lawyers, and Dahyun’s right hand woman, one of the key people sitting at the high table; also your handler of these different cases and adventures that she usually sends you to do or help her with. Her office was classy, a row shelves off to the right side filled with an assortment of vinyls and picture frames of the people that she holds most dear to her heart. A record player was next to this trolley that had a kettle and a bowl of candies (though she doesn’t like to admit that she’s got a sweet tooth); there’s also her violet couch in velvet that you’ve also passed out on multiple times, drunk on the sweet scent that you still have to figure out which one she uses for that. 

“This is the last file for the case I managed to scrounge and put together.” you tell Minju, sliding it over across while her inky eyes dart at you, prompting a questioning eyebrow out of both of you while Dahyun’s gaze falls on top. “Everything in terms of deals within the last year from our target man should be all in there. Though, we had a minor hiccup earlier this week with–” 

“Don’t remind me,” Minju vexes, “That was my screwup with the family and now I’m paying for it.” 

“After I told you not to jump the gun.” Dahyun jumps in, hand on the corner of the granite. She sounds annoyed; after all, she was technically the ‘fall guy’ in all of this with her hiccup also in mishandling the exchanged information, not her fuck up though, since she was set up from the beginning after a hidden clause she signed a long time ago. She also swoops in to grab the file, opening it to skim through the papers, slightly nodding at what she could read for a few seconds. “Impressive,” Dahyun nods, “this is good leverage.” 

“Thank you,” you say, smirking while Dahyun hands you back the file for Minju to look at, pulling it out of your fingers to flip through. “Had some help from Hyewon, but didn’t want to take all of the credit.” 

“Well I appreciate you both.” Dahyun adds, “I had my doubts when I got the call to come back and see what all the fuss was about. Now, I can breathe a little more easily knowing that we have this in the bag, I hope.” 

“I’m still here, you know.” Minju huffs, rolling her eyes.

“Hush,” Dahyun scrunches funnily, taps your shoulder, causing you to shrug nonchalantly, “Thank you for hanging back to help me take care of this while I’ve been dealing with my moving situation. God, it's been a back breaker for me.” 

“How’d that go?” 

“We finally settled in, I had a small housewarming party about a few weeks ago or so, but I’ve been keeping in touch with–” 

“You said that your friend Sana was living in the area too, right? From college?” Minju suddenly asks, pen flat on the paper and fully invested in the life update. Dahyun nods to this while you’re pursing your lips at the news. You’re not one to lend an ear to these things, but you just can’t help yourself when they’re being talked about in the open. Talk about separating privacy and professionalism. 

“Yeah, it’s been good to see her, if it wasn’t for this fucking cas–” 

“Dahyun, it’s fine. We got it.” you tell her, slowly nodding to ease the stress, “You’re already doing so much by coming back from leave to deal this along with us. It shows that you do care about this firm and the reputation that it has.” 

“Look at you being a kiss ass.” Minju deadpans. You pay no attention to that. 

“And not taking this ordeal would've put the firm into crisis mode having the last thing I’d want to happen.” Dahyun scoffs, “Besides, the value is way more than that once all of this is over.” She starts to make her way out of Minju’s office, turning around to face both of you with eye contact, “I assume that you two will close up shop when you’re done?” 

“Don’t even need to remind us.” you tell her, Minju looks up with a soft smile across her face, lightly waving at Dahyun before she gives you two a quick goodbye, leaving shortly after. “She seemed a little more dismissive than usual, like she wanted to give us alone time don’t you think?” 

“I can’t stand her nosy ass sometimes, trying to veer the way how I want to do things.” 

“Ouch.” 

“I’m serious,” Minju shoots back, flipping through the packet, not giving an ounce of care through all of the blacked lines or different clauses in the suggested proposal that would settle this whole case. “I love Dahyun - I mean - she has the spare set of keys to my damn apartment since she moved away, that’s how much she means to me.” 

“Didn’t think you’d be sappy over your boss, especially after the shit show that we’d–” 

“One more word out of your smart mouth and I’ll stop looking through your documents to stall time.” 

“You already signed it, though.” you say, pouting with a frown, “Which also means that this should all officially end by tomorrow.” 

Minju sweeps through the row of open and unopened files spread across her desk, eyes canvassing between the texts and dried ink of signatures, vying for some sort of leverage that would go against Dahyun’s wishes. It’s natural for her to be extremely nitpicky - highlighted with a small curtain of hair falling in front of her forehead, pulling the side of her index finger back while her pretty eyelashes flutter about. She’s refined and very sophisticated, the kind that makes you stop in your tracks one day when she waltzes in the office on her own time, and not that she’s thirty minutes late in the morning. 

Throw the law degree away bucko, maybe that avenue of studying art and architecture would’ve been the better option considering how much you’ve been staring for the past five minutes. 

To fill in, here’s the brief rundown of the position. 

A lot of people would’ve killed to be Minju’s associate. I mean, the woman seeps in ‘getting what she wants’. You could consider yourself lucky, but Minju already had eyes on you from the first second you stepped into her office for the interview. The interview itself wasn’t all that glamorous: renting one of your best friend’s designer suits that would’ve been more usable for a fucking award show spritzed with a cologne that was way out of your league in terms of scent let alone price, a typo on the fucking resume that she looks with an eyebrow for an explanation, and a lasting impression that whatever happens would deem only to be the best going forward. 

Minju wanted someone who excelled both in book and street smarts, be able to get a grasp on the situation faster within the first few seconds of receiving the case or news, and most importantly, to steer Minju’s level of thinking where even the most irrational decisions would be reasonable. 

You hit all the marks, and qualified to be associate. End of story. 

“Everything that we all have here is solid substantial evidence,” Minju cuts in with a paper flipped back to the top of the page, pen flat on her fingers as if she’s fed up with playing reviewing proctor, “Nothing would change with what we already have on the case.” 

“But the conclusion would be different,” you reply, sitting opposite to her, respectfully doing nothing but twiddling a pen between your fingers, considering that you were pretty much done with your bout in the file room earlier today, finding the last bits of documents from the archives that would help into comprising the settlement. “After all, it’ll be you and Dahyun in that conference room tomorrow closing the deal. I’m just passing papers.” 

“I suppose that you’re afraid of taking credit where it counts. Because why put in much effort for this case especially when someone else could’ve handled it when I asked?” 

“Dahyun insisted on coming back to oversee this. Had it been anyone else, the firm would’ve been up in flames if it wasn’t for her quick thinking pulling up the memos and signing payments from all those years ago.” 

Minju closes your blue folder, sliding it off to the side, flipping open her laptop without a flinch before typing away. “You know,” she starts, giving you this quick gaze that has you nicking your head a few millimeters, catching the pen in between your fingers to highlight that she has your attention, “I could’ve done this myself with Hyewon’s help, give you at least some days off after working you down the bone.”

“Now why would you do that?” you ask, four fingertips on the back of Minju’s laptop, closing it slowly while you’re rounding the fine corner of her obsidian desk, thumb wrapping underneath when her chair meets square with your hips. “That’s not very work-efficient for you to do that to me now, is it?” 

“You want to lecture me on how I should make you operate?” 

“She knows about us…by the way.” you tell Minju straightforward, smirking when you see that high arch of her brow, grimacing at the faulty accusation that she already knows by way of presentation. Doesn’t take long also for the different neurons firing in her brain that’s filled to the brim by the way of the law - only for that to be completely flattened out in one of those lobes replaced with various details of what you’re talking about.

“What are you talking about?” Minju asks, tilting her head upward that makes the sight of the high ground utterly so familiar. 

“Dahyun can easily tell that we have something going on,” you remind her, “She can easily read the both of us like a children’s book and–” 

“Bullshit,” her face crinkling with a tone more deaf the the simple drone of a dead phone line, “You know damn well that there’s nothing happening between us, so stop with the conviction.”  

“I’m not saying that you’re being convicted of my point,” you start, pushing her chair away to leave you space when you’re leaning over, seeing her back hit the cushion of the chair where she wiggles more comfortably with both hands on the armrests, “if anything, you’re just simply denying that there was ever really a thing between you and I.” 

“And that should be the end of that, no?” Minju coos, tipping her head a little bit higher, “Can you concur that there is nothing happening between us, especially in the workplace?” 

Minju is a professional, on par with the same archetypes like Dahyun. She’s witty, calculated, knows a lot more things from her experience compared to you, and blowhards herself way too much for anyone’s own liking. Every argument with her always starts with her leading the charge, to make you feel smaller right off the bat so that you’d have no way to counter unless your point seems fit to her points of focus. 

Okay, it may not be every verbal exchange with her on a day to day basis, considering that it’s also filled with witty banter and small inside jokes that could totally fall within the implications of the term ‘flirting’, but nothing ever really escalated from that. 

You also stuck your ears in between conversations during various corporate events and coworker mixers. Hell, even the pool of associates away from the main quarters of partners and senior partners all gave you the necessary praise for the chemistry that you’ve developed with Minju. Some days she wants to have your head on a platter, other days the talks were good, and you two managed to get things done around the office. 

Except for one day, and the details are still a bit murky for you to put up in recording: another workday in the office, maybe a little slow for Wednesday transition from morning to an afternoon -  but a free flowing circulation of phone calls, fax reports, conference appointments with clients, and a running order of Hyewon’s go-to latte from the coffee shop on the first floor. 

Bouncing back and forth between Dahyun’s office and Yuri’s, you make a quick detour towards Minju’s office who happened to slot herself on the left side of you while matching your walking pace. Expecting a quick quip from her like any other morning, you were waiting for it, but she hits you with the ‘file room, now.’ order that has you in-tow right behind her on the way there. 

Though your mind was already in overtime mode with the workload that was dropped to your desk roughly about two hours since arriving, it had already been nonstop and maybe Minju’s time could be quick if it was related to saving the firm from being purged by pulling some old papers in the filing room. Somewhere along those lines, your mind gets blanked out from the cramped space of the metal shelves, those dusty boxes, compounded by dim lighting in the room already. 

What you do remember: 

The small little gasps and hums when you’re sucking along the line of Minju’s neck, gripping the fistfuls of her dress and sliding your hand along her thighs. 

(So much for keeping it professional with the woman who’s also technically your primary boss.)

“How do you want to go about this?” you ask, “Do you want me to persuade you into telling Dahyun that we need a little more time?” 

Minju hums, pensively, as the question itself is rather a tempting decision that’s also actionable at best. You could see the small lump from the inside of her cheek before she shifts it across her upper lip to the other side, twisting her chair forward to place both elbows on the desk with fingers intertwined like she’s praying for the Lord’s insight from above. “We’ve been on the nose with this thing for too long now, I think it’s about time to cut our losses before things get ugly.” 

You don’t say anything, leaning yourself onto the obsidian while your arms bridge themselves together, flexing the wool in the threads when she makes eye contact with you, flicking her eyes back onto the paper where there’s a few blank lines that still need to be written in ink. 

With a simple lift of her signature ballpoint pen by you, she takes it, twirling it around like you were doing a few minutes ago to imply that your point finally got through to her, fingers grazing along the fine paper to fill in the gaps. 

But the vantage point where your ass is pressed against the edge is proving to be some sense of uncomfortability, so you change course, from left to right, vacant chair adjacent to the desk in your hands in a fraction of a second, scooching closely while Minju scoffs at the prying during the task, “Didn’t think it’d be that easy for you to be cooperative with the demands.” 

“Stop,” and Minju sings this with the better facade of her naivete, “Unlike you, I’m willing to actually listen to what's being asked from the first try, and not have it repeated to me through different remarks.”  

You get too close, too soon, when the ends of her hair brushes against the front corner of your lips and cheek, she could hear the air close at the bottom of your throat when the tip of your nose barely grazes her cheekbone. A moment like this occurred before, you could say it’s in the sense of deja vu: Minju invites you out for some quality time between partner and associate, a few drinks were on the table, and Minju challenges you to a simple game of pool. 

Sounds pretty mangable and straightforward, right? 

Wrong. 

You get shafted by Minju the first game, pull yourself back the next round. There’s this back and forth like usual banter between colleagues, dishing out trash talk for some good ol’ competition. The count of drinks gets lost along with the perception of time, and this happens on impulse when you’re backed into a corner with the eight ball being the last one for Minju while you’re behind on three solids. She rambled about you being always two steps behind and you can’t blame or deny the fact that she’s also way out of your league, so what do you do? Take the pleasantries of hums to your advantage, molding your hips along with hers, calloused hands lightly clinging onto the denim while your chin nestles into her collarbone, saying carelessly with intent of taunting, don’t you think you should call the last shot if you do make it? 

Minju nips her lip triumphantly, turning her head, catching on with what you’re incessantly doing, whispering her call: left corner pocket. The attention to the black ball slips out of your mind when she presses your lips onto your cheek, a fatal blow while the space opens up between you again, tipping her head back also lets you know that you lost the best of three series, which also meant that the loser has to pay the bill. 

(You pay your dues, but also add the pay up by making your own call: pocketing yourself into Minju’s cunt on her bed later that would only serve all the wiser.) 

A flashback in your mind that took minutes, only to be reeled into the real world by merely seconds, “You missed one more claus–” 

That gap could be filled after, because this deal on the agenda was more important to deal with. 

Minju grabs you by the tie, leveling your head with hers. Your hands are quick to smooth out her skirt from behind, letting the various files and dossiers rest across the desk or on the floor, depending where her hands land for a proper hold. Some lights stay on long after hours, to serve as a subtle ambience that no matter what time it may be, someone’s still hard at work on a case, or waiting for their personal driver on the ground floor. Though, some other cases include a well-spoken conversation, or even just chatting between colleagues - this chat about work with Minju however, was anything but that. 

Right off the bat, you’re reminded of how Minju is so easy to break down, despite her having a front that has every possible contingency of shutting herself away from others because she’s not that kind of character to be soft and open, until where your fingers are dancing alongside the slope of her bottoms at the hips, thumb rounding the hard end with a slow pull of her chair to reel closer until you’re at the edge of your seat. 

The move itself is so subtle, setting her on the desk in a similar position that you were in while she was signing through the documents with her ass pressed against the desk, scooching back while dancing with her tongue, lips parted with her head tilted. You’ve also managed to get your hands underneath Minju’s perfect thighs, lifting her up to the tabletop, spreading her long limbs much like to that excerpt of Moses parting the Red Sea, dipping your hand underneath to get a feel of her lace. 

Minju’s breaths become slightly erratic, nearly short-circuiting the more your fingertips dance along the line of her skirt; inner thighs pressing along the side of your hips while you cater your mouth and fingers in her hair, her neck, the growing heat rising in the skin when she whimpers through your teeth given how cold it was in the room. How your fingertips graze along the slightly damp fabric with one- maybe two tips, you chuckle softly at how she’s very responsive to the touch, the small clutch around your neck and back from her arms to serve as a safeguard. 

This is something that you’ll probably take to the District Attorney, let alone have Dahyun in the loop, in the specific case where you find yourself with no other option, a last resort to drown her into the ground: 

“Let me ask you this again,” you prompt with another received kiss to the growing swell of your bottom lip, “Are you sure that there’s nothing happening between us? Especially in the workplace?” 

Minju gasps out before you shut her up with your lips, channeling the moan when you increase the intensity of swirling around her clit, putting her hips out forward to sate that ache for at least something, anything. 

“You’re certain that you can say with full confidence that you have no kind of interest in me, whatsoever, admit to me right now that I’m correct.” 

You could tell from the look on her face and the moan she lets out, vocal cords open and freely flowing with the heavy tone while crumbling at the touch, all hot and wet and losing most of the plot at this point before even getting to the real business. It’s really wicked, how this woman as your boss flaunts around the floor, knowing that she won’t let anything get in her way for getting the case done, doing whatever it takes to see it through to the end and even if the methods aren’t within the boundaries. 

Like you could handle the boundaries yourself, playing nice isn’t always the way to go. 

While your hand hikes up the smooth skin of her thigh, feeling an unfamiliar ridge, a weave, something that hugs her leg that probably deserves to be there, to help with the appearance and everything- maybe not or maybe so, you’ll assess when the moment gets there. She grips around what she could touch in terms of your blazer, hips pushing forward at the flex of muscle when you’re scratching the surface of her clothed cunt, the ripple effect shown in her body as she arches first, then sighs into your collarbone the next. 

“Mmn, pretty–” Minju groans out, letting a small hiss through the porcelain cracks of her teeth, “so well, so, so amazing.” 

You’ll seek out the wants, the needs, the odds to break even, testing out the very little restraints in patience left while this cold-hearted woman is melting into your touch, giving you the benefit of having free reign over her body, when she’s murmuring these little hums and broken phrases that switches back to yours with more perversion. 

“I need an answer from you.” Playing prosecutor against the defense wasn’t always ideal unless it’s a mock trial, but you’re always one to challenge Minju, getting her to see your points on a day to day basis, proving her wrong when you know it’s impossible to. She can see right through you, always letting you take the loss, never accepting a victory that you rightfully deserved. You’ll be good, go to her when you’re in a rut, she expects it to happen, that’s how loyalty works. Though, there’s nothing wrong with being defiant. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

It’s all a tease, the way you let the lace dip underneath the slit with the extra press of fingers, toying with the soaking walls and fighting the urge to tug the strings the more you repeat the same fucking routine–

“Baby,” she croons, it’s pathetic. You’re about to get worked up too if you play the waiting game, dragging your thumb across her clit so delicately that she’s quivering, squirming, feeling the tense in her shoulders through the button up, hanging onto your forearm when the hold gets a little too tight. Those breathy gasps get your mind ahead to what’s coming, the natural instinct of what you’ll do to her in her office, on top of her desk, and maybe even on that stupid velvet couch if need be. 

You can hear the huffs more clearly down your ear, the rise and fall of her upper body when you coax her for a few seconds; she’s spiraling out of control, a whine gets suppressed with a press of lips to her throat, and she stumbles back on her arm, spreading wider in mirth. 

She’s shaking her head, eyes screwed shut, like wincing, the whine too - holy hell - it’s reminding you after that night at the bar with her, a moment coming full circle. 

A hand sweeps through her hair, fingers carding, you kiss that sweet spot just underneath her earlobe, a lick from the tip of your tongue to get her more fitful, bring the desperation and sluttiness out of her lips. 

“Do you have- “ she’s sputtering out the letters and consonants, intertwined with hitches and moans, “any idea of what you do?” Minju can’t stay composed while the nips at her jaw and neck close the distance between her mouth–

“Haven’t had the slightest.” you whisper, hiking up the last bit of her skirt to see the new piece to untangle, “God, Minju- lacy stockings? Really?” 

The laugh she lets out should set you off in annoyance, almost like a border that’s meant to be there and never to be touched - let alone cross, fingers clasped around the nape of your neck to keep you trapped while she smiles to the small victory, “You sound surprised. I always come to work with these pairs from time to time, but you don’t leer when I want you to.” 

Her eyes flutter shut once again when you tend to her pulse point, mouth gaping open when you’re doing two things at once: soothing the warmth on her neck while your fingers work teasing her clit and walls, a punishment of sorts when she’s reeling back onto the desk with a slipping hand, her other limp gripping your forearm to not stop - but keep going. 

“How long–” Minju asks while she’s practically sliding off of the polished bark, “have you waited to do this…to me?” Strands of hair falling forward ever-so slightly in front of her forehead, hand tangled to the back of your head while your ear is pressing against the hard line of her collarbone. You don’t pay any attention to her subjective inquiry, replacing it with another strand of moans leaving her lips when you skate her ass across the table again, the bottoms of her thighs meeting yours, melting a bit more when her core rubs against the emerging bulge from between your legs. 

She knows what she’s doing, it’s a trade off of pushing buttons. Trying to get you to lose all the sensible urges just to give her what she exactly wants. 

You let your hands map out the case: her hips, the flat plane of her waist, where the peak of her hips meet at the hint of her obliques, only for your digits to spread out behind on the curve of her ass, feeling the lacy panties that might go against dress code policy because of how too fucking thin they were. Minju grins against your mouth, the exchange of hot air serving to be this addicting oxygen that you can’t get enough of. “Who knows how long I’ve wanted to have a crack at you. I just put myself off to the side because I knew that I’d never stand a chance.” 

She laughs, and you hate to admit how much you like it. The image of her being disheveled in front of you, just inches away from the fingertips; legs spread out wide on her own desk, waiting to be ruined. 

“What’s going through your head right now?” Minju asks, tossing her arm on the lower section of your waist, seizing you while failing to meet her glazed eyes. “Have you…fantasized about me? Tell me all about it. I’m intrigued. Want to know what gets you off after work.” 

And there it goes again: the banter. She’s always quick for a couple liners, sayings and slang that you’ve shared with her day in day out. Minju isn’t the kind of person to greet you with a ‘good morning’ or ‘want to get a quick drink or bite from the cafe downstairs?’ - but rather: right down to the dirty business of what she needs you to do in the long, extensive hours of the workday, dealing with clients, putting up with her and Hyewon’s bullshit, getting the necessary paperworks, and having some random beef with Yena in the break room. Minju is always quick to give you insight on what needs to happen, you also supply your own opinions and takes where Minju does accept some of them (most of the time). 

Except for this, when her cropped blazer is barely hanging off the shoulders, skirt hiked up past the peak of her thighs, displaying that wet spot in between her unbelievable legs, pulling you by the tie because she doesn’t have time for you to fucking daydream saying: “C’mon, pretty boy. You’re basically drooling in front of me and we haven’t even got to the fun parts yet–” 

She stops short when you lay the rough palm of your hand against her pussy, hushing through the cuff of her ear, grip tightening and muscles tensing in her body as if something snapped within you - which it did for a slight second - before you draw yourself back, finally looking her in the brown ambers of her eyes. 

“I had a dream once,” you finally built up the courage to start, “about being here, in your office.” landing a kiss to the corner of her lip to keep yourself focused. On a night just like this, where you’re sitting nicely on top of your desk. Your legs were spread apart like so. Minju coos when she sees you lightly licking your lips. It would’ve been better if you were already out of your clothes, naked for me. Her head dips forward when she feels the languid circles rubbed across her clit, I fucked you right here, on this desk. And then, I ruined that pretty little couch that you love so much apparently. 

“God, you’re insane.” She’s acting innocently like she too hasn’t been teasing you out and around the workplace before this. 

Insane? It becomes a little bit more deranged where Minju’s jaw drops to the floor when she hears the sinful sound of her lacy panties being ripped away from her hips. 

“Oh, I could do a lot more for you right now, and believe me, I will.” You assess the drainage when your finger plunges into her cunt; the sharp inhale she takes in while saying ‘shit’ is only brief when you’re thrown off by her walls tightening around you, her hands working the buckle of your belt and slithering past the pants. 

“And how do you suppose you’ll keep your word?” she asks, fingers coiling your cock, the reaction easily readable judging from the loss of breath through your windpipe.

“Consider this as wet work.” 

“Wet work?” 

This attractive woman who’s posture could rival classy models, with those perfect lips in both sets, the image now being unraveled like an item being auctioned off to the highest bidder: how her legs open enough for you to fill the space, the way her bra sits across her chest once the blazer is finally discarded onto the floor. (She’s pretty now, she’ll be even prettier when you have your way over her, helplessly letting these soft sounds out, coming undone over or underneath, it won’t matter either way, because that’s always the endgame.) 

“You’ve got your skirt on still,” you observe, pulling her closer to the edge of the slab, “I don’t know if-” 

“Ignoring the double entendre you made?” she gasps, struggling to keep composure when the ends of your fingers, tightening her grip around your cock while the other arm is thrown around your shoulder, “just-please-like that-fuck-oh fuck-” 

Minju sort of hides away from the immense pressure in her cunt and her clit, seeing the usual features on her face show a little more crease to them, slacking with her words, lost, feeling every bit of you, huffs of poor syllables and consonants, octaves going up in keys. You’re loving how needy she’s getting. 

What’s the matter? You whisper against her chin. You don’t seem too well. Body burning up? Too hot for you to handle? She’s gone too far off to answer, only by huffs and light nods of her head, the flex in her knees, hands across your broad back, working herself around your fingers, groaning when it gets all too much. 

The idea of staying at the firm for the night doesn’t seem that bad of an idea to do. 

“Fingers, babe,” she whines, rasping in moans at the ends of them, “fingers are too fucking good, want it- so bad-give me a–fuck-” 

Her eyes are screwed shut, clinging onto your body desperately while she starts to work the buttons off your shirt; starting in the middle rather than the top or bottom because she can’t think straight. But she diverts her hands instead to the loops on your sides, wiggling you out of your pants more - keeping herself moving while trying to ignore the throbbing that’s happening between her legs. 

“Tell me what you need, boss,” you say, a little tinge of sincerity behind the professional title. “Maybe put some solidity to this little affair?” 

Minju gives you this glare, scattered ends of her hair covering the little blush that’s all too apparent across her cheeks, failing fantastically the way she lets out this wail when your two fingers fill up her cunt completely, pulling her over the edge of the desk one last time as you mesh your hips right in the underside of her thighs, body leaning back with the arch bending a whole lot deeper, head back while you lean yourself forward that tips over a few trinkets across the desk; some picture frames fall face flat, that one pendulum set you’d always mess around with in the morning briefings nicks around in disarray, and her nameplate kinda just gets hit in the crossfire by Minju’s stray hand and onto the floor. 

“Call this,” she sputters, gasping, heaving most likely, “a hot and steamy affair.” 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” you retort, “don’t get smart with me now.” 

She just looks at you with that same sly smirk she’s been wearing whenever she teases you about anything. You find it annoying at times because of how effortless she does it, this time her breaking smile doesn’t match up with her eyes and how they are dead, sincere with a desire waiting to be fulfilled, a craving that’s been long overdue simply because you know that Minju is not an easy person to break down, though that’s been proven to be the complete opposite now. 

There’s this priming for a second, your own hand wrapped around your cock, getting close, until you nudge yourself from the first few inches inside her cunt, feeling the small press to push more, replaced with the easy glide inside the compact, yet addicting heat. It’s also kinda cute how you and Minju share this quick inhale - a hiss would be better to describe it - then you see her blown out irises, that sly smile getting more lazier, lost completely when you drag the half of your length out, slowly, steadily. 

“Wait, fuck-” she mumbles out, laying flat across the top. Her chest rises and falls a little more erratically, eyelids fluttering shut when you sink back right in, deeper this time, delicately, a little tease with the pullout before feeling her out completely. You learn for the first time ever since stepping inside that one room that day for the interview: that small thought of how it would be so easy to slot yourself right into Minju would be nothing but a pipe dream, becomes too real to relish in the feeling now. 

Then she mumbles again: “holy fucking shit.” 

You give one good snap of the hips for good measure, and the ripple effect of Minju’s body sliding across the desk, the wiggle in her perfect tits, her hands hold fast to yours around her thighs as if she’ll do the fucking all by herself while you just stand there in awe. 

But you’re good as fucked if you weren’t already, so you snap your hips back into her again, harder. Then again, filling up her perfect cunt each and every time you bottom out. You’ll take this image to your grave, let this be the last piece of evidence submitted to the judge who’ll sentence you do a much safer place in hell: MInju’s pretty body, with stockings around her perfect legs, tits sliding across her chest in every stroke, cock disappearing inside her cunt as her pretty lips fit around them with ease. 

“Minju, I - God,”, you try to tell her, the promise buried in your throat, buried underneath the air that flows right above the words, as your hips meet hers, the audible smack of her thighs filling up the office, how amazing she’s massaging your length well deep inside her, all slicked up and smooth for you to keep going. “I’ve been waiting for this- dreaming how to get you all stretched with this tight pussy. Your cunt, baby. Minju–” 

“You’ve shown me why - why I chose you, out of everyone else - show me again how good you can-” she breathes. When her mouth trails off again, because of the strokes, the clench in her pussy, hands clinging onto your wrists as you cast your own hands onto her waist. 

Eventually, nothing sounds better than the noises she makes against your collarbone, angling deeper where - you find out on the fly, and maybe something to keep in mind for later. It’s all coaxed out when you’re working her to the wall, holding her carefully while she can just keep herself stretched out, working all of the bundle of nerves across the spots inside her cunt. 

“More, honey,” and the pet names just seem to escalate as they come, do they? She sets herself up on a wobbly elbow, seeing the flex of muscle across your arms and stomach each time you rip into her, fucking her with a steady pace, but teetering on the subtle rawness, that hidden potential that sets yourself apart from the other talents you have working as one of the top employees. “Love it when you- fuck me to pieces.” 

"Anything else you want to say to me?"

“What’s also nice is that,” she continues to ramble (another thing that you’ve heard make rounds through the wings), dizziness shown in her eyes, the continuous clapping of her pulsing cunt, tightening around you, molding her into the perfect shape of - “how you continue to surprise everyone here, including me-” 

A string of curses spill out your mouth, Minju can’t help with the mix of laughs and moans at how good you feel inside her, the sight of your cock vanishing between her legs, putting one past the degree where her knee nearly touches her clothed tit, and that gets her wincing for a quick second. You’ll probably put this in a mental file, how you’ll get her to molten cunt more creaming until she cums, cums, cums and cums-

“-you’re like me, but only as a handsome guy who continues to impress-” 

Anything else that comes out of her mouth in lieu of praise will only feed that ego in your mind to get one over her, to say that you’ll always be two steps behind her while she’s five ahead. She doesn’t let you off easily, so why would you do the opposite for her? Rocking your hips towards hers makes the legs of the desk mirror the motion of your tempo, thumbs pressed up against the mold of her ribs just underneath her breasts, deep into the skin where you could also bend the bones beneath them while they rebound off of the smacks. 

You’ve got your hand over her mouth, to shut her up, eyes squinted tight to where her brows could meet in the middle, grasping onto your wrist while the muffles of your name reach higher in octaves, sobbing in her moans while she’s suffocating against the roughness of your palm.

She can’t keep focus for any moment longer, eliciting shorter gasps when you tease by slapping your cock head on the nub of her clit, gritting her teeth at the shameless tease you’re giving. 

“Can-” it’s a little sweltering to notice that she’s reduced to helpless one word blurbs, slipping inside of her once again to make her chest freeze off of the flares in her waist. “harder- i need you to-” 

The shiver that erupts through your fibers sends you in limbo, feeling Minju’s ankle anchor behind your back, serving as the reins when you stutter in pace, ass hanging off of the desk to completely bottom her out, and your cock is constantly getting soaked with a new layer of her slick each time you pull back. 

That low groan she lets out meshed with the word ‘fuck’ undermines her whole persona. Once known for being straightforward with her words, now lurching you in to keep pounding into her, slaps bouncing off the windows when she tries to perch her head upwards to see the damage, but slowly losing tension in her neck, deprived of focus when she lolls her head back to the original spot, sucking in air, sobbing even more loudly. 

“Please, like that, keep doing that, I’ll let you anything to me, just–” You could see her lip wobble a bit slightly, cunt shaped to every minute detail of your cock, “i’m so- so fucking close, you fuck me so good- so well–” 

“So tight,” you say, deep of that desired well. Minju is past the point of where the obscene words and demands can’t even be verbally said anymore. She’s whimpering, lazy wrist over her mouth again, the little strands in her hair bouncing along as one of the ripple effects caused by your length. “Gonna have you aching for me long after-” 

It’s all royally fucked. 

The way that she, oh- 

How she clamps well around you, the new coat of her arousal soaking your crotch. When you’ve edged her out past the bar and how her whole body spasms in strain and ease, she’s clutching for something within arms reach - your hands and fingers, or anything that she can grasp - while these sinful sounds unravel her from her vocal cords. Her eyes look like they can’t open at all; with the small stream of stray tears falling from her cheek. You’re also crinkling your own features, jaw hung low with the bellowing moan leaving your mouth along with hers. 

You could easily get lost in the reveling of Minju cumming over your cock, but you’re not seeing this through to the end not just yet. 

In one swift motion, you flip her over, hook her waist, pull this one party trick of stripping her bra away from her chest, pushing her back down to which she giggles slightly. “Here.” you tell her, mouth well above the lobe of her ear, hanging her ass off the desk again. “I’m just getting started.” 

Minju puts this lazy smile on her face, eyelids still closed, using whatever energy left that you haven’t dicked out of her to catch her breath, sliding her palms across the desk downwards to set herself in place. “God,” she says this as a revelation, “you are so fucking good.” 

A low chuckle is all she hears while you pull her back up against your stomach, twisting her head up to your lips, pressing them to her cheek, while she traps her bottom lip between her teeth. 

You say this as a serving rebuttal: “I’m better than good.” 

Minju can be selfish at times, always willing to put her own personal interests over yours or anyone else’s (most of the time). But when you’ve broken her down to this: knees apart, your back flush with hers on her favorite couch, pushing well past the limit, driving your cockhead down the deepest depth to where you could get it, cupping the crease where her leg and hip meet, clasping with the pads of your fingers, dragging and impaling her what could be a punishment for her - or a reward to the limitless amounts of things that she wants and receives on almost every occasion. She’s the kind of woman to play the long game, hard to get, make someone like you grind your way in order to rail her in the most intense-rough fuck that she loves (but won’t admit), or the excruciating delay of feeling every nerve binded inside her walls, where the veins of your length just graze slightly enough to feel the tense in her muscles, her hands; going limp while lazily whining at the slide of your dick inside her cunt, playing with her while she’s whimpering at you to finish the job. 

“God fucking dammit,” she manages, laying herself flat while you’re hovering right on top of her, taking your cock while she can only grip the seat covers. It’s all there, bare back and ass, the set of stockings still on her majestic thighs. You’re hitting her hips hard and heavy, the stable and slow strokes while she fills your ears with these strings of babbles that aren’t really conceivable to decipher or understand. She got a little to excited, bouncing her ass back against your cock while you just drop your arms and admired the show, before pushing deep with your balls nicking the clit at the end of every thrust, and that earns you these thick gasps, only taking you whole with every slam of your weight against her nimble body. “God, I- fuck- need you all the time, please.” 

“Whatever you want,” you hush against the crook of her neck. That is something that you’ll take to heart under oath. She croons at how you're spilling all of these filthy things in her ear, a guarantee of sorts to the promises that have already bent the both of your minds into obliviion. "If it helps to stop you from fucking those other scumbags you call 'your clients' on a weekend basis, then I'll give it to you, sweetheart."

The self-control went off the rails a while ago, this was just free real estate with the endless cantations of moans coming out of her. "Need me to cum inside this sopping cunt so badly?" you ask, pulling a handful of hair that lifts her by the neck, "love using this pussy to get myself off."

She's giggling at the action because it's necessary. You could imagine the grin on her face for the entire world to see. "Words baby, or I'll cum-"

“Fuck- just, do anything- I want you.” Minju gasps with a whine tinged behind the words. It’ll be in the records, spoken into existence. She could care more less than a fuck of what others think after all of this is over. Pace slowing down, feeling that throb tremor against her walls when you’ve held out for this long, an overdue reward in itself. 

It just took one more good hit to bury your cock into that perfect pussy, spilling everything, sending it deeper in the trenches of her cunt, fucking yourself in while she’s putting some effort to say your name, only for it to be overpowered by the gluttal moans you’re letting out while the shackles of tension finally come loose. Her head is pressed enough to leave a visible print on the cushions, crying before the shudder translates to her noises when you drive all the way in for one final time, letting the pulse die out; every heartbeat, every drop. 

Your nose is pressed into the side of her head, taking in that sweet scent from her hair, showered in bliss, tangling and untangling until she takes rest in your arms, straddling your lap, chin forming alongside the small dip in your collarbone. 

Minju offers this lazy smile, matching your rise and fall of breaths in your chest, blowing this hint of cool air to your neck that makes you twitch slightly from the sudden sensation, lips against the line of your throat: 

“A hot and steamy affair, huh? I think I can let that pass by.” 

“You really want to call it that?” you inquire, hands sliding down to the plush of her ass. 

Minju simply laughs while you shake your head at the rhetorical question. “All honesty though, I thought that you and-” 

“We are not going there.” you tell her, leaning back when she sets herself straight in your arms, hands along broad shoulders with the curtain of her hair falling towards one side. Definitely something that you’ve had in a wet dream before - talk about having deja vu. “Absolutely not.” 

It’s when she trails her fingertip across the chiseled form of muscle across your chest, elevating her hand higher to cup your face. She gives you this look in her eyes, the kind that would make anyone keel over because as you’re reminded: Minju is someone who always gets what she wants. And when she rubs her thumb across your cheek, your cock jumps a few millimeters underneath her hips to which she notices, and seizes the opportunity presented to her. 

Leaning forward with a purring whisper in the act, and you’re suspended in time while she moves. “I think I should repay you for treating me right just now.” 

Minju has never owed anything to you. For the most part in your career, it was her that has given you these chances to make a name for yourself, to prove that you could go toe to toe with the best in the court, to prove to her why she chose you out of countless others to be her associate. If anything, you owe pretty much everything to her. 

But maybe-

Maybe just this once-

“My little pretty boy needs to have his cock all cared for, right?” she asks when she sinks down to the edge of the disgraced couch, spreads your knees apart, eyes trained on you, lowering her head to swipe her tongue across your balls and the base of your shaft, feeling that same twitch in your cock when she gets a dainty hand across the length, well trained with the languid strokes that she’s giving you; it’s not hard to give in to that searing heat of her mouth while you’re trying to find the right words to respond. 

(The options here are very limited: considering the fact that you have your hips forward with your friend / partner / new love interest slobbering all over your length, rubbing the head of your cock across her pretty face until she drains you out completely, painting her cheek white and bathing in the taste of your cum while you’re struggling to stay awake. 

After all, you could just spend the night here at the firm bearing in mind how late it is. 

Or better yet, have Minju stay at your place to not give Dahyun another headache to deal with the next morning.) 

[hannyoontify]

little stars - kwon soonyoung

member | non-idol!hoshi x illustrator!reader

genre | fluff, newly est. relationship

word count | 2k with some change

synopsis | soonyoung sees you without makeup for the first time, and he notices something he’s never seen before

warnings | reader wears makeup, reader has freckles on their face, reader is implied to have insomnia but it’s not prevalent to the plot, reader is ticklish, soonyoung has an extensive vocabulary of terms of endearment that borderline make me wanna hurl if they were used unironically, soonyoung makes a shrek reference

notes | i have freckles on the back of my hands and have always been insecure of them but i remembered how my ex used to kiss them and say they were beautiful

Soonyoung’s not a criminal. He knows that. The last time he committed a serious crime was back when he was seven years old when he stole a new pack of crayons from his sister’s friends’ house after a play date.

(Two seconds after leaving said friend's house and he could no longer handle the overwhelming and crushing guilt and ended up running to his mom and crying, calling himself a “tiger thief.”)

So when Soonyoung urgently texts your best friend to ask for the password to your apartment, he can’t help but feel a dull pang of guilt in his chest as he inputs the numbers he sees into the digital keypad. His hands are shaking as the door unlocks and he fumbles through the doorway and upon your quiet and dark apartment.

It’s well past noon now and yet, there wasn’t a single hint of you in the living room and kitchen. The sink was still empty, the drying rack was full, the throw pillows on the couch looked too pristine, and the curtains were still closed. Fearing the worst, Soonyoung quietly made his way to your closed bedroom door, his sock-covered feet padding along the floor. 

He softly knocks once. Then twice. “[Name]?” No response. 

“[Name]? Baby? Are you awake?” When he doesn’t get a response, Soonyoung pushes the door slightly open. “I’m coming in…” 

In the dark room, all Soonyoung could perceive was a lump amidst the lush pile of stuffed animals and blankets, your sleeping form slowly rising and falling. “Baby…” He pushed the door wider, letting the minimal light from the living room stream past your doorway, shedding light into your dark room.

The lump under the big fluffy duvet stirred, squirming around as Soonyoung approached the side of your bed. He turned on the mushroom lamp you had on your bedside table and you let out a loud groan. 

While you stirred in your sheets, Soonyoung glanced around your room. He’d only been to your apartment a couple times in the past few months but he was already familiar to the layout of your bedroom. In the corner, next to the window was your desk with your extensive, impressive PC set-up. Sheets of half-drawn and unfinished pencil drawings were strewn across your drawing board and your desk was a flurry of paper, reference photos, and pencils.

Soonyoung felt a pang in his chest at the realization that you had probably stayed up until ungodly hours trying to finish your illustrations. You were an artiste and you had a bad habit of working until you practically dropped dead when you were struck by a lightning of inspiration.

“[Name], love, it’s time to wake up. It’s already past 3 in the afternoon. Sleeping is for the nighttime.” You poked your head out of the blanket, the edge of the fluffy duvet resting right below your eyes and covering the rest of your face. 

You stared at him blankly with bloodshot eyes and Soonyoung swore he saw—and heard—the gears turning in your head. It took you a couple seconds to recognize your boyfriend. “Soonie?” You croaked out, your voice still hoarse having woken up just seconds before.

Soonyoung smiled at the nickname and affectionately patted your head. “Time to wake up, sleepy head. Don’t wanna ruin your sleep schedule. Late night, huh?”

You nodded and rubbed an eye. “Deadline was…” You yawned. “Last night. Couldn’t sleep either.”

Soonyoung nodded sympathetically. 

“What- what time is it?” You blinked at him with the blanket still covering the rest of your face. Your hair was a tussled mess that was fanned out on the pillow behind you.

“3 pm, baby. C’mon. Let’s get you out of bed.” Soonyoung gently pulled the blanket away, revealing the rest of your face and your matching tiger pajamas. Your boyfriend stared at your clothes, an ambiguous look in his eyes that made you unsure of whether he found your pajamas adorable, or if he simply coveted your clothes and hence boosting you up to top 3 on his rob list, next to his model friend, Joshua and his tiger striped patterned button-up.

(That button-up wasn’t even his, it was something his stylist had just put on him for one of his magazine photo shoots.)

Meanwhile, reality had finally begun to settle in for you as you just realized that your new, hot boyfriend was standing in your bedroom, fluffy hair galore. He was standing over you with a twinkling look in his eyes, clad in a pair of black sweatpants and a white tank top, his muscles flexing and rolling as he tugged the blanket off of you.

You then suddenly became painfully aware of your appearance. You were in your embarrassing tiger character pajamas and your face was painstakingly bare. Your hands flew up to your hands and you flipped over, burying your face into your pillow with a loud groan. 

“Soonie, can you wait outside for me?” Your voice was muffled by the fabric of your pillow. 

Soonyoung reached out for your shoulder and his eyebrows scrunched up with worry. “Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

With your hands still covering your face, you rolled back and peeked at your boyfriend through your fingers. “I’mmph mmm wmmph any mammphup.”

Soonyoung chuckled and gently grabbed your wrists. “Baby, I can’t understand what you’re saying.” 

“I’m not wearing any makeup,” you whined. “You’ve never seen me barefaced before, I’m embarrassed.”

“Nooooo, baby, lemme see your hot and sexy face,” When you wouldn’t budge, Soonyoung sighed in fake exasperation. “Then you leave me no choice.”

He crawled into the empty spot next to you in bed and wrapped his big arms around you, prying your hands away from your face. 

You giggled and wriggled away from Soonyoung, using everything within you to try and hide from your boyfriend who was now currently pinning you to the mattress jiu-jitsu style. You shrieked when Soonyoung’s cold fingers dug into your sides, causing you to writhe around under him, like a fish without water. You gasped for air as Soonyoung tickled you but your hands still firmly covered your face.

“Baby, babe, pookie bear, my sweet sugar plum, my snookum bear, honey bunch, sweet cheeks, pooh bear, pudding pie, my cutie patootie, snuggle bear,” Soonyoung gently grabbed your wrists again. “I don’t care if you’re the pretty princess version of Fiona or the ogre version. I’ll be the Shrek to whichever version you are, because,” Soonyoung placed a hand over his chest and spoke after a dramatic pause. “It’s the heart that truly matters.”

You snorted. 

“Are you laughing at me and my Shrek analogy? You know it took me a long time to think of that.” Soonyoung seemed to deflate and he pouted.

“Of course not baby. I think your Shrek analogy is genius,” You peeked through your fingers, just in time to see his chest swell again with pride–you had complimented his Shrek analogy! “But I’m still not showing you my face.”

“BABY NOOOOO,” Soonyoung dramatically threw himself against you, his fingers seeking refuge in your armpits this time, causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles. “LEMME SEE YO FACEEEEE.”

“Nooooo,” you whined. Despite your protests, you couldn’t help but giggle as Soonyoung tried different combinations of kissing and tickling to try and get you to open up.

Thanks to his stubbornness and his iron grip, he was finally able to pry your hands off your face and pinned them against the pillow next to you. In the midst of wrestling you, Soonyoung had ended up on top of you, his legs straddling your waist and he looked down at you with a triumphant grin. “Gotcha.”

His eyes were roaming around your face, evidently studying you as you tried to avoid eye contact. Your giggles slowly subsided, and you heard Soonyoung trying to catch his own breath. When he finally managed to lock his eyes with your own, there was a softness in his eyes in the way he looked at you that you had never seen before.

Breathless, Soonyoung spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You… have freckles…”

“H-huh?” You felt your cheeks burning as your boyfriend timidly brought a hand up to your face. His fingertips softly grazed your skin, his touch so light and gentle, you would’ve thought it was just a light gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. Soonyoung’s eyes stayed trained on your cheeks, his eyes examining each and every individual freckle with a gentleness you had never seen from him before.

You’ve always been aware of the freckles on your face, but they’ve never received this much attention from someone before. It felt awkward, but it also felt… intimate. It felt nice for your beauty marks to be appreciated, and your heart swelled with affection at the sweet gesture from your boyfriend. 

Soonyoung continued to study the freckles, his fingers lightly tracing your skin with a feather-like touch. As if he was trying to commit every single detail of you to memory. Finally, his eyes meet yours and the corner of his lip tugs up, hinting a smile. “You’re beautiful.”

You feel the heat on your cheeks spreading across your face to the tip of your ears and you become unsure of how to respond. Sure, you’ve received compliments before, but not like this. No compliment you’ve ever received has ever been this intimate or vulnerable. The way Soonyoung said those two words made it sound like a secret. A secret that he uttered quietly into the void, whispering it into existence, just for you to hear. A secret only the two of you would know.

You thought your heart was about to burst. 

Soonyoung cupped your face with both his hands and his thumbs rubbed gently against the soft skin on your cheekbones. You blinked up at him, watching his big, dark eyes roam around your face. The light of your mushroom lamp reflected in his eyes, sparkling and shining with a child-like wonder. 

Your room was dimly lit, the muted colors in your room solely provided by the small lamp on your bedside table. It had begun to rain at some point, the dull pitter-patter of the rain against your window replicating the beating of your heart. 

After what seems like forever, you finally speak up. “Soonie?”

Soonyoung begrudgingly tears his eyes away from your freckles and looks into your own, shining eyes. “Yes, baby?”

“I–” you faltered, unsure of what to say. You pursed your lips and stared at your boyfriend who gave you a soft, loving smile. “Are my freckles that interesting?”

Soonyoung’s grin grew into a boy-ish one and he reached over and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Yes, honey. I want to commit every part of you to memory. I want to learn the story behind every freckle and scar. I want to learn all of you.” 

You felt an unfamiliar warmth stir in your heart, that soon spread throughout the rest of your body, through your fingertips and every cell of your being. Your heart fluttered. Was this what poets and lyricists meant when they wrote of love

“They’re like… I mean, I’m not a poet but-” Soonyoung fumbles as he searches for the right words to describe the immeasurable admiration and love he felt for you. 

Your freckles were strikingly beautiful and Soonyoung felt the wind getting knocked out of him when he first saw the sweet brown sugar sprinkled on your nose and cheekbones. They were like April rain showers that sprinkle the green grass with yellow flowers and Soonyoung thought your face mimicked the night sky, your freckles glinting and gleaming like countless stars. 

“Your freckles… they remind me of beautiful constellations. They can create illustrations in the night sky by connecting the dots and they tell stories, your stories.” Soonyoung paused. “And I love them.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Was he-?

“I love you.”

Soonyoung gazed down at you with an uncertain look, his eyes searching your own for some kind of response. His heart hammered against his chest as he wondered if you felt the same way yet. 

You did. 

“I love you too, Soonyoung. And baby?”

“Hm?”

“That was so much better than your Shrek analogy.”

reblogs and feedback are always appreciated ^-^

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Monster, Inc.

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss is an asshole, you know this. But what happens when he turns his wrath upon you? (plus!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, this reader is known as Missie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

You sweep in with an armful. Two! You push through the door with your ass and barely keep from falling onto it. As ever, you enter in a whirlwind of to dos and currently being dones. You breeze over to your desk and carefully lower your load, blowing out through your lips. Whew. 

You peer over at the office door. The place is desolate. You’re always the first in, the last one gone. You can blame your boss’ high standards but that’s not fair. You put just as much pressure on yourself. 

You unlock Mr. Hansen’s office door and set about sorting through your list. You hang his suit jackets that you picked up last night and put the new pair of Prada loafers he ordered on the little rack across the bottom. Then you bring in his usual coffee in the gold insulated mug engraved with the company logo. Then you set out that special little treat you spent your morsel of free time baking. 

You carefully place the numbered candles on the mini cheesecake and stand with a proud smile. You never forget to dot and i or cross a t. You think that’s why you’ve lasted longer than any other PA under Hansen’s wise guidance. You anticipate his needs before they even come up. 

You hear him coming and light the candles before you rush to the door. You swiftly step outside and out of his way as he shoves his briefcase into your arms and tosses his jacket at you. You catch the latter and wait for him to enter before you trail after him. You put his briefcase on his desk as he goes around the other side and swiftly hang his jacket with his freshly cleaned suits. 

He noisily flicks back the lid of the travel mug then let out a hum. You know that hum. He’s not happy. He hasn’t even tasted it. What’s the problem. You turn and smooth the ruffles of your polka dot skirt. 

“Sir? Is the coffee not hot enough?” 

“What the fuck is this?” He stares at his desk with a sneer. 

“Sir?” 

“What the fuck!” He raises his voice. 

“Oop! Happy birthday, sir!” You trill and come closer, peeking past his iMac at the flickering flames on the 4 and the 6. 

He snarls at the candles and picks up the waxy 6. You blink, surprised by his reaction. You don’t understand. It’s a nice birthday surprise.  

“Sir, It’s tiramisu cheesecake. I know you like the stuff from down at White’s but--” 

He throws the little candle at you and the melting wax drips on your ruffled collar. You cry out and catch it as the flame goes out. He does the same with the other and scalds your inner arm. You cradle the candles as he takes the cakes and tosses it like a frisbee toward the door. You gulp. 

You’ve seen Mr. Hansen angry before. It’s his favourite emotion but it’s never been because of you. His blue eyes narrow at you and he curls his lips. 

“I don’t need some young fucking bimbo like you reminding me how old I am,” he snaps and picks up the travel mug, slurping loudly, “get the fuck out of my sight. And clean that up.” 

“I’m sorry, sir, I thought--” 

“You thought?” He barks, “not hard enough, hips.” 

You wince. His little pet names aren’t as sweet as they might seem and he rarely hurls them at you. No, he calls the women in the copier room sugar tits and baby, but not you. You look down at your skirt, the frills don’t make you seem any less wide. His reminder of your size stings, not that you hate yourself, but he can be so nasty. 

“Yes, sir,” you answer brightly. 

He sighs and falls into his large leather chair. He mutters into the cup as you go off to grab paper towel to clean up the desecrated cheesecake. You return with the wastebasket from beside your desk and set to wiping up the ruins. 

“You really need to make those things look any bigger? I should send you down to HR,” he snips. 

You look up, confused. You shake your head as you put another clump in the bin, “Mr. Hansen?” 

“Whatever that is...” he gestures to his collar and you look down at your ruffly collar, “it’s not doing you any favours.” 

“Thank you, sir, I’ll donate the blouse,” you agree. 

“Even the poor idiots down at Goodwill don’t deserve that,” he scoffs. 

He’s in a mood. You’re not prepared for it. You assumed his birthday would be a happy day. It’s your own fault for trying to predict him. He’s hard to account for.  

You finish up and grab the roll of towels and the bin. You stand and something flies over your shoulder. You flinch and turn to look down at his golden pen. You stare, perplexed. 

“Well, pick it up, hips.” You shrug and obey. As you bend over, he chortles, “damn, wide load.” 

You snap up, embarrassment singing your neck and cheeks. You turn and hurry over to place the pen on his desk. You dip your head and quickly retreat. 

“Ah, cheeks, don’t be so shy. Some guys like the extra cushion,” he snickers. 

“Sir, can I get you anything else?” You stop by the door. It’s better not to feed into his little game. This is fun for him. 

“Some fucking peace and quiet. Get out.” 

You don’t hesitate to do exactly that. You shut the door and cross to your desk. You put the bun down and swerve towards the break room to put the towels away. You return to your desk and sit, recentering yourself as you ready yourself for the daily rundown. Before you can open up the calendar, a notification pops up in the corner.  

Mr. Hansen? 

You click on it and revealed in the chat is a picture of your ass as you bend over to grab the pen. You cringe. He can see that you read the message. The little eye icon pops down beside the picture. 

‘Cancel my nine o’clock’ his next message pops up. 

‘Yes, Mr. Hansen,’ you type back. 

His dot turns to red. Unavailable. Right. He is bristly this morning, it’s best he doesn’t have anyone else around to provoke him. 

[acapelladitty]

After School Special

Summary: Confronted by your professor, Dr Jonathan Crane, over your constant need for his attention, you find yourself having to confess to some very inappropriate feelings with a surprisingly satisfying result. (2.6k)

(tw for: professor/student dynamics, desk sex, power imbalance, rough sex, teasing, mild degradation, multiple orgasm, piv sex, come marking)

Fic Masterlist ☆ Link to AO3

"You have been lying to me."

Caught off guard by the sudden accusation as you take the plush seat across from his desk, your face furrows into a frown as you splutter out an inaudible response at the hurled accusation. You had barely taken three steps within the room when he had spoken, the familiar layout of his private office as welcoming as ever – the densely furnished room mostly illuminated by the warm light of his desk lamp.

"Huh? I don't know what you're talki-"

"Don't lie to me."

You smooth the edges of your skirt, genuine confusion playing on your features as you look at him properly. He is sitting behind his desk with a firm look, one which you were well acquainted with and one which never sat too far from your mind in the darkness of the night as your fingers moved frantically against your heated sex. As handsome as ever, although many others were ignorant to his appeal, his wire-rimmed glasses sit atop his proud nose while his hawk-like gaze pins you into place.

"I have had my suspicions over your intentions for a while,” Crane confesses as his hands come to rest on his desk, folding over each other carefully. “You consistently seek support for work which you are more than capable of completing. At first, I considered that you may be cheating in some way but a thorough check of your academic history tells a story of genuine success."

His glasses flash in the dim light of his office as the vague attraction which always simmered below your skin while sharing a space with him found itself suddenly replaced by a surge of pure anxiety. A naughty child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Crane's outfit is a stuffy as ever and maddeningly endearing because of it. No matter the weather or occasion, he was never to be found without his patchwork brown suits and over starched, light coloured shirts; the materials doing their best to fill out his thin frame as his scuffed shoes tapped across his auditorium floors.

"So why do you constantly seek my support when such assistance is unnecessary?"

"I don't-I don't know what you're talking about. You're my professor and teacher so I value your feedback on my concepts and proposals."

Cheeks flaring with heat, you attempt to push the lie as truth while a traitorous slideshow of all the inappropriate and wicked thoughts you had entertained about him flashed through your mind.

"Hmm." Clearly unsatisfied with the answer, Crane taps his thin fingers along his desk as he considered his next question with a knowing tilt of his head. "Are you single? Romantically, I mean."

"What?"

Body freezing in place as though dunked in cold water, a sinking sense of discovery roots you to your seat as you fidget uncomfortably. "That's none of your business."

His lips curling into a smirk as he slowly unbuttons the very topmost button of his shirt, a move which makes your teeth worry at your lower lip, Crane speaks slowly to allow you to hear every word while he stands from behind his desk.

"A simple question and yet your response tells me what I need to know. You seek out my company due to some asinine attraction you hold for me."

Breath coming short as your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt, your knee jerk reaction is to deny him even as guilt sits heavy on your face.

"What? No! Not at al-"

"What did I say about lying?" Crane snaps, his voice holding all the authority which it was capable of as he stood before hundreds of students - demanding their attention with only his tone and body language.

Caught and unable to do much else, you give in with a quiet confirmation as the blush on your cheeks creeps down your neck.

"Maybe. I don’t know. Sure."

Crane tuts, the noise clucking free of his throat as a mild disappointment joins the subtle smugness of his features.

"You want to use me to further your grade. Disappointing really. I expected more from a student of your capabilities."

Indignant, despite the situation, your eyes narrow as you hotly contest his assumption.

"I don't need you to help with my grades! Are you kidding me?"

"Oh, is that so?"

"I think you're handsome and I like hearing you talk. Is that such a crime now? I've not done anything wrong."

"Losing focus in my class by allowing yourself to indulge in wanton fantasies should be a crime." Crane grumbled for a moment but his expression shifts into something decidedly predatory as he leans his ass against his desk. "But I would be more disappointed if you did not see your goals to their end."

Desperately trying not to read into his words as the shame of your discovery ignited a flood of arousal deep in your gut, you squint up at him with confusion.

"Professor?"

"If you are going to waste my time with your asinine attraction then I may as well gain some benefit from it. Stand up," he demands.

The command making your cunt clench with its unshakeable demand, you stand from your chair and approach him slowly, feet feeling absolutely non-existent against the thin carpet.

Crane's position against the desk, with his ass sitting on the hard wood and his legs spread, makes it easy for you to slot yourself between his knees - his impressive height making your head have to tilt up to meet his own. Every nerve in your body feels on edge, a thrilling sense of danger pairing with the arousal to make your limbs tremble.

"What're you going to do with me, Professor?"

Clearly a man of action and not words, his head slips forward in a smooth movement as he captures your lips in his own in a heated kiss. His lips are rough, painfully chapped, and his face feels sharp against your own as you tilt your head and immediately grant him all the access he needs.

He tastes of coffee and the harshness of it creates a wrinkle in your nose as you run your tongue along his teeth, mapping out the uneven landscape as his thin arms come to wrap around your waist - pinning you into place against him as you drag your hand up the rough material of his suit. His shock of auburn hair is surprisingly gentle against your fingers as you wind your hand around the back of his neck, needing something to anchor on to as he devours your mouth like a starving man.

"You're very soft," he mutters as he pulls away for only a moment. "And I can taste your perfume." His lips draw across your neck, licking and kissing a line down the sensitive skin as you gasp and curl your hand into the nape of his neck.

"God, Professor Crane- you're so-" You cut yourself off with a whine, your free hand dropping to press against the tented fabric of his groin as his teeth bite harshly at your neck, the discomfort of the bite making the growing dampness between your legs even more pronounced.

"Is this what you've fantasied about, my dear?" His breath is hot against your neck as he allows you to unzip his slacks - freeing his rapidly hardening cock from its confines. "Your wicked professor bending you over his desk and fucking you until you can't stand it anymore."

Shuddering at the vulgarity you release his slacks long enough to shove your hands up your skirt, hooking your fingers around the waistband of your panties as you shuffle them free of your ass. Allowing them to fall to the floor, you step out of them and hiss as his right hand instantly drops from your waist to slip up under the hem of your skirt.

"You're very forward, little mouse," Crane teases as his fingers trail a line up your inner thighs. "Manipulating a poor old man to debase himself for your own needs. It's desperate and requires some level of discipline I think."

"Discipl-oh fuck!" His fingers pressing insistently at your slit as his hand cups your cunt short-circuits your brain for a moment and your grip on his neck tightens as your other hand finally wraps around his cock.

He's long but not overly thick and you can feel the softness of his salt and pepper flecked pubic hair pressing the side of your hand as you stroke along his length with slow, jerky movements. His cock has a definite leftward lean and the velvety heat of it is heady against your palm as you carefully jerk him off.

Heat dances along your skin as his fingers continue to play with your cunt. It's almost experimental in the way that he strokes and rubs his way along your slit before finally finding the target of his exploration; a bolt of pure pleasure curling your toes as his pointer fingers brushes along your clit. Pleased with his discovery, he quickly alternates between manipulating your clit and teasing your hole, his fingers making obscene noises due to how wet you are.

Having decided enough was enough as his hips unwittingly start to buck into your hand, Crane pulls his fingers free of your cunt and brings them to his lips. A greedy tongue flicks at the ends of his digits and he tastes you and a rumble of approval trickles free of his chest. It's so unbearably hot that you shiver in place, rolling the palm of your hand against his cockhead as it twitches within your grip.

In a quick motion, one which catches you off-guard as you squeal in surprise, Crane switches your positions by grabbing your shoulders and smoothly swapping your bodies - ensuring that your front is facing his desk as he molds his much larger frame to your back. His desk now pressing into your lower stomach, you allow Crane to push you down and force you to bend over the hard wood. Your elbows are quick to steady your body and you groan out something indecipherable as he wastes no time in hiking your skirt over your ass.

Exposed and painfully desperate to be fucked, you can't help but arch your back and present yourself to him like a bitch in heat. He seems to appreciate the effort though as a low growl floats over your head and his fingers grip at your ass - groping every inch he can get his hands on as you gasp at the sensation.

"Tell me what you want," Crane demands, his voice low and rough with need.

"I want you to fuck me! Here- like this! On your desk."

A sharp sting makes you cry out and you instantly realise that he has slapped your ass with his open palm - a choice which makes your cunt ache and spasm around nothing.

"Mmm, not good enough. Let's give ourselves the proper titles we deserve; me as your professor and you as a needy whore who begs for his cock."

"Oh God." You groan, his words doing an absolute number on your mind. "Please, Professor Crane, this whore needs your cock. I need to feel you stretching me out and fucking me across this table until I can't see straight."

With no warning, he thrusts himself with you – every inch of his cock burying itself as deeply as possible within your dripping cunt and his victorious grunt is easily drowned out by the muted cry which you are only just able to catch by slamming your lips shut. His strokes are forceful, painfully stretching you without mercy in the most delicious way as you grip his desk and meet his ferocity with your own.

“I must confess that I’ve considered this myself,” he rasps. “Having you wrapped around my cock just like this. Tell me, how many times have you gotten yourself off thinking about this? How much pleasure did you bring yourself thinking of your professor’s cock?”

He fucks you even harder and you can’t even articulate a response as your lips form into a low series of moans and whines – clenching around his cock with every thrust as you remain powerless in his grip. His hands are hard against your hips and you know that small, purple bruises will absolutely mark up the skin within a day.

That said, his right hand disappears from your hip and you whimper as it instead snakes around your throat, pulling your upper body higher to lay flush against his chest as he remains buried within your cunt. The sensation of his hand around your throat pairing with the delirious pleasure of his cock stroking along your sensitive walls proves too much and you – aching, dripping and utterly desperate for more – come around his cock; your walls clenching and milking him for all he’s worth as he snarls out his own pleasure at your tightness.

His pace is unrelenting and the flow of it drags your orgasm out as your toes curl against your shoes and every nerve in your body feels aflame, pleasure rolling across your frame to make your head feel light and your cunt quiver and twitch.

“You’re so tight, little mouse,” Crane growls into your ear. His teeth make themselves known on your neck and the discomfort of his blunted teeth on your skin only adds to the overstimulated ache in your cunt. “A man could get used to this kind of treatment.”

A second orgasm rolls through you, the surprise of it making you cry out loudly but his hand slips from your neck to your mouth – fingers pressing against your lips to stop any further noises from escaping.

“Hush now,” Crane pants, “we wouldn’t want to be discovered like this now, would we? What would your peers think if they saw you taking your professors cock so beautifully?”

He pulls free of your cunt with a single fluid motion and you feel the heat of his release as it spatters across your cunt and ass, his erratic grunts barely restrained while you clench your throbbing cock around nothing – disappointed that he chose not to finish inside.

The mess between your legs is intense; the physical mess of your combined release dripping down your inner thighs as your cunt feels raw and aching due to the ferocity of his thrusts. Your clit twitches with the vague aftershocks of your dual orgasms and it takes a solid minute for your legs to stop trembling fully as Crane slips forward to press himself flush against your back once more.

"You make a very entertaining proposal, little mouse. Provided that discretion remains a priority, I wouldn't mind a continued tuition in such a manner."

Working through his stuffy speech pattern with your post-orgasm brain, it takes a moment to realise what he means and you tilt your head back to meet him – catching his gaze with your own and taking note of how satiated and relaxed his features are.

"You want to…again I mean?"

"You graduate within two months and your academics prove your abilities,” Crane hums and his hands are everywhere as they roll across your hips before tugging your skirt down to cover your ass. “I doubt a session or two with your most dedicated professor will have much impact on your achievements."

Not quite ready to move just yet as you mistrust the strength of your legs, you can’t help but feel that ‘a session or two’ may not be enough to fully quench the thirst which the new development has planted deep in your thoughts.

[wonderlanddreamer]

I was wondering if you could write something on Alfie? Alfie seeking comfort in the reader after a bad day? Or soft seduction after a long day, either works

His Serenity.

[Alfie Solomons x Reader]

Summary: After a bad day, Alfie just wants to be alone, or so he thinks. But then there's you, with your own sensual way to bring him serenity.

Warnings: Explicit content. Oral sex [m receiving]. 18+MDNI.

Word Count: 3086

The faint, musty scent of old books and aged wood fills every corner of Alfie Solomons' office as you meticulously sort through the stacks of paperwork on his cluttered desk. The hum of the bustling distillery outside seeps through the walls, a comforting backdrop that provides a steady rhythm you've grown accustomed to over the months. Golden sunlight filters through the small, grimy windows, casting long shadows that stretch across the room, signalling the end of another arduous day. Just as you finish organising the last stack, the door slams open with a force that sends a shiver down your spine and rattles the windows.

Alfie strides in, his presence like a storm brewing in the confined space. His face is a mask of fury; his eyes are wild, and his teeth are gritted as if he's biting back a torrent of words. Papers cascade off his desk in a chaotic flurry as he sweeps an arm across it, sending documents flying. The sound of glass shattering pierces the air as he hurls a bottle against the wall, the remnants glittering on the floor like jagged stars.

"Get out!" His voice is a thunderclap, reverberating through your bones and echoing in the small room.

You freeze, your instincts screaming at you to obey, but something deeper holds you rooted to the spot. Leaving him like this feels wrong, unbearable, as if abandoning a ship in the midst of a storm. Despite the danger radiating from him, you step closer, your heart pounding so loudly you fear he might hear it.

Alfie's eyes narrow on you, his breath coming in heavy, ragged bursts that speak of barely contained rage. He snatches a bottle of whiskey from a nearby shelf, the motion abrupt and aggressive, and slumps into his worn leather chair. The fury in his movements still simmers just beneath the surface as he takes a long, hard swig, the tension in his frame almost palpable, like a coiled spring.

Ignoring the voice in your head that begs you to leave, you move behind him, your steps careful and deliberate. Your hands rest gently on his broad, tense shoulders, and you start to knead the tight knots of muscle with a practised touch. He tenses beneath your fingers, a low growl escaping his lips, a sound that mixes frustration with reluctant relief.

"I said, get out," he mutters, but the command lacks its former bite, sounding more like a plea than an order.

His protests grow weaker as your fingers work their way into the tension, soothing the rage bit by bit. The knots of stress begin to unravel under your touch, and you remain gentle, your hands a source of comfort to him and a balm to your own worry. Gradually, you can feel the tightness leaving his muscles, his breaths becoming more even and less ragged, as though the storm within him is slowly abating.

Feeling the tension slowly ebb from his body, you continue to massage Alfie's shoulders with a gentle, reassuring touch. His breathing steadies, the furious edge softening as the anger drains away. You can sense him becoming more receptive to your presence, his body relaxing under your ministrations as the tempest within him begins to calm.

After a long, silent moment, Alfie leans back slightly, his eyes closed as he savours the relief your hands have brought him. His rough exterior seems to crumble ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerable man beneath the tough facade. Without warning, his hand reaches up to cover yours, holding it in place as if to anchor himself in the newfound calm.

He lets out a low, rumbling sigh, and before you can react, he gently pulls you around to the front of his chair. The look in his eyes is different now, softened by exhaustion and perhaps something more profound. He guides you into his lap with surprising tenderness, his strong arms encircling you protectively.

For a moment, you hesitate, unsure of this sudden shift in his mood. But the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear offer a strange, unexpected comfort. Alfie's rough hand strokes your back in slow, soothing motions, his touch seeking out the solace you provide.

"Stay," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly whisper that carries the weight of unspoken emotions. "Just for a while."

You nod, relaxing into his hold, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.

As you settle into Alfie's lap, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, your hands continue their gentle caress. The heat from his skin radiates through the fabric of his shirt, mingling with your own warmth and creating a cocoon of intimacy. You can feel the tension leaving him in waves, replaced by something softer, more intimate. Your fingers trace along his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch, a soothing cadence that matches your own.

In the quiet of the office, the only sounds are the distant hum of the distillery and the soft, steady breaths you both take. You become acutely aware of the subtle shift in Alfie's breathing, the way his chest rises and falls more deliberately. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly, and you feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against you. A flush of heat rises to your cheeks, your skin tingling with the electricity of the moment, but you don't pull away. Instead, you let your hands explore more deliberately, your touch both soothing and inviting, each stroke a silent promise.

Alfie's eyes meet yours, dark and intense, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. But you hold his gaze steadily, your own eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity, acceptance, and something deeper, an unspoken understanding. The corner of his mouth twitches into a small, almost vulnerable smile, as if seeking your permission, a rare glimpse of the man behind the hardened exterior.

In response, you lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear with a feather-light touch as you whisper, "I'm here, Alfie. I'm not going anywhere." The words hang in the air, a vow as much to yourself as to him.

He closes his eyes, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he pulls you even closer, your bodies fitting together as if they were meant to. His arms encircle you with a protective strength, and the tension melts away, replaced by a profound sense of connection. Your hands slide down to the small of his back, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his desire and the depth of his need, a silent communication that passes between you.

Feeling the palpable tension and desire between you and Alfie, you decide to take things further. Your hands slowly slide down his chest, tracing the contours of his muscles with deliberate, tender movements. You shift your position with care, easing yourself off his lap and sinking to your knees between his legs, your eyes never leaving his. The intimacy of the moment deepens as you look up at him, your touch a blend of reassurance and invitation.

Alfie's eyes follow your every movement, dark and intense, filled with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, a silent communication that speaks volumes. The atmosphere in the room seems to thicken with every passing second, the air charged with a palpable tension. Your hands, now trembling slightly with the gravity of the moment, fumble with the buttons of his trousers.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you work to free him from the confines of the fabric. The sound of your breathing mingles with his, creating a symphony of shared anticipation. Alfie’s hand reaches down, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture.

"Are you sure?" Alfie's voice is a low, gravelly whisper, laced with both desire and a hint of uncertainty. The question hangs in the air, a delicate balance of vulnerability and need.

Looking up into his eyes, you nod, your own voice soft but firm. "I've never been more sure about anything." The conviction in your words seems to resonate with him, his eyes darkening further.

His hand gently cups your face, his thumb tracing a slow, path along your cheekbone. With a sense of newfound determination, you finally manage to undo his trousers, your hands moving with more confidence as you begin to explore the warmth and hardness beneath. The fabric parts easily under your touch, revealing the intense heat and the throbbing evidence of his desire.

With Alfie's trousers undone, the anticipation between you grows thicker, almost tangible. You take a steadying breath, your lips trailing soft, exploratory kisses along his shaft. Each touch is a silent promise of what's to come. The warmth of his skin against your lips sends a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened by the intimacy of the moment.

Alfie's breath hitches, his fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your tender assault. The sensation of his touch, the way his breath catches, fuels your confidence. You take your time, savouring the moment, allowing the tension to build like a slow-burning fire.

As your kisses reach the tip, you feel a surge of electricity pass between you both. Your tongue flicks out, tasting him, eliciting a low, guttural moan from Alfie. The sound spurs you on, your movements becoming more confident, more purposeful, your touch a blend of reverence and hunger.

Your tongue begins to work along his length, tracing patterns, exploring every inch of him with desire. Alfie's hands, once tense, now cradle your head, guiding you gently, his breath coming in ragged gasps that speak of the pleasure you're giving him.

"Christ," he mutters, his voice a strained whisper filled with awe and desire. "You're fuckin' magic, sweetheart." The words, spoken with such raw emotion, sparked your ignition, your movements becoming even more deliberate, more intense, as you seek to bring him the pleasure he so clearly craves. You look up at him, your eyes locking onto his, and you see the raw need and admiration there. The intensity in his gaze seems to fuel your determination to pleasure him, to bring him relief from the storm that had consumed him earlier.

With each stroke of your tongue, each gentle suck, you feel him responding, his body tightening, his hips subtly moving in rhythm with your ministrations. The room feels charged with an almost electric energy, the air thick with the scent of his arousal and the sound of your shared breaths.

Alfie's grip on your hair tightens, his breaths turning into soft, broken moans. The sounds he makes, the way his body reacts to your touch, is a symphony of pleasure that echoes in the quiet room.

With Alfie’s moans echoing in your ears and the palpable tension between you, you decide to take the next step. You pause for a moment, looking up at him, ensuring that this is what he truly wants. His eyes, dark and intense, meet yours, and the gentle pressure of his hand in your hair is all the confirmation you need.

Slowly, you part your lips and take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before gradually taking him deeper. The warmth and taste of him fill your senses, and you feel his whole body shudder in response. Alfie’s hand tightens in your hair, not forcefully, but in a way that guides and encourages you, his fingers threading through your strands with a tenderness that belies the raw desire between you.

You start with slow, deliberate movements, your mouth creating a rhythm that matches the rising and falling of his chest. Each time you take him deeper, you feel his body tense and hear the soft, husky sounds escaping his lips. The way he responds to you, the way his body reacts, pushes you to give him everything you have.

"Fuck," Alfie groans, his voice rough with pleasure. "You're fuckin' incredible. Don't stop." His words are a command and a plea, filled with a desperate need that resonates with your own.

Your hands find their place on his thighs, gripping them for support as you continue. The muscles beneath your fingers are tense, coiled with the anticipation of release. You hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction, and you can feel him responding to every move you make. The taste of him, the feel of his hardness against your tongue, and the sounds of his pleasure create a heady mix that drives you to go further, to push him closer to the edge.

Alfie’s hips begin to move in time with your motions, his breathing becoming more erratic. You can feel the tension building within him, his body on the edge of release. Your mouth works him with a determined rhythm, each movement designed to bring him closer to the brink, to draw out his pleasure.

As Alfie’s moans grow louder, you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. The connection between you is electric, charged with a shared intensity that transcends words. In this moment, you are his anchor, his solace, and his desire, all wrapped into one.

His grip on your hair tightens one last time as a deep, shuddering moan escapes his lips, signalling his impending climax. You brace yourself, ready to take all of him, determined to bring him to the release he so desperately needs. The anticipation builds within you as you feel him teetering on the edge.

Alfie’s body tenses, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. With a final, deep moan, he climaxes, his release filling your mouth. The taste of him is a heady blend of salt and musk, a testament to the intensity of his desire. You do your best to take all of him, savouring the moment and the intimacy it brings.

As the waves of his pleasure subside, Alfie gently but firmly pulls you up to his lap. His eyes have softened, now a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, more profound. He cradles your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheeks as he helps you clean up. The intimacy of the moment lingers, a quiet testament to the bond you've just deepened.

"Come ‘ere," he murmurs, his voice still rough from the intensity of his release. He reaches for a handkerchief from the desk, carefully wiping away any remnants with a gentleness that contrasts with his earlier ferocity. His touch is tender, each stroke of the cloth against your skin filled with a reverence that takes your breath away.

You sit straddling his lap, your arms resting around his neck, allowing him to care for you. There's a vulnerability in the way he tends to you, a silent acknowledgment of the connection between you. The room feels smaller, cosier, as if it has been transformed from the earlier chaos.

"Thank you," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. The words are simple, yet they carry a weight of sincerity that resonates deeply within you. "You have no idea how much I fuckin’ needed that."

You smile softly, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I’m here for you, Alfie. Always." The promise in your words is solid.

His eyes meet yours, filled with a complex mix of emotions—relief, gratitude, and a burgeoning affection. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. The world outside may be chaotic, but in this moment, you both find a rare, fragile peace in each other’s arms.

Nestled in Alfie's lap, you find a comforting rhythm in the gentle sway of your bodies. His fingers trail up and down your back, leaving a path of warmth and tenderness in their wake. The roughness of his hands contrasts beautifully with the softness of his touch, each stroke sending shivers down your spine. The feeling is intoxicating, grounding you in the moment.

You lean in closer, resting your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your touch is a soothing lullaby. Alfie presses a soft kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin, a silent promise of his presence and devotion.

"You're somethin’ else, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice a quiet rumble that vibrates through your entire being.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. "I could say the same about you, Alfie."

He chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich, filling the small space with a rare sense of contentment. His eyes soften as he looks at you, the hard edges of his usual demeanour melting away to reveal a man capable of profound tenderness. The transformation is striking, and it fills you with a sense of awe and affection.

You shift slightly, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. "It's nice to see you like this," you admit softly, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. "At peace." The admission is vulnerable, but it feels right, a reflection of the honesty that defines your relationship.

Alfie leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if to savour the moment. "You bring out the best in me, darlin’," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "I dunno how, but you do." The admission is raw, honest, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Alfie's hands continue their gentle exploration of your back, each touch a silent promise of safety and affection.

With a tender smile, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, feeling the way he melts into the kiss. It's not urgent or passionate, but slow and lingering. The sensation is intoxicating, a perfect blend of tenderness and desire.

When you finally pull back, Alfie's eyes are half-lidded, a serene expression on his face. "Stay with me," he says quietly, his voice carrying a vulnerability that tugs at your heartstrings. "Just like this."

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair as you lean in closer. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you whisper, your voice filled with a quiet certainty.

The two of you share a lingering kiss, a reaffirmation of your promises and the unbreakable bond between you. As you sit there, wrapped in each other's arms, you know that this—right here, right now—is where you both truly belong.

[gnvrkhuroo]

sweet letters

pairing. leon kennedy x f. reader

warning. smut. cnc. i won't list every single kink; i think it would be better if you read the story yourself and discover them along the way! enjoy reading ;)

word count. 3.9k

notes. this piece is fictional and solely intended for the reader's satisfaction and imagination. the author does NOT condone or endorse any real-life activities that may be depicted. reader discretion is advised.

a/n. you thought this would be a soft and sweet comfort smut? haha, no.

finishing the note with a small heart, i put on lipstick again. gently pressing my lips to the empty space below the letter, i leave a kiss mark—

"no, no, no, that's too much," you muttered to yourself, shaking your head.

you hurled your pen across the desk, its scratches tearing through the words. with a frustrated grunt, you ripped a page from your notebook, crumpled it, and flung it to the far corner of your room. leaning heavily on your desk, you buried your face in your hands. it had been weeks since you started working on your college project, yet aside from the title—sweet letters—you hadn't made any progress.

you stared at the cursive title, fingers gently hovering over it, while your other hand massaged your forehead to ease your growing headache. still, nothing came to mind.

after a moment of contemplation, you decided a change of scenery might help. you gathered your notebook, pen, phone, and laptop, stuffing them into your white shoulder tote.

securing the locked door of your dorm behind you, you made your way to the elevator. as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, your eyes immediately fixated on a bouquet of lavender resting on the rail inside, wrapped in newspaper and tied with a plain, shiny purple ribbon.

you stepped inside, positioning yourself near the buttons, and pressed the ground floor button. contemplating for a moment, you stole glances at the bouquet reflected in the elevator mirror.

curiosity piqued, you reasoned that checking it out a little closer wouldn't hurt, especially since you were alone. you just wanted to know who it was addressed to and why it had been left there.

approaching cautiously, you gently picked up the bouquet, inspecting it for any clues—perhaps a name or a hidden note—but found nothing.

you gasped as your phone began to ring, softly lowering the bouquet back into place. a smile spread across your lips.

"leon, baby!" you greeted with excitement.

a faint chuckle echoed through the line, followed by his soothing voice. "hello, love," he greeted in return. you could hear the smile in his voice. "how have you been, pretty girl? did you like the lavenders?"

you gazed at the bouquet, feeling your shoulders relax. "are these from you?" you asked, lifting the lavenders again and hugging them close to your chest.

you heard your boyfriend hum in response. "figured you needed something to boost your mood, so i got them for you. from my garden, by the way—finally able to grow them myself," he boasted.

"thank you," you said, inhaling the lavender's scent before snapping a photo of yourself with it and sending it to leon.

he chuckled. "so beautiful. i miss you."

"i miss you more," you replied. then a realization struck you.

the elevator dinged again, and its doors began to open. your eyes widened in alarm as you repeatedly pressed the close button. finally, they landed on him outside the building, staring straight at you.

adrenaline surged, and you nearly punched the button to your dorm floor as leon sprinted towards the elevator. thankfully, it closed just as he reached it. collapsing against the wall, you sighed, staring at your reflection in the mirror for a bit.

as the elevator ascended, you knew you only had a few seconds to reach your dorm and lock the door before he caught up. when it finally reached your floor, you bolted through the hallway.

another ding echoed behind you, signaling his arrival on the other elevator.

you heard his slow footsteps as he exited the elevator, and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when his pace suddenly quickened, transitioning from walking to running straight toward you. your heart thumped loudly, and your ears began to ring with anxiety.

fumbling through your bag, you searched for your keys, finally slowing down as you reached your door. struggling to unlock it, you managed after a while and immediately turned the knob to enter. you threw everything you were carrying onto the floor and attempted to shut the door.

to your dismay, he was already behind you. before you could slam the door shut, his foot blocked it, preventing you from closing it completely. a hand slipped through the gap, pushing against the door with force. you were too small and light to push it shut, so you stepped back and darted towards your bedroom door instead.

but he was too fast. leon managed to catch the bedroom door and flung it open. you backed away slowly, retreating as he stood in the doorway, blocking your escape route with his imposing frame as he stared down at you.

leon lifted you over his shoulders and carried you to the bed. with a swift motion, he threw you onto the mattress and climbed on top, effortlessly flipping you onto your stomach. his weight pinned you down, preventing any escape. with a swift motion, he used the shiny purple ribbon from the now scattered lavender bouquet on the ground to tie your wrists together behind your back.

you kicked and screamed, legs thrashing to push him off, but he only pressed down harder. his bulge pressed against the curve of your ass and chest flattened against your back as he slid his hand around your throat, applying just enough pressure on the sides to make you feel lightheaded, without cutting off your airflow directly at the larynx.

"look what you did," he shouted, nuzzling his nose against your shoulder while his hand tilted your head to look at the mess on the floor. "i grew them for you. it took months for them to bloom so beautifully, love," he chuckled darkly, sending shivers down your spine.

leon tapped the pad of his index finger under your chin before sighing and moving back. he knelt behind you, his hands tracing down your spine and over your ass. he gave them a rough squeeze, causing you to hiss, then suddenly delivered a sharp slap that made you jolt forward in pain.

"keep pissing me off, love," he murmured, his fingers teasing the hem of your shirt before lifting it up. you heard him take a sharp intake of breath as your bare back was exposed to him. your shirt got caught on your tied wrists, so he ripped the clothing off and threw it onto the ground, your skirt followed suit. "i do enjoy hurting you, especially when i hear you cry."

"so fucking beautiful," he breathed, his hand brushing your hair aside to get a better look.

he then hooked his fingers onto the strap of your underwear, playing with the lace for a moment before letting go. the band snapped back against your skin, causing you to bite your lip to stifle a cry of pain.

"are you crying already, love?" he teased in a mocking tone, grabbing your arm and yanking you up to face him. "baby, i haven't even done anything to you yet."

his face softened when he saw you sobbing silently, tears streaming down your adorably flushed cheeks. his heart ached for a moment seeing you like this, but the way you bit onto your soft, plump lower lip made him believe you wanted more.

"do you feel sorry, love?"

it took you a second to process his words over the loud beating of your heart, and you nodded in response.

"you have a mouth. use your words, baby," he said warningly, giving you a gentle slap on your hip.

"yes," you managed to sob out, eyes shutting to avoid his stare.

"yes, what?" he demanded, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look directly at him.

"yes, leon, i'm sorry—" you replied almost instantly as he delivered a gentle slap across your face, cutting your words off. his other hand still gripped your jaw, making the impact worse since you had to keep steady.

"sir," he corrected sternly, "you'll address me as sir."

you bit your lip, chest heaving from sobbing as you tried to quiet down. "yes, sir. i'm sorry."

he hummed in satisfaction, his posture straightening as he continued, "why are you sorry, pretty girl? what did you do wrong?"

"i ruined the lavender bouquet you grew and arranged just for me. i shouldn't have done that. i'm sorry," you added quickly, panicking, "sir." you stared at him with widened eyes, hoping he'd let you off the hook.

he released your jaw, pushing you back onto the bed. you whimpered silently as you fell, struggling to get comfortable with your hands bound behind your back. the position was awkward, but you shifted as best you could to ease the discomfort.

"spread your legs," he commanded.

you hesitated for a moment, propping yourself up on your elbows. slowly, you complied, spreading your legs apart. the embarrassment was overwhelming, so you avoided his gaze once again.

leon's brows furrowed as he leaned in, his hands tracing your legs until they settled below your knees. he pulled you towards him, causing you to slump down on the bed, your legs pushed up toward your shoulders.

he began rubbing your clothed core, feeling your wetness coat his fingers through the fabric. for a brief moment, you stopped breathing, overwhelmed by embarrassment at your vulnerable state, unable to cover your face or hide from him.

your breath hitched as he pushed your underwear to the side and spat on your clit. "pretty," he commented, his thumb beginning to circle on the bundle of nerves, eliciting silent gasps from your lips. "i'm going to breed this fucking pussy, yeah? fill you up with my seed until your little tummy's swollen with my seed."

"leon—"

he delivered a sharp slap to your needy clit, making you wince and instinctively shut your legs in pain. he forcefully opened them apart, his knees painfully pinning yours in place.

"what did i say?" he demanded sharply as he slipped a finger in without warning.

you couldn't respond, arching your back from the sudden intrusion. your eyes shut tight as your mouth hung open slightly. his roughness intensified as he moved his hand behind your head, grabbing a chunk of your hair and yanking your head back to look at him. you yelped, tears clouding your eyes as you stared up at him through your dampened lashes.

"to address you as sir," you choked out, your body trembling as he pumped his finger in slowly and agonizingly.

he hummed in response, slowly releasing your hair and slipping in another finger, making it two. leon maintained the same torturous pace, causing you to sigh in disappointment.

he chuckled, leaning in close to your ear, his unusual smirk drawing your eyes to his face. "such a needy little slut," he cooed. immediately, you looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "did you tightened up? fucking whore," he scoffed, his fingers beginning to move in a scissoring motion, forcing your walls to adjust. "did that turn you on?"

you nodded shamefully in response, which annoyed leon slightly since you had forgotten again. "speak up, dumb bitch," he demanded sharply.

out of nowhere, he increased the pace of his fingers, his palm slapping against your clit with just enough friction to send waves of shock through your body. his fingers curled to hit that spot that made you arch your back and see stars. your head fell back, brows furrowing as you started to feel lightheaded. leon planted soft, wet kisses on your exposed neck. his free hand finding its place on your breast, gently groping it while his thumb and forefinger occasionally pinched your nipple.

"s-sir," you stuttered, trying to call out. "'s too much."

his hand that had been on your breast swiftly moved to your clit, rubbing it while his other hand continued its torture inside your needy cunt. you arched your back, unable to move away, his knees digging into your legs adding to the pain and pleasure you were feeling.

leon roughly pressed your lower abdomen flat onto the bed, his fingers relentless in their mission to force an orgasm from you. you shrieked out, unable to do anything but accept the overwhelming stimulation. the more you struggled against the ribbon binding your hands behind your back, the tighter it became around your sore wrists.

feeling the knot in your lower abdomen about to snap, you closed your eyes tightly, anticipating that satisfying release—

but it never came. leon had pulled his hands away and stepped off the bed, a huge grin playing across his lips as he stared down at you—needy, whimpering from the loss, and disappointed.

“not yet, love,” he teased, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them as if savoring the moment.

your breath hitched, tears spilling from your eyes as you pleaded, “please.”

leon shushed you softly, leaning back towards you. his hands caressed your cheeks, his thumb gently wiping away your tears. “i need more from you,” he whispered before meeting your lips with a soft peck that quickly deepened into a passionate kiss. you closed your eyes, trying to focus on the sensation of his neediness instead of your growing frustration. “give me a few more, baby, and i promise it’ll be worth it.”

you pulled back, gasping softly, your lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss. “c-can’t, sir,” you murmured.

“yes, you can,” he sighed. “now, please turn around love and get on your knees. i’ll untie the ribbon, okay?” with a firm but gentle touch, leon turned you over, his hands on your hips guiding you carefully to prevent you from face-planting onto the bed. “that’s my good fucking girl,”

leon crawls closer behind you, caging you with his body as he plants loving kisses on your shoulder. he unties the ribbon around your wrist, caressing and rubbing the bruised skin where the tight ribbon had left marks. tenderly, he allows the blood to flow freely for a moment, easing your discomfort with his touch.

he then gently separated your wrists and guided them onto the bed to support yourself on all fours. leon shifted to the edge of the bed as you glanced back in curiosity. in his hand, a stack of envelopes, tied together with another shiny purple ribbon, awaited your attention. handing them to you, he gestured for you to open them.

“open the letters one by one, baby,” he began, “and read them aloud, please. i wrote these during my missions away from you. i want to hear your voice.” leaning closer, he nestled his nose against the tender skin between your neck and shoulder, inhaling your sweet scent.

"o-okay,"

“okay?” his voice sharpened with a warning.

“yes, sir,” you reply almost immediately.

you removed the ribbon from the stack and selected the top envelope, adorned with delicate cursive: "for you, my love." setting the remaining envelopes beside you and leon on the bed, your hands trembled as you tore open the envelope and gently extracted the paper to read:

november 2004

i've been infected by the las plagas parasite; signs of the transformation are showing. veins are creeping across my body, love. i fucking miss you so much. 

leon’s hand settled on your hip, tracing soothing circles on your skin while you read aloud. his lips moved to your neck, sucking, nipping, and leaving his mark.

i miss the feel of your soft, warm skin against mine. your warmth gives me an inexplicable feeling of relaxation when i'm with you. how i wish i was on the couch with you tonight, fucking you until your legs give out.

his hand slid down to the curve of your ass, then began tracing along your slit. he lubricated his fingers before pushing them in. your mouth hung open in a silent moan, your back arching as you lose balance, shifting from supporting yourself with one hand holding the letter to resting on your elbows.

“keep reading,” leon commanded sternly from behind you.

“y-yes, sir,”

the thought alone makes me long to return home and see you, your pretty face contorted in pleasure as i look down at you. i want to feel you tightening around my cock so badly, your breasts bouncing with each thrust.

you bit your lip, pausing to bury your face in the sheets as he continued to drill your dripping cunt with his thick fingers, his other hand rested on your hips firmly to keep you steady. leon’s thumb poked and prodded on your other hole, pressing deeper to gauge your reaction.

you gasped and leaned away from his touch, prompting leon to pull you back towards him abruptly.

i fucking imagine biting down on your clit, hear you scream my name until you're squirting all over my face. i want to devour you completely. for now, all i can do is jerk my dick off to your picture and imagine you're doing it for me. i'm going insane.

fucking need you.

sincerely, leon

you let out a sharp cry, eyes squeezing shut as you moan that you’re so close to finishing, toes curling as the tension in your stomach tightens. you cry out in ecstasy until—

leon pulls away once more. you whimper as your body collapses sideways on the bed, already exhausted.

"alright, next one, baby," leon took the paper from your hand and set it aside before reaching for another envelope. as he did, you took a deep breath, brazing yourself.

leon grew increasingly forceful with each letter in the stack, fucking his fingers harder into you with every word. adding one finger at a time until all four were deep inside your abused cunt. with each stroke, leon teased you, denying you the sweet release you craved. by the time you reached the second-to-last letter, you had lost track of how many times he had edged you, leaving you struggling to form coherent words. your speech had devolved into gibberish, much to leon’s thorough amusement.

"leon, please, no more," you sobbed, pleading desperately.

"be patient, baby," he said, the grin on his face replaced by a gentle smile.

your eyes trailed down, following the movements of his hands as he began undoing his pants. they fell to the floor, followed by his boxers. you gazed at his length; it was long and thick, the tip red and aching in need, pre-cum leaking from it. he stroked himself a few times before climbing back onto the bed and kneeling in front of your face, his knees positioned on either side of your head.

holding his length in one hand, he tapped the tip against your lips. "suck," he commanded.

you stared up at him through your lashes, licking your lips to moisten them before giving the slit of his tip an experimental lick. his brows furrowed as he held back a groan, his hand finding its place on the top of your head, guiding you.

you gave his shaft one long lick before taking the tip into your mouth. swirling your tongue around, you began to bob your head, slowly taking him in inch by inch until his entire length was inside your mouth. he held you in place for a moment, letting his whole cock rest in your throat. only when you started to gag did he pull your head back.

leon backed away slightly, his hands now resting under your knees again. he pushed them up until they were almost on your shoulders. guiding his cock with one hand, he rubbed the tip against your folds to lubricate himself before pushing in slightly.

you gasped as you felt his tip spread you wide open. you could barely handle how girthy he was, let alone the thought of taking his full length.

leon leaned in further, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close until his lips found the back of your ear, where he nipped at the skin, leaving bruises. "big stretch, love," he murmured as your brows knitted together. without warning, he slammed his entire length inside you.

you bit your lip to suppress any sound, tears threatening to spill as you stared up at him with hazy vision. he settled into a slow, gentle pace, allowing you to accommodate his size. leon's hands cupped your cheeks, pampering you with soft, ticklish kisses all over your face, making you giggle amidst the pain.

"you alright, baby?" he asked, pausing from kissing you to gaze into your eyes with concern.

"y-yeah."

leon gradually increased his pace until he found the rhythm that made you moan louder. he settled into long, deep thrusts, maintaining a steady pace that allowed you to feel his length brushing against every sensitive spot, sending shivers of delight through you.

your boyfriend maneuvered your position, pulling you closer to him. he placed your legs together on his left shoulder and began pounding harder. you hadn't realized how flexible you were until now, as leon explored different positions to deepen his penetration and feel more of you. he just couldn't get enough; your arousal seemed to draw him in further, your walls tightening around his cock with each movement. it was as if you were urging him to cum inside you.

"sir," you moaned out.

he grunted, feeling you tighten even more because you were already so sensitive and nearly at your peak again. edging you really heightened your nerves; even a simple caress on your skin made you feel hot and bothered. but leon wasn't complaining. he loves how responsive your body is, knowing that only he could bring you to this state.

your moans echoed off the walls and filled the room, mingling with leon's deep groans that reverberated in your ears. your throat, legs, and hips all began to feel sore as your body became drenched in sweat and your own juices. his grip on your legs started to hurt with each deep thrust of his hips, and all you could do was whimper.

"are you about to cum, pretty girl?" he smirked, but his focus faltered as you come undone. he shut his eyes as he felt your walls squeeze around him, forcing him to pause his movements. his shaft was now coated in your cum, some dripping from your cunt down towards your ass.

"l-leon!" you cried out, almost screaming, as leon continued pounding into you relentlessly, fucking you through your climax. he leaned in to kiss your lips, your eyes rolling to the back in your head, unable to focus as you tried to catch up to his kisses.

"i haven't cum yet," he said, pulling you onto his lap without slipping his cock out even an inch. "so fucking beautiful," your lover wrapped his arms around your waist and began bouncing you up and down on his cock. your hands flew to grip onto his shoulders, your fingernails digging into his skin, likely leaving deep crescent marks later.

"am sensitive," you whispered almost too quietly, your legs already giving out, your body limp. leon manhandled your body fully, and you were unable to control anything anymore. you laid your head on his shoulder, quiet moans and whimpers slipping past your lips every time your ass met his balls.

he chuckled softly, nuzzling his nose into the valley between your breasts, inhaling your sweet scent. "i know, slut. already so fucked dumb," he whispered beside your ear. "have i finally filled that useless brain of yours with nothing but my cock?" he scoffed. "disgusting, greedy slut. such a good fucking girl for me." his mouth latched onto your nipple, abusing the overly sensitive bud with his teeth. his fingers then found your clit, rubbing circles to intensify the sensation, coaxing one final orgasm from you.

you yelped, attempting to escape but his arm around your waist tightened, restraining you furthur. "wait, leon, am going to break. s-sir, can't cum anymore—"

"yes, you can, love. you know i won’t stop when i'm this close. i'm going to come inside you. is that okay, baby? i mean, you do love me, don't you?" he gazes up at you, his pleading eyes and a genuine smile suggesting that it might be okay to let him do it inside you. with one final, deep thrust, leon buries himself completely, ensuring not a single drop was wasted. "imagine mini versions of us running around. you'd want that too, right? of course you fucking do."

closing author's note. this took longer than expected, and although it might seem rushed, i'm pleased with how it turned out. i made some last-minute additions to align with the title, but overall, i hope everyone finds it satisfactory. more oneshots will be released soon, and i plan to publish them during this break as i'll be busier once university starts again. ♡

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

so glad jason is getting out in his place for the reverse, no one gets to treat baby poorly

Dick shouldered your bedroom door open and exhaled slowly. You hated having other people in your room. "Just lay her on the bed," he said, putting your bag down and putting the lunch box of snacks on the desk. "She'll be okay."

"She's really still," Jason said frowning as he laid you down. Taking half a second to unfold your arms from across your chest- just to make you look less dead.

"Happens," Dick said, pulling a clean blanket from the chest at the foot of your bed and throwing it over you quickly. You had half a dozen extra blankets. Throw pillows. Plushes. At some point in the intervening years, you'd gone from a full-sized bed to a queen just to accommodate it all. "She gets tired out after all that." He paused for a second and checked the temperature in the room before jerking his head towards the door.

It was better to leave you alone and let you rest. And once they ere outside, he shut the door and lead Jason down the hall. Going to find Alfred and let him know that you're safely in your room.

"What did she do to her hands?" Jason asked?

Dick shrugged, "Punching the shit out of the trees, tearing out brambles... The clearing is bigger than it used to be. I know she's hurled rocks around before. But. I only know that because I check up on it every so often."

"But-"

"Otherwise," Dick sighed. "It's a lot of crying, blood-curdling muffled screaming, and emotional turmoil that would make Bruce crack... It all has to go somewhere."

"Just out in the woods recreating a horror movie?"

"Nowhere else to do it," he said practically. "It could potentially fuck up the whole manor if she just flipped shit in her room. She can't just run screaming down a street. And unless she wants to live isolated in the middle of nowhere- which might be okay for a while- she'd probably just go crazy and either join a cult or start a cult."

"She's terrified of people-"

"Terrified of hurting people," Dick corrected, "and of being hurt. there's a difference. It's like befriending a feral cat. You get pretty far with snacks- it takes a while to get her to warm up to you. Alfred won her over with Homemade Cinnamon rolls."

"What'd you do?" Jason snorted.

"Snuck her into the zoo early one day," he said smiling at the memory. After a disastrous family trip that had you whimpering in pain, watching you zip down the walkways beaming... It was worth bribing a few people.

"What'd everyone else-"

"Little wing, look," Dick sigh. "I get it. She's a cutie. She's got an air of mystery about her but-"

"I don't-"

"It's just a little crush. If you just relax a little when you talk to her she'll stick around. She doesn't really hang around any of us-"

"I don't like her like that," Jason murmured," cheeks heating. "She's just weird."

"She's weird and you're a reheated corpse," Dick snorted at his retreating back. He'd HAVE to tell Stephanie. She liked knowing when her hunches were right.

[thelastsequence]

Taking on the school bully Pt. 2

Sub M!Reader x G!P ITZY Yeji

Part 1 | Part 2

The bell rang, signalling the end of the school day. As usual, I packed my things and walked over to Yeji’s desk, waiting patiently for her to be done. It had become my daily ritual; I would follow Yeji home every day after class and she would fuck my throat. Of course, sometimes there would be some studying involved, but it would mostly end up with her cock in my mouth anyway.

Yeji grabbed my hand and we walked out of class together. There had been some rumours spreading, with people noticing how much Yeji was together with me nowadays. Some students thought we were a couple now while some had more… wild ideas. It did feel a little uneasy to suddenly be the center of attention, but I tried my best to focus on my assignments.

Once again, Felix picked us up from school and we went up to Yeji’s room again. She grumbled and sat on the bed with a sigh.

“Class was sooo boring today, wasn’t it? I’m surprised I didn’t fall asleep.”

“Yeah, I mean, Ms Taeyeon’s classes are usually like that, aren’t they?”

She shrugged her shoulders and lay down, leaving me staring at her awkwardly. Her perky breasts strained against her white uniform top, her chest heaving softly as she scrolled on her phone. With a small motion, her delicate slender fingers beckoned me and I moved closer to her.

“Today, we’re gonna do something different okay? I hope you’re ready, Hyung-soo.”

“Wh-what is it?”

“I’ll tell you later, now… time to get to work.”

I nodded and got onto the bed, lying next to her. She immediately dove in and gave me an aggressive kiss, her tongue furiously intertwining with mine. I moaned softly as she began holding onto me with her left hand, fondling my nipples at the same time with her right. She began to get messier with her tongue, leaving trails of spit around my mouth and on my chin.

When she tapped my waist twice, it was her signal for me to go down on her. Obediently, I got up and knelt in front of her, my hands unzipping her skirt again. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of her shaft, I shuddered as I savoured the enjoyable fragrance. Her pink tip was already leaking glistening precum which I quickly lapped up.

Yeji moaned lustily as my tongue met her flesh. I continued to lick at her cockhead, coating it in saliva as I tried to coax more precum out.

“Does it taste good, Hyung-soo?” She whispered while patting my head.

“Yeah… it always does, Yeji…” I continued devouring her cock, giving long sweeping licks along her shaft. I also didn’t forget to pay attention to her balls, sucking them one by one in my mouth before releasing them with a lewd pop sound.

“F-fuck… Hyung-soo, you’re getting better and better…” I smiled contentedly at her, with a string of spit connecting her tip to my lips. Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth wide and took her entire length into my mouth. I was getting used to deepthroating her with practice and I could now fit her whole shaft without much difficulty. With the spit that was flowing down her cock, I used it to lube her balls and massage them with my hands.

By now, Yeji was hurling expletives loudly across the room, bucking her hips and thrusting deeper into my mouth. Based on her actions, it felt like she was going to ruin my throat again.

All of a sudden, she pulled out of my mouth and gave me a wet kiss, tasting her cock on my lips. I was a little surprised, as she would usually facefuck me until she dumped a load down my throat. I guess today was different.

“I’ve been wanting to try something with you, Hyung-soo… Get on the bed and lie on your back, okay?” Yeji said to me. There was a glint of pure lust in her eyes, a slight shakiness in her voice that threatened to give away her desire. I nodded nervously and did as she said, still unsure about where she was going with this.

I felt her smooth delicate hands pull down my trousers, following a cheeky slap of my ass. I grunted, feeling a slight stinging sensation on my skin.

“Yeji, what are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry baby, just relax…”

I heard her open the drawer on her pink bedside table and take something out. One of her hands began massaging my bottom, when there was a sudden cold liquid trickling onto my exposed hole. I gasped in surprise, with Yeji coating my butthole with the cold fluid.

“Yeji, is that…”

“Yes, it’s lube, baby…”

Oh god. I hadn’t expected this when I stepped into her house today. Maybe one part of me knew this was going to come some day, but not this soon.

Yeji was going to fuck me.

I felt a solitary finger slowly inch its way into my rear, eliciting a muffled moan from me. The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, as my walls immediately clenched around her intruding finger.

“Ooh, so tight, Hyung-soo… What a cute little virgin ass.” Yeji muttered with a giggle. She continued gently fingering me and getting my asshole to get used to this new feeling. I kept moaning uncontrollably, my body reacting to this newfound pleasure.

After a while, she applied more lube and stuck a second finger inside, beginning to finger me with more force. This time, it hurt a little which made me grip her bedsheets tightly. Seeing my reaction, Yeji slowed her pace down and patted my head.

“Come on, baby, be a good boy…” I nodded and let her increase her speed. I felt her fingers go deeper and deeper with each thrust, almost reaching my prostate. She suddenly stopped, leaving her two delicate fingers inside my ass. I involuntarily started grinding on her fingers, and fucking myself on them. I didn’t even realise it, I guess my body wanted it that badly.

“Wow… you’re moving your ass on your own, I guess you’re ready for the real thing, Hyung-soo…” she whispered sultrily in my ear.

“Yes, Yeji… please…” I could only moan out weakly.

She slapped her majestic cock on my bare ass cheeks a couple of times, before finally easing the tip into my tight hole. I couldn’t control myself as I moaned loudly, the pain and pleasure coalescing into a new experience for my body. I clenched tightly around Yeji’s shaft as she slowly penetrated deeper into me.

A contented sigh escaped her lips, her hand grabbing onto my bare ass. She sighed contently as she bottomed out inside of me.

“Yeji… it’s so biiiig…” I felt my voice reach a pitch higher than normal, whining as Yeji started thrusting into me at a slow rhythm. I could feel her shaft getting harder inside me, as it kept hitting my prostate. She poured more lube into my crack and started pounding me with more speed.

This new sensation of being filled up by a large cock was overwhelming, my brain spinning wildly. I was unable to form coherent thoughts as Yeji plowed deeper and deeper into me. All I could focus on was how good her dick felt inside me and how I wanted to milk her heavy balls.

Yeji’s hands had an iron grip around my waist, I could only squirm in futile protest to her invading shaft. My moans contrasted with her grunts, an erotic symphony filling her room. Soon I felt her thrusts become more erratic and forceful and her nails dug into my skin.

“I’m close Hyung-soo… Take my cum, bitchboy…” I could feel her cock throb inside me, a sign that she was about to release her seed inside me.

“I’m cumming, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum inside you…” Yeji’s moans grew louder and louder, until her cock went all the way inside me. I felt her warm liquid gush into my tight hole, coating my walls in her sticky cum.

“Oh my… Yeji… that’s so much…”

She pulled her cock out which made my stomach churn for a split second. Now that there was nothing plugging my hole, her cum flowed out freely, a creamy stain of how Yeji had used my ass.

“I can’t believe I just took your virginity, baby boy… You’re so fucking tight.” Yeji smiled devilishly before kissing my cheek. She moved closer to me, her dripping cock a few inches in front of my face. Without a second thought, I licked her shaft clean of cum, making sure to swallow every last salty drop. Yeji moaned again while gently stroking my hair.

“You’re getting better at this Hyung-soo… I didn’t know you would be so tight for me.” She said as she sat next to me, holding onto my arm.

“Thanks Yeji, I’m glad you enjoyed it…” I whispered contentedly to her.

“So… are we gonna study or what?

----

Hi everyone! Thanks for the support on my first fic <3 I hope you enjoy Part 2 as well! Sorry if it feels a little rushed 😭😭 I had some stuff going on and there's about to be a major milestone in my life soon which I'm preparing for. For my upcoming fics, I'm still undecided if I want to keep them in the same setting or a different one, so let me know your thoughts.

Cheers, Ren

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Won't go Home without You 🫂

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RER2!Leon S. Kennedy x reader

♤

This.... this is very sad. I think. Maybe??

《Content》: Canon typical violence, Ex-boyfriend!Leon, neutral ending?? Idk it's tragic, but I don't know if I, personally, would classify it as a sad ending.

The order is here -> 🎂

Even after he'd broken your heart, you go after your ex-lover and unknowingly stumble right into your shared demise.

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"Shit, shit, shit!" You cursed frantically, running through the dark and messy halls of the Raccoon City Police Department, adrenaline pumping in your veins.

The fear that struck you right in the middle of your chest was enough to make your legs move like they've never moved before.

You thought the horrors outside in the streets were straight from a nightmare, but no one talks about how terrifying hordes of undead are when you're trapped with them with no way out.

The puddles of blood stemming from slaughtered police officers and other personnel almost made you slip more than once on the smooth floors. You had to push down the urge to empty the contents of your stomach so you wouldn't end up like the poor victims that lined the halls.

Rattling the handle of every door you came across you almost cried in relief when one finally opened.

You could hear the moans and groans of the moving dead as you barricaded yourself in the tiny office.

You locked the door, pulled down the blinds and pushed the heavy desk in front of it. There was a second door, one that would connect the room you were currently in to the one next to it.

Considering the other office's door was locked, you only used a sturdy chair to hopefully keep any unwanted visitors out.

With a heaving chest and the adrenaline buzzing in your blood you moved to the furthest corner and slowly sunk down the wall.

You managed to get in a couple of breaths, feeling how your lungs and ribcage expanded before the reality of it all clicked in your brain and the tears started flowing down your cheeks.

You wanted to wail and scream, maybe even hurl your guts out at how nauseating this whole situation was, but you could only manage quiet and pathetic whimpers with your hand firmly pressed against your mouth.

And to think you only got yourself into this whole mess because you were cursed with a heart too big for your body and you still cared about him. He was the entire reason you even stepped foot into this hellhole of a city.

At the thought of him you couldn't quite decipher what you wanted to feel first; did you want to scream at him and curse him to the high heavens for doing this to you or was the last thing you wanted from him to hold you, embrace you and never let go when you'd inevitably die tonight, as pathetic as it sounded.

You didn't know what you'd weep over first, your doom or the shattered pieces of your heart contained within your ribcage that cut into your insides.

Leon had broken your heart, maybe a week ago, just to leave you behind and follow his dream. The fact that you weren't in his dream was enough to sting like disinfectant on a paper cut. Everything the pair of you had built or were planning on building, or so you thought, was ruined by his stupid sense of justice that never really did him any justice at all.

The punch in the gut that you felt when you woke up one morning to all his things gone and his key to your apartment laying on your kitchen counter while he sipped his morning cup of coffee with not a care in the world, was enough to knock the air from your lungs and any words from your throat.

He'd tried to explain it to you; that it'd be better this way, for both of you, and that he was sorry. His reasons were shit, to say the least. It would've hurt less if he'd just said he couldn't stand to look at you anymore.

Leon said he couldn't do long distance, that he needed his partner there with him and that, as a rookie, he wouldn't have time to call you anyway.

But all attempts at bargaining, that you'd literally follow him to the end of the world, were shut down immediately. He left you, stepping on the broken pieces of your heart as he walked out the door.

And he had the nerve to pull you into one last hug and press a gentle kiss to your forehead as if that would, in any way, fix the gaping hole that he'd left in your chest.

The crying burned all of your energy, you couldn't even find it in yourself to flinch when the infected right outside your door were stumbling over each other and torn of limbs like a newborn foal. As your hysteria subsided, the depressing outcome of your fate set in.

You would die tonight. Alone, heartbroken, in a trashed police station that, coincidentally, was the whole reason your lover had broken up with you in the first place.

Never to be found and rotting away until you fell onto the menu of the undead.

Your limbs felt like lead, your head was pounding and any little spark of hope or perseverance was snuffed out. You stood no chance.

Because, unfortunately, the media and every zombie movie ever had lied to you and the undead, were, in fact, not slow and dumb.

They were bloodthirsty, brutal and they would go after what they wanted. You had nothing to defend yourself. There was no way you could outrun them forever.

"Why zombies... why did it have to be zombies?!" You shouted at the sky, cursing whoever sat up there and got a blast out of making your life miserable.

You tugged at your hair as the tears started spilling again. What else as there to do?

You might as well write 'dinner' on your forehead and step out into the halls.

And then, from the corner of your blurred vision, you could see a light. A light that flitted around almost like... a flashlight? You wanted to hit yourself when you felt that faint feeling of hope bubbling up in your chest.

But, unless the infected had learned to use human devices (it wasn't too far off considering most of them were human themselves only a few hours ago), there was someone else out there.

The light was followed by gunshots and finally a door unlocking.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you scrambled off the floor, putting a good distance between you and the connecting door. The light was gone now, you figured its owner had done the same thing you did and barricaded themselves in the room.

But there was clear shuffling to be heard, and you could even make out a faint voice. Your whole body tensed in horror when the handle of the connecting door rattled.

You could've sworn you heard frustrated grumbling from the other side, but you didn't really give a shit when the whole door started shaking and the chair you'd lodged in front of it started to bend. With the limited vision you had, you quickly looked around for anything you could use to defend yourself.

You were about 93% sure that there was an actual person in the next room over but who knows what they're up to. Your gaze landed on a small potted plant.

Not ideal, but you figured a porcelain pot to the face could do a decent amount of damage. Maybe throw some soil in their eyes.

You raised the plant and kept your eyes trained on the door. The chair was cracking and the person seemed to throw their entire weight against the door, accompanied by laboured grunts.

The chair eventually gave out, as did the door, and the person stumbled in. You couldn't see anything, the flashlight that ignited your spark of hope just a few moments ago now burning away your retinas. You squinted, keeping a tight grip on the pot.

"Buttercup?"

Oh, fuck. You knew that voice. You knew that voice better than anything else in the world. This had to be a cruel joke.

"Leon?" You breathed, lowering the plant.

He quickly attached his flashlight to his belt and lowered his gun, making his way over to you in a few long strides.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Leon asked panicked, placing his hands on your arms.

You were frozen, not a single word left your mouth, the pot still in your hands.

You could only watch dumbly as his eyes searched for an answer within yours, a worried crease between his brows.

God, you'd missed him. You'd missed him so much. You could feel your heart, or what was left of it, twisting in your chest.

"I..." you forced out, eyes glistening with tears again. It was all you could muster.

"Why are you here?" He asked again, shaking you slightly. You could see the distress on his face.

".. You." You swallowed.

"Me? What do you mean?" His grip on you tightened, subconsciously you would assume. Your lower lip started trembling and you could feel another stream of hot tears spring from your lashline.

"I was worried.." You admitted with a shaking voice.

"I heard about the Outbreak, and I just wanted to know that you're okay." You cried, sobs racking through your chest.

"I didn't know there'd be fucking zombies!"

Leon was stunned and, suddenly, he regretted every decision he's ever made. He broke up with you, shattered your heart and you came here to check up on him? He could feel bile rising in his throat and his stomach churned.

He left you to keep you safe, to spare you any pain when he'd start his work on the force, and here you were, weeping your heart out, having doomed yourself for him.

"You... You came here because of.. me?" He asked, his own voice trembling.

You only managed to nod.

You must've been a sight. Crying over your ex after having stumbled into Armageddon with a fucking potted plant in your hands.

Leon swallowed thickly, his eyes watering as he took the porcelain pot out of your shaking hands and set it down on the desk you'd previously moved in front of the door.

"Buttercup..." the strained petname tugged uncomfortably on his vocal chords.

You looked up at him, met his eye, and his heart dropped to his stomach.

"Why did you leave me?" You wailed, wiping at your seemingly endless flood of tears.

Leon's jaw clenched and he took in a shuddering breath, trying to stop himself from breaking down.

"To keep you safe. All I wanted... was to keep you safe." He replied, the words getting stuck in his throat.

"This is the shit I wanted to keep from happening! You were supposed to be as far away as possible from all of this. I didn't exactly calculate for walking corpses, but I didn't want you to be in danger because of me. Why would come here?!" He hissed, frustrated.

He was so annoyed. Annoyed at you for being too sweet and kind to leave things as they are and annoyed at himself for not protecting you better.

You were taken aback by his response, wide eyed and speechless. But you could see the clear panic and fear in the ocean of tears in his blue eyes.

"Because I love you, you fucking idiot!" You snapped, your distress being replaced by a raging fire of anger.

The confession stopped him in his tracks and all he could do was stare at you.

"I thought I was gonna marry you! Move into a house with a white picket fence and a big yard. Maybe have a couple of kids along the way and some pets -at least one dog and a fluffy cat- and then you decided to walk out on me to keep me safe?! Do you even hear yourself?"

Everything bubbled over. All of the anger, the heartbreak, the sadness, the distress. And you let it. You didn't care anymore if he got burned.

"Doesn't even fucking matter anymore because I'm gonna die here anyway." You sniffled, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in.

"Don't... don't say shit like that." He heaved, harshly pointing a finger your way before burying a hand in his hair and tugging at the sandy locks.

"Fuck." He cursed under his breath.

"I thought I was doing the right thing. To keep you away from all the bullshit that comes with being a cop..." he muttered, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes.

"And for the record... leaving you was the hardest thing I ever had to do. And I regret every second of it. I love you more than life itself, and you weren't just in my future. You were my future. And I ruined it." He sounded hurt and vulnerable as he laid out his heart in front of you.

"Give me chance to make it right. Please." He croaked out, a pleading look in his glistening eyes.

"Leon.."

the tears you'd tried so hard to stop came back in a flood, staining your cheeks. You gently cupped his face, stroking your thumb over his cheekbone before pulling him into a tight hug.

He wasted no time wrapping his arms around you and holding you as if you could vanish any second.

"Don't leave me again.." you begged quietly.

"I'm so sorry. I love you so much." He cried into your shoulder, mumbling apologies and 'I love you's into the fabric of your sweater.

You held each other in that embrace for a while, soaking in your lover while everything else started to fade away.

Leon pulled his face from your shoulder and took your cheeks in his hands, wiping at your tears.

"I'll marry you when all of this is over, I swear it." He sniffled, watching as a sad smile followed by a wet giggle spread across your face.

"I love you." You whispered, sighing when he connected your lips in a passionate kiss.

The desperation Leon poured into the kiss was unlike anything you've ever felt before, and you didn't want it to end.

"I love you more, Buttercup." He pressed his forehead to yours in an intimate manner.

For a minute, it felt like just the two of you in the entire world, ignoring how you managed to mend your relationship in a trashed police office whole outside the gates the world was ending.

"We need to get out of here." He said quietly.

A dreading feeling settled in your stomach, but before you had a chance to respond, the TV mounted in the corner of the room crackled to life.

The room lit up, and you turned your focus to the corner and watched as the broadcast ran over the screen. Your eyes widened as you took in the words.

"They're gonna nuke the city..." you breathed out, swallowing thickly.

"What?" Leon exclaimed, panicked. Without a second thought he tightly grasped your hand and dragged you towards the door.

"We need to go." He said quickly.

"No, Leon, wait." You stopped him from moving the desk out of the way with a hand on his arm.

"Are you insane? We'll get turned to dust if we don't leave now." He urged.

"I... there's no way I'll make it through the night. You need to go without me."

Leon looked at you as if you'd lost your mind, and maybe you had, but it was either just you that died or the both of you.

He still had a chance.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" He hissed, grabbing your arm.

"Listen to me. You still have a chance to get out. I'd just slow you down." You explained, hoping, praying he'd understand.

"No, absolutely not. It's not over tonight. I-I won't go home without you- there is no home without you."

You bit your lip in order to hold back tears.

"Please, Leon. You can still make it." He shook his head, whether to say no to you or the option of leaving you behind again, you didn't know.

"I said I won't leave you again." He stated firmly, grabbing your wrist and tugging you into the corner of the room.

He sunk down onto the floor and pulled you into his arms, intending to never let go. You pushed yourself away from his chest and looked at him.

"What are you doing?" You asked frantically.

"I'm staying." Was all he answered, gently guiding your head back into the crook of his neck.

"It's gonna be alright." He whispered against your temple.

A lie, both of you knew it, but what else could you do. You melted into his embrace and braced yourself for what was to come.

One minute, it was just you in Leon's arms, holding each other lovingly, and the next, there was nothing.

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This was my first time writing for RE2!Leon specifically, so this might be a little ooc!

I give out free hugs and tissues if you need one 🫂🩷

《Leon taglist》: @k-fallingstar @vampkennedy @dmitriene @argreion @allysunny @leonslittlekennedy @angelstargel @entr4p3

Lmk if you wanna be added/removed 😚

More Leon and other works -> 💫

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[hazelfoureyes]

gnawing at my encloser for pt7 of a doe in fall..

I really want to get my Rutting Alastor x Rabbit Fem Reader fic out first but I’m writing part 7 in tandem! It won’t be a terribly long part so I’ll try to get it out this week :)

in the meantime here’s a snippet of the rutting fic while I go to work (actual work 😩)

Alastor’s eyes rolled back, strong hands squeezing his prongs, tugging them forward as he imagined anyone riding him. Using his appendages as a handle while he bucked up into them. His hips were already moving, lower back rising off the carpet as he rolled his body up into the imaginary mate he despised his desperation for. His mind flicked through faces. Husk’s pained but satisfied expression, Vox’s tears as he whined, Carmilla’s lusty eyes paired with surrendered sighs. He lingered briefly on Angel’s smirk as his hands roamed down his chest and his thighs in tandem. 

But through the darkness of his imagination he saw two watery and timid orbs, tears welling as eyebrows rose in confusion. Pleasure making the features soften. Soft. Soft velvet ears he could tug on in turn, a little bushy tail he could grip. 

A doe. 

The only doe he knew of in the hotel. 

The radio on the writing desk flipped through channels, piecing together the sounds to form the words he was trying to forget, a magazine ransom note cut from sound bites.

out the windows

 always and forever, 

in yesterday. 

 rusty cage 

May you never

Hating how I

pull the trigger

say you love me?

say congratulations 

The relevant sounds spiked in volume, mocking him. 

He walked to the radio and hurled it across the room. Aggression. Already he was losing his self to hellish biology. 

A minor part of him didn’t want to use you. You always looked at him with such adoration, which he’d come to look forward to when others weren’t giving him adequate attention. You also seemed to genuinely see him as a friend, as much as he didn’t directly feed that idea.

But using people was how the world worked. Everyone was using someone. You had said how much you wanted to help… Alastor leaned on the desk with both hands and watched the sweat fall onto the wood and leather writing surface.

How was his body leaking from every pore but his mouth was so dry?

His shadow reached for the thrown radio, the light flickering on. That dark doppelgänger using a song to offer another piece of torment for him, ‘you ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend of mine.’

༻Masterlist༺

[adrift-in-thyme]

@kikker-oma your Twilight art for Whumptober has been living rent-free in my head since you posted it and I FINALLY wrote something for it. I hope you enjoy <33

Fic beneath the cut (you can also find it on ao3!)

TW for blood and injury, needles/stitches, drugging, and kidnapping

No one asks if he needs help.

Not that Twilight expects anything more. This town is a rough one. That much is painfully clear to him. And not just in the worn woods of the buildings splotched with aged crimson, or in the hardened faces of the people that leer as he stumbles down the worn street. No, from the moment he was dragged here he knew it was a haven for evil.

Cruel hands pushing at his shoulders, fingernails digging into his wounds. Ropes around his wrists, his neck.

The pain isn’t enough to make him move faster.

They yank at his bindings. Choking, he trips over his own stumbling feet. Laughter collides with his pounding skull.

“What’s wrong, wolf boy? Lost your balance?”

Another tug on the makeshift collar. His vision goes white.

Twilight drags in a haggard breath. The taste of blood is still pungent on his tongue. Whether it is his own or that of the people who had sought to pawn him off, he no longer knows. Regardless, it makes him want to gag.

That is not the only place it has taken up residence either. Thick rivers of crimson slither down his right arm, curving gracefully along the deep, jagged gash there. Downward they plunge in large droplets that splatter onto the dusty cobblestones.

A woman passes him just a bit too close, and her gaze locks onto his wound. Twilight knows the look that comes into her eyes. Hunger. Unbridled, animalistic hunger.

He has been a wolf for long enough now to know the laws of nature. Injury means weakness. And weakness spells death.

Clutching his arm, he veers left, toward the inn that rises, a single crooked tooth among the many that form a disjointed line in this gaping maw. Nowhere is safe here. Nowhere is friendly. But his brothers are eons away for all he knows. And there are no heroes in this Hyrule.

Perhaps that’s why the Shadow had hurled him into it.

…or perhaps he had known what Twilight has learned time and time again.

No place is safe for someone like him.

One mistake, one quick, accidental portrayal of the power he holds…and the next thing he knows a dagger is slicing his arm, a needle piercing his neck, ropes encircling him like the arms of a redead, constricting until he is suffocating, until his sword clatters to the ground, his vision turning to little more than kaleidoscope explosions of light.

“Oh, the money we’ll get for this one. A wolf that can become a man? People would pay anything to see somethin’ such as that.”

Bile rises in his throat. Twilight chokes it back down. He needs a place to lay low and he needs it now.

The woman is not the only one to have taken note of his condition. He can feel others ghosting the space around him and behind, breathing down his neck, reaching toward him with skeletal hands, purring that he, “come, little one. We feel your magic. Come, and let us devour it.”

He can’t breathe though the collar is gone. His hands tremble as he grips the rail, fighting not to fall as he climbs the handful of stairs leading to the decrepit structure. His knees are weak. Pain pounds through his veins, mixing with the surging fear until they are entwined in an endless waltz of mind-numbing agony. It is all he can do to walk through the double doors and into the lobby; all he can do to stagger up to the front desk.

“I need a room,” he grits out between clenched teeth. Blood runs down the side of his mouth and he lacks the will to wipe it away. “How much?”

The innkeeper regards him, pointed disinterest in his bloodshot eyes. He looks Twilight up and down, taking in his disheveled clothing, the pelt lying defeatedly across his shoulders, the gash raining ruby-red droplets of life upon the battered floorboards. Then, he folds his bony fingers and sets them calmly before him.

“50 rupees for one night.”

Twilight plunges a hand into his pouch and draws it out trembling and blood-soaked. The rupees clatter on the table, shining like precious gemstones. Just as quickly as they are set free, their glow is snuffed out by the innkeeper’s clawed hand. With agonizing slowness, he places them in a locked box beneath the desk. Then, he slides a large key towards Twilight.

“Room eight,” he growls. “Supposin’ you make it long enough to get there.”

There is laughter in his voice, rumbling thunder of an oncoming storm. Twilight turns away.

He limps up the stairs and stumbles down the hall, leaving gore-adorned handprints on the walls and railing as he goes. They glare in his peripheral vision, splotched and jagged and fierce. He squints and they blur. The colors meld before his eyes. Swirling and sparkling, they close in, envelope him, heavy with the scent of death.

Again, his stomach revolts. Again, he bites his tongue before anything can escape.

The door comes into view, the number 8 carved in two looping circles upon its ashen surface. He collapses against it, catching himself on the frame, and with shaking hands levels the key toward the lock.

It takes several tries to get it open. But once he’s managed it, he practically falls into the room. The door slides closed of its own accord and he allows himself to slump against it.

There is a bed in the far corner, a sad little object he supposes is meant to be a nightstand beside it. He lacks the strength to reach either one of them. Twilight can hardly keep his eyes open as it is, can hardly resist the intoxicating pull of unconsciousness. The rush in his ears blankets his senses. Darkness spreads its jaws beneath him. To the beat of his heart, it chants its promises, promises of freedom from the burning pain, from the terror of being hunted.

He is sinking beneath a surface thicker, deeper, heavier than Lake Hylia. Viciously, he kicks toward the light.

One more mistake will land him in the musty basement he had hardly managed to escape, bound and gagged, drifting in a daze of remnant drugs, waiting for the moment when he will be hauled up into the blinding sun and handed off to whoever has scrounged up enough money to purchase him.

He won’t go back. He won’t.

Dragging in a sharp breath, he reaches into his pouch, rifling past bottles long drained and items that do him little good in this situation. The objects he is searching for are far duller than his spinner or his gale boomerang. But they are all he has.

He pulls them out, gazes at them. A sewing needle still threaded from the last time he had needed to darn his clothes, and some fabric thread, dark and thick. Sturdy.

The needle glints in the hazy streaks of sunlight that shine through the filthy window panes. The tremble of his hands causes the reflections to enlarge and shrink, darkness and light dancing across the slender, metallic surface. Never before has it looked quite so threatening.

Twilight clutches it in one hand and with the other, fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket. The sight of it conjures memories of a small hand brushing tears from his cheek, of a soft cloth being wound gently about his burns, hesitant vulnerability in the crimson eye that gazes into his.

“Hey, don’t cry, alright? Your family doesn’t hate you. They’re afraid.”

“Of me, Midna. They think I’m a monster.”

“You? A monster? Nah. A monstrous softy maybe. And a monstrous idiot. But never an actual monster. Believe me…I know monsters better than most.”

His next breath is more akin to a sob. Twilight wads up the cloth, shoves it in his mouth, and bites down hard. He allows himself a moment to get the needle into a somewhat secure grip. Then, he angles it towards the place where his skin begins to split.

Pushing it through hurts far worse than he ever imagined it would. The needle burrows through his flesh with agonizing slowness, emerging from one side of the divide only for him to plunge it into the other in the next second. And the thread follows dutifully, snaking lazily along and dragging his skin with it. Like a worn workhorse pulling a cart home after a long day, it treads its set path. He hardly has the strength to keep it from veering completely off.

Tears rush hot and eager into his eyes. They spill over, coursing in salty rivulets down his cheeks. His body screams with agony. His head pounds, blood roaring in his ears, stomach roiling. Crimson liquid streams from his wound, coating his fingers, turning the needle slick, darkening the thread into the deepest obsidian.

One stitch is finished, then two, three, four…a series of inelegant dashes waltzing along on rivers of gore.

He loses count of them at some point. His world narrows and simplifies until it is nothing more than this moment, this seemingly endless struggle to keep himself afloat in an ocean of agony, to keep from screaming or swooning, his fingers from slipping from their death grip on the needle.

More than once, the dismal fog that clouds his vision grows so overwhelming he nearly plummets into it. More than once, a strangled whine tears up his aching throat. More than once, he pierces uninjured skin on accident, bringing fresh bubbles of blood to the surface.

But never does the cloth slip from between his tightly clenched teeth. The jolt of pain in his jaw is hardly noticeable amongst the bone-deep agony that grips his arm.

It is only when at last, the final stitch is in place and he has blinked the traitorous gleam of stars from his vision, that he lets it fall. It flops onto the floor, a sodden mess of tears and blood, sweat and saliva. Twilight stares at it for a moment, then at the line of clumsy stitching weeping red.

He leans sideways and retches.

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

By the time Twilight stumbles out onto the road, he is shivering.

He wraps one arm protectively around himself. The other hangs at his side, leaden with pain.

The shadowed alleyways leer, caverns of ravenous black. The surrounding buildings reach out with their claws to drag him into their terrible embrace. Passerby stare at him with those same hungry eyes as before, whispering, murmuring.

He is glad the unrelenting ring in his ears blocks out their words.

The innkeeper had laughed at him again when he had returned the blood-stained key.

“Still alive, are you? Well, you won’t be for much longer. Not in your state.”

Twilight hadn’t been certain whether he was referring to his declining health or the willingness of the townspeople to take advantage of it. Regardless, that statement is more than enough to have bouncing about in his pounding skull.

More than enough to keep him moving forward.

Out. He needs to get out of this town. Then, he can stop. Then, he can allow his aching legs to give way beneath him, his half-lidded eyes to slip shut. Then, he can finally sleep.

Until that moment, this is the reality he must battle through — pain and feverish confusion and a haze of oddly distant fear.

He bites out a thin exhale from between chattering teeth. The ground bucks and heaves in waves beneath his failing feet. The genial afternoon sky whirls in patterns he cannot comprehend.

Should’ve cleaned that wound, he thinks, blurrily.

But there hadn’t been anything to clean it with. No potions or blessed objects to drive away the infection, or flames to disinfect and cauterize, or water to wash away the blood and grime…

Water.

Twilight swallows, forcing the walls of his throat apart.

He needs water. He’s so thirsty.

Two more shuffling half-steps and his body decides it has had enough. Twilight goes down in a heap of bloodied limbs, fingers scraping along a nearby wall as he attempts to catch himself.

Get up! He orders himself as he has so many times before in dungeons and forests and caves miles deep, caverns miles long. Come on, Link, you can’t give up now. Not when you’ve made it so far.

“Oh, what have we here?”

He raises his head, stares into the drifting faces of several sizable men. He cannot make out their expressions, blurred as they are. But he can see their eyes. He can see the metal that glints in their hands.

And though he doesn’t recognize them, he knows them. They have the same look about them as his captors had. They too had gazed at him as though he was meat to slice up and sell at the market.

“Looks like we’ve got a wounded one. Tried to mend that all on your own did ya?”

Twilight’s lips lift in a snarl, showcasing jagged, pointy canines.

“Leave me alone,” he croaks. His voice cracks over the last word, hitched into something dangerously close to a sob.

Desperation rises hot and fast within him. He tries to shove himself to his feet.

They grab his arms before he can.

“Not so fast.”

The largest of them — a burly man he guesses is their leader — grasps his chin, roughly angling his head up so Twilight has no choice but to look him in the eye.

“You’re not going anywhere. I smell magic on you, boy.”

A growl rumbles in his throat. Twilight yanks his face away, struggling weakly in their unforgiving grips.

“What do ya say?” The leader turns from him to grin at his companions. “How many rupees is he worth?”

“Get him to show us what all that magic can do and we’ll get at least a thousand.”

Greedy chuckles go up from the huddle. Twilight sucks in a failed attempt at an inhale. Yet another series of shivers race through him, and he crumples in their wake. It is all too much — the pain, the fear, the laughter echoing around him. It surrounds him, encompassing him in an unending nightmare.

He needs to fight. He needs to run. He can’t find the strength to do either one.

After everything, everything, he is here once more. His attempts at a struggle are nothing to these men. They will bind him, they will drag him away. And he will be helpless to do anything more than hang limply in their iron grasp.

“Alright then, boy, show us what you can do.” The leader grins. It is a sharp, bitter thing. “Give us a proper performance and we won’t hurt you. But withhold that power and, well…you won’t live to regret it.”

A knife caresses the curve of his neck. Twilight raises his head, narrows his eyes. Terror turns feverish heat to an icy chill that settles deep in his bones and races through him in violent shudders.

“No.”

The word is bitten out between shaky inhales. But he pours what little might he has left into it.

If he is going to go down, he will do so with pride. Pride that at the very least, he tried.

“No?” The knife digs deeper, seeking its prey. “That’s not the kind of thing you spit in the face of the man holding a weapon to your throat.”

He leans in. Twilight holds his gaze, even as black splotches encroach on his line of sight, ebbing and flowing like a river lapping gently at the bank.

“I’ll only ask this one more time. Show us your power.”

“You may not like it if he does,” pipes up a voice from somewhere behind the group.

Twilight’s eyes go wide.

Warriors? His scrambled brain cries.

But it can’t be, it can’t…

An arrow flies out of nowhere and pierces the leader’s hand with a nauseating thunk. The knife clatters to the ground.

“My friend happens to be a skilled marksman,” comes Warriors’ voice again. It echoes over the sound of agonized screams. “But he has other talents too…and little mercy. Get back. Let him go. Or you’ll regret it.”

“No!”

The grip on his shoulders tightens. Another dagger is pressed to his throat. Twilight hardly has the energy to fear it this time.

But there is no reason to. Another second and the clawing grasp disappears entirely. The chilled metal falls, useless beside its mate.

There is no scream. Only the dull, slick sound of a blade forcing through skin, then retreating as fast as it came. At the same time, another arrow soars past. It is every bit as precise as before. And this time, it strikes the leader through the heart.

Two bodies fall with a thud that echoes through Twilight’s ears. He slouches sideways, sinking enveloped in the melody of anguish.

Warriors catapults into view, a whirl of emeralds and fierce royal blues. One swift movement and Twilight collapses onto his shoulder rather than the blood-slicked ground.

“W-wars,” he starts to say, but the captain is already pulling him to his feet with a grunt of effort.

“Can you walk?” He asks and the tone of his voice is one Twilight has only heard him use when he is leading.

Arduously, he nods.

The others fall one by one as Warriors half-ushers, half-drags him forward. Where they are going, he hasn’t a clue and he lacks the will to ask. He merely follows, stumbling on fumbling feet and hanging onto the miraculous dream he has wandered into.

At some point, they emerge from the confines of the shoddy town into a blessedly wooded area. Twilight sinks down as soon as they come to a stop. Warriors helps him lean back against one of the large trees.

Only then does the captain truly take him in. His gaze before had been calculating and distant, thoughts and cares locked behind an impenetrable barrier. But now that wall lowers just enough for Twilight to see the darkness shine through it.

“What did they do to you?” It is a mere hiss, not even directed at him. But Twilight feels an empty reply rising in his throat anyway.

All that comes out is a thick cough.

Aether eyes find his. A handkerchief slips into his grasp.

“Don’t speak, save your energy.” Practiced fingers ghost his most severe wound. “You stitched this up yourself?”

Twilight doesn’t need to even attempt to reply. The captain answers the question himself with a nod of his head.

“Yeah, I’m going to have to remove those stitches, clean it, then stitch it up again.”

He speaks fast, words tumbling in an unending stream Twilight is hopeless to follow. He watches dumbly as Warriors digs into his pouch, sets a pristine cloth on the ground, and lines several objects up upon it.

“Here.” He presses a bottle into Twilight’s hands. Liquid the color of maple syrup glitters inside. “Take a few drinks. I won’t pretend this won’t hurt. You’re going to need something to dull the pain.”

Twilight watches him press a small dagger against the molten tip of a fire rod, and suddenly, a streak of gut-rending dread pierces through the fog. Dutifully, he lifts the bottle to his lips, chokes back a few scalding swallows, and tries to breathe as it melts its way into his veins.

“How’d-how’d you find me?” He grits out. Fuzzy thoughts become almost unintelligible beneath the touch of alcohol. But this, at least, he must know.

Somewhere behind him, frantic footsteps crunch on fallen leaves. Warriors glances up from his work, hand flying to his sword for a split second before he lowers it with a grim smile.

“It wasn’t me,” he says. “Turns out your cub is good at tracking. I’m lucky we ended up together when we were separated from the others.”

Wild comes racing into view like a shooting star, hair flying out behind him, bow held tightly in one hand. He slings it over his shoulder as he skids to a halt.

“Twi! Are you okay — oh Hylia, what did they do to you?” The words pour out of him in a waterfall of emotion.

There is blood on his cheek, Twilight realizes dimly. He is too far gone to know whether it is his own or not.

“You ‘lright, cub?” He slurs, reaching to try to wipe it away.

Wild catches his flailing hand and lowers it, with trembling care.

“You idiot.” There is no heat in his tone, only fear. Exasperated, terrible fear. “You need to be worrying about yourself! You look like a hynox sat on you!”

An insane giggle erupts from the rancher, born of pain and anguish and giddy relief. He lists sideways, and Wild wraps his arms around him, drawing his head to his chest.

“Champion.” Warriors has a dagger in his hand now. A needle and thread rest on the cloth beside him. “Hold him tight. I’ve got to mend this wound.”

Fingers press against his screaming skin, gentle yet firm. Metal gleams in the setting sun. Wild’s heart beats fast in his ear. Fingers card through his matted hair.

The captain meets his eyes.

“And rancher, take a deep breath. We’re going to take care of you now.”

Wild’s hand envelopes his, heedless of the blood that turns Twilight’s fingers sticky. He grasps it like his life depends upon it. And as Warriors begins his terrible work, he closes his eyes.

[hqbaby]

seven — kinda nice

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 2.6k content. swearing, oral (m receiving), fingering, vaginal penetration, handjob, use of pet names, aftercare

“Don’t,” Yukie says, holding a hand up as if to stop you from speaking.

You frown. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but you were going to.” She keeps her head down, focused on her notes. “You were going to talk about wanting to drop out again.”

“I was not.”

“Were too.”

“Was not.”

Yachi hushes you. “Are we studying or not?”

You point an accusatory finger at Yukie. “She started it!”

“Y/N, I love you, but can you just please focus,” Kiyoko joins in, looking at you desperately. “Your next exam’s worth 40% of your grade.”

You cross your arms and lean back against your seat. Like a stubborn child. “I know that,” you say. Although you were pretty sure it was only 30%. Maybe you actually should have been studying. You shake your head at the thought, then, “Can I have my phone now?”

“No!” they all say in unison.

“But what if ‘Tsumu texted?”

Yachi groans. “That’s exactly why you can’t have your phone,” she tells you. “You get way too distracted.”

“I do not.”

“Do too!”

“Oh my fucking god!” Kiyoko exclaims. She stands up and marches over to the corner of the room, furiously opening a drawer then slamming it shut. When she gets back to the table, she slides your phone over to you. “Just be quiet.”

“Okay,” you whisper, grinning as you take your phone to check it.

tsumu: u better be studying

You scream, hurling your phone across the room. The three girls look at you in disbelief as you offer them a guilty smile. “Sorry.”

The summer semester rolls away unceremoniously. You spend two weeks hunched over your desk, finishing papers and preparing for your final exams, getting an average of three hours of sleep every night. You run on nothing but coffee and instant noodles, only leaving your room to study in a different setting with your friends who are suffering too.

When you finally pass your last exam—your professor only nodding to acknowledge your existence—a wave of relief washes over you. The war has been fought. The battle is won. And you’re absolutely exhausted.

“I’m gonna sleep forever,” you say excitedly, digging into the salmon bento Atsumu brought you. “Fuck me, this is good.”

“I’ll tell ‘Samu ya like it,” he says, eating his own with gusto. “Ya can say no, but d’ya wanna come to my place tonight? We can watch movies and eat and sleep.”

You nod your head vigorously. “I’d like that,” you tell him. “I’d like that a lot.”

He smiles. “Good.”

Things between the two of you have been going well. You’ve been hanging out for more than two months now and you surprisingly feel no urge to bolt just yet. He’s a good friend and a good person, you like spending time with him. You’ve even started getting close with his friends and the rest of the volleyball team—much to Oikawa’s dismay. 

It’s even given you a reason to see Suna more, which is always nice. You’ve learned that he’s pretty much the same person when he’s around his friends. Quieter, maybe, and a little colder towards you (because you aren’t supposed to be close), but still the same Suna that you’re used to. It’s been interesting getting to know him this way. You don’t mind it at all.

Everything’s been good. You’re having a lot of fun.

Atsumu drops you off at your residence hall after lunch, promising to pick you up later. You give him a kiss and thank him before sending him on his way.

Your room is empty when you get there. Kiyoko’s probably out with Tanaka, you think as you flop onto your bed. The blankets are warm and soft and freshly washed thanks to your roommate who freaked out when you told her you hadn’t washed them in weeks.

You’ll have to get up eventually. Take a proper shower and put on something comfortable. Pack a bag for Atsumu’s place. Maybe grab a cup of coffee. But, for now, you set an alarm and let yourself sleep.

You deserve it.

The twins’ apartment isn’t what you expect at all. You’ve been to other boys’ places before and they all have a recurring theme—Suna with his dirty socks by the door, Oikawa with his hoard of unreturned clothes with price tags still on them, Iwaizumi with his giant Godzilla stuffed toy that he never acknowledges (which you should never acknowledge either)—you thought you’d find something similar in Atsumu and Osamu’s place.

But no.

All you’re met with is a barren wasteland. A living room with nothing but a plain couch and a television. A kitchen with no plates or cups or cutlery. An entryway with no shoes, no mat, no coat rack. Empty. Completely devoid of any signs of life.

“Did you get robbed?” you can’t help yourself from asking.

Atsumu lets out the loudest laugh you’ve ever heard. “It’s not that bad!”

“‘Tsumu.” Your wide gaze meets his. “Do you need money?”

He rolls his eyes at your theatrics. “C’mon,” he says, leading you to what you assume is his room. “Stop starin’ at my kitchen.”

“No, but, ‘Tsumu, seriously. There aren’t any curtains—”

When he opens the door, you’re met with, well, a regular room. A little messy, but bursting with life. The complete opposite of the rest of the apartment.

“What?”

He leads you inside and closes the door behind him. “People get a little rowdy when we throw parties here,” he explains, “So we keep all the common areas clear of anythin’ they might break or steal.”

“Ohhh,” you say, everything clicking into place. “I get it now… I think.”

After the initial shock of his apartment wears off, you realize that you’re standing in his room and decide to look around. Now, this makes more sense.

His bed has been made, albeit a little hastily, and he’s obviously shoved a bunch of clutter under the frame. He has shelves, mostly empty, save for a few textbooks and a volleyball signed by someone Oikawa would probably scream about if he knew. His desk is the tidiest part of the room, with nothing but his laptop and a stack of notebooks to the side. It makes you smile thinking about what he might look like when he’s sitting there and doing his homework.

He picks his laptop up and hops onto his bed, patting the space beside him for you to sit down. “C’mon,” he says, pulling out a bunch of snacks from his bag. “I promised ya a movie.”

You take your place beside him, letting him put his arm around you as you snuggle into his side. “And sleep,” you say, opening a pack of sour gummy worms. “You promised sleep.”

“‘Course.” He smiles, opening his laptop and going to Netflix. “So, what d’ya wanna watch?”

You settle on a romcom—10 Things I Hate About You—and you do exactly what Atsumu said you’d do. You watch and eat and drift in and out of sleep. It’s nice having him beside you, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breath. It makes you feel safe. 

When the movie ends, you decide it’s still too early for dinner, so you put on something else. This time, Atsumu picks. A horror film. The Cabin in the Woods.

As the characters on screen scream, you and Atsumu find yourselves in a rather heated makeout session. You’re straddling him, holding yourself up with both your hands on his shoulders. His legs are bent to keep you closer to him, his arms wrapped around you, hands going dangerously low.

He pulls away from your lips and starts kissing down your neck, occasionally stopping to suck at the vulnerable skin. You throw your head back and whimper, unable to bring yourself to complain about the marks he’s leaving. It just feels so good.

Without even realizing it, your hips start to grind against him, searching for some relief for the growing heat in your stomach. It’s only when you feel just how hard he is underneath his sweatpants that you come to your senses.

You look down to see him kissing your collarbone, eyes blown as he looks at you.

“Do ya wanna—”

“Yes.”

A smirk falls over his lips as he moves his mouth away from you and closes his laptop, pulling your t-shirt over your head. His hand slips behind you and unhooks your bra with practiced ease, yanking it off and tossing it to the side. He descends on your breasts, holding each with one hand, licking one nipple and playing with the other with his thumb.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, kissing the soft flesh. Then, he’s undressing you again, this time pulling down your bottoms, leaving you completely naked on top of him. He runs his large hands over your body. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Not fair,” you whine, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “You’re still dressed.”

Atsumu laughs at that. “Yer impatient, huh?” He cranes his neck to kiss you. “Gotta learn to wait, baby.”

Despite his words, he gets rid of his clothes anyway, helping you off of him so that he can remove his jeans and boxers. He stands at the side of the bed, rolling his clothes into a ball, his cock on full display. 

You feel yourself swallow. He’s big.

“Like what ya see?” he asks when he catches you staring.

Instead of answering him, you crawl over to the edge of the bed and take him in your hands, pumping his cock before licking the tip and wrapping your lips around it. He groans. You move your mouth up and down, using your hands to rub the parts you can’t fit. Pulling back, you swirl your tongue over the tip before moving down again.

He watches as you work, trying to memorize the way you look right now. It’s an unholy sight—you stark naked, your head bobbing up and down, sucking him off like nothing in the world matters. He could die right then and there and he’d be a happy man.

“Fuck, Y/N, yer gonna make me come,” he says before pulling your head away. You stare at him with a raised brow and he adds, “I wanna fuck ya first.”

You grin, moving aside for him to sit on the mattress before you straddle him again. “‘Tsumu,” you moan as you slide your cunt over his length. “Want you to fuck me.”

He reaches for your core and touches your clit, listening to your reactions to see what you like, dipping a finger into you and bending it until he hits the right spot. Soon, you’re nothing more than a moaning mess slumped over his shoulder.

“Ya close?” he asks, nipping at the skin near your ear.

You nod wordlessly, whimpers pouring out of your lips.

“Come for me, then.”

Your orgasm hits you like a train. It crashes into you as you stop grinding against Atsumu, your body wracked with pleasure. You hold onto him as he whispers praises into your ear.

“Did so good, baby,” he tells you, a soothing hand coming up to rub your back. “Still want me to fuck ya?”

You nod, coming down from your high.

“I need ya to say it, baby.”

“P-please fuck me, ‘Tsumu,” you say. “Please.”

He smirks. “Yer so polite,” he says, reaching over to a drawer on his bedside table and pulling out a condom. He rips the package open and slides the latex down his cock. You gulp, reminded of just how big he actually is.  “Yer such a good girl. Think ya can ride me, huh, good girl?”

You move your head mindlessly, practically drooling at the sight of him. “Yes, ‘Tsumu.”

“Go ahead then.” He nods. “Ride me.”

You lift your hips a little and take his cock in your hands. He hisses at the contact. Slowly, you line him up with your core and sink down onto him. Your eyes close at the feeling of him filling you up. When you’ve taken all of him, he gives you a moment to get settled. Then, you lift yourself up then fall back down again. The sound of slapping skin fills the room as the two of you moan at the feeling.

You do it slowly a few more times before you're bouncing on his cock, slamming yourself down again and again. You feel so full. “Feel so good, ‘Tsumu!” You moan. “So fucking good!”

His hands come up to cup your ass, fingers wrapping around the expanse of flesh. He halts your movements before drilling up into you, hard and fast. He watches as you throw your head back and your hands come up to hair.

“Yer so hot,” he says, pressing his face into your chest as he continues to thrust. “Takin’ me so well. So tight, baby.”

You can feel your second orgasm approaching. “I’m close, ‘Tsumu.”

“Let go, baby,” he tells you, voice straining slightly. He’s close too. It’s hard not to be when your pussy is gripping onto him that way, all warm and tight. “Let go for me, yeah? Like the good girl y’are.”

You let your high hit you again, hands scrambling to grab onto his shoulders. Your nails dig into his skin, scratching the flesh as he continues to move. “Fuck, ‘Tsumu!” Feeling his grip on you loosen, you start bouncing to meet his thrusts. “Come for me, baby.”

“Can I come on yer tits?”

You almost laugh at how meek the question sounds compared to everything else he’s said. “‘Course, baby.” 

You get off of him and let your knees fall to the bed. You lean down and press your chest to his groin, slipping off the rubber and pumping his cock. Your eyes stay on him as you move. He looks absolutely divine. 

In the darkness of his room, his blond hair catches a hint of light and shimmers above his head like a halo. He stares at you through his hazy gaze, the picture of a fallen angel.

Then, he throws his head back and cum shoots onto your skin. You keep moving until he puts his hand on your arm and pulls you up to kiss him. Your lips melt onto his. The kiss is nice and slow, the two of you holding onto each other as your heartbeats begin to level.

He pulls away first, grinning that boyish grin of his. 

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you say.

“Are ya hungry now?”

“Starved.”

“Let’s see if ‘Samu’s home. Get ‘im to make us dinner.”

“I hope he isn’t.” You wince. “We were kinda… loud.”

Atsumu shrugs. “Oh well.”

You hit his arm playfully as the two of you start laughing. 

He gets dressed and helps you get cleaned up, grabbing a damp towel from his bathroom and placing himself between your legs. “Sorry, sorry!” he says when you hiss as he wipes you down. “Still learning.”

“It’s okay.” You smile at him, endeared by his concern. “Just a little sensitive.”

When he’s done, he gives you one of his shirts (a jersey from his highschool team) and a pair of boxers to change into. There’s something so careful about the way he moves. Like he doesn’t want to scare you away. As you watch him go around his room—asking what you want, asking you if you’re sure you’re okay, insisting you at least drink some water—you feel your heart swell a little. It all just feels so… nice.

In fact, you’re so swept up in Atsumu that you don’t even see your phone light up in the darkness of the room. A text message just waiting for your reply.

rin: u wanna have dinner?

notes. atsumu babes hi <3 i have not forgotten about you <3 anyway!! before the plot continues plotting, lmk what team you guys are on ;)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Treat You 3

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, violence, abuse, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (Tall!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

"You're useless!" Your dad slather's spit on your face as he holds himself over you, penning you in on your bed, "fucking idiot!"

You whimper as he growls and huffs his tobacco-tinged breath in your face. You wrinkle your nose and bat your lashes as tears prickle along the brims of your eyes. You shudder as he shoves himself off of you, snarling as he heaves his weight off the mattress. Another rude awakening, though for what you don't know.

"I'm sorry, da-" You begin as you sit up, only to have him spin and crack his knuckles across your cheek. You fall back and cradles your skull as it vibrates. "Ow, dad, what did I do?"

"Where the fuck are my smokes?!" He hisses.

"I dunno, I dunno," you sit up, holding out an arm to shield yourself, "you know I wouldn't touch them."

"I know you're a sneaky fucking bitch," he barks and goes to your dress, shaking it as he tears open the drawer. He scoops out the contents and throws them so the fabric scatters over the floor.

"I didn't touch them," you sniffle.

"Stop fucking lying!" He blusters as he stomps over to you, grabbing you by the front of your tee shirt, "look at you, lazy piece of shit, hiding in your room all day, doing what?!"

"Dad," you murmur.

"Bitch!" He shoves you back and you once more fall flat, biting your own tongue.

He surges around the room and there's a thunderous crash as he swipes your desk clear of its contents. You sit up and watch, helpless as he rips like a tornado through the space. He hollers and hurls until he's out of breath. He leaves you with a slam of the door. A promise in the shake of the frame. If he sees you again, it will only get worse.

You get up and switch your pajama bottoms for jeans. You retrieve the clunky laptop from the floor and tuck it into your bag. It's the only thing of value you have. It's how you make your living, typing away captions and sending the words in for pennies. You swipe up your book and the small change purse with not much in it.

You listen before you emerge from your room. You creep down and take your denim jacket and sneakers from the entryway, tiptoeing out and putting them on in the hallway. You stand straight and touch your throbbing cheek. You must look a mess. It doesn't matter, you just need to get out of there.

You get out to the street and find a bench just around the corner, sitting to think of where to go. You need to get the next project done. Tonight's the deadline to get a few extra dollars on the next deposit. You need wifi. Usually you can leech off the neighbours' but there's no way you're staying in the apartment with your father like that.

The library isn't an option. You can't even access the wifi without an account and you have fines since your father destroyed several borrowed books last month. Besides, it's too far out of the way and you have no bus fare. Maybe...

Is it worth it? You don't know if you have any change. You sift through your bag and open your change purse. A couple of quarters; seventy-five cents. Hmm, how much is a cookie? Just one of the small ones?

All you know is the cafe has wifi. You'll test your luck and see how long they put up with you. You head off, disappearing into the urban ebb and flow, happy to drown in it and forget the morning.

🍵

The cafe is busy enough for you to sneak in with the rush. You find a seat in the corner and set up there, hoping you can fade into the background as usual. You glance over at the menu, there's nothing you can afford there. You sigh as you slip the heavy laptop out of your crochet bag.

You open it and hit the power button. Nothing happens. You lean in and try again. You notice how the frame of the screen is split at the seam. Oh no. The thing's taken a beating over the years but it's usually fine. He's done it now. It's broken.

That's it. That's the only thing you got and it's just as garbage as everything else in your life. You hang your head, holding it in your hands as you stare at the table. You're numb, to hollow to feel anything. You should cry but you can't.

Your vision blurs as you sit there, frozen. What do you do? What can you do? You are totally screwed.

You don't know how long you stay like that. The world skews around you until suddenly it centers on a gentle tap on your shoulder. You pop your head up, nearly tipping the chair as you look up at the barista. It's the same one as last time. Peter, you think he said.

"Excuse me--" He begins but he gapes and stares at you.

"I'm sorry, I... I'll go," you gulp and shake your head, "I don't have money for a coffee."

You stand but he doesn't move. He's close as you reach for your laptop and he reaches to stop you from closing it.

"What happened?" He asks.

"Nothing," you lie.

"Something must've happened--"

"I must've hit it on the door when I came in," you mutter pushing until he moves his hand, snapping shut the broken screen.

"Not the computer," he says, "you?"

"What?" You frown and wince as the bruise twinges and you notice how you can see your cheek swelling from your left eye.

"Did someone hurt you?" He asks.

"Please, it doesn't matter," you turn to unhook your bag from the chair, "I'm just going to leave. I told you, I don't have any money--"

"Coffee's on the house. Or tea," he insists, "please, sit down."

"I can't."

"Why not?" He asks.

You cringe and stop. You turn to face him, looking down at his warm brown eyes, "why are you bugging me?"

"Am I?" His forehead ripples, "I wasn't meaning to."

You squeeze your lips together and a pang of guilt tweaks in your chest. You hang your head, "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to talk back."

"Look, seems like you've had a rough morning. If you stay, I promise I won't bug you. I'll just bring you some tea and let you be."

You look away as your nose flares, tingling dangerously, "why would you do that?"

"Nice things always come around," he shrugs, "and they don't cost anything."

You nod and hide your face, "thanks."

"No problem, oh uh, one thing," he turns a palm out, "I didn't get your name."

You put your bag on the table as you touch the back of the chair. You eke out your name before you sit. He repeats it brightly, "alright, I'll be right back."

You stare out the window, refusing to look anywhere else. You're too embarrassed to let him see the tears in your eyes.

[jasmines-library]

Up and Down

WHUMPTOBER 2023: Day three, prompt ‘solitary confinement/make it stop’

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: After returning from being tortured by the devil himself, your brain can’t help conjure up its own images which refuse to leave you alone.

Warnings: Hallucinations, manipulation, glass shattering, negative comments about reader.

Word count: 1.3K

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

He was there again. 

That tall, looming figure that seemed to always wear a shit eating grin on his face. He was lounging across a chair, drumming his fingers against the wooden table and singing obnoxiously loudly to some song you had never heard before but had promptly decided that it was already getting on your nerves. With elbows resting on the table opposite him, you clenched the hair on your head into fists and let out a frustrated sigh, rising to your feet and storming away from the library. 

“Aw, come on.” Lucifer pouted. “I thought you liked my singing Y/N?”

Rolling your eyes, you made your way into the kitchen to where Dean was thickly spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread, trying to drown out the jests from the archangel he was still hurling at you. At the sound of your footsteps Dean raised his head greeting you with a grin. 

“Hey Kiddo. How’s it going?”

You were hesitant in your answer. Dean knew the toll that coming back since being tortured by Lucifer was taking on you. You were much more jumpy than usual and opted to spend much more time locked up alone in your room than spending time with your beloved hunter friends. Dean couldn’t help but feel guilty everytime he heard you cry out in your sleep from across the hall. He couldn’t help but feel deep down that all of this was his fault. After all, it was he and Sam who decided to reopen the cage - it was he and Sam who Lucifer wanted revenge on. Instead of responding verbally, you opted to nod, knowing that an unwanted tremble would snake its way out between your words, like it had your hands. 

You couldn’t help but stiffen at the voice behind you. It didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, who moved away from his PB&J to place his hand on top of yours.  “It’s okay sweetheart. It’s only Sammy.”

Turning, you watched as the lumbering man struggled in through the door. His arms hugged a selection of paper bags awkwardly. He smiled; a gentle gesture before placing the bags on the counter, and wrapped you up in one of his bear-hugs. Returning the gesture, you smiled into his blue flannel, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you had been holding. Detaching yourself from Sam, you began unloading the groceries he had brought back with him, listening to the eldest Winchester talk animatedly about the latest show he had decided to binge watch on netflix. It brought a grin to your face.

Here, with Sam and Dean around you, you felt much safer. That was until that irritating voice drifted into your ears. You dug your nails firmly into your palm, leaving little grooves on the soft skin, hoping that the dull pain would distract you from the image of the Archangel. When that didn’t work, and his remarks still rang through your head, you turned to flee the room. 

“Y/N?” Sam tilted his head. 

“I’m fine, Sam. Promise.” You nodded. 

Sam was about to say something, but shut his mouth as he watched you flee the kitchen, your bare feet pattering on the wooden floors as you retreated back down the corridors and into your room, locking the door, and the hollering of Lucifer behind you. Albeit, you could feel him lingering over your shoulder. Taking a deep breath and screwing your eyes shut, you pinched yourself harshly. 

Lucifer chucked deeply. “Real cute, Y/N.”

You turned and pushed past him. 

“You know you can’t ignore me forever.” You stopped abruptly. “I miss our little heart-to-hearts.” 

You rolled your eyes, moving towards your desk and beginning to shuffle the contents around. That was when he started singing. It was an old song. A sad song that you and the Winchesters used to listen to on particularly difficult nights. One that you associated with comfort.

“Stop.” You told him firmly. 

He didn’t. Only sung louder, edging closer to you.

“Stop it.” You said once again.

Lucifer continued to sing mockingly. 

“I said stop it!” You yelled, throwing the glass that you were moving at him. It sailed straight through the illusion and shattered on the ground. He grinned manically. 

“There we go, Y/N!” He howled, clapping his hands together joyously. “That’s what I’m talking about. This is the you I miss. Where did all that fire go, huh kiddo?”

“Leave me alone.” You spat out through gritted teeth. 

“Mm” Lucifer pinched his chin between his thumb and his index, tilting his head towards the ceiling. “I don’t think I want to…You see, now you’ve acknowledged me, you’ve let me in.”

You shook your head, backing away from him as you approached. “No.”

“Oh yeah. I can see everything Y/N.”  The devil proceeded forwards until your back hit the wall. “I’m inside your pretty little head. “ He sang. 

“You’re lying.” You shook your head, trying to convince yourself more than him. There were voices outside your door, but they were drowned out by Lucifer. “Sammy said that nothing you say is true. He- knows. He’s been here before.”

Tutting, the blond rolled his eyes. “Sammy, is a lying, untrustworthy piece of shit.”

“Don’t say that.”

“He doesn’t care about you Y/N. None of them do. They’re just using you Y/N.”

“You’re lying.” Rouge tears began to snake down your face.

“They just feel bad for you. You’re a liability, Y/N. You’re gone as soon as they get the chance to get rid of some dead weight. They don't need someone like you on their team, dragging them down. I mean, think of how easy it was for me to get to you. Poor, helpless, useless-”

“STOP IT!” You cried, sinking to your knees.

Your heart pounded in your head, beating like a drum to the rhythm of an army march.

“You are nothing Y/N. You’re nothing without those Winchesters. You are nothing without me!”

“Get out!” You sobbed “clutching your knees to your chest.

“You are worthless.”

The pounding grew louder as you buried your head between your knees. Fat tears fell down your cheeks, pooling on your jeans as Lucifer continued his onslaught of words. That was when you realised that the drumming was not your heartbeat, but the sound of Sam and Dean trying to break down the door to your room having heard the commotion. When they managed to barrel themselves in, Sam’s heart dropped when he saw you rocking back and forth in the corner of the room, lip trembling with hands plastered over your ears. He took one cautiously in his hand. You drew back sharply, eyes moving frantically across his features. 

“Please…” You whispered. “Make it stop.”

Wrapping you up gently he allowed you to bury his face in his chest, ignoring the dampness that followed as you continued to weep silently. Dean pulled you in close from the otherside, encasing you in between them. He never would fully understand what you were going through, no matter how hard he tried. He could sympathise, sure. He had been through decades for torture himself. But he would never be able grasp onto exactly what you were experiencing. Sam would be able to understand more; he too saw Lucifer for a while. But they both knew that no two experiences were the same. They knew that people cope differently and that was okay. All they could do was stick by you and help you work this out. And was exactly what they chose to do.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY TWO ⛤ DAY FOUR ->

🏷️ whumptober taglist:

@senjoritanana

[10piecechickennuggy]

Of pain and healing - Trafalgar Law x Fem!reader - Oneshot

WARNING: Mature content ahead.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own One Piece or the art featured above. This is a fan created work.

“Traffy.” Luffy’s expression was the most serious she’d ever seen. “Take good care of y/n.” 

What? 

After everything. After sailing together for six months. After being flung halfway across the world and reuniting at the war of the best. After having his own brother die in his arms, Luffy was leaving her with another captain for two years?

Their friends were scattered around the world, doing who knows what. They’d sent out the message to reconvene in two years at Sabaody, but she was here. She’d expected to stay with him. To train with him. To support him in any way she could. He was her captain. Her friend. Her nakama.

“Luffy!” Y/n gripped the railing and prepared to jump overboard, intending to swim to him. A pair of strong, tattooed arms wrapped around her midsection and effectively stopped her from doing so.

“She’ll be safe with me, Strayhat-ya!” Law called over the girl’s thrashing. 

Her arm stretched outward, vainly grasping for her captain. “No! Luffy, I won’t leave you!” Water had begun to form in her eyes, blurring her vision. “You’re going to be king of the pirates! How can you do that without any crew?!”

Luffy laughed. He was bandaged and bloodied, intending to spend his time on a deserted island, and he was laughing? Was her panic that funny?

“When we meet again, I’ll be stronger than ever!” The boy exclaimed proudly, his shoulders broad. “I expect the same from you!”

For a moment, she stopped struggling. This couldn’t be real. She was having a nightmare. There was no way her captain would abandon her. Luffy wouldn’t do that.

“Bepo! We’re going now!” Law used her moment of denial to pick the girl up, moving toward the door.

When the sirens screeched and the submarine lurched, signaling its descent into the waves, her panic resumed tenfold. She screamed incoherently. She squirmed, kicked, and clawed at the railing and then the air. Obscenities were hurled at Law. But he did not relent.

Once they’d gotten inside and the door closed, she didn’t stop fighting. Fists were hurled at the thick steel door. Nails broke as she dug at the metal. Tears fell in hot, angry streams.

Law’s grip only tightened on her waist, his forehead digging into her back. When she fell to her knees, he followed. Her tears turned into choking sobs and wails. Her heartbreak echoed with an intensity matching the alarms blaring throughout the submarine.

Why? Why was Luffy doing this to her? She didn’t understand.

Eventually the sirens ceased, announcing the craft’s successful descent, and she began to quiet. Her body shook as she held herself. Her breath quickened to near hyperventilation - the finality of her sentence sinking in.

When Law lifted her in his arms, her body fell limp. Why wasn’t she waking up? She began to feel numb, shock taking hold of her senses. The strong arms cradling her to a warm, broad chest went unnoticed. Her mind raced, the unknown of her circumstance paralyzing.

Before she could register the change, she was being sat down onto a cold examination table, the abrupt temperature startling her back to the present. Focusing her eyes, she found Law’s form turned away and shutting a door. The lock clicked in a satisfying tone.

The room was cold, sterile, reminiscent of a doctor’s office. The only hint that she wasn’t inside a hospital was the desk overflowing with papers and books set to one side. It looked like someone’s personal library had exploded over roughly half of the room.

Her senses still lagging, she jumped when Law’s hands slapped the table on either side of her. His arms were rigid, trapping her in place on the metal slab. His legs rested between hers as he leaned forward, his forehead coming into contact with her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft. Far softer than she’d heard over these last weeks.

He withdrew just enough so that their eyes could meet. His golden orbs reflected the fluorescent lights, appearing like lanterns amidst his dark circles. “I know you’re suffering. But I promise to care for you the best I can.”

Her eyes widened. Where was this coming from? The Trafalgar Law she’d seen at Marineford, the man who saved her captain’s life, was cold and unfeeling. He was an apathetic, calculating, unapologetic murderer. A captain of the Worst Generation. But as he raised a hand to smooth out the mess she’d made of her hair, she found herself leaning into his touch.

***

He wouldn’t leave her alone - not for long at least. He’d made her sleep in his room, insisting that the crew’s quarters were unfit. 

He rarely slept in his own room, instead passing out at his desk after studying medical documents for countless hours. On the rare nights he did make it to the Captain’s quarters, he chose to sleep on the small couch. 

Those first several nights, she barely slept. Perched on Law’s plush bed and staring out the porthole became her constant position, only resting when her body gave way to exhaustion. Spotting the occasional fish became the highlight of her days.

When a week had passed this way, Law decided it’d been long enough.

At first, she’d fought him on it. She refused to leave the room, not wanting to spend time with any of the Heart Pirates. She didn’t want to grow close to them. She already had a crew - the Straw Hats were her nakama.

But she was no match for Law’s strength or his Ope Ope powers. If she wouldn’t get up, he’d carry her. If she fought against his hold, he’d create a room and teleport them both. 

He forced her to eat her meals with his crew. At first, she wouldn’t talk to them. Their welcoming greetings were met with neglect and half-hearted pleasantries. But each trip to the mess hall became less eventful. 

“Why are you doing this?” She asked him one day while he dragged her to breakfast. “Why put so much energy into making me eat?”

Law clicked his tongue, his tone akin to chastising a child. “Your captain entrusted you to my care. How do you think he would react if I returned you malnourished?”

Eventually, she began to open up. Slowly - excruciatingly at times - she came to know a few key members of the Heart Pirates.

There was Bepo - a depressed polar bear mink and the ship’s navigator. His fur was the softest thing she’d ever felt.

Ikkaku was the only other female onboard. Her tomboyish personality made her a great fit for the mostly male crew.

Penguin and Shachi were a pair of near inseparable idiots. Their constant antics and terrible jokes brought some much needed entertainment to Y/n’s dark mind.

But always in her thoughts was the wish to be back home - aboard the Thousand Sunny. With the Straw Hats Pirates, sailing towards the One Piece. She’d have given anything to be with her nakama.

***

When the night terrors started, Law knew his efforts weren’t enough. 

He was headed to bed after a late night of pouring over medical texts. Entering the room quietly, he’d found her form slumbering peacefully beneath the sheets of his bed.

Law had smiled at her snoring, glad she was finally getting some restful sleep. Her state had begun concerning him - sleep deprivation was a quick killer. But it seemed his attempts to get her accustomed to life alongside his crew had been working.

Satisfied with himself, he went into the attached bathroom. Removing his shirt to reveal a muscled, tattooed chest, he took in his reflection. His eyes were sunken, the permanent dark bags appearing to have worsened. 

Turning on the sink, he began to splash water on his face. Then the shrieking started. 

He rushed into the bedroom to see Y/n distressed. She was screaming, thrashing in her sleep as if she were being held down. The wails were panicked, desperate for relief from whatever horrors plagued her unconscious mind.

Law rushed to the bedside, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her in place. Inked letters spelling “Death” came into his vision, an unwelcome layer of irony adding to the chaos. He shook her head, willing his worries away before bringing his other hand to stroke her hair.

“Shh.” He spoke calmly, knowing that an abrupt awakening could spell danger for the girl. “You’re alright, Y/n-ya.” 

When her eyes fluttered open, they were glossy with tears. She didn’t stop to ponder the distraught expression on Law’s face. She only reached forward, wrapping trembling arms around his torso and pulling him down to her level.

A fleeting moment of confusion caused the man to hesitate before he held her. She sobbed quietly into his chest as he rubbed soothing circles on her back. 

“Why are you being so kind to me?” She’d asked through sniffles one night after he’d calmed her.

Law sighed, his eyes closing under scrunched brows before he answered. “Because I know how it feels to have someone you love ripped away from you.”

***

For once, the submarine was docked on an island - one she’d refused numerous offers to explore. Birds flew over the horizon and waves could be heard lapping against the metal hull. Y/n hadn’t realized how much she missed the sounds of the surface.

Why had Luffy left her here? Was she that much of a hindrance to his training? She understood that he wanted to spend this time getting stronger. As they were now, none of the Strawhat Pirates were ready to face the New World. But could they not grow together?

Suddenly, shouting and gunfire broke her train of thought.

Springing to her feet, she tore through the metal hallways like a wild animal. She’d be damned if a Marine attack killed her new friends, leaving her stranded. 

Wait. Friends?

Flinging the vessel’s main door open, Y/n jumped as a stray bullet barely missed her. The metal rang like a bell under impact, a small dent marring canary paint. She looked out to the island; soft sand was stained with blood. A Navy ship was docked not far away, her men engaged in battle with the Heart Pirates.

Both sides appeared to be struggling, though Y/n’s hosts were faring worse than the Marines. White and orange boiler suits blurred with the unmistakable blue and white of uniformed soldiers. At the heart of it all, Law could be seen slaughtering enemies one after another - His devil fruit and sword in perfect synchronization.

In contrast to their captain, the Heart Pirates’ lower ranking members were obviously floundering. They were outnumbered, even after the countless Marines that had already fallen. If the tides of battle didn’t turn soon -

Y/n jumped over the railing, sprinting forward the second her boots met wood. A body lay where the small dock’s planks turned to sand. She swiped the rifle laying nearby as she continued to run, choosing to ignore the stickiness which covered her hands. 

Her first target was a man advancing on Bepo - a sword swinging dangerously close to the polar bear’s neck. Taking quick aim, she steadied her breath before firing. The bullet went straight through the man’s head, his body dropping instantly. 

The navigator took notice of his savior, shouting a quick “thanks” before he moved to another target.  This time, he chose to maul a marine who was advancing on Ikkaku. Blood sprayed as the soldier’s right arm was ripped off, a bloodcurdling scream erupting over the battlefield. 

She took aim again, taking out two marines engaging Shachi and Penguin. One by one, enemy soldiers fell to expertly aimed shots. She was a weapons master, afterall. 

The battle began to turn, the two sides evenly matched before the numbers tilted in the Heart Pirates’ favor.

“Everyone! Back on the ship!” Law’s order rang over the bloodied terrain as the surviving marines began their retreat. 

Immediately heading their captain’s orders, the entire crew bolted for the Polar Tang. But a hand on Y/n’s shoulder prevented her from following. 

“Room.”

Before she could register what was happening, she had been transported into Law’s room. Turning, she found the man standing behind her. Blood was splattered across his form, drying crimson clinging to his goatee.

“What are you - “

Her question was cut short, startled into silence by Law advancing on her. She quickly stepped away until her shoulder blades met the cool steel of the room’s door. Her eyes darted around the room, panic rising in the back of her thoughts. 

What had she done wrong? Should she have stayed on the ship? Had she interfered with one of his plans?

She yelped when his fist landed beside her ear.

“Strayhat-ya isn’t getting you back.”

Law’s expression was one of pure anger. Fury morphed his usually stoic features, an inferno burning behind his gilded irises. Had she not been taken aback by his words, she would have been terrified.

“But Luffy said in two years - “

“To hell with Strawhat!” His fist banged again, this time leaving a dent in the steel door. His neglect to add the customary -ya didn’t go unnoticed. “He had you right there at Rusukaina, but instead sent you away with another man!?” 

She shrank under his gaze. Law was usually so unexpressive. Even the tender moments they’d shared were not only rare but punctuated with only concern or melancholy. Never had she seen him display such intense emotion. 

“He said he wants me to get stronger.” Why was she defending her captain? He’d abandoned her - tossed her aside to focus on himself. Didn’t he know how much she was hurting?

“You’re already plenty strong.” Law sneered, voicing her thoughts before they’d fully formed. “You just saved my entire crews’ asses. If he couldn’t appreciate what he already had, ” Law paused, removing his fist from the door and moving it to hold her waist. “Then I will.”

His lips crashed into hers with a passion she’d not experienced before. They were soft, moving fervently against her own as she reciprocated his movements. He smelled of musk and pine - the scent reminiscent of Christmas as it invaded her senses. 

Each caress of their lips sent bolts of electricity down her spine. When his tongue probed for access, she granted it with a happy humm. Their wet muscles mingled in a dance of unspoken desire. All the sleepless nights he’d sit up with her, all the times he’d leave his work to check on her, all the effort he’d put into ensuring her health and wellbeing, all the energy and care he’d continue to exert for her - it all came to a head as one passionate kiss bled into the next.

Strong arms brought her against a firm chest, holding her tightly. When her fingers laced into his raven locks and tugged ever so gently, he growled into her mouth. In a single swift motion, he lifted her off the ground.

Her legs were still wrapped around his torso when she fell into the plush mattress. Their bodies were pressed impossibly close, the lines where her being stopped and his began had blurred. It wasn’t long before the two had become a heaving, sweaty mess of passionate flesh and sin.

***

Two years had passed quicker than either of them had expected.

“Y/n!” Luffy shouted in excitement as he ran towards her, his rubber arms stretching out to wrap around the girl.

She giggled, returning his embrace.

“Why weren’t you on Sabaody? We waited for you until the Marines attacked.” His confusion was sincere as he released her and tilted his head. But before she could respond, he continued with a wide grin. “Doesn’t matter now! Come on, we’ve got some kids to save before we leave this island!”

When he’d turned to run off, Law spoke up. His arms were crossed over his jacket-clad chest. “Wait, Strawhat-ya. Y/n has something to say.”

Luffy turned to face her, his expression now serious.

She shook her head before moving towards Law. “I won’t be going back with you. I’m a Heart Pirate now.”

Law smirked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders before he leaned down. After placing a kiss to her forehead, he glared at Luffy. “And my girlfriend.”